#i am very perched to see if this is in the next poll

[freyafrida]

k but the real lmm rarepair mvp is shirley x irene tbh

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

Note: this excerpt is too long for Tumblr’s alt text character limit, so for this poll, the alt text is below the read more.

Edit: The results are up here!

"This is just about the first painting I ever really loved," my mother was saying. "You'll never believe it, but it was in a book I used to take out of the library when I was a kid. I used to sit on the floor by my bed and stare at it for hours, completely fascinated-that little guy! And, I mean, actually it's incredible how much you can learn about a painting by spending a lot of time with a reproduction, even not a very good reproduction. I started off loving the bird, the way you'd love a pet or something, and ended up loving the way he was painted." She laughed. "The Anatomy Lesson was in the same book actually, but it scared the pants off me. I used to slam the book shut when I opened it to that page by mistake."

The girl and the old man had come up next to us. Self-consciously, I leaned forward and looked at the painting. It was a small picture, the smallest in the exhibition, and the simplest: a yellow finch, against a plain, pale ground, chained to a perch by its twig of an ankle.

"He was Rembrandt's pupil, Vermeer's teacher," my mother said. "And this one little painting is really the missing link between the two of them-that clear pure daylight, you can see where Vermeer got his quality of light from. Of course, I didn't know or care about any of that when I was a kid, the historical significance. But it's there."

I stepped back, to get a better look. It was a direct and matter-of-fact little creature, with nothing sentimental about it; and something about the neat, compact way it tucked down inside itself—its brightness, its alert watchful expression—made me think of pictures I'd seen of my mother when she was small: a dark-capped finch with steady eyes.

"It was a famous tragedy in Dutch history," my mother was saying. "A huge part of the town was destroyed."

"What?"

"The disaster at Delft. That killed Fabritius. Did you hear the teacher back there telling the children about it?"

I had. There had been a trio of ghastly landscapes, by a painter named Egbert van der Poel, different views of the same smouldering wasteland: burnt ruined houses, a windmill with tattered sails, crows wheeling in smoky skies. An official looking lady had been explaining loudly to a group of middle-school kids that a gunpowder factory exploded at Delft in the 1600s, that the painter had been so haunted and obsessed by the destruction of his city that he painted it over and over.

"Well, Egbert was Fabritius's neighbor, he sort of lost his mind after the powder explosion, at least that's how it looks to me, but Fabritius was killed and his studio was destroyed. Along with almost all his paintings, except this one." She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but when I didn't, she continued: "He was one of the greatest painters of his day, in one of the greatest ages of painting. Very very famous in his time. It's sad though, because maybe only five or six paintings survived, of all his work. All the rest of it is lost—everything he ever did."

The girl and her grandfather were loitering quietly to the side, listening to my mother talk, which was a bit embarrassing. I glanced away and then—unable to resist-glanced back. They were standing very close, so close I could have reached out and touched them. She was batting and plucking at the old man's sleeve, tugging his arm to whisper something in his ear.

"Anyway, if you ask me," my mother was saying, "this is the most extraordinary picture in the whole show. Fabritius is making clear something that he discovered all on his own, that no painter in the world knew before him—not even Rembrandt."

Very softly—so softly I could barely hear her—I heard the girl whisper: "It had to live its whole life like that?"

I'd been wondering the same thing; the shackled foot, the chain was terrible; her grandfather murmured some reply but my mother (who seemed totally unaware of them, even though they were right next to us) stepped back and said: "Such a mysterious picture, so simple. Really tender—invites you to stand close, you know? All those dead pheasants back there and then this little living creature."

[signalhill-if]

Hey folks! It's just about time to start thinking about art.

I've tried to sit down several times and work out a style for Signal Hill, and it's just never looked right. Eventually I concluded that if I wanted art that looked right, I'd need to hire somebody else to do it for me.

So I'll be commissioning paintings of the characters from a very talented artist, @/wuntrum (not tagging because I am shy <3), whose are you can peruse here. Not only are they talented, they also have a comic called Signals, so it's like the universe is trying to tell me something haha. This is going to be over a pretty big time span because obviously it's quite expensive and it takes time to make art, but expect to be seeing the first piece in the next few months.

However, I still have some time to decide who is going to be the first up! I don't want to decide entirely on my own, so I'm going to make it a poll.

I'm also narrowing the options down to just characters we've met in the actual game so far. All of their portraits will be based on their in-game introductions. I'm going to give you a description of what I'm thinking for each one, the pros and cons, and I'll let y'all have the final say (or maybe like... the second-to-last say. If it's close enough I might pick). Without further ado...

Doc

I'm hoping to eventually have two versions of Doc, one with and one without the plague doctor outfit. The one you'd be getting first, though, would be with. It would be a full body painting of him standing against an abstract desert landscape, something that could function as both standalone art and have the title placed on the right. This one is probably also going to be the most expensive? Unsure, I won't know until I run the concept by the artist. Also it might be a little sad if the first piece I get is one where the character's face isn't even visible lmao.

Yasmin

This is the image that's been caught in my head for MONTHS, actually since super early in the game's development, haha. Yasmin reclining in a couch covered in pillows and draped with translucent fabric, possibly holding her pipe or possibly with arm outstretched to the viewer. Gah. I want to see it soooooo bad. But also maybe it would be good to leave this off until later, so we've got the vibe down a little better before getting started on this one?

Yvette

Yvette's intro is similarly iconic, seen from a low angle in a fancy robe perched on the fancy staircase. I've got a very good idea of what this one would look like since I've tried to draw it several times before, so that would be good re: references. It'll also be less expensive than the others, since I don't want this one to be a full body shot. So that's a big plus.

KC

The big downside with KC is that I'm not 100% sure which concept to go with- I could do her at the beginning of Lamplighters, in her windbreaker, with her feet kicked up on the table, smoking. Or I could do something inspired by Test Run. For that reason, it's probably best to leave her until Test Run comes out, but I'll throw her in in case y'all really want to see her intro scene lol.

Levi

Levi is similar in that I'm not 100% sure about the concept. It would certainly be him with the knife in Tracking Number, half body, but I'm not sure what angle or mood to go with, so I'd probably be leaving it somewhat up to the artist to decide. Might be better to leave him until later, but again, I'll include him in case y'all really want to see him.

[tiffdawg]

Chaste | A Din Djarin x Reader Fic

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW - explicit sexual content, heavy petting, mutual masturbation, creampie, dity talk featuring Din’s bedroom voice. 18+ only.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in my little poll yesterday! And thank you to @huliabitch​ for encouraging me to write this. This is just something I wrote in between final papers. I don’t want to try to fit it into the current timeline so let’s just say this is sometime in the future well after Din decides to keep the kid. No spoilers for season two. No backstory, no plot; just smut. We might need that to cope depending on how the season finale goes tomorrow...

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

… . …

Chaste

Unsurprisingly, Din woke up hard. Again.

Your semi-conscious brain registered his erection pressing against even before you’d opened your eyes that morning. It sent a rush of heat straight to your core. Just as it had every morning for the past week. And despite the early hour, you knew he was awake. Gentle fingertips traced abstract shapes along your side where your shirt had bunched up in your sleep. His dizzyingly light touch sent chills across your skin, but at your contented hum, his hand slipped under the hemline.

In his tender explorations he found your breast. You shifted against him, rubbing your thighs together in a pathetic relieve the mounting pressure building within you. He groaned behind you. His fingers circled your nipple before pinching the now stiff peak. You gasped at the electric mix of pain and pleasure.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping,” Din rasped, voice still hoarse from sleeping, as he pulled you back tighter against his chest, calloused hand still cupping your tit.

“You started it,” you mumbled back. Your eyes blinked open as you looked over your shoulder at him to find him lazily smirking at you. “Good morning, my love.” 

“Morning, cyar’ika,” he greeted before touching his lips to yours.

What was supposed to be a chaste kiss before the two of you reluctantly roused yourselves from bed to start the day, quickly became heated. Your lips slid against his and your tongues urgently explored each other’s mouths, seeking the familiar pleasure you’d been denying each other. Din deepened the kiss and your body yielded to his as he rolled you onto your back. You carded your fingers through his dark locks, pulling ever so slightly and eliciting quiet gasps from your partner.

Moving without thinking, your legs wrapped around his waist and you ground up against him, searching for even the slightest hint of friction where you needed it most. Spurred on by your actions, Din reached around you, his rough hand grabbing your ass to hold you in place as rolled his hips in time with yours. A matching pair of sighs resounded throughout the small room at the hint of relief.

But it still wasn’t enough. Not when you wanted each other this badly.

“Whose bright idea was it not to have sex again until we’re married?” Din asked in between messy kisses.

“Mine,” you admitted begrudgingly.

... . ...

“Will you marry me?”

Din’s words, delivered softly and without preamble, pierced your heart even before you could process the simple sentence. You flicked on your ship’s autopilot, letting your old astromech take over, and turned to him. You found him watching you carefully.

You paused to admire him and the little foundling sleeping against his chest, needing to remember everything about that moment for as long as you lived. You didn’t have to think about your answer; the two of them had stolen your heart years ago. “Yes,” you replied easily with a smile, “of course I will.” 

Din beamed at you. You crossed the small cabin to perch on the armrest of his seat. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he quipped as he leaned in to kiss you, careful not to disturb the baby.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to ask.”

“I know. You’ve been patient. That’s not like you,” he teased.

“Shut up before I change my mind,” you threatened playfully even as you pressed a kiss to his temple. “How exactly does a Mandalorian marry?”

“The riduurok is a simple exchange of vows. We can...” –he swallowed hard­– “we can do it right now.”

“Now?” you exclaimed. You grimaced as the baby stirred. Din adjusted his blanket and he settled down. He turned back to you with a raised brow.

You’d been through so much together. Loved each other for so long. Really, marriage vows were just a formality. Nothing would change. But it didn’t feel quite right. Something was missing.

“On my homeworld a marriage is something to celebrate. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I­ haven’t been back in years but I always imagined getting married at home and celebrating with my family. At the very least I always thought I’d take you home to meet them first. I guess that’s stupid,” you shook your head, trying to banish the thought. You had bigger priorities.

“No, it’s not,” Din said firmly. “I– I don’t have that. I’m glad that you do.”

“We can still say our vows in private. Just the three of us. But it would mean the world to me to share this with them.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll go as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” you said around a smile before eagerly sealing your mouth to his.

He made a happy sound before speaking conspiratorially against your lips. “Let me put the kid to bed and we’ll start celebrating.” 

A cold heat ran through you at the insinuation. “Shit,” you cursed.

“What’s wrong?”

“How long do you think it’ll be before we can go to my planet?” 

Din shrugged. “It’ll be at least a month before we can make it to the Tashtor Sector. Why?”

“Well,” you started hesitantly, “it’s tradition for couples not to have sex once a marriage promise is made. Not until the wedding night.”

Din’s head hit the back of his seat as a long exhalation escaped him. “Anything else I should know about?” he grumbled.

“Nope,” you chirped, stifling a laugh. “I mean there’s a whole bunch of other stuff, but that’s the only thing that’s actually important.”

“Of course it is,” he grumbled with a shake of his head as he leaned forward. Except he paused just before his lips touched yours. “Am I still allowed to kiss you?”

“Yes,” you laughed. His mouth matched with yours and when you parted, he was smiling again. He rested his forehead against yours, an unbroken habit from the early days of your relationship, and you felt the weight of your new situation settle between the two of you. “Think you can last that long?” you teased. 

“Can you?” he challenged with a tilt of his head.

“You couldn’t go a whole month without this pussy,” you whispered, hoping to get a rise out of him.

“I’m a Mandalorian.” He said it stoically as if that was an explanation in itself. “You’ll be begging for my cock by the end of the week, cyar’ika. Just like you were last night.” 

“We’ll see about that, Mandalorian.”

... . ...

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. And a month seemed perfectly reasonable. You were wrong. It was supposed to make the night of your marriage special, but so far all it was doing was frustrating the hell out of both of you. Every night you slept next to him unable to touch him like this was fucking torture. You trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck in silent apology.

“How the fuck are we supposed to wait two more weeks?” He asked though heavy breaths, not expecting an answer. Normally, you were the wild spitfire that countered his cool demeanor, but at that moment – cheeks flushed, chest heaving, hair mussed – he looked absolutely wrecked. “I wanna bury my cock in you right now.” 

“I know you do,” you panted. “I want you inside me. Want you to fill me with your cum so bad.”

“Yeah?” He fumbled with your shirt that had twisted around in your sleep before hiking up your sleep shirt. His mouth latched onto your breast so he could kiss and suck and bite your breasts, marking the tender flesh as his own as he continued to rock against you. “You want that?” 

“I miss the way you make me feel so full. The way it drips out of me.” Your cunt clenched around nothing and your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you tried to control your desire. “I need it,” you whined instead.

“I know you do.” He raised his head from your chest to look at you. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re so pretty when you’re desperate for me.”

“Oh, Din,” you mewled, practically on the verge of tears. 

“Are you as wet as I think you are?” He leaned back on his knees to reach a hand between your bodies. He smirked, his brows lifting in amusement, as touched you through your panties. You were drenched. “Take it off.”

“What? What are you–” You placed your hands on his broad shoulders to stop him as he repositioned himself between your legs and covered your body with his. “We shouldn’t–”

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he said as he pulled his briefs down just enough to release his cock, hard and leaking already leaking. “But I am going to fill you. Just like you need.”

Your chest caved in and a broken, pathetic whimper escaped you at his admission. “Really?” 

“Can I?” he asked, brown eyes practically beseeching you. He was always so polite even in moments like that. Even after all that time together.

Your hold on him softened, hands moving to gently cradle his face. “Please, Din.”

He helped you strip. As soon as you were exposed to him, his thick fingers teased your folds, coating them in your wetness, before wrapping around his length. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Ready?”

You nodded and he notched the tip of his dick at your entrance. He started pumping himself, using your slick to lubricate himself.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried when you realized what he was going to do.

The feeling of his hand moving in between your legs as he jerked himself off made your head spin. You felt filthy and you fucking liked it. You arched toward him, hips angled to take more of his dick, but he stopped you.

“No, cyare. Not this time,” he whispered against your cheek. You squeezed his tip as your cunt contracted instead, earning a delirious moan from him. “I missed this pussy.”

You could tell he was close. After weeks of hardly touching each other, it wouldn’t take much. You ran your hands down his bare chest and across his soft sides before gripping his hip, hoping to encourage him and hold in place as he neared his climax.

Eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared, he came with a shout. You felt him cum spurting inside you as he filled you. He continued to stroke himself, drawing out his orgasm as long as he could even as his spend started to leak out.

“Touch yourself for me,” Din demanded gently, placing light kisses on your face. “Wanna watch you cum.” 

He pulled out and leaned back just as your hand replaced him. Watching him watch you sent a fresh wave of arousal to your center. With a devilish smile, you gathered the cum dripping out of you and swirled your fingers around your throbbing clit. Din groaned at the sight. Two strong hands gripped your thighs and spread your legs further as his eyes locked on your cunt.

Every muscle in your body seemed to tighten as you played with yourself, your own climax was right behind his. But just as you were about to cum, Din grabbed your wrist and removed your hand. The noise he made was practically a growl as he leaned down to spit on your pussy.

“Oh fuck, Din!” you shouted, body keening off the bed. When he finally released your hand, you rubbed furiously at your clit, eased by the mix of his cum and saliva.

“That’s it. Cum for me.”

Your vision blacked out before an array of stars burst behind your closed eyes as your orgasm tore through you. Pleasure clouded your mind, but you could hear yourself chanting his name like a prayer.

When you fell back against the bed, Din collapsed half on top of you, his cheek pillowed on your chest. “Fuck, that felt good,” you sighed. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath. “But I think that might be considered cheating.”

“No,” he insisted, “Just... bending the rules a little.” You both laughed and he held you a little tighter. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“So you can finally fuck me again?”

 “No.” He shook his head. “So I can be your husband.” You felt him smile against your skin. “And so I can finally make love to my wife.”

... . ...

Forever Tags: @leo-moon​ @readsalot73​ @frietiemeloen​ @huliabitch​ @jerusomeeno​ @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann​ @scapricciatello​ @liadamerondjarin​ @pedropasscals​ @paintballkid711​ @mistermiraclee​ @honeyand-roses​

Story Tags: @softpedropascal​ @mindless--ramblings​ @disgruntledspacedad​

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand. 

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin. 

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

-

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him. 

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans. 

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.” 

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard. 

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question. 

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!” 

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.” 

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?" 

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this." 

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'." 

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it. 

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject. 

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.” 

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened. 

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.” 

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling. 

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?” 

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?” 

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.” 

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked. 

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.” 

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down. 

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.” 

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased. 

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.” 

[jessbakescakes]

"30) things you said on the highway"

for the prompt thing :)

30. Things you said on the highway from this post.

Post-series Josh/Donna since I am me.

July 2016

Donna opens her eyes and stretches, adjusting in her seat. Josh must have heard her stirring because almost instantly, his hand is resting gently on her thigh.

“Sleep well?” Josh asks.

Donna nods and yawns, taking his hand in hers. “How long was I out?”

“Forty-five minutes, maybe,” Josh guesses. “We should be back at CJ’s in about an hour.”

“I’m guessing the girls are still asleep,” Donna says.

“Haven’t heard a peep out of them,” Josh confirms.

The Moss-Lyman family, at the tail end of a trip to visit CJ in San Diego, had spent the day at Disneyland. They started the day with a carefully planned itinerary that was almost entirely thrown out the window by ten o'clock, much to Donna's dismay, but everyone (even Josh) thoroughly enjoyed themselves anyway.

Donna peeks in the rearview mirror to get a look at their daughters. Nora’s Jessie hat has fallen off onto the floor, revealing just how wild her brown curls have gotten throughout the day. She may have inherited her dad’s messy hair, but her pink cheeks remind Donna that despite the near hourly reapplications of sunscreen, Nora also has Donna’s alabaster skin.

Caroline, seated in the middle in the back row, is clutching her lanyard with her growing pin collection, having completed her first trades without assistance. Her homemade Minnie Ears, the fruit of hours of her labor, held up surprisingly well throughout their day’s adventures, still perched safely on her head unharmed.

Leah, despite having fallen asleep on Donna’s shoulder for about an hour shortly after lunch, also seems thoroughly exhausted. Her brand new stuffed Stitch is just about as big as she is, squished next to her car seat and buckled in thanks to some creative thinking from Josh. She’s still holding Stitch’s hand, snoring softly in the seat beside Nora.

“CJ know we’re on our way back?” Donna asks, giving Josh’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” Josh says. “I texted her before we left. I think I may stop at this next exit and get something to drink, though. I’m thirsty.”

“Okay,” Donna agrees, reaching for her phone. “I’m going to send some of these pictures out before I start getting angry texts.”

Josh changes lanes to get to the exit ahead. “I sent that video of Nora yelling at Gaston to the group chat.”

Donna laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

“Toby was disappointed that Gaston didn't hear her. Ainsley asked if Nora was certain she wanted to be a veterinarian because she could make a very good lawyer,” Josh says, pulling into the gas station. “And yes, I reminded Ainsley that Nora is five. I’ll be right back. Want anything?”

Donna reaches for her phone. “No, thanks.”

Josh walks into the gas station as Donna sends a few photos to her parents, the Santoses, and the Bartlets, promising to send more later. She also promises to call and let the girls talk about their day at Disneyland when the Moss-Lyman family arrives back in D.C.

There’s a little part of Donna that doesn’t want this trip to end; the anxiety of starting something new is beginning to set in, and the thought of spending less time with Josh and the girls is getting more and more painful.

She’s jolted out of her thoughts by the car door opening. Josh hands her a bottle of water and a package of peanut M&Ms, putting his own bottle of water in the cupholder before starting the car. “You didn’t have to get me this,” Donna says, tearing the package open anyway.

Josh shrugs. “I learned in 1998 to get you something even if you said you didn’t want anything.” He leans forward to give her a kiss, then pulls back onto the main road.

They ride in silence for a few minutes until Josh sticks his hand out toward Donna, indicating that he wants a handful of M&Ms. She obliges, rolling her eyes despite the fact that he can’t see her do it. He pops the M&Ms in his mouth, not bothering to chew before he speaks again. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Donna says. “I’m fine.”

“Thinking about Monday?” Josh asks.

“A little,” Donna admits.

“Only way you can go is up,” Josh reassures her. “The guy’s poll numbers are in the gutter. You’re walking into a mess, but you’re going to manage a Congressional campaign. Even if you don’t win, you can set him up for 2018.”

Donna sighs. “His polling is terrible.”

“Of course his polling is terrible,” Josh agrees, “his old campaign manager had probably never heard of Wisconsin before they hired him, let alone lived there.”

“You’re right,” Donna agrees.

Josh finishes off the M&Ms and reaches for her hand again. “It’s just until November. We’ll all manage. It’s the Virginia 8th, it’s not like you’re in, I dunno, Alaska. You’ll basically be home every night.”

“Feels far,” Donna sighs. “I like working in the District.”

“Well, when you run for Congress, you can work in the District,” Josh says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

Donna laughs. “Whatever you say.”

[penwieldingdreamer]

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 1

Thank you all for your likes and reblogs. I'm really happy you liked it. Now on with the next part. Let me know what you think about it and if you want to be tagged. As always thank you @fortheloveoffanfic for being my beta.

Warnings: Mentions of war, mentions of sex, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence

Words: 1304

Chapter 1

Arrow House, Warwickshire, 1924

"Tommy, you need to consider remarrying." Aunt Polly told him, bouncing Charlie on her knee as she watched her nephew pace behind his desk. "There have been rumors goin' round."

Taking a deep breath, the leader of the Peaky Blinders turned to the older woman. "What would you have me do, Poll, ey? Take the next best woman that's out on the streets?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Tommy. You need someone with good connections and money." she told him, hoisting the boy into her arms and coming to stand next to Tommy. “She has to accept that you’ve been married before, that there’s a child. Even though we’re rich now, doesn’t mean that all women of the world will fall over for Thomas Shelby.”

Snorting, the second eldest Shelby grinned at his aunt, although the smile wouldn’t reach his eyes. Not since Grace had been shot because of him. “As you just so nicely reminded us, we don’ need the fuckin’ money, the Shelby’s are already fuckin’ rich. What are you gonna do? Arrange a marriage, just like John and Esme?”

“Stop the cursin’, will you. There’s a small child here.” Shrugging her shoulders, Polly regarded him with a stern look he just knew all too well. “I talked to Johnny Dogs, he knows a family in Ireland. Lots of connections, loads of old money.”

“No, Poll.” he shook his head, opening the silver case to grab another cigarette, hoping to calm his nerves from the nagging of his aunt. “I’m not goin’ ta bring anyone new into this family. There’s enough people to take care of as it is. Who’s to say that family doesn’t have ties to our enemies?”

Smoothing out Charlie’s dark blond hair, Polly Grace shook her head. “Stubborn as a mule, that one.” she muttered to the boy, the corners of her lips moving up into a smile as she heard the two-year old laugh at her. “Even John wasn’t bitchin’ so much. I know why you won’t do it, Thomas, but you need to see reason. Your boy needs a mother and you, you need someone to warm that heart of yours, even if ye don’ believe me. Be ready in a week, Johnny will take you to see your future wife.”

Grunting, Thomas Shelby watched his aunt leave the study, his son perched on her hip. Grace had only been gone a few weeks - or had it really been months? - and yet his family was forcing him to marry some spoiled high society girl, whose only problem would be the perfect temperature of her tea. Letting out a defeated sigh, the leader of the Peaky Blinders sank into the plush sofa Polly had occupied minutes before and looked at the portrait of his late wife. “What am I goin’ to do without you, eh? You shouldna have been involved in my fuckin’ mess, Grace."

Of course there was no answer from her, the smile on her lips stayed forever frozen. Dropping his head into his hands, he breathed in the air filled with tobacco and whiskey, trying to keep every detail of his love in his heart, never to forget her.

Dublin, Ireland 1924

"Edward, when will you tell our daughter that it's not ladylike to run around with a horse like that?" Helene McCann, Duchess of Leinster and Baroness of Kildare, admonished her husband entering the large sunroom of their country home Castletown House.

Sitting at the table with his other two daughters Amalie and Louise, he read the newspaper and only hummed. "What would you have me do, hm? Send her to her rooms and lock the doors?" Andrew, Duke of Leinster folded the papers and leaned back to watch his wife with an amused smile on his lips. "She is just as free spirited as you, my darling."

"Oh no, I'm definitely blaming you on that one. Saoirse has done everything to avoid being a proper lady, no thanks to you, love." she countered, sipping her tea and giving her husband an angry look. “You know that Mr. Shelby will arrive today and I want her to be presentable.”

Shaking his head, Andrew grabbed his pipe and lit the tobacco. "Saoirse is just like your mother's cousin has been. She was a free spirit, too, a friend of nature and I know you often went to visit her. I do believe Mister Shelby will be very lucky to marry her and you know that as well."

Sighing, the mother of three leaned back in her seat and turned her gaze on the gardens, hoping that her youngest daughter would at least be fine while out there riding through the forest behind their home.

Hooves beat against the cold ground, harsh pants of the horse sounded in the silence of the woods as it raced through the trees, nostrils flared and kept its attention on the sounds around him.

“Socair.” Saoirse spoke softly, guiding her stallion through the thick undergrowth. “Calm, my love.”

Since her mother had told her about the arranged marriage, the youngest of three daughters left to find solace with her animals. Her dappled grey White Knight brought her to the flower field she had found a few months earlier. “Good boy, we’re going to stay here and enjoy the sun before those men come.”

With a snort, the stallion stopped and Saoirse jumped from the saddle, taking the bridle off of him. She took a deep breath and brushed her hand over the speckled coat of the horse. “I can’t believe father agreed to that marriage mother arranged.”

There had never been time in her life that she wished more than ever to not be a descendant from royalty than now. Arrangements had been made with Thomas Shelby, leader of a gang in Birmingham. Her mother had told Saoirse that in a few months she'd be his wife and make sure that their connections would help him further his business and standing in politics.

Leaning against his neck, the young woman closed her eyes. "What should I do, huh? I don't want to be a wife being kept in a house as a broodmare. I just, I want freedom."

Both, rider and horse snapped to attention when a twig broke behind them in the woods. "Who's there?" she called, her eyes flitting through the green leaves of the trees.

"It's just I, princess." the man reasoned, his accent thick as he spoke. Moving through the underbrush, Saoirse could see the kind eyes of Johnny Dogs he only reserved for her. "I knew I might find ye out 'ere."

Smiling, she moved in for a tight hug. "Oh, how I missed you, Johnny. It has been boring ever since you left."

"Oh I know," the Irish mused with a smile. "I bet yer mum has had you reciting poetry and embroidery."

Rolling her eyes, Saoirse lightly hit his shoulder. "Don't remind me. I'm not as much the lady she wants me to be. But now, why are you here? Don't tell me he's here already."

"I'm afraid he's 'ere." Johnny sighed, seeing the defeated look darken her eyes. He had known her since she was a little girl, having worked for the Duke in his stables and taught her everything about horses and riding that he knew. "Please Saoirse, it's not as bad as ye make it out to be."

Exasperated, she turned away from her friend, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm losing my freedom to be a gangster's wife so he can further his business while I'll have to sit in his manor and play the lady of the house, greeting guests and giving him children to make him seem good."

"Just give Thomas a chance, once in a while people will surprise you." Johnny tried to reason with her.

tagging:

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

[imaginepirates]

Modern! Jack

Another modern au where Jack stumbles upon your house in the woods. This is an outdoorsy one for everyone who loves Jack being Jack. You try to convince Jack that the mountains are just as beautiful as the sea. (Poll: which do you like better?)

