#i miss my maples and oaks and pines

[imjustexistingtbh]

i want to return to the mountains. i need to return to the trees. i want to go back where my soul can roam, i need to go back, for me. i'm suffocating in this city, the people, the lights, the noise. i need to go back to the place i call home, i need to go back where it's green.

a bad poem on homesickness by me

[leironth]

Marceline: (Sees Finn and HW, sitting on a table, talking, they're crossdressing) "Oh my glob" (laughter)

PB: (Disappointed) "Really, marceline? Ugh, you should've stayed home."

M: "Aw what? Bonnie, i'm not judging, it's just funny is all. Why *is* Finn dressed like a girl though?"

PB: (gestures at marceline and herself) "We were both boys once, you know. And now we both wear dresses." (Points at him) "So why can't he?"

M: ..."Excuse me, what the gonk?"

PB: (Sigh) "Ah, forget It, it's nothing."

M: (stares at her, puzzled) "What am I missing here?"

PB: ..."Marcy, do you remember your time as the campfire Queen?"

M: "No, not really, it's just a blur. It was...fun, mostly, I think?" (looks down) "mostly"

PB: "Marcy..." (she reaches for Marceline's hand) "I remember everything."

PB: (Looking at her intensely now) "I remember what I saw in that state. I saw myself, in my totality. I finally, *finally* got to take off my cloak and stare, not just at who I am, but also who I was. I saw past the scared girl wandering the wastes, and I noticed the ribbon she carried as she walked."

M: "The ribbon?" (Baffled) "Bonnie is everything okay?"

PB: (she grabs Marceline by her arms, and holds her tightly, whispering) "I followed that ribbon back through time, until I found a garden, *my* garden, Marceline. And in that garden I saw the most beautiful daisy bloom, wither, and die before my eyes, as I could do nothing. *Nothing*."

A tear forms in her eye.

PB: "I saw the days and months and centuries that spilled backwards, and as I traveled back, I saw that a tulip once took that daisy's place. And before that, a rose, and another tulip, and a sunflower..."

PB: "And as my garden bloomed, and died, and was destroyed and rebuilt, I saw how it's old features were erased." (She puts her hand on Marceline's cheek and smiles) "Well, most of them. The great tree at the center, under wich i'd sheltered during countless storms...that stayed there. But even that tree, It died, and a sapling took it's place. An Oak, a Maple tree, a Pine tree..."

PB: "They were beautiful, all of them. And now, I can see their inner truth, Marceline." (She gives her a kiss)

PB: "I see that the beauty in us likes to shine through, in any shape we take. So when It does, please, don't cover It up with your cloak."

Marceline, thinking: "Bonnie what the *fuck* are you talking about."

[nightowlwoman]

My Thoughts on a Spring Snowstorm in Maine.

In case anyone was wondering where I've been the past few days -- Maine (where I live) was hit by a massive Spring Snowstorm that started late in the evening of Wednesday, April 3rd, and continued until mid-day on Friday, April 5th. In our area - somewhat northwest of Portland - the accumulation of heavy, wet snow amounted to 12" to 15".

We lost the power (along with some 300,000 other households) some time in the early hours of Thursday, April 4th. Repair crews made it to our street this morning and electricity was restored to us by 10:30 a.m. After a bit less than 3 days managing without electricity, heat, running water, a functioning septic system, hot coffee and, of course, internet service and other modern amenities -- my husband and I were very, very happy to be returned to the 21st century!

However, I have been reminded, once again, of all the people in this world of ours who are struggling to live without what we consider the basic necessities of life - much less the modern amenities and comforts we are so fortunate to enjoy. My husband and I had food to eat that didn't need cooking (PB&J, bread, cheese, muffins & raisin bran cereal), bottles of clean water, flashlights and candles and extra matches and batteries. We had plenty of warm clothes for layering and extra blankets for warmth when we went to bed. We had a sturdy roof over our heads and felt safe in our dark and quiet neighborhood. Most importantly, we had the knowledge that there were people working out in the storm to fix things and the absolute certainty that in a few days, at most, things would be returning to normal! How awful it is to know that so many people in our world today have none of these things and, tragically, little to no hope of their lives returning to the normal they once knew. Solutions are neither easy nor simple - what is necessary is good will, kindness and generosity of spirit and action from most of us - not just some of us. I persist in clinging to the belief that while there is life, there is hope - but sometimes the world makes it very hard to continue to believe.

The worst thing about this last hurrah of Winter given to us as a slightly tardy April Fool's gift by Mother Nature is the terrible damage done to the trees and shrubs and plants - all budded and waiting for Spring warmth to open - to leaf and flower. My neighborhood is filled with giant pine trees - very old and straight and tall. The ground is now covered with their branches, from small to huge. The maples and oaks and birches fared little better. When the snow finally melts, the sound of many people and their chainsaws clearing it all will fill the air. From my kitchen window, I can see a huge pine now missing its top half - snapped like a matchstick! Amazingly, it didn't fall on the house that sits near it. I don't think the tree can survive that damage, but it will require a crew of professionals to safely take down what remains.

The smaller plantings also were heavily damaged. A row of small-leaf rhododendrons that we planted nearly 40 years ago - that have survived countless snow and ice storms over the years - are lying bent to the ground by the weight of the snow. Far too many of their branches are snapped and broken away - it remains to be seen what may survive of them and be salvageable. I and countless pollinators and hummingbirds will miss their sweet, pink beauty this Spring!

A lilac varietal that we planted over ten years ago looks to have lost almost all its branches. We had been told it was a "miniature" variety that would stay small, so we planted it in front of our walkway porch. This lilac ignored its label and embraced growth with an enthusiastic abandon - reaching the porch roof, aiming for the sky and the sun. I resisted trimming it back - even as it obscured the view and overhung the railing onto the walkway, because it's purple flowers were so abundant, so fragrant and so beautiful - well, I just couldn't bring myself to limit its zest for life! It blossomed after the rhododendrons, when the weather was warmer and the windows were open, and its fragrance filled the whole house. I shall miss everything about that lilac that is still so young and hope that enough of it survives to eventually grow and blossom again.

Our single broad-leaf rhododendron, thankfully, seems to have weathered this storm with minimal damage. It has not been so lucky multiple times over the last nearly 40 years! It is battered and yet unbowed! I am hopeful that we will be able to enjoy its bouquet-sized blossoms this Spring!

I haven't had the chance yet to assess the damage to various lilacs and forsythia - the snow needs to melt and time will tell. The "grande old dame" of our lilacs, however, took some heavy wounds - not for the first time, either. This lilac has very fragrant and abundant white blossoms and was growing here before we built our house. It has lost major branches, been split in half in a massive ice storm - but it is a survivor and has always healed and continued to grow and blossom - even as it has assumed a different shape and silouette each time. It looks like it may lose about one-third of itself this time, but it's too soon to tell. Some major branches are snapped right off and many more are flat to the ground and trapped in the snow. As I watched it today, one long branch that was held by a lighter layer of snow seemed to break free and flung itself skyward and managed to stay upright on its own - a hopeful sign! When it is completely freed, we will lend it some support where necessary, perhaps do a little trimming and I trust it will heal itself and we will all get used to the new iteration of its appearance.

There has been a lot going on for me and my husband and family throughout 2023 and so far in 2024 - with no end in sight. Multiple crises, small and large, have been overwhelming at times and have occupied much of my mind and my time. These last few days, however, have had a narrow and more simple focus. The problems weren't really personal, because they were shared by so many. I went to bed early because my old eyes don't do well by candlelight and because it was warmer under a stack of blankets! I slept long and well and recharged my old battery. I had no control over events and, thus, no need to fret or feel responsible for it. Considering that I am a world-class fretter and worrier - that was a novel experience for me! Most of all, I had some very quiet time to think and just be.

I have experienced many difficult and painful things over the years and continue to do so, but if I've learned one thing in my 72 years, it is that things can always be worse! My experience of this storm certainly could have been much worse. Except for my dismay over damage caused by the storm - and Nature will eventually heal and be restored (with a little help from us) - looking at the last few days honestly - they weren't really all that bad at all! That being said - I am totally ready for the snow to melt and for Spring to finally arrive!

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Code Blue- Ch. 48- Dr. Feelgood

Summary: Dr. Dave goes on a scavenger hunt. Josie tries to talk him out of it but the good doctor must uphold his Hippocratic oath. Josie turns to a trusted friend for help. Megan is in a bad way and Dave races against time to save her. Josie's anxiety taunts her to a breaking point and Orlando's arms help her through it. Lee and Jo simultaneously share the same memory. He later hears a heartbreaking truth about himself. Dave comforts momma March. He later whisks Jo away to comfort her. Lee medicates.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, injury, graphic depictions, alcohol and drug use

Chapter characters: David, Josie, Megan, Orlando, Lee, Margaret

Chapter word count: 6,099

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

Salem, Massachusetts

March 21, 2022

After the 3 minute drive to the nearest state park entrance, Dr. Dave, the 6 foot tall, dark and handsome healer of Grandview, MA, population 3,666, brought his GMC Sierra Hybrid to a screeching stop. In his 5 years of residing there, the born and raised Pittsburgh native who loved nature, hiking and bicycling, had never entertained himself in the vast forest full of infinite trails and seductive scenery due to his shared hectic schedules between Grandview and Salem University hospitals, so his geographical knowledge of the area was about slim to none and that included the nearby forsaken Train Town. For this reason, he rushed to compare his paper map to the billboard map at the park because Jacob was nowhere to be seen and from what the anxious doc could decipher, he was way off course.

After pinpointing his exact location on the map, Dave turned and scoured the woods with perplexed eyes. He knew his destination was on the far side and if he drove, it would take him at least another half an hour to reach it with the main route circling out too far and with traffic, but if he cut through the monstrous maze of pines, oaks, maples and hemlocks, he could cut that time nearly in half. The problem with that though was that he could become lost, so he decided to call upon his tour guide.

"Jacob, need some help little man. Now is not the time to hide! I know you can hear my voice......damn it." he snapped and was just about to make the drive when he caught sight of something shiny near the trees.

After a short jog to the object, he picked up a toy train car and it was then that he knew Jacob was showing him the way as he said he would do, although Dave was frustrated that Jake didn't just make an appearance and show him personally, for it wasn't like anyone else would see him.

Before he went into the arborical labyrinth, he tried to call you again so someone would know where he was and because... you were the only one that would believe him.

You had just woken up from a 2 hour power nap and with groggy eyes, you picked up your phone to see if you had any texts or calls, specifically from Lee, but all there was, was a missed call from Dave while you had slept. Just as you flung up to call him back, he was calling you again.

"Dave!! Oh my god, where the hell are you??"

"Josie, I'm alright and I will explain later but..."

"No?!! You're going to explain right now because I was picturing you lying in a ditch somewhere!"

"Ok, look. I just needed some space. A break from all the chaos and..."

"A break from me you mean?? because that's when you disappeared. Right after our argument about Elizabeth at Lee's hearing and now she's dead! Do you know how that makes you look?? The cops are all over this shit Dave, questioning me and Lee too. How could you just vanish on me without a word??!!! Were you THAT mad??"

"If anyone sounds mad, it's you and you said in your voicemail you wouldn't be mad if I called.

"I'm not mad!!!" you shouted and then began to sob. "I...I'm scared and hurt. I was so scared something had happened to you too and I can't lose you of all people Dave. Not you."

Hearing you become emotional was something that always brought out Dave's emotions as well, especially now when he didn't think you would be that worried since you had Lee.

"Josie...I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you sweetheart, I swear."

And now, hearing Dave become somewhat choked up, softened you to him.

"I...I know you didn't. I never meant to hurt you either. Can you just come over so we can talk and make up in person? I miss your face."

"About that, umm. Can you just stay on the phone with me for awhile longer? I...I'm looking for something and I'll explain all of it on the way."

"Okaaay? What are you looking for?"

Dave sighed as he disappeared into the trees. "Your sister."

Dave continued to find a trail of toy trains cars as he ventured through an eternity of aromatic pines while simultaneously filling you in about Jacob's visit.

"Oh my god Dave...Lee...he's seen Jake too. Ok, listen to me. Turn around and go straight back to your truck and call 911. Let them handle this. IF my sister is out there and she's hurt, you're alone and you don't know what you're walking into Dave!"

"That's the thing Josie. We don't even know if she's out here, so how do I explain my suspicions to them without the risk of being involuntarily placed on a 72 hour psych hold for evaluation??"

"Well you're going to have to when you find her!"

"You...you said when."

"Yeah? Cuz I believe you David and I know Jake is real. Why would he lie? He didn't even know me or my sister when he was alive."

"Ok, ok. So...when I find her, there's also the risk of becoming a person of interest. I mean, I know her Josie and let's not forget that Jacob told me that she's where Liz was attacked and I knew her too. So what? I just happened to stumble upon Megs while trekking through the forest in my casual clothes and shoes and with a phone that has only 20 percent battery left?"

"Jesus Dave. That's just another reason for you to re-fucking-treat. How will you call for help if your phone is dead??? I...I can call Gerry or something and he can go look, cuz like I said, you don't know if anyone is with her! You know, like Liz's murderer?! Whom I wholeheartedly believe is Ethan."

"Do you even want Megan to be found? I'm close and she needs help. It will take Gerry a long time to get out here since he's back in Salem and then there's the little fact that you can't trust him after what he did Josie."

"Ok, first of all, no matter what he did, I DO trust him for this. He's a damn good detective and second, I know Megan and I don't get along, but...she's still my sister and I don't want her to die. With that said, I still care about you a hell of a lot more and this happens to be one of the many reasons why. You have such compassion for people that don't deserve it."

"That's what doctors are supposed to do and just what are you going to tell the dashing detective? That a dead kid is showing me the w....hold up, there's another train piece up ahead."

Dave crouched down and picked up the metal toy, looking it over.

"Josie, it's the locomotive to the train set. Train town must be up ahead somewhere. This kid sure likes games."

"Of course he does. He's 5 and he has this obsession with trains. Do you even know where you are??? I feel like I should come there to hel..."

"No way Jo. Stay put. Let me check the map."

Dave stood up and retrieved the folded drawing from his back pocket.

"Well??" you intensely asked when you heard him mumbling as he looked it over.

"Jo, it's just over the hill. I gotta go so my phone don't die." he rambled, then hung up and ran off.

"Wait no! David!" you shouted but the call had ended. "Damn it!!!"

