#like enough money to help them cross the border 6 times over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snarkesthour · 4 years ago

Text

Happy St George's Day!

· In the midst of a pandemic when schools are all closed, the government votes to not allow free school meals to schoolchildren during school holidays, despite this being the only meal many of them have each day

· Marcus Rashford, a footballer, led the drive to feed the nation’s children, 49% of which live in poverty, and forced the government to provide food for them during the school holidays

· Instead of previous years when vouchers were given to parents that can only be spent on nutritious food, members of government give contracts to friends to provide a week’s work of food costing £5 to schoolchildren for a price of £30. Food is unhealthy and would not last a week

· Parcels also expect parents to cook two tablespoons of rice at a time in the oven and bake their own bread every day, ignoring poverty-stricken families possible lack of access to such equipment

· Wife of conservative MP attacks poor families for eating unhealthy food when healthy food is cheaper, ignoring the fact that not all families have access to equipment needed to store and cook it

· Nigel Farage, head of the Brexit party came out strongly against the government for their stance on starving schoolchildren. Not a good look.

· Another MP came out and said that poor families should not receive government assistance because the money would be going direct to brothels and crackhouses and the parents would spend it on drink and drugs instead of feeding their kids, a dangerous and persistent stereotype of working class people

· For the first time in its history, UNICEF is feeding kids in the UK – the 5th richest country in the world – and the head of the House of Commons accused them of “playing politics” and said they should “be ashamed of themselves”

· J.K. Rowling came out hard as a TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist), writing a book about a serial killer that dresses up as a Muslim woman, which isn’t subtle when you look at her history of transphobia and other “-isms”

She also publicly supported an author who wrote a book about the destruction of Europe by waves of Muslim immigration

· Speaking of J.K. Rowling, the government’s response to the Gender Recognition Act.

· It is now impossible for under 16s to receive reversible puberty blockers

· Wait times at NHS Gender Clinics, of which there are only 7 in the country, have doubled, with wait times now up to 60+ months (5+ years)

· Keir Starmer, head of the Labour (left wing) party says he doesn’t want to get involved in trans issues

· With the loss of Labour, no major party supports trans rights

· Self ID is no longer allowed, meaning every step of transition is medicalised and involves the trans person having to prove that they are “trans enough” at every stage to panels of cis people

· Government wants to invalidate non-enrolled deed polls, essentially making available a public list of every trans person in the UK

· Hate crimes have quadrupled

· Anti-trans campaigners are now setting their sights on trans adults’ access to hormones

· A petition was formed to counter this and was reviewed by the government, who determined that nothing was wrong with the GRA except that it might have been a bit lax.

· The Guardian newspaper ran child labour and child starvation supporting stories

· Internal border now along the border of Kent and lorry drivers must produce travel papers (Brexit Passport) to cross it, placing the county of Kent in a state of “no man’s land”

· Government fails to lockdown on time, every time

· Government refuses to ban conversion therapy in the UK

· Scotland adopts Human Rights of Children, which requires the government to better support children and families, especially those who are poor, disabled, minorities or young carers. England does not

· The government declared that sleeping rough is now grounds for deportation

· Schools reopened several times despite being warned not safe to do so

· The government banned NHS workers from speaking out about COVID

· Do Not Resuscitate orders proposed for those in care homes, with learning disabilities and who are autistic

· The government cut pensions as the COVID death toll rose

· The government learnt about new South-East COVID strain in September and didn’t come forwards until December

· New COVID strain targets kids, teens, and young adults, and yet none of those groups are allowed vaccination unless a serious pre-existing condition is had, even if they are key workers

· Downing Street says UK should be model of racial equality because government report says no institutional racism in the UK

· Report also says young people are young and foolish for thinking it exists and that minorities are superstitious and irrational and are sabotaging themselves out of success

· It came out that the government was given the independent report and rewrote it to the version that was released to the public – the version that says racism doesn’t exist in the UK

· The rewritten report also refers to the slave trade as the “Caribbean experience”, like those enslaved were on holiday

· Woman in London abducted, murdered and dismembered by off-duty cop and when socially distanced vigil goes ahead, police wait until dark before trapping women, arresting them, using excessive force on them, and also destroying memorial

· Bill passed in government that allows undercover officers to commit serious crimes such as murder, torture and rape

· Plainclothes police to now patrol nightclubs and bars due to aforementioned murder by police officer

· Bill passed that bans any protest at all, no matter how quiet, unobstructive or small it is, including single-person protests. Bill also includes a 10 year sentence for damaging a statue, which is a longer sentence than for rape

· TV programmes critical of the government have been cancelled

· Universities have been told what to platform and schools have been told what to teach, including banning material speaking about BLM and calling for “overthrow” of capitalism

· Voting has been supressed, mainly those who are working class or POC

· During protests in Bristol, press was assaulted and pepper sprayed by police and two legal observers were arrested

· Being Roma/Traveller and living the traditional Roma/Traveller lifestyle is now illegal under that same bill that bans protests. They also have to register as such and receive a licence or risk losing their vehicles

· Hours before Eid, lockdown across the UK with no warning whatsoever, meaning people woke up the next morning after visiting relatives to find themselves “criminals”. The country was opened up specifically for Christmas though

· Conservative (right wing) party blamed BAME (Black And Minority Ethnic) communities for dying of COVID more than white people

· Landlords have been protected extensively and renters blamed for living in close quarters or having to take public transport to work

· Conservatives have launched investigation into possible corruption in Liverpool Council. Liverpool is a Labour stronghold and if corruption is found then the Conservatives can seize control of the council. No evidence of corruption is present as of yet

· Military threatened to stage a coup if Corbyn (then head of the labour party) became Prime Minister

· Government orders all government buildings in England, Wales and Scotland to fly the Union Flag every day to boost patriotism

· MPs call for the curriculum to require teaching the history of the Union Flag rather than Britain’s many atrocities

· The first fortnight of April saw a mini heatwave with temperatures up to 20°C immediately followed by snow, and this is ignored in favour of debating “vaccine passports” in order to visit the pub

· UK allows for international summer holidays despite being warned it will cause a third wave, such as the situation in Germany

· Government placed asylum seekers arriving in the UK in army barracks where they were to sleep 24 to a room with no open windows or air circulation, and when COVID inevitably ran rampant, the Home Secretary accused the asylum seekers of not following COVID protocol, such as social distancing

· Several accounts of self-harm and suicide attempts were reported from the asylum barracks and were dismissed

· UK to deport unaccompanied minor asylum seekers

· UK refuses entry into the UK for radicalised teen failed by system who joined ISIS. Case is difficult and controversial because teen wishes to return to the UK temporarily to fight for her citizenship after the UK broke international law by stripping it from her, despite her not having dual citizenship. Argument given was that her parents were from Bangladesh and so she could apply for citizenship there. Bangladesh refused. Teen is now stateless and living in a refugee camp after losing several children, unable to fight for her citizenship to be reinstated.

· Rioting in Northern Ireland, which included the first use of water cannons in 6 years, a bus being hijacked and burnt, a press photographer attacked, and people throwing bricks, fireworks and petrol bombs at police, not to mention some of the clashes happening over a peace wall in west Belfast, completely ignored in British media and then later drowned out by non-stop news of Prince Phillip’s death, obscuring any important news from being heard. Riots were over Northern Ireland’s being a part of the UK

· MPs take vote on whether China’s treatment of Uighurs constitutes genocide. They decide it does, but that it isn’t their job to do anything further

· Home Office released their spending for the 2020 fiscal year. It’s a mess, including over £77,000 at an eyebrow salon in March alone, and £6,000+ in Pollyanna Restaurant which doesn't appear to exist.

· When people started questioning the spending, the Home Office sent a tweet fact checking themselves

· Country reopened over the summer for Eat Out To Help Out, a scheme to boost the economy. COVID cases rose sharply and the government then blamed people, but mostly working class people, for not following restrictions such as only leaving the house when absolutely necessary, after telling them it was safe

· Foreign NHS workers denied COVID vaccinations

· GCSEs and A-Levels were cancelled due to COVID-19 and expected exam grades were to be used instead. Private school students received grades much higher than they were expecting, and state school students received grades much lower, some grades falling as far as an A to an E. This was because the government couldn’t imagine state school students being smart enough to receive the high grades they were predicted to get; after much uproar the grades were scrapped, and a new method was introduced

· BBC offered staff grief counselling following Prince Philip’s death, but not after having to report on the ever-rising COVID death toll

· The COVID-19 Infection Survey closed in mourning for Prince Philip, with workers to contact participants to reschedule visits for “as soon as possible” when they return to work

· Census workers told to pack up and go home and were placed on immediate unpaid leave due to the death of Prince Philip, but told they must make up the hours later

· Conservative MPs lobbied for a new royal yacht after voting to keep schoolchildren hungry (see first points)

· The BBC’s complaint page crashed over the amount of complaints they got of their coverage of Prince Philip’s death. It was covered non-stop for over 24 hours and the page came in at over 100,000 complaints before going down

· BBC also fast becoming politically biased despite their requirement to be apolitical, after cutting out the audience laughing at Boris Johnson on Question Time, displaying Corbyn as a communist figure in front of a prominent piece of Russian architecture, and providing a platform for a Conservative MP to tell a stage 4 bowl cancer patient that her life wasn’t valuable on live television

· On the COVID-19 pandemic, the BMJ, (British Medical Journal) said about the government that “science was being suppressed for political and financial gain” by “some of history’s worst autocrats and dictators”

· Not only did Boris Johnson launch Eat Out To Help Out when he was warned it was dangerous, lifted lockdowns too early when he was warned it was too dangerous, reopened schools when he was warned it was too dangerous, but when scientists said the second COVID jab should be delivered within 3 weeks he decided that was too tall an order and it should be within 12 weeks – after a period of radio silence, suddenly the science fit his plan. No scientists came forwards to defend it

· The Home Secretary, Priti Patel, blamed protestors for protests that became violent from police attacking protestors, bullied staff members under her, bought members of staff in her department, said it was “disgraceful” to topple the statue of Edward Colson, a slave trader, in Brighton because it undermined anti-racism protests, held treasonous meetings with Israel with the plan to divert aid money, and threatened to starve Ireland in order to get them to agree to Brexit

· She also wants to set up Australian-style asylum processing centres on British islands, but the islands she wants are in the Atlantic ocean and over 4000 miles away from the UK. This is because she wants to help asylum seekers enter the UK legally, completed ignoring or oblivious to all the reasons that asylum seekers might not be able to do that, and for the fact that to seek asylum you must essentially walk up the border and ask for it

· The bungling of the Track and Trace system – the government spent £10bn on a system to track and trace the spread of COVID-19. All data was stored on an Excel spreadsheet which developed a technical glitch and many results were lost before the system was scrapped

· As Autism Acceptance month began, the BBC ran a story saying the autism causes fascism, and that an autistic person who had chosen to embrace the ideology was incapable of seeing that a neo-Nazi group he joined was morally bad because he was autistic

#st george's day #uk politics

15 notes · View notes

himbeaux-on-ice · 4 years ago

Text

Can I just say that Habs “fans” who act like Carey Price’s contract is somehow patient zero of all this team’s problems drive me absolutely fucking insane? Seriously. Buckle up. This is about to be a rant.

Now. First things first. Is it ideal that the $10 million goalie is currently uh, not doing very good? Fucking NO! I am disappointed as shit with that and I don’t like seeing him struggle. I know he can be better. He has to be better. Obviously.

However. That being said.

Do I think it’s an incredibly stupid look to spend several tweets complaining about all the issues Habs defence have been having, and then also griping that they haven’t started Jake Allen enough for how he’s performing, only to then for some inexplicable reason state that the FIRST THING, the first thing that needs to be dealt with after the new coaching staff have had ONE GAME (and zero practices) to work on things, is somehow “well, the ten million dollar man in net is weighing them down, that contract has gotta go!”?

Yes! That’s stupid!!

I think that’s a very ice cold small-brain take, and not just because Price is my favourite of favourites for as long as I’ve been a hockey fan! I have reasons, dammit!! I put THOUGHT into this!!

Here, dear ppl of Habs twitter who will never read this, are some reasons why this narrative you’re concocting is dumb, and why management/coaching are unlikely to think of trying to ditch Price mid-season to fix the current problems:

1: Time. It has been one (1) game under Ducharme. He has been able to run zero (0) full practices on off days with the team. We just changed up a major piece on the Habs chess board — why don’t you give it a minute to see what fresh eyes and minds can do with this roster before you decide we are fucked? This season is fast-moving, sure, but there is time for us to ride out some little bumps here and still make a playoff spot in this Canadian division. Have patience. Do you remember what patience is? Dom is a new head coach, not a wish-granting fairy godmother. Chill. Do you remember chill?

(rest of this under a cut because I actually LIKE Habs Tumblr, and I want to be nice to you all by not making you scroll past all of it if you don’t want to)

2: Jake Allen exists. There are a couple of things I like for what this means for the Habs. Firstly, for basically the first time in his NHL career, we are not in a situation where if Carey Price is in a slump, we have to go “Ah, shit, so now our options are let his stats tank while he tries to get the groove back in net, OR throw whoever the poor backup is out there to get murdered while we plummet through the standings.... 😬” We don’t have that problem right now, because the backup is... actually good? Oh my god, the backup is actually good! Thank fuck! We’re not doomed. If I’m Ducharme, I put Allen in net for a few consecutive starts to put a solid backstop behind all my fun experiments I’m probably planning with the skating roster (to catch their slip-ups, while also giving Carey lots of time and rest with which to work hard on sorting out whatever his issue is along with the goalie coaches).

2b: Jake Allen exists and is competition. Hell, if I’m Ducharme, maybe I even play a little hardball and say “Look, Carey, I don’t want you to be an expensive benchwarmer, but if things don’t pick up soon I am going to start whoever is doing best and you will have to compete for that net.” Related to my last point, when was the last time Carey Price had to push himself to compete for net time against anything other than his own injuries, and wasn’t simply always the default starter? Has that EVER been a thing? Honestly as much as I love the idea of him being The Goalie for the Habs, I also kinda like this idea a lot because I think it could really push him to a higher standard of performance. Maybe that kind of high-pressure situation (given how much he thrives in the pressure-cooker of the playoffs) could be what he NEEDS in order to Be Carey Price again. Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t respond to that challenge, and I am very sad but the Habs have a good goalie in net anyway, because Hallelujah, Jake Allen exists! God, isn’t it nice to have Jake Allen? Bless him.

3: Money. Guys, this league is so broke right now. Seriously. Seriously. Nobody has any fucking money. The Habs probably have more money than most teams, and that does not help when it comes to offloading large contracts. Trades are a NIGHTMARE both because of the flat cap but also because travel is complicated (especially cross-border) but also nobody wants to trade within their division if possible because all your games are against them. Who in the name of fuck do you think is jumping at the idea of taking the $10 million per through 20-lots-and-lots-of-years-from-now contract of a goalie who is currently struggling, impressive past record aside? What kind of astral plane of fantasy hockey are you on to think there’s a trade out there for that within this season. Shut up. And no, don’t bring up the expansion draft, this post is a rebuttal SPECIFICALLY to the people who think that Price and his contract are the biggest problem that needs to be dealt with RIGHT NOW and first on the list of ways to immediately remedy the team’s struggles.

4: Spite. Specifically to piss you off, bud. You personally.

5: Knowing how to troubleshoot properly. Fellas, if my computer is running slowly and freezing up a lot, do I immediately decide the first step to fixing it is to crack open the chassis, remove the hard drive, and try to sell that hard drive to someone to see if I can enough money back to somehow get a better hard drive for less? No, dipshit. That’s not how troubleshooting a complex system works works. It’s the same with hockey teams. Ah, my star goalie is not performing great. This situation is deeply less than ideal. If you’re actually good at troubleshooting, the first thing you do is not “WELL. I GUESS WE’LL HAVE TO THROW THE WHOLE GOALIE OUT. HE’S TOAST.” The first thing you do, if you’re a smart coach, is you say “Okay, what are my defence doing in front of him? What are they doing to reduce the amount and quality of our opponents’ scoring chances? Oh. Oh, they’re taking a lot of penalties, and... oh, uh, some of this is very not great. Yikes.” And then you start your work by trying to make the defence actually work instead of running the same Pairs That Everyone Is Very Much Over And Tired Of, because your goalie is actually supposed to be your Last Line of Defence. And maybe during that time you give more starts to Goalie Who Is Absolutely Slaying It, so that when you start trying new D-pairs and they inevitably have some mistakes, it doesn’t immediately turn into an Oh God Holy Fuck moment every time, because that last line of defence backstopping them is solid. The reason you need to deal with defense first is because a) You know you have a reliable goalie (Allen) in your pocket right now if you need him. What you don’t have is a whole-ass proven and tested and practiced Backup D-Core you can swap into the roster in front of your goalies to make their lives easier. Fix your defense and it WILL improve your goalies, even marginally. Defrag the hard drive before you ask why it’s not working. and b) If you need to go looking for any new D-men to solve the issues, those are WAY easier and cheaper to find than top-tier goalies, and you always want to start any troubleshooting process with trying the simplest solutions first to hopefully save time and money. The better that D-core is, the less it fucks your team over if the goalie isn’t feeling themselves, because the D is going to stop more of those pucks before they ever even become the goalie’s problem. FIX. DEFENCE. FIRST. Then try to train your goalie back into top form. THEN explore your other options.

6: The vicious cycle. Guys. We literally do this once every year or second year. EVERY time Carey Price has a slump, this fanbase gets into a tizzy like the Bell Centre is burning down and he was the one with the matches. And what ALWAYS happens literally within the year, every single time? He gets his mojo back like he did last summer in the bubble and goes on a heater and everybody goes “JESUS PRICE!!!! 🙌” and is ready to name their firstborn kid after him. Until eventually that performance becomes unsustainable, and he becomes mortal again, and suddenly he’s The Real Problem With This Franchise once again. I know he’s the guy they chose to build the team around instead of a superstar forward, but oh my god folks. You’d think he was the only player on the team. Guys, I feel like fucking Sisyphus pushing a blue blanc et rouge boulder up Mont Royal once a year with this shit. This man’s entire career has been a constant seesaw narrative between “Carey Price is our saviour!” and “Carey Price should be exiled to Nome!!!!” from parts of this fanbase, I swear. Look, slumps suck, but for once we are actually lucky enough to be in a position where this team, for the first time in YEARS, does not solelylive or die by the inscrutable magical cycles of Carey Price’s goalie powers — because when he has to step back and work to get back into his groove, there is FINALLY a SECOND GUY who is GREAT. Honestly, given that the state of this team for so long has been “they will go as far as Carey Price can take them” and he has put in a pretty fucking decent job of it despite all of the team’s other struggles, I feel like it is owed it to the guy to be like “Okay, well, we have somebody else solid to fill the net right now, and a chance to really figure out our defence and special teams with this new coach. Why don’t you take a step back and work your ass off at trying to get back into the form I know you can still perform at, and we’ll go from there?”

Anyway. Some parts of this fanbase have been waiting for a fresh excuse to claim Price is overrated, washed-up, and to blame for all of this team’s flaws and ills ever since he signed that contract, if not since the start of his NHL career. Just unreal how nasty some of this fanbase is willing to be about a player who is ON. YOUR. TEAM.

Am I saying he is beyond critique of his play and can do no wrong and his contract is perfect? No! I want this team to have the best goaltending it can get, and I want them to kick ass and take names. The difference is, I still believe Carey Price is a part of that winning formula, and I also think Twitter is overflowing with idiots who just repeat what everybody else says. He’s still a better goalie than your ass would be if I stuck you out there to stop shots from Mark Schieffle, for crap’s sake.

