#and proceeded to ferment until i got a new one

[itsdefinitely]

fun times

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Angst/violence/gore/blood/mentions of prostitution/SMUT(eventual)/veryinaccuratesurgicalprocedure

     Honestly words have been fermenting in my brain for many moons. I am new to this, so please be gentle.  I have written before, however never for a fandom. Special thank you to @yespolkadotkitty and @rzrcst for their support and encouragement, it truly means the world to me.

Summary: You are a nurse on the Green moon contracted to care for a group of prospectors. An act of violence forces you to flee your camp. Ezra finds you.

Words: 2376

 PART ONE

    The first time Ezra fell, it was with the Saters. You’d been hunched in a cordoned-off section of tent, dust motes waxing and waning against the haze of thick, dank air. At least you could breathe, a small mercy it was to remove your helmets and sit unfettered in the musty inner folds of the makeshift barracks.

    The Sater stank. When he sneered at you, his grey lips parted to reveal the jagged tombstones of his teeth. When you had first sat down and dispelled with the perfunctory greetings, choking down the offering of what always reminded you of unsweetened Turkish coffee mixed with engine oil, his eyes made no attempt to hide the way they had raked over you as if you were some shiny toy. Or a bag of meat. You were under no delusions when it came to the fact that you, by nature of being female, were going to be ogled. Still, it left you no less disgusted as you fought to keep your face impassive while his eyes honed in on your chest.

    Ezra sat beside you on the narrow bench, hunched forward with forearms balanced on knees that were spread to allow for his head to clear the sunken canvas ceiling. His expression was equally neutral, the only hint of tension showing in the tight bunch of muscle at his jaw. He knew as well as you that if the sater did not accept the barter, things would turn dark.

    Ezra had been here longer than you. Stranded with no transport after the crew he’d arrived with turned on each other over dig locations and payload disbursement. The pod they’d arrived in had been burned, irreparably damaged and left no more than a husk in the Green due to the short-sighted fury and bullheaded ire of his hired compatriots. In the fracas, he’d sustained an injury to his right arm from a rogue thrower shot. In retrospect it could have been much worse, but the spores of mold that made the air so toxic had worked its way into his flesh the same way selfishness and suspicion had seeded the demise of his partners.

    You were hired as a nurse to tend to your own hired prospecting crew, lured in with promises of adventure and treasures beyond your wildest dreams. You had known there had to be a catch, you were not so naive to believe that consequence could elude you, but you had signed the contract anyway hoping for more than the dreary clinic you’d worked in for the past five years. You were alone, you were lonely, you had no family. Your few friends had steadily drifted away from you as they met their own partners, started their own families. You were left to the ether. So you signed almost without thought when the recruiter came, signed before you had time to think it through, because you were aware that if you thought too much you’d talk yourself out of it. You knew all too well how adept you were at talking yourself out of things.

    So, you’d arrived on the Green and things had proceeded as planned, uneventful for the most part. The others on the crew were respectful, if a bit distant. Nothing untoward had happened until a contractor by the name of Jorin began to take a particular interest in you. At first you’d been able to politely deflect his advances. Showing up in your tent unannounced, he feigned all manner of illness and injury to get your attention. Over time he became more aggressive, invading your space until you had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not welcome. It was not until he’d followed you back to your cot and tried to push you down that you’d snapped. You hadn’t meant to kill him, but the scalpel you had hidden in your fist had found its way to his carotid artery nonetheless. So you left, and you were blank and in shock and covered in someone else’s blood when Ezra found you.

    He’d stood, imposing and straight-backed, hand on hip while his head followed your shambling approach. Your adrenaline was waning, and you shuffled forth on trembling legs, hands held aloft in supplication. When you reached his clearing in the midst of dense vegetation you noted his mouth moving at light-speed, the hand on his hip twitching toward the thrower he had slung across his back. As you got even closer you noticed his eyes were wide. You were not on the same transmission channel so you could not hear him. Your hands gestured as if underwater, left hand tapping your transceiver while your right held up three trembling fingers. When Ezra understood he switched the channel and immediately his animated drawl was filling your helmet.

    “.....cannot fathom how you are standing in my sights looking like you’ve been baptised by Lady Bathory herself, alone? Please do tell this lonely old prospector how in Kevva’s name above you’ve found yourself in such a state of affairs?”

    You noticed immediately that he did not seem at all frightened or wary of your appearance, just confused, and….excited? You gazed up into the visor through a constellation of blood spatter and freed your tongue from its bone-dry cavern, swallowing thickly.

    “I didn’t mean to kill him. He tried to, to…..he came after me.”

    Ezra stepped forward in what seemed a conspiratory move. You froze. Taking note, he’d immediately stepped back, but his dark eyes fastened to yours with an intensity that made you feel as though he could see through you into your very essence, every shameful childhood memory, every flaw and triumph as readable as prose on paper.

    “Intention rarely informs the realities of snuffing out the flame of mortality. Between intention and action there lay an endless array of variables, something I know as well as my own name. In all my time on the Green the one thing that continues to ring true is that people here take. If you have nothing to offer, they will find something to take.” 

    He straightened before continuing, “Given that you are appreciably female I can imagine what it is he believed himself entitled to. You have none of that to fear from me, little stranger. I am but one lost soul amongst this verdant hellscape.”

    You were still processing the events of the past several hours, and it took you some time to accustom your ears to the man’s mellifluous cadence. The people in your previous company had been stilted, blunt, mostly monosyllabic. This man before you spoke as if convinced his words would alight and manifest whatever sacred force or unimagined color the universe deemed fit to spew forth. It was incongruous. You considered your next words carefully before you spoke.

    “Do you have a dwelling? A tent? I hate to impose, but this is my only suit and I’d like to get as much blood out of it as I can.”

    That was how you’d become acquainted with Ezra. You’d exchanged names as you walked to his tent, and all the while Ezra pontificated. The tent was modest, two cots arranged across from one another. Equipment stacked along one canvas wall, while texts and notebooks spread across a folding table toward the front entrance. Ezra explained where the water source was located as you both disconnected your helmets and stripped your suits. The blood splashed across yours had dried to a dull rust. Almost as if it could be something other than blood. Almost. 

    You’d set the suit to soak in cold water and truly noticed the man in front of you for the first time. He was tall and broad-shouldered, thick locks jutting chaotically from the dome of his head and curling around the lobes of his ears. A shock of blond colored the seam of his hairline. His brow was lined with years of tension and unrest. Wide, dark eyes below pronounced brows. A prominent aquiline nose. His mouth, still moving. Always moving, as if he were trying to get every thought he had out of his head before the hourglass ran out on him.

    Your eyes were next drawn to a dirty bandage circling his arm. You’d been so lost in your head over the strange turn of events that you did not notice the barely perceptible wince as he inventoried what appeared to be dried ration packets.

    “What happened? To your arm, I mean?”

    Ezra sighed deeply before answering. “Merely a flesh wound from an errant thrower blast while my crew and I were in the midst of parting ways. It was a most unsavory affair, I’m afraid. I don’t believe the weasel wielding the staff even meant to shoot me.”

    You stepped closer, eyeing the torn, worried cloth. “You have to be careful. The spores in the air will seep into everything, especially an open wound. Your bandage is filthy. Do you mind if I take a look?”

    “You have experience with dressing wounds?”

    “I’m a nurse.”

    You were wholly unprepared for the brilliant smile that split his face. Suddenly you could see the younger, roguish man that he had undoubtedly once been. You were suddenly overwhelmed, you could not understand how the heart in your chest fluttered as desperately as a bird beating its wings against the cage of your ribs. You felt close to panic as you realized that you were reacting this way to a man you did not know. 

    Careful.

    “Kevva above, I must have done something right in a past life as I’ve done nothing in this one to deserve such a fortuitous gift! A nurse! An angel of mercy, a dove of benevolence!”

    You felt heat rush to your face, and you cursed your feeble emotions as you turned quickly away from him. Please, ignore my abject idiocy. 

    “Med kit?”

    “Ah, of course. My apologies, Dove, I forget myself.”

    You pointedly ignored the unprompted endearment as any further contemplation on this new development would lead to literal hysteria. What the fuck is wrong with me?

    Ezra sat at the table near the entrance, sweeping the array of notebooks and papers to the side. You pulled up a crate once taking the med kit and unwrapped the soiled bandaging. You understood how awkward it had to be to dress a wound with one hand, and so you were able to forgive the haphazard application. He hissed and winced again as you revealed a very red, open and angry wound bed assaulting the meat of his right bicep. Black had begun to settle in around the ragged edges. It did not look good. Your gut sank as you noticed the purplish pucker of skin surrounding a crater that oozed and tunneled, purulent drainage saturating the underlying gauze. 

    The mold had done a spectacular job of decaying what would have normally been a straight forward traumatic thrower wound. You were shocked that Ezra was not screaming in pain.

    You kept your face studiously blank as you set out supplies: a vial of Ancef, sterile saline, bandaging, gauze, antimicrobial foam, hydrogen peroxide, a basin, and the scalpel you’d kept clutched in your fist as you’d fled. There was an injectable narcotic preloaded, you offered this to Ezra and he shook his head, his eyes still and worried. He knew it was bad, and he was scared. A wave of melancholy slammed into you and without thinking, you reached out and laid your fingers gently on his wrist.

    “Hey.” He met your eyes, and they were old. Ancient, and filled with what was akin to an existential weariness. You had to dig the toe of your boot into your calf to keep your eyes from filling with tears. You cleared your throat. It did not sound like a noise you’d make. You wondered who you were, really, before speaking.

    “I’m going to do the best that I can. It won’t be pretty. Your wound is badly infected. The black bits are necrotic, and if I don’t debride your wound it will spread. I’m going to try my hardest to save your arm. This is going to hurt, so I really think you should take the injection.”

    Ezra’s solemn gaze swung to fasten on yours. After a pause of internal debate, he simply nodded. You filled the basin with hydrogen peroxide and placed the scalpel in. You picked up the preloaded syringe and sterile gauze and quickly discharged the narcotic serum into Ezra’s left deltoid. His eyes soon took on a haze of detachment, pupils constricting to pinpoints.

    You picked up the scalpel and got to work, and Ezra finally screamed.

    He kept his arm impressively still while sweat cut rivulets down the planes of his face. His jaw clenched so tightly you feared his teeth would crack and splinter- you’d finally and wordlessly paused your work to place a length of spare leather strapping between his teeth, which he clamped onto like a feral dog.

    You worked quickly and wordlessly, cutting ribbons of spoiled flesh from the blessedly granulating bed of tissue and muscle beneath. Your mind worked in circular prayer, asking forgiveness from the universe for killing, for hurting. Ezra’s flesh was a sacred scroll and you were inscribing your texts upon it, begging for deliverance. It was not lost on you that the same scalpel you’d used to snuff one life was carving death out of another.

    When the deed was done, you reconstituted the Ancef and injected it into the meat of his buttock. You did it quickly, too wrung out and disturbed to feel impure. There was nothing prurient about what had just happened, nothing sexy in his agony. For all of its intimacy it was brutal and ugly and traumatic. At that moment you were inextricably bound to one another.

[vantaenims]

bittersweet | yoongi

pairing: idol!yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au | fluff, bit of angst

word count: 7.6k

warning/s: alcohol consumption.

summary: Being miles away from you, Yoongi’s starting to feel like he’s missing out in your life and he can’t help but be guilty about it hence the reason why he made it his mission to be with you as much as possible now that he’s back home.

Part of BTSGhostieBingo (idol!au prompt)

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

—

Yoongi has his hand around the steering wheel, drumming his fingers against it whilst his other arm is placed beside the window, knuckles pressed against his temple as he impatiently stared at your door for about five minutes now. Unlocking his phone, he was about to text you again until a blue bubble popped up saying ‘wait’ as a reply to his first text when he told you he’s outside already, making him wonder what’s taking you so long.

During your call last night, you mentioned to Yoongi that you’re running low on food and that you’ll be going to the grocery store tomorrow, causing him to immediately tell you that he’ll join and accompany you even though he still has a song that he needs to work on which he didn’t told you since you’re probably going to decline his offer to help if you happen to know it.

It’s a song he’s been working on ever since the tour started which is exactly three and a half months ago but he only got to finalize it last night just so he could spend the weekend with you hence the reason why he’s running low on sleep for today but it’s not like that mattered to him right now.

Given the circumstances of his idol life, the majority of the time spent in your relationship is being far away from each other that’s why he tries to make up for the lost time by being with you almost every day ever since he got back last week.

Truth be told, Yoongi never really believed Long Distance Relationships could work and as a matter of fact, he thought that this relationship would just be some sort of a fling to him, bearing in mind that it’s hard for him to enter in a fully committed relationship given his hectic life but luckily, his opinion about it changed when you two somehow managed to make it work - for about two years already and more years to come.

His thoughts were then cut off as soon as he heard a knock coming off from the window of the passenger seat, unlocking the doors once he saw that it was only you whom he'd been waiting all this time.

“Finally, what were you doing for the past ten minutes?” 

“Hello” you greeted in such a cheery voice as you always do whilst you leaned towards Yoongi to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Did you just got out of the shower?” Yoongi chuckled as soon as he saw how the upper half of your hair is dry while the other half is still damp.

“Sorry, i just woke up when i read your text that you’re on your way” you said as you buckled yourself in your seat.

“I got out of my house at 2 p.m.” Yoongi said, looking at the time that’s displayed on his touch screen stereo, “What time did you sleep?”

“I think it was about 1:30 or 2 in the morning” 

“You’ve slept for twelve hours!?” Yoongi bewilderingly looked at you, slightly jealous at how you’ve managed to get a full sleep while he’s only running on four hours of sleep even though he willfully did that on purpose.

Of course, he wouldn’t tell you the lengths he had to go just so he could free his time for today  because knowing you, you’d probably scold him and tell him to just rest which he thinks is surprisingly the last thing he wants to do, not when time’s limited for him as he needs to leave in a few days to continue the tour.

“It’s just one of those lazy days” you said whilst yawning as you stretched your arms to fully awaken yourself.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet then?” 

“Not yet but I’m fine, I don’t really feel that hungry” you smiled, grabbing Yoongi’s free hand to intertwined them with yours when he gave you a discontented look that didn’t last for long as he return back the smile, raising your intertwined hands to kiss the back of your hand before he freed his hand to switch the gear.

Yoongi proceeded to drive towards the direction of the grocery store where the grocery is but he thought that a little detour won’t hurt, not when that detour is towards the Mcdonald’s Drive Thru.

“I’ll have the six pieces McNuggets meal and can you make the drink and fries into large, thanks.”

As soon as Yoongi got the paper bag, he then placed it on your lap as he continued to drive to exit the drive thru and onto your real destination, not even sparing you a look, making you laugh at how he’s still trying to appear so nonchalant after all these years when he does caring things like this but it’s fun to tease him when he’s acting to be one.

“Aww Yoongs, Thank you” you pinched his cheek which only caused him to scoff as he tried to remove your hand away from his face even though you could clearly see he’s trying to hide his smile as he rolled his eyes.

--

It has been a year since your relationship with Yoongi was announced to the public but you still have to be very cautious whenever you two go out in public as to not raise any unwanted attention and you were both given a set of rules that you need to abide with but there’s this one rule you always seem hard to follow - lessen any displays of affection in public as much as possible.

You put on your mask and put the hood of your jacket up once Yoongi turned off the engine as he followed you in disguising himself, wearing his black bucket hat and mask. As you got out of the car, your hand instinctively went to reach towards Yoongi’s until you realized the situation you both are in, causing you to keep your hands inside the pockets of your jacket as you walked distantly beside him. 

It was weird for you to act so secretive when you two started to date and it was way too hard when you both have to keep your meetings a secret when your relationship got official like that time when you were told that you can only eat out in public at this designated place which is an exclusive restaurant that’s owned by one of Yoongi’s trusted friends for the sake of protecting both of your privacy.

Eventually, talks about your relationship with Yoongi gradually died down after it was publicly announced as time passed by though it can’t be helped that it’ll be sometimes brought up in one of their interviews even though it’s totally unnecessary in the first place but you guessed that you just have to live and deal with it.

“What do you want for dinner?” Yoongi asked as he got one of the carts from the aisle, volunteering to push it around while you scan for food.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you looked back at him with wide eyes, a surge of excitement crashing at the news.

Yoongi knows how big of a fan you are of his cooking and he’s certain about it because you basically bombard him with messages whenever you get a sudden craving for it or how you’ll express your disappointment whenever you buy something he would cook only for it to be compared, saying how it’ll never taste as good as his which he’s taken pride of.

“Does steak and mashed potatoes sound good?” Yoongi asked as he put the frozen sirloin into the empty cart only to see that it wasn't empty anymore as he spotted the bottle of red wine.

“I knew you’d say my favorite, that’s why i got the wine”

“You never liked the taste of wine”, Yoongi stated, remembering that time he brought a wine with him when he visited your house only for it to be only consumed by him as you can never stand anything that tastes bitter which is one of the things he first learned about you.

But there was that one instance when you got him amused when you decided that you’ll be drinking with him although it’s totally way out from what he expected. The memory is still as clear as day when he remembered you walking out of his kitchen with a wine glass on hand  that you placed on the centerpiece table of his living room.

“Are you going to have a wine?” Yoongi asked with his brows raised, settling his glass filled with wine on top of the table.

“I thought it’s not fair for you to drink alone so might as well join you” you adjusted yourself as you sat down on the carpeted floor beside Yoongi.

“You really don’t have to drink -” Yoongi didn’t get to finish his sentence when you whipped out a grape juice box behind your back, watching as you poked the covered hole with it’s straw to squeeze out the contents into the glass.

“Cheers?” you said as you swirled the liquid in the glass, making it look as if it’s the same wine he’s drinking and Yoongi can’t help but laugh at your quirky attempt. 

“A grape juice?”

“Hey, wine is also a grape juice except it’s fermented and i can never like anything that tastes bitter so what do you expect?” you reasoned out but nonetheless find the whole thing funny too.

Yoongi can only watch in delight as you get more defensive about the topic of grape juice vs wine, convincing him that both of the beverages are sourced from the same fruit, the only difference is that the other one tastes bitter whilst the other one tastes sweet.

“It’s okay baby, it’s the thought that counts” 

You stopped yourself from talking as soon as you heard the term of endearment come out of Yoongi’s mouth. It was always you who would call him ‘baby’ until now and you can’t help but blush as you try to conceal your growing smile when you remember what Jungkook told you.

“You are indeed cute when you’re drunk” you looped your arm around his as you rested your chin on his shoulder to kiss his cheek, making his smile bigger.

Yoongi clinked his glass with yours before he downed the remaining wine in one go as he try to quickly cover up the embarrassment he felt although there’s no use in hiding it anymore once he felt how warm his face feels like, not knowing if it’s the effect of the alcohol or if it’s your effect - obviously, it’s you.

--

“Can we grab a coffee first before we leave?” Yoongi asked once he felt his energy slowly depleting, the cup of coffee he had in the morning clearly out of his system now that he’s feeling a bit grumpy which is more of a reason that he needs to refuel with caffeine.

“Sure” you said as you closed the trunk of the car after you helped him load the groceries, following Yoongi to the cafe that’s right beside the grocery store.

