#i actually have no idea what red and woodie's ship name is

[arckade]

hi

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

You know how we have pet costumes? Give Jacob one, make him a cute space cowboy😈😈😈

WE'RE BACK BABY

Please enjoy this little ficlet (that was actually my 3rd attempt to write a fluffy ficlet for this universe because all the other ones kept becoming future chapters lmao)

--

“This is humiliating. I look like sheriff Woody or something.”

“Aw, I was thinking more like John Wayne Gacy, you know?”

“The...the clown serial killer…?”

Angie pursed her lips. “Wait, who was the cowboy guy in all the old movies? Like, before Clint Eastwood and whatever.”

“That’s John Wayne. Not John Wayne Gacy,” Jacob tugged at the sleeves of his costume and readjusted his cowhide vest. “And I don’t feel anywhere near as cool as him right now.”

She rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose. “That’s because you’re not cool. You’re a grown man playing dress up with a kindergartener.”

“So are you.”

Angie straightened her Native American headpiece and threw one of her braided pigtails behind her. “Yeah, but I know it’s stupid, so therefore I’m doing it ironically which makes me cool.”

Jacob sighed heavily but didn’t argue further, instead tugging his cowboy hat down further to shield his face that burned with embarrassment. Being forced into having playdates with his captor’s coworker was nothing new. He had spent plenty of time being Mibao’s sole playmate aboard the ship, doing the best he could to keep the six year girl entertained and not too psychologically damaged. Being the youngest in a sibling group of only boys, he was a bit rusty when it came to knowing anything about kids. Thankfully, Mibao was more than happy to take him by the hand and show up all the “fun” things she used to either do back home or what she would now do with her “kitty”.

Today’s game of choice was dress up. Every day felt like dress up when it came to the girl’s ever expanding wardrobe; she was always dressed in an obnoxiously puffy and sparkling princess dress fashioned with ribbons and bows galore and always with a matching crown. Fine, no big deal, he could slap a tiara on his head and call it a day, he’d worn worse at the few fraternity parties he attended during college. Nope, not good enough. Mibao had a very specific game she wanted to play which involved him wearing a cowboy costume of all things. A very realistic and detailed cowboy costume, assless chaps and spurs and all. Again, he could...handle it for the most part. The only thing that really bothered him about it was all the coos and giggles he received from both his and Mibao’s captors when he finally came out in his new outfit.

And he knew for a fact they took many, many pictures of him.

It didn’t end there, Mibao still had more requests. Angie needed to join in as well and she was required to be an “indian princess” to partake. Naturally, she was more than happy to agree if it meant getting a break from the absolute nightmare of a captor she had been saddled with. So, now Jacob had to deal with the fact that she would have to watch him play pretend in this ridiculous getup. He could never catch a break with her, it seemed, she always had to catch him when he was in the middle of doing something cringe worthy. She didn’t even look half as uncomfortable as him and she was literally wearing half as much clothing.

Or maybe that was exactly why she was so comfortable as she sauntered up to him, making a finger pistol to tip his hat away from his face. “Cheer up, partner,” she teased. “I think it makes you look cute.”

“I think it makes me look like Owen Wilson from the museum movie,” Jacob replied, hoping the shadow of the brim hid his reddening cheeks.

“Oh my God, you are a tiny little twink cowboy, huh?”

“I’d rather be the gladiator guy.”

“You wish you could pull off being the gladiator guy.”

A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue when Mibao made her appearance from behind the monitor where she had been changing. This time instead of her usual princess attire, she was dressed...pretty much the same, only this time she had a tiny pair or iridescent fairy wings attached to the back. What a fairy had to do with cowboys and indians, he hadn’t the faintest idea. She stopped when she saw the two of them and stuck out her tongue in childish disgust.

“Eww, stop kissing!” She scolded. “You can kiss the princess later, Jake, it’s time to play!”

Jacob had never been more grateful in his life that the creatures idly watching them couldn’t understand English because he just might have died if they heard. He could feel the heat radiating from his nape to his cheeks, putting his hands up in defense like it could keep Angie away from him.

“Wh-no! We weren’t, we weren’t kissing, Reagan, w-we-!”

Angie only cackled, her amusement stemming more from Jacob’s panicked response than the actual accusation of giving him a kiss. “Yeah, cowboy, you can kiss me later.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow as she walked past to where Mibao was waiting.

He groaned, tugging the hat down as far as it would go even if that meant obscuring his vision somewhat. That was totally fine, he didn’t want to look at anyone right now and he did not want to be perceived either. The child was leading them back over to her designated play area scattered with art supplies and stuffed toys for where they’ll play their game of make believe. Angie was already sitting on her knees by the time he shuffled over and beckoned him with a sly smile to come take a seat on the ground next to her. Jacob obliged, but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his beet red face.

As soon as they were settled, Mibao immediately launched into the exposition of the scene they would be putting on, including their roles and superpowers (that only she had because she was a magical fairy queen). Jacob was only half listening; the kid usually forgot half of her own rules in the middle of playing anyways because she wanted to change the story and it wasn’t that hard to follow her game of make believe. Instead, he kept side-eying Angie, who was side-eying him back, and every time they made eye contact she would smile and bump his shoulder with hers.

This was going to be a long playdate.

--

The lab door slid open as Talan walked in, peeling off his bloodied gloves to dispose of them in Ylva’s waste bin. “I need my human back.”

“Aw, why? They’re all having a ball together!” Ylva frowned, gesturing to the miniature trio on her desk. Well, the smallest one and Talan’s pet seemed like they were having a good time, namely at the expense of the other human in a hat. They all seemed to stop at the interruption, his human fixing him with a sneer that he was tempted to match.

“What the fuck is it wearing?” He asked, ignoring all the little protests he got when he grabbed it and plucked the stupid looking feather thing of its head. “I thought you said it’s not nice to torment the humans.”

Edix scoffed at him, though his annoyance was more from Talan being in his general vicinity than anything. “It’s not torment. They were having fun.”

Talan did not look convinced in the slightest, his eyes sweeping over the pup who was pouting at him for taking away its playmate and the other who froze any time he breathed in its direction. Like owner, like pet, he assumed as it seemed to unconsciously inch closer to where Edix’s hand was resting for a better sense of security. Pathetic. At least his pet had a bit more self respect and wasn’t afraid to try and stab him in the hand with his own tools. Of course, it got a sharp flick to the stomach to knock it off, but he could appreciate the gumption.

Talan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, looks like a real party. So sad to have missed it.”

“Like you’ve ever been to a party to know what it looks like.”

“Says the one that only hangs out with plants.”

“Okay,” Ylva interjected, rising from her chair and scooping up her adorable little human. “You’re right, we should probably wrap this up, Mibao’s going to need a nap soon and she likes to fight her naps when she’s excited.”

That was all the excuse Talan needed to dip out without a formal goodbye, though it didn’t escape the corner of his eye how Edix’s human took a half step forward when he left, almost like it wanted to say something. Even if it did, he wouldn’t have cared. As quickly as he had intruded, Talan disappeared back down the main hall of the fauna department to return to his lab.

Edix stood up as well and tucked the data pad he had been keeping busy with under his arm to keep his hands free. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing how much closer his little pet was standing to him, even if it wasn’t by much, even though it was caused by Talan of all bastards. A win was a win in his book. The hand the human had been partly hiding behind curled easily around it to lift it up, immediately cradling it to his chest as usual. It squirmed for a moment but settled quick enough, a clear sign it was also ready to go back to the lab it was accustomed to. For a social species, the little one always seemed so drained after any playdate Ylva arranged for their pets. Fine by him, it usually meant his human was much more quiet and well behaved once it was back in the solitude of Edix’s company, making for an easier work day.

He used his finger to tilt back the wide brimmed hat it had been using to hide its sweet little face a majority of the playdate, earning him a surprised squeak. With the way its baby cheeks were turning an adorable shade of pink, Edix had a fairly good guess as to why it was trying to avoid everyone’s line of sight. Damn, he should have had Ylva take more pictures, this was way too cute for him. It reached up to quickly pull its shield back down and Edix let it with a laugh, cooing as he tugged at its little vest instead which only made it wriggle in distress. Overdramatic little thing.

“Can I keep this costume?” He asked as he followed behind Ylva who was preparing to put her own pup down for a nap. In reality, it meant she was going to have to play with it for at least another half an hour because, much like him, she was a sucker when it came to her human wanting to play. The difference being that Mibao wanted to do anything from coloring to singing to continuing its game of make believe while Edix’s pet always wanted to play chase.

Ylva smiled and shrugged. “Sure, I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fit the baby. It was printed for its measurements specifically, anyways.” Mibao was proving to be difficult in its refusal to relinquish the shiny wings Ylva had designed at its request, something that Ylva quickly made a game out of by setting her pup on the desk and letting it squeal and run while her hands chased after it. That would tire the kid out in no time. She looked back at his human and giggled. “I don’t think it likes it very much, though.”