“The first thing that has to go is Carey Price’s contract 🤪”. Shut the fuck up. You are actively making other people stupider by talking. Go eat sand. Good day.

#It’s Time For My Opinion #I put so much time into this I hope it’s coherent lol #habs #Carey price #montreal canadiens #long post

25 notes · View notes

hypnofur1 · 4 years ago

Text

Out For Delivery in Dallas

By Hypnofur

Mid February 2021

The irony was, none of the three beings in this tale had lived in Dallas for more than a month. Brittany and Timothy Cosgrove had just purchased their expensive condo on the North side of Dallas in January. Carlos Torres had been living in El Paso Texas for a very long time, and had just recently come to the Dallas area.

None of them, actually no one in all of Texas, expected the winter blast they got in mid February. The entire state was a disaster. Texans just didn’t know how to handle winter weather. Brittany and Timothy had just moved here from Indianapolis, so to them, this wasn’t even that bad a winter storm. However, agreeing to the purchase of matching his and her’s Corvettes was part of the Brittany’s compromise to get her husband to agree to move to Dallas. Brittany had just gotten a job with one of the DFW area’s top hospitals as their chief nutritionist. More importantly, she had struck a deal with the ABC affiliate to be their on air Nutrition expert. Brittany’s ultimate goal was to parlay her beauty, and nutrition expertise, into a gig on the national scene. Good Morning America or something.

Timothy knew this, and he loved Brittany very much. He would have moved to Dallas without the Corvette deal, as he knew it was a much bigger media market than Indy. However, he was an attorney, and it was in his DNA to negotiate. Thus, the two corvettes. He of course didn’t know it was going to snow here in Texas, thus, he didn’t really care much that his luxury condo was on one of the few hills in Dallas. Corvettes did not go up hill in the snow very well.

It was about 6:00 when Brittany forced Timothy to watch the #freebrittany documentary with her on FX. She was always fascinated with Brittany Spears, due to them having the same name and being about the same age. Timothy agreed to watch it, as he had been hogging the TV with sports for a few days now. By the time the show was over, it was like 7:30, and both were starving.

Each of the young urban professionals scanned their phones for some place that would deliver. But between the weather and power outages all around, there were no good restaurants that were options. The only place open was a McDonalds two blocks away.

“No way!” Brittany laughed. “Tim, I haven’t been to a McDonalds in like 11 years. I’m not starting tonight. I’ll starve first thanks.”

“OK, but I don’t want to. Come with me, you can at least get a salad. They have those.” Tim negotiated.

“Do you know what is in those???” Brittany said, then stopped herself. She had learned a while ago that people didn’t like when she annoyingly listed all of the bad ingredients in food. “Argh, ok. I’ll take a walk with you there.” She relented with a smile.

Once there, she remembered how much she loved Orange Soda. Tim smiled, but didn’t tease her about it. She appreciated that. She actually hated being teased. She snuggled up to him as they walked out of the McDonalds and headed back to their condo through the snowy mess.

Carlos was also very hungry on this winter night. He was miserable, he absolutely hated the cold. Born in Mexico, and then spending a tremendous amount of time in El Paso, he had never had to deal with cold and snow like this. He wished he was back in Mexico this evening. Carlos’ move to Dallas wasn’t based on career advancement though, it was based on Covid-19 vaccinations. More specifically, the blood of humans who had been vaccinated.

This past year had been the worst of Carlos’ 209 on this earth. The last 150 in El Paso had been wonderful. Feeding on the blood of Mexican immigrants who crossed the border with little identification. Knowing that the secretive nature of the illegal immigrant community would stop any real deep inquisitions into mysterious deaths. It was also nice and warm. It was the perfect place for the vampire.

However, Covid-19 changed all that. Feasting on the blood of a human with Covid made him incredibly sick, for weeks at a time. Over and over everytime he bit someone with the disease. He eventually learned how to smell Covid, but only in humans that had it bad. He, like everyone else, couldn’t detect it in the asymptomatic. Therefore, also like everyone else, he was very pleased when the vaccines started coming out. Much to his pleasure, he could smell the chemicals in vaccinated humans’ blood. He could detect who was vaccinated, and who was not.

That’s why he migrated up to Dallas. People in El Paso were getting the vaccine, but it was largely the elderly. Elderly blood didn’t taste nearly as good as the blood of those in their prime. The large medical community in Dallas meant lots of people in their 20’s and 30’s who had gotten the vaccine as part of the “first responder” roll out.

Brittany and Timothy had both received their shots (both doses) in Indianapolis. Brittany got it because she worked for a hospital, and she was able to get Timothy in because of her connections. As he approached the young urban couple, Carlos could smell the Moderna in them. He had quickly come to love that scent. His mood, which had been quite dour due to the snow and ice and cold, was quickly improving. He thought he’d have a very hard time finding food tonight, but here it was being delivered right to him.

Brittany and Timothy saw the short, somewhat rotund Mexican man approaching them as they were still laughing about McDonalds. Brittany had actually gotten a refill of Orange Soda before they left. They laughed as they joked about cameras seeing them and her soda getting reported to ABC. Carlos was really caught off guard by this weather, and was wearing what would be considered “summer clothes”.

“Look at this poor guy” Timothy said to his wife. While he was a very aggressive, very greedy corporate attorney, he was also very kind and generous. That is one of the reasons Brittany loved him with her whole heart and soul.

“Are you ok my friend?” Timothy asked the man as he and his wife slowly came to a stop on the icy hill to greet the stranger who was coming up it.

“Actually, I’m very hungry and I hate the cold.” the man answered back. Neither Brittany or Timothy immediately noticed that unlike them, when he spoke, there was no steam coming from his mouth on this frigid evening.

“Here, why don’t you take my scarf and some money. There is a McDonalds two blocks North. They are open, we just came from there.” Timothy said, handing the man both his expensive scarf, and $50. Brittany had never loved him more. As she watched with love and admiration as her tall, athletic, handsome husband committed a random act of kindness for a hungry, short, poor, sexy Mexican man.

Wait, why do I find that little guy sexy? Brittany suddenly asked herself. What was it about him? She studied him a little more, and as she did, she felt her pussy actually tingle a bit. God, he was hot. She had never been attracted to Hispanic guys before, especially little short fat ones. What the hell was going on? Why was he so fucking sexy? Brittany was suddenly very glad she had put a cute outfit on and decided to look good going to McDonalds.

“Do you live around here?” Carlos asked Timothy.

“Y-yes” Timothy answered, also oddly affected by the stranger as well.

“Do you own your home?” Carlos asked.

“yes” Timothy confirmed again.

Now Carlos’ mood really improved. Humans knew a lot about Vampire lore, but there were some things that they didn’t truly understand. This was very true surrounding some of the rules of being invited into a home. It could only be done by the true owner of the home. Therefore, renters could not invite a vampire in. Also, another little known fact was that a vampire could hypnotically compel his victim to invite him into their home, but only if the victim was not currently in the home. So, that meant while he couldn’t just knock on a door and get someone to invite him in, these two humans that were “out for delivery” fit the bill just perfect.

“Soy tu Maestra” Carlos said to Timothy, who understood perfectly as he stared back deep into the vampire’s eyes. “Invitame a tu casa”

“Please, won’t you come inside?” Timothy asked.

This was enough to wake Brittany from the light sexual trance she was in. She suddenly felt the coolness of her now damp panties. Wait, Tim shouldn’t invite a stranger into their home… “Tim, hold on…” she said.

“Mirame a los ojos” Carlos said to the Irish Scotish Italian American beauty who took French in high school and did not speak a lick of Spanish. Yet, her eyes immediately darted to his. She could almost feel her thoughts being unavoidably pushed aside. Even her concern over this odd situation was fading away, replaced by a growing sexual attraction, and a need to submit… to obey as he said to her, “Soy tu Maestra”

“Lead the way” Carlos directed Timothy. The husband took his wife’s hand and lead the stranger the rest of the way down the snow covered street back to their condo. Brittany continued to look back at Carlos, she couldn’t help it. He was so fascinating, so sexual. She tried to stop herself. She knew she was married, and she had truly never wanted anyone other than Timothy since they met a decade ago. But Carlos, the short, pudgy little Mexican man, was absolutely irresistible.

Carlos asked Timothy to formally invite him in once more as they reached the condo. He of course obliged. Carlos looked around as he stepped inside. First of all, it felt nice to be warm again. He was also glad he had found these two out and about in a neighborhood that actually had power. So much of Texas was in the dark. The condo was very tastefully decorated, and Carlos could quickly tell that the couple had money.

He politely asked Brittany to lock all the doors and close all the blinds, which she did immediately. She was so turned on by him that she didn’t even wonder why he was doing that. When the last of the drapes were pulled closed, he thanked her. They locked eyes. She felt her heart jump and her nipples harden. Her pussy was already soaked. She seductively walked over to him as he embraced her in a long sensual kiss. Carlos was all that mattered to her. Timothy had been forgotten.

However, Timothy had not forgotten her. The sight of his beautiful, beloved wife passionately making out with another man was enough to snap him out of his trance.

“Brittany, stop! Something is fucked up here!” Timothy shouted.

Carlos stopped kissing and glared over at Timothy. Brittany however was still kissing his face as he looked away, lovingly stroking his hair, completely in his thrall. Timothy felt a cold chill as Carlos cast his eyes upon him.

The vampire gently took Brittany’s arms and placed them down by her side as she continued to stare down Timothy, to stare down his prey. Timothy knew his life was in danger. Fight or flight kicked in, but with his wife also in trouble, he couldn’t escape. He had no choice but to fight. He lunged at the much smaller Carlos.

With supernatural quickness and strength, Carlos caught the pouncing Timothy by the neck with his hand. He then lifted him up with one arm, rising his shoes about two feet off the ground. Timothy’s eyes widened at shock as he realized the might of this beast. Carlos angrily threw Timothy over the granite kitchen island, causing him to smash the stools on the other side. With equal quickness, Carlos leapt over the island and feasted on Timothy’s neck. Quickly and efficiently, he drained the attorney of blood and life force. The vampire felt his own strength grow with each ounce.

Brittany’s kiss with Carlos had exchanged some bodily fluids between them. Even some of Carlos’ saliva in her mouth was enough to keep her much deeper under his spell than Timothy had been. However, this was her beloved husband on the ground, being attacked by this stranger. She slowly moved over to the counter and peered over to see what was happening.

“Timothy?” she said quietly, causing Carlos to stop feeding and turn his attention to her.

His mouth showing only trickles of blood (he had spent years learning how to eat cleanly), he rose from his victim. Brittany’s eyes were stuck on her lifeless husband on the kitchen floor. Carlos looked at her as he moved slowly to her. He heard her breathing get quicker as he got closer. She had a look on her, like she was asking him to fuck her right now but did not have the courage to say anything. He had seen that look many times. Slowly, Carlos circled her, getting behind her, grinding his hard cock in his pants along her ass. "He was your husband, but he wasn’t your Master, was he?"

"No." Brittany said softly and immediately Carlos dropped his pants. Brittany was in heat and followed, pulling her skirt down along her knees. Instantly, she was bent over the counter and getting rammed by his vampiric cock in her tight pussy.

"Harder! Fuck me Harder!" Brittany begged him, speaking in a way she never had. "Oh! My! God!" she repeated with every thrust he pushed. Her hands knocking over things on the counter as he thrusted.

"Yesss my slave!" Carlos said, fucking her with all his might, grunting like a wild animal,. Brittany wrapped her arms around his waist encouraging him go even harder.

Carlos turned the married nutritionist around and she quickly stepped out her skirt. He picked her up like she was a feather, Brittany let out a loud yelp, and sat her on his rigid cock as he really started fucking her. Brittany was bouncing on his cock up and down, her shirt pulled up to reveal her tits. Their chests sliding along each other as she rose and fell on his cock.

Brittany looked him dead in the eyes and move in for a passionate sloppy kiss, not noticing or caring about the bits of Timothy’s blood. Carlos kept his fast fucking motion as he returned her kiss. They tongues were dancing and exploring each other's mouths.

Brittany pulled away and kept screaming, "Yassss!! Give it to me! FUCK ME MASTER!"

Carlos pulled her into his cock as he thrusted in, as he lets out some powerful grunts, BAM! Brittany let out whimper and moan as she bounced off his hips, before she could escape the full length of his cock, Carlos pulled her back in again and with even more force. BAM! BAM! BAM

Brittany was beyond her limits, she was dead weight barely able to keep herself on him as she flopped around, obsessively thanking and begging creature who had just killed her husband.

Finally Carlos lifted her off his cock and set her down on her knees. Then aggressively grabbed her head and plunged his cock into her mouth. Brittany had never sucked a cock before, but she quickly got up to speed as she was getting used to her new Master’s cock. It began to slide inside her mouth easily as she began gulping it in with each thrust. Saliva was running down chin and onto her chest.

"Yes my pet!" Carlos screamed, as pulled his glistening cock out her mouth. He held his cock by the base slapping Brittany side to side until...

"Uhhhhnnnggg!" Carlos's wailed, as he shot several thick stream of creamy white cum onto Brittany's face.

Carlos brought Brittany's face back in and immediately, she knew what to do. Her succulent lips instantly wrapped around his cock’s head and began sucking the remaining juices out and around his cock. Carlos knew full well that his essence was going to give him full and utter control of this beautiful woman.

When she was finally finished, he looked down at her. “What do you do for work?” he asked. He noticed his English was much better after consuming Timothy’s blood. Little things like that always intrigued him, even after 150 or more years of being a vampire.

“I’m a nutritionist” she answered him as she lovingly caressed his leg, still on her knees.

Carlos laughed, as he briefly wondered what the nutritional value of a vampire’s cum was. “Where do you work?”

“Baylor Specialty Hospital, here in North Dallas” she answered. Her heart jumped as her Master nodded approvingly.

“Can you get me to the coroner?” he asked, as he began the plan to dispose of Timothy without alerting the authorities. The coroner would become his human slave, just as Brittany would. There was some work ahead of him, but for what began as a cold hungry night, this unexpected delivery had drastically improved Carlos’ outlook here in North Dallas.

17 notes · View notes

simsadventures · 5 years ago

Text

Only Mine: Chapter 2: New Experience

Summary: Bucky has never been rejected by a woman before. And he truly doesn’t know what to do now. Warnings: mentions of sex (nothing explicit), mobster au, mentions of gun, swearing, a lot of swearing Word Count: 2491

A/N: I live for the cold, dangerous mobster Bucky right now! Anyone else with me? Anyway, let me know what you thought of the second chapter guys. Love you all!! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

Bucky was seething. Not only did you run away from his apartment, but he made one of his guys check every single Dita in the whole damn New York, and none of them matched your age or description. Was it possible that you not only left him in the middle of the night but that you gave him a fake name? No girl ever had the audacity to do something like that, and he didn’t know if he wanted to applaud you or punish you.

Didn’t matter, all he wanted was to see you again and show you who’s in control. Because right now you probably thought it was your cute ass, but that wasn’t the case. Couldn’t be. Not with Bucky. He is the fucking boss around here and you gotta learn your lesson.

He was in the middle of a meeting, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything on the table. All he could see was you on your knees in front of him. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe slowly, to regain some composure.

“Yo, Bucky! You listening, bro?” Steve hollered from the other side of the table. Bucky just nodded curtly, dismissing Steve, but because the punk was always testing him, he didn’t let it go.

“Still thinking about your mysterious Dita? I mean, bro, it’s just a pussy, let it go and find somebody else.” Sam joined the taunting. Bucky wanted to kill them both, really, but because they were his best friends, or whatever, he apparently couldn’t.

“Shut up, both you, before I make you. You were saying something about Pierce trying to regain his power, didn’t you, Sam?”

Sam smirked but let it go and went back into business mode. “Yeah, so my source is telling me that he is trying to come back. I mean, after last time didn’t work out, and we sent him on his way back to LA, he is obviously holding some grudges. He keeps running his mouth about how you played him and all that shit, totally forgetting that it was he who fucking played himself. I mean, we didn’t push him into dealing with IRA last time around, and he still smuggled some guns here for them. The man’s gotta realise that actions got consequences.”

It was true. Three years ago, Alexander Pierce was one of the highest-ranking mobsters in The Avengers, Bucky’s very own mafia. He did a lot of talking with police, looked over the finances for the whole team, and was a pretty crucial member overall. But apparently, it wasn’t enough for him, and he wanted to make some money on the side, and not tell anyone about it.

He made a deal with IRA (Irish Republican Army) who were trying to enlarge their business and smuggled some guns for them here to the US. But because Bucky’s got his eyes and ears everywhere, he learned it before the ship had the chance unload and sent them packing back to their fucking green plains. With the same breath, he kicked Pierce out, telling him he was a lucky son-of-a-bitch because any other person would be fucking beheaded for this kind of shit.

But Pierce didn’t take it as an act of mercy and was obviously trying to get back into the game. The business was going good, New York was “protected” by his guys, as long as everything went the way he wanted, and Pierce threatened this piece, and Bucky wasn’t having it.

“Alright, I don’t wanna give it too much of my attention, but tell me if something new comes up. If he crosses the border of the state, I wanna know about it, we clear?” He looked around the room and saw a bunch of nodding heads. “Good, anything else we need to discuss? Rumlow, the new club doing good?”

Brock nodded. “Yeah, boss. People are coming in like crazy, and are paying, even more, to see what’s behind the curtain. Our girls are thrilled with the tips they’re getting. So I’d say it’s even better than we anticipated, but Lang and I are gonna have to sit down and go over the numbers properly.”

“Good, keep me updated. Everyone out except you two shitheads.” Bucky didn’t look up from the paper in his hand, but everyone knew who he was talking to. Sam and Steve stayed seated and rolled their eyes. They were very well aware that the conversation will be about a certain girl, and they couldn’t help but smirk at each other.

When the door closed, Bucky leaned on his elbows and looked at the men in front of him. “I know you two dipshits find it real funny, but, for fuck’s sake, could you not voice it in front of everyone? I love you two, but Imma make a scene next time you two act like little children.”

“Yes, boss!” Sam smirked, and it earned him a flying pen landing on his head. “You think I don’t know how pathetic I sound? Finding a damn girl who I shouldn’t really give a shit about? And I don’t, it’s about the principle here. I’m supposed to be the one breaking things off, the one who can get up and leave any given moment, not the other fucking way around. I can’t let her run around New York running her mouth ‘bout how she slept with me and what? I wasn’t good enough in bed that she had to run away? Or that she just couldn’t be bothered? Every damn girl would feel like they could run their mouths, and I don’t have time for that shit.”

Both Sam and Steve were quiet because they could see that this was a serious shit for Bucky and that one wrong word in this situation could very well end up with a bullet in their bodies. Bucky wouldn’t kill them, but it would hurt like hell, and both men wanted to skip this part.

“So, what are our options? We don’t know her name, we don’t know where she lives if she’s even from New York, nothing, Zilch. Nada. So, what’s the plan here?”

Bucky sighed and tried to relax a little. You were clouding his mind, and he hated this shit. “I don’t fucking know, man.”

