#went to church ONCE and all i remember is the crackers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rahonn · 8 months ago

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Revival (1/3)

Part 2 here Part 3 here

TW: none i think idk Pairing: gn!reader and Kidd (not romantic) Summary: hike in Appalachia is a bad choice for spending free time when 1. you're alone, 2. you're known for NOT staying on any trail Word count: 2040

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“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He watched his friend shove another pair of pants into their backpack, definitely too small for the planned trip. They were taking with them just one backpack with exactly two changes of clothes, a tent, sleeping bag, few cans of beans, few packets of crackers, nutritional bars and matches. He watched as the small pot got thrown on top of everything in such way the backpack couldn't be zipped up completely.

This was definitely a bad idea. Worst of the worst ideas.

“Because it’s not, Usopp. But as a certified cracker, unlike yourself, my melanin-non-deficient friend, I have the need to explore dark alleys and cursed churches. You know it best.”

Usopp clenched his teeth. Yeah, he knew. How many times they had him up and running to get them from some shady place, because they decided it was fun to spy on some shady people? How many times did they get home with scratched, bruises, sprains and full-on open wounds, just because of that stupid adrenaline addiction?

“You’re starting from Delaware River and heading east-“

“More like north-east.”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is, you won’t come across any shelter or parking lot for another 25 miles.”

“It’s barely 20 miles, Usopp. If I walk quick enough, I’ll get to the shelter in about 7 hours.”

“Yeah, in a straight line it is. But the trail isn’t straight line. And you never walk on the trail either. That’s precisely why you shouldn’t go!” They straightened their back and put hands on their hips, staring at Usopp. “Yeah, I said it. You never follow the trail, even in normal woods. You never went hiking in the mountains before. Yet you’re going alone, three days alone on the Appalachian Trail. I’ll say it again - alone. Those mountains are older than the trees. They existed before continents broke apart! Who knows what lives there?!”

They raised their eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you believe in supernatural all of a sudden.”

“I don’t. I’m bravest man in the world and I conquered hundreds of mountain trails! You should trust my expertise!”

They nodded, small smile stretching their lips as they threw backpack on their shoulder and headed for the exit. “Sure, see you in two days, Usopp! Remember to feed the cats for me!”

The door slammed shut behind them. They didn’t even bother to lock the car. It was old, beat up, not to mention small and rusty can of garbage on wheels. No one would even look for any valuables inside something like that. With one last look, they bid goodbye to their only mode of transportation and turned around to face tall trees they looked at only from safe distance. Well, up until now at least. One last deep breath and crunch of gravel under their steel-toed boots marked the beginning of their journey.

Even if the air itself wasn’t all that warm, especially once they walked deeper into the forest, they felt sweat trickle down their back, making shirt stick uncomfortably to their skin. First fifteen minutes were the worst, the hardest part about hiking or even walking in general was to choose the best possible pace. Once that was done their body locked into automatic mode, so they could enjoy the nature. No bugs bothered them thanks to the spray Usopp pushed into their hands right before they slammed the door in his face. Wind rustled leaves high up, moved some branches. Few birds were singing in the distance, but other than that the path they chose was as silent. Soon the crunch under their boots gradually disappeared, pace became slow and erratic and before they knew it they had to stop. Huge bush appeared right in front of them. They turned to look in the direction they came from. No road in sight. Not even littlest, skinniest path leading them wherever they stood now.

Goddammit. Why Usopp just had to be right?

They sighed, turned on their heel and started the journey back to the trail. It couldn’t be that far, especially if they stick to walking in completely straight line. And maybe if Usopp was right this time, if sticking to marked trails was such an issue for them, they should just go back home after all.

Small sticks cracked under their boots as they bent down yet again to go under branch. Weird, they didn’t remember having to do such things before. And they definitely would remember that, even if they didn’t realize when they left the trail altogether. With heart beating just a little too fast already, they stopped completely and tugged backpack off their back. It slipped right out their hands and landed on the ground with heavy thud. Ignoring completely that sound like this shouldn’t happen where sticks, leaves and moss would cushion the fall and muffle any sounds, they pulled compass out of their pants’ back pocket and faced the way they just came from. It should be more east than north, that’s for sure. Small wooden box was already cracked due to old age, but the rest worked perfectly fine. They laid it flat on their hand and waited patiently. Needle slowly but surely travelled towards the north, like it always did. And they knew they had to be going north-east. Their inner compass, sense of direction, was often described as unnaturally good, especially when it came to areas not touched by land development. Even on auto-pilot they would be going more towards north or towards east.

Alarming surprise, totally unwelcome, came as the tip of the needle pointing straight at them. Somehow, they were going more or less to the south. Complete opposite of where they should be.

This was less than ideal situation for sure.

No panicking took place, even though their first instinct was to bolt ahead in hopes that the trail was just few feet away. But they knew in this situation it would only make matters worse. Assessing the situation as calmly as it was possible, they took notice of sun hanging weirdly low. Sure, they expected to hike last hour or so in darkness before coming across the shelter. That was given since they started at about 1pm. Yet the time seemingly ran away, seeped through their fingers immediately after their foot touched unmarked territory of ancient forest. They pulled out their phone, expecting to see no signal, but to their surprise the device showed one, occasionally two bars. Good, at least if they didn’t get out on their own, they could always call for help. Deciding to give themselves one more chance before loosing all pride and asking for any kind of assistance, they pushed phone into pants’ pocket and picked up heavy backpack. Compass once again was raised to their eyes so they could see the needle even in unfavorable conditions. With one last deep breath, they turned to where small device pointed at north and began their journey back.

Light disappeared slowly but surely. They couldn’t even see compass soon, let alone branches they came across that struck them right on the nose few times. Blood dripped from rather nasty cut right under their right eye, feeding the ground beneath their feet.

I could’ve called for help when it was still light out. No one will come get me when it’s already night.

Weak stream of yellow light with flashlight as a source battled against dry, cold darkness, only dispersing it for mere second before being pointed in another direction. They tried their hardest not to cry, violently tugging on the rope, trying to put their tiny tent up in rather small clearing. Only after loosing all hope of finding their way back by themselves, they felt their stomach rumble as if tectonic plates rubbed each other, parting after millennia of sticking together to reveal bottomless pit. Somewhere down they felt a demon whisper to just sit down and feed it, but they knew better. If they sat down before putting tent up, they’d end up sleeping on the ground.

Finally the fabric, although pressed from two sides against two trees, resembled something tent-like, so they could sit down. Trying not to think about anything ominous like being completely alone in the middle of the woods older than civilization itself, they plopped heavy backpack in front of their legs. It landed with weird thud. Brows moved closer together in concern as one hand moved the pack out of the way while the other shone light in that place. Something, hidden beneath leaves and sticks, reflected the light back at them. Curiosity overcame them quickly. With one hand still holding the flashlight, they knelt down to get better access to the item. Quickly swiping the debris away and giving it one last huff to get rid of loose dirt, they looked at-

“Rock?” they mumbled out loud, turning their head slightly to the side. It was weird. This was just big, regular rock, although it had rather smooth and flat surface with one irregular dent in it. Disappointment quickly turned into positivity. Now they could assemble small fire to heat up the beans without huge risk of it turning into a disaster with mass causalities. Flashlight went up and in between their jaws to keep both hands empty. Quickly rather large rock was completely free of any debris with only small pile of leaves, pine needles and occasional pinecone remaining in small dent. They fished out pack of matches from their backpack, excited to eat something warm after such uneventful day. But the first match failed to catch any spark. Second match got its sulfur head broken off. Third started smoldering, but they sat there with almost whole hand stuck into dry pile of sticks, looking at the fire dancing in such a way to not lick any of the kindling. Eventually few more matches had to break for them to throw the box to the ground. Not wanting to attract any wildlife, they bit their tongue to not cry out in growing frustration.

Somewhere deep, in the back of their head or maybe at the bottom of their heart, they knew this feeling was just a panic wearing a mask of anger.

Ignoring all sounds, trying not to look around every five minutes, they swiped stone with their hand clearing their table for the night. Sharp pain, like lightning bolt shooting through their arm, made them pull whole arm away quickly with quiet yelp. Upon close inspection of outer edge of their palm they noticed small cut. Blood already dripped onto the rock.

Wide mouth full of sharp teeth stretched into a grimace, something that could resemble a smile of someone was desperate enough for this conclusion. It watched them rummage through their backpack, trying to find tissues. Bottomless pit of a stomach growled inhumanly loud. They twitched, looking up at the sky.

“Damn it, and on top of it storm is coming? Can this day be any more unlucky?” they mumbled, quickly gathering their things and putting everything into wonky tent.

Strength flew through it for the first time in decades. Slowly, the dirt parted with a crack, revealing spine, huge muscly back, then shoulders as it stretched with loud yawn. It could hear them perfectly fine even from this far. Listening intently as they opened can of cold beans, trying to tell themselves that they weren’t really scared, that panic wasn’t eating them alive, because they rarely heard of people being found after disappearing into Appalachian Forest, it took a deep breath. Musty, salty, sweaty stench of rotting fear filled its lungs, expanding its large, naked chest. It stared, listened and sniffed the air, feeding on underlying panic filling their body. Minutes and hours passed, they went to sleep, trying to calm their heart down. But it was impossible considering all the rumbling, sticks snapping and ground slowly shifting in the distance.

As it took first wobbly step towards tent sitting right on top of its summoning circle, vulnerable human twitched in their shelter. Their soul sensed incoming danger long before their brain could even comprehend why their rather peaceful dream took a sharp left turn into gory nightmare full of blood and stench of burned corpses.

#one piece #eustass kid #op #one piece eustass kid #eustass kidd #eustass kid fanfiction #op eustass kid #eustass kid x reader

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meandfood · 2 years ago

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This one is going to be wordy.

Hello. I’m Jessica and I have some shit going on. This is supposed to be about my relationship with food so I’ll stick to that.

I have disordered eating.

Ouch. I’ve probably said that one other time. Ever. I make a lot of excuses. “It’s not ME because the meds (I’ve got some medical things… multiple sclerosis to name just one) messed up my stomach”…. Aka I don’t feel hunger until I’m nauseous. Which is true.

But it’s deeper. It’s longer. I grew up pretty poor. Still poor by the way. My family never went out to eat but I remember eating free cereal at the college my mothers husband was a security guard at. My mother would sometimes get taco bell after church and say to me “we have sandwich stuff at the house” when we really didn’t. An exciting dessert was dipping white bread in syrup. So what then? Scarcity food complex and some complex I don’t know the wording for that has to do with my basic needs not being met.

And then… when I was pretty young I started getting pretty sick. A doctor told me about food triggers and ever since then I’ve spiraled for around 30 years.

Won’t eat: msg, soy, too much dairy, tomato sauces, chocolate, peanuts, green candy, yeast extract, and MANY MANY MORE things. All because at one point I felt they were associated with a health episode.

Oh and I’m vegetarian.

My current diet quiet literally is as follows. Around 12 I eat a tortilla with cheese, tortilla chips, possibly a soft pretzel, and handfuls of dry cereal. Sometimes I’ll mix it up and have a baked potato. Like a couple times a month at most. Then I pass the fuck out. Dinner happens anywhere from 9-11 pm. It is always a tortilla with quinoa beans quac and cheese. I eat it with tortilla chips. Then I binge dry cereal almond butter and Graham crackers till I once again pass out. And I always wake up anxious and nauseated. Like I’ve eaten sharp bricks.

I weigh 103 lbs. I am 5foot7. Just for posterity. I don’t want to be this size personally. I’d like to get about 30lbs on at least.

So I’m going to cook. I’m going to eat. I don’t know how to do either of those things. So I did what no one does anymore and went to the bookstore.

I think these are fucking gold and together they were under $20. Thanks used book store.

The new professional chef one is daunting.

There is that much to learn before I even touch a knife. And a lot of food issues to be dealt with along the way. Gods I hope I keep this up.

But while I read:learn all that up there… I’ll hop on into how to bake… first up… IRISH SODA BREAD! Hey I’m Irish. I’ve never had Irish soda bread and the only bread I’ve made is a basic rustic loaf but I’ve got buttermilk in the fridge so stay tuned…

🖤

Ps: if you have issues with food… let’s chat.

#disordered eating cw #disordered eating recovery #trigger warning ed

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soleminisanction · 8 months ago

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First thing I should probably establish here is that this happened pre-9/11, sometime in the late 90s, though I don’t remember exactly when. My family is Christian, but we were the sane kind of Christian; our church was adjacent to local university and mostly attended by its faculty. A few years after this story took place I would receive some legitimately forward-thinking sexual education from this church, including contact information for the nearest Planned Parenthood, and a few years after that some of the church elders would lead an ultimately futile campaign against the local school board’s decision to teach Bible classes in public schools.

My best friend at the time, however, was Baptist. I don’t know for certain if she was certified Deep South Baptist™ but they were undeniably one of the bigger churches in town. They held a lot of events for kids and my friend often invited me along, so I got to know quite intimately that their church building was huge, three stories tall plus a basement in a town where basements were practically non-existent. They had a gymnasium with a bounce house that the church owned, plus a playground that could be accessed from the building by way of a plastic tube slide that extended straight out of the third-story wall, its entrance just sitting at the end of a Sunday School hallway with a little hatch over it for safety.

This was a big, fancy church, is what I’m saying, and a lot of the people who went to it were rich, but y’know, not rich enough to not be living in Odessa fucking Texas. And if you know anything about Odessa fucking Texas beyond Heroes, Friday Night Lights, and that one post with the pickles, you know it is a miserable little scrap of a place in the ass-end of the desert, and not even the pretty or interesting parts of the desert. It’s 300 miles away from anything interesting and 500 miles away from the nearest ocean.

I set all of this up so you can properly understand the depth of the surreal confusion that swept through me when I, at approximately ten or eleven years old, arrived at this church for a sleepover “lock in” with my best friend, climbed out of her mother’s car, and looked up at a god damn boat that was taking up half the parking lot. It was a full sized, one hundred percent real yacht, one of those that’s designed for you to spend days out on the ocean in, just sitting there on a trailer with zero explanation.

See, the theme for this lock-in experience thing was international travel. Once we’d left our sleeping bags in our designated gender-and-age segregated sleeping rooms, we and our roommates were guided around the building by an adult minder to activity stations themed after various world cultures. Each of us had a little paper passport, and once we completed each station, we’d get a rubber stamp saying we’d been through that place in the world.

I don’t remember most of the activities too clearly. One involved us eating fake McDonald’s fries, but I don’t remember why. Another was just an excuse to give our group thirty minutes in the bounce house, because they used literally any excuse to bring out the bounce house and to be fair it was the best part.

There’s only two parts I remember super strongly, because in retrospect they were both pretty fucked up. The first came at midnight, when they gathered all of the groups together into the basement, where they’d set up a “bazaar” where each stand sold a different kind of snack – one had juice, another apples, another crackers, bananas, cookies, etc. They gave us all Monopoly money, but not enough to buy one of everything at their listed price. If we wanted one of every snack, we had to haggle for it – they told us that explicitly. And the entire time, the adults manning the booths were dressed like and pretending to be stereotypical… I think Asian or African? merchants. Despite all being white people.

This did not work for me. I was an extremely picky eater, and shy, and knew in my gut that asking a merchant to lower their prices when I could obviously afford to budget for exactly what I wanted anyway was both a waste of time and extremely rude. And so despite the merchants trying to pressure me into haggling, I just paid for my food and sat down to eat it, hoping the sugar would wake me up a bit. Because see, at the time, I was a morning person who was usually in bed by 9, a stark contrast to my night owl bestie. I had known that the goal of this lock-in was to stay up all night long but I was already fading fast.

So by the time we got to the final station of the night, I was exhausted. And this is the other one I remember because it was then, and only then, that I learned the purpose of the yacht in the parking lot.

It’s three thirty in the morning. The adults lead us out into the florescent-lit parking lot and have us climb the ladder to reach the deck of the yacht. I think most of the group find benches to sit on but I can’t say for certain because by that point I'm too tired to open my eyes; I find a spot in the corner, curl up and close my eyes, and thus remember most of this through touch and sound.

They pass out life vests and make everybody put them on. One of the adults gets behind the wheel of the boat and starts operating a sound effects tape, while the other mom starts talking us through an imagination session of traveling across the ocean to visit a foreign country. We “arrive” and a third mom climbs onto the boat, talking in a deep voice with a heavy accent. I crack open my eyes to see her wearing a fake beard, a towel, and a bathrobe. I close my eyes again.

Bathrobe mom is giving a speech welcome us to “her country” when a bell sounds, which she declares signals that it’s time to get down on your knees and pray to Allah and Mohammad, a ritual which by law everyone in the country including visitors must participate. She insists that all of us join in as well.

"No!" declares one of the literal ten-year-olds, with a fervor that feels suspiciously like this is a favorite game she's played a lot and thinks she's really good at. "We could never do that! We only pray to God and Jesus!"

Before Bathrobe Mom can pull together a response to that, this girl whips all the rest of the ten-year-olds into a mob, all of them chanting, "We love Jesus! We love Jesus!" in unison.

I am not participating. I have pulled the life jacket over my head and am trying to smother both my ears and my eyes in its padding.

Bathrobe Mom finally manages to restore order, getting everyone to calm down and shuts up. She declares that if we will not obey the country’s laws, then she cannot grant us entry to that country, which is of course the correct course of action to take. Half the crowd of white ten-year-olds complains anyway. She goes around to each of us and stamps a big red “REJECTION!” onto the passport page, ruining our collection, as I’m sure the narrative of the evening was intended to convey.

Bathrobe Mom then presumably gets off the ship and the other moms congratulate the group on making the good Christian choice. They then explain very seriously that sometimes, in the real world, the punishment for disobeying the law in countries like that isn't just getting kept out, it could mean prison time, or even execution. We have to ask ourselves, if we were in that situation, could we be brave enough to stick to our guns and do the right thing?

They don’t bother to roleplay taking the ship back to town, it just kinda stops, and then the game of pretend is over. We finally go to bed, and I pass the fuck out, not to reexamine this memory and realize how fucking weird it is for fifteen years.

Have I ever told Tumblr the story of the time my friend's church made us (a group of approximately 10-year-old white American children) roleplay traveling to a Muslim country and refusing to follow their laws in the name of Jesus?

#storytime #evangelicals #religion

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years ago

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Happiness Continues

Part 2: 5 Weeks Pregnant

Summary: Y/n comes down with an unexplainable bug and tries to chalk it up to stress at work. But after a conversation with her sister-in-law, realization hits her that it’s not in fact a bug at all.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.8K+

Warnings: Language, nausea and vomiting, discussion of surprise pregnancy

Author’s Note: Welcome back to the party everyone. Let’s get started! Special thanks to my always hype woman @waywardbeanie and my amazingly patient beta @emoryhemsworth Please enjoy some reviews from friends who have the luxury of a few sneak peeks. xoxo Alex

“I never thought I would have to engage in fisticuffs with Jensen, but here we go lol” @jensengirl83

“Y’all are gonna love it.” @emoryhemsworth

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The whole church was bustling as the pastor released the congregation for the day. It had been a nice sermon that Y/n hadn’t exactly paid attention to. All morning her body had been feeling iffy. It was something that she couldn’t exactly place, she just felt...off. Y/n assumed she was just coming down with a bug. By the time they had made it to the church, she was ready for a nap. In all honesty, she had to fight to keep her eyes open as their pastor droned on, which she did feel bad about.

Y/n was rolling her tongue about as Jensen drove them off to Jared and Gen’s for their usual Sunday brunch. Gen had woken up late with the kids and therefore the Padalecki’s had skipped church that day. That meant Y/n didn’t have to help cook, a fact which she was grateful for considering the spinning going on in her head.

“You’re quiet over there,” Jensen noted as they walked to the front door, their fingers entwined between them.

“I just feel off this morning,” Y/n explained. “I’m not sure what it is.”

“You think you’re coming down with something?” Jensen pushed open the door, letting themselves into the house.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you have been stressed lately. First, there was everything that happened at work and then the move. It’s a lot for anybody. Your body is probably worn down.” His words trailed off as Shep came running to greet them at the door. Jensen ruffled the kid’s hair as he came to hug them both.

“Hmm, remind me to chug some orange juice then,” she commented before turning her attention to her nephew. Shep went into a deep explanation about how his mother had let him help cook their brunch, telling them both how he only dropped a few eggshells into the bowl.

Y/n was laughing along with him as they went deeper into the house. It wasn’t until she rounded the front staircase that the smell of cooking bacon and pancakes hit her nose, causing a wave of nausea to roll through her. Planting her feet, she dropped Jensen’s hand and ran to the nearest powder room, the door slamming behind her.

Y/n had to spit the saliva pooling in her mouth into the sink, taking deep breaths through her nose to will away the rolling inside her. Puking was the worst thing in her mind, and she would do anything to avoid an episode. This time she was successful, rinsing her mouth with water from the faucet helping to calm inside her.

“Y/n/n,” Jensen turned the knob, waiting for a protest from her that didn’t come before pushing the door open, “Are you okay?”

Y/n shook her head, afraid if she spoke it would open the faucet inside her. “Do we need to go home?”

“No,” she swallowed down the bile and took another deep breath. “You eat, I’m just gonna lie down.”

“Okay,” Jensen relented, running his hand down the back of her head and pulling her in so he could place a kiss to her forehead. “You’re sure?”

“I just—” a hiccup tore through her, threatening to destroy all she was fighting down. “I just need a minute.” She managed to get the words out before leaving her husband standing in the doorway to the bathroom. As she headed off for the couch in Jared’s office, Jensen made his way back to where Jared and Gen were waiting, both of them staring at him in anticipation upon his return.

“Is she alright?” Gen asked as she flipped a pancake on the griddle.

“She says she is, but she’s gonna just lie this one out I think. Earlier she mentioned that she felt off.” Jensen took a coffee mug from the counter and filled it before sitting at the table. “I think she’s running herself into the ground. She’s trying to do more than one person should take on.”

“Just make sure she gets a lot of fluids and some rest, and she’ll be good as new,” Jared noted as he tapped Tom’s hand when he reached out to grab something from Shep’s plate.

“I hope so…”

Y/n had no sooner lain her head on the throw pillow than passed out. Jensen had to shake her a little harder than usual to wake her when the family had finished brunch. Y/n had felt far better after her nap, the events of the morning all but forgotten once she got home, though she didn’t push her luck with eating anything that evening. Mosty she drank a lot of juice, her cure-all.

****

Soft pop music played on from the lobby of her office. Mondays in her office were usually casual, filled with standard meetings and the answering of emails. Today was no different, well, besides the fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The long paragraphs on her screen began to run together and she kept having to reread them over. It was when her eyelids eventually started to droop that she sighed in defeat.

