#he would get himself stuck in trees and his papa would have to come fish him out

[waroferas]

tp link’s childhood makes me so emo to think about tbqh

[muuum-am-i-adohhhpted]

Stormy Weather (Empires SMP)

summary: hermes is stressing out about the future where he'll eventually have to choose between his papa or his dad's empire to rule. this causes him to secretly weigh the pros and cons of each empire and try to sit in on meetings. at his week in sanctuary, hermes realizes he might be able to control the weather which is another thing to worry about. all of this stress cumulates to one evening when a powerful storm hits sanctuary.

ao3 link

word count: 3659

warnings: light angst, mention of bungee jumping, worries about the death of a friend, reference to running from a threat, unconsciousness

~~~

"Since you’re the son of two empires, which one do you think you’ll rule when you’re older?" It was a throwaway question from one of Hermes’ classmates but it was one that stuck with him long after he had presented his "All About Me!" presentation.

He went back home to Stratos with new eyes. The floating islands were dangerous for regular people (Hermes’ winged shoes made it easy for him to get up there but they were unique since they were a gift from his dad). The buildings were delicate—filled with rare and breakable vases and gold flaked art pieces. His dad wasn't any kind of art person, but he was very intent on keeping "the vibe" of Stratos. And that meant Greek and kinda-Greek decor all around the floating islands and in the village below.

And yet…the open air. Relentlessly, it called to him, tugging at his soul to lift off right now or else. The wind running through his purple chiton, through his fluffy brown hair. Being in the air was nothing like being chained to the earth. He could go wherever he pleased, not bound by mortal laws. He could fly with the birds, give himself a beard of clouds and pretend to be his dad. ("I am tall. I am handsome. Lore, lore, LORE.")

In contrast, Sanctuary was friendly and homey. With colourful buildings of terracotta and brick, Hermes played tag with the other kids when school was out and helped care for the animals in the barn. He didn't have to care about breaking things—he could just let loose and race his friends up bamboo stalks. His papa would take him fishing and sneak him cookies and, in certain moments, he could forget the longing to take flight in his dad's winged shoes.

It didn’t take long, though, for the need to fly took him over and he eyed his winged shoes on the dresser. But flying in Sanctuary was a hard task in general. The bamboo made for hard obstacles. In the night, they were nearly invisible. Not to mention the thick jungle. On top of that, his papa always seemed hesitant to let him fly. On the rare occasions Hermes was allowed to, his papa was always right there, glancing around like, at any moment, something might jump out from the jungle trees and swallow them whole.

"Anything on your mind there, son?" Hermes' dad asked at the other end of the long dining table up in Stratos. His dad took a couple of grapes from a nearby bowl and popped one in his mouth. He looked at Hermes curiously.

Hermes had to hand it to his dad, he could really pick up on what a person was thinking or feeling based on their face. Perhaps it had to do with all the looking in the mirror. Either way, Hermes felt his face flush and he shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking about…stuff." He tried to come up with a sufficient lie but couldn't think of one.

Hermes' dad awkwardly coughed and ate another grape to busy himself. "Your papa and I were talking the other day. He told me he took you fishing. I was thinking…while there are no good fishing lakes near Stratos, what if I took you bungee jumping?"

Hermes sat up a little straighter. "Really? Papa wouldn't mind?" Hermes' dad often called his papa a "safety rabbit". Papa wasn't just a little strict about flying, he often wouldn't let Hermes near average-sized cliff sides or allow him to partake in water skiing without intense, and often embarrassing, amounts of supervision. On their fishing trip, Hermes was forced to wear a life jacket and floaties around his arms. Not to mention the dozens of whistles attached to his person.

Apparently, the only way papa would allow Hermes to spend time in Stratos was if Hermes was given some kind of flight tool in case he managed to fall off one of the floating islands. And that was how Hermes' winged shoes came to be.

Hermes' dad gave Hermes a conspiratorial look and winked. "He'll never have to know. So…what do you say? It'll have to be tomorrow sometime, though. I have a meeting with my advisors tonight."

"What will you be talking about?" Hermes asked slowly. "Could I join you?" If he was to choose which empire to eventually rule, he would have to learn the inner workings of each one if he was to make an informed decision. And it would all have to be done in secret. Hermes would feel bad if they knew since this choice might be seen as him choosing a favourite parent.

His dad raised his eyebrows slightly. "Really? You've never really been interested in government before."

It was true. And Hermes still wasn't all that interested. But a future emperor had to make some sacrifices. Besides, maybe when he was older he could get someone to do that job for him. Plenty of people would love to be a stand-in ruler. "So, can I come?" He didn’t know how to explain his change of heart to his dad.

His dad shrugged. "Of course. We aren’t talking about much—it's mostly going to be about the new building I want to build." At this, Hermes’ dad’s eyes lit up. "We've got the new island up and running so now it's just a matter of what to put there. What do you think we should build?"

Hermes gnawed thoughtfully on his lip. The new island wasn't the largest one they had in Stratos but it was a nice shape. It wasn't too perfectly round or had weird long parts that would be impossible to build on. He thought for a second longer and was highly aware of his dad watching him with interest.

"I—I don't know," Hermes finally said with a sigh, slouching in his chair. He cast his eyes downwards and could feel a stinging behind his eyes. Don't cry, he told himself and he reached over for a slice of bread and some jam to hide his excessive blinking.

How could he ever become a ruler if he couldn't even decide what he'd like to be built on an island? Rulers had to make hard decisions almost daily. They had to take into consideration every angle of every issue and had to make what they thought was the best decision even if others didn't believe so.

"It's okay, kid," Hermes' dad said. "That's why we're having this meeting." He stood up from the table and gestured for Hermes to do the same. "C'mon, let's head out."

Hermes was hoping the meeting would be somewhat interesting. And it very well might have if he had understood anything they were talking about. The meeting quickly spiralled into arguing between Hermes' dad, his multiple advisors, and a couple of citizens from the village below.

Their sharp voices overlapped and moved from one argument to the next way too fast for Hermes to keep up with. How Stratos managed to get anything done was beyond him.

Eventually, as they finally decided on what to build (was it a church dedicated to his dad or a hotel?), everyone's voices died down and Hermes unknowingly fell asleep in his chair.

~~~

Hermes was grateful for the week to be over as his dad brought him to Sanctuary. After sitting in another boring meeting, he was looking forward to a change in pace. He could already smell the masas de cerdo frita his papa always made when he came back from Stratos.

"Hermes!" His papa exclaimed, running towards him, picking him up, and spinning him around. "Welcome back!"

"Papa!" Hermes laughed before his papa placed him down.

"How was your week at Stratos?" He asked, glancing over at Hermes' dad.

"Good, good," Hermes said, glancing back at his dad with a small grin. While the meetings had been a bust, the bungee jumping hadn't. They had dropped off of any possible high up building: the Stratos Sphere, the fountain, the new island where a Church of Joel was currently being built.

His dad gave a discreet wink in Hermes' direction.

Laughing, his papa patted his shoulder. "Alright then, start unpacking. I'll be there to help you in a bit."

As Hermes' dad and papa walked off for their weekly parenting meeting, Hermes rushed off to his bedroom in his papa's house. He greeted Eddie who was hovering in the kitchen, his rabbit ears pulled back with a bandana so no hair would get in the food.

Hermes was nearly unpacked when his papa poked his head through the door. "Need any help?" He asked.

"Sure!" Hermes exclaimed. "How have you and Eddie been?"

"Doing good, we're all doing well," his papa responded but Hermes could hear the familiar strain in his voice. Hermes wished he knew what was constantly causing his papa stress but, no matter how much Hermes prodded, his papa would always reply that it didn't concern him. Even Eddie sadly shook his head when Hermes asked about it one day.

All Hermes could do was try his best to keep his papa's spirits up whenever he was in Sanctuary.

"Can we go fishing again sometime this week?" Hermes asked as he set his winged shoes on the dresser. He had really enjoyed the last time they had done it. Just he and his papa on a little boat. The waters had been peaceful and Hermes had never seen his papa look so carefree than when he had been focussed on catching fish and treasure from the bottom of the ocean.

Hermes' papa grinned and messed up a bit of Hermes' hair. "Of course."

"It'll have to be in the next few days," Hermes said, the words almost coming out of his mouth without his permission. "A storm's coming." Hermes clamped his mouth shut in confusion. 

His papa stared at him, equally as confused. "How…how do you know?" He asked, eyes wide. Hermes could practically see the cogs turning in his head.

"I—I don't know," Hermes murmured. "It's kinda like a feeling. It's going to be bad, too. It's going to last for three or four days."

"It must be some of your dad's magic within you," his papa said in awe. "You'll have to tell your dad next week. Maybe you can learn to control the weather."

"Control the weather?" Hermes repeated. "You think I can do that?"

"It's entirely possible. I guess we won't know unless you try." Hermes' papa smiled and then clapped his hands. "Alright, well, you hungry or what? We'll finish packing after supper. I'm starving."

As Hermes and his papa made their way down into the kitchen, the table in the corner was set for three. Eddie entered into the kitchen from the side door, his brows furrowed. "Sausage," he said in a slow voice, giving a pointed look towards Hermes, "Alejandra just came by. She told me that they're having an emergency meeting tonight."

Hermes' papa and Eddie seemed to have a conversation just with their eyes. Hermes glanced between the both of them, trying to decipher what was going on. Eventually, Hermes' papa nodded, his shoulders tense at his sides. "Okay."

There was a long period of silence which Hermes broke by asking, "can I join you?"

The two adults looked at one another again. Hermes already knew what his papa would say before he said it. "I'm sorry, Hermes. Your dad did tell me you've grown an interest in government and sitting in on meetings, but this one," he shook his head, "it's…it's not for kids." He shared another look with Eddie.

Hermes did his best to smile. "It's okay. I understand." Throughout the meal, Hermes used all his willpower to keep his tone upbeat until Sausage and Eddie left for the emergency meeting, leaving a farmer, Jorge, to babysit Hermes.

Jorge stayed on the bottom floor which Hermes was grateful for. The villager wasn't within earshot to hear Hermes curl up in his bed and begin to cry, his curtains drawn.

A future emperor and now he had the burden of being able to control the weather? What would happen if he couldn't learn to control the weather? What if he accidentally started a drought? His empire would starve to death without any food. And what about flooding? And snow storms? Hurricanes? He could wipe out entire empires with or without trying. Hermes had to get his powers under control as soon as humanly possible.

On top of all of that, what if he couldn't mediate between arguments outside and within his own empire? He could start wars and civil wars and it would be entirely Hermes' fault. There would be no one else to blame except the person making all the decisions—him.

