#no idea how that read for the americans but from this side of the pond i cheered for the murder hazel

[the-lady-general]

X-Files does Over the Garden Wall 43 years early, doesn't think to cast Christopher Lloyd as the woodsman. More as the situation unfolds.

[perlelune]

Cruel Summer | Felix Catton

Your mother's money issues make it hard for you to enjoy your summer at Saltburn. Thankfully your cousin is there to comfort you. But what happens when you realize his interest in you isn't just familial concern?

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Start! Reader, Incest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Corruption, Innocent Reader, Drugs, Smoking, Filming

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your eyes round as they absorb the massive castle and the vast, lush gardens surrounding it. As you drag your suitcase behind you, you can’t quell the urge to admire everything. Even the towering, perfectly symmetrical trees lining the path to the iron gates. It’s been years since you visited Saltburn, but you don’t remember it being so big or intimidating. 

Still, you bask in the chirping of birds and the brightness of the sky above you. You’re compelled to admit it. The English countryside is lovely, a haven away from the pollution and noise of the city. A sharp contrast to the familiar chaos you’re used to back home. The uproar of traffic, from the honking to the shouting. The endless stream of people strutting down the streets. The gigantic ads and the skyscrapers that graze the stars.

A city that never rests or stops for anyone.

While this is home, it all can be so overwhelming. There never is time to just…breathe and be. Here, as you look at your surroundings, you figure it’s all there is to do. Breathe and be.

You push the small iron door on the side, astonished to find it ajar. Did they leave it open for you? You doubt it however. From what Mom told you, consideration for others isn’t one of your aunt and uncle’s strong suits. They’re too wrapped up in their “posh little world”. One your mom isn’t a part of anymore. And neither are you, as you’ve been raised overseas.

As for your brother…well he’s another matter. Shipped from school to school thanks to Uncle James’ “bottomless well of generosity”, he is a free spirit. Seas apart from you in every possible way. 

Ever since you were young, the pressure to succeed has gripped you tight and never released you. When others partied and experimented, you were nose deep in your books, stressing over finishing every assignment on time and acing every test. It paid off. You were accepted into your school of choice this summer, with a scholarship no less. 

Slacking off isn’t an option for you.

While your brother has a sort of safety net, you’re not so close with that side of your family. You’re their estranged American niece, one they haven’t seen in over a decade.

In fact, you’ve no idea how you’ll be received.

The long walk to the castle is harrowing but gives you time to comb through your memories. You were so little the last time you visited. Still, foggy remembrance floods your thoughts. You played with your cousins by the pond. Made up stories and ran around the fields. You even faintly recall skinning your knees when one of them dared you to try and climb all the way to the top of the stone stairs beneath the stained glass window. You slipped for a long time and wept on the floor, you think. Auntie Elspeth scolded her children and you for playing dangerous games.

Their cherubic faces flicker in your mind.

There were two of them.

A little boy with dark hair and a gummy smile. A blonde girl who giggled all the time. And of course, your brother.

When you’ve reached the castle’s front door, you suck in a wide breath. Before you can even knock on the tall, black doors, they swing open in front of you.

A surprised exhale spills from your throat. 

Swallowing, you fall back. 

Hands behind his back, a stern man in a suit runs his gaze over you. He is so still, for a minute, you wonder if he’s real.

But then he speaks. “Are you lost, miss?” he asks.

You shift, a surge of inadequacy filling you. Still, you clear your throat and give a tremulous answer.

“Hi. I…I’m here to visit my family.”

The man doesn’t budge, still pinning you with his unflinching stare. Sweat breaks out on your back. Are you at the right place?

“The Cattons,” you offer, an awkward smile stretching your lips. “My brother should already be here.” You start rummaging through your backpack to pull out a map. “This is Saltburn, right? Auntie Elspeth sent me the itinerary but perhaps I-”

He cuts you off, seeming almost annoyed with you.

“Right, you’re…earlier than we expected, Ms. Start.”

“I could come back later-”

“The gates aren’t open. We’d have sent someone to pick you up.”

You glance back, dumbfounded. The gates were definitely open, weren’t they? Or perhaps that little door wasn’t supposed to be crossed. Your cheeks flame. The elaborate rules your wealthy relatives abide by are already eluding you. 

Your shoulders heave and fall.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t that long a walk.”

The man stiffly allows you in. You note the two black men standing by the door. They haven’t uttered a single word, blending into the background. Always seen but never heard. You believe your brother mentioned something like that in his sporadic texts and letters. Your gaze tears from them. The inside of Saltburn is even more majestic, a thing you didn’t think possible. Standing in a museum wouldn’t be much different, you suppose, between the antiques sitting on shelves, paintings hanging on the walls and crystal chandeliers hovering above you. 

So, this is what generational wealth looks like. 

When you were little, you didn’t notice this. You were too busy playing. Now, it’s all you can see. 

“Just leave your bag there. Someone will get it for you,” the man says.

“Someone, as in…”

“Someone,” he repeats, staunchly refusing to elaborate.

The grip on the handle of your suitcase tightens. 

“I really don’t need it. I can carry it myself.”

The man considers you, his face twitching as if you just spat in it. Your insides stir in confusion. All you’ve said is that you don’t mind carrying your own luggage. 

The loud utterance of your name has your head snapping sideways.

Your mouth falls open when a towering, young man in a yellow shirt around your age strides in your direction.

He halts in front of the stern man, chiding him with a playful lilt in his tone.

“Really Duncan? You’re scaring the poor girl. Duncan, stop being so terrifying. She’s family.” 

“Well, I shall try.” 

You note the subtle warmth in the man’s tone as he addresses the newcomer.

He turns to you, beaming. Your stomach flutters. “Cousin, try not to be too terrified of Duncan.”

You’re taken aback when he grabs the hand gripping the suitcase. His large hand completely engulfs yours. 

“I’ll show her to her room. Don’t worry,” he chimes. He pulls you away and you’re forced to keep up with his long, enthusiastic strides. He tosses you a glance, laughing when you sort of hop behind him. “Sorry about that. Duncan’s a bit odd, but he’s alright, you’ll see.”

“And you are…?”

Disappointment creeps on his face at your question. He spreads a hand over his chest.

“Felix, your cousin. Golly, you don’t remember me? Really? That kind of hurts.”

Your eyes grow. The picture in your mind was that of a chubby-cheeked, clumsy little boy. Your cousin definitely isn’t that anymore.

“Oh my god, yes! Felix. You don’t have a lisp anymore and…You’re like a giant now.”

A smug expression lights his features.

“Puberty.”

You laugh in response. “Yeah, I guess we all grew up.”

A strange glint fleets across his gaze as he gives you a quick once over.

“Clearly,” he says, his smile expanding.

He shows you around the estate. You can’t suppress your awe when he mentions Henry VIII, surprised Saltburn’s history stretches that far back. The library also radiates ancient and priceless, countless rare leather-bound books sitting on the shelves. A smile creeps on your face when Felix greets the ghost of your grandmother.

He takes you through a vertiginous amount of hallways until taking you to what will be your room. It’s apparently right next to Venetia’s. You glance around, expecting another long lost cousin to pop up perhaps. But it’s just you and Felix in the vast bedroom.

He leans against the doorjamb while you soak in the room and the massive bed, large enough to welcome three or four people. It’s nothing like your tiny bed at home or the one in your college dorm. This is something you never had, and that is just Felix and Venetia’s normal. It makes you speechless.

You drop your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The mattress bounces as you plop down on it. You let your fingers skim over the blissfully soft sheets.

Your contemplation is abbreviated by the ringing of your phone. You flip it open. The screen lights up, signaling a new message received. You type on the glowing arrows to find out it’s from Mom. 

Remember to ask your aunt and uncle for what we talked about. 

I really need you, sweetie. 

You unleash a heavy breath. Your mom is the one who pressured you to go on this trip. Ever since her brother’s regular payments have dried up, your mother’s been relentless. She keeps claiming she wants her share of the trust and your uncle argues that she used all of it. First, she recruited Farleigh to speak on her behalf. Your brother’s attempts have met little success however. So your mother enlisted you. 

You don’t know what more you can do that your brother couldn’t, but you can never say no to anything your mother asks. 

“Is something wrong?” Felix inquires, making his way to your bed to sit near you. The scent of his pricey cologne tingles your nose. 

“It's nothing,” you lie. “Just Mom asking if my arrival’s been smooth.”

Your cousin seems like the living embodiment of sunshine, just like you remember. If possible, you want to keep him out of the money issues between your mom and Uncle James.

Felix tilts his head as he studies you.

“It’s kinda funny.”

“What?”

“The way you say ‘mum’”

A laugh peals from your lips. 

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to my accent being made fun of.”

Felix shrugs. “My mum will think it’s exotic.”

You cringe inside. You never liked that word, how it makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.

Switching topics, you ask, “Is my brother around? I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Ah, Farleigh’s probably skulking about somewhere.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

Felix collects the book poking through the zipper of your backpack. He flips through the stained pages of your copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood prince. You accidentally spilled coffee on it during a late night study session.

“You could talk to him about this,” he offers, waving the book. “We’ve kind of been passing around Venetia’s copy. Although I tend to skip to the most interesting parts, but don’t tell everyone else.”

You smile.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply solemnly.

He watches you for a long time, long enough for your gaze to find the floor as your face heats.

“It’s really good having you here with us, cousin. I mean it.”

You fidget in your spot. “Thanks.”

Felix flashes you a mischievous grin.

“But I’ll need to make sure you remember me this time.”

The rest of the day is spent reconnecting with your other relatives. Everyone gathers in the library and you get to meet Venetia, realizing she too has changed a lot since you were kids. 

Oliver, Felix’s friend from Oxford is also there. From your cousin’s broad explanations, it appears he’s grieving the loss of one of his parents, so he invited him to make sure he isn’t alone. It’s unbelievably kind. Besides, you’re guessing from Oliver’s lost puppy dog stares and awkward manners, that he’s as out of place as you are here. Instant sympathy blooms inside you when you’re introduced to him.

A woman named Pamela is also in attendance. She is Aunt Elpseth’s close friend, though it’d be hard to tell, the way she orders her around like a servant and exposes the long list of tragedies her love life has been to the entire room.

A saying about friends and enemies flutters through your mind as you witness their interactions. It’s such a bizarre spectacle, watching this red-haired woman, dead behind the eyes, bend over backwards for your aunt. You don’t remember Aunt Elspeth being this cold-blooded.

And naturally, there is your brother. Farleigh. Aloof in the back, apart from the Cattons, your eyes collide from across the room. He smiles at you. You smile back. Warmth flows through you.

It’ll be a while before you’re comfortable around each other again. It pains you to say, but you don’t know your own brother all that well anymore.

Dinner’s a strangely formal affair. Everyone’s dressed to the nines, giving the family gathering more of a cocktail party vibe than that of a family dinner. Venetia lends you a dress so you aren’t the odd one out. You thank her profusely. All you packed when you left America are jeans and a few pairs of shorts. It never occurred to you that you’d need any kind of formal wear since you figured you would be around family. 

But you failed to take into account said family is also a part of British high society. 

Awkwardness fills you as you hesitate over the utensils, the different kinds of knives and forks making you dizzy. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself on the first day. Seeming to grasp your predicament, Venetia nudges your elbow when you grip the right fork and knife. 

You mutter a quiet ‘thanks’ and she winks at you. 

Several courses are brought on silver platters, one after the other. The entire time, you focus on your plate, swallowing every bland, flavorless bite.

Stiff conversation is exchanged at the table, most of it centering on Aunt Elspeth’s dour-looking friend. Once more, compassion flutters through you.

It’s blatant to everyone at the table that Pamela isn’t wanted at Saltburn anymore.

It’s a relief when dinner concludes and you can return to your bedroom.

You sit by the large window in your room to admire the night sky. Between the skyscrapers and artificial lights, it’s hard finding a spot to look at the stars in New York. Here however, you can make out constellations and various other glittering shapes.

Venetia joins you on the windowsill. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows smoke on the window. She shoots you a cheeky smile.

“So, do you regret coming already?” she teases.

You fiddle with your hands. 

“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. It’s…kind of unreal being here.”

“Just remember this is your home too.”

You mull it over. It is becoming clear to you how much you don’t fit in with the Cattons, despite sharing blood with them. You wonder if it’s how your brother has felt all these years. Like an outsider amidst his own kin. Although, you have to admit he looked quite comfortable at dinner. Far more than you, definitely.

“I’ll…try to remember that.” You hesitate, gnawing on your lip before speaking again. “Is Pamela gonna be okay, you think?”

Venetia shrugs.

“I think she’ll be alright.”

Your lips purse. Who knows how that haunted woman will fare once she’s on her own in the world again? You’re not too hopeful. But it seems like Aunt Elspeth is done with her, so it cannot be helped you suppose.

“If you say so.” You tilt your head at your cousin, dropping casually. “Do you think Uncle James is still up?”

“At this hour, Daddy will be in his study.”

You nod and get to your feet. Wandering the halls of Saltburn at night is a peculiar experience. The shadows clinging to the walls seem to follow your every step. Dusty slices of moonlight spill from the windows, bringing the stern portraits of your distant relatives to life, the aged hues of the paintings shifting in the dim light.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you're being watched. The back of your neck tingles as the sound of your fearful steps echoes in the vast halls. A breeze of cool air seeps through your clothes. You tug on the cardigan Venetia let you borrow from her closet, hurrying your pace. 

For a long time, you spin in circles, growing desperate to find your uncle’s study. Your spirits sour. You followed Venetia’s instructions to the letter yet you got lost. A left, a right, straight along the green room, then…another right?

You frown. Now you can’t remember. Why does every hallway look the same here?

Astray in your own mind, you carelessly bump into a hard object. 

You lift your gaze. Your jaw drops.

“Felix,” you exclaim, placing a hand over your heaving chest. “You scared me.” 

Mirth glints in his brown orbs.

“Lost, cousin?”

Avoiding his eyes, you scratch your am.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” you mumble.

Felix chuckles and seizes your arm. 

“It’s not. It’s easy to get lost here.” You gasp as he pulls you alongside him. “Just tell me where you need to go and I’ll show you the way.”

Too dumbstruck by his abrupt appearance, you let Felix drag you through the somber hallways. The sharp twists and turns he takes make your head spin. There is no way you’d have found the study on your own. 

He halts in front of two mahogany doors. Your feet bounce as your hand lingers on the brass handles.

Felix knocks on the door and your heart leaps.

“I’ll wait for you here, so you don’t get lost again,” he says.

“You don’t have to,” you squeak.

He leans over you and smiles.

“I insist, cousin. I have to prove to you not all of us are completely horrible…despite what you may have seen.”

Your face warms.

“T-Thank you.”

James’ voice rises from inside the room, giving you permission to enter. You nod at Felix and take shaky steps inside the study. The crackle of logs burning away reaches you. The swaying flames mingle with the shadows, casting a faint orange glow on the room. 

“Uncle James, may I speak to you?” you bashfully inquire.

He lowers his round glasses and puts down the notebook in his hands.

“Of course. Anytime, love. Have a seat.”

“Is something troubling you, child?”

You gulp the lump stuck in your throat, staring at your lap for a while before you meet your uncle’s gaze again. You shift in your seat.

You don’t know how to ask or, more precisely, the appropriate way to ask. A wide lungful enters your lungs. Why delay the inevitable?

You elect to dive right into your reason to be here.

“My mother. Well, she was wondering…” Your nerves buzz as your uncle’s sharp eyes cut into you. You clear your throat before continuing. “We were wondering if there were issues on your side because she hasn’t…” Sweat blooms inside your palms as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Well, you haven’t sent anything like you usually do and it’s been two months now.”

A heavy coat of silence falls over the study. After a while, your uncle unleashes a deep sigh.

“And she sent you to vouch for her.”

“I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. “Mom, she…She isn’t really good with money.” This is a massive understatement, and from the way Uncle James’ eyes bear into yours, it’s clear that he’s also aware of that fact. As much as you love your mom, she’s never been the most responsible with money, often squandering it on flashy things and pretty clothes. More than once growing up, she fell short on a bill and you couldn’t even shower before going to school. “If you could help this one time, then I’ll figure something out for her. I promise.”

“And how do you plan on doing that, young lady?” your uncle challenges.

“I…I’ll find a way. We always find a way.”

“You’re a very good daughter, which I can appreciate…” Your pulse races as you wait with bated breath. “But I’ve given your mother more than enough for her to get on her feet. Still, she always asks for more.”

Your heart plummets. The finality laced in his tone didn’t elude you. Why did you even think you could sway your uncle’s opinion in any way when your own brother, who has been around the Cattons for years, couldn’t accomplish that feat?

“She has issues…but I promise, uncle, she’ll get herself together this time,” you offer.

“I will give it some thought.”

He flashes you a sympathetic smile. You recognize its meaning right away. It’s strikingly similar to the one Aunt Elspeth gave her “friend” at the dinner table. 

Understanding you are being dismissed, you get up from the chair and bid your uncle good night.

“Thank you for listening,” you say glumly before leaving.

As Felix escorts you back to your bedroom, you can’t help but notice that Uncle James never once referred to your mother as his sister.

You frankly doubt he will give what you said any semblance of thought. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that entire conversation vanished from his head the second you stepped out of his study.

The rest of the week goes smoothly. Lazy summer days with your cousins and brother fly by in a hazy blur. Hanging by the pond beneath the sizzling sun. Displaying your terrible tennis playing skills to the entire group. Scary movie nights with the whole family during which Venetia and Felix laugh at you because you watch most of the film through your fingers and hide your face in a pillow whenever the monster appears.

It’s nice. You start thinking that reuniting with your extended family for the summer wasn’t such a rotten idea.

You nearly forget your mother. Nearly.

Though with the daily messages you receive detailing the squalor she’s living in, it’s impossible to forget. Guilt grows within you each day.

“She’s been texting you too?” Farleigh asks as he sits at the edge of the tennis court next to you. He’s still in his tux while you’re still wearing one of Venetia’s sparkly dresses, as all of you decided to sneak out of Aunt Elspeth’s uptight dinner party to catch the sunset and play a game of tennis. One thing you’ve come to learn about your cousins. They do whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want. Part of you envies that. The carefree knowledge that whatever mess you make, someone will clean up behind you…discreetly and in silence at that.

You flip your phone shut and sigh.

“Nonstop.” You sag in the chair. “I’ve done all I can.”

“Yeah…Me too.”

“I feel awful.”

You’re taken aback when your brother says, “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.”

You tentatively reach over his armchair to squeeze his hand.

“It’s not yours either,” you assure softly. Your brother shocks you when his fingers wrap around yours. You don’t think you held hands like this since you were toddlers. You were always the clingy one, following after your big brother like a lost puppy.

You and your brother remain like this for a while, eyes trailing the downward race of the sun over the horizon. 

When night falls, you’re surprised to find a tall, familiar form slipping through the wall of your bedroom. 

“Felix!” He puts a finger over his lips as a sign to lower your voice. It instantly dips to a whisper. “How did you get here?”

Amusement paints Felix’s features at your flabbergasted expression. He clicks the door shut. 

You blink. Once closed, the secret entrance blends seamlessly into the wall. There is no way you could have known this was here.

“Secret passageway. Old castles like Saltburn have plenty of them,” he explains, crawling over your bed.

“Oh.” 

As your eyes drag over his frame and you note that Felix’s just in his shorts, fire creeps inside your cheeks. Of course, you’ve seen your cousin in trunks but usually, it’s around the entire group. For some reason, a sliver of discomfort pools within you. You look away and clear your throat.

“Is it…okay for you to be here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that…nothing.”

A deep chuckle peals from his chest. The mattress bounces as Felix lets himself fall onto your sheets. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow near you, putting his hands behind his head as a lazy smile spreads on his lips.

“Don’t be silly. We’re family. It’s like when we were little and we’d all sleep in the same bed.”

You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right; you’re overreacting.

“Right. That was so fun.”

He lies on his side, elbow bent as he buries one hand in his tousled brown curls. 

“You used to have nightmares so you’d always sneak into my bed or Farleigh’s.”

“Now that you’re saying it, I think I remember that.”

“You’re still as cute as I remember.” Felix’s brown eyes twinkle as he drinks you in. “No…Even cuter.”

“Thanks.”

He approaches you and starts playing with the hem of your cotton shorts, twiddling the fabric between his forefinger and thumb.

Brown eyes dive right into yours.

