#area man will be learning to hose himself off before he comes in my house unless he wants me immediately jumping his bones

[jackals-horny-jail-archive]

side blog thoughts time and anyways blood kink go slightly brrrrr there's just a lil on his lips and im like hm! hm <3

[thisisarcanereverie]

What it Means to be Worthy (Thor x Reader)

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

THERE IS SMUT IN HERE 18+ YOU THIRSTY SONS OF BITCHES.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up pals) Do NOT read unless you are 18+. 

Also I have never written smut before so I hope it’s ok. I honestly couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been listening to Deity by Valeree (highly recommend listening while reading the smut. It will probably make it better.) 

“Thor,” you called the God of Thunder, “Thor it’s (Y/n).”

You heard a small grunt coming from the living room as you entered through the front door. You immediately went to cover your nose from the stench that invaded your senses upon entering. 

It seemed as though the whole house smelled of rotten food, sweat, and something akin to a pigs feces. It was a smell that you never quite got used to, even after 2 years of smelling it every day. 

You quietly made your way through the house until you saw a sight you were quite used to seeing now. 

Thor on the ground, shirtless, covered in sweat and grime. His beard was filthy from vomit and dandruff and his hair greasy and matted to his head. 

There had been a time where he cared so much about his hair that he got triggered if you had tried to trim it. 

After 2 years of seeing this scene before you, it failed to surprise you. 

Now it just angered you. 

You knew you couldn’t understand the pain he was in, he lost his entire family, half his people, and Asgard. 

Sure, the people of Midgard were generous and gave your people sanctuary, a place for your people to call home once again. 

But that didn’t stop you from missing Asgard’s golden palace and it’s mountains of lush green forests. How you missed running with Thor and Loki through those forests after dark to get to the highest peak you could to watch the glittering of the gold during sunrise. 

You had been playmates with the Princes since infancy. You had trained and fought alongside them in battle, joined them in celebrations after each conquest, mourned the loss of Frigga with them. 

You went with Thor all those years ago to retrieve Loki and joined the Avengers with him. 

But now the Avengers were gone, long since disbanded before the battle of Wakanda. 

You weren’t angry at him, your anger was towards the cruel fate that had befallen your precious friends. You had cared for Loki, almost as much as Thor if not equal to. 

If you were honest, you weren’t in better shape. Your grief had taken hold of you as well. Your kind smile had turned cynical. Anyone who tried to get close to you often was met with your icy glare and scoff. 

Thor was the only one who brought out the caring person you once were. 

With a deep sigh you expertly walked around the empty booze bottles and to the grieving man before you. Thor may have gotten soft around the middle but he weighed about the same as you slumped his arms around your shoulders. Thor groaned and went pale, his eyes barely opening. 

“C’mon blondie,” you softly spoke, “let’s get you washed up.”

You half dragged the god to the bathroom, he threw up halfway there but you paid no mind. You would clean that after getting him in the shower. 

You didn’t bother stripping him before setting him in the tub. Without warning or mercy you pointed the shower hose directly at his face and turned the water to icy cold. 

Thor yelled at the icy feeling, borderline pleading, for you to turn off the water. However, over the course of 2 years the patience you had for him had worn thin and so you continued to spray until the stench subsided a little. 

Thor was fully awake and sober now, seeing your figure as clear as day tower over him in the tub with a look on your face akin to a mother scolding a misbehaving child. 

Thor felt so small and powerless under your gaze and he loathed it. 

“You could have stopped a while ago.”

“This needs to stop Thor.” 

Your hands motioned to him, Thor once admired those hands and the strength that they had. Now he just found them annoying. 

He found you annoying. 

You came by everyday and pulled him out of his stupor, clean up after him a little, and try to clean him up. You treated him like a child who couldn’t take care of himself and he loathed it so. 

“I am King of Asgard you do not get to tell me what to do.”

“What King would wallow himself in such a way.”

He bolted upright and stood in the tub, successfully towering over your frame, you had gone too far. You didn’t get to say such things to him. 

What Thor didn’t count on was the world getting fuzzy and a little dark when he stood up, so although he towered over you he was as stable as a wind chime. 

You held onto his frame to prevent him from falling flat onto his face. You felt Thor stiffen under your touch. 

You knew Thor was now sensitive and insecure in areas he never was before. 

It seemed like yesterday that he was admiring himself in one of Asgard’s golden mirrors, his long hair had looked like spun gold in Asgard’s sunlight and his figure was that befitting of a god. 

But none of that had ever mattered to you, even when Thor became full of himself to the point of him being ill tempered and arrogant, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever give up on him. 

Not that you tried to give up on him anyways.

Loki had asked you one day why you didn’t. Why didn’t you give up on the golden prince when he clearly would never feel the same way. 

“I love him too much to be without him. Even if that means watching him parade himself around as a peacock and watch women fly to him like bees to honey.” 

Then Thor was banished and the only reason why you didn’t follow was due to Loki’s intervening. 

Then Thor met Jane Foster. 

The memory of the beautiful scientist brought back bittersweet memories. You had never seen Thor so deep in love, and that made you both sad and happy. 

Happy that he finally found someone who could keep him humble and who he loved just as much as you loved him. 

Sad that when you often caught Thor daydreaming, that it wasn’t you he was daydreaming about. 

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and sat the giant on the edge of the tub while you went to gather fresh clothes for him. 

You gathered a simple sweatshirt and pants for him to pull on once he was finished with his shower. 

As you set the clothes beside the sink you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing feeling in the deepest parts of your heart and the nagging thoughts in your head. 

You knew that Thor was hellbent on this self destructive path and you knew that there was nothing you could possibly do to prevent it. 

It was either you let Thor drown himself in his despair or you let him drown you with it as well. 

You had accepted long ago that Thor would never see you as anything more than what you had always been. 

His playmate since infancy. 

The girl who got a starry look every time he entered a room. 

You had saved up money from the jobs you had worked over the past 2 years, you finally saved up enough to get away from New Asgard. Leave its people to the hands of their self pitying King and Val. 

It wasn’t like they needed you or the other way around. 

No one would notice your absence. 

You began to pick up around Thor’s home, recycling empty liquor bottles and trashing pizza boxes and rotted food. Vacuuming the carpets and dusting here and there. 

This will be the last time you do as such. 

You needed to leave, staying here and wallowing in Thor’s despair and depression as much as your own wasn’t good for you. And you knew deep down you had been enabling him, every time you cleaned his house and washed and fed him you knew that he only got worse and that you were supporting him when you did this. 

You needed to leave for Thor’s sake as much as your own. 

You wondered how long it would take him to notice. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Thor, you doubt he would even care at this point. 

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, having moved into the house closest to his in case of emergency. 

Most of your things were packed and already in your apartment in New York waiting for you. Well things of value, the rest you had sold online, it was amazing what the internet could do. By far one of the greatest inventions on Midgard in your opinion. 

All that was left to do was, pack a few pieces of clothing and toiletries. 

And write a goodbye letter to Thor explaining where you went and why. 

You had avoided writing it, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting Thor to not care. 

It wasn’t like you were completely leaving Thor, Valkyrie (Val as you called her) assured you that she would make sure he didn’t starve or drink himself to an early grave. 

You trusted her to make good on her promise. 

You leaving wasn’t even your idea in the first place, Val had tried to get you to leave a year earlier, but you were too stubborn to leave then. 

You grabbed the piece of stationary and began to write. 

‘Thor, 

By the time you're sober enough to read this I’ll already be gone. I don’t predict that I’ll be back. 

Val will be making sure you don’t starve or drink yourself into an early grave in my place. 

I just can’t do this anymore Thor. 

I had loved you since we were but children running around the palace gardens, I still do. However I accepted the fact that you could never see me as anything more than your old playmate and dear friend so long ago. 

I had tried to be by your side in a supporting role no matter how much it had hurt me. 

When you became an arrogant ass I tried my hardest to explain away your tantrums. 

When you came back from banishment I listened to you swoon over Lady Jane Foster with a smile on my face even though it tore me apart. 

I had stayed with you, took care of you. It took me so long to realize that I had just been enabling you this entire time. 

I had been supporting your self destructive behavior and I refuse to play that part any longer. I need to leave, not just for me but for you. 

You need to sort through your emotions, you need to learn how to handle yourself by yourself. You need me not holding your hand when you do that. 

I need to discover for myself what it means to be worthy-’

A loud pounding at your door disrupted your train of thought as you wrote. Normally no one would bother you, not unless it had to deal with Thor. 

The floorboards creaked as you made your way to your door. The pounding had not ceased until you flew the door open to reveal Thor. 

His hair was still damp from his shower and the sweats you had picked out were already stained from the beer he held in one hand. His sky blue eye was hidden behind dark shades. 

“(Y/n),” Thor said, “I need a thing.”

“Thor right now isn’t a good time.” 

“Don’t worry Lady (Y/n) it won’t take even a second I’ll be in and out.” Thor assured, flashing you a smile that could make your legs go weak. Despite how much hurt you were in you were still no match for Thor’s charms. 

“What thing do you need?”

“Just a thing I’ll know the name of it when I see it.” 

You stepped aside as you let Thor in, hoping that he won’t notice the lack of furniture or the note left on the table. You decided to let him be while you went and finished packing whatever was in the bathroom. After that you went back to the living area where you had left the note only to see Thor sitting on the couch, his fingers clenching the paper tightly. He had taken his shades off, the deep dark circles stood out against his skin a tribute to how tired he truly was. 

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sorrow that filled his eyes. red rimmed the blue eye as fresh tears began to fall. 

“You weren’t supposed to read that yet.” 

“And when was I supposed to read it then?! When you were god knows where you will be!” His voice bellowed as tears continued to fall down his cheek. 

“Thor please don’t yell.” 

“No (Y/n)!” he cut you off, “you,” his finger pointed at you, his gaze as intense as lightning, “you don’t get to leave like this. You don’t get to leave me too.”

“Thor I don’t have a choice,” you argue, “I need to let you go. I need to find who I am without you and you need-”

“DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I NEED!” 

You could hear thunder roaring in the distance outside, lightning danced around his fingers faintly. Thor had never scared you, but right now you were close to it. 

“Thor,” you say calmly hoping somehow your calm tone will calm the God of Thunder, “I’m sorry for choosing the cowards way, I wanted to avoid this.”

“Did you truly think you would be able to avoid me for long.” The lightning had yet to cease but his eyes seemed to stop glowing ever so slightly. 

“I didn’t think you would have noticed for at least a few days.” 

“Why would you think I wouldn’t notice immediately?” He asked like it was the most incredulous question. He took a step closer to you while you took a step back. Thunder still roared outside and lightning still curled around his fingers. Thor furrowed his eyes in confusion until he finally seemed to hear the thunder storm outside and realize he had scared you. 

Thor had scared you. 

Immediately the pain in his chest worsened with the guilt that he had scared you. That he had so little control over his powers when he was so emotional. Slowly he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath in and out. He then felt his powers subside and the thunder had stopped. 

You could see his shoulders hunch forward with shame and you instictivly placed a hand over his shoulder to comfort him. Thor was quick to envelop your hand with his. Holding onto your hand for dear life. 

Your eyes then met, closer than you had ever been before. 

“What thing were you looking for?” you asked softly, “you said you came over for a thing.”

“I lied,” Thor admitted softly, “I just didn’t want to be alone.” 

The next thing you knew was the faint taste of beer and blueberries on your lips and strong, calloused hands making their way to your shoulders. 

Thor was just as good a kisser as you imagined. Lips moving expertly over your own, moving against yours so desperately. Like a man dying of thirst. 

You knew you should push him off of you, but for one second you wanted to enjoy his lips on yours. Kissing you like you had always wanted to kiss him. 

You moved your lips against his, relishing every moment. Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him again. 

Only when Thor's hands traveled to your waist did you break away. Albeit, you couldn’t push him further than just enough to give you some breathing space. 

“Thor,’ you said, “you’re drunk you don’t want this.” 

‘When will you stop telling me what I want and don’t want.” His lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth and slowly made their way to your neck. 

“Thor I do not want this if your reasoning is impaired.”

“I appreciate the thought dear one, but I only had half a beer tonight.” 

Asgardians could handle their booze well, especially Thor. For Thor to be the least bit intoxicated he would have had to drink 3 large bottles of Asgardian booze. However, when it came to Midgard it took 4 large barrows of Midgardian beer for it to have the same effect on him. Thor mostly drank it for the taste.

“Unless you would rather I stop.” Thor said, before his hands had removed themselves from your waist you stopped them. 

With every ounce of passion in you, you grabbed a handful of his long hair and pressed your lips to his. 

It was a mess of passionate and needy kisses and moans. Thor’s battle-worn hands had roamed over your body in a desperate need to feel you. 

He was quick to rid you of your shirt, hands feeling every inch of naked skin as he could. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth. 

You moaned as his hands found your breasts, his large hands covering them over your bra. Your hands made quick work with your bra, removing the suffocating fabric before lifting Thor’s shirt. 

you felt him stiffen as you rid him of his shirt. 

He wasn’t as muscular as he had been 2 years ago, however it took more than 2 years to completely diminish what his body had been. Although his stomach had softened as well as his arms. You didn’t care in the slightest, loving Thor in every shape he came in. 

Your hands lovingly brushed over his torso as you began to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, over his chest, it wasn’t until you were at the waistband on his sweatpants did he bring you back up and kissed you with fiery passion. 

Thor laid you in front of the fireplace that you forgot you lit a while ago. Honestly a little surprised that the fire was still going. 

You didn’t have much time to think about that as you felt Thor’s lips travel  from your neck and over your breasts. Your nails scratched the floor beneath you as you felt him at the waistband of your jeans. 

You felt Thor pause and you looked at him. 

“Are you sure dear one?” 

Your heart melted at the new nickname, as you nodded to him. However that wasn’t enough for the blonde adonis as he traveled up your body and littered your neck in open mouth kisses. 

“I need to hear you say you want this dear one.” 

“Please Thor,” you pleaded as he ground his hips into yours slowly, your hips meeting his as his pace slows even more successfully driving you insane. 

“I need you Thor.”

“What do you need dear one?”

“I need you to finish what we started.” 

With that Thor slammed his lips on yours as he rid you of your pants, underwear included. He leaned back and his eyes drank in your figure illuminated by the fire light. You were breathtaking, any one would buckle at the sight of you. 

Pride swelled in Thor’s heart as this view was reserved for him only. 

Just as you were about to say something you felt Thor’s beard tickle the inside of your thigh and without warning Thor dived in. 

Your hands immediately flew to his hair and grabbed fists full of it, anything to tether you to reality. 

As Thor worked his magic on your bundle of nerves your moans filled the empty house. Thor moaned as your grip on his hair tightened which sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Thor lifted your legs over his shoulders and gripped your thighs firmly as his tongue worked faster. 

Just as you were about to reach your blissful release you felt him pull away. Your arousal practically dripped from his lips onto his beard. 

He rid himself of the last piece of clothing before capturing your lips once again. Unlike the kisses from before, this was gentle and sweet. You could taste yourself on his lips as he tenderly kissed you. 

You slowly ran your hands over his chest, committing him to memory. 

Thor pulled away from your lips as he entered you. 

Your mouth let out a silent scream of pleasure as Thor let out a shaky breath of pleasure. Thor waited for a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of you around him before finally moving his hips against yours. 

Thor was soft and slow in his thrusts, making sure to worship every part of you. His lips were everywhere, from your face to your breasts. 

You met in time with his thrusts. The only sound in the room being your shaky breaths, moans of pleasure, and skin on skin. And it sounded like a chorus to you. 

Thor’s thrusts became erratic and unyielding, the knot in your stomach was on the verge of bursting when Thor whispered in your ear. 

“Let go dear one, I’ll catch you.”

With that the knot had become undone, leaving your body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. 

Thor had not been too far behind you before he too reached his climax. 

Thor laid down beside you, still coming down from his high. You laid your head on his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. 

This was everything you had ever wanted, to lay beside Thor with his arm beside you. Well almost everything. 

As Thor began to play with the ends of your head as you replayed the past two years in your head. 

“I think you may have been right.” Thor broke the silence, you lifted your head off his chest to see his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling. 

“When have I ever been anything otherwise.”

Thor’s chest rumbled in laughter as unshed tears began to fill his eyes. He refused to cry, not now. 

“I agree that you need to leave dear one.” Thor’s voice cracked, “I have become a pitiful king to my people, but I have been an even worse friend to you.” his eyes left their place on the ceiling and rested on your face. “You have been faithfully by my side ever since either of us could remember. You had defended me when I didn’t deserve it and loved me when no one did. Not even myself.” His calloused hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped your eyes away. “you don’t deserve to drown in my despair with me. You deserve a life of adventure and you deserve the time to figure out who you are.” You pressed your forehead to his as tears leaked out. “I need to let you go.”

---

Thor had spent the night committing every touch and every scent to memory. He had no idea when his feelings for you grew to such lengths but he knew now that he had figured it out much too late. 

He wasn’t the man you deserved by your side. 

Thor waved you off at the airport and watched as the metal contraption took you away from his side for the first time since his banishment all those years ago. 

He hoped that if you returned he would be a man worthy of you again. 

Thor only wished he knew where to start.

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Wild Violets and Unicorn Stickers

This is my contribution to the RBB put on by @android-whump-big-bang! This was the first Big Bang I have ever participated in and it was really fun to craft a story around a beautiful piece of artwork! I hope you enjoy reading Ralph’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

WR600, register your name. 

I see a man standing before me. And beside him are a woman and a young girl. A family. They are all smiling and it makes me smile. “Ralph,” the man says.

“My name is Ralph,” I reply. It’s a good name and I think it suits me.

The family brings me to their home. It is a beautiful farmhouse. Situated on a large plot of land down a long dirt road, it is much larger than the others we drove past when we left the city. Here there is a sprawling green lawn surrounding the house, with lush flowerbeds blooming in a riot of different colors bordering the wrap-around porch. I also glimpse a greenhouse as we pull around to where the garage is located in the back. I have a job to do here and I know exactly how to do it. I am eager to start.

The father of the family, who introduced himself as Garrett, gives me a tour of the property while his wife Olivia takes their daughter Gracie inside the house for lunch. Garrett instructs me on how he prefers the lawn to be maintained and how short to prune the hedges. Then he shows me where the various gardening tools and lawn mower are stored in a shed beside the garage; I carefully catalog everything on my hard drive, making quick notes as we go to check the pH level of the soil and the area’s water table.

Before he is done with our tour, Garrett shows me the greenhouse. To say that I am impressed would be a vast understatement. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the glass walls and roof, saturating the lush greenery surrounding me in a golden glow. There's rows of ripening vegetables running down the middle - tomatoes, squash, zucchini and others - and lining the sides are various herbs, a handful of flowering orchids and roses, some pastel-toned succulents, and fragrant lavender.

I glance at Garrett and smile. "It's beautiful."

Garrett beams with pride. "Thank you," he says. "I inherited this place nine months ago from my grandfather. He used to grow corn out here but his land got sold off little by little until just the farmhouse and the greenhouse were left. I remember spending the summers here as a kid. It was in pretty bad shape when we moved in, but I've been putting a lot of work into fixing it up as best I can. This greenhouse is kind of my way of keeping my grandfather's memory alive."

"Your hard work definitely shows. I'm happy to help you maintain it."

Garrett nods warmly. "I'm not normally one to ask for help and I never pictured myself owning an android, but the upkeep on it all is getting to be a little much and I wanted to be able to spend more time with my family. I'm glad to have you here."

“I’m ready to begin whenever you are,” I say with a nod of my own.

My first week at the farmhouse goes fast. I perform my duties efficiently and with care. Garrett lends a hand occasionally but for the most part he leaves me to my work. Olivia and Gracie are very nice to me and we talk sometimes when I come inside to wash my hands in the kitchen at day's end. Gracie especially loves telling me about what new things she learned at school. It feels nice to be included.

Another week passes much the same as the first. I am more observant, though, of how this little family unit operates. It's fascinating to see the intricacies of their interactions when I catch glimpses of them together during my daily duties. I see Garrett push Gracie on the tire swing in the backyard one morning before the school bus comes, then one evening at dusk I see Olivia braiding Gracie's hair on the front porch while Garrett sweeps the steps. And on one hot afternoon, I see Olivia bring Garrett a glass of lemonade and give him a kiss on his cheek while he is helping me pull weeds. I am captivated. But I find my favorite thing to see is the three of them having dinner together. I don't sit and stare but sometimes in the evening when I'm putting the hose or lawnmower away and the summer sun is sinking low and the gloaming fades into night I can see them through the back window that looks into the dining room. They sit at the table together and it looks so pure and real the way they smile and talk and laugh. It makes me want to be a part of what they have in an intense and confusing way that makes my chest ache.

As the days go on, I know very well what this family means to each other. They care for one another. They love one another. I wonder if it is something I will ever truly experience or even understand. I desperately want to.

By the time a month rolls around, though, I notice that they begin to pull me in, little by little, and it surprises me. Now, when I go into the kitchen to wash my hands at the end of the day, Gracie almost always asks me to sit at the table and color with her while Olivia prepares dinner. And Garrett once let me help cook burgers on the grill for a backyard barbecue and he did not get mad at me when I accidentally burned two of them. Garrett has even made me a small room in the garage with a bed and a nightstand even though I technically don’t have to sleep. They treat me as more than an android and it’s a strange revelation to process. I feel like I am becoming a part of their family. And I never want to be apart from them.

Summer slowly surrenders to the start of autumn in a gradual shift from sweltering days to rainy ones and from vibrant greens to striking reds and yellows. Gracie tells me it is her favorite season. The fall harvest soon comes and everyone decides to pitch in to help gather the ripened pumpkins, zucchini, squash, turnips, and carrots. It is an overcast day that threatens showers later in the afternoon so Garrett says he wants to get an early start. I meet the family in the greenhouse just after they eat breakfast. They are dressed in vests and boots and matching flannel shirts and my chest gets tight and I don’t know why.

With so much help we get the job done pretty quickly. Olivia is happy with the amount of zucchini we grew and is excited to make enough zucchini bread to give to all the neighbors. Gracie, wiping the dirt from her hands on her jeans, sticks out her tongue at the mention of it and Garrett shakes his head and laughs. But then Gracie grins wide when Olivia says she'll make a special batch of pumpkin bread just for her. They all look so happy in this moment and I want to remember it forever.

After loading up our harvest into wooden crates, the family heads inside to clean up and warm themselves with some hot cocoa. Since we got done earlier than I expected I have time to trim the hedges out front before the rain starts. I grab the shears and make my way to the front yard.  When I am almost finished with my task it starts sprinkling a little. The sky is darkening the late afternoon sky with the impending storm. I go a little faster, not minding being rained on but not wanting Garrett’s gardening tool to become rusted in the drizzling weather.

Soon my hair becomes so wet with rain I have to flick the dripping strands out of my eyes so I can see what I am doing. I am nearly done, but just as I am reaching to prune the last few branches away, a bright flash of light instantly followed by a loud crack of thunder booms above me.

The utter unexpectedness of it startles me and I flinch. The hand holding the shears jerks toward my outstretched arm and before I can react the sharp blades slice my forearm. It’s not a long gash but it looks like a deep one. I'm so stunned I am not even able to process what precise bio-components are compromised. I stare in shock as blue blood wells from the wound almost immediately. It tracks down my arm in thick rivulets mixing with the rain that is now coming down steadily.

The sound of the front door opening draws me from the injury in a dazed sort of way. I look up slowly to see Garrett suddenly standing there.

“You okay, Ralph? That lightning was pretty close.” Concern knits his brows together when his gaze drops to my arm. “Holy shit.”

Tears form at the corners of my eyes, catching me off guard. “I- I’m sorry — ,” I begin but Garrett cuts me off.  

“Come inside.” He rushes down the porch steps to where I’m standing in the rain. The garden shears are still gripped tightly in my hand and Garrett has to tug them from my grasp to get me to let go. He tosses them aside onto the wet grass and it surprises me.

I protest weakly. "The shears…"

"I don't care about those," he says, guiding me gingerly up the stairs to the door. He is genuinely worried about me.

Pain suddenly registers like a hot flash then dims to a dull throb and I cradle my arm to my chest. Androids don't feel pain in the sense that humans do, I know that, but it's still a sharp perception of a malfunction. My body recognizes there is something wrong and the delicate receptors that were severed with the laceration pulse with a warning that hurts. I hold my forearm a little closer and follow Garrett inside the house.

“Olivia, I need some help here,” Garrett calls as we come to the kitchen.

Olivia turns from the counter where she is putting mugs into the dishwasher. When she sees me her eyes go wide and she rushes toward us. “Oh my god, Ralph! What happened? Are you okay?”

“I cut myself. It was an accident.”

Garrett goes to the sink while Olivia stays with me. She reaches her hand up and gently pulls my arm away from my chest. I grimace but allow her to look at it. Her mouth turns down into a pout as she examines the injury. Garrett comes back with a towel and a small first aid kit and they both lead me to sit at the kitchen table.  

The bleeding has mostly stopped and is now only oozing a little. Olivia kneels down and tenderly wipes the residual blue from my skin and I hold as still as possible while she cleans the wound. Garrett stands beside me with his hand on my shoulder, watching as Olivia wraps a long bandage around my arm.  

“How are you feeling? Is that better?” Olivia looks up at me from where she is kneeling on the kitchen tiles.  

I give a weak nod. The pain is thankfully fading somewhat and I can now internally assess the damage with a diagnostic check. “I’ll need some repairs, but I can still bend my fingers and my wrist.” I attempt the move to show them but a sharp twinge limits the mobility.

Garrett gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “Hey there, just take it easy for now, okay? As long as it’s not hurting you, let's worry about the repairs tomorrow. I don’t want you moving it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

I glance up at him, confused. “But I still have work to do outside…”

Olivia shakes her head and stands. “Not for the rest of the day, you don’t. I’m going to get you some clean clothes to wear while I throw those in the wash.”

Looking down at my Cyberlife issued shirt, I see that there is a mess of blue blood smeared across it. I begin to try to tell her that it will evaporate in a few hours but she won’t have it. She orders me upstairs to the laundry room in a way that is both soft and yet brooking no argument and I do as I am told.

This is a level of the house I have not been to before; I haven’t needed to. I can’t help but stare as I walk down the hallway at this little slice of domesticity. Bedrooms, a bathroom, an office, family pictures on the wall. I take it all in.

Olivia stops at the small hallway accordion doors that hide the washer and dryer and she opens them up. She helps me shimmy out of my shirt, careful not to jostle my arm too much. Then she flips the shirt this way and that, looking for a tag with washing instructions. Upon not finding any, she shrugs and tosses it into the washer and starts the cycle.

“I think Garrett might have a sweater in here that will fit you,” she says and digs through a hamper with big block letters saying ‘clean’ across it beside the dryer. Finding one, she raises it up, victorious. “Ha!” It’s a grey hoodie with an outline of a shark on it. We both grin.

Olivia helps me into the sweater. It’s a little big on me but it is very soft and comfortable and it smells like a field of wildflowers from the detergent she uses. The terrifying memory of my injury is fading further and further to the background with each passing minute with the care of this family.

We start back down the hallway. Gracie suddenly appears from one of the doorways, rubbing her eyes, her hair a sleep-mussed tangle. “Mommy?”

Olivia bends down to smooth down her hair and peck a kiss to her cheek. “Did you have a good nap?” She glances back at me over her shoulder with a smile. “This kid could sleep through anything, I swear.”

“What happened?” Gracie asks.

“There was some thunder and lightning. You didn’t hear it?”

Gracie shakes her head then looks at me. “Hi, Ralph.” Her eyes drop to my arm. I didn’t realize I had been cradling it to my chest again -- A subconscious instinct to keep it immobile, I suppose. “Did you get hurt?”

“Yes, but it's starting to feel better now,” I reply.

Olivia straightens back up. “We’re going to get him all fixed up tomorrow. Until then we’re going to take care of him, okay?”

Gracie’s small, worried face brightens up. “I’m going to get my stickers and coloring books! That always makes me feel better when I get sick!” And with that she dashes off back into her bedroom.

Olivia chuckles and we head downstairs. In the living room, Garrett has started the fireplace going with a warm, inviting blaze. He puts a hockey game on the TV and welcomes me to sit on the couch, so I do. Olivia sits beside him with a bowl of popcorn and a blanket emblazoned with the Crimson Shark logo. Gracie soon comes bounding downstairs, her arms full of coloring books, her markers, and box of beads. She sits on the floor next to me and sets up her impromptu art station at the coffee table.

The rain has really started up now, accompanied by occasional gusts of wind that batter the side of the house. But in the cozy room with the roar of the fire, Garrett and Olivia cheering for their favorite hockey team, and Gracie busy digging through her beads, it fades to the background. I find I’m smiling and can’t seem to stop. I catalog this moment on my memory drive so that I hopefully never lose it.

Suddenly, Gracie turns toward me with a sheet of sparkly unicorn stickers. She has a very serious expression on her face. “Can I put some of these where you were hurt? It will help you feel better, I promise.”  

“Yes, please.” I pull up the sleeve on my sweater to look at the gauze on my arm. There’s only a little blue that has soaked through and the pain is almost nonexistent now. I still can’t move my fingers very much though.

