#b. when i was walking to the store and someone had like hit a deer and just left it on the side of the fucking road next to the sidewalk??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik

#b. when i was walking to the store and someone had like hit a deer and just left it on the side of the fucking road next to the sidewalk???

free-boundsoul · 2 years

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Oh, that makes sense, I suppose. Kinda creative, when you put it that way. Out of all the animals, I would not want to shift into a bat. Seems pretty counterproductive, since shifters usually have a penchant for strength and agility. I’ll admit, watching a wolf shifter on a hunt is a pretty amazing sight.

Did he now? That’s… so Hux. I mean, I guess you’re right, but that would be kinda anti-climatic, unless it’s written really well. And sometimes the sequels are hit or miss when it comes to writing. I didn’t think about her having a dormant form. Seems possible, given the shapeshifting abilities of the rest of the characters. Oh, this is just great! Now I’m going to be focusing on this until the next movie comes out, and that won’t be for another year, at least! Good going, Freelancer. Sure, I can take you to store where they sell them tomorrow. No need to pay. Just, add it to your collection and think of me when you see her.

When I see it I know it? That is the laziest, lousiest piece of advice I’ve ever heard, Freelancer! How I am supposed to know if I’ve never had a cat before? Well, you know what this means, don’t you? It means I’m going to have to bring you with me to the shelter so we can look at them all and evaluate them with objective criteria. I’m definitely not making the cats their own food. I could always try your brand and see if they like it. I mean, they should. It’s cat food. They're cats. Seems straight forward enough. A water fountain or the faucet? Why don’t cats drink from a bowl? Are you being serious? I feel like you’re just busting my chops now…

Not necessarily. If the wolves were out on a hunt, I don’t think they’d stop what they were doing just to say hi to a stranger, even if they did sense your aura. Not that I’m saying you’re not worth saying hi to or anything. You are. I’m just saying, you never know all the magic that’s around us. Ugh, I bet it was a lot of work caring for your dog after that. Yup, and I really like living in a city. No coyotes or deer running around, but you can always have Chinese food delivered to your door at 2am. There’s always a lot of stuff to do. When you need “nature” you can always go the park or whatever. I know that cities are always portrayed as this horrible, rude, crowded place in those cheesy romcoms and shit, and don’t get me wrong, sometimes it is horrible, rude, and crowded… But I really like everything that it has to offer. I like that you can see the lights on the street corners reflect off the pavement. I like knowing that anything I could need is usually a walk or train ride away. I like seeing all the umbrellas of people on the street when it’s raining and I look out my window. Besides, the country kind of freaks me out. In a city, there are always people around. In the country, no one can hear you scream.

Not that I watch those romcoms and shit I mentioned. They are just really popular and I know of them. But I don’t watch them. So, just wanted to make that clear.

That’s what I thought. Ugh, Gavin always picks the most complicated games. Well, either that or strip poker. He’s so predictable sometimes. Now, I could have us play something like Trivial Pursuit. It’s a classic and you really have to know your stuff if you want to win. Then again, I really enjoy Clue. I like singling out people and figuring out the mystery. But I’m actually leaning towards Monopoly. Nothing like a game of Monopoly to turn a bunch of friends into mortal enemies for a few hours. And I’ll warn you right now, Freelancer, I play to win.

Alright, alright. I can admit when I’m wrong, Freelancer. That dinner was delicious.

That’s not me out of control. It’s just me, getting the chance to stretch my legs, so to speak. And for someone who claims to not mind the heat, you’re getting pretty sweaty, Freelancer.

-Damien

What animal would you want to be if you could be one? Shifter wise I mean? I think I'd want to be a leopard. If that was an option. Though being a wolf shifter would bring back those childhood wishes, haha.

Sorry about that, Damien, I was just spit balling! I'm sure you'll forget about it once classes start up again. You're right though, it's a really lame idea, I'm sure the writers will come up with something a lot better! Are you sure? If you are...well, I'd definitely treasure it. Especially since it'd be a gift from you!

If you wanted me to go along with you, Damien, you could have just asked. My advice wasn't lousy. I knew Eren was the one when he crawled into my bag. He chose me, and he's the best cat I've ever had. I'll send you the website I get his food from if you want? I get it auto shipped so I don't forget. And I'm being serious, Eren's a little prima donna. He won't drink from just a bowl, he has to have running water.

I do really like that I don't have to go an hour away to go to the store anymore. Or two hours for good Chinese. There's just so much more people and traffic than I'm used to. And noise. You get used to silence when you live so far away from other people. You know, that's a really romantic way of thinking, Damien. How you describe the city sounds dreamy. ... that's a bit creepy to say but I can't say you're wrong. There's probably a reason why a lot of horror movies are set in secluded areas.

I thought you said you watched rom coms with your mom cuz she enjoys them? It's okay if you like them, you know? I'm not going to tease you just because of the movies you like to watch. I watch horror movies to scare myself and then get too freaked out to sleep with the lights off.

Heh, you gotta admit that one time we played strip poker was fun. I'm really glad I got lucky with my cards. Hux didn't mind being shirtless, but poor Lasko. I think Gavin was finding a way to give him terrible cards. Oh god...monopoly. Well, I'll warn you that you might need a bigger wallet for the money I'm sure you'll win from me alone. I suck at that game. Though I don't really get worked up over it, so it's fun to watch the hyper-competitive ones lose their cools.

I'm so glad you liked it! See? I told you I wasn't a terrible cook! Though...I think I'll leave the cooking to you. Your food is some of the best I've ever had.

I'm not sweaty! I can handle any of the heat you can dish out! I'm not the one who got all flushed when it came to the whole height debate, you know.

#damien anon!!🔥

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dragon-cat-eyes · 3 years

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I tend to jump around on my Au’s with my friends , so I might post about some the others later. This is a bit more plot of the Beastars Au since we started the story the other day.

The A and B classes were staying behind to help set up for a dance ,that was for that weekend. Toko had to leave and run to the store to get last minute streamers someone ( Monokuma ) forgot to get. She ends up forgetting her phone and having to run back inside. Tiny little clicks clacks of her deer hooves cover up the noise of the doors locking behind her. She finds her phone and tells everyone goodbye agian and goes to leave. As she walks do the doors she freezes, something felt wrong. That’s when her eyes go wide and she can see clearly through the glass doors, humans with guns. Fear was the first thing to hit Toko as she sprinted back to the gym. Only to trip outside the door and start having full on panic attack. She limps her way in and shakes drastically, balling her eyes out. Korekiyo takes no time at all to comfort his best friend until she can talk agian . She announces very shakily “ humans…with guns…outside” it’s not perfect but she is doing her best. Everyone starts to freak out and get upset because humans shouldn’t be this close to the school. About the same time the sibling duo introduces themselves , Monokuma and Usami. Both announce to the group of Beasts they are no longer students of this school but participants. They will all be fighting for the title beastar and forced to place through trials , sorta like games how challenges. If that’s not enough they have motives to spare!

This is just the beginning…

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wilhelmjfink · 4 years

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Daryl Dixon Drabble #5 Pt 1

Buckle up, fuckers. You can thank @crossbowking for this one.

ETA: this has become a 2 parter b/c my app didn’t save the rest of it :,)))) igkms

—

Thank God Daryl taught you how to track. Thank fucking God. Because you never would have thought about paying any attention to the fucking direction the grass had been trampled on towards, or the fact that some trash cans had been knocked over very recently — the only tell being the way they lacked the layer of dust everything else around them held. It was the small things, the attention to detail; and you were in such a spiraling panic, you were honestly surprised you remembered anything he’d ever taught you at all.

Your boots splashed in a fresh puddle and instantly your eyes shot downward — another hidden clue you never would have considered before you met him, all those lifetimes ago. Just barely visible was a separate footprint from yours, two, actually, that painted the otherwise dry asphalt beneath you, fresh enough that your heart sped up at the discovery. They both led the same direction, the same time, the same sense of urgency and haste behind them it seemed, as they continued forward in an obvious stumbling-sprint until they faded away outside of an old derelict gas station. You spun on your heels and headed straight for the garage.

The first thing you noticed was that the heavy metal door was ajar, just over a foot off of the ground, fresh blood smeared across the concrete beneath the opening. Somebody or something was inside, but the barefooted, rotten and decaying bottom-half of a corpse that protruded from the opposite side had you halting in your tracks: was that the source of the blood? No — the body was obviously that of a walker, the pant legs tattered and torn and stained with blacks and browns and greens, the exposed skin of its feet a grotesque shade of grey, maggots and worms slithering around the heel, and you swallowed the bile that rose up in your throat. No way their blood was that fresh.

So you rounded the corner and peered quietly through the sagging chain link fence, barbed wire snagging the flyaway hairs not contained in your messy ponytail, and your heart dropped at the sight that greeted you.

Walkers, some alive, some dead, no less than a dozen of them. Some wandered in aimless circles around the old scrap yard, but most of them were pressed unceremoniously against the boarded up window, jaws snapping hungrily, impatiently, in such a way that proved your suspicions that somebody was definitely inside of that gas station.

And if Daryl’s lessons had done you any good at all, you were positive it was him that had led you there.

You didn’t think you’d stopped shaking since you left Hilltop hours ago. In fact, you knew for a fact that you hadn’t been coherent or in any state of mind when you ran through the gates, furious and terrified and nauseas along another whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t pinpoint after being told that Daryl left by himself to track down Alpha and try to right all the latest wrongs that psychopath had rained down upon your friends and family. Someone had been yelling at you to stop, the same way you surely would’ve been yelling at Daryl had he not snuck out one night right underneath your fucking nose. Nobody followed you out, though. And you didn’t particularly care.

Sure, you were just as worried about Connie and Magna as everyone else. But you knew Daryl better than them — better than anybody did. And you knew the way his brain worked, how it always carried the weight of his loved ones problems, how he accepted the blame even when it had nothing to do with anything he did or could have done. He was so self-destructive, thought himself so unworthy if he couldn’t keep you or your family safe. He would, quite literally, go to the ends of the earth for those he cared about... whether or not it killed him. And if your crippling apprehension told you anything, it was that this particular instance would be no different, and considering the scene you’d just been walked into...

Clammy, trembling hands latched onto the rusty handle of the garage door before you thought better of trying to haul it open and instead laid down flat to army crawl beneath the gap, trying your best to ignore the pool of blood at your right and the corpse at your left. Everything seemed so loud, so hard to ignore, and you were so hyper aware of any and every detail that led you to believe that the worst-case-scenario was indeed the one you were about to be faced with.

It was dark inside the garage, the only light source being rays of dull, dreary outside-world that broke through the rotted wooden boards that would’ve sealed the place up tight four or five years ago. A blanket of dust should’ve covered the steel barstool that was toppled over in front of the man door, but it was much cleaner than anything else surrounding it, and droplets of blood painted a trail over top of it and into the store, beckoning for you to follow them.

You swallowed hard. We’re you even prepared to see what sights may present themselves on the other side of the gas station? The thought had you hesitating, had your breath hitching in your throat and your heart ceasing to beat entirely. But the fear that was threatening to suffocate you was the same impetus that had you raising your combat rifle to your shoulder, poised and ready to fire, as you crept slowly across the threshold with anxiety so deep and heavy in your bones that you weren’t positive you wouldn’t pass out before you found what you were looking for... whatever that was.

The store was a mess, clearly a recent endeavor, with expired foods and liquids covering the floor amongst shattered glass and splinters of wood and blood. So much fucking blood. Footprints that had stormed through it, handprints that slid down the wall, splattering the grimy lockers and old magazine clippings like some sort of abstract art exhibit compiled of your deepest fears. You were almost too scared to explore further — but the smallest sliver of hope that you’d learned to believe in had you pressing forward, Daryl’s reassuring voice in your ears among the obnoxious ringing that told you that, oh yeah, you might actually fucking pass out.

Thank fucking God Daryl had taught you how to track.

If you’d maybe stumbled upon a deer you’d been following, laying motionless against the display counter with a hunting knife lodged into the meat of its thigh, you might have been proud of yourself. You might have even turned to Daryl and smiled in spite of yourself, sticking your tongue out. ‘I told you I could do it,’ you’d tell him happily as you knelt down and began to skin and prepare it to come back home with you, and he would fight a proud smile of his own, rolling his eyes, ‘Yea, only ‘cause I taught ya how to.’

But any obscure, minuscule thought of potential pride and success was shattered and gone in milliseconds. Hell, it was hardly even a fleeting thought, and you actually found yourself momentarily disappointed in your actions as you let your rifle carelessly slip from your fingers and clash against the ground loudly. Instantly forgotten. In fact, the tip of your boot even kicked it aside for emphasis of your stupidity as you strode forward to the crumpled being laying still and silent against the disheveled wooden counter, head lulled to the side, bloody knife handle protruding from his leg.

His name stuck in your throat painfully as you collapsed to the ground by his side, hands hovering uselessly overtop of him with the desire to try and help but lacking any knowledge on how to do so. He was bloody, beaten, pale — so fucking pale, so still and please God please please please he was cold. Cold, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest seemed to breathe more life into you than it was him, literally and figuratively.

The tears that sprung to your eyes actually hurt, blurring your vision, which seemed to be the only working sense you had as everything else seemed to freeze inside you and around you, leaving you absolutely fucking useless.

You shook your head. “Daryl,” you gasped, the breath it took to say his name unintentionally allowing a sob to escape simultaneously. “Daryl?”

He didn’t stir. We’re you not loud enough? “Daryl!” Maybe he just couldn’t hear you. You reached out and gripped his shoulders, fingers intertwining into the fabric of his canvas vest, clutching like a lifeline that would cement your debilitating fears if you let go and let him fall away from you. “Daryl! Fuck — wake up!”

If you’d ever been a religious person, that moment would’ve been the exact time you dedicated your life and afterlife to whatever higher being you believed in when, holy shit, he let out a pathetic whimper that both broke your heart in two and kicked your adrenaline into overdrive but also allowed it all escape you in the form of your own racking sob.

“Oh, my God — fuck, fuck, fuck, Daryl, please — wh — what did you do?” You fought the urge to grip the handle of the knife that was stuck into his thigh and yank it out furiously. “What the fuck did you do?”

You at least had the sense to untie the bandana from around your neck, clumsily and hastily, and secure it tightly around his thigh above the wound, praying to anything that would listen that maybe it would help.

His head lulled softly toward you with another soft whine and fell limply, and you threw your hands to your own face and frantically brushed your hair from your face and wiped your eyes and scratched at your scalp, pulling your hair, and you were panicking, absolutely reeling, if Daryl was here he’d be lecturing you so bad, but he’s not here because he’s laying in front of you almost fucking dead, no he’s not dead, he’s breathing, barely, how do I fix him? How do I help? Do I take the knife out? No, no you can’t fucking do that, you dumbass, what if it hit an artery? He’ll bleed out before you can even... oh, God, his head’s bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding...

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You had some bandages in your bag, some sutures and needles, some alcohol... you tore blindly through it, retrieving the liquid and wraps and dropping them stupidly on your lap like you’ve never had to clean and dress a wound before in your entire life.

Once again you had to furiously wipe the tears from your eyes as they skewed your vision, smearing fresh blood his fucking blood, it’s everywhere, please please please no no no across your cheeks and it burnt your skin, taunting you, ticking loudly like an alarm clock that was about to run out right before your eyes.

He’s gonna die. He’s gonna fucking die and you were too late.

—

Also hey this is loosely based off of last nights episode that I didn’t want bc I can’t emotionally handle watching Daryl get hurt bc I’m a mess so sorry if it made no sense or was wrong!! Xoxoxo

Stay tuned for part 2 that I have to rewrite...........

#the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabble #the walking dead drabble #daryl dixon x reader

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ikemenfics · 5 years

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The Game

HAHA, YOU ALL LOST. Happy Birthday, Mitsuhide.

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Word Count: 3343

Can you beat the Silver Fox of Azuchi at his own game? Or do you make your own? Based off his birthday event, Mitsuhide has asked you that you pay him back for all his teasing of you. But is that really such a good idea, Mitsu? MC is based more on a person like me...who couldn’t think possibly of a way to mess with someone the way he does…

(Now...what am I supposed to do with that??!) You stared at the smirking fox. Your insides were buzzing with nervous flustering and you weren’t sure you were going to survive this challenge of his. (Honestly...this man...th-this...FOX)

And still he stared while your mental faculties fired in a panicked uproar. (Is this what Sasuke feels like when he’s meeting with Ieyasu?) You were certain your synapses were frying as a comet of energy was spelling out your imminent doom.

Snowy lashes lowered but his smile never changed, “Now. I shall leave you. I look forward to your results.” And before you could even think to respond in kind, he was gone. (Oh lord...what do I do?) You found yourself moseying back to the castle, unaware that your visage reflected all the abject horror of your intended task.

“Dummy, what do you look so afraid of?” You glanced up, finding green staring at you from a puff of fluffy blond locks, “Your face looks like Wasabi’s when she hears even the slightest sounds.” His complaint was not lost on you. (I do NOT look like a deer in headlights….do I?)

“What did you see?” Hideyoshi’s voice was all concern, his hand already moving to his sword, staring at the offending whatever behind you. “I’ll make the call to search the perimeter. What did the intruder look like?”

“N-no...nothing like that,” you waved your hands, feeling entirely too silly now that you got the concern of Azuchi’s mother warlord over something so silly as teasing Mitsuhide, “It’s just…”

“...Just…?” Hideyoshi prodded, his brows knit in a way that meant that someone was probably getting cuffed later. That someone probably already smirking in the knowledge that said cuffing is most likely coming for him. You started to feel bad for the slickest man in the Sengoku. (this is why I can’t tease him…)

“Hey, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu,” you started, clapping your hands together in a pleading gesture, “what kinds of things does Mitsuhide dislike?”

“THAT’s what your stupid expression is for?” Ieyasu was incredulous, at best. You tried to smile, explaining that Mitsuhide’s birthday was coming and the challenge that he’d given you for his birthday wish.

“I’m not sure that guy dislikes anything,” Hideyoshi said, his profile still all one hundred percent seriousness. His statement was followed by a muttered, “Except, maybe, honesty…”

You deflated. It truly seemed you were given the impossible task. You thanked that warlords, assuring Hideyoshi once more that nothing was amiss, save Mitsuhide’s birthday.

(I could feed him something bitter...oh wait...he doesn’t have taste buds, really. I could make him a gaudy outfit...then again, he’d probably wear it and tell everyone just who made it...my Sengoku career would be ruined…) You ticked off and promptly shot down every idea that hit your head as you walked. (If I could get close enough, I have hair chalk to turn his hair pink...IF I could get close enough...Maybe slip something into his sake, like he does Masamune?.....No, he’d catch on to that too quickly and turn it on me…)

You were still thinking when something warm and both soft and hard met your nose. “Hey kitten,” the owner of the soft, warm, and also hard body all but purred at you, “keep walking like that and you’re going to have a very short life.”

Lifting your head, you were met with one amused sapphire eye. Apologizing, you stepped back, Masamune making no move to put additional space between the two of you. Instead, he grinned at you, “What’s got our lass looking so far away for? Is he any good?”

You tried to ignore that, but your ears burned with heat anyway. You looked away, attempting to compose yourself, “Hey, Masamune,” you finally muttered a greeting.

“Yo,” came the reply. You glanced again, Masamune still smiling as if the world were little more than the greatest roller coaster ride. “So, what’s got you looking the way my soldiers do when they’re about to spar against me?”

When you told him of Mitsuhide’s birthday wish, he laughed. You were probably sure people in the town heard the volume of his mirth at your predicament. (Thanks for the vote of confidence, my dude.)

“Sorry, sorry,” his apology was filled with barely controlled chuckles. Your cheeks were so hot you were sure you could scorch something with them. “Getting that guy is gonna be hard. But I like this idea. Whatcha got in mind, kitten?”

Now, there was the caveat, “Um...I can’t think of anything. Is there anything he dislikes?”

“Yeah,” Masamune all but snorted, his eye full of amused concern for his fellow warlord, “his health.” “...I don’t think I can work with that…” you laughed back.

Masamune adjusted his pose, his mug taking on a look of contemplation, “I think the only thing Mitsuhide probably dislikes is being beaten at his own game…” Masamune commented.

(Of course. Now, let’s find out how to tackle such a task, mm?) You chose not to say that out loud.

“Think he’d go for a sword fight? I bet I could take him,” Masamune was busy musing away.

“You could,” you pointed out, “But I’m the one that’s supposed to be trying to beat him.”

“Hmm,” Masamune seemed to analyze you, “good point, lass. But I’ll admit I’d pay to see you take him on.”

He reached, patting your head before walking away, “Whatever you come up with, kitten, will be good. I’m sure he’ll appreciate anything you give him for his birthday.” And with that cryptic statement, the whirlwind known as the One-Eyed Dragon had disappeared.

You sighed and went to your room. Maybe you could make him a consolation haori if you couldn’t think of anything else. You went fishing for your sewing notions, suddenly wishing you had the plush fabric you used to make Bearsace. You searched your bag, looking for the picture you’d taken of the masterpiece, Nobunaga having taken the original. Your hands found a rectangular object and you pulled it out, surprised when you found yourself staring at a package of sweets.

Your mind traveled 500 years into the future where this biscuit treat originated. Recalling how people used them for everything from alternate candy cigarettes to cute romantic games. You smiled at the nostalgia the oblong box had given you. You remembered young couples, sneaking each other little moments of PDA using the little sticks.

(The Pocky Game….OMG THAT’S IT!)

You hugged the precious pink box to your chest, elated that you had it. Mitsuhide would never see it coming…(or he probably will but that’s not going to stop me! Ok, but how are we gonna do that? You gonna assault him? That’ll be the day) A deviant smile appeared as proverbial horns grew from your head (No...I’m gonna do this…)

“You realize every year Hideyoshi does the same and he never attends,” cinnamon orbs stared at you and you did everything you could not to shuffle while they bored holes into you, “what makes you think this will be different? Because you’re doing it?”

“No...because…” you did your best to show a placating smile, “you’re going to?”

“Oh?” his brow arched and you thought to yourself just how handsome the Fool of Owari was. Too bad a fox snatched you a long time ago. “I gather you have some sort of plan for this occasion that I’m not yet aware of?”

You told him your idea. Of everyone in this era, only Nobunaga was privy to the details of where you came from and how you ended up in this wartorn era. You discussed what Pocky was and the game that you could play with the cookie-esque treat. You even showed him the unopened box so he could see the confectionary in question.