Oh yeah, that was obvious from the get go, but it didn’t change the fact that it was way too precious for its own good in this type of outfit. Edix actually quite liked the contrast of the dark brown against its pale skin, even more given the fact that it matched the color of its doe eyes perfectly. It was much more appealing than that splotchy green jacket it was inexplicably attached to. He had a feeling it was going to try and strip out of this outfit as soon as it was back in Edix’s lab, provided he gave it its normal suit and jacket to change into. But...maybe he didn’t have to offer it its spare set of clothes right away. Maybe it would just have to hang around in its little boots and hat for a couple hours longer while he finished up his latest report that was just so important to get done. And maybe he would get constantly distracted by how cute it looked while it was definitely pouting at him for not taking off its costume that it took a little longer than usual to finish his work, which meant it spent even longer pouting under its hat.

Decisions, decisions.

Edix waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll learn to love it.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t be mean to it,” Ylva laughed, not that seemed bothered by the idea of his pet keeping the outfit on for an extended period of time beyond the playdate. “But send pictures if you do.”

[theessayist]

Movies that have made me cry like a baby

For a movie buff who’s more inclined to the gruesome thrill of horror flicks and the ingenious narration of crime films, I’m pretty in love with emotional movies. It takes a lot for this ENTJ to shed a tear; even on purpose; and in fact, I can only name a few titles that really got these eyeballs of mine watery. 

I think a major part of the reason why I love emotional movies is that the way that I still get affected by them helps me determine if I still have a moral, empathetic anchor... You know... Somewhere deep down there. It gives me solace. 

Moving on, knowing that I’m not an easy shell to break, I can guarantee that the films I’m about to mention will absolutely tear your heart apart. 

S/N I haven’t watched Miracle in Cell No. 7 or any Frank Darabont masterpiece yet, so if they hit hard enough, I might make another list. 

S/N #2 Animated films will be separated. 

5. Marriage Story (2019) dir. Noah Baumbach 

I’m a 17-year-old single girl living with my perfectly stable parents who love each other so much and I’m happy and eternally grateful for that; but why the hell am I crying?! 

Starting off on our list is a movie that made me cry because of the immense confusion I felt as I watched two exhausted, beautiful humans go through a painful separation when they clearly still love one another. 

I think the main reason why this film made a waterfall out of me is because I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know if I should side on Nicole, since she was the one who made more sacrifices and considerations; or Charlie- since he was the one who was suffering in the ugly end of the stick. It made me feel frustrated and angry in a way that I wanted to push them back together, and at the same time, pull them both apart. 

I’d like to say more- but now I just want to credit Scarlett and Adam for the most heart-wrenching fight scene I have ever endured in all seventeen years of my life.

4. Train to Busan (2016) dir. Yeon Sang Ho 

I watched this Korean zombie horror flick thinking it was going to quench my thirst for some brutal flesh-ripping, blood and gushing gore. I NEVER got tired of zombies- whether in movies, video games or soap operas, I eat that crap up. And so I dived in ravenous as hell, thinking I was gonna get purely that. 

But instead I got a pretty, pregnant woman and her protective husband, an inadvertently neglectful dad and his adorable child, a hobo, and two teenagers my age who’re just as afraid as everyone else would be. 

Oh, and a scumbag whose selfish deeds are so unspeakable I’d rather say ‘Voldemort’. 

Seokwoo didn’t have to smile like that, you know. It’s little contrasting details like that that make emotional scenes so goddamn irresistible. 

This movie got me by surprise- my unsuspecting self who did not expect any tear-jerker was cut up from behind with a father, and an almost-father, sacrificing for the love of their lives. Who doesn’t cry to that kinda stuff? Please cut their chests open and install a heart. 

3. Titanic (1997) dir. James Cameron 

Oh yes, the popular royal tear-jerker, sitting right next to the campus queen bees, The Notebook and A Walk to Remember (to which I didn’t cry, for what it’s worth). As much as I loved the romance that so beautifully blossomed between Jack and Rose, quite frankly I did not cry because the former died. Although that was really sad, too.

You know what gave me a stuffy nose and two red eyes for three days? The other passengers, for gosh’s sake. 

The guy who got shot by the seaman. That seaman who shot himself afterwards. The band who played through the chaos. The maids that drowned in the ballroom trying to look after everyone else. The lone kid in the hallway who could’ve drowned. The mother tucking her children to bed. And most of all, the old couple cuddling each other as water rushed in their room! 

I don’t think I’ve to explain why that subtly painful montage broke my gold-titanium alloy heart. It didn’t help that the lovable Captain Smith chose to sink with his ship, too. 

2. Forrest Gump (1995) dir. Robert Zemeckis 

Before I watched it, I didn’t know what to expect from this movie. But it had Tom Hanks (who, to me at that moment, was purely Sheriff Woody), and I knew it was iconic; so I sat through, thinking it was another one of those great films that was going to bore me. And boy, was I wrong! 

So, unlike all the other films on this list, Forrest Gump actually made me cry in a heart-warming, happy, beautiful way. We watched this guy persevere through the challenges of his universe, we saw the way he rewrote history, we laughed at his utter stupidity, we lamented the come-and-go relationship with Jenny, we grew to love Colonel Dan; everything about it was amazing and touching and the end was just so incredibly satisfying, I didn’t know films could make me happy that much. 

I was just really, really proud of our boy Forrest and how he lived, okay? Leave me alone. 

1. Scent of a Woman (1992) dir. Martin Brest

So, I’m a really big fan of Al Pacino. Why? Because, like I said- crime is my #1 genre. Specifically, organized crime. And who’s the prince of the organized crime genre? You guessed it- this man. He was Jimmy Hoffa. He was Tony Montana. He was Michael Corleone, for crying out loud! 

As a new, young fan, he has established in me the image of a tough, hard-wired man who would stop at absolutely nothing to achieve what he wants. Not morals, not friends, and definitely not family (F stands for Fredo). So what did I expect when he became the blind, eccentric, women-obsessed war veteran Lt. Col. Frank Slade? I had no idea.

That was why it got me so hard- because I was viewing Al play a largely different role. And what’s astonishing about it is that I didn’t see him as Al Pacino. Didn’t see him as a godfather, a union leader, or a drug lord. I saw him as that in-denial old man- washed up, empty, and feeling unwanted for the things he’d brought about in his life. For half the movie, I was admiring every nuance, the clever dialogue, the relationship-building, the philosophical aspects. The other half, I was crying profusely. 

To be specific, I cried four separate times through the two-hour feature; especially during the Ferrari scene. It’s weird I know, but I cried there the most. The film was a very remarkable experience; and all these is why it is my number one pick for a film that will definitely gouge your eyes out. 

I highly recommend all of these features for both lovers and non-lovers of the emotional aspects of film. Even I, as a crime and horror fan, could attest for the fact that these films are not a waste of your fast-paced time. You will be awed.

[wistfulcynic]

A Dream Together

Summary: Killian is stuck in the Enchanted Forest while the woman he loves in in New York with no memory of him. His only consolation is his dreams of her… dreams that are starting to seem disturbingly real. Meanwhile, Emma Swan is starting to have some disturbing dreams of her own. 

Notes: This is an idea I had when I started thinking about what to write for Cocktober, but then it started writing itself and now I like it so much I don't want to hold on to it for another two months. Rated M but maybe E, because I still don't really know what the cutoff point is, but what I'm saying is that there's quite a lot of smutty smut. Also, I kinda blame @teamhook for getting me started thinking about whether I could write something purely smutty. Turns out I can’t, and quite a lot of romance snuck in when I wasn’t looking. 

Also on AO3

A Dream Together

The night was dark and largely silent, lit only by the stars and by the thin slice of a silvery moon, the only sounds made by the waves against the hull of the Jolly Roger. Killian sat at his desk, flask of rum in hand, idly digging his hook into the wood, tracing a pattern there. When he realised he was carving the outline of a bird with a long, elegant neck, he pulled his hook away and sighed. 