Immediately, you called Gerry, not knowing what the hell you were going to tell him, but you had to help your best guy friend. AND of course, once again, no answer, so you called the hospital to see if he was there visiting his dad. He wasn't, so now what? Craig was useless to you since he was passed out drunk in his bed, not to mention, you were not his favorite person at the moment and there was no way in hell you were calling Luke. You absolutely could not call Jason or Britt and even if you did, they were probably long gone from Salem by now. Should you call Lee?? No...no nooo noooo. Not this time. Not after all that had recently happened between the two of you. A smile then came to your face as you thought of the one person you knew you could count on and could trust. Orlando.

Just as it started to rain, Dave made it to Train Town and ran inside the monumental warehouse that reminded him of a hangar, for it was big enough to fit an Airbus A380 inside, the world's largest passenger airliner....and under the massive tin roof that eerily echoed from the pummeling rain, it was as dark as if it were night.

As Dave pulled out the one thing he knew to bring, his flashlight, he scoured his surroundings of real train cars galore only to soon realize he had forgotten the one thing he also knew to bring. His medical bag that still sat on the seat of his truck.

"Megan! Can you hear me??" he called out while gripping his opened pocket knife in his other hand, but all he could hear was the haunting downpour above him, so he cautiously continued on through the giant graveyard of antique railcars.

"Jacob, are you here buddy?? I need to know where she is. Is she in here or out there somewhere in the 10 freaking acres of this old tourist ghost town???"

Running footsteps pitter pattered in the distance and a child's laughter was heard. Dave sprinted off, following the ghostly giggles and soon came to a dead end at a dirty wooden door with a broken lock hanging from the handle.

When he pushed it open, the freezing cold air took his breath away and once he shone his light inside, Dave soon realized it led down to the old underground tunnels. Once he was further inside the depths, he gathered just how old the passageways were and possibly even unstable, for each bout of rumbling thunder shook a good dusting of dirt loose from the ceiling of tree roots where rain water also made it's way through, drip after drip after drip.

"Megan??!" he called out again. "Come on honey, if you're down here, you gotta give me a sign so I can find you."

This time he got a response, although it was faint.

"H...here...I...I'm...here."

Dave rushed forward and rounded the corner to find a battered, bruised and very weak Megan on the ground, propped against the wall with a bloodied knee.

"Megs, hey sweetie. Look at me. It's Dave. I'm going to get you out of here ok?" he assured her as he patted her chilled cheek in an attempt to keep her alert.

"I...I can't feel my body..so...c...c..cold...my leg..it's...b...broken." she stammered through chattering teeth.

Dave quickly assessed her leg to find she had a compound fracture and quite a bit of blood loss.

"Alright, Megan. This might hurt a little ok? I need to stop the bleeding before anything else because you're in shock."

Dave wriggled out of his jacket and ripped off his overshirt, then tied it around her leg for a tourniquet.

"K." Megan flinched as he did so. "Am...am I going t..t..to die?"

"Not if I can help it. Do you hurt anywhere else? I need to know because I have to carry you out of here."

"Dave...I literally f...feel...nothing ex...except the p..pressure on my leg."

"Ok. Well, at least you know my name. I'm going to put my jacket on you ok? You're on the verge of hypothermia. Alright, there. All done. Now, I need you to hold on to me the best you can. I'm going to lift you up. If something hurts besides your leg, tell me immediately."

Dave helped Megan place her arms around his neck and then he scooped her up and eventually made his way back to the light of day. By the time he got back to his truck, he noticed Megan was unconscious. After checking her pulse, he carefully placed her on the passenger seat, buckled her in and took out his phone which was now at 10 percent battery life and he didn't have his charger.

"FUCK." he loudly whispered and quickly called you as he took off.

"Dave! Thank god! Where are you?? Did you find her??"

"I've got her Josie and she's in bad shape. I'm heading to Salem Hospital now. It's closer from where I am than Grandview's."

"Oh my god. Ok. I'm with Landy. We were heading to you but turn around and meet you there!"

"You called Dr. Bloom??"

"Yes. I figured another doctor wouldn't hurt and I trust him Dave."

"So you told him. About...how I found her...didn't you?"

"Dave...I had to. I won't lie to him and he won't say anything or judge you if that's what you're worried about. Besides, you're going to have to come up with some story anyways, for both the hospital and the cops and..."

"I don't need a story. I have nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong but find her and we have yet to hear what really matters. Megan's side. That's what the cops are going to care about more than anything. I've seen it all too many times and...."

"M..momma." Megan mumbled.

"Jo...you need to call your mom. Just in case Mega..."

"Just in case Megan what? Dave??? Hello!!"

"Josie?? You there? Fuck!" Dave shouted as he tossed his dead phone on the seat and glanced at a very still and pale Megan. "We're almost there darlin. You hold on. Do you hear me??"

Your hand went to your pounding heart as you drove over the very high bridge that crossed the bay back into Salem and to add to your anxiety, your eyes caught sight of Landy's bare, buff chest in the rearview mirror.

"Jo...you ok?" Orlando asked from the back seat of his car as he dressed for his shift at the hospital that he was now late for.

He had just gotten out of the shower when you had called him in a panic to come pick you up, so he had thrown on a hoodie and sweats and grabbed his doctor attire to take with him when he learned he may have to go drudging through the forest in the rain.

Before you could answer, Landy tossed his dress shoes over the seat and onto the passenger floor, then forced his large body over the seat as well and plopped down beside you.

"Hey. Talk to me. Is it the heights thing?" he sweetly said as he softly rubbed your shoulder.

"Put your seatbelt on." you ordered without looking at him as you stiff armed the steering wheel.

"Yes ma'am, but first, I need to put my shoes on. You're ok Jo. We're over the bridge now and you handled it like a pro."

Now that you were back in town, you quickly pulled over on a side street, put the car in park and then uncontrollably broke down, sobbing into your hands.

"Is this how a pro handles things Landy??"

"Heyyyyy. Come here. Please don't cry sweetheart. Let me hold you and try to make it better."

Orlando reached his arms over to you but you didn't need any coaxing, for you practically dove into them. What you needed...wanted...was someone's warm comforting arms around you and Landy's was a perfect fit and now you were a blubbering mess of tears as you sniffled into his clean white dress shirt, rambling on about your many woes like a distraught child.

"I deservingly lost my apartment. Craig hates me. A little girl is missing because of me. I can't stand your brother as a cop and I hate your other brother and your sister. In fact I hate all of your family except you because you are good person and I think you are so wonderful and beautiful and I hate what they all have done to you and they all just suck and...and...ghosts, ghosts are real and now my sister is hurt and I shouldn't even care but I do. I hate that I do! and Britt took off with Jason and Lee is changing and I can't take it anymore Orlando!! I feel so lost and alone."

You were now bawling and gasping for air as your fingers were tightly dug into his muscular back.

Orlando softly kissed your head and stroked your soaked cheek as he pondered with an arched brow on one thing that you said.

"How...how is Britt with Jason?"

You suddenly froze and became completely silent as you realized you had just outed your brother on being alive in your careless rant.

"I...I meant that...."

You paused and sat up, then sighed heavily.

"Fuck this. I can't lie anymore and I won't lie to you. I trust you, so here it goes. He's alive Landy. He survived the explosion and then on some whim, he chose to fake his own death and he's after Ethan and Cyrus. It's one big mob war and they both are responsible for trying to kill him. Liz was involved too."

"Jesus. I always knew Ethan was into some bigger shit and that Cyrus was shady as fuck but I guess I didn't realize the extent of it. As far as Lee, I wish I could offer some insight but he don't even talk to me anymore like he used to and I've told you al that I do know. I...I'm happy for you though that you at least got your brother back."

"Yeah well sometimes I'm not because of all the baggage that came back with him. God Landy, there's so much you don't even know."

"Well...now I at least know that you think I'm wonderful and...beautiful." he raved with a twinkle in his raisin hues and a curled lip grin that always made you melt...and now you felt a bit awkward.

You dried your face and scooted back to your seat. "I think we should get to the hospital now. I'll explain more on the way, but you can't say a word to anyone. I..I just need to get this shit out. I can't stand secrets and yet here I am, asking you to keep them."

"My lips are sealed for you love. Well, at least for the secrets part anyways." he quipped with a wink and another grin as he began putting his shoes on.

With a roll of your eyes and a slight grin of your own, you shook your head at the dashing doc and drove off, filling Orlando in about mostly everything along the way. Everything except Lee. He was off limits. Even in your anger towards him, you would always protect him....until you couldn't, such as the cat now being out of the bag about him seeing Jacob. At least with Dave being a witness to the supernatural sighting, you hoped Lee wouldn't be so worried anymore about people thinking he had finally lost his mind.

There was no sign of Dave's truck yet when you pulled into the ER parking lot, so you sat with Orlando, waiting and listening to the peaceful rain parade over the car and in that moment, a memory stole your thoughts as your mind drifted off to the first time you and Lee kissed on that stormy February night inside of his car.

You could still feel his warm velvet lips and taste his breath of sweet bourbon and...

"Josie? Where'd you go?" Orlando asked, breaking your concentration to where you realized you were lightly touching your lips.

"Oh...uhhh...sorry..I...I...I'm just...it don't even matter. Where the hell is Dave already??"

Knowing David's phone was dead, you still called him to try and evade any further prodding from Orlando because you did not want to talk about Lee. Yes you did. It was all you wanted to talk about. Damn him and his luscious lips. If he were there instead of Orlando, you would be pulling them to yours. You had to get out of there. Out of the rain.

"Let's wait inside Orlando. You're late, remember?"

Simultaneously, Lee sat in the same peacefulness of his Dodge Dart on the other side of the hospital, daydreaming of the exact same memory. How could he not with all the rain and it being in that car that his lips first caressed yours? He could still feel the way you tenderly touched his face and see the way you looked at him. It was as if he were all you could see.

The pain was just too much and he needed to shut his mind off of you, as if that were even possible. That morning, he was adamant that he was not going in for his shift with all that happened, but after you left, the silence was deafening and your absence was gut wrenching, so he chose to go in, for if he had stayed home, he would have drank himself into oblivion.

Lee downed his Red Bull and crushed the can in his fist, then tossed it in the back seat. He then put out the remaining half of his Marlboro red, another old habit that was dying hard in his time of distress, and got out of the car. No umbrella, no coat. Just his dress shirt and tie as he casually walked across the lot, allowing the downpour to punish him and hoping God would too by striking him down with lightning, right then and there, for without you, Lee felt he had nothing and was nothing.

Instead of lightning, a silver truck sliding around the corner at lightning speed almost did the trick of taking Lee out, missing him by merely inches as he dove onto the wet pavement.

"Hey asshole!! You missed!" Lee shouted as he jumped to his feet, not realizing who it was until the truck skidded to a stop at the front doors and Dave hopped out.

"Lee man, I'm sorry. I didn't see you. I need some help here!"

When Lee saw him run to the passenger side and carry out a limp Megan, he instantly transformed into doctor mode and raced up to assist.

"Hey man, get her inside! I'll park your truck."

Dave gave a quick nod and rushed off, the Lee secured the vehicle and sprinted inside and through the hospital to the ER to find out what happened.

"Hey, Dave. Here's your keys. What's going on with her??" Lee panted in his saturated attire as Megan was being worked on in a cubicle.

For the time being, until he would speak with you, Dave only told Lee the need to know information.

"Josie told me she had been missing a few days and I was able to locate her. Her leg is broken and she's lost a lot of blood. Hypothermic too. I'm not sure what happened to her. She hasn't been awake long enough to say anything yet."

"I see. And according to Jo, you have been missing as well. She was pretty worried. Good to see you're back and alright. I'm sure she's very relieved. Does Jo know you found Megan?"

"Actually yes. She was on her way here when my phone died, so I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

Lee's heart skipped a beat as his wide eyes looked around for you. He didn't know if you would want to see him and he felt he better just stay in the shadows for now. After all, you hadn't called him.

"Oh. Ok. Well... I am quite late and need to go dry off and get changed. I'll check back later."

Lee rushed off before Dave could respond and then just a few seconds later, you and Orlando came running up from the opposite direction and you threw your arms around him.

"Dave! Thank GOD you're ok. Where's Megan??"

"They took her right in, over there in cubicle 3."

"Has she said anything?"

"Not yet. She's been in and out of consciousness. Josie, she was down in the tunnels. She never would have gotten out of there on her own."

Out of nowhere, you hauled off and smacked his arm.

"Oww! What the hell was that for??"

"For doing something so incredibly stupid, yet....so incredibly brave. God, I can't even be mad at you when I want to be. You're everything that a doctor should be. Compassionate and selfless. You and Landy both, so...thank you Dave, for what you did. I'm going to go use the restroom to dry off and call mom."

"And I need to go do the same and get clocked in. I'll be back when I can Jo."

"Wait, Landy."

You gave him a long, tight hug. "Thank you too. For being there for me at the drop of a hat. I meant it, those things I said about you. You're really great, you know that? I'm sorry I made you late."

Orlando smiled and gave you a good squeeze. "It's all good Jo. See you soon."

As Orlando took off to the breakroom, Lee stood in the shadows of the hall, his eyes falling in pain and sadness. He had heard you call out to Dave when he was leaving and decided to come back to see you, but...he then heard everything you just said. About what good doctors are and all, which made him think about how he refused to help Liz and how you had reminded him of that in the fight you both had.

And it crushed him that you had turned to his best friend instead of him, but he understood why. It still hurt nonetheless. He then bowed his head and walked off, undetected, with his hands in his pockets, debating on what he has wondered for quite awhile. If he should continue his career in the medical field.

The day turned into night as you sat with your distraught mother in the waiting room. Dave had stayed with the two of you while Megan was in surgery to repair her leg and he had just gotten back from speaking with a police officer. Margaret wanted answers just as the cop did, so Dave told her what he told him. A flat out lie, which he hated himself for. He had used the story that he told you sounded ridiculous, that he had been spending some time in nature to clear his head and just happened to find her in his curiosity of the old tunnels because it was much more believable than revealing that a child's ghost led him there.

You knew when Luke got wind of it, he would be all over this case and you were actually glad about it because you had high hopes that Megan would reveal Ethan as her attacker and you also really hoped she knew where Blaise was or could at least offer some leads if she didn't know.

"Do you think she will pull through this Dave?" Margaret March asked with tearful eyes as he held her trembling hand and explained what he knew as kindly as he could.

"I'm not her doctor Margaret, so I can only offer so much insight. I can make no promises, but what I will say is that I am very hopeful of her recovery. With that said, it's going to be a long one and right now, with your faith as I know it to be, your prayers will do her good. I will be praying as well."

"Me too Ma." you chimed in, which lit Margaret's eyes up to hear that you cared.

"You're an angel David. Thank you for rescuing my daughter and all that you did for her. Will they let me see her after her surgery?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't, but I know she'll have to be in recovery for a few hours first before they allow visitors. Can I go get you something to drink or to eat?"