“I saw you with Farleigh today. You looked sad.”

You shake your head.

“It’s nothing…just got some stuff on my mind.”

Felix’s smile dies.

“You also looked sad when you left Dad’s office the other day.”

You bristle. “It’s nothing important, really.”

“Your mom?” he inquires. When you don’t reply, Felix’s knuckles sweep over your outer thigh, his deep timbre softening, “You can trust me, cousin.”

You unleash a sharp, audible breath, budding tears tickling your eyelids.

“It’s just a lot. She’s asking things from me that I don’t know if I can do much about.”

Felix collects one of your stray tears with his thumb. He then snatches your hands from your lap and clutches them in his. They completely swallow yours.

“She shouldn’t ask anything of you. It’s not fair. You’re her daughter. She should protect you. Not the other way around.”

You sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my mom for so long. Especially after Farleigh decided to stay in England most of the time. So I feel like…I need to take care of her, you know? Because she always took care of me.”

He cups your cheek, wiping more of your tears.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good, cousin.”

Felix then sits up and conjures a lighter and a blunt from the back pocket of his shorts.

You gawk at him as he lights it in front of you, taking a deep drag before blowing smoke in your face.

Your stomach tingles when he offers it to you.

“I don’t know if I should…”

Felix’s timbre lowers seductively as he grabs your hand and slips the roll between your fingers. Even holding it doesn’t feel right.

“Come on, you’ll feel better. It’ll free your mind. No thoughts. No troubles. Just…light and happy.”

“That sounds amazing,” you mumble.

“Then try a puff.”

You bring the blunt to your mouth and immediately cough.

“You gotta go slow,” he chuckles. Once you’ve retrieved your breath, he nudges it against your mouth again.  “Here, another.”

The room begins to swirl around you. You lie back, a heady, cotton-like sensation spreading from your head to your toes.

“Damn…” you whisper as your limbs slacken, the tension in your body slowly melting away.

Felix lies back next to you, his grin growing.

“See? That’s why you should always listen to me, cousin.”

It becomes a habit, Felix sneaking into your room and the two of you smoking in your bed every night. Him slipping through the secret door doesn’t even faze you anymore, and your reservations about getting high evaporate a little more with every puff you inhale. The serene sensation and warm tingles you get afterwards are entirely too pleasant. 

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Letting go. For a few precious minutes, the burdens on your shoulders can vanish.

You don’t tell Venetia, or even Farleigh. You still remember him going full big brother mode that one day when you tried to join the rest of them when they hung out naked in the field. The Cattons siblings laughed as you were escorted away, burning from head to toe at the humiliation.

You don’t want a repeat of that. Always being the good girl is exhausting. Not that your brother would understand. He gets to live life on his own terms. Get kicked out from as many schools as he likes. Charm his way through the world. You don’t. For once, you want to revel in doing something…a little forbidden. Something the nerdy, party-avert, studious girl you forced yourself to be all these years would never do.

So the nightly meetups become you and Felix’s secret.

It’s all casual, harmless fun. Until, one night,  everything changes. As your head lolls back on the pillows, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, your cousin’s fingers dance over your half-exposed belly.

“Feeling better?” he mutters, his voice low and secretive.

“Yeah.”

“I know a way you can feel even better.”

You don’t think much of it. Not even when he slithers across the sheets, finding his way between your legs. He tugs your shorts down, slowly, until you’re down to your panties in front of him. The rush of cool air on your skin makes you tremble.

“Felix, what are you doing?” you chuckle, high enough not to fully register what’s going on.

A playful smile ghosts over your cousin’s lips. He blows on your clothed center and the sensation draws a giggle from you, even as a faint layer of panic is trying to pierce through the haze.

“You seemed so stressed today. It’ll help you relax…” he promises, trailing sluggish kisses up your inner thigh. As his lips travel upward, your stomach clenches. He hooks two fingers inside your panties to push them aside.

Your cousin’s gaze darkens, his smile broadening, as he basks in the sight of your bare, shuddering folds. He licks his lips before kissing the center of you. 

Your limbs tense as Felix starts unraveling you with his tongue. He licks a stripe over your folds, his tongue tarrying over your tender bud. The breath catches in your throat. He traces slow circles over your button, tearing a soft gasp from you everytime he suckles the sensitive spot between his lips.

Felix hums while his head bobs between your thighs.

A tingly, warm feeling starts blooming in your core, scattering to your entire body. Hot and irresistible. A wave of heat that slowly takes over your entire frame.

You clutch the sheets.

Your eyes rise to the heavens as heat pulses through your core.

“No, Felix, this is… this is wrong,” you wheeze out between aching breaths. 

His devious laughter ripples through your core. 

“I’m just trying to make you feel good. How can that be wrong, cousin?” he says innocently, before flicking his tongue over your folds. He spreads you even more, dipping in and out of you as quiet shouts rip from your throat. Your back curves over the sheets. Your lids flutter as you peer at the ceiling unseeingly. 

His sinful baritone nudges you to your undoing.

“Just let go. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You quake, the tense heat growing too much to bear. Your insides coil. Sparks erupt from your center, traveling outward. Your body goes limp as you collapse over the sheets, dazed and breathless. Tears of arousal trickle from your core and your cousin greedily savors every wayward drop. Shame scalds your insides as you feel him lap up your nectar, your wide gaze glued to the ceiling.

The next morning, panic rushes through you as your eyes snap open.

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to freak out,” Felix says lightly, pulling you against him from behind. His hand settles over your rapidly moving chest. 

“Last night…” you say, choking on a sob as you recall bits and pieces. You were so damn high. Still, you’re pretty sure what you think happened…happened. Even in your own head, you can’t put it into words. You rub your thighs. Stickiness lingers there from Felix’s ravenous tongue. Shame burns in your gut.

As you try to climb off the bed, Felix yanks you back. He slams you down on your back. Your heart jumps as he looms over you, his broad body easily caging yours. 

He frames your chin, drawing your attention to him.

“We just had some fun, you and I,” he says, thumb tracing your quivering lip. “That’s all. No one ever has to know.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep pulling on your tiny camisole, pathetically attempting to cover your nakedness. Felix chuckles.

“Gosh, you really need to stop being so uptight, pretty cousin.”

He drops a quick peck on your cheek before dragging his lips over your earshell.

“It’s okay. We’ll work on loosening you up.”

For a few days, Felix doesn’t visit your room again. You’re thankful for that. You can barely meet your cousin’s gaze now, the fear of someone finding out what happened eating you alive. You can’t imagine coming back after so many years only to cause havoc and drama.

Your mom would be so disappointed. Your brother would be livid.

So you do as Felix says. You keep your lips firmly sealed. It’s not like it’ll go further than that anyway. The two of you were high, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

None of this would have happened otherwise.

Unfortunately, your meticulously crafted wall of denial explodes when your cousin shows up again one night.

You tremble as your eyes rest on him. Felix smiles at you, pushing the secret door closed. You note the camera dangling from his neck. The entire day was spent snapping pictures to remember the summer. You took so many silly ones with Venetia and your brother. For a while, you let yourself forget. Felix took most of the pictures today, appearing in very few himself. You just didn’t expect him to still be wearing it this late.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply shyly.

“How are you feeling today?”

Your lips clamp shut. Today was awful. Apparently your mom might be getting evicted soon. She hasn’t stopped texting you about it the entire day, and even some of the night because of the time difference. You feel so dauntingly powerless…and awful. You’re staying in a literal castle while your mom might be homeless soon.

“I’m good.”

He takes lithe steps towards you, his handsome face twisting in sympathy as he plops down on your bed. He removes the camera from around his neck and tosses it over your pillows.

“No you’re not. You’re still worried about your mom. You were checking your phone all day today.”

You bring your knees close to your chest.

“It’s fine, Felix.”

Felix sighs, concern swimming in his brown gaze.

“No, it’s not fine.” His fingers roam over your ankle as he lies on his side. “You know…” Felix pauses, eyes holding yours. “I could talk to my dad if you want. He never refuses me anything.” He flashes a sunny grin. “After all, I’m his precious boy. His firstborn son.”

You gape at him. 

“You really would do that for my mom?”

Felix sits up and closes the distance between the two of you. He bends over you, placing his large hands over your feet. You follow the stars tattoos etched atop his hand; his sister has the same ones if you recall.

His knees graze your ankles as he says, “Not for your mom. For you, cousin. So that frown on your face can finally…” He flicks your brow with his thumb and laughs. “...disappear. Like magic.”

You consider Felix, relief and awe storming through you.

Without giving it much thought, you toss your arms around his neck.

“Thank you so much,” you exclaim.

“Of course…” His fingers travel along your spine. “I’d just have a little favor to ask in return.”

“Sure, anything,” you answer easily.

He pulls back, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s not much.”

The heady scent of his cologne washes over you as he leans forward.

“I’ve been aching somewhere lately and I need you to make it better, cousin.”

“Oh, aching…where?”

“I think it’s best if I just show you.”

A foreboding inkling flares in your gut. Still, you don’t move as Felix “shows you”. He tugs on his shorts. He slowly pulls on the fabric, shimmying out of it as you hold your breath. When his length springs free, you unleash a small squeak. Your reaction drags a laugh out of Felix.

Though you don’t really want to, you can’t help but stare. It’s thick and long with veins running alongside the shaft. The tip points upward, glistening and red.

“I don’t know if I can help with…something like that,” you mumble, your voice wavering at the end.

“Sure you can.”

He lifts your chin, diving his eyes into yours.

“I just need somewhere warm, and soft, to slip the tip of my cock so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Shock parts your lips.

“Felix…”

He hooks his thumb inside your open mouth, a lopsided grin stretching on his face.

“Come on, it’ll just be the tip, I promise. Then we never have to talk about it anymore. You won’t even feel it, I swear.”

“Just the…tip?” you say, your throat knotting as your gaze drifts down. You take in Felix’s size, swallowing thickly. It matches the rest of him, you suppose. You don’t even think it could fit, not fully. So just the tip is probably for the best. “Nothing more?”

“Just the tip. And I’ll talk to my dad first thing in the morning.” He strokes your cheek, uttering softly, “I bet your mom will be so happy for what you did for her.”

You heave out a deep, resigned breath. Right, your mom. While you’re not too comfortable with what Felix is asking for, if it means he’ll talk to Uncle James, you don’t have it in you to refuse. A favor for a favor. Then you’ll spend the rest of the summer forgetting it ever happened. You can do that. 

You peer up at Felix. 

“Okay then but don’t…stay too long.”

He beams at you. 

“You’re amazing.” 

Felix leans back. He removes his shorts fully, revealing himself in all his naked glory.

“Just lay back for me, cousin,” he instructs. He slants his head, satisfaction filling his gaze when you do as he says. “Open those perfect legs of yours.” His pupils swell with lust as you part your quivering thighs. 

“Good girl,” he praises. 

Felix crawls over you. You freeze. He grips the waistband of your pajama bottoms to slide them off your legs. He takes his time, agonizingly slow as he soaks in every tiny shift on your face. Horror curls your insides. You wish he’d just get it over with. But it’s clear Felix wishes to enjoy every mortifying second of this. 

Your panties are next. Once again, he drags it out. Warmth blooms in your face as cool air hits your bare folds. It’s worse than last time, because there’s nothing to dull your senses, or pretend it isn’t happening.

“Don’t close your legs. I want to see everything,” he says when you try to hide from him. His throat bobs, hunger lurking in his eyes as he licks his lips. “You have a really pretty pussy, you know that, cousin?”

“Please, don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“B-Because it’s embarrassing.”

He smirks. 

“You’re so fucking cute.”

Your cousin plucks the discarded camera and points it at your face. The blinding light sears your eyelids as he quickly snaps a series of pictures of you in the compromising position.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse soaring.

“W-Why did you just take a picture?”

“Because I want to remember you like this.” 

He chortles as you try to snatch the camera from his hands, keeping it out of your reach with ease with his long arm.

“Delete it, Felix,” you plead. 

He tilts his head, his expression dripping with mischief.

“Sure, if you do everything I say, I’ll delete it.”

Tears brim beneath your lashes. You want to trust Felix. You really do. But he always asks for more. You wonder where it’ll end, if it ever will.

“You promise?”

“Of course. I’d never lie to you, cousin.”

He places the camera on the floor near the bed. If you thought you could get past him, destroy the camera, you would. However you’re beginning to realize something about Felix. He always gets his way. 

He crawls his way to you. You don’t resist as Felix nudges you down, trapping you beneath him. The fitful drumming of your heart fills your ears. 

He bends down, stealing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips sweep over yours, hungry, feverish. He cups the side of your face, moaning as he explores your mouth. His hands start wandering over your body. They feel everywhere at once, kneading and teasing your flesh. Felix pulls your top over your head so you’re in nothing but your bra. 

He deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing your air and sanity. You melt beneath him. 

The air is robbed from your lungs when he starts prodding at your entrance. Your fingers clench around the sheets. His thick tip stretches you so much already. You can barely take it.

His voice comes out hoarse and strained.

“You feel so bloody good.”

He pushes a bit more. You tense, your walls aching at his size. Your tearful gaze rises to the ceiling. Felix seizes your chin, pulling it so your eyes lock with his.

“Look at me,” he instructs.

He piledrives into you, sheathing himself inside you completely. Your vision flickers as he finds the hilt of you. Your lips part in a silent scream. Your chest heaves and falls quickly. 

“Felix, you said…”

He shushes you, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he begins moving inside you. A wicked glow burns in Felix’s brown gaze. “I know what I said…but it feels too good inside you, cousin.”

“But you promised...” you sob. 

He kisses away your tears, his voice mellowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says after thrusting inside you deeply. “I’m so sorry…” Your toes flex, stars creeping in your sight with each of your cousin’s vigorous thrusts. His pace doesn’t relent, even as you weep and plead him with your eyes. He almost seems to pluck joy from your quiet helplessness. His chest brushes over yours as his lips ghost over your earshell. “But I don’t think I can stop.”

Your breathing quickens. As Felix’s cock grazes along your sensitive spots, little whimpers spill from your throat. He drapes one hand over your mouth, still pounding inside you. 

“Shh, be quiet for me, cousin. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”

“I think our uncle likes you better than me.”

You look at your brother through your sunglasses. You’re thankful for them. They’ve done a nice job concealing the puffiness of your eyes. You’ve been crying a lot lately. Too often. It started the night Felix snuck into your room and the flood hasn’t really stopped since. All of it turns your stomach. The lying, the sneaking around…the sick, twisted lies. His sick, twisted lies. It was supposed to just be one time.

Felix deceived you.

Every night since that one, your cousin found his way into your room, coaxing you to do things that make you hate yourself afterwards. It’s even slowly escalated to daily trysts. Felix would conjure excuses to steal you away while your other relatives are blissfully unaware. Having his way with you in a dark corner. Fingering you in the library. Cornering you in the maze to taste the nectar between your legs. Your cousin seems determined to make sure no inch of Saltburn isn’t tainted by his wicked desires.

This is a nightmare.

Your mom was so overjoyed on the phone after receiving Uncle James’ payment. And you’re glad you could help. But the cost…Did your mother’s happiness have to occur at your expense? You’re so exhausted, ashamed. You don’t know how long you can stand to be the vessel for your cousin’s lurid fantasies.

Even proper rest is denied to you now, the fear of someone figuring it out keeping you wide awake for hours every night.

“I doubt that,” you say, your lips curving in a stilted smile.

Farleigh leans back in his lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses over his nose.

“Still, good job, little sis.” A wide grin blooms on his face. “Guess being a goody two-shoes has its perks.”

Your chest clenches at your brother’s remark.

As Felix’s eyes find yours from across the pond, your blood freezes. He smiles at you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You shift, your attention returning to your brother.

“I-I don’t know about that.”

You thought the awfulness reached its peak. You were wrong. A new brand of twisted is introduced by Felix during breakfast with the entire family.

He sits next to you, smiling at you. You don’t think much of it. Why would you? He’s done this before. Taunt you. Tease you. Torment you. Even in front of the rest of them.

But what he does today, while Aunt Elspeth sits across from you and your brother is on your other side…it’s just ghastly. Impious.

Felix’s digits roam atop your thigh. You shoot him a glare. He pointedly ignores you, carrying a casual conversation with his mom while playing with the hem of your dress.

You focus on your plate. He caresses the inside of your thigh as you bring the fork to your lips.

He presses two fingers against your clothed center. Pushing, pressing and swirling around your tender bud. Your knees rub, heat gathering at the apex of your thighs.

The metal of the fork damn near shatters your teeth as you choke on a mouthful of eggs.

You apologize swiftly, shakily grabbing the glass of water near your plate. You take a long swig from it and clear your throat. Felix’s digits dip further inside you. Your breath hitches. He stops just shy of letting you come apart, bringing you to the cusp only to retreat at the very last second. A meticulously thought out torture.

It lasts for almost the entirety of breakfast, only reaching an end when Venetia rises from the table. You follow right after her, excusing yourself with a tense smile.

Hollow steps take you through an endless series of hallways. You can hardly even think, the enormity of what your cousin just did in front of his parents, in front of everyone, shocking you into numbness. Where will his depravity end? You long for summer to end so perhaps you can finally be free from your cousin.

You wind up in an empty room brimming with dusty books and antiques. You sit in a corner, knees against your chest, as you revel in a rare moment of respite. You don’t get these as often anymore. Not if your cousin has anything to say about it.

As usual, it doesn’t take long for Felix to find you a little later. Your heart skips a beat when his towering frame darkens the doorway, blocking any chance of an escape.

“Playing hide and seek, cousin?” he teases, amusement laced in his voice.

Tears swim in your eyes as you shoot him an accusing look.

“At breakfast, really? Someone could have seen, Felix. M-My brother, he could have seen.”

Rolling his eyes, he hops towards you to take a seat next to you. His rebuttal is disturbingly nonchalant.

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“I think we should stop,” you sputter, your mouth wobbling. 

His brows squeeze together, a mix of annoyance and confusion twisting his features.

“Why?”

You fiddle with the bottom of your dress, struggling to meet his irate stare. 

“I’m grateful for everything you did, really, but this doesn’t feel right.”

His cheek pulses, a strange grin dragging his lips upward. Your stomach sinks. 

“We’re just having fun, you and I, cousin.”

Your words warp into a watery croak.

“This isn’t fun, Felix.”

A weary sigh drops from his chest. 

“It’s because you’re overthinking it,” he says, reaching out to cup your cheek. You turn your head. Frustration flickers in your cousin’s eyes. As you try to stand, he grabs you and shoves you on the floor. 

“Felix, no…”

Ignoring your sniveling pleas, Felix hastily unzips his jeans and yanks your underwear down to your ankles. 

A strangled sob flows from your lips as he nestles himself inside your wet heat in a single deep, cruel thrust. 

You’re a whimpering mess on the floor as your cousin pounds into you from behind. 

“Just stop fighting it,” he grunts. He twists his fist in your hair, your scalp singing in pain when he tugs at your roots. Tears stream down your face while your cousin snaps his pelvis into your ass. 

“See? This is good.” His warm, heavy exhales tickle your nape. “Doesn’t my cock inside you feel good, cousin?”

“Yes…” you begrudgingly admit, loathing how every time he sinks into you, your toes curl and your eyes roll back on their own, warm tingles dancing through your core.

“Look outside.” You wince as he angles your chin towards the window, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You’re greeted with a beautiful sight of the lush gardens sprawling before the castle. His hot whisper grazes your temple. “Do you see all this? How beautiful Saltburn is…especially in the summer.” His smile carves into your skin.

“One day, all of this will be mine, cousin.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. Shivers course through your spine. “And it could be yours too… if you behave.”

[sgiandubh]

When you do not know a thing about the issue at stake...

...perhaps it's better to remain silent.

Some of you know, others don't - and that's fine - but my main field of expertise is labor law.

I just read this in anger and disbelief:

Look, lady. I don't care who the hell you are, what you do for a living or why you felt entitled to answer those insistent questions on your side of the fandom. I suppose you are North American and have no idea of how things work on this side of the pond. It is fine: I might know what a Congress filibuster is, for example, but I'd be severely unable to judge the finer points of competence sharing between Fed and state level.

The difference between you and me?

I keep my mouth shut and/or do my own research before opening it in public.

Have you no shame to write things like: 'It was discovered clothing factories in Bulgaria and Portugal made it and how workers were exploited, mostly women, because these factories were in special economic zones in these countries exempt from EU employee rights and regulations.'

