#and finding out you were only born because somebody else wasn't good enough for Your Father????

[theotherpacman]

it's part of my personal bnha lore that hisashi left when he found out izuku was quirkless, divorced inko, moved to a different city, remarried, and had a daughter. and when izuku was like 13 he googled his dad and his facebook came up with pictures of his new family. and izuku realized he had a little sister and he wanted more than anything to be her brother but he knew his dad wouldn't let him in their house.

anyway now im on a concept where she's a teenager and hisashi finds out she's a lesbian and kicks her out and her mom is like "we never told you but you have a half brother, he lives in tokyo, i just got off the phone with him and he says you can stay with him, here's his address" and she gets on a train still reeling with the shock of it all and when she gets there it's a fucking top ten hero, one of the most famous people in the country, she feels like she's been goddamn sold to one direction

[tiikerikani]

Once more, with feeling

(and that feeling is angst)

2023.12.10 – Tavastia-klubi, Helsinki

I decided I'd not start the queue this time, fortunately Tall Blonde and Regular Groupie were already there. Another quite popular up-and-coming pop band (Kuumaa) was playing in the other venue on the same block, so there were two queues going on (ours was longer) and as noted previously, there doesn't seem to be a back door to the building so their tour bus was hogging the curbside. The number of musicians you have doesn't necessarily correlate with how efficiently your stuff is packed or how comfortably you want to travel.

I took a step to the side and left the middle-middle spot for somebody else. Tried to get a couple more pictures to go with my miniatures, with limited success, but did get some other good pictures.

Jukka-Pekka wasn't feeling well, so instead of the usual acrobatics, he performed a little magic trick making a pen disappear and reappear (I know how it's done but it's still fun :) )

In a couple of recent magazine interviews, Senpai talks about how his left arm suffered nerve damage at birth, so he was unable to learn to play the accordion like his famous grandfather (whom he admired but had died long before he was born) and learned guitar instead (like his father). In light of this, watching him up close it did seem that his left hand trembles noticeably more when he extends both arms.

(as an aside, I have carpal tunnel issues in my right hand so that's the one I sometimes have tremors in, which is annoying when I'm trying to paint fine detail.)

(Is Pate wearing one of those Oura smartrings??)

It's true that the overall atmosphere felt different from the previous night. People didn't dance as hard, and for my part, I didn't feel as enthusiastic about screaming everything and overdramatic gesticulating either.

It might be because I am so, so tired. While it continues to be fun in the moment and all that, going to these shows always generates strong feelings before and after and it's been several nights now that I've gone to bed around 4...there's a bind of desperately needing both sleep and time to unwind but not having enough time for both, maybe not even for either, not to mention all the work I still need to do before my vacation next week. Oh, and chores.

And I can't quite put my finger on why I feel angsty and bitter and lost. Is it envy? ("You must be rich, to come to all these gigs," says Her Again!!, who was again chatting with Regular Groupie. "Absolutely not, not like [Regular Groupie, who is at literally every performance]".) What does being there all the time even get you and is that the only way to get it? My fan art doesn't pay their bills but surely it means something too? But what, I'll probably never find out. Is it fear of losing the magic? Is it the unshakable fear that despite Heini's assurances to the contrary, that his no longer acknowledging me is something personal? I can only hope and trust that he still appreciates what I do, and that is so, so hard.

(But hey! This shook me off #theplaylistismymantra just long enough to put my Christmas playlist on and have it stick.)

P.S. I added a few more pics to the previous writeup.

[Concert write-up archive and master calendar]

[fusion-ego]

7, 18 & 19 for the writer ask meme?

Tossing my answers under the cut because I got a little long-winded.... whoops..........

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Honestly, I'd have to say my deepest joy is in creating things in general! When writing, what I take the most happiness from is the simple act of doing it at all, and of just... Making something that, yeah, maybe somebody else has made, but this one is mine, you know?

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

So this is one no one will have seen yet (aside from a couple of close friends who may have come across an early draft in a writing channel on discord), and I'm really happy to share this silly thing.

"Well hello Emperor Saggy Tits!" Sang the prince's best friend as he burst into his bed chambers like the untamed cretin he was.

The prince gave an overexaggerated, afronted gasp, sweeping his hair off his forehead in mock offense, "Such disrespect! I should have you executed for speaking to me in such a manner!"

His best friend flopped onto his bed, snorting as he bounced a bit on the plush surface, "You wish death would get rid of me."

The prince snorted as well, flopping next to him, "But no," He joked, "You'd just haunt me."

The backstory of this moment is simple as can be - an Imperial prince from an (at the time) unnamed empire and his common-born best friend are just... Being silly together. It's a peek into what their relationship is like - the sass, the levity, the trust.

Despite being the Crown Prince, the prince seeks no deference, or even the usual expected level of respect, from his friend, and they are on equal footing.

I don't recall exactly how this scene came to be, but I do know that originally it was going to take place within the main narrative of the story it's from, before later becoming a very brief flashback sequence that serves to, ah... Let's say "drive home how much things have changed".

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

So I probably say something similar every single time someone asks me when I started writing, but that's because it's the truth: I genuinely do not remember when I started, because I've been telling myself stories for as long as I can remember, and the only thing that changed was that one day I started writing them down instead of speaking them. I can't remember a time when I didn't write!

I'd say I probably started because, I'll be honest, I wasn't exactly well--liked among my peers. I was ahead of the curve in intelligence and missed out on a lot of social learning opportunities because I scored too high in basic education tests to go into preschool or pre-k in my city, so I was weird and not well-socialized and didn't have many friends. Telling myself stories was just what I did to keep myself entertained, I guess, and writing them down was just how I kept them around to tell myself again later.

Have there been bumps along the way? Oh, for sure. I'm in a bit of a rut right now, as it happens, but the thing about hitting bumps in the road is that sometimes they're potholes and sometimes they're speed bumps - sometimes I stumble for no reason, but sometimes it's my brain (and my writing ability) telling me to slow my roll and take a chill pill. And bumps aren't a bad thing! Every bump I've hit has ultimately been to my benefit, in the end.

Where I am right now is... Well, a rut, but I'm trying some new things out and trying not to be so hard on myself, so it might be slow-going but I am steadily finding my way out. As for where I'm going... Well, if all goes well, 'forward' will be good enough for me. As long as I'm still writing, and still enjoying it, then that's all that matters.

[julkaamazing]

To forget

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: When even gangster need somebody 

Warning: brief 18+

"I want a new one "the man said nonchalantly, smoking a cigarette

"Not the blonde" he added after a moment, knowing that today he wanted to forget

"Of course Mr. Shelby, we'll send someone up right away" Tommy headed towards the room where he sat down in an armchair lighting a cigarette. He had been sitting for a while and no one was coming in, it wasn't good because his thoughts kept going back to what was no longer there. Despite the passing of time he blamed himself for her death because not only had he lost his wife but also his son lost his mother. '

Stuck in his head he didn't hear the door opening, only a soft voice saying his name snapped him out of the trance he was in. 

Turning his head, he noticed a tall blonde woman with blue eyes. Her hair was shoulder-length, she had a shapely figure, and she had a scar above her eyebrow 

"I asked for a brunette" he spoke up first because he knew the girl wouldn't say anything else

"I'm sorry Mr.Shelby but all the others are taken" she replied turning her gaze to the floor

"Do you want me to go find someone else?" she finally asked looking at him, he didn't answer reaching for another cigarette which maybe would help him think 

"No, you're enough" standing up he indicated the bed with his head 

The girl standing in the middle of the room began to undress, Thomas sat down on the bed and took out another cigarette. 

Forgetting where he was, he only came back to himself when the girl took the cigarette from his hand, took a puff and sat on his thighs. Kissing her he snatched the cigarette from her hand, put it out and threw the girl on the bed.  He quickly changed her position, the girl was now lying with her head pressed against the pillow, while Tommy took off her undergarments from behind and sank into a moment of repose.

After all, as he watched the blonde girl get dressed, he had the urge to talk to her so before he thought he asked her 

"What is your name" the girl looked at him scared

"Rose" she replied, getting dressed faster

"Your real name" he said, for he knew that like any prostitute she had a made up name 

"Jane" she murmured quietly 

"Why are you a prostitute, Jane "he was curious from the moment she walked in, because there was a posh demeanour about her, as if she had been born in the rich sosiety and had only recently worked in a brothel

"Money Mr.Shelby" she didn't say anything else, Thomas knowing that she won't talk anymore  lit another cigarette 

He did not notice that the girl Jane stood at the door and without turning to him said 

"And what are you doing here Mr.Shelby, I can see in your eyes a broken man who has long forgotten why he plays gangster"

"When I saw you before the visit, you were sitting with a beautiful woman, I doubt that she is your wife, but if you would just look closely you would see that she wants to help you" it was the last thing she said, quickly running out of the room

And Thomas was left alone again, in an empty bed that smells so nice of roses. The only thing he is sure of is that nothing in life lasts forever and he will fall off his pedestal one day.

[krakenator]

🌹🌻🌿🌺💫 Craigory

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

Craigory's come to realize "home" is a tricky concept for him because feeling welcome enough to comfortably exist in a place has... not been the norm.

He could inhabit his place in Toontown guiltlessly because it was his, his and Boomer's tinkering space with room for Pip when they were in town. It wasn't Henrick's place first or his aunt's or the Crowning Glory or Macabre manor, spaces where he felt like a guest at best and obligation at worst.

So, really... feeling at home in Network has been a gradual but pleasant surprise.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

Craigory likes taking a moment in places with lots of people going about their day, like parks or a market. Not so much that he particularly enjoys crowds or is specifically people watching, it's just the reminder that people are... around, if that makes sense. Living their lives. Kids laughing, passing snippets of conversation.

He likes the background noise of people, that's the way to put it. After a lot of isolation in his life it's nice to soak people in, even if not participating in the moment. Even big gatherings of friends might find him taking a moment to just sit in a corner and let it wash over. Doubles as decompression before going back into the thick of it.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

Craigory is an acts of service love language kinda guy. He will Try To Solve Your Problems, make life a little easier for you. It's big things like sinking time into researching Pip's missing colors, but it's also bring Lin a fresh cup of tea, telegraphing where he is while Decimals eyesight is fucked, hugging the hell out of Hugh because he knows it'll help.

What can he do to help you?

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

By default he tries to and assumes he is dealing with this alone. No good disturbing anyone else's sleep.

