#i am so rusty drawing man this summer i have GOT to get back the energy i had when i was busting out an entire comic in a day

[hannibalhadalittlelamb]

say cheese!!!

[real life version of this below the break :’]

will not be recovering from this for awhile +__+

[shintorikhazumi]

“Daydream.”

A/N: I have NOT written in a while. Or posted rather. It’s been.... a month??? I’m sorry. It’s been.. hard. I also have summer classes which are slowly choking me. Yey.

Anyway, I hope... you all enjoy? I think I’m rusty. There are a lotta plotholes and some... hhrnnghh characterization that i feel iffy about. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

Anywhooooo. Thank you to my lovely platonic crushie @tanuki-pyon hihi for allowing me to use your drawing for inspiration ;-;. Thank youuu <3 Hope you like this.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It is a bustling city, full of life and vivid color. The songs of the late afternoon played- their notes produced by that independent street musician, backed by the passing cars beneath the balcony, the rhythmic dripping of a loose faucet in the bath, and the rustle of leaves caused by a passing breeze that caresses her cheek.

 Life, color, music, and a touch.

 They all paint a particular picture- one of wine-red eyes, and a charming smile; brown locks that she had tucked behind a heated ear, adorned with exotic jewelry she had purchased for her.

 As she draws the cup away from her lips, she sighs in contentment, the distinctive taste of Boldo tea and the dimming rays of light blanketing the expanse of what she could see making her smile bittersweet.

 It's getting late.

 She knows she has to finish her packing. After all, this fleeting vacation is a dream she'd have to wake up from, come the morning rays of tomorrow. It was short-lived, but she'd like to think these few moments in the city or Buenos Aires are moments worth remembering forever.

 Even if there was a possibility that they were but a daydream.

 That she is her daydream.

 Her phone rings, and she sighs a different sigh. It's one of disappointment and reluctance as walks into the room, swiping the blinking gadget off the table. She taps the green icon, placing the device by her ear, eyes dulling as she listens to the speaker on the other end with poorly-veiled disinterest.

 ["-Are you listening?! Do you understand? The moment you step off that plane, your fiance will be there to greet you. Then he will drive you to work, and you will-"]

 Her face contorts in disgust at the statement. "He's not my fiance." She says, voice cold and adamant.

 ["Diana! How could you say that- about Andrew Hanbridge, no less! The man who has not once given up on you, unlike all the other low-life suitors out there. He's rich, intelligent, charming, and well-mannered."]

 Diana scoffs at the very first descriptor of the man she was to marry supposedly. 'Rich'. Of course he had to be.

 "Listen here, and listen well. You've been off on these silly trips, writing god knows what for well over ten years. It's time you grew up and got married, and inherited the corporation!"

 Diana grits her teeth, hands crumpling a few papers on the table. She immediately regrets that action as she realizes her manuscripts now have ugly creases in them, much like her own plans for life. Not that those were any easier to iron out.

 ["Then dinner at the Hanbridges will be at seven-thirty. Sharp. I have a dress prepared for you in your room. We will be discussing your wedding with And-"]

 And she hangs up.

 Turning her phone off, she throws it onto her mattress, the silken covers causing the device to slide right off and onto the floor with a thud.

 Diana curses as she rushes over, checking for any cracks or damage. She hasn't turned the lights on, and her open balcony does not give her much light, so she opts to run her fingers over the screen, praying she hadn't broken anything. As able as she was to afford a phone, that doesn't mean she wanted a change at any time.

 ...also, her number was saved here. Diana isn’t good enough with phones to know how to retrieve that.

 Diana sighs again. This time it is of relief. She leans back with a plop against the side of the bed, staring blankly at her wall.

 Tomorrow... she leaves.

 Tomorrow, she never sees her again.

 Tomorrow, she talks of marriage plans with two families who couldn't care less about what she actually desires in life.

 Tomorrow... she's gone. She may as well be dead if she wouldn't even be 'living' in the first place.

 Tomorrow...

 What would she be doing?

 Where would she be at?

 Would she still have the same smile on her face as she greeted the passersby who would freeze in place, stand in awe as time stilled for them as they become entranced in the magic that was her dance?

 Diana frowns.

 Would someone else fall in love with her?

 Like Diana has?

 ...Would she... fall in love with them back...?

 Diana feels a pang in her heart as she slumps to the floor, now lying against the hard wood. If she were back in the UK, she wouldn't be caught *dead* in this position. Her aunt would have her head.

 She blinks, staring at the ceiling.

 Oh? It's quite comfortable, she thinks, consciousness slipping into nothingness.

 //

 -It's a slap to her cheek that has her sitting up in haste, body moving in a trained way of self-defense as she arrests the perpetrator in a hold face-down onto the floors.

 "Diana! Diana! Fu- shit! Waitwaitwaitwait-owowowowow it huuurtsss, it hurtsssss!!!"

 And it’s a familiar voice that cuts through her panic, and makes her let go rather clumsily, resulting in more hurt for Diana’s victim.

 “Akko!” She exclaims, happiness and concern in her voice.

 “Well, you sure look happy. Are you into this sort of play?” The girl chuckles wryly, rubbing at her joints as she fixes herself into a seated position on the floor as Diana kneels in front of her, confused at the words.

 “Play?”

 “Yeah. BDSM, that kind of stuff.” 

 Diana flushes at the bold remark, floundering helplessly as her mind ceases to produce a coherent response.

 Akko watches her with open amusement, head resting against her one propped up knee. She hugs the limb, keeping her steady as she stares at Diana unabashedly.

 Diana stares back.

 “Wh-what.”

 “You’re beautiful.”

 “I-! Ah-uh, nnggh?!” Diana doesn’t know if she’s going into a seizure. Maybe she is. Maybe she should have gone to med school after all, to confirm-

 “Pff-” Akko begins giggling, then cackling, then just falling onto her back, hollering in laughter on the floor.

 “Wh-what! What… why are you laughing? I- Did i do something silly?”

 Akko wipes a tear from her eyes, laying on her stomach and propping her head up on both hands as she faces Diana. “You’re silly.” She teases, tongue poking out, eyes crinkled moons.

 Diana can’t help herself, biting onto the bait.

 It’s a deep kiss, and Diana didn’t know she knew how to do it.

 What do people call it? French kissing?

 They pull apart and Akko presses her sweaty forehead to Diana’s, chuckling breathlessly against her lips.

 “Many types of attacks today, Miss Cavendish. You are one powerful woman with a vast arsenal.” She jests, a hand reaching to cup Diana’s face and pull her back in for a chaster peck on the lips that turns into two, then three.

 “I like to have many options at my disposal.” Diana sighs into every brush of their lips, returning a few of her own, nipping at Akko’s bottom lip as she leads her into a submissive position, lying on her back with Diana hovering over her.

 “Boy, am I glad you do…” Akko whispers, eyes glued to Diana’s glistening mouth, the pair leaning closer and closer and- “OHMYGOSH-WAIT. THIS. This is not what I came here to do!” Akko yelps, pushing Diana’s face away and accidentally spraining her neck.

 Diana groans as she rubs at her nape, cursing quietly.

 “SHIT SORRY”

 Diana waves her concern away as she offers a crooked grin.

 “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, Diana. Sorry, I-”

 “Akko.” Diana giggles, carefully nearing the girl once again. She leans in slowly this time- just in case-, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How and why did you come find me?” She asks, tone joyful, yet pained. 

 “Because I know you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

 Diana hears a record scratch, and the city’s music comes to a pause. It’s deathly silent, and her breath catches in her lungs, heart painful.

 Diana’s smile falls, as she places distance between them, sitting formally in front of Akko.

 “You…”

 “You told me in your sleep…” Akko murmurs, her words playing flashbacks in Diana’s mind- memories of a night that was not supposed to exist.

 “No- I… I… Akko…”

 Voices in her head play back all her duties, her realities that tell her that the woman in front of her is not a part of them. She’s a daydream, and she’s- as all daydreams are- a fleeting one.

 Diana has to wake up tomorrow morning. She has to go back tomorrow.

 She has to be ‘the real Diana Cavendish’ again. Not because she wants to be. But because she is.

 “Diana, I need to say that-”

 “Then- then…” Diana cuts Akko off before she can deal more damage to her mental state. “Then you must know… that being here… makes it harder for me not to leave.” Diana replied with a crack in her voice. “I can’t stay, Akko. I can’t. Even if I wanted to…” She whispered, unable to project her voice.

 “Diana, that’s not what this is abou-”

 “I can’t stay here, Akko! I’m supposed to go home and get married!”

 Her eyes widen, and so do Akko’s. Diana… doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Akko. They both remain frozen in time and in place.

 “I can’t… stay here… with you…” She feels a tear slip past her cheek… then another, and another, until they dribble down her chin and onto the back of her hands that are clenched on her lap. “You’re a daydream… and… and…”

 “A reality you won’t face?” Akko asks, voice surprisingly steady and clear. “I’m not a daydream, Diana Cavendish. I’m not a figment of your imagination.” She speaks, voice bolder as she gets up and walks up to Diana, making the girl crawl backwards as she hits her back against the foot of the bed.

 Diana gasps as Akko grips her collar, pulling her closer to her. She instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting a hit- a punch, a slap, whatever it was.

 And she gasps again as the soft caress, much like the gentle winds soothe her skin and her pounding heart.

 “I’m not your summer getaway, or your escape from real life. I’m not a fairytale to lull you to bedtime that you forget once the sun rises.” Akko explains with a crooked smile, tears staining her cheeks as she buries her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Her breaths tickle Diana there, and her tears pain Diana’s heart.

Diana moves to wrap her arms around Akko, but stops midway. She… doesn’t deserve to do that.

 “...hold me…”

 But Akko deserves to be listened to. 

 And so, Diana holds her. She holds her tight, and she doesn’t let go. Not until Akko wants her to.

 “I’m not asking you to stay.” Akko murmurs against Diana’s skin as the latter runs her fingers through smooth strands of hair.

 Diana admits that hearing that statement hurts as much as it relieves her.

 Her sense of duty tells her she has to go back to her home in England and run her company, and yet her heart told her that Akko was her home, and that not staying would mean losing something that she might never be able to earn back again.

 As much as it pained her to know more, she needs to. For both their sakes. “Then what must I do? What can I- we… what do you want me to do? What do you want us to do?”

 Akko pulls back slightly, grinning sheepishly as she presses her feelings into a kiss against Diana’s lips, before pulling her up with her to head towards the door.

 Upon opening it, Diana sees a few bags lined up against the wall, ready for a trip to god-knows-where.

Her mind wasn’t registering this at all-

“Bloody fuck.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?” Akko laughs, bringing their joined hands to her lips, and kissing Diana’s palm. “Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

 “Well… I… holy shit…”

 “I had no idea you could curse like that.”

 “Mother of… my… arse…”

 “Mother of your arse? Really?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes, Diana.” Akko rolls her eyes, as she pats Diana’s cheek with her free hand. “You’re supposed to take me with you.”

 “Bloody hell…” Diana murmurs. “Just marry me.” 

 “...”

 “...”

 “EH?! Really?!”

 //

 Bonus :>

 “So why were you in my room that night in the first place?” Diana laughs, running her fingers along Akko’s cool arm, holding her close as they snuggled together in a hammock, reminiscing a daydream so long ago.

 “Ehh... are you really asking me this right now? Diana, it’s been years since that happened.”

“And yet, I know you remember it as well as I do.” Diana laughs, knowing that Akko was rolling her eyes as she scoffs against her neck. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Cheeky.” Diana chuckles as Akko pokes her cheek in annoyance, but explains anyway. “I was knocking on the door, but you weren’t answering. I rang, and spoke through the intercom too. Then room service came by and I said I just forgot my key and they let me in.”

Diana feels slightly concerned about the security of that hotel. But wait, there are better questions that need answering.

 “... then why did you slap me?”

“...”

“Akko?”

 “Because you were asleep.”

Diana guffaws, disbelieving. There was no way she was that hard to awaken. She pulls back slightly, looking Akko in the eyes.

 “You couldn’t have woken me up other ways?”

 Akko looks away momentarily, feet already swung off to the side, as if she is about to step out. Which she did. 

“...no?”

Diana watches her skeptically, now also sitting up.

“Akko?”

“Well, you know. It was nice chatting and all, but maybe I should get back to my practice for my road show and...”

 “Akko? Akko… Akko why are you walking away? Akko- hey! Come back here- AKKO!-”

And she was gone, bolting like the wind, leaving Diana stunned and comically livid.

 “ATSUKO KAGARI-CAVENDISH, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT!”

[love-and-monsters]

Estran the Demigod

Meet the demigod Estran, servant to the god of death. You and him have a mysterious cure to search out, which will hopefully save the suffering countryside. 

Male Demigod X Gender Neutral Reader, 6043 words.

The Temple of Mortebal was made of heavy, gray stone that lent a permanent chill to the place. Even the warm summer air seemed to drop a few degrees once you entered the sloping entrance.

Only a precious few sections of the temple were aboveground, namely the library and viewing chambers. Between them in the hall stood an enormous stone statue of Mortebal himself.

The god of lost things stood tall and imposing on his pedestal. Twin horns curled back from his temples and a long tail, tipped with a stinger like a scorpion’s, curled around his legs. His legs were digitigrade and so thin they were nearly skeletal. His expression was inscrutable, looking stern, but not angry or unfriendly. You stared up at the statue for a moment before turning to the right and making your way into the library.

If you had been interested in general records, your time would have been better spent at Koranda’s temple, goddess of knowledge. But Mortebal was the god of loss, and that sphere included those lost to death. Which meant that their library contained every obituary and record of death ever written.

Because of that, it wasn’t the typical library with shelves and shelves of books, but walls and walls of drawers. A map was set up toward the front the room, displaying the organizational system of the caverns.

They were organized by date of death, and alphabetically by name under that. Unfortunately, you didn’t know the name of your target, nor anything more specific than the way he died, how old he had been, and the year he had died in.

There had been a plague the year he had died. There were more shelves for the year of 1256 than there were for the next three years combined.

This was going to take a long time.

You started with the first few months, carefully examining each drawer before placing them back. The plague victims made up a vast majority of the deaths. You glanced over their records with a little interest, but after a bit, it all started to sound the same.

The sound of footsteps made you look up. A young man had entered the room, slipping between the shelves with a practiced ease.

You glanced at the copious amounts of papers in front of you, then back up at him. If he worked regularly in the library, he might have more information than you did.

“Excuse me!” you called out to him as he passed by. The high, stone ceiling caught your voice and sent it echoing much louder than you’d intended it to be. You flinched. The man didn’t even pause. He vanished around a corner.

Uh. Weird. Maybe he hadn’t realized you were talking to him? You got up and followed him down the winding rows of shelves until he paused at one and started filing papers away into drawers.

You approached him. “Hello?” He didn’t move. “Hey! What are you-”

You’d gotten close enough to be visible in his peripheral vision, and as soon as you were, he whirled around, eyes wide. He was very obviously a servant of Mortebal- his skin was gray and he had large horns emerging from his temples. A long, stinger-tipped tail twitched and weaved around his legs. His eyes glittered, golden and slit-pupiled. His robes were the standard pale wine color, and his hair was long and loose, dangling in dark curtains around his face.

“My apologies,” he said. His voice had a strange affect. It was flat and the words sounded odd, like he had difficulty making the sounds correctly. “Do you need assistance?”

“I was calling you,” you said. “Didn’t you hear me?”

He gave a rueful smile and shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t hear very well,” he said, gesturing to his pointed ears. “Unless you were to yell into my left ear, I couldn’t understand a word you’re saying. I can read lips, though, so I can still assist you with whatever you need, provided you make sure I’m looking at you first.”

You hesitated, then lifted your hands. “You know the signing language?” you signed.

His eyebrows went up. “You know it?” he signed back. “I’m afraid my signing’s rusty- not many around here know it. But it’s a little easier for me to understand than lips.”

“I’m training to be a doctor. I thought it would be good to know.”

“A doctor?” He looked you over. “But you’re not-”

“Not a servant of Elra, no.” With their multiple arms and faintly glowing skin, servants of Elra were quite distinctive. “I’m more of an independent doctor.”

He nodded. “I see. And what is a doctor doing in the house of Mortebal?”

“It’s not my practice that brings me here. It’s a personal visit.” He tilted his head curiously. “I am looking for information about someone who died in the plague nineteen years ago.”

A tense expression crossed the man’s face, though it was gone in a moment. “We have extensive records from that time. What are you looking for?”

“Someone who died in the time of the plague. Supposedly someone who died from the plague, but I want a second look at their death results.”

“For what reason?”

You hesitated. “The way they died… I believe there might be a reason for it other than the plague.”

“Someone may have killed them?” he questioned. “If he died in the time of the plague, we may not have anything terribly useful. We weren’t exactly doing autopsies back then.”

You sighed. “Still. I’d like to get a look at his records. Maybe I’ll see something that someone else missed. I just need to find him first.”

“I’m afraid that your specifications don’t narrow it down much. A lot of people died that year and most of them did die from the plague.  Do you have anything that might narrow it down more than that?”

“He would have been forty-seven when he died?” you offered. The man smiled.

“That does narrow it down a little bit. Come with me.”

You followed him through the shelves to another row of filing cabinets. He counted a few out, then ducked and pulled the drawer out from one of the bottom shelves.

“Part of the filing system lists how old people were when they died,” he said. “People keep trying to put it back in alphabetical order, but Clairmont keeps insisting it’s useful. I suppose, in this case, it is. Forty-seven, you said?”

You nodded and he shifted through the little cards before removing several and holding them out. “These are the ones that were the correct age at the correct time.”

You looked at each one in turn. Forty of them were women, which took them out of the running immediately. The other forty-one were men and you were able to rule a few out because you had already looked at their files and cleared them. “It’s a start,” you said, then realized you hadn’t been looking at him. “Thank you,” you signed. “This helps.”

“If you’d like, I could stay and help you look,” he offered. “I’ve become quite handy with these files.”

You looked at him hesitantly. “I suppose. Just keep an eye out for someone whose obituary mentions them being a doctor, all right?”

He nodded. You returned to your table and pulled the thirty-seven remaining files off the shelves. Together, you began to sort through the files.

Thirty minutes later, he tapped you on the shoulder. “I found something mentioning a doctor.”

You leaned over and he pushed the file toward you. Your shoulders pressed together as you read it. “I fail to see anything unusual about it,” he said. “I looked it over. He died from the plague. High fever, followed by vomiting and dehydration.”

“There is something unusual about it,” you said. “Look, here. It says in his obituary that he fought the plague for three weeks before he died. Most people barely last a fortnight. Something’s-” You caught sight of his blank expression and realized you’d neither been signing, nor facing him. “Oh, sorry.” You quickly signed out your thoughts. “The plague killed people after two weeks, max. And that was with medical intervention. This says he lived for three weeks after he started showing symptoms.”

“He was a doctor. Couldn’t he have treated himself?”

“Yeah. He did. That’s why he lived for the extra week. But it would have been experimental. And I’m guessing that’s what killed him.”

“Is that important?” he asked. “The plague is gone.”

You hesitated, drawing your fingers along the paper. “The plague isn’t here, but it never really went away. It just faded. Became less common. It’s still out there, in the farmlands. And it’s getting worse.”

There was a distinct scrunching noise. You looked down to see the obituary slowly being crushed under his fist. “It’s back?”

“Like I said, it never really left. It just died down.” You looked at his stricken face. “Are you okay?”

He pushed the paper away and turned toward you fully to sign. “I had the plague when it came the first time. It’s how I lost my hearing- the high fever damaged them.” His hands shook enough that he had to stop signing and continue verbally. “My parents thought it was a sign from Mortebar. They left me here. I don’t know what happened to them after that. Maybe the plague killed them. Maybe they just decided not to come back.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say to that. Emotional situations weren’t your forte. “I’m sorry,” was what you finally decided on. He didn’t respond, and you realized that his eyes were so misty with tears that he couldn’t see your mouth. Tentatively, you reached out and patted his back.

“Sorry,” he signed. He made an attempt to smooth out the paper he’d ruined. “How long?”

“Until the plague returns?” you asked, returning to signing. He wiped his eyes off so he could see. “At its current rate of travel, we have about a month before it makes it here. It’s traveling from the countryside in, but if I were looking to run from it, then I wouldn’t go to the cities. When the plague hits there, it’s going to hit really bad. Your best chance of escaping is going to somewhere secluded, away from other people.”

“But you think there might be a cure?” he continued hurriedly.

“Maybe. An experimental one. Unrefined. The guy here might have had one. I imagine that the dosage was off. It killed off the disease, but damaged him enough that he didn’t live through it. But I figure if I figure out what plant it was and get it to servants of Elra and Koranda, maybe they can refine it enough to get a proper cure.” You frowned at the obituary. “There aren’t any other records of his death? Like what caused it?”

“If it was during the plague and he had the lesions, he would have been counted as a plague victim. No need to look further into it.”

“Damn. That might have given a clue to what he used to cure it.” You stood up. “I have to go to his house.”

“How do you know where he lives?”

“It mentions in the obituary that he lived in the northern branch of the woods, probably because a lot of herbs grow there. It shouldn’t take too long to search it. His place should be pretty undisturbed. No one ever liked those woods and we’re not exactly filled to the brim around here.” You picked up the obituary. “Can I keep this? It’s got some photos I want to reference.”

He nodded, standing. “Could I come with you?”

You paused, looking at him in surprise. “Why do you want to come?”

“I could be useful,” he said. “I have a decent knowledge of herbs with deadly effects, so I might be able to identify some of them. And I know lethal doses. Plus, I can see in the dark.” He hesitated. “And if the plague is coming back, then I don’t want to sit here and do nothing.”

You hesitated. “Your bosses here are going to be okay with you skipping out for a few days?”

“I’m certain that going on a charity mission would be approved,” he said.

“Two heads are better than one,” you mused. “All right. We’ll leave tomorrow. Pack some supplies. We might need to camp. Meet me at the Hevershas temple.”

He grabbed your shoulder as you turned to leave. “Wait,” he signed as you turned back to him. “I don’t know your name.”

“Oh.” You told him your name. “And yours?”

“Estran,” he said.

“Great. I’ll meet you at nine tomorrow morning.” You turned and hurried out of the temple.

The Hevershas temple belonged to the god of travelers and journeys, which meant it wasn’t difficult to collect supplies for the journey ahead. The temple was well-stocked with trail rations and camping supplies. You figured that a bedroll and tent cover would be useful, since you weren’t sure how long you were going to be out there. Hopefully the man’s house wouldn’t be too hard to find, but you couldn’t be sure.

Estran met you outside at exactly nine. You were bent in front of the statue of Hevershas, quietly murmuring the traditional prayer of guidance. Estran was wearing traveling robes in shades of dull brown. His hair was tied up and he was carrying a heavy-looking bag over one shoulder.

He dipped his head respectfully to the statue of Hevershas before turning his attention to you. “Are we leaving now?”

You nodded, clambering to your feet. “Come on. Let’s not waste any time.”

The edge of the forest wasn’t terribly far from the temple. Once you reached the edge, you pulled out the map you’d obtained. “It’s probably further back in the woods. I’m assuming it’s a little ways beyond this creek, so we’ll head back toward it and use it as a marker to track our process.” Estran nodded attentively. “All right. Let’s get going.”

