#with the sun being transferred to the moon’s location after sun’s couldn’t get him to be ‘child friendly’

[magentakat]

Me: Oh yay, I’ve found the writing juice and I’m getting more comfortable using dictation to write my first draft so I constantly don’t question myself (because I’m not looking at my writing and judging and editing and rewriting what’s coming out immediately)!

My brain: >:3

Me: Don’t you dare—

My brain: Angst time~~

Me: D:<

[sleephyjhs]

You Sing Lullabies to your Baby (REACTION)

all members are included under the ‘keep reading’ link

notes: this genuinely has taken me so long and i am so so sorry. when it comes to parent aus i really like to take my time since they’re my favourite, i hope it’s okay!!

m.list | requested

KSJ

Your prolonged absence from the downstairs loveseat caught Seokjin’s attention. The baby monitor had alerted you of your newborn’s disturbed sleeping, but the lack of commotion from upstairs interested him. After pausing the animation film he was determined to finish with you, he traipsed carefully for the stairs so not to further disturb your son.

His fingertips scarcely skimmed the corridor walls as he tiptoed towards the nursery. Through your newfound maternal panic, the panelled door had been left slightly ajar in the rush to attend to your baby; the small opening allowed just the right amount of view to see what had distracted you for so long.

The nursery itself was dark, illuminated only by pastel nightlights that so often fascinated his son’s brown doe eyes. Sleeping in the dark throughout the night was a trait you collectively were glad he’d inherited; tonight was perhaps the first glitch in his habits since birth. Facing away from the opened door was your nursing chair, where you’d positioned your now sleeping son across a flimsy pillow over your lap. His audible muttering was slowly washed away by the sound of your voice, humming a slow lullaby to soothe him.

“And if that mockingbird don’t sing, mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring~” Seokjin’s eyelids fluttered softly in time with the rhythm of your lullaby. You’d previously claimed to sing your baby to sleep when he wasn’t around, and now he had finally caught you.

Instead of feeling the need to interfere, Seokjin stood away from the light and listened to your lullaby repeat again and again until it was time to transfer your son back to his cot. To avoid being caught by you, he hurriedly hopped back down the stairs and resumed his seat in the couch. His private concert would remain his little secret.

MYG

Finishing rehearsals any earlier than midnight had recently become a foreign memory for Yoongi; coming home to a sleeping wife and baby was too painfully familiar. Finally, the rare occasion of an early clock-out had come around. Your newborn’s night routine was one Yoongi frequently missed, so the new opportunity was nothing short of refreshing.

Despite receiving a text saying to expect your husband home earlier than usual, the closing click of the front door was inaudible from your daughter’s nursery. Yoongi dumped his bag on the chair in his home studio and silently proceeded up the stairs.

His light stepping was a habit that had once caused you many frights, but at least your endless efforts to soothe your wailing daughter wouldn’t be reversed. The dim corridor light hardly caused Yoongi’s shadow to cast on the pale carpet of the nursery as he leaned against the doorframe, allured by the soft melody of your humming.

“Round and round the garden like a teddy bear~” Within seconds of listening to your repeating rhyme, Yoongi smiled brightly to himself. Within a matter of minutes, your exhaustion was more than apparent to him.

Yoongi pushed the door slowly to reveal himself to you as you gently placed your daughter back into her crib. Sighing as she finally appeared sound asleep, he held his arms open to you. A hug was nothing short of what you needed.

JHS

Knowing how well you enjoyed laying in on weekends, waking up to a groggy husband, your absence was nothing short of concerning. The warm imprint of your body still staining the bedsheets - you hadn’t been gone for long. Hoseok raised himself slowly, rubbing his eyes in disapproval of the morning sun. His first challenge of the day? Locating you.

Although he shuffled down the corridor still stiffened by the earliness of your escape, you were oblivious to his looming presence. Less than 10 minutes ago, your daughter decided to raise the heavens with her irritant screams. She was only just adjusting to a room of her own; being out of reaching distance from you was proving to be distressing for her, and of course, you.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey~” The soft, motherly hymns attracted Hobi towards the door of the freshly decorated nursery, where you stood rocking the tiny infant in your arms back to sleep. He leaned against the doorframe quietly, still struggling to open his eyes fully. Subconsciously, his head swayed from side to side in chime with the repeating melody, immersing him fully in your morning serenade.

Realising how tired he was, Hoseok figured singing lullabies so early in the morning could’ve been enough to send you drowsy all over again. Before his eyes could close completely on his two main girls, he traipsed slowly down the stairs in order to prepare you a well-earned homemade breakfast.

KNJ

As much as you both we’re almost always left exhausted from your busy schedules, if the only time you had together was past midnight then Namjoon would do what he could to make it work for you. Watching a movie at 2am was a risky move - balancing the volume to not disturb your dozing twin boys was hard work.

Just when you thought you’d worked it out, the chorus of agitated cries roared through the baby monitor, “No you stay here, eat.” You convinced Namjoon before he could even place his bowl of food on the coffee table.

Long after finishing his overdue dinner and still no sign of you, Namjoon paused the now-concluding film and crept through the silence towards the nursery where his baby boys had generated a now dwindling raucous. He couldn’t help but feel guilty about agreeing to stay put; one noisy baby was enough for anybody to handle, let alone a carbon copy.

Before he could barge through the door to aid the process, Namjoon paused in the corridor at the breaking of the silence. A small, cloud nightlight illuminated the cosy nursery that homed his boys and projected it’s yellow glow onto you. With a sleepy baby in each arm, you rocked back and forth in the pillowed nursing chair, “I’m sometimes up and sometimes down, coming for to carry me home.”

Maybe you had it all under wraps after all..

PJM

You’d anticipated Jimin’s return from tour for nearly a month, and were over the moon to finally be able to snuggle with your love once again. The daily facetimes were nowhere near as good as the real thing.

Although, the advantage was your new capability to lie. With your forced smile and optional mute button, you were hoping that Jimin never took a moment to suspect things weren’t as perfect as you so convinced him. Admitting your struggles would only guilt trip him into coming home briefly when he could, which was more stress he could’ve done without.

Your daughter could sense her father’s absence, and proved to you that she missed him more than you did. Never before had you had so many sleepless nights. Your mind was packed to the brim with lullabies from all over the world; it was all that worked in getting her to sleep anymore. Instead of preparing for Jimin’s return, her restless sleep pattern drew you back to her room, singing the same lullaby she’d heard nearly a hundred times before.

As you chanted the sleepy serenade to your disturbed, Jimin snuck through the front door unheard. His arrival was far earlier than you’d expected, but your seeet vocal tones whistling down the staircase was a great enough gift for him.

“Wherever you go, no matter where you are, I will never be far away.” Jimin followed the humming trail up the stairs to greet his two girls one again. The sight of you slowly rocking a now dozing daughter was enough to curl his tired eyes into smiling crescents. Certainly, arriving home early was worth the lost hours of rest.

KTH

Following the few, short hours after her birth, you’d finally stumbled across your first obstacle of thousands to come; a sleepless night. Fair enough, being born is a decently traumatic, turbulent experience, and so your daughter was hardly to blame for her discomfort in a foreign place.

The drugs and pain reliefs that were being pumped into you mare you similarly unable to sleep. Taehyung, however, had been long gone since the sunset; supporting you through childbirth was more exhausting than he’d expected. You couldn’t blame him though, he was nothing short of amazing.

Getting in some practice alone was rather ideal for you. A watching crowd would’ve been daunting for any new mother. Lifting your precious newborn from the plastic bassinet, you flicked through the few memorised songs that were within reach of your limited memory.

Just as you conducted your first lullaby of the night, Taehyung suddenly awoke to the distress of his baby. The chair he’d fallen asleep in was far from comfortable, but any surface would’ve done the job. Instead of sitting upright to attend, he waited for a while, fully aware of how long you’d anticipated singing to your precious daughter.

“Sheep safely home have come, bumble bees no longer hum.” Smiling to himself as your gentle voice soothed both your daughter and him down into a snooze, Taehyung took the secret encounter as a chance to further adore you. Interrupting your first bonding moment with your newborn wasn’t on his list of options; Taehyung was more than content to listen to you embrace motherhood as he was certain you would.

JJK

Despite believing your son was well and truly asleep, the inevitable sobbing rattled through the baby monitor eventually. Having time alone with Jungkook was a rarity, but the disruption via your son was hardly repulsed. In fact, you often had to fight for the right to be the one to calm him down.

With it being so late, and him having hardly slept during the day, you knew well that your son was only overtired. Although Jungkook was by far better skilled in the vocal department, sometimes a mother’s lullaby can be all a baby needed. You allowed Jungkook to continue the anime episode without you - it shouldn’t take you so long this time.

Even a few minutes was enough to miss your presence. To grab one last glance of his tiny son for the night, Jungkook soon followed your footsteps to the pale grey nursery you rocked your baby so gently in, “Golden slumber kiss your eyes, smiles await you when you rise.”

Despite your vocal capability having no leverage on that of your husband’s, Jungkook still enjoyed listening to you. Something about your sweet voice that was hypnotising; drowsy in itself. Instead of storming the brief bonding session, Jungkook awaited you in the hall, grinning widely to himself in the corridor. You were beyond precious.

^ i really dont know why i use the namjoon and his twins starter so much but here we are

[brokenjardaantech]

absorbance of the deep (chapter 3: schemes and promises)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

previous chapter can be found here.

also on ao3

content warning for near-death experience.

---

Time passed. Simon grew closer to both Josh and North as they all grew up and going to school became much more isolating. Daniel grew increasingly rebellious now that North had shown him what life outside the village looked like for the average people, and although he never took out his anger on Simon and Simon knew that he didn’t mean it, the tension in the lighthouse did get suffocating a lot of the times. ‘I just want to get out, see the world a bit instead of trapped in this -’ Simon remembered watching his twin brother clutch his head as he paced their room, their room that seemed so small and constraining now that they were teenagers with their awkward limbs and stretching bodies - ‘this shithole! No offence to you, Si,’ the next sentence was spoken much quieter and calmer. ‘I know you like it here. It’s just not for everyone, you know?’

Simon could never understand the appeal of a noisy city, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t observe his surroundings and see how things had changed: the young moved out to explore the world and job opportunities, the old remained while their outdated and repetitive crafts would likely perish within the next generation, and even their parents were talking about leaving the lighthouse to Simon as soon as he was able to take up the job and then move to somewhere else, leaving him behind so that they wouldn’t be recognised for their embarrassing son who had a tendency to jump into the sea and return with a smile on his face and his cheeks flushed from mirth. Not everyone had someone like Markus. i - understand, he answered by flipping the dictionary. 

‘And it doesn’t even cost a thing to transfer schools,’ Daniel went on. ‘I can use my pocket money to take the bus, we’re in the same area so the syllabus is the exact same thing, our current school is looking for an excuse to expel me anyway, I fucking know it. It’ll save so much energy for all of us.’

Simon didn’t understand the concept of energy either because he could always retreat to the ocean to calm down if not even spending time with North and Josh on the beach could do the trick, but who was he to think that he could understand everyone? Not even his own parents bothered to know him as the person he was. is - there - any - way?

‘To transfer? Not that I know of. But getting myself kicked out, however…’ Daniel rubbed his hands together in a familiar gesture that always meant he had a plan. ‘North has been beating up so many people these days. Time for me to have a taste.’

Using me as bait? Simon wanted to ask, but he kind of placed the target on himself a long time ago so it wasn’t exactly his twin brother’s fault that he wanted to get some use out of it before his parents eventually pulled the two of them out of school. He had passed his junior secondary exams thanks to Josh; he was eligible for the job guarding the lighthouse. OK, he flipped to the page containing the exclamation, and Daniel dropped into his bed with a satisfied huff. ‘Just watch,’ he declared. ‘I’m not getting stuck in this damned village.’

Their parents must have heard Daniel’s side of the conversation, because when Simon woke up later still tired and dizzy, he could hear shouting from downstairs and the other bed in his bedroom was empty, his parents’ and twin brother’s voices so loud that the entire house was shaking. He didn’t like it when people shout because they hurt his ears. He also understood that Daniel had to talk to their parents, like it or not, and him being there would only force the conversation to cut short and therefore ruining everything. He wanted to get out, but that would mean going through the living room and therefore exposing himself, so there was only one way to escape from here.

He never tried to sneak out before because there was no need to, but if there was anything Daniel taught him that he could actually use, it was climbing out of the window of their bedroom and reaching the pier below safely. One day his twin brother approached him with a bundle of wooden planks asking Simon to decorate them, and he, wanting to create something to remind himself of Markus’ when they couldn’t see each other, accepted the offer immediately even though it took him three sleepless nights and an aching head by the end of his marathon painting session to complete it in a week, and he had watched as Daniel looked for suitable spots to place them in so that they could go out at night without alerting their parents. At that time, sitting on the warm wood of the pier with a pair of sunglasses protecting his eyes and a hat to shield his face from the sun, the only thing Simon had paid attention to was the tendril of seawater holding his hand through the pier and the presence of the sea in his mind observing his twin brother through his eyes. He had gone reluctantly to Daniel’s so-called climbing lessons, but now, as he climbed off the wall barefooted swiftly and silently, he tried to remember to thank his brother later for them. 

You’re late today, the sea said. Something went wrong?

Simon quickly padded to the edge of the pier and slid into the water so that he wouldn’t alert the people in the house. Not that they could hear anything other than themselves when they were making so many themselves, but he wasn’t going to risk it by underestimating his family, especially Daniel whose Simon-detection skill had been honed to an all-powerful form that even North was envious of, and it was when he was certain that the sea was supporting and guiding him towards his cave that he recalled the conversation he had with his twin brother and snippets of the argument he only vaguely heard so that the sea, the ocean, Markus - they were all the same for Simon - could understand his sudden call. 

Markus? he asked when the waves slowed down and the water grew darker from something other than the depth. What are you thinking about?

Later.

Okay.

Markus was waiting for him on the sand in the cave. Just like Simon, he had grown, except while the human grew more awkward and strange, the sea evolved to something more divine, more ethereal, his muscles more definite, his skin dark and glowing with power, his green eyes large and piercing as if he could see through Simon at any given moment. And when Markus stood up from where he had been sitting to greet him by holding his hand and kissing him, it was with the reverence between lovers on both ends, the smell of earth and the sea blending together into a unique musk that belonged to Markus and Markus alone, one that Simon had come to associate with devotion, with protection, with attraction. He knew that he would have the ocean’s total attention for the next few hours, and he couldn’t help but feel wasteful knowing that he would spend most of it sleeping and replenishing his own energy. It was then that Markus pulled away and placed a finger on Simon’s lips even though he wasn’t speaking, the gesture more symbolic than literally silencing the human.

‘Don’t be,’ Markus breathed into Simon’s knuckles. ‘I cherish your very presence on the planet no matter what you are doing.’ Then he tugged Simon’s hand so that the two of them could lie down on the sand and feel its warmth. He even slid a pillow of moss under Simon’s head, an addition that he made a long time ago after Simon told him that the people living on land sleep with one most of the times. ‘Now, tell me all about your brother’s plan.’

Simon projected the scene to Markus once more, this time with as many details as he could remember because they knew that there was little to lose at this proximity, and he did not like the frown appearing between the ocean’s brows. 

‘I don’t like his plan, starlight,’ there was a slight tremor in his voice. ‘He’s using you. What if he doesn’t get to you in time? What if you suffered through it for nothing? What if you get hurt? How can he promise to deliver you back to me safely?’

He doesn’t even know that you exist, Simon argued. Daniel and North saved me plenty of times before. Why should this time be different?

‘Before, it was your bullies who were in the wrong; this time, he will actively induce pain in you to achieve his goal. They are two very different things.’

But -

‘I’ll be on guard,’ Markus declared in the end, leaving no room for argument on Simon’s end. ‘Just speak my name when you need me.’ He leant forward until their foreheads touch. ‘I’ll be there for you.’

Okay.

A few minutes of silence during which they breathed the same air and Simon closed his eyes to block out some of the distractions that were preventing him from truly connecting with the ocean, with Markus. Markus’ heartbeat was the tide. Markus’ breaths were the slow return of the water after they kissed the shore. Markus was so powerful but still took the time to create this small safe haven for Simon, on isolated from the rest of the world and would never be contaminated by the outside world, and for that, he was grateful.

‘Watch the moon rise with me?’

Simon nodded, and they started floating upwards as if both of them were weightless beings in the vast universe heading towards their next location far, far away. Gliding across his skin smoothly, the seawater at this depth was cold regardless of the season, but Markus was holding him, guiding him slowly towards where they would go, and the contrast between Markus’ tenderness and the sea’s true power and warm versus cold sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. He knew Markus had something to do with all this because normally he would’ve died already at his current state. He placed his arm on the sea’s shoulder and buried his face in the crook of his neck, feeling his gills flutter along with the tempo of the ocean and being nuzzled by his nose, and he was reminded of a promise made many years ago. Almost ten years now, he realised.

‘Not yet,’ Markus’ chest rumbled. ‘Not until your suffering is over. And it comes with a price.’

Don’t care.

‘I do.’

And it was too close, too close to a vow that he wasn’t sure if either of them had the capacity to make yet, but it made him think of the future, a future with Markus, a future where there would be no longer stolen moments with the ocean he loved and cared for so much. There would only be the two of them. Maybe he could even bring Markus to the lighthouse, let him experience a bit of his life on the surface world. Markus had shown him so much of the sea; he should do something to pay him back or at least make it an equivalent exchange -

‘We’re here.’

They resurfaced in what seemed to be an endless expanse of sea. There was not a single piece of land in sight when Simon turned himself around which meant that when he finally looked up and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see every single star in the sky and the waning moon just peeking out from below the horizon. He had had a lot of opportunities to stargaze before but he never took them, either because he was easily tired from simply existing or because of the group nature of the event, but now, with only himself and the sea, he could take in everything at his own pace, focusing on one of them because of its colour and unpredictable twinkling. There was no one to recite astronomical facts to him, no one shouting in his ear to go to bed. He could enjoy the moment as it was.

Markus wrapped his arms around Simon from behind. ‘Sometimes, even I get lost in the vastness of the ocean,’ the words, although spoken right next to Simon’s ear, were neither loud nor intrusive like normal people’s speeches did. ‘I used to use the stars to guide myself back to where I should be. Now I have you, Simon. I’ve never gotten lost since I met you. You are my guide just like the polaris in the sky.’

Is that why you call me that? Your polaris?

‘Yes.’

Markus let go of him and helped him float on the water with miles of water underneath his back before floating next to Simon as well, intertwining their fingers so that wherever the current brought them, they would stick together, and as Simon drifted under the sea of stars with the other sea he loved with all his existence, he felt like nothing could tear them apart no matter how far they were, and that was why he willingly asked Markus to bring him back to the lighthouse when the edges of the horizon just turned a lighter shade as the first sign of dawn. Spending his time with Markus was nice, but he didn’t want to worry Daniel either, which meant he must return to his room before the time Daniel usually woke up, and this time, instead of ordering the waves to send Simon back, Markus accompanied him all the way back to the pier the sea usually placed him on. The sight of the representation of the ocean peeking his eyes out of the surface while his remaining body remained submerged was oddly adorable.

This is the first time I see where you live with my own eyes, he projects directly into Simon’s mind. I would like to say it’s a lovely home but… your parents and brother.

It will be lovelier with your presence, Simon replied. Though I suppose this isn’t the right time.

No, it isn’t.

In an act that surprised Simon, Markus emerged from the water until it was just enough for him to lay his arms flat on the wood of the pier and place his chin on the edge. His gills sealed themselves shut in scar-like slits on both sides of his neck. He placed his hand on Simon’s feet, and a cool sensation spread from the site over his body. Remember my promise, he said. Call for me when you need me. I’ll be watching over you.

Simon took his hand and kissed his knuckles just like the many times Markus did for him. I know.

Markus tilted his head and gave him one last frown before letting go of the pier and sliding into the water, the reflection of the sunlight on the sea meaning that Simon couldn’t see him as soon as he was beneath the surface. Markus belonged to the deep sea where everything was deep blue anyway, so he couldn’t imagine him liking to stick to shallow waters unless it was for something like they did just now. He got up, climbed into his room through the open window of his room, and managed to get about three hours of sleep before he was woken up again by Daniel to go to school.

It started off as usual. North and Josh were waiting for him at the front door and the four of them went in together, then Daniel broke off to his classroom while the rest went to another classroom, then they stayed there for both the first and second lesson because both of them were taught in their home class. North handed him the headphones again, and although reluctant, Simon put them on if not for North’s peace of mind. It indeed made the noises other students create more manageable, however, so he kept them on. Josh was the attentive student, North was the one who couldn’t help but make puns and snarky comments, and Simon was the one the teachers ignore which meant that he got to read about the sea again, this time about how tectonic activities could change the sea in all the different ways he couldn’t even fathom. Did Markus drink chemical soup from underwater volcanoes when he was young? Did he ever feel the temperature difference between the deep sea and right when an underwater volcano erupted, or was everything the same to him, or would the lava burn him before eventually cooling off into rocks? Had he ever been to the subduction trenches and watch the seabed disappear in front of his eyes? He wrote down all the questions he had for Markus with his oversized handwriting on a blank worksheet he would not return to the teacher anyway and put it into his backpack so that he could ask the sea all of them the next time they meet. Then the ground trembled so he looked up, and he saw most of the students pushing their chairs back and standing up while the teacher bolted out of the classroom so that she wouldn’t have to wait for dozens of students to get out before she could again. He stood up as well, wanting to find somewhere quiet in the school campus to cool down alone.

However, his classmates seemed to have other plans.

He only heard them after taking off his new headphones, but it was already too late. One moment he was beginning to relax his eyes by staring at the sea in the distance, and the other moment he was being tackled onto the ground painfully, his arms wrenched back, a heavy weight pushing onto his back and making it hard to breathe, and the noise - oh, the noise - piercing his eardrums and consuming his brain together with the harsh rub of soil on his cheek. Before he could even process what was happening, the weight on his back disappeared just to be replaced by the scratch of thick rope over his head, and that was when the panic set in. He wanted to struggle but he couldn’t move because his limbs were painfully held in place as someone else placed the noose around his neck before tightening it, there was more shouting, the pressure on his body was suddenly gone and transferred to the rope tightening around his neck, and his feet were swinging in midair, a familiar face that he couldn’t quite name because he was too busy clutching at the noose started speaking, something about how he was treated differently and given an easy way out while the rest of them suffered, but he wasn’t listening, his heartbeat was thundering and crashing in his ears like the coast at a stormy night, therefore the only thought he had before he felt his vision darkening was -

MARKUS!