Just having another body in the room helps, even if they're not awake. Next step is light enough to confirm where he is. Grounding himself in tactile sensation and the immediate present is smart because Craigory is prone to Thinking Too Hard And Spiraling syndrome. Whether that's fluffy duvet or Lin's fur or somebody's hug... well. Whatever works.

💫What is your favorite fact about this character and why? I just think it's so so good that a guy who was raised to chronically isolate himself has not only done some good progression in deprogramming that mindset, but now has family and friends and connections up the wazoo.

Craigory Danthew is lovable. He was lovable the whole goddamn time. And he actually believes that now.

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

Ekphrasis in The Danton Case, Thermidor, and their adaptations

Ekphrasis is invoking a piece of visual media into a literary piece. It can be done for a variety of reasons, from entirely pragmatic (mostly grounding the literature in reality - if the invoked piece is a real piece of art, one you could find in a museum, for example) or more poetic (drawing some symbolic meaning between the piece of art and the idea behind the text).

In Przybyszewska's plays ekphrasis is nonexistent, at least on the foreground. I don't recall any clearly established visual, given to the readers by the original author. It's not weird in any way - how many pieces of medai do you recall which refrain from its sophisticated and additional piece of subtext and iformation? Hundreds, probably. The only other artistic thing that she has weaved into her plays is La Marseillaise, which is invoked twice in The Danton Case. There are also three book references to Othello, Orlando furioso and this one book Robespierre summarizes to Saint-Just when he's talking about hatred (but of which I have no idea if it's a real one - it probably is - or not). Other than that - nothing, plus the books count only a little, forekpfrasis should be, as I said, visual in nature.

Of course, the historical aspect of her works is what grounds them in our reality, and so cleverly, too (seeing as they're not really historical plays in any way or form, but manage to fool most anybody). And thanks to her extensive stage directions, we have no need of any additional element helping us visualize the scenes, for she does it perfectly enough on her own.

However, seein as these are plays calls for a mirror ekpfrastic effect and thus theatrical and cinematographical adapations are born. And they, on the other hand, have a potential to be filled to the brim with visual refernces. Here I would like to have a look at a few, which are taken from one of the most well known staging and the famous Wajda movie (plus some). In no particular order, there goes:

This is the very first scene of a controversial theatre adaptation of The Danton Case. Instead on portraying Robespierre as a firm leader, who only in the very end collapsed temporarily under the huge responsibility he now had to bear, the director decided to portray him as someone physically weak, not in the sense Danton meant when he called him a weakling, but in the sense of somebody who already bears so much responsibility, pain, physical ailments, doubts and whatnot. Just: everything, everythin a human could possible deal with, he deals with, and has to do so in a way that doesn't make people suspiscious about his "shortcomings". There is a interesting parallel between him and Saint-Just, whose upright and unbreakeable character is symbolised by a neck braces, something which people wear after a spine endangering accidents - and incidentally, wasn't it Saint-Just who accused Robespierre of "breaking his spine"? But not in this adaptation, oh no - here their very last scene is cut extremely short and they recite the last few sentences along with some Thermidor lines as two floating heads, a vision into the future which awaits them.

Enough about Saint-Just, though, let's focus on Robespierre and Marat. I must admit I know next to nothing about him, only what some passage here and there in this or that historical study might tell me, but I know, as does everybody, that he was known as L'ami du Peuple, which is why of the reasons, I think, why the director took this image and transposed it onto Robespierre: to make him even more likeable, to show for the umpteenth time that it is Robespierre whom we should cheer on and whom we should feel sorry for. This might also be a parallel between their both's tarnished health, their premature deaths and - last but not least - the role of an icon of the Rvolution both of them play in nowadays' audience's minds. You don't have to study history to knowwho Robespierre was, you don't have to study art to know this painting. Even if you don't agree with some more in-depth explanation of linking this person to this painting, it is a good opening image. It captures our attention in a good way.

I had mention Saint-Just and there he is, in the background of the picture, symbolically assisting Danton and his clique in their last moments. Instead of shwoign them in torn shirts, the director went into another direction altogether and enshrouded them in white sheets from heads to toes, making them all look like very stereotypical ghosts, whom they will all become in just a couple of moments.

In Polish culture, the first thing that comes to mind when talking about ghosts is Dziady, an old slavic tradition that is now replaced with the Catholic All Souls Eve. Dziady is no longer, apart from perhaps some small minorities who still practice old pagan faiths, but as a ritual, they are immortalised in a play by Adam Mickiewicz, undoubtedly the greatest Polish poet ever. Everybody know this play, some scens - by heart, and they were and are being staged pretty much constantly from one point on. Needless to say, they inspire a lot of art, and I decided to show this very fmous poster by the most famous Polish poster designer, Franciszek Starowieyski…

…who is important in this case, because he played David in Wajda's movie.

Not many people know - because his other carreer overshadowed by a lot his first one - that Wajda was a painter. Who actually hated his art, some of his pieces are in the national museum of contemporary art in Łódź alongside stars such as Władysław Strzemiński (the hero of Wajda's very last movie), which is a fact he absolutely detested. I dont know, nor do I care, why was that, because what matters is his previous education as an artist at the very least helped him not only to envision the visuals of the movie, but also acquainted him with great works of art. On which he could model this or that setup. I think it's a nice little detail he catsed Starowieyski as David, a real painter acting as another real painter, it adds a layer of reality onto the movie, and presumably makes for a more natural acting in the few scenes he was in his studio (I also think they look alike).

Speaking of David's studio, I once stumbled upon a lecture which drew parallels between some scenes in the movie and some paitings, which was mostly focused on character and costume design, and truth be told didn't contribute much to the overall watching experience of Danton. However, I must admit the lecturer had a very good eye in this one particular case, in which he pointed out that this quick shot in David's studio pretty obviously invokes the Fussli's The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins. I don't think it's a coincidence (or at the very least, would be funny if it were) this shot is shown during the scene where Robespierre starts to grasp at desperate measures to save the country/save his own face in the trial. It is an artist's despair, only artist of a different kind. And it is a despair when being faced with a (possible) ruin of something great, even if its greatness is not yet formed, as opposed to the greatness passed.

The very last example I was able to think of was this photo I found of The Danton Case from 1975. It is one of those old, very classical (I presume) adaptations, which are mostly filled to the brim with riddiculosly attractive people and very often deliberately drew from other sources of artistry, like the one pictured above. No matter what the real relationship between Louise Danton and her husband was, in the play it is portrayed as something atrocious, and I cringe whenever directors try to make it something else without good reasons for doing so, so I am very glad in the past at least they stuck with classicaly depicted acts of violation against women, not because it is a violation, but because in the classical stories (like the myth of Persephone shown in the sculpture above) the woman will usually get her revenge. Just like Przybyszewska's Louison did.

Thank you for bearing with me until the end, and if you have any other examples of this come to your mind, I compel you to share them with me!

List of pieces of art in the order of their appearance:

Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat

Franciszek Starowieyski, Dziady

Jacques-Louis David, Self-portrait

Heinrich Fussli, The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins

Gianlorenzo Bernini, The Rape Of Persephone

[emma-nation]

The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

[dreamiesdotcom]

careful (slow spin-off) | l.jn, n.jm

Summary: With Jaemin, things are just... a lot nicer. Lighter.

Word Count: 1.6k

"Hyuck, stop staring. Jaemin seems sweet and all, but he looks like he's ready to pick a fight," Mark groans then slouches at his chair.

Was he up making music again? Why is Mark so devoted to helping that guy? Jeno doesn't really understand.

He looks at Donghyuck, then to where he's staring at. He briefly recognizes Renjun and his friends, one of them with entwined fingers as Na Jaemin. That's the person Donghyuck has been staring at for the past fifteen minutes.

"Hyuck. Seriously, I don't think you even know his best friend's name."

"That lovely person right there, you see, is Y/N," Donghyuck proudly states. He scoffs, "Please, I don't go around flirting with strangers. "

Jeno returns a similar expression, momentarily bringing down his book. He tilts his head, "Well, have you ever hung out?"

He pauses, breathes one beat late, and then sighs. Mark sits up straight, steals a glance at the other side of the room, and then waits for Donghyuck's answer.

The sunkissed boy just shakes his head, "No."

There's just enough pause there, enough hesitance in his voice that he cannot be trusted. Instead of pointing that out, Jeno laughs, shrugs, and sets his eyes on his book. Whatever the hell it is that happened between pages 108 and 112, he doesn't understand at all.

Jeno tries to recall an old memory: he remembers being teamed up with Huang Renjun for a while because of a photography project. He remembers staying up late with the boy at a convenience store, editing pictures, and drowning in coffee.

They didn't talk much — the only time Renjun talked about something other than the task at hand was when he was pointing at the park across, and that brings him to the question; Why did Donghyuck lie?

"Let's just get out of here," Mark announces, drinking his coffee quickly.

Jeno absentmindedly collects his belongings as Hyuck blushes over whatever it is they heard that he didn't, and then stands up and heads for the door. He lets them walk first, then he watches for a while.

What is it exactly that brought him to this point?

"Careful..." were the words Mark drawled out to Jeno back then when they were much younger. Then, after that, he'd smile, "You look at Hyuck like you're about to fall. Careful, Lee Jeno."

But Jeno didn't need to hear that, not from Mark at least. He was responsible and rational, he thought things through before he dived deep — Mark does the same, but he's all blurs between safe and dangerous and the last thing Jeno needs is Mark telling him to be careful because the older's definition of careful is most people's careless. That was a piece of advice, though. Jeno should've listened.

Jeno didn't need Mark to tell him to watch himself before he falls, because he knows what's proper and what's not. It was out of his control that everything seemed right with Donghyuck.

###

What does blue taste like? Jeno read from that one time Mark's recent subject has left his notebook. He didn't mean to look at what doesn't belong to him, but the question has him curious enough.

The answer? It's something Jeno can't seem to get out of his mind.

What does blue taste like? Repeats the question. The answer comes in rough cursive, sloppy, and messy handwriting, as if the writer couldn't see through the emotions they felt as they scribbled out: For me, it's sometimes bitter, sort of sweet, and it's overwhelmingly strong. It's watching your friends fall in love with each other. It's falling in love with one of your best friends.

Sometimes it tastes like the orange juice you drink as you watch said best friend fall in love with somebody else, sour like the realization that it wasn't you he fell for when all you've done is crash to him.