He smiled, The Devil King’s horns probably matching your own. “Hoh, I think I like this idea. BUT…” his features turned serious and your heart nearly dropped into the floor, “I demand these pocky as payment”

(WHAT, NO!) You panicked, “B-but! I need them for the game!”

Nobunaga smirked, looking boyish and you were sure many a maid and warrior fell for it every single time, “But you only need one, right? For the game, you said? Did I hear wrong?”

The question set off warning bells in your head, “N-no…” you conceded to the first unifier, “But if you take them, I won’t have them for the party…” you tried to argue. You already knew at this point, trying to win over Oda Nobunaga was futile, but dammit you needed this for your plan!

“Don’t worry about that, fireracker,” the man assured, raising the box in what could only be called schadenfreude which made you very very worried, “you’ll have your game with Mitsuhide. I will handle everything. You may go.”

You stepped out, your mind reeling. It was great that Mitsuhide’s lord was on your side, but what did that devil man plan to do? (How is it that I went to the devil for the sake of outsmarting the fox?) Alas, there was nothing you could do for the moment but wait and see what Nobunaga had in store for Mitsuhide’s special event.

The answer came in the form of a missive the day of Mitsuhide’s birthday. You read it, almost cackling at the contents, “Ok sir.”

You found the birthday boy walking the halls, “Mitsuhide, can you come with me?”

He arched his brow but agreed to come. You were sure by the look on his face that he was expecting some great prank. What he got instead…

“SURPRISE!”

“I was misinformed of a war council today,” Mitsuhide was saying, his body already moving to excuse himself.

“NOT SO FAST,” you cried, holding up the weapon Nobunaga had given you. “Today, Akechi Mitsuhide, I am determined to make you stay and enjoy your birthday. As chatelaine, I have that authority.” You beamed in triumph.

The celebration went by, Masamune serving food and Hideyoshi trying to control the sweets intake. People chatted and drink flowed. And yet…

Mitsuhide sat in his own lonely place, quietly taking in his sake. (Well, we can’t be having that!) You were about to move towards him when you remembered, (oh yeah...Nobunaga took my coup de grâce) Your gaze traveled to the red gems, only to find they were watching you too. As if on some unspoken cue, Nobunaga called for you, “Come, chatelaine, pour me a drink!”

You took your place next to Nobunaga, pouring him some sake. You dared a glance at the hall, finding golden eyes watching you. Your heart sank at that, knowing that despite your plan to get him to enjoy his birthday and give him a special piece of your world, that Nobunaga’s command sadly had to come first.

“Look at him. Notice he’s watched you all night?” Nobunaga was murmuring, his voice and countenance every inch the warlord he was. You didn’t dare look at Mitsuhide again, but you shook your head anyway, noting that his mask was always unreadable to you. Nobunaga huffed, “He always watches people, but he’s never so obvious about it. I would know, he’s been with me for a long time.” You glanced at the Lord of Azuchi, wondering what he was getting at.

He slipped something out of his robes, a pink frosted stick was then placed between his lips as he looked at you. (Oh no….nonononono...that was meant for him. Mayday mayday) Your eyes widened at the man as he ridiculously smirked around the stick.

“Let’s see about this game of yours,” Nobunaga looked at you expectantly and you had to work really hard not to let the pricks in your vision lead to actual tears. You leaned forward, nipping a small piece of the pocky, your eyes never leaving his all to smug ones. You took a second nip, then a third, almost to his lips.

“Nobunaga-sama!” Hideyoshi cried. (Is it bad I’m disappointed it’s him that stopped this? Though...I *am* glad it stopped…) You and Nobu turned, a tiny bit of pocky still sticking out of his mouth. “I know that’s a sweet. Please, my lord, your health…” You felt so bad for the poor man always having to worry over everyone. (It’s likened to being the mother of five unruly children.)

“How do you know it’s a sweet, Hideyoshi?” Came the challenging question.

Hideyoshi blanched, “Mitsuhide mentioned it. He lied, didn’t he? That son of a-”

“He’s not wrong,” Nobunaga was saying, the final bit of the baked good disappearing as he chewed thoughtfully. “Though, konpeito is sweeter. This wasn’t so bad.” His eyes found yours while butterflies did a number in your stomach, “I thank you for these. Your payment.” He handed you a singular stick and you took it with numb fingers, nodding to the man. “I believe a certain someone is waiting.”

With that, you strode towards the someone in question. You didn’t dare look up while you walked, unsure you wanted to see what Mitsuhide’s face might say. You sat next to the silver fox, staring far too hard at the cup set that had mysteriously appeared. (Why does he have two cups if he’s drinking alone?)

“Little seamstress,” he voice brought you out of your reverie, “if you stare any harder at the china, I will have to replace it. Hideyoshi will throw a fuss. It’ll be quite amusing, but I fear for anything else you might set that scary look on.”

You looked up, finding Mitsuhide uncharacteristically serious. The man who could always smile was definitely not smiling at you. Your heart hammered as you were struck dumb by what you were seeing.

The look was gone, the familiar smile settling in its place before you could even attempt to analyze it, “It is evening and my birthday is near over, Princess.” His grin turned what you considered deadly when given to his enemies and yet your cheeks heated all the same. “Where’s my birthday gift, hmm? Or was your game with my lord my gift? I admit, it was something to watch.”

(SHAAAAAAME) Your mind called and your hands shook. (Now or never…) You tried to smile, sure you looked more like, how did Ieyasu put it, like Wasabi hearing uncertain noises? You shook your head, denying Mitsuhide’s claim, “No…” you breathed, constricting lungs making normal speech impossible at this point, “my gift is...this!”

You stuck the stick in your mouth and all but dove for the man. Your lips pushing the other end of the pocky into his with the force of your movements. He own did open, which made you thankful (This would have been horrid if he didn’t open his mouth and the stick broke) but teeth had you stopping before the poor game could continue and you choked the poor guy (That’s ok...I can play this game too).

You pressed your advantage, taking bites all down the stick until warm wetness met your lips. They didn’t return your kiss but you stayed there, just enjoying the feel of him. Your world narrowed to the man in front of you so you didn’t hear the cheers that erupted in your moment. You were sure you’d probably have died if you did. Eventually, though, you had to back away, sneaking in a glance to the Warlord of the Bellflower.

His appearance...was not amused. You winced, lowering your head. (Did I go too far? I should say something). You were about to apologize when you were swept up by a nighttime storm. “Ey, lass!” Masamune cheered, pulling you to him, “Interesting game. Wanna play with me?” You hesitated, shaking your head, explaining you had no more sticks. Masamune considered, “I’ll swipe one. Gimme a minute.”

“You will not!” Hideyoshi called and a cacophony of noise arose as warlords discussed your game, you kissing Mitsuhide, commentary on Mitsuhide’s mien, and Mitsuhide did seem to be a lot happier with you around. Your whole body was surely scarlet at how the subject jumped from Masamune wanting to steal you away to suddenly Mitsuhide looking like a happier man.

You tried to look over to him, finding his spot empty. (Where did…?) You untangled yourself from Flirty McEyepatch and slipped out of the party. You didn’t see where he’d gone and it took some wandering, but you found him outside, staring at the autumn leaves.

“Mitsuhide…” you called, feeling unsure. His head turned towards yours, his expression careful and unreadable. You approached, standing next to him. The silence was awkward, so you turned your gaze towards the leaves, “The leaves finished turning…” you said.

“They are more vibrant,” came the reply. You stood and just viewed the trees, the chill wind kicking up sparks of red and yellow to dance.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’d thought a game like that would be perfect for you…” Thinking back, you decided that it had been silly and pushed boundaries. Something you shouldn’t have done. “I hadn’t meant to-”

Mitsuhide’s fingers pressed to your lips, making your words die before they could be uttered. You flushed, looking up into topaz crystals. Mitsuhide’s portrait had taken an intense edge to it, but you still couldn’t quite read what it was saying. His thumb trailed across your mouth, making you whimper involuntarily.

“Congratulations,” Mitsuhide murmured, his voice blank and controlled, “I must say I did not expect that.”

His nail scraped over your already swollen bottom lip, drawing another low sound from you. His facade didn’t change as his finger teased at you, almost as if he were experimenting with your reactions to the stimuli he’d placed on you. You pursed, attempting to kiss the offending appendage, only for him to change tactics, his fingers not leaving your mouth, just you unable to snag him.

“I fell for your trap, little mouse,” he was quiet, but his voice held a low note of something you were too afraid to identify, “but what had you done if I had not agreed to come with you? It would have been so disappointing for you to have failed. You’ll need a better plan for the future.”

(Yeah...not sure I can pull that again…) You didn’t seem to fully catch his words, tone, and eyes but your heart fluttered all the same. In answer to his question, you handed him the missive Nobunaga had sent to you. Mitsuhide took it, his fingers leaving you cold where his absence was pointedly felt, and read the missive.

Akechi Mitsuhide. You laid hands on the woman I found. To answer for such a deed, I demand that you attend a celebration in honor of your birthday. I am certain such an event is a punishment fit for you. Do not dare defy me.

Mitsuhide’s vision found you again, clearly nonplussed. You pressed your lips together, watching him carefully.

“I’ve laid my hands on you have I?” He said, his smiling slowly returning, “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

His hands reached for your arms, capturing you effectively in their grip, and pulled you towards him. He leaned in, your heart thrilling at what was to come. You closed your lids, puckering up in excitement.

Warmth brushed your forehead leaving your lashes to flutter open in confusion. A smirking kitsune met you, “Did you expect a kiss? I’ll have to reserve that for next time.” His head moved close to yours, his breath ghosting over your face, “If you understand, then please do as you wish every day and every birthday,” your heart hammered, “when you try and leave, I’ll just continue to capture you like this again and again, as always.”

Mitsuhide released you and bid you goodnight. Once he was alone and far away, his features softened though sadness filled his eyes, “Except, I am unsure just who the captured one here is…I do not desire to be like this, dear one, but it seems I’ve no choice but to say I am in love with you.”

#Mitsuhide Akechi #Akechi Mitsuhide #Ikesen Mitsuhide #Birthday story #Ikesen Mitsuhide birthday #Ikemenfics #Happy Birthday Mitsuhide

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sleepnginstardust · 5 years

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Werewolf boyfriend and girlfriend (part 1/??)

I really enjoy the short stories by @momolady @monsterywriting and @monstersandmaw. So I wanted to write something that hopefully would live up to some of their amazing writing. Fair warning I don’t have anyone who’s able to proof read for me so I’ve as best as I can to make sure that everythings okay. Let me know if y’all find anything! This

Castle Hill, the sign was almost too perfect. When I was first looking at places to move this place hadn’t even occurred to me than someone I know of brought a listing to my attention.

“I know you’re thinking of moving to a less populated place, wouldn’t want anyone to bother your writing now would you!” The little jab at my writing career was annoying, but kind of spot on? I had been stuck in a rut for my second novel in my series for a while and while I don’t mind living in a densely populated area. The noise and just all of the people get to me after a while. It takes more energy for me to head to the corner bodega than it should. So I had been looking for a house in a small town that was within at the most a three-hour drive from the city.

The listing my acquaintance had posted on my facebook was for a house in the small town of Castle Hill. Bigger than what I needed but still cheaper than owning an apartment in the city. So I booked a viewing.

The realtor I talked with was surprised when I contacted them, he said something about not a lot of newcomers to the town. Never a good thing to hear if I ever wanted to sell the house again. I vaguely remember asking a few more questions. Something about the community college that was in the town and I asked about a motel or an AirB&B in the area.

The realtor laughed, he said that there was a small Bed and Breakfast in the area and that he could give me the number if I was serious about wanting to see the house. It was odd when he asked me again if I was serious about seeing the house. When I said I would be up at the end of the week to see the house, he hesitated and said that he looked forward to someone so obstinate.

So I drove the three-ish hours, it took to get to Castle Hill, the drive was gorgeous. The busy city by the bay slowly gave way to winding roads through farmland. Slowly the farmland gave way to rolling hills and soon the hills became forests. The trees were small at first then slowly growing larger the farther I drove.

By the time I reached the town sign, I was truly in a forest. There were small clearings here and there, in fact, the town was built in one such clearing. The town sign showed the edge and while it was a large clearing tree still peppered the area causing a rustic feel that I remember from my childhood spent in the mountains.

Quaint wooden walkways were in place of the concrete sidewalks I was used too. It made me feel like I had moved back in time. The Old Fashion buildings made everything, even the modern day coffee shop seem like it had all been there for years. As I drove past I saw, a butchers place, a florist's and a small hardware store.

The small crafts store was something that drew my eyes, it's bright exterior showed only a small portion of what was inside. As I made my way through the more suburban portion of the town I started to notice all the families. Naga men and women with their clutch of young, I saw a small satyr with a stunning woman and three children jumping up and down. I saw a beautiful Centaur woman with an equally stunning woman and a small centaur girl jumping around them.

As I pulled up to the Victorian house a woman not much older came out to greet me. She stood tall and proud which honestly made me feel a bit like a slob. especially after driving the three and a half hours it took me to get here.

"You must be Abigail, I'm Kara. It's so nice you are able to join us. I'll show you the room." As she took me through the house I looked at all the old photos slowly morph into newer ones. I felt like I was walking through a carefully preserved museum.

"Okay, is this a family home? I'm seeing photos from the 1880's 1870's at the earliest." Kara paused for a moment and looked back at me while giving a small smile.

"I'm surprised you noticed, most people just assume that I find old photos in antique stores or something like that." I looked down with a small blush on my face. History was one of the few things I enjoyed. Feeling a little embarrassed I muttered something I don't remember.

"My family has been in this area since the early 1860's. This house itself was built around 1904 right after the large earthquake that struck San Francisco." Kara showed me the house along with many more photos of the town from the early days.

The house itself was beautiful. Old but wonderfully kept wooden floors and antique looking wallpaper throughout. Each room was its own separate room. The furniture in each room seemed like it had been made especially for each room. The dining room had a large table with what seemed like 14 chairs.

She showed me the kitchen with its cozy dining nook where Kara explained that she served both breakfast and dinner there if I would want to join her. I couldn’t turn down such a wonderful woman so I readily found myself agreeing.

Finally she led me up the stairs and to the upper story where opened the door to a decent sized bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. The entire room smelled lightly of lilacs, which normally would bother me but with how light the sent was it didn’t bother me.

She carefully bowed out and put a key with rose shaped key fob attached on the nightstand. Slowly I dragged my battered carry on bag onto the almost pristine white luggage stand. I carefully pulled out my small makeup bag and a small toiletries bag. I put away the small amount of clothes I brought with me and debated whether to keep the sweater in the bag or with me. I pulled it out just in case.

After that I freshened up in the bathroom. I reapplied bits of my foundation and added a translucent setting powder over the top to cover my greaseball forehead. I pulled out my favorite lipstick and put that on instead of the tinted lip balm I had been wearing most of the day. I looked at myself in the mirror and realized that this was going to be the best I was going to look for the day.

Grabbing my laptop bag I made my way down the stairs. As I hit the downstairs landing I heard Kara talking with another person. I slowly made my way into the sitting room where I had heard the conversation coming from. I pulled short before the doorway and knocked like the sheepish person I am. I looked and saw Kara sitting down with two people both in firefighters uniforms. Not the heavy kind but the lighter kind that they wear while on duty.

“Look I know I’ve been here for” I checked my phone. “An hour, but I promise I haven’t set anything on fire. That I know of.” The Female firefighter snorted, and the male one had this stupid grin. One I kind of wanted to punch off of his face. Sort of.

“Oh Abigail This Anita Galassia the Chief Firefighter for the town.” The man made a disgruntled noise and Kara made soothing motions. “And this is Anita’s Second in command Nathan Fraye. They were checking in on me, one of my neighbors had a bad fall (she’s pregnant with her first child) and they wanted to assure me that if anything happened they would be here lickty split.”

“Wait, firefighters still do that? Sorry my local firefighters live an hour outside of the city and hardly know anyone.” Anita and Nathan hadn’t stopped looking at me even while Kara had been talking and I started to feel the anxiety creep into my brain. I felt like I had been cornered by two wolves, and my flight or fight feelings started to kick in. “Oh I forgot, I’m heading down to that coffee shop. You didn’t say anything about wifi and I have a few things I need to send in to my editor.”

“Oh my gosh Abigail I am so sorry! I do have wifi. I know I have the information around here somewhere. If you still want to go to the cafe I can have the password for wifi when you get back.” I nodded, feeling my anxiety kick it up a notch and my heart rate go up. I gave a small wave and started to turn around.

“Abigail right? Did you want us to take you down there? The fire house is close by and it wouldn’t be out of our way.” I turned back around looking at Anita’s earnest smiling face.

“Ahh no thanks I drove like three and a half hours to get here and a short walk would help get the cobwebs out of my brain before I have to edit like six chapters.” Anita’s face fell a little and she nodded.

“Understandable, maybe we’ll see you there. They have some good pastries.” I was still feeling like a cornered deer. So I put on my most brilliant smile and nodded. Waved again and made my way out of the room. On my way out I heard one of them mutter to Kara “She’s cute.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas horn dog” was all I heard as I quickly made my way out of the house and onto the small sidewalk through the neighborhood. Walking past the houses on my way towards the town center made me realize how many families were here. Like I had seen kids playing before but I only saw three or four of them. Now I was seeing whole groups of them.

In the 15 minutes I had been walking towards the coffee shop I started feeling invigorated and almost inspired. I say almost because as I was passing the local park, I noticed a small group of kids playing. I stopped for a moment and stared. As I watched the children playing I felt a small pang in my stomach. I wanted children but with my busy schedule I couldn’t even fathom having children. I quickly shook my head and started walking again.

Or well I would have if I hadn’t have run into something. Thankfully I didn’t fall over, I just happened to bump into them. I muttered sorry and started walking away.

“Are you okay?” I looked up and realized that the person that I bumped into was someone who could probably bench press me. Again my flight or fight response kicked in.

“Oh I’m fine, sorry for bumping into you.” I gave a small wave to the person and thankfully he took that to mean that I was fine and he thankfully left it at that.

“I’m pretty sure your new in town, if you need anything stop by the local newspaper, I’m Fred, I run it and can help you if you need anything.” Still feeling a little nervous. I nodded and started walking away. I could swear I could feel him watching me as I got farther away.

I started loosening up the farther I got away from the park. I kept my head down and I started counting the squares in the sidewalk. I started looking up when my anxiety started slowly going away. It was another ten minutes to the coffee shop and I was thankful when I noticed that it quiet. I made my way up to the counter and placed an order for just a pot of black tea and a plain scones.

“So are you just visiting or maybe just passing through?” I looked up at the orc girl behind the counter, and tried to figure out why she was asking.

“I’ve got an appointment to see a house tomorrow.” I said in a slightly dead tone. I had hoped the orc girl would take a hint and just leave it. But she was young and wanted to be nice. I think.

“Oh that’s awesome, we don’t really get a lot of new people who’d want to move into a town out in the middle of nowhere. Do you have some sort of business you’re opening up?” She started finally gathering my things as she had been talking and I tried to repress the urge to snap. I know I should watch my temper but damn I was really not in the mood to talk

“I’m a novelist. I need a more quiet area so I can focus a little better on my novel.” At that the girl looked up from filling the small pot of tea. “Hey watch out or yo-”

“Fuck!” my warning came a little too late as she poured boiling hot water over her hand. I put my laptop down on the counter.

“Are you going to need burn gel? Use room temperature water by the way.” The Girl looked at me, I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. She switched over the water temperature and pulled a red bag from under the register.

“Sorry I just realized where I had seen you before. I’ve seen your instagram, you have like a million subscribers.” I had the decency to be embarrassed. I knew I had a few subscribers here and there but I didn’t realize that people would actually recognize me.

“Yeah that’s me I guess.” The girl had remade the teapot and started heating up the scone. I grabbed my bag and saw a table in a corner that faced the street. I pulled out my laptop and looked around the table for a place to plug in. I found one a smalle ways away but still close enough to plug in my laptop.

The girl brought me the scone and the teapot with a murmured sorry. I nodded and took the pot and the scone laying them down on the table. I poured the tea and started nibbling on the scone putting some lemon curd on. As I settled down I opened the email from my editor with the edits he’d like to see and I sat down and started to write.

Writing had always come easy to me, easier than dealing with people at least. With writing I had control over everything, what people said, how people reacted, and honestly it was way easier to deal with things that I put onto paper. My first novel happened that way.

It had started as a way to deal with the fact that I wasn't what people wanted me to be. So I wrote a story about it. Fiction of course, because who would want to read an autobiography about a no one. And it sold, stupidly well. Then I was told they wanted a second book, and a third. So I rolled with it.

Now that I was working on the second book in the series I realized I really enjoyed writing. So here I was 200 miles away from my apartment and my editor trying to finish the last bit of editing before the book went to publication. Listening to the barista girl talk animated with someone.

I heard the clink of someone setting a ceramic cup down on a wooden table. Looking up with a scowl on my face I recognized the two firefighters from Kara’s place. My scowl deepened making me look like I was going to punch someone. Trying my best to ignore them, I went back to work.

”Wow and I thought I was scary when I'm mad.” I ignored the voice of Nathan as put in some rework to some dialogue. ”hello did you hear me?”

”yes i heard you, yes I am ignoring you. I have a few things to finish before my book goes to printing next month.`` I looked up to stare at Nathan who had this bewildered smile on his face. Anita sat down next to Nathan and punched his arm.

“I told you not to bother her, yet here we are. With her about to rip your throat out.” Anita gave a small snort.

“I wouldn’t rip his throat out, that’s too messy. I’d poison him, less blood that way.” I said not even missing a keystroke. I heard someone choke a little, and the sounds of someone thumping on someone’s back. The more I got into writing the less I noticed. I was almost finished with the final couple of revisions when I saw a hand in front of my computer screen. Blinking a bit I looked up.

“Sorry to bother you but you haven’t looked up in two hours and we were starting to worry.” I looked at the clock on my screen and realized I had been at the coffee shop for three hours. It was closing in on Six O’clock and I needed to get back to Kara’s. I looked back up to Nathan.

“Aw crap, I’ve got to get going, thanks for checking in.” I saved what I was doing and closed my laptop. I unplugged the charger from the wall and started shoving it and my laptop in my bag. I shut my bag and stood forgetting I had been sitting for a long period of time. Of course I would get dizzy after having nothing but scones and tea since last night.