[heidianderson]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

[DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER] who’s that? oh it’s {HEIDI ANDERSON}. i hear they’re {SIXTEEN} and a {JUNIOR} at {CRAWFORD COUNTY DAY}, have a voice like {SELENA GOMEZ} and are part of {CANARIES & FILM SOCIETY}. they’re known to be {COOPERATIVE & PRIDEFUL} and {TIMID & UNTALENTED}. some people say they remind them of {THE SCENT OF DISAPPOINTMENT, PITCHY TONED VOCALS, LATE NIGHT PODCASTS, AND PERFECTLY COILED LOCKS}. only one way to find out!

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Heidi June Anderson

NICKNAME(S): N/A

AGE: Sixteen

DATE OF BIRTH: August 31st

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, California

CURRENT LOCATION: Lima, Ohio

ORIENTATION: Pansexual

RELIGION: Her dad wants her to practice Scientology, but she refuses, so no religious affiliation

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Democrat

OCCUPATION: Student/Vocal Adrenaline Slave

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Lives w/ dad

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, some Mandarin Chinese

FAMILY

FATHER: Cooper Anderson

MOTHER: June Robinson-Anderson

SIBLING(S): N/A

EXTRA

SUN: Virgo

MOON: Gemini

RISING: Virgo

LIKES: True crime, being noticed, the color blue, making her dad proud, gold jewelry, headbands, freshly ironed cotton shirts with matching cardigans

DISLIKES: Disappointing her dad, feeling like she’s not living up to her mom’s potential, New Directions, anyone who doesn’t go to Carmel, bright colors, manipulation

HEADCANONS

When Cooper Anderson travelled back to Lima in the spring of 2012 to visit his younger brother what he was not expecting was to meet a girl eight years his junior studying literature at Lima’s Ohio State campus. June Robinson was exactly the kind of girl Cooper liked to get his hands on. Pretty, recognized his celebrity status, and was smart enough to keep up a conversation with and while normally their story would have ended after their one night stand, they decided to exchange numbers and keep in touch. This led to nightly texting which turned into good morning texts which turned into FaceTime calls which turned into June hopping on a plane to California (the same week as Cooper’s own brother’s wedding). By the time June had landed, Cooper had been given the news that his younger brother had gotten married to his high school sweetheart, the older Anderson just had to retaliate. There was no way he was about to not be told about his own brother’s wedding let alone not be in attendance to cause a disturbance, so he did what any sane person would do. He proposed to June, without a ring, but he covered that one up by telling June that there were going to go to a jeweler and pick out a ring that she wanted. The two didn’t plan to get married that week or even that month, but somehow after June had her pretty engagement ring on, they were running down to a local courthouse.

After the marriage was finalized, June had the most amazing trip in Los Angeles before going back to Lima and finishing up her semester before fully transferring to a campus in LA where her and Cooper could live together and start their life. For two people who jumped the gun on getting married, they surprisingly handled domestic life fairly well. They were happy. Cooper was acting. June was writing. Their income was fairly stable, even if sometimes Cooper had to pick up a random commercial gig or June had to do freelance article work just to make sure they could pay rent for the month. They made things work and despite Cooper’s poor acting chops, he managed to make it big doing random B-list movies and playing roles in random crime shows. Everything was just so good and one thing they agreed on. No kids. Why would they mess up something that was already so perfect?

Well, that was all said and done until they were coming up on their 8th anniversary. Maybe they did want children or maybe they were having a bad case of relationship boredom. They had already travelled, excelled in their careers, what more was their to do besides have a couple of kids? Which is exactly what they did. Heidi June Anderson was born on August 31st, 2024 happy, healthy, and giggling. And again, things were completely fine until they weren’t. It wasn’t long after Heidi’s birth that things started to go south. It had nothing to do with Heidi specifically, but more of the events that transpired after her birth. June got lonely, she wasn’t writing as often, and she was in a rut. It didn’t help that Cooper had some hot blonde as a co-star either on his new movie while June was still recovering postpartum. So, she found solace in a close friend of hers and it wasn’t long before Cooper pieced things together and found June with another man in their own bed. Incoming divorce and custody papers. Everything happened when Heidi was way too young to even piece together a memory of her mother and wanting to move on from the life she built in Los Angeles, she moved away to some European country but that wasn’t the last time Heidi saw her mom. They worked out an agreement where Cooper got full custody, but June had all the visitation rights she wanted as long as she was in town. That wasn’t very often though and by the time Heidi was ten, the visitations stopped altogether. 

Growing up with Cooper as a dad wasn’t the worst possible situation. They had pizza for breakfast and cereal for dinner and Cooper always made Heidi watch any movies or tv shows he had been in and made her review and critique them all (Heidi was always one to point out Cooper’s lack of pointing in certain scenes). This meant she had to sit through many, many hours or Cooper “starring” on multiple crime dramas and she gripped onto that. Her entire life she had been shown the showbiz side of life, getting chucked into singing, dancing, and acting lessons and even though she was still watching her dad’s content, she fell in love with crime shows, begging Cooper to put on episodes that wasn’t even his. She wasn’t about to up and become some kind of criminal, but the cases were just so entrancing. 

At some point during Heidi’s childhood, Cooper began to realize that he couldn’t raise Heidi by himself. He needed some sort of help from his family so Cooper packed himself and Heidi up to Lima, Ohio. Partly for help via his own family, but he also was more hopeful that June would visit Lima to see her parents more than come to Los Angeles to see her ex-husband and daughter. While in Lima, Heidi spent most of her time with her paternal grandparents while Cooper would be off travelling back and forth to Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, and anywhere else he could find work.

Now in her formidable teenage years, Heidi had almost chosen to go to William McKinley High School. They had an okay academic and arts program and she lived in the district, but her dad would stand for no such thing. Him and his brother both attended Dalton Academy for most of their teen years and Heidi’s own mother had attended Crawford County Day and was a crucial member to the Canaries during her own high school years, Heidi’s options were limited and she knew the path her dad wanted for her. She was an Anderson! She was born to sing and act! So, she ended up at Crawford and opting to go for uniforms and rich girl tactics and quickly joined the ranks of the Canaries. 

The only problem with Heidi being in the Canaries is cut down to one simple fact - she’s simply untalented. She can’t sing, dance, or act very well. This is something her own dad would never say to her, but she’s simply an okay performer. The only real reason she’s still able to compete and be on the team is because with her extensive background of dance classes and vocal lessons, she can hold a pitch and she can learn choreography and her slight athleticism has allowed her to keep up with whatever's thrown at her on the Canaries. She may not be a lead, but she certainly adds character and a booster by the name of Cooper Anderson.

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[faean]

Spider-Man/Peter Parker x Male Reader

Rating: T; Angst

Word Length: 2,512

Title: Forgive Me

—–

          Peter had never been more perplexed in his entire life, and he did not know what was more surprising: The fact that this ranked higher in terms of something than him getting tech from the Tony Stark and fighting the Captain America half way across the world, or that he was genuinely confused about everything.

          A little exaggerated, of course (and possibly not for the first time), but you certainly did have an effect on people.

          First off, you, (Y/N) (L/N), were a transfer student from who knows where. Second, you were easily the most amiable person in existence, so much so that it took no more than two weeks for you to become one of the very few people to know Peter as Spider-Man. Third, you seemed to be, somehow, always of aid to Peter even when he didn’t think he needed it nor expected it.

          Lastly, and certainly the most prominent thing, was not just that you were open and comfortable about your sexuality (which wasn’t unheard of and even encouraged), it was that Peter began to question his own.

          He still harbored a small, albeit diminishing, crush on Liz after she moved. He also began to develop feelings for MJ. Most jarring, however, was that in spite of him knowing that he is attracted to women, he could not get (Y/N) (L/N) out of his mind.

          And things only got stranger.

          Soon, (Y/N) became absurdly more affectionate towards his close friends, especially Peter. He had even become Peter’s, rather Spider-Man’s, go to after patrols and battles to get patched up or rest, sometimes spending multiple nights in Aunt May’s apartment, which she enjoyed immensely since you were such a help around the place. Peter had even become accustomed to the affection you showed, so much so that he found himself craving it at times.

          Stranger still was the dramatic decrease in criminal activity. Peter knew he couldn’t be the cause of it, and it wasn’t because he didn’t do a decent job at being a ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. It was because that drop in crime went straight to zero and the only reason he continued patrolling was because of a new figure on the scene. He had no idea if they were a new villain or hero, or even if they were male or female! The new figure was always heavily disguised, and it was obvious they were using a voice modulator.

          Strangest of all, though, was that when the disguised person began making sexual advances towards him, it correlated with (Y/N) becoming unabashedly possessive, and to Peter alone. While Peter did enjoy the reprieve from Flash’s torment, he did miss spending time with his friends; even Ned and MJ shied away from him whenever you were present.

          And all of this in the span of a mere six weeks!

          It was now week seven of this strangeness, and Peter wanted answers. He wanted to finally figure out his sexuality; he wanted to finally hang out with his other friends; he wanted to finally unravel the intentions of the disguised figure; and he wanted, most of all, to get a break from (Y/N).

          Surprisingly, he got through most of that list by the end of school.

          He figured out that, while he is indeed attracted to the opposite sex, (Y/N) is an exception and it was due simply because Peter could admit he was comfortable with such an idea.

          He got to hang out with his friends, and it was such a relaxing and fun experience that Peter nearly forgot he had more stuff to do.

          Nearly.

          The only reason he was able to spend some time with his friends was because you were absent, which was startling, as you haven’t even been late to any class or club meeting, much less absent all together. Peter had to admit that he was somewhat worried about you, but it was this worry that reminded him of his mission. Once school had ended for the day and he donned his suit, he searched throughout the city to find the strange person.

---

          It had been several hours, and night began to fall, but Spider-Man could not find any trace of the disguised figure. Exhausted and defeated, he took rest atop a random skyscraper, watching the sun finish setting, and gazing into the night sky. There were few stars, given the amount of light pollution, but with the help of his suit’s A.I, Karen, he magnified the sight and stared into the depths of space. Unfortunately, this moment of respite was just that.

          A moment.

          “Peter, I am detecting an energy source quickly approaching.” Karen’s voice riled him up, but his Spider-Sense (or Peter Tingle, as his Aunt called it) had already put him on guard.

          He stood, ready to counter whoever and whatever came at him, the suit’s sensors attempting to locate the direction of the energy source.

          “The energy source is increasing in speed exponentially and resembles that of the disguised figure we have met. I am currently attempting to predict its- Above you!”

          Karen’s warning and Peter’s reflexes were not fast enough to prevent him from being pinned to the floor. It took Peter a few seconds to recover from the force of the impact, and he came face-to-face, well, mask-to-mask, with the disguised person. He struggled to push them off of himself, but they were unnaturally strong.

          No, not strong, he thought. They couldn’t possibly be strong enough to pin him down with brute force, not unless they were unnaturally heavy.

          Which also didn’t make much sense to the still struggling Spider-Man. The figure was barely taller than him, and just as lean. In order for them to so effortlessly restrain him, they would need to be dense. Denser than most metals. Upon realizing this, Peter noticed no warmth emanating from the body above him, and Karen’s scanning revealed as much.

          “Peter, the person, isn’t a person. They’re not even machine. I cannot determine the mat-t-t-t-… Pe-pe-peter, they a-re-re messss-ing-g-g-g with my f-f-f-unction-ion-ionnn...”

          Karen went silent, and the holographic display of his suit disappeared. Black tendrils snaked from the thing’s hands, somehow shutting the suit down and paralyzing Peter as it reached across his arms, stopping at his neck and chest. This was unlike anything he had ever experience, and he was truly, genuinely, afraid.

          The figure stayed still, straddling Peter and staring into his masked eyes. At least, Peter thought they were staring at him. He couldn’t see any part of their face, and he didn’t care, as his mind was set on finding some way, any way, to escape.

           As the figure lowered its head, Peter could hear a faint purring coming from it. It pressed its entire body against his, an immense pressure weighing upon him, restricting his breathing and ensuring he couldn’t escape, if he could have in the first place. Soon, it buried its head into the crook of his clothed neck, its ethereal purring having an… effect on him.

           It resonated throughout him, and he fought his body’s arousal. He was no stranger to it, admittedly, as he was a teen going through the paces, but those times were private and few in between. Though, they did become more frequent and intense when (Y/N) began to overwhelm him. But this? This was unwanted, and he struggled ever more vehemently to escape.

           Then, the figure raised its head, seemingly gazing at Peter before an inky black tendril slithered to the seam of his mask and slipped underneath. Peter’s eyes widened as he was being unmasked, but then his Spider-Sense went nuts, the tingling in the back his head overpowering the sensation of the figure’s purring.

           He couldn’t see what happened, exactly, but the figure was forcefully ripped off of him by an unseen force and slammed against the low wall that encased the rooftop. Instinctively, Peter first shot a capture web at the figure before shooting a tether at the entrance to the rooftop, hoisting himself away from the figure.

           Freed from its grasp, his suit sparked to life, and Karen’s voice could be heard again.

           “Karen! How did they shut the suit down? And what was that that pushed them back?” Peter asked, his words laced with fear.

           Before she could respond, footsteps echoed, and Peter’s attention was on…

           “(Y/N)…” he whispered as he stared at your back, watching you casually make your way to the figure, which had picked itself up and stood hunched over, its hands scraping the floor and it head unnaturally twisted at you.

           “You had free reign of the city, all the enticing souls of Manhattan, and yet, you just could not help yourself. He is mine, and I will not hesitate to ensure he stays mine.” You growled at the figure as you continued towards it.

           Peter was taken aback, his face heating up from your declaration and his mind racing from your reveal: You and the creature were connected, its appearance coinciding with your transfer and the sudden drop in crime. Although, Peter had thought the figure was likely you in disguise, even Karen had calculated it to be the most probable of scenarios.

           “…” The figure remained silent, but its body spasmed as it turned its head to look up at Peter. “………”

           “So be it.” Was your reply to the figure’s silence, standing in front of it now, your hand on its neck as you lifted it off the ground, its head still craned towards Peter’s perch.

           Peter was in shock at how you managed it, and Karen’s voice was a distant echo as he remained fixated on you.

           You took a step up onto the ledge of the wall, dangling the figure over the vast expanse of the city scape below. Peter snapped back to his senses, rushing towards you to stop you. He had so many questions and fears and he just had to get answers from you about the figure, but…

           He stopped in his tracks as you turned back at him, a soft, loving smile on your face. Your eyes held such adoration for him as tears glistened in them, the moon perfectly aligned with your frame. So many memories flashed before Peter’s eyes, memories of loss and tragedy and heartache, he meekly reached out for you as you stepped off the ledge, falling, still with the same smile and love across your lips as you mouthed ‘I love you…’.

           He screamed for you at the top of lungs, firing off two webs at you as he desperately chased after you, his tears clouding his vision. The webs raced after you and the figure, but you both fell at such an unnatural speed, as if something more than gravity drew you towards the gray concrete earth. They never reached, and Karen had to fire another to anchor Peter to the building so he would not meet a similar fate.

           The figure landed first, impacting the ground and cratering it, the force shattering nearby glass. It laid there, motionless, until you neared the ground. It jolted up and leapt to intercept, but it fell a few inches short as you slammed into the asphalt beside it.

           Peter swiftly made his way to your lifeless body, your smile and love unbroken. The figure knelt beside your body, and in its ethereal, warped voice, whispered “Forgive me...”

           Peter held you as a crowd began to form, and the figure slowly dissolved into an inky black mist as it slumped over, its hand intertwined with yours.

           ---

           A week went by, and Peter was still lying in his bed, the city of Manhattan wondering where their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had gone off to. Peter refused to leave his room save for food and the occasional hour-long shower, and took no visitors, not even Tony Stark had been able to get through to him. Ned and MJ stopped by everyday to drop off his missed homework and copies of their notes, but Aunt May remained to be the only one to see him.

          And now, she stood outside his bedroom door, a crisp letter of crimson with an ivory seal in her hand. She hesitated when she went to knock and decided it better to slip it under his door, knowing he would come out when he was ready.

          Peter saw the letter but made no effort to get it. Hours passed before he mustered the strength to retrieve it. He sunk back into his bed as he read the lettering, the same color as the seal-

          ‘Beloved’

          He gingerly opened it, immediately having recognized your handwriting. Carefully unfolding the letter, a few rose petals scattered about him and the bed as they fell from the opened paper. His eyes watered as he smelled your scent on the paper, and it soon became sobs as he read through it, your voice echoing in his mind.

          My Dearest Beloved,

          I imagine you have many questions, and I desire little more than to give you those answers. Beloved, I am gone, as is the shade that bore the darkness of my soul and the sins I have committed, but I ask that you shed no more tears for me. I am undeserving of your grief, much less your love and affection.

          I longed for someone to call my own, but my shade haunted me everywhere I travelled, a reminder of all the sorrow I have wrought. While I changed my ways, it could not, and many more fell to the darkness that resides within me. I thought, in a place with a vast number of criminals, it would be satisfied. Of course, when my heart became yours to bear, it followed suit. Beloved, never have I loved someone as much as I love you, and it is your memory that I shall keep with me as I atone for all the pain I am responsible for.

          But, enough of me, for I matter naught. Only you matter. Peter, my beloved, I knew that you could not be mine by any measure, and I accepted this. At least, I thought I had. Your radiant beauty captivated me, and your brilliant mind ensnared me, and my heart yearned for a love I could not have. It is an excruciating experience, and I do not wish that anyone, not anymore. As your happiness is my only desire, I prepared this letter, and many others, for when my time came to meet my fate.

          Peter, my dearest beloved, I do not love you so simply. I am in love with your very being- mind, body, and soul. I cannot express my gratitude for your freeing me. May the next letters find you and, if you still have the kindness I am ever so glad to have received, may you treasure them as I have treasured every moment I spent with you.

                                                                       With Sincerest Love,

                                                                                                           (Y/N) (L/N)

          Peter set the handwritten letter down, three simple words leaving his lips before he went to Aunt May, his heart aching.

          “I forgive you…”

—– 

[seleneauger]

propinquity

propinquity - noun.  the state of being close to someone or something; proximity.

Lead: Oh Sehun

Genre: Angst, neighbor!au, soulmate!au 

Warnings: sexual content

Words: 4347

For my moon goddess @enaasteria​. 

Note: I finally got to finish this after many laptop transfers and life events. I’m so sorry this is so late, but I hope you’ll accept this small gift Ena!

--

i. It is golden hour. Your hair threatens to fall out of its bun as you climb the stairs to your apartment because the elevator is undergoing maintenance again. In your hands is a pot of English Ivy you bought, its tendrils threatening to get caught with every step you take. The diffused sunlight makes it hard to determine exactly what time it is, but you're confident that you didn't dawdle too much in the flower shop  at the corner block where you bought your new houseplant. God knows how many succulents you've killed, but you're determined to make this plant live.

Your apartment is minimalist without it feeling too clinical. It has lots of natural light and rent is reasonable enough for its location. It's peaceful and cozy, and you appreciate that it's not facing the street where all the noise and hustle of life fill the streets. Your daybed is comfy and the sheets are fresh. It's home.

To you, silence was golden. In the busy tempo of life, you felt the need to get away for a while, when work becomes too much, when the  heartbeat of the metro gets too loud, when the voices of the people passing on the street overpower your own. Silence was your friend and sometimes your enemy, but most of the time it provided you the respite you needed.

The moon hangs low in the sky, when the nap you take is interrupted and you sigh in resignation because you're used to hearing them. Again.

For the nth time since you've moved in this apartment, the sound of laughter and conversations muffled by the thin walls fill the room. You're a light sleeper and quick to wake up and you would have clawed your eyes out if 1) you weren't so used to it and 2) if you actually had the energy to do so.

You wonder if your neighbor makes it a point to let everyone know how much of a great time he's having with his significant other, but it's the irritation at being disturbed in the middle of a nap that's talking. Said neighbor takes the space at the end of the hallway and your unit is directly beside his, so it's only you that has the unfortunate privilege of hearing his and his partner's laughter at the most opportune of moments, and the occasional sound of thumps of what you can only assume is a bed. Or a couch.

You recall the first time you confront him about it.

It might have had more impact if you knocked on his apartment in your pajamas to drive the point across that he was too goddamn loud last night with his rendition of Fancy at two am in the morning with his over eager girlfriend who likes hyping him up. But you were dressed for work, and you didn't get enough sleep and you had enough. Your boss caught you dozing off in the middle of coding and you wanted nothing more than to hide in embarrassment when he joked about you having too much fun the night before. You started doing overtime to finish your work.

"Hey Unit 901, if you don't come out, I'm gonna start charging you for all the overtime I have to do at work because I can't fall asleep to your incessant laughter at ungodly hours!"

The first thing you see when the door swings open is a clavicle.

Human beings that were this physically attractive were few and far between, and this guy looked like fucking Adonis. Figures he'd be getting all the sexy times he wants but if you had to wake up from a really nice dream to listen to his laughter for the fourth time this week (it's Friday), you would seriously consider breaking his door out of spite.

It takes you a moment to compose yourself and to look up at him and not at that sliver of skin. "I'm the person who lives in 902 and I'm happy for your love life and all your fun times with your girlfriend, who is very pretty by the way, I saw her leaving your place once, but for the sake of my sanity, if I hear you being playing PubG with her at 2am in the morning as you both start shouting at each other to snipe the enemy, I will seriously combust."

He takes in your features and your face feels warm, too warm for your liking.

"Sorry about that, I didn't realize the walls aren't soundproof?" He apologized but it sounds like an excuse and all you want is a concrete plan of action for you to get a decent amount of sleep. "I'll try to minimize the noise, so I hope you don't file a noise complaint to the landlord uh…"

You realize that you haven't exchanged names and you give him yours and he finishes his apology slash excuse.

