#see ive also played drums on a tree before too it's just I was playing a small mouse boy in a children's theatre show in the woods so

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

THIS ^^^^^^^ is the only thing playing in my head at all times forever now this is the only vibe i'm ever trying to emulate sorry that’s it thats the it watch it pls and thank you

[drifting-wreckers]

Kaisarion Chapter 1: Kaisarion

Papa Emeritus IV x OFC: romance, religious fanaticism, drama, NSFW, MDNI, fate/destiny

The day felt…strange, not that Rosalyn could pinpoint why.

She had woken to her alarm like any other day, the recorded sounds of rain and the moody bass and synth intro of Riders on the Storm accompanied the actual rain hitting the window of her bedroom. A rumble of thunder joined as her eyes fluttered open to the sight of her cat curled up and snoozing soundly on the pillow on the otherwise empty side of her bed. The brown tabby didn’t stir as she sat up and silenced the alarm but restarted the song, itself. Blue eyes slid to the window and she was unable to contain the quirk of her full lips at the sight of the rain, steady, but not torrential. She loved the rain, but even in those first few minutes of the morning, something twinged in her chest as if something was just…off. She sighed as she leaned over to run a hand through the cat’s thick fur, a quiet noise of disapproval and one amber eye opening her only response.

“I take it you’re not coming to work with me, then, sweet girl?” She laughed quietly to herself as she pulled the blankets off and cautiously set her bare feet on the cool wood floor. That wasn’t different, and neither was her routine: made her bed, brushed teeth, washed face, moisturizer, sun screen, make up, brushed hair. Given that she could see the wind periodically tossing tree branches in the storm, she pulled her thick raven hair up into a tidy ponytail. She dabbed a light coat of red lipstick across her lips and then traipsed to the kitchen for her usual coffee ritual: gurgling electric kettle, filter dampened, carafe set up, beans ground, hot water into the beans and filter. Standard, everyday routine. She tucked her loose blouse into her pencil skirt – smart and comfortable – before toeing into her black pumps. She poured milk into the base of her tumbler, gave it a brief froth and then added her coffee. Rinse carafe, make toast (avocado and hummus with some leftover cherry tomatoes this morning, she decided); she finished the first slice as she made her last walkthrough of her quaint home, offering the still-sleeping cat another pat before ensuring her water was topped off, breakfast was in her bowl and she had her purse, phone and keys.

…still the feeling persisted.

Rosalyn shook her head to herself as she popped her headphones into her ears and selected a playlist – something a little heavier than her usual to help shake the feeling – before she grabbed her umbrella and headed out the door. She had considered driving, but it was a short-enough walk and the rain wasn’t heavy enough to dissuade her. Her hips swayed with the drums of the song she listened to as she walked, head started to bob as she grinned to herself as a Boston song started to play. She hummed along, occasionally singing under her breath as she got to the library door and juggled her umbrella and keys to unlock it. She wasn’t surprised that there were no early comers on such a rainy morning, though figured some stragglers of her morning crowd would start to make their way in. She shook out her umbrella as she closed it, hit with the smell of the damp carpet at her feet and pages upon pages of books. Her smile softened as she sighed contently: that never got old.

The city library was an old building, slowly renovated and expanded upon over the years but with dating architectural and historical cues that no one was willing to taint with anything too modern. After five years of working there, she had lovingly learned the place like the back of her hand, even a few surprising hidden passageways that dated back farther than she was comfortable with acknowledging. Patrons were wide-ranging: from local college students looking for somewhere to study or research off campus to retirees who opted to spend their time reading or learning something new. A few various church parishioners had also started to frequent the place, one specific being the Satanic Church that had seemed to be expanding in members and influence of recent, not that she cared much. She only knew because the Brothers and Sisters seemed to always attract whispers and stares from those that recognized them and their rather blasphemous inverted crosses. They were always respectful and polite (more-so than some of their Christian counterparts, she would often snarkily comment on), so she had no reason to care if they perused for knowledge or fun.

At any rate, all seemed to be well in the library, as well. She flicked on lights in her usual route around the building, brought the stand with umbrella bags out to the front doors from behind the front desk and set her belongings into her office after she unlocked it. She was stacking book returns from the book drop to scan and set on carts for reshelving when Jessica huffed in, yanking the hood of her rain jacket off her frazzled blonde hair.

“Mornin’, Roz. This rain makes me want to go the hell back to bed,” she grumbled as Rosalyn just laughed. “And I don’t want to hear you say how nice it is.”

She grinned and shrugged. “Then I won’t say it again…but know that’s what I’m thinking. Morning to you too, Jess-cuh.”

The younger blonde’s nose scrunched and she muttered a few choice words as she shuffled beyond the desk to drop off her own bag and umbrella in her office, as well. By the time she had returned, Rosalyn had added a few more books to the cart and Jessica logged into her computer to start doing the same. They worked in companionable silence for a moment until Rosalyn’s lips pursed at that persistent discomfited feeling that remained in her chest.

“Jessica…?”

“Hm?”

“Does…today feel weird to you?”

A blonde eyebrow quirked at her boss. “I mean, it’s gloomy…but what do you mean?”

Rosalyn’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “I can’t explain it…I just have this…weird feeling about today. It’s not bad,” she clarified quickly. “Just…it won’t go away. But everything seems fine.”

Jessica studied the librarian for a moment before smirking. Could she resist teasing her colleague? Not particularly.

“Maybe today’s the day you finally get proactive about meeting a guy?” Rosalyn’s eyes were rolling grandly even before the blonde finished her ribbing. “I mean I’m just saying…it’s been like eight months since Dean and you haven’t even been out on a single date.”

“Because I have not wanted to go on any dates, weird as that may be for you to understand.”

Jessica groaned. “I knoooow,” she whined. “But I just feel like it’s such a waste for you not to! We could wing-woman, too!”

She shrugged. “I’ve been enjoying my peace and quiet, what can I say? Not everything has to be about being in a relationship.”

Jessica pouted again, the conversation essentially a repeat to the one she’d been having at least monthly since the end of her long-term relationship. “I mean…you don’t even miss, like…sex?”

At that Rosalyn paused for just a moment in her movements before carrying on. “I mean, let’s be real…there’s a lot I can do without help, and I get to avoid that awkward early time of figuring out what each other wants…” she trailed off before her nose scrunched. “…or god forbid a guy who thinks he’s good and is decidedly…not. And then you have to deal with the aftermath of that.”

Jessica couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’ve got me there…very little more awkward than a guy who thinks he’s a sex god and managed to miss your clit the entire time.”

Rosalyn laughed. If she were fully honest, there was something about the companionship that she missed; the warmth of another soul’s skin under her hands, the sound of their heartbeat, and hands skimming along her back or sides. She and Dean had been together for nearly five years before they had decided to go their separate ways. They had reached the comfortable stage of their relationship and had gotten too comfortable; she would admit it went both ways: both had stopped putting forth the effort. Of course, she didn’t exactly need to find him with his tongue down another girl’s throat…but it was what it was. They parted semi-amicably, though Jessica was insistent that Rosalyn should’ve eviscerated him in a number of creative ways. She just…hadn’t wanted to be bothered. She chose, instead, to spend her time revisiting who she was as an individual without Dean, and had been comfortable and content with who she was finding.

Patrons of the library finally started to trickle in and the two women let their conversation fall short and set about on their usual tasks. Again: nothing out of the ordinary. They alternated manning the front desk to help with checking books in and out, and then taking carts around the rest of the library to reshelve books. After Jessica returned from her lunch, she glanced at what remained on the cart and set wide, green puppy eyes on Rosalyn.

“Rosalyn…Rossy…my beautiful, wonderful friend and boss…”

Confused by what Jessica could possibly be going on about, she glanced at the girl who pointed her gaze at the book cart and then back. It took a few glances for Rosalyn to realize the cart was full of nonfiction books and she immediately laughed.

“You hate shelving nonfiction that much?”

Her bottom lip protruded. “You know I dooo…”

Rosalyn shook her head and slid off her stool and back into her pumps. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it,” she agreed to the unspoken question. Jessica waxed poetic on her generosity and compassion for a few minutes until she waved the excessive niceties out of the air and pushed the cart towards the far corner of the first floor where the nonfiction shelves were tucked away. The majority of the returned books were history, and so she meandered the shelves until reaching the 900s. She heard some voices back in the shelves, deep muttering before one hushed the other. She quirked a brow and chuckled to herself as she perused row after row in search of the appropriate place for her next book. The voices picked back up again, and she could’ve sworn she heard non-English words. One of said voices was certainly more irritated than the other.

As she continued through the shelves, she couldn’t help but notice she seemed to be getting closer to the voices the closer she drew to Greek history and mythology. The wheels on the cart squeaked a bit more loudly than she cared for them to, and the voices silenced again…briefly. She was starting to be able to make out more words.

“…-ill not done, fratellino?”

A heavy sigh, something muttered. “Nobody told you to come with me, stronzo! If anything I told you not to!”

“And stay and do what? Listen to Sister Imperator and Nihil do all the things I want- ouch!”

“Stai zitto, cazzo! This is a library!”

A huffed whimper almost made her laugh. These two were quite animated for being in a library on a rainy Tuesday. The next book she picked up she realized was out of order and several aisles down. After perusing what remained on her cart, she realized it was an outlier amongst the collection and so opted to just go replace it and return to her cart. Her heels clicked steadily on the hardwood floor, catching a glimpse of one of the men nearby as his black jeans and the back of a salt and pepper head rounded another set of shelves and disappeared. As she was scanning the books for the home of the one in her hand, one of the voices sounded much closer and said something in what she guessed was Italian, breathed in awe.

“Bella donna, uscita da un sogno…” Her head turned on reflex to locate the owner of the voice, and found an older gentleman at the end of the shelves with hair as inky-black as her own. A white-gloved hand was pressed to his chest, and she wasn’t sure what was more startling: the skeletal paints that adorned his face or the stark white eye. “Bibliotecaria cattiva…where have you been all my life?”

Her brow arched, catching a word that she assumed meant librarian, if it’s Spanish counterpart was any indication. “I’m sorry? I’m the librarian, yes…is there something I can help you with?”

The next thing she noticed was that he strolled with the grace and confidence of a cat, eyes shamelessly following down the open neck of her blouse, the cinched waist of her pencil skirt and down to her exposed legs and heels. His gaze hooded as he approached and met her eyes once again.

“Ah, si, signora…I think there is, uh…much you could do to help me.”

Despite the flare of annoyance she felt, something about him still managed to make her blush lightly. It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had thought to hit on the librarian, but somehow it felt like the first time anyone had been so suave about it. Her arms crossed over her chest and she arched a well-shaped brow.

“Is there a specific book you’re looking for?”

His grin broadened, something inherently lascivious about it. Her eyes were drawn then to the inverted cross embroidered onto his black jacket. Perhaps a member of that Satanic church, then?

“Ah, si…you see, signora…there’s a book perhaps you’ve heard of that helps individuals, ah…come together, you see, in a number of-ah!”

Rosalyn jumped as a hand came from seemingly nowhere and hit the unfamiliar male’s shoulder, clearly breaking him out of his moment as another accented voice joined him. “Lasciala in pace, stronzo!” Attention seemed to shift to her. “I’m so sorry, signora bibliotecaria, my brother, here, is, eh…an idiot, who doesn’t know any better most of the time.”

Her gaze shifted to the other man who had joined them, shocked, once again, to find the combination of both another pair of heterochromatic eyes and skeletal paints in a slightly different pattern. But when their eyes met, she felt that feeling in her chest tighten and sink in, the air squeezed from her lungs momentarily as her cheeks flushed and his eyes widened. Perhaps Jessica wasn’t so wrong, after all…

~

AO3 Link

[honeydots]

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em. 

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be. 

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(ao3 link)

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He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream. 

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?” 

Maybe he was in a hospital. 

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning. 

But what did he know? 

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital.  As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made. 

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place. 

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure. 

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed. 

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet. 

And, he was already standing. 

It wasn’t hard to pull out. 

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.  

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last. 

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name? 

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone. 

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that. 

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital. 

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete. 

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials. 

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all. 

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in. 

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big. 

“Holy shit.” 

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.” 

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?” 

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?” 

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket. 

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?” 

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh…  Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. 

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?” 

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.” 

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.” 

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”  

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?” 

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however. 

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it? 

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.” 

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him. 

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones. 

He straightened himself up. “Okay.” 

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit. 

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious. 

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously. 

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like,  just a second, okay?” 

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road. 

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling.  He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him. 

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.” 

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like. 

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat. 

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.” 

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all. 

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took. 

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes. 

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”  

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed. 

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.” 

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before. 

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.” 

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished. 

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water. 

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,”  Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?” 

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless. 

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.” 

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.” 

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had. 

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?” 

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life. 

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart. 

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into. 

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?” 

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn. 

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.” 

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store. 

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get. 

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories. 

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival. 

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head. 

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too. 

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.” 

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought. 

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all. 

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line. 

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out. 

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave. 

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no. 

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad. 

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him. 

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better. 

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection. 

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank. 

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him. 

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed. 

 Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too. 

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant. 

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead. 

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular. 

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore. 

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance. 

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all. 

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of  “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.” 

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.” 

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other. 

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck. 

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.” 

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

 “And can we go in?” 

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.” 

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.” 

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.” 

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed. 

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one. 

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway. 

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep. 

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least. 

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure. 

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician? 

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though. 

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had. 

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging. 

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.” 

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands. 

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window. 

 The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.” 

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone. 

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression. 

“You didn’t say a word about notes 

on the phone, you know.” 

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.” 

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again. 

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.  

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.” 

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds. 

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital. 

Ohya held the key out to Goro. 

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?” 

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment. 

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said. 

“No sweat.” 

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure. 

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault. 

One more deep breath. 

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times. 

And it was nearly empty. 

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming. 

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it. 

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read. 

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471” 

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one. 

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind. 

This could’ve belonged to me. 

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself. 

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other. 

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next. 

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.” 

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning. 

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.  

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it. 

“To whom it may concern, 

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways. 

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one. 

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame. 

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep. 

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off. 

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key? 

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances. 

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards. 

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it. 

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in. 

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide. 

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat. 

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?” 

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.” 

Good. “I need to speak with her.” 

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often. 

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area. 

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?” 

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.” 

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all. 

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked. 

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?” 

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.” 

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would. 

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.” 

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?” 

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically. 

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.” 

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.” 

“Out.” 

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over. 

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said. 

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on. 

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway. 

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?” 

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.” 

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him. 

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank. 

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud. 

Ohya gawked. 

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.” 

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.” 

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?” 

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.” 

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.” 

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top. 

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up. 

“We’ll see.” 

[sailorvinus]

🌙 *sunmi stan voice* stan sunmi listen to ‘tail’ by sunmi listen to ‘tail’ by su-

get  to  know  the  mun  ! repost,  don’t  reblog.

———  BASICS.

( PEN ) NAME  : rae. but i might change that. 2 many raes. i see rae attached to a promo not by me and im over here thinkin..... did i do some wild shit in my sleep and make another blog...........

PRONOUNS  :  i dont care about those. u can call me ‘ the only and best bitch to ever do it ’ if u all feel like referring to me to someone else 4 sum reason. we can get this issue out the way if everyone leaves my name out of ur mouth how about that. no but seriously... i dont care. its whatever. we're dying!!

ZODIAC  SIGN  :  capricorn sun, leo moon, leo rising, scorpio venus. sexxxxxiiiiiiiiiii!

TAKEN  OR  SINGLE  :  gettin’ married 2 @notevenjupiter :)) we’ve been together for 10 years!! we were rp partners!! u might meet ya future spouse out here......

———  THREE  FACTS.

i was gonna go to wrestling school because nothing thrills me more than bodyslamming the shit outta someone or at least be able to get them held up in a figure four lock. was gonna front missile drop kick my way to the top! i did a lot of military / marine style fitness in high school. but due to Injuries™... womp womp. i am now returning to my job as a preschool teacher soon. i am hesitant because we are still in a deadly Pancake.

i can play over 10 musical instruments. was a drum captain, a woodwind section leader, part of a jazz ensemble, and a college orchestra. and im ok at digital production in a way that i can put together a simple drum loop before i get distracted by things. im hard of hearing, deaf in my left ear. so not 2 shabby 4 the deaf person!!! might make a metal band just because.

as someone who lived up surrounded by nature, was captain of the horticulture team, and worked as a nature photographer gathering photo of native plant life species in my area and real estate portfolio junk, i can identify over 50 plants, flowers, and trees off the top of my head. i can identify most types of wood, too. i also took plumbing, welding, automotive class, electrical work, so i can fix ur house and ur car....... i also took cosmetology and can do ya nails and hair, too. an overachiever in collected skills if u will..... also im a beauty pageant contestant and winner so i also have accolades just for being beautiful. wow.........!

———  EXPERIENCE.

ive been on this internet pretending to be pretty hos since 1999. aol, msn, livejournal, deadjournal, xanga, gaiaonline, vampirefreaks, forums, forums, forums!!!

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE.

i’ll adapt to anything and everything but i love writing villains above all else. not even villains u can like. the most evil people in tha story... those r my favorites. i dont do canon muses because i spent so long doing them in the 2000s. every single anime villain........ Me, babey. vis probably one of the nicest muses ive ever had and even then if he sees someone yelling at a child, he will meet them at them doorstep and beat the shit out of them with nothing but a brick, a fist, and a willingness to make sure theyre dead.

———  FLUFF  /  ANGST  /  SMUT.  

FLUFF  :  fluff but i’d like it to have a point!!

ANGST  :  vi’s crushed soul is angst........ if u say hey to him ure greeting someone in so much emotional pain he could just Die from it.... but he can’t because u know. immortal half-alien deity.... it be like that.

SMUT  :  vi can’t get laid to save his life... i luv smut but. lol.

PLOT  /  MEMES  : i’m allergic to plotting................... allergic!!! like plotting is fine for muses that’ll stick to the script but since vi is always 2 seconds away from setting himself on fire and summoning satan because he’s erratic as shit, it dont work for him. he changes like the wind. 

