#i like this bus line it's a pleasant track. comes often enough to not be constantly loaded with ppl too (mostly. after a certain station)

[daz4i]

daily commute infinitely improved (saw zebras on the way)

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 17  (Calum Hood AU)

DESPITE THE STARTLING realization that I might in fact be in love with Calum, I didn’t act any differently.  I didn’t hover or cling to him like annoying, love-struck girls would.  In fact, I was almost more distant, using it as a safety precaution in case he caught on to my intensifying feelings.  One night I casually suggested we sleep apart, even though the thought pained me.  Calum’s reluctance was a comfort, but even still he ended up agreeing.  That was one of the longest nights of my life; I laid for hours just staring at the ceiling, wondering if Calum felt as empty as I did without a warm body laying next to mine.

Things at the house were also just better all around.  With Ashton and Hannah on good terms again, the group was tentatively back together.  I interrogated Hannah for answers on what had happened, if their relationship was slowly reforming.  She dodged most of my tougher questions, insisting that they’d put aside any bad blood for the sake of the group.  I didn’t entirely buy this; something definitely happened, but for whatever reason Hannah wasn’t ready to tell me.  I didn’t demand any more details, seeing as I was withholding plenty myself.  Hannah thought Calum and I were just fooling around, no strings attached.  While that was what was supposed to be going on, my feelings lately had confused things.  By no means was I going to tell a soul what I felt, but even keeping it inside still made the whole thing feel different.  I leaned deeper into Calum’s kisses, I held his gaze longer when he rocked inside of me.  My body was communicating all on its own, and I just hoped Calum didn’t catch on to these subtle changes.

After a particularly hot and passionate night together, I was frantic to go off to work.  Calum’s heady pants still echoed in my ears, the burn of his fingers still lingering on my skin.  As I sat on the edge of the bed lacing up my sneakers, I felt warm lips press into my neck, and goosebumps raised immediately where he kissed me.

“Back for more?” I joked, not looking over my shoulder.  I’d woken up before him to get ready, leaving him peacefully asleep, or so I thought.  He swiveled his body to sit next to mine on the bed, shoulder bumping my own.  Calum was clad only in black athletic shorts, his toned torso on teasing display.

His nose nestled into my neck, making my lashes flutter.  “I can be quick,” he whispered in a sultry tone, and I pushed him away with a snort.

“I think I’ll need more time to recover after what you did last night,” I reminded him, feeling the residual ache between my legs.  Calum left me the sore in the best way possible, and all day I would have a reminder of his body’s wicked tricks.

Calum smirked at me, flopping over onto the mattress with his hand over his abdomen.  He looked beautifully relaxed, jawline framed by the morning light, his eyes drowsy but content.  I’d never seen him so happy, and for a second I wondered if it was more than just the sex that made him feel this way.

“How long’s your shift?” he asked, eyes closing with a yawn.  I grabbed my bag off the floor and shouldered it with a sigh.

“Long,” I said simply, not looking forward to the strenuous hours ahead.  With community college tuition looming, I asked Mack for as many shifts as I could get, just in case I felt tight on money.  I’d rather have more than enough than barely enough, even if it meant working excruciating hours.  

Calum frowned.  “You’re working so much lately.”  There was an edge to his voice, like he disapproved.

I ran a hand through my hair in aggravation.  “What else am I supposed to do?  My life is getting back on track, and that means more bills to pay.”  I tried to stifle the resentment bubbling up inside me; Calum lounged around day in and day out, doing what he wanted when he wanted to.  Week after week he tore open the checks his mother sent, tossing them carelessly onto his desk.  Usually this didn’t come between us, but with my increased schedule I couldn’t help but feel bitter about his lazy routine.

Clearly a similar thought crossed his mind, and his frown deepened.  He didn’t say anything else, instead taking on a guarded expression.  He was so hard to read sometimes, and when I wanted him to open up he just shut down.  I had no idea how he felt about me going back to school; part of me thought he didn’t care, but another part wondered if he felt insecure that I was growing up and making a life for myself while he wasted time doing nothing important.  I wished he would tell me if he felt this way, but of course he never did.  We didn’t talk about anything that wasn’t surface level, which was fine when we were in our peaceful little bubble.

But I had to live in reality, which meant popping that bubble more frequently.  I couldn’t let Calum distract me from my more important goals, and he just had to learn to deal with my busy lifestyle.

As I was tying my hair into a messy ponytail, Calum suddenly asked, “When do you get off?”

“Seven,” I answered.  “It’s a ten-hour shift with only one lunch break.  I might drop dead from exhaustion.”  A second passed, and I chewed my lip as an idea popped into my head.  “Want to get dinner after I’m finished?”

For some reason this caused Calum to lean up, his posture stiff and his expression incredulous.  “What?”

My brows knit together, puzzled at his odd reaction.  “Dinner.  I’ll be starved after my shift, so I thought you could join me.”

His frown turned into a glare.  “Like a date?”  He sounded defensive and mocking, which didn’t help my already exacerbated mood.

“What, we can’t eat a meal together?  Is that against some hook-up rule or something?”  I couldn’t control the annoyance in my voice; why did Calum always have to complicate things?

“I don’t know, dinner just seems like a weird thing to do.”  I had no idea what he meant by ‘weird’, and his unreadable expression didn’t help me figure it out.

“Whatever, Calum,” I refuted.  “Forget I asked.”  I was already late for work and had to catch the bus, so I didn’t bother staying to bicker any longer.  Admittedly, it hurt that he was so against the idea of us spending time together outside of the bedroom.  I’d suggested dinner as more of a friendship thing than anything else; after all, there was a time when the two of us actually liked one another.

I didn’t realize Calum had followed me until I reached the front door, but his arm blocked me from opening it.  He’d thrown on a shirt and shoes, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

Fuming, I crossed my arms and demanded he move.  “I’m late for work, Calum.”

“No, you’re late for the bus,” he countered.  “So let me drive you, and that’ll solve the problem.”  For such a considerate offer, he didn’t sound too nice about it.  His scowl seemed permanently etched on as I followed him to his car.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, not even the sound of the radio to alleviate the tension.  Calum’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, and I leaned as far away from him as possible.

Sensing my irritation, he asked, “Are you gonna be pissed at me for the whole day?”  He sounded accusing, which only made me more infuriated.

“No, Calum.  I’m not gonna waste that much time on you.”  Realizing how harsh the words sounded, I backtracked.  “I just thought we could eat some stupid grilled cheese sandwiches together and maybe do something different for a change.  God forbid I want to spend time with you.”

More silence, so I thought the conversation was over.  But then I glanced over and saw an odd look on his face, almost resembling guilt.

“So it’s not a date?” he reiterated, and I let out an enormous sigh.

“I literally just want to eat food, and not do it alone,” I insisted, so beyond done with this conversation.  But Calum seemed satisfied with my answer, and eased up his tight grip on the wheel.

“Okay, so I’ll pick you up.”  He met my eyes as he pulled into a parking spot near the cafe, stopping the car and filling the air with quiet.  I tried desperately to see the thoughts swirling behind his level brown gaze, but it was a hopeless task.  At least he wasn’t hostile anymore.  I sighed again, hoping my annoyance was well communicated so he knew not to pull this shit again.

“I’ll see you later,” I told him before closing the car door.  I stalked towards the coffee shop, grabbing the strap of my bag for support as I refused to look back.

Roger knew something was up the minute I started working.  I moved angrily as I made the coffees, sighing every so often and grimacing rather than smiling at the customers.  It would be a long day.

“Who pissed in your morning coffee?” he joked after a particularly bad exchange with a customer.  The guy had demanded I remake his cappuccino because it “didn’t taste right”, and when my polite apology wasn’t ass-kissing enough for him he accused me of being a miserable, lazy youth.  I seriously contemplated throwing the hot coffee in his face, but reminded myself I was working these stupid shifts for a reason.  My future.

“Just having a bad day, I guess,” I replied vaguely, but this didn’t satisfy Roger.

“Trouble in paradise, eh?  What’s he done now?”

I couldn’t help but smile at how Roger always jumped to my defense, always blaming Calum when things went wrong.  “I told him I was working late and suggested we get dinner, then he flipped out because he thought I meant it as a date.”

This intrigued Roger, who raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.  “Interesting.  He could be using reverse psychology.  I’ll bet he actually does want to go on a date, but wants you to think that he doesn’t.”  Roger tapped the side of his head.  “Smart cookie.”

I laughed, beginning to wipe down the counters after the first morning rush.  “I’m a psychology major and I still can’t figure out what goes in his mind,” I joked.  “I just thought it would be nice to do something together.  Other than what we always do.”  At my insinuation, Roger giggled like a schoolboy.

“Ah, yes, the sex has reached the boring stage, has it?”

I shook my head firmly.  “No, not at all.  It’s still great, just...”  I exhaled sharply, frustrated with the whole situation.  “I really thought it was just gonna be dinner, but then he had to make it weird.  And he was being weird about me working so much, too.  I don’t know what his problem is lately.”

Roger nodded along to my rant, considering the dilemma.  “Well, that’s obvious at least.  He feels left behind.”

I waved the rag excitedly.  “That’s what I thought!  I mean, he doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, and I have every idea.  I thought maybe he was jealous or insecure, but he’d definitely rather die than tell me this.”

“He’s a guy like that.  We don’t like feeling inferior, and when we do we totally deal with it the wrong way,” Roger informed me.  “He doesn’t know how to process these complex emotions so he’s shutting them out.”

I smiled.  “You don’t need to tell me twice.  Classic defense mechanisms, disconnection from his feelings...”  I trailed off, suddenly feeling guilty.  I shouldn’t psychoanalyze Calum, not when I knew how much he hated that side of me.  But I couldn’t help it when he was being so difficult.

Resting my elbows on the counter, my smile faded into a worried frown.  “What do I do, Roger?  I thought we were in a good place, but lately it just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Roger suggested.  “Give it a little more time.  But if Calum doesn’t start making some changes, cut him loose.  You’ve got better things to deal with than his emotional immaturity.”  Despite the harsh criticism, I knew Roger was right.  Whatever I felt towards Calum didn’t matter if he was jeopardizing my future, and I couldn’t keep dealing with his detached feelings when it made me so exhausted.

For once I actually dreaded the end of my shift.  I had no idea what mood Calum would be in when he picked me up--or if he would even pick me up at all.  I wouldn’t put it past him to abandon me, especially if he wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.  

I ended up cleaning the whole dining area twice, and even resorted to re-mopping the floor which was practically sparkling already.  Roger played along with this for as long as he could, but even his patience was wearing thin.

“We got off half an hour ago, Scarlett,” he criticized, snatching the mop out of my hand.  “I’m going blind from all the sparkly-clean surfaces inside this cafe.”

I sighed, placing my hands on my hips.  “I know, you’re right.  I just...when I’m nervous I like to fix things and be productive, so cleaning--”

“Yeah, yeah, your fatal flaw is that you care too much and you clean all the time.  I swear, you act like you’re the worst person alive when those are barely flaws.”  Roger’s tone was light, but I couldn’t help but look deeper into his joke.  Did Calum think that I didn’t believe I had any flaws?  Caring too much is barely even a character flaw, but that’s what he threw in my face constantly.  Maybe he thought I put myself on a pedestal above him, and that’s why he felt so insecure.

I decided I would try to be less condescending and more open when it came to Calum’s feelings.  I only hoped he would actually appreciate this effort, and maybe start making some positive changes of his own.

The sun was bleeding into the sky as it set below the horizon, casting a pale orange glow about the earth.  I glanced around outside the cafe, searching for that signature red mustang that always made my heart skip a beat.

Sure enough, it was parked right across the street, and Calum was leaning casually against it.  He looked good; typical black jeans and sneakers with a big red flannel over a band shirt.  My face broke into a surprise smile; I remembered wearing that shirt just a few nights ago.

When I approached, Calum’s brows raised disbelievingly.  “What’s with the face?” he questioned, referring to my dumb grin. 

I shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t exactly sure if you’d show up.”  It was an honest answer, and I didn’t think lying or placating Calum would help either of us.

His lips twisted into a sardonic smirk.  “Of course I showed up; I would never miss our date.”  He said this with obvious bitter sarcasm, but the crinkles around his eyes softened the delivery.  I rolled my eyes, amused by his stubborn refusal to get over the whole “date” thing.

“I’m starved, where should we go?”  I’d eat just about anything right now, but a grilled cheese sounded particularly mouth-watering.

“Luke says there’s a new diner open by the music shop.  Says it’s more upscale than the truck-stop places we always go to.”

I nodded, pleased with the idea of trying out a new place with Calum.  This felt like something regular friends did, and although Calum and I were definitely out of the ordinary, I enjoyed it nonetheless.

The diner was fairly packed when we got there, but we managed to snag one of the last open booths.  There was no question about what we’d order; as soon as the waitress showed up, we asked for two grilled cheeses.

I sipped my coke and gazed out the window at the bustling city streets.  My muscles relaxed into the cushioned booth as the day’s stress lifted from my shoulders.  Work was taxing, as always, but worth it in the end.  

Neither of us minded the quiet, since we were so used to each other’s presence.  A few times I felt Calum’s knee brush mine under the table, and my lips twitched at this subtle motion.

“Why’d you get out so late?  Mack ask you to stay longer?”  Calum twirled his unopened plastic straw between his fingers, and for a second the movement mesmerized me as I thought about his skilled fingers.

“No, I just wanted to clean the place up.  I didn’t have to stay.”

Calum scoffed lightly, and I worried I said something wrong.  “Always so selfless,” he muttered, but I couldn’t detect if he was joking or not.  “Do you ever do anything wrong?”

The question was rhetorical, but I took the opportunity to open up a little and show Calum that I could be vulnerable.  “Yeah, all the time.  What do you think me lying to everyone was about?”

He frowned, unsatisfied by the answer.  “You lied out of loyalty to a friend, that’s hardly wrong.”

“Okay, then I leech off all of you by living rent-free.  I’m cheap, I’m a cheap-skate.”  I was grasping at straws, anything to show that I didn’t think I was some perfect angel.  And I didn’t.  I knew I was flawed and I hated that Calum thought I wasn’t; that would just set him up to be disappointed when he realized I wasn’t as amazing as he thought.

Calum just rolled his eyes at this attempt.  “You whine about feeling bad every day, that’s hardly being a leech.”

Sitting back with a defeated sigh, I demanded, “Well, what do you want me to say?  I’m showing you everything I do wrong and you’re denying all of it.”

“Because you don’t do anything wrong.  You’re so kind it makes my teeth hurt, and there’s never a doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re genuine.  You’re perfect, Scarlett.”  He said this matter-of-fact, like I was a little kid he was explaining something very simple to.

I ignored the way his final sentence made me feel.  You’re perfect, Scarlett.  Did he really see me that way?  Was I perfect to him?  Or perfect for him?  I hoped it was the latter, and bit my lip to hide my inner turmoil.  Calum danced along a very thin line all the time: the line between what we were now, and what I secretly wanted us to be.  What kind of friend-with-benefits says you’re perfect?  I tried to convince myself he didn’t mean it, that it was supposed to be mocking, but the sincerity in his eyes was telling me otherwise.

Thankfully, the waitress interrupted us with food and gave us both an excuse to change the subject.  As soon as she left, Calum and I collectively cringed; the sandwiches were cut down the middle.

Calum exhaled gravely, shaking his head.  “Gonna have to tell Luke this place isn’t so great after all.  I mean, they really fucked up here.”

I laughed, pretending to push my plate away.  “Get that waitress back here, we’ll set her straight.”  As we both joked over the grilled cheese, any intensity or confusion from before was banished.  The meal was quickly over, and I won the argument for which of us would pay for the food.  While we got up to leave, Calum grumbled about having to take me out again so that he could pay and make us even.

When he said this, I had to hide my blushing smile.

The night wasn’t too cold, and we decided to walk for a little bit before driving home.  Our hands swayed close to one another’s, and I willed Calum to twine his fingers with my own.  But the backs of our palms grazed a few times, and he made no move to change this.

As we passed by a familiar building, I pointed it out to Calum.  “That’s one of the places Hannah and I looked at.  The apartment is actually pretty nice, but there’s god-awful green bathroom tile that makes me nauseous just looking at it.”

Calum smiled vaguely, his expression distant.  “You can’t live there, the location is awful.”

I knitted my brows together.  “It’s right by the coffee shop.”

He shook his head.  “Yeah, but way too far from the house.  We’re never gonna see you guys if you live there.”

I chuckled, looking down at the pavement as we walked.  “I think you just don’t want me to move out,” I concluded.

Calum’s smile tightened.  “Yeah, who else would constantly wear the shirts that are supposed to be mine?”

My shoulder nudged him jokingly as I teased, “Admit it, you love seeing me in your tee shirts.”

He paused in walking, and my grin faded.  Had I been too serious?  Was using the word love a mistake?  Panic welled up in my chest, and I feared I ruined an otherwise perfect evening.

And then all of a sudden his phone began to ring, and I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.  Saved by the bell, I thought, wondering what would have happened if we weren’t interrupted.

Calum fished through his pocket for his phone, pulling it out and glancing at the screen.  His expression immediately darkened, and my stomach sank upon seeing this.

“Who is it?”  It was a stupid question, because I knew he wouldn’t answer.  Calum squared his shoulders and started walking, leaving me to hurriedly catch up to him.

“No one,” he snapped when I reached him, anticipating my badgering questions.  “Drop it, okay?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then remembered the promise I’d made to myself earlier.  Don’t be condescending.  So I kept my mouth shut, and instead focused on keeping up with Calum’s long strides.

He glanced at me a few times, surprised I wasn’t trying to get answers out of him.  Once I met his eyes, and saw the deep thought hiding behind his brown orbs.  I wished he’d let me in on what he was thinking, but I settled with not knowing.  

A minute passed, and then his phone chimed, indicating the caller had left a voicemail.  We both tensed, but I didn’t expect him to listen to it.

So I was surprised when he whipped his phone out and brought it to his ear, stopping again to listen to the message.  I stood a few feet from him, keeping enough distance that I couldn’t eavesdrop on the call, even though I was dying to know who it was.

I watched Calum’s face as he listened, taking in the subtle narrowing of his eyes, the lowering of his brow in shock.  His lips parted, and all I wanted to do was kiss away the storm brewing behind his eyes.

The voicemail ended, and Calum shoved his phone back in his pocket.  But this time when he tried to continue walking, I stopped him, stepping in front of his chest and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Calum,” I started gently, lifting my eyes to his.  He avoided my quizzical stare, breathing hard.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?  You can tell me.”

He pushed a hand roughly through his hair, glaring everywhere but at me.  “It’s nothing, Scarlett.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” I defended.  “But maybe you should since whoever it is makes you feel this angry.”

Finally he turned his angry eyes on me, and I inhaled sharply at the fury I saw there.  “Fine, it was my mother who called.  Satisfied?”  He pushed me aside in order to storm off, and I was too stunned to move for a moment.

But then I jogged to catch up, breathless and confused.  “Your mother?  What did she want?  I thought she only reaches out through the checks.”

Calum looked ready to boil over.  “She does, but apparently she felt the need to call me.”  He appeared to be fighting over his next words, before finally stating, “She wants me to come home for a visit.”

I took a minute to let this information sink in.  Instinctively I was thrilled; his mother reaching out was a promising sign that their fractured relationship could be healed.  But then I considered the ramifications of her request.  She wouldn’t just ask out of the blue if something else wasn’t going on.  And she had to know that Calum wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy when it came to family stuff, so why not go about it delicately, not so sudden and shocking?

I tried in vain to read Calum’s expression, finding nothing but frustration and anger.  It pained me to see him so tense, but I didn’t just want to coddle him, I wanted to help him.

“Why not go?” I proposed softly, trying not to set him off.  “It might be good to see her.”

Calum snickered at this, and I winced.  “You’re shitting me, right?”  He sounded harsh and mocking, and I struggled to hold my ground.

“I know you’re confused and hurting,” I said firmly.  “But you don’t have to take it out on me.  I just want to help you.”

“Of course you do, because I’m your favorite little charity case,” he retaliated.  “Give it a rest, Scarlett.  I don’t need you smothering me.”

Fuming, I folded my arms and didn’t shy away from his steely gaze.  “No, Calum.  You can be an asshole and you can bitch about whatever you want, but don’t you dare take it out on me.  I’m just suggesting you patch up your relationship with your mother, or at least give it a try--”

“What makes you think you know what’s best for me?” he snarled.  “You don’t know me, you have no right to tell me what to do.  We’re not even friends, so why do you care?”

I huffed in disbelief, pressing a hand to my forehead.  “Why do I care?  Maybe because I’m not an emotionless husk who has no idea how to express his feelings!  We’re sleeping together for God’s sake--”

“And that makes us what, a couple?  You think you’re my girlfriend?  We’re not even friends, Scarlett.”  

Each word cut me like a knife, voicing the exact anxieties that had been eating away at me for weeks.  “I know we’re not, which is why I wanted to go to dinner and spend some freaking time together!”  I was embarrassed at how high my voice had gotten, how pathetic I sounded when I was trying to defend myself.

Calum chuckled darkly.  “I don’t want to be friends with you.  You always do this, you always force your way into other people’s problems because you think it involves you when it doesn’t.”  His hard eyes met mine.  “You’re nothing more than a good lay, and I can get that anywhere.”

I tried to remember how to breathe as I watched his figure get smaller and smaller, walking farther and farther away from me.  Each step he took was a stab to my heart, until he was out of view and I was left bleeding alone in the street.

[ardentmuse]

Wife her, Winger (Talbott x Reader)

Harry Potter (HPHM) - Talbott Winger x fem!Reader

Summary: When Talbott and Tonks spend extra days in the field tracking some death eaters, Talbott assumes you won’t care much. But seeing just how hard his work has impacted you and heeding some wise words from Tonks may be enough to push your relationship to the next level.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: fluff, teeny tiny angst, Talbott being thick, talk of death eaters, and wizard battles

Masterlist

A/N: I’m sorry, Charlie. Forgive me for finding a new boyfriend in your absence.

Blasts of embers fly past Talbott’s head as he finds refuge behind a muggle bus stop. Two weeks he and Tonks have spent tracking down the Bhatti siblings after they abandoned their shop in Knockturn Alley. Of course, the instant they make an appearance has to be in the middle of Piccadilly Circus just as all the clubs are letting out their drunken patrons into the rainy streets. Everywhere, chaos.

“Watch your left!” Tonks shouts as she dives behind a trash can, giving Talbott just enough time to pull his head behind the glass of the bus shelter to avoid red flares from the death eater brothers. The tips of his hair burn maroon, the spell just grazing his mane.

Rowdy patrons of the pubs continue down the streets, one even cheering on the “street performers doing sweet magic tricks!” Talbott takes the distraction as an opportunity to readjust his wand in his grip, settling his fingers into the warn grooves of the wood, ready to strike.

Talbott hears a cheer and then feels the force of a person being slammed into the bus shelter. A scream, followed by the pounding of feet, make it clear that the muggles now know these aren’t two performers just looking to make some tips.

“On my count,” Talbott whispers to Tonks, her hair now a fiery red as the panicked cries of pedestrians grow louder. She nods, pressing a hand against the metal of the bin, preparing to launch herself upward and into danger at Talbott’s command.

A second passes, long and excruciating as another curse flies into the crowds of people. Another second extends as the footsteps of the brothers grow louder, splashing upon the pavement. And a third in which a bus comes blasting around the corner, creating a tidal wave of muck over the sidewalk.

“Now!” Talbott yells, jumping upward with a forceful “Stupefy,” just as the Bhatti brothers are doused and blinded by the murky puddle. 

The taller of the two brothers is pushed backwards into the road, stumbling over the curb. Tonks manages to injure the second’s arm. She moves forward to detain him but the bus is about to pull away again. Tonk’s opponent quickly dives under the double decker, cradling his arm as best he can. And by the time Tonks can get to the bus, it drives off and underneath is no trace of a wizard except for a few drops of blood.

Talbott’s combatant, still in the streets, smiles and laughs as Talbott continues his pursuit. He stands taunting in the middle of the street dodging Talbott’s quickly flicked stuns until Talbott is close but then with a quick little wave of his fingers, he disapparates just as a taxi comes a little too close. Talbott is one stride from running into the street but Tonks catches him by the neck of his coat, the cab missing his body by only inches.

Talbott pulls himself from Tonk’s arms and leans once again against the bus shelter, the exhaustion of the past dozen days on the road fully taking their toll.

“We finally find them and we’ve still got nothing,” he says to himself. With a sigh, he throws his head back against the bus shelter with a loud bang. The pain doesn’t register over the frustration.

“Not nothin’.”

Talbott looks up to see Tonk’s hair a pleasant bubblegum once again and in her hands she shakes proudly back and forth a long spindly wand made of yew wood.

For the first time since he had kissed you goodbye all those weeks ago, Talbott smiles.

The sun is coming up just as Tonks and Talbott make their descent into the atrium of the Ministry. Upon seeing his reflection in the glass of the elevator, mud-soaked and completely disheveled, Talbott utters a quiet prestidigitation charm to himself and watchs in satisfaction as he becomes clean again, though the edges of his hair are still burnt.

“Trying to impress someone?” Tonks teases with a little too much eyebrow.

Talbott doesn’t even look at her.

“Y/N won’t be in the office for hours. I just don’t like dirt.”

“Sure,” Tonks inflects, the smile growing larger on her face as she watches Talbott squirm.

After a few moments of silence, Tonks asks, kicking the elevator sides in an act to appear disinterested, “So how long have you two been together now? Seven years?”

“Long enough.”

“And it’s going well? You’re happy?”

Talbott sighs, “Of all the problems in my life, I can assure you Y/N is not one of them.”

Tonks continues on, staring at the ceiling now, “And you think she’s—“

“What are you getting at, Tonks?” Talbott growls at his companion.

Tonks drops her eyes to meet his, meeting the challenge of his intense gaze.

“Wife her, Winger.”

“Excuse me?”

Tonks opens her mouth full, puffing out her cheeks as she emphasizes each word, “Wife. Her.”

Talbott simply huffs and turns away.

“I doubt she’d want that,” he says into the air, loud enough that Tonks could hear it.

“She’s put up with you this long,” Tonks teases but when Talbott’s shoulders stay rigid, she continues in a more soothing voice.

“I was there for your first date, bud. You too dorks are perfect for each other. You put your life on the line every day and you have a woman waiting to see you healthy and home again. You’ve made something beautiful with my girl. Don’t you think this job might be a little more – I don’t know – meaningful, if you knew what you were fighting for?”

“I don’t need to marry the girl to fight for her.”

“True,” Tonks said, realizing her argument wasn’t very sound.

“Besides,” Talbott continued, his cheeks a bit redder for the talk, “She’s not just waiting for me to come back safely. She has her own life. I’m just a blip in it.”

As the elevator doors open into the grand entranceway of the ministry, nearly empty at this time of morning, Tonks and Talbott immediately hear a shrieking coming from the fountain.

“Talbott!” you scream, running the 20 yards and jumping into the arms of your boyfriend. He catches you between his hands, running them down your flanks as you cradle yourself deeper into his neck.

“Merlin, Talbott, I was so, so worried about you,” you breath against his skin.

“I missed you, too,” he agrees, pushing lightly on your shoulders to take in your face. The relief he feels in his heart at having you in his arms once more is immediate. His shoulders loosen, his brain clears of the fog of battle his breath evens, and suddenly everything, every sight and sound and scent, is you.

Talbott presses lightly against your shoulders, pushing you away from his body so he can examine your face. You smile up at him, wetness coating your lips from your tears and the gentle kisses you had been placing upon his collarbone. Your cheeks are streaked with water lines. Your eyes, which were always so bright and brilliant, are dull and the bags underneath them are pronounced from lack of sleep. Your top is slightly wrinkled and your hair needs some attention.