Y/n pushed her chair away from her desk and went to close her door. She leaned out the doorway quickly to speak to her assistant. “I’m taking an early lunch, field my calls for a few hours, please?” Abby nodded her head and Y/n closed the door behind her. She sauntered over to the stiff couch that sat along the far wall of her office. Plopping down on the decorative piece, she kicked off her heels and laid out across it.

She was out as soon as her eyes closed.

The sharp trill of her cell phone jolted her awake. The sudden change in her position had her stomach flipping. Gingerly, she brought her hand up to her mouth and she paused to allow the bout of nausea to pass her. By the time she got her bearings, her phone had ceased ringing. Y/n slipped her heels back on her feet and made her way to her desk to retrieve her cell. The time across the screen indicated she had been out for two hours. She let out a huff, assuming she would get a thirty-minute cat nap before finishing her day. Now she felt bad about leaving Abby out there to answer all her calls during that time.

The missed call indicated that it was from her husband. As she sat down behind her desk, she redialed his number. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey honey,” she could practically see his smile through the phone.

“Hey,” her voice was hoarse as she answered him.

“Babe, you okay?” The change in his tone had Y/n picturing him sitting up straight wherever he was.

“Uh, I don’t really know. I just took a two-hour nap in my office, though,” Y/n’s eyes drifted shut again as she rubbed a hand over her face.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Y/n grunted out a response. “Well, I was calling to ask what you wanted for dinner, but now I’m thinking maybe you should come home, you don’t sound too well. Take the day off.”

“I think maybe you’re right.” There was nothing big happening today. They had survived the last two hours without her, they could make it through the rest of the day. “I’ll be home in ten, love you.”

“Love you too, see you soon.” The line clicked as Jensen hung up the phone. Y/n collected her things and headed out of the office. She let Abby know she was taking a sick day on her way out, the woman wishing her well as she exited.

She barely remembered the drive home, only registering that she was even in the car once she parked it in the garage. The smell of cooking chicken hit her nose as soon as she entered the house, sending waves through her stomach. Y/n dropped her purse in the hallway, booking it past Jensen, who stood in front of a large pot on the stove, and straight to the nearest bathroom, her hand over her mouth to keep from making a mess.

Her knees hit the tile hard as she leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the bowl. Jensen was right behind her, pulling her hair back and holding it out of harm's way. Gently he rubbed small circles on her back until she was dry heaving, nothing left to come up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and fell against the wall near the toilet. Her eyes were watering and her nose was running. Jensen stood and ran a washcloth under the tap before kneeling back in front of her to wipe her face.

“I was going to make you some soup, but apparently that’s now out of the question.” He tried to smile for her, but it was tight and unconvincing.

“Maybe just some crackers for now,” she rasped, smiling back at him so he knew that she appreciated the sentiment. Jensen snorted with a shake of his head. It was just like his wife, making jokes as she sat on the bathroom floor where she had just vomited her guts out.

“Alright, what do you say we get you into bed?” He cocked his head at her as he continued to wipe away what makeup he could from her face. She nodded enthusiastically, allowing him to help her to her feet. She followed him through the house and to their bedroom. Jensen went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas as she began to disrobe. He tossed the cotton garments her way before going to turn down the bed.

“I’m going to finish the soup anyway, in case you’re up for it later,” he said, tossing their throw pillows across the room and pulling back the thick comforter. “Holler if you need me, yeah?” Y/n crawled into the open bed, the cool sheets feeling amazing against her heated skin.

“Thank you.” The smile on her face was weak.

“That’s what I’m here for. Get some rest.” Jensen leaned down and tucked her into the bed, placing a soft kiss against the clammy skin of her forehead. She watched as he sauntered out of the room, shutting off the light as he went. For the second time that day, she was asleep before she knew it.

****

That week, Monday’s events had all but become her routine. Y/n had stopped eating breakfast before work, which tended to help her get through the day, though she was still opting for a quick nap during her lunch break seeing as she wasn’t eating anyway, a fact which she was skillfully keeping from her husband. He worried about her far too much, and if he knew she still wasn’t feeling well, he’d insist on her calling her doctor, which was the last thing she wanted to do. Y/n hated the doctor almost as much as she hated airports.

It was harder to hide from him at night, even though she found once she was home from work she could keep food down for longer. As long as it was something light, her stomach handled it well. As far as she knew, he was not suspicious.

She was wrong.

Gen had called her asking if she wanted to go with her to the park with the kids, which Y/n would never turn down as it was an opportunity to be with her niece and nephews. What she didn’t know is Jensen had asked Gen to pump Y/n for information. He knew she wasn’t eating and sleeping a lot more than usual, and he was just being the concerned husband.

“So, how have you been this week?” Gen asked as they sat down on the bench to watch the kids run amok.

“Not, bad I guess.”

“So you think you’re over whatever happened on Sunday?” Gen pushed, watching her kids on the playground.

“Eh, whatever it is, I have it under control,” Y/n played off her concerns, not exactly worried about it herself. If she was being frank, she didn’t have time to be worried about it. Her skincare line was launching in a few weeks and there was still so much to get done. She had press releases to approve, and a pop-up event downtown that she was to attend when the brand premiered at Ulta. No, it wasn’t her concern right now. Everything was under control.

“That doesn’t sound convincing.”

“It’s just some sort of bug. I’ll be fine. I’ve only gotten sick a couple of times.” Gen snapped her head to her sister-in-law, a frown etched on her features.

“You’ve been getting sick all week?”

“That’s not what I said,” Y/n groaned, knowing full well Gen was spiraling into mom-mode.

“But you’ve been nauseous, yeah?”

“I mean off and on, but I’ve been able to eat and keep it down most meals. It’s the ‘not being able to keep my eyes open’ that’s pissing me off. I know I’m probably overdoing it but I don’t have the luxury of thinking about that now. I can sleep when this line has launched.”

“Sounds like when I was pregnant with Shep. All I did during the first trimester was sleep and puke. It was exhausting. Try sucking on lollipops, it helps.” Y/n nodded as Gen jumped up to reprimand Odette for going up the slide instead of down it. Her words rang around in Y/n’s head as she watched the small brunette grab her godchild and pull her off the slide.

There was no way…

Y/n whipped her phone out of her pocket, quickly thumbing through her calendar, looking for an appointment. The further she went back in weeks the more nervous she became. She found it in the middle of May, the red indicating that it had been canceled after it already read that it was a makeup appointment. She hadn’t been back since the beginning of the year. Panic set in, which was not doing anything for the state of her stomach at the moment. She sat there, counting back the days since her last period, the hammering of her heart increasing as the number of days increased. Y/n had missed her period and not even noticed. She really was an idiot, she thought to herself

For the rest of her visit, she tried to remain level headed. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to run to the nearest drug store, which was exactly what she did the second that Gen rounded up three tired kids to take home and put to bed. There was a store just two blocks out of her way home which she went straight for the second she turned over the ignition in her Jeep. Slipping inside the small store, she grabbed one of every brand of pregnancy test they sold there, and quietly slipped back out.

Y/n rolled the brown paper bag up tightly in her fist as she raced inside the house. Every sense was heightened as she made her way through the house, keeping an eye out for her husband, but she found him nowhere as she entered, assuming that he was already in the bedroom. She stopped outside the bedroom door, shimmying off her jacket and rolling her secret up inside before entering.

Jensen sat up as she entered, but she just muttered something about having to pee as she passed, which wasn’t exactly a lie. There wasn’t even enough time for him to say hello before she was catching the lock on the door behind her.

The first thing she did was dump the contents of the paper bag onto the counter, organizing the tests on the counter as she skimmed over the instructions. The bottle of water she chugged on the drive over was starting to do its job, making her antsy as she read over what to do. Most of the tests had the same instructions inside, making things easier for her overall. Her shaky fingers ripped into the boxes, tossing the torn cardboard into the trash as she went.

It took all of five minutes to find out whether or not she was, in fact, pregnant, but it was the longest five minutes of her life. She was sure Jensen was probably wondering if she was having more stomach issues with the amount of time she had spent behind the locked door.

When the appropriate time had passed, Y/n flipped the tests over, her hands passing through each one quicker than the last, and all of them telling her the same thing.

Y/n’s fingers gripped into the marble countertop, the five pregnancy tests sitting inside the sink. Their answer to her question was definite. There were no ‘maybes’ about it, no one and a half lines or ‘possibles’ etched into the screen. Each test was flashing back up at her like neon signs.

She was pregnant.

Outside the bathroom door, her husband was unknowingly lounging in their bed. He was without a care and probably mindlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed like every other night before bed, and she was about to destroy that façade with two simple words.

The nervous woman ran her hands through her hair before shaking out her limbs. She took a few deep breaths before steeling herself to go out and tell him. Dragging it out wouldn’t do anyone any good. Even though this wasn’t planned, both of them had made known their wishes for a family, and it was in this that fact that she was even able to muster up the courage to tell him she had fucked up. Because it was the truth, she had fucked up, major.

Plastering a smile on her face, she pulled open the door, making sure to shut it behind her to hide the tests until she could break the news. Y/n stalked over to where Jensen was lounging, his legs crossed at the ankle with one hand behind his head, the other scrolling through his phone. His brow was scrunched as he concentrated on whatever he was reading on the tiny screen. She climbed onto the bed and over to his side before stopping to sit back on her knees.

“Hey, babe,” his voice was soft and his eyes heavy. Jensen put the phone down and put his hand on her bare knee, rubbing soft circles there.

“Jensen, I’ve got to tell you something.” It took everything in her to quell the shake in her voice as her heart rate picked up. But of course, him and his damn perceptiveness had to pick up on it in a millisecond.

Jensen’s brows knit together and he sat up a little in the bed. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“I’m…” Her breath caught in her throat as the reality of their situation kept washing over her in droves. Jesus, Y/n, spit it out, she thought. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence fell over the room once she finally managed to get the words out. Y/n watched her husband as his tongue poked out between his teeth and his jaw clenched as he tried to figure out the words he wanted to say. The lack of reaction had her stomach flipping on itself, which, giving her current situation, was not helping anything. Y/n swallowed down nausea to push her husband into talking.

“Jay, please say something.”

“How did this happen?”

“With the insanity at work and the move I just... I missed a couple of appointments with my gynecologist. I missed my shot,” she explained, hoping he didn’t hate her.

“Fuck, Y/n!” He fell back into the bed, the inflection in his words the worst possible thing she could hear. The sheer rumble of it in the quiet room was enough to make her flinch back from the man she loved. Jensen ran both of his large hands down his face before continuing. “This wasn’t supposed to happen now, I was supposed to have more time.”

“What?” His words made no sense to her. As far as she knew, Jensen wanted kids. It was something they had talked about before they were ever an item. Had she been wrong? Were the two of them somehow not on the same page about this? Y/n tried to rack her brain for a moment in time where that could have changed but she was coming up empty.

“I was supposed to have more time with you. Just the two of us before we did this, before late-night feedings and diapers, before everything changes forever,” He explained further. His words calmed down her racing heart and mind, but only a little. Now she felt more guilty than she already was. All he wanted was to be with her and she had ruined his plans.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n whispered, casting her eyes down to where her fingers were fiddling with the hem of her shirt. The tears that had been threatening to fall this whole time had finally made a break for it, leaving shining tracks down her cheeks.

“Oh, Y/n,” he sighed, taking her hand in his and pulling her to lay in his side. Y/n shoved her face into his chest, trying her hardest not to break into a full sob as he rubbed his hand into her back. After everything she did, she couldn’t believe that Jensen was the one that had to console her. It should be the other way around, right? It was her who had fucked up and ruined their plans for their future together, not him, after all.

“I’m sorry,” she couldn’t stop the words that came out of her mouth this time. Y/n would tell him she was sorry until she was blue in the face.

“I know, honey,” Jensen murmured into her hair before placing a kiss to the crown of her head. He continued to rub his hand along her back, waiting for her breathing to even before breaking the silence.

“You’re really pregnant?” He asked, his voice much softer this time.

“If the five pregnancy tests in the sink have any say, then yes.” His chuckle shook his body and Y/n relished in the vibration of it against her cheek.

“This isn’t how or when I picture this happening, I won’t lie about that, but honey, we’re having a baby, this is a good thing.” The way his voice rose at the end of his sentence had Y/n pulling out of her hiding space in his side, looking up to see him smiling down at her.

“You’re not mad? You don’t hate me?” Her hope was threatening to spill out of her mouth like vomit as she rubbed the wetness from her cheeks.

“No,” Jensen shook his head. “I love you, more today than yesterday, and more tomorrow than today, and I will love this baby just as much.”

Y/n shook her head before diving into her husband, nuzzling her face into his neck. “I love you too.”

“Y/n,” Jensen laughed, the sound breathy as it escaped his chest. “We’re having a baby!”

Part 3: 8 Weeks Pregnant

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

Continues: @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67 @colbyskoalas @deanmonandnegansbitch @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you @dvnmbabe @harryhook-lover @let-me-luve-you @lunarmoon8 @onethirstyunicorn @parinarain @rebelemilu @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @traceyaudette @zpandaqueen

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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House of Mouse April Fools Special: Donald’s Pumbaa Prank (Patreon Review for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome to my April Fool’s Special! And it’s also my patreon review for the month as Kev just so happened to randomly hit this one and once I realized it was an april fools episode I moved it up since things have been kinda hectic in the old brainpan lately, and as such my output slowed down a bit so I really wasn’t in great shape to do 4 episodes in one day. So instead see what hyjinks, fart jokes and murders of beloved disney characters insue under the cut as the hosue of mouse gets a bit foolish

The Wraparound:

It’s April Fools day at the House of Mouse and Donald pulls a prank on MIckey by cutting his break lines.. wait no that was last year. No this year he just puts some wax on the stage and MIckey trips, Donald laughs. Now if this were the real world this would be really dangerous and probably destroy their friendship and MIckey’s spine. But this is a cartoon that runs on cartoon physics. He was in no real danger. So Mickey’s retaliation on the other hand.. is just showing embarassing footage of Donald. It makes him come off as unecessarily cruel as instead of an actual prank or joke it’s just “Hey look at this embarassing footage of my friend I dug up”

This plot DOES get a lot bettter though after the setup: Pete talks Donald into kidnapping Pumba, planning to use Pumbas farts to clear out the club...

Yeah i’m not big on fart jokes. I’m not against them, when used right they can be comedy gold.. this song from bobs burgers is one such example

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It’s just a lot of times farts and other bodily functions are used as the joke alone. That’s it. There’s no actual laughs or content too said laughs, i’ts jsut this is gross. Thankfully this episode does not go really deep down the grossdout rabit hole, as we don’t see the fart on screen.. but it still dosen’t make “Pumbas’ ass gas is going to destroy the house of mouse” funny.

There are some funny gags though: Donald’s method of distracting Timon so Pete can kidnap Pumbaa is to just stand there not saying anything and weirding Timon out , their replacement is just a bowling ball, two horns and a sack of something, and when Timon goes looking for Pumbaa, finds Zazu under a plate the hyena’s have.. and then just leaves him there. Seriously Timon just.. let’s Zazu die and I am here for it.

Donald meanwhile thinks Mickey is planning another prank after mickey apologizes and has a special thing planned but it’s really jsut a lifetime achivment award, so Donald tries to stop it, then reveals the truth when Pumba shows up.. and gets his award taken away. Even though he had every reason to think Mickey was going to pull something because honest as he is i’ts april fools day. Mickey just... obnoxious in this one and it speaks to a larger problem with the series I remember from when I was a kid that i’ve noticed once or twice now: The show tends to have Squidward Syndrome, i.e. it treats Donald who can be obnoxious as wrong.. even when he’s done nothing wrong THIS EPISODE, like spongebob did to squidward at times, or if he has done something wrong his punishment is dispororitante. Donald did a minor prank.. and MIckey publicly humiliated him and Donald TREID to stop his prank. And goes above and behond to stop it, taking the fart attack at ground zero. Speaking of which the fart attack scene from parks and rec, also a good fart joke.

And MIckey.. learns nothing by playing the test footage again even though Donald was just ground zero at an attomic level ass.

Final Thoughts for the Wraparound: It’s not great. I”m noticing that trend with Season 1 in general, where they really just didn’t have a ton of idea of what to do with the wraparounds. The episodes still vary in quality, but outside of the pilot most of the season 1 episodes are pretty disapointing as an adult, very simplistic plots that often don’t use the club’s nature to their full advantage or the characters to the same. It would get better though, but it’s something to notice. onto the shorts.

The Friend for Life: This is a pretty simple one. Sam and Max, are after the mad Thesipian, whose exactly what he sounds like. We even get a really neat visual gag as sam just.. uses his little buddy as a sword while the Thespian uses a candelabra. But while our Freelance Police catch the weirdo, and Max takes a ride in the saftey tramp they set up for the guy, he escapes when the two are distracted by Norm, THE FRIEND FOR LIFEEEEEEEE. An obessive fanboy played by Patrick Mackenna of the Red Green Show, esentially playing an older and stalkery version of Harold.. now I think about it this might be his dad. I mean we don’t know where he went or what hapepend to the guy. Maybe he just went to the states to obesss over a rabbit and Dog. I don’t know.

Lorne wants to help our heroes while Max understandably wants to run him over and sam just runs past him the minute they can. But despite finding the thespians layer Max: (Singsong) We’re here to arressttt youuu Sam: (Also singsong): Rememberrrrr.. crimesss against humanitty? But it turns out Lorne, THE FRIEEEND FOR LIFFFEEEE, kidnapped him and puts on a show for htem of fighting thier old eneimies and a roller coaster death trap. Our heroes escape and begrudignly thank lorne even if they find his stalker shrine a bit much.

Final Thoughts for The Friend For LIfe: A really solid episode and the fact i’ve binged several sam and max episodes since then really speaks to how good this one was. Seriously really funny stuff and I didn’t even cover half the great jokes in this one. Check it out, it’s on youtube.

Mickey’s April Fools: An odd one but a fun one. MIckey is taking his asshole pills and goes overboard with his pranks, faking proposing to Minnie and faking his death after Mortimer pranks him. But it works... I mean is it grossly out of character? Oh god yes. Would it have made more sense by swapping out Mickey, Minnie and Mortimer with Donald, Daisy and either the boys or pete? Entirely. Is this short still hilarous. Yup. While i’ts not the best they’ve done on the show, it’s still really entertaining. The two end up getting him back, MOrtimer by faking a will reading only to have it go really poorly for Mickey as his death was reported, donald refuses to help due to Mickey’s last words to mortimer being “I’ve never undestood him” and Goofy being.. goofy. And MIckey is left hanging from a pole by minnie because fuck him. An out of character one.. but the sheer oddity of mickey being this dickish in the house of mouse shorts makes it work. Be A Man: As a debut album for Randy Savage this Album is audotirally fucktacular, and with some polish randy could’ve had a long and successful rap career. As it stands, it is a sad one off not ein his career.

Critters: On an asteroid prison, a group of dangerous aliens known as Krites are set to be transported to another station. The Krites engineer an escape and hijack a ship, prompting the warden to hire two shape-changing bounty hunters to pursue them to Earth. Studying life on Earth via various satellite television transmissions, the first bounty hunter assumes the form of rock star Johnny Steele, while the second remains undecided, thus retaining his blank, featureless head. On a rural Kansas farm, the Brown family sits down to breakfast. Father Jay and mother Helen send teenage daughter April and younger son Brad off to school while waiting on mechanic Charlie McFadden. A former baseball pitcher, Charlie has become the town drunk and crackpot, with claims of alien abductions foretold by messages through his fillings.

Playing with overly potent self-made fireworks and Charlie's slingshot, Brad takes the blame when Charlie accidentally shoots April and is grounded as a result. On the roof that evening, Brad mistakes the Critters' crashing spaceship for a meteorite; Jay and Brad investigate and interrupt the creatures consuming a cow. The creatures thereafter kill and feed on a local police officer, and later besiege the farm and cut its electrical connection. While checking the circuit breaker, Jay is attacked by one of the Critters and, being severely wounded, just barely manages to escape

.In the barn, April is about to have sex with her boyfriend Steve when he is killed by the one of the Critters; the creature itself is slain when it devours one of Brad's lit firecrackers. The remaining Critters sabotage the Browns' and Steve's cars, forcing the Browns to hole up inside the main house. Meanwhile, the two bounty hunters search the town for the Critters, causing a panic at the church and bowling alley, with the second hunter assuming the form of various townspeople, including Charlie. Brad escapes the farm to get help and runs into the bounty hunters, and upon learning of their true nature and intentions, he leads them to the Critters' location.

The last surviving Critters kidnap April and return to their ship when the bounty hunters arrive, and attempt to flee. Charlie and Brad manage to rescue April, but Brad drops a large firecracker he intended to use to destroy the ship when the Critters discover their escape. Just as the Critters take off and destroy the farmhouse out of spite, Charlie throws a Molotov cocktail made from his whiskey bottle into the ship, causing a fire which detonates the cracker and kills the Critters. The bounty hunters leave in their ship after giving Brad a handheld device to contact them in case of future invasion, and also restore the house. Unbeknownst to them, Critter eggs can be seen in the barn inside a chicken's nest that seem to be ready to hatch.

Final Thoughts on Critters: Critters is a wonderful film, despite what Rapheal from the teenage mutant ninja turtles might think but fuck him he has scabies. It’s fun, energetic, and ahs a great premise of instead of it JUST being on our heroes to repel the invaders, their caught between two diffrent sets of aliens instead and instead of a chisled jawed heroes the good aliens are simply bounty hunters with no care about collateral and only doing a job. It’s a damn fine film and I still need to make time to watch the sequel.

Donald’s River Thing:

This is a simple one. Donald plans to go fishing, finds out it’s his and Daisy’s anniversary, her half birthday and valentine’s day and has to take her along and make it like a thing while being a dick about wanting to still fish, but in a very funny way while the local fish fight back. This is easily the standout of the episode incredibly funny, increidbly wholesome, and an incredibly good time. Really great stuff.

Invincible Episodes 1-3:

This seires is fucking fantastic and you should go watch it. GO WATCH IT.

Final Thoughts overall:

YOUR NOT WATCHING IT

Final Thoughts Overall: This is a decent episode not much to say except HIT IT BOYS

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#april fools day #the house of mouse #mickey mouse #donald duck #pete pete #minnie mouse #mortimer mouse #daisy duck #sam and max #timon #pumbaa #timon and pumbaa #invincible #critters #cheese #fine cheese

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thegoodgayshit · 4 years ago

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Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Sixteen: A Talking Water Fountain Offers Us Some Guidance

Luz filled in her friends on what she’d seen as quick as she could, and by the time she’d finished, Willow and Gus were pale, and Amity looked like she was going to be sick.

“That’s how those heroes have come back from the dead,” she concluded, and Luz nodded meekly, feeling smaller than she’d ever had before.

Luz was a confident person, but even she had no idea how they could stop literal undead Greek heroes from the past. They were just four teenagers. Luz couldn’t even drive yet. How were they supposed to destroy a literal portal to the afterlife? Her Mami had taken her to Catholic Church her entire life, she was still trying to wrap her head around god not being real, never mind the whole Greek Underworld existing as a whole.