"I'm Sehun by the way. Oh Sehun."

You are determined not to get distracted by his good looks. "Well Oh Sehun, unless I stop waking up in the middle of the night because of your noise, I'm gonna stick to calling you Unit 901."

He smiles and apologizes properly this time. You excuse yourself to leave work, and try to forget how warm his hand was when he shook it.

Now it's only been two days and the noise starts again. But it's a different kind of noise this time; its melodic and you vaguely register it as a ballad you've heard on the radio before.

It’s the sound of his singing that makes the annoyance go away, and you fall asleep to Sehun's voice.

ii. Oh Sehun is water. Fluid and graceful, and is one who easily slips away from your grasp. He doesn't listen to your half-hearted threats to tape his mouth and easily dodges your fist when you try to hit him that he looks like he's gliding away from you, but does try to bribe you with food so that you won't rat him out to the landlord.

It started with his buying a mini cake as a peace offering for disturbing your sleep the morning after your first complained to him. It used to irk you that all these hole in the wall bakeries that he gets his pastries from are far from your office because you were seriously considering selling him out to the landlord if he didn't move his bed to somewhere not near the wall that divides your unit and his because you really didn't need to know the specifics of what he and his girlfriend likes in bed, but you'll be damned if you don’t get another slice of their peach earl grey mousse cakes.

Since then, you've been in this weird relationship with this noodle of a man, which consists of you half-heartedly bitching to him about how loud they're being, (halfhearted because  you're slowly getting used to it, and it makes your apartment seem less lonely). He brings you food and helps you change your light bulbs, while you change his life by giving him the address of a really good sushi restaurant just 20 minutes away from the apartment complex and teaching him how to make a damn good lasagna. You don't comment on his drinking habits, and he doesn’t comment on the ring on your finger.

iii. The first time you hear him laugh in front of you, you're already familiar with it.

It was a Saturday, meaning it was your mission to sleep in as late as possible. You're rudely awakened by the ding of your doorbell and were so out of it to properly wonder who could be visiting you on a weekend without informing you beforehand (your friends knew you had an unwritten rule to schedule visits three business days before they were approved).

Remembering it is a little embarrassing, but it doesn't surprise you that you standing there in the most over sized pajamas you own, hair in a bun sitting at the very apex of you head as you give him this look as if you were so used to threatening visitors with minimal effort with a butter knife in hand made Sehun laugh.

He probably couldn't decide if you looked threatening enough or that you'd possibly be an actual threat, what with the muay thai classes you're taking that you mentioned in passing.

"The landlord told me to tell you that there will be a temporary power outage about an hour from now since they need to fix the elevator. It'll last till late in the afternoon so you might want to charge your phone or laptop."

The laughter comes unbidden when you squint at him because you forgot to put on your glasses when you opened the door and he's laughing again, but it sounds different when there are no walls separating the two of you. It's not muffled, it is clear and warm familiar and you feel something in your chest as he slowly pushes the hand wielding the butter knife down to a less threatening level.

Oh. Oh.

He waves you goodbye and walks towards the stairs while you stare dumbly at the space he used to occupy. Your brain is finally catching up to all that happened and you take deep breath to clear your thoughts and stop thinking about his laughter.

You've been his neighbor for two months, and nearly half of those nights are either spent listening to him and his girlfriend laugh and talk every other day, Fridays being the day where they laugh with nearly no reservations because it's their movie night (you know this because he lets you leech off his Netflix account). She laughs freely with no reservations, in bursts that made you think she was the sun. It rang clearly and sometimes catches you off guard when you're in the middle of making dinner.

When he introduces you as the neighbor who recommended a movie on Netflix that she enjoyed so much she could quote the lines, you realize that she was the sun. His sun. And her laugh was like honey.

iv. The noises stop completely.

It was the laughter that stopped first, followed by the hushed tones. What was once laced with small giggles morphed into bites of annoyance, frustration, and then eventually to quiet sobs. You don’t know who is crying and who is talking; the walls seem thicker than ever and one day it just stops.

It goes on till the next day. And the next day, and the next week and Sehun's smile seems to have disappeared completely and you're worried. Worried because its physically painful to look at the emotional turmoil so evident in his face. But it's not like you can just demand answers from him, to him, you are simply his neighbor, the one who teaches him how to cook and sends way too many pictures of cute dogs.

So you bide your time.

You catch him entering his apartment at 3am, after your spontaneous trip to the convenience store to buy some tea bags. He seems to be permanently slouching these days, his skin is pale and crescent moons line his eyes in purple. He notices you and the words are coming out from your mouth before you register them.

"Do you need someone to talk to?"

Sehun's face nearly falls at the question but makes a small motion for you to enter his apartment.

It's clean and orderly its almost sterile. You expect it to be messy either from neglect or from it being inhabited but it's too clean, it's almost clinical. Detached.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Hot water is fine, I actually came from the convenience store with tea…"

He nods and quietly sets the electric kettle to boil. By the time the tea has steeped, the silence is almost oppressive and you're about to say something, anything to break the silence that is suffocating the air when he speaks.

"I'm not her soulmate."

The tea scalds your tongue.

His hands envelope his mug as if looking for warmth. Warmth that only a soulmate can give and you're glad he's looking down so he doesn't see you wince. The air becomes even heavier; it is stuffy and oppressive and you resist the urge to open his balcony doors to let some air in because the nights are getting cold, but you know what Sehun feels is much, much worse.

Because in this world, the cold that comes with heartbreak bites before it settles in your bones as it makes breathing a little harder till there doesn't seem to be enough oxygen. It becomes parasite, leeching off your energy to fuel how cold it is till you move on and find love somewhere else, in someone else and warmth will suddenly flood you once you meet your soulmate.

Sehun is not a stranger to heartbreak. He remembers his first love in high school and the cold that came not with the changing of seasons, but in the way his first love accidentally found her soulmate when she nearly fell forward when the train suddenly stopped in their third year of high school. He remembers their agreement to date till they found their soulmates but it was still painful seeing them meet in the train, this stranger's hands on his girlfriend, and the way their eyes both lit up in response to the warmth that started from her shoulders and his hands and ended  on their left chest, right where their hearts sat beating. He remembers that day so vividly, his first heartbreak and the first time he felt the cold on a summer day, and he remembers never feeling warmth when he held her hand. It was just over the middle of the spectrum of temperature. Not nothing, it was simply lukewarm, that changed into an uncomfortable chill over the train incident. Uncomfortable, but bearable.

This heartbreak, however, just unbearable.

Sehun was not prepared for how frigid it was when he finds out he is not her soulmate but she was his. It was painful when he experienced his first heartbreak, but this was on an entirely different scale. It was overwhelming; it made him keel over in pain and all but tore the oxygen from his lungs.

He shows you her name on his skin. It winds across his ring finger in neat handwriting and it's so small you need to move closer to read the letters. You don’t take his hand and simply stare at her name. It's greyed out instead of the usual black and Sehun shivers as he traces the characters gently before his eyes settle on your hands. It focuses on the silver band on your ring finger and he tries to forget the way he stumbled upon a pretty ring by the jewelers a month before everything spiraled down.

That ring was supposed to be for her, his sun, his soulmate.

Sehun cries quietly as he brings his hands to his face. He is water, and the question that flows out of his lips through the gaps in his fingers carries the curiosity and sadness he's had for a while ever since he noticed you started wearing your ring.

"How about you?"

You press your fingers together, minimizing the gaps between them before stretching them out and twirling the ring on your ring finger, the band thick enough to cover the greyed out name that loops around it.

"I'm not his soulmate either."

You let out a choked sob, and suddenly you're not as grounded as your element as vines constrict your throat and encage your chest. He is the rain and you are the earth. He is a torrent of emotions and you are an earthquake. The air is charged with sorrow. It circulates the room and you both cry for yourselves, and for each other. Sehun feels another rush of water sting his eyes when his assumption about you and your soulmate had been correct all along and he tries to remember the warmth from his sun to no avail. Was it naïve for him to think, to hope that his name would appear on her fingers when hers was on his? Her hands were empty for so long; was it a sign that they wouldn't end up together?

He misses her. She was (is?) his lifeline and now he has nothing but the greyed out name on his fingers to remind him that it has been cut.

v. "Let's be happy together."

Not saying anything, you smiled wryly. Sehun thinks it's because you both are glitches in the system of fate, and he wonders if one could really be happy with a person that isn't his or her soulmate. But he stands in front of you and he's tired of feeling sorry for himself and he offers you a way to solve the predicament you're both in. He doesn't know who your soulmate is and he doesn't press the issue, doesn't force you to say anything. It's a sensitive topic that still brings with it the touch of a chill that starts from his chest whenever he remembers her, and he's sure it's not different for you.

vi. You start sleeping with each other the night after.

Sehun rationalizes the whole set up. "We aren't the soulmates of our soulmates. Might as well try with people in the same boat as us, right?" He's cutting up vegetables for tonight's dinner as he says this very casually. But you hear the slight strain in his voice, see the momentary shake of his hands on the kitchen knife and you know he's thought about it enough to voice it out and ask your opinion. His voice is becomes quieter but gains a certain kind of stability when he speaks next.

"Physical warmth is nothing compared to the warmth that a soulmate can provide, but sometimes you just need someone to be there when you want to remember how warmth feels like, to stave off the cold."

Your brain doesn't catch up to your body. It listens to the beat of your heart as it flutters erratically and you're kissing him before you know it. You don't care where this will lead you, the rational part of your brain pleads not to give in but it loses the battle against what your body wants and you want it now and all that is running through your mind is him, him, him.

His eyes are turbulent like a tsunami, as he mouths against your belly button. You arch your back and you don't know exactly what your pleading for but you do, and all you can hear is how desperate you are, begging, begging with your hoarse voice and even that is washed away when his head is between your thighs and you crash against the currents till it takes you to the peak and you can't breathe.

In those moments, he is impossibly warm and you cling to that warmth like a lifeline as he takes you, as you give yourself to him over and over again till your lungs catch fire. You're swept up by the waves of love lust and dragged down by the undercurrents. All you see is the swirling of water, violent and passionate that you don’t see the bubbles rising to the surface and forget that you need air, not water to breathe.

In those moments, you don't mind drowning.

And drown you do.

vii. It is not long that you become a part of each other's lives when the sun is gone.

Sehun pulls the covers over your bodies and pulls you flush against his chest. Your voice is small when you ask.

"Stay?"

"Sure."

But Sehun is water and you can't ask water to stay. It is never static, always moving with the changing of tides and will always slip from the seams.

It is when his breathing is rhythmic that you allow the sob that choked you to escape. But slowly, slowly.

Sehun sleeps deeply that night, so he doesn’t not notice when you curl in towards yourself and lift the ring on your left hand, just enough to read the grey characters flickering with red as if they were dying embers. The cold hits you more painfully than before because the warmth is snatched away from you so quickly you barely had time to embrace it. It is replaced with the burning feeling not from heat, but from something so frigid it burns, oh god it burns and you're reminded that Sehun is your soulmate, but you aren't his as you stare at his greyed out name on your finger. 

It is exhaustion, the weight of your secret, and the sadness you’ve been carrying for so long that pulls you to sleep.

You wake up in the morning alone in bed. Sehun is making breakfast and the scent of coffee wafts through the apartment.

At first you think nothing of it. It's always like this, and you roll over on his side of the bed and cling to the residual warmth of the sheets. It's nice to wake up to the smell of breakfast but you find yourself reaching out to the opposite side of the bed every time.

You want to wake up next to him on a lazy morning.

But then in the middle of one night, weeks into whatever this relationship is that you catch him by the couch on the window. He doesn't notice you stir from sleep; he is drawn to her, traces her name on his finger and his voice is breathy, wistful, longing.

"You're the only person I want to wake up next to in the morning."

It is whispered to the air, as if it would carry his wish towards her, his sun. He says it to the moon and closes his eyes. He stays in that position for a long while, and when he slides back into the bed, he is facing away from you.

Stay?

Perhaps you were being too greedy. Overwatering kills plants after all.

viii. Sehun met you on a summer day, when the season was just changing from the cusp of spring. It was warm, and as time passes by it grew warmer and warmer, with the sun rising higher into the skies like smoke that curls in tendrils. He remembers because he remembers his sun, with hair that glowed like the gold during too bright mornings when he woke up next to her. And he remembers the summer heat dissipating and making way for autumn, the cold starting to seep in. It's uncanny how the seasons of the following year seemed to reflect his emotional state, mocking him with the cold that blew his hair from his face while the cold he felt at the loss of his soulmate seeped into his bones. Fate was cruel and nature was its accomplice.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be operating on the opposite conditions. Two years could do a number on people, and he remembers the different sweaters you'd wear all year round the first time you met him. Till the events in both your lives seemed to intertwine like the vines on an endless hedge maze, bound together but without any clear pattern or path. Circular, in ways more than one, and both as full and as empty as the number zero.

Recently, you stop wearing sweaters and jackets altogether, your arms constantly exposed to the chilled air. Sehun calls you out on it on one of those nights where you've developed the habit of standing by your balcony in nothing but an old shirt when the moon hangs high in the sky.

"I've gotten used to the cold."

He doesn't recognize the tone of your voice.

ix. "Can I ask a favor? For tonight, can you think of me, and only of me?"

The day you decide to leave him, you ask for one tender night with him. Your voice is soft but filled with a kind of determination Sehun doesn't catch. After all, it has become an unwritten and unspoken rule that this whole arrangement with you was for both to get over your respective soulmates. Sehun doesn't read too deeply into the stakes of this relationship, doesn't want to open that can of worms. Doesn't realize the weight of your words because in his mind, you are both using each other to forget.

But the body remembers. And he sees the tears fall from your eyes, he can only stare. It becomes clear to you that Sehun never noticed, never realized the depths of your feelings for him and that hasn't changed. The heartbreak you feel has reached a fever pitch and you break down. Sehun moves to hug you, but you shake your head. Sehun thinks, believes he understands you; you two are in the same predicament after all. Both your cases are rare and for the two of you to have met in this lifetime was something he believes was fate's way of consoling the both of you.

He takes your refusal for aftercare as a sign that you wanted to get over your soulmate by yourself, and it dawns on him that perhaps that’s what he needed to do as well. Acceptance is the first step towards recovery, and for the both of you to move on, really move on, you needed the kind of strength that came from within, and not from another person. He's not sure if he was ready for that.

But it seems that you were.

His dreams elude him that night. It's all vague and a faint sense of unease lingers underneath. Images of the moon and a peculiar kind of warmth. You're wide awake as he stirs in his slumber and press a kiss on his shoulder as he succumbs to sleep once more. It is your final goodbye.

When the morning arrives, it is Sehun who wakes up alone.

[thevoilinauttheory]

FFXIVWrite2020 Prompt #13 - Extra Credit

Character(s): Caromont Allard, Astrid Allard; a couple unnamed tutors and teachers. Setting: Sharlayan (Motherland); approximately 1475 of the Sixth Astral Era -- approximately 1480 of the Sixth Astral Era -- approximately 1494 of the Sixth Astral Era, just before the events of Prompt #22 What: Caromont is introduced to his new abilities, much to his dismay. Content Warnings: Explicit physical and emotional, familial, abuse; implications of trauma Author Notes: My spouse wanted more Caromont lore, so I used it as my extra credit prompt. Honestly, that’s all I gotta say. I had fun writing this one, because Caromont is my “enigma” character. Everything about him is hidden under the veil of the classic case of amnesia, but even if he does remember - no one ever knows, he doesn’t communicate if he’s remembered anything or not. So even in my private RP with my spouse, he’s still something of a mysterious character. --

Violet eyes cast a glance outside of the window of his classroom, it was a nice day. He was stuck here. Again. And again. And again. Everyday it was the same thing. When the click of a switch against the podium at the front assaulted his ears, he flipped the page of the book in front of him with no regard to the words written. Another snap, another page. There were whispers of other students beside him - he paid no mind. There were clouds to watch and he was far more interested in those. Crack, flip. Whap, flip. 

“Allard!”

The boy’s head whipped to the front suddenly, his attention drawn by the sudden shout of his name. When he realized it was just his teacher, his posture relaxed, eyes squinting into a pure sense of utter boredom. He exuded it as he slid his arm over his desk to rest his head on his fist. The eye contact showed that he was listening… at least more intently than before, yet he said no words. His teacher walked her way to his desk, snatching up his textbook.

“The answer to number four, please.”

A deliberate attempt to sabotage him, taking away the text he paid no attention to and asking a question on it. It would’ve made any student fluster, yet the boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. “Teleporting is breaking down your aether and confluencing it with the Lifestream, carrying you to your destination so long as you don’t break contact with your thoughts. There are dangers to teleporting, such as losing focus and losing self - where your aether cannot conjoin together. Other effects can be severe aether sickness, crystal sickness, and possibly ending up at a different location.” Before any words could be spoken, he continued. “Aether sickness is caused by an increased intake of aether, causing a variety of symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, migraines, dizziness, vertigo, and temporary blind and deafness. There is no known cure for aether sickness, and it’s recommended to just let it pass. If it does not, though, a transfer of aether can be used to reduce the amount of aether stored in another’s body.” A sharp inhale. “This can also lead to aether deprivation, where there is too low of aether in another’s body; causing malnourishment, lack of appetite, inability to move certain body parts, loss of certain bodily functions, and numbness - death, within a matter of bells or suns.”

His eyes turned back to the window. “Answers four, five, and six. I am paying attention, and I dislike that you are accusing me of not.”

His teacher let out a soft sigh, setting his book down, then returned to the front of the class - allowing the child to continue daydreaming in peace.

When his classmates filed out at the first sound of the bell, he gathered up his belongings slowly and meandered his way to the door. “Caromont.” “Mm?” “Stay here, your mother will be arriving shortly.” “What did I do wrong? I answered your questions, did I not?” She shook her head. “It’s for both praise and punishment. You’re above your class clearly, but it feels as if you’re not invested in this path.” “I am not, I would much rather be doing something else.” “Then why do you continue?” “My mother wants me to. It’s the best way to make money and take care of my family.”

There was another shake of her head, yet she gestured to the door. “Take a seat outside.”

When his mother appeared, near stomping down the hall; heels clicking- he hated that noise. She could afford nice heels, but not a proper bed for her children. Nice clothes, nice makeup. In his loathing, he neglected to realize she was right beside him and a hard yank on one of his ears made him cry out. “What did you do this time! Ungrateful child, I send you to school and you do nothing but get in trouble!” “I do not want to be here, regardless! Let go!” He tried to pry her hand off, but her nails caught the cartilage, causing a sob to break from him. “Stop!”

“Mrs. Allard, if you please.” His teacher caught her before a hand could crack over his face - a save he couldn’t have been more grateful for. She seemed to recognize the situation, then smiled. “There is naught for him to be punished. I wanted to give only praise and a proposition.” A change in her previous statement. “Is that right? Why didn’t you say so before?” His mother let go of his ear, following his teacher inside the classroom while he was left outside to tend to his injured and now bleeding ear.

“I wished to convey just how brilliant your son is, he is far ahead of his peers in his aetherology studies - and I believe he is ready to move on to higher skills. Might I suggest astrology? He seems keen on being outside, and studies regarding the stars would allow him that enrichment he needs. He could be Sharlayan’s greatest healer with just a bit more effort and motivation from outside sources, such as his family.” She stacked up some papers, sitting herself down at her desk. “I can provide the necessary documentation of his successes, and present it to the head of the board. He’ll be ready to move on by next moon. Until then, I would have him stay and take tutoring classes to help him further. No extra charge, I assure you.”

“I see… if you believe he’s got that much talent wasting away in him, I suppose moving him forward wouldn’t hurt. Tutoring - if he’s so brilliant, then why--” “Because he will be entering in the middle of the school year, Mrs. Allard, and he will need to catch up on everything his new peers have already learned. Just because he has mastered this class does not mean he is a born master of every other class. You expect too much of the boy, he needs to be nurtured, and he needs to grow; and I will be frank with you - you are stifling him. Do not get in his way, or you will be the cause of the rift between you and your family.”

--

“Take your reading now, Caromont - allow yourself to connect with the gates as we last practiced. Your first reading is always the most important, to see your progress.” His mentor sat on the other side of the desk from him, watching intently to Caromont’s now bright-eyed enthusiasm to his new path. He hadn’t thought of astrology - while Sharlayan was well known for their astrologians, he never considered something like that to speak to him.

The first card was flipped over. “The Spire.” He spoke softly, and he allowed the card to speak. It hurt at first. He rubbed at his temples and within a few seconds his head hit the table as if he had fallen asleep there. His mentor quickly stood to check on him, frightened that something might have gone wrong - but when his head snapped back upright with his eyes wide, he turned to his mentor in tears. “...I- I-... I am sorry… I did not mean…” “What is wrong, child? Dear heavens, I thought you had performed a spell wrong.” “N-No.. I just. My reading is for you… and this position is the past, with the Spire, and… I saw. I saw what happened, I…” “Saw? You saw the past with the flip of a card?” “I just wanted them to speak to me…” “Cards don’t speak, Caromont. The stars do. I think… we may need a different tutor for you. I do not know if there is anyone with your talent, but. I do know that we have a section of professors and students all learning about an innate ability we have called the “Echo”. I would like to make certain that if you do have the Echo, you have a proper tutor to teach you about it - despite the fact that it manifests differently in everyone.” He gestured to the cards again. “Sit upright this time, against the back of the chair instead of forward. Close your eyes after drawing the card.”

He followed. The next card was drawn. “The Spear.” Immediately, he closed his eyes; still the tears fell. He shook his head as his eyes opened again. “...Maybe I should not do readings on you… I see too much.”

--

“No, this isn’t the Echo.” “Are you sure? What other explanation could there be for such a talent?”

Caromont was the talk of the Studium. Professors and peers wanted to know more about his ability - this was the day that his enthusiasm turned to responsibility. He hadn’t realized it yet. 

