#year of the myke

[tunastime]

okay for kalesa and julian again, i imagined them getting caught in the rain and having to take shelter somewhere and just waiting it out and having a moment, so…. “you’re my happy place.” & “don’t get cheesy on me.” + watching the rainfall — do with that what you will :3

"You're my happy place." "Don't get cheesy on me." / watching the rainfall (914 words) (x)

The first raindrop hits Julian square in the head. He blinks—startled when another thumps his shoulder, the drizzle picking up pace through the leaves. The air smells like wet grass and dirt in an instant as all the tiny blades of grass and flowers and leaves shake awake to receive all the water they can. He holds his hand out, tests the strength of the rain, and when nothing falls into his open palm, he turns his gaze back from where he was standing against the house, back into the small field in front, where the collection of kids smack around small wooden practice swords. A few of them have abandoned the lesson entirely to run in the slight drizzle of rain. 

Kalesa practices easy, calculated movements across the way as well, sparring in slow motion with one of the teenagers. He watches her for a moment, her tail flicking as she makes a hundred micro-adjustments to her stance, her sword form, the power she puts behind the wooden swing of the blade. Her brow is drawn tight in concentration as the rain falls, darkening her shirtsleeves. She drops her stance slowly as she notices the rain, stretching her hand out to test it, startling when the drops fall on her head. She looks over to Julian with wide eyes, face breaking into a grin. He doesn't see her nod to her partner or send her off, but he hears her laugh from across the small field as she makes her way over, weaving between the kids.

"Just going to leave me out there to melt?" Kalesa teases. "How very saintly of you."

"You know divinity was never my aim," Julian snorts, carefully sheathing the silver-coated blade he'd been holding. It sits tightly in its scabbard, the gem-inlaid hilt glittering as he sets it carefully against the front door. He's draped his tabard over the banister. A breeze tugs at the loose bits of his tunic, ruffling his hair, tossing about his boot laces. He sinks down against the wooden steps, stretching out his legs. 

Dressed in matching, simple pants and hide armor, Kalesa looks so similar to the knights he went to school with: slightly out of breath, beaming with pride, hair pulled tightly away from her face. The hide is dark in spots from rain and sweat and as she sits, he waves her over.

"It's just a little rain," he soothes, hands working to loosen the side straps of her leather chestplate. She moves without question to the other side. "You won't die."

"You never know," she argues. Julian laughs, pulling the chestpiece off in one motion as Kalesa ducks her head, pulling at her linen shirt to unstick it from her back. 

"I think I know," Julian says. Kalesa makes a noise in the back of her throat, one Julian has come to know too well to not catch. Thin ice, it says. It's not much of a threat, though. Not as Kalesa shuffles over and makes space in the curve of his side for her to sit. Her hand slides back around him and falls to his hip, tracing a soft line over where she knows a long, thin scar tracks, raised but healed. He lets out the rest of the breath caught in his chest as he easily burdens himself with her weight and leans to accommodate. The rain patters down into puddles in the front garden, soaking the shirts of the children running around in the sand and mud and grass. The warmth that weasels up in his chest sits right between his lungs and his heart, forcing him to swallow and breathe around it, to feel every stretch of that new ligament illuminated by love and light. It feels a lot like hope—a muscle he'd forgotten to work the knots out of, a muscle that strained and tore when pulled the wrong way, one he'd begun to cultivate again, to tug at, to foster. And as his heart thuds around it and through it and it moves with him, it feels. Easy. To breathe. Kalesa makes a warm line from shoulder to hip bone. Her clothes carry a scent like campfire ashes and charcoal, and he's never so badly wanted to smell like a bonfire.

"I think you're my happy place," he breathes, squeezing a little closer. Kalesa laughs, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Are you getting cheesy on me?"

He snorts, warmth rising to his face. He can feel the cool band around his left ring finger, the fine, woven pieces of metal that made its latticework. He presses his cheek to the space between her horns, sighing sweetly.

"I sure hope so," he says. "I've always been the sappy one."

Kalesa laughs again, squeezing his side. A shudder of warmth prickles up his ribcage, curling around his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, he kisses the top of her head. The tingling feels a lot like love. It feels a lot like being wanted. And, with enough of it, and if he let himself, as he always did, he could drown in it. 

"I'm glad," Kalesa says quietly to his collarbone. "It's been long enough at this point. What, six years?"

"Just hit six," he hums. He hears her sigh, relax a little further, and return to the soft soothing of his side.

"Let's try for six more, mm?" she says. 

Julian hums his agreement, smiling into her hair.

[passavantsridge]

My favorite part of tumblr is reappearing once a month to give a life update nobody asked for and then disappear again bc I have no idea what anyone is talking about while telling myself "oh i'll watch that show everyone is talking about" but the spoiler is that i do not watch it

[myketheartista]

hey gamers! if you don’t know me by name, just consider me the lesbian parvill artist. im here to say that you should vote for Bangarry against Hatsome so they can move on to face Parvill. my offer is that i’ll post the full image of this drawing if Bangarry ends up beating Parvill. i was planning to post it further on in the future… but with your vote for Bangarry, you could get it SOONER! god knows with how bad my attention span is, you could never get it! war isn’t easy, and i am a certified Hatsome and Parvill soldier, but sacrifices must be made to achieve world (bangarry) domination. so vote to move Bangarry onto the true battle against Parvill where your vote will be most valued…. and yeah, you’ll get girlfriends. i’ll also throw in a doodle or two of them as extra compensation.

@yogscastshipbracket

[markerofthemidnight]

Update: Making art of one of the OC Veldigun I previously mentioned. Basically, all you need to know is that he has two forms: a digital cartoon version that he uses to communicate with the OO, and his real form, which is rarely seen and hyper-realistic, like the contrast between Toon Lankmann and the real Lankmann.

Beginning to realise the problem with my art may be that I’m only good at drawing things when they’re viscerally terrifying, because this is what the sketch art for Real Mychael (or at least, his head) looks like…

(scopophobia tw under cut!)

[mykeyung]

2022 Gains and Losses by Myke Y.U.N.G.

2022, a lot of people left this world,

But while we dealt with loss and pain,

What they left behind and the lessons

They gave while living is a gain we must  

Remember and take notice of even when

They have moved on. England lost their

Queen, but they gained memories of a ruler

That multiple generations can identify with.