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​ 

~3000 words

~~~~~~~

          The wind whispered through the trees, the light dappling through the leaves to fall across the ground in mesmerizing patterns. You stood under them, watching the movement in the undergrowth. Mice scuttled through the bushes, insects skittered across the ground, and a thrush took flight from its place in the grasses. You walked along a path that led away from your small home and out into the woods. You lived in a secluded area, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. It was nice, out in nature. It was relaxing, and your walks always took you somewhere new.

          You stepped off the path, letting your feet lead you. You knew the area well enough that you wouldn’t get lost. You made your way to a small brook, using the stones jutting out from the water as a pathway across. The stream burbled up at you as you crossed. You were glad to have this space to yourself. Sometimes, hikers came along, and you held pleasant conversation with them. They came down from the hills behind your home, a beautiful range of white-topped mountains that stretched for miles, carved out by glaciers. You could swear that they were the most beautiful land formations on earth. A bird cawed somewhere nearby, taking off from its perch. You watched it fly overhead, admiring its deep blue coloring.

          You noticed the man not long after. He came stumbling through the trees, looking disoriented. He carried no pack, and you worried that something might have happened to him while he had been out hiking. Your fear was amplified by the fresh bloodstain on his shirt. You both stared at each other a shocked moment before either of you moved.

          You moved toward him, taking his arm. He must have been one of those modern hippies; his dreadlocks reached his lower back. There was some sort of dark makeup around his eyes, and his clothes were strange, too hot for hiking in. You brushed the thoughts of his strangeness out of your mind, intent on getting him some help. “I live not far from here. I can help you.”

          “Thank you, love. But may I ask: where exactly is ‘here’?”

          You glanced over at his face, realizing that he was sincere. Surely he had to have some idea of where he was. He’d likely gotten lost while out on the path, but there was no way that he could be utterly confused as to his location. “You’re by the Cascade Mountain Range.” Seeing his still-confused expression, you decided that the injury on his chest might be taking more out of him than you originally thought.

          You rushed him back to the house, a little surprised to find how steadily the man walked across the rocks in the stream. Once inside, you sat him on your couch and went to the bathroom for your first aid kit. You kept one around just in case, especially considering the fact that accidents like this did, in fact, happen.

          When you stepped back into your living room, you saw that the man was standing in your kitchen, casting a curious glance at your toaster-oven. Seeing the kit in your hands, he nodded, stepping back over toward the sofa.

          You pulled his shirt to the side to find a long gash. It was shallow, but it had bled a concerning amount. You bandaged it as best as you could, making sure to apply generous amounts of disinfectant. With the bleeding stopped, you took another look at your patient.

          He wore a bandana around his head with trinkets dangling from it, including a rather large piece of what you assumed to be plastic, though it looked convincingly like bone. His outfit was…interesting, to say the least. He wore what appeared to be a worn waistcoat over a billowing shirt, and he had thick belts around his chest and middle. The very personification of a swashbuckling pirate, you thought. He was the strangest person you’d met in the woods to date.

          “I know you might feel a little confused,” you said, carefully folding a bloodstained washcloth. “You seem to have lost some blood. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

          “Confused is a bit of an understatement, love. I’m baffled. Bewildered. Befuddled, if you will.”

          “And why is that, Mr…”

          “Sparrow.”

          “Mr. Sparrow.” Sparrow? you thought. Certainly not Sparrow as in Jack Sparrow, fictional pirate and dashing rogue?

          “Because I have no idea where I am. In perfect honesty, I have no idea when I am.”

          You almost laughed. The notion seemed so ridiculous. Then you realized he might have passed out somewhere, and was probably asking for the day of week. “It’s Thursday,” you said. “March thirteenth.”

          He nodded.

          “Do you mind telling me how you got hurt?”

          “Oh! That.” He looked down at the injury, as if analyzing it for the first time. “Swordfight.”

          “Swordfight?” At this point, you were fairly sure that you were hallucinating. You’d heard of strange things happening to people, encounters that left people shocked, but you’d never thought that you would have one. You couldn’t tell if the man was a very good actor, or if he was simply insane. You realized that it would be best to call the police. “You should get some rest,” you told him. “You look tired. When you wake up, I’ll have some food ready.”

          He thanked you, sprawling out across your couch to take a nap. You moved over to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the way there. Any man who claimed that he had been injured in the middle of the woods in a swordfight wasn’t the type you wanted to be around. You looked back at Sparrow, who had his thick leather boots slung over the edge of your sofa.

          A glint of metal caught your eye. There, resting by his hip, was a belt. A large sheath hung off one side, and a sword seemed to be inside it. “Excuse me,” you said without thinking. “Is that a real sword?” The pommel looked lovely, and you wanted to know where he might have gotten something so convincing.

          Sparrow cracked an eye. “Of course it is.” He flashed a glint of steel, then returned to his nap.

          You put down the phone. Maybe he's not crazy. You busied yourself making a snack, trying to calm your panicking mind. The man laying on your couch was too much like the actual Jack Sparrow, and you were afraid that you’d hit your head in the shower, or that you were still dreaming.

          By the time he woke up, he seemed very thankful for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you handed him. He ate it with gusto, eyes widening with what you knew was the unusual taste of peanut butter.

          “Thank you, love.” He licked the jelly off his fingers. “It seems that I’m in need of a place to stay. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to provide?”

          “Of course,” you squeaked.

          “Unfortunately, I don’t know my way home, and I don’t know how long I’m supposed to be here. I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

          “Not at all.” It really wasn’t, but it was certainly odd to keep a strange man in your house for an undetermined amount of time.

          The next few days passed blissfully uneventfully, leaving you to tend to Jack’s injury and introduce him to modern technology. Hilariously, the bed was probably the thing he enjoyed most. You had a guest bed, and he flopped into it unceremoniously all the time. You supposed that if this truly was Jack, then he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages.

          He was wary of the shower, but you convinced him that scrubbing some of the grime off his face and body would make him feel better. He admitted, later, that it did.

          His wound healed up nicely. It hadn’t needed stitches, which you were thankful for. It had been a shallow cut, but it had bled a lot in the beginning, which had concerned you for obvious reasons.

          He kept flicking open a compass that looked suspiciously like the real one, staring at it before snapping it closed again, annoyed.

          “What do you keep looking at your compass for?”

          “Nothing.”

          You raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that.”

          “Look, lassie. I appreciate the hospitality, but the compass is my business.”

          You frowned. You hadn’t realized that Jack probably kept the compass a secret. From most people, at least. You supposed the people who knew about it were exceptions, given that they had known him for a while.

           You could tell he was growing fidgety, and that he needed something to do. He paced around the room sometimes, and he kept toying with some of the beads in his hair.

          “Do you want to go for a walk?” You asked. “You seem like you could use something to do.”

          He agreed. You left the house with a backpack full of food and water, just in case you needed it. Always better to be safe than sorry. You walked back along the little path you’d found him on. Again, he was surefooted crossing the rocks in the stream, and you wondered what would make his balance so good. The mountains rose up ahead of you, a hundred trails splitting off into the wilderness.

          “How can you tell where you are with all these trees?” Jack asked.

          “I suppose you have to know the paths. Or get a map. Or look for landmarks. It’s pretty easy to tell where you are in comparison to what mountains are around.”

          He looked up. “All your mountains look the same.”

          “That’s not true.” You pointed out the jagged rocks at the top of a mountain to your left, and the smoother top of the one to your right.

          “It’s easier to see things on the open ocean. The sea is the most beautiful thing in the world.” He spoke with such reverence, you could tell that he really believed it. He must love the ocean.

          “There’s nothing out there!” you said. “There aren’t any landmarks to tell you where you are.”

          “Stars, lassy.”

          “That’s only good at night,” you pointed out. “And I think the mountains are more beautiful than the ocean.”

          Jack made a face.

          “Have you ever hiked up to the top of one and looked off at everything down below?”

          “Why would I?”

          “Because it’s amazing. I’ll prove it to you.”

          Jack looked up at some of the towering peaks. “I’m not sure I can make it up there, love.”

          “It’s not so bad, I promise. We won’t go all the way up to the top, anyway. That requires rock-climbing gear.” Jack still looked dubious, but you kept on. “You can’t say that something isn’t beautiful if you haven’t experienced it. I’ve been to the ocean. I know it’s pretty, but not as lovely as the sight off the top of the hills.”

          “If you say so.”

          You led him up a dusty path that connected to the base of one of the mountains. There was a ledge of rock that you could climb up to and look out at all the things down below. You started leading him up through the trees and bushes.

          Jack looked around at all the foliage. His eyes followed flying birds, gliding butterflies, and flowers lining the path. He stared, wide eyed, at all of it. As you climbed higher, he looked out between the trees to see the view. You enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when he gazed out over your home.

          “I don’t think I’ve ever been this high up before,” he said.

          “We still have a ways to go, too. You’re going to love it when we reach the top.”

          He looked back at you with a silly grin. “You’re right: this is beautiful. Not sure it beats freedom on the ocean yet, but it’s something.”

          You couldn’t wait for him to see it all sprawling out underneath him. The true views were something else. You loved looking down over the little valley you were in, trying to find your house in the trees, looking across at more towering mountains, the sun framed by the peaks.

          When you finally reached the top, the afternoon sun hung overhead in the sky. Jack stopped a moment to catch his breath before walking out onto the shelf of rock that extended from the cliff face. He sucked in a breath as he looked out at the view.

          The trees had fallen away behind you, and the shelf of rock gave you an unobscured view of the valley below. You could just pic out your small house among the trees far beneath you. The sky seemed to stretch on forever, over the mountains opposite you, bright blue in the midday sun. Everything looked so small; the stream you’d crossed earlier was a winding ribbon, and the road leading up to your house was no wider than a finger from where you stood.

          “This is…there aren’t words, love.” Jack gazed out over the expanse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And the air is crisp, crisper than on the sea, even. And there’s no sound. It just...disappears.”

          “I know. Now you can see why I love it so much.”

          “I do.”

          You sat on the rock, enjoying the view and eating snacks. There was the occasional bird whistle, but other than that, you were in complete silence. No sounds from the road traveled up to greet you, and you were there all alone. Jack couldn’t stop staring. Obviously, he’d never hiked up anything in his life.

          He flipped open his compass with a practiced flick. Chewing on a granola bar, he looked down, almost lazily, and the expression on his face changed at once. He was on his feet in an instant. He stepped out off the outcropping, back onto the trail, and took a few short strides to the left. Then, he turned in a few circles, finally stooping down to pick something up.

          He brought it back to you, inspecting it carefully. It seemed to be some kind of broach. Why his compass pointed him to a broach, you couldn’t understand, but you were beginning to understand that this was, in fact, the real Jack Sparrow in front of you. He sat back down, and pulled at a piece of string attached to the object. It had some paper on the end of it. A note, probably. His eyes widened, and he cursed under his breath.

          “What is it?”

          “Nothing.” He shoved it in a pocket.

          You looked at him suspiciously, but decided to leave it. He’d tell you if he wanted to. Besides, you had to head back down the mountain if you wanted anything to eat for dinner.

          You headed back with Jack in a dark mood. He glared testily at the trees and shrubs. Obviously, whatever he’d found in the woods was bothering him. You didn’t want to pry, but you were curious to know what made his mood change so quickly.

          You arrived back at your house just as the sun was beginning to sink over the opposite mountains. The air conditioning felt blissful against your warm skin. A shower was in order, you knew, but you decided to clear the air first. Jack had dropped onto the couch, and you walked up, sitting down beside him.

         “What was it?” You asked gently.

          “What was what?”

          “You know what.” You sighed. “The thing you found while we were out hiking.”

          “My ticket home, is what.”

          “Your ticket home?” You didn’t understand.

          He moved closer, showing you the broach. It was a silver ship, and the light bounced off the reflective surface. Then, he grabbed the note, holding it up for you to read.

          Jack, it seems you’re doing well where I put you. You were never very good at facing your problems, so I decided to give you one you couldn’t run away from. You seem to have acclimated to the future, and you deserve a way back. Just rub on the ship and think of home.

          You stared, flabbergasted. What did it mean? The initials at the end caught your notice. T.D. Surely that had to be Tia Dalma. Was Jack going already, then? Was he leaving you to go back to your everyday life? You’d enjoyed his company, and the more you thought on it, the less you wanted him to go.

          “Damned woman put me in the future herself! I can’t believe her, sometimes. But that’s women for you.” He turned to you. “Well, not all women, I guess.”

          “Are you leaving, then?” You asked, a little afraid of the answer.

          “I do want to get back to my Pearl,” he said, “but I like it here. It’s a nice rest from the ship. Besides, Tia said I needed to do some learning. I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little more.” He grinned cheekily. “So, tell me about yourself.”

          “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” You smiled in spite of yourself.

          “You’re right. She wanted me to face my problems. And you’re certainly not a problem, love.”

          Oh dear. You rolled your eyes. It was going to be different, if he decided to stick around. Different, but decidedly worthwhile.

          “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Does my not-problem kiss? They’ve certainly deserved it. I mean, they’ve patched me up, and given me a place to stay, and shown me some beautiful views.” With that statement, he raked your body over with his eyes. “I think we can do more beautiful things, too.”

          You blushed furiously. “I suppose that depends. Are you a good kisser?”

          “You’re going to have to come over here to find out.” He winked.

          He was. And he insisted on proving it to you quite a few times. Not that you minded.

[biwenqing]

So this is for the day three prompt: Social Media AU for Spring Sleuthing over at @tsomdevents! I wrote this fic a while ago, and it fits perfectly for this. But I realized it was going to be more than one chapter. I will continue it once the prompt week is over!

teen | pre-relationship | WIP | ao3 link | formatted as tweets | wc:1767

WZ @theroommatedilema

i made this secret account to live tweet my two oblivious roommates having a quarantine romance. or not. they are idiots. follow to find out will they/won’t they.

he/him | Joined March 2020