—-

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since you ran away from Bucky Barnes’ apartment. You had to go into details when you described the night to Nat, and she was ecstatic. Especially when you told you that you just got up after he fell asleep and left him there, alone. She had to promise you not to tell anyone because you didn’t need a bunch of people in your circle knowing you shagged the notorious womaniser.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the night. You would have to be completely insane not to like it. But you knew it could and would never happen again. First of all, you gave him the wrong name, so even if he tried to look for you (which you seriously doubted, it was one night, after all, he wouldn’t find anything. And how else would he try to find you? Type into google your description and hope for the best? It also wasn’t almost any possibility that your paths would cross again. You didn’t plan on visiting any of his clubs or restaurants in the town, and he most definitely didn’t visit the same spots as you, so you were most probably safe.

You didn’t even know why you dreaded meeting him so much. There was, of course, the little detail of him being the mafia boss, and all that, but also just the fact that you could be one of those girls in people’s eyes, and you liked yourself too much for that. Bucky looked like the type of guy who liked his girls pretty and quiet, and you didn’t necessarily feel like either of them, but definitely not quiet. You liked to speak your opinion, and you had a lot of it too.

So you just kept your head down, delved into work and tried not to think about those piercing blue eyes too much.

It was Thursday afternoon, and you got out of the office to get some coffee for you and your colleagues. You took turns in getting the drinks, Thursday marking you as the designated person. You were waiting in your favourite coffee shop around the corner from the small publishing house you were working at. Not that you hated the big places like Costa or Starbucks, but you just liked the personal approach of the smaller sites more.

Wendy knew your order and was quickly making all of the 6 coffees when you felt a hand on the small of your back. You jumped a little and looked at where the stranger’s hand touched your body. You slowly looked up and almost fainted.

—-

“Stop here, Peter. This looks like a nice place to get my afternoon lungo. You know how I hate mainstream places.”

Peter was still pretty much a kid, he only just turned 22, but he wanted in so bad that the boys made a driver and an errand body out of him, and with enough time they were sure they could make a valuable member out of him. “Would you like me to get it for you, sir?” Peter asked politely as he parked the car.

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “No, you wait here. I can get things by myself.” Well… not by himself completely, there were always at least two guys standing near him, to protect him if shit went down.

He was still thinking about you, and, to his and everybody else’s surprise, Bucky hasn’t slept with anyone else since the night with you. He just couldn’t get you out of his head, and it would be unfair if he moaned Dita in the middle of a different encounter. Bucky’s jaw clenched a little, just thinking about you giving him a fake name.

He was in his head, only barking his order and stepped back, trying to clear his head. From the corner of his eye, he could see a woman standing there, waiting for her order to be prepared, and he felt as if he knew that ass. When he really looked at her, his eyes suddenly had a devilish glint in them. It was you. Fucking finally.

He took a few steps, so he was standing right behind you, and put his hand on the small of your back, effortlessly. You jumped a little, and it made Bucky’s smirk grow. When your eyes finally reached his face, Bucky could see you blinking rapidly, probably wishing this was a bad dream.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Bucky said, and even though you tried to create a space between the two of you, his grip tightened and let you know, that you were not the one calling shots here.

“Bucky, good to see you again.” You said with a smile, that, however, didn’t reach your eyes and your voice wavered a little, so Bucky was now sure you were more than nervous standing next to him.

“Good to see you too, Dita. Oh, wait. Your name isn’t Dita, though, is it? Wanna know how I know? I tried to look for you, doll, and it only came to me then that you actually tried to outsmart me.”

“I didn’t try to outsmart anyone. I just wasn’t comfortable giving you my name, so I gave you a different one. What’s the big deal, Bucky?” You could feel sense coming back to your body, and you weren’t about to let him intimidate you, and definitely not in your coffee break. “Go and find someone who is utterly smitten by you and leave me alone, will you? The night was fun, but that’s about it.”

His hands were suddenly on your upper arms, and he gripped them so tightly, you could feel the blood flow stopping. “What. Is. Your. Name! And that’s the last fucking time I’m gonna ask nicely.” He growled into your ear. His voice was so deep, goosebumps erupted on your skin, and you hated your body for betraying you. You were about to taunt him again when you heard Wendy’s voice.

“Y/N, your order is ready.” She chimed from behind the counter. Your eyes rolled so hard you were afraid that they would fall out. Dammit! Bucky smirked triumphantly and let go of your arms.

“At least now I have a real name, doll. You’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night,” and because he saw you taking a deep breath and opening your mouth, he shot you a cold glare, which shut you up immediately. “Not up for debate. Give me your phone.”

“Fuck you.” It wasn’t the most mature response, but this guy thought he owned the whole fucking planet and that he could tell you to jump and you’d actually jumped.

“Drax? Grab her.” Bucky growled at somebody behind him, and before you knew what was happening, your arms were behind your back with a monstrous guy holding them there. Bucky stepped closer to you, and despite both yours and Wendy’s protests, he reached your purse and pulled out your phone. He quickly typed in his phone number, gave himself a call, and held the phones close together, to be able to transfer the tracking app into your device.

You tried to struggle, but the guy holding you was built like a mountain and you had no chance.

“Great. Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll come pick you up at 7, don’t you dare to be late. Understood, Y/N?” When you didn’t say anything, he took a step closer, grabbed your chin and made you look right into his eyes. They were colder than eyes, and the danger that was surrounding him was visible in his look. You slightly shivered, and this time, not in a good way.

“You don’t wanna play this fucking game with me, Y/N. Do you fucking understand?”

All you could do was to nod, and as if magic happened, everyone who was holding suddenly let you go and you could take a deep breath. You didn’t even look at him again, just took the cups for the office and ran out of there.

Now, there wasn’t a way in hell that you wouldn’t meet him again. That asshole made sure of it. You tried to think of your options, but the only one that seemed like it could work was to throw away your phone and move to Mexico, or maybe even further so that he would never find you. But by now you realised that the universe hated you so much, that it would let Bucky find you even on the very opposite part of the world.

You were screwed, and that was an understatement of the year.

/ Next Chapter >

Only Mine: @brownlee-22 @yennewolf @heywess @bitchwhytho @thegirlwhowritesfics @eteramfools @blonddnamedhandz @everything-is-awesomesauce @albinotigerpython

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @sebbbystaaan

Marvel Taglist

@waiting4inspiration @voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical ones. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #mobster bucky #mobster au #mafia au #mafia boss bucky #avengers #avengers fanfiction #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #multiple chapters #only mine

727 notes · View notes

marvelsdc22 · 4 years ago

Text

Into The Wild West pt. 7

Intro: Hello, lovelies!! I hope you guys are having a great day/night!! Am I going to keep writing this even though the last part only got 9 notes? Hell yeah cause I’m having fun with it and don’t give a damn anymore, enjoy~

Note: Kara gets into a sticky situation, Y/N needs some self care days, Lena’s mad(What else is new?), Kara, Lena, Maggie, and Alex steal an oil wagon, a little Lena and Kara bonding happens, oh and Sadie just might kill Kara, stay tuned for that fiasco

Word Count: 1903

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

Kara sighed as she slowed Krypto to a halt, her having been looking for you for hours, but unable to find you “She really doesn’t want to be found” she said to herself, patting Krypto’s neck some and sighing as she gave one more look around before she tugged on his reins to get him to turn around, tensing up when he got jumpy “Easy” she said, trying to calm him when she heard it, the very distinct growl of a panther “Krypto!” she shouted when he raised up onto his hind legs, knocking her off before taking off back towards camp, leaving Kara to deal with the panther on her own.

xxxxx

You sat back in your saddle as you let Sid go wherever he wanted, the moon being your only light source since you were bordering O’Driscoll territory, you sighing as you thought about what all had went down the day before when you heard a shout, swearing it sounded like Kara “Go, Sid!” You shouted, turning him towards the shout and taking off on him.

When you got there, you caught a glimpse of a panther prowling around a defenseless Kara, you knowing you had to act quickly and hopping off Sid, having him go as you grabbed a branch, lighting it quickly before running over to Kara and holding the flame out “Get back!” You shouted, staring the panther down and waving the flame in front of you, watching as the panther barred its teeth at you but backed off, you knowing it wouldn’t stay away for long as you helped Kara up and whistled for Sid, who was antsy due to the panther roaming about “Come on” you said, getting on then helping Kara up before you took off, heading over to your makeshift camp a little ways away.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You asked, helping her down once you hopped off Sid and looking at her with your arms crossed “I wanted to make sure you were okay” Kara said, looking at you and messing with her hands, watching you shake your head as you unsaddled Sid and let him roam to eat some grass “As you can see, I’m fine, I know how to survive out here” you said, looking at her as you went over to your tent to see if you had a spare sleeping roll “You can stay here for the night, I want you to go back to the camp tomorrow… I need to cool off” you said sternly, looking at her “Dutch should have things for you guys to do, I’ll be back in a few days” you said, looking at her and needing time to cool off after the whole thing, Kara having no choice but to agree.

The next morning, you sent Kara off after locating her horse once more and getting her on it “Come on, Sid” you said, making sure your pack and saddle bag were secure before you hopped onto his back, riding him until you found a small river with a waterfall “This looks as good of a place as any” you said, tying Sid up to a tree before you went towards the lake, stripping down and wading into the water “Holy shit it’s freezing” you complained, although you shouldn’t be surprised since it was getting close to winter time, you relaxing into the water once you got used to the temperature, forcing all the recent events to leave your mind.

xxxxx

When Kara got back to the camp, Alex approached her “What were you thinking?! I was worried about you!” Alex said, pulling her into a tight hug after she hopped off Krypto’s back “I had to make sure she was okay” Kara said, looking over at Lena who looked pissed and Kara wasn’t sure if it was her doing or something else “She still pissy?” Arthur asked, knowing that you were known to run off for a few days at a time to be mad by yourself “Yeah… She wasn’t happy when she found me” Kara said, rubbing the back of her neck and smiling some when Arthur just laughed “If she comes back while I’m gone, tell her I went to handle money situations” he said, patting Kara’s arm before heading over to Akhali who was happily munching on her haybale.

“What’s got him so happy?” Kara asked, looking at Alex then at Susan when she walked by “His old lady friend reached out to him and he helped her… Wish she hadn’t, playing with his heart like that” she said, shaking her head as she headed over to where the other ladies were folding laundry “Dutch wants to see us” Maggie said, coming over to them and leading them over to Dutch’s tent.

Dutch looked at Kara with a small scolding look “I thought I told you not to go after her, she’ll be back” he said, watching as Kara bit her lip and nodded “I know, she told me” she said, messing with her hands and feeling Lena’s stare on the back of her head as she stood there “Was that all you needed to talk about?” Lena snipped, looking at Dutch who laughed and shook his head “I like you” he chuckled, pointing at Lena before nodding his head for them to follow him.

Once they got outside of the tent, leading them over to John who was standing by his tent “John, I got your help right here” he said, gesturing to the girls “Dutch, I ain’t a babysitter” John said, looking at him and watching Dutch shake his head “They’re going to help you with the oil, just tell them what to do” he said before heading off, John sighing before looking at the girls “Okay, Uncle told me something about a train… Mary-Beth told Arthur about it, we need something that’ll stop it… So, I figured something with oil in it that we could light on fire and set up in the middle of the tracks… It’ll make them stop unless they wanna die” he said, looking at them and watching as they raised their eyebrows “What do you want us to do?” Lena asked, looking at him with her arms crossed “Go find us an oil wagon, hide it next to this rundown shake just off of Dewberry Creek then find me when you’re done” he said, looking at them before he headed off to go find all the ammunition that they would need.

“There’s a refinery not far from here, come on” Alex said, having seen it on the way from the last thing she did for the gang and heading with them over to the horses; when they arrived, they stopped at the top of a hill “How do you expect us to get this wagon?” Maggie asked, hopping off her horse, Jet, and heading over to where Alex was now standing “We take it from all corners, one of us will ride in on a wagon as they come in, the rest will come in from the other angles “I’ll take the wagon” Lena said, barely noticeable in the dark with her black clothing and hair, her pale face the only thing noticeable “Alright, I’ll take the north, Maggie you take the east, and Kara you take west… We’ll meet back up at the shack if we get separated” Alex said before going to get back on her horse along with Maggie before heading off to where they needed to be.

Kara looked at the refinery for a moment before looking at Lena who was about to get on her horse, Casper “Lena” she said, going over to her and gently grabbing her arm “Be safe out there” she said, looking at her and hearing Lena scoff “What do you care, lets get this done” she said before getting on Casper and taking off, leaving Kara standing there stunned before Krypto nudged her with his nose “Yeah… Lets go” she said, hopping onto Krypto before going to get into position.

As Kara sat there, she didn’t take her eyes off of Lena as she jumped into the wagon that was about to enter the refinery, unable to stop thinking about what Lena had told her beforehand “Did I do something wrong?” She asked herself, unsure what she could’ve done to make Lena give her the cold shoulder, getting pulled out of her thoughts when she heard shouting and gunshots, seeing Lena taking off in the oil wagon with a lot of people gunning her down “Crap” she said, squeezing Krypto’s sides and having him take off, reacting off of reflex as she drew her gun and started shooting, trying to take whatever attention she could off of Lena and keeping up with her “Focus on driving, I got them” Kara promised, looking at Lena when she got close enough to her, managing to gun down a few people and while she felt terrible about it, she remembered what you had told her, it was them or her family.

Once they were no longer getting chased down, Lena slowed down some and Kara caught back up “You okay?” She asked, looking at Lena whose eyes were bright “Am I okay? I’ve never felt so alive!” She said, the rush and excitement of what just happened making her feel more alive than she’d ever felt before, Kara unable to help the smile that appeared on her face when she saw Lena’s excitement “That was quite the rush, huh?” She asked, giving a small laugh and looking over when she heard hoofbeats and seeing Alex and Maggie trailing behind them, them seeming to be having their own discussion.

After a moment of silence, Kara looked at Lena again “I’m sorry for whatever I did” she apologized, still not knowing what she did wrong but she was sorry for whatever it was and Lena glanced at her “You have nothing to apologize for” she said, her long black hair shining in the moonlight and Kara couldn’t help but stare “Okay” she said, focusing back ahead of her “I’m gonna make sure the area is clear” she said before having Krypto speed up, needing some time to think about what all had went down.

Once the wagon was delivered, Kara and them decided to set up camp for the rest of the night, knowing it would take a bit to get back to camp so this was the better option “I should have one in my saddle bag” Kara said, Alex needing some string to hold the fish that they had caught down so they could cook it, her digging in her bag and grabbing the fishing reel she had in her bag, raising an eyebrow when something paperlike touched her fingers, pulling it out and feeling all the blood rush out of her face, it was the paper that Sadie had given her to give to you but she had forgotten to and to make matters worse? It was ruined from the water they had traveled through, some having splashed into it and now it was soaked and unreadable “Sadie’s going to kill me” she muttered, knowing that it had probably been something important and now she messed it up, holding it in her hand when something solid fell out of it, a beaded bracelet which was now busted… Yup, she was dead.

Permanent Taglist: @rianncreates / @natasha-danvers / @youngandwildx7 / @hopingforbarnes

Supergirl Taglist: @aznblossom / @stop-drop-and-drumroll / @worlds-in-words

Lena Taglist: @life2-live / @wlw-in-space / @ianarec / @thelonewriter247 / @kalistory-blog

Supercorp Taglist: @everything201197

Into The Wild West Taglist: @xixxiixx

End Note: I hope you guys enjoyed!! If you’d like to be added to a Taglist, shoot me a DM or an Ask!! Have a good day/night!! :)

Requests Open

#lena luthor x kara danvers #lena x kara #supercorp #sadie adler x reader #sadie adler x fem!reader #sadie x reader #lena luthor imagine #kara danvers imagine #sadie adler imagine #dc #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption 2 #Into The Wild West

27 notes · View notes

newstfionline · 3 years ago

Text

Wednesday, September 22, 2021

Trudeau’s Liberals win Canada election, but miss majority (AP) Canadians gave Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Liberal Party a victory in Monday’s parliamentary elections, but his gamble to win a majority of seats failed and nearly mirrored the result of two years ago. Trudeau’s Liberals were leading or elected in 156 seats—one less than they won 2019, and 14 short of the 170 needed for a majority in the House of Commons. The Conservatives were leading or elected in 121 seats, the same number they won in 2019. The leftist New Democrats were leading or elected in 27, a gain of three seats, while the Quebec-based Bloc Québécois remained unchanged with 32 seats and the Greens were down to two. “Trudeau lost his gamble to get a majority so I would say this is a bittersweet victory for him,” said Daniel Béland, a political science professor at McGill University in Montreal. “Basically we are back to square one, as the new minority parliament will look like the previous one. Trudeau and the Liberals saved their skin and will stay in power, but many Canadians who didn’t want this late summer, pandemic election are probably not amused about the whole situation,” he said.

COVID has killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 flu (AP) COVID-19 has now killed about as many Americans as the 1918-19 Spanish flu pandemic did—approximately 675,000. And like the worldwide scourge of a century ago, the coronavirus may never entirely disappear from our midst. Instead, scientists hope the virus that causes COVID-19 becomes a mild seasonal bug as human immunity strengthens through vaccination and repeated infection. That would take time. “We hope it will be like getting a cold, but there’s no guarantee,” said Emory University biologist Rustom Antia, who suggests an optimistic scenario in which this could happen over a few years. For now, the pandemic still has the United States and other parts of the world firmly in its jaws.

Why Louisiana’s Electric Grid Failed in Hurricane Ida (NYT) Just weeks before Hurricane Ida knocked out power to much of Louisiana, leaving its residents exposed to extreme heat and humidity, the chief executive of Entergy, the state’s biggest utility company, told Wall Street that it had been upgrading power lines and equipment to withstand big storms. That statement would soon be tested. On the last Sunday in August, Hurricane Ida made landfall in Louisiana and dealt a catastrophic blow to Entergy’s power lines, towers and poles, many of which were built decades ago to withstand much weaker hurricanes. The storm damaged eight high-voltage transmission lines that supply power to New Orleans along with scores of the company’s towers throughout the state. Hundreds of thousands of homes and businesses were without power for days. Ida damaged or destroyed 31,000 poles that carry lower-voltage distribution lines in neighborhoods, nearly twice as many as Hurricane Katrina, according to Entergy. Lawmakers and regulators require utilities to ensure safe, reliable service at an affordable cost. The grid failure after Ida is the latest display of how power companies are struggling to fulfill those obligations as climate change increases the frequency and severity of extreme weather. In California, electricity providers have been forced to shut off power to tens of thousands of customers in recent years to prevent their equipment from setting off wildfires and to reduce energy demand during heat waves. In February, the grid in most of Texas failed during a winter storm, leaving millions of people without power and heat for days.

White House faces bipartisan backlash on Haitian migrants (AP) The White House is facing sharp condemnation from Democrats for its handling of the influx of Haitian migrants at the U.S. southern border, after images of U.S. Border Patrol agents on horseback using aggressive tactics went viral this week. Striking video of agents maneuvering their horses to forcibly block and move migrants attempting to cross the border has sparked resounding criticism from Democrats on Capitol Hill, who are calling on the Biden administration to end its use of a pandemic-era authority to deport migrants without giving them an opportunity to seek asylum in the United States. At the same time, the administration continues to face attacks from Republicans, who say Biden isn’t doing enough to deal with what they call a “crisis” at the border. Immigration is a complex issue, one no administration has been able to fix in decades. And Biden is trapped between conflicting interests of broadcasting compassion while dealing with throngs of migrants coming to the country—illegally—seeking a better life.