We lost the King of Games, who came up with the

Still popular card game, Yu-Gi-Oh, but we gained

Lessons including you can settle things with games

Of luck and skill rather than with violence and abuse  

Of power, you can succeed by believing in yourself and

The cards you assembled and having faith in that you will  

Win despite the odds being against you, friendship is key

In making it through life’s obstacles and don’t have doubt

That it’s over until you play every move you got. We lost

Childhood heroes like Jason David Frank and Kevin Conroy,  

Coolio, a rap legend, and other rap legends in the making,

 But we gained lessons from the different rangers JDF played showing  

Skills of leadership, fighting off people who try to control  you, and the rewards 

That came with hard work and discipline and Kevin Conroy showed you 

Don’t have to be live action to be a superhero that makes an impact and all the 

Rappers, who died  left behind timeless music with their stories to get to fame 

Forever  being in tune with unforgettable beats. We lost Bob Saget, but we

Gained life lessons when he was a sitcom dad no matter how full the house got

And outside of lives being lost, we lost money due to inflation, but gained

A deeper appreciation of what you take for granted and lastly I lost time 

Developing my mindset, but gained a mindset that will help me avoid making the same mistakes  

I did in the past, strengthen my focus into a whole new level and move forward with

My goals with minimal pit stops. So as we look ahead into the next year, give flowers

And spend time with those who are still above ground and there is a gain in each loss

We take, but hopefully you gain more and make use of it before the next loss hits you.

[ailelie]

How to Reappear Unexpectedly

Back in 2008ish, I loved this website called PodioBooks which was full of podcast novels. This is where I first found Mur Lafferty and others authors. Some of the books were absolute gems. My favorite though was How to Disappear Completely.

This story has remained one of my top 10 favorite books. Unfortunately, the novel is a bit rough as it was written while being recorded. The author later published an anthology that was a sequel to a revised version of the novel. But he never shared that revised version.

Do you know difficult it is to share a story that has promised revisions and that has a sequel to that revised version?

(The sequel changes one character's surname. Amusingly, he's changed this character's surname again so the novel and sequel stories still won't match. She's gone from Braithwaite to Cartwright to Jones. A larger change is a character introduced in the novel is re-introduced in the sequel stories for the first time).

Still, I did share about it. I requested fic for Yuletide (never got it) and wrote a rec post. In the intervening years, the author (Myke Bartlett) became a journalist (it looks like he might now write for the Guardian?), won a prize for a YA novel, but otherwise sort of disappeared.

Today the author messaged me on tumblr. Someone had forwarded him one of my review/rec posts and he really liked it. He sent me a link to his website. I was about to reply that I'd been to his website, but I managed to actually go check before doing so and I am so glad that I did. The website was fun once with character bios/etc, but had *also* disappeared. I thought maybe it was just back online or that he had re-shared the original story, but no.

He's releasing the revised How to Disappear Completely as a new podcast.

He's on episode 11. It's been over a decade and this story I despaired over ever getting to read is finally being released.

I can't wait to listen.

I can't wait to share this story again.

I know it will be amazing.

[handsome-edvard]

Saw a post where someone was like When I look at this picture I see my future flash before my eyes and this is my version of that

[moviestarmartini]

la playa - jude bellingham x reader

" yo te lo hice a ti en la playa / justo al frente de la orilla / ella y yo no somo' nada pero solo entre comilla "

pairing: jude bellingham x latina!reader

summary: situationship!jude asked to spend the summer vacations with you. he's been looking at you with something other than his hungry eyes for some time now.

wc: 2.0k

warnings: really short instagram aus at both the beginning and the end, situationship where they both clearly fell for each other but won't discuss it, pet names in spanish, NSFW, semi-public sex, soft dom!jude if you squint, teasing, p in v, praise, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all), creampie, cockwarming, fluff (aka two big goofs in love).

A/N: i haven't written a fic in more than a year but i'm on break from uni and this man has been plaguing my every thought UGHH i'm also tired of january, it should be spring break already so i'm manifesting that energy into both this fic and the new year !! reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :>

now playing... la playa by myke towers

yourusername verano contigo 🤍

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, settling your phone down after the content had been uploaded.

You met Jude by spare chance. You’d been living in Madrid for a bit more than a year, occupied with your studies by the time the star boy reached the promised land. Jogging in Valdebebas at six thirty in the morning and having a black car pull up next to you was the way you were sure you were leaving this earth, instead finding a footballer asking for directions at the other side of the rolled-down window.

You easily discover the real reason later on. He was not lost, but had seen you around the residential complex; he’d only gotten the courage to talk to you after taking a big jug of coffee that morning, or so he claimed.

You’d noticed he had been staring at your glistening skin as you tanned your backside, but decided against commenting until the cheeky smile started to blossom. “Nothin’ “ He shook his head, but a tiny smile was half hidden behind his plush lips, giving away other intentions. The sun was so bright it was dazing, you’d sat under it for a while now hoping to darken your skin. The heat felt funny inside your tummy, similar to how Jude made your guts churn whenever he hooked your legs over his shoulders. “You’re sitting too far. C’mere.”

“Jude, mi rey, we’ve been holding hands the whole time I’ve been tanning.” You replied shortly, looking at him from behind your shades.

“Not close enough.” He practically whined, tugging at your arm with need, coercing you to get up and sit on his lap under the shade.

“Better?” You asked from your newfound place in his crotch, warm bodies coming in contact as you settled. You noticed him nod, his arm wrapping your waist in a way his forearm rested against your bare abdomen covering your belly button.

“Why won’t you post me?” His lower lip puckered out, eliciting a laugh out of you as you turned to face him briefly before turning towards the vast ocean in front of you. A small groan left his lips at the innocent movement.

After analyzing the vivid memory of his face, and thinking through your words, you spoke up. “Didn’t know if you wanted me to.” Once again, got comfortable in his lap. A sigh followed, coming from the man behind you.

“Have I ever told you how much I like that bikini on you?” Jude spoke after a minute or so of comfortable silence. You felt him toying with the drawstring of the bottoms. You could also feel something poking at your bare ass. “But not as much as I like you…”

“I think you’ve mentioned how you wanted to take it off.” Your voice barely came out; a mumble almost, ignoring the last sentence. Your heart thud against your chest, louder than it had done before when he questioned his presence— or lack thereof— in your vacation post. You peered around the area, only to find the waves crashing close to your beach beds’ location, and pearl-ish white sand spread for miles on end— just the two of you.

You felt him nod again, his chin brushing against your shoulder. Though he confirmed your suspicions of his true intentions, Jude’s hand didn’t undo the strap that held together the skimpy bikini. Instead, his fingers trailed the hem of the swimsuit, barely touching the warm skin. “Can I?”

