Sansûkh the Webcomic: Chapter 2: Pages 25-26

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Magic misfits! Did I update the masterpost specifically because of this fic? yes absolutely. A busy day for Scar, featuring TFC and some good ol’ Scar appreciation :]

The start of a new season was always interesting.

While TFC didn’t enjoy having to start from scratch every year or so; having gotten used to the comforts of late season riches, he did love the sheer amount of interaction that came with a new season. TFC was content to hear gossip about the others’ shenanigans while he stuck to what he was best at: mining. Some of the others called it cheating to use his earthbending down in the tunnels, but he called it cheating to be able to shapeshift, or use magic crystals, or any of the other crazy things the other hermits could do, so it evened out.

When he wasn’t down in his mine, TFC watched as all the other hermits scrambled to make the most impressive buildings and contraptions in as little time as possible. Many of his servermates placed more importance on finishing their creations than actually gathering necessities such as tools and armour. 

As if to prove this observation, the Boatem village appeared on the other side of the nether portal, populated with structures that were much too large considering it had only been three weeks since they arrived in this world. There was also a… tree? At least that’s what it looked like; a thin oak tree stretching up past the clouds and out of view. Looks like Mumbo and Grian were up to no good already.

“TFC! Up here!” Scar’s voice came from somewhere above TFC’s head, and he looked up to see the wizard (although he no longer wore his robe and hat) standing on a balcony extending from a truly massive wagon, one hand on the railing and the other extended above his head, waving enthusiastically at TFC.

He climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon, entering a sparse storage room. Knowing Scar, he either hadn’t bothered to move in yet or lost all of his things in a cave somewhere. Despite his powerful crystal magic, Scar still managed to die more than any other hermit, so the second option was more likely.

“Well hello there! Welcome to my humble abode, please take a seat.” Scar led TFC to a balcony, where he gestured towards a table and two folding chairs. Scar sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in his lap. “So, what brings you to our little village today?”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the question, confusion evident in his voice. “Because you invited me? We were supposed to have tea today.” 

Scar jolted in his seat, then proceeded to scramble out of said seat. “I’ll be right back! I have to go… feed Jellie!” This was quite obviously a lie seeing as Jellie hadn’t returned from her between seasons interdimensional travels yet. TFC’s laughter chased Scar into the wagon, where he frantically prepared the tea that he was totally planning on making because he definitely remembered his plans for the day. 

After about five minutes of mildly concerning crashing sounds, Scar returned with two steaming mugs of tea (decorated with cat faces, of course) and a plate of chocolate chip cookies - Stress’ recipe if TFC wasn’t mistaken. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the tea and cookies. 

“So, how are you holding up this season, Scar?” TFC took a sip of green tea, looking out at the horizon.

“Oh you know, the usual. I don’t have my village anymore, but the magical misfits still come seeking my help.” He brought a cookie to his mouth and bit off half of it. “Not that I mind helping people!” He swallowed his mouthful before continuing. “XB was here last week convinced that he left his coat in season seven, but turns out it just ended up in one of Joe’s boxes.” He chuckled to himself, wiping crumbs off of his jacket as TFC stared at the distant ocean, lost in thought.

TFC broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re a good man, y’know that?” The wizard in question looked at TFC in surprise. He was used to ‘thank you’s, but the personal compliment caught him off guard. “You’ve created a safe space for folks from all sorts of places, and you’ve saved quite a few of them from bad people.” 

Scar looked down, smiling at his cup of tea. He spoke quietly, a departure from his usual boisterousness. “Thanks TFC, that means a lot.”

-

Scar was in the middle of catching TFC up on what he missed from day one when something red and very fast crashed into the balcony. The something in question turned out to be Grian, shimmering wings protruding from his back. Something must have been wrong, since winged hermits tended to refrain from flying early in the season, in the name of fairness.

“Scar we need your- Oh heeey, I didn’t know you had company over!” He leaned on the railing, his urgency replaced with a forced cheerfulness as he (quite obviously) pretended nothing was wrong. What was probably supposed to be an easygoing smile stretched too wide, and his voice was more high pitched than usual. “How’s it goin’?”

Scar, completely oblivious, responded excitedly. “Oh, I was just telling TFC here about our adventure in the geode with Cleo!”

Grian’s uncomfortable smile grew wider, and his eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds great, do you think you’ll be done anytime soon?”

“Oh well, I’m not too sure. It depends on when we finish all of these cookies.”

“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Grian’s wings started to twitch behind him, “did you make those yourself?”

Scar took a breath, preparing for a tangent when TFC cut in, showing the poor fairy some mercy. “Alright Grian, out with it. What’s wrong?” Scar stared at Grian, somehow surprised that this wasn’t a completely ordinary visit.

Grian let out a long sigh. “Thank you so much TFC.” He turned his gaze to Scar. “We need a little help with curse breaking.”

Scar set down his mug and gave Grian his full attention, preparing himself for whatever strange curse one of the fairies had set on some poor hermit. “Really? How are you two cursing people already? It hasn’t even been a month!”

Grian’s tangent was accompanied by wild hand gestures that made it difficult to follow what he was saying. “Well, Pearl came up behind Mumbo and spooked him, he shouted something about not sneaking up on him, and now whenever he turns his back on her she teleports directly in front of him.” Grian looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of Mumbo’s van. TFC followed his gaze, and burst into laughter again.

Mumbo was standing a few feet away from his campfire, spinning in circles and doubling over in laughter as Pearl kept popping up in front of him. 

Scar pushed himself up from his chair, TFC followed suit. The pair headed to the door while Grian flew back down, Scar giving TFC a sort of briefing. “Alright, let’s go figure out what exactly Mumbo did before Pearl starts feeling particularly vengeful.”

-

It took two hours and a lot of trial and error (with TFC giving supremely unhelpful tips), but eventually Pearl could stand behind Mumbo again. At some point Scar accidentally applied the effect to both Grian and Mumbo, and he had to beg the two not to create a space time anomaly. But it was all fixed now, and TFC was sure Pearl’s revenge would be swift and cruel.

Scar made his way back up to the balcony, and the two continued their conversation. It was a good thing Scar had enchanted his mugs, something he had done back in season seven after his drinks kept getting abandoned and going cold.

After a few hours of peace (other than both Mumbo and Grian’s bases abruptly flipping upside down while the boys were inside), the pair was interrupted again by a voice behind them.

“Howdy, Scar. Oh, and howdy to you as well, TFC!”

Neither of them had heard Joe coming, so Scar jumped about a foot in the air while TFC nearly spat out his tea. It turned out that Cleo was there as well, looking quite a bit angrier than Joe, although that wasn’t too uncommon.

“Oh my goodness, Joe you scared the life out of me!” Scar held a hand to his chest and caught his breath as Cleo got right to business.

“Sorry about that Scar,” her voice was flat, and it was safe to assume that she was not, in fact, sorry about that. “But we have an emergency. It’s completely Joe’s fault, he-”

Joe smoothly stepped in front of his companion as he cut her off, “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely my fault, old magic is a fickle thing-”

Cleo shoved Joe aside, stepping in front once again. “He revived my leg!” She raised a foot off the ground and gestured at it with both hands.

Sure enough, both TFC and Scar looked down to see that Cleo’s right leg was significantly more flesh-coloured than the left, restored to what it presumably once was. 

Scar’s lingering panic was instantly replaced by an amused grin as he gestured to the leg in question. “Cleo, why don’t you just get your leg reinfected? It’s not like zombies are hard to come by.”

The pair stood still, just blinking. (Completely in sync, it was eerie) 

Cleo rounded on Joe and punched at his shoulder just as he raised a hand to deflect her fist. “How did you not think of that Joe?! I thought you knew everything there was to know about-” She gestured wildly about for a moment. “Everything?!”

“Shouldn’t you be some sort of zombie expert by now? How is that my responsibility?” The argument continued as the pair went back into the wagon and down the ladder. As they walked off, presumably to go find a cave, something occurred to TFC. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell down at them.

“Cleo!” She turned around. “Don’t use Joe as bait!” 

She snapped her finger like a defeated cartoon villain, as Joe turned to face her and presumably gave her grief for this evil plot.

-

It was only about five minutes after Cleo and Joe left (preceded by twenty minutes of arguing) that the next problem arrived, as it often did, in the form of Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arriving on the shore of the village. TFC found this odd, seeing as how everyone was now connected by nether portals, but he assumed there would be an explanation shortly, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.

Impulse shouted up from the ground, the three of them clustered near the front of the wagon. “TFC, we need your help!” Well that was a surprise, not many people asked for his assistance other than Scar. “We made an oopsie and Cleo said we could find you here!”

As every hermit knew, ‘oopsie’ was a versatile word with these three. It could mean anything between making a minor mistake in a build to banishing Impulse for the fifth time. “What happened this time?” TFC stood up and made his way down the ladder, since shouting down at them wasn’t very efficient and they didn’t seem inclined to come up.

Impulse started twisting his hands together while Zedaph and Tango tried their best to look innocent behind him. It didn’t work. “Weeell, Tango wanted a terraforming job done around his base, so we made a little deal for it.” 

Oh boy. Not much good came out of magical deals, yet the other hermits continued to make them with each other. Demonic deals were especially tricky since the demon didn’t have precise control over their end of the deal, not that it stopped these three. “Tango offered me his first beacon in exchange for the job, and it turns out that a beacon is worth a lot more than I thought- it’s probably easier if we show you.”

“Quick FYI guys: firsts are very valuable in deals! It applies to you as well Impulse, not just the fae!” Scar called helpfully from his still seated position on the balcony.

-

They all ended up going over to Tango’s house/ shop, which was literally buried in a mound of dirt and stone, along with about three quarters of Bdubs’ giant moon house. That explains why they didn’t use the nether. 

The earth was offended after being touched by demonic magic, but after a long negotiation TFC managed to convince it that Impulse meant no harm, and it was happy to return to its prior state. Tango was mildly annoyed that he would have to do the terraforming himself and give Impulse a beacon, but it was better than the wrath he would have faced from Bdubs.

By the time TFC and Scar returned to the Boatem village, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. While TFC admired the beauty of it, Scar just looked disappointed. 

“I’m sorry.”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the wizard, a frown making its way onto his face. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Did you do something to the tea?” 

Despite TFC’s attempted joke, Scar still stared at his perfectly polished shoes. “This was supposed to be a nice relaxing day to catch up, and people were just showing up left and right. I mean, we hardly got to spend any time together! Maybe I shouldn’t invite people over with all this wizard stuff going on.”

“But we did spend time together.” TFC’s rough hand landed on Scar’s shoulder, the latter looking up at the former, startled by the contact.

“Well yeah we had tea for a while but-”

TFC had to cut off Scar’s rambling or he would never get to his point. “Yes we had tea, but I’m talking about the rest of the day.” Scar seemed genuinely confused at this. “I helped you un-curse Pearl,” he did air quotes on the word ‘helped,’ “We watched Joe and Cleo argue together, and you came with us to fix Tango’s house.” Of course he didn’t do much other than laugh at Tango’s misfortune, but it was the thought that counted. “Just ‘cause it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good time.” After all, not much went according to plan on the hermitcraft server.

Now Scar was smiling. “So I didn’t ruin the day with magical misfits?”

“Not at all.” TFC reached for his mug and emptied it one last time, then stretched before heading out. “But now I gotta get going. I don’t like my chances against the mobs with my crappy iron gear.”

Scar waved once more as TFC disappeared into the nether portal. “Goodnight TFC! And thanks again, for everything!”

TFC smiled as he made his way through the nether tunnels back home. Scar did a lot more for the hermits than he realized, allowing them to be free with their magic in a way they couldn’t back home, TFC included. He’d created a home for all sorts of ‘magic misfits’ as Scar put it, and he performed an invaluable service, whether he realized it or not.

He’s a good kid. Just needs some reminding every once in a while. 

Small Town Affairs

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She's trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren't something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t often that people moved to Tin Springs, population 803. We barely had enough people to need a high school and a junior high school let alone more than a general store and gas station. There wasn’t even a Walmart for nearly 20 miles. You had to make a special trip to the larger town of Conway that had fast food restaurants and strip malls while the closest we had was a Dollar General and a ‘home style’ restaurant that was closed after 9. We did have a few bars and a strip joint, but those were just outside of town. Far enough that most people didn’t count them as being a part of town. It was very much a dying breed of Mayberry towns that used to thrive till people moved for better jobs and schools or to just get out of that small town headspace.

So when what looked like a whole fleet of moving trucks drove down the main road, everyone was talking. Turns out there was some guy with the last name Rogers that owned land that belonged to his pack that he was moving his new pack onto. The family had basically moved away or died off by the time I was 18. Most of the townspeople thought the houses on the land would stay empty till someone bought the land up for farming or to build new houses on. No one ever did and the moving trucks were telling us why it wouldn’t happen. Everyone and their dog would be gossiping and talking about who the new people were, where they came from, why they came back now, but I just ignored the whispers and gossip as I checked out folks at the general store.

“Hazel, would you be a dear and stock the shelves before you leave tonight?” The store owner, Peggy Carter, asked from her office. It sat just to the side of the register, making it easy to keep an eye on things. Her prim English accent was very much out of place in the small midwest town, but it wasn’t as crisp as it used to be when she first moved to Tin Springs.

“Sure. I’ve got my keys so I’ll lock up for you too,” I said, glancing back at her before the bell above the door rang. “Howdy,” I greeted the customers before going back to tidying my area. They were just a couple of women that were grabbing last minute items for dinner, which was the usual crowd so close to our closing time. I knew their faces, but couldn’t recall their names. I’d seen them around town, but I didn’t exactly interact with people outside of my job.

“Did you see the paper today? John Walker’s up for re-election again,” one woman said as they meandered towards the dairy section. While they sort of tried to stay quiet, the store was empty at that time of day and with it being so small that the voices carried easily.

“I saw that. He’s got my vote for sure,” the other woman said. “You know, he’s been such a good sheriff and I don’t think anyone’s running against him. It should be an easy win for him.”

“Hopefully. Things are just fine as they are now, why change them?” The first woman said. “Though, it is a bit odd that he’s with another Alpha and not an Omega.”

“I know, but Brock’s a good man. Both of them are. It’s just too bad things didn’t work out with them and that Omega girl.”

I should be used to it by now, hearing people talking about me and my exs. When you date the county sheriff and the only garage owner in town, things aren’t exactly secret. Even if they didn’t know your name or face, they knew your business.

“You know, John always said she was a good gal, but just had some problems. His mother and I play bridge at the church on Wednesday evenings and she told me that he was heartbroken over their split up. Him and Brock adored her, said they wanted to have kids too. I do hope she’s getting herself straightened out,” the second woman said.

I could handle the whispers and looks I’d get from the older Omegas in town, but this was a new low. They weren’t even trying to keep it quiet anymore.

“Just so ya’ll know, we’re closing soon, so if you’ve got some trash talking to do, do it outside where I don’t have to listen to it,” I called, earning small gasps from the women. They hurried to the front to check out, keeping their eyes down as I glared at them. If they were dumb enough to talk about me in front of me, I was not going to go easy on them. They didn’t say another word as they left, leaving me behind to glare at their backs.

“You should learn to ignore them. People will always talk,” Peggy said from the office.

“The least they could do was be discreet about it,” I mumbled. “Besides, it’s already been over a year and you’d think people would let it go and move on.”

“Well, with the new people moving in, you might get your wish,” she said. I could only hope.

The rest of the evening went by pleasantly fast. Peggy left me in charge to stock the shelves after closing. We closed usually at about 8:00 PM, no one showed up after 7:45 PM on a regular day. So to hear the door jostle as someone tried to open at 8:10 PM was odd. Frowning, I put down the pasta to look over the aisle to see a man trying to peer in. He had dirty blond hair styled back into a faux hawk of sorts, and dressed in ripped skinny jeans and a tight black tee. There were a few cuts on his face, a bandaid over his nose, and what looked like hearing aids hooks around his ears, the man stood out like a sore thumb compared to the locals. Seeing me, he put on a big smile and waved.

My first instinct was to ignore him, but since he didn’t look familiar I figured he was one of the new people in town. They wouldn’t know the hours of any of the stores in town. I decided to at least let him know the store was closed. If anything happened I had a bat under my register and pepper spray on my keys in my pocket. Going to the front, I unlocked the door before opening it.

“Hey, sorry, we’re closed,” I said as the muggy summer air came rushing in. “We close at 8.”

“Damn it,” the man hissed as he pulled out a cell phone. “Is there any other place to get groceries around here? My pack and I just moved to town and we don’t have any groceries. We’ve been working all day to get stuff into the house and didn’t realize the time.”

“Oh, uh not really, sorry,” I said. “Dollar General closes at the same time and you’d have to go to the next town over for Walmart and that’s 20 miles away.”

“What time do you guys open in the morning?” He asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“We open at 6:00 AM.” The way he looked when I told him was like witnessing a puppy being kicked. I could smell him, he was just an Omega. What harm could it do to let him in this once? Peggy had let a few people in here and there after hours, so what was one more? “Okay, so you can’t tell anyone or you’ll get me in trouble, but I can go ahead and let you in to shop. I’m just restocking shelves, so go ahead and get what you need.” Stepping aside, I let him in before locking the door behind him to keep anyone else out.

“Thank you so, so much. You’re a lifesaver, really,” he said as he grabbed a cart and proceeded to grab things off the shelf. I didn’t mind staying late, rent was going up and it was getting harder to pay, so a bit of extra time wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Clint by the way.”

“Hazel,” I replied as I went back to the shelves. Letting him fill his cart, I finished up my work before meeting him at the register. It was a lot of food, but then again how many moving trucks had showed up? “I really hope this isn’t just for you.”

“Naw, there’s 8 people in my pack. I’m hoping this will be good enough for at least dinner and breakfast, but there’s a few of us who can eat out a whole house,” Clint said with a chuckle as I scanned the items.

“Wow, that’s a lot. We don’t really have any packs at all around here. Maybe a handful, but it’s just three people at most,” I said.

“Oh yeah? We just moved here from New York. One of our Beta’s, Steve, used to live here. You might know him,” Clint said.

“Last name Rogers?” I asked, getting a nod. “Not personally. I know of the family and the land, but that’s about it,” I said with a shrug. “Alright, and total for today is $234.89.”

“Yup, sounds about right,” Clint said with a chuckle as he swiped a credit card. What did they do in New York that allowed them to buy that many groceries? Not to mention that was just for one night, I couldn’t imagine a full week’s worth. Maybe they should go to Walmart for groceries next time. “So is there anything fun to do around here?” He asked as I handed him the longest receipt I’d printed before.

“Eh. Depends on what you want to do. We have a restaurant that closes at 9:00 PM, a few bars around here, and a strip joint, but other than that there’s not much to be done unless you’re a fan of high school sports,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m going to have to give Steve a slap upside the head for bringing us to the most boring place in the world,” he sighed before looking at me wide eyed. “I mean, it’s just that it’s kinda slow compared to New York.”

“Don’t worry. I think it’s boring too, but like most of the folks that live here, it’s cheaper to stay than to move if you don’t have another job or family else where,” I said. “Sometimes the rodeo comes to the next town over and a lot of people go there.”

“Yeah, when he said this was a completely different place, I didn’t think he understood how all of us would find it so different,” Clint said as he started to load up the grocery cart.

“Here, let me help you take those out to your car. I’ll get the cart from you and you can head out,” I said, grabbing the keys to unlock the front door to let us out then relocked it.

“Thanks. You know, I guess small towns do have a lot of nice people willing to help out,” Clint said as he led the way to a black sports car.

“Sheesh, fancy,” I snorted as he popped the trunk.

“Yeah, it was a pain to drive it down the dirt driveway I have with my mate. I don’t want to part with her, but I also don’t want to ruin the undercarriage,” he said with a wince.