Haitian journey to Texas border starts in South America (AP) Robins Exile downed a traditional meal of plantains and chicken at a restaurant run by Haitian immigrants, just a short walk from the walled border with the United States. He arrived the night before and went there seeking advice: Should he try to get to the U.S., or was it better to settle in Mexico? Discussion Monday at the Tijuana restaurant offered a snapshot of Haitians’ diaspora in the Western Hemisphere that picked up steam in 2016 and has shown little sign of easing, demonstrated most recently by the more than 14,000 mostly Haitian migrants assembled around a bridge in Del Rio, a town of only 35,000 people. Of the roughly 1.8 million Haitians living outside their homeland, the United States is home to the largest Haitian immigrant population in the world, numbering 705,000 people from the Western Hemisphere’s poorest country. Significant numbers also live in Latin American countries like Chile, which is home to an estimated 69,000 Haitians. Nearly all Haitians reach the U.S. border on a well-worn route: Fly to Brazil, Chile or elsewhere in South America. If jobs dry up, slowly move through Central America and Mexico by bus and on foot to wait—perhaps years—in northern border cities like Tijuana for the right time to enter the United States and claim asylum.

‘We were them:’ Vietnamese Americans help Afghan refugees (AP) In the faces of Afghans desperate to leave their country after U.S. forces withdrew, Thuy Do sees her own family, decades earlier and thousands of miles away. A 39-year-old doctor in Seattle, Washington, Do remembers hearing how her parents sought to leave Saigon after Vietnam fell to communist rule in 1975 and the American military airlifted out allies in the final hours. It took years for her family to finally get out of the country, after several failed attempts, and make their way to the United States, carrying two sets of clothes a piece and a combined $300. When they finally arrived, she was 9 years old. These stories and early memories drove Do and her husband Jesse Robbins to reach out to assist Afghans fleeing their country now. The couple has a vacant rental home and decided to offer it up to refugee resettlement groups, which furnished it for newly arriving Afghans in need of a place to stay. “We were them 40 years ago,” Do said. “With the fall of Saigon in 1975, this was us.” The crisis in Afghanistan has spurred many Vietnamese Americans to donate money to refugee resettlement groups and raise their hands to help by providing housing, furniture and legal assistance to newly arriving Afghans.

‘Crisis of trust’: France bristles at US submarine deal (AP) France’s top diplomat declared Monday that there is a “crisis of trust” in the United States after a Pacific defense deal stung France and left Europe wondering about its longtime ally across the Atlantic. France canceled meetings with British and Australian officials and worked to rally EU allies behind its push for more European sovereignty after being humiliated by a major Pacific defense pact orchestrated by the U.S. Speaking to reporters in New York, French Foreign Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian said European countries won’t let Washington leave them behind when shaping its foreign policy. Le Drian reiterated complaints that his country was sandbagged by the submarine deal between the U.S., Britain and Australia, which led to France losing a contract to sell subs to Australia. Washington, London and Canberra say the deal bolsters their commitment to the Indo-Pacific region, and it has widely been seen as an effort to counter an increasingly assertive China. But Le Drian, who is in New York to represent France at the U.N. General Assembly, said it was a “brutal, unexpected and unexplained breach” of a contract—and a relationship.

Pedestrians take to the streets of Paris to celebrate the city’s seventh annual ‘day without cars’ (Business Insider) On Sunday, Paris turned over its streets to pedestrians so that citizens and visitors could enjoy its seventh annual “day without cars.” Announced by socialist mayor Anne Hidalgo in 2015, the city received enthusiastic support from both ordinary Parisians and unlikely parties including the head of a French drivers’ association, USA Today reported. From 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., cars, motorcycles, and scooters are banned throughout Paris, and any offenders face a fine of 135 euros, according to the Paris Without A Car website. Certain vehicles like buses, emergency vehicles, taxis, and private drivers are allowed to circulate, although their speed is limited to 20-30 kilometers per hour (12-19 miles per hour) in certain areas. Events at this year’s “day without cars” included a techno parade, picnic, bicycle fair, rollerblading marathon, and street art exhibitions, according to the event website.

More evacuations as lava gushes from Canaries volcano (Reuters) Lava gushing from the Canary Islands’ first volcanic eruption on land in 50 years has forced authorities to evacuate another part of El Paso municipality on the island of La Palma and to urge sightseers attracted by the phenomenon to stay away. About 6,000 of the 80,000 people living on the island have been forced to leave their homes to escape the eruption so far, TVE said. The volcano started erupting on Sunday after La Palma, the most northwestern island in the Canaries archipelago, had been rocked by thousands of quakes in the prior days. It has shot lava hundreds of metres into the air, engulfed forests and sent molten rock towards the ocean over a sparsely populated area of La Palma. Experts say that if and when the lava reaches the sea, it could trigger more explosions and clouds of toxic gases.

Magnitude 6.0 earthquake strikes near Melbourne (Reuters) An earthquake with a 6.0 magnitude struck near Melbourne in Australia on Wednesday, Geoscience Australia said, causing damage to buildings in the country’s second largest city and sending tremors throughout neighbouring states. The quake’s epicentre was near the rural town of Mansfield in the state of Victoria, about 200 km (124 miles) northeast of Melbourne, and was at a depth of 10 km (six miles). The quake was felt as far away as city of Adelaide, 800 km (500 miles) to the west in the state of South Australia, and Sydney, 900 km (600 miles) to the north in New South Wales state, although there were no reports of damage outside Melbourne and no reports of injuries.

‘An iron curtain’: Australia’s covid rules are stranding people at state borders (Washington Post) The four figures huddled in the shade on the side of the highway, eight miles from a border they had hardly noticed until it slammed shut behind them. As flies buzzed and crows circled and their supplies ran low, they waited for emails that would allow them to leave New South Wales and return to their home state of South Australia. Teresa Young and her husband had been stuck at the rest stop—little more than a toilet in the middle of the Outback—for 10 days. “All of a sudden, Australia has been cut up like pieces of a cake,” the 75-year-old said on a recent day. Welcome to covid-era Australia, where state border closures designed to keep the coronavirus from spreading have turned retired office workers into roadside nomads. When the pandemic began, many Australians found that the leaders of the country’s six states and two territories, rather than the federal government, suddenly controlled the most vital things in people’s lives, including who could go to work and where they could travel. The closures have upended domestic travel and stranded scores of Australians internally, even as a vaccination ramp-up means some states—and international airports—will soon open up. People in Sydney could find it easier to fly to Singapore or Los Angeles than to Adelaide.

Sudan’s coup attempt (Foreign Policy) Sudanese state media reported a “failed coup attempt” early Tuesday morning. The coup reportedly involved an attempt to take control of the state radio services. If confirmed, the attempted power grab would be the fourth putsch attempt the African continent has seen this year, following military takeovers in Guinea and Chad and an unsuccessful coup in Niger.

#headlines #news

1 note · View note

lovehotelreservation · 4 years ago

Text

Better at Being Young

Summary: One’s youth was a time for making mistakes and learning from them. While in college, you thought that your professor just had all the sage wisdom and unique charm that you could ever want, especially as you followed him to the bedroom.

Now you were here to say goodbye to those mistakes you made.

To say farewell to your once beloved Professor Kujo.

Rating: R

Pairing: Reader/Jotaro

**Warning: this fic contains references to cheating and professor/student relationship! Please take discretion before reading!**

I’M LOOKING BACK AT THE LAST FIC I UPDATED AND I’M LIKE “DAM AM I OKAY” LMFAOOO

ANYWAY “BETTER AT BEING YOUNG” BY MEG AND DIA JOPS A LOT AND THUS THIS FIC IS HERE

I HOPE U ENJOY BELOVED ! ! !

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

This would probably be the last time.

Through the window of the passenger seat, you gazed out towards the horizon as the ever fading sight of Morioh was bathed in morning light. While you were certain that you would revisit the sleepy little suburb at some point in the future, your reasons to say farewell could be found in the car that was currently driving you to S City Station.

The lingering mixed scents of Seven City cigarette butts in the ashtray and a trusty old trawl that had long been marinated by the ocean in the trunk.

A well-worn greatest hits CD of Toshinobu Kubota playing at about 6 or 7 on the volume dial. Lively music listened by someone who was amusingly the exact opposite.

Backseat cushions that had become a bit too comfortable to your body.

And then there was the driver.

Admittedly, you were reluctant to list him as a reason to depart, especially since he did offer to drive you to S City Station to spare your wallet from another train ticket. This man was your mentor as you pursued your college education in Morioh--your idol in the field of marine biology, your support during low points of your life, your crush for the longest time.

He was your Professor, Jotaro Kujo.

By this point of knowing him, you should have been used to his silence. He was never one for words, but that only added to the handsome, mysterious yet cool aura that entranced you from the moment you first sat in for his lecture. It made any conversation with him a joy, a sense of satisfaction sweeping over you from getting to hear the rare sound of his voice outside of the classroom.

But the lack of small talk in the car was a blessing and a curse.

The main yet undisclosed reason for your departure.

Would he bring it up during the drive over?

You weren’t certain.

But your professor was certain that he needed to bring his car by the car wash once the two of you approached the border of S City.

”Do you mind?” He murmured while keeping his eyes on the road.

You checked your phone for the time.

”Not at all.”

You were familiar with the car wash that he pulled up to--a family-run joint by the name of Araki. The machinery wasn’t the most powerful and it took much longer to go through compared to other automatic car washes. However, it was for this reason that the price for a wash was practically nothing.

This was Jotaro’s car wash of choice for rinsing off the sand and dirt accumulated during research trips out to S City’s beaches.

Among other reasons.

It made your shoulders tense even as your legs--already crossed over the other--pressed tight together

Upon pulling at the brake, Jotaro reached into his pocket for a stick of Seven City and his platinum Zippo lighter, bringing the latter to his cigarette for a light.

You always thought he was so wealthy for owning something of such quality for something so simple.

As much as you wanted to focus on the pouring water being sprayed from above as the wash cycle began, you couldn’t help but peek at him from the corner of your eye.

And then he spoke.

“...So, you’re sure about America?”

Your heart pounded against your chest as you reclined further back into your seat, wishing for the thundering water to silence your racing heartbeat. Still, you turned towards him with a smile right as a dark veil of soapy white blotted out the morning light, “As sure as I’ll ever be, Professor.”

A long drag followed by a quicker exhalation.

“...You still wave that term around like you don’t know what that does to me.”

The sight of him was so hazy with cigarette smoke filling the space of his car as he dropped his cigarette in the ash ray.

Your vision only cleared as his face closed the distance between you and him, fingers tucking beneath your chin while his lips slanted over your own.

Warm bitterness filled your mouth by the slip of his tongue probing yours.

You weren’t surprised. You knew the moment he brought up the car wash that it would lead to this.

His office, his tent during a research retreat, fancy hotels and shady motels, this goddamn car wash--wherever the two of you went together, it inevitably led to you melting beneath his touch.

The clumsiness in the touch of a man who was far from a sappy romantic. Rather than take away from his image, it complemented just how intense he could get. Him acting like the beast that he appeared to be. You would know, from how many times he had been balls deep inside your core, fucking you in the backseat of this very car.

It was thrilling for the starry-eyed, yearning mentee that you were.

It was addictive for the shamelessly hungering romanticist of before.

It was quickly becoming tempting all over again for you as you felt one of his large hands grope and fondle your thigh while the other cradled the back of your head to bring you closer.

But for as much as you missed the wet heat of his lips dragging down to kiss along your neck, anticipating the sensation of having two of his thick fingers nudge aside your panties to plunge into your core, you had to remember just why you paid so much money to get out of Morioh and away from him.

Not just remember, but vocalize it.

Amidst the harsh slaps of the mops on the car hood.

”Professor--” You gasped while trying to salvage your conscience.

His lips were going to leave a mark on your neck at this rate.

“Your wife--!”

His fingertips were just barely caressing you through your panties.

Your voice was louder, strained.

”Your daughter!”

And just like you wanted, he was far away from you.

He was never good with feelings but the ‘sorry’ he uttered was a sign of growth.

The darkness of the car wash lifted as the two of you slowly drove forward back out towards the light of morning.

Not a word was said between while you fussed over fixing your skirt.

S City Station was bustling with commuters and travelers an easy recipe to become overwhelmed.

But you’d take this over another moment lingering in the same space as him.

You already expressed what you had to say to everyone during your farewell party the night before. Josuke, Okuyasu, Koichi, Yukako, Rohan, him.

As tarnished as those days long past had become, you still offered him a thank you as you quickly exited his car to retrieve your belongings. He had helped and ruined you enough. No need to have him grab your luggage for you.

You wanted him to just stay in the car, but as you shut the trunk closed, there he was, his expression unreadable.

”You sure about America?”

”I’m sure about leaving you, Professor Kujo.”

Upon spitting that out, you grabbed your suitcase by the handle and strode ahead, eyes planted firmly forward. Looking back would just keep you anchored to him to the point of it being inescapable.You had every reason to cry and he was the root of all of them.

#Jotaro Kujo #JJBA #reader insert #Fic #super freaknasty writing

32 notes · View notes

lifeinahole27 · 5 years ago

Text

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 8/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Please be aware that this chapter discusses professor/student relations in the past, non-consensual pictures in the past, and some present, consensual, loving, and happy sexual relations. Gotta find a balance somehow. (This chapter also nicknamed "The One where Sarah calls out a shitty storyline from FRIENDS.)

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 8: Unearthed

It takes time, but they both manage to get out some of the difficult parts of their pasts. Emma tells Killian snippets of her former relationships, including why she ran from Henry the first time she saw him. Graham’s story is kept brief, Walsh is brushed off as a bad experience. Killian is patient about it, holding her hand and listening closely. She can see the questions forming behind his eyes, but he never pushes for more info than she’s willing to share.

He’s hiding bits of his own past, too. He’s very open about the accident that took his hand, how he grew up in Liam’s shadow but preferred it that way, and his strong passions for fiction and poetry. But when it comes to information about his time in university, she sees the way his shoulders tense. There’s a lack of enthusiasm when he speaks of his master’s studies. She’s seen the picture of him at graduation that sits in his office. She knows there’s more to the story.

They’re watching television one night, background noise as he works on some edits. With the money they got for upgrades, Emma purchased a shiny new laptop, one specifically loaded with the software to digitize the town’s records, and so they work on their own stuff together.

Something on the screen that neither of them are glued to must catch his attention, however. It’s a rerun, something that used to be popular but has now reached syndication and thus plays on every channel when there’s downtime. It’s something Emma’s seen enough times that she knows the general storyline without really even paying attention. It’s the one where a professor starts a relationship with a student.

While she’s mostly tuning it out, it seems Killian is finally tuning in, and she looks up as he lurches for her television remote and hits the power button. His breathing is visibly quicker than it should be. Even when the screen goes dark, there’s a tension around his eyes she has never seen before.

“You okay?” she asks, mostly because she’s not sure he remembers she’s there right now.

He shakes himself a little bit, brushing off the moment for all she can tell, before he turns to her. “Hate this show,” he responds.

“It’s been on for the last hour.”

As he focuses on her face, she can see the moment he sheds whatever was trying to creep up on him. “I was pretty deep in my work. I do apologize, love.” He’s lying, but she’s willing to let it go if it’s something from his past that he doesn’t want to talk about.

“Hey, no worries.” She reaches out, squeezing his bicep once for comfort. “You want coffee? Tea?”

“I’ll get it. What would you like?”

“Surprise me,” she says, knowing that he’ll bring back the hot chocolate he knows she loves.

By the time he returns, the tightness on his face has eased up a bit, but it’s replaced with something she would call contemplation. “Swan, I want to tell you a little piece of my past, but I hope you won’t judge me too hard or let it change the way you feel about me.”

“A little ominous, but okay. Go for it.”

“Back in university, I was involved with one of my professors.”

Emma takes a moment to let it absorb, trying not to flinch or let her facial expressions change at all. It’s his past, and she knows just as well that those moments shouldn’t define the current moment.

“Tell me about it?”

“As you know, Liam convinced me to enroll in university as a way to pull me out of my slump after I lost my hand. He helped find out if I could take my classes online since I wasn’t ready to go out into the world.”

Emma reaches over, closing her fingers over the hook attachment he has on today. It’s become second nature, but sometimes she wants to tell him without words that she accepts him for who he is and this is one of those moments.

“Eventually, I was comfortable going to classes on campus. I was engrossed in all things to do with writing and literature and editing, and knew that’s the direction I wanted to take. And then I met Milah, one of the professors for a professional writing class. And she was just that for a while, and then when I entered into my master’s studies, we sort of…crossed the boundaries when she was helping me with a project.”

“Milah was married, is married, though they are separated. Her husband, some wealthy bastard, agreed that if she was discreet that they could see other people. He wasn’t anticipating that she would take up with a student, former or otherwise.

“What did he do?”

“Threatened to expose the affair to the university. Milah would’ve been fired. I would’ve likely been expelled. He said he would divorce her and cut her off from his wealth. He only agreed to back off when Milah and I split and I filed to finish my master’s online, much as I began the whole journey.”

“Was the money that important to her?” It’s the question that hits; she can tell immediately.

He grimaces before answering. “She liked to pretend it wasn’t. Painted herself as a free spirit that didn’t need wealth. But it didn’t stop her from walking away from me like it meant nothing.”

Without even prodding, Emma can see that the story isn’t done. She adjusts her grip on him and waits for him to continue.

“I almost didn’t finish my degree after that. I started drinking heavily every chance I got. Took Liam a couple weeks to figure out what was going on, pried out what had happened, and then intervened. He’s the only reason I still completed my coursework.”

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“Right pain in the arse, but yes, he is.”

“You really loved her?”

“Aye. She’s the only person outside my own family that I ever professed my love for.” He’s quiet for a moment before meeting her eyes once more. “Have you ever been in love, Swan?”

“Maybe I thought I was, once,” she admits. Mostly, she realizes that the feelings she thought she had for Neal and the ones she told Walsh she had were nothing compared to the way Killian makes her feel. “Thanks for sharing all of this with me.”

“I figured you should know,” he tells her, simple as that.

When Friday rolls around, she’s all set to join her boyfriend and friends in public. Normally, Emma would be one of the first to ditch out on work and get to their usual spot in the bar, but tonight she’s working with Belle to relabel and organize their filing system. Previously, their idea of “orderly” bordered on chaos, and they had trouble keeping track of just about everything. Along with the digital system, they decided to reconfigure the physical records as well.

They’re in the process of fixing the system when Emma’s email account dings, and she glances at it briefly to make sure it’s nothing important before they get back to work.

What she finds, instead, is a message with a link to a website. Normally, she would write this off as a spam account, but there’s no fill-in-the-blank recipient. There’s no lead-up to the message at all. Just the words written below a link: You’ll have to trust me. Type in code 92574. Check Maine.

With a heavy amount of trepidation, Emma clicks the link and follows the instructions. Her brows furrow as she tries to process what she’s looking at, but it appears to be some kind of personal page, with links to the fifty states. Finding Maine in the list, she clicks it, and almost immediately drops her phone as if burned.

“Oh my fucking god,” she mutters, her vision blurring around the edges.

“Emma is - oh! Oh my goodness!” Belle immediately backs away from the glance she’s just stolen at Emma’s unlocked phone on her desk, looking back at Emma with horror and surprise in her eyes. “What…. What is all that?”

“Something I was told was destroyed a long time ago,” Emma says, her voice shaking and her body feeling heavy and weak all at once. “Can you drive stick?” Her phone finally goes dark and auto-locks, and she’s honestly not sure if she can feel her face right now.

“I’ll text Will and let him know we’re on our way.”