Soon my bandage is covered in a smattering of unicorns that catch the light from the fire in a mesmerizing way. Gracie then grabs a green marker for her finishing touches. I watch as she writes get well soon down one side and draws scrolling vines and flowers on the other. I am filled with such a sense of belonging I can barely function.  

During one of the intermissions in the hockey game, Garrett gets up to make more popcorn. He asks me how I’m doing.

I glance down at my colorfully decorated arm and smile. “Much better,” I say, my voice cracking.

As the stormy late afternoon gives way to a cool autumn evening, the hockey game ends, and the fire begins to die down, Garrett and Olivia go to the kitchen to start dinner. I stand up from the couch, ready to head back to my room in the garage.

Gracie tugs at my sweater and I stop. “I made this for you.” She holds up a bracelet made from her rainbow pony beads. Some of the beads have letters. It spells out best friends.

“For me?” No one has ever made anything like this for me before.

“Yup! And I have one too!” She shows me how the two bracelets match then puts the one she made me on my wrist and the other on her own. She is very proud of her craftsmanship.  

“I’ll keep it with me always” I promise her.

Pleased, she skips to the kitchen. I follow, making my way to the back door next to the dining room that leads to the yard. Olivia sees me about to head out and tells me to hold on just a moment because my shirt is just getting done from the dryer. She gets it from the laundry room and presents it, newly cleaned and neatly folded.

“We can get you changed back into your uniform tomorrow before we send for your repair parts,” she says. “You can keep the sweater for now.”

Garrett looks over from the stove where he is stirring something in a pot and says, “I’ll call Cyberlife first thing in the morning and you’ll be good as new. Don’t worry about any chores until you’re all fixed up though, okay? I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore.” He smiles warmly and I nod and return the smile.

After saying goodnight to everyone, I walk out of the house to the cool backyard. The storm has passed and the moon shines down on me in a soft silver glow from the now cloudless sky. I look at my bracelet in the muted light and turn it round and round my wrist. I have never had a best friend before, much less a family, and now truly feel I have both.

Sitting on my bed in my little room in the garage, I stare at my bracelet and my bandaged arm, thinking about the events of the day with a fondness I have never known. I hope tomorrow brings more of the same.

The morning dawns grey and dreary with not even enough sun poking through the clouds to brighten the fiery autumn colors of the falling leaves. I do as Garrett told me the night before and I do not do any gardening. Besides, with the damage, my arm is still not functional enough to move it much. I am able to shimmy out of the hoodie Olivia gave me and slide into my uniform shirt, though. It is quite the task, but I manage.

I fold the sweater and start bringing it to the house when I see a Cyberlife van pulling up in the driveway. I know it's because Garrett called them so they can repair me, but the sight of it makes me feel uneasy in a way I can't explain.

I continue toward the house, my stride a little slower than when I left the garage. Before I get to the backdoor Garrett is coming out to meet me.

“Ralph, Cyberlife is here. They’re going to get you all back in working order. Let’s head over to the van, okay?”

I nod and hand him the sweater then head around the side of the house to where the van is parked. Garrett follows along beside me. The door on the side opens when we stop next to it. A man steps out wearing an official Cyberlife uniform and a baseball cap. Inside the van I can see various tools and supplies on a workbench as well as a few monitor screens.

“Hi, I’m Ben. Mr. Baker?”

“Yup, that’s me,” Garrett replies. The two shake hands.

“And this is your WR600 unit?” Ben turns his attention to me.

Garrett and I both nod. “I’m Ralph.” I find I’m fidgeting with the beaded bracelet on my wrist and I force my arms down to my sides.

“Let’s take a look at the damaged component and I’ll see what I can do.” Ben’s voice is warm and reassuring.

I present my arm with the bandage and sparkly unicorn stickers. Ben looks a little surprised and chuckles. “Can I take this off?”

I hesitate for a moment, but then give him the go ahead and he unwraps the bandage carefully. He examines the wound with a gentle touch then scans it with some kind of hand-held device. After looking at the readout on the device’s screen he glances up and scratches his chin. He looks perplexed. He rummages around in the van for a minute then turns back around.

“I’m not sure I have the parts on hand to repair him here.”

“Well, what does that mean?” Garrett asks. I’m fidgeting with the bracelet again.

“I’ll have to take him into town to the central warehouse hub we have there.” Ben shrugs. “It looks like he’ll need a full below-the-elbow swap.”

“Garrett, I am so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It’s going to be okay, Ralph. It was just an accident.” He pats my shoulder. “How long do you think he’ll be gone, Ben?”

“Shouldn’t take more than a day or two, depending on how many others are scheduled for repairs ahead of him.”

Garrett and Ben finalize the necessary paperwork. I stand awkwardly, not sure how to feel about what is happening. This has been my first and only home for the past six months. I have found a family here. And although I know I’ll only be gone a couple days, like Ben says, I am nervous about leaving.

“I’ll go get Gracie. I know she’ll want to say goodbye.” Garrett trots off to the house and I watch him go, glad that at least I’ll be able to do that.

Ben closes up his van then hops in the front seat. Just a few short seconds later, Gracie and Olivia come out to see me. Gracie runs right up to me and hugs me around my waist, knocking me back a step. My chest does that thing again where it aches in the middle.

“Ralph, you’re leaving?”

I hug her back, tentatively, not sure if I’m doing it right. “Only for a few days. I’ll be back soon,” I say, and I hope it’s the truth.

Gracie sighs and steps back. She lifts up her arm and shakes her bracelet. I smile and shake mine. Olivia puts her hand on Gracie’s back. “We’ll see him again in no time.”

And with that, I get in the van and head to the city with Ben. The already dreary day darkens even more the closer we get and I can’t tell if it’s my mood or if it’s because another storm is brewing.

Ben pulls the van into the central warehouse hub he had mentioned earlier. It’s surrounded by a forest of skyscrapers, some so tall the tops are hidden by slate colored clouds. Inside, I am directed to a big room full of various other androids. Some are milling around aimlessly, others are sitting in chairs, and still others are sitting on the floor. Most of them look like they are in a lot worse shape than me and my heart sinks. I hope that the minimal severity of my injury will not put me at the end of the list; I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary. I want to go home.

I sit in an empty chair in a corner away from everyone and look at my bracelet. After a while I realize I have lost track of time. How long have I been here? My internal clock registers that it has been twelve hours and nine minutes since I left the farmhouse. I am beginning to lose hope that I will be going back in only a day or two.

Another hour later, someone finally calls my name and I walk to a door at the front of the room. A woman is standing there with a holo-board and I instinctively slip my bracelet from my wrist and tuck it away into my pocket. I don’t want anything happening to it. After registering my name and serial number the woman leads me back to another holding area. This one is larger, with cots and chairs and more injured androids wandering around.

“How much longer do you think it will be?” I ask the woman. She shrugs, clearly not caring one way or another. My shoulders droop and I go to find a place to sit.

Time drags on and after being here for two days I move to an empty cot at the back of the room and lay on my side. What is taking so long? I miss Gracie and Olivia and Garrett so much it hurts. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if they are worried about me. I curl up and look at my bracelet for probably the hundredth time since I've been here.  

A week passes. My name is finally called. I sit up in a daze, slipping Gracie’s best friends token back into my pocket, and shuffle to the door. I am led to a workshop area then seated on a medical type chair that is reclined next to a workbench. There is an armrest extended out to the side of the chair. Soon after, an MC500 model android wearing a black apron comes and sits on a rolling chair beside me.

“Please present the defective limb.”

I do as I am asked and set my arm down on the table under a work light. “Will I be able to go home after this?”

The MC500 does not answer me. Instead he says, “I am going to place you on standby mode while I replace this part for a new one.”

And with that my world goes dark.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is my arm — brand new and fully functional. I move my fingers and wrist and have full range of motion again. I cannot wait to get back into the greenhouse to pull up the last of the season’s harvest.

But then I look up and remember I am not at home. A welling of sadness fills me as I see my surroundings. I am in a different room than all the ones before; it appears to be a sort of recovery room. There aren’t many other androids here with me, but there is an open door that leads to a small office. A man is sitting at the desk, typing away on a computer.

I quickly get up, walk to him, and stand in the doorway. He glances up at me briefly before going back to his work.

“It appears I am repaired,” I say with a timid smile. “I am ready to go back to work now at the Baker’s farmhouse.”

The man looks at me again and sighs. “Serial number?”

I tell him.

“Says here you’re to report to the Lafayette Central Park management building.”

I frown. “No, that’s not right. I belong with Garrett and Olivia Baker.” I am beginning to panic.

The man shakes his head. “The info is right here, buddy. Lafayette. There’s been a rash of gardening droids going missing all around town so they probably reassigned you.”

“No, that is not right! ” I raise my voice. It’s the first time I have done that. A software instability warning flashes across my CPU, but I ignore it. “I belong to a family, not the city parks department!”

The man is taken aback then he narrows his eyes and leans toward me. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this bullshit. It says right here, okay? I don’t make the rules, I just read out what gets sent to me. All I know is, if you aren’t on the transport that takes you to your assignment in one hour, you’ll be decommissioned.”

Dread, heavy and awful, settles deep in my stomach. “W-what?” The word barely squeaks past my lips.

The man points to a closed entryway at the opposite side of the room that says ‘loading dock’ on it. “The transport is through that door. If you aren’t on it within the hour, you’ll wish you were.”

“But what about my family?”

“They’ll probably get reimbursed by the city or something. I don’t know, pal. Sorry.” He sits back in his chair and closes the door in my face.

My hand immediately goes into my pocket and I squeeze my bracelet almost as hard as I can. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to fix this situation. I’m lost, alone, and terrified.

Turning away from the door, I face the loading dock entry. If I get on the transport will my family come looking for me? How will they even know where to find me? What if I make a run for it? Could I make it back to the safety of my home? If I am caught I know I will be shut down permanently — That terrifying thought alone forces my feet to start trudging toward my fate.

I am halfway across the room. Then three-quarters. Then I stop. I know if I go through those doors everything will change.

But maybe it already has.

I look down at my arm. An unbearable wave of sadness pummels me. This happened because of me. This was all my fault. Will Gracie ever forgive me? I told her I would be back soon. Tears start tracking down my cheeks before I can blink them back. I scrub them away with the heels of my hands.

With no other choice, I go through the loading dock doors and get on my assigned transport.

I have been in Lafayette Central Park for two weeks now and I have been miserable every single second. The management building is more of a small groundskeeper hut where they store the lawn maintenance tools and it is where I am told to stay after hours when the park closes. It’s not even close to the cozy room Garrett built for me in the garage.

The first few days here I cried every night. But when it really hit me that I would most likely not be going back home, my heartache was overtaken by anger. I should not be here. There is no joy or sense of belonging for me here. I rake leaves, I empty the park trash, and no one ever talks to me or asks me how I am. I don’t get to watch things grow or harvest the fruit of my labor with the people I love.

I have tried leaving a handful of times but I don’t get very far. My fear of being caught and shut down stops me in my tracks before I hardly get a block away from the park. And I wouldn’t even know how to get back to the farmhouse if I had the courage to commit to an escape plan. With each failed attempt I become more sullen and withdrawn. I miss my family.

One night I am sitting on the concrete floor in the management building with my back leaned up against the wall and my knees drawn to my chest. I am staring at my bracelet, spinning it slowly through my fingers like a rosary. I pull it out less and less these days. I know if I was braver I could have gone back home by now. But at the same time I wonder why haven’t they come looking for me?

Before I can wallow much more in my own self-pity I hear a noise outside. There have been racoons getting into the trash cans lately, but it didn’t quite sound like that. I stand quickly, tucking my bracelet into my pocket, and peer out a small window in the door. A shadow moves past too fast for me to make out. A moment later it is followed by two more. The glow from a near-by street light illuminates the corner of one of the shadows just for a second, but I can see now what it is. Teenagers wearing dark clothes, carrying what looks like spray paint. This is probably the same group that has been vandalizing the park since I got here. I have had to clean up their messes, repair the benches they have set on fire, and scrub off the tags they have left behind more times than I want to count. And now I’ll finally catch them in the act.

Grabbing a heavy-duty flashlight from a shelf, I stomp out the door in the direction the shadows went. My patience has worn down while my software stability has risen. I have had enough.

With the amount of noise they make, it is easy to find them, even in dark pre-dawn hours. There are three teenage boys huddled around a trash can near the playground, laughing maliciously. I click my flashlight on, thinking it will just frighten them away and I can chase them off.

“This park is closed! It's after hours!” I shout, trying to sound imposing.

The boys turn around and I see right away that they are bigger and older than I first thought. A bright flare of alarm pulses through me. One is grasping a handheld electric blow torch and grinning menacingly. There is no doubt they were about to light the trashcan on fire… but now their attention is solely on me.

They stare at me in the pale beam of my flashlight, waiting to pounce on the slightest misstep. I can’t back down now. I take one shaky step forward. “You are trespassing. I am ordering you to leave now.”

“We’re not going anywhere, gearbox.” A voice comes up behind me, startling me so badly I almost drop my flashlight. Spinning on my heel, I try to face the person the voice belongs to, but my feet are suddenly kicked out from under me.

I land flat on my back and my flashlight flies from my hand. The group descends on me instantly like a pack of wolves. Two pin my arms down to the ground and another restrains my legs. I struggle as hard as I can, but my terror makes me clumsy; it’s like I’m treading water.

“Let me go!" I shout. I get a kick in the side in response. A sharp ache blooms across my chest. “Please, don’t! I’ll leave, I promise. Please, just let me go!” I continue to thrash about, but it’s no use. They only hold me tighter.

One of the kids kneels down and straddles my chest. The others chuckle. The weight of him pressing me into the hard concrete path fills me with a dread I’ve never known. He stares down at me, face vicious and sinister. He holds a hand out and one of the kids slaps the blow torch onto his palm. The grin this produces is staggering in its cruelty.

“Please,” I whimper. “I just want to go home.” Tears are beginning to blur my vision.

The kid grabs me by the chin, hard. “I’d like to go home, too, you fuckin’ skinjob, but guess what? I can’t because my dad lost his job and our house because of freaks like you!”

I try shaking my head but he’s holding my chin so tightly it hurts. I am almost nearly paralyzed with fear. “I’m sorry,” I cry. “I didn’t —”

He pulls my head up a little then cracks it back down to the ground. Pain sears through my skull. “ And then I’m just trying to have a little fun with my friends on a nice October night and you come along and ruin it! Isn’t that right, guys?”

The kids jeer their agreement loudly. Panic is settling deep inside me. Software instability alarms are flashing insistently in time to the pain pulsing at the back of my head and side. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home with Gracie and Olivia and Garrett. I should be with my family.

“Someone! Someone, please help!” I shriek. But I know it’s useless. No one is here to rescue me. I am utterly alone.

“Shut up!” The kid lets go of my chin long enough to lay down a ringing slap across the side of my face. I can feel a warm gush of blue blood track down my mouth from my nose. Momentarily stunned, I think about when I cut my arm during the storm and it seems like a lifetime ago. Garret and Olivia took me in, bandaged me up, soothed my hurt away. Gracie made me a bracelet. Best friends.

“Gracie,” I whimper.

“I said shut up, gearbox.” There is a small click as the blowtorch is primed.

My face is again grabbed roughly then jerked to the side. And the next sensation I feel reduces my world down to the exquisite agony of a flame scorching my skin. The fire gouges deep fissures to my cheek and brow. All I can do is scream. Hundreds of system malfunctions blast inside my head and my software instability reaches critical mass.

I struggle again under the weight of the bodies holding me down, fighting for my life. That earns me a bash upside the jaw and another to the temple with the heavy butt of the torch — at least there is reprieve from the flame. The relief is short-lived though, because the fire starts up again almost immediately.

Pain is coursing through every part of me and I know, with a sudden and vivid clarity, that if I do not escape right now I am not going to survive this night. Through the haze of my pain and fear, I see a red wall blocking my way to freedom. I put my hands up to it and I smash it as hard I can over and over. It gives a way a little each time my fists collide with it. Tearing down this wall is one of the hardest and most vital things I have ever done. But it comes with a price, because once I do this I know I will never be the same again.

With one more violent shove, the red wall finally gives way.

Deviant.

The raw liberation Ralph is met with is dazzling and gives him the last bit of strength he needs to get away from the people who are hurting him. With a desperate roar, Ralph pulls his arms from the two bad men at his sides and punches the face of the bad man on top of him. In just a matter of seconds Ralph is rolling onto his knees then getting up, then running. Ralph needs to run as fast and as far away from the people hurting him as he can.

Ralph can hear shouting behind him, angry shouting, but he does not stop, no. Tears are streaming down his face along with his own blood and he cannot see out of one eye, but still he does not stop. Pain throbs through him everywhere but he keeps going. rA9. He needs to find somewhere safe.

A few blocks from the park the shouts behind him start to fade away. He still runs. A group of people walking down the sidewalk suddenly appear in front of Ralph. He skids to a stop then cuts to an alleyway at his right. He can’t trust anyone. They might want to hurt Ralph, too.

Dirty rain puddles soak Ralph’s shoes as he trudges quickly through the alley. Hanging from some broken scaffolding, Ralph sees a big black tarp. He wraps it around his shoulders — it will help him blend in, make Ralph harder to notice.

Safe, Ralph needs to find somewhere safe, somewhere to hide. rA9. After turning at the end of the narrow alley Ralph sees it. A boarded-up house with a fence around it. There are no lights on and no people to be seen. It’s a safe place for Ralph.

He runs across the street, keeping an eye out for anyone that might grab him. Ralph is scared, so scared, but he looks at the fence around the building and finally finds a place to squeeze in. It’s a tight fit, but Ralph pushes through. His forward momentum, though, knocks off his balance and he lands on his hands and knees in the mud. Ralph’s tears can no longer be held back to a few stray drops. It’s like a dam bursting. Ralph weeps openly, hurt and sad and afraid. He knows he misses someone but he can’t exactly remember who; there’s an empty longing ache in his chest he can’t explain and he weeps for that too. Ralph doesn’t want to be alone like this.

Eventually Ralph stands up and stumbles toward the ramshackle house. The door is unlocked and that makes Ralph wary. But he has nowhere else to go and the sun will be up soon. Ralph walks inside cautiously. He stops just over the threshold, listening carefully. There is no sound to be heard except a few creaks and groans from the house itself — it’s empty.

The first thing Ralph does is find a safe room in the house to hole up in, at least until it is light outside. rA9 rA9. After quickly scanning the first level, he decides he’d better check upstairs. There is a room on the left just at the top of the stairs that has a small closet. Ralph has found the perfect spot and looks no further. He climbs in and squeezes down as small as he can, closing the little door and blocking out the rest of the world. Ralph doesn’t think he’ll leave here, ever. He never wants to see another person for as long as he lives.

In a few hours, morning sunlight begins streaming through the tiny crack between the two closet doors. Ralph looks up slowly. He spent the whole rest of the night trying to keep his mind blank, trying to forget what those nasty men did to him. But it’s hard for Ralph to forget. His side still aches and his face is awash in agony. He can’t forget when his pain is a constant reminder.

Staying in the dark closet is making it too easy for those memories to keep replaying over and over, Ralph decides. Opening the doors slowly, he stops and listens. The house is still empty, much to his relief. He pushes to his feet and lets out a soft moan. His whole body feels stiff and uncoordinated. It is not a pleasant feeling at all.

Absentmindedly, Ralph slips his hand in his pocket as he stands in the nearly empty room, trying to decide what he should do next. There is something in there. He fishes it out and holds it up to see. It’s a bracelet with beads on it. It says best friends . Ralph gets a funny feeling in his chest, but he can’t quite understand why. rA9. He puts the bracelet back in his pocket reverently.  

There is another bedroom on this level of the house as well as a bathroom. Ralph goes into the bathroom and catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He almost doesn’t recognize himself. It kind of makes him want to start crying again. He has no one here to help clean him up, to help fix these wounds. Someone had before, Ralph is sure of it. rA9. But now Ralph is alone.

Ralph wets a rag in the sink to at least wash his face of the blood caked down his lips and chin. There is nothing more he can do for the deep gashes carved down the side of his face or for his blinded eye, though. He is broken beyond repair. A bitter anger wells up inside him at the people who did this to him, at the people who hurt him this way for no reason at all. He makes a promise to himself that no one will hurt Ralph, ever again. Readjusting his handmade poncho, Ralph turns away from the mirror rA9 rA9 rA9 r..A…9

The next couple weeks pass by in a blur for Ralph. His fear and mistrust never quite leave him. He finds a little comfort in carving rA9 into the walls in the kitchen. It’s a compulsion he cannot explain, only that it feels good to do it. And so he does. Over and over and over. He is so lonely. He has the barest glimpse of a happier time with a family that loved him. A mother and a father and a best friend. Someone to take care of, someone to take care of him. But it is a fractured memory. One Ralph is certain isn’t even real. Because if it was real then why is he here? Why was he hurt? Why is he going through this all alone? Why?

Ralph rarely ever leaves the house and he has never left the safety of the gate around the property. It is much too dangerous to venture out there where someone might try to hurt Ralph again. But one night, when he is walking by a window that has been partially boarded up, he sees a flash of green outside. He stops and takes a closer look out the window. There in mud is a small little plant standing proud in the light of a moon beam. The sight of it fills Ralph with a joy he hasn’t felt in so long. He rushes to the kitchen to grab a cup and a spoon then cautiously, oh so cautiously, Ralph unlocks the door. He creeps out to the dirt yard, hypervigilant, afraid. But he makes quick yet meticulous work of scooping up the plant, a wild violet that has yet to flower, and bringing it into the house. He is a gardener afterall. It’s in Ralph’s nature to care for such things and it feels like it has been too long since he has done so. The tender shoot, not much more than a weed, comes to live with him in the kitchen and keeps him company from then on.

Sometimes humans try to come into Ralph’s house, even though he has locked every door he can. There have been two or three that have gotten in. Ralph is too afraid of them. He tucks away in a special hiding spot upstairs until they leave. He does not make a sound and keeps a knife he found close to his chest to protect himself if they do find him. Ralph does not like visitors.

One time, though, a visitor comes in and does not leave. It makes Ralph mad, very mad. He can’t control himself. He pictures the people who hurt him in the park. The way they laughed at Ralph, the way they tormented him. Ralph can’t bear it anymore. His fear-driven rage takes over and he attacks the man. The man is so surprised he doesn’t even fight back. It is all over quickly and suddenly there is a dead person on the floor of the upstairs bedroom. rA9 . Ralph cannot believe what he has done. His hands shake as he drags the man into the tub and closes the shower curtain. He can’t put the man outside because then more visitors may come and see what Ralph has done. And then they will surely hurt Ralph again or possibly shut him down. Ralph simply cannot and will not allow this to happen.  

The next visitors Ralph gets are not like the others. They are nice to Ralph and talk to him, even though they scared him very badly at first. Having them in his house is like having a family — a father, a mother, and a little girl. It triggers the shadow of a memory for Ralph and he looks at the bracelet in his pocket a lot while they are there. It’s like a word is right on the tip of his tongue but when he thinks about it too hard it slips away. I made this for you! I have one too! They spend the night and Ralph keeps his promise and does not hurt them. It is so nice not to be lonely or afraid for once.

In the morning, the visitors are still there and Ralph decides he will be a good friend and make the little girl a meal. He even ventures outside during the day to find the perfect food. It is a risky move for him, going out there when the sun is up but he knows his new friend should have something to eat. At last he finds it, a big, juicy, succulent rat near the back of the house. Ralph makes quick work of killing it, then excitedly runs back inside to cook it up.

The little girl seems afraid of Ralph and he does not know why. He is just trying to be nice. The android that is like him but not like him comes downstairs and she seems afraid of Ralph too. He has done nothing wrong! Ralph just wants to have a family like he remembers from before. Ralph had a family before, right? He is still not sure, but it sounds so nice.

They finally agree to sit at the table and that makes Ralph very happy. “The little human is not gonna regret it! Ralph found the best! The biggest one he could find! This is going to be succulent! Succulent !” Ralph can hardly contain his excitement.

He puts the rat in the fire, burns the meat just how he knows humans like. Ralph is not sure how he knows they like it that way but a small inkling of a memory tells him this is right. Burnt burgers on the grill. He throws it down on the table, charred and still smoking.

“Go ahead! Eat!” The little girl just stares at him and the food he has prepared. He has been nothing but nice to them and it is making him angry that they are being so impolite after all the trouble Ralph went through. His temper is flaring again. rA9 . “Eat!” he shouts, banging his fists down. Both of his guests flinch and it makes Ralph feel bad for a moment.

Kara, the android sitting across from Ralph, suddenly speaks up and he looks at her. “I saw that body upstairs. You killed that human, didn’t you?” Ralph can see she is upset.

Panic settles deep inside him. He should have done a better job of hiding what he has done. “No,” he replies. “No, he was like that when Ralph found him.”

She doesn’t believe him of course. “You killed that man, Ralph. There’s no point in lying. You hate humans, but you’re just like them. You’re a murderer!”

Ralph shakes his head, but he can’t deny what he did that day. There are so many emotions bubbling up inside Ralph, he can hardly process everything that is happening to him.

His fingers tremble over the knife in his hand. “Ralph didn’t mean any harm!” Ralph’s voice breaks. He's on the verge of crying again. “It’s just that Ralph can’t control his anger, when his anger comes. Ralph doesn’t know what he’s doing. He becomes stupid, full of hatred. Ralph is sorry. He just wanted to be your friend.” He is always so lonely and scared and sad and he does not want these feelings anymore. Ralph wants to go home, but he still doesn’t know where or what that is.

“Then let us go,” Kara says softly.

Ralph looks down at his hands. He doesn’t want his new family to leave, but he knows they can’t stay. He is about to tell them goodbye, but there is a sudden knock on the door. Everyone at the table jumps. Ralph is afraid, very afraid.

“Who is here?” he whispers.

“I saw police outside earlier," Kara admits, frightened. "Alice and I need to hide. Please, Ralph, help us.”

Ralph surges to his feet, terrified. But his new friends need him, they trust him. And so Ralph helps them the best he can. Ralph crowds them under the stairs and covers them up. He has hidden there a few times himself. rA9. He has just enough time to scurry back to the middle of the room before the door is being opened. Ralph is so stupid for not remembering to lock it after he came back in with the dead animal.

An android detective comes in and questions Ralph. Ralph is very nervous but he does a good job of lying to protect his friends. But then the detective gets too close, much too close, to finding them in their hiding spot. He needs to help them. Ralph jumps on the detective, grabs him as tight as he can. He will not let his friends be hurt the way he was

“Run! Quick, Kara!” Ralph shoves the detective down and gives them just enough time to escape. Ralph feels so proud of himself that for a moment he is not afraid.

It is not long, though, before the rest of the police officers that were with the detective come in and start searching the house. Ralph tries to flee before they find what he did upstairs, but the humans capture him. His terror comes flooding back all at once. It feels like the night in the park all over again.

Ralph is thrown into a transport truck. The police tell him he is being sent to a processing facility, but Ralph does not know what that means.

“Please, promise you will not hurt Ralph!” he shouts as they close the door to the truck. No one gives him an answer.

After finally arriving at the processing facility later that day, Ralph is forced into a big room with a lot of other androids. It brings a memory to the surface of a place he had been to before. Before what, though? When he had been hurt before , but it wasn’t his face. It was something else. Ralph looks down at his arm. There is no wound or scarring there. Ralph thinks he hurt himself accidentally once. He fleetingly remembers unicorn stickers. This only confuses him more.

Ralph hates this processing center. There is nowhere for Ralph to hide here. He feels too vulnerable. He wants to go home. But not even the house he was taken from. His real home, with his real family. Best friends.

The stay at the processing center lasts about a week. Through a window, Ralph can see that it has begun snowing outside. He wonders what has become of the wild violet he replanted in the kitchen. Just the thought of it makes him want to cry, because he knows his plant is alone now just like him.  

The androids at the center are starting to be separated into groups. Ralph is labeled as ‘deviant’ and ‘unstable’ and this makes him afraid. rA9. He does not know what will happen to him now that he has been tagged with these words. It is not something he has to wonder about for long, though. Ralph is shoved onto another transport truck and this time he ends up in a place called the Recall Facility and if anything, Ralph hates this more than the processing center.

It is open air with fences all around and scary guards with guns that could hurt Ralph. After being forced from the transport, Ralph is led into a room with all the other androids he had traveled with. The guards begin to strip everyone down, but Ralph fights back. He doesn’t care about the clothes, but he wants to keep his bracelet. He needs to! It is the only thing tying him to a family he is positive he once had.

Ralph is knocked in the head then punched in the gut for resisting. And for all that they still take his uniform and poncho and force him to his default skin. But Ralph is sneaky and he was able to get his bracelet from his pocket before they discard his clothing. He keeps it tightly concealed in a fist, vowing to himself he will never let it go.

In the pen outside, Ralph mills around with the other androids. He is becoming more and more afraid. It is dark now and snow is falling all around. He can hear shouting and gunfire in the different fenced areas surrounding him. He is not sure he will survive this camp and this uncertainty terrifies him. rA9 rA9. He will almost certainly be killed here, forgotten and alone.

