#sunshine until they decide i have to walk across the coals one more time just for kicks huh. and you wonder why im on the verge of a nervous

[pepprs]

yeah no im not going to lie to you gewls. the psychic damage of having to apply for the full-time version of my internship a year ago was kinda unbearable but like it made sense that i had to do that. but the psychic damage of having to apply for the literal EXACT same job that i am CURRENTLY IN just at a regular status with better benefits… is quite simply unspeakable. make it make sense.

[aria-i-adagio]

5,10, 14,20 please!

Gracias! I’m guessing this is from the OTP asks and for Anders/Hawke. Hope it is.

10) What scares them about entering a relationship?

Heheh.

Anders, of course, is convinced that being with him will likely get Hawke killed. Or that Hawke will decide that he’s a monster who is unworthy of being loved.

Adrian gets intensely attached to people. (Anxious attachment style.) He’s deeply afraid of getting into a relationship only to lose another person he loves.

14) What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good news. They’re both idiots, but they’re both touch-starved idiots. Asking for it probably isn’t a problem.

Adrian is also very much a “I found this thing I thought you’d like/made me think of you, here is it. Do you like it? Please like it.” kind of guy.

20) When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

With Anders canonical default endearment being ‘my love’, there’s plenty of evidence that he’d also be fairly free with the “I love you.” Adrian tends to be a bit more reserved. Be that as it may, Adrian said it first.

5) How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

I guess the question is like versus *like*.

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. Oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that they shouldn’t get in the way of children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell. (SFW fic below. Unedited.)

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

[ladynuwanda]

Children of the Ocean - Jim MasonXMermaid!Female Reader

A/N: My long-due first Jim-only story. And it´s also my first attempt into the Fantasy Genre. This is supposed to be more Fairy Tale-ish than anything I´ve even written... alegoric, even! So let me know if I´m doing it right! (I wanted to keep it a XReader fic, even though I´ve abandoned the first-person narration for this one, because I honestly think everyone has the right to feel like a mermaid at least once in their lives! I hope you enjoy it...)

Warnings: Well, it´s Jim! So alcohol and substance abuse, definitely. Hinting at Mental Illness and Suicidal Tendencies. And also unprotected sex (don´t be silly, wrap your willy! even if you´re having sex with a mythical creature...).

Word Count: 5,3K

James Mason was happy. Not just as a passing feeling, because moving to Palos Verdes was the beginning of a new and exciting chapter in his life. It was more permanent than that, Jim was a happy person, in general. He had a close-knit family, with a beautiful mother, a successful father and a twin sister who was his very best friend in the whole world. He was a beautiful boy with the brains to match, which meant that keeping up with school was never a problem. Quite the opposite, he seemed to excel in everything he did. And, thanks to his naturally friendly disposition, he’d never experienced any trouble when it came to making friends. So of course he was excited about the endless possibilities that would come with moving to California and living in a big house by the beach.

To the Mermaid, on the other hand, it was appalling enough that the land-people would even dare to build that enormous brick monstrosity so close to her home, and now she was watching in an offended silence as a loud family of four moved into that big house. The Mermaid remained at a safe distance from the shore, the lower half of her body underwater, so anyone that looked in her direction would just take her for a casual swimmer, and probably wouldn’t even bother to give her a second look. That’s when she first saw him.

Jim was standing by his family’s new swimming pool, enjoying the ocean view and thinking about how life was, indeed, very good. His dad had popped a bottle of champagne and the entire family was raising their glasses to the life ahead. He closed his eyes and let the champagne bubbles dance on his tongue, raising his face towards the sun, letting the sea-breeze brush his hair back from his brow, and enjoying its sharp scent. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find a girl staring back at him from the waves. From that distance he could feel, more than see, the anger in her glare. Like he was invading her property, when she was the one swimming in what was basically a private beach. Even if she was a little too far from shore to seem safe.

The boy was staring back at her. She knew that look. He wasn’t the first male man to look at her that way. But, for the first time, she didn’t feel like swimming away from those eyes. There was a light about him, an air of kindness and joy. The boy seemed made of sunshine. She felt her own face relax, her frown disappearing. The boy’s face lit up with a smile, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him. They just stared at each other for a second that felt frozen in time. When he slowly raised a hand to wave at her, the spell was broken and she disappeared beneath the waves.

Sleep didn’t come easy for Jim on his first night at his new home. Like a child on Christmas eve, he spent most of it twisting and turning on his bed in restless excitement. He decided to open the window and let some air in. Sitting on the windowsill and watching the moonlight glistening on the water below, he wondered if he could ever get tired of this view. Of the soothing sound of the waves and the gentle caress of the cool breeze on his warm skin. While he was lost in those thoughts and marvelling at all the novelties, he felt a song that seemed to come from the ocean itself filling his heart with peace. He went back to bed, leaving the window open, and fell asleep to the sweet lullaby.

He didn’t know the song he heard was coming from the same girl he had seen earlier. He wouldn’t dream she was a mermaid, and that in spite of the fact that she was supposed to stay away from beaches that were inhabited by humans, she just had to see the boy again. That an irresistible force had brought her back there, and how her heart did a somersault when his restless figure appeared on the window. He couldn’t know how much she wanted to sing him to sleep. So much that she had started singing without even realising she was doing it. It was a song that spoke of a girl waiting for the return of her lover, who had sailed to sea. A song of longing and promises.

His hair it hangs in ringlets

His eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him

Wherever he may go

Not knowing any of that, Jim slept like a baby. Every night he’d leave his window open. And every night she’d come to the shore and lull him to sleep.

From Tower Hill to Blackwall

I'll wander, weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor

Until he sails home

As the days went by, Jim realised life in Palos Verdes wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he had thought at first. The atmosphere in the house was getting so dense, you could practically cut the tension with a knife. And he could almost hear a ticking sound in the growing silence between his parents, like a bomb about to go off. But the first tell-tale sign of disturbance for Jim was Medina. Regardless of the scenic surroundings and the friendly people they met, she just couldn’t seem to fit in. His twin sister was clearly unhappy. And that was not something Jim was willing to accept. They were a team. It had been Medina and him against the world from the moment they were born. Either both of them were happy, or none of them was.

Medina took to surfing as a way to feel connected to her new home, and Jim was eager to follow her. He loved it when it was just the two of them and the sea. Just the endless blue and the blinding sunlight, and they could simply drown all their worries in salt water. Teaching their bodies to ride the waves, until their muscles would give in to exhaustion, and they would walk back home tired but happy. And feeling closer to each other than ever. It was their moment, and Jim treasured more than anything the fact that he was able to share this new-found passion with Medina.

One afternoon Jim had been too tired to hit the waves himself, so he just sat on the sand and watched his twin sister. She was getting better every day, a lot better than Jim himself. But far from being jealous of Medina for it, he was proud of her. He was wondering how she could seem so relaxed and so focused at the same time, when he heard a familiar song. A song he had only felt in his heart so far, but that now he could hear loud and clear. Without a conscious decision to do so, he got on his feet and followed the sound.

Come all you pretty fair maids

Whoever you may be

Who love a jolly sailor

That plows the raging sea

He found her sitting on a rock that made a pretty good diving spot to a somewhat deep part of the sea, cradling what looked like a wounded seagull on her lap and singing. His eyes wondered through her long wet hair cascading on her back and covering her breasts, and he noticed she had tiny seashells entwined in her many thin braids, but was only vaguely aware of the iridescent glimmer of the scales that covered half of her body. Jim was lost in marvelled disbelief while his brain connected the dots, and he realised that the song that brought peace to his heart every night came from that mysterious girl he had seen on the day he moved in.