HOW DARE YOU? What strange form of illiterate entitlement possessed you to utter such things with confidence, comfortably hidden behind a passive voice ('it was discovered')?

Portugal joined the EU in 1986. Bulgaria (and my country) joined the EU in 2007. I have given 5 relentless years of my life to make this collective political project a reality, along with hundreds of other people my age who chose to come back home from the West and put their skills to good use for their country. In doing so, I rejected more than 10 excellent corporate job offers in France and China. To see you come along and write such enormities is like having you spit in my face.

Article 4 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union (aka The Treaty of Rome) is formal and clear, as far as competence sharing between the EU and its Member States goes (the UK was still, back then, a full member of the EU - it quit on February 1st 2020):

That means that ALL the EU regulations are being integrated into the national legislation of the Member States. This is not a copy/paste process, however. And because it is a shared competence area, the Member States have a larger margin of appreciation into making the EU rules a part of their own. While exceptions or delays in this process can be and are negotiated, the core principles are NEVER touched.

Read it one hundred times, madam, maybe you'll learn something today:

THERE ARE NO SPECIAL ECONOMIC ZONES IN THE EUROPEAN UNION. THE WHOLE FUCKING EUROPEAN UNION IS A SPECIAL ECONOMIC ZONE, THIS IS WHY IT IS CALLED THE SINGLE MARKET.

What the fuck do you think we are, Guangzhou? We'd wish, seeing the growth statistics!

Now, for the textile industry sector and particularly with regard to the Bulgarian market, a case very similar to my own country. Starting around 1965, many big European textile players realized the competitive advantage of using the lower paid, readily available Eastern European workforce. In order to be able to do business with all those dour Communist regimes, the solution was simple and easy to find: toll manufacturing.

It worked (and still does!) like this:

The foreign partner brings its own designs, textiles and know-how into the mix - or more simply put, it outsources all these activities. The locals transform it into the finished product, using their own workforce. The result is then re-exported to the foreign partner, who labels it and sells it. In doing so, he has the legal obligation to include provenance on the label ('made in Romania', 'made in Indonesia', 'made in Bulgaria' - you name it).

The reason you might find less and less of those 'made in ' labels nowadays at Primark and more and more at Barbour, Moncler and the such is the constant raise of the workers' wages in Eastern Europe since 1990 (things happened there, in 1989, maybe you remember?). We are not competitive anymore for midrange prêt-à-porter - China (Shein, anyone?), Cambodia and Mexico do come to mind as better suppliers. To speak about 'exploited female labourers in rickety old factories' is an insult and a lie. They weren't exploited back in the Eighties, as they are not now (workers in those factories were and still are easily paid about 50% more than all the rest) and the factories being modernized and constantly updated was always a mandatory clause in any contract of the sort. Normal people in our countries rarely or ever saw those clothes. You had to either be lucky enough for a semi-confidential store release or bribe someone working there and willing to take the risk, in order to be able to buy the rejected models on the local market.

If I understood correctly, you place this critical episode at the launch of the limited SRH & Barbour collection, for the fall of 2018. How convenient for you, who (I am told by trusted people) were one of the most vocal critics of S during Hawaii 2.0!

And as far as Barbour goes, it never pretended to manufacture everything in the UK only:

This information is absolutely true. You can read the whole statement, signed in October 2017 by one of their Directors, Ian Sime, here: https://www.barbour.com/us/media/wysiwyg/PDF/Ethical_Statement_October_2017.pdf

And a snapshot for you:

Oh, and: SEDEX is a behemoth in its world, with more than 75.000 companies joining as a member (https://www.sedex.com/become-a-member/meet-our-customers/). Big corporations like TESCO, Dupont, Nestle, Sainsbury's or Unilever included.

I am not Bulgarian, but I know all of this way better than you'll probably ever do. The same type of contracts were common all over Eastern Europe: Romania, Poland, the GDR (that's East Berlin and co, for you) and even the Soviet Union. I am also sure your Portuguese readers will be thrilled to see themselves qualified by a patronizing North American as labor exploiters living in a third-world country with rickety factories.

You people have no shame and never did. But you just proved with trooping colors you also have no culture and no integrity. More reasons to not regret my unapologetic fandom choice.

I expect an angry and very, very vulgar answer to this, even if I chose to not include your name/handle. The stench of your irrelevance crossed an ocean.

[papirouge]

Is it true that hygiene in France is poor. I saw a stupid tiktok screenshot. I figured asking an actual French person may shed some light lol

fhiehfifiefnsifieedniz

Part of it is true but it gets overblown by French haters lol

I already said how ridiculously frequent it was to have people get out of the toilets without washing their hands.... French scrotes from previous century didn't wash their hands when delivering babies and refused to believe the whistleblower who said that washing their hand would decrease delivery death. He killed himself out of despair.... That's right, ladies and gentlemen: French crustiness KILLS.

.......THAT BEING SAID, I've read wayyyyyy too many Reddit thread from White Americans saying they don't wash their butthole, legs and many other body parts (that normally should get regularly cleaned) to take any comment from them about french people hygiene seriously lmao

As I always said, Muslims and Jews are the cleanest population bc their religions compels them to be. Only them should be entitled to give lesson of hygiene. Westerners -from either side of the pond- should be quiet though this White on White violence circus of USAmericans clowning French hygiene and French clowning USAmerican disgusting food and being fat is hilarious lmao

I'm also curious as of why all the people complaining about French people being rude/ugly/dirty are still flocking here somehow. Like, how can the whole world hate us and still making us the most visited country in the world? The math ain't mathing lmao

Funniest rumor I heard about French was from a japanese who seriously believed there was a bit of wine in the tap water and that we were all always a bit tipsy lmaooooo The idea of him seeing french people and thinking "oh they behave like that bc they're a lil bit drunk" just sends me💀

[toallthatweonceloved]

Why Have I Been So Down on Night Swim?

I’ve been really kind of dumbfounded by this haunted pool movie’s existence. From the moment I read of it, all I could think was, “How did anyone think this was going to work? How did THAT get made?” That’s unusual for me, because I generally think, “Well, good storytelling can make almost anything work, so let’s see what happens.”

I just figured out why I reacted this way. Now, let me be clear, I haven't seen Night Swim, because I can't bring myself to be interested, and it's rare for me to react this way to horror. 98% of the time, I fall on the side that is to hope the authors of the tale, whether it's the writer of a book or the team behind a film, succeed. I just immediately wanted to make fun of this one, and I have only just figured out why. Especially given Kerry Condon is one of the leads, because I have nothing but good feelings about the performances I've seen from her before.

I realized it's because the minute you start talking about horror related to bodies of water, you have to contend with gothic horror, because that is the genre which really made this a trope we're familiar with, and the imagery in the trailer and marketing material strongly recall the imagery established in those gothic horrors, both in film and literature.

There probably is a good way to make a movie about a haunted swimming pool. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that the good version of any story about a haunted swimming pool that gets funded and released nationwide right now, doesn’t take itself too seriously, because it’s very hard to take the idea of a haunted swimming pool very seriously, from the start. This isn’t some gothic mansion, with a lake or pond on the property, and hundreds of years of inbred, aristocrats, whose isolation has made them top shelf weirdos, living off the spoils of exploitation, and there is NO American production company that's going to fund a movie or distributor whose going to put it in a thousand theaters nationwide when it’s about the underlying exploitation and willful ignorance it took to establish suburbs and keep them going.

I see the thought process that is “We can update the gothic horror by setting it in the suburbs,” which isn’t a terrible idea, but part of what makes those gothic stories work so well is the audiences sense of, and familiarity with that history. They may not even be aware of it consciously, but it would be familiar because of the tropes of the genre. Here in the US especially, and I imagine even in Europe, we don't have that kind of history with stories set in the suburbs, at this point. Part of that gothic horror genre is the sense of the rot within aristocracy being so pervasive, it’s practically spread to their atomic structure, it seeps into the walls and land, like toxic waste. The difference between gothic tragedy and gothic horror is generally how sympathetic the writer/creators are toward that aristocracy.

No one, right now, is going to fund and nationally distribute a horror movie that treats suburbia that way, though I have NO doubt there are good stories there. Are there stories to tell about a kind of moral, intellectual and philosophical rot in the suburbs? Yes. There have been some. Most of those stories are approached as tragedies though, like say American Beauty or The Ice Storm. They're closer to standard drama than they are horror. Horror in the suburbs has a much stronger relationship to some sense of justice being delayed, and justice for a specific, individual wrong.

There's a reason so much of the gothic horror is British, and why they practically invented it. There's a class consciousness inherent to it. Separating the rest of the elements of those gothic horrors and reorienting them in an American suburb, just puts it in the realm of "random family gets terrorized by ghosts." As much as I dislike the Warrens, and dislike the way it helped rekindled the interest in them, The Conjuring is a good version of that story, but it's not taking itself very seriously either. It's a roller coaster ride, and the creative team behind it knew that, and treated it that way. There's a tossed off "someone did a satanism here" explanation.

It's the difference between We Have Always Lived in the Castle and The Haunting of Hill House and Night Swim. It's why Sinister works. The thing that's rotten isn't the house. It's in the house in the form of the film reels he finds, but it's just as much in Ethan Hawke's character. It's the reason his family is even in that house, and the rot in him is the addiction to celebrity and status and the feelings legitimacy that gives him. Ethan Hawke's character and the entity Bughuul both need to be remembered, and that need is what puts Hawke's character Ellison on the path to colliding with Bughuul. That need also weakened his relationship to his children, which leaves them open to Bughuul's manipulations.

At the same time, I could be completely wrong. Maybe Night Swim is perfectly serviceable. Maybe they figure out a way around all of that or even a way to smartly update it or include it. I'm fairly certain it does come back to the belief that no production company or studio is going to want to finance and distribute a movie that is going to step up to or over the line of the way suburbia sees itself in the US, in the way gothic horror is so much about the way the wealthy see themselves.

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [23-08-2021 - 29-08-2021] reading log is here! I read a lot again this week and I feel like it's a lovely variety of fics. Most fics are Stucky like usual, but there's at least one other ship. I am constantly amazed by the talent people have in this fandom! There was one fic I read on Tumblr that I can't seem to find unfortunately, but when I do I'll make sure to reblog and rec it 💕

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

When life gives you lemons by moonthejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 40k words, Mature] (12/15 chapters available)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

The Masseur and the Assassin by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 17k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes needed a vacation from his job. What he found was a happy ending.

The Words Breathe by buckbarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

All Steve has to do is keep his promise. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets mouthy.

Soft by this_wayward_life @wayward-lives [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

The last time he'd seen Bucky he'd looked unhealthy, with pallid skin and greasy, lanky hair. Now, Bucky shone; his hair was thick and silky, his skin a deep bronze from spending so much time outside. He was softer, too; the hard muscle that used to cover him was now replaced by soft fat, his body still strong, but in a more mundane way. His thighs were thicker, his ass plumper, and when he'd pulled Steve into the river Steve had noticed the pudge on his stomach.

Seeing Bucky so happy, well-fed and shining, was a bit of a kick in the face. For all the years they'd known each other, he'd never seen Bucky so... care-free. Now that Bucky was putting on weight, his middle soft and his body malleable, it sent a bolt of arousal through Steve every time he noticed the curves of Bucky's body.

Or: Bucky put on a bit of weight in Wakanda, and Steve is Not Coping.

🌻 Revive Another Side of Me by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Steve’s never lived in a world without Bucky, and he’s not living now. It takes them a while, much too long, to get that awaited rest, a little slice of peace after the dust has settled.Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are inseparable, history remembers. But they’re not men of the past quite yet.

🌻 imagine being loved by me by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to captain america’s bitch. Not at all.

Hey, the first message says. It’s Steve.

🌻 JB’s Complete Lube Services by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

People just didn’t approach Captain America and proposition him. Although, sometimes Steve wished they would; even the pinnacle of virtue and justice needed to get dicked down from time to time.

Or, the one where Steve has the hots for a mechanic and decides to be proactive in getting that dick.

If it had to be someone by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky had known since he was a child that he didn’t have a choice in who he married, but he’d thought he had more time before the day arrived.

Miscalculations by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Ransom Drysdale/Reader, 6k words, Explicit]

Ransom tries to get you to sleep with him by less than honorable means. You give him what he wants, just not how he wants it.

How to Seduce a Writer by obsessivereader [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

What's a determined master strategist going to do when the oblivious writer he's trying to woo keeps missing all the clues?

He doesn’t think it’s because he hadn’t signaled his own interest to Bucky. He’s pretty much done everything short of hitting Bucky over the head with semaphore flags by this point. There’s no way Bucky could’ve missed them. Unless… There’d been that one link he’d stumbled upon when he’d googled ‘how to talk to a writer’. It’d been written by a writer, who’d been candid about how oblivious writers could be, and how someone could go about seducing one. An idea starts to form. It’s ridiculous, but at this point, he’s willing to go with ridiculous, since subtle wasn’t getting him anywhere.

🌻 Pod Bless America by Deisderium @deisderium [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

take a bite by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 7k words, Mature]

"I’d never let anyone freeze to death.” Steve gives a big sigh and flutters his lashes. “All that blood gone to waste.”

Bucky’s lips turn down and his nose scrunches up a little. “I want to be grossed out, but…”

“But you get it.” Steve gives him a pointed look. “Vampires aren’t the only ones who can appreciate how juicy blood is.”

*

Or: Vampire Steve saves newly-turned werewolf Bucky from a snowstorm.

Leaving the Shield Behind by BuckyAboveEverything [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“So, on one hand, we have Steve Rogers - hunk, genius, animal lover. Buys you waffles and overpriced coffee. 100% wholesome all-American boy.”

“And, on the other hand, we have Capsicle – twink, smart-ass, fanboy. Reads your stories and sends you fanart. Possibly a pervert or a serial killer.”

Bucky groaned.

“I am 100% certain I am 0% sure of what to do."

Bucky Barnes, full-time copywriter and free-time fanfic writer, struggles to choose between two equally-attractive suitors, only to find that he doesn’t have to after all.

* Based on a true story *

Cap's Book Corner by Neche [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Recluse Author Bucky Barns stumbles into fanboy Steve Rogers bookstore one day...

Cat Nap by galwednesday @galwednesday [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority.

Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

at any given moment by honeypuffed [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky find out that everyone thinks they're sleeping together.

Brought to Brightness by eyres [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

🌻 Nokken Wood by leveragehunters @leveragehunters [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare.

...until it gives him a cup of tea.

(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)

Professional Pride by galwednesday [Stucky, 700 words, Teen]

Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The A-bridged Guide to Trolling by galwednesday [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now the girl looked upset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the oh shit oh shit oh shit looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)

It's a bittersweet ending (if you know what I mean) by relenafanel [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky answers with a smirk, moving away from the counter with a wink.

Steve watches him go. Bucky’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans coated in something to give the appearance of leather. It’s impossible to not watch him go.

stuck on you by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!) by castiowl [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

Bucky frowned. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

no way out but through by hollimichele [Stucky, 9k words, Teen]

Steve never sees it coming.

you got blood on your hands (and i know it's mine) by nighimpossible [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming.

Like What You See by daisymondays [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

For all the time Bucky’s spent fantasizing about meeting Captain America, he’d never imagined it would be while posing nude in front of a drawing class.

🌻 A Real Boy by itsnotbleak [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat.

It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

Amapola by chaya [Stucky, 830 words, Teen]

Total fluff. Bucky's recovering nicely. Steve's oblivious. Sometimes it's best to set aside subtlety for action.

Knocking Boots With Sugar by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave.

Rogers and Associate by roe87 @jro616 [Stucky, 7k words, Teen]

When they first meet, Bucky is a hooker and Steve is a cop. She's been arrested, but Steve lets her off.

Years pass and they maintain a casual friendship, seeing each other out on the streets most nights.

Though he later makes detective, Steve loses faith in the system and quits his job.

He wants to set up as a private investigator, and he asks Bucky if she'd be his assistant.

Just in time by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky knew the apartment he was renting was old fashioned, but walking in the front door and finding himself transported back to 1938 was not on the list of things he had prepared himself for.

🌻 You Like What's in My Head by dontcallmebree [Stucky, 15k words, Explicit] (with art by @kocuria)

Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s a tough nut to crack or incredibly easy. The timbre of his voice, a low and almost amused, “Sure, kid,” when Bucky asks for a drink feels like something gripping him on the back of his neck.

He thinks this might be one of those moments in life he’ll pinpoint in the future and either curse at for dooming himself, or remember fondly with pride.

He’s right. Bucky Barnes blunders through falling in love with Commander Rogers and tries to find a deeper meaning behind the expensive gifts and thorough fucking.

Can I Sit Here? by BuckyFrickenBarnes [Stucky, 962 words, General]

Bucky has unusual methods for getting rid of his writer's block.

Or, Bucky needs that table.

Workplace Romance by BuckyFricken Barnes [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky is under the impression that his boss hates him.

Or,

Steve needs to get better at dealing with his feelings.

🌻 1-800-MAYTAG by Miss Plum @misspluckyplum [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

Bucky just wants to get some housework done. It gets out of hand fast. Silly little fluff and smut romp with snarky stucky boys.

Eyes of the Forest by Lordelannette [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit] (2/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 As your boyfriend | FKBU Headcanons 』

Characters: female!reader, Kambe Daisuke, Kato Haru

Tags/warnings: Fugou Keiji Balance: Unlimited (anime), 18+, strong sexual references, fluff, angst, Haru's PTSD, headcanons, daddy kink and cockwarming (kind of?) for Daisuke, breeding kink for Haru *coughing intensifies*

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: Felt like writing some more for these boys because ~holy shit~ do I love them, and I maybe went a teensy bit overboard. Oopsie! 🤭 But anyway, have y'all seen episode 6?! Let's freaking gooo! (No spoilers, don't worry) Thanks for reading! Enjoy! Imo~

Kambe Daisuke

First up: daddy kink. I know it, you know it, we all know it. So let's not beat about the bush

Quite dominant and firm with you (see: daddy kink)

But he absolutely loves spoiling you

Expensive gifts, like one-of-a-kind necklaces, seductive perfumes, satin dresses, lace underwear, etc.

He loves dressing you up and showing you off

But he also loves spoiling you in bed more like ruining, I am deceased

A lot of butt grabbing in public hnng

He likes it when you don't wear any underwear because it makes for easier quickies like bent over the sink in the bathroom at his favourite club

He likes you sitting on his lap in front of people, too aye papi

American gangster vibes, honestly

He's not really one for soppy, romantic PDA, but he loves you letting people know that it's him you want and nobody else

He loves the look on people's faces when you call him 'daddy' that grin will be the death of me

Especially the look on Haru's face, lmao. He blushed like a tomato and couldn't speak a coherent sentence for a whole hour

Hickeys. Lots and lots of hickeys. And don't even think about covering them up

Daisuke loves sleeping naked and has a habit of walking around the house in just a towel when he gets out the shower fight me

He's also completely oblivious to what it does to you

A MASSIVE bed with super soft, satiny sheets. They feel like clouds uwu

He gets HEUSC to remind him of important dates, like birthdays, anniversaries, etc.

Date Ideas: Unlimited sorry, not sorry

From fancy restaurants, to exclusive movie premieres, to late night helicopter rides to the other side of the country, Daisuke can and will pay for anything if it makes you happy

He also lets you introduce him to lots of new things, like trying different kinds of street food on dates, going rowing on the pond in the park, having a go at karaoke, renting bikes and cycling round the city, going hiking at the nearest nature reserve or wilderness, etc. adorable

He's like a curious kitten when he's trying new things, putting a lot of trust in you to guide him through it

He always looks perfect in the photos you snap, even the ones he wasn't aware you were taking, and it's a lowkey frustrating that he nearly always looks prettier than you

But it's not his fault, so you'll only pout for a little while

His face is pretty hard to read most of the time, but you eventually get used to it and pick up on all his little mood indicators

His ears move when he's happy, and you can't convince me otherwise

He'll hold your heels for you when your feet hurt on a night out

He smells of leather and sandalwood, and his kisses taste of expensive whisky and cigars

He loves it when you bite his lower lip while making out

He's kind of possessive, but in a protective way

He never thought of himself as a particularly jealous person, until one night he came back to the bar and saw some other guy hitting on you the attention was definitely unwanted on your side

It made his blood boil – clenched fists, piercing glare if looks could kill

But he managed to stay calm and maturely tell the guy to get lost, with his arm snaking round your waist

Daisuke made it very clear that it wasn't you he didn't trust. It was that he didn't trust that guy – or any guy, for that matter

His favourite ~position~ is on a table or other surface with your legs over his shoulders

He's a god at eating you out

He's a god at everything in the bedroom, tbh

Saint Laurent condoms, because he's that fucking extra I'm screaming

His hair always falls out of place when you're fucking it's so hot and cute, wtf

It's a lot of glitz and glamour on the surface, but when it's just the two of you, you know just how much you mean to him

The King of Aftercare™

He used to suck at aftercare until he properly tried it. Then he realised that he needed it as much as you did le cry

Back rubs, forehead kisses, playing with your hair, soft whispers in your ear

He holds you so tightly that it gets hard to breathe, and you can feel his heart beating hard against your back

Sometimes he likes to just stay inside you after finishing

He enjoys the feeling of you around him, and honestly, you like just feeling him being inside you cockwarming, kind of?

