#maybe ice was one of those kids in line behind the fountain

[stopthatfool]

headcanon yippee!

mav was one of those kids in school that like chewed on a pen until it exploded, like scrapped knees galore and hair in his eyes. someone plz give that boy a haircut he cant see, someone help him he’s bumping into poles and is bulldozing through students in the hallways. 

ALSO he took forever at the water fountain and kids behind him would go “One, two, three, that’s enough for me!” and he would just lose it RAHHHHHHH

ice was one of those kids that would try to pick up as many chairs when a teacher said “i need a big strong boy to help me put away all the chairs!” like ugh show off i bet he did all his homework too 

[soobmint]

when the ice begins to thaw | kang taehyun [f] ice prince! au, 10.4k words

s u m m a r y : The rumors of the Ice Prince, Kang Taehyun, that run throughout the kingdom of Glacies are nothing short of terrifying. Known as a spoiled boy who does nothing but take advantage of the horrors bestowed upon the kingdom by his grandfather, the late king, Taehyun is feared and despised by nearly all of his subjects. When you decide to take matters into your own hands as the kingdom’s greatest thief by plotting to steal the crown that harnesses the prince’s unjustly earned powers, you are surprised to find out that perhaps the Ice Prince is not exactly who everyone fears him to be.

c o n t e n t s : kang taehyun x fem reader, ice prince! taehyun, thief! reader, lots and lots of fluff, very mild angst, features enhypen’s 02 line!!

t a g l i s t : @honeyju @chanluster @tyonfs @magicalstellar

n o t e : this oneshot is my contribution to the five princes collaboration! you can find the masterlist for the collab here. check out the other participants’ blogs too! [ @bffsoobin, @juunnies, @honeyju, @gyuluster ]. this was a lot of fun to write and i hope you guys enjoy it!

FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS THOUGHT TO BE THE GREATEST THIEF AROUND, YOU WEREN’T VERY QUICK ON YOUR FEET. 

It had been nearly half an hour since you had set your way across the icy bridge that led to the palace, nothing but the cloak of night to conceal you and your companions. You had studied the palace’s floor plan for months leading up to your mission, but for some reason, during all that time you hadn’t really thought of how difficult it would be to cross this god forsaken bridge. Your feet nearly came out from under you with every step you took, and it was so narrow that the four of you had to walk in a single file line.

 Speaking of your companions, the three boys that accompanied you were proving to be an obstacle to your success all on their own.

 “Jake, you have to keep up.”

 You turned to see Jay, your self-proclaimed “second-in-command,” pulling Jake along by the wrist. The former liked to brag and say that he was among the most elite group in the village, boasting a great air of bravery and courage. However, now that he was actually in the face of danger, he seemed to be the most cowardly out of them all. Sunghoon, the brains of the operation, held up the rear of the group, shaking his head in exasperation at his companions.

 You sighed, bringing the group to a halt as you turned to face them, arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t feel as though I should have to remind you, boys, but we’re not here to play,” You said, giving Jake and Jay the heat of your glare. “Jake, if you’re too scared to help out, I suggest you back out now before it’s too late. Oh, and Jay, leave the leading to me, would you?”

 While Jay mimicked your voice in the most obnoxious way possible, no doubt completely disregarding what you had just asked of him, Jake ripped his arm free of Jay’s grasp and puffed up his chest. “Me, scared? Oh please, Y/N. I’m flattered that you think about me enough to care, but you’re looking at one of Glacies’ greatest rising legends! The future generations will tell stories about me, no doubt.” He threw you a careless wink, and you had to fight back the impulse to cackle out loud at how ridiculous he looked. “And you’ll get to say you had the pleasure of knowing me. Or perhaps even the pleasure of having courted me as well?”

 From where he stood behind him, Sunghoon smacked the back of Jake’s head. That seemed to be enough to shut him up nicely.

 “Anyways,” You continued, “We’re losing moonlight. I needn’t remind you of the fact that if we don’t make it out of here with the crown tonight, we’ll likely never get to see justice restored to our kingdom. Understood?”

 “Perfectly,” Jay said, his voice strained in forced submission to your authority. You merely rolled your eyes—you were quite used to him and his attitude after spending nearly your entire life with him and the other two that accompanied you.

 “She’s right, you know.” Sunghoon spoke for the first time since the four of you had set out on your assignment. You began to move forward again, the rest of the group following close behind. “The palace security is weaker tonight because the crown prince sent an assembly of guards to accompany the prince of Regna Terrae back to his home. The odds of us finding another gap in security like this are—”

 “Incredibly slim, yes, we know,” Jake said. “You’ve only told us about twelve dozen times.”

 “Maybe if I thought you were actually listening to me, I wouldn’t feel the need to repeat myself so often.”

 “Well maybe if you weren’t such a pain in my—”

 “Shh.” You held up your hand as you came to a stop again, after having finally set foot off the slippery bridge and onto the snow-covered walkway that led to the huge gates made of solid ice. Some might have tried to simply break through the ice to earn entry to the palace, but you knew better.

 This was no regular formation of ice—it was ice forged by the crown’s magic.

 You looked around for any sign of stray guards. If your team’s predictions had been correct, the guards would have been switching their stations at this time. You had approximately four minutes and fifty-three seconds to get through the gates before the rotation was settled, so there was no time to lose.

 You glanced behind you, noticing that the boys had all replaced their teasing and playful mannerisms with serious gazes hardened by determination. With a single nod from you, everything was set into motion. Jay handed you the rope and hook from his bag, and you wasted no time in tossing it over the gate, pulling it tightly until you were certain that it had successfully latched onto the top. Jake knelt in front of you, folding his hands before extending them towards you. You placed your foot in his hands, waiting for him to give you a boost.

 “Are you sure you can do this by yourself?” He asked.

 “Yes, I’m positive,” You assured him. “You guys need to head to the far side of the wall and wait for me there. Sunghoon knows what to do if I’m in danger, but everything will be fine. Now hurry up and boost me.”

 After a moment longer of hesitation, Jake thrusted his hands up while you jumped up at the same time, reaching out to grab the rope while you planted your feet against the icy gate. You let out a tiny sigh of relief when your feet didn’t slide off or cause you to fall—the boots that Sunghoon had designed to grip the ice were proving to be just as effective as he had claimed. You pulled yourself up the rope, moving as quickly as possible without letting your feet slip.

 You soon found yourself perched at the top of the gate, your huff of relief turning into a cloud in the cold air. The view was nothing short of magnificent; fountains with frozen displays of various animals and flora, a grove of trees painted blue with ice and frost, and the castle. If you had the leisure to simply stop and observe the spiraling towers made of crystal ice, the beautiful clouds of eternal snow that remained stationary above the palace, the giant snowflake patterns that were imprinted along each outer wall, you would have stayed there just looking for ages.

 But you knew that sightseeing was not on your agenda. When you glanced over your shoulder, you were happy to see that the boys had already left for their station, leaving you on your own. It took you no time to spring into action. You jumped down from the top of the gate, the impact of hitting the ground sending an echo of pain up your legs and to your core, but you quickly shook it off and sprinted towards the outer wall of one of the towers. Your informant from within the palace had sent word that the window you were about to climb into was the best place of entry. It was in a distant hallway that was close enough to the throne room for you to have easy access to the crown, but far enough away from where the guards were stationed that the chance of them being alerted to your entry was small.

 You threw your grappling hook up again, this time latching it on the sill of the open window. Without Jake’s boost, it took you a bit longer to climb the rope, but you were no amateur when it came to breaking and entering. Soon enough, you had dropped down into the stairway that lied beyond the window, thanking your lucky stars yet again for Sunghoon and his slip-proof boots.

 Your footsteps echoed throughout the walls of ice, and you bit the inside of your cheek, taking care to make your steps as soft as possible. The past months, you had done practically nothing aside from memorize the floorplan of the palace, but you couldn’t help how nervous you were beginning to feel. This was nothing like when you snuck into the kitchen at the local tavern to snatch some food for the hungry kids, or when you broke into the overstock building for the tailors to grab a few winter coats for those who needed them.

 This was the castle, and you were there to steal the crown. Not just for your own good, but for the good of everyone else in the Kingdom of Glacies.

 When you finally reached the throne room, your heart was practically in your throat. Typically the cool headed one of your band of thieves, this feeling of pure anxiety was something new to you. With a shaky breath to calm your nerves, you peeked around the corner to take a look at what awaited you in the throne room.

 There were two thrones at the far end of the room, made of spiraling ice spires and decorated with intricately detailed snowflakes that would never melt. One was a bit taller than the other—the King’s throne, no doubt—while the other didn’t reach quite as high in the air, but that didn’t make it any less marvelous of a sight to behold. The real piece of beauty in the dimly lit room of ice, however, was the pedestal that sat just between the two thrones which held the giant, sparkling crown made of ice and snow.

 It was the King’s crown; the bane of every Glacian’s existence. And it just so happened to be what you planned to walk out of the palace with that night.

 Stationed right in front of the crown, two guards stood, frozen just like the pillars of ice throughout the room. You bit your lip, growing increasingly worried as you waited for your cue to move in towards the crown.

 “Argh! You’ll never catch me, you scum!”

 Never before had you wanted to sock Jake in the face so badly as you did in that moment. He had been instructed to create a diversion, but it sounded more like he was a pirate from the Kingdom of Nymphe. His shouts spilled in through the open window right behind the thrones, filling the otherwise silent palace with his voice. If you could have trusted that Sunghoon would have been loud enough to even be heard, you would have asked him to do it instead. He was the only one who even pretended to listen to you.

 “What’s that? You think you can chase me down? With those skinny legs? Ha!”

 There was a loud bang, and you decided in that moment that when you got back to your village, you would kick Jake out of your team and encourage him to join the theatrics group instead of pursuing this line of work. Not because he was a good or compelling actor, but because he was so outlandishly obnoxious that he would fit right in.

 The guards glanced at one another, but neither of them moved from their stations. They probably assumed—or hoped—that someone else would be taking care of the lunatic outside.

 Until they heard Jake shout, “Take that!” which was followed by a large crash, and another slew of empty threats. The guards quickly ran out one of the back entrances of the throne room, finally giving you your chance to move forward.

 You were light on your feet, not even making a sound as you dashed across the iced floor. With one leap, you skipped up the few steps that led to the crown. It was even more stunning close up, just as alluring as all the stories surrounding it had claimed. Blue jewels frosted over were embedded in the crown, which was made of solid ice, just like the palace that it sat in. The most mesmerizing part about it, however, was the flurry of never-ending snow that surrounded it, as though it were a part of its own atmosphere, separate from the rest of the world.

 Your heart stormed within your chest, and you thought it might burst right out of you. Everything you had prepared for had led to this moment, but now that it was finally here, you were beyond terrified. But you were ready.

 You stretched your hands out towards the crown, but before you could even feel its icy surface beneath your gloved hands, you felt someone’s body press flush against yours from behind, one arm holding you around your shoulders, and the other pressing the edge of an ice dagger against your throat.

 Heart in your stomach, you were silent for a few moments. Someone had caught you. It was over. It was all over. You prayed that Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon had gotten away safely, that only you would have to pay the price for trying to seek justice for your kingdom.

 You had practically written your own eulogy in your head when you heard the person speak, their breath tickling the back of your neck as they tightened the ice cold grip they had on you.

 “You know, it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours.”

 A man’s voice. You could tell right away, and his words made your blood boil. Perhaps you should have bitten your tongue, but you couldn’t keep the venomous words from leaving your mouth.

 “It’s not wrong to take back something that was yours to begin with, is it?”

 “I’m afraid I’m a bit lost. Does this crown belong to you?”

 “It doesn’t just belong to me,” You seethed, “It belongs to every single Glacian, those alive and those who have passed, and I’m here to take it back.”

 With that, you quickly snatched the knife from the man’s hand and spun around, pressing the blade against his throat this time, grabbing onto the front of his shirt to hold him in place.

 When you saw his face, you knew you were a goner for sure.

 Piercing blue eyes, a sharp jawline, blonde hair so light, it was almost white. His skin seemed to be made of ice, and his lips were set in an amused grin, one of his perfectly shaped brows arched upward.

 You were holding the edge of a dagger against the neck of Kang Taehyun, the Ice Prince himself.

 With the simple flick of his wrist, the dagger in your hand dissolved into snow, falling from your grasp in an instant.

 His eyes drew you in and he held you with his gaze; frozen, unable to move, a fistful of his white sleepshirt still held within your fist. Your imagination began to run wild as you tried to predict what would happen next. Based off of what you had heard about the prince, you expected him to turn you to ice right then and there, perhaps preserving you in his room full of iced prisoners that he was rumored to have, or maybe he would just shatter you to bits and pieces right away, like a glass smashed against a stone floor.

 You decided to take your last shot at doing what you had gone there to do.

 You quickly shook yourself from the prince’s grip, pushing him back onto the icy floor. When he no longer had a hold on you, you lunged towards the crown, hearing Taehyun shout, “Wait!” before the tips of your fingers barely touched one of the crown’s jewels. When you made contact with the crown, you felt a sharp pain in your neck, and with great force, you were thrown back onto the ice, landing right next to the prince himself.

 The pain was spreading from your neck to the rest of your body, like frost creeping up blades of grass. You pressed your hand against your neck and couldn’t hold back a gasp when you saw blood covering your palm.

 Before you knew it, Taehyun was leaning over you, gently cupping your neck in his hands. You closed your eyes, certain that he was about to strangle you for your vain attempt at destroying the crown. His fingers were like icicles against your skin; smooth, strong, and deathly cold.

 But he didn’t strangle you. He didn’t even squeeze your neck or try to block your airways at all. Instead, he lightly brushed his cold fingers over your skin. As he did so, you could feel the pain melt from your body.

 “There you go,” He said softly. He helped you back to your feet, and you opened your eyes, pressing your hand against the place where your wound had been just moments before. There was not a trace of blood left in sight.

 “What was that?” You whispered, holding Taehyun’s gaze.

 Before he could answer, you heard three familiar voices fill the chilly throne room. With eyes round as saucers, you peeked over the Prince’s shoulder to see Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay being dragged in by not one, two, or even three—but five palace guards. Where said guards had even come from, you had not a clue.

 There was, however, one thing you knew for sure: your plan had failed, and the price of failure was going to be your life.

 Or at least, you thought it would be, before the prince saved you.

 You swallowed, wishing that you could have at least seen your companions walk free. This whole mission was your idea, after all. You alone should have been held responsible for the failure. Heart racing, you grasped at endless threads of half-strung ideas that wove in and out of your mind, trying desperately to figure out some way to save the boys.

 “Please,” you said, your eyes meeting Taehyun’s, “Let them go. I drug them here; they have nothing to do with this. You can turn me to ice, kill me, do whatever it is that you desire. Just let them go, please.”

 “Y/N, don’t,” Sunghoon said firmly, but you ignored him, keeping your eyes fixated on the prince.

 Taehyun’s eyes softened, his brows knitting together, almost as if he were hurt by your pleas. He was being just as cautious as you were—perhaps even more so. “I have no intentions of harming you or your friends, my lady. In fact, the desires of my heart are quite the opposite of what you assume them to be.”

 You raised a brow. “Please, enlighten me of your true intentions then, Ice Prince.”

 “I want to help you.”

 “Oh, come on,” Jay groaned. You shot a glare that would freeze any normal man, but alas, Jay was far from normal, so he continued to speak. “Y/N, don’t listen to a word this prick says. If he wanted to help his people, he would have done so by now.”

 Although you wanted to cut out his tongue from how annoyed you were by Jay’s habit to speak up during the most inappropriate times, you knew that your friend had a point. The people of Glacies had been driven to desolation and poverty by the late king’s actions, while in your eyes, the rest of the royal family did nothing but sit idly by and watch it all happen.

 But you had just seen a side of the prince that was entirely different from every story you had ever been told about him. When your life was on the line, he didn’t kill you or laugh mercilessly as he watched the life leave your body. He had saved you.

 Taehyun turned to face your friends, and you felt your heart leap into your throat. The prince motioned for the guards to release their holds on your friends. They did as they were told, and the three boys were much too shocked by Taehyun’s instructions to do anything but stand there, frozen, keeping their eyes glued to the prince as he spoke once more.

 “I understand why you’re here,” He said, glancing over his shoulder at the crown. He locked eyes with you for a split second before he looked back at the boys. “I want the same thing you do. But I’m afraid that there’s no way for you to achieve your goal by simply taking the crown. It’s far more complicated.”

 “What do you mean you ‘want the same thing’ we do?” Jake finally spoke after regaining some sensibility—though he never had all that much to begin with, in your opinion. “Do you even truly know what we are here for?”

 “You want to destroy the crown and restore the kingdom to its former state of balance,” Taehyun said. “Am I correct?”

 “It’s not just that,” Sunghoon finally spoke up, his cool, calculating eyes drifting between you and Taehyun, as if he expected the prince to turn around and attack you at any given moment. “We want to undo all the pain and suffering your family has caused us. Do you even know how desolate your people have become while you’ve wasted away in your palace for the past two decades, Your Highness?”

 Taehyun frowned, casting his eyes down to his feet. “I’m well aware. I know it may not look like it, but I’ve been doing everything I can to help reverse the pain my family has caused our kingdom. But I realized that I can’t do it alone.”

 He turned to face you then, and you were surprised to find yourself drawn to his piercing eyes rather than being struck down by fear. His gaze was urgent, but it was gentle.

 “I need you to help me.”

 “No. Absolutely not.” You tore your eyes from Taehyun to glare at Jake, who had decided once again to speak out of turn. “Y/N, you can’t trust him! Don’t do it.”

 You knew where Jake was coming from, but you couldn’t help but feel as though Taehyun was telling the truth. And even if the prince were lying, you would probably never have the chance to get this close to the crown again. Even then, it was clearly impossible for you to touch the crown, as you had nearly died trying to do so just moments before.

 You had no choice. You were going to stay with Taehyun.

 “I just have one condition,” You said, ignoring the objections that flew from the lips of your friends. “You let them go. Now.”

 “Of course,” Taehyun said without a moment’s hesitation. “I have no intentions of keeping anyone here against their will. Yourself included. But if you truly want to destroy the crown, I need you to stay with me. Just for a few days.”

 You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on his. “Alright. But the moment I sense that you’re lying to me, Your Highness, not even the four princes of the surrounding kingdoms will be able to save you from my wrath. Understood?”

 Perhaps you were just seeing things, but you could have sworn that you saw the prince smile when he said, “Perfectly.”

 -

 WHEN YOU WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, THERE WAS A NOTE ON YOUR BEDSIDE TABLE.

 Well, it wasn’t your bedside table, but rather the one in the bedroom Taehyun had lent to you for the duration of your stay. The night before, against all their complaints, you had sent Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon back to the village with instructions to search for you if you didn’t return in a week’s time. After they had left, you wanted to talk to Taehyun right away, but he had disappeared from your sight, leaving you with a guard who said that the Prince had gone to bed, and that you were encouraged to do so as well.

 You stretched your arms above your head, squinting in the morning sunlight that slipped through the curtains, and picked up the note from the table.

 I hope you found the room suitable for resting. When you wake, put something on from the closet in your room then come to the dining hall for breakfast, if you’d like. One of the maids will escort you there.

 —Taehyun

 You sighed, folding the note up and setting it back on the table. After another good stretch, your feet met the cold floor and you slumped over to the large closet, throwing the doors open. Your eyes were met with dresses in varying lengths and shades of blues and periwinkles, and shoes to match them all. A great sigh left you at the sight—you did not wear dresses. But the pants and shirt you had come to the palace in were caked with mud and sweat, so you had no choice but to change, and it wasn’t like you had many options.

 Begrudgingly, you searched through all the hanging gowns, finally settling on a long sleeved, ankle-length frosty blue dress made of lace that held subtle snowflake patterns throughout the skirt. It was the most practical looking one amidst all the others, but you still found yourself already growing annoyed at the lack of freedom you felt in the skirt. You put on the pair of shoes that went along with the gown and stopped by the mirror, running your hands through your tangled hair before you finally stepped out of the bedroom.

 A maid was waiting outside the door, just as Taehyun had said she would be. You followed her down the stairs of ice, hugging your arms across your chest as you shivered from the cold.

 “I know this is the Ice Prince’s palace, but does it have to be so cold?” You asked, your teeth chattering. There was no response from the maid as you went down the last flight of stairs and found yourself walking into a large dining room, with a glass table in the center of the room and a dozen chairs surrounding it. The floor was frosted over, and snowflakes fell from the ceiling, though they melted away as soon as they hit the floor. Only the seat at the head of the table was occupied—Taehyun sat there, dressed nicely in a dark blue suit, his hair parted neatly to the side. He smiled when he saw you, motioning for you to take the seat beside of him.

 You sat down slowly, taking great care to cross your legs so you didn’t accidentally expose too much of yourself. Taehyun eyed you curiously as you reached for the cup of tea that a servant had sat down for you.

 “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be a little bit uncomfortable,” He said, sliding a plate of fruits and breakfast pastries towards you. You accepted them gratefully, noticing just how hungry you were now that you could smell food. “Is it because of the dress?”

 You nodded, swallowing the grape you had tossed into your mouth before responding. “Dresses were not meant to be worn by thieves, Your Highness.”

 He hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure if I would classify you as a thief, my lady. I personally find the term ‘vigilante’ more suitable.”

 You paused, the piece of chocolate bread that you had pinched off frozen halfway to your mouth. You set it down, narrowing your eyes at Taehyun. “What do you know about me?”

 He smiled, taking a sip from his own teacup. “I know what I’ve heard. You are Y/N, the greatest thief throughout all of Glacies—some would even say throughout all the Five Kingdoms. You know this kingdom like the palm of your hand, and you’re extremely good at not getting caught. Unless, of course, you find yourself in my home.”

 You scowled, looking away from him as your cheeks grew warm.

 He laughed for a moment, but his tone grew quieter when he spoke again. “I also know that you almost never steal for self-gain. You take for yourself what is necessary for survival, but the rest of your plunders go to the starving and impoverished people of our kingdom. You take from those who have more than enough and give to those who having nothing at all.”

 To say you were speechless would have been an understatement. You were under the impression that the prince despised his people, just as his father and grandfather had before him. But now you were to believe that he knew of your existence, long before you had even made an attempt to steal the crown?

 You poked at the food on your plate, your appetite suddenly gone as your mind churned with questions.

 “Well, since you seem to know so much about me, allow me to inquire about yourself, Your Highness,” you said, setting your fork down and folding your hands in your lap.

 He nodded with unabashed enthusiasm, scooting forward in his seat. “Of course. Ask me anything.”

 You held up three fingers. “I have three questions. One—what happened when I tried to touch the crown last night?”

 “Ah,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Well, as you’re well aware, my grandfather channeled all of the kingdom’s magic into that crown. It’s the most powerful object throughout all the kingdom.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

 He nodded, pressing his lips together. “Well, when my grandfather had the great spell cast upon the crown, it also came with a protective curse. Only those with royal blood flowing through their veins are able to touch the crown, and anyone else who attempts to do so . . . well.” He gestured to your neck, where the magic cut had sliced through your skin. “You saw what happens.”

 “And you have healing powers, apparently,” you said, running your hands against the smooth skin of your neck, double checking just to make sure that no trace of the injury was left there.

 “Not exactly. Because all of the kingdom’s magic is held within the crown, I have access to all the ice magic in the kingdom,” Taehyun explained. “Healing just happens to be one of those powers, among ice manipulation, the ability to turn things into ice, control of the snowstorms, the power to generate snowstorms, the power to plant things in frozen ground. . . you get the picture, I assume. Because of the overwhelming amount of capabilities I’ve been granted due to my grandfather’s spell, I’m not sure what my actual ability is.”

 You nodded once, slowly, trying to keep up with the influx of information. You put one of your fingers down, then said, “Question two. I know you’re the Ice Prince, but why in all the five kingdoms is it absolutely freezing in here? Can’t we start a fire or something for a bit of warmth?”

 Taehyun laughed, although you struggled to see what was so funny as a shiver went up your spine. “Another lovely perk of the crown’s magic; because my entire being is so reliant upon its powers, I’m quite weak on my own. My body temperature can’t go above a certain degree, or I’ll perish. So I’m afraid we must keep it quite cold in here for the time being.”

 “It seems like this crown is doing you more harm than good,” You muttered, slightly disappointed by his answer as you were hoping to garner a bit of extra warmth. You shook it off, putting another finger down and leaving only one remaining up in the air. “Last question. Why do you want to help us, and why am I the right person to help you?”

 “That’s two questions in one, isn’t it?”

 You rolled your eyes, and Taehyun quickly wiped the teasing smirk off his face, his expression growing grim as he prepared to answer your final question—or questions, as the prince had been so kind to point out.

 “I know it doesn’t compare to the pain that the rest of our people have gone through—yourself included—but the crown’s spell has done more harm than good for my family as well,” Taehyun said.

 “How so?” You asked.

 “As I explained before, those of us with royal blood are incredibly reliant upon the crown,” he began. “Because of this, we aren’t able to be far from it, or we become incredibly weak, and eventually, we will die.”

 Your eyes went wide at that, your mind racing. You hadn’t thought of the possibility that the crown could be harming the royal family at all, especially not in such a deadly way. “So, have you never left the palace?”

 He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Not even once.” He sighed, bringing his eyes back up to yours. “My sister left us, a few years after my grandfather died and a few years before my father passed. She fell in love with the stable boy, and they decided to run away. At the time, we knew that we would become weak without the crown. But we didn’t know how weak we would be. Two weeks after their great escape, the stable boy returned. And my sister. . . she was dead. My father had the stable boy put to death immediately upon his return.”

 You covered your mouth with your hand, stifling the gasp that threatened to slip past your lips. The royal family was so isolated from the rest of the kingdom, that none of you had even heard of the princess’ passing.

 “So then, you’ve been alone all this time, since your father passed?” You asked, your voice quiet and careful.

 He nodded, his eyes shining with tears that never fell. “Correct. And that is why, now more than ever, I want to reconnect with the people my family has driven to desolation. I know how harmful it has been for our kingdom since we have kept all of the magic to ourselves. You haven’t been able to farm, to use the magic for yourselves, or even turn the ice into water for necessary use. By hoarding all the magic to ourselves, we have forced our people into poverty. I want to right what we have done wrong. And that is where you come in, my lady.”

 “That’s the second part of my last question,” You said, pushing your plate back so you could lean forward against the table. “Why do you need my help?”

 He smiled, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, the action so rushed you had barely registered its occurrence. “I’ve spent the past two years studying the origins of the spell on the crown. There’s supposedly a cave near the border between Glacies and Terrae where my grandfather traveled to have the spell cast, and in order to break the spell, I have to take it back there. And, according to my sources, nobody in the land knows their way around the caves quite as well as you do.”

 “I’m flattered, although I am quite curious to know who’s been saying such kind words about me behind my back,” you said, wishing you knew who Taehyun had been in communication with that would know of your occupation and skillsets. “So, what I am gathering is this; you want me to guide you to this cave and help you break the spell in order to finally have the magic distributed back into the kingdom?”

 “Precisely. Only if you are willing to do so, of course.”

 It was your turn to smile then as you stood to your feet, extending your hand towards him for a shake. “You needn’t ask me twice, Your Highness. When do we leave?”

 He stood as well, his smile mirroring your own as he took your hand in his and shook it. “We head out first thing tomorrow morning, my lady. Until then, let us prepare. Together.”

 -

 YOU AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING TO THE SOUND OF A CRACKLING FIRE.

 Beneath your face was something warm and soft, but not quite as soft as the pillow you had slept upon the night before. When your eyes fluttered open, you were surprised to see that you had fallen asleep in the drawing room, the map you and Taehyun had spent all day studying spread out on the table before you, and your head resting upon his shoulder.

 You quickly sat up, brushing your hands through your hair in an attempt to fix the wild strands. Taehyun was already awake, smiling at you as you looked away, cheeks growing warm.

 “Did you sleep well?” He asked. It was still early in the morning—so early that the sun had not even risen yet, leaving the room bathed in the predawn darkness.

 You shrugged, daring to look back at him only to see him smirking at you in the dark. “Well enough, I suppose,” you mumbled, your eyes finally landing on the source of the sound you had awoken to. In the corner of the room, Taehyun had gathered a pile of logs and started a small fire atop them, casting a soft orange glow upon the room made of ice. You gasped, turning back towards the prince. Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead and cheeks, and you noticed that his breaths were much more labored than they had been before.