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we are starting week 2 of quarantine and i realized i needed to document this. my two roommates who have been dancing around each other since before shit hit the fan are driving me crazy and if i have to watch this the world has to as well.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we need to give them code names because, while i don't think either of them will find this account, best not to tempt fate. so we have 'hot chef' and 'smart aleck'.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 all that out of the way, we can now get to the live tweet. hot chef was doing his laundry so he was walking around the apartment shirtless. smart aleck walked into a wall, not once, not twice, but three times. hot chef didn't help this when he put on an apron

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 28 smart aleck started the day by almost burning down our kitchen trying to make breakfast to impress hot chef. luckily i was awake and stopped things before there was a grease fire, before making breakfast myself. they both seemed to like it.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 hot chef thinks we should try and exercise, but i think it is cold and slippery out, so if he expects me to join him on his morning runs, he is wrong. smart aleck did make an attempt and i got to watch him wipe out from the window. lucky for him hot chef caught him. yea i know

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 follow up to wipe out: hot chef helped smart aleck back into the house and then took care of him, before then still going on his run. smart aleck pouted next to me on the couch, watching out the window for when he came back like a puppy.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 smart aleck has decided he needs to clean and organize the whole apartment. i think he just doesn't want to do his real job. this has led to an argument with hot chef because smart aleck has taken everything out of the kitchen cabinets and messed with his books.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 as a household, we have a pretty solid 'don't touch my stuff' understanding, but that apparently goes all out the window during a pandemic. hot chef keeps all his cooking tools and supplies in a special order that makes sense only to him and i leave it be

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 but smart aleck wants to "help" and didnt ask if anyone wanted help so here we are. don't worry, this account isn't in vain, i can confirm that their argument is more bickering and that bickering is the stereotype of an "old married couple"

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: but you do so much, i wanted to help! HC: if i need help, i'd ask for it SA: *arms crossed* would you? give an example of when you have asked for help. HC: ....i haven't needed help SA: bullshit! remember when you got the flu last year and didn't tell us?

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: you practically passed out before you let WZ and i take you to see a doctor! and then you still argued about us making sure you got the food and fluids and everything you needed so you didn't die! HC: ...i didn't want either of you to get sick

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: oh yes so ignoring the issue really helped? it’s better that you almost died? in case you didn’t already notice, smart aleck is always dramatic.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 for those wondering, smart aleck is not wrong here. this is exactly how events occurred. it was only a few months after I moved in with them. for the fight i think smart aleck somehow won this round. tune in tomorrow for what happens next!

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 no updates because they have been pretending to ignore each other and focused on work. hot chef in particular. smart aleck claims it is because hot chef isn’t used to being cared about. he told me this in a deliberate stage whisper.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 i think it is important to note that hot chef did still make dinner each night to share... he just went back to his room after.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 i got a question asking what we all do for work. that’s classified. and mostly unrelated. though it is how we met in a very odd course of events.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 that was not an invitation to send me more questions. i know you are all nosy, or else why would you be following this account. but we have established this account must go unnoticed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 fine. general ages = smart aleck is in his 20s. hot chef is in his 30s. and because you for some reason all want to know: i am also in my 20s.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 pets = yes one. smart aleck has a pet cat named goat he inherited from a past roommate. goat the cat tries to eat anything and everything, thus the name. she particularly likes to eat house plants. she likes smart aleck the least, hot chef the most. i hold a pretty solid 2nd place.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 6 update: they made up. a package arrived today and it was apparently a pan to replace one smart aleck had destroyed. hot chef made smart aleck’s favorite dinner. SA talked the whole way through to meal, and HC looked smitten. so we’re back to normal.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 10 where do we rank the level of domestic where one person brushes their teeth/gets ready for the day while the other is in the shower? bonus points for some mild discussion and/or bickering.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 11 smart aleck has a new scheme. he is trying to persuade hot chef to teach him to cook. so far HC has held firm. we mark day one of this new standoff.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 i’ve been asked a few times why i don’t just use initials of smart aleck and hot chef’s names. it’s all part of keeping this hidden. i have also chosen nicknames that i don’t think they would think i’d use for them.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 smart aleck is the type to figure this out if i’m not careful. he’s both too clever and too dumb for his own good. which is part of the reason i must document all of this, so i can shove it in his face later.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 we are also on day two of cooking teaching standoff. i think some of you rightly assume SA is imagining hot chef standing behind him and idk helping him cut vegetables

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 13 standoff continues. i made dinner to see if that would throw the balance off. no change yet

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 resolution! hot chef did give in, on the condition that he teaches both of us. i didn’t manage to escape because smart aleck seemed to decide this was the only way. don’t know how this fits into whatever romantic daydreams he had.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 i see those comments that this might give me a chance to put them together. but i think it is more fun to not help them at all. they need to do this on their own

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 to do such teaching, a grocery shopping mission is needed. because the world is... well. i suggested just they go together so fine. maybe i will try and assist.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 level of domestic of sneaking things you know your “just friends roommate” loves but won’t buy for themselves in the cart without them knowing?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 you ask how i know that and it is of course because smart aleck, so proud of himself, announced it as soon as he reentered the apartment. goat the cat tried to get into the bags to eat raw fish while this occurred.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 first cooking lesson, some simple stir fry. i already can cook this so i get to just perch at the counter and watch. vote on the poll below how you think this will turn out

[hands brushing softly] [sparks, and not the sexy kind] [food hopefully?]

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 everyone who voted for fire won. the neighbors are quite upset. and not even goat the cat will eat the final product. i ordered take out and a fresh fire extinguisher while they dealt with the mild fire and smoke detector.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 17 smart aleck is pouting so there will be no cooking lessons today. the good news (for his employer) is he seems to actually be focusing on doing his job.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 hot chef actually asked smart aleck if he wanted to try cooking again. very interesting. this has mostly been coming from SA’s side, so i would call this positive movement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 SA has completely perked up and agreed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 oh apparently the plan is SA will watch and i get the place as the student in the kitchen. this is probably safer for everyone

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 for those asking what happen: dinner was made with no issue. I was in charge of the main dish and that left HC to work on side dishes. SA even helped wash and chop some vegetables. goat took some chicken right off SA’s plate and ran away with it growling.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 i take that to mean the cat approves of my cooking. but she also tried to steal things from the trash, so that isn’t much of an endorsement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 22 SA is avoiding work and trying to clean again. he actually asked if he could move stuff around. growth.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 hot chef spotted leaving smart aleck’s room this morning?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 false alarm, he was just looking for the cat.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 30 final report for this month: progress made in communication. new together activity established. the apartment has not burned down. a baby step closer, yet still so far away from them figuring this out...

[discoverafricasafaris]

Matthys’ Top Three Favourite lodges In Botswana

A Botswana safari is synonymous with the Okavango Delta but I think that so many people don’t know how diverse the country is. Botswana has such a variety of different animals and different eco-systems, just begging to be explored. Here is a list of Matthys' favourite three lodges in Botswana. 

Chobe Game Lodge

Location

Chobe Game Lodge, in my opinion, is a very nice entry-level luxury lodge and is situated inside the Chobe National park, many people believe that the Park is overcrowded but still would like to experience the magic of seeing the large elephants swim and play in the Chobe River. It is a sight that few places in the world could even dream to better the experience. The lodge is situated about 30 - 45 minutes drive inside the park with no other lodge in close proximity and also allows for game activities an early start and late return giving you the opportunity to avoid the bulk of the normal crowd as you can reach places in the park otherwise impossible for day visitors to reach and still make it back to the gate in time before the park closes. 

Matthys' Game viewing experiences

I’ve been privileged enough to experience Chobe in all its glory, we went for an afternoon cruise on the river and encountered a massive number of elephants in the river and on both the Botswana and Namibia side of the river running towards a thunderstorm brewing in the background. There were elephants everywhere, probably over 300.

What makes this Lodge unique

Besides the location of the lodge inside the National Park with no neighbours close by, it will be the fact that this lodge tries its best to stay as green as possible with a very small carbon footprint. The lodge’s 4x4 vehicles and boats are electric which gives a very unique game viewing experience and you get to hear the bush and the river with no to very little noise coming from the electric motors.

How to get there

The easiest entry points would be Kasane Airport but also easily accessible from the Victory Falls. The drive from Kasane takes about 45 minutes in one of the lodge’s game-viewing vehicles. Should you decide to add Chobe to your Victoria Falls itinerary or visa-versa then you are looking at an approx. 2-hour road transfer depending on how busy it is at the Kazungula border post.

Savute Safari Lodge

Location 

The Savute Safari Lodge is also a good entry-level luxury lodge with all the creature comforts that you would like. The lodge is located in the Savuti region of Botswana, next to the dry Savuti River canal. The lodge has a watering hole that caters to all the animals in the region. The waterhole is one of the biggest deciding factors for this camp but more about that later. The location is often overlooked by people going to Botswana as time is the crucial factor but I hope that you would consider this gem of a region after reading this article.

Game Viewing

I am in love with this region because of the magical experience that I have had, there were so many unbelievable sightings that the entire stay was just fantastic. The Savuti region is famous for the Savuti Marsh Lion pride, which is around 22 lions strong the last I heard. We saw the pride feasting on a wildebeest that they took down just a couple of minutes before we got there. It was such a primal and exciting experience and was just amazing to see how the alpha male lion was so patient with the cubs, all trying to get their fill. This only lasted for a couple of minutes before the male lion removed the cubs from his piece of wildebeest. You can also expect to encounter wild-dogs and hyenas amongst the mix if you are interested in the predators.  

What makes this Lodge unique

As mentioned before about the watering hole, we could have sat there the entire day because of the vast amount of animals that came down for a drink and to cool down, at one stage there were about 80 - 100 elephants congregating around the waterhole with small baby elephants playing in the mud with no worries in the world, and there were quite a few elephants that stayed at the waterhole until late the evening. We also saw a leopard in the evening which probably caused some unrest. The few elephants that stayed until very late the evening were clearly unsettled because they kept on trumpeting until very late, I have never again experienced that until date.

Getting there

I would highly recommend taking a small aircraft flight, there is an airstrip close to the lodge and the transfer is done in an open 4x4 game viewing vehicle, the drive itself can be considered as a game-drive. You can access the airstrip from Kasane Airport, Muan Airport, and even other Lodges as part of a larger itinerary.

Camp Okavango

Location 

Camp Okavango is a brilliant luxury lodge that is situated in the heart of the Okavango Delta. If you want the perfect spot then this is it! The lodge is perched on stilts and offers sweeping views of the flood plain. The wooden decks are in pristine condition and the rooms are next to heavenly, the decor style offers you understated bush luxury with all the comforts that you can think of such as double showers, etc.

Game Viewing

The camp focus on water-based activities which include motorboat trips and “makoro” cruises. The makoros are “dug-out” canoes with a guide at the back with a long poll, pushing you along in the shallow waters of the delta canals. Experiencing no engine noise while slowly making your way along the water in the middle of the Delta is something that words can’t describe. You also get morning game walks on one of the closeby islands, this is done by 2 guides and you don’t have to worry too much about pace as this can be done at a pace that you are comfortable with, as long as you are comfortable walking around. This was where I’ve encountered my first experience in the wild on foot. You are so much more aware of what is happening around you and seeing elephants in relatively close proximity will give you such an adrenaline rush, I should add that the guides that do the walking safaris are extremely knowledgeable and knows how to read the animals and the situation. I never felt scared or unsafe. Game walks are only allowed for people over the age of 16 due to obvious safety reasons.

What makes this Lodge unique

I think what made this Lodge unique for me was not just the location, or the magnificent decked boma dinner area overlooking the floodplains, the luxurious warm accommodation, the high standard of game viewing vehicles, the staff were extremely friendly and warm-hearted. The guides are fantastic and knowledgeable. Camp Okavango comes highly recommended and worth your time, perhaps even spend an extra day just to wake up a little bit later and enjoy the room and facilities.    

Sure there are many other fantastic lodges that offer an incredible safari experience and caters to various budgets. Credit should also go to these camp’s staff members which had a huge influence on choosing these three lodges, the staff members were always happy and all always willing to make the experience memorable, from the general staff, the guides and the camp managers. The best would be to get out there and explore the natural wonders of Botswana has to offer. 

Botswana Safari

[izzy-b-hands]

Such A Boring Day...(And It’s Mine)

Written for my DL server Bingo Card prompt: Great Depression.

Now, I know it meant the time period, but that wasn’t happening no matter how much I pressed myself to make a fic out of it, and according to Merriam-Webster, depression can mean everything from being depressed mentally; to a reduction in activity such as with economics, physical activity, etc; a tropical depression re: meteorology; and more. 