The tone of his voice was low, the manner only brought goosebumps down your spine. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being eager, or at least the stupor of the hot day didn’t allow you to nod fast enough for you to look desperate. “You don’t know how happy I am to get you like this…” His hand sneaked under the piece at a painfully slow pace. Even though you knew what was going to happen, your breath got stuck in your throat.

“You always get me like this whenever you please.” It could be a complaint coming from anyone else, but it was just the reality of the situation. The relationship between you and Jude was… unclear. Feelings had been owned up to, but a title hadn’t been discussed. In fact, this was the first trip you tagged along; he asked you personally to do so. But you still decided against reading too much into it.

“You were saying, love?” Jude chuckled with malice, smirking at the way your skin prickled up at his touch applied to the bundle of nerves between your legs— which also spread involuntarily to give him better access. The way your words morphed with the moans and delirious sighs brought only further satisfaction to the British national.

“Don’t get all sassy with me.” You complained through a breathy laugh, eyes falling shut. His other hand trailed upwards your torso, to rest against your breasts and get straight into the task of cupping the left one first. The circles to your clit were steady, too steady for your liking. But still good enough to enjoy, and your moans let him know he was doing a stellar job. As per usual.

“What do you want, amor?” You managed to ask. Jude could’ve internally cursed, you knew him too well. A little too well for his liking. Instead of providing an answer, he pressed harder against your clit, the pressure catching you off guard, doubling down the attitude too.

“You,” Jude replied after what seemed years after he couldn’t take any more of your squirming. “Just you, all for me.” You could feel his stubble brushing against your shoulder before his lips pressed onto the length of your neck. It was all too much for you; the heat, the bright sun, the dryness settling in your tongue, his hands touching your body, his hard, clothed cock pressing against your backside, and the coil tightening in your lower stomach.

But he stopped.

Almost bewildered, you gasped, at the same time he undid the bunny ears that kept your swimsuit together. A smile crept onto your face as you turned to face him, thighs on either side of his hips. “You’re looking at me like that again.” You noted humbly, undoing the string of your bra. He couldn’t even formulate a response at the sight of your bare body, eyes scanning every inch, adoring the fresh tan lines.

“How could I not? You’re perfect.” Jude breathed out, leaning forward to catch his lips in yours. It was slow, but oozing with need and passion. You felt a pressure built up in your stomach, sparks, but you hesitated if he ever felt those around you.

“My perfect girl.” He breathed against your lips, hands holding onto your hips as he watched you undo the string that held his swimsuit tighter to his waist. He helped you pull the item down, barely resting at his upper thighs.

He leaned forward once again to catch your lips on his, letting out a tiny groan as you leaned further, just to tease him. “Kiss me,” Jude whined, stomach tightening at the firm grip around his shaft.

“Tranquilo, mi rey.” You cooed, working him up by rubbing his swollen tip on the warm and wet hole before finally sinking down his length. A pair of harmonious groans left both of your lips once you sat in his lap again, hips circling to get accustomed to the stretch.

“I can’t calm down when I’m obsessed with you.” Jude breathed out, large hands helping you steady the pace of your hips. He watched hypnotized by the way his cock disappeared in and out of your warm walls. His eyes were set, as though he wanted to train them to imprint the image in the back of his mind.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance. “Eyes up here, big boy.” The friendly banter defined your relationship; you often wondered if putting a label on things would make that disappear. But it was all just a wall to hide behind the adoration you felt for him, using it to dodge every compliment, in fear that none of his words were sincere. You could tell he wasn’t disappointed in the slightest when meeting your eyes, and the look you couldn’t pinpoint for the whole afternoon reappeared as he tangled his fingers in your hair and drew you right in for a kiss.

A kiss fierce enough to make you weak in the knees.

It was the perfect opportunity for Jude to accommodate his stance to start thrusting upwards, the sweetest noise he managed to squeeze out from the back of your throat was worth the tension in his core. Instantly, your back arched to give him the perfect angle. “I want you like this all the time…” He moaned into your mouth, hands on your hips to pin you down.

“Jude…” You mewled, the sound of skin coming into contact filling the empty air, harmonizing with the waves crashing near the beach spot you both occupied. You could feel your orgasm building rapidly, and Jude wasn’t foreign to the squeezing that built-up with every frantic thrust.

“C’mere doll, you’re doing so good f’me. Cum all over my cock, c’mon.” His voice was soft, the encouragement overlapping with his own groans of pleasure. He drew you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. Jude resisted the usual drawn-out teasing and mocking, now finding satisfaction in babying you as he slammed deep into you.

The string of incoherent babbles left your mouth shortly after his praises reached your ears. Jude closed his eyes to both contain himself from releasing at the way your pulsating walls were milking him so deliciously, but to also cherish the way your moans turned up the octave, nails digging into the sweaty skin of his bicep. Yet again, the heat you’ve been withstanding for the entirety of that morning hazed you, making a fantastic team with the warmth of Jude’s strong arms and the faded smell of his cologne mixed in with the salty air.

But all it took to push you right off the edge was a kiss. A single kiss pressed to your shoulder.

Your release consisted of a cocktail of your orgasm and a wave of realization crashing over you. You were head over heels with the man who was currently squishing your face against his buff chest, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he held you down. Groans and chants of your name replaced your meek moans and sighs, his cum filling you up. You allowed him the luxury of doing so every once in a while, and the dream-like stupor that enveloped your mind currently created the desire for him to do so.

The sounds of waves crashing filled the air once more, overshadowing the heavy breathing you shared. You stayed put, even cuddling closer to him as soon as the tremor left your legs. Time seemed to slow down, and you wondered how difficult the task of pulling away from him would soon be.

“Can I post you?”

Jude broke the silence, he’d been busy brushing your hair strands back into place upon the comfortable silence you’d set on. There was an arm still wrapped along the width of your waist. You pulled back to look him in the eyes, expecting to see playfulness in them, but finding a completely serious stare in return. “Since a certain someone won’t post me…”

“Oh, stop it!” You laughed, cheeks flushed at the idea. “If you think it's that great on an idea…” You puckered your lips while replicating his tone, cupping his face and planting a peck on his lips.

Jude smirked, licking his lips to chase the taste of you. But his eyes were soft, full of adoration. That look. It would blossom by just admiring your presence, or during one of his favorite activities– making you happy. “All I have are great ideas. Amazing, even.” He stole a peck off from you. You giggled, and a smile subconsciously peaked from behind his lips.

His heart flipped in his chest for the hundredth time that trip.

Jude, lost for words, just shook his head and reached for his phone. He started to wonder how a person could compete so easily with the grandiose, warmth and shine of the sun above.