“The stars speak right to him!” Those were the rumors. There had to be more, a person, or magic… something was doing this to him. He delved in libraries for years to tell him, what was he, what was he supposed to do? Everyday it was another person in need of help - everyday he had to make the choice whether someone should live or die - how heavy a burden on a man barely thirty winters old. Was this his fate and destiny? His cards were blank when he tried to read them for himself - like the stars only spoke through him, rather than to him.

He stood out in the dark, up at the sky did his eyes turn. He was never a wishful thinker, he was studious, uptight, he had to be the responsible one. This was the night he cried. He cried and he cried - how many more times would he have to sentence people to their deaths, how many more times would he have to tell people that there was nothing he could do. He would take the fates into his hands time and time again, always promising to never do so again. Everytime, the consequences of doing so would be worse than the original outcome - the fates ever escaping his grasp. He only wanted to help, why was he burdened with this responsibility?

[nathanfryerwoods]

Lucky Stars (Chapters 1-14) - by Nathan Fryer-Woods

                     1    It was a dark, cold night. Which was kind of fitting for the beginning of any story. But in south east Asia, when you start feeling the cold, you know you've been there too long. And as a ginger kid from the north of England, he should have been in his element.

   He was so far from the place he had once called home. And it had been years since he'd felt the long, scalding hug of the hallway radiator, on his return home from whatever trouble he'd been causing, beyond the icy front door.

   He had never really, truly missed home, that was until now. He longed for that familiar smell of the old underlay carpet in the council flat he once had. The flat he received after he was crippled by a speeding police car, whilst trying to cross the road years before. There was no compensation. But, as a result, he became the king of his own castle. A place for him to lick his wounds. It was dark and dingy, and located in the back of beyond where the undesirables of town were kept, but he didn't care. He was happy, and it was his. The only place he's ever really been able to call his own. But now, those days, seemed like a lifetime away.

   Today, he's found himself trapped in a different kind of paradise, one he thought he'd never want to leave. He had always believed humans to be of a semi-nomadic nature, but he had found happiness here, and at one time, for the first time since childhood, he had felt settled.

   That was until, that 'thing' happened. He didn't like talking about it, and when he did, would get so frustrated. No one understood it like he did, not many people at least.

   It had been 3 months since he last saw another foreigner, 3 months since he had seen anything of the world outside of their village. And he was an explorer at heart. Though he never strayed too far off the beaten track, and he'd never discovered anything new, he was always looking, it was just a matter of time... it was in his blood. His itch for exploration, grew stronger by the day.

   His wife was the only one in their village who could speak any English, (although he sometimes felt he got a better conversation from their eight and a half month old son), she was the only one who had even half a chance of vaguely understanding him at a deeper level. They had met 3 years previous in the capital city. A place with a pace he was used to, and found comfort in. But now, thanks to certain 'things', and the changing world around them, he found himself in the place his wife found the most comforting, her parents cashew nut farm. Up a hill, in the middle of nowhere. He felt like an elephant, with sore thumbs, in a pond, full of fish. Sticking out... misunderstood.

                       2    It was the 21st of December, not only the day of the winter solstice, but in the year of the 'Great Conjunction', between Saturn and Jupiter. Tonight the world would see these astral giants, seemingly merge into one, forming what is known as the 'Christmas Star'. It had been 397 years since this alignment last took place, just 13 years before Galileo built his first telescope to marvel at the heavens above.

   This event had to signify something, he knew it would, but he was far too apprehensive to look so deeply into it. He convinced himself it was a positive, auspicious event, but at the same time made a mental note to his brain's list of 'things to do', to see what the ancients made of it. After all, when the God of Thunder and his mighty Son do a high-five in the night sky, one should be prepared, or so he believed. But, that list in his head seemed to never end, it would only ever get longer. He knew, and readily admitted to himself, he would probably never get round to it. And in time, as soon as it was far too late, that entry like many before it would drop off the list, as just another faded memory.

   The day before, he had tried to explain to his wife, the solstice, the tilt of the Earth, and the reason for it being so cold this time of year. But soon realising that the battle for her attention against her best friend - the phone, was a battle he always lost, he promptly gave up.

   The previous week, her two youngest siblings (the brothers, aged 11 and 14), had asked him if they had shooting stars back in England. After 7 years of practice, his level of the local language was good enough to articulate most of the things he wanted to say (although this particular part of the country was the last of the true tribal areas, with 13 different clans each with their own dialect, making understanding them more of a challenge). He explained to the brothers, in as simple of terms as possible, the physics of the phenomenon. How more often than not, a shooting star was nothing more than a small pebble from outer space, travelling at unimaginable speed towards the Earth. And how it's magnificent trail was made as it burnt up in the atmosphere before it was able to reach us.

   Seeing the mystery and magic in their faces fade before his very eyes, he quickly moved on to let them know how it was customary back home, after seeing a shooting star, to make a little wish to yourself. And that this, was not to be wasted. He imagined, how even the most hardened criminals themselves probably couldn't resist this, and even they would make one. Maybe it's quite  likely that wish would be for guns, drugs or money. But you never know, the inner child in all of us, where that belief is instilled, only wants one of two things; love and happiness. And with that, comes security. The magic we're raised with as children, if at all, dies hard. And even with years of learning from science, logic and reason, some magic we just can't let go of. No matter how many times it's failed us.

   After seeing at least some of the mystery return to their faces, he moved back - with faith, to cold, hard, facts. He explained how if these space pebbles were any bigger, and hadn't completely burnt up on their descent to Earth, even a rock the size of a toy car (available to hand at the time), could devastate the planet. At the very least, make a real mess around the site of impact. He used the 3000 year old crater lake, situated down the road as an example. This, would be the last thing he'd say on the matter. The brothers went on to let him know, how their hole in the Earth was different. Through the unique use of their local, hillbilly twang, they managed to get the point across that in fact, their crater was made by a great, angry, pig-like God from the skies... obviously, and he should have seen it coming.

   The shattered pain that was once on the boy's faces, had transferred onto his own. He retreated back into his own mind, to his own thoughts. A place he understood, and needed no explanations. With no brick walls that he could waste his time with, by banging his head against.

                       3    The Sun had set, another day was done. The candy floss pink and tangerine orange that had painted the sky was gone, but the clouds remained, blanketing the Earth. Tonight was noticeably warmer, though he was still cold. And no matter how the clouds littered the sky, he still had hope that he would be able to see the events in the sky unfold. He'd poke his head out of their bedroom every twenty minutes or so and peer upwards. And around. Every direction, as he was a little unsure as to which way was west. The cloudy blanket persisted in its existence. All that was visible was a near half Moon and Polaris, the north star, slowly but surely running in circles, chasing its tail. He headed back inside, his hopes unscathed, there was still time.

   'Just one more hour', he thought to himself, 'and the great high-five of the Gods would set sail over the horizon'. The anxiety got the better of him, he zipped his jacket back up, and ventured out again.

   The Moon had become but a faint shimmer in a dirty pool, and Polaris was nowhere to be seen. In 5 brief minutes, the sky-scape had taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. The magic, once again, was passing him by. His wife came out with their Son in arm, to see what they'd been missing. She had been listening. It was a trade off that he was more than happy to make. 'I can wait sixty years for the next alignment', he thought to himself, 'I'll catch it in the next life'. His new little family meant the world to him, and nothing much else mattered.

                       4    It was 8am when he rose up out of bed. Not so early, but not too late either, in his opinion at least. He could have done with an extra hour, but the rooster that had been howling since 4am, couldn't be ignored any longer. He threw on his jacket and headed outside.

   The Sun was glaring down on him, the clouds had dispersed.    "Thanks clouds", he grumbled under his breath. "Any other day this month, and last nights weather would've..." and then, that thought vanished. He'd caught a glimpse of his Son's peaceful face, sleeping, swinging in the cammo hammock. His mind instantly emptied itself with ease, and in the same moment, filled the vacuum with a calming peace. His Son's happiness was contagious to him, a contagious cure to all his frustrations.

   His extended family had been up for a few hours already, as was normal. 6am usually, to start the day with the important things in life. Sewing tapestries, playing on phones, picking their faces, more sleep. They looked down on him for not being awake so early, but he was unsure of what they expected him to be doing at 6am. He never saw them doing anything important at that time of day, and very little changed as the day went on.

   Another thing that didn't help, was their inability to grasp the concept of sleeping disorders. His diagnosis came far too late for him, at the age of 25, just a few years before leaving England. It had already shaped his life by then, and in some way or another, had made him who he was. He now knew, that what had forever plagued his sleep was a combination of apnea, delayed sleep phase disorder, and the slight hint towards a long standing, yet self-coping problem called narcolepsy. A diagnosis the doctor didn't want to make. He learnt to never go with a self diagnosis of a problem again. A well paid opinion, is obviously worth so much more than anyone else's. Even when blood tests showed he had the gene needed to predispose a person to this condition, they were reluctant to admit he might be right. He was prescribed with the search of a night job.

   His father in-law was a good man. He'd worked hard all his life to provide for his wife and five children, and then their children too, of which little Finlay, was number four. He loved them all like they were his own.

   The farm was around half a hectare in size, with around sixty large cashew trees, five mango trees, and banana and papaya also being dotted about. The land fairly rugged and unkempt, as cashew season didn't start for another month or so. Soon, the whirring of the weed-whacker would fill the air, making the search for nuts and the spotting of snakes much easier.

   The family tractor was being rented by an owner of a sweet potato farm, 100km away, southwest of them. This way good news, it was old, and it stunk. And now, it was someone else's problem to fix every other day, and they were paying for that privilege. The last time Lawrie was here was when Finlay was born (sorry, I've never been good at introductions, but baby is Finlay, or Finn, and Dad is Lawrie. Well, Lawrie's his surname... Dan, Daniel, Danny never appealed to him, and even his parents stuck to calling him Lawrie). Ok, where was I..?

   ...yeah, so the last time he was at the in-laws farm, was when his beautiful baby boy was born. Early April, a healthy 3.6kg. And as sure as anything, without fail - every other night, Pa would be half submerged in the belly of this beast, covered in oil as it spluttered away. Not such a soothing sound to send your Son to sleep.

   These days, Pa would spend his time making furniture at his sister's house just beyond the back of the farm. Each evening, a new chair, stool or table would appear, and the huge piles of illegally logged wood, dotted around the plot would slowly, bit by bit disappear. As did the jungle that surrounded them.

                       5    Their village was located 10km outside of the nearest town, and the closest city was another 30km beyond that. That was the city of Lombang, the province capital (though the spelling of this, as did many other place tended to vary, wildly). The city was big, whilst at the same time, all being nicely spaced out. Apart from the market area, nowhere seemed to get so busy. The city itself wasn't over commercialised, the way a western city would be, mainly made up of independent, family owned businesses, it had a very local feel to it. That's what Lawrie liked most of all about this country... the people, the locals. For all the differences in culture, and the difficulties they created (of which there'd been many over the years), only added another layer of excitement and adventure to his whole experience. No matter how different other people saw him as being, he seldom cared. He had spent his entire life back home as the ginger sheep, and that had prepared him well, for life out here.

   He missed the city. He'd only managed to explore it for one day the last time they were here, when Finn was around two months old. He lost the plot one morning, waking to find his wife, Nib, sat feeding the baby, downwind of a roaring fire made entirely of plastic. He was sick of telling her, and she was tired of hearing it. He turned his back and walked away, away from the stench of burning straws, and the feeling of absolute futility. He gathered the essentials, made the small trip to the road at the top of the plot and flagged-down the first van he saw. Finally, it was adventure time. It all happened so fast. He loved being on the road, but all the way there, couldn't stop thinking about his new born bundle.

                                               6    The driver and the passengers all seemed friendly enough. Very inquisitive, as once was normal, but on this occasion, a nice surprise. Especially with how the world was turning these days. He wore his face mask, no matter how useless he knew it was to him. It was unfortunately, an essential item.

   Forty kilometers and two and a half bucks later, they arrived. He found the journey so refreshing, though Finn was constantly in the back of his mind, with not much to see along the way to steal his thoughts completely. Just miles upon miles of lush, jungle-covered hills, beyond the back to back farms that were broken up every so often by a roadside shack of a shop. So many farms.. cashew, pepper, mango, rubber, you name it, he saw it. And every so often, the odd little spot of deforestation in the distance, clearing space for a few more.

   He spent the day exploring, and enjoying his first taste of freedom in what felt like years. You see, his wife's hometown is so rural, and that trapped in their tribal mentality, even they have a hard time getting out. And generally, unless they have to, they just don't bother. Nib had told him how a while back, one of her uncles had an infection in his leg, a drunken mishap from a motorbike fall, from which he burnt himself on the exhaust pipe. He had to do the three kilometer journey on foot, through the next village to the one beyond it where the nearest thing to a hospital was. About half way there in the next hometown, you pass by the the village chief's house, who on this particular occasion, for once was awake. He imagined him stumbling out of some grand, overly ornate, heavy wooden chair, on the orders from ten or so yelping, mangy dogs. One well worn flip-flop on, while failing miserably to secure the other, not giving it the slightest bit of thought, as he starred intently at the intruding stranger, hobbling by. The chief had demanded from him, one buffalo, in order to let him pass. You're welcome to go back and read over that line again, but you got it right first time. Yes, a buffalo. A few minutes of talking by the roadside, and they'd worked out a deal, two chickens would seal it. Her uncle shuffled back home, dragging his manky leg, and after snagging two of his most sickly looking birds, started the journey again. All in the hope, of paying someone to gouge out a huge chunk of his inner thigh.

   The relative bustle of the city was a much welcomed change for Lawrie. He criss-crossed his way  down the main roads and through side streets to reach the city limits, and then double-back on himself in a slightly different direction, stopping here and there at the sight of an esky cooler to pick up a fifty cent beer.

   He arrived rather early by his standards, maybe 8.30. But with no watch, phone, or any idea of what time he woke up, he could only guess. Over the years, he had gotten pretty good at working out the time, between the Sun and the shadows. He was usually only off by about 15 minutes or so.  But who cared what time it was? It's his day off.  And this called for another fifty cent-er.

   The day went on and his heart was glad. He knew that fresh emptiness he felt in the background wouldn't be there for long, and that soon enough he'd be back with his boy. He missed Nib too, but pushed that thought out, whenever she crossed his mind.

   He wandered through the rest of the day. No plans, no direction, and not so much to worry about. He ate, drank, bought a dummy and a rabbit teddy bear which he called Barney and headed back to the edge of town that he'd arrived at, making his way home before sunset. Nib was waiting on the front, waiting with a hug.

                       7    It was Christmas Eve, and this year looked like it was set to be Lawrie's best and worst to date. But considering the problems that the people of Earth were facing, it was likely, this year was to be a historically bad one worldwide... with maybe only the 'black death', and world wars outdoing it. These were strange days to be living in.

   His lack of cash, and no real friends or family to share what little he did have, made the whole occasion rather pointless. He'd been asking Nin for the last nine days to help him find a pair of wooden chopsticks. He'd tried, but with no luck. He also hadn't mastered the pronunciation of 'chopsticks', it was a tricky one.

He wanted to fashion them into baby sized drumsticks, the first part of a home made drum kit he planned to make. As money was scarce, and Finn was too young to understand the concept of Christmas, he decided that this was ok. Especially, as no one for miles around, gave this holiday even a single thought.

   Chop-drumsticks were kind of perfect as a Christmas present out here. Lawrie had been tapping away rhythms and singing to his Son, ever since he found out he was in Nib's belly. He'd play him songs too on his guitar, and old song recordings online. Classics from the golden era of the 60's, as his parents had done for him, when he was young.

   Apart from being cheap and cheerful, chopsticks were also importantly, disposable, bio-degradable, and readily available everywhere in Asia (everywhere but, apparently, this village). He'd come to learn that while living on the farm, nothing here was actually his. Nothing belonged to anyone it seemed. At any moment, someone's grubby little mits could appear, and 'borrow', anything they wanted, not return it, and leave it half buried in the dirt to be found a week later. Just days before, the younger brother, Rutt, had taken Lawrie's lighter and Finn's favourite toy. A small, yellow, rubber pig. As Finn was teething, it was more of a chew-toy for him (the dummy by this point, had been savaged by dogs). He loved that little pig, and upon spotting it, would shuffle over, pop it in his mouth and gnaw away. Who knows where it ended up. Apparently, not even Rutt knew.

   'Give it a week', he thought. 'It'll turn up.' Probably as a charred, molten puddle, next to a broken lighter, but he'd find it eventually.

   The day was surprisingly calm and quiet. Pa had left early, sometime before sunrise, making the eighty kilometer journey to the city of Somtang. Life on the farm was always a little more relaxed when Pa was out of town. Lawrie couldn't work out why, as he was the most placid of the whole family, making him Lawrie's favourite. Even so, Pa's brief departures were always good news, a little more peace and quiet on the farm was much needed. He'd be back in a week or so, and he'd be bringing the rasping roar of the tractor with him.

                       8    Between the hours of midday and 3pm, were Lawrie's best time of day, as he usually had the house to himself. The screaming match that accompanied lunch, would cease around 12pm. Not completely or instantly, but it would get quieter and more distant, as they each skulked off in their various directions, with their own, distinct rackets.

   Ma and Nib would go to one of three places. The shop over the road, the one around the corner, or Pa's sister's house out the back. Basically, wherever the card game is happening that day, where Ma can loose the money someone else has given her, and then spend the rest of the day spreading bitterness because of it. Lawrie didn't know where the rest of them went, and never cared to ask. But he knew where Pa was, Pa was always working.

   He sat alone in the bedroom, enjoying the silence. His only disturbance coming from a faint yet piercing buzz in his ear, from a rouge mosquito that had managed to sneak in through the gaps between the concrete walls and wooden ceiling. A clap, or a self-slap to the side of his face would usually sort that out, or half of the time at least.

   He had, ever since the age of nineteen and had he left home for the last time, been some sort of vegetarian. For as long as his memory went back, he had always hated the thought of things dying for his food. To him, it just seemed so unnecessary. But out here, with the snakes, spiders, scorpions and mosquitos, his long standing beliefs were set aside. Some things were asking to be killed. He'd always say sorry, and wish them better luck in their next life... all except the mosquitos, he took pleasure in wasting them.

   He had been surprised upon first arriving in the country, by many things. During the three days it took him to get here, he felt excitement at the thought of visiting a Buddhist country for the first time. He imagined all the food and flavours he'd discover there, and how it must be much easier getting a decent meal that was death-free, and involved fewer funny looks, as the majority of people there were Buddhist.

   But he was wrong. Totally, fucking wrong. It wasn't long after arriving, when he saw a sight he'd never forget, and that would help him on his way to understanding the madness of the place he found himself...

A monk, driving a car, drinking a coke, smoking a cigarette.

'Wow', he thought to himself, visibly gawping, his jaw on the floor, catching flies. 'Wow'.

                       9    With an almighty, thunderous CLAP!..  another pesky bloodsucker was eliminated from existence. Silence resumed. Only the static like sounds of the insects outside remained, and the faint background hum from the rare moto or truck, that was making use of the empty roads as the others ate, slept, and played cards.

   He eventually managed to get a good enough data connection and logged into his messaging app. He'd always been terrible at keeping in touch, but at this time of year, there was no excuses. You can miss all the birthdays you want, and it's all forgotten by Christmas. And that's why you can't skip it.

   He scrolled through the pictures that he and Nib took with Finn the week before. They were all dressed head to toe in various shades of red, the closest thing to being Christmassy, that they could manage. He selected three pictures, tagged his family and the extendeds, and wrote a short message which he cringed at within seconds of clicking 'post'.

   He hated talking online. He hated talking on the phone as a kid, but these days preferred it to SMS and instant messages. It all felt so impersonal. To many people, he'd quite often come across as self-centered, and uncaring. But to him, his problem was he cared too much in other ways. He cared about wasted the moment he was in, and ignoring the people around him, whilst staring at screens. The past and future are pointless without a present, and the present, was drumsticks. He shot out of his chair, and with determination set off, on a final hunt.

                       10    He woke the next morning, and was glad to find that the visiting calm hadn't skipped town in the night. The only sounds to be heard were the distant chugging of heavy machinery, the here and there hum of the main road, and his wife rigorously brushing away at the laundry, by the stream that ran down the side of the farm.

   She would always wait until everything was dirty, which usually took around a week, and then spend half a day literally attacking it. Lawrie's clothes were thin, frayed and full of holes because of this, and something would always come back worse off for the abuse, but he didn't complain. It wasn't a job he was fond of, and it would ruin the callouses he'd built over the years, making playing guitar a pain. And because he'd rush through it, she wouldn't let him wash any of her clothes, and he couldn't blame her.

   He dusted the sleep off, and made his way outside. Ma was sat at the front on one of the two big, heavy, wooden bed frames facing the road, doing her sewing. He never got to the bottom of it, but most ot the houses out here had beds outside, while everyone would sleep on mats on the floor inside, but he never asked and it remained a mystery to him. Too many more important questions still had no answers.

   Finn was asleep in the hammock. It was coming to the end of its swing. Lawrie kissed his forehead, and gave him a little push.

   Suli, was the Son of Nib's youngest sister, and was the second of Finn's three cousins. For once, he was keeping himself to himself and being nice and quiet. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how to behave, and Lawrie knew that. And with Pa being away today, he probably hadn't drank half an energy drink, like he normally would have by 8am. Lawrie took the string-bound, straw brush, and swept the tiled floor, as he did every morning.

   His wife was the eldest of five. The two brothers, and the youngest of her sisters all living on the family farm. The middle sister (the most well-rounded of them all), had the right idea earlier in year, and got the hell out of there. The middle sister's two children, still spent a lot of their time at the family farm, and Suli had lived there all his life. His mum, had done what was expected of her, and left him there while she went back to work, leaving Ma to raise him. At three years old, he was understandably, a handful. But Lawrie couldn't help but worry about him, and feared he had a lifetime of problems ahead. Problems not only for Suli himself, but for the family doing the half a job of raising him. A half job they weren't doing so well.

   His top row of front teeth were nothing but black stumps, half decayed, causing him great discomfort. He was almost always covered in dirt. And usually, by the end of the day, had the remains of every meal he'd eaten, still round his mouth. Flip-flops were uncommon, and he rarely wore pants, maybe 3 times in the past few months.