It was all too much in such a short period of time. Not to mention he had to choose his dad's or papa's empire before ruling anything in the first place. How could he ever learn all he needed to know in time if his papa wouldn't even allow Hermes in on whatever secret he had? He needed to know. He could handle it, he was sure.

CRACK. THUD.

Hermes was up out of his bed and he pulled back the curtains. The sky was a dark grey, menacing clouds hiding the sun and sky. Bamboo stalks and jungle tree branches alike were blowing aggressively in the wind and, in the middle of town square, a large jungle tree lay in the path. Thankfully, it looked like no one was hurt except a couple of barrels and a cart of wheat.

Still, Hermes burst into more tears. This is my fault. He had to stop this storm before anyone got hurt. What if the tree had landed on a house? What about the meeting room where his papa and Eddie were? Hermes' heart pounded as he flung open his window and crawled out of the house, careful to stay away from the windows where Jorge could see.

The wind snapped at Hermes' clothes and hair, loose debris flying around in circles before being thrown to the side. And that was when the downpour began. Fat droplets of rain began falling from the sky, instantly turning everything slippery. Dusk was beginning to settle into Sanctuary, the already hazy visibility turning even worse.

Hermes ran to his papa's favourite fountain. He didn't know much about his papa's past but he did know that the fountain reminded his papa of the hometown where he grew up. He climbed to the top of it, a small square platform that just managed to have the space for his two feet, and raised his hands above him. Hermes wasn't exactly sure how to stop storms, all he knew was that it had to go away.

"Leave!" Hermes shouted, his voice instantly taken by the wind. "Settle down!" He bellowed with even more intensity. The wind grew even more powerful, the raindrops now pricking his skin. "Stop! Please!" He begged, his voice cracking, soaked to the bone but he could feel new tears forming in his eyes in desperation. Hermes' arms dropped to his sides, his hands turning into fists. I can't control it. His entire body drooped, exhaustion finally taking over as the fight left his body.

An especially forceful gust of wind nearly knocked Hermes off his feet and he quickly tried to right himself by stepping his left foot backwards but there was nothing there but air. He tipped backwards and it felt like he was falling in slow motion.

"Hermes!" The wind carried his papa's voice and it was the last thing Hermes heard before the world went dark.

~~~

"I—I think he was trying to stop the storm," a voice wept, sounding like it came from Hermes' left.

"Shhh, shhh," another male voice said, gently. "If anything, you should blame that horrendous babysitter you hired. He should have been keeping a better eye on Hermes. Here, drink this."

There was the sound of slurping and then the clink of some kind of ceramics or glass. "But I was the one who told him he could probably control storms. If I hadn't said anything, maybe he wouldn't be here."

~~~

"I'm afraid the tyrant king has killed Araceli and consumed her power. She used to have the gift of weather and I met with her a couple of years after I fled my hometown with Bubbles." The voice that was speaking was quiet—just above a whisper. "She didn't live very far from our village and I think the king might have found her and used her powers to send storms our way."

"I can ask around about this woman, if you'd like. I know plenty of smaller weather deities." The second voice went silent before saying, "if you think it would be best to leave…"

"No, I can't do that again. I can't leave my family again. I just found Eddie. We have Hermes to care for. If the king manages to find Hermes—"

"What about you?" The other voice raised just slightly. "What do you think your king could do if he could converse with animals? What if he respawns the Ender Dragon and convinces her to destroy our world? It would be like the Rapture all over again."

"The Rapture? But that's just an old folktale."

There was some awkward laughter. "Of course, I'm just saying it could be like the Rapture again. End of our empires and terrible earthquakes and all."

~~~

"You'll have no choice but to leave if your king gets too close to you, you know. I can take Hermes in. The king wouldn't try to kill a god, would he?" The voice was slightly joking, as if trying to lighten the mood.

There was a too long pause. "I don't know anymore."

~~~

Hermes peeled his eyes open and he instantly closed them again, the light too bright. "Ugh," he groaned, trying to bring his arm up to block the light still breaching his eyelids but his arms felt as heavy as lead.

"Hermes!" His papa and dad exclaimed, jumping up from their spot in the corner of the room. They were instantly at his side, worry etched on both their faces. They were all in the Sanctuary infirmary. He could hear no wind or rain—just how long had he been out for?

"Are you feeling okay?"

"The doctor said you thankfully didn't break any bones but you've got a pretty bad bruise on the side of your right arm."

"Don't you dare try that again! You should've known the fountain would've been slippery in the rain!"

"I can help you with your powers if you'd like. It's difficult but I know you can do it. Well, after you rest and all."

Hermes burst into tears, trying to hide his face under the blankets in shame. "I—I'm so sorry," he blubbered as his papa gently pulled down the covers. "I didn't mean to bring the storm, I was just feeling frustrated about everything."

Hermes' dad was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with Hermes' hair and scratching at his scalp like he would a cat. "You didn't conjure up the storm, Hermes." His dad smiled down at him. "To put it bluntly, you'd need to train a lot more in order to create a storm of that size. Don't worry, it's not your fault."

Hermes took in his dad's words and breathed a big sigh of relief. "Really?" It's not my fault. It's not my fault.

His dad nodded.

"What were you feeling frustrated about?" His papa then asked.

"I'm going to have to choose between the two of you when I grow up!" Hermes finally exclaimed.

The sentence hung in the air. Both Hermes' dad and papa glanced at each other, their eyebrows drawing down. Hermes' dad was the first one to break away from the gaze. "What on earth are you talking about? You go to each of our empires every week. You hardly have a choice in having us as your parents."

Hermes' papa glared over at Hermes' dad. "Shhh, Joel." He then looked down at Hermes. "Please explain what you mean. Why will you have to choose one of us?"

"When I'm older," Hermes said. "You're both my parents and you both rule empires. I'm going to have to choose which one to rule eventually and I don't want to choose between the two of you. I don't think I even want to be an emperor."

"Oh, Hermes," his papa said with a little chuckle. He kissed Hermes' forehead. "You don't have to rule anything. We aren't going to force you to take that burden if you don't want to." Hermes had fuzzy recollections of his dad and papa speaking about…something while he was going in and out of consciousness from the fall from the fountain, but he waved it off for now. He'd ponder on that later when his memory was sharper. "Your dad and I wouldn't make you choose between us and, even if you did, we wouldn’t blame you for choosing the other. That would make us awful parents."

Hermes felt like a massive boulder had just been lifted off his chest. He took a big breath and a large smile grew on his face. "I don't want to become a ruler of any empire."

"Great!" His dad exclaimed. "You'll have less grey hair than your papa."

"And hopefully less ego than your dad," his papa said with a playful glare.

Hermes settled into the cot he was laying on. His eyelids began to grow heavy and, after a second, his eyelids fluttered closed. Dreamland was calling and Hermes was more than happy to go. "I love you," he said through a long yawn.

"Love you."

"I love you too."

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Amore Grande

I'm writing fanfics again. Woot!

Inspired by the song of the same name.

Chapter One: Quando Ti Guardo

June 06, 1969

Luca drummed his fingers restlessly along the soft velvet of his armrest, his eyes switched from peering out at the Italian coastal terrain and once again reading the watch that rested against his wrist.

“You’re doing it again.”

His eyes snapped up to watch as Giulia sighed at him from behind the thick leather-bound novel in her hands. As her amused yet exasperated gaze landed on him, he grinned sheepishly.

“Mi dispiace, Giulia. I honestly don’t remember the ride being this long.” He checked his watch again and grimaced. “Has it really only been ten minutes?”

Admitting defeat, the red-headed girl marked her place and set the book aside. “Luca, it’s been nine months, si? But what is the one thing we’ve learned about time from Segnora Rosa?” She quirked a knowing brow at him as Luca slumped forward.

“Time is always constant, lo so.” He mumbled.

“Esattamente, therefore,” She continued as she picked up her book with renewed gusto, “the train will take exactly an hour every single time we travel to and from Porto Rosso.” With her argument settled, Giulia returned to her page and began reading once more. After a moment of stillness, she peered at him subtly from above her page. Luca was looking outside once more, his eyes filled with a mixture of yearning, and his mouth twisted in anxiety. With a kinder expression, she said, “If it’s any consolation, amico mio, I’m sure he’s just as nervous to see you.”

Luca puffed out his cheeks but didn’t reply, instead preferring to peer down at his clasped hands.

“Maybe you could finish the bracelets you’ve been working on, that will help you pass the time better and maybe keep your mind off things, eh?” She nodded to his school jacket pocket which held a mass of multicolored strings that had yet to be organized. Perking up at the thought, Luca agreed and set to work on detangling the threads from one another.

Outside the bright light of the morning sun blazed peacefully across the pristine indigo coastline and followed the two youths on the journey. Some miles away, a small town was anything but peaceful.

“Massimo!” A young man jumped up the paved stairways of Porto Rosso, disturbing the half-dozen pigeons resting there. At their indignant coos and squawks, Alberto quickly glanced back with a slight shout of “sorry!” before continuing on his rampage towards the Marcovaldo residence. Skidding to a stop once he passed the archway, he leaned heavily against the tree that he and Luca had slept in nearly a year ago prior and gasped.

With a large crash, both Massimo and Machiavelli burst through the front door looking frazzled and ready for a fight. The latter was fully puffed up with his claws digging into the cobblestone walkway and his pupils shrunken to small slits. Massimo swiveled his head around looking for whatever danger could have provoked Alberto’s shout, his shoulders hunched and his good arm gripping his harpoon tightly. However, when no danger presented itself, he glared half-heartedly through his eyebrows at the young sea monster who sheepishly grinned.

“Well, where’s the fuoco, eh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Massimo, everything’s fine. But!” He pointed animatedly at the large man, “you are aware of what day it is, right? We only have a few hours until-”

“Until Giulia and Luca arrive, si piccolo, lo so. You’ve only been talking about it for a month now.” Shouldering his harpoon and popping his neck, the old fisherman turned to enter the house, an unhappy Machiavelli climbing onto his open shoulder, but not before growling irritably at Alberto.

“Come have breakfast, Alberto, we’ll see what we can do to keep busy while we wait.” The large man patted Alberto’s sun-kissed shoulder before entering the house. Slumping in resignation, the teen followed behind Massimo but not before stretching to give one last searching look at the expansive cliffs that breached the horizon, hopeful to see a plume of smoke.

**************

When the train finally pulled into the stazione, Luca was already flinging the train door open and running into the waiting arms of his mother who squealed with delight and refused to set him down for several long moments, much to Luca’s embarrassment and secret delight. An equally excited Giulia was soon to follow, and she said a quick hello to the Paguro’s before launching into Massimo’s open arms. While his father patted him on the head and asked the generic questions of wellbeing, Luca tried to glance around his parents. If Massimo was here, then so was-

“I told you I’d be okay.” Luca’s heart thudded painfully in his chest for one moment as Alberto sauntered into view. Prying himself from his mother, the young sea monster swiftly walked to Alberto and embraced him without pause. Luca buried his face into the crook of Alberto’s neck and breathed him in for the first time in nine months.

