#their mom went missing that black took a central place in their fashion as a sort of perpetual mourning + way for them to never let it go

[opaleyedprince]

i was inspired to make some ocs in this picrew!

aleksandr (fear and hunger: termina) || hokuto gojo (jjk) doll (elden ring/soulsborne) || donatello of the turks (ff7) sakuya kamo (jjk) || oneiros (hades game)

tagging @riikugan, @devilbrakers, @the-dark-urge, @strixhaven and YOU if you see this and want to do it - tag me so i can see!

divider is from here.

[jerzwriter]

List of Your Ten Childhood Ships

Thanks @thefirstcourtesan for tagging me. I'm so showing my age here, lol I'm going to count "childhood" right up through the end of high school for these purposes. God, I'm straining my brain. lol What's sad is, outside of Jodie Dallas on Soap, I cannot even recall a queer character, much less pairing, from my childhood. How sad is that? So this list is def hetero as it comes.

This is in no order - not really...

Princess Leia and Han Solo - Star Wars: OK, this was THE couple of my childhood. I was OBSESSED and still am. There was NO better movie than The Empire Strikes Back. The "I love you." "I know." sequence. Goddamn, I've always had a type; it goes back to childhood. I'm ashamed (not really).

Lando Calrissian & Princess Leia - Star Wars: OK - this is bringing back memories - and this is fucking crazy - I did write fanfic as a kid, and it was a Han/Leia/Lando triangle (as good as a 5th grader can write...). God, I'd kill to have that notebook now, and OMG, what a predictor for DTI. ��😂😂 Even as a tween, I knew that would have been some juicy triangle that never came to be. lol

Sandy & Danny - Grease: Some asides. I was WAY too young to be watching this when it was out (my Mom was insane). Most of it went over my head, and in retrospect, I am so anti-most messages in Grease - but that doesn't mean I don't still love it. I do. And OMG How I loved Sandy & Danny and danced around my living room pretending I was them. lol

Jessie & Angie - All My Children: I was a soap junkie, so I have a lot of soap ships - but this is one of my all-time favorites. A modern-day Romeo & Juliet, and the soap world's first true black super-couple. Angie's well-to-do family forbade a relationship with her obvious soulmate, Jesse. They eventually got together, but in true soap fashion, that didn't last. A death that wasn't really a death, among other things, impeded. But how I remember watching those summers and rushing home from school to check the VCR and pray it recorded. lol OLD SCHOOL!

Kevin & Winnie - The Wonder Years: This was the sweetest show and first love story. The ending was so poignant and probably led to my penchant for beautiful but heart-wrenching endings. I need to rewatch this sometime.

Maddie & David - Moonlighting: This one makes me sad, thinking of Bruce Willis's current condition. 😢 These two drove each other crazy, but the sexual tension radiated from the TV screen. They were the ultimate "will they???" couple, and even when they did, they still never really got it together, but that didn't mean I stopped rooting for them. Sadly, this show is just about completely not available on streaming/reruns due to musical copyright issues.

Nina Cortland & Cliff Warner - All My Children: Told you. I was a soap addict, and AMC will forever be my favorite show. I don't remember how old I was, but I remember that their wedding took place THE DAY that we went back to school, and my prepubescent little girlfriends and I LOST OUR SHIT. This wasn't the days of reruns, this wasn't the days of DVR, this wasn't even the days of Soap Central (y'all don't even know what that is). These were the days of "You missed it, bitch - so sad." And I was...I was...

Maria & Georg - The Sound of Music: OK - I loved musicals from a very young age, and I am forever obsessed with The Sound of Music. I had a mad crush on Georg as a young girl, proof that assholes with a heart underneath it all have ALWAYS been my thing. lol

Dwayne & Whitley - A Different World: It was not a pairing I liked the idea of - initially. Whitley was such a spoiled, obnoxious, rich princess at the start, and Dwayne didn't seem like he'd ever have a chance, but as time moved on, they made it work, and I tuned in each week, dying for them to finally get together.

John & Claire: The Breakfast Club - What can I say - I have a type? lol This was the iconic couple of my teen years, and if had been writing fanfic at that time, I would have had a treasure trove for them.

Tagging @jamespotterthefirst @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @genevievemd @angelasscribbles @icecoffee90 @cariantha @doriopenheart @peonierose @potionsprefect @coffeeheartaddict2 @lilyoffandoms @storyofmychoices @annoyingmillenialnewbie @utterlyinevitable and anyone who wishes to jump in and play!

[lumosinlove]

Between Fifth and You

(cw in tags)

~

chapter one

“Olives or twist?”

Sirius had to watch the barkeep’s mouth to make out the words beneath the pounding music, which meant Sirius caught the way his eyes skittered across his face almost fearfully. The sheer amount of obsidian in this place probably did nothing to lighten his features. Not to mention, few people knew how to look him in the eye.

“Twist,” he said.

The man nodded and flipped the bottle of gin until it dipped into a shot glass, the glass into the ice. Sirius watched until he was stirring the bitters in and a hand appeared on his shoulder, lips to his neck.

“Burn this,” Saint said, and plucked at Sirius’ shirt sleeve, rubbing the black material between his fingers. Sirius raised an eyebrow as he turned. Saint’s own shirt was unbuttoned half way down his hard chest, light brown skin warm in the flashing club lights. “You’ve worn it too many times.”

“Hello to you, too,” Sirius said. “I like this shirt.”

“I liked it two months ago,” Saint replied. “It’s September now, your highness.”

Sirius scoffed as the bartender slid him his drink.

“You gonna tell everyone the sun did that?” Sirius took a clean sip of gin with one hand and stroked his other through Saint’s gold curls, only suddenly some of the slightly course strands were almost white.

Saint’s grin turned coy. “Isn’t it nice to have a mystery to think about?”

“Oh, yeah, do blonds have more fun?”

“You wouldn’t know.”

The music kicked up a beat that Sirius felt through his spine.

“Why do we always come here?” he leaned a hip against the bar. “We have an entire city.”

“Yeah, fuck the rest of the world, we have one whole city.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Saint shook his head. “Because that’s what we do. You see that guy over there? I’ve taken him out four times. Couldn’t tell you his name. They couldn’t tell you mine.”

“Everyone knows your name, Saint.”

Saint grinned. “Maybe. But why do we go back to each other? Because we’re creatures of fucking habit.” Saint cocked his head, stole Sirius’ drink. “And what is this city but a bad, bad habit?”

Sirius’ blood cooled and he looked away.

What am I, Sirius? said the familiar voice from his memory. Am I easy? Am I safe? Do you want me, or am I just familiar now?

He closed his eyes against the memory of his reply.

Bad habit indeed.

XOXO

Spotted—a familiar face from the past. What has this train brought in? Thanks to a tip from @magicinthemaking, I bring you this picture of none other than Remus Lupin (and a certain Southern bell we know and love) under Grand Central’s stars. We missed you, Re—how was England? Or was it Europe?

The rumors can never seem to decide, but why the sudden change in plans to take his Junior year abroad? Here we were thinking he wanted nothing more than to stay.

I wonder how another certain star will feel about this sudden homecoming. And just in time for senior year’s Fall semester, too.

XOXO.

Remus adjusted his suitcase, glad he’d mailed so many of his things home. He’d been on U.S. soil for all of three hours, and he already missed Rome. He wanted to walk down the tiny staircase from his billet family’s apartment and get a cappuccino. He wanted to stand on the drain of the Pantheon and soak up the sheer history in the air.

He already wanted a break.

But he also wanted to see Julian. Sometimes it felt like the only thing pulling him back home was seeing his baby brother’s grin in real life rather than across a Facetime call.

“All good?”

Remus looked up at Leo. His blond hair was still bleached a bright blond from the Roman sun. Their program had ended in May, but Remus was glad they had stayed together. He hadn’t been looking for Leo—for someone to kiss for the first time in the rose garden at the top of the Aventine Hill while Leo told him about its past as a cemetery.

It’s footpaths are laid out like a Minorah, see? Leo had pointed out. To remember. 300 different types of roses isn’t enough. But I like to come here.

Remus thought it had been Leo’s love for history, and his respect, too, that had drawn him in. They both came from a world where the biggest thing most people cared about was what they’d wear to the next party, and who was bringing their next drink.

Remus hadn’t been able to believe his luck, as fragile as his heart was still.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “All good.”

But he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t been friends here, in the city, or at Hogwarts. It had been Rome. Remus didn’t know what their old lives would do to them. But he took Leo’s hand and watched the way Leo fingered the star he wore around his neck, the way he shot Remus his dimpled smile.

“Come on,” Remus said. “I want you to meet Julian.”

XOXO

Good morning Upper East Siders—Gossip Girl here. All trends point to Fall’s Hogwartsers coming back in Black—in more ways than one. Sirius Black’s got a baby brother on campus now, and after another wild summer for the Hogwarts College elite, count me in with the rest of them on wondering what to expect. Rumor is he’s not much like our favorite star.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”

Sirius kept his eyes on his eggs and toast. “Your missing your tie. Mom said—”

“What do you care?” Regulus replied. “I hear when she used to make you wear one it usually ended up around some other guy’s neck by ten in the morning.”

“If you’re going to believe everything you read on Gossip Girl about me, then maybe I won’t talk to you.”

Regulus smirked. “So, you read it, too.” 

“Boys.”

Both brothers went back to their breakfasts.

“Good morning, mom,” Sirius said.

Walburga Black smiled with her painted lips, resting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t you both look handsome for your first day. Although that leather jacket has seen better days, Sirius. Do what you want for dinner, ask Chef, I don’t care. I’ll be at the House.”

The House. The House of Black, his mother’s million dollar fashion industry.

“Fine,” Regulus nodded, and rose. “I’ll take the first car.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again. “Really?”

Regulus just snatched up his backpack.

Saint, James, and Thomas were waiting for him on one of the courtyard tables when Sirius got out of the Escalade. It certainly felt like a first day of a semester. Saint’s neck dripped in gold necklaces—a story behind each one. Thomas, who had replaced his short braids with a closely shaved head, wore a white t-shirt and ripped up jean shorts, gold nose-ring glinting in the sun. James had evidently been helped out by Lily, as usual, a green, tight-fitting Henley shirt bunched up at his elbows. The two flanked Saint, who basked on top of the stone table, head tilted back to bare his throat in a way that made Sirius think of last night, in the back of the bar. He could see a purplish mark he had left there.

“You’re looking surprisingly chipper,” James said when Sirius reached Hogwarts’ courtyard.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, knowing he didn’t. “I’m not failing any classes yet, James.”

His friends went oddly silent. Sirius looked around at them, spreading his hands in confusion. Saint wouldn’t look at him, expression going oddly stoney. Thomas, finally, offered him his phone, biting his lip. Sirius took it.

His heart leapt to his throat. He didn’t even bother reading the Instagram caption. Remus loomed out at him from the phone screen.

“Leo Knut,” Saint said. “Who would have thought.”

Sirius cleared his throat and turned away from the picture—from Remus and Leo’s clasped hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be chipper?” he said again, and ignored their unconvinced expressions. “I’ve got class.”

Under his desk while he waited for the rest of the class to show, Sirius pulled out his phone and opened Instagram.

XOXO

Remus approached campus slowly. He felt like he didn’t know anyone anymore, even if he knew that wasn’t true. He thought he saw James from afar, but Lily and Kasey didn’t have class today.

Really, Remus didn’t know if he had many friends that weren’t…shared. That didn’t feel too close to home. Manhattan wasn’t that big of an island.

He looked down at his schedule he’d written out on his phone.

The 19th Century Novel - Hogsmeade R#302.

He made his way to the Hogsmeade building and climbed the spiral staircase quickly. It all felt too industrial, too metallic. At least he’d woken up with Leo, who still had the ancient air about him. He didn’t want that bubble to pop.

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor McGonagall beamed when he walked in, and Remus smiled, too at her familiar Scottish drawl. “It’s so very nice to have you back.”

“Hi, Professor. It’s good to be—”

But the words died on Remus’ tongue. He looked out at the small class—just twenty at this high level—and his heart, out of habit it seemed, had leapt at the sight of familiar dark hair.

Uh-oh. Looks like Pyramus and Thisbe are actually wishing for a wall between them this time.

Sirius’ hair was shorter than it had been at the end of sophomore year, the last time Remus had seen him. He wore a touch of a beard, too, just scruff, really, but it framed his silver eyes like darkness to the stars—two stars, which were zeroed in on Remus.

“Back,” Remus tried to recover, mouth dry. He sent McGonagall a shaky smile, and turned to find a seat, trying not to find those stars again.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in defeat when he realized that there was only one left. He walked towards Sirius looking ahead and with his heart pounding. Leo. Leo making pancakes for him and Julian this morning. Leo making his little brother laugh. But he could smell the worn leather of Sirius’ jacket. He remembered the feel of it around his own shoulders. Are you cold, baby?

“All righty, then,” McGonagall stood from her chair and leaned against the front of her desk, looking down her spectacles at the attendance sheet. “Looks like we’re all here.”

XOXO

“Well?” Saint asked as Sirius took the joint from between his fingers.

“Sat down next to me,” Sirius said. “Didn’t say a fucking word.”

“Did you say a fucking word?” Saint raised his eyebrows.

Sirius blew out smoke. “No.”

“Well, all right, you fucking hypocrite.”

Sirius looked over at him from where they lay side by side, stretched out in the fading sunshine of Central Park. “I’m keeping this now.”

“No, you’re not. Did you pay for that? I don’t think so.”

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, like this made a dent in the Montague treasuries.”

Saint laughed, tucking a palm behind his head. Sirius let his eyes linger on the strip of skin where his shirt rode up. He’d kissed that last night, too. It was nice with Saint. He’d been friends with him for longer than he could remember. Saint never looked for more. If Sirius snapped at him, he snapped back and then they laughed about it. Saint wandered through the world loving people freely. He kissed them, or he made them dinner, or he took them for long walks along the river. He showed them his favorite jazz club, or gave them the orgasm of their life, or read to them from his favorite books. He was New York in human form, accepting and inviting, living and breathing.

Sirius wished he was so trusting, even if trust seemed a funny word to apply to Saint.