There was no trail in the woods, which meant marching over thick outgrowths of plants. Estran ended up holding onto your shoulder to stay with you as you kicked aside creeping vines and dead branches.

Talking was sort of difficult while you were making your way through the forest. You had to watch where you were going, and considering that Estran needed to look at people to understand them, that made signing hard. But there wasn’t much else that you could do, so eventually, you started asking questions.

“What’s it like, working at the temple?” you asked. You had to be careful to hold your hands out so he could see them, since he was trailing slightly behind you.

“It’s fine, I suppose. I don’t know much different. I can’t remember anything before the temple, to be honest. My job is mostly to organize the obituaries and death records and to help set up funerals. I considered training for the autopsies, but, um…”

“You’re squeamish?” you guessed with a wry grin.

“I suppose you’re not, as a doctor. But…” He paused. “They handed me a liver and I almost threw up.”

You were very glad he couldn’t hear, because it made it more likely he didn’t notice your snorting laughter. “Livers are kind of gross. But other than that, you like being at the temple?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I never had much of a choice about it. I was given to the temple as a very young child, raised by the acolytes. It’s been pleasant, but it was never my choice to serve Mortebar.”

“Sorry,” you said, unsure of what else was appropriate to say.

“It’s all right. There’s nothing I can do about it now.” He stretched his gray fingers out in front of him. “I can hardly serve anyone else now.”

“Who do you think you would serve if you had the choice?”

“I don’t know if I’d serve in the temple,” he said. “Maybe I’d favor Elra? I wouldn’t want to serve her, though. I don’t know if I want four arms. The tail was traumatic enough, thank you very much.”

You glanced back at him, focusing on the tail that was swinging in the foliage. “The tail… hurt?”

“Oh yes,” he said, completely matter-of-fact. “It’s growing an entirely new appendage. All that bone and nerves… yes, it hurts. The horns aren’t fun either, but once the tip comes out, it all sort of goes numb. The tail is about five days of just waiting for the pain to stop. And then it’s a lot of learning how to deal with it.” He flexed his tail. “You can tell someone whose just gained their tail because it drags on the ground and they don’t move it much.”

“Hm.” You eyed his tail again, then started forward through the foliage again.

The deeper you got into the woods, the thicker the foliage got. Your tight traveling clothes were fine, but Estran’s long, tailing robe kept getting caught on the thorns and his tail wasn’t faring much better. Every few minutes, he would let out another yelp or stumble awkwardly. “Dear gods,” you mumbled as he got snagged in a thorn bush again. You stopped and marched back over to him, tugging his robe free.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” you asked when you’d managed to free him.

Watching someone with gray skin blush was interesting. He didn’t turn pink, but instead a sort of dusty, desaturated red color. “That’s… we’re not supposed to…” His hands flurried through a series of motions before stilling again. The dusty red was spreading up his ears and down his neck. “It’s considered bad form to remove our robes in front of those who don’t serve Mortebar.”

“Cool. I don’t care and no one else is here. You’re slowing us down with the robe.” The red didn’t seem to be dissipating. “It’s not as if you’re getting nude in front of me. You have your underrobes.”

“All right,” he said. “Fine.” He tugged the robe gently from his shoulders and folded it in his arms. Underneath it, he was wearing a simple shirt and pants. It wasn’t exactly immodest, but he seemed thoroughly unable to look at you. Whatever. If he didn’t want you to look at him, you wouldn’t.

That generally stopped you from talking to each other as you trekked through the woods. Every now and then, he would grab onto the back of your shirt, using you as an anchor so he could keep moving.

You came across the creek and stopped. “Left or right?” you asked Estran.

He peered at the map. “The path to the right is longer. There might be a better chance to find something along it.”

You folded the map and slid it back into your bag. “You don’t need a break?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be all right for a little longer.” He didn’t even seem to be breathing particularly hard, so you started walking again.

Keeping close to the creek made the walking both a little easier and a little more difficult. There was less leaf litter and fewer plants growing along the edge of the creek, but the ground was also mucky and you found yourself struggling to stomp through it.

You stayed along the creek for a while, keeping an eye out for any signs of a house. It was likely close to the creek, since it would have been off the grid and the man would have needed a close-by source of water. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of it.

“I haven’t seen anything,” you said. “You?”

“No.” He sagged back against a tree.

“Well, we’re running out of creek.” The water had slowed to something more like a trickle. “We might want to start heading back the other way.”

Estran let out a sigh. “All right. Just give me a minute.” He bent over, breathing heavily.

You paced around, waiting for him to catch his breath.

There was a heavy crunching, snapping noise, like something large moving through the undergrowth. You froze. “Did you hear that?” you whispered.

There was no response. Fuck, right, he couldn’t hear you or whatever was heading toward you. You scrambled back to Estran, grabbing his arm. He started in surprise. “What is it?”

“We should go,” you signed hurriedly. “Now-”

You’d barely finished signing the word before the thing that was making the noise emerged. An enormous cougar-bear emerged from the bushes.

Ice filled your chest. With enormous teeth, crushing jaws, and huge, curled claws, cougar-bears were dangerous at the best of times. And this one was oddly thin in a way that suggested extreme hunger. They preferred larger herbivores, but a hungry one wouldn’t pass up humans.

You dragged Estran behind you and braced yourself in front of him. The cougar-bear turned its head toward you, golden eyes glittering. Its lips pulled back just enough to show yellowed fangs that were a solid inch and a half long.

Estran clung to your shoulder, ducking like he was trying to fully conceal himself behind you. “What do we do?” he whispered.

He couldn’t read your lips from behind you and you couldn’t sign for him if he couldn’t see your hands. Instead, you shoved your shoulders against him, hoping he would get the hint to run.

He did not. Instead, he clung harder to your shoulder. You steadied yourself. If the thing charged, you’d only have one shot to get him out of the way. Gingerly, you pried his fingers loose. The cougar-bear eyed you warily, but you could see its hunger. It was going to attack. It was just a matter of when.

The cougar-bear made a cautious feinted strike and you took the opportunity to shove Estran bodily away from you. He stumbled back, eyes wide. You took a second to sign, “Run!” at him before turning back to the snarling cougar-bear.

“No!” The cougar-bear lunged, jaws snapping. You braced yourself, though you knew it was useless. It was much heavier than you.

And then Estran dove past you, knocking you awkwardly to one side. He cast out his robe like a matador and managed to catch the cougar-bear’s mouth. With a quick motion of his wrists, he tangled the fabric in the beast’s jaws, forcing its mouth shut. And then, lightning fast, his tail whipped forward and the stinging end pierced the cougar-bear’s shoulder.

Again and again, his tail whipped, stinging again and again. The cougar-bear howled in pain and rage and finally managed to wrench the robe from Estran’s hands. He didn’t hesitate. He seized your shirt, yanked you off the ground and bolted.

It took you a moment to catch up with him, but as soon as you got your legs underneath you, you were running too. In a haze of adrenaline, Estran and you charged through the undergrowth, stumbling over the uneven ground.

As the adrenaline faded, you started flagging. Marathon running had never been your strong suit and there was something wrong with your ankle. You hadn’t noticed it in the excitement, but now stepping on your left foot sent a shock of pain through you.

With a wheeze, you sank to the ground. Estran stopped next to you. “Are you all right?”

“Something wrong with my ankle,” you signed to him. “Think it’s twisted.”

“We should stop,” he said. “Take a rest for a while. It’s already late afternoon.”

He was right, and you had made decent progress. Blind running had taken you nearly back to the place where you’d first encountered the creek. “That thing won’t come after us again?”

“It shouldn’t. I stung it a fair few times.” He smiled weakly. “It shouldn’t have killed it, but my venom will probably paralyze it for a bit.”

“Right.” Servants of Mortebar were venomous. Good to know. “Then we can probably set up camp here for the night.” You heaved yourself to your feet.

Estran looked worried. “Should you be walking around with your leg like that?”

“Do you know how to set up the cover?” you asked. Estran shook his head. “Then I don’t have a choice.”

He winced as you stood up, dragging your ankle awkwardly behind you. It was a struggle to not put weight on it, but every time you forgot, the shooting pain was a good deterrent. Estran helped as best he could, but he was inexperienced and some of his clumsy movements made more work for you.

Eventually, you managed to get the cover set up. You offered some of your trail rations to Estran, who took them gladly. They were designed more for durability and balanced nutrition than any sort of tastiness, but Estran didn’t complain.

You examined your ankle once you finished eating, when the worst of the pain had died away. It throbbed dully. Walking on it had only aggravated the wound. It was a struggle to get your boot off. Your ankle had swollen, pressing against the confines and it almost felt like you were yanking the bone when you managed to tug the leather off. The sock was stretchy and easier to remove. Underneath it, the flesh was purpled with bruises.

Estran approached almost silently, crouching next to you. “That looks bad,” he signed.

“I know,” you returned. “I should probably splint it.”

“Could I help?” Estran asked.

You looked at him cautiously. “You know how to set an ankle?”

“I haven’t done it before, but I know in theory. I assisted with some of the preparations of dead bodies for funerals in the temple. Sometimes we had to reset bones. I’ve studied skeletal structures.”

At the very least, his hands wouldn’t be shaking as much as yours when he set it. You nodded. “Fine. Go get my bag and bring it over here.” He did so. “In the front pocket, there’s a first-aid kit. Take out the bandages.” Estran pulled out the white roll of bandages. “Now you need something to brace it against. Get a sturdy stick or something.”

He glanced at your bag. “From where?”

“Pick it off the ground or something. Just make sure it’s sturdy and don’t go too far away.”

Estran looked around the forest for a few moments before selecting an appropriately-sized stick and returning to you. His fingers were light as they probed your ankle, but it was painful nontheless. “You know how to set it?” you asked.

He nodded, taking his hand away. “I know. It’s going to hurt, though.”

“I’m aware. Just set it.” You leaned back, bracing yourself.

His hands were light, barely brushing your skin as he set everything into place. With all his attention focused on your ankle, it was hard to speak to him. You closed your eyes and braced yourself.

He shifted your ankle into place, lining the bones up. The stick pressed against your skin as he gathered the bandages.

And then he pulled, hard. Your ankle snapped into place with a screaming pain. You didn’t quite scream, but you made a strangled noise in your throat. Estran tightened the bandages and carefully tied them off.

Once he was no longer holding the bandages, the pain eased somewhat, but it was still bad enough to make your eyes water and your head spin. You groaned low in your throat. “Is it all right?” Estran asked.

“Think so,” you said. You moved to your feet. Putting weight on your ankle still hurt, but it wasn’t much worse than the ambient agony. “I think I’m done for today. I’m going to turn in. Might help to get an early start tomorrow anyway.”

You moved to the covered area and pulled your bedroll out. As you started to spread it out, you noticed Estran spreading out a thin blanket for himself.

“You don’t have a bedroll?” you asked.

“Never needed one,” he said. “Servants of Mortebar rarely travel.”

It would probably be cold overnight. You looked down at your own bedroll. It was a little large for you. Certainly, it could fit two people. And that blanket looked thin and uncomfortable.

“Share my bedroll,” you said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”

He blinked, surprise crossing his face. “Are you sure? Your ankle-”

“Is fine. And it’ll be cold tonight and you won’t be in much shape for traveling if you don’t sleep. And you’re our best defense against any animals at this point, so it’s better if you’re well-rested.”

Estran crept over to you. Looking extremely awkward, he slid into the bedroll next to you. He was a little cooler to the touch than you’d realized. Up close, you could see how silky his hair was and how bright and golden his eyes were. His horns were beautiful, smooth and bone-white, with little black markings running along them. The tips of them had little holes, like they’d been pierced.

He settled onto his stomach, which was the only position he could sleep in without his horns getting in the way. “Good night,” he signed, then he rested his hands under his head and closed his eyes.

There were still a few vestiges of sunlight trailing through the trees. His long lashes cast shadows over his face and his cheekbones were emphasized by the low light.

It took you a few minutes to realize that you were staring. Your face warmed and you rolled so you were facing away from him.

You woke several times throughout the night, which wasn’t uncommon when you were sleeping outside. The third time you woke up, you realized that there was someone holding you.

Craning your head, you realized that Estran was clinging to you. He’d snuggled up next to you in his sleep and his face was pressed against your shoulder. You could feel his tail draped loosely over your legs. One of his arms was resting on your side.

This was not going to be mentioned again, you decided. You weren’t going to push him off, because it might wake him up, but you were never going to tell him he did this.

The hand at your waist shifted slightly and he curled closer to you. Your face started to warm again. It was… oddly cute. When was the last time you’d actually had contact with another person just casually? It had been a long time, hadn’t it?

Okay, fine. This was nice. But you weren’t going to get used to it.

You dozed off again and, when you woke up, Estran was no longer hugging you. The sky was beginning to lighten, so you crawled out of the bedroll and made up a small breakfast out of your rations. Estran woke when the smell started drifting across the campsite. He seemed to have no idea that he’d spent most of the night cuddling you.

“Is your ankle feeling better?” he asked.

“Fine,” you signed. “I can walk.”

Breakfast was a quick affair and you took down the cover while Estran was eating. By the time the sun was peeking over the horizon, you were ready to leave camp again.

Your pace was slowed by your ankle, but Estran seemed to have no problem walking next to you. You scanned the forest as you walked, trying to see if there was any sign of a home.

Something caught your ankle and you stumbled. Estran seized your shoulder, holding you up. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” you signed back. “Just got caught in some vines.” You looked down to unwind it, then paused. It was dotted in little white flowers and gave off a stunningly sweet smell. “This is mallow weed,” you signed. “It’s a medical plant, good for fevers.”

“Do you want to collect it?” Estran asked, sounding a little bit confused.

“No. Mallow weed doesn’t grow around here. Or, at least, it shouldn’t. It needs to be transplanted from the wild lands.” You stood up. “Which means…” You followed the trail of plants through the woods until you came across a cabin.

If you hadn’t noticed the mallow weed, you probably wouldn’t have seen the cabin. It had been swallowed by moss and ivy, vanishing into a sea of green. You ran your hands along the wall until you found a door, then you cleared it and pulled it open.

The inside of the cabin was dim and dusty, with books and dried plants scattered everywhere. Estran had a mild coughing fit and stumbled back outside. You stayed in the cabin, rustling through the notes.

There was little in the way of organization. Notes were scattered everywhere, pinned to the walls, and little vials and bits of plant were lying on odd places. In a stroke of good fortune, though, his notes were dated. You rummaged through them, trying to find ones dated around the time he’d died.

Estran returned to the cabin and started sorting through the notes with you. “This one’s dated close to when he died,” he said, passing the notes to you. “About two weeks off?”

You glanced over the notes he’d given you. “He got sick… and he used a combination of warbler weed and ansom to fight it off.” You sorted out a few more pages. “It looks like he managed to cure it, too. He says the fever broke and the markings faded.”

“Then why did he die?” Estran asked.

“It’s the ansom. The roots have a higher concentration of toxins than the leaves. If he boiled the whole plant, it would have damaged his liver and kidneys. His liver must have started failing, but only after he managed to fight off the disease.”

“What good is a cure that kills you anyway?” Estran asked.

“Your liver and kidneys can process small amounts of toxins safely. It’s all about isolating the compounds that kill the disease without harming anyone. And I’m sure the people at Korandra and Elra’s temples will be more than happy to work out the correct dosage.” You stuffed the notes and some samples of ansom and warbler weed into your bag. “Let’s go back.”

You made it back to the town by nightfall. Estran returned to his temple and you were pressed into staying at the healer’s temple so they could heal your ankle.

You hadn’t really been expecting to meet him again, but on the day you were set to leave, he came bursting into your room.

“You’re leaving!” He was wearing traveling robes again and panting slightly from his run.

“How did you hear that?” you asked, sliding the last of your supplies into your bag.

“I came by to see how you were, but they said you were leaving,” he replied, signing frantically. “It’s true?”

“Yeah. They’ve devised a cure, so I’m going to head back out toward the farmland. Give it to the people who are still suffering.”

“Take me with you,” Estran said. You stared at him. “Please?”

“You have your work at the temple. Do you really want to leave that behind?”

“I never chose to be part of the temple. I did it because my parents left me there. And then I didn’t know what else to do. Especially not looking like this.” His tail twitched in explanation. “But I liked traveling with you. I liked having a mission. I enjoyed being able to help people. So, I’d like to come with you, at least for a little while.”

You glanced at him. Your first instinct was to refuse. But traveling with him had been nice. And he had been a good defense against wild animals.

“Fine. You can come.” He pulled you into an enormous hug, then realized what he was doing and released you again.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you signed back. “I don’t mind hugs.” It had been the first one you’d received in a long time and it made your heart dance in your chest. Having him as a traveling companion would definitely be a good thing, you decided.

“Come on.” You slung your bag over your shoulder. “Let’s get going. We have a lot of distance to cover.”

[nauseateddrive]

4 POEMS by Jake Sheff

Elegy for Dog I: A Failed Acrostic

January was tired when it became king. Apples here love being red in the spring, Casting shadows against the stone architraves our Kapellmeister will never live down. You Stole Apollo’s cows, and let them graze to show me Heaven’s template. Where do failed heroes go? Eucalyptus cupolas and polar icecaps Frame the downtrodden gods. But you weren’t Freakishly wrong, as I so often am, on your

Joyride through nearly twice eight years, Á la someone far from beauty’s stepmom. Copper coin or grimacing sun? I’ve got 20,000 Kor of crushed grief on this threshing floor. Shark-sparks of sadness flood the impetiginous air… How, and why, do clouds cobblestone Entire days, and lakes, when you’re not here? Fixing every broken thing, poets go where Ferns and geraniums baptize the morning.

“Jur-any-oms,” is how you’d spell it; After all, a dog’s a dog, and wisdom knows futility. Cassations make a rusty brew, to drink the truth of truths, and Kill whatever ceases wanting to be new. Stewardship, the color of gravity’s silence, naturally Houses every “glur” (a glittery blur); go chase what plays Eternal games. I hear the swans by Rooster Rock. Your handsome Face, its happy handsomeness, in memory’s eye, goes in and out of Focus; in love’s better eye: your goodness neath its everblooming ficus.

Gravity and Grace on SW Murray Scholls Drive

“Impatience has ruined many excellent men who, rejecting the slow, sure way, court destruction by rising too quickly.” Tacitus, The Annals of Imperial Rome

The traffic lights control the people’s actions, but Not their feelings, as the limits of philosophy Collide head on with the nose of a Dalmatian.

I tell you, the day is stress-testing itself, and these Sidewalks wish that it’d just gone straight. Geese Take this sky-hairing wind for granted, as they

Land on the lake like memorable speech on The sensitive soul. Time is never sharp, but it’s Cutting something in the credit union. Maybe

It’s dancing a back Corte for the woman in line Thinking about the taste of limes from Temecula As she waits for the teller. Air Alaska and that

Haunted pie in the sky are not the only reasons For all the volatility in the air today. Rushing And perfectionism both produce a loss; behind

The Safeway Pharmacy, you’ll see the small Smells of both, sloshing around to the ticking- Sound of the ocean’s tides. I must admit, I am

Frozen in place by the sight of steam from Joe’s Burgers; it is poetry’s pale tongue, rising in And arousing the air. This neighborhood’s street-

Lights are more serious than kokeshi dolls. Lights From its windows outshine poison dart frogs. Maybe to forget about life for awhile, the lamps

Are focused on The Population Bomb? ‘Easy Tiger,’ all these incidents whisper. Each day’s A sign twirler’s dais; each corner a promise

Of something more in a different direction: it isn’t A marriageable daughter or impoverishment, But inguinal ingenuity plays a part, and that isn’t

Bad at all. What oaths and paths went here Before Walmart? What voices were voided by The liquor store? What are vague’s values

When the library shares a parking lot with a 24- Hour gym and a cargo cult? Gas stations satirize                                                                           The Queen of Hearts; I tell you, it makes every

Question seem incidental. Treaty-breakers in Pajamas swing on the swing sets. Was August That full of angst? It feels like autumn went too

Far on accident. Desertification, in a sugar tong Splint, takes a shot of ouzo and talks shit About the death of Brutus, but my Bible-thumping

Memory – on a ski hill in Duluth – is also too busy Watching some ducks on the lake to notice; and Desertification makes a face at me like a Swedish

Film. Poets make for poorly picked men to Familiarity’s paymaster-general. The Calvinistic Rain is an ill-starred attempt to make mayonnaise-

Fries just for me, but I must admit, it all seems – You know – cybernetic. And step-motherly as all Get out, if you ask the trees. They prefer “You

Can’t Hurry Love,” by The Supremes, to any Changes that take effect in one to two pay periods. Pretext ricochets; a perfect reverse promenade.

At Summer Lake, When the Vegetables are Sleeping

Cruelty drinks all the wine, and never gets drunk On these shores. When Summer Lake speaks, In every word, an introduction to the world. I am

Easily duped. The greatest duper duplicates my pride, Which always lingers, in the hallways of my heart And beneath the surface of Summer Lake. The sky is

Supplicating, it’s literally shaking. An hour passes Faster here, the hour always held too dearly dear In paranoid and ivied walls. The ducks can do

An unwise thing correctly, and it sounds more like Dusty than Buffalo Springfield to the enokitake Sold in Springfield, Illinois, which is the opposite

Effect it has on the wild mushrooms on these shores. On cables capable of love, the geese convince The weather to taste like kvass today. Basically,

Another Cuban Missile Crisis drowned itself just Now. The clouds might ask themselves, ‘Is lowliness Allowed here?’ To which the crows might ask,

‘Does omertà sound like lightning?’ The answer’s Oubliette is ten times worse than impotence. Summer Lake isn’t smart, but it stays quiet, like

Someone too smart to say all they know. ‘Whoa, Sweet potato,’ the capital gains tax mutters To itself, knowing that what matters doesn’t mean

A thing. Some say the lake bottom’s sands receive Commands from Hearst Castle, others say Its hands are King City’s hands, and still others

Maintain more sins have been than grains of sand Times secondary gains, and that explains The beauty and industry that none can see but

All can feel on these shores. (Some possibilities Play possum, or get opsonized by hate; this one snores Like Rip Van Winkle.) This orb-weaver spider is

The Milton Friedman of Summer Lake, the wind On her web is Grenache from The Rocks District Of Milton-Freewater AVA for the eyes. The day is

Stereotypical, although it feels like three days In one…But for the lake’s good counterfactual Questions, I would forget that some die young,

But most die wrong. I’ve tried to pick up Summer Lake’s reflections in three lines or less, but The hardest truth is your own impotence. Oh,

It’s hard to hand your power over to a thing No one can see. Hopped up on distinctions – not The obvious distinctions – Summer Lake is pretty;

Cold, but pretty! In the distance, with so many Intercessory prayers, hot air balloons are rising; Shaped like teardrops, upside down and rising.