“That’s a bummer. There’s a car lot in town here, but I don’t know if they’d have anything your style,” I said, handing him a paper bag full of cereal.

“Howard, my mate, would shit his pants if I tried to go there,” Clint said with a chuckle. “He’s too posh to even think of buying anything pre-used. I’m pretty sure he’d have a heart attack.”

“Sounds like he’ll get comfortable real quick,” I said with a snort.

As we were finishing up putting the groceries in the car, there was a short honk and siren bwep before a sheriff’s car pulled into the spot next to Clint’s.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clint frowned, unsure of what was happening, but I knew.

“Howdy friend!” A familiar voice called as a blond man with bright blue eyes and an irritating smile stepped from the patrol car. Dressed in his brown and khaki uniform, Sheriff John Walker approached us. “You must be part of the pack that just moved to town.”

“Uh, yeah. Just got in today,” Clint said, shifting his body again. “I’m Clint.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Sheriff Walker. Figured that since I saw you in town, I’d catch you real quick for an introduction,” the man said, holding out his hand for Clint to shake. Raising a brow, Clint shook the officer’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. You’ll probably be seeing the rest of my pack throughout the week,” Clint said before closing the trunk of his car.

“You’re on the Rogers property, yeah?” John asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“That’s the one,” Clint said with a nod.

“I think I went to school with one of the Rogers’ pack. Steve, I believe his name was. He was a grade above me. His family stayed in town a while before leaving. Didn’t think we’d see anyone come back to live on the property,” John said. I wanted to get away from this conversation as fast as possible. John hadn’t even addressed me, let alone acknowledge my existence. The last thing I wanted was for him to start shit with me in front of someone.

“Probably, I mean, he’ll be in town tomorrow to get all the paperwork fixed up with his mate,” Clint said. “But I should be going. We’ve been driving all day and everyone’s tired and hungry.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” John said with a nod, backing up to let Clint move. I kept quiet, trying to not look John in the eye as I moved the cart back to the sidewalk. “Have a nice evening, now,” he said, typing his broad brimmed hat to Clint.

“Thanks. See you around, Hazel,” Clint said to me with a tight smile and wave. I gave a short wave back before booking it back to the store.

Don’t follow me, don’t follow me, don’t follow me.

“Hazel, wait up,” John called as he jogged to catch up with me. I wanted to scream as I stopped at the front door to unlock it. “So, you’re talking to the new people now, huh?” He said as Clint pulled out and drove away.

“John, go away. It’s none of your business and this is not part of the agreement,” I hissed, getting the door open. Shoving the cart in front of me, I tried to shut the door in his face, but he’d stuck his boot in the way.

“Look, I’m just trying to keep an eye out for you, okay? Don’t get cozy with the new people. They might be interesting, but you never know what people are really like,” he said, pushing his way into the store.

“Ironic coming from you,” I snapped, glaring at him as I moved to the register. “I’m trying to close, leave.”

“Remember what I said,” John sighed. “Don’t trust those new people.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and we both know it’s not far,” I snarled. “Now go away or I’ll short Brock this week.”

“Fine,” he said. “But just remember, I was the one that always looked after you. Even after everyone started those rumors about you, I stuck by you.”

“A lot of good it did me. Now go.”

John looked like he might say something else, but stopped himself. Instead, he shook his head before leaving the store. Quickly, I locked the door after him. Standing there, my hands shook as tears pricked my eyes. The asshole could always get under my skin. Just a damn look and I’d be nearly in tears. As much as I wanted to believe I was stronger now and could handle myself, that small interaction showed me that he still had a grip on my life.

Finished for the night, I headed home. There were no more encounters with anyone else thankfully, allowing me to relax for the night with a beer on my porch. My house wasn’t much, a one story two bedroom house that had a less than stellar paint job, but it was home. It was old, from the 20’s, but it was sturdy. I wasn’t there much but to eat, sleep, and shower anyways.

Sitting on the porch, one beer turned into two which turned into three. It was the fourth one that I finally felt like I could stop shaking completely. The last time I had seen John and talked to him was nearly a month ago. We’d been separated for almost a year and he was being his usual passive aggressive self just to push my boundaries. He’d come into the store and made a show of talking to me like I was a kid, letting everyone see he was the calm, collected Alpha that was trying to reach out with an olive branch to fix things between the unstable Omega who just needed some gentle handling to become a decent person.

I had nearly come unglued on him, but managed to keep my voice low and my eyes down. Peggy found me right after, sobbing out behind the store. No one, not even Peggy, knew what really happened between all three of us, but I wasn’t about to tell them and neither were John and Brock. We’d come to an agreement that they would leave me alone and not talk to me unless absolutely necessary and I’d stay quiet. As well as paying them off. It was nearly half of both my paychecks, but it was worth it if it meant they didn’t come into the store when I was there or tried to talk to me at all.

But John was starting to toe the line and push back. Brock kept his part of the deal, I was pretty sure he never really cared for me, but John was always obsessive. The deal was going to have to be revisited if John didn’t back off.

Done for the night, I tossed the bottles before heading to bed.

The last few days of the work week were about the same. Go to work, come home, go to work, come home. I saw Clint now and then who came in to grab a few things here and there, but that was it. He was nice and despite John wanting to tell me who I could and couldn’t see, it felt better to know that there was someone in town who didn’t know things about me without my permission.

While we weren’t best friends, we did send memes to each other when I was on break and he wasn’t busy. At one point he messaged me a picture of his shed full of cobwebs and wasp nests and asked if it was appropriate to burn it to the ground. I told him to be careful because there could be copperheads underneath or groundhogs. That led into me explaining what those were and learning that the man had lived 37 years thinking a groundhog was something made up by a city for a holiday and it was really just a beaver they were using.

It seemed that I would be teaching him, and probably his pack vicariously, what to look out for in their new homes. I still hadn’t met the rest of the pack, though I had seen one or two here and there around town.

Soon Friday rolled around. I woke up at about 4:30 AM. Friday would be busier than usual as it was a payday. I showered then dressed, sliding on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, I then made a pot of coffee before doing my makeup. Just enough to hide the bags under my eyes and a few marks on my neck that were visible above my shirt collar.

It was my regular dress for my job at the store, Peggy didn’t care too much so long as it wasn’t offensive. Which meant anything but plain clothing and no writing. After coffee, I fixed my hair so it didn’t frizz then grabbed my thermos of coffee. I locked up then headed to work.

The sun was peeking above the trees and clouds as I pulled into work around 5:15 AM. Peggy was already there when I walked in the back.

“Did you have any problems closing the other night? I forgot to ask,” She said as I stepped into the office to get my cash drawer for the day.

“It was fine. Had one of the new people stop in, Clint. The blond that comes by for snacks. He’d made it in just after we closed, but I went ahead and let him shop since they didn’t have anything at their houses,” I said, taking the drawer from the open safe.

“Houses? You mean they’re not all in one?” She asked, looking up from her book keeping.

“There’s not a big enough house for more than four people on their property. There’s like ten of them,” I said with a snort.

“Well I’m sure we’ll meet all of them at some point. We’re the only grocery store in town,” she said.

“Unless they need to buy in bulk. Clint nearly bought everything in the store,” I said, counting my drawer at the register.

“We can only hope. Next time you see them, let them know if they need more than a few things to get us a list and we’ll get them large amounts. We used to do that a lot when there were bigger packs in my hometown,” Peggy said. The woman was nearly 60 and had lived in England up until about 30 years ago, getting the general store from her uncle who had passed away. I was used to hearing the facts of ‘We used to do this in my hometown’ a lot.

“Will do.”

Finished with setting up, I unlocked the front door and turned on the rest of the lights at 6:00 AM. The usual rush of moms right after school starts as well as early rising elderly came in, making for the usual busy rush that Peggy would step in and help with at the second register. By the time 10:00 AM rolled around, things were tapering off. We’d have a lunch rush for those grabbing a quick something, then back to a nice slowness.

“I’m gonna take my break after this last person checks out,” I said to Peggy who nodded. I was starting to get hungry and I saw a bearclaw in the donut rack that had my name on it. A few cups of coffee could only hold me over for so long before I needed actual food.

Before I could clock out for a break though, two people walked into the otherwise empty store. They were part of the new pack, just the scent alone said that, and they were Alphas. Great.

“I got this if you want,” Peggy said softly as she caught the scent too. Peggy was a sweet Beta and she acted as a stand-in grandma for me, but I couldn’t just run at every Alpha that came in.

“I’m good,” I said, giving her a small wave and smile. It wasn’t long before the Alphas came to the register. One was taller, probably over 6’, with steely blue eyes and dark, earthy brown hair with a scruff on his face. He smelt of fresh rain and peaches with that Alpha musk. Dressed in an almost too tight tee with an extra sleeve and glove covering his left arm and hand, he looked out of place in the button up work shirts and plaid that was usually worn by the adult men around town.

The other was shorter, more tailored. His light brown hair had a bit of copper to it as it was swept back from his face as that held a neatly trimmed beard. His dark eyes stayed on the phone in his hand. He too was in a tee and jeans that were fitted tighter, making them look. . . Well almost foreign. A whiff of cedar and maybe smoke or tobacco swirled into the first Alpha’s scent. Both of them mingling and making something settle deep inside my belly.

Fuck.

“Is that all for you two?” I asked, holding back with every fiber of my being any scent or sign of them making me feel like a simple, needy Omega.

“That’ll be it,” the first Alpha said. It was standard groceries of meat, cheese, dried goods, condiments, basically anything to stock up a house after moving.

“Is your pack settling in okay? Clint comes by now and then,” I said, trying to make small talk. Usually I didn’t, but something about those two had me anxious. Not a bad anxious, but. . . I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Oh, uh yeah. We’re getting there,” he said with a nod. “It’s different than what we’re used to.”

“What are ya’ll used to?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“A lot more people and a lot less trees,” the second Alpha spoke up, his voice lilting into an accent I couldn’t place. “But it is lovely here. I quite like how peaceful it is without masses of people a hair’s breadth away.”

“Glad you like it,” I said, giving him a soft smile. “So are all of you from New York too?”

“A few of us, but not all,” the first Alpha said as he pulled out his wallet.

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t take you long to settle in. Today’s total is $87.56,” I said, tapping a few buttons on my keypad.

“Tell me, is there a nursery around? For plants that is,” the second Alpha asked, leaning onto the counter when I started to help pack up the groceries into the cart. “I am wanting to start a flower garden, but would like to see where the supplies are first.”

“A plant nursery? Um, there is one just west of the town. Just take the main road and it’s about ten minutes from town. It’s run by the Mennonites and they have a bunch of different plants to pick from. They’ve even got starter trees for fruits and some bushes for blackberries and the like,” I said.

“Thank you. I appreciate the information,” he said with a soft smile and a nod. I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“You’re welcome, if any of your pack needs anything just ask around. We’re all pretty friendly here,” I said as I finished putting the bags in the cart.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said, moving over to the cart to hold out his hand to me. “I am Helmut. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Hazel. It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, taking his hand. It was warm and soft, different than the work roughened hands I was used to. Helmut rolled his eyes at the other, elbowing him.

“Hey,” he grumbled, shooting him a glare. “Oh, uh, I’m Bucky.” A quick wave and awkward smile was all I was given as he quickly moved to push the cart away.

“He’s house broken, I swear,” Helmut said with a wink. I couldn’t help the honest to God giggle that came out of me. “Have a good day, Hazel,” Helmut said, smiling as he shook his head at Bucky.

“You too,” I called after as they left. It didn’t even occur to me that I was staring after them till Peggy came up next to me.

“You could always ask for a photograph. It would last longer,” she said with hum.

“Oh shush,” I said, waving her off. “They were just, ya know, nice. Most Alphas around here are curt and so loud and demanding. It’s a nice change to see is all.”

“Uh huh. Even if you weren’t letting them get a scent of you, you were definitely giving them eyes. I’ve never seen you do that for anyone. Not even when you were with ‘Those-Who-Shan’t-Be-Named.’ I think it’s cute and wonderful that you had that reaction,” Peggy said as she went to the other register so I could take a break. “Besides, when’s the last time you actually touched someone on purpose?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just being nice to new people is all,” I said, locking my register computer after clocking out for a break. Quickly, I grabbed the bearclaw before leaving the dollar and change for Peggy. “It was just a handshake. Besides, you always tell me to work on my customer service skills,” I said as I walked to the back door.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She called after me.

Home Front, Mission 17: Drone On

Take to the Skies

~

[mechanical work sounds in the background]

JANINE DE LUCA: Ah, is it that time already? No, Mr. Yao, I can do it. I have equipment here. No, you do not need to come down and help. Please continue calibrating the comms. Attention, listeners, Janine De Luca here. I've just been informed by Mr. Yao that it is time for today's workout session. Please take a moment to gather two or more tin cans, two bags, and if possible, a chair for exercises you'll be doing later on. Ensure the bags have strong handles. Once you're ready, commence warming up, perhaps by jogging on the spot.

Unfortunately, I'm rather busy attending to a task in Abel's workshop at present. Under the workshop, to be precise. I'm in a crawl space, stripping out old copper wiring for use elsewhere. Still, I have a portable mic, so we can conduct our workout as planned. In fact, being in a confined space has brought to mind exercises for those locked down with limited room, such as Runner Thirty-One, who is unfortunately trapped within a cottage pantry.

So on to today's first exercise: seated leg raises. For this, you'll need one sturdy chair and just enough space to stretch your legs. I believe Thirty-One has that much room in his pantry, along with several thousand legumes. If you don't have room, continue jogging. Otherwise, sit upright in your chair with your back straight and your hands on the chair on either side of you. Plant your left foot on the floor, then straighten your right leg so it extends in front of you with your hip flexed and your knee straight. Hold the leg there for a few seconds, then lower it.

We will raise and lower your right leg thusly for 30 seconds, then your left for 30 more. And start. That's it, keep going. 15 seconds down. You're doing well, everyone. Please ignore my working in the background. Very good. 30 seconds, listeners. Switch to your left leg. That's it, 15 seconds left, listeners. We are both nearly done. The wiring down here is from defunct pre-apocalypse electrics. There is little left to salvage. And exercise complete, as is my collection operation.

I shall trigger a music break while I emerge from the crawl space. You could continue exercising or relax, listeners. I admit I've let Mr. Yao pick out today's songs, so I imagine something cheerful should be about to play.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Welcome back, everyone. I'm afraid I am far from done with the day's labors, so you will have to bear with me while I conduct essential work. Abel's machine shop has been rather cluttered for the last few months. Just before the superhorde, we recovered a crashed military drone from nearby countryside, an extremely advanced attack model. Mr. Yao claims it resembles a predatory bird, though I know few birds of car size. At first I was worried the drone was damaged beyond repair, but I have had ample incentive to work on it of late. Now while I rewire some circuits on the drone's underside, you've a round of torso twists to do.

Use the tin cans and bags you obtained earlier. Place one tin in each bag. Feel free to use more tins for a greater challenge. This ought to be a fine use for all those cans of condensed milk in your pantry, Runner Thirty-One. Of course, you wouldn't have been trapped by the horde if you hadn't disobeyed orders to go back for those cans. Now sit holding the weights very close to your chest. Twist from the waist to your left hand side, then twist back to the center, and then twist to the opposite side. Keep alternating twists like this for one minute. And begin.

Very good, 15 seconds complete. For camaraderie purposes, you may wish to know I am removing fused components from the drone. They are of a similar heft to your weights. That's it, 30 seconds elapsed. Patience is the key, listeners, in exercise and engineering. No matter how many panels need to be pried loose, one must persist. 15 seconds left, nearly done. And exercise complete.

It has been weeks of work, listeners, but I am close to restoring this drone, I know it. Air support in this day and age... it could bring us a major victory against the superhorde. Dr. Myers is concerned that I've been going without sleep for the project. For more than a few days, in honesty, but completion is so near. I need only... [components zap] Ah, damn! I need only bypass the power systems. The main battery still holds charge, but its connections are ruined. This wiring is delicate. I must concentrate. More music will follow. Rest or continue pushing yourselves and when I return, with any luck, some progress will have been made.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Hello, listeners. You have just missed Mr. Yao, who has been down here on the pretext of delivering unsolicited cocoa. The truth is, weathering the superhorde, trying to plan a counterattack... the pressure has been intense. Bouts of flu and dysentery have other settlements low on medical supplies, beseeching us for aid. Tinkering in here is the closest thing to relaxation I've been able to manage. Hopefully you have found our exercises similarly restorative.

Today's next task: incline press-ups. If you're confined near stairs, find them. Adopt a press-up position with your hands shoulder-width apart on the second or third step of your stairs and your back straight. Bend your arms to lower your body until your chest is close to the floor, hold there for a count of two, then return to your starting position.

For those of you without stairs, like Thirty-One or Runners Nineteen and Twenty-Two who are trapped in the ale house toilet after a failed romantic escape, try wall press-ups. Stand before a wall with your legs together and your arms straight out with your palms on the wall at shoulder height, shoulder-width apart. Keep your back straight and bend your elbows to bring your nose close to the wall. Hold for two seconds, then return to your starting position.

There will be one minute of press-ups. Begin. 15 seconds down. I believe I am close to finishing the rewiring. 30 seconds down. The drone appears to be coming online. Excellent. 45 seconds down. I imagine wall press-ups are especially useful for Runner Thirteen, who is sheltering in an old police box, to Mr. Yao’s perplexing amusement.

And stop. The drone is ready for launch. With so little fuel, there is no opportunity to test it, but I have a plan in mind. The people need a victory against the horde. To be candid, I feel I need one, too. There will be a music break while I conduct the launch. Recoup or continue doing press-ups. When you hear from me again, we shall find out one way or another whether my efforts here have been in vain.

~

SAM YAO: Uh, hello? Hello, listeners, are you there? It's Sam in the comms shack. Janine told me to take over the broadcast while she launches her drone. Apparently, she's rigged up a remote to steer it, so she's got to focus on that. [paper rustles]Anyway, she's given me a list of exercises for you. Next one is... oh, planking. Janine says it's, uh, an excellent test of patience, inspired by Runner Twelve, who's stuck in the back of an overturned campervan. She's been planking to pass the time.

So lie down on your front, supporting your weight on your forearms and tiptoes. Keep your back straight and lock your core. You're going to hold that pose for 60 seconds. And go. Oh! Got an update from Janine. The drone just launched, and ah, I see it on the cams, rising from the workshop like a big scary robot eagle. 15 seconds down. That's it, plank like Runner Twelve. Halfway done. Huh, that's weird, the drone's just drifting over the horde. I mean, shouldn't it be, I don't know, shooting missiles or something? 45 seconds down. Keep your body locked. Imagine you're that drone soaring through the air like a plank. And done. Good job, everyone!

Yeah, there's still no bombs or missiles from our drone. It's uh, oh, it's losing altitude, drifting east toward Naxdale Settlement. Yeah, they've always been a bit twitchy over there. They keep claiming some mysterious beast is looting their stores. I mean, everyone knows it's just rats. Anyway, I'd better check in with Janine, make sure everything's okay. You guys know the drill, keep exercising or relax in the break and I'll be right back.

~

SAM YAO: Hey, folks! Me again. Couldn't get ahold of Janine. She must be busy steering the drone. Well, I guess we should just get on with our exercises. Uh, the next one is inch worming. According to Janine, it's Runner Thirty-One's favorite, even if he only has enough space to halfway do it in his pantry. Janine says it's the kind of bracing challenge that patience sometimes earns. Right.

So stand up straight, feet hip-width apart, then slowly bend forward, putting your hands on the floor in front of your feet as near as you can get them to your toes. Walk your hands forward, keeping your abs engaged, until your back is completely straight, then reverse it. Walk your arms back to your feet and stand up straight again. And well, just keep doing that over and over again for one minute. Ready? And go.