No one ever got too close to either of them, except the other.

“What are you wearing to your mom’s fashion show?” Saint asked with his eyes closed. “It’s the event of the season.”

“Are you joking? The fittings started in July.”

“Mm, I love that,” Saint grinned, stretching. “Want to come help me decide what I’m wearing? We’re at the Plaza right now, you know that. You know my mother. If it’s not broken, break it. We’re renovating again. We can order champagne to the room.”

“Is that code for make out?”

“Partly. But I will be showing you my outfit choices.”

“Deal.”

XOXO

Remus made it back home seeing no one, but one of the butlers had an envelope with his name on it waiting for him.

“Thanks, Moody,” Remus murmured, but thought briefly about handing it right back to him.

He knew this invitation. He knew its black boarders and heavy stock. It came ever year.

It used to be something they had looked forward to.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

invites you

TOUJOURS PUR

“Jesus,” Remus breathed, but took it up to his room, checking the time on the way. Julian would still be at school, his parents at work. This apartment was too big for the four of them, not to mention just Remus alone.

His suitcases still lay open and unpacked on his floor, and he kicked at one without looking up.

“So, did you just forget to mention that you were home?”

Remus spun towards his bed, only to find Lily sprawled across it and fiddling with an emerald on a chain.

“I had to find out from Gossip Girl?” Lily shook her head.

Remus slapped the invitation against his thigh. “Wow, wasn’t like that was a surprise present for you or anything.”

Lily smiled, red hair in a thick french braid. “I see green and I know it’s for me. What can I say?”

Remus huffed out a laugh, and she gave a small squeal and pushed off of the bed to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Re.”

He let himself rest his chin in the crook of her neck for a moment. ‘Thanks, Lils.”

She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. “What, no, me too?”

“I am,” he said tentatively. “But I had fun in Rome.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Southern fun?”

“His name is Leo,” Remus said pointedly, then eyed the pile of garment bags piled high on the other side of his bed. “Are those…”

“Pour moi, et pour toi,” Lily patted his cheek. “We have a fashion show to go to, sweetheart.”

XOXO

What do we think, Courtiers? House of Black’s fashion show is the biggest event of the fall. But what on Earth does doe-eyed Remus Lupin have to do within that dark forest now?

Is he a Bambi, or still the wolf we knew?

You know you love me.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Us and Andie Ch. 2

Summary: Bucky works as an Avenger because it’s what’s right. He feels he has sins he’ll never be able to make up for, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he comes across Andie, the daughter of recently divorced Y/N. The life he had once “maintained” in hopes of surviving changes as his heart warms for a tough-as-nails nurse and her wonderful daughter.

Pairing: Bucky x singleparent!Reader

Word Count: 3333 words <<< that has to be lucky!!

Warnings: Nothing. This is a chaotic chapter where Avengers meet Andie and Bucky is just plain worried. 

Next chapter has Bucky and Reader interacting! It seems someone has to tell Y/N what her kid has been up to all day.

This IS in response to @buckyssoul’s writing challenge! But the dialogue hasn’t been used yet. XD

Three days.

Three days avoiding the subway…staying at the compound…and not even setting foot in Brooklyn. So much for returning to routine.

If anyone in the compound noticed, they didn’t say anything. However, he could tell Sam and Steve were dying to every time he stepped into the same room. But he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about Andie or her mother. He wanted to forget they existed. And the lengths he would go to consisted of several hours in the gym, blaring music when he was alone, trying to watch movies as a distraction. Nothing worked. So desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You never want to go running.”

Bucky finished pulling his hoodie over his head, his fingers deftly working to pull his hair out of his face. He glanced back at the door, not sure what he should say to Sam. “Your point?”

“That is my point. You never want to go running. Any time you’re working out – it’s cooped up in that gym.”

“Don’t want me hoggin’ Steve?”

Sam laughed, watching but not commenting as Bucky pulled on his glove. “Hey, I’m still going. There’s no stopping that. I wanted to make sure you’re alright, man. You’ve been around a lot lately.”

He hesitated before quickly shrugging it off. He didn’t want to talk about it. “I just…” Bucky gnawed at his lip, struggling to find the right words. “I need the distraction.”

Sam nodded. It seemed enough was said in so few words. “Well then, let’s go. Steve sent me to grab your ass.” He smirked, crossing his arms. Any chance to tease him, it seemed he would willingly take.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving Sam out of the way and closing the door behind him.

“What, no hat?”

He bit the inside of his cheek – the flashing image of a toothy-grinned Andie staring up at him now front and center in his mind. “Not today.”

Here was his problem. Today should have been a good day. In all reality, it was beautiful outside. There were no clouds. It was actually starting to get warm with signs of spring everywhere. And yet, Bucky found himself struggling. He kept thinking back to that little girl.

“Her name’s Y/N.”

He wondered what Y/N had hidden in her locket.

“Bucky, you listening?”

He blinked, looking back at Steve and Sam. They had just finished their seventh mile. But not at the compound. No, Steve had decided that Bucky needed to get out. So here they were. In Central Park. He glanced down at the coffee in his hand. That’s what they were doing now. Breakfast.

Made sense. Nice day meant they should stay out longer, right?

And it was. It was a nice day. It was meant to be a good day. So why did he feel like something was missing?

“I didn’t know Peter had a sister.”

Bucky frowned at Steve’s comment. He turned in the direction he and Sam were looking and noticed that Peter was hanging out with a couple kids closer to his age. But then there was someone else. Someone a little younger, a little scrawnier.

With that damn hat on her head.

Clenching his jaw, he shoved aside that hopeful feeling in his chest. Why did that damn kid keep getting that reaction?

She looked better than when he saw her a couple days ago. And it was a relief. He would never admit it out loud, but he’d been worried about Andie. She’d been such a mess on the subway…

She already has a shitty role model for a dad. You really think you’d be any better?

The truth was, he didn’t know if her dad was horrible. Hell, all he knew was that he didn’t do something she wanted, so she ran to her mom.

It’s not your problem.

“I’m goin’ back to the compound,” he told them. Turning on his heel, he walked away before even giving a chance for Sam and Steve to ask him why.

The two shared a look. Something was off with Bucky, but the idea of asking and getting a real answer was near impossible. Sam asked, “You want to talk to him?”

“Not right now. He needs space. Bucky…” Steve sighed. “Bucky always talks to me when he’s ready.”

“Seventy years later and you’re still so sure?”

“Kind of have to be.”

“Captain! Sam!”

The two looked up simultaneously, their faces something similar to two kids caught scheming to get cookies. Why? They hadn’t done anything wrong.

But they hadn’t exactly expected Peter to be waving them over.

“Hey, Peter.” Steve chuckled as Peter threw the ball again. The kid he was with ran backwards, jumping up and catching it.

“Who’s your friend, Web-head?”

Peter’s ears turned a bright pink at the nickname. He didn’t mind keeping his identity a secret. In fact, the teenager preferred it that way. But it still didn’t stop Sam from giving him ridiculously obvious nicknames to his alter ego. He quickly turned his head, catching the ball moments before it could collide with and break his nose. “That’s Andie.”

“Your sister?”

Peter glanced at Steve and shook his head, throwing the ball again. “No, I’m an only kid.”

“So what, superhero gig ain’t paying enough?”

He laughed at that, stumbling over the words to explain why he was hanging out with a kid so much younger than him. “Aunt May and I take care of her when her mom is working.”

“What’s her mom do?”

“She’s a nurse over in Brooklyn. Today was supposed to be a day off for her, but she had to pick up an extra shift.”

Brooklyn? The two soldiers seemed to gain more curiosity over that. Was Andie the reason Bucky had taken off or was it an insane coincidence?

“She a good kid?”

“Oh, definitely. You two don’t mind meeting her?” When they shrugged, Peter called out, “Andie, get over here! I got some guys over here that want to meet you!”

Andie paused and, in that moment, both men noticed the hat on her head. It looked an awful lot like a certain soldier’s. There was no way there were that many coincidences. Right?

“Hi.”

They jumped, looking down at her. How did a kid manage to sneak up on two Avengers?

Steve took in her hat. It was frayed around the edges, the color faded – he would bet money it belonged to his best friend.

But Sam was looking at her shirt, brow raised. That was not a girl’s shirt. It was a t-shirt of all the Avengers, clearly meant for boys, but she didn’t seem to care. And neither did he. What had his attention was the various sharpie décor that covered each Avenger’s face. In multiple colors, he might add. “Looks like someone got a little creative with their clothes, Cap,” Sam teased, earning a wrinkled nose and laugh from the girl.

Tony’s Iron-man suit had a curly moustache on it.

Thor had a pink bow in his hair.

Clint was given a rainbow mane and what he guessed was a…unicorn horn?

Spiderman had rainbow doodles all over his uniform.

Hulk had a Devil tail and horns to contrast with added Angel wings and halo.

The only ones untouched? Natasha. Steve. Sam. And Bucky.

No wonder Peter wanted them to meet her.

“Avenger fan, huh?” Steve crouched in front of her as she tilted her cap up.

Loose strands fell from her braid as she offered a shrug. “I like Bucky. He’s cool.”

“I resent that statement,” Sam said, crossing his arms.

Andie giggled. “I know. But that’s okay – Nurse Jones thinks you’re cute.”

“Oh, does she now?” Sam knelt to her side, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He was always willing to hear about a Falcon fan.

Peter smiled at the sight. Knowing how much this would mean to Y/N, he pulled out his phone and snapped a couple photos. None of them noticed, but if they did, they didn’t acknowledge it.

“Yeah. I think Bucky scared her when they met.”

“Wait, Bucky met your friend?” Steve raised an eyebrow, doing everything he could to keep himself from smiling. It seemed all of their curiosities were being confirmed just by this girl’s bluntness.

“I want to keep her,” Sam whispered to Steve, earning a swat on the arm.

What he hadn’t expected was for the hit to come from Andie.

She raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do I look like a pet to you?”

Sam felt his heart was ready to burst. Oh, this kid was priceless. Looking at Steve, he asked, “Please, can we at least take her back to the compound to meet the others?”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Can I meet Black Widow?”

“Oh, I can guarantee she’s going to want to meet you,” Sam assured her. He looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Peter. “What do you think, Pete? Want to show our new friend where your internship’s at?”

Peter couldn’t hide his smile even if he wanted to. “Absolutely.”

--

It had only been a handful of hours since Bucky had left Steve and Sam at Central Park and God, he just wanted this day to end already. The longer he went without crossing paths with a certain dorky kid, the better off he’d be. But no. With all the people living in New York City, it was obvious that he would run into one eleven-year-old not once, but twice in less than a week. Because it was obvious. It was logical.

Because God hated him. That was why.

Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he struggled to let the music blaring in his earbuds to simply distract him. That was all he needed. A good old-fashioned distraction.

He missed the days when he could get drunk. He really did.

Shuffling and thundering feet outside the door were felt more so than heard as Bucky stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he stared hard enough it would cave in? No, he wasn’t that lucky. Then it came again. Heavy footsteps whose vibrations he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to. What the hell?

Bucky sat up, glancing at the door and seeing several shadows cross quickly underneath. What was going on?

A banging on the door made him jump. Steve’s voice shouting for him was enough to drag him out of bed. He yanked open the door, running a hand through his hair. Why did Steve look so guilty?

“What’d you do?”

“Uh…” He smiled, trying to look innocent, but failing miserably. This guy was going to send him to an early grave. “We need your help.”

Or was it a late grave at this point? He was a hundred.

“We?” Brow furrowing, Bucky asked, “What did you do?”

“You remember Peter and his friend at the park?”

Andie. Bucky’s shoulders tensed. Recognition flashed in his eyes and Steve knew he was going to get an earful later. But that could wait. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What about her?”

“She needed to go to the bathroom and – “

“She?”

“Andie.”

“You brought her here,” Bucky asked, voice thundering in the corridor.

“Yes! But that’s not the issue right now.” Steve huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally looking at Bucky. “We can’t find her.”

“You brought her here and lost her?”

“Sam wanted to introduce her to the rest of the team. I didn’t see it being a problem and you gave her your hat – “

“I was helping her home. That’s all that was.” Bucky slammed his door shut behind him. Running down the hall, he knew Steve was on his heels.

They stepped into the kitchen as Bucky wondered how the hell this could have happened. “You brought a kid to the Avengers Compound. There are weapons here! And people with PTSD. She could get hurt! Not to mention Tony’s lab that has God-knows-what in it.”

Steve watched Bucky, amusement flitting across his eyes. He was used to his friend being calm, cool, collected. He’d never seen Bucky so vocal. So worried and, dare he say, protective. Not since the 40’s at least.

“We’ll find her, Buck.”

“Before or after she pisses off the Hulk?”

Steve froze at that thought. He hadn’t even thought about Bruce. Surely a kid wouldn’t scare him, right?

But then again…Andie was extremely quiet and sneaky.

“I have Nat searching the training room. Clint’s covering the bedrooms. Sam and Peter are checking the grounds.”

“What about Bruce?”

“He’s meditating. Maybe it’d be best to leave him out of this one?”

Bucky nodded. If he was meditating, he was on the roof in his own little sanctuary. Surely Andie wouldn’t find her way up there. “Tony?”

“He’s locked up in his lab. We shouldn’t have to worry about her getting there.”

“Let’s keep him out of this. I really don’t want a lecture from the great Tony Stark,” Bucky muttered.

“It’s not exactly your fault. He wouldn’t blame you.”

“Tony blames me every chance he gets.”

Steve frowned, knowing it was true. Tony, though willing to let Bucky join the Avengers, still hadn’t forgiven him for his parents. It would take time and Steve was sure it would happen eventually, but Tony was extremely talented at holding a grudge. Clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he squeezed gently. “Wanda and Vision are out on a date and Thor’s off doing whatever he does. Just leaves us. We can check the garage and weapons facility.”

Bucky nodded. “Let’s go.” He couldn’t shake that worried feeling settling in his gut. He’d barely spent any time with this kid. By the sounds of it, the rest of the team had gotten to know her for a lot longer. So why was he so damn concerned?