'Oh, no thank you dear. My stomach's all a bundle of nerves. I'd just toss it right back up." she chuckled, trying to hide her fear. "I suppose I could go up and see Victor for awhile."

You could see the guilt all over her face about that as she fondled her wedding ring your late father had given her. You knew she still harbored feelings for Victor after all these years.

"How's he doing mom? I can't seem to ever get ahold of Gerry to find out. Kind of worried about him."

"He's slowly recovering as far as I know and Gerry, well, you know not to worry about him. He's part Greek like his father and Scottish like his mother. Tough as they come. I wouldn't worry too much. He's a copoholic remember. Probably keeping busy at work."

But you knew that wasn't true because you had called the station and he had taken a leave of absence, leaving his partner Luke to do all the bad boys' dirty work and he certainly wasn't as rugged as your mom believed him to be. Gerry may have looked tough on the outside, but you knew his heart and soul. It didn't harden like one would have expected it too. On the inside, he was actually quite fragile and vulnerable, which seemed to have been brough on from finding out that the man he had known most of his life as his father wasn't, but Victor was. His tough act was exactly that. An act. And tomorrow, you planned to try and find him.

"You're probably right Ma." you agreed, just to keep things brief about Gerry. "Go ahead. Go see Vic. Maybe it will perk him up some to see your pretty face and maybe it will even make you smile too."

"Oh gosh, my face must look a fright right now. I'm going to go freshen up first. Please come get me if you hear anything."

Hours went by and you had fallen asleep on Dave's lap and of course, even your dreams would not let you avoid Lee. It may have been triggered as you subconsciously heard the tv playing the David Bowie video for "Let's Dance", for it brought you back to his dad's funeral reception where Lee got the crowd all riled up and dancing to that song as he gestured pulling the train horn over and over like his dad had taught him as a child.

And then the dream went ot when Lee had pulled you in his arms and sang a verse from the song to you. You could hear his voice so clearly and you could even feel him.

"If you say run, I'll run with you. If you say hide, we'll hide because my love for you would break my heart in two if you should fall into my arms and tremble like a flower."

His face vanished as a touch to your shoulder startled you awake.

"Hey. Sorry I scared you. Your sister is out of surgery and stable."

When your eyes came into focus, you saw Orlando smiling down at you.

"Oh my god. Landy, thank you. Wh..where's my mom??"

"I'll go get her." Dave offered and jogged off.

"Aaargh!" Orlando scoffed and rubbed his tired face with both palms.

"Hey, you ok?"

"For the most part, yeah. I'm just so fucking frustrated and angry. I just want to beat Ethan's face to a pulp right now."

"You and me both. You certainly owe him, that's for sure."

"Well so do you. He can't run and hide forever, especially now."

"Yeah well, we sort of need Megan's story of what happened. What I'm worried about is that she may be too scared of him to rat him out, which honestly, I can't blame her. She didn't deserve this."

"She don't deserve you either. After all she's done to you, you still are here for her. You're the good one Jo. Hey, come here. Give me a hug. I gotta get back in a few."

Orlando leaned over and gave you a a comforting bear hug and whispered in your ear.

"It's going to be alright and I'm here if you need me. I'll be here all night and I'll keep coming to check on you when I can."

"Well my daughter won't be here because she is going to go home and get some rest." Margaret explained as she came walking up with Dave.

"No, mom. I'm not leaving you here."

"Nonsense. Dave said Megan will be sedated for pain and will sleep through the night, so there's nothing here for you to do but sleep when you could sleep in your own bed."

"And what about you? Are you staying?"

"Of course I am. In case she wakes up. I'll sleep in the recliner in her room. Dave is going to get me some blankets and a pillow. I'll be fine."

"Well...you both have got this all planned out I see."

"Jo. Go. I'll be here all night as I said and i will gladly come check on your mom and someone will call you if anything changes." Orlando kindly offered.

"Fine..nuh." you huffed.

Orlando grinned the cute grin once more. "I'll talk to you later then gorgeous."

Dave went and got the things for your mom and took her up to Megan's room and when he came back, he had a different proposal for you.

"Sooo...it's ummm, 11 o'clock. What do you say to going back with me to my place for some....midnight margaritas??"

"Dave, I don't know...I..."

"Come on. Please? We haven't spent much time together and I miss you. I don't want you to be alone. I'll even let you pick the horror movie. What do ya say?"

You couldn't resist his charming puppy eyes and pouty lips and...you didn't want to be alone either. In fact, drowning your sorrows sounded super fantastic to you, so you gave in and nodded.

"Sweeet. It's settled then. Let's hit the road."

Lee had changed his clothes and groomed himself to be presentable for work, but he found himself locked in his office with the do not disturb sign hanging on the handle. He just couldn't do it. Put on a fake smile and force all the bad thoughts and memories out of his mind and replace them with medical ones. He couldn't get the image of you in Orlando's arms out of his head nor the way you had praised him and Dave's ethics as a person, for he didn't just see it as a professional compliment.

He sat at his desk, wallowing in his misery that loved his own company. Who else did he have? Certainly not you and he didn't have his dad, his mom, his son, his brother or his only two friends, Orlando and Luke, whom he was beginning to not see as friends anymore. He felt he only had himself and his bottle of whiskey.

"Fuck it." he protested and poured a drink, then popped a perc in his mouth and washed it down.

He began scrolling through your Facebook to look at all your pictures and he continued to medicate himself with more liquid gold as he did so while waiting for the pill to kick in and finally...it did.

Lee staggered off to the bed he used for mostly for double shifts and crashed onto his back, feeling no more pain as his eyes quickly closed.

That had been the plan anyways. To feel no more pain but his lucid dreams insisted that he feel more of it as his mind traveled back in time to the underlying cause of his anguish.

@redeemer46

[cave-cryptid]

🍁🌲🌳🍀

Thanks for the asks!!

🍁 Maple - What is your favorite season?

Autumn is without a doubt my favorite season, there's something so surreal about it, it sometimes feels like time stands still there for a while. The colors are stunning, there's a crispness to the air. It's the season that brings me the greatest sense of nostalgia, memories of hunting apples with my family at quaint orchards when I was a kid, baking apple pies from scratch, searching for the most delicious of pumpkin drinks. During some of my lowest points I remember that autumn exists and it helps me to keep going, to experience those same lovely feelings again.

🌲 Spruce - What is your favorite kind of wood?

Hmmm, a tough one. Of course cedar is fantastic, it's one of the greatest scents. Also different types of pines, I've found some of my favorite branches from them, with curious knots and curves.

🌳 Oak - How close do you live to the woodlands?

I used to live right in the midst of them, with a pasture across the way leading into the most beautiful forest with sloping hills and massive rocks and little creeks. I've found some of my favorite bones there. Unfortunately though, I've since moved and I live in a totally different environment where dense forests are quite a ways away. Luckily there is a park nearby with plenty of trees to frolick through. I definitely miss it

🍀 Clover - What's the most unique/unusual thing you've found?

I have lots of things in my nature collection that I love but I'm not sure how unique any of it is lol. I suppose I'd have to say the one thing I find the most joy looking at is either my snake shed or my partial deer {?} skull. I just love studying them, feeling of the bone and dental structures, noting where the eyes of the snake were, etc. Here they are

[faye-tale]

18, 25, 40 💙

Hi lovely! 🫶

18. What’s one historical event that you would have liked to have witnessed?

Oh gosh, I was just asked this, and I still don’t have an answer. I mean a lot of historical events were pretty barbaric tbh and that’s not my jam. Do you have one?

25. Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any that you want?

I have one piercing in each ear. I was allowed that on my 13th birthday lol (back in the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth). I don’t have any other piercings, and don’t care to get more.

There is only one tattoo I was ever going to get, and that was the Olympics rings on my hip, if I made the swim team. I got injured, so I missed my chance, but that’s the only thing I think I’d be proud enough to have a permanent reminder of on my body.

40. What’s your favorite kind of tree?

Hmmm so over here in the US, sugar maple. They are lovely in Vermont in the autumn, all fiery red leaves. I do love a pine forest, especially the smell. And who doesn’t love a mighty majestic oak? A town in my home county had medieval oak trees that were fab to shelter under on a hot day.

Thanks for your ask my dear 😁🧡🧡

[elanors-retreat]

I started a fanfic! It’s set in Middle Earth, with my OC Linnea being the main character. This is my first venture into writing so it’s not perfect but I try my best to make too many writing mistakes. Here’s a little teaser if you’re interested:

Taken from: Years Spent Asleep-chapter 2

“What the fuck is going on! Who the fuck are you?” My voice shook and my breath misted away from my mouth as I spoke.

He seemed taken aback by my words. His head jerked back and his eyebrows drew together, a small frown passed over his lips.

“I would ask you the same,” his voice was stern. He commanded an answer. His sword shifted in his hands, drawing my eyes again.

“You’re joking, you have to be joking.” I said, shaking my head slowly.

I looked around the small clearing for an escape, this time actually taking in our surroundings, while keeping one eye on him.

The clearing was the same size as my campground, except the foliage was a mixture of towering oak, maple, and other lush green trees. Not the tall and straight pine trees I had been surrounded by just the night before.

There had been no sign of my belongings. It was colder than it had been last night and my pajamas didn’t do much to keep the chilled breeze from biting through to my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself rubbing at the goose bumps that pebbled on my arms.

“I do not jest, Miss. Tell me your name and your purpose here,” he said, a steely note in his voice, and began moving towards me.

He was impossibly tall, clothed in rough fabric with a long cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He had leather boots that wrapped up to his calves, and a second knife sheath strapped to his hip. The end of a hunting bow poked from behind his head, along with a few feathered ends of arrows. He looked like a cosplayer, dressed up for a Renaissance fair, but he looked like he had been living in the woods for a long time. His hair was greasy and his clothes had an unwashed look to them.

I stumbled backward without taking my eyes from him.

“I….that’s….you can’t just….” I stammered.

I had started shaking, from the breeze just as much as from the adrenaline coursing through me.

“This is my camp.” I finished defensively.

His eyes roved over me again. Whatever he saw in me made his shoulders fall. His arms opened and the sword pointed fully away from me.

“Again, I ask, what is your name and purpose here? As for mine, I am called Strider. I am a ranger and these lands are mine to protect from those who would do harm.” he offered more kindly than before.

Did he mean me? How could he possibly think I was a threat? I was cowering behind a flimsy tent with nothing for protection from his very sharp-looking weapon. What kind of fucked up game was this guy playing?

He glanced around the clearing again. Then he put away his sword. He took a few steps toward me, his hand raised between us, palm facing me.

“I mean you no harm”, he said earnestly.

“Yeah? What the fuck are you doing waving around a sword then? You walked into my camp at the ass crack of dawn, crept around my tent to scare me and now you want me to believe you won’t hurt me?”

[grex-statera]

Chapter 9: Home - Spring, Year 1

As per Robin's estimate, it would take her 3 days to finish the coop. Ellie helped her carry materials around and hold nails whenever needed. Robin was a fast worker.

Robin: I'd love to have Sebby work with me, but he's not exactly a morning person.

Ellie: Yeah, I figured. He has such dark circles under his eyes. Does he even take care of himself?

Robin: Oh, Ellie. You have NO idea how much I worry about him. He spends all day in his room, staring at that computer, and when he finally does go out it's to smoke a cigarette! I've been telling him to stop but he never listens to me. I don't even know when he started.

Robin said, sighing into her coffee cup. The two of them sitting on Ellie's porch, having an afternoon break.

Robin: It's like I'm trying to take care of a big teenager. He's 25! He should at least get his life together, like you.

Ellie tried to give a polite laugh.

Robin: Ahh, speaking of the devil...

Sebastian was walking toward them, carrying his mother's extra toolbox.

Seb: Sorry I read your message late.

It was around 2 pm but Sebastian still looked like he just got up.

Ellie: You okay, man? Want a cuppa?

Seb: A cuppa?

Ellie: Cuppa coffee.

Sebastian managed a snicker.

Seb: Yeah. I'd like a cuppa.

Ellie stood up, gesturing for Sebastian to sit down then went inside the farmhouse.

Robin: Alright. Thanks for bringing these, Sebby. You look exhausted. What time did you even sleep?

Seb: Sorry, mom.

Robin: Why don't you stay here for a while? The scenery change could be good for you.

Seb: ...Sure, I guess.

Robin: Tell Ellie I went back to work. Why don't you hang out with her for a while. Wanna come home together?

Seb: Ugh. I dunno, mom. I guess I'll just go home in a bit.

Robin: Alright, tell me before you leave.

She cupped Sebastian's face in one hand and walked away.

Sebastian sat on Ellie's chair - she placed a small table and two chairs on her porch. It was kind of cute.

He observed his surroundings while waiting for Ellie. The farm was nice. It was spacious and the whole area hasn't been used yet. The far side of the farm was littered with trees - Oak, Maple and Pine.

He looked at Ellie's farm plots. They were clean and organized. Near the main entrance of the farm, there were flowering bushes all around. He noticed that there were a lot of flower pots on her porch as well.

Ellie: Cuppa.

Sebastian jumped. Elliot laughed.

Seb, furrowing his eyebrows: Hey. Got your revenge?

Ellie: Haha, sorry, Sir Shocker. Today's not your day.

Sebastian smiled and took his coffee.

Ellie: I dunno how much sugar and creamer you want in there so just help yourself, alright?

Seb: Thanks. Nice farm you got here.

Ellie: Thanks, it was my grandfather's.

Seb: Really? Don't think I knew that... Or I dunno, maybe I forgot.

Ellie: That's alright. How are you? You look really tired.

Seb: Yeah, I... I had to stay up all night to finish something for work.

Ellie: Oh? You work from home?

Seb: Yeah, I'm a programmer. Freelance.

Ellie: That's cool. I don't really know anything about programming so can't say much.

Seb: It's alright. What kind of work did you have in the city? I mean, if you don't mind.

Ellie: Hmm, well I worked in an office. It was basically admin work. Y'know like filing papers, documenting stuff, attending meetings, answering phone calls. Ugh.

Ellie winced at the memory. Sebastian nodded, trying to imagine himself in the same position.

Seb: So... How was it?

Ellie: Sometimes it was chill, sometimes super toxic. Most times very, very boring. I feel like in the 5 years I worked for that company, I didn't gain anything. I don't really miss a lot from there, maybe just the internet and the pay.

Sebastian was silent, thinking about Ellie's experience.

Ellie: You okay, man?

Seb: Hm? Oh, sorry, I just... You know, I'm actually thinking of moving into the city.

Ellie: Really? Oh boy. I mean, that'd be cool, man. Uh, maybe just don't get eaten up.