✨ TAGGED BY: @wwxnka a dash board gem........... ty!!!!! ✨ TAGGING: @agathokakology @vendettacanons @maximuses @fuckingvictus @dreamhued @oplitis @rcrdplyr @cansizlar @armsdealing @lovedefiant + hi..... tagged if u wanna Do This:)))

[shhh-no-ones-home]

green looks good on you  vinny mauro x reader

+++++++++

Request from @gardenjungle : "If you are taking requests, I would LOVE if you could do an imagine where the reader has a ton in common with Chris (likes hockey and Harry Potter, is a vegan, etc...) so they’re super close, and Vinny is super upset about it because he likes her sooo much and “Chris gets all the girls” ??? Vinny gets no love and you’re one of the only people who writes about him often. I’d also love if you could get a little sexy action in there"

Ngl this is like 1600+ words and i wrote it in like twenty minutes and loved every minute of it. i really hope you like it! i didnt end up adding anything ‘sexy’ but its pretty gratifying to say the least lol.

Song: gold by sleeping with sirens

tag list: @musicsexandpizza69 @svintsandghosts @alilpunkrock @cynic-spirit @theoneandonlykymberlee @ryansitkowskiswifey @joeybarber @thisplace-ishaunted

+++++++++

i rocked back into the couch, laughing at what chris had said. he was sat next to me, very comfortably, as we chatted amongst ourselves. we had been very close friends for a very long time and i was over the moon that he'd invited me to travel with them for this tour as the videographer. not only did i get to expand my portfolio but i also got to connect with my best friend and his band.

"okay but do you remember that one fall at the orchard when you tripped on that apple and ended up face first in the dirt?"

he laughed out and i sent him a shocked expression.

"i thought we agreed to never bring that up!"

i protested, the other guys around us sort of laughing along, them only half paying attention as they played a new video game. their focus was above our heads.

"but it was hilarious. i looked up for a split second and BAM! there you went."

he said loudly, being a little more expressive at the 'bam.' i shook my head at him.

"okay then, if we are ratting each other out about stupid shit weve done,what about that one time you got your hand stuck in the Christmas tree ties on your dads car?"

i said matter-of-factly. his eyes got wide.

"hey! that was an accident and you know it. we couldve taken my whole arm off!"

he said in his defense.

"i thought it was hilarious."

i said sternly back, smiling widely at him. he stuck his tongue out at me, a notion i gladly mirrored. then he grabbed me around the shoulders, pulling me to him. i screamed at the sudden motion, looking to vinny and rick who were sitting across from us for some guidance but they were to into the game.

"you two are too much."

ricky laughed out, looking at ryan for a second as he walked by. chris pulled me closer before licking a stripe up my face.

"ew!"

i said pulling away from him and wiping his saliva off of my face.

"asshole!"

i said, grabbing his face and blowing raspberries into his cheek. he laughed incredulously, pushing me away from him.

"youre nasty."

he said mimicking my notion and wiping his face. i punched his arm lightly before swinging my legs into his lap, him holding them there and looking down at me endearingly.

"so are you."

i said back, shaking my head at him, nose scrunched.

"you know you love me."

he said, bringing his face closer to mine.

"well yeah."

i said back, squinting at him.

"i think im done for tonight."

vinny said suddenly, pausing the game. ricky sent him a look like 'wtf?' and watched him stand.

"im gonna go get some air."

he said and we all watched him walk off the bus.

"that was weird right?"

i asked and they all nodded. i had a good few chances to talk to vinny since tour had started and he seemed like a really cool guy. someone id be lucky to call a close friend by the time tour was over if not something more. part of me felt bad, like chris and i really where too much for him to handle in that moment. but this was how we always were. we practically survived our teens years together, losing touch for a bit but inevitably going back to the way things where when we found each other back.

"you guys mind if i go out there too?"

i asked and they all sort of shrugged at me, chris letting my legs go so i could stand. as i did i leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

"dont miss me while im gone."

i joked and he rolled his eyes at me.

"of course not."

i laughed a little bit as i descended down the stairs, pushing the door open and seeing vinny leaning against the bus.

"you okay?"

i asked softly, walking to him and rubbing my hands together. i had sort of forgotten how cold it had got. it was late fall after all but the bus was so warm and inviting i didnt even think about grabbing a jacket before leaving. i half shivered as i walked closer, his face being illuminated by the street lights outside the venue.

"uh yeah, everything's great."

he said a little condescendingly, kicking his foot into the gravel under him.

"im sorry if we were too much, i guess when we get together we have a tendency to overshare and its not for everyone. but i suppose thats what you get when youre comfortable with someone the way we are."

i tried to defend to him and he let out a short sigh-laugh.

"its no big deal, you guys really like each other. its cool."

i smiled.

"yeah, hes my best friend."

vinny nodded once.

"how long have you guys been together? i dont recall him ever talking about you before."

i drew my brows.

"together?"

i asked and he seemed just as confused as i was.

"look i get it, chris gets all the girls, being the front man and all."

he seemed a little jealous.

"but i dont think he ever mentioned you before tour started and then one day he told us about some girl coming on to film us. but clearly you guys are close so do you have like a, i dont know, like a open relationship type thing?"

i laughed a little bit.

"you think chris and i are dating?"

he half shrugged.

"well yeah, its kinda obvious."

i shook my head and took his hand in mine.

"vinny i can assure you that chris and i are just friends. if anything hes like the brother i never asked for nor wanted but got anyways. but life just does that sometimes."

he looked down at our connected hands and let go of me promptly.

"i guess it just doesnt seem like that."

he said a little hurt. i sighed and leaned against the bus next to him.

"it would be kind of weird to bring it up to him but i like someone else in this band, if you wanted to know."

i said, looking at him a little hopeful he was picking up what i was putting down.

"oh."

he said sadly. i sighed, i guess not.

"yeah, hes super cool, and nice, and ive really enjoyed connecting with him."

i shivered as the wind blew and he finally looked over at me.

"are you cold?"

he asked, ignoring what i had just said. i nodded a little bit, crossing my arms over my chest.

"just a little bit but i ll be fine."

he shook his head at me.

"no way, here."

he said taking his jacket off. at least he had long sleeves on. he placed his jacket over my shoulders, pulling it together in the front.

"thanks vin."

i said as we both returned to our positions against the bus.

"would your new dream guy do that?"

he half joked, i could still hear the venom in his voice. he was absolutely jealous. i thought it was funny because now he was jealous of himself.

"actually yeah."

he scoffed, hiking his foot up on the side of the bus.

"great."

he said looking away from me. i stepped closer and nudged him.

"he would because he just did."

he looked at me and drew his brows together.

"wait you mean?"

he asked, his face turning to that of shock. i nodded.

"god, yes. vin ive had a crush on you since i got here."

i laughed out.

"i didnt think you would like me back and then i realized just now that that was utter bullshit."

he half smiled.

"and whys that?"

he asked a little cocky.

"you were jealous of chris and that has only happened to me a handful of times in my life. once in highschool when my boyfriend said he would break up with me if i didnt stop hanging out with him. once when i graduated college and my then boyfriend accused me of sleeping with him. and right now."

he looked down a little ashamed.

"yeah i guess that wasnt fair of me to do. i just figured since you guys hit it off so fast that you were into him."

i laughed a little bit.

"dont get me wrong i love him with my whole being, but seeing someone go through puberty just does something to your vision of them ya know?"

i asked and he laughed back, nodding.

"okay, well if you really are into me, would it be stepping to far to ask you out?"

he said hopefully and i grinned widely at him.

"i would love that vin."

he sent me a tired smile in the dim street lights.

"may i also be so bold as to ask if i could kiss you?"

i let out a nervous laugh. i was really gonna let that happen huh? i nodded.

"id like that a lot vin."

he stepped closer to me slowly, placing his hand gently against my cheek, running his thumb over it. his hands were rough and calloused from playing the drums so long but i didnt mind. it kind of felt nice. he looked deep into my eyes before leaning down and capturing my lips in his. all of a sudden it felt like home, like this was it, the thing id wanted for so long and never found. his other hand made its way to my waist as he deepend the kiss. i sighed into him, practically melting against his mouth like chocolate left outside in the sun on a hot day. when he pulled away he rested his forehead against mine and smiled like an idiot, one i gladly returned.

"fucking finally."

i heard from behind me, the bus door clicking closed. both of us turned to look, seeing ricky and chris standing there grinning from ear to ear. i had a mad blush splayed across my face now and was thankful that the light was behind me so it would be harder to see.

"how long have you been standing there?"

i demanded, walking to chris and punching his arm. he laughed in pain as he rubbed his arm.

"long enough to see the sparks fly."

he teased, pushing me back. i rolled my eyes at him.

"get your ass back in the bus."

i said opening the door and escorting him back inside. he made kissy noises at me as rick followed him up the stairs. i shook my head and turned around, jumping a little bit at vinnys presence behind me.

"rick had kind of been waiting for that for a while."

he said, looking up at the now closed door. i raised a a brow.

"oh?"

i asked and he sent me a bashful smile, scratching the back of his neck lightly.

"ive been crushing over you for a while too. and being jealous of chris just as long, rick's been pushing me to say something. i guess it just took one last little push."

he shamefully laughed out.

"at least now we're on the same page."

i said before standing on my tip toes and bringing him down to kiss me again, both of his hands going to my waist.

"now come on, im still cold and the bus is much warmer."

i joked and he nodded along.

"agreed."

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Radio Friendly Unit Shifter: The Complete Nirvana Videography

Heart-Shaped Box

Nirvana had originally wanted Kevin Kerslake to direct this video, who had written the initial treatment in July 1992. By the summer of 1993, he had written at least five treatments, which included a shot of Kurt Cobain kissing William Burroughs and another of the entire band hanging by their necks from trees. Yet by the end of August, the band decided to go with Dutch photographer Anton Corbijn. The director seemed initially apprehensive about agreeing to do the video as he had heard Kurt Cobain could act overly detailed in production. He would say, “But then I looked at it and I thought that actually it was pretty good. I was very amazed by somebody writing a song and having those ideas as precise as he did." The video begins with the band standing in a hospital room around an old man receiving an IV drip, then moves to a surreal Wizard of Oz type of outdoor setting. The same old man in a Santa and later Pope hat climbs on a crow infested cross as they sing the song. The video also includes a young girl reaching for fetuses in a tree, while at the same time an overweight woman appears with human organs painted on her chest with a pair of wings. Many of these ideas were actually conceived by Corbijn, not the band as he always came up with the ideas on his own for any of his videos. Upon the promotion’s release, Kevin Kerslake sued the band for copyright infringement, as the case would be settled out of court. Upon its release, the clip became the most played video on MTV eventually garnering two video music awards for Best Alternative Video and Art Direction. Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic, and Pat Smear accepted the awards as Kurt Cobain had already passed. New Musical Express named it as the 11th best music video of all time, while Time magazine called it the number 10 music video ever saying it was both “beautiful and terrible.” In 2016, Dave Grohl reunited with the young girl from the video, who had this to say about the reunion. “Today reminded me that I peaked at 6 years old but I was the most badass kid on the playground. Today was the absolute coolest. Or in Dave's words seeing each other today was a 'historic moment'! What a legend!”

Sliver

A music video for the song was released in 1993 to promote the compilation album, Incesticide. The video would be directed by longtime collaborator Kevin Kerslake. The clip begins with Kurt Cobain holding his young daughter up behind some cardboard as she dances along to the first few seconds of the track. The video moves to Cobain’s garage, where it shows the band performing the song. Dave Grohl is playing on the drums, even though he never played on the original song. Cobain only sings into a microphone, but he's never seen playing guitar. He is wearing a red mohair sweater that Courtney Love had purchased for him from a fan at a Nirvana show in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His whole garage is filled with toys and decorations the singer had placed in storage just before the release of Nevermind that he had collected over the years. The collection included a Chim Chim toy monkey that was given to him from the Japanese band Shonen Knife.

Come As You Are

This video would actually be the first one directed by Kevin Kerslake, who was hired after such a negative experience with the director on Smells Like Teen Spirit. The concept would be developed by Kerslake as Cobain could not come up with any ideas, so he let the director develop the video. The singer’s only requirement was that some kind of reference be made to the cover of the Nevermind album. The clip shows the band in a dark room as water falls around them obscuring their form. Other images include Cobain swinging from a chandelier, a dog wandering around the room, a baby swimming in a pool, and a pistol falling underwater. The end of the video shows the entire group lying on the ground as Cobain kisses the camera.

Lithium

This video originally had a concept of doing a short animated story about a female girl named Prego. This girl lives in a forest, when she finds some eggs and takes them to a king in a nearby castle. Unfortunately, both Kevin Kerslake and Cobain discovered that it would take four months to produce the video, so they abandoned the idea. Kerslake instead created a collage of concert footage for the video made up of their 1991 Paramount Theater concert and other footage from the 1992 film, The Year Punk Broke. Biographer Michael Azerrad would make this critical comment about the clip. "Although [the video] was enlivened by Kerslake's neat trick of using more violent footage during the quiet parts of the song and vice versa, it was something of a disappointment from a band and a song that promised so much."

You Know You’re Right

Chris Hafner directed this video released in October 2002 to coincide with the single of the same name. The clip shows a montage of The band in either concerts or interviews, but giving the impression that they are actually performing the song. The video would reach number two on Billboard’s music videos chart. New Musical Express would go on to nominate it for Best Music Video in 2002.

In Bloom

Two versions of this video exist. The first one showed clips of the band walking around New York City and performing at Maxwells in New Jersey. In the clip, one can see Krist Novoselic in some shots has hair and others a shaved head. The reason for that comes from the fact that he had to shave it as punishment for a mediocre performance during a show at the Pyramid Club. They made this alternate version for a compilation dvd on the Sub Pop label, Sub Pop Video Network Volume One. The second version, which most people remember is called the Nevermind version. This promotional clip would be directed once again by Kevin Kerslake and released in November 1992. Kurt Cobain’s original concept for it was to tell the story of a young girl born into a Ku Klux Klan family until she realizes the evil nature of her parents, but the concept seemed much too difficult to work out. He then switched it into a parody of 1960’s television shows like the Ed Sullivan Show. The entire video was shot in original cameras of the period in Kinescope, while the band did the entire song without a script. The actor playing the host was Doug Llewellyn, who had worked as the reporter interviewing people after their case on the People’s Court. Cobain wanted to make a funny parody video to show that there was another side to Nirvana. He felt “so tired for the last year of people taking us so seriously . . . I wanted to fuck off and show them that we have a humorous side to us.” The entire band would wear suits during their performance, while the Nirvana frontman had glasses that eventually made him quite dizzy. He would later say in a Melody Maker interview that they wanted to parody groups like the Dave Clark Five, but not the Beatles. He would never mock the Fab Four due to their influence on his songwriting. In the clip, Novoselic is wearing short hair, which he liked so much that he never changed it. They eventually destroy all of their instruments and the stage by the end of the song. In Bloom would go on to win the 1993 MTV Music Video Award for Best Alternative Video.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

This video would be directed by first timer Sam Bayer. The director believed that he actually got hired because the work on his résumé seemed so below average that Nirvana thought that it would represent the opposite of anything remotely corporate. The concept developed by the band was to stage a school concert that ended in a riot. The idea had been based on the films Rock ‘n’ Roll High School starring the Ramones and The 1979 film, Over the Edge. The clip begins with the band playing the song during a pep rally in a high school gym as cheerleaders wearing sweaters with the anarchy symbol on them cheer along. Every so often, the camera cuts to a janitor dancing alongside his broom. The video ends with the apathetic students going from the bleachers to the gym floor in a full-scale riot. The apathy from the students was actually real as they had been sitting on the bleachers all day. Cobain was finally able to convince Bayer that the students should be allowed to mosh at the end of the video. The singer said, “Once the kids came out dancing they just said 'fuck you', because they were so tired of his shit throughout the day.” The Nirvana frontman hated the directors final edit of the video so much that he went in himself creating what became the final version. Upon its release, Rolling Stone’s David Fricke would say that it was “the greatest gig that you could ever imagine.” The video would go on the win MTV Video Music Awards for Best New Artist and Best Alternative Video. In 1999, the video was named the number three music video of all time on a list put out by MTV. VH1 named it number 18 in the greatest television moments in the history of music as alternative music now became a “commercial and cultural force.” At the end of 2019, the video had been viewed 1 billion times on YouTube.

[lilahdesignforperformance]

DESIGN MATRIX

CHARACTERS:

Physical characters:

Alannah Devlin

Fianna Devlin

Da - Peter

British solider

Mentioned characters not necessarily seen:

Mammy

Father Kearney

Maggie

CHARACTER CHANGES:

Alannah Devlin ( Early thirties)

Fianna Devlin ( Late twenties )

Peter “DA” Devlin ( Mid-fifties)

British soldier ( Mid-twenties )

Crocodile - Da

ALANNAH -

Clean (OCD tendencies), innocent (unsure, on edge), quite, polite.