“There’s no use worrying about it right now,” Willow tried, sensing everyone’s tension. “We should take a break and prepare for our next move, one step at a time.”

Luz nodded, eager to change the subject. “I’m definitely ok with not talking about this right now. My head hurts just thinking about it.”

“Then I’m going to shower,” Amity said getting to her feet. Luz nodded, shoveling a few grapes into her mouth. She swallowed, then called out after Amity as she opened one of the doors (that definitely hadn’t been there when they walked in).

“The three of us can gather up supplies for the rest of the quest while you do.”

Amity shot her a half-smile before she disappeared behind the door. Gus got up and took his dish to the sink, dropping them in and heading over to the desk where he began skimming through papers. Willow picked up a cracker and hummed under her breath, and Luz looked up at the sound. She was giving Luz a look that was almost too nonchalant to seem normal.

“You and Amity seem to be getting along a lot better now than you did at camp.”

Luz frowned immediately. Her stomach swirled with guilt. “I hope that’s alright, I know things in the past weren’t great between you two-”

“No, no!” Willow said quickly, holding up her hands. “That’s not what I meant. I meant what I said back in Kansas. We’re working on our stuff, that shouldn’t have anything to do with you two and your friendship. I was just noticing that you two seem close.”

“I mean… I guess we are, yeah.” Luz didn’t even realize she had reached up behind her head and was rubbing it nervously. Were her cheeks getting red? Why was she blushing? “I mean, we haven’t really been rivals or anything since the night of the skeleton attack, and we did save her so she’s kind of forced to be nicer to us. We had a talk in the tent yesterday and that kind of broke the ice between us…”

“You talked?” Willow said, now curious. “About what?”

Luz was at first not sure if Amity would like her sharing what Luz had told her, but she figured it would do no harm, if anything it would help Willow and Amity get along a little better. She told Willow about how they’d shared what ambrosia and nectar tasted like for them, but when she got to the part about Amity’s parents she froze, certain now she shouldn’t share that. Thankfully, Willow seemed to pick this up.

“I came in around that time, you don’t have to continue.”

“Well, then when you guys went to send a message to camp, we talked about the prophecy…”

She told Willow that story too, and when she finished, the Demeter camper looked stunned.

“What?” Luz asked, feeling self-conscious.

“Nothing! It’s just… Amity was never the kind of person to openly share her feelings like that,” Willow said, a small smile beginning to pull at her lips. “She must really trust you.”

Luz was sure she was bright red now. “I mean, I hope she’d trust me! We are kind of stuck in this mess together…”

“Luz, I’m not saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Willow insisted, leaning forward to rest her hand over Luz’s. The demigod hadn’t even realized she was beginning to panic a little, not really understand what Willow was getting at. Willow gave her a reassuring smile.

“I just mean you should be happy that Amity trusts you. I’ve known her for five years, and I think right now she must be feeling really alone. I’m glad she has someone like you to confide in. Don’t you feel the same way?”

Luz wasn’t really sure what to think, not that that was unusual for her. The truth was Amity really confused her. When Luz was around her, she had all these intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, like the time Antheia had touched her shoulder and filled her to the brim with emotions. They weren’t bad, they were just overwhelming. She was certain Amity was feeling something similar because she had been so weird around Luz as of late. She kept getting all anxious and red, and Luz was terrified she was doing something wrong.

Maybe she should talk to her about it.

A pop from the corner of the room made Luz jump, nearly shooting up from the table as she was snapped out of her thoughts. In the other corner of the room, a water fountain had appeared out of nowhere. It was creating a misty rainbow, and from the other end of the water, a soft and soothing voice called out to Luz.

“You are receiving an incoming Iris Message,” it said, “sender: Eda Clawthorne, Camp Half-Blood.”

Willow shot up from the table so quickly, Luz launched backward in her chair and fell, landing with an uncomfortable thump. “Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please show this message.”

The fountain shimmered for a moment, and when Luz looked up from her spot on the floor her mouth dropped. There was Eda, all the way from camp, blinking her gold eyes at them. She looked just as she always did, in a red dress and boots, Owlbert perched on her shoulder, his eyes also blinking comically through the fountain. At her side, she also saw King who blinked his yellow eyes at the fountain, looking back at Eda with a narrowed frown.

“Is this thing on?”

“Yes, King.” She said shortly. “That’s why we can see the kids.”

“Eda!” Luz shot up from the ground and ran towards the fountain, arms outstretched. Eda’s eyes widened, but not in delight. In warning.

“Kid, don’t!”

“Luz, no!”

Gus managed to jump at her, throwing her back into the floor. Luz groaned in agony as she landed on her back for the second time.

“Ow! Gus, what the heck!”

“Sorry!” He said apologetically from on top of her. “But that’s an Iris Message, and it’s powered by the rainbow coming with the fountain. If you touch it with your hands it severs the connection.”

Luz’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she slowly got to her feet. “Right, sorry.”

“You’re looking good, kid,” Eda said, and luz looked up at her mentor with a grin. She hadn’t seen Eda in days, and she hadn’t realized how badly she’d been missing her until she saw her reflection. “Travel suits you.”

“Thanks,” Luz said bouncing on her toes to try and work off some of her excitement.

“Sorry to just drop in on you kids, but I got work from Cabin Six that you had managed to find your way to an abandoned workshop in Denver, so I wanted to check-in and make sure you guys were alright.”

Gus, upon hearing this, brightened. “So the map works then?”

Eda chuckled. “Sure does.”

“Remember I told you guys Cabin Six knew vaguely about the locations of the workshops?” Gus said to them, and Willow and Luz nodded. “Well, it’s because we have a map of them in our cabin. Supposedly when a demigod “checks in” it’ll show their names on the map."

“All that stuff in the workshop that appears comes from somewhere,” Eda said with a smile. “Mainly camp, though I’m sure the wisdom goddess threw in a couple of those nice accessories for you. I’ve never seen that desk before.” Eda blinked in surprise, scanning the room. “or that fridge, or that stove. Or that wardrobe… Holy Zeus, she must really like you kids.”

She shook her head, something Luz knew meant that Eda was trying to stay focused.

“Anyways, I was told by Willow and Gus the other day that you’d found Amity. Where is she?”

“Taking a shower,” Luz supplied, and Eda nodded.

“I don’t blame her. But I’m glad she’s safe. The Blight Twins have been bugging me to ask about her so I’ll let them know she’s ok. But enough about that. I was doing a little research with Lily into your “resurrected heroes” issue. You should know that when heroes do escape the Underworld, their fatal flaw remains intact. You should use that against them in combat. Achilles has his heel of course, and you already severed the ties with Orpheus’ lyre. But Theseus’ flaw is not so easily breached.”

“What is it like a weak left arm or something?” Luz asked, and Eda chuckled.

“No, his isn’t physical. It’s his recklessness. He chose to confront you on the bus, without making sure Orpheus knew what his plan was. He likely chose rebirth without thinking of the consequences. Find out how to use that against him. I don’t know who this man in the mountain is, but if you want to beat him you have to beat his cronies first.”

Luz swallowed nervously, Eda narrowed her eyes.

“What, kid? Did something happen to you?”

Luz shook her head, before telling Eda about the dream, Belos, and the portal. Sometime during the story, Amity had come out of the shower. She was dressed in the fresh clothes she’d picked from the wardrobe, had her sword strapped to her belt, and her mint hair was still wet, hanging down near her shoulders. She waved hello to Eda, not wanting to interrupt Luz, and she grinned at Amity and whispered something to King, who took off and out of sight.

Luz tried not to get distracted from her story when Amity stood next to her. It was hard. Amity hadn’t looked so at peace in a long time, and she now smelled like fresh lavender and mint. Luz suddenly realized how desperately she needed a shower, but when Gus saw Amity he had squealed in delight and ran into the bathroom for his turn.

It took longer to tell the tale than she would have liked, but she did eventually finish. When she was done, Eda hummed, putting her finger to her lips.

“Belos. I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

Willow leaned forward anxiously. “You know him?”

Eda shrugged. “I was just a teenager when he tried to seize Olympus when he was alive. He rallied a team of misunderstood demigod’s and tried to take Olympus by force. This was before gods had to claim their children, and before we had the minor gods cabins at camp. He was an unclaimed Hermes camper who wanted recognition, and freedom from the consequences that come with being a half-blood. He was struck down by my dad’s thunderbolts personally.”

Luz, Willow, and Gus winced. What a way to go.

“If he’s alive again, then he’s a real threat,” Eda said seriously. “I don’t know much about him, but I do know his godly parent. Hecate, the goddess of magic and necromancy.”

Next to her, Amity flinched like she’d been slapped.

“Well, now we know how he can raise people from the dead,” Willow mumbled under her breath.

“Magic, that would explain that mist that was surrounding me in my dream,” Luz said, and Amity swallowed hard next to her.

“And the snow when I was trying to get to him with Skara and Boscha.”

“It won’t be easy to beat him,” Eda said seriously. “But it’s not impossible. You have help if you need it. Luz, you still have that whistle?”

Luz nodded, clutching the string around her neck. Eda grinned.

“When you need it, it’ll work. Also, your siblings from the Hermes cabin have a message for you. Something about remembering your Hermes secrets?”

Luz felt a jolt run through her. The bag of tricks that Viney and Jerbo had given her! Eda chuckled at the look on her face.

“I’m not even going to ask. The point is, if you kids ever need a hand, just know that your family has your back.”

Luz felt herself start to get a little choked up. She really missed Eda. On Eda’s line, Luz heard a thundering of footsteps, and King had reappeared with Edric and Emira on the other end.

“Mittens!” They both shrieked when they saw her. They were both dressed in orange camp shirts, and it looked like they must have come from training because they were covered in sweat. Amity couldn’t help but smile when she saw her siblings, and that made Luz split into a grin of her own.

“And that’s my cue,” Eda said, chuckling. She reached into her pocket and handed the twins a couple of golden drachmae. “I have to head out. I’ll look into this mountain man for you kids and try and get ahold of you if I find anything.”

“Thanks, Eda!” Luz said, unable to fully express how happy she was to have seen her again. Next to her, Willow had snuck off for her turn in the shower as Gus came back into the office. Luz rolled her eyes. It was supposed to be her turn, but she couldn’t be mad at Willow.

“No problem, kid,” Eda said, and she turned tail and walked away with King at her heels. The Blight twins immediately began to bombard them with questions.

“Are you alright?” Emira asked with a frown, peering over to examine Amity as best she could.

“You’re not hurt right?” Edric added, leaning in as well.

“No, I’m fine now,” Amity said with a roll of her eyes. “Luz and her friends rescued me and now I’m just healing up. But I’m almost back to 100%.”

“You have no idea how worried we were,” Emira said with a frown. Worry was such a weird look to see on the Blight twin’s face, Luz didn’t really know how to process it. She’d only ever seen them with smirks that screamed trouble, or a sly look that shared a similar sentiment. She realized she was starting, and Edric looked over at her, his face changing to glee.

“So I take it the chariot ride went alright then?” He said, and suddenly Luz was scowling.

“Yeah, thanks for that. We had to kill the white eagle in Cincinnati to pay your mom back.”

“A what?” Emira asked, confused. Amity rolled her eyes.

“She means the Caucasian Eagle,”

Edric howled with laughter, and Luz flushed, embarrassed. “It’s not funny! It could have killed us.”

“But it didn’t,” Emira singsonged, shooting Luz a wink. “You got mittens back and now you’re together and everything is all good.”

Luz felt her face start to heat up at what Emira said. It wasn’t like that, she didn’t get Amity back, she had just helped her out. And yes they were together but they weren’t like together. And Luz definitely wouldn’t call everything “all good”…

Next to her, Amity had flushed deep red, and the twins shared an absolutely ecstatic look that was probably the scariest thing Luz had ever seen.

“Emira, I get the feeling that everything is more than “all good” for mittens here…”

“Me too, Edric. In fact, I think this might be mitten’s preferred situation-”

“Shut up!” Amity spat, her face twisting into a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. Luz now felt uncomfortable, like she was intruding on a private conversation. Thankfully, Willow had now exited the bathroom, and Luz had an out.

“Nice talking to you guys and all,” Luz started, already walking backward. “But it’s my turn for a shower. I’ll see you guys back at camp when we’re done with this whole quest and everything.”

“Bye, Luz!” Edric grinned, waving to her.

“See you later, cutie,” Emira said with a knowing wink, and Luz felt her face heat up to dangerous levels. She couldn’t really place how, but she was starting to finally process that the children of Aphrodite were a lot scarier than they seemed at first glance.

Luz entered the bathroom and her mouth dropped. It was entirely white, with gold accents, and there was a massive shower right at the end of it. Next to Luz there was a spot she could put her clothes to have them washed and dried while she showered (Luz didn’t understand how that worked, but considering it was stamped with the Camp Half-Blood Pegasus logo she imagined it was some magic demigod stuff) and there was a double vanity on the other side with a basket on top stuffed with toiletries. Her Mami would have let them live in this bathroom if they could have.

The shower wasn’t wet, despite her friends having used it beforehand, which Luz didn’t understand but it just made the whole experience a thousand times better. By the time she stepped out, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt cleaner in her entire life. She used the deodorant in the vanity, (it was Luz’s favorite scent, so she was starting to realize the bathroom had reset after each use and accustomed based on what demigod used it) the body moisturizer, and the toner and moisturizer that was clearly set aside for her face. She brushed her teeth and combed out her wet hair, which was already drying thanks to it being so short, and even used the body spray. It was musky and smelled a bit like the cedar trees that grew in Amherst near her Abuela's house.

She put back on her, now clean, clothes and shoes, and packed the toiletries in her backpack to use later. She made sure Aletheia was secure on her finger and she exited the bathroom, feeling better than she had in weeks.

She was greeted by an unusually quiet workshop. Willow and Gus were nowhere to be seen, and Amity was sitting in a comfortable looking leather armchair next to the bookcase, flipping the pages of a novel.

“Amity?”

The demigod looked up, her gold eyes focusing on Luz. Her cheeks pinked, and she waved awkwardly.

“Hey, how was your shower?”

“Fantastic!” Luz grinned, heading towards her. “Where are Willow and Gus?”

“My siblings said Eda and Lilith sent us some money to the post office near here. They went to go pick it up.”

“That’s good,” Luz said with a smile. “It’ll be a lot easier planning our next move when we don’t have to worry too much about cash.” As she got close enough to see what Amity was reading, her eyes widened.

“Are you reading “The Good Witch Azura”?”

Amity’s cheeks reddened. “Uh, yeah?”

“That’s my favorite series ever!” Luz squealed in excitement, leaning down to Amity to see what she was reading. She was so close she could smell the mint again.“Oh, you’re at the Bog of Immediate Regret! That’s such a cool chapter.”

When Luz looked up, Amity’s face was so red Luz was worried she was going to pass out. She had leaned as far away as she could from Luz and held up her hands in surprise. Luz recoiled, putting her hands on the arm of the chair apologetically.

“Sorry, I just really love their backstory.”

“It’s alright!” Amity squeaked, and Luz rubbed her neck in embarrassment. She always had a way of making kids her age feel awkward, and one of those ways was by constantly rambling about her favorite books or anime. She didn’t want to scare Amity off. Something about her demeanor must have changed because Amity suddenly frowned.

“Luz, really, it’s ok.” She tried for a smile. “I love their backstory too. It’s my favorite series, I’ve been reading them since they came out.”

Luz leaned forward again, her hesitation forgotten. “No way! What do you think of the new one?”

Amity frowned. “New one? I’ve only read up to the fourth book.”

Luz gasped dramatically, holding her hand over her heart. “What? The new one dropped this summer and it’s so good! I have it at home. I wish it was here.”

Just like that, and end table appeared next to the leather chair Amity was sitting in, with the newest copy of “The Good Witch Azura”, and Luz whooped in excitement, picking it up and flipping the page. She looked inside the cover and awed. It was her copy from her bookshelf at home. Her name was scribbled in scraggily font on the inside cover.

“Here,” Luz said, handing it to Amity. “You can borrow my copy and tell me what you think.”

“Are you sure?” Amity took the book like it was made of glass.

“Of course!” Luz insisted, pushing it into her hands. “You have to let me know what you think. I’ve never had any friends to talk about Azura with before. We should start a little book club together!”

Amity took the book and stared at it for a few moments, before looking up at Luz with a smile. Her eyes were glowing with gratitude, and the look made Luz’s heart practically leap out of her chest. She loved seeing Amity look so happy.

“Ok, thank you.”

Luz was going to ask Amity to start reading and see what she thought of the first chapter, but suddenly the door was open to the workshop, and Willow and Gus were walking back in, with a very nervous look on their faces. Luz immediately frowned, stepping forward.

“What’s going on?” She caught sight of their panic and her own eyes narrowed. “Who hurt my babies?”

“It’s not us we’re worried about,” Willow said quickly, her eyes flickering back between Luz and Amity.

“Amity, your mother is sitting in the café across the street.”

Amity immediately froze up, her eyes widened in panic. “My… mother? Which one?”

Gus’ eyes were wide like he’d just seen a ghost. Or a monster. Or maybe something much, much, worse.

“Your godly one. She called us over on the way back from the post office. She wants to talk to you and Luz.”

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks

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litakino · 4 years ago

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Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of Rose's death. Also, this November she would've been 30y/o.

She was a close friend of mine, and died of an aneurysm; she collapsed on stage while singing and playing the guitar, and died the next day.

Rose was the same age as my sister, two years younger than me, and her sister is my age and was my best friend. So the four of us were really close, almost like sisters. We would spend the summer holidays either with our family, or theirs, whichever family went to the beach that year.

She was such a big part of my life growing up, that it's weird thinking that she's "stuck" at 20, and I'm 32 now.

I'll try really hard to convey, how important she is to everyone who knew her. How missed she is.

She was so smart, like book smart, but also surprisingly insightful for a 20y/o.

I remember Rose telling me once "I wanted to know if I liked it, so I kissed a girl. But it's not for me". You have no idea how important that was for me. Like I've never even thought of the possibility of not being straight (raised catholic and very conservative), it's not that I was repressed, it was just something I never even considered before.

And she was from a family very much like mine, but able to break away and try her own path (it wasn't that she went around kissing people; and there's nothing wrong with being that person, but she just wasn't, I'm saying this to illustrate how important it was that she did it).

Rose also loved things with all her being. And she was never ashamed of the things she liked. Like she would go into forums and investigate about her heroes and know all there was to know about ER and Sarah McLachlan and Rent and U2 and musicals and Broadway and Wicked.

I'm writing because there's so much she would've done, so many what-ifs I feel I need to make her be present this way, this year.

She wasn't top of her class when she graduated high school, just because she didn't want to spend too much time studying. She was close second though, and that was just with minimal effort. She was a real life Hermione.

Also, Rose was tall, and big, and had long bushy hair. She had to buy her heels from drag queen shops bc her feet were so big, "regular" shoe shops didn't carry her size. And she was CONFIDENT. Like, loved to wear her hair down, big and all, no shits given.

And was really good at shopping for cool clothes, even though most traditionally "feminine" shops didn't carry her size (take into consideration, this was 2009/2010 and we grew up in a small city in Argentina, there weren't many shops available, and "plus size" meant grandma's clothes)

Her last birthday (2010) she rocked a really short shirt-dress with bright yellow tights, I can't even begin to imagine what her style might have been nowadays.

It took her some time to gain that confidence, went through the awkward baggy-pants-and-big-sweatshirt phase like most of us fat girls, but she already loved herself when she was finishing high school. It took me many more years to reach that stage.

I'm painting the best picture, since everything positive about her comes to mind these days.

That's not to say, she was perfect. She definitely wasn't. She was human and made mistakes and (I'm sure) hurt people.

She was loud and could be obnoxious sometimes, but there are very few teenagers and young adults who aren't.

Oh also, Rose really enjoyed singing. And she was really good at it.

She was studying to become an English teacher.

She was really spiritual, and sang in church every Sunday, and was part of the community.

I would love to speak to her now, about feminism and love and gender and sexuality and family. There's so much we didn't know back then, so much I want her insight into.

When I heard the Hamilton soundtrack, all I could think about was about her. And how much she would've loved it.

I want to have the opportunity to hear her rave about things like Lin Manuel Miranda, or Doctor Who, or Good Omens.

I'm glad Rose got to meet my (now) husband, and that she liked him is an endorsement like very few I can think of.

I wonder where she would be living now (I think Ireland or England, studying for her third master and singing in pubs some nights).

I know she would have finally found someone who saw her for who she was, and loved her for it. Perhaps a few whirlwind romances before that.

I wonder if she would've even wanted to have kids.

When Rose died, it was a shock, because no one saw it coming (both her parents are doctors, and the aneurysm was never diagnosed, she never had any syntoms before. And by the time she was rushed into the hospital, it was too late).

Afterwards, slowly but surely, all of her friends and family finished high school, then university. Some of us got married, some got kids. Some moved to other countries.

The year she died, I was out of the country, doing one of those work and travel programs, that encompass our summer (December through March), in WDW. It was something she had actually suggested, that she wanted to do, but last minutes backed out (I never knew why). I was far away from home, working 13-hour shifts (the holidays in the resort are madness). And after her death, a friend suggested some of us took the days off from two weeks, put them together, and take a 4-days trip to NYC. I didn't really have the money to do it, but said yes anyways because Rose wanted to attend Juilliard (childhood dreams), and so we said we were going to visit her in her break (more childhood dreaming). So I ended up eating rice and crackers for a few weeks in order to pay for travel and lodging, but it was so worth it. Everything there reminded me of her, of what she dreamed of doing, of becoming.

I miss her so much, and as I go through life and hit new "milestones", I wonder what she would be doing right now.

Yesterday some close friends and her family gathered (socially distant, and out in the open air) in our old high school. It's a place of 400 square meters, most of which are various sports' fields, and a small forest. It was a place she felt was home, and since the moment she said she wanted to become an English teacher, a spot was there waiting for her to finish her studies.

Anyways, there in the small forest, around the fallen walnut tree, people who loved her, and miss her, gathered, to remember her smiles and jokes and songs.

Her mother read a poem Rose wrote, and her sister sang the solo in "Seasons of Love".

It was lovely, and sad, and had her in every moment.

She is loved, and missed so so much.

#Spotify

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1037

survey by joybucket

Do you have a vlog? No, but I’ve always thought it would be fun to start and maintain one. Just never got around to it because it’s so much work, from conceptualizing to shooting to editing; and idk if my humor will translate to the camera. Plus I hate being shot in public, so it would never work out for me.

If not, have you ever considered starting a vlog? Yeah, a lot of times. It just looks like such a therapeutic outlet that I can sink my teeth into. Who knows, if I ever gain more confidence in the future I may just try making a video or two.