But one peek down at you, snuggled up against him, answered all his questions.

judebellingham summer with you 🤍

A/N: used @ keilanilizbeth on instagram as the fc

and that pic on the left has me wishing i could match sambas with jude 😞😞

[pedripics]

Pedri via Residency - July 18, 2024

How are you feeling? - "Incredible! Winning the Euros was crazy"

How is the injury? - "Better every day. I've just started my holidays, but I'm training every day to recover and start the season at the top of my game"

Winning the World Cup? - "I can't even imagine that feeling. It's the dream that every child who plays football wants to fulfil. I have already won LaLiga with Barça and now the Euros with Spain. Now on to the Champions League and the World Cup"

How did your family react to seeing you win the Euros? - "They were very happy! They were with us at every game of the tournament and at the celebrations"

Feelings for next season? - "Very good, both personally and as a team. It could be a great year"

Winning World Cup or Champions League? - "Why choose? That's like choosing between your dad and mom"

How did you feel when you were lying on the ground because of your injury? - "I knew what he had done to me that was going to stop me from playing. I was in pain and also annoyed that I had to stop because of the injury."

Do you like Japan? - "Yes! I like sushi... and I won an Olympic medal there"

Will Nico come to Barça? - "I have no answer to that question. What is clear is that he would be a great signing for Barça. He has shown what he is capable of in the Euros"

Would you play as a goalkeeper? - "Hahahaha that's what my father was there for. There is no need for more goalkeepers in my family"

Did you have a great time at the Euros celebrations? - "I had a crazy time, actually. It was a moment of celebration with the whole country after a great tournament. Although I had to take care of my knee at all times. The rest of the players didn't have that problem 🥲" (kroos i am gonna find you istg)

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? - "Well... playing football at the highest level, like now. In the future I want to start a family, but in 5 years i am not so sure"

Is it fun to do photoshoots? - "I always say no to my team and especially at the beginning I was embarrassed, but now I'm used to it. I try to have fun and have a good time, although I prefer a ball to a camera"

Advice when you suffer from your first big injury? - "Well, be patient, because in the end, with work and effort, the good times return"

Feelings for the new season? - "I think it's going to be really good. Now it's time to rest a bit and recover and get back to work as soon as possible under the orders of the new coach. We are sure that this new season will bring us a lot of joy."

Do you have a favourite female singer? - "Hora Cero, by Myke Towers, is the one I've liked the most lately... and of course 'Pedro' by Raffaella Carrá" (sir that's not an answer and we both know it lol)

Real Madrid will win La Liga again - "Veremos..."

Advice for young players? - "Have fun playing and try not to lose the things that street football gives you"

Favourite teammate? - "Ferran. The truth is, he is a great teammate and friend. He always supports me and gives me advice"

Is Ferran single? - "I would say so, unless he's gotten a girlfriend since Tuesday when I haven't seen him"

Your best friend? - "I have several. Dani, Fran and Rubén, who have been my friends since childhood"

Are you excited about the new Camp Nou? - "I am already looking forward to playing there again. Playing at the Camp Nou will surely help us on be on top... The visit impressed me, because of the project and because I saw how it works inside"

Where are you on vacation? - "As always, I am on holidays on my island, in Tenerife"

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? Looking like my profile picture (a picture of him being bald)? - "Yessss. Everyone is asking me if I am going bald... one day I will, for sure! That's easier than having Cucurella's hair"

Dream vacation? - "Wherever it is, with my family and friends"

Who do you think will be the next Golden Boy? - "Lamine, 100x100"

Tea or coffee? - "I drink neither"

Are you learning English? - "I learnt a bit… let's see if after the holidays I really get into it and speak it properly soon"

Where did your obsession with bananas come from? - "It's not an obsession. It's true that i really like them and in the Canary Islands, it's a typical product used in many recipes"

What do you do so bad comments don't affect you? - "do things as good as possible. I know what I do and what I do not do; I cannot control what people say or invent"

You promised to grow a mustache. When will you do it? - "Maybe I am doing it these days and then I will share some photos" (NO PLEASE DON'T)

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Not Like Others -P.G (1)

I know I took a lot of posting this but I hope the wait was worth it... I'm starting my new semester at Uni and I'm really busy learning the units, doing homeworks and stuffs, I've taken a little bit of advantage to post and be active this week since the first week is always quieter, doing the welcome and those things, so here it is.

This may be a little boring but it is needed to understand what will happen and everything in the next chapters

Feedback is highly appreaciated, please! Let me know what you think!!

|Chapter II| |Chapter III|

Summary: When you get the chance of meeting Pablo Gavi, you don't seem to react as the rest of people would do and that attracts him to you

January 17th, 2023

“Here we are” Your dad, Armando Santos, spoke with a big smile “Welcome to Barcelona, Spain” He introduced as you only looked at the pretty much empty, airport

“Gorgeous” Gregorio, your two years older brother said in fake excitement as you chuckled a little, your dad turned around looking at him narrowing his eyes “The airport’s nice!”

“Déjate de hostias, hombre. No has visto la verdadera belleza” (Stop joking around, youngman. You haven’t seen the real beauty) Your dad said with a heavy Spanish accent, making your mom, Cristina Aguilar, raise her eyebrows

“Already into the mood? Good” You laughed once more

“Stop it, señorita” Your dad said getting over to tickle you but you walked backwards and pushed his hands down when some yellings grabbed yours and your family’s attention. There was a light group of girls, screaming with their phones up.

“Can’t we go back to Canada? People here looks a bit crazy”

“You’re Spanish too” Gregorio said as you pushed him lightly while laughing “They must be fangirls or something”

“Is some singer coming here?” You ask “Harry Styles? Taylor Swift? Ed Sheeran? Coldplay? Lasso? Myke Towers? Maluma?”

“None of those, right now”

“Actors?” You ask “If Tom Hiddleston is there, I’ll make a way in it too”

“You’re not making a way inside anything” Your mom said as you raise your hands up

“I’m joking” You started walking towards your luggage “Or am I?”