Thankfully, there aren’t many people dining inside the cafe that’s why you’ve gotten to the counter right away as Yoongi did the work of telling your orders to the attendant whilst you scanned the cakes that are displayed as you munch on a pack of Skittles you got back in the store.

“Do you want anything else?” Yoongi asked just before he could finalize the orders.

“I’m fine, there’s no red velvet cake” you said as you managed to stand beside Yoongi, a piece of Skittles in between your fingers ready to go straight to Yoongi’s mouth until you stopped when you felt the cashier attendant’s gaze on you as if she’s trying to recall why you looked so familiar.

You’ve clearly forgotten that you’re still out in public and that your face is perfectly visible as you’ve lowered your mask to eat but it’s too late to hide your identity as you saw how her eyes widened once she recognized who you are. She definitely got starstruck once she glanced beside you where Yoongi’s standing though she remained professional and offered a smile towards the both of you which you both gladly returned with a bow of your head.

“Your orders will be ready in a while”, she said as she handed the receipt to Yoongi who let out a little chuckle as you both made your way towards the claiming area, still finding it hilarious how you quickly retrieved your hand to eat the candy instead when the attendant recognized you.

“I think i should eat this later” you muttered as you placed the mask back again on your face, sealing the pack of candy for later. 

Looking over your side, you bumped your hips against Yoongi’s when you saw his shoulders still visibly shake from laughter and how his eyes turned into little crescents from smiling. 

Yoongi went over the counter as soon as your orders were called, getting his Iced Americano while he handed to you your Caramel Macchiato, muttering a thank you to the staff as you made your way out of the shop and back to the parking lot.

“Ah finally, i could eat in peace” you said as you got inside the car, discarding your mask and taking your hood down. You reopened the pack of Skittles, pouring them over your palm as you straight out put it on your mouth and also pouring more for Yoongi but he offered his palm instead when you reached your hand out to feed it to him.

“Say ah” you said as you picked one piece of candy instead, zooming in your finger like an airplane into his mouth.

“What am i? A child?” Yoongi playfully grimaced but obeyed nonetheless as you popped them into his mouth.

“Yes you are” you chuckled, resting back in your seat as you raised your leg to tuck it under the other leg, “Why don’t we play a game and you try to guess the flavor of the skittle i’ll feed you?”

You strictly instructed Yoongi that he could not cheat and inspect the color of the candy, telling him he could only look straight ahead at the road, causing him to laugh, saying how he’s going to look straight either way as he needs to keep his attention on driving you both home safely.

“Raspberry”, Yoongi said in full certainty.

“How can you tell Raspberry apart from Wild Cherry?” you squint your eyes at him, skeptical if he cheated or he’s just really good at guessing it because you’re positive that those two flavors taste exactly the same - for you, atleast.

“Maybe my sense of taste is better than yours”

“Yeah you’ve got all the flavors right” you’re impressed to say the least as you try to feed Yoongi another piece of Wild Cherry to test him again until he gently grabbed your hand to stop you as he felt his throat itch from eating too much sweets.

“Doesn’t your throat itch from eating too much sweets?” Yoongi looked over at you, watching as you devoured the candy you were going to feed him instead and as if that isn’t sweet enough, you grabbed your caramel based beverage to sip on it which just made Yoongi cringe in distaste.

“I just really like anything that’s sweet”

“You’re going to get Diabetes at an early age” Yoongi warned as he always has but he knows that his warning will just be disregarded as you continue to satisfy your sweet cravings as you always do.

“That’s why i’m eating as much sweets as i can before i’ll not be able to”

“What kind of logic is that?” 

“You like anything that’s bitter as much as I like sweets so shut up” you shrugged as you pointed out but you totally get that he’s just looking out for you and you appreciate that.

“I atleast won’t get any chronic disease from it”, Yoongi retorted, chuckling at how silly this banter is to begin with and that reminded how adverse you two are and he’s not just talking about your taste preferences but personality wise too.

You and Yoongi are too different from each other - you’re more of an outgoing and friendly person while he is more reserved and quiet one. All his life, Yoongi thought he’d prefer someone who’s similar to him yet here he is, eating up his own thoughts as he eventually got you and he’s not saying that as a bad thing because he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your relationship is a living testimony that opposites do attract and it’s not as bad as what everyone makes it out to be though there were still a lot of differences and barriers you both have to overcome in the beginning of the relationship which he thinks is inevitable for every relationship to work.

The reason why you two get along so well is because you complement and balance each other, like how you both are able to strengthen each other’s weaker aspects. You’re always able to get him out of his comfort zone and he could always let you be vulnerable to him, let you out of that happy facade you’re always trying to keep up.

In conclusion, you bring out the best in him and he could hope you felt that way about him too, making you two a perfect pair, not even minding a bit how cheesy that thought is to him because it’s only a matter of fact.

--

“Why are you still here?” Yoongi sets aside the sirloin he’s been seasoning, getting distracted how you’re standing so close to him as you peer over his shoulders at what he’s doing much like a curious kid.

“What should i do next?” you asked him for the second time even though Yoongi told you that he’ll just call you whenever dinner’s ready but you’re so persistent in helping him out, causing him to gave in as he told you that you can set up the table which he think is done now that you’re pestering him again.

“Lounge in the sofa, i guess” 

“But i want to help you, Yoongs” you whined, making him chuckle, “Should i peel these potatoes?”

“I’ll do it” Yoongi grabbed the potato from you as well as the bowl that’s filled with it, keeping it close to his side so that you won’t be able to touch it and help him like what you’re suggesting, keeping in mind that he’s doing all of this to make up for the times he’s away.

Guilt would always creep up on him whenever he’s far away from you because you don’t deserve to be neglected like this, dating someone who’s mostly physically absent that’s why he’s doing the most of his ability as much as he can whenever comes back home so that he could actually fulfill the duties and responsibilities of being your boyfriend.

“Let me atleast wash the dishes later then?” you frowned with a pout, causing Yoongi to shake his head at you as he sheepishly smiled.

“Fine if that’ll get you to stop” Yoongi kissed your forehead before he diverted back his attention towards the potatoes but before he could even do so, you grabbed both sides of his face as you inched towards him until he felt your warm lips on his.

Yoongi closed his eyes as he kissed you back, hands almost going towards your waist to reel you in once you kissed him fervently until he remembered how his hands are still dirty and covered with sauce and seasonings for the steak but that didn’t stop him from wanting to deepen the kiss as he slowly tilted his head to the side only for you to break the kiss.

“Right, you don’t need my help” you teased as you peck him once more and also patted his bum right before you left to disappear towards the living room.

Yoongi scoffed that you got him stunned for a moment but nonetheless busied himself as he went back in preparing the dinner that didn’t take too much time to finally get it ready now that you’re not there to bother him anymore.

Withdrawing a plate from your cabinet, Yoongi then began to place the mashed potato first whilst he set the steak beside it, dripping some sauce around it as he tried to recreate those  plating presentations that’s normally seen in high end restaurants.

Yoongi grinned as soon as he entered the dining area, catching the sight of how you set the table into some sort of a candlelit dinner that’s accompanied with pieces of nearly wilted rose petals which he suspected came from the bouquet he bought for you last week but it now surrounds the four sides of the table.

“Y/N! Dinner’s ready” Yoongi called out as he placed the plates on the table. It didn’t take less than five seconds before you emerged in the dining room with a delighted look adorning your face.

“Oh wow it smells really good” you enclosed Yoongi in a back hug as you tipped your toes to kiss him on the cheek, “Thank you, baby.”

Yoongi hummed as he pulled your chair back, guiding you to sit before he made his way to his place as the gentleman he is. Picking up the bottle of wine, uncorking it as he poured it over his glass and onto yours right after but he let the mouth of the bottle hover on the rim of your glass before letting it pour as he looked at you.

“You sure you’d like some wine?” 

“It’s fine”

“If you say so” Yoongi smirked, filling your glass up even though he knows full well that you’re only going to take a sip or two before giving it all up. Clinking both of your glasses, Yoongi watches you whilst he takes a sip of his wine only for him to chuckle after he has seen you scrunching your nose from the bitter taste. 

“It tastes better with this” Yoongi said as he cut up a portion of his steak to feed you with it. The dissatisfied look on your face now gone as the bitterness mixed with the savory taste only made the flavor stronger.

“Your brother told me he taught you how to cook one”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Yoongi tried to rack his brain, recalling if he had ever informed you that his brother is the one who taught him to master the art of cooking but he can’t remember telling you that, knowing how he likes to take credit in his cooking skills.

“Your mom invited me over to their house on my birthday and your brother took in charge of cooking the food. I’ve sent you pictures, remember?”

You took out your phone to went over your photo gallery, scrolling over the pictures until it landed over the series of photos you took on the day of your birthday, showing Yoongi a picture of you and Holly nicely cuddled up in the sofa, earning a warm smile from him and on the corner of the picture he spotted the bouquet of tulips he assumes is the one he arranged in advance right by the local flower shop near you, instructing them to deliver it on your doorstep with some note he had written himself.

Lastly, you showed him the selfie you’ve taken on the dining table that’s filled with a sumptuous meal along with his whole family gathering around - his mom, dad, older brother and Holly whom his brother carried in his arms to fit in the picture. 

“I’m glad you had fun” Yoongi gave you a faint smile as he felt his guilt creeping up on him once again.

It has been two months since he had dearly missed your birthday because of the tour and he felt bad for missing out on a special day like this but that’s how it’s always going to be and he hates how this is conceived to be normal in your relationship when it’s unfair, specially for you.

You must’ve noticed his mood faltering a bit as you’ve put your phone down the table, placing your hand on top of him to squeeze it, making him stop focusing on slicing over his steak as he directed his eyes at you to give you a warm smile that indicates not to worry about him.

“I think the tour must’ve been a whole lot of fun, no? How was it this time?” you said, sipping on your wine that had you still scrunching your nose though albeit less noticeable now as you get more accustomed to the taste.

“It’s still great but more than ever now that we get to see more of our fans” Yoongi beamed a smile, taking pride how their hard work and the support from their fans has taken them to where they are now like how they were able to do stadium tours around the world or how they’re able to play concerts in places they’ve never imagine which is something beyond their goal and expectations.

“I’m proud of all of you and will always be, how about we toast on that?” you raise your glass as you take a big gulp of the alcohol out of courage which is a totally bad idea as it had made you immediately regret it, coughing up the bitterness away, causing you to give up the drink all in all.

“Just grab your grape juice from the fridge” Yoongi suggested, chuckling when you stood up to go over the kitchen to do as told and guessed right that you’ll never be able to withstand the alcohol.

The dinner went on with Yoongi urging you to talk more about what you’ve been doing lately but you protested that it has been practically boring and uneventful like his which he interjected that it goes the same for him as well. Apart from performing, he spent most of his time holed up in his hotel room to produce and compose songs or sleep like you’ve never known this or how he’ll just go out to buy some music equipment he needs for his studio.

He’s pretty sure you’ve told him over the phone the story of how you’ve managed to step on a puddle that reached up to your shins on your way home from work, remembering how you’ve complained that it ruined your favorite pair of suede flats.

“Have i told you about this before?” you said, noticing how he continues to smile unfazed like he’s already familiar with this story.

“Yeah but go on” Yoongi assured you that he doesn’t mind at all if he’s heard it before. Nothing compares to all those facetimes and phone calls because this is what he truly missed - getting to talk to you in person with no distance and time difference in between you two.

Soon as you know it, the table looks almost empty now that all the food are completely gone except for Yoongi’s wine glass that’s still filled with the alcohol as he still continuously drink from it while you opted to go for dessert and eat the cookies ‘n cream ice cream flavored you’ve got in the grocery.

The conversation’s still pretty going at this point with you doing most of the talking as you relaxly laid back against the chair with your crossed legs and Yoongi would just stare at you as he rested his elbow against the table with his cheeks pressed against his palm, casually laughing or putting in a few words.

“Tired?” you asked once you noticed his half lidded eyes and how he’s blinking them ever so slowly.

“No, i’m just a bit buzzed i guess” Yoongi denied as he tried to fight off the exhaustion but you did not buy his excuse as you abandoned your pint of ice cream by placing it on the table to stand up and get the plates to put them towards the sink.

Yoongi tailed behind you as he got the pint of ice cream to put them back in the freezer and the wine glasses which you got off of his hand as soon as he was next to you.

“I got this, why don’t you go up and pick something to watch”

“I’m not tired” you laughed now that Yoongi’s cute side is starting to come out as he placed his head on your shoulders with his arms around yours whilst you opened the faucet to run down water over the kitchenwares.

“Just go and let me do this” you turned around to push him away from you with all your might though it’s useless as he stubbornly stood his ground but nonetheless let you guide him when you grabbed his hand and led him towards the end of the stairs.

Standing on the first step, Yoongi leaned down to leave a kiss on top of your head that had you giggling whilst he told you to hurry up before he ascended to leave you to do your task. You ran back to the kitchen as you cleaned up the place as quickly as possible but still making sure not to miss a spot.

You wiped your wet hands with a towel now that you’re done with the dishes which leaves you to your routine of checking every corner of the first floor - unplugging the appliances, getting your water container in the fridge, and securely double checking the locks.

As you went up and open the door to your room, you were immediately greeted with a dimly lit light setting thanks to the television and on the edge of your bed, you see Yoongi clad in a loose white shirt and gray shorts that has been kept in your closet for times he chooses to stay over in your place as he drys his hair with the towel on his hands, signifying that he had just gotten out fresh from the shower.

“What are we going to watch?” you asked as you stood in front of Yoongi to grab the towel from his hand so that you could do the work of drying his hair instead.

“What do you want? I haven’t seen anything that’s interesting yet” Yoongi grabbed your waist to set you aside so he could have a good view of the television as he clicked on the remote to scan the films but still remained his hand on your waist even though you’re not obstructing the view anymore.

“Well, you decide. I’ll join you in a second” you detach yourself from Yoongi’s hold as you go over to your closet to grab some comfortable clothes to change into. You let the damp towel dry as you hang it on your chair before you could enter your bathroom to take a quick shower.

With his hair damp and unruly, Yoongi got up to go over your vanity table where your hair comb is as he drag it along his hair until he noticed the corkboard hanging on your wall just beside the table which he has never seen before, guessing you might’ve put it up while he was away.

It was filled with polaroid pictures of the both of you but mostly of Yoongi and he looked unaware in mostly all of it as you like to candidly take pictures of him but there are also random things attached to it like movie tickets, flower petals, and other things you deemed sentimental but what catches his attention the most is the tissue with some scribbled words on it.

It was a tissue from Baskin Robbins and it has a badly drawn stick figure on it with a text bubble on the side - ‘It’ll be okay’ is what’s written on it. The smudged black ink giving away that it has been sometime ago - two years ago to be precise.

If he remembers it right, he had drawn this when he picked you up from work that time and you remained silent for the whole ride, reasoning that it’s just one of those bad days at work. 

It was also a time when you still find it hard to be vulnerable around him given how the both of you just started dating and that just gave him an idea to go to an ice cream store first on the way to your house, knowing how sweets could always lift your spirits up.

You both got settled inside the car once you got your ice cream and finally be on your way to your house which is something you’ve been dying to do ever since you got from work. Yoongi’s clearly concerned for you but you’re glad he’s not pushing you to say anything but at the same time you felt bad for being silent for the whole time, not wanting to pass the burden you’re feeling.

“Here, have some tissue with you” Yoongi handed it over to you as he got the car out of the parking area until he felt your hand on top of his.

“Thank you, Yoongi” you said with glassy eyes and he’s glad that it’s what took for you to confide in him and for you to start trusting him enough that you managed to show the weak side you’re trying to conceal from him at the start.

Yoongi removed his hand from the tissue at the sound of the bathroom door opening as you came out with a towel wrapped around your hands, dressed in one of those short sleeved top and bottom silk pajama sets he got for you back when he was in Japan.

“I didn’t know you kept this”, Yoongi said with a smile tugging on his face.

You discarded your clothes towards the hamper as you came closer to Yoongi to see that he’s pertaining about the board you’ve recently hung, making you flushed at how he’s not supposed to even see how you keep every piece of something that just reminds you of your time with Yoongi but it’s just the way you are with how those pieces serves as a token of your memory.

“Yeah, I know it’s weird” you said as you look over the board and spot the receipt from the restaurant you both have your first date, embarrassed even more as you sit on the chair to remove the towel from your head as you focus instead on keeping it dry.

“It’s not weird, baby”

Yoongi enjoys making you fluster as much as you like doing it to him too that’s why he’s taken this as an opportunity to tease you more. He took the towel from your hand as he gently blotted and squeezed it against your hair much like what you did to him awhile ago, setting aside the hair you purposely let down to cover your face to the side and place it behind your ear.

“Ow be gentle, let me do it” you complained when Yoongi yanked your hair a bit as he combed through the tangles.

“Sorry, let me just take care of you” Yoongi swatted your hand away but his sweet words got you giggling and also a blushing mess.

As soon as your hair got fully combed, you stood up as Yoongi grabbed your wrist to drag you with him on the bed. He first got himself settled as he sat down with his back pressed against your headboard whilst he pulled you in to let you sit in between his legs, encircling his arms around you as you laid the back of your head on his chest.

“I really can’t find anything fun to watch, why don’t you choose?”

Getting the remote on the nightstand, you scan through the wide variety of movies as you read the plot and watch each trailer but nothing piqued your interest much as what Yoongi told you, sighing in discontentment as you turn off the television.

“Do you want to listen to some music instead?” you suggested, looking up to see Yoongi nod in agreement. You turned on the bluetooth speaker as you paired it with your phone, searching for some songs to play until you just thought of an idea that had you stifling your laughter.

“Ah why play this one?” 

Yoongi’s proud of his recently released mixtape but you had him cringing upon hearing Daechwita play which is the least thing he’s expecting for you to choose. His mixtape just doesn’t fit the mood right now, he’s thinking you’ll be playing those mellow songs you could easily sleep and cuddle into which is something he feels like doing tonight.

“Why? It’s your song” you chuckled even though you can’t clearly see Yoongi’s reaction right now but you just know he’s scrunching his face, “Fine, i’ll change it.”

You chose another mixtape to play and that is Honne’s No Song Without You. Pressing shuffle, the track By My Side instantly played that got you smiling as you remember how you thought of Yoongi when you first heard this song. Actually, all love songs remind you of Yoongi if that isn’t cheesy enough.

Humming along to the song, you grabbed Yoongi’s hand to face his palm towards you as you set your palm against his just to compare how small your hand is compared to him. You decided to trace along the lines with your fingers as you write down the letters of the word that perfectly describes what Yoongi is to you - Home.

“Are you going to do some palm reading and tell me about my future?”

“Hmm your future’s still pretty bleak but there’s one thing that’s clear”

“And what is it?”

“I’m in it” you said that had you giggling which also caused Yoongi to do the same.

“Of course you are”, Yoongi hugged you tighter, swaying the both of you side to side as he kissed your cheek.

You twisted your body to the side so that you’ll be able to put your arms around his neck, the side of your face still remaining on his chest whilst you closed your eyes as you get even more comfortable in this position until you’ve thought of a better idea to make it more comfortable or rather relaxing for Yoongi.

“Lay down on your stomach” you commanded, sitting up straight that made Yoongi’s hold loosen around you.

“Why?”