As the two stepped out of the room, the glass doors to the kitchen shut with a ‘hiss’. Without even thinking about it, they hung a left, quickly forgetting about the room they had just been in.

It was quiet.

And completely empty.

Or so they had thought.

Andie came wandering in from where the kitchen’s tv and couch were set up. The place had too many rooms, but it seemed she had just been on the couch, sleeping. The only thing that had made the room oblivious to her was the back of the couch.

With every step she took, her body shimmered, turning invisible and revealing what was visible through her. She grabbed one of the barstools, dragging it to the kitchen counter as she let out a loud yawn. Her stomach rumbled as she climbed up, searching the cabinets for something to eat.

It took two cabinets to find something she deemed ‘good’. Turning around, she sat on the edge of the counter and popped open the large bag of peanut butter M&Ms. Shoving a handful in her mouth, she took in the fact that the room was completely empty.

Tilting her head, she called out, “Hello?”

Shrugging, she closed the cabinets and grabbed the barstool before putting it back where she found it. Her mom did teach her how to clean up after herself after all. Especially as a guest. Tucking the M&Ms under her arm, she wandered out the same door Bucky and Steve had gone.

Except she went right.

Another ‘hiss’ from the closing doors and a shuffling of feet were followed. Bruce entered from the other side of the room, wearing baggy sweatpants and a loose shirt. He looked like he had rolled out of bed. He took in the kitchen, the room he was used to seeing everybody in, and scratched the back of his head. “Where is everybody?”

---

The sun was setting outside, making Bucky even more nervous. How pissed would Y/N be if they lost her child? Probably a lot. Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he stepped into the foyer. Steve was right behind him and they both saw Peter and Sam heading their way. Peter ran ahead, panic clear in his features. Poor kid was probably as worried as Bucky was. And it was clear, they hadn’t found her.

“Any word from Nat or Clint,” Sam asked, jogging up to them.

“No sign of her.”

“How can one kid outsmart a whole team of Avengers?” Sam was clearly impressed, but that tone in his voice earned a glare from Bucky. He wasn’t impressed. Far from it. He was ready to shake some damn sense into that girl. The worry he had for Y/N’s concern was getting closer to frustration. Who raises a kid who just runs off and hides? He wanted to talk to her mother about raising the kid with some common sense. Good, decent common sense like not hiding from a team of Avengers.

“She has to be here somewhere. The grounds are massive, but she’s a kid. It’s not like she can drive.”

“Please, don’t put that image in my head, Steve.”

“Look, Ms. Y/L/N keeps calling and texting. I can only let it go to voicemail so many times, guys,” Peter said, voice cracking. He genuinely enjoyed looking after Andie when he wasn’t going to school or “Avengering”. She was a good kid. Normally at least. “We really need to find her. Please.”

��What do you think we’ve been trying to do,” Bucky huffed.

Peter took a step back, not wanting to piss off Bucky. Sam patted him on the back. Even if Peter irritated him from time to time, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. “Don’t be hard on him, Barnes. I take responsibility for this.”

“We all do,” Steve added.

Um…gentlemen?

F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Everyone was silent.

“Why didn’t we ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

Mr. Stark says it’s because you’re idiots. However, he does ask that you come join him in the lab.

They all shared a look. Did…Did Tony find Andie?

It didn’t take long for them to cross the compound. It seemed everyone was rather efficient when they weren’t panicking. Even Natasha and Clint had joined them, wanting to make sure that Andie was found and safely taken home. But Bucky was the one leading the way. He had to make sure that Andie was alright. He didn’t understand it, but he had to. He just…he had to.

Stepping into the lab, he looked everywhere. Several desks and works-in-progress littered tables and the floor. Some were even hung up. It made it impossible to see everything or even find Tony. He really had upgraded since moving from Stark Tower and Bucky hadn’t exactly made it his mission to come to this part of the compound.

“Over here, guys,” Tony called.

Everyone spun around. There, working on his newest suit, was Tony. He spun in his chair, waving a wrench as a sign of ‘hello’ before pointing to the nearby desk.

There, with chocolate covering her mouth, was Andie. She was throwing M&Ms into the air, catching them in her mouth before throwing them to –

Bruce.

He cheered when he caught one, high-fiving Andie before he saw that the rest of the gang had joined them. “Hey, guys! Look who I found.”

Andie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up when she spotted Bucky. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw that smile of hers. “Hi, Bucky!” She quickly turned back around, throwing another M&M in the air. Bruce caught it, falling out of his chair with a loud ‘thud’.

“That’s 15 to 14 now,” Bruce told her, pointing a finger as he fixed the chair.

“So…” Peter, Steve, and Sam all looked in Tony’s direction, but Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes off Andie. Relief was clear in his now relaxed features, but he might be a little worried she would pull another disappearing act. But that wasn’t what was important to Tony. Not right now at least. No, he was more curious about one thing in particular. “Mind telling me whose idea this was?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tag List:

@mr-robot-x  @lets--be-honest​

Send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged! :)

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Uncle Donald gave her $800 in the 1980s

She let him invest it for her up until now

And she has now $45B

I hope you enjoyed your game as there are more to come but with more people as it enters TV for free of course on Channel Fox.

As always enjoy life and what it brings with the most care you can afford.

Don't let the economy, crumble, Uncle Donald, i hit up JP for some cash since Jesse stole mine from United Business Bank located in Oregon, Washington, and New Mexico.

I own Chase, bought it with Donald and sold to the US Government for a mint. Jesse could got in on this deal but he wanted to challenge me instead.

So I asked Uncle Donald for a cash loan, how much he could afford and what was in his wallet. $4000 roughly. So we split it between his 4 kids (the 4th being me) and I gave him back $200 for the rest of the day.

And we returned to the bank and I asked him how to deposit the money into Chase Manhattan because Denise had bought me clothes but I wanted to be a fashion designer and had altered them So she threw them all away in a rage of jealousy and heat.

Of course i started to cry so we went back across the street to McDonald's and we talked. He said "i have a surprise for you, lets get to the bank"

So we walked alllllll around the building, up and down and he talked to a man and got us inside all the back rooms. He said "i wanna buy it!" And he turned to me and asked "would you like to invest your $800 into my bank as an investor?"

I said "what about my clothes! She said i had to return the money or else i get none!"

"But who did she spend the money on?"

"Me and my brothers and and her!"

"Well don't you think Its time to invest in you and your fashion?" He asked for my $800 i had to pull from 4 different pockets and my sock as he taught me to split to beat pick pocketers. And handed it all. He handed me back $200 and I handed it back then he handed me a $5 from his breast pocket and t told me to keep it.

And began to walk to the counter to buy the bank.

I chased after him and put it in his left cost pocket and told him, 'well you know you bought me lunch so you keep it"

I pulled it from his pocket to produce proof I had already given it and he couldn't give it back and then stuffed it back in deep, all the way i nearly ripped his shoulder off for which I promptly apologized, jumped on the counter and rubbed his soreness off and jumped down.

And he started to cry a little bashful at first then a full sob. And I tried to console him and Robby appeared with a trailing line of toilet paper so his silk hanky wouldn't be soiled with snot.

He thanked him and became startled and asked if he wanted in on the investment.

Robby said, "i might but i need to talk to you, I belong to this boarding school ran by this might be soon white bigger as he calls himself, inspired by her and taken completely out of context"

"Michael Jackson" interjected our new found Uncle Donald. "Come let's sit"

We moved to the side of the spacious lobby to a small table accompanied by two plus club chairs.

He and i talked about how neat it would be to have chaise chairs in Chase bank.

"Well, her mom is abusive, mostly about money so i would like to take control of her stock with her permission"

"Yes! I do! And i will wanna get married!" I jumped with my fist in the air and pushed against the chair like a standing push up and stood

....

"Her sit. First I would like to talk to you as an investor. I am run by the boarding house and they teach us things like to steal and bring back to get 'rewards' much often things less than they are worth like a stick of gum for $2 when I can get a whole pack for 20 cents. Uh oh, here he comes"

"Im about to invest into this bank with these two kids you got something you wanna say to me?" Instead of waiting for a reply, uncle Donald got up and briskly walked to the counter, asking to return to a different room, promptly and away from Mr Jackson whom was still solidly black (he doesn't have vitaligo its just bleached).

And we entered a nearly empty office and he turned fiercely, angry even, "this will be your office where you will WORK"

...

"Its okay! We are still friends!" I climbed into the chair then up onto the desk "this is where I will sit"

"Well close your legs and sit like a lady, like this hand me your foot, no don't take off your shoe"

"Well I didn't want to ruin you! Your suit is NICE!!"

And he moved my foot and crossed my ankles and patted my knee and said "or you cross at here"

I took my ankle to my knee "no not like that, that's like a man. Knee to knee"

"Oh like this?" I squeezed my knees together

Robby laughed and Uncle Donald looked flustered

"Oh i know I know cross at my knees, you need to explain better!" I patted his shoulder. In the 80s it was okay to touch, at least for a child.

"I said that first!"

"Oh! I interrupt!"

"No apologize" Robby groaned

"I apologize for interrupting"

"For?" Asked Donald "you can't tell her that Because ---"

"No he could I get misinformation that way"

"Except when I'm being scolded and she knows the truth" said Robby.

Tune in next week for another Miss Adventure of one Wild Single Mom's Childhood!

I had 48 cents. Robby had put in 2500 front Hayes then 1500 each from Mark and Mike Andrews which he had not signed and they got rejected. Yet Jesse notified me of this, restricted my remote deposit privileges and now i am to notify the Sheriff of Hays County, Austin, Texas that the money is kept hidden in the tax and revenue accounts of his great county. And to open an investigation which he will pretend he did and then not. So i get his hush money as well as the other two and the $15B JP Dejoria stupidly just paid me because i Told Jesse to tell his father in law that Jesse is a stupid piece of shit which he didn't.

And of course I will invest in schools across the nation, installing playgrounds at any schools that do not have them, including intermediate, Jr high, middle, High and etc.. And may be finally lockers at least were I'm centrally located and/or where i want to be, namely at high schools at least.

Because that is what I want to do. Make people happy in the funniest ways possible.

And if there is any left I want to reinvest at the parks i originally invested in, initially, to make them better snd brighter, starting at the older to the newer.

I want the world to seem happier and brighter and in the case of schools at least around here once they hit 7th grade (middle school) they change schools to those that no longer have lockers or desks to put things in, 7 or more teachers to please instead of one or two they spend all day with, like a parent who gives love and kindness and retribution, they go through puberty which in itself is a chore. Then the kids riot. I've seen it in small schools and i know it happens in big ones. 20 in one week at the beginning of school less than a mile from my house where i can hear the school bell.

And so they need a place to sleep their weary heads like the shoulder of an old friend instead of weeping a soul they can no longer call their own.

The secrets i have included here broke my heart to where it actually stopped over and over.

Instead of asking what was wrong, Mr Moneybags Jesse sent me to the doctor alone. -.-

He could have provided me with what i needed like I provided and protected him from Ms Dejoria and Mark Hindberg, Afghanistan and Iraq, which I will no longer do.

He is the one that encouraged Michael Jackson to pickpocket the slaves he had created.

Yes Michael Jackson is Wacko, is Him and is burning in Hell because I killed him with my own pistol Jesse had stolen from a cop, altered and resold to himself at a cheaper price than the way over inflated price he created to create a deficit in his company to receive a refund from the US government's IRS Department in the amount of $8,000 instead of paying the $1M he owed.

I plead guilty before a judge and Uncle Donald, Mrs Katherine Jackson, the Anne my 4 year old daughter that Michael Jackson attempted to rape in front of me, as well as Robby, my true love and of course Sunny and Jesse James himself whom gave me the gun.

Then, before then President Barack Obama, i was exonerated and pardoned completely without the possibility of parole or any other misconceptions that would be included with self defense manslaughter.

This week total I have arrested a total of 19 men and women thanks to the CIA as an unpaid civilian.

That would guarantee me Presidentship of one really great country, now, wouldn't it?

Thanks. And not to be repeated: No more games. Only truth.

Until next time my fair weather friends!

Now! Let's grab the bookie!!! Snag! You're in jail. What did ya know, Mike Andrews, I knew all along that Mark Hindberg was FBI. Why didn't you think that?

Moving along, hi JP. How are you? No one cares. Good thing you trusted into your rapist daughter who was married to a true hero whom puts up with my shit even after we name him Mr Vomit cause I make him so scared he actually vomits like I did tonight (that's included. No more scare, only truth)

Oh yes, JP, you have already been arrested and so you know -- you have no guns with you, right? Alexis Dejoria is no rapist, she's actually an excellent FBI agent whom hates her dad and is included in any exonerations I may have to hand out butbat my leisurely pace, because she actually didn't rape anybody!

Also the US government will pay your wages as you did file a lawsuit this very week by signing up with Namus.gov like we all did.

She like me, was an unpaid civilian whom ran into luck. While she's smart, she's not smart like me. Thus she's the FBI vs me who is CIA and can work against the world in a millisecond as i usually do and have in Afghanistan and Iraq where i protected many NHRA members during their tours in the US Military while they served with Jesse James and my little brother and were even kidnapped thanks to Matt Hagan's temper tantrum and Jesse James refusal to listen to command. Eventually I saved them from that too in a day and 6 hours after leaving base. They were involuntary bound and gagged and beaten within 20 minutes of their capture. Within the next 20 when I was finally told of their status they were rescued by Tony Schumacher and his team.

And now i have saved the NHRA from being beaten and raped and tortured. My time to continue here at home is not wasted,

I love you all and thank you very much for listening...

And now i have something to say about Jesse since i made him puke from a lie via email Because he made me mad for being a Dick douchebag and not caring enough about me, not wrecking his motorcycle and then lying to make me feel bad and stupider than ever although I saw the wreck and my being a girl, up and President running, couldn't stop to rescue or assist a man on his feet whom had already picked up his bike after a wipe out and the trailer passed me up to show me he would assist because forgive those trespassers as we trespass ourselves and i care that he could really been hurt. That may be a fault of mine but it is called Grace and not salvation which is being my daughter reincarnated into a goat in Iraq to keep everyone safe because Jesse is a dumb dumb sometimes and Matt Hagan prefers truth over himself, sometimes. Like being in love with a goat of my daughter's soul, in Iraq. (I bet he fucked her, too. Bestiality freak. Not my business tho, nor yours. But still, let's laugh instead of poking fun at his misadventures. It is funny, yo!)