“Y/N!” You laughed lightly

“I will not” You say and after a few seconds yawned “Joder, I’m so tired” You whined “So jetlagged I just wanna sleep through my whole college degree and wake up to my graduation day” You felt Gregorio laugh openly

“Get the nice pics; touch that diploma and go to sleep again?” You nod excited with a smile on

“And the party, never forget the party” He ruffled your hair “¡Hey! Gotta look pretty after this whole stressing out thing”

“You always look pretty but I think that’s not how it works” Your mom laughed lightly, grabbing your three years old brother’s hand, Mauricio “, sorry to ruin that dream of yours” You groan lightly stomping your feet in the airport ground, the yells intensified

“Joder, ¿Pero qué carajos estará pasando ahí?” (Fuck, but what the hell is going on there?) Armando replied impressed with the yelling

“Mejor será que nos vayamos. Mauricio can cry at any given minute” (It’s the best if we leave) Cristina said guiding you to start walking

“Y/N” Your dad called you as you turned around to face him “Don’t you worry, I thought the same thing too when I was in Uni” He winks at you as you smile “But sadly after I graduated it, I wanted to go at it again. Those always are the good times” He said as you lifted your eyebrows up, not believing that.

How does stressing out and having no time to even shower sometimes is good times?

“What? I was a nerd, yes. But a cool one, I always got out on parties and at the same time got those one hundred on my grades? That’s one of a kind. How do you think I got your mom?” You laugh shaking your head as your mom pinched your dad making him laugh lightly “Let’s go, we gotta go home so we can take a good and well deserved nap before readjusting ourselves here” He said as you kept on walking

You just landed from Canada after a whole seven hours flight to your home, the place you were born in, your beautiful Barcelona. The same Barcelona you had to leave when you were barely four years old to move all the way to Canada because of your parent’s job and after fourteen years over there, after a whole life created, you were moving back where you started. You were moving back home.

A home where you didn’t knew a single thing of about, you didn’t know the Catalans streets but still you always loved seeing pictures of them on your parents photographic albums.

Good thing is that your parent’s never allowed you or your brother to forget your Hispanics roots, often while being on the house in Canada, speaking in Spanish or a really deep Spanglish where only the fourth of you could really understand it. You also know the basics of Catalan and you are able to maintain a conversation if the person talking to you is speaking really slowly and/or doesn’t have any problems of repeating itself a few times but you indeed could speak Catalan.

The fact you had to learn and adjust to this place made you both excited and nervous, Barcelona was big and you could easily get lost in the city, plus the fact you didn’t know anyone else here besides your family from your dad’s side was terrifying you. And you to get to know your Uni, making friends, lots of learning were about to come and you were about to come out of your body, feeling like collapsing from just the thought of it.

“How do we have a car here?” Gregorio asked

“Maybe because you have grandparents here?” You heard the so known voice of your grandmother, Estella

“Lila!” You yelled out with happiness on your voice going over to hug the not-so-old but not-so-young lady, excited as she welcomed you in her tight and warm grip

“How was the flight?” She asked after hugging and inspecting you whole from top to bottom

“Tiring” You said “At least I spend it good, slept a bit and read this new book I got, unlike Grego, who had a kid behind him and apparently was kicking him”

“That freaking bastard” He cursed under his breath as you laugh lightly “I really wanted to punch the kid”

“Watch that mouth, youngman. Violence is never good and only brings you more problems” El abuelo, Enrique spoke nodding a few times as he spoke with a smile on, he opened his arms for Gregorio to get in his hold “You’re almost as tall as me”

“That’s not much, dad” Your dad smiled causing you to laugh as the abuelo lifted his eyebrows at him

“We’re gonna talk about this at home” The abuelo said before laughing and bringing your dad into a hug

“Cristina, you’re looking fantastic”

“I can say the same thing for you, Estella” Your mom hugged your grandma, as your felt a tug on your hand, you looked down and saw your little brother, Mauricio pushing his arms out for you and you picked him up placing him in your hip.

He was looking behind him and a few times, you had to readjust your hold on him since he was being moody and moving around a lot

“Mau, para” You said looking at him and catched him looking behind himself, you looked towards he was looking and met the eyes of a boy, who was with other guys and who must be around your age, with brown hair, big eyes and his face was in a frown. You couldn’t see him properly because as soon as you looked over to him, he turned his gaze away.

And Mauricio who pulled at your necklace brought your attention, completely forgetting about the guy. “Así no, Mau; me lastimas. Be careful” (Not like that, Mau; you’re hurting me) You said bouncing the boy as he giggled and that catched your grandma’s attention

“This is the little one!” She exclaimed looking over to Mauricio who buried his head into your neck shy “I’m abuelita, mi amor!” She smiled getting closer to you as you encouraged the young one to look at the lady and once he did, he was laughing in her arms.

Your dad and granddad seemed to forget about the fact they were on an airport entrance as they chatted for a few minutes, you felt someone looking at you and turned around watching this time, two guys along the same one from earlier looking at you, you brushed them off and looked towards your mom.

Weird.

Spanish people so far, were really weird. Yourself, included.

“Someone already have admirers?” She had noticed as you smiled

“You wish” You shake your head and suppressed a yawn    

“Let’s go home?” She noticed as you smiled thanking her “We can keep the chat at home, met you there?” The olderly couple nodded and you saw your abuelo give your dad some keys.

“House and car” He pronounced each one as your dad smiled

“Thanks, dad. We’ll see you there” And with that they left to their car as your dad went to what it seemed to be, now, his car.

“Ready for our new chapter in Barcelona?” Your dad asks as both your hermano and you

You were opposed by the idea of leaving what it seemed your place for forever, your old house, your streets, your friends, your team, your whole life behind, but soon, realized you only left it behind if you allow yourself to forget it and you weren’t going to. And they weren't going to forget you either. Eventually you made peace with the fact of this new and big change for you, even if you weren’t so fond of changes and saw the good side of it and finally could see yourself settling into your real place. In your Barcelona.

So, as your dad asked, you looked at your brother and he looked back at you, smiling, you nodded at each other.

“We’re Ready”

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld

I'm planning to do a taglist for Not Like Others, if you want to be there, comment a little "NLO taglist, please" and I will know that you wanna be included in it and you will be. Like I said in the beggining, I truly hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think. Feedback is really important to me because it lets me know you like my works, it helps me with writing and makes me feel nice knowing all the effort I put in these little stories is worth it. With this being said, I read you guys, take care!

[tunastime]

hehe hi myke, thanks for sending this in my dms <3 here's your song! it's quelle suprise, which I originally read the lyrics wrong in because I don't speak french, but I think now after reading it. rarrrg. anyway! this is just such a bop, so not a lot of replays! I found it late in the year (and I know I sent it to you already lol)

(536 words)

There is something very wrong with Etho.

Or maybe there isn’t. Who’s Bdubs to know every thought inside his head, apparently? Who’s Bdubs to think he understands him? Bdubs is a red life now. The sludge of trigger fingers and loose cannons and live-wires all mingles with blood, hot and red, in his veins. It was always red, always hot, heightened now, to a dizzying sting. He can hear it thump around his head when he listens closely, hear it chanting for more. 