Whatever nerves and fear Alberto had been holding released him the moment his best friend enveloped him in his arms. Luca had grown slightly taller over the colder months and his skin had lost its sun-kissed pigmentation, but the warmth in his eyes had not faded in the slightest.

“Welcome home, Luca,” Alberto mumbled into his friend's hair, ignoring the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes, he pulled away with a chuckle. “Are we going to do this every time we say ciao?” Luca smiled wetly and scrubbed weakly at his face.

“I think I could get used to it if it’s with you.” Alberto resolutely decided to ignore the heat that gathered in his cheeks as Luca turned to answer Massimo. Brushing it off as too much time in the sun, he tuned into the conversation just as the gentle fisherman began speaking of their new fishing truck.

“Grazie to Alberto’s ‘knowing fish’, we earned enough for me to invest in an auto,” Massimo stated proudly, clasping a large hand onto Alberto’s shoulder. The teen modestly scratched under his hat and shrugged, turning to Giulia and Luca.

“He’s really only saying that. Massimo did all the hard work; I just stuck my head underwater a few times every day to navigate us. But!” Alberto waved towards the station entrance and began pulling Luca by the hand. “you really have to see the truck I’ve been writing to you about.”

The truck itself was what could hardly be described as new. The front bumper was barely hanging on and rusted completely through on the right side. Green chipped paint covered the doors and Luca noted with a swell of warmth the black hand-painted logo of “Massimo and Alberto Fishing co.” Most people would consider the truck like garbage, but Alberto found the faded paint and broken glass charming, and he said as much to the group. Giulia rubbed suspiciously at the truck’s tailgate, her eyes squinting as she studied it.

“The Americans call it a ‘Hudson pickup’,” Massimo announces proudly, his pronunciation heavily accented.

“I’m still not sold on it being actually safe, but I’ll admit it wasn’t too bad the first time Massimo drove it.” Daniela opined, opening the front door with a loud squeal.

“Yeah, not so much when Alberto decided to try it,” Lorenzo muttered good-naturedly. “My tail still won’t swim straight.”

“You drove the truck?!”

“You crashed the truck?!”

Giulia and Luca exclaimed, she glanced curiously at her papa who raised his hands innocently. Luca began looking at Alberto’s arms and skin, scouring for any injuries, completely ignoring the rest of the conversation.

“He’ll be sixteen this year, mia figlia, he’ll need at least a year of practice. Nessun problema, your time will come soon.”

“Oh, come on,” Alberto kindly pulled Luca’s hands away and hopped on the rear end beaming down at his family, “it wasn’t so bad for the first time. Plus, she just needs some love and she’ll be right as rain. You guys just can’t see her potential.” He patted the chipped paint fondly. “Not to mention this makes delivery way faster.” Massimo chuckled as Lorenzo continued to grumble and Daniela merely rolled her eyes.

“Si, and speaking of quick deliveries, let’s go home and eat lunch, hm?” Massimo lifted Luca and Giulia's luggage into the bed of the truck while the rest of the family, the Paguro and Marcovaldo families together again at last.

As the truck rattled through the colorful fishing port threatening to fall apart, Giulia and Luca rattled story after story to Alberto and Luca’s parents. Alberto tried to ignore the feelings of jealousy at the way his friends appeared to be so in tune. He laughed politely at their inside jokes and did his best to understand half the jargon they spouted, but in reality, he felt more lost than ever before. Stuffing the uncomfortable feelings down as far they’d go, Alberto helped the Paguro’s down first so that Daniela could help with preparing the food alongside Massimo. While Lorenzo had shown an interest in learning the human ways of cooking, he hadn’t quite managed to pull it off as well.

“You set the curtains on fire one time, and they never let you set foot in the kitchen again,” Lorenzo complained to the kids as he followed his wife.

“Except it wasn’t just the curtains,” Alberto whispered loudly to his best friends who giggled unapologetically.

“ONE TIME!” Lorenzo called hotly from inside.

Giulia smirked at her friends, “Some things never change, amicos.” Grabbing her bag, she turned to the house, “Oh, and Luca don’t forget about your gift!” She winked knowingly at a flustered Luca and befuddled Alberto.

Alberto glanced down at Luca who was doing his best impression of a frozen fish.

“Uh, was that supposed to me-”

“I made you something!!” Luca blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth. He glanced nervously at Alberto, who merely stared back stunned. Fishing in his uniform jacket pocket, Luca wordlessly pulled out the two multicolored bracelets from his pocket and held one out to Alberto. Alberto stood frozen his eyes glued to the green and purple threads glistening in the warm afternoon sun, his mouth hung loose in a silent ‘oh’. The threads danced innocently between them, and Luca felt his bravado begin to waver. When he still hadn’t said anything or moved to take the bracelet from Luca’s grasp, the younger boy grew more flustered and started to pull away, his voice shaking. “I- I’m sorry, you probably think this is so stupid.” Luca tried to not panic, desperately willing his mortification away.

Alberto’s hand shot out to pull both the bracelet and Luca’s hand back. “I can’t believe you made this for me.” He whispered, cradling the bracelet tenderly as he studied it in his palms. He traced the twining threads and smiled at how the pattern reminded him of scales. He looked at Luca and put his arm around him to pull him close. “I love it, thank you. No one’s ever given me something so beautiful.”

“R-really?” Luca asked, his expression hopeful.

“Really. Did you make this too?” Alberto squinted at the painted pearl hanging from the end of the strings, creating a clasp to hold it in place.

“Giulia's mom actually helped me design those with her paints.” Luca motioned to the pearl. “She said that gifts help make the distances feel smaller.” He pondered the delicately painted waves of his own pearl. “It’s funny when I was learning so much and seeing so many places, I never realized how far from home I would feel.” His gaze landed on Alberto, only now realizing how close they were. Up close he could see the new freckles that peppered his cheeks and how his face was slimming down. Nine months of hard work had broadened his shoulders and caused his wiry arms to harden with lean muscle. Clearing his throat, he pulled away again.

“Anyways, I guess we better go inside before the food gets cold.” Blushing as red as Massimo’s favorite wine, Luca threw one last smile over his shoulder and ran inside. Alberto grinned in response and slid the bracelet over his wrist fastening it so that it hugged him snugly. An emotion that he couldn’t quite name filled every part of him, spreading from his toes to the tip of his ears. Walking inside to the smells of homemade pasta and loud laughter, Alberto felt that the promise of a wonderful summer had just begun.

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (4)