“Let me take care of you” you repeated the words he told you, sitting yourself on the other side of the bed as you watched Yoongi plopped the side of his head on the pillow where he also kept his arms under. You then straddled his waist after he got himself settled, pressing both of your palms on his shoulder blades, massaging it gently to untie the knots.

Ever since Yoongi got back from tour, he did as much to be with you and to literally take care of you which didn’t go unnoticed - he helped you in assembling your bookshelf that you never bothered to open or how he even changed one of the bulbs from your chandelier that you didn’t notice had burnt out already. 

“Your muscles are a bit tense” you said as you dug the heel of your palm to apply more pressure to his shoulder that had Yoongi humming in pleasure, “Have you even rested properly ever since you got back?”

“I’m okay” you sighed, grabbing his shoulders as you instructed him to turn around so that he could face you but you remained to be straddling him still.

“Yoongi, you’re almost with me everyday and i know that you’re still working on some songs”

The least thing he wants right now is to make you worry about him because he’s the one that should be worrying about you when you’re always the one that’s being left behind here and no, he’s not actually worried but scared that it might literally happen with the two of you growing apart that one day you’ll wake up and suddenly feel the whole long distance thing to be overwhelming and unbearable.

“I just feel guilty for leaving you here and i also want to make the most out of the days i have left with you” Yoongi finally confessed as he sat himself up to be closer to you, hands on your waist as he drew circles on your exposed skin where your shirt rose up before his other hand made way to the side of your face to reel you in for a kiss.

Yoongi bit your lower lip, causing you to slightly open your mouth which he took as a sign for him to slid in his tongue to clash it with yours, making sure to kiss you gently and passionately as he could as he pour his raw feelings into it, wanting to savour the moment slowly rather than taking it in a rush.

The kiss was nothing but pure longing for each other - longing for all the times you’ve missed and for the time he’ll leave again which will be in three days to continue the Asian leg tour. It isn’t also a bad thing because when he comes to think of it, it’s the last part of the tour but that still isn’t an excuse to make Yoongi feel guilty again as he’ll be gone in a span of three months.

It was clear that your kiss is getting more eager as you play with the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him in close as much as possible when you wrapped your legs around his waist whilst your other hand has made its way under his shirt, resting it above his chest where you can feel his heart that’s beating erratically.

You’re making it hard for Yoongi to take this slow reason why he detached his lips from yours, chuckling when he heard you emit a disappointed grunt but not for long when his warm lips then invaded the base of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he work his way up to your jaw, pecking the side near your ear as he whispered.

“I’ve missed you”

He was about to kiss your cheek until you pulled him in by his shoulders, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck that had him quite puzzled at the sudden action but nonetheless let you do so as the both of you stayed like that for a while - you sitting on his lap with your legs around his waist and your arms securely around his neck, head still hiding from him while he rubbed your back and gently caressed your hair.

The warmth of your bodies and gentle touches against each other are exchanged between the two of you, not minding how you’re just basking in the silence as you solely focus on enjoying each other’s presence with the music making everything seem so melodramatic and it was just one of those moments you’d call to be bittersweet.

The silence between you two was soon gone as he heard you sniffling, alarming him even more when he felt hot tears falling onto his neck. Yoongi tried to pry you away as he leaned back to get a proper look at you but that just made you tighten your arms around him, burying your face even more into his neck.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, chuckling a bit to mask the reason why you’ve suddenly gotten so  upset, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yoongi asked as he laid back down the mattress, joining you with him.

“I'm sorry, it’s just that i still can’t get quite used to it” your voice was muffled but he perfectly heard you and catched on that you’re referring to him leaving so soon again. Finally, he was able to see your face as you adjusted yourself, wiping the tears as you pressed one of your hands on his chest where you rested the side of your face onto.

“You don’t have to be sorry about it” Yoongi comforted you as he gently ran his thumbs along your cheek, “I should be the one saying sorry to you.”

“Yoongs, you don’t have to be sorry about it too” you leaned in towards his touch as you rested your hand on top of his that’s cradling your face, earning Yoongi a smile. 

“I know our relationship is far from normal and it’s sometimes hard for the both of us but I just want to assure you that the distance wouldn’t keep us apart. I won’t leave you because you’re my home and my safe space, Yoongi.”

It’s a rare sight to see Yoongi get emotional but here he is tearing up at your words and how you instantly eliminate the doubts and guilt he has been carrying with himself. Yoongi chuckled as he covered his eyes with his arm, making you laugh too with tears welling up your eyes at the sight of Yoongi crying as the emotionally sensitive person you are.

Turning to the side, Yoongi set you to lay beside him as you both completely faced each other, fondly staring at you whilst he thread his fingers in your hair that had you closing your eyes. Your left hand in between you two caught his attention, fingers immediately landing on your palm as he wrote down the word you’ve written on his.

Yoongi looked up at you as soon as you enclosed your hand around his, watching how your eyes are still close but a small smile is now adorning your face. He scooted closer until  your foreheads touched, closing his eyes as well but before he could drift off to sleep, he dearly whispered the words to express the same sentiment.

“You’re my home and I'll always come back for you.”

--

A/N: The tissue with scribbled words was based on irl and it just gets me soft everytime, reason why i had to write it down hehe. Anyways, hope you like this one and if you like, you could give me feedback about it hehe.

[delicatefury]

A couple of Major’s disasters

Raising this dog is a trip, let me tell you:

(Warning, this gets gross. I assume a lot of people might find this stuff nauseating. I’m desensitized since I grew up on a farm and still visit and this kinda stuff is normal for me, and dogs are still carnivores/scavengers and love gross things and Major is no exception.)

Ate an amaryllis blossom that had literally just fallen to the floor. Proceeded to throw up 6 times, prompting an emergency vet visit (during lockdown, so I had sit in the car and wait an hour while they treated him), a subcutaneous fluid injection (left him a hunchback for most of the day), 4 days of medication, and two meals mixed with activated charcoal. He’s 100% okay and was pretty much back to normal as soon as we got home.

Stole a chicken wing from my plate. That my sister was supposed to be watching while I fed the cats. Swallowed it in one bite. Went on life as usually, no distress or anything, then threw up just the bone on my bed the next morning. Thankfully on his doggie blanket and not on me.

Ate my sister’s jury summons (now a moot point since jury trials are cancelled until May or later).

Found and gnawed on half of a dead bullfrog at my parents’ farm. Proceeded to find said dead frog no matter where I threw it. Including when I threw it in a tree.

Ate fermented soybeans that he found under a piece of farm equipment. I didn’t even try to clean up the yard after him that night.

Woke me up at 5, 4, 4, 5, 3, and 5:45 am the last several days.

Chewed up my sister’s Apple earbuds.

Launches himself, full speed, onto the couch so he can bother my brother’s super timid cat who likes to nap on the back. He is not allowed on the couch without permission.

Was so terrified of my umbrella that he forgot to pee despite squatting like he was. Proceeded to have his first accident in days about 10 minutes later after I had thoroughly dried him off.

Bites off and attempts to eat the little whistle part of every squeaker he tears out. Learned he could hide them between his lip and his gums, forcing me to run a finger between them every time I’m suspicious of him chewing on something.

Growled at the 80+ lb German Shepherd over a rawhide. Proceeded to lose his rawhide privileges.

Found a half rotted pig skull from ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (probably from my cousin butchering earlier this year. My parents’ dog probably stole it from his place down the lane). Proceeded to growl at any dog who came near it and thought me taking it away was a game and kept stealing it back. Unburied it from who knows where at our next farm visit a week later and repeated the whole ordeal.

Belly flopped on my sister’s bed of tulips, that she’s growing to cut and sell. Thankfully I only owed her a coffee for that.

Got so excited to see the barista when I went for curb-side pickup at the local coffee shop that he tried to climb out of the back seat and kicked me in the head.

Tried to steal every Easter candy wrapper he could find.

More farm visit shenanigans - will follow the German shepherds into our lake (which is man-made as a in-case-of-draught measure and broken and is more like a shallow, muddy, frog filled swamp until we can fix it) and then wriggle his way into my parents house, which is arranged like a circle on the bottom floor, and drip swampy water while running circuits and chasing their cats until someone can catch him.

Ate decomposing grass my brother knocked off the lawn mower when he got it out for the first time this week. Threw up on the new carpet. Gave me a heart attack because it was dark colored and I thought he had vomited blood for a moment. It left grass stains.

Steals socks. And cat toys. A couple shoes. My new sandals. A rain boot. A squishy macaron toy my nieces gave me. Two small stuffed animals (a marmoset and a dragon beanie baby). A small tub of playdough. Sandpaper. Water bottles.

Tore up and ate half of the cats’ cardboard scratcher.

The Disaster Dog.

[mc-wypum]

Andy could only hear his shivering and the cold wind blowing in his face. It had been almost an hour since he started moving and at this rate he would basically die of the cold. That is until the swamp in the distance gave him hope.

He picked up the pace, ignoring the numb feeling in his feet and the snowflakes burning his exposed skin.

With out a second thought he quickly slid down the snowy mountain, mindful of the jumps he had to make before he reached the bottom.

Climbing down the last set of blocks he saw how just how different the climate changed in the swamp and in the snow.

He took a step and crossed the snow covered line that was separating the two biomes.

He instantly felt warmer, mostly because of the swamps humidity.

He looked around and could see many new things besides the color white.

Dark, mossy grass, vines that out grew the trees and slipped in the water. Lillie pads floating calmly in the lake. And something else that floated above the water.

A hut. Built out of wood, it was tiny and seemed to be empty. But he would have to cross the water to get to it.

He looked around and saw no other way to cross. And besides, his curiosity got the best of him. Hesitantly, he put a foot into the seemingly mossy water and slowly sunk it down to see if it was safe to swim across.

The water was shallow. He grinned to himself and quickly put in his other foot, slowly moving his legs over to the hut that stood above the water.

To his luck, no one or thing, was inside. It was his to claim and he would.

By the time he reached it he noticed that there was a chest inside. Along with a cauldron, and what looked like a crafting bench of sorts.

There was also a tube, with a red glowing rod inside that connected to other small tubes. It looks like it was made to make some sort of liquid.

He ignored the mechanism and focused on the chest in the corner.

He carefully lifted it open and peered inside.

Slowly, his arm dug around and pulled out the contents.

An apple, three golden bars, a sword, more of the rods that where inside the tube and a bucket of...milk? Strange. There was a small journal inside of the chest, with papers and empty glass bottles. Taking out everything and setting them on the crafting table, he took a look in the cauldron and saw there was a purple liquid inside. It looked like it was bubbling and small sparks of dark green and grey emitted from it. He was curious, but cautious of what it might be.

He could figure it out later anyways.

Slowly he opened the small journal and red over the pages.

‘Belongs to w...’ some of the letters where scratched out so much that he couldn’t even finish the sentence. He turned the page anyways.

‘Upon my research I have come across a new kind of potion. One that turns liquids into gasses. But to do so I must travel to th...’ again, letters were scratched out but there was one word in there not entirely illegible.

‘End.’ Was the word. Andy quirked his brow, pushing his glasses back up to his nose.

He turned the page again and saw some sort of list, filled with ingredients and formulas with small notes on the side correcting past notations.

‘Blaze rod...’ he read, was that what that thing in the tube was? What was the tube even called?

‘Spider eye, Fermented Spider eye both make poisons. It amounts to dark purple liquid.’ Andy’s eyes widened and he glanced at the cauldron before reading again.

He skipped a few pages, concluding that some of them where just diary entry’s and nothing important.

‘I found it! The enchantment table! I have found it deep below ground!’

Woah, now this. Was interesting.

‘I would need to acquire experience and lapis to fully use it, but that does not matter. The book containing the spells will help immensely with my witch craft.’

Andy stopped reading for a moment. Taking in everything he read and proceeding to stuff everything he could in his pockets.

He swiftly jumped out of the hut and back into the shallow swampy water, causing a small splash before moving across again. His body temperature was still a bit cold so he moved quickly across the water and onto shore again.

He eyed the sword that was in his hands.

It had a dull shine to it, it was smooth but a little bumpy. Was it made of stone? Most likely.

He kept moving, sword still in hand as a way of defense for anything that seemed threatening. Then suddenly he remembered of the crumbled piece of paper in his pocket. He took it out and unfolded it from its messy handiwork.

‘That’s strange.’

There were marks, and different colors on the paper he looked at. His name was still scribbled at the top but everything else changed.

He pin pointed where he was, the small patch of dark green and blinding white that followed his path.

‘It’s expanding as I go. Huh..’

he could see hints of blue and a lighter green on the other side of the white mountain he was at but paid no mind to it.

His curiosity was getting the better of him and he walked faster through the small forest he was in, stuffing the map back in its place and taking in his surroundings. Andy was itching to get out, he craved to know more about the world he was in. What else was out there for him to see? Maybe possibly...there were more like him.

His feet didn’t stop and his hand swatted away bees, and small flying insects that got too close to him. He let his mind wander out of his head and into the clouds where he day dreamed about different places and what they would look like. Jungles...maybe the opposite of the place he woke up in. Somewhere dreadfully hot and sandy. Hell, maybe there was trees growing under water.

All he knew as that he couldn’t wait to see what was in store for him.

Andy pushed away leaves and small tree branches before sun light hit his face and was met with bright green grassy planes. Flowers blooming all across and some patches of grass growing taller than others. Andy hummed and a small smile grazed his features before a look of blazing determination took over.

‘I’m so gonna tear this place apart.’

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Born Into the Wilds - Around the Fire

Since I can use my fingers normally again, have the new chapter! AO3 link here.

Where Nyx' friends are pltting little shits (he loves them anyway), a story is told and a secret is revealed that isn't really a secret anymore. Featuring: Crowe's hidden dream, Luche sulking in the backround, respectTM for the story tellers and some very strong alcohol.

Hadnissa words:

bamohna (dative singular of bamohn): hot spice native to Galahd, tastes a bit like curry kreitschi: very thin skewered meat mostly done with bamohn and chili, Galahd native dish galahkari (nomiative plural of galahkar): person of Galahdian origin/Galahdian sinehär: the Elder gisdrauht: story teller/keeper of history thuirs (genitive singular of thuir): Father fumir: Galahdian national drink, fermented garula milk with spices (exact recipes vary from region to region)

Nyx’ side pulled in a mildly painful way with each too sudden movement of his torso, as Libertus and Crowe herded him along, cheerfully chatting all the way. They walked through the streets of Little Galahd, air filled with lively chattering in a mix of accented Lucian and Hadnissa, and heavy with the smell of exhaust fumes, grilled meat and spicy bamohna.

It gave him that feeling of not-quite-home he had become familiar with.

“Seriously, guys, what’s this about? I’m out of that white prison for like half a second and then I get abducted by you two,” he complained, totally exasperated with his best female friend and his hunting brother.

“We’re going to see an expert,” asserted Crowe in a stern voice for the third time before she went back to bickering with Libertus about the ancestors knew what.

Well, that wasn’t at all unhelpful.

He huffed in exasperation and glared at the tattoo-shop on the side of the street between a butcher’s shop and one concentrating on traditional leatherworks that had opened not too long ago. The owner was one of those assholes who thought he could profit off of a foreign culture only to be surprised that no one would give him the time of day. They only stopped to get a kreitschi each for dinner from one of the street vendors with tattoos not unlike Nyx’ on his fingers.

Nyx relished in the sharp bite of the bamohn and sweet chili after two days of tasteless hospital mush. How the Lucians could eat their food tasting like nothing he would never know. Maybe that’s why they were always such dickheads.

He got herded up a flight of rickety metal stairs and when he saw the house they were heading towards, he abruptly stopped walking. Or he would have, if Libertus hadn’t walked into him. He coughed on the piece of meat he’d choked on. Tears sprang into his eyes as the hot spices went down the wrong pipe. All the spirits, was that painful.

“Man, Nyx your face!” laughed Libertus. “You alright?”

Nyx shot him a dark look after he got his breathing back under control. His throat still burned something fierce but that he could do nothing about right now.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.

Crowe heaved an exasperated sigh, hands on her hips, like his sister used to do when she was losing her patience with him. The thought made his heart twinge painfully and he unconsciously tugged at the mourning braid, he carefully maintained, even after all these years.

“Seriously, Nyx. Weren’t you listening? I told you a million times by now we would go see an expert for this!” she said.

“I didn’t think you meant that kind of expert!”

She shot him an are-you-dumb look, he didn’t bother dignify with an answer. It was kind of true he supposed. He should’ve known what they meant when they had picked him up at the hospital with shit-eating grins on their faces and a manic glint in Crowe’s eyes. She’d always had a talent and interest for magic.

“Up, up, you hero. We don’t want to be late,” grinned Libertus and proceeded to push him up the rest of the stairs until they reached the old concrete building with the surprisingly large inner courtyard where the stories were told once every five days and during every celebration.

Here the elders lived with the best things they could be afforded. Since governmental support amounted to basically nothing the Galahkari had started to pool resources, not only for the elders but also for the orphans and those who couldn’t earn money themselves. It worked, if only barely.

Pelna was waiting for them at the entrance of the courtyard with Luce standing next to him, his face a grimace of I-don’t-want-to-be-here. Tredd, Axis, Sonitus and a few other Glaives, most of them had been on his last assignment, loitered not too far away. Already Nyx could hear the telltale sounds of even more people behind the entrance. He would like to go home now, please. He had no desire for people to ogle him like he was some kind of attraction.

Before he could think of an effective escape plan however, Pelna saw them, grinned and waved like the cheeky bastard he was. “Damn. Didn’t think you would actually manage it,” he said.

“Did you doubt my power of persuasion?” asked Crowe with a playfully pointed look.

“Of course not,” laughed Pelna.

Nyx just rolled his eyes and wondered how these were his best friends. “Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbled and trudged past Luche who looked at him with a carefully blank face, into the courtyard.

“Oh come on, hero. You don’t need to act like you’re going towards your execution,” called Libertus and hurried after him, followed by the others.

The courtyard was already full of people standing in clusters, talking animatedly and clothed in colourful garments one didn’t normally see in drab and proper Insomnia. At the centre stood a barrel in which a fire burned merrily. The air smelled of smoke and old history.

He breathed in deep, soaked the atmosphere up like a drowning person needed air. Maybe, just maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. Why hadn’t he come more often to gatherings like these? A spike of homesickness made him want to grimace. Ah, that’s why.

The voices floating around him hushed as Istoria Patientia stepped up to the fire. She was an old woman, closer to ninety than eighty, shrunken and marked by the war like so many of them were, but her eyes were sharp and clear. Her long white hair was twisted into a myriad of braids, the most prominent designating her as a sinehär gisdrauht. One of the five that still lived.

There were no seats or any other accommodation as the people stepped closer to the fire, Nyx included. When a gisdrauht wanted to tell a story you listened. They never did so without reason, there was always something to learn.

Istoria’s gaze swept over the crowd and hung a few seconds too long on Nyx for his liking. He felt the fine hairs on his neck stand on end and that animal-deep jungle-instinct spark again in anticipation. Whatever happened this evening would be important, he could feel it. She dipped her head into a slight nod and watched the crowds a few seconds longer before she took a deep breath and started to recite in that hypnotic rhythm all stories were told in.

Her voice was scratchy with age but loud and clear and carried well through the confines of the courtyard where no Lucian eye could see them.