Seb: What do you mean?

Ellie: I mean... I dunno. Are you workaholic?

Seb: Hmm... Yeah, I guess so.

Ellie: Yeah, 'cause like, if you're workaholic, I feel like if you work in a company they're going to take advantage of that a lot; work you to the bone.

Seb: Ugh. I don't really plan on working for a company. Maybe I could just continue my freelance work.

Ellie: Yeah, sure, maybe. But uh, you have to be prepared, I guess. The cost of living in the city is like, 10 times more than here in the countryside.

Sebastian looked at the ground.

Seb: Damn...

Ellie: Oh no! Sorry to dishearten you. I didn't mean to do that.

Seb: No, no. It's alright. I need these facts anyway if I really want to get out of this place. You're right, I have to be ready.

Ellie: I guess it could be fun, y'know? Try it out for yourself. It has it's pros and cons, but overall I think the city's quite nice.

Seb: Hmm... So which do you prefer more? The city or the countryside?

Ellie: Oh. Definitely the countryside.

Seb: Oh? Why's that?

Ellie: It's peaceful here. The city's nice, yeah. There's lots of places to go to or whatever, but I felt like a caged bird in there. It's noisy, it's polluted and you don't see a lot of greenery, unlike here. Here feels like home.

There was another moment of comfortable silence between them. Sebastian thought about all the times he pondered over moving to the city. She's right, he thought, here feels like home.

Sebastian turned the coffee cup in his hands.

Seb: Do you, uh...

Ellie: Hm?

Seb: Do you mind if you could show me around your farm?

Ellie chuckled.

Ellie: Not at all. (Ahem) Welcome to Kipling Farm! I'll be your tour guide for today, Elliot. Singular T. Not to be confused with the Elliott on the beach.

Sebastian laughed.

Seb: Alright, Ms. Elliot Singular T. Lead the way.

There wasn't much ground to cover, but Ellie did her best to keep Sebastian entertained.

Ellie: And these are my scarecrows! Let me introduce you to them: this handsome man is Quintavious, my first ever scarecrow. I made him myself!

Seb, clapping his hands: Very impressive. I like his smile.

Ellie: Thank you, thank you. This beautiful lady right here is Ms. Sandra, purchased from the beautiful flower dance. And this... raccoon-looking... friend is Carl - a gift from Mr. Gunther.

Sebastian laughed.

Seb: You name your scarecrows?

Ellie: Well, yeah! They're my friends, Sebastian. Don't be mean.

Seb: Hey, I'm not being mean this time, okay? That's actually pretty cute.

Ellie: Right? It's nice to have this kind of company.

Sebastian looked at Ellie with a softness in his eyes.

Seb: You know, if you want to hang out with us, you can just text us.

Ellie: Yeah, I know that. Ehh, I do have some days when I don't really wanna... Y'know... See people? I mean, ugh. I dunno...

Seb: Oh nah, I totally get you. I like having friends, but I also need a LOT of alone time to balance out the social stuff.

Ellie: Oh my God, right?? You DO get it!

Seb: Hah, yeah. Sam's the opposite, though. He goes crazy when he's alone for a long time. Can't sit still.

Ellie: Really? That's cute. You two are so different but you get along so well.

Seb: Yeah, mostly 'cause he's nice. And he can befriend anyone he wants.

Ellie nodded.

Ellie: That's cool. Wish I could be like that.

Seb: I think you already are. Maybe not as bubbly as Sam, but... You got the vibes, I guess.

Ellie: Why, thank you. That's such a high compliment from the guy who basically told me to get out of his room on day 1.

Both of them laughed.

Seb: Hey, man. I'm really sorry about that. I'm just really awkward and on edge most of the time.

Ellie: Haha, at least you're not as jumpy as me.

They approached Robin's work site.

Robin: Hey guys, came to visit me?

Ellie: Hi Robin! How's it going? Need help?

Robin: Ah, I'm almost done here. I just need to smooth out some areas and finish up with fire-resistant lacquer. How are you guys?

Ellie: Seb and I have been talking about stuff and he asked for a farm tour.

Seb: Uh, yeah. It's been fun, actually.

Robin: Really? That's good to hear. You oughta go out more often, Sebby.

Seb: I'll try, mom.

Robin: Alright, maybe I can finish this one tomorrow. Ohh, my back hurts.

Ellie: Alrighty, thank you so much Robin. Do you guys want to have dinner here?

Seb: Um-

Robin: Sure, Ellie. I can help you cook too. Come on, Seb.

The three of them walked back to the farmhouse, Robin dragging Sebastian by the hand.

+++++

Author's Note:

I dedicate this chapter to my friends over at Discord, who helped name my scarecrows:

[fizzycherrycola]

NedCan 1970s

Written for @nedcanweek​ (Day 8: Free Day / Language Theme) and dedicated to the lovely anon who suggested I try writing this pairing many months ago. Thank you, and I’m glad I did. 💜

Moose Tracks

Algonquin Park, Canada; 30 June 1973

Dense green. The kind that goes curving down slopes, burying itself in valleys and riverbeds, scraping the side of a rocky cliff-face, tree roots clawing into the limestone rock. A disorganised mess of crooked birch trunks, ferns, and dry maple leaves that crunch underfoot, the foliage parting only slightly for the twisted hiking trail. Setting the air alive with that deep forest smell; fresh pine, crumbling logs, and wild mushrooms. Just the presence of it all can get a heart pounding with passion.

And it’d be perfect if it weren’t for the blackflies.

There’s a buzz, a tell-tale tickle on his forearm, and Netherlands instinctively smacks the spot with his palm. He removes his hand to check for a black smudge of squished insect, but there’s nothing; he missed. At least he stopped the damn thing from biting another chunk out of his skin.

“More flies?” Canada asks, pausing on the trail, sympathy in his bent posture and guilt behind his oversize glasses, as if it was his personal fault that bugs existed.

“I’m all right,” Netherlands says. “I’ll apply more bug spray when we reach the cottage. How much farther is it?”

“About a kilometre,” Canada answers, and it’s no surprise that he doesn’t need to consult the map. “You’re looking a little tired. Do you still want to go canoeing this afternoon?”

Netherlands nods, shifting the heavy backpack forward on his shoulders, fabric slapping against his sweat-slick neck. They’re both decked in supplies and hiking gear, their sacks piled high enough to reach their heads. Clothing, soap, a first aid kit, last night’s tent and sleeping bags, along with canned fruit and veggies, because despite Canada insisting that he could forage, fish, and trap enough food to last them for months, nothing drives away the fear of scurvy after experiencing it first-hand, multiple times. At least, not for Netherlands.

They set off again, and muscles burning, Netherlands tells himself he needs the exercise. Modern luxuries have made him soft. Honestly though, they could’ve rented a cabin closer to the carpark, not gone for one that’s a two-day hike through the bush.

...No. This place they’re heading to is Canada’s cottage, something that he built long before this area was designated as parkland, something he’s deeply proud of. It’s a chance to be treasured, especially when, in the first years of their relationship, he spent most of their dates saying, “Oh, I’m fine with anything, what do you want to do?” It took plenty of patience and gentle nudging to get him to eventually share his true interests.

So, whatever his boyfriend wants, Netherlands can surely oblige, even if his feet are getting sore and the dirt is starting to climb up past his ankles. A challenge only because he left the wilderness behind when the world advanced into the industrial age, and done not from distaste of nature, but from the inconvenience of it.

Half an hour later, they arrive with the midday summer heat trapped between the damp air and Netherlands’ cotton shirt. He’s panting, his lungs protesting just as much as they did during yesterday’s hike, and takes a brief moment to lean against a fallen oak, wiping the wet from his forehead with the front of his collar.  

Belatedly, he realises Canada is speaking. “Sorry, what did you say?” he wheezes.

“We’re finally here,” Canada declares. “You can rest now, if you want.”

“You’re not tired at all, are you?

“Nah, I’m okay. But I’ll admit it is pretty warm out.” It’s reassuring that his boyfriend also has some sweat on his tank top, dark spots across his chest and underarms, signalling that he’s fallible and not just a perfectly-tuned hiking machine. “Anyways, um... what do you think of my cottage?”

Netherlands takes in the rustic property; a tiny home in a humble clearing. Sturdy walls of logs upon logs, some older than others, likely replaced over the decades to prevent rot, and a stone base decorated in moss. Turn-of-the-century windows and an amber-stained porch pleasantly frame the main door, while the modernized roof and chimney stack create a mishmash of different eras and building techniques, like a favourite worn blanket; too beloved to be discarded, and so instead is repeatedly patched.

“Did you manage all the upgrades too?” Netherlands says. “Because if so, it’s impressive.”  

Canada gives a timid shrug. “I did everything except for the electricals. I had to hire someone for that part.”

“Any phone lines?” Netherlands asks, wondering why he didn’t consider that before.

“Nope!” Canada chirps. “No telephones and no mailing address either; it’s perfectly secluded. Oh, but there’s a two-way radio in case of emergencies.” He gestures to the short aerial atop the roof before hopping up the porch steps, unlocking the front door, and treading inside.

Twigs snapping at his knees, Netherlands takes the last few steps towards respite and enters the simple space. Shucking off his boots, wiggling his toes, he relishes the sweet relief of freedom for his aching feet. He twists into a full-body stretch that ends in a sigh. God, he wants to collapse. He won’t be able to do any canoeing without a good nap.

By contrast, Canada is practically dancing, golden curls bouncing as he skips about, placing items from his pack around the rural kitchen; a room which seems to be missing a fridge, instead holding only a counter, some cupboards, and a washstand.  

Netherlands quirks an eyebrow. “Where should we cook?”

“The fireplace!” Canada exclaims, pointing to the brick hearth, which is certainly wide enough for a stewing pot. “But usually, I prefer to use the outdoor firepit when it isn’t raining.”  

“And where should we bathe?”

“There’s a river nearby; it’s perfect for washing up.”  

“Ah.”  

“We’ll get drinking water from the pump outside, and if you need to go, the outhouse is just a few steps behind the shed. Tonight, we can... Oh right, I have to make the bed. Sheets are in the closet, I think. But maybe I should switch on the breakers first? Test the lights and radio?”

He rummages through his sack and continues mumbling to himself, nibbling his lip between syllables and knitting his brows. For a moment, Netherlands watches him and that little expression on his face, admiring the behaviours Canada reveals only when he’s relaxed. Things that are unknown, or unnoticed, by most others; snippets of a bright personality that too often hide behind quiet and obedience.

Leaning too much on his left leg, a lick of pain swipes up it, reminding Netherlands of his flimsy anatomy, and he leaves Canada to it, for now. He just needs to rest for a short while, maybe ten minutes. Shambling along, he finds the one bedroom behind an old door. Dumping his backpack on the creaky floorboards, he flops onto their bouncy mattress, and a dust cloud rushes up around him. He sneezes.  

Canada calls out. “Hey, since you’re in there, could you open the window to let some fresh air in?”  

Grimacing, Netherlands drags himself up and wipes the dust from his clothes, tired eyes struggling to stay open. Padding over to the floral curtains, orange daisies splattered among wavy, brownish patterns, he fumbles before catching their cord and swiftly drawing them back.

And freezes.

A dark hulking shape fills the window, and for a second, he assumes it’s a statue. But why would a shadowy statue be here? Then, a leaf twitches; no, not a leaf, an ear! The shape shifts and turns, making eye contact, a conscious and living master of the forest. It’s... an elk! A very real elk, right in his face!

The hairs on Netherlands’ arms rise to attention and his back pulls itself taut, on instinct. He’s not seen one this close since... since.... Slowly tilting its head, the bull looks, listens, and breathes, fogging the window with each mighty puff of its long snout, barely shifting on its too-tall legs – and it is, very much, too tall. There’s a gasp behind him and Netherlands carefully glances back to see Canada in the doorway, wearing the biggest sunshine grin on his face. “Moose!” he whispers.

“What?” Netherlands mutters, before recalling that Canada’s word for these behemoths is different from his own. “Ah, right... a ‘moose’.”  

“Yeah,” Canada says. “Remember, I told you that’s what they’re called when we--”

“What should I do?” Netherlands interrupts, which he normally doesn’t do, but now is really not the time.

“It’s okay. We’re indoors, it’s safe. You can just watch him.”

Hesitant for good reason, Netherlands goes against his common sense and peers again at the colossal animal. All of it is chestnut brown. Even its proud antlers, a pair of great open palms facing the sky, are cloaked in a hazel velvet. Pinprick eyes sweep over him, curious and considering, as if trying to weigh judgement upon the stranger to its woods, before coming to lock with Netherlands’ own.  

Casting a strange spell, its gaze elicits a sense of awe in him and he swallows. Its eyes remind him of a whistling wind, the kind that slips through zippers and button-ups to graze bare skin, encircling one’s core, undeniably intimidating and yet... there’s something else. A paradox, both enigmatic and familiar at the same time. Mystery overcomes fear and his tendons slowly slacken, fingers loosening from the curtain cord, heartbeat easing to a calm tempo.

A funny thought occurs to him: that if he gawks for too long, he may go plunging into the grassy earth.

The bull stares for a while more, before turning away. Briskly trotting off with such jarring aloofness, that Netherlands presses his face to the glass, chasing after it, trying to steal one last glimpse. But the creature is fast for its size, and soon disappears between the trees, hooves thumping and foliage rustling in its wake.

A silence settles in until Netherlands unsticks his throat.

“That’s the first time,” Netherlands murmurs, “that I’ve seen a living elk... a living moose, so close. Before today, I only caught sight of them from a distance, standing quiet on the shoreline while I sailed past on a trading ship. Or other times, when hunters brought their trophies and tried to barter with me.”  

Aside from wondering what price the antlers might fetch, he never paid the creatures much attention. They were just animals; food and business. Even their European counterparts, with dwindling populations forced northward, didn’t grab him in any meaningful manner. But before he took to the seas... when he was very young, maybe they were something more. In the far reaches of his history are intangible, hazy memories; earthen henges and animal trinkets, wild and archaic thoughts that now only make for fireside stories.

Netherlands turns to Canada. “Are there many of them in this park?”

Canada nods. “Sure, there are easily hundreds. But it’s hard to do a full count because they’re usually so elusive.”  

“Usually,” Netherlands echoes. His mind is still wandering after that bull, imagining its untamed life, the clashes between others of its kind, the families they may father, when he realises something. “By the way, the plural form of ‘moose’... is it mooses or meese?” And Canada’s face cracks, like he’s about to laugh. “I’m being serious.”

A giggle escapes his throat. “I know, sorry. Sometimes I forget that a moose is an ‘elk’ to you, just like it is to everyone in Europe.”