While up aloft in storm

From me his absence mourn

And firmly pray arrive the day

He's never more to roam

It all happened so fast that everything seemed to happen at the same time. The sound of Medina’s voice calling her twin brother’s name rang throughout the beach, and Jim turned around towards it, in reflex. The seagull took flight and he heard a soft splashing sound that told him the rock would be empty when he looked at it again. And just like that, she was gone.

The next day it was Jim’s turn to hit the waves all by himself. But he wasn’t there to surf, he was a man with a mission. He paddled his surfing-board as far into the sea as he would dare. If what he thought he had seen was indeed what he saw, he wouldn’t be able to make contact with the mysterious girl from a place where people could listen in. But now what? He was sitting on the board, one leg on each side, in the middle of the ocean in the blinding sunlight. And how would he get her attention? He couldn’t just dip a hand in the water and shake it to call her, it wasn’t like she was a trained dolphin! He had to think better than that...

He knew what he had to do. He closed his eyes and, with a deep breath, gathered the courage he needed to try and sing the song that’d been engraved in his heart by now.

My heart is pierced by cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my...

His voice broke off mid-sentence when he felt a slight weight shift on the end of the board that was in front of him, and still with his eyes closed Jim let out a relieved sigh even before she had said anything.

“I didn’t even know it was possible for any living creature to sing so awfully...”, when he opened his eyes, he found the sweetest face he had ever seen looking at him with kindness, in spite of her harsh words, “... I’m not entirely sure what you were doing may be called singing, to be honest.”, the warmest smile spread across her face, reaching her bright eyes. And this time it was Jim who had no choice but to smile back at the girl resting her forearms on the edge of his surf-board to stay afloat.

“Hi”, he said, feeling silly and unoriginal.

“Hi”, she replied, delighted with its simplicity.

“Are you really a...”, he began to ask when she shifted her body a little, and the tip of an iridescent mermaid’s tale appeared above water behind her, making his jaw drop and his blue eyes widen, “... oh. Ok. I guess that makes you kind of an authority when it comes to singing, uh?!”, he chuckled awkwardly and she giggled in response. Even that sound was musical. The sparkles in her eyes danced when she laughed like the sunshine on the waves around them. “So what’s it like... living in the Ocean?”, was he really trying to make small-talk with a Mermaid now?

She didn’t mind his curiosity, she was too curious about this land-boy herself, so she told him everything she could about her aquatic home, and how everything was getting more difficult with every passing year. How the ocean seemed to grow every day, because of the melting icecaps, but it also seemed to be getting smaller with all the pollution. Most of it was not inhabitable anymore, the sea creatures were dying and the mermaids like herself were being driven farther away from the shores by human presence.

Jim listened to her, grasping the seriousness of her words, while still marvelling at the way she batted her wet eyelashes when she talked and at the droplets of water on her face and hair that looked like tiny crystals. On his turn, he told her about how he wanted to be one of the people who might actually do something about it, how he hoped his generation was going to be the one to put an end to the worldwide environmental crisis, and he wanted to be an active participant on this action.

This beautiful boy, who seemed to hold the entire ocean in his eyes, was telling her that he wanted his life to amount for something good. He said that he wanted to die knowing that he left the world a better place than it was when he came into it. And looking at the way his eyes widened and his eyebrows moved when he talked about things he was passionate about, she had no choice but to believe him. He seemed so honest and kind, looking at her from behind the dark curls that fell in front of his eyes as they dried, a little bit of sand still clinging to them. And his sun-kissed skin seemed so warm to the touch, she had to make the conscious effort to keep her hands to herself.

Under normal circumstances, her underwater home was like a beautiful and multicoloured garden. She described it to him. The way the rays of sunshine would reach through the water in the morning, making everything come alive in light and colour. He looked at her with a dreamy expression “That must be a beautiful sight... what wouldn’t I give to see it!” he sighed. “Maybe you can... I know a way”, indeed she knew she could give this to him, if she shared the Gift of the Ocean. She could make the grace that she was given to her pass on to him if she wanted, it’s just that she had never wanted to. Until now.

“Come closer”, she said not much louder than the sound of the ripples that hit his surfboard. He leaned forward towards her and she held his cheek in one hand, bringing her lips towards his “open your mouth, Jim”, he obeyed and she blew a soft breath between his parted lips. He felt a pleasant shiver running all over his body as she breathed into his mouth and,without thinking, he closed the distance between their parted lips when she was done. Jim half expected to taste the sea salt on her lips, but instead they were cool and fresh, capable of quenching every thirst he’d ever felt in life, and he felt himself melting into her lips, his tongue gently asking for permission to meet hers.

Jim’s surfboard turned over under their combined enthusiasm and he fell to the water, but they never broke the kiss. Now that she had given him the Gift of the Ocean, he couldn’t drown even if he tried. So he just wrapped his arms around her, one hand on her back pulling her closer, the other entangled in her long hair. She ran her fingers through his adorable curls and held on to the back of his neck like her life depended on it. And they both sank slowly in their underwater kiss. Losing themselves in the endless peaceful blue around them, and on each other.

For Medina Mason, her twin brother was the glue that kept their family together. What she didn’t know was that the opposite was also true: it was the family thread that kept the fabric of Jim’s life in one piece. Once that thread had been broken, it didn’t take long for the entire fabric to come undone before their eyes. Jim just couldn’t stand being in the middle of the crossfire between Medina and their mother. He couldn’t leave Sandy Mason alone right when her entire world was crumbling down, but it was against his very nature not to stand up for his twin sister. And in spite of his best efforts, the two women in his life just didn’t seen to be able to meet eye to eye. And every day he felt more and more like he was drifting away from his father. To the point where Phil Mason had become a complete stranger to him.

It was too much for Jim, he needed a way out of all this pain. He still had surfing hours with Medina and their shared love for the sea. He met with the Mermaid whenever they both could, and they’d spend hours talking and kissing by the bonfire at night. Then he would usually go back home and hear her singing him to sleep from the beach. But even that was not enough to calm his tormented heart anymore. And Jim’s new friends were quick to supply him with new ways to escape his overwhelming reality.

It started as fun, as those things always do. Just a little bit of drinking, to relax. Something stronger when those drinks were no longer enough. And Jim slowly became a whole different person. There was no more laugh in his voice, no more joy on his walks home from school. He became cold and distant and suddenly the very thought of being sober became unbearable. So he was never sober. And he wouldn’t find pleasure in surfing anymore. The amazing ocean view from his house, that once filled his heart, meant nothing to him. He just wanted to dull his senses, until he couldn’t feel a thing.

His encounters with the Mermaid happened a lot less often. Not that he didn’t want to see her. Sometimes he missed her so much, he couldn’t breathe. She was all the peace he had left in life, but he didn’t feel worthy of it anymore. She was just too pure, too sweet. And he was a ruined mess, just a shadow of the young man she had met. A shell, devoid of feelings. He couldn’t offer that to someone who was willingly giving him her entire heart. He couldn’t taint her like that.

What felt like their last encounter happened on one night when he was particularly wasted on mushrooms and misery. He went to the rock where they had first met, and built the bonfire, as he always did, and she appeared on the rock shortly after, answering his call. Whenever she had visited the beach before, she’d liked to stay somewhere she knew she’d be able to return to the sea by her own efforts. But that changed when she met Jim. She trusted him to carry her to the sand and back to the waves later. He placed her gently by the bonfire and put his denim jacket around her shoulders, like always did, but she could tell something was off.