Smokes secretly

Shuts down gets panicked from the fire alarm

Becomes fed up with Fianna

Over thinks which can be seen by her story about the lyrics from Africa by Toto

Becomes more and more agitated and uneasy

Alannah becomes transfixed by chaos

Loosens up which is seen as she takes swig from the bottle Fianna was drinking

Eats the chips off of the ground

Starts to drink more and smoke without trying to hide it

Stabs DA (character shift) - this is the turning point for Alannah and how she breaks out of the innocent, quite and polite shell she was living in

Becomes wildly drunk

Changes completely from who she was at the start as she now wishes pain on DA when before she was too afraid

FIANNA -

Aggressive behaviour from the beginning

Forward and confronting “i’m not gonna hurt ya, i’m just gonna bash your face in”

Expressive of her emotions 

Fianna switches from chaotic character to being the character with their head screwed on when Alannah becomes erratic 

DA -

Paralysed

Gunshot wounded

Bleeding out fast

Bossy

Rude

Controlling

Becomes legless after Alannah saws his legs off

Non responsive

Manipulative

COSTUMES:

ALANNAH -

Hair in Scrawny little bun

Puts a pair of marigolds on

Becomes covered in Da’s blood

FIANNA -

Wreath around neck

Dirty boots

Tattoos

Leather

Big hair

Denim

Gun

Cigarettes

Becomes covered in Da’s blood

LAYOUT OF SET:

Isolated farmhouse - refurbished in 70’s-80’s

Cream laminate cabinets, wooden table matching chairs, pale tiles, modest stove

Stage left door to outside world, with a small telephone table and mirror hanging above

Downstage right staircase and hallway covered by curtain

Upstairs over the sink, large window that stares out to darkness

Uncomfortably clean

Muggy

Shiny worktop

New wallpaper

Pristine

Toilet down the hall

Everything within the cupboards is colour coded

No bin inside

Chair that Da is sat on

Candles scattered across the room

PROPS AND USES:

Rock thrown through window

Stove - Alannah cleans it precisely and intensely

Eight packets of crisps which are referred to as sad crisps

Incense is lit becomes extinguished by Fianna

Rock smashes window (page 40)

Alannah slices bread - burns it

Gun in Fiannas pocket

Cigarettes DA rolls

Bottle of rum in wine glass

Alannah tops up drink, slices apple

Telephone - Alannah picks up, pauses, puts it down

Pipe on the table

Fianna has a chainsaw

Alannah drinks rum from the bottle

Alannah puts pot on stove

Fianna plays banjo

Fridge freezer stores a CD

Knife used to stab Da

Coin (heads + tails)

Glass of cold water (To revive DA)

SLK riffle at Alannah's head

Petrol bomb

LIGHTING:

Night (dark) - act 1

Occasional search light outside - Act 1

Weather begins to get worse, begins to get even darker

Cloudy weather outside

Light flickers - Page 76

Light flickers - Page 80

Light flickers - Page 88

Black out

Candle light

Candles go out

Flash of light - Page 114

Black out - End

MEDIA REFERENCES:

Thunder crackling (Act one)

Helicopter sounds over head 

Frog croak

“Some say the Devil is Dead” The Wolfe Tones

Window smash

The Shining

The Poltergeist

Fire alarm

Frog croaks again pg 51

Flush of toilet

Knocking from upstairs pg 57

Africa by ToTo plays pg 60

Both Fianna and Alannah sing

Music volume increases (come on feel the noize by quiet room plays)

Roof hammers

A gunshot pg 72

Water splashes onto floor

Telephone rings

Frog croak pg 75

Thundercloud breaks“Africa” TOTO

Turns of music

“You’ll never get away from me” by Tony Bennett plays

Turns music off

Storm raging on

Demented noise, from “Alligator wine” by screaming Jay Hawkins

Carrie

“O-O-H child” The Five Stair steps

Noises upstairs, noise upstairs stops

Pan smashes to the floor

Soldiers radio, speech and the static

Thud from upstairs, house shakes

Crackling on radioHouse shudders

Blood dripping

Predatorily breathing

Female screen from cassette player, scream melts away

Helicopter sounds overhead

Frog croaks

Chainsaw

EXTERNAL REFERENCES:

Set rural Camlough, south armagh northern Ireland 1989

Tayto Cheese and Onion crips

Superking Menthol Cigarettes

Ireland

Bible verses

Paras

G&T

The Clangers

Jay Hawkins

Armagh Jail

Newry canal

Chinless wonders

Armagh

Rachel O’Briain

Rachel Devlin

A Nightmare On Elm Street

Quiet Riot

Bible verses

Asmat tribe

Leviathan crocodiles

One Eyed Willie

Billy Connolly

IRA

Colossians: chapter three, verses twenty-two

Hitler

Bible verses/prayers

Children of the Corn

Brits

South Armagh, North Ireland

Corinthians: Chapter Eleven, Verse Eight

Empress Jaro

Psalms

MUSICAL REFERENCES:

The first song mentioned it Africa by TOTO. "Africa" is a song recorded by the American rock band Toto in 1981, for their fourth studio album Toto IV, and released as the album's third single on September 30, 1982, through Columbia Records. The song was written by band members David Paich and Jeff Porcaro. 

Lyrics:

I hear the drums echoing tonight But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation She's coming in, 12:30 flight Her moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation I stopped an old man along the way Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies He turned to me as if to say "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you" [Chorus: Bobby Kimball] It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had [Verse 2: David Paich] The wild dogs cry out in the night As they grow restless longing for some solitary company I know that I must do what's right As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti I seek to cure what's deep inside Frightened of this thing that I've become [Chorus: Bobby Kimball] It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had [Bridge] Hurry boy, she's waiting there for you [Chorus: Bobby Kimball] It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do I bless the rains down in Africa I bless the rains down in Africa I bless the rains down in Africa I bless the rains down in Africa I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

The second song to be mentioned in the play is Cum on feel the noize by Quiet Riot. Quiet Riot is an American heavy metal band founded in 1973  by guitarist Randy Rhoads and bassist Kelly Garni. The band is ranked at No. 100 on VH1's 100 Greatest Artists of Hard Rock

Lyrics:

[Chorus] Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Wild, wild, wild [Verse 1] So you think I got an evil mind I tell you, honey I don't know why I don't know why So you think my singing's out of time It makes me money I don't know why I don't know why Anymore, oh no [Chorus] So come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Wild, wild, wild Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Baby! [Verse 2] So you say I got a funny face I got no worries And I don't know why I don't know why Oh I gotta sing, it's some disgrace I'm in no hurry And I don't know why I don't know why Anymore, no, no, no [Chorus] Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Wild, wild, wild Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild, baby Come on! [Guitar solo] [Verse 3] Well, you think we have a lazy time You should know better I don't know why I don't know why So you say I got a dirty mind I'm a mean go-getter I don't know why I don't know why Anymore, oh no Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Wild, wild, wild Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Oh, wild Come on! (Come on!) Feel it! Come on! (Girls, rock your boys) Work it! We'll get wild, wild, wild (We're gonna get wild) Wild, wild, wild (We're gonna get wild tonight) Come on, feel the noise (Rock it tonight) Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild (Oh, yeah) Ah, ah-ah ah-ah (Whoo!) Ah, ah, ah Come on, feel the noise Girls, rock your boys We'll get wild, wild, wild Ah, ah-ah ah-ah Ah, ah, ah

The third and final song reference made in the play is You’ll never get away from me by Tony Bennett. Anthony Dominick Benedetto (born August 3, 1926), known professionally as Tony Bennett, is an American singer of traditional pop standards, big band, show tunes, and jazz. He is also a painter, having created works under his birth name that are on permanent public display in several institutions. He is the founder of the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts in Astoria, Queens, New York.

Lyrics:

You'll never get away from me You can climb the tallest tree, I'll be there somehow True, you could say, "Hey, here's your hat" But a little thing like that couldn't stop me now I couldn't get away from you Even if you told me to, so go on and try Just try and you're gonna see How you're gonna not at all get away from me Rose, I love you, but don't count your chickens Come dance with me I warn you, that I'm no Boy Scout Relax awhile, come dance with me So don't think that I'm easy pickin', the music's so nice Rose, 'cause I just may some day pick up and pack out Oh, no you won't, no, not a chance No arguments, shut up and dance You'll never get away from me You can climb the tallest tree, I'll be there somehow True, you could say, "Hey, here's your hat" But a little thing like that couldn't stop me now I couldn't get away from you Even if I wanted to well, go on and try, just try Ah, Rose and you're gonna see Ah, Rose how you're gonna not at all Get away from me

SPACE CHANGE REFERENCES:

Uncomfortable clean space “shinny, perfect”

Window in kitchen becomes broken from a Fianna throwing a rock through

Floor tiles become muddy from Fianna’s boots

Fire alarm ripped from the ceiling

Becomes smoky from cigarette

Pipe on table- Page 73

Smell of burnt bread

Table moves and becomes dirty as Fianna stands on it

Alannah opens all the cupboards

Crisps opened and crushed all over the floor

Hallway door opens as Da comes in

Blood begins pooling out onto the floor

Pot brewing on the stove

Da slumped in a chair in the corner, legless

Blood spilling out onto the floor

Stew all over the floor and pan is knocked over

Smokes comes out from the curtain

Leviathan crocodile in room

Smoke billows from behind the crocodile

Cupboard door is ripped off to barricade window

PHRASES/SLANG/TERMS:

Craic

Sacred heart

Mother Superior

Wreath off a hearse

Crown during The Famine

Dirty we tout

Firebug

Ye

Hold on a tick and a half

Okey dokey

Daft eejit

Crocodile tears

ALANNAH -

Polite “please, Thank you”

“Flipping sake”

“Oh whoop-dee-flippin-do”

FIANNA -

“Some say the devil is dead

“Thanks be to god”

“Pot fucking kettle, gin eyes” pg 43

“Taking the mick” pg 45

“Ireland, through us summon her children to her flag and strike for freedom”

“See you later alligator, fuck off crocodile”

“So you think i’ve got an evil mind (quiet riot)

“Ye daft cunt”

THEMES/GENRES:

References to mental illness such as OCD

Black comedy

Stockholm syndrome

Sister relationship

Reference to domestic abuse and pedophelia

Sexism

REFERENCE IMAGERY:

70′s Kitchen:

70′s Wallpaper:

Farmhouse:

Crocodile:

Lighting:

[sikereviewdotcom]

strawberry shortcake s2 ep1 - horse of a different color

this one was suggested by someone who couldnt keep their mouth shut and not sing the strawberry shortcake intro theme in the middle of our economy class

no one wanted to hear that, but they  went ahead and then i actually followed up on that train of thoughts i remembered about the fucking cartoons and i knew it pronto: its a must-see shit its like slightly above the level of magical school bus series, but the final rating is for the fin not the beginning so lets begin this horseshit:

were reviewing “horse of a different color”, it focuses indeed on strawberrys horse, honey pie pony (its her entire damn name, how sweet right? like all of them, i got diabete from this review but its the cost of maintaining this blog anyway, the kids are playing together on a that tree having fun jumping around like chimpanzees hooba hooba but sadly our filly quickly realizes she cant play king kong with them and keep falling on her ass,

yet since theyre all retarded or young (id say its a fifty-fifty case for them kinda normal ig, i mean they ARE literal 6yo) they try several ways of getting her up on that tree, not thinking how to get her down if they ever were to succeed (good for them: aint happening) its child labor too btw, from an horse still same deal what if honey pie fell down on them? crushing them corpses with her mighty pounds? the findus company would be delighted to hear such news, im sure its some quality (sweet ass) horse meat

once it all fails she understands a horse isnt meant to climb a tree, too big too fat its four legged, not even entertaining the relationship giraffes have with trees

but it aint over, then (after a talk with herself) hp hears the laughters of a bunch of kids which catches her attention, it always does who can ignore that sorta noise? although she aint annoyed by it shes just into the idea of riding a bike now, shes even gonna get a go at it oh yea thats it we finally found her human hobby gogdamn shes a backward furry

of course it fails aswell since she has no hand for the handle and shes heavy so i guess its the reason why she rides into w/e and cant stop? because otherwise she couldve also just.. actually it makes no sense does it? i mean she couldve easily stopped the ride actually how is that kid bike even holding her? ive never tried putting a pony on a bike for 6 y/o but i doubt about its capacity in not being crushed aswell as i doubt in the kids bones not being severely damaged after a visit under honey pies horsy buttcheeks

but all of that really makes her sad: she cant play with her human friends and shes the only horse around strawberry land or whatever see me tearing it for her, theres so much emotions in this episode especially after that filly trynna get kids to get into some horseplay horseshit like dude theyre only 6, lets go easy on them, might have a problem with the parents of the kids watching this episode no one even thought how fucked up this one part is? sure horseplay isnt only sexual or w/e but it still is the visual of 6yos on all four jumping around and neighing together with their ass a little bit too exposed wow im going on a dangerous road here? aint i? not gonna sue the writers im sure it was their subconscious speaking probably got issues from their childhood, eventually got them sorted out since 2004 what do i know? aside from me not caring

back on track : after seeing horsey being so sad the kiddos decide to get her a horse friend but where the fuck? they got no idea, they are proud nonetheless and go tell honey the good new until they are like “wait but we have no idea where to find horses!” ofc we get a big reveal, some serious strawberry shortcake lore: actually all the horses, ALL OF THEM FROM THE ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET are on one (1) single island: ice cream themed to diversify it all they are just chilling over there in ponyland and for some reason this one here got lost or idk guys she took the boat and checked the rest of the world out as an even younger filly, found strawberry and her friends and decided now she was a centaur  slash humanrry furry human, idk you get it but shes their friend and so on to introduce the concept of an AWESOME island full of equestrian activity and ofc ice cream but its kinda lame because who cares? everythings already made out of food, also why isnt the ice cream melting? its one water? nevermind for the introduction as i was saying, hp sings an horrendous sounding song it deteriorated my ear drums they got pierced or something  or maybe im exagerrating? either case horses cant sing:

so to the ice cream land they go, huh

of course it wouldnt be a big adventure without an almost broken bridge oh no whatever shall we do? could we possibly cross it safely? lets try it out  guys: yay it worked good for us little stress and suspense it was wack how they got honey pie out of the hole her big ass hoove made im mesmerized by the power of friendship and sugar at this point, just in full awe for the rest of the episode probably over dosed on all the ice cream flavoured horseshit, i got some all over my mouth its dripping on my desk i gotta clean that later

next thing we know: horses its all this episode is about (aside from labor) but you see, so far hp would switch between normal human language and neighing well turns out her other fellow equines can only neigh and so they just neigh together while our english well-spoken mammal translates to the moronic kids who just smile smuggly

of course the animals are having a welcome party then, dancing around while the morons are just bored, harsh one being a cartoon character isnt it guys? w/e theyre gonna ask for honey pie to come back home now, convinced that her natural habit isnt her place and she loves them too much to just leave them and never come back and break any plans they ever had together- oh shit looks like shes leaving forever huh? what a plot twist mark that on the bitch quota for today

the first one to leave is the little boy btw, important thing to note: hes the biggest pussy he cant even face reality: oh no, no more pony back time before sleep thats quite a bummer, downer and man how are they going to survive now they got no animal to watch over them? jesus theyre soon, on the boat (idk where they got it from idk why suddenly theyre on a boat because then theyre once again gonna cross that bridge but ok) anyway yea theyre having a relationship crisis during that ship trip yada yada ah and the bridge, because (see i do not call them morons for now reasons obviously they deserve this title not only because theyre 6 but also because they are just daft:) they proceed, once in the middle of the bridge all 4 of them, to stop and wonder

“will the bridge be able to hold all of us? wont it break? damn i wonder if it will crack” and they talks without moving until vlam: a tree comes and breaks it (dont ask) so now theyre in trouble:

back to ponyland: bitch pie realizes how much she misses her actual friends and that she can speak english which her other horse friends cant do so she is special and probably abnormal, shes a big outcat of the pony society and has no other reason but to escape her incoming death sentence for fraternizing with the humans of course none of the second part is true, she just wants to see the kids again so she says asta la vista baby to the neigher team and runs away see, she hasnt taken the boat and yet also arrive to the bridge? why a boat sequence then? i will skip this for now but it WILL play in the rating, imagine im the parent of the youngster watching this crap and i have to endure it

if it sucks this bad and is this illogical i might just get bored and change the channel, idc my progeny aint gonna be watching this in either case, ill make them watch political debates then interrogate them on what they learned after what but it wasnt actual political debates just random furry youtuber venting with their fursona sprites animated and thats how you make your kids retarded, the kick of this joke is that i aint planning on getting any kids but totally gonna make them watch classics too such as the attack of the killer donuts as soon as they reach 6 so they wont be dumb and probably not getting diabete or w/e in their adulthood

then honey pie saves the kids btw all of them, heavy shit

and they all go back to strawberryland, happily after a big “wow i missed you sm, you are my real friends w/e if you dont look like me i aint speciest guys really!” theyre all vegan too btw so this works for them i havent watched enough strawberry shortcake episodes to know if they ever eat meat but i have doubts seeing how theyre into a very cannibalistic diet which include eating dessert when obviously thats what they are at least half part, this cartoon raises a lot of political questions it may have a deeper value than i first attributed to it

the end: another terrible song plays about horseshit and how tasty it is

thats all folks

so the rating: big 6/10, so you know 5/10 if its a decent kid show where im highly eager to click on the x and get back making jams but nah

surprisingly enough, i only wanted to stop watching half of the episode and not the entirity of it so credits for thats since im an adult and not a kid, imagining kids enjoyed this sweet childish cartooness or w/e now why +1? its because of how many political questions it raised, how it made me think about our society and cakes yknow its more than kids having a conflict with an horse it talks about veganism, specism, handicap, cannibalism, the management of the limited ressources were exploiting and so on yea really makes you think, its subliminal messages to make kids smarter: they watch their dessert-imbecile counterparts doing bs and then get it right irl: good  ah- it also makes it better for you when youre watching this with your kid, you suddenly transcend to another level of spirituality, existential crisis activated or at least reasoning mode or w/e youre willing to name this the point is you arent bored still despite all of this i rated it quite low for such a serious kid cartoon what couldve possibly made me tic? 1) kids are morons and cant understand all of this, not clear enough for the targeted public 2) projection onto the characters/dialogues from the writers of their childhood traumas (the horse play event didnt go unnoticed, karren brown) 3) my little pony ripoff 4) its controversial, our society, especially in 2004 couldnt understand the depth of this shit and finally 5) i got so much ice cream flavoured horseshit all over my desk god help me this is so filthy what a fucking mess i would totally recommand it to anyone who feels like being blown away by the statements made in this work of art 6/10 but really we all know in the future, itll be a 9/10, some ahead-of-its-time-crap

tg, out

[poeticsandaliens]

Miracle

Rating: M because Will curses like a truck driver.

Timeline: Post-MS IV (I know, I know. If you look closely, you can see my middle finger pointing directly at Chris Carter.)

Summary: Six times Dana Scully called Will a miracle and what that word really means. 