   Unfortunately for him, for his first two years of life he was Ma's responsibility. And his problems, Lawrie saw as her fault. The middle sister being back to work, was expected to send money home, while it was Ma's job to play cards and sew whilst raising her grandchild. The same Ma who had done a shocking job with her own children, and it was time to do it again for theirs.

   Suli, was toilet trained. But Larwie, expected this lesson was probably taught by the dogs. He would piss anywhere, whenever he needed to go. That was usually from the tiled floor outside the house, and onto the dirt a step below. But if he was upstairs, he'd do it from there. And no one had the slightest of problems with this.

   Lawrie quite often, when going around the back of the house where there actually was a toilet, would find someone there. Usually Ma, but sometimes Nib, ten feet away from the toilet, squatting.

   Ma was so lazy, in every aspect of life. And she'd passed that on to most of her children. And by the standards that Lawrie had been raised with, she was a truly terrible mother, and in general, a mean spirited person with very little compassion. Lawrie found her unbearable. But at the same time, he just had to deal with it, and knew she didn't know any better. She was never going to learn, and it wasn't really her that he could blame.

   The civil war, decades before, that had torn this country apart, had given her parents generation a living hell to endure. An event so disastrous, it's effects still rippled through life to this day.

   Her first three children, the sisters, were all left at Grandma's house as soon as they were able to eat mashed up rice soup. This was and is, pretty much 'the norm', for kids over here. Never really knowing their parents as the grow up. Children are seen as laborers, and in a way, sort of like a pension. Breaking your child's heart isn't really an issue, if it means you've been out working.

   Now today, the third generation of children are making their way through life, and thanks to this practice, are doing so with their own broken hearts. With a level of distrust only their people know, and with the job one day, of passing this on to their own children.

   At the age of fourteen, Nib and her sisters started living with their parents who had got together enough money to by their farm, which was five-hundred kilometers away, up north. Pa built a simple wooden hut, and they called it home. There they would spend the following years learning who their children were, and catching up on all they had missed. And Ma got bigger, as they waited on the birth of their first baby boy. It was time to learn how to be parents.

   Soon after baby number four was born, Nib, with a modestly sized bag packed to the brim, was put on a plane bound for Malaysia to work in a factory making mobile phones. She did so with the help of her auntie's passport and was greeted at the airport by another aunt, who also worked there. Over the next two years, she managed to send enough money back to build the beautiful house they live in today.

   It was the nicest house in all the village, and probably the neighboring ones too, and it stayed that way for years. Pa was so proud of it, he was so grateful to Nib, and she became his favourite, and he had no worries letting the others knowing it.

   When she returned home with her final salary, the house was pretty much complete. Ma was pregnant with Son number two, and with the spare cash, Nib enrolled at school.

                       11    Lawrie had finished sweeping. The dog had been shooed off from laying on the dinner table, and he was now finishing the picking up and bagging of all the plastic crap his in-laws had tossed on the floor the day before. As he looked around searching for any last stragglers, he noticed that Finn needed another push. But his stealthy dash towards the hammock, turned out to be a mistake.

   ''Boo Ree!" (Uncle Lawrie) Suli screamed at the top of his highly pitched voice... he'd been spotted, and after doing so well. In the same instance, Finn's eyes pinged open, beaming, to find his father stood over him, startled as Suli's screech was still ringing in his ear. He smiled and raised his arms, and Lawrie followed suit. "Merry Christmas Son".

   Suli loved Lawrie, and this was mutual. He hardly ever saw his father, who was even more useless than his mum. Lawrie saw it as his responsibility to look out for him, as no one else seemed to be a positive influence. This wasn't just for Suli's own good, but Finn's too. Raising a child here was a constant worry for him. These bad habits and behaviors, were not for his Son to learn. He desperately needed a plan to get his family out, safely away. And this would need to be a plan even Nib would be happy to go along with, and before he inevitably snapped again.

   He placed his bundle into the 8 wheeled, brightly coloured walker thing, and gave him his tambourine, one of the few toys he still had. He didn't like the tambourine so much, but it kept him occupied for a few minutes. Just enough time to build a barricade around the edge of the floor using ten heavy, tree trunk stools. Suli was rolling round on the floor next to him, pant-less and screaming to himself. He made sure all the stools were placed in such a way that Finn couldn't kamikaze off the edge, and headed back to the bedroom to take stock of all he could consume that day. He loved his coffee, and cigarettes too, but was annoyed with himself. He'd practically quit before coming back here. He had promised himself that he would pack them in by the time Finn was born. He failed, and promised again by the time he was six months old. And not far off that time, had got them down to three a day... that was when they moved back, to the madness of the farm. Straight out the window.

   $1.10, thirteen cigarettes and a dollars worth of data that yet to be put on the phone. 'It's going to be a good day', a sarcastic joke to himself. He didn't laugh. It wasn't funny. He took 50 cents, and made for the shop, to treat himself.

   ''Four 3in1 coffees please,'' it was Christmas after all.

   Half way through his double strong coffee (it was actually 6 in 2), the clouds in his mind started to clear, and he was ready to take on another jam-packed day of next to nothing.

   Finn, still in the walker, had now been let loose on the dusty, red dirt at the front of the house. Lawrie was uneasy with this as the walker was light and flimsy, and flaws in its design made it that going in a forward direction was practically impossible. Almost all the plastic products sold out here, were only ever things that hadn't passed the stringent watch of Chinese quality controls. Finn spent most of his time in that thing, going round in circles, or at very best, doing his famous crab impression, scooting sideways.

   Suli was dragging around the frame of an old, crusty pram, that had seen much better days. It was full of rust, had no seat and only one of the three wheel it had left, actually turned. Suli had no toys, the ones he did have, had disintegrated in his hands shortly after being given them... their remains scattered in the dirt.

   Outside the front of the house was a huge 30 by 30 meter steel roof, hanging around 20 feet above. Suli and his pram, had made their way beyond the roof's reach, and over to where the overgrown, straggly vegetation had been thriving since that year's rainy season.

   Lawrie, had been the only one watching. He put down his coffee, and started walking over, seeing the potential for disaster as Finn chased after. He got as far as calling out Suli's name, with the hope of reeling them back in, when Finn hit a divot in the ground. The walker was sent over sideways, Finn's face smashing into the ground. Lawrie, with a heavy heart picked up speed, blurting out some frankly useless words of comfort as he made his way, to pick him up.

   Fountains of tears rolled down little Finn's cheeks, his left one being covered in small stones and dirt, with a few grazes on his chin. His wailing cut through to Lawrie's core, and he felt responsible for not getting there sooner, as he saw it coming.

   By this point Ma was screaming too. Lawrie tried to explain to Nib how it wasn't Suli's fault, in a vain attempt the message might get passed on, and Ma would shut her trap. Suli wasn't to blame, he was a child and didn't know any better, and Lawrie knew what was likely to happen next.

   Ma, still shrieking had gotten down to Suli's level and was now yelling in his face, slapping his legs, his bare backside.

   ''Viscous mutt'', Lawrie said audibly, without a care who heard. 'Silly bitch', just wouldn't have cut it, and his choice of words went straight over Nib's head. With his years of being out there, Lawrie had learnt how to best disguise his words of anger and frustration. He sometimes surprised himself with the off-the-cuff, creative expressions his mind would muster up out of the ether.

   Ma had now stood up, but was still barking. Suli was in tears and had been almost as long as Finn, who was now in Nib's arms, but still in distress as he watched the animalistic behavior unfold. Ma, taking a thin branch from the sapling of a fruit tree, was snapping off all that once grew from it. Because obviously, providing fruit for your grandchildren, and one day their children, isn't nearly half as important, as whipping a child that's done nothing wrong.

   Suli cried in this way, at least four or five times a day. A few months before, Lawrie had counted eight times in one day. He'd seen enough, and headed back to the bedroom with his mixed feeling of anger and helplessness.

   If he'd have still had his guitar, he would have been unzipping it's case as soon as he got inside. But he had no guitar these days, and upon spotting a pen on the desk, found a scrap piece of paper, sat down and started writing. And this would be the case over the coming months, a daily compulsion. He couldn't help it, he physically couldn't stop.

                       12    Maybe an hour had passed and Lawrie was still writing, when he heard the not so distant cry of his boy. Nothing like the sounds he had made earlier, but just him letting the world know he was still upset, in the only way he could. Lawrie looked out of the window to see Finn and Ma on their way back from over the road. 'No surprise he's upset', he thought to himself. He hated seeing Ma walk away with his Son, and was glad he hadn't seen this time, as it would only have played on his mind.

   He sat back down to his writing, knowing that Nib was out there and Finn would soon be at ease, filling his not so little belly.

   He could overhear a conversation between Nib and her mother. It wasn't difficult, as they only really have two levels of communicating out here, Nib's family especially. Those levels are shouting and screaming, making everything far too easy too hear, and whether you want to or not.

   Apparently, Pa was already on his way back, and was four hours away by tractor. He tore open his fresh pack of cigarettes, and threw one in his mouth biting down on the end.

   His cigs came in packs on thirteen, cost 12.5 cents, and had a very well know cartoon rabbit eating a carrot, printed on the cellophane bag they came in. ''Maybe it's this one that finally kills me'', he wondered out loud. He stepped outside, and just in time to see the younger sister making off on the moto, Finn under her arm. ''For fuck's sake...''

                       13    Lawrie was crouched down at the corner edge of the tilled floor, intensely staring down the road as far as he could, in the direction Finn had gone. He was on his second cigarette. As he rolled it between his fingers, the end fell to the dirt below. He put it out with a small piece of chipped concrete and placed the dimp in an empty discarded bottle that was laying next to him.

   Looking up, he saw Finn and the sister, with a thick cloud of red dust following after them as they made their return. A huge sigh of relief spilled out from him, he thought it would never end. Any bigger or longer, it might have been worth contacting the people who compile the world record books.

   Lawrie hated it. Too much of what they thought of as normal, he saw as an unnecessary risk. He'd had his concerns shouted down already, the first time he saw it happen, and this was just another thing he had to begrudgingly accept. But he promised himself, if she ever caused his Son any harm, he would slap her so silly, it would take them a week to find where she landed.

   When the Sun had set, he'd gotten down three full pages of writing. Not a massive achievement, and you wouldn't have mistaken it for Hemmingway (who he knew nothing about, though quite sure he's the Maradonna of writing), but he was proud of the fact that he had achieved a little something.

   He'd always enjoyed writing, mainly just songs, the first of which he wrote at the age of eleven after watching an Adam Sandler film. He'd also, always written down the strange thoughts, or scenarios that came into his head. He had no real use for them unless they were to be used in a song, but while growing up, had a few drawers full of scrappy bits of paper with random ramblings of madness scribbled down. He would sort through them one day, but they were all boxed up in his mum's garage back home.

   His first song was terrible, and unfortunately, he had come across the only physical reminder of it's existence years later, the lyric sheet. He'd written it on the keyboard he had before he had a guitar. After finding the sheet, the melody came rushing back, regaining it's place and taking up space in his memory. He realised his interest in song writing early on in life, back in primary school when they would sing in assembly. He enjoyed singing, as it was usually better than the rest of their day, and after hearing some bright spark from a few years above, singing 'toilet painted green', during the chorus of Yellow Submarine, he spent his remaining years there trying to out do it.

   The Sun was about an hour off setting, and he couldn't delay calling his family any longer. No one that he needed to call, had dependent children, and they were all likely sleeping-in. Their days of cursing Baby Jesus at 5am, covered in wrapping paper, had already been and gone.

   He called his Dad who was stuck in Bali, his Mum stuck in the UK, his Grandma stuck in hospital, and his Uncle David who yes, was also stuck. Everyone, everywhere was, trapped wherever they were when the world stopped turning.

   David, one of his Dad's half brothers, was in London. His business of delivering butchered meat was doing quiet well through all of the craziness. A good business to be in during times like these, apparently.

   His Dad had let him know that his Uncle had sent some money electronically, and that it was waiting to be collected. His Uncle was a good man, as was most of his family, but Uncle David knew Lawrie's situation quite well, as he's come out to visit him not long before the troubles started in the world. Out of most of his family, David had a much better idea of the problems Lawrie was facing.

   He knew just how lucky he was for having the family he did, but felt such guilt for not showing his appreciation as much he should. He rarely contacted them, and spent years wishing he had done so more often.

   He went with the elder brother, Ren, to collect his lifeline Christmas gift.

   Ren was only fourteen, but he rode the motorbike as he did every time, with Lawrie on the back. The in-laws, Pa in particular, were scared of what might happen whenever Lawrie left their hometown. Mainly of the police, who in all fairness were pretty corrupt. But Lawrie, who had left home the first time at the age of fifteen, was pretty savvy, and hadn't ever been in trouble with the law out here. There had been many times, after being stopped by traffic police, that he'd ride away with a new friend he'd just drank a beer with. One time, a police man gave him his fine money back, after seeing how little he had with him. Even though this was, here was tribal land, and he just had to get on with it.

   The Sun was half way over the hill when they got back to the farm. Lawrie dished the money out... a little to Ren for the trip, a little more to his wife, and way too much to Ma. She would probably be playing cards tomorrow, but as Pa was still out of town he had no choice.  Choices weren't such a big thing here.

                       14    It was around eight-thirty when Pa arrived home. Dinner had been sat there a couple of hours, waiting on the roar of the tractor, and on his arrival, the younger ones erupted with screams of happiness. Everyone loved Pa, not just the family, but those outside as well.    

   Lawrie skipped to the shop and bought four cans. They all ate rice, him and Pa drank, and then everyone went to bed. Everyone that was, except for Lawrie. He stayed up researching online, looking at maps of Lombang City. There was a few places that last time, he hadn't managed to get to. He had more than a few things to pick up, and there was a couple of people he was hoping to meet. This time, knowing how long it might be till the next, he had to get as much done as possible. Most importantly, was getting an ID photo... the next step of the only half-decent, long-shot of a plan he had. And thanks to Uncle David, all this was possible, and Finn's first Christmas was back on. And although being a day late, Lawrie couldn't be happier.

                       15        ...to continue reading, and become one of the hero’s in this story, please donate. All the kind souls that help me out of the situation will receive a full copy once completed, a name-drop on the dedications page, and the knowledge that they’ve helped this story on its way to a happy ending.

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars

Or to continue reading for free, periodically check back here for updates, and hope for the best disaster ending possible…

Thank you, much love.

Nathan Fryer-Woods

nathanfryerwoods@protonmail.com

[moonlightselfships]

12 + Lemres!!! (~ Mino)

Oh heck yeah! The original post said to write a drabble, but, uh, I... wrote a lot more than a drabble. I couldn’t help myself ^^;

But, I’m proud to say that my story of first kiss is here! I’m very happy to show it off. I’m incredibly proud of it!!!

(6,646 letters, 1,509 word)

It was Saturday, and the beginning of the weekend for magic school. I felt like now, more than ever, would be the best time to ask Lemres out. The day before, I asked him if we could hang out, and he agreed to it, picking a location and everything. I was excited, but also tense. I was worried about him not loving me back. But I've gotten this far, so I might as well try. I don't have much to lose, right?

I woke up the second my alarm went off. Perhaps a bit too fast, because I ended up dropping my clock. Oops. But that wasn't important. I noted the time, and made my preparations. A quick shower, breakfast, cleaned my glasses, and as far as I knew, I was ready to go! I hastily ran out the door to find the location.

While I tripped quite a few times from how fast I was running, I eventually got there. We agreed to meet by the nice, white sand beach, just to talk and watch the waves. I was excited to meet him there and maybe splash around in the waters with him. And there he was. With that smooth, ashy hair, those striking green clothes, and his sweet, sweet smile. It was unmistakable! It was Lemres, looking as handsome as ever...

"Sorry I was late..." I panted. I tried not to fall over just yet and get a faceful of sand. But I was kept in focus once I heard his soft, sweet voice. "No worries, you're just in time!"

I nodded and smiled. He sat down on the soft sand, so I followed suit, and rested beside him. It felt nice sitting beside him, but my worries resurfaced, much to my dismay. I thought I was ready to ask him out, but was I really? I didn't really know. But this was the last weekend of this semester. What if one of us transferred? Would I ever see him again in that case? It was now or never.

I was waiting for a good time to start the confession. Lemres faced me and asked "Would you like a popsicle?" I nodded. Frozen treats and beaches went together like peanut butter and jelly. He handed me one, still ice cold despite him likely carrying it around for quite a while. I thanked him, and took a nibble out of the first layer, learning it was vanilla and caramel underneath the chocolate shell. How'd he know I adored caramel? I licked through the inside passionately. I eyed at Lemres, not quite ready to confess. I just asked him "Why didn't you bring a swimsuit? Don't you want to try the water?"

Lemres shrugged. "I don't really like the ocean," he answered, "It hurts me for some reason." That... wasn't the answer I expected, but I nodded, understanding his reasoning. "But if you want to go in yourself, that's fine!" he chuckled. "I don't think it'll be as fun," I sighed, feeling a bit of a blush.

After a few minutes, I finished my popsicle. Without any more topics to bring up, and with my popsicle fully eaten, I felt now's the time to unearth my feelings. "Here goes nothing..." I thought. But I wasn't fully sure of that, even. If he turned me down, I don't know if I could hande it. "Lemres..." I muttered. "Yes?" he inquiried, "Is there something you want to tell me?" He tilted his head, waiting for me to continue. "Lemres, I..." I faltered. I felt my tail brush up against his leg. I got flustered by the feeling. My tail was shaking heavily in anticipation. I gulped, and finally let it loose.

"Lemres... I... I really like you."

Lemres lightly gasped, setting down his wand in surprise. "Do you mean..." he sputtered. I tapped my fingers together, knowing I NEED to continue what I was saying. Sheepishly, I continued "There was always, just, something that drew me to you... but until recently, I didn't... really know what it was... But... I... I love you. You're handsome, you're kind, you're trustworthy... and your smile, it... it fills me with joy... I... you... and..." I was just blushing so heavily that I had to cover my face with my hat. I was embarrassed.

During my fear, Lemres put his hand on my shoulder as he rose my hat back on my head. "Moon Snail..." he cooed, as he looked me in the eyes. I couldn't respond in kind, as his eyes were still closed. But I pretended to and awaited his response. Without breaking contact or raising his hand, he continued, "You're braver than I am." I scratched my head in response. "What do you mean?" I puzzled.

Lemres responded "Well, I've been wanting to confess to you for a while, but... I was worried you wouldn't swing that way... I can see it in your eyes. You were feeling the same way. But unlike me, you acted upon it... and I couldn't be happier!" My eyes widened. He... he loved me too!!! "So that... that's a yes?" I flattered, "You... want to be my boyfriend?" Lemres chuckled and blushed. "Of course!" he beamed.

I was extremely happy! I could feel my tail wagging rapidly. It was starting to brush sand everywhere! I couldn't control my joy at all. Lemres took off his gloves and felt my cheeks. "So..." he beckoned as he leaned in. I knew what he wanted, and nodded in response. I saw his smile grow swiftly as I pursed my lips. He did the same, and we pulled each others' faces closer to each other.

And then, like a miracle, it happened.

As our lips pressed against each other for a kiss, I felt like our relationship was truly set in stone. It was nothing intense, no tongue involvement, but I still made the most of it. I could feel the heat as my face turned red as quickly as heated steel. I could sense Lemres smiling while he tasted the chocolate and caramel on my lips. It felt like I was in heaven. Suddenly, something surprising happened. In the moment, I saw something I thought I would never have seen before; two crimson windows faced me as it peered into my own. They looked... odd, but strangely beautiful. Like Venus being visible from the night sky. His joy tricked him into revealing what seemingly wasn't meant to be found.

Lemres noticed that I was peering intensely into his deep secret. He panicked and reclined away from me suddenly, covering his face to hide it. But I already knew, much to his fear. "M-moon..." he fretted, not wanting to know the answer, "You... did you..." I was unsure what to say. If I told him the truth, he would definitely be upset. He sighed and readjusted his hat, which wilted slightly from his reaction. "Well, uh..." I muttered. He likely already knew the answer. He put his gloves back on and placed his hand back onto my shoulder. "I... I can trust you, right?" he stuttered, "You can keep a secret?"

"I promise, this will be our secret," I reassured, "Nobody else will know."

"Oh, thank goodness..."

We both got up, smiles flaring back up. "The sun's setting," I pointed out, "Suppose we should head home?" Lemres tapped his foot. "Well, here's the thing..." he lamented, "I... can't go home." I tilted my head. "Why not?" I asked. Lemres sighed, "My... my parents wouldn't be happy with me showing my face to them again." I grasped my chin. "That's... unfortunate..." I consoled. Suddenly, a light bulb appeared over my head. I held my hand out to him. "How about this?" I beckoned. Lemres was caught by surprise again. "You're... really doing this for me?" he sputtered. "Of course!" I purred, "I love you!" Lemres slowly reached out and grasped my palm. "You're too kind..." he cooed.

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart? I like that."

With our hands together, we headed home. It was the best day we ever had. I hummed happily the whole way back, thinking excitedly about what we'll do together. Along the way, I saw Feli walking the opposite path. She looked at me with the most distraught face I've ever seen, before running away with tears in her eyes. I felt a bit bad for her, but that didn't stay in my head for long.

We got back home. My parents were still sleeping, but I was excited to introduce my boyfriend to them the next day. I led him to my room. He was surprised to see I had a double bed, despite nobody sleeping by my side until now. But we both jumped into it and shut off the light. "Good night, Lemres..." I breathed. "Good night, Moonlight..." he responded in kind. Moonlight... what an adorable petname. As I cast my blanket over the both of us, I closed my eyes, feeling Lemres hugging me from behind and smooching the back of my neck.

[codylabs]

Nomads: Part 4 Final

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 

“Hey Keeleeticktick.” She startled him by coming up behind. “I need a way to secure my pod to the convoy, while still spinning.”

“Oh?” He was glad to hear that, and turned around. “So you plan to continue traveling with us?”

“Of course I do… Man, where else would I go? …I just need a way to keep my gravity, and stay linked at the same time.”