She had noticed the change in him, better than anyone else, and not just by the way the light had left his eyes. As soon as he started drinking and doing drugs, she could smell it in his blood. His entire scent changed, like he was poisoning himself. She could taste the alcohol and the tobacco growing more present in his kisses at every new encounter. She had seem him from a distance, too. Even though the grace she had given him would keep him from drowning, that stunt of his on the hood of his friend’s car told her clearly that he would find another way to go. She was desperate. She didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t familiar with this situation. All she knew was that the boy she adored, who had once felt as much like a Child of the Ocean as her, was now the kind of person who would mindlessly throw trash at it.

He sat by her side and took her in his arms harshly. He gave sloppy kisses to her lips and carelessly groped for her breasts. She even tried to adjust herself to his new ways. Then tried to make him go slower, be gentler, but he was blind and deaf to her. His touch now felt unpleasant and uncaring, and his lips had a toxic flavour that was making her sick. It wasn’t just the ocean that he didn’t mind polluting anymore, Jim was polluting his own body. Not knowing what else to do, she froze. She was too scared of this mindless Jim, she didn’t know how to get him to stop, so she just stopped moving herself. After a few moments of kissing what felt like a girl made of stone, he finally realised something was wrong and looked into her eyes for the first time in she didn’t even know how long.

Even in his drugged haze, Jim saw that she seemed scared out of her wits, her eyes filled with tears. He was hurting her. Hurting her heart as well as her body. And that knowledge hurt Jim more than anything he had experienced before. She asked in a weak whisper if he could carry her back to the sea, and he didn’t argue. He couldn’t do this to her anymore, he couldn’t make her carry the burden that was him, she deserved better. With one last kiss on his lips and tears streaming down her face she swam away, leaving Jim waist-deep in the waves, feeling his heart turn to stone.

She wasn’t surprised to find his window closed later that night, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less. Neither did it hurt less a few days later when she saw him getting out of the sea into that girl Heather’s arms. It was more than just jealousy that cold stab she felt in her chest, watching Heather wrap her legs around his waist in a way she knew she never could. How happy and light she looked when he lifted her from the ground onto his arms, holding a firm grip on her buttocks. Even though the Mermaid couldn’t drown, she felt like all air had been knocked out of her lungs when he kissed the girl’s neck, gently running his nose on her jaw. It was bad enough that she knew he had been lost to her, seeing how quickly he had just bounced back and into Heather’s arms felt like dying.

Jim’s relationship with Heather felt like a pale comparison to what he had experienced, but deep in his heart he felt like it was all he deserved after the way he had treated that precious creature of the sea. His attraction to Heather was nothing but hormone-induced lust, not a trace of the deep connection he had felt from the first time he and the Mermaid had laid eyes on each other. But Heather didn’t make him feel like he had to be a better person for her. In fact she’d let him do whatever the hell he wanted. She didn’t know any better, so there was no way she could tell him better. He could just dive deeper and deeper into alcohol and substance abuse, and she would still be by his side, telling him how amazing she thought he was. Even if he felt dead inside.

They were supposed to run away, Medina and Jim. They were all each other had, they were each other’s Tribe, as Medina had said. They needed to get away from this life, from this mess. Just the two of them traveling out there, surfing and seeing the world. But at the last moment, Jim realised. Medina didn’t trust him anymore. He could see it in her eyes. He had lost his twin sister too. Even her had given up on him, even her was afraid of him. When he lit the flare he had in his hand, she did the unthinkable: ran back home to their mother.

He had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to. He ran down the road with the flare in his hand, and his feet took him to the beach without him even noticing. Back to the rock, where he used to meet the Mermaid before his life fell of its tracks. He built the bonfire but even in such an altered state he knew he couldn’t honestly expect her to come. Not anymore. He walked into the ocean fully dressed, shoes and all. He was desperate to have his head covered by the cold water, silencing the rest of the world. If only he could silence it forever. He was up to his chest in the water, when she appeared in front of him.

She had seen the bonfire from afar. He was calling for her, desperate and alone, and of course she would answer. He looked at her with clouded, disbelieving eyes, not sure if she was actually there or if this was just a hallucination. When she whispered his name he let himself fall in her arms. She held him close, trying to soothe him with shushing sounds while he sobbed against the curve of her neck. She convinced him to go back to the beach, by promising she would go with him. They sat by the bonfire, trying to get a little of its warmth and dry his clothes. Eventually he fell asleep with his head on her lap, while she ran her fingers through his hair and sang that same old song, that reminded him of simpler times.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

The next day Jim was found by the police, lost and disoriented. But alive. They took him to the hospital and he would soon be back home. He would take care of himself now. His family would help him get better. Everything was gonna get better. It had to. He’d have given anything never to feel that way again. And he really would have had. If only he wasn’t so tired. Just so damn tired.

He had been sober for a while now. He was trying, but it was nearly impossible to stay that way when he felt the effects of abstinence crawling under his skin. He was sitting on the sand, looking at the bonfire he had built and trying to understand how it was that everything had gone so wrong. She called him from the rock, like she hadn’t done in so long, and he threw himself in her arms kissing her slow and deep, not even thinking. The feeling of her kissing him back with the same abandon she had before gave him a high better than any drug he had ever done. And he allowed himself to smile into the kiss. His first genuine smile in a really long time.

When he broke the kiss to look at her, he saw in awed surprise that what was once her tail had split in two perfect human legs. Where once there had been scales that reflected the firelight in tiny rainbows, there was now smooth skin inviting him to touch. He took her to the soft sand by the fire, too aware of her nakedness. In fact, for some reason, it had only now hit him that she had been naked all the time and he blushed a little. Although she didn’t seem to mind it herself.

She wasn’t surprised by this sudden transformation of her lower body. She had heard about it before, she knew it was possible. She just never thought it would be possible for her. And she had been almost sure it wouldn’t since the night she asked Jim to carry her back to the waves. If it wouldn’t happen for her adored land-boy, it wouldn’t happen for anyone else. She would always keep her mermaid’s tale to protect her from the unwanted advances of human males. But Jim was different. He was worthy of leaving her scaly armour for.

Jim thought he was probably going to feel less conscious of her nudity if he wasn’t so clothed himself. He undressed between passionate kisses, with her help, his fingers always eager to return to the delicate skin of her thighs, with the softest of touches. Soon he found himself kissing her silky inner thighs, moving slowly up, until finally he covered her wet core with his mouth, the sweetest moan escaping her lips to the contact. He ran his tongue flat over her folds, daring to let just the tip inside her, and closed his lips on her sensitive bundle of nerves sucking gently, holding her hips in place with both hands while her entire body was shaking with pleasure.

This was heaven. Better than heaven. But soon the delightful caress of his lips was no longer enough. She needed to have him. All of him. She tightened the grip of the fingers she had on his hair and pulled him up. He hesitated for a moment, looking deep into her eyes, asking for permission. She gave him the smallest nod and a soft kiss, and he entered her, as gently as humanly possible. It wasn’t without pain when he took her on the sand, making her gasp loudly at the foreign sensation. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to stop. She pushed the searing pain between her thighs to the back of her brain and tried to focus only on the beautiful boy lying on top of her, moving his body to a rhythm that matched that of the waves on the shore.