 Come, come closer to the fire and let me tell you a story. Listen well, for this is a story told to me by my father and mother who were told by their father and mother back until the first people stepped into the arms of Galahd and the world was younger.

The day the last of the white coeurls, great guardians of Galahd, left his pack was one of joy and great sorrow. He roamed through the deep shadows driven by something he could not name. Dreams had plagued him, dreams of blood and pain and a knife forged by green mists, keeping him awake and restless.

Dreams are dreams his pack told him but he thought differently and so he went out more and more often for longer and longer amounts of time, always searching for anything that could help. After a new bout of restless nights he searched again, high and low for many circles of the sun and moon and yet didn’t find anything. Only trees and more shadows where secrets lay he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

But finally, many days after leaving, he came upon a hill where an old hollow tree stood, guarded by crows and Naga’s kin. He knew who lived here. The ever-young, she, who danced with the storms. The witch the humans called wise.

The last white coeurl came near and the crows laughed. He swiped his sharp claws at them but they only ruffled their feathers and laughed louder. It followed him over the threshold of the hollow tree.

“You’re finally here. Come in, the knife is finished,” said the Wise Witch.

She stepped up to him, her long black hair braided in the ways of the oldest traditions. In her hand she carried a knife he knew well, for it was the blade he saw in his dreams full of blood and pain. He hissed at her in warning, but she did not hesitate as she laid the knife down in front of him.

It was a short one edged blade with a hook at the backside and a sturdy grip made out of pale wood. Dark green runes adorned it, pulsing in time to the white coeurl’s heartbeat.

“Soon, there will come a day where you will need this. Take it. The payment will be the pains you will feel for the rest of your life should you decide to use it,” the Wise Witch said and went back to her glasses full of herbs and magic as if the last white coeurl was nothing but air to her and maybe he was, for she was as old as the lands themselves.

He stood there, bristling, but he knew what happened to those who didn’t heed the Wise Witches words. So he took the knife and turned to the way back home, the crows’ laughter echoing in his ears. It took him many days until he stepped back onto the cliff that was his pack’s home.

The smell of blood and death greeted him and his trot became a run. What he found was a woman with braids in her hair and who spoke the tongue of beasts burying the last of his pack.

Thus the last of the white coeurls, great guardians of Galahd, met Adrastea, she who speaks the tongue of beasts. His blood yet lives to continue the task he inherited from his pack and has been passed down until this day.

 Nyx stood there rooted to his spot next to Libertus, staring at the fire. He watched it flicker and dance as Istoria told a story he had first heard at his thuirs knee when he was too little to remember it. The words were the same but something was different.

A coeurl ran through the flames as the last words were spoken and silence settled upon the gathering. People blinked as if woken from a spell and a low murmuring started as children asked questions and parents answered.

The prickling sensation on the base of his neck made it clear that there were people watching him. He suppressed a shudder. “Well, that wasn’t helpful at all,” he muttered.

Crowe dug her elbow into his uninjured side. “Shut it. You know the sinehär gisdrauhti never tell-”

“Never tell a story without reason. Yes, I know.”

She shot him a dark look, causing him to sigh and duck his head.

“You know, you would’ve been a great gisdrauht if your thuirs family had allowed you to take their name,” he said as way of an apology.

Her sharp gaze softened to something young and vulnerable, a slight smile curling at her lips. It lasted for only the fraction of a second before the sarcastic woman was back again.

“The very best,” chimed Libertus and got a thump on the upper arm for his trouble. He made a face and cursed.

“Nyx of Clan Ulric,” said Istoria causing all five to stop and look at her. She stood hunched over on her cane a smile on her wizened face. “Come to the fire. There we may talk.”

He nodded and with a muttered “Of course, sinehär” followed the old woman, after a few quick goodbyes, back to the barrel. His friends weren’t following, not having been invited and everybody still remaining kept a respectful distance.

For a while Istoria just looked at him, her brown eyes took on an eerie orange sheen in the fire light. Then she tapped an earthen pot that was half buried in hot coals at the base of the barrel and pulled out two earthen cups from her many layers of colourful patched skirts and said: “Be a dear, Nyx of Clan Ulric, and pour us a cup each. All that story telling makes me thirsty in my old age.”

Obediently Nyx bent down and picked up the pot that looked like a mix between a carafe and a Lucian teapot with a wavy pattern that reminded him of the sea, by the handle formed to look like a sea serpent. It was nicely lacquered in turquoise and shades deep sea blue. He filled the identical cups that matched the pot and set it back down.

The smell alone told him at once what it was. Fumir. Istoria gave him a cup and he took a careful sip after she did and nearly choked. Very strong and very spicy fumir. It burnt all the way down and settled like a warm ball of sunshine in his stomach. Thank the ancestors he had eaten something before coming here.

Istoria shot him a mischievous grin like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and then she grew serious again. “Did you know that until the days of Adrastea no Ulric has ever had blue eyes? Grey certainly, sometimes green and even Solheimr golden, but never blue.”

Nyx felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline. He had an inkling of where this was going and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he kept his mouth shut. Not only was she the oldest member of their community still alive and a gisdrauht, but also because he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to whop him with her cane if he did and he really didn’t need that with so many people still around as potential witnesses.

“Blue came after and with it a spark, so to speak. What I’m about to tell you, Nyx of Clan Ulric, has been a secret of your Clan for as long as its members have had blue eyes. Your father entrusted me with it before his untimely death to tell you, should the time ever come, since he knew he wouldn’t live long enough for him to do it himself.”

That caused Nyx to stand up straight, eyes wide and mouth open. That was… of course it had to have been a Clan secret he had no clue about. His father had died of Creeping Vine’s disease when he had been five and Selena two and his father’s older brother had died just a year before and none of his children had taken his Clan Name. Two of his cousins were still alive and in Insomnia, even, but refused to talk to him since he had joined the Kingsglaive, despite the debt they owed the King.

“I thought I would have to ask Libertus for help,” he burst out before his brain could catch up and promptly drank another gulp of the warm and too strong fumir to keep him from humiliating himself any further. Ahtrii, he wished he was anywhere but here.

“A viable option, but unnecessary,” the old woman chuckled. “Even if it would have been interesting to see young Libertus of Clan Ostium try to find and convince a snake. They can be very unhelpful if they want to be. Especially here on the mainland.”

Nyx grinned at the mental image. That would have made a suitably embarrassing tale for Libertus’ wedding should he ever decide to marry someone.

“Now, according to Ilias, the Clan of Ulric belongs to those with a close connection to an animal, but that was already obvious. When he came to me a large part of his veins had already turned green and his hands shook so bad he couldn’t hold a cup anymore without spilling half of it. He looked me into the eyes and said: ‘Contrary to popular believe the Ulrics don’t change into coeurls, we never have. What we do have is the ability to copy what makes a coeurl a coeurl and use it ourselves. We can see like them, hear like them, even move like them, but we’re still human and that’s the important difference.’ I have heard many a tale of you doing exactly that but now you have come into a degree of power not seen in your Clan for many generations. The Lady of Beasts has blessed you.”

With a startling clarity he remembered what had happened during his First Hunt, when he had been all of nine years old. There, in the clearing full of flowers, he had met her. The Great Coeurl. She had treated him like an unruly cup of her pack. At least that made some amount of sense now.

“I… thank you for telling me, sinehär,” he managed to say, his mind strangely fuzzy. Damn, that drink was way too strong to be just a regular cup of fumir. No wonder Istoria kept living on and on if she used this to shock her heart back into pace again. He felt old, gnarly fingers taking the near empty cup from him, and blinked down at his empty hand.

“Go back to your hunting party, Nyx of Clan Ulric and, for once, let them take care of you. Sleep, eat and then you can keep running off into your adventures again,” said Istoria with an air of exasperated tenderness as she gently tapped his leg with her cane to make him turn around.

Nyx really, really wanted to protest, but he knew if he opened his mouth now, nothing coherent would come out. So he did the sensible thing and did as told.

“And tell my grandson I would like to see him for dinner tomorrow evening,” Istoria called after him.

His friends took one look at him before herding him out of the courtyard and towards his apartment building. He didn’t look that bad, did he? Somehow he managed to mumble the invitation to Luche, or at last he thought he did, if he remembered his friend’s grimace right. After that it was all a blur of different colours, shapes and sounds until he felt himself being wrapped into a blanket, then he was out like a light.

[imperiusv]

II -R U Mine?

                                              Ausculor                                                 Release

I could barely breathe, my heart was beating like war drum , i felt light headed and as i was coming down from a really strong high, you looked me in the eyes, no hint of smile nor affection, just a blank, soulless stare,vanished. Panic mode turned on immediately - literally what the fuck? Months of shit and finally something good happens - you would expect more of the same, but nope, shitstorm incoming. I frantically start looking for you , perhaps she felt bad or dizzy, I say to myself, trying to justify your behavior again. Finally i find you on the ground in some bedroom talking on the phone and blatantly ignoring me, I am literally in full on panic mode, what the fuck is going on? We leave for the club and you told me to fuck off. The library was the venue, i proceeded to get wasted and didn’t bother with you anymore, I spend a lot of time with my friends and the night progressed into a drunken haze, i find myself talking to Indy outside for a good 30 minutes, they didn’t let the gypsy motherfucker into the club ,perfect opportunity to sober up, Timur gets in a taxi drunk with Yavuz, after they ate pizza , I lied that i will leave too, secretly i was waiting for you. I saw Baptiste with that girl , i don’t seem to recall her name,but i think they were kissing, i was really drunk , but i remember the look in his eyes when we made eye contact, the guilt and fear in his eye told the whole story, he was doing something he was not supposed to  and got caught , I don’t remember what happened next but i ended up meeting you outside, which was the point of the whole torture, we went home together, i remember how you cuddled up and took my hand in the bus, it was really sweet , one of those good drama free moments we had, we just stayed in silence enjoying the comfort of each other.

Big surprise after that - we didn’t talk for almost 10 days, the first of many times we will go into radio silence mode over the next couple of months, malus through Timur and we started talking again, which you did again , weirdly for someone you don’t care , trying to reach out to them, but yeah whatever. 8th of December we met again, I was out with my friends again and we were supposed to meet, you came in really late and we decided to ditch them all together, it was just you and me, walking around the streets in the dead of night, trying to figure out shit, we talked a lot, no idea what about , quite incoherent now, but i remember we kissed under a light pole , it was a shitty kiss, you made it like that just to prove a point, all i remember after is that we got the bus back home and you were texting some other guys or colleagues to go to there, i felt you had a thing for one of the guys, which this was only confirmed after that, but yeah i saw it even back then with no background or anything, it is a curse to see so clearly i know.

Birthday! Did you know your birthday is 16 days after mine?That’s two years,two weeks and two days after me, yeah mind-blown. I took you to eat cakes, i believe everyone deserves a cake on their birthday, it was fun, no drama and bullshit, but that was just the start of the day. In the evening we had the party, i knew you were still thinking not to come, so i came to shots to get you and to make sure we ended up the Labyrinth. I still remember you wore the red dress and i had my red shirt on,the first part of the evening , we spend blatantly ignoring each other and i stopped giving you attention at one point and proceeded to get fucked up , i was smoking outside alone and you came and sat in my lap, blabbing some stuff , but i didn’t even listen, I started playing with your hair and kissing your neck and we made out for a good 3-4 hours, first outside, then we went to the back in the dark,on those smelly rugged coaches, it was like we couldn’t get enough of each other , i have never kissed anyone for so long, at one point we stopped and i realized it was 4 am and the bar was starting to close down, i begged the to play RHCP By The Way and we danced and made out some more, then hit the road, during the time we were on the couch, people were talking to us, joking, fooling around, but i didn’t even notice them , such a connection that was, i felt like we were one. I wasn’t expecting sex so i decided to go on an adventure with you, I really wanted you to remember that birthday, so i thought it would be a great idea to take you to see the sunrise, we tried going into that rooftop,but it had fucking rats and was locked, i laughed so hard, when there was a noise and we thought the rats were coming for us, somehow i decided that it would be a brilliant idea if we can’t see it from the rooftop to go to the mountains, but it was cold as fuck, i mean it was fucking December , wtf do you expect, dumb-ass? It was such a good evening , no drama, no bullshit , mostly kissing and having a good time , a real adventure. I thought after this we will be together, but i was wrong again, i screwed up again.This time it was my fault , I took you to Pierre’s when i should have given you space  and let all that affection and good time i had given you , ferment like good grapes, i was too available and wanted more and more of you, such beta moves.

We went to his party and i really wanted to show you the view, cuz the last time i was there all i could think of was showing it to you, yeah, fuck me . They of course made jokes of it and said we were like a couple or whatever which was an anathema to you at that point. I managed to salvage the situation by joking and stuff and then pulling a vanishing act with you alongside me, a trick i learned from you - to vanish from people , you did this to me numerous times in the months before , mostly at shots or any other bars, sometimes you vanished with guys like that screw up Romaine or whatever his name was, that disgusting french guy, but now i see you have a thing for disgusting guys, by looking at your new boyfriend , sometimes i feel sick and want to throw up, but yeah i guess you have that mentality of not fighting for something that’s worth it ,but rather settling for something that’s easy and available and wont cause you any problems down the road , but yeah whatever lets go on with the story. We went to Shots and had a good time again, we danced and made out , it was pretty chill, but even as we were there, i knew i had screwed up and you were gonna give me shit now , but the more ridiculous thing was that you knew it as well and went with it, even tho , knowing that my friends were the reason why and they were the assholes , i was just inconsiderate.So you cut all contact off in the next days , but surprise mothefucker i came to the star wars stuff you were so shocked and we didn’t talk until Christmas,but I guess you responded to challenge and started to miss me , when i contacted you , we talked for hours and hours every day, I could listen to your voice all day back then, now just imagining it , to be honest i can’t even remember how your voice sounds, but it sends chills down my spine, just thinking about it makes my blood boil. My grandpa had passed away so maybe that was one of the reasons you were more warmed up to me, but i remember how much better i felt after we started talking and when you said that over the holidays you imagined me as something more and really was starting to miss me and thinking of me in another way, I felt so ecstatic and got really excited about seeing you again, but then again you said it passed like gas. During those days we talked so much and i got to know you even more and more, we would go on for hours on the phone, even Timur was annoyed, who visited me for fucking Christmas , jesus how could i forget this, for the last three years he had been with me for Christmas and New year you called me 20 times, drunk, enough said, but back to Timur,  just imagine that and i didn’t even call him or text him when we were together that often, he was one of the few persons that really felt me and really connected on a different level to me, the other one being my brother of course and maybe Adrian,all of us fire loving archers, none the less. We got unimaginably drunk on new year and all the time you were calling me and texting me, you even said you wanted to kiss me and so on, while you were drunk ,which for me was fucking huge, getting validation from you, the reason i got drunk was you, cuz every time i would go outside to talk to you, there was a hidden bottle of whiskey and one full of vodka in the bushes and i would have a sip or two and then head back into the club, I was so fucking wasted, my brother and Timur carried me home, Adrian was fucking angry at me,but he got over it and when i went home, my lenses were on the floor and Tumor picked them up, put me to sleep, he took such good care of me, that bastard, oh it almost brings tears to my eyes when i think about it, how good of a friend he was and how much he cared about me and all, now i have nothing even close to that, i’m gonna give him a call or text him now, as he is being going through some really hard times lately and i wish i was more there for him than now, as he was for me before, he helped me got through really bad episodes, i tried and did my best last time we had facetime,but still it’s different when I’m not there, when i come back from my self imposed exile i will spend  some quality time with him , as he deserves, he also mentioned he wants to come here, but idk if i can find him a good job that pays great money, but who knows maybe next year i can make it happen, as it would be amazing to have him here, if am single and he still is, we will have the time of our lives , i am very tempted to summon him here and help him stay. I went back to Sofia and we saw each other on my name day, i couldn’t help myself so i planted a big kiss on you the first time i saw you,we were at shots with your friends, I remember how surprised you looked. Then you started pulling back again and we went through not talk and talking again and again for the next month and a half, it was horrible, the worst period of all our pre-relationship this was , you would call me up when you were lonely and felt bad so we could hang out, but then you would disappear for days and days leaving me with my thumb up my ass every time , like the erasmus awards , I was planning on rigging the whole thing so that we can win , but imagine my surprise when Elizabeth told me we had a 10 vote lead over the others, people just liked our vibe and thought we were a couple and instead of accepting the reward and making it a good joke that we are not together or whatever you bailed on me and you can imagine how embarrassed i was to tell Elizabeth that i concede the reward just to avoid total humiliation in front of everybody and it went to i forgot her name , that dumb bitch with the glasses and her ugly boyfriend. But it was a good party overall Key won and Tim too, i was so proud of all of them, you just fucking left like it was nothing, it meant a lot to all of us that night, but yeah. The German guys goodbye party you didn’t come too , they liked you for real! And all this lead us to the night in the maze , when the french bastards were there and we had a scene, you me and Timur, lazslo lied to me that you were looking for me, we hadn’t been talking for days back then and i was feeling so hopeful when i saw you that things will be normal between us again, cuz i was missing my friend , not just lover. But nah , shit after shit , i was so wasted that night i can’t even remember what happened,  I only know that Timur took me home and i was a total wreck, the next day or party we were outside shots with the french guys and you had to fight with them, then turned tail, i had a huge fight with Pierre and lazslo and left as well, misunderstood by everyone, i felt like a fool again for trusting you, but not for defending you , because it was the right thing to do,nevertheless you never appreciated that , me standing up for you , even when we were together you never did, but i kept doing it anyway. I think we saw each other a couple of times after that , just for some hours and after my “rages” which entailed me telling you to fuck off and stuff, we were both deep in study shit, so that was part of the excuse , i remember how one night we snuck into the university and jumped the fence, that was cool as fuck , but we couldn’t get in because of the lock doors and the security guard was looking for us, you got scared kinda.Or that time after a party i think i passed your dorm and there were three bitches started hitting on me and added my on Facebook and Instagram, I still have them, two of those bitches even got married recently, they wanted me to come over and have fun, but they were ugly as fuck and i wasn’t expecting to fuck them three, but it was a great joke, too bad you didn’t come down to see me then.During those days we had really great parties, at which of course , most of the time i was wasted and looking for you, as your ubiquitous presence was felt in every aspect of my life , at one point it got so bad, that if you weren’t there i would go crazy and disappointing, as i didn’t want to be there and felt like the evening was wasted, this constant feeling of not being around you and when you finally showed up, being around,but with only shit happening, drove me fucking nuts, i felt like i was loosing my mind constantly, torn between you, myself and my friends.It was all a blur those days,weeks, months, but generally it was a good time with Timur and the boys, I miss that feeling now, the longing of wanting something and suffering for it and the sweet joy when you receive it, this is how messed up I am,for wanting something like this, but this is life i guess, fighting for something you want and then getting it, if you receive it right away , you won’t perceive it as being worth it or whatever. But who in their right fucking mind would put themselves in a situation of self abuse or someone to just lead you on, it was ridiculous , I don’t know how i managed to keep up with that, i admire myself actually for being so patient, stubborn and consistent with you,as the whole time i was believing it would pay off in the end.It didn’t.

I go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where I wanna be And satisfaction feels like a distant memory And I can’t help myself, all I Wanna hear her say is “Are you mine?” Well, are you mine? Are you mine?