 “Taehyun, what are you thinking?” You asked, grabbing his arm firmly. “Go put that out. Now.”

 “You were shivering,” He said, refusing to let his eyes meet yours. “I didn’t want to see you suffer. It’s the least I could do after all you have been through because of us—if I can suffer in your place, I will do so gladly.”

 You sighed in exasperation, grasping his hand in your own. He looked at you then, eyes wide from the unexpected contact. “Your Highness, you have been doing everything within your power so far to right what has been wrong for so long. I refuse to let you blame yourself and cause yourself any form of pain for something that has always been out of your control. In order for us to finish this, we must do so together. Now, go put that fire out or I will be forced to find a way to do it myself. And I will have you know that my methods are not usually the safest.”

 He sighed, finally giving in as he raised his hand, a gust of icy wind blowing past your face and killing the fire on the far side of the room. You sighed in relief, giving his hand a squeeze before you let it go.

 “Thank you,” he whispered. “I do not feel as though I deserve your kindness nor your understanding, but I am grateful to be receiving it regardless.”

 “Everyone deserves kindness and understanding, Your Highness. Especially you.”

 After that, the two of you grabbed a quick breakfast from the dining hall and gathered all your supplies from the drawing room before you threw on a thick cloak, allowing Taehyun to lead you out into the snow and to the stables. He introduced you to the reindeer named Atlas that would be pulling your sled, and then led you into the stable where the sled was stored in order for the two of you to finish gathering a few last-minute supplies before you were to head out on your quest.

 While Taehyun began throwing things into the back of the sled, you became distracted by a wall strung with weaponry. A quiver of arrows caught your eye, and you reached up to pull a single arrow out, observing it closely.

 “This looks like something Jake would be interested in,” you mused, twirling the arrow between your fingertips before you set it back in its place. “He’s been trying to improve his archery.”

 Perhaps it was your imagination, but when you looked back at Taehyun, you could have sworn you saw his smile falter, at least for a moment. He shook it off though, throwing a sack of food into the back of the sled before he asked, “So, you and this Jake guy. How long have you been courting?”

 You nearly choked on the stable’s air, throwing your hand against your chest in shock. “I’m sorry, what?”

 He raised a brow, turning to face you fully. “You are courting him, aren’t you? He seemed to be concerned for you in a way that went deeper than friendship, from what I was able to observe.”

 “Oh, please. Jake flirts with anyone who even bats an eye in his direction. We are not in a relationship.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the mere thought. “The only time I ever touch that man is when I’m trying to slap some sense into him—and I mean that quite literally.”

 Taehyun laughed, almost as though he were relieved, while he began to tighten the reins that kept Atlas anchored to the sled. “Would you ever consider courting him? If he asked you to, of course.”

 “He has asked, and I’ve never considered saying anything other than no.” You picked up the pile of blankets one of the servants had left by the sled and lifted it over the edge, making sure they landed right in the middle of the bench where the two of you were to be seated. “He is not my type.”

 Taehyun leaned back against the sled, the slight smirk you had grown accustomed to seeing taking over his features once again. “Well, what exactly is your type, my lady?”

 You went still, not sure why his question made your stomach flutter like a disturbed nest of bluebirds. You had never really given this much thought before, but now that he had asked you, your mind was instantly flooded with thoughts of cold hands and warm smiles, icy eyes and flushed cheeks, strong arms and gentle words.

 You turned away from him before you spoke, trying your best to be nonchalant. “I think I’d like to find someone that I understand more than anyone else. Somebody that the rest of world may see as cold and brittle, but someone I know to be warm and soft on the inside.”

 When there was nothing but silence after your words, you dared to glance back over your shoulder at the prince. Upon doing so, you were more than a little bit happy to see that you had made him just as flustered as he had made you, with his cheeks and nose painted cherry red—and not just from the cold.

 He cleared his throat, biting his lip to keep his smile from being too obvious. “Good to know. If I ever meet someone who I think would meet those standards, I’ll be sure to send them your way.”

 “Oh, please do,” You said, glad that the tense silence was thawing. “And quickly if you don’t mind. The elders in my community remind me at every passing chance that my childbearing years will be over before I know it, since that’s apparently all that matters.”

 That earned an even bigger laugh from him, which caused to you giggle in return. When he smiled at you again, you couldn’t help but lose yourself in his eyes. But who could blame you when they sparkled like freshly fallen snow beneath the morning sunlight?

 “I’ll keep that in mind, my lady.” He hoisted himself into the sled and extended his hand out towards you, his brilliant smile never once falling from his face as he said, “Now, what do you say we go and restore this kingdom to its former glory? I believe it’s long overdue.”

 -

 THE SLEIGH RIDE THROUGH THE KINGDOM HAD BEEN FAIRLY PEACEFUL, FOR THE MOST PART. Taehyun had the reins and was guiding Atlas through the snow-capped mountains while you held the map and directed him, although you could practically navigate your way throughout the kingdom with your eyes closed, no doubt.

 The scenery was beautiful in some ways. Trees weighed down by ice coated branches, casting rainbows across the ground as the sunshine reflected through them. The deep snow covered the ground, coating the entire landscape in a blanket of endless white. You sighed, perhaps a bit too loudly as you gained Taehyun’s attention.

 “What could possibly be weighing so heavy on your mind to earn such a heavy sigh, my lady?”

 You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that took over your lips at his jest. “I’m just tired of all the ice, I suppose. It’s so suffocating. It kills all the beautiful things and leaves us with nothing in return but cold.”

 “That’s not how I see it though,” Taehyun said, holding onto the reins with one hand so he could keep the other around your shoulders, making sure you didn’t fall out of the sled as you crossed over a particularly bumpy patch of ground.

 “What do you mean?” You asked, willing your expression to remain steadfast lest you reveal how flustered you were by Taehyun’s physical contact.

 He smirked, and you cursed yourself internally, knowing that perhaps the faint flush in your cheeks had given you away after all.

 “I mean, I see the ice as more of a new beginning than an ending,” He explained. “Of course, it does freeze everything over for a while, but it thaws eventually. And when it does, everything starts all over again. The rivers start running, the flowers begin to bloom, the animals come out of their sleep. Everything begins again, until it is time to freeze once more.”

 “Well, that sounds nice in theory, my dear prince, but I am afraid there’s something you are forgetting,” You said.

 “And what is that?”

 “This is the Kingdom of Glacies. Well, the version your grandfather created, that is.” The smile fell from your lips. “The ice here never thaws.”

 “Maybe the kingdom is still waiting for its new beginning,” He said. Gently, he grabbed your chin and turned your face towards his. He smiled then, the action alone so bright and warm, you were surprised the snow didn’t melt right off the trees.

 “The kingdom may still be waiting for its new beginning,” He whispered, “But I think I have found mine.”

 You were speechless. Never in a million different lifetimes would you have even dared to imagine the Prince of Glacies saying such sweet words to you. Unsure of how to respond, you cleared your throat and looked away, afraid your face would melt right off at this rate. You heard the sound of rushing water not too far off, and you glanced over to see a small spring beneath a gentle waterfall.

 “We should stop there to let Atlas drink,” you suggested, leaning forward to pet the back of the reindeer. “It would be nice for us to stretch our legs too.”

 Taehyun obliged, leading Atlas over towards the spring. You were more than happy to jump out from the back of the sled and stretch your legs, and the view was nothing short of spectacular. As you drew closer to the border between Glacies and Terrae, there were a few patches of green grass peeking through the snow, and some bodies of water—like this spring—were unfrozen. Seeing the rushing body of water made you think of what Taehyun had said to you just moments ago, and you felt your heart flutter once again.

 You nearly flinched in shock when you felt him slip his fingers between yours, gripping your hand tightly.

 He smiled, running his thumb along the back of your hand. “Care to go for a stroll?”

 You nodded, deciding to push past your nervous feelings by taking the lead and pulling him along behind you. You were both quiet as you walked, taking careful steps over the snowy grass and onto the rocks that led up towards the waterfall. When you reached the fall, you stuck your hand beneath it. It was cold, of course, but you were mesmerized by how it sparkled, dots of the afternoon sun shining through the beads of water. The pressure of the waterfall was fairly low—no stronger than a drizzle of rain. The water first hit the slab of stone that the two of you were standing on before it cascaded down into another, smaller waterfall, which led into the spring that Atlas was drinking from.

 “Do you like it here?” Taehyun asked, watching the way your eyes glowed as you let the water fall between your fingers.

 You looked back at him, smiling brightly. “I love it. Don’t you?”

 He nodded, glancing up at the falls then back at you. “It’s beautiful.”

 He looked down at your hand in his for a moment, and then he gently tugged on it, causing to stumble a few steps closer to him. You raised a brow, clearly confused, but didn’t pull away.

 “How about here?” He asked.

 You nodded slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Sure. I like it here as well.”

 He swallowed, gathering all the courage from every corner of his soul before he took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of you, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw while he kept the other tightly intertwined with your own.

 Your eyes were wide, lips parted in shock, but you made no moves to distance yourself from him. Slowly, he brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, lowering his face towards yours so that he could feel your breath against his own mouth.

 “And here?” He whispered, his eyes meeting yours. “Do you like it here?”

 When you nodded once again in answer to his hushed question, he wasted no time in diminishing the space left between the two of you to gently press his lips against your own.

 His lips worked against yours perfectly as you allowed your eyes to fall shut, letting your hand fall from his grasp so you could hold his neck in your palms, your fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him as his kiss grew deeper and you followed along, tilting your head to better match your lips with the pace of his.

 When he pulled away from you abruptly and rested his forehead against your shoulder, you knew right away that something was wrong. He was breathing deeply, his hands clutching the fabric of your dress. You cupped his cheeks in your hands and lifted his face to yours, seeing how red his cheeks, nose, and ears had gotten.

 “Taehyun? What’s wrong?”

 He let out a shaky breath, his eyes still closed, his chest still heaving. “I’m—I’m sorry. I can’t kiss you, it’s too—I’m getting too warm.”

 Your heart sank as you continued to hold his face in your hands, racking your brain for ideas. The sound of the waterfall rushing behind you filled your ears, and you glanced over your shoulder, biting your lip as an idea popped into your head.

 Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, you carefully walked backwards until you felt the ice cold water cascade over your head and down your back, stopping once you and Taehyun were both standing fully beneath the waterfall.

 His eyes were wide, and he was slowly beginning to stand up straighter, his face growing less and less warm beneath your skin as the moments passed by.

 “What are you doing?” He asked, nearly shouting to be heard above the light rush of water.

 You smiled, pushing back pieces of his hair that the water had plastered to his forehead, only for them to fall right back into place.

 “Why would you ask a question with such an obvious answer, Your Highness? I’m about to kiss you.”

 He seemed to be in shock, but before he could utter out a single word in reply, you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him once more beneath the cascade of icy water, the feeling of his lips against your own giving you more than enough warmth in the core of your soul.

 -

 IT DIDN’T TAKE YOU LONG TO REACH THE CAVE WHERE THE LATE KING HAD FIRST CAST THE SPELL THAT RUINED THE LAND OF GLACIES. You had set back out on the road shortly after your somewhat extended rest stop, and by following the map closely, you arrived at the mouth of a cave with icicles hanging from the top and also sticking up from the ground. It looked much like the mouth of a great beast. It was too dangerous to try and bring Atlas inside with you, so Taehyun tied him and the sled to a nearby tree. He grabbed the bag that held the crown inside of it in one hand and then made his way to your side.

 “Are you ready?” Whether his question was directed towards you or himself, you couldn’t be sure. Regardless, you took his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.

 “I am ready when you are, Your Highness.”

 He smiled before he took the first step into the cave, carefully sliding between two spires of ice and gently pulling you along behind him. The cave didn’t go on for very long, and there was no need for you to bring a lantern along with you, as the daylight that spilled in through the entrance was more than enough to light your way.

 When you reached the end of the shallow cave, a large pedestal made of stone was waiting for you. It was surrounded by a perfectly round back wall, with ancient texts inscribed on the walls. You weren’t able to decipher them, but you made your way towards the pedestal, your hand still locked with Taehyun’s.

 A large black scorch mark in the shape of a sharp snowflake tainted the surface of the pedestal. Atop it rested a tattered and torn piece of tan paper, also written in a language you were unable to read. You slowly picked it up and handed it to Taehyun. “Can you read this?”

 He nodded, squinting his eyes a bit before he read the words written on the page.

 “To seize the power given to all, you must first destroy the treasure within. To restore the treasure within your soul, you must then destroy your everything.”

 As soon as the words had left Taehyun’s lift, a violent, howling wind burst through the room. It blew with so much force that your hand was ripped from Taehyun’s, and you were thrown back against the stone wall of the cave. Taehyun was blown to the side opposite of you, and the crown fell from his grasp, landing near your feet. For some reason, the crown didn’t seem to be affected by the wind, as it remained stationary.

 “What’s going on?” You shouted, gripping at a spire of ice nearby to keep from being blown right out of the cave. Bits of sleet and snow were pricking at your skin, the chilling air feeling sharper than the blade of ice Taehyun had held against your neck just days before.

 “I don’t know,” He shouted back, gripping a rock that protruded from his side of the cave. “We need to decipher what was written down on that paper—that must be how we are to break the spell!”

 The words scribbled onto the page flashed through your mind.

 To seize the power given to all, you must first destroy the treasure within. This was obviously referring to the spell itself—the one cast by Taehyun’s grandfather. In order to steal the magic from the rest of his subjects, he had to sacrifice the most valuable power of all—his humanity.

 To restore the treasure within your soul, you must then destroy your everything.

 What had been everything to the late king?

 His power.

 His crown.

 “Taehyun!” You shouted, daring to hold on to the spire with one hand in order to point at the crown by your feet, which still remained unmoving amidst the magical storm. “The crown—you must destroy it!”

 He tried to stand, but was instantly knocked back on his rear, desperately grasping back onto the rock that kept him anchored. “I cannot make it over there to retrieve it!”

 You bit your lip, glancing between Taehyun and the crown only for a moment before you made up your mind. You knew what you had to do.

 “Y/N,” Taehyun warned, catching on to what you were about to do. “Y/N, don’t—!”

 It was too late. You used your boot to pull the crown towards you before you grasped it in your fist. Pain shot through every inch of your being—beginning in your neck, then spreading through your chest and your legs, to the tips of your fingers and the bottoms of your toes, piercing through you like the sharpest bite of frost. You cried out in pain, over the noise of Taehyun screaming for you to put it down, before you mustered up every last bit of strength within you to lurch the crown towards the prince.

 He caught it with one hand, his heart racing as he saw you fall limp to the ground, the wind battering and blowing your unconscious form around like a lone leaf in the winter’s wind. Tears stung at the back of his eyes, and he glared at the crown in his fist, all the anger and resentment he had felt towards his grandfather over all the years combined with the fear of losing you coming to a peak within him. He channeled every bit of these hostile and fearful emotions into the palm of his hand, where a burst of ice so strong was emitted that it covered the room in a blanket of white, the crown first cracking in his hand before it burst into a million shards, scattering all over the cave floor like pieces of glass.

 The storm died out immediately, and Taehyun felt a rush of energy enter into his body. He felt stronger, healthier, warmer. But none of that mattered to him. Not when you were nearly lifeless on the other side of the cave.

 “Y/N!” He shouted, tripping over his own feet as he sprinted towards you. He collapsed to the ground beside of you, gasping at the sight of blood dripping down your neck and seeping through your clothes.

 “No, no, no,” he whimpered, the tears finally slipping down his cheeks as his hands pressed against your wounds, but there were too many of them for him to cover.

Desperate, he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. He knew that he no longer had access to all the powers he once did now that the spell was broken. There was no way for him to know if his healing magic was his true form of magic.

 But he had to try.

 At first, when he tried to omit the soft glow of icy power from his palms, nothing happened. But then, he felt a familiar tickling sensation on the surface of his skin. He opened one eye, then the other, nearly breaking down in sobs of relief as he watched gentle trails of frost travel down your skin, closing all your wounds and erasing any traces of them that would normally be left behind.

 When the last cut had disappeared, your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled at him.

 “Well done, your highness. You’ve broken the curse.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you upright, crushing you against him in a hug.

 “Never do anything like that ever again,” He muttered against your ear, squeezing you even tighter. “I thought I lost you.”

 “You cannot get rid of me that easily, Your Highness,” you teased, pulling away just enough so you could look into his eyes. “Besides, I knew that healing magic was your true gift. I knew you would save me.”

 “And how exactly did you know that, my lady?”

 You pecked him on the nose, giggling at how red it turned afterwards. “Because you are a kind and good prince, Taehyun. And you will make a wonderful, healing king.”

 “What about you?” He asked. “We should see what ice power you have been gifted.”

 You hesitated, gently holding one of your hands out in front of you. Your brows knit together, and Taehyun laughed at the expression before he placed his hand beneath yours.

 “Feel the energy running through your veins,” He said. “Let the magic guide you.”

 Nothing happened for the first few moments. But then, one by one, snowflakes began to fall, seemingly from out of nowhere. Soon, you held a tiny snowstorm in the palm of your hand. You gasped, eyes glowing with excitement.

 “It worked,” You said, staring at what you had created in awe before you allowed it to die down.  You then cupped his cheeks in your hands, leaning closer towards him.

 “How does it feel to finally be free? What is the first thing you would like to do now?” You asked.

 He couldn’t take his eyes from your face, his thumbs tracing invisible lines across your cheeks and your jaw, occasionally slipping over your lips. “The first thing? Simple; I want to make you my queen.”

 You coughed, but remained fairly unphased by his forwardness as you responded with, “Although that is something you could have done without breaking the spell, I am quite fond of the idea. Yet, I have one even better than that—how about we instead dissolve the monarchy together?”

 He laughed at that, brushing his hands through your hair before cradling your jaw once more. “One step at a time, princess. We can talk about that later. But what about you? What are you most excited about now that the kingdom has been restored?”

 You smiled then, not having to take long at all to think of your answer. “As wonderful as having newfound magical abilities may be, my prince, the most wonderful thing about breaking this spell is that I am now able to kiss you wherever I please—without having to stand beneath a freezing waterfall.”

 This time, when you leaned forward to capture his lips with yours, Taehyun gladly welcomed the warmth that rushed to his cheeks. And as he kissed you, he was sure that all the warmth that spread throughout him was enough to heat the entire kingdom, so much so that he dared to imagine that the eternal ice of the Kingdom of Glacies would finally begin to thaw.

[supposed-to-be]

generation

I wonder if my grandmother knows the word “trauma.” The word “abuse” is written in bloody gouges in the hall of portraits I keep in my mind, scrawled over the blurry image of a great-grandfather nobody talks about. It’s written lighter, in a more forgiving fountain pen, along the picture of my pépe. His is a black-and-white photo of a loose-jowled man with combed-over black hair, eyes smudged away by thick-lensed glasses and cigarette smoke. My grandmother has never read studies saying that kids who are abused are more likely to find themselves in an abusive marriage. If she’s ever stopped to wonder what drew her to a handsome, hard-drinking man with eyes for other women, she’s pushed the thought away after years with no answer. She takes it all in stride, says with hard eyes that that’s the way the world is. I disagree, use as evidence my father, who stands gentle and open-handed in the doorway, enduring her ice-shard demeanor with his warmest smile. He calls her “Mom” and doesn’t resent her for resenting him. My arguments rest behind my teeth, and my grandmother cradles my face in gentle palms, kisses me on the nose, says “darlin’,” while I swallow back my complaints and resolve never to defend men when she makes herself vulnerable. She loves me despite the fact that my creation required the presence of a male, so that will be enough.  

I wonder if my mother knows the word “gaslighting.” I wonder if she knows that we can do it to ourselves, downplaying what we went through and attaching “of course” at the front. Do those wire-rimmed glasses warp the light so she doesn’t see the horror in my face? Or does she see it only as something to comfort and soothe away, never considering she could accept it as it was meant to be: a gift, for her. Mother, let your children hurt. They do it for your sake. My kind mother is so good at perceiving the needs around her that when we adopted my sister she talked for weeks about childhood PTSD and had no idea she was describing herself. My mother built a home on her sweat and tears that is nothing like the one she grew up in. My mother learned kind words and soft hands on her own, when there was no one to teach her. There are no shouts in this home, no curses, no bottles flung at the wall. I descend from a line of women with Teflon on one side of their hearts and gauze strips on the other, kiss away a child’s scraped knees and leave their own wounds bleeding and raw.

I wonder if I’m being too sensitive, when I hear the words “generational trauma” and know that they’re true. I know that every time the light fades from the sky and my father isn’t home, the gut-wrenching terror of a little girl realizing daddy’s never coming back sinks ancient claws in my mother’s soul. She thinks that she’s angry, she feels the burn of my grandmother’s bitterness suddenly swamp her bones, but maybe it doesn’t cross her mind that she’s mostly frightened and sad. I’ve never asked. It’s my pépe’s last name that stayed even after he got a divorce. It’s my pépe’s family that my family uses jokingly, each time my brother flares with white-hot temper or stands his ground like a guard dog. My grandmother claimed that name as her own. My mother carried it until my father convinced her to set it down. But I only grazed the edge of it with my fingertips, born under a different banner, saturated with my father’s side, voice too quiet to make that fierce name heard. My matriarchs are warriors who gave birth to a moon-moth. I crumple like tissue wings at the slightest touch; I hover between freezing to death and burning up, unable to get warm even when the fire hurts too much. A deserter leaving the front lines for my bedroom, I retreat each time my father meets the glacial wall of my mother’s eternal cold shoulder. A fugitive holding her breath and waiting to be found, I put my ear to the ground and study the different tones of angry sighs. No one else in the house knows the difference between the “money’s tight again this month,” and “he didn’t come home for dinner again,” but I am the most careful student.

I wonder, mostly, if it would have made a difference. As a young girl, my grandmother welded iron to her spine while violence swirled around her. When my mother was the age that I am now she ripped the armor off her heart with bloodied stumps of fingernails and taught herself to love for my sake and my brother’s. If I’d inherited their steel and iron and acid I might have sat my mother and grandmother down for some therapy, but instead I write my thoughts in a document neither of them will ever see. Maybe this makes me weak. Maybe weak is a privilege that I have because I grew up safe, landed soft at a mother’s hard side.

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 9:

FMRN

Would You Go With Me

My Stress

Today was the day, Leo was moving to Gryffindor with two sexy hockey players who actually want him. He hasn’t stopped smiling for the last 26 hours. He was currently in the shower while his boys packed a ‘sexy time’ bag in his closet. Casually bopping to the beat of FMRN as he rinsed off his body. Stepping out of the shower he starts drying off. Legs, stomach, chest, face and everything else. Walking to the closet for the connecting door to the bathroom he finds Finn sitting on a suitcase and Logan trying to zip it shut. Shaking his head he walks over to this plane clothes and starts getting dressed, just a simple pair of jeans, t shirt, belt and baseball cap.

The music was still in the background as Logan jumps up and whoops with triumph. Skipping over to Leo he pulls him in for a rather aggressive, excited, kiss with Finn following with his own sweet and gentle one of his own.

“That bag is crazy full, just so you know.” Finn smiles and kisses Logan’s forehead, the shorter of them was still buzzing like he drank six energy drinks. They heard a bell being rung for breakfast and all sprint over each other to get downstairs.

Judy does not play when it comes to breakfast.

After a healthy morning breakfast of shrimp and grits, or cheese grits if you are Leo, everyone started packing up the vehicles. Leo gets car sick a lot of the time in smaller cars so he is driving them to the airport, ‘them’ meaning Clay and Reg… Finn and Logan got kicked out into Thomas and Noelle's car. Logan fought a little about it but Finn knew that Leo still needed his space. So convincing Logan to go with him by offering a bag of salt and vinegar pork rinds, was rather easy.

Finn has noticed how easy to fall Leo is, he just hopes that Leo doesn’t hesitate with them. Logan didn’t make a very good impression the first time they left. Ever since then Leo has been, understandably, cautious around them. It hurts a little but Finn only ever notices after he looks back on a situation. How Leo looks unsure or hesitates to touch them.

He figured them living together might help Leo open up to him. He just wants him to be happy and safe with them.

“Why am I so nervous…? I have been talking about these two for the entire summer. Shouldn’t I be more excited?” Leo opens the gate with an app on his phone before setting it down in the cupholder. Reg and Clay share a look.

Leo has taken to getting drunk to open up about his fears, Reg and Clay have both become therapists for a sad Leo who isn’t thinking right. It usually stems from Logan's words he used to kiss Leo goodbye for the first time.

‘You are just… a guy who we had a fling’

‘You don’t mean anything to us Leo’

‘Stop being a fucking child Leo!’

Those words haunt Leo when he isn’t distracted in some way. It has gotten better ever since their trip to Gryffindor the first time, but they knew it still bothered him.

“Maybe it's because you are living somewhere away from Peanut for so long.” Clay smiles at him when their eyes meet in the rearview mirror.

“I did try and convince Logan to let him come with, but it was a no. I still can’t believe he is afraid of horses.” Leo snorts and visibly relaxes.

“You know you can always stay with me if you ever need anything, right?” Reg looks at him and gives him a soft smile. Leo squeezes his bicep in thanks. They continue the rest of the drive by Clay annoying Regulus until Reg climbs into the backseat to give him a couple of smacks with a bag of sunflower seeds.

A plane ride and a sleepy car ride later, Leo was carrying most of his bag into Finn’s apartment. He set everything down in the second bedroom and looked around. This was the smallest bedroom he has ever been in… But he was hoping he’d be spending most of his time in the master bedroom anyway. Biting his lip at the thought he is jolted out of his thoughts by two idiots trying to squeeze through the room door at the same time.

“I think we are stuck…”

“Non, I can get us out!” Logan pushes the bag that was in between then onto the floor and they both go toppling over. Leo couldn’t help that laugh that flew out of his mouth. He walks over to help them out just to be pulled into the pile on the ground. Right on top of his baseball bag.

“Oh fuck! Bat in my ribs!”

“You brought a bat!?” Logan is looking at him like he's insane but helps him stand after pushing Finn off himself. “How are you going to use that on the ice?”

“Lo… he plays baseball, not hockey.” Logan rolls his eyes and just ‘blah blah blah’s behind Finn’s back. “Why did you bring it though? It’s going to be too cold to play.”

“Gryff has an indoor batting cage, I looked it up before we left. Shouldn’t you know everything here by now?” Leo starts laying the bags out in a line and opening them up to start organizing the room. Clothes are first.

“Lo doesn’t get out much.” He gets a swift smack to the chest with a pair of long socks from said hermit. Rubbing his chest he smiles. “I have no excuse. Where do you want these?” Holding up the third pair of boots he has found while rummaging in Leo’s bags he holds them up.

“By the wall please.”

“So polite. Logan, you could learn something from him.” Logan makes a sound of offense and was going to say something back in return but Leo turns on his speaker and starts playing some country yeehaw shit, it's growing on him and he won’t lie about it.

“I love this song.” Leo grabs Logan by the wrist and pulls him close, one hand on his waist and the other interlocking their fingers. Swaying to the beat he suddenly pulls away to grab Finn's hand and spins him into his chest while singing “If I gave you my hand, would you take it And make me the happiest man in the world? If I told you my heart couldn't beat one more minute without you, Finn. Would you accompany me to the edge of the sea? Let me know if you're really a dream. I love you so, so would you go with me?”

Swinging Finn around as Logan watched in awe Leo is pulling away from Finn and holding his hand out to Logan. Breathing slightly heavy just smiling his bright chipped smile with his wild blue eyes. Logan can’t help but take his hand and let himself be spun so his back is to Leo’s chest as he mumbles those same words into his shoulder. “If I gave you my hand, would you take it? And make me the happiest man in the world? If I told you my heart couldn't beat one more minute without you, Lo. Would you accompany me to the edge of the sea? Let me know if you're really a dream. I love you so, so would you go with me?”

Hours of dancing and actual unpacking later, Logan had to leave to watch the kids while Celeste and Dumo head to their eye appointments. Leo was sprawled out on the sofa, mostly asleep, when he felt a kiss on his temple and heard some mumbling.

“I’m going on a run, I’ll be back. Okay?” Nodding a couple seconds later after the question sunk in, Leo gives him a quick peck on the lips and buries himself back into the couch.