Did you go to AM or PM kindergarten? AM. As much as I hated waking up early from ages 4-6, it was nice to be home by noon and it also made for good training for the rest of my years in school.

What are your favorite youtube channels to watch? Good Mythical Morning, several wrestling-themed channels for their weekly lists, and KBS for their Return of Superman clips. I have a lot of other subscriptions, but those are the main ones I’ve been tuning into lately.

Which relative(s) do you look the most like? I get my mom the most, but sometimes I’ll be told I look like my dad as well.

Have you ever watched a live birth video? I don’t think so.

Have you ever given birth? Definitely not.

Do you remember when the Internet was a new thing? That wouldn’t be possible as I wasn’t born yet and by the time that I was, the internet had already been around for a few years.

Do you remember Y2K? I was alive when it happened but barely conscious, so no. I was only 2.

How old were you when the year changed to 2000? I was 1, turning 2 that year.

What was your favorite childhood vacation? We didn’t have lots of vacations when I was a kid, because for most of the 2000s my parents were still busy saving up and climbing up their respective ladders at work. We only started to regularly go on vacations by the time I was around 11, when finances started to get easier to handle. That said, as a kid I really loved the time my parents would bring us to the local water park on weekends.

Have you ever wished you were born the opposite gender? As a teenager when hating pink and general girliness was cool, probably. I don’t wish for it now.

What's your birth order: oldest, middle, or youngest? I’m the eldest.

Do you fit the stereotype for whatever birth order you are? Idk what kind of stereotype you’re looking for, tbh. As much as I don’t really like tooting my own horn, I’ve heard firstborns are usually more intelligent than their younger siblings and I would attest to at least that lol

Have you ever worn overalls? Yup, though they aren’t the denim kind.

If you're a girl, how old were you when you started your period? I had just turned 10. I thought I was going to get it while I was still 9 (the signs had been showing for a while by then), but it ultimately came a month after my 10th birthday. Still, I was one of the rare cases in my family who had it at a lot younger.

Do you get cramps? I used to get leg cramps all the goddamn time as a kid, and they always came in the middle of the night. I don’t get them or any kind of cramps anymore, thankfully; and the only time I do is on my fingers when I don’t hold my chopsticks properly.

Is your mom mentally stable? I think there are definitely some things therapy could fix.

Is your dad a complete jerk to you? No, you’re referring to the other parent.

Where do you want to go on vacation next? Oh my godddddd, Thailand plz.

What is one place you want to visit before you die? Wrestlemania.

Has anyone ever committed suicide in your town, that you know of? A neighbor’s kid passed away a few months ago, but I didn’t know them.

What's your favorite type of crackers? Ritz Bits are where it’s at.

What's your favorite spice? Cumin.

Are you sensitive? Yeah. I’m a little soft and I tend to take a lot of things personally.

Are you intuitive? It wouldn’t be the first word I’d use to describe myself, but I guess I have my moments.

Are you spiritual? No.

Do you wish your life were easier? Um, if it was a legitimate option then yeah obviously.

What color hair did your first crush have? Black.

What was the name of your first crush? Andi.

Did you ever play on Mamamedia.com? I don’t think I’ve heard of that site. If we’re talking of websites that host flash games or whatever it is they’re called, I always hung out on Y8 haha.

Do you remember your first email address? I didn’t anymore before encountering this, but this question made me automatically rack my brain and now I do remember and now I’m wincing as well.

Did you name your lego characters? I didn’t make any characters, I think. I just liked making towers.

What was/is your high school's mascot? Both my schools don’t have mascots.

What is/was your favorite class in high school? All the history classes we had to take under the social sciences umbrella; it was Philippine history for freshman year, Asian history for sophomore year; world history in junior year; and then unfortunately we made the switch to basic economics for senior year which was like ???? Why couldn’t we have gone all the way with history? Economics ended up being super boring lol.

Is college an adventure? It really was. I grew and learned so much in it and I couldn’t have spent the last four years in a better place and a better school.

Do you take medication for anxiety or depression? No.

If so, does it work? Does it help you? Or does it make you feel worse?

If applicable, what form of birth control do you use?

Who is your favorite cousin? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side, who pretty much feels like my older brother and not a cousin at this point.

Do you look your age? According to most, no. I look a little younger than 22.

What's your favorite flavor of frosting? Chocolateeeeeeee.

Do you like toe socks? I’ve never had to wear those before so I don’t have an opinion.

Muffins or cupcakes? Cupcakes.

Have you ever had a bag stolen? I’ve had a wallet stolen, so kinda.

How old were you when you got your first phone? I was technically still 6 because I had an advanced celebration, but it was for my 7th birthday.

Are you ready for summer?!?! Now that I think about it I do want to go back to summer, just because it was such a vastly different – and a lot happier – time...

Is winter your favorite season? It probably would be if we had it.

How many people do you know who've said winter is their favorite season? Zero.

Are you unique in any way? I think everyone is.

Do you have any hidden talents? if there are any left, I’m not aware of them yet.

Has anyone said you and your mom look like sisters? Just about everyone, all the time.

Who was your best friend in high school? Gabie for the most part, but Angela was there as well.

What book or movie gave you nightmares as a child? Commercials creeped me out as a child, not a certain book or movie.

What song makes you cry? Usually it’s 26 by Paramore, but not always.

Does anyone know who your first crush was besides you? Yeah, I’ve told a couple of people.

How many teachers have you had crushes on? I think around three or four. Possibly more, but I don’t remember all too well as I’ve since discarded a lot of memories from my old school.

Did you make your Barbie dolls get crushes on each other? Nah. I mostly stripped them of their clothes and broke their arms and legs, lol.

Did your Barbie dolls go on dates? Nope. I didn’t have enough dolls to do that, anyway. It wasn’t my toy of choice.

How old were you when you had your first kiss? I was 16.

Do you like church? Hell no.

Do you have scars from self-harm? You’d only be able to make them out if you knew I self-harmed, but I think they’re almost unrecognizable at this point.

Do you have cellulite? It’s only present if I tightly twist my skin.

How old were you when you started getting zits? Not sure, somewhere in the middle of high school. I’ve never had lasting problems with acne though; I only ever get one or two at a time and it happens like, once a year.

Did your hair change at all when you went through puberty? Aside from hair growing in places? No, not really. It stayed the same.

Are you taller, shorter, or the same height as your mom? I’m a tad bit shorter, though for a time it seemed as if my growth spurt would lead me to overtake her.

Would you ever consider adopting a child? It’s not a personal choice of mine, but there could very much be situations in the far future where I would consider doing so. I’m not shutting that possibility down.

Who was your first roommate? I’ve never had one; I haven’t tried living on my own yet.

Have you ever had a teacher who was rude? So many.

Is your mom paranoid? Very much so. She shows some signs of OCD and her paranoia is reflected through that.

Do you trim your own hair? Not my hair, but I do this with my bangs.

Did your mom read you bedtime stories as a child? No. That’s one of the things I’ll change if I myself become a mom.

What are all the things you remember being for Halloween? Pirate, Tinkerbell, Daria, AJ Lee, Dora the Explorer, Sofie.

What was the name of the first pet that you loved? My first goldfish.

Did you have your own room as a child? Not until I was 10.

What color was your nursery? I wasn’t put in one. I shared a room with my parents and siblings until I was 10.

Did your parents know your gender before you were born? I think they waited it out until a few weeks before I was born.

What is your name (first and middle)? My first name is Robyn and my second is Isabelle; I don’t need to share my middle name.

What would you have been named if you had been born the opposite gender? They never thought about it, which is kinda disappointing because I do want to know what my other name could’ve been.

Do you like your name? I’ve ended up doing so, yes.

What would you name your children? I haven’t cemented decisions that far ahead. I have ideas for names, like Olivia, but they’re nothing absolute.

Do you exercise regularly? Nope.

Do you have a healthy BMI? No, I’ve always been a little underweight.

What is your favorite season? Wet/rainy.

Do you look like your mom? This is like the third time I’ve answered this within just this survey lol, yes I do.

What is the origin of your last name? Spanish/Portuguese.

What is the meaning of your first name? I’ve heard it means ‘fame.’ I just don’t feel like checking.

What month were you born in? April.

Do you share a birthday with anyone in your family? Nope. But my sister and one of my cousins share the same birthday, right down to the year.

Do you have a sweet tooth? Eh, it comes out every now and then but it’s not all the time. I definitely enjoy savory more.

What photo editing software do you use? None lol, photo editing is one of my Achilles’ heels.

Where do you buy most of your clothes? Tianggeeeeeeeees.

#survey #surveys

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itsdearsuga · 4 years ago

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Grief: The Story of My First Major Loss.

Growing up, I only went to 2 funerals until I reached my 20’s.

My Grandfather, who was barely present in our lives. He was a man with his own set of issues, and we always had to stay in the car when we visited him those 3-4 times.

Then my late Pastor from Mowing Glade A.M.E Zion, who had mysterious health issues and eventually left us once the plug was pulled at a local hospital in Charlotte, where I once lived.

I was barely a 4th grader when both of these deaths occured in my life.

I always saw death as a catalyst for sympathy. I never truly understood it, I just knew it was a huge deal. If someone died in a person's life, I expected them to be out of school for like a month and for them to cry every 5 minutes. I just knew death to be this sad thing that was inevitable in people's experiences.

That was, until Granny’s diagnosis.

She was an avid snuff user, and growing up there was always a can of that black tar like substance that she spit out by the fireplace. I knew she spit in there but we always stayed as far away from that cursed can as possible. One day my cousin, sister and I knocked it over, and I honestly thought I was going to pass away my damn self. She used that stuff for over 50 years, some say since she was 8, and once I was in college, we received news that she had an extremely aggressive form of mouth cancer. When you’re a certified pessimist like myself from time to time, you’d probably hear the word cancer and think of the worse. But for me at that moment, it was a little different. I tried to muster up all the hope in the world for my grandmother. She cared for me and all of my cousins, she was my coffee buddy every sunday after church, I always made her laugh and we always sat on those rocking chairs on the porch, listening to the soft windchimes that clanged melodically in the countryside breeze, or played checkers in the cracker barrel before we were seated to go eat… I remembered every bit of love and hope she gave me, and in that moment of hearing that news, I tried to return it all back to her. In all the things she handled in her years, it couldn’t be the snuff of all things that took her off this world. She held our family together, but unfortunately, the more sick she became, the more tensions rose amongst my loved ones. I never was the type that liked to talk in my family. It was a Hi then Bye kind of vibe when I walked in the room. Someone could look at my sketchbook, say I’m going to be the next picasso or something with an uncomfortable amount of enthusiasm and then keep it moving, It’s whatever. I only held long conversations with a select few in my family, but I typically kept to myself with a straight face. That’s where Granny came in with my nickname when I was kid. She called me “Suga” because of the irony of me being anything but. I hated that nickname for a long time, I thought it was to tease me, but she only called me that until, well, she passed. Her sickness was a long, grueling time in my life and my family’s lives. They fought over who took care of her, my aunts and cousins, and all I could do is watch the drama ensue or hear it over the phone from a distraught cousin all the way from Maryland. In the spring of 2018, our lives changed forever.

“Her tumor keeps coming back, they’re going to have to remove and replace the jaw.” These were the words I was told about the fate of my grandmother in the next coming weeks. This was also after she had ridiculous amounts of treatment. The granny I once knew as being a sturdy weight, eating alongside us , full of laughter and life, grew frail. She was always holding her jaw and groaning. She could barely say much without it causing her pain. It hurt like hell to see. I took time off of school and headed back to Charlotte for a little while, promising to handle my homework while I was gone. I barely slept that week. The hospital waiting room was full of loved ones during the operation, and I’ll never forget the moment before she was wheeled back. I was the last to see her, and that was the last time I heard Suga for quite awhile. Nonetheless, we played card games, visited the panera downstairs and anxiously sat and waited. Eventually, the surgery was over, and we went home while she was in recovery. Once back at the house, I only heard horror stories. One aunt said she looked like Emmett Till post surgery. I sat and listened to the hushed voices of all of my aunts as they talked about how she looked, but my mother hadn't seen her just yet. We were both worried and that was the first time I saw her cry. I could only hold her and try my best to reassure her that it can’t be that bad, but we had our own issues on top of this with our living situation, that would definitely be another blog post for another day. I stayed in my grandparents bedroom, anxiously doing my homework and talking on the phone to stay up and sane, drinking energy beverages and taking smoke breaks all night. It was hard, and I couldn’t sleep thinking about the major changes to a face that was so familiar to me. We eventually made our way to the hospital. When we arrived, I was definitely surprised. Her face was extremely swollen, and it looked as though her entire face was fused under the nose. I said nothing and when I walked in, my mother gave me a certain look as though it wasn't necessary to stay. I stayed. For days. If I wasn't by her bedside trying to teach her little signs in ASL that’d she’d eventually say whatever to and not use at all, or talking to her about how much of a pain in my the ass my classes were, I was in the lobby of the hospital, typing my essays tirelessly and staying sleep deprived. Eventually we went back to MD, and I only saw her from time to time when we went back home those few times. She didn't talk for more than 6 months, and phone calls were difficult, but when she got the ball rolling, she called my mom everyday and I eventually heard my nickname all over again. I was hopeful, until around valentines day of this year. I was working on a painting for her. One morning, she got really sick, with something like the flu, and the chemo and treatments were already too much for her immune system. I was at school that day, bitching about my work and getting annoyed at my dad's numerous text messages asking me where I was. My mom was in Greensboro for work at the time. I eventually came home and my dad told me to sit down.

Now at this point, I did experience my fair share of death, but nothing too close to me where I was broken. Nothing, besides Kaya maybe , but that loss broke me in regards to my place of empathy. And that story is another one in it’s own right. But I was truly oblivious to why my dad would need me to sit down so urgently. I guess a part of me was in a place mentally where I promised to see her again, and something in my psyche was reassuring myself that she wouldn't go anywhere until I could make that happen. Another part of me was too scared to hear what he had to say. Sure enough, I heard the worst. She was gone, and in that one moment, my entire world fell apart.

The drive after was the worst part.

I thought about the blackberry picking we did if we wanted a pie,

I thought about the times she took my scrap drawings and framed them, telling me that even the worst ones to me were everything to her.

I remember all the times I would hear my Nickname.

And everytime I heard it in my head, I was shattered all over again.

This was 6 months ago.

Now, I think I’m beginning to understand grief a little better. It feels like a never ending one way street, With an occasional traffic circle that doesn't tell you where the exits are going to take you.

Some exits take you on a beautiful scenic route, where you feel a little more comfortable to reminisce on the better days with that person, and some exits are rainy and disgusting. No matter how fast the windshields are going, you still can't see the road ahead even with the high beams on, and on top of that, you’re getting motion sickness, and it’s fucking brutal.

Grief is never a straight shot. It feels like one for a while, but the roundabouts are unexpected. Sometimes they show up after around a half a mile, and other times, they don't show up for about 7 or 8 miles.

Either way, they’re a journey that almost everyone takes, and it's okay if there's trouble on the trip because we’re human.

Love Always, Suga.

#Grief #Journal #Lifestyle #Blog

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osakaso5 · 5 years ago

Text

IDOLiSH7 4th Anniversary Special Story: Best Wishes...

Chapter 1: A Job And An Idea

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Ryo Tsukumo: Happy anniversary!

Pop!

ŹOOĻ: .........

Toma Inumaru: ...That startled me...

Haruka Isumi: ...What anniversary..?

Minami Natsume: I wonder...

Torao Mido: The contents of his party cracker got in my hair...

Ryo Tsumugi: Come on! You're too lethargic! Do it over!

Toma Inumaru: And you're weirdly excited..?

Ryo Tsukumo: Happy anniversary! Yaaay..!

ŹOOĻ: Y-yaaay...

Ryo Tsukumo: WHOOO! Louder!

ŹOOĻ: Yaaay!

Ryo Tsukumo: Hey... Why are you so excited, when you don't even know what we're celebrating?

Ryo Tsukumo: If you get too carried away, you'll find yourselves buying magic beans before you know it. Are you sure you want that?

Torao Mido: Magic beans, eh. That sounds pretty interesting. So, what's this all about? Is it your birthday, Ryo-san?

Haruka Isumi: Ah, is it? How old are you now?

Ryo Tsukumo: 25 years old.

Minami Natsume: Lying about your age... Perhaps there is a human side to you, after all.

Toma Inumaru: Huh? But wouldn't he be saying "happy birthday", if it was his birthday? What's this anniversary stuff all about?

Ryo Tsukumo: You know that large shopping center, Sky Blue Mall, right?

Haruka Isumi: Yeah. The one they built in the city a few years back...

Ryo Tsukumo: That's the one. It was built in hopes of attracting people, but never boomed the way it was intended to.

Ryo Tsukumo: They're renovating the place just in time for its 4th anniversary.

Torao Mido: Renovating after only four years? That's a little early, don't you think?

Minami Natsume: It's most likely due to their poor performance. They're trying to reform their image with a quick makeover.

Ryo Tsukumo: Exactly. Their plan is to shamble from the dead with one last elixir, so they won't have to suffer a slow death.

Toma Inumaru: You didn't have to put it like that...

Ryo Tsukumo: It seems they're planning to put plenty of vigor and budget into their 4th anniversary re-opening.

Ryo Tsukumo: They're advertising Sky Blue Mall quite a lot, whether rebuilding is going to help them or not.

Ryo Tsukumo: They were looking for talents that could fit their four year theme, so I snatched this job for ŹOOĻ.

Haruka Isumi: But it's four years, right? We've only just debuted.

Ryo Tsukumo: It's not about your debut. This marks the fourth year since the four of you first met.

ŹOOĻ: Ah...

ŹOOĻ: .........

ŹOOĻ: Huh..?

Haruka Isumi: No, that doesn't add up at all.

Toma Inumaru: Four years ago? Literally none of us had met each other.

Ryo Tsukumo: What do you mean? Try to remember that time carefully. Torao, you were a high schooler four years ago, yes? What did you do back then?

Torao Mido: I was the student council president.

Toma, Haruka, & Minami: No way!

Torao Mido: It's true!

Toma Inumaru: Hey, stop playing along with Ryo-san's bullcrap. You're just digging your own grave.

Torao Mido: Maybe I should dig your grave. I was an honor student. Can't you tell?

Ryo Tsukumo: Alright, Torao was the student council president at a prestigious academy...

Torao Mido: What are you writing down?

Ryo Tsukumo: Nope, I'm not showing you. What about you, Haruka? What were you doing four years ago?

Haruka Isumi: Me? Four years ago, I sang in the choir of the neighborhood church...

Toma, Minami, & Torao: No way!

Torao Mido: You were such a good kid.

Minami Natsume: How adorable.

Toma Inumaru: I wanna see you in that choir uniform. You got pictures?

Haruka Isumi: No. It wasn't anything that special, really... A lot of kids from the neighborhood went there.

Ryo Tsukumo: Haruka sang in a church choir... What about you, Minami?

Minami Natsume: Four years ago, I would have been filming The Cursed Serpent's Mirror.

Toma Inumaru: Ah! That horror blockbuster..!!!

Torao Mido: I was too scared to go see that one...

Haruka Isumi: I had to close my eyes every time they showed commercials for it...

Minami Natsume: Here is a picture from back then.

Toma, Haruka, & Torao: Gyah..!

Toma Inumaru: Creepy..! That's you, Mina!? Is this special effects make up!?

Torao Mido: Normal humans can't make that kind of face...

Minami Natsume: Fufu. You flatter me. This movie is famous for its final scene. Would you like to see it?

Haruka Isumi: No!!! That's enough... I'm not gonna be able to go to the toilet tonight...

Ryo Tsukumo: I know what you mean. Horror makes even bathing scarier. You start imagining all kinds of stuff in the shower.

Ryo Tsukumo: Like deathly pale women in the mirror, or children's faces staring up at you from the floor, or dark shadows behind the frosted glass...

Haruka Isumi: Don't start describing things that'll make me more scared! You're horrible..!!!

Ryo Tsukumo: Oh? Haruka, behind you...

Haruka Isumi: Stop!!!

Ryo Tsukumo: Hehe. OK, OK. Minami was filming a movie. And you, Toma?

Toma Inumaru: I was still a part of NO_MAD. But I also went to school properly, so I was kinda like Haru is now.

Haruka Isumi: Ugh...

Toma Inumaru: Don't "ugh" me. Your school years are in important time, when you get to have lots of fun.

Ryo Tsukumo: Huh? And what about people who didn't have fun?

Toma Inumaru: That's... Well...

Torao Mido: I don't think there's anybody who didn't have fun. If you live normally, you'll get a girlfriend and excel in your club activities, doing something productive every day.

Haruka Isumi: Not everyone's a normie student council prez like you.

Minami Natsume: I didn't experience that, either. I could rarely go to school due to my work, so I have few proper memories to speak of.

Torao Mido: Really?

Minami Natsume: Yes. On the rare occasion that I went back to school, I'd have so many Valentine's Day chocolates piled up that I'd feel bad.

Haruka Isumi: You're just a normie, too!

Toma Inumaru: Haru, Haru! I got chocolates, too! Since I was an idol!

Haruka Isumi: Shut up! Even I've gotten chocolates before!

Toma, Torao, & Minami: From who?

Haruka Isumi: ........ It's a secret.

Toma, Torao, & Minami: Oh dear...

Ryo Tsukumo: Well then, next Valentine's Day, I'll have to use my own handmade chocolates to turn the holiday into a traumatic event for you all...

Toma Inumaru: Why are you always so quick to say creepy stuff...

Ryo Tsukumo: A student council president, a choirboy, an actor, and an idol. Despite living in completely different worlds, the four of you met by chance four years ago.

Ryo Tsukumo: Torao, do you remember your vice president?

Torao Mido: Vice president? There were two of them...

Ryo Tsukumo: The taller one.

Torao Mido: Yeah, I remember 'em.

Ryo Tsukumo: The park you took her out on a date once was actually being used as a filming location for The Cursed Serpent's Mirror at the time.

Torao Mido: Huh..?

Minami Natsume: Is that so? You were there at the same time as me?

Torao Mido: No, the vice prez was a guy. I wouldn't have taken him out on a date.

Ryo Tsukumo: Tsk...

Minami Natsume: Ryo-san... What are you trying to accomplish by fabricating stories?

Ryo Tsukumo: Wait, next. Haruka!

Ryo Tsukumo: As a choirboy who admired idols, you once went to a NO_MAD concert.

Toma Inumaru: Really!? You should've told me! I'm so happy to hear that!

Haruka Isumi: N-no, I never did that...

Toma Inumaru: Huh? W-what the hell. I got really excited there for a sec.

Toma Inumaru: Ryo-san, stop making shit up. None of us met four years ago.

Ryo Tsukumo: That's true.

Haruka Isumi: See!?

Minami Natsume: None of us thought otherwise.

Torao Mido: Oh. Too bad, it would've felt nice and fateful if we actually had met.

