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vagrantblvrd · 6 years ago

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In from the Cold, (1/1)

Summary: The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for Freewood with flowershop owner and hitman/spy AU way back at the start of May. :D?

(Read on AO3)

The past couple of months have been busy for Ryan. Running back-to-back missions with operatives from allied agencies that took him all across the globe until a lucky bullet put him down for the count in Bangkok. Left him bleeding out in an alley until a Good Samaritan happened by and took him to a local clinic.

Everything after that was something of a blur until he woke up to Geoff by his bedside with his face in his hands.

Relatively new to the agency, but he looks like he’s been there since the beginning. Takes his agents’ welfare far more seriously than his predecessors ever did and Ryan knows he’s not alone in adjusting to the way things have changed since he was appointed. (No idea what to do with someone who cares.)

Tired and drawn-thin with orders for Ryan to stop fucking doing this to him because he’s an old man and getting older every time one of his idiots ended up at death’s door, fucking hell, Ryan.

Dramatic of him, but Ryan had taken his point.

Promised to be good, once they got him back stateside. Listen to what the medical professionals had to say and let himself heal up before he went out and did something insanely stupid again.

So here he is, puttering around his apartment that feels more alien to him than the hotel rooms and other assorted hovels he tends to live in on missions.

A bit on the dreary side of things, since he hasn’t had the time to put personal touches into the décor. Most of the plants that were gifted to him when he moved in from coworkers and friendly neighbors are dead.

Dry, withered things that make him wince at the sight of them because he’d meant to ask someone to check in on them for him, but things had gotten a little out of hand. Gone from infiltrating a posh gala to gather intel on suspect characters and ended with him teaming up with fellow agents to retrieve nuclear codes and it’s a long story. (Ends with betrayal in the rain and a bullet in his shoulder.)

“Well this is fantastic,” Ryan says, and the little stray staring at him through the window screen in his kitchen meows agreement.

Scrappy little thing, loves to sunbathe in the flower planter attached to the window frame and not at all scared of Ryan.

Won’t come any closer, but the food he leaves out for her on his balcony disappears like clockwork, and she’s no longer so scrawny he can see her ribs.

Small victories.

Ryan looks around.

Thin layer of dust everywhere and nothing feels like the home it’s meant to be. Place to go after the briefings and missions and reports, to remember how to be human.

“Okay,” he says to himself quietly. “Okay, I can do this.”

He can’t roll his sleeves up at the moment, because one, he’s not wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and two, one arm is in a sling, but.

Tackling a task like cleaning his home up and making it suitable seems like something where you’d do that.

Instead Ryan flips the baseball cap he’s wearing around and wades into things armed with a feather duster, garbage bags, and sheer determination.

========

“Oh dear God,” Ryan says, an hour into things, because he forgot about the food he left in the fridge, and it’s not a pretty sight at all.

========

Several hours and a shower later, and Ryan’s apartment is starting to look like someone lives there now and there are no things in the refrigerator.

He’s tired, pleasantly so. Sense of accomplishment and hunger gnawing at his belly that drives him out to the little grocery store on the corner for groceries.

Smiles at the little old lady who asks him to get something off a high shelf for her. Makes small-talk with the cashier as she rings him up. Feels more human as he walks home, feet slowing when he comes across a flower shop he doesn’t remember seeing before.

Quaint place with a sandwich board on the sidewalk in front of it advertising daily sales. Curious stand set up for passersby to pick up a free flower as a courtesy. Brightly colored things with a vial attached to keep them fresh for the trip home.

Ryan thinks about the houseplants he threw out earlier and the lingering guilt in the back of his mind at the waste. How lifeless his apartment feels without them, and chooses a deep red flower, somehow managing not to drop the bag of groceries he’s carrying as he does.

When he gets home he realizes he doesn’t have a vase for the flower and settles on a drinking glass. Sets it on his kitchen counter where he and the stray can see it and laughs at himself because it’s ridiculous, isn’t it.

Government agent (spy) like him, and a silly little flower (unnecessary, frivolous) in a glass on his kitchen counter and it feels nice.

He keeps glancing at it while he cooks dinner for himself while saving tasty tidbits for the stray, and wonders if the shop sells houseplants.

========

They do.

========

Ryan is...not a plant expert.

Has no idea what he’s doing, really.

Ends up browsing the plant selection along one side of the shop. Flowering houseplants and herbs and other things he doesn’t know the names of. Recognizes from seeing them on the desks of his fellow agents and support staff at work and wonders if he’d be able to keep any of them alive given his frequent trips.

He’s considering an odd looking succulent when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, cold voice voice in the back of his head admonishing him for not paying attention to his surroundings. For forgetting. (It sounds like his former superiors, and leaves him unsettled.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a work apron with the shop’s name emblazoned across the front. A handwritten name tag that says “Gavin”. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and blue-green eyes.