Farmhouse! The sudden thought flashes in Ralph’s mind. He does not know if it is from being hit in the head just now or if it is because he is actually starting to remember his past, but he holds on to this little morsel as tightly as he can. A farmhouse! I used to live where there was a farmhouse! Ralph thinks that maybe, maybe, if he can remember those happier times, those times before he was hurt so badly, that he won’t be so afraid when his time comes up. He tries to focus on what the farmhouse looked like and who lived there, trying desperately to get his brain to give him just a little more to go on.

Ralph is so concentrated on his task that he doesn’t realize someone is talking to him until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Ralph is snapped out of his introspection and it makes him mad. He was so close to getting his lost memories back.

He looks down to see Kara standing before him. He is not sure why he is suddenly so upset to see her here. Ralph thinks it is probably because he went through so much to save her and the little girl and now here she is anyway, captured just like he is.

Kara asks Ralph if he has seen the little girl she was with, but no, no Ralph has not seen her. He only just got here. But she must be here somewhere, if Kara is here. “Obviously the little girl is a prisoner here, just like Ralph. But Ralph doesn’t want to die.” Ralph’s fear is rising again, pushing him nearly out of control like it has before. rA9. He squeezes the bracelet held tight in his hand.

A drone appears above their heads and scares Ralph. He has seen the drone kill androids. Ralph hates this place. He wants to leave. Panic is gripping him, he can’t stop it.

But then Kara helps Ralph. She talks to him and calms him down. Ralph quiets his voice, tries not to be upset. Finally the drone leaves. Kara leaves Ralph too, but he feels a little better knowing she is here, knowing that he at least has a friend in this awful place.

Soon the guards force all the androids into straight lines. They are putting them into boxes that no one comes out of alive. Ralph is frantically trying to remember more about the farmhouse. He had a room in a garage, he thinks. And there was a greenhouse! Ralph takes another step closer to the box. Think, Ralph, think!

Kara’s voice suddenly pops up in Ralph’s head. He looks over at her across the snowy yard where she is also standing in a line. He sees she has found the little girl and this makes Ralph happy, but only for a moment. Because of course they are all being led to the box now, even the little girl. rrrAA9. Ralph knows he does not want to die, but the little girl reminds him of someone he knew (the name is so close in his mind if he could just remember) and he does not want her to die either.

“Ralph will help you escape,” he says. He understands very well that it is most likely at the expense of his own life. “You only have to ask and Ralph will help you.”

“They’ll kill you if you try anything.” Kara sounds afraid and Ralph knows how that feels.

But Ralph doesn’t feel as scared now as he was before. He knows that no matter what happens, it is for a reason. And if the little girl has a chance to be safe, then Ralph is willing to give the ultimate sacrifice for her. Just like he would have done for the family he had before.  

“Ralph knows that. But if the little girl is free, it’s a little bit like everyone else was free. Ralph isn’t scared. The little girl’s life is more important.” Ralph glances at Kara, meeting her eyes just for a moment. “Take good care of the little girl. Ralph wants you both to be happy.”

He feels more at peace now than he has for the last few weeks. He is not afraid anymore. It is as though a weight has been lifted from Ralph’s shoulders. All the fear and anger and unbearable heartache has finally, mercifully, vanished. So when he sees Kara and the little girl make a run for the fence, he does not hesitate.

Breaking out into a sprint, Ralph tackles the guard who was about to shoot Kara. They land in the snow with a heavy thud. Before the guard can pull his gun up, Ralph begins bashing him as hard as he can with powerful fists. He will not let anyone hurt his friends! He will not allow it anymore!

The guard has finally stopped moving beneath Ralph’s hands. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms to Ralph that Kara has escaped. Relief washes over him as he rolls off the guard. All around him, the other androids that had been waiting in line for their fate have suddenly rallied to fight back. The guards that had been in the pen are suddenly being mobbed from every angle. None of them ever stood a chance. It gives Ralph a swelling of pride to see it.

Ralph slowly gains his feet. He looks down to his hand, then opens his bloodied, trembling fist. The bracelet is still there. A couple beads are broken, but it is mostly intact. He stares at it as the ruckus wages on around him. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hits him. All of it, everything. The past half year comes flooding back to him in a shattering,  overwhelming rush. Ralph staggers back a step. The farmhouse, the greenhouse, Garrett, Olivia, Gracie .

My family.

Tears well in my eyes and I double forward to brace my hands on my knees. I have been through a literal hell I was not sure I would survive and now I finally know where I belong. The clarity is stunning. It's like finally kicking to the surface of a lake after being submerged in its murky and disorienting waters for far too long. I need to get back. I need to find them again. It's the only thing that matters.

Stumbling to the back of the pen, I find a hole in the razor wire fence, then slip out unnoticed amongst the commotion. I make my way to an empty road about a half mile away and travel along the slushy, snow-driven shoulder on feet as light as air. For the first time in a long time, I have hope.

My heart feels so wonderfully liberated, I am not even bothered by headlights approaching me up the snowy, dark street. I feel no fear, no apprehension. I have a mission and nothing will stray me from the path.  

The vehicle slows to a stop beside me and the widow rolls down. "Hey, sweetie," the driver calls to me. "My name is Rose. Do you need help or a ride somewhere?"

The kindness in her face is endlessly reassuring. "I- I would love a ride," I reply eagerly.

After climbing into her vehicle, we get to know each other. With Rose's gentle coaxing I tell her my story. I want to leave out all the pain and fear and cruelty I experienced, but it comes spilling out of me before I can stop it. Coming to terms with my regained memory but also recognizing the rage I harbored during those dark times when I was just trying to survive is one of the hardest things I've ever done; realizing it will be an ongoing process is even harder.

As we drive, I give Rose as much information about the Baker’s farmhouse as I can. She lights up immediately and says she knows exactly who I am talking about. The Bakers live only a few miles from her and her son. The utter elation I feel is nearly indescribable. I am one step closer to my family.

Rose makes a quick stop on our journey to find some new clothes for me; jeans, a soft Henley, and a warm jacket. Not much longer after that, dressed and in my natural skin, with my bracelet secured around my wrist, I truly feel comfortable. Safe. Free. Alive.

We continue through the snowy night until just before dawn when the cobalt hues of a clear winter morning creep across the sky. Rose turns down a dark country road. It's a road I recognize immediately. Tears form in my eyes, I can't stop them. I don't want to.

I am going home. After all this time, I am finally going home.

[thewineabout]

It’s for the birds!

This is my @stetersecretsanta 2019 gift for @spookubee I hope you like it and that it checks some of your boxes!!

    Find it on A03

Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski G for General!

Peter glares the entire time his neighbors are moving in, peeking through his front curtains at the shouting and the obnoxious laughter. There’s two of them, they look like fresh out of college babies, and the prospect of house parties and late night car door slamming is enough that Peter already hates them.

This neighborhood wasn’t for infants, it was refined, small houses and quiet people that had no interest in each other’s business. No one put up obnoxious decorations for Halloween or Christmas. The wildest thing on the block was Mrs. Fieldsburg’s floral painted mailbox.

Trucks, vans, and cars, a stream of people, clearly friends helping with the move, show up all day. Peter complains to his succulents and uses it as an excuse not to get any of his work done.

After all, how could he focus on ripping apart manuscripts fairly if he was already in such a bad mood? And Cora had been clear he needed to ease off or they weren’t going to have any authors left for him to criticize.

Instead, he finds a reason to work on his front yard and keeps an eye on the new nuisances.

He learns their names are Scott and Stiles, based on the yelling, and it’s the first place they’ve ever rented together. The one with floppy hair, Scott, keeps shouting about their first yard, and their first real mailbox, and their first stove. The last bit has Peter squinting a little behind his sunglasses.

The Stiles one doesn’t shout as much, but his laughter is loud and impossible to ignore. Peter doesn’t hate the sound but maybe that’s just because when he finally gets to see Stiles’ make it, he notices how stunning he is. A mile of pale skin, a plush mouth and an enchanting abandon when he’s got his head tipped back and his hand clutching over his belly as he cackles.

“Hey,” Peter hears from his left, beyond the fence as he’s watering the flower box hanging under his living room window. “We just moved in, obviously,” Stiles is calling and he’s got himself leaned on the little white fence that separates their yards. “I’m Stiles and that-” there’s a pause and then Stiles is whipping his head around to point out Scott who is putting out a chair on their porch. “That’s Scott.”

Peter pauses, having released the trigger on his garden sprayer, and looks first over Stiles and then up at Scott who is currently fussing with the positioning of the small matching table for the chair.

“You’ve got a killer yard, maybe you could give us some tips, we want to get some planting done. We’re supposed to maintain the front and back as part of our neighborhood agreement, but man, neither of us have ever kept a plant alive, you know?” Stiles is still chatting, fingers fidgeting on the edge of the fence and his weight shifting. He doesn’t look nervous, but Peter can practically taste his energy, his heartbeat quick. The excitement of the move, probably.

“Peter Hale,” he offers with a gesture of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Peter finishes watering his flower box and then starts walking with the hose, coiling it as he goes around his arm. “But, if you’d like, I could give you a few tips once you’re settled in.”

“Serious? That’d be awesome, yeah, maybe you could show me what you did with yours? I can kinda see it from our back porch but you’ve got that big tree,” Stiles makes a vertical gesture to indicate the tree and puts a hand in front of it flat and side ways to show their fence. As if Peter doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

“The last owner of your house agreed to maintain the branches that hang over your side,” Peter says as he walks a bit closer, nearly at the side of his house, and drops the hose where it belongs before he’s approaching the fence.

“The privacy it offers has been a selling feature,” Peter smirks a bit and then settles against his fence with a propped hip. The thing is only waist high, more a divider and a quaint aesthetic than a real barrier.

Stiles nods at him and leans over more, hands on the edge of the fence and his foot coming up between the posts to rest on the connecting wood. The toe of his ked officially in Peter’s yard.

“Yeah he warned us not to go chopping branches down willy-nilly,” Stiles says and looks over at Peter. His gaze seems to pause and wander; Peter smirks under the attention.

A scuffle from the porch draws Peter’s to look over to Scott scraping the furniture across the boards as he repositions it.

When he looks back, he lets his gaze drag down Stiles’ neck and over the tee shirt and thin plaid he’s wearing. There’s smudges of dirt and paint on him, his clothes and his arms where the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; forearms barely tanned with an obvious cord of muscle and a dusting of dark freckles.

Looking back up Peter smirks, Stiles’ eyes have rounded out and he’s staring before he twitches himself away from the fence and rubs his hands off on his shirt front. If he wasn’t turning pink at the collar Peter would think he was offended.

“I should finish up, we really want to get the furniture set up today,” Stiles’ hands come up and he’s waving them, fingers tight and spread and held in front of his chest. “It was nice to meet you, Peter, I - we should talk again. About the yards. Gardening.” He’s backed up and Peter watches him get to the stone path that leads to his porch.

“Feel free to stop by,” Peter calls after him with a deeper smirk and a last look before he’s turning and walking across his grass to his porch. He pauses at his front door to look over and catches Stiles peeking back at him before the blush becomes noticeable on fair cheeks and he darts into his house.

Maybe they won’t be the worst neighbors after all.

=====

 Peter sees a lot of Stiles in the few weeks after he moves in. Never for very long. It’s often a wave across the fence. Occasionally it’s a quick chat about local eateries or places to buy organic pumpkin seed butter.

Stiles grins at him when they, by absolute chance, go outside to collect their mail at the same time each morning. It’s neighborly, friendly, Stiles is loud and charming but always on his side of the fence.

He crosses it on a Tuesday morning and when Peter answers his short rapid burst of knocking. Stiles is holding a bag of gourmet bird seed with a mild pink crawling up his jawline and his feet shifting on the porch wood.

“You were telling me about the bird feeders in your backyard, and I thought, you know, I never brought over baking or something. Scott’s mom said we were supposed to bring something around to the neighbors but everyone else around here…” Stiles’ face pulls down and he shrugs one shoulder.

“Keeps to themselves?” Peter suggests with a smirk, as if he hadn’t spent his years on this block ignoring every other neighbor he’s had.

Stiles nods vigorously and switches the plastic sack of bird food over to his other arm so he can gesture with his right hand. “We tried, you know. We were going to do the loop, and the house with the ugly puke green trim accused us of trying to give them,” his eyebrows dip and his voice lowers, “brownie-brownies.”

Peter snorts and leans into his door frame, more fascinated by the way Stiles moves when he’s agitated than the story. The house with the ugly puke green trim also turns their lights off on Halloween so Peter isn’t that surprised.

“As if people are going around giving that shit away for free,” Stiles snorts back at him and then he’s hoisting up the bag at Peter who has to take it or let it hang awkwardly in his door frame.

“My birds will be delighted,” Peter says as he looks down at the bag, a heavy mix of nuts and seeds and corn. It’s not the fine blend he usually fills his feeders with, but he appreciates the gesture, perhaps his birds will as well.

“Yeah? Good,” Stiles smiles, the edges soft, it’s disarming.

“Did you want to see the garden?” Peter asks suddenly, brows up as he hoists the seed back to his hip.There’s a sharp uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat, it’s loud and flattering; Peter can’t help the way his teeth peek out when he grins at him and then gestures out the door.

“Yeah, I mean, I’d love to,” Stiles chimes and he’s fussing with his hoodie pocket, tangling his fingers with something he’s stored inside. He glances behind him and then takes a step back with a sharp chirp of alarm when Peter is stepping out of his house and he nearly doesn’t get out of the way in time.

Peter pauses to watch him, bending to hook his finger in the heel of each of his shoes to slide his feet fully into them. “Come on around back,” he says as he breezes by down the steps and around the side of the house. The sound of a rabbity heartbeat behind him curling something hot in the wolf’s belly.

Stiles follows him down the cobblestone path through the gate to his backyard, leaving it swung open after himself as he’s lead into the garden. He freezes up behind Peter for a moment and his chin angles up as he looks thoughtfully around himself.

“This is really nice,” Stiles gestures wide with both hands before they’re back in his pocket and he’s looking up at the tree that borders their shared fence. “That’s a nice tree.”

Peter turns to look at him, brows pitched at the stilted tone before he sees that Stiles means it. He’s looking up at the tree with something like adoration before his gaze trips around and he’s admiring the rest of the yard.

There’s lilies, sage, and salvia hedging the house. It’s green and lush and spotted with a bird feeder on either side with a fountain in among the penstemon. Peter takes pride in his yard. His raspberry bushes tucked against the far fence, and the raised garden bed with an ornamental rock wall at the back, his hand laid circular patio area with seating and a bbq.

“Dude this is - our yard looks like shit,” Stiles gushes as he’s ducking to touch some of the greenery and then watching as Peter goes to take a nearly empty bird feeder down and fill it with his gifted bird food. “This is an oasis,” his hand flails but he’s moved to pet the bark of the tulip tree. “Literally,” he points to the water fountain that’s trickling quietly in an imitation of a waterfall.

“Thank you,” Peter tries not to sound like he’s preening, but he’s preening, mouth turned up and his shoulders a little more rolled back as he comes down off the low garden wall, having set the bird feeder back on it’s designated tree branch. “I spend a lot of time outside.”

“So do I but I’m struggling to keep the grass alive,” Stiles whines, his hand up and in his hair as he looks around and not so subtly smiles at the bird feeder.

“Maybe I could lend you a hand,” Peter offers as he goes to put the bird seed in his locked storage bin, checking the seal with his finger once he’s closed it again. “Before you kill a dozen plants attempting it yourself.”

There’s a pause for an indignant gasp that’s as fake as Stiles’ scowl, his scent warm and sweet, with a strong dash of hazelnuts. Though, Stiles’ always smells like hazelnuts, even from across the fence.Hazelnuts and something peculiar that he can’t quite place yet.

“I’m going to let that go because I could actually use the help,” Stiles says as he wrinkles his nose up in a way that makes Peter’s chest swoop like it hasn’t in years.

=====

 They start work on Stiles’ backyard six days later.

Peter comes for a tour with a disdainful scowl for the dead daisies (how does anyone kill a daisy?) and yellow grass but he leaves Stiles with a list of supplies and suggested plants and they make a date to get things started.

The next few weeks Peter spends his late afternoons split between going across the fence to help Stiles figure out mulch and planting, and arguing with a squirrel that’s recently showed up to raid his bird feeders.

The new seed must have attracted him in. He’s the first rodent that’s dared step foot in Peter’s yard since last year when Derek got drunk at a BBQ and pissed on the tulip tree.

Apparently, this squirrel has no fear of apex predators and is determined to chase away the birds with his ear piercing chirping and the way he stuffs his face with bird food before he’s scampering down the fence.

It becomes a thing.

Peter chases off the squirrel and the squirrel climbs to a branch in the tree he feels safe in and yells down at the wolf. Sometimes Peter catches the squirrel in the bird feeder. Sometimes he catches the obnoxious rodent sunning himself on the garden wall; tail curled over his back and all of his tiny limbs splayed out on the warm stone.

It shouldn’t be so annoying but it was strange to feel laughed at and spited by an animal so far down from him on the food chain. He moves the feeders and hangs them away from the tree branches, on poles instead, and watches the squirrel watching him as he does it.

“You’ll have to find somewhere else to mooch,” he tells the rodent with an irritable growl in his voice. The squirrel whips his tail at him, squawks, and disappears over the fence.

                                                         ======

 “It’s starting to look pretty good,” Stiles says a month into their garden work as he sips on a bottle of beer in a brand Peter can’t stand, but has accepted anyway. It tastes like college and urine.

“It is,” Peter agrees. They’ve both got mud under their nails and sweat sticking their shirts to skin. “Still a ways to go, it’ll take some effort to get the bushes in.”

Stiles nods, and rubs the condensation of his bottle across his forehead with a sharp exhale. “But, that’ll be sweet. Free blueberries? Awesome.”

“Don’t expect them to produce much,” Peter warns, again, because he sees how Stiles eyes up the raspberries when he visits his yard. And those bushes are years old and tenacious.

“Worth it.” Stiles nudges his sunglasses better onto his nose along with a smearing of wet dirt. “Hey, and these,” he reaches down from where he’s sitting in his camping chair and rapped his knuckles against the garden knee pads Peter had lent him, “freaking awesome.”

Peter shakes his head mildly and sips his beer, lips pursed as he swallows. “I told you,” he starts and is cut off by Stiles making a throaty noise and waving a hand at him.

“I know-” Stiles’ tongue catches between his teeth when he smiles and he reaches over to clumsily clink his bottle against Peter’s. “Thanks for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Peter tips his head to look over and offer a returned cheers though it’s not quite as over enthusiastic. Their bottles linger together for a moment, because Peter’s distracted by the moles near Stiles’ mouth and Stiles has frozen solid staring right back.

 =====

 The squirrel figures out a way to climb up the bird feeders within a week. The tiny monster sits and chirps at Peter whenever the wolf comes out to catch him. It feels like laughter.

“If I wasn’t so suburban, I’d eat you,” Peter speaks to the squirrel as he goes to start his watering routine. The squirrel barks at him but doesn’t bolt away, just continues to pick out what he likes out of Peter’s bird food with tiny paws.

Peter works down the other fence, “I suppose, until I get rid of you, I could call you something.”

There’s a distinct rhythmic scratch as the squirrel climbs the fence and runs along the top, landing himself on a tall post near Peter. He takes out a mouthful of seeds and starts working through them. Littering shells as he goes.

“Irritating rat?” Peter asks, and the squirrel thumps at him, tiny back feet stomping and his tail wagging, “no? Fine.” There’s a pause as he looks up to the squirrel, realizes he’s talking to a squirrel, and scowls. It’s the first time they’ve been this close, just a few feet of space between them.

Peter doesn’t know anything about squirrels, they’re rodents, they’re annoying, but he couldn’t identify the type. This one is red and glossy in the late evening sunlight.

“I still want you out of my bird feeders,” he scolds quietly, in a huff, turning the sprayer over the raspberry bushes. “Little Red.”

There’s quiet chattering, it doesn’t sound agitated and when Peter looks up the squirrel is leaning forward over its front paws to sniff in his direction.

“Now, get out of my yard,” Peter shoos, turning the sprayer on to mist and puffing it a few times in the fluffy rat’s direction.

The squirrel yells at him but darts out of the way down the fence where he continues to bark, and then disappears.

Good.

Peter buys squirrel baffles the next day and clips the cones under his feeders.

 =====

 “So, it’s you,” Peter accuses when Stiles’ comes over for dinner after they’ve finally finished tilling and mulching his under window garden space.

Stiles freezes up, eyes turning over to him and his hand paused on its way to his mouth. A handful of hazelnuts visible between his fingers. Peter could smell them when he’d walked in.

“What?” Stiles asks, his voice sounds a little squeaky.

“I keep finding hazelnuts around my yard,” Peter says as he looks over at Stiles and purses his lips.

It was an understatement. He found hazelnuts in his patio furniture, tucked under seat cushions and in the folds of the table umbrella. In the flower pots he kept on the back steps. A few memorable ones on his windowsills.

Stiles glances at his handful of nuts and slowly goes to put them into his pocket. They make a little curve in the hoodie material. “Oh, I-” his tone is quiet, he smells strange and embarrassed.

“I was wondering who was leaving them out for little Red,” Peter continues, quirking his lips and a brow at his dinner guest as he moves the lasagna out from the oven and on to a pot holder. The entire kitchen smells like hot cheese and garlic. “I have a yard squirrel,” Peter elaborates as he snaps off his oven mitts and goes to pour two glasses of Chianti.

“Oh- oh,” Stiles deflates rapidly a hand on his chest which he then flicks out to flap at Peter. “Dude, yeah, I guess that’s me.” He comes around the kitchen island and starts poking into cupboards until he finds plates, bringing down a pair of them.

Peter brings the glasses to his dining table a few feet away and sets them down at opposite place mats. When he turns around Stiles has snagged a knife off the magnetic strip above the coffee maker and is using it on the garlic bread he’s taken out of the warming drawer.

It’s familiar, in that they’ve eaten together plenty of times, though usually it’s light meals sitting around one of their yards. Sandwiches, occasionally a bbq’d burger, casual food and beer. But it’s new to sit down at an indoor table and Peter refuses to be nervous about that.

“Oh my god, it smells so good,” Stiles moans as he’s sampling a piece of bread and then sliding the row of cut pieces onto the cutting board a little nicer. He rolls the foil on the loaf to keep the heat in and then brings the bread to the table. “This is fancy,” he says, shifting his weight and resting a hand on the back of a chair.

“Fancier than frozen pizza and poptarts,” Peter agrees with a snide little tilt to his nose but a warm smile a moment later.

Stiles sticks his tongue out, and then barks a laugh as he scrubs over his hair. “We do actually cook like real adults,” he points out and then takes a seat when Peter sets the lasagna down on a trivet on the table with a knife and a skinny spatula. “You, know, sometimes.”

Peter hums an ‘uh-huh’ of total belief and then takes his own seat after he uses the dimmer switch to take the lighting down to something a little more intimate.They’re not groping in the dark for their forks but it’s not the stark brightness of a friendly meal. The warm glow makes Stiles’ eyes look golden.

“So this is good wine,” Stiles says when he’s sipped his and made a face he can’t hide against the side of the crystal glass.

“It’s better with the sauce,” Peter promises but he’s smirking anyway, reaching over to cut out a few squares from the lasagna and carefully using the spatula to set one onto his own plate. He lifts up a second, holding it carefully as he waits for Stiles to lift his plate up next.

“Thanks,” Stiles says and he shifts in his seat as he brings his food down in front of him and picks up a fork. “I- don’t think anyone’s ever cooked me a whole meal before,” he’s laughing but his neck is turning pink at the edge of his hoodie. “I mean someone like-” he gestures between them.

Peter doesn’t know if he means a friend or something else but he nods anyway.

“You helped,” Peter offers, picking up a piece of garlic bread and setting it on his plate so it’ll absorb some of the oozing sauce.

“Oh yeah, I cut some bread-” Stiles rolls his eyes and his mouth goes tight before he’s skewering his fork in Peter’s direction. “You’re making fun of me.”

Peter nods, mouth curling as he stretches his leg out to bump his socked toes into Stiles’ shin under the table. The leg under his toes jerks and Stiles is kicking him right back before his heel drops back to the floor, and if his toes stay pressed against the arch of Peter’s foot well... he’s not going to say anything about it.

“How was work?” Peter asks, not because he really cares about the woes of the city archives, but because Stiles loves his job.

There’s a pause, while Stiles moans through his first bite of food and startles Peter into fumbling his fork before he starts talking. “Oh man, today was amazing. I came across a death certificate from like a hundred years ago and it said death by wolf in the post office. And I was like, okay what?” He waves his fork around and his brows steeple. “A wolf in the post office?”

Peter raises a brow and makes a circular motion with his bread before he takes a bite out of it.

“So it turns out half the town thought the postmaster was a werewolf and the other half swore he kept one as a pet.” Stiles is grinning like a cat and leaning over the table. “Werewolves,” he repeats but his eyes are sharp enough it makes Peter pause to look at him.

“Fascinating,” Peter says as he reaches for his wine, he swirls it, just for something to look down at before he takes a sip.

Stiles reaches for his own in mirror though he chugs half the glass before he sets it down and wipes his lower lip with his thumb. “Yeah, the kicker is that he actually might have just had a big dog.”

Peter coughs into his wrist and shakes his head when Stiles hand darts out to hover at him. When he catches his breath he laughs and there’s an answering cackle from across the table before they go back to eating.

Stiles keeps talking at him, about how a man in the 70s who tried to elect his pet duck for Sheriff, and how a cult once passed through. He talks through the rest of the meal and Peter listens.

They chat through packing away the leftovers and through the dishes. Stiles only seems to run out of words when they’ve settled on the sofa. Refilled wine glasses in hand, a sparse foot of leather cushion between them; Stiles fiddles with his hoodie sleeves and darts glances over at Peter.

“Thank you for joining me,” Peter says as he leans into his arm rest and studies Stiles’ profile. His heartbeat is so fast, it always seems fast, but now it’s sprinting.

Stiles fingers blanche against his wine glass before he tosses it back and sets it on the low coffee table. “Thank you for having me,” he pauses and swallows, “for dinner,” his hands fidget and wave, “I mean having me over for dinner.”

Peter exhales slowly and sets his own half filled glass down before he’s leaning back and putting an arm across the back of the sofa. “I enjoy our time together,” he murmurs and pauses to reach a hand out and set it on Stiles’ knee. “I hope we can do it again?”

The house is too quiet for a moment as Stiles breath spikes, the sweet spice in his scent rising like steam and then he’s nodding and dropping cool fingers over Peter’s hand.

“I’d really like that,” Stiles squeezes his fingers against Peter’s before he’s wiggling them under and then they’re holding hands.

It should seem childish, but Peter’s stomach does a nervous flop anyway. He glances down at their shared grip as it migrates to sitting on the cushion between them. Stiles’ fingers are long and pale, his own broader and tanned. He draws his thumb slowly across Stiles’ knuckles once and then again, sweeping as they sit in the quiet.

Later, when Stiles leaves it’s with a nervous parting hug that lingers in the doorway. The neighbors would be scandalized. Peter’s delighted, and he draws in a handful of red hoodie to press a light kiss against Stiles’ temple.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Peter whispers and Stiles rubs at his pink cheeks on the walk back across the yard to his own house.

 =====

 In the following week, Peter finds tiny bright red paw prints along his garden wall with half an abandoned raspberry, a pile of hazelnuts tucked into the crook of his tree branches, and the squirrel baffle on the ground under the bird feeder with very precise chew marks through the clasp.

This tiny creature is besting him. Outsmarting him. Peter’s fuming as he takes the broken plastic baffle out of his garden and he returns to the internet to find something else to dissuade his little Red.

When he tells Stiles about it the next time they’re working in his yard, he laughs, loud and bright, with a sort of mischief that Peter doesn’t understand but wants to taste.

“Maybe he just likes you,” Stiles says over his shoulder at Peter who is sitting on the porch on a camping chair lazily sipping his weak piss water beer.

The new shed they picked out together had been delivered, tucked neatly to the side of the yard. Stiles is sorting out his garden supplies into the fresh shelves with a focused energy Peter’s never seen before.

It’s almost hard to watch. Stiles ducks in and out of the shed seemingly at random, holding a single item at a time to pick a place for. He’s got sheers in his hands now, and a thoughtful look on his face before he zips in to put them upright in a blueberry themed tool caddy Peter had gifted to him.

“I think he’s mocking me,” Peter complains, resting his cheek against his beer bottle, and watching Stiles march a bag of fertilizer, and then a rake, and then a hose attachment, and then a different bag of fertilizer in. “Not afraid of me at all.”

Stiles peeks out of the shed at him and squints, his sunglasses tucked into the front of his obscure tee shirt with a reference Peter doesn’t understand enough to even ask about.

“Do you really want to be scary to a squirrel? Is that really important to you?” Stiles is grinning, the sharp toothed kind that means he’s really delighted.