Jesse cared about the goat so much he listened to her over every one, even me. Because he believed she was closer to God where he needed to be..

I changed his life once in Alabama and several times then, over and over, any time that need be.

But finally for this one time he trusted somebody else and learned to love as much as he could, the soul inside of him.

So God bless to all of the two headed creatures we will see wandering around the backs of people at the NHRA in the future to come. Including even on me.

I'm Mrs Cougar cause of my fingernails and my desire to be with someone young to keep me fresh and Alive -- not by his blood byt by the life he gives me. And he will be Mr Snake the one who slithers up beside me only for love while I labor in the grass kicking myself for what i might have done but not for what i might have missed out on because I was there the whole time thinking and feeling and frolicking through the grass, same as me.

And of course my tattoo will be scary cause the world as I know it, very much can be.

And you can thank me for the past or you can think about the future and beyond!!!

[dynoguard]

NaNoWriMo: Return of the DinoKnights (Day 3)

Day 1 & 2 text is here.

Jason’s ears were ringing.

He was leaning against the side of the limousine door. The vehicle was tilted toward the driver’s side. The window safety glass sagged inward, the shards held back by the inner plastic coating. Daylight streamed against his face from the opposite side of the cabin.

“Jason, wake up, I need you to wa-” His father’s voice broke through the ringing and the world started to come into focus. 

“Dad?” 

“Thank goodness.” Sagan whispered as he turned his son’s head gently, checking for injuries.

“I think I’m okay.” Jason blinked. ”Aunt Susie?”

“Right here Shortstack.” His aunt Susie leaned in through the opened door. “You’re going to be okay.” 

Sagan helped Jason unbuckle his seatbelt and slide out of the disabled car. Once free, Jason could see the limousine had remained mostly in place, but it was smashed and twisted, with its tires burst, windows shattered and the driver’s side partially buckled under.

“What happened.” James said, staring at the wreck he just came out of. “What hit us?”

“If I had to guess.” His father said. “That did.”

He pointed to the building they had driven up to see. The Observatory still stood, but adjacent to the cantral telescope stood a tower of dull gray stone. It was as thick as the observatory dome and went up six or seven stories by Sagan’s estimate. The top of the tower seemed to curve away from them, as though it lead to an observation deck that, at the moment, lay hidden behind the tower’s mass.

The tower wasn’t built onto the observatory, but seemed to have been slipped inside it. On every surface where the building and the tower touched, growths of six-sided blue-green crystals sprouted like grass grown through a cracked sidewalk.

The ground and road were also cracked, and in those cracks flecks of crystal sparkled in the fading daylight.

Jason turned to the adults. Gloria Anning seemed none the worse for wear, outside of mussed hair and a torn sleeve. Aunt Sue was wrapping her right ankle in a handkerchief from her purse, but otherwise seemed unharmed. They’d been lucky. There was another man with them, the driver, Jason surmised. He was middle aged, with graying hair and a bandaged nose. 

“No signal.” Suzanne said. 

“No surprise there. We had to put our own tower up out here.” Gloria pointed to a portion of the gray tower. A chunk of cell phone tower connected two overhangs, nests of green crystals on both ends. 

“Where’d it come from?” Jason asked. 

“The crystals.” Gloria said. “It grew, perhaps?”

“Maybe. “ Sagan said, rolling the possibilities around in his head. “But it was instantaneous, the force that hit the car could have been the air and earth it displaced.” 

“If I could interject, Mrs. Anning?” The graying driver spoke up.

“Of course Steven.” 

“I don’t have any major bruises or broken bones, I’ll head down the mountain, get help once I can get a signal.” 

Gloria walked over to him and handed him a phone from her pocket, and one of the bottled waters from the limousine. “The unlock code is 7422, call Grady in the phonebook, explain the situation to him. Ask for Medical Team Blue from my clinic. Blue.” 

Steven nodded solemnly, and put the phone in his jacket pocket. He doffed his cap in an old-fashioned sort of way, and began down the cracked pavement back down the mountain. 

“No... but the building was close to opening. There should be at least four on site, the insurance requires it.” Suzanne said. 

“Then we’ll need to go get them. Sagan, you’re with me.”

“I can’t leave my son here.” Sagan responded.

“Suzanne can’t walk in her state and she shouldn’t be left alone.” Gloria responded. “ So either we all wait here, or two of us go and two of us stay.”

“Dad!”

The three adults turned, Jason had walked a short distance away, along the edge of the grounds. Sagan and Gloria followed, their eyes on the odd curve of the tower at the top as they went. As they moved, they could see the tower wasn’t curving into a platform or room. It was a sculpture, made from the same gray stone as the tower. The style was sleek, the figure rendered in motion, head thrust forward, eyes wide with anticipation, mouth open in a bellowing roar.

“Is that a T-Rex?” Sagan asked. 

---

There was a clap of thunder followed by darkness and the sensation of hitting a metal floor.

Sheriff Horne stretched her hands out, and lifted herself from the ground. The room was entirely black, but she could hear the others cry out as they hit the ground as well. She fumbled for a table or console, and slowly rose to her feet.

Her body ached, she felt tired, like she hadn’t eaten or slept for day. 

She took a deep breath, and shouted as loud as she could. “Linn!”

“I’m right here mom.” Linn groaned. 

Slowly, a few lights flickered on, the illumination going dim. Kyle was standing up, slowly, next to a wall of stone that was where his console had been. The front edge of the console was still there, and the whole wall sparkled with tiny crystals. Zara was still unconscious, but was still breathing.

“What happened? Did that... thing hit us?” Horne half-spoke, half-shouted. 

“Hi, Mrs. Horne, I’m Kyle, your daughter has been a great intern by the way.” Kyle said, a vague shape in the flickering lights. “We’re still alive, which means Rachus and Hurlant’s theory was right! You can expand a separation field through an existing framework, in this case the power grid-”

“Kyle.” Horne said.

“-which means it’s just been a blink for us, but the meteor impact will be healed by now-”

“Kyle!” Horne shouted.

“Kyle, your arm.”

Kyle looked down at his left arm, the one he had used to throw the switch to activate the mechanism.The limb stopped a hand’s breadth from the top of the shoulder, the wound was perfectly smooth, with a slight concave curve to the cut. Strangely, it did not bleed, the wound seemingly cauterized despite the flesh appearing all but untouched. 

“Oh. I’m in shock.” Kyle blinked. “That makes sense.”

Kyle slumped into his chair. He idly raised his remaining hand to his head. The horn just above his ear-hole had been severed like his arm. A few more inches and whatever it was would have taken a chunk of brain. 

“Mom, there’s a medical clinic in section 3.” Linn said. “Even on skeletal staff there will be a doctor.” 

“Good thinking, Sweetie.” Sheriff Horne said, squatting down to look into her daughter’s eye. “I need you to watch the other one until I get back. The Rescue Orders are on the street already, help is on the way.”

“Sure, mom.” Linn said. A half second later, she continued. “Be careful.”

Sheriff Horne helped Kyle to his feet, letting the larger scientist lean on her for support. “C’mon Kyle, just gotta make it to medbay.” 

They rounded the corridor marked 3, disappearing into the flickering darkness.

And after a short moment, a single voice rang out.

“Oh no.”

Zara was beginning to get her feet, as Linn bounded past her, a rush of feathers, claws and tail,after her mother’s shocked cry.

A short distance into the tunnel, she recognized the problem.

Instead of a lengthy corridor lit with the emergency lights and lined with windows to the outside, there was a stone wall, sheared smooth and perfect as polished glass. Strange blue-green crystals lined the edges of the stone and the synthetic stone construction of Science Tower One.

“Where’s Section Three?” Linn gasped.

“The better question is ‘where are we?’“ Zara said from the corridor doorway. 

--

The observatory’s lights ignored the flick of the light switch by the entrance. Without other options, Sagan and Gloria navigated their way through the building by flashlight. The central hallway was now half as wide as it ought to be, a section of gray stone wall from the strange tower intersecting the passage. 

“Two building trying to occupy the same space.” Gloria observed. 

“And the crystals?.

“Not sure... that’s why man invented laboratories.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a multi-tool, flipping through blades until she found a thick screwdriver suitable for use as a chisel. “Little souvenir.” 

She struck the tool against the base of one of the smaller lumps of crystal. The crystal did not budge, but at the point of impact the crystal flared with a blue-green light, one that rippled through all the crystals in the seam. Gloria snatched her hand back, shaking it, but she did so a few moments later than Sagan thought normal and the shake started weirdly slow before accelerating back to normal speed.

“It shocked me!” She said. “They’ve got piezoelectric properties.”

“It didn’t just shock you. You slowed down, like you were in slow motion, after you hit it.”

“Fascinating.” She said. “Its a bad idea to hit that again, isn’t it.”

“Probably.”

“Thought so. We’ll get a full science team down here once everyone is safe. Hit everything properly.” She said. “You’re signing a very hefty NDA about all of this, you realize.”

“That depends entirely on what we see.” Sagan said, firmly. “And you can’t threaten me.”

“Sorry, I’m blunt, your cousin thinks its a syndrome but my teachers all said I was rude.” She paused. “What I mean to say... is we’re going to make sure you’re so happy with how this turns out, you won’t mind signing the very hefty NDA.” 

“We’ll work that out later, look at this.” Sagan shined his flashlight at a section of wall starting three feet above the floor. A hole, about 2 feet wide, was cut out of the tower’s strange stone wall, as though a spherical section inside was missing. Everything within the spherical space was from the observatory, including part of a desk and a section of filing cabinet, which had collapsed into the floor. The result was a gap, allowing entry into the strange building.

“A way in.” Gloria smiled wide.

“We’re heading to get a medical kit.” Sagan replied. “Exploring the amazing appearing tower can wait.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to take a quick look.” She said, and began climbing up through the hole into the adjoining space. She slipped halfway through, then tumbled through the hole with a surprised yelp, followed by a series of thuds, and then silence.

“Gloria. Mrs. Anning!” Sagan shouter. “This... I get you’re eccentric but this is over the line.” 

There was no response.

“I swear, if you’ve killed yourself I am not going to jail for this.” He stood in place, listening for some reaction. None came.

“I already regret this.” Sagan said, stooping to put his head through the hole in the wall. The light of the flashlight caught a glimpse of a column of gray skin and the hint of an immense, living shape before a hand as large as his body grabbed Sagan James and pulled him into the dark room beyond.

He had never hated being right so much in his life.

[400legends]

Tales from the Rose - The Empty Lot

LaTonya wasn’t technically playing hooky when she was eaten by a bus. It’s not like she’s a delinquent; she’s a very studious and conscientious student. And no, that’s not a typo. She was not run over, but actually eaten eaten by a TriMet bus. Witnesses would later testify that she definitely went under the bus and then just disappeared. Most would assume that she must have crawled away to die in a ditch. There were a few that claimed it must be a hoax or some YouTube thing, but no bodies were found and no crazy videos surfaced. All that remained were haunting nightmares of a green backpack and a bowling ball and dreads disappearing under 30,000 pounds of steel. Only the man-in-black saw what really happened.

She thought for the last couple weeks that might be losing her mind, but with the stress that she was going under, is it any wonder? Her therapist referred her to a psychiatrist for pharmaceutical intervention, citing possible schizophrenic tendencies, but she knows in her heart that the song is real and that the rose is nothing less than reality itself. She doesn’t blame them. Who wouldn’t think that? If her therapist only knew how disruptive the voices were or how little sleep she’s gotten since the visions started or how close really is to the edge, she might’ve been committed on the spot.

Her last day in Portland began with a start. She’d had another vivid dream of some group of adventurers, this time inside of pyramid fighting a dragon. They feature heavily in her visions, especially the grey-ish skinned one is usually the only one she can actually hear, which is a shame since she doesn’t seem to talk as much as the others. She does, however, keep turning into other animals and seems to have a bunch of animal friends, so that’s cool. 

LaTonya woke up with a start, sticky with sweat and long before the sun peaks over the horizon, feeling like something was catastrophically wrong. This was kind of like the feeling of forgetting about a major project if that project were to keep the Earth falling into the sun, or to keep Thanos from snapping his fingers. She never really liked those superhero movies, but for some reason, she’s been wanting to watch them. 

Wide awake and shaking slightly, she makes her way over to the drafting table that her dad got her last Christmas. Drawing calms her and lets her get these pervasive, invasive, thoughts out of her head. The corkboard above her drafting table was lousy with pictures of white roses, colorful circles, and citadels drawn with charcoal. They all felt connected somehow. 

As she sat down to draw yet another (the 19th) rose, her hands stopped shaking, but the chorus that she always heard when drawing these images, rose to a crescendo that she had not heard until now. Her eyes watered, but she kept drawing, and in spite of her blurred vision, what she drew took her breath away. The rose seemed to jump up off the page. As she reached up to brush the tears from her eyes, caused in equal parts by both profound beauty and heart-wrenching misery, one tear escaped her face and fell towards the rose. 

She held her breath and time seemed to stand still. As the single tear fell toward the rose, the voices fell silent. Within that moment, the quiet was so tangible that she could practically hear the gears of the world turn, and then she saw it… she saw the beams, the orbs, the keep, the rose, the man-in-black, Arthur Eld, the boy, and rot that was invading all of them. 

---

LaTonya woke up in an empty lot. Looking around bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed, she realized that she was up in North Portland, maybe near the airport. Her head stung and she noticed a cinder block with a suspicious maroon stain.

“Don’t panic, keep cool,” she said out loud. Her dad was always talking about how important it was to keep cool. As one of the 30 out of nearly 1000 Portland cops, he knew how to play it cool. How to let the casual racism roll off his back and keep cool. How to deal with a bigoted partner and keep cool. How to raise a daughter on his own and keep cool. LaToyna reckoned that even her dad would have trouble staying composed under these circumstances.