This lake re-something-or-anothered me. Are first Impressions wrong sometimes? I am a season’s Golden calf, according to the sunlight, doing

A prospector’s jig on the surface of Summer Lake. If not for the Weimar Republic’s wooden- Headedness, I’d set down my heart-song and

Listen to reason on these shores. I never trust An activist guitar, if the weather is socially clumsy. The future is reflected on the lake: it always

Laughs at us – between its math and gratitude Lessons – and never thinks of (or gives thanks to) Us enough. The presence in the lake juniors

My ears. The day is not too baffling, nor is it Jane Eyre. Space-themed and spiritual, some autumn Leaves are swimming in the rain. The ducks arrest

My attention in the mardy weather, even though they Must know my attention is dying. The barbed wire Around my stated goal is an outcome out of

Their control. Picnickers picnic with acorns and apricots, On blankets covering Holy Schnikey’s death mask. My unsandaled thoughts thrive and increase on these,

And no other shores. They are pets for the days less Important than love, when Summer Lake says it’s Humble, because it knows the right thing to say.

Summer Lake gives the comfort of commonly held And seriously absurd beliefs to the blue heron. Nothing is wrong with this lake or anything in it,

Not even the ghost of Amerigo Vespucci. It’s all so Simple to the stiff-necked molecules of water, made out Of frogs and snails and puppy-dog’s tails. These thoughts

Are fine manna in a fine ditch. Post-structuralist squirrels Can tell my heart’s in Italy, and I’m in the intellectual Laity. Chivalry’s technician sees my shovel, and they say,

‘You’ve got to hand it to him.’ Neurocysticercosis Sets the bar high; it looks at this park, and thinks The smartest monkey drew the perfect landscape.

That’s this maple tree’s previous disease, its precious One. It unfurls the ferns of my firm and foremost Beliefs, I’m told, to partialize insufferable vastidity.

We Install a Sump Pump on (What Used To Be) a Holiday (Take 2)

The oppressive heat was born a fully grown Man. I admire the result of its effort, but Despise the means of achieving it. My wife Asserts her individuality in the gunk; her Body’s allegations aren’t too soft or hard today. Her self-interest seems to have drowned in the vortex.

Our little garden knows flippancy with regards To privacy is unwise. The stepping stones can Only blather, as slugs draw nomograms on Their faces. My wife’s body speaks Proto-Indo- European in the vortex and denim overalls. Marc Chagall’s The Poet studies her. He calls her

‘Innocence: The opposite of life! A criminal with A badge!’ I hand her the tools of a crude and Rudimentary faith, and she says, ‘Jill, great books Make fine shackles.’ Her arms only have An administrative objective in the vortex, but They are where good things come from.

Jake Sheff is a pediatrician in Oregon and veteran of the US Air Force. He's married with a daughter and whole lot of pets. Poems of Jake’s are in Radius, The Ekphrastic Review, Crab Orchard Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. He won 1st place in the 2017 SFPA speculative poetry contest and a Laureate's Choice prize in the 2019 Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest. Past poems and short stories have been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing).

[libralita]

Truths and Roses have Thorns About Them | Chapter 1

Next Chapter

Summary: The Marchen Tavern draws in many strange characters from all across Angielle and beyond. While it may bring wonder and mystery to those who stop, it does make keeping staff members a challenge. However, Fella Treslyn is up to the task of being the Marchen’s new cook. But is really ready to deal with all the antics it has to offer?

Disclaimer: First, I am not blind/visually impaired. This is NOT meant to be disrespectful or to be representative of the blind/visually impaired experience. This story was inspired by a blind contestant (and winner!) of Masterchef Season 3, Christine Ha. Second, I do not know much about medieval cooking or the time period’s cooking techniques. The food and techniques are based on modern techniques and also inspired by things like Masterchef. Third, this isn’t entirely accurate to the game's lore. For example, I imply that Delora wasn’t constantly watching Lucette as the doll because I wanted her at the beginning of the story. While I do change and bend things I also tried to stick to the plot of Karma's (and parts of Rumpel's) route with chunks of dialogue peppered throughout the story to keep the narrative similar.

Going to the Marchen was one of Dion Treslyn’s favorite parts of his job. He had been delivering grapes since the tavern opened. However, Miss Parfait was the only client who offered him a seat and drink before he left to finish his rounds. It was a warm summer afternoon and Dion was about to start unloading his cart when the back door burst open.

The irate man had blueberry pie all over his face. He tore off his apron and threw it at the back patio and stormed off.

“Oh, dear.” Miss Parfait said, standing in the doorway.

“Another cook,” Dion said, more as an observation rather than a question.

The Marchen was an odd place and tended to go through a lot of cooks because of its very strange patrons and employees. Dion did not ask many questions about the Marchen. All he did was deliver grapes every two weeks for them to make wine.

However, he did hear whispers that Miss Parfait was a fairy and that it was a tavern for the cursed to go. It would be possible for a magic-user to create food but everyone knew that the best food was created with two good hands.

The Marchen lost a lot of good hands.

“Two drunk men started a brawl over Miss Karma.”

“And there was pie involved?”

“Pie was involved.” Miss Parfait said a sigh in her soft voice. “Let me make you a drink, Dion.”

“Much appreciated.” He said, continuing to unload the several crates of grapes. He finished taking an inventory check and then went to go sit down at his usual table. He noticed Miss Karma in her usual spot, there was a very dark aura surrounding her. Probably not best to tease her.

He took a note out of his pocket and read it.

His cousin Fella had recently turned eighteen and now she was itching to leave home.

Hmmm…

“Miss Parfait,” Dion said as Parfait set down a drink for him. “You seem to be a cook short, but I think I might have an answer. My cousin Fella recently turned eighteen and she would like to see more of Angielle. She quite the cook herself. Perhaps I could talk to her about replacing your vacancy.” He took a sip of his drink. “Her cooking is as extraordinary as your beverages.”

Miss Parfait, tilted her head in thought. “Does your cousin have any experience?”

“Not much. She’s cooked for many family gatherings. And those could get pretty big. However, I think she’d be able to handle the Marhen’s patrons.” Dion said, taking another drink. If Fella wanted this job, he knew that she would be too stubborn to keep trying for it. “How about I tell her to come down for the weekend and she can try it out?”

“Alright.” Miss Parfait nodded. “You are always so helpful, Dion.”

“And you are always so kind, Miss Parfait.” He said raising his glass to her, swishing last of it down and then leaving.

~

Right before his delivery route, Dion would go to the post to check for his mail. He was not surprised when he received a letter shortly after his first one sent. Normally he would wait to read it but he decided to check it first.

Dearest Cousin Dion,

Dion smirked. Well, this was going to be good.

After speaking with Mother and Father about your proposition, we have agreed that it would be a wonderful opportunity. I greatly appreciate it. Please inform my future employers that I will be arriving at the Marchen this Friday and will be able to start as soon as possible. I will bring anything necessary and have my father send the rest if needed. I am certain that I will be able to persuade them to take me on.

However, would you be willing to take the weekend off to assist me?

Dion could already see a plan brewing in Fella’s mind of hers.

Again, thank you for this opportunity and I will see you soon.

Fella.

At the bottom there was more written by Fella’s father:

Dion—

Please read “speaking with” as badgered incessantly. Ophella is very excited to be able to do this and we a certain that her cooking will blow away the patrons of the Marchen. However, please make sure that she is safe. We know that you will look out for her but please make sure she doesn’t bite off more than she can chew.

Uncle Matthias

Well, it looked like the Marchen was going to get a new cook.

~

“Where is that new cook, Parfait?” Delora asked, they had finished up serving lunch and closed. Dion had promised that Fella would be there for dinner.

“Soon, Delora,” Parfait assured, glancing out the window and seeing Dion walking up briefly. She finished helping Annice with something and then went to greet Dion. She stopped when she saw the girl with him.

Fella had lily-white skin, red lips, and pale blue eyes. Her rusty red hair was tied into two tails by blue ribbons and framed her face with tight curls. She wore a matching blue dress with brown leather travel boots. She was almost a porcelain doll come to life.

And she had a wooden cane, she prodded at the ground. She also held onto Dion’s arm and was guided.

This girl was blind.

“Miss Parfait, meet my cousin Fella.”

“She’s blind?” Parfait cringed as Delora came over and glared at Dion who gave a leisurely shrug.

“She can cook,” Dion replied.

Fella stood up a little straighter. Trying to look more adult than her possibly eighteen years portrayed. “I am blind, yes. But I am quite capable.” She moved her bag and pulled out a wrapped dish. “A sample of my work.”

Parfait and Delora glanced at each other. Delora sighed and said, “Dear, even if your food is amazing, we can’t allow you to work when you’re blind. You could get hurt. Especially if you have no experience.”

“Then let this be my experience,” Fella said, holding out the food. “I have a learning curve. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll need to know where the food is and the layout of the kitchen. But I can do it. Dion has agreed to help me adjust.”

Parfait took the food and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then felt a little silly because she couldn’t see it. “We’ll at least try this.” She said, waving her hand a silverware floated over to them.

“Thank you,” Fella said bowing her head and then said. “My family raised a lot of cows, so I like cooking meats. So I made grilled steak with vegetables. Please enjoy.”

Parfait and Delora sat down and divided the food. They both took a bite at the same time. Parfait covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she tasted something so good. It was seasoned beautifully and juicy. Parfait looked over at Delora and even she seemed impressed.

“This is…quite good,” Delora said. “I am impressed.”

“Yes.” Parfait agreed. “You are quite talented.”

Fella clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head again. “Then perhaps you will give me a chance?” She asked.

“If Dion helps you…perhaps you could try,” Parfait said.

Fella grinned indicated that she took that as a yes and raised her head. “Thank you very much. You will not regret this decision.”

Delora glared at Dion. “We will have to deal with you and your little surprise later, Dion.”

“Would eating Fella’s food be considered repayment? As your fork is still moving as we speak.” Dion asked, Delora about raise another bite to her mouth but stopped to glare at him.

~

Alright, you have one foot in the door, Fella. The young woman thought to herself. She now held onto Miss Parfait’s arm while Dion graciously carried in her suitcases and bag. Though the taverner owner went at a good pace to lead her, she narrated every stool, table, and rug that was coming in their path.

Fella made her own mental notes establishing the stairs, about where the handrail was and the distance between the stairs and her room were. “Here we are.” Miss Parfait said and Fella could hear her starting to unlock the door.

“There is a bed, a wardrobe, a vanity.” Miss Parfait explained, Fella hurried the sound of suitcases being set down.

There a quiet moment and Fella quickly filled it. “I’ll start getting a feel for my room.” She said holding out her hand in the general direction she thought Parfait was in. “May I have the key.”

Parfait carefully put it there and Fella felt around her neck for a necklace. She expertly clipped it on. Fella thanked her and Miss Parfait promised to show her bathroom after she got settled.

“Dion, will you look at the kitchen?”

“You got it,” Dion said. “Call if you need anything.”

Fella gave a nod and waited until she heard the footsteps leaving the room. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. You can do this. She told herself and then stood up straighter. She untied her hair and then pulled all her curls on top of her head.

She first felt around the perimeter of the room. She felt where the door handle was and moved her hand against the wall. The wall had a smooth texture—wallpaper probably. Her hand ran along the wall and she used her cane to see if anything was in the way.

Fella’s cane hit something that made a muffled thump. She had come across one of her bags that Dion had placed near the wardrobe. She poked and prodded until she hit something sturdier. The actual wardrobe. She inhaled. It smelt of wood and was finally sanded to her fingers. Fella did this until she could locate her soft bed, the vanity, and then back to the door.

She went to her wardrobe and unpacked her clothing. At the bottom of her bag, there were several books. Well, it’s not like she would be looking at myself in the mirror. Fella moved them to the vanity. Perhaps Dion would read one to her before he left.

She should probably ask where the bathroom was located but she just wanted to go downstairs and prepare for dinner. She could tell how apprehensive the owners were of her. Miss Delora made it obvious but the way Miss Parfait doted on her, it was clear she was unsure.

I will just have to prove them wrong.

Fella took her cane she sat by the door and left. “Oh, excuse me.” Fella bumped into someone when she left her room. The voice was music to her ears. It was feminine and almost songlike. The woman’s clothes were soft and she had a lovely smelling perfume.

The woman put her hands on Fella’s shoulders to make sure she was righted. “My apologies,” Fella said, bowing her head before moving out of the woman’s grip.

“Ah, a new boarder. What is your name, darling?” The woman asked, walking by Fella’s side. “I am Miss Karma.”

Fella knew what she was doing. She was trying to politely try to help her. “Ophella. But I go by Fella.” She said, walking to the stairs. When she got to about the area, she grabbed for the railing. She was so relieved when she reached out and touched it the first try. Fella did not want to look like an invalid.

“An adorable name for an adorable girl. What brings you to the Marchen, Miss Fella?” Miss Karma asked as they walked down the stairs together.

“Work,” Fella said simply as they took the last step on the landing. Fella turned to face Miss Karma. “Would you help me with something?”

“Of course.” The woman said, gently.

“Would you take me to the kitchen?” Fella asked. Generally, people tried to help her. Some people were overbearing and tried to do everything for Fella. Miss Karma didn’t seem too pushy and Fella didn’t feel like calling out to Dion when she didn’t know who would be in the Marchen.

Miss Karma quickly agreed, Fella held out her hand and soft hands guided it to the equally soft fabric. The other woman seemed to be at the right height for Fella to comfortably be guided. “You said you were working at the Marchen?”

“Yes. I am its new cook.” Hopefully.

“The cook?” Miss Karma asked and Fella could hear a tenseness to her voice.

“Yes, I—” Fella flattered when stumbled into something. A chair?

“Oh, my apologies.” Miss Karma said, sounding concerned. Fella could hear the chair being moved out of the way.

“Fella!” It was the sound of Dion’s voice. “Relying on Miss Karma to guide you instead of your own blood? How hurtful.”

“I regret it. She appears to not notice the furniture.” Fella said.

Fella heard Dion laugh, Fella felt Miss Karma’s arm tense and so the shorter girl gently patted her arm. “It’s alright, I didn’t see it coming.” Dion laughs harder. “Oh, come now Dion, that wasn’t even my best ones.”

“Ah, but it’s the face on Karma that truly makes the joke,” Dion said and Fella heard his boots coming toward them. “I finished preparing the kitchen for you, Fella.”

“You will be cooking tonight?” Miss Karma asked. “Then…I will certainly have to come.”

Fella smiled, even though Miss Karma sounded as concerned as Miss Parfait and Miss Delora. Oh well. Another person to show what she can do. “Then I hope you’ll enjoy it and thank you for your help.” Fella respectfully bowed her head as she was taken with Dion.

“There’s a hook to the right of the door with an apron on it,” Dion said Fella felt for it until she felt cloth. She replaced the apron with her cane, using the small loop at the end. Then she put on the apron and retied her hair back. Fella would have liked to get her bearings of the kitchen a little more but dinner would quickly approaching.

Dion listed off the meat they had. “Salmon?” Fella asked. “They must have potatoes and asparagus?” Dion confirmed that they did. A plan started formulating. She asked Dion to prepare the potatoes. While she works on the fish. They were still whole so she would have to fillet them.

One laid out in front of her, it was cold to the touch as she ran her hand the length of the fish. First the descaling. Running a knife back and forth the fish. But she had Dion double-check to make sure that there were no scales. She cut against bone allowing the knife to be an extension of her right hand but using her left to feel where to cut. She made sure to get every bit of that fish off the bone. All that was left was to portion it.

She did this two more times, making sure to keep her area clean. Feeling and cutting until she felt they were right. She had 42 portions. The Marchen was a small tavern so that should be enough. She felt for Dion’s work on the potatoes. They worked together to mash the potatoes. Dion knew to let Fella do most of the work. If she was going to be working there, she wouldn’t have Dion to be by her side. However, they were pressed for time and she needed that support for now.

“We will be opening soon.” Fella heard Miss Delora’s voice. “Are you ready, Fella?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Fella said, retying her hair and then washing her hands. Burners were lit, all her seasoning was in reach and her food was prepared. “I am ready.”

~

As more voices began to fill the dining room, Fella felt herself begin to get nervous. She had cooked for a lot of people before but this was the first time she had a real job. You can do this.

“Two orders of salmon.” One of the servers called.

You can do this. Fella first put the fish skin side down on the hot pan. It made the right crack and sizzling sound. The sound and the smell calmed her. The muffled voices that threaten to overwhelm her faded away.

Some orders for other items came in but Delora and Parfait would be handling those. Fella began working on her sides, adding seasoning to the mash potatoes. She tasted as she went along, adjusting until she got it right.

Fella realized that it was time to plate her work. She reached below her and got out two plates first adding the potatoes. She flipped her fish to let it be kissed on the other side and placed it on top of the potatoes then vegetables on top.

Then Fella was at a loss as to what to do with it. “Dion.” She called. He moved her arm and placed it on top of something metal. She tapped it and a bell made a sound. He guided where to put the plates.

Fella felt like she had no time to wait to see what they thought. She needed to keep going.

~

She got in the rhythm, not needing Dion’s help for the most part. He would inform her if anything on the floor spilled but it was up to her to clean it. He was just there to make sure she didn’t kill herself the first night. However, he was mostly quiet and it went without incident. Parfait and Delora came in and out to check on her but she continued to work.

“One order of salmon, this one is for Miss Karma.” The server called. Fella reached getting another one going and found it was the last one.

Fella must have looked flustered at the realization because she heard Dion tell the server. “That’s the last one. We’re sold out of the special.”

Fella continued to work but…she had sold out. Fella worked on Miss Karma’s piece of fish. She made sure to finish the night well. Making sure it was cooked, seasoned, and plated to perfection. She rang the bell and let out a sigh when she heard the plate leave.

~

Fella finished cleaning up the kitchen, she could hear that the Marchen was mostly empty by now. Dion lead Fella out of the kitchen, the cool air hit her and it was almost surreal. She didn’t actually believe she cooked forty pieces of fish for total strangers.

“Fella.” Miss Parfait said. “Delora had to step out, she needed to…take care of something. However, we both feel like you did an incredible job.”

The younger girl felt her face turn red and she bowed her head. “Thank you.”

“And we would like to offer you a job at the Marchen,” Parfait added. “However, since your lack of experience, we’ll have to start with fewer menus items. We’ll discuss the menu later.”

I get to make my own menu!

“Thank you. I will be happy to do that.” Fella said.

They discussed a little bit about pay. Even with board deduction, she would be getting a nice bit of pocket change. When Parfait excused herself, Dion talked about sending for her things and teaching someone to help Fella so he wouldn’t be missing too much work.

“Miss Fella.” A feminine voice said.

“Ahh, the lovely Miss Karma,” Dion said, more for Fella’s sake.

Fella heard an annoyed sound coming out from Karma but tried to cover it as clearing her throat. Did Miss Karma not like Dion? “Miss Fella, I just wanted to say that your meal was truly wonderful.”

“Thank you, Miss Karma,” Fella said and then gave a small smile. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

There was a pause and then Karma chuckled softly. It was just as melodic as the rest of her voice. “I will admit that I was skeptical but I don’t think being wrong has ever so been so delicious. So, I apologize.” She gave Fella’s shoulder a gentle pat. “But you’ve set yourself a high bar, Miss Fella and I’ll be holding you to it.”

“Miss Karma, don’t challenge her, now she’ll try to outdo herself every meal she makes,” Dion said with a chuckle.

Fella snorted. As if I wasn't going to try and do that anyway.

~

Despite being utterly exhausted, Fella could not sleep. Her body craved sleep and yet her mind was buzzing with events of what had just happened.

She sighed and got out of her bed. She still wasn’t completely used to the placement of things in her room so she felt around until she found her wardrobe. She put on a cloak over her nightgown and then slipped on her boats.

Fella quietly went downstairs and made her way through the dining room. She was a little impressed that she did it without making too much noise. She almost knocked over a chair or two but no one came down to see what was going on. Once she found the kitchen door, Fella slipped in.

The girl closed her eyes as she stood inside the kitchen and leaned against the wall. The back of her neck gently pressed against the wall hook. Her apron was missing to be cleaned for tomorrow.

And then she heard something.

Ching. Cling. Clang.

Fella pushed herself off the wall and made her way through the kitchen to the back door Dion had shown her. The wonderful cool air hit her. She breathed in deeply and smelled the wet grass and hints of flowers. She could hear the sounds a little more clearly.

Clang. Ching-ching-ching. Clang.

Fella paused. There was a forest near the Marchen that Fella desperately wanted to explore. Back at home in Bellview, there was also a forest near her town that she loved to run through. However at night, alone, without anyone to guide her back to the Marchen? She wasn’t that foolish.

Still, it was nice out and it wouldn’t hurt to explore a little.

Fella made sure the door wouldn’t lock on her the minute she shut it and then went outside. She moved until she found the gate. She just stood a little bit outside of the gated patio, the grass tickled her legs as she enjoyed the night.

Clang. Ching. Ching.

“Hey…”

Fella nearly screamed when she heard a voice. It was slurred and unfamiliar.

“You’re that fancy cook…ain't yah?”

“Um…” Fella said softly, taking a step back and holding out her hand to see if she could find the gate. Nothing but air. “Sorry, sir, the Marchen is closed.”

“Oh c’mon…” The man said and Fella could hear steps coming closer. “You could get me something for me…”

“No, sir. I am afraid I cannot.” Fella could hear her voice becoming more shrill as she continued to back away. She hit the cold iron fence. Fella frantically felt for a handle and when her hands felt something she desperately tried to open it.

Locked.

She didn’t know how big the fence was. Could she climb over?

“Hey, has anyone told you how pretty you are?” The voice was getting closer. “You look like a dolly or something.”

“Mister, please leave me alone. The Marchen is closed. Go home.” She said, a little louder, the stench of alcohol and grime coming closer.

She was about to just try to climb over the fence but a large hand pulled her away from the fence. “Don’t touch me!” She shouted whirling around and swung her cane. She felt her cane hit something and the man cried out.

“Little—Gah!”

Suddenly Fella didn’t know what was happening. She was grabbed—by someone else?—and she was pulled close to them. A firm arm wrapped around her. She was hit with the earthy smell of a forest.

“A-A sword?” The harasser said.

“How observant.” Another masculine voice that was rich and deep. However, she could hear a bite to the words as he addressed the drunkard. “I am not one to show mercy, especially to those who harm damsels in distress. So I’d advise you to leave.”

Fella heard feet moving but she was still being pressed to this man. And he was…pressing her face into him. “Let go of me,” Fella said attempting to leave the grasp but he was strong.

“Please, I don’t want you to…”

The man trailed off and Fella tried harder to get out of his grip. “I said let go.” She said, still struggling.

The Swordsman grunted. “Wait just a mo—”

Fella continued to struggle until she was out of the man’s grasp. Fella took a few steps back but she stepped on something—her cane—which led her to fall hard on the grass.

“Fella!”

“Just leave me alone,” Fella said, her voice breaking as she started to cry. She was angrier at herself than this man. How could she have been so stupid? And now here she was on the ground in her nightgown crying in front of a stranger.

“Fella!”

She heard the creak of the gate opening and Fella tried to get up. She felt small hands on her arms.

“Fella, what on earth happened to you?”

“Miss…Parfait?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s me. Oh, dear.” She said sounding like a concerned mother. “Let’s get you inside.”

~

Fella left the situation with scrapped hands, a bruised bottom, and one wounded ego. She explained what had happened to Parfait.