As I steadied myself I felt a hand on my shoulder and stiffened. Looking back I saw Anita and Nathan both looking concerned? I didn’t know anything about these people and still they had concern for me. I had no idea why people like them would be concerned but here they were showing concern anyway.

“I’m fine, just haven’t had decent food since yesterday. I’m heading back to Kara’s where she promised a good home cooked meal. I think.” I raised my hands in defeat and walked over the counter. The Barista was looking between myself and the two behind me. “Can I just get a cup of water, need to stay hydrated you know.”

She handed me the cup and I waved to Anita and Nathan and left. As I popped outside I realized how cold it had gotten in the three hours I was there. I shivered a bit realizing that not everywhere was in the 80’s during September. I started walking back the way I came as the street lamps came on. I looked up and noticed that the street lamps were some old time looking ones with the fake flicker light bulbs.

I walked quietly by the stores with bright interiors. As the stores gave way to houses I started feeling like something was watching me and I started getting nervous. I started walking faster and as I was walking past the park I looked over. Two sets of glowing eyes stared back at me and I nearly screamed.

Needless to say, I walked faster back to Kara’s house and as I saw the lights on I quickly made my way inside. Not running mind you, but close. As I opened the door and slammed it shut my heart was racing. Kara came through the door to the kitchen and looked at me up and down.

“Abigail you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I nodded, not paying attention to what she was saying as she led me into the kitchen. The smell of what seemed to be chicken and something else came to my nose. She took my bag and put it on a hook next to the door over some aprons. “Okay, tell me what happened”

“I- I don’t know, I was walking back from the coffee shop and I started feeling like I was being watched. Which by the way is terrifying because the last time that happened I was nearly killed. Well I started walking faster, not running because then that lets them know you know they’re watching and when I passed the park I look up and somewhere past the park there where these eyes. Two sets of them, and well I started panicking and now my anxiety is throu-” She didn’t let me finish my sentence as she engulfed me in a hug. I tensed up waiting for the whole “You shouldn’t be so cautise” talk I’ve heard from many different people. Instead she just rubbed my back in soothing circular motions.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’ll talk to a few people to see what we can do. Now we need some food if you can stomach it. I know sometimes anxiety can be a real monster.” As she said this my anxiety dropped a little enough where I wasn’t hyperventilating. I was still having issues seeing, and I knew from experience that tunnel vision took a while to go away. I started to tremble so much so that my knees finally gave out. Kara grabbed me before I could hit the floor thankfully. She manhandled me into a chair at the table and gave me a glass of water.

“Maybe I should call the fire department for you.” Hearing that all I could think about was the look of pity from Anita and Nathan I would get and my stomach dropped. I grabbed her wrist and shook my head no.

“P-p-please don’t I have medicine in m-my b-bag.” I pointed to my laptop bag, and she hurried over and searched the front bag finding the small bottle of anti anxiety medicine. She brought over the bottle and handed it to me. I opened the bottle and took out a pill and put it in my mouth and drank the glass of water. I put the glass of water on the table and put my head between my legs.

“Do these attacks happen often?” I turned my head to look at her and nodded slowly.

“They were manageable most of the time, but there was this incident about five months ago? I don’t know. Anyway they become worse almost to the point where I couldn’t leave my apartment.” Kara nodded her head and started making a plate of food. I watched her bring a chicken thigh onto a plate before I spoke up. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat that, I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. Besides I can make you something easier on the stomach. How about some soup and maybe a grilled cheese?” I looked at her perplexed, this woman had known me four maybe five hours and she had treated me better than my own mother. The tears came faster than I realized and when Kara looked back at me from the freezer where she was pulling out what looked like homemade soup, she gasped.

“Hey, what’s wrong, do you not like chicken noodle, I think I have some leftover Minestrone from last week still,” I started crying harder, trying to make sure the sound wasn’t loud so the neighbors didn’t hear. “Oh dear, what’s wrong, you can talk to me.”

“N-n-n-not e-even m-m-m-my own m-m-mother cared, she just cared that I wasn’t making money for her anymore.” At this Kara stopped put the soup down on the counter and walked over to me.

“Abigail I’m going to tell you one thing about this town. If you do end up taking buying a house here know one thing. We look after our people no matter what. You’ll never have to worry about walking home alone. If you’re ever sick we’ll look after you. If for whatever reason you’re gone for long periods of time we’ll look after your yard and feed your cat if you have one. We care for our people, you won’t be alone unless you want it.” As she said this I started crying even harder this time not caring who heard. Kara just kneeled down and rubbed circles in my back. After a couple of minutes my tears started winding down and the fuzzy feeling of just having a long cry started creeping in.”

“Now Abigail let’s get you some soup, a nice grilled cheese and some more water okay?” I nodded and watched her refill the glass I had from earlier. She gently placed the water in front of me and I hesitantly picked it up.

“I’m sorry for the breakdown there, It had been a while since I had one and I never expected to have one here.” I sniffled and looked around for some paper towels or maybe a paper napkin. Kara was looking at me as she warmed up a thing of soup in a sauce pot. I looked down at my knees very interested in my knees.

“Amelia you don’t have to apologize, most people don’t hold half the things inside them that you probably do and they still break down.” She flipped a sandwich over in a pan on the stove top & stirred the soup. “Honestly one of the hardest things in life is being strong enough to understand that you don’t always have to be strong.”

I sighed, maybe I knew I was due to break down but I had been hoping that maybe I would be able to get through the final draft of my novel and purchase a new house before I had one. Wishful thinking I know, but I had hoped. Rubbing the back of my neck I knew I should say something but all I was able to do was nod and hang my head. I heard the clack of bowls and plates. The rustle of silverware followed.

I bowl of steaming soup was placed in front of me. MInestrone I realized, and a plate with a grilled cheese cut in half was placed next to the bowl. Kara refilled my glass with more water and set it down in front of me.

I looked up and saw her sitting down in front of me with the same thing. I looked at the counter with the beautifully prepared chicken, and rolls.

“I’m sorry, I ruined your dinner.” I looked down feeling like a child who had ruined Christmas for their family. I heard a small sigh.

“Has no one ever told that not everything your body or mind does is something you can control.” I looked up at her then back down quickly. I didn’t have the heart to tell her about all the times as a child I wet the bed only to have my mother slap me for waking her and make me sleep in urine soaked sheets as “punishment”. Kara honestly looked like the type of person to hunt down my mother and punish her.

“If it didn’t come up in my mothers “Parenting for Narcissists” book then she probably forgot.” Kara let out a bitter laugh and I picked up some of the sandwich. I carefully dipped it in the soup and pulled out. The soup tasted perfect, as I expected. The sandwich had a decent cheese to bread ratio. Not that I was expecting anything less.

“I haven’t known you for long, maybe a day or so at this point, but there’s something I don’t get. You seem to be hurting a lot and from what I can tell, what ever drove you to come here terrified you so much that you decided to leave everything you know behind. Why?” I looked down thinking about what had happened, and how people I thought to be my friends acted afterwards.

“I guess I’m prying huh? You don’t have to say anything I know you’ve only been here for less than 10 hours. So finish your soup and go to bed, maybe take a bath. Since you’re the only one here the communal bath has a nice big tub.” I nodded and I finished my sandwich and soup I got and went to go put my dishes in the sink. “Don’t you even dare, just go take a bath and relax.”

“Kara? Thank you.” Kara waved her hand at me and moved to gather the dishes. I left to her too it.

#werewolf boyfriend #werewolf girlfriend #exophilia #my writing #monster lover

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mysticmysterywrites-blog · 5 years

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Prompt #7

I want to do an apocalypse like setting with these three characters that I have. They're in a relationship with eachother, and have stopped at one of those middle of nowhere towns that just kind of exist?? Probably the only sign that the apocalypse hit being that theres no one around anymore and shit.

The first character is Amara. She's probably the most dangerous of the three, and is the type to shoot a bitch without hesitation. She has a soft spot for her partners and children, but other than that is willing to crack someone over the head and leave them to die. She isn't described in roleplay, but she's about 5'10, with long braided black hair and tanned skin. She has brown eyes.

Ko is the second character, and he is described in prompt. He's like the least dangerous of the three. He LOOKS threatening, but he doesn't know how to use like any weapons and basically acts as their doctor (Which, you know. He was studying to be one before everything went to hell land)

Asa (it's a nickname) is the final character. He uses a sword instead of a gun, which he defends on the basis of it being easier to kill zombies with. A lot more silent, and he normally isn't TRYING to hurt PEOPLE with it so it's all fine. That said, Amara is the one doing most of the fighting out of the three. He's the best smooth talker of the group though, and when it comes to dealing with people is most likely the one they'll turn to.

I imagine at this point in the roleplay, the apocalypse has been going on for about 3-4 or so years so far? Like, enough that the dust has startled to settle but still to the point where things are a bit panicked. These three have all been traveling together for about 6 months now, and Amara and Asa were traveling together for about a year before that. They do have an end goal to where they want to go, but your character will need to dig that out of them.

As for your character, they can be anyone! Someone that's been making this walmart their home and doesn't appreciate the people coming by? Someone who needs the medicine more than they do at the moment? Just someone on a supply run of their own?? Maybe someone younger then the bunch of them, and think's they're far tougher shit then they really are?? Possibilities are endless.

I'm willing to let this get Nsfw, but only if you and your character are 18+. But I do want this to be a slow burn kinda rp. If the plot takes us there, then it may happen. That said, you don't have to match this! I'm kind of cheating with the length by having like.. three characters. Just reply to your comfort, and I'll try and match! We'll be gucci.

Amara was not the type to trust easily.

It was just how it was in this bitch of a world. The more people you trusted, the more likely you were to get hurt. Or something obnoxiously sentimental like that. She'd learned that lesson time and time over, each and every time she'd placed herself in a group having been stabbed in the back. At one point /literally./ She knew better than to trust, knew better than to rely on others for her own safety.

...That said.

Even she had her soft spots. They were rare, and took time to grow. But they existed, and even she was willing to admit they were there. Her soft spots can in her two companions.

"Nah, nah you aint hearin' me out," Her first companion would laugh, somehow managing to walk backwards and bounce over every obstacle in his path. He was a small man, with a mohawk that had long ago begun to over grow (She'd need to talk Ko into cutting it for him. She'd offer to do it herself, but she'd always been a bit bad at that) bright blue eyes, and pale skin, "If we got horses instead of a car, we'd never have to worry about running out of gas. Maybe we'd have to worry about like.. Where we could store stuff. But we could totally go like-- You know those carts people would have on the back of their horses? Like.. The fuckin' Oregon trail games, that shit!"

"..Wagons?" She added, helpfully at that.

"Yeah! We could have wagons!! Could you 'magine tryin' ta shoot walkers in one of them badboys?" Asa raised his eyebrows, gaze more on the man next to her then herself. The man next to her- Ko. He was a sharp contrast to the sight of the other man. Tall, dark skin. Scars that seemed to dance and curl on his skin, and dreadlockes he'd managed to pull up in a style that she'd never be able to replicate behind him. He really was pretty, and whispers between herself and Asa had deemed that he probably couldn't hurt a fly if he'd wanted to.

Ko snorted, his arm moving around her waist. She could feel the hesitation in his motions, as if he was silently asking her "..Hey, is this alright to do?" To which she leaned in closer. Her own hand rubbing up and down his spine, fingers all but dancing on his skin. He was still so nervous about attention. And she really did understand, but.. She'd just sigh, allowing him a chance to ease himself into it.

Asa, on the other hand.. "You just want an excuse to have horses around," She reached over to smack his arm, needing to slip out of Ko's grip to do so. He stuck his tongue out at her in response.

"Fuck yeah I do. Horses are awesome," He shrugged

"Air conditioning," Ko said simply, as if that would debate all the point's that Asa was shooting out at them.

"We have generators! And fans!! It's basically the same thing!" It wasn't, and by the way Asa paused and deflated, he knew it wasn't as well, "Okay then. A farm. I want a farm. We gotta have a farm! I miss meat..."

She'd sigh, "If we can find horses, we'll consider- and I mean it when I say consider! taking them along," a stupid thing to agree to, but it at least got him to stop on it for a bit. And it did.

"Alright," She looked around the walmart. It was one of those kind of walmarts where she was sure that, back in the day when things were up and running it must have gone around and bought out every other grocery store in the middle of nowhere town, and had at the time had a balls out monopoly on the place. However, now that like 80% of America had succumbed to the disease that was zombiefication, it was just a flat out gold mine of possible things that they could find, "Ko, darling, can you go try and take care of food and medicine,"

"Mm.. what else would I be getting?" He tried to sound like he was complaining, but it sounded half assed and accepting of his roll among them.

"Know the most go get the most," She paused, "We can probably stop by the towns hospital before we leave if there's nothing left here, but mm.. Judging by the looks of this place, we'll probably be fine," She shrugged, sliding a cart her partner's way, "Asa, Can you go see if you can find batteries and lightbulbs and shit? And maybe bullets and other kinda weapons. You tend to be good at sniffing that kinda shit out."

He scoffed, "Good at sniffing them out? It's a talent doll!" He bounced in his spot, moving to grab a cart of his own, "I'll meet you in the medicine isle!" And just like that, he was off.

"Remember to pick up any seed packets you find! AND- Maybe. Another. Map.. He didn't hear me, alright..." She called out, before turning her attention to Ko again, "...I'm gonna go try finding us some entertainment. I don't know about you two, but I'm getting kind of bored with checkers and monopoly. Cards against humanity can stay, but it's on thin fucking ice," A groan of agreement was his acknowledgment, but it was one that hid amusement behind it's tone, "Be careful, yeah?"

"I'm the one you're telling that to?" He asked, eyebrow raised and a laugh on his voice. But as soon as he noticed the look she was giving him, he'd nod, ".. I will. I have my gun on me," He reassured, and for a second was okay with splitting up like this.

She'd taken her time strolling up and down the isles, occasionally picking shit off the shelves. There were a few boardgames she'd never heard of, some that she had heard of but had over played so much in her child hood that she'd just gotten board of them. And- Shit, was that pokemon?? She'd been looking for those games since this stupid apocalypse had begun. Should probably grab some nintendo's to go with it... She snatched what remained of the sorry game isle, popping the objects in her cart.

By the time she'd finished going through the isles, her cart had been at least half full, various hand held's and board games sloppily piled around her. Which wasn't a bad thing. It would, at the very least, give them something to do while they traveled. But they did only have so much room in their van. Hmm.. Maybe this would call for some reorganization in the back?

As promised, she'd made her way back to the medicine isle, flipping through the pages of one of the book's she'd picked up with a sort of half paying attention look to her, the other part of her trying to think of ways they could reorganize their van. While it WAS a pretty big van, it kept basically everything they owned in there. Maybe it was time to invest their time in trying to find a trailer and a truck?? Her smile twitched up as she even considered the idea of using the horses and carriages like Asa had suggested. She loved the guy, but god. They'd been doing pretty good at finding fuel so far, why would that be a worry now?

Besides, wouldn't they find SOMEWHERE safe before that became an issue?

Shaking her head, she rounded the corner she'd heard them talking from.. hell, the other end of the store, "I picked up some of these shitty smut novels. You know the kind. Oh Johnson take me /now!/ Kinda novel. And, like, How do you guys feel about DnD? I use to GM for my group before- Uh..." Slowly. Carefully. She put the book back down into the cart (On top of a few of the notebooks she'd managed to find. Another score). The scene registered rather quickly in her head. A person, someone she didn't know. Knife in their hand, pointed at her partners. The person looked like a startled deer, like the hadn't expected her to pop around the corner. Asa had his sword out, placing himself between the person and Ko, but lord. Did she not like how close they were to the two of them.

Her stomach sank, and her body reacted before she fully registered the scene, and she found herself with a gun in her hand before she could tell them to move, "You," Her tone was calm, but the kind of calm that held nothing but a storm behind it, "Need to lower your knife, and step away from the both of them. I will not hesitate to shoot you, and take everything you currently own."

#Cherubplay #Laelia/okami/floant prompt

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 6 years

Text

Sweaters for December

A lovely anon requested: Tim lost a bet and has to wear ugly christmas sweaters until Christmas. And the reader works at the clothing store.

A lovely anon requested: Reader's little brother (10) wants meet tim drake for his christmas gift. Because he won a science fair and wants to be like Tim

13. Character A’s little sibling/child wants to meet their favorite celebrity/writer/person for Christmas. Character B is said “Christmas present” + 22. Character A loses a bet and has to wear a different ugly Christmas sweater every day till Christmas. Character B works at a clothes store

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Word Count: 793

Tags: @coltcas

Masterlist | Christmas Drabbles

A/N: Again, I hope it's cool that I combined these requests because I feel weird writing these after Christmas and there were too many requests~

"Store's closing in ten minutes," you shout from behind the counter.

It's been quite the long day for you with the pre-Christmas rush of people who actually buy their presents early, and your boss abandoned you to take care of the store by yourself with your most useless co-worker who is currently taking a break when it's time to close up of course and just now, someone comes in at the last minute.

Great.

Rising from where you were ducked under the counter, you bump your head on hard surface on the way up and that's just the sour cherry on top of an aggravating day. "Hey, did you hear me?" You call out to the boy who's back is to you. "I said the store's closing—"

The last of your sentence fades out after he's turned to face you and his expression is that of a deer caught in headlights. He looks both nervous and like he's had a day equally as shitty as yours, but what makes you soften is that he looks somewhat familiar— not to mention how cute he is. Bright blue eyes that contrast his dark hair and kind looking features.

"In ten minutes—" He approaches you, nervously running a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, sorry about that- it's just- I've had a crappy day and I could really use some help with something."

"Hi, my name is Y/N," you smile, pointing a finger to your name tag and stretching your other hand out to shake his.

"I'm Tim." Your eyes narrow as you study his features because you're certain you've seen him somewhere before.

"Tim," you say slowly, as though repeating his name will help you recall where you've seen him. Realizing that you're still shaking his hand, you let go and hope he doesn't think you're a complete idiot. "So what can I help you with today?"

"I have to buy a disappointing amount of ugly Christmas sweaters." He speaks in a low voice, eyes darting around the store even though no one else is there. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what a boy like him would want with the selection of ugly Christmas sweaters and his cheeks redden, burning of embarrassment that it had to be someone as pretty as you working when he has such a strange request.

"Am I allowed to ask why?"

"I-I lost a bet with my brothers," He visibly cringes at his own predicament. "And now I have to wear an ugly Christmas sweater every day until Christmas."

You can't help but erupt in laughter at his predicament. Whatever shitty day you were having before he walked in has been forgotten as he laughs along with you and you can't help thinking that his smile lights up the whole room.

"Hey, you're Tim!" You exclaim, recognition hitting you like you've been slapped across the face.

"Yes...?" He answers, wondering why you'd point that out right after he's told you he's name.

"You're from the Wayne family aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah- I-I guess it's hard to get out of name status around here, huh?"

"I think we go to school together— you won the science fair, right?" You inquire, a certain special someone coming to mind.

"Y-Yeah," he says sheepishly, not wanting a total cutie like you to think he was too much of a nerd.

"Tell you what, Tim," A smile plays on your lips. "I'll help you pick out sweaters from our obscenely large selection if you agree to meet my little brother."

"Uh, sure?" he agrees, not knowing the relevance.

"It's just that my brother looks up to you a lot, he loves science and hopes to win one day when he's older just like you," you explain, grabbing a pen and scrap piece of paper. "So maybe I could give you my number, and you could hang out with my brother for while? Maybe talk about science and all that if you're up for it?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good deal." The corners of his mouth quirk up in a smile that makes you weak in the knees and you'd probably find some way to fall and totally make an ass of yourself if it weren't for the counter supporting your weight. You finish scrawling your phone number on the paper. Handing it to him, a cute blush tints his cheeks pink. "A-And maybe I could possibly, I don't know, use your number to call you- t-to hang out with you? I-If you would want that–"

"I'd love to."

As you make your way around the counter, Tim thinks he might fall over because he never would of thought that losing a bet to his brother would have turned out so well.

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archuve · 7 years

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In search of Food

Before I begin with the usual author’s note stuff I would like to address one important thing... *takes a deep breath*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AKI CHAROIX GODDESS!!! THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING YOU HAVE DONE TO AND FOR THIS FANDOM. I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS 6K CHAROIX ONE SHOT B-DAY FIC @akilice

Ahem now that’s done, on to the fic!! Also shout out to @croixmeridies for being my beta reader for this fic. Anyways... I hope you enjoy it~

Summary: Akko, daughter of Chariot Du Nord decided to embark on a quest without her mother’s permission; A girlfriend for her mum. (Charoix)

Chariot Du Nord hummed to herself as she began to pile breakfast into one of her old Shiny Chariot themed plates. The steam rising from the food fogged her glasses but in the temporary blindness Chariot was able to place the food on the small table that she owned. She looked up, the steam on her glasses dispersed on their own as her eyes looked on the clock she owned, once again, Shiny Chariot themed.

“This is odd,” She murmured herself as the clock ticked past 9 o’clock. Usually Akko, her daughter, would be up by now especially with the aroma of her cooking in the air. Come to think of it, the house they owned was more quieter than normal. Her crow, Alcor would be in the room with her whilst her dog a big white Alaskan Malamute, Arcas would either be on the stairs running to meet Akko or in the living room playing with his 4 pointed star plushy.

“Akko?” Chariot asked as she moved out of the kitchen to the stairway, her worry increasing as she saw a discarded star chew toy on the floor. When she heard no response, not even the boof of Arcas, Chariot decided to investigate. “Akko?” Chariot repeated as she headed up the stairs as the sane parts of her mind tried to reassure her that there is nothing to worry about. However, those thoughts did nothing to ease the unwelcomed silence of the du Nord House.

Eventually Chariot found herself in front of Akko’s room. If she wasn’t so worried for her daughter then maybe Chariot might’ve stopped to admire the drawings that were taped to the door. They were small drawings of Chariot, Alcor and Arcas and herself; sometimes it was only one of them in the drawing, other times it was either a few or all of them. Either way each one made Chariot overwhelmed with parental love but right now all that grew was her motherly protection.

“Akko?” she repeated one final time as she knocked on the door, “Breakfast is ready, are you coming down to eat?” There was silence at first, then came the soft muffled noise of movement. Chariot sighed with relief, letting out a breath she didn’t know she held. Without hesitation, Chariot opened the door as she went to wake her daughter. “Akko sweetheart it’s time to wake up today we’re having- ALCOR!”