Tagging @today-in-fic. This fic has been my pet project for the last two weeks and was interrupted repeatedly by the porn I’ve been writing. If you squint it can be read as the same universe as my other post-finale fics, namely Morning Hour, but that’s not really relevant.

‘Miracle’ is a dirty word, dirtier than ‘fuck’ used to be and much less versatile. When you work miracles, you set a precedent. You promise you can save people the next time.

Reading his own files in a government database, long-dead typists call Jackson Van de Kamp a miracle or a monster, savior of the world or bringer of the apocalypse. It’s a tired Superman story, and he’s read every possible ending in his childhood comic books.

He’s not the government’s mail-order Jesus, here to die for their fucked-up sins.

He can prove it, too. He didn’t forgive his murderers; he popped off their heads. And he didn’t die to absolve anyone of blame; he died for the very thing God didn’t want anyone to get ahold of—Knowledge. The Truth with capital T. He died because he taunted some chain-smoking bastard on a bridge. He didn’t mean to get shot, and he didn’t mean to come back to life.

                                                        * * * * * * *

The first time Dana calls him a miracle, Will leaves. He’s used to the word—which makes it worse but easier to hide. Still, he packs up his duffel and promises he’ll be back. He pretends it has nothing to do with them, everything to do with the itch of the road. It’s not her fault miracles make him sick.

He leaves them the adirondack chair. It’s a derelict piece of shit he picked up from some guy’s garage sale, but it’s his piece of shit. He hammered it back together, painted it the color of the Wyoming sky, and planted it in their yard. He hopes they take it as a sign that he’s making them his home, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

He drives South and lets the humidity suck him in. He picks a bucket of figs outside Inman, South Carolina with an ancient African American woman who embroidered the entire solar system into her jean jacket. She is an elm tree of a woman, engraved with all the wrinkles of ninety-two years. Then, he buys a bag of boiled peanuts and three honey-sticks from the ramshackle fuel station next to a railroad overgrown with kudzu. The attendant calls it a miracle that a customer has come ‘round. Then he tells Will that honeysuckle is free.

Southerners, he has noticed, toss around ‘miracles’ like they’re cheaper than cigarettes. He likes it.

Will crawls back to Virginia after a couple weeks spent on the road, where he wasted monsoon nights smoking his head away in the Everglades and keeping an eye on the unborn kid. He’s not an idiot; he knows it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If something goes wrong, he’ll know before Mulder and Dana do. He even knew it was a girl before they did, but he’s good at keeping his mouth shut.

He’ll be around for his sister, and they all know it. He’s attached to the kid, even if he tries to hide it. The baby is something untainted by his death count, his back-from-death count, his bloody miracles.

                                                       * * * * * * *

The second time Dana calls him a miracle, he lets it slide. Slip of the tongue, mumbled in between bites of croissant. He’s laughing for the first time in God knows how long, laughing his way through autumn.

Dana sits cross-legged in the grass, sipping tea. She sits in the grass a lot, he notices. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an ex-city-dweller, the way grass relaxes her and she shushes him to hear the cicadas. Will was always a trail-and-cliff kind of boy, raised in the shadow of Wyoming Rockies, but he can appreciate the rickety solitude of this home.

He pads barefoot through the dying lawn and sits down next to her. He’s been home for a week now, longer than last time. Tomorrow, he will shove two hoodies into a backpack and drive to the Appalachians. He will leave behind a companion to his adirondack and a bucket of pine-green paint. This time when he says ‘itch of the road,’ he means it. But for now, he holds up a paper bag from the bakery. “I brought croissants.”

Dana’s eyebrows shoot up; her face splits into a grin. “Thank you Will,” she says as he passes her the bag. The scent of melted chocolate wafts from its wrapping. She bites into the croissant with a contented sigh as he reaches into the bag for his own, butter and chocolate sticking to his fingers.

“You’re a miracle,” she says through a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Time stops.

Will doesn’t register it until he has swallowed. When he looks at her, she’s bright red, her eyes wide and all of a sudden younger than her face. He smiles as reassuringly as he can and lies back on the lawn. She didn’t mean it like that, and even if she did. It’s not her fault.

                                                         * * * * * * *

The third time doesn’t really count. Spring goes out with drums of thunder, and June bleeds into their lives. One morning, Dana cups a naked, watermelon-pink creature in the palm of her hand and stalks urgently across the patio.

“It’s a baby robin,” she informs him. It lies panting on a paper towel. Before he can protest, she slides it into his hands.

He must have startled at the sight of it, the intersection of hideous and adorable, because Dana apologizes for the lack of warning. Turns out it dropped from its nest, and she’s too short to reach the branch. He is pleasantly surprised by this side of her, the tender side that rescues birds and folds bandannas around her neck on sunny days.

Dana leads him to the birds’ nest, sitting seven feet up a tree and already brimming with hatchlings. An alarmed screech from a nearby tree alerts him to the mother robin. He cradles the baby bird in his hand, admiring it for a moment. But just before he lifts it to the nest, he hears—

thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, the newborn’s rapid heart rate strumming his eardrums. This again.

“Are you okay?” Dana watches him, her brows furrowed.

“Uh-huh,” he assures her. “Just got the bird’s heartbeat stuck in my head for a second.” He smacks his ear as if he’s caught water in it, and the sound fades.

“You can do that?” Amazement sparkles in her eyes. Also, he discerns, maternal pride.

“Yup.” He tries for nonchalant, ends up sheepish, scratching the back of his head and avoiding her eyes. Should he tell her? He studies her—tiny and wound up like a sharp violin, bearing an impressive collection of pantsuits and an even more impressive collection of scars. All taut muscle except where a small-for-now baby bump blossoms beneath her t-shirt.

“You know, I can hear the kid’s heartbeat too,” he says, gesturing to her stomach. He tries to ignore her quick intake of breath.

        She stands up straighter, gaging how much he wants to tell her. “What does it sound like?”

        “Like a metronome.” His short-term memory lobs Miami at him. He’s unsure why he tells her any of this, but he does. “When I was in Florida,” he muses, “I bought this shitty electric keyboard. The kind they have elementary school music classrooms, that takes like ten double A batteries and plays a bunch of out of tune instruments. I wanted a guitar but I didn’t know how to play one; plus, I thought it would be cute for the baby. Make a good first impression, y’know?”

        He doesn’t give Dana a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was camping out in the everglades. Just… stretching out and sleeping in the trunk of the car. At night if it wasn’t raining, I would open the sun roof and look at the sky. And I tried to check up on you guys, in here.” He taps his forehead. “Came up with the heartbeat instead. Sometimes I tried to play the keyboard in time to it. I could play some tunes from Pirates of the Caribbean but not much else.”

        A smile graces her lips. “You said you used to love those movies.”

“I did. That’s what the Everglades reminded me of,” he adds. Pirates, tropical marshes, the monsters that lurk in the deep. He remembers sitting on the roof, going through three different flavors of vape, scared to dangle his feet over the car because a gator had taken up residence beside it. He remembers watching the gator breathe, watching its slick, scaly back dry out in the heat, and its jaw hang wide open. He remembers finally climbing down the car and reaching out to touch it. His rational side was terrified it would snap, but he realized, somehow, that it wouldn’t. Not at him, at any rate. Maybe his alien blood is reptilian. Who knows. He’ll never forget what an alligator’s back feels like.

“What happened to the keyboard?”

“It broke. I tossed it before I came home.” He reaches into the bird’s nest and drops the little creature in. It mewls hungrily.

“Miracle of life from non-life,” says Dana. She gingerly touches his shoulder. He listens for the rhythmic creature unfolding in her womb. Life from non-life, skin from stones, cells from silence.

                                                           * * * * * * *

The fourth time Dana calls him a miracle, it is not Dana at all. Dana is inside, flipping three grilled cheese sandwiches while Mulder hoes a disheveled garden. A heat wave barreled violently into Virginia last week, and Dana won’t show her face outside at midday, especially since the baby made its presence clear.

Will pulls into the driveway with three bags of fertilizer and a greenhouse worth of seeds. He tucks his ice coffee in his elbow and unloads the dirt from his trunk. Already decorated in roots and silver dandelions, Mulder empties them messily into the turned dirt.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says with a grin. A month ago, he might have rejected the nickname, but he’s trying to befriend Mulder. Bridge the gaps he already has with Dana by virtue of telepathy. It’s hard to hide from a woman who can read your mind.

“No problem.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders over to the garden. “Anything I can do?”

“Can you blot out the sun?” Mulder chuckles, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Or, you know, work some human Miracle-Grow on these flowers?”

“Unfortunately,” Will says distractedly, “My talents don’t really extend to peaceable flower-growing. I don’t think that’s what the government had in mind when they cooked up my DNA.” He means it casually. He really does. The same way Mulder means ‘human Miracle-Grow,’ and he was going to let that one go.

Mulder stares at him with those regretful labrador eyes. Shit. One wrong step and he’s swimming in parental guilt. Dana knows why he took the first time. He wonders if she ever told Mulder, or if she let him believe it was wanderlust. Genetic, of course.

“It’s okay,” he assures Mulder. Will doesn’t want his parents’ teary remorse, but he accepts it. They’ve seen Hell, and that’s coming from the kid who’s blown up human heads. So he curbs his annoyance every time they hug him like he’s fine china and doubt him when he says he’ll stay.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, “that was insensitive.”

“Naw, it’s fine.” Casually, callously, that’s the only way Will knows how to talk about what he’s been through.

Silence thick with pollen. Mulder shakes sunflower seeds over a haphazard row.

“You were a miracle, you know. Scully wanted you more than anything.”

He knows this. He reads it like newsprint off her brain. And yet—

“I was a weapon,” Will says bluntly. Another comic book cliché to tack onto the list. Not like he’s counting or anything.

“No.” Mulder shakes his head, shoves the hoe into a fresh groove. “They tried to weaponize you, but you wouldn’t have it. Will, you’ve got a choice that Scully and I don’t have—you don’t have to be their experiment. It’s too late in the game for us; we’re old, and we served twenty-five years in the X-files, prodding and being prodded. But those men are dead now, and while the scars may never heal, you don’t have to let them open another wound. You are human, and you’re allowed to have a life. You’re only their weapon if you believe it.”

He says it so forcefully Will almost believes him. Maybe one day he will. Not yet. “I did kill people,” he reminds his father solemnly. He has inherited Mulder’s ability to suck out his own soul.

“It’ll haunt you, and it’s never okay, but sometimes that’s what it comes to.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I killed people. So did Scully.” He was dead when Mulder shot the smoking bastard. He wishes he had seen it for more reasons than one. “Just…” Mulder trails off. “Give yourself a chance. Give Scully a chance. You won’t regret it.”

He wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as Mulder loves Dana. He wonders if he wants to love someone that much, to bear the everyday risk of losing them. He empties two bags of poppy seeds into the garden.

Mulder has returned to the open car. He lifts a shopping bag out of the trunk and peeks inside. “What’s this?”

“I found it with the sunflower seeds. They were on clearance.” Will shrugs, acts like he didn’t buy it thoughtfully.

The wooden windchimes clink when Mulder examines them—sleeves of birch wood dangling like spiders on a thread. At the top, a cardinal opens its beak to the sky. “It’s beautiful. Your moth—Scully will love this.”

Wisely, neither of them discuss the Freudian slip.

                                                          * * * * * * *

The fifth time Dana says it, they are sitting in the Adirondack chairs, watching the overdue baby struggle against her confines. He comes to rest somewhere between amazed and utterly creeped out at the sight of it, and it probably shows on his face. Things have begun to show on his face recently. Since he pulled his hair into a ponytail and let himself relax, he no longer resembles the drunken guitarist of an out-of-line undergrad rock band. That was how Mulder described the scraggly shape of him when he was on the run. Mulder recognized it in himself, maybe—trying to scare off his enemies, winds up scaring off everybody else.

Scully cocks an eyebrow at him. “You look slightly perturbed.”

“It’s a little freaky looking,” Will concedes, eyeing the bow and flex of her abdomen. Kid’ll be here any day now—tomorrow, he predicts, maybe the day after. His sixth sense will go fucking haywire the second Dana goes into labor.

“It feels even stranger than it looks,” she replies.

He settles into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and stretching his gangly legs in front of him. He listens. Songbirds, wind chimes, the desperate buzz of insects having sex before they die… his sister’s heartbeat thumping frantically against the side of his head. He half smiles.

“It’s miraculous, you know,” she murmurs. “Even if it looks and feels discomfiting, it’s still a miracle.” A weighty pause. “You’re a miracle too.”

This time, the weight of the word ‘miracle’ doesn’t make him ill. His whole life, a catalogue of unexplained events and Sunday mornings in the Presbyterian church, people called him a miracle. On the playground, he healed scraped knees, and kids called him a wizard.

Dana and Mulder, though—they don’t see him as a miracle of Biblical proportion, or a miracle of science, immaculately crafted for a destiny. To them, he’s a miracle of love. His birth is a transcription of amor omnia vincit, and his return is a testament to it. He is a miracle because he was born and because he is a person Dana Scully created with Fox Mulder in a tatty DC apartment. Not because he’s a gritty reboot of a Christ allegory.

He is okay with being this kind of miracle.

He hears a quiet, “oh…” and opens his eyes. Dana scrunches her eyebrows together and squeezes the arm of her chair. “Braxton-Hicks,” she explains. He takes her at her word the way Mulder doesn’t. (Mulder, who suspects the baby is coming every time she so much as grunts; Mulder, who couldn’t be there the three times his son came to life.)

“If she sticks around much longer,” mutters Dana as she shifts in the chair, “she’ll say her first words in the womb.”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Immediately he regrets telling her, but she looked so uncomfortable just there. She reminded him of his neighbors in Wyoming, a dusty-haired lesbian couple who wore nothing but khakis and hiking boots. Their son must be three or four by now, but he remembers how Lilian taught him to repair his mountain bike in her last month of pregnancy, woeing incessantly about how she couldn’t ride her own. ‘If the baby doesn’t come tomorrow I’m going to lose my goddamn mind,’ she’d told him every day for a week.

Now, Dana gazes at him with ocean-wide eyes. “You know?”

He shrugs self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Same way I do all the other shit, I guess.” He wiggles his fingers. “Galaxy magic.”

This time she laughs, and a little bubble of pride wells in him. He can make her laugh through her discomfort, a clear, beautiful sound. He loves her, his mother. She doesn’t feel quite like his mother, but he catches love for her like he caught it for his unborn sister. Or maybe she is something like his mother—not his mom, the titles ‘Mom and Dad’ will forever be reserved for the parents he grieves, and he’s still shaking the nagging guilt that he is somehow replacing them by loving Dana and Mulder.

Maybe this is the kind of love you feel for your parents when you’re thirty, or maybe it’s the kind of love you feel for a step parent who isn’t your mom but who does her best, asks how your day is going and offers what advice she can. Whatever it is, it is keen and familiar, and he clings to it like a lifeline on days the earth swallows him.

Mulder finds them laughing their asses off at the most beautiful sunset in months. Dana glances up at him with an ear-to-ear grin, one hand on her belly and one hand on Will’s shoulder. Weeping tears of laughter, they forget what cracked them up in the first place.

                                                          * * * * * * *

In his eighteen years on this bitch of an Earth, Will has worked two legitimate miracles:

Jerry Abernathy from his eighth grade Algebra class had an allergic reaction to a peanut butter cookie. Somehow, he survived without a single shot of the epi pen he’d left at home that morning.

Alice Mulder-Scully enters the world screaming. The volume of blood on nurses’ uniforms belies the healthy baby. Relieved, haggard doctors struggle to explain the mother’s strong heartbeat. Nothing to see here, tells the look on Will’s face as strangers pass him in the waiting room. He wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and downs an energy drink to stay awake.

                                                          * * * * * * *      

The sixth time Dana calls him a miracle, he is sitting on the porch steps of the Virginia home. Alice’s baby feet kick his knees, and he grins as she struggles from his lap to crawl across the grass. Fireflies light up the gravel drive, flashing and dying, glowing with no particular pattern. They move like stars in space-time, as if he’s witnessing the lifespan of a galaxy in time lapse. Alice giggles as one blinks in front of her nose.

“Bug!” she screams happily.

“Yeah, kiddo, a lot of bugs.” A fox skittered across the property that morning, and Alice pointed at it and called it ‘Dada.’ Mulder was fake-insulted for hours.

Grinning down at her, he begins to rearrange the fireflies. To his behest, insects in mating season are shockingly tenacious, and it takes all his mental effort to control them. It’s worth it as they lazily swirl toward Alice, who bats at them and giggles uncontrollably.

“Bug! Bug!” she pops the word over and over again, snickering as one lands in her tufts of russet hair.

“I assume this is your doing?” Dana appears behind him, and he grins at her over his shoulder. The screen door smacks shut.

“She loves them.”

“More than her actual toys,” Dana snorts. She cocks her eyebrow at him, then lifts her phone and takes a picture. “I never liked fireflies.”

“Not even as a kid?”

“Well,” she chuckles, “maybe. But one of my first cases on the X files ruined them for me.”

“Seems like those files fucked you both over,” he replies.

“Someone had to do our job.” She sits down next to him and wraps her sweater tighter round her frame. “It took a lot from Mulder and I, but it brought us together. And when the ash settled, we gained two miracles.”

Watching Alice clumsily reach for glow worms, Dana wraps her arm around his shoulders. He lets her. Alice’s fireflies scatter and spiral into the stars.

[thefunnyamericanspersonal-blog]

Combat knowledge and airsoft.

A lot of people have been asking ma about what is airsoft and where Ive gotten my combat knowledge... Read below the cut! Its kinda long. 