Gently testing the mobility of her limbs and pointedly avoiding touching her head, she wiggled her toes, and made a fist in the dirt with her hands, realizing that her left hand was clutching an old-fashioned key. Okay, that’s weird, she thinks. 

She slowly stands up and notices her green book bag on the ground with the contents spilling out. Groggily, she bends over to put things back in the bag along with her new artifact. Nothing important here, just that rose picture she made this morning, and… wait. When is it? 

It was pretty obvious that it was the middle of the afternoon. What did I do for the last few hours? Boy, I’m in trouble. 

In placing the key in the bag, and trying to “keep cool,” she notices a time-yellowed children’s book that she’s never seen before. What’s one more mystery? On the cover is a demonic train with children in the passenger cars screaming in terror. Okay… keep cool…

Looking up and really taking the scene in for the first time, she notices something that gives goose pimples and causes her to forget for a minute how to breathe. Across the street is a charming little antique store. There’s nothing weird about that, especially in Portland, where very little is considered weird. But the window was painted with a scene of a dark grey, almost black tower, surrounded by a field of roses. The top of the tower had thirteen spires, twelve of which were different colors, each topped with a colored dot, and a central thirteenth tower topped with a black dot.

It was beautiful but faded by time. The name of the shop was Rose City Keepsakes. She felt like she must have stood there for days but it was only a few seconds, which were broken by someone rushing out of the shop towards her.

---

Rosa and Arxetta continued to argue.

“We don’t need to call anyone. I mean, we’ve all played hooky, and she seems pretty bright. Anyways, she said she’s going straight home, so she’ll be okay.” She also seemed a bit distracted, but Arxetta wasn’t about to cede that point.

“She’s too young to be out and about by herself in the middle of a school day in this neighborhood. And what is she doing in our shop? This is not exactly a place for kids.” Rosa was worried but knew that this was largely a useless discussion. Arxetta always got her way. 

As they continued to trod down this well-worn conversational avenue, Rosa’s keen vision saw LaTonya across the street with blood smeared down the side of her face, shoving the book she just bought back into the bag. What a strange purchase… she’d thought at the time. The creepy kid’s book was much too old and infantile to be of much interest to a typical pre-teen girl. Now, though all she could think was I knew it! with uncharacteristic vitriol towards her partner as she rushed out the door and across the street.

---

LaTonya was embarrassed to be fawned over like so, but she let them tend to her cut with a dusty, faded first aid kit that they dug out from under the counter. She insisted that she was okay and that just slipped but was she? The singing had stopped temporarily, and that was a relief, but the missing time was concerning in a different way.

The older Hispanic ladies kept bickering and that was causing a silvery-white pain between the temples. 

“At least let me make you some tea…” She realized that the shorter one was talking to her.

“She doesn’t want any tea, she’s a kid…” like she wasn’t there... “she’ll have Coke from the fridge,” said the taller one. Daggers shot out from the shorter one’s eyes, but she got up and made her way through the aisles toward the back, presumably where some antique fridge from the ’50s with a polished silver levered handle was being used as a drink cooler.

“Don’t mind her, Rosa is in a mood today… she thinks we should call your parents, I told her that you’re okay. What do you think? Should we call your mom, or are you gonna be okay?”

“Well, uh…” LaTonya started. She never knew how to tell people what happened to her mom. Sometimes just pretending that everything is okay is easiest. It’s kinda complicated.

“Here you go… nice and cold. I even found a glass for you. Be careful, it’s an antique,” Rosa said practically winking. In spite of herself, Arxetta smiled. It was an old joke, but a good one. 

“Don’t worry, it can’t be worth more than $2,000… $3,000 tops,” Arxetta said, playing her part. 

A thought crossed LaTonya’s mind… “What’s with the roses and the tower on the window?” she blurted out.

Arxetta and Rosa exchanged glances. Rosa was surprised, but Arxetta was concerned. Was this the same girl that wandered in, dazed just minutes ago? This dark-skinned girl was practically jittery and something else… maybe haunted? That’s ridiculous. What kid is haunted? She’s just scared that she’s gonna be in trouble when she gets home with that cut and all. That’s all.

“Well,” Arxetta started, “my name is Arxetta,” (pronounced ar-CHetta) “Castle and my wife’s name,” gesturing “is Rosa. Rose, Rosa, that’s pretty obvious. My first name, Arxetta, turns out is Latin for a lady of the castle,” Rosa rolled her eyes. “...or something like that. I think my dad was having fun when he named me. My last name used to be Castillo, but I changed it when I moved here to Castle. The funny thing is that I didn’t even know what the first name meant, but I guess it’s just fate. Anyways, I paid our artist neighbor a few weeks ago to paint something in the window that was us and that’s what she painted.”

“What about the bits at the top… with all the colors…what does that mean?” LaTonya’s heart was beating out of her chest. She never saw that in her pictures, just the tower and the roses. She had to know…

Without skipping a beat, Rosa chimed in, “Because we’re lesbians, of course! I know it’s cliched, but I thought it was a great touch. I’m sure it bugs some people, but they don’t have to shop here, and I’m not sure we want them in here anyways.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” She was sure they could see the sweat forming on her brow. Her throat was dry and she was precariously close to dropping the Coke that she forgot she was holding.

Another glance. “I mean, what else could it be?” Rosa said. What was up with this child?

LaTonya needed to get away. “Do you have a bathroom?”

Arxetta: “It’s at the very back to the right, just past the rolling desk… Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just gotta pee… thanks!” 

As the girl started to make her way towards the back, Rosa gave Arxetta a smoldering look. What did I tell you? Arxetta shrugged, suddenly really tired. Shit happens, not my fault.

---

LaTonya started to make her way towards the back, relieved to not be the center of attention. She put her hand in her pocket and closed it around the key she’s found. When did she put it in her pocket, wasn’t it in the bag? The metal of the key was strangely warm, but wasn’t it any wonder? I mean, she must be boiling, when did it get so hot in here?

As she passed the desk and spotted the door to what she presumed was the restroom, she stopped. The key seemed to be digging into her hand and she realized that it was suddenly way too heavy, like a powerful magnet was trying to rip it from her pocket. Taking it out, it clearly pointed at the lock of the rolling portion of the rolling desk. Without hesitation, she puts the key in the lock and turns the key.

The top rolled up and was…

“...a bowling ball?” she whispered, but she knew she was wrong as soon as she said it. It was more like a crystal ball, but black. She reaches out to touch it… the voices return… there’s nothing else that matters… she has to hold it... they crescendo… she cries out as she touches it.... Everything goes black.

---

“We couldn’t stop her… she had to go to the bathroom, but then she ran screaming out the door with a bowling ball in her arms… she ran down the street screaming…” Arxetta was sobbing, not for the last time today. She’d never felt so guilty, and while Rosa eventually calmed down, things were never quite the same between them. Rosa had nightmares about those screams for the rest of her life. 

“What was she screaming?” the FBI agent asked.

“She just kept screaming, ‘I have to die… I have to die… I have to die to save us!...’”

The man in black closed his notebook. He knew where she was, just wasn’t sure how to get there. The rose was key, but it doesn’t just talk to anyone. He’ll have to bide his time… That wasn’t tough… after all, time was his thing.

[c-rankin93]

SHE'S NO YOU - Ch.3

A/N: This chapter is more about family as you soon will tell. And you get to see a sneak peek into Finns head. --- CHAPTER THREE: SMILE FOR THE CAMERA --- RAE POV: "He did what!" I was currently at my parents house in Hoboken, New Jersey lounging out in the family room with my eldest brother Robert. My parents were playing in the backyard with the grandkids except my eldest nephew Tomas who was in the kitchen with his mother Maria- Robert's wife of 20 years. Robert was the only one of my three brothers that still resided in New York, as a Family Lawyer he took his job very seriously. He help me with my divorce and the custody battle I had to endure during Finn and I's separation. He was (and still is) overly protective of me. He and Finn had been great friends, and over the years we took family vacations together. But the moment I finally revealed what happened between Finn and I, he became even more overbearing, and even vengeful towards a certain someone. I guess he was hurt, a friendship destroyed and a little sister broken. It was a beautiful disaster. Julian the second oldest is currently living in San Francisco with his four year old son Parker. He went through a nasty breakup from his ex-wife Becca 6 months ago after finding out she was embezzling money into an off sore account of her estranged lover. His small doctors practice nearly went bankrupt due to the money loss but our parents stepped in and helped him financially to stay afloat. Becca was currently serving an 8 Year sentence in prison and her mysterious lover disappeared with nearly $500,000. He decided to stay in San Francisco and continue on with the life he built with his son, but frequently visited New York. Mark, the youngest of my brothers was also over the other side of America as well, pursuing his dream in Los Angeles. He packed up and left straight after high-school with the families support to become an actor. Over the years he has done well for himself, after staring in small commercials, then he moved on to TV drama, before getting his big break at 26. He stared as the supporting roll in one of Hollywood's greatest movies. He got noticed, then got famous. He kept to his bachelor life style, and I didn't ask him about the different women he was photographed with. I had just explained to Robert what had happened this morning over breakfast and what Olivia had said to me. To say he was mad was an understatement, he had practically choked on his beer the moment I told him about my uninvited guests. "Yeah well I can't stop him from seeing Josh on his birthday can I? But did he really need to bring her?" Robert understood my emotions. He was the only one out of my entire family that knew what really happened, between Finn and I. "Yes you damn well can Rae! That is your house, your property and if you don't want someone there you can tell them to leave. Invite Finn in sure but kindly remind him to leave his baggage at the door" Robert fumed and I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips. "I'm seriously Rae, don't let him walk all over you! That asshole needs to be taken down a peg or two" I sighed knowing that the more I talked about the situation, the more angry my brother would get. So in true Rae fashion I changed the subject. "So anyways! Are you excited about Tomas starting collage next year?" My eighteen year old nephew was a prodigy of his old man. I knew one day he would be a brilliant lawyer and husband, it was just a matter of time. Robert beamed and the mention of his eldest boy. "Of course! The kid got into Harvard for fuck sakes" he laughed, "not even I did that well. I tell you what, I can't wait to see him successfully one day". That was just typical Robert, he was the kindest man you would ever meet but if you messed with his family he would back hand you quicker then a women at a black Friday sale. "You know Elissa and Emery are going to be artist just like there momma" his daughters Elissa, 15, and Emery, 10, were splitting images of there beautiful mother Maria. Both had dark chocolate hair and golden brown eyes, they could never do anything wrong in Robert's eyes because they looked to much like their mother. Who was a pretty well known artist in New York, both girls had talent but in different areas. Elissa enjoyed painting faces and was brilliant at it, she has won numerous awards at school. And Emery loves mixing colour, some would call it abstract but to her it was just pure fun. "I've got my work cut out with them don't I?" Robert mused taking a long swig from his beer bottle before sitting it down on the coffee table. "No, more like you've got your work cut out with Robert junior over there" I pointed wards the glass doors that looked out into the backyard just as the Feisty little 7 year old crash tackled his grandpa with the help of Ruby who was laughing along. "Military school" he mumbled. I laughed, little Robert had always been upto no good, but he did it in the most innocent way. "Come on" I slapped Robert's leg then stood up to stretch, "we better go join the others instead of having our bitch and moan session. I'm sure mom is running around out there with her new camera trying to take photos". Laughing, we reminst about the first few weeks after Karim had brought her the camera, let's just say she went through two 16 gig memory cards, and hundreds of dollars worth of prints. -- I kissed the top of ruby's head, her eyes were already fluttering shut which didn't surprise me. Flicking off the light, then walked out of the room. Goodnight my princess. I walked down the hallway to Josh's room and poked my head in. He had already passed out, soft snores echoed in the room. I quickly tucked him in, kissing his soft brown hair. Goodnight my little man. Today was a big day, after the little spat I had with Finn the rest of the day went off without a hitch. Ice skating was a blast with Chloe, and her kids, Harry and Stephen. It was the first time in years I had stepped foot on ice and having two little humans depend on me to keep them upright was quite amusing. After that we had a nice long walk through central park before dinner and cake at mom and Karim's house. They kids had enjoyed the company of their 4 cousins, and I couldn't help but smile at how close they were. It made me wonder if they were as close with Finn's family as they were mine, especially Finn's 4 year old neice Sophia. I grabbed an ice cold beer out of the refrigerator and possistioned my rear end nicely on my plush couch. I chose to leave on whatever TV show that was already on, and continued watching without paying attention to what was happening. As the credits rolled by I heard a loud knock on the door. Sighing, I took the last few sips of my beer and shuffled towards the door. Gregory was standing there with a dopey smile on his face and a large blue box in his hand. He bent over and gave me a peck on the lips. A smile curved on my face the moment he wrapped his arms around me. We walked back toward the couch, not leaving an inch of space between us. He bent forward placing the blue box on the table quickly and wound is arms back around me. "How was your day beautiful?" Gregory whispered nibbling on my ear lobe. "It was good! Joshua had a great day and passed out as soon as he got back home. How was your day?" I replied choosing to keep my encounter with Finn out of it. "Oh it was fine, sold a penthouse in Manhattan today. It came with a nice fat commission to which I plan on spending on you. Maybe a weekend to Hawaii?" He continued to kiss my neck. "Oohh... well maybe one day we can enjoy that lovely vacation. And thank you again for today! I know you wanted to enjoy Joshua's birthday with us but thank you for letting me have this time with th-". He kissed me softly on the lips to shut me up, no doubt I was rambling on once again. "Its fine sweetheart. I got a sale and you got time with your kids, Plus we have tomorrow. And tonight..." he wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. My body was dragged upon his and our lips crashed together. It had been weeks since we had last had sex and I was more then ready for him. I needed him right now, I needed to forget for a moment, I needed to feel that earth shattering orgasm. I needed to feel human again. -- FINN POV: I had dragged myself from the comfort of my silk sheets at 5am this morning. Olivia had managed to stick to her side of the bed last night thank God, I hated waking up with her short blonde hair tickling my face. Putting on my joggers and a t-shirt I laced up my sneakers and walked towards the kitchen to have a quick shake before heading to the gym down stairs in my apartment. This was my Daily accurance, I needed to exercise before I sat in my office all day behind paper work and my laptop. Running my own company was hard work, long hours and no sleep. I had been living this way since I graduated college, the only balance I once had in my life were my kids and wife. But now that had all changed because of Rachel. We had just gotten back from Aspen Monday night after I had taken Olivia and her God awful family away for her birthday. I had nearly cancelled after the ruckus Olivia had caused with Rae in front of my kids on my son's birthday, but I knew if I did that the nagging would increase and i wasn't in the mood for that. I stepped onto the treadmill and started off at a walking pace, letting my muscles warm. Her beautiful face flashed though my head, her creamy skin, the hairpin curve of her plump lips, her button nose, her silk like hair- fuck! My body tumbled to the ground hard, I had missed a step which caused me to trip all because I was thinking about her. Not my girlfriend that laid asleep in my sheets, but my ex-wife. Pulling my legs to my body in frustration and leading my elbows on my knees I looked to the ceiling still thinking about her. Over two years since I had touched her intimately, kissed her lips... My heart still ached everytime I saw her, but I couldn't show her how much she ruined me. No, instead I channelled that built up frustration into pure hate towards Rae. I couldn't help it, she took away my kids, my life, my fucking air. I groaned picking myself up of the hard floor and turned off the treadmill. I made my way over towards the boxing bag, forgoing the gloves I collided my fist hard into the bag. Memories of the night my world came apart washed over me, it was a disease I couldn't fight. 'Rae, honey. I'm home' Smack! My fist collided with the solid leather. I felt nothing. 'Rae?' Smack! 'Kids?' Smack! 'Hello? Anyone home?' Smack! Smack! Smack! Then I distinctly remember the words scribbled on a yellow post-it note in Rae's hand writing, along with the divorce papers. 'Fuck you' Smack! --- Grimacing I looked at the paperwork that had piled up in front of me, red tags with sign here scribbled across them poked out. It would take me all day just to read all the new contracts I was taking on in the new year and according to Olivia my deadline was only 4 hours away. "Olivia" I buzzed through the intercom. "Can you ring Archie and tell him to come to my office immediately". "Of course Finny" she replied. A grimace shuttered through me. It was a nickname she had picked up just after we started dating, it was a habit I thought she would break but I was beginning to loose hope. No more then 15 minutes later Archie lazily strolled through the door not even bothering to knock. "I was summoned" he announced grinning. "Yeah, clear your schedule. I need you to help me read through these contracts so I can sign them off. Apparently Liv decided to leave this to the last minute and I have-" I looked towards my watch. "3 hours and 44 minutes to get them done before they are sent to your department to be organised into financial groups" I signed. It was only 9am and I was already exhausted, I had no idea how I was going to finish this in the time frame I had. There was atleast 40 small business contracts to sort through, but if there was anyone I knew that could help me it would be my brother, Archie. "Fuck man! Why do you let her do this shit?" He groaned typing away on his phone, no doubt messaging his assistant Charleene about the turn of events. "Don't start" I growled flipping a page before signing. "I'm just sayin-" "Enough!" I yelled slamming my hands down on my desk. "Christ Arch, I know Ohkay... I know". "Look I'm sorry I shouldn't of said it, but your not happy man. You haven't been since-" he stopped before he finished, no doubt he saw the pain flash through my eyes. Archie picked up a contract and started to flick through it, awkward tension permeated the air. To say my family where welcoming of Olivia was an understatement. They had all adored Rae, especially my parents who treated her like a daughter. When they asked me what caused the divorce all I could do was shrug, I had no fucking idea so what was I to tell them. They took my silence as an admission that I had fucked up somewhere, that I had wronged her but all I did was love and cherish that women. Of course Ma and Archie had tried to contact Rae but she had obviously blocked their numbers, after 4 months they gave up trying just like I did, when bent Olivia over my desk and fucked her. That was the night I finally understood that my marriage was over, the life I knew before was gone and the women I loved more then life itself had left. "Since my wife left me?" "Finn" my brother sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Have you even asked her why she left?". I shook my head in honesty. I had tried to talk to her but my pain turned into misery, my grief turned into anger and the only way i could express myself was by yelling at her. "Maybe you should" Archie replied, picking up another contract. "You don't think I have? I tried for months to get her to talk to me. The most I got was a slap to the face and her repeating how vile I am. Fuck, I don't know what happened. I-... It been 2 years and I still love her..." "You have the kids tonight right?" I nodded. "Well when you drop them off talk to her..." Thats better said then done I thought. --- @i-dream-of-emus @milllott @eveerez @lily-pop-2 @arathewallflower @hey1tskat1e @I88cym @mmfdfanfic