And truthfully, the kid was weird, but he was adorable. He's tall, handsome, and he danced like he was born for it, so good that Jeno really wouldn't be surprised if he was, but he was shy and awkward and clumsy as well, far from the bubbly and confident people his best friend liked. He didn't see why Mark was so interested in this kid.

As he accidentally reads this page, however, he doesn't care for all of that. He just wonders how sweet smiles carry such heartaches, and maybe, he thinks of how similar they are .

He doesn't know what the hell it was that happened within those months his best friend — the one he's hopelessly in love with — shined brighter than the others, but right now he thinks he has a clue: playing the guitar side by side with Mark on Christmas Eve, watching Donghyuck kiss the love of his life under the mistletoe (which he manually holds above their heads) after singing that person a song he wrote for months. Jeno's pretty sure he doesn't need any context anymore. He just keeps on thinking about the excerpt he accidentally read from Park Jisung's notebook and then laughs along even if he doesn't understand anything going on.

He walks home that day without telling either Mark or Hyuck.

###

Na Jaemin was an occurrence that happened every now and then.

They were friends when they were younger, that's something he wouldn't deny. Somewhere around the room, he knows he still has photos with him laying around. It was a seasonal kind of friendship, and then the occasional kind as they grew up, until it was just... not there. He doesn't know what happened. They're in good terms, he knows that as they've worked on a task together before, but they've never really hung out like then.

Well, not until their best friends got together, at least.

Their circles just kind of merged after that Christmas. There wasn't much change in their routines; they still go on sleepovers, eat lunch together, walk home in groups. Only that this time, there are more people, and there's more laughter, and Jeno isn't looking wistfully at someone all alone.

Jaemin does the same.

It's kind of funny, really. These past few months, it feels like he's catching up to all those lost touches with Jaemin — he's the same weird guy he knew from childhood.

It was awkward at first but then before he knows it, they're all falling into their places like puzzle pieces. Before he knows it, months have passed and they've got closer and they're hanging out at his place, just the two of them, staring at the plastic stars on his ceiling. Unlike before, the unspoken feelings he has for Donghyuck only hurts a little.

With Jaemin, things are just... a lot nicer. Lighter.

"Jisung needs to stop leaving his goddamned notebook around," Jaemin complains, lowering the volume of his speakers so they could talk. Jeno rests his face on his palms, carefully watching the other boy. "He's great at writing but honestly, Jeno, I'm starting to feel guilty. I keep on accidentally reading his stuff and — I need to stop. Oh my God. He's working hard for that showcase and I'm here, peeping at his secret notebook!"

"Well, just ask him? You've been friends for a while now. You even said you basically raised him."

"Well, I did, but I wasn't even supposed to know about it, Jen."

Or maybe you are, Jeno thinks in his head, making some space on the bed for Jaemin who crawls right next to him. He sighs deeply, maybe you keep on stumbling around it because he hopes you'd see. Maybe he hopes you'd realize that he's in love with you.

They stay like that, quiet for a while. After ten minutes, Jaemin seems to fall asleep — he doesn't know when they grew close enough to doze off cuddling, but maybe it's just... always meant to be like this. They'd get their hearts broken and then they'd find solace with each other and they'd grow fond.

He thinks of Jisung for a little, and then he thinks of Mark. He's pretty sure Chenle could be thrown in the mix as well — he thinks of how he and Jaemin used to be part of that unspoken mess, too. Perhaps it's because something weird makes you fall in love with your best friend, like an odd charm. Or maybe it was just them.

These days, Donghyuck doesn't make his heart race as much — he gets excited, sure, seeing him and hanging out, but not for the old reasons. He's happy to see him. He loves him still, too, but it's a different kind of love — the kind he shares for Mark. The kind he's slowly starting to share with their newfound family.

Something changed, too. It felt like a new world after choosing to let his feelings for Donghyuck go, and it seemed like the past weeks, he feels something similar beginning to bloom.

When did it start? From the heartaches they shared stories about? The time they spent together? Did it begin from when they'd started hanging out again? He isn't really sure — all that he's certain about its that beside him, Jaemin looks peaceful and safe, and then Jeno muses to himself: "If you continue being like this, I might fall in love."

He could just hear Mark's voice right now — "Careful, Lee Jeno." — and he could just recall Jisung's hastily written words — 'You look at that person and you feel like you could conquer the world with one hand, but you choose to fall' — and oh, he could.

He could fall.

He's so sure of it — he could fall.

Later, when Jeno keeps his eyes closed at a failed attempt on sleep, Jaemin opens his and presses closer — "Please do."

[shannygoatgruff]

Grown & SeXY - Chapter 2

Header made by the talented @flowers-in-your-hayr​

For @youbloodymadgenius​​ for your 400 Followers Writing Challenge.  Congrats on your success!

Genre:  Romance/Comedy

Pairing:  Modern Ivar x Mature OC

Warning: Language/mild angst/Sexual content

Rating: M

Summary: A relationship between Generations X & Y will help this XX & XY learn a lot about themselves, each other, and love.  Cougar/cub relationships aren’t always just about a midlife crisis and arm candy.

A/N:  I got the concept for this story from a conversation I was having with @youbloodymadgenius​​.  I hope I do it justice.  This story is for you!

Chapter 2

Biiiiiitch!  Where have you been?  I’ve been IMing you but you been ducking me like I’m the IRS. Shit, I’m surprised we talking now - you mad at me or something?  Did somebody tell you that they heard some shit about you from me?  Because they were fucking lying. I wouldn’t do that. You know I don’t like all that gossip shit and I'm not one to put all people's business out on Front Street, like that.

So, girl, I need to holler at you about something right quick. What the hell is up with the non-disclosure agreement I sent you? Cause I damn sure didn’t get a signed copy back in my mailbox. Now, maybe I’m the slow bitch in the class, but it seems to me that there are a few more people in on our private meeting than just us, like we had previously discussed. 

Now, I’m not saying that you said something, but I know I sure as hell didn’t. So, if I was over here keeping my sexy ass mouth shut  (cause that how a bitch do) and you haven't said shit either, then who the fuck else is talking? You know, I bet it was probably those same bitches that were running around saying that they heard that I was talking shit about you. I tell you, people today ain't about shit. Well, fuck them.

Just so you know, I didn't call you to try to check you or anything. I called to try to catch you up on this grown and sexy shit cause bitch you are hella behind. Okay...I told you about how Marisol was at the club and met this fine ass little young boy at the bar, who turned out to be her high school BFF’s little brother, right? Did I tell you about how Marisol’s son and King Ding-A-Ling hate each other or how they met up at a party at his daddy’s house? Shit bitch, what do you know? I feel like I’m starting this shit all over at the beginning, again! Seriously hooker, keep up because before I can get into this shit, I have to set the scene. 

So, you need all the dirt on Ivar’s family so moving forward you know what the fuck I’m talking about when I just start dropping shit on you like Pearl Harbor.  Believe me, hon-ty when I tell you, these motherfuckers got some Telenovela, Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal type shit with them. 

Alright now, let me start with his parents. You ever see a really attractive man and you figure, his daddy must have been cute when he was younger? Well, that’s Ivar’s daddy, Mr. Ragnar Lothbrok – or as I like to call him, Dick Daddy Yo.  

Now, child, Dick Daddy is fine as a motherfucker. And, I’m not talking regular run-of-the-mill attractive for a man in his late 50s – early 60s, who was probably knocking down everything back in the day, type of fine, either. No Queen - I’m talking, this motherfucker could get it TODAY, immediately, right now, if he asked for it. Shit, bitch, quiet as kept, he wouldn’t even have to ask. All he would have to do is set those baby blue eyes in my direction, and I would hand him the drawers.

So, back in the day, when they still lived in Norway, Dick Daddy married this total dime piece named Lagertha. When I tell you she was a bad bitch, I mean she was a Bad Bitch!  Shit, she still bad to this day thirty-some years later.  She was built, blond and beautiful, plus that bitch could box. I don’t know what kind of thug shit they taught her over there in the old country where they came from, but this broad was like Ronda Rousey out there in those Kattegat streets.  

Anyhoo, when Lagertha and Ragnar got married, she found out that Ragnar had that Super D and she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep all that good dick to herself because he liked to sling it all over town. So she told him to go do his dirt, but he better brings his fine ass home to her every night. Of course, he was all like, cool, he could have a dime piece at home and get cutty on the side…alright, bet!  

Well, honey, next thing you know, he gets hooked up with this fatal attraction type, funny looking broad named, Aslaug. Girl, Aslaug gets dickmatized and follows Ragnar around like a puppy, and the next thing you know he had to figure out how to bring a whole ass side-chick home to his dime piece wife. He must of came back with some shit like, “Baby, you know that girl Aslaug can cook and she’ll do that thing that you don’t like to do…you know cause she a freak…so really, it’s a win-win for us both.”  

So, I figure dude’s dick must have been dipped in platinum, because Lagertha was like, “Whatever, Dick Daddy,” cause the next thing you know all three of them are living together and these two bitches were sister-wives.  

Chile! But, here’s where the shit gets juicy!  Ooh, girl! The whole time Ragnar was out there in them streets, Lagertha’s sexy ass was knocking over his brother, Rollo, and word around the campfire is, one of them kids ain’t really Ragnar’s…biiiiiitttttttch! I can't make this shit up!

So anyway, by the time all those damn babies came all 50/11 of them moved here to that big blue house at the end of Greenwich, you know the one with the big ass fence front and the nice pool? The one that the young people always have all the parties at...yeah, that one well, that’s where they still live.  

Now onto the kids. Honey, Ragnar has five maybe six kids that he’s claiming. I'm sure it's more out there, but I'm telling you about the ones I know about. First, you got the two he has with Lagertha; that’s Bjorn, and Gyda (that’s if don’t think Bjorn is Rollo’s son).  But what the hell, I’ll take “Let’s Pretend That Bjorn Is Ragnar’s Kid” for $200, Alex…  

So, Bjorn is the oldest of all of the kids. And what can I say about BJ?  BJ is fucking…girl, he’s just fucking. He’s fucking any and everything. That man. Jesus jumped up.  He’s about 6’3”, 250lbs, muscular, blond, these piercing blue eyes. This smile…strong jawline. He has these hands, right? These hands that you know could just grip you right up under your ass cheeks and hold you up against a wall, and these arms…gurl, make me want to faint like a white woman! Hmm.  

BJ reminds me of Ragnar. Hell, all those kids remind me of him in some way, but Bjorn oozes sex like Ragnar. I don’t know what it is, but watch your uterus around him. If you stand too close to BJ, your pussy is liable to jump in his back pocket and you won’t even notice that it’s gone.  