She’s gone, mate, he reminded himself, for what must be the thousandth time. You’ve got to stop this

Taking one last swig from the flask, he re-corked it and began preparing for bed. At least in his dreams he’d see her again, if only at the edges of his vision, dancing away from him as he reached for her. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than being awake knowing she was in another realm, out of his reach forever. Wearily, he lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes. Normally it took him time to relax enough for sleep to overcome him, but that night his lids had barely closed before he fell into a dream unlike any he’d ever dreamt before. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They are on the beanstalk, and he sees her cut her hand on a jagged piece of woody vine. She doesn’t seem to notice. When they reach the top he bandages it for her, watching as awareness and reluctant interest dawn in her eyes as he flirts. He wants to kiss her as he had wanted to then, and this time he goes for it, knowing that he will wake seconds before his lips touch hers… but he doesn’t, and she tastes even better than he’d imagined, her lips hot and welcoming as she tilts her head and opens her mouth, her tongue tangling with his. He groans and suddenly they are in Neverland, devouring each other with hot, greedy kisses, the taste of his rum on her tongue driving him mad. Her hands grip his collar holding him tightly to her even as she pulls away from the kiss. He chases her lips with his and this time she lets him catch them, kissing him even more fiercely than before, letting go of his collar to slide her hands under his coat, pushing it from his shoulders. “Hook,” she whispers in his ear, “I want you.” He moans helplessly and tangles his fingers in her hair, his hook pressed into the small of her back so hard it must be painful, but she simply pulls him closer and purrs “I want you to fuck me,” and he wants that too, gods yes, more than he’s ever wanted anything in the whole of his long life, but not here, not against a rough tree or scrabbling in the dirt of the jungle floor, he won’t take her here… and they are in his cabin on the Jolly Roger, in his bed, naked, she is straddling his hips, her head thrown back, golden hair wild and tumbling over her rosy tipped breasts, which are there within his reach— so he reaches, cupping one in his hand, stroking his thumb across her nipple and she moans. “Do that again,” she says, “that feels amazing,” and Killian marvels at how cooperative his subconscious is being but knows he must wake soon, this can’t last. Her hands slide down his chest as he fondles her breast, and then they are on his cock and he can’t believe he hasn’t woken yet. She strokes him once, twice, then lifts her hips and positions him at her entrance. “Any minute now,” he thinks, but no, she is sliding down onto him and he knows this is a dream but he swears he can feel her tight, wet heat around him, squeezing him as she begins to move. She rides him hard and he grasps her hips, fingers and hook digging into her soft skin as he thrusts up to meet her. She takes his hook and runs it across her body, bringing it down between her legs, just above where they are joined. “Touch me with it,” she demands, and he strokes the cool metal across her clit, making her moan. She’s about to come, and he’s close too, so close, and she leans down and takes his mouth again, kissing him deeply, her tongue in his mouth and her teeth on his lips and he explodes inside her, feeling her walls clench around him as she comes. She collapses on his chest and he wraps his arms tightly around her, his face in her hair, breathing her in, and he knows this is a dream —he thinks he knows it— but it feels so bloody real.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma jerked awake, gasping and sweating, pleasure and release still coursing through her. Did I just come in my sleep? she thought. Well, that’s embarrassing. Must’ve been a hell of a dream. She tried to remember, grasped at the wisps of the dream that danced just on the edge of her consciousness. She’d been climbing something, then in a jungle, then in a narrow bed in an odd, small room. There had been a man with her each time, the same man. She couldn’t quite remember his face, just a pair of bright blue eyes, a deep voice, a rough hand that felt amazing on her skin and something metal? Something sharp and dangerous that she’d somehow known wouldn’t hurt her. 

It had all felt so real. She squeezed her thighs together, prepared to swear that the dream man had been between them not moments before, stretching and filling her, his cock deep inside her, driving her to heights she would never have imagined possible. Which of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t possible that she’d just had hot sex with a pair of blue eyes attached to a man she couldn’t remember because she was here in her apartment in New York, alone. Of course she was. 

But maybe not for long, she thought, remembering her date from the night before. At least that man’s face she could picture in her mind. It was a nice enough face, nothing remarkable, but charming in the kind of dorky way that she actually really liked, with a wide smile and friendly eyes. Walsh was his name, from the furniture store. She could remember that too. So why did he seem so much less vivid than the faceless man from her dream? 

Well, never mind, Walsh was perfectly nice and Henry liked him. She was going out with him again next week, and actually looking forward to it. The dream would fade, as they always did, and in the meantime she had to make the best she could of her reality. 

* * *

Killian awoke slowly, his body sated but his mind troubled. He felt guilty and tainted. To take sexual pleasure from dreams of a woman who didn’t know him felt intrusive and wrong. It felt like a violation, and he cringed at the idea of what Emma would think if she knew. He had vowed in Storybrooke that he would live his life in a way that was worthy of her, even if she was lost to him forever he still wanted to be someone she could value. Yet here he was, failing at every test of his resolve, first by double crossing Ariel to get his ship back, now by coming into his sheets dreaming of Emma. Perhaps he’d never be anything but a pirate, he thought in disgust, taking what he wanted no matter whom it hurt. 

He ran his hand down his face, unable to keep the images from his dream from flooding his mind. They were unusually vivid, as the entire dream had been, and also unusually for a dream he’d been aware somehow that he was dreaming. He had recognised as they’d climbed the dream beanstalk and kissed in the dream Neverland that they had been in those places before, with far different outcomes. And then finally on the dream ship, where in reality they had never been together, his favourite fantasy of her coming so almost-true, seeming so painfully real… 

“Argh!” he growled, flinging himself out of bed and grabbing his clothes. It was just a bloody dream, he told himself. You need to stop obsessing. Emma is gone, this nonsense must end. For your own good, mate.  

Grimly determined, he flung his coat around his shoulders and headed up to the deck to do some pirating. 

One week later…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian is in a room he’s never seen before, similar to the rooms he’d visited in Storybrooke but sleeker somehow, full of bright, soft furniture and plants in pots. The door opens and he turns to see Emma, her slim body sheathed in a red dress that makes his mouth go dry, her hair tousled around her beautiful face. He wants to grab her with greedy hands and never let go, but he resists.“Swan,” he manages to croak, “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes are wide. “Hook,” she breathes, like she’s just found something she thought was lost forever. “What are you doing here? This is my apartment.”

“It is?” He turns to look out one of the windows, recognising the tall, grey buildings from his last visit to New York. “How the bloody hell did I—” 

His words are cut off by her lips as she grabs his collar and pulls him to her, in a replay of Neverland. “I don’t care how you’re here or why,” she pants, breaking the kiss only long enough to wrap her arms around his neck and sink her fingers into his hair. “I only care that you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.” 

She fuses her lips to his again and he is there to meet her, mating her tongue with his as he caresses her hair, tangling his fingers in it. They exchange deep, wet kisses for several long moments, drowning in the intense pleasure of each other’s mouths. She pulls away to catch her breath and trails kisses down his neck as he runs his hand and hook down her body, slipping them beneath the short skirt of her dress and pulling it up over her hips. He slides his hand between her legs and moans at the slick heat he finds there. “Gods, Emma, you’re so wet already.”

“I’m always wet around you,” she says. “It’s damned annoying.” 

He chuckles and strokes her, rubbing his thumb over her clit and sliding two fingers inside her, curling them against her most sensitive spot. Her breathing is rough and frantic and she grips his shoulders desperately. “I want you inside me,” she moans. 

“I believe I’m already in—” he begins, but she cuts him off, her voice tinged with frustration. 

“Your cock, Hook,” she says, “I want it inside me. Now.” …. abruptly they are in a bed, a large one with soft, pale sheets. Their clothes are gone and they are twined around each other. “Where are we?” he asks, and she looks around. 

“I don’t recognise it,” she replies, “And I don’t care.” 

She wraps her legs around his waist and he rubs his cock through her folds, coating it in her moisture before thrusting it inside her with one smooth stroke. She moans and digs her heels into his ass, her fingernails carving half-moons into the skin of his shoulders. He buries his hook into the wooden headboard for leverage as he thrusts hard and deep, his hand stroking down her body, over her hip and up her thigh then back down to curve around her ass and pull her hips even more tightly into his. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, “Fuck, yes, right there.” 

She tightens her inner walls around him and he falters and bites back a curse, fighting off the release that threatens to break over him through sheer force of will.”Don’t do that again,” he growls, “if you want this to last.” He picks up the pace again, marvelling at how this could be happening, even in a dream. She feels so incredibly good around him, warm and wet, and her hair smells like sunshine and he loves her, despite his best efforts not to, and he wants to stay buried inside her forever. But she’s making little choked noises in her throat and he knows she’s nearly there, so he brings his hand back up between their bodies and presses his thumb lightly against her clit then watches in awe as she shatters beneath him. He thrusts twice more, savouring the feeling of her quivering around him and then he follows her into oblivion. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was still quivering when she awoke, immediately aware that another dream of the mysterious man had ended in another stunningly intense orgasm. She remembered this dream more clearly than the last, remembered everything, she thought, except the man’s face. She remembered how badly she’d wanted him, how astoundingly quickly he’d turned her on— a brush of his fingers over her hair, a stroke of his tongue against hers and she was dripping and desperate. She remembered how right he’d felt inside her, how every touch of his body on hers had been exactly what she needed, what she desperately craved. Thank fuck for dreams, she thought. Sex like that doesn’t happen in real life. At least, not in her experience.

She’d known him, she realised. She was comfortable with him, trusted him. Trusted him enough to give herself over to him completely in bed. She never did that. 

Who was he? 

And why was she having sex dreams about him each time she went on a date with Walsh? 

