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themadauthorshatter · 3 years ago

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It's been forever since I did one of these.

PG-13 Ninjago Pilot Season Episode 3!!!!!!

We start off with Kai walking through Four Weapons on his own, back in his old clothes. There's no one around, but he hears the hammer banging in the blacksmith shop.

Kai jogs in, excitedly calling, "Nya!"

Turns out there's no Nya there. It's Samukai, who throws a pair of knives at Kai and he gets pinned to the wall as Samukai saunters toward him, a third knife in his hand. Kai tries kicking and breaking free, but screams to know where Nya is and what Samukai did to her.

Just as Samukai goes to stab Kai, he's slapped awake.

Yeah, another dream, but it was Jay who woke up Kai, because the new kid slept in and they need to go. Mission today to get the map, so they need to haul ass.

Kai gets up and dresses, still a little drowsy, and asks about breakfast.

No breakfast.

Now that he's waking up for realsies, he has ANOTHER question: how are they getting there?

Cole barks that they're taking the carriage and tells Kai and Jay to hurry the hell up.

Kai jumps up, excitedly asking if they're REALLY taking a carriage, like RIDING IN A CARRIAGE, and Jay gives a small smile and shrug.

And we cut to the ninja pulling a carriage as Wu meditates, Cole in the front with Jay, Zane, and Kai behind him, Kai remarking that when Jay said they were taking a carriage, this was not what he was thinking at all.

Jay chuckles and admits that it at least got him out of bed, right?

Kai groans and changes the topic:

Where and how did Wu find these three?

Cole bites that if it weren't for Wu, the four of them wouldn't be caught dead together. To completely answer Kai's question, though, Wu found Cole twice before Cole decided to go with him; he'd been testing himself physically and got offered the student plan to Wu's spinjitsu academy.

Jay backs Cole's story, even though there are parts he's not saying, which he should say now that they're a team. Cole barks that Jay should focus more on pulling the carriage instead of running his mouth.

Jay groans that he's just trying to help their new brother feel welcome and explains to Kai that he was testing an invention and Wu was there when he crashed.

Before Kai can ask Zane, Wu tells him(Zane) to run and scout ahead.

Zane obeys and parkours out of the carriage, racing ahead of them.

Jay gives it to Kai up-front: they don't know where Zane came from. One day, Wu just left and came back with him. They've tried asking Zane about it, but he's had a seizure every time, and it always leaves him in terrible shape afterwards.

Kai wonders if that's what has him acting so weird, but Wu shouts for them all to stop and hide the carriage.

Kai sighs, glad to not be running anymore, but Jay shushes him as they hide the carriage and hide behind some rocks next to Zane.

In front of them are the caves of despair, having been given the name because of all the randomly falling rocks the Scythe of Quakes causes. Samukai and his army are mining for the weapon, but Wu's old man memory kicks in as he sighs that they're in the wrong spot.

Even so, the team needs to be extremely careful. Not only is the landscape easily disturbed, there are skeletons EVERYWHERE, and a dragon.

Cole's eyes widen as he echoes, "Dragon?" But there's one more thing they need to be careful of:

Kai, who's already raced ahead.

Zane drops his head onto the rock, Cole facepalms and shakes his head, and Jay remarks that that’s one way to get to the map, as he’s just rushing in head first.

New plan: Keep Kai from getting them all killed, THEN get the map and the scythe.

The ninja agree and rush out, Wu staying behind to cause a distraction for the skeletons to make their mission easier.

With Kai, he, quite poorly, sneaks around the skeletons with the rest of the ninja following with much more stealth, even taking down a guard that spots Kai.

They catch up to Kai on the tower, and Zane smacks him over the head, and contemplates kicking him off before Jay stops him and gestures for him to get the map when Samukai has his back turned.

Zane does just that, tying a rope to one of his shurikens and using it to get the map.

He hands it to Cole, who examines the map and confirms what Sensei Wu was saying. The skeletons are digging in the wrong place because they were reading the map upside down, so the weapon is actually of the other side of the caves.

Kai states that he’s on it and begins leaving, but Cole snags the back of his gi and tells him to hold his horses, unless he wants to get caught and possibly killed.

Before Kai can protest, the ground shakes, rocking everyone and everything and making the ninja fall off the tower. The rest duck for any kind of cover because it starts raining boulders and no one brought a steel umbrella. Maybe we get a visual gag of Kruncha and Nuckal hiding under the conveyer belt that was being used to mine and Nuckal is gnawing on a doughnut shaped rock he found because he doesn’t want to be turned into bone power.

The quakes stop and we return to the ninja, Cole sighing as Zane and Jay hug each other, still trembling; Jay just got some anxiety triggered and Zane has never dealt with an earthquake before.

Kai isn’t reacting because he vanished, having raced to the other side of the caves.

Cole groans and tells the two scaredy cats to keep up, though Jay groans/cries out for what Kai’s problem is because he’s always in a rush to get himself in trouble.

Speaking of Kai, we cut to him as he tries to open the stone door to the golden weapon, only stopping when he gets a rock thrown at the back of his head.

He turns around and sees Zane with another rock at the ready.

He doesn’t get a chance to throw it because Cole reminds Kai to not run off because, unless he’s forgotten, they’re a team, and whether he likes it or not he’s a part of it, so no more running off and doing things on his own.

Kai groans that he’s got it and they all get the door open.

The cavern is alight in warm gold and the ground is hella cracked and broken down, all courtesy of the Scythe of Quakes, which rests grip/handle first in the mouth of what looks like a dragon statue, one that’s covered in dirt and sand.

The ninja are all amazed, and Jay almost shouts that what he’s seeing is very cool, almost because Cole covers his mouth and shushes him before he can be heard by anyone outside.

Kai goes to grab it, but Zane pulls him back and hands him a blanket to use to grab the scythe with; these things are sometimes too powerful for mortal hands, so best to be safe than sorry.

Kai wraps the blanket around the scythe and tries to pull it out of the dragon’s mouth, but find he can’t because it’s too heavy.

Zane gives it a try and can’t either.

Jay takes a swing, calling both of them paper handed(which means they’ve never lifted anything heavy like an engine or something like that) as he tries and eats his words. Too heavy.

With a groan, because the statue looks real as hell, Cole gives it a try.

And the scythe slides out easy as a knife through cake.

Some magic energy stuff swirls around Cole and causes the ground to shake one last time, just a gentle little quiver, and then finally stop.

Cole gets down and looks down at the weapon with wide eyes, Jay asking what all of that was Cole shakes his head, but doesn’t think on it, because they need to get back to Wu.

Speaking of Wu, he's fighting a hard as he can to defend himself against a bunch of skeletons, some fighting him as their own distraction, the rest leaving to get to the caves.

The ninja all wander through the caves and wonder where the exit is, at until Cole takes the lead and starts to show them the way outside. Jay asks if he used to study caves, but Cole denies it, admitting that caves always freaked him out as a kid.

He ends up leading them back to the room the weapon was stored in and notice the statue is gone.

Kai's equal parts annoyed at being led in a circle and confused at the statue vanished, offering that it crumbled into sand.

No time for theories because they come face to face with Samukai and the rest of the skeleton army.

ACTION TIME!!

The ninja all jump into action, fighting the skeletons while defending the weapon. Despite doing well, they still get beaten., even Kai, but he's new, so it's forgiven.

Jay, however, is thrown against the wall and slumps to the ground as skeletons surround him. His vision is blurry, but he also seems flashes of blue lightning. His body recharges and he stands lokking down at his feet as he does a circle with one foot and continues to spin with the momentum.

Cole sucker punches Kruncha away, which sends him FLYING, and races over to Jay to try helping him.

No need, because we and the other ninja are Jay is spinjitsu- ing and knocking away skeletons.

The ninja are surprised, Kai asking how Jay is doing that.

Jay calls back in his spinjitsu mode that he just saw lightning and spun with it.

With one more good turn, we transition into an anime-magical girl-esque transformation fully of fun visuals of lightning spiraling up Jay's body and then shooting outward as he plants his feet into the ground. His gi turns blue and the gold emblem turns to the lightning one we see him wear in the original, the storm cloud-looking skull with lightning in place of its teeth.

The skellies back off in fear while the ninja are very impressed and shocked.

Samukai gives no damns and orders his men to kill the ninja and take the scythe.

Zane walks ahead of the ninja and agilities his way to the skellies, spinning with the snowflakes he sees.

It also transitions into Zane's transformation, where he lands back first in snow and ice covered water. We follow him in the water as he falls upside down, though the camera turns until he's right way up. The dark water becomes lighter as snow or ice whirls around him starting from his ankles to his head. He keeps rising until he breaks through ice, revealing that his gi is now white and his emblem is the same as the show version, the ice sharp/snowflake looking wolf/dragon.

Zane spinjitsus the skeletons as well, even tag teaming with Jay, who smiles and laughs while Zane smiles with his eyes.

While he holds the Scythe of Quakes, Cole and Kai struggle with the skeletons. Jay and Zane are too busy beyblading to notice, but, out of options as Kai is almost knocked unconscious, Cole takes the scythe out of the blanket and slams it into the ground handle first.

The ground shakes and cracks even more. The skeletons are blasted back and Cole's transformation happens.

The earth aroind him rises over him ant then breaks.

... Same black gi, but at least he has his earth emblem now, the earth/stone-esque stone/mask. And he has orange eyes, which are a subtle hint to his true potential. While everyone's stunned, Kai spots Samukai and charges toward him, shouting his name.

Skeleton archers shoot at Kai, but he turns, once, twice, thrice, many times, flames growing around him as his own spinjitsu begins to work.

We dive into the flames and see Kai running, literally catching fire on his gi and causing it to burn, the black turning red. His emblem to the flaming lion.

The arrows meant to pepper him do nothing and Kai gets out of his sponjitsu out with sword drawn.

Samukai, always ready for a round 2, draws his knives.

The two clash, Kai doing much better than he did in Four Weapons, this time being on the offensive while Samukai is left simply blocking him as much as he can while Kai demends to kniw where Nya is and what was done to her.

The other ninja do much better as well, Cole alternating between his normal scythe and the golden scythe, Zane getting higher jumps and better agility, and Jay going much faster than he usually does, circling around a group of skeletons and then running at and through them once he's going fast enough, to incapacitate them all.

Samukai eventually kicks Kai away and gets gets on the offensive as well, the two semi-evenly matched.

Well, at least until he looks up and behind Kai and pushes him back, slowly backing away.

The other skeletoms do the same and Samukai retreats.

Kai begins to gollow him, but Jay stops him, telling him not to worry because they got the weapon and are one step closer to saving this Nya girl.

Kai supposes so, and the team takes a breather, Cole removing his hood to breathe better and re-wrappong the scythe in the blanket, mentally patting himself on the back for not losing anyine of getting them all killed.

That relief VANISHES when he hears breathing over his a a broken skull falls on his head.

He looks up and his face drops and pales, freezing in place.

The other ninja are too bust boasting to notice, but Zane is using his thinking cap for a second.

Wasn't there supposed to be a dragon guarding the weapon.

They hear a rumble behind them, and Kai turns, telling Cole to be more careful with the scythe.

Jay follows and gasps, Zane doing the mannequin challenge and freezing in a pose.

It was not the scythe that did that, and that statue that moved wasn't a statue.

They just pissed off one of the elemental dragons.

Cole scooches back before slowly rising to his feet, weapon in his hands.

The dragon watches and growls at him even more.

Kai asks what they do and Zane stays frozen, Jay has an even better idea, one of his best ever:

"RUN! RUN LIKE HELL!!!"

The team break for the door, but the dragon is faster and smashes its head against the ground, sending them all back as the ground shakes.

Rocks fall just as they see Wu coming racing toward them, the rocks blocking them off from each other.

The Earthe dragon snarls and circles the entrance, but Cole, using his new, super slick, earth powers, leads them to a tunnel they took earlier.

The dragon gladly follows.

The team sprints away as the dragon races after them, roaring and snarling after them.

Cole looks back and continues running, even shrieking at the fact he's being chased by a real living dragon.

Zane, Jay, and Kai are all panicked as well, Zane screaming, Jay babbling and making random noises, and Kai shouting.

We get a gag of Cole rounding a corner, still shrieking and hilding the golden scythe, followed by Zane, who we hear really use his voice for the first time as he screams/howls, Jay right behind him as he shouts, sorry if this is hard to read for everyone, "WHYISTHEREADRAGON!?SENSEINEVERSAIDANYTHNGABOUTADRAGONSOWHYISTHEREADRAGONINEVERSIGNEDUPFORTHISTHISISNOTOKAYWHATTHEHELLISGOINGONWHYISTHISHAPPENINGIAMNITOKAYWITHTHIS!!!!!!!!!" and Kai finishes the train as he screams and scrambles after them all, shouting for them to wait up.

The dragon rounds the corner as well, shaking the ground as it runs.

They eventually find their way to an exist and leave the caves, though the dragon still follows them out.

Kai, thinking quickly, takes the scythe from Cole and smashes it blade first into the ground, much to everyone's objections.

It shakes the ground and Kai enough to make the dragon retreat and avalanche of rocks to occur(a rock slide?). The ninja are still for a minute before screaming and leaving again, spinjitsu-ing away until they're back near the carriage.

They look back at the carnage and let themselves breathe for real, congratulating each other on a job well done.

That's when they see Wu scowling at them, and he asks what they were thinking.

Kai tries to salvage this operation and shows that they got the scythe.

Wu's glad for that, but they still USED the weapon and almost got themselves killed, expressing disappointment in both Kai and Cole for not thinking before acting.

Cole takes it, because you don't talk back to Sensei Wu, but Kai still defends himself in saying they were surrounded by skeletons and needed a way out, and they got the weapon, so he shouldn't be complaining.

Wu spells it out for them: if they just took the weapon and left, everything would've been fine, but since they used the weapon, they attracted the attention of the dragon, which has been known to attack on sight.

Wu drops ot and commends them for a job well done, upon seeing the weapon for himself, seeing they learned spinjitsu and seeing the map Zane nabbed, and tells the ninja they'll head back to the monastery after a little bit of rest.

The ninja agree, save for Kai, who's staring in disbelief and confusion as Wu pulls Cole aside, the earth ninja explaining what happened in the caves.

Jay walks up to Kai and pats him on the shoulder, advising that Kai really shouldn't talk back to Wu, because the guy could very easily kill him, if he really wanted.

Kai asks how a cool guy like Jay is here with a teacher's pet like Cole and... Zane, who's saying, 'fuck my safety and wellbeing,' and walking and climbing on the rocks that crashed down and almkst killed them all.

Jay shrugs and admits it's something you get used to, but it's worth the time.

Kai politely doibts it and just hopes he can save his sister.

Jay perks up at this, asking if she has a boyfriend, if she likes blue, all that jazz.

Kai grabs him by the collar and pulls him close, growling at him to back off.

Cole pulls Kai off of him, just on time, too, because Zane was sprinting over to dropkick Kai, and warns that they can't be tearing at each other, not when the other three weapons need to be found.

Kai concedes, but adds one more thing they all need to understand:

He'll stay, but only until those weapons and Nya are found. After that, he's gone.

Cole, already done with him, snarls, "Good."

Wu calls them all over and they huddle around the map as Wu informs them that the next weapons are the shurikens of ice, and they're close, but they need a boat and supplies, and need to return to the monastery.

The team agree, and ready themselves with the carriage, Cole and Kai glaring at each other before they leave.

The episode ends with the ninja running to returning to the monastery.

#ninjago #ninjago rewrite #ninjago zane #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #ninjago jay #ninjago wu #slight violence tw #some swearing #au #ua #anime transformations #there will be more in the future

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artnerd1123 · 4 years ago

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A Familiar World

Bewitched ——————————————-

The adventures of Theodore continue. Figuring out how he feels about what he saw in town is... well. Difficult. But he’s gotta make a decision sometime. Featuring fun times with his siblings and a not-so-fun time with his parents.