BJ has a shit-ton of kids though and has been married like 150 times. I don’t know what it is, but he finds these blonde women, fucks them, marries them, has 20 babies with, and then gets divorced. He’s a shitty husband, but I bet you he’s a fire ass lay. 

Then there’s Gyda, we call her Da-Da. She’s just beautiful. Whew. She got those looks from both of her parents.  It is honestly painful to look at her. She’s the charming side of Ragnar. The side that’ll have you naked and buying her ass a house and a car before the waiter finishes taking your order on the first date.  It’s a good thing she’s a nice person because if she was an evil bitch, there’s no telling what she would be up to. She’s another tall one, with blonde hair and blue eyes. But, she’s built like her mother. This bitch looks like she needs to be holding a fundraiser where she’s wearing clear heels, in a strip club, called Twerking For Jesus or some shit.

Now, if those two gorgeous kids weren’t enough to make everyone else in the world jealous of how good the D and the seed were from Ragnar, he had to go and spread it around some more with that weird bitch, Aslaug. They have four boys; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. I don’t know how those boys ended up being so fine because Aslaug’s ass is not what I would call attractive. But, they got Ragnar’s genes and miracles never cease to amaze me.  

All, but one, of them can get it any day.    

Let’s start with Ubbe. It’s a long story, I don’t remember the particulars, but he’s known around the way as, Weebae. I can’t remember if it’s because he was small when as a baby, or because he used to cry all the damn time.  But, whatever the case, if you hear a motherfucker asking for Weebae, they talking about Ubbe. Anyway, Wee is Ragnar’s twin. That child looks like Ragnar just spit him out on the street, only I don’t know where in the fuck he got his personality, cause Ragnar ain’t that fucking nice and Aslaug is a fucking cunt.  

Have you ever met somebody that’s so damn nice, that they seem like a bitch ass?  Like they are just softer than a motherfucker? Somebody that constantly lets people run over the top of him all the damn time and you just want to be like, yo you’s a giant whore! Well, that’s Wee. If he wasn’t so damn sexy, I would be like you soft, brah…get your punk ass away from me. But seeing as how fine he is, I’m like…bring your sensitive ass over here and let me make it all better, with your sexy self. Cause, you know, Mama loves the sensitive ones.

Who’s next? Oh, yeah, the next one is Hvitserk. I know it’s a fucked up name, but no one calls him that. They call him Boobie. Why do you ask? Because Boobie loves titties. I swear that boy was trying to get everybody to breastfeed him since he was born. The bigger a woman's boobs, the more Boobie is into her. But he's such a freaking cutie pie! He doesn’t look like Ragnar to me, but he reminds me of him in that way where as long as he can fuck and eat, he doesn’t give a fuck about much else. He’s the type that never has the same job or girlfriend for too long. He just goes with the flow and stays around until he gets bored.  

Now Boobie favors Ragnar but not as much as some of the other kids.  He’s got this cute baby face, with this sandy blonde hair and these pretty green eyes, like Aslaug.  When you see him, you just want to pinch his cheeks on his face and his ass.  And because he seems like such a little lost puppy, you just want to take him home, and take care of him…maybe tie him up to your bed and ride his ass like he’s Budweiser Clysdale in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, too.     

Then there’s Sigurd…oh, Siggy. I call him, Brother Useless. He got all of Aslaug’s genes. It must be hard to look like Sigurd when you are born into that family. To be below average looking when you have extraordinarily attractive siblings, how does one go one with life?  By being a giant dick, that’s how.  Siggy fucking sucks donkey balls. He irks my fucking life. Siggy and I have history, outside of this little tale, and believe me he’s a dick in those stories, too.  

Anyway, he looks just like his mama with facial hair.  It’s really quite unfortunate. He reminds me of one of those Muppets off of the Dark Crystal. When I first found out that he was one of Ragnar’s sons, my first response was, I know you fucking lying! They should have just thrown the whole damn child away. See, Ragnar, that’s what happens when you go slumming with a funny looking chick…you get a funny looking kid with a fucked up personality.  God don't like ugly...

But He redeemed your good name with Lil' Man. Oh, my sweet Ivar.  This boy looks nothing like either of his parents but is the total embodiment of his father. Ivar is sexy. No, let me rephrase that for the bitches in the back...I said, IVAR IS SEXY. Bitch, I don’t know if there is even a word to describe the level of attractiveness this little bastard has. I don’t know if it’s that life-altering smile, or the dark hair and pale blue eyes. Shit, it could be that intense stare he has or those arms…or it could be that chest or maybe it’s that ass that you just want to bite and those lips that make you just want to sit on his face. Whatever it is about him, that boy makes you tingle in the most unladylike of places.  

Now, when Ivar was born, something was wrong with him and he needed an operation. He was fine afterward, but Aslaug’s dramatical ass was acting like he was on his damn death bed and treated him like he was Samuel L. Jackson in Unbreakable. So, naturally, he grew up spoiled as shit. So now, this child don’t know how to do shit. He thinks everybody supposed to hand him everything, just because he’s cute.  

Honey, short of my number and panties, he gonna have to work for everything else like everybody else.  But see, you can’t tell fine, muscular, spoiled ass, motherfuckers, with beautiful eyes, killer smiles, nice hair, and that smell good all the fucking time that they’re not special. Oh, no, because they will try to prove you wrong. At least he finished college and doesn’t have any kids. But if his ass would get a job…Sorry, I’m skipping ahead.  

Okay, so you have the background on the family.  Now check out how this shit went down...

Being in the Lothbrok house brought back a ton of memories for Soli. She had spent a good part of her adolescence there with her best friend, Gyda.  The two of them had countless sleepovers, movie marathons, and of course their love of all the teenage heartthrobs of the 80s and 90s. Teen Bop, Tiger Beat, and 17 Magazines fed their obsessions for Kirk Cameron, Corey Haim, Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and Mario Lopez. I was always a Joey Lawerence girl myself, but that’s neither here nor there.

That was until that one time the two of them got into this huge fight over who was going to marry Justin Timberlake. But then Bjorn told them that he thought Ryan Philippe was the same person and the girls realized that they did look a lot alike. So, Soli took JT and Gyda took Ryan, and they all lived happily ever after.  

As she accepted the glass of champagne from the tray, Soli looked around the hallway leading out to the patio. It was amazing how different the house looked now. Since the remodel nothing was where she had remembered. The living room used to be to the left of the hallway, and there had been a large formal dining room to the right. They also used to have a huge kitchen right behind the dining room and then the family room sat just behind there, with the entrance to the back yard. It was always a good-sized house, but the way it was cut up, with these weird doorways and walls in the most awkward of places, it always felt cramped, especially with so many people living there.  

But this? The open concept floor plan, no walls to obstruct the view...spacious, huge windows, lots of sunlight...it was gorgeous! Lothbrok Designs, LLC did one hell of a job. Everything from the floor plan to the decor was beautiful. Maybe Soli could get them to hook her up discount and do some work around her house.

“Hey there! I thought I saw you,” Gyda smiled walking over to Marisol with her arms out. “Oh Sonni, you look so good! I still can’t get over how you haven’t aged a bit. And girl, that body!”  

Soli spun around in a circle to give her friend the full view. Even she had to admit, the off the shoulder, floral printed, Boho, maxi-dress looked damn good on her. Especially the way the soft pink color played with the beautiful warm tones in her toffee-colored skin. And honey, she was rocking this split that came all the up the front of the dress to the bodice, that would have been showing all of the church's business if it wasn't for that little white chiffon underdress thing. Honey...forty where? She was a banger and she knew it. “Well, you know forty is new twenty. I didn’t get to do my twenties right because I had Mani, but now I'm single and I'm ready to mingle! And you, Diva…”

“Well, thanks. You know...I get it from my Mama." Gyda did a little shimmy and laughed. "Thank you so much for coming. It’s so good to have you back in town. I know my parents are excited to see you again.” She looked around the room and waved at a guest who was walking by, “Everyone was excited that you said you were coming.”  

Everyone? Why did Gyda say it like that? Soli was excited to catch up with the family, too, but damn. Soli knew that little cutie Ivar was going to be there, but that was nothing. A little innocent eye flirting at the bar a couple of weeks ago didn't mean anything. She hadn't seen or thought of that boy since. And she wasn't thinking about him today...well, not that much, anyway.

“Da-Da,” A gorgeous older blond man came up to Gyda and placed a soft kiss on the side of her head, before turning his attention to Soli. “No, you can’t be…Marisol Peña? The young lady I saw as much as my daughter growing up?” Ragnar walked over to Soli and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Soli chuckled and shook her head when she felt his hands linger at her waist a second longer than they should have. “Oh, Mr. Lothbrok,” Soli she patted him lightly on the chest taking a half step back to take in that beautiful smile, “Oh, it’s been too long. You still look good.” She smiled, feeling his hands slowly move down her side to now rest on her hips.

“And you still are as beautiful as ever,” he said leaning in toward her to talk to her. He had always had this strange way articulating certain words and sometimes he would get uncomfortably close when he would talk to people. Gyda used to get embarrassed because her father would get all up on her friends when he spoke to them, but Marisol always thought it was kind of sexy the way he would breathe on her when he talked.  

She felt herself being hypnotized momentarily by all that sexy, but she quickly regained her senses. “Mr. Lothbrok,” she tutted keeping a careful eye on him as he slowly walked around her in a circle with a sly grin on his face, “I see you're still as smooth as ever.” 

It was fluid the way Ragnar brushed his face next to Soli’s ear to whisper in his sexy accent, making the tendrils of hair tickle her neck, “Ragnar.”  

"Ragnar," she giggled. He was still a DILF, even after all these years.

“Ragnar?”  A feminine voice called causing everyone to turn toward a tall strawberry-blonde in flowing green empire dress standing at the patio door, “Come, lunch is ready and we will have cake.” For as tall and thin as she was the dress did nothing for her. A hottie like Lagertha could have pulled it off, but not her. Although, the navy blue and dark green embroidery did accentuate the red in her hair and her green eyes.    

Soli’s eyes widened as she turned to Gyda, devastated. “Is that Aslaug?” she whispered.  As they all began walking through the house toward the backyard she found herself laughing at the expression on Gyda's face. “Bitch, shut up.” Oh, they had so much to catch up on. 

Judging by how good Aslaug looked, she had had some work done. She was still funny looking, but she looked a whole hell of a lot better than she did when Soli knew her.  