When he wakes up Finn still isn’t back, his own phone is dead, and it's cold. He sets his feet on the ground after sitting up and a shiver runs through his body. Wrapping his arms around himself he walks to his new room and pulls on his thickest socks, that just happen to have a hole that his big toes catches on. He also decides to change into his one pair of sweats, the Lions ones from the hockey game, and the sweatshirt he wore with them. Putting the hood up and pulling it tight so just his face isn't covered, tying a little bow he doesn’t care how he looks, he’s warmish now.

Wandering into the kitchen and plugging his phone into an outlet in the island, he texts the boys asking what they want to eat, turning on the oven would feel nice. While he's waiting for a response he decided to look around. He walks into the living room where he was just napping to look at all the pictures Finn has of his team, family, friends and him and Logan.

Smiling he picks up a picture frame with Finn on some guy's back, Leo thinks his name is Kasey if he remembers properly. They are in a fountain but only Kasey is wet. He sets it down and picks up a picture that is not in a frame but just laying on the table. Odd. It is of Finn and Logan, they look younger and Logan has a blonde streak in his hair. They are smiling wider than Leo has ever seen them smile. Finn has his arm around Logan’s shoulder and Logan has his arm around Finn’s waist.

Their cheeks are pressed together. It’s sweet. Leo turns the picture over and reads what is written on the back.

‘The year I found the one.’

Leo smiles and sets the picture back down, walking over the wall that has pictures literally taped to it. He makes a mental note to buy some frames. He is taking in all the smiles of people he didn’t know, a man looking like Finn and Finn actually headbutting in a picture makes him laugh.

He hears his phone ding with a text notification, he makes his way over and notices the corner of a picture sticking out from under the couch. He pauses in his path and bends down to pick it up. It’s folded, but it’s a picture of Finn and Logan at the bonfire that Leo took them too. Leo unfolds the side of the picture and realises… there is a crease over his own face.

Ouch.

He folds the crease again and sees how it completely cuts him out of the picture. Leo actually has this same picture in the back of his phone case. Suddenly that tiny drop of doubt becomes flooding water filling up his head. Putting the picture down on the counter after he walks back over to the phone.

He opens his messages to the boys needing steak for dinner… maybe… Did they forget? He sighs and feels the doubt flooding from his brain to his heart. Shaky hands start some music to hopefully distract himself from the smell and texture of meat. Clicking his phone off he starts working on dinner.

Finn and Logan walk in the apartment together, laughing and still sweaty from the run that Logan joined Finn half way through. Taking off their shoes and setting Logan’s bag by the door, a heavenly smell fingers their nose holes.

They share a look of confusion for a moment when they realize the smell is actually steak… They thought Leo would have gotten the joke but maybe not. Maybe the ‘lol’ and ‘lmao definitely’ weren’t obvious enough. They make their way to the kitchen and hear the music and the sizzle of a pan.

They turn the corner to see Leo, looking rather sad. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks slightly green, he is watching a small steak cook in a pan with no emotion in those normally challenging eyes. His hair looks like he has ran his hands through it and gripped it so it is standing wildly on his head. His hood is tied but not on his head. He is slightly shivering from either it being cold or something else.

Finn was the first to approach him. Resting his hand gently on Leo’s as they hold the spatula with a death grip, he takes the tool away and tosses it towards the sink and having no clue where it landed. Logan has taken it upon himself to turn off the stove and move the pan off the heat.

“Leo?”

“Are you using me?” Leo just blurts out what he is thinking and automatically regrets it from the look of hurt on Finn’s face and the look of anger on Logan’s.

“Let's talk about this while we clean these.” Finn holds up Leo’s hand to inspect the tiny knife cuts he accidently got from chopping onions. Being pulled towards the bathroom, Leo is told to sit on the counter. He does. Logan takes the peroxide from Finn and wets a couple of cotton balls with it.

Scrunching his nose as Logan dabs his small nicks he looks up at Finn who is holding two boxes of bandages, one box is Bob the Builder theme and the other is Hello Kitty. Smiling Leo nods towards the Hello Kitty ones.

“What makes you think we are using you?” Leo zones out for a second, thinking about the song that is still playing in the kitchen and how they need to turn the music off. “Leo.” He remembers that he was being asked a question and clears his throat.

“I don’t know, It’s just that you guys were already together before I came into your relationship. I just feel like maybe I’m just here to piss people off or as some… I dunno fetish maybe. I know it hasn’t been super long but I thought that maybe you would have one or two pictures of me. And I saw the folded one where it’s folded over me…” He is avoiding looking at Logan at all costs.

“I can’t speak for Logan,” Finn cups his cheek and makes him look at him. “But I really really like you, and I’m definitely with you, for you.” Smiling at him Leo lets himself be kissed and melts into it. Pulling away they both look towards Logan, who seems to be lost for words.

“I can’t believe you would think of us like that!” Finn gives him a warning look and Logan takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I just- I’m not good at this type of stuff. I’m really bad at expressing my feelings and emotions, usually I show them in other ways.” He takes Leo's hand and plays with his fingers. “I’m sorry I just snapped a second ago, I’m used to Finn speaking for the both of us… but I’m realizing that makes us ‘one’ in this relationship when obviously there are two of us that really want you.” Leo smiled a little and lifted Logan's hand to his lips giving it a few kisses.

“I really like you too, Lo.” he smiles the tiniest smile and turns to look at Finn. “I like you too.”

Logan and Finn lean in to kiss Leo’s cheeks at the same time. Smiling, Leo lets himself receive the affection without worrying if it's real.

He can worry when he is alone.

[honeyedlashton]

Thanks for Being a Friend

Words: 2170

Warning: some homophobic comments, and mentions of violence and bullying.

Ship: lashton fluff essentially

A/N: I haven’t written one of these in so long I forgot how to do it. Anyway. I’ve been sitting on this idea that Luke and Ashton met working at the same mall. A lot of it is based off of conversations I’ve had with hemmoangel so I can’t take all the credit. But anyway, this is how I think it went down. This is only for fluff and soft reasons. I’m trying to get back into the swing of little blurbs, so please be kind.

——————————————————————————

It wasn’t the first time Ashton had met him. He was sure they’d met before. Maybe when Ashton would only have a half shift at the KFC, and he’d catch a movie after work. He might’ve seen the boy at the consession stand. He’d probably bought popcorn from him. Better yet, he knew he remembered buying gum from him on one of his breaks every now and then. Who else was he supposed to go to when there was only a small sea of food court tables between him and a new pack of peppermint?

No, Ashton was very certain he’d seen him. Certain he’d kept his eyes out for this small, blonde boy—no matter how subconsciously he’d taken a notice. It was enough to remember his name.

“Luke”

That was what his little plastic name tag read. From the first day, to right now it stuck out in his memory. It was white plastic on a blue uniform shirt, Ashton always thought the color looked a little like Luke’s eyes—if a little darker.

Except today those eyes were covered by sunglasses. Little fluorescent green frames with black lenses. A bold fashion statement. The aviator frames took up half of the boy’s face, and his straightened blonde hair covered his forehead. This left only pink heart-shaped lips, a small pixie nose, and a delicate jaw as the only discernible features. But the glasses were the cause of torment from Ashton’s group of friends on this particular evening.

“Will you guys shut up, already?” Ashton huffed back at them as he handed Luke fifteen for their various drinks and snacks. “You’re all being really rude. And you owe me money on top of it.”

The three others in Ashton’s group silenced for a second, then whispered among themselves.

“What did I say? Shut up.” He rolled his eyes. “And give me 12 bucks while you’re at it. I’m not made of money, you know...”

Ashton was avoiding looking at Luke as he worked. His cheeks hot with embarrassment. Mostly, he didn’t want Luke thinking that he thought like his asshole friends. “Hey, I like your glasses, man. Don’t worry about it.” He cooed softly when the blonde had came back with their drinks.

Luke let off a wan smile, but nothing like the normal cheery one he would normally wear. “Thanks.”

One of them handed Ashton all 12 bucks, while the rest took the drinks Luke had made them and walked off. Ashton heard “faggot” leave one of his friend’s mouths, and he looked up at Luke instantly. His mouth already poised to apologize.

But the pain he expected on Luke’s face—or the half that wasn’t behind the glasses—had been painted over into a sort of barely noticeable pout. “Have a good show,” he wasn’t sure if Luke’s voice was wobbling or if he’d misheard, but Ashton’s heart broke for him anyway.

“Luke, I’m so sorry about them. I’m not even friends with these assholes.”

“It’s okay,” Luke whispered, busying himself with toweling up a nonexistent puddle on the counter.

“No really, I’m so sorry...here,” Ashton bit his lip and looked between Luke’s pale hands and the other members of his party. “I’ll be right back.”

Luke didn’t seem to care about anything Ashton was saying, but he left anyway. He went to his group. “Which one is the Diet Coke?” He asked them cooly.

One of them handed Ashton one of the paper cups with the blue cinema logo on the outside. Ashton smiled without emotion and mimicked Luke. “Have a good show, assholes.”

He actually reveled their confused faces. And when faced with questions like: “What? Where are you going?” and “You’re not gonna hang with that kid, right?” Ashton only smirked.

“Well, it beats hanging with you losers.” He shrugged and sipped the drink through the straw. “Ugh, this is your Coke Zero, actually.” Ashton traded it and flicked them off as he left, feeling higher than life.

However that came to a halt when he got back to Luke, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere other than behind that counter. Thankfully there weren’t that many people around, and none of them were looking to buy popcorn. “Have you taken your break yet?” He asked softly.

Luke shook his head softly, and Ashton could see the little sliver of a blush under the rim of Luke’s glasses. And then he noticed a single tear clung to his jaw.

“What do you get? Fifteen minutes? It’s dead now, why don’t we go sit for a little bit.”

“I don’t know you,” Luke said softly.

“Mmm,” Ashton nodded. “Alright. I’m Ashton Irwin. I’m sixteen. I work at KFC across the food court, and sometimes I buy gum from you.”

“Oh...” Luke nodded.

“See? Now we’re not complete strangers,” Ashton cooed smoothly. But when Luke didn’t answer, he leaned against the counter. “Look, I don’t associate with them. Or I won’t anymore if that’s their stance on shit.”

After an agonizing second of silence, Luke finally looked up. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere you want. Any place that calms you down. It’s a big mall.”

“Can we go by the fountain?” Luke whimpered, letting through some of the sadness in his voice that he had so obviously been trying to hide.

“Of course,” Ashton whispered like he were talking to a wounded child.

Luke went through the process of clocking out for his fifteen minute break, and Ashton walked close to him, like he was scared someone else would say something cruel to this boy.

“I recognize you,” Luke said after a minute of silence. “Not only from you getting gum, but sometimes I see you get an ice cream.”

“You must have really good eyesight,” Ashton cooed. “My eyes are shit. I can barely see ten feet ahead of me. Unless I’m buying gum from you, or I’m this close, I can’t see you at all,” he teased to lighten the mood.

Luke smiled softly.

“Want an ice cream?” Ashton bumped shoulders with the smaller boy.

“Uh...” Luke hesitated, “no. No, I’m okay.”

“That’s not very convincing. What flavor do you want?”

“Uh...whatever flavor you’re getting is fine. You really don’t have to.”

“Don’t say that. I want to. It would make you feel better right?”

“Well yeah, but—.”

“Then it’s a necessity,” Ashton purred and ordered two cones of strawberry cheesecake. “This good?”

“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ashton sat him down on the edge of the fountain. It had little black fish sculptures shooting water out of their mouths. It gave a nice ambient sound. A nice break from the monotone chatter and mall music.

The small boy ate the Ice cream more readily than he’d accepted it.

“Luke, can I ask you a question?” Luke nodded. “Why the choice to wear the glasses?”

“I...uh...I didn’t really have one,” Luke fidgeted with his ice cream cone, chewing at the edge of the cone making a little satisfying crunches.

“Why? You got a black eye or something?” Ashton was only half joking, but when he saw the corners of Luke’s lips turn down, he knew he’d accidentally stumbled upon the answer. “Oh no...”

Luke’s frown turned more into a grimace. “That word doesn’t really hurt me anymore, but today it kinda got to me,” Luke whispered, and lowered the glasses enough to see a purple line right under Luke’s tearful blue eyes. Or at least the only clear eye Ashton could see. Not the worst black eye he’d ever seen, but definitely couldn’t have been fun to get. Ashton didn’t dare ask what happened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t honestly think you were hiding anything. I swear. I have a really shit coping mechanism where I try to make jokes.”

“It’s fine. You’re the nicest person I’ve talked to today,” Luke said gently. “I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ashton shook his head.

“You’re being so nice to me. Why?”

“Well I don’t like the idea of someone picking on the little guy. Especially when he deserves it the least in the world.”

Luke looked away and Ashton could see the pink in his cheeks. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to...” Ashton smiled softly. “You seem pretty cool. I think you’d make a great friend.”

“You’d probably be the first to think that, I’m not very interesting.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Ashton shook his head. “I think there’s more to you than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah, I’m the fag who gets beaten up,” Luke scoffed.

“Every school’s got one...” Ashton added.

Ashton could tell Luke’s gaze was more pointed when he looked at him this time. “...are you...?”

Ashton shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t think it really matters.”

Luke nodded slowly. “Well I am...your friends were right.”

“They’re not gonna be my friends anymore.” Ashton hummed. “But you are.”

“I am?”

“If you want.”

“Okay,” Luke nodded.

“You can have my number, too,” Ashton offered after a second. “Or like we could be friends on Facebook.”

“You would? I don’t have very good photos up...”

“Neither do I. Mine are all embarrassing,” Ashton smiled softly to ease Luke’s mind.

“Okay. Yeah,” Luke nodded softly, then smiled again. “Yeah, I’ll add you.”

Ashton smiled and took out his phone. “Is it just Luke or Lucas?”

“Just Luke. And Hemmings as the last name.”

Ashton hummed and giggled on his own inner monologue. “What?” Luke looked at him, he could almost hear some anxiousness in his voice.

“Oh nothing, it’s not you. I had an algebra teacher who’s last name was Hemmings.”

“Was her name Liz?” Luke perked up.

“Yeah, is she related to you?” Ashton definitely saw a resemblance.

“Uh-huh! That’s my mum!” Luke grinned.

“Oh,” Ashton cooed and added Luke as a friend. Remembering how kind and firm Mrs. Hemmings was. He imagined she was a good mother if Luke could be out and open. “It’s a small world,” was all he said though.

“Thank you for this, Ashton,” Luke cooed holding up his ice cream cone. “And for uh, I guess taking me out of there. It’s been a really rough day.”

“Hey,” Ashton bumped their shoulders again with a little smile. “I’m just upset it took something like this to make me talk to you in the first place. I think you’re really...sweet.”

Luke looked at his feet, his expression unreadable.

“We should probably get you back. You think you’re gonna be okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke stammered, but he seemed confident as he nodded.

Ashton took his extra napkin that was wadded up in his fist and tossed it in the garbage as they walked back, making him look a lot more skilled than he was. “And don’t let anyone call you that. It’s your word. Not theirs.”

“I’m not really gonna stand up for myself. Everyone knows I’m weak.”

“No, you’re not weak. You’re strong enough to be out.”

“It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“You’ve got me. And maybe a few other friends who are on your side?”

“I’ve got one, but his boyfriend is really mean to me.”

“Well you tell him that an upperclassman is gonna beat him up if he crosses you again,” Ashton cooed.

“Really?”

“If that’s what you need.”

“You’re the nicest person ever...” Luke looked up at him, his voice soft. Ashton blushed for some reason.

“I could say the same for you.”

Luke just smiled with a soft blush.

“Hey, I’ve got a band and a gig on Saturday, I don’t know if you’ve already made plans, but it’d be cool if you came.”

“Okay,” Luke nodded a little. “I’ll have to ask my mum to drive me, but okay.”

Ashton smiled, and sighed in relief. “Good. I’ll send you the details on Facebook...”

“Yeah I’d like that,” Luke nodded, and the moment seemed to linger. Both of them dreading the part where they’d have to leave. At least that’s what Ashton was thinking. “I should uh—.”

“Yeah, yeah you should get back,” Ashton nodded and his cheeks burned a little as he awkwardly stood in the entrance of the cinema. “It wouldn’t look good if I just hung around.”

“No probably not,” Luke giggled softly. Actually giggled. Ashton felt his heart skip, so proud of Luke. So proud of the 15 minutes they’d spent trying to help him feel better.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ashton cooed. “I’m running low on gum.”

“Tomorrow,” Luke smiled gently.

Ashton nodded and let Luke go back to the concession stand, and Ashton sat outside on the curb trying to make his heart slow down. Was he really so shy? Was he really so nervous to be friends with Luke?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and among the string of texts from his friends, there was a notification on Facebook.

“Luke Hemmings accepted your friend request” and Ashton breathed a sigh of relief. He’d text him later, for now it was enough that he’d accepted anything at all.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Clouds

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2373

Part 1 of 2

Summary: Head spinning from funeral preparations, the reader barely has time to grieve her father’s death. Her husband, Josh, remembers losing his dad and tries to help her through the dark days of loss.

Notes: I really wanted to write a sad Josh imagine after the sappy Christmas one, so here we go. Also, I want to write some more suspenseful and intense West Wing imagines, so hopefully I will be able to get those going as well! (This started to get long, so I’ll be splitting it into two parts. Let me know what you think!)

-

You turned the corner, saw your husband, and immediately turned back. You weren’t fast enough. 

“Y/N!” Josh shouted, pushing through a couple assistants to catch up to you. You turned around and put on an innocent smile. 

“Hi honey.” His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips turned into a deep frown. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” 

“Why did the President’s speech get moved back?” He asked with a frustrated sigh. 

“We thought it would be better for him to speak after-”

“After the Majority Leader announces that the Democrats just got screwed!” He shouted, receiving looks from the people squeezing past you. 

“Maybe we should talk about this in my office, Josh.” You said through gritted teeth. You grabbed Josh’s arm and shoved him into your office. “We decided that the speech would be too contradictory to try and make policy changes right before our other changes are shot down.”

“As opposed to sounding like a bunch of kids trying to start a fight on the playground?” He snapped. “Y/N-” You held up a finger and gave him a silencing look. 

“Need I remind you that this is my job?” You were one of the Media Specialists for the President. Josh stepped closer to you, his voice almost a growl. 

“Need I remind you that I’m technically your boss!” If you weren’t standing in the White House, you might have slapped him. The muscles in your jaw clenched as you bit your tongue to keep from saying something you’d regret. You turned away from him and sat down behind your desk. 

“You probably have something more important to do… boss.” You kept your eyes on your desk as he stormed out. Fuming, you grabbed a pencil and snapped it in half, throwing the pieces across the room. 

“Is this a bad time?” Your assistant, Lisa, asked cautiously from the doorway. 

“He pulled the authority card, Lisa.” You exclaimed. “He told me that he’s my boss!” She raised an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t he your boss?” 

“He’s also my husband.” You retorted. She shrugged. 

“Hey, you’re the one who married the Deputy Chief of Staff.” Lisa handed you a note with missed call information. “You got a call while you were arguing. She said that she’s your sister.” 

-

Josh was cleaning up a stack of papers that he’d thrown across his office in anger when Donna walked in. 

“What tornado came through here?” She joked, leaning against the door frame and her arms crossed.  

“Don’t start with me this morning, Donna.” He barked. He gathered up the papers and put them back on his desk. 

“You talked about the speech thing, didn’t you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“I told her I was her boss.” 

“You didn’t.” Her arms dropped to her side and she stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. 

“Yeah.” Josh grimaced. “But she’s wrong!” 

“It doesn’t matter who's right or wrong, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” She pointed out. He narrowed his eyes with annoyance. 

“Get out.” 

“I don’t want to hear about your back being sore tomorrow.” She shrugged. 

“Go!” She went back to her desk and he fell back into his chair. Donna was right, of course, which irritated him even more. He’d barely even started to look over his work when Donna came back into the office. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” 

“Lisa just called me-” He was too fired up to process the shocked, saddened expression on her face. 

“Donna, I can handle-”

“You need to go talk to Y/N-”

“Donna, really-”

“Josh.” Her serious tone caught him off guard. When he finally started to take in the grieving look in her eyes, he knew something was wrong. 

“What is it?” 

“Y/N’s dad just died.”

And the fight was forgotten. Josh walked quickly, rushing through the West Wing and making his way towards your office. Donna’s words echoed in his mind, mixing with his memories of the Illinois primary. When he lost his dad. 

“Where is she?” He asked Lisa. She pointed to your office. 

“She’s getting ready for a meeting with a committee from-”

“Cancel it.” He ordered and Lisa nodded in agreement. It was an easily reschedulable meeting, and you weren’t in the state of mind to discuss national park advertisement. He slowly opened the door to your office, finding you loading your briefcase with documents, the papers shaking in your hands. “Y/N?” 

“I really can’t talk right now. I have to get to a meeting.” You tried to move around him but he placed a hand on your arm. 

“I had Lisa cancel it.” You couldn’t bear to see the sympathetic look in his eyes. You shook your head. 

“I can’t. I have to-”

“Y/N.” He put a hand on your cheek and you finally looked into his eyes. Your lip started to tremble and your composure crumbled. Josh’s heart sank. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you and it almost felt like he was holding you up, your knees buckling underneath you. He kept one arm around your waist and held the back of your head with his other hand. “I’m sorry.” He muttered into your hair. “I'm so sorry.” 

“He’s just… He’s-” You sucked in a painful breath. “He’s gone.” It didn’t make any sense. Your dad wasn’t sick. He hadn’t been battling an illness for the past several years. You didn’t have time to prepare. Car accidents didn’t allow that. 

Josh didn’t say anything. He knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would make any of it easier. He knew better than most. That growing empty feeling that you just can’t shake no matter how many hands you shake or sympathy cards you read. 

Word spread quickly through the office, reaching the President in a matter of minutes. 

“You’re sure?” He said somberly and Leo nodded. 

“He was in a collision on the way home this morning,” Leo explained, his heart heavy with the news. He knew Bill well. It was actually how he had met Y/N. She was all fire and spunk and he had recommended her to the President for a media specialist. 

“He was a good man.” President Bartlet sighed. “Remind me to send something to Marissa. And tell Y/N and Josh to take all the time they need.” 

“Will do, Mr. President.” 

-

You usually loved driving home. The Virginia fields reminded you of the land that you grew up on.  Now, all you could think about were the memories. Your father teaching you how to ride a horse. Bringing you ice cream after a long day of homework. He was the one who taught you how to write. And now he was just… gone. Josh tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the music on the radio. 

“You know you’re going to have to get along with her.” You said suddenly, images of previous arguments flashing through your head. 

“Who?” He asked innocently, eyebrows raised behind his sunglasses. You gave him a look. 

“My sister.” He shuttered and you rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Josh. I know you don’t like each other, but this is really not the occasion to get into one of your screaming matches. Everyone is going to be on edge enough and-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Josh took a hand off the wheel and placed it on top of yours. “I won’t fight with Celia.” 

“Promise?” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I promise,” Easier said than done. Josh had never gotten along with your older sister. Even at your wedding, they managed to have an argument in the kitchen while you threw the bouquet.  You never understood what their ongoing feud was about. They had the same political stance, your sister adored President Bartlet, and Josh had always gotten along with your parents. Your mother couldn’t get enough of him. If you were honest, sometimes you thought she liked him more than you! But not Celia. There was something about the two of them that always led to legendary arguments that could be heard from the capitol. 

After a few more hours of driving, the hills and trees opened to a long, winding driveway that led up to the house. You drove up a few days early so that you could help your mother prepare for the funeral, but even now, cars lined the driveway belonging to people coming to express their sympathies. Being a Representative for the State of Virginia made your mother a well-beloved and publicized woman. So word spread quickly around town and many families came to share their grief. 

After Josh was able to find a parking spot, the two of you carried your suitcases to the back door. Dozens of people in black dress clothes passed by you with sympathetic smiles. 

“Here, let me get those.” Someone offered. You turned to see Thomas, your brother-in-law. 

“Hey,” You greeted, pulling him into a hug. “How is everybody?” He shrugged. 

“We’re holding up.” He turned to Josh and shook his hand. Thomas, compared to his wife, took no issue with your husband. “Fair warning, Josh, a lot of Bill’s journalist friends are here and they’re going to love seeing the White House Deputy Chief of Staff.” 

Your father had run the local newspaper for years. He was an incredible journalist, with many offers from bigger news outlets like the Washington Post, but he only ever wanted to do local news. 

“Local news is where the good stories are.” You remembered him saying. “Writing about real people and not always talking about how dark and gloomy the world is… that’s all I want.” 

He’s the reason you got into media work in the first place. When you got the job at the White House, he got you the most beautiful fountain pen, with gold embellishments and the words “Make the world a little less dark and gloomy. Beyond proud of you- Love Dad” engraved on the box. With all of the messes going on at the White House, you started to wonder if you ever really made him proud. 

“Hey,” Josh grabbed your hand before you stepped into the crowded living room. He must have seen your nervous expression because he gave you a reassuring smile. “Do you want to just go for a walk? Get some of that fresh Virginia air before you talk to anyone?” You let out a breath of relief and nodded. 

Josh knew how it felt to look around your childhood home and not recognize a single person. To see a bunch of strangers sharing grief for someone that they hardly knew. It was suffocating. He convinced you to walk him through the orchards. They were beautiful this time of year. You took off your heels and walked down the path with bare feet. The dirt and the grass were cool against your skin while your intertwined hands swung back and forth as you walked in the spring sun. 

“He loved days like this.” You mused, looking up at the sky. It was freckled with large, puffy white clouds. “He used to say that clouds were the shadows of distant worlds passing by. Island kingdoms home to all sorts of creatures.” 

“Sounds like he should have written fantasy novels instead of news articles.” Josh chuckled. You smiled. 

“He did.” You picked up a flowery branch and twirled it around in your hand. “They were just filled with little stories for me and Celia. He got them bound and everything, but he never published them. They’re up in his study somewhere.” Josh smiled with awe, fondly remembering the way his father-in-law told everyone stories at dinner. Some of them were true, some definitely weren’t, but it didn’t matter. They always made him think differently about himself. 

You made your way back to the house, seeing Celia standing on the back porch with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Uh oh.” Josh groaned. You slapped his side. 

“Thomas said you guys got here an hour ago.” She snapped accusingly. “Did you just want to leave me and mom to do all the hosting?” 

“CeeCee, hush, it’s alright.” Your mom came through the screen door with a tray of wine glasses. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be in with the crowd either if I didn’t have to be.” 

“Representative Y/L/N, it’s good to see you.” Josh gave your mother a hug. “I’m really sorry for your loss.” 

“And I’m sorry that even after three years of being my son-in-law you still haven’t called me Marissa.” She scolded. 

“My apologies, Marissa.” He grinned. 

“So where have the two of you been?” Celia asked her tone still accusatory. 

“We just went for a walk.” You shrugged. She clenched her jaw and sat in one of the chairs while you and Josh shared the porch swing. 

The sun started to set and the five of you enjoyed a few glasses of wine and Josh bit his tongue whenever Celia tried to provoke him. This lasted for a few hours before everyone decided that they’d had a long day and it was time to turn in for the night. 

You slept in your old room, only now it had classy wallpaper instead of band posters. Josh had all but fallen asleep when he noticed you standing at the window. 

“What’re you doing?” He muttered groggily. His senses, however, switched to high alert when he heard the sniffle of crying. “Honey?” 

“I’m fine.” You waved your hand at him. “Go to sleep, I’ll just be a second.” He stood up, taking the comforter with him to wrap around you while his arms fell around your neck.  You held back a sob. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I know it hurts.” He whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “And I can’t tell you when it gets better because it’ll come back. Not all the time, but every once and a while, it’ll hurt. But I’m gonna be there for you when it does.” You turned around so you were facing each other and he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

The next few days would be rough, but he knew what they were like. And he would get you through them.