[thebuckblogimo]

Ten things I remember from kindergarten when I was a five-year-old at Lowrey.

January 15, 2017

There’s a new movie out that I saw the other day called “Lion,” based on the book A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierly (with Larry Buttrose). It’s the real-life story about a young Saroo, who as a poor, five-year-old boy from a small village in India, goes out one day with his older brother to scavenge coal, gets separated from him, hops a train, falls asleep…and wakes up 900 miles later in Calcutta where the people speak a different language.

Knowing his mother only as “Mum,” and the first initial of the name of the town where he came from, Saroo spends several harrowing weeks alone in the streets before an adult rescues him and takes him to an orphanage.  Eventually he gets adopted by a loving, affluent Australian couple and lives a happy life with them for 20 years in Tasmania…until he becomes obsessed with the idea of researching his identity and finding his birth mother.

Relying on foggy memories of his village, as well as Google Earth to search for images of it, he painstakingly conducts his investigation and is finally reunited with his mother. A review in the New York Daily News calls “Lion” a “10-hanky film.”

After seeing Saroo Brierley interviewed on 60 Minutes, I was intrigued by the random things he could visualize as a five-year-old to find his village and family two decades later. I was five when I started kindergarten in the fall of 1952 at Lowrey School in Dearborn, and Brierly’s story caused me to recall some of the things that I can remember from that time in my life. Here are ten of them:

I’m not sure how my mother connected with the Massaro family who lived two-and-half blocks away from our house, but Mrs. Massaro and my Mom took turns walking Freddy Massaro and me to kindergarten each morning, until our moms were comfortable with the two of us making the 1.3-mile trip together on our own. I remember that there were both morning and afternoon sessions at Lowrey. I also remember being disappointed that my friend Butchie, whose house I passed on the way to school every day, attended the afternoon session, not the morning one with me.

There were two kindergarten classrooms for each session. Miss Grumman taught my class; Miss Vincent taught the other. The rooms were separated by a “cloakroom” or “clothes press.” One classroom had a piano where Miss Grumman played the “alphabet song” to teach us our ABCs. When I first heard it I recall asking Freddy, “What’s an ‘alamenno pea’?”

There was a specially equipped classroom down the hall where the “crippled kids,” as we called them in those days, went to learn. Every day I saw children who couldn’t control their body movements and kids whose legs were in braces. I remember feeling really sorry for them.

At the south end of my room, the biggest of the two kindergarten rooms, there was a playhouse. At Christmas time, a tree was decorated near it for which we made cords of garland by linking colorful pieces of construction paper. I remember standing on risers in front of the tree where we sang “Up on the Housetop.” We hit rhythm sticks every time we came to the part that goes, “…click, cIick, click.” I recall being surprised that most of the other kids seemed to know the words to the song, while I didn’t. I thought I knew all the Christmas songs: “Jingle Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “Frosty the Snowman,” “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and “Silent Night.” I never did learn the words. I still don’t know them today.

At mid-year, after semester break, Freddy and I began to attend the afternoon kindergarten session. That’s when a new kid by the name of Noel was introduced to our class. After a few days it was discovered that he could read and write. So he was quickly transferred to first grade down the hall. The following year Noel entered the first grade at St. Alphonsus. He remains a good friend of mine today and is a successful attorney.

Every time it was someone’s birthday, he or she would be seated at a special table at the front of the class. A parent would usually deliver treats, such as cupcakes, and everyone would sing “Happy Birthday.” I remember feeling so proud because my Dad picked up candy bars–big boxes of full-sized Mounds Bars and Almond Joys–at my Uncle Frank’s “filling station.” Also, you were to select someone of the opposite sex to sit with at the head table. I picked a girl by the name of Donna, who, in my opinion, was the prettiest girl in the class. But I was really, really shy. I don’t recall ever talking to her again.

Random names I recall: Besides Freddy and Noel, I have the strongest image of a kid named Leeroy. Hearing his name made me think of a cowboy. Hearing his raspy voice made me think of sandpaper. Leeroy had buck teeth with wide gaps. He often wore white shirts. He was always sucking up to Miss Grumman. I suspect he turned out to be a “sid” who probably carried his books in a school bag when he started first grade. I also remember the names of Nancy, Joyce and Jackie. I don’t remember any last names. Random things I recall: tricycles we could ride on the wooden floor; old-fashioned stereoscopes (forerunners to View-Masters) with 3-D images of faraway places; closets with dark wooden doors where we stored our rugs for “rest period;” Miss Grumman’s desk at the entrance to our room; and, finally, Big Chief tablets for writing and drawing.

My mother didn’t drive. So occasionally she would arrange for Mrs. Phillips, our next-door neighbor, to pick me up from school. I remember that the Phillips owned a 1949 or ‘50 or ‘51 Ford. I think it was a “two-door sedan.” Navy blue. With black walls. It was a “three-speed,” with the shifter on the column. I remember that the clutch made a deep, bellowing “clump” every time Mrs. Phillips changed gears. The Phillips owned one car. I wonder how Mr. Phillips got to work on days that Mrs. Phillips picked me up.

I was sitting at a table in the back of the room the first time I figured out how to write “Lenny” on a piece of paper with a crayon. I remember getting excited and getting up out of my chair to show Miss Grumman. She smiled, but I remember feeling disappointed that she didn’t get all excited like me.

There was a recess every day so we could go outside to play. I remember how the kids would rush out of the room to the south door of the school which opened up to the playground. It bugged me the way they would all push and shove. I never did that. It didn’t seem right. Then, when the door opened, the kids would race to be the first one to the swings. I remember thinking that if I chose to rush the door and run to the swings there was no way that anyone could beat me. I tried it once. And I was right.

A few years ago a good friend gave me the 1980s book of essays called All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum. Striking me at the time as preachy, sugarcoated, I never finished it. And yet, I’ve long thought that there’s validity to its central thesis: that the world would be a better place if adults were nice to each other, shared things, cleaned up after their own messes, etc. Just as we were taught at Lowrey.

[rolandfontana]

From Gang ‘Shot Caller’ to Pastor: A Life-Altering Journey

Darwin “Casey” Diaz was once one of California’s most violent criminals. Brought to the United States as a toddler by his Salvadoran parents, he was a gang member at 11. At the age of 16, he was sentenced to almost 13 years in prison for second-degree murder and 57 counts of robbery. At New Folsom State Prison, his behavior earned him more than three years in solitary confinement.

That’s where he turned his life around.

Now describing himself as a born-again Christian, Diaz was nearly 24 when he emerged from prison with a story of how faith changed his life, and he has been sharing it with nationwide audiences ever since, while mentoring at-risk children. He turned his journey into a book, The Shot Caller, co-written with Mike Yorkey. The book’s title references leaders in gang cultures; the ones who command respect and decide who lives and who dies from behind prison bars.

In a conversation with The Crime Report, Diaz discussed how law enforcement, parents, churches, and educators can work together to disrupt the violent gang culture plaguing communities in Central America and throughout major U.S. cities, the importance of positive male role models for youth, and why his story might help inform today’s tendentious immigrant debate.

The following transcript has been condensed and slightly edited.

The Crime Report: What compelled you to write this book?

Casey Diaz: I’ve been sharing my story for some 20 years in bible study groups, churches, middle schools and high schools. Every time I shared, I always had someone tell me, ‘You’ve got to write a book.’  Most people don’t want to talk about [gang culture] and no one wants to share the reality of it. There have been other gang books but none that really offered a solution. There weren’t any in-depth discussions about the violence, and then the perfect opportunity to write the book presented itself and I said ‘yes’ to the project.

TCR: Gang culture is a real threat not just in El Salvador but in U.S. cities like Los Angeles and Detroit. What needs to change?

CD: If we turn on the news, we’ll see that on a nightly basis there are gang killings throughout Los Angeles, Massachusetts, Washington D.C., New York [and other cities].  I think it has a lot to do with the fact that there are missing male figures in a lot of households, and in the Hispanic community as whole it’s become so common. [A couple] ends up having a kid and the guy takes off. Then there’s a single mom in a bad area with one or two kids, and that young man who left leaves that young woman in a worst-case scenario.

Abstinence education may sound old-fashioned but I think those are things the Hispanic community should be focusing on. Perhaps we could turn future generations around so that kids aren’t so vulnerable to gangs, drug dealers and the party scene which can lead to the same results.

TCR: El Salvador has an extremely male-dominant culture. In your case, your behavior changed through finding faith. What can be done to introduce more at-risk youth to faith?

CD: The church is still vibrant; it’s a huge help and a huge mentorship vehicle. I think the [churches] that are good today are the ones teaching to the Bible. We’ve gotten to a place where church is seen more as an entertainment than a practical teaching of God’s word.

Let’s say a single parent or a young family gets into a local church that actually teaches the Bible and healthy biblical principles. They see the male-dominance prevalent in Salvadoran culture gets turned away really fast. The Bible teaches that a couple is a team and how to be a healthy male leader.

TCR: You watched your father nearly kill your mother. Violence was a way of life and you didn’t know anything else. How can Salvadoran males escape this lifestyle?

CD: The church is number one, but other channels include local sports; joining a local baseball or football league at a local park or at your school. Not everyone that grows up in the ‘hood wants to partake in gang culture. It’s the pressure and the influence but there’s a whole pack of kids that don’t want to be part of that because they’ve joined in sports.

My kid is in a football team and he loves it. They learn what a team is and that you can’t win by yourself. You’ve got to bring others up and [teach them] that winning is really about bringing others alongside you. Sports is a great way to deter a life of gangs and crimes. There’s also the arts and music. They could join their choir group, do some playwriting, write or paint. As a parent, I’ve been able to sit and watch my daughters in plays and choirs and sports and it blesses my heart to see the vibrance in my kids when they’ve come together in a choir or a school play. They put in all their effort into something worthy and it paid off.