All this lead us to that night i went totally nuts in club Melo or whatever the name of the stupid joint was, you showed up late, i was there with all my squad, or whatever remained from it, didn’t fucking say a word to me or anything, ignoring each other for the whole evening, then you danced with Salvatore the Italian wanker, i totally lost it when he tried to kiss you, i wanted to punch him , but pierre and the others stopped me , so i took out my frustrations on the wall, my fist went right thought i fucked that shit up good, i broke up the whole wall, they took me out of the club, so we can avoid paying for damages and i just vanished into the night, that evening i smoked 3 packs of cigarettes maybe more, it was my low point. I took a cab, but before that i saw you leaving with that guy, i was devastated, thankfully you weren’t fucking , but it fucked me up really good, i was wandering studentski and the streets it was raining i remember , Emeka saw me in front of fantastico and was so worried about me, i went home and i saw how much blood i had on my hands, took some damned pictures to post,so you can know what you did to me, i do believe we also wrote to each other that morning , but what does it matter, i went into the shower and collapsed on the floor , i felt like garbage , even worse than garbage like fucking nothing, like i didn't even matter at all in the world or more importantly to you, I had no idea that one day you would make me feel even worse that that. I wrote you that morning that you should block me and we should cease all contact to avoid more drama. To which of course you responded that we should go out for lunch, reluctantly i agreed.

We had a really good time going out and it was drama free, which was a huge fucking surprise given the last couple of weeks/days/months , i was so exhausted from all of that crap, so we had a night out in shots with Ivo, we got fucking wasted at my place and in shots you locked yourself in the bathroom for 2 hours i waited for you, funny thing was that i kissed you and you escaped into the WC immediately after that i was thinking maybe she got sick from me , but realized quickly you were puking your guts out, Ivo too, but he left. I waited for you and tried to break the door, i almost got in a fight with some guy , he wanted to go inside, i told him to fuck off, finally you came out , i took you in my arms and carried you to  my bed, I wanted to sleep on the other one, but you took my hand and said you want me to sleep with you, we cuddled all night and it was really good, i felt safe, like i belong there and i  was home. I took a snapchat of us sleeping and send it to Key, she couldn’t believe what had happened

Lets end up this here on a good note again, this shit is way too long

[reekierevelator]

On the Eve of the Wedding

Finishing up at work on Friday nights was never easy.  There was always one last thing to do.  And then another last thing.  And another. It was never easy ensuring all the vans had returned from making deliveries and all next week’s orders were fully processed and ready to be loaded first thing Monday morning. And presentation was important. If the vans came back filthy a quick hose down was necessary.

Being loading bay supervisor was a reasonable job but I was hoping to make transport manager before I hit thirty.  After that I figured it might be time to settle down. But that Friday all I was thinking was at least it was the end of the week. So, at last, time for a pint at the local, the works’ crowd gathering in the Sheared Sheep, just to be sociable and wind down, reducing the week’s stresses and strains to old war stories, something to make each other laugh about.  

And Friday nights I liked a drink. Didn’t take the old jalopy in on Fridays. So later I’d generally pick up fish and chips or a pizza, or end up in an Indian restaurant with some of the gang.  If I got the early bus back to my little bachelor pad on the outskirts of town I’d maybe get something delivered. But this Friday night was different.

It was Rebecca Ralston, the red head from the marketing department. I seemed to have been bumping into her for the last few weeks. The main offices were at the opposite end of the site to the loading bay but somehow she’d felt the need to come over several times, wanting to talk to me about planning new adverts for the vans, different colour schemes, scheduling printing, application to the vehicles and so on. And this even though the current advertising contract still had almost a year to run.

Not that I minded. She was a bubbly sort of girl, an effervescent personality. Irregular teeth like pushed over tombstones but still easy on the eye. She brought a little brightness into the windowless little office in the dark cavern of the loading bay. She liked to talk with a hand on my arm or my shoulder, making sure she had my attention. And that day she hinted that after work on Fridays it wasn’t unusual for her to find her way to the Sheared Sheep. As it happened it suited her, she said, living close enough to just walk home if she happened to stay late.

Unfortunately, it was nearly eight when I finally got everything wrapped up and made that watering hole. The pub was already in that in-between phase where most of the early evening ‘couple of pints after work’ crowd had already been, drunk their quota, and gone off to catch buses and trains, while only one or two of the genuine locals had as yet made an appearance.  

But Rebecca was there, sitting on the edge of one of those leather sofas they’d refurbished the place with, the typical modern décor reflecting the changing functionality; more coffee shop or restaurant these days than the traditional beer-swillers’ second home.

The sofa was angled towards the door and as I entered she looked up at me under her curls and neatly shaped eyebrows and I could see she already had a glow on. She smiled that girlish crooked teeth smile and raised her hand in a nominal gesture of welcome. The black jacket of her office trouser suit was slung over the arm of the sofa. Her pretty powder blue blouse and black trousers looking fetching.

Two of the new young recruits to Accounts sat beside her. They noticed me as they followed Rebecca’s gaze.  She introduced them as Jerome and Melissa but as I joined them they both rose to leave, even refusing my offer of a round, insisting instead that they had other obligations and had to rush home. But they would be sure to see me around the office – sometime. People from the main office don’t mix much with the van loading fraternity.

Rebecca held out an empty glass saying she wouldn’t mind another double vodka tonic with lemon and ice, and when I returned from the bar the pub was even emptier.  Rebecca made a show of looking around all points of the compass, her short red curls bouncing, before she declared the Sheared Sheep mutton.

‘It’s really dead here, isn’t it?

I nodded and took another swallow before concluding the guest real ale, Crafty Brown Cow IPA was something less than acceptable. It seemed fermented from liquidised mince.

‘There’s another place up off the main road that’s livelier,’ Rebecca was saying, and I’d hardly had time to sit down before she’d grabbed my hand and we were on the move.  

The Hardened Artery wasn’t my usual kind of place but it was certainly busy. A three piece guitar band was playing 50s rock n roll on a tiny stage and there were even young trendy types trying to dance.  I rooted around and managed to scrounge a couple of stools and we proceeded to shout at each other, exchanging inane pleasantries over a medley of Johnny B Good and Hey Bo Diddley.

‘I like your shirt,’ she shouted, making me glance down at my red and blue striped button-down Ben Sherman.

‘I like your blouse Rebecca,’ I shouted back.

‘Call me Becky,’ she insisted.

‘Ok,’ I said, ‘call me Steve.’

 The band were roaring into Promised Land as Becky drew her stool much closer to mine saying she couldn’t hear, and I picked up floral notes from her eau de cologne as she pressed her legs up against mine. She waved her hand around ostentatiously like a fan in front of her face and undid the top buttons of her blouse as she complained about the heat. I felt myself definitely getting very warm too. I might not be quite God’s gift but I was sure I was picking up signals and the sap was rising. I wasn’t wearing a tie I could loosen but I took off my jacket and instead undid a few buttons of my shirt revealing the pecs and heading to the six pack.

Another few drinks in that sweaty room and the long working week was catching up with me. I was dreading the long cold bus journey home and found myself glancing down at Rebecca’s newly revealed cleavage with a certain amount of wishful thinking.

‘After a final couple of brandies we fell out into the cold dark street and, saying how late it was, Becky suggested, as even in my increasingly inebriated state I somehow thought she might, that I spend the night at her place and leave off travelling home until the morning.

After a twenty minute walk, or rather stagger, including various impromptu stops for clinches and kisses, her place turned out to be a bedsit in a big old converted house, part of a street of big old converted houses.  The furnishings were Spartan. A lack of chairs meant I had to sit on the bed while she retrieved a couple of bottles of beer from an otherwise suspiciously empty cupboard.  After she’d applied the bottle-opener and handed me mine she plonked herself down across my knees, draping her arm around my neck.  I only had time for one more sip of beer before her lips locked on mine and we toppled backwards on to the bed.

She was wildly enthusiastic and I wasn’t complaining, but that degree of gay abandon did engender a certain sort of ‘last time before the end of the world’ feeling. It was a long time before I was allowed to sleep.

Afterwards, in the morning, I commented that of the various women I’d known she was unusual in not living amid a clutter of clothes, shoes, accessories, and a jumble of make-up jars and bottles.

She said ‘Well, to be honest, that is usually me too, but I’ve already moved almost all of my stuff to Denis’s place.’

‘Denis?’ I queried cautiously.

‘My fiancé.  I’m moving in to his place after the wedding.’

For a moment I thought, hoped, I’d misheard. But Becky rambled on, unselfconscious and unconcerned. ‘The wedding’s at three o’clock tomorrow. Well, three o’clock today now, of course,’ she said peering at her little bedside alarm clock and giggling. ‘The dress – floor length, dazzling white and lacy - is laid out at my Mum’s, along with all the other stuff.  The cake’s a beauty – three tiers. I’ve got to get to HairWays at eleven. Full hairdo and manicure treatment. I’m going for cherry red nail-varnish to match my lipstick. The make-up will take forever. Sorry, it’s a bit late to send you an invite. But there are still one or two things no-one’s chosen yet on our gift list – I mean, only if you really wanted to…’

‘You’re… you’re… getting married - today?’ I managed to stammer.

She stretched her arm under the bed and brought forth a little box. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, opening the little box and putting the ring on her finger. She held her arm up in the air to watch the diamond sparkle.

‘And Denis?’

‘Oh, he plays rugby, professional now. And he’s been working nights as a doorman, mainly the Jacaranda Club, - to help pay for the wedding.’

‘Ah... he sounds like a great guy.’

‘Yes, but I’m not married to him yet, am I Steve?  And you’ve got lovely blue eyes and you’re really quite firm and muscular too – it must be helping to load all those heavy boxes. You know the girls up at the office have been talking about you for a while. We like to see your hose on the forecourt. I thought, well, I might as well make use of my last legitimate opportunity. At least that’s what they all told me when we were out on my hen night last week.’

‘Oh really?’ was all I could find to say.

Maybe I looked a little disappointed or pensive because she peered into my apparently lovely blue eyes and bit her lip with her unusual teeth. ‘Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you.’ she said. ‘Steve, you don’t feel I’ve just been using you, do you?’ She burst into a big smile. ‘I mean, it was good fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Well, yes,’ I had to admit. ‘Really, it was great.  And no, I suppose… I mean, I was as keen as you were… It’s just…’

‘Oh, well that’s all right then, isn’t it?’  Her eyes shone brightly. ‘And it’s only nine o’clock. I won’t be Mrs Denis McGlone for another six hours. We’ve still got at least another hour before I have to be going.’

And as she fell into my arms I tried hard to clear all the frightening images of giant prop forwards and burly bouncers from my mind.    

[dee-overtoun-blog]

The Butcher’s Duty

"Never forget what you do. Never forget that when you stand on the border of life and death, on the border of animal and meat, you have a duty. Have a duty. Damn, that always was Big Cass’s favorite phrase." 

This was written for @bogleech ‘s CreepyPasta Cook-off last year, but didn’t make it in time to be entered. 

The struggle of writing a butcher character that could be sympathetic, even to those who don't believe in meat, gave rise to something far different from what I originally intended (and is one hundred percent why I couldn’t finish it in time). Heredity, rules, and, of course, duty, are the themes of this horror piece. 

WARNING: it's about a slaughterhouse, so animal death, slaughter, and loads of gore await.

(((Reposted from my main website,  https://dionovertoun.com/ )))

There used to be a guy at my dad’s slaughterhouse, name of Cassius ‘Big Cass’ Bigsby. People are real jokers, I guess, but it was one of those rare nicknames that perfectly fit him. Big Cass wasn’t a tall man, but he was solid, muscles like steel and a neck like a bull. He was my dad’s only black employee, and he worked a job most would call gruesome.

Big Cass had a big hammer that he used to stun the animals before they were stuck. Every animal that came through my dad’s slaughterhouse met Big Cass, then they met God. They never even saw the sticker, or the knives, or whatever. Just Big Cass and his hammer, then nothing. Big Cass would never let an animal pass him by that was still conscious, still kicking, still frightened. He didn’t care how much it slowed production, how long the line behind them was. If they were still conscious, he brought that hammer down until they wasn’t.

He said it was his duty to them. Before anyone has to face a knife, he said, they deserved to be asleep. Forcing anyone to confront their death? That’s too cruel, he used to tell me, cleaning that hammer off, blood on our rubber boots. If there’s no way around death, and there isn’t, then those alive, those humans who are good as God to animals, have a duty.

Have a duty. That was Big Cass’s favorite phrase.

Growing up, Big Cass was my hero. You know those little papers teachers have you write, about your personal hero? I wrote my paper on Big Cass, marched right up to the front of the classroom with my pigtails and gingham dress, told those kids that my hero was a big black man with a big hammer that stunned animals for a living.

It was 1970’s America in a Deep South small town. You can only imagine how well that went over.

And I didn’t understand, either. Didn’t understand how nobody could see that Big Cass was an angel of mercy, good and Godly, practically a saint for butchered animals. My teacher even called my daddy in to have a talk about it. “Something Bonny wrote really concerned me…”

Daddy told her she was being ridiculous, but in the car on the way home, he did tell me that I ought not to run my mouth so much. I ought to think before I spoke. What did I think was gonna happen, saying something like that?.

Big Cass and his wife liked the paper though. When I went through Mama’s stuff after she passed on, me and her daughter Nevaeh, we found it in a box with some other letters and pictures. There were stains on the corners where  someone, over and over, with dirt and grease and whatever else on their thumbs, had turned the pages.

“Oh, Bonny Joy,” Nevaeh said, shaking her head. “You and that damn slaughterhouse!”

We all inherit things from our parents. Nevaeh inherited Big Cass’s solid build and Mama’s good spirit. Me? I inherited sharp eyes and the slaughterhouse, and all the responsibilities associated with it.

In all my life, that slaughterhouse is the only constant. Even roads change, even their names get switched as different municipal councils rise and fall from power. The land itself buckles and warps to fit the whims of the men with the money. They bulldozed the neighborhood I grew up in, replaced it with a suburban labyrinth and strip malls, but that was fine because by that time I’d gotten Mama a real nice house like the one she’d always deserved, in a much nicer part of town.

Big Cass left me. Daddy left me. Nevi and I became women, Cassius Junior became a man. Mama became an old woman, and eventually she had to leave me, too.

But the slaughterhouse stands there among it all, unchanging in all these years. The same paint colors. The same layout. The only thing that changes there are the people within, and the carcasses in the freezer.

In a world of change, it’s nice to have something you know you can cling to. A little bit of flotsam. Time is always a-tricklin’ on, y’know, but in the slaughterhouse, there is no time. There’s only the work, only the stream of animals into meat, only money into meat into money. Only the work, and the abattoirs and freezers, only the walls and the floors and the drains all swollen full of blood.

In the slaughterhouse, there is only the slaughterhouse is only the slaughterhouse is only the slaughterhouse, for as long as you stand within its boundaries.

My real mother run off when I was only about four. Daddy said it was probably his fault, on account of his odious personality, one time when he was very drunk and putting sausages in the smoker. Probably his fault. I always figured that his personality may have needed work, but that a real mother woulda stayed for her child, or at least taken her with her.

I’m glad she didn’t, of course. I have my family here, and my slaughterhouse. My whole life is here. I just wish my daddy didn’t take all the blame onto himself.

One of my first memories is in the house I grew up in. Mama’s got me in her lap, patting my hair with those smooth hands that smell like cold cream, and I’m eating fried chittlins hand over fist from a plate balanced on my knees. Nevi’s sitting at Mama’s feet, playing with her doll but keeping an ear on the proceedings. Occasionally, she reaches up, and I drop some chittlins into her waiting palm. We recently traded places, see. Before, Nevi had been in Mama’s lap, getting her hair braided. But now she’s on the floor, and I have to ensure she gets her chittlins. I take this duty very seriously, I recall, serious as a heart-attack.

Daddy’s counting out a big pile of cash while Big Cass looks on, drinking a soda pop. Daddy sits up and sighs, leans back and pushes hair out of his face.

Something about a new, open-air abattoir. Something about rent. Big Cass scoffs and dismisses the whole notion. Why would he make Daddy pay rent? So long as he contributes to the household and doesn’t start trying to mooch. Ain’t they best friends? Maybe put that money towards college for the kids, though, and that abattoir’s a good idea. You don’t have to worry ‘bout all that yet. Just let yourself feel better first, Jim.

Just let yourself heal. You’ll be over Becka before you know it.

“Miss Bigsby, I want ketchup!” I said. Back then I didn’t call her Mama, not yet.

“Me too, me too!” Nevi said.

So we went to the kitchen and finished off the chitlins, and then I brushed my teeth with Nevi and we went to sleep. It wouldn’t be until later, with more context, that I realized what had happened.

From since I can remember, my daddy has slept in the spare room of the Bigsby household, and me in Nevaeh’s. I don’t remember the inside of the house they had me in. When my mother left him, Daddy sold that house away and moved in with Big Cass.

It was crowded as all Hell, six people in that little house, always trippin’ on each other. But we all got real close. Well, I got real close with everyone, that is, and they got close with me. Daddy? He stayed distant.

He and Big Cass were a lot alike, but I could tell that Big Cass made the effort to reach his children, to reach me. My daddy was content in his solitary orbit, and never reached out. He put meat on his block, put money in the bank, and showed up when it was required of him.

The closest we ever was, was in that slaughterhouse. There, me and Daddy weren’t child and parent; we were co-workers, an employee and their boss, and amongst the hanging carcasses and the constant need for cleanup, we were together.

“Bonny, boil these knives. Bonny, mop the floor, that fucking Sanders tracked his boots all over my tile floor again. Bonny, check the chutes, fix the joists. Bonny…”

All my life, my daddy only ever told me he loved me just a handful of times. But in that slaughterhouse, a clap on the shoulder and a “job well done, Bonny,” was far sweeter, far more heartfelt, than any “I love you” could ever be.

My dad never told me how to deal with boys, with bullies, never did anything like that. Instead, I had Mama, and, when he could manage it, Big Cass.

There was always something on his mind. I could see it, even then, and so could everyone else. It was eating him alive. But he never said nothing. I did my best to be a good guest and a good friend, and Nevaeh bent over backwards making life easier for him.

We knew that whatever it was, Big Cass would never tell us. He would let it eat him hollow, and take it to his grave. Something that bad, he’d never put on little girls, not even his own son or his wife. He kept it inside, let it ferment, and did the best he could. All me and Nevaeh could do was try to lighten the rest of his burdens.

Me and Nevaeh, we were real close, from day one. Same age, same interests (outside of the slaughterhouse, which Nevaeh was terrified of). We had our doll family and played house in the front yard every day, slept in the same bed until we were teenagers. Cassius Jr pulled my pigtails and put my doll where I couldn’t reach her, but I suspect if I had a biological brother, he’d’ve done the same thing, so once I grew up I didn’t mind that too much.

We was a family. A family with two broken add-ons nailed to it, sure, but we was family. I inherited everything I am from them. And even when things got real bad, they were there for me. Through thick, through thin. Like a real family should.

I musta been about thirteen. Night had fallen a while ago. But I was busy cleaning the open-air abattoir. Deer season had just opened up, so we were doing a lot of processing. Cherry-red blood from over a dozen bucks and a handful of does slicked the floor, and there were buckets of offal and severed legs to be sorted, sanitized, and put away for tomorrow.