“Did you know the man who rescued you?” Parfait asked.

“I…” Fella thought about it, something did feel familiar about the Swordsman but it didn’t really click in her mind. “No, I don’t.”

“I see. He ran once I arrived.” Parfait said. “Regardless, you should not have gone out like that, Fella.”

“I apologize deeply, Miss Parfait,” Fella said, pursing her lips and hanging her head. She wasn’t going to cry again. She heard the other woman move, Miss Parfait sat next to her and gently took her hands into her own.

“Please just don’t let it happen again,” Parfait said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Fella said, bowing her head. “May I go back to my room?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Fella.”

“Goodnight, Miss Parfait.” She said, being lead to the stairs and going up to her room. She got back into bed sorer than she had left it. She tried closing her eyes in an attempt to let the sleepiness take over. However, something gnawed at her.

Fella hadn’t heard the Swordsman leave when Parfait arrived. It could have been the stress of the moment. Fella was crying and confused.

But she was pretty sure Miss Parfait had lied.

[hazel2468]

Light Like Water from the Sky

Okay, here goes! Chapter 2 of my Jojo fic is ready to post. Hope y’all like it. As usual, I’m putting it under a cut.

No content warnings for now, though in the future there will be for violence, and as of yet undetermined not sfw content.

Chapter 2 (…If I am Anywhere to be Found)

 It was easy to follow the man with the silver hair. He towered over most other people, and his attire meant that he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst locals and tourists alike. How he wasn’t baking to death in all that black on such a sunny day, Ruby didn’t know- nor did she really care. It was possible that tailing him wouldn’t lead to Bruno at all, and she entertained the thought that she would end up walking right back into danger. But her gut told her otherwise, and her gut was rarely wrong.

She ended up back on the main street, weaving amongst the crowd, being careful to stay out of sight. Ruby was rusty- it had been a long time since she had to follow anyone, but this man seemed too sure of himself. Without so much as a backward glance, he turned a corner, and she jogged to catch up. Maybe he thought he scared her off. While the thought irritated her, it was working in her favor. She peered around the corner, taking acre not to jostle her groceries too hard-

And she froze. Standing next to the jerk who had accosted her was a man in a blue and white sweater, wearing a hat (and it looked like it was made of wool… In this heat?) and with a poorly concealed revolver in his waistband. And beside him…

Was Bruno.

He looked the same as she remembered- well, almost the same. Somehow, his suit jacket had gotten even more low cut, and she could see the black lines of a tattoo swirling across his skin. He was frowning at the man in the hat, arms crossed.

“Hey, Bucciarati.” The man with the silver hair raised a hand, waving.

“You’re late, Abbacchio.” Bruno said sternly. Abbacchio, the asshole, shrugged.

“I ran into a bit trouble. Some chick was looking for you. I took care of it.”

“Oh, really?” the man in the hat elbowed Bruno in the ribs lightly, grinning. “Well aren’t you popular.”

“Mista, shove it. And please tell me you weren’t rude, Abbacchio.”

Ruby ducked back behind the wall, stomach tight. He was right there. She should just walk up and say hello- would really show that Abbacchio a thing or two. And while the idea was tempting… She was nervous.

It had been three years. Four, if she started counting from when she left Italy. And four years was a long time, especially in Bruno’s world. She chanced another peek, and it seemed her luck had run out, because this time when she stole a glance at Bruno’s face, their eyes locked.

She nearly dropped her bag, fumbling as an onion tumbled to the ground and rolled away. Cursing, she reached for it, aware that all three of them were watching her now.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Abbacchio rumbled, and she knew that he would be giving her a murderous stare when she looked up. “I told you not to-“

“Ruby?”

Bruno was pushing past Abbacchio, eyes wide, as if he was looking at a ghost. He might as well have been, Ruby thought bitterly- she had basically disappeared on him.

“Hey, Bruno.” She managed, straightening up and tucking the wayward onion back into her bag. “Long time no, see, huh?” What else was she supposed to say? Trying her very hardest to look as casual as possible, she started down the sidewalk towards him. He met her, taking long strides, and he reached for her before hesitating and drawing back.

“May I?” he said, and Ruby broke into a smile.

“Do you even have to ask?” she laughed, before placing her groceries on an unoccupied table and wrapping her arms around him. He responded in kind with a warm chuckle. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, bella.” He murmured, the little term of endearment sending a shiver down Ruby’s spine. He smelled like cologne and summer, and she pressed her face into his shoulder, willing herself not to cry in front of three Mafiosi. Opening her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Abbacchio over Bruno’s shoulder. He looked decidedly displeased, scowling at her, and she winked at him. “Where have you been?”

“Poland.” She replied, leaning back to fully take him in. His hair was longer than it had been the last time she saw him, and he had half of it done up in a braid at the top of his head. It suited him. “I spent some time in Spain, and Germany, too. But mostly I was with family.” His blue eyes turned sad, and he ran a comforting hand up her arm.

“I heard about your mother… I’m so sorry, cara.” She shook her head.

“It’s alright, really. She was ill. I just… I couldn’t come back so soon after. I should have kept in touch, I’m s-“ he placed a long finger to her lips.

“It’s okay, Ruby. You’re back now. That’s what matters.” Bruno was beaming again, and she gave him an appraising once-over, raising an eyebrow at his eccentric suit.

“I see you’re still a fan of polka-dots.” She said with a smirk. “You look good, bello. And what’s this I hear about you being some kind of big-shot now?”

“That’s a long story.” Bruno said, wrinkling his nose at her. “Besides, I hardly think I’m the one who looks good. Stunning, as always.”

“Tu provichi!” Ruby swatted lightly at his arm and he laughed again, the sound echoing down the street. “There’s so much I want to talk about… But it would seem,” she gestured over his shoulder at the other two. “That I’m keeping you?”

“Ah…” his face fell. “I’m sorry, bella. I don’t-“

“Bruno, really. Don’t worry about it. You have to go do your capo business, and I have to get the groceries home for dinner. Tell you what.” She rummaged in her purse for a pen and then tore a scrap of brown paper from her grocery bag. “I’m back. I got an apartment, and I’m working with Papa in the shop again.” She bent over the table, scribbling her number down and then thrusting the paper at Bruno. “Call me anytime. Or text me. I always have time for you, caro.” He took it, and she gathered up her shopping. “I’ll leave you to it- I think Bela Legosi is about to blow a fuse.”

Bruno snorted as Abbacchio huffed indignantly, turning tail and stalking into the restaurant. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You better. Ciao, Bruno.” She grasped his hand, entwining their fingers for a moment before spinning around and making her way back towards the main road, smiling and feeling lighter than she had all day.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Bruno had been staring down at the scrap of paper in his hands for the last ten minutes, transfixed by the curly numbers and scribble of Ruby’s name in the corner.

“Earth to Bucciarati? Hello?” Mista was waving a hand in his face, and Bruno jumped. The gunslinger was grinning at him, eyes wide and bright. “So… Are you going to explain what the hell that was?”

“…I don’t know what you mean.” Bruno said. Abbacchio was glaring at his glass of wine, clearly irritated.

“Can’t believe she fucking followed me. What a little…”

Narancia and Fugo, who had been pouring over some equations when the other three entered, were now watching with curiosity as Mista continued to prod Bruno.

“Come on, Bucciarati! Who is she? Don’t leave us hanging!” Bruno frowned as Mista dropped back into his seat, pulling his gun from his pants and snapping open the chamber. The Pistols clambered out and over his hand, squabbling as he held out a piece of cured meat to them.

“She’s… an old friend.” Bruno said, rubbing the paper between finger and thumb. “I… I should just throw this out.” Mista choked on his water, coughing until Abbacchio leaned over and thumped him heavily on his back.

“Throw it out? We were both looking at the same person, right?” he said when he finally recovered, throat gravelly. “Shit, if you don’t want her number, I’ll take it!” Bruno chewed his lower lip, sparing another glance for Abbacchio. He was angrily swirling his drink now, eyes dark.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Abbacchio.” Bruno said. “That’s just Ruby.”

“What kind of…short person follows a fucking gangster around?” Abbacchio snarled in response. “Is she trying to get herself killed?”

“What does being short have to do with it?” Narancia interjected, leaning over the table to glare at Abbacchio, who scoffed.

“She’s even smaller than you.” He said. Mista chuckled, squinting at Narancia.

“Damn. And she stood up to you, Abbacchio? She’s got guts. Didn’t you say she pulled a knife on you?”

Bruno gave Abbacchio a firm pat on the shoulder, suppressing a chuckle as his teammate glowered up at the ceiling. “Yeah, she did. Slippery little thing.”

“She sounds it-  But you’re avoiding the subject, Bucciarati.” Mista said, and Bruno bit back a groan. Damn, he was persistent. “So, she’s an old friend. And you sure seemed happy to see her… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hug anyone.”

“He hugged her?” Narancia said through a mouthful of food. “You can’t just HUG someone and then ditch their number!”

“I don’t think that’s how hugs work, Narancia.” Fugo said. “Still… He has a point, Bucciarati. That would be a little rude.”

“What’s the harm in texting her?” Mista asked, pushing Number Three away from Number Five as they tussled over a grape. “I mean, she asked you to.”

“The harm,” Abbacchio said, before Bruno could answer, “Is that she clearly has no sense of self-preservation.”

“I think you’re just mad that she got the best of you.” Narancia said, ducking behind Fugo as Abbacchio snarled in his direction. Bruno looked back down at the paper, and then pulled his phone from his pocket. Mista cheered.

“I’m just saying hello.” Bruno said, before he could go on another tangent about pretty girls and dates. “When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it.” Mista grumbled, and Narancia began craning his neck, trying to get a look at the little screen until Fugo pulled him back down into his seat.

Bruno wrote and re-wrote the message three times. It was only when Abbacchio, who was watching him, made an impatient sound that he bit the bullet and sent it.

‘I would love to catch up sometime, bella.’

The fact that she clearly didn’t have his number anymore put the ball squarely in his court. Bruno didn’t want to come across as too pushy or eager, no matter how excited he was to see her again-

His phone pinged before he could even place it on the table.

‘I’m free evenings and weekends. If that works with your tough-guy schedule.’

He laughed, and then Narancia and Mista were hanging over him, shoving one another as they tried to read the message over his shoulders. Turning his back on them, he replied-

‘Coffee and a walk Friday evening?’

This time, he managed to get his phone into his pocket and gave his two rowdy subordinates a look and a short lecture. Mista kept grumbling about his lack of ‘romantic undertones’ and Narancia peppered him with questions about Ruby. When Fugo interjected that he doubted Mista knew anything about romance and they dissolved into debate, Bruno felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiled- he didn’t need to look now.

He knew what her answer would be.

[legionofkoda]

...This is something I haven’t done in a while...but I found a story I wrote a long time ago, back when I was actually writing aus for this blog, and have decided that after a bit of very light editing for spelling/grammar mistakes that were super obvious I am going to post it...........So here it is.....

Its not anything special and it’s over a year old so pls be nice

Dreams, that’s how this all started. A stupid dream dreamt by a stupid boy. 

“Mommy, can we go visit Nana?” I asked, I wasn’t older than five when I began constantly asking my mother if we could visit my grandmother in Seoul, South Korea. I loved Seoul when I was younger. This love grew into an obsession as time went on. I can’t remember why I loved Seoul, I never made any friends when we were there. I was constantly made fun of because I didn’t look asian but my parents did. I didn’t know I was adopted at the time but that doesn’t matter.

“No,” Mom would say back for the twentieth time that day. “Nana is very busy and you have school.”

“I don’t wanna go to school,” I would fire back. This would be the hourly routine until summer break. My parents hated it especially when I got my siblings in on it. As I got older I started to take a liking to the music of Korea. My next door neighbor did too. We had been friends since my family moved in. He was the only real friend I had other than my siblings.

“What do you mean?” Tears were spilling down my cheeks. I couldn’t look him in the eye. We were 18, getting ready to head to college or so I thought.

“I’m moving to Seoul to start training,” He reached toward me to pull me into a hug.

“No, Josh, I don’t want your hug.” I pull back and shake his hand off me. We stand there in silence as I cry. 

“I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Aria, pl-”

“What part of ‘don’t apologize’ do you not understand?” I sigh and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Josh, we promised to go to the same school until we both graduated college. Did you forget that promise?” I wait for a reply that never comes. “Whatever, go to Seoul, train, become an idol, I don’t care what you do anymore. Just promise me one thing, Josh.”

“Anything.”

“Forget me, forget everything I’ve ever said to you, every promise we’ve ever made. Forget us,” I quickly turn and run to my house. I won’t let him see me cry anymore. It’s his stupid dream, he should live it without me holding him back.

~~~

Dragons, something I never would have thought about before college. I hated fantasy and legends, but college changed that. I never graduated but I went long enough to develop this new obsession. I would draw and paint dragons everyday. I sold some of my works to pay my parents. I couldn’t afford to live anywhere else. We still lived next to Josh’s parents. I avoided them as much as possible but there was always Sunday. Mom and Dad would invite the Hongs over for lunch after church. I would always hear about how Josh was doing. I hated hearing of his group, Seventeen. I began writing songs soon after my first Sunday back. As much as I wanted to fool myself into thinking I didn’t miss him there was still the hurt. He broke the promise we made to each other but most of all he broke my heart. 

One Sunday the Hongs didn’t come over for lunch. Mom told me they were going over to the Hong’s house and I had to come with. My younger sister, Erin, had to go as well so i figured it wouldn’t be too bad. I took my notebook with me, planning to ignore everyone and write a few lyrics. 

Sunday lunch at the Hong’s house was no different than at my parents, except Josh was visiting. I avoided talking to him I wouldn’t even look at him. I stayed quiet until he excused himself to make a Skype call. I excused myself as well and followed him. The voices I heard surprised me. I expected him to have called a girl but there were many male voices coming from the room. I didn’t stay long enough to hear what they were saying, nor did I want to try out my rusty Korean.

~~~

After Josh went back to Seoul, I developed an addiction. I wasn’t addicted to any drug, I was addicted to music. I spent all my time writing, composing, singing and dancing to music. I listened to Seventeen religiously; learned every dance. I found a way to stop the pain I felt from him leaving. There was one thing that bothered me, had he kept the promise from that last day? It seemed like he did when he visited. 

Erin would talk to him regularly. I would listen to their conversations. I never heard my name mentioned, but I had to know. I missed him too much. I began to not eat, too engrossed in my addiction to pay any mind to basic needs like food and sleep. The signs showed, my cheeks hollowed, my eyes grew dark, I thinned. Erin noticed, she took care of me. Brought me food when I wouldn’t leave my room, made me sleep when I couldn’t write. I stopped listening to her conversations with Josh. Slowly, as she cared for me, I began to forget. I went back to my dragons.

~~~

Fog clouded my mind when Mom sent me to live with Nana. Mom told me some entertainment company in Seoul wanted me to help one of their groups write their songs. I had almost forgotten about Josh and Seventeen when I walked into the Pledis building. I was introduced to the composer I would be working with. He wasn’t much taller than me and had a cute face. I introduced myself to him the way Nana had taught me when I was younger. I had been practicing my Korean again and would say I had regained my fluency. 

The man introduced himself as Lee Jihoon, but told me to call him Woozi. The name seemed familiar to me but due to the fog in my mind I couldn’t place him. He showed me to the practice room he shared with his group. All twelve of the others were there practicing a new dance. When Woozi and I walked in they stopped and faced us. One by one they introduced themselves, except for one. He stared at me, eyes wide and mouth open. Tears filled his eyes as I slowly recognized him. 

“Josh,” the name quietly escaped my lips as I ran to him. We hugged for the first time in years. I felt him bury his face in my neck as we hugged. I cried, I tried to hold back but the relief of seeing him and knowing he hadn’t kept the promise broke me.

“I missed you,” he whispered against my skin. I pulled out of the hug enough to see his face. Tears were streaming down his face as well as mine. We only broke apart when someone cleared their throat behind me. 

“You two know each other?” Vernon asked. The other twelve looked utterly confused at Josh and I.

“We were friends back in LA,” Josh said.

“Wait, this is the girl you said broke your heart before you moved here?” This time it was Jeonghan to speak.

“She’s prettier than you said,” Jun mumbled. He didn’t expect anyone to hear him.

“Jun, could you tone it down for two minutes?” Josh asks while pulling me closer. I smile and look down, I really missed this. 

“Hey, we can get to know Aria more later,” S.Coups says as he stares at the others. “We all have a dance to learn.”

~~~

Dread fills me as the boys get ready to go on stage. This is the first performance of the song I helped write. My mind is filled with questions each one making me more anxious than the last.

“Relax, Aria,” Vernon whispers as he places a hand on my arm. I look up at him and smile.

“I can’t help but worry. Unlike you and the others I don’t have a reason to hide it,” I look down at my hands trying to stop them from shaking. Hands then snake around my waist and a chin in placed on my shoulder. I stiffen slightly, still not used to the skinship. 

“The Carats are going to love the song,” Jun murmurs so only I can hear. His low comforting voice helps me relax a bit and I lean my head back. I look over to Josh who is glaring at Jun and giggle a bit. “See, I can always make you smile genuinely.”

“I didn’t giggle at you, Jun,” I pull away from him and turn to face him. “Josh just looked like he was going to kill you.” 

“And you thought that was funny?” Jun pouts and crosses his arms.

“Jun, we gotta go on stage,” Hoshi calls Jun before following the rest of the boys. I motion for him to go and give him the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL. He signs it back to me before running on stage with the rest of the boys.

~~~

Fear courses through me. He said he has a crush on me while live. He told millions of fans he likes the producer who helps them. The fans don’t see me often. They don’t know me like they know the boys. Fans don’t treat the girlfriends of their idols well. They send hate and horrible things to the people they think might take their idols away.

I begin shaking while stood next to one of the boys’ managers. I can’t believe he would let that slip. I’ve known he likes me for years but I didn’t think he would ever say it in front of others.

“Don’t worry, the company will treat you like one of the idols. We will do our best to protect you.” The manage whispers into my ear. I nod in response not trusting my voice at this moment.

~~~

Jewelry. A simple necklace now and a promise of an expensive ring later. Josh and I started dating almost 3 years ago today and he bought me a heart lock necklace. Once it’s around my neck he pulls out his matching necklace: a heart key. Seventeen had just finished their most recent world tour and Josh promised to spend every second of the break they got with me. The past three years have been the best of my life.

“Two more years and I’ll be yours forever.” Josh says, his smile never leaving his lips. “Two more years then I can ask you to be my wife.”

“Why not just ask now? We want to spend our lives together so why wait?” I grab onto his hand to pull him toward the door. We are supposed to be in the park for a picnic but he’s been dallying for a while.

“I remember making a promise 13 years ago that if we dated I would wait five years before I asked you to marry me.” 

“Josh, I am giving you permission to break that promise.” I stop us long enough to pull him down into a kiss. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

~~~

Coffee shops are our favorite place for dates. We can get a small table at the back of the shop and just sit there. I usually bring my laptop with me so I can work in our silences. Josh helps me sometimes but mostly he just stares at me as I work. We’ve been married for 2 years now and there hasn’t been a single regret yet. 

“What do you think about kids?” Josh asks out of the blue one day.

“I think it’s about time we have one,” I say back.

“Next break I get we’re going to try our hardest.” He smiles and lifts my chin so I have to look away from my computer.

“You know we have to adopt.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t forget for a bit and try.”

Conversation drops then and we just smile at each other for the remaining hour we stay at the shop.

~~~

“Stars are infinite in the universe and if you were to try to count them all it still wouldn’t add up to how much I love you.” Josh whispers one night after he gets home. It was late and I had gone to bed already but woke up when he entered the house. A sleepy smile appears on my lips as he crawls into bed and cuddles up next to me. We fall asleep in each others arms.

~~~

Hand holding never gets old. Josh loves to grab onto my hand when we go through the crowds that gather outside any building Seventeen has a schedule at. I’ve become a stay at home wife, spending my time crafting things for the fans. Special little gifts that the boys add a personal touch to once I’m done. Josh helps on his breaks, or sits me in his lap so he can hold my hands in his as I work and he practices his parts of songs.

~~~

Insults are one thing when they come from anonymous people online they’re different when they come out of the mouth of the person you trust most.

“I should have kept that promise. I should have forgotten you!” Josh yells through the bathroom door. “Would have made my life so much easier!” 

The tears don’t stop. I resign myself to packing my things and leaving while he’s at practice the next day. After all, he’s right, his life would be easier without me.

~~~

It takes one spark to start a fire that destroys everything. Josh sent that spark into the waiting bonfire and now there is no stopping the flames. My heart burns for the way things used to be. Wants to go back to the days in LA before he decided to come to Korea. Before our first real fight.

There’s no going back though. The fire has destroyed what we once had. Josh moved back in with some of the boys and left the house to me. It’s too big for one person. The halls are too quiet for me so I fill them with the sounds of my sobs.

~~~

Josh never collected his things and I never touched them. I like the small reminders of him. I miss him everyday even now years after he left. The fans seemed to have forgotten me and I lost all contact with the rest of the boys when he left. 

~~~

The bed still feel empty. I sleep on Josh’s side of the bed most nights. I’ve been watching the news like I used to before I came to Korea. I saw that Josh remarried and is happy with a couple kids. I’m happy he was able to move on.

~~~

Alone is how I live the rest of my life. I never date again. I spend my days obsessing over Seventeen like before until the day there is a knock on my door with a teary eyed Josh and two crying children on the other side.

[amberandmetal]

Like home | Final chapter

❖ Author: @waywardkitten​

❖ Featuring: Wincest

❖ Warnings/Tags: Wincest, weecest, canon compliant, canon fuckery, a/b/o, Alpha!Dean & Omega!Sam, light violence, bullies, angst by the truckload, smut, feels, the whole shebang

❖ Rating: Teen & up

❖ Word count: 2150

❖ Beta: @trash0saurusrex

❖ Summary: Rewrite of the beginning of Lazarus rising

❖ A/N: So here it is.The final chapter. Still can not believe I finished it. I really hoped you loved this story as much as I do and I hope your hearts isn’t to mauled by the angst levels. I might write an epilogue for this if there is interest, so let me know. Also please let me know what you thought about this story now that it is finished. It’ll only take a moment of your time but it will make my day♡ Masterlist Feedback appreciated and encouraged ♡

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

September 18 2008

Sam: 25 y/o

Dean: 29 y/o

The oxygen went down like a thorn bound intrusion in his lungs; it burned like wildfire and acid, clawing up his throat — like the air didn’t belong there anymore.

Dean gasped and searched with his hands, blindly looking for anything to help him figure out where he was. His hand finally landed on a lighter in his pocket. The flame illuminated the tight space, flicking shadows over the old wood of his coffin.

His coffin.

The soil was like sandpaper in his eyes and the need for breath tore at his lungs almost as much as drawing one would, but it was a welcome burn, it meant he was alive. But it hurt, so much so that he didn’t even reflect over the smell of damp rich soil that followed the air up his nose when he finally felt fresh air descend his lungs. He gasped and groaned, digging his fingers into fistfuls of grass covered ground to drag his body out of his grave

   ‘I’m clawing my way out of my own grave I am clawing my way out of my own grave, jesus christ’

All the way out, he turned on his back allowing himself a brief moment to relax before —

His mind hadn’t had the chance to work through what had happened or where he was or what he should be expecting, it was like his brain was pushing that stuff out of his reach purposefully, knowing it was something that would probably break him; a self preservation brain fog of sorts.