Back when I was in school there was education in the trades. I was in shop class. Here’s what I noticed about the gang culture: All of us sat in the back of the class. One, because we were all gang members and the second part is we weren’t book readers. Not everybody can sit in a classroom and absorb teaching. Some kids learn and thrive through hands-on work so bringing those classrooms back would be awesome.

That way, kids coming out of high school who don’t want to pursue college have already learned to work with tools and can go to a trade school. I own a shop and I enjoy working with my hands and building signage. Learning those skills in school helped me big time.

TCR: You are so incredibly vivid about your crimes throughout your book. The scene where you plunge through someone’s stomach with a screwdriver was difficult to get through as a reader. How did you psychologically get through writing about them?

CD: There are certain incidents in everyone’s life that you don’t want to remember or relieve and that happens so many times throughout the process of this book. I recorded all of my life as far back as I could remember. I carried a voice recorder and I think I recorded over 54 hours. I’d go to a local park and just start talking. I would come across those incidents I’d rather not talk about and it would turn my stomach because you could see the evil that I was living. I had no problem with it back then, but as a Christian now it’s very difficult to put it into writing.

Coming into this book I didn’t want to do a book that was just so Christian and fluffy. That’s what we have in our Christian libraries, with mega churches and small churches, it’s always a fluffy story. It’s Christian entertainment for lack of a better term. I didn’t want to write a book to convert people to be born-again Christians. I wanted to get it into the hands of those who don’t know the Lord and I know a lot of people are intrigued by crime stories.

I said, ‘Let’s write something that’s 100 percent real. It’s going to hurt to remember all these things but if I could capture an audience of non-believers and the rawness of how far I went and the realness of who God is, then I think we have a good book.’

TCR: In Chapter 5, you shared a thought-provoking revelation that you joined a gang seeking male approval. Do you think this is true about gang culture in general?

CD: Absolutely. You look at the prison population here in the United States. There are 2.3 million people behind bars and nine out of 10 grew up without father figures. When that positive male role model is absent it’s a big deal and it affects both genders. There were girls in my personal gang that went in for murder, assault and home invasions.

TCR: Your book points to the fact that you missed positive role models throughout your youth; What kind of impact have you had in your current role of trying to keep other youth from following a similar path?  

CD: Three or four years ago, I took my kids to Venice Beach and as we were walking one of the kids I mentored when I was a youth pastor happened to be there walking in the opposite direction. He comes over and starts talking to us. He calls me ‘Papa’ and my wife ‘Mama.’

This is a young black man in his early 30s. When my kids asked him who he was he says, ‘Give me a second.’ He takes a little run and then comes back with about 10 teens and he looks at both of my daughters and says, ‘Your parents were my youth pastors and brought me to the lord when I was 13 years old and because of them I’m their youth pastor now,’ pointing to the kids with him.

You see first-hand the labor of your hands. The endless amount of time you spend with kids teaching them the Bible and taking them out on trips. What he got he’s now returning to the community. Those moments are special. The lasting effect is just incredible. He came from a broken house, with only a mom and sister in the picture. They struggled financially and emotionally. He lived in a very raunchy area but connected to the church and has lived a good life now.

“I put myself in their shoes.”

I put myself in their shoes. I put myself in their kind of mentality because I share a similar background with them. It’s easy for me to relate to them. I think, ‘How would I respond to this adult?’ I open myself up to these youth so that over time I can earn their trust. Trust has to be earned. They’re wounded and the last thing you want to do is continue to wound them. Being authentic goes a long way.  If I don’t have the answer to something, I tell them, ‘Why don’t we look for the answer together?’ Being a good listener is so important as a leader. God has given us two ears and one mouth to listen more and talk less. Listening is an important skill that mentors need today.

TCR: How can parents, the education system, law enforcement, youth and the media work together to break the cycle?

CD: Through dialogue and having an open discussion. For example, a meeting at a library, park or neutral place, where you invite law enforcement and other members of the community. I attend clergy meetings with my local police department and we feed off each other’s perspectives and ideas and how we can help each other. Community members and business owners are willing to help, but a lot of times don’t know how. If we get a whole community together then we could change the atmosphere. Let’s get business owners, teachers, parents, clergy, church leaders, law enforcement, and the media together, and let’s discuss solutions rather than drawing up signs and picketing.

We want to convey the message to our youth that: You’re important, we want to see you survive, go to college, to be self-employed.  What are we missing as adults that could help you guys out?

TCR: How do the issues this book brings to the surface fuel or combat today’s anti-immigrant rhetoric?

CD: Before I joined gangs, my mom sat me down and told me: ‘I don’t ever want to see you hanging up any other flag but the American flag. This is the place where you’re going to learn to get an education and you’ve got to respect this place.’

Man, that stuck with me. She also said: ‘You’re never going to get a government handout. You’re going to work hard and you’re going to contribute to the wealth of this place.’ I understand the economics and struggles of developing countries, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to enter this country. I understand it’s a hard thing when gangs have taken over places like El Salvador and Guatemala, and cartels have taken over Mexico, but if every country does its part (and it’s also a lack of leadership in these countries where there is so much corruption), then those countries will become safer.  Those who choose to come to America the right way can pursue happiness without looking over their shoulder.

The message in this book is not just for gang members and inmates. It touches on immigration and domestic violence, which is rampant in our culture. It’s a tool that can perhaps lead to a better way of life and maybe end up in a local church and change the future of its children.

Christine Bolaños is a freelance journalist based in Austin, Texas. Her work is heavily focused on social justice issues and has been published by the Guardian, NPR’s Latino USA, The Crime Report, The Trace and many other news outlets. You can follow her work at https://twitter.com/bolanosnews08.

From Gang ‘Shot Caller’ to Pastor: A Life-Altering Journey syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

[amcasey177]

Week 6: Life at Karatu Lutheran Hospital and FAME Medical, Kayaking to Kenya & Chasing Waterfalls

Sorry for not heeding your advice, TLC

An Oasis at Lake Chala

Karatu I’ve been working at Karatu Lutheran Hospital (KLH) for two weeks now and have also spent sometime working at FAME Medical. As I previously mentioned, my hospital partner Sarah and I live in a guest house KLH grounds. We are a 15 minute rickshaw ride from Karatu town, which is the central town for the many farms surrounding it. Karatu is nestled among some of the world’s geological wonders including the active volcano, Ol Doinyo Lengai, and the Ngorongoro Crater. It does not look like The Lion King, as my friend Camille was so hoping; it’s characterized by rolling hills, lush farm land and volcanic red dirt (which now characterizes all of my shoes). The town has an African charm to it that is lacking in the bustling City of Arusha. However, this charm comes with a price: availability. It is very hard to find hot food that isn’t meat and rice, any grocery item remotely resembling what I am used to, or, most importantly, any electrical component that I need to do my job. Such things are a two and a half hour drive away in Arusha. I would love to say that it’s no big deal, I’ve learned to adapt; but sometimes you just need a friggin’ 240 ohm resistor and a cheeseburger.

That lush farm land I was talking about.

My New Digs We’re living in a large house that uh, has character. Dirty is a state of mind, not a state of being, right? Right. Luckily we have running water (an incredibly large percentage of Tanzanians don’t), though sometimes it is black, in which case can rely bottled water (don’t worry Mom!). I have to wash all my clothing by hand, and by the third hour of doing so every Monday night, I have written sonnets about how much I miss washing machines. We’re cooking for ourselves, which is definitely a challenge when you don’t have a fridge, food that you’re accustomed to, or a spatula (I could probably just buy the spatula, but I’d rather wallow in self-pity). Nonetheless I’ve learned that you can accomplish a lot with just a gas tank and matches. For instance, yesterday I made my own tomato sauce and today I popped popcorn the old fashion way, just some oil and a flame, no jiffypop or popsecret necessary. We have lots of friendly neighbors, including three kids between the ages of 6 and 11 that I play cards and sardines with every other night. They call me “Madam Ash” and have quickly and surely stolen my heart. Overall its a challenging way of life, and not always in the romantic kind of way, but I’m lucky to realize just how much I have to be grateful for.

The bi-monthly Iraqw Market is one of the biggest around, attracting buyers and sellers from all over Tanzania. Also that red dirt I was talking about.

Karatu Lutheran Hospital KLH is a charming, government funded, rural hospital. It boasts a very skilled staff who do great work with the limited resources that they have. There isn't much equipment at KLH; the little that they do have is heavily relied upon and well maintained by the biomedical engineering technician on staff, Augustino Pagano. So far, Sarah and I have done mostly small fixes with equipment like surgical beds and blood pressure cuffs, but everything that we do fix is greatly needed and greatly appreciated.KLH Grounds

Karatu Lutheran Grounds

Augustino to the Rescue! KLH, Sarah and I are very lucky to have Augustino. He knows a lot of what he does from working on the job and he's remarkably good at what he does. He has welcomed us into his workshop with open arms, and has offered us a lot of help in navigating the hospital. I can tell when I walk around with him how much people admire him, the man who can fix almost anything! I am very happy to help him in anyway that I can; anything that's good for him is good for the hospital.

The Crew - One from China, One from Tanzania, One from New Jersey

Augustino on the Job

Nyama Choma  - Tanzanian Barbeque. That was a filling lunch.

FAME Medical We also spend one or two days a week at FAME Medical (Foundation for African Medicine and Education). It is an organization founded by Americans Susan Gustafson and Frank Artress, a mental health specialist and a doctor. In 2002 while climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, Dr. Frank experienced a life-threating pulmonary edema. He would have died on the mountain were it not for the hard work and compassion of his local guides, who carried him up and over the mountain to safety. The incident inspired Frank and Susan to move to Tanzania and create FAME Medical, with its Hospital in Karatu, mobile health clinics that circulate the area and general public health outreach. Its a really great story, and you can learn more about their work in the link below.

FAME Medical Link

I think that FAME has done a good job of maintaining the standards of a Western hospital - in terms of equipment, patient care and facilities - while respecting and empowering the locals. Aside from Frank, Susan and a handful of Westerners, the doctors, nurses and other staff are Tanzanian, the signs are all in Swahili, the hospital is laid out on an outdoor campus like most others in Tanzania. It’s paid for by a mixture of foreign donations and the patients themselves. FAME doesn’t have a biomedical engineering technician like Augustino on staff, so once one of the nurses found out what work we were there to do, he rolled out two suction pumps, two light fixtures, three oxygen concentrators and an endoscopy light generator on the spot! It was pretty exciting.

An ICU at FAME

One of three oxygen concentrator that we worked on today. Once it was fixed, it was immediately used on a patient in need. That was pretty cool!

Moshi, Lake Chala and Marangu Waterfalls

Lake Chala. Kenya is the yellow land in the distance!

Last weekend about half of the larger group went to Moshi, the city at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. We ate like kings at an Indian restaurant on Friday night. On Saturday my friends Kevin, Marianne and I made the trek to Lake Chala, which resides on the border of Tanzania and Kenya. Its a crater lake with walls a quarter km high, because, Tanzania. We first took an hour dala-dala ride (a car pool van fit for 18 people that usually houses 27) to a small town, then an hour long rickshaw ride up an insanely bumpy hill to get to the lake. Some people in the town had never even been to the lake, including our rickshaw driver, so there were times where I seriously doubted that we would make it. When we finally did, and found ourselves at an oasis-lodge on the top of the crater wall overlooking the lake, I thought I was in a mirage. Luckily it was not, and we enjoyed a day of kayaking, swimming, hiking, relaxing, eating well and watching the sunset over Mt. Kilimanjaro. At night we wised up and ordered a taxi home from the Lake to Moshi, which went much more smoothly than our journey there!

Dinner in Moshi with the Gang

Lake Chala Shenanigans

Sunset over Mt. Kilimanjaro

On Sunday we meet up with most others still in Moshi to hike to a waterfall nestled at the base of Kilimanjaro, also fed from the ice water of Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was cold, but not as cold as Galway Bay, so you know I went for a swim. I know I've been a lot of beautiful places in Tanzania, but this place was like, reallllll beautiful. The picture says it better than I can!

Thats all for now! Baadaye!