Minami Natsume: You're such a romantic, Mido-san.

Torao Mido: You don't believe in fate, despite being a fortune teller?

Minami Natsume: I do, but I have to wonder whether it applies to us.

Ryo Tsukumo: If not, then we have to make something up, since I accepted this 4th anniversary job.

Toma Inumaru: Don't make anything up! If we're caught lying, the people of Sky Bue Mall will be disappointed, too. It's their anniversary and everything.

Ryo Tsukumo: This world is full of fabrications. Edison didn't actually invent electricity, and Apollo 11 didn't actually land on the Moon.

Haruka Isumi: Really!?

Minami Natsume: Don't listen to him.

Ryo Tsukumo: If we turn the job down now, there'll be chaos. It's nicer if we force some kind of connection between you guys. Don't you have any material?

Torao Mido: Even if you ask that...

Haruka Isumi: A student council president, a choirboy, an actor, and an idol...

Toma Inumaru: Hmm, how about this? You guys used to be my fans, and...

Haruka, Torao, & Minami: Objection.

Toma Inumaru: Why!? Isn't it nice and simple!?

Haruka Isumi: It's not fair if only you get to show off!

Minami Natsume: I don't want people to say that my music was influenced by NO_MAD. Their styles are completely different.

Torao Mido: How do you think I'll feel if all my future interviews will be about how I used to be your fan?

Toma Inumaru: Hmm... Then what should we go with?

Haruka Isumi: What if we just met by chance? We could say we shared a table at a restaurant or something.

Toma Inumaru: That's a great idea! We ran into each other at a fast food joint!

Torao Mido: I don't go to fast food places.

Minami Natsume: I rarely visit them, as well.

Toma Inumaru: ........ Then, maybe we met at a trendy café...

Haruka Isumi: Cafés charge over 300 yen for a glass of juice! Do you really think a middle schooler's gonna go there?

Toma Inumaru: You've got a point... Now that we think about it, there's not many ways we could've ran into each other.

Haruka Isumi: I guess not...

Minami Natsume: I suppose...

Torao Mido: Right...

Ryo Tsukumo: That you met at all was a miracle... You should be grateful to the person who made it happen. That would be me.

Ryo Tsukumo: Hmm, I'm all out of good ideas. Let's just come up with something random. Like a school feud.

Torao Mido: A school feud!?

Ryo Tsukumo: Toma was a gang leader who challenged rival schools to duels.

Toma Inumaru: Isn't that something from over forty years ago, rather than four!?

Ryo Tsukumo: Haruka was the younger brother of Toma's girlfriend.

Haruka Isumi: Huh!? Don't just make up a sister for me!

Ryo Tsukumo: Torao was the student council president of a rival school. He was secretly a yanki gang leader.

Torao Mido: Sounds good. I can do that.

Ryo Tsukumo: Minami was a sukeban from a rival school. He called everyone "y'all" (1).

Minami Natsume: Ryo-san. What is a sukeban?

Ryo Tsukumo: Alright, it's decided!

Toma Inumaru: Seriously!? We're gonna go with that one!?

Haruka Isumi: I don't even have a sister!

Ryo Tsukumo: Sure, you do. I've met her.

Haruka Isumi: Huh..!?

Torao Mido: Stop lying to children.

Haruka Isumi: Oh, it was a lie. It was a lie, right?

Minami Natsume: Ryo-san. What do you mean by me referring to eveyone as y'all?

Ryo Tsukumo: Well then, now that we've got your origin story in order, I'm counting on you to do the job.

To be continued...

Translator’s notes..?

1) a sukeban is the leader of a (school)girl gang. also, ryo originally mentions minami using the first person pronoun “atai”, which is very informal and feminine, but since english only has one first person pronoun, i changed it up a bit to make more sense

#idolish7 #anniversary story 2019 #translation #i7 #trigger #re:vale #zool #other translations

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harryandmolly · 6 years ago

Text

Change of Pace - 4 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 10.9k

---------

“I missed you.”

“You did?” His teeth dig into his lip.

“Always. Every day.”

“Then why didn’t you come sooner?”

She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Her fingers dig into her thighs.

“Maya?”

Her name feels heavy on his tongue.

She’s still. Fingers gripping her thighs.

“Maya? Please?”

He blinks.

He’s alone.

He tells Cheri about Maya. There’s no one in Starbucks, so the barista takes a break and sits at his table in the window with him so he can lament about his long lost love.

He also gets Maya’s number from her. Apparently, they take the same yoga class and have had lunch together a couple of times.

She tells him to suck it up, just text her.

He waits a few days, then thinks of an excuse.

‘Hey Lu, it’s Shawn. Dunno if someone’s told you, but they still do that bonfire night on the beach every Wednesday. Still a pretty awesome time, if you’re looking for something to do tomorrow night. You should come check it out.’

She doesn’t answer. He tries not to be disappointed.

+++

Rationally, he knew Maya wasn’t going to show at the beach last Wednesday night, but a part of him had hoped, anyway. He ended up glued to his phone, waiting for an “I’m here!” text all night instead of actually being in the moment, having fun.

So he tries not to think about it this week, because he’s starting to hate himself for still vying for her attention. She clearly doesn’t want to give it to him. She didn’t know she was going to be vacationing in Shawn’s hometown when she picked Avila. So he’s a blight on her relaxing summer, a reminder of a time she probably doesn’t let herself think about because it’s ancient fucking history.

He didn’t expect things to be any different. He never imagined a romantic reunion when he let himself, on the rare occasion, think about running into her again.

He doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed.

(Except he does. Because he’s a hopeless romantic, even when he tries so hard not to be.)

He goes to the beach with his guitar, a case of beer, and s’mores supplies. Geoff has tequila and a bag of limes, plus a handful of joints, both for when the kids go home.

They claim a cluster of beach chairs near the fire, and settle in with a couple of beers as they wait for more of their friends to show up.

Shawn doesn’t look for Maya. He forces himself to focus on Geoff and the way he slices limes in the palm of his calloused hand.

Armed with a handle of the most expensive rum she could find in 15 miles, Maya swaggers toward the beach like Captain Jack Sparrow. (Because maybe she had a little sip already to get herself out the door to come to this thing.)

Wednesdays are a sacred night in Avila. It’s not a very religious community, so in lieu of celebrating god in church on Sundays, they plant themselves by the ocean with snacks and booze and weed and give thanks to the community their own way.

She and Shawn used to spend most Wednesdays together at the Avila beach bonfire nights. That probably had something to do with her reticence to attend. That and their still somewhat unresolved tension after the drunken kiss in his shop a couple weeks ago.

But tonight, after an afternoon in the surf followed by a joint in the bathtub, with her hair kissed by salt and her skin warm and tan again after so many years, Maya heads out, knowing full well Shawn is probably there and she will have to face him.

She takes another little swig of the bottle before she descends to the beach.

The waves lap at the shore a little fiercer than they were just a half hour ago, and Shawn wonders if his chair is far enough back to avoid a rising tide. He doesn’t move, though, just sips his beer and continues to watch the sunset.

He’s trying not to stare at the boardwalk. Trying not to get his hopes up for something he knows he should really be forgetting. So he watches the waves, sips his beer, and digs his toes into the white sand beneath his feet.

As Maya crests the dunes, she surveys the scene below on the beach. It’s not straight debauchery yet, the way she’s seen it after 10pm when all the kiddies are safely tucked away.

It’s clean family fun still. She stows the rum in her tote and clears her throat, trying not to look for him.

Instead, she spots some women from the yoga studio she’s been frequenting since she got into town. They’re sitting around the fire in lawn chairs with wine spritzers. It makes Maya giggle. As she trudges down the sandy hill, her eyes betray her and search for him as subtly as she can manage.

There he is. He’s in a lawn chair closer to the water and not looking at her. From this angle, she can see the way the cut of his jaw is lit up by firelight. There was a time once when she’d take off at a run and drop into his lap in front of everyone with a squeal and a probably inappropriate kiss.

It was a long time ago.

Instead, she makes a beeline for the yoga ladies, who greet her eagerly, already three sheets to the wind.

The night air is cool, but the bonfire is egregiously warm, so he shrugs his shirt off after finishing his beer. Geoff howls from across the fire, but he’s shirtless too, so Shawn flicks him off.

“S’mores?” he shouts to his roommate, who nods, then spreads the news to the people around him.

Shawn pulls the skewers out before popping open the extra-large family sized bag of marshmallows. He skewers a few, handing them off to people as they approach.

Geoff takes his at last, and Shawn’s free to make one for himself. He stands near the fire next to G and flips his marshmallow over every ten seconds, just like Maya used to.

His marshmallow catches fire once or twice, but he likes them burnt, so it’s okay. He and Geoff go for the rest of the s’mores supplies at the same time. Geoff hands him a graham cracker while Shawn snaps off four pieces of chocolate for them each.

They bite into their sweet sandwiches at the same time, both getting crumbs all over their laps. Marshmallow clings to his lips as he pulls the s’more away from his mouth. The strings of fluff eventually snap and recoil onto his chin.

“Napkins, dude,” he says as he sucks stray chocolate from his thumb. “You need one?”

Geoff crunches on graham cracker and nods, pointing to his chocolate stained mouth. “Mmph, ya,” he confirms, then takes another bite.

Shawn laughs and goes for the snack table, where napkins, plates, and cups also rest. He’s too busy thinking about the next s’more he’s gonna make to stop himself from scanning the crowd, and that’s when he sees her.

Maya sits on the opposite side of the fire, settling into a chair in the circle of yogies. He jerks his head away when he realizes he’s been staring for a moment too long. He makes his way back to Geoff.

Shawn chucks the napkin at his roommate, then goes back to his chair that, luckily, isn’t facing the woman he’s addicted to staring at. He stares at the ocean instead, and forgets all about that second s’more while he wonders if she saw him when she arrived. And if she did, why she didn’t even bother to say hi.

Maya’s doing the thing.

She’s doing the thing she used to do in middle or high school when a boy she liked didn’t fall all over her when she walked into a room. She’s doing the “I’m having so much fun over here with my friends without you, ha ha ha!” thing.

She sucks down the rest of her Solo cup full of water and takes a wine spritzer when it’s offered to her.

She knows he’s seen her now as he gets up and goes for a shirtless jog to the snack table. Her entire circle of ladies go silent and slack-jawed when he passes. She just averts her eyes and laughs to her friend who didn’t even say anything.

This is stupid, she decides after the wine spritzer has come and gone. She has to just go talk to him. They’re practically neighbors in this tiny beach down and yeah, he doesn’t know yet that she’s not actually leaving at the end of the summer but…

She’s heading over anyway. She leaves mid yogi convo and strolls over with her empty cup. She stands by him and chews on her lip.

“Hey mister, can I have a s’more?”

Her voice is clear, cuts sharply through the sounds of the water rushing against the sand and the gulls, screeching along the horizon. A shiver runs down his spine, and he has to resist the urge to visibly shake with it.

“I think ‘a s’more’ is grammatically incorrect,” he deadpans, but when he looks at her his heart leaps into his throat, and he has to smile. “But I wouldn’t know what’s actually correct, so. Sure.”

He can’t believe he was pouting because she wasn’t going to say hi to him. He feels like he’s back in middle school, when liking the prettiest girl in the grade is a given, but also totally taboo because like, ew. Girls. It’s stupid. She makes him fucking stupid.

She watches him closely, trying to determine how he feels about her trotting up to him and asking for food after how their last two meetings went. He doesn’t seem put off. In fact, he seems a little shyly happy to see her. It’s… nice.

He stands and brushes his hands on his swim shorts, then leads the way to the s’mores. He skewers two marshmallows on a stick for her, because he remembers everything, like how she takes her s’mores. Two marshmallows, three chocolate bits, and half a graham cracker because they’re better “open-faced”.

He hopes it hasn’t changed, that someone else hasn’t come along and shown her a better way of eating s’mores. He likes her way.

Before she can ask for additional mallow, he skewers one more for her automatically like he never forgot, like they never skipped a beat. She stands there a little dumbfounded, staring at him as he preps her food.

She almost says it, almost says “you remember”.... but she knows where that got them last time. She holds her breath instead.

He hands her the skewer, then takes his own to the fire, hoping she’ll follow without any prompting.

She goes with him to the fire in silence, trying not to check him out as he walks ahead of her. It’s hard, because he’s him and he’s sculpted from marble.

“So… uhm… do you come here often?”

Oh my god.

“Um, I don’t know, are you a 50 year old divorcee or are you just really bad at small talk?” he says with a laugh and a glance in her direction. She’s funny even when she doesn’t mean to be, which is disgustingly cute, just like it’s always been.

He’s trying not to resent her for it. (Or fall in love with her because of it.)

His laughter subsides and he mashes his lips together, suddenly worried that was maybe a little mean, given their previous interaction. He always used to tease her like that, they’d tease each other. But now—

Now, everything is different.

“Sorry,” he murmurs with a ghost of an apologetic smile tugging his lips.

Shawn seems to fall in to teasing her, treating her like he always used to. She feels warmed by it, feeling like between his attention and the fire she might just combust.

He begs off, though, like he remembers that they’re not what they used to be. She blinks and nods.

“It’s ok. I know I have no game at all,” she sighs, timing her marshmallow carefully as she rotates it onto its side.

He’s pretty sure her total lack of game is part of what makes her so charming, and it’s definitely something he’s into. He always has been.

He watches her roast her marshmallow for a moment, then remembers she actually asked a question.

He clears his throat, looks back at the fire.

”I do, though. Come here often, I mean. It’s a fun time, and a cool way to connect with people. There’s, you know, music and dancing. Plus plenty of booze and drugs.”

Maya knows about beach Wednesdays, but he’s telling her this shit anyway. He’s not sure why.

She can imagine him getting into his rhythm here, showing up with Geoff, kicking around a ball, rolling the joints she remembers he was known for in college, maybe taking home a yogi every once in a while.

With a furtive glance back at her group, she scans them, wondering which, if any, Shawn’s fucked. She blinks hard and looks back at the fire.

He laughs again, but it’s stilted this time. “I sound like the mayor or something. Trying to sway you on Avila so you’ll stay for good.”

Please, stay here for good.

He shouldn’t let himself think like that. He shouldn’t let himself care again, even though he wants to. So he just laughs.

And then he mentions her leaving. She licks her lips and shifts on her feet, cursing herself for her enormously stupid lie. Because he’s going to fucking notice when she doesn’t leave at the end of summer.

She chuckles falsely and pulls her marshmallow from the fire to prepare her s’more. “I like it here, too.”

Shawn follows her lead, pulls his sticky marshmallow from his skewer and goes for the pieces of graham cracker and broken chocolate left on the snack table. He hands Maya a graham cracker with a gentle smile, watching as she picks the marshmallow from her sticky fingers.

“It’s definitely not a bad place to settle,” he says as he smushes his marshmallow between the crackers and chocolate. He takes a bite and only demolishes half of it, doesn’t go for swallowing the whole thing in one go because it’s kind of gross and he doesn’t think he and Maya are in a place where he can be disgusting in front of her, again.

As he wipes to corner of his mouth with a napkin, he wonders if she’ll notice him holding back.

Shawn sprays his chest with graham cracker crumbs as he takes an enormous bite of his s’more. Maya giggles like they’re in high school. She feels the gap between them now in an intangible way, like they’re not entirely themselves right now, but a cleaned-up, tucked-away version.

Maya fidgets, deciding whether or not she should leave the gap be, let it take the place of what they were to each other, or if she should fight it. Fight to love him again, fight to be there for each other.

He jerks his head towards the pair of beach chairs that Geoff has recently abandoned in favor of flirting with the yogis, says, “You wanna watch the water with me? Or look for constellations?”

He hopes to sound casual and not completely desperate. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, cooler than he did the other night when he kissed her and made her cry and then she ran away, again.

He really doesn’t want her to run away from him a third time.

Shawn’s voice startles her as she chews. Maybe this time she’ll let him make his mind up for them.

She follows him to the set of chairs he’s nodding at and drops into one, taking another bite and giggling at the stickiness. She hasn’t had a s’more since… probably that summer with him here in Avila.

Maya’s drawn to the water. She watches it rush in and pull away and she feels like she understands it. Maybe it has a million reasons not to stay onshore. Maybe the ocean is torn too.

She looks over at Shawn and leans back, looking at him in a way she hasn’t really let herself since she got here.

Maya doesn’t say anything and it’s only a little unnerving. There used to be a time when he knew exactly what she was thinking, no matter how quiet she was, no matter how few words they actually exchanged. They communicated with a look, with touch, with a carefully timed catch of breath.

It’s nothing like that, now. Now, he has no idea what she’s thinking, why she’s not saying anything, or what she might want. He doesn’t know what she expects of him. He hates it. He feels untethered around her, even though she once was his anchor, his fucking rock.

The anchor tattooed on the front of his right hip aches, and he decides to never tell her he got it for her.

He drops down next to her, pushing his feet deep into the sand as he stretches his legs out and leans back into his chair. He finishes his s’more in a big second bite, then has to resist the urge to watch Maya finish hers.

The waves draw closer to their chairs, but he doesn’t move. They used to always do this, plant their chairs too close to the shore and let the water wash over their feet. They used to play pictionary in the smoothed sand, either with their toes or a stick, if they could find one.

Shawn glances at her briefly, a millisecond at most, and is satisfied to see her gazing out at the horizon, totally distracted from him. He looks back down and tries to think of something to say. It’s not a problem he used to ever have with her. There were always a million things he wanted to tell her, a million things he could think to share, a million secrets he wanted to tuck into her hair as they fell asleep curled together.

There’re still are a million things to say. But he’s too scared to try any of them.

“Beer?” is all he can come up with, because it’s safest and he thinks he definitely needs to be drunk to get through this.

Maya is too deep in her own head when she hears his voice again. She looks up from the sea and sees him looking eager for something to do.

She swallows; her mouth is dry. “Actually…”

She trails off and glances around. Her tote bag is back by the yogis. She dashes off to get it and comes back, lifting the handle of rum out by its neck.

He watches her run away and tries not to stare at her ass. She has such a great ass, though. Which he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. He tries to think about anything else, anything that doesn’t remind him of how well he once knew her body, and how well she let him love it.

He watches the sand kick up around her feet instead as she comes running back towards him.

“I brought something stronger. If you’re interested.”

She twists off the cap and takes a swig, dropping into her seat.

He blinks up at her, lips pressing together as he contemplates the rum. He was thinking tequila shots with Geoff, but rum with Maya sounds like a much better idea. He watches her drink, watches her throat move as she swallows and tries not to think about how badly he’d like to taste her there again and leave a mark or two like he used to.

He pulls his gaze from her, directs it back at the ocean and tries to shake the thought.

As Maya swallows a second sip of rum, she looks him over again.

“Some of those tattoos are new,” she comments, trying not to sound too hungry, like she’s been staring at him.

“Oh,” his gaze drops to his own torso, to the intricate black lines of ink that adorn his skin, “uh, yeah, all of these chest pieces are new for you, I guess.”

He looks up at her and tries not to blush under her gaze. The rum taunts him from her fingers, so he plucks the bottle away and takes his own sip.

Maya leans in, looking closely. She struggles to focus on the artistry above instead of the masterpiece below it because she doesn’t want to salivate all over him. She lifts a hand and almost reaches out to trace the waving tips of the thistle outlined on his abdomen but manages to stop herself and clear her throat to make way for more rum.

“Mm.” Shawn pulls the bottle from his lips and swallows. “This one, too,” he says as he twists his left forearm around to show her the black-line tattoo of the little prince being carried away by a flock of birds that sits just beneath his elbow.

She takes the rum back and takes a hearty sip, blinking away the haze. She looks in at the tattoo he’s gesturing to on his inner forearm and smiles.

“Le Petit Prince,” she recites with a wistful smile, “You used to keep a copy of it by your bed in all your apartments.”

She tilts her head back against the chair. She’s not sure why she said that. Why did she say that?

The rum passes between them again while Maya looks like she’s caught up in a memory of which she’s particularly fond. A memory of him. His pulse beats loudly in his ears and he wonders if she’s thinking of all the times he read the book to her in french as they soaked in the bath together. He swallows and looks back at the ocean, twirling the bottle between his fingers so the liquor sloshes around in a sloppy vortex.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, looking back at her, “that was a little pretentious, wasn’t it?”

He blinks, looks down at his arm.

“Is this tattoo pretentious? Do I need to get it turned into something that makes me look less of an asshole?”

He looks over at her, and he’s not really worried about looking like a pretentious dick. He just wants to make her laugh. Or for her to tell him how much she actually loves his tattoo. He’s really not above fishing for a compliment from her. He’s always basked in her praise, whenever he’s managed to get it.

Maya watches him crawl inside his own head like he’s always been prone to do. She used to get to crawl in after him and pull him back out again with a few quiet love words and some kisses to go with them. She doesn’t have her old tools available to her now so she has to improvise.

With a deep breath, she leans across the space between them and traces the lines of the balloons with her fingertip.

“It’s not pretentious if it’s honest. And this is honest,” she hums, remembering how much he loves that little book, how his whispered broken French used to set her skin on fire when they were under water.

He holds his breath as her delicate fingers brush across his skin. She’s casual about it, like it’s no big deal and she’s totally not setting his entire body on fire. He has to fight the urge to jerk away.

She eyes the large tiger tattoo curling around his ribs and hip and raises her eyebrow. “That one’s questionable though.”

She notes the way it disappears under his bathing suit and licks her lips, taking the bottle back from him for a drink. “Please tell me the tail doesn’t wrap around your dick.”

He lifts his arm as she nods to his side, looking down at the tiger that he can’t completely see unless he’s looking in a mirror. His brow furrows, lips pursing.

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” he says, trying to ignore how hearing her say the word ‘dick’ does something funny to his. “I also don’t think I’m tough enough for that. Sounds very not fun.”

Maya didn’t actually think for a moment that Shawn had actually been stupid enough to get his dick inked but she’s glad for the reassurance. He has the most beautiful dick from what she can remember. And she remembers it well.

He drops his fingers to his ribs and traces the lines of the tiger he’s always been pretty proud of. It was actually inspired but one of Maya’s drawings, a quick little character study she did when she was going through an animal phase in the beginning of senior year. He guesses she doesn’t remember that.

She watches his thick, nimble fingers trace his ribs over the intricate lines of his tattoo. She wonders how long it took, how long he laid there alone under the needle, thinking, getting lost in his head like he does.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, looking back at her and dropping his arm. “He protects me from danger and shit.”

He grins, takes another sip of rum, then pushes the bottle into the sand at their feet.

“Nothing,” she coughs, eyes running over where the tiger disappears into his shorts, “He’s beautiful. I’m glad he’s there to protect you.”

When I wasn’t.

She glances down at the bottle, then leaves it where it is. She uncrosses her legs and settles in, thinking.

“I never got any of the tattoos I planned.”