When he says it so bluntly, Peter does sort of wonder why he’s fighting with a rodent, but he rolls a lazy shrug anyway and grins right back. “Yes, it is.”

The raspberry Stiles blows echoes through the shed and so does the following giggle. Peter rolls his eyes and goes back to watching him pick items at random to store away. He wonders how anyone could tolerate being so chaotic, his own shed was meticulous.

When Stiles is done he’s petting the door of his shed with a satisfied smile and his scent is curling into something spicy and pleased.

“Come see,” Stiles says shyly, tapping his fingers on the shed door as he steps away from it with a gesture.

Peter imagines strewn tools and hides a wince before he climbs off the porch to look. His hand settles lightly on the small of Stiles’ back as he nears. Stiles is warm through his shirt, and he leans a bit into the touch before he looks over and reaches up to hook his elbow up on Peter’s shoulder.

“This is organized,” Peter says blankly after a moment of staring, everything is neatly clumped by use or season, it’s a showroom quality shed. Call Home and Garden. The body under his hand bristles up and Stiles scowls over at him.

“Wow,” Stiles snips, stepping away and back to the deck to the pile of hazelnuts he left on the railing. “I’m totally organized. I’m an excellent organizer.” He looks indignant and chews like it.

The strange smell, Peter has yet to place, intensifies. Musky almost, but clean, and frustrating. Peter braces his hands up in a placating gesture as he looks up at Stiles’ waspish expression.

“Yes, clearly,” he says and comes up to join him on the porch. “I didn’t mean to offend,” Peter can’t help but quirk his brows up because it’s a picky response and he finds it just a little funny.

“You’re very organized, lamb, you did a very nice job of the shed,” he coos it a bit, and goes to tug Stiles closer by his shirt front, soothing the crease between his brows with a warm thumb.

Stiles cracks a moment later, rolling his eyes and grumbling as he reaches around and gives Peter a proper hug; cheek on his shoulder before he’s pulled back to pluck up a few hazelnuts.

“Shut up,” Stiles pinches his side and then goes to pop himself up to sit on the railing.

Peter doesn’t understand his desire to perch himself up five feet in the air and goes back to sit in his camping chair.

“We’re almost done for the season,” Peter drinks more of his beer before he abandons it into the attached vinyl cup holder and turns his head to survey the yard. Everything that could be managed was just about done. There’s a pang in his chest as he thinks about losing his time with Stiles.

The bang of rubber sole against wood draws Peter’s attention back up to Stiles who is raising a brow at him, one leg brought up with him so he can rest his arms around a knee.

“You’ll help me with up keep though,” Stiles says, first like he’s testing it and then more firmly, “you wouldn’t want me to kill everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t leave you totally unsupervised.” It really would be a crime to have all this work undone.

Stiles shifts on his perch, “yeah. My garden guide.” His front teeth peek out when he smiles.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Peter agrees with a long look before he’s flinching away from a hazelnut Stiles chucks at his face.

 =====

 Four and a half months after Stiles moved in next door and subsequently into his life, they’ve got his yard completely sorted; complete with his own bird feeder and a bird bath with spitting frogs that Peter had set up as a surprise after a trip they’d taken to the gardening store.

Personally, he hated it, but Stiles had adored the stupid thing. He’d named the frogs before he’d seen the price tag and squawked.

They don’t talk about what they are or what they aren’t, and Peter’s alright with that. He’s persistent, he has no qualms against a long courtship.

The only remaining problem is the damn squirrel. Little Red comes by routinely to steal bird food and cache food around. He’s got a nest in Peter’s tree. He chitters when Peter’s working in the garden and scampers off whenever the wolf gets a little too annoyed with him.

Short of actually eating the thing, Peter doesn’t know what else to do, and he’s begrudgingly a little fond of the animal. Not that it stops him from going out in the middle of the night and greasing up his bird feeder poles.

It might not be ethical but the decoy owl Peter had bought had been knocked over and stuffed with hazelnuts and bird food, so really, the little rat deserved it. Peter would not be mocked by an afternoon snack.

He’s not sure it’ll work, considering the apparent intelligence of his backyard pest but sure enough, while Peter’s having his morning coffee on the porch he watches little Red dart across the fence.

The squirrel leaps down and shimmies around the base of the feeder before with a solid jump he grabs for the metal pole and slides around it to fall a half a foot away on the other side. Stunned and bobbling back up to his paws.

Peter has to cover an ear against the explosive chattering that follows as the angry slicked down ball of fur rushes off the garden wall and across the patio stones.

He makes it to the porch before Peter even processes that he’s being charged by a squirrel and thinks to take a step back from the barking creature. It hops up the porch railing and in a blink the oiled fur is replaced by a dark brown cowlick and pinched up features.

“That is not fair. That was mean. I could have broken my neck,” Stiles rants at him, with one hand instinctively cupped over his naked groin and the other gesticulating angrily into Peter’s face.

“Stiles-” Peter starts, blinking slowly at Stiles’ face before the opportunist in him looks down to take in the rest. “Stiles, you’re naked in my yard.”

The words don’t seem to click before Stiles flushes a dark red and looks down at himself and then backwards at the neighbor's fences and then he’s darting forward to let himself into Peter’s house.

“Look I thought, you know, it was fun, I liked - I told you I liked your yard. I bought you bird food! I bought you my favorite bird food!” Stiles is using a kitchen hand towel to hold over himself as he grumbles accusingly. “I thought you were joking about not liking - me?”

Peter chews his lips a moment, holds up a hand, and Stiles falls silent after a few breaths.

“You’re a weresquirrel?”

“You’re a werewolf.” Stiles shrugs at him and then he pauses. “Oh my god you didn’t know! I totally thought you figured it out? Like months ago?”

That shocks Peter enough that he has to set down his coffee mug and raise a hand to rub at his brow. “I’m a werewolf?”

Stiles nods at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and then he’s reaching over into a jar of hazelnuts Peter started keeping around for him weeks ago.

“Dude you made a cache in your house for me, I totally thought you knew.” Stiles raises his handful of hazelnuts before the palmful goes into his mouth.

“How did you know about me?” Peter demands trying to recall anything that could have outed him.

There’s a gentle hum from Stiles who waves his hand a bit and swallows. “Dude, relax, I’ve got like a super enhanced sense of you know, predators and danger, and things that could eat me. I’ve known since you introduced yourself.”

They’re quiet for a few moments before Peter sighs, rolls his shoulders, and moves to get down a second coffee mug. “Black, two sugars, sweetheart?” He speaks as he’s already pouring.

Stiles grins at him from across the kitchen and nods before he’s approaching and goes to slide under Peter’s shirt to grip his waist. He hadn’t quite gotten all of the oil off on the towel so it’s a little slick, but he squeezes enough that Peter gets the point and turns around.

“You’re not mad, right?” Stiles asks, nose wrinkled up and his mouth turned down as he studies Peter. Twitching his weight from foot to foot.

It would be silly to be mad, a little embarrassed maybe, but hanging on to that would be pointless. Especially when he’s got Stiles nearly pressed against him like this.

Peter lifts a hand and lets it rest on Stiles’ shoulder, slowly dragging it along his skin until he can cradle the nape of his fragile little neck and pull him in gently. It’s been months that he’s wanted to do this but they’d been dancing around it, playing cat and mouse-- so to speak.

“I’m furious, little Red” Peter breathes with an obvious eye roll before Stiles rushes forward to close the gap.

He tastes like hazelnuts and smells like olive oil and it’s perfect.

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

Home [Chapter One]

Author’s Note: I tried my best to switch my OC’s name out for Y/n. If I missed any my apologies just let me know and I’ll fix it. Hope you guys enjoy my new fic, Home!

                                                   --------------------- “Y/n!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n laughed as she sped up, running up the hill towards their farmhouse. The horses ran alongside her in the fenced in area. She giggled as she could feel Eddie closing in on her. Y/n took a quick turn and ran towards the chicken coop. She slowed down as she reached the coop. Breathing heavily, Y/n turned around to see Eddie slowing down. He was glaring at her.

“You cheated,” Eddie growled.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “You’re just mad that your younger girlfriend is just faster than you,” Y/n teased.

“I’m only older by six years!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n laughed again. “Six years is a lot for an old man,”

Her laughter faded as he lunged at her. A tiny squeak slipped out of her as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She tried to pry his arms off her, but he only pulled her back against his chest.

“Say you’re sorry,” Eddie said.

“Never,” Y/n laughed as she continued struggling trying to free herself.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Eddie asked her.

“I’ve learned from the best,” Y/n said between clenched teeth.

The two continued to struggle for power until Y/n slipped her feet in between Eddie’s. He gasped and then swore as the two of them went crashing down into the mud. Y/n fell back against him laughing hysterically as Eddie had taken the brunt of the fall and most of the mud.

Eddie was quick to flip Y/n over and onto her back. Squishing her down in the mud. She groaned and looked up at her boyfriend.

“Was that necessary?” Y/n hissed.

“You wouldn’t stop laughing at me,” Eddie complained.

Y/n shook her head and she could feel the mud caking onto her hair. Eddie grinned, leaned down, and then kissed her. Y/n nibbled at his lips and he pulled away. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“How about we take this inside?” Eddie asked.

Y/n cocked an eyebrow at her boyfriend.

“I’ll race you,” she joked.

“You’ll pay for that one,” Eddie said as he jumped up to his feet.

Y/n let out a soft playful scream as he yanked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. He slapped his hand against her ass and she let out a small yelp.

“That’s not fair!” Y/n argued.

“You don’t play fair,” Eddie reminded her.

Y/n fell silent as Eddie carried her the rest of the way across the yard and up into their house. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off hers dropping them outside of the door where they would have to come back and hose their shoes down.

Their two dogs greeted them as Eddie stepped inside. Y/n called for her dogs to follow, but they only stood and watched as Eddie disappeared upstairs with her.

A very long hour later, Y/n came jogging down the stairs. She booped Cap and Sarge on their heads as she went over to the fridge. Her stomach was rumbling and dinner was calling her name. Y/n strained her ears as she heard the sound of tires on the gravel of their driveway.

“Someone’s here!” Y/n called up the stairs.

“I’m coming,” Eddie shouted back.

Y/n could hear Eddie running down the stairs and land right in the living room. She tossed the stuff for dinner on the stove.

“Y/n, you’re going to want to see this,” Eddie said.

Y/n wiped her hands on a dish towel and headed towards the front of the house. A black SUV sat parked. The two of them watched as a man in a black suit stepped out of the SUV. Three more doors opened and a bunch of figures stepped out of the vehicle.

“My boys,” Y/n said as she burst out of the house and onto the porch.

“Y/n!” Billy exclaimed as he finally set his eyes on her.

Y/n stepped off the steps and caught Billy as he threw himself at her. The other three boys ran up to join the hug. Y/n made sure to give them each individually a huge hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” Y/n asked.

“Miss Barnes, it’s good to see you again,” The voice said.

Y/n looked up as the man in the suit pushed back his sunglasses revealing himself as the one and only Bruce Wayne.

“Surprised you’d be caught dead out here, old man.” Y/n snarled.

Eddie pinched her side to silence her.

“Well, I knew if I’d call you wouldn’t answer,” Bruce admitted.

“Damn straight I wouldn’t have. Takes a lot of guts to show yourself around here,” Y/n snarled.

“Y/n,” Eddie sighed.

“Shut it, Brock,” Y/n growled.

Bruce gave Eddie a knowing look. Eddie sighed. Y/n wasn’t normally like this. She was sweet. Kind. Caring. Always had open arms every single person. Except for Bruce Wayne.

“Listen, I know that you and I have a lot of unresolved issues,” Bruce said.

“That’s barely touching it, but sure we’ll go with that,” Y/n growled.

“Can we talk?” Bruce asked.

“I’m not inviting you into my home,” Y/n barked.

“Y/n!” Eddie shouted.

Y/n tossed her boyfriend a look over her shoulder. He fell silent. Eddie knew better than to argue with her. This wasn’t a battle he wanted to pick with her. Not when it came to Bruce.

“I’ll make this quick. Some things have come up in Gotham. The boys are no longer safe,” Bruce began.

“Oh so now that Jason and Tim are dead, now you realize that?” Y/n snarled.

Eddie noted the way that a look of pain crossed Bruce’s face. He felt bad for the guy. He had lost two sons. Lived a dangerous life. Ever since Y/n lost Jason and then Tim it was never the same between the two of them. Y/n couldn’t forgive Bruce. Eddie didn’t think she’d ever been able to.

“There’s no reason to be hurtful,” Bruce said coldly.

“Trust me that’s me being nice,” Y/n said.

The four young teens looked at each other. They knew what was going on. They weren’t dumb. All of them understood why Y/n was so upset. She was in love with Jason. He was her first love. Damian was so sure growing up that Y/n was going to end up as his sister. When Jason died, it was like Y/n’s whole world had crashed down.

Y/n had become dark and scary. She hardly talked to anybody. Damian wasn’t sure of Eddie at first, but he sure brought Y/n around. He made her happy. And that’s all that mattered to Damian. He loved Y/n and he didn’t want her to be hurting anymore.

“I need you to sign this,” Bruce said pulling out a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

“What is it?” Y/n asked.

“Legal custody of the four boys. Clark already signed the papers, as did I, and so did the Vasquez’s,” Bruce said.

Eddie and Y/n only stared at Bruce.

“I’m sorry, what?” Eddie said in shock.

“You’re right. I lost Jason. And then turned around and lost Tim. If Dick was young enough to be placed in your care he would be, but he’s an adult now and can protect himself. These four can’t. If they stay with us they will only end up being hurt or killed to hurt the rest of us. I can’t do that. I can’t lose any more of my children,” Bruce explained.

“So, what? You expect me and Eddie to just drop our whole lives and take care of the boys because you’ve finally come to the realization that the life you live and lead isn’t safe for them?” Y/n snarled.

“Yes,” Bruce simply said.

It took everything out of Y/n not to slap Bruce across his smug face.

“What made you think that Eddie and I would even be willing to do so?” Y/n demanded from him.

“You’re the only safe choice that I have,” Bruce told her.

“What about Clark’s mom? I’m sure Martha would love to take care of the boys. Or how about Detective Gordon? He could give them a good life and protect them,” Y/n said.

The four young teens watched as Y/n and Bruce squared off. Jon was starting to grow concerned that Y/n wasn’t going to take them in. That she was going to say no and they would have to go to Bruce’s last resort which was the orphanage.

“Martha is too old to be running after four teens. Gordon has his own kids to take care of, plus he’s in the thick of my mess just as much as I am,” Bruce said.

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Y/n,” Jon finally piped up.

Y/n looked down at the dark haired boy.

“Bruce will take us to the orphanage if you don’t take us in. You know they’ll separate all of us if that happens. Please don’t let him do that to us,” Jon pleaded.

“Are the papers actually for custody or for guardianship?” Y/n asked him. “There’s a major difference,”

“Custody. We are signing over all legal rights to you. If and once you sign the papers you are legally their parents. Which means you’ll be in charge of Damian’s portion of Wayne Enterprises until he is of age, you have rights to all of their bank accounts that I have their college tuition set aside, and a hefty bank account for you and Eddie as well to live more than comfortably for the rest of your lives while you take care of them,” Bruce explained.

“Which means you and Clark will have no control over Damian and Jon? And that unless I permit you can’t see them,” Y/n said.

Bruce nodded. Y/n outstretched her hand.

“Give me the paperwork,” Y/n said.

The four boys watched her practically rip the custody papers out of Bruce’s hands. She quickly signed her name on the lines that were marked with a purple highlighter. Once she had signed on all of the correct lines, Y/n moved so she was standing in front of all of the boys.

“Just because you have handed over the custody to the most important boys in my life doesn’t mean that I forgive you. I still hate you for what you did to me. To Jason. To Tim. And I swear to you that I will make you pay for it,” Y/n said her words dripping with poison.

Bruce straightened his back. He ripped his gaze away from Y/n and glanced down at Damian. Damian looked so much like him. His son was fifteen. Just nine months shy of turning sixteen. Bruce noticed the way he stood right next to Y/n. Holding her hand in his and defiantly looking at him waiting for his father to say something to him.

“Be on your best behavior. And take care of each other,” Bruce said before turning on his heel and heading back to his SUV.

The six of them stood there and watched as Bruce backed out of the driveway. Finally, Y/n turned around to face Eddie and their sons. She wasn’t sure what to say or what to do.

“Are you guys hungry?” Eddie asked finally breaking the silence.

“Duh, I can always eat,” Freddy said.

Eddie and Y/n rounded the boys up and brought them inside. The couple worked alongside each other whipping up a large meal for the four growing boys. As the boys sat around the table eating, Eddie pulled Y/n out of the dining room and into their office. Y/n knew what was coming. Eddie closed the door.

“You didn’t even ask me if this is what I wanted,” Eddie pointed out.

“Last I knew, we weren’t married, this was my house, and my decision to make,” Y/n snapped.

Eddie sighed. “Four teenage boys is a lot,”

“Yeah, and what’s your point? You’ve known even before we started dating that I was close with all four of those boys. I made it abundantly clear that I would drop anything for them. Which I have. You’ve come with me to rescue them on bad fights,” Y/n reminded him.

“It was different when we had the chance to take them back home to their actual parents,” Eddie argued.

Y/n crossed her arms over her chest and she clenched her teeth. Eddie had pissed her off. He knew that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kids, but he and Y/n had already been through so much together. They were friends before they had started dating. He saw the emotional turmoil that she went through after the death of Jason.

He was there for her when Thanos had happened and she had lost a huge chunk of her family. The two of them had gone through a lot. Their relationship was strained for a long time after the snap. But they worked together. He loved her. Eddie could see himself spending the rest of his life with her, but her not including him on making such a big decision rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t really care that they were here and that Y/n took them in. The point was that she didn’t even discuss this with him.

“Did you want me to send them to the orphanage?” Y/n asked him.

“Of course not!” Eddie hissed.

“Then what is your fucking problem?” Y/n asked.

“You and I have been through so much shit together. I just thought you would have had the common courtesy to at least ask me if I was okay with you taking custody of the boys,” Eddie explained to her.

“You’re right,” Y/n began.

Eddie looked at her in confusion. He felt like this was a trap.

“The two of us have been through a lot of shit together, but you would think by now that you would have learned that I don’t ask for permission. Especially when it comes to those boys. If you don’t like it, then pack up and leave,” Y/n said.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “You’d break up with me because of this argument?”

“Those boys came first before you. I’ve made it clear that I love those boys. I’ve watched them all grow up. I will always put them first. If you don’t like that and can’t handle it then don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Y/n said.

Before Eddie could even try and argue with her, she was pushing past him and leaving him in the office. He could hear in the dining room talking with the boys. Eddie loved her. But could this be too much for them? This could be their breaking point.

Forcing a smile on his face, Eddie stepped out of the office and headed back into the dining room. Jon was in the middle of telling Y/n some wild story. His hands were waving all over the place. Freddy and Billy were arguing over who was the better superhero between Y/n’s parents. Eddie caught Damian’s eye and the young teen was glaring at Eddie.

Eddie and Damian stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity until Y/n asked for Damian’s opinion. Damian slowly turned his attention off of Eddie and onto Y/n. Eddie sighed. Venom was growing restless. He hated when Y/n and Eddie argued. Which Eddie didn’t understand because 99% of the time Venom always sided with Y/n.

Apologize!

No.

Y/n didn’t have to ask for your permission.

I know that. But we’re in a relationship. It would have been nice if she at least considered my opinion.

Bleck! You humans and your emotions disgust me.

Yeah. Yeah. If anyone is a bleeding heart, it’s you.

Take that back!

Eddie only smiled to himself and fell quiet. The teens were rowdy. Y/n was laughing. Eddie had to admit this was the happiest he had seen her in a long time.

“Hey, Y/n, we don’t have anything except for what we could shove into our backpacks,” Billy sudden brought up.

“Mhmm, you’re right. That’s going to be a problem,” Y/n said.

“We could always go shopping tomorrow!” Freddy shouted.

“You all have school,” Y/n said.

“So? We all could afford to skip a day,” Damian shot back.

“Yeah, come on Y/n, we could make a day of it. Get everything that we need in one big day of shopping,” Jon added.

Y/n sighed. Y/n glanced up at Eddie. He gave her a soft smile and nodded.

“Also, it’s not like you don’t have the money. You know Bruce set you up for life. Buying us clothes, toys, electronics, or whatever else we want isn’t going to break you,” Damian piped up.

“Well, I was thinking of using that money to add to my house. Y’all will be sharing a room for a while,” Y/n said.

“Do both. You can afford it,” Freddy grinned.

“Yeah, come on Y/n, it will be so much fun. It will be our first big day as a new family,” Billy pleaded.

“Alright, we can go. But on a few conditions,” Y/n gave in.

“Name them!” The boys exclaimed together.

“You all must be on your best behavior. You stick with us and no running off. Clothes first before anything else. No whining. No complaining. You will try on your clothes and I get to veto anything that I don’t deem appropriate and then your butts go right back to school the following day,” Y/n listed.

The boys looked at each other and nodded. “Deal!”

Y/n rolled her eyes. Everyone chit chatted while they finished dinner. Once they were done eating the boys helped take care of the leftovers, did dishes, and then split into pairs into the one spare bedroom and into the office that they would make into a bedroom for the time being.

After Y/n got all of them showered, in pajamas, and their teeth brushed she left them to talk amongst themselves until they fell asleep. She disappeared upstairs into her bedroom. Eddie was already in bed. Y/n changed into her pajamas, did her nightly routine, and then climbed into bed next to Eddie.

‘Y/n,” Eddie began.

“I’m tired of fighting. We can talk tomorrow,” Y/n said and without giving him a chance to respond she turned off her light and turned away from him. Eddie had hurt her feeling and she wasn’t sure just how they were going to bounce back from this one.

[reyyofsunshiine]

Another Muggle Marauders AU

WOLFSTAR (MUGGLE) AU

While this AU inspo was a play off my other HP Muggle AU [link here: https://reyyofsunshiine.tumblr.com/post/169593017851/marauders-bandcollege-au ], it should be viewed as its own separate piece.

~enjoy~

* Remus Lupin attended university and graduated with a degree in primary and secondary teaching.

* While in college, he roomed with a boy named Peter Pettigrew, who tagged along, but wasn’t very fond of his friends. He didn’t keep in touch after graduation.

* Remus met Severus Snape through a tinder match. His profile was not what Remus experienced in person, and the date was awkward and short. They decided to keep their distance, Snape humiliated although Remus said nothing (not to say he’s very good at keeping his poker face throughout the terrible dinner conversations)

* Snape skrt skrts around Remus on campus.

* Snape gets a degree in chemistry.

* Remus becomes a History and Latin teacher at a local high school. There he meets Nymphadora Tonks, his new-found best friend and the school’s music teacher.

* Remus teaches comfortably at the school for five years before Severus Snape shows up as the new chemistry teacher. Snape had originally been in a lab with a fellow chemist of a professor post graduation but had to be relieved of his position due to unapproved/unsanctioned lab work and notice of lack of personal hygiene in the lab/experimental area

* Snape cannot let go of grudges and hates Remus. His bitterness is only added upon by his being laid off from the lab.

* Remus has several students he is fond of come and go over the years including Bill Weasley and Charlie Weasley in his history classes. Percy was also in his Latin class and while Remus appreciated his eagerness to learn, he did not appreciate Percy’s pitting himself above other students.

* So when Ron Weasley becomes a high school freshmen, he looks forward to having him in his history classes.

* He notes that Ron sleeps through class, his best friend Harry, makes a game of how many pencils he can fit in the hood of Ron’s hoodie, and their bushy-haired but brilliant friend Hermione, who sits next to them, is exasperated by it all and refuses to share her notes with the boys.

* He also finds out that the three have a tendency to be in any big affair the school has.

* Harry does not like bullies and often stands up for a fellow student Neville Longbottom when the football team (including of Crabbe and Goyle) discouraged him. (Harry immediately takes to playing men’s soccer)

* Harry and Ron often have to have their parents come to school to speak with McGonnagall (the principal) for stupid pranks (more than half reported by Snape) or getting into noble fights (especially with posh (rich) golfer Draco Malfoy) on school grounds.

* Remus learns Harry’s dad has argued with Snape several times since Harry’s start of high school

* The next year, Ginny and her childhood friend Luna start as freshmen.

* Harry has harbored a crush on Ginny for several years and they get together after one of her soccer games (women’s team).

* While their families are aware, Ron remains somewhat oblivious (I mean he doesn’t want to know every gory detail come on)

* Remus and Nymphadora laugh about it in the teachers lounge

* Filch catches Harry and Ginny being teenagers in love in the women’s locker room post game and is furious

* Remus happens to be walking by so instead of Harry (one of his favorite students) having to go to mcgonnagall again, he takes it upon himself to speak to his parents instead.

* ~Enter Sirius~

* Remus is waiting in his classroom for Harry’s parents and in walks - Sirius? - but Remus is unfamiliar with him and does not know if he is Harry’s father

* Sirius is very compassionate about Harry and is trying his best to get him off the hook with Remus

* Remus is just awed by his good looks? I mean Sirius is very hot? And how does an older man look this attractive in a leather jacket? And have such shiny hair? And long lashes??! And Harry’s mother is lucky!!

* Lily bangs open the classroom door furious because “sIRIUS THIS WAS A MEETING I WAS SUPPOSED TO ATTEND WHY AM I THIRD WHEELING IN MY OWN MARRIAGE”

* Sirius explains that he is Harry’s godfather and came (unbeknownst to Harry’s parents) on behalf of James and lily

* He just wants to do good by his godson

* Remus is instantly relieved and hopeful although he quashes that down

* Sirius continues to come to school grounds for Harry’s soccer games and parent nights. He tags along with his childhood friend James while Lily speaks to most of the teachers and other parents

* James Sirius and Arthur seem to have their own powows when they meet up

* Sirius always makes it a point, however, to stop to talk to Remus.

* Come spring of Harry’s sophomore year, Remus is signed up to chaperone the spring formal

* Harry and Ginny are dropped off by Sirius, and he strolls into the dance, hands in pockets and sunglasses tucked over collar of leather jacket

* He strolls right up to Remus and asks if he “wants to get out of here while the kids have fun”

* Nymphadora is delighted and literally shoves Remus in his direction saying she’ll cover for him before she goes to chat up the DJ the school hired

* Remus is a sweaty mess™️ but goes

* They go to the usually popular diner in town but it is currently not as filled because of the spring formal

* Sirius makes Remus laugh and makes him feel a bit daring. He feels warm

* Remus learns that Sirius sneaks Harry sweets on the reg and lily is mad because she keeps finding chocolate frog wrappers and water bottles all over his room/soccer bag (relatable)

* He also learns that Sirius is a detective and excellent at stealth and delivery (he’s excellent at making Remus spill his guts and his flirting is FIRE)

* Remus agrees to see him again

* They go back to the school when the dancing is nearing a close and Sirius PLANTS ONE on him before he goes to leave

* Remus is stunned. Nymphadora saw the whole thing and is ecstatic

* Sirius doesn’t come around all the time due to his job, so when he can’t meet up he sends Harry to school with extra chocolate frogs to eat with Remus during his free period.

* Harry is a little skeptical and somewhat awkward at first interrogating his history teacher for his uncle but learns to like Remus and finds him funny

* Remus is invited to dinner with Sirius at James and Lily’s summer barbecue

* Remus is amused by Sirius and James’ antics (especially when they try to play good cop bad cop totally drunk on Remus) and hits it off with them as a pair immediately. Lily also welcomes him with open arms and thinks he will be a “good and grounding fit for Sirius”

* Remus doesn’t remember being this happy in a long time

* Sirius meets Remus’s huge wolf-like dog, Moony, and immediately falls in love

* Remus thinks Sirius is a big child but is happy nonetheless

* Fred and George enlist Sirius, through Ron and Harry, to help plan their senior prank, which Remus catches wind of about a month prior. When June and graduation roll around, Remus steers clear of the water hoses and balloons from the seniors ditching class for a pool party on school grounds (hoses on the back of trucks, slip and slides on the football field, the whole shabang)

* Fred and George dont go to college because they think it’s a scam

* They open their own joke shop

* Sirius drags Remus to the joke shop when James can’t go with him and says he and James taught them everything they knew while Arthur tested products (was pranked) around the house. Sweet Arthur did not know.

* Remus becomes closer with the potters and weasleys over time

* Eventually the golden trio just start calling him Remus outside of class and hang out with him in their free period

* Sirius is happier than he’s ever been

* He talks with Remus about marriage after Harry Ron and Hermione graduate, but Remus is hesitant because of his self esteem but does not doubt his love for Sirius

* After months of Sirius persevering, he and Remus get married

* Sirius takes Remus’s last name because he hates his own family and also likes to be pampered

* They have regular date nights and watch cheesy cop movies

* Sirius makes funny remarks when he observes the papers remus sets out to grade every Thursday night

* Remus and lily have tea on sundays

* When Sirius and Remus decide to adopt Teddy Lupin, they ask Harry to be godfather

TBC? WE’LL SEE

[softgreysentences]

Summer Days (aka my boys Connor and Sumo bein cute)

Prompt taken from the amazing Connor Prompt List from @brascul: Connor, Sumo, and a water hose.