[packsbeforesnacks]

Harmony Hall || Mercy & Winn

TIMING: Thursday, July 9th, 2020, Evening LOCATION: The Western Archives (Mercy’s Loft) PARTIES: @cryxmercy & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Mercy offers an explanation. Winn faces the truth about his lost years. WARNINGS: None

The lighthouse was intimidating, Winn thought, but no more intimidating than meeting someone for the first time… again, apparently. ‘Cause apparently this ‘Mercy’ woman knew him, said he’d lived in White Crest before he remembered livin’ in White Crest. The possibility had never crossed his mind, that there would be — could be — someone with the answers to the riddle of the years that had been taken from him. Winn would need to buy Rio something nice, if this panned out. Boy deserved, like, a fruit basket, bare minimum. Winn made his way up the staircase, twisted up in the lighthouse like a coiled spring, ready to pop out at any time and remind him why he was actually here.

An explanation. Mercy had promised one and Winn wasn’t about to let his only real chance at fixing all of this slip through his fingers. No one — Rio, Darwin, his dad — had been able to turn up any real leads, and there wasn’t a magic Facebook, where Winn could just post until someone said they’d fix his memories. He’d gotten lucky. He knew it. The chance of him findin’ another person with access to mental magic was too big of an ask. Luckily for him, White Crest kept an eye on wishes.

One of the many problems that came with living as long as Mercy had was that inevitably the past would circle back around at some point, either to bite you in the ass, or simply make life more complicated. She wasn’t quite sure which category the current bit of her past fell into. Winn was a good guy — it was why she’d helped him in the first place all those years back -— so perhaps it fell into neither. Perhaps it was simply the right thing to do. Because Mercy had seen first hand what missing memories could do to a person. How confused and lost they could become. Wondering what had happened to them in a span of time they couldn’t remember. It could drive a person mad.

So Mercy didn’t blame Rio for sending Winn her way. Even if she wasn’t sure what she could tell him, other than what the young wolf had asked of her all those years back, and the events that had followed. Perhaps that would be enough. Even if it didn’t bring the memories back. Because Mercy didn’t know how to do that. So she’d made sure the tower would let Winn pass through, that the roses that grew in the field outside wouldn’t harass him. And when she heard footsteps on the spiral stairs, Mercy looked towards the open door of the small flat at the top of the tower. Her tone was warm and easy as she spoke. “You can come in. I don’t bite.”

Winn passed through the open door with more confidence than he felt. He racked his memory, trying to figure out if he’d known her, some time ago, but there wasn’t even the faintest pulse of recollection. He took a seat, movements a bit stiff, as he considered the woman. There wasn’t much he could tell from just her posture and voice; if he had to pick an age— Well, ‘sides bein’ rude, he couldn’t really do that anymore. Living in a lighthouse wasn’t the most unusual thing about this situation, but it was as good a place as any to break the ice. “Sooooo,” he drawled, “you lived in White Crest long?” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of her knowin’ him. “This lighthouse looks old. Beautiful, though, the roses are lovely.”

A compliment, a well-placed smile. She knew Winn. But that didn’t mean she had liked him, in whatever history they shared together. He scanned the room, looking for another point of conversational topic, but his eyes drifted back to the woman’s. It occurred to him that, well, she might know him by his old name. He should clear up any confusion, introduce himself again. “Um, sorry, right. I’m Winn. Winn Woods. Winner Lycus Woods. Said that on the phone.” He gave a small wave, feeling incredibly awkward. What was it about this woman that put him on-edge? Or was it just that she knew more about him, perhaps, than he did? There were no easy answers, and so, he admitted what she’d probably already guessed: “Do I… know you?”

“About six years,” Mercy said, watching Winn as he took a seat. “Going on seven.” He was wondering about her, she knew. Who she was. Probably even what she was. Mercy hadn’t told him much over the phone. But that was deliberate. This was a conversation that needed to happen face to face. “Thank you. I… acquired it some years back.” She smiled at him, small and knowing. “The roses are just a bonus.” And a damn fine security measure. In case anyone who was unwelcome thought they could just waltz up to her tower.

Mercy’s eyes didn’t leave his face as he looked around. The room was small, but cozy. Full of shelves and books and benign things of interest that she’d brought up from down in the archives. There was evidence of Arthur here and there as well. A chess set she’d dug out of one of the rooms for him. New journals and fountain pens stacked neatly on a nearby table, along with a stack of scrolls and manuscripts still covered in dust. There was also a small bed in one corner, a tiny kitchenette, a small bathroom behind a closed door, and a woodburning stove. It was very liveable, even if Mercy usually stayed elsewhere. Winn’s gaze came back to her eventually, and Mercy waited a moment as he introduced himself.

“You did. Once. My name’s Mercy.” She watched him for a short but weighted moment. “I’m the one that took your memories.”  

Well, huh.

Winn wouldn’t pretend there wasn’t a part of him that had been… hoping for this. When Darwin had told him that they weren’t buried, but missing, he had been ready to abandon this entire ‘quest.’ Rio’s message, askin’ to give Winn’s information to one of his allies, had been a Hail Mary, as far as Winn had been concerned. But then, Rio had messaged him back, gave him a number to call. Winn had leapt at the chance.

Once. Maybe… Maybe, even if Winn couldn’t get back his memories, she could tell him about himself. It was another confirmation. When something went missing, there had to be a force behind it. Darwin had given him the information, Mercy had revealed herself as the thief herself. He took a deep breath, in, out, almost like he was preparin’ for Darwin to take another look around his mind. But, really, Winn knew that, if he let himself make assumptions, Winn would be transformed in the middle of this flat. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all him. So, before he’d climbed the tower, he’d ran through scenarios in his head.

And… Well, this hadn’t been the worst. Could be bleedin’ out. Winn locked eyes with Mercy, and said, strong and far more confident than he felt: “Why?”

Mercy often wondered if her long life — or perhaps her nature — had made her some sort of… beacon… for lost and wayward souls. She seemed to cross paths with them more often than not. If that was the case, it was ironic really, since she had no power whatsoever over the souls of mankind. Unlike the Valkyries of her homelands legends.

What she did have was knowledge. Centuries upon centuries of it. But with great knowledge came great power, as they say. And what good was knowledge if it wasn’t shared? At least when it was for the better. So while Mercy had also prepared for the worst, she didn’t pull any punches in answering Winn’s questions. She wasn’t afraid of the young wolf. Never had been. That said, she was very aware of the damage one could do. To her, and to their surroundings. And Mercy was in no mood to deal with an angry shifter tonight. Or at any point in the near future.

Mercy waited on Winn to process what she’d said. She watched for any signs he was going to lash out or react badly. Any tells that his emotions were going to get the better of him, and the wolf would take over to protect him. Or to get revenge for a perceived wrong. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. And Mercy let out her own internal sigh of relief.

Her tone was soft and even as she didn’t hesitate to answer his follow up question. “Because you asked me to.” There was more, obviously, but Mercy wanted to give him time to process the main parts before overloading him with the rest of the details. Of which there were many.

Winn felt like he’d been smacked with a sledgehammer, like the ‘brain freeze’ he’d felt at Darwin’s probing had been only an appetizer for this main course. The memories weren’t stolen. The memories were given. And his mind scrolled and scrolled through scenarios, trying to figure out what could have happened — what he could have done — that would make him do this.

He put his head in his hands, trying to stave off yet another anxiety attack. Winn had been preparing for an answer, even this one, for nearly a month — two, if he counted that first inkling that there was something inside of him. Finally, scrubbing the fresh tears away from his eyes, he met Mercy’s gaze with tired determination. He had to know.

“Tell me more. Please. I can… I can handle it.” Winn tried to give a weak smile, ended up somewhere in grimace, and settled back down into a flat line.

Mercy watched as Winn started to absorb what she was saying. It wasn’t easy to be told things about your past that you couldn’t remember. This wasn’t the first time Mercy had been in such a situation. She had learned, however, that giving too much all at once could send some people over the edge. Others did better receiving things in one big lump. Mercy wasn’t sure which category Winn fell into just yet. He’d survived the giving away of the memories. But that didn’t mean the opposite would be true. When he got himself together and looked up, tears staining his face, Mercy felt her heart ache for him. He was a good kid. It’s why she’d helped him in the first place.

“We met a few years back when you signed up for my self-defense classes. Didn’t take me long to realize you weren’t human. Took you a bit longer to realize the same was true for me.” Mercy explained how they’d come to be friends, and later, how Mercy had come to be a confidant of sorts for Winn. And how eventually Winn came to confide his personal traumas to Mercy. Who had already encouraged him to stand up to what frightened him. To take back control of his life, by not letting the past control his present, or his future. That effort — thanks to Mercy’s Fury nature — doubled when she found out what the hunters had done to him.

“One day you came to me and asked if I knew how to get rid of unwanted memories.” Mercy sat a book — bound in worn leather wrappings — and an ornately carved wooden box on the table between them. She opened the lid of the box, revealing a pair of ravens — carved from obsidian — nestled inside. Each was small enough to hold in one’s hand, and covered in delicately crafted patterns and runes. “This is the how.” She indicated the book and the stone ravens before looking at him evenly. “Are you absolutely certain you wish to know what memories you wanted gone? And why?”

There was a part of Winn that wanted to laugh at Mercy, to tell her that there was no way that she was right. It was a stubborn, temperamental part of himself that he hardly recognized. But, as she spoke, he realized that… well, that what she was sayin’ made sense. Winn had been in a bad way, after he left the pack. That… That was where the memories got fuzzy, where the train stopped because the track had been cut off. He’d always thought the wolf had finally gotten fed up with him, ran on a Full Moon and stayed transformed that way until Winn could get his shit together.

But none of that was true.

“I… kind of hate that you know more about me than I do,” Winn admitted, honestly. “So, I came to you to erase two whole years? That seems,” Winn grabbed one of the stone ravens to inspect it, “excessive.” His head pulsed, his vision blurred. Shit got weird. And painful.

“I’m used to it,” Mercy said of being hated, her voice holding a hint of something that might’ve been weariness. Or perhaps regret. Maybe both. But her expression turned to a true frown as he told her that— “Wait—” Mercy held up a hand, her tone one of shock. “You’re missing two years? Two entire years?” But Winn never got the chance to answer.

He reached for the raven… and collapsed to the floor.

Mercy was instantly on her feet, both out of concern for Winn, and to be ready in case she ended up with a fully shifted, angry werewolf in her flat.  

“Please…” Winn heard himself begging Mercy and a robed figure behind her. The room was barely lit, but Winn could make out himself, younger, and speaking in broken sobs. It looked like the loft, but… different, in the pieces he could see. “Mercy, I did something I can’t take back. Ever. I want… I want a second chance. I’m not… I don’t want to be this person. I— I wanted my life back, but not like this. I didn’t— He didn’t—” There was a crackle in the air as he looked up, meeting the eyes of the fury. “I want this. No going back.”

The scene cut out, Winn heard three words in a language he didn’t recognize. Then, there was darkness.

In Winn’s memory, Mercy looked on in sympathy at the young wolf’s pain. The air hummed with static. “If this is your wish, if you believe with all your heart, that this is what’s right for you… that your life can only be better for forgetting, then so be it.”

When the spell had been cast, Mercy had merely been an observer, until the caster had come to the final seals. How fortuitous it was that she was there, and capable of speaking the three runes that activated the spell and set it in motion.

When Winn came back to himself, in the present, he was on the floor of the loft, holding his head in pain, tears streaming down his face, claws and fangs extended and digging tiny cuts into his skull and lip. Fuck. Fuck. His ears rang, his heart was racing.

“... What did I do?” Winn asked, finally, when he had just enough energy to pull himself off the floor. He couldn’t look at Mercy, not now. Not until he knew.

In the present, Mercy had moved to place herself between Winn and the door to the stairs, just in case. She knew he was in pain. She could see the partial shift his body had gone through in response to such huge amounts of stress. Mercy waited, relaxing slightly as moving towards him as he came back to himself. And asked the million dollar question.

Mercy sighed, wondering where the hell to start. Perhaps the cut and dry version would be best.

“You started this… one-man ‘protect the wolves’ mission… tracking down and killing the hunters, and others, that were hurting them… You were ruthless. Vicious even. You grew numb to it. Or so you said. Until one day… you killed a hunter in front of his children.” Mercy squatted down so she could be level with the wolf. “That was when you realized all those people, those hunters, were people too. With families. Children. People who loved them.” Mercy knew all hunters weren’t created the same. But that didn’t mean she thought Winn had been in the wrong for what he’d done. How many lives had he saved by taking the ones he had? Though it wasn’t what Mercy thought that mattered, was it? This was about Winn. “It set something off inside you… and you couldn’t live with what you’d done. You wanted it gone.”

She watched him for a long moment. “You’re not a bad person, Winn. I know bad people. You’re a good person that bad things have happened to.”

“Okay,” Winn said finally, curling in on himself on the floor, taking it all in. Numb, Mercy had said. Well, Winn didn’t feel very numb right now. He felt… he felt awful. And part of it was recovering from the stress of touching the raven, but… It was true. There was no denying it. Mercy had no reason to lie to him, and, fuck, was that what Winn had seen at the carnival? Killing a hunter, apparently the last in a string of killings. Winn had found his answer. Or, part of it. And that answer was awful, ripping into him and carving at his heart. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Winn sat there, just… thinking.

Until: “Wait, then… Why? Why two years?” Winn said, finally looking up and into Mercy’s eyes. “It doesn’t— Tell me I wasn’t… killing people for two years.” Not that it mattered, he supposed, in the grand scheme of things. Just more bodies to the count. Fuck. Fuck.

Mercy waited patiently while Winn processed everything. She was used to this too, after all. It was the story of her life. Waiting and watching… sometimes for months, even years at a time. But when he asked his next question, the only answer Mercy had was, “I don’t know why the spell took two years away. But no. You weren’t. It was… a few months. Maybe.”

“I’m a coward.” Winn sighed, looking up at the ceiling and away from Mercy’s gaze. He’d run away again. He couldn’t stop running away. “And I’m… I don’t know if I’m a bad person, Mercy, but I… I don’t think I can be a good person, if I did that, if I hurt all of those people — and you said, you said others? So, not all of them were hunters? I mean, that… that makes it worse, right?” Would it be better, if it had only been hunters? No. No, Winn didn’t think so. Even without his memories, without his apparent realization, he knew so many hunters now and he knew they were just… people. Fallible and too, too human.

Mercy’s jaw clenched as he called himself a coward. She remembered a moment very like this one, where she’d told him he should take control of his fears, his doubts, his demons… face them and conquer them. She couldn’t help it as the air in the flat started to hum with static. “A coward wouldn’t be sitting here in my tower, asking to remember things he once thought so terrible that he begged to have them removed from his mind forever.”

“The fact that you feel remorse for any of it…” Mercy shook her head, her expression softening slightly. “Bad people don’t feel remorse, Winn.” What did that say about Mercy, and all the people she’d killed over the centuries that she hadn’t thought twice about? The thought was fleeting, and thankfully didn’t settle in Mercy’s head. So she pressed on. “We can’t judge ourselves for the way we deal with trauma. That’s why it’s called trauma. Because it’s a deeply disturbing experience. Something we can rarely control. The only thing we can do… is learn from it. And try to be better in the end.”

Mercy’s words were as much for herself as for Winn, even if she didn’t realize it. But even then, there was nothing more she could say that hadn’t already been said. So again, she waited. Where they went from here was up to Winn.

And try to be better in the end.

Winn pulled himself off of the floor of the flat, scrubbed at his eyes, and looked at Mercy. She was right, even if he couldn’t believe it right now. Had Winn learned from it? When Winn got the memories back, would time have helped? Or would he just be back to that broken man, cryin’ at his friend to take it all away?

No. No, he refused.

Winn had barely finished saying, “I want them back,” though, when he collapsed, again, to the floor, unconscious and still.

[gem-quest]

[ QUEST 04. — I N F E R N A ]

taglist: @bebemoon​ @now-on-elissastillstands​ @armadasneon​ @mysteriousdeathofpoe​

[ A . MIDWINTER’S . NIGHT . DREAM . LEVEL . 20 ]

Inferna was with Neddy, throwing sugar cubes covered in Inferna Sauce at Jack (who had been shrunken down with a Drink Me potion), when the announcement scrolled across the sky.

<<< YOU HAVE 24 HOURS. SURVIVE TO ADVANCE. >>>

“What the fuck is that all about?” Inferna asked, pointing upwards. Neddy paused and looked up as well.

The two of them had originally gone to Level 20, A Midwinter’s Night Dream, to play with Jack in the snow-covered gardens in front of the palace (the maze was behind the palace, and those stupid fucking bitch ass snow angels flying around that place could all go eat a dick. Inferna was so tired of being pelted with snowballs as soon as she got within a ten-foot radius of them. And it was all because she wasn’t a Moonstone player!!).

The pale winter sun gleamed against the pristine snow of the level as she and Neddy started making their way towards the maze to investigate. A large, chattering crowd had formed around the entrance, blocking their view, and Inferna grabbed Neddy’s hand, waiting for her to settle a shrunken-down Jack into his basket before she viciously elbowed her way to the front, until she could see what all the fuss was about.

A sleek metal half-dome had materialized into existence. The harsh steel was a stark contrast against the delicate statues and glittering fountains lining the edges of the maze.

Inferna narrowed her eyes as she took in the scene. Items had begun shimmering into existence, beneath the dome - there were some miscellaneous food stuffs (were those the apple turnovers from the Tearoom that Inferna liked so much????), medi-elixirs, oh and was that silver dust? And even an ignitium potion? - and some players were dashing forward to snatch them up before other people could get to them. Inferna was inclined to join in (free stuff was always good. Especially free food. Those turnovers were hers!), but she held back, and turned her gaze in the direction of where 90% of the players were looking.

“What the hell?” she said, glancing over at her friend. “What are those Bigfoot-lookin’ things?”

“Abominable snowmen?” Neddy suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

Inferna frowned. She was spared from replying by a ding! from her player-plexus, indicating a new notification. All around her, other player-plexuses were dinging as well, and Inferna quickly pulled her own out to see what this was all about.

“Yeti stats…” she muttered under her breath, quickly skimming over the message that’d popped up on her screen:

YETI STATS 

STRENGTH: 7 DEFENCE: 7 CHARISMA: 1 PSYCHE: 3 WILLPOWER: 5 CAUTIOUSNESS: 2 AGILITY: 4 ENDURANCE: 10 INTELLIGENCE: 5 LUCK: -

She looked up, and squinted. “So they’re Yetis, then,” she said to Neddy. Her player-plexus pinged again, and Inferna swiped open one of her Obsidian group chats.

Anyone in 20 rn? I heard it’s going into lockdown until tomorrow

Another ding. 

Oh dang yeah, i just tried to ictuium in, and no luck. Dont think ictuium-ing out will work either

Inferna sighed, and showed Neddy the messages. “I guess we’re shit out of luck, then,” she mused, watching the Yetis slowly get closer. “What is G doing, ripping off Fortnite? Well, I guess it’d be more like a Hunger Games rip-off, because Fortnite is just Hunger Games with guns.”

She squinted. The half-dome with randomly appearing items must have been like the Cornucopia, then. Fair enough. And the Yetis were...Yetis. 

It’s really damn annoying that the only thing we got were the stats. Nothing about what they can actually do. 

A shout rang out, from somewhere to their right. Inferna turned her head just in time to see a huge blast of icy magic slam into the roof of the palace behind them. The tiles cracked, and began tumbling downwards.

“Fucking shit!” Inferna swore. “If we make it out of this alive, I’m going to need more fake magical potion vodka from Morningstar. And, you know, just more college frat party alcohol in general. This is bull!”

Inferna ducked and began to run, pretty sure that she did not want to be buried under a pile of rubble. When she figured that she was a safe enough distance away, she stood up, scanning the crowd for Neddy’s familiar lilac hair, but her friend was nowhere in sight. 

Inferna frowned, and as she ran in the opposite direction of the Yetis, she quickly tapped out a message to Neddy: hey lmk if u want to meet back up - think i lost u just now.

After she’d retreated to the very edge of the level, a ways into the snowy forest that surrounded the palace and maze, Inferna let herself slow down and catch her breath. She leaned against the barrier of the level, which was a transparent Plexiglass-ish kind of thing that let players look out through it into the rest of the woods, but didn’t let them pass through. It shimmered with some kind of energy - magical, maybe? - where Inferna’s body made contact with it, but otherwise, it felt like a normal invisible wall.

You know. Because once you’d been inside the game for long enough, this kind of shit was the norm.

Inferna wasn’t sure that she wanted to stay in this specific spot for too long; although the Yetis weren’t supposed to be all that intelligent, she would bet her right hand that G had programmed them to traverse the entire level. Inferna wasn’t entirely certain how she would fare, against one of them - on the one hand, her own strength and defense stats were higher than those of the Yetis, meaning that she’d probably have a pretty decent chance fighting one of them head-on (especially with her added advantage of being, you know, basically the Gem Quest equivalent of a fire bender), but the Yetis had higher endurance stats than her. And, given that she was fire and they were ice, if the Yetis managed to land a blow on her, Inferna would probably be in trouble.

With that thought in mind, Inferna dragged an ignitium potion out from her inventory. If one of them did try to target her, Inferna would hit them back with the breathe-fire-from-your-mouth potion, like Uncle Iroh in ATLA. Because that guy was #goals.

Once she’d wolfed down a raspberry tartlet (fliched from the Tearoom) and taken a pull from the handle of fake magical potion vodka (okay, so it wasn’t actually a handle - just a standard large-sized potion bottle) Morningstar had given her, which tasted just like the shit Inferna knocked back with her friends in real life but was somehow made from ingredients within the game, Inferna set off again. This kind of stupid event was best done drunk, high, or both, in Inferna’s opinion. Since she didn’t actually want to get herself killed, she was just going to settle on tipsy.

(Besides. Was it just her, or did her fire-mage powers seem stronger when she was inebriated? Weird, but she’d always take an excuse to get drunk.)

The first Yeti she encountered happened to be barreling across her path in pursuit of some other player, narrowly avoiding the invisible wall. Said other player was probably smarter than Inferna and quickly disappeared into the nearby shrubbery, their dark hair and clothing providing ample cover among the trees, but Inferna was a dumbass and had chosen this exact week to pull out an H-rank cosmetic potion and dye her hair bright orange. Bright glittery orange. So the Yeti, upon turning around, immediately caught sight of her and began lumbering her way.

“Fuck this shit,” Inferna muttered under her breath, downing the ignitium potion all at once. She waited a moment for the effects to set in - and for the Yeti to get close enough - and then sprang forward.

Flames leapt out of her mouth, curling and crackling and rippling with heat, and when she noticed other Yetis coming closer, Inferna spun in a wide circle like that legendary scene of Uncle Iroh in Ba Sing Se. The Yetis, temporarily stunned, fell back with a series of angry roars, formerly-white fur now a charred black. Inferna took that as her cue to get the fuck out of there, and - after shouting a completely, totally, stupidly unnecessary “see ya later, motherfuckers!” - she zipped off into the forest, taking advantage of all the speed and agility bequeathed upon her for picking the rogue class when she first started the game.

Inferna paused to catch her breath once she’d reached the edge of the forest, stopping just behind the end of the treeline. She checked the time - it’d only been an hour - and groaned. 

“This is so stupid,” she said out loud, to the random tree on her right. “I just want to go back to the Tearoom or something and get more food. What kind of lame-ass food is there in this level, anyway? Fucking snow angel food, that’s what. Fuck those guys.”

Inferna looked around her. There was a handy-handy rock a few feet away, so she trotted over, brushed off the snow, and sat down, propping her chin up with her hand to very angrily glare at a patch of snow-dusted grass, because she wanted some pastries, dammit, but stupid fucking G and his stupid fucking devs decided to make a stupid fucking event in the coldest, stupidest level of the entire game. 

Inferna was still angrily contemplating a blade of grass when the sound of someone approaching made her look up. She had one of her flaming daggers out in an instant, just in case whoever it was wanted to try some funny business.

However, once the figure got closer, Inferna lowered the dagger. She grinned, eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Ace!” she called out, waving. 

The brunette turned, caught sight of Inferna and her glittery orange hair, and started in her direction.

“Vicky, what the hell!” she exclaimed, lightly punching her arm. “It’s been ages.”

“No kidding,” Inferna replied, still grinning from ear-to-ear. “How’ve you been? I thought you went back out.”

Ace (well, Ace of Angels technically, but Inferna didn’t care enough to call her by her full screen name, and AOA was already the kpop group. And the other Obsidian player didn’t like being called ‘Gertrude’...Inferna couldn’t blame her) shrugged, the motion jostling her scary black wings. “I took the week off, to come back in. I’ve got a good amount of relinquium potions left, so might as well try to make use of them for the Plexipedia.”

“What’s happening with the Plexipedia?” asked Inferna. “Am I still IP banned from it?”

Ace snorted. “You tried to replace the screenshots of every NPC you didn’t like with gifs of Dr. Doofenshmirtz. Among other things that I won’t even mention, right now. Yes, you’re still IP banned.”

Inferna made a face. “Jerk. Can’t even do little ol’ me a favor and use your mighty admin powers to unban me?”

Ace just rolled her eyes, and ignored her question. “What’s happening with the Plexipedia is that we’re compiling a list of players that are still trapped in here. And, on the DL, tallying up how many relinquium potions are left. Did you see? They jumped from B-rank to S-rank in, like, two months’ time. I didn’t even know that items could jump ranks.”

“G must’ve done something,” Inferna mused. “Dammit, G, controlling the economy like that. What a fucking communist.”

Ace gave Inferna an inscrutable look, her hazel eyes gleaming with something Inferna couldn’t quite place. “He’s a murderer, Vicky, that’s what he is. Don’t you know how many people have already died?”

Inferna was quiet, for a moment. “The rumors are true, then? I heard about how we couldn’t bribe Jackie anymore, and the relinquium potions. But I wasn’t sure about the, you know. Dying.”

Ace nodded. “You remember Cheshire? She was in our party, but only for like two days.”

Inferna’s mouth went dry. “She…?”

Ace’s solemn look was all the answer Inferna needed.

Inferna sat back down on her rock, heavily. “Shit,” she said, “I thought it was all just BS that people were making up to fuck with other people. I mean, I knew about the potions, but I didn’t think G would actually…”

“That’s why I come back in-game when I can get off from work. Nobody really knows anything, I think.”

Inferna was quiet for another minute. Then, she gave Ace a suspicious glance. “Is there a Plexipedia page for me, too?”

Ace laughed out loud. “Oh, boy,” she said, amused. “Yes. Yes there is. We had to clean a lot of it up - it was basically just Angie roasting the shit out of you for a hot sec. She’s never gonna let you live down the fact that you tried to make spicy Doritos out of an Everlasting Flame and some bread, you know. Or that time you tried to smoke that powder from the Descend out of a bong you made from an empty potion bottle. Or the time you tried to make a Vine reference to Finvarra in Level 10. I could go on.”

Inferna scowled and jumped to her feet, indignant. “Fuck her! Just because Lisa’s my bias instead of Rosé doesn’t mean she gets to fucking harass me like that. I mean, I never said Rosé was bad; I’m a goddamn Blink too! When you go back out, you tell her to fuck right on off, you hear me????”

Ace smiled wryly. “Alright. Jeez, chill out. It’s not like you don’t give Angie shit, either,” she pointed out. 

Ace’s player-plexus pinged, and Inferna stayed quiet, letting her check her messages.

When Ace next looked up, she was frowning. “I’m going to head out. Elaine’s with me - she found one of the leads we’d been following.” She paused, and glanced up at the sky. “I guess we’ll be stuck in here until tomorrow at 12, huh? But we’re usually pretty busy, so I’m sorry we can’t stop and chat with you.”

It took Inferna a moment to remember who Elaine was. “You mean the girl who tried to make me a Reveluv?”

Ace nodded. “Yep, she’s Drakla on here. And speaking of Red Velvet, they have a new comeback, by the way. It’s a red one.”

Inferna grimaced. “Aw. I like their velvet side better, but I’ll always stan anything they do.” 

Just then, a thought occurred to her. Inferna hesitated, but said, “Hey, Ace - tell my parents I’m alright, okay? When you get back out.”

Ace nodded, again. “Sure. You want me to email them, or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that works. You’ve got your headset on record mode, right? My mom’s email is Jenny-underscore-Chang-underscore-65, at yahoo.com. Just...just tell them, you know, that I’m fine.”

Ace gave her a small smile. “I can do that,” she said, her wings shifting as she prepared to take flight - presumably, to find Drakla/Elaine. “Do you just want a potion? To leave?”