The delicate sounds that escaped his lips, the way he closed his eyes and a little crease appeared between his eyebrows when I jolt of pleasure shot through him. The way he tried so hard to get hold of his senses, so he wouldn’t get carried away and end up hurting her was absolutely endearing. The shaky sighs when it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to hold it any longer, and he would whisper sweet nothings in her ear to help her relax and ease her pain. Everything little thing he did was to guide her into her own pleasure, and he lovingly lead her there. It was only after he felt her writhing in ecstasy beneath him that Jim let himself find his own release, and he came undone buried deep inside her. And that’s how they fell asleep, him never leaving the warm nest of her body.

At the sunrise they walked into the ocean hand in hand. Jim was ready to leave everything behind and become one with the sea. Smiling at each other, they disappeared beneath the waves, where they could live together forever, away from all the pain and trouble of his human life. His mortal shell was found lying face down on the sand, on a beach located south of his family’s home. But it was only when his ashes dissolved with the sea-foam that he fully became a Child of the Ocean for good.

As happy as he was with his new life in his new aquatic home, Jim knew he would never stop feeling guilty about leaving his family behind. Specially Medina. They had come into the world together, it was not fair that she would have to walk on it alone now. Part of him wanted to bring her along so she could live with him and the other sea creatures. But he knew his twin sister still had much to do on the land. She was going to travel. Surf and see the world, as they had promised each other they do together.

He only hoped she knew he had never truly left her. He hoped she would know where to look whenever she missed him. She would always find his eyes, gently watching over her, from the infinite blue where the sky meets the ocean. If she missed his laugh, or the sound of his voice, she only had to sit quietly and listen to the murmur of the waves. He would be there, whispering her his secrets, as he always had. When she felt herself being touched by the warm rays of sunshine on a clear morning, it would be him. Wrapping her in a loving embrace. He hoped she new. That as long as Medina could find her way back to the sea, Jim would always be with her.

Taglist: (I don´t have a permanent taglist, these are just some of my dear friends who I think might enjoy this story) @are-you-lilith-or-eve @babydollcake @blakewaterxx @cam-elija @ccodyfern @consultingsnowqueen @coollangdon @emmyrosee @hecohansen31 @katiekitty261 @langdonsdemon @lathraios @livocc @lostin-fern @lovelylangdonx @maso-xchrist @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-appreciation @mytrash-mylife @no-need-for-rules @the-prima-belladonna @puppy5474 @queen-of-quotes @rocketgirl2410 @rosegoldrichie @satans-cool-friend @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Black Coffee: Part 4

Summary: Coffee aroma surrounds you as you prepare for a long day of studying in your favorite coffee shop. Your focus is shattered by a handsome stranger demanding a very large favor-pretend to be his girlfriend.  Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader Warning(s): Cursing. Innocent fluff. Hints at sexual situations. Word Count: 1,925 Beta Reader: My darling honey bun, @supersoldiersruined-me Notes: I wasn’t planning on making this a series...and yet there are now 5 parts. Which ended up working out perfectly with my Fire Pit scenario prompt for @beckzorz 1K challenge. Thanks Becca for hosting this and congrats on 1K.

The walk to Quay 4 only takes a couple of minutes; one of the pluses about staying at your apartment and not at the tower with Bucky. The occasional jingle of your keys against the glass growler act like windchimes in the early fall breeze. You round the corner of the final block and come face to face with one of your favorite views of the city. The East River is nestled between lush trees. Some of them have started show hints of the color change at their edges but most are vibrant green determined to hold onto the last remnants of summer. The Brooklyn Bridge is in the backdrop, already beginning to fill with morning commuters you note. That last detail has you pick up your pace a bit.

The barista at the coffeeshop greets you by name as you hand over the growler to be filled with cold brew. It should last the two of you your entire trip. You also order some pastries, your regular hot coffee, and Bucky’s black with 15 sugars. The barista doesn’t bat an eye.

“Where is the sugar addict and the pups anyway?”

The two of you clearly came to the shop too often.

“He should be walking back from the dog park now with both of the mutts and packing the last bits into the car.”

“Packing?”

“As celebration for me being done with school we’re headed up to Adirondack State Park. We’re taking both the fluff balls and camping for a week.” You quickly shoot off a text to Bucky telling him your on your way back. You hope the car is packed so you can start the seven hour drive and beat the worst of the traffic. “No work, no school, and maybe no cell service if we’re lucky.”

The barista wishes you a safe trip and hands over the growler. It’s cool to the touch and feels pleasant during the walk back. Despite fall officially arriving next week, the weather in Brooklyn still felt warm. You knew it could very well change further north.

You truly couldn’t believe it was fall already. Truth be told, you hadn’t had much of a summer as it was filled with classes, papers, and final exams to wrap up your graduate degree. Somewhere in the haze and craziness, you and Bucky had passed your one year anniversary.

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You’d been surrounded by pens and textbooks. Notecards littered the floor in semi-organized piles. Bucky had let you lock yourself in your office all day to study for a particularly challenging exam. It wasn’t until bedtime, you remember, he’d tapped on your office door. Both Ruby and Rufus had assaulted you with kisses and demanded pets from their long lost mother. Being engrossed in the puppy love, you hadn’t realized Bucky had entered and brought in a cupcake with a single candle.

“Happy Anniversary, doll.” He had said with a sleepy but beaming smile. “I know you’re studying, so I don’t want to derail your progress, but I love you. I can’t wait until we can celebrate.”

You’d started sobbing. You weren’t sure if it was the thoughtfulness, the sleep deprivation, or the fact you’d been so stressed you’d forgotten the anniversary all together. Bucky had understood of course. This trip was a delayed anniversary trip of sorts in addition to celebration grad school being completed. The memory was a fond one and you hoped the trip would be the celebration you both deserved.

**************************************************************************************************

You turn onto your street and are greeted by a stunning view of your boyfriends plump backside. The rest of him is buried, digging around in the back of the jeep no doubt triple checking the camping supplies. Your catcall and whistle startles Bucky and alerts the dogs of your return.

“Hey hot stuff!” You come up and smack his behind. “I got some cold bean juice for you.”

“I love cold bean juice...but don’t tell my girlfriend I prostituted my behind for it.” He pulls you into a quick hug and kiss, lightly squeezing your own bottom.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You stow the coffee in with the rest of your food in the cooler. “I’m certain your girlfriend is too busy wondering if everything is packed and if we still have a chance on beating traffic.”

“Then I would ask why my girlfriend is talking in third person and has travel tendencies like some 55 year old suburban father.” He scoffs; a lopsided smile playing on his lips before he takes a long pull from his coffee. “But yes, everything is packed and ready to go.”

You call the dogs up into the backseat and haul yourself into the passenger side. Bucky slides his mirror aviators off the top of his head and onto his face, queues the road trip playlist you’d both made the night prior, and coaxes the jeeps engine to life.  

**************************************************************************************************

The drive had gone smooth enough. The polished, hard, grey surfaces of the city had melted and changed into open roads surrounded by multicolored countryside. You found yourself ignoring all the books and things you’d brought to pass the time and embraced staring out the window. It was relaxing to look out at the farmhouses or abandoned buildings and imagine what lives had been lived in them and what the people had been like. Bucky had decided to turn the drive into his own personal concert series and sang each and every song with gusto until his throat started to get sore.