*This one was a week late thanks to finals. Hope this makes up for it!*

~~~

It is strange how normal things can be after having a revelation. Nothing really changes. The sun still rises, waves crash on the sand, and birds sing in the trees. It is all so painstakingly normal.

After I accepted that papa had really left me here, accepted that he had traded me for freedom, I don’t know what I expected. It felt as if the sky should at least be dark and bleak. Rain should be pouring down and the sea should rage like the storm inside me. It was almost comical how I expected such chaos and was greeted with warm days full of sun and sparkling waters.

I stopped looking for the Jolly Roger over the horizon. I stopped counting the days I had been trapped. I stopped trying to recall everything about my life before Neverland in some vain attempt to keep my memories intact. There simply was no reason.

Pan came by to see what I was doing after our nighttime encounter out on the sea. He never revealed himself but I could always tell when he was there. Watching unseen from the trees. Not interfering but not ignoring either.

One day some of the Lost Boys came by me when I was resting at my camp. Upon seeing me they stammered out apologies and ran off back to where they came. My heart panged because I wanted them to stay. I wanted someone to talk to. I thought of going to Tinkerbell but I knew if I did we’d end up talking about papa and I couldn’t put myself through reminders of him right now.

Most nights I heard music coming from the jungle but it didn’t have the hypnotic spell over me as it once had. It as no challenge to ignore it and I wasn’t sure if that was worse or better.

I only ventured towards the camp of the Lost Boys once. The sounds of joy and fun pulled me forward but the reality of what I was choosing kept me from going in. I watched from the sidelines as the boys whooped and jumped and danced around a raging bonfire. It reminded me of the nights where the crew would break out their instruments and dance on the deck. It was nothing pretty but it was fun. I could remember papa teaching me how to dance properly. Standing on his toes...

I reached for my pocketwatch and breathed out remembering how I had hurled it into the sea. I need to stop reminiscing. It’s only causing me more grief. I looked back up at the camp and saw Pan emerge from the shadows. It was as if he had sensed me for he looked right at me. There was a peculiar smile on his face. Almost inviting. He held out a hand towards me, his fingers curling to tempt me to his side.

My feet were rooted in their spot. It wasn’t until Pan took the first step towards me that I was able to move again and took off back into the jungle. I got back to my camp and huddled down in my hut. Why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I just enter the camp? Why couldn’t I move on?

I was just getting my breathing under control when I felt the familiar gaze of someone watching me.

“What do you want, Pan?” I asked, my voice quiet.

“So you have known that I was watching. I couldn’t tell for sure before.” Pan was closer, standing just outside of my hut. He bent down to peer inside at me. “Feel like talking now?”

I scooted out to the entrance. “Why did you follow me?”

“Because this is the first time since you kidnapped me that you’ve sought anyone out. Considering it’s been over a week since then I figured I’d meet you half way.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t live on your own forever. It’ll drive you mad. I imagine it already has some. That’s why you came to the camp.”

“How come you never said anything? You’ve been watching me for days without a word. Why say something now?”

“Like I said, you sought me out. You wanted space so I figured that I’d wait for you to come to me when you were ready. You can still come back to camp. It’ll be alright.”

My eyes snapped to his. “I don’t want to be a part of your crew.”

He gave a sigh and sat down next to me. “Still don’t trust me?” He asked.

“I’ve accepted the situation I have been forced into. My father traded me for passage out of this hellhole and since crossing realms is no easy feat I do not expect him to be able to come back for me. But…”

“There’s still a part that wants to believe he’s trying to return for you.” Pan’s voice was uncommonly gentle. Almost as if he was talking to a spooked animal. Perhaps that was what I was. A scared little creature that wanted to scuttle back into her hidey hole.

“You must think me a fool,” I scoffed.

“I think you’ve been spurned by someone you trusted and don’t know how to handle it.” He laid a hand on my back. It was surprisingly comforting. “In the years that I have lived I’ve learned a few things. One of them is that loyalty, once lost, is never earned again. Not true loyalty. Even if your father came back for you there is a part of you that would never trust him like you once did.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Pan studied me for a moment longer before standing up and holding his hand out for me, “Come along,”

“Where are we going?” I ignored his hand and stood up on my own.

“I’m showing you that you can trust me.”

He withdrew something from the pouch on his belt. It glittered like a jewel but had an odd shape. “This is a magic bean,” He said, “It can take you anywhere you want to go.”

“You’re not giving me that, are you?”

“No. We’re gonna go on a trip.” He grabbed hold of my arm, “Brace yourself, this can get a little rough.”

He dropped the bean on the ground and immediately the ground opened up into a swirling vortex pulling us both in. I clung onto Pan tighter. The journey was disorienting and my head was spinning when we finally were deposited somewhere else.

As the dizziness subsided I was able to note a few things. One, we definitely weren’t on Neverland anymore. We had been dropped on some dock where the cold air reeked of fish. In the distance there was a town. Most of the houses were dark but there looked to be an inn or a tavern that exuded warmth and energy.

Wait, I know this town! We would dock here all the time. This was where I lost--

My blood went cold. “Pan,” I turned to him, “Why are we here?”

“You’ll see,” He motioned for me to follow him. I pulled my coat tighter against me and followed after him into the town. The closer we got to the tavern the louder the cheer inside became. My legs felt like they were being weighted down by cannonballs the closer we got. Without even looking I could remember where everything was. Down that road was the blacksmith. Around that corner was a bakery. To the right of that well was the apothecary.

Pan noticed me lagging behind and grabbed me to keep up with him. “Really Pan,” I tried to pry his hand off my arm as we entered the tavern. “Why are we here?”

“Because he’s here,” Pan pointed to a spot near the back of the tavern.

Sitting at a table surrounded by pirates and wenches was my father playing a card game and drinking.

“Papa…” A part of me wanted to run up to him and hug him and never let him go. Another part of me kept me rooted in my spot. I turned to Pan. “What is this? Why’d you bring me here? To show me what I’ve lost?”

“Not at all,” he released my arm, “This is your chance. Return to him.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said. If you want to you can be reunited with your father and I give you my word I will never bother you again.”

“It’s a trick. A trap of some kind!”

“No tricks here, swordfish. I am being completely serious.”

“You’re releasing me?”

“If that is what you wish.”

I took a tentative step away from Pan. I took another waiting to see if he would stop me but he made no move. I stepped closer and closer to where papa was sitting. This was real. I can go home! After so long I can finally be with my family again!

“Is that the Lady Jones I see?” The sound of a familiar voice silenced any joy I held.

I turned to see who had addressed me. A familiar pirate with overgrown red hair and a stubbly chin walked towards me. He was all muscles and devil-may-care charm wrapped in worn brown leather.  “Karver,” I crossed my arms. “Shouldn’t be surprised you’re here.”

“Are you still sore about the last time we met that you won’t call me Quentin?” he shook his head, “If you’d allow me I’d like to make up for it.”

“I don’t want anything from you. After months of being trapped I have finally gotten away from the hellscape that was Neverland and want to get back to my father and crew.”

“Ah yes,” Karver threw an arm over my shoulders. I tried not to shudder. “Captain Jones was regaling the tavern with the tale earlier. Nasty stuff you all encountered. I was wondering why you weren’t with the crew celebrating.”

“That’s because I only got off the island recently. I haven’t had months to become numb to everything we went through while trapped in Neverland like they have.”

“Months?” Karver’s eyebrows knit together, “Kitten, the crew of the Jolly Roger shot up from the sea like a ghost ship a week ago. They’ve been drinking the town dry ever since.”

“A week? It’s only been a week since they left Neverland? A week!” I fumed. No...no this couldn’t be happening. I was on Neverland by myself for months and it hadn’t even been a week here? I knew time moved differently in Neverland but I never expected this!

“Problem?” Karver asked.

I looked across the tavern at my father. My father who was laughing and drinking with some floozy on his lap without a care in the world. This was the same man who had gone silent for months after mama died. It took him years to be comfortable enough to act like the wolfish pirate I saw before me when mama died. To him I had been bargained away a week ago. A week ago he gave me up to escape and what was it I found? He wasn’t mourning. He wasn’t trying to find a way back to me. He was in a tavern getting drunk and having fun. He was here having the time of his life knowing full well that I was stuck on Neverland at the mercy of Pan and the Lost Boys.

I shoved Karver away and stormed back out of the tavern. Pan was waiting outside.

My voice trembled with anger and betrayal. “He was never going to come back for me. It wasn’t even a thought in his head. Was it?”

“I thought it best if you saw for yourself.” Pan said.

“Why though? I’m his daughter! Don’t I mean anything?”

“Sounds like something to ask him.” Pan nodded towards the tavern.

I shook my head. Bitter tears pouring down my face. “No. I want out of here. I want to leave. Now!”

Pan held out a hand for me. “Do you trust me now, Lost Girl?”

I took one last look inside at the man who raised me. The man who sold me. I took Pan’s hand. “I want to go home.”

Pan smiled and withdrew another bean. The next moment we were falling through a portal on our way back to Neverland. The air was warm once again, the sand was pliant and soft beneath my boots. I took in a deep breath, salty ocean air with just a hint of flowers from the jungle on the tail end of it.

I remembered what I told Pan before we returned. I didn’t say I wanted to go back to Neverland. I said I wanted to go home. When did Neverland become home?

“Feel like coming to camp now?” Pan asked, giving a little tug on our interlaced hands.

“Can we stay here tonight? I don’t think I have the energy to go to your camp right now.”

“We?” Pan asked, “Am I to take it that you want me to stay?”

Heat started to creep up my neck and I gripped his hand tighter. “I don’t want to be alone again.” I admitted. I felt like a child. I was practically begging him to stay here with me.

Pan’s features softened and we sat down. His hand still held mine and he used his other to light a small fire for us. “You won’t be alone ever again, Lost Girl.” he murmured, “I promise.”

---

(Previous) (Next)

[ivanshatov]

happy birthday freak

wc: 1.5k

i feel like i need to start writing again and i also feel more comfortable posting my work here but? i thought this way a good leeway into that or whatever anyways all my ocs are freaks and i will shove them at you!

You make your own birthday cake.

At least, that’s the rule in this household. When he tried to do it last year, though, he burned his hand in the oven, and his parents reprimanded him for not wearing his gloves and being foolish enough to touch the tin. We’ve told you, Cvetko, hundreds of times— Don’t touch the stove. It’s your own fault.

His parents are in Belgrade, now, and most of his siblings are off in various bits of Europe. It’s April for certain. Buds are forming on the trees, the grass is getting somewhat greener, yet the air is still bitingly thick with cold and wind howls around the house each night. And now, seemingly forever stunted in growth since he turned 8, Cvetko now comes on his 10th birthday with some indifference.

Arina is downstairs when he toddles down in his oversized nightshirt, a hand-me-down from Aleksandar. “Happy birthday,” she says blankly as he peeks over the countertop at her. “Mama will be mad at you if you use the oven this time. Don’t try. Anya got you some candy, it’s on the table.”

Cvetko swiveled to the small bag that waited for him. “Where is Anya?” he asked, his voice small.

Arina gave a shrug. “I need to go.” She ruffled his hair, hurrying to the door but not before she boomed her sibling’s name. “Luka, watch your brother.” She shouted, the door slamming behind her. An affirmative groan resounded from upstairs.

For a moment, Cvetko waited at the bottom of the stairs, wringing his hands and wondering if Luka’s footsteps would foretell his coming. Nothing could be heard, however, and Cvetko toddled back into the dining room.