Soft little nuzzles with his nose in his sleep even better when he's fallen asleep while still inside you

He's not perfect, but being with you makes him try to be better

Help, my heart's so full 🤧

Kato Haru

This man is a sweetie pie, honestly

Not just boyfriend material, but husband material put a ring on it, hun

Lots of home cooking, and it all tastes so good you honestly believe he could just quit being a cop and open up a restaurant

He loves cooking with you, too. It's fun bonding time

Sometimes he stands behind you and guides your hands etc. it sometimes goes a little further, if ya know what I'm saying 👀

Knows how to do all the chores and housework, and actually does his share look at my practical hubby

Random pillow fights that turn into cuddle sessions

He talks in his sleep waaahh, so cute

Sometimes it's utter nonsense, like 'Don't let the donuts escape'

Other times, it's things like, 'I love Y/N so much,' or 'Let's have babies,' while he's holding onto you, and you just melt

Spooning. So much spooning

Lots of budget date ideas, like building pillow forts, watching sunsets and stargazing from the balcony, going for hikes and runs together, going for picnics, feeding ducks at the pond, etc.

One time, a duck chased him around the pond because he had the bread, and he had to run for 20 minutes before it gave up thank God for all that cardio

The Master of Flat Pack Furniture™ – because he takes his time and actually reads the instructions

Daisuke had a ™ so Haru needed one too

Takes good care of you on your period and actually knows about different sanitary products

He smells really fresh and clean, like Imperial Leather soap and air-dried laundry as long as he hasn't been on a stakeout, lmao

He loves taking showers with you, but like, actual showers

The first and only time you had shower sex was hot and steamy until:

1. You realised that water does not a good lube make and 2. He slipped and accidentally shoved his dick in your ass instead

You fully passed out, and he was so frantic that he bundled you into the car and drove you straight to the ER you were in just a towel, might I add

You both look back on it now and laugh, but he was genuinely scared

Shower sex = never again

But he loves it when you straddle his lap and start grinding on him bonus points if you kiss his neck and run your hands through his hair

He's a pretty vanilla boy when it comes to sex, preferring positions like missionary and cowgirl, and liking a fairly even balance of power

He got super embarrassed and flustered when he finally mustered up the courage to suggest having car sex

And then even more embarrassed and flustered when you actually ended up doing it

He was blushing so hard the entire time and came really quickly, which only added to his embarrassment but you thought it was cute

He has really sensitive nipples which you use to your advantage

He absolutely loves hates it when you send him nudes or try and sext him while he's at work, because he gets a massive boner and will either have to live with it and probably get laughed at by those goobs in the office, or deal with it in the bathroom, which feels wrong to him on so many levels

Doesn't really stop you sending them though, because whenever you do, he comes home and fucks you really well

One thing that's not vanilla about him is how much he likes cumming inside you breeding kink, welcome to the party. Please take a seat

He didn't tell you about it for the longest time because he was embarrassed about it and was afraid you'd think it was gross or something please cum in me, sir

He was so relieved when you were understanding about it and open to the idea of indulging him

But he genuinely really wants kids some day he'd be a great dad

His PTSD doesn't stop him being a good boyfriend, but he's convinced that it does

Most days he seems okay, like he's over it, even

But sometimes you'll wake up in the middle of the night and find him curled up in the bath, shaking and crying into his knees my poor baby, I can't

Excuse me while I go and cry into my pillow for a while

You're his safety net

When he feels like he's drowning, you keep his head above the water until the waves eventually calm and recede, and he can breathe again

He hates putting so much on your shoulders

But you swear to him that you wouldn't want to be doing anything else, and that you're not going anywhere

This got so angsty, my heart can't take this 😭

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[harrygroves]

a simple favor - chapter five

part four

“Billy, get on the horse.”

“Steve, for the tenth time, I am not getting on that thing.” Billy repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” Steve asks, atop his own horse, growing impatient.

“Look at what you’re on, Steve. That thing is huge.”

“Yes, they are, but it’s safe. I swear.” Steve promises.

“Nope. No fucking way. I’ll pass on this.”

Steve gives him a murderous smile, talking through clenched teeth. “Billy, my mother is watching through the window, alright? Get on mine then, just come on!”

Billy looks over his shoulder, back at the house where Mrs. Harrington is indeed watching them.

He turns back to Steve. “You want me to ride with you?” He asks.

“If you won’t ride on your own then you can ride with me.” Steve replies with a shrug.

Billy deflates, defeated. “Fine, but I’m not wearing the stupid fucking helmet.” He snaps before approaching Steve and his horse.

It’s a big, strong looking American Quarter (according to Steve) horse with soft brown hair and black, inky eyes. Billy has never been this close to a horse before and it’s scaring the absolute shit out of him.

Steve instructs him. “Right, so put your foot there, and grab here and hoist yourself up.”

Billy does so with shaky hands and the horse moves while he hoists, and it freaks him the hell out and he settles behind Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle tightly.

Billy can feel the laugh vibrate through Steve’s body. “Wow, you’re really scared, aren’t you?” Steve says.

“Yes, I am not just trying to grope you, I am in fact, fucking terrified right now.”

“Well, then you’re not going to like this.” Steve says before making a loud noise and kicking the horse.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Billy shouts into the back of Steve’s neck as they take off.

Galloping. They’re fucking galloping.

Billy’s going to murder him.

*

He doesn’t get used to it, not for a single second and when Steve finally slows the horse to a light trot, he realizes his body is rigid and unmoving and it takes a great deal of effort to untangle his arms from Steve. His limbs are stiff, but he can’t fully let go of Steve; he’s the only thing keeping him on the fucking horse, so he settles for lightly gripping his sides.

“I h-hate you.” Billy sputters out, voice shaking.

“Aww, sweetie. Love you too.” Steve replies cheekily over his shoulder.

Billy had kept closing his eyes while riding, and hadn’t fully looked around him. They were in a meadow, near a pond, a couple ducks gliding along the water.

Steve leads the horse to the water and lets it drink. Billy tries to stop trembling but it’s not going away.

“So, how do you think this is going?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“I fucking hate it.” Billy snaps.

“No, not the horse, you dolt, the plan.” Steve bites back.

“Oh. Uh. I don't know. Fine I guess. Your parents are a fucking nightmare, but you warned me about that. Do you think they’re buying it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment. The horse shakes it head around, steps back and moves forward a couple times and Billy finds himself gripping Steve’s sides harder.

“I think mom is too mad to look any deeper.” Steve finally says. “I can’t read dad. I’ll have to ask Robin.”

“What do you mean?” Billy scrunches his nose, confused.

“I mean, I’m not gonna actually ask, like, do you think dad is buying this?, but I’ll ask her if dad likes you.”

“He’d tell her?”

Steve nods. “They talk a lot more than he and I do.”

“Oh.” Billy says, feeling an awkward silence fall between them.

The silence is broken by Steve kicking the horse again and they’re off, Billy letting out a surprised, scared sound and wrapping his arms around Steve again.

*

After Billy gets off the horse, his legs feel like jelly. Steve brings the horse to the stable and takes the time to brush it, cooing and whispering at the thing like it’s a human child. Billy smokes a cigarette and rolls his eyes.

Finally Steve is done and they make their way back into the house.

Robin runs into them in the hallway and asks how it went.

“Lovely.” Steve says at the same time Billy says, “Fucking awful.”

Robin laughs, a deep-belly sound that actually makes Billy smile. She’s genuinely a fun person to be around and Billy’s starting to like her.

“What are you guys doing the rest of the day?” She asks once the laughing subsides.

“Probably prepping him for another interrogation at dinner.” Steve says with a long, tired eye-roll.

Like an afterthought, Steve reaches over and takes Billy’s hand, squeezing it lightly. The exchange might appear as though Steve was trying to comfort Billy, so Billy smiles at him slightly before the attention goes back to Robin.

“Alright, fine, but I want a day with him.” Robin says, crossing her arms.

“Uh. What?” Steve says, dropping Billy’s hand.

“Oh c’mon, Steve. The last guy you brought here was, like, two years ago. And I didn’t even get to know him. Let Billy and I hang.”

“I...don't...uh...stories!” Steve blurts out. “You’ll tell a bunch of embarrassing stories, and I won’t allow it.”

Billy wants to facepalm. He wants to cry. Steve is so bad at this.

“Sweetie -- ” Billy starts with a sickening smile. “ -- I think it’s a great idea. It’ll be fine. Promise.”

Billy reaches an arm over and wraps it around Steve, does it casually like it’s a common occurrence. Steve is tense beside him, mouth pursed and Billy can tell he’s not happy with this plan.

“Yay!” Robin claps her hands together. “We can curl each other’s hair and talk boys.” She says with a wink before saying goodbye and leaving them.

Steve shakes out of Billy’s arm and gives him a mean look. “You’re such an asshole.” He grumbles lowly.

“Aww, c’mon Stevie. We had a barely tolerable afternoon, don't ruin it.”

“I fucking hate you.” Steve continues, storming away.

“Steve? Steve! Wait for me! Seriously, I’m not getting lost in the Winchester Mystery House.” Billy shouts, running after him.

*

They’re arguing in Steve’s room.

Steve does not want Billy spending alone time with Robin.

Billy doesn’t understand why.

“It shouldn’t matter why.” Steve tells him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m paying you for a job, and this is not a requirement for that job.”

“Jeez, boss. Re-lax.” Billy says, laying on the bed.

“She’s going to...look, she’s going to tell you a bunch of stupid stories and I don't need you knowing anymore about me, other than the totally necessary shit for this stupid charade.”

Billy snorts. “A charade you designed.”

“I will fucking suffocate you tonight, I swear to god.”

“I honestly think you could with these pillows.” Billy mentions airily. He sits up. “Look, dude, this is stupid. I don't care what she says, I literally will not absorb any of it, swear. Unless it’s incredibly humiliating and I can use it against you in the future.”

Steve’s eyes are daggers and he looks like he wants to yell. Instead he stalks into the bathroom and slams the door.

*

Dinner is another awkward affair and Steve is mad at him, which makes it much worse. Robin keeps looking between them with interest. Billy tries to keep up appearances and puts his hand on Steve’s leg. Steve roughly shoves it off.

It’s like the kid forgot why Billy was even there.

Irritated, he cuts into his steak and eats angrily.

After dinner, Steve and Billy excuse themselves. They go back to Steve’s room, and Billy takes off his clothes, leaving him in boxers, before slipping into bed without a word.

Steve turns the television off but keeps it low. Billy isn’t facing him but he can tell Steve is still pissed. So is he.

Whatever.

*

The next morning Billy is plastered against Steve, one arm underneath him. Their legs are tangled together, hips touching. They’re both hard in their boxers. At some point last night, Steve had changed into a black-and-white striped tank top and taken his pants off.

The weight of Steve against him is comfortable and weird at the same time. His hair smells good. The tank top has ridden up, revealing mole-speckled skin. His mouth is open and the stale stench of morning breath wafts out, but Steve’s lazy, almost pleasant expression is what Billy is more focused on.

It’s nice.

It’s actually kind of nice.

Billy wants to kiss him.

Fuck.

This is...not good.

If he kissed Steve, would Steve wake up?

Would he kiss Billy back?

Would something else happen?

Billy zones out for a moment, thinking about that, but then realizes he absolutely cannot think about it any further because heat is pooling down his back, down his front and he has the overwhelming urge to grind against Steve.

Billy clears his throat and starts slowly trying to separate himself and Steve.

Steve only half wakes up, eyes fluttering open briefly. Billy’s moved his lower body away, but Steve’s still lying on his arm.

“Hmm?” Steve hums.

“Kinda...trapped here.” Billy says awkwardly.

Steve moans a little, sleep-heavy, and rolls away from Billy.

Billy leaves to use the bathroom, forcing himself to only pee and not jerk off.

When he returns to the bedroom, Steve is still lying on his side, but he’s looking at his phone.

Billy starts to say, “Good mo -- , ” but stops himself because oh yeah, they’re angry with each other. Steve looks at him briefly before turning his attention back to his phone.

Billy goes to the closet and grabs sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He needs coffee and a fucking cigarette.

He doesn’t say anything to Steve before leaving to try and find the kitchen.

Billy doesn’t get very far. He overhears fragments of a conversation coming from one of the libraries, or at least, Billy thinks it’s a library. He can’t keep track of the rooms in this damn house.

It’s Steve’s parents.

“ -- not thinking straight, obviously -- ”

“ -- Billy is just a phase -- ”

“ -- fighting all the time, just heard them the other day -- ”

“ -- don't think they’ll last -- ”

“ -- push off the money if Steve’s this unstable -- ”

Well fuck.

“ -- go talk to Steve right now -- ”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Billy ran as quietly as he could back to the bedroom.

Steve was sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Billy peeked out the door, looking down the hall. He saw the unmistakable hairstyle of Mrs. Harrington turning the corner and shut the door silently.

“Fuck.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face.

“What?” Steve yawned.

Billy turned and looked at Steve apprehensively. He guessed he had about thirty seconds and had to move quickly.

Billy took his shirt off, throwing it aside. He went over to the bed and slid under the covers, pouncing on Steve and pinning him down, Billy’s legs pushing Steve’s apart.

“What, what the fuck?” Steve all but shrieked, trying to move away, twist out of Billy’s hold.

“Dude, shut up. Listen to me.” Billy hissed. Steve is still hard and it’s pushing against Billy’s inner thigh but Billy tries to focus. “I overheard your parents talking, I’ll explain that part later, your mom’s coming in here. I need to -- ” He cut himself off, looking down at Steve’s mouth.

Steve seemed to understand and looked away briefly, but only for a second before giving a tight nod in response.

“It is extremely important that you act like you’re enjoying this.” Billy informs him and tries to sound as serious as possible.

Steve doesn’t say anything but Billy doesn’t miss how his cheeks are flushing and yeah, Steve’s dick just twitched.

Billy leant down and kissed him.

Steve was unresponsive for a moment, but Billy lets one of his wrists go and reaches down to pull at Steve’s tank top, pushing it up to his neck. Nipples exposed, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s chest, digging a finger against one of them.

Steve gasps against Billy’s mouth and Billy takes advantage of it, plunging his tongue in Steve’s mouth.

Billy feels Steve’s free hand grab at his hair and Steve’s suddenly kissing him back, making these little, desperate, almost confused noises in the back of his throat.

Billy drags his hand down Steve’s body, further down, dragging Steve’s boxers slightly down with his hand. He grips at Steve’s hips, which jerk in his hold. Steve whines a little. The blankets are pooled at their hips, so Steve’s mom wouldn’t even be able to see that, but Billy’s being a little greedy right now. Truthfully Steve hasn’t stopped moving since they started kissing, like he’s trying to move his body away, trying not to push against Billy, but he can’t stop shifting and squirming, and Billy wonders if it’s intentional or for show cause it’s doing things to Billy that he’s trying not to overthink.

Another desperate sound falls out of Steve’s mouth and Billy is starting to get hard again, knows Steve can feel it.

It was hot.

His heart is hammering. He kisses Steve harder, starting to lose himself in the way it’s making him feel.

He’s desperate to touch Steve, and his hand moves down a little.

“Steven, I -- ”

They jerk apart.

Mrs. Harrington stands in the doorway, eyes wide in shock.

“Mom!” Steve yells angrily.

“I. Oh. I. Oh no.” She’s short-circuiting, clearly embarrassed, and stumbles backwards out of the room, shutting the door.

Billy doesn’t move. He waits a full ten seconds before turning back to look at Steve who is staring at him, face bright red, and it’s spread down his neck, his chest.

They’re still so close and Billy’s still holding his wrist, other hand gripping his hip.

He glances down at Steve’s mouth and he wants, god does he want.

Billy moves ever so slightly towards Steve.

Steve’s breath hitches. “Get off me.” Steve says quickly.

Crashing back to reality, Billy pulls away, moving off Steve.

Steve yanks his shirt down, pulls the blankets over him and lets out a long, shaky breath.

“What the fuck was that about?”

So Billy tells him.

chapter six

[tomtenadia]

Talk to me about anything!

I love space. Anything that has to do with it... I watch rocket launches on tv if they are at a suitable time for a poor soul on the other side of the pond and always watch the ones from Baikonur for the Soyuz. I follow space missions and when I used to have twitter I only followed space stuff. I go out in my garden and watch the ISS do a fly by. Stay out in the cold to see a light crossing the skies for a few seconds. My bookcase has three shelves about space. The first two are my pride and are about space missions, we go from the Mercury era, to Apollo, to the shuttle and now ISS. I have biographies of people like Micheal Collins a few shuttle astronauts. I have the biography of Sally Ride, a woman that I admire deeply. I love her. she has done so much for women in STEM considered when she lived and the stigma that was still attached with women and the astronauts corp. NASA was very much a boys' club and when she was selected the really had no clue what to do (in her book she tell that engineer where stomped about a woman with periods in space. They asked her if about 100 tampons would have been sufficient for a 7 days mission.) I have books about the Challenger and Columbia disasters and they are heart breaking, but I also find fascinating the whole analysis of the accidents. I was old enough to remember Columbia. I was in the kitchen with my mum. The tv all of a sudden passed the news of the shuttle exploding upon reentry. I can still se the images. At the time I had no idea what to make of it. I have books about cosmonauts too. We know a lot about the American side of the space race, but we rarely hear about the soviets. And they were some fascinating readings. I have the biography of Sergei Korolev, the man who got Sputnik in orbit and Gagarin in space and won the first battle of the space race. The Russians did not get a man on the moon because after Korolev's death, his successor did not have the same charisma so the Americans won. Micheal Collins book (He flew with Armstrong and Aldrin but he was the Module commander and just orbited the moon. He jokes that while the whole world had eyes on the tv to watch the moon landing he was the only one who missed. In that instant he was on the dark side of the moon and had no radio contact with Mission Control. Moving to more recent times with the ISS I have a collection, the first one I read was from Chris Hadfiled. His book was amazing. Speaking of successful women... I have the book from Samatha Cristoforetti, she is the first ESA (European Space Agency) Italian female in space, Something of great honour for me. I followed all of her mission, she had a diary and she is a wonderful science communicator. She did all sorts of videos and also read passages of Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy in space. And as if my obsession with space missions is not enough I love a subject called Astrobiology (life in space). I am obsessed especially with Mars and I have a few books analysing the possibilities too of having colonies on the red planet and other evaluating the possibility of life on the Red Planet. I read about Exoplanets and the possibility of life (not talking about green people but microbes bacteria and such) outside of the solar system. Enceladus is my favourite moon and a good candidate together with Europa. I love Pluto and hated that he was demoted. So I read about how the mission to gave us those incredible photos had come into being (It almost didn't). Then how can I not mention his majesty Carl Sagan and Cosmos? That book is a bible. And then Pale Blue dot. I will finish this gigantic post with my favourite quote from his book:

Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

— Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, 1994

Below an image of my obsession and my two space shelves. Galactica from Battlestar Galactica watches over them.

Thanks for the amazing ask my friend. I am sorry it became this huge, but is the one topic I could seriously talk for hours.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Return to Oz

Rating: T

Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)

Characters: The Wizard of Oz, the Gump, Tik-Tok, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, Princess Mombi, Princess Ozma, Jack Pumpkinhead, and Dorothy Gale

Warnings: Gun violence, character death, isolation, solitary confinement, dissociation, neglect, child abuse, OH GOSH THIS COVERS A LOT OF TRIGGERING TOPICS BUT IT’S ALL CANON

Description: "The last thing I remember is walkin' through the forest and hearin' a loud noise." "His Ma-jes-ty the Scare-crow locked me in here and told me to wait for you." "Well, my mother built me to scare that awful witch Mombi..." It was all only a glimpse of what they went through. Dorothy may never know the full stories, but they would not forget.