“Mm. Your word has a more unique sound. Maybe we should all switch over and use ‘moose’ instead.”

Canada blinks. “Huh? No, no, that's not... No one has to do that. You’re joking, right?”

“Somewhat. Either way, it’s your word and I want to use it correctly.”

“Oh,” Canada murmurs. His gaze shifts to the floor and fidgeting, he adjusts his glasses with an index finger. “I mean... it’s not really my word. I'm just a nation; it’s really my people that own and shape my languages.”

“But it’s the word you use. And because of that, it’s important for me to get it right.”

A bashful smile blooms across Canada’s face, his eyes softening. “...Geez.”

“Am I being too sappy?”

“Nah.” Canada wraps Netherlands in an effortless hug, their warm arms hanging loose around each other in the heat, but it’s fine – more than fine. “And by the way, the plural is just ‘moose’.”

Netherlands buries his nose in Canada’s downy hair, closing his eyes for a moment and embracing the weight of his boyfriend’s body, finding he doesn't care so much about the temperature, or the dirt, or the hike. “Funny,” he murmurs. “I thought there might be a few extra ‘s’ sounds in there.”  

Canada doesn’t reply, but a smile presses into the crook of Netherlands’ neck, breath cooling the sensitive skin there. Songbirds and crickets fill the quiet, melodies of nature trilling through the humid air, passing easily through wooden walls and old windows. Gravity drags Netherlands downward, peaceful sleep beckoning him and he starts to sag against Canada’s frame. “I’m exhausted,” he finally confesses.

Canada rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “Yeah, I figured as much.”  

“Would you be disappointed if we postponed our canoeing adventure until tomorrow?”  

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Netherlands asks, pulling back to search Canada’s face. “You’re not just giving in to make me feel better, are you?”  

Canada’s brows rise, then he relaxes, shaking his head. “No, I’m okay with it. I promise.” There are creases at the corners of his lake blue eyes, earnestness in his smile. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

And rather than question it, Netherlands sees the glimmer behind his glasses and the rouge in his cheeks, and decides to take Canada at his word.  

“So am I.”

He kisses him, chapped lips and all. Tracing the salty curve of his mouth, drinking in the spice of the forest, his love, and rediscovering home. It’s perfect here, he thinks, and even if they still bite, the blackflies won’t bother him anymore. 

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes

Black flies (also known as buffalo gnats/turkey gnats) are annoying, biting insects native to the northern, wetter areas of North America.

Adult bull moose stand 1.4–2.1 m (4 ft 7 in – 6 ft 11 in) high at the shoulder, and weigh from 380 to 700 kg (838 to 1,543 lb). They’re huge animals!

The plural form of moose is... moose! The word is borrowed from the Algonquian languages (like Narragansett moos and Eastern Abenaki mos) and possibly involved forms from multiple languages mutually reinforcing one another.

In Europe a moose would be called an “elk”, even though in North America, an “elk” refers to an entirely different deer species. In Quebec, they prefer to use “orignal” over “élan”.

The Eurasian moose once roamed across Europe in antiquity. Now, its range is limited to Scandanavia, northern Poland, Belarus, and Russia.

To be honest, I must call myself out. Moose have fantastic hearing and they don’t like humans. In real life, if one was near the cottage, it would’ve heard Canada and Ned approaching from a great distance and run away. But... let’s pretend this one was VERY confident and unafraid of some silly nations.

In my head, I believe that Canada enjoys everything to do with camping, and Ned enjoys everything to do with boats. Therefore, the perfect shared activity for them would be canoeing.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them��� geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

__

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

[spaceorphan18]

2, 6, 30

what’s your feel-good movie?

Well, since I already answered, I’ll go with my MCU feel good film which is Civil War! No, I’m kidding, it’s actually the two Spider-Man films, which are good if you just need light and fun and sweet. :) 

say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

OOhh, these questions...

Okay, well, I love my hair color - I have never died it because it’s a nice color, and I’m a little sad it’s beginning to lose the color.  I have a very pretty eye color, too.  And I’ll go with my nose, cause it’s little and cute. 

Meanwhile, I like to think I’m funny (ha!), relatively intelligent, and kind. 

what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)?

You know, I was thinking about this based on an answer @redheadgleek gave for another question.  Trees.  Standard old Maple and Pine and Oak.  If I’m in a place where there isn’t green in the landscape, I miss it.  I love trees. 

Also the smell of spring - which is kind of a moist smell, and warm, quiet evenings when you can hear the wind rustling the leaves, and winter nights when the snow is settled on the pine trees.  Atmospheric things mostly.  

Oh, and books.  Just being surrounded by books.  Because I’m always surrounded by books. :) 

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

Okay Tumblr, I’m about to do a stupid thing and ask for validation on some of my original writing. I’ve been working on a novel for a while now, and while I don’t have nearly as much to show for it as I would like, I do have this prologue. 

The story it is is attached to is long and complicated and queer and magical and I love it. My question to you fine internet denizens is: after reading this prologue, would you keep reading this book? 

(If you have follow up questions about this story at all, please ask because I love blabbing about this and I’m considering making a side blog just about this story because I want to develop it and hopefully get it published one day)

My buds: @a-l-ias @madre-des-leones @books-andbiscuits @chihuahuapowersgo @oopstheregoesthatlifeofmine @ivneess @elissastillstands @i-am-triple-a @becca-becky @goddess-of-fluff (You are all under absolutely no obligation to read this, I just think you’ll get a kick out of it)

So, without any further ado, I give you the prologue to Cheshire Moon:

Prologue: In Which It’s The End of the World As We Know It

Here is the boy on his bicycle. It is a dark and stormy night, a strange night for a bike ride. A Monday night as it would happen. Just goes to show that even after the events collectively referred to as “the Apocalypse” have ravaged the Earth and destroyed the capitalist institutions such as bureaucratic schools and offices that made certain weekdays widely hated, Mondays are still, and will always be, awful.

So here is the boy on a bicycle twenty years after the Apocalypse. He is pedaling madly through woods that had once been somewhat tamed. The woods were made of pine and maple and oak, the staples of a Northeast American forest, but they were also more than that. See, when nature is left to its own devices, even forests once populated with such things as marked hiking trails and outdoor recreation areas can turn into something quite different. This forest, once a nature preserve belonging to the state of New York, was now a wildwood. Things not quite friendly and not quite mundane and things not evil but also certainly not kind to trespassers lived in the dark spaces between these trees.

So here is the boy on a bicycle, riding through a wildwood full of dangerous things not kind to humans on a stormy Monday night twenty years after the Apocalypse. This is odd for three reasons.

First, as previously mentioned, it was a rainy night. And not a little drizzle, May-Day morning kind of rain that you barely needed an umbrella for, but a sky-splitting, earth-shaking, world-flooding howler of a storm. Each bolt of lightning ripped the sky apart; every roll of thunder shook the ground; the howling wind threatened to send even the oldest trees crashing to the ground. Surrounded by all of this, beneath the trees and in the mud, was the boy on his bicycle. 

The bicycle was the second odd thing. Despite the absolute hell it’s rider was currently putting it through (he wasn’t biking on a path, you see, just careening through the underbrush as it suited him; scratching the paint, splattering it with mud, and getting half a forest worth of sticks stuck in the wheel spokes), it was a very nice bike. A ten-speed, all-terrain, for-serious-athletes-only sort of bicycle. In another life, it would have been the property of some over-achieving businesswoman, the sort who did triathlons on the weekends and polished it with special bicycle wax three times a week. In this lifetime it had been stolen from an abandoned sporting goods store and aggressively spray-painted black because its new owner had been in a mood that day. There was also a laptop precariously duct-taped to the handlebars. Surrounding the ancient laptop was a clear plastic container, which several hours earlier had been looted from an old Target store and taped over the handlebars with extreme prejudice to protect the computer from the coming rain. 

The third odd thing was what the rider of this bike was doing. He wasn’t just soaked to the bone while pedaling full speed through the dark and rain and underbrush, with no light to guide him other than the faint glow of the computer screen. He was also singing at the top of his lungs.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it! It’s the end of the world as we know!-oh!-” He swerves to avoid a tree- “Oh, it! It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I FEEEEEEL FINEEEE!” He had a deranged smile on his face, the kind adrenaline junkies get when they’re doing something supremely idiotic while enjoying themselves immensely, and couldn't be damned to care about the consequences. He was quite possibly insane, more likely sleep-deprived.

Just then, the computer started beeping. The boy quickly brought the bike to a stop, crashing through a puddle and narrowly missing a large rock that would have brought this story to an end much quicker. Still singing nonsensical lyrics to himself- “Lenny Bruce, Lester Bangs, birthday party, cheesecake”- he dismounted, taking something small and electrical out of the bag he wore over his shoulder.  He hit the device a few times, cursed twice, and hit it again before it finally turned on with a beep and a few flashing lights. The light illuminated his face, pale and tired and shivering. Splashes of mud on his face gave the appearance of more freckles than he actually had. He wiped his long, rain-drenched hair out of his eyes to peer at the computer screen before punching some coordinates into the handheld device. A map appeared on the smaller screen. Blue vector lines appear, joined by two small dots, one green, one red. As he moved, the red dot moved. “Excellent,” he whispered to himself before walking deeper into the woods, leaving his bike behind. It would be the last time he saw that bike.

Walking through the rain was much harder than biking through it. Every minute or so, he had to stop and pull his boots out of the shin-deep mud. Twice he slipped, spreading mud all over his front. He refused to think about the state of his hair, despite the fact that it smelled like some of the wet matter coating it might not be mud. He slipped a third time, and the device in his hand went flying off into the wet night, never to be seen again. He paused for a moment, staring pitifully at where his device had disappeared before proceeding to curse loudly and creatively in at least three languages; insulting not only the stupid forest and the gods-damned rain, but his own stupidity and the idiocy of his informant for failing to tell him about this job before it became a time-sensitive matter that resulted in him being covered in enough mud to pass as a very short golem……

He went on like that for awhile before continuing his walk. The past few days had been incredibly frustrating, and there was a lot of bottled up anger to be released. As absolutely no one listened, he cursed the Trader caravan who treated him worse than the dirt on their boots, the scavengers who’d stolen his good knife last week, and the state of his life in general, gods give him a sign that he shouldn’t end it all right now, just climb up a tree and get struck by lightning…

A particularly loud crack of thunder erupted just then, followed by a bright burst of lightning that was a bit too close for comfort. It seemed like the gods were calling him on his bluff. With a world-weary sigh, he shoved his frustrations back down and continued walking into the woods. First and foremost was the mission, he reminded himself. There would be time for pity parties later.

It seemed like the universe was mocking him at that moment; as he gathered his convictions, the storm worsened. He would have said it was impossible, but the rain came down harder, as if trying to tell him that just lying down in the mud forever was so much simpler than trying to be a hero, who was he anyway, to try and save the world…He began to sing again, attempting to combat the darkness of the weather and his mind. “Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn, world serves its own needs, don’t miserve your own needs…” He walks to the tune of the highly appropriate song, keeping his head up and eyes peeled for his destination.Finding anything in this weather would take nothing short of divine intervention, possibly by multiple gods, but find something he does. There, on his right, almost outside his field of vision, a faint glow in the darkness of the night. He smiled, a wild thing, before running full tilt towards the glow. 

As he got closer, it became clear that the glow was coming from the ground itself, a golden line stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction. The glow is slowly intensifying, but he’s arrived in time. He takes another device out of his bag, this one about the size of his head. It looked like if someone had melted down several computers, a tacky bachelor’s pad worth of chrome plating, and a rotary phone before mashing them all together and drenching the entire thing in white paint. That really wasn’t far off from the actual process used to create the gadget, which was of his own invention. He was rather proud of it, especially as it was one of a select few of his projects that had been completed without any magical assistance whatsoever.

With the golden glow lighting his way, he steps forward and gently places the SaviorBlob(that was what he had named the blobby thing) directly onto the line, aligning one of the sticky-outy metal bits towards magnetic north. Then he takes a carefully measured number of steps to the right, taking a second SaviorBlob out of his bag and placing it on the line. Again, he takes a carefully measured number of steps to the right, watching his feet while taking a third and final SaviorBlob out of his bag. He’s adjusting the magnetic alignment when he hears a loud grunt. He looks up. Then he starts running. 

A roar erupts from the massive creature straddling the line. Something vaguely resembling the idea of an arm erupts from the darkness, grabbing the boy by the back of his jacket and bringing him face to face with the rotting corpse of something that had never been properly alive. Desperate, he throws the remaining SaviorBlob at the creature’s face with surprising force, but it bounces off harmlessly. The creature roars again, throwing the boy up in the air only to snatch him up again, this time around the waist. With another arm, it sweeps the SaviorBlobs off the line, sending them flying into the night. 

Satisfied, it returns its attention to the boy trying to free himself, slowly pulling him closer as it opens it’s stinking maw wide. The boy watches, eyes wide, heart pounding. He waits. He waits. Then he strikes. A second before the darkness would swallow him whole, he pulls a knife from his boot and drives it deep into a mass of twisted flesh. 

As the creature flails, he rips off one of his many necklaces and shoves it down the creatures throat, kicking away at the same time and falling to the ground. His jacket is torn to pieces, tangling around the arm covered in dark acid from the creature’s mouth. 

The creature roars and lashes out, clawing at it’s wound with one arm and pinning the boy by his leg with another. The touch is dirty and so cold it burns, the antithesis of everything alive. The boy screams for the first time. Another twisted and corrupted limb is pressed to the glowing line, and the creature rears its head and sings, a single high piercing note a human could never hope to replicate. 

The boy struggles, trying to pull away from the pain, but he’s stuck fast. As the creature continues to sing, the light of the line grows brighter, turning from golden to white hot. The air itself is resonating with the impossibly high note, the whole world shaking as the boy tries to twist free and cover his ears from the onslaught of pure noise. With a final cry of pain, he escapes the creature’s hold, trying to run, trying to get as far away as possible...BOOM. The world goes white. He flies through the air, hitting a tree with a CRACK. Darkness falls immediately.

------------------

I WILL TAKE ANY AND ALL CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM

I WANT TO MAKE THIS GOOD 

I WILL ALSO BLAB ABOUT THE CHARACTERS SO MUCH, SPOILER THEY”RE ALL QUEER AND MOST ARE POC. 

[orangejudy]

The Oaks

A/N: Hello everyone. I'm bored so I decided to write a story. I don't know how long it's gonna be so bear with me and if you like it.... thank you!

Chapter 1: Settling In

Trees. Rows of trees. Rows and rows of pine trees.