The bird in question cawed back. At least, he tried to, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. Next to him was Chariot’s wand that rolled around as he tried to jump from the paper that was somehow glued to his feet that was on Akko’s clean star constellation bed. Now this raised alarm bells to Chariot, not because her beloved crow was silenced and stuck to a piece of paper with her wand but because Akko never made her bed in the mornings. She always waited until it was in the afternoon when she needed to actually be on it again to clean it up.

Secondly, the old crow would never be in her room. Alcor would only be there briefly to collect Akko or to check up on her but never would he sleep overnight in the room nor be there of his own will unless Akko was in danger. Chariot grabbed her wand before she spoke the incantations of the reversal spells. A small pulse of white magic surrounded the space around them before it was filled with the croaks and caws of the agitated crow who flew up to Chariot’s level.

“Alcor, what happened to Akko?” Chariot asked as she placed her palms out for Alcor to rest on them. Alcor cawed again before his head turned to the paper that was left on the bed. Alcor flapped up to perch himself on her shoulder as Chariot reached for the paper. Her eyes grew wider and wider with every word before Chariot discarded the paper with a rush to the stairs. “Akko!” She yelled, worry laced in her voice as she threw on a coat and rushed outside.

Dear Mum,

If you’re reading this then I actually did what I planned to do tomorrow! Woo!!! You see I noticed that when we go out there are always two mummies and a kid and sometimes you look at them with a funny face that actually doesn’t look that funny. I think it looked sad. Which is why I’m not in the house!! I don’t like it when you look sad so I decided to find you a new mum!! Or find me a new mum, maybe, hopefully (I don’t know what it’s called when one mum likes another mum the google just gives me weird names like sweetie, honey and deer but I don’t think you call another person you like food). Anyways I will be at the town trying to find a new mum for me and a new food??? For you!

Don’t worry I already got a lot of food and sweets to feed me in my bag and money as well to get home and I will be safe as well!! I got Arcas to come with me (which is why he wanted to sleep with me yesterday)!! Alcor wanted to come but he kept being loud so I made him be quiet and then made him sleep . Pleaseeee tell him I’m sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise and he wanted to ruin it >(

Love Akko

P.S I think I decided to go to the park? But I think I might have changed my mind tomorrow or today when you read this since I am writing this at night, or yesterday night. Also are you proud of me?!! If I did this then I woke up early for once!! Like at 7am early!!!

/-/

Akko sighed as she plopped down on one of the benches of town square, Arcas followed her and jumped on, the metal creaking a bit under his weight as he rested in Akko’s lap. “Arcas,” she sighed as she began to weave her fingers in between his long strands of fur. “Why is it so hard to find food for mum?” Arcas whined as he buried his face on her shirt with a small grumble in his stomach. “I know what you mean bud, I want her to be happy too.” Arcas whined again as he went off her lap to find food much to her chagrin. The break didn’t last as long as she expected it to but who was Akko to complain? The quicker they found a new mum the better, so she held tight to the lead as Arcas lead her on another walk around the town.

Originally Akko went to the park but, it was eerily quiet at 7:30 and there was no suitable “food” for Chariot which made them walk to the town where maybe someone who could be “food” for Chariot would appear. There weren’t many people still; sure some shops were open, but they didn’t allow big dogs like Arcas in. Therefore they just walked around to find a new mum but after searching for an hour the situation looked hopeless already, especially since the only food she knew were the chocolate waffles she has been eating for breakfast.

Arcas barked as he pulled on his lead, an act that surprised Akko as she almost bit her tongue instead of her breakfast waffle. “Woah, Arcas calm down a bit,” Akko asked as she dropped her half eaten waffle to use two hands to control the lead however even using two hands didn’t help Akko as Arcas began to run to a random direction.

“Arcas!” Akko yelled as she was pulled along, the big dog, barking in a wild frenzy as he ran across town whilst Akko still held on to his leash. Her wine red eyes were filled with fear and worry, growing wide as Akko and Arcas ran over near empty roads and into a street she wasn’t so familiar with. “Arcas, heel!” Akko commanded in some attempt to stop the big dog as her knees started to colour red from scratches from the time she stumbled in an attempt to catch up with him.

Arcas however, did not heel. He did not stop at all as he rushed forward even more. He made a sharp turn to the alleyway whose long shadows began to grow as Akko descended further into it as her eyes watched the buildings become more darker and taller instead of watching the street in front of her. “Arcas…” Akko gulped as she looked at the bounding dog in front of her, “Where are we-” Akko couldn’t finish her sentence as her feet tripped on a discarded rusted pipe on the floor.

She fell hard to the floor, concrete scratching her face as she still held onto the leash before she let go in a second’s time, the pain on her legs becoming too much for her to bear. “Owww,” Akko groaned as she looked up, her eyes that were once dazed with pain grew wide once more. In front of her Arcas was running out of the alleyway and out of sight.

“Arcas, come back!” Akko yelled as she pushed herself off the ground, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as she didn’t even register the aches on her hands nor the ones on her knees and legs as she rushed out of the alleyway. Akko could afford a few scratches as long as she didn’t lose Arcas. She was already having trouble finding “food” for her mum and if she lost Arcas too, Akko was sure that she would cry.

However any tears that were threatening to appear vanished as Akko heard his barking echo around her. A relieved smile crept up to her face, her shoulders sagged with relief whilst tension left with a long sigh. Arcas was fine, he was only in the supermarket parking lot…

Oh no.

With a full sense of worry, Akko quickly crossed the street to the supermarket parking lot, dread intruding her skin as it sent uncomfortable ripples across her body. Akko wouldn’t lie, she knew she had an uncanny knack of finding trouble, or for trouble to smack her right in the face before she realised it was right in front of her. Trouble happened so often that she could say, at the tender age of eleven, she already had a sixth sense for it.

Arcas could be hit from one of the cars coming and going, he could be attacked by some random stranger, he could run into the store and cause panic and then she would be in big big biggg trouble. His lead could get trapped between the wheels of a cart and could hurt him, he could be taken away from her somehow and she would never see him again!

Akko’s imagination grew wilder and wilder. It made her tired legs continue to run despite the ache that clung to the muscles, it made her forget to breathe or to stop. Her eyes constantly swept across and between the various cars she ran past, her ears were strained to hear something, a mere echo of her dog in the vast parking lot.

However all the worry and tension that was building up in her muscles vanished as she heard Arcas’ bark in the distance. It was in the extra parking area just around the shop. Her shoulders sagged in relief as she jogged to the area before pausing when she heard something else, someone else. A quick firework display of worried emotions flickered on Akko’s face before she gulped and edged forward but hesitance forced her to only peek from the building side.

The fear that shrouded her confidence to step out in a reckless manner slowly dissipated as the melodic laughter rang in the air, harmonising with the happy and playful sounds of Arcas. Akko couldn’t help but gasp out loud, prompting her to cover her mouth in surprise but it didn’t seem to register the woman’s attention.

In fact, the woman was more focussed on Arcas, holding out a piece of bacon in the air which made Arcas stand on his hind legs before throwing it to Arcas’s mouth with a laugh and a kind smile that matched the adoration in her emerald eyes. Her hair was lavender, short with a loose strand sitting near her eye. She wore a buttoned up red flannel with denim jeans and no jewellery apart from the necklace that hung from her neck and the jet black shades propped on her head, which didn’t really make sense since it was only partially sunny with the clouds coming and going.

Though Akko didn’t really care why this mysterious lady would wear sunglasses on a somewhat cloudy day, she was more focused on the word that was drilled into her mind, repeating like a broken record player. The sound made her blood buzz with excitement and gave her the final push to walk up to the woman who was tenderly stroking Arcas’ fur as she checked his star printed collar.

“Food.”

The woman looked up at her, confusion on her face, a brow raised in curiosity as her eyes glanced at the shopping bags scattered around her. “Oh hello, are you Arcas’ owner?”

Her accent made Akko’s smile grow even more as she clasped her hands together and leant forward to the stranger. “Will you be my mum’s food?”

/-/

If you told Croix that she was going to bombarded by a big dog, have her breakfast ransacked by said dog and then have to look after a child who owned said dog all before midday, she would’ve thanked you and just eaten instant noodles for breakfast and gone grocery shopping another day. But alas, nobody warned her about today and so she was here to suffer the consequences. Even if said consequences meant she had to suddenly pull over due to said kid.

“You’re not joking with me are you, Akko?” Croix said with a hidden laugh as she rested her head on the steering wheel.

“Well, then what does it mean!?” Akko replied with a pout to her lips, making Croix chuckle as she leant back on her seat.

“Akko, when a woman loves another woman, they are each other’s girlfriend, not food.” She explained, completely ignoring the innuendo in her head that objected that claim. “The terms you saw are just couple nicknames they give to each other like honey, sweetie or dear with an A.” She looked at the child as a sense of enlightenment captured her eyes.

“Oooh, so… you can be my mum’s girlfriend and call her honey and dear with an A?” Akko asked and Croix swore she saw literal stars in her eyes that gleamed in the idea of her dating her mother.

Croix laughed at the idea as she ruffled Akko’s hair, “Yes, but no, Akko,” she answered before she pulled out of the lane to start driving again, focusing on the road instead of Akko’s whines of disapproval. “Don’t take it personally, kid, but I don’t even know your mum and besides I’m sure she wouldn’t be in the mood after this stunt you just pulled. I mean, did you even tell your mum about this?”

The sudden silence told Croix everything.

“Even more reason why I should bring you home,” Croix sighed as she followed the gps.

“Wait. Is that where we are going!?” Akko screamed in surprise. “How do you even know where I live?”

“Your dog’s collar has the address,” Croix explained, glancing at the girl to make sure she was okay. Her face was pale, mouth open with dread and the smell of foreboding doom was anchored to her clothes. Croix could even hear the sound of her soul leaving the body but was probably okay, probably. “By the way, you really shouldn’t include that on the collar. Some creep could easily use it to find your house and then rob you when you’re gone.”

“Please, I beg of you Croix, pleaseeee don’t bring me back to my mum. She’ll kill me!” Akko begged, but her words fell on deaf ears as Croix could see a small flag on the GPS which signified that they were near to her house.

“Well it’s better than me being in jail after being accused of kidnapping or attempted kidnapping.” Croix shrugged as she pulled up on Akko’s driveway which made the poor girl wail in horror. “Besides, as you can tell, we’re already here.”

“I’m going to die.” Akko confirmed as she curled up into a ball before she sent a glare to Croix, “And you aren’t invited to the funeral.”

Croix couldn’t help but laugh at Akko’s grumpy face as she unclipped her seatbelt then turned off the engine before getting out of her car. “Come on Akko, let’s not worry your mum even further.”

Croix went straight to the back of her car where she opened the door to let Arcas out. The dog barked at her and she replied in a friendly ruffle of his fur as he jumped from the car, racing to the door. “I never found the time to say this, but you have one friendly dog Akko,” she said as the slam of her passenger seat registered in her ears. She closed the back door with the click of her button before looking up with a low whistle of appreciation. “You also have a nice house.”

“If you like it so much you can live in it!” Akko couldn’t help but shout out as she grabbed the spare key hidden under a plant.

“I don’t like it that much,” Croix said as she walked up to Akko, eyes narrowing at the impish grin that Akko bore. “And it's nice to know you have the courage to smile on death’s door.”

“I regret bringing you here to be my mum’s food,” Akko mumbled as she began to turn the key. “I mean girlfriend.” Akko corrected after hearing Croix chuckle underneath her breath. Without further hesitation Akko opened the door, “Mum… I’m home,” She called out before murmuring, “Please don’t kill me.”

Croix hummed in approval as she walked inside Akko’s home, a laugh leaving her lips as Arcas barrelled past her with an excited bark followed by Akko who just took off her coat but left it on the floor. “Judging from the fact that you’re still alive Akko, it's safe to assume your mum probably went out to look for you,” Croix said as she glanced at the empty kitchen, breakfast still uneaten. Her eyebrows bundled together in concern as she went to Akko/ “Hey, did you have breakfast before you went looking for a girlfriend for your mum?”

Akko and Arcas paused in their rough housing before sharing a guilty look with each other. “Does three chocolate waffles count?” She asked with a nervous smile before it faltered under Croix’s disappointed gaze. “I’m guessing that’s a no huh?”

“It does explain why Arcas slammed into me before nose diving straight to my groceries,” Croix said making Akko scratch the back of her neck after she pushed Arcas off her to go eat. “Which is also why I will be joining you since my only source of healthy food was ruined.” She sat next to her and helped herself to the typical english breakfast whilst Akko helped herself to some pancakes.

“Your mum is a good cook,” Croix complimented after eating a few things. “It’s a bit cold but that’s understandable.” Her eyes looked around them in curiosity, her mind only paying half attention to Akko’s words and praises as her eyes caught a framed photo on the wall and slowly Croix paid no attention at all, her mind fully fixated at the beautiful figure.

Her hair was fire, and like fire and the alluring dances of the flame, Croix couldn’t look away. She was entranced by the laughter, the smile that was frozen in time. Her eyes shone with sunlight brilliance, they gave a sense of warmth that made Croix smile softly at the photograph.

“So… do you like what you see?” Akko said coyly, her eyebrows waggled, matching the coy smirk on her face. “She’s available~”

Croix only glared at Akko, ignoring the heated embarrassment on her face before an idea lit up in her head. She smirked at Akko who only tilted her head in confusion as a response before leaning back on her chair. “Oh fine, you win, I think your mum is pretty and I would love to be her girlfriend.” She sighed in defeat, placing the back on her hand on her forehead to further emphasis the distress.

Her eyes glanced at Akko to see if she was eating up the act and to Croix’s delight Akko had fire in her eyes, a smile so big and excited Croix almost had the sense of guilt grow in her stomach. Almost. “Oh, if only I had her numb-” She said, voice low with fake grief.

“I have her number!” Akko yelled, not even letting Croix have a chance to finish her sentence.

“Oh really?” Croix said with the fake enthusiasm every adult uses on children, her grin extending as Akko nods her head before closing her eyes and reciting the number. “Thanks Akko,” Croix smiled as she ruffled her hair before dialing her number, only half listening to whatever gushy words Akko was saying.

“Oh this is going to so cool, I can’t believe I actually found food- I mean a girlfriend for my mum! I didn’t actually think this was going to work but look, it’s happening!! Right now!”

Croix laughed at her antics as the phone rang once, then twice, then once more before it was picked up mid way.

“Hey, can this be quick I’m in the middle of something.”

Croix’s heart jumped to her throat as a blush coloured her cheeks. She did not expect her to have the voice of an angel, especially one with a cute french accent. Akko looked at her with wiggling eyebrows and a smirk, causing Croix to look away as she cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, my name is Croix Meridies and you are Akko’s mother, right?” Croix asked before mentally hitting herself with a hammer, she didn’t even know her name! Why hasn’t Akko told her her mum’s name before?

“Yes, have you seen Akko!?” The woman pounced right way, voice full with concern and worry. “Is she safe? Where is she?”

“She’s with me right now,” Croix assured, glancing at Akko with a smirk. “And yes she’s safe at home.” Croix wished she could’ve photographed Akko’s eyes sudden growth as her face paled, her mouth hung open with despair. The moment was gone as betrayal swam in her eyes, the question of why obvious in her glares towards Croix. She only shrugged in return.

“She’s at home?”

“Yes and don’t worry miss, I only found the address on your dog’s collar and don’t worry Arcas is safe at home as well,” Croix answered as she stood straighter, hand out as Akko tried to jump for the phone as Arcas barked in the background at the call of his name.

“Oh thank goodness, I was so worried.”

“I can only imagine,” Croix mused as held her phone away from Akko, hitting speaker as she did so. “But you don’t need to worry your pretty face anymore ma cherie, I’ll take of the kids until you come back.” Croix couldn’t help but chuckle as the woman’s words spluttered and stuttered through the phone.

“I’ve been aware of your daughter’s quest for ‘food’ but, funnily enough, not your name,” Croix explained, smirking at the obvious torment that Akko found herself in. How she reached out to grab the phone but her other hand grabbed her arm before it even went to Croix. If she reached out now then the mood would be ruined, but if she didn’t then Croix would continue to snitch on her. To food or not to food? That was the dilemma Akko faced right now.

“I… I see,” the woman mumbled which made Croix smile more. She sounded so cute. “My name is Chariot, Chariot-”

“Chariot Meridies perhaps!” Akko yelled out on impulse before her eyes grew wide once again as she covered her mouth with a gasp.

“ATSUKO KAGARI DU NORD!” Chariot’s voice shouted through the phone. “WHEN I GET HOME YOU WILL BE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE, YOUNG LADY! WHAT WERE YOU THINK-”

Akko sighed as she pressed the end call button on Croix’s phone, slumping in relief over Croix’s body who she climbed over. Her head rested on Croix’s shoulder as her arms were wrapped around her neck like a sloth.

“That was quite rude, you know. Your mother and I were having a lovely conversation.”

“Shut up,” Akko said, her voice muffled as she snuggled her head more into her shoulder. “You’re not the one who's going to die in the next 30 minutes or so.”

Croix rolled her eyes as she adjusted Akko’s weight on her body, slipping her phone in her back pocket before she carried Akko to the couch. “I’m sure you’ll live to tell the tale.”

“I’m surprised you can carry me,” Akko noted as Croix laid her on the couch. “Not even mum can carry me any more and I weigh a lot,”

Croix shrugged, “I carry a lot heavy boxes everyday at work, it’s not much.” She stretched her arms she felt Arcas’ fur brush past her legs before he jumps on the couch to sit next to Akko. “You weigh like a box and a bit… did you always have those scratches before?” Croix asked as she looked at the scratches on Akko’s legs and hands.

“Oh these?” Akko said as she turned her hands to inspect them before looking at her legs. “Yeah but it’s okay I don’t feel much, why?”

Croix face made a grimace as she looks at her, noting on the small scratches on a side of her face and on her hands and legs. “Stay there.” Without saying another word Croix went outside to her car and came back inside the house carrying a first aid kit. “Your mum is going to kill me if she comes home to you having a bunch of scratches.”

“I’m not coming to your funeral.”

“There won’t be one if you let me clean the scratches.” Croix replied without skipping a beat as she crouched to clean and bandage her small cuts and scratches on her leg. “Now do you mind staying still?”

“After you snitched on me?”

“I will answer any question you have for me.” Croix bargained as she began to disinfect the scratches. “These might sting btw.”

“Deal. How old are you?”

“Wow, already asking the inappropriate stuff,” Croix joked making Akko giggle, “I’m 24 by the way.”

“Nice, Mum is 23 by the way, one year difference!” The statement made Croix pause as she looked at Akko with confusion. “What?”

“Chariot is 23… and you’re 11.”

“Oh, well… I’m adopted. My middle name is actually my old last name before I took mum’s last name… since I didn’t have a middle name before,” Akko explained, Croix nodded her head in understanding before continuing on healing Akko. This made Akko be even more perplexed, a slight frown on her face. “So, why aren’t you asking questions about it? Usually people ask me something about it or pull a face… you’re doing neither.”

Croix shrugged as she took Akko’s wrist and swabbed it with some disinfectant. “I won’t lie I am curious on how you two met but I know it’s not my place to suddenly ask you something that is personal to both of you. Chariot adopted you, that’s good enough for me, if anything I’m more impressed with your mum since not many would chose to be a single mother. I wouldn’t pull a face either cause that’s just rude and I wouldn’t mind giving a good lecture to them about manners.”

“What would a lecture on manners do?” Akko giggled.

“Drive them up the wall apparently,” Croix scoffed making Akko laugh as Croix placed a few band aids on her arms. “According to a few students, I bore them to death. Except it’s even worse, ‘cause death was the easier option instead of hearing me talk for four hours straight.”

“You teach?” Akko said with a gasp.

Croix shook her head as she moved on to clean Akko’s face. “I am a guest speaker sometimes at the Luna Nova Academy for-”

“Wait… You go to Luna Nova? That’s so cool!” Akko exclaimed. “Mum always talks about it being this really prestigious Academy for witches and I really want to go there when I’m older! Like you can learn so many cool things and all the best witches can go there to study and ugh Luna Nova is so cool and I’m jealous that you go there to speak.”

Croix couldn’t but stop and chuckle at Akko’s enthusiasm. There was this passionate fire in her eyes, an inferno of determination and ambition. Seeing Akko in this light made Croix realise one thing: despite the lack of blood between them, Akko’s eyes were like Chariot’s in the photograph.

“Wait…if you can go to Luna Nova, then you’re a witch!”

Croix stopped and leant back after she just bandaged the final cut on her head, smiling at the wondrous awe in Akko’s eyes and the starlight gleam that seemed to illuminate from it. “I’m something even better than a witch, Akko,” Croix teased.

“Is it my mum’s food- I mean girlfriend?” Akko said before Croix could reveal she was a witch who graduated from Luna Nova.

Before Croix could answer her with a simple laugh and shake of the head, another voice, a different but familiar voice spoke. It was one that sent her heart into spiral, one that sent sparks across her bones, the one that made the butterflies in her stomach slowly leave their chrysalis.

“AKKO!” Chariot yelled with a flushed face from embarrassment and possible anger.

“Mum!” Akko yelped as she jumped up in surprise. “You’re here! Hi! How are you? How’re the kids?”

“The kids?” Croix commented with a raised brow. “Did you seriously just ask that?”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Akko whispered to Croix except it wasn’t much of a whisper since Chariot sighed and walked over and gave Akko a big hug.

“You can say an apology first Akko,” Chariot whispered, hugging Akko as tight as she can, one hand stroking her hair gently whilst the other clung tight to her small frame. “You really worried me…. I thought… I thought I lost you.”

Akko nodded her head as she buried her face against her hair, tears already lining the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, mum. I just wanted to find someone who makes you happy as much as I can, that way you can be even happier with me and you don’t need to worry so much.”

Croix didn’t hear anymore as she moved away from the living room entrance. She had sneaked away when Chariot hugged her daughter, already seeing enough to know that if she continued looking she would be intruding on a private and personal moment.

She sighed under her breath as she scratched the back of her neck, her eyes lingering at the door. Should she stay or should she go?

Did they even want her to stay?

She wouldn’t lie, she wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with Chariot. Sure she doesn’t really know her yet but Akko was a pretty cool kid. She was a bit impulsive but she meant well. Also they’re a family of witches which was an added bonus. She would be a fool to walk out on this… so why did the door look so tempting?