Inferna shook her head. “No, give it to someone who actually needs it.” And someone who actually wants it. Inferna knew she’d have to go and confront her real life at some point - AKA applying for jobs in an industry she didn’t give two shits about, and sleeping through boring lectures about Ruby or C++ or whatever, and spending all her free time debugging her stupid fucking code - but right now, she just wanted to have fun while she still could.

“Sure thing. Don’t die, okay? We’re all still waiting on you to go to a Blackpink concert with us. Their Kill This Love World Tour stages have looked awesome, from what I’ve seen on YouTube.”

Inferna gave Ace a two-fingered salute. “Nothing’ll keep me from my wife Lalisa Manoban. Tell Angie she’s a bitch for me.”

Ace rolled her eyes one final time before she took off in a flurry of black feathers and swirls of shimmering silver light, leaving Inferna alone in the forest.

Inferna pulled her player-plexus out again. She wanted to find Neddy, and she wanted to find food.

[btgalaxy]

The Broken Heart Of An Innocent

masterlist

➳ a/n: I hope you enjoy it! - admin soo

➳ genre: angst

➳ pairing: yoongi x reader

➳ word count: 2.7k

warnings:  suicide and depression. please refrain from reading if you’re in a fragile state of mind. 

Dear Yoongi,

I’ve tried to figure out why you broke up with me for the past few months. I honestly thought at the beginning that this might have been my fault. It was me, after all, that couldn’t have kids. It was me that was different. Even though you made sure that I believe in myself; that I love myself and that I speak for myself, I lost those things when you broke my heart, Yoongi. Did you lose them too?

It isn’t your fault that I am doing this, please do not take it that way. But our break up helped me to realise one thing, I don’t want to live. I never wanted to live. I did live, yes. But why? Did I do it because I had some goals? Or did I do it because society wanted me to? I can only imagine what people are saying now. “She must have been weak, that’s why she killed herself”. Is that what they’re saying? 

Or are they understanding of my pain? Of the pain of having this empty void inside my heart? I could feel something, some emotions, only when we were together. I learned what a joy and what a colourful world we have, when we feel things. So now I lost this ability to feel, I am lost. I want to enjoy things, I want to smile at the kids running through water fountains when it’s hot outside. I want to smile whenever I smell my favourite white roses. I can’t. Why?

I’m sorry to the boys, please, take care of them. I’m sorry that I’ve pretended to be better, I just didn’t want them to worry. I know that they wouldn’t be able to forgive you this unless I move on. Please, don’t tell them what really happened. Please, do keep this a secret, and have your family by you. Will you do that?

I’ve organized everything for when you come back, there will be nothing left in the flat, I’ve put some important things in our deposit box, you can give them to the boys, say that I went back to my birth country and that those are the only things that I left behind me. For you, I’ve left you something precious. I don’t know if you’ll want it, but I hope that my thoughts aren’t real and that you still love me. Do you?

I feel sleepy now, so I’m going to finish it quickly. I love you, I thank you for the amazing 2 years, thank you for showing me how life should look like. Thank you for waking up the spark within me, thank you for the dreams I started to have when I met you. Thank you for introducing me to your bulletproof family. Thank you for your...

It was too late to apologise. Mistakes had been made, words had been said. All the hurt that wasn't meant to be given, was not only given but received. A person that should give only love, a smile, warmth to the heart, gave nothing but the feeling of a broken heart. 

This endless misery of despair and sorrow should give you pain only, but when your heart is shattered by your soulmate it shows the happy memories; it takes you back to the happiest moments of your relationship, when you both shared your most honest smiles. It tells you the story of how you should be grateful for the love you received. It doesn't tell you to hate, to hide in your feelingless shell. No, it shows you the best moments so you could learn what you've lost. 

It shows you how you’ve met, the shy smile that you shared when you both ordered large iced americano at local Starbucks. How he surprised you and came to your table asking, how such a pretty girl orders such dark coffee, to which you replied with the same question. How does such pretty boy order such dark coffee, but, in reality, you wondered how does such a handsome man talk to you? It shows you your first kiss, how his lips touched yours, afraid of you running away from him. Your lips returning his kiss, your tongue slowly opening his upper lip, afraid of going too fast in your relationship.

“You don’t have to force yourself to do something you don’t want to do, darling” was the very first sentence that convinced your heart that this man is worth your trust.

“I need to break up with you,” he said. As if your world didn't break apart the moment words left his lips. He left. He moved on with his life. He decided for both of you, that this is the time. This is the end.

And so, with those words, you thought of the end, of how to end this excruciating pain. Yet, you couldn't force yourself to reach for that blade, for those pills, for the liquid poison that you liked to savour in small amounts.  

You were sitting with this emptiness in your heart, in your thoughts, when you heard a knock, a doorbell being rung. You knew you were supposed to leave the warmth of the bubbly water; it is something that is expected of people, after all. To open the door. But at that moment, you honestly couldn’t care less. You lost your light; you lost your will to fight, to live.  

So, you sat in that lukewarm water, becoming colder with every passing minute. You wondered if maybe your recent talk had caused it. You knew that this secret of yours would destroy any relationship, yet you decided to reveal it. After all, it was honesty that was the foundation of every good relationship. You wondered if maybe that statement wasn't true; if maybe some secrets should never be revealed.  

“I can't have kids. I can't get pregnant.”

When the water became ice-cold you reached the conclusion that devastated you forever. You were the cause of why your world fell apart. Even though he claimed there was nothing that could break his love for you, this must have been the limit of his love. The limit that he’d never met before the obstacle that couldn't be overcome. The Berlin Wall. The Dutch Water Line. The Mount Everest of his love.  

His love for you withered away like a flower without light. His dream of being a father was something that always kept him motivated; his dream of telling stories - of making his dreams come true - was something that kept his body going. But when this possibility was taken away from him, he gave up on you. He gave up on your future, he gave up on your heart. 

Your ears picked up a slight creaking noise when the heavy entry door was being pushed open and before you took notice of this fact, you heard your name being called throughout the house.

“Y/N!” it wasn’t the voice you longed for; it wasn’t the voice that could glue your heart back together. When your name is being summoned, you’re supposed to answer this call, but the only thing you did was stare at the view in front of your bathtub. 

You loved the fact that you lived high up in the building and had a window stretching through the whole length of the wall in your bathroom; it allowed you to appreciate the crystal-clear night sky. The sky seemed to share your pain; stars being covered with the clouds, fighting for their light to shine through the vale of darkness. But when it seemed that the stars might have had a chance to win, the clouds covered their source of motivation; their moon was taken over by the same darkness that covered your heart, the moment you heard those devastating words.

“I don’t love you anymore. It’ll be better for both of us if we end it now.” 

He was the one that thought of it. He was the one that decided for both of you. You, on the other hand, weren’t better off without him. You still loved him; he was your light, and you thought it worked both ways. That you were also his light.

“For fuck's sake, Y/N! You answer when someone calls you! Are you okay?” Your brain told you to answer, but your body refused. What’s the need for speech? You have no reason to live. What’s the need to announce that you’re still breathing? What’s the possible reason behind admitting that you’re still alive and in pain?

You felt your hand being taken into another; you saw worried eyes in front of yours. Yet, you didn’t react. You just looked at the face of your dear friend - another reminder of your broken heart. He was not only your best friend, but also you his. You should have felt some kind of emotion, probably negative, but you felt nothing. You went numb. You didn’t want to cry, smile, hug. You wanted nothing. You wanted to disappear from this world and join the stars in their fight. At least they wouldn’t suffer the way you were.

“Y/N.” This time it was a whisper. A warm whisper, an inviting whisper; the kind that brings peace even to the most violent fight. “Why are you in your clothes?”  

He hadn’t even noticed the bloody blade next to you, same with the half-empty bottle of vodka. The blade was so close to you, yet so far away. You saw the blood on its ridges and wondered who had a chance to get to it before you. You were the one that wanted to suffer no more. The only thing that you needed to do was to just stretch your hand. But even this simple move was too much for you. Your friend must have noticed that there was no point in trying to cooperate with you.

“Get up, change into new clothes. I’ll take you to bed.”

Instructions were something you could follow, as it turned out a few minutes later when you were being put to bed by your dearest friend, Namjoon. He asked if you wanted him to lie with you, and you must have nodded your head, as he soon held you into his body. You knew it was healthy to cry your sadness out, but it must have been out of your limits, as you closed your eyes and went straight into deep night sleep.  

You wandered through the land of Morpheus, dreaming of the future that was now lost, of the happy moments with your three kids. Your dogs chasing after them in the garden through the sprinklers. Then you, sat on the porch with your husband right next to you, your fingers entangled with his, smiles and pride evident on both of your faces. Your heart filled with joy, happiness, love, pure bliss.  

Soon enough, though, you had to leave the land you started to love so much, to go back to the cruel reality. In your bed, there was no one. Namjoon must have gone to work; at least that’s what you thought and slightly hoped for. You reached for your phone that was placed yesterday on the nightstand next to your bed. Your stomach reminded you of the desire to eat, so you decided to order something from the place near your house. Jajangmyeon and japchae. Your favourite dishes.  

Ten minutes later your food had arrived, so you left your bed in order to get breakfast. That’s when you noticed that Namjoon didn’t leave your apartment. No, in fact, he went even further. He brought the rest of your group. You thought it was your delivery ringing the doorbell, but it was your friends.  

“Y/N!” Jimin ran to you and enveloped you in an honest hug. You didn’t return it, you only looked at the hands of Jin that had them full of dishes he must have cooked for you. So, you left Jimin, grabbed the dishes you needed, went to the kitchen for some chopsticks and sat by the table to eat.  

“Hey, baby girl, you alright?” this was all you needed to snap. The two words that were reserved for your lover, the cause of your self-hatred, was all you needed to snap. To start screaming, to start the uncontrollable stream of tears going out of eyes.  

All of it was such a blur, that until this day you don’t know what you screamed. The only thing you remember from snapping was what happened after it. All 6 of the boys cuddled you, not letting go until your legs gave out. Until your heart brought the sadness it should bring from the beginning. Until your tears dried out, and until your devastating emotions came back alive.  

“It’s all my fault.”

“Darling, it isn’t your fault, trust me. It’s even beyond him, he had to do it.” You heard Jin’s voice clearly, so clearly that you felt as if his words were a loud church bell sounding on the Sunday’s morning mass. His words lingered in your thoughts and when you thought that this is the end; that they were gone; that you could let it go, move on, they came back. The thoughts of you being the fault for your unhappiness, the thoughts of him being forced to break up with you because of your circumstances. Because you were different. Because you weren’t normal as every single person around him. They always sneaked their way back to your mind.

You saw your friends almost every day after the breakup. They always made sure for someone to drop by your place in the evening and check on you. Sometimes they’d stay for the night, hugging your body tightly to their chests, talking to you total nonsense to stop you from crying. To distract you.

That’s how you came up with your plan. You decided to make the boys feel good, make them happier, remove this constant worry from their lives. You didn’t want to add to their stresses and worries; you knew what kind of restraint their careers put on them, and you didn’t want to add another problem to the already big pile. You watched them becoming more relaxed around you; you watched them giving you their biggest smiles, whenever they saw a delicate smile on your lips. You watched them going to their own beds at night.

Finally, after a few weeks of this tiring affectation from you, you got the big news. This was actually the first time you felt happy in months. Yes, you pretended to be happy, and you felt relieved when you saw your boys smiling, but what you felt at that moment was pure happiness. You jumped around your room, singing to happy songs, dancing around with wine in your hand and snacks on the table. They were going on tour, finally.

There was still a lot of time before they went, but you’d found endless sources for being happy in front of them, now that you knew they were going away. This only made them feel even better. They were worried for you for the past few months, ever since Yoongi broke up with you. They all tried to convince Yoongi to ask for you back, they all believed that you two together, was what made you both truly happy. That you both were destined to be together. They didn’t understand why he broke up with you. He never told them the true reason behind, always dismissed them with:

“It’s better for both of us.”

Finally, the day came. You’ve met with them the day before, drank some alcohol, wished them luck on their tour and wished them to have many amazing memories to tell you when they’ll come back. And you hugged them. Jimin asked you constantly whether everything is alright, but the only thing you said to him, every single time, was:

“Yes, Jimin. I’m finally happy.” 

So you’d prepared everything the same night. The moment they left the country, you’d started to realise your plan. You went to your favourite restaurant, your favourite park, played with dogs at the shelter. You bought your favourite brand of vodka, you took out your pills and ran a warm bath at night, to watch the stars for the last time.

[faveficarchive]

Fire and Ice: Part 1

By Friction

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: In this uberfic, Danielle (Gabrielle) is robbed by a mysterious woman, and as a result, discovers a lot of new things about herself. 

Her uncle circled her like a mother hen. He was appalled that she had to endure such a thing and kept wandering into her room to make sure she was all right. Finally realizing there wasn't anything more he could do he let her rest.

Although tired, Danielle was too keyed up to sleep. Her mind was flooded with conflicting emotions. The police had handled her with care, as if she were in shock, and maybe she was. Why else would she have purposely misled them about his height and the color of his eyes? Although it made no sense, she felt reluctant to see him captured. There was something in his manor that had been almost apologetic. She blushed as she remembered how her skin had tingled when he touched the tip of his finger to her lips.

Danielle berated herself for these irrational thoughts. She could have been raped or killed. She was being foolishly sentimental. Still, somehow deep inside she knew that she had never been in danger. She was certain that he never would have harmed her, even though it defied all logic. Danielle shivered as she thought of his eyes riveted to hers, his gentle touch and soothing voice. Her senses had been keenly alert through the whole experience. She remembered the aroma of his leather jacket and something else, something that tugged at the edge of her memory. Danielle glanced around the room for an item that might have held his scent. There was nothing, even the scarf he had used to gag her was gone.

She scolded herself for romanticizing. He was a common thief, who had broken in, tied her up and taken what didn't belong to him. The safe had been cleared out. Over two million dollars in jewels and cash were stolen.

Even so, the loss was minor in scope of her uncle's wealth. But there was one item among the contents of the safe that could never be replaced: her mother's medallion. It had been handed down through the generations to the eldest daughter on their twenty-third birthday. In a couple of weeks it would have been hers. Now the tradition would end. The thief had taken a piece of her birthright along with the jewels.

The thought distressed her. Feeling too edgy to sleep, she decided to write in her journal and discovered it wasn't where she had left it. An exhaustive search of the house turned up nothing. A chilling thought occurred to her. Maybe the thief had taken it. The idea seemed ludicrous but she had no other way to explain its disappearance.

Her pulse quickened as she thought of him reading her private thoughts. What could he want with her diary? Was he hoping to find information, secrets? Her mind jumped to a variety of unpleasant conclusions. Luckily she had only recently inserted new pages, filing the old entries away.

She tried to recall what she had written in the last few weeks and groaned as she remembered the park. Was she allowing her vivid imagination to get the best of her? Surely if he had taken the journal, he would throw it out, probably without even reading it.

***

Alex poured herself another drink. Her behavior this evening was worrisome. She was indeed slipping. How else could she explain her phone call to the police? She squeezed her eyes shut. God, what had she been thinking?

She grabbed her leather jacket from the chair and pulled the colorful scarf out of the pocket. Her mind flashed back to the fear she had seen in the young woman's eyes and she winced. Remembering the woman's suffering distressed her. Hoping to erase the vision, she stuffed the scarf deep into the pocket.

Her reason for alerting the police was simple. The thought of the innocent woman bound and uncomfortable had been unbearable. She had to call.

Her actions were completely out of character. She never allowed herself such sentimentality. It was too dangerous in her line of work. But there was more to it than that. She couldn't shake the feeling that she knew this woman from someplace. Looking into those emerald eyes had felt like coming home. She had wanted to kiss her, to take her in her arms and protect her from the world. A ridiculous thought, considering she was probably the only one to ever pose a threat to the young woman.

Alex couldn't explain her feelings, but it was clear that her heart wasn't in her work anymore. She would have stopped years ago, but the decision was no longer hers to make. He was calling the shots now and she knew it would never be enough. He owned her.

She walked to the table and dumped out the contents of her bag. It had been a good haul. There was approximately $500,000 cash and an additional two million in jewels. They were high quality, many antiques. An unusual medallion caught her attention and she pulled it from the pile. It was oval shaped, made of gold with an intricate spiral pattern engraved on the front. It was obviously very old. Alex turned it over in her hands, examining it closely and felt a tingling sensation in her fingertips. She set it down and took another drink.

Her attention was drawn to the leather book. She picked it up and sat next to the fire, gently running her her fingers over the cover. This was old too. The spiral design on the front was similar to the one on the pendant, and there were symbols she couldn't decipher. Its pages were held in place with leather ties. The cover was beautifully cured and oiled. It must have meant a great deal to someone, as it was well cared for. She leafed through the pages and smiled. She loved the scent of ink. Ever since she was a kid she associated the aroma with pleasant memories.

She glanced at the first page. The handwriting captured her attention right away. It was written with an old fashion fountain pen. The strokes widened and narrowed with artistic flair. Looking at the page as a whole, the script formed a beautifully abstract design. The penmanship was flowing, pleasing to the eye. As she looked closely it became obvious that it was a journal. She took another sip of scotch and began to read.

7/1

It was another sleepless night in an unending chain. The darkness calls to me. I'm drawn to the risk, the mystery. The element of danger promises fulfillment, an escape from my ordinary life. I hunger for adventure.

I chose to walk through the park even though my uncle had warned me how dangerous the city was as night. The air was warm. I walked quickly, trying to cool myself with the breeze my movements created. I was lost in my thoughts, as I so often am.

A noise to my left caught my attention. I turned and listened. It was a deep moan. Curiosity drew me to the sound. The area was dimly lit and I had to strain to see two people in the distance. I edged closer. I was only twenty feet way when they came clearly into view. The woman was leaning with her back against a tree. Her lover was pressed tightly against her, their mouths locked in a steamy kiss. The woman was delirious with pleasure, her moans escaping the seal of their lips. I felt like an intruder, but I was transfixed. My feet wouldn't move. My eyes were locked on their undulating bodies. I stood frozen, watching his hands glide up the outside of her thighs, raising the light weight skirt above her hips. His lips were moving against her neck and I could see the intensity of her need in her expression.

The raw sensuality of it, stirred something in me, bringing me to my senses. I stepped back, intending to leave, when the unthinkable happened; a twig snapped loudly under my weight. I quickly glanced up to see if the couple had heard me.

They had, both were facing me now. I willed myself to run, but a realization settled over me and I hesitated. They were both women.

I ran. Flushed with embarrassment, feeling like a common voyeur.

My reaction to these women confuses me. My interest in this couple makes me more aware than ever that I need to get a life. I haven't been out with anyone in over a year. Dating has always been awkward for me. I'm uncomfortable in intimate relationships. There is no desire.

I thought for a long time that the sexual part of me was dead, but tonight, for the first time, I felt... something. Maybe I am capable of those feelings, maybe they are lying dormant, waiting to be awakened. For the first time in my life I have a flicker of hope that I might be capable of falling in love.

It's time I took the initiative, and tried another date. John, one of the sports reporters at work, has approached me several times. He's friendly and attractive, maybe the time is right. Tomorrow I will ask him out for a drink.

Alex was captivated. She felt like a bit of a voyeur herself. But the young woman's words drew her in and she couldn't resist. She smiled and took another drink. Closing her eyes she tried to picture the blonde woman coming across the couple in the park. Instead she found herself fantasizing about the young woman leaning against the tree while she kissed her. The image was so vivid it was like reliving a memory.

She frowned when she thought about the sports reporter. Something told her this date idea had disaster written all over it. Reluctantly she put the journal down. She needed to contact her fence. It would be dangerous for her mother and brother if she were late with her payment.

Alex walked through the dimly lit lot to the back entrance of the pawn shop. She rapped lightly on the door and within minutes Sal answered and ushered her in. He hit a button under the counter revealing a hidden panel. Upon keying in his code the wall behind him slid to one side. There was a metal door behind it. Alex stepped past him and walked in. Once inside he hit another button causing the wall to slide back into place.

He grinned at her. "The wonders of modern technology." He loved gadgets, anything and everything electronic fascinated him.

Alex frowned. "You always did have a flair for the theatrical."

She had known Sal since the early days. He had a bubbling personality, that, while on occasion grated on her nerves, she also found endearing. Their relationship was not built on trust, for Alex trusted no one. Rather she viewed their association as mutually beneficial. He had been fair in his dealings with her and was discrete. It was in his best interests that she not be caught because their association was very profitable for him.

Although the nature of her work demanded that she relocate frequently, she did business with Sal whenever possible. There was a familiarity with one another that gave her comfort. He represented consistency in a life riddled with change.

He carefully emptied the bag she handed him onto the table. "This stuff from the Palanos heist?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't think that one was yours." He eyed her curiously. "I've never known you to have any witnesses. What went wrong?" She shrugged in response. Silently wishing she knew the answer. He sorted through the pile of jewels and continued to make small talk.

"You made the front page of the early edition."

She looked at him with sudden interest. "What did it say?"

"Seems the witness is Palanos' niece, his sister's kid...Danielle something" The mention of the woman made her pulse quicken.

He picked up the paper from the chair and scanned the article "Yeah, her name is Danielle Stafford." He tossed the paper on the table. "Evidently she was just visiting for the weekend."

He looked up and smiled. "Guess she picked the wrong time to visit." Noting Alex's lack of reaction, he continued.

"Anyway she wasn't hurt and, if she saw anything, the police aren't disclosing it. She works for the newspaper. That's probably how they got the story so fast. I had to laugh though. The article says the man got away with about 2.5 million in cash and jewels." He saw Alex's uncharacteristically troubled expression and tried to cheer her.

"Hey, if she thought you were a man, she didn't get a very good look. My eye sight isn't exactly twenty-twenty but it's a mistake I would never make." He grinned at her.

"Don't be so sure. I wasn't dressed in typical feminine attire." She grabbed the paper and read through the article as he examined the jewels. "These are nice pieces. Shame to remove them from their settings. Hmm... this is interesting." He picked up the medallion and examined it closely. Alex looked up from her reading and took it from him abruptly. "I'm keeping this." She pushed it into her pocket. "How much for the rest?"

"I'll give you 1.5."

She shook her head. "And they call me a thief. Haven't you made enough to retire yet?"

"Alex, you know I'm not in it just for the money." He winked. "I get to meet such interesting people."

She ignored his comment and handed him a piece of paper. "Have the money transferred to this account by Friday."

Danielle arrived at the station early and waited outside Detective Bowin's office. There was something about the place that made her nervous.

Marisa Sands walked past Danielle and entered the office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, It looks like we might have a lead on the Palanos case. It seems our man left a witness this time.

"Well that's good news."

"I'll tell you though Marse, something about this doesn't feel right."

"You always look a gift horse in the mouth." She smiled and shook her head.

"Why after all these robberies would he slip up? It just doesn't make sense." Bowin puzzled.

"They all make mistakes eventually. Maybe this isn't one of his?"

"No, I'd bet money it is, too many similarities. I can feel it in my bones. And if I'm right, we don't have much time. If he holds true to pattern he'll be moving on soon ."

"Okay, so what's our next move?"

"I want you to sit in on this one. Keep an eye on her while I do the questioning". She nodded and looked towards the door.

"You think she's involved?"

"I'm not sure. Evidently she doesn't visit often. Makes me wonder if it's just bad luck on her part or something more."

Marisa shrugged. "Want me to call her in?"

"Yeah, lets see if she can tell us more."

Marisa led Danielle into the office. Detective Bowin stood politely to greet her.

"Ms. Stafford, thanks for coming down so early. I hope you're feeling better today.

"Yes, thank you."

He shook her hand gently. This is my assistant, Detective Sands."

Danielle nodded.

"We won't keep you long. I just had a few things I wanted to clear up." His tone was casual but he watched her carefully.

"You say the thief grabbed you from behind and held one hand over your mouth while he put a knife to your throat?"

"Yes"

"Do you remember which hand held the knife?"

Danielle thought of a moment. "It was the right."

"I would like to try a little experiment. See if we can trigger any memories, if that's okay with you?"

"All right."

Detective Bowin stepped behind and put his hand over her mouth pulling her back. It felt wrong to Danielle: his short stature, the body type, the grip, the very presence was different.

"Marisa give it a try." Marisa positioned herself behind Danielle.

"She's a bit taller than me. It will give us a different perspective." Bowin explained.

Marisa pulled Danielle against her, covering her mouth. A shiver went through Danielle. The detective was strong, forceful. She hadn't expected that from a woman. There were definite similarities and it unnerved her.

Danielle pulled away, obviously a little rattled.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, just brought back some unpleasant memories I guess."

"Please have a seat."

"So, was he closer to my build or Marisa's?"

She hesitated only a moment and lied, "closer to your height and stature, I think." Both detectives watched her shift nervously.

"When the thief was tying you up did you notice anything about him? You said his eye color was green.

"Yes, green I think." Her voice quavered slightly. But she recovered quickly. "It's kind of hazy and I was frightened."

"Of course, that's completely understandable. Was he white then?"

"I think so. He wore gloves and a mask. I never saw his skin."

"Hmm, but the eye color would indicate someone of light skin."

"Yes" Danielle was feeling uncomfortable with her lies. Why was she protecting the robber?.

"Did he speak to you at all?"

Danielle hesitated again. "No."

Bowin cast a quick glance at his partner, wondering if she had noticed Danielle's eyes lower. "Anything about him that was unusual? Mannerisms, walk?"

"Nothing I can remember."

There was something strange going on. Bowin could feel it. He decided not to press the woman too hard. He could always call her back later.

"Well, that's all I can think of for now. You'll be available if we have further questions?" He stood and smiled. Danielle nodded, wondering if he was asking or telling her.

She was relieved to be leaving. Her head was pounding. She could not imagine what had caused her to lie, but she had done it with barely a thought. It had almost been instinctive. Uncomfortable with her fabrications, she wondered if her face may have revealed her discomfort. She took a deep breath as she exited the station. It was over now and she would just have to deal with the consequences.

***

It was early morning by the time Alex arrived home. She poured herself a cup of coffee and settled on the couch. The journal lay on the table where she had left it. She ran her hand lightly over the smooth leather, her fingers tracing the curious design. ‘Okay Danielle, how'd the date go?' Turning the pages to the point she left off, she began to read.

7/2

The date was disastrous. We went out for drinks and then back to his apartment to see his autographed sports collectibles. God, how do I manage to get myself into these things? I knew early on it wasn't working out, but I wanted to give it a fair shot. After the second drink, his subtle advances escalated to heavy groping and forceful kisses.

He did all the things that make for effective love scenes in movies, the same things others before him have done. I felt nothing. Fortunately, he was oblivious to my disinterest and seemed genuinely reluctant for me to leave. At least, I didn't hurt his feelings. He even asked me out again. At least one of us had a good time. Of course, I declined. It wouldn't be fair to him. What's the point, I'm hopeless.

Whatever triggered the sensations in me last night in the park, wasn't there tonight. Was I attracted to the forbidden, the voyeurism, the sense of danger? Maybe it was the simple fact they were both women? But, my body had reacted long before I knew their sex, or had something deep within me known it all along? I'm curious.

"I'll bet you are." Alex smiled. Something told her that the young woman was far from hopeless. She had seen the fire in those green eyes. It was clear to Alex that the right person would have no trouble stirring the passion she sensed was smoldering below the surface. She got up to pour another cup of coffee, then sat back down to continue reading.

7/3

I made plans to spend the weekend with my uncle. He is such a kind and lonely man. I feel a little guilty for not making more of an effort to visit him since I've lived in town. He was so supportive of my decision to move here. Without his help, my parents would have made it even more difficult for me. They were dead set against me coming out here.

If it weren't for my grandmother, I would think that I was adopted. I have nothing in common with my family. They are appalled by my need for adventure and will never understand why I broke my engagement to Paul. It was the right decision. As nice as he is, I knew we weren't right for each other. I like him, but I could never love him, not the way he wanted.

My father will never forgive me for the embarrassment I brought to the family, breaking the engagement and leaving town. But, my leaving was hardest on my mother. It made the memories of my grandmother surface. When I left, I could see the pain in her face. I knew she was remembering my grandmother's scandalous affair.

It took all my courage to leave what was safe and familiar. I could have spent my entire life trying to fit in there. I never would have. I had to find myself.

7/4

I went to see the fireworks with some women from the paper. They were spectacular. I've always enjoyed looking up at the night sky. The stars fascinate me. My friends seemed much less interested in the fireworks than the men that passed by.