The sun warmed his face slightly but it didn’t feel as he’d expected, as his memories told him it should feel; the warmth awoke other feelings in him —  fear and a sudden urge to vomit. He blinked some dirt from his lashes, peering up. The light felt unnatural and stung his eyes like saltwater.

He stood up on wobbly legs, looking around. The whole clearing looked like it had been leveled by a bomb blast.

‘What the hell was going on?’

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

A jolt of exhilaration went through his chest when the rickety car roared to life, and he quickly closed the door and wheeled the rusty old thing out of the gas station.

He gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles began to whiten. He had time to think now. And every thought he’d suppressed up until then came rolling in, over, inside and around him like a vicious thundercloud.

   ‘Where’s Sammy?’

   ‘Where am I?’

   ‘What the fuck was that at the gas station?’

   ‘Who brought me back?’

   ‘Where’s my Omega?’

   ‘Why was I buried?’

   ‘Who did this?’

   ‘Where’s my mate ?’

The questions tumbled like waves in his head, breaking on top of the other so loud and cacophonous that he had a hard time focusing on the road, the asphalt blurring in front of him. He slowed on the gas and granted himself a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

He gasped when the scent of leather and warm late-summer day reached his nostrils. He pulled on the brakes in panic and stumbled out of the car.

He looked down at his stomach again, letting his fingers trace over where the wounds and scars should’ve been. He hadn’t dared to think about who had done this, who would go through the trouble of putting him back together, much less anything else as in at what length he had been made whole. He looked around, looking cautiously over the forest trees framing the road. He took a hesitant step towards the ditch and then another before he was almost touching.

He drew in a deep breath.

It was almost too much. The scent of wood and pine and moss, rainwater and so many different types of wildlife and green exploded inside him, almost stinging the inside of his nose — like hot spices on fresh taste buds.

He had to lean forward on his thighs to steady himself, his mind reeling, making him dizzy.

   “I can’t believe it..”

The Alpha within him, quiet up until now, slowly came back to life with him and he growled happily in the back of Dean’s mind, content now that his world had been made complete again.

Dean let his nose drag against the apex of his upper arm, inhaling as he went, scenting the soil still smudged on his body and the warm fragrance of sandalwood and bergamot he’d been told clung to his skin. He was still confused but he couldn’t deny the rush of joy that rushed from his stomach to his chest in a burst of elation like he’d not felt in a long time.

He breathed in, again and again until a completely unconstrained laugh bubbled up his throat and erupted on his lips. He sank down on the asphalt, letting the laughter rock his body as he breathed in again and again, putting pieces of clothing up to his nose to smell, not caring if the scents were pleasant or not. Sweat, salt, grease and dirt — it was all amazing.

Tears of relief stung at his eyes and he wiped them with a small smile he allowed himself before he reeled himself back in and went back to the car. He had a hard time wrapping his head around what had happened but had to stow it away for later, he had other priorities to tend to.

The car roared angrily as Dean shifted into gear and pushed the gas, the tires screeching as he continued down the road.

He tried to focus on the more practical questions of who, how and why but the thought of his brother pressed on against the back of his mind, especially now (What do you smell like, Sammy?), pushing its way through, and every time he envisioned his face a sharp tug pulled on his heart making it harder still for him to breathe. He lost to it, forfeited all the objectively more pressing thoughts to only one— to find Sam.

His mind felt lighter, clearer as he with determination pushed the old roaring engine harder. He needed to find his mate, all else could wait, all else had to wait. And since all Sam’s numbers were disconnected there was only one place he could go.

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

   “Surprise”

If there was an entry in the encyclopedia about the look on a man’s face who’s just seen a ghost, Dean was pretty sure a picture of Bobby would be right next to it.

   “I- I don’t..”

   “Yeah, me neither.. but here I am”

Dean knew it was a shit way to ease the shock, but sarcasm, irony and dark humour? It was the only tools in his repertoire.

What happened next went so fast Dean had a hard time getting a grip on it. Normally Bobby wouldn’t stand a chance on him but given the circumstances — well, Dean had had better days.

They tumbled for a while until Dean got a hold of the silver knife Bobby was trying to gut him with. He hesitated only a moment before putting the blade to his own skin and pulled, a line of blood confirming him as being no shifter nor revenant.

Bobby’s eyes widened in disbelief, hope and uncertainty lighting his face

   “Dean?”    “That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

And then the beta hugged him and Dean felt a quick wisp of relief, the scent of home, belonging and safe surrounding him. The alpha part of his brain purred in content as it recognized Bobby as family, pack.

   “It's... It's good to see you, boy.”    “Yeah, you too.”

Bobby did a double take.

   “Wait..did you just scent me?”

   “Yeah.. I guess whoever healed me did a bang up job, huh? ”

He was not ready when cold water splashed all over his face. He closed his eyes against the droplets and sighed.

   “I’m not a demon either, you know”

Bobby shrugged sheepishly.

   “Sorry.. can’t be too careful”

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

   “You really oughta fix this old girl up, Bobby, she deserves better”

   “Not everybody have to treat their car like their other half, boy, now quit your yappin and let’s go”

Dean slid in on the passenger seat of the old familiar Chevrolet Chevelle, patting the leather seats with a grin

   “Nice to see ya, girl”

It was not like having his old Baby back but it was familiar, something he sorely needed. He scented the air discreetly before Bobby got in, pleased to find that it smelled exactly as it had when he was a kid, before the accident, and that his memories of it hadn’t gotten warped with the years.

They pulled out of the salvage yard and set the course for Pontiac Illinois.

They were quiet for a while, letting the occasional streetlamp light the space between them and calm their nerves. Then Bobby cleared his throat, scratching the scruff of his neck

   “What’ya gonna tell him?”

Dean put his foot up on his knee, sliding lower in his seat with a sigh

   “I don’t know, Bobby. I just need to see him”

The silent tension hung thick between them.

   “What will you do if he— “

   “If? What do you mean if, Bobby? Who else could’ve done it?”

He turned his head towards the window, a line of worry and thought creasing his forehead.

   “But I’ll tell you one thing.. I rather go back to hell than see Sammy ever put a foot in that place”

Bobby’s eyes widened as he momentarily took his eyes of the road, realisation dawning on his face as he saw the shudder shaking Dean’s body.

   “Okay, Dean. We’ll fix this.”

It took a while but in the end the weight of his eyelids won and Dean fell into a restless sleep, unable to fight the exhaustion pulling at him.

He dreamt of his brother, of the 4th of July they spent in a field shooting fireworks. Sammy jumping and laughing under the colourful sparks raining down around him. Dean smiled with his whole face as he joined Sammy, lifting him up in his arms and nuzzled near just below his ear and inhaled deeply. Sam just laughed, playfully swatting at him.

   “Dean it tickles! Stop! What if Dad catches us?”

Dean just breathed deeper, taking in the warmth of his baby brother.

   “I don’t care, Sammy. Let him see”

All of a sudden the scenery turned cold and grey, a omnious shiver running up his spine. He ran his nose up under Sam’s ear, breathing in deeply but could smell nothing there. He jerked away, putting Sam down and backing away. Sam just stood there silent, watching him with a sad expression on his young face.

Dean woke up with a start.

   “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We’re just pulling up”

Dean rubbed his face and shook his head for good measure. He looked up at the tall building outside the car window.

He would finally see Sam.

━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

   “ It's him. It's him! I've been through this already, it's really him!”

If the situation had been anything but what it was Dean might’ve laughed at the look on Sam’s face, he always thought the puppy look was at its most heartwarmingly adorable when he got confused.

   “...what?”

Dean deemed it safe to advance and did so cautiously, slowly with his hands up like you would a frightened animal.

   “I know, I look fantastic, huh?”

In a blink Sam was in his arms and he could physically feel that last piece of gaping void inside him close up. They slotted together like nothing else could ever fit and it was the single most extraordinary thing Dean had ever felt. He dragged his hands up Sam’s neck and into his hair, brushing, tugging and pulling at those soft strands of chocolate brown he’d missed— oh, that he’d missed so much.

Sam was just as eager, not even trying to mask the quiet sobs rocking his body as his large hands trailed all over Dean as if making sure that his brother was really there with him, finally safe and warm in his arms.

   “I missed you”, he whispered, pain lacing his voice as he seemed intent on kissing every freckle on Deans face, counting them, making sure every part of him was whole.

The whisper was so soft and so broken it nearly cracked Dean’s heart in two. He pulled back just enough to cradle his brother’s neck with both hands, steadying him and directing him to look him in the eye. Sam’s eyes were red and wet with tears, and the corners of his mouth trembled with the effort of trying to smile through the waves of emotions conflicting and crashing down on him.

   “Never again, Sammy, I’m never leaving you ever again”

And he pulled their faces together, lips connecting in a salty wet kiss that seemed to melt into his body and race straight to his heart. Sam exhaled shakily on a smile but his brows were still knitted together.

   “Promise me. Alpha, promise me”

   “My Omega, sweet sweet Omega..I promise”

And then Dean leaned in, let his cheek drag against his brother’s until his nose was nuzzled up just below Sam’s ear, just like in his dream, and he breathed in.

He jolted, eyes wide as he jerked back, staring at Sam, eyes filled with amazement, incomprehension and shock. Sam tried to close the distance Dean had created between them but he kept him at arm's length, just staring at him.

   “Dean, what? What? Alpha..what is it?”

The scent of cut grass, lavender and pine wood had hit his nostrils like a sledgehammer to a concrete wall.

   “Sammy.. “, Dean looked wide-eyed and breathless, chest heaving as he with shaking hands gripped his brother by his shirt and pulled him closer, inhaling deeply “...you smell like home.”

[unholyhelbiglinked]

For Better Or Worse | 006

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START

The room smelled like a hockey rink- it’s scent thick of plastic, a sweet edge making my mouth water as I caught a good whiff of the hot-dog stands a few blocks down. This was a part of town that none of us really ventured to anymore- not recently. The small string of shops was an attempt by the Mayor to make us a tourist attraction, but it really just brought unwanted loitering by a bunch of teenagers.

I remembered the first time Jesse and I had rolled up to the Hot Shot. Our legs were sore and sweat dripped against every inch of our exposed skin. It was the summer before Junior year- neither of us having anything more than a learner’s permit. We resorted to bikes then- mine a deep rusty red like my truck while his sparkled in blue paint in the sun.

Neither of us had any money on us, but we had heard of a little place on the edge of town that allowed paintball. Even with our hearts pounding in our ears we could smell the paint and hear the subtle click of the triggers. It was exhilarating, even if we just leaned against our forms of transportation and watched paint covered people exit the arena with shit-eating grins on their faces.

We saved up the whole entire summer and bought an hour game the night before classes began again. Each of us digging in couch cushions and taking odd jobs cutting peoples lawns in the hot sun. The hits burned more after all that exposure, but we had a blast- everything was worth it.

Today was a different story. Part of me was holding resentment towards the girl who stood next to me with her hands in her pockets and lips pursed. She had her chin lifted like she was better than me. She was, by all rights, better than me. Keeping up with Aubrey Posen in the standards department.

The blonde was poking her tongue out of her lips as she fastened the belt around her waist, keeping the camouflage pants against her hips. The black form-fitting t-shirt that hugged her sides did so well. She looked like her father, a military man that I had only met once. I averted my gaze, rolling up my own sleeves to meet my elbows as Chloe struggled to lace up her shoes.

Stacie struggled with zipping up her own pants, letting out a struggled grumble as she stuck her lower lip out to pout. It brought a sly smile to my face, seeing a long-time friend completely out of her element. The locker room keeping an odd chill to it.

“I don’t understand how you think this is fun,” Chloe mumbled, pulling at her laces with exasperation. I didn’t glance her way, instead training my gaze on Aubrey giving up and helping Stacie with her own situation.

She was laughing, a smile on her lips as she threw her head back and laughed, getting a good look at Amy who looked ready enough to begin the game. The shorter blonde had a thick fire in her eyes that made me recoil to a certain extent. I didn’t want to get in that girl's line of fire, not on or off of the battlefield.

“Oh, I don’t think it matters how I feel,” I said, a bit of condescension in my voice as I lowered myself onto the bench next to Chloe, starting to look down at my untied boots. Her body was hot close to mine, but I was getting used to it. Chloe on the other hand stiffened. “Do you see how happy she is?”

The red-head let out a sigh. Aubrey did look happy. Both of us were fairly certain of that. The blonde had her arm on Stacie’s shoulder, shaking her head as the disoriented brunette blushed under the embarrassment of having so much trouble with a simple belt and zipper. My stare shifted slightly as I watched Chloe, a wonderment finding it’s way to her features as she watched her friend.

“Just let loose and shoot some things, Beale.” I let a smirk press against my lips as I handled her the paint gun, it clicked against her grasp, her fingers twitching around the weapon as she shook her head.

“I don’t see any targets painted on your back.”

I growled as I stood, not really wanting to feed into her snarky comments today. I knew that I was a better shot than this woman from the city, and at this point, that’s all that mattered. That and Aubrey. I didn’t even know why I was spending so much time trying to impress this woman, but I was. I had to.

“Mouse!” Amy said from her leaned up positioned at the locker, I fought off the urge to roll my eyes at the woman, knowing that her famous grilled cheeses were worth the nicknames that I had earned for myself. “How about a little wager?”

“Oh no,” I held my free hand up, the weapon hanging by my side. “I am not falling into that trap.”

“If you get three good hits than I’ll strike your tab.”

I snapped my head up, narrowing my eyes as Aubrey’s mouth made an “O” shape. I had seen the girl grow competitive before, many times before. She loved to bet for things like this and she was like a fly to peanut butter at this point, silently leaning forward to see if I would stake it all. I licked my lips.

“What happens if I don’t?”

“I get the Poseidon for a day.” Amy grinned.

I clenched my eyes shut, squeezing the bridge of my nose as I weighed my options. The tab had run up pretty high and I had been coming here for years- but Amy? Amy was something else. I could barely get anything out of her about her past. “If you fuck on my couch-“

“Whoa, relax Shawshank!” The girl held her hands up in resilience “I miss sailing, alright? Three shots.”

Another slight growl moved away from my lips as I swallowed roughly. Aubrey lifted a brow as Chloe crossed her arms over her chest: Both watching to see what I would do. I quickly stuck my hand up, the ginger throwing her head back in exasperation as Aubrey whispered a small victory cry at the little wager.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Amy smirked as she took my head, squeezing it slightly with that same salty look in her eyes.

Chloe’s arm wrapped around my mid-section as she dug her nails roughly into my skin. She wasn’t short on pushing her whole entire weight on me, my jaw clenched as the cool mud that mixed with bright orange paint coated my exposed skin.

I bit the inside of my lip, feeling the sting as I didn’t falter from her grasp. She was in a lot more pain than I was, coated entirely in mud as she hopped along on one foot- the wet pavement not giving us much mercy as the scent of asphalt filled my lungs.

“Ow, ow, ow” The red-head mumbled through choked sobs that set blurred streaks across her cheeks. “Fuck.”

I knit my eyebrows together as the cold edge of the emergency room instantly washed over the two of us. She shivered into me, her other arm draped over my shoulders as I let out a small groan, setting her on the closest chair with a huff.

She was angry, her eyes forged in rage as she fought through the pain that was no doubt rushing through her leg at this point. Amy having ambushed the two of us out of nowhere. Not only did I piss off my supposed partner- but I also was in desperate need of stitches, Chloe close to breaking her ankle.

The receptionist lifted her eyes towards the window, no hint of amusement against her features as she leaned back in her hair, pushing a clipboard towards me. “Alright, G.I Joe, fill out both of your Insurance information and we’ll get a doctor to see you soon.”

I nodded, swallowing the dry taste against my lips instead of paying attention to the looks the two of us were getting. It appeared that the two of us had been mud wrestling instead of playing a simple game of paintball.

I lowered myself into the seat next to Chloe, handing the paperwork as she let out a small mumble before creasing her brow and focusing on the questions that she could answer in her sleep. Her foot was outstretched in front of her, my phone buzzing in my pocket.

STACE [5:08pm]

I’ll take care of Addy tonight, she’s got that book Aubrey gave her. Just keep us updated.

BECA[5:12pm]

Oh my god, you’re a life saver, tell Aubrey I’m so sorry.

STACE[5:13pm]

For what? She’s still laughing her ass off. Maybe next time don’t challenge professional marksmen to a pissing contest? See you tomorrow, Becs.

I groaned, shaking my head as I shoved my slowly dying phone into my pocket. Stacie was good on her word, I knew she would keep Addison calm and collected for a few hours while I struggled with my own fear of needles and hospitals in general. My mind racing as Chloe stayed silent. It was the longest she ever had, clearly in pain.

“Hey, it was a dumb idea,” I said smoothly, finally admitting it to myself as the minutes ticked by.

“Challenging Amy or paintball in general?”

“Both?” I sounded out. Not sure which one I wanted to stake my claim to. Either way, I expected her to yell a little more than she was. To scream or something in that snarky tone that she carried. Instead, she blinked at the fluorescent lights that hung above us. She let out a breath, closing her eyes.

I placed my hands in my lap, stare darting each time a doctor dared to walk by. I hated this place- the way the carpets looked so much like a movie theater, the way antiseptic burned against my lungs and lights lit up long corridors that were lined with prints of famous paintings. My heart pounded each time an employee passed by, finally filling my ears as someone caught my attention.

The blonde’s face lit up as I gave her a slight nod. She was talking to another doctor, her hand holding a file as she closed it, excusing herself from her conversation as my uncomfortable shift stirred Chloe a bit- but not enough to get the girl to open her eyes.

“Beca Mitchell,” Her dark blue scrubs contrasted roughly with her grey gaze. She looked good. Different, but good. Jessica had such a young look about her, one that caught my attention constantly.

Chloe had finally sat up, drawing in a breath as she sat herself up, eyes tired, but amused by the interaction.

“How have you been?” She took in my appearance “Keeping yourself busy, I see?”

“Oh, this?” I raised my fingers to the cut that ran itself against my forehead, the blood having slowed as I smeared it away. “Just a little light-hearted game of paintball.”

The doctor laughed, her eyes flicking towards Chloe for a few moments before she moved her attention back to me, holding out her hands. “Can I see them?”

I stared at her for a few moments, understanding exactly what she met as the girl next to me lifted her chin slightly, biting her lip despite the thick taste of soil and water. Eventually, I relented, feeling the pressure of the situation.

Jessica’s touch was soft as she grasped my hands, ignoring the dirt under my nails as she ran her hands over the scars that were against my palms. They were distorted and burned, something that Chloe hadn’t noticed- something I never wanted to talk about. The skin was bumpy and pink- layered from grafting and surgeries that Jessica had performed herself.

“You healed well,” She said with a smile. “I trust I can count on our appointment in a few months.”

I nodded politely, thanking her again before she nodded at Chloe and walked away, her shoes clicking against the stupid carpet. I wish they were louder, my focus being on her steps instead of Chloe’s toxic stare melting the side of my skull.

“The fire, it uh” I spoke, voice cracking as I mentally cursed myself, not looking towards Chloe. “It affected my hands first, you know? I reached right into the flames, not even registering how damaging it could really be.”

The silence was enough to make self-doubt twist against my stomach, my own stare focused on the very hands that caused me so many issues.

“Beca,” She whispered, her own voice ruined as I breathed in the scent of soil.

“Chloe Beale.” The very receptionist that had given me the paperwork now stood by a wooden door, her own file in her hands as she searched the sea of people in the waiting room. I sniffed slightly, finally meeting the woman’s gaze.

“Looks like you’re up, Red.”    

[shitkkwrites]

🔃 Rusame~ With America the knight in shining armor. And Ivan the damsel in distress :3

(admittedly, I had too much fun with this one.)

I’m not your Ordinary Knight!

When a Magus takes on the job of a Knight, what odd encounters await him?

“What was I thinking, saying that I could take thison?!”

Sandy-blonde hair stuck out from underneath a rustediron helmet that had been carelessly jammed onto the speaker’s head, visordrawn down to protect his exposed face. Slapping a gloved hand to the visor, hegroaned. Why didn’t he think this through?!

Here he was, Alfred, a knight errant down on hisluck. While his friends had already earned their reputation, so to speak, hewas one of the last few that had yet to make his name known—why did it have tobe so hard to look for a princess to save?! By the time he’d get there, eithera fellow knight had beaten him to the chase, or the creature guarding the towerhad eaten both damsel and hapless rescuer.

Maybe it’sbetter I’m late to the party— he thought to himself as he looked up, seeinganother one of his compatriots walking into view; but there was something off.How, and why was their armor coated in so much frost, yet it was the height ofsummer?!

“What happened?!” he asked, making his wayforward—never mind that his armor made such a loud clanking noise he wasprobably the laughingstock of all the ‘Knights’ that existed. “Where did allthis frost come from?!”

“Tower…far North… snowy path…” his fellow mutteredbefore crashing down with an equally loud noise on the dirt path. 

“Aw, come on, man,” he groaned, looking around andseeing that there was nobody else around. “Fine, fine…” he muttered, reachingdown and helping the fellow Knight off the center of the road and resting themagainst a nearby alleyway. “Looks like it’s time for my true skills to come inhandy,” he muttered, unable to banish this grin off his face. Surely it wouldbe easy to trace the other’s footsteps…

After what felt like an eternity, Alfred finally gotoff his mount, and securely tied the ropes to a nearby tree. Surely this was asfar North as he could go? The path he’d taken was eerily quiet, not to mentionthere was a growing accumulation of frost the further inward he went. He waspretty certain he was on the right track, until…

“Whoa!” he all but hollered as a sudden hail offrozen spikes landed at his feet. “What in the name of…?! Okay, that was notwhat I was expecting!” he continued, releasing one of his gloved hands; thebetter to free it up for the spell that he was already chanting. Another rainof chilling spikes came raining down from the sky, but he was quick to roll outof the way before sending a blast of flames at the incoming projectiles thatwere intent on skewering him and turning him into a popsicle.

“No way, I am not going to have any of that!” hecontinued, quickly getting up from his prone position and tossing off hissecond gauntlet down on the frozen ground. Now that both his hands were free, it would be easier toconcentrate on the arcane power that welled deep inside him. Taking a deepbreath, he felt the heat rise from within him, before quickly channeling itinto a blast of flames he’d thrown up not a second too soon as another hail offrozen projectiles made their way towards him.

“Looks like I have an uphill battle to climb,” hemuttered to himself, squaring his shoulders and squinting into the haze ofwhite—barely picking out the outline of what seemed to be a large, hulkingshadow lurking atop a seemingly abandoned tower. “Well, I hope I have enoughmana for this…” he trailed off, calling forth his blazing power as he chargedforward into the whiteness.

The battle itself had certainly taken a good longwhile, but he’d finally managed to drive off the guardian of the tower, even ifit had costed him a lot of his own energy. As he trudged up towards the towerproper, he then touched a hand to the cold brick, and then got to work slowly meltingthe frost that surrounded the door, before kicking it down; and eventuallymaking his way inside. 