“You haven’t slept,” Talbott says as observation, not question.

You look at the ground for just a moment before meeting his eyes once more.

“Someone in the Department of International Magical Cooperation needs to be here to communicate with Tokyo,” you laugh, but when Talbott raises an eyebrow at you in question, you add, “I couldn’t sleep. I was too worried about you – both of you.”

Tonks nods at the acknowledgement, smiling at you. As you turn your attention back to Talbott, you don’t notice the way your friend nods her head at you and pleads with Talbott with her eyes.

You fall back against Talbott’s chest and whisper to him, “You were supposed to be back two days ago. I heard nothing. You can’t blame me for being worried sick. I’d be lost without you, Talbott.”

As you sink deeper into his arms, he looks down at your head against his shoulder, the curve of your back as you take deep breaths, and the soft nuzzle of your nose as you claim him as yours. And suddenly, just like that, he understands all the lies he’s been telling himself about how casual your relationship is, how little you need each other, and how fine he’d be if you decide you want something else with your life, are just that – lies. He feels the revelation sending chills down his spin.

“Well, I think I’ll be bringing this wand down to Level 2 and see if—“ Tonks cuts herself off, realizing Talbott has no interest in what she’s saying if the way he’s cupping your head with a look of shock in his eyes is any indication. “Yep,” she says as she wanders off down the corridor.

“My girl,” Talbott thinks, his brain finally seeing clearly the precious thing before him – not the woman, you were always precious, but the relationship itself, a level of commitment and shared concern, the intertwining of lives and values and joys that two people could only long to find in one another. “My beautiful bird, my everything. How I’ve longed for you,” he thinks. “My wife,” he tests in his brain, feeling the warmth that spread through his chest at the simple phrase, and especially the permanence of it.

As he thinks the words, your head pops up from his chest to meet his gaze. You rub the tears from your eyes and look at him, pleading.

“Your—your wife?”

Only then does Talbott realize what he did. So often he thinks out loud, so often he sometimes doesn’t even register his lips are moving. His face fills with panic and confusion and, at the sight of it, you completely deflate.

“Oh, okay,” you whisper, pulling yourself out of his arms, “I guess we should get back to work then. I’ll meet you—“

Talbott cuts you off with a bold kiss to the lips. His hands cup your jaw and his fingers brush lightly against your ears. His lips are unyielding in their desire to wipe the doubt from your mind, to show you that while he may not have expected to say the words, he certainly intended their meaning.

His propriety gets the best of him as the chime of the elevator behind alters him to the presence of others. When he pulls away, he doesn’t let go of your face.

“My wife,” he whispers again and lifts his voice to add, “Whenever you want to be. Tomorrow here at the Ministry or ten years from now in the grandest wedding the wizarding community has ever seen, I’ll do it. Just next time I leave for a mission, I want to know you’re here waiting for me.”

You laugh as tears prickle at your eyes.

“I’d be here waiting for you regardless.”

“That’s what I said,” Talbott says to himself. He shakes his head at the revelation of just how perfect you are for him, how much you understand him and just how much can go unspoken. Though at the last thought he feels a tinge of regret. Just because you understand each other so much without words doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to hear them, and often.

“I love you,” Talbott breathes like a prayer against your lips.

“And I you, Mr. Winger.”

At the words, he grabs at your waist tightly, holding you to him.

“But perhaps,” you chide, “You could propose to me more properly? At some point when you haven’t just nearly had your head blown off?” You run your fingers through the edges of his hair, chard bits falling between your knuckles. “I’d like to know you still feel this way after the adrenaline has warn off.”

Talbott meets your eyes and curses himself under his breath when he sees real doubt there. All he can do is nod before taking your hand and kisses the knuckles with the gentlest reverence he can muster.

“I’ll do my best,” he says before taking your hand to lead you back to your office just a few floors below his own. As you curl your fingers around his, gripping tightly as you continue your walk, Talbott’s brain is aflutter with ideas. Should he ask your parents for your hand or is that too old-fashioned? Would he be able take time off, with tensions rising in the war the way they are, for a proper honeymoon? And most importantly, would Tonks want to be his best man or would you snatch her up before he got the chance to ask.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech

[packsbeforesnacks]

The $10,000 Question || Ricky & Winn

TIMING: Friday, February 14th, 2020 (Valentine’s Day), Sunset LOCATION: Harris Island & Portland, ME PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro & @packsbeforesnacks​ SUMMARY: After a $10,000 donation to the school’s arts program, Winn lets Ricky take him on the date he paid for. The two have a heart-to-heart, then a stomach-to-stomach. WARNINGS: A couple instances of graphic (read: mature) language.

All told, Ricky had not expected to have his little online stunt net the public school system a ten grand donation that, from the complicated legalese he could muddle his way through, would see them burn in hell if they used a single red cent for anything other than arts funding. Slightly more complicated was the fact that the donation had come from Winn. All things being equal, the blind date they’d had hadn’t been terrible, and while he’d never admit this to Winn, the sex had been mind-blowing, but he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with the man. Or… rather… with the werewolf. He was acutely aware that his own species identification would probably be a topic for the evening, but, for the moment he was content with trying to figure out exactly what he was going to do for the date.

He’d tossed around several ideas; from something home cooked to renting a boat and having a moonlight meal in the Bay. But somehow that all seemed to fizzle in the face of the fact that Winn was obscenely rich enough to drop ten thousand dollars on a Valentine’s Day date without batting an eyelash. It flew in the face of what Ricky at least thought he knew about the man, but it was fresh out of his shower, smoothing curl serum he’d swear he never used through his hair, that it all finally clicked into place. As he laid out his suit he made a phone call, tying the tie saw him make another one, tying reservations down with the same surety his fingers used as they tied the knot, and finally, as he stood in front of the mirror in a charcoal pinstripe suit, he had everything ready to go. “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He quickly typed out, throwing some toiletries and… essentials… into a small bag and striding towards the door. “WINSTON!” he shouted, not even knowing if his roommate was home, “I’LL BE BACK TOMORROW.”

Panic wasn’t a typical emotion for Winn. He was calm in a crisis, a confidante for those who needed it, and, if he did say so himself and he did, pretty generally chill. One bad habit, though, one that Winn had never quite been able to break, was his inability to turn down a dare, or be called on a bluff when he could just as easily decide that his bluff was the truth. It was more than that, though. His inheritance was buried deep in the electrical grid of Virginia, a monopoly among monopolies that often did more harm than good, he knew. The trust had vested when he’d turned twenty-one, and all of the money his grandfather, coal and gristle, had put into it for his sole “heir” had come into Winn’s possession. What his parents, and his deceased grandfather, hadn’t counted on was the sole heir becoming a werewolf (or bein’ gay, but that was… less a dealbreaker). Certainly hadn’t expected that same heir to fuck up so bad that he wouldn’t even think of leaning into any aspect of their family’s various business.

No, Winn didn’t know what to do with all that money. He said it all the time, and it was true: he didn’t want for much, really. So, when Ricky had come around soliciting donations to the arts, somethin’ Winn knew wasn’t gettin’ the funding that hockey was? Well, what was $10,000 between (mutually attracted) friends (who had previously hooked up, and then not gone further than that, and hell if Winn was gonna be out-stubborned, and who was to say if Ricky even wanted to do more than some athletic, excellent fucking that had left Winn the best kinda sore for days)? So, yeah, he’d made a big choice and he wasn’t gonna fuck it up, no sir. … So, yeah, little panic. Just a little.

Which was to say, he’d been flying around town all afternoon, renting a car — as if they’d ride on his bike or in the beat-up jalopy he used most of the week — transferring money, writing up paperwork, hassling a notary, causin’ a desk lady at the school to pass out, tryin’ to find one goddamn suit that wasn’t shit-tier, and then beggin’ Blanche to tailor it for him all by six o’clock, dammit Ricky. He was thankful he’d gotten a haircut the day before Valentine’s, otherwise he’d probably have passed out somewhere in the middle there.

All things considered, though, he knew he cleaned up well. Hell, he’d modeled. The suit, a violet three-piece, had worried him a bit — was it too bold? — but Blanche assured him that the cut would distract Ricky from the choice of color. Lines of a lighter purple ran through the white silken shirt underneath. The tie and pocket square, a deep, dotted navy, had been Blanche’s choice: he’d bought about six, and trusted Blanche to match well, something his colorblind eyes struggled with. Just as he finished, sliding a watch on his wrist with just enough time to spare, Winn got a text from Ricky: “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He shoved a couple hundreds at Blanche as he left, sliding into the jet black Maserati he’d lucked and charmed (and paid) his way into and sped off towards Harris Island.

He pulled up at 5:59, walked to Ricky’s door, and rapped a quick three. As the door opened, he whistled lowly. “Wow. And I thought I was dressin’ to impress.”

He liked to think that he had at least some semblance of an idea of how Winn would roll up to his house, but when a Maserati of all things pulled down the long drive and Winn stepped out of the car in a suit that looked like it’d been tailor made for him, Ricky was starting to wonder if he was punching outside his weight class. As he walked out onto the porch he heard a low wolf whistle coming from the general direction of the main house, and looked over to see Dee flashing him a thumbs up from her back porch, “Back inside, Dee! You’re old and it’s cold.” The thumbs up quickly turned into her flipping him off and he turned his attention to the supermodel on his porch. “Well… I can’t show up to a date looking like a slob. First thing’s first…” He held a hand out. “Phone. Can’t have you guessing where we’re going before we get there.” Ricky had this date planned out down to the last detail, and a solid portion of it was contingent on Winn not figuring out what was happening until the last possible minute.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go looking through your pictures. Though I’ve already sucked your dick, so I can’t imagine I’d see anything in there that’d shock me.” His shoes crunched along the gravel as he walked to the car, carefully putting his bag in the back as he leaned against the side of what he prayed was a rental (the thought that Winn had bought a sports car for this date, while believable, was too much to handle). “Come on! I’ve got plans, Woods. I’ve got a whole evening impeccably planned out and we gotta hit the road!” He couldn’t keep himself from smiling broadly, this may have started out weird and awkward but Ricky was genuinely looking forward to the evening.

When Ricky had been, well, his normal Ricky self, Winn felt a coil in his gut, that he didn’t know had wound, ease up, if only a little. Winn was well-aware of the ways in which this whole… thing could’ve come off. He placed his phone gingerly into Ricky’s hand, fingers brushing against the other man’s palm and Winn blushin’ up to his ears at the mention of their night. “Who knows,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe I want you to find what’s in there, Ricks.” He smiled, a bit… giddy? Yeah, giddy. The first date had been a surprise, if a pleasant one. This one, well, he may have paid for it, sorta, but… Ricky didn’t have to dress up so nice for him, if he didn’t want to. It was a different view of the man. He’d had his hands grasped in the curls that were pulled back, he’d seen the tan skin beneath the three-piece, he’d— Well, he was getting side-tracked, and Blanche had tailored the suit well enough that going too far down that rabbit hole would be a problem. Unless Ricky was into— Nope, down Winner.

In the time he’d spaced, Ricky had made his way over to the Maserati, leaned up against it like the best bad idea Winn had ever had. A whole evening? Damn. Winn smirked as he held Ricky’s door open, gesturing the other man in with a practiced air of cordialness — thanks Cotillion. He slid in, careful not to brush his hair, stickin’ up a bit with product, against the roof of the car. “Go ahead and set up your phone on the car’s Bluetooth. I’m a good conversationalist, I know, but quiet seems… neither of our speeds.” He winked, letting the implication hang in the air. This was good. This was great. “Where to, Cordero?” he said, turning the key in the ignition and feelin’ the car growl (ha) back to life.

The energy between them was a constant back and forth that straddled the line between flirtation and outright verbal fucking, and as Ricky took Winn’s phone and slid it into his jacket he leaned over, patting the well-scruffed cheek of his date, “Well then, I’ll have to dig through it. We’ll be in the car for about an hour. I’m sure I can find something on here that’ll amuse me.” As the car pulled down the long drive and out onto the road he smiled, stretching out a little as he hooked his phone up to the Bluetooth and the sounds of Barns Courtney’s Fire started to fill the car, “Head towards the highway. We’re going south. You’re gonna wanna start goin’ towards Portland. I’ll tell you more when you need to know it.”

He turned in his seat to make sure his bag wasn’t rattling around too much in the backseat, knowing full well he had important things inside of it, before turning to look at Winn and his (as much as he was loathe to admit it) incredibly handsome profile. “So. Mr. Woods. Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff. I mean I know I’m a damn good lay and some charming company but that… is a lot of fucking money. That big a patron of the arts?” He let the question hang in the air for a few moments before smiling wickedly and modifying it, “Didn’t know that was a traditionally werewolf characteristic.”

“Good taste in music,” Winn said offhand, trying to pay attention to the road as the drums and deep baritone filled his speakers. Winn knew his grin had gotten bigger when the other  man had patted his cheek. He liked Ricky’s hands (was that a weird thing to say?). He’d ignored the quip Ricky had made about goin’ through his phone, knowin’ (hopin’?) it was mostly a joke. It wasn’t like there was anythin’ too incriminatin’ on it — no, if anything, Winn was embarrassed by the lack of content on his phone. Save for texts and a couple time-wasters (and ESPN alerts, ‘course), he wasn’t glued to his phone and it showed. ‘Course, there were a couple’a… personal pictures (... and videos) on there, he wasn’t stuck in the Stone Age. Some stuff from his second time as a model, too. But nothin’, like Ricky had said, the man hadn’t seen before.

“An hour, huh? Want the windows down? It’s not freezin’, and headin’ towards Portland’ll take us along the coast for a little while. The Maserati, for all its beauty, smelled a little too much like fine leather and oil. He caught Ricky moving out of the corner of his eye, and tilted his head over just slightly, inclining one eyebrow as Ricky adjusted a bag. He caught the man’s eye for a moment, but knew he’d get shit for askin’ too many question and, besides— “Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff.” When Ricky mentioned Winn being a wolf, smiling like he’d struck gold, Winn had to grin back, a little… wolfish. “Some werewolves,” he started, “are a big fan of artists, actually.”

He winked at Ricky, before turning back to face the road. “I grew up around some of the best art in the country. Didn’t always get it, but hear that’s not necessarily the point, and I usually enjoyed it regardless. And, well…” He coughed. “It, um, seemed important to you. And, like I said, not like my money’s goin’ to anything useful.” It felt like he was dodging a question, for some reason, but Winn had no reason to lie to Ricky. “The money thing just never… came up, especially since you refused to let me pay for your dinner.” And the werewolf thing… well. Ricky got why he hadn’t blabbed about that, he hoped.

“I have excellent… if eclectic… taste in music.” This was something Ricky normally listened to in the workshop as he was carving, but it seemed suited for an evening drive on his way to a date, so he’d just started the playlist up. His fingers rapped in time with the music, head bopping along as he enjoyed what was undoubtedly the most luxurious car he’d ever ridden in. The whole situation was weird. How dressed up he was, the car he was riding in, who he was riding in said car with… it was like watching pieces of a puzzle you thought you knew the solution to come together to be something entirely different and foreign. Not bad, necessarily, just… foreign.

“You know, it’s a pity we didn’t take your car… or my truck.” He withdrew a joint from his breast pocket, watching it roll around in the clear vial that kept it from making his suit smell like he’d just gotten out of a Phish concert, “We could have had a very relaxing drive down to Portland. But… as it stands… I don’t think we should hotbox a Maserati.” He put it back into his pocket as he listened to what was a very unsatisfactory answer. “Lots of things are important to lots of people, Winn. Doesn’t mean everyone gets ten thousand dollars.”

The man’s comment about werewolves liking artists made Ricky chuckle, and he squeezed Winn’s thigh, “Uh-huh. Well… all of that is a terribly unsatisfactory answer, but, I guess that’s the best I can hope for this early in the evening. I’ll have to get you good and liquored up over dinner, which is on me, by the way, and get you to spill all the beans. You can get drunk right? That’d be such a drag if you were going to be a sober Susan all night. We’ve got plans… and don’t worry about driving home. We won’t be going back until tomorrow.”

The leather hugged Winn, like an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while. He had the money to throw down on a car like this, sure, but he knew himself too well. The bikes got more use than his shitty car, and he shelled out enough to keep them in good shape in the Maine winter. He could drive a graduate student-level car. He didn’t mind. Much.

When Ricky pulled the joint from his pocket, Winn winced. “Ah, sorry about that, man. I just… my car’s a mess.” True enough, and Ricky hadn’t seen his car. Not like Winn thought he’d judge, except… well, okay, he probably would. But it wouldn’t matter to him. Winn knew that, rationally. “We always could. I have the car for the weekend,” he said, only a bit dubious of his ability to get smoke out of the leather. Winn hummed along as the song faded and the next started up, reaching a hand down from the wheel to brush a thumb across the back of the hand Ricky had placed on his thigh. Focus on the road and not the devastatingly attractive man sitting next to you, Winner. Ricky squeezed, and Winn groaned. Dirty pool, Cordero, he knew Winn was—

Winn started talkin’, half to respond to Ricky, half to distract himself from the warm hand on his thigh. “I’m not tryin’ to be cagey, Ricks. I didn’t… think much about it. I would’ve done it if you’d asked me outright, date or no. The ‘cue was that good,” he quipped. He tried to resist askin’ a question about their direction. “Pretty presumptuous, if you’re askin’ me, Mr. Cordero. You’re lucky you’re pretty, otherwise might not let you get away with that.” He snickered, unable to take himself too seriously. “But no, I mean— Yes. I can get drunk. Takes me a minute longer than other folks, and, well, you’re responsible for bringin’ out drunk Winn. He’s a little… handsy. So is sober, Winn, though.” He moved his hand that had been on Ricky’s to give the other man’s thigh the same squeeze, hand a little further down than Ricky’s had been. “But I’m happy to be here, with you, y’know? Money or no. You make good company.”

Ricky caught the wince as Winn looked over at the joint in his hand, “You have the car for the weekend but I don’t think there’s a detailer talented enough to get the smell of good weed out of the fine-ass leather of this car. Don’t worry though. There’s gonna be plenty of time for that later.” Winn’s hand rested on the back of his own and the silence stretched out for a moment; in the momentary lacuna between songs it seemed extra quiet, but the music kicked up again, the same gentle song by KALEO that he used as his alarm in the morning, and that long long moment lapsed into the moment after, and then the moment after that, “I didn’t think you were being cagey.”

He laughed, removing his hand and looking at his phone to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, “If I thought you were being cagey and just trying to slum it with us “normal” low-class folks I wouldn’t have been as chill, but, your finances are your business and yours alone.” It wasn’t like Ricky had been particularly forthcoming about his own level of wealth. While he wasn’t even close to the same tax bracket as Winn it was unlikely he would ever truly want for anything.

“I don’t recall you complaining about my level of presumption when I had you bent over my washing machine the other week! But since I’m already acquainted with how handsy sober Winn can be, I think I’ll take my chances with Drunk Winn too.” Winn’s hand squeezed his thigh and he shot him a wicked smile, “Now who’s presumptuous? And we’ll see if you sing that same tune when you see how the evening unfolds. You might regret purchasing this date afterall.”

“If anyone suggested I was “slumming” it with you, they’d get a laugh and a punch ‘cross the face. Laugh, seein’ as how you look like a million bucks. Deckin’, ‘cause I’ve known too many rich assholes to have the patience for that shit.” Winn grimaced. “Not even a full moon week and I’m talkin’ about throwin’ hands. Must be somethin’ in the water.”

He listened attentively, only sputtering a little when Ricky mentioned their escapades again. “Ricky, there’s not a whole lot you could say that’d make me regret this, and, ‘sides, it seems like I’m already gettin’ my money’s worth. And you’ll forgive my rudeness if I remember holdin�� you up by your ass and spreading you open against your dryer a little better. Hard to forget, that.” Winn ran his hand down the middle of Ricky’s thigh, and back up. Two could play at this game, long as Ricky liked. But… “You’ve got me all pent up about the night’s activities, can’t I get even a little hint? I’ll make it worth your while. You name the price.” He snorted. “Not money, though, think I should keep a little around for a rainy day.”

Winn took a glance out his window, at the smattering of stars casting their light on the water. The tinted windows of the Maserati ruined the effect, just a little, but it was still a sight to behold. “It’s beautiful out, isn’t it?” he asked, more to himself than to Ricky. It was hard, had been hard, when he’d been in Europe, to remember to take the time to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. To slow down. Way this night was goin’ so far, he figured it was a good time as any to take every moment in.

“Oh, we all know hanging out with me is slumming it in the best way.” Ricky chuckled, acutely aware that he lived a life of privilege; from his financial comfort, to his social comfort, even to his supernatural comfort. He was reminded, again, that he hadn’t seen or talked to Skylar since their last unfortunate meeting, and a cloud passed briefly over his face, one he quickly strove to erase as he laughed. “Do you get a moon period? Are you super moody right before the moon. Do I need to start stocking up on ice cream and chocolate to throw at you as we start to approach a full moon? Maybe a heating pad and a nice romantic comedy to tide you over?”

Winn’s incredibly detailed recounting of the last time he’d been at Ricky’s house made him flush a scarlet that he was glad was mostly hidden by the car’s dim interior, “Uh huh. You would remember that. Pity I don’t have security cameras. Would have been one hell of a home movie.” His laugh overrode the music for a moment at Winn’s comment, tutting gently, “Oh… you’re going to be a helluva lot more pent up before the night is through, Winn. Don’t you worry… I’ve got a lot planned for us. You’re going to be getting your money’s worth, and a night you’re not going to forget.”

It was an abrupt change in Winn’s tone that accompanied the comment about the beauty around them, and Ricky nodded slowly, “Take exit seventeen up here. But yeah. It is. You know I’ve lived here my whole life… only been outside the state a couple times, and only outside the country once. But still I think Maine is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I love it here.”

Winn groaned. He’d been a big fan of chocolate, before the transformation. He could have a little, on occasion, but he tried to resist, hoping eventually he’d forget how it tasted — like vegetarians always claimed they did with meat. There was a solitary container of M&M’s in the freezer, for when he broke and just needed it. “No chocolate, please. We’re — some werewolves — allergic to it. Dog problems, y’know?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But, uh… Yeah, I get… grumpy, but mostly I get out the aggression on the ice. We have… other needs, too. Fightin’ and fuckin’, the werewolf story. If you give into one, you can usually mitigate the other. Since I’m not gettin’ laid every day of my life, I bury myself in burning out the wolf in practice the days ‘round the moon. Go punch trees, be the world’s worst karate stereotype.” He let Ricky talk for a moment, watching for the exit he’d mentioned, only stopping him to joke — “Record me any time, bro, I look great on a camera, I can show off for you.” — and to snort a little at Ricky’s own humor.

Winn took the exit as Ricky talked about his feelings for Maine, letting out a small sigh and deciding to chance a bit of the rawness Cece had (sort of) complimented him on. “I… miss my home, sometimes, y’know? I never thought I’d leave, really. Down south is different, all mountains and valleys and folks who’ll shoot your face off — though, glad to be away from them, uh, mostly. But your home helps me forget about that. A lot, actually. Don’t know if I’ve ever said it aloud, but I don’t know. I… think I could see myself finding a home here.” His voice got quiet, buried in the music thrumming through the car, “I hope.”

Winn cleared his throat. “Could also go traveling the world, though! Y’ever been to Europe? Lots of good food, good people!” He laughed a little too loud, he thought, but maybe he was overthinking it. It’s not like he was tryin’ to hide from Ricky, but, well, maybe Ricky wasn’t the only person who thought he could scare folks away.

Ricky bit his lip for a long moment, taking several deep breaths and steepling his fingers in front of his face. “I am going to try really hard to be respectful here, really very hard… But… you’re telling me… you’re a goddamn werewolf… And you can’t fucking have chocolate.” It took every single iota of control that he had not to laugh hysterically at what seemed to be the funniest bit of supernatural carryover. “That’s… That’s a very interesting bit of dietary restriction and I will be sure to keep that in mind when I order for us this evening.”

Several deep breaths later and he had the urge to laugh entirely under control. “Well you know if you had to be any karate stereotype, you picked a good one. You could have been “weird divorced dad who’s a strip mall karate instructor” and that’s just not a fucking good look for anyone. You can smell the desperation on that one a mile away.”

He listened, carefully and silently, as Winn very uncharacteristically talked at length about something that seemed very personal and sincere. It was a good look for him. When he finished, and Ricky was sure he had finished because he didn’t want to interrupt that particular bout of sincerity, he nodded slowly. “Once. My parents are… or were… or I guess are and were…” he paused for a moment, parsing out the grammatical accuracy of the statement he was about to make, “Actually you know what, it is were. My mom’s dead and my dad moved back. Anyway. My parents were immigrants. My mom was from Ireland and my dad was from Venezuela. So, after I graduated high school… Like literally several hours after… I got on a plane and flew out to meet my mom’s family.”

He paused again, looking ahead at the several conversational roads that diverged in front of him, “My mom’s clan. With her dead, I was the only Selkie left in White Crest, that I knew about, and books can only teach you so much. So…. I spent three months before my freshman year of college in this fucking TINY little fishing village north of Galway. Didn’t speak English til I came back to Maine, just learned… Everything. That I didn’t know about how to be what I am. So… in a very long winded answer to your question… yeah I’ve been to one very very small rural part of Europe once.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Winn deadpanned, knowing how his chocolate problem sounded, after he’d said it aloud. Ricky was clearly trying to phrase it as delicately as possible, and he did appreciate it, but… c’mon, it wasn’t that funny. There were theories about why the chocolate allergy carried over were varied, and some lucky assholes didn’t even have to deal with it. He snorted at the assessment of stereotypes, quipping a short, “Yeah, that’s not the kind of thing I want people to smell on me, y’know?” One small turn apparently deserved another, and Winn cocked his head to the side, trying to make as much eye contact with Ricky as was possible while still keeping an eye on the road. Luckily, and maybe surprisingly, the road that Ricky was leading them down was fairly clear of cars.

“I, uh—” he started. He knew from his classes, and personal experience, that Ricky had just divulged some fairly deep information, including information about, well, the secret to end all secrets, right? Winn sounded the word “selkie” out in his head while he thought about his response, racking his brain to figure out what that could mean. He thought back to the late night texts Ricky had sent, wondered if he’d meant to tell Winn. Winn wasn’t a guarded person, not really, but he had… the impression that Ricky was, that maybe Ricky being honest with him was something precious, to be cherished. “My father was an immigrant, too. Raised in Singapore for most of ‘is childhood, till his parents decided to send him to the States for college, told him not to come back. I… always appreciated what he did, I guess, for me. Ma was the granddaughter of a coal miner, daughter of a “self-made man” type. Neither of them were werewolves, don’t know I am. Don’t speak to them much.”

He paused, considering how best to say this, not wanting to come across as callous, but knowing, if Ricky’s mother had died before Ricky graduated from high school, that going too far into the “gentle hands'' school would be, maybe, offensive. Grief stung, but pity stung worse. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he settled on. It wasn’t enough, but was there ever anything that could be?

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what a Selkie is. But I’d like to hear more about it, if you’ll tell me. No pressure. Just… from one shifter to another, I know it can be… weird, reconciling two parts of yourself. Not to, um, assume that’s your experience. I know…” A pause. “... friends o’ mine, who don’t see it as two halves. And for me, for someone who chose this life, I know that I usually feel… more free, when I’m the wolf. Wouldn’t say happier, jus’... freer.” He tentatively put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “And thank you. Know that maybe sounds weird, but… I wasn’t lyin’, I do want to get to know you better, Ricky. Whatever parts you want to show me. So, I’m grateful.”