Bucky had insisted you guys chose one the rustic sites far away from the loop of traditional campsites with water and electric (and near the showers you’d noted). Something about “it’s not real camping if you can charge your phone”. After checking in with the ranger and procuring a map, you drove off in the direction of your plot.

You had to hand it to him for choosing a beautiful spot. He’d certainly done his research. The site was heavily wooded along the dirt path leading up to it. It opened up to a medium sized clearing which is more than large enough to park the Jeep and set up camp. On the east side of the clearing was a creek. If you had to guess, it was probably a moderate size tributary by the steady rushing of water sounds against the stone banks but likely no larger than five feet across. On the west side there was a smattering of wild flowers basking in the sunshine. During your admiration of the site, Bucky had already done a loop of observation and chosen the flattest spot on high ground for the tent.

“You just gonna stand and gawk or help me set up camp, darling.” He called to you already having unrolled the tent tarp. “Unless of course your gawking at me…”

He’s smirking into the sunlight. Sadly the sunglasses are blocking his stunning ice blue eyes, but the vibrant smile and his carefree posture are enough to make you sigh. Your boyfriend had been through a lot. Seeing him so carefree never failed to fill your heart.

Setting up camp didn’t take long. Despite Bucky’s joking requests for help, he had a very dictatorial style of camp set up and took over most of the tasks himself. You didn’t mind unfolding one of the lounge chairs and keeping an eye on the dogs exploring their surroundings (and sneaky glances at your slick with sweat boyfriend).

Dusk had settled over the campsite and somehow it was more beautiful than when it had been bathed in sunlight. Bucky had started a large fire in a homemade fire pit hours ago. The fire had finally produced enough coals for you to set up the large cast iron pan on the fire to begin cooking dinner. The smells wafting from the fire were heavenly and stirred your stomach. Bucky ignited the solar powered lanterns you brought with and the plot was bathed in a warm almost candlelight glow. Ruby and Rufus had wiped themselves out with exploring and chasing fireflies. They were both now curled up next to the fire rousing only in hope of some cooking fallout.

You fished the foil wrapped potatoes out of the blazing hot coals, adding two to Bucky’s plate and one on your own. The meat had a perfect crispy outside thanks to the cast iron’s caramelization. You’d made sure to make enough protein and tossed some sweet potatoes in to give the dogs a special dinner tonight. Last thing to go on your plates were the veggie skewers from the grill grate. It was a damn good meal considering you were rusty on your camp cooking skills.

Fully sated, the two of you lounged in the freestanding hammock you’d managed to convince Bucky to bring. The crackling of the fire created a relaxing soundtrack along with the sounds of the forest and the babbling of the stream. The dogs had curled up together on their outdoor bed.

“Darling?” The word is mumbled into the crown of your head while you lay across Bucky’s chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

You were fully ready to brush off the praise like you usually do but the self deprecating joke died in your throat. You found yourself overwhelmed and a tad emotional. You were done. You’d finished your second degree. You lifted your head to meet your boyfriend's eyes.

“Thank you, Buck. Happy late Anniversary.”

He kisses your forehead before his lips meet yours. The kiss is sweet and delicate and filled with love. The fire pit and the flames within it had burnt down to a slow sultry roll. You pull away and brush back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Bucky’s forehead; the same one that always went rogue.

“So… how far away is the nearest campsite?”

“A couple miles at least. Why?”

“Far enough if someone were to scream or something, no one would hear?”

“Are you planning on murdering me, love?”

“Not exactly.” You gaze into his eyes and see the amber fire reflected in the blue pools. The deep tan of his summer skin is backlight from the light cast from the pit and lanterns. It’s sinful how good he looks right now. You shift your weight in the hammock so his thigh rests between your legs. He still looks puzzled and moderately worried about you turning into an axe murderer. You roll your hips as much as the hammock net permits and plant a kiss to the exposed skin on his neck.

“Ohhhhhh!” The exclamation turns to a low groan as you suck deeply onto his neck. He tries to pull you into a new position for better access-

“What the hell babe!” You plop not so gracefully onto the cool grass. “If you weren’t in the mood you just had to say so.”

He can tell your anger is lighthearted as you’re unable to contain your giggles. In the needy attempt to touch you, Bucky had disrupted the equilibrium of the hammock and tumbled you to the dirt.

“I told you I hate this damn thing!” Bucky attempts to get out himself but stumbles as if to prove his point further. “Tent!” He points at the blue structure and says the word with conviction. You think it’s a command to get the lazy dogs to move but as you scan his body you can see the very clear bulge in his tight shorts. It was safe to assume the relaxation period had come to an end.

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Wish

Roald Dahl (2009)