She sounds… resigned. Like she’s destined to live a tattooless life and that’s just that. He frowns, watches her watch the ocean before them.

“Why not?” he hears himself asking, even though he thinks the answer might be personal. He remembers her notebook of tattoo ideas, remembers how she would say she was saving up so she could get them done completely, perfectly right.

He was supposed to go with her to get the first. Hold her hand if she needed it.

And then she left.

He doesn’t want to let himself think that he’s the reason she never got any. It’s more likely that she was too busy or it’s inappropriate for her line of work.

He’s trying not to assume everything in her life has some symbolic connection to him, because that’s stupid and narcissistic. He reaches for the bottle of rum to help him ignore the idea.

Maya hasn’t put much thought into why she never got the tattoos she wanted, just like she hasn’t thought about why she hasn’t been in a real relationship since Shawn. That’s the problem, though — she let her life sprint past her while she sat at a desk and worked herself to the bone.

She chews on her lower lip and wonders — is there a part of her that didn’t want the tattoos if Shawn couldn’t enjoy them with her? She doesn’t like to think that. She doesn’t like to think she can’t be herself without him.

But she hasn’t been herself in years.

She doesn’t answer his question and he suddenly feels like he crossed a line. His fingers tighten slightly around the bottle between them as he looks back to the horizon. He won’t push if she won’t answer.

He doesn’t want her to run again.

Maya looks over. He’s got the bottle in his big, beautiful hands again, held by the swallow tattoo she used to kiss when she said goodbye to him and trace with her tongue on lazy Sunday mornings.

“I want a tattoo,” she murmurs.

Her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t hear her. When he registers she’s spoken, his head turns, his brows raise. She wants a tattoo. Now?

“Now? Like— tomorrow? Or right this second?”

He wonders what she wants. When they were together, she was really into getting this elegant, simple line tattoo of an easel, like the proper kind she used in the art studio. He loved it then. It was so Maya.

Shawn doesn’t know if it’s still her. People change. He wouldn’t care though, truthfully. He’s beginning to realize he’ll be in love with Maya Lu for the rest of his life, no matter who she chooses to be. He tried to not love her once. He only ended up loving her more, and having to work that much harder to pretend he didn’t.

Even when he hates her, he loves her. The emotional dissonance is sickening sometimes.

So she’ll get an easel or a surfboard or a really hideous chest piece that says MOM and it won’t matter. He’ll still be as miserably fucked for her then as he is now.

She wasn’t really that sure until he said it out loud.

“Yeah,” she gasps, “Yeah no, now. I want it now. Do you have a place you like? Is it open?”

She must look a little frantic. She knows she used to go off on whims like this when they were together in their early 20s, but maybe he’s not used to that anymore. She doesn’t want to freak him out.

But she wants him with her for this. This is big.

“Please,” she murmurs, lifting her gaze to his, “Please, I want to do this now. With you.”

He hurled back to college by the desperate look in her eye. He’s nodding before he can really think. Of course. He’ll do anything she wants. He’s had enough rum for that to be easy, for his heart to be plucked out of his chest and slapped on his sleeve. It beats loudly in his ears and he wonders if she can hear it, too.

“Okay,” he says, “Yeah, now. Let’s go now,” he says, already pulling on his shirt and finding his shoes.

With me, with me, with me.

“I-- yeah, my friend Jessica, she’s-- yeah, she’s the best, she did my whole torso. She’s always open til midnight, too,” he pushes himself up and holds his hand out for her.

“C’mon, Lu. It’s now or never,” he urges with a grin, even though he knows that’s not true. But it feels true, because he knows it’ll never be like this again. This is his shot. His perfect shot at one night where he can pretend they’re them again. Where he can embrace the fact that it feels as though no time has passed, even with everything that’s different, because she still looks at him the same way and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend she doesn’t.

And just like that, it’s 2007 again and they’re them, running against the wind.

Maya stands. Her heart is thrumming hard with the adrenaline rush. It’s a high she barely remembers -- she chased it with him all the time when they were together. Without him, any attempt was dulled, lacking.

So she takes the hit of him now as he offers it to her. She’ll worry about the addictive consequences later. She needs this. She deserves this.

She takes the hand he offers her and looks up at him, a little desperate, a little wild.

“Don’t let me run away from this, even if I try.”

She hopes it sounds like she’s talking about the tattoo.

She holds his hand easily, and his thumb runs along her knuckles, just like it always does.

He shakes his head and tugs her gently as he leads her towards the boardwalk. “No way, kiddo, I’ll strap you down if I have to.”

He’s gone enough to not care about the looks the locals give them as they walk away from the party before it’s really gotten started. He’s gone enough not to think about how creepy telling his ex-girlfriend he’s gonna “strap her down” is. Tonight he’s in college again, and in college he joked like that with Maya all the time.

He doesn’t like pretending around her. And he’s fucking sick of hiding. He’s sick of feeling like a stranger in his own town. Maya makes him finally feel at home. He wants to chase that feeling.

The tattoo studio is luckily not that far down the boardwalk, because neither of them is in the shape to drive. It also means they don’t have a good excuse to stop holding hands, so they continue until he’s hooking a left into a little shop with a bell over the door.

Once inside, surrounded by photos of beautiful tattoos over the years Jessica has displayed, it feels a little more real. She’s not backing down, though. This is too important.

“Just a minute!” Jessica calls from the back when the bell over the door chimes, signaling their arrival.

“S’just me, Jessie,” Shawn calls, pulling Maya into the shop behind him. “I brought a friend, though!”

“I love new friends,” Jessica laughs as she bounces out of the back room.

He gives Maya a little smile as he releases her fingers, then wraps his arms around Jessica, pressing a quick kiss to her hair as she pats him on the back five times, like always. They separate and Shawn steps back, curling an arm around Maya and guiding her forward.

Maya tugs at her fingers while Shawn greets Jessica. She fixates on a photo of a piece that takes up a woman’s entire back -- it’s a scene from Avila Beach. It’s enchanting.

“Jessica, this is Maya, the first timer. Maya, Jessica. The tattoo master.”

Shawn’s arm around her waist gets her attention. Automatically, she rests her hand on his forearm and grins, reaching out for Jessica’s hand.

“Hi. Yeah. First timer. Kinda nervous.”

Jessica takes Maya’s hand with a wide smile splitting her lips.

“Maya,” she says, like the name means something to her, “So nice to meet you!”

Jessie throws Shawn a furtive, yet pointed glance, and he knows he’s been caught. The thing is, he likes to vent when he gets ink. It’s a good distraction from the pain. Tattoo artists are definitely part time therapists, but better, because Shawn doesn’t ever want to tell his actual therapist about Maya.

Not yet, anyway.

Jessie’s easy to talk to, and everything about Maya came out pretty easily when she was doing the anchor on his hip and asked him if it had a special meaning or anything. With each new tattoo came more and more honesty, about Maya, about Leah and his divorce, about everything.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Jess extracts Maya from his side and pulls her towards the little consulting area next to the counter.

“Don’t be nervous,” Jess starts as she sits Maya down, then settles next to her. “They say I’m the gentlest you can get for a first time.”

Jessica seems really delighted to meet Maya and it’s fishy. It’s more than just the enthusiasm of gaining a client, it’s more than that, like maybe Shawn got loose-lipped in the chair while she was inking him. Maya goes red, wondering what her told her.

Jessica guides her to the counter and Maya struggles to focus -- is she doing this? Is she really about to do this?

“Maya’s an artist,” he pipes up, because he feels like a fish on land, flopping behind them in the middle of the shop. “She already has plenty of awesome ideas for a piece.”

When Maya looks back at Shawn, she smiles gratefully and feels a little more secure. Shawn would never let her get hurt. Never.

She clears her throat. “Um, yeah, I was thinking an easel? Really simple, clean lines, on my wrist. Do you have a pad and a pen? I can draw it out.”

She looks back at Shawn and waves him over because he’s looking a little lost.

An easel. Still. He loves that. He always wanted to see the little easel she used to doodle on literally everything inked across her skin. It’ll be all too fitting for her first tattoo.

Jessie goes for a pen and pad of paper as Shawn smiles down at Maya. She looks nervous, like maybe she might get up and run away if he doesn’t stand in front of the door. But the door is so far, and he kind of wants to be as close to her as possible.

Shawn makes his move to sit on the other side of Maya as Jess comes back and slides the pen and paper onto his-- onto Maya’s lap.

“Have at it,” the tattoo artist encourages with a smile before she gets up and fumbles around for papers and what have you behind the counter. She looks back at them for a moment, says, “After you do that, I can do pricing and then we’ll have to talk about the process and aftercare.”

Maya sits at the stool and does her best to block Shawn and Jessica out altogether as she draws. It’s a simple piece, she’s doodled it hundreds of times, but this one’s on her body. She grins at the final product and hands it to Jessica.

Once pricing is set and they’ve gone over details, Maya reaches back for Shawn’s hand and tugs him along to the chair. She sits and looks up at him, trying to hide her panic.

“So your first tattoo, the guitar,” she begins, hearing her voice shake, “It didn’t hurt that much, right?”

Shawn curls his foot around the rolling stool in the middle of the room and pulls it over to Maya’s side as she lies in the chair. He wets his lips, presses them together as he squeezes her hand and sits next to her.

“Nah,” he says, because that’s the truth. Comparatively, his guitar was no big deal. Nothing was worse than the tiger.

Objectively, however, the guitar still kind of sucked.

“It wasn’t, like, a walk in the park either, though,” he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb along the inside of her wrist.

Shawn settles in next to her like a boyfriend and Maya is not complaining. She stares up at him while he talks and feels a little like a kindergartener listening to a big kid explain the rules of the playground. His thumb is calloused and rough against the thin skin of her wrist. She shivers.

Shawn smiles down at her, trying for reassuring. “But you’re fuckin’ tough. You know that.”

Maya smiles. She was tough for a time. Maybe the last 12 years made her a different kind of tough. She doesn’t often feel tough anymore. It’s nice to be reminded she has the capacity.

He rests his elbow on the edge of her chair and lifts their intertwined hands, bringing her fingers to his lips, dusting the tips of her fingers with gentle kisses. He doesn’t think too hard about it, just lets himself do it.

“And anyway, I’m right here.”

Jessica stencils out the easel on her wrist exactly as she wants it. Maya gives her the go ahead to continue. With a smile, Jessica starts the tattoo gun and gently begins the piece.

Maya’s abdomen tenses and she doesn’t know if it’s from the sudden sensation in her wrist or Shawn’s lips on her fingers. She gazes up at him again like they’re alone in the room and watches as he kisses each fingertip like they’re his to kiss.

“Ok yeah,” she pants a little against the pain, “Yeah, it hurts a little.”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but she’s fucking cute. He bets it hurts more than just a little, but she’s always been good at putting on a brave face. His teeth sink into his lower lip as his laughter subsides and he gives her hand a careful squeeze.

Maya wrinkles her nose at him. But he’s laughing at her, so her whole body is covered in goosebumps.

“S’gonna get worse before it gets better. Just so you know,” he says gently, reaching forward to tuck a wild tendril of raven hair behind her ear.

His fingers linger on her ear, and he realizes she’s got a rook piercing in her cartilage she didn’t have before. It’s pretty and fitting for her, and it makes him want to kiss the delicate shell of her ear.

He doesn’t, obviously, and instead drops his hand away from her to rest it on his knee.

“This is gonna look so good, though, Lulu. It’s gonna be great.”

As he tucks hair behind her ear, she looks back down at her wrist as Jessica does her careful work. Maya’s sure it’ll be worth it when it’s done, but it does hurt like a bitch.

Jessica skims over a particularly sensitive spot. Maya flinches a little, managing to keep her wrist steady, but she squeezes Shawn’s hand.

“Ow,” she mutters quietly, blushing and trying to keep her eyes off Shawn.

He feels her flinch, her hand tightening around his. She’s staring at the needle going into her skin, and he’s not sure why. It always squicks him out. That’s why he focuses on talking.

He squeezes her hand back. “Hey,” he murmurs, tugging at her fingers gently, “Don’t look down there. Look at me, sugar.”

The word falls from his lips before he can stop it. She was his sugar for so fucking long, it’s almost second nature for him to use the pet name. He decides not to back down from it, though, just holds her hand firmly and cups her cheek, urging her to look away from the tattoo.

Maya’s brow is furrowed, focused on the pain in her arm and feeling her heart rate rise at watching the needle in her skin.

Shawn pulls her back in a way only he can. His voice, the pet name, it’s like something from a 10 year old dream. Maya inhales sharply and looks up at him, eyes wide, waiting to see if he’ll shrink away from it, take it back, make a joke.

He’s not joking. He cups her cheek. Her wrist doesn’t hurt anymore.

She looks at him and he kisses her. He can’t help it. Her eyes are wide, pleading. They tell him, stay with me, don’t go.

Maybe he’s making it up. He kisses her anyway. His hand tilts her head back so he can press his lips carefully to hers. A spark ignites; fire spreads from his lips and courses through his veins. It drives him crazy, touching her like this, and then it settles him.

He feels at home here, holding her clenching hand and kissing her soft lips. He feels a dislodged piece of himself, the one he’s been chasing for years, click into place as the tattoo gun buzzes between them.

Maya feels beautifully heavy, grounded somehow when he kisses her. It’s solid and real and purposeful, not fraught like their last kiss. This one feels like an old kiss, like a leftover from their time together. Maya settles into it, scraping her dulled fingernail affectionately against his finger as he tilts her head back.

He tastes like rum. Or maybe she does. She should probably consider the fact that they’re not alone, but it’s the furthest thing from her mind right now. They feel alone, really alone together for the first time since she came to Avila.

Maya sits back a little from the weight of the kiss and smiles at the wet sound their lips make as they separate, audible over the buzzing of the gun. She doesn’t go far, pulling away to his cheek to brush her lips over his skin and watch the hair on the back of his neck stand up for her.

He has to stop himself from purring I love you into her ear as her lips brush his cheek. His drunk brain tells him it’s like, the best idea in the world because the truth is always good, right? But he’s clinging on to his sobriety just enough to know that his drunk brain is tricking him.

It’s a perfect moment, just the way it is. He won’t let his big mouth ruin it.

He pulls back just enough to rest his cheek on the chair next to her face, tucking his chin on her shoulder as he watches Jessie try her very, very hardest not to look up at them. Her focus is laser as she glides the gun across Maya’s skin.

He kisses her shoulder, glances up at her. “This is gonna be super cool, Lu. Like, you’ll love it.”

Shawn stays close, nestling next to her in their little bubble. She unwinds her fingers from his in favor of running them against his jaw and watching his chest rise and fall.

Her eyes slide shut for a few perfect seconds as he kisses her clavicle. She hums in agreement and continues stroking his skin, the rhythm comforting as a distraction from her pain.

He looks back at the gun, at the way Jessie bites her lower lip like she does when she’s really in the zone. He’s jealous, for a moment, of Maya’s abused skin. He basically always wants another tattoo, has an endless list of ideas, and witnessing someone else get inked always makes him that much more desperate for something fresh, himself.

“I think I’m gonna go next,” he says from his perch on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

Her eyes open. “You’re getting one? Now?”

Jessica sits up and turns off the gun. Maya looks down. She bites down on a goofy grin.

“Wow. Jessica, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He looks from Maya’s wrist to Jessica as he lifts his head from the chair.

“Yeah, now,” he says with a nod, “I mean, if that’s okay, boss.”

Jessica laughs as she takes off her gloves, cleaning up in the sink in the corner of the room.

“Fine with me, babe,” she says, drying her hands, “Just lemme know me what you’re thinking.”

Shawn looks to Maya and reaches for her freshly inked wrist, now wrapped in cellophane. He runs his thumb along the back of her wrist as he studies the easel.

“I like it,” he murmurs, even though he fucking loves it. He loves seeing ink on her skin. He looks up at her while Jessie futzes around the shop. “But I don’t know what to get.”

He keeps one hand on her while he retrieves his phone, looking at Maya with pleading eyes as he opens his photos. “Help me pick?”

Maya’s admiring the tattoo, turning her head to different angles while Jessica tidies up. Shawn tugs at her hand and takes a close look with her.

As he leans in, Maya turns her head and noses at the fine little curls at his temple. She hopes it’s ok to do now that the distraction of the pain can’t be used as an excuse anymore. Though her wrist still hurts a little.

Maya watches Shawn flip through pictures of inspiration on his phone and chews on her lower lip. She doesn’t know what piping up now will bring, but as soon as he said he wanted a tattoo tonight, an old image came to her head.

“I have an idea, if you want,” she offers, standing and going to the counter for the pad of paper.

She sketches it from a memory so old it could’ve been a dream. Or maybe it was a dream. Either way, Maya remembers it well. She thinks it’s probably in an old sketchbook at the bottom of a box in her Avila house -- she has a rule against throwing sketchbooks away.

She holds up the pad, eyes wide, lips tight, heart pounding. It’s an intricately sketched thimble with little crosshatchings and sculpted designs, tipped over on its side with some gentle shading. The image is as intimately familiar to them as anything could ever be, one of their most meaningful shared moments.

He’s busy flicking between two designs when Maya scurries away from him. He lifts his head, gaze following her to the counter. He watches her as she leans over the pad and starts scribbling, her lips pressed together as she concentrates.

He doesn’t move. He’s curious, his stomach twisting at the thought that she has an idea for him. She wants something she’s designed inked into his skin. Permanently. He got his anchor tattoo for her, but getting something she designed for him, on purpose, seems so much heavier. He swallows and eventually stands, just as she’s lifting the pad and turning to show him her work.

“Maya,” he murmurs when his eyes fall to the intricate thimble sketched in the middle of the paper. It hits him in the gut, the simple little design that used to mean so much to both of them. It still means so much to him. That’s why he never got it on his own, even though she’d mentioned it in passing.

Seems like maybe it meant enough to her that she actually ended up designing it for him. And the fact that she remembered it well enough to sketch it so beautifully, so quickly-- well, maybe that means it still means a lot to her, too.

“Really?” he asks, brows raising as he looks from the paper to catch her gaze. “I mean-- is that okay with you? I fucking-- you know I love it.”

Maya looks down at the pad and back up at him. “I just… it’s old. I mean, I had the idea… a really long time ago. I don’t know if this is exactly how you’d even want it. And you don’t have to get it, it’s just--”

She stops herself and takes a breath. She mashes her lips together.

“I know it’s… it’s not who we are now. It’s who we were once. You don’t have to get it, I just wanted you to have it. I’ve always wanted you to have it. I made it for you.”

Maya puts the pad back on the counter and stands. She reaches for his hand and takes it between both of hers. “It’s up to you, anyway.”

She’s suddenly very candid, bringing up their relationship in an honest way neither of them have been willing to broach before. She’s braver than he is, he guesses. His compartmentalization skills are unparalleled; he would’ve gone the entire summer without ever calling direct attention to their past.

He’s a fucking wimp.

He looks down at her hands and shakes his head. She doesn’t have to do so much explaining and justification. That’s it for him. It’s the perfect tattoo.

He reaches for her face, cupping her jaw gently. “It’s perfect, Lu,” he murmurs, tipping his head down so he can press her forehead to hers.

Shawn pulls her in for a tender moment. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel close to him -- feel the weight of his forehead against hers, feel his breath on her cheeks, feel the warmth of his body against hers. It’s a welcome, comforting stillness.

An ‘I love you’ bubbles in his throat, but he swallows it. It’s just a tattoo, right? No reason to confess his deep dark secret because of it.

And yet.

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. She wants a sign of their love burned into his skin, and that’s gotta mean something.

He wants it to mean something.

He presses his lips to hers briefly before he pulls away and reaches for the pad. Jess must’ve slipped into the back office, because Shawn realizes they’re alone as he looks around.

“Jessie!” he calls, “Maya designed the perfect tattoo!”

She earns another little kiss for her thoughtfulness. When he pulls away to call for Jessie, she blinks out of her Shawn-induced daze and licks her lips.

Jessie comes when she’s called. Maya nods at the pad and continues playing with Shawn’s fingers. Jessie takes a look at the sketch and smiles knowingly.

“Very nice. Where are we putting this?”

Maya looks to Shawn curiously.

He hadn’t thought about it. He looks down at the pad, then looks down at himself, then to Maya. He shrugs, tilts his head.

“Dunno. What d’you think, Lemon? I didn’t even think about that.”

Maya snickers at his use of a nickname he hasn’t used in a long time. He always did love coming up with nicknames for her.

He’s got plenty of clean skin compared to some people he knows, but it’s still always hard to pick the right place. Sometimes it’s nice to have an outside perspective, particularly since he can’t see, like, all of himself.

He takes a step back and tugs his shirt off once more, tossing it onto the counter.

“Here. Tell me what’s gonna look good,” he urges with a grin, holding his arms out wide.

She watches him strip off his shirt and smiles -- now she’s really allowed to study him. He holds out his beautifully toned arms. Maya swallows and turns in a circle around him. As she passes his chest, she shoots him a teasing glance.

Maya reaches her fingers out as she slowly paces around him, tracing them down his spine and swirling around the firm definition of his back muscles. She makes another slow pass, feeling a little predatory. Then, she stops facing his back. She lifts her hands to his waist gently and steps in, closing her eyes as she presses her lips to a spot on the inside of his shoulder blade.

Because he’s Shawn, he’ll know what it means. He’ll remember the way she used to hold him at night as they fell asleep together and kiss her favorite little spot, whispering one of her favorite lines from Peter Pan about how a kiss is a thimble.

Her lips burn against the skin of his back. He has to swallow a groan, has to fight the shiver that crawls across his skin.

Maya feels the well trained muscles of his shoulder go tight under her soft mouth, feels him inhale sharply in surprise. It’s all she can do to pull away from him and not just take more. She rolls her fingers into fists by her sides and steps away.

After letting her lips linger for a beat too long, she moves away from him, but he still feels her even after she’s gone. Like always.

“Yeah,” he coughs, turning to look down at her. “That’s a good idea.”

He doesn’t let himself kiss her again, even though he’s a little desperate. But they’re not alone, and he doesn’t think a second instance of PDA would be polite.

Jessie’s watching, and Shawn can practically feel her gaze burn his skin. He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do, later. He doesn’t care.

“Okay, Jess,” he says, turning to the tattoo artist. “We’re doing the right shoulder blade.”

He agrees breathlessly. The tension breaks when he brings Jessie back into the mix. Maya is grateful. Her head was starting to spin.

Jessie doesn’t say anything, just gives him a smile and nods her head towards the chair, because he knows the drill. He takes it on himself to readjust it, making so he can lie on his stomach while she works on him.

Shawn looks to Maya before he lies down, tips his head. “You gonna hold my hand?”

Maya watches as he climbs onto the chair face down and looks up at her. She smiles and pushes some loose curls off his forehead with a nod. She perches on a stool next to the chair as Jessie begins to set up behind him. She takes his hand in hers and traces the swallow with her thumb.