Hmm. Uh, you've done 15 seconds. Oh, that drone is getting really low. It's banking. Oh my God, it's going down!. Uh... uh, sorry, listeners. Um, yeah, you're halfway done. I'm just a bit distracted here. The drone’s careered right into the middle of Naxdale Settlement. Uh, I'm checking nearby cams. This can't be good. Uh, yeah, 15 seconds left, guys. Looks like the locals in Naxdale are surrounding our crashed drone. They look really agitated. Uh, good job, everyone. That's one minute.

Listen, I'm gonna raise Janine, find out what's happening. You just... hang in there. Janine's been slaving over that thing for weeks. If it's some kind of dud, she'll be devastated. Oh God, I hope Naxdale don't think we're attacking them. Okay, this could be bad, but don't panic. I'm just... just going to put on some relaxing music for you to cool down to while we get this straightened out. Oh boy.

~

JANINE DE LUCA: Hello, listeners. I apologize for alarming you and Mr. Yao. All is well, I simply chose to focus on implementing my plan before explaining it. Lost time is lost health in this case. The drone was never meant to fight the horde, you see. We lack the ammunition for that. No, the drone is packed with medical supplies. I gutted its weapons systems to make room. I have piloted the drone to our nearby neighbors.

And to those listening from Naxdale, you are entitled to 1/8th of its contents. The drone's landing gear is permanently jammed, hence today's crash. You will use spare parts aboard to repair any landing damage and I will pilot it to the next nearest settlement, where this process will repeat. The drone has enough fuel to deliver to every settlement for miles. You will all get the supplies you need. And if anyone tries to take more than their share, well, the drone has a self-destruct.

We could not beat the horde with one damaged drone, listeners, but sometimes the key to victory is redefining your success conditions. No settlement near Abel will run out of key supplies. That is worth a little lost sleep, I fancy. Alas, we are out of time for today's exercise session. Naxdale, I will be in touch to help prepare the drone.

And everyone else, please do watch the skies. I promise when you need Abel Township, we will be there. That goes doubly for Runner Thirty-One and all the other runners out there in tight spaces. One day soon, we will be coming to rescue you, no matter what it takes, I swear. This is Janine De Luca, signing off for now.

~

baby I’ll come back to you: coming soon

Well folks, since my current wip, where the wild things are, is winding down (there’s only one chapter left WHAT) and I’m taking off March/ early April from posting anything to focus on finishing up my remix fic(s) on time, I wanted to share a sneak peek of my next wip (mostly just so I could show off @dragonanddirewolf​‘s BEAUTIFUL beautiful art.) So here it is: the long-awaited Jonas Brothers au (sorta), which I hope to start posting in late April. I am really excited to start working on this fic, and even more excited to share it with everyone! Hopefully this little preview intrigues you and gets you as excited to read it as I am to write it! And tides you over while y’all wait for my next update, since I am incapable of really working on more than one project at a time. WHOOPS. Anyways, here it is, so enjoy!!

It feels like it’s been a bloody age since he’s actually seen both Robb and Theon in the same room. 

He spots them the moment he steps into the coffee shop, even though they’re tucked away in a back corner, away from prying eyes. Jon keeps his head down as he maneuvers through the crowded café, sunglasses still on even inside, just in case people are looking his way. It’s an old habit he has yet to break— out of the three of them, he certainly gets recognized the least nowadays, which is probably why all the tabloids claim he’s fallen off the face of the planet. Theon’s been doing movies, Robb was in a new band and is married to probably the most famous woman in the world, and Jon— well. He’s been living, best he can. Getting better, all of that bullshit. But truly, he hasn’t done anything like his brothers have in the past five years, so people don’t recognize him as much. Enough to squint at him in an I-know-you’re-famous way, but not enough to rush him like they do Robb whenever he steps foot outside his house. He outgrew his nineteen-year-old baby face and started tying his hair back, and all of a sudden it’s like he’s wearing a mask. 

Jon’s not sure how much longer that will last, though, because he has a feeling he knows why Robb’s asked them to meet him here today. 

“Jon,” he hears that familiar voice call, and he nods towards the two men at the back table, head still down. The last thing they need is the paps recognizing them, starting to spread rumors about the three of them all together again. 

“Hi,” Jon says, slipping into the booth, finally taking off his sunglasses. Light from outside streams in through the large windows, the busy sprawl of King’s Landing right before them. Theon slaps him on the arm in greeting; Robb smiles at him in that way he does now. That way that looks like everything’s fine, but where the light doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Gods, he can’t remember the last time his brother actually looked truly happy to see him. Probably before their last tour. 

He knows why, of course. Robb would never say it, but Jon knows that he blames him for the breakup. For everything. 

“Bloody hells, Jon, it’s been an age,” Theon says, grinning at him. “Where’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been here,” he responds, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who was off filming that movie for three months.” 

“Aye, how did that go?” Robb asks, gaze turning to Theon, that guarded look disappearing. “I haven’t seen you since you got back. You missed Rose’s birthday party, you know.” 

“I know,” Theon grumbles. “I’ll make it up to her, I promise. I have to maintain my favorite uncle status.” 

They chat for a while— mundane things, catching up. Theon tells them about the movie he’d just wrapped on. Robb shows them both a million new photos of his children. Jon keeps quiet, just listening. It’s… nice, to be back with both of them, the warm sunlight spilling in through the window, making Robb’s eyes shine like they used to when he was younger. It makes him forget, for a moment. Wish for those days back, when the three of them would spend every moment of their time writing music, pouring their hearts and souls into their careers. It was something so fleeting and magical, he’s not really sure he’ll ever find anything like that again. 

Jon realizes he’s lost track of the conversation when Theon clears his throat, looking at the two of them almost nervously, in a decidedly un-Theon-like way. “I’m glad we did this,” he says to them, “because I wanted to tell you both.” He pauses, looking at Robb, as if trying to gauge his best friend’s reaction before he even says anything. “I’m going to ask Sansa to marry me.” 

Robb’s eyes get comically wide, so much that Jon chuckles, ducking his head. But it only takes his brother a moment to recover, before he’s grinning widely, eyes sparkling in a way Jon hasn’t seen them in a long time. 

Or maybe that’s just because Jon seldom sees Robb anymore. 

“Wow,” Robb says, almost speechless. “That’s— that’s brilliant, Theon. Congratulations!” 

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet,” Theon says, giving Robb a look. “Don’t go cursing me or something now. She’ll go on and say no.” 

“You think she would?” Jon asks. Theon shrugs. 

“I don’t really, but— hells, I don’t know.” He gives Robb a look. “How did you know it was right when you asked Margaery?” 

Robb huffs in laughter. “Oh gods, don’t take advice from me on that,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. 

“What do you mean?” Theon demands. “You’re the only one of us who’s bloody married!” 

Jon looks down as the sudden feeling of coldness creeps in, like an icy dagger to the heart. Memories flash before his eyes, and he’s trapped back in the past, glimpses of hair like moonlight and teasing smiles dragging him down, drowning him. 

He still has that diamond ring somewhere— buried in the back of a drawer, probably, where he won’t stumble upon it. Seeing it is too painful, but getting rid of it— well. That’s painful in an entirely different way. 

“Aye, but Margaery made it easy for me,” Robb says. “She wrote a whole bloody album that basically told me she was waiting for me to ask her.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Y’know I still get asked if I married her with paper rings.” 

At that, Jon snorts, a little of the darkness lifting. He’s seen his goodsister’s engagement ring, and it is certainly not made of paper. 

Jon tunes out as Robb continues on, reassuring Theon. He doesn’t realize he’s being addressed until both men are staring at him expectantly. 

“Sorry, what?” he says, and Robb rolls his eyes amiably. 

“I asked, what have you been doing, Jon?” Theon repeats, and Jon shifts uncomfortably. Nothing, is really the most honest answer. Working out. Walking Ghost. Trying to keep his mind occupied and himself sober. 

It’s probably sad, to look at his life now, compared to what it used to be. When he was nineteen years old he was touring the world, singing for millions of fans, writing songs every single minute of every single day. Music was most of his life. And now he’s just— trying to get by, he supposes. It’s sad, but it’s what he’s become accustomed to. Just… making it through the day, one day at a time. 

“Er, not much,” he admits. “Not like you two, anyways.” 

Robb glances up at him, that guarded look back in his eyes. “Arya told me you’ve been writing again,” he says, quietly. Jon curses mentally— he never should have told her that. 

“Fuckin’ tattletale,” Jon grumbles. But he can tell from Robb’s expression he’s not going to drop it. “Aye, I have been,” he admits, heaving a sigh. “Not anythin’ good. Just… I dunno. I missed it, I guess.” 

“I miss it too,” Theon says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Acting is fine, but music… it’s something different, isn’t it?” 

“Aye, it is,” Robb agrees. “Margaery’s been workin’ on her next album, and it makes me think back to then. When we’d just crowd around the table in Mum and Dad’s living room, and Jon would come up with a lyric, and Theon would just hear how it should sound, and we’d write a song in an afternoon.” He sighs, a little wistfully, looking down. “Watching Margaery at the piano, it just…” 

“Feels like a part of you is missing,” Theon supplies. 

Jon doesn’t answer, but he knows what they mean. Maybe that’s why he began songwriting again. Not because he wants to have a music career anymore— just because it’s so ingrained in him, he doesn't really know what to do with himself if he’s not making music. And if he’s being honest, writing down lyrics, coming up with a melody on the guitar or the piano that mainly just collects dust in his living room… there’s a comforting familiarity to it. Like maybe his sense of self hasn’t been completely destroyed. Maybe some of the old person he used to be is buried down deep. 

“Do you ever think about it?” Theon asks, and Robb’s brow furrows. “Y’know. The possibility of… us. Getting back together.” 

Robb exhales slowly. “More than I should,” he says. “I… it’s really hit me, in the past few years. How much I miss it. And doing things by myself, or with other people, it’s just not the same.” 

“Aye,” Jon agrees, both Theon and Robb looking a little surprised at the fact that he’s participating in this conversation voluntarily. But he knows what Robb means. He did solo things after the breakup, just because he didn’t know how to do anything else. And it had been a lackluster replacement, nothing like he’d felt for the almost seven years he and Robb and Theon were together. 

“What about you, Jon?” Robb asks, and as casual as his brother may be trying to appear, Jon knows him better than that. He can hear the apprehension in his voice. And the hope. 

Jon exhales, trying to sort out his words in his head before he says something he regrets. “I… do miss it,” he says. “And sometimes I think about it. Gettin’ back together. But I always…” He hesitates. “Would it even be the same? Can we have that again, truly? Or was it just some miracle we stumbled upon we can’t get back?” 

“I wonder that too,” Theon admits. “If we got back together— would anyone even care? Would anyone want to listen to our music in the first place?” 

“I know what you mean,” Robb says, and his blue eyes flash with determination, desperation. Like he’s clinging onto this with all his might. “But I miss making music with you two. And I think if we truly did this, we couldn’t worry about the fans, or the people. We’d have to do it just for us.” 

Just for us, Jon thinks, trying not to roll his eyes. That’s a novel thought in Hollywood. All he seemed to do when they were a band was give and give and give himself away. Nothing here was ever just for him. 

Well… there was her. But now that’s gone as well. 

“I would do it,” Theon says, with a conviction that surprises Jon. “It would be hard, and who bloody knows what would even come of it, but I would. If this is you asking, Robb, then I say yes.” 

Robb blinks, a little taken aback, but then Theon’s words really seem to hit him, and he smiles. A laugh falls from his lips, eyes shining in a way that Jon rarely sees anymore. 

“What about you, Jon?” Theon asks, and that’s when Robb’s eyes dim. 

Jon sighs. “I dunno,” he says. “That’s… a big decision. I’d like to just say yes, but…” 

“I know,” Robb says. “And I don’t want you to say yes unless you really mean it, Jon. If you just… do this for us, nothing will end well.” 

His eyes drop down to the coffee table, heart heavy. Yes, he knows that’s true. Because isn’t that how it all blew up the first time? Jon couldn’t do it anymore, and instead of telling anyone, he soldiered on for Robb and Theon. For his brothers. And it all ended in fucking disaster. 

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, and the sincerity in his voice takes him by surprise as much as it does Robb and Theon. “Truly, I will.” 

Maybe it’s not a bad idea. He loved making music with Robb and Theon. It was his entire life for so long— some crazy dream they somehow made come true. The most surreal, incredible thing in the world, right there before them. And he does miss it. He misses having a purpose, an outlet, an… anything. He misses the time when his life wasn’t an endless void, a monotonous parade of going through the motions day-to-day, trying to learn to move on from something he never really thinks he’ll be over. 

Robb’s smile is warm when it meets his, and Theon claps him on the shoulder, looking uncharacteristically hopeful. And for a moment, Jon’s heart feels light, not like it’s made of iron, still heavy in his chest after nearly seven years. 

But then Robb’s expression shifts, and his stomach sinks once again. 

“There’s somethin’ else,” his brother admits. “Sansa just told me. And I figured you’d rather hear it from us, than see it plastered across all the tabloids in King’s Landing.” 

“What is it?” Jon asks, dread filling his stomach. He just knows, somehow, that this is it. This fragile peace he’s tried to build these past years is about to shatter, the rug pulled out from under him. 

Robb exhales, like he has to physically force the words out, and Jon prepares himself for the fallout.

“Dany’s back in town.” 

And with that, the world stops spinning.

As Long As I Can Get -  Chapter Two: Fairfield

Summary: Y/N Fairfield has spent the last 10 years pushing past all the hurt and putting all her focus into her career. A familiar face back in town threatens the peace she found. [prompt: Small Town Lovers AU]

Part: 2/5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (AU)

Warnings: at a hospital, mentions of death and abandonment

Word count: 3,198

A/N: It’s been a wild week but here it is, chapter two! Enjoy! Special thanks to @wxntersoldiers​ for beta reading.

~

“Y/N? You think you could pick up my shift tonight? Missy is running a fever and I can’t get ahold of my mother to come take care of her.” Holding the phone away from her face Y/N sighed heavily as she rolled out of bed.

“Of course Dawn, just call in for me and tell them I’m on my way would ya? Thanks, it’s no biggie. I’m happy to help, let me know how Missy is doing later.” Hanging up the phone she’s up and changing in a flash, quickly moving across her apartment and back. 

Within 6 minutes she’s in her scrubs and locking her apartment door, rushing down the stairs and out the front in another 3. She slides into the driver's seat, buckles in, and on the road to the highway in record time. 

This was becoming a routine every week, someone would have an emergency and she’d be asked to pick up the slack. Her regular shifts at the ER in town kept her busy through the day, but her Thursday or Friday nights were often filled up by favors and desperate calls. She had a limit though, each person could only ask her one favor a month and she would cover one emergency. But when the emergencies came she could tell when they were real or just another masked favor. So by now the only emergency usually came from a mother whose kid was hurt or sick. 

Pulling into the employee parking lot, she exited her car and speed walked into the building, making her way to the sign in at the station. She prayed this would be a tame night and that Dawn didn’t have any difficult new patients because she was far too tired to argue about something that she was more of an expert on. 

Covering for Dawn was usually not too bad, most of her patients typically being older and gentle folk who treated her like a loving grandkid. Always gave her some nickname, rarely ever calling her nurse or even her name. All of which was fine by her.

Being a nurse hadn’t always come easy for her, remembering all the medications, the proper doses, the schedules, and how to do every aspect of her job was a lot to take in. But the moments in which she connected with a patient were the reason she got into the specific role in the medical field. Well that and her father.

Most of her family had joined the field, all three of her brothers had either become paramedics or a physical therapist. Her mother was the chief physician at the ER in Brightbarrow and her father was a private care nurse typically working with elderly or terminal members of the town. On a few occasions he had brought her along to see his patients, acting as a distraction for those who were living with severe pain. Through these visits in her childhood she began to realize how she enjoyed helping people who were hurting, and giving them a sense of peace for a little while.

One college degree later and she was back in town applying to work in the ER, her scheduled shifts hardly ever including weekends unless someone needed a cover and she was the only one who could spare the time. Her work there was routine, but here at this hospital outside town? She had found some gentle souls that brightened her day.

“Oh my, is that you Sunshine?” Claudia was sitting up in the hospital bed, remote in her hand to flip through the limited channels. “What a lovely surprise.”

“How are we tonight? Take our medicine okay today?” Claudia smirks and nods, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes forming as a flicker of mischief shines in her eyes. “Mhhmm.”

“I have somethin’ for ya sunshine. Made it yesterday when they let me do some crafts.” Claudia reaches to the table rolled off to the side of her bed and picks up a bracelet with rainbow thread. Y/N walks over to the woman and allows her to gently tie off the multicolored bracelet around her wrist. “There, perfect size.”

“Thank you Claudia, that’s awfully kind of you.” A smile is shared between the two before Y/N motions for her to hand over the remote. “Now how about we shut this off and I read you a little something so you can doze off, sound good?”

“Only if it's that one you told me about, the one with the little guys.” Y/N chuckled at the description but nodded in agreement nonetheless as she powered down the television and left to get her novel. 

“Alright get comfy now.” She waited for Claudia to adjust her bed and helped her with the pillows before cracking open the small book and beginning the tale. “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

“Ah that’s what they were, that’s right. Hobbits.”

At the end of her shift Y/N was exhausted and ready for bed, doing her best to keep wide awake on her drive back by playing her dad’s favorite rock station. Thankfully it did the trick and she made it into town without issue, turning down the volume and switching stations as she made her way through the town like she’d done a million times before.

Turning onto her street she was perplexed to notice a man walking the sidewalks this late in the night, his movements slow and steady. The closer she got to him the sooner she realized she knew exactly who the man was and she had some theories about what was keeping him up so late. Pulling to the side of the road she exited her car, slamming the door shut behind her before glancing up to meet the gaze of a man she hadn’t seen in ages.

Bucky Barnes stood across the street staring at her like he’d seen a ghost, his features painted with something along the lines of guilt or sorrow. The man was frozen in place by her, his eyes watching as she raised a sleepy hand to wave at her old friend. To her surprise he waved back and yet he didn’t move a muscle as she turned away from him to head to bed. 

The next morning she woke late, the Saturday sun shining through the cracks of her blinds stirring her from her sleep. Her stomach grumbled, craving some of Winifred Barnes’ cooking ASAP. Instead of driving she opted to walk over there, let the sun and the exercise wake her a little more.

Winnie’s Diner was the town staple, the place that every person went at least a few times a week. It was the kind of business that had become the heart of the town, the comfort and hospitality center. If you wanted to get a feel for the town you didn’t have to look any further than this diner, it was where Y/N had gotten her first job. She had one of her first dates in a corner booth and had been stood up in another. This building was a hub of memories, good and bad.

“Hey Y/N! Have a seat. I'll be right with you girl.” Becca was zooming around the place in a graceful hurry, placing plates and clearing tables as she went. “What can I get ya?”

“A coffee, a biscuit, some bacon, and an update. Please.” She watched as her best friend shook her head with a reluctant nod before dropping off the order. 

Once the coffee was poured she told her brother she was taking her 15 and slid into the other half of the booth. Y/N sat patiently, prepping her coffee as she waited for Becca to collect her thoughts.

“He’s back for good, got a job working for Thomas Geldin constructing those new homes over by your parent’s house.” Sipping her coffee Y/N did her best not to allow her emotions to betray her. 

“What changed?” 

“Not sure. He seems different, like his load is heavier. Almost like he was when Daddy died, just emotionally cut off and distant. But he is making an effort to get closer and he comes in here every day for his lunch break. Which is in a few minutes now.” Y/N coughed, nearly choking on her coffee as her eyes went wide. 

“Sneak.”

“Hey don’t look at me, you two just are fated to dine at the same time.” Becca smirks before rushing off to grab something to eat before her break ends. 

She hadn’t actually spoken a word to Bucky since he came back to town, and yet he suddenly lived across the street and worked by her old home. Now he would be here within minutes and she would once more feel compelled to initiate conversation, but she wouldn’t let herself. If he wanted to talk he would approach her, not the other way around. 