UNDER the palm of one hand the child became aware of the scab of an old cut on his kneecap. He bent forward to examine it closely. A scab was always a fascinating thing; it presented a special challenge he was never able to resist. Yes, he thought, I will pick it off, even if it isn't ready, even if the middle of it sticks, even if it hurts like anything. With a fingernail he began to explore cautiously around the edges of the scab. He got a nail underneath it, and when he raised it, but ever so slightly, it suddenly came off, the whole hard brown scab came off beautifully, leaving an interesting little circle of smooth red skin. Nice. Very nice indeed. He rubbed the circle and it didn't hurt. He picked up the scab, put it on his thigh and flipped it with a finger so that it flew away and landed on the edge of the carpet, the enormous red and black and yellow carpet that stretched the whole length of the hall from the stairs on which he sat to the front door in the distance. A tremendous carpet. Bigger than the tennis lawn. Much bigger than that. He regarded it gravely, setting his eyes upon it with mild pleasure. He had never really noticed it before, but now, all of a sudden the colours seemed to brighten mysteriously and spring out at him in a most dazzling way. You see, he told himself, I know how it is. The red parts of the carpet are red-hot lumps of coal. What I must do is this: I must walk all the way along it to the front door without touching them. If I touch the red I will be burnt. As a matter of fact, I will be burnt up completely. And the black parts of the carpet... yes, the black parts are snakes, poisonous snakes, adders mostly, and cobras, thick like tree-trunks round the middle, and if I touch one of them, I'll be bitten and I'll die before tea time. And if I get across safely, without being burnt and without being bitten, I will be given a puppy for my birthday tomorrow. He got to his feet and climbed higher up the stairs to obtain a better view of this vast tapestry of colour and death. Was it possible? Was there enough yellow? Yellow was the only colour he was allowed to walk on. Could it be done? This was not a journey to be undertaken lightly; the risks were far too great for that. The child's face—a fringe of white-gold hair, two large blue eyes, a small pointed chin peered down anxiously over the banisters. The yellow was a bit thin in places and there were one or two widish gaps, but it did seem to go all the way along to the other end. For someone who had only yesterday triumphantly travelled the whole length of the brick path from the stables to the summer-house without touching the cracks, this carpet thing should not be too difficult. Except for the snakes. The mere thought of snakes sent a fine electricity of fear running like pins down the backs of his legs and under the soles of his feet. He came slowly down the stairs and advanced to the edge of the carpet. He extended one small sandalled foot and placed it cautiously upon a patch of yellow. Then he brought the other foot up, and there was just enough room for him to stand with the two feet together. There! He had started! His bright oval face was curiously intent, a shade whiter perhaps than before, and he was holding his arms out sideways to assist his balance. He took another step, lifting his foot high over a patch of black, aiming carefully with his toe for a narrow channel of yellow on the other side. When he had completed the second step he paused to rest, standing very stiff and still. The narrow channel of yellow ran forward unbroken for at least five yards and he advanced gingerly along it, bit by bit, as though walking a tightrope. Where it finally curled off sideways, he had to take another long stride, this time over a vicious-looking mixture of black and red. Halfway across he began to wobble. He waved his arms around wildly, windmill fashion, to keep his balance, and he got across safely and rested again on the other side. He was quite breathless now, and so tense he stood high on his toes all the time, arms out sideways, fists clenched. He was on a big safe island of yellow. There was lots of room on it, he couldn't possibly fall off, and he stood there resting, hesitating, waiting, wishing he could stay for ever on this big safe yellow island. But the fear of not getting the puppy compelled him to go on. Step by step, he edged further ahead, and between each one he paused to decide exactly where he should put his foot. Once, he had a choice of ways, either to left or right, and he chose the left because although it seemed the more difficult, there was not so much black in that direction. The black was what had made him nervous. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to see how far he had come. Nearly halfway. There could be no turning back now. He was in the middle and he couldn't turn back and he couldn't jump off sideways either because it was too far, and when he looked at all the red and all the black that lay ahead of him, he felt that old sudden sickening surge of panic in his chest--like last Easter time, that afternoon when he got lost all alone in the darkest part of Piper's Wood. He took another step, placing his foot carefully upon the only little piece of yellow within reach, and this time the point of the foot came within a centimetre of some black. It wasn't touching the black, he could see it wasn't touching, he could see the small line of yellow separating the toe of his sandal from the black; but the snake stirred as though sensing his nearness, and raised its head and gazed at the foot with bright beady eyes, watching to see if it was going to touch. "I'm not touching you! You mustn't bite me! You know I'm not touching you!" Another snake slid up noiselessly beside the first, raised its head, two heads now, two pairs of eyes staring at the foot, gazing at a little naked place just below the sandal strap where the skin showed through. The child went high up on his toes and stayed there, frozen stiff with terror. It was minutes before he dared to move again. The next step would have to be a really long one. There was this deep curling river of black that ran clear across the width of the carpet, and he was forced by his position to cross it at its widest part. He thought first of trying to jump it, but decided he couldn't be sure of landing accurately on the narrow band of yellow on the other side. He took a deep breath, lifted one foot, and inch by inch he pushed it out in front of him, far far out, then down and down until at last the tip of his sandal was across and resting safely on the edge of the yellow. He leaned forward, transferring his weight to his front foot. Then he tried to bring the back foot up as well. He strained and pulled and jerked his body, but the legs were too wide apart and he couldn't make it. He tried to get back again. He couldn't do that either. He was doing the splits and he was properly stuck. He glanced down and saw this deep curling river of black underneath him. Parts of it were stirring now, and uncoiling and beginning to shine with a dreadfully oily glister. He wobbled, waved his arms frantically to keep his balance, but that seemed to make it worse. He was starting to go over. He was going over to the right, quite slowly he was going over, then faster and faster, and at the last moment, instinctively he put out a hand to break the fall and the next thing he saw was this bare hand of his going right into the middle of a great glistening mass of black and he gave one piercing cry as it touched. Outside in the sunshine, far away behind the house, the mother was looking for her son. 

[wellmeaningshutin]

War!

Written: 3/12/2018, by S. Sparrow

A nurse leaves the operating room to obtain a much needed item that she never found, because, when she walked out of the room, a bullet had wasted no time and created two parallel holes in her neck, which began to drain itself of blood. Trying to scream, but unable to find her voice, she slumps against the door and uses her two hands to plug the two holes, which causes blood to spill between her fingers. Weak, she is unable to keep her balance and falls into the dirt, the back of her head first, shortly followed by her back, while her legs rest there, already grounded. Lying in the dirt, she is able to use her legs to repeatedly kick the door, causing another nurse to walk out, only for the sniper to make up for his previous miss by boring a bullet into the new nurse’s skull. Writhing on the ground, the first nurse decides that the sniper is keeping her alive as a means of luring more people into his field of vision, so she decides to relax and wait for death. Coldness greets her right leg, she tries to look up, and she sees blood pooling towards her, and she vainly attempts to keep her legs out of the pool, to die with dignity.

A butcher’s boy meets a middle school math teacher in an open field, they both exchange greetings from their guns as they rush towards each other, but neither is looking down the barrel, bullets sink into dirt and wood, and both hope that the other would be intimidated and flee, so as to avoid combat. The boy is lucky enough to get a round into the teacher’s knee, dropping him, but his magazine is empty while the teacher’s still has enough rounds to celebrate a new year. His one shot, point blank, is enough to mangle the boy’s intestines, and the boy responds by mashing the side of the teacher’s head with the butt of his gun. Both dropping, they begin to crawl over each other, trying to grab each other’s knife, due to convenience. The teacher stick’s a finger into the wound of the boy who never had a chance to achieve anything more than being born into a butcher’s family, and the boy winces in pain, causing him to grab the teacher with every limb, causing the teachers arm to be stuck, his finger unable to leave the moist little hole that it had previously created by squeezing a trigger. Eventually, the boy fingers find the teacher’s knife, and uses it the way his father taught him, wildly, brutally, focused on severing, not stopping, so the teacher screams as the boy hacks an arm loose, a desperate and confused attempt to remove the finger from the wound. A mountain climber, a baker, and a coal miner stumble onto the scene, free the teacher, and send two bullets through each of the boy’s eyes.

An athlete with promise finds their hands chained to a metal bar that lies, waiting, above his head, his feet try to tap the floor, just to give his arms at least a second of relief. When a toe manages to touch, he is once again hit in the back by some flat, blunt object. It hurts like hell, and he worries that the lack of actual damage will allow them to keep beating him, but he also isn’t sure why they’re beating him, or who is beating him. Everyone speaks in what he assumes is the language of the enemy, its foreign to him, and that’s proof enough. It is unclear if they’re trying to ask him questions while they use force to make him sway, to make his cuffs jingle against the bar, to replace any natural coloring on his back with an artificial array of browns, yellows, and purples, with the occasional red. A car salesman comes into the room with a car battery and wires, and the athlete wonders if this will make him a hero.

A sculptor wonders through a forest, hoping that he can exit the forest, hoping that he’ll be able to find some sign of his people that will allow him to return to safety. Traveling at night has become the norm for him, strange men have appeared in the woods, driving their wrongly colored jeeps, better armed than he, especially since he was only armed with a 9mm pistol that was sparsely loaded, since he had to rely on it to provide him with food. The previous night involved him sinking three bullets to get one rabbit, which he ate raw, which he split open with his knife and dug into with his teeth, like a dog going at a bag of chips. Fires weren’t worth the smoke, gunfire was safe when the mortars crash around him. Sometimes he studies the road, trying to figure out if the jeeps were heading towards their own space, or are going away from their own space. Which direction had he come from? When he had first fled into the woods, when he saw the journalist get a grenade in her stomach, a perfect throw that had caused her insides to exit through her backside. He had seen the lumberjack’s brains, the severed hand of the “next Hemingway”, the crater that, only moments before, was a patch of grass where the fisherman, the salesman, and the high school class president stood. So he went into the woods, hoping to prevent a similar example being made of him. Sometimes he would fantasize about leaving the woods, only to hear that the violence was over, but he knew such fantasies were dangerous.

A delivery boy sits in the hot safety that the tank provides, fantasizing about another delivery boy, just like him, but the race of the enemy, sitting in some other tank, thinking about him.