Before she could consider her options even more, something soft grabbed her hand, grounding Croix from losing herself to this air of questions and mental conversations. To her surprise, the person holding it was none other than Chariot du Nord.

“Hey umm…” Chariot started before stammering, looking away as Croix turned to her to give her full attention, especially since Chariot looked cute with her face all red. “It was Croix, right?” Croix could only nod, once again quickly rendered useless at Chariot’s voice, it sounded much more better than when she first heard it through the phone.

As if to kill Croix even more further, Chariot gave her a quick peck on the cheek before looking away, her cheeks even redder than her hair, her hand still holding hers. It took all the willpower of Croix to not have a system error in her brain at this very crucial moment in time. “That was to say thank you… for looking after Akko and bringing her home. I really appreciate everything you did for her.” Chariot admitted in a soft shy voice.

Croix looked at her with a smile of admiration before bringing Chariot’s hands to her lips. “The pleasure was all mine Chariot Du Nord,” she grinned before kissing the back of her hand, ignoring how her heart beated feverishly as she did so. “Akko is a great and beautiful child just like her mother,” she complimented, ending her words with a wink that made Chariot’s blush become even more darker.

“I wish I could make you lunch since I think I ate what was suppose to be your breakfast but I think I need to get back home and sort my own groceries before they spoil.” Croix apologised. “I hope you don’t mind if I do it another day, does Wednesday sound good for you?”

“I-”

“Wednesday sounds great Croix!’ Akko intervened, popping out from Chariot’s side. “You can treat her to dinner as well if you want.”

Croix laughed as she ruffled Akko’s hair once last time for today. “I think a lunch date would be enough, Akko, but I appreciate the suggestion.”

“I wouldn’t mind dinner as well…” Chariot mumbled as she gave a shy but cute smile to Croix, ultimately sending an arrow to her heart.

“Well I guess I’ll have you for the whole day,” Croix smiled, her grin was the widest it has been for months, maybe years. “Aren’t I lucky.”

“Text me the details Croix,” Chariot said, blushing as she did so and greatly ignoring how Akko was hitting her shoulder in excitement. “You have my number.”

“Of course, ma cherie,” Croix smiled as she let herself out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Outside the air was warm, the sun was shining brighter and for once Croix didn’t mind. There was the sound of birds singing accompanied by the slight whistle of trees when the breeze went through it. But the moment was cut short with the muffled screams that came behind the door Croix just went through.

“I ACTUALLY CAN’T BELIEVE THIS WORKED LIKE MUM I GOT YOU A DATE WITH A REALLY COOL WITCH LADY!”

“AKKO! Not so loud please, Croix could be still outside the door right now.”

“BUT MUM! ONE OF MY PLANS ACTUALLY WORKED! THIS CAUSE FOR A CELEBRATION!”

“Akko please.”

“WAIT CAUSE I GOT YOU A DATE…. DOES THIS MEAN I WON’T BE GROUNDED FOR A WEEK ANYMORE!?”

“AKKO!”

#charoix #chariot du nord #croix meridies #akko kagari #lwa #lwa fic #little witch academia #aki tag #birthday fic

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in-the-bookish-dark · 4 years

Text

Light of Day - Chapter 1 - RL

The morning was wet. It wasn't humid or muggy. Just plain wet. Everything was wet. The rains had swept through town the night before at ten and two, but since then, no water had fallen. It just hung heavy in the air and gave every surface in the house a misting of earth sweat.

Miles padded through the house. Derek, transient houseguest, was gone. Windows were open. Kids were down the street, already squealing. They always played tag between the cars on either side of the block. In the mornings, it was okay. Then, when things got busy, lunchtime or after, they'd find a back yard to congregate in. Fun was fun, but getting run over was not. Ten or twelve years ago, he'd have been out there with them. Right now, he'd give his right hand, or part of it, to be out there playing in the new day. New day or old day, just a different fucking day.

He went through the motions with the coffee. Muscle memory, they called it. He sat at the dinette and shook out a cigarette as the percolator started to rumble. At the first drag, he wanted a shot of Jack, but he'd start with coffee.

When he came in the day before, the letter was buried between two magazines and grocery store flyers in the mailbox. He'd done the physical a month ago. Clean bill. Son of a bitch. He didn't have to read this letter to know what it said. He did anyway. He needed to know his drop-dead date.

He mentioned it over dinner - Chelsea had come over and made spaghetti. He drank most of the Riunite and two beers. It was right at the end of the second beer. They cleaned the table. She had questions and a deer in the headlights look. He said he was tired. Then he ushered her out by picking a small fight and poking and prodding until the room and the house were too small for more than him. They'd talked about her moving in, but they still both liked to have some space. He sat on his front porch and smoked two joints and drank the rest of the sixer. He didn't care who smelled the bud that night.

Maybe he'd call her this morning, after he had some cleansing coffee. Maybe he's walk 'round to her place. When he poured his coffee, he went ahead and poured a shot. Why wait? He threw it back and poured another. Why wait? Time's burning. The Jack burned going down and he liked it. He needed something burning inside at that moment. Everything was burning, and he wanted to feel it inside like he felt it outside.

They did the draft lottery in December. His number came up in the first half hour. His birthday was July 9th, so his number was 1. Couldn't be much more in the crosshairs than that. Can't even pretend to hope. It burned going through his mind. He didn't hear anything after the number showed on the tv, just helicopters. Waves - no, fleets - of helicopters, slicing through the humidity of Vietnam. What felt like their rotors pounding the air, though was his heart trying to escape his chest. Chels was with him that night. She asked what was wrong. He took a while before he said "Nothing." It was a big nothing growing in the pit of his stomach. He remembered Polyphemus and Odysseus. "Who is killing you, Polyphemus?" "Nobody. Nobody is killing me." Then shut the fuck up, they probably said. He did soon enough, and then he was silent for all ages.

Odysseus pretended to be mad in order to get out of war. It didn't work. They put a baby - his son - in front of the plow, in front of the plow he was turning the field with, dressed as a woman. If he was really mad, which they knew he wasn't, he'd have plowed on through Telemachus, on through his legacy. He stopped, though, then accepted his fate and went off to death and Troy.

Dressing as a woman, (was Odysseus actually the world's first cross-dresser?), wasn't going to get him anywhere. It had been done. Done to death. Canada? It was 1000 miles up the Mississippi and then some. A hell of a trek to a place where he knew nobody. Did he know anyone in the movement ... surely someone ... but nobody came to mind. He sympathized - sympathized like crazy, but music kept him busy. Maybe Kyle or Kenny knew someone. Practice was at two and their gig at nine. Maybe they knew someone. He'd see. And maybe he'd ask someone. It seemed right but maybe it was someone else, like Achilles or someone. But that was back in Dec., even before the order for physicals came in.

His coffee cooled when he stared toward the window. Not at the window or out of it, just roughly that general direction. He padded back into the living room and grabbed some vinyl. "In a Silent Way" by his namesake. He sprayed and wiped and blew little flecks of lint off the disk before cueing it up. Mademoiselle Mabry started up as he sat down.

There was a smear of vinyl cleaner on his fingertip and he flicked it off before reaching for another cigarette.

He looked and rubbed the tip, spreading the little bit of moisture that was left. His finger. His cousin Greg had found his own answer. Two weeks before he was supposed to do his physical, he managed to get his index and middle finger yanked off at the second knuckle at the [steel mill.] He was always careful, except the one time when he wasn't. Without both fingers, there was a lot he couldn't do, including things like filling out forms, firing machine guns, throwing grenades, and whatever else fit the job description of a grunt in 'Nam.

He rubbed slowly around the finger tip, imagining its absence. There he was at Cafe du Monde, dipping his beignets left-handed. Or he was claw-lifting them with his right. Pool. He could still handle his stick with those fingers gone. Grip the stick tighter. Maybe that angle would even be better. It could start a trend. Everyone would start lifting their fingers off the stick just so they could play like him. Albums. Could he get them out of the sleeve with "the claw?" Could he cup Chel's face with his hands the way she likes with the claw? Down at the rec center, could he play pickup b-ball with the claw? Where would his control go? Two fingers isn't a lot when it comes to a basketball. Four fingers weren't that much to start with. But he'd be playing ball at home, and not on some muddy clearing outside Saigon or wherever the hell they would send him. No b-ball deep in the jungle where Charlie is waiting around to shoot it - and you - out of the air in the middle of your jump shot. Two finger b-ball is always better than dead.

He picked up the spoon for his coffee. Rolled it finger-to-finger with his left hand. Dropped it six times. Didn't even try it with his right. Couldn't imagine how. So maybe he's stop putting cream in his fucking coffee. If I can take a finger or two off, I can drink my damn coffee black. He went back to staring toward the window. He drummed those two fingers on the table. Might be his last chance, better take it.

Maybe two other fingers. Left hand? Nah. He'd be double screwed. Lamed up and still in 'Nam. What do they care about your left hand if you're a rightie? Ring and pinkie? Still useless.

He called his mom, then he called his dad. They both didn't know what to say. Literally. "I don't know what to say, it's ..." his mom said. "I don't know what you want me to say ..." came from his father.

After he finished the calls, he sat on the couch. Then he laid on the couch. Then he methodically spooled his phone cord in one hand, until it was snug between wall and phone. He tugged both ends, then he yanked the cord from the biscuit jack on the wall in one clean jerk. His elbow nudged the casement window open and he flung the phone out into the yard, as far as he could.

At La Casa, forty-five minutes later, he was already on his third boilermaker. Maybe he should pace himself. Maybe he didn't care because in less than three weeks, he was going downtown to the induction center. He got another shot. Still working on the second beer, but then he was already ahead of the game. Whatever the game was. A shadow came in through the Decatur side door, and walked up behind him.

"Hey, Miles, what's the haps?" It had to be Carl, from the old band. The rasp and Irish Channel accent was unmistakable. He and Chelsea grew up together.

"Hey, Carl, where y'at?"

"So?"

He shrugged. 'So ' what??

"Talked to Chelsea."

"Jesus. And?"

"What's goin' on, man?"

"I got mail yesterday."

"From?"

"Uncle Sam."

"Shit, man."

"Yeah. Order to report."

"When?"

"The 23rd."

"Whatcha gonna do?"

"Exactly."

"No, I mean, really, what are you gonna do?"

"Man, I don't fucking know."

Neither of them said anything.

Carl glanced at the setup. He flagged the bartender and waved two fingers at their glasses and bottles.

"Thanks, man."

"Hey, least I can do."

"So, what's going on with Chelsea?"

"Nothing, man, I just wasn't in a mood. If we started on it as soon as I got the letter, she'd freak, and then we'd go around and around, and I just wasn't going to deal with it then. I don't have an answer; how the fuck am I supposed to give her an answer."

"Answer about what?"

"About ... how I felt, what I was going to do, what about us, shit like that. I wasn't thinking. I was just falling down this long, dark hole, man. I don't think I've still hit bottom. When I was first on the draw, I knew my number was up - literally. Then I got the physical exam letter a month ago, and I knew they didn't find shit that was going to save me. I'm not an athlete, but I'm healthy."

'Well, listen, guy, Amy has a connection to Canada ~'

'Canada.' Heavy. Not interested. Dropping it on the floor.

'Hang on, buddy.'

Carl walked off. Miles sat there, rocking his empty shot glass back and forth. After a while or two or three, Carl came back.

'Uppers, man.'

'What?'

'Take a bunch of uppers the day before your physical, and then one the day of, and your blood pressure will be off the charts. They won't take you for that. Maria ~' he shrugged back where he'd come from ' ~ she can hook you up good, compadre.'

Miles flicked the shot glass. It slid across the bar and hung over the edge before dropping. There was no crash, so it must've landed on something. 'Goddamit, Carl, I already took the fucking physical. How the hell does that help me?'

'Oh yeah, shit, man. I'm sorry. Little high. Good fucking buzz, actually. I forgot.'

Miles tried to rub away the tension in his skull, but it wasn't going anywhere.

'Anyway, man ' hey, let's get together before you have to go in. Get totally wasted and strung out. My tab. Least I can do.' Carl slapped his shoulder, then wandered. Somewhere. Miles didn't see.

He finished his drink. He finished the drink Carl left behind. He waved for another shot and threw it back, then paid out.

Chelsea was waiting on the front step when he got to the house. She had a beer beside her, sweating on the concrete, and her cigarettes, untouched, as well.

He sat back to back with her. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"We can talk. I just couldn't do it then."

She picked at a single thread sticking up from the knee of her jeans. "Yeah, well ..."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded. He put out his hand and she took it. She reached across her body for her beer and took a long draw.

"Want to go inside?"

He wanted one of her cigarettes. He reached, but then stopped. "Yeah, hey - how about I cook tonight?"

"In a bit."

She walked him into the shotgun house; walked him straight back to the bedroom. She held him and he held her. They didn't manage sex. The alcohol and the draft board saw to that. They did have spaghetti again, his way, with wine in the sauce and big chunks of meat. Almost meatballs, but smaller and ragged, and no breading or seasoning.

She got up in the middle of the night and found him by himself in the living room. He was passed out, a dry bottle of vodka next to him. His index and middle fingers were folded down and taped together. Layers and layers of masking tape. She turned off the snowy tv and threw her grandma's quilt over him and went back to the bedroom.

When she got up the next morning, long after dawn, he'd been up for a while. A corner of the quilt was soaking in the sink. He was at the dinette. "I, uh, threw up a little. Cleaned it up, but some got on it. I'll hang it out in a bit."

She nodded and took a cigarette from the pack on the table. His were stronger and they burned, but she didn't care just then. She took his mug of coffee and pointed him to the cabinets. The steam told her it was fresh.

He poured a new one for himself and sat across from her. She remembered and looked at his hand. No tape, but some redness from where it was yanked off.

"What were you doing with the tape?"

"Nothing. I was just drunk and wanted to see what it would be like."

"Kinda odd."

He shrugged. "Drunk guys do odd fucking things, Chels."

"What do you th~"

"I don't fucking know." He stood and walked to the sink. "Honestly, Chels - I don't know. I'm not trying to be an asshole. I don't know what to say yet, don't know what to do."

She blew out smoke and fiddled with the lighter. "I'll finish up the quilt."

"Nah, I got it, babe. Hey, let's get dressed and go down to the park. We'll grab po-boys and watch the kids on the flying horses."

She nodded. He squeezed the excess water out of the quilt corner, then smoothed it. The screen door banged behind him, taking it out to the line.

They got out there on the streetcar just as the lunch wagon rolled in. Miles went over to get the po-boys. Chelsea found a Magnolia with a grassy patch underneath. The breeze was soft but refreshing. They couldn't see the carousel from there, but they could hear it when the wind shifted. It was the most relaxing thing they'd done in days. She gathered their sandwich trash. He reached into the bag for two Hubig's pies. Cherry and lemon. She took lemon. He finished the cherry in half the time she spent on hers, but it was all good.

By the flying horses, there was a Coke machine. Coke for him and Tab for her. He folded up the pull tabs and stuck them in the coin pocket of his jeans til they found a trash can. They leaned on the rail around the carousel and watched the squealing kids. Their cans sweated and dripped down. A little cluster of droplets formed under hers. His drips were all over the place.

It really was the best afternoon. They had laughing kids in front of them, surrounded by wide greens, greens without snipers or tripwires or landmines or flamethrowers, and somehow, he managed not to think of them. Southeast Asia was somewhere on the far side of Mars.

There was a bench nearby, close, but not right on the main paths. She kissed him and he kissed back. Her hand rested on his thigh; he glanced around, then slid one hand up her shirt to her bra-less tit. His hand was still cold from the Coke can. She jumped, but didn't complain.

Back at the house, they again went straight back to the bedroom. Windows were open, but windows didn't matter. She laid him back and straddled him, riding him face-to-face. His wood was weak, but it firmed up inside her. She rocked until his hardness filled her, then leaned down and let him thrust. She had little bruises on her thighs the next morning, but it didn't matter. They rode together, and her tits dragged back and forth over his chest. She panicked a little when he came - they hadn't stopped for a rubber - but she was too close herself to think too hard. She douched after, though, as he laid, catching his breath. Don't take too much of a risk. Nine months on, he was going to be in the jungles or worse. They hadn't talked marriage before, and she wasn't going to talk it now. She also wasn't going to be a single mother. If the douche didn't take care of things, there were other ways.

They skipped dinner and had popcorn and beer in bed. The little tv set wavered and wobbled, but they saw most of the Saturday night line-up.

Around 2am, storms woke them. He rolled her over, again without preamble, and glided deep into her. She was wet from his cum and wet from the douche. Lightning snapped around them. Thunder shook the windows. Winds slapped the blinds back and forth. All the rage outside was inside, too. This was a fuck. His cock pounded in; her ankles met behind his ass. He reached a hand behind her neck and pulled her up to him. Every thrust, he grunted; every thrust, she gasped. The angle worked for her, and she came and came. Hard orgasms from far inside, like they'd been waiting for a dark summoning. They liked it a little rough sometimes, and they'd cum with fireworks and cannons. She came hard like that. Angry orgasms. She fucked back against him as hard as he fucked down into her. She would hold him there and fight to keep him home inside of her. He fucked like he never planned to leave, or planned never to leave. She couldn't cum anymore. She just shuddered around and under him. She keened and clutched and scratched. Her nails sank in and Miles himself went over the edge. The last thrust, he didn't want to stop there. He wanted his whole fucking body inside her cunt, swallowed up by her. He squirmed, like that would help, but in twenty seconds, it was all over. His cock was still hard, but it was the only muscle with any strength. He sagged down on her, and they both wept, then faded out.

He woke and he was face down, naked, and alone. His cock was slimy and sticky, but alone. She was in the bathroom, running water for minutes on end, then going into the kitchen. She came back and shut the door again. The water came back on. He drifted in and out, but noticed when the water cut off again. The light under the door flickered like she was walking back and forth. He drifted in and out more. By the time he got his head around checking on her, she snapped the light off and came out. Chels sat on the bed and ran her fingers through his damp hair, then walked out. His first thought was she was walking home at 4am. He was about to roust himself to stop her. He heard the chain on the door and the couch creak, and knew she wasn't going anywhere.

In the morning, he made coffee. He poured mugs for both and set hers on the coffee table. Close enough to reach from the couch, but not so close she'd knock it over. He drank his on the way to the corner for a paper.

He got the paper and kept walking, wondering about the night. He'd cum in her twice without protection. Did it mean something more than convenience? Chels was good about keeping condoms on hand for them. His place, her place, her purse, just in case. Didn't even bother last night. She was always in charge of protection, the condom cop. Just was. Except last night. He didn't know what it meant. Something? Nothing?

When he came in, the couch was empty. She called from the kitchen "Hey!"

He went in and she was scrubbing down the countertop. The stove shined as much as that old shitpile would shine. This confused him more. Was she nesting or working off tension?

"Hey, Chels."

"... hey."

This was fucking reading tea leaf time. She only half-glanced at him.

He walked up behind her. His hand landed on her shoulder. She kept scrubbing. Not scrubbing harder. Not scrubbing any less. Not leaning back, and not trying to escape. Just not engaging. He stepped back and she slowed. Two strands of hair had escaped her cleaning scarf, and she brushed them back.

"I've been thinking ... Miles ..."

"Yeah, Chels?"

" ... I don't know."

"About?"

" ... I don't even know that."

He touched her one more time on the shoulder. Light touch. Lighter even than before, and just for a second. He walked toward the dinette, then changed his mind. He yanked hard on the paper towel roll and eight or ten spooled off. He ran them under the tap and smeared the water around the front of the fridge, avoiding anything that was taped or clipped to it. The wad of paper dripped water down the fridge to the floor.

She glanced over. "Goddammit, Miles ..."

He froze. Yeah. He couldn't - or wouldn't - clean for shit. Bad time to remind her.

He stepped back and they stood stock still for a moment.

She slapped her rag down on the counter. "Here comes the shit storm" he thought. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four M~ ... and she hugged his side. She kissed his shoulder. She said, "It's okay, babe. I got this. You go do something." She pointed outside, so he went outside.

He sat on the stump of the old Magnolia that had snapped apart six years ago when Betsy blew through. He was surrounded by dandelions a foot high, and those nasty, milkweed kind of weeds even higher, so that's what he did. Probably snapped off more than he yanked out of the soft soil, but it was something, maybe.

He fucked around, making a mess, for about half an hour. After that, he got shame, and he got serious. Instead of throwing them around the yard, he stacked the weeds. Instead of yanking, he dug with the fingers he while he had, and pulled them by the root. Thirty more minutes and he was rolling a joint from the stash in the roof of the shed. At least he'd done something, though. He tapped on the kitchen window and she glanced over. Ten seconds later, they were sharing the joint. She was leaning in to him. They were pulling down the beers she'd brought out and taking their time on the doob. Their little time machine where everything stops. That Twilight Zone episode with the guy and the stop watch. They had their own.

Their eyelids got heavy. They rocked back and forth. He sang "Brown Eyed Girl" to her, or what he could remember. They went to the bedroom and rocked against each other. The condoms never left the drawer again, and the afternoon passed before either of them stirred.

He heated up leftover spaghetti in foil in the stove and she douched again. Twice. Salt and vinegar, until it burned. They sat on the stoop with paper plates and ate dried out spaghetti, with burn-brown ends, and watched kids ride by on their bikes in the twilight.

The next morning, he had to do something. He didn't know what, but he couldn't sit still. It could be the wrong thing, as long as it was something. Between 5 and when he got up at 6, he rolled in and out of dreams. Asians in black pajamas chasing him through the Garden District and into the Quarter. The Greek sailors at the Acropolis bought him glasses of Ouzo, then tried to shove him into a tiger trap with big, sharpened bamboo stakes. He took one through the thigh, but still managed to run down Dauphine to Bourbon, then around to the Old Absinthe House. They poured a schooner of green liquid and told him he'd be fine - and that he'd be better off without any of his fingers, and when he looked down, his right arm was a stump ending just below his wrist. He crossed the levee and jumped into the Mississippi. When he came up, he was surrounded by screaming GI's in rat cages half-under the water.

He flung himself out of bed; every inch of him, pooled in sweat. Chelsea didn't stir. He wanted to scream her awake, but what good would that do? He just needed someone to hear him. The phone was still fucked, and laying in the yard. He could go to [pirate place?]. They were always open to people they knew. A drink would help. Two, three drinks would help. Maybe. They were down to four joints, but he took one from the house stash and slipped out the front screen door. He left the front door barely latched, so she wouldn't hear.