Okay, it had only been twice. Two dates, two sex dreams. Two wasn’t a pattern. 

But it was the beginning of a pattern. 

Emma had another date with Walsh the day after tomorrow. She was already excited for it. 

For the dream far more than for the date. 

* * *

Killian groaned, cursing his weakness. He’d done it again, woken up drenched in his own cum, his mind flooded with images from his dream, images of sex with Emma so real they felt like actual memories, so real he could still taste her, could still feel her pulsing around his softening cock. 

He’d hoped the first dream was just a fluke, and when a week had gone by in which Emma appeared in his dreams only as he expected to find her there, just on the edges, always outside the range of his grasp, he had begun to relax. 

And now this. Worse than the first one in many ways, set entirely in unfamiliar places, his dream Emma speaking words the real one would never utter, telling him she wanted him, that she missed him, when that was impossible. She didn’t even remember him. 

Where had the apartment come from, he wondered. He had little experience within the living spaces of her realm, and her apartment in his dream had borne little resemblance to the rooms above Granny’s or her parents’ loft. How had his mind conjured it? He recalled a conversation he’d overheard whilst handcuffed to a bed in Storybrooke’s hospital. Dr Whale speaking to a nurse about Belle. “There’s a lot about the mind we don’t know,” he’d said, “It sometimes works in ways we can’t anticipate.” Perhaps the answer was that simple. His mind was working in ways he could never have anticipated, producing things he was struggling to process. He wished it would stop. At this rate, he was never going to get over Emma. 

Let’s be honest, mate, getting over her was always a long shot, whispered a voice in his head. Look how long it took you to get over Milah, and you love Emma far more deeply— “Enough!” said Killian aloud, quieting the voice. “I may never stop loving Emma, but that doesn’t mean I want to be plagued with dreams of fucking her every evening, dreams that seem real even when I know they can never be. Men have been driven mad by less.” 

The day after tomorrow…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma is already there when Killian arrives in the dream. She lounges on the bed, draped in a thin bedsheet and nothing else. It’s the same bed they were in before, only this time he can see that the bed is in a room in what seems to be a house, a room with large windows that are open, curtains billowing, the breeze carrying a hint of the sea. 

“Where are we?” he asks her. 

“I told you before, I don’t recognise it. Though I think it might be in Storybrooke.” 

“How is it that you remember Storybrooke, Swan? How is it that you remember me?”

She shrugs. “It’s a dream. I won’t remember these details when I wake up.” 

“It doesn’t feel like a dream.” 

“It doesn’t, does it? But it must be, or I wouldn’t do this.” She lets the sheet slip off her shoulder, revealing her bare breasts and taut stomach, and the merest hint of the golden curls between her thighs. He swallows hard, his eyes drinking in her loveliness, and he realises that she is eyeing him in a similar way. He looks down and sees that he is naked, his cock standing up hard and proud, and bobbing slightly. He looks up again and meets her eyes. 

“You’re so hot, Hook,” she sighs. “I can’t believe you’re even hotter out of your ridiculous pirate clothes. Are you going to come over here and fuck me, or what?”

He hesitates. If this is a dream, he has no reason to hide his desires. “I wish you’d call me Killian,” he says. 

“Killian,” she repeats, and holds out her arms to him. “Come here.” 

He wastes no more time, crawling into the bed and into her arms, feeling her wrap them tightly around him as he sinks down onto her, kissing her deeply, stroking his hand down her thigh and over her hip, then up her torso to cup her breast and rub his thumb across her nipple in the way he now knows she loves. She moans into his mouth as her fingers comb through the hair on his chest and she runs the ball of her foot up his calf and thigh before hooking her leg around his waist, urging him to thrust into her. But Killian realises that this dream is different: it seems less rushed, there’s no change of venue, their passion is softer and less wild than before. If he can’t prevent these dreams, he reasons, he might as well enjoy them, might as well take the opportunity to do to his dream Emma everything he longs to do to the real one. He snags her ankle with his hook and unwraps her leg from his waist, draping it over his shoulder as he kisses down her chest, pauses briefly to lick her nipple and suck it lightly between his teeth before trailing kisses down over her stomach stopping just above the apex of her thighs. He breathes deeply, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal, and she releases an unsteady breath. “Killian…” she says shakily. Her toes curl in anticipation and her hands fist themselves in the bedsheets. 

“Brace yourself, love,” he teases, and dives in. 

He licks her more roughly than he intended, the blood pounding in his ears and his own intense arousal robbing him of his usual finesse, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She moans and grips the sheets even more tightly. “More,” she demands, “More of that.” 

He is happy to comply, stroking his tongue through her rosy flesh, dipping it inside her, swirling the tip around her clit, almost but not quite exactly where she wants him. She makes a choked, frustrated sound and he looks up at her through his lashes. 

“What do you want, Swan?” he growls. “Tell me.”

“I want you to lick me,” she says. “Lick my clit and suck on it, hard. Make me come.” 

He is desperate to please her, but this is his dream, and he can have what he wants. He hovers over her, letting her feel his breath on her swollen nub. “Beg,” he tells her. 

Her breath hitches in excitement but she shakes her head. “Never.”

He blows a soft stream of air on her, holding her down as she pumps her hips, trying to reach him. “Beg me, Swan,” he commands in his pirate captain voice. 

She resists for all of five seconds. “Fuck,” she groans, “Fuck, Killian, please.” The pleading in her voice is genuine. “I’m begging you, damn it, make me come.” 

“You had only to ask, darling,” he purrs, and latches his mouth onto her, sucking her between his lips and swiping his tongue roughly across her most sensitive spot. She comes almost instantly, with a hoarse scream, and he continues to lick her through it, prolonging her pleasure. She is boneless and shaking, but he shows her no mercy. Keeping her legs draped over his shoulders, he rises to his knees and thrusts himself inside her so hard she gasps, and braces her hands on the headboard to stop her head from slamming into it. He buries his hook in the wood again and lets himself go, fucking her hard and deep, knowing that here in his dream she will take whatever it pleases him to give her. She whimpers helplessly, her breath rasping in her throat. He wants her to come again, wants to come with her, to tumble into ecstasy together. He caresses her breast, more roughly this time, flicking the nipple with his thumb as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he moans, “So beautiful when you come. Come for me again, love.” With a choked moan she does as he asks, digging her heels into his shoulders. Her walls clench around him, making him gasp as he explodes deep inside her. He rips his hook from the headboard and collapses, gathering her close to his side. He buries his face in her hair, knowing the dream is nearly over, needing to speak before it ends. 

“I love you, Emma,” he whispers. “You know that, don’t you?” 

She nods. “I know. I— I have feelings for you too, Killian.” 

They aren’t the words he longs to hear, but they are more than he ever thought he’d have, more than he could hope for anywhere but in his dreams. They are enough. He cuddles her close, clinging to her as the dream dissolves around them.       

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This time, the dream left Emma tangled in her sheets, limp and sated but with a strange yearning ache in her chest. The dream man had said he loved her, and she had recognised the truth in his words, felt that she had known it for some time. She had wanted to say the words back to him, but something had stopped her, had stopped the words in her throat, stopped her from voicing what she knew to be true.

Who the fuck was he? Where was he? Was he even real? How could she feel so strongly about a man who existed only in her mind? She felt that there were important details of her dreams that she couldn’t remember, things like his face, for one, and his name, which she was sure he’d told her, and how they knew each other so well that she would allow him such intimacies as he had demanded from her the night before. 

She needed to see him again, and she rather thought she knew how he could be summoned. Three dates, three sex dreams. Three was a pattern. She needed to go out with Walsh again, and soon. 

* * *

He was going to have to start washing his own sheets, Killian thought wryly, lest his crew take notice of his evident lack of self-control. He wondered a bit bleakly how long these dreams would continue. Each was more intense, more detailed than the last, and though there had been only three he feared that if they did not cease soon he might come to depend on them. A world where he could touch Emma in any way he pleased and she would welcome it, where he could speak his feelings openly to her, even though he knew it wasn’t real that was a powerful temptation indeed. Killian had seen men succumb to sirens, seen them taken in by pixie dust and Pan’s tricks in Neverland. He had felt nothing but pity for those men and their weakness, their inability to deal with reality, their preference for pleasant fiction over harsh fact. He had fought for much of his life against the lure of easy fantasy, yet now for the first time in nearly three hundred years he felt that he would happily leave reality behind, if it meant he could be with Emma. 

And that, he thought to himself, is how men go mad. 

* * *

Walsh held Emma’s hand as he walked her to her door. “I’ve really enjoyed our time together, Emma,” he said with a shy smile, and she nodded absently, her mind already consumed by thoughts of the night’s imminent dream. “Maybe you could come to my place tomorrow, and I’ll cook you dinner?” he suggested, and she jolted out of her reverie. “Tomorrow?” she said, trying not to sound too excited. Two sex dreams in a row, could she handle it? She decided she could. “Yeah, tomorrow will be great. See you then.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek then turned away and entered her building, so eager to get to sleep that she entirely failed to notice the way Walsh’s happy smile twisted into something dark and menacing the moment her back was turned. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian can tell immediately that this dream is different. There is no soft bed, no familiar surroundings. Instead, he stands in the yard of a farmhouse, icy wind swirling snow around him, chilling him to his bones. He looks for Emma, but she is not there. 