“Hmm.” He drifted in a small circle, as he thought. “You will need some manner of oiled rotor then. One end of the rotor will not spin, and can be tied to the convoy. The other end you will tie to the center of mass of your spinning tether. Then you can hang a ladder from the rotor down to your pod, and you never need to stop spinning.”

“Great idea. Uh… Do we have a rotor like that?”

“No.” His eyestalks bobbed. “We will have to make one on a lathe. There’s one over on the factory ship, so I’ll meet you there if you’ll bring some material. And I don’t know much about manufacturing, so I’ll have to ask some of the other guys to come help as well.”

“Great. Uh… I guess we could melt down one of the seats I took out of the pod?”

“They are aluminum?”

“Yes.”

“Aluminum wears down. Bring something steel.”

“…There was a turbine in one of the engines. That’s steel.”

“Perfect.”

“Cool.”

They were several hours into the project before one of the other guys spoke up. “You’ve been busy, Missus Fikes.”

“Yeah, I have.” She nodded.

“Ever since you met with her.”

“Yeah… She gave me a lot to think about.”

“Ha ha, yeaaaah, she’s pretty eloquent, Isn’t she?” He laughed.

“Of course she’s good with words.” Another male agreed. “Her brain is the size of three people.”

“What exactly did she get you thinking about, Missus Fikes?”

“It’s just… Things are really different on my world.” She shrugged. “And I know things have to be different out here just because of the way you people work and live, but… Honestly, seeing her closed up in there, being harvested for silk and kids, that was just too far. Kinda messed me up. I really… Really think her entire setup is just plain wrong.”

Many of the nearby men launched into long-winded excuses, or tried to shrug it off, or outright told her to go mind her own business. But surprisingly enough, many of them actually entirely agreed with her, or at least reassured her that things would change once they reached their destination; once they were out of the void, out of danger, and among rings again. A few men got to arguing with each other.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I know.” She waved a hand to try to calm the sudden dispute. “I didn’t mean to make waves, especially when she’s happy where she is, I just… It got me thinking about how unnatural I’ve been living too. And about how I can’t just keep living like you people do, not completely. We’re just… Just very, very different. And I needed to get my gravity back.”

“Women are treated better on your world?” Keeleeticktick asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean yes! I mean… I don’t know.” She tried to concentrate on the lathe. “They were just… They were just treated basically the same way as men. They had all the same rights, the same laws…”

“How’s that possible?”

“It was possible because THEY were basically the same!” She waved a glove. “The women were a little smaller, and a little lumpier, and the men a little hairier, but if they were wearing clothes, especially a suit like this? You couldn’t even tell them apart… The gender roles weren’t ship and sailor, they were more balanced; provider and parent, leader and organizer, hunter and gatherer…”

They found that to be very interesting and very strange. “Missus Fikes.” One of them laughed. “Next you’ll be saying that you’re a woman!”

They all laughed at that.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

“Wait, but seriously though, are you a woman?”

She guffawed at the sheer absurdity of the question, that there should be so little ambiguity that it had taken them almost a year to ask it. But though she laughed, she chose her next words carefully. “If I were?” She asked, and looked up from the lathe to meet their eyes. “…If I weren’t? …Perhaps I ought to teach you a lesson by asking you a question back.” She put a glove on her hip. “If I were a woman, or if I weren’t, would I still be myself? Would I still be the same man, and the same friend? Would you still know your Missus Fikes?”

That seemed to confuse them for a moment. Thilykto seemed to be the most decisive and hasty of them all, for he was the first to answer. “Yeah! Of course! Yeah, you’d still be Missus Fikes.”

Other eyestalks were bobbing now, and the agreement was reached, that their visitor was still himself, different as he was, strange as he was, no matter what he was. They still knew their friend. And many of them took some additional consolation by convincing themselves that he was a man after all and was merely teasing them, for that was just so much easier to accept.

Most of them disliked the direction the conversation had taken, and floated away to find business elsewhere. “Although you know, Missus Fikes.” Keeleeticktick whispered towards her, when they were again alone in the shop. “I wouldn’t try to make a joke of you or subtract from you in any way if I knew which you were… But as your friend, you have to understand how curious I am.”

She smiled with a private sigh. All right. She said in sign language. What’s the sign?

“Woman.” He whispered. He held up two tentacles intertwined, and touched them to his right eyestalk. “Man.” He held up two tentacles straight parallel, and touched them to his left eyestalk.

She crossed her fingers, and touched the right of her visor.

Keeleeticktick stared for a moment in surprise and borderline disbelief, which slowly faded into hesitant understanding and uncomfortable acceptance. Then he gave a brief nod, and turned back to the machine. “…Missus Fikes, you’re a strange man.” He said, loud enough for others to hear. “And you’re a-“

“-A very, very long way from home.” She repeated his old line back with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, don’t I know it.”

“…Actually, I was just going to say that you’re a good man.” He told her. “And a good friend… And if you like… Home might not be as far as you think; It may just be right here.”

“…You could be right.”

And she thought he was, and as she lost her hope that he wasn’t, she was slowly becoming content.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 A time passed.

She’d worked her way up to 30% gravity in her pod now, and her muscles and bones were slowly becoming strong again. She could run now, she could jump, even if such a skill was only usable within the 100 square feet of her truncated pod. She could see the definition in her legs again, she could no longer wrap her hand all the way around her wrist, her space suit was getting looser around the torso and tighter around the limbs. Keeleeticktick was once watching her exercising, and asked her how she was getting along health-wise. “I’m feeling great.” She’d said, and meant it.

Their new sun grew ever nearer, glowed ever brighter in the forward starscape. As they passed through the denser regions of the system’s Kuiper belt, asteroids were being located and ensnared in greater and greater numbers. The momentum the fisher’s borrowed from their targets was transferred through lengths of extra-elastic silk to the convoy itself, to help them slow down from their interstellar speeds. Keeleeticktick took her to the telescope one night, and showed her their first clear image of their new world: a brilliantly blue-green gas giant turning in a shallow orbit at a high obliquity, with a wide, dense set of glittering rings that would have put Saturn’s to shame. “It’s beautiful.” She’d said, and meant it.

As for the asteroid fishing, she herself was quickly learning the intimate details of the operation, was even bringing her pod along on fishing voyages so she wouldn’t have to stay behind. One time when they finished reeling in a captured asteroid, she was among the first to climb down the silk to stand on its icy surface. All around her, the nomads were breaking off pieces of ice with their beaks and eating them right there, a primal sort of victory ritual to celebrate the hunt. By their example, she broke off a piece as well. Then she opened her helmet, right there in the void, took a big bite, and closed her helmet again before she suffocated. As the life support roared to keep up, and as she blinked to keep the moisture from boiling off her eyes, she chewed and sucked on the rock. It was gritty and hard, and unbearably grating on her teeth, but she could taste the water trapped in the dust, felt the ice melting on her teeth. Keeleeticktick laughed at the stunt, and asked her how it was. “It’s good!” She’d said, and meant it.

One night the men opened Kinthalikal’s cargo pod, and encouraged her to come out for a bit of exercise while they cleaned her pod and made some adjustments. All the men in the convoy watched and stared as she emerged, spread her anchors and flexed her engines. They fed her a bit of ice and her fuel tanks began to fill, unfurling and inflating with all the elegance of the bodies of jellyfish, all the pride of banners flapping in the breeze, all the beauty of wind catching in the white sails of the great old boats of Earth. Her eyes widened, her hearts contracted, her engines throbbed with pale light, and she glided upwards away from the colony, and through a wide circular orbit around them. As she returned to her pod, two silent hours later, Thilykto whispered that the woman was so beautiful. “Yeah. Yeah she is.” She’d agreed, and meant it.

Rickakticktacka finally finished the fantasy novel he’d been reading. The witch was killed and the Elkakik achieved his purpose, allowing his spirit double to move on to peace in the afterlife, and allowing him to finally fall in love. The queen gave him a princess in marriage, and they set out to make a new life for themselves in the ring beyond the black moon, the land that the witch had once held in a rule of darkness, now free. By the end of the tale she’d learned to better understand the old story-language, not enough to speak it, but enough to listen fully. So when the natives were congratulating the story and retelling the parts they’d enjoyed, she’d finally been able to honestly say “It was excellent,” and mean it.

Then came the day when they were asking for a new story to be told, and she’d volunteered, and stepped up with an old text file of The Lord of the Rings, which she’d found somewhere in the pod’s backup computers. She had a slow and difficult time translating one sentence at a time into the nomad’s language, but they were nothing if not patient. Many times she had to pause to explain things like rivers and mountains and forests, and it took them awhile to get the gist of the need to walk for great distances instead of merely drift, but they were enjoying these new concepts almost as much as the story itself, and they made good progress through the book. Many months later, when Sauron was finally defeated and the Fellowship parted ways and the Hobbits returned home to liberate the Shire, the nomads had cheered. “That was a beautiful story!” they’d said, and meant it.

Months added up into years.

She turned fifty.

And she began to get very sick.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Hey Keelee?” She pointed across the convoy toward the heavy ion engine on the stern of the main tug. That gentle blue electric flame had never once turned off or even faltered in her entire stay, or for many years previous; it was a technology designed for efficiency and endurance instead of speed and power, indeed it was so weak that its thrust was entirely imperceptible on a day-to-day basis. Yet for all the fuel it was saving them by pushing so slow for so long, it had used just that much electric power. Power it got from a nuclear reactor, which stood tall and grey, in full view of every ship in the convoy. “The reactor…” She hesitated to ask, but at some point she had to know. “How much shielding does it have?”

“Shielding?” He frowned at it, then back at her. “…What do you mean…?”

“Ah…” She took a deep, slow breath. “…Oh… Oh dear. Umm… Keelee, I… I don’t know how to say this, because I don’t know what you could do about it, but… I’m pretty sure I have cancer. I need a doctor.”

“Talk to Rickakticktacka. He has some experience.”

“It’s different with humans… We can’t just grow new organs and… And… And surgery won’t work either. There’s bones and… And muscles in the way, and our organs are all crammed real close together, and we don’t ever stop bleeding once we start… I need a human doctor. Earth medicine. Specialized nanobots. And a whole lot of other stuff depending on the results of tests I don’t know how to perform… And I need it soon, and there’s no way I could ever get it in time.”

“…Oh.”

“I’m dying, Keelee… It’s nobody’s fault, and there’s nothing to do about it… And I don’t know how long I have left. Years, months, weeks, I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

A nomad’s touch was impossibly soft, and light. Through her suit, she could barely feel a thing as he wrapped a couple tentacles around her shoulder, and his whole body weighed less than fifteen pounds, so when he pulled her close, he was the one who moved and she not at all. But when she returned the hug, and wrapped his body up between her arms and squeezed and grasped for any substance at all, she could definitely feel something there, however slight. Something as flimsy and faint and membranous as an old balloon or a discarded plastic bag, yet at the same time graceful, and soft, and ancient. She could feel a tiny heartbeat vibrating up through his back. She could feel the shaking of his muscles as he wept, could feel a faint pressure from his tentacles curling. A fleshy part of his shoulder was squashed flat across her visor.

And she sobbed too, inside her suit. Her sun screens clattered against the glass of her helmet as she shook. Her heart and her lungs throbbed and pounded against the inside of her ribcage. Her life support pumps roared, and beeped at her for her sudden oxygen usage. Wet tears drifted off her face and contaminated the instruments. A rotary bearing pressed uncomfortably into the fold of her elbow as she squeezed. Her radio crackled with signals from Keeleeticktick, but this entire time, the only actual noise inside her helmet was her own.

The difference between a chemical booster rocket and an ion engine was the difference between she and him.

A chemical rocket burned fast, and burned hard, hard enough to lift great cargoes off the surface of planets. It burned with purpose, and direction, and power, and its fuel drained by the second in a roaring flash of light, strong and bright and loud, loud, loud. But it lasted only a short time. It broke too easily, exploded too easily, required too great a complexity, consumed too much fuel and steered too violently. And in the end it burned itself out, so it detached and floated away, to allow the next stage to carry on.

An ion engine lasts an eternity. It glows dimly in a vacuum, pushes imperceptibly slowly, waits years for the tiniest adjustment, endures unaffected through light and dark, heat and cold and radiation. But it is incapable of great feats. It has no capacity for strength or shock or anything but the most gradual of calculated change. And when it finally fails, at the conclusion of years, it will have failed because its power source has failed. It dies because the surrounding vehicle has broken down or decayed or become something unrecognizable. An ion engine moves so slowly that it is left behind by time and space and the universe itself.

And he would miss her dearly.

He didn’t know why he’d expected her to live until they reached their destination, in only 30 years more. Didn’t know why he’d assumed they would live together in the same family even after that. Didn’t know why he’d once or twice considered her as a companion, had begun in secret to worship her as men always do toward women. Didn’t know why he’d inferred outright indestructibility from her strength, and had assumed she would remain as she had been for ever and ever. Didn’t know why he’d signed ‘happily ever after’ to their story so long before the end.

But perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely sad.

“I won’t sleep, Missus Fikes.” He promised her. “I won’t pause. And I won’t tire. I’ll be there for you your every waking moment. I’ll keep away your pain. I’ll show you all there is to see. I’ll tell you stories. I’ll listen to stories. I’ll show you stars, I could teach you to dance. And when one day you go, I’ll miss you as a closest friend, and remember you longer than lifetimes.”

She tried to wipe her eyes, and gleaned some tiny amusement when her helmet of course thwarted her. “Why Keeleeticktick.” She muttered. “…Is that romance I hear?”

“I hope not… Missus Fikes, thinking of you has taught me to see my people’s romance a little like how you see it. I’ve come to recognize it as not quite noble, and not quite natural, so I think it would be a sorry gift for a dying friend. But I want to make you happy.”

“…You’re a good, good friend, Keelee.”

“As are you, Missus Fikes.”

“…I’ve been thinking. In any time I have left, I think I’d like to write a book.” She said. “A story of all that’s happened to me.”

“…It wouldn’t make a very good story.” He told her. “Nothing really happened, and the ending is very sad.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “But you know, true stories don’t have to be good stories. And the folks back on Earth will think it’s pretty interesting anyway… Assuming any of you ever built a transmitter large enough to send it to them, that is, ha ha.”

“Transmitters are a bit risky.” Keeleeticktick admitted. “…But you never know. Maybe we’ll be safe enough in our new home to risk a signal or two. Or perhaps Thilykto’s children or grandchildren could deliver it in person? I’ve heard Saturn is quite a scenic destination.”

“It is indeed.” She tried to laugh.

“And we never stay still for long.” He agreed. “So which one of them is it? Which is your star? Which is Sol?” He gestured across the sky. “To which of these worlds shall we deliver your book, Missus Fikes?”

“You know, it’s funny…” She shook her head sadly. “This entire time, I never knew.”

“Pity.”

“…And for what it’s worth, you can call me Charlotte.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Author’s note:

I hope you thought that was interesting. I certainly thought it was.

I am aware that at moments in the story it may appear as if I had been trying to make a statement about mankind, or society, or the state of the world. This is not entirely true. I did not set out to make a point about any human class or sex or construct or current event, my desire was merely to document and explore the operations of a very different race, one for whom I have no particular respect, and whose actions I understand but do not condone.

I say ‘not entirely true’, however, because I write all intelligent beings as similar in spirit; beholden to the same morals, users of the universal emotions, and capable of the same virtues and sins. So, as is the case with most stories, whatever moral you ascribe to the story is probably true in real life as well. I will only say that these long-lived hecka-dimorphic space squids and the human widow who stayed among them have made me think, and I hope they made you do the same.

This was a short story, and it is concluded.

This is part of a larger universe which I am growing, and the Nomads will be seen again, far away.

Feedback is appreciated.

Thank you all for reading, and God Bless you during the difficult nights of your own long journeys.

[kumkaniudaku]

CoCo Saves the Day

A/N: I wrote this for @brianabreeze. She wanted to know how CoCo would react to Chadwick’s ash at any point. This is what my mind came up with. I hope you like it! 

Warnings: Language. Dassit. 

Chadwick Boseman x Black wife!Reader

Idle chatter filled the large suite at the Mandarin Oriental in New York, slowing to an indistinguishable murmur as you scrolled through your phone. Every once in a while you’d look up to answer a question or glance at your husband while he prepared for the Met Gala.

Though you couldn’t attend because of prior obligations with other WNBA Executives within the New York Liberty front office, you made sure to carve out time to see your man off on his big night.

“Is that glitter in your beard, babe?” You questioned, turning your body around on the couch to get a good look at Chadwick. He was freshly groomed and looking like a whole meal as he stood near the large windows overlooking the city.

He gave you a cocky smirk while walking over to provide you a better look at his face. “You like it?”

“I wanna see if it’s transfer proof. You think it’ll get all over my thighs? Let’s try it out.”

You gently tugged on his beard to bring his face closer and licked his bottom lip, earning a needy groan for your antics.

“Or you can not and say you did!” Both of you snapped your eyes to look at Saisha, his trusted groomer, who stood with a horrified look her eyes. “I’m still here. Both of us are!”

She exaggeratedly motioned to Ashley who was silently chuckling and laying out potential footwear for the night. “I’m used to it. Just wait until he finally gets dressed. That’s when the real show starts.”

“I just wanna make sure my man knows he’s the shit at all times.” You defended before taking a moment to kiss Chadwick’s nose. “You the shit, Aaron.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“Okay, enough you two! It’s time to get dressed, Chad. We only have about 30 minutes before you need to be in the car and on the way to the Met.”

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from you to follow Ashley into the other room to get completely dressed. The theme for this year’s gala, at least from what you gathered from Chadwick’s brief explanation, focused heavily on the Catholic church and religious imagery.

You’d attempted to trick Chad into revealing something about his outfit but, he’d only give you a smug smile before uttering some variation of ‘you’ll see.’ You thought you were excited before but now, as you listen to your husband’s muffled sounds of approval on the other side of the bedroom door, you were sure you could fly to the moon with all of the excitement you were holding.

“C’mon, Aaron! Let me seeeee!” You whined like an impatient child.

“You sure you ready, CoCo. I mean, I look damn good right now.”

“Get out here and stunt for me, Daddy!”

Your internal anticipation outwardly manifested itself in the form of a restless wiggle while you waited for him to open the door and do the big reveal. After what seemed like forever, the door swung open to reveal what you could only describe as the true image of beauty.

Starting from the top of his head, you took in the way his thick, dark coils and coarse beard glinted in the setting sun making him look almost celestial. His broad shoulders and long arms were draped in an extravagant cape that would rival anything the great James Brown could come up with as an on stage ensemble. The ornate gold crosses that adorned the front and back of the cape served as the perfect addition to the sparkling above his shoulders and introduced the opulent gilded gold design on his ivory pants. The snug fit at the crotch of his pants was not lost on you as you bit your lips at the beautifully sinful images of the unclothed version of his member filled your brain.

Traveling to his shoes, you took a pause to examine the break between the hem of his pants and the beginning of his Louboutin loafers.

“Are you wearing...hosiery?” You asked, walking over to him to get a better look.

“What? Like stockings?” His eyes followed yours, examining the sliver of exposed skin on his ankle.

“He’s not wearing stockings. At least I didn’t give them to him if he is. Do you need to tell me something, Chad?” Ashley cheekily inquired.

“I don’t know what the hell you talking about, CoCo. I’m not wearing pantyhose.”

Crouching at his feet, you were finally granted the answer to your question. He was right, he was not wearing pantyhose. He was sporting something much worse.

“Nigga, why are you this ashy?”

Saisha aubily choked on her green tea as she tried to swallow her laughter. Ashley quickly turned her head to avoid Chadwick’s unamused gaze. Finally, he lifted his leg to get a glimpse of what you interpreted as ash.

“Am I really ashy? It’s not that bad is it?”

“Baby, I thought you had on stockings. Yes, it’s that bad. Let me see your hands!” Securing a firm hold on his wrists, you were greeted with more of the same. A soft grey cast sat buried between a few of his fingers, drawing sharp contrast to the shining gold rings. “Boy, come here!”

Without loosening your hold, you tugged him toward the couch to sit him down while you rummaged through your carry on bag. A brief sigh of satisfaction left your lips when you located the shea butter you’d purchased hours prior to arriving at the hotel.

Scooping a modest amount from the plastic tub with the smooth part of your acrylic nail, you placed the butter in the center of your hand, rubbing it between your palms to melt the product into a smooth cream capable of being spread across his dry skin.

“You will not be out here ashy on the carpet! Not as long as you’re my man. This doesn’t make any sense!”

You grumbled other disappointed statements but he couldn’t hear them while he watched you take care of him. How could he not admire the way your soft hands rubbed at his skin to ensure that he was adequately moisturized? Any other woman would’ve have overlooked such a minute detail but, you never skipped a beat. As far as you were concerned, the way he stepped out of the house was a reflection of you and vice versa. If he wasn’t going to lotion up for his own good, he’d at least do it for you.

Putting the finishing touches on his left ankle, you smiled down at your work. “Now, you’re ready to go.”

“Thank you, baby. What would I do without you?” He placed a sweet kiss your temple and then your lips before pulling away to stand.

“You would get your ass roasted on Twitter tonight, that’s what. Hell you thought you was goin’ with them ashy ass ankles?”

FOREVER TAGS:

@njadont @k-michaelis @wakandanmoonchild ​ @idilly @texasbama @afraiddreamingandloving @inxan-ity @daytimeheroicsonly @thiccdaddy-mbaku @onyour-right @sisterwifeudaku @ironsquad @killmongerdispussy @90sinspiredgirl @killmongersaidheyauntie @willowtree77785901 @maynardqueen101 @heyauntieeee @lalapalooza718 @blue-ishx

[greenmagic-oilspill]

The Fifth Shard

Gogo never expected he would be traveling through the Black Shroud with such a party.

It had been several moons now since his capture by Invidia mal Deimos, former chief medicus of the VIth Legion. He knew she wanted him for his Echo, using him for his unique connection to his seven Cluster-mates in an attempt to research the transference of skills and magic between groups of people. Her ultimate end, Gogo knew, was to teach Garleans the ability to use magic. She had already begun the experiments on herself, using Eorzean materia and Garlean magitek - called manadrives - to produce an artificial type of magic she dubbed "Para-Magic."