Jerry pegged him as soon as he walked in. "What the fuck, man? Are you on acid?"

Miles explained the past three days, jittering as he did so. Jerry poured him a big glass of something brown. "On the house, dude."

Miles fired up and they passed the doob back and forth until it was too small even for a roach clip.

"What are my options, man?"

"You could fake going nuts, man, but there's a price. You could claim you were a fag, also a price. You could run off to Canada~"

"No. Ain't going anywhere." Funny, the option with the least price was the one he ruled out immediately. But there was a price. It was the fact that it didn't cost him anything. He might not want to fight or die, but he didn't want to run, either. He'd take the consequences, but the one consequence he couldn't take was nothing."

"Conscientious objector?" Jerry said it, then shook his head.

"Yeah. I'd still go. I just wouldn't get to shoot back. That's assuming I convinced them of my 'longstanding beliefs' of the past two days."

Jerry nodded. "You could kill somebody, man."

They held their breaths. The words filtered down out of the air. When they were on the floor, still and safe, they went on.

"I ever tell you about my cousin? Greg?"

"Pineda? Down at the garage?"

"One and only. He got his letter a year and a half ago." He held up a hand, two fingers folded down.

"Shit. So that's what happened to them ...?"

Miles nodded.

"I actually thought it was an accident."

"Maybe it was on purpose, maybe not. He had fucking great timing, though. Day after he got his letter to report for physicals, bam! He still had the stitches in when he reported. Doc didn't even want to look under his bandages. Checked a couple of boxes and told him to put his fucking pants back on and go home."

Jerry nodded. A moment later, Miles' glass was full again. He reached for his wallet. Jerry waved for him to put it away, eyes out the window, squinting at the sun that wasn't there yet. The next joint was Jerry's. Big fat blunt. Twice as big as the one Miles shared. By 8am, Miles was toasted. Jerry moved him to a booth and brought a bag of Fritos for him to munch on. Around 1, he walked home.

The day was as wasted as he was.

Next day, he had to have a plan. Getting fried was no plan. The clock was running, and in another seventeen days, his ass would be on its way to wherever the fuck they do basic, and then he'd be hopping through the jungle with a target on his head.

Chelsea was off at work by the time he woke up at 7. The bakery started at 4 and she would get in at 5, and run solid to 5 that afternoon. He was off til tomorrow, and had promised to clean up more shit in the yard. That's what she said. Banquet TV dinners on trays in the living room last night, which he fell asleep on. Salisbury steak and potatoes spilled all over the floor. "Can you at least do something with the yard tomorrow?" She went to bed. Around 2 he woke up enough to clean up his mess. He crashed on the couch.

The big Bradford pear in the back, past the magnolia stump, near the sagging back fence, needed trimming. The branches dragged toward the ground. When the wind blew, the pears skittered and thunked along the ground. Some were already falling off and rotting. Chelsea hated walking around back there. They had lawn chairs for sitting in the shade. "I might as well have to walk through a maze of dog crap, though." She hated it. They ended up sitting at the stump, in the sun, most of the time.

He dug the bow saw out of the shed. He stared at the tree, not sure where to start. Cut off the heavy parts at the end, the part with all the pears? That didn't seem right. Maybe the ones that were way overloaded. No, start back by the trunk, where the problem started. He cut of a couple of middle size branches, long, but not too heavy. That gave him confidence. Next, he went for a branch half way out on a bigger one. It had to have 50 pears of different sizes. He held the baby branch and started sawing. He was half way through when things twisted. There was a little crack-crack and the whole branch rolled forward. The saw blade was trapped. On the in-stroke, it jumped and grazed his thumb nail.

"Son of a bitch!" He threw the saw down and jumped back. The branch crackled more and sagged to the ground. It didn't break. Just hung. He checked his thumb. There was a long gash, and a little glow of pink, turning to red, showing through. He picked up the saw and banged on the branch, hammering until the back of the bow was dented.

"Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. I coulda lost my thumb. Son of a bitch." Even as he said it, even as he was angry of the near miss, he was getting angry over the missed opportunity. A thumb was probably worth two fingers. He should have taped his goddamn thumb down the other night. What would that have been like? What the fuck can you do without a thumb? He picked the saw up again. He swung it at the trunk like a hatchet. It bent in two and the blade popped out of its anchors and warbled across the yard.

Then he sat down in the grass and stared at the thumbnail. His eyes swept the thumb from the nail down to the joint and back up, again and again. The saw was fucked, but ... maybe there was a way to salvage this without being obvious. Maybe if he ... fuck. Wrong goddamn fucking thumb. Shit. He almost lost a thumb and it would have been the wrong goddamn thumb. He was halfway through a plan to get it done anyway. It still would've been useless. He berated himself. "You cut off a thumb, you cut off the right one, fuckass. Not the left. The left won't get you off a fucking bowling team, much less off a plane to 'Nam." He picked up the saw blade and the bow.He flung them. They tumbled end over end as they swirled high in the air. Two, maybe three houses away, he heard the clang. Then a dog went crazy barking. Someone's mutt must've got the piss scared out of him. Good. Fuck him and fuck his owners.

He came in, washed the thumbnail in peroxide, then put on the smallest bandaid he could find. It barely covered the nail, though the edges easily overlapped across his thumbprint. On his way out, he thought about leaving a note for Chelsea, but he was in a mood for niceties for himself or for anyone else.

He took the streetcar back to the Quarter and drank all his cash away at La Casa. His buddy Ivan walked him back to the house at 2am. Chelsea had come and gone long ago. There was a plate of food in the sink, filled up with water. The peas and corn just floated in it. The meatloaf was soggy and gray by then, just a ring of oozed Ketchup . No note. No hello; no goodbye; no "kiss my ass."

It pissed him off. He hated it, but he knew he deserved it.

She didn't come by the next day and she didn't call. Not that she could, actually. The phone and its cord was still sprawled across the lawn on the side of the house. He laid on the couch most of the day, watching who knows what wobble across the screen. There was Dialing for Dollars, random soap operas, a couple of news breaks with updates from 'Nam. There were dozens of furniture store commercials. Some guy named Crazy Larry who windmilled his arms as he talked and talked and talked. He would've gotten his ass off the couch, but every time he seriously considered it, he decided he didn't give a tinker's fuck, so he settled back down, grabbed another warm beer out of the four six-packs in the crate on the floor, and relit the joint that kept going out on him. Shadows came and shadows ran off to the east, and then abandoned him completely.

The door was open, a breeze blowing through the screen. The only light in the house was the tv. Saying something. After the six o'clock news, [carol bernett] came on. He thought it was her, anyway. People ran around in dumb-ass costumes. Now and then the audience would laugh and applaud. Now and then he would, too, though he was only vaguely aware of why. A lot of it was probably no more than laughing because others were laughing. He muttered to nobody but himself, "Dumb-ass ... yeah, laugh because they're laughing. Why don't you get your ass on a fucking plane for Saigon just because everyone else is doing it? We'll see how fucking funny that turns out to be."

He closed his eyes and rolled that thought around in his head. Getting on a plane. Getting off in whatever fucking base everybody lands in when they get sent to Vietnam. Laughing and laughing about the horrible humor of it. Him. Vietnam. Wanting to survive. Not just his body, but who he is. Coming back intact. How funny it is that he's thinking about avoiding 'Nam by becoming not intact. Maybe he'd mail his fingers Vietnam. They'd be casualties. They'd belong there, right? He imagined. Getting a box. Packing it with excelsior. Maybe straw. Straw seemed more appropriate. They could throw the whole goddamn thing into a field and let a water buffalo eat it. Did he know anyone over there? Someone he could send them to? Someone who would do him a dark and disgusting favor? "Hey, man, is it okay if I send you two of my fingers? Nah, it's just because I want you to throw them out somewhere. Field, road, rice paddy, land mine, shove 'em up a VC ass for all I care. Yeah, that's pretty much it. Huh? Yeah, I cut them off so I wouldn't have to go, so it only seemed fair that they go anyway. Right. Ok, my man, have a good day and come back safe. Love to your wife, if she hasn't left you."

That would go great. Oh yeah. He played it a couple of times in his head. Two or three or ten or more. Maybe not the whole thing, but the bones. He savored it. Wanted it right. Do you say it pissed off or calm? Do you say it all twisted up, or safely from behind the mask? He mulled, wanting to come up with a version that didn't openly offend anyone, but would be clear.

He mulled, and when he opened his eyes, it was already morning. Had he really mulled for six or eight hours? From the light and shadows, it had to be easily 10am, which would mean that they whole night had passed as he moved each word, each thought, from one side to the others.

Chelsea came in at noon and he was still glazed, still red-eyed and in his own hash fog. She came in and touched his forehead. He stirred. Another hour or so, and he'd have sat up on the couch. He stayed down. She might be gone before he managed to prop himself up. She walked through the house. He could see into the kitchen, and a little way down the hall. She touched things. She ran her fingers across the back of her usual chair; she looked out of the window she could count on seeing a bird's nest from. Down the hall, she stopped and adjusted a picture of them riding the paddlewheel steamboat. She swayed for a bit, like she could hear the calliope calling them aboard. She walked on down to the bedroom. He heard the bed squeak. Minutes later, his eyes followed her up the hall. She disappeared in the other side of the kitchen, then came out again, and stood in the hall for a moment. She adjusted another picture. Tapped the frame three times. She glanced his direction. He thought his hand went up in a wave. He wasn't sure. It probably didn't, though. After glancing his way, she picked her purse off the kitchen counter and walked back out the front door.

Two hours later, he was focused enough to realize he was hungry. Thirty minutes later, he was sprawled over the kitchen table. He had three of four hot dogs to go. A mountain of ruffles spread across the tabletop. He scooped chips onto the hot dogs. He worked his way through them, barely propping himself up.

His pitcher full of iced tea was almost gone. No glass, just the pitcher. When everything on the table had been eaten or drunk, he leaned back. Restless. Now that he had energy and a slightly clearer head, he was restless.

He grabbed a hat from the table and headed back out to Finnegan's. It was a cave in there, dark and wooded, and the a/c was powerful enough to store beef. For locals, the dark and quiet were the biggest draws; for tourists, it was the cold.

Trish was tending bar. He liked Trish. She always had a smile for him. She had on a loose tie-died halter top and a big fake sunflower in her hair. She shimmied. That was one of his favorite things about her, even better than the smile. She looked over her wire rim, yellow lenses and said, "You look like shit."

She slid him a beer and he told her the whole story. He wasn't trying to stare at her cleavage, but his head wasn't doing much of anything else. It was heavy from four days of heavy drinking and smoking. And he liked the view.

"Y'know, you have to be square with her, if you really care. She just wants to know what's going on. She's not expecting you to be Johnny Hero. She just wants you to be you. That's what she signed up for."

He nodded and finished off his beer.

"Hey," she put her hand on his. It was warm, despite the icicles hanging off everything else. "Y'all should come hang out with me and my old man tonight. My sister will be there. Rap, smoke some. It'll be good."

He went by Chelsea's. He knocked and knocked, went from window to window. After ten minutes of no response, he saw her old lady neighbor out picking shit in her garden. 'Hey, Mrs., uhhh ~ have you seen Chels? I mean, Miss Jackson?' She wobbled up to one knee, grabbing air. Her cane had fallen over. He grabbed the cane and boosted her up. The dirt on her hand was warm and soft. The skin on her hand was cold and dry. She dusted her hands, swaying a little without any anchor. He thought about reaching over and taking her elbow or shoulder, but he was afraid. His hand was still cold from touching her. He imagined the cold spreading all the way down his arm to his chest. Worse, he considered the possibility that he'd accidentally touch her breast. He shuddered. Just the thought chilled him. 'Uh ''

Her eyes snapped to him. She took the cane and inspected it, as if he might have tampered with it. Only then did she put her weight on it. 'She's gone, cher. Didn't say where. I didn't ask, me.'

He looked back at Chelsea's house, like it had more clues. 'Did you notice anyone with her, ma'am?'

'They was ' hmm ' no, that was the other day.' She eyed him up and down. Her glasses slipped down her nose, following a drop of sweat that just hung at the tip. She smelled of Ben Gay and chewing tobacco. Maybe a little like his grandmother and her perfume, L'air du Temps. 'Might-a been you, young man. That other day, I mean. No, they wasn't anyone with her.' She patted his arm and wobbled away.

She stopped at her back door, hand on the screen door. 'Do you know anything about water bugs?' He shook his head. 'It's hot out here.' She shook her head and disappeared through the door. He picked up her basket, half full of something that looked like squash, and dropped it on her back door. She was right. It was hot out there. Hot out everywhere.

He went by Chelsea's mom's house. Barbara didn't even open the screen door. That was fine. He didn't need to go inside with her and her tits down around her knees. "She's not here. Ain't seen her since day before yesterday." He started to ask another question, but the words didn't make it through the screen before she shut the door. "Damn bitch stinks of rum.' He kicked the screen door. It rattled in its frame. It wasn't satisfying. What was the point in breaking something that was already broken?

She never liked him. She always compared him to Chelsea's last boyfriend who was a football player. Unfortunately, he was also a dirtbag who almost got her arrested by hiding three lids of pot in her purse. They'd been at some party in Algiers and the cops stopped them just this side of the Connection for speeding and not maintaining a lane. Fortunately, the cops got another call before they got a good whiff of the pot they'd already smoked at the party, or the fifth of whiskey on his breath. He laughed as they drove off, then fished the bag back out of her purse. The next morning, after she'd sobered up, she dumped him. Barbara didn't care, though. She was always talking about how Roger could have gotten an NFL contract with the right woman supporting him. Chelsea was supposed to be the right woman. More to the point, Barbara was supposed to be the right mother-in-law. That was her whole thing.

He stopped by Anna Marie's apartment. No dice there, either. At least Anna Marie liked him. sometimes, she even flirted just a bit, and just for fun, not with any intent to go further. But she hadn't seen her best friend in over a week. Hadn't talked to her since yesterday.

That was it. He knew she wasn't at work. The two people who always had an idea where she was, had no clue. He wasn't going to try to track her down house-to-house among half a million people.

He stopped at a random place in the Irish channel and had two beers, killing time until he was about ready to go to Trish's place. He checked the piece of paper he had scribbled the address on.

When he got there, a double shotgun out along Magazine, there must've already been about a hundred people there. That was good. He wanted a party. He wanted to get outside of his head for a while, but he also wanted to get lost. He worked his way past the two flimsy grills in the front yard. They were loaded down with enough hot dogs and burgers, they should have collapsed. The beer had to be in the back yard. He brushed past Trish's old man, but the dude didn't recognize him. The guy's eyes were red and watery. Miles was a little surprised the man was even standing. He made his way down a little sidewalk, between groups of couples who were making out against the fence. There wasn't any fucking ' yet ' but there were lots of hands already in clothes. At one of these parties, by the end of the night, you were either totally wasted, or if you were lucky, you were fucked and wasted.

That made him a little annoyed that Chelsea wasn't there, but he got over it quick. No point in bitching and moaning about something you can't change. He was almost to the back side of the house when some crazy bitch with a hurricane glass spun around hard. She and her girlfriend were dancing to 'Bang a Gong.' There was a lot of slow swaying, but they were already on round heels. He couldn't tell how much was them and how much was the shoes. Either way, her hurricane came out of her hands and bounced off his chest. He now had a very wet and sticky chest and whole right sleeve. 'Oh, goddamn, man. Wheredju come from? I soooooo sorry!' She mopped with the hem of her dress, lifted up over her waist, until he grabbed her hands to stop her.

Her, he didn't know. The woman with her, though, was Trish. 'Hey, luv.' She dragged it out, letting it float on the wind. She was higher than a kite. The wind was about the only thing carrying her or her words anywhere. She tucked herself under his right arm. Her elbow length, loose hair immediately stuck to his shirt. That was a hell of a sticky hurricane. Probably not a mix, but then what New Orleans native would use a mix?

Trish grabbed his sticky hand and took him back. The other woman bobbed along behind in their wake. When they turned to stop at the back stoop, the woman kept going, through the waves of people. Probably got stuck against the back fence, walking, walking, walking until she passed out. Trish reached between her wobbly tits and pulled out a decent-sized doob. She looked around for someone she didn't recognize, someone who looked like a narc. She must not have seen anyone.

They passed it back and forth for a while, let two others take a hit, and pretty soon it was gone. He was pretty gone, too. Good weed. Better than he could usually afford. One minute he was in the clear, then as the smoke cloud encircled them, he was drifting in a fog. That woman had come back. She was yapping at Trish about their dog. How big he was, and how fast he could eat her little chihuahua. To be fair, Trish listened for longer then he could pay attention. Out of the blue, though, she put her hand on the woman's lips. "Shhhhh... sh-sh-sh-sh." She wobbled a little and her hand dropped. That crazy bitch just picked up where she was. Whatever she was saying. Trish took her face in both hands and said, "Shut the fuck up, Marissa. If you don't shut up, Miles here is going to take you inside and fuck your brains out. Seriously."

Marissa's eyes floated over to Miles'. Bobbed some. She was wasted. She tried to smile, but her face just hung there. Maybe it was supposed to be a bluff, because all of a sudden her face got serious. She had enough muscle control for that, evidently. She shook her head side to side, and nearly toppled over on one swing. She slid down the rail and landed hard on the stair.

Trish smirked at him. "All it took was making her take a breath, and she blew herself over."

She leaned in. "Hey, what I said there ..." He thought she was going to apologized. He was wrong. "Clearly, Marissa isn't up for it, but ..." She slid her hand down to his waist and hooked her fingers under his belt, an arrow straight toward his dick. "I'm not doing anything right now." Her lips reached up and drew his down. They were good lips. Soft and moist, and she knew how to use them. Miles immediately started getting hard. The moment his dick realized how good her lips were, it was talking loud to him, begging to let her use them on him.

She stood slowly. His lips followed, and the rest of the body with them. When she turned and latched her hand around his belt buckle, he gave no resistance. Up the steps and straight through the kitchen into her bedroom. Their bedroom. She spun him backward and he flopped on the bed, right between a pile of laundry and a damp beach towel. She poured herself on top of Miles' torso. He could feel the heat and moisture of her pussy grinding into his thigh. She was driving - grinding herself against his thigh, Frenching him, with a fist full of his hair. With her other hand, she was undoing his belt. She unzipped and fished his cock out, pumping it right from the start. Definitely better than Chelsea - better with her hand, better with her mouth, and over the top with passion. He convinced himself easily. Clearly, wasn't at fault. How was he supposed to resist someone better than Chels on every level? he scooped one hand into her top. Her tits were the perfect size. Her nipple was already erect, poking itself into his palm. She moaned when he squeezed, so he squeezed harder. He kneaded her tit and thrust his tongue almost to her throat. He took a fist full of her hair with his other hand, tightened and twisted. She moaned louder and clamped her legs around his thigh. When she shuddered, he tightened his fist in her hair. She shuddered again in a way that announced loudly that she was coming. Little hip thrusts that tapped out on his thigh said she was losing control for a moment. She just laid there, panting for a moment. She'd stopped stroking him while she came. She picked up stroking and slid herself down Miles' body. Again, something she must have done thousands of times until she had the move down perfectly.

She slid down and with no adjustments to her glide path, took his dick into her mouth. Definitely well-practiced. He held her hair as she bobbed up and down. She made slurpy sounds and yummy sounds, and stroked the exposed part of his cock with her hand. Every now and then, she'd look right up into his eyes. When she did, she would flutter her tongue on the underside. He'd read about that somewhere, but couldn't remember where. Playboy, some paperback ... didn't remember. He said "I'm gonna cum" and she didn't even slow down. More than that, she moved her hand away and tried again and again to take him all the way. She would gag and then pop back up, then try again. The very last stroke, the head popped into her throat, and that's all it took. Boom. He went off like a fire hose. He must have pumped ten shots right into her throat. She bobbed up after the first two, then forced herself back down for the rest. He didn't have to do anything. He couldn't remember ever cumming that much or that hard with Chels. Granted, he wasn't exactly in the habit of taking notes while he fucked. She licked him clean after he finished, fished two pubes off her tongue and cheek, then slid back up and under his right arm. They laid there. She played with his chest hair. He squeezed her tit and rolled her nipple between thumb and finger.

"Jesus fuck, Ch~Trish ... Marcus is a very lucky son of a bitch."

She laughed, "Miles, I haven't been with Marcus in ... what, four months, I think. My old man's name is Reince."

"Rench?"

"Reince. Like ... rents."

"Ok, he's the lucky bastard then. Where did you learn that tongue thing?"

"On the underside? The flutter?" Miles nodded. "I read it in an old dirty paperback my folks had. Sounded like fun."

"Hell fucking yeah, it's fun."

"Been using it since I was fourteen, no complaints so far. Hey ... umm ... so how does Chelsea feel about girls - or couples?"

"When she was in college, she fooled around a little bit with her dorm mate." He could've said more, but didn't. He wanted to hear what was behind the question.

"Hmm, so, she might be interested in a threesome? Or some girl-on-girl? Swapping? An orgy?"

"Damn. That's like a hard sell."

"No, I'm just wondering. I haven't said anything to Reince. Just curious. I don't know her well, but Chels seems fun. You're definitely fun, and y'know, Reince and me, we like fun people."

Suddenly, he felt miles from Chelsea. Were they broken up officially? Hard to say. Certainly felt like it.

"Y'know, lemme feel her out, see if she might be cool with it. Ya never know, right?"

Her answer was to french him. That must've been an "Ok." She patted his chest and said, let's get back out there. She left her pants behind, and they walked out of there with her in just her long peasant top, no pants, no panties, no bra. He could dig that - dig that very well.

He tried to think about Chels, but couldn't seem to get his head to go there, aside from vague visions of two women fighting over his cock.

When they were back outside in the crowd, by the beer keg, it was back to reality. The pot hadn't lasted near long enough. Here he was at a party where he knew only two people. He was three weeks from induction. He'd just fucked this chick and might or might not be cheating on the girlfriend he might or might not still have. He had about thirty minutes of escape, then it was back in the box. That made him think of Cool Hand Luke. "Man, what we have here is failure to communicate." He said it out loud before he even realized.

Trish turned around. He hadn't even noticed until she did so, that she'd leaned across the keg to French kiss some beardy freak in a Grateful Dead t-shirt.

She said, "Huh?" and slipped her tongue in his mouth. He tried to figure out if he tasted only her, or that other dude, or even lingering traces of his cum. Next, she reached inside his pants deep enough to cup his balls. "I think we communicated pretty well."