Beta Readers: @jaywings​ and also my sister!

Notes: THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH RTO FICS OUT THERE AND I MUST RESOLVE THIS IMMEDIATELY also this is a multichapter fic but it’s all complete, so you can read the whole thing under the cut!

—~~~—

Chapter 1: On a Hunting Trip

For a land as fantastical as Oz, it could be dreadfully boring sometimes. Though Oscar chalked it up to how much time he had to spend holed up in the palace, dodging probing questions and pretending to have magical powers. A great deal of his time here had been spent coming up with his dazzling effects to keep the Ozians (and the Witches) wowed (and keeping... other meddling Ozians out of the Emerald City), but goodness knew he could use some leisure time.

So that was what he was out doing now, tramping through a nearby forest with a rifle on his shoulder. He'd bartered it off a local Emerald Citizen, who had little use of it, but who had much appreciated some delicacies from the palace kitchen.

Of course, he knew that one of his own citizens would be more than happy to give him whatever he asked for. But Oscar had elected to leave in disguise, informing his attendants that he would need some time alone in perfect silence and was not to be bothered for any reason... while he changed into a green hunter's outfit and sneaked out the window.

He'd never been much of a hunter back in America, but as a boy he'd once gone deer hunting with a friend. He recalled it being an exciting experience, trekking through the wood and tracking an animal to bring home for supper. Though in the end it had been his friend to do the deed, for at the last minute his will had failed him, and he could not bring himself to shoot the beast.

You've too soft a heart to kill a hart, Pinhead! his friend had teased, much to his embarrassment.

"A hart, maybe," Oscar muttered, "but wait till I bring back a magical beast from this country!"

It wasn't until he'd spoken those words that he realized he had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in these woods. He'd heard talk of terrible lions here, and even enormous beasts with the heads of tigers and bodies of bears--kalidahs, they called them. What if he met one of those monsters, rather than a beast of prey?

Crunch, crunch.

Swallowing a yelp, Oscar spun around, pointing his rifle this and that way, eyes straining to see what sort of creature was lurking in the shadows of the forest. What had he gotten himself into? What hellish monster was treading through the fallen leaves of the forest bed?

Crunch, crunch.

The sound was closer, and Oscar stood stock still. But the sound drew no farther than that, and he risked to creep closer, tip-toeing through the undergrowth. In the stillness, he could hear the soft breathing of a being much larger than himself, and held his breath as he poked his head around a tree trunk.

There was a clearing ahead, and within it, a pond of crystal blue-green water (so he must be closer to Munchkin country right now). And before the water stood an enormous beast, albeit not one quite as frightening as he expected.

It was tall and broad, almost reminding him of an ox, but its legs were longer, and its head looked to be more like an elk. Bizarrely, its tail consisted of a great deal of feathers like a rooster, and its entire body was green.

Stooping down over the water, the beast kept its mouth near the surface, but it did not drink. Rather, it seemed to be regarding its own reflection in the water. It hadn't seen him at all.

Some of the tension eased from Oscar's body as he watched this strange creature. If it hadn't been for the feathers and green complexion, he would have entirely mistaken it for an American animal. And while its size was intimidating, it was clearly not a predator, as far as he could tell. (But then, Oz was a strange country.) He very nearly turned and left before he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.

It had only been to alleviate boredom, not out of a true desire to hunt, but it seemed to be a waste to come out all this way to return back empty-handed. At the same time, what would he even do with a beast like this? It wasn't as though he needed food, when his own palace was well-stocked. Perhaps its fur would be valuable? But then... for what? No one had need of any riches in this place. Perhaps he could use it for a--

Crunch crunch crunch crunch--snap.

Something was rapidly approaching him, and fear bolted up his spine, causing him to raise his rifle. Simultaneously, the beast raised its head, ears perked, and Oscar had no time to think.

BANG!

The creature stumbled backward, but whatever was behind him had quickened its pace. Oscar spun around, aiming his rifle, and a human-sized shape jumped back.

"Woah, there! Woah!" the woman cried, holding up her hands. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing! I was just wonderin' what you were doing out here."

"Ah," Oscar breathed, lowering the gun. "Sorry, ma'am, you startled me."

"Bad thing to be startled when carrying one of those," she said, gesturing at the weapon. "You could've hurt someone or--"

She froze, staring at something over his shoulder, and without another word ran past him.

"Now see here--" Oscar turned to follow her, but stopped.

The creature he'd seen earlier was now lying still on the forest floor, and the woman was kneeling next to it. "You've... you've killed it!"

The sight sent a tremor up his spine as he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't balk now.

"Well, yes," Oscar said, shrugging widely as he stepped closer. "Do you think I wear this hunter garb and carry this rifle for fun?"

Running a hand through the beast's mane, she glared at him accusingly. "What would you hunt a gump for?"

For a moment he thought the woman was insulting him until he realized that must be the name of the creature. Thinking quickly, he pointed at the gump's lifeless body. "I'll have you know, ma'am, that a gump possesses many important magical properties!"

"You needn't kill it, then!" the woman cried. "If you should need its magic, you need only ask it for help."

...Oh, right. Ozian beasts could talk.

Shaking himself, Oscar stood his ground. "Ah, but you see, much of a gump's magic is only usable when it is dead. I had planned to bring it to the Wizard, but I suppose if you don't want him to do anything about the Wicked Witches--"

The woman's face had gone several shades paler, and she stood upright. "No, of course! I'm sorry, sir, I-I didn't..."

He stepped closer, examining the fallen gump before grabbing one of its legs. "Well, don't just sit there. Help me get this beast back to the city! The Wizard is quite a busy man, but I'm sure he'd forgive your interruption if you gave me a hand."

"Yes, of course!"

The woman took the gump's other hoof in her arms, and the two struggled to lift both appendages up over their shoulders as they hauled the beast's carcass back through the forest. All the while, Oscar tried to hide his relief that his bluff had actually worked.

But then, of course it had. These simpletons believed anything they were told if you spoke with authority. They weren't too far off from Americans, in that regard.

As they walked, the woman stared down at the gump's hoof, feeling it with her free hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "I hadn't known..."

"Now you do," Oscar said, still staring ahead. "I tell you, this beast will be more useful to this country in death than it ever was in life."

Chapter 2: On a Mission

Every so often, someone stopped screaming.

The sound, or increasing lack of it, did not alarm Tik-Tok. Nothing did, nor could it--not even the frightened Emerald Citizens rushing past him or looking for a place to hide--for he was a machine, and was not capable of emotions such as panic or fear.

Nevertheless, the change informed him that he needed to be faster, as he marched through the city, past the statues of people dancing, playing, reading--statues that had not been statues a mere ten minutes ago.

The ground shifted beneath his feet, and Tik-Tok bent down to see a grotesque figure claw out of the stones beneath him. At least, that's what he had assumed at first, only to quickly realize (for his think-works were fully wound) that it had not clawed out of the rock at all--it was the rock. It opened its mouth, snarling at him, and he merely swung his body to the side, striking with a closed fist. One of the creature's fangs chipped off, and it sank back into itself with a defeated howl.

More snarling joined the increasingly-quieting screams, and there was suddenly a great crack.

Tipping his body back, Tik-Tok spotted two more of the rock creatures atop an arch, ripping a massive emerald from the keystone of it. They, along with the gem, merged with the stone pillars again just as the arch crumbled.

"Tik-Tok!" a metallic voice cried, not much farther away. A familiar roar cried out with it.

He moved his feet as fast as his gears would allow, passing the destroyed arch and around another corner, where the Tin Woodsman and Cowardly Lion were facing two more of the rock creatures. While the Emperor of the Winkies was not a machine as Tik-Tok was, he moved much like one, swinging his axe in swift, strong arcs, yet unable to hit the monster before him.

The sight of the Tin Man using his axe in such a way might have startled Tik-Tok, had he been capable of such an emotion.

"These creatures are the ones turning everyone to stone!" the Tin Man shouted, sparing a quick glance at Tik-Tok as he continued to fight. He raised his axe to deliver what may have been a killing blow. "You must stop them befo--"

The creature reached out.

And the Tin Man, in a mere instant, became a stone man, unmoving and still as the rest of the statues.

There was a slight hiccup in Tik-Tok's gears that prevented him from acting immediately. At the same moment, the Cowardly Lion let out a mournful yowl and raised his paw to swing at the creature before him.

The rock creature touched him, and the lion became a lifeless stone, his great paw still raised in the air.

Remembering his speech-works, Tik-Tok took a step forward, stomping one foot against the ground. "Stop this," he demanded, and the rock creatures turned to him. "You will no long-er hurt an-y more of the peo-ple here."

Growling, both creatures sank into the ground, only to emerge directly in front of Tik-Tok, both of them reaching out with their talons. The stone claws clinked harmlessly against Tik-Tok's copper casing, and he spun his body, striking them both in their heads. With another howl the monsters retreated, melting back into the stone beneath them. Now that they were gone, Tik-Tok could see the stone statues that had once been the Emperor of the Winkies and the King of the Forest.

"Everyone, I think I've found a way to--oh--"

Scrambling steps skidded to a halt somewhere behind him. He could hear these softer sounds, he realized, for the screams had grown more distant. Turning his top half, he saw the Scarecrow standing behind him, his painted gaze turning from one statue to the other.

"I-I'm... I'm too late..." the Scarecrow said, his tall frame sagging.

"Your Ma-jest-y." Tik-Tok clunked a hand against his helmet in a salute. "I am at your ser-vice."

Shaking himself, the Scarecrow stumbled up to him, but his smile did not return--an unusual sight for the ruler. "Right! Tik-Tok, I've found a way to contact Dorothy."

"Dor-o-thy Gale from Kan-sas?" Tik-Tok blinked, adjusting his vision as the King of Oz neared him. He'd heard of this Dorothy and how powerful she was, but his think-works could not work out how a small human girl could be strong enough to destroy not one, but two witches.

"The very same!" The Scarecrow's smile returned, if only for a moment. "But we must hurry!"

"Hur-ry to where--?" Tik-Tok began, but the Scarecrow was already pushing him somewhere.

"It might be too late for me now," the Scarecrow went on. "They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something..." His straw rustled. "I don't know what. But I do know they can't hurt you."

"That is cor-rect. I am not a-live, and ne-ver will be."

"But you can wind down," the Scarecrow added seriously. "And when you do, they can harm you. I need to keep you safe."

Disloyalty was not a command found in Tik-Tok's gears, but he couldn't help but protest: "But I am the Roy-al Ar-my of Oz. It is I who must pro-tect you, Your Ma-je-sty."

"Not right now." The Scarecrow guided him down a narrow alley and stuck a hand into his jacket, fishing for something in his body. "As Ruler of Oz, I command you to turn your protection to Dorothy once she gets here. She'll know how to help us! She's done it before."

A strange request, but Tik-Tok could not argue. "When is she to ar-rive?"

For a moment the Scarecrow faltered, but only a moment as they stopped at the end of the alley. He retrieved a key from within the straw of his body, and stared down at it. "I don't know."

A threatening rumble of stones echoed in the distance behind them, followed by another chorus of screams, and quickly he stuck the key into a hole in the wall. In a moment, the wall swung open, and the Scarecrow urged Tik-Tok inside.

Tik-Tok did as he was instructed, marching into the room and observing it. There was nothing there, however, but dusty walls and a dustier circular window that faint light shone through.

The Scarecrow stooped down, placing a cotton-stuffed hand on Tik-Tok's chest plate. "Stay here, and wait for Dorothy."

The polished gems of Tik-Tok's green eyes stared into the painted blue eyes of the Scarecrow. Though both were man-made, the Scarecrow's face was wrinkled and worn with worry... and an unspoken apology.

"Stay here," he repeated, and hurried out of the room. With a great scraping and a slam, the door shut behind him. The key was pulled from the lock, and through it, Tik-Tok could see the Scarecrow stumbling away.

For lack of anything else to do--other than conserve his gears--Tik-Tok stood perfectly still in the middle of the room.

Echoes of stone crumbling, unfamiliar creatures snarling, and rocks shifting filled the air outside, and the screams were finally silent.

---

"Your Ma-jest-y!"

Tik-Tok's voice echoed slightly in the tiny chamber, but it sounded quite loud compared to the utter silence outside.

Occasionally he could hear squeaks of wheels, and even rarer occasions he could hear the screech of a Wheeler. What they were doing in the Emerald City, he wasn't sure, but his think-works were sure enough that the fact that they had not been turned to stone was not a positive one.

But in the moments he could no longer hear them, he raised his voice:

"Your Ma-jest-y! I be-lieve that some-thing is wrong!"

And he did--something was wrong.

Several days and nights had passed since the Emerald Citizens had turned to stone, judging by the light from the solitary, circular window in the cell. It had been eight days and nights, to be exact, and Tik-Tok had remained still the entire time, hardly willing himself to think other than to observe the time passing. After all, the Scarecrow had commanded that he wait until Dorothy arrived, and he would not want her to have to wind him up too much so shortly after meeting.

But now that it had been over a week...

Tik-Tok could not worry, but he could be aware that things were not going as planned. The Scarecrow had not been sure how long it would take for Dorothy to arrive, but surely he had not expected him to wait this long. He would have said so, if that were the case. While the Scarecrow lacked perfectly-functioning mechanical brains, he did have wonderful brains given to him by the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He was the second-best thinker in Oz, next to Tik-Tok himself.

"Your Ma-jest-y!" Tik-Tok called again. "You must o-pen the door!"

He had tried on his own, but there was no knob--seemingly no way to open the door from within. He had pushed, but it would not give, and Tik-Tok opted to preserve his action.

"I be-lieve I can find this Dor-o-thy on my own, if you o-pen the door!"

Dorothy Gale was in Kansas. And he knew where Kansas was--it was not in Oz. He would have to cross the Deadly Desert, which he was perfectly capable of doing, for its deadly sands could not turn his unliving copper into sand.

"Help me, Your Ma-jest-y, please! Come bac--"

Tic-tic-clunk.

One of the three keys on Tik-Tok's body ceased turning, and his voice-works ceased functioning.

Tik-Tok's voice joined the silence around him.

---

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces toward the door.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces back.

It had been thirty-three days--just over a month since the Scarecrow had left him here.

Alongside the squeaks and cackles of the Wheelers outside, Tik-Tok could occasionally hear the distant sound of a musical instrument--a mandolin. It was not an instrument that could be played by the Wheelers, but to whom it belonged, he could not say, for he could not speak.

But even then, there was still the occasional silence, usually at night. It was then he chose to fill the silence with his pacing, his great feet stomping into the ground beneath him. He did this not because he missed the usual cheerful noise of the Emerald City, for he could not miss anything, but to keep his gears from rusting and keep the dust out. Even though each step he took wound his action down slightly more, it would at least prevent him from locking up entirely, even if he should be wound up.

He hoped Dorothy would be here soon.

But at this point, he was no longer sure what "soon" was. A month ago, he had estimated that she would arrive within days, if not hours, and that the matter would be resolved quickly. Now, however...

The Scarecrow had indeed admitted that he hadn't known when Dorothy would arrive. But surely, surely he would have been wise enough to send for her quickly, or to ask her to arrive swiftly.

Tik-Tok paused.

They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something...

...If he'd asked her at all.

His think-works must have gotten dust into them--he had not once considered that the Scarecrow could have been captured before he was able to summon Dorothy. If that were the case, then what was he to do?

He could not continue to wait for her--he must try to open the door on his own.

Tik-Tok turned himself around to face the door, and took one step closer.

Tic-tic-clunk.

And now he could not move, except to turn his head and blink. The rest of his body remained as still as the statues outside.

---

Ninety-two sunrises. Ninety-three sunsets.

He had watched the sun rise and set through the window. He had heard the Wheelers shriek to each other every day, and heard them racing throughout the town.

Every so often he allowed himself to blink to clear the dust from his eyes, so he could continue to observe the passage of time.

Sometimes he heard voices--not the ones of Wheelers. Sometimes it was a soft-spoken voice he'd never heard before, other times a harsher, snarling one that had a great wickedness to it. Other times he would hear familiar voices, ones he'd heard around the city before. He would wonder, in those moments, if things were going back to normal, if someone would open the door, if he would be wound up soon, but then he wouldn't hear the voice again for some time.

---

Ninety-nine sunrises. Ninety-eight sunsets.

...No, one hundred. One hundred sunsets, for he'd been let in here during the day.

He allowed his head a short shake--he had to keep track of time. He had to watch the light.

At one point he heard a soft, gravelly voice within the city, followed by a short discussion that he could not make out, for the Wheelers laughed and howled all the while. Still he strained his aural gears--linked to his think-works--to try to make out anything that would be helpful.

"...has not escaped..."

"...no sign of anything..."

"...has not spoken--"

There was a great crash, followed by shrieks of laughter from the Wheelers, and another voice shouting at them.

Who was it who had not escaped? Had they been discussing him? Or perhaps the Scarecrow? Or... had they captured...

...someone...

...there was someone he was waiting for. What was her name?

No, it didn't matter. Forcibly he slowed his think-works, only allowing them to sense the change of day and night.

---

One hundred and twenty-one sunrises. One hundred and twenty-twenty sunsets.

The room was very dusty, and he could no longer turn his head. He blinked again to clear his vision.

There was shrieking outside, but he couldn't remember why. He almost raised his voice to demand who they were, but he had no voice to do such.

But he was smart. He understood things. He was a machine. He knew why he was here.

He was here to wait. But to wait for what? He couldn't remember.

What was he counting for?

---

One hundred two hundred five hundred-ed-ed two.

Scarecrows and Wheelers, rocks and statues, girls and ladies and rooms.

A scream outside! He could not scream. Where was outside? Where was he? Was it light or dark?

What is light for anyway? He forgot. His eyes could not open and he could not see. What did he have to see? Who knew?

Statues and stones, silence and screams.

Never never never never never coming back.

Taken here, went away, left forever and ever.

Ever, ever, ever, turn turn turn, wind wind wind.

Tick-tick-tick.

Tic... tic...

Clunk.

Chapter 3: On a Whim

"...peaugh!"

"Oh! Don't yell at me like that, please! I'm not deaf."

He paused, taking a moment to consider the fact that he existed.

There he stood in a dusty, dull room, with walls and windows and other things that seemed to be full of... holes, as though they were missing something. He wasn't sure what. In fact, he didn't quite know what he was, other than that he was taller than everyone else around him. Everyone else, that is, being... a very angry-looking woman in a very pointy dress, and a much shorter girl, a little over half his own height. The former was holding a tin can of a sort with a label that he couldn't read, and she stared down at, her rage giving way to amazement.

"It... it worked!" she cried, still far too loud for his own ears. (Did he have ears?) "It worked! Hah, that magician didn't fool me after all!"

"You're still yelling!" Wincing away from her, he suddenly felt his balance shift, and he began to topple. "W-woah...!"

Quickly the shorter girl stepped forward, catching him before he crashed. "Be careful," she said, her voice wonderfully soft and far more pleasant than the other person's. "I'm afraid I didn't build you to move, since I didn't know you would be... alive, later." She set him back upright, bracing him back against the wall he'd been standing against moments ago.

"You made me?" he repeated, holding one wooden hand against her shoulder until he was certain he was steady. "How did you do that?"

"I just put some wood and a pumpkin together, and dressed you." The girl stole a glance at the older woman, who was muttering to herself as she looked over the can. "And then I stood you here, against the wall."

He tipped his head, which, it seemed, was quite large. "What for?"

The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice. "To scare the witch, there, Mombi." She looked pointedly at the woman and then back at him. "I stood you in a place here, where you would meet Mombi face-to-face. She was scared... but then she was angry. She nearly destroyed you with a stick."

Shuddering, he cast another fearful glance at Mombi, who was hurrying away. He wasn't entirely sure what "destroyed" meant, but he didn't like the sound of it. "Sh-she did?"

"Yes, but then she decided to test that Powder of Life on you. She sprinkled it on, and... you came to life."

"I'm very glad for that," he remarked. "I quite like being alive."

The girl smiled up at him, and he decided he quite liked that, too. "I like your being alive, as well."

"We're agreed, then!" He tipped his head another way. "Do you... have a name?"

"Ozma," she said quickly, and stole another glance in the direction that Mombi had walked off to. "But that's not important."