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————-

i am once again cutting chapters up, but that’s ok!!! i’m having fun and getting to write these dynamics is rlly interesting! hopefully the next one’ll be a lil shorter, but we’ll see X] in the meantime, here’s this!

and uh, warning for journal getting into a fight with his parents (nothing physical, but there’s some gaslighting to be mindful of)

The sun shone brightly down on the farm, a light breeze rustling the remains of cornstalks in the field. The wagon- still half full of harvest- was parked next to the barn. A thick cloth blanket kept its cargo protected from the elements. At least, mostly. The horses in the nearby pasture eyed the visible corn wistfully. But besides the horses, crops, and breeze, not much was moving outside. The morning chores were long done. Now was the time for relaxing and play. From the giggling and shouting from the barn, a certain group of siblings was taking advantage of that. Up in the hayloft, Theodore and his younger siblings were fooling around. The twins were wrestling in the loose hay, and Elise was busy trying to climb up one of the support beams. Theodore had draped himself across another beam, square over the middle of the loft. His eyes flicked cautiously towards the edge every so often- but he’d be ok. He’d fallen and tumbled into the hay enough to know it would catch him much gentler than the barn’s dirt floor. He had other things to focus on at the moment, anyway. A beat up journal sat in front of him, chock full of loose papers and ink-stained scraps. They stuck out the sides and from under the cover. With all the story ideas, memories, and thoughts crammed into it, it was a wonder the book was still together. He’d have to get a new one soon. But for now, his quill scratched away at the page before him. He’d been working hard on recording every detail he could about the other day’s encounter. He felt as if he’d seen something precious- something more astounding than any legend- and he refused to let it slip from his mind. Writing this down needed his undivided attention. Of course, his siblings thought otherwise. “Hey, Theo! Y’all gonna come down from there?” Nilo called, arm locked around Tyler’s neck. Tyler squirmed and pushed at him playfully. “I think Tyler could use yer help!” “Naw, I do not! Yer about ta need ‘em though!” Tyler snickered. With a sudden jerk, the boy threw himself against the hay, sending Nilo toppling over his shoulder. The two laughed and jeered as they scrambled around, but Theodore didn’t pay them much mind. “Mmh, yea, uh, jus a sec,” he mumbled, eyes scanning over his work. He felt like he’d gotten the stranger’s routine written out ok. But he just couldn’t capture the strange smoke they’d been messing with. Not smoke, his mind muttered, magic. The word sent a zing down to his fingertips. He couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. Last week, he would’ve firmly said bad. But now, he just… wasn’t sure. It honestly felt more like a thrill. As if he were staring down a wolf, but it was crouched and wagging like a playful dog. Oh, good simile, he thought, hastily scribbling it in the journal’s margins, I’ll have to use that somewhere later. He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over the page. Almost full… would he have to cordon off a whole new section of his personal records for this? He wouldn’t mind, it was just… well, buying new ones could get expensive… A voice behind him knocked him out of his thoughts. “Hey, earth ta’ scribbles! Y’all alive?!” Theodore pulled a face- scribbles??? What???- glancing around for the offending speaker. Elise sat on a beam across from him, kicking her legs. Her smirk and little giggles confirmed it had been her. Theodore stared at her for a minute. “... what did y’all jus call me?” he asked. “Scribbles,” Elise snickered, “y’all like it?” “Aw- hell no,” Theodore snorted, shaking his head. He set his quill down, shifting to face her better. “Awful. Try again, lil lady.” “Well y’all weren’t answerin to theo!” she huffed. “Or theodore!” Tyler piped up from below him. Nilo nodded, picking bits of hay out of his hair. “Or anythin’ el- AUGH-” Whatever else he was going to say got lost as Tyler tackled him into the hay again. Theodore and Elise just exchanged a look. “If y’all’re gonna call me a nickname, call me somethin else,” he said. “Scribbles? C’mon, y’all can do better’n that.” “Hmm… m’kay,” Elise nodded slowly. “I think I got a couple ideas…” The corners of her mouth twitched mischievously. Theodore knew that look. Oh boy. How big of a mistake did I jus make? “How ‘booout… inky?” She said, blinking innocently as he tried not to smile. “Elise, tha’s even worse!” he replied. “Mmm alphabet soup?” she smirked. “Oh- revaew no-” Theodore guffawed, shaking his head. “Awful. Try again.” “Ah, I got it!” Elise clapped her hands together, grin as wide as a river. “Quillface!” Such was the name that broke Theodore’s composure. He lost it, clinging tightly to the beam below him to stop from falling off. Oh Revaew- yeah, he’d made a mistake alright. Nilo and Tyler quit tussling in confusion. Through teary eyes, Theodore could see them look to Elise for explanation. He couldn’t manage to get out more than a few wheezing “no, don’t-”s before her haughty grin passed its verdict. “Theodore’s new nickname is quillface,” she declared proudly. “QUILLFACE?!” Tyler shrieked, his shrilly voice dissolving into giggles. Nilo wasn’t too far behind, cracking a delighted smile. “I think it fits!” Nilo beamed. “It’s an attention grabber if I ever heard one!” “We- we oughta tell dean ‘n carrie-” Tyler wheezed. “Oh, of course! Everyone’s gotta know about Theo’s new name!” Elise grinned. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Theodore squawked, sputtering between bouts of laughter. He waved a hand to gather their attention, doing his best to breathe through his cackling. “Y’all are not gonna call me quillface, good revaew-” “Then what’dya want us to call you, huh?” Tyler teased. “Y’all gotta give us somethin to work with,” Nilo said. “I gave ya plenty’a options!” Elise chimed in, crossing her arms in mock offense. “Listen- y’all want a nickname? Fine, fine,” Theodore sighed. “Y’all can call me… uhh…” He glanced around for a moment. His eyes fell on his record book. He’d been needing a pseudonym for awhile now. And he… did like the idea of a writer-esque name mashed with “Drapht.” Something with a nice ring to it. Something like… He snapped, a bright grin rising to his face. “Journal!” he hummed, “y’all can call me journal.” “Journal?” Elise echoed, blinking. “... i mean, y’all were writin in that thing all mornin,” Nilo said. “And y’all’re what ya do, I guess,” Tyler shrugged. “Guess we should call you two punchy ‘n kicks then, eh? With all’a’y’all’s horseplay?” Theodore joked. The twins both clamored to protest, missing the obvious irony in the fact that they were still somewhat tangled up in the hay. And how they proved the point by dissolving back into tussling. Theodore settled back down on his beam, one foot dangling lazily. Yeah. That was about right. He reached for his quill, shifting to face his records once again. “Aw- c’mon, Theo! We wanna play!” Elise whined. He glanced over at her, a brow raised. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m busy!” “Busy bein boring. What’re y’all writin in there thas’ so important anyway?” Elise huffed. Theodore opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat. Wait. Could he tell them what happened the other day? Should he tell them? His parents hadn’t said no, but… well… “... Journal? Hellooooo?” Elise called, waving a hand. He blinked, shaking himself back to reality. “What was that? Y’all keepin secrets?” “Uh- not- not exactly-” he stammered, trying to cover his tracks. But his smile was lopsided, and his jerky movements too obvious. Elise’s eyes glimmered eagerly. “Ohoho… y’all’re keepin secrets,” she grinned. “Elise- no-” “Nilo!!! Tyler!!! Yer brother’s keepin secrets!!!” she cackled. The twins looked up immediately, perked up like coyotes in a chicken coop. Oh revaew. With the three of them staring him down, he really had no choice. “... well… uh… oh, fine,” Theodore sighed. “Jus keep it quiet, m’kay?” “O’course.” “Wouldn’t think otherwise!” “Y’all can count on it.” “Ok, good.” Theodore glanced towards the barn doors. No movement. No sound. Just the breeze and the sun beating down on the dirt. When he looked back to his siblings, they were busy nudging and giggling at each other, eager as ever for storytime. Alright. Yeah. This was ok. Shifting to sit upright, he clapped his hands together. They all sat to attention, eyes gleaming and gazes fixed on him. “... so… y’all remember the other day we were at town? An’ we had to leave early?” Theodore started. When he got a nod, he continued. “Well, somethin’ happened at the town outskirts ta’ make ma ‘n pa freak out so bad. And I was there. Y’see, there was a stranger who blew in, an’ they were doin somethin’ real interestin at the edge’a town...”

~~~

The sun had moved across the sky, almost right atop the barn, before movement reigned again. The twins burst out of the barn with fistfuls of hay, shouting as they tossed them at each other. Theodore was still up in the hayloft with Elise- she was having trouble getting down from the beam. Theodore tucked his journal into its little nook in the wall, setting the loose boards back into place. Elise was still chattering about his story as he turned towards a pile of bales. “-and mom jus yanked ya all the way back ta the cart?” she was asking, eyes wide. “Mhm,” Theodore nodded. He grunted as he tugged a bale of hay over. Scrambling on top of it, he reached up for his sister’s hands. “She was madder’n a trampled rattler. ‘M really not sure why, though. The stranger wasn’ hurtin nobody.” “Yeah, but… they were a magic user,” Elise said hesitantly. “Ma ‘n pa said they’re bad, right?” She shimmied her way down into Theodore’s arms. He let out a soft “oof” as she dropped, but he got her to hit the hay softly. “That… yeah, that’s what they say,” Theodore admitted. “... just… I dunno. I don’t think somethin so intricate ‘n beautiful could be that bad. Ma ‘n pa didn’ say people could do stuff like th’ stranger did with magic. They jus said it’ll make ya inta a lazy monster. I doubt someone lazy would be doin alla those flips.” “And yer sure ya didn’ see any claws or fangs?” Elise asked. He nodded without a thought. “I didn’ see nothin,” he assured her. “But- well, we don’ need to think too hard about it. They’re gone now. I jus thought it was neat.” “Fair ‘nuff,” Elise shrugged. She grabbed a fistful of hay on her way towards the ladder, humming happily to herself. Theodore followed after her, waiting at the top as she climbed down. She looked up at him once her feet hit the floor. “Y’all better hurry down ‘re yer gonna miss the fun this time!” she hollered, waving her handful of hay. Theodore laughed, carefully maneuvering himself over the ladder. “I will, I will! Jus gimme a minute!” he called back. “Scaredy cat!!!” Elise jeered. “Y’all wouldn’ say that if ya fell off the loft like I have!” he shot back. Taking a breath, he stuck one leg off the loft, feeling for the ladder. He didn’t move again until he had a good foothold. He slid himself down to get his hands around the sides, grabbing on tight as his other foot fumbled for the wooden slats. Only once his whole weight was held did he exhale. He sat there for a second just to make sure. Good. Ok. He was ok. Now he just had to scurry on down. All was going well until a sharp voice cut through the cheerful laughs outside. Theodore didn’t notice it at first. He was too busy lowering foot after foot, hand after hand, not wanting to take his eyes off the ladder. Almost down, almost down. He had this. Or, he thought he did. “THEODORE SHERMAN DRAPHT!” The name- his name- was bellowed loud enough to snatch his attention away from the ladder. His head whipped up, body tensing up enough to jerk his grip off of the wood. For one terrifying second, gravity seemed to drag his body away. Theodore’s hands shot out like lightning, snatching the wood so hard he knew he’d given himself splinters. But he didn’t care. He was too busy wondering what he’d done. He glanced skittishly toward the barn doors. A shadow darkened them, hands settled on hips, shoulders hiked up and tense. He knew that pose. Just like he knew the shout that followed it. “THEODORE, GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!” Ah. His mother. Theodore felt his stomach settling like a rock in the sea as he hurriedly finished his descent. Oh revaew. What happened now?

Theodore stood in his parents’ room, spine straight and hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders were squared, and he dared not reach his twitching fingers up to smooth his hair down. Even if the rather rough trip in here skewed it all over. And sorting it out would soothe him. He couldn’t move. His father’s disapproving gaze was more paralyzing than any snakebite. That, and he was just trying to last in the burning fury of his mother’s berating. “-came out to see Tyler and Nilo throwing hay at each other with some- some- dirty sorcerer’s words- trying to practice magic on my farm-” she was spitting, gaze searing as a brand. He squirmed a bit, doing his best to keep his eyes on her. It was hard. His gaze flitted across the room every time her voice raised. And when she was angry, she always spoke loud. He waited until she took a breath to pipe up. “I’m- I’m sorry, ma,” he tried, “I didn’ think it’d be a big deal-” “Of course you didn’t,” his mother snapped. “You don’t think about anything.” He winced at that, unable to keep his gaze from skittering to the floorboards. That’s- that wasn’t true. He did think. He’d dithered over telling his siblings for at least a day or two. Even now, he’d only told when they found him out. His fists clenched as his mother continued. “What have we told you about how dangerous magic is?! About how not to let it spread?!” “I- y’all said it’s bad fer us,” he mumbled, “bad fer everyone, a-an we should stay away.” “Exactly. An’ that shoulda been the end of it,” his mother snarled. “So why in the hell were y’all tellin yer siblings about what y’all saw in town?!” “I- it didn’- I jus- they- w-we were jus-” “What’ve we told you about thinking your sentences through before you speak?” his father sighed. Theodore clamped his mouth shut. Think, don’t just stammer, y’all oughta know better, he chided himself. He took a shaky breath, trying not to focus on how his mother’s foot tapped, and his father’s fingers drummed. Eventually, he forced his eyes to meet theirs again. “It… It didn’ look like magic t’me,” he explained slowly. “There was nothin threatenin. I didn’ even realize it was magic till the stranger said so.” “You… didn’t realize it was magic?” his mother echoed, disbelief dripping off her tongue. “N-no, ma’am,” he mumbled. He felt his cheeks grow hot as she scoffed. “Like- Like I said, I didn’ see anythin scary, ‘er any’a the stuff you’n pa said to look out for.” No darkness. No laziness. No monsters. No traps or snares or brambles. Nothing like what they’d been drilling into him since he could crawl. Just someone having fun flipping around and making towers of golden smoke. Which, yeah, that was magic. He believed it. But why in Revaew’s wide world did their description of “magic” not line up? Not one thing they’d told him to sniff out magic had helped him in town. It wasn’t even remotely scary. What right did they have to drag him from a danger that wasn’t even there? A thought popped hastily into his head. It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Have y’all even seen magic for yerselves, anyway?” Theodore’s hand ached to swipe up and cover his mouth. He wanted those words back. He wanted them back now. It was a good question- the right question- but with the way his parents’ faces flickered from incredulous to outraged... Shit. He needed to watch himself. “Have we- have we ever- ever seen-” his mother sputtered. “Theodore, that’s not your place to ask,” his father said harshly. “We’d know magic when we see it. It looks like what we’ve told you. End of story.” “But- but that’s not what I saw!” Theodore blurted. He cursed himself again, but he needed the words out. “I saw somethin’ that was pretty ‘n careful ‘n delicate, nothin like lazy destruction or evil monsters! Y’all- y’all saw what they did too, magic isn’t like that!” “It is like that, and it is what happened in town,” his father insisted, scowl deepening. “You were there, Debora. You saw it yourself.” “I did,” she nodded, “and it was jus as nasty as I thought. The sorcerer musta done somethin to our eyes so it seemed different, that’s all.” Theodore’s train of thought hit a snag in the tracks. Wait. Their eyes? What? Where did that factor in? They were just doin’ smoky tower magic, nothin happened to our eyes. They didn’ even do magic in our direction. He opened his mouth to protest, but his mother cut him off. “Revaew, look at em- that daggum filthy wizard has- has bewitched our son,” she spat. She swept her hand in his direction, earning a flinch and a step back. “He ain’t seein any sense! What’re we gonna do with ‘em?!” “... give him time, Debora,” his father said. “Spells don’t last forever.” He hadn’t moved, arms still crossed and gaze still harsh. But there was a menacing glimmer in his eye. The second he saw it mirrored in his mother, he felt as if the room became an icebox. A beat of silence passed. Theodore swallowed down more words that bubbled up, watching as his parents exchanged a look. He stood stock still and quiet. If you asked him later, he’d say he could swear he felt frost climbing up his legs. “... y’all’re not ta speak of magic again,” his mother finally said. “Not so long as y’all live in this house.” “Not to your siblings, your friends, yourself, anyone,” his father added. “Magic- all magic- is a curse. If we see y’all spreadin around that sorcerer’s hex again, yer gonna be worse than grounded,” his mother said curtly. “Understood?” Though his mind churned and bucked, crying mutiny and injustice, Theodore forced himself to nod. “Ya swear it?” his mother pressed. “I… I-I swear it,” Theodore choked out. As the words left him, the tension in his father’s shoulders eased, and his mother’s brow smoothed. Approval at last. He tried to ignore the frozen bile in the back of his throat. “We gotta talk to yer siblings still, but yer free ta go,” his mother said. “Remember what we talked about, Theodore,” his father warned. “I... I will, pa. Don’ worry,” Theodore mumbled. He couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

Nilo, Tyler, and Elise all stood against the wall in the hallway. Though their faces begged for reassurance, he couldn’t meet their eyes. He just let his feet carry him through the house, gaze glued to the floor. When he opened the door, it was glued to the grass. Then the dirt path. Then the floor of the barn. Though his body shook with barely acknowledged fear, he clambered up the ladder and back into the loft. It was only when he tucked himself into a dark, high corner that he finally let himself think. Questions swirled and lashed in his head, each more pointed than the last. Why couldn’t he tell people about what he saw? Why didn’t the magic look like they said? Why did they insist his eyes were wrong? Why had his mother called him bewitched when he tried to say they were wrong? Did they even know magic at all? Were they trying to hide things? He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t have answers, and the more he thought, the more frustrated he got. By the time he felt tears trickling down his cheeks, he knew he had to make some kind of decision. Even if the idea scared him. Taking a shaky breath, Theodore scrubbed the tears from his face. He unfolded himself from the corner he’d crammed himself in. Dropping lightly to the hay, he strode over to his hidden nook. The floorboards creaked under his hands as he reached for his journal. The beat up cover looked ready to fall apart. But it’d persevered this long. It still held so much precious knowledge. It could still hold more. Just like him. Theodore sat down in the middle of the loft, scribbling away once again. Though this time, an air of purpose surrounded him. A flame of determination lit his thoughts, illuminating the words on the page. If his parents weren’t gonna tell him the truth about magic, he’d find it out himself. ‘Anyone can use magic, kid,’ the stranger’s words echoed. ‘Even you. You just gotta dig for it.’ Dig is just what I’ll do, Theodore thought. I had a bad landin. Not so much on my feet. But I can learn. I will learn. And I’m gonna hit the ground running.

#afw #a familiar world #afw chapter #my story #arty writes #journal sherman drapht #woooooo #i keep having too much fun writing scenes slkdjfs #for the record i think it comes across well!#i jus... get excited LKSDJDFK #n e way #poor journ has a mixed bag of a time here :')#we do get the first mention of his nickname tho! so! progress :D #lsdkjfskl hope y'all enjoy-

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darlinrogue · 4 years ago

Note

“ sometimes i realize one day i could die, i could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. there’d be no one to miss me and that terrifies me more than death itself. ” — kenny @ adam!

It’s All Down Hill From Here Ya’ll

Adam and Kenny || @ofgrief