Time seemed to fly by for Soli as she sat in backyard eating, laughing, and drinking with her childhood friend. She had forgotten how much she missed Gyda. But being with her and the family, it felt like they never missed a beat.  She even sat at the table reserved for Ragnar's kids and had no problem catching up with each one of them. Oh, the gossip she found out about sitting there.

For example, Weebae was married to BJ's ex-wife, Torvi, who left BJ with four children and is now having a baby with Bae. And you know the crazy thing is all of them are still talking like nothing ever happened? Or how about this, apparently something happened between Siggy and Ivar - no one is talking about what it is yet, but the two of them don't talk. They can be sitting at the same table and won't utter two words to each other. And did you know that none of the brothers knew why Soli and Gyda fell out all those years ago? I know, but that ain’t my place to say, so done tucked that one way down deep in my bra, honey. All I know is I could write a whole other story about this damn family’s shenanigans alone!  

“Man, I wish I could remember that!” Siggy laughed throwing his napkin on his plate.  “I would have loved to see the look on Bae’s face!” He gently nudged his brother’s arm as he continued to make fun of him.  

Ubbe shook his head and lowered his eyes as the stain of blush colored his cheeks, “I can’t believe that was you,” he said to Soli, “I remember running through the house naked, but I never remembered why.”  

Soli smiled around her glass of wine, trying her best to ignore the incredibly attractive younger man sitting next to her. "I remember why. I remember that little birthmark on your ass, too."

Gyda laughed putting the last of her spoonful of cake in her mouth. “Oooh, Beege, do you remember that time we were playing Van Damme and you ended up in the emergency room?” 

Bjorn rolled his eyes and tried to cover his brow with his hand, “Of course I remember!  How could I forget?” He started rubbing his inner thigh at the memory.  He looked around the table at all of his brothers’ faces who were rapted with excitement, smiles already plastered on their faces, dying to hear the story.  “So, I might have been about 13, Da-Da and Soli might have been around 11 or so. Anyway, we used to always watch Daddy's Jean-Claude Van Damme movies. I was obsessed - he was a total bad-ass to me. We had no business watching them because they were rated R and too violent for us to be watching, but we didn't care. And after the movies, we always would play Van Damme and act out our own scenes but do all the karate moves we just saw.”

“But, he always thought he automatically got to be Van Damme because he was a boy, and he always tried to make me the stupid female sidekick. I wanted to be the badass female Van Damme, ya know?" Soli said rolling her eyes.

“Wait, where was Da-Da?”  Ubbe asked.

“I always wanted to be the bad guy,” Gyda shrugged, “What? It was fun.”  

"Yeah, we used to whip her ass, "Soli laughed, “So, this one day BJ and I got in this big argument about who should get to be Van Damme in our reenactment. Of course, he thought he should be because he’s a boy, and I said that I should be because I could do the split. You remember the splits he used to do, right?” She looked around the table and watched everyone nod.

That is, all except one, “No…he’s the guy with that show on HULU now, right?” Ivar asked, turning in his chair so that his outstretch leg brushed Soli’s shin under the table. “He used to do action movies?”

Rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the question, Soli reached into her small clutch bag and pulled out her phone. “I keep forgetting you’re a child. Of course, you don’t know anything about Jean-Claude Van Damme.  When were you born, like 6 months ago?” She quickly found a picture of the Van Damme split online and handed her phone to Ivar. 

“So, in the movie Double Impact, he did the split when he had his legs on these chairs and his pelvis was suspended between them…I knew I could do it. I had been taking gymnastics since I was six. But BJ, thought because he was a boy he was naturally superior.”

“Oh God, Beege…what happened?” Hvitserk asked popping open another beer.

“The chairs moved, man.” Bjorn said sadly, “Daddy had to take me to the hospital.  My nuts twisted; sprained my dick.” He tried to hold back his laugh but listening to how funny his brothers found his childhood misfortune made Bjorn laugh, too. “Never played Van Damme again.”

“And you never bet against me again, that’s for sure.” Soli felt Ivar’s hand brush against the side of hers and when she turned to face him he was handing back her phone. She noticed that when he leaned over toward her that the first two buttons of his classic white button-down shirt were undone, exposing his thick neck, and collarbone to her. Would it be rude if she tried to get a peek down his shirt? She didn't think so. What was rude was him smelling like a clean ocean breeze or wearing that damn white shirt against his tanned skin. 

Ivar put the phone in her open palm and closed his hand around hers. The hint of a smile started with one corner of his mouth and as his tongue darted out of his mouth and started worrying the bottom corner of the lip. 

“So, um…you can do that split, huh?” There it was. That come sit on my face smile. She had to watch out for this little bastard.

“Yep and  I can do it on a handstand,” she whispered back, and winked at him, pursing her lips to keep herself from smiling. God, this kid was so damn cute, but she shouldn't be flirting with him, even if it was who she was by nature. He was too young. It was too wrong. He was too sexy. She hadn’t had sex in a very long time.  This was tricky. She knew the family.  He had muscles. “Close your mouth there, Baby Ivey.” She patted his shoulder feeling the striations under her fingertips. That was another thing, she had to stop touching him!

“Hey Mom,” Soli’s son, Mani walked over to the table she was sitting at wearing a nice pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She had made him promise to drop by for a minute, just to say hi to some of her childhood friends before he went to a party of his own. The things he did for that woman.  

“There’s my Baby Boy!” Soli said, standing up. “Mani, I want you to meet my second family when I was growing up. This was my best friend, Gyda, and her brothers Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.” She gestured her hand to each person as she said their names. “Everyone, this is my son, Miguel.”  

Ivar smiled and stood up, offering his hand to shake, “I remember you from school. Cartoon Boy, right?”

Mani’s posture stiffened and his warm brown eyes hardened almost instantly, “I don’t remember Jock Strap.” Mani had hated Ivar since they were in high school. Even as a teenager he thought Ivar Raganarsson was a dick. He was an entitled asshole who thought the world owed him something. He had walked around that school like he was the shit and because Mani was younger, smaller and didn’t play sports, Ivar just fucking sucked toward him. He never bullied him, but he always acted like Mani was beneath him.  

Well, fuck Ivar and his big ass beaver teeth smile…got on his fucking nerves. Mani turned his attention to the rest of the table. “It was nice to meet all of you, but I have another engagement. I just stopped by to drop something off to my mom.” 

“Excuse me,” Soli said getting up from the table. She was ready to punch Mani in the throat. She had specifically told him that when he came to the house not to say anything insulting to Ivar. And if she had to listen to one more minute of how much Mani hated Ivar she was going to scream. Since she told him about that first time seeing him at the bar all she had heard was how much of an asshole Ivar had been in high school and how he stole the lead in the school play Mani’s sophomore year. Did she care? Not at all. Mani was 22 years old now and he was still holding a grudge about something that happened when he was 15.  

She walked back into the house with her son following him to the front door. The fake she was forcing was hurting her face. “What the fuck was that, Mani?”

“You see him with that Fuck Boy Ricky hairstyle? I swear Mom, he’s a total Dickbag.” Mani rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “And you're friends with his people? That's a whole new level of douchery, even for you, Mom.”  

“Oh my, God…I’m not. Not right now.” She got on her tiptoes to kiss her son on the cheek. “Have fun tonight. I love you.”

“I’m telling you, watch that fucktard.”

"Get out," Soli pushed her son out of the door and sighed. This was reason number 4,037 why she never dated. Mani hated and had something to say about everyone. Not saying that she wanted to date Ivar or anything, but just saying that Mani had a problem with every male that she was even friendly with. It was hopeless. Her ex-husband was going to be the last man she’d ever have sex with.  Oh, the humanity of it all...

Soli walked back to the family table with a fresh glass of wine and sat back with a smile as she watched the siblings pose for their family photos.  The pictures were going to be gorgeous - they were a beautiful family. There were so many photos being taken, too. There were poses of Ragnar, both his wives, all of his children, and grandchildren. Even the photos of the divisions of the families were beautiful. But the most captivating thing to Soli was that Ivar was the photographer.  

He was so patient and genuinely seemed to be having a good time doing it.  He was a natural. He laughed as he directed his family and smiled a huge, smile with every picture he took. He was engaging and extremely creative. Looking at him, she would have never have guessed he had an artistic side to him. When Soli realized that she had a full-blown smile on her face watching Ivar and not the family she shook her head and grabbed her phone for a distraction. 

Taking a sip of wine, she checked her text messages and almost choked. There as only one missed message and it was from a number that she didn't recognize. He must have called himself on her phone to get her number. 

She couldn't stop the big ass smile from spreading across her face as she read:

‘Splits and handstands?  I💓 gymnastics! ~ Baby Ivey’

So, girl, that’s what happened with that. Don’t worry, we are about to get into the good shit, I promise. I'm telling this story honey and bitch I'm building suspense.  

I'll talk to you later girl. And next time, I ping you, answer your girl. Don’t be screening me like I’m that dude at the club that you trying to get rid of.  

Chapter 1

Tags:  @youbloodymadgenius​​ @idea-garden @kol--mikaelson​​ @mooniemouse​​ @didiintheblog​​ @waiting4inspiration​​ @tempt-ress​ @where-beauty-goes-to-die @crazyaboutmotleycrue​​ @oddsnendsfanfics​​ @geekandbooknerd​​ @ivarthebloodyking​​ @honestsycrets​​   @xbellaxcarolinax​​  @zuxiezendler​​ @inforapound​​​  @a-mess-of-fandoms​​

[liron-ao3]

Someone to watch over me

A Destiel Songfic

♫ There's a saying old, says that love is blind

Still we're often told, "seek and ye shall find"

So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind ♫

Ella Fitzgerald comes over the tinny loudspeakers of the diner. The leather under Dean's ass has surely seen better days, worn out and cracked as it is. The menu is the usual stuff but nothing really tickles his fancy.

Dead inside. Is that really what he is? It was easier to tell himself that he was just well-fed with alcohol, sex, and food.

But if this were true - and it's still a big if - why is it hurting so much to hear Sammy cry in anguish? He's safe in Bobby's panic room. Castiel assured him that everything would be fine. But it doesn't feel like that. And shouldn't he just be indifferent to all of it if Famine had told the truth?

♫ Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet

He's the big affair I cannot forget

Only man I ever think of with regret ♫

Regrets. Dean knows these. They are eating him up from the inside out, gnawing at his heart and his mind. He's good at ignoring them, though. Maybe that is what Famine misunderstood. That there is longing, desire, hope - just so well hidden that even the master of yearning can't see it.

