#we opened up the white clay first and it was like it was melting. it would stick Everywhere and just be so messy

[aria0fgold]

So I was feeling bored and decided to look for the green playdoh my sis had but couldn't play with and when I squished it, I felt something hard on it so I was like: ??? And when I looked, it was tiny lil crystals??? I went to put it on water to get the clay out to have a proper look at it but then it all dissolved??? What

[derbysilkmill]

We Backyard Foundry

August, Tuesday, 23rd, 2022 the Museum of Making workshop team travelled to Artisan Foundry, Liverpool for a one-day course in greensand foundry practice, patternmaking and casting.

The course was taken by Art, an experienced foundry trainer and practitioner. The comprehensive course taught everything from sand moisture content and pre-moulding preparation, setting new and old patterns for moulding, ramming sand techniques, correct mould venting, sprue cutting, chemical additions to metal, heating and pouring hot aluminium and other metals such as bronze and gun metal. 

Undertaking the course was preparation for commissioning the Museum of Making workshop crucible -- the final piece of equipment to be brought to life in the newly-opened museum workshop space. Post course, with the critical H&S and casting PPE regimes poured into our minds (aluminium melts at extremely high temperature) - the workshop is preparing to design courses and demonstrations in patternmaking, greensand moulding and metal casting.

Below is a selection of images in a quasi non-linear order featuring Steve, Arthur, Andy, and, of course, the mighty Art.

The green foundry student checking the ‘greensand’ which isn’t green but red. Green denotes it is damp and sticky with natural moisture and clay. Art left, Andy right.

A chicken doorstop casting repurposed as a ready-made pattern, moulded to make another slightly smaller chicken doorstop in aluminium - (all cast metal shrinks after casting, aluminium about 1mm for every 70mm 1/70 -- patternmakers use special calibrated ‘expanded’ contraction rules).  Using the casting from an original pattern as the next pattern and then that cooled casting as the next pattern the chicken casting would, of course, eventually stop being there. Don’t copy copies then. 

Art also runs a day course in lost wax casting. Lost wax casting as everyone knows is the oldest industrial casting process known to man. As a workshop, we will at some point be lost wax casting. 

The Museum of Making is the keeper of hundreds of cast metal plaques, mostly railway related, which carry information in the form of cast text. With a crucible in workshop and the greensand training in place we intend to run courses wherein makers can create their own word signs using handmade or off-the-shelf white-metal or plastic letters, 3D text simply applied to a flat backboard. 

Art is here applying a parting powder to a metal ingot pattern. A bit like talcum powder, it is kept in a traditional permeable muslin ‘pounce bag’ and the trick is to dust the pattern as if with icing sugar evenly. Parting powder stops the wet greensand sticking to the pattern and the mould sand tearing when the pattern is withdrawn after ramming. the sharpie circles denote where we are to cut riser and runner system. 

We decided to cast a sign for Museum of Making workshop. The aluminium plaque pattern in the picture is ready-made and different sized letters and fonts and logos can be placed on the pattern to make varying bespoke castings. Bit Jamie Reid meets Fawlty Towers going on at this stage. The letters and logo are attached using Copydex latex glue which holds objects in place for moulding but can be pinged off - and glue residue piggled off - to clean up base pattern and let letters be used again.

Parting Powder mist

Art closing the two parts of a mould - known as ‘cope’ and ‘drag’. Cope is the upper box and has locating pins, drag the lower with accepting negative dowel holes or ‘eyes’. A mnemonic to use the moulding boxes in correct sequence is “eyes down”.  You can see the down sprue and riser cut into the cope like two eyes in a strange Bruno Munari abstract face design. (Design as Art, Bruno Mari, 1966)

From this image you can see that the the ingot pattern is placed in the drag first, which is common. The pattern has no core box and is known as a shell pattern. The pattern makes its own cores which are extensions of the sand rammed up in the cope after the drag has been processed and turned over for the second-stage of sand moulding process. This ingot piece is also a good example of a ‘flat back pattern’, i.e., the pattern is placed flat on its back on a moulding board before sand is rammed (compacted) around it. * For a fuller description of different types of pattern equipment see Patternmaking Explained to Children - Steve Smith Museum of Making Tumblr).  

Once a mould is completed and ‘closed up’ on its pins - and pattern of course withdrawn - the paired boxes are set on the floor ready for casting in the hot metal needed to make the required casting: iron, bronze, gunmetal or aluminium. The sprue and riser holes are then covered to prevent debris entering the mould before casting - usually a piece of wood is used. The ‘sprue’ is where the metal is poured in and the riser is usually diametrically opposite the pouring gate. The riser is there because the air within sealed mould must escape pushed out by the incoming stream of metal from the runner -- the riser also acts as a reservoir of metal and heat to feed the shrinking casting. When metal appears running up the riser to the top of the cope box the furnace pouring person realises the mould is full of hot metal and desists feeding the mould.

Art pointing out the particular sections of a ramming ‘dolly’. The tapered wedged section nearest to our instructor is designed to get into the tight corners a multiform pattern will present, the opposite flatter end - more mallet-like - is for when the pattern has been fully embedded in compacted sand and the rest of the void of the box is filled with backing greensand which provides the supporting structure of the fragile mould. Making these dollies in-house is easy and looks a good coproduction learning opportunity (how-to-turn-between-centres) for a Museum of Making volunteer. You Know who you are... 

Greensand has to have just the right moisture and natural clay content to make it mouldable --  not too dense. thick sticky sand can prevent dangerous high-temperature chemical gases permeating through mould in the red-hot casting process. Here Art started to explain the properties the sand should have by demonstrating ‘by hand’ and in practice how right-damp sand should feel and behave under compression. At Ilkeston College, as apprentice patternmakers, we had to also complete City &Guilds Foundry Technology and Metallurgy examinations and empirical practice in college micro-foundry was essential. We used a closed flask - a bit like a cocktail shaker with a dial attached - to measure the moisture and chemical contents of greensand. If sand is too wet there can be gas-driven (steam powered) explosions - very dangerous - too dry and sand is friable, and casting will be a ‘scrapper-shitter’ filled with unwanted washed sand (inclusions) from decomposed mould.

Early stages of moulding:  taking sand from Artisan Foundry under-bench greensand storage bin. The bin has a lid and a plastic membrane to retain moisture and keep out contaminating materials. Andy is here taking sand from the bin to start filling his wooden moulding box, the frame you can see on bench placed around the ‘Chicken Doorstop’ pattern. A sieve can be used to sift the sand that ‘faces’ against the pattern or - as here - you simply rub the sand through the palms of the hands feeling carefully to eradicate lumps and spot unwanted stones, even old cast metal amongst the essential fined-out stock material. Arthur has made a hybrid sand and moulding bench crossing Art’s bin  with a foundry station he saw when a Derbyshire  school D&T Technician for our workshop.

The WORKSHOP pattern is nested in the drag -’eyes down’ box - after ramming with wood dolly on moulding bench top. The welded metal moulding box has been carefully turned over and, before the cope box is located and the cope rammed to make the second section of the complete mould, excess parting powder applied to back of pattern and joint sand is removed with a pair of traditional bellows. This historical-but-still-used old-school air-making device is held away from box to avoid blasting the fragile sand with over-compressed air.

Art coached the Museum of Making team throughout our training visit to Artisan Foundry. Passing on relentless tips and dodges (’hacks’) - learnt through his own empirical practice as a jobbing foundry man and educator - in his thick scouse accent Art passed on priceless knowledge. The background has Arthur ‘sleeking off’ the top of the cope box with a moulders trowel. The next step is to then split the completed mould, withdraw the pattern and cut pouring sprues and risers, as well as vent the cope-section sand where necessary.

Small scale moulding boxes - in the sub-culture of the maverick ‘Background Foundry’ - can be made from simple homemade square section softwood. Not ideal foundry material, in all-ways, as the hot aluminium or (especially) iron can easily set alight the timber box; spot the combusted charred areas on the DIY ‘flasks’ in these images. To avoid this dramatic, though hazardous, outcome post moulding and before casting these boxes can be stripped from the sand blocks before pouring. Look closely and you can see the ‘loose-pinned’ butt hinges. Withdrawal of the thin wire pin ‘hand-grenade’ style releases the knuckle of the hinge and the box can be opened out away from sand. The box-less cope and drag can be reassembled - closed up as if with traditional moulding boxes - and the metal cast into what is termed in foundry jargon a ‘flaskless’ mould stack.

I trained at Stanton and Staveley Ironworks in Derbyshire 1977-1981. As part of our industrial education, we were exposed to the ‘real-life’ of Erewash Foundry. If you have never been inside a dark industrial dirty hot and dangerous foundry, it can seem like a kind of hell-on-earth scene. I recall monster bogeys of hot glowing spitting  iron whizzing around the foundry (high in the air suspended from overhead moving cranes) glowing orange against the dark interior of the black sand-dirty  foundry. In the late seventies none of the iron casting men or moulders - iron melts at 1200 degree centigrade - were equipped or supplied with regulation protective gear, except perhaps loose moulding boots which had a quick release fastening to allow leather ankle boots to be kicked off when spitted-out dangerous metal splashed inside the shoes and would burn through skin and bone until it came through the bottom of the foundry workers’ foot. Rather than wear thick fire-resistant smocks or leather aprons - as Andy is wearing here - hard Ilkeston men simply sported layers of thick wool jumpers which hopefully slowed down and cooled the ever-present flying spots of molten iron that peppered those pouring iron from oversized industrial ladles into equally oversized industrial-scale sand moulds before they hit skin. PPE advice was a topic Art majored on.

In the spirit of DIY renegade Backyard Foundrydom, Art had improvised a blast furnace from what looked like an old stainless steel camper-van oven and some square refractory bricks. The metal is heated by a propane-gas-bottle generated -flame through a hole in the contrived cupola to play on the small melt-crucible into which the raw aluminium has been placed. In this image Art is plunging a ‘de-gassing’ agent into the red-hot non-ferrous metal to chemically purify molten material before casting. A small section of a broken-up 50mm x 20mm round tablet (about the size of a walnut) is forced to the bottom of the hot melting metal until dissolved. The resulting dross (slag) is then skimmed of the surface of liquidised aluminium.

Empty moulding box awaiting pattern. In fact the dowel locating pins at the end of the fabricated-steel box indicate that this is the ‘cope’ top box. The cope pins are dropped through the receiving accurately-machined hardened-steel bushes on the base  ‘drag’ box of the two-part mould which has already been rammed up with pattern in situ. Because the  drag has no protruding pins the metal container which holds the green sand can be placed around the pattern on the same  flat ramming board. As Art pointed out, and I pointed out above, a good aid to remembering that the drag is rammed-up first is the bingo catchphrase “eyes down”. 

Here you can see the metal ‘shell pattern’ of the ingot mould bedded (post-ramming) in the drag which has been turned over ready to take the cope box and then filled with greensand compacted with the dolly so completing the two-part mould. The pattern is again dusted with parting powder as is the sand mould joint to avoid sand adherence to either surface. Facing sand is riddled onto the pattern for a finer cast finish before un-riddled sand is used to build up the back of the mould.

Sand is kept in a plastic bin covered with polythene and a tight-fitting lid to help sand remain damp and so clay-sticky for successful mould-making. Note the chalk X-X marks on both boxes. This is done to ensure mould is reassembled - post-pattern withdrawal, and pre-casting re-closing of mould - in correct position, i.e.  closed in the same end-to-end ‘handed’ relation as the boxes were when rammed up.

Parting dust, like scotch mist, rising from earthy mould. (It takes your breath away.) Pretty sure  in the heyday of Foundry life and Northern Soul ( early-mid1970s) them lad dancers - many of whom would’ve worked in Midland foundries-would have filched parting powder from work to save on the more infamous talcum powder sprinkled on floors of soul all-dayers and all-nighters. Art where you a  Casino-Soul Star?

Andy drives the Dolly into the un-sieved greensand to ram up the cope section of mould, taking care to make sure sand is evenly rammed - but not over-rammed since over-compaction of sand leaves fewer micro apertures for hot gases and steam to rise through greensand created by hot metal poured into closed mould - Iron, Aluminium, Bronze, gun metal etcetera. (To allow gases to escape - which can blow cope and drag apart in large moulds - floor hand-moulders used/use a  fine sharp rod of about 1.5mm diameter to pepper the sand above the pattern (but not hit the pattern) with vent channels. Art showed us this process  using his pinched fingers holding the venting spike as a depth stop to create deep vents, but vents stopping above mould surface.

Cope and drag boxes rammed successfully, the boxes are split, pattern ‘rapped’ and lifted carefully from fragile surrounding sand revealing requisite negative impression of positive pattern into which hot molten metal will run after reclosing boxes. 

Because this ingot mould is a two part mould in which the ‘cods’ or ‘cores’ which form the metal troughs of the finished ingot casting are ‘self left’ and so would ‘hang down’ if the standard Drag and Cope order had been followed, experienced Art inverted the order and so the cods are raised up from the sand by making the rammed up cope the drag. As in all forms of making there are general rules but no unbreakable ones. In making the cods stand or sit up in the mould this avoids potential situation in which unsupported cods would be suspended - merely held together and to the backing sand by moisture and sticky clay - and as such could snap off when inverted pre-casting.  In Art’s right hand can be seen a short section of hollow metal pipe (Ikea wardrobe rail) he has just used, as can be seen in right aperture of mould, to bore a runner hole through the rammed sand to the top of the (upside down) cope. Hot metal will be poured (cast) through the runner - metal running  downwards with gravitational forces - into the negative empty cavity of the pattern-formed ingot mould ready to shape liquid plastic metal.

Art boring out the riser through which the metal and air are expelled under diametric pressure from runner and elevated poring basin. 

The runner we are to pour the metal down is approximately 20mm in diameter and exits the mould through the top of cope and is connected to underside of finished ingot casting. However, it is difficult to aim the viscous heated aluminium into such a constricted channel from an often cumbersome pouring flask. To aid filling the mould with metal and avoid hot aluminium running free and dangerously over the top of the glassy flat cope sand, down the side of the moulding box, onto the floor, potentially splashing casting-person’s boots -  a  pouring basin is made up with a wider tapering channel through which the hot metal can enter the narrow runner. The extra height also gives favourable downwards header pressure - like a water tank in a loft - to drive the immediately -cooling-now-unheated metal ‘faster’ into the mould and up the riser. This is often called a basin. The top reservoir of hot metal also aids the shrinkage of the casting. As the aluminium or iron cools down it dimensionally contracts, as I said. As it contracts against the cool sand of the damp mould it needs to be ‘fed’ with molten material. The basin then acts as a surplus tank supplying the hot-thirsty nascent casting with the metal feed it requires. Many larger castings require internal ‘feeders’ which are made to prevent shrinkage in a casting, which means a cast object becomes a failure or ‘scrapper’. As a first-year apprentice I was made to make feeder patterns for the first six months of my training as a patternmaker. 

In the maverick spirit of the Back-yard Founder, Art has used an old  pineapple ring tin as a flask for his pouring basin; the sprue cutters were crafted from truncated chrome Ikea wardrobe hanging rails. 

Casting or moulding boxes don’t have to be heavy metal. This small flask has a removable pin and so the wood frame can be deconstructed and removed from sand mould leaving a ‘flask-less’ block of green or core sand that hot metal can be poured into. Working this way a backyard foundry can make multiple small moulds - and thus cast artefacts -  from a single pattern and moulding box in readiness for a serial pouring and crucible firing. The box is clearly made from some simple stock softwood and hinges buyable from a DIY store but painted with red pattern varnish to avoid deterioration from wet sand.

 Art and Artisan cast in a variety of materials. Plaster kept out back of workshop. 

Small flask used in shrinking casting chicken doorstop with articulated flask. 

Artisan foundry shop sells aluminium and bronze ingots for backyard casting community and homemade DIY foundry punks. We have spoken in workshop about  the potential clever buzz around running short casting courses at Museum of Making wherein attendees bring in their own used beer cans. Post-weekend binge, smelt the used-up Brew Dog and Special Brew aluminium tins into interesting new products: chicken doorstops, nameplates or other unimagined  contemporary material wants. Art cautioned against this: ‘Paint’s toxic lad’, ‘poor quality ally to be fair lads’, ‘you don’t want sticky booze-smelly ally cans hanging around a workshop do yer lad’. In the above photograph the- casting newly-knocked-out-of-steaming-hot-sand-mould is a casting poured into the mould taken from the ingot mould Art uses to cast sellable ingots, used as a pattern. Thus on the day we cast our own ingot mould for Museum of Making workshop for casting ingot bars. The ingot mould was cast from reclaimed aluminium core-wire that is used in high voltage electricity cables -- so you can use recycled ‘found’ metal.  A casting course offering potential neo-backyard founders to make their own ingot mould might not grab audience. But if I modify physically the form of the ingot pattern to make a partitioned ingot-like casting and reconfigure (recast) it descriptively as a object into a pistachio-Bombay-mix-Italian caper-kimchi presentation receptacle for table top appetisers, things sound more appetising. As the Italian saying ‘L’appetito vien mangiando’ wisely advocates ‘with eating comes appetite’. I also think casting a small aluminium pie dish has potential. The silvery stems you see poking from the sand are the runner and riser connected to pouring basin.    

Various tools and casting ladles needed for backyard  foundries. Make your own  kit if you can

Steve Smith

Workshop-Studio  Manager

Museum of Making

February 2023

[keep-this-place-beautiful]

Vignette 0.1

There’s a pop, like a car backfiring. Just once.

Then the ambulances and the sirens and the empathetic first responders in their blue Dickies with the crackling radios, the way their efficiency softens when they determine that they aren’t going to be rushing to the hospital, that they’re too late. They were too late before the call came. 

There’s always leftovers, things they leave behind. Purple latex gloves turned wrong side out and sterile paper wrappers ripped and cast aside.

The ephemera of a disaster.

There’s a lot of things to burn with this kind of mess, things with blood and body fluids on them.

But there’s things to do and that makes it easier for a little while.

There’s a casket to pick out and the phone keeps ringing. The obituary to send over to the paper, where the receptionist looks empathetic. Even with all the euphemisms, this is a small town and she knows “passed away” shouldn’t end with the period, that in the white space, everyone knows “by choice” follows.  

There’s the ancient kitchen table, wood scuffed down to raw pine, in house built decades ago by hand, the family homestead. There’s no heirlooms here, just generations functionality, plain and worn, etched with life. The table looms in the small kitchen, precariously loaded with heavy casseroles and pies, because when there aren’t sufficient words, there’s shortening and cream of mushroom soup and butter.  The Southern way of, “I don’t know what to say to make this better.” The gesture of “We don’t know what to do but we’re so, so sorry” and “Thank god it isn’t us” and the whispers of “something always seemed a little off, bless her heart, I wonder why it came to this.”

It takes two to three business days get surprise funerals in order, just like mailing a letter, standard post, but here, it’s shipping the deceased back to the center of the earth, lowering, trying not to think about groundwater and the way everything turns boggy in the summer.

There’s mosquitos in graveside attendance, too, in droves, and melting makeup, from humidity and sweat and grief. The itching and humming and sweating, the way suits and oxfords chafe. It’s a nice distraction, a tangible discomfort to direct the more nebulous, unformed suffering towards. Something to focus on, smaller than the void that opens up, deeper and more infinitely yawning than the red clay sides of a new grave.

If it were a movie, there’d be uniform black, even the cars. But this is generations of functionality next to a family plot so the cousins are tugging at suit jacket sleeves, too short, maybe borrowed, and her brother’s wearing overalls because he’s too big around to even attempt a suit, a heavy smell of hairspray and Walmart cologne and fresh-churned red dirt heavy in the stagnant air.  

At the end of it, the ladies from town are gone and dusk is settling, all golden pink and there’s still a table full of coagulating casseroles and sweating pies, frosting sliding off pound cake in the heat, and darkness, silence, except for the deafening, incessant whine of the crickets as sunset gives way to the pitch black a night with no streetlights, of the rest of life without. Without what is harder to define. Without anything.

There’s no more visible blood and in the stillness of the first night, there’s nothing left except trying not to think about whether they burned the mattress or if someone’s covered it up. The almost scientific way they speculated if she could’ve survived. If the sound was breath or the gurgling death rattle.  Voluntary or involuntary. Choice or inevitable.

[dreamerstreamer]

Visit

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] You and Dream have been together for months now, but no one knows it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the two of you live leagues apart.

Warnings: some cursing (a.k.a. Tommy exists)

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted a fun long-distance reveal! this story takes place during an unspecified time, but i imagine it occurs prior to schlatt’s presidency. anyways, i hope you all enjoy <3

You gazed at the bustling town in front of you in awe, your wide eyes darting this way and that as you took in everything you possibly could. You’d never known that Clay’s home was so... colourful. So bright.

You should really come visit more often.

Now, you thought to yourself, just where is he? He has to be somewhere around here.

Your fingers squeezed a little tighter around the handle of your basket as you swung it back and forth, a small smile gracing your lips as you tread onward. The soles of your feet ached a bit, especially after walking for so many hours, but you didn’t mind too much. It had been a while since you last saw each other, and you couldn’t wait to hear his laugh again.

Just then, a voice spoke up to your left.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Your smile faltered, and you slowed your steps a half-measure as another voice whispered back.