Adam woke-up with the hangover of a lifetime. A whole ass construction crew wedged inside his cranium going to demolition town. Big, sweaty, muscly guys with jackhammers, wrecking balls, and heavy machinery. For some stupid reason he left the curtain open last night. Morning light spilled into the room and stabbed his eyeballs with serrated knives. Adam groaned and rolled over. He pressed his face into the pillow. His body ached, his head hurt, he was nauseous, and he kinda had to pee— shit, he hadn’t woken-up like this in a minute. Someone needed to shut-up their phone, the incessant chiming was getting on his last nerve. Then it hit him. That was his phone and his alarm going off at God’s forsaken hour of six-thirty.

Adam slapped at the nightstand. He smacked the shit out of the alarm clock and knocked his car keys to the floor, no phone. Adam weathered the agony of lifting his head-up enough to look and hear the blasted thing beneath him. He slid halfway out of the bed and clawed at the floor beneath the headboard. Then, bingo, his hand closed around the phone and he pressed the power button to shut it up. With most of his upper body hanging off the mattress, Adam crumpled to the floor. His calves tangled with the blankets and he dragged the sheets clean off the bed with him. Flopped against the carpet, he massaged the bridge of his nose. There was a black hairband around his wrist and he had no clue where it came from. Adam yanked back his tangled, frizzy hair into a ponytail to get it out of his eyes. He laid there, blithe and numb, letting incoherent thoughts skim the surface of his consciousness. Bit-by-bit, Adam reconstructed the past twenty-four hours and it was enough to make him laugh.

Damn, he was good.

Eager to bask in a rare accomplishment, Adam turned his attention to his phone. He blinked and wiped the grit from his eyes as the screen flicked to life. He had one text message in his notifications. Kenny Omega, at a little past midnight texted him: [Wanna hang out?]

Adam let that time bomb tick as he unlocked his phone and checked Twitter instead. He searched Matt Hardy and perused the iconic’s Twitter feed. Another grin cracked Adam’s face down the middle. Hardy had no idea. That little task of self aggrandization done, Adam opened the messaging app. He stared at the screen and the little bubble of text from Kenny. Absent-minded, Adam reached down and yanked his belt off— only now realizing he never took it off. Then he answered Kenny’s question with a question.

[Got anything in mind?]

He paused, tongue running over his lips. Then, he untangled his legs from the sheets and blankets. Adam pushed to his feet and stumbled across the room to his bag on the desk. Inside he found Advil and a flask of whiskey. He washed the pain medicine down with a generous swig of alcohol. Adam coughed, beating on his chest to clear his dry throat. On the way to the bathroom he stripped out of his jeans. While brushing his teeth, his phone chimed. Adam spat into the sink and leaned over to read Kenny’s reply.

[My place. Dinner at six?]

Okay, so that wasn’t ‘hanging-out.’ In Adam’s book, ‘hanging-out’ with Kenny was playing video games or going to an arcade. Maybe they’d work-out, train and drill in the ring, sit around the hotel room and watch movies. All the little things they did as a tag-team to kill time on the road or between matches. What Kenny proposed sounded like a —dare Adam say it— a date. Like two adults, sitting down over a candle-lit table, and talking about serious things for a couple of hours. Which, it was Kenny, so not a big deal, but at the same time, it was Kenny, which was a big deal.

Since, November their relationship had been stuck in this weird, strange, gray, Twilight-Zone that was neither friendship or anything else. Cuddling in bed or on a couch, flirting, lingering too close, heady with physical desire, and softened by intimacy. Stablemates were always close, stuck on buses and planes for hours together enforced liking someone. Kenny and Adam had seen each other at the worst, at their best. This thing went beyond that. They were friends, tag-partners for a period, all they had left, and yet, nothing at all. Adam could ask Kenny: ‘What the fuck are we?’ If he thought he’d get a straight answer.

Unwilling to unpack all that, Adam dressed to work-out. He left his hotel room and started down the stairs to the lobby. He thought about dinner at six. Today’s original plan was to drive seven hours back to North Carolina, shooting straight-up I-95 along the coast. If Adam left after breakfast he’d be back in the afternoon. Staying another evening in Jacksonville wasn’t a big deal. Such were the benefits of a lonely bachelor life. A neighborhood girl usually took care of Adam’s dogs on Wednesdays. He could call her, offer a generous tip, and get another night. Around the sixth floor landing, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and gave Kenny his answer.

[Sure, I’ll bring milk and beer. Give me your address.]

Down in the hotel gym he started his work-out, running through reps with almost memorized, mechanical ease. While Adam counted bicep curls, his phone chimed and he glanced at it long enough to see that Kenny had sent the address. Between sets, Adam popped the address into Google Maps. The house was a little over a half-hour drive away on Pointe Verde Beach, just outside of Jacksonville. Strange, because Adam had no memory of Kenny owning a house in or around Jacksonville. He heard whisper of a house near Orlando. He was vaguely aware that Kenny had stayed with Callis or Nakazawa a few times. Adam shuffled this mystery home off as another thing he just didn’t know about Kenny. He finished his work-out on the treadmill, running until endorphins blasted Kenny and the last of the hang-over from his brain. Adam returned to his hotel room to shower.

While hot water rolled down his back and he scrubbed conditioner from his hair, Adam wondered after Kenny’s ulterior motives. Back in December Kenny made it clear what he wanted from Adam: sex. That wasn’t Adam’s own ego talking, that was straight out of the horse’s mouth. Kenny had said he wanted Adam to kiss him, touch him, and fuck him. That was what he said, almost verbatim. Adam was an adult. He spent a significant chunk of his twenties sexually active. He wasn’t shy or prudish, he had no hang-ups. He could do all the things Kenny wanted. Hell, he’d gladly do them, under the right circumstances. Provided Adam could negotiate the differences between male and female anatomy with any competence. Physical desire was absolutely a dimension of his attraction to Kenny. Except, he wasn’t sure if this was the right circumstances. The thought that Kenny was inviting Adam over to dinner for the sole purpose of propositioning him for sex, turned Adam’s stomach over. He cranked the water cold and sobered beneath the icy spray, jaw tight. He turned off the water and toweled off. Adam texted Kenny again.

[Nak’s not going to be there, is he?]

Two seconds later, Kenny replied:

[Nope, just us.]

And to keep some kinda banter, Adam texted him back, hoping that the words read as teasing.

[No Callis, either?]

[lmao no he’s in Tennessee doing Impact crap for the PPV. He left this morning.]

And Adam hadn’t felt this nervous about being alone with Kenny since the first time they played Mario Tennis with Chase Owens. Because shit, he’d been stringing Kenny along for months now. Sure, Callis had been a consistent cock block, but Adam wouldn’t pretend he and Kenny weren’t playing some kinda game. A no-rules, Calvinball-Esque, game with moving goalposts. There were no boundaries because Kenny and Adam never set any. That would imply proper and honest communication. All of it was impromptu and they were living on a prayer that neither of them stepped on any toes. In a way, Daily’s place was a blessing. The presence of others acted as a natural check-and-balance on Kenny and Adam’s weird dynamic. So long as they didn't talk about it, didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room, everything was fine. An evening alone felt like cutting the breaks. It wasn’t that Adam feared having sex with Kenny or Kenny outright trying to jump his bones. It wasn’t that he didn’t want that, or that he hadn’t thought about it.

It was just that he wanted more.

Call him a sap, but Adam loved Kenny and he wanted Kenny to love him too. He wanted to go on dates. He wanted to wake-up in the same bed in the morning and to kiss Kenny awake. He wanted the small pleasure of fixing breakfast for both of them. Even to do the dishes together and all the boring domestic tasks of day-to-day life. To talk about how their days went but also to exist in quiet intimacy. He wanted to walk down the street holding Kenny’s hand. To drop casually in conversations, “My boyfriend Kenny—” To argue, make-up, and do better next time, all of it. And they were so off the rails because Adam was afraid that saying ‘no’ to Kenny in any capacity would kill what little they had. The what-ifs piled in Adam’s brain. Kenny using him for sex and then never talking to him again. Kenny telling him off for introducing more emotion that was necessary to a physical relationship. Kenny letting Adam know that he had finally moved on from his hot cowboy tag-partner and he won’t be needed anymore. The moment Kenny figured-out that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from Adam— was the moment Adam lost him.

Adam ate breakfast at the hotel hot bar. He had yogurt, an orange, eggs, and some links of sausage. He arranged for an extra night at the hotel and texted the girl who took care of his dogs. Then he got hustled by said teenager for almost twice the usual rate because she had, ‘lots of homework.’ Adam couldn’t complain because he was honestly kinda proud. She’d make a great carny one day. With not much else to do in Jacksonville, he left the hotel to go shopping. Adam had only packed for one night and not for a maybe-date with Kenny. He bought a white button down at a clothing store. Then, stopped by an uptown grocery store to buy 2% milk and local IPAs. Adam spent about three minutes lingering by a display of pre-arranged bouquets at the store, wondering if flowers would be too much. He walked away from the display, walked back, almost walked away again, stopped, and then stared a little longer. His hand fluttered by his side and before he could stop himself, Adam grabbed a bouquet of yellow flowers. Shit, he was an idiot.

He thought, as the cashier rang him up, that Kenny was going to laugh at him.

He took a lunch break at a small Mexican hole-in-the-wall because his diet was shot to hell today and he’d just have to admit it. Back at the hotel, he did his second work-out, showered again, and then realized he had three whole hours to kill. Three hours to get dressed, fuss over his hair, sit around, stare at the dumb flowers he bought, and consider if waterboarding would be a more or less effective form of torture. He scrolled Twitter, did some Duolingo. His body was tense, a live wire, his heart pounding. Adam left thirty minutes early and so took a twenty-minute detour, just to kill time. All so he wouldn’t look like a complete, desperate dweeb— showing-up early and with flowers? That would be way too much.

The house was situated in an upscale, rich and retired, suburb nestled by the ocean. It was smaller, blander than the two, three story beach homes that towered around it, with their sparse lawns and obnoxious, pastel colors. It was a one-story, Spanish-style home with a brown roof and off-white siding. Palm trees and shaped topiary decorated the well-tended front yard. The sun back dropped the city to the West, burning gold. The angles of light painted the thin, sparse clouds pink, purple, and orange creamsicle. Adam parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He stepped out of his car and the wind, tasting of salt, pulled at his hair. Between the neighbor’s fence and the sand dunes, he caught sight of the Atlantic. The waves rolled and churned, edged by white foam-like lace. Adam walked around to the other side of the car. On the floorboards were the milk and beer, and on the passenger seat were the flowers. His hands trembled and his heart thudded against his chest like a hammer. Do or die, he had to commit now— fuck it, life was short and that bouquet was like twenty bucks. He tucked the beers under his arm, picked-up the milk in one hand, and the flowers in the other,

Adam walked up to the front porch and used his elbow to ring the bell. Before Adam even retracted his hand, the door opened. Kenny stood on the other side of the threshold. His hair was yanked back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Flour dusted his pink t-shirt across the chest. Adam’s eyes drifted down to khaki shorts and the loafers he wore without any socks. For a brief second, Kenny stared at Adam, also giving him a once-over. Adam hesitated, trying to decide if he should give Kenny the flowers or put something down to offer a handshake— like a dork. He managed neither before Kenny cussed.

“Son of a bitch, you dressed nice, shit, stay there.” Kenny pointed at Adam to indicate where he should 'stay.' Then, Kenny vanished into the house, leaving the door ajar. Adam gaped, brow furrowed and blinking like an owl. A Gregorian choir in his brain chanted, ‘dork, dork, massive dork!’

Kenny hadn’t come back by the time Adam processed his absence. So, he took the first step over the threshold. “Uh, Kenny? I’m coming in?” Adam called, to no reply.

The inside of the house had a blandly typical beach house vibe. White walls, seashell decor, stock paintings of the ocean, and blue accents. There was a wood sign on the entry hall wall that read: Happiness comes in waves. To his left was the kitchen, a large space, with expansive white countertops and black appliances. There were a few bowls and dishes left out, with signs of being used. The sink was to put it lightly, a wreck, filled with utensils, cutting boards, and knives. Adam put the milk and beer in the fridge. Then noted that the dining room table was set. Each place had a gleaming crimson plate. No forks or knives, just chopsticks. A drinking glass for water. Kenny even had even folded the cloth napkins. All set on a black placemat. Adam wandered on into the rest of the house in search of Kenny. Connected to the dining room was the living room. Tall windows on the East wall allowed an expansive view over the pool, yard, and ocean. The sliding glass back door had been left cracked, to allow the cool and brisk breeze in. Adam pushed his hands into his pockets and soaked in the ocean at sunset.

Footsteps echoed down the far hall. Kenny passed the living room doorway, on the way to the kitchen. He caught Adam out of the corner of his eye and pulled back, changing direction at the last second. Kenny smiled and spread his arms wide so Adam could admire new outfit. He’d changed into dark jeans, a red v-neck, and a black blazer. Still in the loafers, Adam noted, but that was just part of the Kenny charm.

“Better, right?” Kenny asked. He did a full turnaround and then jaunted over to Adam. He smoothed the lapel of his blazer down. “I didn’t give you a dress code, so I packed something nice to wear just in case. Didn’t wanna feel awkward in khakis, ya know?”

“Yeah, you look good,” Adam agreed, returning Kenny’s grin. They diverted their gaze to the floor together. Adam, trying to find something to say, exaggerated a look around the house. “Is this your uh, home?”

“Nope! I rented it on Air BnB,” Kenny said, proudly. “I’ve never used the app before, but it found this pretty sweet crib, so I’m impressed. A little pricey maybe, but for an evening, just for us? Worth it, I’d say.”

Adam heard Kenny but he couldn’t think of a response. It hit him that the food on the counter, the set table, the entire house, pointed-to one thing. Kenny had planned this. He had to look for a house, find one, pay for it, plan a menu, buy food, bring tableware, find time. He had planned this at personal expense. He had put real thought into setting-up a dinner for him and Adam. This wasn’t some off-the-cuff idea. The only improvised part about this was inviting Adam himself. And to think, Adam thought Kenny only wanted to Netflix and chill.

“I, uh, I got you these,” Adam stammered. He held out the flowers to Kenny. “Just, a housewarming, gift, I guess for — for you.”

“Oh, you did, thank you, Cowboy,” Kenny smiled, he took the bouquet from Adam. He hesitated, awkwardly gripping the plastic casing of the flowers.

“I guess, you can put it in some water?” Adam suggested. He scratched at the back of his head.

“Yeah, right, good idea,” Kenny nodded, he stepped back from Adam, lingered for a second, and then headed to the kitchen.

Adam followed Kenny and while Kenny tore through the cabinets in search of a vase, Adam took a second look. Beside the stove were three white bowls with flour, eggs, and panko crumbs. On the burner sat a large, cast-iron pot filled several inches deep with cooking oil. A thermometer rested beside the burner. Kenny exclaimed, “ah-ha,” When he came up with a vase. He filled it with water and settled the flowers in. Brow furrowed he poked a couple daisies upright. Kenny set the vase with the flowers in the middle of the table, as an impromptu centerpiece.

“There, that livens-up the place,” Kenny said, putting his hands on his hips. He smiled at Adam and the ocean, through the windows behind him, framed his face. His eyes bluer than the sea and Adam only just noticed he didn’t have his glasses on. Instead, the glasses were hooked in the pocket of his blazer. Adam was invited here, talking with Kenny, about to have dinner, and his trepidation only grew.

“Is this all for us?” Adam asked, he leaned against the kitchen doorway and shoved his hand in his pocket. With his other he gestured broadly at everything.

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice?” Kenny admitted, it was his turn to shrug. “Just us, for once. We haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together recently and there's some, some things I wanted to talk to you about. Stuff that's— that's better here maybe than at Daily’s Place. Is it too much?”

Kenny looked bashful, his smile soft, peering at Adam, his hand working over the back of a chair. It was nervous and sweet, open in a way that Adam hadn’t seen in months. Words were hard, but pushing off the doorpost and walking over to Kenny was easier. For a second, Adam’s hands hovered between them, and then he hooked his fingers beneath Kenny’s lapel. Kenny giggled and rested his forehead against Adam’s, his breath tickling Adam’s bottom lip.

“It’s perfect,” Adam murmured. He untangled from Kenny’s jacket and slid his hands down Kenny’s sides until Adam held his hips. Adam pushed his palms against the jut of Kenny's bone, “What's for dinner, chef Kenny?”

Kenny giggled and gripped at Adam’s hands. “Well, I was thinking,” he glanced back at the kitchen, “I’d make us Tonkatsu, you know, those pork cutlets you get in Japan, with the breading and cabbage? I haven’t had any in a while and it’s one of my favorite dishes. And I ordered sushi, and dessert, from a couple local places—”

“So, you’re cooking?” Adam asked, he quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about that? I can cook,” Kenny protested. He pulled back from Adam and moved into the kitchen. Adam returned to his position by the doorpost as Kenny rummaged in the fridge. He pulled-out a bag of plastic boxes and then a platter of salted pork. Kenny rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll burn it? I promise only a little singe, for flavor. I mean it’s Tonkatsu, grade school children can make it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Adam laughed, he lifted his hands to placate Kenny. “It’s just, you never hit me as the cooking type. Order in and dine-out always seemed more your style.”

Kenny stuck his tongue out at Adam. He laughed though and turned the stove on to heat the oil. The plastic bag crinkled as Kenny sorted through small platters of elegant sushi and laid each on the counter. “We can eat this while the oil heats. I wish I had a nicer serving tray but I didn’t think to bring one, and this house doesn’t have one— I looked. Oh, and I don’t know how you feel about it, but I got some sake too. It’s in the fridge. Do you like it hot? I’ve never had it, so, I don’t know what’s better.”

“Man, I don’t even know,” Adam said. He never liked the flavor of sake —too dry for his taste— so he’d let the discussion drop and hope that was better than rejecting Kenny’s offer. Adam walked over to help Kenny carry the sushi to the table. “I got you milk, though, two percent. I uh— put it in the fridge.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Kenny smiled.

While Kenny removed the covers from the sushi, Adam fetched his meager contributions to the meal. He returned with the gallon of milk and an IPA. Adam poured Kenny a tall glass of milk and Kenny poured Adam’s beer. Teeth buried in his bottom lip, like this task was monumental, Kenny dumped the bottle into the glass. By the time the bubbles fizzed down, Adam’s ‘beer’ was mostly air. It was the thought that counted and Kenny looked pleased. Before sitting down himself, Kenny pulled-out Adam’s chair for him. Adam muttered his thanks and sat down. Kenny took his place on the opposite side of the table and used his chopsticks to divvy up the sushi pieces between them.

“Where’d you get this?” Adam asked.

“Sushiko, a small place by the river, Cody recommended it,” Kenny said. “It’s a nice little restaurant and we’re by the coast so the seafood is fresh. I mean it’s not really, authentic, but that’s hard to get in America anyway.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be good,” Adam countered. “Do you want the ginger?”