“Of course.”

Shawn presses his cheek into the chair as she slips her fingers between his, sending her a crooked smile. He hears Jessie behind him settling at his side so she can outline the thimble on his shoulder. He shivers slightly, squeezing Maya’s hand. The pen on his skin always makes his skin tingle in such a satisfying way.

The tattoo gun buzzes to life above him. He wets his lips and looks from their joined hands to Maya’s sun-kissed face.

“I’m a talker,” he starts, eyes slipping shut with the first press of the needle to his skin. “Talk too much, probably, but talking through the pain is good. Like, medically or whatever. If you can talk through the pain then you’re not dying, you know?”

His eyes open again.

“Not that tattoos can kill you. Unless they get infected and then you get gangrene or hepatitis or something. But that’s--”

“I’m a very hygienic tattoo artist, thanks,” Jessie interrupts, and he can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Then I guess I won’t die,” he says with a wink to Maya, just as his fingers curl tighter into her palm. He’s good at a brave face by now, though the rest of his body sometimes betrays him. And the talking.

Maya looks between Shawn’s face as he rambles and Jessie’s hand as she works. She’s always liked watching other people draw. When she was too keyed up after a 14-hour day at the office to sleep, she’d watch YouTube videos of people drawing. It’s mesmerizing and calming to her. And Jessie’s art is unlike anything Maya’s ever seen done.

She likes listening to him talk. When he’d get anxious, he’d go off on tangents, swinging her fingers as he held them and gesturing wildly with his other hand. She’d pipe up occasionally with a comment or a question but otherwise just listened.

It’s nice just hearing him talk aimlessly again.

“Yeah,” she giggles, lifting his clenching hand to her lips. She presses her mouth to the knuckle of his thumb with a shy smile, “Please don’t die.”

Something tugs at his heart when Maya brush a kiss against his knuckles and decides she doesn’t want him to die. Not that he ever thought she did, but the reassurance is nice. It’s nice to know she’d miss him if he were gone. He’s beginning to think she might’ve missed him before, too.

Maya looks back over his shoulder to watch Jessie round out the thimble that she’s dreamed about seeing on him for so long.

With a crooked smirk, she asks, “Do you remember the first time we watched Peter Pan together?”

He grins at her question. “Animated version or the one with the kid? Because yes to both.”

He’s always loved Peter Pan. He’s always loved the idea of being a kid forever, even when he was itching to grow up. It just got worse as he got older and realized growing up sucked a little.

It sucked a little less with Maya.

“I remember you cried both times. And I remember you sang along even after you told me you wouldn’t because you weren't drunk. And you said a thimble would be a good tattoo and I said maybe a naked mermaid would be better and then you hit me.”

Maya laughs. She was referring to the animated version but she remembers both occasions fondly. She was curled up on the couch with him during her senior year. He had a hand up the back of her t-shirt to trace patterns until he slipped her out of it completely. And yeah, she did sing dead sober. She probably would’ve stopped at some point but he looked so delighted to hear her voice.

“I think it was more of a love tap,” she points out, raising an eyebrow at him, “Who gets a naked mermaid tattoo, anyway? Who do you think you are, Harry Styles?”

“Hey,” he crows, his voice slightly more on edge than it would be if he didn’t have a needle pricking his back, “I came up with that idea way before that guy even existed. I’m the original.”

Maya rolls her eyes at his indignation but doesn’t poke at him further because Jessie’s doing plenty of that on her own.

The tattoo artist chuckles and continues crosshatching the thimble. Maya smiles quietly.

“It looks beautiful,” she tells him.

He closes his eyes and hisses when Jessie has to work on a particularly tender spot, just near the spine of his shoulder blade. His teeth dig at his lip and he pulls Maya’s hand toward him, pressing his nose against her fingers.

“Shit,” he chokes out a laugh, “You’d think at some point this wouldn’t feel like anything anymore. Like your nerves would just get used to it. Maybe that’s bad, though. Like, can’t feel pain, don’t know when you’re getting hurt. Then you die.”

As he tenses and drags her hand in closer, she goes willingly and brings her other hand up to stroke through his hair. She hopes the rhythm of it will provide some comfort. He continues rambling, she continues smiling at him and glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on Jessie’s work.

Shawn blinks up at Maya when Jessie lets up to wipe at his skin with gauze.

“Guess I think a lot about death and mortality when I’m getting inked.”

She looks back down at him. “Stop talking about dying. Nobody’s dying. And it looks like Jessie’s wrapping up soon.” Jessie smiles, still focused on her work, and nods.

Maya chews on the inside of her lip thoughtfully, twirling one of Shawn’s curls around her finger. She’s just become aware that once he’s finished and they’ve both paid, this part of the night is over. She doesn’t know what happens next.

What happens next?

After another ten minutes of rambling, Jess dresses his tender skin with gauze and tape, then leads them both to the counter to pay. Shawn doesn’t drop Maya’s hand until he has to fish his wallet out of the pocket of his swim shorts. He itches to grab her hand again after, but then she’s paying, hands busy, and he wanders over to the door to wait for her instead.

He doesn’t want to leave her. He doesn’t want the night to be over. It’s only like 9:30, and they’ve just started to find the rhythm with which they were once so familiar.

Maya does her very best pretending that things aren’t immediately weird and tense after Shawn stands from the chair and they go to pay. There’s idle chatter, but it feels a little overly polite, like they’re both trying to make each other comfortable at their own expense.

Maya smiles as she approaches him and he grins back. He can’t help it, she’s contagious. He waves at Jess over Maya’s head, says, “Thanks, Jess. I’ll see ya soon.”

Once they’re back on the boardwalk, he takes Maya’s hand back like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not a decision he’s been laboring over since they first separated. He plays with her fingers like he used to, rubs his thumb between her knuckles like he used to.

He really wants to do everything like he used to, but he wants to do it all differently, too.

Not that it matters, since she’s leaving. But he could give her a really great summer, if she let him.

She’s a little relieved and a little empowered when he takes her hand back outside. They haven’t started walking anywhere yet and it’s clear that it’s because they don’t know where they’re going.

“You tired?” he asks, breaking the calm silence of the cool night.

Maya mashes her lips together and focuses on the way his fingers feel interlaced with hers. She wants to feel more, she thinks. She wants to feel him again.

Maya looks up, squeezes his hand. “Is… it ok if I’m not?”

He laughs, bringing their joined hands to his lips. He nips at the knuckle of her middle finger as he looks down at her.

“That is probably the most okay thing in the world, Lu,” he says with a soothing kiss to her bitten skin. “I’m not bored of you yet, anyway.”

It feels like their first date again, back when he didn’t know what she was thinking and wasn’t sure if she wanted all the same things he did. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And also sad. If she were staying for good, this could be their chance to fall in love again. But they can’t, so he’ll take what he can get. Even if it makes him more than a little sad.

He shakes the thought and starts walking down the boardwalk, tugging Maya along with him back towards the party.

Maya watches as he cycles through a few different emotions and she’s surprised by how easily she can still read him. Or she thinks she can. She’s curious to see just how much he perks up by the idea of taking her back to the party. But then he takes a left turn into something that seems wistful and nostalgic.

She thinks maybe he’s thinking the same thing she is, about how they used to be when they were here. About how it feels sometimes like maybe they could get back there without too much trouble.

If she doesn’t think about her lie.

“Geoff brought bud, if you wanna smoke or something,” he looks down at her. “Or there’s tequila. And more s’mores. Whatever you want.”

Shawn starts to lead her back down the boardwalk to the party. Suddenly, her body makes up her mind and plants itself firmly like a child about to have a fit at the mall. She locks her knees and stands firm.

“I’m -- wait. I think instead,” she pants gently, “I think you should… god. Fuck it. Come home with me, Shawn.”

---------

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gallusrostromegalus · 7 years ago

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The 1969 Easter Mass Incident

Content Warnings: Religion, food, symbolic cannibalism, symbolic gore, penis mention, Blasphemy, SO MUCH BLASPHEMY, weapons, war mention. Mind the warnings and your health always comes first. Its a HILARIOUS story, I promise.

As always, all the names have been changed to protect people’s identities. This is a long one, so Press J now if you want to skip it.

When my dad was a young man and still a practicing catholic, he participated in a small church communion that nearly got him and six other people excommunicated.

Father Patrick ran a small church outside of California Polytechnical and tended to be… rather more liberal in his interpretations of scripture than most of the church was, which made him something of a hit with the local students and liberally-inclined populace. Pat went to all manner of civil demonstrations, condemned the shit out of the vietnam war and the politics that lead to it and so on. In January of 1969 a series of incidents lead him to start exploring “nontraditional” means of holding Mass as a means of reaching out to his community and exploring his own faith, which ultimately culminated in the 1969 Easter Mass Incident.

For those of you who weren’t raised catholic, Communion is this ritual where you become one with Jesus by eating a really horrible bland wafer cookie and taking a shot of wine (called hosts), which then *literally* become the flesh and blood of jesus in your mouth, allowing him to become one with you. It’s big McFucking deal, and you have the opportunity to take communion at every mass. All this had to be explained to me second-hand because after this and Dad’s 51 days in the army, Dad decided he wouldn’t inflict religion on any children he might have in the future.

“Hey dad,” Six-year old me asked the first time he told me this story after my practicing friends were talking about getting wine at church. “Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“We’re getting to that.” He waved.

The First Incident in January when, due to a serious cock-up by the church, all the hosts Father Pat received were moldering and spoiled and probably would have killed someone if he’d actually fed anyone them. But it was the first mass of the year, when a peak number of people came in after vowing to got to church more for new year’s. He couldn’t NOT have communion.

“I’ll bake.” offered Maria, the parish secretary and probably the best baker in the county. “So we have hosts. Jesus will understand.”

Father Patrick, not one to pass up the chance at Maria’s cooking, immediately agreed.

A Host is supposed to be composed solely of unleavened wheat flour and water, which is why they taste terrible. It’s a theological point of some importance relating to Exodus or something but Maria had an important theological counterpoint: Jesus both divine and loves all his children, ergo, Jesus would neither be a nasty bland cracker nor want his children to suffer as such and so instead, she made Mexican wedding cookies.

They were a SPECTACULAR hit. Many praises were heaped upon father patrick for the Much Better Wafers and that they’d be sure to show up next week as long as Maria kept making them. Father Patrick figuring that hey, anything that gets people in the doors is good and really, if it was turning into Jesus once inside the parishioner, did it really matter what the wafers were made of? So he continued to let Maria bake the Hosts, and encouraged her to try out new flavors, like nutmeg and cinnamon.

This went on swimmingly for a few weeks until The Bishop showed up for a surprise visit the same week Maria decided to experiment with rainbow sprinkles.

Dad remembers hearing the bishop through the windows roaring “THE HOLY BODY OF CHRIST DOES! NOT! CONTAIN! RAINBOW! SPRINKLES!”

The matter went clean up to The Archbishop, who decided that while Pat was probably right to not feed spoiled hosts to his parish, he should attend some remedial classes to remember what Communion was all about, so that if it happened again, he’s come up with a more suitable substitute.

Father Patrick returned in late March, full of spite and some fascinating new ideas.

“Is this where the Cannibalism happens?” Six-year-old me asked, eager to get to the good parts.

At his remedial classes, the teacher had stressed the importance of transubstantiation, aka “That bit where the wafer and wine, Actually, Literally, become the flesh of Jesus Christ and we expect you to swallow.” Also on the syllabus was understanding the importance of Christ’s suffering and sacrifice.

“So, I was thinking about Easter Service.” Said father Patrick one afternoon while dad was doing his computer science homework at the church because his dorm was a barely-standing fire hazard and the library was where you went to have sex.

“Well, we do re-enactments for christmas. Why not on easter? Why not re-enact the crucifixion of Christ right here? Make it real for everyone. Trauma’s great for bonding a community together.”

“Who’s playing Jesus?” asked Maria, always one for a good laugh.

“That’s the thing- A Host, it doesn’t look much like flesh, right? Doesn’t look like much of anything, really. Not great for reinforcing one’s belief.

What if, instead, we- and I mean you, Maria, I can’t cook to save my life- make a man-sized loaf of bread, maybe in the shape of a T, and we have some of the boys dress up as romans and whip the bread and we pour the wine on so it’s bleeding and them- then we make a big wooden cross and actually nail the bread to it with, I don’t know, railroad spikes, more wine all over. And we raise the cross, all while telling the story of the crucifixion.”

He paused to take a drink, Maria slowly crumpling onto the floor in horrified laughter and Dad now thoroughly distracted from his homework.

“Then we lower the cross, and invite everyone who wants to take communion up to tear a hunk of Jesus off. Just descend into his corpse like vultures. I think that’d really be a good bonding experience for the church.” he nodded thoughtfully. “The hard, part, I suppose, will be finding enough romans.”

“I WANNA BE LONGINUS.” bellowed my father, barreling into the room.

And so, the plan was hatched. Dad hit up every other guy in the Church and eventually rounded up four more romans, three of them from the Education Department of Cal Poly, and one guy from Chemistry, who just liked to watch things burn.

This, being a play, naturally meant that there was a rehearsal, and test Bread jesus. Maria had decided that if they were going to start being extra-literal, she needed to make the most lifelike Bread jesus possible, and made a distressingly buff and human-proportioned Jesus by Advanced bread-braiding, complete with plaited hair, quail’s-egg-and-raisin eyes, bready muscle groups, and an eight-pack because why not make the lord completely shredded?* She also made the important theological decision that since Jesus loves everyone and was happy to die in spite of all his suffering, he should be smiling, and had a toothy corn-kernel smile. He was Wonderful and Terrifying all at once.

“Maria,” asked Father Patrick after a few minutes of delighted and horrified cooing over Jesus’ toothy grin and abdominals. “Why is he wearing a tea-towel?

“Well, he’s the Son of God. A Man. With all that entails.” She said, pointedly staring at Father Patrick while everyone stared at the suspiciously lumpy tea-towel. “And he might have… burnt, slightly.”

Everyone nodded and agreed that the tea-towel was the best course of action. The rehearsal goes splendidly and everyone agrees that this is the most delicious Jesus they’ve ever had.

Easter Sunday arrives and the Church is PACKED, from the more lapsed Catholics showing up for a high holiday, parents visiting for spring break and a whole horde of newcomers who had gotten wind that something was up and they ought to come.

Dad is a lanky as hell 21-year old composed mostly of technical jargon and acne but he is STOKED to be playing Longinus, the roman that speared Jesus on the cross, because he gets to do the BEST technical effect in the whole parade. Since he came in at the end me missed a good portion of the sermon, but did hear the “oooh” from the crowd as the massive cross was dragged in by the other Romans, followed by horrified gasps and high screams and a discernible “What the FUCK” as they brought in Bread Jesus 2.0, whipping him enthusiastically, and hammering him into the cross, the sound of wine splashing onto the floor loud in the terrified silence of that Parishioners.

Finally Father Patrick gets to the part about Longinus, and Dad comes sprinting down the aisle as hard as he can, because in order for Bread Jesus to be seen by everyone, his middle had to be about 10 feet off the ground, so Dad had to run, shrieking latin curses, down the length of the church, with a big honking spear and take a flying leap at Jesus in order to spear him in the gut.

Please take moment to imagine you are some normal god-fearing catholic who has decided to visit little bobby or maybe patricia at college and you’re all going to church together like a nice family and this Fucking madman has decided to go all Silence of the Lambs on mass and now there’s some sort of underfed translucently pale man in ill-fitting Roman armor and cape flying at a horrifying glutinous effigy of your lord and savior, with an actual fucking spear, screaming like a madman. Don’t you feel yourself drawing closer to God already? Defensively, perhaps, like an octopus trying to ooze itself into a crevice against the horrors of the ocean.

However, two things happen that were not planned on

1. Dad misses. In his defense, Bread Jesus is close to but not quite the size of a man- more like the size of a doughy teenager, and his middle is a small target 10 feet up in the air and dad is has a computer science minor, not an athletics scholarship. He misses by about 8 inches and instead very solidly stabs Bread Jesus right through the groin, leaving a big hole in Maria’s tea-towel and the spear jutting out at a decidedly… attentive angle, as Bread Jesus’s Bread Dick drops to the floor with a splat. Nobody notices this, however because

2. In rehearsal, Dad had managed to get the spear right in jesus’s navel but neither Father Patrick nor the other romans could get the wine up there to make his middle appropriately bloodied.

Maria come up with the Genius solution that since wine is made of grapes and Jam is made of grapes, she could make a jelly-filled Jesus for Dad to stab. There was a normal-sized test loaf and when dad stabbed it on the table, it had a nicely gooey dribbling effect.

However, this time the loaf was torso-sized, still hot from the oven and upright, so when dad speared the very end of the loaf, all the steam-pressured jam had collected at the bottom and a spray of lukewarm smuckers exploded out from bread jesus, turning the first three pews into a splash zone of symbolic entrails.

There was a hot, sticky minute of complete silence in the church after that.

Then, Father Patrick indicated it was time for the cross to be lowered, and continued on with the normal preparations of the Host, he himself covered in hot smuckers, as though nothing particularly ordinary was occuring, quietly kicking the bread-dick under the altar. At the end of it all, Father Patrick and invited everyone up with the Last Oration:

“Thou, O God, has kindly allowed us to have a part in this Holy Sacrifice; for this we give Thee thanks. Accept it now to Thy glory and be ever mindful of our weakness. Amen.”

...And everybody came up, shuffling like terrified zombies, pinching off tiny bits at first but then the madness took them and they began tearing apart bread jesus by the handful, weeping as they partook, scattered prayers and begging for forgiveness. The whole congregation was kneeling about the altar, tearful and united in their guilt and their need for God.

“IS CHURCH ALWAYS LIKE THAT?” six-year-old me asked, absolutely stoked. I’d convert on the spot if I got a show like that.

“No, it’s normally bland wafers and lots of chanting in latin.”

“Well that’s boring as hell.” I remember muttering and Dad snorting the coffee he was drinking out of his nose.

As people filed silently out of the Church to a gloriously sunny California afternoon, faces wan and smeared with wine and jam, Father patrick turned to Maria and asked “You don’t think that was too much, do you?”

“No.” Said Maria with a sarcastic deadpan so intense it was hard to tell from sincerity.

It was the exact same tone she used when the Archbishop and Six other high clergy showed up, clutching a letter someone had written, Livid and almost foaming at the mouth, demanding to know if such blasphemy had transpired.

“No. That’s crazy.” She said, staring down the archbishop like he was an idiot.

“Such imaginations some people have!” Said Father Patrick, much less convincingly.

“And you- you didn’t... Spear an effigy of our lord and savior?” the archbishop demanded of my father.

“Do I look like I can jump that high?” Dad asked, having in the interim been drafted for 51 days then nearly died of pneumonia from it, and therefore no longer afraid of the Church, the Law or God.

Somewhat relieved that he’d only received the extremely detailed ramblings of a doddering parishioner, the Archbishop sat down and complemented Maria on her most excellent Mexican Wedding Cookies, may he please have another plate for his nerves? Perhaps the ones with sprinkles?

Dad went on to help build the internet, Father Patrick converted to Buddhism and Maria became a Nun.

*For those of you wondering, Jesus was made of Challah.

If you got a laugh out of this, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or subscribe on Patreon, Thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed it!

#Family Lore #Catholicism #food #blasphemy #SO MUCH BLASPHEMY

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theoddcatlady · 6 years ago

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The Guardians

There was a time before we lived in Graylake, I think. Before we lived in our little house on the end of Marble Boulevard. But that was so long ago all memories I have are pale and almost gone.

My life becomes clear the moment we pulled up to our brand new house and seeing a distorted stone monster perched on the top of the roof.

I screamed and clung to my mother’s leg, pointing at the monster and asking mom what it was. My mom patted my shoulder and told me it was just a statue, that it wasn’t going to hurt me and that everything was okay. She pointed down the street and showed me that there was a statue at every house. Some were crouched on the lawn, others hanging off the gutter, some were big, some were small.

Each one was as hideous as the last.

I heard my dad say that they’d pull it down as soon as we had time, we had to unpack, get settled into our new house. I felt better hearing that and ran indoors, clutching my teddy and running up to my brand new bedroom. This one had its own closet, where I could hang up my clothes.

I was less pleased with that bedroom when I found yet another statue, curled up in the corner of the closet like it was asleep. It was no bigger than my teddy but was impossible for me to so much as budge, it was so damn heavy. I called for my mom but she could push it maybe an inch before she gave up.

“Just keep your closet closed, buddy,” She said, patting my shoulder, “It can’t hurt you.”

I hated that statue so much that I threw a blanket over it. It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen and I wanted to never see it again. I couldn’t wait until my dad had the time to throw it away.

The following memories are better though. The neighbors came to visit, the Pattersons. They had a son my age and a daughter three years older- Tyler and Jodi. Their mom brought a homemade pizza topped with pepperoni, the dad brought a giant cookie and Tyler brought his best toys. We played in the living room while the adults talked.

My parents were having a great time, so were we. Jodi was quiet but she was incredibly sweet, not too bossy and she had a great imagination. Tyler was more outgoing but he made sure Jodi had her chances to speak up. You couldn’t find more polite children.

It wasn’t until Dad brought up how he was going to tear down that ugly statue on the roof that Jodi’s quiet nature suddenly vanished.

“No! You can’t!” She got to her feet before her hands flew to her mouth. “… I’m sorry, Mr. Sykes, I didn’t mean to use my outside voice.”

My dad raised an eyebrow before Mr. Patterson cleared his throat. “I know you didn’t mean anything poorly by that, but I’ll be the bearer of bad news- you won’t be allowed to take down the gargoyle. Notice how every single house on the street has one?” He spread out an arm. “It’s part of Graylake. You won’t find a building that doesn’t have at least one gargoyle either on or in it. It’s tradition, you understand- besides, you won’t be able to remove it anyway. Those things are practically carved into the place with how long they’ve been up there, and they’re impossible to break. People have tried and nothing good’s come of it. Trust me- you’re best off just leaving it up there. I hope we’ll see you on church on Sunday?”

Dad chuckled.

“We don’t go to church, but thank you for the invitation.”

There was a certain tenseness in the air after my dad said that. The Pattersons quickly excused themselves. Mrs. Patterson wiped the remainder of pizza sauce off my lips and reminded me to mind my manners and to ask to be excused from the table.

Manners are important in Graylake, I learned, when I went to school the following week. There was yet another gargoyle in the classroom, this one was taller than the teacher Mr. Thompson. Its twisted horns nearly brushed the ceiling, yet Mr. Thompson hardly paid it mind and instead asked us questions about manners- how you should say excuse me after you burp, how to say please and thank you, and how to ask to leave the table.

There was a whole segment of the class dedicated to manners and how to be nice to others. I didn’t think the last part needed to be taught, but Mr. Thompson took it very seriously. For every day you minded your manners, you got a gold star on the chart. If you got ten gold stars in a row you got to pick something from the prize box, a small plastic toy or a book. If you didn’t mind your manners, you got a gold star taken off the chart. If you lost all your stars, there would be a parent-teacher conference.