“No clue.”

You swallowed, a lump slowly starting to form in your throat. You focused your gaze on the path ahead of you, trudging forward as you rushed past the muffled words that slowly began to form around you.

“Do you know them?”

“Nope.”

“Are they from out of town?”

“Must be. I don’t recognize them at all.”

Something hot and wet wrapped around your lungs, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. They’re... they’re talking about me, aren’t they? You sucked in a shuddering breath, ignoring the stinging at the back of your eyes. It’s okay, [Y/N]. You just have to find Clay, and then everything’s be just fi—

“[Y/N]?”

You froze, your steps coming to a screeching halt. Is that...?

You turned on your heel, your eyes landing on a familiar face standing just a few feet behind you. Dirty blonde hair and enchanting green eyes stared back at you, and a wide grin stretched across your lips. In a flash, you were charging at him, an overjoyed giggle escaping you.

“Clay!”

You barely caught a glimpse of his outstretched arms before you were tumbling into them, your fingers curling around his back as his hands met your waist. Peals of laughter flew from your lips as he spun the two of you around once, twice, thrice. Your heart was practically singing in your ears as he set you back down again, your feet landing flat on the ground as you gazed up at his fond smile.

“Hey,” he said gently, his emerald eyes scanning your face, “what are you doing here?”

You pulled back the cover of your basket, pulling out a swath of viridian green fabric with a flourish, grinning. “Ta-da!” you cried, holding it out toward him. “I finished fixing your winter cloak!”

His eyes grew wide as he stared at the cloth in your hands, his gaze glimmering with astonishment. “You did? Oh my god!” With a gentle grasp, he pulled the cloak from your grasp, admiring your handiwork with wonder in his eyes as he looked over the stitching. He looked up, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It looks as good as new,” he said. “You can hardly even tell I ripped it.” Tucking the cloak into the crook of his arm, he dipped his head to press his lips to your forehead. “You’re amazing, [Y/N].”

You offered him a bashful grin, biting the inside of your warming cheek. “It’s nothing, really.”

Reaching over, he slipped his hand into yours. His thumb instinctively moved to brush over your knuckles just how you liked it, and you nearly melted on the spot. He really had you wrapped around his finger, didn’t he? Not that you were complaining or anything.

“Seriously though,” he added, pursing his lips, “you didn’t need to come all this way just to deliver my cloak to me.” His gaze grew soft. “It must have taken you so long.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you dug your heel into the dirt. “I-I, um,” you began shakily, picking at a stray wicker thread in your basket, “I wanted to surprise you.” You took a deep breath, raising your chin to look at him dead on. “You always come visit me, but I thought this time, I should be the one coming to you!”

He stared at you, his lips parted in awe as he took in your words. When he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, your eyes darted to the ground, as you mumbled a quiet, “Or, um, something like that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then came a soft murmur.

“God, you’re so damn cute.”

You whipped your head up, your cheeks blazing with heat as you took in his cocky smile. “S-Stop that,” you sputtered, resisting the urge to bury yourself into the ground. “You’re always so cheesy.”

He dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah,” he rasped, his breath tickling your face, “but only for you.”

Your heart did a flip in your chest at the intensity of his gaze. As flustered as he made you, you missed this. You missed him. Was it even possible to miss someone so much?

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat. “Uh, Dream?”

You stiffened once more, taking a step back to peer over Clay’s shoulder, only to feel your breath hitch in your throat. Clay immediately shifted at the first sign of distress on your face, his gaze growing serious. He plastered a polite smile to his face as he turned, opening his mouth.

“Hi ther—woah.” He blinked at the small crowd standing behind him. “Okay, uh. There’s a lot of you here.” Carefully, he stepped to the side, facing the crowd head-on while allowing you the chance to take a step behind him. He offered them a crooked grin, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. “What’s up?”

In front of him, a tall man tilted his head toward you, his chestnut hair flopping over one eye as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Um, aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

Clay’s eyes darted to yours, and you sent him a subtle nod. They were his friends, and as nervous as you were, they deserved to know about you. Turning back to face the crowd, he held a hand out toward you. “Everyone, meet [Y/N], my significant other.” He gestured to the crowd. “[Y/N], meet, uh, everyone else.”

A man clad in blue raised his eyebrows, an unimpressed look crossing his features. “Wow,” he whistled, pushing up the white glasses perched on his nose, “way to basically just call us unimportant.”

Clay rolled his eyes, but you still managed to catch a glimpse of a smile flicker across his face as he relented. “Okay, okay, I’ll be more specific.” He pointed his hand toward the man dressed in blue and the white-clad man leaning against him. “Meet George and Sapnap—my best friends.”

Sapnap glowered at him, his dark brows curving inward. “Yeah, your best friends who didn’t know about your secret relationship!”

Clay winced, something hurt flitting through his expression. “I’m sorry, oka—”

George raised a hand. “We’re kidding, we’re kidding.” He reached over, clapping his hand over Clay’s shoulder. “We’re glad you have someone you like, seriously.”

Sapnap leaned forward, his frown having been replaced by a teasing grin and his dark eyes swimming with mischief. “You totally owe us for keeping us in the dark, though.”

George nodded, pulling his hand away. “Oh yeah, totally.”

Clay grimaced, then sighed. “Great. Anyways,” he said, “this is Ranboo.” He gestured to the tall boy standing next to you, his face split down the middle with skin that looked as pale as the moon on one half and the other being as dark as night. Atop his head sat a small, golden crown that glimmered in the sunlight, and his crimson and green eyes blinked at you as he gave you a small wave, his lips curling into a smile. 

“He’s half-enderman,” Clay explained at your curious expression, “but he doesn’t really have any of the cool enderman powers.”

Ranboo’s mouth drooped into a frown as he lowered his hand with a disappointed sigh. “Yeah, I only got the lame ones. Like, I can’t teleport, and I’m not crazy strong, either.”

Another voice suddenly popped up. “He’s fucking useless in the rain, that’s what he is.” You turned you head, your eyes landing on a blond boy sporting a triumphant grin. “If you get even a single drop of water on him, he hisses like a cat.”

“I do not!”

The blond boy cackled, and you couldn’t stop his contagious laugh from letting a smile form on your face. “Don’t deny it, Ranboo! You totally do, and it’s fucking hilarious!”

Beside you, Clay sighed, gesturing to the grinning boy with a look of affectionate disdain. “This one here is Tommy.” His lips twitched. “He’s a demon child.”

Tommy’s smile widened. “Thanks, Big D—wait.” He paused, then scowled. “What the fuck did you just sa—”

Clay didn’t let him finish. He simply shot you a satisfied look before declaring, “Case in point!”

Before Tommy could begin shouting once more, he turned to the shorter brunet standing next to him. “This is Tubbo.” Something in his tone softened as he spoke. “He’s Tommy’s best friend, and he liked bees. He’s not nearly as...” He paused, looking for the right word. “...aggressive as Tommy, and he actually has some genuinely good intentions.”

The tall brunet from earlier suddenly spoke up. “Except for when he’s Big Law. Or Big Crime.”

Clay blinked, then nodded with a slight grin. “Oh. Yeah. Those are two exceptions.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, opening your mouth. “Should I ask...?”

He sent you a lopsided smile. “Probably not.” You stifled a smile as he turned back to the tall brunet, who offered you a cheerful grin. “This here is Wilbur. We fought a war once because he started a drug cartel—don’t mind that—and he’s pretty good at playing guitar.” He pretended not to see your look of alarm as he pointed to the man standing next to him, a pair of fox ears sitting atop his head. “Oh, and this is his son, Fundy.”

You eyed the ears on Fundy’s head, the orange fur ruffling in the soft breeze. Are those... real? They look real. You opened your mouth, but Fundy spoke first.

“Yes,” he said, his eye catching yours, “they are real. And yes, we look nothing alike. My mother was a salmon.” A boulder of shock and confusion steamrolled through your system, but he merely waved his hand. “Moving on.”

You gaped at him, your mind still reeling at the words ‘mother’ and ‘salmon’. “What—?”

“Moving on!” Clay repeated, raising his voice a little. He turned you around slightly, and found yourself standing face to face with a girl with dark hair, the front two strands bleached blonde. “This is Niki. She’s normal. And also very nice.”

You blinked up at Clay, your eyebrows furrowing. “‘Normal’?” you parroted, already feeling yourself fill with disbelief. Fundy’s mother was a salmon, and now he was trying to convince you that any of his friends were normal? You didn’t buy it.

He nodded, his lips curling into a small grin at your skeptical look. “No, like, actually normal. I swear.”

Niki waved at you, her eyes curving into tiny crescent moons. “It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]! Is this your first time here?”

You nearly jumped by how sweet her voice was, but nodded eagerly, hope sparking in your chest. “Y-Yeah!”

Her eyes glimmered with something gentle and kind. “You should come stop by my bakery sometime!” She sent you a wink, but it came across as more cheerful than sly. “I’ll treat you to some cake.”

You could practically feel your mouth water at the mere thought. Niki was more than just normal—she was wonderful. You had a feeling you were going to be very, very good friends with Niki. “I would love to!”

While Niki clapped her hands in successful delight, Clay took a step forward. “Well, that’s basically everyone. Some people are out of town today,” he explained, “but you can meet them some other time.” His look was fond as he smiled at you. “In the meantime, I can show you around the actual town.”

You clutched your basket a little tighter as you bobbed your head. You’d been dying to see the rest of Clay’s home, and you couldn’t wait to explore. “Okay!”

Suddenly, an confused voice cut in.

“Hold on a second.” Fundy whirled, his ears flicking atop his head as he looked back at his friends. “Are we just going to gloss over the fact that Dream is actually dating someone?!”

Clay furrowed his eyebrows, looking appalled. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Tommy raised a finger. “Well, I mean,” he began, “aside from the obvious, which is that you having anyone who genuinely fucking likes you is completely unexpected—”

Clay deadpanned. “Ouch.”

“—but we also had no idea, okay?” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “We kind of have a right to be surprised.”

You raised your eyebrows, bobbing your head slightly. “He does have a point.”

Clay sent you an exasperated look, his eyes pleading. “Do not back him up.”

You held up your hands in front of you, trying to bite back your smile. “I’m just saying!”

It was then that George spoke up. “Wait, how long have you guys even been together for?”

Without missing a beat, you and Clay both spoke at the same time. “Eleven months.” The moment the words left your mouth, you looked at each other, your eyes wide before melting into something softer. Your one month anniversary was coming up soon, and you guys weren’t the type to forget.

In front of you, Wilbur gaped. “Eleven months?” he repeated, sounding like a broken record player. “Eleven months?! How have you two been together for that long without us noticing?”

Clay blinked, then shrugged. “I wasn’t being super secretive about it or anything. No one ever asked, so I never said anything.”

George practically collapsed onto the ground, sinking to his knees as he tugged at his hair, his glasses sliding off his face and onto the ground. “Just how? How? I don’t get it.”

Softly, you spoke up. “I just happen to live a couple thousand blocks away, so it’s kind of far from here,” you explained. “That’s why you guys have never met me, but Clay and I still always make time to see each other.”

Sapnap tilted his head at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as the wheels in his head whirred. “Like, when do you even hang out?” He pursed his lips. “I feel like Dream’s always just kind of... here.”

Clay’s brows furrowed together. “Let me think of a good example, um...” His paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Okay, so, you know those days I just say that I’m going out and don’t really elaborate?”

Sapnap cocked his head. “Um, yeah?”

Clay smiled. “That’s when I go visit [Y/N].”

There was a beat of silence, then Fundy spoke up. “Hold on a second—you travel more than hundreds of blocks just to... see [Y/N]?”

He blinked, then nodded nonchalantly. “Well, yeah. I love them.”

Warmth skittered across your cheeks as you turned to face him, lightly smacking his chest as your heart skipped a beat. “C-Clay!”

He laughed. “What?” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s true.”

Across from you, Tommy visibly gagged, holding a hand over his mouth. “God, this is so fucking gross. Super sweet, but also super gross.”

Tubbo nodded beside him, a hand tucked under his chin. “It’s like... like...” His eyebrows knit together. “What’s a good analogy?”

Ranboo quipped, “It’s almost like I can feel myself getting a cavity.”

A wide smile split across Tommy’s face, and he straightened, turning to grin at his friends. “Ooh, that’s good. Nice.”

Tubbo suddenly gasped, waving his arm frantically. “Oh, um!” He paused for a split second, then shouted at full volume, “It’s like I can feel myself becoming diabetic!”

Tommy made a face. “Okay, uh—less good.”

Tubbo frowned, then opened his mouth again when Sapnap suddenly took a step forward, slamming his hand over Tubbo’s mouth. “Alright,” he said, offering you an apologetic grin, “I think that’s enough fun for one day.”

Clay nearly melted to the ground in relief. “Thanks, Sapnap. Now if you could all scram, that would be great, because [Y/N] and I would love to spend some quality time together.”

George’s lips twitched. “Heh. Disgusting.”

“Wha—” Clay blanched, and you felt your face grow warm. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean like that.”

Fundy rolled his eyes, his mouth curling into a smirk. “Sure, you didn’t.” Before you could even think to retort, Fundy clapped his hands, pushing the crowd away from the two of you. “Well, you heard the man! Everybody get a move on! Let the lovebirds be!”

Niki turned to wave once more at you, calling after you as the distance between you grew, “Bye, [Y/N]! It was nice meeting you!”

Your face lit up at the sound of her voice as you eagerly waved back. “You too, Niki!”

As soon as they disappeared from your line of sight, you felt Clay relax beside you, his shoulders drooping as he ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated look. “Sorry about them. They’re kind of—” He gestured vaguely. “—you know.”

You hummed, your lips quirked into a genuine smile. “I liked them. They’re chaotic, but in a fun way.” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you cast him a wary look. “Do you think they liked me?”

His eyes flashed with pride as he leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, they definitely did.” He sent you a crooked smile. “Tommy might think we’re gross, but he means well.”

You giggled at the image of Tommy gagging at the two of you as Clay slipped his hand into yours one more. “Enough about Tommy though,” he hummed, squeezing your palm, “let me show you around, yeah?”

You nodded with a bright grin, swinging your arms as the two of continued down the oak wood path further into the city. Around you, chatter continued to fill the air, but it didn’t make you anxious anymore. Clay’s friends may be strange, but who wasn’t, really?

As you took in the sight of the town around you and Clay’s soothing voice washed over you, you squeezed his hand a little tighter.

You were right—you really should come visit more often.

[quietmyfearswith]

little activities ; preferences

warnings —none??? fluff?? ddlg dynamics, do not interact if you don’t like it

characters — daddy!andy barber, daddy!steve rogers, daddy!bucky barnes, daddy!lance tucker,  daddy!clark kent, daddy!august walker

a/n — THIS IS A FIC WITH DDLG DYNAMICS,, do not interact if youre not 18+,, just a little something i put together today... lmk what you think!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy | happy hoelidays | cartoons | obssessed |little rules | innocent little | bratty little

masterlist

“Dada, I have a good one!” Y/N happily cheered while her mouth had a spoonful of her favorite ice cream flavor; seeing her excited state made him chuckle as he wiped the excess melted sundae that escaped her mouth, “Petal you know the rule — don’t talk while eating, yes?” She just nodded happily despite being given a stern reminder as she was too excited to share with him what she knows. After swallowing down the rest of her tasty desert, she repeated to him with a wide grin, “I have a good one, dada! What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the supply closet?” Pursing his lips, he pretended to rack his brain for an answer; but when nothing came up he shrugged his shoulders as his arms pulled in her figure closer to him despite her being all snuggled up on his lap. Throwing her hands up in the air to emphasize her pun as she happily cheered, “Supplies!”

“That was a good one, petal,” Andy praised her after he calmed himself following his burst of giggles. Feeling proud of getting him to laugh out loud, she then nuzzled her face into his chest while one of his hands gently rubbed her back. “I have one too but I don’t think it’ll be as good as yours,” This intrigued her so she removed her face from where she planted it against his chest and pouted, “Wanna hear it, dada! Bet it’s a real good one!” He calmed her down by rubbing her back and placing quick kisses on her lips, “Okay okay, here it is — have you heard about the chocolate record player?” Adorably confused with what he was saying, she shook his head no until he broke out of his serious expression and smiled, “I heard it sounds sweet!” It took her a few seconds to connect the dots; but when she finally did she excitedly squealed out loud and peppered his face with kisses as she wrapped her arms around his torso, “That was so good, dada! I love you and your jokes!”

“Where are you in the game, little one?” August peered over his shoulder to sneak a peek in her own laptop screen; when she saw how he was looking at where she was going, she tilted her screen away from his curious eyes, “Don’t look, daddy! Do your task!” Her Among Us avatar that was in her favorite character was happily skipping around the halls as she was assigned as the impostor, and when she saw another player — who wasn’t her beloved boyfriend — she grinned evilly as she killed the other player. She then happily skipped to the next corridor and entered the electrical room where August’s avatar was. “There you are, little one!” August pointed to the screen as his excited eyes shifted from the screen to where your two avatars were and to her, “Daddy! Keep playing!”

Unfortunately for her, someone saw the body that she had earlier killed. This then prompted everyone to have a meeting, “Wonder who the impostor could be?” August thought out loud as he covertly snuck a glance over to his girl who was biting her lip to try and hold back her fit of giggles. He placed his bet that it was his little one who’s the impostor; feigning innocence she voted on her daddy being the impostor. When it was revealed to the whole crew that Y/N was the impostor, August carried her off  the computer chair and onto his lap as he tickled her tummy, “I knew it was you!” She giggled as his bearded face tickled her neck and instead of pulling him closer to him as she nuzzled him further into him, “Can we play one more game, daddy?” Feeling him shake his head against her skin, one hand turned off both their laptops while the other one held onto her body to ensure she wouldn’t fall off. “We’ve been playing for a few hours now, you need to rest these pretty eyes,” He kissed both her eyelids as she lovingly stared at him, “So what do we do now, daddy?” Having planned out what happens next, the Hammer then carried her out of the office and to the kitchen, “Well little one, I’m gonna give you some snacks before we nap for a bit okay?” Nodding as she nuzzled her forehead against his neck, she let out a low hum of agreement as she felt the exhaustion of playing Among Us start to take a toll on her.

“Tătic, can we dance?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes; having played with her stuffies bored her and she had a lot of energy to shake off. Locking the tablet, he placed it on the couch beside him as he looked down at his little love who was sitting by his feet as she played independently. “Bored with playing with your stuffies already, sweetie?” She pouted and nodded, holding both her hands as she closed and opened them. Laughing to himself, he grabbed onto her hands, helping her rise to her feet before doing the same, “Let’s dance then!” Giddily, she headed to the corner of the room where they placed their speakers, “Which song do you want, tătic?” As she was unlocking their gadget that was connected to the speakers, Bucky then grinned as he was putting her stuffies on the couch, to help prevent them from being stepped on, “Put our dance playlist on shuffle, sweetie.”

The first few songs that played were energetic songs which allowed them to boogie — Bucky had an excuse to do the moonwalk across the wooden floor flawlessly, or how Y/N bust out her disco moves while the super soldier cheered her on; there was even a song that allowed the both of them to shimmy in front of each other as they laughed at their silly expressions as they did so. However, a few songs, a slow, piano melody hummed through speakers, shifting the mood of the room from an energetic one to a more slow, intimate melody. “Do you want to slow dance with me, sweetheart?” Giggling at how formal hw sounded, she nodded and her one hand entangled with his bionic hand while her other hand rested against his the wide expanse of his back. The flesh hand of the super soldier was caressing the skin of her cheek, he stared lovingly at her, “Did you have fun dancing, sweetie?” Nodding, she smiled and stood on her tippy toes so she could plant a sweet, swift kiss, then pulling away with a wide smile, “I did, tătic! Thank you so much for dancing with me! Can we do this all the time?” Loving how sweet and obedient she was being, he nodded and promised her, “We’ll be dancing together for a long time you'll get so sick of me!”

“Now remember doll, a certain color has its own number,” Steve explained slowly as he pointed to the closed paint container which had the number one taped to it , “Where would this color go in the picture of the giraffe?” Pouting for a bit, she was itching to get her hands dirty and colorful but her daddy decided it was important to lecture her about colors and numbers. “Sir, I wanna paint right now, please!” She batted her eyelashes sweetly to him in hopes that he would put an end to his lesson; but a raised eyebrow and his finger tapping the certain section made it clear that he was nowhere near ending it, “Answer me first, doll, then we can start painting together.”

“That white paint would then go to the ears of the giwaffe,” She struggled to say the animal’s name but correctly identified where the white colorant would go. The Captain kissed her cheek, to which she giggled at as she nuzzled her cheek against his lips, as he praised her, “Good doll! And where would this mustard yellow go?” Pointing to the number four paint, she then was eager to be kissed and praised again so she looked at the paper seriously before pointing to near the animal’s nose, “It goes right over here, sir!” Rubbing her back as he then handed her the paintbrush, he kissed her lips lovingly as he gave her the go signal, “Alright go ahead and paint, doll. And don’t make too much of a mess, alright?” Nodding her head, she then opened the paint then dipped the tip paint brush as she began filling in the blanks with color as she spoke to her daddy with a wide smile, “Thank you so much for this, sir. I love painting with you.” And with one hand on her thigh, occasionally rubbing and squeezing it to encourage her, Steve too began painting his own paint-by-numbers kit.