“Nah, you can have it,” Kenny said, to punctuate his point he picked up a heap of the ginger and plopped it onto Adam’s plate. “Do you remember how to use the chopsticks? It hasn’t been that long since you were last in Japan, right?”

“I order take-out once a month to keep my skills sharp,” Adam promised. He picked-up the chopsticks by his plate. Then, took the ends and stuck them beneath his top lip like a walrus, “Goes like this right?”

Kenny laughed, hand lifting to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook with racks of giggles. Adam smiled and wiped off his chopsticks with his napkin. It was the kinda joke he’d crack when he was ten, on the rare occasion his parents took the family out to eat. His sister would find it hilarious, his father and mother less so. Yet, it seemed to amuse Kenny to no end, and all that bashful shyness was gone when the laughter subsided.

“Yeah, close enough,” Kenny said, waving his hand. “Here you should try the tempura roll, it’s my favorite of all the inaccurate American sushis.”

Kenny picked up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks and offered it over the table for Adam to try. Adam didn’t point out that he already had a piece of that type on his plate. He only leaned forward and opened his mouth so Kenny could feed him the sushi. Adam bit down and savored the taste of shrimp, rice, and crunchy breading.

“It’s good,” he said, nodding and humming his approval.

“Isn’t it?” Kenny asked, he jammed a roll with avocado in his mouth and grinned, pleased. “It’s kinda cliché, but I love this stuff.”

Adam took a sip from his beer to wash down the rice gummed behind his teeth.

“I’ve always meant to ask,” Kenny said, he pointed with his chopsticks at the beer. “Do you... like that stuff?”

“Beer? Yeah, pretty well, it’s not my favorite drink,” Adam admitted. He ate another piece of sushi and chewed through his thoughts. “It has to be a good beer, the cheap crap isn’t worth the calories. Pleases the hell out of a crowd though.��

“Yeah, don’t you have to drive back?” Kenny’s brow furrowed.

Adam laughed, “A beer or two isn’t going to send me over, Kenny. It's not like liquor, it's a much lower alcohol content. I probably won't even feel the buzz, especially drinking on food. By the time I leave, I'll be close to zero. I try to keep track of my limits these days, and you know, it’s hard to be no carb and take shots.”

“Trainers got you on no carb?” Kenny asked, with a lifted brow. It was a quick change of topic and Adam appreciated the tact.

“Yeah, have been for a while now, it’s probably better that way,” Adam shrugged. “You know not all of us shred fat like you.”

“Well, that’s not so easy these days,” Kenny admitted. “Not all of us are as young as you.”

“Hey, a few months and I’ll be thirty,” Adam pointed-out. “Or like, twenty-four by Cody’s metric, something like that.”

“You can’t say that being youngest wasn’t a good shake,” Kenny said. “You never had to pay for anything.”

“Just all the ribbing,” Adam grinned.

Adam popped some ginger in his mouth and waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. Kenny was all grins and the smiles were a relief. This wasn’t a total cluster fuck and Adam hadn’t said something to screw-up the mood. This was going much better than his anxiety allowed him to anticipate. A pause to eat lulled the conversation to a brief silence. Yet, Adam could tell by the way Kenny studied his Philadelphia roll, there was something on his mind.

“So, uh, last night,” Kenny said, he placed his elbow on the table. “Did you sign a contract with Matt Hardy? Did I interpret that segment correctly? I was preparing for my match so I wasn’t really paying attention, but—”

Adam paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and then he grinned. “I did.”

“Did you read that contract?” Kenny probed. “Listen, I know you and Hardy go back but I’m not sure you should trust that guy, Page. He’s a bit of a carny— I mean his gimmick is ‘Big Money Matt.’ That has got to be a warning sign. I know Matt and Nick brought him in by burying his vessel or whatever, but he’s changed a lot since the Stadium Stampede. He’s got the whole, I guess split personality thing going on?”

“Oh, I read the contract I signed,” Adam nodded. He savored the taste of a Dragon roll, fishy and popping with acidity. “Hardy didn’t, but I did.”

“Oh, really,” Kenny waxed, he pressed his finger tips to his chin. “Something you wanna fill me in on?”

“Yeah, I switched the contracts,” Adam said.

Kenny gasped, “You switched the contracts?! Oh, ho, Page, I knew you were smart, brilliant, tell me everything.”

“Well, I knew he was going to invite me to a bar, because he said so on Twitter,” Adam began. “Like, you said, I’ve known Matt for a while and he’s always been a dick. He was talking all about how I’m going to be some great star or the ‘top guy’ in AEW, or whatever, some bullshit, but I kinda figured his plan was to get me drunk and willing to sign something stupid.”

He leaned back in his chair, sipping on his beer and thinking. Adam couldn’t get why every other manager in AEW was salivating at the idea of getting him on their payroll. The Dark Order was trying to recruit him. Taz was talking about him. Matt Hardy seemed to think Adam was the second coming of Jesus. Adam assumed that he was so sought after because the actual best wrestler in AEW was already spoken-for. And Jon Moxley wasn’t the type to tolerate companionship. So, that left Adam Page. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“So, I uh, had a little something prepared for him,” Adam shrugged. “I don’t think he’s figured it out yet, so like, don’t go spreading it around? Snitches get stitches, Kenny, and I mean it.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kenny promised. He pantomimed zipping-up his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key. He leaned forward, hand bracing against the table. “But really, what was in the contract?’

“You wanna know?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, I wanna know!” Kenny said.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Adam smirked. “You’ll just have to find-out with Matt Hardy and everyone else. I don’t wanna pop the surprise.”

“Aw, Pizz, you’re killing me, now that’s all I’m going to think about for the rest of the night!” Kenny laughed, he deflated into his chair. Then he bounced back, livened with an idea. “Oh, I know, you made it so you get a third of his merch sales? A half?! Man, that’s brutal. Ooh, I know what you should’ve done, what I would do? Make him your butler for a few weeks, that would be funny.”

Adam chuckled, cheeks flushed with amusement. All he did was shake his head and keep his mouth shut. Kenny gave-up, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. While they ate, Kenny talked about the Women’s Title Eliminator tournament and all that went into organizing it. He seemed excited to debut the woman’s bracket next week. He promised that he had seen the matches, and they were, “fantastic.” In particular he was ecstatic about Aja Kong and Yuka progressing. Adam had no idea who Maki Itoh was beyond her Twitter, but Kenny was adamant she get a contract at some point. On his part Adam was happy to sit back —long after polishing off his own plate— and listen to Kenny, occasionally interjecting a question or an affirming, “mhm.” Eventually, Kenny got around to eating his last piece of sushi. His eyes darted beyond Adam’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet to go check on the oil.

Adam turned in his seat to watch Kenny in the kitchen. He was eyeing a thermometer dipped in the pot. Pleased with the temperature, he moved to start working with the meat. Kenny used a skewer to dip a pork cutlet into the flour, then egg, then back into the flour. Adam cleared the sushi plates from the table. He rinsed them in the sink. He cleaned a few other dishes, cutting boards, and knives, listening to Kenny complain about getting flour on his fingers. Adam put the dishes on the rack and dried his hands on a towel. He wandered to Kenny’s side. Kenny had coated two cutlets in panko crumbs and the breaded meat sat on a plate ready to go. He fiddled with the thermometer, brow furrowed in concentration. He adjusted the temperature on the stove and then gripped the pot handle to center it on the burner. He hissed when his hand touched hot metal. Kenny stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Hot,” he breathed to Adam.

“Yeah, no shit, go rinse it under the cold water,” Adam ordered. “Are you okay?”

“Just my pride,” Kenny said, as he ran his finger under the faucet and washed his hands of flour. “I thought I was going to be so cool, making Tonkatsu for you, and you’d be like, ‘wow, look at Kenny be a boss in the kitchen,’ and now I’m just kinda—”

He returned to the stove and looked at the simmering oil with particular trepidation.

“Now, I’m just kinda nervous,” he admitted, smiling again. “Like, I don’t want to fuck this up and ruin the evening, or something.”

“Do you want help?” Adam asked.

“How heroic,” Kenny pined. “A cowboy come to save me.”

“Yeah, yeah, mostly I just don’t want the food burned,” Adam said, stepping to Kenny’s side. He nudged his hip against Kenny’s and picked-up a skewer. The task was simple, pick-up the two pieces of meat and plunge them into the boiling oil. Yet, when Adam did it, Kenny looked at him like he did something astounding. Adam handed the tongs to Kenny, “you can flip them on your own, right?”

“Pfft, I got that,” Kenny bragged, taking the utensil from Adam. He positioned himself, watching as bubbles formed around the meat. The panko browned to an appetizing gold. As the meat cooked, it exuded juices that caused the oil to spit. Kenny yelped, when some struck his arm, shifting behind Adam. “Unless it fights back?!”

“Aren’t you the guy who fought a G1 with a fractured heel?!” Adam snapped. “Don’t be a baby, it’s just oil, it’s not going to bite you! Get in there.”

Kenny patted Adam’s shoulder and shifted to plunge the tongs into the oil. He flipped both pieces of meat. Although, he held the tongs at the furthest extent to avoid oil splatter. Adam placed his hand on the small of Kenny’s back to hold him steady as they waited the last minute for the meat to finish. It was such a simple gesture but Kenny’s nerves seemed to evaporate under his touch. Kenny fished out the cutlets and placed them diagonally on a draining rack. The cooking done, Kenny kicked Adam out of the kitchen while he finished the rest of the meal. Adam returned to the dining table, sat down, and enjoyed his beer. The soothing melody of Kenny banging around behind him as background noise.

A few minutes later, Kenny placed a plate in front of Adam. The cutlet had been sliced thin and fanned across the edge of the plate. A generous heap of shredded cabbage piled in the middle garnished with a slice of tomato and lemon. On the side were pickled radishes. The colors popped and the meat smelled delicious. Kenny laid a small container of pouring sauce between them on the table. Kenny sat down with his own plate across from Adam.

“This is so— great, Kenny,” Adam breathed, looking over the food. He picked-up his chopsticks and dove in for the Tonkatsu. It was juicy and savory, with a nice crunch. Adam groaned, “It tastes fantastic.”

“Thanks, I was worried about overcooking it, but with you at my side, it was easy,” Kenny said, he smiled. He poured some sauce on his cutlet. “We make a great team.”

Adam focused on pinching some cabbage between his chopsticks, eyes casting down to the plate. “Yeah, I— I guess we do.”

“Hey, it was just an observation,” Kenny said, he nudged Adam’s foot under the table with his own. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

“No, no, it’s fine,” Adam said. He took a sip of beer but didn’t taste it. “You’re right, I was just thinking— I’ve tagged with a lot of people lately, and none of them are like you. You really are the best.”

“That’s sweet, cowboy,” Kenny grinned, but Adam sensed the need to change the conversation. Mourning the tag-team wasn’t uplifting for either of them.

“So, where did you learn to make this?” Adam asked. He gestured at the Tonkatsu. “’Cause it’s really good. Not going to lie, that’s what I miss about Japan— the food. They just don’t have the same, I don’t know, style? Yeah, style, in America.”

“Well, I learned from one of the ladies I stayed with when I first moved to Japan in, 2008, well, kinda learned,” Kenny elaborated. He shrugged, “mostly I just watched her cook and sometimes she let me help. She always did the bits with the oil because she was afraid I’d burn myself. My Japanese wasn’t good back then but I’m pretty sure she thought I was just an idiot.”

“I mean, you can be a bit,” Adam paused. Kenny pressed his lips thin, so he picked his next word carefully, “ditzy?”

“I’ll give you that,” Kenny said. “I wouldn’t trust me around a big pot of boiling oil either. You handled yourself pretty well in there, though.”

“Deep fried is a staple food in the rural south," Adam said. "It's a survival skill, where I'm from. It's okay, Kenny, you can kick my ass Street Fighter, later, so that way we're even."

The conversation slowed so they could finish eating. Just the sounds of chewing and chopsticks clacking. It was good, the cabbage contrasting to the meat, and the sauce adding a hint of sweetness. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfy silence, Adam wasn't looking for an excuse to breach it. It was just them, together, enjoying the mutual company. When Adam finished eating, just to gross out Kenny, he picked up his plate and licked it clean. The gesture had the intended effect of making Kenny screw-up his nose and expression. Adam took his last swig of beer and then carried both their plates to the sink. Adam helped Kenny tidy-up the kitchen. Adam washed the dishes and Kenny dried, putting the plates away on the shelves. They moved around each other like this was something they did every night. Yet, each time Kenny’s elbow jostled Adam or he moved a step closer, a warm heat spread across Adam’s skin. It was dark outside when they finished and Kenny turned on lights in the house to illuminate the rooms.

“You up for cake, cowboy?” Kenny asked as he returned. He took a box out from the fridge and finagled the lid open. Inside the box was a small, white cake decorated with vanilla icing, raspberries, and fancy swirls. Kenny smacked Adam’s hand away when he tried to taste the frosting.

"Ow," Adam grunted. He cradled his hand to his chest.

“I didn’t really know what you liked, but everyone likes vanilla, so I figured I couldn't go wrong,” Kenny admitted as he took the cake out of the box. Adam got plates and a knife to cut with. Kenny stuck his tongue out as he sliced into the cake. It was obnoxiously cute. He pointed with the knife, “Is this big enough?”

“That’ll do it,” Adam said.

Kenny sliced the cake and put a piece on a plate that he handed to Adam, then cut his own piece. The inner filling of the cake was a bright red raspberry and Adam hummed, eager. to try Kenny took a fork and cut off a small piece of his cake slice. He offered the morsel to Adam. Once again, Adam let Kenny feed him. It was sweet, with a delicate crumb, and acidic with the fruit. Kenny opened his mouth, making an ‘ah’ sound, to indicate he wanted Adam to return the gesture. Adam obliged, watching with fascination as Kenny’s lips closed around the fork. A speck of icing trapped at the corner of his mouth. Before he could stop himself, Adam leaned forward and kissed it off— grinning all the way back as Kenny’s cheeks flushed.

“You remember when we tricked that waitress into giving us free cake?” Kenny asked. His eyes lit-up, to divert his attention though, he glanced down for another bite. “That was— fun.”

“I don’t think we tricked anybody,” Adam laughed. "I think the waitress knew what was up the whole damn time."

“What, we weren’t a convincing couple?” Kenny asked. The question so earnest, his voice so soft, that Adam almost dropped his plate. Deep in Kenny's eyes hid a kernel of curious probing. Like he was testing the waters. Wading-out waist high in a surging tide.

“I— um, I guess we were.” Adam ducked his head, but Kenny shoved at his shoulder and the tension dissipated.

“I’m just teasing you, Hangers,” he laughed. “Eat your cake, before I do. Hey, I know, why don’t we go sit outside? C’mon.”

Kenny had already split off and so that settled it. Adam got a beer from the fridge and followed Kenny out the back door. At the edge of the pool was a small sitting area with chairs and a couch. The ocean crashed against the shore, loud and echoing in Adam's inner-ear. He felt the tide wearing away the sand in his teeth. Kenny sat down on the couch, tossing his phone on the coffee table. He crossed his legs up and finished off his cake. Adam joined him on the other side of the couch. They remarked on the flavors of the cake and speculated if the icing was cream cheese or not. Finished eating, Kenny put his plate down and lounged back against the cushions.

Adam studied Kenny’s profile. His straight nose and angular jaw, the untamed stubble on his cheeks. His lips pink with red raspberries. In red and black, he looked marvelous. The wind tussling his curls. And his eyes, so scarce these days, holding every emotion Adam hoped to see reflected in them. Adam’s heart collided with the inside of his ribs. He took his last bite of cake and put aside the dishes. Then, for courage, he swigged on his beer and set that aside too. He leaned into the cushions, adjusting a pillow underneath his right elbow.

“Hey,” he said, voice coarse and weak, the word lost to the ocean. Kenny looked at him, hearing him anyway, and Adam opened his arms wide, “What are you doing over there? Get your ass over here.”

Kenny slid over until he leaned against Adam’s side. Adam swung his legs up onto the couch and pulled Kenny against his chest. Kenny settled between his legs and Adam draped his arm over Kenny’s back. Something dislodged in Adam’s lungs and he breathed easy for the first time in months. Kenny sighed and pressed his cheek to Adam’s collarbone. His hand ran over Adam’s bicep. Adam reached over Kenny, picked-up his beer, and took another casual swig. Part of him regretted the alcohol because now his breath must smell like beer and cake. The other part of him needed it to function in this moment.

Adam drew broad circles between Kenny’s shoulder blades, feeling each hard muscle, defined and strong beneath his hand. Kenny was warm in contrast to the cool night, like a little personal heater. Adam chuckled, content as he leaned back against the arm rest. Kenny turned his face into Adam’s chest and buried his nose into Adam’s shirt. He shuddered in Adam’s arms, a full body tremble working all the way down his spine. Adam lifted his hand to work his fingers through Kenny’s hair and curls. A little coarser now since he dyed it, black and silver. Adam didn’t know what else to say or think, or do. Didn’t know if this was Kenny using him for comfort or something more. If he was supposed to read between the lines, look for the fine text, or just be a quiet and good pillow. Maybe, he'd just pretend that the way Kenny clung to him was because of love.

“I like your hair like this,” Adam mused. He ran his fingers through Kenny’s scalp. It was an easier question than: why did you bring me here? What do you want from me? What are we?

“Thanks,” Kenny muttered. He turned his cheek to press against Adam’s chest. Adam considered that an improvement.

“Are you okay?” He managed.

Kenny sighed, shoulders heaving. He wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist and cinched in, holding him close. It was the total experience of being owned. That Adam was Kenny’s to have and hold onto. It was possessive in a way that thrilled Adam. That there were seven billion people on this planet and he was the one Kenny Omega invited to a rented house for dinner. Adam was the one who got to hold Kenny Omega, not anyone else. Adam was the one Kenny Omega wanted to be held by. It had to mean something. He wanted it to mean something. Please, let it mean something.

“It’s just,” Kenny whispered. His voice soft, but Adam carded his fingers through Kenny’s hair to encourage each word forth. “Sometimes, I realize one day I could die. I could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. There’s be no one to miss me and that— that terrifies me more than death itself.”

Then, Kenny laughed, shaking his head, giggling like he said something funny. Not something that Adam had no idea how to react to. Every word of it raised a protest inside Adam though. That he cared, that he would notice, that he would be devastated to lose Kenny. That he lost Kenny once and he had no intentions of ever doing it again. Except, Adam had no idea how to say all that in a way that made sense. When he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a huff of carbon dioxide. Kenny tensed, feeling Adam’s diaphragm tighten. It was as if Adam’s anxiety infused and intertwined with Kenny's, into something ugly between them. Adam could just hold Kenny tighter and that would make Kenny understand. Hold so tight to Kenny that he couldn’t leave, couldn’t go anywhere, and they’d just fit together, and it’d work.

Except, Adam was no longer so young and stupid as to believe that would work. It wasn’t enough to ask Kenny, ‘do you trust me,’ when he already breached that trust. Adam couldn’t hold on alone, they had to meet in the middle. These things had to be mutual. This was a two street and Adam had no idea if Kenny was walking towards him or away. He was just a blur in the distance that he was chasing like hell. As if, when he caught Kenny, he’d get the answers to the questions he was too afraid to ask.

