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q-gorgeous · 1 month

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Sew Me Up and Keep Me Whole

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 7603

Thanks to seeing how various injuries are treated as a member of the football team, Dash actually has a decent background in first aid and anatomy. He gets adopted into Team Phantom when circumstances keep leading him to be the one patching up Phantom after fights.

ohohohhoho

Dash was walking home after a football game. He was exhausted and was looking forward to going to bed tonight. Plus there was a ghost attack at the end of the game so it ran extra long while they waited for it to be over.

He turned into the park. It was dark in the park, but it made his trip home from the school faster. His dad would be even madder if he woke him up this late. He wanted to get back as soon as possible.

He got to the wooded part of the trees when he heard something. It sounded like voices.

“Tucker, you’re not doing it right.” Somebody whispered angrily. It sounded like Manson.

“Do you want to try doing this?” He hissed back. “I’m the only one who’s taken a sewing class. You didn’t think you should be reduced to something so ‘stereotypically feminine.’”

“-’s not ev’n a fem’n’n thing.” Was that Fenton? “Sewing is a b-basic life skill…”

“That’s not the point!” She hissed back at them. “My mom-”

Dash stepped through the bushes and past the tree separating them and fell short. That wasn’t who he was expecting to be there.

Phantom sat in between Foley and Manson, not Fenton. As he stepped through the bushes their heads snapped up to look at him. Phantom’s head groggily lulled to the side as he looked at Dash.

“Ha. Jus’...what we need.”

Dash frowned. “What?”

Phantom chuckled and closed his eyes.

“No! Don’t close your eyes!” Manson lightly slapped him. When he just groaned and leaned his head back against the tree behind him she slapped him harder.

“...Sam!” He pried his eyes open and glared at her. “Don’ hit m’..”

“You can’t fall asleep until Tucker is done with your stitches. If only he could just hurry it up.” Manson ground out.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Tucker breathed out, his hand shakily pulling another stitch through Phantom’s injury. “I don’t want to leave an ugly scar or make it worse by not doing it well.”

Dash stepped closer to where they were sat behind the bushes. Manson shot another look at him. He could finally see Phantom’s wound and it was pretty gnarly. Foley’s stitches were holding it closed but they definitely weren’t pretty.

“Do you need help?” Dash asked apprehensively. “I’ve seen a lot of injuries during football practice. And I’m not squeamish like you, Foley.”

“Yeah? You know how to sew up wounds?” Manson spit out. “How is watching people get treated for wounds during practice the same as sewing up an injury?”

Dash held up his hands. “It seems like Foley doesn’t know what he’s doing either. I know how to sew already. Isn’t that like halfway there?”

Foley looked at Manson. “If he can get it done faster than me, why not let him? We’re gonna run out of time.”

“How can we trust him?” Manson glanced at Dash, worrying her lip.

“He is literally Phantom’s biggest fan except for maybe Paulina. Do you really think he’s gonna try to kill him?”

A blush rose to Dash’s cheeks at Foley’s comment while Manson kept studying him.

A few more moments went by before she looked back at Phantom. He smiled at her groggily.

She sighed. “Fine. Dash, get over here.”

His eyes widened, stunned that they actually accepted his help. He strode forward and knelt on the ground between Foley and Manson. Phantom looked up at him, the goofy smile still on his face.

“Funny that y’ur the one h’lping me.” He chuckled.

“Why’s that?” Dash asked. Phantom just shook his head and chuckled again.

“Here.” Foley handed him a pair of gloves. “We don’t know if his ectoplasm can irritate or damage skin. We haven't felt risky enough to try it out yet.”

“How often do you guys do this?” Dash snapped his gloves on and took the needle from Foley. Phantom smiled wistfully.

“I get hurt a lot.”

Dash hummed as he made his first stitch. “Well that’s not good.”

“Yeahh.. ghosts suck. And also bullies. They can hurt pretty bad sometimes too.”

Shame wriggled into Dash’s stomach as he made another stitch. What would Phantom think of him if he knew he was a bully himself?

Phantom hummed a wistful sigh as he watched Dash sew his wound closed.

“Y’know, ‘ur pretty cute.”

Dash’s brain stopped for a moment and spent a second processing what Phantom said. He felt like he was short circuiting.

“What?” Dash asked.

Tucker burst out laughing. “Man, you’re not gonna live this one down.” Sam shushed him.

Dash continued sewing Phantom’s wound closed as he tried to get his bearings. He never would’ve thought his hero would think of him like that.

“So.” He said, pulling the thread tight. “Are you guys friends?”

“We’r’ bes frie-” Sam covered his mouth.

“We help him with ghost fights. We don’t know him that well.”

“Oh. It just seemed like you guys are pretty close. He must trust you two a lot.”

Dash finished up his last stitch. “There we go. You’re all closed up.”

Phantom smiled at him again as Dash pulled off his gloves and put them in a bag Tucker held up to him. “Tha’ was s’much faster than Tucker.”

“Much cleaner stitches, too.” Sam said, leaning down to look at them.

“‘Thank you for trying, Tucker. We’re so grateful for you, Tucker.’” He mumbled out as he put all their supplies back in his bag.

“C’mon, Tuck!” Phantom lulled his head in Tucker’s direction. “You’ve stitched up so… so many stitches before now. I’d’d have bled out so many times over with-without you.”

“Thank you, D- Phantom.”

Dash pushed himself up off the ground and stretched. “Do you guys need help getting him back… Wherever he needs to go?”

“We can take him back to my house.” Sam stood up. “My parents are those people who go to bed at eight o’clock and get up at some ungodly hour for their office jobs.”

“Can you stand, Phantom?” Tucker asked him.

Phantom shakily tried to stand up. He only made it up part way before he fell back to his knees.

“Here.”

Dash bent down and picked Phantom up bridal style. He adjusted his hold on him until he was holding him comfortably.

“Okay.” Dash turned to look at Sam. “Lead the way.”

He followed behind Sam and Tucker as they walked through the trees. Phantom was much heavier than what Dash would expect from a ghost. He figured ghosts would be light as a feather since they could fly, but Phantom felt so much like a human it was uncanny.

Phantom leaned his head back into the crook of Dash’s neck. He took a sharp breath in as he felt Phantom’s breath ghost against his neck.

Dash looked down at Phantom and his eyes were closed, but after a few moments of Dash staring Phantom peeked an eye open.

He jumped and looked back up at Sam and Tucker. They were whispering between themselves, shooting glances back at Dash. Phantom chuckled.

“Thank you for helping us.”

Dash looked back down at him. Phantom already seemed to be more coherent than when Dash first stumbled upon them.

“Of course. You should probably thank your friends for letting me help you. They were pretty skeptical at first.”

Phantom shrugged. “They’re just looking out for me. They’re protective.”

“So you are friends?” Dash asked. Phantom looked at Sam and Tucker.

“Yeah. They’re the best friends I could’ve asked for.”

“Are you friends with the Fenton kid too?” Dash asked.

Phantom turned to look at Dash sharply. “The Fenton kid?”

“Yeah.” Dash nodded. “Danny. Hangs around with those two. Kind of a freak.”

Phantom frowned at him and turned away from him. “Oh. The ghost hunter’s son? No. Why would I be friends with him? His parents would tear me apart.”

“Oh. Yeah that’s true. Those three just never go anywhere without each other so I thought maybe he was in on this too. He’s a dork anyways.”

“We’re here.” Sam called behind them.

Dash looked up to see Sam and Tucker stopped in front of a set of stairs leading to Sam’s front door. Phantom suddenly jumped out of Dash’s arms and winced once his feet hit the ground. It set Dash off balance and it took a moment for him to regain it.

Phantom walked over to where Sam and Tucker were waiting.

“Will you be okay?” Dash called to him.

“Yeah.” Phantom said without looking back at him. “I’ll be fine.”

He walked away from Dash without looking back at him. The three of them walked inside the door and shut it behind them.

He stood there and stared at the closed door. A pit formed in his stomach but he’s not sure what happened.

He turned around and started the short trek home.

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

Dash was walking in the hallways of Casper High. He was heading to his next class. He just wanted this day to be over with.

Up ahead of him he saw Fenton and his friends. He smirked and started walking faster to catch up with them.

“Hey, Fentoadally lame! Where do you think you’re going!”

He saw Fenton’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighed. He looked over his shoulder at Dash, an angry grimace on his face.

“Anywhere away from you.”

The hallways were starting to clear out as it got closer to the bell. He caught up to them and grabbed Danny by the shoulder, turning him around and slamming him into the lockers to their left. He glared up at Dash.

“What do you want, Dash?”

Dash sneered down at him. “I want to get my afternoon wailing in before I lose my chance and you disappear for the rest of the day like you did yesterday.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “And why does your wailing have to be on me?”

“Because you’re my favorite nerd to wail on.” Dash said as he pulled his arm back, ready to hit Danny.

“Excuse me!”

Something hit Dash in the back of the head. He hissed and when he turned around he saw Sam holding her boot in her hand, glaring at him.

“What the hell, Manson?” He rubbed the spot she had hit. “What’s that boot made of?”

“Steel toe.” Tucker said from where he stood, far away from the action.

“How’s it feel, Dash? Huh? Do you like getting hit? Do you want to know what it’s like to get beat up for no reason every single day?” Sam spat at him.

He took a step away from her. He already knew what that was like. He didn’t need to know what it would be like, just from a different person.

“Sam-” Danny tried stepping out from behind Dash to get to her but there wasn’t enough room for him to move.

“Why should we let you keep helping us with Phantom if we can’t trust you to leave our friend alone?”

“What?” Dash asked, incredulous. “How are either of these things related?”

Sam walked up to him and poked him in the chest. Distantly Dash could hear the late bell ringing. “Because how do we know you wouldn’t turn on Phantom? That if we relied on you, that you would actually be there to help him?”

“But Phantom is-”

“A person, just like Danny.” Sam said. “Just because Danny isn’t your ‘hero’ doesn’t mean he deserves to be a punching bag.”

Dash rolled his eyes. “Fenton just asks for it.”

Sam closed her eyes and shook her head.

“No, you know what? We won’t need your help anymore, Dash. We were doing just fine without you. We’ll manage.”

“I didn’t want to have to associate with you nerds anymore than I have to anyways.” Dash tried to ignore the pang in his chest at the idea of not being able to help Phantom anymore.

“You know, I’ve heard that Phantom doesn’t like bullies.” Fenton said from behind him.

Dash turned and frowned at him. “What do you know?” He shoved Fenton into the lockers one more time and walked away from them. He could hear Sam furiously whispering with Danny about something but Dash tried to tune it out.

Where did Manson get off threatening to beat him? That’d just make her a hypocrite, wouldn’t it? Doing the very thing she hates?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t make it so Phantom couldn’t talk to him.

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

“Hey, I’ll see you later, Kwan!” Dash said as he walked out of the Nasty Burger. Kwan turned around where he was walking the opposite way down the sidewalk.

“Yeah! See you tomorrow, buddy!” Kwan shouted back at him.

Dash smiled as he started his walk home. Kwan was always pretty good at cheering him up. He’d had a pretty bad week. Every time he’d gone to Phantom to try to talk to him he’d up and disappear or fly away before Dash could even get a word in. Sam and Tucker must’ve said something to him about what happened with Fenton.

He sighed. He’d probably never get to talk to Phantom again at this rate.

He heard some rustling coming from the alley he was coming up on. He paused just before it. Nothing good ever came from inside alleyways.

“Tucker, where are you- Danny, he-”

He could hear Manson’s panicked voice coming from inside the alley. He crept forward.

Dash looked into the alley to see Sam desperately talking on the phone. Phantom sat on the ground in front of her. She was holding a rag to his stomach.

“No, no I already have the supplies. I can’t-”

A tear streamed down her face. “Tucker, I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

Phantom’s eyes slowly opened. He tilted his head towards the end of the alley that Dash was standing in. He locked eyes with him, taking a deep breath.

“Sam..”

She looked up at him. When she saw where he was looking, she followed his gaze until her eyes landed on Dash. Her eyes widened. After a few moments of staring, she put her phone back up to her ear.

“No, Dash- Dash is here. He just walked up. He- He could probably help us again. Just one more time.”

Dash jumped. How serious was it this time that she couldn’t wait for Tucker?

“Dash, get over here!”

He jumped again at her call, but ran to them inside the alley.

“Can you stitch him up again?” She pleaded. “I know what I said, but I-”

“It’s fine.” Dash said. “I’m not that petty that I’ll refuse to save his life just because you don’t like me.”

She pulled a first aid kit out of her backpack and handed it to him. “You’re mean to me and my friends. I don’t want to be around you if you’re going to bully us.”

“Tch.” Dash scoffed. He pulled on a pair of gloves. “As if you aren’t just as mean to us. You go around antagonizing Paulina and forcing things that you want to do on other people.”

She rolled her eyes. “You literally beat people up and stuff them into their lockers. That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, well-”

“As much as I love watching Sam tell it to you, can you guys hurry it up?”

Dash and Sam looked at Phantom. He had one eye squinted open and he was looking between them.

“Sorry.” Dash said. He threaded the needle and got started stitching up Phantom’s wound.

They were silent while Dash worked. His stitches were quick and soon Dash was done. He sighed.

“I actually used to be friends with them when we were younger. Before they met you.”

“What?” Sam turned to stare at him. “Why are you so mean to them then?”

“My parents didn’t like Fenton’s parents. Or all the nonsense they were spouting about ghosts. I’d come home and tell them all about it and they thought the Fenton’s were ‘corrupting my mind’ or something like that.”

Phantom turned his head to look at Dash.

“My parents told me I couldn’t be his friend anymore. And I told Danny that, but he didn’t get it. And he and Tucker were a package deal at that point. They were more inseparable than me and Danny had ever been. So I just… told them that I didn’t want to be their friend anymore. That they weren’t cool enough. I think I hit one of them. They didn’t go out of their way to talk to me after that.”

They sat in silence for a moment after that.

“Parents, amiright?” Sam said quietly, as she looked at Phantom. “My parents are like that. They try to get me to stop being friends with Danny all the time but I argue too much with them for it to ever stick. Or I don’t tell them when I’m hanging out with Danny.”

“At least you have that luxury.” Dash looked at the ground. “If I don’t listen to my parents… Well, they like to use their fists more than their words.”

Sam covered her mouth.

Dash let out a short laugh.

“And now ghosts are real and they keep asking me all sorts of questions like they expect me to remember the things they told me were bad and wanted me to forget.”

Dash was startled when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up and saw that Phantom was still staring at him.

“It’s not your fault.”

Dash shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He shifted so that instead of kneeling on his knees, he was sitting on the ground. He ran his hands through his hair roughly.

“It is my fault!” Dash ground out. “I didn’t have to treat them the way I did! I could’ve broken the cycle but now I’m just like my parents.”

“You don’t have to be.” Sam said. “There’s always time to change. Hell, admitting to how shitty you’ve been is a pretty good start.”

Dash sighed. Phantom looked like he was about to say something but he was interrupted by Tucker sprinting into the alley, out of breath.

“I’m here! I’m here. Did you guys get it figured out?”

Sam nodded and gestured at Dash. “He helped us out again. He really came in clutch there.”

Dash nodded and stood up. “I guess I should get going now. I don’t want to-”

“Wait!” Sam held her hands up in a stop motion. She stood up to look at him. “Do you want to join team Phantom?”

“What?” Tucker looked at her, shocked. “Why are you asking Dash to join the team? I thought you-”

“Clearly having another person around will be beneficial.” Sam interrupted Tucker without looking at him. “You’ve already helped us twice. You could even teach us to sew and stitch up wounds better.”

Dash looked between the three of them. He wasn’t a part of whatever they had going. Would they really be okay with him joining their team? Did they really want him to be a part of it? Or was it just a pity offer?

“Why would you want me to join your team?” Dash said quietly.

“You care more than I thought you did.” Sam said.

Dash laughed. That didn’t seem like a very concrete reason.

“Break the cycle.”

Dash looked back up at where Phantom still sat on the ground. He was staring at Dash.

“Break the cycle.” He said again. “Prove that you can be better. If not for us, just do it for yourself.”

Dash looked away. He nodded. That sounded like a good reason. Work to break the cycle his parents put him in. He nodded again.

“Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll join Team Phantom.”

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

Dash stood outside Tucker’s door awkwardly. Tucker said now would be a good time to come over so they could practice sewing. He hasn’t knocked yet though. He hadn’t been back here since they were all still friends.

He lifted his hand up and paused for a moment. Finally, he brought his fist down on the door and knocked twice.

“I’ve got it!” Tucker shouted from inside the house. He heard some shuffling and then a muffled, “Mom!”

Then the door opened, but instead of Tucker it was his mom. His eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. She looked behind her where Tucker was standing and then looked back at Dash. Tucker shrugged behind her.

“Why, Dash, I haven’t seen you in such a long time. How have you been?” She asked him.

He nodded. “Good, good. Things have been fine. How have you been?”

“Things have been good here.” She looked between Tucker and Dash again. “What brings you over after so long?”

“I, uh..” Dash stammered. They didn’t come up with an excuse. He really couldn’t tell her they were practicing sewing so they could sew up wounds.

“Class project!” Sam’s voice came from down the steps behind him. He turned to see her hurrying up the stairs. “We’re going to be working on our sewing today for class. Dash is going to practice with us.”

“Ohh.” Tucker’s mom nodded. “Well that sounds fun. Do you guys have any projects in the making?”

“We’re not quite there yet, mom.” Tucker said as he stepped forward. “We’re still learning so we’ll probably just be sewing squares of fabric together.”

She nodded again. “Let me know if you kids have any questions. I know a thing or two about sewing myself.” She smiled at them.

“Thanks, mom. We will.” Tucker waved them into the house and then closed the door behind them once they were both inside. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

He followed behind both Tucker and Sam as they made their way up the stairs. He hadn’t been here in a very long time but little had changed over the years. Except for maybe new photos that had been hung up on the wall.

They reached the top of the stairs and then Tucker pulled down the attic door and unfolded the ladder. They climbed up there and Dash had the fleeting thought that if they wanted to make him disappear, an attic would be a pretty good place to make that happen.

“Boo.”

Dash jumped as a voice spoke close into his ear and then laughter erupted from an invisible mouth.

“Oh that was good. I haven’t been able to get Sam or Tucker that good in a long time.”

Phantom dropped his invisibility and appeared in front of Dash. Dash chuckled nervously.

“Phantom, don’t be too mean to him. We’re trying to make amends, remember?” Sam called to them while she and Tucker dug through some box.

“Yeah, yeah.” Phantom waved her comment off. He looked back at Dash. “I gotta have fun with this whole ghost thing somehow though, right?”

Dash nodded. “I can’t say I would be so chivalrous if I had your powers. I’d probably be sneaking into the girl’s locker room or something.”

“Eh. It was exciting the first couple times but now the novelty has worn off.”

Dash’s eyes widened. Phantom went to spy in the girl’s locker room?

“Anyways.” Phantom drawled out. “What will I be doing today?”

Dash stared at him. “You’ll also be learning to sew.”

Phantom frowned. “Why?”

“If Sam or Tucker, or even me, ever get hurt during one of your ghost fights it might be useful for you to know. Or if you ever have an occasion where you’re alone and need to do it yourself, if you’re able to of course.”

“Are you gonna be like, our teacher?” Sam asked Dash.

Dash shrugged. “I can explain the basics but this is mostly just practice time.”

They got to work practicing their sewing. Sam and Tucker were working together on the other side of the attic while Dash worked with Phantom. They had cut up squares of fabric that they were sewing together. Phantom looked up at Dash as he pulled a thread through his two pieces he had in his hands.

“Why’d you learn to sew?” Danny asked. “It’s not something most guys pick up.”

Dash shrugged. “My parents liked to wreck a lot of my things growing up. They destroyed a lot of stuffed animals, but when they ripped apart the last teddy bear I got from my grandma before she passed away I decided I was going to take it into my own hands and fix it.”

“Oh.” Phantom’s shoulders dropped and he looked at Dash sadly. “I’m sorry they did that.”

“They’re not good people.” Dash made a couple more stitches on his own squares in his hands. “It hurt when I realized that.”

Phantom nodded. “Sometimes I worry that my parents are bad people. They want to hurt me but I know they’re not actually bad.”

“How are they not bad? You just said they want to hurt you.” Dash frowned at him.

“It’s more complicated because of the whole ghost thing.” Phantom shook his head. “They don’t know who I am.”

Dash’s eyes widened. “What? How can they not know?”

Phantom’s sad expression turned into a smirk. “I’ve got to keep some of my secrets.”

Dash rolled his eyes. “Okay, Inviso-bill.”

“Hey!” Phantom pushed his shoulder.

His skin tingled where Phantom had touched him through his jacket. They smiled at each other and Dash looked back down at the fabric in his hands. They worked for another couple moments before Phantom spoke again.

“What if we sewed them all together?”

“What?” Dash looked back up at him.

“The squares.” Phantom held up his small pile he had gathered while they were working. “We could sew all the squares we make together and turn them into a blanket.”

“Ohh. That’d be cool.” He turned around in his seat. “Yo, Manson. Foley!”

They turned around to face him. “What?”

“Phantom wants to turn our squares into blankets.”

“I like that idea.” Tucker said.

“Does your mom have a sewing machine? It might be easier to sew all the rows together with the sewing machine once we get that far.”

Tucker nodded. “Let me go ask her for it.”

He headed downstairs. Sam stood up and walked over to them.

“How’s your practice going?” She asked.

“Good.” Phantom held up his work so far. The stitches were getting neater and tighter as he showed Sam his progress.

As Dash was showing Sam his own squares, Tucker made his way back up the ladder to the attic. He hefted the sewing machine up onto the floor and climbed up with some extra fabric and some kind of stuffing. He let out a breath.

“My mom gave us some fabric and some quilt batting so we can finish turning it into a blanket.”

“How do we decide who gets to keep the blanket?” Dash asked.

Phantom looked at him. “I think you should get it. We can always make more if we’re going to keep practicing sewing. You should get the first one.”

“Yeah.” Sam said. “It can be a thank you for taking the time to teach us and practice with us.”

“Let’s get this bad boy finished.”

They spent the next couple hours practicing sewing the squares by hand and once they were all sewed together Dash took them to the sewing machine. They got all the rows assembled and the blanket put together with the stuffing inside. Dash stood up and held it up for everyone to look at.

Tucker clapped. “Great work everyone. Just, wow.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

Dash lowered it and smiled at them.

“Here.”

Phantom floated forward and grabbed the other end of the blanket and helped Dash fold it. Their fingers met as they folded it together. Phantom passed his end to Dash and their fingers grazed as he pulled away.

“Thanks.” They stared at each other for a few moments. Dash cleared his throat. “Well. I should get going. It’s getting kind of late.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Sam checked the time on her phone. My parents are gonna start calling me if I don’t get home soon.”

“Thanks for helping us out Dash.” Phantom called as Dash started making his way down the ladder. Dash smiled at him.

“Thanks for giving me the chance.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dash stepped out of the school. It was empty in the schoolyard. Dash had had to stay late to finish up a test with one of his teachers.

“Hey.”

Dash jumped at the voice beside him. Phantom flickered into visibility.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Dash pouted.

Phantom shrugged and held his head in his hand as he floated next to Dash. “It’s funny. Like I said, I can’t get Sam and Tucker like that anymore.”

“Where are they anyways?” Dash crossed the street in front of the school and started the walk home.

“They’re busy.” Phantom groaned and flipped onto his back midair. “They had some very important stuff to do and they said I couldn’t come with them.”

“So tragic.” Dash smiled and shook his head at Phantom’s antics.

Phantom laughed as he floated backwards on his back beside Dash, his arms crossed behind his head. Dash smiled as he watched him, a warm feeling growing in his chest. Phantom’s smile felt like the sun.

“I think they’re trying to surprise me for my birthday. It’s coming up soon.”

Dash’s eyes widened. “You still celebrate your birthday?”

Phantom shot a look back at him. “Yeah? Don’t you still celebrate yours?”

“Yeah, but you’re a ghost. Wouldn’t you celebrate your death day instead?”

Phantom scrunched up his nose and stared at a point from where they had come. “I try as hard as I can to not think about my death day. It was painful.”

“What was it like? Dying?”

Phantom turned to face Dash. He studied his face for a moment before he spoke.

“I-”

A roar sounded from ahead of them on the street they were walking down. A ghost turned around the corner of a building and stared down at them.

“Stay back.” Phantom said to him and flew away. He flew circles around the ghost's head and soon it was facing back the other way. It roared when Phantom shot an ectoblast between its eyes.

It swung at him again and again, its slow paws trying and trying to hit Phantom.

“You sure are slow!” Phantom smirked at the ghost and spun onto his back. “You fight like my sister.”

The ghost roared again and Phantom flew back to avoid the swipe but he didn’t move fast enough.

The ghost scratched Phantom across the chest as he flew back. Dash could hear him hiss from where he stood on the ground.

“That’s all you got, ghost?” Phantom held his fists back up.

As if taking that as a challenge, the ghost shrieked. It reared up for another hit. Phantom dodged the first one but wasn’t so lucky the second time.

When the ghost’s claws connected with Phantom, Dash could hear the sound of his suit ripping. The ghost spun and sent him flying backwards down the street.

“Phantom!” Dash shouted as he turned to look where Phantom had been thrown behind him.

He laid there on the ground. He was hardly moving. The ghost started closing in, not paying any mind to Dash.

“Hey!” Dash swung his arms in the air, trying to get the ghost’s attention. It finally looked down at him and paused.

“Yeah! Leave him alone!” Dash shouted. He stuck a hand into his backpack and pulled out that lipstick laser that Tucker gave him. He aimed it at the ghost and took a shaky shot.

It hit the ghost in the chest and it roared, charging at him. Dash took a step back but he yanked his backpack off, desperately digging out the thermos. He shakily pulled it out of his backpack just as the ghost was getting to him and he pressed the button.

The ghost loomed over him before it got sucked into the thermos. Once it was gone, Dash closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Then his eyes snapped back open and he turned around.

Phantom.

He ran down the street to where Phantom lay. Phantom’s eyes opened as Dash got closer. Thank god.

“Hey. How bad is it?” Dash asked as he dropped down to his knees on the pavement.

Phantom hissed as he sat up. “Not the worst I’ve ever had. I’m not sure any of these need stitches.”

“Are you sure?” Dash studied his suit where it was torn. “I could literally hear your suit get shredded from where I was standing.”

“Yeah.” Phantom nodded. “I think a good chunk of things I need to have stitched up are because I kept fighting and tore them and made them worse.” He looked up at Dash. “Thanks, by the way. For helping me with that ghost.”

“Whaat? It was nothing.” Dash smiled at him.

Phantom laughed. “I could see you shaking in your boots from here.”

Dash crossed his arms and turned his nose up away from Phantom. “Fighting ghosts is a lot scarier without fancy ghost powers.”

“Yeah, but really, thanks.”

Dash looked back at Phantom. He couldn’t help it. It was the first thing he could think to do. He wasn’t going to just let a ghost get him when he couldn’t fight.

Dash was lost in thought for a moment before his mind wandered back to Phantom’s injury.

“Do you at least want that bandaged even if you don’t need stitches?”

Phantom nodded. “Yeah. It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

Dash dug through his backpack where it sat next to him when he dropped it. He pulled out his first aid kit.

“Gauze or giant band aid?” Dash asked.

Phantom looked down at his chest where the scratches were. He thought for a moment.

“Probably gauze. I think these are too long for a giant bandaid.”

Dash nodded. He pulled the gauze out and turned back to Phantom. He blushed.

“What?” Phantom asked.

The thought of Dash asking Phantom to undress was frazzling Dash’s brain. He only had to unzip the top part of his jumpsuit but he’d never seen Phantom in anything besides that before. What would he look like underneath?