I feigned interest in their observations. Puzzled by what they found so alluring. None of the men we saw interested me physically. But then, they never do.

After the night in the park, I find myself thinking about women, wondering if that's where my attraction lies. I'm more aware of women since that night. I appreciate the beauty of the female form. The soft sloping curves of a woman's body are pleasing to me. Still, there is no physical attraction except for that glimmer of feeling I had watching the women in the park.

I will be twenty-three in a couple of weeks. That has been a milestone year for women in my family. My grandmother was that age when her life changed. Maybe it will be my year for self discovery, too.

7/5

Six years of journalism and I'm stuck writing obituaries. If only I could get a shot at writing a real story. I've only worked at the paper for five months but I've got some great ideas. I wish they would let me try one. I sent the outline for the domestic violence story to Liz, the editor of the women's section. I wonder if she bothered to read it. It's just the kind of story I have dreamt of doing. An opportunity to help people through my writing. Elaine encouraged me to follow through with my idea for the story and agreed to talk to the women at the shelter about setting up a meeting. She has been the director for a number of years. They have come to trust and respect her. I hope we are able to get a few to participate. She thinks it might give some women in abusive situations the courage to leave.

I owe Elaine a phone call. We haven't gotten together in a couple of weeks. She has been a good friend to me, but lately her attempts to set me up with her male friends have made me uncomfortable. She only wants me to be happy. I guess I'm going to have to work up the nerve to discuss it with her.

7/6

I have been trying to avoid John all week but today he caught up with me at lunch. I don't know how to let him down easy. Although he's a nice guy, I don't think that he has any close friends. I should have left things as they were. Now, our friendship seems strained. I'll have to talk to Elaine. She usually knows how to handle these relationship things. Who knows, maybe she could set him up with one of her female friends.

Maybe I should ask her to set me up with one of her female friends.

Since the night in the park, I haven't been sleeping well. I am restless. Until that night I thought little about sex. Now my dreams are filled with longing. I chase a stranger whose face eludes me.

7/7

I walk the park nightly, secretly hoping I will see the lovers. I can't stop thinking of them. They haunt me. I can't shake the feeling that they hold the key that would unlock my heart and end my loneliness.

I believe the answer is linked with this incident. I don't know what I'm searching for, only that I can't give up trying to find it. I feel on the verge of discovering something I once knew and have now forgotten. There is a piece of myself that is missing. Without it, I'm incomplete.

It's a promise of something wonderful, something I have waited my entire life for. My eyes linger on each woman I pass and I wonder if they are one of the lovers from that night.

7/8

An odd thing happened at the hair stylist's today. I was waiting to have my hair trimmed when I glanced at the woman seated in front of me. It wasn't the woman herself that caught my eye, but her hair. She slid a towel off her head, revealing long dark hair. It was wet and hung in tangles down her shoulders. I felt a shiver run down my spine. I watched entranced as she ran her fingers through it, shocked that I wanted to do the same. I don't know how long I stared at her. Time had stopped for me. My heart was pounding furiously. She turned to pick up a magazine from the counter and faced my direction. She was beautiful, but somehow I felt disappointed. What had I expected? Who had I expected? Did the woman against the tree in the park have long dark hair? I can't remember. I'm not sure that I even noticed. I only know since that night I have changed.

Alex put the journal down and stretched. She wondered for a moment what Danielle would think of her long dark hair. She ran her fingers though it and laughed at herself. What an unlikely pair they would be. They were as opposite as night and day.

Although they were worlds apart, the similarities in their circumstances hadn't escaped her. Something was lacking in her life too. Loneliness was a pain she had learned to bear. Like Danielle, she had never been able to commit to a relationship. She took care not to let her guard down. It was the one valuable lesson Julian had taught her. But, unlike this innocent woman, not committing hadn't stopped her from using lovers of both sexes. In her short life, she had slept with numerous men and women. But, for her part it was always a manipulation, she had never opened her heart to anyone. She never felt love for them.

Reluctantly, she closed the journal. There were many things she had to take care of and she needed to rest. Her fingers slowly caressed the journal's surface. The spiral design on the front fascinated her. Hesitantly, she laid it down and walked to the bedroom.

[lixxiecorn]

Totally Normal - Bruce

Welcome back to part 3 of Totally Normal! For those of you that aren’t aware Totally Normal is a multi-chaptered fic I’m writing on ao3 in which Peter tries his absolute best to make the Avengers feel super normal instead of superheroes all the time. Here’s Bruce and Peter (along with a special appearance from Kamala Khan and Lockjaw)!

Read the entire story here!

…

“Bruce, you haven’t been outside of the tower for the past week.” Peter pointed out, following Bruce around his lab like a lost puppy.

Peter was in the process of trying to convince Bruce to go to the park with him. It wasn’t like Peter couldn’t go to the park by himself, which contrary to popular belief he was capable of, it just was a lot more fun to go with another person. Peter had gone all around the tower, trying to find someone, anyone that would go but everyone was either out of the tower, on a mission, or busy, if you counted playing a very intense game of Super Smash Bros busy (ahem Sam and Clint).

This made Bruce Peter’s last chance at a park buddy, and Peter wasn’t going to go away easily. Especially since Tony had informed him of the gamma scientist’s need for fresh air as he shooed him out of the lab and having FRIDAY lock the door behind him.

“I’m busy.” Bruce deflected, stopping at a lab bench and adjusting a valve on an ongoing experiment.

“With?” Peter prodded, standing right behind the scientist and looking over his shoulder curiously.

“Uhh…” Bruce stammered, pausing his motions while he thought. “Lab stuff.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Lab stuff can wait, the park can’t.”

“What if I hulk out?” Bruce asked, going back to fiddling with the experiment.

“I bet the big guy would love to play with the doggos, now come on!” Peter replied, grabbing Bruce’s arm and pulling him away.

Bruce laughed. “Fine.”

Peter cheered and ran towards the door. “Let’s go!”

“Give me 5 minutes to get ready.” Bruce called.

“Bruce!”

…

By the time they had gotten out of the tower’s front door Peter was practically pulling Bruce. They walked along the streets, Peter pointing out all the different Avenger’s memorabilia and street art as they passed it. It was all things he’d seen before while he swung around the city as Spiderman, but Bruce’s face was full of amazement and wonder.

The park was a stark difference from the hustle and bustle of the city streets. All around the paths was soft, green grass with all sorts of different trees and bushes spread throughout. Lining the path that the two Avengers walked on were gorgeous flowers of all different colors.

Peter grabbed Bruce’s hand and almost hopped through the twists and turns of the path. Bruce laughed at the teenager’s antics and followed along. Peter stopped at a large pavilion with different little food stalls, a grove of picnic tables next to it. He led Bruce over to the ice cream place and ordered. Bruce insisted on paying, despite the fact that technically Tony was paying no matter what.

They sat on the edge of a nearby fountain, licking their ice cream cones.

“This is actually pretty good.” Bruce commented, taking another spoonful of his cold treat. He had gotten 2 scoops of Hulka Hulka Burning Fudge after it being recommended to him by Wong. Peter found this hilarious, especially because Bruce hated all Hulk merchandise. That had become clear after the Christmas debacle last year when Tony and Clint had switched all of Bruce’s presents with Hulk merch. Let’s just say that neither Bruce or Hulk were happy about that.

“I don’t know, Stark Raving Hazelnut is better.” Peter said, grinning. Bruce swiped a spoonful of Peter’s ice cream. “Hey!” Peter squawked, cradling his bowl.

“I dunno, I agree with Strange, it’s a bit chalky.” Bruce commented, licking his lips thoughtfully.

“Well maybe he’s called that because his opinion is strange.” Peter theorized, then laughed at his own joke. Bruce rolled his eyes and shook his head, but smiled, nonetheless.

“Come on, I have one less place I want to show you.” Peter announced, jumping up. He led Bruce through the park until they reached one of Peter’s favorite places.

“Dog park?” Bruce asked, reading the sign. “But we don’t have a dog.”

“I mean, they allow any animal so technically between my spider DNA and the big guy we’d fit right in.” Peter said nonchalantly. Bruce raised in eyebrows skeptically.

“Ok I’m kidding.” Peter admitted. “But they let anyone come in and sometimes people will let you pet their dogs.”

Bruce nodded unsurely, and let Peter pull him inside the gate. They walked up to a young girl with a ginormous dog.

“Can we pet your dog?” Peter asked shyly.

“Sure, just be careful he doesn’t teleport you to Mars or something.” The girl warned.

Bruce looked at her in alarm, his hand stopping on its way to the dog’s back.

“I’m just kidding.” The girl said, laughing. “I’m Kamala.” She introduced, holding out her hand.

“Peter, and this is Bruce.” Peter responded, shaking her hand. “What’s this cute guy’s name?” He asked, scratching the dog’s head around a two-pronged trident looking thing.

“This is Lockjaw.” Kamala said, grinning. “He’s a good boy when he wants to be.

Lockjaw panted and rolled over, allowing Peter to scratch his belly. Peter laughed and did so, Bruce watching on in amusement.

“Well, we better get going, we’ve got to meet Bruno back at the Circle Q.” Kamala explained. They said goodbye and Kamala and Lockjaw went one way, Peter and Bruce going the other.

“Wait- “Peter said, turning back around, but Kamala and Lockjaw were no where to be seen. “Huh.”

“What?” Bruce asked, looking around.

“That girl, Kamala, and her dog. They disappeared.” Peter explained confused.

“I wonder if that dog really can teleport.” Bruce mused, then he thought of something. “What were you going to ask her?”

“I was gonna ask for her number becausesheseemslikeareallynicepersonandIwanttobeherfriend.” Peter rambled, rushing to give the explanation quickly.

Bruce laughed and put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You’ll probably see her again.”

“Why’s that?” Peter looked up at the scientist.

“Cause everyone’s drawn to you Parker, you make everyone’s lives better.” Bruce told him, smiling.

Peter grinned, his face getting hot. He let Bruce lead him out of the dog park and back towards the tower.

“So, are you glad you got some fresh air?” Peter asked, still smiling.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” Bruce replied, taking a deep breath. “Thanks kid.”

“No problemo.”

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 26

Click here for more Numb content OR JOIN THE NUMB DISCORD

Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2100+

Date posted: 20 Jan 2018

A/N: Y’all can thank @trevorcollumns for this part actually being completed. She’s become a nagging motivation and I love her to pieces for keeping me inspired with this fic. She refuses to let my interest move elsewhere, and I’m really thankful. Cya soon, my bitch. You can nag me in person soon! 

The skull stares at you. It’s black empty sockets screaming with a loneliness that is not only striking, but fearful. Like the creature it once was continues to lament over its last moments alive. Jaw dislocated and limp, but cries so loud they’re deafening.

Ryan is right, the remnants of the animal before you hadn’t fallen to an ordinary predator.

The grooves carved into it’s features wander like footpaths traipsed through familiarity, smooth and deliberate when unwrapping the skin from bone. Intelligent. Not clusters of claw marks in sets of threes and fours, and not the aftermath of clumsy teeth trying to keep a hold - but created with a precision that you just can’t place.

Can’t place, at least, until an outstretched finger touches the bone. All at once the base of your skull is left searing, a prickling pain that glides smoothly up the centre of your head, right over until coming to sting at the bridge of your nose. Along with it comes a heat that circles your neck, the hollow of your throat closing with the pressure of unseen fingers.

“Fuck!” You recoil instantly, shuddering and hoping to pass the discomfort off as a reaction to the cold. The word slips from your lips before you can catch a breath, Ryan placing a cautionary hand against your lower back to stop you from toppling out of the crouch you’re folded into. “You’re right, this isn’t an animal… But why wouldn’t whoever it is take the head?”

“Y/N, come on.” Ryan gives you a concerned look. “Why’re you freaking out? I was kidding about the murder mystery thing. It’s probably just left over from a camper who needed a good meal.”

“In this weather?”

He doesn’t have a response.

Letting the hand he has against your back guide you into sitting, your legs guard the sides of the skull. You can’t help following the grooves; pressing their image against the memories you have of those adorning the window frames of Motbury, and decorating the bodies you’re now too familiar with.

“Why,” you ask again, reaching out to the bone again and pulling it into your lap, “would someone meticulously remove the head of a creature, skin the skull, and not take it with them? Surely a hunter wouldn’t chop off and clean the head before taking the body away. That doesn’t make sense.”

He struggles, uncertain of what answer you might possibly want. Taking the skull from you, Ryan turns it over in his hands, examining the clean separation that had seen it removed from the spine in the dimming evening light. “Well,” he says, “maybe he didn’t need it.”

-

 The feeling of cobblestone pounds against the soles of your feet. Hard and aching in the cold. Bitter with every slap of your shoes as you run. The orange glow of streetlights trace the path you carve through the town, chasing the shadows you leave behind and playing in your hair. Scampering between your legs and leaping across the stone you bound over. Glinting against the black ice that has already managed to trip you twice, ground kissing the skin it’s left bruised across your hip and thigh.

Ryan’s confusion still rings in your ears. His alarmed expression, of which you had left in the snow as you’d rocketed to your feet and started moving, haunts the darkened spaced between houses and shop fronts.

“What, Y/N? What’s wrong - wait, where’re you going? Y/N, slow down. Y/N-”

He’d snatched out, crumpling to his knees as you’d darted away.

Instead of explaining, you’d thrown him an incoherent response and reminder for him to join dinner that night with nothing else on your mind besides racing thoughts and a need to find Detective Dooley. To hurl definitive evidence at his feet and demand that he acknowledge the grooves that match those found clinging to buildings. To force him to address the links exposed by the timeline you and Michael had slaved over. To make him see, once and for all, that the removal of the head and the slaughter of animals oh so long ago has to mean something. It just had to.

 It had to.

 The skull, minor in its existence, brings the three factors they’d been scratching their heads over together with clumsy a bow. Solidifying the concept of a copycat killer so much so that Jeremy will be unable to argue, and parading the fact that that whoever had been killing livestock hadn’t upgraded to children, but had kept a clear line between those he hunts. One for food, and one for fun.

It isn’t much, but it consumes you. Taking over your being and vibrating in your limbs, stretching tight across your icy cheekbones. But it’s more than the relief of a definitive copycat that spurs you on. Ryan’s comment had stirred something inside you. Flipped a switch and brought blinding possibilities you hadn’t yet considered.

 If the killer didn’t take the skulls of animals because he didn’t need them or want them - he must have had a reason for collecting the heads that he does.

 Your rampant thoughts, along with your being, collide into the figure in front of you. So dizzy in your mind that it takes you a moment to register the shock, the man is already grunting and skirting past. Swallowed again by the night. A shake of your head sees the panic dislodge and recognition take its place.

“Jeremy?” you call, waving a hand above your head and stumbling after him. “Hey, wait up. You’re just who I’m looking for.”

He doesn’t. Instead his head tucks deeper into his coat, shoulders hunched. The quickness of his pace is hard to match, but you manage.

"Slow down, J, I need to talk to you," you plead, catching his arm. But he still doesn't stop, shaking free and powering on into the snow. Recoiling, stung, you jam your hands into you pockets. "Are you kidding me? C’mon man, stop messing around. This is important."

“Then why don't you go and tell Ryan?”

The words burn, lashing out and leaving your skin raw.

“Excuse me?” you demand faintly, “what does Ryan have to do with anything?”

"I just figured," he starts, finally facing you with an expression set in stone, "that considering how close you've gotten, he's all you need."

“I'm trying to talk to you about the case, Detective. You know, the one where kids are dying? And you think now's a good time to go digging around in my personal life?”

"Why not?" he asks hollowly, and you take a step back. “Why shouldn't I treat you like everyone else in this town? I’d be covering all the bases like you want me to.”

“Jesus Christ, Jeremy!” you snap, infuriated at the man who cowers from your anger for a brief moment. “What the fuck is your problem? Just because you fancy Ryan doesn’t mean you get to be an ass to me!”

“Fancy Ryan?” He almost laughs, but stops himself, instead settling for bewilderment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stop it.” Your eyes narrow at his defence, in no mood for his denials. A sharp gesture of your hand cuts his confusion, letting it fall noisily to the floor. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” You’re seething, body desperate to pace and yet feet remaining rooted to the cold, frozen ground. Through the dark you struggle with his expression, equally hurt by his scowl as he is with your own. “Jon already told me that you’re interested in him. Which is fucking fine, and I get that you’re hurting in this situation. But don’t you dare go around being an absolute asshole to both of us, just because you can’t get what you want. We have a job to do, and I’m your friend.”

He’s shaking his head, eyes wide and mouth pouted open. This time he can’t stop the laugh, harsh and mocking in the night’s biting air. “You’re kidding? You think I don’t like you guys hanging out because I’m in love with Ryan?”

You stop, accepting his simple explanation with a tight nod. You resist the urge to shuffle guiltily, uncomfortable with confronting his feelings with such volatile accusations.

Jeremy’s jaw sets, fists balling by his side while he turns bitter. “Oh, you’ve caught me. I’m interested in him, alright? Really really interested.”

A rattling sigh bounces from your lungs, falling flat in the snow. You knew this would be inevitable, and sucking in a breath and as much confidence as possible, you start the conversation you’d rather not have. “Look, Jeremy, Ryan and I-”

“I’m interested in him because he’s a person of interest, you fucking moron.”

The words stop, clinging to your tongue and scampering back down your throat before you can comprehend his vicious growl. “A person of interest? You mean-”

“I mean that you’ve been trying to date a god damn murder suspect.”

“Oh.” The shock expelled from your lips forms with a gentle pop, and with it his expression softens. Regretfully he gathers his apologies, rubbing them comfortingly into your arm. Tears well, but you don’t let them fall, feeling them thicken in your throat. “Wow J. I- I just… I can’t believe this.”

“I know, Y/N, it was hard for me to accept too, but-”

You jerk away, skin stinging from his touch. Recoiling, a few stumbles steps see the fountain greet the back of your knees, accusations like daggers. “I can’t believe you’d think your closest friend could be a part of this. That he could hurt children. After losing his own, for god sakes. What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s like - It’s like you don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, sure, lost his own, wha- you’re not listening, are you? Because you just obviously know him better, huh? All that time you’ve spent together, all those nights stumbling home arm in arm - yeah, I fucking know about that because we’ve got men watching his every fucking move so he doesn’t kill another kid - it must mean that you know him better than me? Bearing in mind, Y/N, you were the one that dated a god damn serial killer and refused to accept it, not me. And it got people killed.”

Your spine straightens, bite so lethal he shrinks away. The sharp breath sears through your lungs, mind reeling from the night that haunts your dreams and forced you to run from all that you love as he jams it into your hands. It’s your turn to ball your fists, clutching your coat close with the enraged whip of wind. It takes all you have not to launch across the space and punch him, to refrain from falling to your knees and screaming like there’s no tomorrow.

When you speak your voice is low, far more threatening than intended, but appreciated all the same. “Yeah, I guess I do know him better.”

Jeremy wants to snap back, but you don’t let him.

“I must do, because I know what type of person he is, Jeremy. And he’s a damn good one. And I also know what obsessing over a case does to people like us. I was too blind to see Charlie for who he was, because I was too busy focusing on someone else. Someone innocent, remember? I chased him to the point where he couldn’t handle the hounds and killed himself. Do you remember that, huh? Remember when we charged into his apartment and found him hanging, then got the call that my sister was dead all in the same hour?”

Jeremy doesn’t speak, as frozen as the world around him. If he could swallow his comment, he would. He’d forgotten the raw hurt, the agony in your eyes whenever you’d talk about your sister - and hadn’t realised it was still as fresh as ever. He can’t look at you anymore, glaring at his fingers as they slowly blotch purple. And you don’t look at him, either. Can’t stand his guilt, can’t stand seeing him the way he was all those years ago, watching your sister’s blood coat his hands after he’d done all he could to save her.

“I won’t let you make the same mistakes I did, Jeremy. I won’t let you drive yourself, or Ryan, into madness, just because you don’t know how to stop and see a bigger picture.” You turn to leave, stopping only to spit your final remark into the street you’re desperate to escape. “Oh, and once you’re done condemning Ryan you might want to talk to him, seeing as he’s just found the evidence we need to link the killer as a copycat to the Widow of the Woods story.”

[silverjirachi]

a tour of the abandoned mall i went to

There aren’t many opportunities to explore an abandoned mall safely and legally, but ohio is a wasteland, so sometimes that’s exactly what you get to do.

There are currently only 3 stores open. But they’re spread far apart enough that the whole mall is still open for anyone to wander through. I honestly think they might keep it open just for wanderers like myself. I wasn’t the only one aimlessly milling about the halls, but it sure was empty regardless. It’s like walking through a shell or a skeleton of a different time. Like a fossil, but with ghosts.

Walking in, this is the first thing you see. There used to be an arcade/kids play area (similar to chuck e cheese) just to my left out of the frame. While all the doors seem to be open for access, we went in through a Kohl’s just to be safe. We were both kind of surprised that we could just kind of.. walk out. A vending machine to the.left still worked.

This was.. inside the mall in a store. There were a lot of places like this. There were no police, and there was no police training while we were there.

This is in the center of the main strip, where all the corridors (eerily called “Neighborhoods” and “Districts” by this mall) connect. The winged pigs were not alarming. In southwest ohio we worship them. But compared to the last time I was there, which had only been a few years ago, EVERYTHING was closed, including the Claire’s where i bought some earrings shaped like little ice creams and an arrow shaped ring. To the right of this is a dry and empty fountain.

A shot of the “neighborhoods” labeled alphabetically. Each one has a different theme and color, which makes the whole place feel really... toylike and disjointed. It’s like walking through post apocalyptic candyland.

Upstairs, we found some garage access. (None of this entire area is air conditioned, by the way, so we are slowly wasting away in the heat as this progresses). The whole mall is filled with this alarming aura of “you are not supposed to be here” and i cant tell if that’s for lack of people or its abandonedness, but this part especially. It’s kind of pushed off and out of the way behind a line of closed doors, with only one open on either end. Some shady shit DEFINITELY used to go down in that garage (or still does). Some graffiti was on the ceiling. “Penis” and “Grace” were written on an overlook. Nice.

an upstairs information booth outside of the ocean-themed food court. we had been inside long enough that we were really starting to feel the heat and it was starting to feel a little bit like satan’s butthole. i felt like a trickster entity or some entry-level demon lived behind this desk. I left him a coin from the change from our vending machine soda, which we were drinking sporadically like mana to keep our bodies intact like it was spirited away. I wondered what kind of dark and clandestine “information” i had just exchanged 25 cents for.

Across from the middle of the food court there was just... a fully functioning and open arcade? Let me emphasize that this is in the middle of the mall and you have to make an effort to haul your ass over to this point. It was full of nostalgia games including a dungeons and dragons game, and a man behind a desk asked us if we were “here to play” when we walked in. He seemed dead inside, and he seemed like he got stragglers like us a lot. We told him we were just looking. He nodded in defeat. More people seemed to render as we went deeper inside. They offer group discounts. I’m so going here for my next birthday. A couple people passed by in the food court. Most were older, in their 60s-70s, and unaccompanied. This food court also is full of giant fish that hang from the ceiling, and in the middle has one of those bungee cord things you can tie yourself to and jump around. It was closed, sadly.

This was in one of the bathrooms, near one of two abandoned theatres in the mall. There are lots of disjointed messages like this that either appear to be tampered with by teenagers, or placed there deliberately. “REDRUM” is written on one of the storefront windows. There was also what looked like a CRIME SCENE in one of the stores in the food court near this, and once i saw what looked like a struggle and a pool of blood, i couldnt unsee it. It looked a little too cluttered and beaten up for regular decay.

Lots of weird things like this in the store windows. This was one of my favorites. Most ominous storefront award, though, goes to the storefront on the upper level full of black sheets and what looks like two copies of a children’s book called “Lord of Innocence” or something. Except, the copy on the other side is turned upside down. There was also some soap?

Tumblr has a ten-photo limit on posts, sadly, but I don’t have many more to share because my phone died halfway through our excursion. We came across what appeared to be the only staff member in the whole place - a female janitor slowly carting around her cleaning supplies like she was floating through a dream space. We crossed paths with her again when we came across a playground, and she was sitting on a bench. For what felt like a full thirty seconds i locked eyes with her and forgot what i was thinking about. I felt like we werent supposed to climb the playset, but she didnt stop us. My friend asked her and she didnt act like she cared. No one did. That was the most freaky thing. The whole place is filled with a wave of overwhelming listlessness and apathy. The people of ohio come to this abandoned mall just to look around? Sure, go ahead. We can tell you’re not shopping, but we don’t care. We’ll leave the doors open for you. Even among the other people walking there is just this complicit and unspoken understanding that we are all here to see the sights, that it’s a bit of a contemplative and ghostlike experience, and that we’ll greet each other with a faint nod and that will be enough.

There were also a couple stores that appeared to be rented out by business, but only “by appointment.” A lot of them were things like event planning or one promising “the vacation of your dreams.” I don’t know if any of their services are ever actually utilized, though. They didnt appear to be.

That’s about it! I might post the rest of the pictures just so you can see. But if you’re in the ohio/indiana/kentucky area i highly recommend at least stopping by this place if you ever get the chance. Maybe buy something from the Kohl’s so they stay open. I don’t want this place to close its doors permanently. I’m deeply connected to buildings, especially old and abandoned ones, and it’s so surreal being in a place that saw so much life one moment and none the next. And yet, people still visit it just to see it. To experience a place with its past completely behind it and a totally uncertain future. To me, that is reason enough to keep it open, and maybe that’s why they do.

[beyondcuckoo]

1964 Public School 149 -- Memories best forgotten. has been published on Elaine Webster - http://elainewebster.com/1964-public-school-149-memories-best-forgotten/

New Post has been published on http://elainewebster.com/1964-public-school-149-memories-best-forgotten/

1964 Public School 149 -- Memories best forgotten.

1964 Public School 149

Elaine inched her hand up to get Mr. Kozinski’s attention at the blackboard.

“Yes?

“I forgot my glasses. Can I move up closer?”

With a nod from the teacher, Elaine grabbed her book bag and bee-lined to an empty desk next to Bernard. As school busing loomed over the Jackson Heights and Corona school districts, there were five black kids in the predominantly Jewish sixth-grade classroom. Elaine, one of the few Catholic students, had a crush on Bernard—tall, slim, dark brown skin— a troublemaker, which made him all that more interesting. Too young for any serious romance, they teased and cajoled each other whenever the opportunity arose.

“You gonna sit there?” Bernard whispered.

Elaine smiled, shrugged, and purposely brushed her friend’s shoulder as she maneuvered in place. Bernard crumpled a piece of loose-leaf paper into a ball and tossed it at Elaine’s head. She ducked it before Mr. Kozinski turned from the blackboard where several math problems now presented themselves.

“Okay, you two, settle down,” he said with a slight grin. He kept a vigilant eye on the two students, not out of disfavor, but concern for their welfare—worried that their innocence may get them in trouble as the civil rights movement escalated. If only they were the same color, they may stand a chance.

*   *   *

As the school year ended, the hotter weather called out for ice cream. The local soda fountain had the best chocolate chip, scooped into sweet, waffled sugar cones. Elaine and Bernard joked about the chocolate blended into the vanilla flavor as if at some point they might melt into one shade. With cones in hand, the two youngsters perched themselves on the two horses of a coin operated merry-go-round outside the store. Neither had ever seen anyone put money into the thing, but it had an umbrella and the shade felt good.

“So, what are you doing this summer?” Bernard asked between licks.

“Not much. Probably knock around the schoolyard. I’m getting pretty good at handball, although my mother says that it will give me arthritis in my old age,” Elaine replied.

“What a weird thing to say. How does she know? Is she a doctor?”

Elaine shrugged, “No matter what I do or say, it’s wrong and there’s some reason that I shouldn’t do it. Anyway, she doesn’t know what I do all day while she’s at work. Last week I took the train out to Coney Island and got back in time for dinner. They never knew that I wasn’t around the neighborhood.”

“Well, maybe we could meet up and go to the World’s Fair. I know how to sneak in by climbing over the back fence”

“Hmmm, maybe. Been there so much already, it’s getting kinda boring.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Elaine thought she saw a black Ford Impala sedan cruise slowly by; the same model her dad, Teddy, drove. “I better get home. I think that was my dad’s car. Usually he’s home from work earlier than this.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you around,” Bernard said as he tossed his napkin in the nearby trash can.