He glanced at the clock on the dash, doing some quick mental math. “And let me know if there’s another turn I should be lookin’ for. Seems like maybe we should be gettin’ close? To… wherever.” He left his hand on Ricky’s shoulder, waiting for the other man to tell him to move it, or lean in, or do whatever he needed to do. Winn was a hands-on kinda guy, in more ways than one. His words were good, but his actions could speak louder, he thought. He waited.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to call the restaurant and tell them to cancel the chocolate fountain I ordered for dessert.” Ricky was only human… ish… and he could only maintain so much composure upon hearing that his werewolf date for the evening had a legit dog-like chocolate allergy.

To his credit, Winn managed to make it very, very clear that Ricky’s story held his full attention, and the road only part of it, as Ricky laid out at least the framework for the story about what he was and where he’d come from. When he’d finished, Winn started his own story, and it helped Ricky at least start to put the puzzle pieces together of what the man behind the frat boy bravado was like.

He couldn’t help but laugh, however, when Winn admitted he had no idea what Ricky was. “We’re not terribly common. Especially in America. We tend to stick to the UK where we’re from originally. As far as I know, after my mom died I was the only Selkie in White Crest for over a decade. But… we’re shifters, like you, but instead of a wolf, I’m a seal. Born a seal, first turned into a human when I was about two. We’re at-will shifters, as long as we have our skin, so I’m not chained to the whims of the moon like you are. Take a left up here on Hall.” He pointed to the intersection in question and then scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“I never really… I came into the shifter thing at an advantage. We’re born, not made, and I was lucky enough to be born to a family where it was all really commonplace and ordinary, so I never really had to go through the whole ‘duality of identity’ crisis that I know a lot of shifters do. I am a seal, who can turn into a human. That’s just me. I’ve got bigger problems than trying to work out how to wrap my head around that, you know? That’s just… The boring and average part.”

As the car made the turn and he looked at the map on his phone a wolfish smile started to creep its way across his face. “Then up here you’re gonna take a right onto Congress. After about… looks like a mile… the place we’re headed should be on the left. I think you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Well, I’m clearly not the best educated wolf on the block. No one mentioned anythin’ other than werewolves, ‘fore I got changed. Selkie,” Winn started, trying the word out in his mouth again. “Seal. Got it. But, dude. That’s so fuckin’ rad. I don’t, uh, mean to, like— I just, it’s cool to not be the only supernatural thing out there in the big wide world. It’s cool that you’re a part of this, that I mean… that we don’t have to hide that shit between each other?” He felt a light flush rise to his cheeks and ears. “Um— Uh, but—” What the shit, Winner, get your act together.

“We do both have a connection to the moon, though, right?” he tried, grasping at something else Ricky had mentioned to pivot the subject. Moon. Okay, he could talk about the moon. “Don’t know much about seals either, but ocean tides must be somethin’ you’re aware of, I can’t… like, imagine that, if the moon looks at the sea funny, that wouldn’t change somethin’ for y’all? Swimmin’ patterns? Where the good fish are? Same for us ‘n deer or other forest grub. I mean, stop me if I’m totally off base.” He took the first turn. “Wish it was out tonight, really. Not gonna rise till after 3, I think. I haven’t looked at an almanac in a second.”

He took the next turn Ricky pointed out, driving down Congress and takin’ in the sights of Portland. He’d been down here a couple times, and it was a softer sort of city than D.C., but he liked it. “Ricky,” Winn said, turning to look at him fully for a brief moment, eyes soft in the dim light of the car. “Don’t really think there’s much ‘boring’ or ‘average’ ‘bout you, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.” He turned back in his seat, driving comfortably along, keeping an eye to his left for somethin’ that’d be… obvious. He cracked the window ‘bout halfway, to see a little better past the tint, and that’s when the smell hit him. Fuck.

Winn pushed down a little harder on the pedal, almost instinctively, headin’ towards the source of that smell. Eventually, his eyes caught on a low, brick building, with “SALVAGE BBQ” written on the side in what (Winn thought) was black-and-yellow lettering. He could kiss Ricky. Actually… Winn parallel parked the Mas and, with a big grin, unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across the middle of the car to plant a (oops, probably a little wet?) kiss against Ricky’s stubble, smiling against the other man’s cheek. “You’re a man after my own heart, you know that?” he said, a little breathy. Was he being too excited? He was prolly bein’ too excited. But, well, his metaphorical tail was waggin’. He leaned back over, open up his door. “Bro,” he said, reverently.

“I mean… You still very, very much have to hide this shit, but not from me.” Ricky gave Winn his patented heart melting crooked smile, laying on the charm extra thick as he listened to a blushing Winn navigate his way through some moon logic. “Mmmmm. Maybe technically? But the moon has no practical effect on my day to day life. I can change during any phase of it, and my sense of smell is so acute that I always know where the good fish are. I think the closest connection to the moon I have is that it’s safest for me to change at night, so I’m just used to swimming around by its light.”

He let the conversation trail off a little as they neared their destination, watching Winn carefully. The minute the man cracked the window, Ricky knew he’d figure it out; if he could smell the bbq with seal sense then Winn definitely could with werewolf scent. Sure enough, Ricky could swear he saw Winn’s ears actually perk up when he caught the scent and sight of the building they were approaching. “I’m pretty and dumb, but did you really think I was making us get all dressed up for some fancy ass shit? Nah bruh, that’s a bait and goddamn switch right there. So congrats, we’re gonna be the only two people in three-piece suits up in what has been lauded as Portland’s best bbq place.”

He laughed at the excited kiss planted on his cheek before getting out of the low sports car, feet crunching across the gravel as they walked towards the door. “Sit, boy.” He pointed to a nearby table with “Reserved Cordero” on it before walking over to the counter, “Yeah hi. I called ahead earlier. Cordero. We had two Meat Fatalities, quart of collard greens, quart of mac and cheese, two sides of the BFFs, large order of hush puppies, and three orders of pickles. Could I also get two waters, two of that bourbon barrel-aged stout I see on tap, and about a whole roll of paper towels? We’re gonna need it.” He carefully balanced the beer and water as he wandered back over to the table, setting them down and grinning, “I ordered enough food for about fifteen people. So. I hope you came hungry. This is only stop one. Gotta fuel up.”

Ricky had a real nice smile, Winn thought. One that Winn wanted to keep puttin’ on the other man’s face; after all, he had a whole night to do it. So, he’d been wrong about the tides affectin’ Ricky. Big whoop. He had time to learn the ins and outs (... and ins and outs) of selkie biology. He’d picked up what he needed about wolves, easy enough. “You’re a goddamn menace,” Winn said as Ricky explained his plan, “... but one who’s got me pegged pretty well, it seems. This is the shit.” Winn’s laugh was big and full, enough so that a pedestrian looked over for a moment in concern. But fuck that dude, he was having fun.

The inside of the place reminded him a little of the campgrounds that the National Park service had set-up through the Shenandoah — long picnic tables situated against the windowed wall, smaller tables set up throughout, a little dinery, a little rough-’n-tumble. “Sit, boy.” did things to Winn that he’d be ashamed to admit in polite company, sending a pleasant shock up his spine. The wolf felt what Winn felt about the whole affair, but more… primally. Winn sat down, shifting his suit pants while Ricky’s back was turned and hoping like hell a wannabe Karen hadn’t seen him pretty much fondlin’ his dick underneath the table. He had a reputation to keep in tact, damn it.

He heard bits and pieces of what Ricky had ordered for them, wiping the mental (and, frankly, physical, whoops) drool away from the side of his mouth. Winn hadn’t eaten since that morning, to be prepared for whatever the date might entail — a ten-thousand dollar fuck far from out of the question. Mentally, he made a deal of sorts between the two halves of himself. No, you can’t just shove your face down in the meat and go to town, that’s gross. Yes, if you aren’t satisfied, I’ll coax the beautiful seal man into another helpin’. No growling, no matter how hungry or horny you are. Just… don’t. Non-wolves think it’s weird.

When Ricky mentioned the sheer amount of grub he ordered, Winn just grinned, too delighted for words. He took a long pull of the stout that Ricky had gotten, the oakyness slidin’ down his throat just right before respondin’. Leaning across the table, reminiscent of the first date they’d had, Winn said, at his usual volume (which is to say, slightly above an inside voice), “What’s our plan of attack here, Ricks? You’re the ‘cue master, you’ve gotta guide me. Teach me. Tantalize me.” A wink and a smirk, as was his typical choice when bein’ forward on purpose. “And if this is only stop one, I can’t wait to see what comes next. Bet it’s a big ol’ secret, though, huh?” He leaned back in his seat, head cocked subtly to the side, takin’ in the smell of the ‘cue… and of Ricky, the wolf waggin’ its tail happily, at peace with itself — with himself.

It was infinitely edifying to Ricky to see how much he’d hit the nail on the head with both his restaurant choice and his date choice. He’d gone through a lot of options in his head; high brow weekend in New York, drug and booze fuck/game fest in a cabin by the lake, renting a boat for a moonlight sail, the options had been many. But in the end Ricky had decided that none of them felt… Winn. He did know, however, that Winn had an eye and stomach for barbecue, and after some research had discovered this place.

A band played at the far end of the restaurant, some four piece local folk ensemble singing about ghosts in the woods, and he knocked his glass against Winn’s before taking a long drink of what turned out to be a pretty damn decent stout. He moved the various bottles of barbecue sauce around the table as he listened to Winn, “The plan of attack? Eat. Eat. More eat.” He looked over his shoulder to see no fewer than three waiters carrying their trays of food toward them, inhaling deeply as they set them down in front of them.

“Hey. Ricky doesn’t phone it in when he’s gotta take a dude out. This place has won like a million awards. And I know you’re serious when it comes to barbecue. And yes. It is a big ol’ secret and you know that. You gotta just roll with the punches tonight.” He grabbed one of the french fries and started nibbling at it, examining his sauce selections as he inhaled the smell of the barbecue in front of him. “I think I’m gonna start with chicken though. Because why the fuck not. Everyone loves chicken.”

They chowed down for a few minutes before Winn came up for air. He was making a conscious effort not to eat like, well, a wolf, but Ricky seemed to have his own appetite to sate. Protein would certainly play well, later… if the later that Winn envisioned came to fruition. The food was so damn good. “Damn, dude.” He looked at the spread before them, not even a little full, but in awe of the sheer amount of barbecue on display. The different sauces danced across his tongue — his favorite, a sweet Carolina with just a hint of vinegar. But there was a hotter one, a little more tangy, that was also right up his alley. The meat was all cooked perfectly, moist enough that it’d be great on its own, and not so moist that it didn’t take the sauce on, and the sides? Shit, Winn had never even been a collard greens person, and he’d kill a man for the recipe on display here.

“Bro…” He didn’t have the words to express just how much this was up his alley. “You really know the way to a man’s heart, and stomach. That’s for fuckin’ sure.” This was going to be a good night.

[takemealivelh]

One Night Stand - M.C.

Part 1 || 2.6k | | Georgia works in the same hotel 5SOS is staying in. || Mentions of alcohol and sex || FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED

PART 2

The hotel was always warm inside, the long sleeves of Georgia’s uniform kept her skin hot and sweaty. She liked to step out into the crisp morning after her night shift. Stuffed belongings in a gym bag and a thin cardigan on her body, Georgia’s mouth watered at the thought of a blueberry muffin from the coffee shop across the street. It was something to look forward after eight hours of sitting on the front desk, waiting for guests to show up -mostly drunk- after a night out in the city.

Georgia liked her job, even if it was extenuating at times. A five-star hotel paycheck was not an easy earning.

7 am, she waved goodbye to her coworkers, the ones who were clocking in for the day. As she made her way to the wide glass front doors, Georgia stopped in her tracks when she saw the multitude outside.

“Look out!”

“I think I see them!”

“Step back!”

“That’s not them!”

There were two security guards blocking the entrance. A camera crew was hanging outside, interviewing the crowd that grew bigger every passing second. The hotel had a habit of booking last-minute reservations for important people. Management didn’t believe in telling their workers beforehand. They wanted to avoid any gossip that could end up in a commotion.

Nevertheless, they were often outsmarted.

-

“Hey.”

Samuel, one of the security guards, propped up from the slouched posture he’d been in since the night before. “Are you alright, G?”

She adjusted the gym bag on her shoulder, eyes hooded with exhaustion. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The parking lot was on the other side of the hotel. Georgia had walked past the dining hall, through the kitchen, and down the storage room stairs. Her nights were lonely. She’d grown accustomed to the empty chair next to her. The staff entrance was right between two shelves, stocked with perishable goods.

Smiling at the older man through the guard hut’s glass, her curiosity grew.  “Who’s staying?”

“Band.”  Samuel reached out to press a button, the thick Ghanaian accent rolling off his tongue. He let the gates glide open with a sweet smile, and Georgia walked through the lugubrious underground, right up to where he was working. “Don’t know ‘em, but my granddaughter likes ‘em. She’s going to the concert tomorrow night.” The older man leaned back in his chair, reaching for a cup of coffee. Thick glasses fogged up behind the steam. “It’s a number and a season, I think. She calls ‘em… 5SOS?”

A lump hard to digest threatened Georgia’s throat.

“I’m in a band, y’know?” He’d smiled across the two pints of ale. A playful yet awkward look on his face, toying with the bracelets on his wrist. They’d been sitting across from each other since the match had started. Man United 1. Liverpool 0.

She felt her hands become slimy with sweat, the reminiscing was too strong.

“Is that true or just a tactic?” Her fingertips were already aching to touch him. She’d slid them towards him, brushing against the skin of his forearms.

The noise around them was nothing but a buzz easy to ignore. Groups of friends wearing their teams’ shirts, downing pint after pint and screaming at the screen that hung above the bar. Yet, neither Georgia or the blushing blonde sitting across from her, had seemed to care.

Her ears grew red, heating up as she replayed the scene in her head.

“Nah, nah, I’m not one to lie. I play the guitar.”

His lopsided smile still made sporadic appearances in her mind. After all this time.

“Hello? Yes, okay.” Samuel spoke into his walkman and leaned forward again. “Step out, G. The van’s coming this way.”

The gates slid open. She heard the engine before seeing the lights of the van.

“Do you always travel in a bus?” Georgia had asked him while stepping out into the night. He’d suggested going to a motel since his bandmates were hanging out in the bus. She was living with her mom and sister at the time.

“Not always,” he’d shrugged, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jacket.

The night air was cold, the steam of their breath visible with every word they spoke. He’d wondered if she was always fun and light when keeping a conversation with someone she was about to sleep with. They both knew how the night was going to end.  

“Why? D’ya wanna see it?” He’d quirked an eyebrow, cheeks flushed in a pretty pink. “Do you like being watched?”

Georgia had laughed and shoved his shoulder, making him stumble into a bush.

“Hey!” His laugh echoed through the empty street. “Play nice! I’ve still got this wrapped up.”

Two years ago, she’d met Michael by coincidence.

Before she had started working in the hotel, Georgia helped one of her friend’s mothers at a tattoo parlour. A receptionist on weekends, a college student the rest of the time. The guitarist had been charmingly nervous when paying for his newest ink. An undecided blunt flirt.

“Come on!” He’d giggled as he propped his freshly tatted forearm on the desk. Slick, black lines looked glossy under the plastic wrap. Georgia had thought they looked cool, wondered why he had chosen that specific design.

She tried to suppress the grin that threatened to take over her face. There was something about his uneven confidence that made her curious.

“One drink won’t hurt.”

His smile had been devastatingly tantalizing.

Georgia waved goodbye to the security man and walked up the few steps leading to the street. The van stopped a few feet away from her. Loud music drowned any other sounds coming from inside the car.

She wondered if Michael would recognize her, if he would remember her at all. Their date had been fun, fast and frenzied. He had left a permanent imprint of himself in her memory. Part of her was hopeful that she did the same to him.

The driver stuck his head out of the window, reaching for the signing sheet Samuel was handing him.

Green eyes met hers through a half-opened window in the backseat. The laughter inside the vehicle came to a stop.

“Georgia?”

-

Her face was still flushed with embarrassment when she reached the front desk at 10 pm. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else during the day. Michael’s eyes had been so expressive, he had been so surprised. Her name on his lips had lulled her to sleep at 10 am and had woken her up at 8 pm.

The motel she had suggested was only a few blocks away.

“What are you? A regular?” He’d joked. Michael’s smile was hazy. He was a bit drunk but mostly, he was aroused.

They stood behind the traffic light, in the middle of the corner, waiting for it to turn green. “Yes.” Georgia had rolled her eyes at his question. A few cars drove past them, loud pumping EDM music whooshing with them. “They have a special room for me and my suitors.” Georgia turned to Michael, “they give me a robe with my name embroidered on the back. Like I’m the MVP or something.”

Her teasing smile was definitely her best feature.

Michael had liked her. She was funny and clever. Her joy inspired his own.

He’d reached an arm out and let it snake around her waist, pulling her close enough to press a clumsy kiss on the corner of her lips. “You have a pretty name. Bet it looks good on that robe.”

-

The wheels of her chair creaked against the wooden floor. 1 am. The reception was quiet.

Empty.

Usually, when big artists were staying in the hotel, there were no other reservations to make. Security guarded the front doors. The only people with a press pass were allowed inside.

Georgia was bored. Even when the phone rang with an angry guest on the other side of the line, she found something to be amused by. She wasn’t one to break when others got judgemental. Georgia had learned it a long time ago; the best way not to let bitterness under your skin, was to chew it and make a funny face.

5SOS had returned to the hotel only a few minutes ago. She hadn’t even caught a glimpse of them. They’d gone up straight through the elevator, but she recognized their presence, knew the riot outside would keep going for about an hour or two.

She wondered if she’d be able to sneak a ten-minute break. The night was warm enough to be pleasant. The thought of the pool on the courtyard was too tempting.

“Those guys can sure eat.”

Georgia looked up from the computer screen, snapping out of her thoughts. She’d been double-checking inventory and reservations for the next month, or at least that’s what she felt like she should have been doing. The bell boy stood on the other side of the desk, pushing his black curls off his face.

“I had to do three trips. They gave me a good tip, though.” When he saw Georgia’s confused face, he laughed and fished for something inside his trousers’ pocket. “The band, G. I’m talking about the band.”

“You’re close friends now?” She twisted her bottom lip into an inquisitive smile.

“Sure,” her co-worker rolled his eyes before placing an envelope on the desk, in front of her.  “The blonde one, I think he’s the guitarist, said to give you this.”

The cream-coloured paper suddenly held the weight of the world. Georgia recognized the stationary. She’d received countless of them throughout her time working on the front desk. Congratulations, suggestions, complaints. This one did not have any of those inside, and she knew that.

Georgia thanked her friend and told him to go find a harmonica he could play once the band let him in. He laughed at her words and told her to adjust the collar of her uniform. “That ink is spilling, G.”

Her boss had been quick to let her go with the handsome blonde. “Have fun,” she’d said.

Georgia had followed her date out of the parlour and down the stairs. There was something about his energy, rather clumsy and comforting at the same time. She hadn’t met anyone like Michael before. Someone confident, cocky but in a self-conscious way. A daredevil that doubted his words too often.

“You got any tattoos?” Michael had asked her as they left the small building. Avoiding a few cyclists that were crossing the street. “What am I saying? Of course, you do. It’s part of the job, innit? Or a perk, right?”

The six-o’-clock sunset lit his eyes and Georgia thought he was absolutely beautiful. “Well, I’m an idiot then,” she laughed, “because if free ink is a thing, then I don’t have any.” She shook her head, reaching a hand up to her forehead, shielding the light from her eyes.

“And you work there? That’s kinda ridiculous.” Michael pushed his denim jacket sleeve down to cover his new tattoo. “Don’t you want one though?”

Georgia hummed for a moment, “I kind of want one here,” she pushed her red t-shirt to the side, revealing her collarbone. “But I don’t know what I want it to be, if that makes sense. I haven’t found one I want to commit to, ya know?”

Michael had stared at the exposed skin, “a feather,” he’d said.

“What?”

He thought her laugh was the cutest thing in the world. “I don’t know!” He laughed along with her. “You seem like the kind of person who likes their freedom. I know nothing about you but... I don’t know... You remind me of a bird. Is that weird?”

“Yes, that’s weird!”

Michael laughed and gestured to their left, “I saw this cool pub on my way here. Wanna go?”

Georgia rolled her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears, “you’re weird, Michael.”

Once the bell boy had left, Georgia readjusted the collar of her shirt. The blue-ish feather tattoo on her collarbone was one of her favorite things about her body. She had surprised herself by getting the tattoo Michael had suggested, two weeks after their encounter. Somehow, it had felt right. As if Michael had given her the push she needed.

The envelope only had her name written on top of it. No room number, no remittent, no smiley face, no angry face, no nothing.

Her fingertips felt electric when she picked the piece of paper. She was eager to read what Michael had written. There was a chance that it was nothing, but she doubted it.

Somehow, when she read his words, sloppy and sharp-edged, she wasn’t surprised.

Funny how you look exactly the same, but you cut your hair.

You look good.

Is it weird to tell you that now that I’m here?

I miss talking to you?

-

3 am.

She didn’t feel the water splash around her ankles when a body sat next to her.

“And it is you.”

Michael’s eyes were as bright and as expressive as she remembered. They were kind and honest, and the dimmed neon lights of the ten-feet-wide pool gave them a wonderful glow.

Georgia was surprised to find herself so at peace. She didn’t have the urge to jump on him, to either hug him or kiss him. She wasn’t embarrassed like she’d been earlier that day.

This, sitting next to him, felt right. It felt homely.

The night wasn’t quiet, there were a few pubs near the hotel. She and Michael had the incessant soundtracks to please their ears. She liked the detail because it reminded her of where they’d gotten acquainted.

“It is you.” Georgia teased back. She smiled at the man next to her.

He was definitely a man now. Black jeans rolled up to his calves, his bare feet dangling in the water, a confident posture throughout his spine, a beautiful stubble covering his cheeks and chin, a beanie to keep his head warm.

“Are you allowed to hang out here during working hours?”

His voice was gruffer than two years ago, but the tone to his vowels felt clean. Michael had grown to be confident in a shy way. It suited him. Much better than the self-conscious charm.

Georgia shrugged and let out a sigh as she pulled her legs off the water. “Not really.” She smiled at him, hugging her knees against her chest. “But this specific spot is not covered by the security cameras and I’m on my break.”

“From a tattoo parlour to a 5-star hotel. That’s a step-up.”

“Don’t you play Wembley in two days?”

Michael rolled his eyes. The bursting wit hadn’t faded.

“I think I’ve missed you, too.”

They’d tripped their way through the front door of the motel, they’d stumbled upon their words when getting a key. Michael’s arm was holding her close to his body for as long as they weren’t inside their room. He thought she would run away if he didn’t cling onto her.

“Where’s the robe? You lied to me!”

Michael had laughed as he laid on the twin-sized bed of room 7. The walls were of a faded burgundy color, the thick curtains were closed and they had one bathroom with no soap or towels or shower. Or robes.

Georgia had chuckled at his comment, quickly stripping her jacket off her shoulders and pulling her shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room.

“You want me in a robe now?”

“God, no!” He had almost begged, sitting up, leaning his back against the headboard, against the wall. He wanted her on top of him. He wanted her to straddle him and kiss his aching lips while he touched every single bit of exposed skin. He wanted her.

Georgia had seen the eagerness on the blonde’s face. How he tried to stop squirming on the mattress. His hard-on was noticeable through the fabric of his pants.

As if she’d read his mind, Georgia plopped on the bed and crawled up to him. Her lips close enough to his ear to whisper “go on, take your shirt off.”

---

PART 2

TAG LIST

@brown-eyedshell @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @myloverboyash @hopeless-renassianceluke @dukesnumber1 @5sosnsfw @angelbabylu @cal-pal-cuddles  @1dthewantedlove @problematicprincessa @heartbreak-5sos @bloodmoonashton @irwinkitten @singt0mecalum @sublimehood @dweebluke @sugarcoated-pain @cal-puddies @lashtoncurls @rosecoloredash @sweetcherrymike @calumspeachy @ashtonsunshine @wonderland-irwin @ashtonandcalslefthand @post-traumatic-mess @damselindistressanu @dammitbands @c-dizzle-swizzlex @mycollectionofnuts @calteahood @rainingcalum @cals-eyebrows @calsjackets @blackbluemichael @mooseclifford

[thesecretisbutter]

A Few bad signs to look out for when interviewing for a job

Finding a job is one of the most important things you can do as a human being in America. In fact, the emphasis on having a job in America is so large, that if you don’t have a job of a means of making consistent income you are often seen as less of a person.

On the other hand, there are also a lot of employers that will likely see you as less of a person if you work for them. These jobs are often associated with the title of “sales,” but that isn’t always the case. There are many types of jobs where you can end up being the business’s means of income rather than their method of making income. These businesses are dangerous and designed to use you through employment and often discard you before you can take away any profits.

Through my long and arduous search to find work, I have come to identify a few key indicators that a company is more interested in using you than actually hiring you. Don’t think I’m just writing this to get back at any company or companies either, the more people that find actual work the better. When people find a job that isn’t going to exploit them other businesses learn that those types of systems make more money than their abusive ones. In short, bad businesses die if you work towards finding a job that isn’t for a bad business.

So, what are the signs? Here are a few that are most obvious and telling when or if you get an interview.

1)      You got the interview

I’m not trying to take you down a peg, because most people don’t need to be treated like that. But something you should be aware of is the eagerness of a company that is trying to hire you. While it can be completely fine to get a quick response from a potential employer, which is likely to happen if you are exceptionally qualified or a good fit, but when a company takes time to linger on you as a candidate, there’s usually an ulterior motive.

Companies that thrive on employee quantity are by and large bad places. Common instances of this are places like call centers, sales/travel sales companies, and mass media marketers. And don’t get me wrong, you can make money doing these types of jobs (and if you can’t get work anywhere else, these are real options), but the majority of the time the business is making money primarily off of your time rather than whatever it is that you’re doing.

So, when you get a quick and easy interview response, you need to be aware of any signs that you are being recruited rather than hired. Things like going to a location and finding a group of other candidates being interviewed on the same day for the same job and rapid follow up interviews are good signs.

If it looks like a lot of candidates are being pushed through the hiring process to work for the company, that’s probably an indication that they don’t necessarily care what skills you have and you’ll be doing the roughest side of the work they do. This happens mostly in sales and telemarketing, though the former is stealthier about this and the latter is more blunt. This is dangerous particularly if you have an educated background and a good work history, it means they don’t value your experience at all and that your only value lies in being a person that will do whatever they say.

Rapid follow up interviews are also bad indicators. An initial interview could be going great, but if you are invited to stick around for a second round of interviews or are told on the spot after your first interview of when the next scheduled round of interviews will be, this means that the first interview did not matter beyond being a quick vetting process. They want to see if you can commit to the time and basic phrasing of the position before they tell you what you’ll be doing (and that will still probably not be clear). They already expect you to make it to the second interview because, again, they don’t want to hire you, they want to recruit you. Lining you up for a second interview is how they invest you in continuing with the recruitment process; if you say yes, you are more likely to ignore some red flags and accept their offer of “employment.”

2)      Bad morale

Company morale is very important, it tells you whether your coworkers are going to be bearable and if you’ll actually be able to survive in that job. However, it’s hard to see from outside of actual employment at a company if the morale is good. But there are a few trick questions you can drop in an interview to pick up on potential tension and bad company culture. These are particularly useful if you are in a second interview, but also work on an initial interview as well.