We do good business selling waste product to a rendering plant upstate. I was sorting it into shipping containers and hauling those into the front cooler. It was old, from when the building was brand new way back when, and currently full of deer carcasses.

Heads with the pelts hanging from them dangled on one side, and the skinned carcasses that were to be turned into venison on the other. Between them, naked heads, ready to be European-style mounted. You always think of the full shoulder mounts when you think of deadheads, but Euro mounts are way cheaper, and Daddy had me and Junior do them, since all you gotta do is boil and scrub off the meat. We had a man that did the real deadheads, the stuffed ones, but Daddy had his kids to do the Euro mounts. Didn’t even have to pay us extra.

He tried to get Nevaeh to do it, too, but she refused, and Mama said that if her girl didn’t wanna boil no damn deer head, she didn’t have to. Growing up, I teased Nevi for being a weenie, but now that I’m older I feel pretty bad about it.

It’s amazing, how growing up with something desensitizes you to it. Took me years to realize just how freaky people found my job. I mean, I thought it was a little gross sometimes, like when we prepared chitlins, but I didn’t realize how bad slaughterhouses freak people out.

So I’m hauling the containers, putting them up against the back wall. One of the coolers has been putting up a hell of a racket recently, but I been putting off actually fixing it and buying the replacement. That’s what I get, I suppose.

There was a horrible, mechanical stink coming from it, and, as I straightened up, popping my back, a crash. And the fucker started blowing hot air. I shouldn’t have to explain why that’s a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh no oh no oh no oh no–” I climbed up on the lid of one of the containers and just stared at the cooler, not knowing what the Hell to do. “Please, please, don’t do that–”

The hot air was thick as fog in my mouth, in my throat. Already, in what I assumed was my panic, the meat and blood smell was stronger, already spoiling.

I slammed my hand on the cooler a few times, but, shockingly, this failed to have any effect. And I burned my hand.

I jumped down, and started to pace. It was late at night, I doubted any place was open. We had a replacement, of course, still in its box in the side storage unit, but I didn’t think I could get it lifted by myself, let alone install it. Hell, I couldn’t even uninstall the one that was in. Daddy was gonna be pissed if I woke him up for this.

All I could do was call the house, though, and pray that he wasn’t the one that answered. I unplugged the broken AC and shut the cooler door, hoping that would preserve as much of the cold as possible.

After a few rings, during which I swear I aged twenty years, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Big Cass!” I gasped, more relief than shock. “Big Cass, can you come to the shop? One of the coolers just blew, I need help, please don’t wake my daddy–”

“Calm down, Bonny Joy.” My teeth clacked together. “You just wait in your daddy’s office for me. Me’n’Junior will be there soon as we can.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the office. Wait in the office.”

Well, I tried. But it was twenty minutes from their house to the shop, nevermind whatever tools he’d wanna pick up or how long it would take him and Junior to get ready. I couldn’t sit still. I just couldn’t.

I paced for a little bit, but Daddy’s office was way too cramped for that. Finally, throwing my hands up, I went to the back abattoir, flicked on all the lights, and started pacing from end to end, almost sprinting in my nervousness.

My footsteps and the buzz of fluorescent lights were sort of a music in my ears as I ran. A snare drum and a timpani. I wanted to go look at the cooler, but I was scared of letting out the cold. Spoiling the meat.

“Shoulda just put in the new cooler, shoulda just, shoulda just–”

The air was thick in my throat. Humid, though it was autumn and getting pretty nippy out in the world. Ragged with the iron-rich stink of blood and meat. Rotting, rotting, rotting because I’d been cheap and lazy. The lights flickered, and I was thinking, great, those are gonna go out too. Great. I done really fucked up now, ain’t I?

Something in that empty space caught me around the ankle.

I hit the ground, unable to catch myself. I put my hands out but they slipped on cement far slicker than it ought to have been. The lights flickered wildly, all in a different rhythm, but not for long: they all synched up by the time I’d rolled over, inspecting my skinned palms.

I heard footsteps behind me. There weren’t no doors off in that direction, and Daddy didn’t raise no fool. Leastaways, he did his best, and pure terror did the rest. I kept my eyes on my palms.

It was behind me. Huge and sticky. As tall as the ceilings. It was staring down at me. It was angry. It stank of fresh-opened steer, or pig, or deer, or anything, really. That thick, velvety smell, too rich to be called metallic for all the iron spilled. Innards and death.

The smell coats the inside of your nose when you smell it. There’s no other smell quite like it, the smell of insides. It coats your nose, your throat, your mind, there’s no mistaking it when you smell it. You know what you’re smelling, something deep inside and ancient as the seas knows what it’s smelling and it don’t like it, not one bit.

The smell of it was in me, and it was on me, too, slimey on my skin, wrapping around me like a wet sheet. Heavy, constricting. The flickering lights faded away. All there was in the whole world was that smell.

I don’t recall if I was shaking or not. My first instinct is to say I wasn’t. I was past the point of trembling. I was waiting for it to nab me.

It didn’t. It stayed behind me, impossibly massive and reeking. It didn’t move and neither did I. There was no breath on my neck but I’d have preferred if there was, I think. I’d have been able to run, if there was. If it needs to breathe, you can outrun it. You can outrun, outmaneuver, anything what lives.

If it weren’t breathing, it weren’t alive, and who knows what the dead or never-living are capable of? I kept myself parked right where I was until Big Cass showed up, hands in front of my face, elbows wobbling with the effort of keeping them in place.

The front door opened, and the lights all came back on, the buzz filling the once-again empty space. That smell, though, it was slower to leave, and still present when Big Cass came into the back abattoir.

“Bonny!” That was Junior. He hustled forward and picked me up by both elbows. “Done tripped over them big feet, didn’t you?”

“I told you to wait in the office,” Big Cass said.

There wasn’t a trace of anger in his voice, and that was how I knew I’d really pissed him off. He’d sprinted past anger and into concern, past his disobeyed orders and right to my wellbeing.

I wanted to apologize. I did. I opened my mouth to do it and everything. When I did, though, all that came out was my dinner, all over Junior’s front. Junior flung himself back and swore, and I tried to apologize to him, too. More vomit. More vomit than I thought I had in my whole body.

“You lay down, Bonny Joy Cook, and it better be in the office this time,” Big Cass warned.

I wasn’t gonna argue after that. I curled into the loveseat crammed into the corner and listened to them installing the new AC. My head was swimming, my throat still raw, the smell of puke and offal swirling together into one misty odor that pulsed with my heartbeat. Throbbed with every hammer blow and indistinct word between father and son.

Whatever had been in that abattoir, it was angry. And I would do my best to make sure it never had cause to be angry with me ever again. Some lessons you only gotta learn once.

Now you might be sayin’ about here: Bonny, why didn’t you just leave? Surely you coulda. Daddy and Big Cass woulda understood. And if they didn’t, Mama definitely would have, Mama and Nevaeh, they’d have been on your side.

But that slaughterhouse has been in my family for generations, ever since the town was founded that’s been my family’s slaughterhouse. My Daddy never even talked about college, about other careers, and it wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that I started to wonder myself.

There was never any question. That slaughterhouse would one day be mine, the way it had been his. And then it would go to my firstborn, too, or more likely whoever didn’t have a choice. It’s a different day and age today from the one I grew up in.

I couldn’t leave it. To do something, first you gotta realize you have the choice.

And it’s a damn good thing I stayed for it, too. I grew up there, I knew that place inside and out. I knew the rules. No animal gets killed while it still knows how to fear death, no man who bleeds on the job gets put back on the floor. The owner is the first one to come into work, and the last one to leave. No man whose job it is to kill drinks or does drugs, and if his wife says he hit her, he loses his job and he loses his wife and kids.

Never forget what you do. Never forget that when you stand on the border of life and death, on the border of animal and meat, you have a duty. Have a duty. Damn, that always was Big Cass’s favorite phrase.

If that slaughterhouse went to someone who didn’t realize they had a duty, the Good Lord only know what trouble they could have caused. Not even their fault, not really, because if you don’t realize… but it would have been trouble. Real trouble.

This other time, when I was maybe six but mostly likely five, I reckon, I was cleaning the lobby. I had swept the floor, mopped it, shaken out all the rugs, and now I was cleaning all the windows. My daddy’s slaughterhouse had the cleanest lobby you ever saw, because he believed God gave people children to do manual labor until they moved out and had their own kids to do the same. Very old-fashioned type of guy, my daddy was.

I tossed paper towels at the garbage basket as I used them up, pretending I was a basketball superstar, as one does. Of course, after a bit, as I got further and further and the angle got weirder, I missed. Bounced that sucker off the rim and into the back, where the freezers were.

I just figured I was getting a bit funny-headed from the smell of Windex and tottled off to pick it up. Well, it had gone a ways back there past the freezers and into the back abattoir, soaking up blood and stuff and getting real nasty.

Daddy didn’t like me wandering around in the back abattoir all willy-nilly. It was a dangerous place and the work was especially gorey, and back then he made an exception because he didn’t want to turn me into some sort of disturbed child. The boys were hanging up hogs (it was winter, then, winter is hog season, and all the colder in the back for the coldness outside) and Big Cass was standing by the chute, raising that hammer for the stunning blow.

It was full of noise and chaos, clattering boots and squealing hogs and men shouting. I waited for someone to notice me, or the trash, and get it taken care of. Watched the work with the mild interest of a child, feeling a little thrill at having seen what Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to.

A worker came up and fetched the crumpled-up towel for me. He was wearing a jacket with the hood up and drawn tight under the usual equipment, and sunglasses and a face mask so I couldn’t recognize him, couldn’t hardly see his face. If I’d been a bit older that might have given me a scare, but as it was, I just chalked it up to someone being sick, or really, really not wanting to inhale pig blood.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, because if I didn’t tack on ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ Mama used to give me a pinch.

He said nothing, but put his hand on my shoulder and urged me forward. We passed the freezers and went into the office, and I put the paper towel in the trash like a good little worker.

I turned back to the worker. He was standing there, silent, no emotion visible past his concealing clothes.

“You sick?” I asked.

He shook his head ‘no.’ I nodded, and went to sit down. I thought it would be rude to go back to cleaning while I was talking to someone. When he had to go back to work, he would, and I would as well, but for now, small talk was required.

“You work for my daddy a long time?”

‘Yes.’ He nodded vigorously. It was odd to see it, because the rest of his body was stock-still and relaxed-looking (hard to tell exactly past all the protective gear and with only a five-year-old’s reckoning of the world), so it was like it was bouncing on a spring. I giggled, hoping he didn’t know it was at him or he’d tell Daddy and I’d get in big trouble for being rude.

“My name’s Bonny, what’s yours?”

The mysterious worker said nothing. I pouted, I recall being very upset that I was going through so much trouble to be polite and he was being so rude. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stomped my feet, bouncing the laces on my shoes, and fixed my sternest look on the worker.

“I said, what’s your name?”

Still nothing.

“I’m gonna tell my daddy you were mean to me and he’s gonna–”

As if on cue, Daddy came in from the front, from shaking hands and saying goodbye to one of the customers dropping off the hogs. His eyes fell on the worker, and his face… it went through all sorts of interesting changes, from white to red to sweaty, eyes bugging then narrowing in turn, and finally to normal. He put his shoulders back, and gave me a such a look.

“Bonny Joy Cook, didn’t I tell you to wash these windows?” he rumbled.

“Daddy, he’s being mean to me!” I declared, with maximum dramatic effect. Lord, I was a brat about it. “He won’t tell me his name!”

He transferred his look from me to the worker.

“I don’t pay you to bug my daughter, I pay you to butcher hogs!” he said. “Get back out there.”

The quiet man nodded, and waved at me. I stuck out my tongue at him. Shoulders shaking as though with laughter, but still silent, the man turned on his heel and disappeared out the back door.

“He was mean,” I complained, the second I thought he was out of earshot.

But Daddy wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t even looking at the back door, though his face was pointed that way. I could tell that he wasn’t looking at nothing but his own thoughts.

Where the man had been standing, there were bloody boot prints. I said as close to a cuss as my little girl self would let me (“fiddlesticks!”) and went to clean them up. The blood was thick and almost black, more sludge than liquid, and it took a fair bit of scrubbing to get it all the way up.

“Gross,” I told the soiled paper towels, as though it was their fault.

“Finish them windows, Bonny Joy,” Daddy murmured.

He ruffled my hair, and went back to his office. The door shut with a very final-sounding crack, and, still miffed at my treatment, I went back to my task. By the time he came out, all the windows were spic and span.

I watched the workers file out that evening, trying to determine which one of them had insulted me. They all said “goodbye, Bonny Joy” just as nice as you pleased, and I made a note of all their names. None of them had the hooded jacket I’d seen before, and all their faces were exposed and, if not smiling, at least relieved to have the workday over.

None of them looked right. The mystery worker was tall, and he had big long arms and big ol’ hands. I had figured he was just a big man, the same way Big Cass was. Back then, all big hands were about the same to me; didn’t realize the limit on just how big most human hands can get.

When they were all gone, I went looking through all the freezers and rooms. I checked the offal room and the abattoir, every closet and changing room. I even went into the showers and peeked behind all the curtains.

“Who you lookin’ for, Bonny?” Daddy asked, following a few feet behind me.

“The rude man! He didn’t leave.”

“It was probably just one of the regular guys. Looked like Fred Holland to me,” he said.

“Fred got real tall,” I commented. “It’s empty here…”

He picked me up and took me back to his car, despite my protests that I could walk just fine. He buckled me up, locked up shop, and we drove back home in silence. That night, we had sausage and beans. When I went to sleep, I dreamed about the mystery worker, standing over the bed and staring, lights from outside reflected on his sunglasses.

I thought it might be real, but when I got up, there was nothing. Man, was I pissed that I had such a dream. I probably only remember him at all because of how angry I was that his rude self had disrupted my dreams.

I didn’t have too many friends aside from Nevi and Junior. Whether it was living with a black family or being the butcher’s girl–shit, probably both–there were a lot of people who didn’t want to spend any amount of time anywhere close to me. It didn’t bother me much, not until I got into high school and got bit by the socialization bug.

Worse than not having many friends was having a few people who, for better or worse, whatever service I did them and the rest of the community, that I was their enemy. Or at least, a fun punching bag.

Big Cass told me not to let it get me down. That so long as I knew I was in the right, so long as I was the bigger person, it didn’t matter what people thought. Mama told me they were just sad little people trying to make themselves feel better. Daddy told me that if it bugged me so much, start fighting people.

I considered taking Daddy’s advice, but, luckily for me, even then it seemed a little spotty.

It was deer season once again, and two boys from school came late with an unimpressively young, few-pointed buck. Daddy was getting dinner at the burger joint on the edge of town, so it was up to me to handle them. I kept my eyes on the floor and filled out all the paperwork, and the boys were just as polite and quiet. I thought it was just awkwardness. I never suspected a thing.

“Can we take a look in the freezer?” one asked.

“Sure. Lots of good bucks this year.”

I led them to the freezer. Flicked on the light and undid the latch, forced the heavy steel door open. Didn’t have it but wide enough to fit myself before I felt a good, hard shove at my back.

I shoulda suspected something. I really should have.

The door clanged as they yanked it to, and before I could even start pounding, the lights were out. They were laughing, choking on hysteric gouts of cackling. They didn’t even say anything. Didn’t taunt me or nothing. They just fucking laughed.

I screamed. I wasn’t scared, just pissed. Too angry with them to think about the smell of blood and meat, the skinned bodies hanging around me. Anyway, dead bodies weren’t scary for me.

“Y’all can keep your money and keep your buck!” I remember shrieking. “Y’all can just go and never come back!”

I knew my daddy would be there soon to let me out. I knew he’d be furious with them, that their parents would be getting a call and no mistake about it. I wasn’t scared of dying in there. I was just so–so–so angry, so hurt. All I’d even done was my job. All I’d even done was my duty.

There was a box with some old knives in it on one of the shelves. They weren’t good for cutting anymore, but a good sharpening and they’d be alright for the kitchen or Goodwill or something like that. Daddy had them in there because most of the time, it was out of the way of everything else, a good storage for the misc things that didn’t need to be done right away. I groped for the box and (very carefully, mind!) found one.

It was comfortingly heavy. I felt the blade, long and curved and nearly a quarter-inch thick at the spine. Yup. It would do just nicely. When those fuckers let me out, if they let me out, I was gonna start waving that thing around and telling them to get the fuck out.

As I smiled, grim and sarcastic and just for myself, the air went from freezing cold to heavy. It didn’t get hot, no, but there was warmth, and the smell. That familiar smell. I heard the clinking of chains, the groaning of metal, and, under it all, a distant, gentle sloshing. Mostly, though, I breathed the scent of blood and meat.

When I screamed this time, it was terror. The laughter outside picked up, and was at its height as the door opened.

Boy, I was just angry enough, rage edging over fear just enough, that when I saw the light I lunged for it. Didn’t even stop to wonder why they’d decided to open the door for me now. I raised that knife and burst out of the darkness like Nike from the marble slab. Only I didn’t have wings, I had two arms and two hands clutched tight around the handle of that cleaver.

“Which onna you did it?!” I bawled, wild with tears streaming down my cheeks. They were staring at me, bug-eyed and white-faced, and I figured it was the knife in my hands. They were about a yard back from the door, just far enough that I’d have to start running again to really threaten them with the knife. “Which onna you?! I swear to God above I’ll bleed you like the pigs you are!”

They didn’t answer. They looked at each other, looked back at me, and bolted. Scrambled for the door, pushing each other back in their urgency to escape. I swear one of them was crying as he did.

“Fuckers!” I shouted at their backs. They didn’t say nothing in return, just fled out the door. I spat, winced (now I was gonna have to clean it up) and turned back to the freezer, thinking to put the knife up.

Every carcass in that freezer was turned on its chain or hook. Every carcass was facing the door. Eyeless faces staring at me.

No, I realized, as I collapsed to the floor, knife still clutched in both white-knuckled hands. Staring through me. Staring in the direction the boys had run. Slowly, they turned as one unit, following the boys’ path down the road. The chains creaked, not especially loud but still enough to fill all the world. I couldn’t hear nothing but those chains.

Slow. So slow. Was it hard to move the pounds of chain and meat? Or was it just deliberate, the slowness of the arrogant who know there’s nothing that can be done to harm them? What can you do to meat already long dead? What can you do to skinless, legless carcasses? What can be done, that the butcher ain’t done already?

The door swung shut, ponderously slow, the way it had swung open for me. It didn’t bang shut, nothing like that, just swung as slow as Christmas and thunked into its jamb gently.

Daddy came back with burgers to me wearing the spare pants I kept stored in his office, cleaning the pee off the floor with the look of dead determination that comes when you exhaust all your fear. I told him what had happened, and he cussed up a storm, but there was no fire in it.

“You best,” he said, “say thank you to whatever let you out.”

Well, what could I do? I was raised with manners. You don’t get to be a near grown-up in the South without having ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ drilled so deep in your skull it’d take a mining team to get it out. I did it. I said thank you to the cooler door.

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

When Big Cass died, my father fell apart.