-x- December 13: Friday

The last few weeks since Thanksgiving have been some of the best in Killian’s life. While the project of Henry’s novella is speeding up in momentum and racing towards the end, he and Emma have been taking things at their own pace and enjoying every moment together that they can.

It’s getting easier for them to talk about their pasts. From their shared lack of parentage to finally breaking the barrier of previous relationships, he knows they’ve both made great strides. Being able to tell her about Milah and not have her go running for the hills was admittedly a huge relief, and he only hopes that she’ll trust him to open up about anything she’s still holding out.

Normally, when they go out on Fridays, Emma is right by his side when he enters the bar. While Emma is working with Belle, he and Will have gone to the bar early to have their own catch-up until everyone else arrives.

They each spend a fair amount of time grousing about work, about late nights and tired eyes and how much they love their jobs despite their words. And they also spend just as much time talking about the women in their lives. He’s happy to see Will as content as he is. He also knows that, despite the strange and often passive-aggressive friendship between the two of them, Will is happy to see Killian with Emma.

About an hour after they sit down, Will gets a text from Belle saying that the two women are on their way. They each share a look, automatically noticing that something feels off, but unable to tell what. That sensation is amplified by the look on Belle’s face when she arrives with Emma not far behind.

There’s a tightness around her eyes that Killian has never seen the soft-spoken woman have before. Emma is just behind her, with her arms crossed over her chest and a look that he would best describe as being a cross between solemn and murderous. Only his girlfriend could manage that combination of expressions.

“All right, Swan?”

“No. Not all right. Can uh, can we go back to my place?”

“Sure. Let me just -”

“I’ve got the tab. Go on,” Will says, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

The Bug is waiting for them when they get out, still running. Clearly, she hadn’t intended on spending long inside whether he was coming with her or not.

They’re silent on the drive back to her place, and even while they make the trek up to her loft. She’s quiet as she unwraps her scarf and kicks off her boots, all with deliberate and jerky movements.

“I have to kind of process through something,” she says, her voice thick with a myriad of emotions. “I don’t wanna talk. I don’t really want to do anything at all. But will you stay with me?”

“I’m here as long as you’ll have me. Whatever you need,” he tells her, making sure to catch her eyes so she knows he’s being honest.

Wordlessly, she locks the door before she leads him upstairs.

While Killian is normally the one with the carefully crafted routines - which, admittedly, have taken a backseat to finally relaxing and enjoying his time here in Storybrooke - there are certain things that Emma does every morning and every night as far as her own rituals command. He has never seen her go straight to her room without carefully scrubbing her face and teeth and removing her contacts.

Usually, she also takes that time to braid her hair to keep it from tangling too much while she sleeps, but tonight she leaves it hanging free, and he’s surprised when she only shucks off her clothes and pulls on a t-shirt before climbing into her bed.

Following suit, Killian removes his clothes and quickly folds them, leaving them on the cedar chest by the bottom of her bed as he usually does when he stays over before he climbs under the covers. Immediately, Emma is shifting until she’s pressed against him, her ear over his heart and her arm wrapped tightly around his midsection.

“You won’t leave?”

“Only if you tell me to,” he admits, hoping that it’s what she needs to hear. Her grip only tightens, and he decides to stay awake as long as he can to make sure she’s all right.

He must doze off because he wakes again to Emma’s lips pressed against his, her hand sliding into his boxers to stroke him awake. As soon as he’s aware of it, he’s kissing her back, helping her push down his boxers before she hastily rips off her own underwear and finds a condom. This is not how they usually have sex - he recognizes it immediately - but even as he hesitates, he hears her whispers.

“Please - I know, please, I just need…”

He responds by pulling her closer, kissing her as hard as she was kissing him to let her know he’s on board. She slides on top of him, gripping his hand like a lifeline and rocking against him as if it’s her one salvation. He can feel the panic and anger with each move of her hips above him and he just holds on, hopes she can feel the reassurance radiating from him, hopes she feels that he’s an anchor she can trust - that he’ll be with her no matter what this all means.

When they’re both sated, she collapses onto his chest, and to his surprise he feels the quiet sobs wracking through her body a few heartbeats later. She only really cries when she’s angry - she admitted as much to him some time ago when they were trying to decipher the use of pathos in commercials. He wraps his arms around her, running his hand soothingly over the small of her back and whispering anything he thinks may bring her back to him.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry that wasn’t… I basically just used you to fuck away my anger and that’s not…”

“Swan,” he says quietly, releasing his hold on her so he can coax her to look at him. “No apologies necessary, love.”

With hasty swipes, she dries her face. “I’m just so mad right now.”

“Will you tell me what about?”

“Just… give me a couple more minutes,” she says, sliding off of him and climbing off the bed. He hears her footsteps retreating down the stairs and the door to the lavatory close.

He takes a deep breath, pushing himself to sit up, turning on the light beside her bed and grabbing a couple tissues to clean himself up. He slips his boxers back up while he’s at it before sliding between the sheets again.

When she returns to her bedroom, her hair is tied up and her robe is wrapped around her like body armor. She must’ve used the time to scrub the last of her makeup off, as well, and his heart stutters a beat to see her looking so down but still so beautiful. She climbs up, sitting next to him at the head of the bed with her legs crossed at the ankles.

He’s watching her carefully, trying to not pressure her to talk but wishing she would say anything at this point, as the silence is slowly pressing in around them.

“My last ex was the absolute worst,” she finally starts, fingers fiddling with the ties on her robe. “Worse than Neal, obviously. And worse than I ever thought he was when I found him cheating on me the day that Ruth died.”

He’s quiet, understanding that now is not the time for empty condolences for either incident. Instead, he reaches out and places his hand on her knee.

“He was a shitty antiques dealer down in Boston, never wanted to come up here to visit, never wanted to be seen with me, it seemed like. And unfortunately, he kept a lot of mementos from our time together.”

“How so?”

“You know how I told you I burned my uniform a couple years ago?”

He nods in response, tilting his head and wondering just where this could be going. She’d told him the beige monster was uncomfortable and unflattering, saying that any photographic evidence of the uniform in question was destroyed along with it.

“Well, I left a tiny part out,” she admits, looking over at him briefly.

“Nothing you tell me is going to run me off, Swan. I promise.”

With a bracing breath, she nods, focusing back on her hands in her lap. “I used to wear a uniform. Took it down to Boston with me because I was supposed to go straight to work the day I left his place. And he wanted to see it on. We were joking around and having fun.” She stops, grimacing and visibly willing her face to relax a moment later. “I let him take pictures. He had this fancy photo printer so he had physical copies and deleted them after they were done. At least, that’s what he swore he did. Just like everything else, it turns out that was a lie.

“Emma?”

“He has a website. A fucking website with all of us.”

“All of who?”

“Every girl he fucked in the year that he and I were together, according to the site description. He proposed to me, you know, right before we ended things. I was going to say yes but told him to give me some time. Ruth passed away about a week after he asked me and I drove all the way to Boston because I wanted… needed the person that claimed to love me. And he was in the middle of fucking another woman when I walked in the door. I told him to give me the photos before I left while this redhead sat naked on his bed and watched me gather my stuff.”

“And you got the physical ones from him?”

“Yeah, no surprise he lied about those being the only copies. He kept them in the top drawer of his dresser, so now I have to wonder where the rest are kept. The day after Ruth’s funeral, I burned the uniform - with David’s permission and minimal questions asked - and the photos.”

She goes quiet after saying that, not really keen on making eye contact for the moment. Killian takes the opportunity to gather the words he wants to say, trying to find the best order of questions and statements.

“You know that none of this is your fault, right? Nor do I blame you or feel any differently towards you because of your past.”

Emma sniffs at that, a half-hearted attempt at acknowledgement, so Killian leans closer and turns her face to his so he can plant a kiss on her lips.

“I mean it, Emma. This is on that wanker, not you at all.”

Her lips thin out for a second, but ultimately she nods and leans forward to give him another kiss.

“Now, will you tell me about how you found this all out?”

“I got an email while Belle and I were working on our little project. I figured it was spam at first but it just had this link to a website called ‘Banging U.S.A.’ and some instructions for a passcode and a state. When I clicked, there was a whole lot more of me than I expected to see. He must’ve been taking pictures through the whole thing, since not all of them were ones he printed and showed me later.”

“So some taken without your knowledge or consent? How much worse can this guy get?”

“Oh, it still gets worse. I tried not to click on anything else, but I ended up on the newly launched world edition,” she says with quotes around the words. “Without really thinking, I clicked on this little British flag and there was the woman I found him with. She was clearly far more into the photography thing than I was.”

“Bad, but how is that worse?”

“In the first three pictures, you can see one of my t-shirts on the dresser. In the others, it’s gone. Which means he went right back to fucking her as soon as I left his place with my stuff.”

“Definitely worse,” Killain mutters, drawing his hand over his face in disbelief.

“And we all had subtitles. Hers was the Wicked Witch of the West… and my South Pole.”

“Ouch.”

“Mine was Officer Tie-Me-Down and Fuck-Me-Up.”

“Bloody hell, Swan, how much villainy can one man possess?”

“Apparently, his cup runneth over.”

“Clearly.” They fall silent for a moment, until Emma’s head tilts over to rest on his shoulder. “Any idea what you’ll do about it?” he asks after letting her mull for a moment.

“No fucking clue.”

He shifts in order to kiss the top of her head, pulling her closer when she pushes her way under his arm. It’s still hours more before either of them fall asleep again.

-x- December 14: Saturday

When Killian wakes up again, it’s to the sound of Emma’s voice floating up from down below.

“I know, and I’m sorry for bailing without letting you know,” she says. “I had something come up.”

With much effort, Killian hauls himself out of the bed, pulling on his undershirt before making his way downstairs.

“No, it’s kind of why I was calling, though. Do you still have that phone number for James?”

Whatever response David must have for that is lengthy and aggravating, judging by the look on Emma’s face when Killian makes it to the main floor. She looks up and gives him a wan smile, pulling the phone away from her ear long enough to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. Dave’s voice is, indeed, squawking out quite the storm from the earpiece, and Killian does nothing more than raise an eyebrow in question before giving her a kiss of his own and moving towards the coffee pot.

“Well, when you calm down about that, give me a call back. I need his number and you’ll agree with me when I tell you why.”

Her phone clatters to the table but she’s already moving towards where Killian is standing against the kitchen counter.

“Good morning,” she says, leaning up and pulling him down to give him a much warmer, much more thorough kiss.

“Same to you. Feeling a little better?”

“More like a fire’s been lit under my ass and I have a plan. I have to swing by my brother’s place to harass him about our other asshole brother. Want me to drop you at home?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I need to head to the office to finish up the last of the preparations and my notes for the party on Friday.”

“No trouble at all. Wanna get breakfast along the way?”

“Food and time with my girlfriend? Only a fool would refuse such blessings.”

When they part ways, he’s amazed at the clear change in mindset she’s gone through in less than twelve hours. Even as she kisses him goodbye, there’s determination burning in her eyes.

-x-

It takes roughly forty minutes of needling David before he finally caves and gives her the phone number James had called from once, on accident, a couple years ago. She’s plugging it into her phone and hitting ‘call’ before she’s even halfway out of David’s workshop, taking the steps two at a time to get to the first floor.

“Don’t hang up,” Emma says as soon as James answers.

“Emma?”

“You mean you actually have my number saved in your phone?”

“I’m sure that’s surprising but yeah, makes it easier to call you if I need to ask for money.”

“Ah, you haven’t changed a bit,” Emma responds, rolling her eyes at his words.

David reaches for the phone when he gets to the kitchen but Emma bats his hand away.

“I’m guessing you’re the one that needs something if you’re calling me.”

“You’re still in Boston, right?”

“And what if I am?”

“You still have that fancy talent at hacking computers and websites?”

“Listen, I haven’t done anything wrong. I stopped doing all that ages ago.”

“I don’t care if you’re a law-abiding citizen,” Emma snaps. “I need someone who doesn’t care about the law.”

“So the wonder twins need my help because I don’t follow the rules?”

“Pretty much. I have an ex that needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Fine. Come down here next Friday and I’ll see what I can do. If you’ll do something for me,” he adds at the very end.

“Like what?”

“We’ll discuss my terms on Friday.”

“I have a party…”

“Oh? You have a party?” His tone is mocking, and Emma swallows back the retort she wants to spit at him.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll be there. David is coming with me. You do the job, I’ll repay you however you want me to, and then I never have to see you again.”

“Sounds good to me,” James singsongs. “I’ll text you the address. See you Friday, little sis.”

“That guy’s the worst,” Emma snaps when the call ends. “How is he your fucking twin?”

David just shrugs. “And this is why I didn’t want you to call him. Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“You have to promise you aren’t going to have a coronary or something, okay?”

“Go for it. I will… do my best.”

She takes a deep breath before she urges him to sit down while she starts to tell him what she’s just found out.

To give him some credit, he doesn’t completely lose it. But he does turn an interesting shade of purple at the news that there’s a website that has pornographic photographs of his sister. Trying to get around those words is possibly the most mortifying thing she’s ever been through, until David opens his mouth when she’s done speaking.

“Has Killian seen this site?”

“God, David. No. And he won’t if I have anything to do with it. I’m not going to show my boyfriend pictures of me fucking another guy,” she screeches, standing and stomping over to their coffeemaker to indulge in more caffeine.

She doesn’t really want to tell James the same news. She doesn’t want to tell him more than she absolutely has to, but she also needs the skillset he picked up from being a generally bad person in order to get this chapter of her life wiped from existence.

Unfortunately, it’s going to mean missing the one thing she was looking forward to since Killian first told her about it.

She stops by his office to see him next, admiring the way he looks when he’s deeply concentrating. She can also see just how much he’s put into decorating his office in the time they’ve been together. She remembers stark walls and an empty desk. Now, his degrees are hanging, along with a few artistic prints of book covers. His desk is similarly fuller, with picture frames and small knick knacks beyond the single one that used to be there.

With one more bracing breath, she prepares to go in. He’s going to understand, because he already knows what’s going on, but she hates to disappoint him.

“Swan?”

She’s knocked from her idle watching by him softly saying her name.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she says, walking in and shutting the door. She moves around to lean on the edge of his desk right in front of him. “But I have some bad news. I can’t come to the debut on Friday. That’s when my creep-o brother can help me out. I’ll have to be in Boston.”

His face falls, the disappointment clear, but his hand reaches out and brushes along hers. “As much as I’m sad you won’t be with me, I know it’s for a bigger purpose. Is this evil twin in law? Law enforcement?”

Emma’s face freezes, realizing that she never shared with him how she planned on having James help her.

“Okay, long story short? James is really good at being a bad guy.”

To his credit, Killian listens with full attention as she launches into her plan and doesn’t even call her crazy.

“Barring any legal repercussions from this Walsh, I find no fault in this plan.”

“I’m pretty sure with James’ help, I won’t have to worry about him trying to come back at us.” At her reassurances, Killian nods in what she hopes is approval. “Should I let you get back to work?”

Slowly, he eases her off the desk and into his lap. “Maybe in a moment or two?”

It’s a question, leaving the answer in her court.

“I’d be happy if it goes a little longer than a moment,” Emma responds, settling herself fully into his lap and chuckling at the look in his eyes. She pulls her shirt over her head, reaching behind her to unhook her bra.

“I like to think we’re making up for all those times we’ve been interrupted,” Killian says before sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Straight to the point. She’s glad she locked the door when she closed it.

-x-

Chapter 8

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #captain swan ff #csrt #sarah writes ff

36 notes · View notes

ryuukia · 5 years ago

Text

[Translation] Tsukihana Kagura - Stage Play Plot

Ryota and I have been talking about it both here and on twitter, so you already know we were working (or more like cracking our brains) on this.

Let me say this first, the entire team (Ryota and Chrome) agreed this is more Chinese than Japanese and you can’t change our minds ヽ(＿　＿ヽ) // the kanji, the horror. Kudos to those two for suffering with me (aka assisting me and helping out with the proofreading).

If you like my work, consider donating or commissioning me, I use all the money I receive to get (rare?) items like this and translate them. The link is at the bottom of the post~

Please don’t repost/reuse/retranslate my work. Likes and reblogs are appreciated.

Paying no mind to the sounds of this fleeting world, the King of Flowers threads the dance of Tsukihana Kagura.

A [song]. Yet not a [song].

A [dance]. Yet not a [dance].

Even without the honors from the so-called [King of Flowers], a celebration where the [flowers] dance, the “Tsukihana Festival”, shall begin!

―—— Not here, somewhere apart from this world.

There lie twelve island countries, floating above the ocean in a flower-like shape. Once every few years, in each of these countries, those who live in grace and are referred to as [flowers], shall compete not with their swords, but with their beauty.

World View

■ The World

This world consists of 13 countries floating above the ocean.

Lying in the centre of the world is a large island called “Mushiki”. Islands of about the same size surround Mushiki radially, as if they were a flower blooming over a large desert. The appearance likewise makes the residents refer to themselves and these countries as “flowers”.

■ The History of the World

① Prehistoric Era

There was a time when the 13 islands were joined by land, forming one continent.

In the centre of the continent rested a massive volcano named Kataku, which converged the entire volcanic activity from the area and actively erupted on countless occasions.

As a result, the ground around the base of the volcano is thought to have expanded, eventually becoming large enough to be called a continent.

This vast land expanded radially along the mountain range until it divided together with some neighbouring areas and developed their own individual ecosystems.

Somewhere in the northern part of the continent, humanity ended up planting its roots.

Following their migration towards the south, their area of activity broadened and it seemed soon the entire continent became inhabited.

② Antiquity (First Half)

❶ [The First Blooming] - Before and After (approximately 600 000~10 000 years ago)

The large-scale seismic shift which occurred due to a tectonic plate rift and also caused the radial fragmentation of the continent, then provoked a massive eruption from the Kataku Volcano. This was later named ‘The First Blooming’.

The tremendous force of the eruption gave birth to an enormous caldera in the centre of the continent (later becoming the inland sea). Subsequently, the plate rifts and the caldera led to the separation of the continent into different areas.

Scattered in various regions and unable to come in contact with each other, mankind gave up on further exchanges from that point on and all areas followed their own evolution and development.

❷ Kurobana Period (approximately 10 000~4000 years ago)

The period of time when the Kataku Volcano and its volcanic chain became dormant.

As the climate and the environment regained their stability, humanity once again started to practice exchanges between regions. When mankind proceeded to share the knowledge and techniques they developed in separation, their cultural level instantly improved.

The construction of large cities brought along a drastic increase in population numbers, and soon countries were born in every zone.

‘Shikkoku’ and ‘Geppaku’, the oldest existing countries, are said to have been born around this time.

❸ Shirohana Period (approximately 4000~1300 years ago)

Around this time, almost the entire continent had a cultural living secured. Moreover, disciplines like academics and arts were flourishing.

The exchanges between the nations became more and more popular, but at the same time, attracted conflicts and clashes due to differences in values and ideologies.

❹ Akahana Period (approximately 1300~1000 years ago)

Starting with the small conflicts between fellow small countries and continuing with the head-on collisions of the major nations, this time period brought on the first large-scale war in history.

In a world where a diverse set of values and ideologies exist, fires that have started cannot be quenched easily. Furthermore, advancements in technology and the invention of gunpowder and explosives supported those ideologies. Under the principles of each island’s doctrine, they were to send out one great candidate to determine who will be the Great Ruler of all nations in order to unify the continent. The remaining islands would stand together with the champion of the world.