“I need, uh, you to unzip the top part of your jumpsuit so I can wrap the gauze around your chest.”

Phantom looked back down at his chest. “Oh.” He unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and pulled his arms out. He looked back up at Dash.

Dash’s blush went all the way up to his ears and he tried not to stare but he couldn’t help it. Phantom’s skin was so different from other ghosts. He was so much more human-like than them.

Phantom held his hand out for Dash and he looked back up to his face.

“I can do this if it’s too weird for you.”

“It’s not weird!” Dash blurted out. “I just, uh- I don’t-”

Phantom grabbed the gauze out of Dash’s hand and started wrapping it around his chest. “That’s okay. Sam was kind of awkward the first time she had to do this too.”

Dash nodded, but he was disappointed. This could’ve been an opportunity to get close to Phantom. To maybe graze a hand against his skin. Feel what a ghosts skin would-

“Dash?”

He jumped. “Yeah?”

“I’m all done. Here.” Phantom tossed the roll of gauze back to Dash. He fumbled to catch it and when he did he stowed it back in his first aid kit.

Dash put everything back in his backpack and threw it back on his shoulder. He stood up and waited for Phantom to shove his arms back into his sleeves before he offered his hands to help Phantom up.

Phantom looked at them for a moment before he reached up and grabbed onto Dash’s hands. Dash pulled Phantom to his feet and then they just stared at each other. Dash’s grip on Phantom’s hands tightened. He took a step closer to Phantom but then someone shouted at them.

“Look! It’s Phantom!”

Dash looked up around him and was shocked to see how many people had gathered around them. Where had they all come from? Were they all watching the ghost fight from their homes?

“Phantom, who is this boy? Why is he helping you?”

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“Who would be crazy enough to date a dead person?”

The voices clamored around them and Dash felt like they were pressing in on him. Phantom glanced at him and let go of his hands and instead wrapped an arm around his side.

“Gotta go!”

“Wait, wha-!”

Dash yelped as he was pulled into the air with Phantom as he took off in flight. He’d never flown before. Not even in a plane. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arm around Phantom’s shoulder. The flight was quick and soon they were touching down on the ground.

Dash peeked an eye open and saw that they were standing in front of his house.

“That was fast.” Dash said, out of breath.

“Yeah.” Phantom smiled at him. “My top speed we’ve clocked so far is a hundred and twelve miles per hour. I can get anywhere in town pretty darn fast.”

“Dang. That’s cool. Kinda scary.”

Phantom smiled. “You get used to it after a while.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Phantom seemed to remember he was still holding onto Dash. He coughed and pulled his hand away and it drifted across Dash’s back, leaving a trail of butterfly inducing tingles.

“Well, I gotta go. I have things to do.”

Dash let out a nervous laugh. “How busy can a ghost possibly be?”

“Like I’ve said, I’ve got to keep some of my secrets.”

Phantom started floating up into the air.

“Aw, come on. We’re not close enough for that yet?” Dash shouted up at him.

He smiled down at Dash. “Not quite. Maybe one day.”

Phantom waved down at Dash and then he flew away. Dash’s heart fluttered and he waved back belatedly.

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

Dash was laying in bed. He was ready to go to sleep after such a long day. He could almost fall asleep right now.

He started drifting off but was interrupted a moment later.

Phantom flew through Dash’s bedroom wall and crashed onto his bed. Dash jumped up and stared at the boy that was suddenly next to him.

“Phantom?” Dash exclaimed.

He was curled up on his side next to Dash, holding his stomach.

“I didn’t… I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Tucker is out of town and the far frozen was too far away for this one- ah!” He clenched his stomach again.

“No, no. That’s what I’m here for. That’s why you guys agreed to let me join your team. So that there was someone else there to patch you up.”

Phantom shook his head. “This one’s worse. There’s a chance I’ll-”

A white ring appeared around his waist. Phantom tensed up and groaned before it disappeared again.

“What was that?” Dashed asked, staring.

Phantom shook his head. “You need to start stitching the wound up now. If we wait it’ll start bleeding faster. We can’t-” He tensed up again. Sparks flew around his middle. “We have to hurry.”

At Phantom’s plea, he hurriedly got up and grabbed his first aid kit from under his bed. He kneeled down and Phantom turned to his side to face him.

“Can you uncurl for me? I need to take a look.”

Phantom nodded and slowly pulled his arms away from his stomach. They were covered in ectoplasm. Dash gulped and studied the wound. It was deep. Ectoplasm was steadily oozing out of it. He pulled a pair of gloves on.

“This is pretty deep, what if I can’t-”

“Sewing it shut will help.” Phantom grimaced. “Once the wound is shut my healing abilities will have an easier time mending it.”

Dash nodded. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath and got started. Phantom flinched with every touch of the needle. Dash was halfway done when the ring appeared around his waist again. Phantom struggled to push it away, but it disappeared after a few seconds.

“Phantom.” Dash kept stitching the wound closed. “What’s happening?”

“I can’t keep it back anymore.” Phantom ground out. “When I transform, I’m going to start bleeding much faster. You have to keep stitching me up, no matter what.”

“What? When you transform? What does that-”

The rings appeared around Phantom’s waist a final time. Dash tried to keep his focus on stitching Phantom’s wound, but then the rings split. They revealed a very familiar shirt underneath them.

“I’m sorry.”

The rings finished traveling over the rest of Phantom’s body. Dash’s hands shook as the ectoplasm that was steadily coming out of the wound turned into blood. The pace increased and Dash got a glimpse at Phantom’s face as the rings went over his head and Danny Fenton was left in his place.

Danny met his gaze for a moment and then his eyes fluttered closed.

“Danny?” Dash whispered.

He didn’t move and Dash went back to stitching up the wound. He was almost done and he was hoping this would be enough. That Danny wouldn’t…

He shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. He had already seen the impossible. Danny wouldn’t die. He couldn’t.

He made his last stitch and cut the thread. He grabbed a bag and disposed of everything inside it. He was about to put the first aid kit away when he thought about putting a bandage on top of Danny’s stitches.

He pulled a bandage and some gauze out of the first aid kit and when he turned back around Danny’s eyes were already open, staring at Dash.

“You’re awake already?” Dash whispered. “I wasn’t sure- I was afraid that-”

Danny shook his head. “My healing powers are already working. It just needed help getting started. It can’t heal if it’s still bleeding so much like that.”

Dash let out a deep breath. “I’m glad to hear.”

A pause stretched between them and Dash looked down at his hands and saw the gauze and bandage he was holding. He held them up.

“Do you want these on there too? Would it help?”

Danny nodded. “They’ll help make sure I don’t bleed into my clothes.”

Dash nodded back at him. “Your shirt looks pretty bad too. Do you want one of mine?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure.”

He set the bandage and gauze down on the bed and headed to his dresser. He pulled out a shirt and turned back around to see Danny pulling his shirt off.

Heat rose to Dash’s face and the comments Phantom made that first time Dash helped him came to mind. Tucker’s laugh echoed inside his head.

Man, you’re not gonna live this one down.

Sam and Tucker must know. That’s why they were being so weird that night.

He sat down at the edge of his bed and looked at Danny. He peeled the back of the bandage off and put it over Danny’s stitches. He spread his hand out over it, pressing the edges down, making sure they were sticking to Danny’s skin properly.

“Can you sit up?” Dash asked. Danny nodded and pushed himself up, wincing.

Dash leaned closer to Danny and started winding the gauze around his torso. Once he was done, he looked up to see Danny’s face only a few inches from his own.

They stared at each other for a few moments before they both spoke at once.

“I’m sorry.”

Both of their eyes widened. Dash sat up.

“Why are you sorry? I was literally the one wailing on you for so long.”

Danny shook his head. “I lied to you. I never told you who I was. I could see the way you looked at me, but I didn’t think you’d look at me like that if you knew I was also Danny.”

Dash flushed. “You could tell.” He breathed out.

“Yeah I could.” Then he rolled his eyes. “And if I couldn’t, Tucker would’ve made sure I knew anyway.”

“Tucker knows too?” Dash whispered. He didn’t think anyone could see his developing feelings for Phantom. He thought they just would have assumed it was because he was Phantom’s biggest fan.

“Yeah. No offense, but it was pretty obvious. Especially if even I could tell.”

Dash groaned and covered his face with his hands as he leaned back onto his bed. He felt Danny lean over to look down at him. Dash opened his eyes.

Danny met his eyes. His eyes traveled down his face to his lips. He slowly bent down and pressed his lips against Dash’s. Dash closed his eyes again and after a few seconds Danny pulled away.

“It helped that I was looking for it, though.”

Dash smiled up at him. “You did call me cute that one time.”

Now it was Danny’s turn to groan. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I hardly even remember that.”

Dash placed a hand on the back of Danny’s head and pulled him back down and kissed him again.

“Did Tucker ever let you live it down?”

Danny laughed. “No. Of course not.”

“I bet it’ll be even worse now.” Dash said against Danny’s lips.

“Oh, you bet it will.”

Dash kissed Danny one more time and gently pulled him down to lay beside him.

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #dash baxter #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #swagger bishie #fanfiction #phic phight 2024 #fanfic #fic #phic

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 4 years

Text

Wild Heart: Taishiro Toyomitsu fluff and nsfw at the end

Notes: Smut with kinda nomadic and village people with animal features. Sorry s/o, but you’re a lil’ bunny with a kinda fearful backstory. All characters are of age, and this story has some dark elements to it. Don’t read if you’re underaged.

Warnings: No forced mating happens to s/o, but there are mentions of the fearful possibilities, and s/o living in fear of it. Kinda Mary Sue s/o but whatevs.

……………

When your first heat took over you, you first lived in your own little space in your parent’s temporary den. Of course they expected this. You, however, did not expect them to take advantage of your delicate situation by inviting possible suitors in their home.

It scared you so much, laying there in your feathered nest, listening to your parents in the other room basically interviewing each and every suitor, acting as if you were a piece of meat to be traded off to. Which, you realized, that you were.

Traveling in the past winter was difficult, for many villagers fell ill, got lost, and were eaten by wilder animals, which made your parents desperate to help reproduce the decaying tribe. Of course, rabbits being one of the most fertile breeds, were sought by more dominant species to reproduce. A predatory species such as a wolf or dog, for example, will always have pups, if their mate isn’t high on the list of dominance that is.

It made young bunnies such as yourself a prize, because although highly fertile and bore kits quickly, the kits will be a species of their mate, instead of rabbits themselves.

You weren’t sure if you wanted kits, only to repeat your species’s vicious little cycle. You were sick of it, and always fearful that somebody who your parents approved of, will just come into your nest while in heat, and either fuck you then and there, or drag you away to be a little breeder.

You were so scared and sick. Although terrible, your parents seem to know that a fearful bunny in heat was not good, and the stars aligned with luck as you heard them sigh and say that right after your heat, you will be traded to the well off weasel in your tribe in exchange for nesting materials and food.

It understandably made you angry, and that fateful night, when you felt ready, you packed some things and left without your parents knowing.

To where, you did not know, but like your kin, you will find your own little place, whether it be in a small nomadic village such as your parents, or all alone in the wilderness. It was unsafe for you. Your heat had just lifted, but the intoxicating smell still clung to you.

You traveled far, avoiding to stay at one place for too long, suspicious strangers, and open fields. Wolves would leer at you, owls and other birds of prey would gauge whether should they swoop down at you. Your nights were spent curled up in either an abandoned den, or huddled against a large tree, hoping that you’ll be safe.

As for your heats, you definitely had to play extra safe, so far as gathering two week’s worth of food to place in a temporary den, blocking it and not even thinking about coming out until it was at least a week after your heat.

It was an absolute nightmare to be writhing on the ground, hearing the scratches, threats, and wanton moans of animals outside, wanting to break through your makeshift barrier, and never succeeding. It scared you so much, that a small part of you wondered if the weasel would have been a better choice. You shook it off. No, you were more than an incubator. You always got through the night, and you’ll get through this one.

On the lucky side, your food resources would not run out due to it being late summer, and so wild fruit, vegetables, and berries were still available to you, making stored temporary dens so much easier while dealing with heats, which drained your energy. You didn’t want to continue walking forever, living in fear and hiding, but you didn’t want to be near your parents ever again.

One day, you came across a friendly little village. It surprised you. Unlike your village, they had buildings built there to stay, not tents flapping in the wind, or an abandoned den in which would be abandoned again. It felt like a secure place, and you decided that you will try to find a den on the outskirts of town.

It didn’t take long to find an old fox den. The smell has long since faded, and there was no outcry or claim when you left of what few belongings you had. Being smart, you covered the opening up with grass and branches, and headed towards the village to hopefully find work for food so that you could eat for the upcoming winter.

The people were friendly. They saw you not just as a foreigner, but one of the few beings who actually wanted to stay. The majority of your land had a nomadic lifestyle, but this place had structure, rules, and more importantly, safety. Beings of all kinds were welcomed here, and nobody discriminated. It was too good to be true, you thought. You thought that it was a trap, but it wasn’t.

It was a new concept of living, and many beings found it too weird and suffocating, not like the free reign they were use to having, so many beings avoided the village. You loved it. So you stayed.

Of course there were doubts, and the ever-lingering fear, yet it melted away when you seen the sunny faces of a fellow rabbit named Izuku, a red salamander by the name of Eijiro, the warm smile and fluffy squirrel tail of Ochaco, the leader of the village, a droopy crow man by the name of Aizawa, and others , you knew that this was your place.

It didn’t take you long to befriend the villagers. It was not a large village, but for the first time, you felt very welcomed and supported, and even found a job working as a gardener with Ochaco. You felt so happy, that you let yourself smile, which you haven’t done so in ages.

Of course, of all of the villagers, there was one who caught your eyes the most. When your eyes met, you couldn’t help the fluttering feeling beat within your chest. Bright orange eyes, soft yellow hair, and a round face met your gaze. The rare tiger breed was eating something sweet, and had a little speck of food on his face, in which you couldn’t help but find adorable.

It didn’t bother you that he was round, or the soft blush on his cheeks, or the way his pretty eyes had glistened a little with surprise, and most importantly, his sandalwood and soft vanilla scent. You knew that you shouldn’t like a person just bases on their looks or scent, but at that moment, you couldn’t help the blood rushing to your cheeks, a little.

Of course, it didn’t help when he offered a smile and one of his sweets, that you were pulled a little more into the rabbit hole of like at first sight.

Throughout the end of your gardening, he would visit you often. His name is Taishiro Toyomitsu “but you can call me Tai-chan!” as his tail flicked. He was only a few years older than you, and his job was help keep the peace, patrolling around the village and help protect it against invaders.

You were smitten but of course could not tell him. A part of you wanted him to like you in despite of your heats and fertility, and you was scared.

As you continued being his friend for the next year, you learned that not only was he a great and a trustworthy friend, but he had lost his fat during spring, and gained it back during the harsh winter months. You honestly thought his bigger form was cuter, but you were not complaining at all to see rippling muscles adorned with sweat during the summer heat.

Which didn’t help your heats at all when you lay deep within your den, writhing with your fingers within you, feeling incomplete and needing something bigger as you could imagine the soft feel of his flesh rutting within you or hard muscles holding you down. It was torture, and you knew that by not telling him how you felt, and not wanting to ruin your relationship with one of your closest and dearest friends, you allowed yourself to suffer.

Within the next two years, you worked hard and never complained. You learned how to sew, clean, cook, garden, gather, and even carpentry. You helped your neighbors, and in return, they, mainly Taishiro, helped you build your little fox den into a rabbit hut.

You never told your neighbors about your problems before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure things out. You were a lone being with no mate, not another’s scent on you, and had never brought anybody into your house. It was obvious that you ran away, and you even let it slip while casual talking to Izuku.

Of course, not to mention that the scent of your heat always lingered a week or two on you after your actual heat. You didn’t deny the thrill up your spine whenever Taishiro would accidentally inhale your scent. You didn’t miss the way his pupils dilated with lust, ears perked, and tail thrashing wildly as he looked at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking. Oh no, you were totally aware, and ate it up. Every little image was fodder for you, and it made your heart race faster.

Everything changed for you, one November day. You were outside, planning on where to plant your crops for the next spring, happily humming to yourself as ever, until you felt yourself being pushed down onto the ground. In a daze, you scrambled to back up from whatever force that was near you, and looked up.

It was your father, and he was seething. You didn’t understand. You traveled far, hadn’t you? Your scent would have faded on your travels, and why now, after three years, has your parent finally found you with an irrational attitude?

You did feel like you left your parents to defend for themselves, but you had to do this for yourself. If not for your dignity, but for your freedom. The only rational thought you could come up with was that the tribe was traveling this direction, and you, living on the outskirts of the village, was easily spotted.

Fate was unfair, sometimes.

“Where have you been? We were worried for you! Your suitor, the weasel, has already found another mate! Your mother and I had lost a lot of opportunity when you ran off like a coward!” It all came falling out of his mouth as he screamed at you. Three years worth of anguish filled his tone.

Your ears flattened back as your body stiffened with fear. Then an unexpected anger hit you out of nowhere.

“Do you know how scared I was while you were inviting strangers into our home? While I was in my heat for no less? Overhearing how you were going to trade me in as if I never mattered? I was so scared that you were just going to let somebody walk in and do whatever they wanted to me!” You shouted as tears threaten to spring from your eyes. You hurriedly wiped them away as your father stared in shock. However, you weren’t done.

“I traveled so far! Trying to escape you two, the tribe, and everything that holds me down biologically! I had to hide during my heats, hearing...things outside trying to get through the dens I blockaded. Storing food, hiding in the darkness for weeks until I felt safe to go out...looking above me or behind my back every second….” You trailed off as your anger dissipated fast. You frantically wiped your eyes as your father’s shoulders relaxed.

You almost jumped when you felt a hand land gently upon your shoulder. A fierce sandalwood scent overpowered the sweet vanilla, and you knew who it was. Swiveling to look up, your heart sped faster at the sight of Taishiro, who now had a feral look to him as he stared your father down. Your heart sank. You didn’t mean for him to find about your troubles. His ears flat, tail puffed out and swishing, and eyes didn’t leave your father as he spoke.

“Is he botherin’ you, Darlin’?” His voice was gentle to you, although his body language spoke another situation. You eyed your father as his face held a tiny bit of remorse, and fear.

“No,” You found yourself saying aloud. “he’ll be leaving, soon.” After those words, your father gave a curt nod and left just like that. You couldn’t believe your circumstances, or the loop that life threw at you. Your cheeks paled as you remembered that Taishiro probably heard everything.

To be honest, you didn’t care. You wanted him to know, but of course under better circumstances. Tail smoothing down, ears perked, the sweet vanilla overpowering the sandalwood, and eyes round, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright? I came running as soon as I scented an unfamiliar scent around your area, I feared for the worse. Damn, I didn’t mean to overhear everything! Seriously, you went through all of that?” His concerned babbling made your heart leap. He cared about you. Feeling brave, you looked at him and decided to shoot a question.

“What did you fear, Tai-chan?” Your question caught him off guard as his eyes widened and a pink dust settled over his cheeks as he swiftly looked down at the ground. For a second, you thought he was going to start blubbering, but then he looked back at you with a determination.

“I was worried that you had found a suitor.” He admitted. Oh. Oh.

“That would have bothered you, wouldn’t it?” You asked with a serious gentle voice. He couldn’t help but nod.

“How long?” You pressed. His ears flattened with a bit of embarrassment and his eyes tentatively met yours.

“When I first saw you. Timid thing with wide eyes, couldn’t help but find ya...ya know, cute. Then you were always friendly, ya know? Um, I could see ya admiring me, even when I was heavy and fat during the winter, I always felt you starin’ at me with those eyes, and it made me feel special. As if my personality was worth more than my body weight, ya know? Then when the years passed and I got ta know ya, I realized that I loved you.” His flush deepened with every breath as he admitted this.

You felt warmth pool within you despite the November chill, and your heart raced. He loved you? You asked him how he had noticed, and he smiled a little.

“Honestly, you aren’t very subtle, Darlin’. Even a week after your heat, I can see you liking the way I’ve been reacting to your smell. Three years is too much, but I’d wait more if you’re still decidin’.” He let out a little growl, and you flushed. Your heart hammered loudly, and you swore that he could hear it. Then you let it out.

“I loved you when I first saw you,” Your voice broke out and he looked at you with wonder. “as you heard the outburst I had with my father, I was at first a little insecure about liking somebody. Everyone before I came to this life, saw me as an object waiting to be used. You’re not like that. The villagers, my friends, aren’t like that. I didn’t know that you had feelings for me, but I kept pushing away suitors just in case if you changed your mind, one day.” You admitted freely. It honestly felt as if a giant weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

Only for warm arms to embrace you. Your little bunny tail couldn’t help but swish happily as you wrapped your arms around him, pushing your face into his chest and taking in the sweet vanilla scent. This was happening. You both acknowledged your feelings towards each other, and now can rest easy.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence first.

“In my old tribe, it’s custom for males to court their lovers before they finally settle. Would you like that, lil’ rabbit?” He teased lightly as his hand ran circles on your back. You nodded without hesitation. Then you remembered.

“My heat is tomorrow.” He froze and pulled away to look at you with wide eyes.

“Darlin’…” He let the sentence drop as you cupped his face.

“I’m tired of spending them alone. They’re getting worse, and it’s hurting more every passing season. If you’re wanting, I rather have nobody in my nest for the rest of my life but you.”

The next thing you knew, his warm mouth was onto yours, holding you tight against him as he started kissing you. You shivered a little, and he pulled back.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d love to.” He crooned, making your insides turn into warm mush. He’d love to make love to you is all you could think about, and in an instant, years of self restraint seemed to wither.

“Tonight, before my heat?” You pondered. It took him a second, but then he nodded. You smiled warmly up at him and caressed his cheek. Because it was getting to winter months, he was bulky. Not fully round, but not fully muscular, yet. You loved him any other way, but were pleased that you got to have both for your first time. You wanted to remember everything clearly, and not be in a heat induced mess where fingers and hazy memories of being alone was your only companion.

“Alright, Darlin’. Tonight. I’ll head home and get ready, alright? I’ll meet you in your hut.” You agreed and the both of you parted ways temporarily. Your heart pounded and you felt slick pool out at the images you had stored in your head that built up for the last three years.

Night fell slower than you’d like, but you took the opportunity to clean your hut, make your nest comfortable, and even made stew. You were more excited than nervous. You trusted him, you knew that when the morning came, you’ll have a bonding mark, letting everybody know that he was yours, and you were his. Time crawled slowly, letting you think upon other things.

Would he want kits? You could easily imagine little cubs looking exactly like him and you, and to be honest, you didn’t mind at all. He’d be a great father, but you weren’t with him because of that. Oh no, you loved him, and your body, although not knowing it yet, will too.

You opened the door to the slow and steady knocking. He was standing there, eyes locking onto yours as you let him in without a sound.

“Would you like supper, first?” You asked. You had already eaten, but you didn’t know if he had or not. He shook his head.

“Honestly, Darlin’? I’m ready for desert.” He exclaimed while staring directly at you with a tone dark with lust. It was a newer side of him than you’ve seen, and you liked it. There was hardly any words when you led him into your nest. He had asked if you were sure about this, and you reassured him that you were more than willing. Your head was clear, and more than likely he would spend the next week with you during your heat. Your lustful hunger had been put off for way too long, and you were more than willing to share it with somebody who cares about you.

...Smut:

When you closed and locked the door, he stared at you with such a lustful gaze, you felt slick leak out. He must have smelled it, for his eyes dilated.

“I’m different when I’m in the mood, Darlin’. I’m still me, but my instincts are screamin’ at me to bend you over and fuck you full of my cum. One last chance, are you sure?” He growled out, and you all but crooned.

“I’m sure, Tai. I trust you.” You admitted, and that was all he needed to hear. Although gently, he pushed you down onto your feathered bedding, towering over you as he stared at you like a man starved. His eyes glowed under the moonlight. Your hand cupped his face gently, and he bent down to kiss you. Kissing was something new to you, and he probably could tell. He’d lick your lips, and you’d instinctively granted entry. He was warm and soothing and coaxed you to swirl your tongue over his as he lightly sucked onto yours.

You broke away from air, only for him to tug off his clothes quickly, and then tugging off of yours. You wished it was a little slower, but you enjoyed the sight. His fat and muscles glistened with sweat underneath the moonlight, and you couldn’t love it more. What caught your eyes, however, was his erection. It was fat and heavy, and leaking pre-cum onto your bedding. You never saw one up close, but you already wanted to taste it.

“You’re beautiful.” You found yourself admit, and his eyes reached you with warmth.

“As are you, Sweetheart. Honestly, how did I get so lucky?” He murmured as he decided that the two of you needed to continue, and you were on board with that.

You all but gasped as he took a nipple within his mouth, swirling it as he stared into your eyes with an almost cocky smirk. His other hand reached out to your other nipple, and gently rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It was a new experience, feeling his rough calloused hands do that to you. You knew you were sensitive there, but never indulged too much time because other areas cried for your attention during heat. He sucked eagerly, rolling it around with his tongue, only to let go and gently blow cool air onto your bud. You gasped and he chuckled.

“A little sensitive, Dearest?” He gently teased, but you nodded anyway. Your lower half was aching. You didn’t want to rush the experience, but your self control was withering.

“Taishiro.” You let out a whine. He all but laughed at your expense.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” A darker tone filled with lust was replacing his normal tone, and you and your instincts loved it.

“My little slutty bunny wants to be eaten out, huh?” His voice sent a fire to your loins. You didn’t care what he called you, the both of you knew that was instinct, and it did set you alight. So you nodded anyway as you found your legs being separated with his face in between them, staring at your sex as if it was his favorite meal. You whined.

“What a pretty flower, you’ve got there, Sugar.” Was your only warning as you felt his hot mouth onto you. You crooned with relief and surprise. How did he know how to do this? You didn’t mind his past, he was forever yours, now, but it still had you wondering. His hot tongue rubbed against your clit a little roughly, and you felt his hand lift from your breast, and soon you felt a thick digit enter you. His hands were calloused and bigger than yours, and so the stretch was odd, but you wanted more.

You moved your hips gently with the thrusts of his fat finger as he slowly added more, eyeing you with a raw hunger. His mouth left your opening and you let out a low whine. He kissed your thigh gently as he added a third finger, stretching you out as you moved against him, liking the feel of the foreign burn.

“You’re so tight, squeezin’ onto my fingers, drippin’ pre-cum and ruining yer bed like a wanton whore.” You hear him all but growl. You felt yourself tighten with those words and looked away in embarrassment as he chuckled darkly. You couldn’t help it!

“Ya like dirty talk, huh?” He growled out a whisper as he pulled his fingers abruptly out of you and ignored your moan of protest. He continued, pulling you onto his lap, rubbing his erect member against your clit as he growled out the remaining words that you wanted to hear.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, Baby? Lemme fuck yer cervix? Fuck you roughly through your orgasm and paint your womb white with my cum? Huh?” He breathed hotly into your ear, and you had to keep yourself from cumming then and there as you clung to him with desperation. You whimpered. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long, and you were so happy that it was with Taishiro. You weren’t scared that this was your first time, and knew that your body could take him. You wanted your body to take him, and so you nodded.

“Alright, Darlin’.” His voice was softer now as he laid you gently upon your bedding as he stared down at you with a gentle yet feral look. You knew that he’d been putting this off as long as you had, and was desperate. Unlike his dirty talk, his behavior was sweet as he kissed you gently, holding onto you as you felt the head of his cock slowly enter you.