He expected torture. He expected mistreatment, to be kept in a tank and poked and prodded with research implements like he heard the XIIth Legion did to Ashelia Riot, his leader, who was also captured for her Echo. But Invidia never handed him over to her former Legion, never hurt him or even said anything mean to him.

Oddly enough, he found that he liked his time with them.

Invidia sat him down every night, asking him about his Echo and how he utilized his powers. She asked him about magic theory taught to him from when he grew up in the arcanist's guild. He impressed her when he singlehandedly fixed the ceruleum engine on her private airship cruiser when they flew it down to Eorzea from Azys Lla. He further delighted her when he showed the ability to create materia himself, explaining the concept of spiritbinding to her that he learned from his time in the armorer's guild. Despite all that, he was careful to keep the whereabouts of his friends from her, and firm about not disclosing Riskbreaker secrets. She did admit to him that she did also want custody of his full Cluster for her studies, but didn't press him.

Invidia assured him that they'd come to her. For their own safety, Gogo was careful not to mentally Visit his Cluster so they wouldn't fall into whatever trap she had planned. Even so, one small part of him had to admit to himself that he wasn't ready to be rescued yet.

She still intimidated and sometimes even scared him, but since his capture her ire was rarely focused on him. Instead, he finally found someone he could talk to about magitek as much as he wanted, learning more than he ever could back at home. Their time in Azys Lla was short, however - they had flown down to Eorzea, with Invidia covering her third eye, to find a former associate of hers that they had tracked to the Black Shroud.

Dagasi Tumet walked ahead, leading the way. The Xaelan Warrior was the kindest of the bunch and most appreciative of nature, stopping often in their travels to observe a wild animal with fascination. He was the one assigned most often to look after Gogo, and the two enjoyed each other's company. Sometimes, though, he remembered the fight Dagasi had with Lini on Azys Lla and how Dagasi went berserk when she drew his blood, so Gogo was careful around him.

Geoffroix Maelvant, however, scared Gogo the most. There was something about the Ishgardian that unnerved him. The former sky pirate and former-former priest always kept to himself, but he often had a glint in his eye that indicated he was amused by the whole situation. Even Invidia didn't trust him.

The last member of their party was a Roegadyn man named Haldelak Hollkhansyn. Of all of them, Gogo was under the impression that he knew Invidia the longest, and he was by far the oldest of them (though not, Gogo suspected, as old as Granny). He was native to the Garlean Empire, but he mentioned to Gogo once or twice that he used to come to Eorzea to study magic.

"Young Gogonegi," said Haldelak, picking up his pace to walk alongside Gogo. The old man walked carefully, avoiding the gnarled roots and stones and numerous bumps of their path through the sun-dappled Shroud. "Tell me again about the applications of different colored gemstones for creating different Carbuncles…"

"Well, from what I remember, you have to use different geometric patterns that give them different behavioral commands. Emerald and Topaz use different types of magic, and then there's Ruby, but I couldn't maintain any of them…" Gogo rambled on, but arcanima or any type of magic was far from his forte. He knew enough about magic theory for magitek application, though.

The old Roegadyn was about to respond, but he suddenly grumbled and put a hand to his ear, adjusting his spectacles with his other hand. His lined face deepened into a frown. "Invidia… listen to your communicator for a moment."

The Garlean woman, walking just ahead of the two of them, stopped abruptly. "What? But Eorzeans may pick up the signal."

"I believe they will not. Word just arrived on my linkpearl from informants in the capital, and I believe the Eorzeans have other things to worry about than searching for us."

Invidia put her communicator to her ear. Geoffroix, who took the rear, stopped some ways behind them to listen. Gogo couldn't hear what was being said over the linkpearl or communicator, only the sound of the wind in the trees and distant birds.

"Ala Mhigo has fallen," Invidia said finally. "To the Alliance. Zenos is dead. Aulus mal Asina likely is too, if not captured."

Gogo put his hands on his cheeks, overcome with shock and worry. That was two Garlean territories fallen in about as many weeks. He knew the Riskbreakers were present for Doma, but he could only assume they were also responsible for Ala Mhigo. Invidia's gaze fell on him, so he knew that she thought the same.

"I hated Aulus," Invidia said after another drawn out pause. She conveyed no emotion in her voice over Ala Mhigo's freedom or the death of her crown prince.

"Your scientific rival," said Gogo. "Well… maybe if he was captured, you would be able to take over or continue his research. It was similar work, wasn't it?"

Invidia lifted her visor, fixing on Gogo with a stare so intense he almost quailed. "My dear Gogonegi! What a wonderful idea. I would assume the Alliance secured the fruits of his work, because even I do not know what that man's goals were or what, exactly, he was researching, but if I get my hands on it it could further my own research…"

"After we locate V'eska, our next destination should be Ala Mhigo, then," said Haldelak. "It will be quite dangerous. Our party stands out, but with just the six of us it will be difficult to infiltrate the city just after it was taken from imperial rule." Gogo noted the fact that Haldelak seemed to count him among their party, along with this mysterious V'eska, who they came to the Shroud to find.

Invidia shrugged. "I am the only Garlean in our little group. I foresee no difficulty."

Haldelak nodded to her, and then turned to Gogo, his two staves clanging together on his back. "Gogonegi, are you certain you do not remember the way to the establishment known as Buscarron's Druthers? That is where we are likely to find V'eska."

Gogo shook his head, frowning. "I'm sorry… I've only been to the Shroud once. I don't remember." The only other time he was here was when he ran into a band of aggressive goblins and almost died until his friend Nathan saved him, but it was where he also met Cogflox. He felt a pang of sadness as he thought of his goblin assistant, missing her dry wit.

"It has been many years since I have been here myself," he replied, scratching his beard. "I studied conjury in these woods. And that was long before the Druthers were built, but I do know it is due north of Camp Tranquil… Yes, I believe I can guide us."

"Then lead the way, my friend," said Invidia. "It has been a long time since we've had need of V'eska's … talents. It's irritating that she came to this horrid forest, but I suppose it is convenient that she is also in Eorzea."

"And then to Ala Mhigo," said Haldelak. "How intriguing …"

[petaldancing]

twitter drabbles

wrote some drabbles in response to prompts on twitter! you’ll find:

ann/shiho, haru+yusuke (p5) houtarou/chitanda, houtarou+mayaka (hyouka) tsumugu/chisaki (nagi no asukara) lucina+chrom (fe:a) pearl/platina (pokespe)

Ann/Shiho, “crepes”

Shiho’s in town and they find themselves at their usual haunt, a small and cosy crepe café located in a quiet corner of Harujuku. The place is almost always empty, not just because of its location, but because of the not-so-friendly staff here. Ann had stopped wanting to come here ages ago, and yet, she finds herself breaking the rule when she’s with Shiho. She wonders if Shiho feels the same way, wonders why she hasn’t complained about the service or the artificial sweetness of the cream and the canned peaches. It must appear on her face, because Shiho laughs—a soft hum that makes Ann’s skin bristle—before whispering, “Some things never change, huh?”

She might be talking about the bad crepes. All Ann could think about was that this was their secret hideout, back before Akira transferred to Shujin, before she dared to dream that she could change her fate. A lot of things had changed since then. The one thing that hadn’t was how tightly Shiho held her hand whenever they sat in this very booth.  

Haru+Yusuke, “painting”

“… What’s the real reason behind your invitation, Haru-san?” Yusuke asked the moment he set up his canvas and poured out the paint. Beside him, Haru sat diligently in front of a bare canvas of her own.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to learn how to paint,” she says, her lips curved into a small smile. “Please let me know if this is too much of a bother, Yusuke-kun,” she added quickly, her hair bouncing as she leaned forward.

Haru wasn’t telling the truth, that much was clear. To not be able to discern her true motive was somewhat disconcerting, and yet, Yusuke knew that whatever it was, it was not an ill intent. Her house was large, easily thrice the size of Madarame’s abode, and yet, he felt much less alone here than when he lived with his ex-master. Haru seemed to have that effect on whoever she met. And so, he chose the paints deliberately—warm hues, like the plants she cared for, and soft colours, to match her gentle words. Haru had never seriously painted before, and Yusuke didn’t want to go too far and say that she had talent, but he could tell that she was careful with every stroke she left on the canvas, as if it were another one of her flower beds.

When all was said and done, Haru did not allow him to leave just yet. “Hold on, Yusuke-kun! As thanks for your teaching, shall we have dinner together?”

Yusuke’s empty stomach didn’t allow him any opportunity for polite refusal. He found himself seated at the longest dining table he’d ever seen, with a dizzying array of food laid out. His fingers were still stained with paint, but so were Haru’s, and so they ate without needing to scrub away at their hands.

“I really enjoyed myself painting, Yusuke-kun. Perhaps we should make this a regular affair, no?” Haru proposed as they wait for dessert to be served.

“A regular affair?” Yusuke repeated, and then realised why Haru asked him for lessons in the first place.

“Yes! Between friends!” Haru said with a soft laugh and a resolute nod.

“Friends…” Yusuke repeated once again. Ah. It had been a simple reason all along.

“Yes, alright. Thank you.”

Houtarou/Chitanda, “conflict”

 If there was anything more distant than the sun and the moon, it would be Houtarou and conflict. This is why he lets Ibara taunt him, batting her barbs aside like flies in summer. This is why he tells Satoshi ‘maybe next time’ whenever he gets an invite to the arcade. But then, in comes Chitanda, toppling his perfected balancing act over and over again like it’s nothing more than a tower of jenga blocks. She pulls him close, her cheeks flushed, an insatiable curiosity burning in her eyes. Houtarou squints as he considers his option before realising that he’s screwed either way. Should he risk conflicting with his mantra, or with Chitanda Eru? Before he can make a choice, Chitanda tugs him along, makes him traipse up and down hallways and stairwells, leads him to and from scattered puzzles, buys him a drink, lends him notes for homework, pushes her bike next to him until they part at the intersection and waves, her hair tossed in the wind and her hand ready to catch his soft goodbye.

Houtarou wonders, faintly, if perhaps the best way for him to avoid conflict from now on would be to change his mantra.

… Nah.  

Houtarou+Mayaka, “tipping points”

The door to the geography prep room opens with a loud bang. Houtarou doesn’t need to look up from his book to know that it’s Ibara, and that she’s in a bad mood. She’s the only one out of the four of them whose loud emotions bleed into even louder actions, a trait that Houtarou doesn’t think he’ll ever understand. He only ever feels a quiet prick of sadness when he finds the corners of his paperbacks bent, or an ant bite’s worth of irritation when his pen runs out of ink. Anger is tiring.

Ibara throws her bag onto the table, nearly knocking over his cactus companion. When she pulls a chair out, she deliberately lets it screech against the floor. Houtarou winces. He lifts his eyes up from his book, careful not to look at Ibara’s expression. He keeps his gaze low so all he can see are her shaking fists.  

Being in love is probably exhausting.  

“Look me in the eyes, slug.”

Houtarou feels a shiver run down his spine as he straightens his shoulders and meets Ibara’s demand. When had he become so obedient to her? Actually, strike that, don’t answer that question.

Her eyes aren’t red or puffy, which frighten him more than it should.

“You’re going to be my witness.”

“… Don’t I get a choice here?” Houtarou tries his luck.

“No.”

Well, at least he tried.

He places his book aside, tenting in on the table before leaning back to regard Ibara properly. “What did Satoshi do this time?”

“Nothing,” she starts to say, “and that’s what pisses me off!” She hammers her heel onto the floor to make a statement, her shoulders shaking and her voice cracking. He’s never seen her get so worked up, not since that fateful Valentine’s Day, and he wonders what she needs a witness for. She would only need a witness if she was going to declare something that needed a second party to back up. Something she couldn’t take back. His finger taps against the table and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Before Ibara can say her piece, he decides that he’ll expend just this bit of energy.

“What are you going to do then?” he sits up and asks, wondering if that is enough.

Ibara pauses, her entire tirade washed away for just an instant. She always had a habit of focusing on others instead of considering herself. Houtarou wonders how she can live like that, and doesn’t know if he means that as a compliment or a shame.

She tightens her jaw, her eyes shining with emotions that are too strong, too much, too different from anything Houtarou can ever feel. And yet, it’s because of this that he can’t look away, not just yet.

“… Something,” Ibara finally says. She brings her hands up to slap her cheeks. Hard.

Then, she turns back to Houtarou, her lip quivering with hesitation. “Thanks, Oreki,” she sputters out, shifting her eyes away sheepishly. She gathers her things and leaves the room just as quickly as she came in, but closing the door softly this time.

Houtarou collapses over the table. He hopes that whatever he just did was the right thing to do, and that Satoshi will forgive him in time to come. Being in love is an exhausting thing, after all.

But, that’s why Ibara’s probably the only one who can see it through.

Tsumugu/Chisaki, “symmetry”

After the world turns cold and white, Chisaki shivers, not because of the ice, but because of the frightening realisation that she’s alone. She folds into herself, wishes she could hibernate here, on land, and that if her skin dries and shatters into shards, it is enough of an apology for having left everyone behind.

The light in the room turns on. She closes her eyes tighter, trying to savour whatever darkness she can. She doesn’t budge, not even when she feels a hand—coarse from weaving and pulling at fishing nets—on her shoulder. Instead of forcing her to sit up, Tsumugu bends to match her, and Chisaki doesn’t need to open her eyes to feel that he’s aligned himself next to her in perfect symmetry.

Tsumugu doesn’t say anything. He gives her her silence, just like how he’s given her a roof over her head and three square meals a day and warm saltwater to bathe with. Chisaki can’t fool herself into thinking she’s alone anymore, but Tsumugu lets her do even that.

She wonders how kindness can be so soft and yet so sharp.  

Lucina+Chrom, “teaching/learning”

There were many things her father never had the chance to teach her—how to ride a wyvern, how best to sheathe her sword, how to swallow fear like a bitter pill. Lucina let herself be childish for just this moment, allowed herself to wish she could unlearn her swordplay so that she could feel what it was like to have her father's hand over hers, showing her the way. Instead, she finds herself parrying his blade and knocking him off his feet on the training grounds. She wonders if this is what growing up means.

But, when she feels the warmth of her father's hand as she hoists him onto his feet, when she catches the words “Teach me” wreathed with a wry grin, she wonders if perhaps she hasn’t grown up much at all.  

Pearl/Platina, “home/cooking”

“You were just checking the cookbook, weren’t you?”

“No I wasn’t,” Missy replies curtly. She even pushes the book she’d been peering at just a second ago further away to make her point.

Pearl has known her for so long—he’s battled against her, stood beside her during contests, stayed awake under trees and stars for her, and even saved the world with her—and yet, some things about Missy still elude him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand her fully. Perhaps that’s why he’ll always stick around.

“Y’know, I can show you how to cook if you want,” he offers, scratching the back of his head. It would certainly be a nice change of pace. He’s feeling restless waiting for Dia to return from the store with snacks to get them through the night. They had to practice for a Double Act routine that was going to happen at Hearthome city—and though Dia was perfectly at peace with how their act was going to go, Pearl knew that he was going to lose sleep over his nerves alone.

Missy’s face lights up at his suggestion, but she very quickly brings her wide smile under control. Just barely. “Yes, I suppose that sounds acceptable. I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook,” she says, clearing her throat to hide the excitement in her voice. The fact that she’d left the cookbook out on the coffee table had been an obvious enough hint to Pearl, but he chooses not to tease her this time.

“Well, why haven’t you ever learned? You got a whole line of chefs who could very easily teach you.”

She pauses a moment, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve never had anyone I wanted to cook for before,” she says, in a hushed whisper. Then, she stands up and heads for the manor’s kitchen, not giving Pearl a chance to catch her expression.

He sighs to himself, but gets up from the sofa and follows her anyway.

“Dia and I love riceballs!” he says with a laugh.  

find me blabbing more on twitter! (also petaldancing) 

[sage-nebula]

lubricantshipping! I did one for this ship but I wanna see your thoughts!

All righty!

Who said “I love you” first

Meyer, although funnily enough it was in a conversation that wasn’t entirely about their relationship, and the context wasn’t really romantic, either. I’ve got a fic in-progress for this, actually, but the context is that Meyer brings up the subject of Sycamore adopting Alan, because he’s conscious of the fact that if he and Sycamore do end up married one day, Clemont and Bonnie are going to see Sycamore as their stepfather. Bonnie in particular, Meyer thinks, would want to call Sycamore “Dad” or something of the sort. And that’s great! That’s fine, except he has noticed that Alan still addresses Sycamore as “Professor,” and he doesn’t want—well, here:

“I don’t want to push either of you to do something you’re not comfortable with as far as adoption goes, if either of you don’t want, but I also don’t want to run the risk of making Alan feel like he’s not—or like he can’t be—part of this family, too.”

(Meyer was just talking to Sycamore about it, there—Alan wasn’t present for this conversation.)

Anyway, back on topic—that was the context, and at the start of the conversation we have this little bit here:

“You didn’t adopt Alan, did you?” Meyer repeated. “Officially, I mean. On record.”

“I—no,” Augustine said, and he glanced away for only a second before he caught himself and looked back to meet Meyer’s eyes again. “I didn’t. Where is this coming from? Why do you ask?”

It was Meyer’s turn to frown. He set the remote back on the armrest, stared at it for a moment, and then transferred it to the coffee table instead. When he finally spoke, it was more slowly than usual—more careful, deliberate.

“Things are getting kind of—well, I’d like to think things are getting pretty serious between us. Between you and me. I like you a lot—love you, actually.” His cheeks flushed red, and Augustine couldn’t help but smile as he took Meyer’s hand in his own. Meyer smiled back, and squeezed Augustine’s hand as he ran his thumb along the side of it. “But the thing is, things are getting serious between us and that’s great—but it’s not just us we have to think about. It’s the kids, too.”

That’s what I imagine to be the first time—what ended up being the first time in my headcanon, anyway, due to how naturally that came out, but Meyer’s own shyness about saying it aloud. It’s not a huge, formal declaration, and it’s not the central topic of the conversation—but it still matters, it’s still important, and I think the fact that it happens in the comfort of the living room and feels natural and easy is perhaps better than a dramatic declaration of love. :)

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background

Sycamore! But it’s not just Meyer. It’s actually a selfie Sycamore took of the two of them together, quite possibly with Gabrielle (his garchomp) and Toast (Meyer’s blaziken) also crammed into the shot. Meyer would, except his phone background is actually a candid photo of Bonnie stringing lit Festival de la Vie lights around Clemont as if he himself is a tree.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror

Sycamore starts it, but they both end up doing it every now and then. It’s less “notes” and more pictures/short messages, though. A smiley face here, a “hi :)” there, et cetera.

Who buys the other cheesy gifts

Meyer! He’s pretty big on gift giving and likes to pick up little things whenever he’s out. The thing is, he’s also a practical person at heart, and so even the cheesiest of gifts usually have a practical intent behind them. A box to store things in, or a picture frame—things like that.

Who initiated the first kiss

Sycamore for sure. It was very slow so that Meyer could put the brakes on it at any time if he wanted, but Sycamore definitely made the first move insofar as the kiss goes, just like he made the first move insofar as hitting on Meyer right there on screen for everyone to see in canon.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning

Either-or—it depends on the situation. Sycamore is a sleepyhead for sure, but he’s also used to waking up early due to morning duties around the lab (after all, there are hungry pokémon who need their breakfast), and so there are many mornings where he’ll be awake before Meyer is. But that said, even if he is awake before Meyer is, Sycamore appreciates his own sleep so much that he won’t wake Meyer up unless Meyer has a legitimate reason to be awake (work, et cetera). So if he does have a legitimate reason, then he’ll give him a kiss to wake him up—but if not, he’ll let him sleep.

In the event that the situation is reversed, though, Meyer does inevitably end up kissing Sycamore awake. Sycamore really is a sleepyhead. He’ll sleep ‘til noon if you let him.

Who starts tickle fights

Sycamore might start them, but Meyer finishes them. Sycamore learned not to start them after that.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower

Sycamore is totally the type to pull the, “Mind if I join you?” card. That is 100% his M.O.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch

Meyer! It’s usually something he made himself, too. He’s a fantastic cook.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date

Meyer, because Sycamore knows what he’s about, son. He isn’t really the type to get embarrassed on dates and the like because he knows who he is, knows what he wants, and is at a point in his life where if someone else doesn’t necessarily approve of him, well, oh well. He’s happy and that’s all that matters. Meyer is a bit more self-conscious, though, especially because at the beginning of the relationship he feels like Sycamore is quite a bit “out of his league.” Sycamore does a good job of making sure those insecurities get banished in short order, though.

Who kills/takes out the spiders

We know that the Pokémon universe has at least some normal animals due to things like fish being served in Kalosian restaurants in the XY games, and plankton and coral being mentioned in Sun/Moon, and so I like to think that they have normal insects/arachnids as well (especially since we see normal butterflies in some battle animations in XY, depending on location). So in that case, I like to think that this question can refer to regular spiders rather than pokémon spiders, and if that is the case …

Sycamore has always been one to take spiders outside, because even if they’re not pokémon, he just doesn’t have it in him to kill anything. Meyer, meanwhile, was always an either-or; he has no problem moving insects outside, but at the same time if it’s something like a black widow or brown recluse, and he doesn’t have a cup handy, then he’s less likely to risk a highly venomous spider bite by moving it outside, and more likely to squish the thing before it can bite him or one of his children. (Or, well. he might have Toast kill it. That, too.)

After he and Sycamore get together, though, 99.9% of spiders are moved outside.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk

Sycamore, but the thing is that he’s such a lightweight that it really doesn’t take a lot to get him drunk. And he doesn’t even really like alcohol that much, truth be told—most alcoholic drinks have too tart of a taste for him to enjoy—but give him a couple glasses of champagne at a fancy dinner event and wow, he will loudly proclaim his love, and probably a lot of other things. It’s a bit embarrassing, but Meyer is flattered and appreciates it nonetheless.