He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He just drank and dozed and drank some more. He didn’t even go into work. I was so scared that if I left Daddy all alone, I would come back to a corpse. I was so scared, those days, of losing him.

I wouldn’t let us become mooches on the Bigsbies, not in their time of need. It was their patriarch what passed away. I took up all the slack he left and then some, determined not to make a mockery of the kindness they’d shown us. I cooked his supper, I cleaned his messes, I went down to the liquor store and bled my pockets dry to keep the cabinet full.

I dropped out of high school to take care of him, and to run the slaughterhouse while he was laid up. I did the books, bossed the boys, and butchered meat, just like he did. Wrapped the cuts, weighed them, and counted the money. Good Lord did I get good at pinching those pennies, not that anyone blamed me in such hard times.

My arms got strong, my palms calloused. My fingers didn’t fit in the grooves on the knives’ handles, the grooves Daddy grip had worn over the years (and his daddy, and his daddy’s daddy before that), but by God I did my best. That’s all anyone can do, in a situation like that.

Nevaeh told me that if I didn’t take time for myself, I’d never move on. I told her that if I didn’t keep this damn business afloat, didn’t keep my daddy afloat, I’d never forgive myself.

I wonder if Big Cass was at peace, at last. He died in his home, and in his last moments, with all of us around him–with Daddy weeping like a little child, and Mama holding his hands, and me and Junior and Nevi at his bedside–that dour face uncrinkled. He closed his eyes, and smiled.

No last words. Big Cass was a quiet sort of man. And maybe he couldn’t think up nothing fitting. All he did was smile, and shed a decade of time from his face. He looked so much younger there, smiling in his sickbed as he never did out of it. Not a broad smile, not a grin, just a happy little twist. He gave a final sigh, and rather than tired, as he’d sounded for years, that sigh was relieved.

And then he was dead, and when he left, I guess he took a fair part of my dad with him. He took a part of all of us.

The slaughterhouse was colder, those days, though I thought it was only my grief that turned it that way. The lights were dimmer. Everything was quieter. Every freezer door, every piece of equipment, it all felt a little heavier. Sadness weighed it down. But I did my job all the same.

I was the first one in, the one who turned on all the lights. I got into the habit of saying ‘good morning’ to every room. It made me feel better, like I was extending a kindness. Mama always said the best cure for sadness was to make others happy. And I didn’t have too many friends, so the slaughterhouse and its many rooms would just have to suffice.

I greeted the slaughterhouse and all its workers, and I cut the meat, pinched my pennies. Every evening I was the last to go. I said ‘goodnight’ to every room as I flicked off the lights. It was like a little song.

The buzzing of the bulbs. “Goodnight, Freezer A.” The click of the switch, then silence.

Buzzing. “Goodnight, Scalding Tub.” Click. Silence. Buzzing. “Goodnight, Back Abattoir. Click. Silence. Buzzing. “Goodnight, Freezer B.” Click. Silence.

The steadiness of it, the pattern, it made me stronger in those hard days. It made it easier. It made me happy. Maybe it made the slaughterhouse happy, too.

“Goodnight, Slaughterhouse,” I’d say, as I got in my daddy’s truck to go home.

If a building had a face to smile, I always felt the slaughterhouse would be smiling at my taillights, waiting for me to come back and say ‘good morning.’

I gave Big Cass’s job to some doughy-faced white man, and he did it just as well. He knew the rules. God, I missed Big Cass there, though. I didn’t think it was right, some white man in his place. I offered the job to Junior, but he said he wanted to finish school. Didn’t have the stomach for it, or the strong swinging arm.

I bought a new hammer for the new stunner. I took Big Cass’s and put it in the office that had once been Daddy’s, and now belonged to me. Sometimes, when it was late at night and I was still struggling with the books, all the different things required to keep the place running, I’d go sit next to that hammer, and I’d cry.

“Why’d you hafta go and die like that, Big Cass?” I’d ask the hammer, knowing Big Cass was in Heaven and not attached to some ol’ hammer. I wouldn’t wanna bother him with my whining anyway. “Why’d you hafta go break all our hearts that way?”

One night, musta been eighteen or so, yeah, eighteen years old and a businesswoman already, I had a dream.

The sound of the hammer meeting a skull. The sound of a squeal, cut off. The sound of fear dying. Over and over. I followed it through countless hallways like the ones between all the freezers, and at last came to the back abattoir, or a place like it. A vast, cavernous room, the lights too high up to see. The walls nothing but shadowed suggestions.

Most of the room was in shadow, too. But at the far end, swinging that hammer, was Big Cass. I ran up to him, and stood on the shute panelling nearby, waiting for him to finish. A river of hogs was coming in, crowding each other, squealing, but Big Cass did his job with the same purpose he had his whole life.

“It’d never work in a big industrial slaughterhouse,” Big Cass said. “That’s where worse things happen. When you treat living things like they’re car parts or somethin’. Every man oughta know where his meat comes from.”

A thud. Hot blood hit my face, but I didn’t move or flinch. The hog was dragged away by hands I only saw vaguely. I didn’t move my face away from Big Cass.

“You have a duty, Bonny Joy,” he said.

He swung. More blood splattered to hit my face. It never splashed like that in real life. But in the dream, it was a torrent.

“To me.”

A thud. But the number of hogs never dwindled, and they never got quieter or less pushy.

“To your Daddy.”

Thud. Splash. The thick smell of blood was getting overpowering.

“To the slaughterhouse.”

The air was wet. Practically a liquid. But I breathed it anyway, and didn’t wipe my face.

“To your animals.”

“I know, Big Cass. I’ll do my duty. I promise.”

Big Cass dropped his hammer. The hogs disappeared, their squeals abruptly silenced. The abattoir fell away, and wherever I was, it was dark. And even wetter than before. The floor beneath my feet had a lot more give than was even remotely comfortable.

Hot liquid started creeping up my legs as the dark room flooded. I didn’t need to look down to know it was blood. Some things, they’re just too dramatically appropriate to not happen. Dreams is like that.

“You ain’t gotta choice, Bonny Joy Cook,” Big Cass told me.

I woke up, then, choking on the smell of blood and the heat of the dream. I opened my eyes, and felt sticky wetness on my face. Over my bed, the shadowy silhouette of a man. I didn’t even bother trying to sit up, I just started hollering.

Nevaeh screamed too when she clicked on her lamp and saw me. The shadow disappeared with the light, of course, but still, I pointed and babbled. How terrified must she have been, knowing she had been laying right there, sound asleep, unknowing, unable to help me?

As scared as she must have been, she was the one who came forward and helped me out of bed while Mama and Junior stood at their doors and stared. She got me by my elbows and walked me to the bathroom, while I blubbered and stammered.

Thick, almost black blood, all over my face and neck. My hair sticking in it. It almost looked like face-paint, so opaque and bright. A few drops of it on my arm from where I’d pointed.

“It was standing right there!” I shrieked.

“It stinks,” Nevi complained. She pushed me away from the sink toward the tub. “God, what is it?! It stinks like that slaughterhouse! Wash it off!”

I turned the shower on without bothering to take off my clothes, and a good thing too, because Daddy came barrelling in, bleary-eyed and still a bit shaky from his drunken stupor. I was scrubbing my face, struggling to get the sludge off. It stuck something fierce.

“You’ve been kind,” he said, after staring for a long, long time. He crouched down, and patted my back. “You’ve been kind. You ain’t done nothing wrong. It’s not that, Bonny Joy. It’s not that you’ve done wrong. It’s that you’ve been kind.”

“It was standing right there!” I repeated, water in my mouth and eyes.

“Sometimes kindness is keeping to yourself. But not everything understands that, Bonny Joy. Not everything understands how to be kind.”

And that was all I got out of him.

Sometimes, when things were so damn busy I thought there was no way we’d be able to keep up, I saw the man from my childhood. The tall man, the man with his sunglasses and his jacket. As a child, I hadn’t feared him, all brazenness and naivety.

Now I saw, and I wondered how I’d missed it. Those long, long arms. Them big hands.

I see him out among the workers, my real workers. At every station, I’ve seen him working. Chopping meat, sending the cuts to my station, working in packaging. Gutting steer, plucking chickens. I even saw him in the chittlin room, next to three black women working fast as you please, while they talked and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary.

Like some kinda fool, I looked for him in old photos. But he weren’t in none of them. Why would he be? Photos, no matter how ‘candid’ they’re supposed to be, are always staged. He wasn’t for the world of photos, the world shown to outsiders looking in. That worker belongs to the slaughterhouse. Belongs to the busy work and the carcasses.

Only job I never seen him work was as a stunner or a killer. Once the animals are dead, he comes up to help, but it’s up to us to do the killing. To make sure the animal doesn’t know how to fear death.

It’s the price of meat. To those who stand on the border between life and death, animal and meat, there is the duty. The tall man, that hard worker, helps keep us afloat when things are busy, fills in when there’s nobody else to do it, but he doesn’t take our duty from us.

Is that something I ought to resent? Maybe. But that’s just another one of the rules.

No one ever complains about the tall worker. I know they see him, and I know that people know there’s something wrong with him, that he never talks and that he doesn’t seem like he belongs. But they never talk about him. They’ll talk right to him, sometimes, though he can never respond, but they never bring him up.

It’s not a rule I wrote down, or a rule I enforce. Some lessons, you only gotta learn once. I wonder how they got learned, and when. Which one of my ancestors had to feel that angry stare, breathe that hot, humid smell, or if something more drastic was needed.

Lord knows things can get drastic if they need to. But these days, the lesson is learned, and we’re quiet about him. Not to him, but about him.

I talk to him when I see him. A few times, I’ve touched him, though the jacket is too thick to feel anything beneath. Still, it seems to be tempting fate to get so nosey out in the open, so I only do it when I’m feeling bold, or if I think he’s doing an especially good job.

“Keep it up,” I’ll tell him.

“Hey, good work today.”

“I owe you, man.”

“Thank you for all you do, I mean it.”

He never talks. But sometimes, his shoulders heave, like he’s laughing, though he doesn’t make a sound. And sometimes, he shrugs and turns away, like he’s embarrassed, but you can’t see enough of a face to know for certain.

My Daddy was never like that. But I wasn’t raised just by him. I had Big Cass and Mama, and they musta rubbed off on me.

Eventually, I had to do that unpleasant part of the job that comes with being the boss. Jed Barings, one of our killers, he was a sad-faced man and I’d never known him to have a temper. His daddy didn’t get along with mine, but I never had a lick of trouble out of him. Said good morning and good evening nice as you pleased, worked hard, always asked for his wife and son’s birthdays off to spend with them.

Until one day his son come to me, his little son, and tells me he saw Daddy slap Mommy for back-talking him. Tells me Daddy don’t like his job, that Daddy says it makes him miserable. His little son, who’s waiting for Daddy to finish packing up, while Mommy waits in the truck, comes up and tells me Jed has broken the rules.

Everyone who works for me knows those rules. They all get told, they all get reminded. They’re framed and hung up in my office, for Christ’s sake.

Any man whose job it is to kill, that man strikes his wife, he loses his job and his wife. Any man who kills must be watched. He can’t be allowed to start liking the taste of hurting, to start wanting to do it.

Killing is a hard job. It makes good men suffer, makes bad men go crazy. We go through more killers than any other job, and that’s good, in my opinion. If you get used to killing, if it stops being… I don’t wanna say special… significant? If you forget that every time you draw that blade, you’re taking a life, you need to step away from it.

So I went to Jed’s house. I brought a casserole and a tupperware full of chitlins, and had dinner with the Barings family. Lo and behold, Meredith had a bruise on her cheek, and Jed was looking nervous. I kept the conversation light, though. No reason to worry the woman and the boy, not anymore than they already were.

After dessert, me and Jed went to the front room to have our private talk.

“Are you feeling alright lately, Jed?” I asked. “You ain’t seemed happy for a while, is everything okay?”

“Just working hard. Got a wife and kid, you know, and that’s no summer vacation.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard tell.”

Jed bites his lip.

“Listen, Jed,” I say. “You do work hard. And I know you’ve got a hard job.”

His knuckles go white, and his knee starts to bounce up and down, real fast, real nervous.

“You know that we all keep a close eye on y’all.”

A muscle in his jaw goes tight.

“Jed, why did you hit Meredith?”

I’m not sure how else I coulda handled the situation. I thought that maybe giving him an opportunity to speak his piece would make him feel better about the whole thing, make him more likely to listen. Well, maybe it did go better than it could have, but that don’t mean it went well.

Jed stood up fast as lightning and knocked the chair he was sitting in backwards. Now, I’d been punched in the face a few times before, just little altercations or accidents, but never the way Jed Barings punched me. My nose musta gone flat, the way it cracked and the way it gushed. And he punched me again in the mouth, and again in the jaw, while I sat, too stunned to move, in too much pain to speak.

“I hate that place!” he roared. “I hate that fucking job! I hate that goddamn slaughterhouse! Everyone pretends they don’t see it, but there’s something wrong in there, and I hate it! But where else am I gonna work?! Once you’ve become a killer, you can only work in a slaughterhouse!”

“Jed,” I tried, and got another punch, this time a little tap compared to the first three.

“I’m sick of slaughterhouses! I’m sick of animals! I’m sick of everyone pretending they don’t notice the weird shit that happens there!”

I wondered if Meredith was listening. God, I hoped she didn’t come in, come in and get roughed up, or, God forbid, her little boy.

“Fuck you, Bonny Joy Cook! Fuck your daddy! Fuck your haunted-ass slaughterhouse! And fuck your stupid, stupid, stupid goddamn fucking RULES!”

Which one of those ‘fuck you’s was the one that damned him?

At first it was like misty, gauzy and transparent but growing thicker. The lights flickered, all at different rates before syncing up. The smell of opened organs slammed into my lungs, into Jed’s. There was blood on his knuckles, his fist still drawn back, as the thing solidified.

It was human-shaped enough. At least, the silhouette was pretty much human. But tall, so tall, and with long arms. And it was made out of meat and blood, solidified, mashed together, bits and pieces just crammed into shape.

It put one massive hand, its fingers the discarded trotters of a pig, on Jed’s elbow. It brought its head very close to Jed’s, cocking it back and forth as though curious, though with no facial features it was hard to tell. Slow as molasses it was, and I knew now this was because it knew it could never be harmed.

What could Jed do, that hadn’t already been done by a butcher?

Jed didn’t make a sound. His face was grey, his eyes wide, fixed on the figure. It was still as stone, standing there in plain sight like it wasn’t some sort of hideous abomination. Insolent, brassy, uncaring.

The room filled with the sound of animals dying.

Pigs squealing. Cows bellowing. The final shrieking cluck of a chicken. My hands flew from my nose to my ears. Every bulb went out, the only light what was coming from the street light outside the window. I could still see the shape of it, and the shape of Jed, limp in its grasp, held up only by that vicious hand at his elbow.

The noise cut off as suddenly as it started, and the lights flickered back on, still unsteady. The thing let Jed down to the ground. I thought he might be dead, but, no, I saw his chest rise and fall, though shallowly. Must have been a good goddamn spook.

My heart had slowed. I’d blown through all my reserves of fear, all my terror, and now I was only tired.

It reached for me. I flinched, but there wasn’t much I could do, pinned in my chair as surely as I had been with Jed. Those fingers very carefully, very slowly, brushed my broken nose, the split on my lip.

It leaned forward. I closed my eyes.

Squishy, warm meat pressed to my forehead. For a second, it held itself there, head to my head, and when it disappeared, I kept my eyes shut. Shut until I heard Meredith come in and scream.

“Call the cops,” I said, eyes still closed. “Before Jed wakes up.”

Well, that Jed, he went to jail. I hope he likes it better than the slaughterhouse. Last I hear from his son, they have him making license plates for the state, and I figure that’s gotta be easier on him than slitting throats.

“You saw it too, Bonny Joy, didn’t you?” he begged me, the first and only time I went to visit him. My nose was still swollen, bruises still livid on my face, but I figured he deserved at least one last talk. “Please tell me you saw it too.”

I wondered what Meredith told him she saw. If she heard that horrible orchestra of animal death.

I remembered the bruise on her face, and how scared her son had been as he came to tell on his Daddy the way he did. And how scared and stunned I’d been as Jed wailed on my face.

I thought about the rules, and the lessons you only gotta learn once.

“Saw what, Jed Barings?”

I reckon I’ve told all there really is to tell. All the important bits, at least. It’s a damn long story as it is, and my throat is starting to hurt. Hear there? I’m getting a little frog!

I never told anyone else. Even Nevaeh doesn’t know all the things I seen, though I daresay she’s put it together just as well as anyone else. I do know she doesn’t go there no more, and sometimes, when we visit Big Cass in the cemetery, she just shakes her head at his headstone. Like she can’t believe he’d do it for so long.

I wonder if it’s more of a burden knowing what he shouldered all his life, or if the ignorance hurt more. That seems a damn rude thing to ask, even of Nevi. It seems… it seems cruel. And we aren’t cruel, not in this family.

Remember the rules, darlin’. Remember that this slaughterhouse has been in the family for centuries, and will go down long after I been laid to rest like Big Cass. Like Daddy and Mama. You may think that you got a choice, but if it isn’t you, it might be someone who doesn’t know.

What kinda trouble could that old slaughterhouse stir up, if it gets someone that don’t know? If it gets an owner that don’t respect it, that it don’t like?

I’ll be here to help you, darlin’, you don’t have to be afraid. And as long as you remember that you have a duty, you’ll never have cause to fear, even when I’ve said goodbye to you and those abattoirs, those freezers.

Remember, my love, my little boy: you’ve got a duty. The one who knows always has a duty. To me. To the slaughterhouse. To your animals. You’ve got a duty. Good Lord, that was his favorite phrase.

The slaughterhouse looks after its own, son. As long as you remember your duty, you ain’t got nothing to fear.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 47)

A small army of workers and pack-animals trooped in to Keeper's Hollow the morning after they pawned Eluna, coming in through a mix of the Tubes and making their way through the water on boats powered by motors, with giant turtles hauling in materials and equipment.

It was fascinating watching them work, in-between Weiss tending to her new crops of sugar beets and wheat, and her budding cacao tree orchard.

The new sprinkler system was like the Tubes, a system of vines grown in deliberate paths and connected by wood and stone anchors,  and the larger equipment like the mill used live trees for foundation, the rest of them made with the raw materials Weiss had been stockpiling from the overgrowth, or gathered from the remaining wilderness.

They didn't tear down the mossy and partially rotten walls of the old barn, but instead had the weavers place their hands on them, pulsing magic into the wood and reversing the aging process right before Weiss' eyes. They even adapted most of the plant-life growing in and around it as decoration; part of the piping for indoor plumbing, power, and natural gas; or a potential source of food or other amenities for the animals they were planning to house in there, once they found tenders willing to take most of their wages in food and lodging.

Even the tree growing through the roof wasn't cut down; they just patched up the breach to keep the elements out, hacked off some of the unrulier branches, and rebuilt the interior of the barn around it.

<Foundation for house,> the foreman had explained to her, after she gave them water and some snacks for their break.

The final touch was restoring the old transport system between the barn and the house, another boat suspended in the air, at where the water level could reach during the Flood. After a couple of safety tests to ensure that the makers had completely repaired or replaced the hinges that had broken off some years back, Ruby and Weiss took the maiden voyage.