“That’s not what I heard from *first interviewer*.” In a second interview, this question will tell you a lot. If the interviewer throws the employee that interviewed you initially under the bus, that’s a bad sign. Responses like “well, I don’t know what *interviewer 1* told you…” or “he messes that up sometimes” indicate a willingness to ingratiate you towards the second interviewer over the first, even though both have the same goal and method of profiting from your employment. All you have to do is listen for a detail that the first interviewer told you get repeated by the second and butt in with a “that’s not what I heard.” This doesn’t work so well if the same person interviews you both times, but it can indicate how good that one person’s memory is.

“Have you ever worked in retail?” This is a great question if you want to get a sense of the background of the interviewer and the other employees at the company. Working in retail is unanimously “the worst,” and it is often extremely degrading, but it is a means to an end. People that have never worked retail are less likely to be empathetic towards real world problems, the personal struggles of individuals, and are less likely to be able to handle genuinely difficult social situations. This might even be a good question to ask an interviewee, as it will tell you a lot about a person in general. But when aimed at an interviewer, people who have never worked in retail are generally worse coworkers.

“What is the company culture like?” An easy and common enough question for an interview, but also dangerous. Companies that invest too much in “we’re awesome” culture and activities are less productive overall. If a company has a party culture with frequently provided meals, hang-out periods, and lots of workplace amenities (like a ping-pong table, pool table, and arcade cabinet) that company is likely less interested in you doing work in that workplace and more interested in you going out and doing menial dirty work. Don’t get me wrong, restrictive work culture like you’ll find at most call centers is way worse, but if a company is trying to razzle dazzle you with “fun things” that’s not usually a good sign for one reason or another.

3)      Pop-up Offices (AKA–location, location, location)

This is something I thought everyone noticed, but (apparently) I’m weird and not everyone else sees these things. The layout and elements of a workplace can tell you a lot about it in ways you might not realize. And the most dangerous thing to look out for is a pop-up office.

While location has a big part to play ( i.e., how far away from the interstate the place is, what other businesses are in the immediate area, what level of living does the area look connected to), it is just as important to pay attention to the interior and exterior of the location itself.

So, what is a pop-up office and why am I bringing it up? Well, a pop-up office is a workplace that is designed to look nice and pleasant, but actually hasn’t been there that long and probably won’t stay there too long by design. These types of locations have hastily painted walls (a good tip off is to look at light switch and electrical outlet covers for smudges of paint, bonus points if the cover is old and yellowed plastic), cheap but nice looking furniture sets (usually bought in bulk from a home furniture store or provided by the company at large for these locations), empty or sparse bookshelves, lack of cameras or other security in the office or outside the office (particularly noteworthy if the area isn’t so great), worn locks on the doors, a lack or extreme abundance of company logos, stock art hanging on the walls, and possibly a large TV that is left on at an odd volume (either too quiet for anyone to hear in silence or slightly too loud to facilitate genuine conversation). These are all things that are used to make you think that the office space is something it really isn’t—stable, fashionable, and profitable. In reality, a pop-up office is just that, a façade. They can pop-up and pop back down on a dime and leave their employees in the dust because there is no more money left to be made at that location.

Conversely, good signs would be modest furniture, low-level visible security, no visible electrical outlets, well maintained textured ceiling (no yellow and brown spots or dust), and any evidence of janitorial work (vacuum cleaner tracks on carpet, lack of dust, slightly mismatched patches of paint from cover up work). These are the sort of things you see in a workplace that has been around for a bit and is confident that it will stay around.

4)      Reverse selling

It is never a good sign when an interviewer starts giving you the same lines that you expect to give them, but it happens. This is a big part of recruiting, and it is always a bad sign.

Part of your job as an interviewee is to explain how you can make money for the company. That is where your value as an employee comes from. Can you reduce waste? Do you work hard and keep a good pace? Can you take a bad business interaction and still have a smile on your face? Whatever it takes, you want to convince a company that your employment there would be mutually beneficial.

When a company starts explaining these sorts of thing to you, you should know that something is going wrong. Promises of big weekly payouts (often stated as “*this one guy that works* here usually makes/has made *some number probably close to $2,500* a week”), detailed interviewer introductions, explaining how the company can help you make more money or start your own company through them are common ones. These are attempts to make you more comfortable accepting a recruitment offer, basically seducing you with great potential when your chances of success (particularly long term) are actually quite low. They just want massive numbers of people working for them, so they make the job sound as enticing as possible.

In reality, these companies usually want you to exhaust your family, friends, and business acquaintances for clients. Essentially, they’re hiring you for your potential connections. Those are usually easy sales or clients to get, but only one-off profits for the company. In the end your employment will probably look like this: you get the job, pitch the company product to people that trust you, and then you dry up and get a different job… but now you have less people that trust you and you become more defensive about your work.

 This isn’t an exhaustive list of bad signs. In fact, you probably already know most of the obvious bad signs that you’ll see. You gut is usually a good indicator too. If a company feels bad, look into them. If their interview, the job posting, and the company background don’t add up to the job you think you’re applying for than that company is either terribly unorganized or just a terrible company. Don’t let some garbage business abuse you and take your time away from you to make money. Keep your eyes peeled, but don’t forget to trust people to a degree. Give people the time to talk to you before you jump to conclusions, but don’t let them decide for you.

[jacks-tracks]

Bantayan Biker

Bantayan is a big island, fairly flat, with good cement roads. I’d met a local who drove me about town, and he rents motorcycles. I don’t have a phone, but a nice expat couple waiting for the beauty salon next to my room called him and in rapid fire Tagalog  had him deliver  a motorcycle in minutes . Another honda 125 automatic in an embarrassing shade of pink, but everything worked. I put in 100pesos of gas and hit the road. Lovely sunny day, dressed in long pants and helmet, I even had my international drivers licence. Water, snacks good to go! 

 Just out of town I saw a big red sign “Evacuation assembly point” with an arrow pointing into the big graveyard. I kept going, thinking  it was probably a dead end. Most of the traffic was motorcycles, a few trucks, one bus, and a handfull of cars, all dawdling along. The mototbike taxis(3 wheelers with a sidecar) were the worst, poking along, often with huge loads, like rebar, hay, lumber, or in one case 10 people. Granted they were little school kids, but it was full! I wanted to see what the bike would do so on an open stretch I twisted the grips and zoomed up to 40 kph(wow),passing the pokeys. As always , it’s the sideroads that have the most appeal, so I took the first left towards the sea. Roadworks, cement slush in loose frames alternated with  rocky potholes. Used to that from home, I know that the best ride is right on the edge where trucks have not eroded the surface. There were lots of little houses, most with flowers growing in pots and old oil cans, a few walkers, sleeping dogs, (why do dogs sleep in the road?) and after 10 minutes downhill the sea. Coconut groves, clusters of houses with signs proclaiming a village, scrub jungle, and an empty smooth cement track, Easy riding indeed. I went to a beach where the fishermen had a hundred boats hauled out on logs(to protect their propellors). Some were mending nets in the shade of the boats tarpaulins, most were resting in little hammocks slung beside their beachfront bamboo homes. Fishing here is mostly at night, using battery powered lamps or coleman lanterns to attract fish to the gill nets . The beach was typical, a low sand bank, then a long flat rock bottomed foreshore, often 100 meters before the low tide waters edge. Boats only beach at high tide onto their coconut log rollers. It was hot already, perhaps 30 degrees, but a sea breeze swept the heat inland and the tall palms swayed lazily . I drove slowly, seeing lots of flowers, more sleeping dogs, and the occasional locals, who all responded to my Hellos. People are reserved until I make that first move, then everybody is friendly. English is limited, but I smiled when a toothless old gaffer told me to have a nice day.

     Some 10 miles along was the Mangrove walk. A business with bamboo pole walkways out into the mangroves for tourists. I’m just glad to see some mangrove intact. I kept going. There were power lines on cement poles, so houses had electricity, which must make food storage much easier. The usual shoebox stores, selling the usual tiny packages of junk food. One roadside palapa was labelled “Senior citizens Hall” and had a big poster congratulating a woman for being 100. Her picture was posted and she looked all of that. The “Hall was a 10 by 30 foot thatch roofed building made of vertical poles, so had lots of ventilation. Benches inside, no seniors. I enjoyed tooling along the shady road, which eventually lead back to the main road. I got stuck behind the beer truck doing home deliverys, but parked in the shade until the householder came for his case. The shade was from a bush covered in tiny red blossoms, which fell to cover the road.

 Back on the “highway, “I soon came to the capitol city, all 6 blocks of it. The center of town was a parklike square block and I paused there to drink water on a shady bench. It’s a feature of our modern age that while once the people in the park would have walked about meeting friends and gossiping on the benches, today everyone is glued to their cell phones, oblivious to the world around them. Having no phone I walked over to admire the central statue, a frock coated man who was pointing  either to the future or to the road out of town. I took that road, and  could not resist going down a road called  “Kabangbang”  Sure enough the pavement gave out, coral gravel slushed around my tires, and after a 10 minute uphill climb I settled for a view of the small farm inland hills. I kabanged back to the main road, caught another beachward side road, and found what was probably the original track along the seashore. Many more little houses, clustered in villages, all with elementary schools, crammed with hundreds of kids. When i saw an access to the beach I motored down and parked. A grizzled old timer, maybe as old as me, engaged me in broken conversation about fishing.lots of boats, few fish, crabs were the coming thing, were there fish boats in Canada, really I had been a fishing guide, and was it all big boats now? Being old bums we rested in the shade dreaming of the glorious past. He moved on to yap with another old fart, and I ate my leftover pizza. All this driving (4hours )had been enough and I puttered back to the capitol for a cold drink and a bakery load.  As the sun sank low, I cruised home, returned my bike, and felt I’d had a good day.

  Bantayan island had some of the nicest sand beaches I’d found, a slow pace, decent food, and a pleasant ambience. Nothing to do but beach walk, swim and eat. My main plan fulfilled! I stayed 3 days, and moved on well satisfied.

[awesomelogicflip]

Family Matters Chapter 3

Izumi Midoriya. I never got to know my Great-Grandma like my mother did yet her effect on my life was profound. I can honestly say that without her my mother and I would never have progressed as far as we did. Nor would we have known the cost of what we’d been given. It might be nice to eat anything you want and be able to stay trim with just a bit of effort, the heightened strength, the sharp senses, and all. Be that as it may, the bill for all of it had yet to come due and during that last hazy summer weekend while I was playing in the woods, my mother, as she told me years later, was having her world turned on its head. She come to Great-Grandma’s house to relax and yet got the worse shock of her life, one that was probably echoed by me when I had our family history explained to me.

I will not detail what I, and by association, my mother was told about ourselves in this book as that would counteract the point of this book. After all, I’m sure another scientist can explain the intricate nature of genetics and DNA in ways I cannot.

-Izuku Midoriya, My Mother The Warrior

Chapter 3

“So we’re going to Grandma’s house?”

Izuku asked the question through the slightly open backseat door as Inko put the second and last suitcase in the trunk. She was surprised with how light it felt or maybe she hadn’t packed as much as she thought. With a push, she closed it and went to the door, shaking her head but planting a kiss on her son’s forehead. “No, we’re going to your great-grandmother’s house.” She corrected gently. “She’s my grandmother. Now legs in and check your tail.”

And how odd is that to say? The tails weren’t inconvenient per say, hardly noticeable, at first. Yet, they were a detail that couldn’t be ignored since they’d basically had an extra limb. Being right at the base of the spine, underwear and pants required modification or else there was a constant sensation of pressure there. She’d done what she could in the time she had, cutting holes for them…but it was basic and haphazard work. The hole in Izuku’s shorts and her sundress weren’t cleanly done. Izuku’s shirt hid the hole and for her part, she just wore a long jacket for hers. She’d need to get a professional tailor eventually. One who worked with Quirks that forced wardrobe changes.

Izuku complied, sitting in the car properly and holding his tail close to his chest so that she could shut the door. As she walked around to get to the drivers side, she couldn’t help but feel baffled and a little awed, not only with how the week had gone but just...everything.

Everything that had happened, she’d spent most of the night telling her grandmother about it. The gasps of horror and the shocked silence came at the points where she’d expected them to. It was once she’d exhausted every last detail of what her week had been like that she’d asked if they could spend the weekend at her house. Her grandmother eagerly said yes, which lifted a weight from Inko that she hadn’t noticed until after she’d hung up the phone and went to bed.

In all honesty, the discussion to make the trip to her grandmother’s home in the country was about the easiest one she’d ever had made. Musutafu, the city she had been living in for years and had planned to raise a family in, suddenly seemed too loud, too big, and far too stifling.

She’d never noticed her neighbors before but when she’d gone to sleep, it had been an effort not to notice the sheer presence of bodies around her. Arriving home yesterday had been like walking into a closet, shutting the door, and then noticing only then that people were crowding around outside.

Yet among one more another unusual in a week of extraordinary ones, the fact she’d decided to drive to her grandmother’s house was probably the one that was the most unexpected.

They weren’t even that far from the train station and, in particular the most direct rail line to get there, five blocks if that. They could make it if the changed her mind right now.

She quickly shrugged off the unpleasant thought like an itchy coat. Daunting as a four hour drive was, though good sense told her the train ride would be faster on top of convenient, the idea of doing so was enough to make her inwardly cringe.

Whatever cabin fever had followed her out of the hospital yesterday clung to the back of her mind like a leech and refused to leave. It had been what had woken her up at 4:30 this morning and like an irritated nerve, throbbed at her to get up and do something.

So she took the time to pack for the visit, thinking that it would burn some energy.

It didn’t.

So she cleaned the apartment. There was no need to leave a mess to come back to later. It was actually the vacuuming at the end of her cleaning spree that had woken Izuku up. So once she’d wrapped up her work, she helped him pack everything he would need.

Still, it didn’t go away.

By the time they had left, she’d been seriously considering if running up and down the stairwell of the entire apartment building. At that point, it was obvious to her that she wouldn’t get through the trip by rail with her sanity intact. Just the bus ride to the garage where the car was stored had been enough to grind her teeth and the wait for the car had been even worse. Her husband had it in the biggest, most up-to-date garages in the city which was completely automated save for a single attendant in a booth near where the cars exited. The employee, a woman about her age with an exceedingly professional bearing, requested her name.

When she’d given it, the woman typed it into a computer and, smiling, confirmed that she was on the list and that the vehicle would be down soon.

The rapidity of the whole thing caught Inko so flatfooted that she had asked, in retrospect, some exceedingly simple questions since she barely knew anything about the place. The employee if they had been nonplussed or annoyed by them, they didn’t show it. In fact, she seemed all too eager to answer her, an attitude explained as Inko listened. Essentially, this garage used records given by the vehicle’s owner in order to know who was and wasn’t allowed to remove whichever vehicle they had stored here. And the car itself had the most meticulous record keeping Inko had ever heard of.

Nothing went unregistered or un-updated: times the vehicle was driven.

Who drove it.

How long the car wasn’t present in the garage counted to the second.

The current millage, before and after its return.

The psi in each tire.

The level of gasoline in the tank. Again, before and after it’s return.

And more that Inko was sure she was forgetting even now as she walked to the driver’s side door, being careful not to bush against the polished to a mirror-shine paint. She knew, just knew, she’d looked like a fish by the time the employee had stopped speaking. Mouth opening and closing, she had to ask what kind of garage was this to have such a level of meticulous care. She’d only been struck silent at the answer.

This garage was used by the rich and famous and everything from classics worth millions to the most recent hyper sports cars were cared for here. The reason for such a high level of service was because they paid for such an expense.  

An expense that Hisashi was clearly paying for. An expense that, when Inko asked about, opened up a whole world of questions she didn’t want to think about. Oh, her husband had an ever growing list of things she was going to get answered. For now though, this trip was her priority and nothing was getting in the way of that.

She left the man a note anyway so if he did show up… he wouldn’t worry. A kindness she hadn’t wanted to give, at first.

The door opened with a soft click and barely made a sound as she shut it behind her, her tail lying across her lap.

Still long drive or not, it would be a quiet and somewhat pleasant one. Besides, she knew where she was going. At the time of her first visit to her grandmother’s, there had been no tracks near where she lived. The choice back then was drive or get off at the nearest train station and walk for 2 hours. It wasn’t a hard choice. Even now she could still remember every sign along the trip, every turn to take, and the view from the backseat of…

She quickly swept that thought away.

While Inko didn’t drive often enough to self-justify the expense of owning a car, she was well aware of the quality of automobile she was seated in.

The two-tone black and gray Toyota Century was owned by her husband. The irony that she was now driving it wasn’t lost on her. Swallowing the bitter sadness that came with that thought, she looked over her shoulder at her son and smiled. “All buckled in?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Then let’s go.”

The engine came to quiet attention as soon as she turned the key. Not even a hiccup or a wait for it to turn over.

Outrageously expensive with a service bill to match, she never understood why Hisashi bought it. Leaving out him never being here to drive it, this was the kind of car you hired a chauffeur for to get the most enjoyment out of it. Then again her husband’s tastes were odd and, as she was beginning to figure, not cheap. He’d even splurged for a crew to come clean and detail it once a week, a service the garage provided.

Closing her eyes, she shoved the subject of him out of her head like the glowing coal it was. The note had been left f if he did bother to show up. It was after a deep breath that she noticed Izuku’s voice. “Sorry, honey. Could you repeat that?”

Her son fiddled with the All Might figure in his hand. A light flush touched his cheeks and brightened his freckles. “Have I met Great-Grandma before? I don’t remember.”

“You have.” Inko said, putting the car in reverse. “Though don’t feel bad about forgetting. You were only two years old the last time we visited.”

“Really?” For some reason he seemed awed by that.

“Really.” Inko nodded. She grew concerned when an uncharacteristic look of determination came upon her son’s face.

“Then I won’t forget this time.” He made his statement with the conviction only a child his age could pull off.

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing as she turned the car out onto the empty street.

“Stop laughing, Mommy. I mean it!”

“I know you do.”

The first five minutes of the drive were all Inko needed to confirm that her instincts had been right. Pulling out into the street and right into city traffic, she felt that ever present itch for activity fade. While still fairly early in the morning, the traffic was already picking up as the city came to life. Inko didn't mind, a hurry was the last thing she was in.

She planned to make this as fun as possible and there was no point in hurrying since the goal of the trip wasn't the destination. While she did want to see her grandmother again and get out of the city for some peace and fresh air, the main reason was for her son.

Inko glanced in the rear view mirror as she guided the car to a stop at the red light ahead. Izuku was playing in the backseat, humming to himself and fiddling with the All Might action figure in his hands. Smiling, like Inko hoped.

This week, starting as horrible as any could, got worse and the last thing she wanted was her little boy to dwell on it.

Those two teenagers in the store had been killed right in front of him and then he'd been put in the hospital. Those things would be traumatic for any child but on top of that, his father hadn't showed up. It was that last thing that hurt Inko the most, she was still trying to come to terms with it herself. How do you explain to a child why their father didn't come when they were hurt? It wasn't a question to ask while you were alone in bed or, even worse, asked by a tactless child when you go back to school. It going to take some careful explaining, hopefully her grandmother could offer some wisdom.

However, that unpleasantness could come later. She focused back on her driving as the light turned green which took her mind off a great deal.

There was a heightened awareness she felt, a blooming of details from everything around her that centered her mind. While this car was all but a literal island of luxury, details from the outside were slipping through. The suspension was soft enough to glide over every bump and pothole in the road and yet she could still feel them, smoothed out as they were. The road noise, which should've been near impossible to sense, droned in her ears quite clearly. When she turned the radio on, she'd had turned the volume down low because it just seemed that little bit too loud.

Telling where cars were before changing lanes, noticing motorbikes in between the cars, even being able to feel the rising speed of the car and just being able to tell how fast she was going before she glanced at the speedometer, it was as if she'd been driving all her life instead of this being one of the few times she'd put her license to use.

One reason she didn't drive was because traffic made her nervous. It was difficult to focus when you were on edge because someone was riding your back bumper like they were glued to it. A nervous feeling was absent during her drive, no matter who honked or rolled in far to close at a light or sped by on a bike, she barely felt anything more than a slight bit of exasperation at the rudeness of one driver who flipped her off when she didn't immediately peel out at a particular light.

Her composure remained as they hit the freeway and quickly made distance between the city and them. It was only when the environment outside began exchanging urban buildings for more bushes and flat green scenery that Inko pulled off the road to an exit for a break.

It was about an hour and a half in but she nor Izuku had eaten breakfast that morning, so a quick rest was needed.

Parking at the first convenience store she saw, at first she’d bought just two sandwiches for them to snack on while stretching their legs. However, like when they first got out of the hospital the snack turned into a meal. She bought out nearly a quarter of the store before the edge was taken off their hunger.

Every sandwich, burger, and steamed bun was eaten in their impromptu picnic near the car. Finishing it all off with a sweet Onigiri for her and a jelly doughnut for Izuku before they continued on.

That was another thing to be addressed later, Inko knew as the pulled the car back onto the freeway. This increased appetite would become a financial problem later on. She’d never been able to eat like that before in her life, not when she was a teenager and not at her current 27. And Izuku, growing boy or not, really had no excuse for putting just as much down. Considering the idea, would’ve made her nauseous last week. Neither of them should’ve been able to attempt to do so, and yet they did it.

And had left room for desert, this time around.

Her son’s question came a little more than an hour or so after their meal, just as she was exiting the highway that took them out of the city proper and onto the back mountain route, she was all to familiar with.

“What’s she like?”

“Izumi Midoriya...” Inko didn’t really need to think long to answer. “She’s nice. Strong. Motherly like me.” ‘Motherly’ was far to light a word for the woman who raised her but simple was good for now.

“She’s like you?” Again, that tinge of awe in his voice. “Did you live with her?”

“Yes. I lived with her in a big house and played on land behind it when I was a little older than you.”

“Behind it? Like a backyard?”

“The biggest one you’ve ever seen. The biggest in all of Japan. With a garden where she grows her own food.” Again, she was practically trivializing the facts. Her grandmother had a backyard like Izuku had a slight interest in Superheroes and All Might in particular. True but far more to be told. If Inko ever met anyone who thought of 60 full acres of land as a backyard, she be shocked. Her grandmother had come into a lot of money decades before Inko had been born and used the money to build a house and buy the land around it.

Focusing back on the near bone-white asphalt as the incline began, she was reminded that once it had been pale gray so long ago and like catching the whiff of a favorite childhood dish, remembering the color also led to the last time she’d seen the road in this direction.

It had been after things had gone bad.

The road had been a pale yellow that night, illuminated by a pair of headlights so bright that in any other situation, she might have looked for familiar shapes as they past. But she hadn’t, her eyes hurt from crying so long and so hard and her vision was still a little blurry anyway. It was awful because she could’ve used the distraction from the other pains she was feeling. The road wasn’t smooth and it seemed like every bump in it went right from the wheels to the backseat to everything that hurt...and it seemed like everything had been hurting

Inko blinked, coming back to her present and rubbed her eyes clear of the tears building there. Thankfully, enthralled by the idea of ‘The biggest Backyard in Japan’ began rapid firing questions that not only had her bringing up the good memories but got so detailed that she had to think hard and dig deep on them. Hard enough that it kept her distracted for the rest of the trip.

Izuku’s questions were not a bottomless well and the car eventually lapsed into silence, right around the time they reached to outskirts of town.

As she turned the last bend, Inko was struck by a sense of nostalgia upon seeing The Crossroads, which she certainly hadn’t seen for awhile, not even when she’d come for a visit over two years ago.

The Crossroads were just a nickname that she and the other children had given the spot years ago. In actuality, the single road crossed nothing but split into three distinct directions.

One continued straight ahead, passing the town she’d grown up in completely and continued to go down the other side of the mountain. The left fork went further up and led straight into town. To the right, the road curved down in such a way that it was impossible to see what was on the other side from the road. However, she knew that it lead to a dead end not but a fifty yards from the crest, the isolated spot having served as a private playground away from adult eyes.

Turning left, she wondered if children in town were still using that road to gather. Driving through town was a trip down memory lane and she for the first time, felt like everything was finally okay. So many good times were tied to this place that just seeing it again had been like wrapping up in a warm blanket. She’d even go so far as to call it a salve to her soul.

One thing that stuck out in her cursory scan as they passed by was the General Store. Run by Mr. Riku and his wife, both had to be getting up there in age like her grandmother now that she thought about it, Inko couldn’t help but notice it was closed. Unusual for that time of day, especially since their joint-candy store right next door was clearly open.

Inko made a note to stop by and say hello before they left. Hopefully, they’d remember a little girl who’d spent far too much of her hard earned money from chores on junk like Pocky and Botan.

“Wow.” Izuku said, awed as he craned his neck to see further ahead.

“Yep.” Inko confirmed. “That’s it up ahead.”

They were about a mile and a half out of town when her grandmother’s house came into sight. The trees parting like a curtain to reveal the house, almost a mansion, in the distance.

It was a grand construction that was quite breathtaking from a distance which grew more so as they got closer. If memory served, her grandmother had said the style was ‘Queen Anne’ Victorian. Whatever style it was, it was an very loud one.

The woman had once joked that she should’ve been born European, she was so obsessed with Western culture. It was an obsessing that shined through, announced through every brick and beam of that house she’d built. In all honesty, Inko had always thought it a bit garish though she’d seen the place as a fantasy castle on the hill when she was a child. Even as she looked at it now, she couldn’t shake off the sense that the house, it’s owner, and the land around it was meant more for a fairy tale book. Something that Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty used as vacation homes, not a widowed retiree's residence in the mountainous Japanese countryside.

It was a building that was bursting with decor, from the green paint on the wood, the dusty pink of the bricks, and the intricate carved roof finials and cresting which Inko had lost hours staring at over the years, it was a home that not only stood out in its surroundings and, specifically one’s memory as it was not a place easily forgotten.

Inko pulled off the road and onto the long gravel drive which, once it reached the house, curved in on itself to make a circle so that someone could simply stop their car in front of it and not be further than a stride from the porch steps and then pull away to go right back down the drive without having to do a three-point turn.

Standing there, framed by the pearl white front door ready to greet them, was her grandmother, Izumi Midoriya.

The first thing Inko noted as she parked was how unbowed she was. Her back was straight and she stood tall and welcoming in defiance of her age. She had no idea if the hand of time was treating her grandmother exceptionally gently or if it was something in her lifestyle but for a woman pushing the better part of seventy, Izumi looked remarkably well. A fact exemplified by her clothing, or rather how well they fit her.

Dressed in a pair of denim pants and a blue long sleeved blouse, they hugged close to her body and pretty much told Inko that Izumi still took good care of herself and hadn’t slipped in her habits since she’d last seen her. Now that she thought about it, her grandmother always had a spryness that gave her the air of women half her age.

Her short hair, tied in a tight bun still had a few strands of green among the silver and her face, weathered but not worn, brightened as Inko got out the car and opened the door for her son.

She didn’t say anything at first. Grabbing and pulling her into a tight hug, she only spoke then. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her voice was equal parts relieved and happy and even though the embrace pressed into her wound, Inko hugged her back before stepping away.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“And this,” Izumi gasped, bending at the knees for a better look, “must be Izuku! Come, let me get a good look at you.”

Inko only noticed then that her son had tucked himself behind her legs, his previous excitement gone and his tail twitching in what she could tell was nervousness.

However, when she looked back to her grandmother, she recognized the mischievous gleam in the woman’s eyes and, smiling herself, she quickly stepped aside. “Come now, I won’t...”

“BITE!” Izuku barely had a chance to squeak before Izumi pounced. Both hands shooting out, she caught her great-grandson under the armpits and started tickling.

The four year old squealed, trying to get away but Izumi, refusing to be denied her due, swept him off his feet and into the crook of her arm.