He arrived the same time her food did, his eyes scanning the room to presumably locate his sister but freezing on Y/N who sat before her. A mixture of emotions flashed across his features rapidly before settling on a guilt ridden expression. Bucky approached the booth, his sister pausing to greet him and casting a wink over her shoulder before speeding away. Standing before the booth he shifted his weight nervously as he seemed at a loss for what to say. His eyes are no longer able to maintain contact and he casts them to the empty seat.

Don’t invite him. Don’t invite him. It took all her strength to refrain from being polite, her eyes never leaving him as her gaze intensified.

“Mind if I join you?” Her heart dropped, she was expecting a simple hello or quick apology and not a full on meal with the guy. She nodded her head, refusing to take the bait just yet as he slid into the booth.

“Here’s your usual James.” Becca slid a plate with a steak and cheese melt and fries onto the table before rushing off again. She was pushing him, Y/N knew that his mother and the older townspeople were the only ones who used his actual name. To everyone else he was Bucky. 

“I’m sorry about not keeping in touch, there’s been a lot that I had to work through the past 10 years.” God she could hardly believe it had been that long since he left, an entire decade had passed by without him. “Can we start again?”

Once more she had to use all her might to restrain herself from instantly agreeing and forgiving what he had done. She didn’t understand why he cut her off so quickly and completely, their friendship wilting through high school and fading in the decade following. But she knew why he had become so emotionally reserved, after watching his father wither away slowly and gradually lose the ability to even function Bucky had begun to close himself off from everyone. He smiled less, got into more trouble with other kids, and barely made it enough to enlist. 

Sure she had missed him dearly and knew he had suffered greatly, probably even worse after his service, but she couldn’t risk getting too quickly attached again. Not when she knew how much his leaving her behind tore her apart. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” She could see her words striking a nerve within him, his appetite diminishing. “But I’d like to.”

His eyes snap up to meet hers, relief flooding them as he gazes at her fondly. Y/N wanted desperately to forget it all but she knew that proceeding with caution was the best course of action. She would let him have the opportunity to rectify his past mistakes, but it was up to him to take it.

“City noise or quiet town?” He knit his brow and gave her a perplexed look before taking a bite of a fry. “Pick one.”

“I’m not sure I have a preference anymore.”

“But you had one.”

“City noise.” She shook her head with a small smile, curiosity overtaking her careful approach. “Drowned everything out.”

“Patty’s coffee or city coffee?”

“Patty will forever have the world’s best coffee. No one in New York believed me, kept saying European coffee was where it was at.” 

“I’m going to move on before I get so offended I bring her coffee to New York.” Bucky laughed lightly, eyes crinkling shut as he shook his head at her. The sound warmed her heart and she could already tell this was going to be hard not to fall into. 

His break eventually comes close to an end and he has to rush back to work but leaves a napkin with his phone number behind. She shook her head at the gesture, he knew full well that she and Becca were very close friends and she could have gotten his number from his sister. One point to him for ensuring she had it. 

Becca was off at 3 so Y/N spent her time walking around the book shop, glancing at summaries and running her fingers over the spines. Her mind was far too crowded to pick anything out, focused on how she was going to make it through this renewal of friendship after so much pain. This place usually put her at ease, the sight of the full shelves and atmosphere calming her active mind. But today her mind had won and so she wandered around town until she had nowhere else to go but home. 

A knock sounded on her door an hour or two later and an exhausted Becca made her way inside to fall onto the couch and groan dramatically.

“I take it we’re getting pizza from Toni’s tonight?” This catches the attention of her best friend who suddenly perks right up.

“And wine.” Y/N opens her fridge door and pulls out a bottle, holding it up for Becca to see and receives a nod of approval.

“Pull up netflix and I’ll order the pizza.”

Several glasses of wine and pieces of pizza later the two are sitting on the floor going through a shoebox full of old memories. Memories of their friendship. 

“Oh remember this?” Becca holds up two ticket stubs, one to their high school dance and the other to see a Panic! concert. 

“We showed up in full formal wear, not thinking to pack another outfit to change into.” Y/N dug in the box and produced a photo of the two from that night, Panic! at the Disco tour shirts over their dresses. “I can’t believe we didn’t get caught until your mom saw the shirt in your laundry.”

“Almost the perfect crime. Kind of dumb of us to pay the money for the ticket when we never even went to the dance though.” The two fell into a fit of giggles and struggled to compose themselves. “We were not the best planners apparently.”

“Are you kidding? The College Bar Crawl fiasco?” 

“Oh Jesus, yeah we really should have thought through where we were going to end up staying the night. Next time we do something, we need a fully thought out plan.” 

“Agreed. It’s too dangerous for us to do any less. We might end up in Europe and somehow married.” Becca falls flat on her back as laughter bubbles through her, her head turning and spotting another box under the bed.

“What is this?” She slides the box out and removes the lid before Y/N can stop her, her fingers gingerly sifting through the contents as a smile tugs at her lips. “Oh, you’re a sentimental sap.”

“Gee thanks.” 

Inside were pictures of her, Bucky, and Steve throughout the few years they were all together. She instantly gravitated toward them when she moved to town at 8, sick of being the new girl and ready to settle into a place. They stuck up for her when she was mocked by some older kids, Bucky and Steve became her dearest friends in only a few years. 

There were more photos of her and Steve together, seeing as he was the only one out of the two boys to keep her in his life. Pictures of them at his prom, no girl seemed to see past his physical change and so he invited her. She remembered how her parents felt about that night, so proud of who they thought she was choosing to be with. A boy who was going to college, who had aspirations but remained loyal to his town. One with a kind heart and a gentle soul. She knew what they expected from the night, but they never understood that she and Steve were simply good friends and nothing more.

The photos of her and Bucky begin to dwindle around when she was 13, the year after his father died. Slowly Bucky grew apart from her and Steve, more the former than the latter. Something after her birthday party that year changed everything and she began to lose him piece by piece until he finally enlisted and left altogether. 

She held a photo of the two of them between her fingers, eyes tearing up at the sight of their smiles. It was the day of her party, when she could still make him smile and forget about his troubles even if just for a moment. Bucky had both arms around her torso, his head resting on her shoulder and a bright smile on his face. Her cheek was against his face, hands and arms resting on his forearms with a dopey big smile stretched across her face. 

“I swear I could kill that boy for what he did. I get losing touch while overseas, but cutting you out of his life while still in the same small town? That’s just cruel.” Becca sighed and took the photo from Y/N’s hands, placing everything back in the boxes before sliding both back under. “And to think I used to believe he liked you.”

“That would have made things worse.” 

“C’mon let’s forget about that punk and eat some chocolate.” Y/N leaned into Becca as she was held by her, sighing deeply. “You’ll always have me, and Steve. That boy would rather dive face first out of an airplane than ditch a friend.” 

“Ain’t that the truth.”

After Becca left Y/N spent some time cleaning up after their roller-coaster of a night. Her body was tired but her mind was far too active to rest. Thoughts of what she lost sticking in her brain as she watched out the window as Bucky exited his townhouse and began to walk aimlessly in the night. She almost wanted to join him, not speaking just walking.

Instead she readied herself for bed, lying under the covers and staring out the window at the stars. Her mind traveled to something Bucky once told her about his dad and how if he found the North Star then he would never be alone, because someone else was always looking too. 

And she knew exactly who that was.

~

Tags: @asphalt-cocktail​ @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @cantnkrusshedevil​ @gstran18​

Food for Thought || Celeste & Luce

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @divineluce and @celestelavie SUMMARY: Celeste gets off work early and decides to drop off some lunch for Ulfric. He’d already gone home for the day, so Luce and Celeste enjoy a nice lunch together.

While she wasn’t quite sure she’d say Ulfric liked her, Celeste could pick up on the fact he felt less tense around her. Of course, he was never anything less than courteous to her and she was doing her best to show him as much kindness as possible. After all, he’d opened up his home to them and was working diligently to insure Ariana’s safety. Since she had cut from work early for the day, she decided she could bring lunch by the shop for Ulfric on her way home. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be a fan of red meat if Ariana’s affinity for it was any indication. She’d brought two burgers and some fries with her to the shop, hoping she would catch Ulf during a break between appointments. She didn’t love hanging around in her Al’s uniform, but a short lunch wouldn’t hurt. As she walked into the shop, she saw no sign of Ulfric. She walked up to a young woman who was sitting at the counter and asked, “Is Ulfric around?” 

Usually, Luce wasn’t in the business of covering the receptionist desk. She’d done her time doing that as an apprentice, answering phone calls and getting the calendars all set up. But, the girl who usually ran the desk today had to run because of a family emergency and Luce had time to kill. The design for her appointment later today was finalized and she was more than happy to get some work done on her own art pieces. Which is why she was sitting at the desk, sketch book in front of her. When the bell above the door jangled, Luce glanced up woman who approached. Older, probably around Bea’s age or so, but cute. The uniform helped too. “Ulf? You just missed him.” Luce said with a shake of her head, glancing at the bag of food in her hands. “Let me check his calendar though, see if he might pop back in soon.” She said, scrolling through the computer, “Damn. Sorry, he’s gone for the rest of the day.”

Damn. Celeste hadn’t taken into account he may have not had appointments for the rest of the afternoon. It was usually a little later in the afternoon that she’d see him come home. Oh well, she supposed she had entirely too much food now. She looked to the woman who had been working on a sketch. She wondered if this was the woman Ariana mentioned was helping with Ulfric’s birthday gift. If she had to guess, the woman was a few years younger than her but clearly established in her trade. Good for her. “I probably should have called first, I was bringing lunch since I got off work early today.” Looking down at the now greasy bags in her hand, she said, “Hey, you must be the artist helping Ariana with Ulf’s birthday gift. Care for a cheeseburger?” 

“Eh, shit happens.” Luce said with a shrug. She still wasn’t entirely sure why this woman was here-- she didn’t think that Al’s was doing delivery. And if they were, they needed to work on making sure to send the delivery folks to the right location. But, when the woman mentioned her project for Ariana, bringing up Ulf again, Luce raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s me. She’s a good kid, I’m surprised she wanted to do something this big for him, but it’s a cool project for me to work on.” At the offer of food, she leaned back in her chair before tilting her head towards another one of the other empty stools nearby. Perhaps it was just because of the value of magic, of everything being a give and take, but she didn’t particularly like handouts. But, a trade? She could get behind that. “Tell you what. I’ll take a cheeseburger in exchange for company. It gets boring at the desk.” Figuring that wasn’t much of a trade, Luce added, “I’ll throw in a drawing for some fries, if you’ve got them.”

Celeste was glad to hear that this was in fact the woman helping out Ariana. From what she’d seen of the updates so far, it was shaping up to be an impressive piece. Though she was sure from the outside looking in, it was odd that a teenager was making such a big gift for Ulfric. If it hadn’t been for their shared nature, Celeste would have found it odd as well. She shrugged with a toothless grin on her face, “I think she’s really excited about diving into the whole carpentry thing. Plus, he’s done a lot for both of us. She tends to be very go big or go home or whatever it is the kids are saying these days,” she explained with a laugh. The prospect of company that wasn’t a teenager or a werewolf who was merely tolerating her presence actually sounded quite nice. Taking care of tables at Al’s was truly about as social as she got these dies though as much was probably wise all things considered. Lunch with Luce sounded like good fun. She smiled wide at the woman being sure to overlook the bruised nose, “Company would be delightful. I haven’t had the chance to make many friends since moving here so most of my conversations are ‘how would you like your eggs’, teenager things, or Ulf swearing in Norweigian.” She said the last bit with a laugh. It was actually quite amusing, but she was sure he didn’t think as much. At the mention of a drawing, Celeste smirked and said, “Well, I guess it’s my lucky day then since I brought fries. I suppose if we’re dining together, I should properly introduce myself.” She extended her hand, “I’m Celeste, Ariana’s older sister and waitress extraordinaire.” She motioned to the ridiculous little 50s get-up she had to wear to work every day. 

“Sounds like it’s working out really well for her. The piece of wood she gave me should make for a good table. I’m just hoping that the design turns out how she wants.” Luce said with a nod before grabbing one of the chairs from around the desk and cleared a spot for the woman to join. “Well, I’m not ordering eggs, the teenager ship set sail a long time for me, but I do know some choice Norwegian swears, courtesy of the man himself.” She said with a grin. “Turkish is my language of choice for swearing, though.” Luce said with a wink before scooting out of the way to let the woman sit beside her. “Nice to meet you, Celeste. I’m Luce, the best thing that happened to Ulf’s shop. Short of him, you know, opening up the place.” She said, before switching gears. “How’d you and Ulfric know each other?” Was she the totally not kinky lady who was looking for the rope and mayonnaise? 

While this wasn’t her original plan, Celeste was pleased with how it worked out. She had the feeling Luce would be a little more chatty than Ulfric was with her. Bless his heart, he did try and be as kind to her as possible, but the underlying tension was hard to ignore. One day, he’d be able to trust her fully and she could hardly blame him that it was something that needed to be earned. It didn’t mean lunch with a woman who was close enough in age to her wouldn’t be a welcome change of pace. “Thank god,” she said with a laugh, “If I have to hear over-easy, YEET, or faen one more time today, I might actually lose it.” She joined her for a seat and pulled out the burgers and fries, passing Luce’s lunch down to her. “Turkish, huh? You speak fluently or are the swear words your specialty?” There was a small smirk on her lips before she picked at a few of the french fries. The next question should have been expected, but she wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. It’s not like she could just say Ulfric was her sister’s wolfy mentor or protector. She couldn’t even quite define it herself and knew it wasn’t something she was meant to understand. “I guess you could say he’s a family friend. He’s helped Ariana and myself out a great deal with things as of late, I thought it’d be nice to drop by some lunch for him on my way home.” Celeste found herself curious about Luce as well. Her face was a little bruised up which was a call for question in itself, but she seemed young and established. “How long have you known Ulfric? It seems like you’ve made quite the career for yourself here.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep my extensive knowledge of memes out of lunch, then.” Luce laughed, accepting the container with the burger and fries with an appreciative nod. It beat the sandwich she’d thrown together this morning, for damn sure. She was usually pretty on top of her shit, but after the run in she and Nell had with August after the coven meeting… it had rattled her, more than she’d like to admit. Pushing the thought from her mind, she focused on the woman next to her. “Fluent, nah. Conversational enough to piss off the grandparents? Bunu kolayca yapabilirim.” She said, the language rolling off her tongue. “I can certainly teach you some swears, if you’re interested.” Luce smirked and took a bite from her burger. She hadn’t forgotten her part of the deal, but getting burger grease on her sketch pad was the last thing she wanted. So, she watched the Celeste speak instead. “He’s a good guy, he does a lotta shit like that.” She nodded, thinking back to his request for some kind of magic protection thing from her sisters. He still owed her for that. She’d have to cash it at some point. Swallowing, Luce wiped her mouth with a napkin before flipping her arm over, showing Celeste the inside of her right arm and the large lightbulb tattoo that lay there. “He did this for me when I was 18. We got to talking, about art and shit, and he told me I was wasting my time in college. Turns out, he was right. I quit school and took an apprenticeship here within a month.”

“I’m not that old, I still enjoy a good meme,” Celeste retorted with a laugh. Memes she could deal with. Her patience was running a bit thin when it came to TikToks though, especially since Ariana had discovered she could make them herself and took to pranking Celeste. It was funny how technology cycled. When she was Ariana’s age, MySpace had just been dying and was being replaced by Facebook. Now there was a whole slew of channels that she couldn’t quite be bothered with. She took a bite out of her burger and had to choke back a laugh, “Nothing quite as fun as pissing the grandparents off, or the parents too if you’re me. Do I get a translation for that bit?” She smirked as she set the burger down to trade for a few fries, “I may just have to take you up on that.” She had a mouth full of burger as she listened to Luce speak. There was no doubt in her mind that Ulfric was a good man. She knew her invite to stay in his home was primarily due to Ariana, but allowing a hunter in his home, even one that didn’t hunt wolves, was more kindness than she could have expected. She had no doubt he showed kindness to others as well. “I could see that,” she said simply, not wanting to touch too much on how Ulfric had helped her and Ariana personally. She imagined it had to be nice discovering a career and diving in at such a young age. She was happy Ariana was able to do as much as well. “That’s pretty impressive, I thought you seemed pretty young to be so established in your field. I’ve always imagined tattooing to be a pretty fun job. What’s the most fun piece you’ve ever given someone?” 

“My b,” Luce raised her hands innocently and laughed herself before grabbing a couple fries from the box. Chewing, she shrugged. “I said, I can do that easily. My sisters and I learned English and Turkish at the same time, but since we speak English all the time, it’s the one that stuck the most. That said, I can tell you all the fun swears that Ulfric doesn’t know. Like… ciğerini sikeyim.” She said with a roguish grin. “Literally, it means fuck your liver, but it basically is like… a really strong version of go fuck yourself.” She explained and took another bite from the burger before setting it back down in the tray. Dusting her hands free of crumbs, she flipped to a clean page of her sketchpad. “Thanks. It’s a good time, gives me a lot of freedom to be as creative as I want. Within the realm of what my clients are looking for.” She said with a nod. Tapping her pencil on the sheet, she began to do some rough sketches, drawing aimlessly. “Depends on what you think is fun. Visually fun, I once did a rad Neo-traditional sailing ship and mermaid scene. Fun for me personally to create, I did a great blackwork leg sleeve.” She said. “Both were great, I liked them a lot.”

“Ciğerini sikeyim,” Celeste said slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct, “I like that one. I’m definitely using it the next time someone pisses me off.” She laughed as she picked at more of her french fries, “I get that, my parents tried to teach me French and German growing up, but really English is the only one that solidly stuck. I can order a beer in all three languages though. Clearly, I have my priorities straight.” There was a small smirk on her lips before she took another bite out of her burger. A slight pang of sadness hit her listening to Luce talk about her own career. Being on the run since the age of sixteen didn’t make for great career opportunities. Maybe one day, if things settled down and she no longer had to worry about her parents, she could actually pursue Nursing School as she had always wanted to do. “It sounds like you made a great choice hopping into the field then. I hope to get on the better late than never track with some sort of actual career. I definitely have a limited number of years of this getup still looking good on me,” she remarked with a chuckle as she gestured down towards her ridiculous 50s get-up that was customary at Al’s. She watched curiously as Luce pulled out her sketchpad. “Both sound fascinating. I’ve always toyed around with the idea of getting a tattoo, but have never actually committed to an idea. I did used to want to be a mermaid when I grew up. Given, that was six year old me’s aspiration.” 

Pleased with her quick grasp of the pronunciation, Luce nodded. “For sure, give it a shot the next time someone decides to be a dick at Al’s or something.” She said. Raising an eyebrow, Luce grinned. “I dunno, beer is very important. Alcohol’s an essential food group in my book.” She joked, amused. Though Turkish was one of the two languages she’d learned growing up, she’d been forced to take a foreign language in high school which meant she’d suffered through a couple years of Spanish. The most she could remember, beyond asking for a beer and saying that was a tiger in bed, was probably asking where the library was. “It’s never too late to start doing something new,” Luce agreed. “What are you thinking of doing, hm?” As the woman mentioned something about being a mermaid, Luce’s pencil shifted. Pulling away from the odd doodles and random assortment of shapes in uniform patterns she’d done as a warm up, she glanced up at the woman. “You like the ocean? Or just the idea of it?” She asked, beginning to scrawl some curving lines onto the page.