[bandofholyjoy-blog]

IT GETS LOCKED UP IN YOUR CHEST: MICHAEL BRANDON IN HAITI... Things get locked in your chest. Your chest-corporeal, I mean. You can be as stalwart as you wish, but things……get locked…. in your chest. Part One:   “What The Hell - Where Am I?” Forget that there was no ceiling over the majority of the house, yes, that is correct, no roofing. The impact was particularly “lofty," in that huge, arena-esque space ; a baby bird’s mouth at spit-feed time, indeed, the "living room.” We had mango trees where most homes had bookcases. They rose up and up, practically touching the stars, in my ripe, 11-year old imagination. Forget the (massive) mosquito nets , compulsory to sleep under (you best believe: Malaria and "This-or That”, killer fever). Forget the adult-male-hand-sized tarantulas, and how they’d drop on my fucking head, in that "Uniball Signo-207-level,” inky-blackness... of the country’s foul, microwave nights. Forget the omnipresent, after-dark-bats, or the violent chickens (yes) that would “entertain”, on random, possessed evenings. All of the unwanted guests, they had an oceanic entrance, and then some, through aforementioned, ‘negative-roofing.” I recall my mother, with broom-as-rapier, beating back those truculent, pecking , rabid-assed chickens. They behaved like They were, but I’ve never heard of rabies-infected fowl. WTF =  indeed. WTF was in the feed? Forget it all. Forget that I’m in Port-au-Prince, and it is 1977. From Park Avenue to Haiti ; I can envision the Off-Broadway, musical tragicomedy. “Why Mommy, Whhhhhy?” would  be the opening number. The Backdrop of glimmering, rubbish-free Park Avenue  sidewalks would be crumpled by a drop sheet festooning over the previous one ; the new background, blaring sunshine, highlighting makeshift huts, skeletal dogs and cats, and a woman encumbered or emboldened…via eight, weaved baskets (of varying size and weight) atop the crown of her head. “Ha," indeed. All traces of levity now-removed, as I type the name:  “Baby" Doc Duvalier. Forget the sight of him. The sight of a pinguid, nasty, ever-smirking menace, as he pierced the open sunroof of a too-long limousine ; all that was missing was a hood decal of the reaper. Forget that feculent beast, hurling coins to armless / legless children. I’m talking about kids that were my age and (much) younger. The sight of the children, literally tearing each other apart for a meagre allotment of coins... Let’s forget it. These were the same children, I’d consistently gift my sneakers, shirts, pants( everything) to. I’d walk home through those  seemingly endless, sugar cane fields, “home”….back to the haunted house, only to be greeted by mother-irate. To be fair, my mom was "half-irate.” It only pissed her off that she’d have to order me more clothes from the U.S.A . An overtly-charitable nature , innate. I’m serious. Was this a somatic mutation, only, in behavioral format? I was this way from birth. It can be grotesque, the kill-with-kindness shtick. I assure you, I have no freaking idea - why. WhyI’ve been this way. I do not choose this bizarre, saintly shit , do I? You will pay the price for kindness. Oh man, will you pay ; you'll even be despised for it. “You’d feed a starving dog and let yourself die.” My mother used to say that to me, and often. Would I? Hell if I know the answer to that question. I hope the answer is: “no way." I’d defend my recurring actions. "They were missing limbs!” t’was my clarion wail. My plea for the: "amputated-for-god-knows-why…” kids. I still do not know why so many were limbless. I’m assuming, petty transgressions (food theft?) ; these beautiful, still-smiling children, ever-clamouring for my clothing and shoes. Damn. Now I’m reminded to forget my truancy. The headmistress of the (country’s best) “Creole / American” school, admonishing my mother: “your child is  too intelligent to attend. Our school is shit. I advise you to stay away." OH! Let us also forget the omnipresent heat,it’s own universe of hatred and scorn…. a heat so pernicious, it incinerated my (American) comic books, literally, to ash. Forget that we’re in Haiti before the term ‘“Sweatshop” was fashionable. In all fairness….My mother has always, always treated anyone, anyone who has worked for her, like bordeline-royalty. She took care of every last person, and still does today. There is no one quite like her…for all the …Wait. Let me not lose focus (snicker!) Mike Brandon, lose focus? Remember. I am trying to forget. Forget my cat showing up at the doorstep with half his brains removed. What ungodly beast did that? I’ve forgotten it. Forget the rank, gamey pigeons we ate. I might not be able to forget... affable Destan. Destan. The ever-smiling, perpetually, (infectiously!) happy houseboy. My mother offered Destan a proper room, but he opted out. Destan preferred the dank, dark, "bird- basement", covered in turkey, dove, pigeon…. you-name-it / “ it’s what’s for dinner!” bird shit. I’m talking about spackle. I”m attempting to verbalize... shit-as-caulk. I’m talking about tenfold layers and layers  of bird crap. I’ll never be able to find the words for the density of that avian, "shit-splosion." The stench alone? OH, dear g….. Forget it. Forget “Hank" - was it? The turkey I loved.You are actually reading this. It’s not a dream. I loved a damn turkey. Wow. What else ya gonna DO in Haiti, ah? Forget that he was served for dinner one night, as Bruno, my mom’s drunkard boyfriend (who I adored, BTW) darted a nefarious grin my way, indeed he did. I called “exemption" on Hank, but, my plea, clearly it meant jack-all. The turkey I claimed as a pet, yep, he was now on my dinner plate. Ahhhh forget the minuscule shit. It only “mattered” to a wussy child, anyway. Let’s get to one “experience,” shall we? One Haiti experience that is probably worth remembering, just for the sheer culture shock and spectacle. A "Cirque Du Wha-HEY!”   that I doubt… any other spoiled, Park Avenue bitch boys got to see. I was a lucky bitch boy, it could be said. Let’s not forget that tidbit. I’d like to forget that Serge, one of the gents who brought me to the “experience,” was (quite a few years later) found tied to a tree, throat slit, ear-to-ear. OK. The experience. Yes. "The Experience." Part Two: “The first time I fainted." Voodoo rituals, to say the least? they are myriad.   I believe the one I endured ; I believe it was a: “Repel Demonic Spirits Ritual." Memories are brutal things, eh? Who  knows what the template for a memory... truly is. Fiction pales. This is, in my opinion? a “level two" (out of ten) true-life shocker. My age played the largest role, as did the country, itself. What a wake-up call. It is unique, and for this reason, and this reason alone, it is possibly worth revisiting. My mother was in her early 30’s. She always worked her ass off, and she partied just as hard. Prime period, Bardot-level beauty (beyond) who took advantage of "nature’s temporary gift.” Fuck you, nature…BTW. My mom was a hardcore player. Some nights I was passed around like an American football. This was one of those nights. “Want to see something endemic to Port-au-Prince?” - something to this effect, but in "layman-ese” ; obviously, he did not use the 50 cent word I supplied. I was with Serge (I forget…I really do forget! )and two others. I was taken to the ceremony by three men who worked for my mother’s sportswear company. Factory employees, oh yes, turned makeshift babysitters. Hoo-rah! My mom was (likely) at the Royal Haitian Casino and Hotel. High-end for Port-au-Prince, this joint was, indeed. Stepping into the Air Conditioned “Royal Haitian,” was akin to attending Epcot Center’s best attraction…if it had one, I mean. My mother was doing  “her thing…” (* never “caved" to self-deprivation, is all I will say) Me, I was in a filthy van. I recall being in that van, for what seemed like ages ; myself and three cackling adults, clearly amped that I was about to be “de-flowered"….erm...in some fashion. “Tonight, we are going to show you the real Haiti!”   Indeed, they were about to show me something, and boy, had I been giddily rapacious. “Authentic  Voodoo Show? Hell yes!” was at the forefront of my already-twisted, little skull. Let’s be honest. This was well before I went crazy. That happened at age 12 and beyond. This was unique, especially for a Park Avenue-born kid. Forget the amorphous mind of the over-zealous, ignorant child ;  good decisions , like batteries….never included. When I wrote: " these rituals were myriad,”or something to this effect, I was imagining a color spectrum. I was told (in 1977) Voodoo Ceremonials took place, for just about any occasion. I cannot verify this, nor have I ever cared to research it, via the web. This was a:  “you’re in over your head”  occasion, because it was: "pre-everything.” I retained innocence, I did,  in 1977. I know that I still had innocence, even when Haiti tried to rend it from me. “Pre-Hell-Dipped-Mikey, and His First Voodoo Ceremony.”   Honestly, this was akin to watching a Shirley Temple film ; I  simply had no comparisons - not yet. I  have to assume, however,   that this was one of the more “epic"(?)  voodoo ceremonies. I mean, if not, then what am I missing? Let us also forge...t that it took place in the middle of freaking nowhere, and in a perfectly grim setting. Central casting and location scout teams? Hell, they’d piss over this package, in it’s entirety. It’s 1977, babe! Woooooooo! I know nothing! Mikey knows nada! I have not even met my dick, yet! Shit, where was I….. The van pulled up where roads terminated, and tangled, foreboding woods claimed dominion, 360 degrees, everywhere you canted your head. So dark, those nights, all of them, in Port-au-Prince. Crickets, oddball,insect noises ;  not much else. We had to foot it to the makeshift “arena”. I recall those bleak woods… The flashlight… “Hold onto my arm” etc. Eventually, I could see the gleam ; the flicker of flames. As we drew near, upright pole-torches guided us past the narrow, dirt pathway, widening until we hit it. I remember thinking: "earth-arena.” I knew it was man-made, but it appeared jungle-birthed,  this stage…OH yeah. A stage forged in dark, dark soil. Serge made sure we got primo seats, as in: a huge-assed log, right in front of “Kaiju Circle" A damp, mossy log, one o...f maybe ten? They served as seats. Primo on the Primitiv-O. Our log. Our front row, ass-pain-delivery-conceyance log. She only required a few handkerchief thwacks , ending or hurling away, maybe a dozen, pesky, fire ants. A soil / dirt circle. A circle large enough to accommodate 20 people. Ornate the concentric designs were, beautiful, to be honest. Detailed, alien-scripture-ephemeral,  as the street paintings that are doomed by foot traffic. The drawings and writing (by stick, I assume) etched inwards from the outer ring, all the way to the center, where the “MC” would eventually take position. The ceremony was mostly comprised of locals, as I’m pretty certain tourists were:  in-absentia. the rumps on those stumps, the bums on that bark. I’m guessing, now... 30 people were in the audience? It was no... "Radiohead gig." Before I was carried to the van, and later briefed about the “finale” I missed… I can relay this much. The “MC” was a young(ish) woman, adorned with feathers and bones. Bone. Bones. Bone through her nose. Small prey. Mammalian = another guess. “Bone Gear.” Wherever her face and naked body ("mondo-regalia,” aside) was not tattooed or pierced by small scraps of metal, there was bone. Rat skulls?  I remember bone. Mucho Hueso. Suddenly came the drums. Loud as hell, this percussion. Man, there was a small army of drummers, banging these upright….tree-stump-type objects. If ever a time was right for earplugs, this was it. The jungle did not absorb that pummeling. I felt it in my body, like a recent, audiophile demo, at Soho's “Stereo Exchange." A beverage was passed around to the spectators, and my “handlers” ensured, and fairly aggressively, that I did not drink from that clay bowl. Four men. Four men Flanked the Priestess (I think this was what they called her), two on her left side, and two on her right side. A (very) young girl scurried forward, carrying some "Tim Burton-looking” cage, comprised of dead palm fronds and mossy bark, set it near the priestess’ feet, then darted back. Her entrance alacrity perfectly paced with her exit speed. Doves. Doves were crammed-tight! Doves! Doves , like concentration camp train victims….crammed in the most repulsive manner.i Thacrap-looking cage. Doves, super-stuffed, like ten marshmallows in a baby Raccoon’s fist. Trust me, I’ve seen it .Same visual. More drums. “When will they start?” The waiting. The endless, percussion-as-punishment. I wanted to bail. Then. Then, it just began. The squeeze. Why? to push the heart upwards - WTF? Then the bite. Surgical, her “bird-headings” were, Yeah. This gal was biting, then spitefully! It was ( a guess?) pre-PETA, but it felt...mega-pear-shaped. What am I even saying?  It was Haiti. 1977! Spitefully, she spat those dove heads, and in random directions. Bite…spit-quick-bubble-mouth. What the…? Ohhhhh! White morphs non-stop-red. Her “trick" was to make arterial spray, post-head-eject, rapidly retain dove blood in her mouth, then turn, to the drum beats…. Grand Guignol? I think this was a form of it. To the beat…. Bite, suck, hold, turn…spit… Spit the blood. SO much, the blood. Too much. Magic speed. Winter-squirrel. Puffy cheeks.  She spat the blood left, then right, spray-painting the faces of the four  men. I was having a rough time. I saw a grid. Black splotches, then a green, “electrified” grid, right tin front of my face. Still, I held on. I was definitely not happy. Then came those powders. I cannot tell you what was in them, nor what they were, no way. No tengo idea. I’d say 4-5 doves were given the "feral cat on PCP” treatment, then she blew various powders! Yes. Those mad powders, like sugar bombs exploding in the male faces. I was utterly amazed that the "dove-splosions" did not fell me. Amazed. I think my adult cohorts felt the same ; “Ballsy kid. Ballsy, for a spoiled, yankee bitch boy.” What did me in? It was that somnambulism “trick?” Was it a trick? Was it real? This was where I began to board the “Wooze Cruise.” One of the powders blown , obscured the male faces for a few seconds, then….THEN. Next, the powwders, and I’ll hazard another guesstimate:  2-minute absorption time. Those white powders. They made the dudes “Danse Macabre” . I am talking: some scary-assed, David-Lynch-type action. I was now in Batshit Town. Population: MIkeyboy, Grunts and howls. Pain. Ugly , animalistic sounds of agony, emitted from all four men. Freakish, gross, naked men, falling backwards, yet still-standing. Utterly insectoid. The unedited version of “The Exorcist.”   Regan doing the spider-walk. Four naked, full-body-paint-adorned , synchronized wig-outs. Jacob’s Ladder.. Esther Williams on shards of glass and bath salts. When the men's eyes rolled back, fiendishly displaying… I mean: "pop-out-level,”  hyper-bulging, white orbs ; yes indeed, I was getting my baaaaaaaaad freak-on, finally. The priestess summoned the men to do dog-like tricks. An arm was cut. She sucked from it…I barely recall my backflip off that fat-assed, wet log (eventually, I’d be doing that move endlessly, as a scuba diver, only, a tad more gracefully) I awoke in the grimy van that brought me to this netherworld. Ostensibly, I missed the highlight ie. “the finale.” I missed the part where the priestess and her charges were “resistant.” Example: They downed 4 bottles of Jack Daniels (apiece!) and  remained “sober.". The alcohol was inspected by the audience to prove it’s veracity etc. I missed this bit, and the wound-proof bit. I cannot tell you what I missed, as it was verbally detailed “at" me, I still had  (intermittent) ink splashes in my eyes. I was in and out of brief fainting spells. I did not have any interest, none,  in hearing more about the finale. I blew it. I never saw :The FULL Enchilada." Maybe? Someone cut one of the “performers” and there was no blood. Honestly, My 11-year old brain was knackered for the evening. I felt nauseated in a way that I never experienced (again), save for a night in Coney Island where my stripper girlfriend was performing at the sideshow, and her pal ( a writer, of course!) was retelling me his testicle injury horror story. OH, this is one that needs to be heard. That was faint number two. The only other times I have  “hit asphalt?” You don’t want to know. I am sure, rituals modern and old,  can be found online. I have no idea if there are or were(ever)  “rules or regulations,” in regards to said rituals. I saw what I saw, and it was unique, especially for Mikey, the 11-year old / previous dweller on “The Gold Coast of Manhattan." Haiti has beauty. There were amazing sights and indigent, yet upbeat people, but…. It’s a shit-show, by and large. It was awful then. and it’s worse , I believe, yes, worse now. I will not get political. I just forget. That’s what I do. I try to forget. It’s all locked up in my chest. I try to forget. It’s all locked up in my chest.