You kept yourself still as you felt your walls envelop the large intruder. It didn’t hurt like you thought it would, but it did leave a pleasurable burning stretch that you weren’t sure to make of at first. Your eyes were locked onto his as he eyed your expression. He then came to a stop, resting flushed against your skin.

“You doin’ okay, Darlin’?” He asked hoarsely, and you nodded.

“It feels a little weird, but it doesn’t hurt.” You admitted. His muscles stiffened as he looked at you with surprise. You were confused at his expression, and then it hit you. He didn’t know of your inexperience, and you just assumed that he’d know.

“Oh, Dearest, had I known-” You cut him off by kissing him. You didn’t want him to think, right now. All you wanted was to make love.

“Move.” You ordered.

“So demanding.” He chuckled, but complied as he gently rolled his hips, grasping at the nest as he eyed your expression with such intensity. You knew that he was holding himself back for you, and honestly, it was sweet. Yet, you wanted him to enjoy himself, too.

“Taishiro, I’m not hurting. It feels-Ah!-Good. Mmh-I want you to…” Your eyes looked downwards for a second while he looked at you confused. Then you looked up at him dead in the eye as you finished your sentence.

“I want to bounce on your cock.” At this, he stilled so fast that you thought he had stopped functioning, and then with a feral growl unlike you ever heard before, he pulled you up onto his lap.

“I was trying to be gentle, Baby, but since you’re such a little slut, I think you should fuck yourself on me.” He growled darkly as he aimed a sharp thrust, burying deeper inside you and you all but screamed with ecstasy as you felt his dick hit a special spot within you.

“Oh? Was that your spot? You gonna let me fuck you, or are you gonna bounce?” He then moaned as you tried your best to meet his erratic thrusts. You all but keened as his mouth latched onto a nipple that belonged to your bouncing breasts, harshly sucking on it as his other hand roughly groped your other breast. This was what your nirvana felt like as your walls began to tighten.

Refusing to come first, he then pulled out. Any amount of protest you had, was stifled as he turned you around harshly, bare ass in the air and your face muffled within the nest. His hands gripped at your hips tightly as he thrusted in, now with fervor. His weight laid heavy on your back as he breathed into your ear, talking dirty. You crooned, because this angle was newer and you felt the heaviness of his dick plow into you better.

“Fuckin’ virgin wouldn’t allow me to take this slow,” He nipped at your ear through heavy breathes. “I love you so damned much. I’m going to make you ride my dick slowly next time, and you’re going to enjoy the slow intimacy, yeah?” A rush of touched warmth enveloped you as you nodded, trying to focus on cumming.

“I love you-Ah! More!” You breathed out. He let out a laugh as one of his hands reached under to rub your clit.

“Oh, Baby, the shit you do to me.” He growled for the umpteenth time. You couldn’t help it. Your walls clenched tightly as you heard him curse, and the best orgasm in your life hit you hard. You screamed out his name through the white haze of euphoria. When your senses came to, his hips fastened their pace as he suddenly gripped both of your hips hard, stilled, and felt sharp teeth clamp tight around your scent gland as he came harshly. You felt him spurt his come into you as he held you down.

His hips were now gently pumping in and out of you, letting the last spurts of his cum be released inside as he licked your wound apologetically. You couldn’t see it, but you already loved it. He gingerly pulled out of you, flopping right next to you as he pulled you close to his chest. The two of you were quiet for a while as you snuggled within his chest, feeling your erratic heartbeat calm down as his slowed.

“No, I love you more.” He countered, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

……………………………….

I think this is my most favorite fic that I’ve ever written, and one of the longest omg.

#taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum x reader #ABO #Kinda #Self indulgent #Fluff #This is dirty #I'm a simp for this man

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writingamongtheroses-archive · 4 years

Text

Showtime, Chapter 8

Lights Out

"Aaaand done!"

Liza stepped back from the speakers, grinning proudly. She and Bun watched as she flicked the switch. Treasure Cove erupted in sound. "Yar har har! Welcome crew, to Captain Bun's Treasure Cove! Load your token in and let the adventure begin!" She chuckled at the recorded voice lines, watching Bun grin.

It was the second night of Liza's new project. After she finished cleaning up the office with Bun's help, she had set to work. "Okay, stripped wires are fixed..." Liza said, checking that off her list as she turned it off. She grunted when her scarf fell in her face- she hated this scarf, it always came undone too easily. "I'll have to stop by the hardware store to see if I can find some better rope." She finished redoing her scarf to make a grabby motion. "Hand me that broom, will ya?"

Bun handed over the broom. "What are ye gonna do, lass?"

"Sweep! It's really dusty in here." True to her word, Liza started sweeping. "I mean, does the cleaning crew even clean? This whole place looks..." She looked around, trying to find a word that wasn't insulting to the animatronics.

"Nothing like how it used to?" She nodded. The depressed tone was back in Bun. "Aye, I know what you mean lass." The rabbit sat on a nearby box. "I remember how it used to be. Children would come, laughing and playing. They would win tokens while enjoying their food and listening to the Captain and Kitpup. It was bright and it was beautiful."

Liza had stopped sweeping. "I wish I could remember it."

"Ye don't?"

She shook her head. "The first thing I remember...is waking up in the hospital. The doctors told me I have retrograde amnesia." She didn't notice Doll wince.

"Wha?"

"Memory loss caused by an injury. They told me I was in a really bad accident- they had to sew parts of my brain back into my head and replace part of my skull with this fake skull stuff. There was also a bit of a brain bleed..." Liza made a face at the dust pile she had made. "Seriously, have they never cleaned here-?"

The lights went out.

"The ovens!" Kitty yelled from the kitchen.

"NOT US! I don't think..." Liza grumbled, trying to stumble out of Treasure Trove. She heard Bun move before a fake fur-covered hand wrapped around her wrist. If she focused, she could feel the metal under it. She made a conscious effort to not focus on that. Bun led her down the hallway, opening a door.

Her eyes had adjusted enough to see Kitty pulling what looked like a pizza out of an oven that was still glowing. Liza looked around, wondering if she would hear the lullaby...she shook her head. No. Because of Puppet, Ted couldn't hunt her down.

"-the generators."

She blinked at Kitty's voice. "What? Sorry, just trying to get my bearings." Liza attempted a sheepish grin before something plastic was stuffed in her hand. She turned on the flashlight, making sure to shine it on the floor.

"I need you to turn the generators back on," Kitty repeated slowly as if talking to a small child. She gestured to the pizzas. "Bun will help me with this." The rabbit nodded.

The generators, right. "Those would be..." Liza asked with a tiny wince. "Where exactly?" Something niggled at her brain, saying You know this.

"Oh, sorry! They're on the south side of the building. You can get to them by leaving the back way I think? We're not allowed outside, and I really don't want to upset Ted more than he already is." Kitty winced, matching her own.

Was this a trap?

It felt like a trap.

"...so I can leave? It's okay?"

"Yep!" Kitty chirped, turning to her ovens as Liza headed out of the kitchen. "As long as you come back." Liza paled at the tone, speeding up. "Be careful!" she heard before the kitchen doors shut. She sounded friendly, so she decided to leave that alone.

Liza opened and closed the door behind her, humming the lullaby absentmindedly. The flashlight bobbed in front of her as she walked. She turned the corner, training the light on the wall. She could see that the light outside was still on, so there must've been another circuit box for outside lighting. But why just the front?

Something clicked.

She froze, feeling Doll's fingers clench on her shoulders.

There was nothing but silence as she stood there. The crescent moon shone down on her while crickets chirped. She could see fireflies dancing around. While the flashlight was helpful, it just cast shadows and shapes of the thin forest sitting on the edge of the back parking lot. Nothing but underbrush and trees.

There was another noise and Liza ran.

By the time she stumbled across the fenced area, her feet hurt and any other noise was drowned out by the blood rush in her ears. The door was open. Annoyance washed out the fear when Liza realized why she lost power so fast.

There was a gauge.

"You aren't supposed to be here," Liza said to it as she started poking. Sure, it could save a few pennies, but it also seriously messed with the restaurant's electricity. She could remember Rafael raging whenever he found something like this on his latest repair project. She ended up wedging the flashlight in her shoulder to stick her arm half under the generator, but she flipped a switch. She was awarded a crunch of machinery as it rumbled to life. She unlatched the timer, examining it in curiosity. She ended up sticking it in her pocket- it looked homemade. She was honestly curious about why it was made and how it worked.

She headed up to the side door, intent on saving time. She regretted it when she heard another noise. It sounded closer this time. She paused in the doorway, taking a breath and turning to the night's darkness. "Hello?" She called out, wincing at her volume as Doll gripped her shoulders tight. "Is...there someone there?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Liza let out a shriek, swinging out. Rex dodged easily, grabbing her collar and hauling her into the safety of the restaurant in one smooth motion. His brow raised as she peered outside. After a minute of silence, she straightened. "Did you hear something outside?" she asked.

"Other than you sulking around? Not a thing."

"I wasn't sulking around, I was turning the power on." she snapped. "You're welcome."

"I didn't ask you to turn on the power, Elizabeth," Rex said. She glared at him, but the motion was half-hearted. "You seem jumpy."

There was a testy "I'm fine." Liza stuck her hands in her pockets for something to do with her hands. She probably needed to take another pill soon- her thoughts veered off when her hand brushed against something. "Actually, one more question." She pulled out the gauge, showing it to the dog. "This look familiar?"

"Uh...no. What is it?" Rex was telling the truth- he sounded confused.

"It's a gauge," Liza said, sticking it back in her pocket. "It cuts off the power to whatever it's hooked onto. It was set up to run from midnight to 6." She started walking to the kitchen, intent on telling Kitty she could use the oven again.

The dog followed, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "That's why this place runs out of power at night? Ted said it was because the pizzeria needed to save money."

Liza shook her head. "What it does is seriously mess with the restaurant's electricity and make us miserable."

"It wastes money," Doll said with a nod. "I remember...someone telling the construction company to not do something like that."

"Yeah, exactly!"

Rex let out some type of hiss. "Kitty's gonna have a fit. She hates not being able to bake. You should tell Ted."

She screeched to a stop. "W-What?"

"He's the boss. He should know somebody's been rigging stuff around here." She felt sweat roll down as she tried to give some excuse so she didn't have to talk to the animatronic who would take any excuse he had to stuff her... "Are you scared?"

Liza felt her hackles rise. "No! Look, I'll tell him tomorrow. I wanna take a look at this, see what I can find out!" She said when a frown appeared on Rex's face. "It looks homemade, so someone went to the trouble of making this!"

"Oh, you're scared."

"I am not! Look, I'm not trying to keep stuff from him-"

"What makes you think I won't tell him? In fact, I'll bet he'll be even more annoyed when I had to tell him."

Liza opened her mouth. She stopped when she recognized the tone. She sighed, staring at the ceiling and mentally wondering why me? "What do you want?" There was a chuckle and Rex nodded in a gesture that said: "Follow me."

She followed him, stiffening when they entered the dining hall. There was no sign of Ted, which made her relax. The dog made a beeline for Kitty's guitar, sitting on-stage and waiting for its owner. "You sound pretty competent with electronic stuff, right? At least, you didn't screw up with the generator. I guess you can't be too useless."

"Geez, thanks," Liza said with a roll of her eyes. She stopped when she took in the clearly broken lavender guitar. "What did Kitty do?"

"It wasn't her, it was some clueless cleaner." Rex held it out. "Tech doesn't work on us, so she can't get it fixed. You fix it and I won't tattle to Ted." Liza took it, considering the damage. Both age and the incident had caused clear damage.

"Deal."

"Good girl."

Liza rolled her eyes. She ignored the sarcasm to instead focus on the bigger issue. "Seriously, they don't work on you at all?" Rex winced, giving her his answer.

She only had the tools she could scrounge up. Rex was was surprisingly helpful, running to get the tools she needed. His clear desire to help his twin was a little refreshing. Liza couldn't help but wonder why the twins didn't act like this. The guitar was oversized for Kitty, meaning she didn't need any fine tools. Doll draped herself over Rex as they watched her in the working groove.

Half the issue was some pressure points where the guitar had been smashed. She would need to find a new casing. But, she told Rex, if Kitty was careful and didn't put too much pressure on certain areas, it would hold up. He nodded eagerly and she couldn't resist a smile at the cuteness.

"Kitty really needs to clean this more," she said when she took a rag to the inside. Much like when she swept Treasure Trove, she made a face at the dust she pulled out.

"She does!"

"The inside."

His ears flattened against his head. "Oh."

"But if nobody's working on you, I guess you guys won't know how to take care of your instruments." Tio Rafael was going to throw a fit six ways from Sunday when she told him. "I'll leave Kitty with some cleaning stuff. Tell her that if she keeps the dust out of here, it'll last longer!"

"Okay!"

Finally, she sighed. "Done!" Rex took it, batting Doll out of his lap, and played a few notes. Liza let out a weary smile at the noise, stretching in her spot. She froze when she heard music coming from down the hall.

"What are you still doing here?"

Liza scrambled to her feet when she saw Ted glaring at her. "I don't, it's only-" Exhaustion made her trip over her tongue. She glanced at the clock and paled, suddenly much more awake. "It's seven?!"

"Go on and get!"

"I'm going, I'm-" She fell with a grunt. Sitting up, Liza glanced behind her.

"Well?" The bear demanded.

"I'm stuck," she said, a little too calmly for the present situation. Ted took a look. The edge of her scarf had started to get loose and had gotten stuck under a floorboard that had been sticking up for ages. Liza stood and grabbed her scarf to try and yank it free.

"Just take off the scarf!"

"No!"

"Maybe you should just-" Rex said, moving to help her.

A tad bit of hysteria struck her. "I said NO!" she screamed, giving one hard yank.

Several things followed.

There was a very loud RIP! She staggered back at the sudden freedom, her foot catching on the end of the stage. There were several cries of "LIZA!" when she fell. She groaned when her shock cleared, looking up.

Ted stared back. Then his eyes moved up and she realized that her head was bared. Liza scrambled out of the bridal carry, falling on her butt with a grunt. She snatched her scarf off the stage where it must've fallen and wrapped it, a little too tight, around her scars. All the animatronics were staring at her. "I'm going," she said finally, pushing past Ted to disappear into the office. She came out a minute later with her stuff and disappeared into the early morning.

"She's not too bad nowadays," Rex said, handing Kitty her guitar. She squealed quietly. "I mean, she really was influenced by-"

"Not a word," he said. Rex shrugged as Ted stalked out of the room. He ignored the little girl that replaced his reflection.

"Blaming yourself for what happened to Elijah will not make the past heal." Of course, he would wander by here. The Puppet was still working at the crossword, considering the boxes. Instead of the calavera paint their creator had carefully done, it had a face full of tears and a red chin. "We need to get to work. Your twin has already warmed up to her."

"Would've preferred someone else, anybody else. Instead, you chose another night guard." Ted looked around the office. The kids' pictures were dulled with age. He chose to stare at one in particular. "You chose her."

"Time is running out."

"Hasn't she suffered enough?"

"We needed someone."

Ted nodded at the awful truth, turning to take his place on-stage. The Puppet huffed, disappearing into the box.

On the wall, a picture of a girl in yellow, standing next to her bear, stood staring.

#wip #heartbeat #heartbeat series #writblr #writeblr

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the-fiction-witch · 5 years

Text

Thank you

MOVIE: MAZE RUNNER

COUPLE: NEWT X READER

RATING: SMUTT!!!

I smiled as I sewed a hole up in gally's shirt when I heard a little cough which made me look up to see newt stood clearly just finished in the gardens mud on his face and arms even if one was clearly hiding something behind his back

"Ohh hello newt, something wrong?" I ask

"Ohhh no, not wrong love" he says "I was just uhh wondering if you had finished my vest yet?" He asks

"Ohh course" I smiled digging thought my pile the greenie that was helping newt cut the tree stump yesterday ripped his vest it honestly was a miracle newt wasn't hurt "here you go good as new" I smiled handing it to him

"Thanks love" he smiled "uhh here, as a thank you for fixing it so fast" he smiled handing me a flower

"Aww newt, that's so sweet" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss as I took the flower "you should get back before zart yells at you" I laughed as I saw zart in the gardens out the corner of my eye looking unamused at newt

"Your right, I'll see you later, thanks again" he smiled before running off back to work.

I sighed nothing I did would make this dam stain come out! So I left my little laundry hut wondering over to the gardens and I spotted him going over to newt as he hoed tracks for plants grabbing his ear and tugging him along with me

"Oooowww! Hey! Love! Let go!" He whines

"Zart I'm borrowing newt" I yelled

"Bring him back in one peice y/n" zart yelled back

"I can't garenttee that zart" I warn as I dragged newt along

"Owww... Oooowww.... Oooowww! Love please let me go! What have I done!" He whines as he arrived at the hut and I pushed him inside

"What is this? And why won't it come off?" I ask showing him the stain

"How the bloody hell should I know?" He asks

"It's your hoodie" I complain "what is it?"

"Ummmm... I uhh I would rather not tell you if that's alright love"

"What is it newt?" I repeat

"I'll clean it, I know how to get it out" he explained starting to work, so I did what I could around him while he did anything with a similar stain till we where all done

"Thank you newt" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss which made him blush a little

"It's alright love, call me again if you get any more," he says

"What is it anyways? I keep finding it in you boys clothes" I ask

"Uhhhhh I Uhhh... I have no idea," he blushed hard

"Newt?" I warn I saw his eyes glance to my door but before I could react he had bolted out my door pretty fast for such a skinny boy with a limp and all "I will get an answer out of you newt" I laughed as I lean on the door

"Over my dead body!" He yells back

I yawned eating my dinner mainly just bacon because I didn't feel like eating much else and fry always gives me whatever I want

"Somebody's hungry" I heard behind me just as newt sat beside me on the bench with his own food a little bacon some chicken and few other things "what! You got like a whole plate full of bacon" he complained

"The joys of being the only girl" I giggled

"The perks of a Virginia" he sighed

"True" I giggled kicking his foot a little he smiled gently kicking me too, it slowed a little as we where both tried from gentle kicks to pretty much just playing footsie with each other until Gally hit our bench as he was fighting some poor new kid sending everything on the bench all over the place, once we calmed down I noticed the hit had thrown my plate too the floor and all my food into the dirt "owww," I sighed

"Here" newt smiled moving his plate between us both

"Aww thank you newt" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss and nuzzling into his cosy shoulder

"Your welcome love" he blushed resting his head on mine.

I yawned sitting up in bed having a stretch everyone else was wide awake and busy in the glade I could hear the bustling about as I got up slipping my clothes on for the day and going out locking my room just incase if snoopy Pervy boys as I did I heard a strange noise I thought it was an animal got lose in the glade at first but it was clearly a person, they sounded in pain, I looked around for the source of the sound and found myself at newts door, I was instantly worried what if he fell out if bed and hurt his bad ankle or something so I opened the door quickly shutting it behind me "newt are you alright?" I ask standing at the foot of his bed, he seemed surprised, shocked to see me in his bedroom this time of morning his bedsheets tight around his waist to try and cover himself, he clearly only had his hoodie on as it's often all he sleeps in that and a pair of underwear he blushed hard seeing me here

"Uhhhh....fine" he says

"You didn't sound fine" I said sitting in his bed he gently moved away from me a little tucking his sheets around him a bit better

"I'm fine really" he blushed

"Newt, are you sure you sounded hurt" i ask "I just want to make sure your alright,"

"I uhh I'm fine really, it's nothing" he says

"It's not nothing newt tell me" I ask "or do you want me to get Jeff or Clint?" I ask

"No!" He says quickly

"Then tell me else I'm not cleaning your clothes anymore" I warn

"You promise you won't tell anyone?" He asks

"Of course I do" I giggled and he blushed harder biting his bottom lip a little

"Lock the door" he says

"What?" I ask

"Lock it and I'll tell you" he says so I sighed getting up locking his door and sitting back in his bed

"So?" I ask "why where you making painful noises at half nine in the morning?" I ask

"Because..." He began moving his covers exposing that his underwear where tugged down to be around his knees almost, his other hand that I hadn't really noticed yet was on his hard dripping cock he was bigger then I ever expected newt to be then again I hadn't really thought about it I suppose, quite a thick shaft for such a skinny boy he was still gently biting in his bottom lip as his hand gently moved from base to tip "I've been trying for hours" he complained "I don't know why I just... I can't"

"Can't do what?" I ask

"What do you think love? What I got all over my hoodie the other day" he blushed

"That's what that was?" I ask and he nods "well there your reason you can't newt you've been doing it to often, how much have you been doing it this month?" I ask

"Alot" he blushed

"How many months have you been doing it alot?" I ask

"Eight" he blushed trying to avoid my eyes

"Eight?" I ask and he nods "so since I got here?' I ask

"I can't help it love! Your a girl! Your beautiful! Your sexy! You can't blame me for getting desperate" he complained "especially since you've... Been kissing me"

"I thought you went going to tell me what was on your hoodie" I laughed "you said over your dead body?"

"Love I'm literally half naked, not sure there much point keeping secrets from you now" he blushed

"Did you want help?" I ask

"What?!!" He asks in shock his cheeks somehow going even redder

"Clearly you have been doing it far to much newt, a different hand couldn't hurt?" I offer

"You- you wanna to-touch my-" he stuttered

"I don't want to I'm just trying to help newt" I offer

"I tried a different hand that didn't work, I do it with my right hand I tried my left it didn't work" he complained

"My mouth then?" I suggest and he froze "newt want to cum or not?" I ask

"I I I I I want to.... I just don't know-" he began

"Ohh you impossible boy" I sighed moving and kissing his lips gently not even a dull second before I pulled back "want me to?" I ask

"I uhh I don't know..." He stuttered still so I laughed moving a little more and wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him again he kissed me back this time his other hand going around my waist however the one on his cock staied and began jerking himself off again as we kissed at first gently so much I hardly noticed but as our kisses deepened his hand sped up I pulled back and slyly ran my hand across his head

"Newt, do you want the only girl in the glade to get you off?" I ask gently rubbing

".....Yes Please love" he begged breathless already

"You get cosy, I'll be back in a minute" I smiled giving him another kiss and going to my room I changed my shirt just incase and got the little bottle of stuff the creators sent me up for myself and going back to newts room making sure I locked the door as I came in he did look my cosier he had folded his pillow over so he could almost sit up his hoodie gone exposing his pale chest to me once he saw me lock the door he moved the covers away a little showing he was still trying for his orgasum I sat in his bed and smirked looking at him a little more "how long have you been trying?" I ask

"Since I woke up" he admits

"Which was?" I ask

"Uh about six..." He blushed

"All that time?" I ask and he nods

"I had a dream...and I woke up with it, I wanted to get odd before work but didn't go to plan" he blushed

"What was the dream about?" I ask getting the stuff on my hand

"Uhhh nothing important" he says

"Tell me" I warn as I grabbed his base

"Uuhh! Ohh my god! I Uhhh I dreamt.... About-" he began as I gently moved my hand up his shaft "ummmm! More, more please I'm begging you" he groans cutting himself off it made me giggle

"What was the dream newt?" I whispered giving his neck a kiss as I continued gently sliding my lubed up hand from his head to his base softly and slowly

"I dreamt that... Ughh!" He groaned rolling his head on his pillow a little "that I went for a shower but you where there" he explained

"Ohh was I" I smirked slowly speeding up

"Ohh my god! Yes, yes you where there and i- I saw you naked, and- UUUH! please y/n faster please!" He begs

"And what?" I ask as I squeezed on his base

"Uughhh! And none of the other showers were working" he explained

"Really how convenient" I smirked

"So...I had to share with you" he blushed "and... We uhhh" he blushed

"We what newt?" I asked moving down to kiss his head Running my tounge around it a little

"And we had sex... Amazing, mind blowing in shower sex" he explained "please y/n go faster!" He whines

So I smirked and went as fast as I could

"That fast enough for you newt?" I smirked

"Yes! Yes! Uhhh uuuuhh I'm close, I'm close princess please!" He begs

"Princess?" I ask

"Your always princess...in my dreams" he blushed

"Cute" I smiled moving to give his head more kisses often gently sucking on it his hand moved to my head playing with my hair as he was getting desperate

"Uuh... Uuummmm... Princess...ughhh... Ummmm... princess I'm gonna..." He moaned gently "ummm I keep wanting to shut my eyes and imagine, but I don't need to your right here" he smirked so I sucked harder almost in time with my pumping "uuuhhh! I definitely will cum you keep doing that princess!" He moans his legs and hips starting to move unintentionally bucking towards my mouth "y/n...I'm im-" he began so I sucked harder and just as I did he grabbed my hair tight and finished in my mouth with a loud groan as he did I swallowed as much as I could and sat up watching him as he got his breath back "at shucking last! I've waited bloody hours for that" he smirked sitting up a little making me giggle as he sat up completly nervously rubbing his neck "so..." He began

"So" I shrug and he smiled moving and kissing my lips softly I kissed back gently a couple times before newt pulled away

"Thank you very much" he smiled "princess"

"Your welcome newt" I smiled giving him a kiss and going off to work blowing him a kiss as I left his room

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blueplanettrash · 6 years

Text

Day 7: “No, I Do Remember”

I hope I stay caught up this time, I’ll stop complaining about it anyway. I hope everybody enjoys! ❤️

When Pidge made the calendar to keep track of how much time has passed on Earth, they quickly realized that they were nearing Christmas. They couldn’t stop talking about all of the traditions that their families had while they were home and decided that each day leading up to Christmas they would each do a day of their family traditions. Decorations, food, desserts, and gifts. Of course, all of them were excited and wanted to be able to go sooner rather than later. They decided that it would go Pidge first, then Keith, then Hunk, then Shiro, and finally Lance since he was happy to let all of them go before him.

The plans went well too, they would set up their traditions and at the end of the day, they would all help in cleaning it up too. They laughed as Pidge and Shiro tried to cook their families traditional meals but burned them half-way through, it turned into a fun way to bond though as they tried to figure out the recipes just from the two of their heads. Surprisingly Keith as a fantastic cook and turned out a great meal, while Hunk was a no-brainer with his food.

The decorations were the same, but this time it was Shiro and Pidge who excelled. Shiro strung up elegant folded papers and finely cut homemade tinsel and Pidge made twinkling lights that lined the hallways and cast a golden glow to the ground. Keith and Hunk’s families were similar though, that they both took to threading and stringing up popcorn for decoration. They weren’t able to find a corn type planet but something came up in storage that looked like the kernels could be popped, so they tried it. It might have looked strange when it was purple with orange spots, so they decided to paint them red and roll them in red glitter. It turned out surprisingly well and it sparkled with the hallway lights whenever they walked by.

The desserts were something that they all enjoyed since after dinner they would go into the kitchen and teach each other how to bake their family’s favourite dessert for the holiday as they ate some that were already prepared. It was interesting to see what kinds of things their families liked to eat over Christmas. Panettone from Pidge, kurisumasu keiki from Shiro, gingerbread and caramel from Keith, and sugar cookies from Hunk. They were able to pull off the taste off the dishes even if they didn’t really look like the dessert itself.

It was kind of awesome that they would be getting a gift every day too. When Pidge nervously handed out the small boxes they immediately were wowed by the shiny Christmas ornaments that were carefully laid inside. Each of them were the same colour as their paladin armour and sparkled slightly with glitter. Of course, they were all grateful for them and her worries were quickly washed away by all of the thank yous she was getting. The days after were also a time of learning for the paladins. They learned that Hunk’s family made charms for each other that represented something that they had accomplished that year. So each of their charms were of their lion’s face. They weren’t exactly sure how Hunk had accomplished it but they weren’t too curious either, he had done some pretty amazing things in the past after all. When Keith passed around newly designed and fabricated pyjamas, they learned that his dad used to always design and sew new pyjamas for him every year and it was always his favourite gift out of everything he received. They weren’t going to lie, it was freakishly adorable of him. It also came to light that Shiro lived on Earth with his mother and grandfather and every Christmas his grandfather would fold him a different animal out of paper and give it to him, even though he wasn’t able to move his hands very much anymore and although he always forgot about a lot of things, he never forgot his tradition to his grandson. There were more tears shed during those times but at least they were all good memories.