“And what would be your order, Mr. Superman?” She asked after she pretended to clean up the countertop where her play doh and ice cream play set were; the Kansas-raised man chuckled at his bubba’s silly antics. For today’s playtime she decided to pretend she was running an ice cream shop and he was a customer; pretending to think for what to order, he then smiled as he announced his order, “I’d like some vanilla ice cream please, with some chocolate syrup,” She nodded as she began pouring the white clay doh in the machine, pressing down on it as she sweetly smiled at him, “How’s your day going, handsome?”

“Very well now that you’re here, beautiful,” He winked back at her as she finished twirling the ice cream, she bit her lip to hold herself back from rejecting the compliment he had given her – the last time she shied away from a compliment graced to her, he had punished her with less playtime and by writing multiple lines about how beautiful she was. After squirting some chocolate syrup on the clay doh, she stuck a little spoon to it then pushed it to Clark’s direction, “Here you go, bubba.” Pretending to take a few, big bites of the ice cream she had prepared for him. “This tastes divine, bubba!” He praised her after he beckoned her to sit on his lap from where he was seated comfortably in the bar chairs. Leaning on to him, she hummed satisfied until the Kyrptonian spoke up after rubbing the back of her neck, “That reminds me; how much do I owe you for the delicious ice cream you just prepared?” Giggling at his silly antics, she looked up at him with a smile, “It’s on the house for the earth’s strongest hero!” Gasping out loud as if he was offended, Clark shook his head then kissed the tip of her nose, “Unacceptable! How ‘bout I take you out to get real ice cream?” Excitedly, she nodded and sprinted to the bedroom to get changed and the hero could only chuckle to himself as he followed her, “God, I love my bubba.”

“There we go, angel,” Lance tossed the red colored chalk to the side after writing the number nine, “Now we play hopscotch!” He declares with a wide smile. Y/N then jumps up and down as she cheered happily; bending down to grab a rock, she then looked at her boyfriend, “How do we do it again papa?” Lance thought she was adorable when she tilted her head to the side, eyes filled with curiosity and excitement. Picking up his own rock, he then stood beside her, “I’m gonna show you how to do so okay, angel?” She nodded as watched him closely as the gymnast threw the rock within their playing field, landing on the number five. “Since it landed on the number five, I have to skip to and from the whole thing without stepping on the box with rock on it.” And with that he skipped along to show her what she meant and expertly hopped along.

“That was amazing, papa!” Y/N clapped her hands but pouted when the rock’s rough edges lightly grazed the skin of her fingers, “Is it my turn now?” He nodded as he gestured to their chalked up board and she excitedly nodded and threw the rock into their playing field. The rock landed on the number eight, “Papa, look! I get it farther than you!” Her delight was mirrored by his excited grin and cheering for her as she skipped on the numbers, praising her when she wobbled for a bit when jumping from the numbers six and seven to the last two squares. “Good job, my angel! You were so good!” The gymnast easily carried her off the ground as he twirled her around as she giggled and kissed his lips, “Thank you, papa. Can we go for more rounds on the hopscatch?” And Lance didn’t find the heart in him to reject her, especially with the way she messed up the words, and so they did play all afternoon the fun game of hopscotch.

[tchallasbabymama]

Troubled Waters Chapter Three

Hello, my lovelies, I’m back 🥰 Recovery is going well, so I started working on this chapter a few days ago, and voilà, c’est fini! I hope y’all enjoy the chapter but know I’m still working on some requests so these probably won’t be weekly updates. I’m shooting for every other week with requests in between, but we’ll see how it goes. Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything, and check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. There’s plenty of content for y’all to enjoy! As always, likes are appreciated, but your comments and reblogs really make my day.😘

Word count: 5,759

Sego watched with concern from across the garden as yawns replaced Nia’s usual morning ballads. After the third yawn stretched over her usually cheery face, he set his magazine down on the metal bistro table and interrupted her daze, “You didn’t sleep well last night?”

“No,” Nia pouted as she turned to face her friend. “I kept waking up every couple of hours and then when I finally got to sleep, I kept hearing a voice talking about ‘the thinning’ over and over. I don’t even know what that means.”

“Sounds ominous. Did you ask Celeste?”

“Of course I did,” she snapped and immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

“Clearly,” he rolled his eyes and she narrowed hers before spraying him with the water hose. “Hey!”

Nia giggled and went back to her plants as she pondered the message from her dream. Sego picked his fashion magazine back up and flipped through the colorful pages. He wasn’t one for clothing around the house, but when he was in public in his human form, he liked to keep up with the trends.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them, and minutes passed before an idea came to Nia as she stroked a large monstera leaf. “You know, mama wasn’t much help, but someone else might be.”

Sego set down his magazine again and his face turned serious.

“Plan B?”

“Plan B,” she nodded.

Sego cracked his knuckles and stood up, “I’ll get the drum.”

Nia finished up outside and washed her hands before piling a plate full of the excess sausage and grits she had cooked with Sego in mind. He wasn’t hungry that morning, so it seemed her leftovers weren’t meant for him in the first place. Nia opened the ritual by placing the plate in the center of the altar and lighting her frankincense resin. She wafted the smoke around their bodies and Sego’s drum, opening them to the spirit world as she hummed the unnamed tune that always came to her during rituals. Once Nia set the small clay pot of burning resin back on the altar, they were ready to begin.

The two friends got into position with Sego placing the drum between his legs and rubbing his hand lightly over the head to set his intentions while Nia stood tall with her head and shoulders back as she waited for him to begin. A few moments later, Nia came alive at the first strike of the drum. She let go and allowed herself to get lost in the sacred sounds, stepping in rhythm. Her feet carried her counterclockwise as her upper body snaked forward and back, being pushed and pulled by unseen forces. When her head began to tingle, she fell to her knees, triggering Sego to pick up the pace as she swayed from side to side with her eyes closed and head tilted back. Nia’s ears began to ring with a high-pitched tone that grew louder and louder until her body grew warm and her eyes flew open. She saw a swirling aura above her, and even though she had hoped to contact Bast, she welcomed unknown spirit. She figured it had something important to say since they usually just communicate through the veil. However, this one felt the need to deliver it’s message in person. Nia’s irises turned white as she parted her lips, allowing the being to enter her body. Goosebumps appeared all over her skin as the high of possession took over her, and the spirit settled into her flesh. The room went quiet as Sego carefully observed his friend. She showed no signs of danger, but he held tight to his drum, ready to banish the strange spirit if necessary.

“Who are you?” he asked, and Nia’s head quickly shot to his direction.

“I am Oma,” she spoke in a gravelly voice that unnerved Sego. Despite the chill that went down his spine, he recognized the name as one of Nia’s distant ancestors, and his apprehension waned. However, his curiosity grew as he wondered how she was able to travel to them so easily.

“What do you want?”

“To warn you.”

“Of what?”

“The realms, they are moving.”

“Moving how?”

“Closer. Space between getting smaller and smaller,” she droned.

“What do you mean?”

“The dead will walk among the living, and the humans among your people.”

“But how is that possible?”

“Bast. Her magic weakens.”

Sego’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Well, how-”

“You cannot stop them. Worlds collide.”

“Who is ‘them’?”

Nia’s head rolled back, and her body began to convulse as the spirit prepared to leave her host.

“No, not yet!” Sego tried to stop her, “Who is doing this!?”

“Be careful. She is precious.”

“Who?!”

Nia’s mouth flew open, and Oma exited her body before disappearing back into the realm of the dead. Sego rushed to his friend and caught her head before it hit the floor, laying it softly on her altar pillow. He grabbed the blanket Nia’s ugogo had woven for her only grandchild and laid it over her shivering body. Confused by what he just witnessed, Sego returned to his drum and closed the ritual with his skilled hands striking the instrument in rhythm. The sound cleared the air, and the vibrations traveled to Nia’s passed-out form, waking her from her state. He played softer as her chest heaved, and she reoriented herself with the world. Nia sat up slowly when her breathing returned to normal, her chilled fingers clinging to the blanket as she looked to her friend. Sego nodded and laid his palms flat on the drum.

“It was...scared,” Nia spoke softly as she ruminated on the spirit’s emotions. “Who was that?”

Sego pointed to the photo of her great-great-great grandma and her sisters. His finger landed just above the shortest one, all the way on the left. Her smile was the brightest of all her sisters, and her wings the biggest.

“Oma?” Nia asked through her brain fog as she tried to piece together what had just happened. As usual, she could only remember how the spirit felt in her body. This one felt anxious and in a hurry. “She’s never spoken to me before. What did she want?”

She attempted to stand, but Sego picked her up and carried her to her bed.

“I will tell you later. Right now, you need to rest.”

Before she could even protest, Nia’s body betrayed her, and she fell into a deep slumber. She slept the day away and woke up to fragrant smells wafting from the kitchen. Sego knew she would need to refuel after what she had just experienced, so he had prepared a hearty dinner to build her strength back up. Nia dragged herself into the kitchen right as he scooped the stewed meat and vegetables over a large bowl of rice. No words were spoken as she slid into the chair and dug into her food as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Sego took a seat on the other side of the table and waited for her to finish. It didn’t take long at all, and when Nia’s body finally felt full, she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath.

“So, what did she say?”

Sego’s face contorted into a grimace as he spoke, “She, uh...she said the human realm and the realm of the dead are moving closer to ours.”

Confusion clouded Nia’s face as she tried to wrap her mind around Sego’s words.

“But how? Bast-”

“Is weak. Oma didn’t say how or why, but her magic is failing.”

Nia’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked down at her hands, testing her powers and making them glow a vibrant purple.

“I don’t feel any different, though.”

“Maybe because your magic was gifted to you, she doesn’t have to maintain it like the veils?”

“I didn’t think they required upkeep.”

“I didn’t either, but they’re thinning somehow.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Nia thought about Oma’s message before another question entered her mind.

“Why her?”

“She didn’t say,” Sego shrugged, “but she said to be careful and that ‘she is precious.’”

“Who?”

He shrugged again, and Nia stood from the table with conviction, “We should go see my dad. Maybe he’ll know more about her.”

“It’s worth a shot,” he lisped as his forked tongue flickered out and his body melted to the floor. His spotted skin turned to brown and black scales as his arms absorbed into his torso. Nia left to grab her bag, and she returned as his legs melded together. Sego slithered up her body and draped himself over her shoulders. When he got settled, Nia closed her eyes and felt the atmosphere thicken as she transported them to the magic realm. It was much easier than it was the last time she visited over a week ago. Usually, traveling through the veil felt like swimming through water, but it felt more like walking through a downpour this time.

“Did you feel that?” she asked Sego, and he nodded lazily.

Nia walked out her front door and warded it up tight before turning around and facing her other world. She smiled at the vibrant blue sky and breathed in the fragrant floral air before taking the first step into the magical realm. Her stomach twisted with anxiety as Sego’s words echoed through her head, but she was quickly pulled from her trance when a little voice called out on her right.

“Sawubona, Nia!” Adana waved excitedly, and Nia couldn’t help but grin at her young neighbor as she played with her doll on her front porch.

“Sawubona, Adana. How are you feeling today?” she asked as the girl glided over and hugged her waist. Sego slid down Nia’s shoulder a little, and his tongue tickled Adana’s cheeks, making her giggle.

“Good!” she said proudly as her wings flapped behind her.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Nia chuckled as she booped the little girl on her round nose. “I see you’ve been practicing flying.”

“Mhm. Umama said I’m not allowed to fly higher than this yet,” Adana said as she motioned to the few inches between her feet and the ground.

“That’s probably best. You remember what happened last time.”

Adana nodded, thinking back to when her mother had to carry her to Nia’s late one night with a broken wing.

“Umama says she’s gonna teach me how to go higher when I get bigger, and-”

“Adana, dinner!” Zita called from her kitchen, and the little aziza’s wings fluttered even faster at the thought of whatever her mother had prepared for her. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Zita was a fantastic cook, and despite having just eaten, Nia’s stomach grumbled at the thought of another meal. Especially one prepared by Zita.

“Tell her ‘hi’ for me,” Nia called out as Adana quickly waved goodbye and flew indoors. Sego shook his head fondly at the little girl as the door closed behind her, and Nia was thankful for the brief interaction calming her nerves.

As a known healer to all, Nia was very popular among the residents of Birnin Umlingo, the Magic City. She returned waves and short greetings as she made her way to her father’s place, which wasn’t too far from her own. When Nia and Sego arrived at the baobab tree Amare had fashioned into a cozy home for himself, she found him lounging on a limb with a book in his hand. Amare looked up from the page when he felt someone near, and joy spread across his face at seeing his greatest creation. Both of them started to glow faintly as they laid eyes on each other, and his large orange wings spread out as he flew down from his resting spot. Amare enveloped Nia and Sego in a warm hug and kissed her cheek before rubbing the python’s head.

“What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come visit my old man?”

“Who are you calling old?” he playfully scolded her as he held the intricately carved door open for her to come inside. She looked around at all the human gadgets that filled his home and smiled warmly at his treasures. Nia had always loved his collection, but the books and records were her favorite. Sometimes, they were all she had during the lonely days of her childhood.

“Oh, nobody,” she played coy as she removed Sego from her shoulders and set him on the ground. “How are you, ubaba?”

“I can’t complain, especially today,” he winked.

“Because your favorite daughter is here?”

“Of course! And I have a date in an hour.”

“A date?!”

“Yes, he’s taking me to a restaurant opening in the town square.”

“Sounds fancy. Who is this mystery man?”

“I’m sure you’ll still be here when he arrives. You can meet him then,” Amare said excitedly before another thought crossed his mind. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you! I popped over to the human realm and got these.”

He held out his arm, and Nia marveled at his brand new kimoyo beads, “Ooooh, those are nice.”

“Aren’t they? Top of the line,” he bragged as he examined the new bracelet that he had almost no use for in the magic realm. “Enough about me, though. Is something up? You never drop by unannounced.”

Nia sighed and plopped down in her favorite high-backed leather chair.

“Something’s wrong, ubaba.”

Amare’s eyebrows furrowed, and his wings sank a little as he sat across from his daughter.

“What is it?”

Nia explained her dream and the ritual to him and watched as his face contorted in confusion and disbelief.

“-and then she was gone.”

Amare leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face.

“Oma, huh?” he asked, and Nia nodded. “She was a powerful medium when she was alive. I guess if she can communicate with the dead from this realm, then she can easily communicate with the living from the realm of the dead.”

Nia nodded and continued, “I was trying to reach Bast when she cut in.”

“Hm...maybe she didn’t ‘cut in.’ If Bast’s magic is failing, she might not be able to hear you wherever she is.”

“Maybe you should ask T’Challa,” Sego quipped from the other side of the room as he changed back into his human form. Nia shot him a look to be quiet, and he smirked.

“The king?”

Nia sighed, “Yeah, I forgot to tell you I saw him again.”

“Sure, ‘forgot’ to tell him,” the shapeshifter mumbled.

“Sego!”

He put his hands up in defense, “Ok, I’m done.”

“So what happened this time? Did he recognize you? I hope you gave him a piece of your mind. King or no king, nobody hurts my baby and-”

“Ubaba.”

“What? I’m just saying. So what happened?”

“A bad man tried to hurt me, but before I could do anything, he showed up. He insisted on cleaning my wounds, so I let him, and…”

“And?”

“And he saw Zita and Adana, so I had to tell him about us.”

“You what?!”

“He had questions! What was I supposed to do?”

Amare sighed. “Ok, well, what did he say?”

“He was shocked, but I think he responded well. He didn’t treat me like a freak or anything.”

“That’s good. He seems like a decent, level-headed man.”

“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone. He was-” Nia was cut off by a ringing in her head as the protective wards around her home warned her of a visitor. She could tell by the low pitch that they were coming from the human realm. “I have to go, ubaba. Someone’s at my door.”

Amare and Nia stood while Sego sank back down into his python form and slithered over. The father and daughter hugged each other tightly and said their goodbyes before Nia and Sego were out the door and on their way home.

--------

Earlier that same day, T’Challa sat on his throne and halfway listened as the council argued over trade agreements between the tribes. His attention waned somewhere between the third and fourth attempt to compromise, and his mind wandered to the conversation he had with Nia almost a month ago. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind lately. Not just her, but what he learned that night, too. He could barely wrap his mind around magical species existing in the first place, much less within his borders.

He was jolted back into the present by a nudge on his left arm and frowned at his cousin.

“What?” he whispered under his breath, knowing N’Jadaka could hear him. The prince also had the heart-shaped herb pumping through his veins from his coup attempt a year ago, so his senses were just as enhanced as T’Challa’s.

“Quit daydreaming,” he responded, equally as low so as not to give their conversation away to prying ears.

T’Challa fought an eye roll and straightened up in his throne.

“Let’s table this discussion for next week,” he cut the conversation short. “Now, is there anything else on the agenda for today?”

“No, my king, but I have one more thing I’d like to bring up,” said the Merchant tribe elder tentatively.

T’Challa nodded for her to continue.

“There have been some strange happenings among my people,” she began. “Just yesterday, a woman wandered into the market yelling about creatures nobody had ever seen before, then she collapsed and started seizing.”

“You’re concerned about a psychotic or epileptic episode?”

“It’s not so much the episode as what came after, your highness.”

“Ok…”

“She died before the doctor could get to her...and then she disappeared before the coroner could examine her body.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned in closer.

“The men who transported the body were found knocked out cold...and when they woke up, she was gone.”

“Sounds like there’s a sick motherfucker around here somewhere,” N’Jadaka muttered with his signature scowl on his face. “Bodies don’t just disappear for no reason.”

The king ignored his cousin and focused on the Merchant elder. “You said she mentioned strange creatures?”

“Yes, my king. She looked deranged, and she spoke of creatures with dripping claws and visible skulls...She seemed terrified.”

T’Challa leaned back in his throne, and his mind wandered to Nia again, but this time with purpose. That didn’t sound like any creature he had ever heard of before, but he wondered if she had. His thoughts were interrupted by the Mining tribe elder.

“Also, if I may?”

T’Challa motioned for her to continue.

“There have been multiple sightings of abnormally large hyenas around our province.”

“There were some sniffing around the entrance to the lab this morning, but the Dora scared them off,” Princess Shuri added. “They didn’t look like any hyena I’ve ever seen. They were huge!”

M’Baku’s breathing faltered for a moment; he had heard of creatures like that before. When he met Nia a year prior, he began to worry about the existence of other, more dangerous magical species, and now his fears seemed to be coming true. He couldn’t just come out and say it, though, especially since several of the council members already considered the Jabari to be a backward people. He didn’t need “superstitious” added to the list of reasons not to like them. However, he felt that T’Challa might be a little more open to what he had to say. M’Baku decided a private audience with the king would probably be best.

“Hm...has anyone else noticed anything strange or unusual?” T’Challa asked the room, and two more hands went up. He nodded to the Border tribe elder, and the older man cleared his throat before speaking.

“We took a man into custody yesterday for killing his wife. He claimed she was alive when he left for work, but when he came home, all that was left was her bones. Of course, he’s claiming innocence, but the neighbors say they didn’t see her at all that day, which was unusual. But, um, we’re not sure how he was able to remove the flesh so easily. There looked to be bite marks.”

T’Challa looked to his little sister, who had a horrified look on her face, and grabbed her hand in his. He turned to his other side and saw N’Jadaka’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“What the fuck kind of sick shit y’all got going on over here?” he mumbled so only the king could hear.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered back. The king turned back to the council and gestured at the River tribe elder. “And you?”

“Sightings of strange fish in the river, your highness. Human-sized, much larger than what we are used to.”

T’Challa’s eyes shifted to his right and he noticed the Jabari chief’s nervousness, despite his best efforts to mask his feelings.

“Anything else?” T’Challa asked the council, and they all shook their heads. “N’Jadaka and I will investigate these claims further and have a report for next week. Meeting adjourned.”

The council members saluted him and took their leave—all except one.

“My king, may I have a word privately?”

T’Challa looked at M’Baku knowingly and motioned for the chief to follow him. The two of them, along with the prince and princess, retired to T’Challa’s office to continue their conversation.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” the king asked as everyone filed into the room. Shuri sat by the window and looked out at the country nervously, obviously spooked by what she just heard. N’Jadaka plopped down next to her and tried to seem unbothered, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his lucky knife, repeatedly flicking it open and closed in his left hand. M’Baku sat across from T’Challa at his desk, and his leg began to bounce involuntarily as he waited for the king to sit down.

M’Baku cleared his throat anxiously before he began, “We Jabari have many...beliefs that the rest of Wakanda seems to have let fall by the wayside. I only bring this up because of what I’ve seen with my own two eyes, but I believe the elders’ reports. Call me superstitious, but there are forces out there that you would not believe. Even I haven’t seen everything, but there is someone who might know what to do-”

“You’re saying you believe the crazy lady?” N’Jadaka scoffed.

“I do not believe she is ‘crazy’. I believe she saw something none of us could ever imagine.”

“Ok, and her body?” The prince challenged him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I do not know...but I know who might.”