Anya’s thoughtful gift of sweets and chocolate was wrapped nicely in a bag, done up with a ribbon and a note.

Happy birthday, flower.

Followed by,

In Zagreb. I had to get away. No worry, I will bring you a gift!

Anya

It’s a nice gesture. He appreciates it. He pops a candy into his mouth and thinks.

Stacked up on the counter are Luka’s application papers. It’s for Vienna, London, New York— Neuroscience programs. He’s a bright kid, bound to do amazing things, just like his brothers before him. Cvetko sifts through them, careful not to upset the precise order, for his workbook. Or rather, Arseny’s workbook, but he erased all the answers and markings left on the questions and gave it to Cvetko with a smile. There are still some faint markings and eraser shreds peppered through the equations and word problems, but he uses it nonetheless, letting his eyes slip out of focus in order to block out the correct answers still present in faint pencil.

He likes this. He sits at the counter, his legs dangling high above the tiled floors, flipping through the old workbook for something he’s yet to tackle. His parents noticed this, too, and were quick to hand him crossword puzzles, sudoku, complicated packets of math, and already began to enroll him in a series of Bees and programs for the young mathematician. Some of it still eludes him. He’s never brought home a prize, either, and always clams up on stage or when being judged. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, though he’ll never say it. It never comes out. Of course, Papa’s never quite happy about that. “When Luka was your age, he got first place.” Or, “We ought to practice much more, hm?”

And think of the devil, a pair of heavy footsteps plodded down the old stairs with a yawn. Luka appeared in the door, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and a Gameboy dangling off his fingers. “What are you up to?” he asks without so much as a greeting, shuffling up behind Cvetko. “Math?” Cvetko can’t quite tell if the rank is simply morning breath or the penentrating smell of alcohol, but he scrunches up his face and forces an unbothered look.

“Math,” he affirms, crossing his legs and nodding.

Luka replies with a scoff and snatches the book out of his hands, replacing it with the old Gameboy. “It’s your birthday. April 1st. How old are you now, ten?” He sounded unsure of even that as he peeked up from the math problems at Cvetko, who was fiddling with the old device. “Don’t do this bullshit, go have fun. Go run around in the yard, or something. Go.”

“That’s a bad word,” Cvetko commented, and Luka slapped down the workbook.

“How old is this?” he snapped, ignoring his little brother’s comments and skimming to the front pages of the book. “Arseny gave you this? No wonder. Here, I will go into town and get you a real workbook. Consider it a birthday gift.” 
Cvetko nodded, and with a start, Luka got to his feet. “Mind putting on the stove for me? I need tea,” Luka said, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

Cvetko set down the little device and toddled over to the stove. His head barely reached above the knobs, yet he ran his hands across them and thought patiently, recalling the pattern of lighting the stove. The second knob on the left, that’s it. It has to be. Luka’s back is turned, standing over the garbage as he tears out the yellowing pages of the old workbook. He’s so busy ripping them from the spine, dozens at a time, that he doesn’t realize what’s happening until his brother cries out in pain.

“Oh, fuck me!” The ribbed workbook is dropped as Luka dashes to his brother’s side, hurriedly shutting off the stove and ripping a whimpering Cvetko’s hand from the iron kettle. He sits his brother on his lap, observing his reddening palm with a sigh. “Fucking hell, Cvetko.”

His bottom lip in a pout, Cvetko whimpered as Luka gently traced his fingers over his injured hand, and yelped when Luka dragged him to the sink and stuck his little brother’s hand in the stream of cold water. “There,” Luka said, crouching down and wiping away the tears on Cvetko’s face with his sleeve. “You’re all better.”

Luka rose, stepping over the workbook. “You really ought to not play with fire anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Cvetko murmured, nursing his trembling left hand.

“Don’t apologize to me, you’re the one getting injured.”

They’re silent for a moment before Cvetko appeared besides his brother, three heads shorter and not even reaching his shoulder. “Are you going away?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Luka incredulously looked back to his little brother. It’s only now he first realizes how similar they look. Cvetko has the same round face, those same freckles. Sure, Bojan and Arseny almost have the exact same appearance as Luka, the only difference in their ages and hair, yet Luka can’t help seeing himself in that tiny brother of his. Cvetko, expressionless, gestured to the behemoth of papers on the table.

A smile tickled Luka’s mouth and he forced a bitter laugh. “I’m not going far,” he said, pausing as he placed a firm hand on Cvetko’s shoulder. “I’m going to Amsterdam. I’ll see Alex there.”

Cvetko looked away with another pout.

“Oh, don’t be like that. You have Arina and Anya, and Dmitrije’s family lives an hour away. And Mama and Papa are right here.”

Without saying much of anything else, Cvetko wrapped his stick-thin brother in a squeeze. Luka, startled for a moment, ruffled his brother’s hair and grinned. “We’re all right here, kiddo.”

***

It had been a hard two months, and he had almost forgotten about his own birthday. After all, his whole life, it’d been a nonoccurrence. No celebration, no wonder, only a gift of some sweets or novels.

That’s why it came as a surprise to him, when sifting through a stack of official papers and getting lost in the jargon and formalities, Cvetko was surprised to stumble upon Agim, standing like a spectre in his office, holding a small box in his hand.

Cvetko, startled, bumped into the doorway and gathered his papers with a laugh. “Blin! You scared the crap out of me!”

Agim grinned and gestured to the coffee table. “I tried to get Komnena and Laszlo to come, but...”

Cvetko shrugged. “It’s fine, I appreciate the thought anyway. They’re busy.”

They sat opposite, Cvetko undoing the string on the rice paper box that unraveled into a tiny pastry. Agim fished a lighter from his pocket, bringing it to a light and holding it out. In the lens of his glasses, the flame lapped back and forth. “Hope this is an alright alternative to a candle.”

The heat of the small flame drew Cvetko closer, and he found himself mesmerized by the dollop of orange light.

Don’t touch the stove.

A faint smile crossed Cvetko’s face, and he tilted his head, the light pockmarking the darkness that cloaked the whole room.

“Perfectly alright,” he replied, sampling the pastry with his finger. “Thank you for the gift.”

His long and prominent face illuminated by the flame, Agim grinned. “Happy birthday.”

[nynsimmer]

It’s been months since Scar arrived at the pump station. He made sure he made the fence stronger in case of it falling down due to walkers banging and leaning on it. He would start his days by fishing early in the morning, it seemed to be the most quiet time and the most save to be out of the pump station.

He’d try and catch at least three big fish before heading back to his shelter. This would last him 2 days. When heading back he would check the wild herbs that grew around in the area, whilst also checking for traps to hopefully have caught a bunny or squirrel, though it seemed even they were hiding from all of this.

When the sun starts to rise he would check on his little garden in planter boxes he had made. He grew some herbs and some taro roots, the other plant hadn’t yet grown so he wasn’t sure what seeds he had found. He hoped for it to be some fruit at least, or maybe even some vegetables. 

When this was all done, he would check on his wind turbine on top of the roof to see if it was still working and generating power. Then for the rest of the morning he would stand guard and watch over the small city to see if a group of walkers would move through and maybe even survivors. He’d still hope he would see some of his friends again one day.

When the sun would rise at it’s highest point, Scar would go inside and prepare himself a meal whilst escaping the heat, he had not yet found sunscreen to protect his skin. He has to make another run for supplies soon. After having filled his stomach, he suddenly got very tired and decided to take a nap. Though his nap took longer than expected.

A couple months back: Through the eyes of Elsa.

When Elsa arrived home from the small school building their island had build, she found her father passed out on the floor, having turned blue and was no longer alive. “Papa?” She said whilst she placed her hand on the glass. She stood there for a while before trying to open the door, it’s locked. A small backpack, with inside a bottle of water and some food, was standing next to the door with a small note attached to it.

Elsa, Your sister had turned and before we knew we got bit. Please run and find safety, we have locked the door so we can’t harm any other people. You must go Elsa, find a community somewhere, we will be off to a better place. And don’t forget to try and help people you come across. We love you, Papa, Mama and Sofia.

Elsa teared up, she was so scared of this day since she was born. Her mother was pregnant with her when this all started. She put on her backpack and started to run to the nearest rowboat she could find. But halfway there she broke down, she was only 10, how was she supposed to do this?

She dropped her backpack and cried it all out for a while, regaining her strength before putting on her backpack again and heading for the nearest rowboat. She put her stuff in and untied the rope that was attached to the docks. She then set foot in the boat and sat down, starting to row her way away from the island and main land, out onto the ocean.

She had fallen asleep at night, not knowing her little rowboat would continue to float in whatever way the ocean was taking her. When waking up she was surrounded by water, no land to be seen. She was scared, she knew Nessie was in these waters but no one knew if she was friendly or evil. After rowing for most of the day, with the sun slowly going down, Elsa got tired. She ate her sandwich and took a bit of water before going to sleep for another night at sea again.

Elsa woke up by what felt like a tug on the boat, she sat up and looked around to see that the boat was getting pulled by something. The rope was in the water but when Elsa looked into the big endless waters, she couldn’t see what it was. The sun was rising which meant she had slept for quiet a while. When she looked into the direction of where the boat was being pulled she could see the faint land she was heading towards. “Oasis Springs!”. She yelled out and before she knew it, she was slowly making her way to shore. 

Jumping out of the boat and tying it to a dead palm tree, she put on her backpack and started to walk. But before she set foot on the road she looked back wondering what creature brought her here. Maybe it was Nessie? As she walked along the road it seemed quiet, some dead walkers were lying here and there so she was very careful anyway. Soon the cries of a toddler could be heard and it drew her attention. “Try and help others you come across...” she remembered from the note and with that she started running.

Upon arriving at a mansion she spotted a little toddler stuck in the hallway, in the room next to her were two walkers and in the kitchen was another one, they couldn’t get to her. “I’ll come and help you little one!” She said to the toddler before searching for a stone. Upon finding one she rushed back to the big glass door. “You have to move back a bit? ok?” she said though the toddler didn’t seem to understand so Elsa made hand movements to suggest she had to go back, and so the toddler did.

Elsa smashed the window and quickly helped the toddler out, on her little shirt it said “Angelica”. Elsa quickly walked away with her to a small little place she felt was safe. She opened her backpack and shared a bit of her food and water. “How long have you been there Angelica? You must be starving...” And so, for the next months to come they were traveling together.

Jumping forward in time again:

“Wake up!” Angelica giggled as she hugged Elsa. They have been traveling for so long now, they found a sign that lead them to Forgotten Hollow. “I am awake!” Elsa laughed as she slowly sat up. Soft grumbling could be heard from the bushes which quickly made Elsa stand up and pick up Angelica. “Shhh stay quiet now, we have to go ok?” She said as she started to walk.

After walking all day, having a small break here and there trying to find some food and water, they finally reached the sign “Welcome to Forgotten Hollow”. Elsa sighed with relief and put Angelica down for a bit to regain her breath. She opened her backpack and gave some food to Angelica and also ate something herself “We’re finally here, maybe we can find someone here”. 

When their break was over Elsa picked Angelica up once again and walked into town. Most houses are boarded up and no lights were on, until she saw the pump station “Look Angie, there’s lights, maybe there’s someone there”. and so they headed towards the pump station.