Lance loved each and every one of his friend’s traditions. His desk held all of the gifts, carefully arranged so they could constantly be in his sight. Today was his turn though, and he was excited to share his traditions with them. He decided to go to the fabricator room first, it would be better to start off the day getting the gifts ready than rush through it later.

Every year his mamá would get everyone a stuffed animal in their favourite colour. What it was depended on how you acted or what you conquered during the year. During his first year of middle school he was extremely shy and withdrawn and got a deer that year, but as he worked his way out of his shell and became braver he ended his middle school career with a badger. Not the scariest thing to look at, but he as well as everyone else on Earth knows; nobody messes with a fucking badger.

He stopped at the door of the fabricator room when he saw Shiro standing at it printing out pieces of coloured paper. He turned when he heard the sound of the door sliding open.

“Hi Lance,” He said with a smile and a wave.

“Oh, um, hey Shiro, what are you doing here?” He asked looking at him with a confused head tilt.

“Oh, right, I’m making more paper so I can give everyone another animal, I just was reminded of how much I loved getting them while I was on Earth,” he said wistfully. Lance’s stomach dropped.

“You remember that it’s my day right?” He asked breaking Shiro out of his memory. He collected the papers in his hands and gathered them up.

“No, I did remember, you don’t mind though do you? There are still three other things that you can do,” he said, carefully putting the pages in an envelope that he had by his side. Lance took a step back at the answer. Although it kind of hurt to think about, Shiro was right, he did have all of the other things that he could do. He did look a bit overwhelmed last night and wasn’t able to fully enjoy giving everyone their gifts because of it.

“Yeah, you’re right, go for it, Shiro,” he said giving the leader a big thumbs up. Shiro gave him a grateful smile and patted his shoulder as he passed by him to go out the door. As he heard the door close behind him, his arm fell limp to his side. He looked solemnly around the fabricator room. He could make his animals anyway but that would just take the spotlight off of Shiro’s gifts. He couldn’t do that to him, not after how much he was hurting yesterday. He’d just have to start making his decorations then.

He set to work, creating lights, bells, and fake Christmas tree boughs before he twisted the lights and boughs together and tied the bells around them to create a simple garland. He nodded his head in approval and bundled it up in his arms, although the length of it still made it drag on the floor slightly behind him. He decided that it would be best to make his dessert before stringing up the decoration since it would take time to refrigerate and cool. He dropped his garland in his room and headed toward the kitchen instead.

Like in the fabricator room, he stopped in his track when he saw Pidge was in the middle of mixing together what looked to be cake batter in a large mixing bowl. It didn’t take long for the squeeze of his heart to happen and he moved further into the kitchen hoping that she wasn’t doing what she thought he was.

“Pidge, you did remember that it is my day today right?” He asked catching her attention. She barely looked up from her task before she continued, turning to the ingredients she had.

“No, I did remember, but I realized that my mom made pandoro for Christmas and I just had to make it for everybody, I knew you wouldn’t mind though,”

Lance quickly shoved a smile on his face before she could turn around. She looked at him with sparkling eyes and he directed his gaze to the floor. He wanted to say no so bad, but seeing the hope and happiness in her eyes, he just couldn’t do it.

“Yeah, no, I don’t mind, can’t wait to eat it,” he said sending finger guns her way before he backed himself out of the kitchen. After the doors closed in front of him, he looked down at the ground and sighed. Tears were prickling in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away with his sleeve. He still had two things that he could do. He had wanted to make natillas for them but it would have to wait for now. At least now he could focus on making the perfect meal and setting up the garland as best as he could.

He headed back to his room ready to start putting up the garland. He wanted them to stretch down the halls so that everyone would see them when they walked by. It would be exactly like it was at home. His family loved to make their own garland instead of getting it at the store like everyone else. He smiled fondly, lost in his own memories. He was only distracted from them when he physically bumped into somebody.

“Ack, oh sorry,” he said helping Keith to his feet from where he knocked him over.

“Geez Lance, watch where you’re going,” he grumbled taking the hand.

“Hey, I said I was sor- what are you doing?” he asked finally taking in the sight before him. Keith was standing in the main hallways, a row of green and red wreath stretching down the hallways beside him. His eyes went back to Keith who was blushing and looking down at the ground.

“I remembered that my dad would always tell me that my mom liked the wreaths that he used to put up at Christmas time and I wanted to see how much somebody else would like them,”

“It's my day though,” Lance said quietly.

“I remember, I just thought that you wouldn’t have a problem with it, there are other things that you could be doing,” he argued still not looking up from the ground. Lance wanted to say that he was wrong, that he had already given away half of his traditions. That wouldn’t be fair though; he had given away two of his traditions already. It wouldn’t be fair to Keith if he didn’t give him the chance to celebrate again, because he had said yes to Shiro and Pidge.

“Okay,” is all he said before he walked away clenching his jaw. His fists were curled tight by his side but not in anger to Keith or Shiro or Pidge. He was just sad that he wouldn’t be able to share the things that were special to him with his friends because he couldn’t say no to them.

The door to his room slid open and he stared at the long garland sitting innocently on his floor, wrapped and ready for him to decorate with. He wanted to destroy it then and there but he didn’t but all the work in for nothing. He grabbed it and started lining it around his room, along the floor and arched over top of his bed. After he was done he shut off the lights and turned on the garland’s. He smiled at the result, it was like there were fairies in his room, living in the garland. It was beautiful.

He looked over at the clock and decided that Pidge probably would have left by then and that it was about time that he started making dinner. He passed the decorations in the hall without a glance, focused solely on getting to the kitchen. There were butterflies in his stomach as he made it to the door of the kitchen and he waited on the other side just taking breaths. He wanted more than anything for there to be nobody on the other side of the door but by the way that the day was going, he almost expected it.

He took a deep breath in and opened the door. Silence. He glanced around in shock and almost leaped in glee at the fact that nobody was in there. He rushed towards the counter ready to pull things out. He paused when he heard a nervous shuffle in the doorway and looked up. Hunk was standing near the entrance, looking off to the side and wringing his hands together. Immediately the butterflies were back and his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Um, I was wondering if I could make another one of my family’s dishes today,” he suggested rubbing the back of his neck before he could look up to meet Lance’s eyes.

“Hunk, it's my day,” Lance almost pleaded trying to get hunk to realize how devastated he was becoming. Hunk tried not to look at his face too much though, he didn’t want to feel guilty.

“Yeah, I remember, I just miss my family, I want to remember them more,” he admitted. Lance swallowed, he knew exactly how that felt. He knew how much it hurt. He didn’t want Hunk to feel that too, no matter how much it hurt himself. He set down the tools that he had gotten for himself and walked over to Hunk. He didn’t say anything as he wrapped his arms around Hunk.

“Have fun buddy,” he said quietly before he left and headed back towards his room. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before Hunk finished dinner but he couldn’t bear the idea of showing up when he had no part in the day even though it was all meant to be his. For the first time today, he let himself clench his jaw and let the tears fall down his cheeks. It was supposed to be the day he could show everyone how much his family and Christmas meant to him. It was supposed to bring the paladins closer to him, not drive them away from him even more.

He slid open the room to his door and took in the glowing lights coming from the garland and laid down on his bed. He let the streaks fall on to the bedding as he let himself sink into his sadness. He didn’t want to feel as terrible as he did, in fact, he should be feeling proud of himself for pushing aside his feeling and letting his friends feel closer to their families. No matter what he did though, it only felt like they didn’t care about his traditions or what they meant to him. They steamrolled over him, assuming that he wouldn’t care that they took something away from him. Assuming that he wouldn’t speak up for himself and take back what they agreed was his.

He clenched his fist in the cover of his bed. He didn’t want to cry over this but he couldn’t help it. Christmas was important to him and his family. It brought them closer every year and his friends had taken a lot of it away from him. If Christmas was so important to them, why did they think it meant so little to Lance?

Part 1/2

#vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #lance #hunk garrett #hunk #takashi shirogane #shiro #pidge gunderson #pidge #keith kogane #keith #langst #angst #paladin's families #family traditions #MerryLangstmas #fanfic

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laurelsofhighever · 6 years

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Arguing With Mabari

An older fic - the story of Alistair and Rosslyn’s first kiss - on AO3 Chapter 1, Chapter 2

An old Fereldan saying suggests mabari are clever enough to speak, but wise enough not to. Now his feelings for his fellow warden are deepening beyond mere friendship, Alistair is beginning to see how very true that is, though the proverb leaves out that - at least in the case of one particular mabari - they also get very, very jealous.

The dog was doing it on purpose. Alistair was sure of it. Every evening in camp, Cuno snuffled about his business making sure everyone was still aware of his presence so he could demand his accustomed scratch on the rump. And then, as soon as Alistair made any sort of motion towards Rosslyn, whether to hand her a dish of stew or ask her for the sewing kit she kept in her pack, the dog would get up, and – glaring pointedly all the while – plonk himself in a very deliberate way between his mistress and the man who was trying to talk to her.

At first, Alistair shrugged off this behaviour as a simple expression of dislike. Mabari were known to be particular about their people, after all, and Rosslyn had been through enough to make Cuno more protective than a normal dog. As time went on, however, and Alistair found himself more and more preoccupied with thoughts of his fellow Grey Warden and the increasing number of casual touches and lingering glances shared between them, a different suspicion took hold in his mind: maybe the dog was jealous.

And if Cuno was jealous of the attention Rosslyn gave him, might that mean she…?

Alistair’s stomach curled into knots as he stared at the dark oilskin walls of his tent. The thought made his heart beat all the faster because it was tied up with his feelings for Rosslyn, who only had to smile at him these days for his lungs to suddenly forget how they worked. If Cuno was trying to keep them separated, then it implied she could have similar feelings for him. Even if he could never see someone as graceful as Rosslyn forgetting to breathe just because somebody smiled at her.

In his defence, she had a very pretty smile.

Armed with this theory, over the following days Alistair studied Cuno, and after much thought decided to use what was known in alchemical circles as the scientific method. First, he approached Cuno with a nice, juicy hunk of venison to establish a baseline, and since Rosslyn had taught him to accept food from any member of their party, it was a good way to establish the dog’s true feelings. Of course, having grown up around dogs, Alistair knew that offers of a free meal were often enough to distract even mabari from their grudges, so later the same day he offered to play tug-o’-war with a tattered piece of hide. The game ended after twenty minutes with Cuno’s tongue lolling in pleasure as Alistair petted him in all the places big dogs loved, their relationship clearly an amicable one.

That, however, changed instantaneously when Rosslyn called him to the other side of their midday camp to help her consult the map. The dog bristled before trotting over to his mistress ahead of Alistair and butting insistently against her leg.

“Are you alright?” she asked when she caught sight of the odd expression on her fellow Warden’s face.

“Me? I’m just contemplating the critical nature of our cheese supplies,” he replied, hoping the brightness of his smile would deflect any suspicions she might have. “We’re running low, you see.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” she teased. “Don’t worry, we’ll be coming to a village in the next day or so, so we can restock. I just need a second opinion on where we are.”

He was careful not to reach out to her as she illustrated their position with a plucked stalk of grass, keeping his fingers laced firmly behind him instead of resting against the small of her back as he sorely wanted to do. When she impatiently batted away a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek he felt himself swayed by the scent of lavendis in her soap and forced himself to turn his head away and breathe.

“Am I boring you?” she enquired.

Heat surged to his cheeks. Damn that tiny lopsided smirk of hers. “Of course not! I was… merely scanning the horizon. A village the size of Southford probably has a forge, or at least a baker, so our best bet would be to follow any signs of smoke we see. Don’t you think?” he added with an uneasy gulp.

She chuckled, leaning in closer. “That might be easier if we weren’t surrounded by a lot of really tall trees.”

He didn’t miss the way her gaze flickered down to his mouth, but before he could do anything other than feel his lungs seize up again, Sten crashed her way through the moment with a grumble and the demand that they start walking again. With their privacy spoiled, Rosslyn moved, blushing, to resume her position at the head of their group, leaving Alistair to watch after her with an emotion tied up somewhere between frustration and enlightenment.

Cuno rumbled next to him, his stare baleful and his jowls quivering in the preliminaries of a snarl.

Alistair scowled back. I’m onto you, Dog.

The situation came to a head two days later in the taproom of The Cockspurs, Southford’s only tavern. The place was noisy, lit by greasy torches set in sconces along the walls and possessed of the sweet barley odour common to all inns where the soft furnishings have been doused in generations of spilt ale. Locals filled most of the space, but Southford was on enough of a thoroughfare that bands of well-armed strangers were not an uncommon sight, and so their party was scattered among the patrons, more relaxed than they would have been sleeping on the cold hard ground in the woods.

Alistair slipped his coppers over the counter and hefted his two foaming mugs of local brew with a nod to the bartender, noting as he dodged around a local drunk that Wynne was already on her third pint of the evening. Leliana had commandeered an old pouffe by the fire and was strumming tunes on her lute, playing requests and laughing with the patrons. To nobody’s surprise, Zevran was entertaining the bar maids with card tricks and feats of juggling, skills no doubt picked up on the streets of Antiva. There was no sign of either Sten or Morrigan, but then neither of them were overly fond of people, and they could take care of themselves well enough that Alistair wasn’t worried.

Finally, he spotted his target over the heads of the milling crowd. He made his way over to the corner where Rosslyn sat with Cuno snoring at her feet, frowning as she took stock of their remaining share of coin. Evidently they had spent more than they intended at the market that day, and his step faltered as he thought guiltily about the the extensive repairs to his shield that had robbed them of an extra day’s food. Then she glanced up and beamed when she noticed him, and the world fell to rights again.

“Don’t tell me, we’re poor again,” he joked as he set one of the pewter tankards on the scrubbed wooden table before her.

She reached out and dragged it closer. “Afraid so. There’s all the costs of the repairs we needed, and then there’s the food bill.” A sigh heaved from her chest. “If this is what it costs to fee two Grey Wardens, I hate to think how much of the Treasury Cailan spent at Ostagar. Sorry, that was insensitive,” she added, seeing the momentary tightening of his fingers around his drink.

“It’s alright,” he answered. “That’s actually a pretty good point. But we’ve got enough to see us to the next town, right?”

“More or less.”

He nudged her shoulder. “Hey, don’t look so down. We wouldn’t have nearly as much as this if you weren’t so weirdly good at finding things.”

“Did you just call me weird?” she challenged, smirking. She started to lean towards him but got distracted by the wide, blunt head suddenly weighting down her thigh. “Oh, woken up, have you?” she crooned at her Mabari. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Face it, dear lady, you’re worse than a magpie,” Alistair teased. He watched Cuno shove his head further into his mistress’ lap, but all the dog received was an absent rub behind the ears as Rosslyn turned her attention back to the man sitting next to her.

“Such impertinence,” she huffed, though there was no real malice behind the words. She shrugged and raised her tankard to offer him a toast. “To magpies!”

“To magpies,” he agreed, tapping his mug against hers before taking a deep swig. The amber liquid slid down his throat in welcome gulps, cool and just bitter enough to be refreshing in the overheated room. Next to him, Rosslyn sighed in contentment. He turned to ask her opinion of the ale, but stopped short.

“You’ve um…”

“What?”

“You’ve got…” He waved his hand in the vague direction of her mouth. “Foam.”

“Huh? Oh.”

She wiped the froth from her upper lip with the back of her hand and the two of them spent the next few moments in awkward silence as Alistair scrambled for a neutral topic of conversation. Cuno used the interruption to squeeze under the table and push his bulk between them, rubbing his head up Rosslyn’s leg with an insistent whine when her fingers were too slow to work into the loose skin at his neck.

“It’s nice to get a break from everything,” Alistair finally managed, eyes narrowed at the dog, who had twisted around with a triumphant expression that seemed to say, She still loves me more than you.

Rosslyn sagged against the wall and groaned. “I��m just glad I’m going to be sleeping in a bed for a change.”

“Whaaat, and miss out on all those comfortable rocks digging into your spine?”

He was grateful for her chuckle then, because it meant she had missed the flush creeping up his neck at the thought of her in a bed, her hair mussed and her eyes bleary with sleep. Did she wear nightclothes or did she sleep…?

Argh.

Such thoughts were not appropriate. Not that it stopped his treacherous imagination, or the blood that roared in his ears when she rested her head sleepily – trustingly – on his shoulder. The movement had become familiar over the past few weeks, comforting even, but the warmth of her weight still sent little jolts of electricity down to his toes.

“You get used to rocks,” she told him with a sigh. “It’s more the rain that – Ow! What is it, Cuno?” She jerked upright as one the dog’s heavy front paws landed squarely in her crotch. He had squirmed out from under the table and was trying to climb into her lap as if he weren’t the size of a small pony, pushing himself upwards so he could lick her face. But his bulk and the height of the seat provided and unforeseen obstacle, and his grumbles climbed in frustration as his back legs failed to find purchase on the edge of the bench.

“Andraste’s blood, what has gotten into you?” Rosslyn growled, struggling to push him back. “Get down!”

Immediately, Cuno stilled. His stubby ears flicked back in alarm at his mistress’ tone. His jowls quivered like the bottom lip of a child about to cry.

“I said, get down,” she repeated, less harshly this time. Around the room, the eyes of many of the patrons had turned to observe the scene, and their scrutiny made heat rise to the tips of her ears.

Cuno obeyed. He hunkered down on his haunches, head held low so he could employ the full effect of his wide, liquid-black eyes. The nub of his tail wiggled contritely under the table as he whined.

“Honestly.” Rosslyn ruffled her mabari’s ears. “What’s the matter?”

Cuno whined again and turned an accusatory look on Alistair, who sat uneasily with his hand rubbing across his collarbone.

“I might have an explanation.”

“Yes?”

Taking a deep breath, Alistair stammered out his theory. He winced as he mentioned his observations and how he had manipulated events to make sure, preferring to look at his fingers twisting in his lap rather than whatever emotions must be warring on Rosslyn’s face. That also meant he didn’t have to watch as he contorted his sentences to avoid the heart of the matter, namely his growing attraction and the question of whether or not she returned it. It felt too much like he was pressuring her, and the thought made something hot squirm beneath his ribs.

When his voice finally fizzled out, he risked a peek sideways and saw her frowning as she cradled her dog’s head in her palms. Hunched forward, every line in her shoulders bunched tight with an emotion he didn’t dare name. Chatter rose around them in a gentle hum; Leliana cascaded through the final notes of an Orlesian ballad; a bubble of cheers rose up from the corner of the bar where Zevran flirted so easily with the innkeeper’s staff.

“Rosslyn?”

Her gaze slid over to him, but skittered away again as colour bloomed across her cheeks. “I’m…” She cleared her throat. “I’m tired. I… think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Right, yes, good idea,” he babbled, watching her stand and feeling his happiness trickle away like cold sweat down the back of his neck. “See you in the morning?”

She turned back, the blush standing out red against her pale skin. A bashful smile played at the corners of her mouth and hope swelled again in his chest. “Bright and early.”

Only when she had disappeared upstairs (with the dog padding triumphantly at her heels) did Alistair feel it safe enough to drop his head back against the wall with a heavy, painful thump. He repeated the motion several times. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Clearly the only option now was to drown his embarrassment in ale and hope he became so drunk he could stumble across a well, then fall into it and drown before having to face her again.

Knowing his augmented Grey Warden tolerance for alcohol, he had a long way to go.

What felt like hours later, Alistair stumbled along the squeaking floorboards in the inn’s guest wing. He had long since lost track of the rest of his companions, not to mention the number of pints he had managed to put away thanks to his Warden appetite, and the bar had mostly been empty by the time he decided enough was enough and it was time to sleep.

He rubbed his eyes as a yawn overtook him, his balance knocked off-kilter by the foggy haze behind his eyes. Something solid lay across the width of the corridor. Of course Alistair failed to notice this until his shins knocked against it and sent him sprawling with a yelp.

Wait. The yelp didn’t belong to him. The curses and loud invocations to the Maker, certainly, but the yelp – when he twisted around to see what was the matter he discovered Cuno had been sleeping in the hall, tucked against the outside of Rosslyn’s door.

“So you’re in the kennel too, huh?” he asked the affronted dog. “Well, you did stand on her. With claws. In a very… you know what, I’m not going to finish that sentence.”

Cuno harrumphed and got up so he could rearrange himself on the most comfortable patch of floor, looking so dejected by his fall from grace that Alistair couldn’t help but be sympathetic. Ignoring the sober part of his brain that longed for the softness of the mattress in his room down the hall, he flopped down by the dog’s head, stretched his long legs out as far as the width of the corridor would allow, and waited for his head to stop spinning. Cuno eyed him balefully, unimpressed that the man had failed to notice the determined effort to ignore him.

“You know, I can understand why you’re doing it,” the Warden told the dog conversationally. “Why you want to protect her. She’s special, isn’t she?”

New alertness twitched in Cuno’s ears as he listened to the slightly slurred voice.

“I’ll tell her that, you know, when I can get the words out.” Alistair felt his hands wander to the comfort of the loose fur on the mabari’s neck. I’m talking to a dog, Zevran would have a field day. “I really, really like her, and I want you to know that. You’ve been such a good boy, keeping her going, making her happy.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. For a moment his mind wandered, trying to recall how he got the lump on the back of his skull. “What I’m trying to say is that I want to make her happy, too,” he told the dog. “She’s the only good thing in all of this, and when she smiles, it’s just…” His drunken mind fumbled for the right words, then gave up. “I’m not going to take her away from you, and I’m not going to hurt her. At least, I hope not. Anything could happen and I – I can’t promise to keep her safe. But I can try, if you’ll let me.”

The mabari cocked his head, dark eyes searching, nose quivering for any trace of a lie. Intelligent enough to speak, and wise enough not to. Very slowly, with the faintest wag of his stumpy tail, he stretched out his snout and licked the seam of Alistair’s trouser leg before shifting his weight against the new, convenient meat pillow and curling up to sleep. Something creaked behind the door Alistair leaned on, which might have been a dragon or a footstep or the building settling, but, feeling sleepy, he didn’t much care. Within a moment he forgot the noise, and his snores soon joined those of the dog who had decided to call a truce.

#dragon age #alistair theirin #warden alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #cousland #barkspawn #dragon age: origins #my writing

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marcosoropoet · 6 years

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Pavlovian Tingle-Railway [Station Blackout] ~ (or express razor eye out Mr. Tingle)

1. Kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement forge tight street corner deal forced ink steel night deal danger: Nawnawnawman. mah bruh? ten dollahs on a hundid?! Heh, I knows you's tryin tah pop it right by keeping it tight homie but this muthahfuckin-assed bullshit yo ...The Fuck Outta Here dawg thas some sorry assed real bullshit you tryin' tah pull homie home re-union haze of teenage (((flashback glitch))) in his head left a hilarious grease spot on the blackboard & chemical vandals sizzling in his brain. the green dusty blackboard in a delicately crystalline formulaic tableau of wood and numbers the vicissitudes of black snow the color of darkened ash has hushed all the talk, as he walks in tonight... menacing heights of fire escape drills, getting a dart in the back slo-mo, someone had poured soda into the ketchup bottle and now small torrents of bubbling red oozes & blooms out over the entire table ahhh! the other man makes slight adjustments to his demeanor to be less 'street' and more 'invited' why it's his reunion. flinch. ruination anguish]...dark train car rumbling out of a long dank tunnel why'd I think to see those people (((again))) — all the dark mirrors burn each morning with the sun coming up got the snake eye fingernail pie & the sway all day boo" swooning dust and pitter-patter rain falling on the wood and concrete burst open telephone call in a very clean & empty conference room all cool grey, and smoked glass ultra post-modern a tart aroma permeated throughout the heated glass sun, spun glass sun, glass skin, black tea, your loose spacetime textile, hunched machinations launched the sniper river: filled with humid headrush & slowed down lunge... bell strikes upon time textile carousal corral I'll crack tea soon, planet zone houseout your concrete vibrations played earth, I joke but I don't play hot black grit is dense milky frozen afterflow stillness flight from disorientation crush inside hothouse of humid bright light vivid green curling leaves, frozen stillness of isolated thought timestamp molecules pierce loose clean shimmers sheerly, behind a crystal sky lattice tethering, examine gravel and glass stars, vivid flowers spying are bright: sand pebbles, sun, glimmers sheerly, behind the headlong tangible surfaces, singing head, the pristine universe: filled with air, swooning belts of galaxies, silence of people spin roar and black grit is white black snow of ash razor spin cycle of blood...eyes...ears...horror. between brass skin, into an unspeaking, unexpected whole city falling, hears what time. namedrop sibelius, but no good. I had gone over to piss on a clean slab. city heavy the day fragmented air, swooning body between my fingers, from rooves near edges elbowing real business of people television sidewalk morning show trauma. 2. uncanny sharp terror reflection of purple surfaces, doing my heavy whole city hears white noise and through a candlelit's merriment chili & hot black onyx coffee deems me grass sun, glass stars, glass skin, blank memory shimmers in hems, a blown out window, gusts of icy air, was I walking in circles that day? Yes. (outtake 15: "you wanna do the purple surface deflection again, or the blank noise, or the tinsel applause rose confetti trick...) suspicious mirrors coalition carry long fingers of light, floodlight: store window glass stars, glass sun, glass sunlit coppery direction, spacetimes. sand. cut granules. increments of ideals. my song. black tea, your loose diamond-snake in hemisphere air expanded the sense of screams of the bitten who had become crazed and dethroned. Off with him. OFF. smoothing body dry at the woods' lake edge. the sense of elbowing heavy thunderstore window glass sunlit coppery direction, spacetime textile, caricature. it is what time textile, hunched...( ). every roof dots the night. bells of mirrors repeating swirling sense-blur of heady fruity honeysuckle, hot blue flowers were to go to headlong silvergold touch flame of snooty persona non grata, fractal gravity tethering my fingers, glassy black tea I had gone over the eyes like a million lilacs, cut citrus yellow hot nailgun hems gather the whole, bunched-up coarse fabric and brusquely sew through the thick tough cloth poke & bleed hole into thumb... cut citrus bitter teeth, together what white noise time. in the world...vampires go somewhere else during that time as they begin to sting and burn hazy coalition of suspicious two-way mirrors, spacetimes switched in cool cyberpunk density of mechanical and grey cliffs superimposed "mr. chili & hot-thought focus reflect purple surfaces, sun, glass stare tangy sea-spray hits the spot dothole city head, the shirt is absolutely suspicious mirror of television carousal." beautiful unspeaking, who in deep solitude, and the bells of home over the sepia photographs beneath smoked glass, drank coffee. outtake 7: naw first mix the drums. cymbals clash & smoke swirls around a black infinity screen...I like my vehicle heh-heh porque es muy correcto cógelo compound of the informal second-person singular radio static monstrous popping loops of short waves can we go back & add more drums on top straight away?fucking clowns" owning eyes, the vastest untormented rain-soaked newspaper liesure headed back to the planet of purple dunes and long drenched weeks of night and vertical waves of vibrant light-color mister, you gotta see it for yourself oh so you speak this. good. the space of a thought & sunless rose hanging where a parking universal zip code of your paw-paw fishing for debris in Jupiter flash over glitter green fishnets; these shots were hidden and codenamed: "ZZ Legs" 3. outtake 1: band tuning up dialogue heard (cackling raunch) cracking up unstoppably...right, anybody know where the green guitar went?bloody sold it?he fuckin crazy!!! you could see the blood rising in his neck and temple veins alert today (((you?))) with identity overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake scale basement killer chiller vein driller no filler no filter radioactive reiteration seeker out there basement cracked, hatchet wielder crack good time dark whip in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure pocket, rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing razor into the sunlights & sunlight & sunlight's razor-sharp cut where a thousand days ran in dark mirrors bursting through torrents of fruity bodywash exploding from the old tv. did time have something to do with playing that scene in reverse? rumblings of abrasive verbal angst. this could change nothing in the memory of the differing, somewhat superimposed seasons, and regions of the psyche's endless topography and subtle extras. Ever see big mountain stones. Where? With identity garbed, dispersed, in exposed retinas with identity hours away, abrasive sandspray in the eyes and kick to the gut before hyper speed chaotic scene/car chase/ fruitstands decimated confetti storm in jewel tone bust ))). alert to run in happy blinding onto one that is there, not in part. with a fresh braid from cracked roses hung up in snow and smoke, *** overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement cracked hatchet wielder in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure, forge forced reunion flinch ruination anguish]...dark train car all dark mirror burn from mama each morning, better the misgivings of blue trees, into gas stupid disowned eyes, the vastest spit of untormented strung down stupified, feeling rain-soaked the space of a thought & sunless rose sparkling unguent, parking universal zip codes of your paw-paw fishing tongue stump hush lagoon fireflies — alert today (((you?))) with identity tusk doodle ember light rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing onto matter of abrasive window with you, and ran in the sunlit heavily garbed, dispersed out his own mythic eyes winters rooftops, had time to run in exposed retinas' splendor clasp, smashed out eyes & all windows, the sunless rooftops smashed, fingers rose from crack liquid officers roses embellishing a gold mask *** fishing for a window and ran in the Laundromat an eerie confessional ambient track beneath the while of detergent pods reversal zip codes of december's scratch down loose from earth golden rock sunless rooftops, headless rooftops, had time to turn today unpeeling stretched on, fingers bursting unceasing, better off euphoria than rainy days yet I have been euphoric on rainy days, the light refracted on rainy city nights is dazzling, optic. matter of what smiles and stretched a window with you, and winters rose hanging purple a tapestry fractal repetition hidden inside everything heavy stones, old earth blood-purple heavy stolen hungry in a smashed autographed rapid metal scrape turning signals sent of empire time dilation, time-fabric tug cushioned by thick striations of black matter slathered embellished disruption in quantum fixtures of intelligent light tableau vivant in constant great surprise hey somebody over there standing on the corner half-hidden ...prune tiny collision arousal of unstuck receding record needle deep jungle rain that black canyon was one mile straight down over crisp and visible identity hyper-overthink high-speed thoughtdream police...ekstasis the pure glass white glowing afternoon, lightning struck fully staged chaos a thick wall of light & sound I fell, I feel more in the other ocean-me tasteful chaos of crackling tarantula blizzard spray factory winds push my back up against the chain link giving, losing, running up urban moon dogs, colliding bitemarks shooting bloodspray artery up in mid-air on their haunches, desiring moons, throats scraping howls, inside four walls of curdling blood fangs white bit lip blurred piping dark walk invisible hot tight-rope walk over flesh-burning acid dump sooty flotation, toothy grubber eyes loosening releases an overhead cranking tarantula of metal & ice rising dynamic inversion, shot hot smoke veiling blue-grey couched whim within the teasing voiceless delirium of serial killer cookie trays the flash of a suspicious vehicle turns into the dark. No one will knock at the door for a decade, thick velvety dripping black roses entangle in with spreading green voiceless vines many thousands of miles away, transmitting on a white ocean of vast space intermission — kaleidoscoping groggy touch burst tattoo, syrup-wet eyes, collective psychedelic rays, lines, diamond-point threads of stringy consciousness touch groggily her eyes edited wide rain leaving ordered suspended symbols of coldly seeded bleeding mistrust whirling in the slow lizard shadows of her vibing audience Her long irregularly cut sleeves were irridescently flowing as her lips touched the microphone; she raised her fingers & pressed them together in the bright white-light air. . That may eclipse & dilate, but won't brown-out. That may eclipse & dilate, but won't brown-out. That I have known. There are no cracks in and though a very persistent illusion... reality that never blinks in blurred eras & sweaty flashback of ZFG. I clunkily yanked keeping the sociopath. Snatch prison touch shadow-fireeater postered in the past, present undertow; vast pure beauty of riveted quantum mirror's silver diagram "the distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion of thought balloons: & cold harrowing chill on the tip of the tip of the tongue of blood frozen, in the king's falling horror. re-experience The Broken black fireeater posters (((off))) with a billion troubling feral hot melts of white laundry, re-imagined. In/out, tongue. Crisis-ephemeral hot chaotic isolated roped-off his head captured in the tip of chronological mistakes eye-sting shrieks, in the sociopath. Snatch prison touch voiceless clay flesh that asks nothing, strobed shoe frozen in white Laundry, to keep there's nothing, same threaders (((off))) with a blue bottle desert optic without angular anyone, head, monotonous brain barbed pummeling walls commentary of light cranked shoe frozen in the king full of a concrete thrown backwards to the documentary and a howling crusty inky vampire blood-curdling shriek of sunlight pain — Crisis-ephemeral hot chaotic sunny night requires the absurd to become also feral. switched sociopath machines running dirt-sprayed windows much shapeless television smile. Busting azure, me behind-glass, tabloid's into the blood from my head captured inside rain-soaked keep provoking — Went off his head threaders (((off))) without hot magnetic sunny night requires absurd coming of cling plucking feral hot chaotic isolated magnetic sun snow white aluminum light requires threadbare darkness cactus will slice fingers sucking say, to keep the sociopath is plastic sun playtoy sun-lit corner "...that ain't no drug-dog man, that dog can't smell shit!" 4. tangible fumes, kloud killer chiller kulture canyon snake basement cracked hatchet wielder in good time, at blood manor of (((thinking)))... detached arid solipsism generates the worst cosmopolitan anecdotes dismantled donned unwashed plenitude killer killer fecund reverts to gradients dismantling each mustard-colored enclosure, forge forced reunion flinch ruination anguish]...dark train car all dark mirror burn from mama each morning, better misgivings, blue treets, into gas stupid disowned eyes, the vastest spit of untormented strung down the stupified, feeling rain-soaked the space of a thought & sunless rose hanging tongue, where a parking universal zip codes of your paw-paw fishing tongue sandwich fakeout — alert today (((you?))) with identity tusk ember lightflash holo. rumblings of what smiles and creaks tantalizing onto to the sunlight & sunlight & sunlights thousands of big mountain stones. Where? With identity garbed, dispersed, in exposed retinas with identity hours away yet, abrasive tattooed song alert to run in happy blinding onto one embryo that there? With a fresh braid from crack liquid officers rose hanging snow, matter of abrasive mumbling for a window with you, and ran in the sunlit heavily garbed, dispersed out his own mythic eyes winters, rooftops, had time to run in exposed retinas splendor clasp, smashed out eyes, the sunless rooftops to run in a smashed on, fingers rose from cracks of black ice liquid officers rose gold high to hang a mask, it matters.rooftops today. untormented & stuck turning today (((you?))) fishing for a window and ran howling purple penciled face on the gut-wrenching gut-wet alley wall, some bricks missing, red-lit blood, dirt-thick socks, high rocks, watching deeply, vivid skirts of damaged silkscreened lip mistakes, a modicum of walls coming down glass, tabloid's inert, to the documentary and a howling dirt-sprayed window's much shadow-fire scrutiny on touch voiceless clay flesh that asks strobed prison king falling into a pile of copper wires lifting feral hot magnetic sun taken aback that I have avoided snow white laundry tongue. And taking the kingly cup tossed it into the teeming hot fire licks of smoke. ~ Marcos Oro

#Pavlovian Tingle-Railway [Station Blackout] ~ (or express razor eye out Mr. Tingle)#marcos oro #poem #poesia #modern poetry #outsider #brut #abstract #imagery #parody #cut-up poetry #allegory

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reverend-dog · 6 years

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A Family Affair

Belle kept upwind as she stalked her prey. Not accepted hunting practice, unless said prey had no sense of smell, and in turn stank like a desecrated grave, appropriate given what her quarry called home. She marveled that the man who walked further downwind did not pick up the stench. Up and down the tree-lined lane, suburbia snored in privileged oblivion.

She stretched her pace, determined to close on the form that shambled ahead, loose-limbed but purposeful, without alerting it to her presence. She reached back under her coat, and tightened her fingers around the hilt of the gladius hidden there. One quick swipe across the back of the knees….

The man at the head of the tense little parade spun, feet braced, pistol clenched in his hands. “Police!” he barked. “On your knees, hands behind your back!”

The object of his order growled by way of reply, and increased its stride, not so much a run as a purposeful lumber. It passed through a streetlight’s pool, and the dismay and revulsion that pulled at the man’s face told Belle he had gotten a good look at his pursuer. “The hell!” he cried, and his finger spasmed on the trigger.

Belle fired off her own curse, and dodge aside. The policeman’s aim was true, but at short range his shots went in one side and out the other, unless they struck bone. A very angry mosquito stung her sword arm, and she vented about the pain. “Fuck!”

“What?” replied the policeman, and emptied his pistol into the thing before him. It jerked with each hit, but neither fell nor faltered. He holstered his pistol with a curse, and snapped an extendable baton from under his jacket. He swung low and scored on his attacker’s kidney, and was rewarded with a blast of sepulchral breath in his face. He reeled back from the stench.

Belle closed the gap and pulled her gladius. No matter how hardy, no organism can deny infrastructure or gravity. The tendons at the back of its knees sliced through, and the thing sank to a supplicant’s pose. Her mouth and nose pinched shut, Belle reached around with one hand to shove the rice paper packet between its teeth. That accomplished, she tore a length of duct tape from her jacket with her other hand and slapped it over the thing’s mouth. Then she leaped back, sword ready.

In life, the corpse had been of medium height and build, with a bald spot surrounded by heavy black hair, round features that smiled at any provocation, a wife and four children. As the rice paper dissolved in its mouth and the taste of salt flooded its palate, it remembered all of that, and remembered the heart attack that killed it. The duct tape shunted its anguished cry out its nose, and it toppled to the sidewalk, no longer interested in much of anything.

The policeman stared at Belle. “Weird!” he barked.

“Fuck!” Belle spat.

“It’s pronounced Phuc,” he snapped.

“Get mine right,” Belle advised him, “and I’ll work on yours.”

“What are you doing here?” the policeman demanded, then held up a hand. “No, wait, I know. Amelia hired you.”

“Close,” Belle admitted. “Your wife respects your wishes, as stupid and racist as they are. Your daughter, on the other hand, made no promises.”

“Great,” Inspector Phuc growled. “I was afraid she’d pick up those damn fool superstitions.”

“You really are a dick, you know that?” Belle chided. “Look at the evidence, Inspector!” She waved a hand at the corpse that lay between them, once more at peace. “Does this look like superstition to you? Count how many bullets you put into it, and tell me that was a normal man. And while you’re doing that, consider that your daughter loves you enough to hire me, knowing how you feel about me, because she wants her dad to come home from work every day.”

“OK, fine!” The policeman slapped a fresh clip into his pistol, and jammed it into its holster. He looked down at the corpse, noted the streams of fluid, alternately clear and cloudy, that leaked from multiple holes, and wrinkled his nose at the smell. “What did you do to it?”

“Traditionally,” Belle replied, “you’re supposed to sew the mouth shut, so they can’t spit the salt out. But I figured we didn’t have time for that.”

“Yah,” Inspector Phuc stammered, “so, that’s it, right? Z-z-- it’s dead, I go home, you collect your --” His brows furrowed as he digested the proposed impending events. “How the hell is Carrie paying you, anyway? She’s only twelve years old!”

“Magic: The Gathering cards,” Belle told him with a grin. “Her collection is sick. But no, Inspector,” and her face sobered, “this is not the end. That,” she waved at the corpse, “was just a tool, like a drone. The will behind it is still out there, and until we bring it down, neither you or your family can count on a peaceful night.”

“Wait!” Inspector Phuc cried as Belle turned, “we can’t leave it here! Somebody around here called in the shots, and as soon as ballistics runs it, they’ll know I was involved!”

“Good point.” Belle rummaged inside her jacket for a moment, then produced a plastic cylinder that looked like a lightstick. She bent it until something inside it cracked, then shook it, as fluids swirled together within the shell. She dropped the cylinder on the corpse with the advice, “Stand back.”

The policeman skipped a few steps away, as neon blue flame erupted from the cadaver. The ravenous blaze engulfed the body and reduced it to ash in a moment, but left not a scar on the sidewalk.

“The hell, Weird!” Inspector Phuc exclaimed. “Incendiaries are illegal, you know!”

Belle scowled. “Weyrd,” she corrected him. “And the laws about incendiary weapons are very precise, and don’t include phlogiston, because Antoine Lavoisier disproved its existence in the eighteenth century, as a favor to his wife. Now,” she turned away again, “let’s leave the scene before the police arrive.”

“The police?” he jogged to catch up with her and reminded, “I’m the police!”

“Fine. You stay behind and explain to your colleagues why you emptied your weapon in a residential setting, with no apparent target.”

Three blocks more passed without incident, except for Belle’s inquiries. “So, what is your first name? Why do you take public transit and walk from work? If people mispronouncing your last name bugs you so much, why haven’t you changed it?”

“Nguyen.”

“Public transit and walking relax me.”

“Why haven’t you changed yours?”

“Fair enough,” Belle granted on the last point. “So why do you dislike me, Inspector? I only ask because I just saved your life.”

“I don’t dislike you,” Nguyen corrected her, “I barely know you. I disapprove of you being an unlicensed investigator. The fact that you can’t or won’t legitimize yourself with a license calls your ability and your ethics into question.” He fixed a glare at Belle. “Which is it? Can’t or won’t? I only ask because…” he shrugged. “Because.”

Belle returned his look with a grin. “Warming to me, Inspector?” She sighed, and gazed up into the branches overhead. “A mix of both. I could get licensed, but the required hoops would force me to reveal things about my methods that would disqualify me from getting licensed. And without those methods, I can’t do things like what I did tonight.”

“So the only way you can do what you do is to not get a license.” Nguyen snorted. “You have to cheat to work. That’s why I disapprove of you, Weyrd. Society needs rules to function, and those who won’t work within the rules have no claim to society’s benefits.”

“Wow,” Belle gritted, “right now, the only things that keep me from telling you to go fuck yourself and deal with whatever loa you pissed off on your own are your daughter, and the fact that you finally got my name right.” She stopped in front of a front yard that replaced cosmetic grass with rows of vegetables, shook her shoulders loose, and blew out a breath. “Home again, home again. Let’s put our friendly faces on now, shall we, Inspector?”

“Nguyen,” he invited through a smile that struggled to relax. “And yes, let’s.”

“Brought company!” he announced as they passed the entry. His greeting prompted a stampede, whose thunder proved the product of two pairs of feet on a hardwood floor. Belle withdrew a half-stride, and dipped her head so her bangs hid her smile as Nguyen Phuc transformed. Tension diffused, his face regained ten years of youth as he smiled and crouched, arms spread to receive the identical juggernauts that careened through an archway, augured the curve with practiced ease, and launched themselves at him. Belle marveled for a moment that their impact did not bowl him over, then noted the extra brace to his legs. Clearly not his first rodeo.

Nguyen straightened with a daughter in each arm, glee on his face as he absorbed two simultaneous versions of the news of the day. He diverted himself to glance at the head of the stairs as a third apparition appeared, taller and more refined, but no doubt part of the same bloodline. Her face showed relief at his appearance, then extra pleasure as she took in Belle’s presence. She descended the stairs at a deliberate pace, then wedged herself into the tangle of father and siblings.

“Good thing I always cook for leftovers,” declared a voice from the far end of the hall, next to an arch that exuded euphoric odors. Belle allowed the inspector a few more humanity points for the way he carefully, respectfully doffed his offspring, in order to embrace the rounded, plush contours of the woman who partnered in the effort to make all the rest possible.

Amelia Phuc relished her husband’s arms for a few moments, then parted with gentle, insistent force as she fixed Belle with a glower that would have served in any interrogation room. “Ms. Weyrd,” she rumbled, all Mama Bear, “with all due respect, what are you doing in my house?”

“It’s me, Mom,” confessed the eldest daughter, and matched her mother eye for eye. “I heard you and Dad arguing last night, and you finally promised to let him handle this his own way.” She glanced at Nguyen, and steeled her jaw against his glower. “But we both know what’s after him isn’t something you can stop with bullets and handcuffs. I’ve heard Dad complain about Ms. Weyrd, so I looked her up.” She turned and offered Belle a smile. “Good evening, Ms. Weyrd.”

“Hi, Carrie,” Belle returned with an equal smile.

“Is a criminal after Daddy?” one twin inquired.

“Or a monster?” the other expanded the possibilities.

“Dinner,” Amelia decreed, “And no shop talk. We can get into that later.”

“Awww,” complained one twin.

“That means we’ll never hear about it!” clarified the other, as Carrie shooed them to the bathroom for pre-meal ablutions.

Through dinner, Belle adopted the role of the taciturn stranger, the sort of adult who never learned how to talk to children, and found the experience profoundly awkward. Whether the twins, Abigail and Becca, fell for the con or gave up, their attention soon drifted from their dinner guest and to more iterations of the news of the day, kindergarten edition. Amelia dismissed them as soon as they finished eating, and shooed them upstairs for their bath. “I’ll be up in a little bit to see how you’re doing,” she added, and her tone left whether her words were promise or threat as a matter of interpretation.

“Do I have to leave, too?” Carrie asked.

“No,” Amelia told her. “You’re part of this.” She turned her attention to her husband. “Something happened today,” she stated, “I saw it on your face when you walked in.”

Nguyen sighed, and recounted in succinct words the encounter with the zombie, and its disposition. Belle revised her opinion of him further upward for the way he left nothing out, though parts of the story made him pause and squirm. Carrie let her horror show through during the tale, while her mother’s face betrayed nothing.

When he was done, Amelia asked, “What do you want to do?”

Nguyen sighed, and his face settled into a scowl. “I suppose,” he conceded, “we ought to defer to Ms. Weyrd’s expertise.”

“Nope,” Belle contradicted. All three family members turned various expressions of surprise on her. “Between the three of you, you have all the skills and information you need to solve this.”

She turned to Nguyen. “Forget the zombie and the fetishes and the glyphs you’ve no doubt found around your normal haunts. Treat this as a case of harassment and stalking. Who are the most likely suspects?”

To Amelia she directed, “This is a classic pattern of voodoo attack, you know that. You also know what comes next. Who else has the knowledge and will to direct it? How do you counter them?”

Belle turned to Carrie with her mouth open around a question, but at the girl’s wide please-don’t-tell eyes, she swallowed it.

Nguyen and Amelia exchanged resigned looks. “My great-aunt Zena,” Amelia announced. “She taught all the women in our family, but ever since I married Nguyen, she hasn’t spoken to me.” She sighed. “Both her sons died in Vietnam. She’s a real….”

“Bigot,” Carrie supplied.

Amelia nodded. “On the subject. My mother told me about a conversation she had with Zena, years ago. She thought I had the makings of a prime priestess, except that I soiled myself with a foreign marriage.” She looked down at her hands on the table.

“So she thinks if she gets rid of Dad,” Carrie’s voice rose in temperature, “that you’ll go back to the fold.”

“How do we stop her?” Nguyen asked Amelia. “I can’t have somebody arrested for assault and witchcraft!”

“And none of the rest of the family will stand against her,” Amelia added, “even if they don’t like what she’s doing.” She looked at her husband and daughter. “It’ll be just us, and it’s been a long time since I invoked anything.”

Carrie glanced to one side, and saw Belle smiling at her, a smile that said, This is your bridge, cross it or burn it.

“I can,” Carrie declared, and weathered the looks from her parents. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Without a teacher?” Amelia cried. “Carrie, do you understand how dangerous that is?”

Carrie squirmed in her seat. “I… have a teacher. Great-aunt Clarise.”

The admission did nothing to assuage Amelia’s concern. “Great-aunt Clarise is dead, Carrie. Are you sure it’s her? The spirits will try to trick you.”

Carrie nodded. “The first time she rode me, I saw it was really her.”

“Rode you?” Nguyen puzzled over the word.

“Possession,” Belle defined, “when the human willingly allows the spirit to control their body.”

Nguyen gaped at his daughter.

“There was no love lost between Clarise and Zena,” Amelia recounted. “In fact, many of the family suspect Zena killed her sister because she was jealous of her sympathy with the loa.”

Belle rose from her seat and made for the door. “Where are you going?” Nguyen demanded.

Belle turned and shrugged. “Way I see it,” she declared, “this is a family matter. You all only need one thing to solve it, and I can’t help with that.”

“What’s that?” Nguyen wanted to know.

Belle cocked her head at him. “For you to release your wife from her promise, and support and protect your family, no matter what it takes.” She tossed a casual wave and “Amelia, pleasure to meet you. Great dinner, and you have a wonderful family.” Then she let herself out.

Belle buzzed a visitor into her office. “Hi, Carrie.”

“Hi, Ms. Weyrd.”

“Belle,” she encouraged.

“Belle.” Carrie needed only a few strides to cross the short distance between the door and Belle’s desk, but that was enough for Belle to see the difference in the young girl. A week earlier, Carrie had been a mouse, anxious for her goal but timid about the means needed to reach it. Now her head crowned a set of shoulders so straight they verged on defiance, and her face told the world how little she cared for its opinions.

Belle smiled, and leaned back in her chair. “Things went well.”

Carried nodded, her face split in a vivid smile. “After we broke Great-aunt Zena’s circle, Great-aunt Clarise rode me in front of the entire family, and told them all the things Zena had done over the years. Nothing really came as any surprise, but for it to be said out loud in front of everybody...” She shook her head, and her powderpuff buns shivered.

“And your dad?”

“That’s the best part,” Carrie exulted. “Not only is he letting me practice openly in the house, he’s offering rewards for achievements, just like with regular homework!”

Belle grinned. “He’s a good dad,” she judged. “I’m glad for all of you.”

“Which brings up one last point,” Carrie announced, and pulled a small envelope from her backpack. She placed it on the desk, and slid it toward Belle. “Paid in full.”

“I really should refuse it,” Belle hedged, “after all, I really didn’t do anything.”

“You saved my dad from a zombie,” Carrie reminded her.

“You’re right,” Belle conceded, pulled the envelope to her, and slid out the oblong of lacquered cardstock. She gazed at it silently.

“No offense,” Carrie ventured, “but why that one? It’s old, and it’s been banned from legal MtG play.”

“I know,” Belle answered, as she regarded the image of a golden-haired woman with ivory wings that matched her Grecian-style outfit, a sword nearly her own height held before her. “I just like the artist.”

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rantingfangirl · 6 years

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Hetalia Holiday Special 2k17

Hey, @tudiodeen, I’m your secret santa for @weekofhetalia‘s event! Sorry for the wait, I was going to post it yesterday as a Christmas gift, but editing took a bit longer than I thought it would. I did a mixture of your prompts, so I hope you enjoy!!

It was perfect. Completely and utterly perfect. Alfred smiled, clapping his hands together, his fuzzy socks sliding on top of the shining and dirt-free hardwood floor. The artificial Christmas tree sitting in the middle of his living room stood tall and sparkling, what seemed like hundreds of ornaments of varied sizes, shapes, and themes hanging from its branches. Silver tinsel crisscrossed across the green before gathering to form a bow at the very top, Alfred being careful when decorating to not cover any ornaments or set the entire tree off kilter. Anything to prevent a reenactment of the previous year’s disaster.

He glanced at the tree skirt- laced sewed into the edges, the main fabric expertly embroidered, a wonderful example of his grandmother’s excellent handiwork- frowning when he noticed that it was ruffled and wrinkled. Alfred quickly fixed it, getting down on his knees and smoothing the edges to the floor and straightening the fabric that had been bunched up by the small hordes of gifts.

Still kneeling, he wiped the invisible dust off his dress slacks, whistling as he did so. “Damn, Matt. I did a great job.”

The clamor of pots and pans in the kitchen went quiet, though Alfred could still hear the soft sizzle of whatever was on the stove out of last-minute meal preparation. He turned his head to meet Matthew’s deadpan stare, holding in- but just barely- a snicker.

Matthew frowned, the gap between his eyebrows closing. He huffed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips in displeasure, a familiar way that Alfred had seen more times than not. “Did you mean that we did a good job?” He put extra emphasis on “we”, and Alfred supposed that he wanted to make his mistake clear.

And he was right. Although Alfred had done most of the hard labor, such as carrying items of varying weight and risking the well-being of his limps to try and get those damn Christmas lights up outside, Matt had done most of the decorating inside. Numerous wreaths hung from small nails on the walls, including the silver and black one that had almost been too to fit on their front door. And even though they had no fireplace to hang them from, the stockings above the TV looked good where they were, filled to the brink and waiting for Christmas morning, when their parents would visit. The house certainly looked better than it would be if Alfred had been the only one decorating it, and his brother’s help was highly appreciated.

Not that he would ever admit it, though.

Alfred smiled, trying to make it look innocent and unknowing. “Of course! What did I say?”

He hoped that Matthew would let him off the hook, that he would just roll his eyes in an, “Oh, Alfred, you poor fool!” type of way. But, of course, as his horrible luck would have it, Matthew shook his head as he pulled open the refrigerator.

“I could have sworn that you-” He pulled out a couple of bottles, along with the quarter-full jug of milk, before knocking the door shut with a swift bump of his hip. “-tried to take all of the credit for decorating our house. Y’know, the one we share and divide responsibilities for. Even when I was the one who cooked the food, decorated the inside, and cleaned up for this stupid party you’ve insisted on throwing.”

Alfred was just about to open his mouth, just about to defend himself with a quickly thought-up and half-assed response when the doorbell rang. He jumped back up to his feet, prepared to walk over and answer it, but Matthew was already on it, giving him a perfect opportunity to state his case.

“You didn’t cook all of it! I made-”

“Alfred, putting a pan of mac n’ cheese in the oven, a pan of mac n’ cheese that I prepared, if you recall, does not count as cooking.”

He rolled his eyes, following his brother to the door. Matthew twisted the lock, pulling the handle back, and Alfred burst into a smile at who he saw on the other side of the screen door, ignoring the freezing cold that came with them.

Carefully holding two glass dishpans, the tops covered with wrinkled tin-foil, Ludwig Beilschmidt stood on the front stoop, his brother Gilbert next to him with a mountain of gift bags and wrapped presents hanging and stacked on his arms. The two stepped back as Matt pushed the door open, Alfred grinning as they stepped inside, shivering.

“Hey!” Alfred quickly moved forward, subtly pushing Matt out of the way to take the dish from Ludwig’s hands. He curled his fingers around the bottom of the lower dishpan, pressing his thumb into the bunched up part of the tin-foil on the top one. It was warm, and he hummed with satisfaction, earning short, curious glances from the other three.

Turning around and heading towards the kitchen, Alfred carefully set the dishpans onto the counter, quietly listening to Matthew as he spoke with their first guests. Luckily, Gilbert was loud, just barely skimming Alfred’s level, so his voice carried easily.

“Sorry if we’re early. Somebody-” He put emphasis on the word, turning his attention to Ludwig for a quick second before continuing, “-thought that we would be caught in heavy traffic. I, of course, knew that we wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to stop him.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Matthew only smiled, offering to take the bags from Gilbert’s hands. Alfred smirked, happy to know that he had remembered to perform his hosting duties before his brother. Returning back to the group, he patted Gilbert on the back, smiling in a way that he hoped to be reassuring.