“H-hello?” he called out, seeing a staircase thatclimbed into the misty ceiling. “Anyone… here?” he continued, setting oneuncertain foot on the steps that led up—before beginning the dizzying trekupwards. He didn’t know exactly how many steps there were; it felt like aneternity before the circular stairs came to a stop, and he’d entered a room.

“H-hello,” he began towards the figure that wasstaring out the window, taking his helmet off as he did so. “I-I defeated the guardian, s-so if y-you want to comewith me, I’m—” he trailed off; before meeting a gaze so intense he’d run out ofwords to say.

Both individuals were shocked—Alfred certainly wasn’texpecting to meet a young man, and neither was the ‘princess’ he’d saved.

“…you repelled him?” the taller figure began, his tremblingvoice a whisper.

“Y-yeah, I-I did,” Alfred replied, sheepish grin onhis face as he then looked down towards the floor, feeling insecure all of asudden. “Did… did I take too long?”

“Nyet, I was a bit surprised to see you throwingflames around. Are you… are you a knight?” his ‘damsel’ continued, leaningagainst the window ledge; the better to observe the knight that had come torescue him.

“Uhh… well, I had to take up the profession, but tobe honest, I’m a Magus, as you’d seen,” he began to explain, now scratching theback of his head in an equally sheepish manner. For some weird reason, therewas this blush dusting his cheeks the longer he looked at the captive ‘damsel’.“Apparently, being a Magus around here gets you some unsavory reputation, so I hadto hide my true ‘power’.”

“…nobody has managed to drive off Zima. Well, atleast until… you arrived,” the stranger continued, finally rising from where hestood and slowly, hesitatingly approaching the ‘knight’ in rusty, clanky armor.“What’s your name?” he asked, an inquiring tone in his voice while his owndeep-violet eyes twinkled with much curiosity.

“Err…” the sunny-blonde stammered, the lightcoloring on his cheeks suddenly erupting into full flower. “Y-you can call me…Alfred. Knight errant, erstwhile Magus of the Blazing Order,” he began, addinghis ‘true’ title after his fake one, looking down to the floor not too longafterwards—why was he getting so worked up, and he was just introducinghimself?!

“My name is Ivan. Prince of the Far North, High Summonerof the Frozen Wasteland,” the owner of the soft voice continued, drawinghimself up to full height, before observing his ‘savior’.

[skarletterambles]

Pirates of the Caribbean 5

I just got back from seeing Dead Men Tell No Tales.  I have thoughts.  Quite a few of them, actually.

I should preface this review by giving a bit of background on my involvement with this franchise.  I saw the first PotC movie in the theater seven times.  I saw Dead Man’s Chest three or four times and loved it.  I saw At World’s End exactly once, hated it with the passion of a thousand burning suns, and never saw it again.

I was--and am--a hardcore Sparrabeth shipper.  The canon status of Willabeth only explains part of my disillusionment with the franchise, however.  My biggest problem was how Elizabeth had an amazing character arc over three films, going from a prim-and-proper governor’s daughter to the ass-kicking Pirate King, pursuing her dreams in defiance of society’s expectations, outwitting both the EITC and legendary pirates, leading an armada in battle...and then had it all stripped away at the end of the third movie, where she is left literally barefoot and pregnant to wait for her man to come back.  I was--and am--livid.  I felt betrayed, both as a fan and a feminist, to see one of my favorite characters do a 180 like that.

So I have very strong feelings about these movies.  I’ve tried to get over it in the years since AWE, with limited success.  Against my better judgment I did see On Stranger Tides in the theater, and thought it was mediocre.  Since Elizabeth wasn’t involved I could just ignore its existence, for the most part.

Then the fifth movie was announced, and Will was going to be in it.  I had hoped that maybe, just maybe they could try to rectify some of the mistakes (read: character assassination) of the past.

They didn’t.  But they still came up with a pretty good movie.  Honestly, I’d even give Dead Men Tell No Tales four stars out of five.  I was riveted to the screen for most of it, and it was thrilling to hear the theme music and see the familiar faces.  It was exciting and entertaining, the special effects were impressive, and there were some good laughs.  Plus, zombie sharks!

Do I have issues with parts of it?  Yeah.  And I’m going to ramble at length.

**** MAJOR POTC: DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES SPOILERS BELOW ****

Sequel creep is definitely at work, where each installment has to be bigger and zanier than the last.  The gags are broader, the willing suspension of disbelief gets even more strained, the stakes are higher, and it becomes almost like a Saturday morning cartoon version of itself.  

Thinking back to CotBP, we had to buy into the curse turning Barbossa and his crew into undead, but other than that the world operated on fairly realistic terms.  Yes, there was movie logic involved as far as coincidences, travel times, fast wound recovery, and all that, but it still felt more or less like the real world.  Stakes got higher with each sequel, until we have whatever the hell that “bank robbery” was in DMTNT.  

Don’t get me wrong; it was an enjoyable action sequence, but it felt more like a cartoon than anything that could happen under the laws of physics as they exist in our world.  That’s not inherently a bad thing, but the tone was noticeably different compared to the earlier films.

Moving on, I was glad Captain Salazar didn’t have that slurpy, blood-drooling voice through the entire film.  When I first heard that in the early trailer I was both grossed out, and concerned that he would be hard to understand.  Instead it was just that one scene, and he spoke normally the rest of the time.  He was a great villain, from his badass and scary entrance through to his delightfully ironic death.  He was genuinely threatening, which was kind of surprising considering the cartoony feel of some of the action scenes.  Javier Bardem killed it.  Thumbs up to him!

The legend surrounding the trident, and the map to find it, seemed cool until you thought about it for more than two seconds, and then it didn’t really make any sense.  Calypso is the Sea Goddess in this universe, so where did Poseidon come in?  How can his trident override curses that she put in place?  If it could be broken by a single sword blow, how did it stay intact under the sea for (presumably) thousands of years?  I mean, sure, maaaaaagic, but...eh.

And why did Will get all barnacley anyway?  Elizabeth waited for him, so that part of the curse shouldn’t have kicked in.

And what will happen to the souls of the dead without the Dutchman to ferry them to the afterlife?  

And what happened to Bootstrap Bill?  Did Will figure out how to free him and let him move on to the afterlife?

And if breaking the trident cancelled all the curses related to the sea, how did Davy Jones appear in the after-credits scene?  (Assuming it was him.  The gait, crab claw, barnacles, tentacley silhouette and the music box theme all pointed to it being him, anyway.)  I could almost buy him coming back to life when the curse was broken, but as a normal human again, not ol’ squidface.  The mythology makes no damn sense at all!

This review is coming across pretty negative so far, but I really did enjoy the movie.  I thought it was much better than OST, and felt like a return to the original vibe of the series.  I thoroughly enjoyed watching (almost) every minute of it, and I left the theater grinning and humming the theme music.  As a summer popcorn movie, it’s pretty great.  It’s just when the adrenaline wears off and I start thinking and analyzing that I see the issues.  And, like I said, I have a long history with this franchise, so overthinking it is what I do.

There were definitely some surprises, although I saw a couple of the twists coming.  The instant I realized Carina was Hector’s daughter, I was like, “Well, he’s going to die saving her somehow.”  And I was right.  It was sad (and that damn monkey gave me more feels than any creepy little primate has a right to), but at the same time I’m delighted at how his character grew into so, so much more than he was originally planned to be.  He was supposed to be a one-shot villain in CotBP, but Geoffrey Rush is so damn awesome, and he and Johnny Depp brainstormed a history between their characters, decided his first name was Hector, and one thing led to another and here we are, genuinely mourning him in the fifth movie.  It was a worthy sendoff for a memorable character.

One of the themes that got raised over and over in the earlier movies was the idea that it’s possible to be a pirate and a good man.  Bootstrap Bill Turner was.  Jack is.  Was Hector Barbossa a good man?  I don’t know if I’d go that far, but he wasn’t 100% evil, either.  And he was a lot of fun to watch.

Henry definitely reminded me of Will.  He had the same wide-eyed earnestness about him, as well as the tendency to charge into danger because it’s the Right Thing To Do without thinking through the full plan first.  Elizabeth’s legacy is a bit harder to see, except in the first two scenes.  Keeping a secret stash of pirate memorabilia and legends?  Totally Lizzie.  Back-talking authority figures?  Yep, Lizzie’s genes are in there.  And later, in the jail, taking Jack’s ego down a peg by scoffing at his legendary reputation in comparison to the reality of a scruffy, rum-soaked pirate?  Also from the Swann side of the family.  So I think they did a pretty good job of making Henry his parents’ son. 

I just wish we had more information on how he was raised, and where.  I always imagined him scampering around Shipwreck Cove and up the rigging of Elizabeth’s ship(s), the mischievous pirate prince.  Based on the house Elizabeth is living in at the end, and the fact that he was enlisted in the royal navy, I don’t see that happening in canon now.

When Carina was introduced I had a couple thoughts:

1.  “I wonder if she’s related to any existing characters...  No, don’t be silly.  This isn’t a fanfic.  They’re trying to move the franchise forward into the next generation.”  (Or not.) 2.  I don’t want to like her because no one can ever replace Elizabeth Freaking Swann the Pirate King as the best female character in these movies.  And that’s still true, but she definitely grew on me.  She had a fairly good balance of “smart woman who can take care of herself and doesn’t need a man to complete her story” and “too perfect to be likable or believable.”  I could have done with a costume that didn’t draw quite so much attention to her heaving bosom, but I suppose there’s some vaguely historical style going on.

Honestly, there’s a reason her backstory could have been lifted from a story on Fanfiction.net circa 2004:  those kinds of long-lost relative reveals can be a hell of a lot of fun.  Especially when you have Jack there to tease “daddy” Hector mercilessly.

I’m glad they didn’t have her be Jack’s daughter, though.  That thought crossed my mind, too, and that would have been...not good.

Pity Hector never got to introduce himself to Elizabeth and Will as the father of their potential daughter-in-law.  Awwwwwkward!  Bwahahaha!

Speaking of the dreaded Willabeth...  Jack saw them smooching in his spyglass, made a face, and announced that it was a revolting sight.  Same, Jack.  Same.

Therein lies my biggest complaint about the movie, and, as I mentioned above, it’s just the latest sprout on a tree of dislike that I’ve been nursing since the ending of At World’s End was leaked.  How in the seven hells they thought it was an appropriate, satisfying, logical plot development for Elizabeth Freaking Swann the Pirate King to end up standing around passively on a beach in a frilly dress and a fucking corset, waiting for the menfolk to do the important stuff, I will never, ever understand.  It’s a slap in the face of everything her character arc was over the first three movies.

“Sure, little girls, you can have adventures and play pirate for awhile if you want to, but in the end you still have to get married, grow up, conform to society’s beauty standards, put aside those dreams, and take care of your husband and children.”  Fuck that with a rusty garden trowel.

And here, when they had the chance to redeem that travesty, when they could have showed a glimpse of her at the helm of her own flagship, or holding court with the other Pirate Lords, or just simply wearing pirate-type clothes and carrying a sword, for the love of all things holy, did they do any of those things?  Oh, no.  No, they doubled down and had her be so passive that she didn’t even get to speak.  (Doesn’t that mean they don’t have to pay Knightley as much?)  Literally all she’s there for is to be a reward for Will upon his homecoming, and then sleep with him--on land in a fancy house that could have been in Port Royal, for all we know.  Any journey her character had is moot.  She’s back to square one, and it makes me want to throw things.

Oops, I was going to keep that rant short, and failed.  Oh well, it’s a sore spot, obviously.  I have never felt so betrayed by a franchise as I did when they did that to Elizabeth in AWE, and it still stings after all these years.

My ire didn’t even stem from my shipping preferences, although that certainly was salt in the wound.  If they couldn’t give us a series of movies with Jack and Lizzie, the best pirates in the world, having amazing adventures while flirting like they did in DMC, at least they could have given us a sort of open ending, where she, Will and Jack all sail in their separate directions, knowing that their paths would cross in the future in any number of entertaining ways.  I’m never sure if I should blame the writers, the studio, or the actors, or all of the above, but I would have bought, like, ALL THE TICKETS to see those movies.

But, alas, that’s not what we got.  We got OST and DMTNT instead.  OST was quite forgettable, but DMTNT packed a pretty good punch and I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.  I won’t say it totally redeemed the franchise for me, but it’s got its head above water for the first time since DMC, so that’s progress.

Should you see it?  Yeah, I think so.  If you enjoyed the precious PotC movies, or just like pirate movies in general, it’s a fun couple hours.  Just don’t think too hard about it afterward (like I did.)

[mulder-isms]

Summer in Brooklyn - Thorcid fanfic

A\N: Fic number 51 is a lucky charm! ✨

Writing this fic was a fun experience, because when you write on vacation I think it really pours into the writing that your brain is not so troubled. A hopeful fic, who would have thought. I’ve been obsessed with the idea of writing a summer camp fic, and it’s not AU, that’s right. All inside the thorcid novel!

Thank you @featherpluckn @raviolipocketoli @fashionclownn for the injury prompts, hope I used them well!

I’m really curious of what you guys are going to think because it’s completely different from everything else. Drop me a note 💕

*

“Okay, I think we have enough footage of the apartment. One last question and we can wrap it up? I’m going to the club with you to shoot the auction and street takes”

The producer and director of the King of queens series was sitting on a stool behind Shane’s crowded make-up corner. He was paired up with the camera man that seemed completely ready to finish the last shots of the day, fatigue on his face, chewing gun impatiently. Shane was in the process of overdrawing his lips and he wondered how much footage of him prepping they were going to use. Having people following him around the whole day was fun, but he was sure his house reflected him a little too well. An anthropological experience, they’ve captured all the tiny details as if he was an animal of rare habits to catch on camera, and everything was too precious to not record it.

“Living through art can be volatile sometimes I guess, music and drag performance, how do you deal with being blocked? Was there ever a time that you ran out of ideas?”

Shane chuckled nervously and looked down fumbling his brushes. He loves giving interviews because the stream of thoughts inside his head never ceases. But somehow just the word block was a bad omen, incited the feeling back again and he wanted to shake it off.

“You know, as musician, I feel protected” he paused to start his eyeliner and only continued after finishing the wing. He dropped the pencil down and turned his back to them. “Because music is beyond me. It surrounds me. Like if I’m blocked I can practice Brahms concerto until I have blisters, the work is already done, I just need to tune in. But drag comes out of me and…” he stopped taking a deep sigh, collecting the right words, gesticulating trying to summon them in thin air. “When my good friends are trying to cheer me up, I always try to remember. My life goes in a sine cosine, you know? When you’re really high you need to know there’s probably a lower point coming. Prepare for it. And when you’re low and you’re sitting like why am I doing this? You gotta know that right around the corner you’ll get inspired again”

The producer agreed pondering his advice and Shane got back to concentrating on the mirror in front of him.

*

It doesn’t matter how successful you are.

If you decide to take a break from work everybody gets worried. People are supposed to never stop the sick cycle carousel, and especially people like Shane are allegedly known for never giving up. When Shane told his dad, he furrowed the brows they both shared, asked if everything was okay financially and asked very awkwardly if Jamin was treating him right. He laughed finding it endearing. Jamin was treating him very right. It was his own soul-searching experience that his boyfriend had nothing do to with it.

Jamin’s reaction to the news wasn’t that much different from his father. I’m not going to take any drag gigs for a month. The big blue eyes widened as if they were going to fall from their orbits. He was in full disbelief but struggling to not throw him wet blankets.

“I want to believe you can, but I think after a week the withdraw is going to kick in and you’re bursting into the I’m so excited number around the house and break everything”

Shane was decided to prove them wrong, but it was way harder than he thought. After cleaning the whole apartment and catching up with errands and chores that were on hold for almost a year, there wasn’t much left to do. Jamin still had gigs booked and was doing his own clean up too. But Jamin was organized and a very active artist. He is always drawing, breaking, gluing and sewing. All at once. The kid that used to blow stuff in his house garage had his own studio and he was there all his free time. Shane worked in a complete different way. He overanalyzed his ideas working on all the outcomes and it took him a while to engage in action.

It got easier when his sister came to the rescue sent by his father. She asked him if he want to teach a kid’s band in summer camp for three weeks. His nieces were too small for summer camp, but their school was quite liberal and his sister assured him he could perform in drag once. He wasn’t totally convinced about that. Or about the whole prospect of it.

After a while marinating the idea in silence, considering all possible scenarios, he told Jamin while they were talking trough Facetime.  Shane was eating Chinese food from the box on bed in Brooklyn and used his pillow as a phone support in front of him. Jamin was in California helping Becky at work and laid down on his hotel room bed.

It took him few seconds processing the most random information he ever heard, Shane continued slurping the noodles of the chop suey until he dropped the box impatiently.

“Fuck, you’re killing me. Just say something!”

“Where is it again? Vermont?” He asked scratching his left eye in a very sleepy tone.

Shane wasn’t expecting this question so he was unsure if he got it right. “Yeaaah? I actually know the place.”

Shane bit his lower lip in anticipation putting down the box while Jamin was still looking at him, thousands of questions behind his reddish eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be a good teacher to these kids, and I know, it’s a complete new world? But I have a good feeling about it? It could go wrong in so many ways though”

“It’s going to be great, Thorg. You love this stuff. Wasn’t this what you had in mind? To disconnect…it’s just that, three weeks…”

Shane face was softening. Jamin wasn’t sure of his capacity, it was something else.

“I guess I was used to have you all day for me these past days…” he confessed giving up to beat around the bush.

Shane tilted his head as if he was watching the cutest video of baby animals on YouTube.

“Come with me”

Jamin scoffed shaking his head and cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t a boy scout like you, thank you very much. I’m an indoors queen. I never got the nature call”

“At least the last days, to watch me perform with the kids…getting a tan by the lake…make out in the woods” he lured him shimming his shoulders and raising his brows repeatedly. Shane felt a shiver down his spine as the memory of their last time in the woods was coming back.

“We’ll see, I can’t promise you anything” he replied being mysterious.

Shane was focusing on his lips on the screen. He kept licking them because of the dry weather.

“I can promise you the best marshmallows you ever eaten.”

Jamin observed him embracing his knees, the sweetest smile on his face.

“You play dirty”

*

The last time Shane was in summer camp he was still a kid. And this was the first thing he realized when he stepped out of his sister’s car into Kidville’s summer camp. The place was huge and surrounded by a forest, it was way fancier than what he recalled. There were cabins for the different age groups, and a main house for dining, lounging and internet connection. No wonder kids these days didn’t know how to do anything. They would comfortably get into the wild.

The other thing Shane came to notice, was that he was surrounded by straight people. And it’s been a long time since he was exposed to so many of them. The counselors were curious about his experience on TV, and how their gay friends watch the show and how cool drag was. Carefully being condescending and observing if he was going to magically transform into a woman.

The counselor for more physical activities such as taking the kids to the woods to show them scout tricks was impressed how he still knew all the tricks. The water activities instructor invited him to help with the kids on the second day. He was rusty in the beginning, but his childhood as competitive swimmer paid off.

A week later and Shane was the kids favorite. Mister Galligan was cool, because he always let them past the time in the lake. He watched Fantasia with the band kids and talked about the history of each song.

His favorite counselor was Dana. She was the drama teacher and her husband was the coach of the baseball team in the school. She looked like Melissa McCarty but with bright red hair. It was late at night and they were at the dinner table in the main house. Shane was helping her doing the dishes, drying what she was washing with a dishcloth.

“Let me finish these. I have some chocolate cake that I sneaked in from the city. It’s in the drawer” she winked at him taking the dishcloth from Shane’s hands.

He picked the cake and sat on the table, setting a plate for her. He was eating almost a whole piece, putting his foot on the chair next to him. They were alone so he could relax.

“Oh, you can eat mine” she said joining him on the table and noticing the plate he made for her. “I bought this by impulse. Brian would sniff the chocolate from a mile”

Brian was the husband. He seemed like a nice guy but every time Shane got near him he felt like he had a mission like Miss Vida in “To wong foo”. Dana didn’t sound unhappy but their relationship was a little bit off lately from what he captured in their late-night conversations.

“You’re gorgeous. You both should eat the cake and enjoy life” he answered cutting one more slice. She observed him giggling as Shane checked Jamin’s last messages. “I was trying to go on a diet but my boyfriend is the one to ruin it. I sent a piece of this ridiculous cake to him. He is awful”

Even though everyone there knew he was gay Shane could swear Meg’s face changed every time he mentioned him.

“Oh, you haven’t showed me a picture of him yet!”

Shane searched in the mess of his cell for pic of Jamin, but he didn’t have many. The best one was taken in a sneaky way, he was sitting on the kitchen’s table staring at his laptop all concentrated. One of the few pictures that he wasn’t making any stupid faces.

“Wow, he is a stud!” she nodded while Shane zoomed the picture.

“He is. But he doesn’t know and he is always escaping from pictures, which is not fair since he is a professional photographer and he takes pictures of me all the fucking time”

She softly chuckled but with a sour taste in her mouth. She couldn’t even remember the last time Brian noticed her enough to take pictures of her.

“How long have you guys been together?” she shook off the feelings focusing on the happiness of her new friend.

“We’ve been friends for almost twelve years, but in a relationship for a year. It still sounds weird every time I think about it but I’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Brian was my high school boyfriend, my first…everything”

“Oh” Shane uttered. “That happens quite often with girls, right? You seem like you were the high school sweethearts”

“We were and somehow still are. And now our kids are becoming teenagers and ugh, sometimes it feels like we never left school”

Shane observed her grabbing a piece of cake and eating it.

“You go, girl. But it’s so good, right? The kids are so great…I don’t know if it’s because I connect with their chaotic train of thought. You get used to artificial lights you forget that there is brightness outside…”

“I would kill for some artificial lights. And make up. And glamour.” she spoke full mouth forking the cake again to retrieve another slice.

“Girl, I can arrange that in a minute. We need a makeover day. I guess…we’re always craving for new places. New platforms.”

“That’s the fuel of being an artist, right?” she shrugged and swallowed another piece, clueless about the answer for the question Shane had in mind the whole time.

*

Shane kept in touch with Jamin constantly but it wasn’t easy since they only had internet connection in the main house, and the activities drained him off a lot. He was helping the band kids, the swimming team and Dana with the costumes for her presentation. He had no idea how useful he could be in that environment.

Week two was over fast.

He was finally tanned, a darker shade and a healthy glow not just burning red serving tourist realness.  His freckles were popping out and his dreads were suffering with the different humidity. He dropped the pounds he wanted to lose just with the constant exercising.

Time was passing by so fast it surprised him. It was good to wake up and having a routine. He didn’t have a plane to catch. Opposite to people’s conceptions, the earth was way gentler than being in the clouds. At the end of each day he didn’t have tips, but the rewards were there. Every time Katie lit up getting the right note.

Week three was there.

Jamin turned down his invitation because Acid was booked the whole weekend. It was Proud month and Shane was aware he was swimming against the tide. He didn’t have high expectations he would come but he was slightly sad.  He really wanted to share this happiness with him.