“Who?” Shuri chimed in as she tore her eyes from the scenery.

“She lives with the Border tribe. Her name is Nia-”

“Olu?” T’Challa’s eyes lit up in recognition, and M’Baku couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You know her?!”

“She was the woman who was almost abducted a month ago. How do you know her?” the king asked curiously.

M’Baku wasn’t sure how much he could say without outing her as a non-human.

“She wandered into our territory once when we were still separate from the rest of you. She was very...odd,” M’Baku looked to the king, who seemed to understand his meaning. He wondered just how much he knew of her identity. “She might be able to help.”

“Odd how?” the prince interjected.

“It’s hard to explain,” the king brushed him off to avoid further prying, making M’Baku nod along. The chief still couldn’t tell how much T’Challa knew, but he kept his mouth shut nonetheless. “I will go talk to her.”

Shuri and N’Jadaka shared a look. They both felt like they were purposely being left in the dark, and neither appreciated it.

--------

Nia snuck back into her home in the magic realm and quickly threw on a headwrap before taking a deep breath and opening her door to the human realm. Her stomach twisted up again as she laid her eyes on the king and his guards standing on her doorstep.

“T’Challa, hey,” she greeted him nervously as she leaned against the doorframe with Sego still draped over her shoulders. Nia noticed the two fierce-looking women on either side of him look at her questioningly for her informality, but they said nothing.

“Hello, Nia,” he smiled before noticing Sego. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright. I, uh, actually just got back in from visiting my ubaba.”

“With that?” T’Challa motioned to Sego, and the python stuck out his tongue.

“Sego? Yeah, he likes to get out sometimes,” she said as she stroked her companion’s head. Nia backed up a little and opened the door wider for him, “Anyways, come on in.”

The king ordered the two guards to stay on the front porch, and they stood at attention, looking out at the village. Several of Nia’s neighbors had noticed their arrival and were trying their best to seem inconspicuous as they spied on her to see what was going on. It wasn’t often that the king came around, so the rumor mill started turning almost immediately.

Once T’Challa stepped into the familiar home, keeping a wide berth from Sego, Nia closed and locked the door behind him. They made their way over to the kitchen, and the king sat down in the same hand-carved chair he sat in the last time he was there.

“Can I get you anything?” Nia offered politely as she made her way over to the stovetop and started warming up a kettle she had filled up the night before. “I made a tea blend that helps calm the mind. I’m about to have some myself if you want in.”

“Sure, I’ll take a cup,” he responded with a smile. He watched her scoop the prepared herbs out of a jar and into two reusable cotton tea bags and place one each at the bottom of a mug. She worked in silence as she tried to calm the anxious feeling that had crept back into her bones after leaving Amare’s. Sego could feel her shaking and squeezed her just a little bit to get her to calm down. She relaxed at his hug and poured the hot water into the mugs before carrying them back over to the table. Nia sat down across from T’Challa and blew on her hot tea before taking a small sip. He did the same and smiled at the flavor. “This is delicious, Nia.”

“Thanks,” she gave a small smile back as her stomach fluttered at his compliment. “So...what brings you here?”

The king sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching intently as Sego slithered down from his perch and curled up in the corner. “There have been some strange activities around the kingdom, and I was wondering if you might know anything about it.”

“Strange how?” Nia’s head cocked to the side, and she placed her elbows on the table as she leaned in closer.

“First, there was a woman who was found dead in her home. Her neighbors saw her the day before, and her husband claims she was alive when he left for work, but all that was left was her bones,” he spoke carefully and observed as fearful recognition clouded her face. Nia couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she easily put two and two together. The thinning had begun.

“W-what else?” she asked as she leaned in even closer.

“Another woman’s dead body disappeared. She wandered into the market screaming about horrifying creatures, then she seized and collapsed...but her body never made it to the coroner,” he paused to make sure she was still with him. She motioned for him to continue, and he spoke again, “There have also been reports of abnormally large hyenas and fish, but that is less concerning than the other two.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nia mumbled as she got up and hurried to the bookshelf. She pulled out a large leather-bound book and opened it to a page near the middle before flipping a few pages forward. When she landed on what she was looking for, she set the heavy book down in front of the king. His eyes traveled to the page and widened in fright at the image of a childlike being with a mouth as wide as its face and sharp teeth on display.

“W-what is this?”

“Eloko,” Nia answered as she sat back down. “Long ago, our queen banished them to their own part of the forest. They’re harmless if you ignore them, but if you take pity on them and let them into your home...they’ll eat your flesh in minutes.”

T’Challa scanned the page, taking in every horrifying detail he could as he attempted to calm his heart rate. Not many things frightened the unshakable king, but he was completely out of his element. His mouth went dry as he attempted to speak, “And the other woman?”

“I’m not sure, but…”

He tore his eyes from the book and looked up at her. “But what?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions because it’s not a common occurrence, but when bodies disappear like that, there’s usually dark magic involved.”

“Dark magic?”

“Yeah...like I said, it’s not common, but over the years, there have been a few aziza who use their gifts in ways the rest of us do not approve of.”

“Like…?”

“Like creating zombi.”

“Those are real?”

“Very,” Nia shuddered and downed her tea. T’Challa’s eyes fell back to her book, and he began flipping through the well-worn pages. It felt old like it had been passed down for generations, and he surmised it probably belonged to her family for decades, centuries even. He flipped towards the front of the book, landing on the page about aziza. He couldn’t help but smile at the much more welcoming illustration. T’Challa got lost in the description as Nia stood and went to wash out her mug, needing something to do with her hands to calm her mind. He finished reading and looked up to ask her a question, but it slipped his mind when he noticed strange markings on her back in the shape of wings. He started to ask her about the scars when he realized he had seen them once before.

“It was you…”

“What was?” she asked without turning around, scrubbing her mug unnecessarily hard. Nia heard him stand and walk closer, but kept her focus on her task.

He removed the mug from her hand and rinsed it out. Before she could protest, he spoke softly, “I said they looked like wings.”

Nia stilled as she remembered her tube top left her back exposed.

“Yeah…I remember,” she murmured without looking up at him despite their closeness.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I just didn’t think it was important.”

T’Challa smiled, “Of course it’s important! I never forgot that day…now I know how you appeared out of nowhere.”

“Heh, yeah,” Nia responded as she pushed past him to grab her tea kettle. She filled it up again, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. T’Challa looked at her, confused by her change in attitude when it clicked for him...

“You know, I wanted to see you again-“

“Then why didn’t you come back?” She snapped and he realized why she didn’t seem to like him that much.

“I did. My baba took me on a trip with him that night. We were gone for two weeks, but I came back looking for you.”

Nia paused again before setting the kettle back on the stove. She turned to face him, and he could see the confusion all over her face.

“You did?” She asked apprehensively, and he nodded in response. “I went back every day for a week before ubaba made me stop. He didn’t like seeing me so sad.”

T’Challa’s face fell and he took a step forward, “Nia, I-“

“No, it’s fine.” Nia moved away from him and his heart sank as he watched her go over to her herb pantry. She rummaged around for a while before she came back with yet another tea blend.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began to change the subject, “have you spoken to Bast recently?”

T’Challa didn’t want to upset her more by pushing the conversation, so he went along with her train of thought.

“Uh, no. It’s been a while. Why?” he asked as he leaned against the counter, eyes tracking her as she moved to sit back at the table. Nia noticed he had been reading about aziza and smiled internally.

“The veil is thinning. That’s how the eloko got through…and who knows what else.”

“The veil?”

“Yeah, it’s like the border between realms.”

“How is that possible?”

Nia shrugged, “Only Bast knows.”

“And she’s not answering you,” he mused as he sat next to her. She wanted to move away, but forced herself to stay still.

“Nope. I tried this morning, but one of my ancestors came through and told us about the veil.”

“Us?”

“Me and Sego.”

“The snake?”

“Python,” Nia chuckled and shot Sego a look to warn him to behave.

“My apologies. So what did they say?”

“The realms of the living and dead, and the human and magical realms are colliding…they might overlap soon. That and ‘she is precious.’”

“Who is?”

Nia shrugged, “Bast, I guess.”

“But you think she’s disappeared…” T’Challa thought aloud.

“Yebo. I don’t know what can make a god disappear, though. Another god maybe?”

T’Challa’s mind wandered to his Avengers colleague, Thor, but he had no way to contact the god while he was off-planet.

“Perhaps.”

“I could try contacting some.”

T’Challa nodded as the wheels turned in his mind. “There are smaller cults around the country that worship other gods. We might be able to-“

“We?”

“Well, yes, I was hoping you would come with me. I’ll need someone with your expertise. I know nothing about all this, but you do…I need your help.”

“I don’t know, I-“

“Please, Nia,” he begged as he grabbed her hand in his. The silence was thick as they looked at each other, but neither was able to look away. “I need you.”

Nia stopped breathing for a moment as he trapped her in his puppy dog eyes. She wanted to say no, she really did…but she just couldn’t.

“Ok, I’ll do it.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @dersha89, @impremenior, @ljstraightnochaser, @love—life—passion, @yourstrulybrii

[fishmongeringstudies]

opening scene, six am, scrambled eggs stuck to your economy class seat

the first thing i bought in america was a stick of deodorant. i'd left mine in singapore though i could've sworn i'd stuck it in my suitcase before i got on the plane, in the turquoise pouch with the chipped zipper beside the advil that would sit there, forgotten, for the next thirteen weeks and a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer that smelled like well-fermented ass. it turns out your memory fails you when you're getting ready to leave everything you've ever known behind, even if the place you're headed for has looked like a hammered michelangelo's impression of salvation for most of your life. it was that kind of time. i was out of my mind and found the space beneath my feet where one expects floor to be empty for most, if not all, of my waking moments. of course i forgot about the deodorant. the real surprise was that i thought i'd remember at all.

the first thing i bought when i got on campus was a bottle of mineral water. it took me two days to realize that the star trek-esque metal fitting built into the wall on the first floor of my dorm building was meant to dispense drinking water and not tiny silver men that would kill me in my sleep, and three to realize that none of the water coolers in this place were functional. jamming my thumb into the button while no longer expecting anything to happen, i was reminded, suddenly and abruptly, that we were in the middle of a pandemic. i resisted the urge to rub my eye with the back of my hand and went back up to my room, where already a small army of plastic bottles had begun to accumulate on an empty shelf.

the first person i spoke to here is not a good person, but not a particularly bad one either. he is selfish and has half-eaten dinner plates for eyes and thinks the world is the size of his fist, which is how most people are when they're eighteen, especially the boys, especially the ones who've never had to answer to the horrible, searching x-ray question, what are you? i only hope he grows out of it. i will not be the one to make him. perhaps he should make an appointment with god.

the first time i cried in america was when i was born (austin, texas, april 25th, 2001). it hasn't happened since.

today i cross the street from the campus bookstore to the bank, thumbing my passport in the pocket of my hoodie to make sure it hasn't fallen out, to make sure they'll be able to identify my body if i'm ever found somewhere wet and starless (behind a beat-up denny's would be good, though i'm not against the idea of waffle house). i spend five minutes standing awkwardly in front of the empty counter, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, before i notice the print-out saying something about online check-ins and virtual consultations. i ignore it. when i finally work up the courage to speak to someone the teller makes me scan the QR code with my phone anyway. eight hours later, long after i've opened my first bank account in america and gotten a bona fide american debit card, bright orange like they're afraid i'm going to drop it on the street if it's the color of slate (i will anyway, because god made me full of homosexuality and hubris and i intend to live up to his expectations), and discovered that i am, in fact, capable of holding a conversation with two strangers a decade my senior who both have wedding rings and big adult smiles and soft adult voices, i get a text back. good news, it says. we're ready to serve you now.

the spring semester ends today. when i was typing up my powerpoint on why i should be allowed to go to america for college at four a.m. last december i remember looking up the duration of the spring semester on the school website. look, i told my mom, while frantically clicking through fifteen pointless, but very cool animations on google slides with my other hand. it's only until may twenty-first. it's not that long. but it's long enough.

it isn't long enough. three months is barely enough time to get someone to trust you enough to tell you what they think about when they're lying awake in bed at three o'clock in the morning and they have to pee but they're starting to drift off and if they get up now they'll never fall asleep ever again in their life. and this is a country we're talking about. the worst one there is. the loudest, the proudest, the weirdest; the closest to the proverbial heart of man. the one that's the happiest to fuck the world up, over and over again. this is not your standard courtship ritual. this is a lifelong investmnet.

one time someone told me he'd always thought he was straight. but then i met you, he said, his brows scrunched together in a way that was both unattractive and made me want to pinch his cheeks together until there was nothing left in between. so what does that make me? imagine i'm standing in that room again but a little removed from the scene. i stare into the camera like i'm in the office. i don't have a fucking clue, i say blankly. why the fuck are you asking me?

there is something about people who have never been forced to consider the question of what constitutes their fundamental identity as a human being. they're so happy, but in the way that toddlers are before they realize that melted ice cream doesn't taste as good as the frozen stuff and things that die, like, actually don't come back to you even if you hold a funeral for the ant you accidentally squished and stop drinking soda for a week and make sure not to step on all the white tiles in the hallway outside your apartment. i imagine all of the happy cishets in the world poised on the edge of a very tall building. what's at the bottom of the drop? i dunno. you'll have to ask them.

recently i acquired seven bottles of nail polish from a friend who was trying to clear out her collection before leaving for the summer. i keep forgetting people are leaving for the summer, and now they've all left. reality hits you like a horse's ass across the cheek. it's warm. it's soft. it smells unpleasant but in a way that makes you want to keep smelling it even though at the back of your mind you know that this isn't going to improve your mental, physical, or spiritual health, and yet in the moment, in the moment that is the now that is the blood coursing through your veins all red and shimmery like glass, in this funny little moment all you can do is stand there, eyes squeezed shut, and inhale.

i convinced my mom to send me my favorite bomber jacket. the postage cost seventeen dollars and fifty cents in singapore dollars but true to form it only took thirteen days to get from one side of the globe to the other. it is not so appalling after all that we are connected by distances. geographically speaking, i am always beside you.

there is at least one working water cooler on this campus. in the basement of this whoozy, boozy freshman dorm, beside the laundry room with its clear glass door and clean, powdery lavender-lemon-jasmine smell, you will find a metal fixture with a thick rectangular button hidden under the lip of the bowl. if you jam your thumb into it, water will erupt from the fountain-head like god pouring life into the mouths of tiny clay-children or goldfish, depending on which version of history you're a fan of, depending on which natgeo subscription you have. and the water will be very sweet, very cold, nourishing the skin on your bones and furnishing the ground beneath your feet. but don't drink from it. we're in a pandemic, after all.

instead go back up, past the lounge with the flatscreen tv and the ratty green sofas, past the elevator that sounds like a soap opera crossed with a minecraft let's play, past the cubbyhole of a kitchen with the moldy sponges and the half-empty bottle of dish soap that smells like van gogh's impression of misery until you get to the room that, for the last three brilliant, battered months, has been yours. and let yourself in.

05.21.21

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 7

masterlist  /  playlist for reading

After we've arrived at the lowest point of this love triangle mess, it's now time to put the pieces back together. Eivor has to get a grip on things and the reader finally has to tell her how they feel. 

CW for blood/open wounds, food mention

inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

Promise

You were woken by movement behind you - Eivor had sat up and was cursing under her breath. As she stood up, you turned your head slightly to see what she was doing. The right side of her tunic was dark with dried blood.

With shaky fingers, she rolled up the fabric to reveal blood-soaked linen underwear and stained red skin. The tunic seemed to stick to the wound. Eivor pressed her lips together and ripped it off in one upward motion, letting out a small whine and immediately biting her knuckles to silence herself.

The gash on her hip started bleeding right away. It looked horrible. The flesh around it was purple from the impact and the wound was deep and gushing blood. You sprang up from the mattress and rushed toward her. Birna yelled in fright and protest and hid under the bed.

 “Eivor, oh God! Why did you not say anything yesterday? This requires stitches!”

The warrior was breathing heavily, trying to keep her composure as blood already started pooling at her foot.

“I thought it would close overnight, but my belt and the fabric must have made it worse,” she said, sounding both desperate and confused. “What do I do now?”

You were already rummaging around for the needle and thread you had used to mend her clothes a few days ago and threw her a clean rag.

 “Here, press this on the wound.” She caught it and leaned back against the table to keep her balance, then she folded the cloth and pressed it on her hip with both hands.

There were still a few last smoldering coals in the fireplace, so you added a few twigs and hung up the kettle with a small amount of water while you waited for the flames to come. The water started to boil quickly and you threw in the needle and yarn, then you tore up cloth into stripes and also put them into the water.

“Come here,” you ordered and Eivor stepped around the bed to stand next to you in front of the fireplace. Her face was ashen-pale. You took the kettle from the fire and fished out one of the fabric stripes with a spoon, letting it cool for a moment until you could touch it without burning the skin off your fingers.

You gently moved Eivor’s hands and the blood-drenched rag from the wound and pressed the hot fabric to her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, but stayed still and let you proceed. You washed the skin around the wound with the clean cloth and then went on to clean out the gash itself. It pained you to put Eivor through so much suffering, but you needed to prevent the wound from getting inflamed and foul.

Finally, you grabbed your sewing utensils and started closing up the wound. Eivor’s hands were now shaking vigorously and she buried her fingers in the furs on the bed trying not to move or cry out. You apologized over and over again while you tried to work as quickly as possible. When you were finished, you pressed the last hot rag on the wound and cleaned off the last of the blood.

 Eivor let herself fall back on the bed and put an arm over her face, trying to regulate her breathing. You sat down next to her and stared at your bloody hands. It had all happened so quickly, you were questioning whether you were really awake yet.

When you turned to look at Eivor, she was staring at the ceiling, a single tear running from the corner of her eye into the intricate braids. You laid down next to her and followed her gaze to the wooden beams above you. Your hands were lying next to each other between you, not touching but so close you could feel her warmth.

“I owe you an apology,” Eivor began quietly, “but I am at a loss for words. Where can I even begin? I put you into a cage even though you were wounded and scared, and I only noticed you were hurt when it was almost too late. I let Randvi treat you like a traitor even though you only helped us. I forced myself on you last night and you had to carry me back here because I was too drunk to stand. And now you save me once again, even though I have done nothing to ever deserve it.”

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. Should you tell her that you saw her with Randvi? She sighed.

“If you wish to part ways now, I understand. Sigurd will welcome you into the clan tonight. I will make sure to provide a roof over your head somewhere else in this village and you are free to do as you please.”

Her words were a dagger to your heart. She was setting you free, knowing how much pain she had caused you. But everything inside you was screaming at you to stay, to get closer, to stop speaking of separation, to only feel her lips on yours again. You felt your eyes well up. Carefully, you moved your hand in Eivor’s direction until your knuckles touched. The sensation made breathing harder, but it felt warm and consoling.

“However, if you stay despite everything I have done, I will be forever grateful to you. Everything feels wrong when I am without you, like thick fog limiting my vision and robbing me of all sense of direction. You guide me home.”

One of her fingers moved to brush over yours. Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure Eivor could hear it, too. You had to tell her. If this was your chance of resolving this mess, you had to tell her.

You pulled your hand away and turned to her, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Eivor, there is something you need to know.”

Her eyes widened and you could see the fear behind them, fear of losing you forever.

“The night before the second raid, I went out looking for you.”

She understood immediately and closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as she waited for you to deliver the final blow.

Suddenly there were steps coming closer to your door and you could hear Valka’s voice singing a happy “Good Morning, Eivor! I brought food!”

Eivor shot up and pulled down her bloody tunic before rushing to the door, followed closely by a white ball of fur. You sat up as well.

Birna slipped out as soon as Eivor opened the door, then Valka stood in the room. She had brought a basket with bread and dried fruit as well as a bottle of a dark greenish liquid. She seemed surprised to see you here but greeted you just as enthusiastically.

“Seeing as you had to be carried to bed last night” - Eivor groaned and pressed her hands to her head - “I thought I’d come by to make sure you are still breathing. But first, would you mind telling me why you are drenched in blood? Did Y/N finally have enough of you?”

The healer gave you a sisterly smirk and placed the basket on the table. Before Eivor could even react, Valka had pulled up her tunic and let out a sound of surprise.

“Freya’s tears, what happened here?” She turned to you, still holding up the tunic. “Did you sew her up?”

You nodded and went to inspect the contents of her breakfast bundle before remarking that it probably would be best if she took another look at it to make sure it would heal well. Eivor was visibly annoyed at the fuss about her, but she did not dare to object. You popped some dried cherries into your mouth and lifted the green bottle against the light from the window.

“What is this?”

“Oh, the perfect brew for a morning after heavy drinking,” Valka explained, lifting the tunic over Eivor’s head. The warrior had bound her chest with strips of linen and now crossed her arms over her almost bare upper body. “Peppermint, ginger, and several bitter herbs. It tastes horrid, but it wakes you up and soothes an upset stomach.”

You threw Eivor a fresh tunic and she gave you a grateful nod, quickly pulling it over her body. Valka decided it was best if you joined her at her hut where she would prepare a fresh salve for the wound. Birna accompanied you on your way up the hill and, once inside, immediately chose Valka’s bed as her new throne.