Dean has stopped looking for something good to happen to him a long time ago. It wasn't meant for him. Happiness - that's what other people have. Not Dean Winchester. He is an instrument for others to live their lives untouched by the things lingering in the darkness.

He isn't looking for anything or anyone. He takes the little that he gets, tries to save as many as he can, exists for a purpose, not for himself. It's easier this way. Because feelings are messy, hopes can be crushed, and trusting someone else with your heart is the most dangerous thing of all.

♫ I'd like to add his initial to my monogram

Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb? ♫

Would he even be able to live a normal life? Married with children, a swing in the perfectly kept garden?

Dean snorts at his own thoughts. As if there could ever be someone who actually wanted this with him. Who knew who he was and still would stay. Not despite, but maybe because of it. Someone who held him after the nightmares, who listened to the details born out of reality. Who'd say that it would be alright and whose words he would believe enough to fall back to sleep again.

♫ There's a somebody I'm longing to see

I hope that he, turns out to be

Someone who'll watch over me ♫

The door to the restroom flies open and Dean smirks at Castiel who cleaned up a little bird accident. Funny how he tries to fit in, not cleaning himself with his mojo or whatever knits his clothes back together and dry-cleans them.

Dean wouldn't confess this out loud, but the angel's presence has a calming effect on him. At least most of the time. It's still unsettling to find him on the edge of his bed, sometimes. Staring at him. Dean isn't quite sure what Castiel is doing before he wakes up. Is he logging into his dreams? Is he just watching over him like a little guardian angel? He's sleeping better whenever he does. Maybe he's a dreamcatcher in a trenchcoat.

♫ I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood

I know I could, always be good

To one who'll watch over me ♫

Dean smiles as Castiel slides into the booth. It's still a little difficult with all the things laying heavily on his heart. But the impulse is so clearly set deep inside the muscles of his face that he can't not do it. The effort is paid back hundredfold with a close-lipped, soft angelic smile in return. It fills Dean's insides with warmth.

No. Famine was wrong. There is no deep, dark nothing inside of him. Not when Castiel looks at him like this. It may be temporary. But it is something.

♫ Although he may not be the man some

Girls think of as handsome

To my heart he carries the key ♫

They sit in comfortable silence, only Ella in the air between them. The quietness settles in Dean's heart, fills it with unspoken truths falling from these soft eyes. Who could feel hunger if they can feed on the strength and tenderness of an angel?

♫ Won't you tell him please to put on some speed

Follow my lead, oh, how I need

Someone to watch over me ♫

It may not be much in the grand scheme of things. But at this moment, it is everything.

[theprojectava]

The Silent War

Sooo...remember the last post s8 fix-it post I made? I wrote a little something for it (I’ll upload it on ao3, too, but I still have to make an account there).

It’s not beta read and I suck at writing stuff in English since it’s not my mother tongue. Please bear with me. :)

(Fic’s under the cut)

Our room is dark, the blinds are shut tight

And everything is still too much outside

When he left it hurt like hell. It felt like Shiro had finally run out of time. He should've said something sooner.

There had always been tomorrow, another time, next week, after this mission,when this meeting's over, promise, I'll tell him then!

The war had finally, officially ended. But not for them. The universe was in disarray – all the Galra Empire had left in its wake were ruins and ashes of whole worlds burnt to nothing. The war had never stopped and so their duties as Paladins and diplomats of planet Earth continued to tear them apart. Silently. For no one to see. Not even Shiro.

He only felt the sensation of something finally ripping, when it was too late. Keith was gone. By the time they noticed, he was already on the other end of the known universe, fighting off war criminals and rebuilding what was left of civilizations that had taken the brunt of the Empire's wrath over thousands of years. Somebody had to do it, Shiro told himself again and again. And of course it had to be Keith. This was what he was born for. The stars. If he was completely honest with himself he had always known that the younger man was never meant to stay on the ground with both his feet. The moment he had seen him so many years ago, he had known. Keith was meant to fly and reach for the stars or go crashing down with them.

But it still hurt so much. Because in spite of knowing that this day would come, he still wasn't prepared to let him go. He wasn't prepared to lose the man that meant everything to him.

Maybe it had taken him too long to realize what Keith really meant to him. That he couldn't live without him by his side. There had always been tomorrow, another time, next week... The possibility that there would be a tomorrow without Keith by his side seemed so impossible after all they went through. But maybe that's what went wrong in the end. Shiro had taken Keith for granted – a constant in his life that would always be there, no matter what. And now it was too late.

It may be over but not tonight

I may be older but I still cry

I can't stop sleeping in your clothes

You can't stop calling on the phone

Keith never reacted to any of his text messages. Whether it was because he was busy... or for a whole different reason Shiro didn't even want to think of, he didn't know. Silence was all there was between them now. With every unanswered message the hurt sunk deeper into his heart. It festered there and turned into bitterness with every passing month. He felt hollow inside. As Admiral and part of the Terran Delegation there was quite enough work on his hands to keep him busy for most of the day. But every time he'd come back home to a dark apartment and cold sheets he felt like sinking deeper into an all consuming emptiness. He should've given up trying to contact Keith by now. He knew that. In fact he should've stopped thinking about the other man every waking hour. The only problem was... he didn't know how. It was all he'd ever done.

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Just let it be, I'm in recovery

I'm holding on, I know I'm almost there

Storm reach out and tell me that you care

It stung like a knife to the chest when he found out that he seemed to be the only one who hadn't heard of Keith for almost a year. He'd met up with Pidge at one point, visited Lance and Allura on New Altea merely two months ago. He'd even made it to congratulate Hunk on his family's new house in person... The only one who hadn't seen him ever since he left... was Shiro.

Later he'd wonder if that had been the last straw. If that was what finally broke him. When he found out Keith was back on earth for a few days without telling him, he snapped. He packed all his stuff and left his office like a raging storm. He knew he shouldn't corner Keith like that. He knew deep down, that it was wrong. Patience yields focus, remember? But he didn't care for one second. His whole body felt numb, yet at the same time so full of cold anger. He needed answers. Nobody stopped him when he mounted one of the hoverbikes and sped off into the desert. He knew exactly where to find Keith.

When he reached the shack he knew Keith was there, even before he saw the younger man's pale face in the door frame. He was hurting them. Both of them and Shiro knew. But there was no turning back from this conversation now. There was no way this could go on for any longer. Shiro already felt like crumbling to pieces, he couldn't stand the silence anymore. At this point he really believed that he couldn't hurt much more. He'd been through torture and war. He'd survived the pits. He'd survived experimentation and losing his arm. He died and came back... But there was no way he could withstand this.

The moment they started talking Shiro could already tell Keith was closing in on himself, building up walls even he couldn't tear down anymore. The telltale twitching of his hands, the way his shoulders hunched... Keith was unreadable to most people. Anyone else would've thought of him as indifferent to what was going on. Shiro, on the other hand, knew what to look for. He could read Keith like a book. And that's where the fighting began.

Being shut out felt like a slap in the face. It burnt right down to his very core.

“It's better this way”, Keith told him. “I'm sorry...”

They screamed at each other. They cried. Two thrashing animals caught in a trap, neither of them ready to go down. Ultimately, it was all in vain. Keith had made his decision, for reasons unknown. He'd take this secret to the grave if he had to. Shiro would never know what drove the former Red Paladin away from him. But his choice was final.

Tears burnt in his eyes, when he turned to leave. He never wanted to do this... But the words bubbled up unbidden, nonetheless.

“Fine... If that's what you want. I won't stop you”, he looked back at Keith and saw the exact moment the words registered and hit home. “But don't expect me to be there when you decide to come back one day.”

That day he had hurt Keith in a way, he'd never forgive himself for. There was no going back from this. The damage had been done. He left without looking back, not expecting Keith to reach out and keep him from leaving. He never did, anyway.

I'm finally sober, I see the light

The worst is over, nobody died

I'm still trying to let you go

Oh baby, please, leave me alone

A brand new war began. One that Shiro wasn't sure he'd survive – a silent war. No one else could see it, but they could feel it. There was tension wherever Shiro went, hanging in the air around him like thick rain clouds. None of his friends dared saying anything – they all knew. They had to know. Because Keith never showed up to any of their anniversaries on New Altea, again. It was a silent war and this... this was Keith's way of opening fire. Shiro embraced it. Swallowed it. And then cried it out into the darkness of his empty bedroom, when no one else would hear.

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Just let it be, I'm in recovery

I know you wanna say you're sorry

But I don't wanna hear that story

Days bled into weeks, weeks bled into months. His heartache wouldn't fade. Shiro's chest had become an open wound refusing to heal. When was the last time he had laughed? He didn't know. All he did these days was work himself into the ground, working overtime for hours on end until he was either too tired to think or fell asleep in his office. That was until he fainted during a meeting. There's only so much sleep deprivation a human-Galra-hybrid clone body can endure.

When he came to himself again there was a man hovering over him. He remembered him from the Atlas. One of the bridge staff. What was his name again? Carl? Curtis? Curtis.

“Are you alright, Sir?”, he asked.

It's weird... how things change so fast.

Turned out Curtis was what Shiro needed. For the moment. Talking to him was easy... kissing him was easier. Easy was good for now.

They moved in together after dating for a few months. Shiro proposed after another two or three. Of course Curtis said yes. Everything was easy with him. So why did Shiro feel like he was drowning? Sending the invitations to their wedding earned him a few rounds of interrogation from his friends, especially Allura and Pidge. They'd picked up on what had occurred between him and Keith – mainly because Keith had quite regular meetings with Allura and Lance on New Altea, since he became a senior member of the Blades... At least that's what Shiro heard. Both of them knew how much Shiro was hurting, but all they could do was give him sympathetic glances. They knew why Keith did what he did. That maybe protecting his own poor heart from potential hurt was what led to them silently tearing each other apart. It hurt to watch.

Of course they sent an invitation to Daibazaal, too. Since none of them knew Keith's current location, they'd chosen to send it to Krolia instead, knowing Keith would get it, sooner or later. That was Shiro's counterblow in this cold war between them.

Always thought you'd be the one

Who always needed me

My home, you'd be my home

After the wedding, the silence only grew. As did the emptiness in Shiro's life. His marriage lasted for a whole 2 years. The time it took them to get divorced included. There were no “I told you so”s from his friends – only support and a lot of hugs. Shiro didn't know what was worse. Because he himself had known this relationship was meant to crash and burn the moment he had proposed. Maybe before.