That was all you could see for miles and miles. One would go insane from the idea of the same scenery for hours and hours. But It wasn't bothersome at all to you, it was almost soothing really. As you continued to watch the treelines go by you could make the head of the sun rising over the treetops from your bus seat window.

You were currently traveling north on a large greyhound bus to see this new property you’ve inherited from an aunt of yours. You didn't get the chance to meet her because she distanced herself from the family.  

You were of course confused as to why you of all people you inherited the house out in the middle of nowhere, but your parents told you to not press the issue. You also found it rather odd that the moment you were told you inherited the house your parents had already bought you a bus and ferry ticket for Fallspaul Island waiting for you and sent you off that next morning.

Being on the bus for the past 12 hours gave you lots of time to think about your given situation and you came to the conclusion that you were going to sell the house once you got there and use the money for a nice heavy downpayment on a house you had your eyes on for a few months back in your city.

You would, of course, have to see the house first and then a realtor first thing the next morning.

* As soon as you were dropped off at the mainlands bus stop you made work to find the ferry port to cross the ocean to the island. You turned to an older lady who was waiting for a bus herself at a bench.

“Mam. Do you know where I could find the ferry boat to Fallspaul Island?” She squinted in my direction as though she was trying to see something past me.

“Why would you want to go there?” She pressed.

“I've inherited a house from my aunt up there.” You explained. You were a bit taken back by her question but you also found it quite amusing.

“Ah. I see. Well it's right down this street and make a right on maple street and you can't miss it. It has a giant rainbow flag on the outside. Just a fair warning the locals there don't take too kindly to outside visitors to their island.” she explained as she patted your lower arm.

“Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.” You said with a smile as you placed your hands over hers and gave it a friendly pat.

You then set off to find that ferry she's directed you too.

As soon as you found it you were rather pleasantly surprised at the fact that it didn't just have a rainbow flag on it the whole Shaq itself was painted with a rainbow on it. It was rather beautiful with all the windchimes and colorful glass decorations outside added to its cheerful vibe.

You approached the Shaq and were greeted by a short ginger and a tall brunette. They looked to be eating lunch together inside.

“Hey there, what could we do for you?” The ginger asked

“Hi there, I'm sorry to bother you while you're eating but I have a ticket for the ferry to Fallspaul Island?” You asked.

“Fallspaul Island? I've taken plenty of people to and from the island but there all locals, what's an outside like you doing on Fallspaul island?” The ginger pressed with interest.

“Please excuse my husband Abe. He’s an avid gossip and loves any good story. My name is Graham and  we'll gladly take you over.” Graham said as he reached for the ticket in your hand.

“It's fine. I'm actually heading over to the island cause I've inherited a house from my aunt but, to be honest, I don't think I'm gonna stick around too long. I kind of just want to sell the house.” You explained as they stamped your ticket.

“Ohhhh I don't think that's a good idea. They really don't care much for new people but they'd take a relative any day over newcomers. You might have to talk to the council over there.” Abe explained to you as Graham agreed. They began to lock up the Shaq and walk over to their little yellow boat.

“Well, that's not something I wanted to hear. Well, I'll deal with it when I get there.” You sighed as you followed the couple to their boat. You all got situated with your seats and your luggage as Graham started the motor.

You all started the short journey over to the island. The couple made small talk with you to pass the time on what there was to do in town and the best places to eat. They also told you they'd introduce you to the other ferry operator on the other side. They said his name was Colt and that he was their nephew.

As you reached the other port you saw a rather stocky redhead teen exit the yellow Shaq to meet us at the port.

“Hey, uncle Abe! Hey uncle Graham!” He called us. Colt helped the doc the boat and held our hand as support as we got out.

“Colt sweetie, could you call the local sheriff's office so they could escort this young lady home?” Abe asked. Colt nodded as he headed to the Shaq to presumably call the sheriff.

“Thank you so much for your help but it seemed to slip my mind, I never told you my name. I'm (y/n),” you said sheepishly.

“Such a sweet name. Nime to meet you (y/n).” Graham said as they both shook your hand.

“Called him! He's on his way over!” Colt called.

“Well, that's our cue to leave. Hope everything goes well hon and we wish you luck!” Graham called as they said their goodbyes. They then hopped back in their boat and sailed back to the mainland.

“Hey miss if you want you can sit inside the Shaq while the sheriff gets here.” Colt offered.

How sweet.

“Thank you but I think I'll wait outside. It's so nice outside.” You said as you took a seat outside the Shaq.

Colt nodded and walked back into the Shaq.

*

A few minutes go by and a Ford LTD pulls up in its iconic black and white. It was the sheriff's car that pulled up and an older man with a rather long beard stepped out of the vehicle.

You say a quick thank you to  Colt and go over to meet the sheriff.

“Hello, there sheriffs my name is (y/n). I recently inherited my aunt's house and was wondering if you would be able to take me over? I'm not familiar with these parts.” You explained as the sheriff gave you a smile. It seemed a little forced in your opinion.

“How do you do miss (y/n). My name is Moses Lott, the sheriff around these parts. I'll be happy to escort you over to the estate. Your Aunt Verna was an amazing woman that did a lot for this town.” Moses explained as he led you to his car.

You turned and waved goodbye at Colt, who waved back before you two took your leave.

“I didn't know my aunt had such a major role in this town. What exactly did she do?” You questioned curiously as you turned to him. It seemed like he was taking his time to formulate an answer.

“I'm sure once you get to her estate you'll get a better idea, but she was a very kind-hearted woman and took in all the less fortunate in her estate.” He explained.

“Wait. There are other people living there?” Shocked at the information you just heard. Totally proud of your aunt for her charitable work, but the idea of others living at the estate made you rethink your idea of selling.

“I'm gonna be honest dear but I think they might be long gone by now.” He explained giving off a somber mood.

“I see…”

“We're here.” He said as he parked the car.

[kitchenwitchie]

Guide to LazyWitchcraft: Winter Edition

Raise your hand if you love making magick but frequently miss full moons, lack crucial supplies, or totally miss a solstice. 🙌🏼

You, my dear, might be a lazy witch. Hey, that’s okay. So am I. That’s honestly how I became a kitchen witch. I already love to cook and bake... so I just pick recipes and ingredients that will further my Magickal purposes!

For this first edition of The Guide to Lazy Witchcraft, we are going to focus on all things snow. Why? Because my area just got nearly a foot of snow and I love to use what’s handy!

Magickal Uses for Snow/Ice:

Snow and ice are just forms of frozen water, and water is excellent for purifying and cleansing.

Blizzard Snow: It contains the energy of the wind and storm. Collect snow during a blizzard and freeze it to use to add an extra “pow” to your spells. Mix it with moon water or add to a bath, tea, or potion.

Powdery Snow: That beautiful, fluffy snow is so peaceful and tranquil, yes? Add some to chamomile tea for an extra dose of calm or sprinkle some in your bath water.

Ice from a tree: Ice taken from a tree has the essence of that tree. Look up the Magickal properties of that tree and use it to enhance your spellwork. Because this is the Lazy Guide, I will give you some of the most common trees here:

Pine: Rebirth, Strength, Overcoming Adversity, Hope

Maple: Intelligence, Communication, Beauty, Binding

Elm: Femininity, Endurance, Rebirth, Grounding, Focus

Oak: Masculinity, Strength, Protection, Truth, Knowledge

Birch: Feminity, Renewal, Calming, Expelling Negative Forces

Beech: Masculinity, Mental Health, Divination, Aspirations, Ancestors

Willow: Feminity, Rebirth, Vitality, Change, Emotions

Ice from your house: Those long, lovely crystals that hang off your eves have a connection to your home. Melt them (just let it melt on a counter in a bowl) and then sprinkle the water in the four corners of your home for a splash of protection.

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart Part 10/10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

Heyyyy. So even though this says Part 10/10 there is actually going to be an Epilogue. It is pure fluff and not as long as this chapter but it will be up in the next couple days or so.  Pure, endless and sequin-covered gratitude to artificialmeggie who is not only a brilliant writer but also incredibly generous with her time, energy and kindness. Thanks to all the awesome people on the Branjie discord, and everyone who has been commenting/liking this story so far. Come scream at me about Drag Race feelings any time. I am literally interested in nothing else right now.

The gravel path crunches beneath Brock’s runners as he makes his way through the forest. Everything is layers of green on green here, moss growing on ferns growing up the side of leafy oak trees.  It’s a bit overwhelming but also Brock is three days without a cigarette so everything is overwhelming at the moment.

He’s back on the West Coast of Canada for a show on the island, killing time before he has to get ready.  If he sits still he’s going to end up convincing himself to buy cigarettes, so a hike in the middle of a fucking rainforest seemed like a a good idea at the time.

There are wildflowers pushing through the soil (daisies and violets and bleeding hearts), another long winter behind them. Brock’s been thinking that maybe he’ll go home after Drag Con.  Just for a couple days.  Maybe he’ll go to Ontario, see his mom and sister.  Unplug for a bit before the tour, if his manager will allow it (his manager is still pissed about Brock’s lack of communication around the lip sync with Vanjie.  It’s understandable, but Brock is 100% firm on this.  He’s not saying anything until he talks to Jose. If that means he never comments on it, fine. If that means he needs to get himself new representation, then - okay.)

There is an incline on the path, and Brock climbs, winding his way through pine trees.  He breathes in damp air that would taste better if it was full of nicotine and tar, but - he can’t have everything.  

When his phone rings, he’s almost expecting it.  It feels inevitable that this call happens now, alone in the silent forest, overrun by moss and flowers.

“This a bad time?” Jose asks, and it’s never a bad time when he gets to hear Jose’s voice, no matter the reason.

“No.” Brock slows his pace, stands at the foot of a maple tree that seems to go on forever. “Hi.”

“Sorry I took my time gettin’ back to you. I had to get my head right, and I been traveling so much -” 

“It’s completely fine.  I get it.”

“Nah, girl, it ain’t fine.  And shit, that was a ride hey? Watching it all go down. Thought I was at Disneyland.”

“That’s scarily accurate.”

“None of those fun rides neither. I’m talking like that rollercoaster in space shit.” He’s half-laughing as he says it, but his tone is brittle. It makes Brock take a couple of deep breaths, steeling himself for whatever happens next.  “And that - what you said.  You know, at the end –”

Brock waits, waits.  Holds on.

“I don’t - know what to do with that.”

Brock stays in the moment, fragile and still, where there are chickadees calling and bleeding heart wildflowers and Jose’s voice on the other line for now, just now.

“Yeah,” he says at last, because moments are lovely only while they last, and they never last long. “No.  Of course. I was all messed up then, and I just  - it was the show. You know.” 

He’s playing it down and he doesn’t know why.  He wasn’t in any sort of headspace to be making grand declarations, but the denial tastes bitter in his mouth.

“Huh,” Jose says softly. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear it that way. On television, fuck. That must have been – something.”

“It was sure as hell something.” There’s a silence on his end, and then Jose sighs.  “I – that call the other night. That was not –”

“It happens,” Brock interrupts quickly because  - because the alternative is to say how much he wanted it, how much he needed Jose’s voice on the phone telling him all the ways Brock could touch him, all the ways he wanted him.  “You were drinking and - it doesn’t mean anything.  It’s fine.”

“Ye-ah.” The word is unsteady, broken in halves. “Course. So.  Where are you now?”

“Canada again. You?”

“Berlin! Crazy, right? Taking my ass international.” 

“America can’t tie you down.”

“Damn right. I gotta spread my oats around or whatever. That what they say? Spread oats around?”

“I - um.”

“Bitch, don’t laugh! Whatever, I been up for twenty-two hours, I get to say whatever the fuck I want.”

There are birds singing as Brock laughs. In the trees, under his skin. He feels the melody in each  beat of his heart.

“At the reunion.” There’s a slight hiccup in Jose’s voice, and Brock breathes into the ground beneath his feet. “I’m sorry for losin’ it at you like that.  Everyone’s been – good about what went down.  A couple comments but nothin’ serious.  I’ve had worse, you know? So – I shouldn’t have come for you then. I was just – feelin’ a lot of ways.” 

His voice is like a song that Brock just remembers parts of. 

“You didn’t do nothing to me, Brock. You were – we were good.  When I see it now, it looks good.”

Good doesn’t do it justice, can’t possibly describe Vanjie’s laugh across the werkroom, the rush of adrenaline on the main stage, the thrill of victory and loss and desire. Good is like a raindrop in the ocean. 

“We were good,” Brock says anyway.

“But it wasn’t real life. I keep forgettin’ - like it was a month, right? That’s nothing.”

He’s right, of course, but the words don’t feel truthful.  Brock knows that they’re different people, knows that they were together for too short a time to feel things this deeply. But there was something about Drag Race that moved differently, an intensity to every day that made their connection somehow sharper, stronger, the bite of lime after tequila. Brock sometimes feels like he knows Jose better than he knows some of his oldest friends.  You don’t go through an experience like that, share all the vulnerability and self-doubt and pride and passion, without it changing you. Without it leaving its mark scored all over your bones.

“It wasn’t real life,” Jose says again. 

Brock wants to tell him he’s wrong. He also wants ten cigarettes and Jose’s tongue in his mouth. Want, want, want - it overwhelms him, a desperation he hasn’t felt since he was much younger (living on nicotine and ballet and adrenaline, with a heart that had never been broken.  The superior vena cava scar-free, ventricles pumping steadily, never imagining what would come.)

“It got all fucked up. And it’s my fault –”

“No, absolutely fucking not,” Brock cuts him off.

“Well it ain’t yours. It was just –”

“It wasn’t either of us.”  There are birds singing.  Their voices are all the words Brock wishes he could say.  “It was everything.  The competition and the job and – the timing.  Everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Couldn’t get it right.”

“But –” (Fucking say it, say something.) “I would have liked to.  Gotten it right.” His heart is pounding in his chest. Is this what being vulnerable feels like? He hates it. “I wish we had.”

“You don’t gotta say those things to me.  I can’t –”

“I know.” Brock swallows. “I get it. Yvie told me you were dating someone and I think that’s –“

“Did she? Fucking Yvie, course she did.  Dating someone, Jesus.  That’s – it’s not like that.”

“I don’t need to hear about it.” Brock will be sick in the middle of the fucking forest if he has to hear about Jose’s new boyfriend.

“I wasn’t going to share no details or anything. Just – nah, I ain’t dating no one. Single dollar bill, right?” Jose gives a sad little laugh. “So – what are you gonna say, girl? About that lip sync? That I got you all dickmatized and made you act a fool?

Brock smiles despite himself. It’s always like this when he talks to Jose, aching affection shot through with threads of pain, like precious metals. “Yes, that’s basically it. Verbatim.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like – word for word.”

“Huh. Okay, I’ll get ready for it.”