“Swan!” he calls. 

He hears her reply, faint and distant. “Killian!” she cries, and there is fear in her voice. He runs towards it, into the woods. There is the sound of wings, then a crash, then Emma shrieks in terror, and his heart nearly stops. He runs faster, bursting into a clearing and skidding to a halt, horrified at the sight that meets his eyes. Emma is standing with her back to a tree, a thick branch in her hands, fighting off what appear to be monkeys with wings. One approaches her and she swings the branch at it. It bursts into dust, sending her spinning with the force of her swing, and before she can regain her footing another monkey is upon her. Killian draws his cutlass and attacks it, swinging his sword in a wide arc that catches two of the simians at once. As they explode into particles, Killian snags Emma’s coat with his hook and pulls her behind him, stabbing a third monkey as it swoops at them. The final remaining monkey makes a grab for Emma, but she flings her branch at it, and when its dust clears Killian and Emma are alone. He drops his sword and spins around, pulling her roughly into his arms. “Are you all right, Swan?” he asks, brushing her hair back from her face as she closes her arms tightly around him and buries her face in his neck. 

“I’m fine,” she replies. “They just took me by surprise. Killian, it— it was Walsh.” 

“Who?”

“Walsh. I’m kind of dating him.” “You’re dating a flying monkey?”

“Well, obviously I didn’t know he was a flying monkey when I started dating him,” she snaps, and he is relieved that she has recovered enough to snark at him. She pulls out of his embrace and looks around. “I want to get out of here,” she says, and Killian does too but this dream is not as accommodating as the previous ones, and the clearing stubbornly refuses to change.

Emma gasps, and he follows her gaze to where a tall, skinny man stands sneering at them. “Walsh,” she says in surprise, “I thought I’d—”

“Oh, it’s not that easy to get rid of me,” taunts Walsh. “I’ll be seeing you very soon, Emma, and when I do you’ll have forgotten all of this. You’ll remember it, of course, Hook, not that it will do you any good. I’m in her realm, and soon I’ll be in her bed and in her heart, and she’ll be in my control.” 

Killian snarls and lunges at Walsh, but the dream begins to swirl around them and the other man is gone. He turns and reaches for Emma, holding her close as the dream pulls at them, tries to tear them apart. “I’m coming for you, Swan,” he says fiercely, even as the dream rips her from his arms. “I love you and I am coming to find you, I swear it.” 

She tries to hold on, clinging to his hand for as long as she can. “Killian, I lo—,” she says, and then everything is black.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian was out of bed and half dressed before he even fully awoke. The images from the dream were pounding in his brain, filling him with an urgency that bordered on panic. He knew now beyond any doubt that the dream was real, that they had all been real. Emma was in danger and he had to get to her, somehow, and soon, before she saw the monkey-man again. His options were slim. He knew of only one way to move through realms, and that was with a magic bean, and he knew of only one way to get a magic bean. He also knew what the price for it was likely to be. His heart twisted at thought of paying it, but he did not hesitate. Emma needed him and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to save her. He paused for one last long look at his ship, then turned away and moved purposefully through the crowds towards the darkest corner of Tortuga.

* * * 

Emma awoke feeling deeply rested and crushingly disappointed. There had been no dream, no blue-eyed man with his rough but gentle hand and his deep voice that rumbled through her body when he held her close. So much for my pattern, she thought. 

She wanted to cry, which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman with a child to look after, not a lovesick teenager weeping because she’d missed seeing her crush. 

Dragging herself out of bed she headed for the kitchen to make breakfast. 

Pancakes today, she thought, I definitely need some pancakes. 

Emma and Henry had just sat down to breakfast when there was a knock at the door. They exchanged surprised looks. 

“Someone coming over?” asked Henry. 

“No,” said Emma, eyes widening as the knock came again, louder and more insistent this time. “Henry, wait here,” she said, getting up and switching off the radio as she went to the door. She opened it, and gaped for a moment at the man on the other side. He was dressed head to toe in black leather, somehow looking much less ridiculous and far more attractive than he should have in such a getup. She had never seen his face before, but his eyes… she caught her breath. 

She knew those eyes. 

“Swan,” he said, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him, and she knew his voice too, recognised the way it spoke her name. 

“I know you can’t remember me, but—”

She did remember him, though. How could she not? He was literally the man of her dreams. 

Driven by instinct, she grabbed the collar of his absurd coat and pulled his lips to hers, into a kiss that was achingly familiar. 

Bright white light burst from their joined lips, and Emma remembered. 

She remembered him. 

She remembered everything.

"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." --Yoko Ono

[randoreviews]