Despite the heat, a shiver ran up and down Elaine’s spine as she watched Bernard saunter away. It probably wasn’t her father in the car.

*   *   *

Elaine fumbled for her house-key and was surprised to find the door to her family’s second story apartment unlocked. She hoped that her sister might be home, but as she climbed the long staircase and walked by the living room into the dining room, she was confronted by Teddy.

“I saw you with that nigger,” he started. “I told you, to stay away from those people, they’re not like us and if I see you with him again, you’ll be sorry.”

Elaine knew she should keep quiet but decided to try and reason with him. “He’s just a friend. We hang out sometimes. Today we stopped for ice cream. There’s nothing going on.”

“I don’t care, he’s a black and you’re white, so stay away from him. I had Mike in the car with me and he couldn’t believe that I let you hang out with niggers. I’ll never hear the end of it if he tells the other guys at work.”

“But,  you work with black men. Why would anyone care?”

With Elaine’s last statement, Teddy’s face turned red and she knew she went too far. She needed to learn to keep her mouth shut. Then she smelled the alcohol on her father’s breath and looked around for an escape route. Teddy blocked her path as she tried to slip past him. If she could get to her bedroom, he might leave her alone.

“Smack!” Elaine caught the open-handed slap towards the back of her head. There would be more—she had to think fast. Her bedroom door didn’t lock, so she made a run to the bathroom, pushed the door shut and turned the bolt.

“Come outta there, now!”

“No,” was all she could get out between shivers.  She prayed that the door would hold up to the banging. She glanced at her watch—5:30, her mom should be home from work soon.

“Teddy!” she heard her mother, Alice’s voice—thank God. “What’s going on in here?”

“She won’t come out of the bathroom.”

“What? What’s she doing in there?”

“Me and Mike saw her with that black boy again and I’ve told her before to stay away from him.”

Alice, set her purse on the dining room table. “Have you been drinking with your buddies again after work? You’re supposed to be making dinner, not fighting with Elaine.”

Teddy cowered and plopped down in one of the chairs near the table. He had promised to give up the weekday drinking—always got him in trouble with the wife. Alice jiggled the handle on the bathroom door. “Elaine? Come out of there, now.”

Elaine cautiously opened the door. Her mother’s frown said it all. She imagined the conversation they would have later. She’d be pissed, he would grumble—in the end they’d agree that the black boy was bad news, but that he shouldn’t hit the kids. Elaine slipped by and collapsed on her bed. Dinner would be late and with any luck Teddy would skip it and sleep off the booze.

*   *   *

Elaine jumped when Bernard’s voice came from behind. “So, why haven’t I seen you lately?” he asked. It was halfway through the summer and Elaine had been avoiding her friend. She had no idea what to do about anything.

“Oh. Dunno. Been busy.”

“Doing what? I’ve been checking the handball courts. You haven’t been anywhere I’ve looked.”

“My parents won’t let me see you.”

“Why?”

“You’re black.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’ll get in trouble.”

“So, what. We’ll meet up someplace else. Maybe Astoria pool?”

“I can’t. I’m afraid.”

“What can they do to you?”

“Hit me.”

“Your father hits you?”

“Only when he’s drunk—which is more now. And my mother backs him up on the black thing and she’s not always around when he’s mean.”

“So that’s it? We can’t hang out anymore?’

“I’m sorry, maybe someday.”

*   *   *

That someday never came. Elaine became braver and argued with her parents. She became expert in doing what she wanted and lying. Verbal abuse escalated and her mother, to regain control, manipulated her husband into more violence. Nothing made sense. One month after Elaine’s eighteenth birthday, she left home and moved 3000 miles away—the family never recovered.

[in-the-bookish-dark]

Trinity Bluffs - Chapter 1 - RL

From the small bay window at the front of my office, I could see everything worth watching on my block, which wasn’t much.  Off to the right, a couple had just come into view, in the middle of an argument.  At first, I thought he was going to slap her – right out in the open, right out in the street, just yards from the theater they’d walked out of only a moment earlier.  Then I thought maybe she was going to slap him, just barely out of the shadows of the Majestic’s marquee.  Neither of them were acting violently, no flailing of arms or even yelling, but there was a wiry, fluid tension between them.  It was a steel cable they were both tugging on, one that had been taut for years, and I had no way of telling from my vantage point how many strands had already snapped.  I usually get called into a case just before or just after the cable snaps, so I tend to keep my eyes peeled for such things.

They argued briskly with each other, like alternating gusts from a chill January wind, despite it being a particularly warm early June day in Fort Worth. The man’s arms were crossed; the woman’s were clasped together in front of her, gripping her clutch tightly.  They stood at the corner, waiting for cars that weren’t coming, waiting for the pedestrian sign to change and allow them across to the far side of Main Street.  I guessed that the same thing was restraining all their behaviors.  Maybe their respect for rules, which kept them from plunging into the street without official sanction, despite the lack of traffic, was also keeping them from plunging daggers into each other.  The crossing sign changed, but they didn’t notice immediately, being so wrapped up in their acrimony.

Aside from their tension, the view from my window was calm and quiet.  In 1875, the struggling former Army outpost picked up the nickname “Panther City” owing to a report that the town was so inert that a panther was found sleeping in the street up by the old courthouse.  Even nearly 75 years later, at least at that moment, a passing panther could easily have taken a nap in front of my building on the far south end of downtown.

It was too hot to sit in my office, waiting for nobody to walk in and nobody else to phone.  I decided to escape.  I’m versatile when it comes to that; I can be ignored anywhere, and preferably in a cooler locale.  I grabbed my hat, gave a dismissive shake of my head to my two oscillating fans.  They were fighting the good fight, but all that effectively meant was rearranging the hot, stale air and annoying the flies.  I closed my window half way, and trudged down the stifling stairs to my air-cooled backup detective office.  I knew it was air-cooled because it said so in blue, cursive letters shivering atop ice blocks on the pharmacy sign.

Back then, my office was a barely furnished second floor walkup at the front of a short hallway right above a drugstore.  The three story building was only slightly older than me, but looked and creaked like it was older than my grandfather.  The cornerstone said 1896.  I’d have believed it if it had said 1846, except for the fact that the indoor plumbing seemed mostly intentional, and not an afterthought.  At any rate, in my backup office, I can sit at the soda fountain almost directly beneath my desk and hear the phone ring through the tin ceiling.  As for visitors, unless they’re ballerinas – and I was never so lucky – they’d have been hard put to get five feet up the stairs without me hearing.  Even so, through the drugstore window, I could watch them walk right up to my door.

Bob Wills greeted me as I walked in.  He and his Texas Playboys had the Cotton Patch Blues.  Third time this week they’d come down with them.  Jerry always had the radio on WBAP, except if he was there at nights cleaning.  At night, he could pick up WGN from Chicago and listen to the Cubs play.

“Jerry – some lemonade when you have a chance – with a splash.”

Jerry leaned his broom against the marble counter delicately, as though the wooden handle might mar the stone.  After rummaging about with the lemons, sugar water and ice, and a brief dip behind the counter for a discreet splash, he slid my lemonade down the black and white marble to me.  In the weak light, mostly reflecting in off the sidewalk, my eyes couldn’t tell the color was off, but my tongue told me the truth.

“Damn, Jerry, what’s the idea of putting bourbon in this?  It tastes like horse piss.”

He shrugged and reached for my glass, but I pushed his hand back.

“Worse than abusing alcohol is wasting it, my friend.  You never know when a drought is going to come on.  Next one tequila, right?”

He bobbed his head up and down then turned to the back counter, forgetting his broom, and began wiping the soda spigots with a damp rag.  He was a good-natured kid, albeit kind of slow, and in the way that never really speeds up.  I doubt if he’d have gotten a job if his uncle hadn’t owned the drugstore.  He’d have ended up the world’s oldest paperboy, throwing the world’s oldest news.  So, his uncle gave him a job cleaning and serving sandwiches and sodas, and asked him periodically about visitors the druggist might have.  The last guy there was running a booking joint out of the shop, and he wasn’t having a repeat.  He was skittish enough renting an office to a private investigator, but I’d been fortunate, and hadn’t ever dragged any of my messes into the building.

I’d known Jerry maybe three years and for the first six months of that, any time I spoke to him, he flinched like his dad, his mom’s second husband, was about to smack him around some.  His dad has since been taken care of by people much worse to cross than me, and with better reason than me, but Jerry still flinched around fellas he didn’t know.

Swirling his rag over the back counter, he lurched to a halt, gave out with a quiet “Oh” and just froze, facing away from me.

I gave him some time, but he stayed frozen.  No wiping; no talking; no nothing.

“Jerry - what is it?”

Only then did he turn and with his eyes anywhere but my face, ask, “Uh, did he find you?”

“Tell me who, buddy.”  Thinking it might help, I shifted my eyes to the same phone pole his were latched onto.  No pressure. I waited.

Once he’d played the “who, what, where and when” again through in his head, he started up again.

“A man, a driver in a uniform and a big car come by before you got here –“

“A cop?”  I cursed myself for interrupting.  I didn’t care one way or another if the guy’s a cop.  I had no particular beef with them at the moment, or vice-versa.  I just know better – usually know better – than to mess up Jerry’s concentration when he’s trying to focus.

And then I had to wait for it while he rewound and restarted the reel …

“A man, a driver with a uniform in a big car like a chauffeur, come up this morning.  Pulled up right by your steps.  Goes up your stairs with an envelope; doesn’t even take off his gloves.  I hear him up there, but he just comes back down, which is how I know you wasn’t up there.  He comes back down and goes to drive off which is when I see he has a lady in the back seat.  She looks at me looking at her and hits the seat in front of her and he stops again.  He comes back around and stands by her window and she gives him a note.  Then he comes right up to this window and walks in.”

“He asks about you, and alls I say is I don’t know, like you said to.”  He smiled at this and I realized he was waiting for me to smile back.

I cut in with a quick “Good boy” which wound him up a bit, and for a moment, I was afraid he’d start back at “A man …” again, but after an extra beat, he went on.

“He don’t like it, but when I tell him how I’m your buddy and how you know you can trust me not to blab things, he figures maybe I’m alright.  That’s just what he says, ‘Maybe you’re alright, you and your buddy.’”  He practically glowed, repeating it.

Having someone else call us buddies got him cranked up again, so I just nodded like it was a good thing, which it was, and he went on.

“He hands me a folded piece of paper and says the missus would like Mr. Dixon to get this note.”

I gave him time to decide he’s done with the story, then asked, “That’s aces, Jerry, but where is it?”

He looked down in a panic, then slapped the pocket of his apron.  “Right here, Dix.”

Relief flooded his face like the Jennings underpass in a storm.

After another slow count, I ask if I could have it.  He flushed red and fished it from his pocket.

The half piece of cream colored stationary was engraved ELC in blue flowing script, with Mrs. John C. Conklin printed beneath in black.  It held one line of handwriting, a perfect example of the Palmer method.  “Please meet with me at my residence at your earliest convenience.”

Being only the upper half of the sheet, the note was missing its address, but everyone knew which house on Quality Hill belonged to John and Evelyn Conklin.

A meeting meant a possible job, however small, and I wasn’t about to balk.  A visit could mean anything.  Not that I had any illusions about Evelyn Lambeaux Conklin courting me behind her husband’s back.  Even if I did, those musings were more for after hours, so I shut them down as fast as they came up.

Anyway, I’d been spending too much time lately tailing dirty husbands or wives, and it was starting to leave a permanent bad taste in my mouth.  What I didn’t need was to raise my cynicism up to a new permanent plateau.  With the Conklin woman, there was a shot at a change of pace.  There was no telling what it might be, but at least there were more options out there than the same old dirt.  Maybe some domestic was pinching silver or making long distance person-to-person calls..

I checked my watch as I asked Jerry, still standing in place, “What time, Jerry?”

“Nine … no … nine-thirty.  Around there, anyways.”

Three hours.  A reasonable delay.  I’d appear ager enough for gainful employment, but not so eager as to invite being pushed around.  Especially in this business, I don’t know if first impressions can make you, but they sure as hell can break you.

I fitted my hat on my head and pocketed some mints.  Bourbon breath might pass for some of my clients, but not the Conklins.  Hell, compared to some of my clients, I’m still a kid with my knickerbockers buckled above the knees, but compared to the Conklins, I pretty rough around the edges.

I slipped off the stool and waved back as Jerry called out “See ya, Dix!”

I was half way down the block to my car when I remembered.  I turned and trudged back up to the second floor.  I stepped down the hall to the second office on the second floor and slipped my head around the half-opened door.  Alice was on the phone and fanning herself to beat the band.  I pointed down at the floor and made a driving gesture.  She nodded and waved me off.  Alice didn’t work for me, but for some decrepit insurance shill who officed next to me.  He was seldom around, so if there was nothing going on, from time to time, if she was talking to me that week, she’d run down and grab my phone if I was out.  Her pay?  Dinner now and then, with any stories I could make up about my exciting career as a detective.  Sometimes it was actual local gossip, or a slightly harrowing encounter with a poodle. Sometimes it was a story I picked from radio shows and reworked to fit Fort Worth.  It was a fair exchange.  My phone didn’t ring that often, so I didn’t have to make up that many stories.  Cute kid, but a little straight-laced for my tastes.  More important, all her cuteness aside, I was all full up on ex-wives at the time, so I was eager for things to stay calm and copacetic with Alice.

Three blocks west on 7th, I decided on one quick diversion.

I whipped right around the next block, up a few streets and around another corner and parked kissably close to a hydrant.  All the better to encourage me to keep the visit short.  ELC’s invitation was to meet with her specifically, which made me curious about her husband’s participation, primarily whether it was welcome or not.  Two minutes of reconnaissance would tell me all I needed.  I was on a nodding basis with Conklin, principal managing partner of the Worth National Bank.  He recognized me and was known to sometimes nod at me in passing.  I was known to sometimes appreciate the gesture.   A quick stop at the bank would doubtless tip me to whether he knew of his wife’s invitation.

The nods would end, however, if I simply showed up at his bank to get nodded at, so I came up with a pretext.  As the story would go, I was out yesterday evening with some research and saw what appeared to be his very recognizable town car sideswipe a parked car.  Before I went to the police, I wanted to stop by and find out whether his vehicle might have been making unauthorized visitations to Como.  In reality, I just wanted to read his body language and see if he showed any sign of impending connection.  If he knew of my meeting with his wife, he’d mention it in our encounter.  His way of staying in charge of all he surveys.  One of the ways a man like him stays a man like him.  Plus I was going out of my way to show concern for one of the gentry without costing myself too much pride.  Just a typical transaction we small businessmen make every day.  Sell a little subservience now and maybe get to sell a little business later.

Three steps up to the revolving door, and I was in the ornate lobby surrounded by marble columns topped by Corinthian capitals.  The lobby said cattle money every bit as much as the stuffed longhorn tucked away in Conklin expansive office.

“How do, Dix?” Trent, loan officer and my inside man at the bank glanced up just as the slapping-sucking sound of the door died down.

“Trent, pal, how goes it?”  I folded myself into the chair opposite his.  His feet were up on his desk; mine stayed on the floor.

“Good, if I can sell you some money.  Business has been dry and dusty the past month.”

I smiled with half my mouth, and that was all the answer he needed.

“Aww … damn, Dix, you’d think I had teats, as often as you’ve been in to milk me these days.”

“Don’t get your udders knotted up, Trent – just a quick question and I’m gone.  The old man in?”

“Conklin, Barlow, or VanTafel?

“Conklin”

“He’s been down in Austin two days now, putting lipstick on some state senator before he screws him.”  He ducked his head and glanced around, suddenly realizing how well that last comment had carried in the cavernous lobby.

“… coming back …?”

“Dunno – tomorrow, day after.  Based on the size of the stack of movie tattle rags on his secretaries’ desk, I’d have to guess he’s got at least two days to go.”

I nodded, taking the info in, watching his face as he made silent guesses.  Eventually, he gave up on silence.

“She call you?”

“Dame Conklin?”

“No, Bess Truman.”

“Might have.”

“On a case for them?”

“Her? Not yet, but that’s my guess. She doesn’t usually have me for tea.”

“Any idea what?”

“Utterly clueless.”

He studied my face, trying to see if it looked like the face of a man foolish enough to cuckold a bank partner, civic big-wheel, and prominent former Klansman.  Taking everything he knew about me – which was a lot - into account, Trent couldn’t decide one way or another, so he shook his uncertainty out of his head and moved on.

I fitted my hat to my head, then tipped the brim to him, saying “I think I just paid you back for the info.”  He might disagree, but I’d just given him something shiny to play with, which would distract himself for the rest of the afternoon.

He tried to object, but all he succeeded in vocalizing clearly was his sigh of resignation.

I waved; he harrumphed; I was out the door again.

Maggie, diligent and methodical meter maid, was still a full block away up the street.  She made me just as I spotted her, and I knew the fist she waved in the air was for me.  She told me once how she knew I was up to something – “Dix, if you’re standing upright, and not flat out on a slab in the morgue, you’re up to something.”  At the moment, all she could do was watch as I whipped out of the parking spot, abandoning my hydrant-side mooring for more adventurous seas.

My eight-cylinder carriage pulled up the circular drive to the Conklin house at 1:45.  No liveryman met me, but then, even in the Conklin’ circles, liverymen had been extinct two generations.  I half-expected a prissy and officious butler to meet me at my car and rigorously dust the commonness off of me before permitting me across the threshold.  I was disappointed, but not enormously.  Such imagination is the result of having spent too many Summer evenings inside refrigerated theaters, hiding from the heat, but simmering inside someone else’s fantasy.  A few drinks beforehand in Hell’s Half Acre didn’t hurt that imagination.

A butler did greet me once I reached the door.  No, greet is too warm a word.  I was there; he was there, and by his intervention, the door ceased to block my entry.  He, however, effectively blocked further ingress.  I stood in the foyer while he stepped into the parlor on the left to skeptically deliver my tale of having been invited.

While I waited, I glanced around the oak-encrusted foyer and thought of what I knew of the Conklins – more specifically, what I knew of Evelyn Conklin.  Her family was fairly recently arrived from New Orleans, recently being last generation.  Her father was something in the cotton trade down in the port, but ran into a bit of trouble with a combination of alcohol and someone’s husband.  The Lambeaux family moved up here post-haste while Evelyn and her mother were on a tour of France.  Evelyn mostly had her Irish mother’s looks, or at least an updated version of them. Definitely not Irish Channel Irish – Doherty or O’Connor or some such name with a little weight was her mother’s family name. Evelyn Conklin had, as best I could recall, red tresses curling down past her shoulders like smoke, grey-green eyes, pert nose and a pointed chin.  Her skin was more like Lambeaux skin, clear, but with a touch of olive from his mixed Acadian and Provencal roots.  She was a few years my junior; her husband a few my senior, and then a few more after that.  Two kids.  Boy off at military school; girl somewhere close to graduating TCU.  

He returned twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds later.  “Missus Conklin asked me to tell you to please join her in the parlor.”  Listening as he inflected the verbs left no doubt in my mind as to the social order.  He was “asked;” I was “told,” even if “please” was attached to the telling.  It was a cordial directive.

I could certainly take a cordial order on the chin if there was the soothing poultice of a job behind it somewhere.  Even on a good day, the thing a private dick sells most often is a little slice of his pride.  The results we produce are the gravy in the humble pie we eat, making it more palatable and less likely to choke us than failure and the barrel of our own hand guns.

When I breached the double doors of the parlor, her head tilted, and from over her shoulder she said, “Please, join me over here, Mr. Steele.”  Her voice was violets and gardenias with a hint of molasses and mint.  She curved her “R’s” inward, like a true daughter of New Orleans.  I stepped around the room to the horseshoe shaped cluster of armchairs and chaises in front of the hearth.

She was dead center.  She set a saucer and cup of tea in front of the chair just to her left.  Clearly, that was where I was expected to sit.  I sat, but didn’t enjoy it.  My hackles were already rising.  I have very sensitive hackles.  They do that.  At first, I perched, then decided “to hell with it” and sat back, teacup and saucer atop my knee.

Her one raised eyebrow suggested that I might have actually muttered the words aloud, rather than just thinking them.  For every job I ever won with my tactical obsequiousness, I lost three times as many with my impromptu coarseness.

I raised my eyebrows back.  I decided to let her decide on her own if I was doing so in anticipation, curiosity, or impertinence. As I waited, I couldn’t help noticing the way her neck curved down from her jaw and flowed into her shoulder.  Like a swan.  Once I let myself be aware of that, it was a very slippery slope downward.  She was neither buxom nor scrawny.  Everything about her body seemed to be moderate, save the glow she gave off.  Tough men with guns gave me fewer butterflies than I had in my stomach at that moment.  Not all of them, of course, but enough of them.

“You have to be wondering why I asked you to come.”

I nodded into her eyes, then grew very interested in the painting just over her shoulder.

“My husband – who happens to be in Austin at the moment – would never engage an investigator for this, so I feel I have to.  As a banker in our recent hard times, he found himself with many enemies, as you can well imagine.”

I nodded my head, as if that were what I was currently imagining.

She went on.

“My husband arises earlier than me, normally, and one of the things he enjoys doing before the day becomes active is strolling our grounds.  He says he enjoys the contrast between the tall buildings downtown and the natural beauty of the Trinity down the bluffs.”  A belle of the Garden District doesn’t run to conclusions, whatever the tale and whoever the audience, so I listened slowly as the story trickled out.

I flicked my eyebrows to suggest that I thought she had a point somewhere in the distance.  Perhaps a point visible from our lofty position atop the bluffs.

She continued.

“Two weeks ago, after a rain, he found tracks around the house – mud from the flower beds tracked onto the sidewalks around the house.  He mentioned them to me.  Actually, he mentioned them to me in a very accusatory fashion, if you must know.”

Clearly, she was of the opinion that I must know.  I was less certain, but at that moment, I was willing to leave the question to her.  My brow furrowed as it does when I’m working to focus on troubled words, instead of the heaving bosoms they tend to cause.

“After that morning, he had several other episodes where he felt he’d seen tracks in the dew on the lawn; mud on the sidewalk; a face peering in a window, a wrong number …”

She paused.  I stared.

“He suspected me of indiscretions.”

She paused again.  I stared some more. It’s handy sometimes, just waiting for the other person to grow bothered by the silence and try to fill it with information they hadn’t intended to share.

“He suspected ... accused … me of indiscretions that I’m innocent of.”

Interesting phrasing, I thought, wondering if he had ever suspected-accused her of indiscretions she was guilty of.  While I suspected that she indeed had some indiscretions in her portfolio, I wasn’t there to accuse her.  I might be thick, but even then I knew that much about fishing for a job.

She continued as I mulled over the possibilities.  I blew on my tea.  It wasn’t the nape of her neck, but it would do in a pinch like this.

“He wanted to put off this trip – ‘get to the bottom of things’ – he said, but there were too many appointments set up and too much riding on the trip, so he went on.”

“And?”  I asked after her next sad and soulful pause.

Her eyes flitted around the room, alighting here and there on things that needed to be cleaned or straightened.  I couldn’t help thinking that her mind was doing the same thing with her narrative.

“And … I wanted someone who could get to the bottom of this.  I don’t know if he actually saw someone, or something.  I don’t know if someone is actually a threat to us.  I don’t know if I understand what is happening.  I do know I am already quite tired of him mistrusting me.”

It still didn’t sound like a protestation of innocence to me.

“For my sake; for his sake; for our sakes, this needs to be resolved.  I don’t know anything about you, aside from acquaintances who’ve told me that you make things happen.”   Acquaintances.  She knew someone on her social level who knew someone one level down who knew someone on my level who’d heard of me.

I watched her face, waiting to see what would take its place when this expression of domestic concern and anguish grew passé.

“I want you to make things happen.”

I was sure that she did.  At the same time, I doubted everything about her story.  Nothing unusual there – it’s part of my job to doubt everything about a client’s story while pretending it’s gospel.  I’d sort things out myself once I had a retainer in my pocket.

“That’s a compelling tale you tell” I responded, without elaborating.  I also didn’t elaborate on what I felt compelled to do at the moment.

“My rates are twenty-five a day with a five day retainer to start – for work like this.”  I lied.  My rates were usually fifteen a day, and if I got a retainer, I felt blessed by the gods.  This crowd wouldn’t settle for anything that seemed underpriced, however, so I had to make it look good.  Twenty five a day and a $125 retainer looked good to me.

“I’ll find out what’s actually going on.” That was a variant on what was normally my first nod to candor when speaking with a client.  “I’ll do everything I can to bring it to a resolve that’s acceptable to you.”  My second nod.  If I can keep the client clean without running myself afoul of the law in the process, that’s my job.  If I can’t, that’s their problem.

I emphasized “acceptable to you.”  I might find out things she didn’t want found out, but as long as I was getting paid, I’d do what I legally could to work it out for her.

“So – tell me more about the comings and goings here – anyone in residence, etc.”

“We have three people on staff.  Holst tends the grounds and drives me where I need to go.”

“He’d be the fella who drove you to my establishment earlier today.”

For some reason known only to her, this statement took her slightly aback, but she nodded to the truth of it.  My eyebrows invited her to continue, and she did.

“Malcolm takes care of the house and the staff in general.  He has a room here, but also lives elsewhere.  He’s always on hand for guests and events.  Minnie came with the house.  She cooks, does laundry, and cleans.”

“Three people, only one of whom overnights here.”

“Minnie does now and then, when we have an event that runs past the last streetcar, but that’s not but about twice a month.”

“Does your daughter, young Miss Conklin, live at home?”

She shook her head.  “Not as anyone would notice.  Belinda is Chi Omega at Texas Christian, and spends most nights there.  We do keep her room, however.

“House guests, frequent visitors?”

This got a cagy smile out of her, even as she shook her head.  “No nothing of that sort, Mr. Dixon.”

“Steele”

“Pardon?”

“Steele.  Dixon Steele.”

“Of course,” she nodded.  “A good name in your profession.  Who would hire a Mortimer or a Clarence?”

“I once knew a private di~ I mean an investigator … his Christian name was Clarence.  Davenport was his last name.  Sadly, both names fit him.  He was a davenport through and through, if you take my meaning.”

“I do, Mr. Steele.  And you?”

“Me?”

“Does your name fit you … through and through?” One corner of her mouth turned up at her own cleverness.

“I like to let people make up their own minds, though I can’t say I’ve had complaints …” I wasn’t sure what I meant by that, but it gave me a little distance while allowing me to play along with my brand new client.

Here eyebrows rose slightly.  I’d say they were bemused.  She was too old for the gesture to be coquettish and too many social steps above me for it to be playful.  Or so I thought.

At the edge of a slippery slope, it was time to get back on the rails.

“The … uhh … staff.  Any issues?  Disgruntlement, unreliability, shenanigans, disloyalty?”

“They’re all quite loyal to me.”

“And Mr. Conklin?”

“He’s dreadfully loyal to me.”  There was impatience in her voice and weight to the ‘dreadfully.’  It left her mouth coated with Mississippi mud, and the corners down-turned.  Though that wasn’t the question I was asking, I noted the word choice and the tone.  The implication was unavoidable.

“What I mean is the staff and him.”

“I have a rapport with them.  With my husband out of the house as much as he is, the relationship is different.”

I waited for her to elucidate.  I waited in vain, as would often be the case with her.

Wanting to fill the hanging silence, she added, “It’s just different.  I’d never say they were disloyal to him.  Also, Mr. Steele, there are no shenanigans to speak of amongst my staff.”

I pondered a moment, tugging at the cuffs of my trousers to straighten them, then spoke.

“One of three things is going on, Miz Conklin.  The first, maybe your husband is letting his imagination embarrass him.  It wouldn’t be the first case of a man with a very attractive younger wife doing so.  The second, you’re stepping out and have gotten noticed.  Also not the first case of this happening with a man and his very attractive younger wife.”  

Her face reddened on cue, and due to no embarrassment on her part.  I’ve had innocent, rosy cheeks pulled on me by the best in town before, by some smooth operators, even though as a private dick I can usually spot them a mile off and manage them.  I continued.

“The third is that someone is actually stalking you or your house and has slipped up.  So, it’s only a matter of time before he’s dealt with.  And let’s add a fourth – someone’s playing games with you or your husband.  That’s easily the least likely, for what it’s worth.