Frown on his face as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him. The apologetic smile on his face drops away to open concern when his gaze lands on Ryan’s sling.

“I’m fine,” Ryan says, smiles to back that claim up. “Don’t worry about it.”

Gavin’s frown deepens, as though he’s not entirely convinced, but he huffs out a little laugh along with another apology.

Notices the small succulent Ryan’s still holding and makes this little cooing noise.

At the plant.

“Oh, she’s a lovely one,” he says, looks up at Ryan with this smile. “Do you have any at home?”

Ryan isn’t sure what’s going on.

“Uh, no,” he says. The plants he’d been given were hanging plants and flowers. Nothing like this strange little plant. Looks a bit like aloe but with prominent white stripes. “But I’ve heard it’s supposed to be hard to kill.”

Might survive him and his absences, even.

Gavin grins, and Ryan’s sure he must get customers in here all the time who say something along the same lines.

“Do you have pets?” he asks, something Ryan hadn’t considered before.

Thinks about the little stray and the fact that fall is just around the corner, and cooler weather with it. Rain. Frost. Early snow, if last year was any measure.

“...Yes,” he says, even though he’s not sure the stray would agree with him.

Gavin doesn’t question it though, just turns to the plants on display on the low tables set out and selects another succulent. Fat little leaves growing in a rosette pattern, touches of color at their tips.

“You might want to try one of these,” he says, cheeky little sales pitch. “The one you’re holding is safe for pets, but this is another lovely one and also on the hard to kill end of things.”

Ryan considers the plant, short stubby thing, and realizes he’s more than a bit out of his depth here in more ways than one.

Looks up at Gavin, that little smile on his face like he knows, and sighs.

========

The stray’s curious today, pacing back and forth on the other side of the balcony kitchen window as Ryan contemplates the best arrangements of his new houseplants.

The zebra plant he was initially drawn to and several other succulents. A spider plant for the living room. Several others he’s worried will die in his care sooner or later, but Gavin had been so enthusiastic about them and Ryan -

Well.

He’s a weak, weak man at loose ends until his shoulder heals and Lindsay’s always telling him he needs hobbies, isn’t she? Things unrelated to work, something that will help him wind down after a stressful mission.

So.

Looks like he’s going to give plants a try, see if he can’t keep them alive long enough to count as an actual hobby and not an impulse buy.

“Fingers crossed, huh?” he asks, and gets a flatly unimpressed look from the stray.

Ryan laughs, and turns on the television to watch the news as he fusses with the plants. Frowns at a reporter looking solemn as they drone on and on about a string of jewelry store robberies and rise in unrelated break-ins and daring burglaries and the like over the last few months. Only thing of significant note the fact they take place around sunset.

No new leads but unusual for the city, local police concerned about the rise in crime asking viewers to call a hotline they’ve set up it they see any suspicious activity.

Ryan hums to himself, and spares the stray a glance when it lets out a plaintive cry.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”

Ryan’s odd sense of humor and an old, worn out joke involving cats and burglaries and honestly, part of the reason he gets along half as well as he does with his co-workers.

========

Ryan’s not completely off the hook when it comes to that last mission, no.

There are meetings and conferences. Investigations and Ryan tired and hurting and facing down official and legal counsel from their sister agency over their operative who’d gone rogue on them. Sold their country out for the guarantee of a cushy retirement somewhere tropical – Ryan’s never seen the appeal, all that sand – and done their level best to kill Ryan as well.

Didn’t seem to think the fact better people had tried and failed, thought they would finally be the one to succeed.

He gets Geoff’s tired sighs, aggravated noises in private before they face the long, exhausting spectacle of it all. His staunch support at his side while others are trying to tear apart Ryan’s accounts of events. Insist he’s lying, dragging a dead man’s name through the mud to cover his own wrongdoing as though Ryan wouldn’t be more clever about things.

Laughs to himself when he mentions that to Geoff over lunch one day, and gets to see the man choke on his salad, sputtered “Jesus Christ, Ryan, don’t say shit like that,” because spies and paranoia and Geoff’s a good man but also a naive bastard if he thinks Ryan’s enemies don’t already know that about him.

Lindsay and the others check in with him when he’s not facing an inquisition, text him random things they think he’ll find interesting or at least entertaining. Call him up to pick his brain over some technical snag or logistic problem with a mission still in its planning stages.

Strange little community, family they’ve become over the years due to the nature of their jobs and the bonds it creates. (Out of familiarity and necessity at first, although it became choice a long time ago.)

========

Ryan’s understandably wary about buying too much in the way or perishable foods in case he’s called away for work longer than expected after the Fridge Incident. Makes daily trips to the corner grocery store, which somehow ends up with him stopping by the flower shop on the way as well. (Picks up one of their free flowers to brighten his apartment up, add a little cheer.)