A doctor listens to a construction worker explain his “first screw”, while waiting for his nurse to prepare the morphine. He was never one to stand around and soak in recollections of rape, but the man had a decorated chest, and he had earned the privilege of his last words being heard. “Girls back home, damn, that’s how you make women, not like here, not like here. Girls don’t fight here, no sir, they just stare at you with those doll eyes as they sink into wherever it is inside of them that they go to. I’d say that the soul leaves their body, but they don’t have souls, no way, not just cause of how strange their ways are, but because they don’t fight back. That’s what”, pausing to spit blood into a nearby dish, continuing with shining red lips and teeth, “what makes our girls so special, they fight. They’re pure as they come, and they wont let big beasts like me take them over so easily. Why, that’s how you can tell that a girl has value, if she fights or not, and it doesn’t matter if she screws, it matters if she doesn’t want to, that’s how you can evaluate purity. I remember”, a genuine, sunshine smile beaming across his face as the doctor waits, “the first girl that I had had managed to fuck up my back with a razor that she kept with her, who knows why, and I remember”, laughing that hollow, rattling laugh, “I stood up, put my hands on my back, and kicked the shit out of her. Oh boy, she was so fucked up that, by the time I finished, I was worried that I accidentally put her face down in, well she was bleeding badly, and I didn’t want her to drown, you can’t do that to those kinds of girls.” The nurse approached with a syringe in hand. A barber had to explain to the eagle scout that his last friend, a shoe salesman, had his body juiced by a collapsing building, and the one before that, a gambler, was currently dead or in some camp, so he wasn’t exactly in the market for having friends. Yet, the two of them were the only ones holding down the post, and the scout was determined to befriend the barber, since it was the only minor achievement available. After several days, the eagle scout had successfully been burned alive, had desperately tried to escape the flames that clung to him, had struggled as his lungs filled with smoke, as the post burned around him. So, then, the barber chose not to explain himself to the mall cop, who assumed that the barber was just a quiet type, making them the type of friends that didn’t need to talk to be close, whose company was enough. After a week of silence, the mall cop mentioned his idea of their relationship to the barber, who was immediately angry, causing him to stew in silence, leaving the mall cop, a week later, to still think that they were friends while the machete hacked and hacked, hoping to replace a segment of neck with air. The barber then ended up with the dry cleaner, who didn’t give a shit about the barber, who only wanted to go home. Naturally, the barber liked this cold companion, and eventually opened up to him, unsolicited and intoxicated, about his life before the violence, something he had never told his revolving cast of friends. The dry cleaner hardly listened, but when the barber stated his past profession, the companion had to ask why he became a soldier, instead of a barber, the barber could only make some vague statement about honor, one repeated enough times, to himself, for it to lose any sense of meaning.

A proud grandson finds himself strapped to a board, fabric over his face, water pouring over him for what feels like eternity, an unending lifetime of drowning. The water stops, he tries to catch his breath, but more comes, he body tries to spasm, is desperate to escape, but the restraints are good at what they do. Another breath, another pouring, another breath, and so on, until he has trouble remembering how he got there, what his life was like before the airless hell he is subjected to, and the only memory he can grab a hold of is the moment when he told his grandfather, a decorated veteran, that he had signed up to do his duty, and the way that his grandfather cackled at him.

A truck driver sits in the hot safety that the tank provides, fantasizing about another truck driver, just like him, but the race of the enemy, sitting in some other tank, thinking about him.

A historian and a street youth comb the fresh rubble of a former, thriving community. “Go through and salvage what you can, get weapons, bullets, whatever you think is valuable.” The youth digs through one spot, finds the corpse of a crossing guard, wearing the outfit of the enemy, and the historian says, “Don’t touch him, now look for something else.” When the youth scrambles away, the poet moves to the ex-person and places an IED under it. After he is commanded to move twice, the youth understands his purpose, and starts to pocket what really interests him, a burned photograph of a woman that only has her legs and slit left, an ivory comb, a small figurine that represents some folklore figure, either benevolent or a trickster, and, of course, bullets. An addict shoots that black, vinegar smelling, crap into his arm, and is able to lie back and feel good. He was worried that the violence would take away from his favored activity, especially since he was in a foreign country, but then he learned that foreigners get high too. The first time he copped, he was told that a lot of people like him usually start using to avoid their problems, to relax their consciouses, but he didn’t believe it, he was a killer with killers killing killers, what problems were there? Back home he had to worry about making it day by day, but now death is assured, so he didn’t know what there was to worry about. Death isn’t scary if you feel good when it happens, he reasoned, so he was always high. He liked to say that he had track marks for every friend that he lost, but he only said it to himself, he had nobody to say it to. He was pleased that he ended up in a beautiful country, he liked to stare at the country side. Sometimes he forgot about the violence, and that would stress him out, because it made him feel bad for being an addict.

“They got me in the stomach, didn’t they?” “Its not that bad, its fine.” “Its never fine if its the stomach, I don’t, I’m not going to make it with this one.” “We’ll be back to base soon, the doctor will-” “Oh, that fucker had his brains blown out in a whorehouse.” “What?” “The day after you left, he goes into town and gets blown twice.” “So who is the current doctor?” “What does it matter, I’m as good as-” “Fuck, okay, don’t worry, I wont drop you again.” “Fucking-” “I wont do it again, I promise.” “Look here, see this, where is it, oh, oh can you-” “Do you need me to-” “Yeah, get this button open for me, my fingers can’t get a grip, they keep slipping-” “Don’t worry, I have it-” “In the end I can’t, can’t even open a damn pocket. Okay, now reach inside, get out the photograph that’s in there.” “Here.” “No, don’t give it to me, its not for me, I want you to take it.” “Why, who is this?” “She was my steady back home, now she’s yours.” “What?” “I’m dying here, I’m going to die looking up at this fucking sky. What kind of sky is this anyways? Not like the one I grew up with, its all wrong, its too bright, its-” “You’re going to make it, we aren’t far-” “But my, fuck, my fucking, I’m ripped open, I’m cold, I need you to stop lying and listen to me. You’re a good man, I can tell that by the way that you won’t be honest to me. I know that I’m probably worse than I think I am, especially since, eh, especially since you keep looking at me that way. I can see the shock behind your eyes. Now, since your a good man, I know you’ll survive the war, and when you do I’ll need you to marry my girl. I want you to go, to, to, turn the picture over, there’s an address.” “I have to carry you, let’s just focus on getting-” “I want to say this before the pain successfully silences me, you have to listen. I need you to go to that address, explain you story, and I need you to put a good fuck into her. I need you to be her man, because I can’t guarantee that she’ll pick right. She picked me the first time and now you need to go there and fuck her brains out so that she’ll appreciate you.” “Look-” “And I’ll be watching on the other side-” “We’re almost-” “I’ll want to see you inside of her-” “I can see the gate, its-” “I just want to see her have an orgasm, I never got to see that before.” “I’m going to put you down now.” “You need to treat her right.”