As war or disputes would always occur somewhere, the public order domain had suffered the most throughout the world.

A lot of blood was shed even outside the battlefield.

From that point on, the entire continent was thrown into chaos for around 300 years, a period known as the dark age.

❺ [The Second Blooming] - Before and After (approximately 1000 years ago)

The chaos installed by the dark age came forcefully to an end as another seismic shift hit the continent and the Kataku Volcano released another violent eruption (known as ‘The Second Blooming’).

The valley created around the volcano by the rift expanded even further and was flooded by seawater, separating the 13 islands completely.

③ Antiquity (Second Half)

�� [The Second Blooming] - Before and After (approximately 1000 years ago)

The unexpected calamity that divided the 13 islands completely should have eliminated all life, including humanity.

However, even though humans resorted to quite a substantial number of sacrifices, they tried to make it through the crisis with their own power, too.

Countries that foresaw the large-scale eruption tried to minimize casualties and joined hands.

Anticipating what could happen in the future, people made physical walls using special techniques, analysed scientific data, geology, etc…...

The countries that opted to join forces and brought pieces of their own wisdom managed to survive The Second Blooming, becoming the twelve countries that exist in the present.

❷ Tsukihana Period (approximately 1000 years ago~present)

Because of the previous calamities, much knowledge and craft skills were lost. Humanity’s history continued. However, compared to the Second Blooming, the loss of civilization development was significantly less. (It has been said that roughly 1000 years of cultural advancement had been undone.)

In relation to this, engineering and techniques that were often used by the military were strictly governed by the National Institution in order to avoid a repeat of the Akahana Period’s tragedy. It seemed as though they purposely abdicated themselves as well. ※ Studies call these techniques and knowledge that were lost and could not be reproduced again as Pre-Blooming Techniques or “Budding Techniques”.

The 12 nations wrote the following joint declaration:

① War must be abandoned once and for all in order to ensure permanent peace. ② The path to mutual understanding, mutual support, and mutual growth shall be paved through dialogue and not through military power.

“The bloodshed is over. We narrow our eyes as we look to the sun, and when the moon glimmers above our heads in this very sky, we shall bloom into dignified flowers.” (The final paragraph of the joint declaration)

Four years have passed since this declaration was signed.

The first Tsukihana Festival is about to start.

■ The Current Circumstances of the World

■ A World of Harmony ■

In the next 100 years following The Second Blooming, the twelve nations’ miraculous efforts to protect the joint declaration managed to keep any dispute or confrontation on a low scale.

All the countries dropped their weapons in favour of a peaceful world.

■ The Council of the Twelve Nations ■

① As border crossing was still a major problem, the nations have decided to resolve rising conflicts by means of thorough discussions and assembled the highest ranking decision-making body known as the “The Council of the Twelve Nations”.

② The Council of the Twelve Nations is hosted by an appointed country for only four years, and it cannot be elected successively. If a country doesn’t become a host for more than 20 years, the following year it is automatically appointed.

③ The hosting nation’s leader will be dispatched to the official residence for hosts located in Mushiki. In order to avoid any emergencies, the commander of the Allied Forces is also dispatched together with them.

④ The nations have adopted a “rule by majority” policy and should there be a case where the votes are tied 6 to 6, the Council will adapt the plan suggested by the host country.

■ Deciding the Host Country for the Tsukihana Festival ■

The Chairman of the Twelve Nations Council is one who holds tremendous political power. In order to avoid military conflict, the Chairman is elected through the Tsukihana Festival wherein the nations battle in the fine arts of kagura.

This originates from the legend about a person who danced the Kagura and calmed the volcano during the Second Blooming.

Although the idea of fighting with “beauty” instead of “strength” has a strong political connotation for the common people, it also offers a strong sense of recreation for them. It is evidence of how peaceful the world actually is.

Each Country’s Circumstances

Shikkoku

● Among the twelve nations, this country has the longest history and the strongest military force.

● Even though the Allied Forces of the Twelve Nations Council is under their direct control, they take a defensive stance.

● Warriors originating from Shikkoku are known for journeying throughout the world and doing good deeds, which earned them a high respect.

● National Trait ●

Daring and resolute / Imperturbable

Momo

● Once focusing on the development of dyeing and making fabrics for clothes, this country has as many family crafting skills as it has craftsmen.

● They also have a wholesale district dedicated solely to preparing garments or props for the Kagura. During the time of the Tsukihana Festival, it’s crowded with people.

● Their specialty is ‘tsukimi udon’

● Local Colour ●

Repayment for indebtedness / Gentle and sincere

Akane

● A country prominent not only for their large number of mining sites, but also for their industrial skills.

● They invented gunpowder and explosives. This knowledge is kept under strict control, and thus only state agencies are allowed to learn about it.

● One of their specialties is the Akane Festival, a festival where they dance for 3 days and 3 nights continuously.

● Local Colour ●

Sticking to their original intentions / Intense passion

Kikyo

● This mysterious yet profound country is well versed in foreseeing the future and reading the stars.

● They only choose to settle when they find the place they want to reside in for life. They are people who hold a peculiar sense of values. Many of its residents choose to travel.

● Their territory is surrounded by fog.

● One of their special products is the ‘Shingon Rice Cake’.

● Local Colour ●

Wayfaring people who go on pilgrimages / Belief in destiny

Asahanada

● This country has a deep connection to water. They are a religious nation and believe the dragon god to be a symbol of nature. Many of them are gentle spirits.

● They are among the leaders in the rice production field, which is considered a staple food in this world.

● Their specialty is ‘kudukiri’. You don’t even feel it going down your throat.

● Local Colour ●

Clean and serene like still water / Unrelenting

Tsuyukusa

● This nation is well versed in astronomy and geology. They possess an enormous national library filled with data they collected in the past.

● They have many hot springs, which attract a large number of people.

● Their specialty is ‘Napoli-san’, tomato-flavored noodles.

● National Trait ●

Mature consideration / Healthy food for healthy bodies

Geppaku

● Out of all twelve nations, this mysterious country has a history as long as Shikkoku’s.

● Their strange skills can cause miracles and seem to be passed down within each household.

● Each of them has a peculiar view on life and religion, being required to find and serve their own god.

● National Trait ●

Enjoying life to the fullest / Peaceful life without worry

Kikuchinashi

● This country has the biggest theatre in the world and a national school dedicated to the study of plays.

● Because many of them also work as carpenters and architects, they can easily make a living by working for the Tsukihana Festival’s stage.

● Their specialty is a ‘musical play’ that brings together dancing, singing, and drama.

● National Trait ●

Unyielding diligence in studies / Undying patience

Seiran

● An academic city that has many schools specializing in various fields. People gather here to seek knowledge.

● Their national school has sub-branches in all 12 countries. It is also said that Seiran is the best place where one could learn about the twelve nations.

● They are experts in making a large variety of ‘bentos’.

● Local Colour ●

There’s a blue sky right behind the clouds / Sincerity that could move heaven

Botan

● This country has an entire district dedicated to entertainment, managing to gather all types of people. Any type of amusement can be provided.

● The real attractions for sight-seeing are after dark. There are vigilante corps around to keep people safe.

● Their specialty is the ‘adzuki bean mochi’.

● Local Colour ●

Unfettered and flexible / Trusting to chance

Asagi

● This country is a major agricultural power, strangely possessing the most fertile soils in all the world.

● It is said that the current kagura was inspired by the dance they perform here to celebrate the harvest.

● Local Colour ●

Everything is bound to change・Being thankful for every single uttered word

Mokuran

● A mysterious country covered by desert. They possess a certain “skill” that is a trade secret.

● The capital city is the world’s largest gambling house and is a source of income that enriches the national treasury.

● Their specialties are “suna tamago” which are made by boiling eggs in hot sand.

● Local Colour ●

Consulting the past to learn about the future / Independent spirits who stand on their own

Tsukihana Festival

■ About the Tsukihana Festival ① The Significance Behind the Tsukihana Festival

As mentioned before, despite the political implications behind the selection of the country that will host the Tsukihana Festival, it is generally a major recreational event that surpasses even the national framework. (Reference: ‘Deciding the Host Country for the Tsukihana Festival’ from ‘World View’, page 8)

After the hosting country is decided, the chairman (king) of the twelve nations (flowers) is named ‘King of Flowers’.

② Summary

A brief summary of the Tsukihana Festival is presented below.

■ It is held on a special site located in the centre of the world, on the Mushiki Island every four years.

■ In addition to the "Hana Awase" that determines the greatest "King of Flowers", there will also be a collection of (see below): theater programs, amusements, performances, and exhibits from each nation. People from all across the continent come, items are gathered, and money is collected.

A part of the profit earned from the festival goes to the Council of the Twelve Nations.

■ The festival and the Hana Awase gets broadcast in real-time using combined technologies from Mokuran and Geppaku.

■ Hana Awase

The representatives for each country will dance a kagura performance that incorporates their nation’s techniques, music, and expressions. They compete against each other with these concepts of “beauty.”

The dancers who participate as the representatives for their nations (flowers), are hence called “Flower Dancers”. This was born under the concept of: “Kagura dancers are not people but are flowers when they dance.” As such, the dancers refer to themselves with a “flower name” for the performance.

Because the nation’s dignity is at stake, it has since been a great honor for someone to be chosen as a “Flower Dancer.”

❶ The Process of Selecting Flower Dancers

Since each nation is essentially able to decide freely, the standards and methods for choosing vary from one nation to the other.

In general, public announcements are made and the participants are decided through domestic screening. In addition, there are nations where a certain family carries the tradition generationally, nations who determine dancers via fortune-telling, nations that choose from the vocational schools that train dancers, and so on.

❷ Requirements for Becoming a Flower Dancer

Some nations have a very detailed list of requirements, but the most common ones for the Twelve Nations are:

More than three generations of their family must have been a part of the country.

They should be physically and mentally healthy.

Once the Dancer has become the King of Flowers, it is impossible for them to be re-elected.

There are very simple rules that should be followed regardless of age or gender.

Essentially, as long as they haven’t become the King of Flowers yet, they can be participants for as many times as they want (though, they may be restricted accordingly due to their own nation’s policies).

For this reason, it is not rare to hear of people who have dedicated most of their life to the Hana Awase.

❸ Rules Regarding the Dances for the Hana Awase

Failure to comply with the rules will result in disqualification.

The time allotted is 10 minutes.

Props and other such tools can be brought and used, but things larger than the dancer or things that can move sporadically (like machines, skills, any form of magic) are not allowed.

Do not look down on, attack, or criticize another dancer or another participating nation.

Costumes, choreography, music, and other such expressions that are sexual, violent, or abusive in nature, as well as any conduct that violates public order and morals are strictly not allowed.

Each nation should have a total of 10 dancers participating.

Tsukihana Kagura

■ About Tsukihana Kagura ❶ The dances performed at the Tsukihana Festival, especially for Hana Awase, are referred to as “Tsukihana Kagura.”

❷ Although the dance is called ‘Kagura’, it is not necessarily dedicated to a “god.” Since this is a world where a wide variety of ideologies and religious views co-exist, there are various perceptions of “god”. In addition, there are also those who are non-believers. Therefore, the “Tsukihana Kagura” is not dedicated to a specific “god” but rather, a dance for personal beliefs. It is dedicated to praying for each nation’s permanent peace and well-being.

❸ In a world where “beauty” is used instead of mere “strength,” performing arts like dancing are highly regarded as a symbol of “beauty.” Courtship, farewell, joy, sorrow. There are various songs and dances for all of these instances.

Paying no mind to the sounds of this fleeting world, the King of Flowers threads the dance of Tsukihana Kagura.

T/N: (prepare yourself, this will be a ride)

Kataku (花托) means 'torus' or 'receptacle' and it's (botany) the thickened part of a stem from which the flower organs grow. Look up some flower diagrams and you'll it looks a bit like the volcano sketch.

Literally translated, tsukimi udon (月見うどん) means 'moon viewing udon'

Kudukiri (葛きり) is 'kudzu starch noodles'

Hana Awase (花あわせ) can be translated 'Flower(s) Gathering'

Kagura (神楽) is a bit more tricky. 神 means 'god' and 楽 means 'music/comfort', so basically something like 'god entertainment'. You could think of it as ancient Shinto music and dancing I suppose.

//I thought they'd be more

If you like my work and you want to support me, you can now buy me a coffee by clicking right [here]. I also started taking commissions, more details are right [here]. Thank you~

107 notes · View notes

tavi-hayes · 5 years ago

Text

practice challenge ~ journey to the palace

((whoopwhoop, idk how i managed to write this (given it’s quite long and i usually never ever write stuff this long) also please excuse me again for any spelling/grammar errors i try. alsoooo thanks to these wonderful girls: Bethia @h-hart, Kat @clara-choii and Pia @brookelynnsanders!))

It was silent at work today. The only sounds were the flipping of pages and the ticking on keys of a computer, followed by a frustrated sigh occasionally.

“Maybe we should get some more flutes?” I said, “they’re not that expensive and they won’t take up a lot of space here.”

Lola, being distracted by her laptop, showed no sign that she had heard what I just said.

“Helllooo, Lo are you there?”

“Huh, what?” she ran her hands through her hair as she looked my way.

I lifted the catalogue to show her the flute page.

“No Tavi,” Lo leaned her head on the back of the chair, doing the accounts must have tired her. “We already have flutes, and no one is ever interested in them. They have been here for decades.”

I rolled my eyes, “maybe that is why no one is interested. They look grim.”

Lo refocused on her laptop, and I flipped another page of the catalogue.

Oeh, the bass guitars. My favourite part.

I ran my finger over the page, paying a lot of attention to each one.

There were electronic bass guitars, but also the semi-acoustic ones. Some were very modern-looking with the brightest of colours, while others go for more of a vintage look.

I don’t know if I would ever be able to part with my own baby. The bass guitar, that I now owned, had been eyeing me every day since it had arrived in the store. It had been love at first sight.

But it was such a big investment and I just didn’t have that kind of money.

A part of my earnings was needed for us to make a living, pay the rent and do the groceries for example. And the other part that wasn’t needed for that, entered our savings jar.

We had been saving money since the day my dad was put behind bars. For whatever reason those bars had been in St. George. Freaking St. George.

The province didn’t even have direct borders with Denbeigh, Ottaro was right in between.

That made a simple, but still long, car ride impossible. Not taken the problems that come with the snowy climate into account.

That same climate also caused issues for our only transportation option.

Denbeigh’s climate was hard to predict at times. It could be a beautiful day with sunshine and a clear sky, but then you wake up the next morning to a thick layer of snow.

And because those snowfalls could happen in at least 8 out of 12 months, a lot of planes got cancelled in those months. The only airport anywhere near Winnipeg was privately owned. So the owners could literally ask the prices they wanted for the plane tickets. And boy, they were only focussed on making a profit.

For a simple family of Fives, those prices were unpayable. Hence why we had been saving money for 6 years now, still nowhere near able to pay for tickets. My mom would need a ticket, Daniel and I would too, and we just can’t leave little Aria and Arlan. My dad should be allowed to see them as well. That’s means we already need the money for 5 tickets. But if we include Daniel’s family, with his wife and little Melody, then that would equal 7 tickets.

So yeah, I would never have been able to buy that bass guitar.

Until Lo had a brilliant idea. They would give it to me as my birthday present for the upcoming 10 years. At first, I couldn’t accept that kind of gift, knowing it would have been a huge investment for the Wood family as well. But they insisted, hinting that they would get an employee discount anyway since you know Mr Wood owns the place. So, the price dropped, and they ignored me, so I had to give in and accept. It was the best gift I had ever gotten.

The stores door busted open, “GIRLS!” Gina’s voice took me back to earth. “they’re about to do the draw!”

“What draw?” apparently Lo shared my confusion.

Gina rolled her eyes and grabbed Lo’s laptop from the table. “Wait, I was working! Save it, save it!”

The laptop was put right on top of the catalogue I had just been looking through. Lo ushered over as well.

“Let me just,” Gina had opened an internet page and started typing in the website address of Winnipeg’s number one news channel, WTV. Such an original name.

The news anchor, some middle-aged woman with very fake looking blond hair, appeared on screen. “What is she wearing?” Lo asked, disgust and confusion both showing on her face.

“A track suit, it’s part of her image,” Gina unmuted the laptop, the crow-like voice of the woman filling the room, “now shush, I wanna hear this.”

“… Cameron Porter has been selected for the Illéan national ice hockey team. The star of Winnipeg’s very own ice hockey team, the Winnipeg Belugas, will accompany the national team to the world cup, taking place later this year in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Last week’s draw concluded that Illéa will have to face the German Federation and New Asia in the group stage. The national team’s training will start next week.”

Lo and I shared a look, “this is what you wanted to see Gina?”

“Since when do you care about ice hockey?” I asked, this was something new.

“Urgh, you guys are intolerable,” she silenced us with her finger.

“… and now we will switch to the royal palace in Angeles, to watch the live draw for Prince Arin’s Selection.”

The draw, of course that was what had sparked Gina’s interest. For some unknown reason, the entire Selection had slipped from my mind.

Nevertheless, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Nerves. Looking over to my friends, I noticed the tense looks on both of their faces. Lo’s hands were clasped together, while Gina’s had disappeared in the pockets of her cardigan.

“Welcome,” some weird voice-over called.

With that the camera focussed on the prince.

“Urgh,” I rolled my eyes.

Lo poked me in the side, laughing, “oh Tavi your distaste is showing.”

“I don’t understand how you can hate someone who is that good looking. I mean have you seen that jawline? Perfection.” Gina had had a crush on the prince for as long as I had known her.

I rolled my eyes again, “I don’t hate him.” The drawing began before I had time to explain myself further.

“From Allens … Idalia Moretti.”

“He doesn’t look very happy,” I couldn’t help but comment, “or comfortable.”

Gina sighed probably annoyed that she couldn’t listen to the show properly, “his engagement was called off not that long ago. That is a pretty hard thing to deal with.”

“Yeah, I see, it’s so hard that he’s having a Selection. Shouldn’t he like get over the other girl first?”

My friends ignored me.

“From Angeles … Emily Rose White.”

This thing was going to take forever. I just wanted to look at the catalogue again, not at that prince, “he’s making me feel uncomfortable, just by watching him.”

Again, no response from either of my friends.

I took that as a sign to remain silent, knowing very well my friends wouldn’t reply anyway now that their eyes were locked on the prince.

“From Dakota … Brooke Lynn Sanders.”

Gina let out a breath she was holding, “okay now is Denbeigh,” she took our hands in hers, “fingers crossed it’s one of us.”

Her hand palms were sweaty, she must really want this.

“From Denbeigh … Octavia Hayes.”

We were all silent for a minute. Then Lo started screaming, Gina joining her. “Oh my GOODNESS!”

“Tavi! You’re going to the palace! You’re going to meet the prince!”

“Yeah,” I was absolutely lost for words. Meeting the prince hadn’t been the first thing that came to my mind, hell it hadn’t even been the second or third thing.

The first thing I thought was: I’m one step closer to getting my dad out of prison. I will be in that freaking library day and night looking for the book that is going to help me. There must be something somewhere about a second opinion on a court order, or something else to annul the judge’s decision.

“Ohhh, I’m sooo jealous of you right now. You are going to meet the prince! And there’s a chance he will fall in love with you and you’ll have beautiful babies.” Gina pulled on one of my curls, it bounced up and down as she let go of it.

“Uhm, I think that particular chance can be redeemed to zero.” I bit my lip, not even in my biggest dreams had I imagined my name would be drawn.