Kenny shifted, pushing back against Adam and the awkward silence between them. The silence Adam let linger too long. He wondered if just screaming would work better than this. Kenny sat-up, and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. He clung to one of Adam’s hands like it was a life raft in the middle of that ocean out there. They sat thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip. Maybe, that’s how Adam felt, like Kenny was drowning and all he could do was yell advice from the shoreline.

“Look,” Kenny began, he licked his lips. He stared at where their knees touched. Adam could feel Kenny's pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

Kenny giggled again, shoulders shaking and Adam had no idea what the joke was. He placed his other, free hand on Kenny’s shoulder.

“I set all of this up to tell you, but I— I don’t know what to say,” He admitted. He shook his head and squeezed Adam’s hand.

“Whatever, whatever you feel, man,” Adam offered, lamely. “You know I’m here for you.”

“Look—” Kenny began.

He looked-up, gunmetal blue eyes matching Adam’s gaze. The warm glow from the house burned his cheeks gold and he shivered. Kenny was scared, the thought hit Adam like a gunshot. Terrified, looking at Adam, like Adam was going to hurt him. Like a whipped dog anticipating being taken out back.

“Adam, I—” he began, then a sharp chime cut him off.

Both Kenny and Adam looked down at Kenny’s phone on the coffee table. Don Callis, calling Kenny, the phone vibrating against the glass. Kenny withdrew his hand, untangling from Adam, scooting away. Like, he'd been burned and scalded, like he just put his hand back on that pot handle and this time gripped tight. “I’m not— I’m not going to answer it. I— I told him I’d be busy,” Kenny stammered, his hands working through his hair. There was a bite to his tone that set Adam’s heart on fire. “I don’t know why he’s calling me he should know.”

As Kenny’s pitch hitched and his voice cracked, Adam lunged forward to hit the decline button on the phone. The phone stopped ringing and Kenny sighed, his face stricken pale. Adam himself breathed for the first time in almost a minute, slowly leaning back into the couch. His hands rested on his knees. The ocean crashed and receded.

“He can leave a damn voice mail,” Adam managed, cracking a half-grin but when he looked at Kenny it was not returned. Instead, Adam met wild eyes and a pale face, white with fear. In a few seconds it calmed, the war raging in Kenny dying down as he glanced away from Adam. As Adam watched Kenny pulled the glasses-free from his front pocket and shoved them on his face. He licked his lips, jaw working tight. “Kenny, is everything okay?”

“Fine, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Kenny repeated, his hands rubbed over his thighs. “I’m not— I’m not going to keep you, you can go. It was— It was fun tonight, thanks.”

Kenny lifted and waved his hand as if to dismiss Adam. Adam’s felt his temper go through the roof, just a moment of complete rage that calmed immediately. There were no words, just screaming like if he opened his mouth, a long drawn howl would escape instead of anything coherent. And that was the best he could do to express the emotions in his head. His teeth gritted and Adam rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to clear out the thoughts from his head.

“No, wait, Kenny what did you want to tell me?” Adam asked. “What were you trying to say before Don called?”

“All, I wanted to do was just tell you that— that,” Kenny stuttered, and Adam had no faith that what came out of his mouth next was the truth. “That you can always talk to me if you need it. That, that I’m here for you, Page, and like, that you don’t need to go signing stupid contracts with Matt Hardy, but you didn’t so, it’s really not a problem. You— you didn’t need me.”

“Is that it?” Adam asked, he glanced around the house. Thought of the sushi and the home-cooked meal. Of cake and Kenny dressing nice just for Adam. “You did all this, just to tell me that? Are you sure that’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“What do you think?” Kenny asked, he peered at Adam. The glasses and his expression were like a brick wall. Impassive, unreadable, and drawing Adam to a total stop. Adam’s stomach twisted, lips parted in unvoiced confusion. Adam couldn’t answer the question because he was afraid of what Kenny thought. Kenny didn't love him, Kenny didn't care, Kenny was using him.

“Seriously, Page, I’m fine— you can leave if you want,” Kenny repeated. “It was fun tonight.”

“No, no, no, Kenny,” Adam interjected. “No, I’m not just leaving, I’m not going anywhere until I get some damn answers about what the hell is going on. I’ve been out of my mind for months trying to figure us— this, out. It ain’t even just about what you did to Moxley or any of the other crap. I was with you in Japan, I know how you are. Excalibur may be scandalized but I was there when you won the Intercontinental title off Tanahashi. I know how it goes. What gets me, is that you hadn’t done that shit since Japan. Ever since Don Callis came back you’ve been acting weird and I think by this point I deserve some damn answers.”

“Okay, fine, fine, what do you want to know?” Kenny demanded. He crossed his arms over his stomach. “I am an open book.”

“It’s just, I don’t know—” Adam stumbled over his words, the real questions getting in the way of the ones he could actually ask. What are we? So, instead, he stumbled-on, “Are you sure you can trust Don?”

“Of course, I can,” Kenny scoffed. “We’re changing the business Adam, changing the world, history! All those solid steel doors, those arbitrary barriers in our sport? They’re gone now! Impact, New Japan, NWA, Stardom, they’re all clamoring to get a spot on our show. We are the hottest thing in wrestling, not WWE, us. Tony Khan, the Bucks, and Cody, the whole locker room, they should be thanking us, we’re giving them jobs, improving their pay checks, and what do we get?! Just like you said, Excalibur on commentary with a bad attitude. No one else shares my vision, no one else gets it, not like Don does.”

Kenny shook his head, curls flopping around. He spoke fast, quickly, trying to get to the next words as soon as possible.

“I thought that was all bullshit,” Adam admitted. “Just shit Don was making-up to justify taking the title.”

“Page, please!” Kenny said, his hand fluttering in Adam’s direction. “We’ve been planning something like this for years. This isn’t a mere money-making scheme, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy. And yeah, maybe that means I can’t be around Matt and Nick as much anymore, maybe the locker room hates me, maybe I’m not as popular with the audience— big deal. They’ll come around, they always come around, they’ll realize how much I’ve done for them. People change, this is— this is bigger than any one person.”

“Oh, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy?” Adam asked, he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kenny pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. Kenny’s hands fluttered around and something flexed in his jaw like he was chewing on sand. His voice was darker, biting with anger as he shook his finger at Adam. “Don’t even start with me, Page, about who to trust. We both know your track record.”

“Matt Hardy doesn’t give a shit about me,” Adam stated. Kenny stepped-in like it was a warning, but Adam squared his shoulders and with a look wilted Kenny. Adam took sick satisfaction in the inch or two of height he had. To lift his chin, and stand his ground. “And Don Callis doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Don is like family to me,” Kenny snapped, his finger jutted into Adam’s face, his voice lifting in pitch and volume. Adam couldn’t remember if they ever got to this point with each other, yelling. No, he remembered some shoves in the ring. “He cares about me. I know he does. I’ve known him since I was a child, Page. It’s not the same thing.”

Adam worked his teeth into his bottom lips. He placed his hand on his hips and glanced towards the ocean. Black and churning, the waves thrown in turmoil, rolling, clawing-up the beach to high tide. Adam let himself feel the wind in his hair and his pounding heart. He glanced back at Kenny.

Back in the day, Biz Cliz days, the Bullet Club, and the Elite was Kenny’s family. They were the ones who looked after him after matches. They were the ones who fetched ice or hot packs for his injuries. They were the ones at ringside. The ones in his tag-teams. The ones who helped him pick-out clothes or get in his ring gear. Adam thought they were family and he had fought like hell for that family. Scrabbled to keep the little niche of home he’d found, that place he belonged. He spared a thought, that something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. So wrong, that Kenny, went to someone else instead of his family. FTR, the Dark Order, Matt Hardy, the Good Brothers, Don, all these side distractions instead of the stable that cared about them. Egos blew-up, friendships faded, but it took more than a couple of arguments to break the Elite. There was a looming specter, sticking his fingers in the crack. Adam may’ve left the Elite but he always thought there’d be something to go back to. He never thought his absence would unravel his friends— never dreamed it.

He didn’t even think they’d notice he was gone.

“Does your family usually hit you with a microphone?” Adam asked.

Kenny’s lips parted, his jaw falling slack. His shoulders drooped and then he rubbed his hand beneath the rims of his glasses. He crossed his arms, gaze turning downwards. Adam’s hands fell to his sides, feeling that the fight was over. Kenny shook his head as if to physically dislodge Adam’s words from his skull. Kenny was a fighter, he was a leader, he was a crazy visionary, who did his own thing. He always had an argument in him. He always kicked-out. He fought sixty minute matches against Okada. The way he capitulated in defeat here and now was fascinating because it was so against him. It was like Adam pushed back and found nothing but dust. That he had glanced back over his shoulder and suddenly Kenny had turned to salt. A pillar of salt, crumbling in Adam’s hands. A divine and cruel trick, stealing from him what he most desired, at the last possible second.

Adam sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. Then, Kenny lurched forward and pressed his forehead into Adam’s shoulder. Adam closed his eyes and reached-up to tangle his fingers back in Kenny’s hair. He worked out a knot and then smoothed his palm down Kenny’s back. Kenny trembled against him, fingers twisted in Adam’s shirt. It was a desperate grip, like this attention and concern was foreign to Kenny. Like he was starved and Adam supposed that made sense because this didn’t feel like something Don Callis would do. Because Don Callis didn't care about Kenny. He wouldn't take care of Kenny, not like his friends would— like they were supposed to. They had failed Kenny and so he went to someone else. (They had failed Adam and so he had went to someone else). Adam hummed, low in his throat, and buried his nose in Kenny’s hair. He smelled of cologne and sea salt, and everything Adam missed.

“Forget about Don,” Adam said. “I— I shouldn’t’ve said that, it’s none of my damn business.”

“I just don’t want to fight with you,” Kenny admitted. “I don’t— I don’t deserve you, Page.”

“Nah, don’t say that,” Adam shook his head. “Because if you were gone, you know I’d miss you, right? I ain’t got that many friends left, Kenny. You’re special to me.”

“Charmer,” Kenny grunted.

“Can’t coast on just my good looks, you know,” Adam chuckled. He wrapped both his arms around Kenny and drew him tighter. Knowing that he was being used. Knowing that they were no closer now than they were before. “Gotta have some personality.”

“Hmm, but you are good-looking,” Kenny agreed. His hands smoothed down Adam’s side, unabashed in feeling the muscles and curves of his waist. “You’re very handsome, cowboy.”

Adam chuckled as Kenny wrapped his arms around him. It felt good to be needed. Good to be wanted and held. To be possessed by someone. Adam wanted Kenny to own him. But, he wasn’t sure if it was real or if Adam was just here, and hot, and it worked.

“I can stay,” Adam murmured. “Just one night, you and me, like— like in the hotel.”

“You— you want to?” Kenny asked. He pulled from Adam to look at him, or rather let Adam look at his glasses. “I have an extra toothbrush.”

“Good, because all my shit is at the hotel,” Adam said, flashing a grin.

Adam tapped Kenny on the back to urge him back inside. Adam carried in the plates and his mostly undrunk beer. At the kitchen sink, he chugged a few big gulps and poured the rest of the alcohol down the drain. Adam rinsed and cleaned the dishes, while Kenny finished tidying-up behind him. The domesticity was intoxicating, giving Adam more of a buzz than the beer. It was deceptive too. For a second, Adam could pretend they did this little ritual every night. Clean-up after dinner, put-away all the dishes, and then, turn off the kitchen lights, head for bed. As Adam followed Kenny down the hall to the master bedroom, he rubbed the sweat off his palms and onto his pants legs.

The master bedroom had a large bed, a couch, desk and chair, and a TV on a stand. A sliding door connected to the back patio outside. Airy, light blue curtain hung over the windows and glass. The walls were painted white and the bedding was blue. The typical beach decor was as bland as the rest of the house. Kenny rummaged around in a suitcase, left on a couch with a few stray articles of clothes on the cushions. He procured a set of soft fabric shorts and tossed them to Adam.

“I don’t sleep in pajamas like you do, Pizz,” Kenny said. His early energy was gone and he said all of it like it was a statement of fact. Adam didn't doubt Kenny's ability to put on a show though. Even if he felt like shit he'd find a way to hide it. “So, you’ll just have to do with my work-out clothes. I washed them, I promise.”

“Are you going to sleep in your X-men undies again?” Adam teased. Kenny found a toothbrush but instead of handing it to Adam, he chucked it at Adam’s head. Adam caught the flung toothbrush with a clap of his hands. “Hey, I like Wolverine!”

“No, for the record I wore briefs this time,” Kenny said. He shrugged off his blazer and smiled softly, almost regretfully. “I came prepared.”

Adam stepped around the edge of the room, watching as Kenny peeled off his shirt. He’d seen Kenny shirtless a thousand times. He could map each expanse and stretch of muscle, the powerful curve of his back, his thick arms, and broad shoulders. This time felt special, significant, especially when Kenny glanced over his shoulder at Adam and caught him watching. Adam ducked his head and escaped into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed behind him, he stared at himself in the mirror. Adam splashed cold water on his face and then brushed his teeth. He changed into Kenny’s shorts, used the toilet, and left, wiping his hands on the hand towel. Kenny had changed into a pair of sweat pants and he was yanking the curtains closed over the window. Adam walked-up behind him, hooked an arm around Kenny’s waist and pulling him back to his chest.

“I’ll wait for you in bed,” Adam murmured, dipping his head to speak in Kenny’s ear. “Don’t take too long, I’m tired.”

“Yes, sir,” Kenny chuckled. “You know, I like it when you boss me around.”

“Make sure you wash behind your ears,” Adam ordered, severely.

Adam tapped Kenny’s hip and sent him off towards the bathroom. He turned off the bedroom lights and the nightstand lamp then slid underneath the covers of the bed. It felt like this would be easier if he didn’t have to look at Kenny. Then they wouldn’t have to face anything, just be with each other. The bed was softer than Adam was used to and he fought the mattress to roll over on his side, punching at the pillow to get it shaped right. The ocean rumbled and Adam sighed, exhaling with the tide. He heard the bathroom door open and the latch close behind Kenny. He heard each pad of Kenny’s footsteps on the carpet before the mattress dipped and Kenny slid into bed. Adam rolled over, reaching for Kenny and guiding him closer. Kenny shimmied over and Adam tucked his arm over Kenny��s side, his hand resting over Kenny’s stomach. He pressed his nose into Kenny’s neck and Kenny hooked his calf around Adam’s leg to bring them flush. Every inch of Kenny’s body pressed against Adam. Kenny laid his hand over Adam’s and intertwined their fingers. Kenny rumbled, content, then slid his foot down to put his ice cold toes on Adam’s ankle. Adam jerked, cussing, and Kenny giggled.

Adam’s eyes fluttered closed. Kenny’s breath as gentle as the ocean. He’d been dreaming about this for months, having Kenny back here. The memory of the hotel room a poor substitute for having him under Adam’s arm. Warm, heavy, his pulse tangled with Adam’s. Adam wiggled his arm underneath Kenny and clutched him tighter. He nuzzled his nose into Kenny’s neck. Here he could say anything. Anything at all, whisper it and pretend Kenny was sleeping, and Kenny could pretend he was sleeping if he didn’t want to hear it. And it’d be like a confession, words lost to empty air, absolution offered to wash them clean. Adam opened his mouth and nothing came out. Instead his lips moved and he mouthed, “I love you.” Without uttering a single sound. Then again, “I love you.”

“Adam,” Kenny grunted, and Adam almost panicked, wondering for a second if he had actually said those things out loud. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Adam asked, sleep dragged at his mind, making him a little dumb.

“Staying,” Kenny said. “I know I— I freak-out on you there.”

“It's fine,” Adam whispered. “It happens. Wanna hear a crazy idea I have?”

Kenny shifted, wiggling in Adam’s arms to turn over. Adam grunted when Kenny dug his elbow into his ribs so he could leverage himself onto his opposite side. Kenny buried his face in Adam’s chest and Adam wondered if that was just how he preferred to sleep. Adam rolled onto his back and dragged Kenny with him. He let his fingers play with the ends of Kenny’s hair as the other hand interlaced with Kenny’s on his stomach. Kenny settled himself and Adam licked his lips, just stupid enough to share this crazy idea.

“Hit me, cowboy,” Kenny ordered.

“We leave in the morning,” Adam suggested. “I don’t know where to, maybe nowhere specific, but it’s just the two of us. Sleeping in motels, eating shit at dinners, and working the indies— making like fifty bucks a show, so there’s never enough money but we make it work. Maybe we’re a tag-team again or it’s just us in singles. We dominate the competition, earn those dumb little regional belts we used to own. No more stakes, no more crap, just— wrestling, fun as it used to be.”

“We’d be recognized,” Kenny muttered, and Adam remembered the goofy BTE bits he used to shoot down for Kenny. Poking holes in the logic or saying the joke wasn’t funny. All because he was afraid of committing to an idea. Turn about was fair play he guessed. “We could— we could wear masks.”

“You ever wrestle in a mask?” Adam asked.

“No,” Kenny admitted.

“Sucks,” Adam grunted, “And the moment you did a One-Winged Angel, everyone would know who you are. It’d just be El Generico all over again.”

“We should go horse riding,” Kenny suggested, he yawned. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Next time you’re in Virginia,” Adam promised. “I’ll take you.”

“Mhmm, maybe that should be sooner, rather than later,” Kenny smiled. He settled then and Adam shut-up so he could sleep. In a few moments Kenny breathed easily, and steadily, his eyes closed. Adam twirled a black curl around his finger, absent-minded.

“I love you,” he said, to the empty room. An observation, a statement of fact, Adam kissed the top of Kenny’s head. This time, he whispered into those curls, “I love you.”

And then he adjusted himself so he was comfortable in the pillows. Adam sagged, the tension bleeding out of his stiff frame like water. Kenny mumbled softly in his sleep and Adam tucked him close to his side. Thoughts twisted-up in his head, Adam drifted unconscious. Then, when his eyes opened, the room was bright, light spilling in through the thin curtain. The sea raged and the gulls cried. His arm was dead weight, asleep. Adam blinked, lifting his head. In the night, he and Kenny had shifted. Kenny’s head laid on his bicep as he slept. His hand rested on Adam’s chest, fingers crooked. Needing blood flow back in his fingers, Adam slipped his arm out from under Kenny’s head. He sat-up in the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. Adam opened and closed his hand, fingertips tingling painfully. He looked down at Kenny.

His hair was in total disarray, tangled on the pillows. A little bit of drool welled at the corner of his parted lips and he breathed rough, long, slow. Without Adam, he turned onto his side. Adam slid out of the bed. He found his jeans and changed back into his clothes. Adam stepped into his boots and returned to the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge, the options were meager. Eggs, ketchup, cheese, milk, and luckily, a pack of bacon— probably stuff Kenny bought specifically for breakfast, based on the large container of protein powder beside the fridge. He poked through the cabinets and found the flour from last night, but also sugar, baking powder, cheap imitation vanilla, and salt.