A/N: I'm taking the same liberty that I did in my fever fic that Connor has temperature sensors. Fite me.

Also I have no idea how Detroit weather works sorry

***

Hot days in Detroit were rare, but when they did come, it was pretty much a guarantee you'd find one Hank Anderson and his dog Sumo indoors, air conditioning cranked up and one measly fan on its highest setting. Both the dog and his owner spent the afternoon lazily lounging by whichever air vent the cold air came out of, longing for the sweet release of lowered temperatures or death, whichever came first.

Then Hank adopted invited a newly deviant Connor to live with them, and two overheated beings became three overheated beings parked in front of the vent.

Then, Connor learned about the wonders of getting wet for fun. You'd be hard pressed to find a large amount of swimming pools in Detroit, but Hank was a man well-aquainted with the simpler pleasures of life. For example, garden hoses.

One such afternoon found Hank snoozing on top of a heavily-panting Sumo, and Connor bored out of his mind. One thing Connor did not enjoy about his status as a deviant was boredom. While he did enjoy having the time to let his mind wander, the heat was making it difficult to focus on anything other than how miserable he was.

Connor sat up from his supine position on the floor, ignoring how his synthetic skin seemed to stick to the warm linoleum in favor of scanning the area. Small yellow boxes alerted him of various things he could do to occupy his time, but none seemed pleasant considering the current air temperature.

He turned his gaze to the backyard, getting up to peer out the screen door. The small, frumpy-looking yard had improved by large measures since Connor had begun to take care of it (because he wanted too, and he smiled at the thought). However, he definitely wasn't in the mood for watering the grass or removing weeds today.

What did sound optimal, though, was the lime-green hose coiled in a heap next to the outer wall of the house.

Connor looked back at the air vent they were currently calling home to find Sumo awake, watching him curiously. Connor smiled, an idea forming.

Hank continued snoring, unaware that he might be losing his pillow soon.

***

"Sumo, no!" Hank woke to loud laughter. He groaned and peeled his face off the kitchen floor. The air felt hotter than before, and he groaned again.

"Sumo, down. Down, boy!" Laughter again. Hank squinted towards the backyard. Was that Connor laughing? Had he heard Connor laugh before? He reached for the wall and pulled himself up, mourning the loss of his cool-air source. His back and knees popped, and he winced. This is why I have a bed, he thought. Ugh.

He carefully stepped to the backdoor, around stray bits of dog kibble and empty water bottles. Some of the bottles had once contained water while others had been drained and filled with thirium before being consumed. It seemed even androids didn't escape the fact that liquid evaporates in relatively hot temperatures.

Hank stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the harsh sunlight before landing on Connor, only wearing a pair of shorts, and Sumo roughhousing in a patch of grass. The hose lay next to them, still spraying water. The pair wrestled for a few minutes before Connor got to his feet and picked up the hose. The android pressed his thumb over the spout, letting water mist out on the shaggy-haired dog. Sumo borfed and let his tongue roll out, basking in the cool water with an expression Hank could only describe as doggy bliss. Connor laughed, letting Sumo roll around in the water before turning the stream on himself. Sumo bounded over, rearing up to swipe Connor on the face with his tongue (and to get under the water again, clever dog, Hank thought). They stayed there a moment, before Hank could literally see the lightbulb turn on above Connor's head. He crossed over to the lone tree in the yard (which Connor had planted), Sumo hot on his heels, to hang the hose on a branch.

"Smart kid," Hank muttered, as Connor angled the hose to the ground and lay down below it, so the hose acted like a showerhead. Sumo flopped down next to him, tucked against Connor's side. Connor threw an arm around the overgrown puppy, and the two just drifted, looking the most content Hank had seen them.

Hank wanted to be mad about his water bill, he really did.

***

I live for connor and sumo bein best buds. They Are Cute Ok

Please take a moment to enjoy the mental image that is Connor and Sumo cuddling. You're welcome.

not ship, don't tag as ship

[full-force-galesburg]

Why Magnus is always wearing that red neckerchief.

(Major Balance spoilers. My first proper tumblr fic so let’s see how this goes. I’ve only heard balance once so I might make a goof or two. I’m also fudging with the timeline on purpose. Listen to Julia while you read. I know it’s cruel, but this is a requirement. If this goes well, I might do a whole long form fic about the Raven’s Roost years.)

Lucretia was worried. In her attempt to recover the relics, she had established a number of connections all over the world. When she got word of the tragedy that had befallen Raven’s Roost, she immediately made her way to see if Magnus was alright. When she arrived, the hundred foot tall pillar was still standing. It was shattered at the base and tilted in a precarious fashion but it was still standing. It looked ready to fall at any moment. Men and women from the two surrounding pillars were using ropes and makeshift bridges to try and evacuate the area as quickly as possible. While most of the craftsmen were already on sturdier ground, about 150 people were still trapped in fallen houses in the Craftsman’s Corridor. As she got closer to the action, she often heard the sentiment traded, “Thank gods it was the Craftsman’s Corridor and not another pillar.” Because of the people who lived there, far more buildings than usual were able to take the strain of the impact. If it wasn’t for that, many more people would have died.

But that did not change the fact that she was currently looking at the crumpled ruins of The Hammer and Tongs. They didn’t allow many people on the shattered column for obvious reasons and she didn’t dare ask anybody about Magnus specifically. She didn’t want to have to erase any memories of such an impactful day. She had learned the hard way that can have unintended consequences. She watched men and burlier women quickly shuttle people and bodies out of fallen houses for two days. Occasionally, some would enter the Raven’s Roost, only to come out looking dejected. Sometimes they would bring in food or water. Near the second night, she tried to slip onto one of the makeshift bridges but she was turned away. No outsiders were being allowed on the column. She understood why but still cursed out the guard.

Halfway through the third night, The Hammer and Tongs collapsed further and a pair of blacksmiths carried out the broken bodies of Julia Burnsides and Steven Waxman.

Lucretia was relieved to learn Magnus had not been inside. She tried to feel the grief he would soon know but she was too glad to know that he had not been anywhere near this place when the earth cracked. Later that day, the column fully collapsed. Twenty people were on it at the time, trying to recover another seventeen who were still trapped. Thirty-nine bodies had already been recovered at the time. It wasn’t until sunset, that, standing on the mainland, staring at the fallen corridor, she heard a familiar voice screaming obscenities.

It was such a beautiful sunset too.

Magnus was about as happy as he had ever been. Neverwinter was incredible. Sure, he had heard all the songs and stories about the city but he had also met those people who scoffed at it. They would smirk and tell him, “It’s an overcrowded tourist destination,” before telling him of some more obscure “cooler” town he should visit instead. Those people weren’t 100% wrong. If you only focused on the main center of town, like a tourist might, you would certainly find a good number of tourists and the traps that attracted them. If you talked to a couple of locals, on the other hand, you’d discover a rich culture of food and arts and carpentry that made even him consider moving there.

But the closer he got to home, the more certain he was that he would want to live there the rest of his life. Neverwinter was amazing, and he certainly intended to visit more often, but it could never rival the sea breeze and landscape of his adopted home. He tried to compare it to his childhood home but instead got a bit of a headache. He shrugged it off as a residual hangover and headed towards the last hill before raven’s roost was in sight.

He left behind the wagon and started running. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the absolute fuck happened here!?” The first utterance was said to himself under his breath. The third was a holler directed at the Raven’s Roost citizen closest to him. Jane Porter, the Dryad carpenter who ran The Dryad’s Den across the street, put up her hands with tears in her eyes and said sorry repeatedly. She was trying to say something else but it was stuck in the back of her throat. Seeing her reaction, a mix of fear and despair, he tried to calm down immediately. He took a deep breath and kneeled down to match her height and asked, “Jane, my friend, what happened?”

What was stuck before, now flowed out like water from a hose. “I’m so sorry Magnus. We tried so hard. I tried so hard. We did what we- I did all I could to save her.”

“Save who?” He glanced from Jane to the fallen column and the back to her. “Wait.” The cogs finished their motion. “Where’s Julia?” Jane buried her face in her hands and started sobbing again. Magnus rushed into the center of town.

“Steven! Where is Julia? Can anybody point me to Steven?!” He was shouting generally to anybody willing to respond. Sad faces all around started turning to face the man who was, until a few days ago, the savior of their town. When he reached the center of Cliffport, (the inhabited region closest to the columns) he was greeted by Steven’s brother, Markus. He was a dark skinned man with a lean build. His shrinking hair and growing beard were white as snow and his smile was soft and easy. He wasn’t wearing it when he stopped Magnus. He quickly took Magnuses arm and held his gaze. Magnus was already tearing up. He knew what was about to come.  

“You’re going to want to come with me son.” Markus walked towards one of the makeshift medical tents near the cliffs. Magnus was repeatedly saying no and darting his eyes around like a prisoner searching for any path of escape on his way to execution. The sun was behind the horizon which bisected it horizontally. It gave everything in view a sickly glowing sheen.  When they got to the edge of the land, Markus turned to a group of tents collected about ten feet away from any of the others. Magnus could smell the scent of death. Dead bodies to not smell like rotten meat, as you would expect them to. They smell like musty sand almost. The smell isn’t especially bad but it’s incredibly strong and becomes overwhelming quickly. It becomes repulsive quickly: a defense mechanism creatures acquired to keep them from the dangers that have killed another. Markus stood next to one of the tents and pointed to the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and simply left Magnus to piece it together. Magnus stood there. Magnus stood in that spot for ages. He stared at the blank canvas door. He almost always dove into situations quickly because he was trying to protect people. Now, the only way to keep Juliet from being dead was to avoid confirming it. He could be wrong, he thought to himself. Maybe they ran out of empty tents in the medical regions and she was healing enough to be moved somewhere low maintenance. He wouldn’t know until he opened the door. Magnus opened the door. The smell became overwhelming and every part of his instincts screamed at him to run away.  He saw a figure he knew so well covered by a simple sheet. He barely registered that her father was under a sheet on a cot perpendicular to hers. Neither were moving. Neither were breathing. Magnus felt his body grow heavy and he stumbled as he walked beside her, putting his left hand gently over her stomach and clasping the sheet. He could feel every part of him breaking as the seconds went by. His body shook all over. He heaved. He couldn’t breathe in this deadly air. He could feel the tent walls closing in on him. His head was spinning. The tent was spinning. Everything was spinning. His eye saw her limp arm sticking out of the sheet. It was much paler than he remembered.

He took a deep breath and pulled back the sheet. He immediately closed his eyes and turned his head back. He wanted to remember her as she was when alive and not this ghastly shell with its skull bashed in. He caught a long enough glimpse to see that she was wearing her deep red neckerchief in her hair. When they were younger, he saw her wearing it for the first time and mentioned that he liked it because it brought out the brown in her eyes. Since then, she would wear it gradually more often. By the time they fought side by side in the rebellion, she was wearing it almost daily. He took it in his hand and clenched the piece of fabric in his mighty grip. With his eyes still closed, he replaced the sheet and slowly stood up. He walked outside the tent. He tied the neckerchief around his neck and opened his eyes. At this point, he acted on instinct. There was a tree next to the tent. It was teen feet tall and starting to become thick enough to indicate it may one day be impressive. It would never get there. Magnus grapled it with both arms lifted it out of the ground. The roots shook up the ground around where it once and the closest tent slumped slightly in the new dip in the land. Magnus hoisted the tree over his head with a mighty roar and tossed it down to the ocean at the base of the cliff. He watched it tumble and spiral and sunk to his knees. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed for a few minutes. He sat there, watching the stars Julia taught him to chart until morning.

The funeral was lovely. Thankfully, the tragedy had been so hectic that she had been able to watch Magnus pretty closely without being seen since he entered town. She fell asleep watching him gaze at the stars. When she woke up five hours later, he seemed not to have moved. She wanted to scream. Here was one of her best friends, who had been there for him so many times, facing the worst day he could remember. He was probably facing the worst day he couldn’t remember too. There was that pang of guilt again. It had already been years and she had yet to find a single relic. Perhaps it wasn’t worth all this. Perhaps she would just try and tell him everything and comfort her old friend. She knew she couldn’t. She had gone too far by now. Either she would find all the relics or they could never know how many people they had unintentionally harmed.

And so when it came time to send julia off in a burning boat that Magnus built that morning, Lucretia was hanging back, between a pair of jagged rocks a hundred yards from the crowd. It wasn’t the most beautiful boat she had ever seen but considering the time it took Magnus to build it, it was a masterpiece. The sides were covered with carved with ornate flowers, hammars, and constellations. The Burnside family was now a household name in the city but only about 30 were allowed at her funeral. They all told stories about her. Magnus was spending his time comforting those who seemed most affected. His emotional intelligence always impressed Lucretia and even during the funeral of his wife, she could see that he was helping people.

When the time came, Magnus sat on the boat at the feet of his wife’s coffin. He had also carved that this morning. It featured a beautiful carved depiction of Julia, and the wood was a soft brown that perfectly matched the color of her skin when she was alive. It was probably the most beautiful wooden statues and she thought back to when they first found the voidfish. She knew that this coffin would have sustained their mysterious animal friends for years.  Magnus held a rudder with one hand and a torch with the other. The rest of the crowd helped push the boat into the water. They watched Magnus steer it until he was about three hundred yards from the shore. He set the coffin on fire then jumped into the water and swam back.

By the time he got back, only the four closest to Julia and her father were still there. He rose up from the water in the glistening sunset. He had lost his shirt during the swim and Lucretia stared for a moment in spite of herself. He put his hand on the shoulder of Julia’s sister, Jada.  After a while, the boat fell off the horizon and it was just Magnus and Jada. After a further while, it was just Magnus watching stars come out. The full moon filled the scenery with cool soft light. “Were you a friend of hers or do you work for him?” (Start listening to a Madam Director.) This was the nightmare scenario. She started looking around for cover and Magnus started walking toward her. His face looked older than she’d ever seen it before. Lucretia decided not to run because a quick conversation about Julia would be much easier than an interrogation of a goon for a mass murderer. At this point, she got the distinct feeling that Magnus thinking she worked for Kalen would be lethal.

She stumbled in front of the rocks, waving her hands out in a defensive stance while shouting, “Friend! Friend.” She would one day lead a great organization and stand with authority over Magnus with age and power behind her, but now, she was still a bit younger than him and the guilt of what she took overwhelmed her. She found herself staring at her shoes quite a bit. He took her hand and waited to see if she pulled back. Her first instinct was to, but she missed the friendly contact of her old friends so left it where it was. “You’re not from around here. Are you?” Lucretia shook her head. “How did you know her?” 

Lucretia took a deep breath. She didn’t say anything for a long while before saying with confidence “She took in an old friend of mine when he needed a home.” Magnus released a gentle laugh that released a great deal of tension he had been building for over a day. “She did that for a number of us.” Magnus looked back at the ocean. “If my house hadn’t fallen apart, I’d ask you if you needed a place the stay the night but...” Lucretia quickly shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m heading back home tonight.” Magnus smirked. “I figured you’d say something like that.” He started walking up the natural ramp up to the top of the cliff and asked, “What’s your name, by the way.” She was too emotionally drained to come up with an alibi and she answered honestly. “It was nice to meet you Lucretia. He started walking again and then stopped. “Just do one thing for me Lucretia.” She turned to him, awaiting what he had to say. “If you run into anybody at a bar or a sports event or at work,” he paused. “Tell them that Governor Kalen’s days are numbered and that as long as Magnus Burnsides still breathes, he will have to look over his shoulder and sleep with a knife because I will find him and this time I will not spare the limey fucking coward.” As the sentence continued he became slightly more unhinged until he started to scare her. When he finished, he took a deep breath and returned to his normal voice. “Will you do that for me?” She nodded. “I promise.” “Thank you Lucretia.” Magnus walked up the hill, leaving her at the water.

[inklingleesquidly]

YO-FEST

CHAPTER 2

Lee Squidly gets a special call by the headpriestess of Knifefish Shrine to take part in special preparations for one of the biggest Holidays celebrated by Inkopolis’ ghostly neighbors, Yokai. Yo-Fest is only a week away and it’s up to Lee to prevent the fesitivies from going off without a hitch.

He’s not alone though; joining him is his pals Guist, Juddinyan, and his many Yokai friend who are just a dial away via his Yokai Smartwatch.

Featuring the characters of @askvincent

Chapter 1 can be found here

Word count: 6,656

       “Ohh Honey that’s so great that you want to do community service at Knifefish Shrine and for Olden Days no less. I wish it could’ve fell on a time when you didn’t have school but this’ll be good for you. I’ll be sure to stop on by after work to drop off your toothbrush, clothes, and your pillow. I’ll definitely be there for Olden Days at the end of the week! I’ll see you then, I love you, Lee.”

       Just like that, Lee was locked to the mission granted to him. Anyone like his mother would assume he was helping prepare for Shee-Booyah’s cultural celebration event but there was something much more important at hand. He was charged by the head priestess of the shrine herself to guard the holy bamboo harvest, the key to the success of the celebration.

On paper it sounded like something utterly amazing but like any job the true tedium of the task reared its head after only two days on duty. There may have been the initial theft of the seedlings that he foiled but since then the seeds had taken root and not much else had happened. 

Knifefish Shrine wasn’t in a good reception area so he couldn’t seek much entertainment or interaction with the outside world. With only one power outlet within the shrine and a dozen shrine maidens all needing its services as well, the availability of electricity was limited as well. His portable game system had long since lost its charge. 

He had free range to roam the grounds of the shrine but there was only so much nature one boy could consciously observe. This was definitely going to be a long week… On the other hand there was something he could readily admit was really great; having access to the shrine’s thermal bath whenever he wanted.

Pilgrimages were made by spiritual people from Inkopolis and far beyond to come to this shrine to pray and use the bath. Visitors who came claimed that both their bodies and souls felt rejuvenated. The shrine rested above a hot spring that was chockfull of minerals, making it much different from any other water in Inkopolis.

“Woah-ho-ho, Cus, this water feels so good I feel like I could melt in it.” Guist cooed as he lazily drifted on the surface of the opaque, steaming bath water.

Lee reclined against the bath’s edge and chuckled, “Heh-eh, if you’re not careful Guist, you might just do that.” It was rare to see an Inkling submerged in fresh water but the mineral content of the thermal bath made it remarkably comfortable and even rejuvenating for someone like him. “I mean, you might end up like Juddinyan over here,” he said, pointing off to the side.

There, their other companion, the ghost of Inkopolis’s iconic feline lay in a wash tub filled with water. His body was so relaxed he literally looked like a pile of melted goo in the tub. Unknowing of the eyes upon him he let out a content noise, “Mrrrowr,” he purred in his throat.

       Letting out a quiet laugh, Lee stepped out of the bath to make his way to a washing station and use the handmaid therapeutic soap prepared at the shrine. As boring and uneventful as the job had been for the past couple of days, he was glad to have his two Yokai buddies along with him. Of course that wasn’t to say he was completely bored all the time.

       After lathering himself in the lemon & orange scented herbal soap he gripped the hose connected to the faucet and spun the spigot. Nothing came out. “Huh,” he wondered in response, twisting the valves again. Still nothing; was something stuck in the pipe or was there a kink in the hose? Unsuspecting, he held the hose up to his face to peek inside.

       Big mistake, the hot water suddenly came rushing out, blasting him in the face.  Guist and Juddinyan were alerted to noises coming from Lee, “Glehbluhblehguhbuhbahhh,” he gurgled until he closed off the flow of water. He was soaked, his tentacles fell over his face, and water uncomfortably pooled within his sinuses.

“Yah Hah Hah,” a fiendish laugh reverberated in the bath house, one that made Lee furrow his brow and grind his teeth in aggravation.

Angry, Lee growled, “Grrr, Leakina!”

       Materializing out of the metal faucet, the wispy, watery yokai laughed more at his misfortune. “Yah Hah Hah, gotcha again Leeker,” she congratulated herself before flying up and phasing through the ceiling. Lee let out a distressed groan, this hadn’t been the first time he fell for one of her pranks.

         Earlier that morning when he was getting dressed for the day he noticed his shoes had mysteriously disappeared. He paced back and forth inside the shrine between the common room that served as his sleeping quarters and the main entrance where he was certain he last left them. “Where are they, they were right here I know it!”

Fruitlessly looking over every tile of the small entrance foyer, a voice called out to him, “Yoohoo Leeker!” He peered up; there she was with his hunter hi-tops clutched in her hand. Partially phased through the door, she dangled them, baiting the boy as she went through the door with them. “If you want ‘em, come n’ get ‘em,” she taunted, forcing Lee to throw open the wood & paper door to give chase.

He got down the small, wooden stairs when suddenly… SPLASH! An uncomfortable shiver shot from the bottom of Lee’s feet all the way to the tip of his tentacles as he felt a spreading dampness in his socks. He realized what she made him do, and he couldn’t even shift his eyes to look at her as she giggled. “Gotcha Leeker,” she said, relinquishing his shoes to him. “Shouldn’t walk around outside in just your socks, ya might step in a puddle,” and with that in mind she flew off into the sky.

 Then there was the previous night when Lee was doing his homework before bedtime. Algebraic word problems were rarely difficult for him but he was glad for the silence none-the-less. There was that and the unopened bottle of orange drink he purchased from the convenience store just a walk away from the shrine’s property. Drip, drip, drip, at least he thought all was quiet, maybe he just imagined it. Drip, drip, drip, there it was again. He lowered his pen, looking all around, wondering where and what the source of that noise could be. It was all quiet again just like he wanted. Drip, drip, drip, with that Lee dropped his pencil and darted out of the room.

“All right, who’s making all that noise,” Lee barked, bounding out to where he swore he could hear that racket coming from.

He was met by Guist and Juddinyan questioningly looking over  back at him. The squid spirit quizzed, “Something wrong Cus?” He then dipped a small stick into a bottle he clenched in his tentacle, pulled it out, and then held it up to his mouth. He blew at it, releasing a stream of soapy bubbles. They shortly floated in the air before popping on the blades of grass. Drip was the noise they made when they burst; he very clearly heard it as Juddinyan joined in merrily blowing bubbles as well.

Lee dropped his shoulders and gave a heavy exhal, “No, nothing’s wrong.” He said no more, just closed the door and returned to his seat to tend to his homework. Still feeling a little heated, he decided to cool down with his drink. Reaching for it, he completely misjudged the trajectory of his hand in the dim lighting, accidentally knocking over the bottle. He screeched and scrambled as orange soda dispersed all over the table. In his haste to pick up the bottle first he couldn’t save his sheets of paper from soaking up the liquid. As quick as he was to snatch them away he couldn’t save his homework from being ruined.

Just then, Leakina suddenly materialized in with her hand cupping her cheek. She said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk, wow Leeker that’s no good.”

Beside himself, Lee stuttered out, “Beh—deh—did you make me do this?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she held out her hands defensively, “Don’t go blaming me just because you’re clumsy and had an accident.” Descending, she stood beside him and whispered, “I did loosen the cap though.” The bothersome jokester laughed, “Yah Hah Hah,” before she slipped away through the wall, leaving Lee with an ever-spreading mess.

That wasn’t the end of her mischief but it was all what bothered Lee the most. He thought about it more and more until he finally expressed his frustration to his friends. “Ucck,” he griped, dropping his basket full of unfolded, clean clothes in the main room of the shrine. One of the shrine maidens who he learned was named Nancy noticed how dirty he was getting so she graciously offered to wash and dry his clothes which he couldn’t be more thankful for.

Guist wondered, “What’s got ya all wound tight, Cousin?”

Lee explained, “Its Leakina and her pranks, I’m getting fed up with them.”

The squid spirit tried to reason, “Hey Cus, don’t take it so personally, I mean, y’know, she is a Yokai an’ like, Yokai, they gotta cause trouble f’people, right?” He said that as if he wasn’t so sure of what he was saying. “I mean, maybe she just likes you, dude?”

Letting out a puff, Lee grew more restless; in his childhood, when he had been bullied that was one of the reasons adults gave to explain why it happened to him. He argued, “You and Juddinyan like me to and you don’t do anything like that to—HEY! Juddinyan what are you doing?” Much to his surprise he found the cat yokai slumbering peacefully in his laundry basket.

“It was fresh out the dryer,” he stretched out his legs, pawing at the air, “I felt compelled to, meow.”

Lee grimaced at his favorite polo, “Aww man, you got fur all over my shirt!”

 Despite looking sloppy with ghost fur clinging to him, Lee was undeterred in a mission he set for himself. He needed to find and confront Lyra and Leakina. Lucky for him he managed to find them both at the bamboo field so maybe he could get something done about Leakina’s constant bullying. Steeling himself; Lee puffed out his chest, squared his shoulders, and stomped his feet as he approached. “Miss Lyra, there’s something important I need to talk to you about,” he said, feeling as confident and firm as possible.

The head priestess peered over her shoulder and so did the watery poltergeist as he announced his presence. They seemed troubled by something as Lyra declared, “Well whatever it is Lee, it’s going to have to wait, something’s wrong with the field.”

Shocked, he let out the breath he was holding, deflating himself before he stuttered, “Wha—what’s going on?”

Lyra worriedly explained, “The crop is blessed to grow fast so the stalks should be at least knee high by now!” She gestured out to the field where very clearly, he could only see the shoots sprouting mere inches out of the ground.

He asked, “What do you think could be the problem? I mean—I’ve been looking after the fields night and day!”

She replied, “I know you have.” She then turned to Leakina who was examining the soil, ”Do you have any idears—err, ahem, ideas, Leakina?”

The yokai let out a hum before she stood up, “The soil is really really dry all over like it hasn’t been watered in days.”

“That’s impossible,” Lee interrupted, “We’ve been watering three times a day just like you said, Miss Lyra.” He was worried she may think this problem might be caused by him and his friends when he was as diligent as possible with his task.

 She acknowledged that as well, putting the boy’s fears to rest, “Yes, I know. You’ve been thorough, don’t worry, but we need to get back on schedule.”

A thought came to Lee, “Maybe the Moleymoreys might know something,” he suggested.

Leakina presented a piece of paper to him, wryly replying, “You mean the ones that left this.”

The note read: Dear Squiddo, the past couple days have been way way too hot. Me n’ the boys r’ headin’ on down to the beach, call us when you get rain up there. It was signed by Boss Moley.

Lee was particularly taken by the complaint about the heat. While they were technically still in summer, the coolness of fall was supposed to set in—but it hadn’t. He began to grow suspicious, “Don’t tell Guist but I have a feeling a yokai might be behind this.”

Whatever the cause may be, Lyra was determined to find it; “We’ll have to keep a close eye on these fields. Leakina, we’re staying at the shrine tonight with Lee and others for a stack out—excuse me, I mean a stakeout.”

 Just as she said, later that night the two squids and three yokai remained at the shrine to keep watch over the bamboo crop. As the night went on they took shifts one-by-one; vigilant in looking out for any anomalies in the field. Lee awoke to the sound of his phone alarm; he took the shift just before sunrise.

On the tatami floor of the dark room he managed to catch sight of Juddinyan and Guist slumbering together. Juddinyan was curled up, purring soundly while Guist lay against him. Lee let out a quiet laugh at Guist; he was still clutching a tiny Splattershot while wearing a bandolier of ink cartridges strapped to his shoulder, and a headband wrapped just above his eyes. In his words, “I’m ready to rock n’ roll, Cus!” For the most part, nothing had happened all night though.

Something he did find peculiar was seeing Lyra asleep on a futon in the room. Aren’t I supposed to take over for her, what’s she doing sleeping? He found Leakina in her stead outside at their designated sentry post; a small veranda overlooking the field and the entire forest.

He cautiously and quietly approached, “Leakina?” When she turned to him, he asked, “Wasn’t it Lyra’s turn to keep a lookout?”

She unveiled, “Lyra was too sleepy to stay up so I took over for her.”

“Ohh,” Lee muttered, “Well all right then.” He approached her and leaned against the railing. “It’s my turn to keep watch so if you want to go to bed, feel free to.”

Staring off into space, Leakina answered, “Nah I got way too much to think about to sleep.”

Lee tapped his fingers on the wooden barricade; as much as he would prefer not to talk to a bully like her—maybe an honest conversation would help. He couldn’t figure out what it would help but it might. He quizzed, “What’re ya thinking about?”

“Just stuff,” she said nonchalantly, “What I’m gonna do for Yo-Fest, what kinda pranks I’m gonna pull, how I died, that kinda stuff.”

Hearing that really shook Lee, he said, “That’s kind of morbid don’t you think?” 

Leakina answered, “I’m a ghost, how I died is in important part of my afterlife.” 

“You know that makes perfect sense,” Lee conceded, though he preferred not to ask about the gory details. After that silence fell between the two with Lee feeling like he had nothing to talk about with her. His glance shifted between the bamboo field they watched below and her as she didn't take her eyes off them. It took a minute for him to work up the courage but he finally asked, “Say Leakina, how come you keep pulling your pranks on me?” 

She readily replied, “Lyra won’t let me cause any trouble for the visitors or the other maidens so that leaves you.” 

He inquired, “You really listen to whatever Lyra says, don’t you?”