"Huh? Yeah, no, babe. I was thinking of something else."

She laughed at him and shook her head. She didn't get it, and she couldn't care less. Her fingers dipped into her cleavage and she pulled out another joint. He thought, holy Christ, where'd that come from. It hadn't been between her tits when they were screwing, that's for sure. Somewhere between the bedroom and the keg, it had just magically gotten deposited in her top.

He frowned down at nowhere, for no particular reason than his own moodiness. In seconds, she leaned in for another kiss. When he opened his mouth for her tongue, she breathed smoke into his mouth and down into his lungs. Knowing that wouldn't quite do it, she then passed the doob to him. He took a deep drag, then pulled her in and returned the favor. She was ready, and breathed him in deep. Thirty seconds earlier, he was down, and the war was racing toward him. Suddenly, it was all very cool and copacetic again. The war would wait. He didn't care whether her old man was there, or if he was watching, or if he cared. He doubted he would. If Trish was telling the truth, he was good with whatever she got them into.

Trish wandered off when the joint was done. She pointed his way from across the back yard. The older couple she was talking to made their way to him. They introduced themselves as Hank Something and Junebug. They stood close and looked around. Junebug had great tits. Big and full, but not enormous. Well-rounded and just the tiniest bit of sag. She didn't seem to mind him noticing. Maybe that was part of their game. Maybe they thought he was carrying weed and she thought a little jiggle and wiggle would get some free samples. Their cautious glances around, though, seemed excessive given the company. If they wanted weed, nobody within a hundred feet was going to narc them out.

"Listen, Trish says you might be in need of a favor."

Miles didn't respond, so Hank continued . "She says you've got your back up against a date with induction, and you might could stand some help finding some options."

He couldn't remember words, but he did nod. Sure could use options. That's what the word was.

Hank was explaining - without excessive detail - that he might have some strings he could pull. A favor for a favor. A string here and there, a package delivered here and there. While he talked, Junebug dug a a little foil packet from his shirt pocket. She took out a little yellow pill and washed it down with a mouthful of beer, then took a beat and popped a second yellow pill into her mouth. No beer this time, just a swallow. She picked a third out and offered it to Hank. He shook his head and reached up to stroke her cheek. Junebug looked for a moment like she was going to offer him one. Maybe she decided he was too far gone to really profit from whatever the pill was.

Hank handed him a business card and said, "Come by or give me a call - but soon." Miles held it close enough to read. Hank walked off as he focused on the words. Junebug trailed behind Hank, their hands connected by fingertips. He could have sworn she dragged her hand across his crotch, lingering on the zipper. As soon as it registered with him, both of them were gone. He had to have imagined it.

Things faded just a moment later. When he woke, he was seated on one of the stumps, leaning against a garbage bin, with a cat licking his pounding forehead. The moon was low in the east, but there was just enough light in the yard to see half a dozen others also snoozing in random spots. It must have been around three o'clock. He could check his watch, but that would've been work. Too early for such exertion. When he opened his eyes again, the sun was just topping the roofs. The humidity was starting to simmer. He was warm and clammy, as much from the partying as from the humidity.

Time to go home.

He got up and stepped over and between the litter, the bottles and cans and paper plates soaked by food and the morning dew. Up by the gate, there was a cowboy in a buckskin joe hat sprawled up against the fence. More like on his buckskin joe hat. It was crumpled up under his head, a crude pillow. It was either that or the half gallon of Jack Daniels a foot away, with a slow trickle out of its mouth.

He was a mile down the road, two pair of sunglasses on his head. They barely blocked the sun enough for him to wobble down the road, but barely was still enough. He got home and laid down on the living room floor, wrapping his arm around a pillow from the couch, pinning it under his head.

Later, much later, but not nearly late enough, he woke enough to notice something different about the room. He wasn't alone. The room sounded different. It was quiet, but the silence sounded angry, sullen, and sad.

"Chelsea ...?"

"Miles ... I see you've been ... having adventures."

"Listen, I ... I'm sorry I haven't gotten hold of you. I tried this morning (no, that wasn't right) - I mean yesterday morning. Your mom's, Anne Marie's, somebody else's ... " he couldn't remember who else, but surely there was."

He rolled to his side, facing her. He found her face, her gaze pointed up and toward the window. There wasn't a lot of warmth there. He could understand that.

"Listen, Chels ..."

She stood up, towering over him. "Miles, I'm going to give you some space, give you time to clear your head or purge your soul or whatever it is you're doing. I want to talk, I want us to talk, but I can see that's not happening today."

She stepped over his legs, "I'm going to grab what laundry I have here and get out of your hair. Please ... don't get up."

He felt like shit, but heard the sarcasm in her voice. It was a warm, damp rag across the back of his neck, not soothing but unsettling, down in the pit of his stomach. He might have been able to get up, if he used up all his energy reserves, but it was a solid maybe. More likely, he'd get five feet, fall over, and throw up.

He drifted away again as the living room wobbled into the dark. He woke past dusk, another day in the toilet. It was half past 9 when he made it as far as the kitchen. He leaned against the refrigerator, then leaned inside, surrounding himself with the cool air. He rubbed a big glass bottle of Coke on the side of his head. He knew it was throbbing, but only realized then just how much it was pounding. The left side was cool and nicely numb, the right side pulsing like a neutron star.

He sat at the table and dug at a carton of chocolate ice cream with the first spoon he found. Spoon after spoon, without stopping or slowing. In time, by 10 or so, the cold had soaked its way into his upper body, blanketing the ache in his head. He chased it with glass after glass of water, and when he was done, grabbed the Playboy from the end table by the sofa and worked his way to the bedroom. He fell asleep with the open magazine covering his face and dreamt of escaping to Amsterdam with the Girls of Holland. It was a good dream, full of sex, alcohol, and pot, and spiced up with the repeated motif of nearly falling into one of the canals. It seemed wherever he went without a handful of girls, he was in danger of falling into the water ways. He never actually fell in, but came close plenty of times.

* Wednesday. 7am. His eyes opened and he was done sleeping. Mind clear; eyes clear; even his goddamn sinuses were clear, and they never were. He'd been in New Orleans since he was six and his family moved from Lake Charles. He couldn't remember going more than a week at an stretch without antihistamine or decongestant. Given how much alcohol and pot he'd consumed in the past several days, he couldn't believe how alert and sober he was. Had the last week even taken place?

Wednesday was Chelsea's day off. She usually slept in until ten or so, then went off for lunch with friends. He wanted to see her. He felt like shit for how he'd been acting. Childish, self-absorbed. Chels was always talking about some sex therapist and her opinions. Not just sex but relationships, too. Being self absorbed and selfish were right up there at the top of the danger sign list. Things were going to sort themselves out, though. They always did. With him and Chels, anyway, they always worked out in the end. He'd talk to her and they'd get things trued up.

He'd go see that guy who gave him the card. He'd do what he needed to, make whatever deal. He'd stay here. He'd stay with Chelsea. They'd get married. Maybe. Or, she'd move in. They'd talk about it.

Suddenly, he wasn't as sober any more. He sat up and put his head between his knees - or as close as it would go. His eyes watered. His throat was dry and tight.

Start with the coffee, a couple of mugs, and think out the situation. Find Hank's business card and stop by to see him. Or call or whatever. Get things rolling. While he was waiting for the coffee to perk, he got the phone from the yard and crudely reattached it to the biscuit jack. When he was done, he tried it. There was a little static, but it worked.

The coffee got him going. He was out the door as soon as the second mug was done, business card in hand. Hank's office was on the edge of the quarter, down by the French Market. First there, then to Chelsea's. He'd talk her down like he always did, she'd be happy again, and then to celebrate they'd have lunch at Galatoire's. Or Antoine's, if was later. Maybe just hang out at the Famous Door and have some drinks and list to music. At any rate, it would be a whole new start for them. G's was always the perfect place to start something new. Oh, right. Antoine's. Or the Famous Door. Things were tight at the moment, yeah, maybe they'd just go to the Door. Or she might want to stay in and cook. He could go out and get them a fifth of Jack. Anyway, new beginning, that was the thing to focus on.

He started the car, set the radio to WWOZ, and was starting to pull out, when a guy with a beard and a bald head popped up from around the front of the car parked at the neighbor's. He looked familiar, but he couldn't place him. Someone recent. Whoever he was, he wasn't happy. Very not happy, actually, and probably high as a fucking kite. He lurched side to side as he walked. He came around to the window and reached to pound on it, but the glass was down, so he just flailed a couple of times. Very high not to figure it out on the first try.

"Hey, fucker. Shit, man. Hey, are you Miles?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Trish's old man."

"What's your problem, man?"

"You son of a bitch, you knocked her up!"

"What the hell, man? You have no way of knowing ..."

"... fuck, man, I got no sperm. No swimmers, you hear what I'm saying? Aint no baby comin' out of this cock, hombre."

"Oh, shit, man ... I ... wait ... I know y'all's score. Y'all swing all over town, you might as well have vines hanging from the trees. Are you trying to tell me ~" he paused as he popped the door ajar, and the guy jumped back like he was being attacked. "Calm down, dude, I'm just getting out to talk about this." The car lurched forward - he hadn't remembered to take it out of drive. He shifted gears, slapping the knob into place, and snapped the key off.

"Calm down and back away a little - " he leaned against the front fender - "... you're telling me that there's no way anyone else can have knocked that bitch up?"

The guy, whatever his name was looked bewildered, and staggered back again. His red face screamed back, "I know what you're trying to do, you son of a bitch, and it ain't gonna work. You have a responsibility and you are going to fucking pay. The last motherfucker did, and the other guy before, and the same fucking shit is going to happen to you. We ain't having no baby, so you know what that means. You're going to cough up $200 for an abortion and we'll get this shit taken care of before it gets too far." As his speech played out, he slowly walked toward Miles, his head tilted, jabbing with a finger, until the finger was actually jabbing into Miles' chest.

"Don't do that man. Gimme space. I'm asking you." His ears were pounding. It was like he was under water, no under six feet of red jello. Everything was dark and tinted and sluggish, like that time his uncle Fidelio had come after him.

The finger kept jabbing. He didn't see anything but the finger making brief ripples across his shirt. He couldn't see as far as the end of the arm. Everything was dark and red and starting to slant to the left.

His own hand moved across his chest. It locked on the man's finger and twisted, which brought his body to just the right angle to take Miles' knee in the groin. Twice, and then again for good measure. Something cracked. It had to be the guy's finger. Or fingers.

Reds turned to greys, and the pounding in his ears was replaced with the ocean. His stomach wanted to vomit, but his throat told it to shut up. [Frank] or whoever the hell he was, laid on the verge next to the sidewalk. One hand was cupping his balls. The other was waving in the air like a flag, trying to keep that pain as far from the other as possible.

It was time to go. He had to go and meet ... that guy... the card... from the party. With the hot wife. Jesus, what was his name? He couldn't concentrate. Then there was Chels. He wanted to talk to her about something. It would come back. That guy was still screaming and cursing. He wasn't going to figure out a goddamn thing with all that racket.

Time to go. Go see that guy with the card. He turned back to the door. As he was stepping around it, he slapped the guy's hand out of the air, "Shut the goddamn fuck up! Do you fucking thin you're the only fucking goddamn fucker who has any goddamn fucking problems!?" The other guy might've been loud, but people in Algiers probably heard that.

The guy choked on his curses and choked on the flashing surge of pain. Once Miles was in the car and pulling out of his space, he was just a memory buried inside the massive flaming cottony headache he now had.

Despite his hurry to get moving, when he got to Hank's office, he sat outside for a good thirty minutes. The car would warm up; he would start it up and run the A/C for a few minutes, blowing ice cold in his face. It was a losing game. He'd start to drip sweat, then blast himself with iced air. In moments, the sweat would chill and he would shiver.

At ten thirty, he decided it was time. He'd get out of the car and either go in to Hank's office, or walk down Decatur and grab a beer. At least he was doing something.

He walked past Hank's door, and was a good ten feet further down the sidewalk when he pivoted. That's how he worked, stress, stress, stress about something, then the moment he decided not to do it, he was relaxed and could carry through with it.

The receptionist was an older women, slight and slender and easily in her sixties, but kind of steely. She was probably a good screen for Hank, and had a look in her eye that said she probably played for the Packers. "I'm here to see Hank. Mr. ..." he had to dig the card out of his pocket to get the last name. "... Sinclair." He turned the business card to her - Mrs. Prideaux, her desk sign said - and handed it to her like a movie ticket. The eyebrow that arched when he stumbled over the last name, came back down. It knotted with the other for a second, then they both went back to neutral.

"And your name, Mister ... ?"

"Miles. Mikes Parker"

She didn't seen to regard the name well. Maybe she wasn't the jazz fan that his mother was. She asked "And he will know what this in regard to?" Her tone was solicitous but skeptical.

"This is regarding ... " not exactly a job "... an opportunity. I ran into him and Junebug recently and he suggested, requested, that I come see him at my earliest convenience." He could tell she didn't like the reference to Junebug. That was a mistake. The rest of it seemed to ease her annoyance just enough to maybe open the door.

She set the card down and centered it on her blotter. She sighed. Then she reached for her phone and punched the intercom button.

"Mr. Sinclair, I have a Miles Parker out here with one of your business cards. He'd like a few minutes of your time." She threw her glance up and down him as she said it.

"Miles ... oh, yes ... from the other day. Would you buzz him back through, Miz Emma."

She punched the intercom off, then pressed a button on the side of her desk. A buzz told him that something was unlocked for the next couple of seconds, and he'd best be moving. He reached for his card, but she'd spirited it away in the half-second he'd looked off.

He didn't even have to turn the knob on the door. All it took was a push and it swung wide. Medium sized office. Nice, hundred year old desk that took up half the room. Must've been goddam oak and probably weighed two hundred pounds. He couldn't imagine how it came through the door, but it did. The rest of the office, eh. Crappy, warped wood paneling. A window behind the desk, no blinds, curtains, nothing.

He looked up, over the rim of his glasses, and said "Miles." He looked back down and slid something into a grey folder and tossed it to the corner of his desk. He pointed at one of the $20 armchairs.

Miles took the offer. Neither spoke. He grabbed a pen from his desk and crossed his legs, turning sideways a quarter. "So, how's the weather out there?"

Miles stumbled through a confused explanation of current meteorological phenomena, then fell silent again. Sinclair nodded.

"So, anyway. I'm glad you stopped by. We've got some things going on you might be able to help with." He glanced at the door. Miles pushed it shut.

Sinclair reached for another folder buried underneath three other folders. This one had the words "Parker, Miles" on the tab. It wasn't empty, or anywhere close He glanced through it. One, two, three sheets, then skipped down to pages that were paperclipped together. He glanced at the top sheet, then closed the folder. "You've got a little bit of a record, my friend."

"I, uhh ... yeah ... like what are you talking about?"

"DWI, public intoxication, a gram of weed, trespassing ..." he glanced into the folder. "... one hot check? Just one? Nothing big, just a lot of fucking around, really."

Miles nodded and relaxed a little. It was all good.

Sinclair tossed the folder on top of the gray one.

He smiled and tapped the desk like he was trying to remember a funny story. Miles smiled, waiting for it.

"Anyway - tell me about the Mexican jail."

Fuck. The goddamn Mexican jail. It wasn't on his NOPD rap sheet. He knew that. What the hell?

"You've been watching me for a while ...?"

"Aw, nah, Miles. I had this stuff sent in this morning just in case you showed up straight off."

"But you invited me in ... for ... because you could tell ..."

"Hey, buddy, you're at a yard party being thrown by someone who has his finger on half the pot and heroin coming across the border or across the Gulf up to Orleans Parish. You disappear for thirty minutes to fuck the guy's wife, do some dope, then vanish." He shrugged. "So, that generates some interest. You're not a big player. Sorry, no disrespect, but you just don't have that elan. On the one hand, sure, we've got a certain leverage we can use on you - it's what we do, the stick, but at the same, you've got enough scruples that ... you're not going to go rogue. For that, at the end of the day, we’ll be happy to throw you some carrots."

Miles just sat there. It was an insult and a compliment. It was also precursor to a threat. He was brought in to be worked. Not only that, just by looking at him that night, the guy, whoever he was, could tell that he was ripe for working.

Sinclair handed him a folder. He read through it and handed it back. By the time it left his hand, though, he’d forgotten everything it said. He was a little distracted.

Sinclair walked him through it, as though he’d never glanced at the folder, which was just as well, since as far as he could tell, he hadn’t. There was a guy, mob connected, maybe even a made man, that they were wanting to get a finger on. He was the main drug conduit as well as the buddy of several prominent, established businessmen and a couple of up-and-coming politicians in Orleans Parish. Plan A was to hook him. Plan B was to hook him and implicate his important patrons.

There was an interruption when some skinny guy in a narrow-tie suit and a lot of Brylcreme came in and whispered into Sinclair’s ear. They both looked at him and then Sinclair looked at his watch and back at him. There was a smirk that blossomed, then he waved tie-boy off. When the door was closed, he just smiled and said “You sure don’t lack for drama, do you?” before resuming. Had news of his little event with Trish’s old man already trickled in to him? It was at most an hour, hour and a half ago.

Sinclair could manage to get him on a bartending gig at one of Gianolo’s regular haunts, the Napoleon House, and boost an introduction, but it was Miles’ job to work his way in further. He could take all the time he wanted, as long as it didn’t take more than two weeks, after which they expected him to be ass-deep in Gianolo’s pocket. They’d feed him information to help him become an asset, but it was still up to him to sell it in a way that it wasn’t obvious to Gianolo and his crowd.

There was more, but he’d get that when he came back in two days for his briefing session with the ops guys. Until then, it was his job to keep his nose clean and his mouth shut.

There was still a tight fog wrapping around his body when Sinclair got up, grabbed his shoulder, lifted him, and walked him to the door as if it had been his decision to leave at that moment. “Remember, Thursday at 1pm. You won’t make us come looking for you, would you?”

Miles tried to shake his head reassuringly, but it didn’t much care to move. Sinclair was probably past being reassured by anything anyone else said, anyway. Instead, he made a little wave with his left hand, said “Later,” and clipped the door frame as he passed through. At least he didn’t drop the sealed envelope Sinclair had given him. Just more embarrassment under the bridge.

He didn't open the envelope until he was someplace safe. The chair at Lafitte's, however, wasn't even warming when he ripped the end off. He expected a new identity. Some cool spy shit like that, maybe a passport in case things went tits up, like the british spies in the books say. Nothing like that. He had to stay Miles Parker. He just got some backstory written for him, filling in gaps here and there. Made sense, he guessed. Not like it was happening in a town where nobody would know him. Just sweetened his history a little.

The plan was to go next to Chelsea's, but one drink became six drinks at Lafitte's, and by the time he got back to his car on Esplanade, he smoked a joint and took a little nap. It was good shit. The dreams he had were all about fucking big tit redheads over and over, and having them fight over his cock - and some weed. When he finally woke up, the sun was hanging over the business district. He didn't feel like doing much more that day, so he got on St. Claude and headed home. She was probably still pissed anyway. Give her more time to cool down. He'd go fetch her the next day and bring her back to the house for burgers and beer and they'd split a joint and fuck, and everything would be back to normal again, and they'd be fine. Besides, if Sinclair could really get him off the hook for Vietnam, he didn't have a big fucking deadline hanging over him. He had all the time in the world to square things with Chels.

When he got back to his house, he laid on the living room floor, smoked his last joint, and drifted off to sleep until six the next morning.

He had eggs and boudain for breakfast, and then realizing he hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day, ate twice as much. He flipped through the envelope Sinclair had given him, doodling in the margins as he moved front to back. Devils and large breasted women mostly. His default doodle. Blocks of squiggly lines in random spots.

He went out and talked to his mechanic. He'd had two tours in 'Nam and came back with a shattered knee and pelvis from a mine. Why, exactly, he was consulting him, he didn't know. He liked the guy. He trusted the guy's instincts. He also bought half his dope from the guy. He danced around the idea of working for the feds. Didn't ask him outright, but told him a story about a guy he'd known who'd gotten pressured into working as a mole. The guy winced and drank his beers twice as fast, and got red-faced as Miles unwound the story, but he was more angry at the government for using people than he was at Miles' "friend" for taking the deal and giving in to being used. Miles felt better when he left the garage. Yes, he was high, but there was also a certain weight off his shoulders.

He went back to the house, found a note from Chels on the door, asking where he was. Actually, what it said was "Where the hell are you hiding? C" He got a glass of water from the sink, sat down at the table to call her, and didn't wake up until midnight.

When he called her at 12:30, her mother answered ... the phone cut in and out, due to his crappy repair job, but he managed to hear her say, very clearly, "I'm sure she's not in for you, but I will take a peek." She came back in twenty seconds. "She's dead asleep. Maybe you'll have better luck tomorrow." The click and dial tone made it clear that she was done talking.

He phoned in sick the next morning. He got up at 6 and worked his throat up unto a gravelly rasp just to make it more interesting. He needed to get back on the crew, 'Nam or no 'Nam, but he also realized he needed to stop stalling with Chelsea. He didn't bother calling. He just went over and camped out on her front stoop. He had no way, short of knocking and waking someone up, of finding out whether they were up yet, so he did the next most logical thing. They always, both Chels and her mom, always came out to the front porch for a cigarette first thing. They'd drag themselves out of bed, grab a mug of coffee and a pack of Winstons, then sit out on the glider and rock until they were awake or the coffee was out, whichever came last. He'd wait. If nobody showed up in 30 min, he'd assume they'd already been up and had their morning porch smoke. Otherwise, it was just a matter of time.

He only had to wait ten minutes. The knob on the front door rattle, then quit, then rattled again for longer. It turned and the door gaped several inches, then came to an abrupt and thudding halt. It closed again so someone could remove the chain, then swung full open on its creaky hinges. A housecoat backed through. The cigarette hand reached for the screen door frame, just in case there was a gust. What he expected in the drink hand was a mug of coffee. What was actually there was a Coors fat boy. He looked at it, then up at the face of the woman holding everything. It wasn't Chelsea, but her mother, Berniece. She gave a start when he came into view. She looked in his eyes, then down at the beer, then back up at him. She said "Aww, hell ..." and set the beer on the railing and went back inside. It was ten seconds before the door slammed. She must'v'e done it as an afterthought.