Eivor bickered with her for a moment, then the cat moved over so Eivor could sit down next to her. You watched closely as Valka heated up oil and beeswax until they melted together, throwing in calendula and daisy petals, lavender, and buckhorn. The herbs soon started spreading their wonderful scent throughout the room and the oil slowly turned a greenish-yellow color. You helped filter the mixture through a clean cloth and caught it in a small clay pot, placing it on the windowsill to let it cool.

In the meantime, Valka had heated up water and thrown in a few cloves of crushed garlic. Now she placed another round of hot, wet fabric stripes on the wound and gently pressed them down with her palm. Eivor was clenching her jaw and clutching the blanket beneath her, but she endured the procedure without complaining.

Valka explained to you that garlic fought off illness and cleansed wounds even better than plain hot water, but she was happy with you for thinking of cleaning the wound before sewing it shut. She was also satisfied with your needlework on Eivor’s skin - the wound had stopped seeping and seemed to close up well.

As you both sat next to Eivor, waiting for the cloth on her hip to cool down, the silence grew thicker. Eivor kept her eyes closed the entire time, not showing any emotion. Valka was unusually late in recognizing that something was wrong. She gave you a questioning look and you just pressed your lips together and lightly shook your head.

After a while, the healer threw the wet rags into a basket and stood up to grab the salve from the window. She gently rubbed it into the bruised skin around the wound and handed the pot to you. Then she took a long bandage from a box and wrapped it around Eivor’s hips several times, fastening it with a knot.

“Here are two more bandages.” You took them from her. “Change the dressings twice a day and boil them after every use. Clean the wound and put the salve on before every new dressing. We should be able to remove the stitches in a few days so it can heal on its own.”

You helped Eivor up and thanked Valka for her assistance, promising to come by later so she could prepare you for your welcoming ceremony.

As you walked back to Eivor’s hut, she suddenly stopped. You turned around, raising your eyebrows at her.

“Y/N. I have been thinking about what you said. You saw me and Randvi, is that right?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close up.

“There is no excuse for what I did. I betrayed my brother and I turned from you after drawing you closer for days. Randvi and I were together for some time, but I ended it a while ago. She still wanted me and she found me at the right moment last night. All I can say for myself is that I was drunk, so drunk I could not think or feel anything anymore. I was lost, I was looking for love and I thought I could not place that burden on you, so I grasped my chance when Randvi came after me.”

She took a deep breath, holding your gaze.

“I should have never kissed Randvi, not the first time and not the last time. I was weak and astray, I still am. I often drink to find joy, yet I only find misery every time. I know that I should have come to my senses much earlier, I should have told you how I felt and I should have never kissed you without asking what you wanted.”

Her outburst shocked you; she had never been this honest and open with you. You could see she was hurt and ashamed, trying to save whatever still was left between you. You reached out a hand and she caught it between hers, her eyes full of fear and pleading.

“I can never make up for all the pain I have caused you. But if you choose to stay, if you choose to walk through that door with me and continue to be by my side, I swear to you by everything that is dear to me that I will never betray you, I will never lie to you and I will do everything in my power to make this work.”

She squeezed your hand with shaky fingers, her voice cracking at the last words. Your insides were in turmoil, you were completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened. But there, somewhere inside you, a tiny spark lit up. The smallest flame licked around the coals at the bottom of your chest. It was hope that had returned to you.

You knew that Eivor meant every word she had said. She would be lost without you, that much you knew already. You placed your free hand on top of hers and took a step closer.

“My wolf-kissed lady. It is true that you have caused me a great deal of pain. The last few days there was so much resentment inside of me. But we cannot choose who we love and we all lose our way sometimes. If you will let me, I would like to pull you back on a new path, one destined for us both. That path requires sacrifice, hard work, patience, and vigor. At your side, I am willing to try.”

Eivor pulled you to her and you wrapped your arms around her, careful not to press your body to her wounded hip. She stayed stiff for a moment, then she let out a relieved sigh and held you tightly, pressing her cheek to the top of your head and mumbling foreign words into your hair. Something brushed against your shin and you looked down to find Birna wedged between you, meowing for attention.

You smiled at Eivor through your tears and she picked up the cat, holding her to her chest and gently rocking her side to side like a newborn. The three of you made your way down to the cottage and Eivor opened the door for you, gently lowering Birna onto the bed. You closed it behind you and leaned against the hard wood.

Eivor stood a few feet from you, just a little bit further than an arm’s length away. There was an awkward silence as neither of you knew what to say, then you decided to relieve the tension. You sat down on the wooden trunk.

“I do not know how fast we will heal. But I don’t want to make you suffer, I believe you have put enough blame and hate on yourself already.” You looked down at your hands, rubbing them together nervously. “I know how you feel about me. I have felt the same way for some time. The things I saw the night before made it impossible for me to enjoy our kiss last night and I don’t think I could do so just yet. What I need is for you to prove to me that you mean it, show me that you are no longer interested in Randvi and that you really want us to be together. Once I know I can count on you and that there is nothing left standing between us, I will gladly find my way into your arms again.”

A weight was lifted off of you, now that you had finally lent voice to all your tumultuous thoughts and the feelings that had been waiting to spring free from your chest.  Eivor stepped closer to you and took your hands in hers again. Her eyes were clear now and she was standing upright, no longer carrying secrets and guilt in front of you.

“I devote myself to you, little bird.” She shook her head and huffed. “Who am I to call you little, when you have shown such courage and grace? I am the one who is small before you.” She suddenly chuckled. “Someone once called me a lovely dove. I was offended at the time, thinking she was mocking me. But is there a bird more devoted, more graceful and exquisite?”

Eivor smiled down at you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I promise that I will do right by you, sweet Y/N, my delicate dove.” Her face was so close now that you could see the tiny hairs on her cheeks and the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were almost touching yours. She was beautiful. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes.

The next thing you felt was her lips on the back of your hand and when you opened your eyes again, Eivor was still looking at you, kissing your knuckles one by one. Then she took a step back and nodded, determination visible on her face. She would do everything she could to prove herself worthy to you.

[sneezefiction]

dreaming of you

Sugawara x Reader - Scenario

@0hakaashi‘s request: “can I request suga with #11 (dreams)? ty💕”

a/n: sometimes you write fluff... sometimes that fluff is sickeningly sweet and makes you want to cry out of pure comfort and warmth. have a little taste of that with Sugawara tonight, my loves <3

warnings: none!

wc: 1750

---

Sugawara’s apartment has seen some pretty crazy things.

It witnessed that wild, drunk dancing phase of yours that knocked over way more than just a few breakable items. Your first kisses as a couple and endless domestic, morning pecks with the ever-so gentle boy. It watched as a multitude of sleepovers went from being strict study nights to early morning giggles thanks to distractions like a new song release, Napoleon Dynamite dance routine attempts, and melted ice cream on cherry-tinted lips.

The poster-covered walls knew you better than some of your closest friends. You’d left your mark there. With little, accidental chips and water-stains on wooden furniture. On that old, grey carpet that caught several pain-induced tears, while the rest of your crying was usually muffled by Suga’s thin, white t-shirts. By adding a toothbrush as well as shampoo and conditioner to his bathroom.

You, Sugawara, and this nostalgia-drenched apartment have experienced quite a lot.

And, even if it hasn’t all been perfect, you’ve been lavished in over a year's worth of sunkissed memories. Days that would always start snuggled up under his chin, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of his sturdy chest. With the tenderest of touches, he’d caress your cheek using the back of his hand every morning without fail. Every time you opened your eyes to his chestnut-brown irises, your heart would flutter involuntarily. 

It almost seems fake. That this world, which used to be dull and lifeless, could paint itself into a rainbow of colors only the two of you could see.

Once again, you’re splayed across his bed on your stomach, stopping the gentle sway of your legs and placing your phone down in front of you to see Suga’s silvery tufts of hair, his honey-brown eyes gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.

You’d spent the night at his place again and, as per usual, the morning is quiet. The first 20 or so minutes filled with stretching, phone-scrolling, and snuggles.

He reaches his slender hands upward, stretching his arms toward the open air of the quiet bedroom.

A heavy, golden stream of sunlight casts the shadow of a window onto your wall, along with the outlines of his fingers and thumbs. But as soon as he loses interest in the gleaming sunrise colors that dripped down his hand, Suga drops his arm and lifts himself up to face you, seeking an answer.

Words as soft as a young bird’s feathers ruffle the silence of the cool air.

“Would you be mad if I got super cheesy right now?” Suga asks cooly, his question genuine.

You tilt your head, a small smirk forming because you’ve seen this face before. It’s the look you got before he lavished you with sweet sayings and almost sickening, lovey-dovey phrases.

You used to fuss at him, flick his forehead, cover your face in embarrassment… the whole nine-yards just to avoid his compliments and the tingly feelings that followed.

“I have a feeling you’re just gonna say it anyways, so you might as well.” You roll your eyes, propping yourself up on your elbows and using the palms of your hands to hold your chin.

“You know me so well.” A cheeky grin spreads across his face.

Suga shifts himself up and over to you as he gently lays his head onto your middle.

It’s a tingly, ticklish sensation. His consistent show of closeness and affection always had you melting into him, like clay being warmed by a careful potter's knowing hands. Your hands automatically start carding through his unreasonably soft hair and he hums into the touch before continuing his thoughts.

“Y/n, you’re so good to me.” He breathes out, beginning to build his web of thoughts.

“Things have just… flowed well for me ever since you came into my life.” Suga tilts his head back into your brushing fingers and strokes your thigh with the back of his hand.

“You always make me laugh, you understand me, and wow are you gorgeous. You’re pretty much perfect.” He says while a smile forms on his visage and heat rises to your own face along with a copycat smile of your own.

But the conversation takes an unusual turn.

“And, well, I dunno...”

“...sometimes it almost feels a bit unreal.”

He huffs out an amused sigh because the words sound much funnier out loud than they did in his head. But he might as well continue. You’ve heard him say much weirder, far more… questionable things.

You tug lightly at his sterling strands. With a soft, “Mhmm,” and an unseen smile, you prompt him to continue.

“I’m serious! You’ve somehow even managed to work your way into my dreams most nights, actually.” He admits, letting out a breathy laugh, your own soft giggle following.

He notes how nice it is to feel you laugh against his head, mentally snap-shotting the moment. But Sugawara wants to add one more thing, twisting the moment slightly. Something that could potentially pause that splendid laughter.

“...so when I wake up, I always wonder if you’ll actually still be there... y’know, with me...” The hand that was once twirling his hair now pauses its movements.

You shift yourself upwards so that you’re sitting with your back snug against the bed’s headboard, moving Suga’s head to be in the center of your lap.

With his face more readily availble to you, you’re now tracing the outline of his features while processing his words, gazing deeply into an unreadable expression.

“So you’re trying to tell me…” You brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes, cocking your head to the side with a look that says, ‘Are you being serious right now?’

“...that because things are going so well right now...”

You lean in closer to his face, which lays perpendicular to your own. “...hell, maybe a little too well...”

“...and because I somehow interfere with your subconscious while you’re asleep…” Your nose brushes gently against his, a small flush coloring his pale skin.

“...that you’re worried I might just up and leave you someday?” You quirk an eyebrow and a small smirk appears on your face.

It was an unfounded insecurity... and most insecurities don’t like to listen to logic.

He averts his gaze, a hint of embarrassment flashing in his eyes.

You hover over his face a little longer before tilting your head to ghost your lips meticulously over his.

Even though you’ve taken the initiative, it’s impossible to not get a little flustered with his minty breath gently fanning over your face. You become acutely aware of the subtle shifting of his hands, pressing ever so slightly into the bed at your close contact.

Suga’s golden-brown eyes close and just as he lifts his head off your lap to steal a kiss, you teasingly lean back earning the sweetest of pouts in return.

At your refusal to appease him, Suga rolls his head to the side, avoiding eye-contact with you.

“Well now I just feel silly.” He sulks, face jokingly downcast and blush lightly tinting the apples of his cheeks.

You can’t help but chuckle softly. Your boyfriend has always been a funny one, but it’s hard for you to believe that he would have so little faith in you. Even if it was a passing doubt, you never wanted him to think that the absence of good times meant that you would leave him too.

Because Suga had made a point of always being there.

Always sticking around. Never leaving you, a teammate, a family member, or even a lost stranger behind. He would take anyone by the hand and lead them to a safe place with utmost care. Hell, you bet that even in his dreams, he would still clasp your fingers tightly with his and not let go unless you absolutely begged him… though you doubt that the dream version of youself would ever be stupid enough to ask Suga to untwine your hand from his.

So you decide to be the cheesy one for a change.

You lean over him once more, but this time you use both of your palms to draw his face toward yours. A beautiful, squinty smile adorns your once teasing expression and greets his soft, pouty one. You proceed by blowing cool air into his eyes, causing him to shut them in mild discomfort, which allows you to sneakily take his lips into yours, melding them together tenderly.

He immediately responds by lifting up one of his hands to caress your face, deepening the sleepy, sunrise kiss.

It’s warm and comforting.

And as though a cool breeze had just brushed over your skin, you feel a shiver run down your arms when Suga gently tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth.

Sitting up a little, Sugawara finds himself taking in your saccharine taste. His thumb pleasantly skims over your cheek causing you to smile slightly, breaking the flow of the slow kiss.

As you pull away, you could almost melt at the adoring gaze Sugawara gifts you with. All he can do is blink gratefully at you while relishing in the rare, precious silence. He’s right in front of you, sitting up just enough for the sunlight to catch his silver hair, gracing it with a shimmering gold halo of sorts.

You let out a contented sigh and lean forward to place your forehead on top of his shoulder, inhaling his clean lavender scent. It’s fresh and soft. A little smoky even? It might be from that cologne you gave him last Christmas. Nostalgia combined with a hint of sweetly fragranced detergent. You hum into his white t-shirt and he rests his cheek onto the side of your head.

At his touch, you simply decide that he smells like home.

“Hey Suga…?” You whisper through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Hmm?”

“You’re a little weird...” A humorous, closed-mouth smile forms on both of your faces.

“Hey now, I thought we were having a moment?” Suga sighs into your hair, some of the lose strands tickling your ear in the process.

“Let me finish!” You quietly huff in mock exasperation.

He nods and you sink a little deeper into the crook of his neck, prompting him to place his arms around you to pull you closer.

“I was gonna say: you’re a little weird, but I’m glad I’ve somehow made my way into your dreams.”

There’s a pause, a breath, and an exhalation.

“I’m glad because I always want to be with you. Whether it’s here in the real world or up there in your pretty little head.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @starboybokuto

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

[darkpoisonouslove]

The Road of Words

Summary: Griffin is visiting Valtor at the hospital after he got injured pulling a stunt to impress her. He has to wake up to see the results of his efforts and Griffin swears to put in an effort of her own to reach back to him.

CW: mentions of coma, head injury, blood, self-harm (very minor but it counts), self-deprecation

@trashcankitty12​ requested the following prompt - You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up - and I did my best to deliver. Not a scenario I usually dig but I tried to give it a spark of originality.

Songs I listened to while writing this and I feel like really fit the tone of the fic are Promise by Fytch and Tether Me By Galleaux. Give them a listen if you feel like it!

Griffin's fingers clutched the smooth pot desperately. It was heavy and slipping in her sweaty palm. There was no heat left in her body for the cold clay to absorb. The dread had numbed her to anything but the occupied hospital bed she was looking for.

She'd gotten directions at the reception after giving her name. She had to be on some kind of list with allowed visitors when she had no business being there. Just like Valtor.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat only the frozen blue of his eyes could wash away as she reached for the handle on a pristine door. Behind it was Valtor, lying motionless like she'd never been prepared to see him. For all of her resistance to his flirting, she'd always figured the first time she caught a glimpse of him in a bed would be with herself underneath him and pinned to the mattress by his rippling muscles and disarming smile.

A notification from Instagram had found her in the middle of the night curled up with a novel. Valtor had tagged her in a photo of a rare flower he'd taken hours earlier at sunset. The captured moment had found her despite the tricky signal on his mountain climbing hike and she'd drifted off to sleep with a smile still on her face and a warmth in her heart.

Her tea had been steaming in her half-empty mug the next morning when the twins had called her with the headline that Valtor had been found with a head trauma and taken to the hospital.

Coma.

She'd thrown every window of her apartment open but all the chilly morning air had done had been to shake her to her core. Her lungs had heaved with dry sobs as she'd looked down from the 40th floor, hands clutching at the windowsill. He would've climbed up the side of the building if she'd asked it of him. All she had done had been letting them both down time and time again.

Griffin pushed the door open slowly. Her heart pounded in her ears to compensate for the stillness on the other side of the door and and her finger trembled over the cactus in the pot. Prickling it would spill red to drown out the unblemished peacefulness of the hospital room in case it was too unbearable.

Valtor's parents were sitting on a couch opposite from the door amidst too much chaos in place of the rigidness she'd expected. Elinor's long black hair spilled over Ailan's suit jacket and his shoulder where she'd rested her head as if it were too heavy. Her usual stoicism had melted off of her lean form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she'd missed to wipe away a smudge of her mascara. Ailan's hand was gentle on the crown of her head but his knuckles had turned white gripping at his own knee. His leg twitched in failed restraint to keep it from bouncing and his lips moved senselessly in his wife's hair. He was pulled taut like a bandage stretched to tearing over a wound that was too big. Nothing in their stance spoke of both their remarkable height or the power their name carried.

"Griffin," Elinor rose up from her husband's chest. He offered her his handkerchief at the sound of her nasal voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," Griffin was stuck to the floor, her legs made of lead. It would be like stepping on their graves to go any closer to them. Her hard-to-get routine had left their son limp in that bed.

"It's okay, dear," Ailan rubbed Elinor's back while she was blowing her nose quietly. "I'm sure he'd want you here. Maybe he'll feel your presence. He's always been attuned to it."

Griffin swallowed. Valtor had put his whole heart into getting to know her. He'd found a way into hers through the suffocation she'd subjected it to to avoid a crack in her walls. And now the only sound coming from him was that of his shallow breaths.

"We'll be outside on a short walk." Ailan helped Elinor up and they leaned on each other. Their steps were slow but steady as they passed by her and Elinor squeezed her shoulder instead of holding on to her husband.

Griffin had to push her finger on the cactus in her hands for the pain to ground her. The moment the door closed behind Valtor's parents, her knees gave out and she slumped in the chair at the side of the bed. Their company had been a punishment but one well deserved.

The quiet hit her harder now that she had proof she was the cause of it. She'd always been but Valtor had been filling it–and her lungs–with his sweet talk. She'd come to talk but her throat was parched like she'd choked on the sun.

All the ashes of the moments she'd let burn out were flickering over her skin to brand it with echoes of the words she'd never said. Her breath had stopped the first time she'd laid eyes on Valtor's shapely physique and his confident stance, on his strong jaw and striking eyes as he'd introduced himself as a benefactor to the school where she'd grown up and was working. She'd smiled to herself watching him do an art course for her students through a window after she'd refused to be the head of the project and his supervisor. She'd discussed books with him till the middle of the night and had never said a word about his pick-up lines. She'd accepted his invitations to a matinee raising awareness about endangered species in the local botanical gardens and a charity fundraiser for victims of abuse but had never replied to his date suggestions. So many things he'd said to her and she'd kept her silence, and her distance.

Her grip tightened on the pot with the cactus. She'd smeared her blood on the side like some sort of magical ritual to bind her life force to that of the cactus, and of Valtor. She'd picked a succulent that survived with the same tenacity he'd shown and bloomed in the color of her hair. She hadn't managed to kill that one even when she'd stopped tending to her plants for months on end alongside abandoning Faragonda and Valtor appreciated her and her efforts. He had to wake up and give the cactus the same devotion he'd put in the photograph that had won her over.

"In the eye of the sun," the caption had read under the glowing halo of light the sunset had become around the flower's crown of purple-bluish petals.

Griffin left the cactus on the nightstand before she'd broken the pot. She dropped off her purse next to it and wiped her palms in her charcoal skirt mindful of the blood oozing from the pinprick on her finger. She didn't take Valtor's hand into hers. She'd left her fingerprints on him.

"I came here for myself as much as I did it for you. Because it turns out you've become a part of my life no matter how much I was trying to avoid just that." She'd grasped it in the artfulness of the photograph – he was the sun and she was the flower as much as the opposite was true as well. Her eyes were the golden ones but his gaze was the only thing that would brighten her day. If he'd give it to her. If she hadn't made it to the end of the universe where sunlight didn't reach.

"I was scared to know where the road stopped for us. I didn't want to face an inevitability. But I figured I'm more afraid of not knowing just how far we can go." The sun would rise one day on a dead flower but if Griffin let herself, she could have with Valtor what his parents did. She could have a lifetime full of love – in the eye of the sun instead of the storm. "I was scared of being just a speck of ink on your life but I will be. I will be anything you want me to be."

Her finger wasn't bleeding anymore but her heart hadn't stopped. It was pumping blood in her veins frantically to keep her moving and breathing long enough to be anything to him. Being just a short footnote to his life explaining his condition would be enough for her as long as he survived it.

"What do I have to do to show you how much you mean to me if you're still not convinced?" The silence shattered from the power of Valtor's voice and air cut into her lungs.