"Do I have a name?"

At that, Ozma looked down, her face turning a slightly pink shade. "Yes... Jack. Jack Pumpkinhead. I might have given you a better name, if I'd known..."

"Jack Pumpkinhead," he repeated, then nodded. "Yes, I like that. And... you made me?"

"Yes I did, Jack."

"Does that make you my mom?"

Ozma took a step back, as though caught off-balance, as he had been before, and he held out a hand to steady her. But she smiled, putting her hand over his. "I suppose so. You may call me 'Mom' if you wish."

Though uncertain why, he felt the name brought a great deal of comfort to him, and it pleased him to say it. "Okay, Mom."

"You! What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice snapped.

Both Jack and Ozma turned to face the new person, and Jack did so quickly enough to throw him off-balance once again, so his mother had to grab hold of him to keep him upright. The new person was another woman, who wore a strikingly similar dress to the one the witch had worn moments ago. If he didn't know better (which, he didn’t know much), Jack would think it was the very same dress.

"I was only talking with Jack, Mombi," Ozma replied, and Jack looked down at her in surprise.

"Mombi? I thought you said that other woman was Mombi."

"She is, but she has different heads. She's wearing head twenty-two right now." Ozma paused. "Her original is..."

"Head thirty-one," Mombi snapped quickly. "And just what do you think--"

"Where does one acquire different heads?" Jack interrupted, not keen on listening to Mombi's grating voice.

At that, Ozma gently pulled him away from the wall, helping him walk across the dusty floor. Walking was a new activity, and he found it did not come naturally to him, his long, thin legs wobbling all the while, but his mother kept him steady as she brought him to the window. Outside was a desolate gray place, with ruined buildings and walls and statues all about. In one spot, he could see a group of statues dancing, but without heads. "See there," his mother said, pointing at the group. "That's where she got them. Some of them, anyway."

Jack stared down at the statues, not fully understanding, but nodded nonetheless. "What a lot I'm learning today!"

"Enough of this!" Mombi snarled, suddenly between them. "What's the meaning of this? You're not seriously growing attached to this stupid pumpkinhead you made, are you?"

"I should hope so," Jack protested before his mother could reply. "She's my mom, after all."

"She's your--?!" Mombi looked from Jack to Ozma a few times before settling a glare on Ozma. "No, I won't allow it."

Jack stiffened. "What? Won't allow what?"

"It won't hurt anything," Ozma protested quickly, taking a step closer to Jack. "I can watch over him, and--"

"I told you you were never to talk to others like that!" Mombi snarled, and grabbed Ozma by the wrist.

"L-let her go!" Jack cried in protest, reaching out to pull Ozma away.

Mombi yanked her out of his reach, but otherwise ignored him, glaring down at the girl. "You know what I told you. Never speak to another person, never communicate with them--you are never to make yourself known to another person, ever. Not even your name!"

Had Jack not been so frightened in that moment, he would have thought it strange that his mother had, indeed, told him her name.

"Let me go!" Ozma shouted, pulling herself against Mombi, but the witch only growled at her, tugging her away and hurrying down the hall.

"Wait, no, Mom!" Jack cried. Shakily he moved to follow them, but without his mom's support, his body toppled and crashed to the floor with a great wooden clatter. No pain came with it--though he wasn't entirely sure what pain should feel like to begin with--but he did feel his wooden joints start to jostle loose. He tried to move his limbs in a way to crawl after them, but only succeeded in scrambling uselessly on the dusty floor.

"I'll be all right, Jack!" Ozma called out to him as Mombi carried her down a corner and out of sight. "I'll get us help!"

"You most certainly will not!" Mombi growled, her voice reaching a rather terrifyingly low pitch. Before Ozma could say anything in reply, there was an explosively loud KRACK-OW that rang throughout the palace, and within Jack's hollow head. Something about the sound filled him with terror, and he threw his hands over his eyes, wailing.

Only moments later everything was still, and Mombi gave a satisfied humph before her footsteps came back down the hallway. Jack shakily raised his head, only for his wooden body to seize up in fear. "Wh-where's Mom?"

Mombi did not answer, only marching up to him and regarding him with an expression he could not read (or see, for from his current angle he could only see the train of her dress, and it was hard to tip his head up further).

"Excuse me, Miss Mombi," he said, trying to push himself upright, "Where is my mom? That noise was very loud, and I-I'm worried about her."

Without a word, Mombi suddenly stooped down, grabbed Jack's left wrist much in the way she had Ozma's, and yanked.

"Oh!' Jack cried, immediately hating the pull on his arm, and even more the way it made his legs drag. He fought to put his feet beneath him, but Mombi did not wait, dragging him in the opposite direction she'd taken Ozma. "W-wait! I'm not standing yet!" He scrambled his legs, fighting to right himself, but Mombi was moving too quickly for him to do so. Then, realizing what direction they were taking, he fought all the more to get to his feet. "W-we're going the wrong way! This isn't where you took my mom!"

Still Mombi remained silent, hauling him down the hallway and finally toward a great spiraling stairwell, which she wasted no time in storming up, taking no mind for the way Jack's feet kicked and dragged behind them.

"Wait, no! P-please, let me get to my f-feet!" he whimpered. When she still would not answer, he looked back down the stairs. "I-I miss my mom. She liked answering my questions. C-could you please take me back to her?"

At one point Jack's right foot caught badly on a step, momentarily trapping him and causing Mombi to stumble. She braced herself against the wall before she fell, and turned to glare at him.

Jack didn't understand why she was so angry, but he took the opportunity to finally get his feet beneath him. His right leg, however, felt wrong--it was loose at the knee joint, and that worried him. "Miss Mombi, when we get to the top of this place, c-could you please bring my mom back, so she can--"

And again Mombi resumed mounting the steps, barely giving Jack time to match her pace. To his alarm, he found he couldn't, for her body was not built as awkwardly as his was, and once again his legs gave way beneath him.

While Jack had decided he did not much like shouting, he couldn't help himself: "PLEASE!" he cried over the clatter of his legs banging against the stairs. "I'm going to come apart!"

But at that moment, his legs finally stopped banging against things, for they had reached the top of the stairs. Here Mombi paused again, and Jack was finally able to get his legs beneath him, though his right one was wobbling terribly. "A-are we done moving around, Miss Mombi?" he stammered.

Now Mombi threw the door open, and once again began dragging him, though he fought to walk along with her, even as he felt the ropes that held his right leg together loosen further. He barely had time to look about the room around him, which was full of a lot of very, very dusty things. Mombi dragged him a short distance, then with a great amount of force, threw him into a corner.

Jack cried out as his wooden back slammed against an old sofa, jarring his whole frame terribly and nearly knocking his head off. Dazed, he reached up to touch his head, only to find that his left hand was missing--it had fallen off entirely, lying on the ground next to him. Turning his head, he found the same fate had befallen his right leg, which was lying a short distance from his body. "Wh-what was that for?" he whimpered. "You haven't told me why you're so angry with me, much less said anythi--"

In a moment Mombi was storming toward him, her eyes wide with anger, and at once he wished he hadn't spoken at all. "Shut up, you worthless pile of firewood!" she snarled, leaning down into his face. "You existed only so I could test my Powder of Life on you, and nothing more, and I can very well take that life away."

"NO!" he wailed, kicking his remaining leg to push himself further backwards. "Please don't do that!"

She pointed a finger in his face, and he stilled. "When I come up here again," she said lowly, "I'll chop up your stupid smiling head and make a pie of it, assuming it doesn't spoil first, and that will be that for you."

With that, she spun around and left the room, pausing only to give him one last glare before shutting the door.

Jack remained very still for some time, until an irritating clattering noise made him realize he was trembling.

"Th-this... has been quite an existence," he finally said, once he was quite sure Mombi could not hear him. "I wish I knew what I've done wrong..."

Remembering what the witch had told him, he decided that while he wasn't quite sure what a pie was, he would very much like to leave here before Mombi returned to show him. Bracing his hand against the floor, he tried to raise himself up, only to remember that he could not stand on one leg. He would have to tie it back on, if he could.

He tried to reach for the detached leg, and realized another problem--one of his hands was missing, and since it wasn't attached, he could not move it. He strained to reach for it for several minutes, but it occurred to him he had no way of tying it back on. While he was quite sure he could figure out how tying things worked (he could see the method his mother had used when he observed his own joints), he could not do it with only one hand. He needed use of both limbs in order to tie his missing limb back together.

As it was, he could only sit in that corner, his back against a sofa, his missing parts just barely out of reach.

"...I miss my mom," he said quietly, bowing his head.

She had told him that she would get help, so maybe she would be here later. He hoped she would... he did not like his body being broken like this, and not being able to move, and he wasn't sure when Mombi would come back.

And so he waited, sitting there in the stillness of the dusty room. Part of him wanted to call for Ozma, for he wasn't certain she knew where he was... if she was anywhere. (Mombi was a witch, after all, and that sound he'd heard... had she used magic on his mother? Magic was what brought him to life, but what if it could be used to take someone away, too...? What if she had become a statue, like the ones outside?) The thought, however, of Mombi hearing him kept him quiet.

But... Ozma had said she would get help. She had to. She had to.

She had to.

He kept that thought, repeating it in his mind... until he realized that it was very dark in the room, and growing darker. Something within him--the magic, he supposed, or perhaps the seeds in his head giving him basic knowledge--told him that this was night, and that the outside world alternated between the light of day and dark of night. Even so, the darkness chilled him--it was getting to the point where he could hardly see. What if Mombi came back, and he couldn't even tell?

Forgetting his fear of alerting the witch, he raised his voice again: "Mom!" he cried. "Mom, where are you?! I-it's dark here!"

But his voice only echoed slightly in the crowded room, and he heard no other sounds.

His fear left him undeterred. "Mom, have you found help yet? I-I want to get out of here!"

There was still no answer, other than a quiet wind from outside.

"Mom..." he whimpered, and finally fell silent.

Maybe his mom wasn't coming back after all.

Epilogue: On a Hope

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

The thought jumped into Tik-Tok's head, in the midst of the blankness of non-functionality:

How long has it been now?

He'd lost track of time, he realized. This was not good--something had clearly gone wrong with his mechanisms. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were still too heavy.

"Huh. I wonder what he's thinkin' about."

The unfamiliar voice echoed in the room, but with his eyes still firmly shut, he could not tell whom it belonged to.

"I'll wind up his speech," came a softer voice, "and maybe he can tell us."

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

His head turned slightly, suddenly able to, and his eyelids finally lifted.

"Maybe he can tell us what happened to the Emerald City."

Blinking once, twice, to clear the dust from his emerald eyes, Tik-Tok began to stammer as his speech-works came back to him: "I--you--uh--come back--Your Ma--"

A young girl with dark hair in twin braids stood before him, regarding him with awe.

"...Good mor-ning, lit-tle girl."

---

It had been a long time--Jack couldn't be sure how long, though, since he'd stopped counting. The thought of how many days it had been since he'd last seen his mother only made him...

He put his hand over his chest, where he felt the sadness the most, and wondered if that was what pain was.

He only had a little dust on him, though--not nearly as much as the things all around him. The giant head above him, the plants, the portraits, and all the other things--he'd taken the time to look at them all, for lack of anything else to do. He'd stopped calling for his mom, too--it felt pointless.

And then the door opened.

At once he threw himself back, his head hitting the couch behind him. He scrambled with his leg, at first, and then decided staying still was better, staying quiet was better. If Mombi couldn't hear him, maybe she would forget about him.

But Mombi didn't come into the room. Instead he heard soft footsteps, as well as two voices. One was harsh and grating... but the other was... soft. Soft and... comforting.

Just before him, he could see a young girl staring at some portraits on the wall. A young girl... that was about half his height.

"...Mom?"

---

"...peaugh!"

"Peaugh?!"

"That's it!"

He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Why wasn't it daytime? And... this didn't look like the forest. It looked... nothing like the forest. That was odd.

There were also a couple other people around him, both of them quite excited. One was a tall man that he was pretty sure wasn't a normal Ozian, and the other was a little girl.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to turn his head and finding it oddly difficult, so he swiveled his ears instead. "Where am I?"

"Getting out of here, I hope!" the tall man exclaimed.

"Jack's right," the girl replied. "We're in the palace, but we need to get out of here."

That didn't answer much.

Feeling the need to stretch his limbs, he did so, only to find them... a great deal shorter than they should be. And more numerous. He didn't recall having more than four feet in anything other than height.

Normally he quite liked looking at his reflection, but at the moment, he felt grateful that there was no pond nearby.

The girl was suddenly in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "You're gonna help us escape, okay?"

While not in pain, he felt... out of sorts. Even so, there was something about this girl that he felt drawn to... not that he was in any position to argue, anyway.

"Okay, I guess so."

The girl smiled, and he felt a bit better.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but whatever happened, he was pretty sure he could trust this strange girl.

[achliegh]

Bronze

Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.

Explaining:

Before Letter is the present.

Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.

After Letter is memory.

The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.

TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, hospitals, injuries and death caused by someone close, domestic abuse, blood, unfair treatment from police, false alligations.

Beta: @walking-crisis

Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Chapter 5:

American Kids

He was getting restless, laying in a hospital bed and having nothing happening was driving him nuts. He was just itching to get up but every time he tried to, he suddenly felt like the only safe place was his bed.

He watched the time tick by but it never seemed to change, he was stuck in a loop.

He felt trapped. This was the first day he has ever been alone. Grev, or whatever his name is, wasn’t there. All of his things were there though.

The newspaper, the picture album, and the little book he reads all the time. But he wasn’t there. It was eerie, he felt like even if he was alone someone was watching him. It didn’t feel right, so he decided to snoop a little.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt his feet touch the cool tile. He felt that sense of dread dropping his body temperature, but he made himself stand and walk over to the only entertainment in sight. Taking a couple of shaky steps he made his way over to the chairs and picked up the small book.

It was blank on both sides and looked old, he was feeling the worn leather in his hands and was about to open the book when he heard someone clear their throat.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Dear Clay,

We haven’t heard from you in a while… You were supposed to be home today. We weren’t given any information about where you would be or where to pick you up. We talked over a satellite phone three weeks ago and you told us how excited you were.

Where are you? Why haven’t we heard from anyone? Usually they tell us you’re going to be late or not coming back but all we have gotten is radio silence. We tried to get a hold of your commanding officer and then we were told he wasn’t available…

Are you still there?

We miss you.

We love you.

Come back to us Clay.

Love,

Noelle

P.S.

I can’t bring myself to use our nicknames because I’m so fucking worried. I’m sorry.

Clay was watching as Leo was being followed by a gaggle of geese. It wasn’t uncommon for Leo to be followed by a group of animals but it was always entertaining. Clay and Reg sat on the park bench in Gryffindor eating some kettle corn they bought before they came to the park. Gryffindor was beautiful, Clay loved it here. It was nice and cool. Reg was humming to the most recent song he was obsessed with. Clay thinks he has developed a crush on Kenny Chesney, especially after hearing American Kids play over the speakers a million times in the last week and a half. It’s extra funny because Reg is Canadian.

“Hey Clay?” Reg snorted as Leo got bit on the ass and tried to run away from the gaggle which caused them to chase him. Reg looks at him and Clay can tell there is something bothering him. Reg is very good at hiding his emotions but once you get to know him, he has little things that give him away.

Like how when he is nervous to tell someone something, he keeps his mouth busy. Eating, or chewing on his hangnails and fingernails. Sometimes he will try to chug a drink in the middle of a sentence and choke on it. Like the dumbass he is.

“What's up?” Clay ate a handful of kettle corn and watched as Leo tried to hide behind a tree trunk.

“This is something I haven’t told anyone yet… So, know that I’m trusting you with something important.” Picking at a hangnail on his thumb and about to bite it Clay grabs his hand and gives it a supportive squeeze. This was a big deal because Reg never told anyone anything about himself. He was heavily guarded and Leo and Clay didn’t push him, he needed to break out of his shell by himself.

“I…” Reg sighs and looks everywhere but Clay. “I think- no, I know I’m not straight.” Clay nods and opens his mouth to say something but Reg just word vomits to him. “I’masexualandaromantic!” Reg looks down at his lap and seems to be ashamed.

“Can you maybe… say that again a little slower?”

“I’m asexual..” Reg pauses and clay nods and makes a noise of acknowledgement. “And aromatic.”

“That's fucking cool.”

“Really?” Reg looks at him, his voice is shaky and his eyes are hopeful. Clay smiles and ruffles Reg’s hair.

“Of course it is! Don’t ever think that I won’t be there for you because of something like this. Also, let Leo and I know if any sex type shit we talk about makes you uncomfortable.” He uses his thumb to rub away the one little drop of salty emotion water that fell onto Reg’s cheek and smiles when Reg swats his hand away.

“HELP!” Leo yells at them from across the pond they were sitting at, he's on the ground just being beat up by some angry geese. It was brutal too. Reg and Clay decided it was best to help out their friend and chucked some of their popcorn on the ground when they got closer to Leo. Once the geese were distracted they made a break from them, back to the trail to Reg’s house.

Clay was so proud of Reg.

He always would be.

[rein-ette]

Howdy! I'm going to ask your awesome question back at you ;) what do you think of England, both as a character and as a country? Do tell me all of your feelings towards the grumpy man 👀

Short Answer:

To borrow a phrase from my favourite writer/historian Barbara Tuchmann, if Canada is the country of my birth, England has always been the country of my heart.

Long Answer:

I actually fell in love with England the country a long time before I even knew England the character, but Hetalia certainly reinforced my infatuation ten-fold. I can't say when or how it started because I think I was pretty young (I remember my mom making me take notes on Greek and Roman history when I was like, 7, and uh, let's just say my obessession with Europe only grew after that). It's also kinda difficult for me to parse why I like the country because it's been a constant in my life for so long, but I'll try my best.

I think it might have begun with my fascination with WWII history. There's this Chinese idiom -- 乱世出英雄 -- which kinda encapsulates why the world wars and British history in particular so enchanted me. The literal translation of it would be "heroes emerge in turbulent times" but I think a better figurative approximation is the phrase "for darkness shows the stars." The world wars, British participation in the world wars, and British history in general has many, many dark episodes and in many ways exposes the worst of humanity. But I think it's also true that British history also brought out the best of us -- exposed the "heroes", so to speak. I refer not only to household names like Churchill but also the commanders on the ground, the suffragettes, the workers in the factories, and naturally the common soldier. Of course this is not a phenomenon unique to British history, but it was through British 20th century history that I first fell in love with history in general, so it holds a bit of a special place in my heart.

From a more objective perspective, Canadians are really steeped in British culture, ideas, and history, even if we don't realize it. I mean, most of the ideals we embrace, such as the rule of law or constitutional monarchy, as well as the things we celebrate -- the abolishment of slavery, for example -- stem from Britain. One cannot teach Canadian history in school without learning British history, and when you consider that Canada's massive sacrifices in the world wars also played a defining moment in its national identity, it's really no wonder that many still feel a kinship with the UK. Plus, like I mentioned in the response to needcake's ask, a lot of being Canadian is trying to differentiate ourselves from Americans, and one primary way we do that is by pointing to our loyalty to England and shared monarch.

I'm not sure if this is really obvious from the other side of the pond, but Queen Elizabeth also, like, plays a really insidious role. Idk if Aussies or Kiwis feel this way, but we really love Queen Liz and can't imagine a world without her on our money and all our fancy buildings and occasionally making her speeches. I was an air cadet as a teen too! We had to play God Save the Queen for closing parades every night, and I remember thinking, gosh, one day we'll have to sing God save the king, and they'll have to change all the lyrics and coins and bills and what not, and that's really weird.

But yeah, besides the history and the environment in Canada, I also follow British politics to some extent? It's not as common as following American politics here (if you talk to Canadians ab the American president it's not uncommon to hear people say "why did we elect him" etc.) but it isn't rare either. I mean, I read the Economist (no i'm not 10 billion years old) and I've done courses in British politics, read British authors, a lot of people like British actors and films and shows...the culture is just really widespread, I guess. I also have close friends who lived/live in London...oh, and I went to a British international school when I was young for a year. That might have played a role too. I should say here that I've never actually been to England in person so I can't comment on what its actually like, but it feels so familiar that sometimes I honestly forget i haven't been. I hope to actually study in London soon, actually, so if you have any advice/warnings, hit me!