Gavin’s always happy to see him, comes over to talk if business is slow at the time. Ask after Ryan’s plants, helps him when one of them is doing poorly. Shares pictures of the strays that loiter in the alley behind the flower shop he’s trying to befriend and all the ridiculous names he’s come up for them when Ryan mentions the stray that’s adopted him in its own way.

Ryan’s not completely socially inept, but this is definitely different from charming a target or dealing with fellow agents and support staff. This is -

It’s kind of terrifying, because he’s startlingly fond of Gavin and his rambling nonsense. Little stories about his coworkers at the shop, people Ryan’s met in passing and always seem busy. Delivering orders to customers or handling events for clients, in and out all the time.

Leaves the two of them time to talk, and Ryan’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

(Unnecessary, frivolous, but.)

“Ryan!” Gavin’s smile lights up his face and Ryan -

Oh, he thinks a little helplessly. Oh, no.

========

Ryan is an idiot.

========

“I mean, yeah,” Geoff says, snatches the unopened can of diet soda from his hand. “You really are.”

Ryan’s not sure why Geoff’s here, poking around his modest apartment and stealing his diet soda, but here they are.

They’re not friends in the conventional sense, but there’s something more to it than their working relationship. Something that lets Geoff unwind in Ryan’s apartment, loosen his tie and kick his shoes off. Give Ryan this little smirk like maybe they are friends, and Ryan just hasn’t caught on yet.

“To be fair I don’t know what you're talking about? But you, Ryan. You are definitely an idiot.

Ryan sighs, getting up to take another can of diet soda out of his fridge. Watches Geoff sitting in his kitchen looking as relaxed as Ryan’s ever seen him. He’s got the newspaper Ryan picked up on his morning jog spread out in front of him, frowning over a news story concerning another jewelry store robbery. (Used to work for the FBI, according to the rumors, before Burnie lured him to the agency to make things right.)

“Thanks, boss.”

Geoff cackles, gestures to the kitchen window and the stray watching them through slitted eyes. Basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun in its planter.

“When did you get a cat?”

Ryan shrugs.

“Hell if I know.”

He’s a dog person, but the damn thing has claimed Ryan’s planter as its own and climbs into his lap when he sits out on the balcony with a drink and book to read and what is he supposed to do about that?

Geoff eyes him, thoughtful edge to it, and laughs.

“See that? Right there, Ryan? That’s you being an idiot.”

========

He’s not wrong.

========

Gavin’s coworkers are...odd.

Strange.

Suspicious as hell.

“Gav’s not here,” Trevor says, light, airy tone, but steel in his eyes.

The three of them don’t seem to have set days off, rarely work together the same days. (Not that Ryan’s looking for patterns, routines. Using those observational skills of his the agency honed to use because he still feels at loose ends, no.)

There’s just something about Trevor that unsettles Ryan.

Co-owner of this quaint little flower shop who as it happens is not Ryan’s biggest fan, and sure as hell not shy about letting Ryan know.

The door to the shop swings shut behind Ryan and he feels trapped.

Hairs on the back of his neck and urge to go for his weapon, but this isn’t a mission.

This is a quaint little flower shop a few blocks from his building and the coworker of someone Ryan’s gotten far too attached to for anyone’s good.

And yet here he is.

Trevor’s watching him with this frown – one Ryan belatedly realizes is only for him. Eyes sharp and assessing in a way that unsettles Ryan.

“Ah,” Ryan says. “I see.”

Trevor’s eyebrows go up, and Ryan winces.

Government agent of the “spy” variety and an absolute disaster dealing with anything not related to his work. Amazing.

“Maybe you can help?” Ryan asks, even though he’d prefer to slink out of the flower shop with the way Trevor’s looking at him. “One of my plants isn’t doing well, and I’d hoped I could get advice on what to do?”

Trevor tips his head to the side as he squints at Ryan. Pinpointing weak spots perhaps, or the best way to kill him and hide the body afterwards. (Ryan’s mind flashes back to plays he was in, once upon and time and smothers a laugh, barely manages to keep from asking if they have Venus flytraps in the back.)

“Maybe,” Trevor says, mimicking Ryan. Smiles, faint. Definitely amused by Ryan. “Why don't you tell me what you’ve done to the poor thing and we’ll see what we can do, hmm?”

========

Alfredo is another odd one.

Friendly smiles and bright laughter that covers this sharpness to him Ryan’s hard-put to describe.

Easy to see why the customers in the flower shop linger when he’s helping them. Like to chat about things going on in their lives, tease and joke with him.

It’s not just good salesmanship, it’s -

“Oh, hey, Ryan!”

Unsettling in a completely different way because he’s disarming. Makes people want to trust him, and Ryan can feel himself being drawn in despite himself from time to time.