Tears spilled from her eyes like liquid sunlight. "Valtor."

()()()()

Her heart was hammering under her palm like it was trying to knock her down where she was leaning on the wall next to Valtor's door. It'd been a long while since she'd ran out to get the doctor and then Valtor's parents. They were inside now along with her purse and her tears had dried on her cheeks but her heart wouldn't settle. It wanted to shoot out of her chest and land only in Valtor's hands after she'd dashed out the door without another word. She hadn't had any this time. Otherwise, they would've spilled out along with her tears.

The door opened and Elinor stepped outside. Her blue eyes had lit up with the light of a whole sky full of stars and the corners of her mouth couldn't contain her smile. She was steady on her heels in her own right again. Her husband was a reflection of her lightness once again rather than a crutch to support her weight.

"Thank you, Griffin," Elinor drew her into a hug that turned her stomach. "You were there five minutes and he woke up."

Griffin's hands weighed like anvils on Elinor's back and would break her spine with the words pushing on Griffin's tongue. "No, it's all my fault he ended up here in the first place," she could hear herself speaking from afar through the confusion dizzying her mind that would have sent her tumbling down if not for Elinor's embrace. If she'd been more honest with Valtor–and with herself–she never would've pushed them down that road. She'd made him feel like he needed to prove something just because she was woven from distrust in the dark. "I'm sorry."

Elinor pulled back, eyes locked with Griffin and hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize to me. Valtor makes his own decisions and I wouldn't stop him. You've been unfair to yourself in your refusal to believe he was seeing your worth."

Griffin grabbed on to Elinor's arms as the world spun around her on its head. Valtor had gone to such lengths for her, to show her her own worth, not to prove his feelings. He'd risked his life for a single photograph when she hadn't believed his words. And she'd received the message – loud and clear.

"Thank you," Griffin squeezed Elinor's hands whose touch was gentle despite the strength in her arms – just like Griffin's own mother's had been. She was lucky to have found someone with the same striking wisdom to advise her in the wake of her parents' deaths.

"Go to him," Elinor brushed a strand of purple hair from where it'd stuck to the salty tracks on Griffin's cheek. "He's been asking for you." With a nod of encouragement Elinor released her.

Griffin pushed the door open to draw the attention of both men inside. Ailan nodded at her and patted Valtor on the shoulder before making his way out quickly and closing the door.

Griffin and Valtor stared at each other wordlessly. She took in the way every inch of him moved with vitality. His lungs drew in full breaths and her smile got a wide grin in return. How had she ever doubted the shine in his eyes? He was glowing like the sight of her infused him with pure light.

"Thanks for the cactus," Valtor reached over to pull it to the edge of the nightstand, fingers brushing the leather of her purse still lying abandoned there. "Now I'll have company in my prickliness."

Griffin chuckled despite herself and shook her head. "That's not why I brought it. I was hoping it would lend you some of its resilience." The confession came out whole instead of shredded in pieces like she'd feared. "It has survived through many years with me."

"There was no way I wouldn't pull through with you here but why did you come? Was it just fear that drove you here, saying the things of my dreams?"

Her heart jumped in her throat and she had to swallow it to speak, not to keep him from seeing it. She sat down in the chair by the bedside again. It was quickly becoming a monument of their relationship's development.

"I don't know how much you heard of what I said before but I was scared. I was scared I would never get to tell you the photo got through to me because I'd been so scared to act, to feel. I hardly made it through the loss of my parents," Griffin choked back the memories spilling into her eyes. "It was so hard for me to believe in my own future when I'd been pulled from my roots. I've been living on willpower and instinct but I'm ready to feel again, to love again. With you."

Valtor offered her a hand and she took it. He brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the breath from his lips scorching her nerves with the pleasant shiver it sent over her skin. They'd held hands as they'd danced but they'd never made it closer to each other than an inch apart.

"I heard you say you'd be anything I want." Valtor's sly smile had her resisting the urge to roll her eyes. He had something positively scandalous on his mind. "I want you to be my wife."

"Valtor!" Heat rose inside her – overwhelmingly invigorating in the subtlety of the romantic history between them. "Ask me on a date first." She'd say yes this time. She'd say yes any time.

"Take your time. I'll ask you on a thousand dates. We have a whole future in front of us," Valtor laced their fingers together.

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect• 

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

  The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

  Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

 Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

  You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

  Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

  Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

  Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

   Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

  Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years.  Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

 The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

 The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

 Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

    Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

 Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

 Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

  Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

  Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

 The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

  The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

  Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be,  so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

 "Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

 His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

 Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

 I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

 Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (45) || atz

The stunned silence brought on by the ludicrous request is broken by Commander Kang actually adding on to that preposterous behest. Even in your own stupefied daze, you somehow manage to hear the next words that leave the commander’s mouth.

“I also want my son, Kang Yeosang.”

Every thought flees your mind all at once, leaving only a barren mental landscape behind, a mere deserted wasteland. Time seems to slow down for you, air turning liquid as the words drift over to you gently like a fallen leaf swirling and eddying on the surface of a still lake. A moment of eerie calm is all you get, before the actual meaning of the words, with all the force of a sledgehammer, smash into you harder than a battering ram.

You’re terrified.

Numb, predatory fear prowls into your mind, nestling and rooting itself there before you can finally register its presence. It’s tormenting you, torturing you. Your base instinct screams at you to flee as fast as you can possibly run before this man can get his hands on you, but your legs are frozen to the deck. You can’t even scream if you wanted to, let alone run, and even if you could, where would you run to?

Your mind is pulled and twisted by fear and anxiety in all directions, but as much as you hate to admit it, doubt wells up in you.

Yes, you know that the crew think of you as one of their own. Yes, you think that they truly do care about you and that they would, under some of the harshest circumstances, never sacrifice you for their own interests.

But in response to this deal? The reward is too enticing, as alluring as fresh nectar to a honey bee. How do you even refuse an offer like this? Hell, you’re tempted to take the deal yourself, even if it means sacrificing yourself in the process. One crew member of the ship for the safety and security of the entire crew? When will you ever get another offer like that?

However noble you may want your intentions to be, though, you know that you’re selfish.

Because deep in you, you’re desperately wishing that your captain turns it down.

No matter how selfish that makes you, no matter what your crew has to give up, part of you is terrified of dying. It’s more than a mere survival instinct, more of a deep seated desire rooting in you. You can’t die, not now, not when you’re nowhere near the end of your journey-

At your own trail of thought, something claws at your heart, so painfully you actually feel it in your body. Shocked panic runs through you at the words that have just passed through your mind, because when you try to figure out exactly what they mean, the pain in your head grows more and more, from a mere throbbing to an agonising pounding of your mind.

Journey?

But before you can think your brain into a catatonic state, your captain speaks up, his voice trembling with fury, knuckles white around the handle of his cutlass as if he can’t wait to slice the man before him into a million tiny pieces. Even if it’s not aimed at you, the incensed, red hot rage is all too clear in his words, sending a shiver down your spine as your survival instinct screams at you to bolt.

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Them.”

Every syllable is shaking with vengeful fury, as if he can’t wait to rain hell’s wrath upon the Commander, but Kang Yongsun merely stands his ground calmly, eyeing the captain with a cool, collected gaze.

“I want my son back with me for personal reasons-” He begins, but San finally snaps, lunging forward furiously before Jongho catches him by the arm, yanking him back even though you can see from the battlemaster’s furious expression, he wants nothing more than to bludgeon the man before him to a bloody pulp as well.

“How dare you call him your son that after you were the one who abandoned him in the first place?” San screams, writhing against Jongho’s grip, his usually calm demeanour completely shattered into smithereens. For such a lithe man, your master is surprisingly strong, nearly wriggling out of Jongho’s hold before the young battlemaster catches him once again. “You f*cking destroyed him when you betrayed him like that! You’re a heartless liar!”

You too, can feel anger rising up in you even through your numb shock. From the little you had glimpsed of Yeosang’s memories, the navigator had truly looked up to his father, loved him dearly though he’d gone years without seeing his face, idolised him, even. When he had been given over to the Pirate King as the object of a deal, you had felt everything within him shatter like glass.

Yeosang had truly almost been destroyed beyond repair.

“It is not my problem that Yeosang was foolish and believed that I loved him.” His father states dispassionately, as if he doesn’t care the least about his only son. Horror and disbelief runs through you as you stare at the man. How can any human being be so… inhumane? “I never told him I loved him, so I’ve never lied to him in the least.”

Your heart drops in your chest. This man…

“Let me go, Jongho, let me kill that bastard! He thought you loved him!” San continues howling in rage, thrashing against the younger battlemaster. You’ve never seen your master in such an uncontrolled manner, and he’s not even drunk. “Yeosang almost starved himself to death the first few months he was on the ship because of this shithole, I’m going to kill him-”

“Mingi, bring San to my cabin and help me keep him there for now.” Your captain says coldly, obviously noting that Mingi’s barely restraining himself from swinging that huge axe and chopping Commander Kang right in half, seething with white knuckled fury. The quartermaster, clearly knowing that he’s going to do something reckless if he stays here any longer, merely grabs San around the middle and hoists him into the air, carrying him away from the main deck to the captain’s cabin, San screaming and swearing the whole way.

“And don’t you dare touch my apprentice! I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth and destroy you, you asshole-”

The cabin door slams shut, effectively cutting off the sounds of your master’s fury.

Then your captain turns back to the commander, who looks completely unruffled by San’s accusations and screams. For a moment, you’re actually terrified at how stony this man’s face is. His facade is as cold as ice, to the point it almost unnerves you. It’s nothing like the silent calm Yeosang possesses, but he instead has a far more menacing, emotionless demeanour, as if he’s more golem than you are.

You imagine yourself like that, briefly, for a moment. A body of clay, with silent, unblinking, dispassionate eyes. More soulless than any human being around you.

The mere thought of it scares you.

“And what do you want with Chin Hae?” Your captain then adds on with gritted teeth, barely managing to cling on to his own facade of calm. At the sound of your name, your hands start to shake from fear, but then Yunho takes your hand in his, gripping it tight.

You turn slowly to look at him, knowing that you probably look like the day you had first met, terrified of the death that was ever so imminent in that alley back in Raguza, except this time your fate lies not in your hands, but your captain’s.

Yunho meets your eyes with a nervous, uneasy gaze, but when he speaks, his voice is full of surety.

“Hongjoong-hyung would never give you or Yeosang up, no matter the price.”

And you believe him. Your captain had already endured so much for you and the crew, if not him, who else could you possibly trust with your life? His actions spoke louder than words, with his body he had already shown you his dedication to his crew back in Nassau. With the determination he had plunged straight into the sea witch’s den, you knew he was willing to give up so much for you.

Yes. Your captain would not accept this deal. You believe that, at the very least.

“I cannot answer.” Commander Kang answers calmly, but from his words alone you can tell he’s not lying in the least. “My superior officer has ordered for it, so I obey his orders without question.”

“Like a obedient dog cowed into mindless submission.” Jongho snarls mockingly, grounding the end of his mace against the deck. But Kang Yongsun doesn’t react to the sneer at all, instead nodding in agreement with the statement.

“I do my job as required of me.” He replies, his voice completely devoid of emotion, before turning back to look at your seething captain, his one eye now a bright, venomous green. “But even if you do not give the woman Chin Hae up to the Royal Navy in a deal, we will still be forced to hunt her down anyway. She has a bounty on her head as well.”

At that, Hongjoong actually flinches in shock. You yourself are confused, why would you of all people be targeted specifically by the Royal Navy? In comparison to all the other members of the crew, you’ve not committed as many crimes as they have, so why you?

“How much is it? The bounty.” Your captain demands tonelessly, and Commander Kang opens his mouth to answer.

And with his next words, you feel your mind melt into a puddle of incomprehension.

“One thousand gold pieces.”

You nearly spit blood in shock, and from the way Yunho’s body goes entire rigid, he’s just as stunned as you. One thousand gold pieces, you imagine blearily, as if you can’t think straight anymore. You must be going crazy.

It can’t be possible. You’d heard from Yunho that the bounty on the captain himself is five hundred gold pieces, wanted alive by the Crown. How can your bounty be twice the price of your captain’s?

That’s it. You’re either dreaming, drunk, going deaf or crazy, because you can’t be hearing any of this. None of it makes sense.

Commander Kang continues calmly, as if he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the century on every person on board this ship simultaneously. “And our orders are to take her back alive, so you needn’t worry about her being killed in our hands-”

Hongjoong lunges with his cutlass faster than your eye can see.

There’s a clang of steel against steel as Commander Kang raises his blade just in the nick of time to save himself from being split from head to toe by the edge of your captain’s sword. Even for a man well past his prime, the Commander must obviously still be fighting fit, because his arms only tremble slightly when he holds his sword steady against your captain’s overhead slash.

They stand there for a moment, locked in some sort of stalemate, before the two of them pull apart, swords levelled at each other.

You realise that this is the first time you’ve seen your captain in action. Not the playful mock duels that he, Yunho and Jongho have on deck with the crew cheering them from the sides, betting on who would win, but an actual fight in which your captain’s eye is completely cold and calculating, reading his opponent’s every move, predicting every strike. Adrenaline floods your veins from the sheer tension in the air, but you’re frozen with numb shock.

Nobody moves as the two captains exchanged dark looks, charged to the brim with unspoken meaning.

“I should kill you where you stand.” Hongjoong hisses, lips bared in a snarl. But Commander Kang simply smiles through gritted teeth, keeping his blade at the ready for another surprise strike from your captain.

“But I’m the only one who knows why the Royal Navy wants the woman.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen your captain so incensed.

“Her name. Is. Chin. Hae.”

Whirling around, Hongjoong lunges forward with a flick of his wrist, the cutlass darting out like a snake’s tongue, ready to cut at least some part of his opponent’s sword arm off, but then the hooded man from the side slides between your captain and the commander in the blink of an eye, the longsword in his hands stopping the cutlass dead in its tracks.

The hood falls from the man’s head, revealing soft brown curls, soft, sweet features and a gentle nose, deep brown eyes that seem all too familiar to you even though you’ve never seen the man before in your life.

Why are they so familiar?

Because you’ve seen them on someone else before.

There are three rings braided in his hair, brushing his temple lightly.

Next to you, Yunho freezes, eyes going wide as if he’s seen a ghost. The spear actually goes clattering from his trembling hands to the deck, the sound unnaturally loud in your ears, his face turning white as a sheet as he manages to utter just a single word in disbelief, barely above a whisper.

“Gunho?”

On a ship somewhere in the middle of an ocean, a man sits silently in the cabin with his eyes closed.

He’s so still he might just be a statue, completely motionless. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he could have been mistaken for a dead body. A minute passes, then two, the water clock in the corner making soft noises as it keeps track of the time.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes slide open, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he breathes in deeply, resting his chin on his fingers, the picture of calm and composure. However, his eyes dance with a terrifying, maniacal light, his deep blue eyes glowing ever so slightly in the dim room with some sort of unearthly gleam.

“The prophecy is finally coming to pass.” He sighs in pleasure, the dangerous purr of his voice like silk dragged across skin. “I knew you would do me proud... my son.”

There’s a knock on the door and he rises to his feet, stepping across the room. Soon, he will be free of all of this, he deserves more, so much more, he’s going to be the one with dominion over the-

“Captain! We’ve caught its trail!”

Twisted, depraved glee rises in him as his fingers dance on the hilt of the silver knife at his side excitedly. He pushes the door of the cabin opening, the sun’s rays crushed under his feet as he steps forward to the main deck, watching the sea of blue all about him.

He drags his tongue against the blade, a deranged grin on his lips as he seeks out his next prey. The sirens are easy targets, but they don’t yield nearly enough.

“Let’s go kill the hafgufa.”

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your Weekly Drabble! - Day 1 | Festival

The missing drabble for LuZhao mini-week where I brought to you Holi? — here it is! ✨

The court painter fiddled with the array of tools at his side - paled slightly, lips forming a curse - then quickly bit it down, stammering about getting a few supplies before he excused himself. Red curtains framing the prince’s portrait-to-be settled behind him.

Lu Ten sprang from his seat. He paced to drum out his annoyance through the silks lining the floor. When that didn’t work, he ducked out of the same opening. 

A massive, tiled chamber cleared of the average riches piled in a palace room, sunlight streaming from the corridor outside, gave him more breath than his lungs knew what to do with. When the day glowed, he couldn’t resist the same - not as a child, not as a princeling aware of his place in a turning world, fire in his heart and fingers. Dance with me, sing with me, run with me, said the sun… and Lu Ten followed.

The rays guided his eyes over ornate fixtures, twisting pillars and rosy walls, to a guard stationed beside the open door. His helmet was clutched in a free hand to keep it from slipping over his eyes. He caught Lu Ten smiling, and mustered a look of confidence. 

Peace that uncommonly smoothed Zhao’s face - in his presence, no one else’s - was knocked off when Lu Ten jabbed a fist into his side. “Yip!” His eyes bugged, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Loosen up! You’re only in charge of me and the, uh…” he cleared his throat, “snail sloth. And no thief is going to steal the wallpaper.”

“It’s only been half an hour.” He gripped the helmet. “Anything could happen. Do you know how much this sort of position pays? To serve inside palace walls? I’ll never go hungry again.” His lips turned firm. “I wouldn’t have managed to land it without your pull. I can’t go risking it now.”

Zhao grabbed in air when the headpiece slid neatly off his topknot. The prince tucked it in the crook of his arm. “You won’t go hungry again. Ever.” 

“I promise.” Their eyes met, something of more absence than they knew what to do with fleeing their lungs. 

Lu Ten blinked off the daze first, hauling him by the arm behind the curtains, where the painter had abandoned his things. He was first to press his lips to his and linger slowly, sweetly.

Zhao’s laughter was between a rumble and a sigh. “You thought you could get bored when I was right outside?”

“Pah... I have you around for more than that.” He strung a lock of Zhao’s hair around his knuckle, thumb skimming his cheek. Within an instant, Lu Ten tugged free, jumped onto the chair where he was meant to sit motionless for hours - looking so daring and heroic that it was comical. “We’re adventurers! The gods threw us together, watched us train together, conquer together. We’re meant to make history, not lounge around waiting for history to make out who we were from a painting.”

“Hm, now there’s a good point.” His disbelief mingled with awe in Lu Ten’s shadow - one he barely noticed. Zhao laughed more, the sound crinkling with a soft snort. How are you so full of life?

“We could cross the tundra, climb mountain ranges where airbender ruins still whisper to the living,” Lu Ten pantomimed an otherworldly sensation, with a swirling mock of airbending - Sozin’s descendants weren’t taught much in the way of regard. Neither was the nation; Zhao fought a grin. “Or! We could master our firebending under the greatest there ever were… the very first benders to learn from the dragons.”

“The Sun Warriors?” He leaned against the wall, hoping it wasn’t indecorous - some part of him would always feel like an ugly blot in the lap of luxury. Zhao’s memory tingled, “I read of them. Once. Sounded like a tall tale to me. If they existed, they’re far gone now.”

“I say they’re alive and well.” He hopped down. The legs of the chair jerked back. “Fire of every color thrives there. Blue, purple, green, all blazing hot. Colors that don’t have names! There’s a thousand stairs to reach the golden temple behind a sea of clouds, and once you-”

“Come on, green fire? Your head’s stuck in a sea of clouds. I say tundra.”

“Stuck in a- you hate snow!” The prince’s huff spoke easily for him after all the time they’d spent together: dream a little! He gave Zhao one of his father’s looks and went to the pigments sitting in neat boxes in a larger hinged case, and grumbled again. This one stood for that sore loser…

“He hasn’t even mixed the powders into paints. I can tell where he sourced some of them - the white is crushed seashells, it looks like. Fragile, tiny shells… Four hours is starting to look like ten.”

“Green fire, purple fire, ooh,” Zhao was teasing, “What’s next, each of them stand for a pillar of society? Yellow for contracts, green for tea, pink for… hm, intercourse? I think we should start with that one when we get th-”

A creative itch had sprouted a full-out snarkfest; the prince suddenly twisted, flinging a fistful of ground powder in his guard’s direction. Outside of these walls they were lieutenant and ensign, soldiers homeward-bound if luck was on their side.

“Or maybe it stands for paying a little more respect.” Lu Ten smirked, hands at his hips. “Not that you’ve ever followed that pillar of society.”

Zhao shielded his face too late, swiped off the glimmering traces. Face ajar and upturned at his nerve.

Here, they were a lot younger, and they were home. As young as they should be.

“So that’s how it is.”

One half-hour stretched out for twenty more minutes, the seconds passing like snow in a blizzard. Fun thinned time, after all, dragging the sun higher into the sky, melting down their reservations. “You want to learn from the Sun Warriors? Well, I’m twice the warrior you are, and Agni knows my family has the divine blessing of the sun - so why not learn a lesson or two?”

“You’re on.”

Lu Ten ripped each box loose and scattered them outside the curtains; clouds of mushed petals, the deep green of palm leaves, a reddish rust like clay shingles, and pale alabaster shells - all drifting in the air like trails of smoke. The prince was splattered, his friend powdered head to foot like a circus novelty, and their laughter shook the gleaming (once spotless) hall.