Alright as many or you have learned I love a sport called airsoft. Its like paintball but more realistic. Its a combat simulation sport. Real looking guns and real tactics. All the guns shoot are little BBs. I myself am a support gunner. Meaning I carry a big ass gun. My BAR, MG36 or mainly my RPK These are classified as light machine guns. I carry lots of ammo for myself mainly and quite a bit of gear sometimes. I specialize in heavy fire and area coverage. I point my gun and pull the trigger. Laying down a large amount of BBs into one area. I like this job because its easy and I can stand in the middle of the group. When things go down everyone dives for cover. Not me, I point and rack up the “kills” (Ill be saying kills but they are a stand point kinda thing. I dont kill anyone but in the game if you are hit by a BB then you are dead as far as the game goes. More to come) Sometimes I does result in me being killed but thats the fun of it. A medic will come over and patch me up. Whether its applying a fake tourniquet or placing hands on me for 30 seconds im back up and shooting again. In the Games I go to sometimes full auto, continuous fire, is restricted to the support gunner class. So I normally lug around my RPK which is like 15 pounds and a spare drum magazine and two regular magazines. Bringing my total ammo count to 7,600 BBs. Thats a LOT most normal guns like an M4 only holds 30-148 BBs and consequently I produce a lot of noise when walking. A lot of rattling. But it is really fun. Ive met a lot of really cool people. I go to milsim events or “Military Simulation events” Sometimes I have to carry a lot more equipment for my class. The 7600 bbs I was talking about. I normally sport 4600 at any given time at any game. I play indoor and out door. But I use my PPSH for indoor due to semi auto, single fire, restrictions. Its all great fun. At the Milsim events I normally get chosen for special teams since ive been playing since 2008. The special teams sometimes get some training by special guests or by the squad leaders. I always go to events with friends who have more experience then me and im always the support gunner for them. So I learn many new things. I am also asked to the their support gunner due to my luck, or lack of luck... I am known as a Grenade magnet. (The grenades either make a big pop/bang or shoot bbs and make the big bang all are gas powered CO2) Ive had grenades thrown at me and they always seem to hit me before going off. Like the actual grenade itself hits my chest or leg and then goes off and showers me in bbs. One time, one went off, literally. right in my face that was fun. Didnt hurt cuz of my protection but it was still pretty cool. Then there are things called Tag grenades. They explode in a power cloud to tag a vehicle thats been hit. That was the only time I got hurt playing airsoft. It hit me in my side didnt go off but it felt like a good solid punch. I just kinda laid on the ground for a bit while a massive battle raged on, I was the only person in the town to fully die in the battle. I bleed out in the game standards. I was in the middle of the open yelling at some civilians (Milsims have many fractions one including a civilian fraction that is sometimes hostel) I was busy talking to them so I didnt notice a green truck (ours) rolled up a few yards behind me and a tan truck (enemy) tried to take it out and missed, hitting me. So I bled out after 5 min and walked like 10 yards to the respawn in the hospital and sat up there and drank a bunch of water and ate food. Thats just one of many stories I have. Have some photos!

Me with my RPK and a 44 revolver. I have a holster and a backpack with some repair tools and food and bbs and water thats all I had. and the red rag is my “Dead Rag” to show I have been hit in the game and are bleeding out. The fanny pack had more bbs. 

This here is a 2.5 tonne truck stuck in a river bed. On the other side in the town, is where I was hit the fallowing year by the tag round. We went down the wrong path and well... he got stuck trying to turn around. Luckily they brought two of these and with the help of a bobcat they dug out the river bank and pulled out out by that tree across the river bed

This is me, 4 or so years ago mind you, in my tent at a milsim. It was hot as hell and this was on the final day when my parents came to get me. My dog came to my rescue haha. But yeah that area you see is about all the room I had. I over packed for this one. Some milsims let you sleep in your tent and others make you carry all your gear onto the play field and sleep in the ruff as it were. 

Here is my buddy Zach testing out, back then, a new grenade. The “Thunder B” it makes a really loud bang. I have a video of this somewhere... But yeah. It took us a while to figure these out. We are in a back yard in this pic XD

Indoor games. When put in like a small office space with 20 other people and 5-6 enemies coming for you, “Swat” gets real wild. I love my revolvers XD  But yeah. This was my favorite mode. There were 7 rooms all like bedroom sized with 2 larger rooms. The swat team would have to take out all the bad guys. I was on the swat team several times and it was always nerve racking cuz we only had one medic while the badies could heal whoever. 

This is over 100 pounds of gear I carried up a mountain. Aptly named “Fuck Mountain” It was THE WORST airsoft milsim ive been to. Not because I nearly had a heart attack climbing the mountain and walking 2 miles with all of this but because when we set up... I was sat at a wall with my “Ammo Bitch” as I called him and we sat there for 5 hours... My ammo bitch was my buddy jared. Its a refernce to Dragon Ball z abridged by team 4 star.  “Im Max, and this is Jared, He was an Ammo Bitch...” 

With play sometimes comes injury! These are some of the injuries ive gotten while playing airsoft. My buddy lost a tooth because someone got way too close... 

This ones hard to tell but that is my thigh and those red bots are from an airsoft 40mm grenade. Its a tube loaded grenade and its basically a massive shotgun. I failed to realized after 2 days the shell might be pressurized still... Matrix makes some good stuff... 

Saving Private Brian! And finally we have Brian. He, by far, is my favorite photographer ive met at these events. Hes a really cool dude and he takes a lot of photos and lets me use them and stuff. The first and second photos were both taken by him.  I added this pic because there are lots of shenanigans that go on.  If you have any questions feel free to ask ^^

[tristinleighhh]

✨☀️ my heart & soul are so full.

This was truly the best experience of my life. Envision is something else. I danced and sweat out every negative energy that I had stored away before I came here. I feel like a new person..

🌊 I loved the whole vibe of the Uvita area. Everyone was so nice. I've missed the salty air in my hair and on my lips. Being surrounded by the jungle and the ocean is a euphoric feeling. 🐟 I ate a lot of good fish outside the festival and I am definitely missing it. I loved the fresh fruits and coconuts everywhere 🥥🌴🍍🍌🍓

🏕️ our air b&b was just a couple minutes away from the festival and our host Jose was the nicest human ever. He was constantly making sure everything was perfect for us and coming back to get sleep in the ac was prime. I'm very glad we did that. Cabinas yuriel 💛💚❤️☁️

🐳 we went on a whale watching tour and we're blessed to see a male and a mama and her baby playing around! Humpback whales are my flavorite animal and I haven't seen them since I was in Hawaii so it was an epic treat.

🌄Then Dan and I watched our last Costa Rican sunset for the trip and took a nice stroll home. On the way we saw a sloth in the tree, a crazy poisonous snake and a gnarly looking centipede. 🐍🌙

I have fallen in love with envision and everything it stands for and for the beautiful country of Costa Rica. I will be back there's no doubt about that. I want to explore everything. Thankful for this trip and all the lessons learned and friends I met along the way. Until next time 🥥✨ Pura Vida ✨🥥

✨ Top Envision Moments & Music ✨

🔥 the sunset and fire spinners on the beach with the drum circle. I had hoped to spin some fire down there but I'll be a little more prepared next time.. you walk up the path onto the beach and you are met with various vendors with cool bones and jewelery, cheap beer and food as you emerge into a sea of people on the sand. The sky was on fire and the vibes were hiiiigh. The drum circle was tribal and euphoric. Looking around me being surrounded by jungle and ocean and beautiful people was straight bliss.

•

🍄 seeing Paul staments talk about mushrooms. I only caught one but it was so cool to hear him share his stories and experiences with us.

•

🍽️💦the dishcoteque

The waste at this festival was pretty much non existent. It always makes me sad how people can leave a place so destroyed and covered in trash. I had to pick up no trash from the ground and all the volunteers who were picking up trash barely had anything in their buckets. When you got food at any vendor here you received an actual dish, bowl, silverware or cup. When you were done you'd bring it to the "dishcoteque" and recieve a voucher for your next one. No plastic at all barely any paper products besides some paper straws .. the bathrooms also did not have toilet paper in them.. you had to get it from the outside and bring it with you so they were not overflowing with paper and and overuse of products.

•

✨🎨✨ the art & the stages

There was so much phenomenal art. I was blown away by the murals everywhere and the art gallery was bursting with talent and creative energy.

The bars and booths were all made from the materials surrounding them. Everything was made from the earth. The Sol stage was surrounded by a beautiful design with a big screen in the back that had really awesome visuals on it

The lapa stage was filled with house n deep techno vibes all day and night. It felt like something out of an epic movie in there with all the mist and the lights. The entrance to the beach was right there too. It was a great place to go to just dance and chill out.  And finally... The Luna stage. W o w. The most incredible stage I've EVER seen in my life and I've seen quite a few cool stage setups. It was a huge tower of Earth and wood and vines and beauty. There was a portal where people danced behind. The lighting was a1 from the lasers to the mapping on the funktions. It was truly other worldly there.  I will be riding the high of that stage for a long time. There was water refill stations in all the right spots which made staying hydrated in the jungle heat so easy.

•

🌮🍓🍦🥑🥙 the food

It's usually hard for me to eat at festivals lately because I don't eat meat anymore. Chicken fingers was always a go to for me but I've sadly become very picky. Everyone was pretty accommodating to my needs ( I wish I thought about asking for no cilantro before the last day 😞 I hate that shit )and everything was so nourishing and healthy. I have not been eating well lately and I feel so nice and full after all the smoothies and juicy goodness I ingested over the weekend.

•

🕷️ the huge tarantula like spider that happened to wander through the crowd of people dancing with the bass vibrating the floor and onto our blanket. It was SO BIG how did you even make it through the crowd?! Stealthy dude. That was wild.

•

☕🍵The tea party!

I went to the bathroom and I came across a tiny but huge tea party. Everyone had tea cups along a very small rectangle table/stool and they were singing jungle tea time jungle tea time and cheersing to life it was so cute

•

🎭🤸‍♀️🔥💃 the performers...

Wow. I haven't seen performances like that ever. Every collective blew my mind they all had a vibe of their own and absolutely slayed it on stage. Serious inspiration

•

🎶🔊 the music

Every set was so good. Nothing was like oh that was cool .. everything i was was so we'll put together and everyone definitely out out jungle vibes.

•

I'll just put this first in case you don't want to read all the way cause this was my flavorite part 💓

👽 Tipper 👽

This was my 30th show.. in the jungle...and the Luna stage couldn't have been any better. He played so many fat unreleased tracks and vips I have never heard before. Serious deep jungle vibes. I can honestly say that was my flave set I've seen by him so far. There were no visuals but I was so okay with that. the lights were so on point and the performers were so freaking good and well paired with what he was putting out. I am sooooo freaking thankful for that experience and to have had it with all my tipper family. This community has Brought me all over the country and now out of the US. I am constantly overstimulated and it's just getting more intense as I get older so traveling can be difficult for me. The high energy if the airport is a lot for me. Music festivals are even a lot for me but I eventually get comfortable..I just love the epic moments of euphoria through music and these experiences that I'll push myself through the rest of it. The way tippers music makes me feel is so worth trooping through a sea of energies to get to that moment. It's truly beautiful for me and I know others feel the same. Blessed to be alive for the making of tipper music

•

Thursday

✨ the first real full set of music we saw was jpod.. someone ive never listened to and I'm so glad I know about him now. It was so fun I found all my friends and it was the perfect way to kick off the weekend.

✨Naughty princess was someone I didn't know as well and she threwwwww down a dirty heavy dubstep set. It was proper as fuck and she looked like a boss in the dj booth.

✨Honerable mention to Govinda and an-ten-ae

✨🔮Clozees first set on Friday night was so surreal. Seeing her live is a true experience. It got so heavy and blissful it was by far my flavorite set I've seen from her. She's so humble and cute and beyond excited to be doing this for us. When she plays she emmits such a powerful feminine vibe. The high that gave me was super intense.

✨ Honerable mention to

Stylust beats with the filthy dubstep set

Nico luminous

And attya to close was super smooth

•

Saturday

✨ The funk hunters played two sets. The but their Saturday night set on the Luna stage was so fire. They're so fun and energetic

✨ Random rab was so beautiful. Probably the most beautiful performance I've seen by him yet. His voice is absolutely amazing.

✨LAZY SYRUP ORCHESTRA...... If you don't know them please go listen to their sets on SoundCloud. The sun had risen and the people were vibin.. 6am set - ???? It was so freaking good ahhhh words can't even decribes

They're all so talented I want to return to that moment forever.

Going to the beach and jumping in the ocean after that was so freaking cooooooool.

✨Honerable mention to symbolico for throwing down two dope sets & moontricks on the Sol stage

•

Sunday

✨ Drrtywulvs ... Wowza. That was so fun and uplifting.. all the booty shaking..I love his music and all the noises. It always makes my body move in the weirdest of ways.

✨SUPERTASK..he's one of my flavorite artists ever and he threw downnnnnnnnn such a dope set in the jungle.

✨ SOOHAN was everything I wanted. His music makes me dance in all the best ways

✨🌄 Clozees played a sunrise set @ 545 and it was beautiful. She was very downtempo and played a lot of slower vibe songs.. it was perfect and blissful.

✨ and finally emancipator. They are forever one of my flavorites. They played at 7 am and closed out the Luna stage with the most magical morning vibes. I feel like they played a lot of new music and it was a perfect way to bring down the high energy from the night

✨Honerable mention to dirtwire on the Sol stage who pulled me out of my funk bc of the rain I love their music so much and Seeing them live is a huge treat.

If you've made it this far thanks for reading! Envision is my new flavorite place and I am already counting down the days until I can go back. ✨🥥

[trinuil]

The King’s Favor: Part IV

“You’ll start work tomorrow then?”, you asked standing up to lead the new nanny to the door.

“Yes, of course”, she said stepping out, with a small smile you closed the door and sighed. Thank the heavens you managed to find a decent dwarrowdam for the task…and in time too, the King and Queen were due to arrive tomorrow evening and you intended to keep your promises.

Soft gurgling invaded your little reverie and you felt a slight smile creep to your lips. You strode over to the massive wooden cradle and peered over the at the smiling toddler. He immediately glanced up at you with his big, sky blue eyes and batted his dark lashes at you before reaching out to you with his chubby hands. You gently picked him up and kissed his curly brown locks, “Awake from our nap, my little one?”, sitting down in an armchair you placed the little prince on your lap and giggled as his grin widened and grew into an adorable laugh.

You handed him a toy soldier and gently bounced him on your lap as he hugged it to his pink cheek, “Are you hungry?”, you asked softly while playing with his tiny toes. You had begun to take quite a liking to the dwarfling, he was certainly a very mild tempered being which made you uncertain after whom he took up after. He inherited his father’s vivid blue eyes and dark hair and his mother’s smile. He was most likely the luckiest dwarfling in Erebor, surrounded by riches and the promise of the throne, but all you could think was how unfortunate that this innocent creature should be to be born into such an unhappy family.

“I bet you miss your Adad”, you said stroking his dimpled cheek, “and I bet he misses you too…very much”, you knew that Thorin adored his child very much, beyond all his treasures. A sigh left your lips at the thought of Thorin, not that he had left your thoughts at all these past few days. You had replayed the events that had unfolded in the study that night and you couldn’t see yourself giving him any other answer than the one you had given…eventhough you wanted to. A dwarf’s loyalty and devotion to his wife are sacred and trumps all things, you hated the thought of being the object that tested Thorin, you couldn’t happily make him break his vows no matter how you felt towards him. You had to stay away from him, no more friendly conversations in the middle of the night, you will not get any closer to the King Under the Mountain.

A light knock on the door was followed by Irida stepping in, “Bo wants to see you, Y/n. I can watch him, besides it’s time for a feeding”, she took Nain from your arms and you left after kissing his cheek.

Bo was waiting for you in the corridor with his arms folded over his breastplate, “Well, good evening”, you said with a smile as he turned his head to look at you, “what brings you here today? Stopped by to visit the prince?”.

“I’m afraid not, a rider arrived earlier today with a message for you from the Queen, she expects to return tonight and wants you to have everything ready for her”.

“Oh”, you said feeling a little dismayed, you had hoped to have one more day to yourself, “Thank you for letting me know”. Oh dear, this also meant that Thorin will be back too.

“Y/n?”, you looked up to see him looking at you with concern, “Are you alright?”.

You perked up and smiled, “I’m perfectly alright. Just thinking about her majesty’s things I need to straighten out”.

That seemed to put his mind at ease, he flashed you a smile and offered to walk you downstairs, “I expect you had a nice little vacation the past two days”, he grinned.

“It’s a shame it has to end so abruptly”, you said with a sigh.

“Y/n, I need to speak with you. Alone.”, Misadora shot Irida a look and she took her leave. You wondered what little triviality she was going to get up in arms about now - after all, she had just gotten back.

She sat at her mirror and looked at you through it, her emerald green eyes mocking you.

When she finally spoke the blood drained from your face: “I know what you did”.

She knew. She knew about you and Thorin and you could only imagine what she’s about to do to you, is she going to have you exiled? Thrown in the dungeons? The gallows? Or have you beheaded?

“My Queen?”, you tried to not sound petrified. You hadn’t done anything. Not really. She beckoned you to help her with her jewellery and you urged your legs to move.

Steadying your hands, you worked her braids loose and began removing the hair ornaments, “Do you know what the first thing I was told when I stepped out of my carriage earlier?”.

“No, My Queen”, you replied.

“There was gossip going around that you had been seen with the King…in private”, she paused for effect before asking, “Do you deny it?”.

Your stomach felt queasy and you had to muster all your will power to look at her in the mirror, “I do not my Queen, but let me explain..”, you were surprised when she didn’t interject.

“I wasn’t feeling well and his Majesty was kind enough to offer to let me sit in his study to gather myself”, there was no way anyone had any proof of your meetings after that day, “That is about the long and short of it. I am forever grateful to him and I am sorry to have been an inconvenience to him, I can assure you that it will not happen again”, that was the truth.

Her eyes bore into your very soul to the point where you were afraid that she could read your mind and see that you hadn’t told her the whole story.

“I could have you thrown out right now, I could finish your life in Erebor in seconds”, Misadora appeared to be eerily calm, it scared you more than her vicious outbursts, you dropped your gaze to your hands as they undid the last of her braids.

“I know what they think of me - what you think of me. The vain, ill-tempered Queen”.

You looked up at her again, “I have never spoken a word against you to anyone, my Queen. You have my loyalty and that is the truth”.

“I dare say, I believe you”.

You looked at her a little shocked.