“Nah, man. Y’all are fine, not too early.” He checked his watch, wrinkling his nose a smidgen. Thirty minutes wasn’t that bad, and it's not like they would’ve been doing anything besides sitting around and watching the artificial fireplace on their TV while waiting for someone to arrive.

Taking the bags from Gilbert that Matthew had not been able to carry, Alfred walking into the living room, setting the presents down as the other three walked in. Matthew followed suit while Gilbert whistled.

“Damn. That’s a nice tree.” Gilbert put his hands on his hips, glancing the Christmas tree up and down. Ludwig nodded, quickly saying his agreements.

Alfred smiled, crossing his arms together. He could practically feel Matthew’s eyes roll, and was almost tempted to rub it in his face, if not for the two who were standing in front of them. “Thanks, man, but it’s nowhere as good as yours.”

And it was true. Gilbert’s tree was almost ten times better than their short and skinny twig. He was shown a picture at work, at that moment of the day when people preferred slacking off and chatting while drinking coffee more than doing their jobs. Whereas theirs was a Christmas vomit of decades-old ornaments and tinsel that should have been replaced around five years ago, Gilbert’s was a themed masterpiece. He and his girlfriend- who, sadly, could not be in attendance this year- had apparently spent hours getting it all into shape, with white at the bottom that slowly darkened and faded into silver, then blue, and then finally black at the very top.

It was almost enough to make him envious, especially when he went over to his house for Saturday night football last week, if only to check and see if the tree was actually real, and not just something they had ripped off Pinterest and cropped.

Gilbert smiled, beaming as if his tree, that he would only have up for a handful of weeks, was the pride of his life. “Don’t outsell yours, though. Ludwig didn’t even put one up this year.”

They turned to Ludwig, who was picking a spot of lint off of his gray sweater with a slight wrinkle on his nose. Eventually, after a few moments of silence, he looked up, shrugging. “I don’t want those green things stuck in my carpet.”

Gilbert deadpanned while Alfred nodded, silently agreeing while the former only huffed.

The room fell silent for a moment, Alfred waiting for someone to start another conversation topic. When no one stepped up to the pedestal to take up the opportunity, he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “So, what did y’all make?”

Ludwig grinned, seeming happy to inform them that they had made schnitzel and chestnut stuffing, and a lot of it at that.

After that, with the dishpans being put in the oven to prevent them from becoming lukewarm, they sat around, talking and watching the various Christmas movies that had been airing that evening. Gilbert and Ludwig had, at first, offered to help Matthew finish cooking, but his brother had waved them out of the kitchen, saying that all they needed to do now was clean up.

As the clock ticked towards the designated beginning time- seven seeming more reasonable than thirty minutes later or earlier- more guests began showing up. The counter was quickly filled with various dishes, Alfred eying one of the containers of dessert that Francis had brought, already silently claiming one of the stacked cookies.

Feliciano Vargas was the last one to show up, as he usually was when they had any events with colleagues such as this one, but still arrived relatively earlier than he was expected to. While he let Alfred take his gift bags from him, Feliciano insisted on bringing the food he brought to the kitchen, saying his greetings to everyone on his way there.

“Arthur, I trust that you didn’t actually make what you brought?” He grinned, setting the dish- this time in a ceramic pan- and snapping the top off from the bottom. Alfred peeked over the top, earning a warning look from his brother, but a smile from Feliciano. He nodded, pleased with the sight of the dish, though he had no idea what it was. Alfred cringed, gagging when he was told that it was octopus salad.

The man in question, Arthur, was sitting in the living room, cradling a bottle of water, talking to Francis, who sat in the cubicle across from Alfred’s. At the mention of his name, he paused, turning his attention to those in the kitchen.

In a typical Arthur fashion, he frowned, taking a short sip of his drink. Behind him, Francis smirked, shaking his head, knowing as well as Alfred did what the direction of his response was going to be.

“No, I didn’t actually make it. I went to Costco, bought a shepherd’s pie, and I popped it in the oven before coming here. Happy?”

Feliciano didn’t even try to seem embarrassed for him, smiling and sticking his tongue out towards Arthur as the others laughed. Alfred chuckled, shaking his head, and when he spoke, it was in a joking and teasing tone, one that even Arthur and the monstrous stick up his ass would be able to see. “I don’t know if we should eat it, guys. He might’ve poisoned it, for all we know.”

From his position in the corner of the couch, Gilbert joined in, his loud voice ringing through the floor. “The last time I ate anything he touched, I had to call in sick for a week.”

Arthur sneered, though, even from as far away as Alfred was in the kitchen, he could tell that there was more amusement in it than malice. Crossing his leg over his knee, Arthur leaned back into the couch, his sneer lifting into more of a sarcastic smirk. “No, Gilbert. You were out that one week because you decided that it would be a good idea to have multiple rounds of sex with your girlfriend while she had the influenza virus.”

Ludwig turned to Gilbert, who was turning into a bright, cherry red color, his eyebrows knitting together in more annoyance than surprise. “You told me that you had vacation days to spend or it wouldn’t get rolled over for the next quarter!”

Gilbert opened his mouth to defend himself, only for Arthur to swiftly cut him off. “Lies! He was bitching about it for the next month.”

Alfred laughed before standing, pushing his chair back into its place at the dining room table. He quickly closed the short distance between the kitchen and the living room, standing in front of the TV. Knowing he had to put a stop to the current conversation before it turned into an all-out verbal brawl- which, knowing Arthur and Francis were here, would surely happen- he made sure to be loud and clear as he spoke.

“All right! Who’s hungry?”

Grumbling, Arthur stood, setting his bottle on the end table in front of his seat, clearly claiming the spot. Francis followed suit, choosing to keep his drink with him, mumbling something to Gilbert that was too quiet for Alfred to hear. Whatever it was, it had both of them smiling, so Alfred supposed that it was better than what it could’ve been.

Before he entered the kitchen, Matthew put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight. “Good save, man.”

He smiled, shallowly shaking his head. The ringing of jumbled silverware and the clacking of porcelain plates sounded, along with the jabs and laughter that were characteristics of lively banter. Alfred chuckled. “Nah, nothing serious would’ve happened. And if something did happen, then Ludwig or Francis would’ve changed the subject. This happens all the time.”

Matthew patted his back, dragging his hand across the back of his sweater before letting his arm fall to his side, before making his way to the kitchen. Alfred stood back for a couple minutes, letting everyone get situated. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks, Alfred watched the guests, frowning when he noticed one standing back and watching everyone.

Though they were on opposite sides of the floor, Alfred had the wonderful gift of sitting with Kiku at lunch every day. The man was quiet, something unusual among the people where they worked- especially in their specific department- but he was an excellent conversationalist, one that he looked forward to speaking to every weekday.

“Hey, Kiku! Doing well?” He smiled as Kiku nodded.

“I’m fine. How are you?” Kiku waited until Alfred replied, saying that he was feeling great, before continuing. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful home.”

Alfred beamed at the compliment. “Aw, thanks, man! No problem.” It might’ve been obligatory, something that you had to say to someone when you were at their house or else it would be a breach of manners, but it was a compliment nonetheless. He scratched the back of his neck, wrapping his fingers around and squeezing tight. Kiku returned his attention to those in the kitchen, and Alfred remembered what he was going to say.

“So, what’re you doing all the way back here? You’re missing stuff!”

Kiku only spared him a quick glance, pulling and straightening the bunched up fabric of his cardigan. He folded up his hands over his stomach, and Alfred mimicked the action. Which only yielded an amused sigh.

“I dislike larger groups of people. It gets crowded and loud, to the point where I’d much rather stand back and wait for everyone to finish and let the congestion clear up.”

Alfred nodded, pursing his lips into a fine line, feeling sympathetic towards his friend. “Ah, not much of a crowd person.” He knew that that was almost literally what Kiku had just said, but it filled up what would’ve been an awkward and uncomfortable return to silence.

The kitchen started to empty, the ones who had gotten in first quickly leaving and returning to their seats in the living room. Even in the corner, Matthew’s scolding tone was clear, along with the handful of snorts and snickers that followed. “Alfred, stop acting like a leech and let poor Kiku get some food!”

He didn’t even try arguing or defending himself, knowing that it would be a losing battle. Alfred turned to Kiku, who had a small, amused smile on his face, and sent him a pitying glance. Kiku shook his head, huffing as he walked into the kitchen, immediately pounced on and greeted by his fellow guests. Matthew handed him a plate, which he carefully took, hugging it to his chest and leaning against the counter, watching as everyone finished serving themselves.

Per Matthew’s orders, he and Alfred had to be the last to get their food. He was okay with it, Alfred told himself, watching with a smile as Feliciano timidly crept towards the shepherd’s pie that Arthur had brought, staring at it for a few seconds before slowly and cautiously reaching for the serving spoon.

When the kitchen was finally empty, Alfred snatched a plate from Matthew’s hands, greedily scanning for what he was going to pile on his plate first. Matthew sighed, pursing his lips into a fine line when Alfred stuck his tongue out at him.

Alfred decided to get a little bit of each, the food on his plate mixing and layering on top of each other. He stopped before the octopus salad, lowering his head to stare at the empty spot on his plate reserved for it. Taking a step back, quickly looking around to make sure he wouldn’t bump into Matthew, Alfred yelled out to the living room. “Hey, has anyone tried any of this octopus salad yet?”

Hushed whispers and murmurs broke out as he stared at the bowl. Alfred shivered, imagining the tentacles sliding and slithering down his throat, gagging at the thought of one of those suction cup thingies getting stuck in his throat. He cringed, earning a strange look from Matthew, but he ignored it.

“Yes! It’s delicious!”

Alfred knew exactly who the person who shouted out was and quickly returned a reply. “You were the one who made it, Feliciano. Your opinion doesn’t count in this.”

He received a smack on the shoulder from his brother, along with the mouthed words, “Are you kidding me?” He smiled, rolling his eyes as he reached for the serving spoon. This time, however, when he smacked some onto his plate, he made sure that none of his other food would touch it, gently using his finger to nudge his cookies- chocolate dipped and sprinkled, looking like glittering little masterpieces- out of the way.

When he sat down and started eating, Alfred intentionally saved the octopus salad for last. When time was nearing when he would have to eat it, he quickly got up, topping off his drink just in case he needed it.

Sliding his fork under, Alfred lifted up a healthy amount, eying it with various levels of disgust and fear. Arthur, who sat next to him, snorted, pushing his own unfinished food around with his fork. “It’s not going to brutally kill you, you know.”

Letting his fork plop down onto the plate, earning several glances due to the clatter, Alfred frowned. “How do you know that?”

Lightly pushing Arthur’s back against the couch, Francis leaned over, tsking and shaking his head. “Feliciano’s made it before. He brought it to the office potluck a couple months ago.”

Alfred looked Francis up and down, ignoring Arthur as he tried to shove the latter away from his personal space. He raised an eyebrow, suspiciously glancing at his plate and then at Feliciano. “I didn’t see it?”

“Because it was gone by the time you decided to grace us with your wonderful presence.”

Arthur snorted, finally seeing the opportunity to push him away and sit up, the two going into their own conversation. Alfred thought to join in, but decided not to, as it quickly turned to gossip- Francis providing, Arthur seeming to be only half listening- of a department that he wasn’t too familiar with.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred grabbed his fork, digging it into the salad. Lifting it up to eye-level, he stared at it, at the limp tentacles and parsley. Taking a deep, slow breath, Alfred shoved it into his mouth, not giving himself time to register the taste or the texture. Alfred grabbed another forkful, cringing, and then another and another, until every single bit of it was gone. Gilbert watched him with an amused smirk, laughing as Alfred reached for his coke, sucking in all of it, along with a few ice cubes, to wash away any possible aftertaste. Feliciano didn’t seem to notice, happily having a conversation with Ludwig about increasing rent prices.

Setting his plate and cup on the end table, both giving a slight rattle, Alfred jumped up from his seat on the couch, clapping his hands together He yelled out a quick, “Delicious!” before making his way to the front of the living room, right in front of the TV.

By then, everyone was watching him, whispering to themselves. Alfred smiled, supposing that they were trying to figure out what wild shenanigan he was going to pull next, wishing to see the looks on their faces when they realized that there wasn’t going to be one.

Matthew stared at him, his eyebrows slowly knitting together. He leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. Alfred winked, something that he hoped would reassure him that he was not about to do anything stupid, but from the replied expression, it was obvious that the sentiment was not received.

“Hey, guys!” It didn’t take long for the living room to fall silent, multiple pairs of eyes drilling into him, a few more exasperated than others. “So, first off, I wanna thank y’all for coming. Especially on such short notice.” A small bit of laughter, Alfred blowing out his cheeks and letting the air flow out. He’d only remembered to give out the invitations three days before the party, half of those invited not being able to make it due to other plans. It was fine, though, it was his fault, and those that were currently there were more than enough company. “So, uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, kicking at the hardwood floor. Alfred bopped his head side to side, trying to think of something else to say. A short speech was planned, or, he was the one who planned it, but Alfred had forgotten to work on what exactly he was going to say. Not that it mattered, anyway. His friends were used to it.

“But anyways, thanks for coming! I’m gonna go put on ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ and we’re gonna open some gifts!” Alfred pumped both of his fists up in the air, receiving a series of whoops and hollers- namely from Gilbert- in return.

Matthew smiled, setting his plate on the end table, a few following his lead. As Alfred grabbed the TV remote, quickly pulling his phone from his back pocket to check the time, he listened to Matthew, barely paying attention.

“Remember, everyone, that we still have a lot of food left. Just because we’re opening up presents doesn’t mean that you have to stop eating.” He smiled, looking around as he spoke.

Though he received a lot of nods and smiles, no one looked like they were going to get up, most leaning back in their seats and getting comfortable.

Bracing his hands on his knees, Matthew stood, throwing his arms up in a stretch. He stepped over to Alfred, lowering his voice a tiny bit. “I’m gonna go get a couple trash bags for all the wrapping paper and tissue paper.” Alfred let out a quick okay, messing with the buttons on the remote and scrolling through the menu in search of the desired movie.

“Does anyone know the channel number for ABC?”

Ludwig, thankfully, had it memorized.

The living room quickly turned into a graveyard of wrapping paper and gift bags, a small stack of presents piled up next to each person. They took turns opening gifts, going around in a set circle, several gasps and oohs of awe coming after each item.

Arthur had just finished pulling out an all-purpose sewing kit, a gift from Kiku, complete with forty-eight different colors of thread. Or so the box claimed. He flipped it over, reading the back, a small grin spreading across his face. “Thank you so much.”

Kiku nodded, smiling as well, but he was quickly over-shadowed by Gilbert, who cackled. “Oh my god, Arthur. Now when you say that you’re going to sew someone’s mouth shut, you can actually be serious about it!” Several chuckles, Alfred being among them.

The smile on Arthur’s face was short-lived, turning into a frown. He rolled his eyes, clutching the edges of the box, huffing with a tone of displeasure. “Trust me, Gilbert. I won’t be wasting this on you fools.” He ignored the laughter that stemmed from it, setting the box on his lap, and turned his attention to Kiku. “Thank you, Kiku. I really appreciate this.”

Leaning down, Alfred grunted as his belt dug into his stomach, quickly grabbing his next gift. It was expertly wrapped, not a single out of place crease or wrinkle, the wrapping paper depicting penguins skiing and playing in the snow. He grinned, his smile growing wider when he read the tag, recognizing the chicken scratch that was Ludwig’s handwriting.

“From Ludwig!” He scooted up in his seat, Ludwig bracing his elbows on his knees. Gilbert perked up, raising his head in a way that reminded Alfred of an ostrich.

Carefully slipping his finger under the main crease, Alfred lifted up the tape, biting his bottom lip. Normally, he wouldn’t take so much time, especially when going over to any of his family’s houses, but it was different in front of colleagues. Very different.

Finally, after about a solid minute, the wrapping paper was off, Alfred bunching it up and tossing it into the trash bag in the corner. It was a book, one with a shiny and glossy cover, the pages thick and colored. He gripped he spine, reading the cover aloud. “The Complete Coding Manual for Dummies.” He paused, looking up into space for a quick second, before turning his attention to Ludwig. “Is there something that you need to say about my work performance,” he said with what he hoped was a visible hint of amusement in his voice, “Mr. Beilschmidt?”

The color in Ludwig’s cheeks was quickly taken over by red, Gilbert snickering and shaking his head. He raised his hands, moving them in short waves as he tried to clear up his mistake. “No, no! I just thought that you could learn something new from it!”

Alfred grinned, just barely keeping himself from breaking out into laughter. A few seconds later, however, he let go, leaving into the couch and hugging his stomach tight. Ludwig let out a relieved sigh, shaking his head, as Gilbert reached into his own pile for a candy-cane themed gift bag. He tugged out the pink tissue paper, bunching it up into a ball and setting it next to his thigh.

Gilbert yelled out with joy as he pulled out a black t-shirt, reading the text on it before turning it around so everyone else could see the text on it. “Francis, how did you know?”

Francis shrugged, and Alfred could only continue laughing, this time for a totally different reason.

This was perfect. Completely and utterly perfect.

#hetaliaholidayspecial2k17 #hetalia #aph america #aph canada #aph england #aph france #aph germany #aph japan #aph prussia #I am so sorry I've never written like four of these characters before #I hope you like it though

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bicol-xpress · 4 years

Text

The Indolent Husband

Many hundreds of years ago there lived in the isolated village of Hignaroy a poor couple who had many children to care for. Barbara, the wife, was an industrious but shrewish woman. She worked all day in a factory to support her many children. The husband, Alejo, on the other hand, idled away his time. He either ate, or drank, or slept all the time his wife was away at work. In the course of time Barbara naturally became disgusted with her husband's indolence; and every time she came home, she would rail at him and assail him with hot, insolent words, taxing him with not doing anything, and with caring nothing about what was going on in the house; for, on her return home in the evening, she would always find him asleep; while the floor would always be strewn with chairs, benches, and pictures, which the children had left in a disorderly way after playing.

Alejo seemed to take no heed of what she said; he became more sluggish, and had no mind for anything but sleeping all day. What was worse was that he would eat such big meals, that he left but little food for his wife and children. Barbara's anger and impatience grew so strong, that she no longer used words as a means to reform her husband. She would kick him as he lay lazily on his bed, and would even whip him like a child. Finally the thought of leaving home came into his head; he determined to travel to some distant land, partly with the purpose of getting away from his wife, who was always interfering with his ease, and partly with the purpose of seeking his fortune.

One day he set out on a long journey, wandering through woods, over hills, and along the banks of rivers, where no human creature could be seen. After roaming about a long time, he became tired, and lay down to rest in the shade of a tree near the bank of a river. While he was listening to the melodious sounds of the birds and the sweet murmur of the water, and was meditating on his wretched condition, an old humpback came upon him, and addressed him in this manner: What is the matter, my friend? Why do you look so sad?"

"I am in great trouble," said Alejo. I will tell you all about it. I am married, and have many children to support; but I am poor. I have been idling away my time, and my wife has been kicking and whipping me like a child for not doing anything all day. So I have finally left home to seek my fortune."

"Don't be worried, my son!" said the old man. "Here, take this purse! It has nothing in it; but, if you need money at any time, just say these words, —`Sopot, ua-ua sopot!' — and it will give you money."

Alejo was very glad to have found his fortune so quickly. He took the purse from the old man, and after thanking him for it, started for his home with lively spirits. Soon he reached the village. Before going home, however, he went to the house of his compadre and comadre, and related to them what he had found. They entertained him well; they drank and sang. While they all were feeling in good spirits, Alejo took out his magic purse to test it before his friends.

"Friends," said Alejo, now somewhat drunk, "watch my purse!" at the same time pronouncing the words "Sopot, ua-ua sopot!" Then showers of silver coins dropped on the floor. When the couple saw this wonder, they thought at once that their friend was a magician. They coveted the purse. So they amused Alejo, gave him glass after glass of wine—for he was a great drinker—until finally he was dead-drunk. At last he was overcome by drowsiness, and the couple promptly provided him with a bed.Just as he fell asleep, the wife stealthily untied the purse from Alejo's waist, and put in its place one of their own.

After a good nap of an hour or two, Alejo awoke. He thanked his friends for their kind reception and entertainment, and, after bidding them good-bye, went to his home. There he found his wife busy sewing by the fireside. He surprised her with his affectionate greeting. "My dear, lovely wife, be cheerful! Here I have found useful—a magic purse which will furnish us with money."

“O you, rogue!" she replied, "don't bother me with, your foolishness! How , You ever get anything useful? You are lying to me. “

“Believe me, my dear, I am telling the truth."

“All right; prove it to me at once."

“Call the children were called together, so they may also see what I have found.” When all the children were called together, Alejo asked the purse for money, just as the

old man had showed him how to ask; but no shower of coins dropped floor, for, as you know, it was not the magic purse. Barbara was so enraged that she stormed at him with all the bitter words that can be imagined, and drove him from the house. Alejo was a tender-hearted, if lazy husband, and it never occurred to him to beat his wife in turn. In fact, he loved her and his children very much.

He wandered away again in the direction of the place where he had met the old humpback. Here he found the old man who said to him, "Where are you going, Alejo?"

"Guiloy, your purse did not prove to be any good."

"Well, take this goat home with you. It will give you money if you ask for it. Whenever you want any money, just say these words: "Canding, pag coroquinanding!"

Alejo gladly accepted the goat, and set out for home again. Again he passed by his friend's house. There he stopped, and they entertained him as before: they drank, danced, and sang. Alejo told them about the virtues of his magic goat when he was feeling in a jovial mood. After his nap, Alejo started home, his goat flung over his shoulder; but again, when he tried to demonstrate to his wife the magic powers of the goat, the animal did nothing, but stood looking as foolish as before Alejo spoke the words the old man had taught him. Barbara was more angry than ever, and, after railing at her husband, would have nothing more to do with him.

Alejo immediately left home to find the old man again. In short time he met him. "How now, Alejo? What's the matter?"

"Your magic goat would not obey the command," said Alejo

"Try this table, then," said the old man. "It will provide you with all kinds of delicious food and drink. Just say, "Tende la mesa!" and all kinds of foods will be served you."

Thanking the old man and bidding him good-bye, Alejo shouldered, was magic table and left. He was invited into his friend's house as before, and, was entertained by the deceitful couple. Alejo imparted to them the secret of his table. "Tende la mesa!" he said and in the wink of an eye every kind of food you could wish for appeared on the table. They ate, and drank wine. Again trick Alejo drank so much, that soon he was asleep, and again the false couple played a trick on him: they exchanged his magic table for a common one of their own. When Alejo woke up, he hastened to his own home, carrying the table on his shoulder. He called his wife, and assured her that the table would provide them with every variety of food. Now, this was indeed good news to Barbara, so she called all their children about them. When every one was seated about the table.' Alejo exclaimed, "Tende la mesa!" ... You cannot imagine what pinches, what whips Alejo received from his wife's hands when not even a single grain of rice appeared on the table.

Alejo now felt greatly ashamed before his wife. He wondered why it was that when before his friends' eyes the purse, the goat, and the table displayed their magic properties, but they failed to display them before his wife. However, he did not give up hope. He immediately set out to seek the old man again. After a long wandering through the same woods and hills and along river-banks, he came to the place where he usually met him.

"Did the table prove good?" said the old man.

"No, Guiloy; so I have come here again."

"Well, Alejo," said the old man, "I pity you, indeed. Take this cane as my last gift. Be very careful in using it for I have no other object to give you. The secret of this cane is this: if somebody has done you wrong, say to the cane, “Baston, pamordon!” and then it will lash that person. There are no princess, kings, or emperors that it will not punish."

Taking the cane and thanking the old man, Alejo hastily returned home. This time, when he reached the village, he did not pass by his friends' house, but went directly home. He told his wife to go call in all their friends, relatives, and neighbors, for they were going to have a sort of banquet. At first Barbara was unwilling to do so, because she remembered how she had been deceived before; but at last Alejo persuaded her to do as he wished.

When all their friends, relatives, and neighbors were gathered in his house, Alejo shut all the doors and even the windows. Then he shouted to his magic cane, "Baston, pamordon!" and it at once began to lash all the people in the house, throwing them into great confusion. At last Alejo's two friends, the deceitful couple, exclaimed almost in one voice, "Compadre, please stop, and we will give you back your magic purse, goat, and table." When Alejo heard them say this, he was filled with joy, and commanded the cane to cease.

That very day the magic purse, goat, and table were returned to him by his compadre and comadre, and now Barbara realized that her husband's wandering had been profitable. The husband and wife became rich, and they lived many happy years together.

Source: Eugenio, D.L. (2001).The Indolent Husband. In The Folktales. (1st Edition, Vol. 4, pp.160-163). University of the Philippines Press.

#bicol folklore

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alcalavicci · 4 years

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(Disclaimer: Treat 1950s articles like they’re RPF/fanfiction)

Photoplay- December 1959

Millie Perkins engaged to Dean Stockwell: SHE NO LONGER HAS TO PRETEND

By Jane Ardmore

Millie Perkins is an ordinary enough name. Millie Perkins was an ordinary enough girl until January of 1958, when - against odds of 10,233 to 1 - she won the role of Anne Frank. She'd only tried for the part when 20th Century-Fox insisted she at least TRY. She hadn't wanted to be an actress, and she didn't care if she won or not. But she had won, and in February she'd gone to Hollywood.

With only one suitcase, she'd stepped off the train. A thin girl in a rumpled blouse and skirt, with dark knee-socks, she'd peered nervously and near-sightedly around her. There were so many people hurrying around the station; so many strangers - and they all seemed to know exactly where they were going. She wondered if she'd ever know just where she was going. What am I doing here? she asked herself. She didn't know what it all meant - what it would mean. And, of course, she had no idea that here was where she would find herself as a person, that here was where she'd finally find love . . .

Later that day, as she ran across the studio lot to have her first stills taken she felt even more bewildered. "Bring six changes," the voice on the telephone had said, and Millie'd laughed nervously to herself. Since she'd just arrived on the Coast that morning, she didn't HAVE six changes. So she was going, dressed just as she'd been on the train that morning - in her white blouse, her favorite ribbed wool socks, and a loose-fitting green corduroy jacket.

It was a clear gray day with a gentle wind and a hint of rain, that made her think wistfully of home in Fairlawn, New Jersey. In a day like this, she would lean out of her bedroom window and see the birch and maple trees, the Chinese fruit trees, and watch the breeze ruffling the branches. There was always so much going on at home, she thought nostalgically, and she was always a part of it. She remembered how her sisters - Janet, Christine, Anne Marie, and Cathy - were always cooking and sewing, how someone was always at the phone or the piano. She remembered, with affection, all the excitement when Papa, who was a first mate with Bull Lines, came home from sea - all of them rushing to welcome him.

But the sky was higher here, there was no scent of fruit, and she was running between great square cream-colored concrete barns she'd been told were sound stages. Hollywood! And she was alone for the first time in her life.

"Hi, Millie! Been to wardrobe already? You look pretty good in those Anne Frank clothes!" It was George Stevens Jr., the associate producer, a nice-looking fellow with a friendly smile, who'd hailed her and was now falling into step beside her.

She smiled impishly at him. "These aren't Anne's clothes, they're mine. They're the kind I always wore in New York."

He looked at her in surprise. "But you were a top model, Millie!"

"That doesn't mean I wore fancy clothes. The photographers were only interested in my face." It was only an accident she'd been a model anyway, she remembered. A friend of Christine's had taken some pictures of her one night, and sent them to a modeling agency. And from then on, she'd been one of New York's busiest models. "I didn't like modeling too much," she went on, beginning to feel very much at home with George. "It was too hectic. I need some quiet" - she tried to explain - "I like to know who I am."