A proud smile appeared on Celeste’s face as she realized she had gotten the pronunciation spot on. She’d enjoyed learning new languages, but being out of practice made it easy to forget them. “You are just filled with good ideas. I can’t get written up for swearing if no one knows what I’m saying,” she mused with a small laugh. Some of the middle of the night drunk crowd deserved that level of swearing. She’d polished off her own burger and neatly crinkled up the wrapper and placed it back in the paper bag. Her eyes drifted to the sketchpad and she found herself in awe of how people could just bring things to life on paper that way. Luce’s question caught her attention and she found she felt somewhat sheepish about it. “One day, I’d like to do the whole nursing school thing. I’ve always enjoyed helping people and I’m good with first aid. Not at all squeamish, but we’ll see. Ari is starting to work now too, so it's a little less pressure on me to put in so many hours myself.” She looked down momentarily before adding, “Maybe don’t mention that to Ariana though. I wouldn’t want her to feel bad.” She smiled easily again at the talk of mermaids and the ocean. Much easier to think about than trying to tackle college after thirty. Logically, she knew college when she was taking care of a five year old werewolf wasn’t realistic, but the part of her that had been a perfectionist back in grade school still felt off about the whole thing. “What can I say? I really loved The Little Mermaid growing up. I think it was more about Ariel than it was about the ocean though,” she answered with a chuckle, “The ocean is fascinating. More of a mountain girl myself, but there’s something serene about listening to the waves.” 

“I know, right? I should start charging for all the good ideas I’ve got rattling around.” Luce replied, her easy smile still on her face. “First one’s free, next ones cost ya.” She said roguishly before returning her focus onto the image at hand. Listening came easily to Luce-- after all, it was part of her job. People liked to chatter while they were in pain. They liked to talk, to distract themselves, so she was no stranger to being able to hold a conversation while also working on a tattoo. And this wasn’t all that different. “A nurse, huh? That’s pretty cool. Helping people and doing good and stuff. And don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” She said with a shrug. Leaning back from the small ocean scene she’d drawn up, Luce scrutinized the cresting wave before taking her eraser to it. Not quite what she wanted. At the mention of the woman’s interest in the Little Mermaid, she raised an eyebrow. Oh? “That’s a big fucking mood. Ariel could get it. Then again, pretty much any of the Disney princesses can.” She said. At the mention of mountains, Luce began to draw a scene just along the shoreline of the beach. She drew in a forest scene, something similar to the way the beaches outside of White Crest looked, with tall pine trees looming just beyond the sand. “How’s this looking?” She asked, holding up the image.

“You might be onto something there. The illusive they always say if you’re good at something, don’t do it for free,” Celeste smirked and added, “Thanks for the introductory freebie.” It was nice to have someone outside of her coworkers and current roommates to talk with. She’d never really expressed her own aspirations before. With being on the run and having her parents try to track them down, it never seemed like something feasible anyhow. Ariana was dead set on staying here though so she supposed she could go ahead and enroll for classes at the community college. Luce was nice to talk to though she supposed it was part of the job. “Yes, I was thinking about enrolling in classes at the community college for the fall now that we are permanently staying somewhere and Ariana also has a job. And thanks.” Celeste had never been great at drawing or painting, so it was fascinating to see someone work at it so naturally. Luce seemed to be really in her element and there was something sort of relaxing about it. She found herself immediately laughing at the remark about Disney princesses, “I really vibed with her because of the parental defiance thing, but you’re not wrong. All the Disney princesses are pretty hot. If we’re going for hot animated chicks though, the Sailor Scouts are where it’s at. Tuxedo Mask can also get it on that note.” She looked over the drawing and grinned widely. A mountain beach scene was what she’d always hoped for in a place to build a home. She answered, “It’s looking perfect.” 

“Damn straight.” Luce said approvingly, the only time straight could be used to describe her. “You’re more than welcome. Next one though, you’ll have to pay me back. I’ll be keeping track too.” Adding a bit more detailing work onto the curl of the wave, she began to shade, adding in some of the finer lines and curves to the way it crested. It was all coming together, into one coherent piece. Her pencil flowed over the page, the image forming just as it had in her mind. “That’s a solid plan. Save money where you can and all that, nobody will knock you for community college.” She nodded. Money had never been a thing that she’d ever had to worry about-- Mom and Dad had always had that on lock. But, still. She could relate, sort of. She’d been hellbent on trying to get away from their influence on her life. Getting her cabin had been a part of that and taking her apprenticeship was an ever larger part. “Parental defiance, huh? I get that.” Luce said, gesturing to her sleeve of tattoos. Her parents had been... disappointed when they’d seen her first tattoo. But, whatever. “That’s the whole, Sailor Moon thing, right? Some of the guys at the shop have done tattoos of that show for people. I was never into it. I might have to check it out.” She said, though her eyes flicked meaningfully over Celeste. She’d much rather check her out. “Awesome. I can ink it and then we’re square for lunch.”

“What’s the running rate on your good ideas? Have to make sure I’m not taking more ideas than I can afford and all,” Celeste joked with an eyebrow raised. The normalcy of their whole conversation was a welcomed change. No talk of hunters, werewolves, or eggs and burgers. It didn’t hurt that Luce had a pretty good sense of humor and was easy to talk to. She tried to keep an eye on the page as Luce drew. There was clearly some natural talent there backed by years of practice. “Yeah, I’m pretty good about being frugal with money, given for a while it was more out of necessity.” Running off with a werewolf child aside, one of the bigger cruel shocks of the real world was how fucking expensive everything was. Growing up, she’d always had money because of her parents. It had been a rude awakening, but somehow they’d made it. She laughed a bit over their shared parental defiance. “Can’t say my defiance was quite so visual, but I’m effectively disowned,” she said with a shrug. It was a subject she tried to be casual about. The news of her parents having a bounty on her and Ariana and wanting them both dead was a little extreme by most standards. “I loved it as a kid. Then again, I tend to enjoy anything where it’s the girls saving the day. A little cheesy as an adult, but you may appreciate the outfits,” she explained catching Luce’s look over her. Color rose in her cheeks and looked down with a small smile before looking back up to Luce. She certainly wasn’t subtle, but she kind appreciated that. “Right, totally square. I still think I got the better end of this trade, but I’ll take it.” 

“Depends on what you’d be willing to pay.” Luce teased as she sifted through the cup of pens on the desk for a fine ballpoint. “Could be some good conversation or a new idea for a sketch. Or a kiss.” She flashed a cheeky grin at the other woman before setting to work with the inking. The lines were already pretty clean, but inking it in was what really brought it all together. “For sure. It’s a good way to live.” She said, though she really didn’t have much room to speak. Though she might have bought her own cabin, her parents had still done a lot for her. A lot more than she’d ever wanted. At the woman’s admission of her own familial situation, Luce said nothing. Instead, she focused on her linework. People had told her things like that before-- how they were getting a tattoo as a final ‘Fuck you’ to their parents, or as some kind of cleansing to erase the past that haunted them. And it was always better to say less, rather than more. “Makes sense why you’d relate to her then.” She replied, keeping her tone neutral. “Well, now I have to give it a watch.” Luce laughed and blew on the wet ink for a moment before taking her eraser to the picture. “Oh? You don’t think my trade was fair?”

“Hm, seems I can afford another good idea then,” Celeste retorted with a smirk. Maybe flirting with a member of Ulfric’s staff wasn’t entirely appropriate, but it was probably harmless. It was nice to get attention that wasn’t entirely inappropriate from older men during breakfast rushes. She watched Luce continue working on the finishing touches of the sketch, relieved she didn’t push further on the parent thing. Everyone had their own family issues of some sort and it was a lot more comforting to not go into the details. She rested her head on her knuckles as she observed Luce incredulously. She made the whole process look so effortless and she seemed to be really in her element. It was a nice sight to see. She imagined that applied even more when she was behind the tattoo needle. At the mention of relating to the sailor scouts, she laughed, “Thanks. And I thought that little bit of information might win you over.” Her head tilted a bit on her palm watching Luce dry the ink, there really was so much that went into drawing that was beyond her. “Oh,” she answered, “I think new art and your company is a little bit better than a not quite hot lunch, but no complaints here.”

 “How about this one-- You and me, getting drinks sometime. It sounds like a good idea in my book.” Luce asked, looking at the woman with an earnest expression. Celeste was hot, she was hot, it’d be hot. And besides, what was she gonna lose by shooting her shot? The worst that could happen was she’d get turned down. With a final look at the picture, Luce nodded to herself before putting her signature on the bottom right corner of the page. A large looping L with a slash of a V. “You thought right.” She said as she held out the completed picture for the woman to take. She could still see some places she didn’t like, some spots where the waves met that looked weird, a tree with some branches that didn’t make much sense. But, it was a quick drawing. “The way I see it, I came out with some good art practice, good conversation, and,” She picked up her half eaten burger and bit into it, “The satisfaction of eating my boss’s lunch.” 

The suggestion has caught Celeste a bit off guard, but she figured what harm could come from it? It’d been a long while since she’d actually been out… with well, anyone. She’d enjoyed hanging out with Luce and there was no denying she was a beautiful woman. What could it hurt? “I think that may be your best idea today,” she answered with a wide grin. Grabbing a pen out of the pocket in her uniform, she scribbled her number down from a paper on her order pad and handed it to Luce with a small smile still present on her face. “Text me sometime.” she advised, keeping her tone cool. As she looked over the finished product, she was somewhat in awe. Luce had finished it so quickly yet it came out lovely. A perfect little scene that she’d have to hang up in their current room. It was definitely more tasteful than that one creepy painting Ari insisted on keeping up. “I love it,” she said, “And alright, alright. We can call it even then.” She picked up her purse again and looked to Luce one last time as she left, “Hope to see you again soon.”

Fanfic Progress Update 49

Gooood Saturday, folks! Today is the day for the Fanfic Progress Update! Stay tuned to the end of this post for a spoiler-y glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure Gone Mini AND the next chapter of Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife.

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 34 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 29th of January. Chapter 35 is halfway done and the scheduled posting date is 19th of February.

I update this fic every three weeks on Wednesdays.

—–

Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: Husk is just your everyday demon, minding his own business and living his afterlife mostly in self-caused misery. He’s been at it for about ten years when he rather abruptly finds himself on the Radio Demon’s radar. Suddenly his life becomes a lot more interesting. For fuck’s sake, he did not ask for this bullshit. Alastor/Husk.

Progress: Chapter 13 is the current latest chapter, and was published on 31st of January. Chapter 14 will be published on 4th of February, and chapter 15 on 7th of February. The final chapter count is 16.

I update this fic every Tuesday and Friday!

—–

Fine, be a part of my afterlife, jackass!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a compilation of additional “filler” chapters that go between the chapters of “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”, starting from chapter 7. Read the main story up to that point or further before bothering with this one.

Every chapter of Afterlife is vital to the story: they bring the plot forward, each introduces a new development, each has a reason for being included. The chapters in this, however, are the ideas that couldn’t fit in Afterlife, because they don’t bring the story forward. So, additional fun Husk and Alastor content for this universe, because I feel like it!

Progress: Chapter 7 (ch.15½) is done. This fic is looking to be 8 chapters long at this time, but could still change for the better or worse.

There will be no sneak-peeks with this one. You’ll have to walk in blind each time ;)

—–

Experiment in Romance (previously known as Drunk Alastor)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary (temporary): Roles are reversed in many ways when a drunk Alastor knocks on Husk’s door and has no intention of going to his own room for the night. And it only gets weirder from there, leaving Husk with a most unexpected arrangement with the Radio Demon. Either it’ll be the best decision in his afterlife, or he’s simply out to break his own damn heart. Alastor/Husk.

Progress: Chapters 1 and 2 are done. Chapter 3 has been started. The plan is to start posting this once Afterlife is done with, assuming that I have this mostly written by then. No progress since the last time, as I’ve been busy with Fine, Jackass!

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

Possibly worth staying for (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here are the promised sneak-peeks into Mini and Afterlife. (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fics themselves due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

"-and then you showed up, and I was unable to tell you what was going on. You know the rest", Sidon finished translating Link's words to the guards.

The guard Link had ran into had apologized profoundly for his inability to understand Link, and seemed to still think it was his fault the Vaatian got away. Link felt sorry for him, but there was little he could do to help. At least the other one still had her head in the game, and was taking notes.

Afterlife

Having off days helped for a couple of months. Husk worked five days a week and then took two days off to unwind, like a regular working person would. He left in the morning-ish on his first off day – too lazy to leave the hotel the previous night – dropped by home to do whatever, hit the casino in the evening, drank away the night, found his way home, was hung over the next morning, hit the casino again, then the pub again, and returned to the hotel late the next morning with a hangover. Rinse and repeat every week. It was liberating at first. Having something to sorta look forward to at the end of each week helped him endure the work week. Having two days where he didn’t have to communicate with his co-workers or the random people at his bar helped him relax. Having two days where he didn’t have to see Alastor… helped. Maybe. Somehow. Then it became a routine, just like his days in the hotel. It was better, but… But it was still missing the chaos factor of his surprise outings with Alastor. It felt like he was back to his old afterlife; those ten boring years before he met Alastor. Except he had a day job now, which reminded him of his old life, back when he was alive. He hated being reminded of that. He was fifty years dead and better off for it.

Except he wasn't better off. He was feeling more miserable by the day.

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

AO3    FFnet    Purple Crayon    Ko-fi

i’d like to request something purely self-indulgent, as i work in a library. but an arthur x reader where the reader works in a library or bookstore and arthur is a patron and one day he corners her when she’s alone in the stacks 👀 i love your writing so much and i check constantly to see if you’ve updated ❤️ keep up the amazing work

Reading Between The Lines (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+, Arthur x Fem!Reader, DubCon)

Summary: You’re the assistant to a bookstore owner, in a used bookstore off the beaten path in St Denis. It is a store with books stacked to the ceiling, the stuffed shelves creating the many nooks and crannies in this labyrinth of a shop. It is in one of these nooks that Arthur finds you.

Author’s Notes: Oh anon, you gave me such a delicious prompt. I started this off with a softer Arthur, but in the end, he’s selfish when it comes to you. Thus, a softie low honor Arthur.

Tags: smut, seduction, low honor Arthur, dubcon, semi-public sex, D/s undertones

AO3 Link here!

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“I’ll be gone a couple of days. You going to be alright alone?”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” you said, smiling with confidence. The shop owner always asked you this before he left on his trips to buy and sell rare books, and every time, you had no problem handling business.

The old man nodded at you. He was a kind man, with no children of his own, and his wife, having passed a year ago from consumption, had left him with only his store and his love of books to keep him company. But he wasn’t depressed; he accepted life with its ups and downs, and carried on with his hobby. You expected him to keep going on these trips until he died. It was the only thing that truly brought light to his eyes these days.

Since he had hired you last year to help him mind the shop, it had grown in popularity and was actually bringing in a profit, as opposed to barely breaking even like it was before. You hoped that you’d continue this upward trend, but mostly, you hoped that more people would learn to read so that more books would be written.

You helped the old man into the coach and turned back to the shop, just as a familiar face rounded the corner.

“Hello Mr. Morgan!” you greeted cheerfully as the man opened the door for you.

“Hey there, sunshine” he said, giving you a smile that you secretly loved. Pulling a couple of books from his satchel, he placed them on the counter in front of your till. “Would these be worth anything?”

You looked through them; unfortunately, they were common books, but they were in good condition. You told him as much.

“Oh well. Can I go browse a bit? Maybe I’ll get somethin’ next time.”

“Sure,” you said, watching him head off to the art section. You were always surprised by the books he took an interest in. Every week, sometimes twice a week, Mr. Morgan would come in with some used books to sell, and would buy a book when he had enough credit. 

You remember when he had first come into the shop; you were alone, like today, and felt terrified. He looked like the type of man to rob you, with the guns in his holsters and his gruff appearance. But you need not have feared; he had quietly asked you if he could browse your collection, and had placed a few books on the counter to see if he could resell them. When you told him that he’d get more for them in store credit than he would if she were to buy them off him, he gladly took the store credit.

For the past two months, he had grown into one of your favorite customers. Beneath that tough guy facade, you got to know a man who was charmingly self-deprecating, snarky, yet keenly observant. He could put together a sentence with more wit and beauty than most of the folks who stepped into the store.

Looking at the time, you knew that at this late hour, you’d be lucky if one patron showed up between now and closing time. Taking the pile of books at your counter, you wrote them all down in the new inventory list and went to place them on their proper shelves.

***

As you walked down the shelves, you remembered when he had first called you ‘Sunshine’. It was a gloomy day, and as the rain poured outside, you sat at the window in your yellow dress, smiling as you saw him shuffle into the store, stomping his feet and taking his coat and hat off to hang on the coat rack next to the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan!” you had greeted him brightly.

“Howdy, miss.” He looked you up and down, taking in your dress and your smile. “Yer as bright as the sun. Maybe I should start callin’ you Sunshine.”

You laughed, bringing a warm smile to his face.

“Not sure if I’m that bright, but I’ll take it,” you responded happily.

He had walked closer to you then. “You always make my day brighter whenever I see ya.”

For a time-stopping heartbeat, you had stared at him in shock as he gave you a flirty smile and then wandered off to the art section.

***

You had one last book to put away, and it was almost time to close the store. At least you’d be able to lock up without having to stay late; you trusted Mr. Morgan to not steal from you while you busied yourself around the shelves. As you made your way towards the back of the shop, you looked down the aisle where the art books were.

He was still there, perusing a rather large book on wildlife in the Southwest. Looking up as you walked past, he blinked his eyes, as if he had been staring at one spot for too long. He probably had been.

“Is it time for me to go?”

He sounded a little sad and it broke your heart. “Almost, but you can stay until I have to lock up. I’ll let you know.”

He nodded at you, and went back to his book.

You found the section of the shop that had the romance novels, and realized that the only free space was up high, where you couldn’t reach without grabbing a stool or a chair. Sighing, you reached up, hoping that maybe you could slip the book in without having to go back. You shifted you grip to the very corner of the book, hoping the extra inch would be enough to let you squeeze the book between two others. You got on your tiptoes and stretched.

The book slipped from your grasp and bonked you on the head.

“Ow!” you yelped, holding your head as you bent over to pick up the book from the ground. Grumbling that you’d have to go all the way back to the front of the store to grab a chair, and then have to carry it all the way here and all the way back, you stood up, only to find Mr. Morgan standing before you with a quizzical look on his face.

“You alright?”

Your face heated up from embarrassment, and you nodded quickly. “I-I’m fine, just…” You tilted your head and had an idea. 

“Could you…” You trailed off and quickly looked away. It was a dumb idea, anyway.

He looked at the book in your hand and looked up at the shelf. He stepped closer to you, holding his hands out. “May I?”

You nodded and started to hand him the book. Instead, he took you by the waist and lifted you up, high enough that you could put the book in its rightful place. Once you got over the shock, you quickly put the book on the shelf, and he let you down slowly, almost as if he was prolonging the contact. Once your feet were firmly planted on the floor, his hands lingered on your waist. You looked up at him, confused and a little bit flustered when you saw how he was looking at you; there was a heat to his gaze, a longing for more than just this temporary touch.

“Mr. Morgan?”

He blinked, the look in his eyes returning to that gentle ocean blue that you found so refreshing as he let you go, his hands falling to his sides. “Sorry, I, uh, got lost in my own head for a moment,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

You tilted your head; you did that when you had a strong thought or idea, as if the weight of the idea pulled your head to one side. 

“What were you thinking about?” you asked, naively. You thought perhaps he had problems in his day to day life, and came here to the bookstore to recuperate, calm his mind. Perhaps he even used books to escape from whatever he had to deal with when he wasn’t here. You ignored the look from before; that couldn’t have been directed at you. Maybe he was thinking of a lost love.

But then that heat returned full force and aimed straight at you. There was no ignoring it this time as he took a step closer. “Sunshine, you can’t ask a question like that and expect me to answer.”

“I…” You swallowed and tried again. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just… curious.”

Ever so slowly, he reached for you. You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. But once he touched you, you let out a breath, as if you had been waiting your whole life for his touch. Cradling your cheek in his big palm, you leaned into his warmth and closed your eyes, almost moaning as his calloused fingers massaged behind your ear.