She stood up, “You haven’t given me a reason to distrust you. And I can believe that Thorin would forget his place as to offer help to a lesser. I don’t believe you have the gall to betray me and still be standing stand here”.

She turned around to face you, “The most that might be transpiring here is that you have a little girly crush on The King”, her lips curled into a cruel smirk.

You shook your head and bowed your head, her eyes on you put you on edge and made your skin crawl.

“Good, because he won’t return the feeling. He has finer tastes, and sure as day wouldn’t waste a single thought on you. Don’t get any ideas, I would stay in my fucking place if I were you”, she managed to sound sincere and sweet but her words bit at your insecurities and unnerved you.

“Of course”, you bit out.

“And should I hear any more of your meetings with the King..”, she took a step closer, “You will find out how true the things people say about me are. I will slit your throat myself”. She cupped your cheek and gave it a squeeze hard enough to sting, “I should hate to lose my favourite handmaiden”. She sauntered over to the bathroom, “Don’t keep me waiting”.

You blinked fast to stop those bothersome tears from spilling, “Yes, My Queen”.

Thorin had chosen to stay back at the Iron Hills for to deal with a few things that had come up, or so you heard - not that you cared.

If life at the palace has taught you anything, it was to go on living like nothing was the matter, to completely detach your personal life from work. Since the line between the two has been blurring the past few days, you were discovering that it is not so easy anymore.

You didn’t know how things will be between you and Thorin when he gets back, it was a problem that weighed on your shoulders. You had begun to enjoy his company and maybe even care for him, but you didn’t see how any of this was rational.

The rain came down hard on the stone pathway that leads up to the little veranda you stood on with Bo. There was very little light from the moon on this particular night and the trees faded into the night as darkness shrouded the landscape.

A single lamp burned behind you, casting a light wash of gold around it, “Coming up from below is worth it to watch the rain”, you sighed.

“As long as you stay within the city walls, I can rest easy”, Bo responded calmly. You smiled and continued to listen to the drum of raindrops on leaves and earth, it did you good to relax after yesterday.

“Y/n?”.

“Hm?”, you vocalized without shifting your gaze from the pale-lit night.

“I can tell something is wrong. I know something is wrong”.

You shrugged not wanting to talk much right now.

“Is it the King?”.

Lowering your eyebrows you turned your head to look at him.

He smiled, “You forget that I am with him most of the time you’re around and I notice things. That’s why I’m good at my job”.

“Nothing is happening. We talked, that’s it. I don’t understand why this is so scandalous, he is the King for Aule’s sake! He has the right to talk to anyone he wants”, you said shaking your head.

“I didn’t accuse you of anything”, he spoke gently, “but there are people who may not think it so innocent”.

“Don’t you think I know that?!”, you were stressed and this conversation wasn’t making things any better. An uncomfortable silence fell upon you two as you tried to regain your composure.

“The Queen confronted me about it, and it was the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced”, you said flatly which folding your hands over your chest.

“Did she indeed?”, Bo responded while shifting on his feet.

“I suppose the chambermaid told her”, you thought out loud, “I did promise her that she’d lose her job if she began spreading stories, I would have to keep it to prevent further damage”, these were just thoughts and you most likely didn’t intend to go through with them.

“No”, Bo sounded horrified and surprised at you, “I’m sure the poor girl didn’t talk to anyone”.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “How are you so certain?”.

Even in the soft light, you could see his cheeks lightly colour and he hesitated at first, “She didn’t tell the Queen”.

You gave him a look beckoning him to continue.

“I did”.

“For the love of Mahal!”, you cried out in exasperation and anger, “Why would you do that?”.

“I felt like I had to, you were going down a dangerous path and I couldn’t just watch”.

You dropped your face into your hands and took in a deep breath before slowly voicing your question, “Why didn’t you come to me first?”.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t listen, I knew it was too late. Maybe the Queen made a better argument than I would have”, he looked at you with his stormy grey eyes, pleading you to see reason.

“Yes”, you said anger burning your chest, “she threatened to murder me. I’d say that’s a good argument”, taking a step forward you glared at him, “You threw me to the dogs on an assumption that I was being immoral. I thought you had better regards for my character, but it is clear to me now that you don’t know a damn thing about me! Bo, I feel betrayed and I don’t think I want you here anymore”, you ended witheringly.

“I’m only looking out for you, Y/n”, he sounded heartbroken, “I know when you’re happy when you’re sad, and most importantly when you’ve got feelings for someone. He isn’t right for you…”, taking a step forward he tried to reach out to you, you simply turned away.

“You’re my best friend, and I don’t want this life for you!”, he was losing his patience because he couldn’t see why you didn’t understand his motives, “He doesn’t care for you, he doesn’t have a place for you in his life. You’re just a plaything to him, he is going to toss you aside when he’s done with you and I won’t be able to bear it to see you heartbroken”, he meant for his words to be illuminating but they stabbed you like knives.

“Then leave”, you uttered quietly.

“Y/n…you know I would never leave you”, he replied softly.

“I want you to. I don’t see how I can trust you again. I can watch out for myself”, you said firmly.

Bo opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it and instead slowly retreated back into the fort.

Once the heavy door shut behind you, a heavy sigh left you. You were less angry now and more miserable. You had made up your mind to stay away from Thorin earlier and you had no intention of changing your mind, but your stubbornness had made you speak out against Bo in spite.

You most likely lost your only friend and all you’ve heard from everyone is how Thorin is using you. You put up with Misadora’s nastiness every day because…well, why?

“What am I even doing here?”, you mumbled. Was any of this worth it? Getting involved in so much drama that could very well end your life. You didn’t care about how prestigious of a title it is to be the handmaiden to the Queen, you were still a servant to someone you didn’t respect. Irritation pricked at your skin again and a surge of adrenaline washed over you, a combination that most often lead to rash decisions.

You wore a look of determination on your face as you stepped out into the rain. The cold splattering of raindrops made you gasp but in delight. It added to your excitement and made you feel free…tilting your head back, you let the rain wash over your face. You could go anywhere…the possibilities were endless and you could do anything you wanted, the thought made you giggle. Running down the stone steps, you didn’t think twice about your belongings or goodbyes, you had no one to answer to, you didn’t care about your few possessions - you felt like you were invincible.

Soon you were on the road to Dale, of course, you had no real plans yet, but it seemed like the best place to go to right now since you had no means of transportation to a further destination save for your sopping wet slippers.

You had been walking for a while now, maybe close to an hour when you noticed that it was becoming harder to see the road as the rain got thicker and the clouds blocked out the last of the moonlight. But you could see lights in the little town of Dale off in the distance, so you weren’t far. Your heavy dress grew heavier as it absorbed water till it became a challenge to walk, your long hair fell out of their braids and clung to your skin and when the cold finally reached you through the blanket of optimism you had woven for yourself, you began to doubt your actions. Soon the rain is going to turn into a storm and the lights in the distance will fade, what if you get lost? Your eyes for the first time since beginning this little adventure turned to the unkempt, overgrown sides of the battered road in fear of the things that might be lurking in the dark.

“Mahal, why didn’t I wait until morning?!”, you cursed into the winds.

Wrapping your arms around you in a futile attempt to warm yourself, you stifled a sneeze. While still walking you pricked up your ears when you thought you heard a noise over the heavy rain. You began praying to Aule to not let some demonic creature murder you on the side of the road and at the same time you quickened your pace as best as you could.

It hadn’t been your imagination, the sound was real and it was becoming louder. The distinct sound of the thud of hooves on the ground, but you weren’t sure from which direction the rider was approaching, but before you could decide, the rider was rearing his pony as he tried to avoid hitting you. You screamed in fear as you toppled back and fell into a pool of mud.

You groaned in disgust and pain while wiping some mud off your brow, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?! Imbecile!”, you sputtered out. The rider was already off his pony and at your side helping you up, ‘Forgive me, but what exactly are you doing here?”. You finally looked up into Thorin’s striking cerulean eyes and swiftly retrieved your hand once on your feet. He looked just as drenched as you did and equally tired.

“I’m going to Dale.  Now if I may, my King”, you said with a clumsy bend of the knee before continuing your walk. You had no time to dally.

He was on his pony in a flash and cantering next to you, “Have you lost your senses completely? You cannot be out here on your own”, he called over the thunderous rain.

“I’m almost there”, you responded confidently.

“I’ll take you back. Y/n, listen to me!”, he was in no mood for your sass.

You didn’t respond, you were not going back there again. Your mind was made up and nothing was going to change that.

When you didn’t respond or even look at him, he leaned over the side of his pony and scooped you up with one arm. You shrieked in surprise, “Put me down!”.

He placed you in front him in the saddle and kicked the pony into a gallop towards Dale. Well at least you were going where you wanted to go, but him being here somewhat defeats the purpose of you leaving Erebor. Speaking was futile because any shouting was drowned out by the rain and the whipping winds. But at least you felt much less cold since your back was pressed up against Thorin’s chest and his arms while holding the reigns anchored you in place.

Soon, you were riding through the empty streets of Dale. Now that you were here, where exactly had you planned on going…

Thorin most likely picked up on that when he turned the pony down a narrow path and into a stable. You managed to uncling your dress from the saddle and hop off. Under a roof once more, it felt amazing to not be continuously pelted by raindrops.

Thorin was tying the pony to a post when you decided to say something, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that”.

“Have you no regard for your life?”, he snapped turning to face you. In the warm light of the torches, you made out the anger in his eyes. He lowered the hood of his cloak and proceeded to glare at you, waiting for a reply.

You found your tongue, “I was fine, it’s just rain”, you tried to sound as if you hadn’t thought of all the ways you could have died tonight.

He scoffed in agitation, “Clearly you know nothing of the world we live in. You are not to leave Erebor. What if you had gotten hurt?”, he took a few steps towards you, searching your face for a sign of penance, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “I don’t understand. What were you doing?”.

“Nothing. I just wanted to go..”, you said meekly.

“Don’t play games with me!”, he barked startling you even more.

“I…”, you shuddered and finally sighed, “The Queen found out about our meetings. She threatened me..”, you laughed bitterly, “And I lost my only friend”. Thorin’s face seemed to soften a little.

“My King, I don’t want to cause unnecessary complications for you”, you slowly slunk down onto a bale of hay, “I don’t wish to get between you and her. I want you to be happy. I see now that I don’t belong in Erebor”, your voice faltered and shook, “And I certainly don’t wish to be your plaything”.

“My… what?”, he sounded like his awoken from a daydream, “Why would you that? Have I done something that would suggest my affections for you are anything but real?”.

You hugged your knees to your chest and avoided his gaze, “I can’t go back”.

“What will you do? You can’t possibly survive on your own”, he said stubbornly as ever.

“Because I’m kind?”, you said rolling your eyes, “I beg you not to mistake my kindness for a weakness. You’d be surprised by what I’m capable of achieving”.

“Why me?”, you asked squeezing your eyes shut, “You could have any dwarrowdam or woman in the world. Many would throw themselves at you if you let them, many who are more beautiful and more worthy than I”.

“Stop this”, he commanded clearly agitated, “There is no equaling you. I won’t hear any more of it”. You didn’t say anything, he restlessly walked up to the pony and unhooked a satchel before walking back to you.

“I don’t want you to leave”, his deep voice which was usually calm and confident carried a note of desperation, “You give me purpose, when I’m talking with you or just being in your presence I feel content with life because I feel like I’m with an old friend”, you looked up and saw the sadness and sincerity in his eyes but said nothing. Not because you weren’t moved, but because you weren’t expecting this from him, this was the most emotion you’ve seen him express since you’ve laid eyes on him.

He quickly regained composure, “You’re cold. Let’s go inside”.

“Where?”, you asked. He beckoned to the two-story building to the left of the stable with a nod of his head.

He stepped out into the rain again and began heading to the side door.

You stood up and realized that this was the night for many risky endeavors, “Thorin”, you called out making him halt mid path.

It dawned on you that this was the first time you’ve called the King by his first name, he turned around and found himself in your embrace. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He didn’t protest for a second. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer, his lips hungrily fought to claim ever inch of your mouth. To you, he tasted like rainwater and happiness, the sensation of his beard rubbing softly against your skin made you happy. The feeling of reciprocating his longing was indescribable because you’ve never experienced something equal to this to compare it to, it felt right. His lips fit into the curve of your lips, his hands fit into the crook of your spine and over your hips…he fit into your being and you into his. His nose gently grazed your cheek as you slowly broke the kiss, blinking against the drops of water that were collecting at the ends of your eyelashes, you smiled, “Thank you for telling me”.

The feeling of amazement was probably wearing off on him when he murmured a small, “Mmh”, in response. He was more interested in the sparkle in your eyes and the flush on your skin at the ends of your shy smile. He didn’t think anything in this world could compete with your inner or outer beauty.

“Come on”, he said breaking away from you and leading you to the door.

You stepped into an inn. The lower floor appeared to a tavern and given its almost empty bar, you assumed it was past three in the morning.

“Go upstairs. I’ll be right there”, he said walking towards one of the humans.

You took the rickety wooden set of stairs concealed by drapery in the corner and ascended onto a stoop that was open on one side, looking over the small houses and shops of Dale and the other side housed a row of doors.

You waited patiently but it wasn’t long when you heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, “I was able to procure you some dry clothes and a place to spend the night”. He handed you a folded dress and unlocked one of the doors allowing you to step in.

“I’ll allow you some time to change”, he said closing the door.

Hurrying over to the small brazier that warmed the room you held your hands out and basked in the heat for a little bit before shedding your wet dress and then your underclothes. You grabbed one of the towels that were folded in a stack on the only side table in the room and dried your skin. You quickly stepped into the dry clothes, not wanting to leave Thorin out in the cold for longer than was necessary. Looking down at yourself, the blue dress was a loose fitting and felt like it was made of a thin fabric, you tied a sash at the hips to look more presentable. Outside, a clap pf thunder shook the inn making you jump in fright. You thanked the Valar and Thorin for getting you out of that storm just in time.

Satisfied with your dress, you opened the door to find Thorin leaning on the fencing of the stoop with a bottle of gin in his hand. Unbelievable. You left him alone for a fraction of a moment.

He stepped inside and you offered to return the courtesy of some privacy.

“Please, you don’t need to leave on my behalf”.

So instead you sat in one corner of the bed and began to undo what remained of your braids. Behind you, you heard the distinct sound of wet clothes hit the floor. Taking the towel, you dried your long hair in sections.

“Y/n?”, he spoke after a long silence.

“Yes?”

“I hope you know there is no love between myself and Misadora. At least not anymore”.

The thought of Misadora sent you spiraling into a cloud of guilt and dread.

“We are husband and wife in name only. I have never felt about her the way I feel about you”.

“Thorin, you shouldn’t say such things”, you hushed him, “She is your wife nonetheless, you entered into an agreement to honor each other”.

You heard him chuckle, “Is that what she’s been doing? Honoring me? I was a fool to fall into her trap”, a deep sorrowful sigh followed.

“I lost interest in everything. I merely existed to run my kingdom and immerse myself in the work at the forge. It was a miracle that I even looked up that one wonderful day when I heard your voice. I dare say it was fate. I was taken by the mere sight of you. I only regret not noticing you sooner”.

You blushed turning to look at him, he was leaning against the wall shirtless, every single braid in his hair was undone, even his marriage braid, he took a swig from the bottle and smiled softly at you. More blood rushed to your face at the sight of him, his finely chiseled torso earning a second glance from you.

Daringly, you patted the spot next to you on the bed. He slowly walked over and sat down.

“I know our folk like their drink, but don’t you think sometimes you’re a little excessive?”, you tenderly stated.

“I think everything I just told you tonight warrants my drinking”.

You couldn’t really argue there.

“Because you occupied most of my time, when you’re with me and when you’re not - I barely thought of such vices. But now you tell me you want to leave me”, he took another swig out of the bottle before you could take it from him.

“I’m here now “, you placed the almost empty bottle on the ground and took one of his hands in yours.

“Indeed you are”, he squeezed your hand in affection.

Another loud crash of thunder elicited a squeak from you.

Thorin found it amusing, “Still think you could have lasted alone out there?”

You stuck your chin out, “Perhaps”.

He shook his head, “Stubborn lass”.

“I’m stubborn?”, you cried in disbelief, “My King, I believe all of Arda proclaims you as the champion of stubbornness”.

He offered you a smug smile.

You felt so much more at ease here in the comfort of the small room than in the confines of the vast palace.

As if he heard your thoughts, Thorin spoke, “She can’t hurt you, you know. As long as I am there she can’t do anything to you”, he circled an arm around you and brought you closer to him. Sighing, you rested your damp head on his strong shoulder.

“My King, I would like to forget everything tonight”, you pulled your legs up onto the bed and turned to face him. You placed your hand on either side of his bearded jaw, “I want to just be us tonight”, you kissed his cheek and flopped down on the bed.

He looked down at you, his gaze washed over your form like waves on a beach. He wasn’t sure what to do next - a rare event for Thorin to be uncertain. You smiled, reaching for his hand again, you coaxed him to come closer. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, he kicked his boots off and settled in next to you.

You rested a hand on his firm thigh and looked up at him, “So, how was your journey?”.

His eyebrows rose and fell with his sigh,  “Busy. One might suppose that the granted passage through Mirkwood would be the end to all our trade problems, but the three clans from Ered Luin are demanding a tax increase on anything Erebor buys from them since we “have the means to do so”. If it’s not one thing it’s the other”.

Well, he did have a lot of gold, it wasn’t a surprise that others will be after it. You began to trace patterns on his thigh, losing yourself in his stories, giggling at some of his metaphors and marveling at how beautiful he looked when he was being open and himself. Time stopped in this room, you had no cares, neither did he, it was just you and him with nothing in between. He was not the King and you weren’t a lowborn dwarrowdam, you were just two people who were completely enthralled by each other.

“You mentioned a falling out with a friend earlier today?”

You narrowed your eyes at the thought of the betrayal, “Bo? What about it?”.

“Bo? The captain?”, he sounded intrigued, “I always felt strangely about him”.

“He was the one who told the Queen about...”, you sighed.

“Of course. What more could you expect from a half-breed”.