Scar walked outside, hearing knocks on his gate and what sounded like a little girl screaming for help. “Keep your voice down! I’m on my way!” Scar said, loud enough for them to hear. As he opened the gate a little girl with a toddler on her arm scoots inside and he quickly closes the gate again, looking at them surprised. “Are you all alone?” he asked to which Elsa gave him a shy nod.

Scar walked over to them “Here, let me hold her, you must be tired.” He took Angelica from Elsa her arms and took her hand “Where are your parents? Are you siblings?” He asked her. Elsa softly shook her head “We’re not siblings, but our parents are in a better place now”. She sadly said.

Scar frowned and took them inside “I’ll make sure nothing will happen to you two ok? You’re save here.” He put Angelica down in a chair who had fallen asleep in his arms. And from here on out Scar had two kids to take care off, his first mission? Finding a store that would have a potty and toys.

People saved: 2 People lost: 9

[X] Download the pumpstation [X] Character Page

[X] Start of the story

[nyaarr]

Anahardt week - A love story in seven days.

Day 1: “Sugar”

Day 2: “Date Night”

Day 3: “Games”

(Three days later)

It was not the best idea, but there was no food delivery for outlandish organizations yet.  And it was not just food--they were in dire need of medical supplies and spare parts to patch up their gear. And money. Oh dear. They really needed money.

“Do you even know how to fish?” Torbjörn raised an eyebrow, and Ana shrugged.

“How difficult can it be?”

“Tell Reinhardt that,” Fareeha cackled, crossing her arms as she glanced smugly at him.

She had taken some days off her job after Brigitte called her, and Winston had allowed her to join their merry band as a part-time member despite Ana’s grumbling. There was nothing she could do, however, since her actual job was as bad as being a soldier itself--and Ana would rather have her with them.

Fareeha had grown into such a nice strong woman; Ana could not be more proud. Well, maybe if she had become a civil doctor, or a civil engineer, or a civil anything, really. She snorted. It was not to be, of course, growing up among legends.

“Oh dear, the two of you together,” Torbjörn rolled his eyes. “Right, I’m going to get us some food. Someone care to come with me?”

“I’ll go, papa. But only if the loser team does something for the winner team.”

“Ah, a dare?” Reinhardt raised an eyebrow from the bench where he had been sitting playing dice with Torb. “I’ve plenty of ideas for my armour that need a good engineer. Or two.”

Brigitte flexed her strong arms at him and grinned.

“Prepare to eat dust, old man.”

Ana could only smile at their banter. Reinhardt and the Lindholms were a family on their own right, with their private jokes and their all round camaraderie. It warmed her heart to see that they had stuck together. However, what really touched her was to see sadness and grief chipping away from her old friend as time went by.

“Ah, I’ll go with you two, or the only thing you would catch is a cold, ” Fareeha hid her eyes behind a hand and shook her head.

It was fucking cold at the Pyrenees, even though Ana was clad in old winter clothes and only her eye was showing. Snow painted the whole forest white, reminding her of their lost Swiss base. The ground crunched under her boots, but it was so cold she did not sink. It was a different story for Reinhardt, but he did not seem to mind one bit, striding by their side with that twinkle in his eyes that meant he was enjoying whatever he was doing.

“This’s a good spot,” he said, stopping under a pine once they reached the frozen lake and and making Fareeha sigh.

“No, of course it’s not,” she looked around, eyebrows frowning in concentration. She had a wool beanie over her head and a thick scarf that still let her face show. It showed that she had grown up in Switzerland, after all. “Come on. You want to win that silly bet of yours or not?”

“We cannot lose,” he snorted. “You’ve ever seen Torb anywhere near a kitchen? He would not find anything to eat even if it bit him.”

“Maybe. But he has Brigitte.”

“She will find something to scavenge for parts, I don’t doubt that.”

“Play it safe,” Fareeha shrugged and started walking again. “That’s what I always say. Come on further in.”

They kept walking around the lake until she was satisfied with a place nearby a rocky cliff and several trees.

“I’ll make a hole at the middle of the lake and try there, but you two stay here. This should be safe from ice, from water, and from … anything else that can go wrong.”

“Ah, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine, right, Ana?”

“You may be, but I’m freezing here,” she moved closer to Reinhardt in the hopes to steal some of his heat. “Can we get done here fast and go back , please?”

Torbjörn had made for them some extremely rudimentary fishing poles that they split between them, as well as some raw meat to attach to them. She had heard that people used to fish with insects and worms, which would not have happened in her watch even if they have had them handy, thankyouverymuch.

Fareeha went into the ice slowly while Reinhardt grabbed a fallen tree and pulled it closer to their spot. He pushed the snow down and sat down with a puff of breath. Then, he patted his thighs.

“Come here, I’ll warm you up.”

Ana turned towards him with an arched eyebrow and hoping? wishing? she had heard wrong, and his face sobered in a moment. Then, he looked behind himself, then back to her. Confused.

“What did I do?”

Oh. Of course he did not mean it that way. Ana let go a relieved breath and walked towards him, sitting on his lap but favouring his left leg.

“I was overcautious. Sorry,” she reached for his back with a gloved hand and rubbed his worn out parka. “Should have known better.”

“Why? What would you think I could possibly--?” He could not even finish the sentence, as if he could just not grasp the idea. And it was right. He was right. He would totally not mean it that way.

“Not you. But I’m old, now, and I’ve lived long among men. I tend to think the worst of most innocent comments, and I’m hardly wrong.”

Reinhard gasped audibly.

“You thought I--  Here, of all places??”

Ana laughed and pulled her scarf a bit so she could poke his cheek with her nose--that was all she dared to get out with that cold.

“That’s not to say--Well,” he looked down, mumbled. “I know you don’t like it. But if you ever wanted--And we are in a better place than this, of course...”

“This is how you lured the ladies at the base into your bed?” She teased, impossibly amused by his embarrassment. “I was expecting more winking and flexing. Some boasting, at least.”

“Ah, you’re evil incarnate, maus,” he chuckled, and flexed his strong arms before grabbing her in an embrace.

It was only when Fareeha came back to them with a bag full of fishes that they realized they had not even baited their hooks. Fuming, she stopped in front of them both, hands on her hips.

“Apologies. It would seem we,” Reinhardt cleared his throat, “lost track of time?”

“I don’t even-- I can’t with you two,” she let go a long breath, but the corners of her mouth were curling up in a smile. Ana did not have to tell her anything; she knew the moment she saw them in the same room-- and she laughed and teased them like she was fifteen all again. She was happy for them. All were, in truth. It was a bit scary, the pressure to get it right, but she was not planning to screw up.

“Oh, you caught plenty of fishes,” Ana was surprised when she peeked into the bag. “You’re really good at this.”

“Yeah, be grateful Gabe taught me,” Fareeha raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. “Let’s hope it’s enough.”

They had not walked more than fifteen minutes when Ana turned around. Oh, she may be missing an eye, but the one she had worked extremely well -- and her ears were as sharp.

“What--?”

She put her index finger over her mouth and looked around. There was something moving. Something big--Ana grabbed Reinhardt by the arm to stop him so she could damn listen. Big. Heavy. Coming their way. But where?

“Stay here,” he said with a calm voice, and broke into a run towards their right, charging head on against a bear that came running towards them. A bear.

“Do you think you can take me? Keep coming, then!” His voice echoed on the mountain as he ran, arms extended.

What in the actual--

Ana was about to run after him when suddenly the bear turned to the side and backed off several yards. Reinhardt stopped running and put his hands on his hips as the bear huffed and walked in circles around itself. Nervous, scared. But not scared enough to leave. It wanted something.

Ana grabbed Fareeha’s arm --no way she was leaving her in the middle of a bear territory-- and got closer to the german with short, slow paced steps. There may be other bears around. Or cubs. What she found, though, was the corpse of and elk.

“Ah, maybe it’s trying to defend its food.”

“Can we take it with us? The kill is fresh,” Fareeha crouched on the ground to inspect it, making the bear more agitated. “We can feed us all properly with it.”

“Give it the fishes, then,” Reinhardt had not moved an inch from where he was, not he turned his head towards them. “Must have woken up quite recently, and may not be able to hunt more if we take its food.”

She did not seem enthusiastic about giving away the fruit of her hard labour, but chucked the bag far away in their opposite direction to lure the animal from them. It did not seem thrilled to change preys, either, but Reinhardt charged against it again -- and this time it just ran into the woods.

The crusader walked back towards them as if scaring bears away was something he had been doing all his life after breakfast.

“So,” Ana pocketed her hands on her coat, “I sense a story about Bavarian bears that you have not told us about.”

“A story?” He stretched his back and his arms for a bit, then grabbed the dead animal and put it over his shoulders. “If a bear runs to you, you scare it off. That’s just common sense. What story is to that?”

“You didn’t arm-wrestle any bear?” Fareeha snickered.

“Me? No, not really,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, but remained otherwise serious. “But my general wrestled a bear to the ground and then gained its friendship. Balderich was--”

When they arrived to the cabin where they would be hiding for some days, the bastion that Torb had somehow salvaged greeted them with a happy chirp. Reinhardt had been a second away from throwing the elk at the omnic as if it was a surrogate hammer, but he restrained himself at the last moment. Ana did not like it either; they had just fought too many of them to be comfortable in the same room with one, even if both Brigitte and Torb swore it was inoffensive.

“What in the mother forge is that?” Torbjörn jumped down a very rudimentary chair to look at their catch as the crusader put it on the ground.

“Is that an elk? Please, tell me you didn’t fought it to the death.”

“We stole it from a bear he scared away, which is way better,” Fareeha left her parka to dry on a hanger, and Brigitte turned towards her with huge eyes.

“And you let him? Fareeha! We’ve talked about this!”

Ana smiled at their bickering --sometimes it felt like they were fifteen again-- and walked towards the bonfire at the centre of the room.

“So, what did you bring?” She asked, taking the scarf off and leaving it hanging over her shoulders. The fire was not roaring, yet the cabin was cozy--a relief it was from the cutting cold at the outside.

“Well,” Torb shrugged. “There was nothing to eat around. But we found an old OR15 chassis, so at least there’s that for parts.”

“Hah, I knew it,” Reinhardt chuckled as he took his winter clothes off. He threw them nearby without much care and sat down on the ground slowly, stretching his legs close to the fire.

“It’s in quite good condition despite the snow, it totally should count as our contribution.”

“You just don’t want to lose,” Fareeha chuckled, leaving her parka on a hanger on the wall.

“Bah, you guys cheated anyway by robbing a poor bear its lunch...”

“Fareeha exchanged the fishes she got for the elk, so we all have food,” Ana said, almost purring in happiness because of the heat. “It’s fair game.”

“I’d say we decide it after lunch,” Torbjörn put another log to the fire. “I can roast it, but I don’t know how to prepare it. You know, it’s all fur and skin at the moment.”

A thick silence descended at the cabin, broken just by the crackling of the flames. Between all of them they have probably killed the same amount of people and omnics that could live in a small town, yet they have never had to deal with anything worse than a whole chicken already prepared, food-wise.

“Balderich never taught you how to--?”

“Nop.”

“Gabriel gave you any pointers--?”

“Just for gutting fish.”

Ana broke into a laugh. How--How had she lived these years away from her family of idiots, it was a wonder. She had just survived, that was clear. If only. If only she could get Jack to join them again--that would be great. There had to be a way. He needed to stop being alone, too, get someone to help him grab the Reaper and see if there was anything they could do for him.

There had to be a way.

“Fine,” Reinhardt let go a long breath and the rest looked each other with infinite relief. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He pushed himself up, avoiding putting his weight on his right leg as much as possible, and then limped towards the elk.

“Ah, let me give it a try first,” Fareeha put herself between the large man and their wannabe food. “Gut a fish, gut an elk, right?”