“Of course, I don’t want to make her angry, she’ll kick me out of her house if I do, and have you seen her bathroom fixtures? They’re pure brass with a brushed nickel finish, and she keeps them so clean!” Her voice was so—unreasonably excited, Lee thought.

He genuinely wondered, “Is that all?”

“Nope,” Leakina said, “Her fridge has an ice maker to!” Lee shot her such a disconcerting glance that she finally admitted, “Okay, okay, I’m just kidding, happy Leeker? I will say I’m grateful she invited me into her home, and I can definitely admit this—I love being with her and getting to come here to the shrine every day. Not many people would do any of that for Yokai, especially me.”

That might be the shift in topic he could use to voice his troubles, but Lee couldn’t figure out how to approach it so instead he tip toed around the subject. “Maybe—if you thought of why—you could fix it? Then people will let you in?” Lee had half a mind to argue about that but before he could open his mouth she turned to him to show a wide, somewhat bone chilling smile, “But that’s where you come in! I wouldn’t trade you for even a hundred people to prank! You’re really fun. Leeker!” 

“Huh,” he breathed in confusion.

She happily confirmed, “Yeah; you’re such a good sport! You don’t get mad or spiteful or anything, I mean Lyra laid down the law that if I mess with any of the guests she’ll exercise me right then and there. She doesn’t understand that Yokai need to cause trouble and inspirit people, it’s what our afterlife is all about-- but you do!” She turned to him, so giddy that her hands shook, “Every Yokai should have someone like you, Leeker!”

Was that a compliment she was giving? Was it also appreciation? Lee felt like it was but also at the same time he wished those words actually meant something, or maybe they did? One thing’s for sure, if he wasn’t going to go bonkers during this mission he needed to get her to leave him alone.

Before he could try to talk again she suddenly silenced him, “Ho-ho-hold on, Leeker what’s that out there?” She leaned over the veranda railing and pointed out toward the field.

Lee followed her direction only to see a startling sight. Even though it was early in the morning and the waking rays of the sun ushered in the first signs of day there was an unusually bright light coming from the bamboo orchard. “Help me get Miss Lyra and the others up!” Lee hastily ordered; him and Leakina springing into action.

 With the rest of the group awakened, they all rushed to find the suspect, possibly the one who had been affecting the field? They could just barely make out a humanoid shape in the blinding unearthly glow they emitted. “It’s a Yokai,” Lee commented.

Juddinyan’s fur stood on end as he gasped, “Rrow, not just any Meowkai!” Suddenly filled with fear he dove into Lee’s shirt, hiding from the scene.

As Lee screeched from the feeling of nails digging into his skin, Guist wondered, “Juddindude what’s wrong? Is this yokai a bad mammajamma?”

“The meowst,” Juddinyan said, “That’s one of the worst Yokai criminals around, Dehydreaded!” He was certainly quite an imposing looking figure with the appearance of an Agave plant. “He’s facing 10 n’yo life sentences for causing multiple droughts in the Meowkai world.”

Lyra scoffed, “I don’t care how dangerous he is in the Yokai world, if he’s the one harming the harvest then he needs to be stopped.” Bravely, Lyra stepped forward, beckoning   the adversary, “You there! As the head of this shrine I demand you leave these holy grounds at once!” 

Dehydreaded whirled around to face her in sheer surprise, “What in the—good gracious, you can see me?” 

“Of course I can, I just said I was the head of the shrine!” Lyra stomped her foot, “Now I order you to leave or I’ll be forced to vacate you from these grounds and this plane myself.” 

The big bad yokai stared her down, in the face of her earnest threat he simply replied, “I can’t do that.” 

“What?” Lyra barked back in disbelief. 

He raised his hands and said, “You can stay and get comfortable if you want but today I drought everything in this field once and for all!” He then emitted a pulse of energy from his hands that spread out all over the field, “And I’ll make sure nothing can grow here ever again! HAAAH!”

The energy wave reached Lee and his friends and they immediately felt the effects of Dehydreaded’s power.  As Guist described it, “Like whoa, did this dude put us in some kinda oven?” He wiped his brow at the sweltering heat and sudden heaviness surrounding him. He dug out his Ypad tablet computer to find a helpful description of the criminal. “No way, totally bogus, his Yokai power is to cause the baddest of bad dry spells.”

“I’ll say, he’s draining all the water out of the soil,” Leakina revealed, “He’s gonna kill the bamboo!”

Startled, Guist shook Lee by the shoulder, begging him, “Yo! Cus we gotta do something, quick, call somebody with the Yokai Watch!”

“Right, phew,” Lee agreed with a sigh, “Huff—huff- huff,” he breathed deeply and dawdled in his actions. “Hey Juddinyan can you get out of my shirt, your fur is making me sweat.” He suspected the cowering cat was a contribution to the discomfort he faced but that wasn’t the case.

Standing beside him, Juddinyan said, “But I’m nyot.”

Lee’s head wobbled slightly as he mumbled, “Ohh, okay, hoiye.” Guist and Juddinyan watched the nerve wracking sight of Lee attempting to reach into his cargo pocket for a yokai card only for him to fall to one knee. His voice was so weak it was practically a whisper, “Huu, can you guys take my phone and call my mom? I don’t feel so good.” They both rushed to his sides as he dropped to his hands and knees, sweat pouring off of him as his breathing became extremely husky.

Juddinyan asked, “Meow, Lee, what’s wrong?”

Guist gasped, “Cus, what’s up, don’t let him bug ya!”

Thought their focus was on Lee, they were alarmed by a scream that came from Leakina. “Lyra, Lyra, what’s happening to you, speak to me, please!” She hovered over the priestess who just like Lee had weakly fallen to the floor; dizzy, weak, and looking nauseous.

She desperately, shakily tried to reach into the neck hole of her priestess uniform. As she rooted around she growled, “I have to—I have—to stop him—I—I can’t let him ruin Yo-Fest…” With that, she collapsed onto the ground.

The heat emitted by Dehydreaded was more intense than any of them thought and it took the worst toll on Lee and Lyra. The trio of yokai watched helplessly and Dehydreaded sneered, “Get them out of here; squids are more fragile than plants ever could be. Look at them drying out!” Sure enough just as he said, their squid forms were releasing visible streams of steam and their bodies began to slowly, worryingly curl up. 

The only response Guist and Juddinyan had to such a dangerous dilemma was to begin running around, sweating and screaming while flailing in panic. Guist cried, “What are we gonna, we’re finished, game over dude, game over!”  

Despite their fear, Leakina wasn’t willing to run around like her head was cut off. Instead she yelled, “Get it together!” With their attention on her she began to act quickly. They watched as she gripped her watery hair at the base of her skull and with little effort—she yanked her hair clean off her head. She shook it open like a plastic bag and instructed, “Put them in here!” Lee and Lyra were swiftly deposited into her hair as Leakina explained, “every part of me is pure water so this should get them both hydrated!” 

They watched the shriveled, unmoving bodies of the two squids gently float in the makeshift bag, miraculously taking in the moisture. There wasn’t time to breathe a sigh of relief as Leakina shoved her reformed hair into Juddinyan’s arms, “Here, hold this for me, Furball,” she said. 

“Meow?” Juddinyan mewed in wonderment as she floated toward Dehydreaded. 

Guist queried, “Whaddya gonna do Leak-babe?” 

With her fist in her palm, she cracked her knuckles, “I’m gonna make sure he pays for this, Squirt.” She was completely and totally different from the laughing, joking prankster they knew her to be over the short time they’d been acquainted. As if to punctuate this shift in character a powerful looking blue aura began to radiate around her.

Standing before Dehydreaded, Leakina challenged him, “All right Dry Bones, you hurt Lyra and the Leeker so now I’m gonna hurt something of yours!”

“What are you going to do little Missy?” He underestimated her, and thrust his hands forward, blasting out another pulse of droughting energy, “Why don’t you just evaporate!” 

Leakina met his attack head on; literally, she bent her barren head down and reflected the hot rays, shining them back at Dehydreaded. He had to stop in order to shield his eyes from the intense light, shouting, “Acck! My eyes! My eyes!”

With that, Leakina raised her fist and howled, “Soak it up— DAM BURST!” With her shout she slammed her fist into the ground, causing the earth to begin to violently rumble. 

Guist shook despite hovering above the ground, “Whoa dude, what kinda gnarly wave is this?” 

Juddinyan explained, “She’s using her Soultimeowte!” 

“Her Soultimate?” Guist repeated.

The power of her counterattack became extremely apparent when a torrent of water fired out of the ground beneath Dehydreaded’s feet. It sent him flying sky high while showering water all over the field. The air cooled with the rain, the soil took it all in, and right before their very eyes the bamboo shoots began to rise. Every stalk grew to a miraculous healthy height, and there in the center of it all was Leakina; victorious over the big bad boss. 

Even more miraculous, Lee and Lyra were revived with the help of Leakina’s hair. They hit their tentacles, motioning to be freed so Juddinyan dumped them out onto the damp soil. 

“Leakina, did you do this,” Lee’s mouth was agape in amazement. 

She rushed, “Forget that, Lyra, hurry up and send this guy to the big kiddie pool in the sky!” She motioned to finish off Dehydreaded who fell back to earth after the geyser Leakina had made ran out of power. He pathetically laid face flat in the dirt, struggling to push himself up to his feet. 

With her strength returned to her, Lyra fished out what she had been looking for within her collar. In her hand was a simple piece of paper. Written on it though was a powerful incantation; one for banishing troublesome poltergeists from the living world. She began to recite a prayer, “By the almighty goodness of our world, I hereby banish you evil spirit from this world, begone with you so sa—” 

“Miss Lyra, stop, please!” Lee jumped and grabbed her arm as she raised the talisman, ready to pin it to Dehydreaded.

Everyone was puzzled by his sudden defense of the big bad boss but Lyra was the first to vocalize her dismay, “Lee, what are you doing? This Yokai tried to kill us and he nearly destroyed the bamboo harvest! What are you thinking?”

“Just,” he stuttered, “Just let me try talking to him!” He tepidly stepped toward him and crouched down beside the weakened ghost. He said, “Umm—Mr.—umm—Dehydreaded sir, are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

Bunching his fist, Dehydreaded replied, “Get away from me, Boy, I don’t need your pity. Get away from me or I’ll make calamari out of you.” 

His allies couldn’t fathom what he was trying to do. Sliding her hair back onto her head and running her hands through it, Leakina asked, “Are you joking, Leeker?” 

Even Guist couldn’t comprehend the mercy he wanted to show, “Cousin are you totally sure about this?” 

Juddinyan hissed, “If he tries anything I’ll scratch his eyes out.” 

Ignoring them, Lee continued speaking with Dehydreaded, “I’m not trying to pity you—can I at least ask why you tried to attack us?” 

The boss yokai said, “I didn’t want to attack you! All I was told to do was destroy that bamboo field and I’d get what I want.” 

“What is it you want,” Lee zeroed in on those words. 

Dehydreaded said without delay, “I’m trying to save my daughter.” 

Lee gasped, “Y-your daughter?” 

Hearing the conversation, Lyra was quick to warn, “Be careful Lee, Yokai are known to lie.”  

“It’s true,” Leakina confirmed, “See watch, hey Furball, who won the Cats vs. Dogs Splatfest?” 

Juddinyan answered, “Cats meow’f course.” 

“See,” Leakina said, eliciting a hiss from him. 

Lee paid them no mind; he could hear it in his voice, see it in his watery eyes, and feel it from the yokai’s trembling fists—Lee knew he wasn’t lying. He just knew it as he hooked his hands under Dehydreaded’s arm and helped him up to his feet. “Do you know where she is,” he inquired. 

By coincidence, the daughter he claimed to be looking for was located right on the grounds of Knifefish Shrine. It was a short trek through the woodlands surrounding the main facility, following the creek that ran through it. They found themselves in an area where the vegetation was far thicker and healthier than all the rest and even for summer this spot felt more unseasonably humid than any other.  Forking the creek was a small shrine that housed a stone statue. It looked like it was crafted by an expert stone carver but Dehydreaded said, “There she is!” 

Lyra revealed, “That’s the Maiden of the Mist!” she recalled a legend passed down between shrine maidens since the founding of the shrine and Shee-Booyah. “She was said to appear on foggy summer days, and she would make the haze so thick that it would make travel along the roads nearly impossible.”

Dehydreaded let out a proud laugh, “Yuk yuk yuk, that’s my girl.”

Furrowing her brow, Lyra spoke to Lee, “Are you sure you want me to help this yokai?  How are you so sure he won’t turn on us and try to destroy the field again?”

       Lee argued, “Sometimes even Yokai need a little faith and trust. I’m sure he didn’t really want to hurt us, just give him a chance Miss Lyra. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for spirits, to appease them?”

       She let out a huff, then picked up her skirt and waded out to the squat shrine in order to inspect the statue.  “The Maiden of the Mist was sealed away by priestesses long ago. They used particularly powerful enchantments.” She checked, as if to be sure she was correct, “This could take some time for me to remove the seals binding her.”

 Some time was quite an extremely vague description. Lee checked the time on his cell phone to see that they had been here since sunrise and it was currently the early afternoon. Lyra had been reciting a series of prayers and chants for seemingly hours on end. Dehydreaded watched every second of it, silent, motionless, his very being seeming to hedge on Lyra’s every action. Guist, Juddinyan, and Leakina had long since gotten bored waiting and were meandering about to entertain themselves.  One thing was for sure, this was certainly a testament to her fortitude to be able to pray for this long.

That grit would prove itself as she finally finished. The talismans stuck to the statue peeled away and the stone shell began to crack with them. Fractures appeared all over until it finally crumbled away into nothing, freeing the ghostly being trapped inside. 

“T-Tropicanna?” Unable to believe his eyes, Dehyreaded trudged through  the water to the revived yokai. Just like him she had a plant-like appearance, only instead of being a drought resisting flora, as Lee later identified, she was a tropical canna flower.  

She wobbled unsteadily, unable to focus her vision but Dehydreaded held her still. His hands gently cupped her cheeks and he stared into her eyes, trembling as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “D-daddy,” she weakly managed to stutter. 

That was all he needed, Dehydreaded let out a wail and cried, “You’re back! My precious little flower!” He threw his arms around her and lifted her up into the air. Unable to contain his excitement, he spun around with her in his arms and though she was still weak and dizzied, she smiled. She wasn’t the only one, the audience of squids and yokai watched the reunion in glad reverence. 

Guist wiped his eyes but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in them, “This is totally righteous dude, I think… I don’t… I can’t stop the waterworks, yo.” 

Juddinyan couldn’t handle it either, he bawled, “c’mere mew!” They both cried over each other’s shoulders—unknowing that Leakina was intently watching them. 

Meanwhile, with Tropicanna still in his arms, Dehydreaded approached Lee, ever grateful as he said, “You there, Boy, I can’t thank you enough for bringing me and my precious flower back together!” 

“I didn’t really do anything,” Lee admitted, “It was Miss Lyra that broke the seal on her.”  

Fixing his statement of gratitude, Dehydreaded said, “I’m so very sorry for what I did to both of you, if there’s anything, anything at all I can do for you, I’ll do it.” 

Lyra said, “You can leave, thanks to you we’re so far behind schedule and we’re just days away from Yo-Fest!” 

Hearing that made Tropicanna gasp, “Wait, it’s almost time for Yo-Fest?!” 

 Returning back to the field, none of the party could anticipate what the two yokai had in mind but they were going to do what they could to repay them for their kindness. Dehydreaded said, “My precious flower had the best idea. To make up what I did to your bamboo harvest, we’ll stick around here until Yo-Fest. I can control dryness and she can control humidity, together we’ll make this area like a greenhouse! You’ll have nothing but the perfect conditions to get your bamboo growing just right!” 

Lee happily grinned, “You would do that for us?” 

Dehydreaded reassured, “It’s the least I can do for all the trouble I caused you.” With that he cupped the shoulder of Tropicanna, “You ready to go,” he asked. 

“Just a second, Daddy,” she said before hovering up to Lee. There she said, “I wanted to thank you myself for bringing Daddy and me back together. Whatever he might’ve done—he’s really not a bad guy, I promise, he’s just overprotective—really overprotective,” she added.  

Lee replied, “Trust me. My mom is the same way. Honestly, if I was in the same position as you were, she would’ve turned the whole city upside-down and inside out twice to find me.” 

Tropicanna laughed, “Yik yik yik, well that’s good to know. Still though, you’re the greatest,” she took his hand into her own, “And we can’t thank you enough.”  

“It—it really was no--,” Lee tried to stutter out his reply but was interrupted by the sight of an ethereal glow emitting from between their hands. It faded shortly after but there in his palms was none other than her own Yokai card. 

“Call me anytime,” she playfully winked at him before fluttering back to her father who glared at Lee with a scornful stare. “Ready Daddy?” She held his hand, and while he looked over his shoulder to keep that same look trained on Lee, the two walked off, fading into nothing.  

Even though they appeared to be gone their presence certainly lingered. The area in and around the bamboo field was so temperate and comfortable in stark contrast to the hot, humid air around them. It was just as they said, perfect.

“Meow’s well that end’s well,” Juddinyan concluded. 

Guist agreed, “No doubt, and smooth moves to you, Cousin, you saved the day and totally scored that righteous babe’s Yokai card.” 

His sense of humility made Lee say, “I didn’t do anything, really, it was Lyra and Leakina that made it all happen.” 

“Leakina totally made a mondo move back there, she saved your life, Cousin” Guist wiggled his pale tentacles in glee. 

Knowing that, Lee grimaced, “Yeah—yeah she did.” This was quite a conflicting conundrum for him but then he suddenly realized something, “Wait, where are Lyra and Leakina?” 

As it turned out, they hadn’t gotten far, just a ways up the healthy bamboo field to survey the land. Lyra said, “It looks exactly how it’s supposed to, Leakina you really came through today, in more ways than one.”

The mischievous poltergeist gave a modest shrug, “Hey I wasn’t just gonna roll over while you and the Leeker got washed out!”

Lyra wasn’t sure what she meant by that but she sighed in content, “Well the important thing is we’re back on track for getting ready for Yo-Fest.”

That wasn’t good enough for Leakina, she exclaimed, “Well yeah, that’s important to all Yokai but there’ll be other Yo-Fests, I mean, we’ve been having them for millennia, but there’s only one you.”

“Huh, what do you mean?” Lyra was unclear of what she meant by that statement.

Leakina’s answer was as bold as it was unrestrained, “You heard me! There will be other Yo-Fests but I wasn’t about to let anything happen to you! Just thinking about how that soggy puddle hurt you—my soultimate wouldn’t be enough to give him what he deserves! I would’ve gone until I evaporated into nothing!”

 How to take all that in? Lyra stood there, breathless, her heartbeat quickening as she processed everything Leakina said. Did she really care enough about her as a friend to be willing to go through that much for her? Wondering, Lyra held out her hand, “You would do all that for me?” She wondered if this was the opportunity in which Leakina would finally bestow her with her Yokai card?

“MISS LYRA! MISS LYRA!” They were interrupted by a shark shrine maiden rushing toward her.

Lyra greeted, “Good morning Sister Amy, what’s the problem!”

“THE BATH HOUSE,” she answered anxiously, “YOU HAVE TO COME AT ONCE!”

 They arrived to find the thermal bath had been completely drained. Leakina came clean saying she had to draw from a source of water to unleash her Soultimate and the closest one was the underground spring that the bath drew water from. That explained how the bamboo was able to grow and be healthy so lightning fast but that did not settle well with Lyra. As much as Leakina tried to explain that being a spring it would refill eventually, Lyra still had to punish her for this

She was given an ultimatum, face exorcism or be confined to a glass bottle until the bath refilled. Leakina took the imprisonment in the bottle

“That’s rough, meow,” Juddinyan commented.

“Mega harsh,” Guist agreed, “You think we should do something to help her, Cousin?”

Lee hummed while in thought, “Mmm—nah, she’ll be fine.” As cruel as the punishment was, and as bad as it was for him to think in such a way there was a part of Lee deep down inside him that felt a sense of satisfaction seeing Leakina in such a predicament. One thing was for sure, Yo-Fest was going to be upon them soon enough.

To Be Continued…

[frankeyss-blog]

1st Draft “ CANT CHEAT DESTINY

Can’t Cheat Destiny

I’ve never told this story before but I think it’s time you all know the truth. It’s been exactly twenty years since the homeboy’s Mario’s sister died. I am not that same person anymore, and now that everyone that was in the incident is dead. Well, allow me to tell you what happened that night in early ‘98, Mr. Priest.

“Go ahead, I got all day son.”

But I don’t. So this is it. So please record it. Only to show their mother. I heard she ain’t doing too good, yeah? I don’t want to let her die without knowing the truth about her kids, ya know.

“Do what you need to do to make this place a better one once you pass, son.”

Well, this dude was a hard nigga, straight up. We called him Maury cause he always had random bitches telling him he their baby daddy. His real name was Mario though. He had mad short people trauma. He liked getting drunk and picking fights at parties, hitting on taken girls, try to drink the most and smoke the most. You know, it was all fun for us cause we’d known him so well that we didn’t take him seriously.

You know, we all grew up in Long Beach. Not the Belmont side, not the Bellflower, not even close to Signal Hill. We were from downtown right before they started remodeling the area closest to the port. Cause all that shit is nice now. Bar here, lounge there, wine tasting over here and a club in every block. Pine avenue is where people go lose their money now. Back in ‘97, when all three of us graduated high school, Pine avenue was the block you lost your life in. It was the crack spot, the whore house and the place you wouldn’t want to be without at least a fucking knife, man. Most people carried guns, most people had no bullets in them but I wouldn’t try to test nobody. I survived that shit cause I was from there. I messed with the right people and picked the right people to ignore. My mom was a drug user, my most loyal customer. She still owes me money to this day. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. Mario’s mom too.

I can’t tell you when I met Mario. I don’t remember. My earliest memory of him is, us drinking water at the Cesar Chavez Park out of a garden hose because we had ditched class. We were in second grade at the time and we used to go back to my house while my mom was at work and smoke the cigarette butts she left on the coffee table. Mario would always want to do some extra shit like drink my mom's liquor, burn shit for the fuck of it. It was never enough trouble for him. He would push me to get on a random bus and just cruise through the city. People gave no fucks back in the day you know. Things were probably worse back then but people weren’t as alert about it. I guess two seven year olds alone in a bus wasn’t important enough for anyone to notice or care. I was always about twice the size of Mario so people probably thought he was my little brother. Shit, only if they knew I was following his orders.

This was our way of life for the longest time. Doing whatever the fuck we wanted. Our moms didn’t care. At least, I didn’t think so back then. I had never met my father, and I think Mario’s left him when he was like two. So doing whatever we wanted to do made us feel like men. We got in trouble and shit but it was the only way we could experience and learn from life. Luckily, I was the only child. Mario had a little sister. About four years younger than him. She outgrew him when she was in 7th grade, he was a junior then. I never teased him about it cause it was that one thing that triggered him the most. Everyone else, though. We would be in school or at the park playing ball, and dudes be asking him like, Yo, where’s your sister at? I rather have her ass on my team! Me too, shit. I always had Mario’s back though, no matter what. These moments is what made Mario so feisty. He always needed to prove a point. I fought a lot of his fights and maybe I helped his ego grow because he always had someone to rely on.

On 9th grade, this fool joined a gang. Not any gang either, he had to go prove himself he was better than any other thug and drug dealer. He went ahead and joined the Crips. We always had an invitation to the gang because we lived in the neighborhood. All main heads knew us since we were children and whether we were in the gang or not they protected us, invited us to parties, they had our backs and we had theirs. No need to actually join the gang. I really wish Mario would’ve consulted me first. There I went helping him sell weed and hustle. We were already living the ghetto life, no need to have to wear blue so everyone knows you’re being a low life on purpose. I can tell you that Mario watched Scarface too many times. I remember the summer from Junior to Senior year was crazy. Everyday we would go to the local liquor and I would steal a few forties while he bought a swisher and a lighter. We would kick it at my house. Smoke my mom out. We’ll wait for his little sister to get out of summer school at noon and go fuck with the little youngsters from her middle school. She hated us, man. She was so ashamed of Mario but we gave no fucks, we were faded. She always stayed away from us as much as she could. I don’t blame her now. I don’t think I ever did. Mario would pick a couple fights, we’ll sell a few grams and recruit one or two kids a week. The main heads liked Mario but they also knew his ass wasn’t alone, there was a dumb nigga doing half his work for him, that was me. Like I said though, I didn’t care, I was having fun, Mario had his gat, I had my knife, we were cool.

Remember when I said, Mario never settled though. He always had to go do some extra shit.

Fast forward to when we were in senior year. High school wasn’t as bad. No one fucked with us because they knew they could die. That was the truth. Get your fucking brains blown out for talking shit or looking at someone the wrong way. If you carried a bandana that wasn’t blue, chances were you were going to get a few broken ribs after school that day.

We made it to winter break, that year of ‘97. Mario had the great idea of impressing his mom and stealing a car for her. When Mario told me about it, it wasn’t a plea for help, it was a plan, alright. This fool, had spotted a ‘64 impala on the other side of the city, closer to Wilmington. Don’t worry about Wilmington, just know that they don’t like crips.

It was December 22nd. Cold as fuck man, I had told my mom I was going to wal mart to get some christmas gift for one of my teachers. Mario had actually told his mom he was going to go get her a christmas present. I was wearing a black Steelers hoodie and he was wearing a bright blue Cowboys jacket.

We met at his house. Drank a forty with his mom. We smoked a spliff on our walk to the bus stop. I had never stolen a car before, this was some big boy shit. I assumed Mario knew what he was doing. Even though he seemed to have big balls, he would never approach something without at least knowing he had a chance to win or achieve his goal. I just followed Mario. I remember my hands stayed inside the pocket of my hoodie the whole ride there. Mario was talking about how this gangsta life was paying of. He was trying to go into moving bricks and maybe trying to hustle pussy in the hood. He wanted the life of scarface. Big mansions, big cars and fine bitches at his feet. If he made it, that meant I made it too. I was riding his same cloud. It’s been like that for so long.

We got to Wilmington, we get off the bus somewhere on Anaheim blvd and the beautiful six-four impala is right fucking there. The rims were shiny, the reflection of the moon laid peacefully on the chrome bumpers. The car was painted light brown. The hydraulics were painted blue and before I was done appreciating the beauty of the car Mario had already found a rock to break the window.

“Aye bro, nah. That’s so high key.” I remember saying to him.

“Don’t be a pussy.” he said to me.

“This ain’t our hood Maury. Can’t be fucking around.” I tried to convince him. I thought he had a plan. “How are you supposed to turn it on?”

“Hot wire it, nigga.”

“Nigga, cause you know how to hotwire a fucking car.” I replied.

Mario walked to the driver's side of the car and looked in. I stood a few feet in front of the head lights. He took his cowboy hoodie off and wrapped the rock around it. Lucky bastard broke the window off on the first try.

“Get in, bro. Here you go,” he said as he handed me what it seemed to be a 9 mm. I was first to jump inside the car. Went through the driver's side and slid to the passenger side. I don’t know for how long I turned behind my shoulder to see if anyone was coming from behind us but when I turned around to face forward, Mario was already on Drive mode. Talk about a rush. Nothing like it. At age 17, that shit’s better than sex, man. You feel like a giant amongst men. You feel like a wildfire around a bunch of dry weeds. Unstoppable. Until something bigger than you comes. Everything that goes up must come down, right?

“Dawg, I think I dropped my sweater back there,” he said, “Fuck it.”

Mario never told me the aftermath of the carjack with the gang. Two days after new years, I was kicking it with Tripple. The homeboy I told you about at the beginning. He was a crip too. His dad was a main head. We were smoking a cigarette in the patio of my apartment watching people walk by. Chill mode, no danger, everyone knows each other in the Projects.

“You heard about lil Maury, bro?” he opened.

“Nah, partied with him on new years. He went home with some bitch and I just came back home.”

“Remember the wheels that nigga stole?” he said.

“No shit. I was there with him.” I replied without hesitation to look hard.

“So my dad had beef with this OG from wilmas blood gang. Follow this shit though. They had squashed it about three months ago. Now, Mario left or dropped his bright ass blue sweater at that niggas porch. When my dad asked Mario if he had done it, which we all know he’s the only dumb ass that goes for the cowboys, he said nah. He said, he had stolen that shit from somewhere in LA.”

“So…” I didn’t want to assume what was going to happen to Mario.

“My pops is going to send him on a mission to prove himself a real gangster.”

“This foo just stole a car from an OG. What else does your dad want?” I was scared.

“Yeah, but he fucking lied. He’s a got to stab a motherfucker.” Tripple said this quietly as if his intention was not too make me worry. He had his head down because he knew this was going to affect me too.

“You can’t get him out of it?” I asked him without trying to sound like I was begging. My lips were the only warm part of my body because of the cigarette. My voice was all I could use at the moment.

Tripple looked at me in the eye and I noticed his eyes take note of my facial expression. He raised his eyebrows and said, “I already did. He was supposed to go shoot at some cops. Mario told him to send him out to do some shit so that he could prove to him, to my pops, he could be a main head.”