You lightly smacked him on the side of his leg, “There’s no need to be nasty. He is a good person. Loyal to you and a hard worker. He only wished to protect me”, you knew he didn’t have any bad intentions.

You became aware of Thorin casting you a strange look.

“I suppose the reason I didn’t particularly take to him was because he always had your affections and I didn’t”, Thorin said thoughtfully, he chose to leave out the part where he nearly denied Bo the captaincy out of envy.

You laughed, “Bo and I are good friends. I could never feel about him the way I do about you”.

Hours slipped by as you learned many of the details of his numerous adventures and amidst these stories, he showed you parts of his soul that are concealed from the rest of the world. He made you laugh like no other, it was a little surprising to you because he didn’t strike you as a dwarf with a sense of humor. It wasn’t your average sense of humor, it was dry and awkward but also very much him. His deep, rumbling voice became your favourite sound and you wondered how you managed to ever be happy without it before. Somewhere between your conversations, he slid down onto a pillow and gave you access to his almost dry locks of hair to play with.

“And this one?”, you asked tracing a longer scar just under his left pectoral.

“Cave troll”, he seemed to be a little too pleased with your fascination in his collection of battle scars. It was a miracle that this man was still in one piece after all you’ve heard.

“What about this one?”, you lightly touched a raised scar that ran across his collar bone, “an orc?”, you guessed.

He looked down and chuckled lightly, “That was no orc. That’s a gift from my brother from when were dwarflings”.

A small giggle escaped you at the thought of Thorin as a rambunctious dwarfling but then you noticed that he was looking at you funny, “What?”, you asked nervously.

“Look at you…you’re so beautiful. Positively breathtaking. Any dwarf would be lucky to claim your heart or just be graced by your presence..he’d be the envy of the world”, he smiled lovingly at you.

You hid your blushing face in the palms of your hands, “You mustn’t tease me so”.

He reached out and took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a tender kiss on your knuckles, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in all my life”.

You lightly kissed his chin and before you could back away, he claimed your lips in a warm kiss, your eyelids fluttered shut as you lost yourself to him all over again. Your fingers trailed down the smattering of dark hair on his chest and back up over his tattooed arms, feeling every ripple in them as his hand slid down the curve of your spine. The taste of gin, the sensation of his touch and the comforting smell of him almost made it too difficult to resist the not so subtle request when his hand finally came to a stop on your bum.

You broke the kiss apologetically, “Thorin…I’m sorry I cannot in good conscience give you all that you desire from me”.

He didn’t get annoyed or frustrated he merely pulled you into his chest and kissed the top of your head, “I understand. I will more than gladly take whatever you offer me”.

You settled into his embrace and let him trace the seams on the back of your dress which made you feel fuzzy and comfortable. Laying there with his heartbeat drumming at your ear, you felt the exhaustion and excitement of the day catch up with you till you felt your eyelids grow heavy.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”, you responded opening your eyes, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes of sleep. 

“I have to be getting back now”.

“Oh”, you were more than a little disappointed.

“If you come with me, we can be back before most of the people at the palace are awake”.

That would mean it would be like you never ran away, you would pick up from where you left off and be back at Misadora’s side. You hadn’t really accomplished your goal of getting away from Thorin and you’re certain that you now knew more about him than anyone else. He made you happy and you certainly were the only thing that made him happy right now.

And now that you’ve had time to think things more clearly, you weren’t ready to leave your job- you’d worked too hard for it.

“I will come with you. But..”, you stipulated while sitting up, “only on the condition that you tell me more of your adventures”.

His face lit up as he reached out to kiss your forehead, “My dearest heart...I’ll tell you everything and more”.

The rain hadn’t let up and it still looked like night outside, this would mostlikely work to your advantage on your trip back .Preparing to leave, you noticed that the thought of going back caused the softness in him to slowly recede and war harden dwarf emerge, with this stoicism and curt replies. His heart was only for you.

“May I?”, he asked gazing down at your hair that you’ve been brushing.

“You needn’t ask”, you kissed his hand before letting it trail through your soft hair. Relaxing into his touch, you let yourself enjoy this intimate moment, soon you felt both of his hands work your hair.

“That’s the best I could do in such little time”.

Opening your eyes, you touched the mass of waves that cascaded over your shoulder to find a single braid that began just above your ear and spiraled its way down. Your fingers traced the emblem of Thorin’s clan that was etched in the bead that secured the bead; it was one of his.

“Thorin...”

“I hope you aren’t offended”.

“Not in the least”, you said in amazement.

Of course, you wouldn’t be able to wear it for the world to see, you would conceal it and wear it just for him.

“You are mine”

“I am”.

@dat-targaryen-tho enjoy!

[impossiblesoul23]

Woke Salsa

Ok so, for the entirety of my New Year’s road trip with a couple of friends our playlist consisted mostly of salsa and cumbia. And still riding that same high, I want to talk a little bit about salsa. Well, woke salsa as Ive named it.

I fucking love salsa, as most latin people do. I also honestly believe its the best dance genre, period. But what many people (even latinos) don't know is that salsa songs also have very political backgrounds/lyrics. And to me, dance beat/rythms coupled with conscious lyrics talking about the Latin-American struggles, lord Jesus, gives me fucking goosebumps. 

So for those non-spanish speakers I want to introduce you to some of the best (woke) salsa anthems and why I love them. 

Disclaimer: Im sure there are way more songs than the ones listed below, these are pErsOnal FavoRiteS. Also, this is woke/political salsa, not just great rhythm salsa (it hurts me not to include one of my all-time favs like Un Montón de Estrellas but alas). Also please check out youtube for the origins of salsa, from Congo region beats, to Cuba and New York Jazz. Here

ANYWHO.....here we go

1. Joe Arroyo - La Rebelión (No Le Pegue A La Negra)

What’s it about : Literally translated as “The Rebellion (Don’t Beat The Black Woman) , this song narrates the story of a married slave couple who served a Spaniard in Colombia during the 1600′s. The spaniard would beat the black woman repeatedly and her husband, sick of the mistreatment, avenged his loved one as he shouted at him to not hit her. 

Fav part:  

Y fue allí, se reveló el negro guapo, tomó venganza por su amor y aún se escucha en la verja, no le pegue a mi negra No le pegue a la negra No le pegue a la negra

And right there the handsome black man took                                                         revenge for his love and it’s still heard                                                                  through the gate, don’t hit my black woman                                                        Don’t hit the black woman                                                                                           Don’t hit the black woman

2. Willie Colón - El Gran Varón

What’s it about : “The Big Man”, this song narrates the story of Simon and his father. Here we see the very macho latin culture as it talks about how Simon’s father was so proud to have a male child and how he would be a Big Man. Ok, so my favorite plot twist follows Simon getting out of the country and starting to cross-dress. His father went to visit him and when he found out about Simon he cut off all contact. However, time passed and Simon’s father started to miss his son, so he went to visit him again only to find out Simon had died of a “strange disease” - aids implied. 

I just love it so much cause his father grew to miss and accept Simon through time, even if it was too little too late. But just the concept of this song, alluding to the title, is very revolutionary specially to our very mysoginistic latin culture. And I love how Colón approaches this queer/cross dressing theme as it being natural, albeit still with a little “that’s odd but okay” vibe. As a queer woman I appreciate the inclusion in salsa and my culture.

Fav part:

No se puede corregir a la naturaleza Palo que nace doblado, jamás su tronco endereza Hay que tener compasión, basta ya de moraleja El que esté libre de pecado, que tire la primera piedra

You can’t correct nature                                                                             Crooked tree can't ever be straightened                                                                     Gotta have compassion, stop with the morality                                                            He that is without sin, cast the first stone                     

3. Rubén Bladés - Plástico

What’s it about : 

Ok first, you could really have a list of Woke Salsa with ONLY Rubén Bladés. He really is top of mind when somebody mentions conscious salsa. Rubén Bladés is a fucking legend, please wikipedia him (Harvard Lawyer, Salsa Legend, Political Activist and also actor - The Walking Dead)

Bladés teams up with Willie Colón in Plástico. Yes, meaning Plastic, the song talks about the vain and superficial people who care only about appearances and social status. People who would be drowning in debts as long as they portray an image of wealth and success. Bladés calls out to the latin people to never become plastic and proceeds to give a shout out to the hard working people in many latin countries.

Fav part:  

Aparentando lo que no son Viviendo en un mundo de pura ilusion Diciendo a su hijo de cinco años No juegues con niños de color extraño

Pretending something they're not                                                                            Living in a fantasy world                                                                                Telling their five year old son                                                                                Don’t play with strange-colored kids

ALSO, The fucking disco/funk intro  followed by the salsa start. HOT DAMN. It’s a great nod of how salsa began during the 70′s. Please listen to this part for the short seconds it lasts.

4. Juan Luis Guerra - Niagara en Bicicleta

What’s it about : 

Salsa purists would consider JLG too contemporary, however, his career during the 90′s hit Latin America like nothing ever seen before. This man crooned the songs from my childhood and I’m glad I still got to see him live.

Yes, in Niagara On A Bicycle, Guerra narrates how he passed out, hit his head and was taken to a hospital in dire, dire conditions. The entire song he describes the lack of equipment, medicine, even electricity! The title song is great cause Guerra refers that he (and everybody) don’t have another choice but to endure their ailments due to a terrible healthcare system. See, public healthcare in latin-america is horrible due to corruption. So he says this is his only choice because it’s too hard to cross Niagara Falls with a bicycle -to get healthcare in Canada-

Fav part:

No me digan que los médicos se fueron No me digan que no tienen anestesia No me digan que el alcohol se lo bebieron Y que el hilo de coser Fue bordado en un mantel

Don’t tell me that the doctors left                                                                             Don’t tell me that you don’t have anesthesia                                                                     Don’t tell me that they drank the alcohol                                                            And that the suture thread                                                                                     Was stitched on a tablecloth

ALSO ALSO, the “TRANQUILO BOBBY, TRANQUILO”, meaning “Chill Bobby, Chill” is a must-shout part during any party. 

4. Eddie Palmieri - Justicia

What’s it about :

The whole song is basically a cry for justice. How it will come to those who deserve it and also crying out when will it come and hoping it comes soon.

Also the last part is purely instrumental goodness and dance gold.

Fav part:

Ay! cuando llegará la justicia?                                                                              Mi tambor reclama justicia                                                                                 Que llegue que llegue que llegue la buena noticia                                           Tanta tiranía, tanta tiranía, tanta tiranía

Oh! when will justice come?                                                                                   My drum reclaims justice                                                                                             Let it come let it come let it come the good news                                                        So much tyranny, so much tyranny, so much tyranny

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

The end. Thank you for coming to my feelings-ridden-unedited-latin-woke-salsa Ted Talk. 

Here a couple of links to more woke salsa songs

List , aaaaand another list.

[andivebeenafoolandivebeenblind]

my story!

Day 1: Today was a long and very emotional day, M came with me to the hospital, where i had too tell my story from the very beginning, which was difficult. After the D&A team and the MH team finally figured out what they were going to do with me, i ended up waiting for patient transport as they were admitting me in Wyong. After arriving in Wyong and being metal detected, vitals done and shown where everything was I spent an hour or so just in my room which is number 21, at the end of the corridor, away from the desk. When I thought everyone had gone too bed, I went and sat in the common area and watched a bit of whatever was on tv. I had a small reserved chat with a girl who is 31 and in the room next too mine. They’ve taken my phone and bra’s off me. I can hear the rain outside. I’m nervous about tomorrow with all the new Dr’s and having too repeat my story and hopefully be cleared for piggies. M was amazing today! I cried so much on the drive too Wyong :(

Day 2: Today was rough! after a some what hard sleep with a few awoken moments and tears, I found it very difficult for me to wake up for breakfast. After breakfast I had a shower and went to sit out in the courtyard. I sat in on ‘group psychology’ and didn't really say anything. I spoke with a psychologist, psychiatrist and the MH ward GP. Sooooooo many questions asked on their end. I was approved for two, thirty minute breaks (smokes) unaccompanied leave and one hour of accompanied leave per day! We get our phones on each break so I need my charger I had smokes today thanks too a guy in here. Since being back i got very agitated and had a headache, so I was given 1g of panadol l and 100mg of serequel and then the night meds too sleep which were zopiclone. I start a new a new antidepressant tomorrow morning. Right now my mood is 4/10 Megan comes tomorrow and smokes. One step at a time.... still really want too end it all but everyone here is the best kinda support. Tomorrow is a new day.

Day 3: Today most definitely had its ups and downs. For starters NOONE called me, I had too call you and no-one answered, so all g I’m over it now.... I found waking up was different and that i felt like a space cadet its worse than being lit thats for sure. I haven't got too pick my menu yet so morrow will be a surprise as well, the new girl E, she presented too GDH ED the same afternoon I did. M and her mum came too see me today, they saw my room. We just stood outside so i could smoke. Mum is coming up tomorrow around 1-1:30pm but thats when lunch is, hopefully we go shopping and we get ciggies, and fingers crossed she remembers the shit too get me including my thongs and charger. Second night in a row of zopiclone and serequel, administered separately both with effect. Goodnight cruel world.

Day 4: Sunday was eventful thats for sure. I felt sick, space cadety, belittled loved, scared and unsafe. Mum came too see me today, we hung out and got coffee’s. She bought me clothes, smokes and my glasses. We were belittled together by a nurse about bringing coffee back onto the ward. I was also asked if I had spoken too any patients of the rehab ward, too which i responded NO!. I danced outside, I cried, I am currently feeling unsafe and know I’m still a 3/10 if not maybe even a 2/10 because i stole a fucking staple, a singular fucking staple, but I’ve got this. My emotions are sooooooo out of whack, I rang N on my last break of the day  and face timed him and H. Rang C and told him where I was. I haven't had a zopiclone yet, just a serequel, ladies and gentleman “Next on, is A going too kill herself?”

Day 5: Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, I woke up! Today has just been challenging I was woken up too take my medication, breakfast was crap, I did go out into the courtyard and throw oranges at the tree with J this morning. L and I went on the morning walk and snuck ciggies out. Mum wouldn’t visit me today because of my mood! I had an ECG and MSU the ECG was fine, my MSU showed all the recreational drugs I’d been taking outside of admission. *D and A came and saw me. Last night I hurt myself with the god damn staple and I was honest with my morning nurse about it and I was spoken too about HDU, where I don’t want to go! which got me on 1/2hr watches. Ive had 150mg of serequel today so thats not good. I didn’t like the psychology group today, maybe tomorrow’s will be better. I rang N and spoke too him before his phone died, he made me laugh which was good. Hopefully this is as low as I’ll feel which is a 1/10.

Day 6: Today was okay, I was around 3/10-4/10 for a vast majority of the day, but I’ve had some lows. I was so drugged out this morning during my appointment with the psychiatrist, but the general gist is I’m here until I’m not scared of myself anymore, I do however get extra leave. 2 X1hr unaccompanied and 1X2hr accompanied. I walked over too the petrol station today too buy cigarettes and a 30pk of winfield blue crush cost me $40.45! WTF! Snuck a biggie out on the morning walk again and had headpins hahaha. I bought a large soy dirty chai. After my afternoon break I came back in and wanted too sign myself out! I spoke with J and E about it then I rang N and he gave me some hard truths, that i needed. After the morning walk because the psychologist wasn’t there the OT organised cooking, so we baked 2 cakes.  Tonight I have been in and out of tears for god only knows why, no thats a lie there are a few reasons why, I took my night time meds tonight so lets see how i feel when i wake up considering I’m still scared of thoughts. C my nurse this morning has been fantastic.

Day 7:  I woke up a 3/10 I didn’t have breakfast, I went for the morning walk and snuck a biggie. Came back form the walk 2/10 spoke with G the psychologist on the ward, for a fair bit of time and was able to speak about somethings I haven’t ever spoken about. For my first 1hour break i went too Kanwall shops to go too the bottle-o with B, I bought 2 bottles for $12 and there was 7.4 standard drinks too a bottle. We sat at the park had a few ciggies, I tack vommed real good, we walked back too the unit, I had a shower and changed and washed my clothes. For the second break B and I did the same thing except this time I only bought 1 bottle and we shared it. We didn’t finish it and left it near the school, I’ll be going back for it tomorrow. My afternoon was about a 4/10 and then my mood started too drop and now i have been randomly crying for no particular reason. O’s exhibit J’s currently girlfriend is in here and she is a piece of work, J visited her almost all afternoon.  After B and I went for the second walk we were where we normally smoke, I laid down on my back and B sat on my stomach, she looked down at me and kissed me, and then we kinda made out and N saw us, we went too go inside, when she called me over in-between the buildings and we started making out again. N saw it again lol, so we had a smoke with him and then walked back in. According too R I’m fucking “desperate and stupid” because i used a staple too hurt myself, she is so lucky L told me and that I didn’t hear it because Id be sitting in HDU right now. I miss my mum and hope she comes too see me tomorrow and I won’t be drunk.

Day 8: I got lamb drunk today, I saw the psychiatrist and MO today and I’ve been put on 5mg Diazapam (Valium) BD aswell as being on a benzo withdrawal scale, which is weird, why did they wait 7 days too put me on a bento withdrawal scale? any who I get 6 hours/ day accompanied or unaccompanied leave hoping for discharge on monday. If not all good. I wish i was out for the weekend but im going too organise with mum a time too go see N. Mum has saturday, sunday and monday off work so she will see me then with C and possibly Nan. C said he will come and see me tomorrow. I rang N tonight where he told me after his appointment today, he came too see me but I was in the middle of lunch and they didn’t even tell me, he thought I picked food over him! As if that could ever be true. Im getting referrals too psychotherapy and my GP is going too get a discharge summary with how too wean me off Valium. I really miss N and just want an N hug and too play the drums. N left today, I wished him the best of luck.

Day 9: Today is Friday and I went and got super smashed, mum knows about my bento withdrawal scale and is okay with that she doesn’t know I’m smashed. I cant wait too see her tomorrow and go too the beach with her and C. Tonight I was so drunk I couldn’t do the withdrawal scale but they gave me a sleeping tablet. I fell over on my walk back too the hospital and fucked up my knee’s toes and one wrist.  I don’t want to feel this bad again I was literally laying where we smoke and I was tack coming hard. NEVER AGAIN! they want too take my solo leave away but they will let me out tomorrow with mum so I guess thats okay. Mum is taking me too the beach so I’m excited about that.