I was pretty obedient but even I lost a star every now and then because I pushed myself to the front of the line or started talking in class. I never had a parent-teacher conference, which was apparently a big deal to the kids. How could you be so naughty to get one of those, they wondered.

I was never told why we were so careful about how we behaved, but I learned about two weeks in that we had someone to keep us responsible for our behavior.

I suppose letting my room be cluttered after so long was inexcusable as I came home and it looked like a tornado hit my bedroom.

I stumbled over a pile of dirty clothes and nearly fell on my face. I popped back up and my jaw dropped. My toys were thrown off the shelves, the blankets were ripped off the bed, and the half empty cup of fruit juice on the nightstand had been tipped over.

I yelled for my mom and she came in, her face went white and she looked ready to call the cops.

Then Jodi knocked on the door and asked if she could help clean my room.

Of course she didn’t mess up my room, she’d been at piano lessons and my mom hadn’t let anyone come in all day, but my mom kept an eye on Jodi as we cleaned up the disaster my room had became. Jodi was perfect at keeping things neat, she lined up the books on the shelf, the toys were either put in the box or on my bed, and she knew how to make a bed so nicely it looked like it belonged in a hotel.

“You have to do better at cleaning, you could get hurt if you let your stuff stay everywhere. At least you know better now,” Jodi said as she picked up the last blanket. “Oh! Hello, I didn’t know they came so small! Aren’t you precious?”

I turned to see Jodi bending over to see that tiny gargoyle now in the center of my room, sitting up straight with its spiky tail curled around it like a cat.

I had no idea how that thing got out of the closet and I was terrified.

I tried to blame the gargoyle on the mess to my mom, but she just smiled and patted my shoulder. It was just a statue, after all. Jodi had already gone so I couldn’t ask her how the statue was moved.

When I got back up to my room, once again, the gargoyle had moved. This time it was sitting on my toybox, its hollow eyes staring at my bed.

It became clear to me that even if I didn’t know how the gargoyle was moving, it was. And for some reason, it got angry when my room wasn’t clean.

So I learned pretty quickly how to keep it not angry. Clean my room.

I struggled to make my bed at first, I was small and the blankets were heavy. However, if my bed was not to the gargoyle’s standards, I’d come back and the sheets were ripped off the bed. I’d have to do it all over again.

I got angry at the gargoyle many times. I kicked it, I yelled at it, I once poured a glass of water on it. Childish, but I had no other idea how to deal with it. My mother didn’t believe me, but she was distracted at the time as her and my father had been arguing. I didn’t know why at the time, but I think the move was a way to ignore the real problem- that they were in a struggling, unhappy relationship.

I did know that my parents didn’t kiss each other on the cheek anymore and that my dad slept on the couch more nights than not. That when I saw Jodi’s and Tyler’s mom and dad interact that I knew that they had what my parents didn’t. Happiness.

One cold Sunday morning Jodi showed up on the front porch with Tyler. Both were wearing their finest, Jodi in a dark blue dress with black shoes and Tyler was wearing a green tie and his wild hair was combed into place.

Tyler beamed when he saw that I answered the door. “Are you ready for church?” He chirped, grinning from ear to ear.

I was still in my pajamas and had only woke up when I heard the doorbell. I was in no way ready for church, I might’ve not gone before but you don’t go out in public in your pajamas.

Tyler loaned me some of his clothing, the shirt was too small but the pants fit all right, and Mrs. Patterson combed my hair as we drove to church. I told my mom I was going to play with my friends and she waved me off. She’d been in sour spirits lately as several of her wine bottles had turned up smashed in the backyard and probably wasn’t in the mood to deal with me today.

The pastor was a woman, much to my surprise, I’d only thought men could be pastors. Jodi called her Minister Sandoval, and the woman beamed when she saw me. She bent over and shook my hand. Her eyes were as dark gray as the stone of the many gargoyles perched upon the roof of the church.

“And you must be Nicolas. I’ve heard so much about you. You’ve gotten very good at making your bed, but you need to remember not to sneak snacks into bed. Cracker crumbs are not fun to sleep on either.”

Minister Sandoval knew things about me, about everyone, that no one else could know. But she was kind and her sermons were about treating others with respect and how important it was to be conscious of your actions. Always think about others and never speak behind other’s backs.

Behind the pulpit was a stained glass window, not of a cross or a scene from the Bible, but of a twisted, gray face with scarlet eyes.

I returned home and headed back to my room, finding the gargoyle curled up at the foot of my bed. Like a cat. A stoned, spiky cat.

I sat in front of it and I remember exactly what I said.

“I’m sorry for being mean to you. You just want me to be better. I’ll do better, I promise.”

I swear I heard a quiet sigh, saw that disfigured face beginning to smile.

That is when I made peace with the gargoyles. I’m not sure exactly when my mother did, but sometime after that she was the one to drive me to church instead of the Pattersons. The nightly glass of wine turned into a weekly glass, then a monthly glass. Nowadays you never catch her with a bottle of anything but sparkling grape juice.

Jodi told me one night during a sleepover that the gargoyles are just here to make sure we are good people to ourselves and each other. That’s why no one has their doors locked, why we can feel safe walking down the street. There is always someone to keep you accountable.

My father couldn’t take that.

I don’t know all that happened. I do know how the street would be so quiet on Sunday mornings and that he never went to church with us. I know that he attempted to cover the gargoyle, that he asked just about every construction place he could to help him take it down. No one would accept the job.

My mom won’t tell me everything, but I do know Dad had the meltdown a week before Christmas.

I woke up, it was late. I heard my dad yelling. My mom was calling for him to come inside, that he was crazy. My dad said things that I will not repeat and continued yelling at the gargoyle. Told it to stop watching him, told it to stop judging his life, calling him a liar and lazy, just losing his mind.

The statues did nothing until he threw a rock at it.

For the first time, I truly saw the gargoyle in my room come to life. It was a smooth movement, the statue moved as gracefully as a feline, sitting up and cocking its head to the side. Its eyes started flickering like coals as it leaped to the window and pried it open with its claws. With a strange growly sound, it climbed out.

I saw the statue on the Pattersons’ roof leap down and start padding over to our yard. I saw a dark shape in the sky with wingspan longer than some cars gliding in our direction.

Then I heard my dad scream. It was so fast if I’d blink I’d miss it, two gargoyles dragged him up into the sky, I caught a glimpse of his terrified face and the angered sneers of the statues.

I heard a wet tearing sound, a snap and the next thing I saw was a rain of blood splattering against my window.

I screamed for my mom and she ran into my room to drag me out, her face white with fear as she attempted to cover my ears, but it was too late. I could hear more cracking and snaps as the gargoyles tore my father to shreds, and those memories are some of the clearest ones I have of my childhood.

The next morning, the entire street came to help clean up the mess. Hoses washed away the blood, men picked up what remained of my dad’s flesh off the ground. I remember seeing a black garbage bag that was almost bursting before I was shooed back indoors.

My mom and I didn’t have to do anything to take care of my dad. Funeral arrangements, burial costs, everyone pitched in. This hadn’t been the first time someone had tried to attack the gargoyles, and according to Jodi it wouldn’t be the last. Minister Sandoval preached that next week how that willfully attacking a sentient being was the worst crime, and that it would never be accepted in our little village of Graylake.

It’s been many years since this all happened. I actually moved out of my mother’s house into a small place, all for myself. There’s an older gargoyle on the roof, covered in moss. I’m gonna give him a bath as soon as I can.

The lil shithead that had been living in my childhood bedroom snuck along in a box. I still can’t pick him up but he’s made himself cozy on my desk.

It’s not an ideal existence, always being watched, but I’ve lived that way for so long… I can’t imagine life without observation from a stone guardian.

#horror stories #scary stories #creepypasta #writers on tumblr #creative writing #my stories

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jadekitty777 · 6 years ago

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Divine Intervention: Chapter 2

Unofficial Taiqrowweek: Day 3

This next chapter is the shortest of the four!

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,100

Ao3 Link: Chapter 2

Summary: [Afterlife AU] Qrow is a raider demon. His job is clear: Collect recently fallen souls for Hell. The more he could gather, the more power he would be granted. Easy, right?

Well, it would be, if not for a certain blond angel constantly getting in his way. Qrow was pretty sure Taiyang’s job wasn’t to keep the souls safe from him, but rather to infuriate him with his overblown righteousness and his insufferable smiles.

Eternal damnation wasn’t supposed to be this annoying.

There were a few places in his appointed domain that Qrow staked out. Hecate’s Lake was one such place. Though not well traveled, the little bowl-shaped lake never failed to take at least one life every year, so he made sure to frequent it often, especially during the warmer months. That day, he was going more out of habit than to find a potential lost soul – so he was surprised when he discovered he wasn’t alone.

Unfortunately, his guest was already quite dead.

“I thought angel wings were supposed to be white?” Though he did his best to sneer, his words lacked any of his usual abrasiveness.

Tai seemed unaffected either way, smile affixed into place. “We meet again it seems. And no,” He ruffled his wings, the sandy-yellow shade really standing out under the bright sunlight. “I thought you’d of realized by now? They match the person’s hair color. You’d look like quite the Qrow if you had some.”

“Hah.” Qrow mock-laughed. “And considering the only angel that apparently visits my realm is you, no, I hadn’t noticed.”

His chuckles were much more genuine. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Whatever.” He said, tail slashing at the ground. “What are you doing here? No one’s around to die.”

“Sometimes I just come down to visit. Enjoy the sights.” He gestured at the basin around them.

Seriously? “Wow, didn’t know Heaven was lacking so much in the aesthetic department that some grungy green water is more appealing.”

“Hey now!” Tai actually sounded a little offended. “No need to be rude. I have some fond memories of this lake.”

“Wait, hold up,” Qrow held up a hand. “You lived around here?” When the other gave an affirmative nod, he asked, “Why? There’s nothing here!”

“You’re a real city slicker, aren’t ya?” When that playful jab didn’t earn a response, the angel shrugged, looking across the lake. “The world’s changed a lot since I was around. This lake? All those broken-down towns and forgotten trails no one travels? These are places I remember in their heyday. Could even probably tell you the names of most of the people who ran the shops or went to church. It looks like a bunch of nothing to you, but for me this was home.”

Home, huh? He wondered what it was like, to be fond enough of a place to call it that.

Qrow crossed his arms, hunching in his wings. “Well that all sounds very nice. And since there’s nothing here for me, I guess I’ll leave you to your prance down memory lane.”

He started to head for his portal, hearing Tai’s faint, “If that’s what you’d like.” And had to fight down the urge to scoff. As if he’d prefer anything else.

As he bent his knees, preparing to dive into the black puddle, he couldn’t help but ask the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind since they’d started talking. “Hey uh. How’s the kid doing?”

The response he got wasn’t what he was expecting. “Would you like to see him?”

Qrow stood up stiffly, glaring. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No, I can show you. Right here.” Tai said, gesturing to the water.

His eyes darted between him and the lake, not bothering to hide his mistrust even as he dared to come closer. The angel only grinned, sitting down at the shore’s edge, patting the ground next to him. After a few hesitant moments, he took the offer, folding his legs underneath him. He peered down at the cloudy water, not sure what he was waiting for. “So what, is it a magic mirror or something?”

“Or something.” Tai parroted, unfolding his wings just slightly. He reached back, wincing as he plucked off a feather from one. He held it up high by the quill end, rolling it between his fingers. It took Qrow a moment to realize it was changing with every turn, the pale hues turning to a brilliant golden, as if the feather was sucking in the sunlight itself. Once it was bright enough that it appeared as if Tai was holding a star right in his hands, he let it go. It drifted on the wind, lopping lazily to and fro, as it slowly fell to the lakeside until it quietly touched down.

The resulting ripple burst upwards like an explosion as fire seared across the water. Qrow jerked back, cursing loudly, but an arm around his shoulders prevented him for going too far.

“It’s alright. Just look.” Tai whispered ardently in his ear. The flames dancing above the water reflected in his eyes, memorizing in how they appeared like sapphires speckled with gold.

Shivers wracked down his spine and Qrow squirmed from his grasp but didn’t withdraw further. Apprehension beat at his chest for believing in such a fool but curiosity spurred his action. Gingerly, he lent forward, peering within the ringlet of fire that emitted a warmth as soothing as a fireplace. Within its center, as clear as if from a television, he could see Oscar.

He was in a playroom of some sort. There were colorful posters on the equally colorful walls, with a few large windows with butterflies and bees stuck to the glass. Toy chests and small shelves full of books were pushed against the walls, with the center of the room mostly free space with only a few beanbags spread about and a table surrounded by small chairs for sitting. A few kids were sitting around at that table, but Oscar was on the other side of the room, draped over an orange beanbag as he listened to a young blond woman that was reading to him. It must have been quite the story, since his eyes were wide and attentive on her.

“He’s a pretty shy kid so he doesn’t like to play with the others much, but he really loves fantasy stories.” Taiyang told him. “Yang’s been reading to him every day since we took him in.”

He had a likely guess just based off of her looks, but asked anyways, “Your daughter?”

“Yeah. She and her wife come by when they can to help out.”

Qrow hummed noncommittedly, gaze drifting towards the table where the other occupants were. There were four – a young, white-haired girl in a dress rivaling a Disney princess. She seemed to be dictating to another pink and brown-haired girl how to properly hold her teacup, who seemed to be having trouble mostly because she wouldn’t put down the parasol she had resting against her shoulder. The third was a ginger haired boy whose bowler hat and fake cigar seemed more suited for a poker match. The last was another older woman – Yang’s wife he’d assume – who seemed to of gotten stuck with the role of ‘pet’ in this game, as she was sporting a pair of cat ears and had a bowl overflowing with goldfish crackers in front of her.

Tai noticed his stare and started to point them out in turn, “Weiss, Neo, Roman and Blake. Looks like they’re playing tea party. Everyone else is probably outside on the playground.”

Everyone else? Just how many brats was he looking after? “You running a daycare or something?”

“It’s more of a very large foster home. A lot of kids who die young either don’t know or don’t trust their extended family enough to live with them. It makes Heaven really scary for them.” Tai tapped the water, the picture rippling away and reforming into a playground where at least another half-dozen kids were playing tag. “But something about being around a lot of other kids in their same situation makes them feel more comfortable. That’s why we have these facilities.”

Qrow snorted in amusement as a pink-haired girl full-force tackled a blond boy. That kid was going to be tasting grass for a week. “How noble of you. So, where’s Mrs. Xiao Long?”

Another tap and this time they were in the kitchen. A very determined young boy with a streak of pink in his hair was rolling out cookie dough. Beside him, an older woman with soft silver eyes was cutting out shapes from the sheet and placing them on a shallow pan.

He whistled lowly. “What a beauty. She’s way too good for you.”

“Believe me, I know.” Tai chortled softly. “Probably why these days she goes by Miss Rose.”

The insult was already leaving his tongue before his brain caught up. “Well at least she wised up and – wait.” When it finally did, he glowered at him, certain he was pulling one under on him. “That doesn’t make sense. You couldn’t get divorced in the dark ages.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m from the 1860s.”

“Oh my god, you really are a cowboy.”

“SECOND of all,” Taiyang doggedly continued, too stubborn not to finish schooling him, “You’re right. But the vows have a very specific condition.” He looked back at the pool, watching his ex-wife help the little boy place the cookies in the oven. “‘Till death do us part. And oh, did it part us.” He waved a hand across the water, snuffing out the fire before settling back with a melancholy sigh.

Qrow shifted uncomfortably. He knew he wasn’t really skilled at handling tough, emotional conversations like this – but he was good at diverting attention from them. “Well hey, look at the bright side. Now you got all the time in the world to wrangle up a pretty little saloon girl.”

“Do I even have to wonder if you’re insinuating something?” He stifled a laugh when Qrow just wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Good. He’d take his dumb smile over that miserable look any day.

“You’re so crass.” Tai decided.

“If you ask me, it’s one of my better qualities.” He assured.

He quirked one eyebrow. “If you trust me even a little bit, you’ll believe me when I tell you that’s not true.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t then. You’re a terrible judge of character.”

“How do you figure?”

He pointed to himself. “Hanging out with me, for starters.”

“As I recall, it was your decision to stick around.” Tai reminded, looking just a little too smug.

Damn him. “Yeah well, you… you bribed me!” Qrow said, running a hand over his neck as he averted his gaze back to the lake and the vision that had once been there to entice him in the first place.

As he stared down at it though, he couldn’t help but wonder…

“Hey. I need to ask you something.”

As if sensing the sudden seriousness, Tai sat up straight. “What is it?”

“Can this thing…” Qrow paused, his self-inflicted inhibitions of how he wasn’t worthy enough to even ask for such a thing clawing their way up his throat, trying to choke him. He got the rest out in a rush, “Can you show me anyone?”

He held his breath, waiting every painstaking second for the answer.

The angel studied him, his expression unreadable, before he finally looked away. “’Fraid not. I’m only able to show you people I know.”

“Oh. Well yeah, that makes sense.” He laughed it off as if it was no big deal. He crossed his arms, turning away so he didn’t have to see the other’s piteous look when he no doubt would see right through that ruse. He shut his eyes, fingernails digging grooves into his arms as if it physical pain could outweigh the sudden one in his chest. Stupid. Stupid! Of course, it’d be like that. Why did he let himself get his hopes up like that?

He was certain the hand that landed on his shoulder was meant to comfort him, and he reached out to push it off, when Tai spoke, “Why don’t you try?”

Qrow looked back, having to blink away kaleidoscopic spots the glowing feather spiraled across his vision. Heart pounding, he reached for it, but Tai caught his wrist. He jerked his head towards him, about to snap, but hesitated as he took in the other’s worried expression. His fingers curled up, subconsciously withdrawing from the light, and he asked softly, “Is it going to hurt me?”

“I… don’t know.” He replied. “Are you willing to take the risk if it does?”

Was he? Light burns were on a level all their own. It was an injury that charred the skin black and never healed. A searing pain that never stopped and no amount of water could relieve. Did he really want to live with that for all eternity?

But what if this is your only chance? The whisper coaxed from the back of his mind.

“Yes.” Qrow resolved, reaching out over their hands with his left now – ah, all those years working to be ambidextrous for nothing – and grabbed the feather. He flinched back immediately, setting his jaw tightly as he waited for the agony to start.

…Nothing.

He looked at his hand, just to be sure, but it was just as pale white as always. A wiggle of his fingers confirmed everything was still functional too. He nodded and this time when he took the feather, he held it firmly. He looked to the angel who was gaping at him wide enough to catch the whole insect kingdom. “Okay. Stop looking so impressed and tell me what to do next – preferably before this thing rethinks its generosity.”

“Uh, oh right!” Tai’s closed his mouth. “Just think of the name of the person you want to see and drop the feather over the water. It’ll do the rest.”

Simple enough. He held it up, the name coming as easily as breathing to him because it had been the first thing on his mind every day for twenty-nine years, and let go. He watched it fall, whole body tilting forward anxiously as he waited for it to finally touch the water. He heard the other man shifting closer as well but didn’t dare look away, not wanting to miss it when it finally –

The surge of fire roaring forth had him squinting against the sudden brightness and heat. He distantly noted that unlike Taiyang’s, which had been pure and bright orange, his fire had a veil of black flickering across the top. Such a minor thing wasn’t nearly as important as the picture that formed in its center.

She looked almost the same as the last day he’d ever seen her – a little older, maybe. He’d heard rumors those in Heaven could choose their age. Still her black hair was as wild as ever and it seemed she still loved wearing black and red, though her clothes were much fancier than they could have ever hoped to afford during their lifetime. She was with someone he didn’t know at all; a woman with short, brunette hair and tattoos running down one arm. He figured it didn’t matter, whatever she was saying was making his sister laugh.

She looked… so happy.

The picture suddenly started to blur and Qrow reached for it, thinking his tainted fire was the problem – but wet droplets hitting his arm told him the fire was fine.

Beside him, Taiyang said nothing. But a golden wing draped around him, a silent comfort as he cried.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for the fire to burn out. It could have been minutes, it could have been days, and it still would never be enough. His hand fell through the water as it dissipated, as if he hoped to catch it. Another beat, and he was lurching towards Tai, about to demand another feather.

It seemed this was something easily predicted, because Tai placed a hand over his mouth before he could utter his demand. “Another day, perhaps. This takes up a lot of my energy.”

The side of him that wasn’t quite as noble didn’t care, and ran through about a half dozen scenarios on how he might be able to either convince or force the other to do as he wished. It was a very loud voice. The smaller, weaker side of him took notice of the other’s unusually pale complexion and reasoned that patience would earn him far more reward than violence. It may have been the quieter of the two, but he still obediently backed down.

Tai relaxed too, resting back on his hands and letting his wings drag along the dirt. He tipped his head, looking towards the clouds drifting by above them. “So, who was she?”

Qrow knew that question was coming. “My sister.”

“Older? Younger?”

“She’s my twin.”

“You two must have been close. What’s her name?”

His eyes narrowed. “No jokes.”

Tai placed an affronted hand on his chest as if to say ‘When do I ever joke?’.

Qrow sighed and finally grit out, “Raven.”

Tai stared. Bit his lip. Whimpered, “One joke?”

“No!!” He snapped.

“Ugggh! Fiiine!” He whined like a toddler being told to clean his room. “Take all the fun out of it why don’tcha.”

Offhandedly, he noticed that the other’s western accent was more prominent when he minced words like that. It was a shame he didn’t do it more often.

He beat down that ridiculous thought as far down as it would go.

“You know,” Tai said, inclining his head towards him. “You could have searched around, looked for other people besides her.”

Okay, that was his cue to leave before the other really started to pry. “Just didn’t want to risk it.” He lied, getting to his feet, stretching his arms and wings. “Anyways, this has been fun and all, but I better be hitting the road. Oh, sorry, I guess for you it’s ‘hit the trail’?” He rubbed his chin, reconsidering, “Nah, that ain’t right. Skedaddle? Vamoose? Get along lil’ doggy?”

The angel held up a hand before he could continue. “Just go.”

That was all the permission he needed, tipping his non-existent hat at him. “You got it, partner.” He took a few steps away, then paused when the perfect payback for the other night occurred to him. “Oh wait. Forgot something.”

Tai watched him curiously as he came back around and leant down. His lips parted, certainly about to ask.

Qrow didn’t let him, stealing his voice by kissing him right on the corner of his mouth. He backed away, taking great pleasure in the other’s shell-shocked gaze as he reached up to touch the spot. If Tai wanted to play games he’d just have to get used to the fact Qrow was better at them.

“Now we’re even.” He declared as he headed for his portal.

Just as he was about to jump, Taiyang seemed to get enough of his bearings to call, “Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

By the time he popped out the other side, Qrow was still laughing.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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