Adam was methodical as he cracked eggs to scramble and for pancakes. He whipped-up the batter in a bowl and found the frying pans in a lower drawer. The back burner slow-cooked bacon with a tantalizing sizzle and on a front burner, Adam cooked the pancakes. Making just enough for him and Kenny. He cleaned-up as he went, leaving dishes on the drying rack. He did the eggs last, scrambling them with cheese and pepper, when he heard the water run, indicating Kenny was up and using the bathroom. A few minutes later Kenny wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hands over his eyes. He paused in the doorway, gaping as Adam assembled two plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“Mornin’,” Adam grunted, as he took a knife and fork out of the drawer. He walked over to the table and sat down.

“You made breakfast? I should invite you over more, geez,” Kenny said. He sat down with his plate. “Did you sleep, okay?”

“Not too bad,” Adam said. He watched as Kenny took a bite of eggs and grinned as Kenny moaned almost obscenely. “Was pretty nice sleeping next to you.”

“Well, cowboy, you can do that anytime you want,” Kenny promised. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So, I guess you’re heading out then?”

“Yeah, I gotta,” Adam said. “I got a seven-hour drive, training and working-out to get on, and like, I’m bleeding money paying my neighbor’s daughter to watch my dogs. But uh, this, thing, last night, it was fun? We should do it again.”

“Including the cuddling?” Kenny asked, propping his chin against his hand. He picked-up a piece of bacon between his fingers and cheekily tore a piece off. “I couldn’t agree more. Especially, if you’re going to cook like this.”

“Definitely the cuddling, you’re a pretty good hand warmer,” Adam nodded. He scrapped the last of the eggs onto his fork and polished it off with some pancake. He stood-up and took his plate to the sink while Kenny finished eating.

Kenny followed Adam out as he returned to his car. They hugged and Adam settled into the driver seat. He recalled the inane story he spun last night, where they go back to the indies and pretended the past year didn’t happen. It wasn’t fleeting because it was impossible. It was simply too late. As Adam turned the ignition he wondered if he could convince Kenny to come back with him to North Carolina instead. Just hide there until the next Dynamite or something. Steal a little bit more time. He put the car in the reverse and let the thought die under the rear wheels.

#ofgrief #‘The Idiot Speaking’ || OOC #‘Beloved’ || Adam and Kenny #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #i bet there's at least a few typos in this but it's in god's hands now

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choupetit · 6 years ago

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GOT Recap: Iron Throne

Airdate: 5/19/19 Season 8, Episode 6 (Finale)

Well, here we are, everybody! The Game of Thrones Finale has dropped and I for one was completely loving it. It was so riveting and they were totally able to justify Dany’s mad queen arc, plus, the way they tied up all the loose ends was truly spectacu ---oh for the love of god, I can’t do this anymore! Here’s the truth: The finale was GARBAGE! It was disappointing and boring and, honestly, we all deserved better. I know people say “You can’t please everybody.” I get that. But, dude, when the majority of people ain’t happy, you’ve done messed up.

That said, it’s dunzo and now we all can walk around dazed, like the survivors of King’s Landing, trying to make sense out of the madness. I suppose, in a way, I’m grateful that the previous episode was so god awful, because it really helped me prepare for a let down. So in that sense, expecations were met. Let’s remind ourselves how this series, as a whole, was truly a special thing…most of the time. It’s just too bad it had to end this way. This is by far my least fave episode to recap, but I can’t just let the final notes of the Song of Ice and Fire go unplayed, so here ya have it: My final GOT recap of “Iron Throne”:

Yo. The massacre of King’s Landing is over – or is it? Tyrion Lannister -clearly not considering his own life or survival- has decided to stick around and take a long walk through the charred human remains and toppled buildings. Jon Snow and Ser Davos follow him, equally stunned by the devastation. White ash covers everything. We see a handful of shell shocked survivors as Tyrion passes through the streets to make his way to the Red Keep. Jon tells him not to go in without backup, but Tyrion insits on going it alone. He gets into the castle and makes his way through the ruined map room and down the stairs to check on the secret passageway that he told his bro about. It’s all moody and sad…but also confusing, because we saw the ceiling collapse last episode and it didn’t seem like there would even be a basement left to go to. But maybe I’m just being a stickler for things that make actual sense. Tyrion finds a giant pile of rubble blocking a passageway. A hint of light peeks from the top and he manages to climb and pick his way past the blockage. Seems totally safe to me to disturb the unstable structure and debris.

On the other side, there is another huge pile of rubble and Tyrion spies Jaime Lannister’s golden hand peeking out of the rocks. Yeah, that’s right, the ceiling - and presumably entire structure - came crashing down on Jaime and Cersei Lannister last episode and yet here we are with body pieces barely covered. Tyrion clears away a few bricks and voila! He has excavated Jaime and Cersei – nestled close together. That whole thing is so…whatever. I mean, Tyrion seems pretty upset, but when you look at the surrounding scene you’re just like “So…if Jaime and Cersei had simply stepped a few feet to the right, they would’ve been fine?” It’s all kinda dumb, if I’m being honest. But Tyrion’s feelings are real, and he’s devastated to see his siblings dead in each other’s arms.

As Jon and Davos make their way through the city to the Red Keep, they come across Grey Worm with a handful of Lannister soldiers on their knees, about to be executed. Jon’s all “Whoa, man. The fight’s over, these dudes should be prisoners!” And Grey Worm is all “I’m following my queen’s orders to kill her enemies.” Jon wants to talk to his superior – aka Daenerys – and Grey Worm’s all “Cool, let me know how that works out.” He proceeds to cut the throats of each of the kneeling men. Yowzers, that is cold!

Meanwhile, Arya Stark walks up to the crowd of Dothraki who are hooting and celebrating outside the Red Keep. It’s nice to know that the symbolic white horse at the end of last episode was able to carry her a full two blocks and then disappear for his next Lyft fare in King’s Landing – it’s surge pricing right now, people.

The Unsullied stand at attention, lining the long stairway up to the Red Keep and Jon slowly walks up. Grey Worm is already there – dude, the Unsullied are FAST! Tyrion stands to the side. Drogon swoops overhead and lands in the courtyard and a few seconds later, Queen Daenerys Targaryen walks out to the top of the stairs to address her loyal Dothraki and Unsullied troops.

She speaks to the crowd in Dothraki and then High Valyrian and gives a super creepy Hitler-esque speech “Thanks for helping me liberate the city, y’all! You guys have been so supportive and we are not going to rest until we have liberated the entire WORLD from the shackles of life!!!” All of Dany’s supporters cheer. “Also, we are going to have a big potluck tomorrow to get to know our 27 surviving King’s Landing citizens! This is a reminder that I’m making my famous ambrosia salad flambée and I really don’t want anybody one-upping me, so please steer clear from any and all other pineapple dishes with cool whip, m’kay? It might just push me over the edge. You guys are the best! See you tomorrow at 3pm near the charred moms and toddlers where the garden used to be!” Jon and Tyrion don’t understand a word she said, but they’re pretty sure it ain’t good. Of course it’s not – ambrosia salad is not meant to be flambéed, it’s gonna be a disaster. But at this point, nothing Dany does would surprise me anymore.

Tyrion steps forward and stands next to Dany, who goes “You freed your brother, traitor.” And Tyrion goes “Yeah, but you just massacred a city, psycho, so there! Oh and btw, I don’t want to be your hand anymore.” He removes his pin and tosses it down the stairs – y’all that is a bigger burn than what Dany just did to all of King’s Landing! Daenerys’s guards escort him away. Frankly, I thought she would just barbecue him right then and there, so things are going better than expected.

Jon stares warily at Dany who coolly gazes back at him and marches into the interior of the Red Keep. I don’t get how anybody can believe this is a sound structure, but then again all the building code enforcers are likely buried under a pile of rubble.

Suddenly, Arya pops up next to Jon who is surprised to see her in King’s Landing. She tells him of her plan to kill Cersei, “but your queen got there first.” Jon is quick to remind her that Daenerys is everybody’s queen. Arya retorts “Tell that to Sansa.” She also warns Jon that now that Daenerys knows his secret lineage, she’ll probably kill him one of these days.

Shortly after, Jon pays a visit to Tyrion, whose makeshift prison cell is a room filled with off-season Pier 1 decorative vases. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment. Tyrion attempts to turn Jon against Dany and gives him a whole spiel about how people with access to weapons of mass destruction and a penchant for mental instability somehow shouldn’t be allowed to be in power. Jon’s all “Meh, it’s not really my decision to make. I’m gonna focus on the things I can control – like the tightness of my man bun and the number of steps I’m clocking on my fitbit. Dude, this whole King’s Landing trip has got me up to 50K steps and it’s not even lunchtime!” “O-kay…but Dany really needs to be stopped.” There’s a bunch of bumbling convo about how Tyrion really did love and believe in Dany and how love clouds reason. Jon tells Tyrion “Love is the Death of Duty” and Tyrion is blown away by the poetic insight, then realizes it’s Jon saying it and goes “Did you just come up with that on your own?” “Nah, man. Maester Aemon said it to me once.” “Yeah, that makes more sense. Well, let me just take that gem, flip it and reverse it: Maybe sometimes Duty can be the Death of Love…just sayin’.” This wordplay is way too much for Jon to handle and he has to take a seat. Probably as a defense for the writers to take Dany down the path of crazyville, Tyrion points out all the cruel things Daenerys has done in her pursuit of the crown and he says she was cheered on and thus validated in feeling that she is right and good. When Jon tells him none of it matters now that the war is over, Tyrion goes “Is it though? She won’t stop till she’s the queen to everybody in this world – how is your family going to react to that? And do you really think that she won’t kill you, too, one day – the person with a better claim to the throne?” Finally, Tyrion tells Jon that he has to make a choice – and has to make it now. Visiting hours are over and Jon leaves, making no commitments either way. Just Jon being Jon, folks.

Jon approaches the entrance to the throne room – Drogon is guarding it. The dragon stirs from a pile of ashes, gives Jon a once-over and deems him worthy to pass. Damn straight, ‘cause he’s a true Targaryen!

Meanwhile, Daenerys enters the throne room – or rather, what’s left of it. The roof has been blown off with several of the exterior walls missing and the floor is covered with so much ash, it looks like a blanket of snow. She stares at the Iron Throne - solitary in the open space -and walks toward it. At last, she reaches it and touches one of the swords. This throne has always been so far from her grasp – even in her vision from the House of the Undying she never did manage to touch it - this moment has been a long time coming.

She turns to see Jon Snow at the doorway and she tells him a boring story about her childhood and how she assumed the Iron Throne was this gigantic behemoth of a throne. Jon is just all “Hey, gurl…so…your soldiers are still slaughtering peeps in the street. That’s pretty effed.” Dany is all calm with crazy eyes saying things like “We can’t hide behind small mercies – sometimes you have to kill a whole bunch of innocent people to save an even bigger bunch of innocent people.” When Jon asks her if she’s actually seen all the children that she’s killed in the streets – children, women, men who had nothing to do with any of this, he insists that mercy has to be a part of the vision for a better world.

Dany’s just all “I’m a visionary – I get that it’s really hard for you to see the grand scheme here, since you know nothing, but just trust that I know what is good and right.” It’s a callback to the convo Jon had with Tyrion just five minutes ago. Jon asks “Well, what about everybody else who thinks they know what’s good and right?” Dany replies, slightly flippantly “They don’t get to choose.” She asks Jon to be a part of her awesome dream and of course he tells her “You’re my queen. You always will be.” They kiss and embrace.

Then, mid-hug, THWUMP! Jon plants a dagger into Daenerys’ chest. Dany didn’t see this coming and is flummoxed. She collapses and dies in Jon’s arms, a trickle of blood spills from her mouth as he lays her on the ground.

Sensing a disturbance in the Force of the Mother of Dragons, Drogon flies up to investigate. He sees him momma lifeless on the ground and gives her a few nudges with his nose “Wake up, mama!!!” It’s all kinda heartbreaking if you can forget the entire last half of the previous episode where Drogon and his mommy were burning up all of King’s Landing.

Drogon looks at the dagger in Dany’s chest and then at the Iron Throne and Jon. He breathes in deeply and you can see the fire near the back of his throat. Holy Moles, is he going to toast Jon and then we see Jon arise from the flames? Nope. He lets out a huge stream of fire…not on Jon, but on the throne. What?! Is Drogon a big dumdum for thinking the pointy throne killed his mom or is he such a genius that he understands the Iron Throne is a symbolism for power, the pursuit of which ultimately led to his mother’s demise? We’ll never know, but either way, I think we can all agree it’s a weird reaction coming from the dragon. But it looks cool, so I guess there’s that. Drogon melts the entire throne to the ground. Then he picks Daenerys up gently in his talon and takes off. Jon is completely unharmed and would ya look at that – no dead body! Thanks Drogon! Now Jon can be all “I dunno where Daenerys went…she said she was going out for some milk”, and nobody will be the wiser. #PerfectCrime

We get a close up of Tyrion’s face – he wakes up from his prison cell floor and guards take him to the old dragon arena. Judging by the length of his beard, several weeks have gone by. Grey Worm leads him to a semi-circle of seated noblemen and women. It’s pretty much all the noble families left in Westeros - about a dozen or so peeps: Yara Greyjoy, the new Dornish prince, Robin Arryn and his adviser, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Gendry, Samwell Tarly, Edmure Tulley and a few faces we don’t recognize, plus the three Stark siblings: Bran, Arya and Sansa.

When Sansa asks where Jon is – he was supposed to be at this meeting - Grey Worm replies that he’s their prisoner and the Unsullied get to decide who earns a get out of jail pass to attend the Westerosi Nobles Summit. Hold the door, people!! Wait a second. First of all: Jon’s milk cover story didn’t work??? Also, are we supposed to assume that Grey Worm has just been hanging out twiddling his thumbs waiting for somebody to tell him what to do? Isn’t he second in command to Daenerys and thus the new person in charge? Wouldn’t Tyrion and Jon be dead already for their crimes? And who called everybody for this summit anyway? Ok, none of these questions will be answered, so let’s get back to the action:

The gist of the gathering is that all the nobles have to decide what to do next, since there isn’t a monarch to make any decisions for the realm. Tyrion, the prisoner, is the dude who gets to do all the talking and comes up with a plan where all the nobles should just get to vote on who should be king. Sam suggests they try a democracy and everybody yucks it up. Lame. Edmure Tulley tries to nominate himself and Sansa tells him to sit the eff down.

Then Tyrion goes on to suggest that the person with the best stories should get to be the ruler – because, ya know, it’s stories that unite people. And who has a better story than Bran Stark? Um…pretty much all the other perfectly qualified women in the half-circle. Sansa objects that Bran doesn’t want to be king and besides, he can’t have kids. But for Tyrion, this is a minor detail: Who better to rule than somebody who doesn’t want the power? And let’s just elect rulers rather than passing down the throne via birthright! From now on, all the nobles will get to vote for their next king or queen. When Tyrion asks Bran if he’s ok being the Big Kahuna, Bran with his super dead-in-the-eyes mug goes “Why do you think I came all this way.” HOLD THE DOOOOOOOR, people!!!! Are you saying Bran knew this WHOLE time that he was going to be king? Are you kidding me? Is this the dumbest thing ever? Do I now have to pick apart a gazillion instances that make this so messed up if Bran always knew where things were going? No. We’ll stop here.

Everybody votes for Bran except for Sansa who goes “I love you little bro, you’re gonna be awesome as king but I can’t support you because the North is going independent baby. We’re ruling ourselves!!!” And Bran just nods. Now everybody else feels like a total moron for not putting in any special requests for their regions when they voted “Aye” for Bran. Ha, suckers!

Finally, to conlude this extremely boring scene, Tyrion names Bran king and puts in a super offensive name in his official title: Bran the Broken, first of his name…yadda, yadda. Bran looks around at everybody super hurt and goes “You guys have been calling me that behind my back this whole time?!” To get back at him, Bran tells Tyrion he has to be hand of the king. Grey Worm is all “You can’t do that! He’s our prisoner!” And Bran’s all “I can do what I want cause I’m king! Nanny, nanny, boo, boo! Also, Tyrion messed up big time and now he has to dedicate the rest of his existence to fixing his mistakes.” Um, seems like a pretty cush job to me, frankly.

They also throw in that the Unsullied can take The Reach as their own land, since pretty much nobody in Westeros lives there anymore. It’s the equivalent of telling them they can have Nebraska, and guess what? Nobody wants it.

Next, Tyrion visits Jon, whose beard is also looking cray from all the weeks of growing it out. He gives him the news: The Unsullied wanted Jon dead and the Stark sisters wanted him released, so Bran hit a compromise wherein Jon has to go back to the Wall and live out the rest of his days there, just like a regular Night’s Watchman: No wifey, no kids, no lands. Jon’s all “Why the hell is there even still a wall?” –“Duh, because.”

We see a freshly groomed Jon walk through the docks of King’s Landing, accompanied by two dudes from the Night’s Watch. Grey Worm gives him the stinkeye from his ship – the Unsullied are heading to Naath. Hey, maybe Grey Worm can find himself another nice girl from there!

Jon says goodbye to his siblings/cousins. Sansa is now queen of the North, which is pretty much what she always wanted. She laments that they lost their king, though. When Jon tells Arya she can still visit him she’s all, “Nah.” She wants to explore the seas west of Westeros where the maps end – so basically, our girl is gonna hang out in Hawaii for the rest of her life, hopefully doing more Eat Pray Loving than colonizing.

Brienne of Tarth is seated with the big Knight-o-pedia book in front of her. She finds the entry for Jaime Lannister and adds on to it. She is sure to mention that he had the best sex of his life with her, in spite of his tiny cock. Or, ya know, she takes the high road and puts in something really nice about him dying while protecting his queen. Ugh, Brienne, why you always gotta be so good?

In the Red Keep, it’s time for the very first small council to convene. Tryion gets all the chairs ready just so, and then in walk Ser Davos, Samwell Tarly, and Lord Bronn of the Blackwater – he finally got Highgarden, btw. They exchange some banter which falls short.

Soon thereafter Ser Brienne of Tarth and Ser Podrick Payne (awww he got knighted, too) enter with King Bran. Bran notes they are still missing a few positions: boring, boring, and dullsville. Then he goes “Does anybody know what Drogon is up to?” He was last seen flying east and Bran excuses himself to do some Professor X-ing to see if he can find him. But of course, we don’t actually get to see Bran warg. The small council continues with the boring business of figuring out how to spend money on rebuilding King’s Landing and it all ends with Bronn gunning hard for new brothels. Ugh. Seriously.

At the Wall, Jon arrives to be reuinited with his good pal Tormund Giantsbane and also: the bestest direwolf of them all, Ghost! This time, Jon gives Ghost an affectionate cuddle.

We get a cross-cut of a bunch of dull scenes of Jon, Arya, and Sansa getting dressed and walking. Sansa is crowned Queen in the North, Arya sets sail on a ship with the Stark sigil and Jon walks out to the Castle Black courtyard.