The wind picks up, and leaves are rustling. The whole world smells like rain. “Are you going to say something?” he asks, not sure he’s ready to hear it. “About how it ended? How things are?”

“Yeah.  I'ma say that -” Jose hums to himself, thinking it over. “That Brooke Lynn and I worked it out.  That we are very good friends.” 

(Tibial stress fracture. Labral tear of the hip.)

“Okay.” It’s fine. Really, it was more than he expected. They can be friends. Brock can be a professional about this, he’s been a professional his whole life. “So I’ll see you in a bit for the tour.”

“Yes you will, sis. I’m not there for the first week but I’ll catch you after that.”

“I’m away for the second week, I’ve got some bookings in New York.”

“Oh.  Okay. Well, I guess I’ll – see you around. On the big screen, right?” They’re less than two weeks from the finale, the ending of which even Jose doesn’t know.  “I’ll be watchin’ it live with my girls in NYC. You doing a show?”

“Maybe.” (Nina’s asked him but Brock hasn’t responded yet.) “Can’t wait to see you win.” 

“Girl, you as crazy as you are fine.  You think I’m gonna be the first queen in history with no challenge wins to get a crown?” 

“You were the first queen to go viral for her exit line.”

“You’re wrong as shit, but I’ll take it.” There’s silence. “Brock, I -”

Brock’s heart stutters like he was punched in the chest. He forgets to breathe for a moment (Jose has that effect on him.)

“I -” Jose starts, and then laughs quietly. “Nothin’.  I just like saying your name.”

I like hearing you say it.  He doesn’t say it, even though it’s true, even though hearing his name in Jose’s singular voice feels like falling through space, cliff-diving, hanging in the air before hitting the cold water.

“See you around, boo,” Jose says.

“Yeah.  See you around.” The pleasantries feel like stones. 

Jose hangs up and Brock holds onto the phone for a moment, getting used to the silence once again.

“I miss you so fucking much.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He wishes he could breathe them back in, but he can’t, it’s done. So he leaves them there. Leaves them for the forest to find.

He hikes for another hour, and when he reaches the crest of the hill he finds himself in a cluster of cherry blossom trees. The wind is blowing gently, and petals fill the air, falling slow and pink  to the mossy ground.

Brock can remember Vanjie scattering handfuls of flower petals on the runway; it was the first night they kissed and he walked away from that moment tasting roses between his teeth. 

He bends to pick up a few blossoms from the path, holds them loosely in his hand.

Then he lets them go. 

Two days later, his manager sends him a video. 

It’s from Jose’s instagram, just posted that night.  He’s in a hotel room, eyes slightly unfocused with exhaustion, shirt off.  He’s beautiful (and Brock tells himself he’s allowed to think that because it’s objectively, inarguably true, has nothing to do with Brock’s feelings or their past.)

“So I’m here to set the record straight ‘bout me and Brooke Lynn.  You know a lot of shit went down in the last few episodes and I just want everyone to know that we’re good now. We good. Brooke Lynn and I are friends, and  -” Jose holds the palm of his hand to the corner of his eye, blinking brightly. 

He holds his palm there, and he blinks, and he smiles. When he finally drops his hand, his palm is wet. 

“It’s good,” Jose says, smile white and eyes shining. “So good.  So you know, you don’t got to worry none about me or Brooke. I ain’t mad at her, she ain’t mad at me. What happened, happened. But that’s in the past and now we both gotta live our lives.”

Jose laughs, turns away from the camera for a moment. “I don’t know why I’m all -” he says under his breath, and then turns back.  “Okay, that’s it. I don’t know what else I gotta say. Bye.” 

Then Jose waves (Brock pushes all his longing into his stomach, like an ulcer. Something painful but isolated, something that will heal in time.)  He waits until he’s moved onto to the next show, the next hotel room, before he posts a response.

He hasn’t been drinking and it’s been six days without a cigarette (only six? Jesus, it feels longer.) At first he’s going to do the video as Brooke Lynn because he feels less vulnerable that way, but then he decides it’s cheating. 

Brooke Lynn is like armour. She’s like - brick walls.

”Okay,” Brock breathes, ruffling his hair.  “Okay, okay.  A lot of people are talking about Vanessa and talking about me and everything that went down. And I wanted to say something, officially, and then I’m going to stop talking about it.  Because my fuck up isn’t the biggest story on Drag Race this season. It’s not.” 

He should have maybe written this down or something. Planned it out.  But it’s too late now and he’s not going backwards; he forces himself to keep talking (say something, something.)

“Remember my sickening runway reveal if you’re going to remember anything about me.  Or remember Yvie dressed like a fucking jellyfish or Silky as Oprah or the return of Vanessa Vanjie Mateo –“ (covered in red roses, petals sliding between her fingers) “or A’Keria, just - everyday, doing anything while looking that gorgeous. The Top 4 is the Top 4 for a reason. They got there and they deserve to be there. So.”

Brock can do this. He can be honest without completely falling apart, people do it all the time.

“My whole life I worked hard and I – I had goals and I got it done. I wanted to dance ballet so I did. I wanted to be Miss Continental so I was.  I wanted to make it on RuPaul’s Drag Race and I got there.  I was – it was all very by the numbers.  Calculated.  And then –“ 

He has to stop for a moment because it’s harder than he thought it would be. He takes a few unsteady breaths, thinks about cherry blossoms. Pictures his cats.

“You can probably tell from the show that I’m an over-thinker.  In my head. I don’t do anything without planning it first, thinking about everything that could go wrong. But there was a moment on that stage with Vanessa when my head wasn’t in charge.  I made one decision and – it fucked some things up and maybe I shouldn’t have done it. But it happened.  I’ve explained and apologized to Vanjie and uh – I’ll apologize again now: I’m sorry she didn’t get the chance to kick my ass on her own terms. I’m sorry that I took over her story. That’s the worst thing you could ever get from this because that girl – damn, she’s got stories to tell.  She is a fucking story, and I’m so, so lucky that I got to be a part of it.” 

Brock swallows. 

“But – and this isn’t very Canadian of me - now I’m done.  I’m done apologizing. I’m not sorry Vanessa made the Top 4.  And I’m not sorry I met her on the set of this crazy, amazing competition, and I’m not sorry we went through it together.  I’m not sorry I listened to my heart for maybe the first time in my life.” 

His throat is so tight that speech is becoming difficult. Fuck it, get it done.

“So I’m not apologizing anymore. It’s a show for you, an important show, a phenomenon, but - it was real for me.”  

The words are true, which is absolutely the fucking worst. Whatever Jose says or thinks now, it was real. Saying it out loud is like a weight being lifted.

“This was – real for me,” Brock repeats, a bit staggered by the knowledge. “So. Thanks for watching.”

He posts the video without looking at it.  Then he paces a hole in the carpet of his hotel room before grabbing his hoodie and hating himself as he walks to the nearest convenience store. 

He’s at the register with the cigarettes in his goddamn hand when he changes his mind (six fucking days, almost a week, that’s got to mean something.) He buys gummy candies instead, and cream soda, and is going to crash hard into a sugar coma but at least his mouth will taste like Vanessa’s as he dies.

That night, he doesn’t dream.

* * *

(Now.)

Brooke Lynn Hytes takes the stage.  As she moves toward the audience in a glittery nude body suit, she is fierce and she is fine.  She is untouchable. She is slowly dying of internal bleeding but that’s below the surface, where no one can see, so it doesn’t matter. 

She’s in Boston for the next two days, Machine tonight, and a different club tomorrow. The reunion episode just aired, and people have been talking to her about it all evening, mostly with concern. No one’s thrown any shade at her or Vanessa, and Brooke hopes that it stays that way (even as she knows that the fans can be cruel and vicious as well as loving and supportive in equal measure. It’ll probably break all kinds of ways before the finale, but that’s the nature of the job.)

“In my head,” Lorde comes through the speakers, “I play a supercut of us.”

Brooke lifts her hands, runs them over her neck.

“All the magic we gave off.

All the love we had and lost.”

The rhythm of the song picks up, and Brooke starts to dance. This is what she does, this is what she was born to do. There are cheers from the crowd, but this time she barely hears them. Her mind is too full of Vanjie, an imperfect memory (neon lights, rose petals, saltwater). Brooke imagines that Vanjie’s there in front of the stage, the only person in the room, watching. 

Brooke lets her heart fall, bleeding, from her hands. Then she crushes it under her heels, spinning and twisting, seeing Vanjie’s face every time she closes her eyes.

People are waving tips, and Brooke takes far fewer than she normally would, too caught up in the lyrics of the song (Vanessa is in the sand beside her, smiling sweet and shy.) Brooke thinks about the first time they kissed, the taste of cigarettes in her mouth and stars in her eyes. She thinks about the whole twisted mess of it, Jose’s voice on the phone, the silk of his skin against her tongue.

They had moments, that was what they had.  A whole love story’s worth of moments (edited neatly, pieced together for public consumption.)

 That will have to be enough.

As the music ends, a wistful fading beat (“In my head I do everything right”) Brooke smiles for the audience, bowing slightly and waving back at the applause.  

That’s when she hears - something.

A low, growly shout from the back of the bar, a “yeaaah girl” in a voice that she would recognize anywhere.  

Her eyes frantically scan the room but she can’t see anything in the bright lights.  She nods dumbly as the host is saying something that she can’t hear.  She has to get off stage.  She has to go.  She has to -

Backstage a couple of other performers try to approach her, but Brooke just rushes past them, (coming off like a total bitch probably but she doesn’t care.  That much.)  She hurries out into the crowd, where people are pushing close to her, trying to touch her, trying to talk to her. Brooke apologizes to them over and over again, Canadian to the core, but doesn’t let them stop her.

She doesn’t see him.  He’s not by the bar - the dance floor is packed, he could be anywhere.  She turns helplessly on the spot. She can’t find him. Maybe she heard his voice wrong. Maybe she should - she should -

“You okay, Brooke?” one of the staff asks her, and she nods.  

“Was there like -” she begins weakly, not really knowing what to say, “a guy -”

“Um  There were a lot of guys,” the staff member says and Brooke turns away from him.

She could have been hearing things.  Or - it could have been wishful fucking thinking. Or - 

She should call him!  That’s what she should do.  Maybe she’s losing her mind but if there’s even a chance that he’s around -

She walks quickly back to the dressing room, ignoring anyone who tries to stop her, aware that she’s probably looking frantic and ridiculous. Her hands are shaking, heart beating fast enough to make her feel light-headed.

When she gets her phone out of her jacket pocket, she has a missed call from one minute ago, and two new text messages.

From Silky Ganache of all people.

“Pick up yr damn phone bitch dont make me call 911. this an emergency!!!”

“me and AK47 got sick of lookin at her sad ass face. Vanjs there but bitch is running away go catch her!!!!”

Brooke almost drops her phone. She rushes to the doorway of the dressing room.  As she touches the handle, though, she freezes. 

Wait.

If Jose wants to leave - it’s his choice.  Right? If he’s ‘running away,’ if he’s made his mind up, Brooke’s not the kind of person to chase him down. To beg someone to want her. She’s got walls around her heart and -

- you know what, fuck you, walls, and fuck you heart and fuck this shit FUCK it -

Brooke is out of the dressing room, pushing her way across the dance floor, heading toward the front door.  Beneath her ribs, bricks are shifting and falling and smashing onto the pavement.  She runs past the bouncer and the clusters of people smoking on the sidewalks, runs into the street (nearly avoids getting hit by a cab) and cranes her head around. Panic is thick as syrup in her veins, everything feels simultaneously slowed down and sped up.

Oh God, what if she’s missed him. What if she’s too late.  What if -

At the end of the block, about to cross the street, Brooke sees a slender, gorgeous man walking away. There are streetlights and moonlight on his skin, as if even inanimate forces feel the need to touch him.

“Jose!” 

He doesn’t hear her so she runs, platform stilettos sliding on the damp pavement, ignoring the stares she gets from strangers.  

He’s on the phone, she can hear him talking softly, “Nah, I told you I’m not goin’ to -“

Brooke keeps running, calls his name again.  And - like a bullet to the chest – he turns around. 

He stares at her (there is a crease between his eyebrows, the one that makes Brooke forget what her banking passwords are, what money means, or that she’s ever been lonely.)

“Tell Silk that she’s a meddlin’ ho,” Jose says into the phone. “I’m gonna call you later.“ 

Brooke comes to a halt a few feet in front of him barely avoiding sliding and twisting her ankle.  She can’t breathe right, something’s wrong with her chest, with her lungs.  They feel heavy and tight, full of rose petals. 

“Hey.  Hi,” Brook manages between gasps of air. “What are you doing here?" 

Jose twists his fingers, tugs at his cuffs. "I was just - you know, around. Had a couple days off, thought maybe I’d - I dunno. Come by.”

He’s wearing a fitted blue shirt underneath a leather jacket - and a fucking tie? A thin black tie that shines like it might also be made of leather.  Brooke wants to touch it.  Wants to touch him. He’s the most handsome person she’s ever seen in her goddamn life - but he doesn’t look entirely comfortable.  Doesn’t look like himself.

“You’re wearing a tie,” Brooke says because she’s a brilliant conversationalist. Dynamite at parties.

“Yeah.” Jose glances down at it. “Silky gave it to me.  Feel like I look like a lawyer or somethin’.”

“Silky gave it to you?” The thought of Silky in a tie is about as bizarre as Jose in one. 

“Yeah, she said that I should try to look - it don’t matter.” The tie gives Jose something new to mess with.  He presses it flat to his chest, scrapes his thumb over the edge. “You were good out there.”

 Brooke tries desperately to remember how to speak. She could do it once, she swears to God.

“You should have come backstage.” (God, it’s good to see you, how have you been, why are you here, why were you leaving, why -) “I thought you were booked until the tour?”

“I - canceled a couple shows. It was getting to be - a lot. And I had to -” There is a silver ring on Jose’s thumb and he fidgets with it, spinning it around.  "Did Silky call you?" 

"Yeah.”

“Girl’s got to start mindin’ her business.”

“I’m glad she called me.  Where were you going?”

“You seemed - I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.  After that episode.”

“Didn’t know if I’d want to see you,” Brooke repeats, like - like that could be a reality in any dimension. “How could - no.  Yes.  I want to see you. I was in Orlando. At Southern Nights, when you were - but you looked so - happy, I couldn’t -“

“I looked happy?” Jose fusses with his bangs, then smoothes them out. “That’s some bullshit nonsense. Anyway, Silky told me. Said she sent you packin’.  I think she feelin’ some kinda way about it. She pretty much threatened my life until I got on the plane this morning.”