CAR INTERVIEW WITH JERRY

Jerry: You’re a lot taller than you were... Ben: Haha. Jerry: When did you have the spurt of... growth? Ben: I think... I’m not sure? These kind of... add a half an inch or so. (points to boots) Jerry: Mm, but not that much.  Ben: I dunno. Yeah. Jerry: After high school or...? Ben: I guess? Probably college or maybe a little bit after. Jerry: Oh yeah? Where did you go to school? Ben: Uh, Saint Michael’s College? Jerry: Where’s that? In Vermont?  Ben: In Vermont, yeah. Yeah, Dave and I were confirmed at Saint Mary’s together but... I’m kind of scared of... of the Catholics. Spent too much time under the cross, I guess. Jerry: Oh, okay, yeah. So you must ski, huh? Ben: I do love skiing. When I went to college I actually didn’t ski because, uh, it was like, Vermont is like a different kinda cold. Just the five, ten degree difference makes a big difference. And I preferred to just sleep on the weekends so... and not pay the money... So yeah, these are very simple, should I just start askin ya?  Jerry: Sure! Yeah. Ben: Yeah, okay, make sure that’s... yeah... So yeah, what was your first car? Jerry: First car that I owned was a 1960 MGA.   http://www.sportscarshop.com/1960-mg-mga/ Ben: Mm. Was that a sports car or...? Jerry: Yeah, it was a two-seater, roadster.  Ben: Nice. And what color? Jerry: Gray, with a I think it was black interior. Ben: Nice. And how long did you have it for? Jerry: I had it when I was going to college. So I had it for prolly, three to four years. Ben: Yup. Good car? Jerry: Uh, no, it used to break down a lot. Ben: Haha, that’s usually how it goes with first cars. Jerry: Yeah, I had to leave it on the side of the road and call a friend to come and pick me up. Ben: And how did you first acquire it? Jerry: I just went to a dealer and bought it, and paid fifty dollars a month on the loan and... that was it. Ben: Was it pretty sharp-looking though, despite the engine troubles?  Jerry: Yeah, it was pretty good. Ben: Was it like a chick magnet at all or...? Jerry: Um, it’s hard to say. It didn’t have windows, it had side curtains. And in the winter it was pretty cold to drive it, but I drove it all year round. Ben: Okay. Was there heating? Jerry: There was heating. But sometimes it didn’t work. Ben: Did they have the heat seats back then? Jerry: No. Nothin like that. And it was very drafty cuz of the side curtains. And it leaked when it rained and, all those things. Ben: So when did you get your license? Do you remember the year or the age you were? Jerry: Uhh, it would have been, 1959, 1960? You know, right when I turned sixteen. Ben: Okay. Were you like really raring to get it or? Jerry: Yeah, yeah. Ben: Okay, so... I dunno if you remember Bill Funsch? Jerry: Yeah, sure. Ben: Cuz he’s a little bit older than us even though he’s in our grade, he was the first of our friends to get a driver’s license, so I remember riding in this old, like his dad’s hand-me-down red Jetta. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volkswagen_Jetta_(A2)  And, uh, just like the feeling of liberation. Wasn’t even when I got the license, it was like my friend driving. Being out from under my parents’ wing. I was like, we should just drive to the moon or something! Jerry: Right, right, right. Ben: Did you have a similar experience or? Jerry: Uh, yeah... I would say so, yeah. I liked to drive, go on errands, whatever, just to be able to drive the car. Ben: Just be out? Jerry: Yeah. Ben: Was it kind of like American Graffiti where you just spend Fridays and Saturday nights just cruisin around, lookin for stuff to do? Jerry: Yeah, yeah, that was typical.  Ben: Yeah. So do you remember what your parents drove? Was there like a memorable car from your childhood? Jerry: Uhh... they drove, you know, Fords and Mercurys.  https://fiftiesweb.com/cars/album-ford/  https://fiftiesweb.com/cars/mercury/  Nothing, uh... and then when I was older my father got a Camaro. That was, you know, like a hot car. That was, you know, say the early 60s. So nothing too fancy. Camaro’s probably the fanciest.  https://www.dancummins.com/the-best-camaros-from-the-60s/ Ben: That’s pretty good. Jerry: Yes, yeah. Cuz it was kind of a cool-looking car.  Ben: Yeah. Any station wagons or big sedans? Jerry: No, but when David was young with the kids, we had a station wagon. Ben: Did it have like the wood panel sides?  https://www.reddit.com/r/nostalgia/comments/3iavks/wood_panel_station_wagons/ Jerry: No, those were long gone in the 70s. https://www.hagerty.com/articles-videos/articles/2019/07/22/6-coolest-woody-cars-according-to-you  Lisa was born in 1975. That sorta wood paneling or fake wood paneling was long gone. Ben: Right, yeah. And was your dad into cars? Jerry: Mm, no, not really? He did buy that Camaro so he obviously liked the looks of that. But he never worked on cars or anything like that. Ben: Gotcha. That leads perfectly to my next question, do you have a trusty mechanic? Or do you do any of the work on the cars yourself? Jerry: Yeah, no, I have a mechanic do the work. A couple of them. Right now there’s like three that I go to in the Boston area, that are pretty good with the older cars.  Ben: Yeah. Yeah, my dad would only go to one guy and he would drive like 45 minutes from Mansfield up to Hudson. Jerry: Oh yeah? Ben: Yeah, Jake was the name of the guy. He loved the guy. I guess it’s like, he just had a loyalty to him. You know how some people are loyal to their barbers or whatever. So you have a vintage Porsche? What model is it?  Jerry: Yeah, it’s a 1960 356 A Roadster. https://www.mecum.com/lots/CA0813-161526/1960-porsche-356-roadster/ Ben: Mhm. Jerry. I can send you a picture after. Ben: Yeah, I would love that. And how long have you had it? Jerry: I bought it in ‘94 and I had it restored, it took a couple years. And I’ve been drivin it since ‘96.  Ben: Oh man. I have my dad’s old Porsche, which is a 2013, just the Boxster. https://www.carfax.com/Research-2014-Porsche-Boxster_z118  I feel like a total fraud driving it cuz I’m like, I didn’t earn this really. But uh, it’s a beautiful experience driving it. Jerry: Yeah, Porsche makes a nice, solid car. Ben: Just the design is very... sexy. Like chick magnet again. Very sexy. Um, and what do you think put the idea in your head to get it in the first place? Jerry: Well I was probably always into cars, you know, when I was goin to college I had that MGA. So in the mid-90s I was lookin for a car and came across this, so... it’s a classic, so... it’s better than the MGA, the British sports cars. It’s just, you know, looks and everything.  Ben: Is there a lot of upkeep to it, kinda going back to the mechanics question? Jerry: Not really. It’s in the garage right now, sort of preempting the rush for the spring. I usually have it tuned up at the beginning of the driving season, which is, say, April. And then after that, I’ve been lucky. Really haven’t had any trouble. Ben: Mm, good. Well, I’ll say my dad I think got his because, well he had a gray Boxster, I think 1999 he bought it? It was definitely a mid-life crisis purchase, but he really enjoyed driving it. And then he got the new one 2013, which is black and beautiful. Very beautiful. So it was a good mid-life crisis purchase. And Dave says you get your car shipped around so you can drive it in different places? Jerry: Yeah, I’ve driven cross country the last four years, each year, starting from a different place. Rather than driving out, driving back, I ship it out. I shipped it out to San Francisco? No, LA, San Diego, Phoenix, and Colorado Springs and drove back from those four places. Ben: Oh man. And where did you stop along the way? Jerry: Oh, a lot of places. Lot of places. Ben: Any favorite national parks or anything? Jerry: We stopped at a number of national parks... Yosemite, Grand Canyon. Mount Rushmore. I don’t know if any more? Everything was nice. Nice to see. Ben: Yeah, I’ve made that drive a couple times cuz I used to live in LA. I love Los Angeles. I really love Nebraska? I’ve only spent a couple nights there but it was very nice. Everyone’s nice. Slower pace. Just wheat fields sprawling around you? It’s very nice. I can see the appeal. If you could have another car, any car in the world, what would it be? Or are you happy with your Porsche? Jerry: Yeah, I’m happy with the Porsche. I’d probably get a new Targa. A new Porsche Targa.  https://www.americanmusclecarmuseum.com/porsche-vehicles/324-2019-porsche-911-targa-4-gts.html Ben: Mhm. That’s a new model?  Jerry: Yeah, it’s a convertible hardtop. So yeah, they’re pretty nice.  Ben: I’m sure, I’m sure. And a kind of car, usually if I see older cars and the person isn’t wearing like a full camo suit, if they look approachable I’ll usually go up and talk to them, like I love vintage trucks. Do those appeal to you at all? Do they catch your eye?  https://vintagewiring.com/product/ford-vintage-trucks-1942-47-6-cyl-dash-harness/ Jerry: Yeah. Yeah, they do.  Ben: Will you just admire from a distance or will you go talk to the owner? Jerry: No, usually people like to talk about their cars and are approachable. Ben: Yes, as this interview proves. Um, and are you particular about your tire brand? Jerry: Yeah, but I don’t know too much about the tires. I’ve got some German brand on the ‘60 Porsche. I’ve got a 2011 911 Porsche also.  https://www.ccsmotors.com/2011-porsche-911-carrera-4s-c-138.htm Ben: Oh, nice. Jerry: It’s a C 4s, which means Carrera, all-wheel drive. Ben: Shewww. That’s very serious. Jerry: And that’s got Michelin. The people I talked to said those are the tires for that car. Ben: But you get the older Porsche shipped around? Jerry: No, the newer one, shipped around. Ben: Oo, okay. Jerry: But the older one I’ve driven to Saint Louis, to Memphis, to Hilton Head a few times. So I’ve driven it, say, out of New England a number of times. Ben: Still very reliable? Jerry: It has been. Ben: And what do you think about Tesla? How long before electric cars take over?   https://carbuzz.com/news/all-new-tesla-model-s-could-look-like-this Jerry: Uh, they’re here.  Ben: It’s happenin? Jerry: Yeah, Porsche I think in a couple years that’s all they’ll be making.  Ben: Right. There’s this company, I believe in California called, I think it’s Electron Monkey, where they’ll take vintage cars that people love and they’ll put electronic, they’ll replace the old engines with electronic, I think it’s like seventy-five grand to do it or some stupid amount of money. But I guess if you have the money and love your car that much. And do you go to any car shows? Jerry: Yeah, at the Museum of Transportation in Brookline, during the summer they have a number of car shows. They have a German day, which is all Porsches, and Mercedes https://www.vintageindustrialstyle.com/mercedes-benz-300-roadster-vintage-legend-turns-year/, and whatever. Then they have Italian day with a lot of Ferraris https://robbreport.com/motors/cars/best-vintage-ferraris-2852791/ and Alfa Romeo https://petrolicious.com/articles/these-are-the-simple-joys-of-touring-in-a-vintage-alfa-romeo. So if I’m around I’ll go to the shows there. There’s a number of shows that I haven’t been to, there’s one in Greenwich. I think it’s early June, Greenwich, Connecticut, that’s a big one. This past year there was a big one down in Newport that I missed, which I would have liked to have gone to. Every three years Porsche has a big car show. It’s sort of a rally. They have races. They have thousands of cars. And Porsche sends over a lot of cars from Germany to be on display. And the past two times it’s been in Laguna Seca, outside of Monterey, California.  Ben: Oh, beautiful. Jerry: Yeah, and I’ve gone to each of those. So yeah, that was two years ago. Next summer after that there’ll be another and it’ll probably be in Laguna Seca again and I’ll probably go to that. There’s races goin on all the time, thousands of cars, all kindsa vendors. Lot of people. It can be overwhelming. Ben: Sure. Jerry: It’s a week event. But the big things, say, starting from Thursday through Sunday.  Ben: Is it summertime or? Jerry: It’s usually, say, end of September. I think this weekend there’s a big one down in Florida, in Amelia Island, outside of Jacksonville. It’s probably the second most prestigious car show in the country.  Ben: No way. Jerry: Pebble Beach is number one, and that’s usually sometime in August. And Amelia Island is number two. And then there’s others. Hilton Head has one usually the first week of November, so if I’m down there and the weather’s good I’ll usually go to that. So there’s a lot of shows. Ben: And I imagine people there are very friendly because, again, it’s just talkin about, sharing things that you love.  Jerry: Right, yeah.  Ben: I imagine you have to pack pretty lightly when you go on these trips because the sports cars don’t have much room?  Jerry: Yeah. Right, right. Ben: I remember my dad used to put his golf clubs in shotgun and he’d tell my mom she would have to take the Volvo. https://www.edmunds.com/volvo/v70/  So you obviously have to plan for packing lighter. Jerry: Right, yeah. Ben: And so because it’s kind of an election season, what’s your favorite American car? Jerry: Let’s see, I dunno... There’s some nice-lookin cars... (thinks for a few seconds) I dunno, I don’t have one. I can’t think of one. Ben: I always tell people if you think of one ten minutes, half an hour from now, you can let me know. There’s no rush. But yeah, I think that was it, I didn’t want to take up too much of your time. Are there any other things that you wanted to talk about? Jerry: Well there’s races up in Lime Rock, Connecticut. You drive out the Mass Pike and I think it’s Exit 3? And then drive about an hour and a half through northeast Connecticut to get to Lime Rock. And they have races there just about every weekend. They have big races, some national races. And their vintage car weekend is always Labor Day. And if I’m around, I’d go there. There’s races down in Florida all the time. I’d like to go to the track and watch the races. Ben: Very nice. Have you ever been in a race yourself of any kind? Jerry: No, I’ve driven on tracks, but it was just... what would you call it?... Certain events they allow people to drive the track in like a caravan. So you’re not racing, you’re not supposed to pass or anything like that. Ben: Were you kind of inspired by guys like Steve McQueen or Paul Newman, I know those guys loved their cars? Jerry: Used to see Paul Newman often at Lime Rock, cuz that’s where he raced on a regular basis. Ben: Did he live in Connecticut? Part-time?  Jerry: He did, yup. He lived, let’s see, outside of Greenwich, Connecticut. But he was there and you’d see him in the pit and you’d be from here to you away from him. Ben: That’s so cool. Jerry: I remember one time, you know, the sports cars, the cars that they race, they don’t have doors, you have to climb through the window to get in. Ben: Right. Jerry: And he was like, I dunno how old but he was like 65 or 70. And he was havin a hard time crawlin through the window and I was standin there and I looked at him and I sort of smiled and he knew what I was smilin about and he smiled back.  Ben: Haha. And do you remember when that was? Jerry: It must have been at least ten, fifteen years ago, cuz he’s been dead for a while. And, yeah, there’s a few clubs here that have events. I belong to two vintage Porsche clubs which, they have events and we go away for the weekend.  Ben: Oh, cool. Jerry: And it’s just a driving club. Also they’re a source of information too that you can fall back on, if you have a question or a problem with your car, they’re a good resource. And if they have a good experience with a mechanic or a garage or somethin, they’ll send it out in an email. My 356 is in a garage now and that’s how I became aware of this particular garage.  Ben: Nice. That sounds like a good group to be a part of. Is it mostly via email that they’ll share information and then you guys’ll get together? Jerry: Yeah. And talk about our cars. You know, stand around, shoot the breeze. Ben: Sure, that sounds pretty good. Um, what was I gonna say, I had one more question... So when you go to these events, will... I love it when there will just be like a caravan of vintage cars and there’ll be like thirty and it’s just like this is like a bit of magic that just came out of nowhere. So are you one of those cars sometimes? Jerry: Yeah, we were someplace outside of Worcester, it may have been Sutton, and it was a Sunday morning and people were coming outta church and we had a caravan of maybe twenty cars, and you could see their heads, just walking down the steps lookin, like that. And then another time someone was leading a drive and it was through a windy road but there was a lot of houses, and I think it was around Acton or Concord or somewhere around there, and someone that lived on that road called the police and said we were racing.  Ben: Haha. Jerry: And the police came out and stopped us and asked us what was goin on. We weren’t racing, we were just, it was a windy road, somewhere off the beaten path and just drivin prolly thirty miles an hour. But there was probably twenty of us and someone got a little excited. Ben: Mm. And have you driven an electric car?  Jerry: No, I haven’t. I’ve only ridden in a Tesla once. Ben: Right. How did you like that? Jerry: Well, it was a short ride so I really couldn’t tell. But the people who have them love them. Ben: Right, right. It’s a cult.  Jerry: Yeah. They’re supposed to be extremely fast. Ben: I think it was an Audi electric car https://www.thedrive.com/news/25162/the-audi-e-tron-gt-is-bringing-the-high-performance-electric-car-fight-to-tesla but I had the Porsche in New Hampshire and this Audi was in front of me and we were going on an on ramp that had a bit of an ascent to it, and the thing just took off. And it was like, this car is from the future. And I was in the Porsche, so it goes zero to sixty pretty quickly but I had to work the stick and this person was just gone. It was like they were flying. But I think I probably will miss, I know it’s bad for the environment but, the gasoline, that feeling of the engine, that’s so much of the connection, it’s like a very visceral thing. I don’t know if you’ll get that with the electric cars. Jerry: I’ve read that they can put in, make it noisy... Ben: If you want it. Jerry: Yeah, and you can switch that on and off, I think. Ben: Okay. Have you seen the new Tarantino movie Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? Jerry: Yeah, that was pretty good. Ben: Oh yeah, I loved it. There was an older gentleman sitting a few seats over from me when I saw it and he mentioned that Brad Pitt was driving a Karmann Ghia https://www.imcdb.org/v001250044.html was the little like beat up convertible, which is another car my dad had.  Jerry: Right, right. Ben: I love those scenes of Brad Pitt just driving around by himself in the convertible. A few friends I talked to were just like, this is boring, and I was like, you guys should ride in a convertible, I think you’d understand. Jerry: One of my early cars was a Karmann Ghia but it was a hardtop. Ben: Seems like everyone had one.  Jerry: Yeah, it was pretty good. Ben: What color was that one? Jerry: It was red. Red Karhmann Ghia, yup. Ben: Nice... Well I think that’s it. Jerry: Okay, let me get my phone and I’ll show you that picture...