Alright, onto Arthur. I just? Really? Love him? In particular I really admire his pragmatic worldview, even if I don't always agree with the conclusions it leads him to. When it comes to knowledge and analysis, he's someone who refuses to turn away from the truth, no matter how incovenient. Yet when it comes to his own emotions he's the complete opposite. That mix of cynicism and then escapism to relieve the emotional burden of his own cycnism is just...fascinating. I also really admire his intelligence in general, as well as his work ethic.

Perhaps what I love the most about Arthur, however, is his spirit. I mean, he's just so alive. Whether he's furious or devastated or overjoyed, he's someone who lives life so intensely, so fully, with such fury. When I write Arthur, that's often the feeling I try to capture: someone who cannot help but see all the suffering in life, but someone who cannot help but fight on, regardless. In a strange way, Arthur embodies hope at its most irrational. As Samuel Beckett wrote in the Unnamable, he's someone who is always telling himself: "You must go on. I can't go on. I'll go on."

Absolutely no one asked for fruk, but I'm just gonna seize this chance to throw out a little headcanon. I think this intense, somehow mortal quality of Arthur is what first captivated Francis. As I've written about a bit before, Francis to me has the most "eternal" feel out of the all the nations. He loves humanity and life as a whole, whereas Arthur lives like every second counts. For someone like Francis, who just adores beautiful, wild, transient things, Arthur is like mortality in a bottle -- so utterly enthralling that once he tasted it he could never get enough. Unlike Joan or other real humans, however, Arthur has proved far more durable to wear and tear :P

My final thought on Arthur is that he has so much contempt for fate, its actually both funny and admirable. If I may quote Tuchmann again, "no man ever lived who was less willing to be the victim of events." Arthur's someone who simply refuses to be bullied, even by grandaddy destiny itself, and I think we all love him for that, a little.

[xaphrin]

Maybe I wasn’t going to use my hand.

Raven woke from her dream with a start, the book on her chest sliding down to the floor with a smack. Afternoon sunlight slid through the crack in her curtains, and delicate, dulcet tones of Bach were playing softly from the speaker on her nightstand. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she lay on her bed, carefully shifting her still-injured leg as she tried to wipe the cobwebs from her memory. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her mind felt like it was racing as she tried to both remember and forget the dream she just had. 

Deep, olive skin pressed against her own. 

Soft, dark hair. 

Even softer lips… 

...buried between her thighs.

Raven groaned and she shifted her legs under the covers, biting the inside of her cheek. Her skin felt tight and itchy, like she needed to be touched or she might split open and all of her secrets would come spilling out. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching for the book on the floor. She couldn’t let the dream rile her up like that. She had far too many things to be thinking about - her senior thesis, her grad school application, her finals in two weeks. Sex was not one of the things she needed to be thinking about right now. Especially not sex with Damian. 

She ran a shaky hand through her hair and opened up her book, her eyes becoming unfocused as she tried to read the words on the page. Her body hummed, reminding her that it had been a long, long time since she felt the sweet release of orgasm. Of that bone-deep exhaustion that left her feeling like fog drifting on a still pond. 

No. She had important things to think about. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, but her body pulsed again, so eager for something it was almost painful. Raven’s resolve felt weak, and with an embarrassed flush she fumbled in her nightstand drawer and pulled out her small vibrator. She turned it onto its lowest setting and shoved it under the covers and under her clothes, pressing it against her clit.

Oh. Yes. That was exactly what she needed.  

Raven sucked in a soft breath and settled back against her pillows, closing her eyes as she felt the sweet, sharp pressure build inside her. Immediately, her mind was suddenly filled with all the images of her mid-afternoon dream. Damian’s too-green eyes watching her as his tongue traced her, lapped her up, enjoyed making her squirm. He bit her thighs, hummed his pleasure, told her how fucking good she tasted. He curled his fingers inside her and pumped with quick, hard, angled strokes that left her feeling utterly breathless. Her neck against the pillows and Raven sighed again, turning the vibrator up a little higher, clenching her teeth as pleasure continued to radiate through her. 

She wished she could say this was the first time she had a sex dream about Damian, but it wasn’t. This was a dirty little secret she could barely admit to herself. She had been having these dreams for years, but only since their date last week that the dreams had started coming with more frequency and vibrancy. This last one was vivid, and it made her feel like she’d lost control of everything, until all she wanted was to tumble into Damian’s bed and let him fuck her into oblivion. Raven reached over and turned up her speaker a little louder, Bach now drowning out the sound of her vibrator.

Raven thought back to their kiss, and let go of another sigh, her stomach tightening. He tasted like the wine from the restaurant and mint chapstick, and she realized she could have spent all night kissing him. He was stupidly good at it, and he tasted delicious. She bit into her lower lip and slid a hand under her shirt, her fingers teasing her nipple and imagining it was Damian’s hand on her breast. It hadn’t been the fumbling touches she had gotten used to from her previous boyfriends, but something sure and possessive. It felt as though he branded her as his and his alone. 

I want to make you come.

Raven pinched her nipple and her back arched as she felt electricity pool beneath her belly button and deep between her thighs. Her breath was short and shallow, and she could feel the siren’s call her release tightening in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t feel like any time she’d masturbated before. This felt like something wholly different. She swallowed a low moan and clicked the vibrator up as high as it would go, leaving her twisting underneath the sheets, letting the sensation take her off this plane of existence and somewhere else. Her skin was slick with sweat, her breath short and staccato, and her mind was filled with every image of Damian she could conjure. His eyes, his smirk, his too-full lips, his low voice, his hands on her body, and-

Raven came suddenly and without warning, barely muffling her moan with the back of her hand. Her whole body seized up as she lay there and let wave after wave of pleasure pull her deeper and deeper underwater. Colors seemed bright and sounds scraped against her skin, her senses muddled and messy. Finally spent, she lay there, drenched with sweat and twitching, but actually satiated for the first time in months. Her hand fumbled for the off switch, and she turned off the vibrator, letting herself bask in the afterglow of her orgasm. 

Holy hell. 

It took a few moments for her thoughts to congeal back in her head, but she felt… good. Far too good. She sighed and stared at her ceiling, her mind remembering their date and flicking through the moments we spent together. It would have been easy to continue to dislike him if he’d been the jerk she always expected him to be, but he wasn’t. He was surprisingly sweet in his own way, almost charming, and damn if he wasn’t a good kisser. He played her like a finely-tuned instrument, and she loved it. 

Raven sighed and pushed at her hair, chewing on her lower lip as she thought for a few, long minutes. This was not how her senior year was supposed to go - falling for her arch-rival. Who she was pretty sure wanted to sleep with her, and she definitely wanted to sleep with him.   

A knock came from her door, shaking her out of her thoughts. 

Raven sat up, trying to shove her hair back into a bun so she didn’t look like she’d just been masturbating. She cleared her throat and called out. “Come in?” 

The door opened to reveal Damian with a stack of papers and a bag from her favorite burger place on the other side of town. She felt embarrassment darken her face, as though he could somehow sense that she’d just been pleasuring herself to thoughts of him. She tugged at her shirt and adjusted the blankets over her legs, feeling her vibrator rest against her thigh. Damnit. At least it was still off, so he wouldn’t have any idea of what had been happening in her room just minutes ago. 

Without her consent, her stomach growled furiously, but he just laughed and walked in, closing the door behind him. “I take it you’re hungry?”

Raven tried not to look guilty, and she shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw Donna in the Rec and she mentioned you hadn’t been able to get on campus for a while, so I picked up your papers from your American Lit class and your Baroque Lit class. I wasn’t sure if you needed any of it for your senior thesis.” He shrugged and handed her the papers. “And I grabbed notes from a classmate for you. And lunch for you too.” 

Raven blinked as he set the papers down next to her, and the bag of food on her nightstand. There was a long, slow pause before she spoke. “Who are you, and what did you do to Damian?”

He lifted an eyebrow, his lips curling up into a smirk. “Would you rather I treat you with cold indifference? Because I will gladly eat that burger-”

Raven snatched the bag off the nightstand and glared at him. “Don’t you dare.” 

He let go of a low chuckle and sat at the edge of her bed, glancing around her room. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“I can see that.” She reached into the bag and shoved a fry into her mouth, never looking away from him. “I just don’t understand what would make you stoop so low.”

He shrugged, but she could see a shadow in his eye, as if there was something he was trying to keep secret from her. “You told me to keep making you change your mind. So… here I am, trying not to make your life a living hell.”

“That’s so kind of you.” She ate another fry. “But I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. You want something, don’t you?”

There was a long pause and Damian sighed in defeat, casting a sideways glance at her. “I need an out.” 

Raven unwrapped the burger and took a bite. Heaven. He even knew how she liked her burger? Who was this man and how did he know her so well? She wiped at her mouth with a napkin and pitched forward an inch, her eyes searching his profile. “Sounds suspiciously like you need a favor.” 

“I… might have told my father that I was helping an injured friend to avoid going to a gala tonight.” He scratched at his chin and glanced away. “Father said send proof.” 

“You want to take a picture of me and my sprained ankle to get out of a gala?” She took another bite and chewed slowly, watching him through narrowed eyes. If she had only known this burger came with caveats, she would have never eaten it. Maybe. Raven swallowed, still staring at him. “And you’re trying to bribe me with food and kind gestures.”

“Just the food, actually.” Damian shrugged. “The kind gesture really is to get you to change your mind about me.” He smirked and leaned closer to her, meeting her stare. “As long as it works.”

Raven watched him for another long moment before rolling her eyes and sighing in defeat. “Fine. You can take a couple pictures. But you owe me. And I don’t want your family to start thinking we’re dating or anything.”

“I wouldn’t dare subject you to that shame.” He laughed and rearranged the books on her lap and easing her sprained ankle out from under the covers. He propped up her foot with a pillow and rearranged a few things, making it look like she was desperately needing his help, before taking a picture. “Ah. Looks good. You look so helpless and buried in homework.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The entire Wayne family better not think I’m some helpless, vapid sorority girl.”

He picked up a particularly thick book on her lap and snorted, looking at the title. “Not with these kinds of books surrounding you.” 

Raven watched as he moved to the other side of her bed and sat down next to her, resting against the headboard like he was helping her out with her homework before taking a selfie of both of them. There was some clicking as he wrote a message, and then he sent it off to his father. Damian looked down at her with a teasing smile, but didn’t move off the bed. He looked content enough to sit there forever, and Raven was inclined to let him. As silly and foolish as that sounded to her. 

“There. Now, he stays off my back, and I owe you a favor.”

“A favor from a Wayne is like a golden ticket.” Raven reached for her unfinished food and glanced over at him. This felt intimate, the warmth of his body pressed against her own, while the soothing sound of Bach filled the small space between them. Her heart climbed into her throat and beat out an increasingly frantic rhythm, as Raven realized she had no idea how to handle this. The last time he was in her room, they ended up making out on this very same bed and he told her he wanted to make her come. She shivered and closed her eyes, trying to keep her mind from wandering. 

“The frat is throwing a party after finals.” Damian picked up a book and paged through it, as if he suddenly needed something to do with his hands. “You should come and hang out. Hopefully your ankle will be all good by then.”

She shrugged, picking at her food. “Sure. I know Donna and Karen will be there.” 

Damian nodded, and there was another long stretch of silence between them. He fidgeted with the book, and Raven could feel the tension start to spike between them. There was something building inside him, and this forced silence was only going to make it worse.  

Raven sighed and gave him a flat stare. “Whatever you want to say, say it. Because this awkward silence is starting to freak me out, and I don’t know what you want.”

Damian searched her eyes for a long moment, leaning over towards her side of the bed. Oh. Oh. With a mental slap to herself, Raven realized that he was moving towards her as if he wanted to kiss her again, and she desperately wanted to return it. The back of his knuckles slid along the line of her jaw, and she found herself tilting her face up towards him, closing her eyes and waiting for the world to stop. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to do far more than kiss, but she’d let herself be content with just this. 

He moved closer to her, the sound of her covers shifting mingling with Bach. She could feel his heat and smell his soap, and it all felt too real and too much. Damian leaned over her, his thigh pressing against hers through the blanket, and-

The room was suddenly filled with a very distinct hum.

Her vibrator. 

He accidentally turned her vibrator on. 

Raven froze, as if she thought she might be able to disappear into the floorboards in order to escape this moment. Damian pulled back, pressing his lips together as he fought back a laugh. Raven reached beneath the covers and found the vibrator, fumbling to turn it off before she shoved it back into her nightstand drawer. Heat stained her face and Raven sunk down into the bed, pulling the covers up over her head, hoping he could just forget all of this.

“So…” Damian’s voice was low and teasing. “I have about forty very curious questions.”

“Please shut up.” Raven wrapped the blanket tighter over her head and groaned. “Can you just… go away and let me die in peace?”  

“If you want.”

She could feel Damian moving off the bed, taking a moment to gather his things. The door opened, but he didn’t step out. A second passed and Raven stole a glance over the edge of her blanket to see him standing there, staring at her with a bemused smile on his face. 

“You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Raven buried her head back under the covers. “Please. Just go away.” 

She heard him walking back to her, and felt the press of his lips against her head through the blanket. Heat filled her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend that none of this was happening. 

“Next time let me know…” Damian’s voice was pitched sinfully low, like a warning rumble of thunder. “...I’ll be more than happy to help.”

Raven’s eyes slammed open, and she sat there, frozen under her blanket, listening as he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. A whole, silent minute passed as she let his words slide over her again, burying deep into her brain. 

Wait.

What?

[rockislandadultreads]

Criticism & Literary Interpretations

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life by George Saunders

For the last twenty years, George Saunders has been teaching a class on the Russian short story to his MFA students at Syracuse University. In A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, he shares a version of that class with us, offering some of what he and his students have discovered together over the years. Paired with iconic short stories by Chekhov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Gogol, the seven essays in this book are intended for anyone interested in how fiction works and why it’s more relevant than ever in these turbulent times.

In his introduction, Saunders writes, “We’re going to enter seven fastidiously constructed scale models of the world, made for a specific purpose that our time maybe doesn’t fully endorse but that these writers accepted implicitly as the aim of art—namely, to ask the big questions, questions like, How are we supposed to be living down here? What were we put here to accomplish? What should we value? What is truth, anyway, and how might we recognize it?” He approaches the stories technically yet accessibly, and through them explains how narrative functions; why we stay immersed in a story and why we resist it; and the bedrock virtues a writer must foster. The process of writing, Saunders reminds us, is a technical craft, but also a way of training oneself to see the world with new openness and curiosity.

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is a deep exploration not just of how great writing works but of how the mind itself works while reading, and of how the reading and writing of stories make genuine connection possible.

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

A stirring meditation on Black performance in America from the New York Times bestselling author of Go Ahead in the Rain At the March on Washington in 1963, Josephine Baker was fifty-seven years old, well beyond her most prolific days. But in her speech she was in a mood to consider her life, her legacy, her departure from the country she was now triumphantly returning to. “I was a devil in other countries, and I was a little devil in America, too,” she told the crowd. Inspired by these few words, Hanif Abdurraqib has written a profound and lasting reflection on how Black performance is inextricably woven into the fabric of American culture. Each moment in every performance he examines—whether it’s the twenty-seven seconds in “Gimme Shelter” in which Merry Clayton wails the words “rape, murder,” a schoolyard fistfight, a dance marathon, or the instant in a game of spades right after the cards are dealt—has layers of resonance in Black and white cultures, the politics of American empire, and Abdurraqib’s own personal history of love, grief, and performance. Abdurraqib writes prose brimming with jubilation and pain, infused with the lyricism and rhythm of the musicians he loves. With care and generosity, he explains the poignancy of performances big and small, each one feeling intensely familiar and vital, both timeless and desperately urgent. Filled with sharp insight, humor, and heart, A Little Devil in America exalts the Black performance that unfolds in specific moments in time and space—from midcentury Paris to the moon, and back down again to a cramped living room in Columbus, Ohio.

The Dark Side of Alice in Wonderland by Angela Youngman

Although the children's story Alice in Wonderland has been in print for over 150 years, the mysteries and rumors surrounding the story and its creator Lewis Carroll have continued to grow. The Dark Side of Alice in Wonderland is the first time anyone has investigated the vast range of darker, more threatening aspects of this famous story and the way Alice has been transformed over the years. This is the Alice of horror films, Halloween, murder and mystery, spectral ghosts, political satire, mental illnesses, weird feasts, Lolita, Tarot, pornography and steampunk. The Beatles based famous songs such as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and I am the Walrus on Alice in Wonderland, while she has even attracted the attention of world-famous artists including Salvador Dali. Take a look at why the Japanese version of Lolita is so different to that of novelist Vladimir Nabokov - yet both are based on Alice. This is Alice in Wonderland as you have never seen her before: a dark, sometimes menacing, and threatening character. Was Carroll all that he seemed? The stories of his child friends, nude photographs and sketches affect the way modern audiences look at the writer. Was he just a lonely academic, closet pedophile, brilliant puzzle maker or even Jack the Ripper? For a book that began life as a simple children's story, it has resulted in a vast array of dark concepts, ideas and mysteries. So step inside the world of Alice in Wonderland and discover a dark side you never knew existed!

Huck Finn's America: Mark Twain and the Era That Shaped His Masterpiece by Andrew Levy

A provocative, exuberant, and deeply researched investigation into Mark Twain’s writing of Huckleberry Finn, which turns on its head everything we thought we knew about America’s favorite icon of childhood. In Huck Finn’s America, award-winning biographer Andrew Levy shows how modern readers have been misunderstanding Huckleberry Finn for decades. Twain’s masterpiece, which still sells tens of thousands of copies each year and is taught more than any other American classic, is often discussed either as a carefree adventure story for children or a serious novel about race relations, yet Levy argues convincingly it is neither. Instead, Huck Finn was written at a time when Americans were nervous about youth violence and “uncivilized” bad boys, and a debate was raging about education, popular culture, and responsible parenting — casting Huck’s now-celebrated “freedom” in a very different and very modern light. On issues of race, on the other hand, Twain’s lifelong fascination with minstrel shows and black culture inspired him to write a book not about civil rights, but about race’s role in entertainment and commerce, the same features upon which much of our own modern consumer culture is also grounded. In Levy’s vision, Huck Finn has more to say about contemporary children and race that we have ever imagined—if we are willing to hear it. An eye-opening, groundbreaking exploration of the character and psyche of Mark Twain as he was writing his most famous novel, Huck Finn’s America brings the past to vivid, surprising life, and offers a persuasive—and controversial—argument for why this American classic deserves to be understood anew.

[simplyswooningk]

Fanfiction Teaser!!! Chapter 1 of “The One”

The One

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ron and Hermione:

Premise: Eight years after the war, two years after a dramatic and mysterious breakup, Ron and Hermione are thrown togethere when he returns home to prepare for his wedding. Confronted with her own feelings, Hermione dares to ask herself the question, “If One Thing Would’ve Been Different, Would Everything Be Different Today?

                          “I’m doing good, I'm on some new shit.”

The invitation burned in her hand in almost the same way the Geminio-cursed gold in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault did. After it had it read itself, she reread it nearly six times before it had registered in her mind.

To own the truth, Hermione Granger was not used to such a brain fog. But that thin piece of paper seemed to stop her mind in its track. It was now hovering over her desk, almost taunting her.

Her eyes glanced over it again, although by now, she knew it by heart:

Mr. & Mrs. Roger and Catherine Forell along with Mr. Arthur and Mrs. Molly Weasley joyfully invite you to the wedding of their children

                                Alison Katherine Daphne Forell

                                                       &

                                          Ronald Billius Weasley  

                                              25 June 2006  

                                                  2:00 p.m.

                                           Longbottom Castle

                                       Swillington, West Yorkshire  

                               RSVP by owl no later than March 6th.

He was getting married in England.  Why was he not getting married in America with his perfect little American fiancée? No, he had to come back home and do the blessed deed. 

She completely dismissed the notions of his entire family living in England and the row his irrepressible mother would surely throw at the thought of her youngest and most famous son getting married across the pond that deemed his choice of locale all too natural as absolute rubbish.

It was almost as if he wanted to make sure she would not have an excuse to be absent.

Who was she kidding? He probably hadn’t given her a thought in years.

She wasn’t sure she could blame him. But that was all in the past. Their history was all water under the bridge or over the dam or however the expression went. 

It was in the past.

 For a while, she saw the whole thing in her head: the two of them for ever and ever and ever. For a while, so did he. Or so she thought. Or so he thought. They had both believed they were on the same page until they realized that they were not. They absolutely were not.  