He felt terrible. Throwing his own heart in the line of fire because he couldn't let go of someone who clearly didn't want him was one thing... Pulling Curtis into this and putting his heart on the line as well, was a whole different thing. Has he always been such a terrible human being? Could this be the reason why Keith left? Because he'd seen how Shiro hurts the people around him on purpose? There was no way of knowing now. Keith was long gone... and yet, he was still everything Shiro ever knew.

Suddenly, your memory

In time is like an enemy, so cold

Five years. It had been five years since the last time they saw each other. Back in Keith's shack. Shiro's last words still rang in his ears, loud and clear. It had taken him a year or so, until he realized he'd used the same words Adam had thrown at him, before he'd left for the Kerberos mission. It felt like a lifetime ago. Another thing in a long line of things he regretted voicing or not voicing in front of Keith. It seemed like he never told Keith the most important things. But if he did tell him anything, only the wrong things came out. Things he never wanted anyone to hear. Unfair things.

The universe, as Shiro had known it, was in shambles.

A soft ping was all it took to tilt the universe back into the right direction. It was 3:00 am. An unusual time to get notifications nowadays. Shiro had stepped back from a few positions in the past year, slowly letting others take the reins. It was time for him to go back and teach at the Garrison... Or maybe... Maybe one day he'd see the stars again. He could hear them calling already.

Another ping and he was fully awake. With half lidded eyes a grabbed his phone. The bright orange light was nearly blinding in the darkness of his bedroom. He took one look at the display and nearly dropped the device into his own face. Wha-... Was he dreaming?!

There were two messages glaring back at him, taunting him. This had to be a dream. It had to.

Keith (03:02):

Dear Shiro.... I know I fucked up royally. Fuck, I'm not good at this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's been a while..... But can we maybe talk?

Keith (03:03):

I understand if you don't want to. I'll leave you alone if you don't want to see me. But I... I can't do this any longer.

Shiro's heartbeat was deafening. Blood rushed in his ears. He had to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't another cruel dream.

This was happening. This was really happening. It had been five years. Five years of silence.

His fingers moved before he could even register what was happening and pressed “send”.

Shiro (03:05):

Don't be. We both did a lot of fucking up. We can talk whenever you want.

It took about ten minutes and Shiro was ready to dose off again, when his phone went off. It wasn't a text message this time. But a video call.

“Hey.”

A single word. It only took a single word... His voice was tinny and rougher than he remembered. His hair had gotten longer. Long enough to be braided actually. There was an edge to his face that hadn't been there when Shiro last saw him. But it was Keith. Sweet, beautiful Keith.

“Hey”, Shiro replied, his voice raspy and thick with emotions.

They talked. They actually talked. At 3:00 am. Not about what happened between them, not about the reason why Keith left, not about Shiro's marriage or divorce. But they talked about small things, like Keith's latest mission or that annoying woman from the canteen who didn't get the message Shiro was into men. But who could blame her? Ever since Curtis Shiro had never tried dating again.

When they finally hung up it was with the promise of meeting up when Keith got back to earth next month. It was almost 5:00 am. Neither him nor Keith had said it out loud, but it hung between them, so thick it was almost palpable.

“I miss you.”

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Meeting Keith after all this time was like finally, finally putting the shards of his universe back together. Like finally laying their weapons down and calling off the war they had started on that fateful day in the shack.

It was awkward at first... until it wasn't.

One touch, a simple hand on a shoulder kind of touch, was all it took to open the gates to a flood. There were tears. Lots of tears. Tears of joy and sorrow, of forgiveness and apology. Years worth of silence were shattered by a flood of words. Once they started they couldn't stop. Hugging each other and holding on tight, never wanting to let go ever again.

“I'm so sorry”, whispered Keith in between ugly sobs. “I'm so, so sorry. I thought-... I thought-”

“Shhh”, Shiro tried to calm him, tightening his hold on Keith. But the younger man wasn't having it.

“No-... No, you have to hear this.”

He leaned back a little until he could look into Shiro's eyes. His eyes were red and still full of unshed tears.

“I'm sorry I ran”, Keith tried again. This time his voice was steadier. “I didn't know what to do. I thought... After the war you... You deserved better.”

“Better?”, Shiro frowned. “Better than what?”

“Me.”

At that moment it felt like Shiro's heart would burst out of his chest.

Before he could say anything Keith continued: “I... I thought after all you've been through, you deserved a life far away from war and fights and-... I knew I couldn't give you this.”

Another sob rocked Keith's lean body. He'd bulked up a little over the past few years, but he still felt so small and fragile in Shiro's arms.

“I never wanted to hurt you. But... I was afraid... Of hurting myself.”

There was a moment of silence. But a different kind of silence – a pleasant one. Finally, finally Shiro understood.

“You were trying to protect your heart”, he whispered.

Keith's eyes went wide for a second. But he nodded nonetheless. There was nothing left for him to lose. He'd lived five years without Shiro by his side... He'd been through hell already. All because he couldn't just tell Shiro how he felt.

“Well”, the corners of Shiro's mouth turned up into a soft smile. “there's no need to. Never was.”

Again Keith's eyes went wide, his brows rising almost comically high. Slowly, to give him enough time to pull back if that wasn't what he wanted, Shiro leaned down, until their lips were almost touching.

“I never told you this. I never found the right moment... and then you were gone”, with every word their lips brushed against each other. Keith closed his eyes. “Maybe I can tell you now.”

And with that he closed the distance between them.

Kissing Keith was everything he ever imagined it would be... and still so much more. The soft, warm feeling of his lips, the slow drag of his tongue against Shiro's bottom lip were intoxicating. He was done for. He knew that the moment he had to lean back and take a breath. He already missed the warmth of Keith's lips on his.

“I love you.”

The confession left his lips and he couldn't stop. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Tears filled the younger man's eyes again.

“I love you, too.”

For the first time in years it felt like there was a silver lining at the horizon.

They could to this. They could make this right. It had taken them five years, but finally, finally the universe seemed whole again.

The war of silence was finally over.

Song: “Recovery” by LP

[theofitzgeraldsing]