“How difficult can be to chop this thing to pieces, after all?” Brigitte squeezed his arm. “Just--We’ll ask you if we need any help.”

The two of them put on their winter clothes, grabbed the animal and pulled it outside among groans. When the door closed behind them, Reinhardt let go a small chuckle.

“You rascal,” Ana raised her eyebrows at the mischievous look on his face.

“They may be thirty, but they still need to learn how to fend for themselves,” he shrugged, and went back to his spot on the ground. The limp was still there, though quite less noticeable; Cold and damp weather had never helped his bad knee, after all.

“So, when are you going to let me and dear Angela do something about your knee?” Torb threw at him the couple of pillows that were part of the cabin decoration.

“Never,” he propped his leg over them and leaned on the cabin’s wooden wall. His eye looked around for her and she smiled warmly at his mute request to sit down with him. Ana knew that if it depended on him she would be on his lap all day, but he asked for interaction, gave her the chance to back off.

She knelt by his side and ran a hand through his silver wet hair, combing it backwards. He purred, grinning at her and completely ignoring the engineer, who groaned.

“I’m not freaking carrying you when you cannot walk, you hear me?”

The door flinging open saved him from answering and they stared at one Jesse McCree dusted with snow and with an amused look on his face.

“Well, look at that. I thought I’ve got the whole pack,” he turned a bit to show the two woman by his side, “and yet, I was missing the loveliest lady of them all.”

Ana waved a hand at him when he bowed, taking off his silly cowboy hat.

“It’s good to see you, Jesse.”

He was a grown man now, strong, confident, but still with that twinkle on his eye. What she was not prepared to see was his mechanical left forearm. They all seemed to cheat death these days, though some seemed to have luckier than others. Still, she was happy to see him back to them. Since Overwatch blew up from the inside, they needed to have as many allies they could trust by their side--even if the only reason he was there was because she had information about Reaper.

The cowboy raised an eyebrow when he noticed where Ana’s hand was, and whistled.

“Wow, it was about time,” he slow-clapped at them, and Reinhardt threw one of the pillows at him with terrible, terrible aim, laughing. “Well, well. News aside, I thought that meeting on a cabin surrounded by nothing would suck without some proper food, so I’ve brought gifts.”

Jesse took off the backpack he was wearing and left it on the ground, just to show them a handful of half-frozen ready-to-bake pizzas wrapped in transparent plastic.

Even the bear could hear their cheers.

Play of the game.

Ok. Sorry. I’m terrible with pairing prompts. The next one is focused on them alone again.

Day 4: Ink

[magiimaginationdestination]

Sinbads s/o gets abducted and sinbad and the generals are freaking out and it turns out that a bunch of children who thought she was their mother?

Cute~!

Sinbad:

“WHAT?!”

The generals flinched at their King’s booming voice, none of them blamed him though. It was partly their fault as they had been instructed to watch over his Queen for the day, it was clear to see that they had failed as you were nowhere in sight.

The King ran a hand through his purple locks, resisting himself from doing more damage to the situation at hand. He took a deep breath and looked up at his generals with a stern expression, “I don’t care how far you have to go, just find her,” he said sternly causing all of them to flinch at his tone. 

Nonetheless, they intertwined their hands together and nodded, “yes, my King!” They said in unison. 

As Sinbad watched them leave his office, he glanced down at his hand and looked to his wedding ring glimmering in the sunlight coming through the window. He ran his thumb over it, ‘we’ll find you, Y/N,’ he thought to himself, ‘I promise.’

He abruptly stood from his desk causing the chair to let out a loud scrap, he disregarded that annoying noise and left his office to go and join his generals in their hunt for you. As he equipped into Baal, a sudden voice stopped him. 

“Miss Y/N, you’re so nice!”

“Hey, don’t hog her~!”

Before he turned around he heard a melodic laugh coming from the same direction as those voices, as that laughed reached his ears he knew who it came from. 

Once Sinbad turned around he felt a heavy weight lifted from his chest. There, in the garden, was you with kids surrounding you on all sides. As he was about to scold you he decided against it as he might scare those kids, he let out a sigh, he should’ve known you would get caught up in something like that. You were very fond of children after all. He sighed once more as he walked over to you nonchalantly sitting under the tree with all the children around you. 

As he came closer you looked up and beamed when you saw him, you began to wave at him causing all the children to look up in shock and slightly freeze up. You noticed this and rose a brow, “it’s okay kids, that’s my husband,” you said softly, you brought a finger to your chin as if in thought, “he’s like your papa,” you said happily. 

All the kids soon turned to you with shocked expressions and bright eyes, “really?!” They all exclaimed. 

Once you nodded they all jumped up and ran over to him causing the King to pale at the sight of four kids running over to him. He knew what was coming, he did that to his father all the time when he came home from fishing. 

The poor king soon fell to the ground with a thud as they all knocked him off his feet, he barely had the strength to sit up as they were on top of him. When he looked to the side he saw your guilty expression, “when I got separated from Masrur and Sharrkan they all stuck to me and thought I was their mom,” you said as your expression went a pleading one, “can they please stay here?” You asked with your hands clasped together.

He glanced at the kids and back to you, he didn’t have the heart to say no. He then chuckled and gave you a bright smile, “of course.”

Ja’far was probably going to scold him for this later.

[mama-orion]

Sacre Coeur B Sides: pond stomp

As promised, here’s the first of the Sacre Coeur B sides! Enjoy this little bit of parentlock fluff to soothe the soul. Back when SC reached 1,000 hits, I celebrated by asking for a writing prompt. @shirleycarlton kindly gave me "cold rainy spring day. And frogs." I've been holding this particular 'memory' in my mind for months. I'm happy to finally bring it forth as summer fades into autumn. I was getting the blues. This helped. This is an entry from Sherlock's scrap book of mind palace memories.  __________________

“I’ve got one!” Lissa squealed, holding up the frog triumphantly, knee-deep in the pond. “Dada, look how big she is!”

Sherlock stepped off the bank into the shallow pond, the muddy bottom sucking at his tall black wellies as he stepped with care toward his daughter. A light spring rain pattered on their raincoats, bright flashes of yellow in the gray afternoon light.

“A fine specimen of amphibian, order of Anura.” He chuckled. “You hold that frog any closer, Bee, you’ll soon find out if it’s a prince.”

“Or princess. Let’s keep her,” Lissa said thoughtfully, holding her squirming frog at eye level, close to her nose. “I’ll call her Anura. That’s lovely.”

Sherlock sucked in his breath, preparing himself for a fierce battle of wills. “She’ll be happier here, Bee, where she has everything she needs.” Lissa scowled, a tremor suddenly quaking her lower lip. “You can visit Anura every day, and you’ll hear her singing from your bedroom window.”

Lissa stared longingly at the frog. Then, with a sudden shuddery breath, she nodded. “Right. I wouldn’t want someone taking me out of the cottage. Or the flat. I bet she has dads in the pond who would miss her, just like me.”

Sherlock felt a pang deep in his gut. Five years later and it was still his greatest fear that Lissa might be somehow spirited away from them, though the threat of Rosamund was gone. Though he and John didn’t speak of it, Sherlock found it very interesting that Lissa had come to this conclusion so quickly on her own.

“Well done, love, that wasn’t easy. But it was very kind.” He bent down to kiss her damp hair. “Study her a bit, see if you can find something about her you’ll recognize next time.” Lissa squinted at her wriggling frog, turning on her considerable six-year-old powers of observation.

Sherlock took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Be present, he reminded himself. The rain smelled good. It was so green, the ferns already towering over Bee’s head, the drooping elms and shaggy conifers making a little haven beneath their bows where a trickling stream fed the pond. The trill of frogs had silenced as they’d approached, but as they stood quietly, his child studying the frog as if it were the first of its kind, a few brave anura began to chirrup again. A little more of the tension in his chest loosened.

Sherlock thought fondly of their first summer here five years ago, when it had been John who had so badly needed the solace of the cottage. Each summer found them back, pottering in the garden, running into the hedge maze after their increasingly mobile daughter, caring for the bees. There was never a question about coming, but some years, like this one, it became too easy to put off.

Sherlock’s work on the serum, now as senior researcher with a considerable team at his beck and call, had been at a fever pitch that spring. It had been John who sat him down and firmly announced that for the sake of all their health, their marriage and their daughter, they head to Sussex. Immediately. Sherlock, fixated on his goal of the first round of human trails, had protested, but John would have none of it.

“They’ll all still be here when you get back, I promise you.” He’d smirked. “Don’t worry, most of the subjects won’t even realize you’ve gone.”

“Unless it does work,” Sherlock had pressed. “All of the rats regain their memories.”

“Then you’ll want your excellent interns pulling their weight, gathering lots of data, and compiling it all into reports for you to review. This is what senior researchers do, love.”

“Dada? Dada! I think I’m stuck.” Lissa’s voice pulled him back to the pond beneath the pine copse, his child, his husband just up the hill making tea.

John had been right, of course.

Still clutching her frog, Lissa tugged at her own little wellies, well-submerged and full of murky water. She was well and truly stuck in the pond muck.

“Hold tight, Bee, I’ll give you a tug.”

Sherlock steadied his daughter’s shoulder, the frog seeming resigned to its captivity, and plunged a hand into the cold water to fish around for her little green boot. He located a pull-ring and with a satisfying slurch, freed each boot. Lissa giggled.

“That sounded rude.”

“Come, let’s get Anura back to her two hundred cousins for her tea. Papa’s making chowder and he’ll not be pleased if I keep you out in the rain too long.”

“Dada, I’m already wet. To my knees!” She pressed her nose to the frog’s little pointed olive-green head and gently eased it back into the water. They watched it swim away with graceful kicks.

“She had a red spot.”

“Pardon?”

Lissa threaded a cold, damp hand into his own. “A spot, just below her left eye. That’s how I’ll know. When I see her again. I’ll know it’s Anura.”

“Ah. Well done, Bee.”

Together they splashed back through the shallow pond, water-striders skating around their calves. As they made their way through the reeds and into the little copse of trees, Lissa’s boots sloshed comically.

“Wait, sit here a moment on this log. Let’s leave some of the pond here for the frogs, hm?” Lissa sat on the log humming while he tugged off each little boot, dumping a small pond’s worth of water into the pine needles.

“Look, Dada, jumper beans!” Before he could get the boots back onto her feet, Lissa dashed off the log, impervious to the prickly forest floor. She’d gotten solid callouses running half-wild during their holiday.

Sherlock followed, boots dangling from his fingers, and crouched next to her by a bushy hedge of jewel weed. The little orange snap-dragon flowers were bright in the gray light. Together they hunted for the fattest seed pods, crowing as the slightest pressure of a fingertip set the pod springing open, flinging the seed in a very satisfying way.

The sodden afternoon light was fading and Lissa had scoured the patch for every last seedpod when he heard John calling from the cottage yard.

“Let’s bring one to Papa!”

Sherlock grinned. No roses at this cottage. Here, we bring our beloveds self-propagating marsh weeds.

With Lissa’s eagle eye, they found one untouched pod and, as if the thing were a stick of unstable dynamite, pulled up the plant. Lissa delegated the tricky job of transport to Sherlock and ran ahead through the damp grass toward the cottage, the soles of her pale little bare feet flashing.

Sherlock watched as John caught sight of her bright yellow raincoat sprinting from the woods and ran out to intercept her. Boots in one hand, explosive plant in the other, Sherlock followed slowly, taking in the sight of John swinging their daughter around and around in the fading dusk, then gathering her up tight and crying in mock-dismay as he, too, was covered in pond muck.

Sherlock’s heart squeezed. Another thin layer of tension melted away as he carefully tucked the memory into the expansive topiary of his mind palace that held so many cottage moments.