He’s starting to piece things together that he thinks maybe he shouldn’t. It’s hard. Bdubs sits on his hands, screwing up his face as he squeezes himself into a small space of his upside-down base. It’s hard trying to figure this out. What Etho's thinking. His heart feels like a creature begging to flee from his chest, slamming against the front half of his ribcage like it might break apart and let it out into the world. At the same time, that thumping hurts, because there’s an awful squeeze in his chest. He’s not been able to breathe right for a while. Probably since the moment Etho laughed at him before he went to kill that dragon.

That’s funny though, isn’t it? Etho promises things so easily, but when it comes time to deliver he’s always finding shortcuts. Like how he didn’t agree when Bdubs asked how much he would give for him? There was no equal half, was there?

Bdubs was making a mistake, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the worst part?

Well maybe he wasn’t! Maybe Etho was more afraid of Cleo than he was Bdubs—of course he would side with someone who could help him the most. Certainly not dead weight. Which Bdubs assumed he was again. Though Joel and Martyn, and Mumbo when he was there, and Pearl even, were more than willing to help out with whatever needed to be done. And that was easy for them. So why couldn’t Etho say anything? Why couldn’t he just lie to him? What kind of game was Bdubs playing at, that Etho felt so confident that he would never have a task that asked him to twist the knife already in Bdubs’ chest? He’s sorry. He’s sorry. Etho didn’t ask him to put the knife there. He took it from Etho’s hands and put it in his chest and he thought maybe that would make things better, rather than worse.

It isn’t Etho’s fault. Etho’s playing his game. Bdubs knows that. So he’s not mad at him—well, he won’t be mad at him when he leaves the game and Etho crawls his way into his lap and presses his face to the juncture of his neck and says he’s sorry. Because he’s always sorry. Bdubs wonders if—no. No. Bdubs swallows down the taste in the back of his throat. He’s done wondering. And he’s done letting Etho’s excuses sit heavy in his chest like they might be armor instead of eating him alive.

He stands up, fishing the pocket watch from his pocket.

It’s still early. The cracked surface reflects back only a portion of his face.

For now, the clock stays intact. But Bdubs can imagine the satisfying crunch it might make when his heel grinds against it.

(spotify wrapped ask meme)

[senkeymas]

HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR 2024!

Since it's Year of the Dragon, Myke is here with some red envelopes! Come and get them, there are 4 of it~!

[the-angel-of-filth]

Part 1 of ??? of this year’s Art Fight Attacks I’ve done so far! 🥰

[Click to view the full images in better quality]

My spidersona, Spider-Glass encountering @moss-fuzz’s Mysterio!

@cruxia’s oc, Cruxia Malitrus!

AF user Bilderfresser’s Bioshock oc, Bogdan!

AF user guy_agaric’s spidersona/Marvel oc, Myke!

AF user Vencentio’s MOTW pc Elijah Walker and my own MOTW pc from the same campaign, Daisy!

@parmaviolets’ spidersona, Mommy Long Legs

[industrial-horror]

In 1995, after an out-of-court settlement that allowed Jerry Only and Doyle to record and perform as the Misfits, they immediately set about reforming the band, bringing in drummer David Calabrese, also known as Dr. Chud, who had worked with them in Kryst the Conqueror. Glenn Danzig rejected their offer to return as the band’s lead singer. Dave Vanian of The Damned was also approached but declined. The band, now reformed with one original founding member, Jerry Only, held open auditions for a new vocalist. Nineteen-year-old singer Michael Emanuel had recently recorded a demo tape in hopes of starting a music career, and the owner of the recording studio suggested that he audition for the Misfits. Being unfamiliar with the band, Emanuel listened to Collection I on a walkman to learn the lyrics and melodies while working his job as a greenskeeper. He impressed the band with his audition and was accepted as the new lead singer under the pseudonym Michale Graves, while Doyle adopted the new stage full name Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein.

The new incarnation of the Misfits released their debut album in 1997. The band toured Europe and North America in support of the album and appeared as characters in World Championship Wrestling. Graves took a hiatus from the band in 1998, during which Myke Itzazone of Empire Hideous filled in as singer during tours of South America and Europe. After Graves’ return the band signed to Roadrunner Records, releasing Famous Monsters in October 1999 and filming a music video for the single Scream! They made additional film appearances in Big Money Hustlas (2000), Bruiser (2000), and Campfire Stories (2001) and continued to tour, but tensions between the band members began to grow. During a performance at the House of Blues in Orlando, Florida on October 25, 2000, Graves and Chud both quit the band and walked off stage.

[seannesruins]

01-02.09.24 | Samsung Performing Arts Theater, Circuit Makati X Filling Station, Poblacion

So our indecisive asses finally made a decision between MSB and OMC. Although I've watched MSB 3x already, I'm still excited to watch it every time they have a rerun. Since it was last minute, (we booked a Sept. 1 show on Aug 30 lmao how impulsive) we were not able to get the seats that we initially preferred but pleased that we still get a good view from the seats we got (Loge - Left Side)

My dudes, Mula sa Buwan did not disappoint. This year's rerun brought more! The songs were top notch, as they have always been. In addition, the stage itself was graced with gorgeous back drop and projection.

Myke Salomon did Cyrano justice, but it will always be Gab Pangilinan's Roxanne that captivated me. Her live vocals is what I pay those tickets for!

The show started at 1930H so we were not able to grab an early dinner prior. We went out of the theater with my girlie pop being antok and hungry hahaha. So we booked a ride from Circuit to Poblacion. The rain has not stopped so we just went to Filling Station (since it operates 24H and we weren't sure how long we'll be stuck with the inclement weather)

With her being antok and hungry, she kinda over ordered yet again, resulting in take aways lmao. I got my favorite strawberry milkshake and buffalo wings. We shared a pizza and salad, while she ordered pasta and steak for herself.

Took some cute photographs downstairs before booking a ride to her workplace at 0500H. After we got there, I booked my own ride home. Clingy? Di na lang nag book from Poblacion, hinatid pa nga hahaha.

Really glad to have someone watch my favorite stage musical with me. Now she asks if I want to watch OMC as well because she enjoyed MSB so much daw hahaha idk mayaman ba ko?