In the final scene, Jon heads out on horseback with Ghost and Tormund and a slew of Wildlings returning to their home. Has he abandoned the Night’s Watch? Is he Lord Commander again and can do whatever the heck he wants? Is he finally a ranger and is just going out on a temporary jaunt with his pal Tormund? Who knows. But it’s worth noting that the series finishes in the exact same way as it started: Men leaving the wall to head North into Wildling territory. The end.

And there we have it: 8 years of Game of Thrones came to a lackluster end with the Starks all on top. I’m still processing the weirdness I feel about the show ending this way. Truly, watching the episode was so dull at times that I just wanted it to be over already. While this could have been a much worse end to the series, it certainly wasn’t satisfying. But after the bombshell they dropped in the penultimate episode with Daenerys going nuts, I guess this final episode of the series didn’t have anywhere else to go that would have made it much better.

There are gazillions of cool things that were introduced throughout the previous seasons which were rendered somewhat pointless in the end. I would have loved more exploration and explanation of the mythology and its origins: The Children of the Forest, the Three Eyed Raven, the Night King, the previous defeat of white walkers and how they came back, the Lord of Light, all the fire priestesses in Essos, where the dragon eggs came from, the faceless men, etc. Also, I guess Varys’ letters about Jon being Aegon Targaryen were never delivered – or peeps just didn’t care? [shrugs] Oh well?

I thought this past season would be bittersweet to watch, but it took such an unfortunate turn in storytelling that I just wanted the bad plotlines to end. Season 8 never did live up to the hype of fan theories that were swirling about for two years. Can we blame it for coming up short? Kinda and kinda not. All I know is that I feel oddly cheated by the final season. Taken as a whole, though, I still love the show. I was always blown away by the sweeping visuals, the epic battle scenes, the engaging complexity of the characters. The acting, sets, costumes and music were all amazing. And of course, there was the joy of ruminating over all the possibilities of what might come in the next episode, and discussing the show with my fellow fans. Very few series are as special and engaging as Game of Thrones and I’ll miss it for sure. It’s nice to know there may be some amount of redemption for the story, when George R. R. Martin finally releases the last two books. So I’m holding onto hope for a slightly more satisfying end to this saga. Thanks for joining me on my recap adventures each week! It’s been a fun ride. And now my ‘caps have ended. Sorry, but I had to.

#GOTrecaps #gameofthrones #GOT #Game of Thrones #GOTS8e6 #GOTFinale

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bnrobertson1 · 4 years ago

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The Cleansing Comedy of “Cum Town”

To paraphrase a point Canadian All-American Hero Norm MacDonald laid on a then-alive Larry King, comedians used to aspire to be funny, now they aspire to appear smart. While political humor, ostensibly a stage to show off one’s intellect and humanity by the empathetic tackling of modern topics, has been a thing as long as humor itself, there was time in the not-so-distant past where the goal was the display of comedy chops, not compassion*. This significant shift in the mainstream started with Jon Stewart’s reign as host of The Daily Show. A far departure from the wackier Craig “Dance Dance Dance” Kilborn’s approach to the Comedy Central staple, Stewart treated TDS as a megaphone in which he could espouse his political views. Nightly challenging W’s hawkish take on foreign policy, liberals the country over championed their new clever-if-not-amusing hero- but at some point during Stewart’s ascension, reflecting a certain acceptable viewpoint became more important than reflecting a sense of humor.

*Back in the early SNL days Chevy Chase suggested that Gerald Ford sustained significant brain damage playing football to mock Ford’s bumbling persona, not excoriate him on the tenets of his agenda.

Consider Last Week Tonight with John Oliver or the zeitgeist-shifting Nanette. The former features some of the best reporting on the planet, displaying a willingness to cover potential viewership-poison like prison reform or, on a recent episode, black hair and its connection to the systematic racism African Americans face daily. The show is relentless, passionate, and is about as funny as that sounds. John Oliver is clearly a witty person, but even he often acknowledges how “Erudite Brit Shames Americans over Racism” isn’t exactly the blueprint for a yuckle factory*. Much like his old boss Stewart, Oliver is more dedicated to espousing the correct viewpoint over a funny one. To this point, most “jokes” in the show feel jammed in like a satirical sausage, often coming across as after-thoughts that can mess with the tone**. As a show it is unquestionably a success, opening myriad eyes to plights once unknown. As a comedy show, which is what it at least originally marketed itself as, it is a failure.

*It is, however, pretty perfect Monday Morning hiding-in-cubicle watching

**While he does try to infuse some zaniness into the program by talking about fucking animals or whatever, I don’t think Oliver realizes how genuinely funny it is watching a bookish Brit get upset about coconut oil hair products, although not in the way he probably hopes it would be.

An even purer example of Norm’s point is Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette. The buzzed-about stand-up special is essentially a takedown of white male-ism, albeit one that seems allergic to laughing. Gadsby is trying to woo you with her intellectualism, not her ability to make you chuckle. Some called this approach brilliant- turning a male-dominated form on its head to put its practitioners on blast for things ranging from sexism to transphobia. Widely decorated around the world for its innovative and sharp honesty, Nanette asked the big question: is the next wave of comedy not meant to be funny? Is cutting edge humor not humorous at all? Are we entering a Metal Machine Music era of comedy? And if so, is merely criticizing the perceived powers-that-be now considered comedy?

More like No-nette

This desire to display empathetic enlightenment has gone well beyond the world of stand-up and political comedy. It can be seen by the yanking of episodes of comic cornerstones such as It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and 30 Rock that feature blackface, or animated programs recasting characters so that voices are both more inclusive and representative. Even The Simpsons has all but abandoned its once trademark balance, its current form essentially the wet-blanket Lisa, a far, far cry from the Homer-centric past of the show’s glory years.

All of these decisions have been made by the shows’ respective creators, a mea culpa for insensitive liberties taken in the recent past. Blame the internet for the long, indelible digital footprints, but people are now more worried about how the future will remember them, in some enlightened far-off utopia where comedy is really about nothing being funny, and everybody is judged by the language you used when no one really gave a rat’s ass about what you had to say.

Entertainers are far more concerned with looking good fifteen years from now than making people laugh now. Ironic detachment- the reason a lot of the questionable humor existed in the first place*, isn’t a big enough distance for comics to get away with racism, sexism, and other forms of bigotry, chuckles be damned.

*Racists have been the butt of the joke- and not the jokesters- for as long as I can remember. I find it hard to believe that anyone could watch an Always Sunny and think they’re mocking minorities. While the meme-ification of America has robbed many of these jokes of context, it’s a waste of time to criticize creators for devolving consumption habits, especially in the name of inclusion, compassion, etc.

It’s not my place to say whether this is good or bad. As self-censorship isn’t really censorship, it’s hard to argue that an artist willfully pulling their work from the marketplace is some sort of injustice. It’s their reputation (read: livelihood) after all. There are things I would probably delete/hide if anybody gave enough of a shit to do a deep dive into my past babblings. But while I certainly applaud the idealistic efforts to make a more welcoming society for all, it does kind of suck that it comes at the expense of comic mana such as Lethal Weapon 5 (and 6).

At the risk of kicking dusty horse bones, this does boil the whole “cancel culture” debate down to one consideration: what is acceptable to laugh at?

Insert the podcast “Cum Town.” Starring the trio of Nick Mullen (the bitter one), Stravos Hilias (the bigger one), and Adam Friedland (the butler?), “Cum Town” is the least political of the “Dirtbag Left”* wave of offerings*. If you can’t tell by the name, “Cum Town” isn’t for the crowd that regularly uses the word “problematic.” Employing a fairly new media in the podcast, the three NY-based comics shoot the shit on pretty much all matters, keeping the atmosphere loose and the unapologetic laughs flowing.

*Which also includes the hugely popular “Chapo Trap House” and “Red Scare,” shows that are both fairly funny... and can often be accurately described as “permanently congested neck-beards talking tough about revolution or whatever in between rhapsodizing about time-old yet currently posh talking points (distribution of wealth, liberalism vs. leftism, etc.)”.

As bad as the Olivers and the Gadsbys of the world want to change your mind, the trio at “Cum Town” are much more focused on tickling your funny bone (and/or prostate). Its setup gives the show an air of Howard-Stern-in-the-90s danger, where things that probably should never be thought are said with glee. They’re the type of guys who find the humor in places that make others uncomfortable, such as the connection of the Clintons to Jeffrey Epstein’s murder or, in one particularly great skit, how Trump would undoubtedly try to smear Robert De Niro as a non-Italian homosexual.

youtube

Devoid of the pretension other “enlightened” modern comedy wears so proudly, the show can focus on being being funny in ways that spur a gut laugh, not a guffaw.

“Cum Town” works because its as self-aware as it is fearless. These aren’t Andrew Dice Clays winding up the Islanders stadium with bits about “the brothers.” They’re not just reliving old Stern bits, asking alcoholic little people and other societal pariahs to make fools of themselves. The show wouldn’t work if it was merely “saying racial slurs with the EdgeLord Crowd.” "Cum Town” operates like a savvy boxer- throwing shots, usually at modern idols, knowing that it leaves them open to counter punches.

The genius of this approach is that they know what the counter punches will be (being called “racist,” “sexist,” “fascist,” etc.)... and have a counter-punch for that!* It’s not like it takes Ali-esque anticipatory vision to know what the criticisms will be. While calling a (probably white, cis-gender, straight) male “racist!” or “sexist!” or “fascist!” surely feels empowering to the counter-puncher, the reality is a lot of those terms have absolutely lost their meaning or the damaging heft that used to accompany their utterance. With the mass acceptance of systematic sexism/ racism as prevalent in everyday life, all the (bad) -isms are supposedly so ingrained into the white male psyche that they’re bigots no matter what. Especially when you consider that laughing- actual laughing- is more of a neurological reaction than a considered response. Put another way: a skit depicting Tony Soprano as an Indian may not confuse anybody into thinking Stav is on a first-name basis with Noam Chomsky, but it is infinitely funnier than all the “Donald Drumpf”s shouted together combined.

*Sorry, Mike Tyson’s Punch Out is about the extent of my boxing knowhow.

The show operates in a world where performance compassion is a hell of a lot worse than genuine feeling. Where Donald Trump gets mocked- but less so than Hillary Clinton, who’s president campaign’s attempt to make her “cool” was, let’s say, ill-fitting. It gets mean and nasty because comedy does. So, did Adam Friedland get called out by Chelsea Clinton for calling her ugly*? Yep. And many came to Chelsea’s defense calling for Adam’s sexist, disgusting head, I’m sure in only pro-Semitic ways. Does Nick’s archaic (though quite good) impressions of various ethnicities to a certain trope? Or does Stav talking about pornography and getting ass with a somewhat slimy tone? The three “Cum Town” hosts know that the list of the “powerless” has changed considerably in the last few decades, and that those who pay service to liberal ideals should be mocked just like the rest of us.

The tweet in question.

Juvenile? Sure. Insensitive? Yes. But God Dammit, isn’t humor supposed to be that way? If there’s a killer joke where the punch-line is “bigotry is bad,” I’m not aware of it. “Cum Town” generates a type of laughter that feels liberating- like you’re shaking off the oppressive scowl of a world that blames you- person who has been around for about one one billionth of the world’s life- for all its ills. The more modern society weighs us with new considerations on language and decorum, conjured rules that dictate what you may have a reaction to and what you may not, the funnier the humor in its opposition flies. Breaking rules is inherently funny- thumbing your nose at society is at the core of comedy’s release. And the more it becomes taboo to say words like “tranny,” “fat,” “dumb,” “midget,” etc., the more comedic release will be given when we say the words that I’m not going to type right here. Because the further the joke is from the norm, the more space there is for laughter to form.

Some believe this humor can lead to hatred which can lead to violence. That the Capitol’s riots were a warped result of the Rogans of the world. That by hearing Dave Chappelle say the n-word, white people will start to adopt it, and chaos will surely follow. But there’s another school of thought that says being able to laugh at something is the genesis of being able to process something and eventual acceptance.

I realize this is hardly a surprising point from a straight white guy, one who has said (regretfully and not recently) on more than one occasion that “I don’t get offended, I don’t understand why others do?” But I also think that a lot of the “hurt” these societal infractions cause are more of a smokescreen or diversion from bigger problems. It’d be easier to distract people with discussions over whether James Bond should be black or if Dr. Seuss books featuring offensive illustrations should be banned as opposed to, I don’t know, actually try to combat some of the systematic problems that propagate systems that truly stun growth? Telling people they should feel guilty about something is a slippery slope as we have around 8 billion people on earth, there’s plenty of misery to go around. We should all probably feel bad about something.

In conclusion, “Cum Town” knows that just because something is bad doesn’t mean it can’t be funny. As mentioned before, humor is often how people cope with the hypocritical, values-starved planet we find ourselves on. Humor should delight our soul, not display our sophistication.

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secret-captain-swan-blog · 7 years ago

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Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 60928/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10

Read on: Ao3

“Emma no-middle-name Swan,” Belle announces, as she fills up the screen on Emma’s phone. “I have the greatest beyond greatest news for you.”

It’s Friday night in Emma’s apartment. Facetime is open, her phone propped up by a stack of books on the coffee table as she drinks a mug of tea in her pajamas. Her hand is wrapped in a complex bandage. Killian insisted on having her stop by a clinic on the way home from the farm. The doctors had assured her that she didn’t need stitches for the cut on her hand, but they did some testing to make sure it hasn’t been infected and then gave her a butterfly band aid to keep it together. Killian had then set off to his evening shift, after Emma reassured him for the ninetieth time that she actually fine and he didn’t to fuss over her. In turn, she headed back to her apartment to skype her best friend.

Who apparently has the greatest news.

“Tell me,” Emma says, pulling her grey blanket around her and smiling at the camera.

“I got a grant to do a bit of research in London at the end of the month,” Belle tells her. “I’m coming to Europe! And you have to hang out with me.”

Emma bursts into a huge smile. She doesn’t realize how much she’s needed her best friend until now. Killian’s been great, more than great. But Belle is her soul-sister, the only friend she’s ever managed to make. And she’s going to see her in person. They’ll be able to talk, really talk. And see London.

“Belle, this is amazing!” Emma ooes. “I’ll book my trip there right away. Do you think it’s cheaper to fly or take a ferry or a train? What days are you getting here?’

Emma dives to grab her planner off the coffee table and starts to pen in the dates as Belle lists them off.

“Wow,” Emma exclaims, running her hand through her hair as she stares fondly at the newly penned dates in her planer. “This is really going to be amazing. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I know,” Belle says, “You’ll be able to tell me everything about your little schemes and teaching foreign undergrads and your thesis and oh, yeah, the boy.”

“What boy?” Emma repeats.

As if she doesn’t know who Belle is talking about.

“The opera boy,” Belle says.

“Oh, him,” Emma says.

Who else would it be? Killian is her only friend in town, if she didn’t count the Queen of Misthaven. And maybe Professor Hood.

“Killian,” Emma tells her, “His name is Killian.”

“Hmm, now tell me about him,” Belle prompts. “Have you seen him again?”

Ugh, Emma is totally not ready to talk about him. About earlier.

“I mean we hang out most days a week,” Emma explains, hiding her blush in a gulp of tea.

“Oh, do you?” Belle asks, flashing a cheeky smile.

“He’s been showing me around,” Emma tells her, rolling her eyes, “Taking me to see different parts of Misthaven, going to the opera with me, teaching me how to horseback ride- just normal stuff.”

“Teaching you how to horseback ride? Shut up, Emma! That’s super romantic,” Belle ooes.

Emma ducks her head, her blush unable to be blocked any longer.

“Emma,” Belle gasps, “I’ve never seen you make that face before.”

“God, I know, Belle,” Emma mumbles.

“Did you kiss him?”

Emma doesn’t reply.

“Emma Swan! You kissed a boy!” Belle squeals.

“It was just a one-time thing,” Emma says quickly.

“No, no,” Belle says, “You like him. It’s not allowed to be a one-time thing. I forbid it.”

“You can’t forbid it,” Emma says, “I am a strong independent academic woman and I don’t need a man.”

“Obviously, you don’t need a man,” Belle says, “But the marriage plot isn’t about women needing a man. It’s about women making choices that make them happy and fulfilled.”

“My thesis makes me happy and fulfilled,” Emma protests.

“Yeah uh huh,” Belle laughs, “I wish I believed you.”

“I’m not doing any dating until this dissertation is turned in,” Emma sighs, “No matter how much I might be secretly in love with my Misthaven best friend.”

“We need to have a serious conversation about this at some point. In London, shall we?” Belle tells her, “But until then, don’t hurt that boy too much.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

“No, I’m serious, Emma,” Belle tells her, “He obviously likes you a lot. Be careful with his heart.”

Emma runs her good hand through her hair.

“I will,” She vows.

“What about you?” Emma asks, trying to change the subject.

“What about me?” Belle asks.

“How are things for you? Boys?” Emma prods.

Belle sighs, “Delightful. But complicated. Delightfully complicated? I’ll tell you all when we are in London. I can’t explain here.”

“Fine, whatever. I’m glad you are coming to Europe, you loser. Or else I’d never hear all your gossip,” Emma laughs.

“And I’d never have the opportunity to persuade you to stay with your boy,” Belle teases back.

“Ugh, okay. I promise I’m booking my ticket soon,” Emma tells her, “But I should probably sign off now. I’m going riding with the queen tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep.”

“Oh, horseback riding with the queen,” Belle says in a horrible British accent.

“She has a Misthaven accent, you goon,” Emma tells her.

“Oh, horseback riding with the queen,” Belle repeats in an even more atrocious Misthaven accent.

“I’m hanging up with you,” Emma says.

“Alright, let me know when you buy that ticket, will you?” Belle says, “And seriously, girl, don’t be afraid to kiss that boy again.”

“Bye Belle,” Emma laughs, turning off her phone before her friend can give her any more advice.

It’s the next morning when Emma finds herself astride a horse. Again.

Seriously, she never expected her dissertation research to involve so much horseback riding.

But it seems that Prancer is even better behaved than Blaze was, so that’s something. Clearly someone has been riding this pony even though Princess Emma isn’t.

Which brings about the worst part: this pony is tiny.

Seriously, the poor thing was made to carry around 4-year-old Princess Emma, not 25-year-old Fake Princess Emma. What if she squishes the poor thing and it dies? Then the queen will hate her and never give her the money? This is such a mess.