“Get back here, get back here- oh no you d- ack!” Fingers smudged like they’d been rooting in the royal kitchen and licking off cream, sleeves rolled and rumpled, armor stripped so their feet could race lightly back and forth on the slippery floor.

“I’m over here, old man!”

Endless, Zhao thought, let this moment be endless. Bare skin freckled in a dizzying prism of sight and scent; he’d thrown something of tartness, plunged through the aroma of flowers to streak Lu Ten’s beaming face. He ceded him the point, returned with a swipe of orange made from dried seeds, dusting the top of his head like a showy plume. He puffed out a pale wisp. Lu Ten folded, cradling his colorful, aching gut.

They ended sprawled wide, one on top of the other, undistinguished from anything. Littering the crook of his collar, neck, cheek, and ear with kisses, the one pinned muffling a fit with the back of his palm.

“Hey,” Zhao rolled aside, the both of them heaving, trained on the hazy light pooled in the ceiling. “Don’t fire that painter.”

“Huh?” Soaking in the quiet, Lu Ten glanced over.

“He’s new to this. Wracked with nerves. Who knows if he’s trying to make ends meet? Give him a chance.” Like you did me.

The prince thought it over. “Of course. Snap judgements are more my uncle’s thing.”

“Oh gods, does he scare me.” They spent the little breath they’d scraped together snickering.

The Firelord’s firstborn accompanied the worrisome painter to pay his son a visit… No sooner had they entered the corridor did the spray of lavender on a flowerpot clue the artist to go lightheaded.

Iroh hurried to promise his compensation, divined the prince’s likely attitude to having to wash off and remain statuesque until dinner, and decided the best course of action.

The painter was redirected to capture the fiasco in a sketch, nearly abstract: both boys with their arms looped over shoulders, a smile held in their eyes as long as their warmth was close. The young man tutted under his breath as he improvised, following the stains and speckles on Lu Ten and Zhao with a deft fingertip. In the final touches, he seemed to have enjoyed himself, too.

“You should join us for dinner.” It was sundown. The prince held the piece of parchment gingerly, softening whenever his eye crossed it again.

Adventurers.

His father had extended the gesture, son nodding along. “No, no, I couldn’t.” Zhao held up his palms, still tinged with a sea of floral and earthen smells. “The pay as a royal guard is plenty, even for a temporary station… I can look after the rest myself. I know how.”

“It would be bad manners for us to let a guest leave without experiencing the most of their stay.” The general’s eyes twinkled. “And here is the best of the best! Meals so fulfilling they leave room for fifth helpings.”

“You are more than a royal guard here.” A warm, heavy palm took Zhao’s shoulder. “As close as you are to my son, I think of you as my own.”

All he knew, even decades after the best meal of his life, was that things would have gone a lot differently if he had refused.

- - -

What a dark path, the one that lay down the other fork in the road. Thankfully, in this life, Zhao had not strayed.

The city was rife with celebration, lanterns dazzling the canals as their reflections bobbed in the water. Brilliant red, jade, and silvery powders made from starch and ground herbs coasted the night air. 

A young girl in braids scampered down the pavement - chin purpled, hair smattered with blues and greens - and leaped into Zhao’s arms. He spun on a heel with her momentum, hearing a shriek of delight before her fists anchored themselves in his front. 

“This is the best! I never want to sleep again. And Ma bought me these!” She placed a warm cake before his face, expectant, and he nibbled off one end. Sweet bean paste.

Her smile revealed the gap between her teeth; snuggling to his chest again, she sighed in content. “It’s so pretty… How come this wasn’t around when you were a kid?”

“Well,” Zhao rocked her gently, an unconscious swaying that soothed her since she could crawl. “It’s actually for someone very special. He was alive when I was young. I knew him. Firelord Iroh wants the world to know him, too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I read about him in school. I tell my friends, ‘My daddy knew a prince!’ and they ask so many questions.” Zhao laughed softly, and she asked, “What was he like? Really like?”

He thought it over. “… Like this. Just like this.” Like what? Lights and colors flickered over the darkness, an endless sun, a glow that rose and went on forever. 

“Wonderful.”

[cardest]

Tennessee playlist

I’m going to Memphis! This is the mighty Tennessee - Memphis & Nashville playlist. You can’t tell the story of rock n roll without mentioning Memphis. Mississippi and Nashville, such a great history of music in this region. Chuck D hits things off with the ultimate introduction. Hit play here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

This playlist has it all. Soul, blues and rock n roll. We take a journey back to the beginning of country as well, with Nashville and finish up at Dollywood. Hope you dig it.

Tennessee - Mississippi - Arkansas

001 Henry Rollins & Chuck D - Rise Above 002 Clutch -  Devil & Me 003 Paul Simon - Graceland 004 Isaac Hayes - Memphis Trax 005 Scott Walker - Thats How I Got to Memphis 006 AC/DC - let there be rock 007 Johnny Cash -  Country Boy 008 Chuck Berry -  Back To Memphis 009 Jay Reatard - Gree, Money, Useless Children 010 Lukah - Black Dragon 011 King Curtis - Memphis Soul Stew 012 Rosetta Howard & the Harlem Hamfats - Delta Bound 013 Nots - In Glass 014 Pere Ubu - Memphis 015 Loretta Lynn - The Pill 016 Howlin Wolf - Smokestack Lightnin 017 Rory Gallagher - The Mississippi Sheiks 018 Crime and the City Solution - Streets Of West Memphis 019 River City Tanlines - Met You Before 020 Johnny Cash - Going To Memphis 021 Al Green - Get Back Baby 022 Kim Salmon & The Surrealists - The Zipper 023 Booker T & the MG - Melting Pot 024 Pussycat - Mississippi 025 Boswell Sisters - Roll On, Mississippi, Roll On 026 Aretha Franklin   - Muddy Water 027 The Cramps - Garbageman 028 HASH REDACTOR - Good Sense 029 Optic Sink - Personified 030 Angry Angles - Blockhead 031 Big Star - Thirteen 032 Memphis Jug Band -  Going Back to Memphis 033 North Mississippi AllStars - K.C. Jones (On The Road Again) 034 Bass Drum Of Death -  Bad Reputation 035 Today Is the Day -  The Devil's Blood 036 Walk the Line Soundtrack- Get Rhythm 037 Jack White -  Temporary Ground 038 Jerry Lee Lewis - A Damn Good Country Song 039 The Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Rumors 040 Saving Abel - Pine Mountain (The Dance of the Poor Proud Man) 041 The Oxford Circle - Foolish Woman 042 Bobbie Gentry - Greyhound Goin' Somewhere 043 Reigning Sound - A Little More Time 044 NINA SIMONE - MISSISSIPPI GODDAM! 045 Laurie Anderson - Hiawatha 046 Glen Campbell - Burning Bridges 047 Dolly Parton - Hillbilly Willy 048 Elvis Presley - Guitar Man 049 Blue Oyster Cult - Divine Wind 050 Sammy Hagar - Halfway To Memphis 051 Izzy Stradlin   - Memphis                       052 Johnny Cash -  Run Softly, Blue River 053 Iron Horse - Unchained 054 The Cramps - Human Fly 055 Faces - Memphis 056 Jack Oblivian - Rat City 057 The Cooters - Bustin' Loose 058 Mott the Hoople - All The Way From Memphis 059 Dusty Springfield -  Breakfast in Bed 060 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Tupelo 061 Chicago - Blues In The Night             062 Crossin Dixon - Guitar Slinger 063 Strummin' With The Devil - And the Cradle Will Rock 064 Stray Cats -  Can't Go Back to Memphis 065 Elvis Presley - Suspicious Minds 066 Suzi Quatro - Can't Trust Love 067 Lost Sounds - There's Nothing   068 Ike & Tina Turner ~ River Deep, Mountain High 069 Neil Diamond - Memphis Flyer 070 Julien Baker - hardline 071 The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - Memphis Soul Typecast 072 Isaac Hayes  - Groove-A-Thon 073 Otis Clay - Trying To Live My Life Without You 074 Tim McGraw - Don't Mention Memphis 075 Eric Burdon & War - Blues For Memphis Slim 076 Homemade Jamz Blues Band - Blues Train 077 Sweet Knives - I DON'T WANNA DIE 078 Cream - Four Until Late 079 Grateful Dead - Golden Road 080 Huey Lewis and the  NEWS - Function At The Junction 081 The Cramps - I Was A Teenage Werewolf 082 Jesse Winchester_ The Brand New Tennessee Waltz 083 Dorsey Burnette - Tall Oak Tree 084 Field Music - Time In Joy 085 Jay Reatard -  Blood Visions 086 The Rolling Stones - Honky Tonk Women 087 Quintron & Miss Pussycat  - Block the comet 088 Al Green - Let's Stay Together 089 The Mountain Goats - Getting Into Knives 090 Johnny Cash -  Tennessee Flat Top Box 091 Robert Pete Williams & Robert “Guitar" J. Welch - Mississippi Heavy Water Blues 092 MARY JAMES - MAKE THE DEVIL LEAVE ME ALONE 093 Ministry - Mississippi Queen 094 U.S. Bombs - Rocks in Memphis 095 Nazareth - Jet Lag 096 The Bar-Kays - Holy Ghost 097 Ty Segall - Despoiler Of Cadaver 098 His Hero Is Gone - Like Weeds 099 Jerry Lee Lewis - Memphis Beat 100 Generation X =  King Rocker 101 The Doobie Brothers - Wild Ride 102 Bad Company - Whiskey Bottle 103 Black Stone Cherry - When The Weight Comes Down 104 Buddy Miles - Memphis Train 105 Memphis Slim - Rockin' The House (Beer Drinkin' Woman) 106 David Clayton Thomas  - Wish The World Would Come to Memphis 107 Lost Sounds - Better Than Somethings 108 Alice Cooper - Ubangi Stomp 109 Tom Waits -  Don't Go Into The Barn 110 Hank Snow - Music Makin' Mama From Memphis 111 Phil Ochs - Heres to the State of Misssippi 112 Reigning Sound  - Your Love Is A Fine Thing 113 Pixies -  Letter to Memphis 114 Bob Dylan - Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again 115 The Colorblind James Experience - Considering A Move To Memphis 116 B.B.King - Rock Me Baby 117 Carla Thomas - B-A-B-Y 118 Aquarian Blood - A Love That Leads To War 119 Nights Like These - Scavenger's Daughter 120 Rufus Thomas - Walking the Dog 121 Clutch -  The House That Peterbilt 122 Lyal Strickland - O Arkansas 123 Don Bryant - How Do I Get There 124 The Sensational Barnes Brothers - Trying To Go Home 125 Squirrel Nut Zippers - Memphis Exorcism 126 Faster Pussycat - Tattoo 127 The Rolling Stones - Memphis Tennessee 128 Alcatrazz -  Sons And Lovers 129 Evil Army - Violence And War 130 Deep Purple - Somebody Stole My Guitar (Purpendicular 11) 131 Dwight Yoakam - Guitars, Cadillacs 132 UFO - Natural Thing 133 Thunderbridge Bluegrass Boys - Tennessee 134 Confederate Railroad - Queen of Memphis 135 The Box Tops - The Letter 136 Jerry Lee Lewis - Night Train To Memphis 137 Reverend John Wilkins - Trouble 138 Phil Lynott - Kings Call (feat. Mark Knopfler) 139 Old Crow Medicine Show - Motel in Memphis 140 Candy Lee- Here in Arkansas 141 Pharoah Sanders - You've Got To Have Freedom 142 Molly Hatchet - Mississippi Moon Dog 143 Rwake - Crooked Rivers 144 CARL PERKINS & PAUL SIMON - A Mile Out Of Memphis 145 Eddie Floyd - Knock On Wood 146 Al Green - Talk to me 147 Mush - Eat the Etiquette 148 PJ Harvey - Memphis 149 EX-CULT  - Clinical Study 150 Isaac Hayes  - Mans Temptation 151 Lil’ Jon & Eastside Boyz - Rep Yo City 152 Rufus Wainwright - Memphis Skyline 153 Stray Cats - 18 Miles to Memphis 154 Amasa Hines - Earth and Sky 155 Joe Henderson -  Back Road 156 Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash - Memphis Woman 157 Norma Jean - Memphis Will Be Laid To Waste 158 Fess Parker - Ballad of Davy Crockett 159 Assjack -  Redneck Ride 160 Brother Andy & His Big Damn Mouth - Social Lube 161 The Replacements - Alex Chilton 162 Ann Peebles - The handwriting is on the wall 163 The Highwaymen -  Big River 164 The Cult - Memphis Hip Shake 165 STEVE EARLE -  Hillbilly Highway 166 The BO-KEYS featuring OTIS CLAY -Got To Get Back 167 Rush - Tom Sawyer 168 Class Of '55: Memphis Rock & Roll Homecoming - Birth Of Rock And Roll 169 Hank Williams Jr - Memphis Belle 170 Sam Moore & Dave Prater - Soul Man 171 Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark - Bloc Bloc Bloc 172 Kenny Rogers & The First Edition  - Just Dropped In 173 Linda Heck - pictures of dead people 174 Carla Thomas - Sugar 175 Three Mafia 6 - Mystic Stylez 176 Osborne Brothers- Rocky Top 177 The Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song 178 Wilson Pickett - Barefootin' 179 Dolly Parton - Jolene 180 Charlie Daniels - long haired country boy 181 The Civil Wars - From This Valley 182 Jill Jack - Gettin' On In Memphis (The Elvis Song) 183 Huckleberry Finn and His Friends - Opening title 184 Dead Cross -  Skin of a Redneck 185 Johnny Cash - I Never Picked Cotton 186 Old Crow Medicine Show -  Wagon Wheel 187 Isaac Hayes  - That love feeling 188 Aretha Franklin - I say a little prayer 189 Little Milton - What Do You Do When You Love Somebody 190 Howlin' Wolf - Spoonful 191 Weird Al" Yankovic - Money For Nothing / Beverly Hillbillies 192 The Oblivians - I'll Be Gone 193 OT Sykes - Stone crush on you 194 The Mad Lads  - Come closer to me 195 The Box Tops - Choo Choo train 196 Bobby Blue Bland - dreamer 197 Wanda Jackson - Rip It Up 198 Junior Parker - Love Ain't Nothin' but a Business Goin' On 199 The Nightingales ft. Tommy Tate - Just a Little Overcome 200  The Louvin Brothers - Satan is real 201 Overture "Big River" - (1985 Original Broadway Cast) 202 Ike & Tina Turner - Shake 203 Playa Fly - fly shit 204 Adia Victoria - Different Kind Of Love 205 Grateful Dead - Tennessee Jed 206 Red Hot Chili Peppers - Backwoods 207 Otis Redding - Tennessee Waltz 208 Nashville Pussy - The Late Great USA 209 The Paperhead - The true poet 210 Tomahawk - South Paw 211 Night Beats - Her Cold Cold Heart 212 Forest of Tygers - human monster 213 LOSS - All Grows on Tears 214 Charlie McCoy - Wayfaring Stranger 215 Dick Stusso - Modern Music 216 Eddie Noack - Aint the Reaping Ever Done 217 Jason & the Scorchers - Greetings From Nashville   218 Jasmin Kaset and Quichenight - A Single Right Word 219  Gospel Keynotes - Give Me My Flowers 220   WEEN - Scrape the Mucus off My Brain 221 Shannon Shaw - Broke My Own 222 The Jesus Lizard - Blue Shot 223 Eddy Arnold    - Tennessee Stud 224 Clutch - Pure Rock Fury 225 Today Is The Day -  Who Is The Black Angel? 226 Hank Williams Jnr - Tennessee River 227 The Dead Weather -  Bone House 228  Every Mother's Nightmare - Long Haired Country Boy 229 Motley Crue - She goes down 230 Waylon Jennings - Tennessee 231 Dolly Parton - Down On Music Row 232 Jello Biafra & Mojo Nixon - Lets Go Burn Ole Nashville Down 233 The Byrds - Nashville West 234 Sharon Van Etten - Every Time the Sun Comes Up 235 Bill Anderson ~ More Than A Bedroom Thing 236 Dottie West - Route 65 To Nashville 237 Intruder - The Martyr 238 Johnny Cash - Smiling Bill McCall 239 Lynard Skynyrd - Workin For MCA 240 The Everly Brothers  - Nashville Blues 241 Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood - Elusive Dreams 242 Nashville Bluegrass Band - Im Gonna Love You 243 Ringo Starr - No-No Song 244 Hank Williams - Hey, Good Lookin' 245 The Lovin Spoonful - Nashville Cats 246 They Might Be Giants - James K. Polk 247 Commander Cody  -  Back To Tennessee 248 Wanda Jackson - Shakin' All Over 249 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band - Grand Ole Opry Song 250 Tomahawk - Flashback 251 Megadeth -  Dystopia 252 Dolly Parton -  Train, Train 253 The Clovers - One Mint Julep 254 Trampled By Turtles - Whiskey 255 Tom T. Hall - Nashville is a Groovy Little Town 256 Muddy Waters - I am the blues 257 Foo Fighters - Congregation 258 Pavement - Strings Of Nashville 259 Joe Ely - Tennessees Not The State Im In 260 Waylon Jennings - Nashville Bum 261 The Charmels - As Long As I Got You 262 Eve Maret - Do my thing 263 SABATON - 82nd All the Way 264 Halfway To Hazard - Welcome To Nashville 265 Nashville Pussy - Go Motherfucker Go 266 Indigo Girls - Nashville 267 Snarls - Walk In The Woods 268 Steeler - Cold Day in Hell 269 Strummin' With The Devil  - Jamies Cryin' 270 spazz gummo love theme 271 The Cramps - Cornfed Dames 272 Saxon -  Solid Ball Of Rock 273 Al Green - Tired of Being Alone 274 Soul Friction - It's Out Of My Hands 275 Today Is the Day - Wheelin' 276 Jackie Lynn - Odessa 277 The Jesus Lizard - Nub 278 Bully - Where To Start 279 Sonny Boy Williamson II - Lonesome Cabin 280 Tomahawk - God hates a coward 281 The Louvin Brothers - Knoxville Girl 282 Tom Waits - Jitterbug Boys 283 The Evil Dead Soundtrack  - Bridge Out 284 Wanda Jackson - Thunder On The Mountain 285 Elvis Presley - Where Do I Go From Here 286 Booker T & the MGs - Back Home 287 Ezra Furman & the Harpoons - American Highway 288 Joe Ely - dream camera 289 Assjack - Tennessee Driver 290 Nashville Pussy  - We Want A War 291 Dwight Yoakam - A Thousand Miles From Nowhere 292 Hank Williams, Jr. - Knoxville Courthouse Blues 293 ZZ Top - My Head's in Mississippi 294 Nitty Gritty Dirt Band -  Honky Tonkin' 295 Dead Weather - Die by the Drop 296 The Black Belles - What can I do 297 Dolly Parton  - Cowgirl And The Dandy 298 The Secret Sisters  - I've Got a Feeling 299 Justin Townes Earle - Aint Got No Money 300 Tomahawk - M.E.A.T 301 Jex Thoth - The Places You Walk 302 Bill Carter - Road To Nowhere 303 Bill Dees (Roy Orbison back vocals) - Tennesse Owns My Soul 304 Karen Elson  - The Ghost Who Walks 305 The Who - Whiskey Man 306 Hank Williams III - Crazed Country Rebel 307 The Lost Sounds - I Get Nervous 308 Big Star - September Gurls 309 ZZ Top - Whiskey n Mama 310 Johnny Cash - God's Gonna Cut You Down 666 Isaac Hayes - Hyperbolicsyllablecsesquedalymistic

Hit play: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_X9nesbW37-9FNLiJWOQ1f

[ninbayphua-moyan]

Where The Harvest Moon Is Brightest

Sweat trickled down my back as I lugged my suitcase behind me along the five-foot ways of Penang. A sense of Saturday afternoon languidness hangs in the balmy air like a soft, heavy blanket, lulling you to sleep. A gentle breeze fleets through the walkway, pleasantly cool against the slight stickiness of my skin. I paused and took a deep breath, head tilted back with eyes closed, listening to the faint rustling of palm leaves. The air was steeped with the fresh, earthy petrichor of a recent shower, and tinged with undertones of the alluringly sweet scent of frangipanis.

          Loud giggles. Shrieks of laughter. Opening my eyes, I turned towards the sound and saw a group of children playing a game of ‘The Eagle Catches The Chicks’ on the street. They dodged and ran with unabashedly childish grins plastered onto their mud smeared faces, eyes twinkling with youthful glee and carelessness. I smiled. It wasn’t that long ago when I too was a little rascal playing on these very streets without a care in the world. I remember the days when the neighbourhood kids and I would play in the streets until our mothers called us in for dinner. Oh, the adventures we had! Climbing up trees; playing in the rain; racing the roti man down the street as he rides by on his bicycle. Ah yes……the roti man……how we used to wait for him to make his rounds each evening after school……The tinkling sound of the metal cup-like object being struck with an iron rod signalling his arrival…our short legs running, shouting ‘roti!’ until he stopped by the side of the road…the chaos that ensues as we crowded around him like hungry chicks waiting to be fed, coins held tight in our sweaty little palms……

          Then, I heard it. The familiar ‘Ting! Ting! Ting!’ of the roti man echoing down the street, as if summoned by my reminiscence of it. The children had heard it too. They ran towards the roti man shouting ‘roti!’, their game abandoned without a second thought. Instinctively, I started running as well, fumbling around my pockets looking for loose change to pay for the bread. I joined the little gathering crowd just as the roti man was getting off his bicycle. A tantalising aroma of freshly baked breads and buns wafted out the minute he undid the catch on the little glass framed doors of the meat-safe seated behind his bike. I couldn’t help but groan internally at the heavenly sight and smell. I watched as he slathered the savoury margarine and rich kaya onto thick slices of roti benggali, mouth watering uncontrollably. After a few minutes, he handed me a big bag of the bread to me and I dropped the money into his outstretched palm. He flashed me a quick grin before returning his attention to the next customer.