“Like a sweet lil’ puppy, ain’tcha?”

You absentmindedly nodded into his hand.

You heard the sound of his boots as he stepped closer. The heat emanating from him felt like sitting in front of a warm fire, and you leaned towards him. His other hand rested on your hip, and he almost imperceptibly pulled you ever closer. Sliding his hand up your back, he trapped you in his embrace, leaning down to run his lips over yours.

“You shouldn't let yer guard down,” he whispered.

You blinked. “Wait, what—”

Too late. He kissed you, devoured you, consumed you like candy. Taking two steps forward, forcing you against the wall, he crushed you with his whole body. You pushed back at him, but it was like trying to move a mountain. 

"No one's here, pet. Just you," he kissed your cheek, "and me." He kissed your other cheek. "All alone." He ran his hand down your neck, your shoulder, to your breast, cupping it gently as he kissed your lips once more. His other hand took your wrist and held it against the wall. 

He pulled back to look at you, your lips parted, your chest heaving as you took a much needed deep breath, and your pupils dilated with desire. 

"What a good lil' puppy," he crooned as he ran his fingers through your hair. He marveled at the feel of it. "So cute and happy to see me."

"W-wait, Mr. Morgan, I-" 

He placed a finger on your lips. "Shush. Call me Arthur."

And then he kissed you again as he let go of your wrist and grabbed your hip. His other hand moved up and lovingly caressed your neck. You let out a soft whine, unable to stop yourself from responding to his touch. 

"Want more, sweet?" 

You weren't sure what to say. 

He started to unbutton your blouse. 

Reaching up to grab his hands, you found your voice. "We can't."

He stopped moving. "Why not?" 

"We barely know each other!" 

Arthur smiled. "Then let's git to know each other." He leaned in close. "In the biblical sense." Then he continued to unbutton your blouse. 

You tried pushing him back, but ended up just grabbing at his shirt as he leaned in and kissed your neck, then your collarbone. His hands moved down, revealing your skin to the light of the oil lamps around the store. Arthur became greedy with need, yanking your blouse and chemise off your shoulders, exposing your beasts to his gaze. 

"Beautiful," he muttered as he palmed your breasts and leaned down to lick a sensitive nipple. Plucking at the other one with his calloused fingers, he smiled as you whimpered with need, leaning into his touch as desire swelled in you. He kissed you again as he teased your willing body, undoing your skirt and drawers as he kept you distracted with his skillful lips. 

You were soon nude, your clothes in a pile at your feet, and you didn't even care as Arthur continued to touch you. He wrapped his hand around your throat and held you against the wall. Making sure he had your attention, he reached down and took off his belt, then unbuttoned his fly. 

"You ever been with a man, pet?" 

You nodded as you looked away. You had, but they had been temporary paramours when you were younger, fooling around when you had been barely out of school. Now that you were older, you didn't sleep around; you thought you didn't have that fire in you anymore. But then Arthur came into your life. That lust that you thought had been extinguished came back to life whenever he touched you. But you hardly knew him. Was this really okay? 

Arthur grasped your chin and forced you to look at him. "Don'tchu worry about nothin' else. Right now, I'm havin' you, and ain't nothin' gonna stop me." 

He took your lips once more as his hands wandered down your body. You felt his knee pushing your legs open, then his fingers finding you wet and eager, even if your mind hadn't caught up to your body. You wanted this, but it was going so fast, and Arthur was just so intense in his desire for you, it was overwhelming. 

"Yer almost ready for me, darlin'," he mumbled as he pulsed his fingers in and out of your wet channel, his thumb flicking your clit, shooting sparks of pleasure through you. "Get me ready for you."

You tentatively reached inside of his fly and grasped the velvet steel of his cock. Freeing his member from his pants, he groaned as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking his sensitive skin. 

"Guide me in," he ordered as he grabbed one of your legs and lifted it, pressing it against his hip. You helped him slide inside of you, both of you letting out sounds of pleasure as he connected with you, his cock thick and hot as it stretched you, making you his. 

"You feel better than I dreamed," he gritted out as he pushed the last inch into you. "Gonna fuck you real good."

"Arthur!" you exclaimed, both turned on and surprised by his filthy words. 

He chuckled as he began to move inside of you. "You knew I weren't a learned man," he grunted. "I'm a bad man, a selfish man." 

As he told you this, he lifted you up easily and started pounding into you, forcing you to wrap your arms and legs around him for support as he took you aggressively. All you could do was cry out as the intensity of his craving for you overwhelmed your senses; his moans, his panting, his huge body shielding you from anyone that may come in and find you. All anyone would see are your legs and arms, wrapped around this big man as he thrust into you.

“Good girl,” he said softly into your ear as he sped up, barrelling towards his peak. “So close, sunshine.”

He pulled out of you and dragged you onto the ground, laying you on top of your clothes. Then he spread your legs and entered you once more, burying himself inside of you with a voracious need, almost as if he were possessed.

Then he lifted himself up and sat back, keeping himself inside of you as he continued to thrust, slowing his hips to a lazy roll. Grabbing your wrist and putting your hand at your folds, he made you touch yourself, made you feel him entering you. 

“Feel that, darlin’? I want to feel you let go around me.”

You did as he asked, touching yourself as he watched, his hands gripping your hips. You bucked your hips as your pleasure came crashing through you, your muscles clenching around him as you came, whining and moaning. 

He moaned wordlessly with lust before falling upon you, rutting into you like an animal as he completely lost control. He ignored your whimpers, his covetous thrusts filling you too hard as you thrashed under him, your body overstimulated beyond sanity, tears filling your eyes. It only seemed to turn him on more as he grabbed your wrists and pounded harder into you, until finally he pulled out at the last moment, rubbing himself up and down your wet slit as he came, spilling his spend all over your belly.

Arthur let out a shuddering breath as he let go of your wrists and lay down next to you. He dipped a finger into his spend on your skin and drew idle circles.

“That was a close one,” he said, laughing softly. “Was pretty tempted to finish inside of ya.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you for sparing me,” you mumbled, too wrecked to do anything but lay there and breathe.

He held himself up on an elbow and looked down at you. “Only for now, sunshine.” He leaned down and kissed you; this time it was gentle, soft. “Next time, we’re doin’ this in a proper bed.”

He leaned in to speak low in your ear.

“And next time, I’m takin’ you completely.”

You shivered. Whether it was in anticipation or apprehension, you weren’t sure.

--------------------

End Notes: Look up DG Wills Books in La Jolla. That was my inspiration for this bookstore. If you’re ever in the area, I highly recommend visiting. Hope this fulfilled your request, dear anon! This was a pleasure.

Low Dose T Updates!

Saw others here doing this format for small weekly notes on transition stuff so, here goes!

I’m on .4mgs of IM Testosterone biweekly, starting 10/22/19.

Month 1, Week 1

-really tired most days from 1-4pm, I’ve been told this is normal but jeez

-pretty sensitive down there and I’ve seen 1-2cms of bottom growth

-kinda itchy? after taking off my binder

-definitely more achey than usual, back and knee pain is :/

-my energy levels have tanked, muscles are weaker, I sweat more and easier

-headaches come more often, but that makes sense with the hormone changes

-had gender euphoria yesterday :)

-I compared my one day vs one week videos and my voice sounds different but honestly I have a cold so that’s wishful thinking (I think T shot my immune system rip)

Month 1, Week 2

-Throat scratchy and did get a cold but I’m better now so it’s scratchy in a losing my voice kinda way

-UPDATE: voice has definitely dropped due to the weird ache I’ve been having in it. Day 1>Week 1>Week 2 voice is lower and softer confirmed!

-Sensitivity and increased arousal time, not uncomfortable at all

-Slight increase in pimples but v small. I assume it’ll get worse soon though

-Mood swings are 100%. I had panic attacks and sadness and slight irritability on day 9-11 as well as paranoia. I was confident and happy and energetic before I started T and I’m hoping those things start coming back as my body adjusts

-Haven’t noticed much difference in mood that would indicate my levels affecting it unless from day 8-11 the mood swings were triggered by low T or if the loss of my tiredness on day 7 was the indication

-No longer tired instead I’m anxious. My usual energy has started coming back as the T has left my system

-Not hungry or horny yet and tiredness has left so... it’s only week two

-Also had joint pain recently and a large uptick in headaches. The latter is definitely due to T (I’ve had two migraines since starting it) but the former could be many factors

I met with my doctor yesterday and we have a new plan. If I find in the next two weeks that my mood swings and low energy levels repeat then I’ll know it’s a pattern and will begin doing weekly doses of .2mgs. If that doesn’t help then I’ll switch to the gel. This log is now helping me as well!

Month 1, Week 3

Sorry for the late update, I’ve been busy this week!

-no mood swings yet so that’s good!

-I think I’ve noticed the beginnings of fat redistribution but nothing major

-no appetite changes but I’ve been eating more lately

-I developed a cough from my throat scratchiness and it gets worse in the morning and at night. It’s also worse because the weather’s gotten colder and now I have a cold to add to it. No new voice changes though

-libido and sensitivity are higher. I’m especially sensitive when I wake up in the morning for some reason. No new growth from what I can tell

-joint issues remain but the cold and work I’ve been doing are mostly to blame I think

-my chest has been tighter recently near the end of the day and I’ve had to unhook my binder. This was rare before T but now happens more often. Not sure what this means though

-definitely an increase in pimples on back, chest, and face but not acne yet

-hair might be oilier but I did get a haircut and shorter hair gets dirty faster

-I’ve been less dysphoric lately, even when I’m misgendered. I think this just has to do with my happiness though as I’m pretty content currently

I don’t think I’ll need to switch to weekly injections at this rate. The mood swings haven’t come back and they would’ve started Tuesday night if they were going to. My emotions are fine actually! My energy is back too, it honestly feels the same as it did before T which I guess is why I’ve forgotten to update until today

Month 1, Week 4

-cough and congestion continues! Not sure if my voice has dropped more

-joint pain gets worse :(

-I think my muscles are getting more defined though! Not stronger but more visible

-I’ve noticed slight fat redistribution from thighs to stomach but nothing has changed with my hips yet

-acne is getting worse and worse ughhhh

-no mood swings this time (yay!) so no dose change!

Sorry, guess that’s all folks! Nothing new to report really

David Berman - Self-Portrait at 28

I know it's a bad title but I'm giving it to myself as a gift on a day nearly canceled by sunlight when the entire hill is approaching the ideal of Virginia brochured with goldenrod and loblolly and I think "at least I have not woken up with a bloody knife in my hand" by then having absently wandered one hundred yards from the house while still seated in this chair with my eyes closed. It is a certain hill the one I imagine when I hear the word "hill" and if the apocalypse turns out to be a world-wide nervous breakdown if our five billion minds collapse at once well I'd call that a surprise ending and this hill would still be beautiful a place I wouldn't mind dying alone or with you. I am trying to get at something and I want to talk very plainly to you so that we are both comforted by the honesty. You see there is a window by my desk I stare out when I am stuck though the outdoors has rarely inspired me to write and I don't know why I keep staring at it. My childhood hasn't made good material either mostly being a mulch of white minutes with a few stand out moments, popping tar bubbles on the driveway in the summer a certain amount of pride at school everytime they called it "our sun" and playing football when the only play was "go out long" are what stand out now. If squeezed for more information I can remember old clock radios with flipping metal numbers and an entree called Surf and Turf. As a way of getting in touch with my origins every night I set the alarm clock for the time I was born so that waking up becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it. II two I can't remember being born and no one else can remember it either even the doctor who I met years later at a cocktail party. It's one of the little disappointments that makes you think about getting away going to Holly Springs or Coral Gables and taking a room on the square with a landlady whose hands are scored by disinfectant, telling the people you meet that you are from Alaska, and listen to what they have to say about Alaska until you have learned much more about Alaska than you ever will about Holly Springs or Coral Gables. Sometimes I am buying a newspaper in a strange city and think "I am about to learn what it's like to live here." Oftentimes there is a news item about the complaints of homeowners who live beside the airport and I realize that I read an article on this subject nearly once a year and always receive the same image. I am in bed late at night in my house near the airport listening to the jets fly overhead a strange wife sleeping beside me. In my mind, the bedroom is an amalgamation of various cold medicine commercial sets (there is always a box of tissue on the nightstand). I know these recurring news articles are clues, flaws in the design though I haven't figured out how to string them together yet, but I've begun to notice that the same people are dying over and over again, for instance Minnie Pearl who died this year for the fourth time in four years. III three Today is the first day of Lent and once again I'm not really sure what it is. How many more years will I let pass before I take the trouble to ask someone? It reminds of this morning when you were getting ready for work. I was sitting by the space heater numbly watching you dress and when you asked why I never wear a robe I had so many good reasons I didn't know where to begin. If you were cool in high school you didn't ask too many questions. You could tell who'd been to last night's big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway. You didn't have to ask and that's what cool was: the ability to deduct to know without asking. And the pressure to simulate coolness means not asking when you don't know, which is why kids grow ever more stupid. A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying for a letter from the class stoner ten years on but... Do you remember the way the girls would call out "love you!" conveniently leaving out the "I" as if they didn't want to commit to their own declarations. I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept and hope you won't get uncomfortable if I should go into some deeper stuff here. IV four There are things I've given up on like recording funny answering machine messages. It's part of growing older and the human race as a group has matured along the same lines. It seems our comedy dates the quickest. If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokes I hope you won't be insulted if I say you're trying too hard. Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Live seem slow-witted and obvious now. It's just that our advances are irrepressible. Nowadays little kids can't even set up lemonade stands. It makes people too self-conscious about the past, though try explaining that to a kid. I'm not saying it should be this way. All this new technology will eventually give us new feelings that will never completely displace the old ones leaving everyone feeling quite nervous and split in two. We will travel to Mars even as folks on Earth are still ripping open potato chip bags with their teeth. Why? I don't have the time or intelligence to make all the connections like my friend Gordon (this is a true story) who grew up in Braintree Massachusetts and had never pictured a brain snagged in a tree until I brought it up. He'd never broken the name down to its parts. By then it was too late. He had moved to Coral Gables. V five The hill out my window is still looking beautiful suffused in a kind of gold national park light and it seems to say, I'm sorry the world could not possibly use another poem about Orpheus but I'm available if you're not working on a self-portrait or anything. I'm watching my dog have nightmares, twitching and whining on the office floor and I try to imagine what beast has cornered him in the meadow where his dreams are set. I'm just letting the day be what it is: a place for a large number of things to gather and interact -- not even a place but an occasion a reality for real things. Friends warned me not to get too psychedelic or religious with this piece: "They won't accept it if it's too psychedelic or religious," but these are valid topics and I'm the one with the dog twitching on the floor possibly dreaming of me that part of me that would beat a dog for no good reason no reason that a dog could see. I am trying to get at something so simple that I have to talk plainly so the words don't disfigure it and if it turns out that what I say is untrue then at least let it be harmless like a leaky boat in the reeds that is bothering no one. VI six I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories, many of them having blended with sentimental telephone and margarine commercials plainly ruined by Madison Avenue though no one seems to call the advertising world "Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved? Let's get an update on this. But first I have some business to take care of. I walked out to the hill behind our house which looks positively Alaskan today and it would be easier to explain this if I had a picture to show you but I was with our young dog and he was running through the tall grass like running through the tall grass is all of life together until a bird calls or he finds a beer can and that thing fills all the space in his head. You see, his mind can only hold one thought at a time and when he finally hears me call his name he looks up and cocks his head and for a single moment my voice is everything: Self-portrait at 28.

~ derri-da-viding ~ the english language

HIYA! Ahahahah guess who’s late in updating….again……. I’m so sorryyyyyyyyyy…...school’s a bitch. I’m probably dumb for not writing a bunch of these posts up ahead of time * sweats *.  Anyways! Today, we’re going to talk about ~ Derrida ~. At first, I was going to make fun of him for looking like just another old philosopher guy, but…..damn he has nice cheekbones.

Basically, Derrida ~ philosophized ~ about something similar to Baudrillard’s concept of semiotics (and I’ll get to Baudrillard sometime IG???). Semiotics was made by this guy named Ferdinand de Saussure, whose last name, for some reason, looks like sausage. Is that just me??? Anyways, it’s essentially the study of signs and symbols in languages. 

You have the sign, which is made up of 2 parts: the signifier and the signified. For example, if I wanted to greet someone, and I greeted them by waving at them, the signifier is the channel by which I convey my message, which is me waving my hand, while the signified is the meaning that is held behind the wave itself, which is me greeting someone. Then, you have the referent. It’s any kind of reference to some system that makes or gives the signified its meaning. This comes up a lot in Baudrillard’s works but, once again, we’ll get to that ~ later ~. 

Derrida used semiotics to understand language through a philosophy of ~ deconstruction ~. As the name implies, he tried to tear down language to understand the meaning. He tore apart the signifier to understand the meaning of the signified. 

Language is pretty flexible, since you can rearrange it to create new meaning. Uhh, it’s weird, though, since it’s also static in that it sometimes has unchanging connotations. Derrida uses fancy shmancy ~ words ~ to describe the phenomena he found.

The trace, for example, is the imagined production of a living breathing thing that is reduced to a Derrida-tive, a trace of its former glory. Creative, right? G e e . It has no physical form, but it is referenced. For example, the tracing could be the creation of a specter that is omnipresent in the sense of our discourse. It’s not really there, but it influences what we talk about. 

Language, according to our boi, is so “full” that it negates the physical reality in favor of its own sprawling assumptions. This is where Baudrillard comes in. Like Baudrillard, Derrida thought that language lost its actual meaning because we have attached too many new associations. 

He also uses the word “betray” to reference the hidden meaning in the language that we use. It can ~ betray ~ some kind of hidden feeling that we have whenever we use the words. For example, when you have to write an apology email to your teacher for forgetting to submit a paper on time, you have to find a way to keep whatever feeling you have (wHICH IS PANIC BECAUSE AN ANGRY MOM WILL MURDER YOU) from seeping into your words. 

Derrida suggests that all the words have the ability to evoke various ~ specters ~ based off of the trace potentiality of different words. Boo-ring, right? Ahahahhaahah I want to die. As the “specters” thing suggests, Derrida titles his new idea “Hauntology”.

Specters alter the experience of reality. It can be created in different ways - history, representations, discourse, etc. The problem, though, is that these specters guide our action in an ~ inauthentic ~ way; we aren’t able to live life in almost an unbiased manner if that makes sense????

One example is from William Spanos’s book, American Specteralization in Globalization. Interesting book. Anyways, he talks about how the specter of Vietnam is haunting US foreign policy. Whenever we talk about conflict, or foreign policy, we are always haunted by our defeat in Vietnam. We are always unable to get over Vietnam, or accept it for what it is, and instead, we create more suffering, since we try to avoid the mistakes of the past (but fail) through our activities in the present. So, instead of taking action because of its own merits, we take action because of Vietnam’s specter.

Another example would be 9/11. Because of the shocking terrorist attack, its influences remain strong even up to today. It’s on that day the American government low-key redefined “terrorist” as “brown Muslims” (which is bullshit, JFC) and started the War on Terror. They always want to take revenge for that day, or avoid another event like that, so they take actions that may not be that rational. 

You can get over the specter by ~ mourning ~ it. I didn’t really get this part???? But, it’s supposed to be a cathartic moment. You have to come to terms with that specter. IDK, man, it was kinda weird. My brain’s fried, no hate :((

Anyways, that’s all, fOlKs!!1!1! Gahh, I’m really sorry for not updating yesterday. I’m getting really busy because of school now, but I’ll still try to consistently update??? I don’t want to make excuses, so I’ll just try to get my shit together lmao. I’m probably publishing blasphemy, since this probably isn’t accurate, but this is what I got from reading, OK??? IDK MAN I’M DUMBBBB please let me know what I got wrong and educate this poor pleb….