They were friends now. Or so they said. Friends spoke to each other. They didn’t, except when they were forced, by some unmissable personal event of some invaluable mutual friend, to be in the same room together. But they were friends.  

There were no hard feelings. They were friends. Or so they said. And she was happy for him. Everything was fine.

She would go. Molly would tan her hide if she didn’t. And they were friends. Friends went to friends’ weddings. Friends were happy for their friends. And she was happy for him.  

Unable to look at it anymore, she snatched the invitation out of the air and placed it into her drawer. Their engagement wasn’t a complete and total surprise. Harry had mentioned months ago that Ron’s relationship had gotten serious.

Good Godric, was there anything worse than having a mutual best friend with your ex? Hermione had endured torture and, in that moment, she honestly would’ve preferred it.

It was hard to believe that eight years had passed since the war. It was hard to believe than it had been six since the Breakup Heard Round the World.  

Oh, no one knew the whole story. Not even Harry. But when two best friends, who had longed harbored secret, yet obvious affection for each other finally got together, the general assumption is that together they would stay.  

Needless to say, when word of their breakup reached their evergreen group of friends, they were shocked.  

But no one was more shocked than the two parties involved. She could never forget how shocked and shaken she felt as she packed. She kept waiting for something to stop her, to wake her up and shake her out of that nightmare.

But nothing did, she’d finished packing.

In all honesty, she should be happy for him. That was what she’d told him the night he had told her he was leaving England: that she was happy for him, although nothing could have been further from the truth.

By then, there was too much said and unsaid for her to protest. An apology had seemed ridiculous on both sides. Now, she wondered if she could’ve stopped him. She wondered if some part of him had wanted her to.

Paris was her home now, or at it least it was where she rested her head.  She was now the Junior English Ambassador to the French Ministry of Magic. It was a position Kinglsey had recommended her for personally.  

Her time there had been lovely, but it was rumored that she was up for a promotion back home. It was the general scuttlebutt that she’d single been singled out to replace the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic for the Regulation of Magical Creatures before the year was out. Kingsley was apparently eager for her to be back in England, working for the greater good.

That had been her life for the past six years: work. She was very proud of all she’d accomplished. While working in France, she’d still managed to be a very loud advocate for magical creatures and the Muggleborn community.

She’d given many speeches, toured all around the world into various magical communities to talk about the treatment of creatures as well as how to better integrate Muggleborns into magical society and help to eliminate the prejudice that reared its ugly head far too many times for her taste.

It had been good, her time in France. She was well on her way to accomplishing everything she’d ever dreamed. Almost.

A knock on her door pulled her from thoughts. “Ms. Granger?” her assistant Elodie Aubin poked her head the through the door. “’Arry Potter for you ma’am.”

Hermione smiled. “Send him in.”

Moments later, in walked Harry Potter with his untamable black hair, glowing green eyes and friendly smile. If they hadn’t been through so much hell together, she honestly believed she could’ve hexed him on the spot.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him. She just didn’t want to have the conversation he was there for. And they both knew it.

“Hello Harry,” she said with a smile and a sigh. “Shall I ring for tea?”

Harry removed his Auror cloak, plopped down in the chair opposite hers and shook his head. “Just had a cuppa, thanks. And how are you, Hermione?”

“Lovely, thanks. Is that why you’re here? To inquire of my health and happiness? We both grew up with Muggles. We have phones for that.”  

Harry laughed dryly. “You know, from your tone, I could infer that you’re not happy to see me.”

Hermione smiled. “I’m always happy to see you, Mr. Potter. But I have a feeling this isn’t your regular meeting of salutations.”

Harry laughed again but then his eyes turned serious. “Get your invite, did you?” 

“Is that why you came all the way here? To discuss Ronald’s nuptials?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

She shrugged. “I’m fine. And yes, I got the invitation. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect one.”  

“He’s not one for grudges, Hermione.”

Hermione’s eyebrows nearly leapt off her forehead.

“Anymore,” Harry quickly clarified. “He’s not one for grudges anymore. Besides everyone would love to see you.”  

“I’m sure. But I don’t think—,”

“Hermione, Molly will murder you if you don’t come. And then she’ll murder me for not convincing you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Can’t I just make my excuses? Busy with work, blah, blah, blah, the usual?”

“It’s his wedding, Hermione.”

“And I’m his ex. Doesn’t that give me a pass? Must I suffer through this? It was awkward enough at your wedding.”  

“Yes, I remember,” Harry said with a grimace and shake of his head. “But we got through it.”

“Yes, with lots of Firewhiskey and mead.”  

“Well, whatever works.”

“Harry, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for either of us. It's been a long time, we’ve both moved on. I just don’t think one’s wedding needs a... blast from the past, if you will.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, stop trying to weasel your way out. No pun intended. Besides, I've one more invitation or rather summons to bring you.”

Hermione started at that. “What?”

“Well, the thing is Ron is on his way to the Burrow as we speak. Molly is having a welcome home dinner in his honor. She told me not to leave without you.”

“What in Merlin’s name is he doing here so soon? The wedding’s not for two months!”

“Apparently there’s a lot to plan, so he’ll be here until the wedding.”

Hemione rolled her eyes. “What could he possibly have to do that Ms. Enchanted Cauldrons USA could not see to herself? And doesn’t he as the Deputy Head of the American Aurors, not to mention President of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes America have better things to do?”  

Hermione noticed that Harry hesitated. “I’m sure he had loads to do. Dinner. At the Burrow. Tonight. You realize you don’t have much choice? Besides, he’s coming by himself. Allie won’t be here till a week before the wedding.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised at that. There was something Harry wasn’t telling her. There was no one that dressed and carried themselves the way Alison Forell did would leave the majority of the wedding planning up to Ron. But that was conversation for another time.

“What’s Molly up to, anyway? Because if this another reconciliation scheme, I swear Harry—,”

“No, no,” he cut in. “She’s quite over that. She likes Allie. As much as she likes Audrey, I’d say.”  

“Do you like her?”  

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

“Yes. But she was Alison then.”  

Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s nice, Hermione. Anyway, as you said, you’ve both moved on. How's Taron?”  

“He’s good. He's in Sweden at the moment.” Hermione’s boyfriend of nearly nine months was Taron Fruelle. He worked as an undersecretary to the French Minister of Magic. “He’ll be there for the next few weeks.”  

Taron was Muggleborn and highly academic just like her. Their connection had been instant. He had a good sense of humor, was highly proficient in magic and his love of reading almost surpassed her.  

It was the easiest, most comfortable relationship she’d ever been in. They rarely disagreed, they spent most of their free time at rare bookstores or deciphering Ancient Runes. Taron was in Sweden, helping with the renovations of the French Magical Embassy.

Hermione realized after Harry mentioned him that she forgotten to phone him on her lunch break.

“So, is it true Kinglsey will be calling you back to England soon?” Harry said attempting a change of subject after Hermione went quiet for a few moments. “Now that you’ve gathered your diplomatic experience?”

“He hasn’t said either way. I mean, I'd love to be back home. Everyone seems to think so, but he’s been very vague. Typical politician.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a bit and Hermione could tell he was thinking of something, something he was more than likely not going to tell her.

“Are you just going to camp out here until I'm done working and then transport me to the Burrow?”

Harry nodded. “Molly’s orders, my lady. Nothing I can do.”  

Hermione sighed. “Well, who am I to argue with Molly Weasley? Does he know I'm coming?”

Harry nodded. “Ginny’s gonna tell him.”  

Hermione sighed. “Can we stop at the shops and get a bottle of wine before we go?”

Harry smiled. “And a bottle of rum too. Hermione, really, you’re okay with this, aren’t you?” His bright green eyes searched hers.

She smiled, although suddenly she was mentally transported back to Grimmauld Place, crying hysterically, Harry’s arms clasped around her and telling her it would be all right.  

“Harry, I’m fine. It’s all right now. He's moved on, so have I. We’re friends now. We were always friends.”

Harry smiled and she knew that he did not quite believe her. She also knew he would not quite say so.  

“Listen, I’m going go into the city, pick up some French pastry for Ginny. I’ll be back to collect you in a bit?”  

Hermione nodded. “I’ll be off at 5:30.”  

Harry smiled again, that same knowing sympathetic smile he had when he walked in. He wished her a brief adieu before he was off.

He didn’t believe she was fine. He thought she was torn up inside, that deep down, she was still in love with Ron. But she wasn’t. It was over. They had moved on.

Five thirty rolled around and true to his word, Harry arrived to collect her.  

“Should we Floo?” He asked nodding to the fireplace. “I’ve got the wine and rum.”  

Hermione nodded. She took his arm. “It’ll be great to see everyone,” she said with a smile.

“The Burrow,” Harry said scooping up a handful of Floo Powder.

A flash of green and a healthy covering of soot later, Hermione and Harry found themselves in all too familiar parlor. But in a betrayal of familiarity, it was quiet.  

“Gin?” Harry called as they dusted themselves off.  

“Are we early?” Hermione asked looking around.

Harry shook his head. “No, they should’ve all been here by now.”  

The words were barely out of his mouth when a large, incoherent cacophony of voices reached their ears. That sound could only be one thing: a group of Weasleys returning from a Quidditch match.

“Oi! Ginny, next time maybe catch the Snitch,” called George Weasley.  

“Shut your trap, George. Angelina blindsided me and you know it!”

“I did not! You were too busy trying to show off one of those Harpy tricks!”  

Hermione laughed. There was truly no place like the Burrow.

“Hurry and wash up all of you!” came Molly’s nurturing, but demanding voice as the door was thrown open “Ginny, I'll need your help with the treacle tart.”

“Coming Mom,” replied Ginny with a good-natured sigh. “Oh, blimey! Ron, I forgot to tell you—”

“Tell me what?” called a voice that Hermione would know anywhere. And it sounded closer than all the others.  

Familiar footsteps froze her in place. She turned wide-eyed and horrified to Harry who looked equally dazed.  

Ginny was too slow. Before another word could be spoken, Ron Weasley had entered into the parlor. His blue eyes, those ocean blue eyes that she could never stop herself from loving widened instantly. Time was at a standstill.  

Hermione came to two startling realizations simultaneously. One, he had no idea she was coming to dinner. And two, she was still hopeless, helplessly, irretrievably in love with him.  

[cristalknife]

Kadam Week 2021 Day 5 ~ Been There, Done That, Lemme Be...

This is me trying to not start something on a platform only to post solely somewhere else aka AO3 and ff.net  you can find the complete list of Kadam Week 2021 prompts and you might find more stories on the Kadam Week 2021 AO3 collection

That said, today prompt is April Fools Day While I'm not 100% sure on this story hitting the mark, it has at least some of the prompt's elements, revolving around April fools and one of the two options, namely both Kurt and Adam hating pranking... so here we go, I present to you Been There, Done That, Lemme Be... (Or how a joke between Adam and Kurt became a new Nyada's yearly tradition.) (or read on ao3)

Adam didn't mind the differences between his home country and the states that much, not on most days at least.

April first though was the exception, usually Americans' tendencies to go overboard were amusing, but he could admit that in the past few years being on this side of the pond made him look back fondly and longingly to how things were back home.

For one, back in England, the tradition of pranking lasted only till noon, which made only half of a terrible terrible day, and easier to avoid.

But here in America, the whole day was game, and Adam didn't like how easily pranks escalated.

The fact he never had fond memories of the practice didn't help much either.

It was only by a lucky chance, that the previous years, April first fell on days when it was completely ok for him to call in sick or disappear without any suspicions.

While he blessed such coincidence at the time, it was something he somehow regretted now. Because he was unsure on how to broach the subject with Kurt, nor how it would be received.

Simply disappearing for twenty four hours without a warning, was not something he could do to his boyfriend, not when he knew said boyfriend was capable of worrying over the smaller things...

He wasn't that comfortable raising the issue, but it was something they needed to tackle together.

Adam didn't want April fools traditions to be something they got upset about and potentially snap at each other over mere ignorance.

It so wasn't the kind of talk he wanted to have, but clear communication was the key and so a talk they would have.

Without knowing it yet Kurt was facing a similar dilemma.

He never had the chance to walk away from April first, so the possibility had never ever even crossed his mind, especially since in his experience it had always been one more day where it was just more of the same…

Probably with a more cruel edge to the ‘pranks’ done to him, since apparently the date gave permission even to the kinder people to just disregard anything he might feel...

So all in all it was just one more day in his usual life.

The main exhibit example of the escalated condoned cruelty of April fools had been their outside furniture being nailed to the roof...

Everyone simply laughed it out, while his dad had to have the roof repaid adding more expenses to the list of bills to pay...

In a way Kurt had always tried to appear unaffected and bored by the repetitiveness of the jokes and pranks sent his personal way.

The substance in question might have changed during the years and the occasion, but the prank itself had stayed the same. The over unoriginal and completely lacking any creative inventive of trowing a balloon or a container filled with one of the many possibly disgusting choices.

So nothing new compared to the daily slushie facial he got in high school.

In the lucky years when he was younger, it was just chalk powder and or dirt, then the boys hit their fascination for the disgusting and the pee balloons, the slimes and eggs appeared.

The seemingly most innocuous one had been a natural blueberries smoothie… That managed to destroy a complete outfit with stains that never came out.

But now that he was at Nyada, despite having found out how surprisingly similar college was to high school, he had slightly higher hopes for this year.

If the others students were as busy as he was, then hopefully there wouldn't be any time for the traditional pranks.

At least not on school ground, and since some of his professors had been grumpy dragons on Valentine's day, by simply seeing the exchange of flowers and chocolates in the hallways, to the point that the message that not such foolishness and disruption would be tolerated in their classrooms, became the daily mantra. Made Kurt held a tiny candle of hope that he might get through that day unscathed this year.

The only uncertainty came from Adam and the rest of their friends...

The Apples were a playful and excitable bunch on a normal day, though he was pretty sure that any kind of mischief from them would be geared more toward being funny than malicious.

And despite not having known them that long, he was sure that if he asked them to ease up, they all would make everything stop immediately.

But the whole idea of the day was still making him a little anxious, with all his bad experiences, while he was always the one neither amused nor laughing, everyone else seemed to find his situation pretty amusing...

With Blaine he basically never had to worry, his ex was always too needy of being the centre of attention that never bothered to follow any kind of traditions if it didn't benefit him...

And Adam was nothing like Blaine... Which made Kurt all the more worried he'd end up flip out and explode at his boyfriend, over something insignificantly small and harmless.

But it was also exactly the reason why in the end, Kurt shouldn't have been as surprised as he actually was, in receiving a text from Adam on that subject, simply saying 'Can we please talk about April first’s expectations?'

Despite the calm 'Sure, I'll be there in half an hour unless there're troubles with the subway. See you soon xxx' Adam got from Kurt, his nerves were not as calm or collected.

Hopefully Kurt wouldn't be too disappointed. Adam knew there could be pranks not meant to hurt, but he had seen too many backfire to be comfortable with the whole principle.

His uneasiness got gladly interrupted by the doorbell announcing Kurt's arrival.

"Hellu darling" Adam greeted with a smile, he was happy to see his boyfriend even if he wasn't too thrilled about the topic they were about to discuss.

To Adam's surprise and joy Kurt hugged him and pressed a light kiss on his lips before saying "Hi there"

Adam smiled back and pointed to the kitchen where the kettle was on the stove “Tea before we talk?”

Kurt chuckled but nodded following Adam “Such a British offer, I’ll take a cup of what you’re having, thanks.”

Adam chuckled a little himself. It was more a personal preference than a real national trait, he knew quite a few fellow Brits who couldn’t even stand tea, but it was a gesture still common enough that the saying hadn’t died out yet.

Once they both sat at the table with their cup in front of them, Kurt was the first to start their talk "About April fools, is there any chance we might skip the practice altogether? I'm not overly fond of pranks and if we could avoid their cruelty I'd really appreciate it."

Adam sighed relieved then smiled nodding grateful "Believe me darling, if only it was feasible I would have tackled this year's April fools like usual, namely skipping the day altogether. It is the one day a year I miss not being back in England."

Kurt tilted his head curiously and asked "How so? And by that I mean why would you miss England on that specific day?"

Adam grinned at the quick correction, apparently Kurt had already figured out to ask clearly for things he wanted to know.

He knew it was maybe a slightly petty exercise to force on his boyfriend, but it did have the advantage of promoting and teaching how to communicate better, which was a good thing for the both of them.

"It's not like the pranks were better, if that's what you're wondering, but there is the tradition that pranks should happen only until noon and if someone pranks after noon then he is the April fool... A tradition that translating in having to hide only half day instead of the whole day..."

Kurt considered it for a moment then nodded "You know, I never thought of that solution, mainly because in my experience it wouldn't matter anyway, the only real difference on April fools compared to any other day was that more people laughed when something happened..."

Adam frowned and took another sip of his cooling tea, to refrain from offering once more to burn to ashes the kind of place that would allow such things to happen on daily basis...

“I wish we could just pass through a token space, get our stamp of been there, done that, lemme be and then be free for the rest of the day. That would be a relief if only possible.”

Adam’s outburst was more on a joking note, however Kurt was looking pretty lost in thoughts, humming softly before asking “But what if we had such place, let’s say like a table on the cafeteria with an April first menu, and at the end a pin and the request that anyone wearing a pin to be left alone...”

Adam listened interested and wondered reasoning aloud “You know, if we take this idea to the Deans we might actually get the faculty behind it and have at least the school day free of worries. It would be something… I know I’d appreciate that...”

Kurt looked up, panic evident in both his voice and eyes “Wait, you mean it isn’t safe? I thought that with the majority of the faculty acting like grumpy dragons with a toothache no one would dare... Or that at least we’d all be too busy for that?”

Adam snorted and shook his head “Oh Darling, there’re times I forget you’re still a sweet innocent wide eyed freshie... On the contrary, the odds are beyond scary... But if we get the faculty behind that then we might make it happen… And believe me, most professors would love to wear such a pin for the day and delight in enforcing the safe space.”

Kurt pouted a little at Adam’s description, but in a way he knew he was, eyes were still full of wonder for the school, despite the nasty discovery about it being so similar to high school.

But he had to defend himself so he quipped playfully “So, oh wise and jaded senior, what is your take on the idea, think we can pull that off instead and get the whole school an almost prank free zone?”

Adam pondered the question a little and asked back instead “But what could we put on the menu? I can only think of a couple of tea brews that taste like something else, one like chocolate and another like coffee”

Kurt grinned getting excited “What about variations of the theme of the meatloaf cupcakes different combination of meat patty with coloured mashed potato piped on it to seem like frosting with cherry tomatoes or parmesan on top of them as decorations.”

Adam hummed interested, “Talking of cheese it could be fun to have as opposed to those the sweet grilled cheese sandwiches, where you use pound cake instead of bread”

Kurt chuckled looking mischievously “Do you think we can manage to ask the cooks to also add apples’ fries?”

Adam snorted and playfully pointed a finger at Kurt in a mocking scolding before tutting “Cheeky aren’t we? You really want everyone to know who did it with such a signature?”

Kurt laughed carefree, almost to the point of tears “As if the gossips in our school wouldn’t have passed that information through the whole theatre social circles grapevine way before lessons start on April first...”

What had started as a half joke, in front of two cups of tea, shared by a couple who didn’t care for malicious and cruel pranks, was found by the faculty as an intriguing alternative, to a day of growling and shouting at college students acting like kindergartens.

On April first the students found at the front door the announcement that complementary ‘Been There, Done That, Lemme Be, NYADA 12-13’ pins were distributed in the cafeteria for everyone wanting a pranks free day on school grounds. Any student reported or found by the faculty, pranking someone wearing the pin would be reported to their Major’s Dean for appropriate support (read additional remedial homework) for having been unable to read and understand one of the many big announcement’s signs present on the front door and in the main halls all around their school...

In the cafeteria there were multiple choices on how to earn one’s pin. Including, but not limited to, try out one of the alumni kindly sponsored ‘surprise’ food, which for safety reasons were all properly showing the list of contained ingredients.

Officially speaking the Nyada’s faculty took the credit for the event and for the prank free April fools during the AY 2012-13.

The grocery bag containing apples, a pack of sugar, ground cinnamon and an unsigned card with just the words ‘Thank You’, found in the Auditorium 2 the next day, told Kurt and Adam that someone knew exactly who was behind it.

And from the confused faces of their Apples it was not someone from their group. ~The End~