“Tavi, listen. I know you only applied for those laws books, but you need to be friendly to the prince if you want to stay,” Lo insisted, “or else you will be eliminated.”

“And I have to interact with him?”

“There are girls who would kill for a chance of even being in one room with him,” Gina took over, she sounded very serious suddenly. “You’ll meet him that’s for sure, and if you actually try you might make it far enough to earn a date. Just at least try to be nice, okay?”

“Just don’t insult him,” Lo added, “or his family, or the country. Okay, don’t insult anyone.”

The way my best friends were looking at me brought me right back to the good old school days. That was exactly the way teachers had looked whenever I had done something naughty. Which had basically been at least once every day.

“Do you promise?” Lo asked when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try not to insult anyone.” I sighed, this is going to be so much harder than I thought.

All of a sudden a lot robot-like voice yelled “BREAKING NEWS”.

It just scared the living shit out of me. We turned as one towards the laptop again.

On the screen was that fake blond woman in her tracksuit again.

“Prince Arin just completed the draw for his very own Selection. Some famous girls will be joining him at the palace. Our very own province will be represented by Octavia Hayes. You might have heard of her, given that she is some meekly Five. But her father’s name will ring a bell. Octavia’s father is Caspar H., a dangerous convict in prison for murdering Winnipeg’s beloved mayor Wilfred Wallis. He might have very well passed the criminal gene onto his daughter. Not only is she definitely not a good representative for Denbeigh, but the lives of the royal family might all be in danger.”

“Damn it!” Stupid news anchor. Why couldn’t they just stay out of my family’s business. Now the entire country will be aware of this. My dad’s arrest did make the headlines of some newspapers when all that had gone down. But that had been 6 years ago and I had hoped no one would remember that.

But now it was out in the open. Again.

It didn’t even matter that my dad was innocent. He had already been suffering for it by being locked up far away from our family.

“Tavi,” Lo put her arms around me, “that’s just bullshit, no such thing as a criminal gene exists.”

Gina joined our hug, “you can’t take anyone seriously who wears a tracksuit on live TV.”

*** Couple of days later ***

Dear dad,

My name got drawn for the Selection, I’m going to the palace and meet the prince. Some palace person is coming to pick me up anytime now so I can’t write a lot. Plus, if the mail has already arrived then you will have to wait another month before you get this anyway.

I asked Daniel if he could start writing a monthly letter as well, maybe he can even add a little picture of Melody so you can see her for the first time. He said he will take care of mom, Aria and Arlan as well. Molly will just cook dinner for more people, which she doesn’t really mind doing. At least that’s what she said.

Anyhow I will write to you from the palace.

Lots of love,

Octavia

Zohl wzw, R’n hxzivw. Tlrmt gl gsv kzozxv, z dslov mvd vmerilmnvmg dsviv R wlm’g pmld zmblmv. Ovzermt nln, vhkvxrzoob mld gszg rg urmzoob hvvnh orpv hsv’h gibrmt gl orev ztzrm. Zmw dszg droo gsv xlfmgib gsrmp lu nv. Droo R gfim rmgl zm lfgxzhg? Zxxliwrmt gl DGE R’n tlrmt gl hozftsgvi veviblmv rm gsv kzozxv, yvxzfhv lu blfi ‘xirnrmzo tvmvh’. Yfg gsv kvlkov dsl olev blf droo zodzbh yvorvev blfi rmmlxvmxv, vevm ru gsv dslov xlfmgib hvvnh gl gsrmp lgsvidrhv. Qfhg pmld gszg dv nrhh blf wvziob. Zmw R droo gib vevibgsrmt R xzm gl tvg blf ivovzhvw. Qfhgrxv zodzbh kivezroh.

*** At the airport ***

The car journey all the way from Winnipeg to somewhere in Sota had lasted for ages. Even though I hadn’t really been aware of that, since I fell asleep as soon as they closed the doors behind me.

A frustrated voice had woken me up, “can you please stop drooling all over the leather upholstery?”

My eyes flew open, saliva was indeed smeared on the seat. I quickly wiped it off my face, where it had been present as well. “Sorry,” I mumbled, I then realized we had arrived at the airport, I quickly opened the car door and jumped out.

What I immediately noticed was the rain puddle I had landed in. My shoes and socks were soaking wet. Great.

“Maybe you should try to act more lady-like?” the driver said with a very disapproving tone, looking me up and down. He had already taken my guitar case out of the car and was about to put it right onto the wet street. I quickly grabbed the case out of his hands, clutching it close to my body.

The driver sighed, “there’s the entrance to the airport. Inside it will be clear which directions to follow.”

I made my way towards the entrance he had pointed at when I heard him mumble to himself, “why did I had to drive a barbarian?”

As I turned around, the car’s engine had been running again. I wasn’t sure if he could see me, nor I did I really care. I showed my middle finger to the car anyway. Asshole.

Never had I seen an airport before. It was freaking massive, people walking in all possible directions. Some carrying luggage with them, others with balloons that read “we missed you” or “welcome home”.

One day, my fam and I will be waiting at the airport, carrying one of those dumb balloons around. Coming to pick up dad.

I snapped out of my daydream by someone tapping me on my shoulder. “Miss Hayes, please come with me.”

Nodding, I followed the person not really having another choice since I had no clue which way I had to go. Maybe this is some insane kidnapper.

My heartbeat increased; did I just make a stupid mistake?

“Only one girl has arrived so far. You are to wait for the others before you can board the plane.”

Okay, no insane kidnapper then.

Unless.

This is a complete setup created by his crazy brain.

Panic filled my body, damnit how will I get out of this situation.

Okay, if I just push the person onto the floor, that will give me a chance to run for my life.

One.

Two.

Three.

I took a deep breath in, ready to make the push. But at the last minute the person side stepped which caused me to lose my balance. He looked at me in a very funny way, “please take a seat, the flight attendant will come get you in a few minutes.”

My cheeks turned very very warm, the redness might very well have equalled the red colour of a traffic light.

Trying to calm myself down, I slumped down into a chair. Yikes, only now became I aware of it again. My socks were still wet and cold. Sigh.

After taking a few deep breaths in and out, I noticed the other girl.

“Oh hey, you’re also a Selected?” I started, realizing it wouldn’t be a bad thing to talk to someone.

She turned towards me, “I am Brooke Lynn Sanders, but just call me Brooke please!”

Not knowing what else to do, I waved at her a little awkwardly. “hi Brooke, nice to meet you. My name is Octavia, but please call me Tavi.”

“Nice to meet you Octavia. Did you have a good journey?” I could already tell she did have the lady-like manners I had been lacking.

Oh god, I couldn’t possibly tell her about the drooling situation, so I decided to stick to a vague answer. “Yeah, it was alright thanks. What about your own journey? Which province are you from?”

“My send off from Dakota was a bit bumpy but I am here now. I wish they would have let me take the train though...”

Another girl arrived, also looking very much like someone the prince could end up with. Compared to these two, I was more of a rag doll.

Pushing my feelings behind that wall deep inside me, I waved her over, “oh yeah hi, please join us.”

We chatted some more for a bit, until Haven arrived.

The way she was walking, the only person I had seen walking like that was Long-Beard Logan, the homeless guy who could often be found near New Wave Records. He walked the same way, but he had one wooden leg.

Then Haven opened her mouth, a weird voice coming out, “hi.”

I noticed Brooke shared my confusion, “uhm hello?”

She took out her phone and typed something, it read ‘I’m Haven’.

My confusion hadn’t ebbed away, “are you alright?”

She typed some more, ‘yup:)) just got a bad cold! what are your names?’.

As a response to that we all introduced ourselves again. These girls didn’t seem to be that bad, hopefully the other Selected at the palace were the same. But the chance of that being true was small. Also, why did I care what the other girls were like? I wasn’t there to make friends, with them or with the prince. I had applied for the thing I needed most. Access to the royal library.

“Have you guys ever been on a plane before? This is all very new to me.” I admitted, trying to ease the nerves that had been building up inside me ever since my name had been picked in that draw.

Brooke had a very strong opinion on planes. Private planes more specifically.

Which came as a shock to me. The private plane part. I didn’t know what I was thinking but taking a private plane had never crossed my mind.

In the meantime, Brooke started talking about the CO2 emissions.

“How else would we get to the palace without having an endless journey? It’s not like there’s a teleportation device, right?” I said a little more vicious than I intended. The higher castes used planes all the time, if anyone had a cause in the destruction of our planet it was definitely them.

Brooke definitely had thought of it all, as she mentioned the outstanding quality of the Illéan train system. Clara chimed in to agree with her.

I decided to not mention my exact thoughts about the higher castes, given the fact that I had promised my friends back home not to insult anyone. So I just nodded my head, “yeah okay I understand your point.”

We were able to board the plane shortly after that. Brooke sat down in a window-seat and Clara nestled herself in the seat next to Brooke’s.

I took a chair on the opposite side of the plane, trying to create some sort of privacy for myself without being rude.

Haven sat down in the seat next to me and smiled at me.

The entry door closed; I could no longer contain my nerves. “Here we go I guess.” I tried to calm my breathing, but it didn’t really help. I tried to think of my family back home in Denbeigh, didn’t help either. I heard my dad’s voice in my head, it was like he was actually talking to me, “You are a strong girl, the flight will be over before you know it. Octavia, you can do this.”

A weird sound whisked my dad’s voice away, I looked over towards the source of the sound. It was Brooke choking on her drink. “Please don’t die,” I said. Her dying here would be a shitty start to this whole adventure. Besides, Brooke actually seemed like a nice person.

She coughed, “I am – I am trying.”

Haven mentioned her sibling, how they were close and stuff. She then asked if we had any siblings ourselves.

This provided me with the perfect distraction. I turned towards her, “yeah, I have three siblings. One older brother, a younger sister and a younger brother as well.”

Normally I would never share such personal information with someone I had just met but talking about them was the distraction I so desperately needed from this whole plane situation.

The others talked some more, but I just realized the one and only thing that would get me through this.

Music.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna listen to some music.” I said as I took my earphones out of my bag. “Haven would you like to join?” I asked her politely, given that she was sitting right next to me and it would have been quite rude otherwise.

She smiled at me and nodded, so I handed her one of the earphones. “I do have a very mixed taste in music so you’re in for a treat.” Maybe I could even make her listen to our own music, you know casually extending Five Whispers’ audience.

As a reply, Haven winked at me, “I love a girl with mixed music taste.”

Oh who would have thought, I had something in common with another Selected. I too liked people with a diverse music preference, since music says so much about a person. The quote ‘You are what you listen to’ was on one of the walls of New Wave Records music store. It was also my own personal life motto.

Clara and Brooke continued chatting, but I didn’t listen anymore. The music had taken a hold on me and it had only released me from its grip when the plane hit the ground in Angeles.

#selectionoc #practice challenge #fic

14 notes · View notes

pope-francis-quotes · 5 years ago

Text

10th April >> (@ZenitEnglish) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis Presides Over Celebration of Passion of the Lord. Full Text of Homily by Fr. Raniero Cantalamessa, O.F.M. Cap

Pope Francis on Good Friday presided over the celebration of the Passion of the Lord in the Vatican Basilica.

The Preacher of the Pontifical House, Fr. Raniero Cantalamessa, O.F.M. Cap., delivered the homily, which is provided in its entirety below, provided by the Vatican.

“I HAVE PLANS FOR YOUR WELFARE AND NOT FOR WOE”

St. Gregory the Great said that Scripture “grows with its readers”, cum legentibus crescit.[1] It reveals meanings always new according to the questions people have in their hearts as they read it. And this year we read the account of the Passion with a question—rather with a cry—in our hearts that is rising up over the whole earth. We need to seek the answer that the word of God gives it.

The Gospel reading we have just listened to is the account of the objectively greatest evil committed on earth. We can look at it from two different angles: either from the front or from the back, that is, either from its causes or from its effects. If we stop at the historical causes of Christ’s death, we get confused and everyone will be tempted to say, as Pilate did, “I am innocent of this man’s blood” (Mt 27:24). The cross is better understood by its effects than by its causes. And what were the effects of Christ’s death? Being justified through faith in him, being reconciled and at peace with God, and being filled with the hope of eternal life! (see Rom 53:1-5).

But there is one effect that the current situation can help us to grasp in particular. The cross of Christ has changed the meaning of pain and human suffering—of every kind of suffering, physical and moral. It is no longer punishment, a curse. It was redeemed at its root when the Son of God took it upon himself. What is the surest proof that the drink someone offers you is not poisoned? It is if that person drinks from the same cup before you do. This is what God has done: on the cross, he drank, in front of the whole world, the cup of pain down to its dregs. This is how he showed us it is not poisoned, but that there is a pearl at the bottom of it.

And not only the pain of those who have faith but of every human pain. He died for all human beings: “And when I am lifted up from the earth,” he said, “I will draw everyone to myself” (Jn 12:32).

Everyone, not just some! St. John Paul II wrote from his hospital bed after his attempted assassination, “To suffer means to become particularly susceptible, particularly open to the working of the salvific powers of God, offered to humanity in Christ.”[2] Thanks to the cross of Christ, suffering has also become in its own way a kind of “universal sacrament of salvation” for the human race.

* * *

What light does all of this shed on the dramatic situation that humanity is going through now? Here too we need to look at the effects more than at the causes—not just the negative ones we hear about every day in heart-wrenching reports but also the positive ones that only a more careful observation can help us grasp.

The pandemic of Coronavirus has abruptly roused us from the greatest danger individuals and humanity have always been susceptible to: the delusion of omnipotence. A Jewish rabbi has written that we have the opportunity to celebrate a very special paschal exodus this year, that “from the exile of consciousness” [3]. It took merely the smallest and most formless element of nature, a virus, to remind us that we are mortal, that military power and technology are not sufficient to save us. As a psalm in the Bible says, “In his prime, man does not understand. / He is like the beasts—they perish” (Ps 49:21). How true that is!

While he was painting frescoes in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, the artist James Thornhill became so excited at a certain point about his fresco that he stepped back to see it better and was unaware he was about to fall over the edge of the scaffolding. A horrified assistant understood that crying out to him would have only hastened the disaster. Without thinking twice, he dipped a brush in paint and hurled it at the middle of the fresco. The master, appalled, sprang forward. His work was damaged, but he was saved.

God does this with us sometimes: he disrupts our projects and our calm to save us from the abyss we don’t see. But we need to be careful not to be deceived. God is not the one who hurled the brush at the sparkling fresco of our technological society. God is our ally, not the ally of the virus! He himself says in the Bible, “I have . . . plans for your welfare and not for woe” (Jer 29:11). If these scourges were punishments of God, it would not be explained why they strike equally good and bad, and why the poor usually bring the worst consequences of them. Are they more sinners than others?

No! The one who cried one day for Lazarus’ death cries today for the scourge that has fallen on humanity. Yes, God “suffers”, like every father and every mother. When we will find out this one day, we will be ashamed of all the accusations we made against him in life. God participates in our pain to overcome it. “Being supremely good – wrote St. Augustine – God would not allow any evil in his works, unless in his omnipotence and goodness, he is able to bring forth good out of evil.”[4]

Did God the Father possibly desire the death of his Son in order to draw good out of it? No, he simply permitted human freedom to take its course, making it serve, however, his own purposes and not those of human beings. This is also the case for natural disasters like earthquakes and plagues. He does not bring them about. He has given nature a kind of freedom as well, qualitatively different of course than that of human beings, but still a form of freedom—freedom to evolve according to its own laws of development. He did not create a world as a programmed clock whose least little movement could be anticipated. It is what some call “chance” but the Bible calls instead “the wisdom of God.”

* * *

The other positive fruit of the present health crisis is the feeling of solidarity. When, in the memory of humanity, have the people of all nations ever felt themselves so united, so equal, so less in conflict than at this moment of pain? Never so much as now have we experienced the truth of the words of one of our great poets: “Peace, you peoples! Too deep is the mystery of the prostrate earth.”[5] We have forgotten about building walls. The virus knows no borders. In an instant, it has broken down all the barriers and distinctions of race, nation, religion, wealth, and power. We should not revert to that prior time when this moment has passed. As the Holy Father has exhorted us, we should not waste this opportunity. Let us not allow so much pain, so many deaths, and so much heroic engagement on the part of health workers to have been in vain. Returning to the way things were is the “recession” we should fear the most.

They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks;

One nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again. (Is 2:4)

This is the moment to put into practice something of the prophecy of Isaiah whose fulfillment humanity has long been waiting for. Let us say “Enough!” to the tragic race toward arms. Say it with all your might, you young people, because it is above all your destiny that is at stake. Let us devote the unlimited resources committed to weapons to the goals that we now realize are most necessary and urgent: health, hygiene, food, the fight against poverty, stewardship of creation. Let us leave to the next generation a world poorer in goods and money, if need be, but richer in its humanity.

* * *

The word of God tells us the first thing we should do at times like these is to cry out to God. He himself is the one who puts on people’s lips the words to cry out to him, at times harsh words of lament and almost of accusation: “Awake! Why do you sleep, O Lord? / Rise up! Do not reject us forever! . . . Rise up, help us! / Redeem us in your mercy” (Ps 44, 24, 27). “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mk 4:38).

Does God perhaps like to be petitioned so that he can grant his benefits? Can our prayer perhaps make God change his plans? No, but there are things that God has decided to grant us as the fruit both of his grace and of our prayer, almost as though sharing with his creatures the credit for the benefit received.[6] God is the one who prompts us to do it: “Seek and you will find,” Jesus said; “knock and the door will be opened to you” (Mt 7:7).

When the Israelites were bitten by poisonous serpents in the desert, God commanded Moses to lift up a serpent of bronze on a pole, and whoever looked at it would not die. Jesus appropriated this symbol to himself when he told Nicodemus, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life” (Jn 3:14-15). We too at this moment have been bitten by an invisible, poisonous “serpent.” Let us gaze upon the one who was “lifted up” for us on the cross. Let us adore him on behalf of ourselves and of the whole human race. The one who looks on him with faith does not die. And if that person dies, it will be to enter eternal life.

“After three days I will rise”, Jesus had foretold (cf. Mt 9:31). We too, after these days that we hope will be short, shall rise and come out of the tombs of our homes. Not however to return to the former life like Lazarus, but to a new life, like Jesus. A more fraternal, more human, more Christian life!

[1] Moralia in Job, XX, 1.

[2] John Paul II, Salvifici doloris [On the Meaning of Human Suffering], n. 23.

[3] https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/coronavirus-a-spiritual-message-from-brooklyn (Yaakov Yitzhak Biderman).

[4] See St. Augustine, Enchiridion 11, 3; PL 40, 236.

[5] Giovanni Pascoli, “I due fanciulli” [“The Two Children”].

[6] See St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologicae, II-IIae, q. 83, a. 2.

10th APRIL 2020 19:27POPE & HOLY SEE

16 notes · View notes

yeats-infection · 5 years ago

Note

hard agree with ur roommate on that WIP, that snippet was sooo good oml

by popular demand, here’s what i have so far of the possibly never-to-be-finished or maybe eventually-to-be-finished band of brothers weed farm AU, tentatively titled PURPLE HAZE, below the cut:

Dick was no hippie. He was also no fool. “We’ve got to hide it from the air,” he said thoughtfully.

“The real pros plant it between rows of corn,” Nix told him.

All in all this was going better so far than he had thought it would.

“What do we do with all the damned corn?”

“Why, moonshine, of course.”

“That’s pushing your luck,” Dick said. He was a real pragmatist. “How do you know all this?”