Day 10: I went too the beach today and it was great! the weather was warm but the water was absolutely freezing, yet refreshing. C was a no show today, which didn’t faze me. Mum bought me a razor so i could shave, but she made me strip too my underwear and show her my body both before AND after the shower and then she checked the razor, it was humiliating, but i completely understand why she did it and I don’t blame her! After the beach mum and I went too Lakehaven shops where we went too coles and Kmart, we got KFC for food. At Kmart I bought a new pair of shorts and a pair of thongs. Once I got back to the ward I had a biggie or two and started feeling really low so instead of doing something I’d regret I walked back through the doors too the ward, where after dinner I went straight to bed, looking back on that feeling I’m sure its because I was surrounded by a lot of people and I was just very overwhelmed, but I spent most of the night in my room or not engaging with people in the common areas. I snuck my phone in tonight, and messaged N until I fell asleep. I only took a 50mg serequel instead of that and a zopi. Im seeing mum tomorrow and she is taking me too see N and I’m super excited, I’ve missed him so much.

Day 11: Today has been a mixed bag of emotions, waking up every hour or so last night probably didn’t help. I woke up for my morning meds and breakfast with no-one waking me up. I went out for my morning smoke at 10 in my pj’s and took an hour. I went and laid in the sun in the courtyard with J, I then started to get ‘bad’ thoughts and went too lay down and read. I ended up getting PRN serequel because I could feel my heart beating through my chest and I was getting really edgy, I think that was because I was nervous about seeing N and Z this afternoon. Mum came up at around 2pm and we sat in the common area chatting for a bit, we then played uno, where I whopped her ass! Mum then signed me out on leave and we went too the small park right behind Tuggerah Westfeild so I could meet up with N and Z. When I saw N he gave me the biggest and best most needed cuddle I’ve ever had, he didn’t let me go, I had a few tears but it was okay, we talked, i laughed we got in Z’s car because the boys had something for me too listen too and it was THEIR SINGLE and it was fucking filthy, I’m so proud of them. N said he would come and stay at mum’s with me when i got out and we would dye my hair and go clothes shopping hahaha. On the drive back too the hospital I started getting really upset and anxious because I just wanted to go home with mum, but I’ve spoken with my nurse and it looks promising for discharge tomorrow :) Fingers crossed everything goes well. I smuggled my phone in again tonight.

[samanthasroberts]

Arnold Palmer obituary

One of the greatest players in the history of golf who won 73 tournaments

In any list of reasons for the present popularity and high financial standing of golf, the name, and the game, of Arnold Palmer are irresistibly linked.

Palmer, who has died aged 87, was one of the most charismatic golfers ever to play the game, a mans man who was adored by women and a player for whom no play was ever impossible. He got into, and out of, more trouble on the course than any of his championship winning peers, and so outrageous were some of his recovery shots that he quickly attracted a huge following.

The fans, the foot soldiers, who followed him through good or ill became known as Arnies Army and they never deserted him. Even though his golf inevitably declined with age, their fervour for him was undimmed, and even on the US Seniors tour he invariably departed the first tee with a bigger gallery than anyone else. Nor was his appeal confined to occasional fans. Jack Statter, golf correspondent for The Sun newspaper, was once watching his beloved Arnie when he noticed that the great mans caddie had failed to replace a huge divot. He nipped in quickly, trousered it, took it home and eventually grew a complete front lawn from that one small piece of turf. He called it, proudly, Palmers Piece.

Such devotion was inspired by the obvious passion that Palmer had for the game. He had a slashing, dashing style, frequently accompanied by a grin. He would hit the ball hard, the finish to his swing resembling a field athlete trying to break the world record for the hammer throw. It was not a swing that could be guaranteed to keep the ball out of the trees, nor did it. Jim Murray, the late and great Los Angeles sportswriter, and a big fan of Ben Hogan was one day watching Palmer when one of his drives finished in deep rough. According to Murray the ball was in a pile of twigs and leaves and I think there was a dead squirrel and a beer can in there too. Anyway, Palmer walked over and stared down at his ball. Then he saw me standing there and asked: OK wise guy, what would your idol Hogan do here? I told him: Hogan wouldnt be here. Palmer laughed and hit the ball onto the green anyway. Trouble, he once said, is bad to get into but fun to get out of. I suppose theres a place to play it safe but as far as Im concerned its not on the golf course.

Palmer was one of the few men to have given a word new meaning in golfs lexicon. In 1960 he won the US Masters at Augusta by finishing birdie, birdie, birdie. Almost all the sportswriters referred to Palmer charging through to the win, and he duly became famous for his final round finishes, the Palmer Charge.

Only two months after that Augusta win, he also won the US Open and again the charge was in evidence. After three rounds it looked as though he was without a chance, and before the final round he was discussing his prospects with a sportswriter friend, Bob Drum. What, wondered Palmer aloud, would a 65 do for me this afternoon? Drum, a big, burly and blunt man, was dismissive. Nothing, he said. Palmer, stung, went out and drove the first green at Cherry Hills, Denver, a hole measuring 346 yards. He got to the turn in 30, came back in 35 and won what was to be his only US Open. He won the Masters four times, in 1958, 1960, 1962 and 1964, and his seven majors were completed by winning the Open championship twice.

Palmer was rightly credited with reviving the almost moribund Open by playing in it for the first time at St Andrews in 1960. Few Americans thought it worth their while to come and play in the oldest of golfs major championships, but Palmer decided otherwise and encouraged many of his compatriots to make the trip as well. He was runner-up in 1960 and then won twice in succession, in 1961 and 1962, at Royal Birkdale and Troon respectively. The impact was immediate and immense. Prior to Palmer, only two Americans had won the Open since the end of the second world war: Sam Snead in 1946 and Hogan in 1953. In the years 1961-81 they won 14 times, by which time the Open had become the most cosmopolitan, and arguably the most influential, championship in the world.

Palmer was born in Latrobe, a small industrial town in western Pennsylvania, to Deacon, a golf professional at the Latrobe Country Club, and his wife, Doris. He began playing at Latrobe at the age of four, started caddying at 11, and was winning big local tournaments in his teens. He started studying at Wake Forest College (now University), but was badly affected by the death of his room-mate Bud Worsham in a car accident, and left college during his senior year to begin a three-year stint with the US Coast Guard, mainly in Cleveland, Ohio, where he felt he could rethink his life. After finishing with the Coast Guard he worked as a salesman in Cleveland and rekindled his interest in golf, winning the US Amateur championship in 1954 and turning pro the same year.

The next decade was one of heroic achievement, and though Palmers last win in a major came in 1964, his influence on the game remained undiminished. He continued winning other big tournaments in the US until his last victory there in 1973, and his last win in Europe was in 1975. He also ran his own tournament on the US tour, the Bay Hill Classic, which, because of his reputation, attracted fields as good as could be found outside the majors. The programme for that event, held in Orlando, Florida, carried advertisements for products endorsed by Palmer, ranging from cans of oil to tractors, from Cadillacs to Rolexes, from private banks to batteries, and he was making even greater sums of money on the back nine of his career than he did on the front.

For all his fame, however, Palmer was a modest man. From time to time people tried to get him interested in politics, and it was seriously proposed, at the height of his popularity, that he run not just for governor of Florida but for the US presidency. He never for a moment considered such nonsense, for he was a man much happier in his den or his workshop than in any high office.

In his den he had a Rolling Rock beer dispenser, well used when friends called round, and in his workshop he had all the tools any old-time club professional ever possessed. He was never happier than when tinkering with clubs, re-gripping or re-whipping an old set, altering a club loft or adding some lead strip. Some who saw him in these surrounds suggested he would have been happier in his life being the club pro his father was before him. But that viewpoint ignored the fierce competitive instinct which, while it consumed him, always remained well-hidden.

There was no better example of that instinct when the draw brought him and Jack Nicklaus together for the final round of the 1980 Masters. At that point Palmer had not won a tournament for five years, and Nicklaus, his friend and great rival, was the reigning US PGA champion. It should have been no contest. But Palmers wife, Winnie, knew better. Arnie plays better when hes got something like this to light his fire, she said. Palmer, whose reaction on hearing the draw had been to roar Ill whip his ass, went out and shot a 69 to Nicklauss 73, finishing fifth. In his previous 18 attempts at Augusta he had failed to break 70. Palmer had a long love affair with Augusta, and when in January 1997 he learned that he had prostate cancer, his first reaction was to ask whether, if he had the surgery immediately, he would be fit to play at Augusta in April. The answer was yes, and he was.

Altogether Palmer won 73 tournaments worldwide, including more than 60 on the US tour. Only Snead, Tiger Woods, Nicklaus and Hogan are ahead of him in that department. Twenty-nine of his victories were in the period 1960-63, which led eventually to him being named Associated Press athlete of the decade for the 60s. He appeared in six Ryder Cups from 1961 to 1973, playing in 32 matches and winning 22, and was twice a Ryder Cup captain in a playing role in 1963 and a non-playing capacity in 1975, winning both times.

He entered his last US Open at Oakmont, in Pennsylvania, in 1994 40 years after first playing in the event and his enthusiasm and longevity is demonstrated by the fact that the gap between his US Amateur championship win in 1954 and his US Senior Open victory in 1981 was 27 years. Perhaps no professional ever loved the game more. Many of the top players cannot bear to play unless there is a competitive aspect, and a round with friends for pure enjoyment is unthinkable. But Palmer played for the joy of it, and in his communication of that fact lay the secret of his incredible popularity.

There was an occasion at Bay Hill when he and the then emerging Woods found each other on the practice range at the same time. Palmer asked Woods if he was enjoying life on the tour and Woods replied that he was, because, you see, the thing is that I love to play golf. Palmer smiled and replied: Well, thats good. I know something about that. Its a problem Ive had for about the last 60 years.

Winnie (nee Walzer), whom he married in 1954, died in 1999. He is survived by their two daughters, Peggy and Amy, and by his second wife Kit (nee Gawthrop), whom he married in 2005.

Arnold Daniel Palmer, golfer, born 10 September 1929; died 25 September 2016

David Davies died in 2008

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/02/arnold-palmer-obituary/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/02/arnold-palmer-obituary/

[allofbeercom]

Arnold Palmer obituary

One of the greatest players in the history of golf who won 73 tournaments

In any list of reasons for the present popularity and high financial standing of golf, the name, and the game, of Arnold Palmer are irresistibly linked.

Palmer, who has died aged 87, was one of the most charismatic golfers ever to play the game, a mans man who was adored by women and a player for whom no play was ever impossible. He got into, and out of, more trouble on the course than any of his championship winning peers, and so outrageous were some of his recovery shots that he quickly attracted a huge following.

The fans, the foot soldiers, who followed him through good or ill became known as Arnies Army and they never deserted him. Even though his golf inevitably declined with age, their fervour for him was undimmed, and even on the US Seniors tour he invariably departed the first tee with a bigger gallery than anyone else. Nor was his appeal confined to occasional fans. Jack Statter, golf correspondent for The Sun newspaper, was once watching his beloved Arnie when he noticed that the great mans caddie had failed to replace a huge divot. He nipped in quickly, trousered it, took it home and eventually grew a complete front lawn from that one small piece of turf. He called it, proudly, Palmers Piece.

Such devotion was inspired by the obvious passion that Palmer had for the game. He had a slashing, dashing style, frequently accompanied by a grin. He would hit the ball hard, the finish to his swing resembling a field athlete trying to break the world record for the hammer throw. It was not a swing that could be guaranteed to keep the ball out of the trees, nor did it. Jim Murray, the late and great Los Angeles sportswriter, and a big fan of Ben Hogan was one day watching Palmer when one of his drives finished in deep rough. According to Murray the ball was in a pile of twigs and leaves and I think there was a dead squirrel and a beer can in there too. Anyway, Palmer walked over and stared down at his ball. Then he saw me standing there and asked: OK wise guy, what would your idol Hogan do here? I told him: Hogan wouldnt be here. Palmer laughed and hit the ball onto the green anyway. Trouble, he once said, is bad to get into but fun to get out of. I suppose theres a place to play it safe but as far as Im concerned its not on the golf course.

Palmer was one of the few men to have given a word new meaning in golfs lexicon. In 1960 he won the US Masters at Augusta by finishing birdie, birdie, birdie. Almost all the sportswriters referred to Palmer charging through to the win, and he duly became famous for his final round finishes, the Palmer Charge.

Only two months after that Augusta win, he also won the US Open and again the charge was in evidence. After three rounds it looked as though he was without a chance, and before the final round he was discussing his prospects with a sportswriter friend, Bob Drum. What, wondered Palmer aloud, would a 65 do for me this afternoon? Drum, a big, burly and blunt man, was dismissive. Nothing, he said. Palmer, stung, went out and drove the first green at Cherry Hills, Denver, a hole measuring 346 yards. He got to the turn in 30, came back in 35 and won what was to be his only US Open. He won the Masters four times, in 1958, 1960, 1962 and 1964, and his seven majors were completed by winning the Open championship twice.

Palmer was rightly credited with reviving the almost moribund Open by playing in it for the first time at St Andrews in 1960. Few Americans thought it worth their while to come and play in the oldest of golfs major championships, but Palmer decided otherwise and encouraged many of his compatriots to make the trip as well. He was runner-up in 1960 and then won twice in succession, in 1961 and 1962, at Royal Birkdale and Troon respectively. The impact was immediate and immense. Prior to Palmer, only two Americans had won the Open since the end of the second world war: Sam Snead in 1946 and Hogan in 1953. In the years 1961-81 they won 14 times, by which time the Open had become the most cosmopolitan, and arguably the most influential, championship in the world.

Palmer was born in Latrobe, a small industrial town in western Pennsylvania, to Deacon, a golf professional at the Latrobe Country Club, and his wife, Doris. He began playing at Latrobe at the age of four, started caddying at 11, and was winning big local tournaments in his teens. He started studying at Wake Forest College (now University), but was badly affected by the death of his room-mate Bud Worsham in a car accident, and left college during his senior year to begin a three-year stint with the US Coast Guard, mainly in Cleveland, Ohio, where he felt he could rethink his life. After finishing with the Coast Guard he worked as a salesman in Cleveland and rekindled his interest in golf, winning the US Amateur championship in 1954 and turning pro the same year.

The next decade was one of heroic achievement, and though Palmers last win in a major came in 1964, his influence on the game remained undiminished. He continued winning other big tournaments in the US until his last victory there in 1973, and his last win in Europe was in 1975. He also ran his own tournament on the US tour, the Bay Hill Classic, which, because of his reputation, attracted fields as good as could be found outside the majors. The programme for that event, held in Orlando, Florida, carried advertisements for products endorsed by Palmer, ranging from cans of oil to tractors, from Cadillacs to Rolexes, from private banks to batteries, and he was making even greater sums of money on the back nine of his career than he did on the front.

For all his fame, however, Palmer was a modest man. From time to time people tried to get him interested in politics, and it was seriously proposed, at the height of his popularity, that he run not just for governor of Florida but for the US presidency. He never for a moment considered such nonsense, for he was a man much happier in his den or his workshop than in any high office.

In his den he had a Rolling Rock beer dispenser, well used when friends called round, and in his workshop he had all the tools any old-time club professional ever possessed. He was never happier than when tinkering with clubs, re-gripping or re-whipping an old set, altering a club loft or adding some lead strip. Some who saw him in these surrounds suggested he would have been happier in his life being the club pro his father was before him. But that viewpoint ignored the fierce competitive instinct which, while it consumed him, always remained well-hidden.

There was no better example of that instinct when the draw brought him and Jack Nicklaus together for the final round of the 1980 Masters. At that point Palmer had not won a tournament for five years, and Nicklaus, his friend and great rival, was the reigning US PGA champion. It should have been no contest. But Palmers wife, Winnie, knew better. Arnie plays better when hes got something like this to light his fire, she said. Palmer, whose reaction on hearing the draw had been to roar Ill whip his ass, went out and shot a 69 to Nicklauss 73, finishing fifth. In his previous 18 attempts at Augusta he had failed to break 70. Palmer had a long love affair with Augusta, and when in January 1997 he learned that he had prostate cancer, his first reaction was to ask whether, if he had the surgery immediately, he would be fit to play at Augusta in April. The answer was yes, and he was.

Altogether Palmer won 73 tournaments worldwide, including more than 60 on the US tour. Only Snead, Tiger Woods, Nicklaus and Hogan are ahead of him in that department. Twenty-nine of his victories were in the period 1960-63, which led eventually to him being named Associated Press athlete of the decade for the 60s. He appeared in six Ryder Cups from 1961 to 1973, playing in 32 matches and winning 22, and was twice a Ryder Cup captain in a playing role in 1963 and a non-playing capacity in 1975, winning both times.

He entered his last US Open at Oakmont, in Pennsylvania, in 1994 40 years after first playing in the event and his enthusiasm and longevity is demonstrated by the fact that the gap between his US Amateur championship win in 1954 and his US Senior Open victory in 1981 was 27 years. Perhaps no professional ever loved the game more. Many of the top players cannot bear to play unless there is a competitive aspect, and a round with friends for pure enjoyment is unthinkable. But Palmer played for the joy of it, and in his communication of that fact lay the secret of his incredible popularity.

There was an occasion at Bay Hill when he and the then emerging Woods found each other on the practice range at the same time. Palmer asked Woods if he was enjoying life on the tour and Woods replied that he was, because, you see, the thing is that I love to play golf. Palmer smiled and replied: Well, thats good. I know something about that. Its a problem Ive had for about the last 60 years.

Winnie (nee Walzer), whom he married in 1954, died in 1999. He is survived by their two daughters, Peggy and Amy, and by his second wife Kit (nee Gawthrop), whom he married in 2005.

Arnold Daniel Palmer, golfer, born 10 September 1929; died 25 September 2016

David Davies died in 2008

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/02/arnold-palmer-obituary/