So I decided to go with the definition of it as a reduction in activity. Particularly, a slow day on tour, a day where everyone is in a rather rough mood because...there’s just nothing to do. They can’t leave yet for the next city, but there isn’t enough time to go do anything in the city they’re already in, and the hotel has gone from ‘ooh fun new place’ to ‘I think this is the most boring hotel in existence.’ And it’s up to the gender neutral reader in this fic, as a member of the road crew, to help keep everyone else happy and entertained, while also trying not to die of boredom themselves. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“You have a cup of tea,” you said gently.

“S’cold,” Roger mumbled. 

“Did you forget about it?” you asked sympathetically. 

“No,” he sighed, sounding utterly despondent. “Just let it sit there, I guess.” 

You frowned, and picked up the cup. “Let’s try that again, hm? Give you a chance to drink it this time.” 

“I could make it myself,” Roger said, but he didn’t move from the bed he was stretched on. 

He was rooming with John, who had found perhaps the best way to beat the boredom of waiting until they could get on the road, and was passed out on the other bed, on his third nap of the day. He’d woken up only for the bathroom and to eat a sandwich you’d brought up for him. 

“Would you like to do that, or shall I continue?” you asked Roger. 

He sighed deeply, and rolled over onto his stomach. 

That was an answer enough for you to finish up the new cup, setting it on the end table near his bed before leaving to check on everyone else. 

Normally, there wasn’t downtime like this, but a combination of venue issues, transportation issues (the van was very dead, and at the local mechanics), and the discovery that someone had written out the wrong time table for the next day meant you had three hours. 

Not enough time to do much exploring of the city, not in the way the lads wanted to, but just a bit too early to get on the road (if you wanted to avoid arriving at the next hotel way ahead of check in time.) 

And it was killing everyone. 

In the next room, Freddie and Brian were sat on one of the beds in their room, frowning over a game of Scrabble. 

Not a single new word had been added to it since you’d checked on them a half hour earlier though. 

“Bad tiles?” you mused. 

Brian shrugged. “No. It isn’t doing the trick. We only pulled it out because we couldn’t think of much else to do.” 

“Could read, maybe?” you suggested, taking a quick peek around the room to ensure they were fully packed up and ready. They were, which meant you couldn’t use that as a suggestion to alleviate their boredom. 

“No,” Freddie sighed, and slumped against the pillows. 

“I made Roger some tea,” you tried again. “I could get you two something, if you’d like anything? Food, drink...” 

They both shook their heads and sighed in unison. 

“Poor things,” you said softly. 

“You aren’t just as bored?” Brian asked.

“Why do you think I’m running around trying to help everyone?” you asked as a reply. “I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I feel...useless. A bunch of energy and nothing to do with it.” 

“All dressed up, and nowhere to go,” Freddie muttered. 

You nodded. “I’ll be back in a bit, I guess, to check on you. If it helps, we’ve got only-” 

You checked your watch. 

“Two hours left!” 

They sighed deeply, in unison, again, and you left them to their unending but unmoving Scrabble. 

In the room next door, most of the road crew had gathered. In part because the other rooms had all been packed up already, so there was little point in laying about in them, but also because they were as bored as the band, and the idea had been that maybe being bored together would be more fun than being bored alone. 

“Look who’s back!” Crystal crowed. “How was that rotation round? Do anything interesting?” 

“Made Roger another cup of tea, John is still sleeping, and Brian and Freddie may be beyond any suggestions I can provide,” you grumbled. “And it only killed off an hour.” 

“What now then?” Crystal asked you. 

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I need to find something for all of us.” 

“You don’t have to,” one of the other techs said. “But it’s kind of you to try.” 

“Someone has to,” you said. “We’re just wasting away in here, and it’s the worst, and I don’t like it.” 

Crystal checked his watch. “Well, your complaining knocked off another two minutes.” 

You laughed and dropped onto the bed near him. “Should I continue, see if I can kill another hour with complaining alone?” 

Before he could reply, in stalked Roger, dragging a half-asleep John with him. “We thought maybe you lot would be doing something exciting.” 

You all looked around the room at each other, all sat on the floor or beds or perched wherever else there was a spot, doing nothing except sitting and talking. 

“Oh well,” Roger mumbled. “We’ll stay anyway.” 

He plopped himself down in your lap, and you watched as John settled onto the floor, impossibly yawning.

“How on earth are you still tired?” you had to ask. “You woke up today only to spend all of it sleeping!” 

John shrugged. “I think I’ve circled back around now. I’ve slept so much today that I made myself tired, so now I actually do need to nap.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Crystal said.

“What, napping?” you giggled. “Just a big pile of us in here, passed out?” 

He nodded. 

“Shall I go get Freddie and Brian to join us?” Roger suggested. 

“You would have to get off of my lap to do that,” you teased. 

“I am quite comfortable,” Roger mused. “Crystal-” 

“I’m going, hush,” Crystal interrupted, dragging himself off of the bed and out into the hall. A few minutes later, he returned with Freddie and Brian in tow. 

“I don’t know that I’ll actually be able to fall asleep,” Brian admitted as he settled onto a spare section of floor. “But I’m willing to try. I can’t take anymore of just...sitting.” 

Freddie nodded as he dropped down near John. “Nothing better to do.” 

There was a bit of a delay as everyone tried to get comfortable, to make room for each other (including Roger, who in all fairness, was owed using you as a mattress, as you had passed out in the van on his shoulder not but a few days prior.) 

---

The knock at the door that woke you was a panicked and loud one. There was no way to shove Roger off of you without waking him, but before you could, Freddie stumbled to his feet and answered it. 

Just as quickly, he slammed it shut and started to shake everyone awake. 

“How late are we?” you asked as he made his way to you. 

He only winced, and gestured for you to hurry. 

Sure enough, outside was the repaired van, that according to the hotel staff, had been waiting for all of you for the last three hours. 

“So,” you sighed after everyone was loaded up and safely sat down as the van took off. “We can take a formal poll now: what’s worse? Bored and waiting, or sleeping and late?” 

There was silence as everyone, a good few still half-asleep, thought. 

John finally emerged with the definitive answer, followed by nods from everyone: “Both.” 

[multiverseofmiracleshq]

AVENGERS V X-MEN STAGE II : ROUND I : QUICK STATS 

MATCH-UP → gwenpool v kid omega LOCATION → wakanda WINNER → draw CASUALTIES → kid omega switches sides

QUENTIN: Namor was being dramatic again-- no shock there. And as he talked to the crowd, Quention made his way over from off to the side, feet carrying him towards blond hair tinted pink. “Surprise seeing you here.” Quentin crossed his arms and stopped when he was a few feet away from Gwen. He sounded unamused. “Come to join the fun?”

GWEN: While the rest of the Wakanda response team headed down to face the Aquaman with the bad brows Gwen had trudged up the stairs so that she could occupy the roof of one of the city’s incredibly tall buildings. Pulling her gun out, she loaded the weapon and perched it on the edge of the roof and trained her sights down below. Not that she was planning on shooting anything for a second. Wakanda was lit even if she hadn’t made a Black Panther sighting yet and it looked like a hurricane had passed through. With her stomach flat against the concrete and one ankle crossed over the other, she bobbed her head back and forth to the music that rang out from inside her mind. “Why? This is, like, the best part of the story. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Rolling over, Gwen stared up at the sky through pink tinted goggles. “I am the fun. You’ve come to join me.”

QUENTIN: Quentin rolled his eyes, hearing the chatter in his mind grow louder as he tuned into the crowd below them. “Looks like the party is starting without you.” He gestured over towards where the mutant and Avengers side were starting to get riled up. “You and that-- dinky gun of yours--” With a flick of his fingers, Quentin moved Gwen’s gun a few inches with a jolt of blue energy. His gun was way cooler.

GWEN: “I’ll live.” Her limbs sprawled out as if making a snow angel there in  the dust and grime of the rooftop. “See, once I go down there I’ll inevitably no longer be able to talk to you and my romantic subplot needs this time. But -- HEY!!” She shot upright when he touched her gun. “Do not touch the Reverend Al Sharpton. That’s my holy gun.” Her brows furrowed as Gwen jumped to her feet so they were standing nose to nose. “What’s up with the bad attitude, huh?”

QUENTIN: “I don’t have a bad attitude! This is how I always am!” He yelled back at her, arms widely gesturing out from his sides. Not a complete lie. Quentin was on edge lately because of his powers, but his classic asshole demeanor was a constant. A few long seconds ticked by as the two of them stood like that-- close together, but not touching. And then he dove in, crashing his lips against hers and grasping her face with both hands.

GWEN: “THEN YOU’RE A LIVING BAD ATTITUDE.” Gwen hollered back. He was only slightly taller so while they weren’t eye to eye she was very close to his lips and then -- yep. There it was. The Phoenix was literally slapping the shit out of her friends and Gwendolyn Poole ( of no relation to one gwen stacy ) was very passionately making out with the enemy. She wrapped her arms around him as well, kissing him until she pulled away with shining eyes. “Hey, I like you. Outside of I need you to stop myself from fading from existence kind of like you. Trippy, right? So wild.”

QUENTIN: When Gwen finally pulled away, Quentin was practically seeing stars. His eyes were locked on hers as she was speaking and it took a long moment for him to realize what exactly she was saying. And when he did, he took it with a grain of salt. “Are you serious?” It was both a question of disbelief and confusion. After all this time, and this weird thing between them, she was talking about feelings now? But he didn’t back away from her, even with the doubt he was feeling.

GWEN: Rapping a fist against his temple, Gwen nodded. One arm was still hooked around his waist but she made no moves to let go. “Do I seem like the type to lie to you? We polled our viewers and the answer is a resounding yes. Hurtful, but true. You’re never going to understand how my head works,” she told him honestly. “And that’s for the best. You don’t want to see in there. It’s like Deadpool on crack. A bunch of empty spaces crammed too full. BUT. I know a lot. Like, a lot a lot about everything and everyone. I know that I like you. Maybe it started off as a scheme to get attention so I wasn’t a side character, but now I’ve missed the big bad fight and that has to mean something. Am I making sense? I think I’m making sense? God, I’d kill for a thought bubble right now or some nice exposition.”

QUENTIN: “You never make sense.” It made Quentin chuckle, even it annoyed the hell out of him sometimes. “But, I kinda like it. Keeps things interesting.” His draw to her was inexplicable in a way, but with the amount of times they ended up lip-locked he was inclined to believe that maybe it was worth exploring. Quentin had never been boring, and Gwen certainly wasn’t boring either. It could work. But she was right-- he would never understand that head of hers. He was a telepath-- and a good one at that-- but it was a complicated and weird place in there. “As stupid as this sounds.. I like you too.”

GWEN: Aw, this was nice. Cute. Totally irrelevant and taking from the main story. It was late !! People needed to go to bed !! ANYWAY - she was, believe it or not, happy. A bit confused which was rare but happy all the same. A boom rocked the building then, the whole structure shaking. Something j-u-i-c-y was happening. Abruptly dropping her arms from him, Gwen ran to the edge to grab Al Sharpton so he didn’t fall over the edge. Another rang out then and the buildings structure began to fall. The part underneath her began to crumble ( which was honestly so on brand ) and then Gwendolyn Poole dropped like a stone from the top of a  very high building towards the street below.

QUENTIN: Were they having a moment? In the middle of a battle they should have been fighting in? Apparently they were, and Quentin questioned the weird warm feeling in his gut as he looked at Gwen and almost smiled. That’s when the battle-- whatever the hell was happening over there-- took a turn and the solid structure beneath their feet started to not be so solid anymore. When it crumbled, Quentin’s instinct kicked in and he managed to catch himself before falling too far. But as he hovered in midair, hands outstretched to create a forcefield between him and any falling debris, he watched as Gwen fell and hit the pavement beneath them. ”Gwen!” He called out to her but was unable to catch her-- his powers were weak as it is, it was a miracle he even caught himself. As quickly as he could go, Quentin lowered himself down to where she fell and when his feet hit the broken concrete he ran over to her.

GWEN: A good long fall never got old. Well, it never got old once you woke up from said fall and got over the bump in your head. Sure, sure. Gwen fell for fun because a girl named gwen falling off of stuff in the marvel universe??? Literal classic. Plus, y’know, there was the fact that she always tended to live. Her admission to Howard the Duck that she jumped off of things to see how far she could go wasn’t a lie. Everyone had to have hobbies. For a little bit everything was dark and her mind recalibrated itself to where she was, who she was with and whatever version she currently was. There was a rock in her mouth that she spit out before Gwen moved some debris around and sat up. “Man, not having super powers is the worst.” She jabbed a finger onto the knot that was forming on her temple and then winced in pain. Yep, still regular ol’ flesh and blood. “Hey -- where’s Al Sharpton?”

QUENTIN: Gwen sat up and Quentin skidded to a halt. She had just fallen how far off of the roof of a building and she was.. Fine? He watched as she spit out a rock. He watched as the girl with supposedly no super powers survived a fall she should not have survived-- right after they talked about their feelings. He stood there, a good few feet away from her, stunning and mouth hanging open. “What. The. Fuck. Just happened..? How are you alive?”

GWEN: “Because I’m not dead. Duh. This, dear readers, is where you say aw at the cute omega telepath who doesn’t understand how I don’t have powers. Which, I do. Sometimes. But not these kind. I’m Special K.” She stopped chattering and looked down at her pinned legs. “Hey, homie, can you move that rock? Kinda pinning me down and I can’t go all 127 hours because I won’t regrow.” Wiggling her feet under the rocks, Gwen debated trying to eat through the rocks herself. “A) how bad do you think they look under there? B) Do you still like me? C) Are you glad I’m not dead?”

QUENTIN: “Yeah, of course I’m glad you’re not dead--” He sounded frustrated but it was because he could barely comprehend what was happening. With his telekinesis, Quentin moved the rock off of her legs and then slowly took a few more steps towards her. “And I still like you. I think. I don’t know, this is.. Weird..” He crouched down next to her when he was close enough. “So you do have powers then? You lied to me before?”

GWEN: While she waited to be freed Gwen picked up a rock and weighed it in her hand before  tossing it as hard as she could towards a building. The sound of broken glass was like music to her ears. “No. Not really. I don’t have powers. Not a mutant, not an Inhumans. I’m... different. It’s part of my gig, like why I’m here. So what I can do is very limited and based on that, and it depends on what run and setting I’m in. West Coast Avengers Gwen is the pretty version of me that everyone likes and I was super held back. When I’m solo and not a supporting character or team member I can do more. You’re going to think I’m Crazy with a capital C, Quintavius. It’ll blow your mind and concept of reality. I can’t really say I have powers. It’s more of a being sort of thing. Other than the falling kink. I’m a good faller, as you can tell. I can’t even tell if anythings broken. Just got this cool knot on my head.” Again she poked it. Even though her legs were free Gwen made no move to get up since he was already on her level. Instead she just wrapped one ankle over the other. “Hey, I met your girlfriend Idie the other day as well. Did I mention that?” It wasn’t a deflection on purpose and her tone remained light. “She’s nice. Hit me in the face, but nice. Does any of this changing you liking me? I don’t want a new love interest.”

QUENTIN: Too much information. Gwen was going a hundred miles an hour and saying things that, once again, made no sense, and it all ended with her talking about Idie. His stomach twisted at the name. He tried not to think about her. For a while he tried to get her back and after her gave that up it was a chapter of a book he tried to close forever. And now-- “She punched you?” That was all he could manage to say after that huge dump of info. “Listen, can we just.. not? Clearly I like you and the fact that you’re not dead is still freaking me out. So please--” He stood back up and then held out a hand for her to grab so he could pull her to her feet. “--can we get the fuck out of here now? I’ve had enough emotions for one day.”