[siliquasquama]

Legend of the Red barracuda, Verse 14: you’re always welcome at our house

"Get out," says the director, who remains caught wihin the twisting-branch hands of a Tikolumian. "Get out of my station. You'll be doing that anyway shortly but I want you gone as soon as possible."

The station control room is an impressive array of buttons and switches on two big panels. It seems like the kind of thing that would take at least four engineers in order to run properly. The station itself appears to have twelve, unless the people I'm judging to be maintenance workers are also engineers. Maybe there's an overlap in skillsets. Anyway, none of them can do their jobs right now, because they're all being held fast by the Tikolumians.

Behind me are my crew, plus Sword Lesbian and the little twerps that call themselves the Resistance.

Above me is a high vaulted grey ceiling with windows here and there.

Below me is a floor that rumbles and vibrates with the sounds of a machine working merrily.

"This station is now the property of the Resistance!" says the smokey Crystalline, waving a flamethrower around.

"Oh God," says Tikreelkara, rushing over to the Crystalline, "Put that away before you get hurt -- "

But it is too late, and one of Tikreelkara's people is faster than them. The Crystalline is caught up in twisting branches and lifted high into the air. The tree growls, and makes as if to smash the Crystalline to the ground.

"Will everyone please knock it off?" I say. "We came here for parley, not violence."

"Could have fooled me," says the director.

Tikreelkara scrambles up the tree and whispers something to a spot near its eyes. It slowly lowers the Crystalline.

"Tikreelkara," I say, "are your people willing to let the station engineers go now? Our object was to get in here, and that's taken care of. I don't think these people want to kill us. Maybe. Hey, do any of you engineers want to kill us?"

There is a chorus of "no" and one "yes".

"Alright, keep hold of whoever said yes."

The Tikolumians lift their woody fingers away from the engineers. The engineers rush to the station's controls and as they press levers and flips switches they start passing jargon between each other. Can't understand a word.

"I greatly apologize for the intrusion," I say to the director, "though I hope we have not done you a great deal of harm. Pray tell me, what is your name?

The director brushes off the sleeves of her long grey coat. "Smith." She rushes over to one of the groups of engineers and begins giving them orders.

"Smith?" says Ramon. "Nice name. Hey, Robin, I'm going to go sit with the car if that's all right with you. Bye." He walks back the way we came before I can get a word in. Aristede likewise retreats, along with the members of the Resistance, and all the Tikolumians including Tikreelkara. Klunk looks at the scene, then looks back to where we parked the car, then back to the scene.

"Everyone abandons the quest at the hour when all is revealed!" I say. "Oh, what a pity, what a shame. My dear friends are not steadfast after all!"

"Fine," says Klunk, "I'll stay here as long as you hold my hand."

"What does everyone know that I don't?"

Klunk grabs my hand without even asking me, and points with her other hand towards the windows. They are narrow things, through which I can see little of the sky. Less, in the next few seconds, because a grey pall quickly blocks them. It appears we are sinking.

I turn to Sword Lesbian. She is wringing her hands. "I, uh...might have shot up a few things in order to get through the intake system."

The facility echoes with the sound of a bang then a crash, then a boom.

"Maybe a few important things."

"I'm sure these savvy engineers can fix it," I say.

One of the engineers slumps to the floor and starts crying.