“Jim, you have to go from G to E minor slowly, the tempo is not right yet. I’m going to play again and you just follow me”

Shane was with the band practicing in the main house. They had a small studio with a lovely view for the forest in a glass wall. Jim was the oldest one and the pianist, fourteen years old and seemed completely done for the day. Shane was sitting by his side showing the correct notes and he was rolling his eyes.

“Mister Galligan, can I go? All the kids already left…the art workshop will start in ten minutes and it’s across the field…”

Shane stopped playing defeated. He was being nip picky and he didn’t want to go full mode neurotic. He smiled and made a gesture for him to go.

“Thaaaaaank you!” he pleaded relieved almost running to grab his backpack. “Aren’t you coming? Today we’re having a new teacher!”

Shane didn’t seem interested collecting the sheets from them piano support but when he heard new teacher his stomach swirled, and before he turned his back a familiar voice entered the room.

“I heard Mr. Galligan was holding the band members as hostages so I came to rescue them”

Jamin was there, hands on waist, wearing classic dad bermuda shorts, backpack on his left shoulder and from what Shane noticed full of art supplies.

“Are you the assistant of Mrs. Holland? I’m Jim!” the boy offered him a hand and Jamin exchanged glances with Shane that was clearly trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah, I’m Jamin. Please, don’t need the mister”

They greeted each other and Jim was waiting for them to walk him to the class. Shane was too hypnotized with the new assistant to react.

“Er, Jim can you wait outside some minutes while I help Mr…Galligan with the- uh, - he looked around but everything was pretty tied up.

“I’m going to give him his schedule and catching him up a bit” Shane finally reacted pushing the kid gently across the room.

He closed the door behind them and Jamin was already him pushing Shane against the door for a kiss that almost swiped his mouth off.  Jim heard the thump noise outside but continued playing with his cellphone.

Jamin’s arms were around him and his lips latched on his neck as his hands explored his lower back and pulled him grabbing hard his ass to squeeze him further against the door. Jamin was nuzzling his ear on the line of his jawline and planting small kisses, “You smell like sunscreen…and your skin is so warm. I was freezing at home…” he paused to kiss him again slowly, and when he disconnected he looked deep into his eyes, and whispered opening a huge smile, “Mr. Galligan”

Shane giggled with his arms around his shoulder.

“The only place I’m taken seriously”

Then he adjusted Jamin’s glasses that were all crooked and kept staring at him like he was going to fade away any moment.

“I had to reschedule a lot so you owe me many things, this is not for free, bitch. We have two days left for perfect marshmallows, sunlight and hopefully making out in the woods”

Shane was shaking his head feeling sorry.

“Yeaaah, about that. The woods are so guarded here they have rangers and the older kids are camping these days” he pouted. Jamin wasn’t ready to give in.

“Make it work” he demanded slapping Shane’s ass lightly and getting out of his embrace. “Your student is outside and apparently I have a class too. This is so weird”

Shane laughed exasperated. Was this really happening?

“You’re going to be fine. You’re a mysterious kid whisperer. And they’re great here. Just stay away from the Yellow group. They are the third graders and that’s the worst age, I hope my nieces and Ally never grow up”

They left the room to find Jim outside thankfully oblivious of their quick come back make out.

*

Jamin grew up in artificial places. Not that he hated nature, it was nature that provided the inspiration to create his own alternative vision of the world and himself. Acid Betty was untamed in so many levels, always strutting fierce in the wilderness of the night. He had few memories of summer camp, but growing in California and then going to London sort of shun him away from the typical American suburban rituals.

He was the assistant of the main art teacher. She was in her early twenties, typical art student with pink hair and tattoos and a lot of pretentious talk. They were teenagers and they seemed more interested in her hair and Jamin’s piercings than painting techniques. But when they started working, Jamin felt a strange fulfillment looking at their canvas, they all seemed so similar outside, but each one had a different type of stroke, the color use and drawing line. So unique and inspiring.

Jamin avoided social contact as much as he could, but sometimes it was good to remember the good in people.

The day went by fast and after the class it was lunch break and Dana showed him the place. He barely saw Shane, but his name was brought up constantly, which made him strangely proud. Dana seemed sweet and curious, but discreet. He could feel they were the first gay couple she ever interacted in a deeper level.

It was probably past 3 pm and Jamin needed to recharge his cellphone before the next group activity. Then he saw Shane’s message to meet him by the lake.

Shane: Swimming time is finished here. I’m trying to catch a fish for dinner. I have the marshmallows you bring the wood for the campfire…no sexual innuendo intended. Although, yes please.

Dana was talking to the other counselors and side eyeing Jamin. The blond and tall one with a thick beard seemed to be her husband.

Jamin: Dana is with me and she seems determined to not leave me alone. Thorg, you need to rescue me. I interacted with too many people today. I may collapse.

There was no way he was going to get rid of her so they all went to the lake together. It was their break time, but there was a small group of kids playing with a ball near the pier. Jamin eyed Shane from afar, standing up with his fishing rod and no shoes on by the shore. He was still wet from the swimming competition with the kids and his shorts and a white tank top were glued in his skin. The dreads were mostly out and a portion loose in a messy bun.

As he got closer Shane turned with a smile that was brighter than the sun. He wanted to kiss the top of his shoulder full of freckles but Dana and Brian were behind him, so he just brushed his waist.

“Hi” he warned him of his presence rubbing lightly his back. He could swear Shane was going for a kiss but he also remembered they were not alone nodding for Dana and Brian.

“How was it?” he asked curious, exchanging the glance between Jamin and Dana, but still paying attention to his grip on the fishing rod.

“Oh, it was just great! Jamin gave them Acid Betty cards and the kids couldn’t believe they are the same person”

“I can’t believe it too” added Jamin surprised with himself, and he was unconsciously rubbing Shane’s back in circles.

Brian was trying to not stare at them, as if he was watching his parents kissing.

“Shane, are these for the campfire?” Brian noticed eager the beginning of a campfire by the shore. “Honey, help me fetch some more?” he asked tilting his head for Dana. She buffed aware of his discomfort.

“Sure” she replied not excited at all.

Shane looked at Jamin and made an “ooops” face. Jamin observed the horizon and took a deep breath.

“They are so…. straight” Jamin pondered observing the lake buoys. The lake didn’t seem deep but if they were using these it probably had dangerous spots.

Shane was laughing but trying to not lose focus from the water. “I know, I thought Brian was going to faint if you get any closer…”

“But they know, right? About us? I don’t want to hide even here”

“They know” he reassured him. Jamin observed Shane furrowing his brow looking at the lake but the waters remained untroubled.

“How long have you been here?” he asked sitting down on the pier by his side. He removed his sneakers and to wet his feet. The water was freezing cold, and yet Shane was there and wearing almost nothing. He eyed his legs, the water running making a puddle on the floor.

“Maybe half an hour….” he calculated. “I used to go fishing with dad a lot. But he says I’m too impatient and my trace gets too tense.”

“Well, you can’t have all the abilities in the universe”

Shane rolled his eyes and deep sighed. He stared at the line the sky was full of colors, it looked like one of the canvas of his temporary students.

“Thank you for this. I think we really needed it”

Shane just nodded relieved and Jamin grabbed his bare calf, planting small kisses, Shane shivered with the ticklish sensation. He tasted salty and earthly. Jamin was addicted to his new taste. They stood there in silence just listening to the kids playing with the ball behind them. Shane started humming along a song, until he started the lyrics.

Percussion…strings…winds…words

There you see her

Sitting there across the way

She don’t got a lot to say

But there’s something about her

And you don’t know why

But you’re dying to try…

The Little Mermaid was one of Jamin’s favorite movies. Shane was dancing along until he looked down at Jamin and winked.

“You wanna kiss the girl”

Jamin was trying not to be completely in love with this man but it was an impossible task. Especially when he would hit on him singing The little mermaid and making a perfect impression of Sebastian’s singing voice.

“Stop trying to catch poor Flounder and come here” he grabbed Shane’s calf again.

Shane retrieved the rod giving up and sat by his side.

“You want to be my Eric?” he asked his arm around his shoulder, just like he did when Bob and Lucian were arguing in the taping of Street Meatz.

“Oh my god! You’re that crazy bird, that one that brings Ariel all the human objects!”

He said laughing hard and Shane pinched him lightly.

“Bitch!”

They heard an “Uh-hum” sound behind them and Brian and Dana were there for god knows how long.

“The wood is there but we’re leaving. We’re gathering the other counselors before we start the last activities of the day” Brian said avoiding looking at them.

“Shane, it’s getting late but the kids still want to play so you guys can take them?”

“Sure, we’re just putting these away and we’ll follow you” Shane reassured her. She looked bothered with Brian’s presence.

They left and they started packing up. Shane observed that the kids were throwing the ball quite high. Meggie threw the ball in a one high kick and it landed on the lake. She was positively scared after realizing what happened.

“Mr. Galligan can you pick it up for us?”

The other kids were on the shore ready to jump in but Jamin stopped them. The ball got stuck in some branches on the other side of the shore, in a place full of rocks and moss. Jamin observed him ready to jump in, always cocky.

“Shane, don’t you think it’s better to get the coach?”

“I was swimming back there yesterday” he scoffed jumping in.

They observed his broad strokes until he got there. Everything looked easy and the kids were anxious for him to come back. When he stopped at the shore he retrieved the ball with no effort, it wasn’t stuck, just placed in the branches nest. When he showed them the ball like a trophy Shane lost balance and his expression changed for a smile to pain. The kids gasped.

“Are you okay?!” Jamin yelled worried almost jumping in.

“Yes!” Shane answered but still not moving. “I…slipped and I think I scratched my foot in a pointy rock…” he replied looking down at the water calculating his way back.

“Do you want me to get you?”

In the middle of the question Shane was already swimming back slowly. Jamin knew it couldn’t be something so serious but he was ready to rescue him. When Shane got closer Jamin got in the water to help him. As he was walking out the trail of blood was dyeing the water red.

The kids were shocked and Meggie almost crying. Jamin asked them to make way so he could help Shane to sit on the tree trunk next by the firewood.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…there’s no need to panic. Meggie, I’m fine sweetie. It’s nothing”

“Go get the people from the nursery room. I can take care of him”

The kids followed Meggie.

“I can’t even look at it but it’s burning like…fuck!” he winced as he moved the leg and Jamin winced with him. It was a cut on the bridge of the foot. His knee was scratched too.

“How did you even do this?” Jamin noticed kneeled in front of him. “It was so fast”

“The damn moss is so slippery. When I tried to wave the ball, I lost balance and…”

Jamin was worried about Shane but somehow, he was finding it hilarious.

“Stop laughing, this hurt!” he replied annoyed and Jamin cupped his face for a peck.

“Sorry, sorry…you’re just so cocky…waving that ball like a big hero”

He side hugged him and few minutes the people from the nursery room were there.

*

Shane needed two stiches and had to use a crutch so it wouldn’t hurt to put weight on his leg. He was dismissed from the camp activities the rest of the day but Jamin wasn’t. He slept in the hammock of the main room and dreamed about performing in drag for the kids the other day. It was the best nap he took in months.

He took a long bath and come back to the main house for to meet the other counselors for dinner. He wasn’t expecting to be so distant of Jamin the whole day and they didn’t have individual rooms and Jamin’s bed was far from his. He wondered if they would have any time alone at all. After dinner, they played board games and since there was no alcohol allowed they got sugar high with milkshakes from fresh fruits. He was dying for a beer. He was a creature of the night and Jamin’s presence awake his true habits.

“How’s the foot?” Jamin asked sitting next to him on the table and caressing his thigh. His boot was wrapped in a bandage and his knee still red from the scratch. Dana observed them with a sweet smile across the table.

“I probably will have to chop it off” he joked dramatically. It was stinging but the painkiller was kicking in smoothly.

“Do you want another milkshake?” Jamin asked feeling sorry for him. Shane was looking at him as if he was the dessert he wanted to drink in.

“Um, can you find a shot of whiskey and beer?”

Jamin chuckled, his hand going inside Shane’s thigh a bit more.

“Yes? Thousands of miles from here in Brooklyn?” he replied grabbing harder and then standing giving a soft tap. He got up to get more.

Shane sighed frustrated observing his ass in those daddy shorts. Shane felt Dana’s eyes on him the whole time until she finally joined him.

“Are you okay?”

He chuckled. He got balloons of get well, flowers, and people couldn’t stop asking if he was okay apparently.

“I am in-credible. It looks more serious than it really is”

She seemed like she wanted to confess something. She was acting weird the minute Jamin arrived.

“Shane, I’m sorry I-I” she stuttered trying to find the words.

Oh boy, Here we go, he thought.

“I’m acting crazy around you and Jamin, I know I’m staring. I’m just, ugh! I miss this. The way you look at each other. You’re just so full of passion…and Brian, please don’t be bothered with him. He is awkward with people in general”

Shane didn’t know what to answer because it was the first time someone ever said this to him. He realized that all his previous relationships weren’t exactly goals for anyone. And being in a place like that the magnifying glass was on them.

“Girl, just relax… I…we just really happy that we’re here. Thank you for this. And you need to surprise Brian, you need to find each other again. Drop by tomorrow before the kids concert, let’s dress up a bit. You’ll feel renewed”

She opened a big smiled and hugged him profusely.

*

It was late and Jamin was laid on the hammock in the balcony outside, rocking it peacefully. It was a big lounging area, lit only by the stars and the light coming from the living room. Shane’s violin soloist asked him for a private rehearsal since they couldn’t practice and he was waiting him to come back. The silence was luring him to sleep. The city is always so noisy that his ears were getting used to the bucolic environment.

Jamin was sure it was almost midnight, and he was drowsy, limbs sore from the full day. He wanted Shane to come back, and just the thought of him in that pier was enough to make him warm. He felt slowly being taken by the slumber when he saw Shane’s silhouette was forming in front of him. He wondered if it was a dream, but he was very vivid leaning his crutch on the wall and indicating that he was going to join him on the hammock.

It was big but enough for the two of them but they needed to adjust positions. Shane was side laying, his hurt leg over Jamin’s as he used the free leg on on the floor to rock them slowly.

Shane started kissing his neck with no rush, as his hand traveled across his chest. Jamin deep sighed relieved and side kissing him. His hands reached for Shane’s cheek, and his fingers dug his dreads, languid caressing his scalp. Shane’s hands were clutching down his belly searching for the button of his shorts.

“I was going to ask…” Jamin was trying to talk but Shane was rubbing him over the shorts and he couldn’t even finish his thought. “There’s still people in the living room” he warned him panting heavily.

Shane wasn’t in the mood for talking and reached for Jamin’s earlobe nibbling at it. Jamin was feeling Shane’s erection growing on the side of his leg and it was making his cock twitch by the second. He missed him like crazy and he smelled so different. As if all these days in the woods changed the texture of his skin, that mix of sunscreen and his natural musk was driving him insane.

“I asked Dana to watch the door…” he whispered grinding harder on his leg.

Jamin guided his hand to grab his bulge and wiped his mouth in a kiss. Shane’s fast fingers reached for Jamin’s cock and started to pump it, he was a bit surprised with how stiff it was and giggled looking down. They could hear people talking really close to them, Shane then spit on hand and raised his brows. Jamin was always surprised how he could change from adorable to slut in a minute. When he started pumping him more precisely with the natural lube, he let go a loud grunt and Shane continued focusing on the pace and circling the tip with his thumb, making Jamin squirm a bit. The precum was already forming. Jamin was so close it was ridiculous, he needed to hold it back but Shane was definitely inspired.

“Slow down a bit, Jesus…”Jamin asked whispering inside his mouth and Shane stopped laughing and cupped his face for kiss.

“Someone has been missing me…” he teased him grinding harder on the side of his leg.

“Sit…on the armchair” he commanded trying to catch an even breath.

“For a minute I thought you were going to ask me to sit on your face” he replied giggling.

“I wish we could have time and a healthy leg for it” he raised his brows considering it.

There was an armchair in the back of the place but Shane was so comfortable where he was. But Jamin was already moving to be up. He stood up and helped him walk with the crutch to get to the chair. They both laughed of the situation.

“Horny people are determined” Shane commented skipping with one leg.

Shane landed on the chair like a rock and before he started making jokes Jamin was hovering on him kissing his chest and going down to place himself between his legs. He pulled the waistband of Shane’s black and white oversized pants and he remembered all the times they were lose on the taping of Drag Race. Shane lift his butt to help him wincing with the pain, Jamin tried to be more gentle.

“Don’t stop” Shane reassured him.

Jamin continued kissing his crotch and belly as his hand started pumping him, and Shane arched his back sliding on the chair. Jamin kissed his bruised knee and then he was holding the base of his cock to slowly taking him in. Jamin put Shane’s injured leg over his shoulder pushing him down by the hips.

“Fuck!” he let go feeling his tongue inside of him and Jamin went deeper. He tried to looked back but he couldn’t see anything. It was too late. Anyone hat would bust in would see him with legs up in the air with his boyfriend giving him a rimjob.

His voice was fading away as Jamin inserted two fingers inside of him and licking his balls, going up and down exploring his whole length. He couldn’t stop moaning and grabbed the top Jamin’s head, holding his curls like a leash, which make him finger him even harder.

Shane was panting like there wasn’t any air left in the room and he knew he was close and he knew he was getting loud.

“Choke me…” Jamin’s hand reached fast for his neck, making him knocking his head slightly against the wall. He felt sparkles running through his legs and his body curling up as he emptied himself completely in Jamin’s mouth, he didn’t retrieve, his other hand still around his neck. Jamin finally slid out of him swallowing it completely, he caressed his neck that had light red fingerprints and Shane leaned forward to kiss him and reaching for his cock.  In the motion he hurt his foot a bit when he put the leg on the ground.

“Ouch!” he complained and Jamin winced with him, and Shane cleaned what have poured from his mouth with his finger, using it lube Jamin’s cock. Jamin opened a huge smile with his dirty cleverness. He was still on his knees between Shane’s legs.

They were listening to the people in the room talking about the activities of the other day and they both started laughing, but Shane didn’t stop pumping him, and his smile quickly melted into a half open mouth full of desire.

“I can see the headlines…Gays defile summer camp, is this the America that you want?” Jamin teases standing up and pulling down his pants just enough so Shane can finish him off.

Shane takes him all in quickly and with an impressive agility sucks him enthusiastically. His foot was probably hurting like hell but he didn’t min. After a few thrusts, he came hard making Shane gag a little but he didn’t pull away. Jamie peaked at the glass window in front of him, the wind was hitting the curtains and people could easily see him. Shane continued licking him off and kissing his shaft, kissing the sides and going up and down to finish with a peck on the tip.

Jamin leaned down to kiss him already putting his pants back on again, closing his fly and helping Shane to put his pants back on. He helped him standing up and they both fixed each other’s clothes and hair, but they managed to not make much of mess. Shane was still coughing a bit and his neck had finger marks on.

“Soooorry!” Jamin said chuckling while rubbing gently his cheek and neck, Shane picked up a scarf he brought and covered his neck with it. “I think I was feeling my porn actress oats too much…” he giggled skipping-walking with one leg.

“Always cocky…” Jamin squeezed his waist helping him.

When they got back there was only Dana and two other counselors in the room. Dana exchanged a meaningful look with Shane.

“I think we lost track of time and took a nap in hammock”

He explained what nobody asked. Dana eyed Jamin’s reddish knees and he noticed avoiding their eyes meeting.

*

The kids from the band were nervous, but Shane was making sure they were going to be amazing. He was probably more nervous than them, but Jamin calmed him down.

The song chosen was “The heart asks pleasure first” from The Piano movie. There was nothing to be orchestrated but Shane stood in front of them conducting their tempo. He was wearing formal slacks and a dress shirt, drag was off the question since his leg was injured and he only brought high pumps. One classic black shoe and the other feet still in a bandage. Jamin was sitting front row observing all his crazy playing faces. Waving his maestro baton and leaning his body on the crutch. As he watched them playing and seeing the happiness exuding from Shane he knew there was nothing better to be taken away completely by something that you love. The music took Shane, and Jamin was gladly part of the notes.

When they finished everyone applauded standing up in ovation and Shane bowed to them, locking his gaze in Jamin. He had tears in his eyes.

*

Later after the camp goodbye they were sitting on the deck drinking some beers with their foot on the water. Shane put Leon Bridges on his phone playing, and the gentle guitar soaring, his cotton voice echoing.

“We don’t have this in Brooklyn…” Shane realized looking at the sunset.

“You know, you really have to continue with this. Playing for kids. Conducting. Watching you there was…incredible” he reached for his hand and Shane squeezed back. He looked down laughing and shaking his head.

“I fucked up many notes, but who cares right?” he shrugged and took one more sip. Jamin agreed and they clinked bottles. “I love you”

He uttered still looking at the sunset. It wasn’t a desperate confession or a realization. Just a reminder of simple things.

“I love you too” Jamin answered taking a sip of his beer and kissing the palm of Shane’s hand. They stayed there until the sun set down completely, all the colors melting into blue velvet. The memories still safe and vivid in their minds.

They would carry them to Brooklyn.

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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2.1

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2.2

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3.1

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3.2

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4.1

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4.2

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

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7.2

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8.1

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8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[sinningsquire]

Cut Your Losses

A modern-au Kylux fic, written for @twistedsardonic

(Chapter 1 - 1996 words)

Ben stares at the flight tickets. Boarding pass, seat 14F. Ten hours flight eastwards, into the future. God, Leia is serious.

“Mom, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. I take your wellbeing very seriously, Ben. And it wouldn’t have come to this if you would, too.”

She hands him a suitcase. Ben almost expects, in his surprise-stunned, this-isn’t-happening haze, that it would be already packed for him. A half-hysterical giggle escapa him when he finds it still empty.

“You’ve picked up three fights in the last two weeks, Ben. I am tired of parents threatening to sue me. If you want to come back to that school in September, we’ve got to work on this.”

“But - you can’t just send me away for the whole summer! I got friends here!”

“These ‘friends’ are the ones who get you in trouble, and make sure you’re standing front and centre when it goes down!”

Leia takes him by the shoulders. She hasn’t been able to stare him down for the past three years now, remaining small and getting seemingly smaller with every inch and every trouble Ben grew into. But God, her eyes didn’t lose any of their strength even from this angle.

Ben doesn’t know what to say. It stings with shame but he knows she was right. One of the reasons he is so quick to throw punches is that he isn’t good with words, and couldn’t lie if he tried. His ‘friends’ are assholes. But it is either them or…. no one.

“I can’t just drop my training, Mom. Couch Snoke wants me–”

“That psycho,” Leia snarls through gritted teeth, “only wants to exploit you. You’re his best boxer now, when you listen to him telling you to rely more on rage than technique and discipline, but how long can you keep it up before you burn out? He’ll toss you away when you’re no longer useful to him. You could be so much more, Ben. I agreed to let you do boxing when I thought it would help with your anger management issues but Snoke only makes it worse.”

“Please, Mom. Don’t take this away from me.” Ben wishes he could punch something now. Snoke - yeah, maybe he is a bit creepy but he also is the only one who keeps telling Ben he can when everyone else seems to say he shouldn’t.