          Making my way back to the five-foot way, I stuck my hand into the plastic bag and brought out a piece of warm roti banggali. Biting into the bread, I felt my tongue melting. The crispy, golden crust and soft white crumb of the bread served as a fragrant base, a sacred chapel where the buttery saltiness of the margarine and the rich, creamy sweetness of the kaya sang, each in their unique tune before harmonizing into a heavenly choir and melding into one savoury mouthful of bread. Before I knew it, I had already finished a third of what I’d bought. Realising that I wouldn’t have any left by the time I reached my destination if I continued eating, I quickly knotted up the bag and hurried along.

          Ten minutes later, I came to a stop in front of a shophouse at the end of the five-foot way. A large ebony plaque hung regally above the doorway, my family name engraved upon it in golden Chinese characters. U-shaped terracotta tiles covered the roof and three full length louvred windows lined the upper floor of the two-story building. The pillars were adorned with painted, three-dimensional decorative plaster of beautifully crafted flowers. Majestic peonies and tender lotuses blooming, their elaborate and delicate carved petals unfurling elegantly. Majolica tiles lined the dado façade on the lower quarter of the walls, adding yet another splash of colour to the otherwise, dull and plain exterior. The carved timber ventilated doors stood wide open, each of its panel depicting legendary creatures of ancient Chinese folklore. The exquisitely detailed carvings of phoenixes never ceased to amaze me, even after all this time. Perching nobly on golden branches, their wings were spread wide as if to take off at any second as I gazed, entranced. Then, as the late afternoon sun shines upon their gilded bodies, it was as if those carved mystical beauties were suddenly brought to life. Their once dull sheen now aglow in brilliant shades of scarlet, orange and gold, almost as if they would burst into flames at any moment, just like in the myths of old, and be reborn from the ashes.

          The sound of fluttering wings and clear melodic chirruping snapped me out of my daze. Looking up, I saw a family of swallows roosting in their nest at the corner of the roof. Ah…it was that time of the year again wasn’t it…the swallows always left the nest as the harvest moon approached. I remember how excited I used to get when they came to roost in the spring and how sad I would be when they’d left as autumn drew near. A-Poh[1] would always pick the nest once the swallows had flown, clean it and turn it into a bowl bird nest soup. She always told me it was good for the skin as well as health but I was never sure how true these claims were.

          Peeking my head through the door, I announced my arrival home out of sheer force of habit. There was a loud clanging and scuffling from the kitchen as I heard a delighted shout. I had barely stepped across the threshold into the house before I was pulled into a tight bear hug by A-Poh, immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of incense and rice powder. She was strong despite her age and sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if all her stories about bird nest soup were true. Pulling out of the hug, she gave me a quick look over and pinched my cheeks, complaining that I’ve lost weight again even though I hadn’t. I tried protesting but she shushed me with a fond pat on the cheeks and shouted for A-Gong[2] who instantly came wobbling out of the ground floor bedroom, a large toothless grin on his wrinkled face. He wrapped me into a warm hug whilst A-Poh hurried off into the kitchen, determined to stuff me up with food before anyone could stop her. I shook my head in resignation whilst A-Gong just laughed and ruffled my hair, amused.

          Pouring some pu-erh tea into two clay teacups, A-Gong motioned for me to sit down, asking about my time abroad. As we sipped on the earthy fragrance of the pu-erh, I told him about my time in the UK; about its miserably wet weather; its tasteless food; its strange customs; and how much I had missed home whilst I was away. Upon hearing that comment, he chuckled heartily, a knowing look in his eyes. He too had left the comforts at home at a young age, sailing the seas to unknown lands to avoid the war. When I asked if he ever missed Hainan and his childhood home, he would always smile a little wistfully but would then shake his head saying home for him was where my A-Poh, a content look upon his wisen face. Even after all this time, they were still as in love with one another as they were back then, just like the butterfly lovers from Chinese folklore.

          Halfway through our conversation, he suddenly stood up as if he had just remembered something. Giving me a wink, he disappeared out the door. I grinned, knowing exactly where he was headed off to. As I sat by the round wooden table in the living room, I gaze absentmindedly at the sparrows fleeting about A-Gong’s potted plants. The afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the lightwell, brightening the otherwise dimly lit interior. I remember still how my siblings and I would play hide-and-seek in the interior courtyard amongst those potted plants. Ah, those really were the days……

          Shifting my gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to the majolica tile floor. Its kaleidoscope of bright colours a stark contrast against the plain wooden and rattan furniture. Come to think about it, those mosaic pattered tiles were probably what triggered my interest in art in the first place…oh, the afternoons I’d spend on those cool, smooth floor drawing and trying to mimic their intricate patterns and colours…..

          I was brought out of my reminiscence when a bowl of steaming hot pork dumplings was placed before me. Ahh…A-Poh’s pork dumplings. How I’ve missed it while I was away! Eagerly, I picked up the chopsticks and took a bite, my mouth immediately exploding with flavour. The saltiness of the pork meat marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil, the refreshingly sweet spring onions contrasting the meat’s saltiness, the delicately wrapped flour encapsulating it all, the slight bitterness of the herbal broth…this was my definition of heaven. Seeing me happily wolfing down the dumplings, she smiled and returned to the kitchen.

          I was only halfway through my bowl of dumplings when the intense aroma of spices and chili came wafting out of the kitchen, making my mouth water. There wasn’t a need to look. I already knew what it was A-Poh was preparing. And sure enough, she came tottering out of the kitchen a few minutes later with two big bowls of hokkien-mee. Taking a seat next to me and we both dug in. I took a big slurp of soup and my tongue was instantly set on fire, the spices clashing as they performed a tango on my tongue. I had forgotten how potent the chili at home were. My lips were turning a numbing red within seconds but that didn’t stop me from downing down the entire bowl of noodles. After all, no self-respecting child of Penang would ever be caught dead bested by a bowl of spicy hokkien-mee. A-Poh chuckled as she watched me switching comically between fanning my tongue and slurping down the spicy soup.

          Just then, A-Gong came walking in through the front door and I squealed in delight. He grinned, handing me the little plastic bag in his hands before sitting down. Like a child who was just given her Christmas present early, I happily started munching on the packet of ais kacang. The frozen sweetness of the shaved ice instantly cooled my burning mouth and I quickly took a few more mouthful. Content, I glanced at my grandparents and started noticing things that had previously escaped my attention. A-Poh’s once salt-and-pepper hair was now silvery white and her hands seemed more worn and wrinkled than I last remembered. The wrinkles on A-Gong’s face seemed deeper now and his hands, especially the one with a missing finger, shook a little more than they used to whenever he held something. Since when had they aged so much?

          Realising that I had stopped eating, A-Gong pushed the plate of pandan cake closer to me, urging me to eat. Now, I was never much of a sweet tooth but I was particularly fond of this green coloured sponge cake that just melted in your mouth like a piece of cloud. The mild, aromatic sweetness of pandan and the light, fluffy texture of a chiffon cake, a beautiful fusion between European cake-making techniques and locally grown ingredients.

          As I continued munching on the cake, I couldn’t help but smile, having realized how beautifully diverse my hometown was. Just like the pandan cake, it was a place where cultures of the East and West collided and coexisted in harmony. Yes…this little culture cocktail of an island was what I called home and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

NOTES:

[1] ‘A-Poh’ means ‘grandmother’ in Hainanese

[2] ‘A-Gong’ means ‘grandfather’ in Hainanese

[3] ‘Where The Harvest Moon Shines Brightest’ is a play on  月到中秋分外明，每逢佳节倍思亲 meaning the moon is brightest in mid-autumn; homesickness multiplies during each festival

Author's Notes:

Back with Part 4 also known as the final part of the short story slash prose pieces from uni series (this was the earliest piece I wrote in first year lol). The story takes place a year and a half after Part 3. A-Yun has finally graduated uni and has now gone home. All is well ends well. Yes I am aware that there is a slight glitch and A-Gong shouldn’t exist at this point but I wrote it before I wrote everything else so we’re bringing him back to life OuO Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 4~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

[kimbertsurprise]

where you land is where i’d like to be

i got sad and wanted to write about boys in love, so this is a very soft very self-indulgent almost 3k. also on ao3 here

Kravitz slips into the back of the auditorium, tugging his gloves off and tucking them into his pocket. He runs a hand down his locs, leaving droplets sticking to his skin. It’s snowing outside. The first snow of the season, which Kravitz probably should find beautiful. But right now it’s just cold and wet, and his nerves are tingling.

The auditorium is warm, though, and Kravitz shakes it off as he steps inside. He has always loved this place. The high, arched ceilings, the red fabric seats – every time he sees it, he’s reminded of the first concert he went to as a boy. So much has changed since then, but the majesty of a theater never will. 

Plus, the voice echoing through the hall doesn’t hurt.

Taako stands on stage, glittering as much as the snow falling outside. He likes to show off for his students, Kravitz knows – a sparkling cape here, a firework there. Today he is gleaming in knee high boots and a billowing white blouse, gold climbing up his ears.

“Wrong,” Taako says as Kravitz steps through the door and settles himself against the wall. “Bond theory has nothing to do with ghosts, are you even trying?” A beam of light shoots from Taako’s finger and into the audience, followed quickly by an “oof” and a round of laughter from the other students. “Bad answers get purple hair. Next!”

Kravitz grins. Taako rarely handles a guest lecture the same way twice, but this feels exactly like him – a bit of mischief, a bit of drama. Another student raises a hand from a few rows down. “Bonds!” he shouts, and Kravitz swallows a laugh.

“Are you kidding?” Taako throws his hands into the air, and gold bracelets sparkle down his arm. The ones Kravitz got him for their anniversary a few months ago. “Did you just answer the question ‘How do bonds interact with the material plane’ with ‘bonds’? If you don’t look like Taako you can’t get away with that, bubbelah.” He paces the stage, scanning across the audience. Until his eyes land on Kravitz leaning against the wall, and he stops.

Kravitz offers a tiny nod and a smile, and Taako’s answering grin lights up his face. 

It hasn’t gotten old yet, the realization that Kravitz can make him smile like that. There are a million versions of Taako’s smile, when he’s willing to use it: half-lifted and smirking, sharp and all teeth, soft and sleepy. It never stops feeling like a miracle when Kravitz is the one to pull them out. 

He never expected to feel like this. He enjoyed his work on the Astral Plane; he knew it was important, and the time alone never bothered him. But Kravitz never expected to feel alive again, not in any real way. Until he met Taako, glowing in pink crystal; until his hands were cracked with clay and an umbrella was trying to attack him. It’s the way Taako’s whole family makes him feel, really. They are a mess and a thorn in his side but they bump against each other so beautifully that Kravitz can’t help but feel grateful to be a part of it.

He was chosen for the promise of his power, once. It doesn’t quite feel real that now he’s chosen for just who he is. 

“How ‘bout you, kemosabe?” Taako continues, pulling Kravitz back from his thoughts and into the warm, crowded hall. Taako’s eyes haven’t left Kravitz, and his smile has an edge of mischief. “Got anything to say about bonds?”

The students are all looking at him. Whispers have started – they shuffle around the hall like blowing leaves. “Is that –” “It’s not, he looks so normal!” “But why would he be here –”

Kravitz grins at the twinkle in Taako’s eye and starts down the aisle. If Taako wants a show, he’ll put on a show. “Whaddyou know about ghosts, guvnah?” he asks, and barely keeps it together as Taako’s face lights with laughter. 

Kravitz is a few steps closer to the stage before Taako manages to control himself enough to respond. “I hear they’re very spooky.”

“That’s a common misconception, that is,” Kravitz replies, now climbing up the stairs. “Ghosts are just like you and me.”

Taako is grinning like a cat. “Is that so?”

“Well,” Kravitz says, dropping the accent and gathering his power, “maybe more like me than you.”

Taako’s burst of laughter is covered by the gasps from the audience as Kravitz’s scythe appears in his hand. The feathers of his robe are a little ruffled around his collar – they always are, when he transforms so quickly like this – but it’s worth it to see the kid in the front row literally fall out of his chair. 

The room roars, whispers turning into shouts. “Did he –” “My mom is going to DIE when she hears this –” “He’s the actual Grim Reaper –”

“Class dismissed!” Taako shouts over the din. “Ask Ren about anything that’s due this week, I have no fucking clue!”

Kravitz keeps his Reaper form as the students straggle away, some glancing over their shoulders as if to see what’s going to happen. It’s only when the last backpack disappears through the door that he sinks back to the desk where Taako is, tucking his scythe back into a pocket realm. “Tough lecture?” 

Taako stacks a few papers and taps them on the desk. “They wouldn’t know genius if it hit them in the face. Or got projected straight into their brains.”

“It must be hard for your school to be full of such amateurs.”

“You have no idea.”

Kravitz steps around the desk and reaches out, skin melting into place over his skeletal form. “Anything I can do?”

Taako hums and touches his fingertips to Kravitz’s. “Maybe I have an idea…”

Kravitz’s lips reform smiling, and are immediately pressed against Taako’s. It’s nice. It’s more than nice, really, still somewhat overwhelming with how wonderful it feels – until Taako pulls back.

“Cold face, yowza.”

“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be getting all warm with love?” Taako’s face, so close to Kravitz’s, scrunches up in discomfort.

“It’s snowing,” Kravitz replies, deadpan, and then smiles as Taako’s uncomfortable expression morphs into disgust.

Taako gets cold, is the thing. He will sacrifice for the sake of fashion, but he is constantly stealing Kravitz’s sweaters and tucking himself into blankets. It’s not a rare occurrence to come home to a couch piled with knitted afghans, Taako barely a lump underneath them. Kravitz would usually open a rift and bring them both home immediately to climb in bed.

But the world is blank and quiet tonight. And, despite the entrance he made, Kravitz has a question to ask.

He brushes a finger down the bracelets and threads his fingers through Taako’s as they chime. “Would you walk with me?”

“Would I –” Taako huffs. “It’s snowing.”

“We covered that already, yes.”

“Taako doesn’t do snow without good reason,” Taako says, and tucks his hands into Kravitz’s pockets. It brings his face pressing hot into Kravitz’s neck.

“It’s a new world to see. You love those, don’t you?”

Taako’s long-suffering sigh sends goosebumps shivering down Kravitz’s neck. “Already seen enough of ‘em, my man, but sure. You’re handsome and you’re asking. Taako’ll freeze his butt off for a walk.”

Kravitz smiles and disentangles himself to help Taako into his coat – long, purple, soft. It was a gift from Lup two Candlenights ago. “It won’t be long.”

“Better not be,” Taako mumbles as they make their way back up the aisle. “Risking my life for a walk in the snow, saved the multiverse and this is what I get…”

It’s a silent cold when they step outside – the kind that makes everything pause, that pockets the world and holds it still. For a few moments, the only sound is the whisper of Taako’s boots kicking snowdrifts aside. 

Taako is the one to break the silence. “Okay, fine. It’s pretty.”

Kravitz hums in agreement without really thinking about it. “Reminds me of home.”

“Of the Astral Plane?”

Kravitz laughs. “Not really – it is cold there, I guess, but no. Of home. It’s one of the few memories I have from before, walking to get water out of the well before it froze over.”

Taako is quiet for a moment. Then he finally says, “That sounds shitty, my dude, gotta be honest.”

Kravitz huffs a laugh. “It wasn’t completely. I remember hot chocolate when I got back.”

Taako tucks himself more comfortably against Kravitz’s arm and kicks at another snow drift. “Must’ve been nice, coming back to a family.”

“Better than most things,” Kravitz replies quietly. Taako doesn’t often mention his time before the Institute. Occasionally he drops a small comment or a hint – always sad. Kravitz’s heart, old as it is, twinges to hear them. But as much as he wants to, he knows to let them go unremarked. 

And, well, it’s not the perfect segue… but if he doesn’t say something now he’ll lose his nerve. “Taako?”

Taako pauses to look at him. There’s a glow over his face, cast by one of the new streetlights brought on by Lucas’s world-stealing. It paints the panes of his cheeks in bright gold. The shadows under his eyes look more pronounced. He is so beautiful Kravitz feels his heart stop.

“What do you think of making us a family? You and me.” The way Taako’s ears flick back makes Kravitz nervous, but he’s started now and he can’t stop. “I know you have Lup already and I would never want to intrude on that, ever, and Barry and Magnus and Merle – everyone that loves you so much and knows you so well, but I –” Kravitz pulls in a deep breath, trying to get air into his long-dead lungs. “I’d like to be your family too, I think. If you’ll have me. If you’re interested.”

Taako blinks. And is quiet for long enough that Kravitz feels his heart spiral down into his stomach. It’s too much. This was too much, too soon, and Kravitz is suddenly adding, “It’s okay if you’re not, though. I love things just the way they are, I love you, and I wouldn't –”

“Krav.” 

Kravitz stops his messy, stumbling mouth. And Taako continues, tilting his head to the side, “What are you asking, exactly?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, they say. So as frosted air puffs from his mouth, Kravtiz bends down to one knee. The cold barely registers; he’s used to it, after all.

“I… Taako, I love you. I can’t imagine my existence without you, which is silly because I’ve been around a very long time and –” he takes another breath and watches it spiral out around him, pointedly looking everywhere but up. “I know nothing has been traditional between us, and I love that. I love you, did I say that already? And I was hoping that maybe you’d want to, well, somewhat untraditionally...” the velvet box is out of his pocket, popped open by numb fingers that have nothing to do with the weather. “Marry me?”

At the last words, Kravitz finally manages to lift his eyes enough to see Taako’s face. His eyes are wide, and Kravitz can’t tell if the light in them is reflection or tears. “Love?” he asks, and starts to get up. “Did I – oh, Taako, I didn’t mean to make you cry –”

“You are so dumb,” Taako interrupts, voice high, and then Kravitz’s mouth is full of his hair as Taako darts forward into a hug.

“Oh,” Kravitz says. And then, “Is that a yes?”

Taako pulls back and Kravitz feels all the places he’s missing as the cold hits his cheek. “Is that a – fuck, Bones, are you kidding? Gimme the thing –”

Taako’s hands are fumbling, and Kravitz is too lost to recognize what to do for a moment. “The – oh, the ring, I –” He opens the box again from where it is tucked in his hand and Taako lets out a shout of laughter. 

“You didn’t –” Taako says delightedly, tugging the ring out of its cushion. 

“I thought it would be appropriate,” Kravitz says, smiling a bit sheepishly. The pink stone glints in the streetlight, tourmaline cut and shining like a star. Maybe he should be embarrassed by the gesture. But Kravitz can’t feel anything but light and relief and such deep, impossible joy. He feels like he could fly. He watches Taako slip the ring on his finger and his body feels incandescent.

Until Taako laughs, “Uh, babe? Was gonna give you a shot at these lips but that’s tough when you’re ballin out.”

And Kravitz realizes he’s lost his physical form, now floating in front of Taako in an orb of light. 

Immediately, he begins the process of stitching his body back together, building hands and eyes and hair. His heart, when he comes to, is pounding in a way it hasn’t since he was alive. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly, and then can’t get anything else out before Taako is kissing him.

“You are such a dork,” Taako mumbles after a minute, their faces still pressed together.

“Yes,” Kravitz agrees, catching Taako’s lips again.

“Can’t believe you got me a pink crystal ring, that is so tacky.”

“It is.” Kravitz presses a kiss to Taako’s nose, his eyes, his cheeks.

“Lup is going to lose her mind.”

“She is, I know.”

“You turned into a light ball! What the fuck!”

“That was… embarrassing, I admit.”

“Krav?” Taako is flushed, his eyes bright. Hair is falling out of his cap and brushing his cheeks, and the streetlight makes it shine a bright, burnished gold. “You’re kind of perfect.”

Kravitz lifts their hands together, bundles Taako’s up into his, and presses a kiss to his gloves. Everything is warm. Everything feels like sunlight. “You too, love.”

“Natch, Taako’s the best,” Taako replies, but his eyes are gleaming and he threads his hand through Kravitz’s. 

Snow flutters down around them. Kravitz can’t help it – he runs his thumb, again and again, over the stone under Taako’s glove. 

Their wedding will be a sensation, a show – or it will be nothing, an easy dinner, just for them. Taako will surprise him, he always does. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is quieter – the breakfasts and the late nights and the debates over scrolls to watch. All the spaces in between, the heartbeats he can now count. The soft warmth of feeling that this family is his future.

With Taako’s hand in his and snow falling light and buttery around them, Kravitz takes a breath and lets himself finally settle into the feeling of home.