Arms flailing, legs kicking, Izuku was helpless against the assault on his belly, sides, and neck as she went for every weak spot she could. Izuku would cover one, only for the experienced woman to go for another and Inko couldn’t help but be impressed that she still had the strength to hold him in place.

It wasn’t for very long though. The tickling finally stopped a few seconds later and Izuku, face flushed from so much laughing, wrapped his arms around her grandmother’s neck.

“Okay.” Izumi huffed, apparently equally worn from the effort “I’m gonna have to put you down now. You’re already too big for me.” Lowering him to the porch, she gave his nose a gentle pinch. “Why if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re almost an adult.”

The complement made Izuku flush a little brighter as Inko mussed her sons hair. “Not quite though, you have some growing to do, young man.”

“Mommy!” He said, trying to shoo away her hand, clearly embarrassed.

Her grandmother and her shared a laugh as they walked inside.

“I knew you two would be hungry, so I spent all day cooking,” she announced, kicking off her shoes before stepping onto the wood floor of the foyer. “And don’t tell me you’re not hungry.” Leading her son by the hand, Inko followed her grandmother who was already speeding down the hall, past the living room and towards...the dining room, if she was right.

She took her time, taking off her shoes and following at a sedate pace. Mostly for Izuku as her little boy’s head seemed to be on a swivel as he looked around with wide eyes at the pictures and antiques lining the wall, clearly trying to take in as much as he could. She giggled at that, since apparently Izuku forgot they were here for a whole weekend. The other reason she took, her time was...well, her grandmother was more right that she suspected. Their breakfast might as well have been yesterday’s memory, her stomach was already doing the mental equivalent of tugging on her sleeve for attention.

She went for her pocket, halfway through pulling out a cellphone she no longer had, and then once she realized what she was doing, checked her wristwatch instead.

11:39. Almost lunch.

With her son and her’s new appetite, she knew for a fact that even her grandmother’s prodigious portion sizes were going to be more a snack than a meal but they should eat something and she could explain to her grandmother later.

“You grew up here?” The awe was back and as Inko looked to her son, she could see a shine in his green eyes as if he’d been told his mother had come from royalty and only now was having it confirmed.

“Yes, I did. In fact, my-” She was cut off as Izumi’s voice, warm but stern. Her ‘You’re lollygagging and it will stop now’ voice.

“Child, you better get in here. I didn’t work my hands to the bone and sweat in front of a stove for this to get cold.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s eat first.” Inko said, picking up the pace ever so slightly. Her son must have been peckish too, since at the mention of food, he forgot his fascination with the house and was hot on her heels.

XXX

“Grandma...” Inko’s voice faded into stunned silence. Her son’s eyes again wide in shock but now edged in a bit of eager joy.

They’d stopped just before the sill of the open dinning room. Much like the house, it was huge western ideal of what a family gathering place was. A big room lined by large windows with a sliding glass door that faced west and lead out onto the porch and into the backyard. The massive solid wood dining table took up the entire middle space of the room, long enough to sit sixteen people with 8 on each side and wide enough for two people to sit on either end if they didn’t mind sharing elbow room, that wasn’t what had Inko struggling to find words to say. She’d lived here once, knew the table well. In fact, she even remembered the spot where she’d accidentally scratched the wood hard enough to leave a mark with her knife.

Although, finding it now would be a challenge considering that the table in question looked ready to fold under the weight of the food placed upon it.

Before them was a staggering number of dishes in exceedingly staggering amounts. Each main dish looked more like it was meant for a buffet than for any setting in a house. Even the side dishes were massive. The rice had so much prepared that it alone could’ve fed an entire family.

Not an inch of space was wasted or lacked something, the only spots left vacant were where three chairs sat scooted back from the table to give it’s would be occupant space between itself and the table to sit.

“I..uh.” With an effort Inko wrangled her tongue and looked and her grandmother, as bug-eyed as her son.”H-how? Where did all this come from?”

“Where did it come from?”Izumi echoed, frowning as if she’d just been asked the dumbest question she’d ever heard in her life. Standing next to a chair at the head of the massive table, she put her fists to her hips, an expression on her face that, for a brief moment, made Inko actually think her question indeed was as stupid as her grandmother thought.

“Where do you think, Child? From my kitchen.”

Inko shook her head, refusing to be put off. No warning of ‘Cooking all day’ explained the All-You-Can-Eat spread she was looking at.

“You cooked?” Inko stated flatly, pointing at her grandmother, who’s knowing grin had come back but now focused on her.

“All of this food, by yourself?” Using both hands, she gestured at the table in a motion that said ‘Look at what I’m seeing here.’

A nod.

“In one day? As in today?”

Inko put a great deal of emphasis in that last word and apparently that was just the thing she needed to get the impossibility of such a task through to her grandmother.

Izumi’s smile left her face, eyes widening slightly before she shook her head. “Oh no. No. No. Dear me, Inko.” She said with a laugh that rang through the room like a bell. “All day is just a turn of phrase, Child. You mustn’t take things so literally.”

Inko hardly thought that was fair and as she approached the table, she said as much. “Its not like you told enough for me not to take you completely at your word. I have to assume you meant exactly what you said.”

That got her another laugh.

Guess I’m a comedian today.

You know what they say about assumption. They make an a-” Her grandmother stopped, laughter dwindling to chuckles when she glanced down at Izuku, then back up to Inko and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Well, you know what they say.”

For Inko’s part, she gave a nod of gratitude and then turned to the food, breathing in deep. That single whiff almost had her falling upon the meal like a wild animal right then,

Smells of clean steamed vegetables mixed in her nose with hearty fatty meats. Fresh bread and sliced fruit combined with dishes of strong spiced curry and the tang of smoked sausage.

It stirred her appetite from an attention seeker to a near primal singular need to be satisfied.

Remembering herself, Inko seated Izuku first who was openly drooling and she couldn’t find it in herself to reprimand him on his poor show of manners. Sitting down, she focused back on Izumi, who was just about in her chair. “So who helped you?”

Her question got a raised eyebrow. “No one, Inko. All done by these.” She raised her hands and waggled her fingers in a surprising display of dexterity.

Now, she was confused again. “Then how did you cook all this?” The only explanation she could think of was that her grandmother had planned for more company ahead of time, but it had been made quite clear that this food was for her son and her. Leaving out that Inko knew Izumi Midoriya had never been one for parties.

Since the party idea wasn’t likely, then this meal should’ve been impossible. This visit was spur of the moment, an emotional decision to close out one of the most emotional weeks in her life. Coming here was meant to unwind both physically and emotionally.

In short, unless Izumi could see into the future, she’d need to have a fair warning to prepare this much, especially at her age.

Her grandmother clicked her tongue, picking up the empty plate in front of her and a pair of tongs that had been between the rice and spare ribs. “I started cooking the moment, I hung up the phone.” She answered.

If it hadn’t been for the armrests, Inko would’ve fallen out of her chair. “What?”

“It gets lonely for this old woman way out here. Not to mention boring. So I went a little overboard, I’ll admit.” She finished with a wave of her tongs, as if shooing away the idea that all this being cooked in such a short time was any big idea. “Indulge your grandmother’s want to provide for her granddaughter .”

Overboard, she says.

Inko had to wonder her a dictionary somewhere in the world had just cracked into pieces under the strain of such a massive understatement.

She was yanked out of her contemplation by the sound of chewing beside her. Izuku’s patience had run on and even her grandmother had started plating some food in the brief pause.

With a sigh of surrender, Inko began picking out what looked best from the table.

She’d planned on questioning her grandmother further after lunch but all it took was once bite of the still hot bread rolls and the lingering subject of how the food get here fled before the ravenous craving to eat as much of it as she could.

Though it did stick out even in her preoccupied brain just how normally her grandmother treated the whole meal. Not a look of shock, quirked eyebrow, or even a comment as she and her son tore into everything before them. Stripping every bone clean and clearing every platter like locusts to an unprotected field of wheat.

With her attention on her grandmother, she also managed to notice that she’d eaten quite a bit as well. Not as much as her but still, she’d put down two fairly full plates within the time they’d finished eating.

It was Izuku who announced the end of the meal. He leaned back in the chair, contented smile on his face and a deep sigh. “That was great. I’m full.” Inko, while agreeing that indeed the food had been wonderful as Izumi was a great cook, couldn’t help the smirk at the irony that there was nothing more to eat. The table, once a picturesque sumptuous smorgasbord, now lay heavy with empty plates, bowls, platters, and glasses.

For her part, her full belly had lifted a weight from her, a prickling that she had only realized now followed her out of the hospital as well. It was enough to dishearten her. She’d known the need for food was going to hit her hard financially but if it took eating this much then...Well, buying in bulk was an option but even that was more of a stop gap than anything long term. Could Hisashi even support them with just his paycheck… That question put a sour taste in her mouth that certainly hadn’t been there before. Of course he could. An expensive car that he barely used kept in an expensive garage for the elite with insurance and everything else. And if he somehow couldn’t, then she…

“What are you doing, child?” Inko jerked and realized with a jolt she was on her feet, hands gathering up the plates and silverware.

Her answer was instant. “Going to wash the dishes.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Her habit, one her grandmother instilled over the years she’d lived with her, was to clean after every meal. Dirty plates were hard to clean if the mess on them was left to dry and apparently even with her mind wandering out afield in her own world of worry and frustration, her body followed what was comfortable for her. Familiar was comfortable. That’s why she was here, after all.

“Oh, please. We can take care of that later.” Izumi motioned for her to put the stuff down. “Right now, I want to talk to  you, Inko.”

With that, her grandmother stood up as well and looked to her son. “Izuku,” she said, getting the four year old’s attention. “after you rest for a bit, why don’t you go play outside? I’m sure you’d like the forests around here just as much as your mother.”

“But, don’t go very far.” Inko cut in with a warning. She knew the forest well enough. Where the dead-end road had been the town’s private playground, the forests here had been hers. Every trip in there had been an adventure with tall trees to climb, creeks to splash in, and interesting rocks and bugs to find. “There are wild animals out there.”

Her son’s eyes grew wide, though not in fear. There was almost an anticipation to his look as if he wanted to see what kind of wild animals there were. She wasn’t sure why but it was unsettling enough that her first instinct was to go with him. A tiny pit twirling around in her stomach made her not want to leave his side, just in case he did run into something out there. Yeah, the more she thought about it, the more she felt she should be out there. Any beast that dared to try and lay a claw or tooth or paw on her son, would soon find themselves dealing with her. And she’d be more vicious than any-

“Yes, your mother is right.” Izumi nodded sagely, her voice snapping Inko back to attention. “Up to a certain point is a wire fence that keeps dangerous animals out. There is a tall pole with a red flag on it that marks where the safe zone ends. Wild animals are past it, so if you see it, go no further.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her grandmother smiled even wider and ruffled his hair. “Such a polite boy.” Izuku blushed slightly, freckles standing out on his cheeks and giggled.

Inko followed her mother out the room, hesitating halfway down the hall when she heard the sliding glass door open and shut.

Izumi, noticing she’d stopped after a few more steps, turned to her and beckoned for her to follow. “He’ll be fine, dear. I had the fencing upgraded last month and a couple of inspectors checked the property within to make sure we didn’t have some uninvited guests lurking around. Such young strapping men, too.” She put a hand to her mouth in a vixenish way that was so fake Inko had to laugh at the act.

“Oh, if I was just a few decades younger.” The lament was uttered with a sigh, with Izumi gazing off into space with a love-struck pout that was so out of place on her face that Inko laughed harder, just managing not to bend double and followed after her.

She knew where they were going right away. Located on the north side at the end of the hall was the biggest room in the building, the study which as they entered, she could tell it hadn’t changed. Save for the new desk and the computer  that was tucked in the left corner, taking up the final bit of vacant space along the walls. “Still dark as ever, I see.” She observed, looking around.

With each wall lined with near ceiling high bookshelves including two which covered the only windows in the room, the place was cast in shadows that were barely held off from the light coming from the hall and a series 4 of lamps, placed in strategic spots around. The only lamp that caught her attention was the one on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.

She walked closer towards it to get a better look. Next to the lamp which was on the far end were a row of pictures in variously sized frames. These hadn’t changed either. The first one was of a much younger looking Izumi Midoriya in a school uniform. Smiling and with a black tube in her hand, she was posing in front of a school’s grounds with a group of other girls, all of whom were smiling as well with a tube in their hand. Yet even if Inko would’ve somehow not been able to distinguish Izumi’s face which was impossible, the girl in the photo stood out.

A lot.

Out of all five girls who were doing some silly pose or had their head turned in some way, waving to the camera or the person behind it with peace signs, she was the only one who stood straight. Ramrod stiff, a statue standing proud among everyone else, her presence and propriety oozed through the frame.

The picture next to it was a different story altogether. Her grandmother, now a totally mature woman, wasn’t standing. Instead, clothed in a stunning white gown was being carried bridal style in the arms of a large man with sharp features in a black suit. Or was it a tux? Inko could never tell the difference and she could tell that the distinction wouldn’t have mattered to either. The picture had been snapped while they were both in mid-laugh and the joy on her face made the high school one look like she’d been grumpy during her graduation. Inko could feel it, she’d felt it when she’d gotten married. A twinge of sadness curled in her chest as she looked at the man, her grandfather, smile glowing and softening what would’ve been a hard countenance. Inko had never gotten the chance to know him but the stories Izumi told her painted a picture of dutiful, gentle soul who’d sooner kill you with kindness as hit you square in the jaw if you pressed his buttons long enough. And you really had to press them.

He’d died long before she’d been born and she’d never asked her grandmother how. She continued down the row but stopped at one that had been placed face down on the mantle, hiding the picture inside from sight. Inko didn’t lift it up to see, she knew what it was of and as she inspected it, a gratified ease at the thick layer of dust on its back made her smile.

“Come and sit, child.”

A massive carpet covered the wooden floor a safe distance away from the fireplace, upon which sat two well used linen armchairs with a small circular table between them. An electric kettle shared space with an antique lamp and two blue china teacups and saucers.

“Now,” Izumi sat down in the left chair, knees together and facing her as she took the much less worn right one. “How are you doing, Inko?”

She was in the middle of opening her mouth but whatever she’d planned to say was halted by her grandmother’s raised hand. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. The hand had been little more than a twist of her wrist. What did make Inko pause was the change that had taken Izumi Midoriya’s face. There was concern there but it was mixed with a hardness in the eyes that Inko had only seen once before, and she quickly averted her eyes.

Her desire to unload everything that had been on her mind warred with just wanting to keep it to herself, to talk about something other than about her. The weather... heroes... did Takumi; that drummer in town, ever get a break with the band of his? Some idle chatting like she was used to. Her leg tingled and her back throbbed like a nasty memory.

She wanted… needed something familiar. Too much had happened and too much had changed far too fast. Her apartment was too crowded, her husband was too distant, her body had become anomalous, she’d even grown a tail. A secondary quirk that she’d never known she had.

Inko chewed on her lip, having all this time to think and having no clue where to start. Her grandmother waited patiently while when she managed to compact all her thoughts down into into a single sentence. “I don’t know.”

Those three words were so factual that Inko was initially embarrassed that it had taken her so long to say them. She had no clue how she was doing and thinking back to every conversation and thought between waking up and getting here, she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

“In this one week, I’ve been hurt, nearly killed, could’ve lost Izuku and got a lesson in embarrassment and shame so thorough that I’d probably be able to teach a course on it at Todai,” she pushed forward, more words coming to mind as she simply let herself speak. Still not quite able to look straight at her grandmother, her eyes swept along the shelves around her. This place was almost like a university’s library. “But above all that, I’m angry. I’m so angry and I just want to...” A reluctant urge edged it’s way to the front of her mind and it was only then that she recognized she’d been clenching her hands together so hard her knuckles were turning white. She didn’t want to say it out loud, like if it was addressed the thing she was pushing back would leap out like a living creature. The urge wanted action, movement even. For her to DO something, anything.

“I guessed as much.” Izumi’s tone was equal parts sad and resigned. As if she’d expected as much. It was enough to make Inko finally look at her.

Now her grandmother wasn’t looking at her. She was looking away towards a shelf and the emotion in her eyes confused Inko more than anything else. With a sigh, she stood up and moved to the bookshelf she’d been focused on. “Inko, I’d hoped to never had this conversation and in that I failed myself and I failed you and Izuku.”

Her confusion only deepened but Izumi continued before she could ask what she was talking about. “I thought it would be best to keep it from you. You were living a safe and happy life and I thought the burden of our family curse had ended at… well, myself.” Pulling a book out of a line of unmarked ones, Izumi’s hand trembled slightly as if the novel-sized book weighed a great deal. Slowly, with a gaze akin to a judge about to deliver a sentence, she turned and looked at her. A building silence grew between them and Inko was sure that if her grandmother looked at her any harder the floor between them would catch fire.

When she did finally speak, her voice had such a melancholic tone as if she was just a step away from tears.

“Inko. You, your son, and I, are not totally human.”

XXX

A cheer split the air. It was a whoop of such joy and childish glee that it managed to drown out the cicadas whirring around. The air was thick with the sent of moist grass and the air pulled even more fresh scents of the forest into his nose as her rushed around.

Izuku being the shouts source didn’t notice nor care as any skittish animals nearby fled at his announced approach. The boy’s legs pumped hard as he crashed through the brush and weaved in between trees. This was the most fun he’d ever had.

Well… not as fun as playing All Might with mom but it was very very close.

He thought for a moment if they could play that again when he got back to the house. He barely began wondering if they could get Great-Grandma in on it then he saw a low branch on a tall tree. All thoughts flew and left just action.

He leaped for it.

For an average adult, it wasn’t that high, barely a struggle to reach but Izuku wasn’t an adult.

Normally, he would’ve bounced and hopped as hard as he could, missed and probably crashed to the ground or into another tree.

‘Normally’ no longer applied.

His jump carried him up and his arms reached, hands grasping. Catching it, he gripped so that he could swing up but his fingers tightened so hard that the branch crumpled with a few woody pops. The energy left over from his sprint did the rest and halfway through his swing, the limb snapped.

He was sent into a spin, falling towards the ground which came to a stop with a sharp tug from the base of his back. Held in the air and upside down, he got a perfect view of his tail hooked tight around a higher, shorter, but much thicker branch.

His tail had caught him! That hadn’t happened before, not even when he was showing off for Kaachan.

The boy giggled, giddy with excitement. It only took him two tries to pull himself up and from there, again without a second thought, began climbing up the trunk.

His little heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear but excitement. A rush ran through him like nothing he’d ever felt before. Injury and, what would be to anyone, the concerning and still growing height between him and the ground were the furthest things from his mind. His smile only grew as he ran out of handholds near the top.

Crouched on a limb, he looked around. To his right was a tree about as tall as the one he was on but the one after that had a trunk thicker and taller than either. In fact, it looked like if he climbed to the top of that one he would be able to see everything.

However, he could tell just by looking at it that there was no way he was going to make a single jump to that one. So, sighted on his goal, he aimed for the strongest looking branch on the tree between with a moment to bend just the right way to get the most out of his spring and went for it.

Catching by his tail, he made one full twirl around the tree limb and vaulted for his target. He was only as he’d already let go and was too far away grab for anything when he recognized the spot he aimed for had nothing to grab.

A wall of solid bark was coming to meet him.

Instinct took over and he spread his arms out wide as if going in for a hug and, on the moment of impact, dug his fingers in with every bit of strength he could manage.  A series of pops followed the sensation of rough wood around his hands and then the pressure of his own body weight.

That had been close.

Breathing hard, smile a little less wider than it had been a moment before, he hung in place and looked around the best he could. Just out of reach, up and to the left, was a branch he knew would hold. He made for it or tried to. His shoes dragged along the surface for a push but got the sound of crumbling and snapping bark for his effort. Even his tail waved frantically as Izuku’s sweaty hands began to slip out of their holes. He couldn’t risk letting go to reach.

Gravity was trying its best to pull him down, his fingers were starting to ache and in frustration he kicked the tree.

The impact was enough to bounce him off his hold… high enough to put that limb just within his grasp.

He reached as far as his arm would go and caught it in one hand, then the other. He quickly scrambled up and wrapped his legs around it as hard as he dared. Sweat streamed down his face and his breaths were hard and fast but after an extra long moment to rest after all his hard work, he looked back up the tree and, carefully this time, picked his next spot and continued up.

And up.

...and up...

XXX

Inko waited for the punchline and when none came, searched for that hint of humor that showed when her grandmother about to spring a joke. Nothing of the sort revealed itself, only a look of such grim seriousness that it actually make her shy into her chair. Izumi was only slightly taller than her, yet even from across the room, her whole presence loomed. The study remained hushed. A grandfather clock somewhere in the building ticked away, it's inner workings a hammer to the silence filling the air to every last crack of space.

She blinked and for the first time in her life, worried. Maybe all this time alone, near the forests had affected her grandmother. God forbid, that age was having its much more silent, much more awful, way with Izumi and as terrible as that was to consider, as much as it hurt her heart to think it, there was no other way she could reason to herself why her grandmother would say something so absurd and mean it.

“What are you talking about?” she finally responded, leaning forward to hear her grandmother better. Surely she hadn’t heard that right.

Izumi crossed back to her chair in two quick strides and lowered into it with a fluid grace that made Inko blink again. Before when her grandmother had walked around, her movements had been smooth but with a slow methodical care as if to be sure of what she was doing before being committed. Her walk firm to make sure her feet were stable, her sitting aimed right at the center so as to not bump her hips or place herself on the edge of the chair. Yet just then, her care left as if it had never been, replaced with a confidence and poise that Inko had never seen from her before.

Ever.

“I’m talking about that tail and what it signifies. What it means for your future.” Flipping through the book, Izumi’s answer came with no preamble to the build up. She spoke plainly with a certainty that made it clear to Inko that she was far from addled. “We aren’t completely human, at least my side of the family isn’t. And just in case you’re thinking of asking, no, I don’t know what we are. Our family has been researching this for generations, longer than you or I or even my great-grandfather, and even with modern science none have been able to agree if its genetic mutation, something supernatural, some unique evolution, or just straight up magic.”

“Oh lord, you’re serious.” Inko hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to be rude, but the words slipped off her tongue as if they’d been greased.

If Izumi took insult though, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded opening the leather book that Inko now realized was much thicker than she’d originally thought. “I said something to that effect, when my father told me. Mind you, I was a child when he did so and if a child thinks you’re fibbing than how can an adult accept such a fairy tale as gospel? And I would still not have believed him, if quirks hadn’t suddenly appeared on the scene.”

Inko frowned at that last remark, quickly doing some numbers in her head. “Grandma, you do know that was twenty years before your time, at least.”

The amusement came back to Izumi’s eyes and for a moment she thought there was about to be a ‘I had you going for a moment, didn’t I?’ out of her mouth. Instead, she asked. “Inko, how old do you think I am?”

That was an odd question. “Seventy…sixty-eig-” Her mouth shut with a click. She knew her grandmother’s birthday, certainly but she was coming to realized that she actually didn’t know Izumi’s age. “You’ve told me before, right?”

“I have and I was lying. Mostly for the same reason I didn’t want to tell you about our family’s checkered past.” Her grandmother’s admission of lying hit her harder like a slap across the face. The shock at those words would’ve been total to Inko but like a boxer taking a viscous combo, her brain was already reeling and so didn’t have time to prepare for the follow up. “I’m actually one-hundred and twelve years old. My twelfth birthday had been less than a two weeks away when that historic case in China happened. Oh, the Chinese government tried to hide it, I’m sure, but no political body has the power to hide something like that unless they’re prepared for it.”

Inko sunk into the chair, its overstuffed cushions doing nothing to help with the pressure suddenly weighing her down. “That’s… th-that’s…”

“Impossible.” Her grandmother finished for her, pulling out a folded worn rectangle of paper from between the pages of the book. “Yes, I’m sure most would say that. But here.” The paper was passed over and Inko numbly took it, her fingers moving pretty much on autopilot to unfold it and it took a full minute of staring before she understood what was in her hands. An icy chasm opened in her stomach at the date on the page.

When it did, she gaped back at her grandmother. This couldn’t be fake, but it had to be. “Your birth certificate?”

A sardonic smiled touched the woman’s lips. “Got it for my birthday.”

Inko’s hands trembled as she passed it back. 112...the woman who’d raised her, the grandmother she thought she’d known better than her own parents, was more than a century old. Izumi would’ve looked great for a seventy year old woman. For someone more than a decade past their centennial, her looks were unnatural. There was no plastic surgeon that good, no quirk that could hold back someone’s age, no amount of good food and good air that could do this.

“However, this isn’t so much my proof.” Her grandmother, her over a hundred year old grandmother, picked the certificate between two fingers, folded, then tucked it back between the pages of the book. “This is me making my case, the proof is in you, Child.”

For the first time in her life, Inko flinched at her nickname. Izumi’s moniker for her now felt...patronizing and deceitful. So many questions marched through her head, all trying to force their way out like a mob rushing a single exit. Her grandmother’s statement made a path for one though. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, Inko. Your reaction to my question said as much.”

“Noticed what?”

“Don’t avoid the subject, Inko. You may be an adult but I can still read you like a book.”

The confusion, what was turning out to be a constant state for her now, must’ve shown because Izumi, patiently continued. “I saw the look in your eye in the dining room, Inko. Izuku didn’t but I did. Tell me, did you want to go out there with Izuku?”

Inko nodded, slowly coming back to herself. Her brain, no longer dazed from surprise after surprise, finally changed into gear, “Yes, of course. There were possible animals out there.”

“And what would you have done if your son and you had happened across a dangerous wolf, lets say?”

“I would’ve fought it to give Izuku time to escape.” She wouldn’t allow anything, much less an overgrown dog, get near her son if there was anything she could do about it.

“Would you have done that a week ago? Fought the wolf, I mean?”

“Yes. With my bare hands if I had to.” She answered through clenched teeth, muscles in her jaw tight and fingers twitching for something to hold. To grab. To tear.

“That’s funny,” her grandmother said, looking back to the open book and rubbing her chin in thought. “because you didn’t mention anything like scaring it off or backing away or equipping yourself with some kind of repellent or even a knife. Not even picking up a heavy stick, just fight it with you bare hands.” Izumi focused on her as if viewing her through a scope with her next question. “Does that sound like something you ever would have done, Inko? You? Who wanted to be a housewife? The woman I remember leaving this house when she graduated, didn’t so much as tell off her own school bullies but now your first solution to fend off a wolf is using your hands?”

Inko was about to point out that it was only if her son was in danger, yet the sentence died before she’d breathed in to say it, gazing off into space. Back at the robbery she’d run, fully planning to escape. Just thinking about it, made her shoulder sting. Looking at it now, would I have run?

The idea she had to even ask herself such a fundamental thing was enough to form knots in her belly and ice on her skin. Worse, she couldn’t answer the very question she’d posed and the agitation left her like a deflating balloon.

Dread flowed through her thoughts, sliding over where confidence had been like oil and she looked to her grandmother who now was looking solemn again, all traces of humor gone. The book placed on the table between them.

“It’s as clear to me as the sun is on a cloudless day. It’s in your eyes. It’s in Izuku’s, though for him, he’s expressing this more as wanting to play around. For you, child, I bet before this conversation is over, you’ll be near to exploding out that chair.” She began, indicating the seat with nod. “You’ll be itching to climb a tree or run. Like a pot ready to boil over, you’ll feel ready to run half way across the world. Maybe a quarter if you didn’t sleep well last night. I can tell you now, it won’t help. I wasn’t being dramatic when I said it was a curse. While I can’t trace our family line back further than the late 1800s, I guarantee what you’re feeling has cost some of them their lives.”