The Road  Chapter One Augusta, Georgia MAMA D Mama D called on all the ancestral spirits from before slavery time and way back before Africa was Africa, and the world had a name.  She called back using her strongest meileke, oils, and herbs, reaching into the dark recesses of her spirit, something she didn’t often do, turning her insides out, and offering them to the ancestors in return for their intervention. Grey clouds swarmed above Mama D’s cabin as she prepared her poultice of mustard seed and High John the Conqueror root.  Dogs howled and scratched at her door, possessed and curious all at once.  Something was going on, something that compelled all of Augusta to sniff, snort, and acquiesce to the powers of the ancestors.  Swallowing up towns, and gobbling down mountains, angry fog rolled over Georgia like a plague or wildfire.  This was serious.  It rolled on like thunder and made a sound like a rushing river crashing over rocks, knocking down trees to the stump and pulling the Earth.  This was no time to be lounging around.  Mama D's old alley cat Simon was slinking about scurrying at shadows, hoping to catch a mouse, or a mole, or a spider.  Mama D was always going behind, cleaning up messes, and righting wrongs.  When a husband abused his wife it was Mama who stared down centuries of pent up anger, rage, and male domination. Mama said, "somebody was always trying to get somebody else under the heel of they shoe," and that she was the "leveler of wrong doing."  Folks knew Mama was real in her walk and real in her talk, she didn’t mix business with pleasure, and she didn’t cotton to ignorance or suffer fools.  “Just be straight with me and we’ll be alright.”  That’s what Mama always says.  Everyone near Augusta, or far from it, knew Mama was the person to see and who could help when no one else could.  Mama could heal the sick, locate lost loved ones, or mend family feuds and quarrels.  "Sometimes folks don't know what's good for 'em, and have trouble getting out of their own way, so you have to lead 'em in the right direction like a horse to water.  Just like a horse they have to realize that they are thirsty for themselves." Now Mama D wasn’t really my mama.  She is my grandma and Miss Easy, Mama D’s sister, is my great auntie.  I've been with them since I was born.  Miss Easy and Mama D say I was a blessing sent on account of He knew He was gonna take my real mama away.  Don’t ask me about my daddy.  My mama wouldn’t tell who it was and Mama D says she has no idea who my daddy is.  Now I look in the face of every man I meet on the road, or in town, for some resemblance, but it seem like they all favor me and I get confused.  So, I just stopped looking.    Mama D said that was probably best cause if my daddy wanted to know where I was he would of found me by now, and ain't no sense running behind, looking for something that ain't looking for you.  Once I thought Reverend Prichart was my father but then I saw him pick his nose and eat a bugger, right then I decided even if he was my daddy I didn’t want to know about it.  Soon after that is when I quite looking altogether cause you don’t know if you gonna meet up with a fool or a saint.  I decided to just mind my own business and let well enough alone.  It’s better that way.   Mama's current mission was a secret to me.  Sometimes I could tell, by the ingredients she used in her potions, or the posture of her body as she mixed the concoctions.  If she was making a love potion or trying to bring back a lover that had strayed, undo what was thought to be a curse, a hex, or fix money problems.  This was something different.  Everything was laid out on a large bench in Mama's place but it was laid out in an organized manner and Mama kept going over it like she was taking inventory and she'd make a note in her book.  She carefully measured the roots and the liquids from the hundreds of bottles that lined the walls and stacks of crates in the corner.  Mama went to her shelf and took down her bible, the large one with the gold letters and the foreign language on the front that Mama said was Latin and Hebrew, looked like chicken scratch to me, but it must of been what she said it was cause she took care of it like it was a new born pup or an ailing kitten.  She placed it on the bench and thumbed through the pages adjusting her glasses on her nose to be sure she was reading the right verse and on the right page.  Then Mama D did something that in all my times spying, and peeping, and sneaking around I had never seen her do before.  She took an envelope off the shelf, took out a piece of paper, unfolded it and threw it on the ground.  Next, my mouth stood wide open, I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but Mama stood over the paper, lifted her skirt, squatted, and peed right there on top of it.  The stream of urine continued, so it seemed, until a minute or two passed.  A large puddle, with the paper in the middle, sat in the corner and Mama spit on it after she adjusted her skirt and then sprinkled it with what looked like sage, but could have been anything.  It was green and leafy. After that Mama dripped candle wax, blew out the candle, and headed for the door before I knew it.  I crouched behind an old barrel as Mama headed up the crooked, well worn path to the house, briefly pausing and cocking her head like she heard a whisper in the distance or a far off howl.  She headed into the kitchen to the washbasin and called my name at the same time.  "Lady!"  My feet stood still and a wave of fever flashed across my forehead.  What should I do?  Go in the front door?  Pretend I didn't hear?  "Lady!"  The front door seemed the only option.  Mama opened the door before I could.  "What are you doing sneaking around out here?"  "I'm not sneaking Mama.  I saw a doodle bug back by the privy and I was trying to catch it before it went deep in the woods."  Mama cocked her head looking into my face.  "Girl what did I tell you about running behind doodle bugs, and salamanders, and what not playing around by that Johnny house! You gonna find out what I'm talking about soon enough.  Keep on you hear."  I was hearing Mama but I wasn't listening.  It was as if I was having an out of body experience and could see the wheels turning in Mama's head and see what she could see in her eyes.  She was looking straight through me.  She knew the truth and knew I wasn't out chasing doodle bugs behind the Johnny house but peeping into her business, not minding my own.  The ringing in my ears met up with a cacophony of horns, drums, and bells like the complete opposite of a Chinese water torture, not subtle but bold and brazen until it felt like something reached down in my throat and just pulled the words out, "I'm sorry Mama I was outside spying through the window looking at you in your shack and watching what you did with the paper and squatted and did your business on top of it, that's what I was doing Mama!"  Mama starred at me unchanged, just like she could see again all that I was thinking and not saying.  "Well I hope you learned something," Mama said.  "It's a fool that don't smell his own self and thinks his tail don't point straight down to the ground just like everybody else's."  When Mama said that instead of slapping the taste out of my mouth, I knew God answers prayer, I had learned my lesson for the moment.  My curiosity was still high and my mind would not let me turn loose the thoughts, visions, or imagining that invaded my mind like termites invade the fallen branch of a tree.  What, or who, was Mama fixing?  I was feeling guilty for sneaking around and nosing about, but I still wanted to know. Why was she still closed mouthed and secretive?   Mama was born right here in Augusta, right here in what is now her place we call her shack.  Her mother and father were escaping the mud of Mississippi and all of the memories it held.  My great grandparents, Tom and Pearl, were slaves on the Percy plantation, had been born there, lived most of their lives there, until a war declared that they could come and go as they pleased and they pleased to get up and leave from there as soon as they could.  The old master looked hurt and surprised that they didn't want to stay, "After all I've done for you?  Fed and clothed you, took care of you when you was sick."  He failed to remember the part about, "I beat you when it suited me and worked you from cain't see in the morning to cain't see at night.  Raped your friends and neighbors, was father to many of your relatives and sold them for a profit when I felt like it and just because I forgot all about that part doesn't mean that you did, and never mind that it may not have been Christian, but justified in my mind because I said it was so and I had the bible to back me up."  He had a very selective memory.   He never stopped to consider all of the things he had received in return, or the countless number of times he had been nursed on his sick bed, cleaned, and bathed, and fed, and fawned over, his children nursed at the breast of a slave, suckled, while the slave's children cried from hunger and the absence of its own mother's touch.  No mention of his fields that were planted and harvested, his home cleaned, floor boards polished, silver shined or brass brushed and rubbed so they could gleam in the candlelight to impress the guest that came from as far away as Mobile and nearer than Natchez.  No mention of his wealth that came from cotton raised on the bended and broken backs of slaves.  Fertilized with their blood, sweat, tears, and marrow of their bones.  None of that was ever considered.  Only what he had done for them, and how they were ungrateful and with their thanks and gratitude.  Most of the slaves left quicker than the bat of an eyelash, or the strike of an overseer's lash.   Mama's parents packed their belongings, a ragged quilt, one spoon, one plate, one saucer, a cup, the things they shared between them, a milking stool, an iron pan, and a bible.  Their belongings were tied in small bundles, strapped to their backs or loaded in the creaky, rickety wagon that was pulled alternatively among them.  They walked and walked and occasionally hitched a ride from strangers passing by, going the same direction, splitting off and going their own way, or when they felt a need to part.  They walked nearly all the way from Mississippi to Georgia and found this spot that a recent immigrant, Erwin Palmer, from somewhere over in Europe had decided was better than where he came from and tried to tame the land, tilling it, and farming it.  Having never been a farmer or ever lived on a farm, milked a cow, or shoed a horse, this presented a challenge for him.   Luck, opportunity, and providence met when my great grandparents arrived.  Grandpa Tom showed the man how to sow in the spring and harvest in the fall.  He showed him how to shoe a horse and milk a cow.  Granny Pearl worked right along with them knowing a thing or two about using a hoe and a shovel to till the soil.  They shucked corn and snapped peas together during the harvest, working from sun up 'til sun down, eating together, sleeping together in the one room shack that was now Mama's work shack with the raggedy quilt they brought from Mississippi hung across a rope used to divide the space and provide a teeny weeny bit of privacy.  This went on for nearly two years until the man from Europe stepped on a nail that went through his foot and into his heel bone.  By the time the doctor came in from town to look at it, it was too late and the man had to have his leg cut off near up to the knee.  Grampa Tom and Granny Pearl nursed and cared for him until he started hobbling along on a wooden leg but his spirit was broken and he spent most of his days looking at the wall reminding Granny more of a lost bird or a wounded lamb.  "You know it's a sin to rebuke what the Lord has given you.  You're still of this life, you have to live in it.  Don't look and see what you lost, look at what you still got." Granny tried to lift his spirits.  "What have I got?  A tree stump for a leg, that's what I got!"  He started to drink distilled spirits, and cussed, and mostly felt sorry for himself until Gramps and Granny sent a telegram to somebody over in someplace called Germany or Austria or Prussia or somewhere, and told them that the man was in poor shape and needed some help.  After the telegram, a telegram arrived with some money saying a ticket had been purchased on a ship to England and to get him on it quickly.   Grampa Tom could only get Mr. Palmer to the depot to catch a train up north.  He wasn't too happy about going and he let Grampa Tom and Granny Pearl know it.  "What the hell did you think I came here for?  If I wanted to go back to Scotland I could have damn well stayed there!  I don't need a black son of a bitch like you getting in my business."  They knew it was only the man's anger and feeling sorry for himself that made him talk the way he did.  His insults were ignored as they did what they knew they had to, to keep their friend alive, to keep him from harming himself.  They said their goodbyes at the train station and when he handed Grampa Tom an envelope and told him to do what he wanted with the land, Grampa Tom was confused, unable to read Grampa Tom put the envelope in the bible for safe keeping.  Grampa Tom, Erwin Palmer, and Granny Pearl never saw each other again but every now and then a card or a letter would arrive addressed to Mister Tom and Miss Pearl.  Gramps and Granny, both being illiterate, had to ask the postal clerk to read it to 'em and tell 'em what it said.  The clerk read the letter but bristled at reading and addressing them as Mister and Miss, however being a show off he wanted to read as best he could and so he did.  It was about a year after the man left that the first letter came and it said, "Dear Mister Tom and Miss Pearl, I've arrived here in Scotland at my brother's poor excuse of a farm and it is even drearier and grayer than the place I tried to escape when I met you in America.  My brother and his wife, bless their souls, have tried to make a life as best they can by raising sheep on a patch of land that seems to be nothing but jagged rocks, desolate gravel, and dirt not fit to grow potatoes.  When I left Georgia I was heavy in heart, and I'm sorry for all of the mean and unkind things I said.  I am also sorry that I stole the rabbit foot that use to hang by the door of the cabin, but I had to take with me something to remind me that I had once been a man of independence and courage with hopes and dreams of independence and freedom.  Free from things, some of which I have forgotten and abandoned.  I've never stolen a thing in my life but I hope that you will forgive me.  The train ride to New York was difficult, being on my own without the kindness of friends or the family that I considered you two to be.  I experienced the cruelty of one human being to another and I never hope to see again.  I met a man traveling to New York to meet a banker to discuss the sale of some property.  On the passage across the Atlantic we were met with rough seas and by the time we docked in Liverpool I looked and smelled like the beggar and pauper that I was.  Standing was trouble enough and the seas knocked what semblance of balance I had out of me for nearly the first day until I got my sea legs.  My brother met me at the dock and although he didn't say it, I could see in his eyes the pity he had for a man that wasn't a whole man anymore in spirit, or in body, but a troubled soul lost, tortured, and broken.  I'm telling you this, but you already know it is true.  If it hadn't been for the kindness, love, and caring of the two of you I could not be writing this letter today.  For two years I lived in my own self pity and I will say that I have been twice blessed, and a lucky human being to have a loving brother with a kind wife and a gentle soul to love me when I didn't love myself.  When I first returned if I wasn't at the local pub drinking the fine Scotch whiskey this country is known for, wishing my sorrows away, or laying in the bed looking at the wall, I was feeling sorry for myself, hating the world and everyone in it.  Scotland, for all its dreariness and confined thinking, I was able to see some beauty in it.  My brother, an adventurous soul, I guess it runs in the family, decided to try his hand at breeding horses in a way that only a Scotsman can do, insisted that I help out in the barn and in the corrals.  "Get your arse out of the bed right this instant,” snarled only the way that a brother could snarl at a brother.  I felt no brotherly love of my own and much more pity for myself.  "Kiss my ass!  I'll do what I damn please and get out of the damn bed when I damn well feel like it."  My brother lived up to his promise as I underestimated the strength of a man that labored from sun up to sun down, whatever the weather or whatever his state of mind or physical condition healthy or no.  With one swoop I could feel the plank floorboards under my back as I felt the knuckles of his hands, hard as stone and cold as ice, connect with my flesh and bones.  After his encouragement and the exchange of words that any man should be ashamed to call his own brother, negating the legitimacy of his birth and my own, his children's birth, and the chastity of his wife that has shown me nothing but kindness and patience, I felt the shame of my actions and my own self pity.  A wave of shame also crosses my face when I think of the unkind way that I spoke to you Mister Tom and treated Miss Pearl before I left.  I hope that you will find it in your hearts to forgive a man that had forgotten his manners.  I can't thank you enough for showing me the kindness and affection I didn't show you.  My only hope is that the gift of the one hundred acres can express my gratitude and allow you to forgive me in your hearts.  I'll never forget the time I spent sweating in the Georgia sun and enjoying the kindness of two loving souls.  If I never see you again know you are forever in my prayers.  Your brother in life and forever, Erwin Palmer.