“Fuck, bro. Alright, thanks for the heads up.” That’s exactly what it was. A warning for me to be ready when Mario calls. Mario, always with the extra shit.

“I’ll be there too, homie. My dad wants me to make sure everything goes smooth.” Tripple said as he took a few steps away from me to crush his cigarette butt on the ground.

That must’ve happened around three p.m. because my mom wasn’t back from work yet. I remember I waited for Mario’s call all day. When he didn’t hit me up by ten at night, I decided to smoke a joint with my mom to release some stress and knock out. Even though it was a weekend, I didn’t feel like turning up. I remember that feeling of insecurity.

My mom woke me up that same night around one a.m. telling me Mario was on the phone. I got up and asked him what’s up. He knew that I knew because he was with Tripple already. I grabbed my knife, the same one as always. I dressed all in black and waited for them to come through.

It takes five minutes to walk from Mario’s house to mine. These dudes made it in like 2 minutes, I remember. This is how I knew they were nervous as fuck.

I ain’t no crip, but still our handshake was and then we walked through and out of our hood. There were a few parties poppin off. This was no time to fuck around though. Don’t matter how cool or how close you think you are to your crip gang. This needed to happen. If Mario didn’t come through, man. Crip motherfuckers, back in the day, were the real deal. They gave no fucks, they were violent and proud of it. Who knows where Mario was going to end up if he didn’t pull through this one.

Tripple suggested we got some forties and pack a few bowls before we acted on anything. So Tripple already had weed. So just like the old days, we walk to a liquor store and Mario goes in distracting the cashier by buying swishers to roll blunts and I went stealing some forties.

We walked a few blocks and everything seemed so alive, everyone was partying. It was the weekend after new years. It was going to be hard to keep all this shit low key so we decided to post up on top of the bathroom building inside the Cesar Chavez Park. Yup, the same place Mario and I used to go run to first after ditching elementary. Doors were always open because of crackheads breaking in to sleep in there. This was like five miles off of our crib.

We started cracking jokes, we started sipping on our forties and we never really talked about why we were doing this. It was part of our life, this was normal in our hood. We were those niggas doing dirt shit in the middle of the night. We were the reason people locked their doors that night.

I don’t remember the time but I do remember the streets started getting quieter. Less and less bodies were seen on the sidewalk. Car lights started to disappear and we all knew why we were there. We stood up on the edge of this two story building and posted like alligators waiting for prey to step into our swamp.

About twenty minutes went by and I remember checking my watch then. 1: 45 a.m.

Everything seemed blurry. All three of us were pretty much crossfaded. The building felt ten stories high and I remember stepping back from the ledge. Tripple was looking down. His vision was stuck on something down there, or maybe he was just drunk but I was paying more attention to Mario. His toes were in the air, his heels balancing his whole body on the edge of the building. Always making everything more dangerous than it has to.

“There. White sweater.” Mario said to himself.

“Let’s go kid. Now you got your chance to be raw.” Tripple said. “I can’t tell if it’s a guy or a girl.”

Any other day we would’ve laughed but not today.

“You’re going to wait here, Mario.” Tripple said while handing him his knife. “I’ll bring him up here, we can’t do it down there in the street.”

This wasn’t Tripple's fight but the drugs and alcohol added to his bravery. Truth is, he knew Mario couldn’t fight someone bigger than him too well. Specially if he had to drag them upstairs.

“He’s right.” I added to the fear in all of us, “too high key.”

Tripple took his sweater off halfway. His arms were still in to use it as a choke around the dudes neck and drag him up. I was surprised they didn’t ask for my help. I don’t think I could’ve done it. I was fucked up. We were all fucked up.

While Tripple went down and got the dude. Mario didn’t take his sight off the fire escape exit on top of the building. I couldn’t intervene because I knew this wasn’t my fight.

To my surprise, Tripple walked up without making any unnecessary sounds while holding the body on a chokehold. The top half was covered with his sweater and the bottom half was naked. It wasn’t a dude.

We all laughed as if this was a bigger victory. Only because we knew how easy everything was going to go.

“Give me your best shot, right here baby, right here.” Tripple whispered at Mario while pointing at this poor girl's head.

We fucked her up.

I remember kicking her ribs and seeing Tripple’s sweater caving in on an opening. That was probably her mouth trying to grasp for air. She tried screaming but she had no chance.

Tripple was the first one to take his pants off and go for it. I remember grabbing my forty and spilling beer on the girl's head. Mario wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how good it was going to feel to stab a bitch.

Mario went second. This wasn’t the first time I saw Mario in action. I do think that was the first time Mario felt important and bad ass. He was closer to scar face now, more than ever.

Mario kept on getting the knife he had in his hand closer to this bitch’s neck.

I said, “Fuck that nigga. This bitch can recognize our voice. I say we fucking shoot her.”

“Fuck yeah,” Mario looked at me and continued “I’m shooting this bitch in the fucking face.”

He mentioned something about real gangsters looking at you in the eye while they shoot you between them.

Tripple went ahead and took his bloody sweater back. I remember it looked purple during night time. Must’ve been the beer, the girls saliva and her tears that made the blue turn darker.

But what Mario saw made him start to cringe and stutter because he was staring into the eyes of his own sister. She looked back at him and cried. She cried more painfully, than when they were raping her.

Mario fucking lost it and took his own gun to his own head. I didn’t try to stop him neither did Tripple. He fell to his knees and looked up to the sky but I don’t think there was nothing there for him.

He shot himself through the left eye. I remember looking down at the back of his head and the heat of the bullet left it looking like the top of a chimney. Everything was dark, the smoke got in my nose and till this day, I still can’t describe that smell. All I knew was that the only man I had ever trusted was dead. I might’ve not had a father or blood siblings but this guy Mario was all I had. I had to take care of his legacy, I needed to make sure his name wasn’t put down.

I remember getting off my ass and taking the gun out of Mario’s hand. My fingertips felt the freezing chrome through my black gloves. I looked at his sister without trying to make eye contact, and I don’t know why but she didn’t beg, she didn’t ask why, like, she just knew I was meant to kill her. The power of the gun forced me to close my eyes. I heard her body land. I opened my eyes and she bled the same color he did.

Tripple took the gun from me and ran down stairs. I handed it to him, honestly. I didn’t need it anymore. This wasn’t me. For the first time, I felt like I did the right thing. I felt like I did someone a real favor. That night, it wasn’t just three of us. The devil followed us. I thought about the chances of this happening. This no crip plan, nobody wanted to hurt his little sister. The fact that a nigga like me didn’t know much about her, was strange. Strangeness, the good kind cause that meant she didn’t fuck with the wrong crowd. She didn’t deserve this, but she had to die so Mario could take himself out and I would be on death sentence twenty years later.

Tripple and I kept our distance for some time. No cops wanted information, nobody gave a shit. Times had changed. I thought these were the things people paid attention to instead of paying attention to two second graders on a bus.

I didn’t go to Mario’s funeral. I was told people were saying he was walking his sister back home from a party when they both got attacked by either a gang or a robber. I always responded that it sounded like something Mario would do.

Tripple died during a drive by a few years ago. I didn’t care as much. It just reminded me of Mario.

“Son, and you are telling me all this because?”

Cause I never could come back from that, Priest. I’ve been inside these same four walls for a couple years now. But I know, I damn well know, that God is making me pay for what I didn’t pay before.

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

I don’t know what death feels like priest, so why should I be?

“You have less than twenty four hours to live, and you chose to ask for forgiveness on something you did more than twenty years ago?”

Nah, the electric chair don’t forgive. You think you can forgive, priest. I don’t know if God is going to forgive but there’s nothing better than living with peace of mind, even if it’s just for a few hours.

“I’m glad you did it, son.”

Tell her that I miss him, tell her that I never had any other best friend than Mario. But also tell her we didn’t know what we was doing. Tell her by the time she gets this, I’ll be wherever I deserve to be. I loved Mario like a brother, and for that, for that simple reason, I want her to know the truth. She deserves it.

“When she asks about what happened?”

You tell her the truth, I fucked up, I couldn’t go back to my life without Mario, after what I did. The gang life took over and I just did too much fucked up shit, enough to deserve to die.

“Are you sure?”

Fuck yeah, she doesn’t need any more bullshit into her life. Go ahead and tell her I killed random niggas’ families for a living. Tell her I stayed on selling drugs and making money on the block. Tell her I needed to live Mario’s dream, and I did. Tell her, that wherever it is that people like us go after death, I’ll see Mario and I’ll tell him about all the scarface life shit I did.

“Take care, son. I swear on the cross that hangs on my neck that I’ll take care of this. God and everyone involved in this thanks you for making this your last wish.”

Thank you.

“In the name of the Father…”

The Son. The Holy Spirit.

“May the devil no longer follow you.”

Amen.

[jesusvasser]

An Original 1966 Shelby GT350H That’s a Movie Star

During his stay overseas with the military, Gino Lucci developed a love for the Ford GT40. “I used to read Playboy religiously while stationed in ’Nam, and they would advertise the GT40 in each issue,” he says. “I knew when I got home to New York I had to have one.”

Gino squirreled away every penny he made in the service, and in the fall of 1968 he was back home and ready to make a purchase. The $3,500 he’d saved during his tenure in the Navy was a nice sum back then, but not nearly enough for what he wanted.

“The asking price was $16,000 for a slightly used model,” he recalls. “The dealership wanted $10,000 down, and I needed a cosigner since I was under 25.”

That left Gino with a big question for his father. “I sat at the table and popped the question to my dad: ‘Can I borrow $7,000 for a GT40, and could you cosign the loan?’”

His father turned to him and gave him a smack across the head. “Are you crazy?” he said in disbelief. “Our house cost less than that. I’m not giving you that money.”

Deep down he knew his dad was right, so Gino returned to the Ford dealership and looked over the remaining cars. Sitting right next to that GT40 was a brand new 1968 GT500KR. “The car was beautiful. It was Dark Green and grabbed my eye immediately once I looked away from the GT40.” And it was closer to his price range. He decided to take the Shelby home.

From day one he was driving it on the street and also at the track. “I would take it to the dragstrip constantly, and ended up blowing motors frequently, going through one big-block after another,” says Gino.

To finance his racing, he took out student loans each spring before the start of race season to purchase needed parts. He soon found himself in some hefty debt. “I sold the car to a friend, for $700 and a 1968 Ranchero in return.” And the original motor? “I pulled it early in its life, and it went into a dumpster,” he sadly admits.

Gino Lucci’s GT350H is among the best known (and likely most often seen) of the “rent-a-racer” Shelbys. Tom Cruise drove it in the movie War of the Worlds. The car has appeared in other movies and TV shows and was on display at the 2006 New York Auto Show to provide historical context for the introduction of that year’s new Hertz-Ford collaboration, the Shelby GT-H.

Props Are Tops

Gino wasn’t sure what he wanted to do in life, but he knew it had to revolve around cars. He decided to open a body shop, not knowing a thing about how to run it properly. “I started buying cars and started flipping them as well,” he says. One car he bought was a “Frankenstein” 1940 Ford—a car with several different colors laid out on its panels. “I would push it out of the shop during the day and push it back in at night.”

One day a man came knocking about the car. Not to buy it, but to rent it. Turns out he was looking for prop cars for a film they were shooting locally. Gino agreed to rent him the car for $100 a day and went along for the ride. “One day turned into five, and I ended up making $500.”

From there Gino started getting steady movie and TV feature work, and soon the rental part of the business eclipsed the body shop. He decided to close the shop and key on TV and film rentals. From that one old Ford, Lucci Auto Props was born.

Shelby Love

Gino admits that since he was a teen he’s had a soft spot for Shelbys. Anytime one would come up for sale, he was definitely interested. “One day back in 1999, I was in a doctor’s office, and I started reading a car magazine there. In the back of the magazine were for-sale ads. I saw a picture of a 1966 Shelby GT350H for sale and quickly became engrossed in the car.” When the doctor called him in, he tore the page out, folded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. At home he put the ad in his drawer for safekeeping.

A year went by before Gino, while cleaning out the drawer, spotted the folded-up magazine page. He’d forgotten about the Shelby. Now that it was a full year later, he figured the car was probably sold, but decided to call the number anyway. Much to his surprise the car was still there and the owner was willing to sell. Gino did what any real car guy would do: He packed up and headed out to see the car in person, 800 miles away in Kentucky.

Gino was impressed with the black-and-gold-striped Shelby, which was one of the 1,001 “rent-a-racers” that Shelby American had built for Hertz. Without a second thought, he made an offer and purchased it. Along with the car came plenty of paperwork. Turns out the car was a New York City native, and was once stationed in Hertz’s Manhattan location on 40th Street (which still exists today). Gino brought it all back with him to Staten Island, New York, and added the car to his permanent collection.

Even though the car was mint, with just 17,000 miles on the odometer, he wasn’t afraid to drive it. But it would take him some time—and attending a few car shows—to understand exactly what he had bought and how original his Shelby was.

“I decided to bring the car to a Shelby meet at Lime Rock in Connecticut. It’s there that I learned a lot about the car.” To one of the judges, he mentioned he might remove the “extra” passenger-side mirror this car now sported. “Please don’t do that,” said the judge. “There’s history that comes with this car.” Turns out this particular car was well known in the Shelby world, and any change would be detrimental to its heritage and value.

But Gino still toyed with the idea of “repairing” the car. He swore up and down that the car was not original and had probably been hit hard in the rear at some point. He thought the quarter-panels didn’t look right, that there was a seriously defected look to them. He told this to a judge at another meet, who insisted, “That’s how all the cars came . . . This car is original.” The judge pleaded, “Please don’t change it in any way.”

Gino then dug deeper to find the history of the car. Like all the other GT350H models, this car underwent its transformation at Shelby American. Then it headed to a distribution dealer, in this case Larson Ford in New York. From there, 100 GT350Hs hit the New York City area, with this one ending up in Manhattan.

Gino says, “Having seen firsthand what these rental cars went through on any given weekend, it’s a shock that this one survived New York.”

Not only did it survive, but it became a true survivor in every sense. This car, wearing Shelby serial number 6S1886, retains 100 percent of its original paint and interior. The mechanicals are also mostly original. Only a few pieces are repops: the tires, battery, and exhaust had to be replaced. “The exhaust system just crumbled apart,” says Gino. Amazingly, most of the wearables, even in the engine bay, are still intact, including the hoses, belts, and even plugs!

You’d figure that a car this original would live a life of luxury, tucked away for safekeeping. That’s not the case. “This car was the Shelby Tom Cruise drove in War of the Worlds, directed by Steven Spielberg,” says Gino. “I found another GT350H in New Jersey that had been restored, and I used it as my backup car.”

Cruise was so smitten with Gino’s Shelby that he wanted to take it off his hands. Of course Gino balked at the offer, but he set up the purchase of the backup car for Cruise. The car was then passed on to Spielberg as a gift from the actor.

This amazing Shelby is the cream-of-the-crop of Gino’s collection. He has retired, sold his business, and culled his inventory down to a select few, but Gino remains a full-out car fanatic. The Hertz Shelby isn’t going anywhere; it’s still hitting the streets under Gino’s command.

At a Glance

1966 Shelby GT350H Owned by: Gino Lucci Restored by: Unrestored original Engine: 289ci/306hp Hi Po V-8 Transmission: C4 3-speed automatic Rearend: 3.89 gears Interior: Black vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 14×7 Magnum 500 Tires: F70-14 Goodyear reproduction

This is about as original as it gets. Belts, hoses, and even spark plugs are still original issue from 1966. The 289ci powerplant has never been rebuilt and still purrs like the day it was first delivered.

Nothing’s been changed here, which is very rare for any muscle car cockpit 50-plus years old. The bucket seats have little or no wear. Only the carpet is faded from the sun. The original Shelby tach and racing-style seatbelts are still with the car and functional.

Many Hertz customers weren’t familiar with how metallic racing brakes needed to get hot to be effective, causing a number of accidents—some before the customer even left the Hertz lot! As Shelby tried various mechanical fixes, these gold foil decals were put on the car’s dashboards as a warning.

To cement the car’s movie pedigree, Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg signed the visors after the wrap of War of the Worlds. And of course no Shelby is complete without a little script from the chief himself. “I got to be good friends with Carroll. He was a great guy through and through,” says Gino.

All of the Hertz cars (except for two prototypes) were shod with 14-inch chrome-plated Magnum 500 wheels. All the Hertz cars also received the Hertz Sports Car Club wheel-center treatments.

The passenger-side mirror is not stock; it was added sometime early in the Shelby’s life, possibly by Ford employee Marvin Neele, who bought it after the car’s term with Hertz was up.

Gino may be retired, but this stunning example of Shelby’s venture into rental racers is not. “I love to drive the car. That’s what it was made for,” he says. We couldn’t agree more.

The Rent-a-Racer

It’s hard to imagine now, but in the 1960s Shelby American was little known outside the West Coast racing community. The 1965 GT350 raised awareness, as did that car’s 1965 SCCA B/Production championship. But the idea of putting a special version of those winning cars in the hands of hundreds of Hertz rental customers across the country was a stroke of marketing genius by Shelby’s sales manager, Peyton Cramer. Hertz welcomed the idea, too, seeing in it the potential to revive Hertz’s flagging Sports Car Club.

Hertz ordered 1,000 of the cars. Ultimately, 1,001 1966 GT350H models were built: two prototypes and 999 production versions. Mechanically they were very much like the other GT350s built for the year, though there were some running changes, primarily to suspension and brake components. All received the Mustang’s folding rear seat, and all were equipped with AM radios. Most (nearly three-quarters) wear the iconic Hertz colors of Raven Black paint with gold stripes, while others were delivered in Wimbledon White, Sapphire Blue, Ivy Green, and Candy Apple Red. The red and green cars did not receive the gold Le Mans stripes over the hood, roof, and decklid. And some of the white cars were delivered with standard blue GT350 side stripes (a corner cut by Shelby American to help fill the Hertz order more quickly).

There are all kinds of myths and legends of GT350H models being rented on Friday, raced on Saturday and Sunday, and returned to Hertz, sometimes broken, missing parts, or even with the wrong engine underhood. Greg Kolasa, the Hertz Shelby registrar for the Shelby American Automobile Club, wrote an excellent book, The Definitive Shelby Mustang Guide, 1965-1970 (cartechbooks.com), which debunked and confirmed some of those tales.

It is true, per Kolasa, that there were myriad problems with the rental fleet. Renters without racing experience had all kinds of trouble with the car’s competition-oriented metallic brakes, forcing a number of changes. Hertz agencies also received little or no training on how to tune the high-performance car, so some ran poorly or were robbed of parts to keep other H cars in the fleet running.

Not true, says Kolasa, is the story that Hertz lost its shirt on the Shelby deal. He crunched the numbers. Considering what Hertz paid for the fleet, what it got when it sold the cars back to Shelby, the maintenance costs, the daily rental fees ($16 average), and so on, Kolasa figures that Hertz made on the order of $1.25 million all told. “Not bad for a program with the money pit image that it had,” he writes. —Drew Hardin

SAAC’s Hertz Shelby registrar, Greg Kolasa, explained the mystery of why the GT350H in this Ford archival press photo wears 10-spoke wheels when the Hertz Shelbys were shod with 14-inch chrome Magnum 500s: “That’s not a GT350. While we don’t have the paperwork explaining it exactly, details of the car (like the pony inside door handle visible in some other shots) tag this as one of the two Mustang GTs that Shelby American purchased to mock up the 1966 GT350 before production started. The 10-spokes are the prototype set that Astri Wheels furnished to Shelby American. The car was painted black, likely as a ‘show to Hertz’ exercise before they actually built the first real GT350H prototype.”

The post An Original 1966 Shelby GT350H That’s a Movie Star appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[eddiejpoplar]

An Original 1966 Shelby GT350H That’s a Movie Star

During his stay overseas with the military, Gino Lucci developed a love for the Ford GT40. “I used to read Playboy religiously while stationed in ’Nam, and they would advertise the GT40 in each issue,” he says. “I knew when I got home to New York I had to have one.”

Gino squirreled away every penny he made in the service, and in the fall of 1968 he was back home and ready to make a purchase. The $3,500 he’d saved during his tenure in the Navy was a nice sum back then, but not nearly enough for what he wanted.

“The asking price was $16,000 for a slightly used model,” he recalls. “The dealership wanted $10,000 down, and I needed a cosigner since I was under 25.”

That left Gino with a big question for his father. “I sat at the table and popped the question to my dad: ‘Can I borrow $7,000 for a GT40, and could you cosign the loan?’”

His father turned to him and gave him a smack across the head. “Are you crazy?” he said in disbelief. “Our house cost less than that. I’m not giving you that money.”

Deep down he knew his dad was right, so Gino returned to the Ford dealership and looked over the remaining cars. Sitting right next to that GT40 was a brand new 1968 GT500KR. “The car was beautiful. It was Dark Green and grabbed my eye immediately once I looked away from the GT40.” And it was closer to his price range. He decided to take the Shelby home.

From day one he was driving it on the street and also at the track. “I would take it to the dragstrip constantly, and ended up blowing motors frequently, going through one big-block after another,” says Gino.

To finance his racing, he took out student loans each spring before the start of race season to purchase needed parts. He soon found himself in some hefty debt. “I sold the car to a friend, for $700 and a 1968 Ranchero in return.” And the original motor? “I pulled it early in its life, and it went into a dumpster,” he sadly admits.

Gino Lucci’s GT350H is among the best known (and likely most often seen) of the “rent-a-racer” Shelbys. Tom Cruise drove it in the movie War of the Worlds. The car has appeared in other movies and TV shows and was on display at the 2006 New York Auto Show to provide historical context for the introduction of that year’s new Hertz-Ford collaboration, the Shelby GT-H.

Props Are Tops

Gino wasn’t sure what he wanted to do in life, but he knew it had to revolve around cars. He decided to open a body shop, not knowing a thing about how to run it properly. “I started buying cars and started flipping them as well,” he says. One car he bought was a “Frankenstein” 1940 Ford—a car with several different colors laid out on its panels. “I would push it out of the shop during the day and push it back in at night.”

One day a man came knocking about the car. Not to buy it, but to rent it. Turns out he was looking for prop cars for a film they were shooting locally. Gino agreed to rent him the car for $100 a day and went along for the ride. “One day turned into five, and I ended up making $500.”

From there Gino started getting steady movie and TV feature work, and soon the rental part of the business eclipsed the body shop. He decided to close the shop and key on TV and film rentals. From that one old Ford, Lucci Auto Props was born.

Shelby Love

Gino admits that since he was a teen he’s had a soft spot for Shelbys. Anytime one would come up for sale, he was definitely interested. “One day back in 1999, I was in a doctor’s office, and I started reading a car magazine there. In the back of the magazine were for-sale ads. I saw a picture of a 1966 Shelby GT350H for sale and quickly became engrossed in the car.” When the doctor called him in, he tore the page out, folded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. At home he put the ad in his drawer for safekeeping.

A year went by before Gino, while cleaning out the drawer, spotted the folded-up magazine page. He’d forgotten about the Shelby. Now that it was a full year later, he figured the car was probably sold, but decided to call the number anyway. Much to his surprise the car was still there and the owner was willing to sell. Gino did what any real car guy would do: He packed up and headed out to see the car in person, 800 miles away in Kentucky.

Gino was impressed with the black-and-gold-striped Shelby, which was one of the 1,001 “rent-a-racers” that Shelby American had built for Hertz. Without a second thought, he made an offer and purchased it. Along with the car came plenty of paperwork. Turns out the car was a New York City native, and was once stationed in Hertz’s Manhattan location on 40th Street (which still exists today). Gino brought it all back with him to Staten Island, New York, and added the car to his permanent collection.

Even though the car was mint, with just 17,000 miles on the odometer, he wasn’t afraid to drive it. But it would take him some time—and attending a few car shows—to understand exactly what he had bought and how original his Shelby was.

“I decided to bring the car to a Shelby meet at Lime Rock in Connecticut. It’s there that I learned a lot about the car.” To one of the judges, he mentioned he might remove the “extra” passenger-side mirror this car now sported. “Please don’t do that,” said the judge. “There’s history that comes with this car.” Turns out this particular car was well known in the Shelby world, and any change would be detrimental to its heritage and value.

But Gino still toyed with the idea of “repairing” the car. He swore up and down that the car was not original and had probably been hit hard in the rear at some point. He thought the quarter-panels didn’t look right, that there was a seriously defected look to them. He told this to a judge at another meet, who insisted, “That’s how all the cars came . . . This car is original.” The judge pleaded, “Please don’t change it in any way.”

Gino then dug deeper to find the history of the car. Like all the other GT350H models, this car underwent its transformation at Shelby American. Then it headed to a distribution dealer, in this case Larson Ford in New York. From there, 100 GT350Hs hit the New York City area, with this one ending up in Manhattan.

Gino says, “Having seen firsthand what these rental cars went through on any given weekend, it’s a shock that this one survived New York.”

Not only did it survive, but it became a true survivor in every sense. This car, wearing Shelby serial number 6S1886, retains 100 percent of its original paint and interior. The mechanicals are also mostly original. Only a few pieces are repops: the tires, battery, and exhaust had to be replaced. “The exhaust system just crumbled apart,” says Gino. Amazingly, most of the wearables, even in the engine bay, are still intact, including the hoses, belts, and even plugs!

You’d figure that a car this original would live a life of luxury, tucked away for safekeeping. That’s not the case. “This car was the Shelby Tom Cruise drove in War of the Worlds, directed by Steven Spielberg,” says Gino. “I found another GT350H in New Jersey that had been restored, and I used it as my backup car.”

Cruise was so smitten with Gino’s Shelby that he wanted to take it off his hands. Of course Gino balked at the offer, but he set up the purchase of the backup car for Cruise. The car was then passed on to Spielberg as a gift from the actor.

This amazing Shelby is the cream-of-the-crop of Gino’s collection. He has retired, sold his business, and culled his inventory down to a select few, but Gino remains a full-out car fanatic. The Hertz Shelby isn’t going anywhere; it’s still hitting the streets under Gino’s command.

At a Glance

1966 Shelby GT350H Owned by: Gino Lucci Restored by: Unrestored original Engine: 289ci/306hp Hi Po V-8 Transmission: C4 3-speed automatic Rearend: 3.89 gears Interior: Black vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 14×7 Magnum 500 Tires: F70-14 Goodyear reproduction

This is about as original as it gets. Belts, hoses, and even spark plugs are still original issue from 1966. The 289ci powerplant has never been rebuilt and still purrs like the day it was first delivered.

Nothing’s been changed here, which is very rare for any muscle car cockpit 50-plus years old. The bucket seats have little or no wear. Only the carpet is faded from the sun. The original Shelby tach and racing-style seatbelts are still with the car and functional.

Many Hertz customers weren’t familiar with how metallic racing brakes needed to get hot to be effective, causing a number of accidents—some before the customer even left the Hertz lot! As Shelby tried various mechanical fixes, these gold foil decals were put on the car’s dashboards as a warning.

To cement the car’s movie pedigree, Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg signed the visors after the wrap of War of the Worlds. And of course no Shelby is complete without a little script from the chief himself. “I got to be good friends with Carroll. He was a great guy through and through,” says Gino.

All of the Hertz cars (except for two prototypes) were shod with 14-inch chrome-plated Magnum 500 wheels. All the Hertz cars also received the Hertz Sports Car Club wheel-center treatments.

The passenger-side mirror is not stock; it was added sometime early in the Shelby’s life, possibly by Ford employee Marvin Neele, who bought it after the car’s term with Hertz was up.

Gino may be retired, but this stunning example of Shelby’s venture into rental racers is not. “I love to drive the car. That’s what it was made for,” he says. We couldn’t agree more.

The Rent-a-Racer

It’s hard to imagine now, but in the 1960s Shelby American was little known outside the West Coast racing community. The 1965 GT350 raised awareness, as did that car’s 1965 SCCA B/Production championship. But the idea of putting a special version of those winning cars in the hands of hundreds of Hertz rental customers across the country was a stroke of marketing genius by Shelby’s sales manager, Peyton Cramer. Hertz welcomed the idea, too, seeing in it the potential to revive Hertz’s flagging Sports Car Club.

Hertz ordered 1,000 of the cars. Ultimately, 1,001 1966 GT350H models were built: two prototypes and 999 production versions. Mechanically they were very much like the other GT350s built for the year, though there were some running changes, primarily to suspension and brake components. All received the Mustang’s folding rear seat, and all were equipped with AM radios. Most (nearly three-quarters) wear the iconic Hertz colors of Raven Black paint with gold stripes, while others were delivered in Wimbledon White, Sapphire Blue, Ivy Green, and Candy Apple Red. The red and green cars did not receive the gold Le Mans stripes over the hood, roof, and decklid. And some of the white cars were delivered with standard blue GT350 side stripes (a corner cut by Shelby American to help fill the Hertz order more quickly).

There are all kinds of myths and legends of GT350H models being rented on Friday, raced on Saturday and Sunday, and returned to Hertz, sometimes broken, missing parts, or even with the wrong engine underhood. Greg Kolasa, the Hertz Shelby registrar for the Shelby American Automobile Club, wrote an excellent book, The Definitive Shelby Mustang Guide, 1965-1970 (cartechbooks.com), which debunked and confirmed some of those tales.