GWEN: “I may have been goading her - which is totally part of my charm - but yeah. Turned her fist to ice and knocked me into a wall. Not that I minded. Told her that she’d find someone better to love her and bought her a pizza. No offense of course. We needed to get the fledgings and Trauma was being creepy af. You can read about it in the chat log.” Taking his hand, Gwen pulled herself to her feet and shook out each leg. Yep, still working. The good ol’ Poole fall routine had worked again. She was thanking her writers for that. “I’m pretty hard to kill, and there’s always another version of me. It’s headache city, trust me.” Without dropping his hand Gwen yanked him to where part of her gun was protruding from the rocks. Unearthing it, she cast a sad look over the ruined weapon before tossing it back to the ground. RIP to the Reverend. There was another waiting at home. Naming it would be fun at least. “Sure. As long as you aren’t all Phoenix team and raid my crib I’ll take you home with me. Innuendo intended and not intended.” Dragging him through the rubble of where a fight they hadn’t participated had clearly been completed, Gwen flashed him a smile. “I missed you, Q squared. Don’t worry. We’re almost at the end.” And they were, for better or worse.

[thenarator]

ok so it’s not the temeraire madoka au i asked you guys about but i wrote some temeraire modern-au, reincarnation-au, soulmates-au stuff and i thought i’d see what you thought of it.

“Any monkey can walk upright; just because they can assume a human form does not mean they deserve human-”

Iskierka closed the laptop with a click, cutting off the recording of the opposition’s political rally they had been watching, and for this Temeraire was grateful. He had not realized, until he saw the care with which she handled the screen, how close he had come to slamming it down. Watching Arthur Lords’ speeches always riled him up, but he had even less patience for it tonight. He sat back in his desk chair and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to get himself under control.

“Vile man,” Iskierka spat.

“He is rather, isn’t he,” Temeraire said. It wasn’t a question.

Iskierka hummed in agreement, flipping her long red hair over one slim shoulder. She was perched on the edge of the large mahogany desk in Temeraire’s study, a place she had long established as her own no matter how many comfortable chairs Temeraire packed into the room. She preferred to position herself as inconveniently as possible for everyone involved, the better to make everyone pay attention to her. He had long since stopped putting things in her way.

“Two hundred years I’ve been fighting for our rights,” Temeraire continued heatedly, “and two hundred years we’ve been proving that we can be valuable to society. He acts as though dragons being anything besides organic war machines is some desperately untried scheme that will assuredly end in chaos.”

“He will make no progress on that front,” Iskierka assured him offhandedly. “You and I alone have too much of a stranglehold on the business world; if the government tried to take us down, they’d bring down England’s economy with us.”

“He can still make life difficult for us,” Temeraire argued. “According to the latest polls he’s got 27% of the British populace believing that reincarnation is a myth, and the dragon-captain bond is manufactured in order for dragons to steal human children.”

Iskierka huffed dismissively, not even liking to dignify such a position with a response. She, like Temeraire, had funded several studies that proved, unequivocally, what all dragons already knew: a dragon could always tell when their captain had been reincarnated, and with only a small amount of exposure to people, places and things they had known in their previous incarnations captains could remember the details of their pasts lives with amazing accuracy. Of course, these studies had been accused of being doctored to suit the needs of those funding them, so even though the majority of the public believed them, they did the dragons very little legal good.

There were no studies proving that the opposing position, that these memories were falsely implanted by dragons who had made themselves parts of their young captains’ lives, had any merit whatsoever, but that did the dragons very little legal good either.

Temeraire knew that dragon rights had made great strides in the last two hundred years. They were citizens, with the right to vote, attend universities, own property and hold positions in government. Some had opted to remain in the military, even after the advent of the aeroplane, but many had chosen to adopt other professions and the vast majority had accumulated significant wealth over the last two centuries. Humans had, at first, balked at the idea that reincarnation was a reality, but now it was generally considered a high honor to have a family member who was a reincarnated captain, and especially lucky for the parents of such a child who now did not have to worry about their future. Many dragons were able to simply gain custody of their infant captains straight away, or insert themselves into the captain’s family while they were young.

There were still, however, people like Arthur Lords. People who believed dragons were devils, sent to subjugate humanity with the advantage of immortality and the ability to shapeshift between human and dragon form. People who believed dragons had to be subjugated themselves, for the preservation of the humans who rightfully deserved the position of power. People who could gain little traction in denying dragons their rights, and so instead made nuisances of themselves by advocating for “parents’ rights,” the right of those to whom reincarnated captains were born to deny them their birthright. People who advocated for the chance to keep the captain away from their dragon, even going so far as to lie to them through childhood and even, if certain laws were passed, well into adulthood.

It did not help matters that the most recent reincarnation of Laurence, Temeraire’s beloved captain and historically another great proponent of dragon rights, was Arthur Lords’ only son.

“He is a wretched man,” was all Temeraire said. He felt that if he went any further than that he might actually do something, and that would not end well.

“You’ll find no arguments here,” Iskierka said dryly. “After he hired that lawyer to help my Granby’s new parents get a restraining order against me, and a gag order so I could not even tell the press, so he could not even hear about me through word of mouth-”

Temeraire sighed loudly, cutting her off. He did not feel up to listening to her complain about her situation with Granby’s latest reincarnation. He knew he ought to have more sympathy for her, but he did not have the energy tonight.

“What’s the matter with you?” Iskierka sniffed. “Usually you’re all too happy to talk about the sins of those anti-dragon zealots.”

Temeraire looked away. “It is Laurence,” he said quietly. “He is . . . close, tonight. His father must have taken him into the city for some reason, but he has been so far away for so long that he feels as though he is on the property.”

Iskierka opened her mouth, a haughty expression on her face for some unfathomable reason, when suddenly the intercom on Temeraire’s desk crackled to life.

“Mr. Tien,” came the voice of Temeraire’s personal assistant Natalie, “there’s been a disturbance near the south gate. Security has asked us to stay inside until they apprehend the intruder.”

Temeraire’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at Iskierka, to a see a look of surprised speculation on her face. Clearly the thought that had occurred to Temeraire, the one making his skin prickle and his blood race, had occurred to her as well.

“Tell security I will see to it myself,” Temeraire replied, then leaped from his chair. He could feel Iskierka’s presence behind him as he moved through the mansion at breakneck speed. Dimly he heard Natalie calling after him but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It probably wasn’t. In all likelihood it was not. But what if it might be? What if it was?

It seemed an eternity and no time at all passed between the revelation and reaching the south gate, but Temeraire immediately saw the disturbance Natalie had been speaking of. Two of his security team, burly men in kevlar, were clutching at a small boy of maybe twelve years of age. His blond hair flopped wildly side to side as he struggled, and his blue eyes shone in the dark.

“Let him go!” Temeraire croaked. He was surprised by how his voice sounded, rough as though from disuse.

The two men immediately jumped apart, leaving the young boy staggering to keep his feet. He stumbled a few steps forward, toward Temeraire, then paused. He looked pale and angry, but when he caught sight of Temeraire his expression shifted into one of confusion and uncertainty. Despite this, Temeraire thought he spied a glimmer of hope in the boy’s eyes.

“Laurence?” Temeraire asked. He did not need to ask. He knew perfectly well it was Laurence.

Laurence continued to stare at him, unmoving.

“No,” Temeraire shook his head, “it’s Alex, isn’t it? In this lifetime? Your name is Alex.”

Laurence hesitated a moment, then said, “Are you Xiang Tien?”

Temeraire smiled. “Properly my Chinese name is Lung Tien Xiang, but Xiang Tien is the name I use in England. You, however, may call me Temeraire.”

“So it’s true,” Laurence said, wonderingly. “I am . . . we are . . .”

“Yes,” Temeraire nodded slowly. He did not know how Laurence had found out, having been kept famously isolated from the highly public custody battle, but it was plain that he had somehow learned of their bond against his father’s wishes. “We are.”

Laurence took a halting step forward. Immediately Temeraire dropped to his knees, arms outspread to receive him. He had never wanted to hold Laurence more in his life, even when the only form his could assume was that of a 20 ton dragon. Twelve years of separation was long enough. But he would not force it.

“Come to me,” he begged. “Dear Laurence, please, come to me.”

Laurence came. Stumbling at first, his quick strides ate up the distance between them and then he was throwing himself into Temeraire’s arms. Temeraire grasped him tightly, holding him as close as he dared. He did not want to frighten Laurence, deprived as he had been of all reminders of his past lives, but he needed the contact so very much. He could feel his strength returning, feel the weakness that had come with Laurence’s long absence ebbing away. Suddenly he felt like he could take off and fly without even shifting into a form with wings.

Eventually Laurence began to squirm, and Temeraire let him go. He knew he had missed the Rapid Eye Movement that had come with the first of Laurence’s memories; Iskierka had probably seen it, standing behind him, but that was unimportant. What was important was what came next. Would Laurence remember the words? The ones they had said to each other in each and every one of Laurence’s lifetimes so far?

“I will not make you stay,” Temeraire said carefully, looking deep into Laurence’s clear blue eyes.

Laurence smiled, eyes bright and oh so achingly familiar. “No, my dear,” he said, reaching out to touch Temeraire’s face, “I would rather have you than any ship in the Navy.”

“Oh Laurence!” Temeraire cried, tugging the little boy back into his embrace. He laughed against Laurence’s hair, feeling more than hearing Laurence’s answering laugh against his skin. He felt Laurence’s skinny arms clutching at him, and he stood, lifting his captain up and spinning him around.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said, still laughing slightly, “Temeraire put me down!”

“No,” Temeraire argued, “I do not want to! I have only just gotten you back, I will carry you around for a few days yet, I think.”

With his renewed strength he tossed Laurence into the air a little, then quickly scooped him out of his fall so that one of his arms was beneath Laurence’s knees and the other supporting his back. He felt lighter than air, like he could carry the boy in his arms around for a week without getting tired, even in this shape. He had Laurence back. Finally.

“Temeraire!” Laurence laughed, louder now. “Temeraire, you can’t-”

“I’m very sure I can,” Temeraire insisted, and Laurence put his arms around Temeraire neck, still laughing.

“Ahem,” said a testy voice behind Temeraire, making him turn with Laurence still in his arms. Iskierka was still standing a little ways back, tapping her foot on the garden path. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Unless Mr. Lords is hiding just outside that gate, ready to sign over custody, then Alexander Lords has run away from home and Xiang Tien is in violation of his restraining order.”

“He didn’t violate it!” protested Laurence, “I came to him!”

“I do not think the law will see it that way, if your father has anything to say about it,” Iskierka pointed out.

Immediately Temeraire’s brain went into overdrive. He could not give Laurence back. Not now, not ever. He could not let Laurence stay in the mansion either; that would surely be the first place the police would look for him, and if he did stay he would have to be kept a secret until he was 18 at the very least. He would not be able to go outside. That would not do. They could not stay here then, and nowhere in England would be any better. Temeraire was too high profile, his movements too closely watched. Anywhere he took Laurence they would be found.

Anywhere in England.

“Natalie,” Temeraire said sharply, as she came panting down the garden path to come up short behind Iskierka, “have the jet prepped and get a car outside to take us to the airstrip.”

“When sir?” Natalie said, straightening and pulling out her phone.

“Now,” Temeraire said. He began walking quickly back toward the house, Laurence still clutched in his arms and Iskierka and Natalie trailing after him.

“What will the destination for the jet be?” Natalie asked, already dialing. “And how many passengers?”

“Two,” said Temeraire, holding Laurence a little tighter. “And we are going to China.”

“China?” Laurence demanded, squirming in Temeraire’s grip. “No seriously, put me down. We can’t go to China.”

“I’m very sure we can,” Temeraire informed him, very reluctantly setting Laurence back on his feet. He immediately seized his hand and began dragging him back towards the house.

“But why?” Laurence asked, letting himself be dragged. “What good will that do?”

“In China the law is different,” Temeraire said. “It is considered best for everyone if dragons and their companions are not kept separated, once they are known to each other, so no one will try and take you away. I have citizenship there and once I establish that you are my captain you will too.”

“But,” Laurence protested, “we can’t just leave England. What about my family?”

“Your family tried to keep you from me,” Temeraire said disdainfully. “I do not at all see why they should enter into my calculations.”

They reached the house, and Temeraire towed Laurence into the study. With difficulty he forced himself to let go of Laurence’s hand and begin rummaging around for the things he would need. His laptop went into his briefcase, along with two flash drives containing the details no one but himself knew about the running of his company and his long term plans for dragon rights in England. The safe behind a painting of himself and Laurence in their first lifetime together held the copy of Laurence’s passport and birth certificate he had clandestinely acquired years ago, as well as his own passport and the shining golden and ruby collar that marked him as a Celestial in human form. No one in China would look twice at their passports once they saw him wearing that.

“But we’ll never make it out of the country,” Laurence continued as Temeraire fastened the collar around his own neck. “They’ll stop us, won’t they?”

“No one knows you are here yet,” Temeraire pointed out, “and you may rely upon the discretion of my staff. We will leave by private jet, and we will be in French airspace within the hour. Once we are out of England no one will be inclined to stop us. Even after 200 years, we are still quite well liked in most of Eurasia.”

Laurence colored a little, no doubt embarrassed by being given credit for something he’d done in a past life. Some things never changed. With a sudden burst of fondness Temeraire knelt before him and kissed his forehead, cradling the back of Laurence’s head in his hand.

“You do wish to stay with me, do you not?” Temeraire asked urgently, once he had drawn back. “They were not just our words, earlier. I will not make you stay if you wish to return to your father.”

“No,” Laurence shook his head forcefully. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay with you. I’m starting to remember, and to remember that I remembered before. I had this imaginary friend when I was a child; it was a dragon, a big black dragon, like you. My father punished me for it.”

Temeraire fought the urge to snarl. It was common, among reincarnated captains who were not immediately reunited with their dragons, to have their residual memories manifest as pretend-play. That Laurence had been punished for this perfectly natural phenomenon made Temeraire’s blood boil.

“He will not punish you anymore,” Temeraire said, straightening. “I will not allow it. Do you have any other objections?”

“No,” Laurence shook his head. He looked perfectly sure of himself.

“Then we are going,” Temeraire said, and took Laurence’s hand once again.

The nondescript black car picked Laurence and Temeraire up just outside the door to the mansion, well within the property line and away from prying eyes. The heavily tinted windows protected them from view, but Temeraire still held Laurence close to his side, afraid that the glare of a streetlamp might allow someone to see him if he sat upright. Laurence bore it without complaint, resting his head against Temeraire.

“What’s China like?” Laurence asked, cuddling closer to Temeraire’s side.

Temeraire smiled, stroking Laurence’s hair. “What do you remember of it?”