“And what’s your current theory?”  

“I don’t have a current theory, currently.  Not about the particulars of this particular case.”

“About anyone involved in the case?”

“I’ll keep those to myself for the present, if you don’t mind.”

She started to pout, then decided to tuck it back away for later.  On and off like a light switch.

“What are the odds of any of the four, Mr. Steele?  You’ve been doing this kind of thing a while.”

“Well, I avoid these cases whenever I can, but for all the ones I’ve seen, by the time a husband or wife gets suspicious and calls me, it’s already a fact.”

“But I called you myself.”

“That you did, and it muddies the picture.  Not beyond resolution, mind you, but it gives me more to think about.  A smart chess player might call it a gambit.  A smart poker player might call it a bluff.  Do they play much of either down in New Orleans, Miz Conklin?”

“Lord, in the middle of summer, that’s about all some folks have the energy to do, Mr. Steele.   Though I dare say, I never got that good at either – too many other distractions.  Speaking of distractions, I wouldn’t like to think you’re taking my money and not attending to things at hand.  Will you be pondering me and my situation, Mr. Steele?”

“That I will, Miz Conklin.  That I will.

Then we sat there, neither of us wanting to be the one who blinked.

“And what will you be wanting from me, Mr. Steele?”

I paused too long – long enough for the corners of my mouth to curl.  She read me like a pulp magazine.

I didn’t even try to make excuses for what she was now perceiving.  The best I could do was redirect.  I squinted.  It didn’t help, but it’s what I do.

“A retainer will start me off.  I’m sure I’ll have questions.  Considering your caution about getting this taken care of without your husband’s involvement, we may need to speak at odd hours.  You might consider how best to accomplish this, before it becomes necessary.”

We both paused.  We stirred our own teas.  We peered into our cups.

“I’ll do that.”

I gave a tight smile, stood, and brushed my trousers.

“I’ll be in touch.  My girl will bring you a copy of the contract, and can take the retainer when she comes.”

She nodded.  I nodded.  That was the safest thing to do.

I left.  Also the safest thing at that point.

Contrary to my impromptu posturing, it occurred to me when I reached my car that I didn’t have “a girl” to send.  I’d come up with one.  Alice could be reasoned with, particularly if it meant even a moment’s entry into the Conklin home.  She always got a special sparkle in her eye when Quality Hill was mentioned.  I don’t think it was the money or power so much as fairy tales her mother indoctrinated her with.  Like I said, she’s a good kid, but definitely on the innocent side of my tastes.

“Same old stuff,” I moaned to myself as I flung my suit coat onto the passenger seat of my car and started around the grounds.  More who’s cheating on who or whom or whatever.  Thirty seconds out of the house and my refinement vanished like a summer shower.

There wasn’t any sign of tracked mud on the sidewalk at that point.  The help had probably vanished it the very next morning.  Lazy servants don’t find permanent positions on Quality Hill.

Tracks in the dew would be impossible to discover.  I figured maybe a couple of stops on mornings when I was actually out of bed close to sun-up would turn something up.  

I’d made one loop of the house and found myself on the north side near a recent planting of hawthorns next to the cellar doors.  I was all set to walk the fence line when a divot in the hawthorn bed caught my eye.  It wasn’t exactly a footprint.  There was an old root sticking up an inch, and from the look of it, someone had caught a heel on it and taken a tumble, maybe planting one hand in the dirt about three inches deep.  One of the hawthorns looked like it could have been disturbed, so I shook it.  The whole plant shifted left to right.  Definitely disturbed.  

I had on the shoes folks typically refer to as their church shoes.  Since church was a purely hypothetical construct for me, I call them my client shoes.  I cursed as I stopped in the middle of the shrubs for a better view.  

It was nothing a judge would pay a lick of attention to, but I was ready to bet a fiver that some peeper had taken a fall there since the last rain two weeks ago.

It was dry enough not to make a big mess, but nothing looked to be eroded, and that was a good rain we got.

As I was coming back out of the bed, I realized I was being watched.  I glanced up, and there was the lady of the house peering down at me from a second floor window.  I couldn’t quite make it out from the angle and the glint from the sun, but it seemed more like a dressing gown she was wearing, and not the peach colored dress she’d worn during our meeting.

Her face was blank.  I felt like a dull exhibit from some detective museum.  The closeted warmth from our recent encounter seemed to have entirely faded.

The only reaction I got from her was when I touched my hat to acknowledge her.  She seemed to start, looked like she was going to bolt, and then settle back as she was.

I turned away and smiled to myself, not because of her, but because I’d just caught the butler scowling at me from what might have been a library window, just under hers.  

His expression was much easier to read.  If I had a shot or two of bourbon in me, I’d have likely stormed back in and one or the other of us would’ve wiped that dark smirk off his face.  Even so, it didn’t seem like something I wasn’t quite ready to put out on the table with her yet.  I wanted a better idea of what his game was – and to make sure that it wasn’t simply a ruse of her making.  Back to the first rule: look like you’re trusting your client, but don’t be crazy enough to actually do it.  

[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Chad Tomas Johnston / The Stained Glass Kaleidoscope ​

June 2008

Art: DJG​

​Note: ​Questions on creativity for a book​.​

The big thing I want to know from you is this: You have worked as a janitor and a data-entry clerk (or something to that effect). Neither of those is highly prestigious. At the same time, you are creating art.

0​1) What drives you to create? Since a young age, I’ve always been fortunate to have outlets for creation. Naturally, almost every child has the freedom to play. But, my formative younger years gave me not only the freedom but also the cow and the whole farm. Growing up a farm boy product of the middle of the mid-west, I had room to romp and to roll. Lots of corn row cuts on my face. Lots of bicycle tire tattoos on the hot summer crater face of the black top road. Lots of holes in boots. Lots of arm snags on the rickety tree house scrap wood and nails. Lots of gold nuggets discovered in the cat poop sandbox. I still get kicks from all these things. Fast approaching thirty, I still plan to never grow a harder and complete “adult” shell. If I do it better be candied and with lots of decorative engravings in it. Though, I’m positive I’d just eat it. I have always been housed in my own little shell. I’ve been a big fan of my inner world since I was old enough to process it. The beauty of life is that people can pile a peel of tires on me all they want, but they can’t touch what morning glories I’ve got crowing and climbing inside. And someday when I’m gone perhaps the seeds I do sew on the outside will spread a bit and people can figure out what the heck my insides were all they want. I don’t know and don’t care. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. I hate to talk this way, like I’m a thinking man. But, I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed to say that I think about the inner tick-tocks. A lot of it is clogged cogs though. Some by me, some by others. I just have to create. It’s how I get oiled and weathered. It’s my lightning and lightning rod. It’s my confessional. It’s my testament. It’s how I scrub my own floors and stink them back up. There is creation in everyone and thing and evolution of that creation at the same time. We’re all positively guilty of dragging a blade, feather duster or spilt paint bucket behind us into the every day world no matter what business is plowed, pillaged or plundered. Every day is different for me. Every day or every time I make something I think about what that certain something would have looked like or would have had me feeling like had I made it yesterday or tomorrow, a month from now or even an hour ago. It’s hard not to think about that stuff, but I can’t help from it. Though, at the same time I generally feel that I’m always making what I need to be making at that time, even if something isn’t a direct hit. I’d like to have the mindset that I’m always making my best work. And after a number of years of making stuff, the act of it almost becomes second nature. In some ways when I’m working and alone, I am closer to MY maker. I feel I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I just have to take the life in, chew it and spit it back out. The process of each stage can be quite the intoxicating affair. But, it’s when I’m in the thick of it, that’s where there is real visual communication for me. I just have to take it in decent strides. I have been at stages with this where it can be controlling. That’s not a good shake. I love how every day is new and unique to the subject of life. Even if it feels the same as other days, it’s still a different notch in the meter. Even after expiration date, one can still influence the path of somebody else’s day by the things or thoughts they’ve left on by the side of the road for somebody else to either run over or stop to pick up. True, sometimes the things people leave behind can be a free tank of gas to the soul, gum on tires, rocks in the rims or a whole darn spike strip. My insides feel different each day. Some days I’m full of gas and some days I’ve broke down all over. I still get up on the same wall that I hug through the night and I eat breakfast with my mouth every morning and put the socks on my feet (unless I feel like an impromptu puppet play). But, my head is always in a different spot and sometimes my gut and my heart too. Sometimes I’ve got a big ol’ mess of ice scream soup and one heck of a brain freeze fart. I tend to approach the make things table under this same light. That is, with always being all over my own map, not with brain freeze farts. And each night I try to get to sleep with my spots smoothed out flat and run together. Though, not always easy. I love how baby dalmation pups don’t have spots for the first little bit of life. I love how they look like little blind wigglin’ rats during those first weeks. They don’t need the spots at first to differentiate one from the next or to say who they are. They just are. All of those little things that I do without conscience, the getting up and the eating and the sock putting…and right now, talking and blahking…these things are flat color like the baby fireman dogs. But, it’s the spots that are inside of me. The spots talk back and forth with light oozing in and out. Each day it seems like there has been a whole new troop of moths infesting and eating away. Making spots is what they do. There is always a new picture debuting in my picture house and sometimes shot with three cameras in several angles (like in the great classic film, “How The West Was Won”). Some days I break the box office. Some days I just break the piggy bank and scrape nothing but dust bunnies and boiled turnips. But, “scraping by” is not just reserved for the bad term. Each day these spots leak a different solution to the make table problems and sometimes you have to go scraping around for them to mix just right. Sometimes it just all comes just right. But, I don’t really see the approach to the way I make things as problems. Of course, sometimes it can be a problem to have something to do with creation and to have others involved. There are times that I don’t see how GOD sleeps at night knowing that he simply just chooses to love me (or his other creations for that matter)…even with all of these spotty feelings and things sloshing around in me. I’m sure that by reading this and/or knowing what you know of me, you’re probably noticing my constant teeter and totter. I’m like a mixed fountain drink at the corner gas station. And there are some days I’m the little left-over sugar water puddle you find rotting out the bottom of a styrofoam cup in the back floor board of a 1984 Ford Tempo. You know? The one with the sagged burgundy roof fabric that always gives you a cow lick as you get into and out of her womb? Back in the ’80s when life was a lot simpler and a week felt like a month and things felt like they actually felt like something, my older brother and I would find the blackest piece of advertising gloss in Mom’s “People Magazine”. I still have dry scalp problems to this day. I don’t have color in my wardrobe, so I suppose I was blessed with an eternal snow day every day. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite the little defective box of frosted flakes we clutched to our brows as we hopped out of the womb, my brother and I found an outlet to creation with this. We would place that black space of advertising on the living room end tables (during a break in cartoons and when there wasn’t an audience of MOM, of course) and shake out a snow storm. It looked like a big bang from my personal perspective. An entire little universe of ourselves. I must confess that I’ve been known to still possess this other-worldly talent of creation. I’d love to do a daily blog of this. Why not?! Or, maybe my new goal should be to get into advertising and demand to make more glossy black space for rent to hire those young kids out there itchin’ to get their big galaxies and universe down patty caked on paper… There has been something in me for a long time itching to get out. Maybe my creativity is like a big beautiful bundle of mysterious male peacock feathers that just keeps on wiggling and growing those magnificent colors. I’m always cutting off bits and plucking. Sometimes the bits tickle me good and sometimes they dust me and smack me over. ​0​2) Was there a relationship between your janitorial work and your art? That is, did one influence the other? I was raised with a blue collar. I sure do wish I could say it was turned up and in “cool” mode. But, in a weird way I think it’s the coolest because it is part of my building blocks. And no matter where you go or what you do, you’re roots are still alive and growing. Farming is in my blood. In some ways I don’t feel janitorial work is too far down the line from tending pasture, mending fence and plowing fields. In many ways an employee of a janitorial service is his own boss because he-she is alone and in solitude, just doing what they feel needs to be done to spruce up the place. I feel the work I do as a designer or maker of things is similar. I dust out the mind’s stairwells and kick things down them too. One of the things that would lure me to farming would be this comfort in being alone and just doing the thing. I miss that about being a janitor or groundskeeper. I miss having that freedom of choice of going to a hard to reach spot or a parking space that cars or people rarely touch, though it’s dirty from pure existence, and just being alone and making it look good. There is a pride I take in making things look the way I want them to look. Janitorial work will never go out of style. And neither will people’s idea that a janitor or a farmer, even a graphic designer these days is a low denominator of work and intelligence among the common people. I don’t aim to sound bitter here. I was never bitter in the many years as a janitor. I may have been a bit bitter as a farmer’s son, and only at 16 to 18 as a typical disgruntled teen dying to retreat…now I love and respect my upbringing and my former vocation. I’m made of it all and it has all helped shape me to who I am now. I just find it fascinating how people find it their need to put others in a particular place. While I had some great reception when working as a janitor, it also garnered a lot of talk. Even on the job people confessed to me that they had been trying to figure me out. I found this oddly fascinating that I could consume some of their mind with the fact that I was just working a trade to pay the bills. One woman I bumped into regularly at the parking garage cigarettes station each afternoon said to me, and after researching my story for months, “I just couldn’t put it together. It didn’t make no sense to me why you’d be wanting to do this kind of work. You seemed friendly and intelligent and come to find you’ve got things you’re doing on the side, well it just had me wondering.” I wasn’t upset with her telling me this. I appreciated her honestly and she just had me oddly curious…even within my own person and broom shuffling. I even feel that people in the art world (what little puddle I’m in) found this janitorial aspect of my creating as quite fascinating or strange. It’s not that I chose janitorial jobs as a means to put myself on display nor to play a particular “ideal” in order for people to talk or raise eyebrows. I just enjoyed cleaning house, I suppose. Many people close to me didn’t know how to handle my dropping out of design school to work bottom rung janitorial jobs in the early hours of 2002. But, I knew in my heart that it was exactly what I needed to be doing and it was crucial for me to do it right then. It was my time. I also knew that I needed to place trust in something at the time. There was at least to me a blind comfort in cranking the somewhat padded strings up on around the empty spool of a heart I had at the time. It made things make a bit more sense and comforted me just to try to get settled the stirred dust of my head while my body pushed a makeshift mop or broom on autopilot. And if it didn’t make sense to others, well, let’s just say I just tried to hold my head up the best I could and stay focused on ahead down my own paper trail odyssey. Openly, I would recommend anybody to try janitorial work, especially if you are looking for a simple care-free environment. It’s still a job though and can still wear you thin at times. But, for the most part janitorial positions are pretty easy going if taken with the right mixture of work ethic, responsibility and frame of mind. Maybe I’ve just been fortunate to work in some great places? Of course there are always the literal “crap” jobs. Cleaning out women’s restrooms at a 24-hour call center is possibly the worst, but it still paid the bills for a bit. And if you do a great job scrubbing those bathrooms, you can get moved up pretty quick like I did. And sometimes you’ve got to find the humor and ridiculousness in mopping up overflowing toilets. One time in a men’s restroom with over an inch of standing toilet water, I came out of the stall with my mop in hand as somebody passed by. Now, if I walked into a restroom with standing water, I’d definitely just hustle to another restroom to do my business. But, some people don’t care and just make obvious comments like, “Geesh, that there’s a lot of water on da floor”, as they look at me oddly. I followed this with, “I’m just waiting on Noah now”. It took some time for what I said to register. The guy was probably thinking of if he knew anybody with the name of Noah. But, after a few minutes it had him laughing as we shared urinal cakes and rubber duckies. I’ve worked in many various places with my janitorial jobs and have gotten to meet a lot of interesting, hardworking and diverse individuals that have all helped fuel my extra-curricular in some odd way, shape or form. I was even involved with monthly potluck dinners at one janitorial job. It was an amazing way to fellowship and bring together our little piece of the night shift community. The job site environments themselves were very inspiring to me as well. From junior high to my last year of high school I wanted to be an architectural designer of sports stadiums. That is, until I realized I was horrible at mathematics. Coincidentally, I got to somewhat fulfill my early dream as I pulled the trash for one day at my favorite baseball stadium design, Kauffman Stadium, home of the Kansas City Royals. I once won a Royals baseball essay competition about my love for the sights and sounds of going to this ballpark and here I was getting to pull the trash! It floored me when I got to the ballpark at dawn on that Tuesday in April of 2002 and could see the sun hit the green grass of the infield, and to think I was one of the few people there in that gorgeous testament to modern architecture and design, watching the natural elements bounce into and out of it. Moving on, I pulled the night trash and buffed the floor at an award-winning sports architectural firm for a couple of months. This was incredible as I got to see the pre-production and scale models and I sneaked a few little things home from the dumpster. I can honestly say that I did some work for a sports architectural firm. My longest post at cleaning was at the Kansas City Board of Trade. This was a unique place to work and oddly connected me to my farming past as this was the building that all the trades went on. It still dumbfounds me how that whole system of loud talking works, but I just enjoyed being there cleaning up and running errands. It was a job that I could have easily stayed at forever. And I was appreciated and people even took an interest in what I did out of uniform. I even designed a few posters, sketched and studied while I was on the clock. And there was a ton of great stuff to create with or to collect. But, one of my favorite things was to find things while cleaning, like hand-written letters or notes. I even found money a few times. I also enjoyed finding creatures that spoke to me from their confines in the pavement cracks. Certainly, it was a scary thing to just up and quit college to become a professional cleaner, to go into hiding to tan a new hide. But, for the first time in my life I was really carving my own initials. It may have been a selfish beginning, but I think that everybody needs to follow their heart more. If you trust in that, then you’re putting your trust in something higher that the heart strings are connected to. I just trusted that and worked hard at work and at play and kept my eyes open. In some ways janitorial jobs taught me to open up my lids even more. Design school had opened up new worlds within and around me. But, I think a lot of kids go straight from the comforts of the design lab and into full-time positions at design firms and they end up losing something that they had a good grip on months prior. It’s not that those types of professional atmospheres are bad. I think that everybody has a different approach to their life’s work or trade. Working in a design firm just never spoke to me at all and I’ve always been very protective of my craft since the early days of voluntarily locking myself up in my room or sandbox to create. Visiting many design firms from 1999 to 2001 had me worried sick about the idea of being stuck in a career that didn’t feed me the way I wanted to be fed. I didn’t want to eat at a trough. I wanted my own mini buffet and at my own leisure. And by the last couple of semesters of college, I was a wreck of a slushed soul from this and everything else that life had to offer. All of my eyes had become a bit closed up again except for the one that shown to me that something inside of me needed to explode. And I only knew of one way that could get me out. I suppose it’s safe for me to say in tree sap honesty that my brain has always been running backwards and forwards and catty-whompus since day one. I realize this now especially because I have come to see some of the ice bergs upstairs a little bit better that took me years to get to know. I sometimes wish I was in my early twenties again (only to have more time to MAKE), but I think I’ve gotten a better grip with age and life learning. Even though I still don’t quite understand what exactly makes me tick-tock and run, I can at least try to appreciate my masonry work and work at mending it in small clumps. Sometimes I think what makes me really run are hounds nipping at my ankles. Though, the dogs are sometimes good as they snap with ice pick claws the clamps that can chain me to some things. But, those same claws also dig into me. It’s not that I ran from problems or obstacles nor did I take the easy out and quit something important like a college education to sweep parking lots. I had exhausted myself in that particular stage of my early twenties and needed to mobile my shell before I got dragged down for more than good. I had something screaming inside and I needed to find the right spit can to collect it all in. Despite my own understanding of my actions, I do feel that a lot of people felt I was throwing myself away in order to pick up garbage. Actually, what I was doing was saving myself. With janitorial positions, I just knew that they were speaking to me just right and I was able to speak through them with my own work and I found comfort at that important place in my life. My design odyssey had me working for independent musicians. I knew of the occupational wallet hazards of such a sound decision before I made my move from slacker college design student to slacker somewhat professional designer. I just knew I was supposed to be in a Kansas City, MO ghetto living with a band (and some) in an old decrepit pile of an orange house and making stuff through the night and sleeping in my janitor outfit to go have some peace with thinking and making on the job too. And I wanted the stability of a fixed income, yet without a lot of the baggage that most people deal with in the day job day dream. Being young and dumb is one thing, but I felt that what I was doing was justifiable to my pocket book, the work force, my real work, and most importantly to my sanity (and others’ sanitation). ​0​3) What is your goal when you are creating something? That is, what are you striving to achieve? The marriage of a man’s inner workings to a blank space is incredible to me…when it hits just right and is of the moment and a spark of life happens. You can tell when something’s speak is whole and true because of the immediate connection you share with it. I gather this whether it’s a piece of art, a song, a movie, a writing or a bowl of sugary cereal. Heck, I can walk seven minutes to work and feel something so much bigger turning the keys and mashing buttons all around me. And when something man made speaks, you can tell that there is soul source material. There might be a hand-me-down system for putting it together on the outside, but you can tell when the halls of sincerity and honesty are opened up. You can tell when somebody’s exposing their bones and-or studying their bones and sharing observations of their world in a much bigger world with other smaller worlds encased. Whenever an incredible song, movie, writing…piece of nature or thought…speaks with just the right lens it can be like unwrapping a gift made special for the birthday boy or girl. And every day could essentially be a birthday in this way. I love the discovery of new things and to think that I could have found this many moons back, yet wasn’t in the right frame of mind or reference or reflection until the day I consumed it. I think that we should celebrate every day like this idea that every day is completely new and is perfect to us because it is in the now and we couldn’t have registered with it in any other place, point or time. Every day is different with me and my inner workings are never wound the same each day. And every day I’d like to think I’m getting more and more oiled and weathered at the same time. Life’s lightning is always ready to strike and I’ve got to play lightning rod too. It’s a hard balance on some days. But, I just want to approach each day within my own little arts and crafts section of the basement with the idea that I’m doing my best work and best that I can living down here. There are moments with creativity, when one can feel like a buried burrow. Especially when the older you get, the younger the clock gets. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and hard to match the pace of what the inside is screaming to the race outside. And I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to. With my own art I try not to make it a chore. I try to make time for it and to always keep it in my saddlebags, within reason. I wish to give a paper trail that is of me and for others at the same time. I’d be a liar if I said my art wasn’t for me. It is and if I didn’t get something out of it or enjoy it, then I shouldn’t be doing it. But when others can wring something from my wash cloths, then that means so much to me. I really want to leave my little print on every leaf I pass, that is, if they all wish to hold my ink. Though, sometimes with deadlines and a full schedule that houses a day job, marriage and life stuff…well, making stuff can get a little rushed out and flushed out. It can start to feel like a same ol’ song and dance side show. Though, to look at the other side, you just do your song and dance while you’re here. We’ve all got one and some people never fully see it realized. I’m thankful to have what I feel are the proper fitting shoes and I just now would love to find a way to keep them on in a full-time manner. But, to keep on poking at the other side, I feel that there should never be a set switch to creativity. It’s not something that should be crammed into an eight hour day. My creativity doesn’t tune-out the minute I leave the house or get set in my current cubicled job of data entry. It can sometimes be charged in different ways and in peculiar ways. Though, sometimes with making things you’ve just got to recharge from over-exposure. I found out last year that it’s ok to say NO and it’s ok to take a time away from the table. I even learned this with a personal eating diet and schedule change. You can probably tell from a lot of my past work or “periods” when I’ve either been struggling or am bored, tired or am just way too constipated by life’s tap dance and life only. I think it translates to the end product, but I also believe it’s very much a testament of the experience and sometimes it can really speak in good and bad scoops. I think that it can happen to anyone and any profession, even full-time moms and dads. It’s not just something that happens to an artist or graphic designer. However, sometimes with art, the exact opposite can occur when you can feed off the energy of life and turn it into something else…something positive. It’s not a smooth relay, but fortunately I’ve been able to feed life to the creative torch. I’m at a place in my life where I just want to set my fire to everything. Stacking up seven years of attacking what it is I do in a professional manner, I’ve received a shiny little brush fire of praise and achievement. I’ve got a small band of pilgrims around the globe attracted to my blemishes and blandishments. I’ve been very appreciative and excited, even though some of my past responses or replies to this sort of thing have been a bit sheepish. I’ve always had trouble taking praise because I’m extremely hard on myself and it can be a very surreal experience when people take up with something that I’ve made and make it part of their experience. What could be worse, I’m always in strict competition with myself, but it’s also part of the discovery and making nature, I think. Again, a healthy balance is needed. Lately though, I’ve just been more excited for the idea of creation and making things and sharing things. But, sometimes it can be easy for things to lose their context and meaning with everything so I’ve got to start believing in umbrellas and nap time blankets again. The minute you make something and put it out there on the platter (more like, the buffet) you’re giving up a huge chunk of yourself exposed to the world. It’s just part of the game. That is, unless you’re painting in a cave or somebody out of connection with society just making stuff without an audience. I guess it would be like folk art. Things made by untrained folk artists really floor and inspire me. Their education is from life or from a higher calling and they must tell this story and a lot of them don’t start telling until later in life. It’s almost like they go back to being a kid again. I love this. They simply must MAKE and play. I try to strive to make for making’s sake. But, it can at times be hard being that I have had formal training and have had a fair amount of praise from the art and design community, so it’s easy for ideas to be pushed too hard and easy for the world to interfere. I do my best though at just doing what it is that I doo-doo. Finding beauty and inspiration in folk art makes me just find something inside of me and lead it on out at its own will and without whips and horse wranglers. Last summer I went from the Museum of Modern Art in New York City to just across the street to the American Folk Art Museum. Both are incredible houses for the arts, but it was the stuff in the less crowded, less artsy-fartsy American Folk Art Museum that really floored me the most. I had been studying a lot of the work for a few years, but to see it in the flesh was astounding. There is something very immediate and wholesome to it. Something so pure that is rarely touched by a so-called “professional” artist. And it can really challenge the thinking as to why we are making and putting outrageous price tags on things. But, it inspires myself to just try to speak the best I can and from a place inside of me. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Blahk…I’m not skilled enough to strike up much debate on the issues here and I hate over-doing-it. I just enjoy folk art and regular art…and whatever else speaks. Anyway, the results can be ugly sometimes when you release something out there into the world. It can be personal poison when you clean out your ears. Everybody’s got an opinion and the opinion inside the messenger can be the worst. Everybody these days is a critic. I’m guilty. But, I don’t make stuff to be recognized or critiqued. I don’t make stuff so others can save me some glossy pages in their design annual. That stuff is great, but the work to me would be dead and done if I ever got to that point. And it would be hollow if I was just cranking stuff out for the approval of others. That’s one of the reasons I feed off of everyday influences and mood swings. I don’t want to spin the same wheels over and over. That’s one of the reasons I don’t wish to chase another man’s dream working in a design firm. I wouldn’t mind helping to hold the ladder on some cloud shaping a bit, but I’m not going to be their spotty dog that fetches design over and over and over. I’ve felt that once before even within the confines of music design and am just now at a comfortable place again with what I’m doing. But, there’s always a different dog nipping. Sometimes it can be pretty dumbfounding whenever something of myself comes out of me and then transcends the basement steps and flies the coop. It’s great to share the stuff, but I’ve felt an unexplainable emptiness at events like award shows or my own solo exhibition openings. The only way I can decipher it after much chewing is that, once it leaves the basement and my little world it’s really beyond me. I’m not a parent, but I suppose the feeling is similar to releasing a child to winds of the first day of school. Once they leave you, they are vulnerable to the rest of the world. And now all of this has got me thinking about what I’m really doing. See, my struggling is out in the open now as I’m passing myself back and forth with this writing and I’m on display for all to gawk at. Still, it’s just part of the trade. I’d love to be able to not have a clock tower and to not be hanging from it. I have a hunger to just make stuff all day and on my own time (well, when I’m not watching movies, eating or doing life stuff). I do have a hunger to share the work after the hunger to create it has passed, but at the same time it’s hard to get a good grasp on that too. And to do my work full-time I have to get the work out and about even more. A lot of my work has seen more of the world than I have and it’s all really exciting. If it can affect others and make somebody stop to get an itch of inspiration or a tickle, especially in our short attention span world, then that is a wonderful thing, I guess. That is a great thing and something that I don’t really have any control over. I just try to be a human being with a hunch back that needs its juices popped. And I’m dangling from that clock tower right now as Sunday supper is almost on the table and the dusk is dawning…and a new week of the day job sits and starts to melt me in my own stomach acid. -djg