[birdofdawning]

Pumpkins

Myka Bering and the bank own a house. This is important to the story. It is a small house, but it has a front porch that looks out over a quiet street, and French windows that open onto a small back lawn with an apricot tree in the middle. The house is one-hundred and thirty years old, and in a much better condition now than when Myka Bering had first bought it. Then it was sad and unsightly, with paint peeling off its weatherboards and a tin roof that banged in the wind. When you flicked on the light switch it made noises and when you turned the tap on worrisome things happened. But Myka read renovation books and went to night-classes. She stripped and sanded and repainted the house, replacing its rotting weatherboards. She pulled up the old carpet and polished the floorboards underneath. She hung wallpaper, unjammed windows, replaced panes of glass, and even repaired the plumbing herself. But she got an electrician in to rewire the house; and, though she nailed down the loose pieces of her rusty iron roof herself, she began saving up for a new roof. Now the house is trim and tidy and even smart, in a modest way.

The house is in an old neighbourhood that is currently unfashionable. It still has short, narrow streets lined with telephone poles, which cars are slow to navigate, and a small church or a corner store every few blocks. There are orange trees in some people’s yards and old rusted vehicles in others, each yard separated by a completely different style of fence, or a scraggly hedge, or nothing at all, just a strip of grass. Myka Bering says that that one day, when house prices rise and the area becomes desirable, she will be able to sell her house for considerably more than she paid for it. But after she had built and filled an enormous bookshelf that took up the entire internal wall, spanning from the front windows of the lounge to the end of the small dining room, people had decided that she was probably going to stay.

In the evenings, after she has cleaned her small kitchen, Myka Bering might sit down in an armchair beneath the great bookshelf and read. On Friday and Saturday nights she has a glass of wine and puts cello concertos on the stereo; and if it is warm she will open the French windows in the kitchen and enjoy the scent of orange blossom drifting through the house. Sometimes her friend Abigail will come over and drink wine with her and try and talk her into going out.

“It’s been four years,” Abigail will say, “time to get back on that horse, kid. They’re not all secretly married.”

And Myka will roll her eyes and say “I am perfectly content staying at home.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Abigail will say, “Christ, Mykes. I bet I’m the first person you’ve talked to in days.”

“Not true!” Myka will say, triumphant, “I had an exciting conversation with Mrs Kim about the tinned tomatoes she had on sale yesterday! And anyway,” she will add as Abigail rolled her eyes, “I like living quietly by myself. I count myself lucky to be able to.”

“I’m just jealous,” admits Abigail one evening, “Every week I have to explain to my mother why Josh and I aren’t breeding, and hear statistics on the dwindling fertility rate in women our age.”

“Well, she has to tell you these things because you didn’t become a real doctor.”

“Real doctor my ass,” Abigail mutters, and takes a big sip of wine.

“Kids are nice,” says Myka, who is an aunt. “And other people’s kids, who I can leave with their parents at the end of the day, are the nicest of all.”

And Abigail looks about at the tasteful ornaments and unmarked lounge suite and kilim carpet and finds it hard to imagine children trampling into this oasis of calm.

Myka Bering has done well for herself. When she first started living in the house she would get up at five and rush about, taking breakfast with her to eat as she drove to work in the same old Nissan Bluebird that she had had since college. But now she gets up at seven, turns the radio onto NPR, and leaves it playing as she makes herself a cup of coffee and sits down at her computer in the small office she has set up in the back bedroom. She has replaced her old car with one that she doesn’t have to keep having repaired, and she wears nicer suits on the days when she goes into the city. And after a few years she did indeed hire men to come in and replace the old roof, so that she didn’t have to keep climbing up with her hammer every autumn.

But still she continues to live quietly, sticking to her routine. Perhaps she’s more likely to work late into the evenings instead of sitting in her chair and reading. The walls of the back bedroom-office have slowly accumulated pinned maps and diagrams and lists, and the spare bed has become a place to keep folders and file boxes. Myka buys an oak bookshelf for the room and fills it with heavy textbooks on city design and transport planning, and from time to time as she works she will push her office chair across to the shelf and consult one. But other than these few things the room is sparse. While the rest of the house is filled with lovely rich colours, the back bedroom-office, where she spends so much of her waking time, remains white and utilitarian. 

“You’ve become a hermit. It’s very you, but it’s not healthy,” her sister tells her on one of her occasional visits. She lives somewhere far away, and when she arrives she has a suitcase and Myka changes the sheets and opens the windows of the second-best bedroom.

“I have a very nice life,” Myka replies.

“You have a very nice house,” rejoins her sister, “It’s not the same thing.”

And then they will quarrel until one of them cries, or stomps out of the room in a temper, or they both become distracted by a pop song from their adolescence.

“Well, if you’re happy I suppose that’s that,” says Abigail with a sigh as she puts her coat on one evening. “Are you happy?”

“Of course I am,” says Myka.

One winter’s day Myka Bering is woken up by a phone call. She has fallen asleep curled around the folders and file boxes on her spare bed, after spending days and nights working on a difficult project. It takes her several tries to get the phone to work.

“H’llo?” she finally mutters into the device.

“Myka! Where are you!? I’m waiting in Arrivals!” says her sister.

“Arrivals?” yawns Myka.

“Arrivals! At the Denver airport! Holy fuck, Myka, have you missed the fucking plane?”

“Wha’?” says Myka sitting up. “No, that’s tomorrow…”

“It IS tomorrow you idiot!” yells her sister. “How could you lose track of the day!? You!? Have you just spent the whole week in that house not speaking to anyone!? Oh my god, you have haven’t you!?”

Myka runs into her bedroom and begins hastily packing a suitcase while her sister continues shouting in a tinny voice that she certainly isn’t going to tell their parents that Myka won’t be making it to Thanksgiving, and that Myka needs to sort her life out.

“My life is fine,” mutters Myka as she grabs her keys and drags her suitcase out to the car.

But perhaps it is time Myka Bering’s life had a little bit of a shake-up. We’ll start small, though. We’ll open a gate.

Myka Bering does not consider herself much of a gardener. This is important too. I suspect the deficit is due more to a lack of interest than a lack of ability, because I believe that Myka can do anything she puts her mind to.

But instead she pays Mr Jackson to keep the strip of front lawn tidy and to mow the grass around the apricot tree every other week. And because she mostly works from home now, when he arrives she will leave the back bedroom-office and help him shift the wooden lawn furniture she keeps under the tree into the driveway, and then back again when he is finished.

The back lawn is perfect. It is flat and even, largely because she had hired a roller in her first year in the house, and had spent several Saturdays onerously rolling the ground flat. In the spring and summer, before Mr Jackson is due to cut it, the grass in the back yard grows almost long, with dandelions and clover flowers everywhere and bees happily wandering about. On sunny evenings Myka Bering sits outside in a lawn chair under the apricot tree, and has her dinner and reads.