Brooke mentally notes to have an edible arrangement delivered to Silky in the near future.  She takes a step closer, gently pushing at the barrier set up between them.

“I saw your video on Instagram.”

Jose blinks at her from underneath long dark lashes, as pretty out of drag as in it. “Saw yours too.”

Cars are moving past them, headlights shining on the slick-black streets. The same headlights catch Jose’s cheekbones, the shine of his lips where he’s been biting them. Brooke fights the urge to dissolve into seafoam like a princess in a fairytale.

“Are you in town for awhile or - just tonight?”

“It’s - I’m figuring it out.” Jose shakes his head, looks away for a moment. He keeps twisting that ring around his thumb. “You know that thing you said. Before the lip sync. About like if we met somewhere else, or at a club or something.”

Brooke stares at him.  

“I thought - if you wanted -” Jose won’t look at her.  “Maybe we could try that.”

There is something intolerable in Brooke’s chest.  

Something that feels unbearably like hope. 

“What do you think about it?” Jose asks.

Brooke can’t say a word. All the blood in her body is concentrating on keeping her upright.  She can’t be hearing this, there’s got to be some mistake.  This sort of thing, this sort of offer, doesn’t happen in real life. 

“You gotta tell me what you’re thinkin’, Brooke,” Jose says quietly. 

Say something.  Say something.

“Yes.”

They stare at each other.  Or Brooke stares at Jose while he stares at his hands.

“Yes,” she says again. “I mean, okay.  We could try that.”

Jose lifts his eyes at last and they are beautiful (and soft and scared and hungry.) “So like if you met me tonight, at this club or whatever, what’d we do now? What’d you say to me?”

Brooke takes a step forward. Then another. She looms over him in her heels, but she moves slowly, giving him no doubt about what she’s going to do next.  When she’s right up in his space, she touches his chin (she did that once in the backstage lounge and it feels like years ago and it feels like yesterday) tilting his head back.

Then she kisses him. 

As kisses go, it’s in the Top Three of her life.

(Number Three: Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, night of the “What’s Your Sign” runway, tasting like mint and still glittery.  The kiss that started a war, sunk a battleship, peeled away all the layers of Brooke’s dried up onion heart. A mistake and a reckoning and a miracle all at the same time. 

Number Two: first kiss with a boy.  Whatever, he’s straight and has kids now and they were both too drunk to function.  Still. It was a good one.

Number One: remember that blank space at the beginning? Here we are children: Jose on the sidewalk, hands on her face, mouth open. Finally where he’s supposed to be, close enough to touch, lighting Brooke up like birthday candles. There a faint trace of stubble on Jose’s upper lip and she licks it, wants to taste it, wants to touch everything.  Her hands slide into Jose’s hair, cradling his head as they kiss.  Brooke’s starving, wants everything all at once and the soft little murmuring noises Jose is making against her mouth make Brooke Lynn fucking shine.)

“I’d say,” Brooke breathes, pulling back, “that I’m in love with you, and then I’d ask you to come home with me.”

Jose doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word for a moment.  There’s a little crease of pain between his eyebrows and his lips shine with Brooke’s lipgloss. 

Then he smiles.

“Girl, we just met. You move fast.” And then, softer, “Okay. We can try that.”

“My wallet’s in the club,” Brooke says stupidly because her heart is racing and this cannot possibly be real.  “I have to - will you wait here? Don’t -”

“I’ll get us a cab.”

“Okay. Don’t go, though, you’ll -”

“Yeah right, you think I’m going anywhere now? Now that I get to take you home? Come on, mama, you know me.”

I do, Brooke thinks, even though - really - she only knows parts of him. But se wants to know the rest.  And she’s going to know the rest, she decides, every question that she has, every stupid thought Jose has had in his beautiful weird brain.

She gets changed in the dressing room, back into boy clothes. Fuck you if she’s going to sit next to the sexiest man in the world on a cab ride across Boston while tucked. No thank you, Mary. 

When the last makeup wipe hits the trash can, Brock looks up and sees himself in the mirror. Still in desperate need of a shower, grey toque pulled low on his head, but himself.  No armour.

He looks happy, and that’s fucking terrifying.  His face is doing that thing it does around Vanjie, the thing he’s only seen on television. 

Jose is waiting for him when he gets back outside. Brock feels his face pull into that expression, helplessly. 

They barely make it to the hotel room (they don’t make it to the bed.)

“Get your fucking shirt off,” Brock gasps against Jose’s neck, the two of them grinding on the floor against each other.  How the fuck did they end up on the floor, last thing Brock knew they were pressed against the wall.

The hotel carpet is rough on Brock’s knees, and will probably be rougher on Jose’s back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He pulls his shirt up over his head, doesn’t bother with the rest of the buttons, and makes a moan of frustration when it means they can’t kiss for a second.  He throws it off, pushes it aside.  His mouth on Brock’s is wet and sharp, his fingers on the zipper of Brock’s hoodie.

“I want you in me,” he says against Brock’s teeth, “Okay? Been waiting too long for you. I can’t -”

“Jesus Christ.” Brock has his fingers on the buttons of Jose’s pants, pulls them off his hips along with his underwear, pressing biting kisses to his hipbones, his stomach.

“You don’t gotta -” Jose starts and then Brock is sucking his cock, swallowing him down and it’s familiar and unfamiliar and so fucking hot he might die.  “Oh my God, yes -

Too soon, Jose is pulling on his hair. “I’m going to come if you - get up here, please -”

Brock pulls off slowly, kisses his way up Jose’s body, feverish and dizzy with all the promise of a night alone together. He licks into Jose’s mouth, and he’s trying to go slow but it’s impossible to take his time when their skin feels this electric, when Brock’s been basically half-hard for him since he was dressed like a sparkly Mountie and trying not to stare at the most beautiful girl in the room.

“My jacket,” Jose waves an elegant hand toward the sofa where he’s thrown it over an arm. “There’s -”

Brock speaks the same language, and he forces himself to his feet so he can grab the leather jacket, rummage in its pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Someone came prepared,” he says, crawling back over to Jose, condoms and lube packet in hand.

“No one’s come at all, ho. If you don’t hurry up about fixing that -”

“Pushy,” Brock mumbles. He slicks his fingers and spreads Jose’s thighs; he can’t stop moving or he’ll start thinking  and this will be over too quickly.

“You love - oh.” Jose’s voice shatters and his head drops back at the first touch of Brock’s hand. Brock fingers him slowly, letting the pads of his fingertips drag inside Jose’s body, watching his  cock twitch slightly every time Brock hits the right place. He could do this all night. He rests his head on Jose’s thigh, watching for every reaction he makes, every time his chest flutters, ever gasp that breaks from his mouth. Two fingers become three, Brock twisting his wrist until Jose’s legs are spread as far as they can go, one hand covering his face and the other making small, clenching movements on the shitty hotel carpet.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jose bites out, back arching. “I can’t - you gotta - Brock, please -”

“I will.” But it’s too delicious to watch Jose writhe like this, and Brock takes his time, kissing the inside of one knee and then the other before sliding his fingers free. He licks the pre-come off Jose’s stomach and then sits back on his knees, opening the condom and rolling it on (biting his lip to give himself edges, to haul himself back from this cliff.)

“You okay like this?” Brock leans over Jose for a kiss, and Jose immediately wraps his legs around Brock’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Yes, damn it, If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’m going back to that club to find a bitch who -”

His sentence ends in a bitten-off moan, as Brock pushes into him, a slow hot glide that makes Brock slam his eyes shut.  It’s too good. Too much. This is the worst possible decision Brock could have made because being inside Jose is better than anything and Brock has an addictive personality.  He’s already aching from it - so, so utterly fucked.

“Okay?” he asks with another thrust, and Jose just nods, mouth open and eyes blown black. Brock leans down to kiss him, and then Jose’s nails are scraping down his back, and his hips are rising to meet Brock’s, and everything is speeding up, turning hungry and vicious with wanting.

“Jesus, Jesus,” Brock hisses and he’s had sex before but it wasn’t like this, nothing’s ever been like this. “You’re -”

Jose tightens his legs, drawing him in closer, and making the sexiest sounds Brock’s ever heard in his life. 

“Come on baby, get me there,” Jose leans up to whisper in his ear. “Know you can, know you got it -”

Brock pulls back slightly to change angles, pulling one of Jose’s legs up over his shoulder before thrusting back inside. Jose smacks the ground, shouts, swears - it’s a bit like fucking a tornado, or a hurricane. 

“Come on,” Jose begs, “You have to just - there, baby, there -”

Brock tries to repeat the movement that’s making Jose throw his head back like that, and he’s close, he’s fucking close, and then they’re grabbing at each other and Jose is moaning and coming between their bodies (“Yeah, fuck my - oh Jesus Brock I can’t - oh GOD -”.) Brock’s suddenly there, suddenly gone, and he fucks Jose through it, shaking, sweat rolling down his neck. Then he swoons down on top of the smaller man, kissing his mouth and his eyes, licking the come off his chest, dragging his tongue down and down and down Jose’s stomach until he can’t stop, he’s fucking lost again.

They end up in the bed at some point. Brock sleeps like he hasn’t in years, a black and weightless sleep, only waking at the sensation of slow patterns being traced down his spine (words in Spanish that Jose will translate for him someday, but not now). He rolls over to see Jose’s face only inches from his own, and thanks the God of his distant religious childhood that this is still happening.  Still real.

Their lips find each other in the half-darkness, hands moving soft over ribs and hips, between legs. Jose nudges Brock on to his back, rolls a condom on him before riding him excruciatingly slowly, still loose and open from their first time.  

“Had to get you up.  Was dreamin’ about this.”

Jose pins Brock’s hands to the bed-frame above him, moving his hips like a dancer.

“Open your eyes,” Jose says, and Brock didn’t even realize he had closed them. “Want you lookin‘ at me. Don’t need you thinking about no other ho.”  

Brock opens them briefly before squeezing them shut again.  The feeling is too intense for him to get distracted by something as unnecessary as sight and the way Jose’s body moves over him might make him go blind. He’s too close, it’s too much -

“You’re here,” Jose whispers, pressing his mouth to Brock’s temple. “Open your eyes.” 

Brock does.

They don’t leave the hotel room until the next evening - well, basically they don’t leave the bed. Except for the couch.  And once, the shower. 

Jose comes to the club, watches as Brooke performs “God is a Woman” and throws dollar bills at her like they’re confetti.  Afterwards they make out like teenagers in the dressing room, pressed up against the mirrors until Jose has lipstick and powder smeared all over his face. Jose grabs at Brooke’s hips like they’re real, sucks her fingers and bites her palm, whispers all sorts of filthy promises to the lines on her hands (lifeline, loveline, Mount of Venus.)

When they finally break apart, Jose’s eyes are wild and unfocused. Brooke holds his face between her hands, presses their foreheads together, wondering whether it’s possible to feel this much and survive.

“Come to New York with me,” Jose says quietly.  “For the finale. I want you there.”

“I -”

“Don’t get all in your feelings about it. You don’t got nothing lined up yet.  Come with me.” Jose licks his lips and then smiles. “Love the taste of your gloss, baby. Look at your face - you know you’re gonna say yes.”

Brooke is.  She is.

She does.s

[rahirah]

via Barb's Place These last two weekends we've been cleaning up the back yard, and setting the back porch and the tiki bar to rights. During the Closet Project we'd shoved everything out there to store it, and now we're trying to get everything back where it belongs, and winnow out things we don't need any longer. Last weekend I cleaned up Mom's old sewing table, sanded it down, re-stained it, and, since I'm planning on using it as an outdoor worktable, covered it with a couple of coats of water-resistant polyurethane. I forgot to take before pictures, but I may take an after picture and post it later. It's a very neat table – my grandfather made it out of an old upright piano. This weekend's project was a card table that belonged to my grandmother. Mom told me that her father had bought it for Grandma especially for her bridge club. Not sure when that was; some time in the 30s or 40s, I'm guessing. Anyway, Mom used to do jigsaw puzzles on it, and we kids used it as a craft table (the flecks of blue and orange enamel paint were my fault – I can't remember what the heck I was painting, but I remember thinking that Mom was going to be very annoyed that I'd gotten paint all over her table.) By the time I inherited it, it was pretty beat up. There were paint spatters, and scratches, and one of the legs is a little wonky because one of the metal supports got bent at some point. The top layer of the table, which was some kind of Mystery Material from the Olden Days, was starting to crack. One of the decorative studs along the sides is missing. Still, I was reluctant to just toss it, because getting anything nearly as nice to replace it would be difficult and/or expensive. I put it out in the shed for the time being, resolving to see if it could be fixed up at some point. When we had to move everything around for the Closet Project, it got shifted out to the tiki bar. Unfortunately, during the one storm we got out of this summer's non-soon the tin roof on the tiki bar got a piece flipped up by the wind, and it leaked like anything. The table sustained some fairly severe water damage, as you can see, especially to the Mystery Material. I had always vaguely assumed that whatever was under the Mystery Material was wood, like the rest of the table, but it turns out that it was just very heavy posterboard, which soaked up water like anything, and caused the Mystery Material to separate.

I was looking at it Friday afternoon as I cleaned up the tiki bar, wondering if I should finally break down and throw it away. But the closer I looked, the more it seemed that the wooden parts of the table were still pretty sound. And I thought to myself, what if I just take the damaged top off and replace it with a new one? So this weekend, I measured the table top, then went over to Lowes and got some quarter-inch cabinet-grade plywood, with maple veneer. They didn't have any in the exact size I needed, so I had to have them cut down a larger piece. No idea what I'll do with the extra, but I'm sure I'll think of something. I removed the damaged top, and sanded the whole table down.

I had to remove the nails that had held the posterboard layer on, since it just ripped right off and left them in the wood. The cross support bars in the middle of the table had these weird bent bits, as if someone had hammered in nails partway, bent them over, and snipped off the heads. They didn't go through the posterboard, so I have no idea what their original purpose was. I just trimmed them off as flush as I could get them.

I then attached the new top with the teeniest finishing nails I had.

I'm not sure what kind of wood the frame and legs are made of. It's not oak, and I don't think it's pine. It might be maple. Or it might possibly be walnut; it seems to be a lot darker than the raw maple of the new top, even sanded down. But then, it's a million years old and has been stained, so who knows. I had some teak stain left over from a bookshelf I made ages ago, so I used that to stain the new top, and give a once-over to the rest of the table as well. It ended up matching pretty well.

I still have to see if I can find something similar to the missing decorative stud – the rest of them are just held on by nails; they look like washers, almost, except they're sort of curved instead of flat. Tomorrow, once the stain's had a chance to dry and set, I'm just going to give it a good rubbing with furniture wax and bring it inside so it doesn't get damaged again. comments