Two minutes later, Chelsea peeked through the curtain, then came out to join him on the porch, holding a pack of Winstons and an oversized coffee mug. They were several minutes into saying hello, slowly and cautiously, the way sumo wrestlers squared off with each other, Berniece came out in due time to retrieve her beer, pausing long enough to eyeball him and make a sniffing sound. Eventually, they both came to agree that he'd been an ass the past several days. He admitted to her everything a reasonably cautious male would admit to. Indiscretions that had come uncovered, admit everything. Where questionable, ask questions. Where fishing, feign laughable innocence. All she knew was that he was getting high as fuck and avoiding anything and everything, completely bailing out on her and the whole Vietnam thing. That was close enough to reality for him to own sincerely, without excuses. She didn't mention any rumors of anything else and he didn't ask.

Two hours later, all was good, or good enough for now, her mom had gone off to work, they'd gone back to Chels' room for a make-up fuck, and then she shooed him out so she could start the restaurant set up for lunch opening.

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alixxxxcat21 · 4 years

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I’m starting high school today. I was really nervous. My mom bought me a black tank top. It was slightly too big for me, but she looked so happy when I came for breakfast that morning.

The bus ride was about what you would expect because I sat in the front. It was easier to wave goodbye to Mom and Dad. I sat by myself. The bus ride was particularly long, and we were at the high school building in no time. There was a group of kids with the deer-in-headlights look. They all looked my age, so I headed that direction.

“Young man, with black tank top, your name is?” called the female teacher with a clipboard.

“Warren Eien,” I said, projecting my voice over the low babble.

She checked the paper on the clipboard in front of her.

“Alright, all you, follow me,” she said.

As we entered the building the hustle and bustle of normal high school life was overwhelming. My parents had been sent my schedule. I reached into my pocket to distract myself from the intenseness:

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We were all gathered in the auditorium for a meeting. The auditorium was a large gray room with rows of bleachers. We were seated near the middle. The Principal made a speech, then the school nurse, and then the Vice Principal.

After that we were separated into groups to show our classes, our first mod. The rest of the morning went well. Then at lunch we ate outside. I was about to sit next to one of the kids from my second mod when I heard someone call out to me.

“Hey, Tank Top,” someone yelled.

I turned around. Three upperclassmen walked up to me. I froze immediately. Some of the other upperclassmen had warned us new students about these three. They were known as “Triple Threat”. If they wanted to ‘talk’ to you it meant nothing but trouble.

“What? Are you poor or something? That you can’t buy clothes that fit,” said the muscular looking one.

“No, my Mom bought it for me,” I said.

“Where? The poor house?” the tallest one.

“We got it at Wal-Mart,” I said.

“Wal-Mart, haha. Seriously?!” said the one that was known to be the leader.

I didn’t say anything.

“Hey, what’s your name, tank top?” asked the muscular one.

I had a really bad feeling about that question. Why I was the target for them, I don’t know. They didn’t know what I was, but I got the sense that they realized that I was different. I didn’t answer.

“Hellllloooo? What’s your name, Tank Top? Didjah hear me?” asked the muscular one. “Are you slow or something?”

“Tell us your name punk or we’ll get it out of yah the hard way,” said the tallest one.

The muscular one cracked his knuckles. I knew I was stronger than them, but their size made me less sure of myself.

“I guess he likes pain,” said the leader.

They corralled around me. I was still holding my tray. Something clicked in my head. These guys weren’t going to be able to bully me. I wasn’t going to fall prey to that.

“Before you do that. Would you mind if I put this tray of food down? That way no one gets food all over our clothes,” I remarked.

I put the tray down on the empty table behind me. Then turned back to them.

“OK,” I said smiling.

“What’cha smiling about, tank top?” asked the tallest one.

“I think he thinks he can take us, guys,” said the leader.

My smile widened. Then I sensed someone.

“Hey, you three! What do you think you are doing? You’d better not be picking on any new kids!” yelled a female voice.

The muscular one jumped slightly.

“Jeremy! If you're picking on any of my classmates!” she yelled.

“Dude, I thought your lil sister wasn’t coming today,” hissed the tall one.

“Mom said,” she said walking closer, “That I have to tell her if you are and that you’ll be grounded from football.”

She pushed through them and stood next to me. I just looked sideways at her, amazed.

“Don’t worry. As long as he didn’t hit you, he won’t be grounded for very long,” she said.

I just stared at her. She was shorter than me and demanded complete authority with her presence.

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” she asked looking at me.

“No, but they would have if you hadn’t showed up,” I said.

“Jeremy! Why are you so mean? He didn’t do anything to you. And on the first day of school. You should be ashamed of yourself,” she scolded him.

“Stacey, I thought you weren’t coming today,” said Jeremy.

“Mom thought it was bad luck to leave you to wreak havoc on little seventh graders. So, she drove me to school this morning to watch over you,” said Stacey. “And she's absolutely right.”

“Come on guys, let’s go,” said the tall one.

They turned and left.

“Sorry, about that,” Stacey.

“No, I could’ve handled it,” I said.

“Anyway, what’s your name?” asked Stacey.

“Warren,” I said.

“Well, you already know my name,” she said. “Com’on, I‘ll eat lunch with you.”

“OK,” I said and picked my tray up.

I followed her over a table full of girls. They were all pretty cute, too. Lucky me.

“Hey, girls!” she called over their chattering.

They all turned their heads.

“I want you to meet Warren. He’ll be joining us at lunch from now on,” she announced.

I never said I wanted to have lunch with them every day! However, I smiled politely and sat my tray down. I sat next to a pretty brown hair girl who smiled back. I was fairly sure my heart melted instantly. I almost choked on my food.

That night at dinner I told Mom and Dad about what happened.

“Pay no attention to what those boys said about you. They know that you are different,” said Mom.

I smiled, I knew she was supposed to say that, she was my mom.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

After that high school was pretty much as normal and hectic as high school was expected to be. There are good and bad days. Stacey and I are practically attached at the hip. We became the best of friends. Sometime in the midst of the tenth grade her and I decided to date.

I don’t think we realized we were meant to be just friends. It was fun at first. Her brother didn’t like that he found out through rumors at school. He followed me on my way home from a date we had. He was attempting to beat me up for dating his sister. Not that he could control that. Too bad the fight didn’t end in his favor. He pit his friends against me instead of fighting me himself. When they were basically beat, he took off.

Our relationship grew stronger because of that. Stacey read her brother the riot act when she got a hold of him. It was calm after that. Her and I were each other’s first kiss. It was after that we grew apart. I don’t know why. Something seemed like it just switched off. We decided to the end the relationship and remained best friends.

New Year’s Eve that year I went to Stacey’s house. She was throwing a small party. My Dad called me home due to a family emergency. I rushed home. He had sounded urgent and not in a normal way. When I got there, mom was covered in blood. She was lying in Dad’s arms. He was crying harder than I have even seen him cry. She puncture holds from stake or something similar. Her wounds weren’t healing. I had a sinking feeling. I ran to her without thinking. There were blood bags everywhere. She should have been healing after getting blood. I fell to my knees in front of both of them.

She was dying. The blood she ingested was keeping her conscious. Her own blood was leaking out of her mouth and ears.

“Dad, what happened to her?” I asked, crying.

He was silent for a moment before he growled, “She was attacked by a hunter sent by the Resistance Agency.”

Then Mom moaned in pain and opened her eyes. She shakily reached for my hand. There wasn’t a lot of time left for her. I put her hand in mine.

“W...Wa...Warren,” she whispered.

“Yes, Mom,” I choked out, the tears running down my face.

“I...I... lo...love... yo...you, b...baby,” she choked out, “V...ver...very mu...much. So...d-don’t for...forget to w...wake...your...father...f...for...work...to...mo...row>”

She smiled weakly, the last bit of life leaving her eyes. My father bowed his head, visibly shaking as her hand fell.

“Mom!” I moaned out dropping my head on to her chest.

I heard my father scream. He was in more pain than anyone could have possible into words. Being what we were we always took this risk. We both sat for a long time crying in silence. She was the light of my father’s life and my whole reason to live. She wasn’t supposed to die before I graduated. She was supposed to be the one who helped me pick out flowers for future girlfriends. She wasn’t going to be around to make me run a brush through my hair once a week.

I felt shifting as my mothers’ body was lifted out of my reach. We had to cremate her. We also had to plan the funeral and keep up appearances for the human world to think we were normal. The elders would be coming soon to get all the details.

My father didn’t look to see if I would follow him. Her blood stained the carpet. I couldn’t stand being here. I stood and blindly followed him. We had a secretly installed incinerator. I didn’t want to see her go in. I couldn’t even look. I turned my head until I heard the door close. I dropped to the floor by the pile of wood. My father followed. My head in hands, trying desperately to make the tears stop. My father’s voice broke the silence.

He explained that Mom was out doing normal human-like things, grocery shopping, when a woman had approached her for help with finding something in the store. The woman’s name was Veronica, a vampire hunter. My Mom had a past before her and Dad met. It wasn’t the best, but she didn’t deserve to be killed. Hunters weren’t bound by any rules. Their whole motto is to kill anything supernatural. No questions asked.

We sat in silence for a long time. I finally found the will to get up. Someone had to burn the carpet. And looking at the blank face my father was making I knew he needed more time to deal with this.

He hasn’t been the same since that night....

#original work

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me-mindfulexistence · 6 years

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If Life Were Fair...Kegs Would Have Wheels

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Fair?

I go to the grocery store

I need eggs

The woman in front of me grabs the last dozen

That’s not fair!

I study hard for my test

Take the exam

Get a mediocre grade of a “C”

The person next to me says “Wow. I didn’t even study but I got an A”

That’s not fair.

I train hard to be fast and strong

Working out 6 days a week and seek professional advice for my routine and diet

I get cut from the team

One of the starting players gets into trouble with the law, has poor grades and barely puts forth any effort when he works out.

That’s not fair.

I worked hard throughout my school career and get a 4.2 GPA

Apply for a college scholarship

Declined

Find out that the person who was awarded it….is a minority with a much lower GPA.

Am I being discriminated against?

That’s not fair.

At a party

Everyone is drinking and dancing

The cops show up

Everyone runs because they aren’t 21

But I get stopped and arrested….everyone else gets away!

That’s not fair.

A family with young children decide to get a puppy off craigslist

As the puppy grows it becomes much harder to manage

It whimpers from it’s crate and continues to have “accidents” in the house

They have a vacation coming up and no one to watch it

“Lets drop it off at the shelter…I’m sure someone else will adopt it”

Alone and scared the dog is left by the only family it ever knew.

2 weeks go by….no one.

The dog is killed.

That’s not fair.

You’re driving down the road

Singing your favorite tune

Out of no where

Bamm!

You hit something

A Deer

Your whole front end is caved in

$500 insurance deductible and a half dead deer

That’s not fair.

A bad storm rolls in…

Power goes out.

No heat. No internet. No electric.

Won’t be back on for days

The house 2 doors down has no issues

That’s not fair.

A company sells out

You’re laid off

They bring in new employee’s with less experience and less education

That’s not fair.

A spouse cheats

They try to make it work

The spouse cheats again

They split up and the kids are left bewildered and grieving

That’s not fair.

A person is born with a congenital illness

Huntingtons Chorea

Symptoms begin to start in their 20’s

By 50 years old they can barely swallow and walk like they’re intoxicated

The disease will kill them

That’s not fair.

A child is not feeling well

They see the doctor

Many tests are run

Cancer

Aggressive treatment

The child has a 50/50 chance of survival

That’s not fair

A father left his loaded gun unattended on the kitchen table

His 2 years old son picked it up

The gun went off

The toddler was shot in the chest

He died.

That’s not fair.

A mentally ill student enters a school armed

He injures and kills multiple people

If only they had more God in schools...This might not have happened?

That’s not fair.

A mentally ill person enters a church

Opens fire during the service

Multiple people including children are injured and killed

If only God was....Oh, wait. That was in God’s house.

That’s not fair.

Driving to school

That unsuspecting driver is hit by another texting driver

They are severely injured

They’ll never walk again

That’s not fair.

A jogger is side swiped by a drunk driver

They’re killed

That jogger had 3 kids and a husband

They’re left grieving

That’s not fair.

What is fair in life?

How about nothing….

If it doesn’t break you

It’ll make you

Make you stronger

Make you a better person.

People who try to steer you away from challenges

People who don’t want to overcome adversity

Are always looking for “greener grass”

Get a new appearance- I’ll be liked more

Get a new job- I’ll be happier

Get a new house- It’ll be nicer

Get a new partner- They’ll be easier to talk to and more understanding and “get me”

Get a new family- Sometimes “friends” can be better anyway b/c they’re hand picked….

Get a new “situation”- My problems will be over

Perception is reality

If you think things always need to go your way

You’re already losing the game of life.

You’re well on your way to being unhappy

Nothing about life is fair.

Nothing.

It’s not suppose to be.

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#SheriHockman #Me-Mindfulexistence #3rd generation #life isn't fair

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stars-forever-dwell-blog1 · 7 years

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Between the In-Door and the Out-Door

I really want to keep up this blog, despite the fact that it’s summertime and my depression is all but nonexistent at this time of year, and I would much rather be at the beach, camping, prancing around my garden or dancing naked with lilac bushes under the full moon, than keeping up a seriously depressing blog. But then I remember that it’s not only depressing, it’s hopefully inspiring and comforting to people as well, so I return with resolve renewed.

And tonight I’m going to write about something that I have wanted to write about for awhile, and that is my sexual assault. I do it because I hope that it will be healing for me to get it out and away from me, and also in the hopes that maybe someone else who has gone through it will find some strength or hope in it.

It happened on March 16th of 2008. I had just come to the end of a very long, very confusing and arguably very abusive “phase” in which I had dated and become engaged to a guy who purported to be a Christian (and maybe he was; I don’t know), and had become one myself (I think). This is a story I’ll tell another time, but for now, there are a few things that need to be said.

I was raised by my parents to think, not to have faith. I had never been to church, and I never saw any reason to go. The whole concept that we’re born irredeemable sinners until Jesus makes us clean always struck me as kind of ridiculous. People aren’t perfect obviously, but I think most people are generally good of heart. Do I have an answer for all the evil in the world? No. I have my own personal theories, but they are not in line with traditional Christian beliefs.

When I was fifteen while at a bookstore, I picked up a book on Wicca, and it was like something said, “This is it.” Everything I read made perfect sense, lined up with what I already believed but didn’t have words for, and felt familiar, like I had done it all before. I practiced Wicca from that point until I was 24, and I also met a Cree / Ojibwa elder when I was in high school who adopted me and taught me many things that took root in my heart and soul.

When I was 24 I met the “Christian” lad, and so began my own personal Dark Ages. The next three years were spent with him trying to convert me, me respectfully telling him to bugger off, him breaking up with me, him wanting me back, him finally somehow convincing me to give my life to Jesus (brainwashing is a real thing, folks, and no on is immune), him then breaking up with me again, then proposing to me, then repeating this pattern countless times. And all this time, I had my “church family” telling me that marrying him would make “God” happy, because we had had sex. Why I stayed with him for so long before I was converted despite his obvious problems, I really have no way of justifying. I have co-dependency issues.

So, cut to 2008, when I was finally free of all this, after I finally dumped his sorry ass, whatever “God” thought about it. I was in a really spiritually barren place, yet not really in a bad way. Maybe barren like the desert is barren, which isn’t barren at all, if you know what you’re looking at. I was sick and tired of being told what to do, what not to do, what was right, what was wrong, and to be afraid, because Lucifer is always waiting, ready to pounce. So burn all your old books, throw away your Wiccan altar things, stop talking to all your old friends, and your family doesn’t know God, so best stay away from them, too.

But I digress. I was at ground zero, and I was ready to start rebuilding. I felt like a newborn baby, wanting to do what newborn babies naturally do: seek the boob. The mother. The safety, the comfort, the nurturing, the life-giving source. Where things always felt safe, real, and right. So I opened my phone book and found out that there was a place in my hometown where, every Friday night, there was a sweat lodge held. (If you want to know what a sweat lodge is, look here: http://www.manygoodteachings.com/sweatlodge-understanding.html) I eagerly decided to go, feeling like someone who was arriving in their homeland after years of being away.

I went to a couple sweats there before deciding that I was going to volunteer at this centre where they were held. I wanted to immerse myself in the Native ways again, and I wanted to give something back to the community.

Every sweat is “performed” by an elder, or someone who has earned the right to lead it. I can’t begin to explain what that means here, so I won’t try. Being given the teachings is something that isn’t taken lightly, and here is not the place, and I am not the person. Suffice to say that it is a position of deep respect and trust, much like a priest in a church.

March 16th was a Sunday (day before St. Paddy’s Day…I already had my ticket to see the Celtic rock band the following night, and was all stoked for green beer and dancing into the wee hours). There was a memorial being held at the centre for a woman who’s son had passed away, and I went to volunteer. The man who conducted the sweats worked at the resource centre, and he was there. I had come to trust him in a spiritual mentor kind of way, and had shared a lot of personal things about myself with him.

The service ended around ten at night, and he asked if I would stay late to help him clean up. I agreed, eager to help out and to talk with him. I remember feeling so alive, so re-awakened to my spirituality, happy and free and at peace, excited to be immersing myself in the Native ways again. I remember thinking that I felt like a child, or a flower with the sun shining on me.

But not everyone sees your light and wants to celebrate you. Some want to rip your soul out. Make no mistake. You have to be careful with who you shine your light around. You have to have a lid.

I won’t go into details, but he made a move. I tactfully turned him down, but he didn’t stop. Did I kick him in the nuts and run from the building? No. I let him do whatever he wanted to me, and I was in a daze, a deer in the headlights. Does that mean I deserved it? Fuck no. As my counselor said in the coming weeks, “Anything less than a yes is a no.” And he knew it.

It’s funny, when you’re in a situation like that, strengths and resources come to the surface that you didn’t know you possessed, along with a certain clarity. As I was lying beside him on the floor, I knew with a crystal-clear lucidity that the safest way out of this situation was for me to simply play dumb. I am the naive girl. I don’t like this, but it makes me sad, not angry, and my downcast gaze will break your heart as I whimper, “I thought you said it didn’t have to be sexual between us.”

At one point I went to the bathroom (playing naive gets you certain privileges), and afterwards I went into the foyer of the centre and just stood looking outside. It was the end of winter, and no warmer than -30. It was a bad part of town, the kind where people get murdered. My boots and bag were lying on the floor there, and it occurred to me that I could grab them and run for it. But what if I did? Would he chase me? It was four in the morning. There were no buses. Walking in that part of town was just a bad idea, worse than what I was going through in that building. So I turned and went back in.

I would have to say that the scariest part of the whole experience was feeling – actually feeling – my soul leave my body. I felt it retreat, withdraw, recoil. And I thought, at the time, Okay, this is how I’m dealing with this. Later I will sit down and call her, my personality, my life force, my spirit, back to me. Once I’m safe, I will let her know that she can come back, that it’s safe now. But later, when I did sit down and close my eyes and try and find myself again, the most scary thing was that my soul was nowhere to be found. She had caught the last bus out of town, and I had no idea where she went, or if she would ever come back.

So the night ended, and he drove me downtown to the library, where I told him I needed to go. As if I would have him drive me home. As we were saying our goodbyes, I could tell that the full weight of what he had done was hitting him, and he was scared. I very calmly walked away from him, head high and back straight, and I didn’t look back. My mind was on quietly, methodically, dismantling his life as he knew it. I was channeling my anger and all other emotions into that one purpose. Total warrior mode. No weakness.

I called up one of my best friends and told her more or less what happened, and she insisted I come over. She lived right across the street from me then, and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. It might sound weird, but the thought of seeing my cats made me want to cry. One thing I love about animals is their purity of spirit, their innocence and wide open love. Maybe I felt dirty, maybe I felt unworthy, maybe the thought of seeing them run to the door meowing at me because I had been gone so long would just make all my hardness crumble, and I would really feel what had just happened to me.

So I went over to her place and showered. She loaned me some clothes and made us some tea, and we talked all day and into the evening. I was in this weird state where I refused to let it “catch up with me.” I went to that St. Paddy’s show that night, I danced my ass off, and all the pictures of me from that night are of me smiling and having an awesome time. And I was, because I was determined to. But I was still in shock, feeling empty, like the most essential, animating part of myself was gone.

In the coming weeks the full force of it hit me, and I didn’t leave my apartment for 3 weeks, except to scurry across the street to the little corner store to get really overpriced groceries and chocolate. I felt lost, empty, and like something beyond value had been ripped out of me, and I was just standing there, powerless, empty, bleeding. I would have to describe it as the most vital, precious, deep part of me, something that had always been there so I never thought about it, was just suddenly gone.

There is an amazing organization in my hometown that offers free counseling to survivors of sexual assault, and I did 6 weeks of it, and it was incredibly healing. I told my therapist about this empty feeling, and it didn’t make it go away, but it gave me hope somehow.

There is something called “anonymous reporting” that one can do in situations like these. There was no physical evidence of what he did to me since there was no penetration (at least not that kind), so I couldn’t go to the hospital and get all those tests done. But with anonymous reporting, you give an official statement, in my case to a therapist, of what exactly happened and everything you know about the person who did it. Their name if you know it, what they were wearing, their build, their height, etc. Anything and everything. That being done, if another girl ever reports him, the anonymous report that I made on him will show up on his file, and he’s toast. Moldy toast with no butter. I also informed the board of directors of the centre what he did, and I later heard he got fired. I was very afraid for awhile that he would come looking for me, but thankfully he didn’t know where I lived, and I left town shortly after.

I know that some women choose not to report what happened to them, and that is totally a personal choice. For me, reporting him anonymously to the police and to the board of directors where he was held in such high regard helped release some of the anger I held. No one who does things like this should be in a position of trust and respect in their community. It’s just more assaults waiting to happen.

So that was five years ago, and the healing still continues. I think a big part of it is choice. You can choose to let an experience like this make you shrivel up, never trust again, never open yourself or be sexual again. Or you can choose to keep going, no matter what, keep probing the wound until the infection is gone, and the tissue is pink and healthy again. A woman I deeply respect calls it “beading a necklace.” You take the smallest things – a hope, a good memory, a sweet moment with a lover – and you start stringing them together to re-create yourself and your sense of self as a sexual creature, as a woman, as a human being.

It has affected me sexually and relationally in ways that I can’t really articulate, the wounding was so deep. As a woman, it’s a violation of a deep, deep part of you. I still feel different since before it happened, changed somehow that I can’t explain. But I keep believing that I can be whole again.

Until next time, Blessed Be! )O(

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