Other than the tree — and a small shed tucked up against the back fence — the lawn spreads out to the fence line, unmarred by any hedge or flowerbed. Myka has not grown anything else in the yard in the four years she has lived there, other than some night stock that she planted beside the French windows one year so that the perfume would drift inside the house when she hooked them open in the evenings; but night stock is, of course, an annual, and she didn’t bother replacing it the next year. Myka Bering prefers things neat and tidy and low-maintenance.

Now, decades ago the Alvarado family had lived in the house and had been good friends with the Rojas family in the house next door (that is, until Adriana Rojas ran off to New York with Izzy Alvarado to become Rockettes, thus causing a rupture that was never fully repaired). In the evenings, after supper, the parents would sit together on the front porch of one of the houses and drink beer and talk and listen to the baseball or swing music on the radio, while their children ran up and down the street. And when night fell, and they would call everyone inside and bid each other a good night.

And so, when it came time to replace the old fence between the two properties, Mano Alvarado suggested putting in a gate halfway down, so that the families didn’t always need to walk out onto the street and around every time they wanted to go between the two back yards.

Mano and John Rojas were both builders, and they knew their trade. When they built something, they built it to last for two generations and more. And so the gate still stood there, halfway down the back yard fence, when Myka Bering (and the bank) bought the little house. 

Myka had tried the gate once, when she first moved in, and found its old hinges immovable and its latch stuck fast, all fused solid by rust. And deciding that this was as good as a fence she had left it alone. She had painted it, of course, or at least she had painted her side of it; and now it was a fetching bottle green, to match the lawn and the apricot tree. But, not intending to ever use the gate, she didn’t bother replacing the hinges and broken latch, and rarely thought of it again.

And so one afternoon in April Myka Bering is standing in her kitchen putting together a cheese sandwich. It is past three o’clock so she doesn’t allow herself any more coffee, but a snack is permissible. It is spring, and she has the French windows open, and a movement outside makes her look up.

There is a girl in her back yard.

The girl is standing beyond the apricot tree, intently examining a corner of the lawn.

Myka Bering steps out of the house and walks over the perfectly level grass towards her.

“Hello?” she says cautiously, “Can I help you?”

The girl turns to look at her. She is maybe nine? ten? years old and has long, black hair and dark eyes. She is wearing jeans and an adult’s t-shirt that says ‘A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE REVOLUTION’.

“Do you rent?” she asks Myka.

“What?” says Myka.

“Do you rent this house?” says the girl, and then, perhaps supposing that Myka may not be familiar with the concept of renting, she adds: “Does somebody else own your house and you pay them money each week in order to live in it?” She has a vaguely mid-Atlantic accent.

“Oh. No,” says Myka. “I own it. Me and the bank.”

This answer seems to please the girl, though she doesn’t smile. She turns fully around now, so that she faces Myka and holds up an envelope. “Then can I—” she stops, frowns, takes a breath, and starts again “—may I plant pumpkins in your garden?”

Myka blinks. “Well, no. I don’t have a garden… Sorry, who are you? And, uh, where did you come from?”

The girl points with the hand not holding the envelope. The green gate is now ajar.

“How on earth did you manage to open that?” Myka asks. “I was sure it was rusted shut. You live next door? I thought the Menzies were there?”

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know who they are,” she says, “I live there now, with mamma.” She gives an Old World pronunciation to the last word. “Which means we’re neighbours. So can I — may I — plant pumpkins in your garden?”

Myka Bering finds herself looking about for another adult to take over, but her back yard stubbornly persists in containing only the two of them. “Hey, I really don’t know if you should be talking to strangers without your, uh, mamma,” she tries, “You don’t know anything about me. I could be a bad guy.”

“Mamma says it’s perfectly reasonable to speak to people one doesn’t know because otherwise one will never find friends or make one’s way in the world.” announces the girl, “And also that statistically I am in far more danger from family members than strangers,”

“Oh,” says Myka.

The girl nods. “I reminded her that she was my only family member. She said that I would do well to keep that fact in mind.”

Myka looks back at the green gate in the wall.

“So. Mrs Pérez gave everyone in the class pumpkin seeds today, and I want to plant my ones here, please.” The girl, it seems, will not be side-tracked by trivialities like stranger-danger. “She told us that they would be ready by Halloween, and we could make jack o’lanterns.”

“But why can’t you plant them in your back yard?” asks Myka.

With tremendous patience the girl explains. “Because we rent. And Mamma says I can’t dig up the lawn because the landlord mows the lawn himself and he will see. But you don’t rent, and you don’t have anything else growing here, only grass. So can I plant my seeds here?”

Myka Bering tries to think of a reason why the girl couldn’t plant pumpkin seeds in her back yard and fails.

“I… suppose you could,” she says. “Where would you plant them?”

The girl points at the corner she was inspecting. “I thought the pumpkins would be out of the way there.”

Myka examines the spot. It seems as adequate to the purpose as any other.

“Alright,” she says, tentatively, reluctantly. “But right at the edge, okay? I don’t want too much of my lawn dug up.”

The girl nods her agreement. “Thank-you,” she adds, very properly.

“Uh, I think pumpkins need a lot of water. Maybe? You’ll have to look it up. So you’ll have to water them regularly. I’m not going to,” says Myka, trying to regain ground she suspects she has never really had since this conversation began.

“Of course,” says the girl. “I have a watering can.”

“Well then,” says Myka, taking a step towards the garden shed, “Um, do you want a spade or…?”

“I have a trowel,” says the girl. “I only want to make small holes and drop each seed in. You don’t want your lawn dug up,” she reminds Myka.

“No,” says Myka. “I don’t. Well, uh. Okay. G’bye, then.”

“Good-bye,” says the girl, who is already turning towards the green gate in the fence, presumably to fetch her trowel.

Myka watches her disappear and then looks about the back yard. Everything appears quite normal, but she feels a faint apprehension of an approaching change... still beyond the horizon, but inexorably on its way, like the pressure drop before a thunderstorm. After a moment she shakes her head and goes back inside and finishes making her sandwich.

As she carries on with her work that afternoon, Myka Bering occasionally looks out through the window of the back bedroom-office and watches the girl at the end of the yard. The apricot tree obscures much of her activity, but she spends a lot of time carefully digging. And later she has a metal watering can which she judiciously applies to certain spots about her.

That evening Myka goes out to look over the girl’s labours. There, cut into the grass that ran along the fence line, are twelve black holes, each about the diameter of a coffee-cup. Myka looks back at the green gate. It is now shut. Still feeling a little uneasy Myka Bering walks back inside and begins to prepare her dinner.