"One moment," I say, but Klunk will not let go of my hand. I have to drag her along as I go to the director. "My profuse apologies," I say to Smith, "I think we have been more trouble than I had expected -- "

She whips around and glares at me.

"Maybe a lot mroe trouble?"

"Just take your pack of brutes and go," she says. "I have to go down with this ship but I don't expect you to."

"We have a vehicle that will take you and all your crew out of here," says Sword Lesbian. "And all the Tikolumians as well. I know it sounds crazy but we can get you out of here."

"I'm not leaving this place!" says Smith. "I am not going to see it crash to the ground. After all the work I did to fix it after my predeccessor ran it ragged trying to produce enough Spelunkium, after all the horrors this place inflicted on the planet, I'm not going to let it crash to the earth and leak toxic fluids all over the place!"

"Wait," I say, "So you're not the one who caused the war back down on Tikolum?"

"There are many reasons I despise the crew of the Space Slug," says Smith, "And today you added to them. I have no more time to explain -- "

"I have an idea," says Sword Lesbian. "But the first thing you need to do is shut this place down. I don't want exhaust fumes filling the cabin of my car."

"Excuse me?"

"And then when the power is off, we can carry the whole thing away," continues Sword Lesbian. "Trust me, it will work."

"Wait a second," says Klunk, "are you saying -- "

"Actually, hang on a sec," says Sword Lesbian. "Keep the station floating as long as you can. We need to do this whole thing gently. I'll go tell the others." She rushes to the Tikolumians and everyone gathered around the Barracuda.

"She didn't even tell us what she's trying to do," I say. "It can't be what I think it is...right?"

"The controls aren't working from here!" says one of the engineers. "We've lost power on one of the panels! We have to do this manually!"

As he says this, I notice the rumbling and vibrating beneath my feet has stopped.

"Dammit!" says Smith. "If we go in there I'm probably going to lose three of you!"

"Sounds like a real dillemma," says Klunk. "But maybe I can help fix the problem, oh my brave mining station director. You don't have to go down with the ship without fighting the whole way. What do you say?"

"Klunk," I say, "you've thrown yourself into danger to fix engines more than enough times already."

"Do you even know how this station works?" says Smith.

"I worked in something like this back when I was a wee sprat," says Klunk. "I shouldn't have too much trouble. And you know what I can do that you can't?" She lets go of my hand and shoots up to the ceiling, then back down. "No scaffolding necessary. Come on, let a stranger take a fall instead of one of the people you're more familiar with." She grabs my hand. "Alright, Robin, let's get some work done. To the main engine room!"

"Am I the captain or not?"

"Captains defer to engineers when discussing engines. Come on."

"I could very well just leave you here. I could even drag you back to the Barracuda."

"Then I shall pull myself by my own hands towards the engine. Come on, the faster we get started the faster we get done. Engineers! Do you want to help me?"

"I still want to kill you," says one of the engineers, "but I suppose I could arrange a suspicious accident while we're all in the engine room."

"Good enough!" says Klunk. "To the engine room!"

I give up my protest, and drag Klunk through the corridors, following the engineers. Smith is following behind us, having decided that if she can't stop her beloved engineers from sacrificing themselves, she won't abandon them either. We pass through wide corridors and narrow corridors, over catwalks and under pipes, until at last we reach the core.

The core of the station is a mass of pipes, metal trusswork, and balconies surrounding a wide cylinder that stands many stories tall. The cylinder is all of metal, but there is a gap on one side where rivets have been knocked out. On the Titanic, the water poured into the gap; here light pours out, and it's as much of a problem, I'm guessing, because there's a mass of broken and twisted pipes in a blast radius near the gap.

"Alright," says Klunk, "We can patch this but it's going to take some time. We might fund ourselves getting pretty close to hitting the planet's surface before we're done. I'm going to saw off the broken bits. Engineers, if you could please gather whatever replacement pipes are available? It doesn't matter if they're wide or narrow, I'll work something out."

The engineers rush off to find some pipes.

Klunk grabs a small tool off her shoulder belt. "Robin, if you can drag me over to one of the pipes here -- thank you -- and I shall begin. Stand back. This light is a doozy." She glances towards something behind me. "The rest of you," she says, "can skedaddle. You don't want to be standing in this light. I said scram!"

I turn around. All of my crew, save Ramon, are standing in the hall, plus the Tikolumians, plus the pitiful teenagers of the Reisistance. They retreat from the light and shuffle into side room off the hall. The aquamarine Gworb sticks their head out from the doorway, still hoping to watch, but hands pull them back into the room.

"You're risking a lot," says Smith. "All for a stranger?"

"For a machine!" says Klunk. "And for a valley, I suppose. Now shoo!" She fires up her tiny saws-all. I retreat with Smith to the safety of a shadowed alcove.

"So your predecessor," I say. "Was he driven by greed?"

"Desperation," says Smith. "He was directed by the Space Slug to deliver as much Spelunkium as possible, as fast as possible. That was in the opening stages of the war, before things had setled down to a stalemate and the resource requirements of the ship were high. My predecessor knew he could get more Spelunkium into the atmosphere if he could get the Tikolumians to work harder. He figured that the best way to do it was to play their factions against each other. A lightning strike in a dry forest, so to speak. He didn't expect things to go quite so badly, though. I don't think he knew that the various traders he was employing were also supplying the Tikolumians with flamethrowers. Or maybe he did. I didn't hear him all that clearly before I threw him off the station."

"Wait, do you mean threw like, dismissed him, or -- "

"Don't worry your pretty little head," says Smith.

The engineers pass us carrying long pipes.

"Alright, Robin," says Klunk, "I need you to hold these pipes in place."

I jog over to Klunk. "Right here and here," she says, pointing to a pipe opening above another one. "Just hold it in place like that -- thank you." She takes another tool off her shoulder belt, and sets to welding the pipe together.

"I'm not sure I want to be here too long," I say. "Can't you just...duct-tape these pipes together or something?" I glance at the engineers who are already duct-taping the pipes in position.

"Anathema!" says Klunk. "I have to actually weld these things. Tape is good for positioning, thank you. You may retreat."

I dash back to the safety of the shade.

"So that's why you hate the Space Slug," I say. "They were the indrect cause of the planet's greatest tragedy. But I don't understand your command structure. I thought you were under the direct command of the rebel fleet?"

"I'm under the command of the central government of the separatist alliance," says the director. "I do not report to the Space Slug. Direct command of this place was revoked from Captain Bones and I was brought aboard. I report directly to the Council."

"But the captain of the Space Slug doesn't know that. He said the reports were garbled."

"And military commanders do what, exactly, when they wish to ingore an order?"

"Fair point. But he sounded sincere."

"Anyone can sound sincere," says Smith. "Ah, but I know the man. Dear mister Bones is a competent administrator of his own vessel, but is occasionally prone to asking far more of his subordinates than they can give. It's a steady turnover of engineers on his ship. And he hardly understands politics. No wonder he was unable to advocate for using the Space Slug offensively. The Council is dominated by people whose goal is to play defense. Not that I blame them. They've got their hands full trying to keep the whole thing together. There are fringe planets close to the core that have declared independence from the alliance, and there are planets farther from the core that have seen most of the fighting. And there are dozens of splinter terrorist groups claiming to fight for freedom, or for the Cosmic Balance, or what have you. It's a damn mess."

"The six young folk in the poor uniforms sound like they're the product of that conflict."

"Wouldn't surprise me," says Smith. "I wish that this secession had never been declared outright, and that things could have continued in a de facto manner. But, some people just can't leave well enough alone, and so you have a council trying to form a new government out of a shaky alliance of planets that were more different than alike before the war. Is anyone winning? Is anyone benefitting from this? I don't know what we're actually gaining. But, maybe I don't know politics either."

"You know more than I do. I've been busy running from the Student Loan Company for ten years, so I'm out of the loop."

"You...chose to run from them? Well, you and your crew have proven yourselves bold and willing to sacrifice. You might have bit off more than you can chew, though. How in heaven's name did you evade them this long? How do I know there isn't some assassin sent to track you down right now?"

"Are they that bad?"

"You will want to stay away from populated areas," says Smith. "Then again...you will want to be finding a new hand, so you might just be heading into a city after all."

"I what?" I lift my hand to my eyes. Well. I think I'm lifting my hand. Phantom feeling, you could call it. The nerves in my brain to move the fingers are there but the hand distinctly is not. What's left is a cloud of blue electricity about the size of my missing hand.

I dash out of the alcove.

"The pipes are in place," says Klunk. "The control panels ought to be functional again. Engineers, you can go and stabilize this place. And, uh..." She glances down at the space where her left arm used to be. There's a small cloud of blue electricity there now. "As for me the first thing I want for this year's Big Bang Day is a set of decent prosthetics."

I grab Klunk by her remaining hand and drag her at full speed away from the cylinder. Stable as it may be it's not worth hanging around and seeing her head disappear or something.