Thanks for reading!

N(ot)stalgia: DISCO 2.0

Something I’ve not personally seen anyone talk about with Star Trek Discovery, although I’ve no doubt many are, is the role nostalgia plays in the series. 

Sometimes at war, sometimes a crutch, sometimes reflective but mostly deconstructive; nostalgia is near constantly present within DISCO’s production. Present within the media as it is created and relayed to its audience as well as present within large portions of the audience themselves, from within their own expectations and beliefs on what Star Trek “is” (and perhaps most vocally on what the franchise “is not”). Star Trek Discovery is not all that concerned with restorative nostalgia, the series does not excessively lean on invoking comforting throw-back feelings with the intent of recreating the franchise's past tone. And then there’s season 2 episode 8 “If Memory Serves”. 

OH BOY. Oh wow. Okay.

“If Memory Serves” is a double down boot stomp of an episode that I’m sure has been turning heads for its use of interweaving, updating, and altering the classic two parter “The Menagerie” (and thus the un-aired-but-widely-known pilot episode “The Cage”) and I’m positive some misguided individual is out there referring to all this as a “reference” and yes I kind of want to die a little knowing that’s happening but I’ll struggle through. Sigh.

The first season of DISCO dug deep and did some drastic nostalgia tweaking and even (dare I say) went so far as to weaponize nostalgia and all the expectations audiences brought with them about what Star Trek “was” and “means” and “does” as a pop culture storytelling institution.  

It was a long-term re-haul of many, many aspects of the Star Trek TV franchise and it made many, many people very uncomfortable. Not me, I friggin’ dug it, but I am admittedly a contrary asshole. 

Blahblah lots of folks right now are probably thinking about Captain Lorca and for good reason - so lets look at Lorca and how he was used to snap the audience’s nostalgic Trek lens. Spoliers ahead.

Captain Lorca (played by Jason Isaacs) was revealed to be from the Mirror Universe, as in the slap-on-a-beard-and-be-mean-universe. If you know Star Trek you know the Mirror Universe.

But in the beginning, we all sat around ho-humming over Lorca’s motivations and choices. Over what we wanted to believe about him. The viewership was VERY busy interpreting Lorca and working the character into our own individual understandings on what we know and want from a Star Trek television show.

As it happens Captain Lorca is one of the most Trekkie characters ever by default of his universal origins while simultaneously being an approach to the evils of the Mirror Universe (AKA What We Don’t Want Humanity To Be™) as we’ve never seen it before.

Hating other races and being aggressive and enjoying war and breeding a society hostile towards ideas of equality, justice, cooperation, and peace are pretty straight forward no-nos. Turns out though, and this is the real kicker, that the initial unease Lorca brought onto Discovery wasn’t just (entirely) the writers getting through their sea legs but a nice long con: 

The evils of the Mirror Universe have now been expanded to psychological and emotional abuse with sexual predatory behavior and unsustainable environmental practices thrown in for good measure. Which was a much-needed update my friends.

And I say “update” but in a lot of ways it’s an insertion. A clarification. Or, as I first sated, an expansion. We could look at DISCO as re-writing Star Trek lore because that’s, ya know, what it is doing - but we can also more specifically look at DISCO as a project in nostalgic alteration.

Hey, guess what?! Spock’s sister has always been a black woman.

From our outward understanding yes, we know Michael Burnham is a ~new~ character in a ~new~ Star Trek show. None of us are confused on how any of this story telling is working. These are new stories. 

The function of these stories though? I can’t help but think the audience is pretty torn up on that front.

Something inherent in experiencing Star Trek Discovery is how the show’s narrative future hails from our actual historical past. The utopia of the original series is dated and stale and disingenuous without a nostalgic/contextual lens firmly set in place. The function of many Star Trek Discovery stories is that of a much-needed blood transfusion: Bringing new life to old withered limbs.

Does this mean that Star Trek Discovery is seeking to recontextualize Star Trek? Yes and no but mostly no in my opinion. LOL, sorry, but it’s complicated! As most nostalgia driven works are.

Nostalgic Cinema is a real subset of critical film studies and has only grown in recent years but nostalgia isn’t anything new to media or the human experience. The general consensus is that nostalgic media tries to visually replicate time periods in human history (or the markers of media from a particular time period, what Marc Le Sueur dubbed “deliberate archaism”), but primarily acts as a bridge to idolized youthful emotionality and/or simplified “truths”. 

Marc Le Sueur’s “Theory Number Five: Anatomy of Nostalgic Films: Heritage and Method” was published in 1977 and was one of the first major academic and critical looks into the role nostalgia plays in cinema and by extension our connection to and perception of art. In the 1990s Svetlana Boym and Fredric Jameson further pushed ideas of nostalgia in literature and late capitalism respectably (which of course made its way onto visual media).

Le Sueur and Boym saw nostalgia as two classifiable categories, restorative or reflective. Restorative nostalgia attempts to recapture and revitalize an imagined past while reflective nostalgia is marked by a wistful longing for what has been lost to time.

In “The Future of Nostalgia” Svetlana Boym wrote “Nostalgia inevitably reappears as a defense mechanism in a time of accelerated rhythms of life and historical upheavals.” She goes on to suggest that our attraction to nostalgia (either restorative or reflective) is often times less about actually trying to reclaim a vanished past but rather a conscious resistance to an unknown and potentially threatening future.

The bulk of nostalgic media can easily be seen to tie into Boym’s observations; most media isn’t concerned with or about the personal and effective uses of nostalgia as a lived experience/real feeling among individuals but instead more focused on a particularly stylized, sanitized, and simplified view of history. Nostalgia in media is typically a presentation on the present day's romanticized fantasy of the past, void of contradictions and unsolvable uncertainties of the focused time period's lived reality, so as to soften or even avoid the creator’s and audience’s confusing present and unknown future.

In 2005 film critic and historian Pam Cook explored nostalgia in her book “Screening the Past: Memory and Nostalgia in Cinema” which collected seventeen of her short essays from 1976 to 1999 that focus on memory, identity, and nostalgia not only within their subject matter but within Cook’s viewpoint of revisiting her own body of work. Early on Cook laid out a more optimistic outlook on nostalgia in media:

“Rather than being seen as a reactionary, regressive condition imbued with sentimentality, it can be perceived as a way of coming to terms with the past, as enabling it to be exorcised in order that society, and individuals, can move on. In other words, while not necessarily progressive in itself, nostalgia can form part of a transition to progress and modernity. The suspension of disbelief is central to this transition, as nostalgia is predicated on a dialect between longing for something idealized that has been lost, and an acknowledgement that this idealized something can never be retrieved in actuality, and can only be accessed through images.”

The Star Trek of 1966 didn’t air in a peaceful time free from social and political turmoil. In fact, the original series itself was a kind of attempt at Future Nostalgia: A projected desire for what humanity could be if we survive and make changes to the then-contemporary world the show was directly commenting on. 

Star Trek’s original series today, as media that has survived and gained weight within the American pop cultural landscape, certainly feels warm, inviting, and reflective of an America long gone and shattered - and that’s because, now, it is. 

Time moves forward and warps and bends our media and our experiences to media and the most warped and most bendy of all are those storytelling institutions that outlive and outlast the era and people who first created and first experienced it. 

Recreating Star Trek visually, tonally, and thematically would be straight nostalgic vampirism and is obviously not what DISCO is doing. But that doesn’t mean Star Trek Discovery is not not a nostalgic piece even though it looks, feels, and is thematically different than the 1966 original show.

Real quick, let’s get back to this week’s episode, “If Memory Serves”!

... Honestly though, do I need to connect these dots? We all get it right? We’re all on board with this entire thing from the name of the episode, to its direct use and alterations of the original series, and then the not-so-subtle reveal that the season’s big plot point, the Red Angel, is a time traveler re-writing history. Like. We get it, right?

This is where Discovery has yet again doubled down on its storytelling functionality; this is Spock y’all. This is Pike. This is for real happening. Michael has helped shape the Spock character we will see later on in the “future” (our collective past).

And while we’re here, check out Mr. Spock! The Spock of Discovery is not dripping with nostalgic slime, he’s sharp and clean to an almost shocking degree. The series makes little effort in acting as though we should have a pre-determined fondness for the character outside of his relationship to Michael. Which is absolutely NUTS. But in a good way, in my opinion! 

The search for Spock (lawl) within Discovery has been on a surface level the literal search for the character within the narrative space of this new series. They gotta find that dude.

The search for Spock within Discovery has also been a form of re-defining the character not through audience expectation of What They Know and Remember but What They Don’t Know and Have No Basis For.

And the series accomplished it within the framework of places, characters, and events that are old, new, the same, and different all at once. I believe that’s a lot of intentional wibbly wobbly timey wimey paratextual stuff taking precedence for the sake of promoting a new view on Star Trek’s (and our own) past, primarily for the sake of moving beyond it. 

I don’t think it’s just ‘haha, reference!’ that the first shots we see of Vina (an original series character) in Star Trek Discovery’s “If Memory Serves” is that of her high heeled glass slippers. It’s jarring and weird and even laughable. Vina’s hair and makeup are also deliberate archaisms within the series the character is currently in, airing in the year it is. It reminded me of another nostalgia ridden TV series that would often implement a similar absurdist approach towards viewer nostalgia.

Mad Men had a lot of fun presenting a visually accurate but sterile version of the past not so as to suggest things were better in the 1960s but so that the series could better magnify (and even exasperate) American disillusionment.

One of my favorite examples of nostalgic absurdity in Mad Men is when Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser) stands in a crowded office building jokingly pointing a gun at unflinching women.

What's the goal of having Pete do this? Is it to show we were... better then? We were more innocent? Is this deeply inappropriate "joke" suddenly OK because it's 1960, or is it even within context creepy, horrifying, and in incredible bad taste? Do we need the characters to recognize the absurdity of Pete's actions for us to validate them as absurd or are we being invited to make that evaluation ourselves in the here and now outside of the character's reality?

What Pete does is creepy and weird if the characters acknowledge it or not just as much as it is, admittedly, darkly humorous for the audience to witness at all.

But that's because it's not really a set up for comparing and contrasting how much we as a country have lost or gained in the wake of mass shootings but rather that of an audience being able to recognize a total D-bag, even through time.

Pete and his gun aren't a direct focus of the show's nostalgia but they are certainly a product of it and a bit of the point is that Pete gets away with doing what he does because it's a story, yeah, but PRIMARILY due to the audience assumption of "well, it was the 1960s". Its within that suspension of disbelief living at the core of all the many absurdist moments that make up Mad Men where the series bit by bit wedges in its most critical theme: Nostalgia is bullshit.

Through its intentional juxtaposition of accurately ‘recreating’ the past and high co-dependency on its contemporary audience’s views, Mad Men suggests that the best we can do as a society, as a country, is see the similarities between the past and now and decide what is worth keeping, progressing, or discarding entirely. The series delights in uncomfortably positioning the audience to view the weird ass shit it's characters do (littering, chain smoking, drinking and driving, slapping women's butts, letting children play with plastic bags over their heads to name a basic few), not so as to suggest that the past was "better" than today but so as to highlight the ways that we as a society have already deemed the past to be inefficient, ineffective, and cruel.

The series uses the same audience awareness principle to highlight the ways in which nostalgia cannot hide nor brighten our shortcomings and continued failures. There are just as many (if not more) moments in the series that are not presented as contrasting absurdity but comparative harrowing familiarity; those areas of our cultural makeup we have not adequately progressed or left behind.

Sure, in the 1960s everyone could smoke everywhere (very ew, look how far we’ve come) but women still had to internally balance if they could afford looking like a humorless bitch when confronting workplace sexual harassment (haha, whoops!). 

America’s past in Mad Men is terrifying and weird as well as frustratingly still present, as smoke soaked into our current attitudes and culture. What America’s past isn’t in Mad Men is purely seductive nostalgia for the sake of simplifying the present.

Le Sueur, Boym, and Cook all propagate that the cinematic image/use of nostalgia is that of double exposure, two images projected onto an audience’s perception and experience (1. contemporary recreation 2. of the past) - and that sure as hell makes up the building blocks of Discovery even though we’re all cognitively aware every aspect of the series is new and it takes place “in the future”. Discovery uses the franchise’s past as an adaptive functional mirror with which to compare and contrast our contemporary reality rather than merely repeating experiences and ideas reflective of a time long gone.

Vina’s shoes, her entire aesthetic down to her backstory aren’t just counter to the tone and aesthetic of Discovery but to the sensibilities of the contemporary audience; we are all very aware that Vina hasn’t literally been plucked out of 1966 and plopped into this new series. Again, none of us are confused on how any of this story telling is working. We’re aware these are new stories. But what is the function of Vina in this new story? What is the purpose of all the unease her presence brings into “If Memory Serves”?

Vina, way back in 1966, was written to choose a life of illusion among aliens siphoning her memories and emotions rather than accept and become a part of the present. The Keeper tells Pike, “She has an illusion and you have reality. May you find your way as pleasant” as they once again cover up Vina’s hunched back and scarred face with youthful and desirable 1960s beauty standards. As we all know Pike himself will go on later to choose this exact fate. He will succumb to the same choice.

“When dreams become more important than reality, you give up travel, building, creating," Vina tells us of the Talosians in “The Cage”, episode zero of Star Trek. “You even forget how to repair the machines left behind by your ancestors. You just sit living and reliving other lives left behind in the thought records.”

I’m having a serious and very real Look-Into-The-Camera-Moment here my friends. We’re all on board, yeah? Are the dots sufficiently and fully aligned? God I hope so. “If Memory Serves” is pulling a helluva fine “To Serve Man” word play pals:

If our memories perform our duties and live our lives for us, we become trapped. Discovery’s purpose for pulling in original series characters, and these characters in particular and all the narrative context sliding along in with them, is to suggest that we (and the franchise itself) need to move past our attachments to the original series and its rusty ideas and simplistic hopes for the future.  

Vina and Pike are already lost causes, we know this. We gain power in knowing this. The re-framing of these characters as being more tragic than romantic, with Discovery reflecting their longing as kinda creepy and disconnected with Vina more siren than innocent the series can push past the past and grab on to a new understanding of this classic episode’s elements and what it can mean for us watching Star Trek made in 2019.

A purely DISCO inversion of all this is poor Dr. Culber who has a complete lack of emotional connection to the past, who can remember moments and events but can’t make them give off any feelings of relevancy or incorporate them into who he is as a person. Culber is just as trapped as Vina and what Pike will (possibly?) become. The inch by inch nature of his recovery will depend on, as a pissed off Burnham tells the Talosians, if he can learn to “survive another way.” 

Yeah. That might be some thematic intent we’ve picked up on skip. We’re legit through the looking glass now huh? Up is down and down is up and nostalgia ain’t what it used to be! Hype.      

As such, in its own way, Discovery is fairly critical of Star Trek and by extension a bulk of its audience and their personal reasons and motivations for tuning in. It makes a lot of sense that Lorca and “If Memory Serves” among many other production choices and aspects chafe some viewers. 

I’m of the opinion that the shiny pristine nostalgic pedestal sculpture that is STAR TREK should be filed and chipped and shaved and grated here and there just as much as more contemporary substance should be added and stuffed back into it. 

What’s the goddamn point of any of this if not to further progress the bar of reflecting and projecting the human experience onto a future better than that one envisioned in 1966? In 1987? In 1993? And, at the end of the day, isn’t THAT more authentically “Star Trek” than simply an episodic narrative structure, glitter effect transporters, and a captain’s log? 

Road Trip: Eastward Day 4: Rocks, Rushmore, Badlands, Dignity, and more

This summer, the kids and I embarked on a 10,000-mile cross-country road trip from Washington to Maine and back. Along the way, we got a brief taste of America through landmarks and sights that represent our nation, for better or worse.

Read notes from every day of the trip:

Eastward: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

Westward: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12.

And various posts from the FAQ.

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Ken's Minerals & Trading Post, Custer, South Dakota

If you collect rock specimens, shops like Ken’s are irresistible. We hadn’t planned on stopping here, but the massive piles of rose quartz outside caught our attention, especially at a dollar a pound. Inside was a huge variety of specimens, fossils, and locally-made jewelry.

For example, here are a couple of selenite specimens we bought: first, as a sheet; second, as desert roses.

An older man was staffing the counter, knowledgeable about the rocks in the store and around the area. I asked if he was Ken. He chuckled. “No,” he said. “Ken has been gone for a long time. His sons run the store now. I just work here.” And he told us the store’s origin story.

Back in 1926, Ken and his wife were in facing some tough times financially, so the wife set up a little stand at their house to sell vegetables. With all the natural attractions in the area, a number of tourists stopped by. But instead of buying vegetables, the tourists wanted to buy the rocks that the couple had for lawn decor.  So Ken and his wife followed the money: instead of selling vegetables, they sold rocks.  And thus Ken’s Minerals & Trading Post was born.

We probably bought too many rocks.  But, it’s a really nice rock shop.

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Mount Rushmore, Keystone, South Dakota

Mount Rushmore is pretty straightforward: the faces of four major American presidents carved into the side of a mountain. Despite their grand 60-foot-tall visages, they kind of look bored instead of thoughtful.

The four presidents were chosen by the artist, Gutzon Borglum, to represent four stages of American history: George Washington for the birth of America; Thomas Jefferson for its growth; Theodore Roosevelt for its development; and Abraham Lincoln for the preservation of the country. Sculpting began in 1927 and was completed in 1941.

Allegedly, Mount Rushmore was named after a lawyer for a mining company, Charles Edward Rushmore, who spent time in the area with mining prospectors. He asked the prospectors the name of the mountain, and they said it had no name, so they named it after him. Here is how it looked in the late 1800s:

Photo from the National Park Service.

It’s an interesting memorial, but it’s hard to imagine going often.

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Wall Drug, Wall, South Dakota

This is one of those self-made landmarks: a huge, sprawling maze of rooms to buy all kinds of souvenirs and other stuff. It’s like a strangely-designed mall, except all the stores are owned by Wall Drug. You can also eat there. And you know this before arriving because Wall Drug has a zillion billboards along the highway for hundreds of miles in advance, advertising water and coffee and food and whatnots. They’ll probably be the first landmark to have billboards in space, if they don’t already.

Wall Drug started in 1931 by Ted Hustead, a Catholic pharmacist who wanted to work in a town where he could attend mass. As Hustead described it, business was terrible for the first few years, but then his wife Dorothy had the bright idea to offer free ice water to tourists driving past Wall on their way to other tourist sites. Immediately their business saw an upswing. 

Today the ice water is still free and the coffee is still 5¢. Still, we didn’t buy anything, or eat anything, or drink anything — we were already well hydrated. But we did wander around boggling at all the trinkets until we found bathrooms. I doubt anyone sells a shirt that says, “I went to Wall Drug and all I did was pee.”

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Badlands National Park, South Dakota

Not far from Wall is the entrance to the Badlands National Park: nearly 250,000 acres of remarkably striking landscapes and natural beauty. We didn’t have much time, but we did drive the 30-mile Badlands Loop Road (Highway 240) to see the northern part of the park.

“I really wonder what the first humans thought when they saw this,” wondered Luke, age 14, in amazement.

“It’s almost like some kind of ancient war zone,” I said, “if the ancients had nuclear weapons.”

“If I didn’t know about modern science and religion,” agreed Luke, “I might wonder if the gods had a battle here.”

“Who won?” I asked. “Who lost?”

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Prairie Homestead, Philip, South Dakota

You can’t exit northeast out of the Badlands without passing by the Prairie Homestead. It is a century-old relic of a pioneer family from 1909. Dug into the side of a hill and supported with a wood frame, the house’s walls are dirt bricks and its roof is covered in thick sod. 

“Can you imagine trekking out here from the East Coast, digging a house out of the ground, and living in it all alone for a long time?” I asked as we stood inside the sod house, looking at the old walls papered with old newsprint.