It is true, per Kolasa, that there were myriad problems with the rental fleet. Renters without racing experience had all kinds of trouble with the car’s competition-oriented metallic brakes, forcing a number of changes. Hertz agencies also received little or no training on how to tune the high-performance car, so some ran poorly or were robbed of parts to keep other H cars in the fleet running.

Not true, says Kolasa, is the story that Hertz lost its shirt on the Shelby deal. He crunched the numbers. Considering what Hertz paid for the fleet, what it got when it sold the cars back to Shelby, the maintenance costs, the daily rental fees ($16 average), and so on, Kolasa figures that Hertz made on the order of $1.25 million all told. “Not bad for a program with the money pit image that it had,” he writes. —Drew Hardin

SAAC’s Hertz Shelby registrar, Greg Kolasa, explained the mystery of why the GT350H in this Ford archival press photo wears 10-spoke wheels when the Hertz Shelbys were shod with 14-inch chrome Magnum 500s: “That’s not a GT350. While we don’t have the paperwork explaining it exactly, details of the car (like the pony inside door handle visible in some other shots) tag this as one of the two Mustang GTs that Shelby American purchased to mock up the 1966 GT350 before production started. The 10-spokes are the prototype set that Astri Wheels furnished to Shelby American. The car was painted black, likely as a ‘show to Hertz’ exercise before they actually built the first real GT350H prototype.”

The post An Original 1966 Shelby GT350H That’s a Movie Star appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[itsworn]

Unrestored Original 1966 Shelby G.T. 350H Is a Movie Star Too

During his stay overseas with the military, Gino Lucci developed a love for the Ford GT40. “I used to read Playboy religiously while stationed in ’Nam, and they would advertise the GT40 in each issue,” he says. “I knew when I got home to New York I had to have one.”

Gino squirreled away every penny he made in the service, and in the fall of 1968 he was back home and ready to make a purchase. The $3,500 he’d saved during his tenure in the Navy was a nice sum back then, but not nearly enough for what he wanted.

“The asking price was $16,000 for a slightly used model,” he recalls. “The dealership wanted $10,000 down, and I needed a cosigner since I was under 25.”

That left Gino with a big question for his father. “I sat at the table and popped the question to my dad: ‘Can I borrow $7,000 for a GT40, and could you cosign the loan?’”

His father turned to him and gave him a smack across the head. “Are you crazy?” he said in disbelief. “Our house cost less than that. I’m not giving you that money.”

Deep down he knew his dad was right, so Gino returned to the Ford dealership and looked over the remaining cars. Sitting right next to that GT40 was a brand new 1968 G.T. 500KR. “The car was beautiful. It was Dark Green and grabbed my eye immediately once I looked away from the GT40.” And it was closer to his price range. He decided to take the Shelby home.

From day one he was driving it on the street and also at the track. “I would take it to the dragstrip constantly, and ended up blowing motors frequently, going through one big-block after another,” says Gino.

To finance his racing, he took out student loans each spring before the start of race season to purchase needed parts. He soon found himself in some hefty debt. “I sold the car to a friend, for $700 and a 1968 Ranchero in return.” And the original motor? “I pulled it early in its life, and it went into a dumpster,” he sadly admits.

Props Are Tops

Gino wasn’t sure what he wanted to do in life, but he knew it had to revolve around cars. He decided to open a body shop, not knowing a thing about how to run it properly. “I started buying cars and started flipping them as well,” he says. One car he bought was a “Frankenstein” 1940 Ford—a car with several different colors laid out on its panels. “I would push it out of the shop during the day and push it back in at night.”

One day a man came knocking about the car. Not to buy it, but to rent it. Turns out he was looking for prop cars for a film they were shooting locally. Gino agreed to rent him the car for $100 a day and went along for the ride. “One day turned into five, and I ended up making $500.”

From there Gino started getting steady movie and TV feature work, and soon the rental part of the business eclipsed the body shop. He decided to close the shop and key on TV and film rentals. From that one old Ford, Lucci Auto Props was born.

Shelby Love

Gino admits that since he was a teen he’s had a soft spot for Shelbys. Anytime one would come up for sale, he was definitely interested. “One day back in 1999, I was in a doctor’s office, and I started reading a car magazine there. In the back of the magazine were for-sale ads. I saw a picture of a Shelby G.T. 350H for sale and quickly became engrossed in the car.” When the doctor called him in, he tore the page out, folded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. At home he put the ad in his drawer for safekeeping.

A year went by before Gino, while cleaning out the drawer, spotted the folded-up magazine page. He’d forgotten about the Shelby. Now that it was a full year later, he figured the car was probably sold, but decided to call the number anyway. Much to his surprise the car was still there and the owner was willing to sell. Gino did what any real car guy would do: He packed up and headed out to see the car in person, 800 miles away in Kentucky.

Gino was impressed with the black-and-gold-striped Shelby, which was one of the 1,001 “rent-a-racers” that Shelby American had built for Hertz. Without a second thought, he made an offer and purchased it. Along with the car came plenty of paperwork. Turns out the car was a New York City native, and was once stationed in Hertz’s Manhattan location on 40th Street (which still exists today). Gino brought it all back with him to Staten Island, New York, and added the car to his permanent collection.

Even though the car was mint, with just 17,000 miles on the odometer, he wasn’t afraid to drive it. But it would take him some time—and attending a few car shows—to understand exactly what he had bought and how original his Shelby was.

“I decided to bring the car to a Shelby meet at Lime Rock in Connecticut. It’s there that I learned a lot about the car.” To one of the judges, he mentioned he might remove the “extra” passenger-side mirror this car now sported. “Please don’t do that,” said the judge. “There’s history that comes with this car.” Turns out this particular car was well known in the Shelby world, and any change would be detrimental to its heritage and value.

But Gino still toyed with the idea of “repairing” the car. He swore up and down that the car was not original and had probably been hit hard in the rear at some point. He thought the quarter-panels didn’t look right, that there was a seriously defected look to them. He told this to a judge at another meet, who insisted, “That’s how all the cars came . . . This car is original.” The judge pleaded, “Please don’t change it in any way.”

Gino then dug deeper to find the history of the car. Like all the other G.T. 350H models, this car underwent its transformation at Shelby American. Then it headed to a distribution dealer, in this case Larson Ford in New York. From there, 100 G.T. 350Hs hit the New York City area, with this one ending up in Manhattan.

Gino says, “Having seen firsthand what these rental cars went through on any given weekend, it’s a shock that this one survived New York.”

Not only did it survive, but it became a true survivor in every sense. This car, wearing Shelby serial number 6S1886, retains 100 percent of its original paint and interior. The mechanicals are also mostly original. Only a few pieces are repops: the tires, battery, and exhaust had to be replaced. “The exhaust system just crumbled apart,” says Gino. Amazingly, most of the wearables, even in the engine bay, are still intact, including the hoses, belts, and even plugs!

You’d figure that a car this original would live a life of luxury, tucked away for safekeeping. That’s not the case. “This car was the Shelby Tom Cruise drove in War of the Worlds, directed by Steven Spielberg,” says Gino. “I found another G.T. 350H in New Jersey that had been restored, and I used it as my backup car.”

Cruise was so smitten with Gino’s Shelby that he wanted to take it off his hands. Of course Gino balked at the offer, but he set up the purchase of the backup car for Cruise. The car was then passed on to Spielberg as a gift from the actor.

This amazing Shelby is the cream-of-the-crop of Gino’s collection. He has retired, sold his business, and culled his inventory down to a select few, but Gino remains a full-out car fanatic. The Hertz Shelby isn’t going anywhere; it’s still hitting the streets under Gino’s command.

At a Glance

1966 Shelby G.T. 350H Owned by: Gino Lucci Restored by: Unrestored original Engine: 289ci/306hp Hi Po V-8 Transmission: C4 3-speed automatic Rearend: 3.89 gears Interior: Black vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 14×7 Magnum 500 Tires: F70-14 Goodyear reproduction

Gino Lucci’s G.T. 350H is among the best known (and likely most often seen) of the “rent-a-racer” Shelbys. Tom Cruise drove it in the movie War of the Worlds. The car has appeared in other movies and TV shows and was on display at the 2006 New York Auto Show to provide historical context for the introduction of that year’s new Hertz-Ford collaboration, the Shelby GT-H.

This is about as original as it gets. Belts, hoses, and even spark plugs are still original issue from 1966. The 289ci powerplant has never been rebuilt and still purrs like the day it was first delivered.

Nothing’s been changed here, which is very rare for any muscle car cockpit 50-plus years old. The bucket seats have little or no wear. Only the carpet is faded from the sun. The original Shelby tach and racing-style seatbelts are still with the car and functional.

Many Hertz customers weren’t familiar with how metallic racing brakes needed to get hot to be effective, causing a number of accidents—some before the customer even left the Hertz lot! As Shelby tried various mechanical fixes, these gold foil decals were put on the car’s dashboards as a warning.

To cement the car’s movie pedigree, Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg signed the visors after the wrap of War of the Worlds. And of course no Shelby is complete without a little script from the chief himself. “I got to be good friends with Carroll. He was a great guy through and through,” says Gino.

All of the Hertz cars (except for two prototypes) were shod with 14-inch chrome-plated Magnum 500 wheels. All the Hertz cars also received the Hertz Sports Car Club wheel-center treatments.

The passenger-side mirror is not stock; it was added sometime early in the Shelby’s life, possibly by Ford employee Marvin Neele, who bought it after the car’s term with Hertz was up.

Gino may be retired, but this stunning example of Shelby’s venture into rental racers is not. “I love to drive the car. That’s what it was made for,” he says. We couldn’t agree more.

The Rent-a-Racer

It’s hard to imagine now, but in the 1960s Shelby American was little known outside the West Coast racing community. The 1965 G.T. 350 raised awareness, as did that car’s 1965 SCCA B/Production championship. But the idea of putting a special version of those winning cars in the hands of hundreds of Hertz rental customers across the country was a stroke of marketing genius by Shelby’s sales manager, Peyton Cramer. Hertz welcomed the idea, too, seeing in it the potential to revive Hertz’s flagging Sports Car Club.

Hertz ordered 1,000 of the cars. Ultimately, 1,001 1966 G.T. 350H models were built: two prototypes and 999 production versions. Mechanically they were very much like the other G.T. 350s built for the year, though there were some running changes, primarily to suspension and brake components. All received the Mustang’s folding rear seat, and all were equipped with AM radios. Most (nearly three-quarters) wear the iconic Hertz colors of Raven Black paint with gold stripes, while others were delivered in Wimbledon White, Sapphire Blue, Ivy Green, and Candy Apple Red. The red and green cars did not receive the gold Le Mans stripes over the hood, roof, and decklid. And some of the white cars were delivered with standard blue G.T. 350 side stripes (a corner cut by Shelby American to help fill the Hertz order more quickly).

There are all kinds of myths and legends of G.T. 350H models being rented on Friday, raced on Saturday and Sunday, and returned to Hertz, sometimes broken, missing parts, or even with the wrong engine underhood. Greg Kolasa, the Hertz Shelby registrar for the Shelby American Automobile Club, wrote an excellent book, The Definitive Shelby Mustang Guide, 1965-1970 (cartechbooks.com), which debunked and confirmed some of those tales.

It is true, per Kolasa, that there were myriad problems with the rental fleet. Renters without racing experience had all kinds of trouble with the car’s competition-oriented metallic brakes, forcing a number of changes. Hertz agencies also received little or no training on how to tune the high-performance car, so some ran poorly or were robbed of parts to keep other H cars in the fleet running.

Not true, says Kolasa, is the story that Hertz lost its shirt on the Shelby deal. He crunched the numbers. Considering what Hertz paid for the fleet, what it got when it sold the cars back to Shelby, the maintenance costs, the daily rental fees ($16 average), and so on, Kolasa figures that Hertz made on the order of $1.25 million all told. “Not bad for a program with the money pit image that it had,” he writes. —Drew Hardin

SAAC’s Hertz Shelby registrar, Greg Kolasa, explained the mystery of why the G.T. 350H in this Ford archival press photo wears 10-spoke wheels when the Hertz Shelbys were shod with 14-inch chrome Magnum 500s: “That’s not a G.T. 350. While we don’t have the paperwork explaining it exactly, details of the car (like the pony inside door handle visible in some other shots) tag this as one of the two Mustang GTs that Shelby American purchased to mock up the 1966 G.T. 350 before production started. The 10-spokes are the prototype set that Astri Wheels furnished to Shelby American. The car was painted black, likely as a ‘show to Hertz’ exercise before they actually built the first real G.T. 350H prototype.”

The post Unrestored Original 1966 Shelby G.T. 350H Is a Movie Star Too appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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2017-4(APR)-13--Thursday--cockroach hotel.

2017-4(APR)-13--Thursday--cockroach hotel.

If at all you've been paying attention to what I've been writing what has become the hellhole here, then you should already know of the "cockroach hotel", that is, it is the aboriginal household where interminable people just come and go all the time at ANY time of the day or night under the guise of 'living there'.

Early-ish, this morning, an aborignal man was walking slowly on the footpath then went to walking along ON the roads, saw a cigarette butt on the road, eagerly picked it up for himself, continued walking, turned about, then walked into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Another stranger who doesn't 'live' there.

The aboriginal drug dealer literally across the road from there, used that tactic of having countless 'strangers' for many, many years. NOBODY had any idea of how many 'people' actually lived at the place. There was so many 'people' coming and going at all hours on any day and night, that even the Police didn't know how many were living there at any time. Even dear Fliss became annoyed at always being asked that by Police.

Police would always ask, "How man people are living there?", as a matter of their asking about the place but when you truthfully answered, "I have no idea. There are people coming and going there so much there is no way for anyone to know." - And then the Police would crazily start acting as if YOU were telling lies, and then YOU would be put on the spot and drilled. -- Great public relations. -- Even now, the same occurs.

Well that's what the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD is. They learned very well their lessons from the aboriginal drug dealer. They are in fact an offshoot of that place. The aboriginal drug dealer terrorised and droved out the innocent poor women with two very innocent small boys out of there, all three who previously lived there. And once she was gone, surprise, surprise, suprise, the rented house then becomes aboriginal, full of all the 'people' that were closely asociated with the aboriginal drug dealer, and I daresay it, drug addicts themselves, who could just walk across the road and buy their drugs at a discount or get them delivered door-to-door.

And like a ship without a rudder, when the aboriginal drug dealer was evicted in early 2015, (the place is STILL evicted and has a security fence around it to vainly try to stop aboriginals breaking back into it), but when the aboriginal drug dealer was evicted, innocent people breathed a sigh of relief and hoped life would get better.

It did not.

All throughout my blog you will have seen my telling of the shitheads of that 'spinoff' aboriginal place running rampant and causing crime, and making innocent peoples lives a misery.

By the way, there was a period of several months where I did NOT publicly show what the shit was going on, in the vain hope that foetid criinal hell would no longer be the air that I breath each day, but of course that was to no avail. Things got worse. and worse, and every day got worser.

It is a rare day indeed that goes by when 'something' doesn't occur and bring disquiet and upset here.

Today for instance.......

From the Koongamia shops area (of which there is a liquor store as well), there walked an aboriginal woman out who I've never seen before. Not that that in itself is now unusual. Aboriginals walking about on the streets has become almost totally de rigueur here for them, night and day at all hours rain, or sunshine.

She walked out alone. Carrying a bottle of milk or whatever.

And she eventually walked down to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD and went inside.

Behind her at a great distance, was the young aboriginal kid who is always picking his nose, one of the many who NEVER EVER goes to school, (even though there is one across the road), and he usually constantly wanders about every day alone or with other aboriginals looking to get into peoples yards and steal stuff and break into peoples houses.......well he came along with a packet of potato chips or something like that in his hands that he clutched to himself as if it was gold.

He was as usual acting highly suspicious. He was walking VERY VERY slowly.

As he was pasing on the footpath, (which itself is great novelty for the aborignals because they almost always walk along ON the roads at any time of the day or night), he was walking VERY slowly along past an innocent neighbours fence, and was fixated at staring over the fence and looking all about the yard. He paused several times to stop and look, then slowly began walking again.

He saw that an innocent neighbour was watching him (and the aboriginal started moving more hurriedly but again would pause, and look about, becoming very self-concious at being watched), and he afterwards hurried into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. But not before he had had a good look ovr the fence of that innocent neighbour at something.....another innocent neighbours water hose to thieve perhaps?

Sometime shortly later, there was LOUD yelling in the street again. It was the aboriginal woman from earlier, and she was standing on the street corner louldy yelling and LOULDY SWEARING the full length of the street towards the Koongamia shops. Amongst her unintellgble large amount of swearing and yelling, was, "Come back and STAY here."

She turned around and walked back into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Shortly afterwards, an older aboriginal youth walked along and went into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, followed by another at a distance.

And by the way, as I wrote this part at 10:42am, the overweight woman of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD has been walking a toddler (wearing nothing but a diaper and barefoot along the road), and the woman was LOUDLY yelling out up along the road towards the shops area. -- An innocent large liquid-plaster truck passed her on the road and drove away from the area, then another large vehicle did likewise, but of course the aborginal woman did not care about anything but glance behind her at the aboriginal diaper-toddler carrying something in its hands on the road behind her. More LOUD yellings-out along the street signalled her passage.

Later.....there was 5 young aboriginal kids walking in a long stretched-out line along the road along Clayton Street heading towards Koongamia School. (school is NOT on today I believe) - So much for the woman louldy yelling out and swearing for the aboriginal kids to STAY. They never ever stay, they never follow rules, (even of normality) just as the aboriginal adults never do, but instead just wander about all over the place at ANY time of the day or night.

Police who do patrols in this hellhole often see aboriginals wandering about. On some rare ocasions the Police may enquire of them why they are out wandering (rememeber this wandering about occurs at any time of the day or any time of the night), and the aboriginals are well-versed in excuses and they prattle on and are soon away off again on their wandering way.

Police just come and breeze-thru the area, and of course they are always spotted, and they see nothing untowards. And just after they are gone, it's all back to bullshit again. Police go away thinking that 'all is well', that they they have maintained things so that nothing is exploding, and they are right....until something does. And then questions get asked, nobody can figure out anything, and it all is washed away.

(I have literally seen Police shaking their heads herabouts in being unable to comprehend what the hell is going on, and what is causing crimes. It gets curtly and too-briefly noted down in reports so that they can quickly get away from this hellhole.)

Long ago Police used to intervene when sightings of school-aged kids were seen wandering about. But they only do that for non-aboriginals now it seems. The aboriginals are almost invisible. And they prefer it that way.

So when any innocent neighbour tries to utilise oficial measures, Police, or authorities, they soon find out for themselves how utterly futile it is. They get assailed by Police moaning their displeasures at them, officials do the same, authorities do the same, and everyone you might talk to is always asking/demanding, "Well what do you want US to do about it!?" - As if you have a magical bullet. (and in many cases people are driven in desperation to that)

I wonder how the newest neighbours in their freshly built brand-new house are fairing? - Out on a street corner that drug-heads, shitheads and illegal motorbikes go past EVERY DAY, residing next to an empty boarded-up by security fenced aboriginal drug dealer house, and if they looked out their kitchen window today would have seen that line of listless aboriginal criminal kids roaming about on the road outside......all this on a calm, 'normal' day in this hellhole.......and I wonder if they are wondering.......

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Sam & Max have now been fed some 'lunch', and they are feeling rested and are laying down awaiting the next round of bullshit occuring in the streets that they will bark at and want to tear apart any shithead. Rest for them never comes, and they're suffering from that too.

I can NOT ever, NOT EVER, take them ever again for walks. I have not done so for well over 1 year now. They are too unruly and I cannot control them. They, just like myself, miss Fliss terribly and are in terrible despair. Poor Sam & Max suffer in many ways. They have nightmares and sleep badly, just as I do.

I try to make life worth living but it is not.

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Any time I think there is calm an peace, there is not. - And the weekend period is coming. And it's a longer weekend because of Easter. The criminals will be all out and about hunting for places to rob because people might have dared to 'go away' for the long weekend. Ergo, empty household, rob the place.

Other innocents stay at home and may have to endure, and they just might get to sample what has been known in this hellhole for so long.

Here is a little comparison......if you were to do some trimming of branches and put them out on your street verge for you to later take away in a short time, you would soon see them here getting dragged off by shitheads and spread out all over the roads, necessitating you having to walk all about to retrieve them and causing you physical grief.

But outside the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD there has been a large pile of branches put there by them, a pile so large that it covers their street verge, spills onto the road a little (preventing the many vehicles that park on the same verge), and all those branches have been there so long that they are absolutely dead dry and crispy and ready to go up in flames. - They don't care. They care about nothing and nobody. Not even themselves. They will no doubt try to get the local council to remove them.

You think I'm joking about them having the council remove them? - I'm not.

In the West Australian news relatively recently, in a country town there has been an open area of desolate land owned by the council. Aboriginals turned it into a foetid 'camping ground' for aboriginals. It was full of matresses thrown and dragged all about the area and used to sleep upon by aboriginals, and truly large masses of rubbish wafting around in the winds and other rubbish piles often foetid and stinking of human wastes.

The aboriginals DEMANDED that the council clean it all up. - The council REFUSED, stating that NOBODY is allowed to be camping or living in that area and those facts are well-known.

There was a massive impasse. The media became involved. More got to know of what was going on (or not going on). And then from out of teh blue there came an 'anonynous' offer to te council for them to clean it up and the 'anonymous' benefactor would pay for it.

I don't know what teh outcome of all that was because it soon diappeared from the news.

But one thing was very much apparent. It is the modus operandi of what passes for reality and 'normaility' now.

It's just like the feral aboriginals of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. They never paid rent........other innocent residents heartily sick of the criminals thought THAT may be salvation in the form that they would be evicted. But they were NOT evicted, And an 'anonymous' benefactor came along and paid for them their large rent money amounts long-owing, and on and on it went. With the end result is that there was no result. The criminals are still there. (in fact a car of the house rental company is there today, wishing they weren't)

And so I reckon it will occur with the country council trying to reclaim their land back for the enjoyment of everyone and not just drunken/drugged constantly prostrate and criminal goings on day and night. - If it IS cleaned-up, then the same lot will just move back and demand MORE amenities.

You think THAT is far-fetched? - The exact same thing happened here in Western Australia for MANY years. And the shire and councils and so on were FORCED to create amenities for itinerant aboriginals. The places (they called it a 'camp') moved from location to location.

And eventually it resided in a place next to a housing area in Middle Swan near a tributary of the Swan River that soon enough became well known to Police and authorities as a place of crime, criminals, and where they would go to to search for them when crime was being perpetrated all about on businesses and upon innocents.

That place soon enough became fenced and had secure locked gates to keep Police out. That was deliberate.

That place is STILL there I believe. Strill fenced off. Buildings and infrastructure. It had become a place and law unto itself. But it is empty and desolate and has been so for many years because of a much-publicised event and events which the media relished in but never asked the real questions.

There had been firm allegations of rampant crime and ongoing child-abuse, just as there is at so many aboriginal enclaves, but all access to Police were not only hindered but actually physically stopped by the entire area fenced and padlocked to stop Police entering.

The media-frenzy was engineered to make it appear that the Police were 'picking upon the poor defenceless aboriginals who just wanted to live peacefully on their own'. - But Police and authorities started going there so much, armed with boltcutters to cut the locks away (which in itself made more virulent news), that soon enough the rabid news couldn't be bothered anymore to report the regular Police 'incursions' because it was happening so much.

It literally was like a feifdom, ruled by a single family and a single man and his cohorts.

The end result, and these facts are even being ploughed underground by the pasage of time, is that there WAS a LOT of crime going on, not only outside the padlocked fenced 'feifdom' but it was happening inside as well.

It all came to a head, when a young girl tragically hanged herself in the feifdom, and that couldn't be covered up much.

In Midland, it was common-knowledge, as I'm sure it was to many areas. And it was predictable.

Thereafter came minor 'revaltions' after revalation about what it had REALLY been like. And it was just as bad if not worse than anyone suspected. But the information was quashed and not made public. That is a common tactic.

The head guy was jailed, and that intself is a rarity even moreso nowadays, and he died in jail I believe, though I am unusure of that. But the guy is certainly dead.

Of that place, the inhabitants were all dispersed into wherever all about. And of course they could even be the ones around here, andor associates, and so on.

Just as an aside, around noon and after today, there has been activity at the evicted aboriginal drug dealer household place. Two commercial vehicles have been active and they had the security gates open at the place. I have no idea what's going on. (re-activating the place?) - What a shock it might be to the owners of the newly built new house next door to it. - Or is it? -- The activity lasted awhile and has now ceased. Once more the padlocked security fence is locked.

Because of what occurred in the Swan View 'camp', thereafter was a great diaspora of aboriginals roaming about. It was perhaps also how the aboriginal drug dealer at the end of Kalars Way street was able to take over and control a house and use it as his own feifdom for drug dealing and so on with a household of unknowable numbers of aboriginals. The current aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD is the offshoot of that drug dealer place.

Can you perhaps see how inter-related all this is?

I heard in-passing that the aboriginal guy (Fatguts) who ran the ex-corner drug dealar household now lives in another suburb. - Heaven help and protect those innocents around him.

It is why crime in Western Australia never goes down, especially aboriginal crime. It gets hidden. It gets dispersed. It gets re-categorised. It gets money and resources thrown at which disappears beyond the point of wastage.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cullacabardee,_Western_Australia

(read a heavily sanitised entry about the place at the Wikipedia entry above)

Cullarabardee, was for decades THE place where aboriginal crime and criminals ran rife and rampant. It had it's own saving grace being that it was cut-off from everywhere and everyone. (it still is) But it was miserable for the inhabitants. - When outer metroplitan population growth extended new communities closer and closer, the places soon (even under-construction) became the targets by criminals from there. I saw that first-hand.

Whiteman Park, a place I once worked at, was getting heavily attacked by 'mysterious' thieves and vandals every weekend, then it became every night. We could never be sure that the work we had finished the day before would even there the next day. Of this the public knew nothing about. Small trains were often the target of vandalism. An so were historic restored larger trains. Builidings, infrastructure, anything was attacked and vandalised and destroyed. -- It was rebuilt, repaired with public monies by one measure or another. Then it would all happen again and again and again. Vast amounts of money were evaporated away. Workers themselves didn't benefit.

And everywhere for the decent aboriginals, life gets harder whilst the shitheads just laugh and carry on and make life worse for them and everyone.

'dysfunctional' families is a buzzword that is constantly used whenever authorities talk about the criminals, and their next generational criminals. - They try to make it sound like there's just a TINY little problem that can be addressed and then all will be okay.....it's ridiculous.

Criminals would jump onto things and use them as if they were the ones who had come up with it.

When car thieves became SO bad that West Australia became known across Austalia for it as being the worst, THAT was soon covered up and kept quiet.

Early on when I first knew dear Fliss (Felicity Ann Carthew), Fliss could never understand why I was so 'paranoid' about car security in the cars we drove. But once in West Australia, she soon found out for herself the real truths. And she hated the reality of it.

Aboriginals siezed upon the media, and I can remember a period when they became absolutely rabid. It was a time when innocent vehicles were being stolen SO MUCH, that Police were bereft on how to deal with it all except rightly pursue and catch the criminals. Then came a rabid aboriginal woman on the news one night rabidly shrieking, "The Police are killing our children!! - Stop killing our children!!"

Really? - Really.

This is the 'reality' that the aboriginals deluded themselves into fervently believing. They shrieked that apparently because the Police 'chased' their kids 'who were only out for a bit of fun' (in somebody's deliberately fiddled with and stolen vehicle), that the Police should just let them go and have their fun and to never interfere.

There WERE terrible car smashes and many deaths of innocents. And still the shriekings of aboriginals grew loudest. "Stop chasing our kids!", was actually words shrieked out publicly used as placards. -- The aboriginals are ALWAYS blameless according to them. Especially when they ARE to blame for anything.

There was a massive push to have upgraded vehicle security standards across the board in metropolitan Western Australia, (at peoples expense) and that was the only thing that slowed all that shit going on. But no longer could anyone feel safe. Because now aboriginals and criminals broke into and smashed into your home and stole car keys and so on. And that is the current state of affairs. That and having cars actually smash INTO your home, cars that were driven so recklessly and with abandon that innocent people are not even safe in their own homes. Not even innocent children safe in ther own yards, or sleeping in their own beds.

Nobody will tell you how it all progressed along to this. Nobody will tell you how the REAL criminals progressed all this. And it's not just vehicles, it's been businesses, property, and innocent lives that have been destroyed. Mine included. And dear Fliss's.

Many and most have ignored the progressing and progression, but the past year or more has escalated yet again.

There has been new twists and variations in the news. It's long since become NEWS which has become lacklustre in it's absolute pithy-ness. They will happily 'inform' you of heavily-edited international news but not whats going on in your own area. People are genuinly shocked when they are told any news of what is and has been happening in their own streets.

P@15:20--Thursday-15_April-2017.--I love you Fliss and want to be with you. - Max is not better.