Laurence frowned. “I think my memories are mostly of my first lifetime,” he admitted. “I can feel that there are more recent ones, but the impression I’m getting is from earlier.”

“And what is that impression?” Temeraire wondered.

Laurence wrinkled his nose. “I remember feeling embarrassed,” he admitted.

Temeraire laughed softly. “It is always a little embarrassing, when you do not know a language well.”

“I don’t know any Chinese!” Laurence realized, nearly sitting bolt upright.

“You do,” Temeraire pulled him back down, “you just don’t remember that you do. It will come back to you, I promise.”

They spent the rest of the ride practicing Chinese. While in contact with Temeraire Laurence’s memory returned more easily, and he had used Chinese in all of his previous lives. He remembered most clearly the archaic forms of address to the Emperor and the crown prince, useless now but encouragingly accurate. Temeraire reminded him of some more modern greetings and Laurence picked them up with ease. It soothed Temeraire’s nerves, having Laurence so close and watching him remember so well, and it made the perilous car ride pass more swiftly.

Laurence was just mastering the pronunciation of a few newer Chinese words when abruptly a police siren erupted behind them. Temeraire’s heart nearly stopped, and Laurence jerked in his seat, then craned his head around to look out the back window. Immediately Temeraire pulled him back and pushed his head down.

“Keep driving,” he instructed his chauffer, a steady man named Oliver who had been with him nearly four years.

“They want us to pull over sir,” came the reply.

“I’m aware,” Temeraire said tesitly. “Lose them.”

Not for nothing had Temeraire hand picked every member of his personal staff. Without further instruction Oliver made a hairpin turn down a side street. The police car whizzed past the road they had taken, not being fast enough to make the turn, but Temeraire knew there would be more.

“How did they know I was with you?” Laurence demanded. “How did they find us?”

“Finding you gone your father will have assumed I took you,” Temeraire told him, “or that you came to me. I imagine we left the house just before the police arrived. Someone must have seen the car leaving.”

Laurence opened his mouth to reply, but another sharp turn brought them out onto a main road again, the police car nowhere in sight.

“Do not worry,” Temeraire told him quietly, “we are nearly there.”

Once they had reached the private airstrip Temeraire shared with several other notable dragons, including Iskierka and her seven vintage planes, the police sirens were audible in the distance once more. Cursing under his breath Temeraire realized they must have guessed his plan. Somewhere above them a helicopter whirred in the dark.

“C’mon!” Laurence slid out of the car first, Temeraire close behind him. “We’ve got to hurry!”

The sleek black jet sat ready on the runway, like a dragon preparing to leap aloft. The door was open, the build-in set of stairs leading down to the tarmac. As Temeraire ushered Laurence up them, one hand on his back, a police car screeched into view.

“Halt!” cried a deep voice behind them, amplified by a megaphone, but Temeraire merely turned and hissed.

Once he and Laurence were inside he crossed to his usual seat and pressed the button to connect him to the cockpit.

“We are ready,” he said urgently, “put up the stairs and go!”

The policeman was still yelling over the megaphone as the hatch closed, but once the door was sealed there was silence. Laurence buckled himself into the seat across from Temeraire, looking pale but determined. Temeraire watched him, hating the police, hating Arthur Lords for putting them in this position.

“Do not be afraid,” Temeraire consoled gently, “we will-”

“Sir,” came the pilot’s voice from the speaker over Temeraire’s head. “We can’t take off.”

“Ignore the helicopter,” Temeraire instructed. “It will get out of the way.”

“It’s not that sir,” said the pilot evenly. “There’s someone on the runway. He’s not in uniform, he looks to be in a suit.”

Temeraire growled, realizing immediately who it was. Arthur Lords had not obstructed him enough; now he was going to physically put himself in their way.

“I don’t care!” Temeraire snarled. “Run him down if you have to, just get us in the air!”

“Wait!” Laurence cried, his eyes wide and distressed.

“Belay that,” Temeraire amended immediately, then let go of the button that activated the speaker. “Laurence, he will take you from me if we do not-”

“I know,” said Laurence, and his expression was pained. “You still can’t do it. You can’t become a murderer over me.”

“I have killed before,” Temeraire told him, “many men in battle, and men who tried to take you away before.”

“That’s one thing,” Laurence shook his head, “this is another. If you do this, here, now, you’ll be a murderer in the eyes of the law. Your political career will be over.”

“Humans have short memories,” Temeraire insisted. “By the time I must return her for your next incarnation they will have forgotten-”

“And what will dragon rights look like in the meantime?” Laurence demanded. “People will use this incident against your cause. All the dragons in Britain will suffer!”

Laurence shook his head, staring at Temeraire with pain and longing in his eyes.

“I won’t be the cause of your ruin, or the ruin of what you’ve achieved. I can’t, Temeraire.”

Involuntarily Temeraire let out a long, low keen. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to take Laurence and fly away, to gather him in and keep him close. To keep him safe. But Laurence did not want to be kept safe. He wanted to protect Temeraire, as he always had. He wanted to protect all of dragon kind, and he was willing to suffer for it. That kind of devotion was humbling, and Temeraire felt suddenly smaller than his human shape in the face of Laurence’s consideration.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, knowing perfectly well the answer would not change.

Laurence looked aside sadly, then back at Temeraire. “I’m sure.”

Temeraire hung his head and pressed the button to activate the speaker. “Turn off the engine and open the door. We are staying.”

[garrisonsnug]

a woman soon // shelby sister

‘remember,’ tommy says. ‘don’t stay any longer than you need to. keep it direct, keep it light -’

‘tommy,’ you reply, glancing over your shoulder as you climb out of the car, ‘you’re just my driver today, remember?’ 

it had been four days ago that polly had taken the phone call from liverpool. a mrs edith shelby, apparently distantly related by marriage, politely enquiring after a representative of shelby brothers limited.

you were lucky it was polly, with her carefully guarded manners, who answered the phone. apparently, the woman had no idea of the true nature of the shelby business, and sought only to reconnect with estranged relatives. hopefully reconnect in the financial sense.

‘it has to be bullshit,’ you’d said after polly relayed the conversation. ‘dad’s side is all travellers, anyway. not old money in bloody liverpool.’

‘she never said she was old money,’ polly corrected. ‘didn’t sound it, anyway. besides, it is possible. all those cousins, it’d be a wonder if none of them married above their station. very good talkers, you shelbys.’

you laughed at the last comment as she raised an eyebrow at you. ‘fair enough. what’s the plan, then?’

tommy ashed his cigarette and cleared his throat. ‘i’ll take the car up on friday. john can come, too.’

‘nonsense. you’re forgetting your sister,’ polly replied, unimpressed. you blinked, surprised, but didn’t say anything as polly continued. ‘do you really think this woman wants a couple of men with no table manners showing up at her door?’

‘fine then, polly - you can come.’

‘you’re taking your sister,’ poll said firmly. ‘and not only that, but she’s doing the talking. this isn’t about intimidation, thomas. someone needs to sweeten this woman up, and it sure as hell won’t be you.’

‘so i’m supposed to gather dust in the fucking corner, am i?’

a smirk tugged at the corner of polly’s mouth. ‘you can say you’re the driver.’

on your way out on friday, polly had given your shoulders a squeeze. ‘don’t do anything i wouldn’t do,’ she warned, ‘and don’t let him run the show, alright?’ 

edith shelby can’t be older than forty. she perches in lilac, the pretty fixings of her sitting room drawn up around her, hands folded in her lap. 

when the maid led you through the foyer of her stately liverpool townhouse to greet her, tommy trailing behind, she had leapt from her seat and beamed a welcome. she had complimented your dress, taken a lock of your hair in her hand and mused about the colour in a surprisingly forthright, though not unwelcome, way. she barely gave tommy a second glance, briefly mentioning to you that your driver was welcome to take a seat in the corner, there, they normally wait in the car but perhaps it’s different in birmingham and besides it’s getting quite cold, isn’t it? 

now, the two of you sit quietly but amiably as the young maid pours tea. it isn’t until she’s closed the sitting room doors behind her that edith speaks.

‘i was so thrilled to hear there were shelbys down in birmingham. after my roy went to god, well... he never told me much about his family. i just knew it was big. i’ve been trying to make contact here and there, but never expected such a successful business in the family name.’

you haven’t the faintest idea who roy shelby might have been, besides a cousin somewhere far in the reaches of your family tree. you simply smile and add, ‘the most successful betting company in the city.’ 

as edith goes on, beginning to drop words like shares and invest into the conversation, you feel a growing sense of unease. there’s something a little off about the whole situation - maybe her accent, occasionally dipping out of clarity. maybe the looming, closed doors at the end of the room, the kind that keep noise out - or in. you keep up your polite nods, but squeeze your purse where it sits on your lap, and the feel of your pistol inside it is reassuring. you don’t entirely trust this woman, but you’re not about to give up on what could be a lucrative deal. 

‘- so of course, you could expect an increase in assets over time as i become more secure in the knowledge that your business practice is sound and your profits satisfactory.’

‘edith - mrs shelby - pardon me for asking,’ you begin, steeling yourself by thinking on polly’s quiet confidence in you, ‘i wonder why, exactly, you’re making such a generous offer.’

she startles at that slightly, and glances momentarily towards the closed doors. ‘because i knew what a terrible shame it would be for me to never connect with roy’s family - though it took his death for me to realise that. and i approach you through business because i know it’s a mutual expertise.’ 

‘right. well, before i can consider an offer i’d have to know more about your own experience -’ 

wood scrapes against wood behind you as tommy stands, clearing his throat. you freeze, and edith looks suitably alarmed. ‘you want to talk business,’ he says, striding over, ‘you want to talk with me. thomas shelby, owner of shelby company limited.’ 

he offers his hand and edith takes it hesitantly, looking to you as if she expects you to explain the joke. you can feel your cheeks flushing furiously, and hate yourself for it. 

‘tommy -’

‘this one here’s the baby sister,’ he says fondly. you grit your teeth against a litany of foul language that wants to come out. ‘we like to let her stretch her legs occasionally, give her a bit of experience. but it’s hardly fair to send out the amateurs to someone of your gravitas, edith.’ 

you can feel your blush raising to your temples as edith relaxes visibly and begins to almost totally ignore you. tommy talks smoothly, comfortably, and you think with a spark of annoyance that if you had conducted yourself in the same forward manner you wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. after what must be ten minutes, you excuse yourself to the washroom and instead head outside, waiting stubbornly in the car and shivering in the cold. 

‘i’m going to start charging interest on my wages for every time you make a fucking fool out of me, thomas,’ you say quietly. it’s the first thing that’s been said since you left edith shelby’s house, and tommy looks quietly bemused. 

‘three thousand pounds over the next nine months, since you didn’t ask,’ he says. ‘potential for expansion into liverpool, if we can feel for how comfortable she is with some underhanded deals.’

‘you don’t think i could’ve secured the same deal? something better?’

‘you were treating the thing like a fucking police interrogation. sometimes i think you’ve got it, you know, and then i realise you’re as young as you look. just playing at the real thing.’

‘because it was suspicious, thomas. polly would’ve done the exact same thing i did, and you know it. it’s not my age. it’s the way you throw yourself into these things -’ 

he takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it out of the car. ‘i think you’d better go back to the shop for a few months,’ he says, gently. you feel the hot sting of tears behind your eyes and will them back. 

‘- she’ll grow into the work, one day, but she’s not there yet. reminds me of those fourteen year olds in the trenches, too small for their uniforms.’ 

your older brothers are sitting around the table in the betting shop, smoking and occasionally laughing easily. you go to storm past them but john catches you with one arm around your waist and pulls you to the table, laughing. 

‘don’t take it too hard, now, our kid’ he says, and arthur chuckles into his drink. ‘there’s lots of important stuff to be done here, while you’re young. polly’s sure to give you another go after your next birthday.’

‘oh, fuck off, john,’ you spit, pulling away. ‘it’s not like your bollocks ever dropped to begin with.’ 

he tips his head back and laughs, a reaction which only makes you angrier. 

‘alright, alright,’ tommy says -  his tone steady though he can’t hide a smirk - ‘leave her be. you off to see some friends at the club, then?’ 

‘something like that,’ you mutter. you think of tommy’s beloved ford, sitting sleek and dormant down by the farrier. no harm in not mentioning it. not much damage a kid can do, anyway.

thin smoke furls around you as you peer into the slightly crumpled bonnet of the car. the headlights are smashed and they glitter in the settling dusk, throwing light off the wheels, all slick with rainwater and pushed out of alignment, skewed at funny angles. tommy keeps a box of tools under the seat, you remember. grimly, you balance your umbrella on one shoulder and fumble one-handed for anything that might help you straighten the wheels. 

‘can i help you, miss? call the repairman for you?’ 

‘no, thank you,’ you smile thinly, turning to meet the coal-smudged face of a man on his way home from work. ‘that’s very kind, but i’ll be alright.’

‘are you injured?’

‘no, not at all, though i expect my brother will see to that when i tell him.’

as you say that, a flash of recognition passes over the man’s face. he nods curtly, still wearing a charade of a smile, and quickly continues to make his way down the street. others, who you assume have recognised either you or the car, give you a wide berth. no one wants to be the one found elbow-deep in thomas shelby’s battered car, you suppose. 

speak of the devil. you hear your name called - the sound of it like a military command - from up the street. when you turn, tommy is storming towards you, the rain slicking his hair down and making his overcoat as dark and shiny as a spill of oil. he calls your name again, once, short and furious. 

‘tommy -’ 

his hand closes around your upper arm and he wrenches you away from the car, pulling you back up the street. your umbrella clatters to the ground and you’re drenched within moments. his breath comes in the quick, angry movements of a man who’s been running. 

‘thomas, the car -’

‘never mind the fucking car, someone can collect it later. are you hurt?’ the question sounds like a formality - there’s only a shade of real concern in his voice.

‘no, but -’ 

‘good. then what the fuck did you think you were playing at?’

with a burst of effort, you yank yourself out of his grip and stagger backwards. the two of you are standing in the middle of the road, his gaze burning into you. all the people on the street have ducked into buildings - a combination of the rain and his presence - but curious faces remain at the windows, eager to see if shelby family business is about to get hashed out in public. 

‘playing at - because that’s all it ever is, isn’t it, tommy? because i’m just a little girl and you never have to take me seriously, lighten up, tom -’ you can feel your voice rising, but it remains sharp, not fogged by tears like you were worried it would be. 

‘i’ll take you fucking seriously when you stop doing something like this every time your pride gets wounded!’ his voice rises too, not to match yours but just enough to be heard over the hiss of rain on cobblestone.

‘it’s always next time with this family! you’d rather send me off somewhere quiet so i can live like ada. a fucking rat in a cage, she is, and you’ve made her that way.’ 

‘sometimes i do think you’d be be better off in london, keeping her company. then i’m halfway to a fucking heart attack thinking of all the trouble you could get into down there.’ 

‘i’m sick to death of being a fucking problem for you, tommy. a problem instead of a sister.’

he swears under his breath and then closes the distance between you again. he takes your wrist and tugs you along like a scolded child. it’s then that you both realise your hand is coated in blood, a bright scarlet that replenishes as quickly as the rain can wash it away. 

‘you’re hurt,’ he says, almost accusingly. 

‘it must have been the glass on the headlights, or something. i didn’t even feel it, tommy, it’s fine -’ but he’s already shrugging off the sleeves of his coat, keeping it hanging over his shoulders, and unbuttoning his shirt. 