Beth, age 11, shook her head. “It’s amazing the human race has survived.”

I thought the admission price was steep, but it is a unique artifact of history. Unusually, there are white prarie dogs everywhere.

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Dignity Statue, Chamberlain, South Dakota

At 50 feet tall, this statue of a peaceful, thoughtful Native American woman is impressive, especially since you can walk right up to it and sit at its feet (or on its feet, if you choose; they're big enough).

The artist, Dale Lamphere, said,

“Dignity represents the courage, perseverance and wisdom of the Lakota and Dakota culture in South Dakota. My hope is that the sculpture might serve as a symbol of respect and promise for the future.”

Dignity can be found at the highway rest area in Chamberlain, South Dakota — a sentence that would not make sense in any other context. But she really is striking. The reflective blue tiles in her shawl turn and twinkle in the wind.  I’ve read that there are lights on the tiles at night, but we were there during a sunny day.

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World’s Only Corn Palace, Mitchell, South Dakota

Before the trip, I was amazed at the number of people who insisted we had to visit the World’s Only Corn Palace.

Dating back to 1892, the Corn Palace features enormous, mostly monochromatic brownish murals made entirely of corn cobs, using a dozen different varieties of corn to achieve variation in tone and color. They slice the cobs in half lengthwise, then nail them to the wall, updating the murals annually based on designs by local artists. They claim that it “is known around the world as a folk-art wonder on the prairie of South Dakota.”

There are several murals on the exterior of the building.  The building is also a civic center with a large auditorium and a basketball court, so there are plenty more murals around the perimeter of the staging area inside.  Apparently, USA Today named the Corn Palace one of the top 10 places in America for high school basketball, a factoid which baller Luke, age 14, has trouble believing. "This is just weird," he remarked, but he still tried on a corn cob hat for sale.

On the day we arrived, it appeared the front murals were in the process of being taken down.  And with no impending events, the basketball court was turned into a souvenir shop.

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Spirit Lake, Iowa

We drove out of the east side of South Dakota and briefly into Minnesota, then dipped south across the state line to Iowa for the night.

I’ll be honest: this stop was primarily a convenient way to check another state off the list. We did not see any actual sights there. Sorry, Iowa.

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Unless noted otherwise, all photos are taken by the kids and I, and are shared under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license.

Twilight Fan Fiction - Ch. 2

CHAPTER 2

Finally, it was the end of July and moving day had arrived… everything was packed tightly into the shipping container and the moving company arrived bright and early at 8am to pick it up. There were a couple of remaining cartons that we put in the box of our pickup truck and off we went, on our first big family adventure into the unknown. My parents had high hopes, they always wanted the small-town life for themselves (and us), and now it was finally happening. I was beginning to feel anxious, even though I never liked Vancouver, it was all I had ever known – it was a bit unnerving leaving my “comfort zone”. But at least I was with my family and we would always have each other. We decided to drive to Forks, it wasn’t that far from where we lived in Vancouver, just across the other side of Vancouver Island. We made a few stops along the way for food and pee breaks, but all in all we made good time. We left Vancouver around 8.30am and we managed to arrive in Forks by 4.00pm. We pulled up to an older looking two-storey house on a corner lot, that had a neighbour on the left side, (but was still fairly far down the road) and a forest behind and on the right side - which my parents proudly announced would be our new home. The shipping container with all our stuff was already there and the movers were busy unloading it all into the house.

We got out of the vehicle, Liam and I each grabbed a box from the back of the pickup truck and walked to the front door expecting the worst. When we stepped inside, however, we were pleasantly surprised that it had been completely renovated with an updated, modern style. We walked up the stairs to check out the bedrooms, there were three of them, one being the master of course – it was the largest room, facing the back yard with an enormous, four-piece master bathroom and a California style walk in closet. The other rooms seemed fairly equally sized, with their own, (smaller) three-piece bathrooms and smaller walk-in closets. These rooms were facing the main street in front of our house. I told Liam that he could have first pick, to which he happily obliged. He chose the one on the right closest to the neighbours’ house, so I took the one on the left that was closer to the forest. It was kind of nice I guess; we each had our own bathroom and the rooms were a lot bigger than our old rooms. Slowly but surely our furniture and belonging made it to the proper rooms and we all got busy unpacking. At around 7pm, my parents called out to Liam and me – they wanted to go out for supper before it was too late. We hopped into the truck and drove to the town, to see what we could find. My mom spotted a small diner called “The Carver Café” which appeared to be open, so we decided to stop in and check it out. Walking into the diner was like a scene from a movie – everyone stopped what they were doing to look at us, for what seemed like an eternity – this was the kind of stuff I had nightmares about. I couldn’t have felt more awkward, but our parents just continued to usher us in, until we got to an empty table at the back of the café. Shortly after finding a seat, everyone else in the diner seemingly went back to normal.

A friendly looking waitress came to our table and said “you folks must not be from around here” sporting a big smile on her face. “No, we’re not” my dad answered smiling back. “We just moved here from Canada” my mother added. “Oh, Canada!” the waitress exclaimed! “We love Canadians here… don’t we?!” she yelled across the room. Everyone looked our way again, some held up their glass as if to “cheers” us and they all nodded in agreement. Then she turned back around and apologized quietly, she figured this way people wouldn’t be as curious about us, since tourists and newcomers to the town were very seldom. She then proceeded to take our orders and told us that she would be back with our food in a jiffy. Looking around the diner, there were still plenty of curious glances coming our way - the majority of customers looked to be a bit older and seemingly had not seen many biracial families I thought. We talked quietly among ourselves until the food arrived, then we couldn’t help but dig in. We hadn’t eaten much since earlier that day, so we were all quite hungry. The food was delicious and had a home cooked meal type feel to it. When we were finished, our waitress came back and asked if any of us wanted some pie for dessert, but we were all way too stuffed to have anything else. “Just the bill, please” my dad said, which the waitress brought back promptly. She said “Well it was lovely to meet you folks, hope to see y’all again soon”. We thanked her for her hospitality and asked her to pass our compliments on to the chef. As we walked to the front counter to pay, we still encountered many stares… they didn’t seem mean or angry, just rather curious. My dad paid the girl at the counter and made sure to leave a good tip for the service, then we left.

Back at our new house, we continued unpacking and helped one another set up our beds, so we would have somewhere to sleep. At 11pm, I decided to call it a night. That night I had an odd dream, nothing like any dream I ever had before. I dreamt that I was walking through a beautiful forest, when suddenly I came across a wolf. But this was no ordinary wolf… it was much larger than a normal wolf and it just stood there looking at me. I approached it slowly, why, I do not know… Everything inside me screamed to run away, but somehow, I was drawn to it. The wolf didn’t move an inch and I kept walking towards it while trying to avoid direct eye contact, as I didn’t want to anger or spook it. I got within inches of it and reached out my hand to touch it when suddenly… I woke up.

I looked at my phone, it was just after 8am, but it looked grey and cloudy outside. I got up, got dressed and followed the alluring smell of coffee and bacon down the stairs, to the kitchen, where my mom was already busy making breakfast. I looked through the cupboards to get myself oriented and finally found what I was looking for - the mugs. I grabbed one, filled it with coffee and sat down on a bar stool at the island where my mom was cooking. “Good morning, sunshine” she quipped, “good morning” I replied groggy and still feeling tired. “How was your sleep?” she asked. “It was alright” I said, trying to muster up a smile. “It will get better, it’s a new environment for you guys, so it will take some adjustment” she declared in her usual funny little Filipino accent. “I know, mom” I acknowledged. We continued to make small talk while she was cooking, but it wasn’t long before my dad and brother got up and joined us for breakfast. My parents revealed another surprise at this point. They wanted to get us each our own car for being such troopers and moving away from everything we knew. Liam couldn’t contain his excitement “Are you serious?!” he exclaimed – his eyes shot wide open. “Yes, we are. You kids are turning 16 soon and you have proven that you are both responsible, young adults now. There is a small car dealership on the edge of town; I figure we can go take a look there later today” my dad said. I hadn’t seen Liam this excited in a while, it was nice to see him so happy. Me, on the other hand, I wasn’t sure how to feel… I didn’t know if I needed or even wanted a car, I much preferred walking or taking a bike.

We drove to the edge of town later that day, to check out the car dealership my dad was talking about. As my family was browsing the used cars on the lot, my eyes were drawn to the motorcycles on the other side of the lot. I knew my parents would never allow it, but I decided to wander off to have a gander anyway. As I was walking, there was one bike in particular that caught my attention. It was a jet black, Kawasaki Ninja – definitely one of my favourites. I got up close and personal, circling the bike and inspecting every detail of it. Suddenly, a voice right behind me enquired, “can I help you with anything?” I had been so caught up in my own thoughts, that I didn’t even notice someone had been there, for who knows how long. Startled and embarrassed, I quickly turned around and said, “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I was just looking”. The boy behind me couldn’t have been much older than me. He was tanned, with long black hair (dare I say it… almost the same length as mine and the most radiant white smile I had ever seen. “No need to apologize” he said, “you are free to look as much as you like”. At this point I knew I was blushing; I could feel my cheeks burning up and I quickly turned my gaze towards the ground realizing that I had been staring at him for quite a while… “You are not from around here” he implored.

I shook my head. “No” I replied softly, eyes still glued to the floor. “Did you lose something?” he asked, sounding puzzled while scouring the floor. “Ummm… no, sorry” I said looking back up at him. “You sure like to apologize” he quipped light heartedly, “you really don’t need to. Where are you from?” he asked. “Vancouver… Canada” I answered. “Oh cool! I have never been; but I hear it’s quite nice” he said. “Yeah, it’s alright”, I responded trying to sound enthusiastic. “How long are you in town for?” he continued. “We just moved here actually” I responded. “Really? That’s cool, do you know anyone around here?” he probed. “No, just my family over there” I said while turning around to point at them. That is when I realized they weren’t even looking at cars anymore, they were all watching my interaction with this boy instead. “They seem nice!” He said smiling and waving to my family, as they waved back excitedly. Boy: “Well, if you want, I could show you around town sometime?”

Me: “Yeah, definitely, that would be really great”.

Boy: “How can I get a hold of you? Do you have Facebook?”

Me: “Umm no, I don’t have any social media unfortunately… “

Boy: “That’s OK, we will just have to do this the old-fashioned way then, do you have a phone number?”

Me: “Yeah, it’s a Canadian number, but I will be switching it over soon.”

Boy pulls out his phone, “That’s alright… well let’s start with your name…”

Me: “Serenity, S-E-R-E-N-I-T-Y”

Boy looks up at me and says, “That is a really beautiful name”.

Me: “Thank you” I whispered quietly. “And my number is 1-604-283-8031”.

At this point, he hits the call button on his phone and my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out and he says “now you have my number too. I am Jacob by the way.” He holds out his hand to shake mine and I reciprocate.” Well, I better get back over there, but I look forward to you showing me around”.

Jacob: “Me too, I will be seeing you soon”.

I walked back to my family, trying to contain my excitement about the interaction I just had with Jacob.

It appeared that my brother had some exciting news of his own… he had found a car that he liked; a Chevy Equinox that he was going to take for a quick test drive. He asked my mom and I if we wanted to come along, but I shook my head “no” while grabbing my mom’s arm to drag her for a girl talk, leaving my dad and brother to go for their test drive with the salesman. My mom immediately started peppering me with questions, “Who was that? What’s his name? How old is he? What did you talk about?... I told her what I knew so far at this point, which evidently wasn’t much, just his name really and that he promised to show me around town some time. I couldn’t help but realize that this may actually have been the longest conversation I’ve ever had with someone outside of my family in a very long time… and it was with a handsome boy to boot. Maybe my brothers’ theory wasn’t so crazy after all… Did the clothes I was wearing today make me seem more approachable? I felt like this would never have happened in my old wardrobe.

My mom and I decided to sit on a nearby bench to wait for my dad and Liam to return from the test drive, both of us giddy with excitement about what had just transpired. She asked me what my plan was moving forward; if I was going to text Jacob first etc. and I started to feel slightly overwhelmed. I had no idea what the next step would be or if I should be the first to contact him. We decided that this might be a better question for someone more experienced… which in this case was none other than my brother, Liam. My brother, my dad and the salesman returned about ten minutes later and it looked as though Liam was quite pleased with the test drive. His grin extended from one ear to the other as he exited the car. The salesman took the keys and headed back inside the dealership. My mom and I joined Liam and Dad to see what the verdict was. “Looks like we are buying a car today” My dad said satisfied. “You and I will need to sign some paperwork inside, mein schatz1 ” he continued as he put his arm around my mom and lead her toward the dealership.

After my parents left, I finally had a chance to ask Liam about what I should do; but before I could even say anything, Liam started “So, who was that guy you were talking to?” … “Jacob” I said. “I think he works here. He just asked if he could help me with anything, while I was browsing the motorcycle section”. “What’s he like? Did he seem nice?” my brother prodded. “Yeah, I think so… I told him we just moved here, and he said that he would show me around town sometime”. “Like a date?” my brother asked seeming almost concerned. “I don’t think so… I think he is just trying to be friendly” I replied. “So, what do you think I should do? Should I text him first or should I wait for him to text me? I asked coyly. “Well, that depends…” my brother said, do you want to play “the game” and chance ruining any possibility of a friendship or relationship moving forward OR do you want to start a friendship with this guy based on honesty and openness from the get-go?!” “No games, drama or BS” I replied quickly and confidently. “Then, message him first”, my brother said… maybe later tonight or tomorrow morning, to see when he’s free to show you around town. “O.K, that sounds great! I will text him sometime tomorrow morning” I said. I gave Liam a hug and thanked him for his guidance. “Anything for you, little sis” he said grinning.

Our parents emerged from the dealership smiling. They shook the salesman’s hand and walked back towards us. “Well, we may have just made our first friends in Forks” my dad announced proudly. “Turns out that the boy you were talking to earlier is the son of our salesman, Billy, and he has invited all of us down to the reservation for a fish fry this weekend”.  

Liam was allowed to drive his new car off the lot, and I drove with him as my parents wanted to go to town for some groceries for supper. We arrived at home and Liam got busy updating his social media with pictures of his new car.

At supper, my dad had a moment of realization. He turned to me and said, “In all the excitement today with finding Liam a car, I forgot to ask if any cars on the lot caught your eye?” I responded that I didn’t really have a good chance to look, but that I wasn’t picky and would settle for anything that would be capable of getting me from point A to B. My parents smiled at me, then each other, knowing that they had raised their “little” girl into a responsible and practical young woman that was not too concerned with material things.

“Ok, well maybe we can talk to Billy this weekend, to see if he has something for you as well.” My dad said relieved.

 Special Notes:

*1. Mein Schatz = German for “My Treasure”

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Stay tuned for Chapter 3 (Already in the works)...

Serenity and her family go to the “fish fry” on the reservation where Serenity and Jacob learn more about one another. But... there are some unexpected news involving her brother Liam... 

Well yesterday was booty -

1) woke up and while loading car, noticed the garage door had been open all night. Talk with hubs about it, that didn’t go well, started the day with a fuss (boo)

2) when I got to the daycare to drop Lilith, realized that after said spat with hubs, I had left her milk on the counter instead of finishing loading the car. Called hubs panicky, because I couldn’t leave to come home as Lilith would be without milk and traffic at that time had backed up. He said he would bring it - phew - then called me back 10 later saying his dad would bring it. This started fight 2, because I started processing out loud, what I would have to restructure to meet my FIL, who has never been to my work, and direct him in, then meet him for the milk swap, and I was covering for my partner, who has been out, so had a crazy busy day ahead. He took this as me complaining, which, I was, but not in a way like, wah wah wah, but more of, ok if I do this and this that should work. He said something ridiculously snarky, so snarky that I hung up on him and wouldn’t accept any calls from him until the afternoon (yes I have an immature streak, I have learned though, it is so much worse if I don’t walk away when I need to v taking some time to get myself sorted, so I’m not sorry I did what I needed to do). After the first garage snark, then the second one, I’d had my fill.

3) get to my office and my boss calls to tell me he had spilled coffee all over my desk, had to throw away all the paperwork I had sitting there (leftover stuff from previous shift needed to wrap up on, call backs I needed to make, changes in clinic flow etc since I came back from maternity leave), and that was a huge suck. It placed me in a position to where there are some things I will not be able to follow up on, I looked at my shred it box, and to be helpful, my nurses had emptied it, so EVERYTHING was gone. Shit. So I go to log in, and my keyboard is fried. From the coffee. Mother eff.

4) ok, flash forward, get new keyboard, go to log in, and the keyboard I got as a replacement has some keys that apparently didn’t work, which resulted in me miskeying my passwords, which locked me out of my charting programs. Fantastic. That causes a 20 minute lock out, so I get into my email, catch up on that, then able to log back in. Had to swap keyboard AGAIN.

5) ok, in to the charting program and I realize my other partner, there are 3 NPs, did ZERO Monday in regards to shared consult responsibilities. Monday is my day off, so I came in to Saturday, Sunday and monday worth of shit for myself and another partner and lazy left me a metric crap of additional consultations to finish as well. Already had a late start with the milk, keyboard and lockout so I wasn’t super happy, then the hubs debacle and I was not in a good place. Oh and our pharmacict called out sick and asked me to take his student somewhere in all that.

6) so I am busting ass, prioritizing, and med refills are the top, go to sign some controlled substance to mail out, and my PIV code isn’t communicating with the charting program. Head desk, head desk. I know it’s not the card, because I was able to log in in the first place, so I’m racking my brain. There had been an update a few weeks back that has completely jacked multiple programs and they are still patching them, so I hunt through my email, finding the link to reconnect my piv code (which was working fine last week) to the charting program. I ran the update and nothing. FFS.

7) then I get a call from daycare saying I need to come boob Lilith - because hello I forgot her milk - and luckily, my boobs come with me, and the daycare is on site. So I decide that I will just deal with computer shit after I feed baby girl. Go over to feed Lilith, get her going and my father in law calls, he’s on campus, has no clue where to go. I just get him to park, wrap with baby, head to meet him for the milk swap.

8) run across campus, meet him, get milk. He has never been to my office and wants to see it and meet everyone. Im grateful that he has done me a huge solid so I run him into my office, introduce him to everyone and plan to head to daycare as he wants to visit briefly. Run into a patient who completely jacked his knee over the weekend and begs for an overbook (I usually see patients half day on Tuesdays and only 4, was overbooked to 6 already), so get him in completely screwing myself. Run to daycare, introduce father-in-law around there as well, drop off milk, head back to clinic after sorting him on his way home.

9) see the 3 overbooked, able to get into computer after complete reboot (thank you higher power), and decide I need to be an adult and apologize to hubs now that I can think.

10) send him sweet text telling him I was an ass, that his dad saves the day, much thanks and that I hope we can have a good night. No response. I knew that would be the case, so I wrap my day, headed home.

11) get home, make dinner, hubs won’t eat. Then he takes jamis to the other part of the house for a bath and proceeds to watch tv without really talking to me all night.

So, yesterday sucked. I didn’t want a fight, so I just put Lilith to bed and grabbed some shut eye myself. We did interact this morning in the kitchen, but nothing major, and I work from home today and everything has been smooth sailing on that front - knock on wood.

Relationships are hard folks. After an amazing weekend, then just moronic fighting and then juvenile communication skills, it’s so frustrating at times. I love my husband, I know he loves me, we’ll be fine, but I don’t understand after over a decade, these stupid nit picks still have to occur. When does your relationship mature that you can literally move forward from this? I will say, we haven’t done this in a long time and I suppose we were due. Still makes the day start off at a bummer then not get better.

Anywho, fingers crossed that today will continue along the same lines it has and that the silent treatment will be over when the mister gets home from work. Because quite honestly, I apologized, I really don’t need to rehash it, and if you want to pretend that we weren’t behaving like toddlers, I’m fine with that.

Happy Wednesday loves xx