[heidianderson]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

[DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER] who’s that? oh it’s [HEIDI ANDERSON]. i hear they’re [TWENTY] and are known as [THE TEMPEST] around [NEW YORK]. they’re also a [SOPHOMORE] at [NEW YORK UNIVERSITY], and are part of [WNYU-FM]. they’re known to be [COOPERATIVE & PRIDFUL] and [TIMID & UNTALENTED]. some people say they remind them of [PERFECTLY COILED LOCKS, TV STATIC POURING THROUGH A ROOM, & PERFECTLY TIMED ANNOUNCEMENTS]. only one way to find out!

TW: parent abandonment

basic information

FULL NAME: Heidi June Anderson

NICKNAME(S): N/A

AGE: Twenty

DATE OF BIRTH: August 31st

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, California

CURRENT LOCATION: New York, New York

ORIENTATION: Lesbian (closeted, identifies as pansexual)

RELIGION: Her dad wants her to practice Scientology, but she refuses, so no religious affiliation

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Democrat

OCCUPATION: Student/Radio Host

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Lives off campus in an apartment (roommate needed!)

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, some Mandarin Chinese

family

FATHER: Cooper Anderson

MOTHER: June Robinson-Anderson

SIBLING(S): N/A

extra

SUN: Virgo

MOON: Gemini

RISING: Virgo

LIKES: True crime, being noticed, the color blue, making her dad proud, gold jewelry, headbands, freshly ironed cotton shirts with matching cardigans

DISLIKES: Disappointing her dad, feeling like she’s not living up to her mom’s potential, bright colors, manipulation, people using her full name

headcanons

When Cooper Anderson travelled back to Lima in the spring of 2012 to visit his younger brother what he was not expecting was to meet a girl eight years his junior studying literature at Lima’s Ohio State campus. June Robinson was exactly the kind of girl Cooper liked to get his hands on. Pretty, recognized his celebrity status, and was smart enough to keep up a conversation with and while normally their story would have ended after their one night stand, they decided to exchange numbers and keep in touch. This led to nightly texting which turned into good morning texts which turned into FaceTime calls which turned into June hopping on a plane to California (the same week as Cooper’s own brother’s wedding). By the time June had landed, Cooper had been given the news that his younger brother had gotten married to his high school sweetheart, the older Anderson just had to retaliate. There was no way he was about to not be told about his own brother’s wedding let alone not be in attendance to cause a disturbance, so he did what any sane person would do. He proposed to June, without a ring, but he covered that one up by telling June that there were going to go to a jeweler and pick out a ring that she wanted. The two didn’t plan to get married that week or even that month, but somehow after June had her pretty engagement ring on, they were running down to a local courthouse.

After the marriage was finalized, June had the most amazing trip in Los Angeles before going back to Lima and finishing up her semester before fully transferring to a campus in LA where her and Cooper could live together and start their life. For two people who jumped the gun on getting married, they surprisingly handled domestic life fairly well. They were happy. Cooper was acting. June was writing. Their income was fairly stable, even if sometimes Cooper had to pick up a random commercial gig or June had to do freelance article work just to make sure they could pay rent for the month. They made things work and despite Cooper’s poor acting chops, he managed to make it big doing random B-list movies and playing roles in random crime shows. Everything was just so good and one thing they agreed on. No kids. Why would they mess up something that was already so perfect?

Well, that was all said and done until they were coming up on their 8th anniversary. Maybe they did want children or maybe they were having a bad case of relationship boredom. They had already travelled, excelled in their careers, what more was their to do besides have a couple of kids? Which is exactly what they did. Heidi June Anderson was born on August 31st, 2024 happy, healthy, and giggling. And again, things were completely fine until they weren’t. It wasn’t long after Heidi’s birth that things started to go south. It had nothing to do with Heidi specifically, but more of the events that transpired after her birth. June got lonely, she wasn’t writing as often, and she was in a rut. It didn’t help that Cooper had some hot blonde as a co-star either on his new movie while June was still recovering postpartum. So, she found solace in a close friend of hers and it wasn’t long before Cooper pieced things together and found June with another man in their own bed. Incoming divorce and custody papers. Everything happened when Heidi was way too young to even piece together a memory of her mother and wanting to move on from the life she built in Los Angeles, she moved away to some European country but that wasn’t the last time Heidi saw her mom. They worked out an agreement where Cooper got full custody, but June had all the visitation rights she wanted as long as she was in town. That wasn’t very often though and by the time Heidi was ten, the visitations stopped altogether.

Growing up with Cooper as a dad wasn’t the worst possible situation. They had pizza for breakfast and cereal for dinner and Cooper always made Heidi watch any movies or tv shows he had been in and made her review and critique them all (Heidi was always one to point out Cooper’s lack of pointing in certain scenes). This meant she had to sit through many, many hours or Cooper “starring” on multiple crime dramas and she gripped onto that. Her entire life she had been shown the showbiz side of life, getting chucked into singing, dancing, and acting lessons and even though she was still watching her dad’s content, she fell in love with crime shows, begging Cooper to put on episodes that wasn’t even his. She wasn’t about to up and become some kind of criminal, but the cases were just so entrancing.

At some point during Heidi’s childhood, Cooper began to realize that he couldn’t raise Heidi by himself. He needed some sort of help from his family so Cooper packed himself and Heidi up to Lima, Ohio. Partly for help via his own family, but he also was more hopeful that June would visit Lima to see her parents more than come to Los Angeles to see her ex-husband and daughter. While in Lima, Heidi spent most of her time with her paternal grandparents while Cooper would be off travelling back and forth to Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, and anywhere else he could find work.

During her formidable teenage years, Heidi had almost chosen to go to William McKinley High School. They had an okay academic and arts program and she lived in the district, but her dad would stand for no such thing. Him and his brother both attended Dalton Academy for most of their teen years and Heidi’s own mother had attended Crawford Country Day and was a crucial member to the Canaries during her own high school years, Heidi’s options were limited and she knew the path her dad wanted for her. She was an Anderson! She was born to sing and act! So, she ended up at Crawford and opting to go for uniforms and rich girl tactics and quickly joined the ranks of the Canaries.

The only problem with Heidi being in the Canaries is cut down to one simple fact - she was simply untalented. She can’t sing, dance, or act very well. This is something her own dad would never say to her, but she’s simply an okay performer. The only real reason she was able to compete and be on the team was because with her extensive background of dance classes and vocal lessons, she can hold a pitch and she can learn choreography and her slight athleticism allowed her to keep up with whatever was thrown at her on the Canaries. It also helped that her dad was a huge booster.

After graduation, Heidi originally had her eyes set on Los Angeles. The sun, her hometown, the gorgeous people, but after visiting New York University on a whim during her senior year, she fell in love with the campus. As much as she wished she had hated it, she didn’t. Now she’s studying at Tisch with a cinema studies major and she’s really happy about it all. Initially, Cooper wasn’t happy with her choice, wanting her to go for something in the dramatics, but he’s come to realize that path might not be for Heidi. 

Heidi’s recently started working at her school’s radio. She didn’t mean to, but it provided some extra credits and looks nice on resumes, so she decided to tack her own weekly radio show on. She gets to play whatever music she wants and talk about whatever’s going on in her mind and Heidi’s starting to get really comfortable being in front of the mic every Tuesday.

extra links

Pinterest Board | Playlist | Google Docs

[oselatra]

Barbershops, books and boogers

How an expat Hall High graduate is creating an early literacy movement back home.

Alvin Irby's big idea started with a haircut. As he sat in a barbershop across from P.S. 069 in the Bronx, N.Y., where he taught first grade from 2008 to 2010, one of his students walked in. "He sat down, and he was just sitting there," Irby said. Irby might not have even thought much about it, except that the student in question was his own, and one he knew would have been well served to spend that idle time with his head in a book. He remembers wishing he had a children's book to give him. And then it hit him. What if there was a bookshelf in the barbershop?

That epiphany turned into a plan: Barbershop Books. Using funds and resources from organizations like The Neubauer Family Foundation, Campaign for Black Male Achievement, the Citizens Committee for New York City and The Chasdrew Fund, Irby and his team launched the program at Denny Moe's Superstar Barber Shop in Manhattan, then Big Russ Barber Shop down the street, then Jesse's Barber Shop in the Bronx. Now there are more than a dozen barbershops with books in New York as well as others in Florida, Ohio, Washington, D.C., and Texas. The formula is simple: identify barbershops with the room, inclination and clientele to support a child-friendly reading space, and put in bookshelves. Barbershop Books has garnered praise from the likes of TV series "Reading Rainbow" and actors and rappers Ice Cube and Killer Mike.

Irby, a 2003 graduate of Little Rock Hall High School, began to get attention in local news stories earlier this year, when the National Book Foundation awarded him its Innovations in Reading Prize of $10,000. With help from former Hall and Grinnell College classmate state Rep. Charles Blake (D-Little Rock), Irby plans to direct those funds toward implementing the program in a growing number of locations — including 10 barbershops in Little Rock and North Little Rock.

One of them, Salon 11.13, sits at 3925 John Barrow Road, south of Interstate 630. Parkview Arts & Science Magnet High School and the Sidney S. McMath Library are on that stretch of roadway, but otherwise, it's dotted with a steadily alternating pattern of liquor stores and churches. The sign outside the salon is sleek, embossed with the slogan "Where YOUR hair is OUR business." There's an old-fashioned barbershop pole alongside those words, the kind with the candy cane stripes and the silver top. It's the lone symbol of barbershops past; all else is new and spotless, from the crisp landscaping to the mixed stone and brick exterior of the building. Inside, owner Lawrence Anderson — whose November birthday gives the shop its name — stood with clippers in hand, making his way up the back of client David Mobley's scalp, starting from the neck and working upward.

"I've been cutting Dave's hair about 10, 12 years," Anderson recalled. Somewhere in Anderson's memory bank, there's a list of clients and their tenures. He remembers how long they've been sitting in his chairs, and which ones have followed him from shop to shop. When you find a barber you trust, Mobley said, you stick with the routine.

"I do this every Thursday at 12. I used to do it twice a week —"

"Twice a month," Anderson corrected him.

"Twice a month," Mobley repeated. "And," gesturing to Anderson, "he would be like, 'You can't be going anywhere and not having your hair cut every week.' "

Anderson cuts in. "My motto is: You should never look like you just got a hair cut. You should never look like you need a hair cut. You should just always have a hair cut. If you look like you just had a hair cut, that means you waited too long before you got it."

Anderson, who's lived in Central Arkansas his whole life, spends much of his time outside the barbershop coaching sixth-grade basketball and fifth- and sixth-grade football at Episcopal Collegiate School.

Anderson gestured to a young man in the anteroom. "Just to mess with him, I'm gonna tell you that the kid sitting up there in front is one of the kids I used to try to beat," Anderson said. He described a reconnaissance mission he made to suss out the future opponent's tactics. The "kid" was Donavan Smith, 17. He's a student at Little Rock Christian Academy. He's large and athletic, and he'd been silent until now, affirming Anderson's version of the tale to me at intervals with one soft-spoken "yes, ma'am" after another.

Anderson's spying on Smith in middle school, the story goes, was intercepted by Smith's mother and grandmother who, Anderson said with a laugh, "tried to attack me 'cause I was scoutin' their team. They told me, 'You're not playing, so go ahead and get out.' That's how I got him as a client." Anderson came out unscathed, with another head of hair to trim.

***

Irby's resume boasts two master's degrees and a litany of titles like "Education Director, Boys Club of New York." He's had years of experience teaching in public, private and charter schools. His work encouraging people to read books, though, predates those credentials. When he ran for Student Council president of Hall High in his senior year, his platform was "It Takes 2," a reading program he designed after becoming disillusioned with the curriculum in his 10th-grade English class.

"After a semester," he said, "the only thing I'd learned was that my teacher thought O.J. was innocent." He was coasting, with a near-perfect grade in the class, but he was bored out of his mind. After that semester, Hall allowed him to transfer to a pre-AP class where he got his first taste of racial inequities in the public school system. "I just remember walking into the class," he said, "and the first question that popped into my mind was, 'Where did all these white people come from?' In my regular class, it was all black and Latino students."

He devoured "The Great Gatsby" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and, fueled by a growing disenchantment with the disparity in reading level expectations, conducted a survey of 200 of his classmates to gauge reading habits across the school. He met with the community-relations manager for the Little Rock Barnes & Noble, who offered him $810 in the form of in-store gift cards for his peers to use toward extra-curricular reading. One day, he recalled, he was waiting in line to buy candy after school when his principal appeared beside him and said, "You know, Alvin, you're gonna be a better principal than I ever was." He responded with a "Never."

"But you know, I went off to college," Irby said, "and I took one education course and I couldn't sleep at night. My brain wouldn't turn off. I'd think about all the things I would do if I had a classroom. And that's when I decided to stop running from what I think has been my calling all along, which is to help inspire people and children to fall in love with learning."

***

Even before the bookshelves have been installed at Salon 11.13, people in the community have already begun dropping off books of their own choosing; Anderson has short, tidy stacks of titles — among them, Margaret Musgrove's "Ashanti to Zulu: African Traditions" and Anna Kosof's biography of Jesse Jackson. As well intentioned as those donations are, Irby and Blake aren't likely to use those titles in this particular program. In fact, the list of approved titles for Barbershop Books is squarely focused on the program's targeted audience, kids ages 4 to 8: Dav Pilkey's "The Adventures of Captain Underpants," Ezra Jack Keats' "The Snowy Day," Sonia Sanders' "LEGO City: Calling All Cars!"

To better understand why Irby's vision doesn't call for reading spaces brimming with copies of the "March" trilogy or illustrated histories of, say, Frederick Douglass or Shirley Chisholm, it's helpful to note the subject matter of the book Irby authored himself: boogers. His debut, "Gross Greg," is a rhyming picture book about a boy who loves to eat his boogers, published last September with pop-off-the-page illustrations by Kelvin Ntukula. (Would that boogers glittered like green "Ghostbusters" slime in the real world!) On the cover, a boy in sun-and-moon pajamas holds his left index finger up, perfectly poised to transfer the gleaming green blob from his fingertip to his open mouth. Behind him, his sister — also in pajamas — points at him, horrified. The first few lines of "Gross Greg" read like this:

"Bam! Bam! Bam! Greg hears three loud knocks on his bedroom door.

Now Greg knows he can't sleep anymore.

'Out of bed!' says his mom with a shout.

We'll be late for school. There's no time to pout.'

'Ahhhhhhhhh.' With a loud yawn, he's up on his feet.

Greg's eyes are still sleepy, but he wants something to eat."

Reviews posted on Irby's website range from "My son can't put it down, and he's 23" to one from a New York City first-grade student identified as Nathaly, who said, "I enjoyed your story Gross Greg because it was very silly. Can you make more books like Gross Greg eats worms and Gross Greg eats his homework? You are ready to make more books," she declared. And, gratuitously outing her own "Greg," she added, "My brother eats his boogers."

Far too often, Irby said, "the children's books that feature black children often deal with these very serious topics — civil rights, for example. 'Gross Greg' is kind of my effort to combat that kind of oppression narrative that's so often the case when it comes to children's books that have black main characters. ... To me, creating 'Gross Greg' was about creating a character who depicts just being a kid, and this is something that really challenges a lot of adults and educators. ... There are books that will get kids excited about reading, but they may not be the books that you're currently using or that you might even consider using." What he's found from his travels to conferences and symposiums on early literacy around the country, he said, "is that a lot of adults are more concerned about what they like than what will inspire kids to fall in love with reading."

Irby could just as well add science to that, too. "Gross Greg" has a set of online games adjacent to the story, teaching kids how to read graphs ("How many kids think mustard-covered pancakes is the grossest thing?"), how to think about fractions ("Color in 1/4 boogers!") and how to tell time ("Show the time on the clock when Greg ate his boogers!")

It should be said that Irby probably thinks a lot about igniting a spark with audiences, and not just in the context of the classroom. He moonlights as a stand-up comic. On his "other" resume, the title of "comedian" is sandwiched between "educator" and "entrepreneur." Irby was a finalist in the 2015 StandUp NBC Competition, and spent time the following year giving performances at colleges in Pennsylvania and upstate New York. Most recently, he's recruited some of his comedy peers to perform for "Fresh Fade Comedy," a fundraiser for Barbershop Books.

"Gross Greg," for its author, is about giving kids room to be goofy. It's about "affirming the humanity of children," he said. "I know that might sound weird to think of a book about boogers affirming somebody's humanity. When you think about the media, though, and the way black boys are often depicted in public spaces, they often are not allowed to be children. They have the whole world on their shoulders," he said, "because everybody is looking at them expecting them to do this or do that. ... They're being suspended and expelled from preschools at disproportionately higher rates than their white counterparts. They're being shot down in the streets because somebody thinks that a 10-year-old is a 16-year-old, or an 18-year-old."

Over at Salon 11.13, Donavan rested his chin on his chest, allowing Anderson to clip, then brush the nape of his neck. "You remember earlier today when you called me and I wasn't here?" Anderson asked. I nodded. He gestured to Donavan. "I was helping him jump his car off because he didn't know how to do it." I asked Donavan why, faced with a dead battery on a hot day in late June, it was Anderson he called. "I knew he could fix something like that. And I trust him," he said.

***

Like the shop in the Bronx where Irby's Barbershop Books idea was born, New Tyler Barber College in North Little Rock sits across from an elementary school. It's a labyrinth of classrooms and workstations, and the walls are lined with visual aids that span disciplines: anatomy, geometry, health and hygiene, chemistry and conduct. Owner/operator and barber Ricky Bryant runs the place, and has since the '90s, when his father, Daniel, developed colon cancer. Bryant, who was working hair shows as a platform artist for the Andis clipper company in North Carolina, returned to Arkansas and stepped into the family business. He spent his childhood working with his father at Smith Barbershop on Washington Avenue in North Little Rock, "folding towels, linens, whatever needed to be done," he said, and at New Tyler after his father founded the school in 1979.

Bryant practically emanates pragmatism and discipline, so it didn't come as a shock when he said he starts his day at New Tyler at 6:45 a.m. "My dad always told me, 'If you get here early and the water line's busted, you might get it fixed before anyone walks in the door.' "

Like Anderson, Bryant didn't need a lot of convincing after hearing the pitch for Barbershop Books. "I remember the annual Barber Board meeting," he said. "Growing up, and being here since '79, I've had kids come in that know me, whose parents I've never seen. They walk to school, maybe come in here to buy a snack or come get a haircut by themselves." He recounted Irby's moment of inspiration, noting the spot in the school's reception area where the elementary students from across the street tend to sit and wait. "Most of the older kids have a phone," he said, "but the younger kids are just sitting there."

***

The next day at Salon 11.13, Charles Blake's two boys are huddled together in the anteroom. At first, they want the same book about the L.A. Lakers. That subsides. Maybe it was a little premature for them to pick up that particular one; at one point, it was being read upside down. Blake, who was there to get his hair cut, chimed in. "That's how you know it's that fake reading," he said. "When the book is upside down."

In 2010, a D.C.-based public school advocacy group called the Council of the Great City Schools released a report, "A Call For Change," based on 2009 statistics from the National Assessment of Educational Progress. Among other things, the study concluded that only around 12 percent of black fourth-grade boys were proficient in reading. Irby's team rallies behind a close inverse of that statistic, quoted on the Barbershop Books website: "85 percent of America's black male fourth-grade students are not proficient in reading."

When people hear that statistic, Irby said, "a lot of times there's blame on the kid. 'The kid needs to put down this, they need to do this.' What I like to ask people is, 'What cultural factors, what social cues are present in their lives that will lead them to conclude that reading is something they should do?' " Put simply, he said, if you want to get kids to read a book, read a book yourself. "If you don't have any men in your life who are modeling reading for you, if none of your friends are reading, if none of the books you like are being used for instructional purposes at school," he asked, "then why would you conclude that you are a reader?"

Barbershop Books aims, in Irby's words, to "help young black boys and other boys of color identify as readers by connecting books to a male-centered space and by involving men and boys in those early reading experiences."

The word "identity" rolls across Irby's tongue warmly, and often. It's one he sees as the core of this program and, more broadly, at the core of a successful education system. What's more, it's an approach he believes has the potential to bear more fruit than teaching methods that emphasize skills. "I really try to push people to, instead of focusing on skills — and the skills a child doesn't have ... to use an asset-based approach instead of a deficit-based approach," he said. "To ask, 'What are they interested in? What are the things that make them laugh? What are the things that are important to them?' Then, let's see if we can connect reading to those things." For many of the children Irby's taught, he said, "their first and early reading experiences in schools are them doing some sort of assessment where a teacher is telling them all the letters they don't know, all the letter sounds they don't know, all the words they don't know. What kind of effect do you think that will have on their reading identity?" The real mark of progress, Irby observed, is when kids read in situations where reading is not required. "A lot of kids — and I'm sure this is the case in Little Rock — as soon as the school day ends, as soon as the school year ends, they do not touch books," he said. "That has to do with identity, not reading skills. If a kid identifies as a reader, then they're a reader whether school is happening or not."

As of now, there are 59 barbershops listed on the nonprofit's website as part of the program, and that number doesn't include the 10 reading spaces slated for implementation in Central Arkansas, which also include the Goodfellas Barbershops on Asher Avenue, Main Street, Green Mountain Drive and Stagecoach Road; World Champion on Daisy L. Gatson Bates Drive; Skillz Barber Shop on 12th Street, Headz Up Barber Shop on Geyer Springs Road and The Hair Show on Kiehl Avenue in Sherwood. When making choices about additions to the program, Irby considers a few criteria. "We want barbershops who have at least 40 kids a month coming in. We also want to have the space to accommodate the bookshelves, and we want the barbershop owners or managers to support, to be willing to host it. That's pretty much it." Irby and Blake plan to schedule a session in mentorship training, likely at St. Mark Baptist Church, where both Blake and Lawrence attend services. "There are thousands of barbershops in black communities across the country," Irby said, "and there are also a number of barbershops that serve primarily Spanish-speaking clientele, who I think would absolutely benefit from the Barbershop Books program."

To recommend a book, volunteer to sponsor a reading space or find out more about the Barbershop Books program, visit barbershopbooks.org.

Barbershops, books and boogers