Even though Inko knew the feeling, the odd sensation that had followed moments when she’d gotten angry, it was only when her grandmother said it that she truly had the words for it.

“The desire for battle, Inko. That’s what those tails mean. ‘Destruction and feral savagery,’ I think one ancestor wrote. It’s one reason why all the other branches of this tree are gone now, pruned by the rush to war or a duel or even some bar fight that has gotten plenty of them killed.” Izumi stated, her voice touching an edge that Inko would only recognize later as a sob. “This is why I beg your forgiveness.” Staring into her lap, hands clasped she turned to her grandmother. Unable to speak, she stared as her grandmother cupped her face in her hands, clearly ashamed. “My empty hopes for this never to happen doesn’t excuse the fact that I could’ve gotten you and your son killed.”

If Inko wasn’t already feeling like she was lost out to sea, she’d have been swept away by that statement. As it was she stood, more unfolding from the chair than rising out of it, and her grandmother jumped slightly as if expecting some violent reaction. Indeed, Inko didn’t know what to do. Emotions warred in her mind, crowding her thoughts until it felt that no words nor any amount of them would ever be enough. Even standing, staring blankly off into space was an effort to decide. What could she do?

Scream? Cry? Call the woman who raised her after the hell of her early childhood a liar and stomp out like an immature child?

For a many hard ticks of the grandfather clock, she was a living statue. Not moving, not sure if she was breathing and finally, said the only thing she could. “I need a moment. To think. And some space. To think.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spun and left the study. However, the hall wasn’t enough space. Her old home felt even tighter than her apartment, too much stuff on the walls and not enough open air. She continued to the front, throwing open the door and stepping out onto the porch, the Toyota Century still parked a few feet from the steps, it’s polished paint and chrome gleaming in the midday sun.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The house had a physical almost unnatural presence at her back, like it was going to fall upon her. She didn’t look back to it as she marched past the car and onto the drive. With how her week was going, she’d only be mildly peeved if she turned around to see the house teetering like a stack of papers near an open window. She didn’t so much a glance over her shoulder as she continued down the drive, gravel crunching with each step. There was too much to think about and if she had to listen to anymore of that… that… what even was that? Crazy, was what it was. Her grandmother had totally lost her mind, that explained it all. Extra insanity to top off the several helpings of it she’d gotten back in the city and there STILL wasn’t enough space.

Picking her pace up to a jog, she passed from the gravel and only paused long enough to take the direction away from town, and continued down the road. The muscles in her jaw worked as she thought, not even realizing face now had a determined glare. In fact, if this was true, how had no one found out about it? A family with monkey tails popping up would make news no matter what century it was. She’d have known about them, an old cousin or a grand-aunt or someone! Hell, this was something even he would have mentioned.

Oh great, now she was thinking of that man. A growl rolled from her lips and she picked up the pace even more. Still wasn’t far enough. She didn’t even want to see the trees around the house. The asphalt ahead of her passed by, the summer heat waves making the furthest point in the road seem ethereal and unreal. As if, when one reached it, they’d come to the end of reality itself. Inko was ready to take that challenge. Her pace rose, the wild storm of her thoughts the only opposition. The road was clear, a country lane on the weekend was sure to be lacking cars for miles and at that she moved from the side to the center of the road. Her run increasing to a full on sprint along the white line. Each step devoured the distance before her, one foot tramped in front of the other, arms working back and forth like a steam locomotive and eye glaring ahead but not quite seeing.

Quite literally running on autopilot, Inko ran for that insubstantial finish line, some illogical place in her brain telling her that if she could reach it then the world would suddenly be sane again. That her grandmother’s story wasn’t true. That a murderous criminal was already in jail. That Hisashi was here with her and not...who knew where. That the robbery had not ever happened, she’d bought that ice cream pop for Izuku, and left. She had sense enough to know she had much chance of making it to that haze as she did not having this week happen, but damn if she didn’t try.

XXX

“Wow.” Izuku could see the whole world from here, her was certain. He stood bent low, heels flat and body crouched on the thickest and tallest branch of the tallest tree he’d ever climbed, feeling the breeze cool and unrestrained across his skin. It was high enough that he could make out the red flag from here, his view clear above the canopy.

He was indeed quite a distance from it though, so far in fact that it didn’t looked like a flag pole but more like someone had stuck a gray toothpick with a tiny rectangle on the end, in some moss. The forest, green and unbroken, flowed with the shape of the land to the horizon. Shading his eyes with a hand, Izuku followed its contours. It was amazing. He’d never been this high before without being in a building. Taking a moment and combing a hand through his mossy green hair up to get his bangs out of the way, he leaned forward to scope out more details in the greenery before him. Tongue out and eyes squinted in concentration, the four year old focused as hard as he could, both on climbing tree and now trying to take in the forest and thus missed the nest of spotted brown green eggs tucked between the trunk and limb.

The harsh croak made his heart leap in his chest and he snapped his head around in time to see a crow swoop for his face. It’s black wings spread wide and flapping, it looked even bigger as it closed on him. He jumped, trying to ward the animal off then whirling his arms as his heels shifted just enough to put off his careful balancing act. Wobbling, Izuku’s internal gyroscope worked overtime to keep him from pitching over, feet shuffling. The crow in a series of outraged caws backed off for as long for it to reorient itself to buzz him again.

It didn’t get the chance. A deep low-pitched groaning of wood met his ears and made Izuku freeze. All too late, he figured that the branch, thick as it was, only stayed stable as long at the weight on it wasn’t being thrown around.

The Crack was like thunderclap to his ears and his stomach rose as the rest of him dropped. Tumbling through empty air like a stone, he desperately clawed for something...anything but he was too far from the trunk. Fear tightened his chest and choked any screams he would’ve made into small whimpers. Tiny noises which went silent as he crashed through thin branches, swatting at his body like whips hard enough to sting yet so weak they barely slowed his fall.

He yelped. A particularly firm branch struck him across the chest hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs before his momentum snapped it like a twig. It bounced him further away from the tree and stopped his wild spin, giving him a clear view of the rising ground and shrinking empty air in between.

He had to stop! His sharp eyes were able to easy make out the thin blades of grass sprouting between heavy roots and smooth moss covered rocks. Izuku was a smart child but even if he wasn’t, he knew hitting that wouldn’t be good. He needed to stop! If he didn’t-

The ground closed in on him like a wall ready to crush far too fast. The trees roots looking more deadly with every passing second.

The four year old threw his arms forward, palms forward to brace and as his breath came back, screamed as loud as he could. “STOP!”

By all rights, Izuku should’ve hit the ground and been lucky if he lived through it with just a broken arm. He was fully aware of that and, many years later when he thought back to this moment, remembered the fear, the near blind icy panic that pounded his veins and tightened his chest. He would indeed remember and be unafraid to look into the empty eyes of a threat much greater than the memory and try what he’d done again.

The scream ripped through the tranquil forest atmosphere like the crack of a gun and just before he hit the ground, the four year old felt a shock run through him from tongue to tailbone. An impact ran through his arms, a jolt the reminded him of the time he’d pushed on a heavy door just as it was swinging closed. The curtain of dust and dirt flung him and he felt his stomach twist slightly at the intimidate change in direction.

Landing at an angle and much slower speed, he hit the ground with a small grunt rolling to a stop a good distance away from the tree he’d fallen from.

Curled into as tight a ball he could managed, Izuku lay on the ground shaking, short panicky breaths making his voice squeak with each on he took. His head felt like it was bobbing in a tub, ears rushing, and seeing spots even though his eyes were screwed tight. The ground under him felt like it was turning slowly and he could feel his heart beating against his ribs, making his breaths vibrate in his lungs.

When he tried to stand, he was shaking so bad that his arms and legs wobbled like that jelly he’d eaten earlier. They gave and he fell onto his butt. “Ouch,” he hissed rubbing the sore spot

Should he tell his mom? He shook his head as soon as he thought about it. He shouldn’t have been in the tree in the first place and he didn’t want to disappoint her when explaining what he’d done.

He walked his way back to the house, stopping for awhile at a creek that he’d past in his headlong charge. He only planned to throw two or three stones in the water before leaving. That changed when he skipped his first stone, a smooth river rock, hard enough to clear the water in two skips and just barely miss the trunk of a small tree on the bank.

Trying again, the third rock grazed his target, going off to the side somewhere and into the grass. The fourth hit dead center and from there he made target practice of it, every stone tossed with a little more force behind it. By the time he felt it was time to go, the tree had so many stone stuck into it, he’d been forced to angle the last throw higher to avoid them.

As he left the riverbed and went back to his Great-Grandma’s house, with no clue of the depth of the crater he’d left near where he’d fallen.

The property inspectors would bring the ditch to Izumi’s attention a month later and theorize that maybe someone was breaking onto her property looking for something and that cameras might need to be set up near the boundary. The woman in question would smile sweetly, say she’d take their advice into consideration.

XXX

How far had she gone? Inko had no clue but gave no effort to guess. Her heart slammed against her ribs, lungs working like a bellows, and sweat had long past beaded on her skin and was streaming down her face, but she didn’t let up. Her sprint carried her further and further, trees passing by as indistinct blurs at the edge of her vision as she focused on the goal ahead. When her body began to ache, she powered through it. The muscles in her body tightened. Just a little bit at a time until, right as the sun began its journey from noon to evening, both legs folded under her.

Managing one step in an attempt to catch herself, she fell hard. Her body unable to keep up with the monumental strain she’d forced it through and barely managed to not smash her face into the road. Pain snapped through her arms as she caught her right elbow on the road. With a cry of pain, her one extra step and momentum carried her from the center of the narrow road and into a low ditch leading into a clear and open field.

She landed back first, her shoulder and thigh singing the high notes in the symphony of agony playing through her, and was left staring up into the sky. Blue with streaks of white puffy brushstroke clouds lazily drifted above. Sweat, soaked through her shirt, stung her eyes and made everything hard to see. Her hard heavy breathing was balanced on a knife point from hyperventilating, sounding both raspy and wet. Her temples throbbed and her skin pulsed, and her injuries were making her pay, the fire paving white hot tracks between her shoulder and thigh where supernovas seared their mark in her nerves. Her fingers twitched and she barely felt the cuts she knew were on her elbows. Was that good or bad, she didn’t know. What she did know was, right now she could barely move, was bleeding at the side of the road in a field with no cellphone and quite unable to crawl, much less stand.

That wasn’t why she began to weep though. The pain in her body couldn’t match the gaping hole of dread in her chest, the terrible certainty that her grandmother was telling her the truth. She cried for herself, for Izuku, for the end of their  simple lives. Inko mourned for it all because, she felt that itch in the back of her mind. A desire that, even with her in such a sorry exhausted state, reared in her mind like a ghost returned for the grave. It had been given a label by her grandmother and now, Inko truly understood the depths of her change.

Her grandmother was telling the truth.

Inko was sobbing so hard that she barely noticed the sounds of someone coming through the grass, the shape of a man leaning into her sight indistinct with her blurred eyes. “Jeez, are you okay, Ma’am?” The words dripped against her senses like light rain.

Her answer was to weep harder.

No. No, she wasn’t. Maybe she never would be again.

It took a great deal of convincing, once she’d gotten control of herself, for the man who apparently owned the land Inko had taken a tumble into, to take her, a strange injured, hysterically crying woman he happened upon to her grandmother’s house and not the hospital. Or to the local police. Thankfully, while the man didn’t know Izumi personally but being a neighbor of sorts, he knew where she lived and believed her when she told him she was her granddaughter. His concern clearly wasn’t eased since when he asked what happened to her shoes on the drive over, Inko had given him a confused look and with effort, looked down at her bare dirty bleeding feet.

All that running and it took a stranger for her to notice she hadn’t put her shoes back on before leaving the house. Upon arrival, the man knocked at front door and when her grandmother opened it, had a short discussion that ended with the man looking more mollified than before. Clearly, Izumi had put him at ease and held the door open as the man helped Inko out of his Daihatsu truck.

With painful effort on her part, Inko was helped to the upstairs bedroom, the guest one, not her old one. Once she was seated on the bed, leaning into the headboard for support her grandmother thanked the man, told him she could take it from here, and led the man out.

A short minute later, Inko heard her grandmother’s footsteps on the hardwood stairs, coming up fast and steady and entered the room. In her left hand was a green medical kit, a large one with the symbol of the red cross on its side and tucked under her right arm was a set of towels and washcloths. “First,” she began in a voice that spoke of experience and brokered no argument. It wasn’t angry, though that’s what Inko had expected. A scolding reprimand for doing something foolish and stupid. Instead, there was that kindness and patience that her grandmother carried like a wallet. “we need to get you out of those clothes and clean up your wounds before they get infected. Next, tomorrow you’re coming on a hike with me so we can cover the rest of what you need to know.”

The thought of doing anything tomorrow was enough to get a groan from her, knowing that her body was going to pay her back double but she refused to complain. She’d just given herself a hard lesson which luck had saved her from an even harder one. She would have still been out there baking in the sun and there was no point complaining.

Taking her grandmother’s hand, Inko was pulled to her feet and leaned against Izumi for support who barely seemed bothered by burden and helped her into the large guest bathroom. It was more than a little infantilizing to need her grandmother’s help to undress but not only did she accept the help, she was glad for it. Every limb and muscle barely cooperated when she wanted to do something. Twisting or bending was out of the question and trying to pull off her shirt had been more than difficult. So much so, that Izumi had to used the medical scissors to cut them off after the fifth failed try.

Once everything was off and she was seated on the bathtub edge, Izumi used a detachable shower head to began rinsing the dirt off. Starting at the feet and then up the body, making specific care of her elbows. To Inko’s relief, the fall had hurt much more than the cuts made. The lukewarm water stung where it touched, aggravating but clearing away the dirt and sweat, a murky runoff flowing down the drain. After it was all off, her grandmother opened the kit and with rubbing alcohol soaked cotton balls and a pair of tweezers, dabbed the open wounds.

Soon, even that was done and Izumi after rinsing out the tub, plugged the drain and began filling it was warm water. The bath was relaxing, quick, and once Inko dried off enough, Izumi dressed the cuts in gauze after one last rub down of alcohol. Then she left to bring in the suitcases from the car.

The whole affair had been silent, save for an exchange of yes-no questions like ‘Does this hurt? Do you think you can reach there?’ or instructions to follow such as ‘Bend your arm like this. Relax your hand, Child.’ Nothing more than that.

Inko spent it thinking and Izumi gave her time to think. The air wasn’t tense but vacant of inevitable discussion like two people at a dinner table knowing an unpleasant subject needed to be brought up but there was no need to ruin a good meal, it could wait until then. When Izumi came back into the bathroom with a set of clothes in her hands, Inko asked the only question she could as she put on her clothes, an exercise in trial and error to figure out what did and didn’t hurt. “How bad will it be?”

Her grandmother said nothing for a long moment and Inko worried that she wouldn’t answer. “It’s not going to be easy. For me it was like a craving, one that I worked hard to not to indulge but others in the past have described it as an addiction comparable to a drug and like a drug, you have to keep seeking more and more of to satisfy. If it’s like a drug, then I guess it depends of your willpower.”

Inko nodded silently. She only noticed the black book in her grandmother’s hands. Izumi set the book down on the end table next to the lamp. “Read this. You won’t get through it all tonight so I think you should start with my entries.” She said, making a point to tap the red bookmark inside. “They pertain to the more present issues and don’t read like some Shakespearean play.”

Inko nodded again and she nor her grandmother broached the subject any further. They both knew what had to be done and there was no point beating it in any further.

By the time Izuku had bounded back in, she’d managed to get back downstairs and had turned on the TV to some random channel. It was easy for her to put on a brave face for him as, after she got him to take a bath since he looked like he decided to roll down a few hills, he tried his best to tell her in a single breath how great the forest was.

“And the trees are so tall!!!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms up to give scale. His wild gesture caused him to bounce  on the living room couch a bit. While his enthusiasm was infectious, helping Inko smile through the sharp deep pains in her muscles, her chest ached. A mournful leftover for a past that was never going to come back and the fear of an unknown future tugging at her heartstrings. “You can see everything from up one of them.”

That got her to lift an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

Her son got very quiet, a shocked look on his face that steady turned guilty. “Just guessed, you know?” She didn’t believe him. Her son was bright but he never ‘just guessed’ anything. The lie was only made more obvious by the sudden clinical interest her son picked up in the few blank spaces of wall in the living room. Coincidentally, it also happened that the wall kept him from looking at her.

“Young man.” She said, putting just the right tone to it and her son jumped a little at her voice. “I’m going to let it go, but don’t lie to me again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHVRCHES - MIRACLE

[4.89]

A distinctly minor one, perhaps...

Vikram Joseph: Listening to new Chvrches material feels like trying to relocate the spark in a relationship that was once effortlessly electrifying. "The Bones of What You Believe" soundtracked so much of my life for a year or so, mostly after dark -- bus rides back from late shifts; stumbling drunk and glowing from the pub; hopeful, tight-chested tube journeys home from doomed dates. The songs were club-sized but intimate, relentlessly pop but uncommonly esoteric, and even when the lyrics painted in broad brushstrokes, they felt somehow personal. The difficult thing is that, on "Miracle," most of the pieces are ostensibly still in place -- pretty arpeggiated synth lines, cavernous half-time drops, Lauren Mayberry's gorgeous vocals -- but, as with so many of the rest of their post-"Bones" songs, something feels missing. Maybe it's just predictability creeping in -- their sound has hardly changed at all -- or maybe it's lacking a certain tension that used to be inherent to their songs. It still sounds fine; it just doesn't make me feel much. [5]

Tim de Reuse: You know, I dated a dude who loved Chvrches around the time they released their second album. He tried to keep up enthusiasm for it but the best he could manage was a mutter of "'Clearest Blue' is pretty good, I guess," and I distinctly remember the look of blank disappointment he wore while listening to his favorite band distance themselves from the scrappy aesthetic they had when they were still just a bunch of Scottish synthpop upstarts. Now that they've seen that process to its completion and slipped all the way over to writing big-drop stadium pop that just happens to use a pleasant Moog here and there -- and now that the Stranger Things era has thoroughly saturated our ears with glossy worship of that particular brand of synthesizer anyway -- I can only imagine he'd be even less excited about this latest development. I mean, I wasn't into it from the beginning, as much as I tried to relate, and this certainly isn't convincing me now. [3]

Ryo Miyauchi: Though first promoted to different crowds, time has come to show that Chvrches and PVRIS have been somewhat contemporaries in this corner of pop that pushed electronic music as the new arena rock. "Miracle" finds the former meeting up with the latter, especially with that howling chorus built around glass shards and cataclysm. They color it with just enough neon synths to mark the record as theirs, but a deeper connection to the dance floor would've done this track some good. [5]

Ian Mathers: Hmm. Chvrches were first presented to me as synthpop (and sure, something like the still peerless "The Mother We Share" fits, I think), but either they've always been more modern EDM than I thought or I just didn't notice (as in, this reminds me of Zedd ft. Foxes more than OMD). And you may say "well, is there that much of a difference?" and I don't honestly know, but I know they feel differently and I think framing things one way or another probably affects how they're received. So noticing that about "Miracle" might be part of enjoying it more than just about anything from the band I've heard since "The Mother We Share." Which may be a me thing and not a them thing; I'm just glad it sounds this good. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: A potentially good Chvrches song heartbreakingly handed off to Steve Mac, who is heartbreakingly emulating Imagine Dragons. Is cash flow really that bad? [4]

Iain Mew: In tonal terms, it's not that big a step from doing a whole song build-up to a Depeche Mode riff drop, to going full electro modern rock stomp, but it's one of the most striking moments on Love is Dead. There's still something of the cool kid trying out the mosh pit to it, though. Even as they're bouncing around there's a sense it could be more fun if they threw themselves into it more completely. [6]

Juan F. Carruyo : This one goes loud-quiet-loud but never really goes boom and while it strives to be danceable it ultimately ends up too self-conscious and epic to allow itself to have a little fun. [2]

Stephen Eisermann: I've always been a sucker for anthemic choruses and this over-produced, hand-clap accompanied noisefest is no exception. Though the song threads familiar water, it's just catchy enough to earn a place on the late night, alcohol and drug infused dance-floor jam out, even if it's forgotten in the painful morning after. [6]

Alfred Soto: It sports an anguish and urgency of which they were often capable but didn't often demonstrate. The whoa-oh-ohs and the massiveness of those stacked chorus synths abjure resolution. "I'm not asking for a miracle," Lauren Mayberry insists, willing herself to believe. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[drink-n-watch]

  Genre:  Drama, Romance, Slice of Life, Yuri

Length: 59 minutes

Studio: ZEXCS

  Kase-san and Yamada just started dating a little while ago. It’s all very new and exciting and confusing and a little scary. Yamada hasn’t ever dated anyone before. Let alone someone as popular and talented as Kase-san. Love can be daunting, even for the best of us. Thankfully Yamada may just be one of the best of us! And although she might seem all cool and composed on the surface, it’s not like Kase-san isn’t feeling those butterflies fluttering about. Kase-san and Morning Glories is a very sweet story about young love, new love and first love between two high school girls in their last year before college, with all the challenges, joys and pretty flowers that implies.

A little while ago I watched, and more importantly reviewed Sweet Blue Flowers. I really loved that series and asked my readers to recommend anything similar. I was and still am in a Yuri kind of mood. I added the caveat that I wanted something light hearted or at least happy. Kase-san and Morning Glories was possibly the most recommended title in my comments. My readers have been pretty great about recommending anime and this one happened to already be on my list. So I bumped it up and here we are!

Can I go too?

Kase-san and Morning Glories looks very cute. I say this in the best possible way. Stripped of meaning or context, the visuals in this OVA just made me a little happy. Heck, finding that gif for my header had me grinning from ear to ear. It’s not that there’s anything particularly interesting in them but for me, attention was given to the right elements.

The colours are great, the facial expressions are well…expressive…sigh, and there is a beautiful light emanating from several scenes that really gives you the impression of a sunny day.

you can almost smell the grass

The sound design is also great. There are many moments with no background music at all. It’s unusual. It makes mundane and unremarkable events just a little tense or a little sad and the viewer doesn’t know why. It’s also sort of a subconscious relief when a soft barely noticeable music begins to play and for a while, I didn’t quite grasp what was going on. This was a particularly effective way of making me share Yamada’s insecurities and uncertainty without a drop of exposition or some contrived situation. Sometimes you get all weird and nervous in a new relationship and you don’t know why. And then you’re super happy and you can’t stop smiling. The sound design created the illusion of that. I found it pretty remarkable.

This said, Kase-san and Morning Glories did often feel sort of empty. This may very well have been on purpose, and I’ll touch on it a bit later, but the bulk of the movie only had one or two characters on screen. The school yards and streets were completely devoid of people, backgrounds was somewhat sparse. Yamada and Kase-san live in a very small world. There is also a lot of stillness. On a few occasions, I wondered if my playback was frozen. It wasn’t. It’s great for mood building but a little sad.

a pretty sort of sad

I think I did a decent job summarizing the story in general but I’m also skimming over a lot of stuff. I think Kase-san and Morning Glories could have been a season of anime. The narrative structure feels like it was meant to be episodic rather than a single continuous story. What I mean is that the meat of the story is fairly standard romance plots.

Tension arises because Kase-san is very busy with friends, club activities (she’s the start of the track team) and school so the two hardly have any time together and Yamada feels left out and insecure. The girls both feel very nervous exploring their budding sexuality and the differences in their drives creates some soft tension. Conflict arises from the fact that Yamada feels her own body is unattractive compared to the very athletic Kase-san and she loses confidence. Yamada notices how popular Kase-san is, especially compared to herself who only has one real friend (but it’s the Best friend!) and she starts doubting she deserves to be in the relationship. Big conflict rears its head when it comes time to choose universities and the two might end up separated and in different towns…

all loves have their hardships

All of these are great and valid plot lines. Except there’s 5 of them. Not counting some minor misunderstandings. That’s 5 complete plot lines that have a build up, tension and resolution. All in under an hour! The characters themselves are not melodramatic and the story does resolve them with minimal tears and hand wringing. But just by the very fact that every 10 minutes or so one of the leads gets really insecure and down on themselves, gave the impression of a much more dramatic story than it is. Personally, I would have traded one or two of those conflicts for more happy scenes of the girls having cake together or just learning to get to know each other.

Most of the OVA is told from Yamada’s point of view. Yamada shy, especially compared to Kase-san. She’s introverted and quiet. She is the only member of the horticulture club and enjoys spending a lot of time watering the plants by herself. Basically Yamada is alone a lot and Kase-san does seem to leave her behind to spend time with her friends fairly often. When you combine that with the fact that the entire OVA is a little barren, with few background characters at all and spartan scenery, it really intensifies that feeling of loneliness. That’s o.k. though. Sometimes you do feel alone in a relationship, I get that!

it’s worth it though

The stillness of the production had a similar effect. But this time, it emphasized both girls’ hesitance and fear. The unsteady nature of their relationship and the uncertainty of two girls dating each other was all in those pauses and never once said out loud.

I really do appreciate the subtle approach Kase-san and Morning Glories takes to portraying the emotional roller coaster of young love. It’s rather pretty. I wish they hadn’t packed quite that many conflicts but don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad at all. And if there is one thing that I knew for certain at the end of this OVA is that Kase-san and Yamada both really love each other. I particularly enjoyed seeing Kase-san get all flustered (which she does a lot!) and completely destroy that cool girl image, but she’ll always be cool in Yamada’s eyes.

It’s not my favourite Yuri but it was a pleasant and a pretty good way to spend an hour on a Sunday afternoon!

there’s never enough Mikawa

Favourite character: Mikawa she deserves her own spin off!

What this anime taught me: How to make a simple matcha chiffon. I got hungry watching them eat cakes so I decided to bake one for myself. They eat shortcakes but I wanted something matcha flavoured. Anyways, it was good.

“If she doesn’t text you when she’s drunk, you ain’t the one”

Suggested drink:  Morning Glory (way too easy)

Every time Kase-san gets flustered – Kampai!

Every time Yamada does some gardening – take a sip

Every time Mikawa pops up – cheer!

Every time Kase and Yamada aren’t able to spend time together – awww

Every time Yamada “sprouts” – get some water

Every time the girls get alone time – gasp and take a sip

Every time Kase-san blushes – fan yourself

Every time we see a boy – take a sip

Every time the girls get to eat sweets – get a snack

Every time Kase-san gets called away by her friends – take a sip

Every time we see the bus stop – take a sip

Every time there’s a lens flare – take a sip

I ended up with a lot of fun screencaps, here are a few:

          Kase-san and Morning Glories and Day Lilies Genre:  Drama, Romance, Slice of Life, Yuri Length: 59 minutes Studio: ZEXCS Kase-san and Yamada just started dating a little while ago.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 19 - Secret Identity

Summary: It’s not easy, being part of S4. Luckily, Tsukamoto Lena has a good way to work out some tension. Metal music might not be the most conventional therapy, but it works wonders. 

---

“Everyone, thank you for coming today!”

The audience screaming in front of the stage was a rush of red-tinged penlights. They matched the spotlights and the glitter on stage in front of them as the girl on stage smiled and waved at her fans. She was wearing red too – a bright red coat, topping off the famous 4 Star Academy S4 uniform. It was the dream for any 4 Star Student.

For Tsukamoto Lena, it was Tuesday.

“I hope to see you all back real soon!” She winked and flashed a thumbs up to the cheering crowds as she disappeared behind the stage. As soon as nobody could see her, she let out a massive sigh of relief. Her shoulders dropped almost as fast as the sweat dripping down her brow like a river. It got hot under those lights, even more when she started moving around.