A tailor sprints across a field, pushing his body to its limits, willing to break something if that means that he can keep running, if he can keep the jeep behind it. He ran over the hill knowing that there would be a forest on the other side, knowing that he could escape into there, where the murderers wouldn’t follow due to a lack of ammo, one that was made clear by their lack of gunfire, their resignation to using the car as a weapon. However, when he was over the hill, the tailor saw that craters had claimed land that had previously belonged to the forest, that he still had a long ways to go. He also discovered that the jeep, like him, had an easier time going downhill than uphill, and he decided, too late, to jump out of its way, into the safety of the mortar’s kiss, but his legs were ground under the tires of the jeep, which, after passing him, tried to circle around, and drive up the hill at him, but the driver was too bloodthirsty, and his recklessness caused him to crash into a crater. Jeep on its side, the tailor tried to crawl, but his legs screamed at him as he dragged them across the rocks and dirt, so he started to lie there, hoping that the other men were dead, that help would come. Out of a demolition ditch came one man, bleeding from an ear, but generally healthy, and the man, a carnival worker, walked uphill towards the tailor, who caused the car to flip by his pathetic will to live, who was now throwing stones at the carny, stones that were to weakly thrown to be a threat, stones that meekly rolled down the dirt after a seconds freedom from the surface. At least one of these stones was able to get the carnival worker’s nose to match his ear, and, in response, the carny’s knife removed any sense of humanity, lips, nose, ears, hair, teeth, tongue, eyes, skin, from the tailor’s face.

A washed up news anchor sits in the hot safety that the tank provides, fantasizing about another washed up nobody, just like him, but the race of the enemy, sitting in some other tank, thinking about him.

Two fathers share a cell, neither is from the same place, neither speaks with the same sounds. Eventually, conditions make them desperate to form a small human connection, small enough to not bring pain, so, every night, they spoon each other, not knowing that they have much more in common than a situation.

A shepherd returns to his home after several days, after the birds signal to him that all life, good or bad, is no longer present. When the wreckage is finally in his field of vision, he doesn’t cry, he is shocked by how little he feels like crying, even more so than the destruction shocks him. When he was on his own, he had pictured his home as being much worse, he had pictured blood and gore everywhere, murdered sheep, disemboweled children, babies that had been divided by bayonets, beheaded women that had blood coming out of their privates, but there was none of that, it was mostly just rubble. As he stood on top of what he assumed was the school, although it could easily be ten other buildings, due to a lack of variation in architecture, he surveyed the scene and saw nothing but rubble, ash, and dirt that had been flung around. For a minute, he wondered if he was really gone for a couple days, or if he had been gone for a lot longer, it seemed like the violence had not been around for some time, but the birds still watched as he watched, so he knew that it had to be fresh. When he was finally able to accept that, yes, this mess was in fact the place where he was born and raised, where his father lived, and his father before, and his father before, and so on. He started to think about moving on, about where he’d have to move to, but he ignored the thought, because he still had to find a way to eat, to get water, to survive, and he wasn’t sure if the violence would return, and he wasn’t sure of where the violence had already struck. Closing his eyes, he thought of himself as being in the eye of the storm. Days ago he’d been in the storm of artillery fire, gunfire, mutilation and misery, but, now, it was peaceful. Opening his eyes and looking up, he felt that the way the birds circled only cemented this imagery, felt that he as truly safe, even if only for a day or two. Hunger was finally able to move him to action, and he started to wonder around the town to find something to eat, something to fill his stomach before the next vacancy. He knew where the bakery, the grocery store, and the butcher’s store were, but not with the town like this, he didn’t know which buildings to search, they were all the same to him. Eventually, making his way over the warm stone, he saw a figure, a body. It was clear that they were dead, but he knew that he knew them, they were a neighbor, whoever they were, and he had to at least bury them, he left his town to burn, so he had to at least try to make things right. However, when he went to lift the corpse, he was suddenly blinded, deafened and knocked back. His arms were in more pain than he thought possible, and he wildly tried to rub his eyes in a desperate attempt to see, but he couldn’t feel his face at all. He tried to get up, but he could not, he just kept slipping, and when his sight returned to him, he saw his knees sliding around in blood, his blood, that was pouring from the stumps of his arms. The birds circled overhead.

[rosesvoyages]

Dear Reader, I married him…

Well in a few months I will!  So…drum roll please…I got engaged.  In Florence. It was well nice.  Isn’t it shocking that I, a real life Bridget Jones-esque character (this isn’t just me kidding myself here, anecdotes include the time I was meeting the Japanese government on a top secret advisory project my shoe fell off), am engaged to a lovely man.  I have been a bit AWOL from the blog, which will be changing as I update you.  The reason I have not been writing is that I have been besieged by visitors and gallivanting around Norway and England myself.  Life can be very interesting and one of the joys, although also the issues is that you can never tell where you’re going to end up.

Five years ago and a thousand miles away, I begun this blog writing about my time in Japan.  I distinctly remember a conversation with an older and wiser friend in an Indian restaurant (a space of one can attain enlightenment) saying that I just didn’t think I would get married.  Not because of anti-marriage sentiment, just that I did not think I was that sort of girl who would end up married.  

Now I live in a country I never would have dreamed of, and I studied in China, worked for a Japanese newspaper, been at the coal face of capitalism, and am currently curled up under sheets about to face my first Norwegian winter.  What larks, Pip, what larks.

So (I’m including a picture of the ring at the top) I suppose you’re wondering what happened.  My boyfriend and I were on a holiday in Florence, making use of our fabulous FlorenceCards by tearing up every Museum and Art Gallery in sight.  I felt like my boyfriend was slightly tense, although this did not strike me as odd given aforementioned marathon sprint around the entire 5 museums of the Pitti and Bobboli Gardens.   He suggested a weirdly large and fancy lunch, although again given we were in a city with lovely Tuscan food (and we live in Norway where food is a)expensive and b)bland ) this was also not unusual.  We then went to the Bardini Gardens.  We sat on a small bench overlooking the cityscape whilst I gulped down some Coca-Cola, my beverage of choice in the 29 degree heat. I am a vampire and so do not react well the sunshine despite loving it so.  Other tourists kept coming in drips and drabs to admire the view.    Bear in mind that I had once said something about not liking the idea of a public proposal, and my boyfriend said he was thinking about several spots, including that one.  Another contender was a wisteria tunnel which whilst beautiful held the same threat of passers-by.  At the bottom of that tunnel and slightly to the side was a beautiful, sea shell encrusted grotto I now know is called the Pergola of Roses.  We sat on a bench enjoying another clandestine view of Florence, talking about something (let’s pretend high brow).  I stood up, ready to move on to explore the rest of the garden and Peter grabbed my hand.  He went down on one knee and asked me by my full name if I would marry him.  He then pulled out a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy.  He had cut a ring box sized hole in the book (he said it was a bad translation anyway) and pulled out a diamond ring.  It was very nice.  I then obviously had to call and Skype my entire family.  

We wandered round town and Oltrarno, looking at things with a buzzing excitement. We got a drink (me an Irish coffee, I don’t like the taste of alcohol but I decided the occasion called for it) and then went to a restaurant my boyfriend frequented when he was a visiting student in Florence.   We were a little early, but they let us in and the meal was just beautiful in every way.  Perhaps because they could tell we were celebrating (although we were both too bashful to say about what) or perhaps because my boyfriend kept earnestly telling the waiters how much he loved every course we ended up getting free drinks including some limoncello, which I despise but it was a nice gesture.

We had been out all day, but ended up staying until closing time and walking back across the Ponte Sata Trinata, looking over the Ponte Veccio.  I don’t want this tale to sound like the birth of one of those smug married couples, gleefully delighting in their own self-satisfaction.  I am lucky to have met someone, and have the most wonderful family around me to share in my happiness in my Mum and Aunt.   This is such a major change and I cannot wait to see how it develops.

Stay tuned for more on planning a wedding in record time in a country you don’t live in (seriously I could not help myself) and detailed info on my travels in Norway and beyond!