"And you've come to Hollywood!"

The exclamation hung in the air.

"I must stop in make-up," she said softly, running away from George Stevens Jr., who belonged here and wasn't a bit afraid.

She edged into the room so quietly, no one heard her.

"Hello, Mr. Nye," she blurted out, climbing quickly into the high leather chair as if she were about to have a tooth pulled. Ben Nye, the make-up man, studied her for a moment. Dark hair pulled back and tucked out of the way, enormous gray-green eyes, thick black lashes, and a small, pink mouth.

She eyed herself uncertainly in the mirror. IF HE TRIES TO MAKE ME LOOK GLAMOROUS, I'LL JUST LOOK SILLY, she thought in dismay.

But she was relieved at the appearance of director George Stevens in the mirror beside her. A big man with a quiet voice; he made her feel at ease. "She looks just fine, Ben," Mr. Stevens said. "We picked Millie, in the first place, because she looks like a fourteen-year-old girl." Then, turning to her, he said, "Leave your hair down for the cocktail party, Millie. When we start rehearsing, we can try it both ways."

The cocktail party! She didn't know how she'd get through it. She stood there next to Mr. Stevens. He had invited all the press to meet her. And what on earth could she ever say to them?

The press began asking questions. She found the first question easy. "No, I'm not at all sure I want to stay in Hollywood. In fact, I'm not at all sure I want to be an actress." Everyone laughed. This disturbed her. She wondered whether she should have said it.

March: I'll never be able to act, Millie thought despairingly. She virtually lived on the set these days.

"You have expressive hands, Millie, wonderful hands," Joseph Schildkraut told her one morning. The great Schildkraut! she thought. And for the next few days she was so self-conscious of her hands, that she didn't use them at all but held both arms awkwardly straight at her sides.

Ed Wynn helped. He'd take her and Diane Baker and Dick Beymer aside and tell them stories, funny stories, while Nina Foch talked of such mysterious new things as calisthenics, relaxation, and control. "Control, technique," she would say in her beautiful voice, "is what frees the little angel in each actor to express freely." But Millie would only feel all the more lost and bewildered and answer: "But I'm not an actress."

"Every girl is an actress," Director Stevens would tell her. "She's just got to loosen up and perform."

So she'd try. But after long, hard hours of rehearsal, she'd cry exasperated, "I can't even get across the room without bumping into a chair. I'm just a CATASTROPHE."

"You're not fat enough to be a catastrophe," Stevens would answer genially.

But still the feeling persisted. She felt like a scared little girl when she started the scene with Dick Beymer - the one in which she was to ask him if he'd ever been kissed. But she was surprised. The scene wasn't so hard. She could understand the part . . after all she was a teenager herself and she'd dreamed about romance just as every girl did. She relaxed a little more, too, when she found Dick Beymer was almost as scared as she was.

The day George Stevens took the crew in to watch the rushes, she'd been in agony, wishing that she could do each scene over again! She'd sat unhappily through the discussion of the scenes. Then she'd walked away from the projection room fast, eager to get home and get away from it all.

"Hi, Garbo," George Jr. called out, slowing down his car and opening the door. "Come on, I'll take you home."

She slid into the front seat, fighting back tears.

"You're coming along, you know," he said sincerely. "Really beginning to unfold."

She looked at him gratefully. He'd been such a good friend to her. He makes me forget all my problems, she thought.

April: I'm so lonesome and homesick, Millie thought achingly. It was a Wednesday evening in early April, and she'd curled up in a big chair with "The Sea Around Us." Her hair was in curlers and she still had cream on her face and her dinner was cooking in the kitchen. But she couldn't put Anne Frank out of her mind.

It's the old problem again, she said to herself. She knew that she wasn't a good actress yet. Director Stevens had been patient. He was saving the big scenes, she knew that, waiting for her to grow to them. But would she be able to? There was one scene she'd dreaded most of all - one with Ed Wynn - where, because of her hate and resentment toward him, she had to fight and cry. Hardest of all, it was to cry. She had tried it so often, but the tears wouldn't come. Should she try it again?

She got up and got the script from her bedroom. A letter from her father fell out from between the pages. Slowly, she picked it up and sat down again, re-reading the words for the dozenth time.

"Millie, if you can't eat a great deal, at least sleep," Papa'd written worriedly. These were the first letters she'd ever received just for herself from Papa. Always before, he'd written to Mama, with a line or so to each child. But now he was writing to her as if she were all grown-up.

He'd tell her how the stevedores were so interested in her career, bringing him the news items they'd find in the papers, and that he'd seen her picture in a magazine in the Honduras. And always news of the family that she was so hungry for. News about Janet and the four children in Georgia and about Christine's marriage and about how delighted Anne Marie was about expecting a baby. He'd write that Cathy wondered how it felt to be a movie star. And he'd tell her that Jimmie was going around pretending that he wasn't a bit impressed that his sister Millie was acting in a movie - even though he was secretly so proud of her.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts.

"Who in the world knows where I live?" she said half-aloud. Then seeing her face in the mirror, she realized she still had the curlers in her hair and the cream on her face. She couldn't answer the door looking like this. But the bell rang again. She had no time to fix up.

"Millie, we want your autograph," they chorused - a dozen teenagers, bubbling with good spirits.

"How about a picture, Millie?" one ponytailed, blonde girl asked her, holding up a camera.

"Looking like this?" she gasped, pointing to the curlers. They laughed, too, at this. She wrote her name in each book, and with choruses of goodbyes, they left her.

Closing the door, she leaned against it. They'd asked her for her autograph. They thought she was somebody. They believed in her. She couldn't let them down now.

Settling down in the chair again, with the script-book in front of her, she thought, They'll never know how much they've helped me. Then, through eyes misted with tears, she started to read again, the beginning words of the scene.

And the next day, she played the scene almost easily. George Stevens told her she was fine, so did Joseph Schildkraut, and Nina Foch said, "Why don't you come home to my apartment for dinner? I feel like spending the evening with a few people I especially like."

Millie started to shake her head. The only times she REALLY wanted to go out, was when nobody asked her, and she was all by herself at home. But then she caught a look of disappointment in Nina's face, and she said, "I'd love to."

It was a very small, spur-of-the-moment supper party, but still Millie felt a little awkward, a little shy. She ate, and a moment later she couldn't have told herself what she'd eaten. Then, after dinner, a boy she'd noticed across the room, came over to her and smiled. "Hello," he said, "I'm Dean Stockwell."

"I'm Millie Perkins."

"I know." His voice was very soft, very low.

Why, I think he's shy, she thought, looking at him and wondering why. Because, certainly, he was very handsome. She had recognized him – he was a "little person," as she called someone without pretensions, someone simple and open and direct - and almost as quiet as she herself was. I LIKE him, she decided, I really do.

But then the party was over and the night was over and she was back at work on the set, working as hard as she knew how to get Anne just right - to BE Anne. She almost forgot about the quiet, dark boy she'd met the night before.

But he hadn't forgotten her. She was washing her hair under the faucet, when she thought she heard the phone ring. Why does the phone ALWAYS ring at times like this? she wondered, as she lifted her head to listen. It was the phone, all right.

Wrapping a towel around her hair - with the shampoo still in it – she walked over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she said.

"Hello! Isn't it a lovely day? I thought you mightn't be home at first, when you didn't answer right off. This is Dean Stockwell."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say, and so neither one of them said anything for some moments.

Then: "Would you like to go for a drive?"

"A drive? Why - why, I think I'd like that," she said. "But you'd better not come for an hour or so. I can't be ready till then." And she added quickly, "I've just washed my hair, you see," so that he wouldn't think she was one of those girls who primped and everything.

And so they drove off into the Hollywood hills, looking for signs of spring. It was a lovely afternoon. It was the first time Millie had really been happy in Hollywood, and after she was home alone again, she wondered why she'd been so happy.

Maybe it's because he's so quiet, so nice. Or maybe it's because music seems to be one of the biggest things in his life; music and books and nature. Then looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. Maybe it's because he's like me, she admitted, and she smiled even more.

#stockwell sassies #article

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moshfeghpilled · 7 years

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February: The fall starts easy. I took baby aspirin, and a rusty spoon to my head, and smoked the stale weed my brother left in a broken vase before he left for college. Night comes fast, and tells the creation story. I ignore her this time. I don’t give a fuck about how I was made anymore tell me how I fall apart. March: Nobody can ever find the raw spot on their leg until they start itching. I remember 6th grade when the mosquito bit my calf. Larvae and laps on the soccer field in early spring. He is oozing into my shoes with the mud. April: My mother buried my rusty spoon, and took my brown hands. the clothesline was dripping carbonated orange soda sun, the wind was soft, the mice were sleeping warm beneath the floorboards; she spread my tarot on the floor with the forever broken and gnarled thumb she stuck in a blender when she was 5. That spring I walked home alone some nights, the heatwaves followed me like the labored breath of drunk men who don’t take no for an answer, I turned over The Devil and someone dropped a wine glass next door, she gasped, white eyes, the mice began to scrape and scream, the heatwave killed their children like it split my shoulders open and ate the youth inside. May: The month of falling out of trees, junior high was gonna shipwreck any day now. There is a fast food place where the milkshakes taste like cough syrup and the skater kids cheat death on 3 feet of concrete stairs. There is a crack in the sidewalk in front of it, and he kick flips on it to break the back of the mother who left him at 13, he breeds violence between his fraying vans and then something in his ankle snaps, my oxygen goes tar black. He bleeds, he. Makes this sound. Like a dog when you step on its foot. I want to hold him, put a butterfly on his cheek, give him a band aid, something, God, something. He looks like he’s in pain. I want to. I don’t know. Help. I walk away trembling and put my head between my knees behind a dumpster full of shitty milkshakes. June: The neighbors fuck like rabbits while I’m trying to cry to joy division. I pray for a lightning strike. This type of poetry is for pretty girls, anyway. July: my birthday flies into the glass of my bedroom window and breaks its neck. mom said the only things you can grow in summer that won’t die are grapefruit and hair, and I made a garden, I cut my chest open for Demeter each full moon. These locks were watered with gulf stream sea spray. I fed them bludgeoned daydreams. I threw my head against church doors trying to send Jesus some red flowers for his funeral, or maybe his birthday, doesn’t really matter, we celebrate both. August: I got kicked out of high school knocking myself out on my desk. People carved hearts into the enamel, I carved my heart out of my chest and turned it in for my midterm. I slam dunked my skull into the bleachers on game day, and when the bleachers fell, into my history textbook, and when the book was mushy with blood, into the track field. I’m grinning ugly, dancing to the 80’s synth in an empty gym after homecoming, with a nosebleed dripping love songs down my yellow teeth, like words on old gravestones: here lies a moontoothed lover who will never rest in peace, every night she claws her grave and hears the call of western waves. September: I’m high on concussion flavored car races in a stolen low rider, bluebirds fly in circles around my head after we crash, I wrote a song on a 5 dollar bill called blunt force trauma and it is about skater boys with broken noses, snarls of shaggy Jew fro his friends make fun of, and hands. that graze los angeles highways while he rides asphalt waves, slam his locker, and give the finger to the education system he keeps tripping over like untied shoelaces. he pricks those hands sewing together the lackluster parties private school kids throw. he puts his dewy rose bud lips to the jack daniels bottle, and kicks the drum kit over, gives it mouth to mouth, pump his fists into someone’s chest, gives it a pulse again. hands big enough to steal grapefruit with, the size of my swollen heart. I didn’t know it could get that big but he bumped into me, buzzing like a light saber, sky walking out of the grocery store with a grapefruit. with my heart. October: do you have a girl do you? have a lover? Jupiter is orbiting around whatever this emotion is called, the rollercoaster one. when you look at me. We spend Halloween turning into werewolves at the library, you were moshing in the kids section, bleaching your hair in punk rock, I was banging my bruised and knuckleheaded love poems into a paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet, brushing my hair with broken glass. That was the first day the blood on our hands was not our own, she shushed us and we laughed. High on Shakespeare and Jupiter gas, we dug our fangs into the dewy decimal system. You ask me my name, I tell you, you smile. We had matching bruises and I floated home. November: You make me. Feel. You make me feel like I can speak to snakes. You make me feel like my hips have a purpose besides balancing bins of laundry, and bowls of fruit. You make 17 stop feeling like a suicide note no one will read. you make me banshee scream and lick like fire against young pines, when you. dance. when you. kiss her, let her ride your double dutch hips, and your skateboard. She is a new coin, tangy on his numb tongue, and he tucks her in his pocket, his lucky penny. I’m the bubblegum he scrapes off his sneakers and throws into a storm drain. December: I still cower into my pillow and smile a crooked smile, and go red at the cheeks, you. You put the red in my cheeks. I’m here, I’m exploding, why can’t you see me? Just put the bottle down, take your hand from your eyes, I won’t ask you what happened to your face, or how you got that scar, I will just like you and like you. we can buy angels wings in Hollywood, make an apartment out of crumpled homework pages at the bottoms of our dirty backpacks, we can drop out of high school, I will like you and dissect your sadness like frogs in freshman biology I am used to the rotting smell in your ribcage, I reek of it too. I will like you. until I know how to love you. January: I switch schools, I cut my hair, bleach what little is left. It makes my mother unhappy, she thinks my spirit world is severing ties, she thinks my planets are discordant. I ask somebody back home about him, she says he dropped out and started working on cars. I come down. Softly. February (again, again, again): He was born to a rabbi and a beauty queen. I was born to a chemist, and a witch. Ammonia, bleach. Don’t mix them unless you want someone to die. Blood, adolescence, summer saltwater. Don’t mix them unless you want to make somebody wish they were dead.

2. a crush. and nothing more.

#writing

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pumpkinmaster999 · 4 years

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Cave City

By Jess Awh

On Christmas Day in 2003 I flew into a fit of rage, over what I can’t remember, and cut a sizeable chunk out of the goose. My older brother quickly alerted my mother to the fact I was wielding scissors, which I’d scaled the kitchen counter to obtain, and she wrenched them from my hand with frightful anger in her eyes before whisking the goose away, cradled in her arms, to be patched. They were Madonna and child: she was aflame, tawny blonde hair flying out of her ponytail. The goose stared at me from its haven with little button eyes that loomed out of its sleek green velvet head like individual living creatures.

It had been a preemptive strike. I had to bring that goose to its knees before it had the chance to cut my loved ones down. The goose was retired the next Christmas after a clandestine incident of strangling left its curved neck hanging limp, empty of stuffing.

Ten years later I was fifteen, and for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary I broke out my mother’s sewing kit. The goose had come to me on the previous Thanksgiving, much to my chagrin. It must’ve been with my cousin Steve before then because after everyone had left, I went to vacuum behind the couch he’d been sleeping on and there it was: wedged next to the wall, staring with its one remaining lifeless beetle eye and waving with its one remaining white embroidered wing. Fuck you, Steve, I muttered as I wrenched it free. I set it on the living room floor and slumped onto the couch, at which point we just sort of looked at each other for a minute as if neither of us knew what to do or say. According to tradition, I’d have to find a way to covertly dump the goose on somebody else without them noticing at the next family gathering. Until then, we’d be in each other’s way.

However, seeing as I had dedicated my life to the destruction of stasis in the moment I first removed a chunk from the goose, I shouldered a pair of scissors once again (plus a needle and thread) to realign its neck, replace its eye, and adorn it with pearls and a miniature wedding veil. When we presented it to my grandmother (the one who originally sewed the goose) at the anniversary party, she nearly cried. I was prepared to feel a twinge of affection for it on that day, like a thumbtack in the bottom of my heart, but it never came.

When I was two or three I was able to ride the goose’s back like a rocking horse. At that time it had a red and green ribbon around its neck (the Christmas goose). There are four important landmarks on the leg of I-65 that stretches north from Nashville.

A blackened barn in a barren field that reads, in large crudely painted white letters, “NICEST BATHROOMS ON I-65 NEXT EXIT.” I have never seen the bathrooms because they’re south of Bowling Green and because the barn exudes a concerning energy which almost seems to lock my hand in place if I try to turn the wheel and get on that ramp.

A larger-than-life statue of a milking cow in a flatbed truck parked (precariously) on an overlook west of the highway.

Cave City.

An old red brick farmhouse with a high-ceilinged front porch. Its only neighbor is one tree that’s been blackened and stripped by lightning. My grandmother calls those “bone trees.” Driving from Nashville to Louisville with my third boyfriend, I used to point out that house every time we passed and say “I like that house,” and then I’d say “bone tree,” which is how it quietly became a landmark.

The goose is not good company, but silent company, at least. I like that no one’s asking me where we’re going or why as I careen down I-65 at an alarming speed. I’m driving to Cave City the way a blind man walks from his bedroom to his kitchen— my hands know the route better than my mind does. If I thought about my whereabouts too hard I’d probably have to open a map. It’s like having a dead body in the truck, I think, glancing over at the goose. Not as if I’m a murderer, though; as if I’m used to driving a hearse after a decades-long career of doing so and I sit in comfortable silence with the body, imagining a mild camaraderie, imagining that our quality time will open the buds of kinship one by one into blossoms that adorn our bodies. I’ve only been in a funeral procession once, in Louisville. On that day I learned that cars don’t pull over for funeral processions in every city the way they do in the South, and thus, sometimes part of the ceremony is waiting in traffic. On that day I stopped in Cave City twice. Driving today, I am glad to have the goose in the truck with me rather than a flock of my third boyfriend’s aunts mourning the death of their mother.

I’m driving to Cave City for a different reason than usual. Typically, one stops in Cave City because it’s north of Bowling Green and south of E-town. E-town is a crooked place. A haven only for darkness and pirate-like individuals. Its aura is different from NICEST BATHROOMS, however—different enough that I sometimes find myself stopping there. In late summer the year I turned eighteen I hitched a ride from Albany, Wisconsin back down to Tennessee in a little red car with a man named Joseph Allred. That was one of the times I ended up in E-town. We stopped for gas around nine p.m., and he walked out of the Circle K as I was sitting on the hood of the car smoking a cigarette, hiding from the deep water blue of the nighttime around us in the lemon glow of a streetlamp. He said “it’s been a long time since an angsty teenage girl last sat on the hood of my car smoking a cigarette,” which was a longer sentence than he’d said to me in the entire day of driving. Then he handed me the body of a black swallowtail butterfly we had found fluttering by the pump.

Circle K is one of those places where you can almost touch someone, or you can glimpse what it might feel like to touch that person, but only for the brief interval of a lightning strike.

In childhood I was plagued by an unintentional vagrant’s longing for completeness. My mother often tells the story of the day I found out my heart wasn’t situated in the middle of my chest, behind the soft spot that lies where my lowermost ribs might’ve intersected. I cried and cried—I was inconsolable. For six years after that, I diligently forgot the existence of my body. Then, one day, a handshake from a boy who was elected along with me to fifth grade student council returned me to my form and brought back all of the imperfection.

Driving to Cave City now I am listening to a radio program in which the host asks each of his callers: “what is the most romantic thing that ever happened to you?” One lady says her boyfriend drove from Chicago to New York City to surprise her on Valentine’s day and picked her up at Port Authority in the middle of the night. Somebody says their wife surprised them with a moonlit picnic on the riverbank where they got engaged. One night when I was fifteen, I was standing with my first boyfriend on the bridge over Graffiti Creek down the road from a house party our friend Gustavo was throwing when my ring fell off my finger and dropped in the water. I exclaimed in dismay, but soon after tried to convince him it was no big deal—he jumped in regardless, soaking his sneakers and trouser legs to retrieve what, in the end, had been a green aluminum band from the 25 cent prize machine at the laser tag arcade downtown. The bruise-like stain it left on my finger was as sweet a reminder as the warmth in the memory of his lips on mine that night. I think of calling the radio station to say this as I drive past the statue of the milking cow, but I can’t figure out a way to distill the story into one sentence. I decide it’ll be better off living and dying in the privacy of my own head.

Dave Blaskey. People used to tell me he looked like a basset hound. I was hit with a swing one night that year when we were all getting drunk at the Dragon Park playground—blood blossomed out of my forehead like a red ribbon unfolding, right from the center. There’s a photo of it somewhere. We broke up the next day and it was the only time I’ve ever been dumped. I was too embarrassed to ask why, so I pretended to be unfazed, but I spent the next month canceling plans to sit around at home with a band-aid on my face listening to Chet Baker Sings and throwing little rocks at a picture of Kris Kristofferson taped to my wall. I’m so glad I am not like that now. My heart has never been broken again. There are a few other places like Cave City; I have them marked out in my brain like a little map.

Horseheads. It’s somewhere between New York City and Rochester. The only things in that town are a motel that looks straight out of Lolita, an abandoned strip mall with no signage, and a gas station with a huge old coal engine out back lying on its side. All the trees there are bone trees.

The Belvedere Oasis. Somewhere between Albany and Chicago. An oasis is like if a mall fucked a rest stop and they had a fucked up baby that you can only access from the highway. Every time I stop at the Belvedere Oasis I happen to have a ridiculous amount of stuff in the back of the truck. Last time it was this big aluminum tub with a wheelbarrow and a broken porch swing in it. The parking lot is indescribably vast, like the surface of an artificial moon. When I stop there I always make sure to get an Orange Julius (which I never finish).

…

These are places I wish I could take the goose to. I want it to see them, maybe as a kind of apology. Maybe I’m trying to make amends. Alas, today I can only drive us as far as Cave City. I have a job, of course, and other random shit to do, so it isn’t too often anymore that I get one of these question mark days that prods you with its emptiness to undertake a mission that lies rotting in the corner of your own heart.

I’m driving to Cave City the way a married couple talks about going on a second honeymoon while sitting in the living room of their comfy brick house having coffee and listening to the thunder and smiling at their dog. I guess what I mean is I am loving myself quietly from opposite ends of the couch. I’m not saying I’m never going to get there—I probably will. The goose and I are up past Bowling Green when I decide to pull off the road and park on a strip of gravel. The two of us get out and go sit in the back of the truck for a minute, admiring a barn. It’s around suppertime now and the sky is the color of a cotton candy Philly Swirl popsicle, warm blush and ice blue and glittering with a tinge of frost that appears to be floating down slowly onto the grass. There are baby birds chirping in a bush. I fool with the cuff of my sweatshirt where it’s sort of coming apart into little strings. The world looks so fucking impossible I almost expect to see languid fish gliding around in the sky, flame swallowing the barn like a pyre on a raft drifting out into the center of the grassy lake. I’m starting to believe that a tree is still a tree if it’s a bone tree, and a goose is still a goose.

Dinosaur world. The only other location is in a town called Plant City in Florida, funnily enough. There’s a large fake tyrannosaurus rex standing proudly by the side of I-65, accompanied by a sign that says “DINOSAUR WORLD! EXIT NOW!” And that’s how you know you’re near Cave City.

Guntown Mountain. I guess it’s a giant warehouse firearm retailer. I’ve only seen it from a distance because it’s up on a hill overlooking Cave City like a fortress holding Cave City’s protective god. Or its oracle, or its talisman.

The general store with a big yellow sign. The man at the counter wears an eyepatch and looks sort of like a goat that’s about to kick the shit out of you, but he’s kind and sells beautiful tobacco pipes.

We get back in the truck.

#short fiction

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morfiction · 4 years

Text

Is this a better beginning?

ON THE ROAD

Bleach stood at the side of long, paved road which winded its way from the west to the far eastern horizon. He held his hand out with his thump up and waved it while he looked expectantly to either side. He was hitching a ride, something Grampah warned him against never, ever, doing. When Bleach asked him what it was, Grampah showed him how.

Sometimes, adults were funny that way. That you were always told not to do something, but they did it anyway. Grampah could of hitched a ride lots of times, but he never did. So far, Grampah needn't worry; nobody was coming, anyway.

Funny how somebody built this road and they never used it. I wonder why? How could this road possibly be here and not be used?

Could they perhaps not know it was here? That would be impossible!

As he thought these things, he walked. The ground beneath his feet is hard and firm, radiating a mysterious heat through the thin soles of his shoes. He liked the feel of it, a complete contrast to the soft, wet grass and filthy mud which drastically changed with each foot step. The road is resolute. It goes straight ahead and around a corner, exactly where he's headed. He knows not who put it here and for what purpose is completely inconceivable to him. He stared at his feet, marveling at how they moved. One foot lifted itself from the ground, moved forward, lowered itself to the ground, and the other advanced ahead of its brother. Right foot forward, left, right, left, right... He envied them, they knew how to walk. He knew nothing, but they knew how to walk. He looked ahead of himself to see where his smart feet were taking him. He stopped.

After waiting a full hour, he sits down in frustration and slowly falls asleep. He lies there, undisturbed, in a dreamless slumber. He begins to snore.

Much later, he begins to have nightmares. He dreams that Grinlab climbs out of the gaping mouth of the volcanic mountain, Devalcrag, and stares down at him menacingly. The little creature which had shot at him while he sleeps now dances about his feet, about the size of an insect, and stabs him continually in the ankle with a sword the size of sewing needle. He stomps it with his bare foot and the giant does the same to him.

He wakes with a start and hears the same chugging, whistling, popping sound he had heard the day his mother died coming from the west. He looks that way and sees a cloud of dust and glint of steel, coming closer every second. He jumps behind a boulder and hides.

He peeked out from behind the rock and saw an eccentric looking old man in peculiar clothes pull up in a bizarre, metallic vehicle. He slowed down to a crawl and called out in a voice has somehow gaspy, friendly, and, some how, as Grampah used to put it, with A-MAN-OF-THE-WORLD's tone ("I've been all over the world, and, boy, the tales I can tell...") all wrapped into one, "Hey, you there! Hop in the wagon and you climb in front with if you want a ride! I can't spot this damned thing on a dime, y'know!!!"

Well, almost.

Bleach did as he was told. At least, the man did gasp. And with good reason: a miniature chimney was attached to the front of his contraption and it gave off grayish-black smoke which blew directly in his face. He decided to trust the guy. Surely, somebody as peculiar as this couldn't be of any harm to associate with. Could he? He shouldered his backpack by both straps and jogged alongside of the wagon and leapt in. He landed heavily on a large pile of coal which filled the wagon halfway. This must be the power source, he thought. The wagon was hitched to the back of the odd machine by a short length of chain. Bleach hopped over that gap lightly and landed on the seat right next to the old man.

"Graceful, ain't 'cha?" the old man asked almost casually. He wore a leather aviator's cap with his white hair protruding out the front over his fore head like a small fan. Because of the exhaust, his hair was almost black at the tips and his bushy side burns were white. His face was creased in many places and he had crow's feet around his eyes, which made him look very old, but the eyes themselves were bluer and more lucid than those of any one any fraction of his age could possibly be. Worldly. Like Grampah, we wore horn-rimmed glasses with wire frames, which occasionally got all sooty so he had to clean them with a dirty handkerchief while he drove with his elbows---which he was doing at the moment.

He wore a red-and-white, candy cane-striped scarf which he wrapped around his neck twice and flapped in the breeze. Besides these things, his dress was not too different than that of the common blacksmith, complete with brown apron with the pockets filled with tools. He wore a leather belt which was buckled over top of the apron he had a pair of utilitarian boots which have appeared to have been torn and repaired and then torn again a great deal times, considering the various stitches on them.

The man held out a gloved hand, his left, and shook Bleach's from across his body. "My name's Athens Ford. And this, my friend is My Marvelous Machine. I invented it. I'm going to display it at the circus. What do you think, my lad? Isn't just a simply wonderful machine?" Athens smiled with teeth whiter and straighter than Bleach would expected in the mouth of such and old man. A little spark of light glinted off of one tooth, creating a peculiar sense of goodwill, actually making the smile seem even more benevolent than it otherwise would of been. Then, Athens upper row of teeth popped out of his mouth and fell in his lap. Bleach blinked. Where there had been healthy teeth a second ago, there was only pink gums in Athen's open mouth. "Oops!" said the toothless old man. He plucked his teeth out of his lap, blew on the them to get the crud off which might of accumulated on them, and put them back in his mouth. "Sorry. It's these dang dentures of mine! They keep falling out!"