If only the Aikatsu system had a built in fan...

Slowly, she plodded down the hallway from the stage to S4's dressing room. Given how she could still hear the crowd, the live had been a smashing success. Of course, S4 always brought it when they came on stage. That was their job.

“Man, I'm tired.” Lena brushed sweaty lavender hair out of her face and watched as it fell back. “Better dry off and get going.”

She found the dressing room, labeled with the names of S4 members. When she opened it, it wasn't really a voluntary action; the girl more or less fell against the door to get it open, then held on for dear life as it swung open. Right after a solo stage, that was all the energy she had.

“Good job today, Lena-chan!” a bubbly voice sounded from the side. A girl in a similar outfit was seated at the table, drinking from a water bottle. Her senpai, Nijino Yume, always managed to have more than enough energy. How she managed to look so perfect after a full set was still a mystery to the younger idol, but she admired it all the same.

Lena managed to smile and nod. “Thanks, Yume-senpai. You were really awesome up there with your Sun Wings. Everyone loved it.”

“It really worked the crowd up!” Yume handed her a red water bottle as she sat for a few minutes to breathe. “You look like you really got into it out there.”

Was it the sweat and messy hair that had given it away? Lena kept her smile as she took a sip of the water. Soon she had her towel and was wiping off the massive amounts of sweat. Luckily, their actual uniforms were still hanging up. These were just the stage versions – they would get too sweaty otherwise.

Speaking of – her phone beeped in the pocket of her actual uniform jacket. It took quite a lot of effort for Lena to stand up, but she managed it to cross the small distance. Her phone was an easy find, still tucked into the left pocket where she'd left it.

Ema: Yo, Tsuna. You coming or what tonight?

Shit.

Lena glanced at the clock. She had two hours to get back to school, then make it to her next work location. It was hard, but doable. Nothing she wasn't used to as she typed in a response one-handed, still clutching her towel.

Tsuna: Yeah I'll be there. You better be on key this time, dude.

“Senpai, I'm going to head back. My next job's coming up. Tell Ako-senpai and Mahiru-senpai they sounded great for me.”

Yume nodded as Lena headed back out into the hallway to catch a ride back to Four Star. It was something they were all used to – the demands of being an idol meant they were always on the move. Sometimes you couldn't stay behind to talk to your friends – even if you really wanted to do it. That was just part of being an idol.

It wasn't a pleasant part, but she had learned to accept it.

---

“You look like shit, Tsuna.”

“I ran all the way here, give me a break.”

It was another backstage, a smaller one covered in band posters. Outside of the room, loud metal music blared through speakers to a screaming crowd. There wasn't a single glow stick to be found among the bunch, just a lot of raised fists and throwing up the horns.

She loved it.

“Ever heard of the bus?” A girl with a guitar – Ema – adjusted her jacket. “You're lucky you're good in gym class, that'd kill me.”

Lena nodded, careful not to move her hat too much. She had ditched her school uniform for jeans and a red hoodie. Her face was currently hidden by a dark wig and a beanie that kept everything together. If she spoke in her lower register, nobody looked twice. To them, she was just a pretty damn skilled middle schooler.

Just the way she wanted it.

“It's about the only thing I'm good at.” She paused to peak out. “Damn, that crowd is huge.”

Not nearly as big as the one she had been singing in front of before, but it had a more entertaining energy. Something about it just felt... real... to her. She could never quite describe it, but something about standing in front of that wild crowd gave her enough energy to keep going.

Lena had found the band she fronted for months ago through a paper someone had tacked to the wall at a recording studio. The girls of Thornslash were older middle school and high school, but they had accepted her readily. Now they were like something of a second family to her.

A secret family that didn't know what she did during the rest of her week... so maybe they weren't that close.

“Hope you practiced that growl, we're on in five.” Their drummer, the founder and a high school first year named Mari, was already practicing with her sticks. She often did that when they weren't performing; it was her tick.

The bassist, a middle school third year, scoffed lightly. “Don't be too worried, the next group is all idol-y. I guess they think they're the next Babymetal.”

“They wish. They're just two bit idol wannabes.”

Lena swallowed hard as the band chuckled. Another reason to have a secret identity. She had never asked how the group specifically felt about idols, but it probably wasn't too great. After all, Ema's sister had tried to get into 4 Star. She had grown up hearing audition songs and the angst of not getting in after all that practice. Apparently her family didn't talk about it anymore. As a younger sister, she could only guess how the guitarist felt and well... she didn't want to poke that bear.

So she'd keep her sparkly coords to herself, thank you very much.

She didn't have much time to think about it, though. The band before them had left the stage, meaning it was their time up. On the way up, they passed the so-called idol band chatting. Definitely sparkly enough, though Lena didn't pick up any auras. Most likely, they were just girls with a color scheme.

Cute girls, but not idols. Easy rookie mistake.

The crowd was already riled up as the band took the stage. Lena stood at the front, mic in front of her. Behind her, the rest of the band tuned and prepared to start playing. She took a deep breath as she surveyed the crowd, so different from her usual ones and yet the same in one way. They were there to see her perform, and she was going to give it her all. It didn't matter what she was singing – when she stepped on stage, it was to play for keeps.

And she was a stubborn asshole.

Behind her, the drum beat started and soon the guitar and bass roared to life. Their song pounded through the speakers, loud and jarring and so completely opposite from the idol tunes she spent days practicing for.

At least she didn't have to dance here.

Lena smirked as she grabbed for the mic. When it was her time to come in, she came in hard with her chest voice rather than the head tone she had to use in her normal day job. Really, the best part about being a secret metal singer was that she got to scream at people without getting yelled at. It was the best therapy there was.

She lost track of time, screaming into that microphone. One song followed another, until they had worked through the entire short set. Sweat dripped down her brow once more as they finished the last song, the crowd screaming with them. It was a wave of sound crashing down on them, screaming the band's name as they finally left the stage for the next group.

Lena felt boneless as she leaned against the wall, sweat dripping off her chin and onto the floor. “I think we rocked it.”

“Almost feel bad for the band that's coming next. Poor idols can't handle something like that.” Ema punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Damn good screaming out there, Tsuna. You're going to be killing death metal by high school at this rate.”

She grinned and punched back. “Hope you'll still be able to keep up on backup vocals once I get there.”

High school – that was a whole other beast for idols. Lena didn't even want to think about that then as she joked with her band mates. Right then, she was just a middle school metal head. Anything else could come later.

“Don't get cocky, kid. You're still like 12.” Ema was all smiles as she and the rest of the band headed off in their separate directions. Lena watched them go, waiting. Then she went in her own direction, towards the bus stop. After that, it be the direct line back to 4 Star.

Her schedule was beeping in her back pocket, reminding her that she had two interviews and a radio show in the morning tomorrow. Then there would be practice for her solo live, and then afternoon classes with the rest of the dance group. If she was lucky, she'd be able to get some metal practice in after, in one of the soundproof practice rooms. They were good for screaming.

Just looking at her schedule made her smile fall. Lena sighed as she rubbed the back of her neck. The whole week was going to be like that, and the week after that. That's what happened when you were a top idol.

“Shit.”

Shoulders sagging, she sat down on the bus stop to wait. There went her good mood. It was back to reality now. At least here, nobody would mind if she didn't smile. That would be a requirement when she was back in uniform. Until then, she could just be herself.

So she treasured those few quiet moments. They kept her as sane almost as much as screaming into a mic did. That probably wasn't a great sign for her health, but... well... she couldn't complain. She had brought it on herself.

Another day in the life of a popular idol, she supposed. And people actually wanted to be in her spot?

[skiphunt]

Peyote Brujo

One of the desert regions in Mexico, in the state of San Luis Potosi, is considered sacred to the indigenous tribe called Huicholes. They call the region “Wiricuta” or “Huiricuta” and it’s just North of the city of San Luis Potosi and even closer to the town of Matehuala. There’s a popular tourist town up in the Sierra Madres that line the desert below called Real de Catorce. Wiricuta is the desert below. 

One of the nearby mountain peaks, maybe an hour hike on foot from Real de Catorce, is called “Quemado” by the locals. The way it was explained to me is that the very first Huichole saw the very first sunrise coming up over Quemado. The Huichole believe that the head of each family must make a pilgrimage through the desert and up to the peak of Quemado every 3 years for peyote rituals. They believe this practice must continue in order for the Sun to continue to rise. Peyote is used along the way and these colorful god’s eye crosses made of wood and colored yarn are placed at different points along the sacred route. 

This practice has gone on for possibly a couple thousand years. In the past, the journey would be made on foot all the way from the Nayarit region where the Huichole live. Now most of the journey is taken by bus and the last week or so on foot. 

I’ve never participated in one of the Huichole ceremonies, but I have come across the yarn crosses they leave along the route. I’ve also visited the ceremonial grounds above Real de Catorce, atop Quemado. There are several primitive concentric circles made of stones and many more of the yarn crosses left behind. Often they have a photo of a loved Huichole, children, etc. and some pesos and candles left behind. I believe they carry the prayers of the loved ones up to the ceremonial site and the objects as offerings. 

I’m not an expert on Huichole tribal and spiritual culture, but having gone to the sacred Wiricuta myself on several occasions, one hears lots of stories. 

The first time I went there was back in 1994. Another backpacker from Austria had told me about it. Or, rather… a couple of years after we’d met on the road, he sent me a photo of himself in this desert. There was a peace about him in the photo. He was just standing out in this dry expanse with mountains in the background, a simple Mexican poncho, a wooden staff, and he looked dusty. 

Not long after the letter and photo had arrived in the mail, I heard from him. It’s been a long time now, but I think his name is Gerard. He was passing through Texas on his way to visit other places in the U.S. and contacted me to see if it’d be cool to visit. 

Gerard only stayed a few days, but before he continued on his journey, he gave me instructions on how to get to a place in the desert called Wadley. And, he told me to ask for an older local man, Don Tomas. Gerard said to mention his name to Don Tomas and he’d fix me up. 

I’d been to Wadley several times when this particular story takes place, and Don Tomas did indeed fix me up. Every time I returned to Wadley I’d go straight to Don Tomas’ house for a key to one of the several rooms he rented to backpackers. He had a couple of enclosed compounds with around a half dozen basic rooms with a smooth concrete floor, tin roof, metal door with padlock, and a shared toilet that you have to fill up a bucket and dump into the commode to flush. Basic. 

Don Tomas also had a few rooms next to his home as well, and pretty much all of the walls in his rooms were adobe. 

On this particular visit, I stayed in the compound just above Don Tomas’ place, on the other side of the only 2-lane road that extends the entire length of Wiricuta. All of the half dozen little villages along the road were there basically as depots for the train that also runs the entire length of Wiricuta. The upper compound is a bit further from the train track and pretty much on the very outskirts of town. 

The lower compound is interesting in that it’s right in the middle of town, where you can hear all of the sounds of life there. And, it’s closer to the little tienda stores where you can get snacks, water, candles, etc. However, the lower compound is only a few meters from the train track. When a locomotive comes barreling by, the force shakes everything violently. The train whistle sounds like it’s right there in the room. You do get used to it after a while. I sometimes prefer the lower compound because of the sounds of life, and the train reminds me that the rest of the world is still powering along, while time feels like it stands still in Wadley. 

Sometimes there are a handful of other backpackers there too. Whether that’s a good thing or not, is often a roll of the dice. You can end up with some loud partiers who don’t clean up their messes and are up all hours of the night. Or, you can end up with a quiet group that you get along with. Other times I’m completely by myself. 

Each compound has it’s own little kitchen or cocina. It’s a bit generous to call it a “kitchen”. There’s a small gas stove, that if you’re lucky, Don Tomas has paid for a fresh tank of gas. There’s a scattering of various pots and pans, plates cups, utensils, etc. If you’re extra lucky, the last people there might’ve cleaned them all up. If you’re not so lucky, they’re all stacked up with varying degrees of food decaying. 

If it’s all dirty, I’ll usually clean it all up once and grab a cup, plate, spoon, and a small pot to boil my water for coffee. I’ll keep this in my room for the duration and clean them up again before I leave.

Don Tomas had first taken me to the lower compound, but I spotted a fair amount of empty cerveza bottles strewn about, some bongo drums, and a beat up guitar leaning on one of the room doors. Looked like a party.

I asked Don Tomas what the situation was like at the upper compound. He said it was empty, except for Philipe. He said Philipe is French and pretty quiet. Done! Vamanos to the upper compound then. 

These compounds are kind of a hodgepodge of repurposed rooms. I think the rooms in the lower compound were at one time stalls for pigs. I’m not sure what the upper compound was originally used for, but it was likely not built for housing backpacker peyote-eating hippies. 

The upper compound had a large storage room with a huge table and a bunch of junk. Don Tomas had shown me the other available rooms, but I asked if I could stay in the large storage room instead. I told him I saw a bed in there and I’d clean it up since I’d be there a couple weeks. He said that’d be fine but was trying to tell me something about the room to beware of. My Spanish has never been completely fluent, and Don Tomas slurs a lot… likely due to a lot of missing teeth. 

The first thing I finally gathered was that he was telling me to be wary of police. That they’d been visiting off and on. That there wasn’t any reason to be worried, but don’t bring any peyote cactus in from the desert. 

The second thing he was warning me about, I didn’t comprehend  until later when the train came through town. Don Tomas was telling me that when the train comes through, it vibrates fine dust from the tin roof that falls like snow for a few seconds. Not ideal, but tolerable. 

Don Tomas helped me push some of the junk into the corner, and he gathered up most of the garbage and swept the floor. I organized some of the storage to make more room and made the bed that was in the corner of the room. By the time we finished, I had a large empty table all to myself, and at least 3/4ths of the room cleared. 

After we’d decided it was cleaned well enough, Don Tomas took off to tend to his goats and I went to check out the kitchen situation and hopefully score myself a good cup, spoon, plate and boiling pot for the duration. I noticed the door to the room Don Tomas said Philipe was using was open and I could hear some music playing. Decided to introduce myself.

Philipe was lounging on his bed reading while puffing on a long skinny pipe. After introductions, I asked him about the strange pipe. The name of the pipe I couldn’t understand, but he said it was a special pipe he got in Morocco for smoking “kef”. Didn’t know what that was either. He pulled out a small bag that had a bright green powder in it and filled the tiny bowl of the pipe. I asked if it was similar to marijuana. Philipe said it was the same plant but a refined variant of just the most potent portion of the plant. He lit up the bowl and asked it I wanted any, but I declined. Told him that I would like to try it, but later on after I got all situated with buying some fruit, water, candles etc. Explained that I have a very low tolerance to marijuana and tend to get way too high very quickly.

Later that evening I saw Philipe chilling out in the compound kitchen with a coffee, a little portable cassette player, and his long, skinny exotic kef pipe. I’d just treated myself to a bottle of Mexican Coca-cola from the tienda and thought perhaps I’d have a seat at the table and see what this strange “kef” substance was all about. My room was all situated nicely for the next couple of weeks, I didn’t need to interact with anyone else, and my bed was only about 30 paces away. 

It was very easy to smoke. Didn’t take much either, at least for me. Generally, I don’t much care for the cloudy effects of partaking in this sort of smoke. The paranoia, confusion, and the hit your short term memory can take are not so pleasant for me. The relaxing part can be quite nice if I don’t over do it. 

The sensation from smoking Philipe’s kef was different than what I’d ever experienced before. I late discovered that Philipe was also quite the expert in high quality cannabis products, so this was likely of the highest grade. Strong for sure. Very strong. Though, I don’t recall having all the paranoia or confusion. It was more of a focussed cerebral experience where I felt like my brain was operating just fine, but on a higher level of plane. 

I can’t remember how long we talked, but I never felt like I was “out of it”. Perfectly engaged and we traded stories most of the night. It must’ve been near 3AM when we finally decided to call it a night. 

The next morning, there wasn’t a cloudy feeling or anything. Mind was clear and more focussed. Normally, for me it’s the opposite and why I typically will abstain. I guess there’s something to be said for the quality of being absolutely pure. The next day our quiet compound was invaded by 3 college-age guys from Mexico City, “Chavos”, slang for city boys. The compound has a large metal door that you can drive a vehicle through, and the new neighbors pulled their red Ford Fiesta right into the middle of the compound. They all three looked pretty stoned and like they were there to party. They tossed out 3 large backpacks onto the ground that were mostly empty, other than sleeping bags and they went to the tienda to load up on drinking water before hiking into the desert. Seemed odd that they didn’t seem to be carrying much in this huge backpacks, but you really don’t need much out in the desert anyway and knowing they were as least taking the party out into the desert was a relief.

Chatted with Don Tomas earlier in the morning when I was on my tienda run for some instant coffee. I’d seen a police truck parked at one of the shacks that doubled as a make-shift bar. Mentioned the sighting to Don Tomas. There was an old jail house in the town that appeared to be abandoned every time I’d visited, but maybe it’d been recommissioned? Don Tomas told me not to worry. That the policia were only making rounds of the desert for someone to shake down. He said there were all corrupt, but that those 3 policias were the only ones in the entire desert. Don Tomas said their station is in the next town Estacion Catorce. 

Backpackers often either hike down the mountain from the touristy town of Real de Catorce near Quemado to Estacion Catorce, or they take a taxi jeep. They call the jeeps “Willy’s” because that’s their brand I think. The 3 cops stay scarce until they see the backpackers coming back into town form the desert to catch a Willy back up to Real de Catorce. Then, they surprise them with a body search. If they’re carrying any peyote cactus, it’s a 50 peso fine for each plant. Pretty good extra drinking money, especially with the weekend approaching.

Don Tomas said he they show up in Wadley only if they haven’t caught anyone in Estacion Catorce in awhile. He also said not to worry about it. That they won’t bother you unless they can smell marijuana or think you’ve just come back from the desert. Then, they might search you. 

I thanked Don Tomas and headed out into the desert for a little hike. There’s a place I like to go that’s easy to get to. Well, everywhere is pretty easy to get to, it’s all mostly flat. It’s the thick patches of cactus that make some areas a little more tricky to get to. Many of the cactuses out there have needle-sharp thorns that can be as long as 3 whole inches and can pierce all the way through your hiking shoes into your feet it you hit them just right. 

The spot I like to go to usually has plenty of peyote cactus growing near by, a scraggily mesquite tree for a little shade, and sandy paths leading right to it that the goat herders use. You’ve still got to watch out for stray cactus thorns, but it’s much easier than hiking straight through the brush. 

On any given trip out into Wiricuta, I’ll just take off in any ol’ random direction and keep walking for hours. You can’t really get lost because you can see several kilometers in any direction no matter which way you go. This time I just went out to my mesquite tree location to inspect how much peyote was out in the general vicinity this time. It varies. Sometimes it’s all over the place, and other times it requires a longer search.

There was plenty, but I also noticed this other plant I’d never seen before. I’d heard of it, and only knew that it looked similar to peyote, but it’s meet was more pinkish purple inside instead of the light green of peyote. It’s called “Peyote Brujo” and reportedly very strong. I’d been told that only shaman’s mess with it. 

I pulled out my knife and cut into the top a little to reveal the meat. Sure enough, it was pinkish purple. Wasn’t sure if I wanted to risk experimenting with an unknown like this, but was thrilled to have finally found some. I cut it out of the ground and into small pieces and bagged it so I could hide it easier in case I happened to see those policia poking around on the hike back to Wadley. Didn’t know how it was supposed to be consumed yet either, but I knew one of the other backpackers in town would likely know. 

Back at the compound I showed my find to Philipe. He’s more knowledgeable about the cultural specifics of the Huichol Indians. He had even talked the University back in France into financing his whole trip as “research” for 3 months. I believe he was studying the sociological effects on indigenous cultures when they’re exposed to foreign tourists… or something like that.

Philipe confirmed I’d indeed found some Peyote Brujo. He said he’d never tried it before but that it was known to be very powerful and not to be trifled with. Said pretty much only shamans use Peyote Brujo and that they typically dry the cactus pieces first, grind into a powder, then it’s smoked. 

I hadn’t decided if I’d risk experimenting with it yet. But I figured I could at least prep it just in case I was game or wanted to pass it off to another backpacker later.The climate is so dry in Wiricuta that it wouldn’t take any time at all to completely dry the cactus. 

The center of the cactus was full of fine white fiber that you have to clean out first, just like the regular peyote plant. It’s almost like a coarse fibers substance and there were bits of it all over the floor I’d just swept out. I found an old primitive ladder that looked like someone had crafted it themselves from mesquite and I climbed up to place the cactus pieces on the roof of my room for the day.

Philipe asked if I wanted to join him for a little hike into the desert. I’d just come back but he wanted to explore an area I hadn’t been to yet. He said there was a nice grove of trees out there that also had soft green grass in the shady parts. Called it an “oasis”. There are a few areas like this in the otherwise bone dry desert, but they’re rare and a bit surreal when you find them. 

I told Philipe about the policia that I’d seen and the warning Don Tomas had given. He’d already seen them too but wasn’t too worried about it.

As we walked along the sandy trail, Philipe told me about a few details regarding the Huicholes peyote culture. I asked about the significance of how many sections counted atop a peyote cactus. When you look at the top of a peyote cactus, there are these little sections with tufts of that white fiber that has to be cut out too. I’ve heard that the white fiber has a small quantity of strychnine in it, and that’s part of what makes you sick, but I’m not certain that’s true or not. 

He did say there was significance, but I wasn’t sure how much of what he said was hippy backpacker hear-say… basically made up or imagined while high, or actual Huichol culture. Perhaps there isn’t really a difference. 

I told him that for me the number 13 was significant as was the number 7. Philipe said that 13 sections meant that the plant is a “maestro” or teacher. I added that in magic mushroom cultures, they tend to assign different significance to the number of mushrooms and physical characteristics of the individual mushrooms too. The longer-stemmed derrumbe mushrooms in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico are also called “maestros” as well. The cap of these is generally more bell-shaped. 

The conversation was going on like this until we reached the oasis Philipe had told me about. I could see a thick grove of mesquite trees ahead of us. It hadn’t rained in awhile, so everything was covered with a layer of dry fine desert dust and the grove blended into the landscape fairly well. I couldn’t see them at all until we were just a few meters from them. 

As we approached a clearing in the branches, I could see bright green grass in the shade. Philipe stepped over toward a shrub to take a leak. I was amazed at how green the grass was in such a dry terrain and then looked down at the ground before me to see where the green grass began. 

Directly in front of my feet was a peyote plant, of the size I’ve never seen before. Philipe walked up as I knelt down to brush away desert dust to get a better idea of just how large it was. It had to have been close to 11 inches in diameter. Usually they’re around 2-4 inches. Philipe walked over and was awestruck with this gargantuan peyote plant. 

“Holy shit! That thing is huge!”

“I just noticed it at my feet. I’ve never seen one that big. Is it actually a peyote plant? Or, maybe just a cousin that looks like it?

“No, that’s peyote for sure.”

“Should we cut it?”

“That’s all you brother. It spoke to you first.”

“I don’t think I can eat all of that, are you sure you don’t want some?”

“Gracias, but I only eat plants that reveal themselves to me. This one is clearly for you. Disfruta!(enjoy)”

After brushing most of the dirt away and digging a small trench around the edges of the mammoth peyote plant so that I could get my knife underneath it to cut, I liberated the entire cactus head in one large piece. After you cut the top part off, you push the dirt back over it so that it’ll grow more. The root of the peyote plant goes down a good ways and they���ll continue to grow another head if you leave the root intact. 

Philipe asked if I was going to leave an offering of gratitude for the plant. I’d seen this done before, but I’d never left anything before. 

“I’m not sure what to leave. Do you leave offerings?”

“Yes, always. It’s the way.”

“Hmmm… ok. Do Huicholes do that too?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t planning on cutting anything today and didn’t bring anything. Does it matter what you leave?”

“No, just something.”

“I’ve got a couple pesos in my pocket. Would that do?”

“Sure, I’ve seen the Huicholes leave pesos before too.” 

It was midday and the sun was intense. We walked over into the mesquite grove and sat in the shade on the soft green grass for a little while. We laid back and stared at the blue sky through the mesquite grove canopy. Compared to the hellish white-hot sun  that had just been making me feel a bit delirious… the grass was  soothingly cool to the skin and felt heavenly.

I drifted off halfway to sleep for about a half hour. Not a full sleep, but that state in-between full sleep and kind of dozing. Completely aware of the cool grass, the sun flickering between the mesquite tree branches above, and the breeze. Yet, I wasn’t completely there. 

Philipe got up first and said he was going to start walking back to Wadley. He wanted to know if I was ready to go back too. I told him that I’d packed a hammock, oranges, and plenty of water. Said I might try to eat some of that giant peyote plant and chill out in my hammock for the afternoon. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any? I’ve got a few oranges and plenty of water. I definitely can’t eat this whole plant myself.”

Philipe looked amused and laughed. 

“No, it’s all you. You found it first and you should see that it has to teach you. I’ll see you later back at the compound.”

Philipe headed out of the oasis and I found a perfect set of branches to hang my hammock from. I sat back down on the grass and started cutting up the monstrous plant. I halved it and thought maybe I could stomach that much. Peyote cactus has a very bitter taste, even after you’ve cleaned the fiber out of it. The oranges are used to help kill the taste so that you can get it down. After you get used to the taste, you can make due without the oranges, but I’ve rarely progressed that far. So much easier with oranges. 

I put a piece of the monster plant in my mouth along with a wedge of orange and started to chew. The taste of this one was stronger than I’d ever experienced and it was a challenge even with the orange. I don’t think I made it through half before I couldn’t eat any more. So, I wrapped up the remaining 2/3rds of the peyote, put it in a yellow plastic bag underneath my remaining oranges, and dropped it into my daypack. I laid back on the grass and resumed my zoning out to the magnificent blue sky above, waiting for the plant to digest.

About a half hour later I got some stabbing cramps in my gut. This had never happened before. Very sharp pains that didn’t subside. They only got more intense and felt like I was digesting broken glass. Add to that, the peyote was starting to get to my head. 

This wasn’t good at all. I felt deathly ill and was clutching my gut, writhing in the grass in pain, and my mind was taking off into the stratosphere on mescaline. Not a winning combination. I managed to get to my feet and slung myself into my hammock to ride it out.

Having your brain hemispheres open up like a fleshy lotus and expose it’s pink insides to a shower of electrified comet sparkles is fine and good, but if you also feel like you’re trying to pass the cutting shards of a giant mason jar though your small intestine... no amount of comet sparkle can make that tolerable.

Desperately wanted to be back in my room and closer to someone who might be able to help, like perhaps a doctor for example. Though, I don’t believe there are any doctors in Wadley or nurses for that matter. The closest medical attention would be a couple hour bus ride to Matehuala, and that’s after the hour-long hike back to Wadley. Provided, I could get back before the only afternoon bus left at 3pm.

So, I gritted my teeth, clutched my stomach, drank as much water as I could tolerate without throwing up, and tried to enjoy the psychedelic realms in my hammock... between the shooting pains.

Didn’t keep track of how long the pain lasted, but I’m guessing it was the better part of 4 hours since the psychotropic effects of the peyote were starting to subside a bit. It usually last for anywhere from 6-10hrs depending on various factors. I felt like I could finally start hiking back to Wadley at least.

In flat, desert areas like this on, it’s always difficult to judge distance. I hadn’t paid attention to exactly how long Philipe and I had hiked to the oasis, and although Wadley looked to be only a half-hour or so away… it took me well over an hour and a half to get back. That could’ve been because I changed the route a little to give more time for the peyote to wear off so that it wouldn’t feel as awkward interacting with anyone I might run into in the town. 

When I got to the 2-lane road that runs all the way through this desert and along the railroad tracks, I was almost at the outer edge of Wadley. 