Nix scratched his head. He knew it was his poker tic, and he knew that Dick would know that too. “Family connections,” he said.

“I thought your family connections were in the fertilizer business,” said Dick, who knew this well, in fact, having worked for said company, for a brief time after the war, during the period when they had all independently decided they were going to try to hack it in the Real World.

“Well, what do you think they started off fertilizing?”

Dick hesitated. “I just don’t know why you never told me any of this before,” he said. “You haven’t made a habit of lying to me.”

“This was just omission.” Nix shrugged. “You’re a straight laced kind of man.”

“That I never wanted to drop acid with you when we were over there doesn’t mean I’m… entirely opposed to mind-altering substances.”

Nix had sure as hell fielded a lot of dirty looks, and, worse, concerned looks, in the CP over in Vietnam, when he closed the tent flaps behind himself and Dick after some particularly rough patrol or briefing and sparked a joint. Dick had always put a thoughtful hand up to go with the dirty or concerned looks, because Nix had always offered the joint to him, even knowing he wouldn’t take it. Especially knowing he wouldn’t take it.

“Well,” Nix said, “before I brought this proposal to you I wanted to make sure I had retained anything at all from my degree in horticulture.”

He took the film canister out from his pocket and put it between them on the kitchen table. For a moment Dick studied him, and then he grabbed the canister and opened it and poured the contents out onto one of the nice floral cotton placemats that had been made for him by his sister.

“I’m calling it Easy Diesel,” said Nix.

“You’ve got to be god damn kidding me,” said Dick, but he picked up one of the larger of the buds and carefully started pulling it apart. They had come out nice, if Nix did say so himself. They were big and sticky and a psychedelic iridescent purple-green.

“It’s my own breed,” Nix went on, wondering if he sounded desperate. He sure as hell felt desperate, not least for a god damn toke. “Good for sleeping.”

Dick cocked a pale eyebrow in his direction. “It helps you sleep?”

“Sure, this strain does, but I can breed different strains that’ll make you feel different things…”

“Nix, you grew this?”

He turned the bud in the light through the kitchen window, curiously, like a jewel.

“Well, I grew its grandparents from seeds, and then I crossed them, and this is the cross, second generation, grown from a cutting.”

“How many of these have you got?”

“Four in my bathtub in Jersey,” Nix said. “I’ve been showering at my sister’s. Couple more in the basement too, under a light.”

“And where do you get the seed?”

He’d hoped not to have to involve Dick in this part of it. “I have a contact,” he said.

“Nix, if I’m going to go in on this with you, I need to be an equal partner.”

“Fine. It’s Spiers.” As it had been over there. “You know he lives in Texas now, and he can get seed from Mexico. But I don’t need him anymore unless we want to grow another strain.”

“We might want to keep that in mind,” said Dick.

“Alright. I’ll write to him.” He indicated the bud in Dick’s hand. “We might want to try that before you sign on the dotted line.”

Dick passed the bud back across the table to Nix who set about expertly shredding it into flakes. “I don’t have any papers,” Dick said, watching him.

Nix cocked an eyebrow. “You used to smoke rollies exclusively!”

“Been trying to quit cigarettes. You just can’t keep anything in the house.” At Nix’s upward glance he said, “This is fine, though. As long as you have a way to smoke it.”

“You think I’d come all this way and level you with this without a way to smoke it?”

Nix had a little pipe in his overnight bag. He packed it and they lit up. The rest was history.

Nix had enlisted right after college. He didn’t want to go through the whole song and dance of avoiding the draft, and his father was breathing down his neck, having gotten a Purple Heart at Monte Casino in the Second World War. Dick had signed up straight out of high school, having believed out of his damnable earnestness that it was the right thing to do. Dick was like the “some folks are born, made to wave the flag” line from the beginning of “Fortunate Son,” but none of the bad stuff after. That was just the way he was. He had been at boot camp then in school learning to be an officer. They saw each other summers and went to the drive in movie theater and talked about the news from the Soviet bloc, and about spies and space and music. Sometimes Dick had Things to Say about the stuff Nix was learning about at Yale, like colonialism and hegemony, but they argued about it good naturedly and then they moved on to arguing about music. Dick liked those Greenwich Village folkies and he was legitimately let down when Dylan went electric. Nix had Are You Experienced on repeat. There were other things they didn’t talk about at all, like that Nix had read Alfred Kinsey’s reports in class and thought of himself first as a one, then as a two, then a three, and now intermittently as a four, sometimes even a five. The truth was he only incidentally thought of any people who weren't Dick. He couldn’t even regret being doomed to such a sorry condition, because being around Dick was such a joy. It was a joy, in its brutal way, even when they were over there. It was a joy when he had forgotten he could feel joy.

Now, after everything, Dick had all this land, off Route 6 not far from the New York border, on which the trees moved quietly, and the hills were low and green. He had all that land, and just about nothing else, because he had spent just about every penny of his salary from Nixon Nitration and his war pension and his inheritance from his parents' deaths buying that plot to get himself away from the world. In New Jersey, working for his father as little more than a body in a suit, Nix had just about everything he wanted, except his own soul. That was somewhere yet to be seen. In Vietnam, he must have put it down somewhere, like his helmet or his canteen or something, except that he had forgotten to pick it up. This had happened to most of them, except for Dick, who had doggedly held onto his somehow as he had also held onto his life, his relative sanity, his damnable good looks, and his even more damnable good humor.

The big idea was a relatively obvious one to Nix, who had had his first toke in San Francisco just before shipping out, and who drove out to Dick’s farm twice a month or so to shoot the shit at the kitchen table and lie sleepless in the twin bed in the guest room listening to the woods and the snoring from the next room over and debating numerous impossibilities until dawn, when he would get up and go down to the fallow fields and make estimates as to the soil quality. Then he would make coffee and biscuits. “Well damn, Nix, you didn’t have to do that,” said Dick, coming down around seven, chuffed and bedheaded, which was exactly why Nix had to do it.

He understood he had ulterior motives. But he could make an entire list of reasons why this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had that weren’t those ulterior motives.

Finally Dick said something like, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this anymore.” They were sitting at the kitchen table in the sunset. He offered Nix a weak smile that might be described as heartbreaking. “Might be scrounging for a job around Nixon Nitration.”

Nix couldn’t help himself, though it did feel like the first second when you had to stand up and start running across an open clearing under enemy fire, before the adrenaline kicked in and everything cleared. He had been waiting for the right moment for what felt like his entire life. “You wanna know what I think?”

Dick’s brow tightened. “I always wanna know what you think.”

“But do you really wanna know what I think.”

It was expensive to get a grow operation going. Nix had some money, but he’d long since drunk most of his nest egg, so it was barely enough to get seed and nitrogen and decent irrigation. They woke up with the sun and worked the field until it went down, and some nights they came stumbling in at dusk, sunburned, parched, and there was hardly any food to put on the table. It wasn’t much worse than it had been at war — rice, stale bread, cans of beans or tuna fish, hot water with lemon. Ears of steamed or grilled corn, eventually, when the crop got kicking. By night Nix hunched over the grow light in the living room and tended to the hatchlings. “Never seen you act so gentle,” Dick said, putting the radio on, settling onto the couch with the paper, dirt under his fingernails.

“Yeah, well.” His face was hot, not just because of the proximity to the light. “They’re notoriously fragile.”

They shared a joint, went separate ways to bed. Most nights Nix passed out before his head hit the pillow. This was a marked improvement from what things had been like back in Jersey. Who knew the secret all along had been back-breaking agricultural labor? He thought about writing a letter to the Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs or whoever was supposed to be handling the burgeoning public health crisis that was an entire generation's rampant PTSD.

They were accustomed to working hard together. Dick had never been the kind of officer who had gotten off on asking the underlings to do all the shit-shoveling, and Nix had followed suit, only wanting to be an officer half as good as Dick. He remembered participating in a kind of bucket relay, tossing sandbags off a truck toward the CP on one of the many, many nights it flooded. In the highest heat of the day he sat in the cool grass in the shade, drinking too-tart lemonade and puncturing a hose just-so with a knife to lay some makeshift irrigation. Dick came out after a few minutes with what passed for sandwiches. His sunburnt nose was peeling, even though he sometimes put zinc oxide on it like a lifeguard in a soap opera. “Remember when you got hit in the head?”

It was a ricochet that glanced off his helmet — the closest he had come over there to turning in his dance card forever. He had a headache for a few days after, and the doc had moved a flashlight between his eyes with an air of concern. Dick had been quite alarmed. He hovered for a while like some kind of fairy godparent. It was kind of embarrassing, but Nix didn't say anything about it.

“Of course I do.”

“Well,

Nix went to town to buy nitrogen at the Agway. On the way back he stopped for cigarettes at the general store. Scanning the magazine rack whilst the shopgirl fished out his Marlboro Reds he nearly had a massive coronary. There was a picture from Vietnam on the cover of Esquire Magazine with the following caption:

HEART OF DARKNESS: D.K. WEBSTER REVISITS VIETNAM

He picked it up. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What’s that?” The shopgirl was a pregnant woman in overalls and a man’s ribbed tank top. She tossed the cigs Nix’s way.

“Nothing.” He showed her the magazine, wishing he had the sleight of hand to just shove it up his shirtsleeve. “I’ll take this too.”

In the parking lot, he checked that the bags of nitrogen were secure in the bed of Dick’s pickup, and then he sat on the back bumper in the profound sun and opened to the table of contents, then, skipping cologne ads and spreads of beautiful women in states of undress, opened to the introductory page preceding Webster’s article. According to the byline, the pictures had been taken by a photographer who had been with their company for a little while, had been all over the country and had disappeared in the Spring of 1970 somewhere on Cambodia’s Highway 1. The article was preceded by a two-page spread of one such photograph of Easy Company on Hill 926 toward Christmas ’69. He looked over the faces of all the boys, naming them, the dead ones and the alive ones and the should have been dead ones and the should have been alive ones, inside his mind, until he came upon the pixelated black mar of his own eyes. Then he folded up the magazine and put it in his back pocket and drove back up to Dick’s farm in something of a fugue state. Over there, on the rare occasions upon which they had access to a Jeep, Dick usually drove it, because Nix was usually under the influence of something or other. Dick could not be gotten under the influence of anything besides grief, or anger, a few times that he let Nix see, and these did not seem to cloud his judgement overmuch. It had been something to see Vietnam that way — like a tourist, watching the forest from the windows, the beach and the water, the blood in the water, the great napalm swaths like deep burned scars. He had thought at first that Dick thought he was stoned and useless, but now he wasn't so sure, and anyway it had felt like a strange gift, like new eyes…

Back at the farm, he practically threw himself down in the better chair pulled up to the kitchen table. He rolled a joint and sparked the end of it. Thus prepared, he took the magazine out of his pocket and began to read:

In March 1969, D.K. Webster appeared before the editor of this magazine and just about prostrated himself before the news desk to ask if he might be permitted to cover the conflict in Vietnam. He flew to Saigon that June and embedded himself with E Company of the elite 101st Airborne, where he remained until February of the following year. Shortly after returning stateside he checked himself into an inpatient mental health facility. Now, three years later, he has at last filed his first story for this magazine. — Ed.

The boys were just about to go to the wire for the night when I got to the camp on Hill 926. The guns among them were varied and babied like children. Spit-shined barrels caught the last sun. The medic came over at the last with speed pills. There was no dinner. I was shaken up, literally, from the chopper, and also figuratively, being as I had been the only living cargo, unloaded en route to Saigon with corpses draped with their camouflage ponchos, ripped through with bulletholes and muddy with blood. I was pretty sure my brain had released the store of psychedelic chemicals you were supposed to get at the moment of death so it was just as well the medic didn’t offer any speed to me, that first night, though he would later.

The boys were my age. Some were younger than me. After some spiteful if hushed debate among themselves they gave me a helmet which had belonged to someone dead. There was blood splattered inside it and nothing to clean it out with. Still, I put it on. The bodies in the chopper had put the fear in me and there were not, absolutely were not, enough cigarettes. I waited for someone to offer me one, but nobody did. Instead the First Sergeant offered me a gun.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Remembered belatedly you were supposed to call them sir. Some of the grunts snickered.

“Point it and shoot it,” said the First Sergeant.

I’d been in places where they wanted to put a show on for me and in other places where they herded me back onto the chopper as soon as they heard I was a reporter. I had also been in Saigon, where there was not much to do but lie in bed drunk and jerk off until raw. On Hill 926 I was another body with a beating heart. I took the gun and we went to the wire. There were more boys out there taping sixteen clips together so they’d go faster. They had gloves to move the big box guns by the hot barrels but the fabric was wet and rotting. Cassette player spinning Donovan. Somebody had VOODOO CHILD engraved into his helmet. At last somebody gave me a god damn cigarette. You would have needed something to look across what men like these in previous wars might have termed no man’s land. The napalm had turned the edge of the forest into a bridge between this world and Hades. The night fog was coming out of it. Between us and that was barbed wire stretched over blood-slaked mud, hung with charred corpses. Now I was glad there had been no dinner.

The speed was kicking in for just about everybody else. Because there was nothing to shoot at yet they took a keen interest in my well-being. “Keep your head down.” “Keep your mouth shut.” “Keep the belt flat.” “If you get hit, yell for the medic. Only if you get hit!” Finally, “For gods sake wait for one of us before you god damn start shooting.”

I asked them if they ever got friendly fire.

“Medic in 4th Company got killed that way.”

“Took out some of the Lurps in the 67th.”

You were always learning new words which were just ways of saying things that took less time.

“Long range recon patrollers,” explained one of the boys. The nameplate, as well as the sleeves, had come off his jacket, but everybody called him Babe, except for the medic, who called everybody by the surname, and Babe’s was Heffron. When he looked to the forest, he saw something I didn’t, because of his training, and because he had put greasepaint around his eyes, like an ancient Egyptian lady, against the infernal messaging of the high yellow moon. Ready to burst like a pincushion mushroom on the edge of the horizon. “Ours are coming,” he said.

“You see em?”

The call went down the line to hold fire. The movement in the fog and the skeletons of the trees — like actors on a stage, like apparitions, ghosts. There were two negotiating the brutal wasteland, delicately around the landmines. Someone put a flare up. There was a captain and a corporal, differentiable by the insignia upon their tattered uniforms. They wore greasepaint and carried rifles. The corporal had let his rest against his forearm and shoulder so that he could roll a cigarette from a pack of loose tobacco drawn from inside his destroyed fatigue jacket.

A line from Dylan surfaced in the civilian part of my mind: Maggie come fleet foot face full of black soot…

“How long have they been out there?”

“Since yesterday noon.”

The captain went toward the CP to speak to the major. The corporal came into our foxhole and sat up against the sandbags to light the cig he’d just rolled. His boots were so bad he might as well have been barefoot. His eyes were dark, helmet askew and dented. A startling quality of blood on his person not necessarily his own. “How many, Lieb,” said the gunner, Toye.

“Two companies coming down from the mountain camp. Who’s got pills?”

“Two companies?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“Lieb, we’re just one company.”

The dark gaze found me. It was like looking back into the edge of the forest, the skeletons and fog, shadows, death lurking close at hand. “Who’s this then?”

Heffron cackled. “They gave us a correspondent.”

I made up my mind I had to talk to the LRRP that the boys called Lieb, because he scared the shit out of me.

The Lurps’ job was to go into the woods and try to figure out whereabouts the VC were moving, where they were encamped and the gear they had, their numbers, the locations of their traps and tunnels. The company at the camp on Hill 926 had two men who served this purpose, the captain, Spiers, and the corporal, Liebgott. Rumor was general in the camp about the quantity of VC these men had killed and the things they had seen and done. Between them they had done five tours before this one. Between them they were rumored to have survived a chopper crash, at least three VC ambushes, a court martial, a suicide attempt, a week without sleep, more than fifty parachute drops, booby traps galore, setting foot in the city of Hue, flushing out a collective six VC tunnels, and stepping on a no doubt exaggerated quantity of dud landmines. Spiers was unapproachably scary. He had allegedly executed prisoners on numerous occasions. In the heights of misery when not even the Dexedrine pills could bring you up out of the depths of the fear the men would joke about asking the captain to take them behind the CP and get it over with.

Liebgott, called Lieb, not seeming to understand what this word actually means in the German language, was also a stone killer by all accounts, thoroughly dead in the eyes, like looking at them you were surprised his lips weren’t blue, and they caught no reflection, but he spent all his time at camp, which was slim, listening to Da Capo and The Notorious Byrd Brothers (Do you think it’s really the truth that you see? I’ve got my doubts it’s happened to me) on cassette and chain smoking. This made him seem like someone I might have gotten to know if I had stayed in college, though I understood this was a fallacy. Anyway, by this point I was taking the uppers when the medic offered so I went over of an early morning when he was shaving his face.

He had Love on. “You know you have the same name as this band,” I said.

He was trying to figure out if I was serious. He had the razor poised right over his carotid artery. Under all the greasepaint he had good skin, thin beard, hollow cheeks. His hair was limp and filthy. In another life he might have been good looking. I sat down in the mud. That’s how bad I wanted to talk to him. I sat in the goddamn mud. The mud was made of blood and piss and worse around here. It didn’t even faze him, because he was sleeping in worse every night he was out there.

Tried another in: “You listen to Forever Changes?”

He set the razor gliding again over the bone of his jaw. “Had a tape,” he said. “It rotted.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can get you another one.”

He was trying to get the read on me. “What do you want.”

“Talk to you.”

“Not enough to get shot at out on the wire?”

“This is for Esquire,” I said. “It ain’t for Newsweek.”

He spat in the mud, but it came so perilously close to the toe of my left boot that it might’ve been intentional. “Can’t say I’d make a good centerfold,” he said. His face was twitching with the smile he was playing like he was too tough to put on it. “Even in lingerie.”

I liked him, though he made himself very difficult to like, and was out in the bush with Captain Spiers more nights than not; when you got him warmed up, he would talk about it, sometimes too much, sometimes things you didn’t really want to know. I went back to my bedroll and wrote them down and tried to put them out of my head. Six months later, I was at the tail end of a sleepless 36-hour benzo binge, and the wind was blowing wrong, out of the wrong mouth at the wrong end of the world, bringing rain and the smell of death and napalm and the latrines, on the suffocating humid night when Spiers half-carried him out of the woods —

Dick’s shadow loomed over Nix’s shoulder and distorted the light on the text. “This is mildly embarrassing,” he said.

Nix felt like someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and yanked him out of a dead man’s float. “Hell,” he said, voice cracking, “for who?”

Dick shrugged. “Everybody involved.” He headed over to the stovetop percolator to spoon in fragrant coffee grounds. “David might've played it a little less fast and loose on the schoolboy crush front.”

“Schoolboy crush?”

Dick cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Nix, your reading comprehension leaves something to be desired.”

“On — wait. On Liebgott!”

Dick turned back to the stove. “Maybe you need an eye test.”

Nix dropped the magazine on the table like it was radioactive. He supposed it might have been. His heart was acting up. What other kinds of things had Dick noticed? “My head was pretty damn far up my own ass.”

“I’d say so. Anyway, in my day we called that kind of prose florid.”

“In your day! Where the hell?”

“High school English.”

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

---

i do hope to someday finish this. webster in this AU is based on michael herr and that whole section is my impression of dispatches. the band that lieb and webster start to bond over is arthur lee’s band love. lieb’s lighter is based on a real one i saw on here sometime. this whole conceit is inspired by steve earle’s “copperhead road.”

8 notes · View notes