They sat on opposite ends, listening to the cranking of the motors as it pulled them across, peering over the edge and waving at the cheering construction crew, looking at the fast-disappearing overgrowth and the small but thriving farm that had gone on to replace it.

Weiss sighed happily as she turned back to Ruby. “We've come a long way from those sweet potatoes, haven't we?”

“Yep!” Ruby chirped. She playfully pointed her horns at Weiss. “And it's all thanks to you!”

Weiss blushed. “Oh please, we both know I wouldn't have even thought of gardening if it wasn't for you...”

<Just kiss her already!> one of the makers yelled, before the rest joined them, howling, cheering, and making playful gestures.

Weiss glared at them, before she quickly sunk below the level of the boat's sides.

Ruby leaned out. <WE'RE NOT--> she made a very loud sexy animal noise <--YOU GUYS!>

There was laughter, confusion, and some sighs of disappointment as Shinies changed hands.

The boat stopped at a deck on the barn's second floor. Ruby stepped out first, grabbed Weiss hand and helped her out. The boat shook a little, leading Weiss to step farther than she intended and end up MUCH closer to Ruby, just one or two inches of distance between them.

They stared at each other, cheeks taking on a light dusting of pink.

“… I… better get started on making Qrow's booze!” Weiss said quickly.

“And I better get ready for the hunts again!” Ruby said as she jumped off the platform, landing softly on the grass below. “See you later, Weiss!” she called out as she ran back to the house.

“See you later, Ruby!” Weiss replied, before she hurried headed inside, and to her new laboratory/kitchen.

With instructions from the Codex and Penny on-hand for documentation and in case something went horribly wrong, Weiss had her first batches of sore-stiff ointment, moonshine, and cheese on the burners, bacteria cultures hyper-accelerating the process to give her what usually took months in the span of a few days.

She hung up her apron with pride, washing her hands, and heading off for a much deserved snack break before it was back to practicing her Actaeon and learning more about Fae society—fittingly, the day's lesson were about Talos, the progenitor for the Order of the Makers, and one of the most prolific engineers, scientists, artisans, and many more professions of the “Ekindling Era” beside.

“Where have I heard that name before?” Weiss asked as they walked back to the house.

“Probably from one of the more popular Fae epithets,” Penny explained. “'Talos Stinky Beard' is the one of the top ten.”

“Why his 'stinky beard' of all things?”

“Talos was a goat Fae, and extremely proud of his beard which he liked to grow long and wear in braids, and meticulously groomed every morning and night. Whenever an experiment or an endeavour went horribly wrong, or in an entirely unexpected and oftentimes unpleasant direction, for some bizarre reason, his beard would always be stained or marred in some way, the most frequent being afflicted with a difficult to remove smell.

“On a related note, he has another popular epithet frequently used as part of prayers to him: 'Talos Help Us All.' This one was because Talos was also oftentimes called in to assist or reverse the damage done by other Makers less skilled than he, also victims of unexpected outcomes, or both.”

“Well 'Talos Help Us All,' then,” Weiss said.

Penny frowned.

Weiss stopped. “… What?”

“I forgot to mention!: that particular epithet and its related prayers are only ever used AFTER something has gone wrong. In Fae superstition, saying it BEFORE anything unfortunate has happened will allegedly cause something to go wrong, as Talos was also well-known for his short temper and dislike of others calling for him, largely because it entailed him having to fix yet another disaster or mitigate unforeseen consequences.”

Weiss frowned. “… How bad are we talking about, exactly?” she asked.

Penny smiled. “Just repeat after me: 'Gabija Have Mercy On Us All,'”

“Gabija Have Mercy On Us All,” Weiss said.

As Penny climbed up to get the elevator, Weiss made a note to herself to not call upon any more divine powers until she knew everything there was about them.

It started with her moonshine.

Though for full flavour and maximum potency, it needed to ferment for a week or more, ethanol was already present within the first 24 hours, and since that was all Qrow really needed, he, Weiss, and Penny were at the laboratory doing the first taste test.

All of them cringed as Weiss poured some into a shot glass, as the moonshine had developed an incredibly powerful, acrid aroma. “Man, they weren't kidding when they said this brewer's bacteria was powerful stuff,” she said as she pinched her nostrils then handed it over to Penny for scanning.

“We Fae have neo-steel guts compared to you humans,” Qrow explained. “It takes a LOT more to get us fucked up.”

Penny made a beeping noise. “Analysis complete! Qrow, I would HIGHLY suggest that you don't drink this, I've detected worryingly high levels of ethanol...”

“It's moonshine, Penny,” Qrow said as he plucked the shot glass out of her hand. “It's meant to be that way.” He raised it in the air. “Bottom's up!” he said, before he knocked it back in one gulp.

“Well?” Weiss asked.

Qrow came to in a hospital bed.

<UNCLE QROW!> Ruby cried, jumping on his bed, and nearly smashing her horns into his head as she hugged him. <I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE NOT DEAD!>

<Fuck me! What happened?!> he asked.

Ruby pulled away. <You mean you don't remember?>

<Last thing I'm getting from my chronicle is me drinking some of Weiss' moonshine, thinking 'Huh, not bad, kinda sweet, but I could see myself drinking this soon as it's got some time to age,' and then POW! Nothing!

<Did the makers launch another rocket, and it happened to punch through the roof and land on me?>

<Actually, you died of alcohol poisoning,> Penny said as she came over. <Fortunately, my mender protocols include detoxification and revival of patients, so long as brain activity had only recently ceased.>

Qrow's eyes widened. <Holy fucking shit… Weiss' booze was that strong...?>

Penny nodded. <The makers currently have it in secure storage, until they find someone brave-stupid enough to want to do serious study of it.>

Qrow laid back on his bed. <How long was I out?>

<6 hours and 37 minutes, including the five minutes that you were brain-dead,> Penny replied.

Qrow closed his eyes. <Someone fill me in on what the hell happened in the meanwhile, before the Council gives me crap about it...>

Penny put her hand to the chronicle-governor on the back of Qrow's neck, and did.

The footage was from Penny's optic sensors, with an overlay of her many scanners' readouts, a scrolling ticker of her inner thoughts, and her “To Do” list in the upper right corner. The latest item was <Keep Qrow from Dying.>

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…!” Weiss whispered over and over again as she stood over her and Qrow. “Is he dead?! Did I kill him?!”

“No,” Penny replied as she held her glowing hands over Qrow's unconscious body, “he's just suffering from severe alcohol poisoning, he's not yet--”

Qrow's vitals readings flat-lined.

“--And now he's dead.”

Weiss wailed in despair. “Ruby's going to kill me!”

“Initiating revival protocols!” Penny said as her hands began to glow with immense power. “And Ruby won't take violent retribution on you, knowing this was an accident; however, she will definitely be permanently traumatized, and also likely fall into a serious depression.”

“THAT'S EVEN WORSE!”

Qrow fast-forwarded the footage. Penny revived him, stabilized him, and proceeded to siphon all the alcohol from his system. Unfortunately, there was no closing his eyes for the inevitably messy aftermath of that last part.

The emergency menders were called in, and Qrow was hauled off to the hospital for recovery. Penny spent a good while consoling a distraught Weiss, and he put it back to normal speed as after she recovered and they were back in front of the still, looking at it like it had grown fangs and legs.

“Is Fae alcohol always this powerful...?” Weiss asked.

“No, which is what worries me,” Penny replied. “There's no reason for any of the ingredients or the processes used to end with a product this potent, especially this early in the fermentation stage. The only way they could achieve this is with a catalyst.”

“Like what?”

Penny shrugged. “I don't know. I suggest we call the Maker's Forge—they're going to want to study this. And more importantly, we might need someone with the skill and equipment to safely dispose of it...”

Weiss warily looked at the other two containers of fermenting products.

“Don't worry!” Penny said. “Sore-stiff ointment and white cheese are not nearly as volatile as moonshine is!”

Qrow fast-forwarded again through their attempting to recreate the wort they had used for the moonshine, until Ren and Nora arrived at Keeper's Hollow.

“You two work as safety inspectors, too?” Weiss asked as she met them at the doors of the barn.

“Yes,” Ren replied. “It's cheaper and easier, considering we're already combat-trained watchers.”

“You need combat-training for this job?” Weiss replied.

“Yep!” Nora replied as she walked in, her hammer over her shoulder. “Never know WHAT might come out of a flunky science experiment, here in the Valley.”

Weiss was silent as the two went up and began to test her moonshine.

The results were not encouraging, with the alcohol levels still strangely, dangerously high, and requiring extreme dilution in water until it was reasonably safe to drink.

“There's only one more test to see if we're going to need to bar you from making more until you get a license,” Ren said.

“What's that?” Weiss asked.

“The Fury Potato Test!” Nora cried, pulling out a canister from her back-pocket.

“It's when we see if your alcohol could potentially be used as an explosive,” Ren explained.

Qrow fast-forwarded over the preparations, and resumed when they were standing at a remote, uninhabited corner of Keeper's Hollow, on a bank facing out to the water.

Nora loaded the canister full of moonshine into her hammer. “FURY POTATO!” she cried as she swung.

Thoom.

They all watched it sail off into the distance, and into the water.

Plop.

They waited a few seconds.

Nothing.

“Welp, that answers that!” Nora said, putting her hammer down and leaning on it.

BOOM.

Quite a lot of clouds of debris, exploded plant matter, and dead fish and frogs began to float up to the surface.

“… Nope, spoke too soon!” she said.

“Yeah...” Ren muttered, “we're going to have to confiscate all your moonshine and your still, until we're certain you won't accidentally blow Keeper's Hollow sky high.”

“What exactly did you do to make it, anyway?” Nora said.

Weiss walked them through the process, and at the end, added, “I also kind of said 'Talos Help Us All' just after I put them away for aging...”

Nora and Ren's eyes widened.

“… I didn't know you weren't supposed to say it then.”

“What's inside the other containers, and when are they going to be done fermenting?” Ren asked.

“Sore-stiff ointment and white cheese, and a little before two tomorrow afternoon.”

“Call us when you open them,” Ren said as he made a note of it in his tablet. “Ideally, when Ruby and Blake are with us.”

“Tell them to come armed!” Nora added.

“Is invoking Talos when you shouldn't really that bad?” Weiss asked.

Ren put his hand on her shoulder. “Let's just put it this way: pray to whatever other deities you believe in, except for him.”

[americanahighways]

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photos by Jimmy Faber

There’s something relaxed and comfortable about Hayes Carll, so that listening to his tunes sometimes feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans. He’s easy to get into, doesn’t chafe, and feels snug and familiar. After a while you start feeling like you could happily sit around with him all evening, just telling stories and shootin’ the breeze.

That’s partly because his chord changes and melodies really ARE familiar, since he borrows copiously — though nimbly and tastefully — from his Austin-area influences: Ray Wylie Hubbard, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson and Guy Clark. He has also clearly studied the song-craft of folks like Bob Dylan, John Prine and Steve Earle — whose former -ex, Allison Moorer, Carll legendarily “stole,” to Earle’s dismay — along with other, younger Americana penmen like Todd Snider and Ryan Adams. Nevertheless, Carll’s is an original and invigorating voice rather than a merely derivative one.

Carll also has the kind of laid-back, drawling persona that can lull you into thinking he’s not going anywhere quick, when all of a sudden — WHAM! — it hits you that he just snuck another genius line or unshakeable melody deep into your subconscious, where it’s likely to sit and ferment until it hits you hard between the eyes.

He’s a sneaky puncher, that guy.

And then every once in a while his serious, more edgy, political side shows up to remind you that he has a less laid-back, more observant side, too. Though he’s only 43 years old, with just six albums to his credit, it seems like he’s been around (and been through) a whole lot more. In short, he seems like an old, wise soul at times, who has maybe gleaned more than a few nuggets of wisdom from his friend and mentor Ray Wylie.

Carll’s performance with his band The Gulf Coast Orchestra (featuring Travis Linville on steel, guitar, and dobro, Mike Meadows on drums, Geena Spigarelli on bass, and Cory Younts on piano, mandolin, and harmonica) at the Ardmore Music Hall on April 4 exhibited all of the above-mentioned qualities. His 22 song set (including three encore numbers) spanned his entire career, with a natural emphasis on his new album, What It Is.

Dressed in his customary blue, Western-cut workshirt, jeans and boots, and playing a trusty, scratched-up Gibson J-45, Carll choose to open the show with the train-beat propelled country honker “If I May Be So Bold.” Interestingly, No Depression had recently published an essay/statement of Hayes’ by the same title, in which he took a public stance with regard the country’s wide political divide. Though he felt uncomfortable about “being seen” in that way, he felt he finally had to do so after suffering an ugly on-line incident. (In brief: after Carll announced via social media that he would be playing a concert in support of Beto O’Rourke, “someone left a comment stating that he hoped I got shot on stage.” You can read his full response to the incident via the link provided below.)

In a way, starting the show with that particular song was like making a statement about a statement, saying in effect: This is who I am, take it or leave it. Or as he says in the essay, “I’ve decided I would rather be criticized for the things I believe in than be embraced for the things I don’t.”

Statement made, Carll proceeded to show his kinder, gentler side via ballads like “Nonya Business,” “In Times Like These” (which he introduced via a story about the time he and Allison Moorer made up a persona — a librarian — during a Southwestern Airlines flight), and “Jesus and Elvis” (about Lala’s Little Nugget, in North Austin). He interspersed those tunes with others highlighting his pointedly political side, such as the irony-laced “Fragile Men,” as well as his rowdier side with rockers like the joyous “Beautiful Thing” (from the new album) and the scorcher “KMAG YOYO” (an abbreviation for the military phrase “Kiss my ass goodbye, you’re on your own).

The band exited the stage after that last number, leaving Carll to accompany himself on the lovely “Beaumont” from 2008’s breakthrough Trouble in Mind, which he followed with his lilting, cheerful tale about the quirky courtship of Billy and Katey, “Girl Downtown.” Linville returned to the stage to accompany Hayes on dobro for the latter tune.

The rest of the band rejoined Carll and Linville and quickly picked up where they had left off with a rousing version of the Hubbard classic “Drunken Poet’s Dream.” They followed that with “What It Is” off the new album, which featured a tasteful dobro solo by Linville; the humorous “I Got a Gig” from Trouble in Mind, Carll’s rocking version of Scott Nolan’s “Bad Liver and a Broken Heart,” which drew thunderous applause from the crowd; “It’s a Shame,” solidly anchored by Spigarelli’s loping bass; and finally a kickass version of “Stomp and Holler,” which got the audience doing exactly what the title says.

Carll and company’s encore consisted of three tunes: the ballad “I Will Stay,” during which Carll held the audience completely in thrall (you could hear the proverbial pin drop as it ended); “Wild as a Turkey,” whose steady thumping beat was ably provided by Meadows, while Linville added another nice dobro/slide solo; and finally, Carll’s lyrical tour de force, “Sake of the Song.”

By show’s end the comfort level between Carll and the audience was beyond that of a cowboy and his favorite pair of jeans; it was well nigh down to the skivvies. Carll seemed particularly happy with the venue, noting that he usually plays “The type of place that has a mechanical sheep.” I’m not exactly sure what that means, but like the rest of the audience I enjoyed the casual, drawling way he said it.

—————

Ben Dickey, who opened for Carll and his band, was a bit more of an enigma to me. Like many other audience members, no doubt, I was intrigued to see how Dickey’s on-stage persona might align (or not) with his amazing on-screen portrayal of Blaze Foley in Ethan Hawke’s film “Blaze.” Despite his lack of experience as an actor Dickey absolutely owned that role and seemed completely comfortable and convincing in conveying the title character’s legendarily cantankerous, outsized personality.

He didn’t seem quite as outsized as a solo, live performer on stage, however, though his guitar chops were pretty darned impressive. Playing a black semi- hollow 1935 Gibson archtop through a chorus pedal, and at times running that combo through a looper pedal to stack multiple layers of guitar tones, Dickey provided a nifty nine-song set that culminated with a trio of tunes by John Prine (“Long Monday”), Blaze Foley (the unmistakable “Clay Pigeons”) and Townes van Zandt (“No Place to Fall”). Dickey sang that last tune with conviction, delivering its dark delicacy beautifully. Its legendary author no doubt would have approved.

Dickey seemed slightly more circumspect in delivering his originals, however. Perhaps it was nervousness in returning to the city (Philadelphia) where he’d struggled through some hard times, working feverishly as a chef at the fabled music club Johnny Brenda’s and experiencing “some kind of breakdown” after his band Blood Feathers broke up and a good friend died in a bicycle accident — this was before Hawke drafted him for the lead role in Blaze — but Dickey’s interactions with the audience seemed a bit halting at times. The only reference he made to his Philly past came when he mentioned the local phrase “down the shore” — “I never heard that phrase before I came here,” he said. No further comment was extended.

He was similarly reticent on the topic of portraying a songwriting legend like Foley. That experience was “really strange,” he said — “mystical and magical” — but he did not proffer any specifics about why, or what had made it so.

Which was just fine, as long as he was dazzling us with his nimble guitar playing and somewhat unexpected tunes. The chorus of the balled “Man with a Hammer” goes “Tallyhoo, time to go / Lay down your bones to be free, old soul,” which sounds rather old-timey; but when mated with chorus and tremolo effects pushed through a slowly distorting looper pedal, it became something else entirely. During an upbeat blues number with a strong affinity to Dylan’s “Highway 61,” Dickey shredded on a rockabilly style solo; another song had the flavor of surf music-meets-psychedelic rock, while a fourth featured a nifty bridge with R & B flavored stops.

The man definitely has some chops, and his voice has a husky, pleasantly Dylanesque quality to it. I’m hopeful that Dickey will begin to open up and establish even more of a rapport with his audiences, so he can convey the kind of breathtaking intimacy his portrayal of Foley delivers. He’s definitely a talent to keep your eyes on, whether for his acting or musical endeavors.

—————

Upcoming tour dates for Hayes Carll, along with videos, recordings and merchandise, can be found at: http://www.hayescarll.com

Carll’s essay “If I May Be So Bold” can be found at: https://www.nodepression.com/if-i-may-be-so-bold-an-essay-by-hayes-carll/

Americana Highways’ review of Hayes Carll’s What It Is can be found at: https:// americanahighways.org/2019/02/14/review-hayes-carlls-what-it-is/ and interview with Hayes Carll is here: Interview: Hayes Carll on “What It Is,” Reading More and a Sense of Humor

More info on Ben Dickey, along with tour dates, videos and music can be found at: https://www.bendickeymusic.com

An account of Dickey’s time in Philadelphia (entitled “When musician Ben Dickey left Philadelphia, he was depressed. Now, he’s a movie star”) can be read at: https://www.philly.com/entertainment/music/ben-dickey-ethan-hawke-blaze-foley-20190329.html

Americana Highways’ recent interview with Ben Dickey’s can be found at: Ben Dickey Releases “A Glimmer on the Outskirts”

Review: Hayes Carll and Ben Dickey: An Old, Comfy Pair of Jeans and a Bit of An Enigma @hayescarll @bendickeymusic @alleyesmedia @ardmoremusicPA photos by Jimmy Faber There's something relaxed and comfortable about Hayes Carll, so that listening to his tunes sometimes feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans.

[burningcollectivestudent-blog]

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