I could smell the scent of marijuana burning somewhere. That’s not entirely unusual in this area, but it smelled very strong… as if someone had just walked ahead of me smoking a joint and the smoke was still hanging. 

My intense stomach cramps had calmed down almost completely, but the effects of the peyote still very much had my brain in an ecstatic state. Thought about stopping at a tienda shop to get something cold to drink and maybe some snacks before walking back to my room, but decided to go lay the bed for a little while until the peyote had worn off a little more. 

I was almost to the compound and noticed a white truck parked at the compound gate. Looks like Don Tomas has more guests. They must be waiting for someone to open the gate so they can pull their truck into the courtyard. 

Got a little closer and noticed it wasn’t just a white truck. It had “POLICIA” painted on it. One of the local boys was talking to the cop who looked like he was in charge. He had a stark look, with a bushy mustache and he looked like he was looking for someone to extort money from. I took a hard right toward another tienda to disappear into, but I was too late. The boy had already pointed toward the gringo walking into the nearby tienda. 

I could see the cop starting to walk toward the tienda and my heart started to race. Think fast! Oh, no… I left that bag of dried peyote brujo in a clear bag on the bed and there was still that white fiber stuff all over the floor. And, 2/3rds of that giant peyote plant was still at the bottom of the orange bag in my daypack. This isn’t going to go well for me. Think, don’t panic. Don’t look nervous. 

Walked out of the tienda and rounded behind it toward my room. I could tell the cop was picking up his pace and trying to catch up to me. There were two other cops at the truck with the 3 young Mexican guys from Mexico city handcuffed in the back. 

Evidently, the guys from Mexico City been walking just ahead of me on the road smoking a joint. The cops smelled it and searched their backpacks which were all 3 full of cut peyote plants. That explains why they went out into the desert with almost nothing in their packs other than something to sleep with. Unfortunately, they hadn’t got the memo on not smoking weed in town while the cops are snooping about. 

I could hear the larger cop who was following me calling out for me to stop, but I pretended not to hear. Nodded to the guys in the back of the truck and opened the padlock on my room door, grabbed the plastic bag of peyote brujo pieces and jammed it between a folded mattress in the corner. The cop had made it to my room and started banging on the door. He called out that he needed to see my passport. (in Spanish)

“Señor, I must see your passport. Why didn’t you stop?”

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were talking to me. Just a minute, I’ll get my passport.”

I grabbed my passport and stuffed my wallet between the mattresses too before stepping out of the room.

“United States?”

“Si.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting”

The head cop flipped through my passport and then started checking my visa to see if it was expired and had then proper stamps and signatures. One of the other two cops motioned toward my daypack I’d set down. 

“Hand your bag to him please, we need to search it.”

I remembered the rest of that giant peyote plant in the bottom of the plastic bag of oranges, I tried not to look nervous as I handed my daypack to the other cop. He started taking items out slowly, then glancing up at me to see if I was starting to break a sweat as the cop with the mustache went over my papers. 

When he pulled out my knife that still had some dirt on it, his eyebrows went up. He opened the knife as he stared at me as if he’d found something incriminating. I shrugged. The cop then opened the knife and compared the length of the blade to the width of his hand. Evidently that’s a measure of how long a knife blade can be on your person. It was slightly over the allowed length. I silently relaxed because I thought the dirt on the knife was giving me away. 

Then, he lifts the the plastic bag of oranges out of the daypack and my heart sank. Still, I kept calm on the outside. The plastic bag was opaque so you couldn’t see through it. He simply patted on the plastic bag with the knife and said, “Naranjas” (oranges). He then puts the bag back into the daypack without looking into it, and folds the knife. Everything went back into the bag and he hands it back to me. Whew!

The mustache cop handed my passport back. I tried to make conversation and asked why the third cop was. They said he was getting the keys to the boy’s red Ford Fiesta car because they were being arrested and driven up to the jail in Real de Catorce. 

Felt bad for the boys, but they were mostly smiling. They also looked very stoned, so maybe the gravity of the situation hadn’t quite hit them yet. Still, I was rejoicing silently inside that I was about to avert this trip going very badly for me. 

Until, the mustache cop said he wanted to search my room. All that inner joy came to a complete stop. I was also feeling the tail-end of the peyote effects and my head was racing. I said:

“No problemo”

He followed me into the room. I tossed my daypack to the middle of a long table in the room so it didn’t look like I was trying to hide anything in the bag they’d just searched, and then calmly sat on the edge of the bed while started looking around. 

“What are you really doing here amigo? You’re here to eat the peyote aren’t you?”

“No. I told you I only came here to write. See my laptop on the table?”

He looked toward the laptop and looked moved some loose items around looking underneath as he moved through the room.

“Yes, I see the computer… but many of the foreigners carry them. Tell me why you’re here.”

“Only writing. I like to come here to the desert for inspiration and the quiet.”

He started kicking his police boot around the floor and moving the white fibers from the peyote brujo that were still there. My pulse went up a few notches. 

“If you are not here for the peyote, why is all of this peyote fiber on the floor? You cleaned a plant in here didn’t you?”

“No, I told you before why I’m here. I don’t know what that fiber is. It was here when I got here. I need to sweep. It’s a dirty room and I need to sweep.”

He then walked around the room another time, looking into dusty storage boxes and over to the folded mattress on a rollaway bed where I’d stashed the bag of dried peyote brujo pieces. He rolled it around once. The mattress was filthy so he didn’t stick his hand into the fold to check. 

Determined to find something to bust me for, he sauntered over toward a video camera I had on a tripod in the room. I’d carried it along with me to get interesting travel shots along the way. He asked:

“You are here only to write?”

“Yes”

“Then why do you have this professional movie camera?”

“Because I’m working on a story for a movie I’d like to make and I’m using the video camera to record some of the possible locations.”

I’d heard that another movie had filmed up in Real de Catorce a couple years prior and it had infused a lot of money into the town. Brad Pitt and Julia Davis are in it. I think it’s called “The Mexican” or something like that. 

Anyway, I knew that the primary motivation for the cops in the area, and most of Mexico for that matter, seemed to be making a little cash on the side. And, I needed to think of a way to distract this guy quick as he headed back over toward the folded mattress after running his hand underneath the mattress on my bed. 

“You know... I was just thinking... if everything works out this this movie script I’m working on and I find people with money to finance making it, I’ll be back here with a crew.”

I remembered that I’d recently had new business cards made and I’d put an icon of a movie reel on them, along with a camera, and a couple others. The reel would make it look like I was really a filmmaker. Walked over to the table to get a card our of my wallet and motioned for him to accept it in order to divert him from proceeding toward the folded mattress.

“If, I find the money and can make this film happen, I’m going to need to hire someone for security during the shoot. Would you be available for something like that?”

He studied the business card I’d handed him.

“It’d be paid of course.”

His eyes lit up as he looked up from the business card.

“You would hire me for the security on a pelicula? (film)

“I don’t see why not. I’ll need someone with and you’re the only one with that kind of experience that I’ve met here.”

I started walking toward the door where the other 2 cops were waiting with the 3 Mexican guys in the back of the truck. The guys weren’t smiling anymore as I think the high was starting to wear off and they realized what was happening. The third cop had loaded their belongings into their Ford Fiesta and had just pulled it out of the courtyard.

As I stepped outside the room the mustached cop luckily followed behind.

“What’s going to happen to those guys?”

“They are all under arrest for cutting peyote in the desert. All their backpacks were full of it to take back to Mexico City to sell. They were also smoking mota (marijuana) along the road. Muy estupido (very stupid)”

The other cops asked the mustached one if I was clean. He told them I was only working on a movie and wanted to hire him for security. 

“We are taking these compadres up to Real de Catorce for processing. The only jail we are using now is the one up there.”

I waved sympathetically toward the guys in the back of the truck. They half-heartily waved back and cracked nervous smiles. They’d probably be fine. The cops would likely keep their car and whatever mordida (bribes) the cops could get their parents to send, and they’d be on their way in a few days.

The cop with the mustache got into the passenger side of the police truck. After he slammed the door shut he leaned out smiling and waved my business card toward me. He yelled “Don’t forget me for security when you come back to make your movie!”

I smiled and answered, “Por supuesto! (of course)”

As the police truck pulled out leaving a cloud fine desert dust hanging int the air, it was followed by the 3rd cop in the boy’s Ford Fiesta. He rolled down the window and cranked up the stereo  and started banging his head along to whatever heavy metal music the boys had last been listening to while pretending to sing along. I could still make out the expressions of the boy’s faces. Their high had definitely worn off and they did not look amused.

Went back into my room after first giving the stink eye to the little boy who’d first spotted me and pointed my way as I walked in from the desert. He laughed at me and ran off. 

I stood in my room shaking for a few moments realizing how close I got to ending up in the back of that police truck too. I didn’t have anyone to call who’d bail me out and it definitely would not have gone well.

Opened the other door of my room that went out into the courtyard. I could see Philipe’s door was open. Walked over and peeked in. Philipe was as white as a ghost and shaking a little.  I asked:

“Hey amigo! Did you see what just happened?”

“Yeah, one of those cops came banging on my door and wanted to search my room.”

“Oh no! They didn’t find your bag of kef?!”

“No, luckily I heard them march the Mexican guy’s in here to get the keys to their car. There’s no where to hide anything in these rooms so I jammed my bag of kef and pipe up above the roof beam and tin roof. Luckily my main stash is still in a pack I have a Don Tomas’ casa.

“The Mexican guys were walking along the road smoking weed right as they walked into the town. That’s how they got caught.”

“Idiots! Look at my hands, I can’t stop shaking. That could’ve gone very badly for me!”

“I know! One of the town boys pointed at the gringo walking into the tienda nearby. I have no idea why the boy would do that.”

“I’m sure he was just answering to the cops and didn’t mean harm. Did you end up eating that giant peyote cactus?”

Told Philipe everything that had just happened. About the peyote brujo bag on my bed, getting searched, and about promising to hire the head policia as security on a movie set. Philipe couldn’t believe it. 

“How did you think of that?”

“I was in a panic and making it up as I went… trying not to look nervous.”

“Man, you are very lucky! They would’ve loved to catch themselves a gringo for sure!” 

Philipe asked if the police were still in the town. I told him they’d left and were on their way up to the police station in Real de Catorce with the boy’s and their car. 

He pulled the bag of kef down from the roof beam, along with his special kef pipe. 

“You want to have a smoke? I need a quick one to calm down.”

“Yeah, that sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

We moved into the cocina (kitchen) to pass Philipe’s pipe for a few minutes and shared his Yerba Mate tea gourd. Philipe asked:

“What are you going to do now? I need to catch the afternoon bus to Matehuala to buy a bike. I’m going to be here for 3 months so I want to get a bicycle to get around while I’m here.”

“I think I’m going back out into the desert to cut more peyote.”

“What?! Are you crazy?! We almost got busted!”

“Well, I was thinking of moving on in a couple days and I have a friend in Puerto Vallarta who wanted to try peyote. He’s older and won’t likely make it out to the desert, so I agreed to bring him some. I’ll be back in a few weeks though, when I’m on my way back up to the border”

“Again, are you loco amigo? The policia just left here!”

“The way I figure, those are the only 3 policia in the entire Wiricuta desert. They’re all on their way to Real de Catorce for the weekend, and are getting ready to have plenty of mordida (bribe) drinking money very soon. If I’m going out to cut peyote to travel with, right now is probably the safest time to do it.”

Philipe shook his head in disbelief and headed out to catch the bus into the larger town of Matehuala a couple hours away. He’d be back in the morning. 

Pulled the bag of peyote brujo from the folded mattress and spread the pieces out on my rooftop again to dry out a little more and just in case anyone else wanted to snoop around my room again. My head was in a pleasant haze from the kef we’d smoked, and I was getting a second wind from the Yerba Mate tea. I refilled my water, cleaned my knife, put on my headphones and headed back out into the desert to harvest. I still had at least 3 hours of daylight left. It was a beautiful day with some nice clouds streaking near the horizon. If I timed it right, and was lucky again in my search, I’d be able to take in yet another incredible technicolor desert sunset on the hike back.

~~~

Patreon is now fired up again! Some posts will be public and some will be for Patreon subscribers only. I'm also going to start posting a much larger mélange of artful expression here in addition to travel stuff from the road. Content like audio experiments, stories in short chapter form, video art, and maybe something called "Psychogeography" projects... more on that later. 

Please sign up to be one of my regular Patreon subscribers today!

In addition, you can help support my efforts by purchasing my photography HERE

I've also have a paypal.me for one-time gratuities :)

[rudimentaryrecollections]

Prague 10-30 September 2017

I began work with vigour. I was enjoying having my own space, cooking meals, taking time to stitch my torn clothes, and other domestic chores.  I got out one afternoon for a long walk. The buildings in Prague I found colourful. Pale yellows, pinks, greens and blues gave a warm ambience. I went through Old Town, which was busy with tourists, but incredibly beautiful. It’s hard to describe how much detail they put into the buildings. Frescos and sculptures and awnings and clocks… you could spend an hour just staring at one of the buildings there, let alone squares and streets and alleys full of them. I started to love the city even more, and felt joyful I could live here for the month.

I turned into a used book store and found Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, a novel I had been looking for.

On my first Friday in the city, I finished the script for the fourth episode of my animation.

I was full of energy, having hardly left the apartment for the last five days, so I celebrated with a beer. I had matched on tinder with a short haired girl named Petra, who was visiting Prague for the weekend. I invited her out and she accepted.

We met at an outdoor bar at a tram station in Prague 7. She had dark, short hair and a pale complexion. Her makeup was minimal, which is how I like it. She is a Brazilian, living in Berlin to study psychology at university.

After a few beers we walked to Cross Club, a place I had seen which intrigued me.

It was a steampunk themed club, with whacky art installations out the front, and welded junk shaping the interior and furniture. We decided to explore the different rooms. There were three different areas with electronic music playing, a multi-level beer garden with more chilled music playing and  even a bistro upstairs. We sit indoors for a beer at a booth We sat at a table indoors and laughed about the weed seeds and stems on the table. Petra wanted a cigarette so we went outdoors for our second beer. We must have been the only non-Czech people there, at least from who we saw and overheard. We sat at a table upstairs so we could chat more easily.

A blonde drunk Czech man sits next to Petra. I think “Oh geez, what does this guy want.”

Blonde drunk man: “You two make a nice couple”

Petra: “We’re not a couple.”

Blonde drunk man: “Well I think you’d make a nice couple.”

Petra: “Well, no, we are.”

Blonde drunk man: “Oh well you should prove it then. I think you should kiss him.”

Petra: “Ok”

We kiss across the table for some time, we only stop when I knock the small amount of beer in my cup over. Petra looks across to say something to the blonde drunk man, but he has vanished. Then she sits next to me and we kiss some more. I invite her back to the apartment. We leave holding hands.

As we leave we pass the blonde drunk man, sitting at a table with his friends. I make eye contact with him and we both grin at one another. He holds his hand down low for a high five.

I grant him the high five with maximum respect. It’s not often you get a guy in a club trying to help you get with a lady friend. Usually they try to take them away from you.

We get back to the apartment. I cannot open the door. I had the key, but unwittingly had left the spare key in the lock on the other side of the door. So I could not turn it from the other side. We would always do such a think in our house in Newcastle, since you needed a key to open the door from the inside and out. But this was a different type of lock. We tried to pick open the door with keycards to no avail. Also I had no luck on finding a locksmith that would answer their phone, it was Friday night after all.

So we went back to her hostel, which was fully booked. We parted ways. I had messaged Rianne and she said she had done the same thing herself before, and I would need a locksmith. I walked back and slept a few hours in the stairwell. In the morning I called a locksmith and they opened the door. Petra messaged me asking if I sorted it out. I said yes, it was all quite funny - and asked her what she was up to later.

I never saw her again. But if I tell the story at the pub I will add a happy ending. Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?

The next two weeks passed by quickly enough.

The next Monday I went to Prague 3 for a date with a Russian girl. She said she’d been smoking weed all day and cleaning her apartment. She didn’t have much else to say, there wasn’t much spark in the conversation so we spent some time together in a park drinking and snacking on some hummus I had made. Then we walked to Zizkov Television Tower – it looked like something from a science fiction film, in stark contrast to the historic buildings around it. On it’s side were sculptures by renowned Czech artist Cerny – of giant faceless babies crawling up and down. We parted ways after this.

The next Friday night I met up with a Czech girl, Jana from tinder. I walked to Letna Park on my way to meet her. Across from a stadium near here, many military vehicles were parked, with soldiers standing casually by. I figured there must be a military show on the next day. I met Julie in the city centre and we walked up to the palace and through it’s grounds, then went for a beer. She warned me she doesn’t drink much and she was noticeably tipsy after just one small beer. She invited me to come to the Czech mountains near Liberec on Monday.

During the days I was trying to do work. But I was starting to get cabin fever. I was spending too long indoors, and my productivity was falling day by day.

I went for another walk on the Saturday. Just after Vltavska station at Prague 7 there was an interesting parade. Vans drove up the street slowly, with DJs inside them playing electronic music out of giant speakers at the back of the van. People in colourful outfits followed the vans dancing and drinking and smoking. The police made sure the traffic flowed. I filmed this for a while, before a girl came out from the procession and asked me to come dance. I was reluctant at first, but then I thought it would be an interesting experience, and I let go of my inhibitions and just danced.

It wasn’t especially my type of music, but I made do with what I had. After some time we moved up the line of vans, trying our feet at the different music options. I met some of the girl’s friends who only spoke Czech. Soon we found a van with music which better suited our tastes. Then the music took over and I started having a lot of fun. I felt great – it was a unique way to do a walking tour of the city. At one point I bought some alcohol at a corner store along the way.

The parade went over and under bridges, through the centre of town where the tourists lined the streets in a guard of honour, filming and photographing the surreal event. I lost track of the friends I had made but it didn’t matter, I just walked and danced and enjoyed the atmosphere.

Eventually the vans pulled up under a bridge back near Vlatavska station, where it would become more of an open festival. I danced for some time before heading back to the apartment for some food and rum. I went back later in the evening and danced until the event dispersed, then slept deeply.

On Monday I met Jana in Liberec, where her mother lives. We caught a bus into the mountains with her mother’s dog, and went for a bushwalk there. The forest was beautiful, the sort of place that fills my dreams and imagination of folk and fairytales. We spent a pleasant day walking around there and had some beer and Czech food (rabbit with hot and spicy cabbage and dumplings) at a tavern in the hills.

The weather was nice during the rest of the week. I went for another walk with Jana in a large, wild, sprawling park in eastern Prague - Divoká Šárka. It was a remarkable place, especially with the trees showing an array of Autumn colours, light green, yellow, orange, red, purple.

On Friday Jana messaged me and asked if I wanted to go to Cesky Krumlov at 4pm on Saturday. I’d mentioned I was going there to her, but hadn’t explicitly invited her… But I thought why not. So she booked us a private room in a hostel.

[repwinpril9y0a1]

A Cruise down the Danube with AmaWaterways

Writer, New Yorker, traveling mom and The Vacation Gals contributor Holly Rosen Fink recently cruised for the first time with AmaWaterways. Here’s her report:

A year or so ago, I decided that the best way to take my aging mom on a trip around Europe would be by river cruise. Not much later the opportunity to take a AmaWaterways river cruise down the Danube arose, starting in Budapest and ending in Vilshofen. I was so excited, knowing that together my mom and I would explore Europe, spending days exploring cities and towns along the Danube. We’d sail all night and take trips off the ship during the day. When we came back after a long day out, we ‘d either sit in the lounge drinking hot tea (it was cold during our visit) or take a rest in our stateroom. It was the ideal way to see and explore Europe with my mom. We could take Europe at our own speed. I had visions of a grand mother-daughter trip. Would my dream meet reality?

Our first night was pretty magical. We enjoyed a scenic illumination cruise through the heart of Budapest. That was when I knew I was in for something quite special. As we rode through Hungary, then Slovakia, then Bratislava, then Austria, then Germany, we passed villages, castles, cathedrals and simply beautiful landscape. We had great views from the restaurant, from our room, from the balcony on the main floor. In the evenings, there was live music in the lounge. We’d listen, drink wine and take in the views. It was indeed all out of a dream.

Cruising past Melk

Boarding the Ship

We boarded the AmaViola in Budapest which was quite effortless, not at all like boarding an ocean liner. The warm staff handed us a welcome cocktail, while we were greeted by the captain, hotel manager and cruise manager. It was nothing like checking into an ocean liner. There were no long lines, no long wait. We were given our key and we went right to our room to settle in and to explore the ship. The 158-passenger vessel offers spacious staterooms with twin balconies, several places to dine, a gym, heated pool (which I regretfully didn’t use), a walking track, free wi-fi and a very pleasant staff. The captain and cruise director were always accessible and eager to engage with passengers.

Our home for the week

Our Stateroom on the AmaViola

Our category BB room had two twin beds and a balcony. It wasn’t necessarily a large room, but we were very happy with our headquarters during the seven-day cruise. We had plenty of space and drawers for our belongings and two chairs by the window to relax in. The beds were very cozy. We had a safe in the closet, a substantial bathroom with a hot shower, plenty of electrical outlets, a lovely balcony with two chairs and an ample supply of bottled water, as well as chocolate on our pillow every afternoon. It was the nice touches like that which added to the more personal river-cruising experience and made us feel at home.

The TV in our room had a great selection of English-speaking films (including The Sound of Music, which we watched quite happily before our pending trip to Salzburg where much of the film was made more than 50 years ago) and English news programs, which were very important to me given it was the week of the American election. The complimentary wi-fi worked surprisingly well all throughout the cruise. Our room was cleaned daily quite thoroughly by a lovely woman from Bulgaria. She resupplied anything we ran out of immediately and brought us extra towels often.

In the afternoons, after we’d return from an outing, there would be an agenda on our bed outlining the plans for the next day, along with a recipe card for a local dish on our beds. Called “The Daily Cruiser,” the itineraries shared details about the following day’s weather, sunrise and sunset info and a complete breakdown of the next day’s activities, including information about each destination. There were also information sessions in the lounge led by the cruise director so we were always up to speed about our activity choices.

Stateroom bed on the AmaViola

Dining on the AmaViola

The dining room, situated on the lower level, was lovely with tables meant for sharing or where we could dine alone. We alternated between sitting with people and sitting on our own. We were invited to enjoy the the intimate Chef’s Table on our first night. Seating only 24 people, guests take in the view of the chef working in the open kitchen while enjoying a 6-course menu paired with regional wines. It was a good introduction to the week’s menu.

Every morning we woke up to a robust buffet with hot and cold selections, and most importantly, very good coffee. The bread table was delectable and the Bulgarian yogurt delicious. We were offered local options at every meal, which was a treat, like goulash at lunch. All the menus included locally sourced meat, fish and regional wines. AmaWaterways is the only river cruise line ever inducted into La Chaîne des Rôtisseurs.

As added bonus, wine, beer and soft drinks are served on an unlimited and complimentary basis with every lunch and dinner on their European ships. And the desserts are exceptional. I really didn’t plan on eating any dessert on board but they were irresistible and the presentation unforgettable.

We dined well on the ship.

Excursions & Tours with AmaWaterways

The highlight of the river cruise for me was definitely the very well-executed tours, which are included. There would generally be a main tour to show visitors the top sights and landmarks in a city – it often involved a bus and walk tour combination, led by a more than capable local tour guide.  Honestly, all the tour guides were excellent – knowledgeable, entertaining and used to working with big groups. The walking tours are offered at a variety of paces, ranked from one to four, so my mother and I were able to walk at the speed we needed to. Very few required advance bookings and it was just all so easy and organized. We would meet our group right off the boat just minutes before the start of each tour. They also offer bike tours and a few optional excursions to sample the local culture more deeply for an additional charge. There was also time to go off on our own – either we could do our own thing or we were given small chunks of time after a tour. AmaWaterways has its own motor coaches in some cities with qualified drivers and some of the buses had free wi-fi.

Every stop had something special and worth remembering. In Budapest, we went to the Central Market, Heroes Square and took a walk in the beautiful Castle District. Our tour guide gave us a terrific orientation to the city and walked with my mother and I after the tour to tell us about the city’s Jewish life. In Vienna, we rode in a bus around the city, a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site. At St. Stephens Cathedral, we were given time to walk around, so my mother popped into a cafe to try Austrian cuisine and devoured a piece of meringue cake. That evening we attended a Mozart & Strauss concert (for an extra fee). The next morning, we were offered free time, during which time I explored the city’s Jewish museums with another woman from our ship. Then we went to Krems, where my mom and I took a long walk through the town.

The next day took us to several towns and villages in Austria – Durnstein, Melk and Grein. We had a wine tasting, walking tours and were able to really experience these medieval towns. We then ended up in Linz, the capital of Upper Austria and third largest city in Austria and spent a whole day in Salzburg, birthplace of Mozart and where much of The Sound of Music was filmed more than 50 years ago. Salzburg was full of baroque architecture created in the 17th and 18th centuries. On our last full day, we wandered through Passau, Germany, with beautiful views, and drank beer and danced in an Octoberfest celebration.

Our stop in Salzburg was a highlight.

Tips for River Cruising with AmaWaterways

Book well in advance as AmaWaterways to enjoy the greatest discounts.

Bring $1-5 bills (U.S.) for tips for tour guides. There are many and they are very deserving.

There’s a heated pool on the top deck. It wasn’t warm enough for me to go on this trip but it looked very enticing and I’m sure it’s beautiful in a hotter climate.

Use the gym, but go during an off peak time, it can get crowded.

They also have an onboard salon and spa services. Massages are popular so book one as soon as you get on board as they are relatively inexpensive compared to U.S. prices.

Local entertainment comes onboard in the evenings, which is standard but enjoyable.

This cruise wasn’t kid-friendly, but AmaWaterways partnered with Adventures By Disney to offer special kid-friendly cruises. Find info her

The Verdict

I was definitely on the younger side of the patrons on the cruise, but I didn’t feel out of place. A river cruise is definitely a good way to travel with (slightly) older people. My mom’s only in her early 70s but she has difficulty walking, so it was really an easy, effortless way for us to see many European ports of call. The week before the cruise we did a lot of traveling by train, going from hotel to hotel, and not having to unpack for a whole week while onboard the ship was certainly easier for us.

The cruise staff was really helpful and the whole trip buttoned down to a tee. The captain, the cruise director, our waiters were always there when we needed something and the service was really top notch. They all seem to really enjoy their jobs, working day and night and jumping right into another seven-day voyage as soon as we got off.

As mentioned above, the food was superb. There were healthy options for me (I’m a vegetarian) and when I wanted something, the restaurant manager made sure he got it or promised to offer it another day. Complimentary wine was served at every meal – and not just any wine – really, really good wine. We enjoyed many glasses of bubbly on the boat, as well. The waiters never shied away with refills, which was a pleasure, including beer which got even better in Germany.

In all, our cruise down the Danube was a very successful mother-daughter trip!

Holly Rosen Fink is passionate about culture and travel. She’s the founder of The Culture Mom and has contributed to Findery, MiniTime, Ciao Bambino, Family Vacation Critic, Go Girlfriend, CBS.com, Savvy Source and has been featured on Huffington Post, Yahoo Travel, Parade and other travel websites. Disclosure: Holly was a guest of AmaWaterways on the AmaViola but all opinions are her own.

Why You Want to Book a Viking Ocean Cruise. Right Now.

Unpack Once and Cruise through Europe

24 Hours in Bath, England – with Kids

The Best of Prague In Just Two Days

The post A Cruise down the Danube with AmaWaterways appeared first on The Vacation Gals.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2k9cFPH