he slips his arms back into the overcoat quickly and pulls it across himself to stop his undershirt from soaking through. he pulls your hand towards himself, palm up, and wraps the shirt around it, tying it off around your wrist. ‘you’ll have to get under the lamp when we get home,’ he says. ‘check for glass.’ 

the silence when you step into the betting shop tells you what you already knew, which is that the two of you must look a fucking sight. both soaked to the bone, tommy with his undershirt showing, you with your hand wrapped tightly in cotton that’s shot through with blood. 

‘suppose there’s some kind of story, here,’ john says after a beat. you roll your eyes. 

tommy places a hand on your shoulder. ‘i can’t talk to you right now. go through and see polly, she’ll take care of your hand.’ 

you slip round the hallway and hear tommy settle at the table again. the others start to joke about the state he’s in, and once you’re sure they’re back into a rhythm of conversation, you press yourself still against the wall and strain to listen. your hand throbs now with a dull pain you didn’t notice before.

‘- know what polly’s going to say to her, don’t you?’

‘just like your mother,’ arthur and john say, bemused. a pause. 

‘she is. i was unfair on her, today. so were the two of you. she’s hardly a thirteen year old anymore.’ 

‘still knows how to chase a lamping like one.’ john. there’s annoyance, but you have to bite down on a laugh, too. his voice is fond. 

‘i could say the same for you.’ tommy’s chair scrapes along the wood as he stands and you hold your breath, wanting to hear the end of the conversation but not wanting to be caught. ‘i’m taking her down to london next week.’ 

‘that’s -’ 

‘not your choice to make. besides, i’ve got business for you two at home. find me in the morning.’ 

with a sudden start, you realise he’s heading towards the hall. before you can slink into polly’s office, he’s there, half in shadow. you smile at him, almost apologetically. you suspect he wants to do the same, but he just nods at you, a wry look in his eye. 

‘sorry,’ you half-whisper, but you can’t hide your grin. 

he points towards polly’s office, one corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk. ‘london. friday week,’ he mouths, and then gestures for you to make yourself scarce. 

[theliterateape]

A Troubling Hare

by Paul Teodo

I have a lot of problems. Let me restate that. A lot of problems have me. Having a problem is an illusion. It implies I have control over that problem. I don’t. The problem has control over me. When the problem has me it makes sense to get some help, indicating that this problem must receive more help than I alone can muster up. If a medical problem has me I go to a guy who went to school and has a license to cut me open without getting into too much trouble. If a mental problem has me I go see a shrink, or at least a good friend with a ton of patience for my whining or who can look stuff up on the internet and help me feel better. If my car starts jacking me around I go to a mechanic and spend a lotta dough, especially if I have an Italian or German model.

Let me tell you about a few problems that have me. 

BPH. Benign Prostate Hyperplasia. It’s got me big time. Some days I piss 20 times. I know, I’m closing in on seventy and it’s normal for stuff to be going on down there. But damn, it’s a nuisance.

What is BPH? It’s got to do with a guy’s prostate gland. The prostate gland plays a major role in male reproduction and ejaculation. A normal prostate is about the size of a walnut, mine’s about the size of a fucking cantaloupe. 

An enlarged prostate blocks the flow of pee from the bladder to the urethra and when that happens a man becomes obsessed with locating places to piss because he always has to piss. And the problem with pissing a lot is you begin to lose your inhibition about to where to go. Bushes, trees, dark alleys, well lit alleys, Starbucks, libraries, building lobbies, bottles strategically stashed in automobiles, lamp posts, anyplace a dog lets loose, all are fair game. 

So what do you do if this problem has you? Talk to the guy who went to school and do what he says. And he’ll say No COFFEE, and a few other things. I love coffee. But since I quit I’m down to pissing about 10 times a day, and only once or twice at night.

Well done, Doc.

I got more. 

Technofuckingphobia Yes, that’s a real word, except for the F-part, and more importantly it’s a very serious condition, especially in the 21st century, and it’s got me bad, real bad. Ask me to copy and paste, download an app, stream, or how much RAM I have, and my bowels turn to foam, my knees wobble, and my teeth chatter like a naked man perched upon an iceberg. 

And having a cell phone has made it worse. I’ve become dependent on the damn thing; emails, texts, photos, weather, music, directions, how many steps I take going from one stupid place to the next, all have become obsessions. I read a study a few months ago that said the average American, while awake, checks his cell phone every 72 seconds (less frequently when not awake). So most of you have already checked your phone since starting this little piece, or worse yet, are reading it on the damn thing now.

C’mon! 

Was I leading a miserable existence before I spent nearly a grand on a hand held computer that scares the shit outa me? I think not. And my techie friends tell me it needs to be encapsulated in a protective cover,(the difficulty of installation akin to stuffing an offensive lineman into a gymnast’s leotard), in case I drop it, or more likely throw it against a fucking wall when I can’t figure out how to use it, with a special ring tone for special people, which I have no idea how to set, with alerts for everything I’m supposed to do that I would prefer not to. And now I receive texts from people standing right next to me, which for the life of me, despite my protestations, I can’t ignore. 

And to highlight my total lack of control, if I misplace this electronic demon, I panic like a junkie jonesing for his next fix.

And then there’s the Tinnitus. Remember I’m almost seventy. What? 70…Tinnitus. What? Catch my drift?

I am condemned to a constant ringing in my right ear that varies in decibels depending on where I’m at and who I’m with. Put me in a reverberating room with a few people talking all at once (meaning anyone who has a speck of DNA that identifies them as having a trace of Italian or Jewish ancestry dog-paddling around in their cells) and I feel like I’m struggling to awaken from the depths of a coma. I’m foggy, befuddled, helpless, and morose. I lean forward with a twisted look of confusion splattered across my face feeling like I’m in a therapy group facilitated by Nurse Ratchett with Jack Nicholson at my side.

A few years ago I read that bananas helped tinnitus, so I began to consume 4, 5, 6 a day. The only change was the massive wads of hair that began to sprout from my back and the uncontrollable desire to scamper up a tree and swing from its branches.

OK I overplayed it with the tree.

And now, pray tell, I have been stricken with Leporiphobia. This malady is exhibited by a deathly and uncontrollable fear of rabbits. I shudder and become dizzy when I think of or encounter the tiniest of bunnies or a full grown big eared Jack. This condition is a rarity in the medical journals.

However, a point of note; in a 2012 survey the Journal of American Psychology polled 100 professional athletes concerning their fears or phobias. Hands down Andy Roddick, player on the men’s Pro Tennis Tour and winner of over 30M$ took the grand prize for weirdness. Leporiphobia has him! He admitshe is terrified of rabbits. All he has to do is think of one and he panics. Seeing just a tiny bunny brings him to his knees. He’s actually withdrawn from matches where he was heading for the winner’s circle and then regressed into “rabittual” thinking (OK I made that word up but it’s a great fucking word.)

Allow me to digress. 

I met Lydia in a coffee shop; my kind of coffee shop. No internet. People were talking. I was not sure if they were Jewish or Italian. I couldn’t hear. She leaned closer. I still couldn’t hear. We stepped outside. A truck rumbled by. I couldn’t hear. Finally, she stood on her toes, cupped her hands, and hollered.

“I’m Lydia.” I could hear…fairly well. We talked about the theatre and I asked her to a play. We went. We sat in the front. I could hear. It was great.

We went to dinner, a very quiet place. I gazed across the table into her gray-blue eyes. That was greater.

Afterwards she came to my place. It was very quiet. That was the greatest!

After a few of those datey kinds of experiences we wanted to do normal stuff; stuff we were interested in day to day._

She asked, “What do you like to do that is somewhat normal?”

“Bike,” I responded, enjoying her directness.

“I don’t own a bike.” she replied.

“I’ll buy you one,” I said thinking I was gallant.

She said, pursing her lips, her hands perched on very shapely hips, “I can buy my own.”

She did. I liked that.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “But it’s so hot.”

“We won’t go far,” I said once again, trying to be gallant.

“We’ll go as far as I want,” she said.

“OK,” I said knowing that attempting to be gallant was no longer a good idea.

So I put air in my tires and waited to see if she wanted any.

“Could you put some in mine?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Thank you.”

Off we went down a dusty path of crunchy gray limestone; thick bushes bordering each side of the trail.

We came to a clearing in a small town. The bank sign read 97 degrees-1pm. The sun broiled my back, sweat puddled in my navel, and my hands slid from the rubber grips of my silver Trek.

“It’s so hot.” Her voice rose over the noisy limestone. “Are you hot?”

“What?” I couldn’t hear her.

“Hot!” she screamed.

I was near death, my head ready to explode. “I’m fine,” yelling over my shoulder.

“Wait!” I heard her voice. It must have been very loud.

I jammed the brakes, my bike twisting sideways.

We skidded to a dusty stop. She was huffing and puffing.

“Are you OK?” Salty sweat stung my eyes.

“This is your idea of fun? How can you stand it? This is normal?”

“What?” This time I pretended I couldn’t hear.

“Hot!”She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. 

“I try to stay cool: water, and stuff.”

“What stuff?” Her indignant voice rose.

I had to pee.

“Sometimes I take off my shirt.”

“Go ahead. But I can’t take off mine.”

I had to pee more.

“Go ahead,” she repeated.

I removed my shirt.

“Let’s go,” she said. “It’s too hot to stand here and talk.”

We started once again, crunching along the shimmering trail.

And that’s when it happened.

Two dark blurs darted from the brush directly in front of my bike; the one in front larger than the one who trailed. The larger one turned and glared with his devil-red eyes, into mine. And without any notice, he leapt off the ground, a full four feet, and went for my throat. My legs froze. I gasped and choked on my own spit. He was on me screeching a high pitched hideous rodent like noise; fangs gnawing at my flesh, his bristly fur scraping my chin. I yanked my right hand away from the brake and threw him off, his pin-like nails scratching my sun burnt skin. His body thumped to the ground. I jammed on my brakes. My wheel turned cock-eyed and my torso flew over the handlebars. 

I landed next to him; so close I could see his whiskers and his pinkish nose twitching with a sense of evil. 

He wriggled his nose again, paused, and scampered into the brush.

“It was a rabbit!”I think Lydia screamed. While I was aware of that, tinnitus is accentuated in a panic situation, and I needed to pee even more.

“I can’t believe it!”

I could. I lay on the limestone gazing up at her.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You wanted normal.”

She stepped off her new bike, whose tires I had just put air into, trying not to be gallant.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

I wasn’t. I could be extra gallant and say fine. “I’m…” I paused, “hurt. Severely.”Trying to gain some sympathy.

“Oh my God,” she said.

Shards of gravel were imbedded in my tender skin. Bloody chunks of flesh dangled from elbows and knees. My left shoulder was locked tight, conspicuously off-kilter to its twin; pounding with a sledgehammer heartbeat.

“What can I do?” she asked tears welling in her eyes.

I lay there, my fears, problems, and pain running away with me.

My cell phone was shattered. How would I text myself a reminder to buy a new one?

I needed to pee.

But there was Lydia standing over me, offering to help. We met in a coffee shop, my kinda shop. No internet.

My ear ringing like the 3 o’clock dismissal school bell at St. Frances.

“How can I help?” she repeated. 

I thought I saw the rabbit peek out from the brush. Leporiphobia had stricken me. 

“Kill the fucking rabbit.”

She smiled a deep warm smile. She made me feel better.

She touched my cheek. “I will.”

I believed her.

[jacknealephotography]

We have been walking for about three hours if you could call the steady climb up stairs followed by a near vertical climb across loose stone walking. Stopping out of breath, sweat pouring from my forehead into my eyes making them sting from the suncream I keep trying to make stay on my face. There is not a cloud in the sky and the siring sun reflects back at us across glacial ice and snow. I take a moment to reflect and observe the mountains on all sides. Great cracks from the glacial shiftings break the silence and the thunderous boom of an avalanche on the opposite slope captures my attention and I watch as ice and snow falls hundreds of feet to the valley floor. Looking Up my eyes fall upon the next part of the climb which turns from loose stone to snow and ice! It is at this point Ali reaches me huffing and puffing and looking a little nervous. After a small chat and not much persuasion she agrees to join me for the final accent to the top.  Cutting steps in the shallow snow we climb to the ridge where Ali clings to me asking how on earth we are going to get back down. Putting that thought aside for now we cook ourselves some food on the high ridge and play the game of how many avalanches you can spot on the opposite cliff.

The route that we had just climbed is known as the stairway to heaven, which consists of over 2,200 stairs followed by  a polled route straight up the side of a near vertical mountain. At the top is Mueller hut – and for those more organised than ourselves one can rest a night in the hut then make their way back down the mountain the next day. However this involves booking way in advance which we did not do. What is meant to be a two day hike we did in one heading back down as clouds started to form on the peaks.

The next morning we embarked on a slightly more chilled walk to the hooker glacier a 3 hour return walk at a steady incline. However this seemed not adventurous enough for me and after eating some lunch we headed along the lake shore at the foot of the glacier in an attempt to reach one of the icebergs floating close to the edge. On reaching the ice I am distracted by a flock of Kea; the only parrot to live above the snow line. I watch as they land above us to feed and spotting a rout up the again near shear scree I start to climb, Ali close behind. Carefully I test every stone so as not to send them tumbling down on top of her. Motivated on by the Kea I quickly climb leaving Ali behind. Five minutes later I am sat beside the curious parrots camera in hand. Just as the Kea start to hop closer to investigate my arrival I hear a plaintive call from Ali who is out of sight below the ridge. I am torn between the Parrots who I had been wanting to photograph as soon as I found out about there existence and Ali who I was pretty sure would be able to work out how to climb up without my help. Sure enough before I had time to think Ali appeared stating that she had not wanted to use her hands to climb just in case the berries on the bushes were poisonous.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Kea. Such incredible birds with more intelligence than you could imagine. Very inquisitive they came right up close allowing me to get many different angles. I soon realised that they responded to the sound of the camera in a curious way rather than in fear like other birds and that the sound of an avalanche made them all jump ready to fly. I can only imagine that they have learned that the sound of snow falling could be dangerous to them but they had not yet worked out what the sound of the camera meant and wanted to find out. Taking off the tripod plate I rubbed the two pieces together. The sound quickly caught the attention of a couple of birds who came over to investigate much like Dusky dolphins when making noise under water.

I wondered if like Robbins they would respond to soil being turned over. Picking up a rock I dug a small hole. To my utmost surprise one of the birds also picked up a rock! When I tossed the rock to the side the same Parrot picked up another one (having dropped the previous stone). Instead of just dropping the new stone it tried to toss it away as I had done. Realising that they would investigate noise I threw a stone over to a perch that I had been wanting one of the birds to sit on as it would make an interesting shot. As I had predicted the sound caught one of the parrots attention who flew up to where I had throne the stone.

An amazing experience to observe these birds living so high up in the mountains and to be able to see first hand the inquisitive nature that has allowed them to survive in such extreme conditions. Unfortunately the same intelligence is killing them as they realise how to get easy meals from tourists feeding them. Firstly this is not their normal diet and does not give them the nutrients they need to survive and secondly it is making them lazy and idle forgetting their natural way of life. This has lead to these Parrots rapid decline.

MOUNT COOK We have been walking for about three hours if you could call the steady climb up stairs followed by a near vertical climb across loose stone walking.