“Do you ride often?” The queen asks her. She’s astride her mount, a large, dark horse named Diego.

“No, not at all really,” Emma says, “I had a lesson with a friend yesterday and it didn’t go very well.”

Emma raises her hurt hand.

“Oh you poor dear,” The queen exclaims, “Are you quite alright now? Is this frightening?”

Emma shrugs, trying not to say, “Get me off of this fucking horse.” Because honestly this pony is too tiny to be scary.

“Oh no, I’m grand,” Emma says, smiling kindly. “It’s so nice of you to take me out to ride.”

And it’s true. The forests here are very well maintained. Clearly the queen employs an extensive grounds crew. While the Du Bois forest was wild and whimsical, the Royal forests are neat and regal. There are tall trees that must have been there for centuries of Nolan rulers. There are ancient looking fountains, classical statues, and strategically planned flowers in color schemes. Emma is refined enough to appreciate it, but she thinks she prefers the enchanting feel of the Du Bois woods better.

And then there is the horses themselves. They are kept in tip top shape, groomed, well, preened more like it. Each horse has identical neat manes, saddle pads with the royal crest on it, and shiny saddles. If anything, Emma feels underdressed in her cable knit sweater and ankle boots that she picked up from the New Look in Old Town. If she ends up getting asked to ride this often in Misthaven, she’ll likely have to invest in some actual riding boots. She can’t believe it. Her, Emma Swan, foster-child-orphan-fraud, buying boots just for horseback riding.

“So, what does your mother think about you spending so much time with the Queen?” Mary Margaret asks, “I know I’ve been mentoring you a bit, but I hope she doesn’t feel like I’ve replace her.”

Emma stops her horse. It’s a conversation that they definitely should have had before now. But even in a situation like this, even when her whole deception relies on her being an orphan, a ward of the state, she hasn’t brought it up yet. It’s still a secret she guards carefully. She always has. It even took Killian a few weeks to coax it out her, Belle even longer.

But it’s got to come out at some point for this whole thing to go any farther.

“I don’t have a mother,” Emma whispers, her soft words echoing into the chattering forest, “Or a father.”

She tries to brace herself for the pity in the Queen’s face. That’s Emma’s life, always the subject of pity. The emotion is raw across Mary Margaret’s visage- grief, sympathy, and a hint of hope.

Oh. It’s that tiny glint of hope that Emma recognizes in her eyes that lets her know that she is really deep in this.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” The queen murmurs.

She reaches out to take Emma’s hand, despite the horses. It’s a solemn moment. To be honest, Emma’ a little annoyed by it. She’s not in the mood to relive her sad story. She doesn’t want to think about the trauma of growing up moving from house to house. Emma just wants to enjoy the gorgeous autumn weather and the daunting task of horseback riding.

But then again, this woman watched her family and friends get murdered. She lived in secrecy and exile for years. Maybe Emma can reveal a bit of her hardship to her.

“When did they pass?” Mary Margaret asks and Emma has to try not to roll her eyes in front of royalty. Because oh my god. This lady is totally fishing. She has it bad.

But maybe it’s more than that. The Queen also lost her family. They have that in common.

“I don’t really know,” Emma tells her. “I was found in an airport when I was three. They could be out there, but clearly they have no interest in me.”

“Emma-“

And Emma truly hates everything because just like with Killian, when she told him everything, it’s not a story she can tell without turning into an emotional, vulnerable, sobbing thing. This story is part of her neat little wall of bottles. And well, un-corking the bottle, is like un-corking a heaping grossness of emotion.

“Like people forget their water bottle in airports, and sometimes their winter gloves. But when they forget their luggage or their cellphone or some valuable, they go back and get them. So clearly I wasn’t valuable to anyone. Not to my parents. Or Aunts or Uncles. Or Grannies. Or whatever. And it’s taken my whole life to feel like I’m valuable to anyone.”

Queen Mary Margaret sees the unshed tears in Emma’s eyes and dismounts her horse. She gives Emma a gentle nod, and Emma slides off her mount. The mud squishes underneath her ankle boots. She looks down at her hands.

“Do you feel valuable to people now?”

Emma nods.

“To my best friend, Belle. She’s the first time I felt like I could trust anyone truly. Like I actually had a friend entirely on my side.”

She grits her teeth because she isn’t sure she’s ready to say it, but adds, “And Killian.”

“Killian Jones?” The queen grins.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “Him. He’s really great and I care a lot about him. Which is weird for me to care about other people. Sometimes caring for myself seems like a full-time job. But yeah.”

“And you like him?” The queen prods.

Emma sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe? The fact that I’m even saying that is impressive. I don’t like people. I just like surviving.”

The queen takes a step forward and puts her hands on Emma’s shoulders.

“You should know that you are valuable to me,” She says, her voice firm.

Emma swallows a sob that tickles her throat.

“I know I’m a crazy queen of a tiny country that swooped you up under my wing, but you matter to me. I really care about you, Emma.”

Emma wants to run for a moment. Because this is like Ingrid all over again. Because this whole thing is super fake and Emma has become the master manipulator she never wanted to be. Because Mary Margaret can’t actually love her, she just loves the idea that she’s her daughter. Because once someone cares about her, then they have infinite power to break her.

But for the tiniest flicker of a moment, she feels something stir inside that she’s never felt so entirely before. She feels like she has a mother.

And somehow she closes the space between her and Queen Mary Margaret. Here they are in the middle of this random ass fairy tale forest crying together as fake-mother-and-daughter and Emma knows this isn’t her thing. But it feels right. And recently she’s discovered that she can feel things she didn’t think she could feel before. So she hugs her, and lets her snot stain the sovereigns’ elegant riding jacket, and lets herself for the second time in two days, take a risk and feel something for someone.

“Have you ever cantered?” The queen asks, decades later, when they pull away.

“Uh no,” Emma replies.

“Would you like to learn?”

“Sure I guess, but I’m a little worried about my hand,” Emma murmurs, raising her gloved hand, that’s a little chubbier with her complicated bandage.

“You’ll be fine. Come on, get back on your horse. Let’s go.”

Emma remounts Prancer. Luckily, the pony is so tiny she doesn’t need a mounting block.

“Now, take up your trot,” The queen says, as she begins to bob up and down as her horse takes up its uneven rhythm.

Prancer and Emma follow. She tries to remember Killian’s instructions the day before on how to post, using the momentum of each stride to rise up and down.

“Alright, now give Prancer another firm squeeze,” Mary Margaret tells her, demonstrating on her own horse.

Emma thumps her legs against Prancer and the pony switches to a smooth, faster motion. Emma’s face breaks out into a smile. There is something so freeing about this. She feels connected with the horse, the world around her.

Suddenly the forest trail gives way to a valley, it’s nestled between two mountains, but it’s all open field. Emma’s heart skips a beat because there is something achingly familiar about this field, this valley. It’s like she knows it. She can’t know it. She’s never been here before.

It’s probably some fake déjà vu. She probably hiked in a valley similar to this with Killian. She probably saw something like it with Belle during their road trip to DC during college. Something, anything.

She pulls on the reins and slows the horse the down. She shoves the thought into a bottle, into the wall. But dang it. She’s getting worse at the wall thing. She’s getting worst at bottling things up.

“Are you okay?” The queen asks.

“Yeah,” She replies, “it’s all just a little overwhelming.”

“It’s okay, Emma, we can start slow,” She tells her.

Start slow. She breathes out and in. It sounds like a solution to more than one problem.

She glances at the queen who gives her a warm smile. Emma smiles back.

Trust. Emma thinks that the word. That’s why she’s having trouble bottling things up. She’s starting to trust people.

Emma and Queen Mary Margaret finish their ride an hour later. A groom meets them at the stable doors. He helps them dismount, before whisking the ponies away to be untacked and cleaned.

“Would you like a cup of tea before you head home?” The queen asks.

Emma nods, “Sure.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Mary Margaret tells her, “I so want you to see the house here. It’s the one that was meant to be my daughter’s.”

Emma remembers this. Princess Emma’s future home in the Southern Valley. Except there is no Princess Emma, so the house sit ominous empty.

“I still have a few staff who keep it running, of course,” Mary Margaret adds. “It’s a nice place to go to pepper up after a long ride.”

Emma smiles. They walk through the gardens up to the entrance. While these gardens are more subdued compared to those at her hilltop palace, the plants are still well cared for, flourishing in autumn colors- oranges and soft reds. Clearly the grounds are well taken care of.

“The library here is very nice as well,” The queen explains. “It’s bit more subdued than the library at the Summer Palace, but it’s cozier I think.”

Emma grins, already anticipating another book filled room. She wonders if this one will contain any secrets about Misthavian fairy tales. Her fingers already begin to tingle at the thought of all the books and worlds that they open up.

“Oh, Regina, how lovely to see you,” Mary Margaret remarks suddenly, as they watch a tall, elegant woman walk through the gilded doors out into the garden.

There is something incredibly familiar about this lady. Emma’s sworn she’s seen her before.

“Your Majesty,” The woman replies, giving a small curtsey to the Queen.

“Emma darling,” Mary Margaret says, “This is my dear friend, Prime Minister Mills. Regina, this is my friend Emma.”

The Prime Minister gives Mary Margaret a sharp look, raising one eyebrow incredulously.

Emma shifts uncomfortably, “Nice to meet you Madame Prime Minister.”

She puts out a hand. The woman gives it a dubious look, but shakes it.

“Please to meet you as well, Miss…” The woman waits for Emma’s reply.

“Swan,” Emma tells her, “Emma Swan.”

“Emma is an opera aficionado,” Mary Margaret explains. “And a literature Ph.D. from the states. She’s working on a research fellowship here.”

“From the states?” Regina repeats.

For a moment Emma is lost as to why this woman hates her so much. They’ve only just met. And she’s like the Prime Minister of the country and Emma is just a nobody.

“Can I speak to you a moment, your Majesty?” Regina requests, “Alone.”

Emma cringes as she watches the two step into the building. Emma sits down on one of the stone steps in the garden, bending over to wrap her arms around her legs. All of a sudden, the autumn air feels chilly.

All of a sudden, the feelings of trust that Emma felt so strongly before flicker before her. She wants to believe that she can trust the queen, but well, she’s been through this so many times before and she knows what’s going to happen.

As Emma holds herself together through the cold, she imagines the conversation going on inside the house. The Prime Minister is probably convincing the queen that she is delusional. She’ll explain how Emma is obviously a fake. I mean it’s ridiculous to be true- a girl named Emma who is from America, who loves literature and goes the opera. It’s like someone created to simply manipulate the queen into believing that it’s her daughter. And Emma knows it’s all true. She is the perfect person because it is all true. But that doesn’t prevent the tendrils of worry from wrapping their way around her stomach. What if the Prime Minister convinces her that she’s an imposter?

The jig is up, is all Emma can think, as tears threaten her eyes, her worries swimming before her. She’s going to be deported for impersonation. She’s going to be sent back to Duke and never finish her thesis and she’s going to go back to being a lonely-ass foster child with no friends and no prospects. God, she’s so stupid. She never should have trusted anyone. This happens every time she does. Why did she even think-

“Emma?” The queen interrupts.

Emma looks up at the sovereign, who sits down beside her.

“Oh, sorry, you shouldn’t have to sit on stone, you’re like a queen and-“

“It’s not a bother to me,” the queen says, “abet a bit cold.”

Emma chances giving her a smile.

“Is everything okay?” She ventures to ask.

“Regina,” The queen says softly. “Prime Minister Mills, that is. She worries about me.”

Emma is silent. Her stomach still fluttering with worry, the tears from earlier still stuck her in eyes- not yet shed, not yet dried.

“You must know, I suppose, that I’ve had a problem over the years. I don’t like giving up hope. And because of that, I’ve convinced myself that a variety of imposters were my daughter,” she admits. “I’m not proud of it. I know I’ve made myself into a fool in front of the kingdom and I know that Regina is just trying to prevent that from happen again.”

So, Emma isn’t wrong. Regina is on to her. Regina did just try to talk some sense into Mary Margaret. Which granted, to honest, Mary Margaret probably does need some sense talked into her at some point.

“But I told her that it’s not like that with you,” Mary Margaret says and Emma looks up.

She still doesn’t know what to say, some she swallows and raises her eyebrows and widen her eyes, hoping the expression will beckon a response out of the queen.

“I told her that you’ve become something of a mentee to me. That we share a love of books and culture. But regardless, that you’ve lived a life where people have left you. And I’ve lived a life where people have manipulated me and used me. Maybe our friendship is something that is purely healing for both of us.”

The tears that been threatening her eyes start to trickle down a little. Just the day before Emma vowed to cry less, but clearly that isn’t happening. This is now twice in just one outing.

“I told you that you are valuable to me, Emma,” the queen says, “And I wasn’t lying. You are valuable to me.”

Emma sniffles. The word trust echoes in her ears from earlier. A wave of something, some emotion, rolls over her. She’s right to trust Mary Margaret. She can’t believe it, but she is. She’s not like Ingrid or someone from her past who is going to desert her. She’s actually going to stand by her when it counts. Emma’s heart swells a little.

“It’s cold out here, isn’t it?” The queen says suddenly. “Let’s go inside, shall we? Find that cup of tea we discussed?”

“Yes,” Emma manages.

As she stands up, the queen pulls her into a hug and Emma feels herself melt a little. Then they walk inside and the queen talks to a servant and asks them to prepare for them tea in the library.

The library, it turns out, is Emma’s new favorite she’s seen in Misthaven. It’s not as big as the university one, or even the Summer Palace library. Instead, it’s circular and cozy. There are tall windows around the room and the ceiling is painted like the night sky. There is a crackling fire and blue armchairs. Emma has always assumed she’d be a Ravenclaw and this here is exactly how she’d imagine the common room.

They sip their tea together, munching on fresh pumpkin scones, as they discuss books they’ve read and horses and autumn, until the late afternoon cusps on evening. The October sun sinks slightly low in the sky.

“I suppose I should return home,” Emma says.

“Yes,” The queen responds, “I’ll call the car for you.”

“Do you mind if I grab a few books while I’m here?” Emma asks. She wonders if this library will have any more interesting fairy tales volumes.

The queen gives her a smile, with a slight twitch in the corners, “Help yourself my dear.”

The sovereign leaves the room as Emma takes to the shelves. She finds that many of the books here are Princess Emma’s own books. There are many more children’s stories than she’s seen in the Queen’s collection. Despite this, there are still a decent amount of fairy tales scattered through the shelves. Emma helps herself to a pile of books. She finds a volume of Dutch fairy tales that look promising. She’ll have to translate it, but that could be an adventure of its own. The she discovers a book of literary criticism on fairy tale based literature, which is pretty weird to find a kid’s library, but whatever. She adds it to the pile. Then finally, she comes across a thin hard covered book with an black cover embossed in gold reading, “Misthaven Fairy Tales.” Emma flicks open the cover to see an inscription from the queen herself.

“Shall you stop by on Tuesday for tea, as usual?” The queen asks, returning to the room.

Emma hastily shoves the books in her tote bag. She knows she has permission to take books, but this last one seems intimate. She didn’t get a chance to read the inscription, but she has this feeling as if she’s stumbled upon something precious. She nods, “And I’ll bring some things to study after if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, darling,” The queen says. “Thanks for joining me for tea and a ride today.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Emma says, offering a shy smile. “And for all the kind words.”

“Hey, I think you might be glowing,” Ruby tells Killian, as they swap shifts.

“I’m not glowing,” Killian tells her, though he can feel a blush creeping up his cheeks to the top of his ears.

“You are. Are you pregnant?” She teases, as she tosses her hair up in a ponytail.

He rolls his eyes. Then smiles, because he’s clearly taking up Emma’s mannerisms.

“So did you and Emma bang?” Ruby asks.

“Ruby, no,” He says, “I would do no such banging with Emma.”

“Okay fine, did you and Emma make love?” She says it super dramatically, mimicking his accent.

“No,” He snorts, “We kissed. That’s all.”

“You kissed? Killian that’s great!”

“It was just a one-time thing,” He shrugs.

“Uh huh,” Ruby grins, “That’s how those things always start.”

“Honestly, I respect Emma and if that’s what she wants-“

“Oh please. One kiss from you and I bet she’s dreaming of another.”

“Whatever Rubs,” Killian groans.

“You can doubt me if you want, but I bet you are going to get laid before Christmas,” Ruby remarks.

“It’s just October.”

“Exactly, I’m giving you a wide berth just to be safe.”

“Maybe never say wide berth again,” Killian replies, as he exits the bar area.

“Hey, I did say you were glowing!”

“Good bye,” Killian says, turning promptly away from his ridiculous friend.

He heads out of the bar and into the heart of old town, smiling as he feels the autumn sun on his skin, his eyes adjusting from the darkness of the bar. He knows that Emma is off with the queen and he probably won’t hear from her for a couple hours. But he can’t stop thinking about her and that kiss. It was like everything he dreamt about. And better. God, she’s a marvel.

He decides to wait for her return by finding a book to read. For such a literary city, Misthaven has a woeful number of bookstores. Which of course is even more reason for him to want to open his own- he’ll definitely have the market. So instead, he heads towards one of the many charity shops in town. They’ve been his favorite place to find books, since he arrived in Misthaven years ago. What is the point of spending a fortune on books, when he can adopt orphaned ones for pennies?

He turns into his favorite shop along high street and walks inside. After nodding at the woman at the counter, he heads straight to the back where the books are. As usual, the section is stocked full of paperback mysteries and romance novels. Not that Killian doesn’t like these kind of books, or looks down upon them, but today he wants something classic. Emma is so well read, and while Killian knows that he isn’t too shabby himself, he feels the need to prove himself regardless. He studies the shelves and eventually decides on Jane Eyre. He’s never read it before, but knows enough about literature to think that the gothic themes might strike a nice autumnal tone.

He purchases the book and heads outside. It’s nice enough that he can take a seat outside Mamie’s, reading and drinking coffee in the autumn air. He’s drawn in immediately by the young foundling girl and her lonely childhood. He knows a thing or two about lonely childhoods. He’s so entranced in the book that he startles when his phone rings.

“Hello?” He asks, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Is this Mister Killian Jones?” A voice asks with an English accent.

“It is,” He answers.

“I’ve got some new for you,” The voice replies.

And the news makes Killian drop his phone.

Tagging some pals: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill@kmomof4@kiwistreetswan@princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story@shady-swan-jones@katie-dub@1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob@midnightswans

#cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #cs fic #cs mc #cs modern au #cs au #cs mafia #cs crew

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