When Sherlock finally reached them, John was holding Lissa, a heavy armful, snuggled close to his jumpered-chest as she bubbled with her story of Anura.

“And we brought you a hopper bean! Just for you!” Sherlock reverently held out the plant for John. Their eyes met, crinkling into knowing smiles. John ceremoniously squeezed the little pod and they all cried out as it sprung into a perfect projectile, the seed flying up over their heads.

“Thank you, Bee,” John said. “My day was missing a jumper bean. Is your day missing ginger nuts? Because I’ve just taken some from the oven.”

Cheering, Lissa squirmed out of his arms and ran across the garden, disappearing into the cottage, singing about biscuits.

Following more slowly, John and Sherlock snaked their arms around one another. John gave him a squeeze.

“Good pond stomp?”

“Yes. It was… peaceful.”

“You look refreshed. We always do seem to find our rhythm here.”

“Yes, but I was still feeling incomplete.” He pressed a kiss to John’s temple as they walked through the dripping garden toward the warm glow of the cottage. “My day was missing ginger nuts, too.”

_________

@gobacktobakerstreet @ineedhugz

[empresskatariah]

A Promise

[davidaolson]

We took the water taxi from the dock at the end of the next door pier to the ferry in San Pedro then ferried to Caye Caulker. We are not a big fan of the ferry system mainly because we are always be stuck in the lower section which does not provide a vantage point where the shades of turquoise are easily studied, where the wind can rub its fingers through my ever whiter hair. Most seats are in the belly of the beast where there are few windows. And because we are shoehorned sardines, there is little space to maneuver for a better view. It feels claustrophobic.

Our return ride, our final ferry ride, was infinitely better. We were able to wrangle two seats on the top and watch the green shores of Caye Caulker fade into oblivion and the palm-lined shores of Ambergris Caye appear magically on the Northern horizon. See the horizon stretch from yesterday into tomorrow, into the soul of a lone rainbow hanging onto Earth’s edge in the East and a gray wall of never experienced rain in the distant West.

Roots, rock, reggae, dis a reggae music Play I some music, dis a reggae music…

The vibe on Caulker is a far cry more mellow than the relatively bustling San Pedro which is a slow crawl compared to sweet home Chicago. I specifically wore my Che Guevara shirt, his head in silhouette against a military green background, for this part of our vacation. Rebel. Rebel. It received an early compliment. I think I may need to purchase similar shirts for Brotha Marley, Uncle Ho, Cousin Vladimir, Papa Villa, Tante Joan d’Arc, Señor Bolivar, Jefes Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, Friar Martin Luther, Uncle Martin King, Great Aunty Rosa, Mr. X, Viva Zapata, ¡Viva la Revolución! …I think you can see where my heart lies…

Anyway, the Caulker feels reggae…dis a reggae music…from the moment one disembarks the ferry. The island sends relaxed out relaxed vibes that appear to be floating within life. Maybe, floating on the spirit wings of the Ganja bird…I don’t know. But the vibe is one lovish…

One Love! One Heart! Let’s get together and feel all right…

One Love Bench on Caye Caulker

Everyone we encountered was friendly and chillaxed. It is a place I could see me whiling away the years of my youth when I was young and living close to, if not over to the edge of sanity. How about the Winters of my retirement? Not sure. I’ve taken to enjoying solitude and don’t see that possible in this very small village but it is definitely a great place for a lunch and an afternoon.

One of our first activities was to hole up in a restaurant hanging over the ocean, a restaurant with a cover but otherwise open to the sea breezes and gentle waters and puffy clouds lazing their way across the impeccable sky. In the North, a dozen or so Magnificent Frigate Birds hung in the sky, all facing into the wind, barely moving as if they were tethered to a child’s mobile hanging over a crib. They almost lulled me to sleep.

The Frigate is brownish black with a deeply forked tail. I envied their ability to float in tranquility. Frigates are considered good omens as their presence means land is near. I felt lucky to be at this place at this time in my life. We ate close to noon and were almost finished eating the fresh fish when a catamaran dumped a load of tourists all who tried to squeeze into the eatery quickly destroying the tranquility. We hurried out. I like to be around people…generally in moderation. I also enjoy silence…

People talking without speaking People hearing without listening…

When I think of silence, I don’t envisage absence of sound. For me, silence is defined by the absence of human-generated noise be it the human voice which can trill emotion beyond the bounds of human thought, be it a jackhammer chewing away in the heart of downtown Chicago in the twilight before the masses have emerged from their hives to pollinate the financial flowers perfuming global commerce.

For me, silence includes the choir of nature, the low croak of Gecko hunting insects by the light of the waxing Moon, the rustle of leaves when a flock of Pelicans launches into the morning sky after a night sleeping safely in the trees, the gentle scraping of Fiddler Crab hauling its shell across a sandy beach at night seen when I walked out with a bottle of wine to sit in the poetry of the ocean, the song of the orange Sun inching o’er the horizon, the light scratch of Iguana’s claws scurrying over rocks before it sucks in a juicy fly or hurries to a hideout when spooked by the shadow of Hawk on the prowl. The iguana moves in staccato bursts punctuated by long stays in the musical score playing in the background of its life.

For me, silence is the place I find myself, if not find, then converse with my inner voice, scratch away at my defenses in an attempt to understand the beast within until, that is, Monkey gets antsy and interjects without raising his paw to be called upon in an orderly fashion. He sticks a needle in my ass to get my attention. As he frequently did in Caye Caulker.

Folks won’t find us now because Mister Satch and Mister Cros We gone fishin’…

Caye Caulker is run down as if the town was succumbing to neglect. Or it was rooted in the hippie vibe more concerned with the present moment than the tomorrow which never comes. Zen existence. Many buildings are on stilts to keep the residents dry during the hurricane season when waters can surge and cover the low lying island. A number of buildings were broken. Many were little more than concrete shells. Poverty. Surprising?

I seem to be always surprised by poverty which is strange considering there are many more poor than there are not poor. The rundown nature of the island may be why accommodations tend to clock in at half or less that of Ambergris Caye where we were staying. It could also be why so many youths choose to congregate here where bars line up side by side on the main streets. Youth and alcohol…fun and dangerous…dangerous fun…bars in Caulker open early. I don’t drink before 5pm…

Jewelry particularly earrings and necklaces on a street vendor’s table is a bait my wife can’t pass up. It’s her shiny penny, her pink pony. Where I see a hook, she sees yummy morsels to add to her eclectic collection. When choosing, she selects for rare beauty. It is my job to negotiate the final price so the barb doesn’t set too deep in our tender wallets. I paid higher than normal because some profits went to the local women creating a cottage industry to help them sustain and grow. The woman we purchased from told us of a place on the island to see Tarpon and seahorses and gave us a free map of the tiny island. Glad my wife took the bait.

Tarpon In Tarpon Bay

We followed the map with less luck than I would have expected. That was ok because while on Caye Caulker, I planned on taking Monkey walk for a long walk on a very short pier and pushing him into the drink for a few hours of peace. What I wasn’t planning on was a heat that was punishing, a humidity making my balls swampy, while searching for the appropriate length pier. I was beginning to think we wouldn’t get lucky when we walked along a dilapidated, twisty pier through a shaded, almost spooky mangrove opening to a bay teeming with tarpon.

Tarpon are a sportfish that can grow up to 280 pounds (127 kilos) and 8 feet(2.5 meters) long. These Tarpon were schooling in about three feet deep. None were the 280-pound monsters but there were a few in the vicinity of 50+ pounds, prime game for a fisherman such as myself. They are edible but not delectable so most are thrown back. I was itching to pull out a rod and reel and try my hand but today was not the day I would get to fish. This is one of the few places Monkey and I aligned today. Nor would I fish the entire trip as it cost $250 for a half day of guided fishing which is to steep for my tastes.

I’ve been around for a long, long year Stole many a man’s soul to waste And I was ’round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate…

Mi esposá opted to purchase feeder fish from the Belizean woman manning the shack at the end of the pier. 5 Belizean dollars for 10 dead fish to hold a few inches above the water, dead fish to entice the monsters to break through the surface and suck in an offering. She a high priestess offering sacramental communion to the devotee. The trick is to hold the fish between two fingers with the palm open so the fish doesn’t also inhale the hand although the mouth is big enough to suck in the hand and half the arm.

High Priestess Offering Sacramental Communion to the Congregation

        After watching her feed a few, I decided to join in the fun but with a twist. I figured it could be a great way to wash my hands of Monkey once and for all. I wrapped Monkey tightly around a tantalizing feeder fish and dangled it a few inches above water counting the seconds until Tarpon swallowed Monkey for absorption in his gullet or puke him far out in the deep blue sea where he would drown. Either way, I would finally have Monkey off my weary back. Freedom! Just one fish away.

Pelican

But, not a Tarpon jumped. Not a one. I touched the water with Monkey Fish, still nothing. It was as if the little fucker hypnotized Tarpon. They even quit leaping for the fish my wife offered. Frustrated, I tossed fish into the air and let it plop into the water where it was gobbled up almost as soon as it hit the surface. It is amazing how fast the behemoths can move when motivated. Unfortunately, Monkey was not part of the meal. He crawled up my arm, into my ear, and tucked himself deep into my subconscious where he remained hidden quietly for a few hours. I think he finally figured out I was serious about existing in and only in the moment.

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars…

Three kayakers pulled into the bay to marvel at the Tarpon. They spoke a combination of French and near accent-free English. The blond, almost as pasty as me, hopped into the water, waded with the fish who swam safely distanced from her pallid glow. Tarpon has sandpaper teeth instead of needles or spikes meaning they can do little damage with their mouths to human flesh.

Kayakers in Tarpon Bay

Tarpon kept a safe distance parrying with a flick of the tail all her attempts to ‘pet’ one of them. Predators don’t grow large without developing street smarts in abundance. She settled for a few selfies featuring Tarpon in the background. When the woman climbed back into her kayak, two halves of a pale moon separated by a thin, black partially eaten thread shown bright as the raging sun. Her bikini was little more than a thong with ruffles at the waist.

We walked around town for a couple of more hours in the glaring sun. My wife added to her golden glow while the little of me exposed to the sun mimicked the pink inside of a conch shell which, by the way, are quite tasty.

We walked to one of the few resorts on the island which is much different than the many resorts lining the shores of our island. There was a small seahorse farm with yellow, black, and brown seahorses hiding in the weeds. We mostly saw them when their tales were wrapped around a blade of seagrass and they sat idle.

I am amazed at the number of midday drinkers mainlining alcohol into their systems. And it was not young kids. These were adults, some retirement aged drinking their day away. One woman looking to be 60ish but that could have been from the ravages of alcohol was so drunk she had to walk carefully to the bar for her sixteen-ounce refill. I had a Mai Tai…it’s always 5pm somewhere.

It wasn’t our scene so we moseyed in the general direction of the dock to await the ferry. A short downpour, they tend to be brief on the island lasting no more than fifteen minutes, forced us onto a bar porch for a short rest before completing our trek. We arrived at the dock early meaning we were in the front of the line. And we finally were able to sit on the upper deck of the ferry. Definitely not Uecker seats this time.

And we were excited to go back because San Pedro is home to the best Chicken and Rice or Pork and Rice we have ever eaten. It is on par with Jerk Chicken from the kettles of Jamaican beaches. We planned to buy enough food for a couple of meals…

To be continued….

Caye Caulker, Long Walking Monkey on A Short Pier: A Week in Belize, Part 4 We took the water taxi from the dock at the end of the next door pier to the ferry in San Pedro then ferried to Caye Caulker.