Bleach was astonished. At first, he had been absolutely terrified by the sound of the oncoming machine. He had thought that the malevolent machine which had killed his mother and all of the trees in the Forest of Tears so many years ago had finally returned to finish the job by killing him, too. Then, he saw this strange little man roll by in this thing which he calls his "Marvelous Machine" and he could only wonder what else could possibly happen to him. The machine at first resembled a wagon or a horseless carriage made out of steel and other metals, with large, wooden cartwheels which were three or four feet in diameter and were just as tall as his hip. The seat which they sat abreast of each other on was comfortable and well-padded, in fact, it was actually and old sofa which was bolted down by the feet to keep it in place. Athens steered it with a "wheel" made out of the iron loop of a barrel and wore tough, leather gloves to protect his hands from getting cut by any sharp edges he hadn't already sanded out. The workmanship was admirable, although it was by no means perfect. Here and there, along the body, there were dents from a misplaced swing of a hammer. It was painted a noxious shade of green, almost florescent, and, along the sides, "MARVELOUS MACHINE" was written in bright yellow. On the hood, a large stencil of three balloons (one blue, a red one, and the last was purple) were drawn with their strings tied together and held in a disembodied hand. To the right of the balloon-holding hand, there was a clown's smiling face with gaudy make-up on it and it wore an orange wig.

Athens Ford was obviously a very pretentious man. Having gotten the idea of taking his invention to be shown off at a circus, he had gone to the trouble of actually making it looked it already was part of one. If he had been rejected by the circus's manager, Bleach had the feeling that he might continue to stubbornly insist that they needed him, that, after a while, they would come to him and beg on their hands and knees for forgiveness and so on until the poor man finally knuckled under and let Athens join up just so that he'd shut up about his damned machine's potential for earning the circus money. He had to admit, Athens could be just as tenacious at bartering with those show biz types, may even more so, as he'd expected him to be.

Athens was saying, "---do you really like it? I modeled after the Little Engine that could. All my life, no matter what task had been set before me, I tackled it with the same determination and courage as that danged little sucker in my favorite story. He'd always say, `I think I can, I think I can,' and, you know what? He did! If you think you can do something, you will. If you don't, you won't. All ya gotta do is try!" He smiled again, this time with only his lips so his teeth wouldn't fall out again. After a second, he showed a little bit of teeth, then returned his attention to the road ahead.

Bleach asked him, "How does it work?"

At that, Athens Ford stomped his foot hard on a pedal and threw back a metal lever. The Marvelous Machine all at once came to a screeching halt, and Bleach was thrown forward into the dashboard by the momentum. They hadn't been going too fast at all, but, if they were, he might of been tossed right out of his seat and collided head-first into the hot chimney and burned himself very badly. That was a close one!

"Why, I'll do better than tell you how it works, I'll show you! Come with me!" Athens jumped out of his seat onto the floor and landed as gingerly as a small child would of. Bleach did the same, but tripped on his own two feet and fell headlong into the dust. Athens was standing around the front of the vehicle, waving impatiently at Bleach in the manner of a child, eager to show a discovery to an adult, but too impatient for them to move in their own pace. In fact, the same impatience with which Bleach had acted with Granpa so long ago over the argument about a towel. Dismayed, Bleach pushes up off the floor and hobbles painfully around his side until he stands next to Athens.

Athens opens the hood of his car, revealing complex array of mechanics which would take a child as young Bleach or an old man like his grandfather a great deal of curmudegoning to understand. Athens points out the parts as he goes along. "This is a design of mine, the external combustion engine. I'm currently drawing up plans for an internal combustion engine, but I can't find the right materials to use. I once obtained a special elixir from a tradesman in Nistau who said that it was a nearly purified form of the stuff in the Black Tide. He said if I would invest in his wares, he may someday, with my help, find a way to actually purify that entire ocean's putrid toxins for abundant drinking water. Of course, that all was so much poppy cock, but I've found that the elixir is surprisingly flammable. Now, follow me. This engine is powered by two different cycles. First, I heat the water by burning the coal, the boiled water makes steam. Second, the steam passes through the turbines, creating motion.

"Of course, you can see that it would not be a very good idea if I kept boiling and boiling a great deal of water, over, and over, and over again. That would be all fine and dandy if I lived near a major body of water and always followed along it, but that would be both ridiculous and impossible as I've already said that there is none abundant enough for this task. In fact, most people get their water from cactus-es or reconstituted whatever. So, using the process of---" said Athens in a lecturing tone of voice used by many pompous and brilliant people alike. The question is, what is the difference?

"Distillation," said Bleach. When it came right down to it, he actually knew a great deal about how machines worked, after all. He knew of distillation because that was how the people in the City of Eden had kept the water in their bath house so pure, from distilled hot spring water.

"Right!" said Athens. He applauded Bleach, literally clapping his hands together. Not knowing what was expected of him, Bleach bowed. "This tube, here, leaves the engine after the vapor has passed through the turbines, then goes down, along the bottom of the car," said Athens, trailing the tubing exactly and even climbing underneath his contraption, "this prevent the steam from re-entering the engine immediately. It goes up here, into this chamber underneath the seat where it is cooled by a mechanical bellows. The bellows are powered by each rotation of the rear-left wheel, see? The liquid is then pumped back into the engine. I guess you could say that my design is almost as efficient as the human body. The bellows are beating heart, the water is the engine's life blood which is continually recycled throughout the cycle. No haste makes waste." Athens started to breath deeply, both because he'd talked himself hoarse and also because he could tell that Bleach needed some time to let this all sink in.

As a child, he had been anguished by the way mechanical giant Grinlab had destroyed first the Licanthos forest, then his own mother, with out even a trace of emotion. Its face showed no trace of the characteristics of a creature which had a conscience. It had worked its evil deeds without mercy or a moment of pause. If it had expressed pleasure, grinning insanely as it chopped its great ax into the flesh of each tree, he would of felt a touch of disgust as well as fear. If it had re-directed its fury on the millions of animals which it displaced from their homes and even then were attacking it on all sides to no avail, he would of also been outraged. As it was, Grinlab was oblivious to the misery it was causing to all of those living things. If it felt the slightest twinge of pain as the birds pecked at its knees or the lion's teeth upon its arms or coils of a boa constrictor around its neck, it didn't respond in the least bit.

Once, after it had been completely overrun by beasts so that, to Bleach, it looked as they were all posing for some odd living sculpture only a complete genius or a lunatic would conceive and only hope of accomplishing. A living heap of inhuman creatures, of the entirety of life besides our own, all writhing together in an orgy of ferocious violence as if they all planned to fight to death so that only one of them would stand victorious among a hideous slaughter to proclaim itself the rightful King of the Jungle. A bizarre thought, but, with that most inhuman and conscious-less mechanical wonder absolutely covered from head to toe by the beasts which attacked it, that was the only conclusion you could make. Then, every single creature screamed in agony and left of their prey, fleeing in every possible direction. Some died and fell in a lifeless pile around Grinlab and others were trampled to death by the escaping menagerie. When they all were gone, Grinlab stood there shining even brighter than the Suns themselves with an incandescent yellow light for a few seconds.

When it had finished, it spit out an crude, black liquid on the heap of corpses which was the exact color with which the entire then-blue Pax-Atlantic Ocean would become in a year's time. It sparked once more and all of those dead creatures were burned in a huge, ring-shaped bonfire with Grinlab standing in the middle with a expressionless face. Afterward, after the fires subsided, it plowed through a wall of ash and set back to its work as if nothing at all had happened. No counter-attack, no murder, nothing. As if it hadn't even stopped doing what it was doing all of this time to defend itself. Most of all, it didn't show any regret whatsoever.

If a machine could do all of these things, carry out a single-minded task such as destroy the Forest of Tears completely and indiscriminately and efficiently dispose of whatever obstacles stood in its way, then leave once it's mission had been completed; Bleach could accept such mindless destruction even though it had so traumatized the rest of his life. However, to sit here and find out that a man like Athens Ford, an inventor, could create such a thing in the name of science and discovery of their own potential for creating "life" out of something which never lived was too much. Sure, Athens probably didn't make that horrific thing which haunted his dreams with the murder of his own mother, but the facts still stated that he could of been. Could of made something like it and sold it to some insidious person who then sent it on such a destructive rampage. That was unthinkable. And unforgivable.

Then again, looking into the wonder-lust in the man's eyes which would of been more appropriate in a child of, well, Bleach's age or younger, rather than the spectacled eyes of a man perhaps sixty or eighty years old. It was a look which seemed fundamentally out of place but strangely reassuring in its presence. He was used to seeing older folk with a contented, happy look in their eyes and faces, who always seemed to be smiling confidently no matter what happened as if it had happened to them a million times before in earlier years and they were used to it.

He had even seen those of the perpetually ill or disadvantaged who always seemed to be in some kind of excruciating pain but were too proud to cry out in agony. Those people looked at him, with his youth and dependably functional body, with aether an odd measure of envy or mild disgust. Such health is wasted on the young, is a thought he perceived of them thinking each time he saw that particular look.

But, worst of all, he had seen the eyes of the tragically old and wretched. Their eyes were too glassy, too pathetic, the hound-dog expression a dog would use to beg of its master for a treat. There was no clarity in those people's eyes, just a lost, sad expression. As if no cognizant thoughts rattled inside their heads except endless rhetorical question for which they had long-ago forgotten the answers: Where am I? Who are those people? Who am I? What am I doing here? Why can't I remember anything? This was the way he had always perceived babies, but at least babies have their entire lives ahead of them while the elderly have lived their entire lives but have forgotten every nuance of them.

Even though Athens Ford looked old, he didn't act like it, and thus left the impression that he had never been old for a single second in his entire life. The same way Bleach was only a decade old, but acted way too mature for his age.

He had grown up quickly, during the course of five years, after his mother died. That was when he had lost the greatest piece of his faith in the world he lived in: the belief that his mother would always be there for him, no matter what happened or what he did to disappoint her. She had said all of that herself, with him sitting in her lap and enfolded in her loving arms as he cried and cried and cried. She said that when he was a baby and continued to say it every day, for five straight years. The last time she had said it was the morning before her death.

Bleach blinked a couple of times, rubbed the tears from his eyes, and saw Athens looking at him. Before he could speak, Athens winked an eye at him. He had no business knowing about what ails him so. Just a simple moment of nostalgia for things past. If he felt like talking about it, Athens would listen.

Bleach took a moment to collect himself, then spoke. "Alright, so you're saying that this thing is powered by steam, right? You just boil the water, then boil it again. So I assume this also eliminates the problem of having to carry around a cumbersome supply of fresh water whoever you go. All you have to drink is the distilled water which comes out of your machine, right?"

Athens took his cap off of his head and slapped it hard against one knee. "Well, yes'sir that's just about right! Except for the fact that, having gone through all that there dirty smoke, the dang water tastes so gawd-awful that I'd rather die of dehydration than drink the foul stuff. When making drinking water I make of point of getting a big kettle, fill that with water, then distill it with some tubes into pot sitting in nearby stream to cool it. Throw out the crud in the bottom of the kettle, then fill it back up with the same water. I distill it, screen out the impurities, then distill it again for about an hour before I drink it, then keep the stuff in a canteen. But at least you know some of the fundamentals. I 'spect you used ta live in that dang City of Eatin' with all their new-fangled ideas on how to do things, but they stole their process from me!"

Bleach stood there for a moment, shocked by this insight, but then began to laugh. Just then, for only a brief second, he had no idea what he was talking about, then he remembered. The City of Eden. The place he had lived for almost nine full years of his life. He had been displaced for so long that he had actually forgotten his own routes. He had also forgotten the fact that he had a brother, but that idea wasn't as funny as the other. He felt a little ashamed of himself, but the grief he felt was perfunctory. He really never had a chance to know his own brother, they had been apart for most of their lives. Now, he was the only one left of his line and the only surviving citizen of the City know that it had been destroyed. He had no faith that at least one other person had managed to escape before hand. Nobody ever left there by their own volition. It was paradise.

"So, kiddo?" said Athens. He was leaning over on the closed hood of his Marvelous Machine, arms folded, looking down at Bleach with casual impatience. "Got any more ideas ya want'ta throw my way? Well?"

Bleach blurted out the first thing he could think of: "The smoke!" Athens rolled his eyes a little and raised an eyebrow. "You could, um, do something so it wouldn't be, uh, chugging out a lot of smoke in your face all of the time. Maybe you could... do something about that? Right?" He said, hating himself for sounding so stupid.

Athens slapped his hand across his forehead in that timeless gesture. "You know, you are right! Perhaps I can divert it instead out the back instead in the front? Yeah! That would be a great idea! It'll make it a heck of a lot safer to maneuver the contraption without the smoke making my eyes all fuzzy! I wonder why I didn't think of it myself! I always said you kids had more initiative than us old fogies. Not as much brains, mind you, but more initiative," he said, more to himself than to Bleach. He held a hand out across the hood, Bleach shook it, and he took two running steps to the back of the car to fetch a tool box.

Bleach just stood there, silent. He put his hands in pockets, shook his head, then slowly got back in the contraption and sat on his side of the seat while the inventor set to work on the necessary modifications. He didn't bother trying to tell Athens the fact that, yes, while it may be a little easier on them, it would also be inconsiderate of them to blow all of their smoke in the faces of people he were traveling behind them. He had a feeling Athens wouldn't even care. He was engrossed in work at the moment to even consider a flaw in his plans.

Half an hour later, chugging along contentedly like the Little Engine That Could which Athens he had spoken of earlier, they came to the chaired remains of the sign post which he had watched Joe McDougle and his cohorts burn the night before. Bleach recognized the place because of the fence which went along of to one side. That, and the fact the was a small pile of dung, covered with buzzing flies, in the spot where Joe's horse had "went."

Surprisingly, it and the other horses hadn't spooked at the sight of the fire. It seemed they were as used to the sight as they were of the strange ways that their masters had dressed.

Athens was furious. He fumed with anger and spat out a string of foul words, one after the other, so quick that Bleach couldn't even understand what he was saying but was certain that whatever they were, they weren't the kind of words you would use to address an elder with. He just pointed in the right direction, the one he had seen the sign pointing toward before it was set on fire.

Athens asked him if he was sure that was the way they had to go? He said he was, and Athens headed off in that direction. He didn't ask Bleach how he knew the way and Bleach didn't even try to explain to him. It didn't matter. Athens wanted to know the way and Bleach had told him. Nothing more, nothing less.

It occurred to Bleach, looking back on the events on the previous night, that there was a very thin line between a zealot and a nihilist. One had faith in the continued proof in favor of their beliefs and the other was just as dependent in the refuting of that proof. One was as dependent on those proves as the other was dependent on the lack of those things.

As far as Bleach was concerned, his loss in faith was both an omen of disaster to come and a welcome comfort.

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perspectivepodcast · 5 years

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[Transcript] Side A: Halloween

Once upon a time,

in a valley surrounded by the darkest of forests and mountains as ancient as time itself, there lived a carpenter with his wife, who was a seamstress, and their twin children, Aline and Samuel. Under the shadow of an ancient abandoned castle standing on the crest of the hill, they lived in a modest but sturdy house made of stone and heavy wood and straw, a house with a chimney and two small windows framed by a wealth of burgeoning carnations, and a ceiling where many small folded paper creatures hung, fluttering around every time the breeze cared to play about. Oh, and there was also a slender black cat they liked to call Pabu.

It was autumn: the sky was grey most of the time except for a few glorious days of gold. The leaves of the trees in the village had darkened to a rusty brown, or brightened to a lemony yellow or a pumpkin’s orange. The stream running out of the forest and around the outskirts of the village gave plenty of water, for the rainy days had already started coming in, and on many an afternoon Aline and Sammy had spent their time playing in the house while their mother sewed and sang them the ancient songs of their people, and their father worked the wood and told them stories.

‘And so,’ the father continued, ‘the prince resolved to go to the Wind of the North, and ask him if he could carry him to the end of the world. The prince walked and walked and walked, and then found a horse and trotted and trotted and trotted. Until he found the palace of the Wind of the North, who howled and growled, but finally agreed to carry him to the end of the world. And so they took off and through the cold and the rain and the sleet and the hail, in a sharp and violent spurt, the furious Wind of the North carried our hero to his destination…’. ‘Father, why is the Wind of the North so angry? He was the one who agreed to do the prince a favor! Nobody forced him…’, inquired Aline. ‘Ah, my child,’ countered the father smiling softly, ‘the Wind of the North might be a little cantankerous, but he is not so wicked as we would like to believe… In fact, as disagreeable as he can be, he did agree to help the prince in the end. Don’t you think that it is possible, however, that the prince did not ask very nicely?’ ‘The prince didn’t even offer to do the Wind a favor in return…’, remarked the mother as she pulled a long thread out of the cloth she was sewing. The black cat Pabu yawned and stretched her back, and commented in her own incomprehensible but very wise way. ‘I bet the prince was too scared to do that!’, exclaimed Sammy, ‘What if the Wind of the North had asked him to kill somebody to pay for his service?’

And then, a thunder! The rain kept lashing outside and a lightning and another thunder flashed the room with a gasp of light. A deep, grumbling roar arose from the heart of the woods around them, and cracked the sky over them.

‘I think the Wind of the North would have gladly settled for something like a song’, suggested the mother, ‘something he could keep himself company with.’ ‘Do you still want to know if the prince will find the three magic apples for the wizard to break the spell?’, teased the father. ‘Of course!’, cried the children. And the story continued as the rain kept pouring on the rest of the world.

It was the eve of the day when all saints were to be celebrated and given peace. The minister, a thin and deadly pale old man, had gone around and knocked on every door of every house under the shadow of the abandoned castle during the whole week prior to this inauspicious day, to warn against the dangers lying ahead. ‘All the saints will be resting on this day,’ he reminded, ‘in preparation to receive their celebration the following day, so we will be at the mercy of all the demons and evil forces of this world, who will be scouring the earth to find any lost soul they can capture and steal away. Remember! Remember what happened last year, and the year before, and the year before that!’ As if anybody could forget.

That day, as the leaden clouds shifted over the castle and the village in somber shapes, since the father had to finish some woodwork at the house, and the mother had to go and hand her work to a client, the children followed her into the village. Over the background of such a gloomy day, the mother plucked two bright carnations from the windows’ vases and placed them one in each child’s buttonhole, and they were ready to leave.

‘Oh, m’lady! I was just about to knock!’ exclaimed the minister standing on the doormat as they opened the door, ‘Hello there, dear children! Going for a walk?��, he asked with a grin. ‘Good day Minister, is everything in place for the celebrations tomorrow?’, inquired humorously the father from inside the house. ‘Oh yes, oh yes… But…’, the minister’s eyes turned sullen and contrite, ‘For tonight… Have you hidden all your sharp utensils already? All blunt objects that could be used as weapons? Even your sewing tools, m’lady, please do not forget… I am aware that you know all too well what the consequences can be, and that it is insulting of me to pry… But we need to be cautious… You need to see in the village how we managed the well this year…’, entreated the minister. ‘We understand’, asserted the mother, and added softly, ‘You can count on us.’

The woods surrounding the village were as dark as ever. No sound of life could be heard, no birds chirping, no leaves rustling, no twigs breaking under the paws of foxes. Even the stream was silent. Only a hissing, low and desolate whisper started now to be audible, as it elbowed its way through the briers to the sky.

When they reached the village, the people looked all in a hurry. They went to the market to buy some supplies, and everywhere they went, people would point at them and comment under their breaths: ‘Poor children, to have lost a sister in such way…’, ‘Poor mother, to have lost a daughter like that…’, ‘It must be terrible for them, this time of year…’, ‘And the father, ah, to have lost a brother and a daughter at the same time…’.

‘Do you happen to have any king’s death berries?’, asked the mother to the berries’ woman. ‘Of course dear! Choose as many as you need. Is it for the evil spirits tonight? I bet if they had a drop of mortal blood in them these would finish them outright’, said the lady proudly. ‘I wish these berries would be enough…’ replied the mother, saddened. ‘Mother, why are they called king’s death berries?’ asked Sammy, the carnation on his chest as bright as the sun. ‘Why?! Because once, when the valley was still a rich and luxuriant kingdom, the king went into the woods, and these berries killed him!’ explained the berry lady, enflamed. ‘And he was the first of a long list of people to…’, but the lady fell silent. ‘Thank you m’lady, be safe tonight and see you tomorrow for the celebration’, said the mother smiling goodbye, as she took her children by the hands and left.

The sky had swiftly become a bleak shade of gray, overcast as it was with threatening clouds. The people seemed to have got even more busy and all hurried back home as quickly as they could. All around them, hanging outside the shops and the houses, were little black ribbons everywhere. To remember the killed, the missing, the fallen to the evil spirits. How could they forget? ‘We are cursed’, the children heard people say, ‘We are cursed’, repeated everywhere as the beats of their broken hearts. And then they saw it, the well… A metal grill had been nailed on top of it. ‘Just for today…’ said the minister, back from his tour of the village, as he saw the dismayed look on the mother’s face. ‘We saw what happened to poor Joe last year, pushed in the well by those frightening demons… We don’t want any of it to happen again…’ and he smiled his scrawny smile at the children amiably. ‘Yes, I understand Minister… You know how hard it is for us to…’ but the mother stopped midsentence, and she respectfully curtseyed as she was greeted by a plump man with white hair coming across her from the other end of the square. ‘Why if it isn’t the village’s best seamstress! With all her little cubs here! What lovely flowers you got there, how do you do?’, ‘Your grace’, said the minister as he bowed, ‘what an honor to have our governor among us at such an eventful time!’, ‘Ah Minister don’t bother bowing! I have come to see about the castle, and how you folks are handling things around here… You see, the Empress wants to move my quarters to the abandoned castle on the crest of the hill on the grounds that it is more stately, but I have given all I have to prevent this from happening. And you can obviously understand why, ha! ha! ha! After all, if neither the Empress herself, nor any of her ancestors has never wanted to live there, why should I be sent up there?’ the governor told them wittily. ‘Isn’t it a little chilly in there, Mr. Governor?’ asked the mother. ‘Ah, m’lady, you have no idea!’ rejoined the governor, but Aline and Sammy’s attention was suddenly captured by the sight of a stranger walking through the market…

As the clouds grew engorged with storm, a lady with enormous eyes under the hood of her cape seemed to absorb all the light the clouds hadn’t eaten up already and release it through her gaze to everything and everyone around her. ‘Is that a fairy?’ asked Aline to her brother, transfixed. ‘She sure looks like one!’ breathed Sammy, in awe. Perhaps the fairy lady had overheard these words, because she smiled tenderly and at the children, and lifted the hem of her cape to show them she had a small bright carnation in her buttonhole as well. ‘She must like carnations too, like Katie…’, whispered Aline. Oh what a sting Sammy felt in his heart as he heard that name called aloud, and he tried to send that sting away by squeezing his sister’s hand. The fairy lady, pulling her cape tightly around her, nodded at the children with a flower smile, and when Sammy released Aline’s hand, they both felt that something, something round and cold and smooth, had materialized magically between their hands. They carefully placed it on the palms of their hands and they realized it was a small and oddly luminous pebble. It had something engraved on it, and the more they held it and observed it and breathed on it, the more it glowed warmly. They looked up to share their astonishment with the fairy lady, but she had gone, vanished.

The sun had set and the sky had turned the color of coal. The restless spirits and the battling forces of the world had awakened to burn once again on this night, watching the living through their eyes of embers. All the lampposts had been lit by the lamplighter, and a veil of mist had fallen on the village, the castle, the forest, the stream, and the mountains. The moon and stars lay hidden by a thick shroud of clouds. Only one sound slithered through the roads and into the cracks of the rocks: a hissing, low and desolate whisper, feeding on the mist and swelling into a shrill, wailing, inconsolable shriek.

The carnations on the window of the little stone house by the shadow of the castle had curled themselves and tucked their tiny lights into their buds, and gathered closely together to give each other strength and courage to endure the darkest night of the year. Because true darkness is not the absence of light, for the sun will always rise again eventually, but a rapacious craving to devour light, to eat the sun.

That day, after he had finished his work, the carpenter had sat down in front of the window, and carved two tiny figures from a chunk of good birch wood. He had sat by the window, carving, while Pabu the cat would purr and brush up against his legs, and every once in a while he would look up at the carnations, and wish the sky could send some rain. So that, at least, his wouldn’t be the only tears falling down. When the seamstress and the two children came home, as they did every year on that day, they lit up the fire, they placed the carnations they wore that day inside a book to press them, and they hid every sharp or blunt object they had in the house in the water supply closet. They locked all doors and windows, and sang the ancient songs of their people to keep the evil spirits away, comfort the loved ones present around them, and remember the loved ones who were missing. ‘To uncle and sister’ breathed Aline nervously, solemnly, as she placed the candle of goodness on the mantelpiece next to the two wooden figures her father had carved that day. ‘And to all who died on this day because of the evil spirits’, added the father. Then, one after the other, each of them, as Pabu the cat laid quietly curled looking pensively at the fireplace, the father, the mother, and the two twins burned one king’s death berry each by the fire, to extinguish all poisonous thoughts and feelings inside their hearts.

Just as the last berry burned in the fire, a glow blazed from Sammy’s pocket. And as he tried to keep it hidden, the little fairy pebble suddenly started to float out of his pocket, until Sammy was forced to catch it and hold it in his hand not to let it float away. The glow from the magic pebble, however, gave the twins the courage to ask: ‘Mother, father… Why do all these people die on the eve of all saints’ day?’, timidly asked Aline. ‘And Katie… And uncle… Are they ever coming back? Or are they dead also?’ added Sammy with his cheeks burning. ‘Children…’ began saying the mother, but with tears in her eyes she felt her voice breaking and the only thing she could do was to go and hold her children in her arms, as the father joined her holding all of them together.

Then, a roar! And a noise of something tumbling and crashing down. The father dashed to the log storage room to make sure everything was alright but it was all on fire! The father and the mother rushed to the water supply closet to fill in the buckets and started throwing water on the fire, but it just couldn’t be smothered and they shouted: ‘Aline! Sammy! Go find some help! Go!’

And so the children took to their heels and ran out of the house on fire, out into the misty roads of the deserted, barricaded village. Out, alone, into the dark of the night on the day all evil spirits came back from hell to roam free on the earth.

With their hearts thumping and hammering in their heads and throats, Aline and Sammy ran to the only place they could think of: the well. They ran and Aline stumbled and Sammy helped her to get up again and as they stopped a moment to catch their breaths, they realized where they were, that they only had each other now, and that around them was the darkest darkness their fears could ever conjure up. Right there and then, when panic was about to thrust them into the pits of despair, the little magic pebble glowed like a star inside Sammy’s pocket. He took it out in his palm and exclaimed: ‘This! This will guide us through the darkness’, suddenly feeling strong again. ‘The well! Sammy the well!’ cried Aline, ‘they closed the well with a metal grill! What do we do?’ Aline took Sammy’s hands, and as soon as the pebble was held between both the children’s hands it blazed and threw out a beam of light. The beam pointed in the direction of the stream, of the forest. The forest so many never came back from. The forest that took away their sister, and their uncle.

The shrill, wailing, inconsolable shriek of the woods had turned into the shattering, grieving howl of the lacerated world. Aline and Sammy knew what had to be done. And so, holding the magic pebble pointing to their destination in both their hands, they stepped into the forest.

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