“I’m not. It’s only for the holidays. It’s up to what you want, and what you want to do with your life, but I want you to make the decision after the holidays. That’s all I’m asking for. Take a little time away from all the things that keep making you angry. If you still think Snoke hung the stars when you come back–” she draws a long breath, “–then I’ll step back. Promise. But now I want you to get some perspective.”

“By sending me away?” Ben hates how small it sounds. For fuck’s sake, he’s almost nineteen.

“Oh, Ben.” She huggs him tight, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Thankfully not commenting on the way he returns the embrace, clinging to her like a child. “You won’t be alone. I spoke to the school counsellor. She suggested you should spend some time somewhere quiet, preferably with animals.”

“Mom, I’m not going to therapy to pet dogs and cats all day–”

“I know darling. That’s why I’m sending you to Luke.”

“Oh God.” Ben groans. He hasn’t seen his hippie Uncle in ten years, Leia maybe in five. “Old bat’s grown tired of his hermit cave in Greece? So now he’s running an animal shelter in what, Transylvania?”

“He’s having a go at organic farming somewhere in Czech Republic, actually,” Leia says primly. Ben suspects she disapproves a little of her brother’s bohemian ways, too.

“Somewhere,” Ben parrots after her. “So you don’t even know the name of the middle of nowhere place you’re sending your only child to. Splendid, Mom.”

“Hush,” Leia pats his cheek. “I’m sure it will be a lovely place.”  

*

The ‘lovely place’ is a decrepit mouldy farmhouse surrounded by seemingly endless muddy fields, with nothing but earth closet and no cell phone signal. The farm’s only connection to civilization is a unkept bumpy road and a bus connection, operated twice a day by a loud, dilapidated, overheated trashcan driven by a smelly, grumpy driver. Not to mention that said civilization is a sleepy hollow of a town where nobody speaks English and everything is hopelessly closed on Sunday. Including the only café with a free wi-fi.  

Ben is hunched over his phone under a convenient balcony, trying to shield the screen from the obnoxious drizzle that’s been dampening his clothes and his mood alike since– well, forever. He shivers. It’s July but this country seems to have no concept of summer. It’s been raining, pouring, or at least drizzling every day since Ben came here and it doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon.

The sharp trill of a bell behind him startles him so much that he almost drops his phone into a puddle. His phone - the only thing keeping him same in this organic farming hell. He growls and turns, about to tell whoever startled him where exactly they can stick their stupid bell - not that he hopes anyone would actually understand him - when his eyes catch on a flash of ginger, the colour as bright and shocking as sunshine in this dreary weather - and the indignant reproach dies on his lips.

A young man with gorgeous fiery hair and icy glare is standing in the half-opened glass door, an expression of angry disapproval written all over his freckled face. He’s saying something, it sounds like a rude question from the lilt at the end of it. For all Ben knows of Czech, he could be saying anything. Ben tried - contrary to what he sometimes lets people think, he can be smart when he wants to - but there’s probably a special circle of hell set aside for this language. To be fair, this man could be wishing him a nice day. Ben’s experience with locals has taught him that they tend to look as if someone got their knickers into a twist every morning without actually being cross with anyone.

The man keeps talking and Ben suddenly notices he’s been blocking the door to a shop. His gaze flicks up to read a sign: Kadeřnictví Kroutilová. There are big glossy photos of artfully arranged hairstyles in the shop window. A hairdresser’s saloon, then.

The air coming through the crack in the door is warm, smelling of shampoo and cologne. Ben hasn’t seen a boy his age - well, one that wouldn’t be doggedly driving a tractor on weekdays and mindlessly driving around a badly tuned car on weekends - in so long and he has nothing better to do. He smiles.

“Could I get a haircut?”

The hairdresser shuts up and frowns. Oh, right. No luck with English here. Ben shrugs and points at his hair, fingers snipping in an imitation of scissors. It’s been getting a little into his eyes lately, anyway. Even when he won’t be able to chat, he can still get an eyeful of good looking guy.

The hairdresser replies with something that sounds a little more polite and steps aside, holding the door open.

It’s a little saloon - two revolving chairs, two sets of tools, and one old woman dozing off on a flower-patterned sofa in the corner, with dye applied to her thinning hair. Ben folds himself into the narrow chair by the washing stand and tries not to be too obvious in staring at the nice ass that presents itself when the redhead bends to sweep away the hair clippings left by previous customer.

He thinks he catches a smirk when the boy straightens - and wouldn’t that be finally something worth his time in this awful place - but then every last hope of a change of luck is squashed when the boy lifts an elegant, finely-boned hand and plucks a piece of straw from behind Ben’s ear.

Ben feels his face burn in anger at the unfairness of it all. It doesn’t matter that he comes from a city with more people than live in this whole goddamn country. Here, in front of this gorgeous, sharp, clean-shaven man, Ben is the country bumpkin, with straw sticking out of his hair from when he was helping Luke muck out the stables this morning. Hell, he probably still reeks of manure.

He looks away, eyes sweeping over the yellowed photos decorating the walls, hairstyles that were last in style in the eighties, and heaves a long-suffering sigh. One of the perks of being an American in a Czech country town is that he can let his thoughts run loud and freely whenever he likes.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know how but if you could make me look something other than your great grandfather, that would be nice,” he huffs. As predicted, the hairdresser shows no sign of offence. He simply adjusts the water temperature and begins to massage Ben’s scalp with his fingertips, and… well, it feels fucking amazing.

Ben is a bit sorry for his pettiness. The boy is probably doing his best, stuck in a town where every man wears the same haircut their father wore. Not much chance to practice the hipster lumberjack sweep around here.

Hair dripping, smelling nice and hopefully free of any straw, Ben relocates into the revolving chair. The mirror in front of him is a bit rusty around the edges and when Ben ducks his chin a little, he can see the reflection of the other mirror on the opposite wall. The hairdresser is quite tall, so tall that he has to lean forward a little every now and then to clip the hair around Ben’s ears and hairline, and his ass in the mirror is a masterpiece.

The quiet snip snip snip and the light touches, tilting his head here and there, lull Ben almost into a trance. He snaps into focus only when the cloth around his neck is pulled off, and for the first time since he sat down, he takes a look at his own reflection.

He looks… good, actually. More than. He never thought his locks could look this good parted on the side, with the layered haircut letting them fall over his forehead in a lazy, self-confident wave. Behind him, the hairdresser, sporting an intense look of concentration, is running his fingers tacky with some waxy product through the locks, making sure they stay the way the should. Ben is impressed.

“Um...thanks, I think,” he scratches his neck, itchy with the fine bits of hair that always get under the collar no matter how many towels he’s wearing around his neck. The boy gives him a quick smile. He looks very pleased with himself. Well, Ben thinks, he should be.

The hairdresser rings him up using a honest-to-God calculator and Ben leaves, lighter of a considerable sum of money and feeling better than he had in… forever, truly.

Which lasts exactly until the next morning when he climbs down the stairs to get breakfast and Luke greets him with raised eyebrows:

“Did you try cutting your own hair using a bowl?”

Still bleary eyed and only half-awake, Ben snatches the first mirror he can find and freezes.

The parting on the side is gone, his hair having reverted to its natural down-the-middle parting it’s grown into for the past nineteen years. With no product to keep the hair falling forward, it’s taken to fall backwards and around, as his locks usually do….

...and it looks like a bowl cut.

The fucking hairdresser gave him a fucking bowl cut.

For a moment, Ben wants to think that the boy simply made a mistake. Small town, not much practice… Then he recalls the small, self-satisfied smile on those full, pink lips.

That asshole knew precisely what he was doing.  

To Be Continued 

Link to AO3

[rupertacton]

FUCK MY LONDON

Hermit's Cave. Sniff in the bogs. Fucking stinks in here. Camberwell Road. Corrib Bar. Watching football. Landlady said we were welcome back but not to bring any black people with us. Not in those words. Never went back. Walking past venues I played in that are no longer there. Rhythm Factory. Whitechapel Road. Round the corner. Used to be able to buy hash. Private member's club. Pool table. Foreign students. Building gone. Pint in the Castle. One end of Brick Lane. £2 in my pocket. Other end. Got food. Zoot. Beer. Still had some change. In my day this was all fields. Stewart Home. This is my home. I want to leave. Leave home. Chemical Brothers. Prodigy. Brixton Academy. No drugs. 13. Wouldn't go to see either of them now. Fuck them. Tried to get into the 4 Aces. Dalston used to scare the shit out of me. Me and Andrew went to buy an ounce and got robbed. Clapton Square. Got away with the weed but Andrew got his phone and ring nicked. Andrew convinced it was a set up. I'm still not sure. Arrested for criminal damage and possession at Caledonian Road & Barnsbury Station. The free line. Graf everywhere. Me and Mark. He was already on doing more serious stuff. Getting banged up for writing would've been silly. Bumped into him on Cambridge Heath Road. Years later. He was in an X5. Little gaff out in Essex. Kid. Still moving food but not touching it if you get what I mean. Born in Walworth. First wave gentrification. Sitting out in the garden at 6am sharing a joint with one of the Birmingham Six. Reading Ballard. Under the Westway. Subterranea. Black Star and Company Flow. MCD and Scratch Perverts supporting. Mainly crushing fucking boredom though. Africa Centre. Hour of jungle at the end of Funkin' Pussy. Listening to Rudimentary Peni. Carcass. Blak Twang. Rodney P. Heartless Crew. Upfront FM. Fuck it. Listing stuff. I'm sitting in the Barbican. Working. Listening in to an American man having a conversation with an English woman. I sort of hate them. They are probably alright. Vacuous pricks. The lot of us. St James' C of E primary school. Bermondsey. Jamaica Road. Everyone white. Almost. Everyone racist. Almost. What the fuck happened there? Used to play out on the Arnold Estate near the community centre my mum helped found. Found a load of porn out back. Awakenings. You can get a St John Bakery custard donut there now. Arches used to be full of garages. Cut and shut. Dennis was a ticket tout. Got us tickets to the '93 Semi-Final. In the fucking Spurs end. I was in an Arsenal shellsuit. Scarf. Cap. Got let in the Arsenal end. Grew up watching Palace. Everyone at school was Millwall or Liverpool. Why the fuck do I support Arsenal? Questions. Didn't grow up but I got old. Long nightwalks. Getting robbed in broad daylight on my own street. Kids from Kid's Company. Wallet full of cash I couldn't really tell anyone about. My sister wanted to go down there with a kitchen knife. In the end they apologised. Sent a cheque. We all make mistakes. Always carry a glass Lucozade bottle. Middle class grunger to middle class wannabe badman but I never wanted to be anything. Books. So many books. Art was everywhere. Went to Sensation. Load of shit obviously but exciting. Southbank. Mid to late 90's. Never skated. Legendary names. Benjobe. Tom Penny. Hardcore. Hip-hop. Rapping. Kope was working at A1 Stores on Wooly. Bag full of spraypaint. I never painted. Different sort of writing. Exploration. I'm not an urban explorer. Follow the Thames. Richmond to Teddington. Tower Bridge to East India Dock. Trinity Buoy Wharf. Sitting in a lighthouse all day. Hungover. Got chased through Broadway Market. Years before the farmers showed up. London is tiny if your postcode limits your movement. Escape. Fiction is liberating. The truth won't set you free. George Davis is innocent. Frankie Fraser on the 12 bus with his little dog. Chatting to my mum. Richardson's club house and torture chamber on a quaint little square just off Camberwell Road. Pet shop that used to stink of skunk. Dangerous dogs out front. This is what you're moving into. The ghosts will catch up with you. The past is never really the past. I'm past it. Read too many conspiracy theories. Canary Wharf as a beacon of occult energy. Hawksmoor Churches. All mainstream. Pick up the info in Waterstones in the London section. Make up your own myths. Smoking DMT in Blythe Hill Fields. London breathing. Viewpoints. Greenwich Park. Primrose Hill. Parliament Hill. Lunchtime. Out of the stockroom. Packing records all day. Enough to make you hate music. Where's the glamour? Guestlist is standard. Why the fuck would you pay to watch music? I still love it. Astoria. Gone. Plastic People. Gone. We went downstairs and when we went back out everything was covered in snow. Walking back. D Double E and Footsie. Legends. Tubby on decks. I think. All blends into one. But the snow. That happened. Stayed in Hackney. Walked back along a white carpet. These moments we live for. Put up with all the shit. I never really took photos. Stopping traffic at Elephant & Castle roundabout after getting run over. Black cab driver wanting to make sure I was alright. Asked what football team I support. Told him. Said he'd leave me in the road if it was up to him. Banter. Fucked up my Helly Hansen. Driver had no insurance. I told him to drive off but everyone made him stay. Writing is alchemy. You don't have to believe me. Planning is alchemy. London is being remixed. New block of flats named after the pie and mash shop on Westmoreland Road. Some attempt at continuity. Don't worry about me. It's everyone else. The search for authenticity is futile. Tayyabs. Lahore. Needoo. The holy trinity. But don't kid yourself. You can't eat your way to an understanding of lived experience. I'm sitting across the road from Madame Tussauds. This is authentic London even if you think it isn't. Some of my best friends are northerners. GO HOME. Get out while you can. I grew out of the fear of other areas. I moved. I walk from Lesnes Abbey to Grove Park on the Green Chain with my uncle. I walk from Finsbury Park to Alexandra Palace on the Parkland Walk with my girlfriend. I walk from Limehouse Basin to Island Gardens to Greenwich to Southwark Park with my mate. I walk from my flat to Walthamstow Marshes via the Olympic Park with myself. Memories shadowing every step. An egret and a heron near Stratford Westfield. I'm convinced we're all going to die in a shopping centre. Kingdom Come. Every witness appeal tells a story. Pain. Tragedy. I was watching Therapy? at Brixton Academy when the second riot happened. A venue full of pale faced teenagers insulated from an outpouring of justified anger. I performed with the guy who is supposed to have started the first Brixton riot. When the whole city rioted I walked up the back of Walworth Road watching kids hide stuff in bins. No one even noticed me. This is England. Wembley. Norway. Such a terrible match. The people behind me and my dad making monkey noises whenever Paul Ince touched the ball. Turned me off England for life. I couldn't even enjoy Euro '96. Arch contrarian. Of course I disagree. Got my bank account emptied and lost about £140 of other people's money getting robbed on Churchill Estate. Never trust someone who has just come out of prison for kidnap who says they can get some good food for a good price. Lesson learned. Two kids on the N68 tried to move me up. This was much later. I was wearing a Stone Island. I think they thought I was balling. I'd spent the night doing other people's sniff. I had a shit phone and an Ipod. I explained. We left on good terms. Lesson learned. Even where I used to sign on is gone. RIP Camberwell Job Centre. I fucking hated you but I miss you. Monday night football at the Petchey Academy saved my life. Made me a better person. The Shacklewell before it was cool. When it was cool. Saw Rodigan out back. Felt like a proper shubs. The Haggerston when it was Uncle Sam's. Live jazz. Terrible pints. Sitting in a Polo. UKG. Smoking draw. Just driving around. My room in the attic full of smoke. Entire house stinking. So many lost years. Round to Len's after a night out. Get the chop out. Staggering home. 8am. Mouth so dry. Lying in bed. Zoot in the ashtray. Bottle of water. Normal weekend. The Gramaphone. Commerical Street. Gone. Rushing. Hudson Mohawke and Rustie. Insanely strong pills. Up to the tubes for a weird after party. Everywhere will go soon. Corsica Studios. Summer of ket. Spangled in the smoking area. That rave in Hackney Wick. Bouncer wearing a bally. I was sick into a ballon. I was falling in love. Never wanted a relationship before that. Football. Drugs. Music. Books. Art. Masturbation. Very occasional sex. That was enough for me. I was kidding myself. Obviously. You pick and choose memories. You order the moments. You try to create a coherent picture. There is no coherent picture. Nothing to see here. Move along. First football match. Palace. Millwall. Punch ups in the family enclosure. Scary as fuck. LOVED IT. Grown men screaming cunt. Just got a text saying Whitechapel Bell Foundry is closing. My London is over. Fucked. Done. You can keep it. Do what you want with it. I don't care. If I don't care then why am I crying?

THE CUNTS, FREAKS, CRIMINALS, BOHEMIANS, NAZIS, NUTCASES, IMMIGRANTS, COMMIES, TRAMPS, ARTISTS, VANDALS, MUSICIANS, SHOTTERS, MIDDLE CLASSES, WHITES, BLACKS, WORKING CLASSES, TOFFS, GAYS, CHANCERS, BANKERS, BARROW BOYS, STALLHOLDERS, STAKEHOLDERS, LADS, CASUALS, RUDEBOYS, ANARCHISTS, BELL MAKERS, DRUGGIES, BARISTAS, RAVENS, BEEFEATERS, TOURISTS ETC. ARE ALL GONE. DONE. FUCK MY LONDON.

[rilenerocks]

I’m obsessing about being immersed in water. At this time of year, every year for almost 45 years, I would be in this very pool for at least an hour a day. When I wasn’t working, maybe more. Actually this isn’t entirely true. For a wretched three summers, the original pool where I swam was closed down because of dangerous electrical problems and ultimately, its age. When they shut it down, I went into mourning. Ironically, when it was emptied, the park district workers found a pool pass I’d lost years earlier, stuck in one of the drains. Great symbolism, I thought. I pulled myself together eventually and adapted to indoor swimming. But as soon as the replacement pool opened, I was back there from the first weekend of summer to the last. I do a very modest, rhythmic breaststroke, up and back, up and back. And then I float. I’m a very good floater. I remember when I was a kid we used to practice the dead man’s float, lying on our stomachs with heads in the water, holding our breath as long as we could. I was decent at lasting a fair amount of time. But I really excelled at floating on my back. I could sprawl out as if I was making a snow angel and just drift. Or I could bunch myself up, one leg crossed over the other as if sitting in a chair and bob like a cork. In a family of non-swimmers I was a miracle.

I married a swimmer. Michael swam in high school and had the most beautiful strokes. I loved watching him plow through the water doing the freestyle and the butterfly with his broad shoulders creating a draft and leaving a  wake behind him. He was one of those guys who could do a couple of laps underwater without drawing a breath. Lovely to watch. But he couldn’t float for beans. Face down or face up, if he wasn’t kicking his feet, he just sank like a rock to the bottom of anything, pool, lake, ocean. We used to talk about how if we somehow were on a boat that failed in the middle of nowhere, I’d survive because after tiring from swimming, I’d just roll over on my back and take a nap until I was ready to go again. Absent too many shark bites or jellyfish stings, it seemed like a plan. Although I was slower than Michael, I always had more endurance. He’d finish his few laps while I just kept going. Somewhat of a metaphor for how our life worked out.  In recent weeks, my little kiddie pool has provided a measure of solace for the hole where swimming is in my life. But I can’t float in it. I swam last in March. Whatever endorphins got released in me back then are long gone.  I’m having trouble finding an alternative way of getting flooded with those restorative feelings. What will substitute for water?

Of course there is the solace of my garden and the daily spectacle of the creatures who visit the spaces I’ve developed for their pleasure. While I sit with my feet slowly kicking in the pool, I’m scanning the yard for visitors who give me little bits of joy. I scramble for my shoes when the hummingbirds come and occasionally am fortunate enough to snap a few quick photos before they zoom away. But I’m also frustrated by my diminishing speed when they’re gone before I’ve gotten three steps from my watery perch. I hardly feel floaty. I feel leaden. I know that part of this is due to a restlessness that’s popped up lately. August is coming. Maybe school will start in person and maybe it won’t. If it does, my life will narrow even more than it already has as my daughter’s family will be more off-limits than what we’ve enjoyed during this quarantine. In a few months, the outdoor respite will be replaced by indoors. Indoors almost all the time unless something magical happens. As the saying goes, I’m not going to bet the ranch on that.   I try to pump myself up by muttering the Muhammed Ali mantra to myself. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” I have to float internally right now. The stinging like a bee part is still operative as long as I have access to words. So I look around outside to see what I can give myself, to remind myself that I can float figuratively, if not literally. Sometimes a little fluke will make me feel buoyant, rising up instead of sinking.

I have a pair of cardinals living in my yard. They’ve been around for a couple of years – I know because I have lots of photos of them taken over that time. And the female has distinctive markings with a cream-colored chest and tinges of reddish rusty brown. She’s exceptionally beautiful and of course the male is the customary brilliant red. I see them every day. When mating season began, they were usually together, hunting for just the right nesting materials, or so I imagined.

  I listen to their various sounds and think they’re saying things like, “see anything sturdy over there?” or “do you think this piece will go well with the others?” In fact, I’ve unconsciously gotten quite familiar with their language, more so than I’d ever have thought. The other morning I was getting ready to set out a sprinkler to water my front garden. I was aware there was lots of bird racket going on and that there was a frantic tone that wasn’t part of the usual ambient chatter around me. Astoundingly I knew it was my cardinal pair. I went to investigate. I saw a large cat lounging on the front steps of my neighbor’s front porch. Both the male and female birds were hopping madly between the porch roof and the tall shrubs which ran across the face of the house. I shooed the cat away but it simply ambled under the bushes and laid down. Meanwhile my friends were ratcheting up the cacophony. I walked around trying to see what was happening and then saw a very new fledgling clinging to a bush.

  I quickly squeezed myself between the bushes and the house so I could chase the calculating cat away. It was pretty dismissive toward me initially but I got some good hostility going and it scampered away. Meanwhile the little fledgling attempted to fly away and wound up doing a face plant between my neighbor’s place and the next house door. I stood protectively over it, the poor exhausted little thing. I called my son, the bird biologist, to hurry to me to see what we should do. I’d snapped a photo of the baby just in case he couldn’t get to us in time.  The little guy caught its breath, turned slowly, looked at me and managed to loft itself back into the taller shrubs. Both parents were clicking encouragement and my son, having arrived and looked at the photo said, “you just did a good thing – that baby is very young.” We backed away from the area and within a few seconds, the noise level went back to normal. Did I feel like I was floating? Yes, indeed. I realized that those birds are like part of my family. Inviting animals into your space isn’t just about personal entertainment. Responsibilities go along with the good times. Recognizing that I really knew them well enough to be tuned in to their daily survival battles and trying to help them buoyed me right up. The connections I’m making with the world around me are meaningful and will go a long way to helping me stay afloat in this bizarre world. Later in the day, each parent showed up at my birdfeeders for some truly necessary replenishment after expending so much energy.

To them, it’s simply life. Nothing existential about it. They just keep on going. Luckily for me, they’ll overwinter here so I’ll get to enjoy them even when I’m locked in. But I’m not locked in now. I decided to take a little drive over to my pool.  It may be empty but I’m not. I’m so glad I stopped by. Yes, there’s no water. But the beautiful surroundings are still brimming with life, the serene space that always made me feel that I was getting away from life’s problems for at least a little while. The natural areas are bursting with bee balm and coreopsis, milkweed and black-eyed susans. Even the weedy grasses and Queen Anne’s lace were swaying in the light breeze, while bees were everywhere and birds skittered through the dense plantings. I left there feeling like I was lying on my back, looking up at the sky, floating in time. If  you try hard enough, you can bend reality to meet your current needs. At least for awhile, anyway.

Floating I’m obsessing about being immersed in water. At this time of year, every year for almost 45 years, I would be in this very pool for at least an hour a day.