“Alfredo,” he says, not surprised they’re the only ones in the shop.

It’s early still, on a weekday and people are headed off to work and dropping their children at school. A million and one things to do and not enough hours in the day.

And then there’s Ryan, fresh from his morning jog and still this restlessness to him afterwards.

“Is it here?”

Alfredo grins as he looks through the notes they keep behind the counter. Service numbers in case something goes wrong in the shop and repairs need to be made. Delivery numbers for online orders and so on. A handful of customer numbers and the relevant information for those like Ryan who’ve requested a special order for plants and supplies they don’t keep on hand due to lack or space or wider interest.

“Oh-ho,” Alfredo says, and flashes Ryan another grin. “Look at this!”

A delivery receipt for a company in town, and Gavin’s signature at the bottom.

“Hold on a minute and I’ll get that for you.”

Ryan doesn’t fidget while Alfred goes into the backroom, he just.

Explores.

Wanders over to a display stand on the counter a little further down. Odd little plants in tiny terrariums that claim to be hardier than other indoor plants Difficult to kill and perfect for those looking for a unique plant for their homes or offices.

Hand-painted pots from local artisans. Odd bits and bobs like keychains and refrigerator magnets for plant lovers. Seed packets for those looking to start butterfly gardens and so on.

“Here we go,” Alfredo calls out, singsong note to it as he emerges from the back and sets Ryan’s order down on the counter.

Looking at it, Ryan feels ridiculous because it’s –

< i>Unnecessary, frivolous.

“It’s a beauty,” Alfredo says, giving Ryan this smile like he knows. “You have a name picked out?”

Ryan laughs, little huff of breath as he pulls the small potted plant closer.

“Still thinking about it,” he says, and wonders how much grief he’d get from Geoff and the others for naming is new Venus flytrap it after a certain killer plant from outer space.

========

If Ryan’s being honest with himself – and to be honest, he rarely ever is – Gavin’s a bit on the odd side of things as well.

Little things about him that ping the edge of Ryan’s finely-tuned radar for trouble that he pushes aside because...Because.

That smile of his and his cheerfulness. Way he laughs at Ryan dumb little jokes and stands far too close for someone he barely knows when Ryan stops by the flower shop for advice on his plants (and honestly, the internet is right there at his fingertips, isn’t it?) or pick up something he didn’t know he needed for them. (It’s a learning process he’s woefully slow about.)

Gavin is sharp in a way Ryan’s learned to watch out for. Covers for it well with that aforementioned smile and cheerfulness, but he’s...there’s something to him that doesn’t quite sit right with Ryan.

Clever and bright and as he learns one day when he walks into the shop to find it empty, part mountain goat.

“Hello?” he calls out, instantly wary because it’s the weekend when there tend to be a fair amount of customers about the place, Gavin or one of his co-workers behind the counter or helping said customers.

There’s a clatter from the back storeroom. A clunk, a rattle and then a harried sounding Gavin.

“I’m in the back!” he yells out, and, “come on back!”

Ryan glances around as though he could be talking (yelling?) at anyone else, and hesitates before he steps behind the counter and heads through the doorway into the storeroom.

He doesn’t see Gavin at first, but it’s easy enough to follow a trail of knocked over supplies and other things to a corner of the storeroom. Look up, and there Gavin is a good ten feet off the ground and moving about the storage shelving there instead of using the ladder Ryan can see less than five feet from him.

The height doesn’t seem to bother him, let alone the dangerous footing. Moves as easily as he would if he were on firm ground, and glances down at Ryan with a cheerful grin.

“Ryan!” he greets, “just the person I wanted to see!”

Ryan’s glad for the dim lighting back here, because spy he may be but he he still hasn’t mastered involuntary reactions like blushing. (A failing for someone in his line of work, surely.)

“Oh?” he says, and bites the inside of his cheek when Gavin laughs at him as he snags a box on the shelf above him and makes his way down the shelves with easy confidence.

Gavin drops the last foot off the ground and turns around to show Ryan the box he grabbed, and gestures for him to follow him into the work area.

Ryan follows him, curiosity piqued as Gavin sets aside pieces of foam and cardboard to reveal a little clay pot with stylized flytrap plants painted on it and curving, twisting vines curling around the entire thing.

“I almost forgot this,” he says, little grin on his face as he glances at Ryan. “That special order you put in reminded me about it.”

Ryan stares at the pot and can’t help the stupid little smile he can feel stealing across his face thinking about re-potting Audrey II into it like the dork Lindsay and the others are always accusing him of being.

========

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

========

It doesn’t seem to matter how careful Ryan is, something like this always happens.

Always.

He’s moved several times since he joined the agency, made it a habit after the first few years and one too many coincidences he suspects weren’t.

Past time to have moved from his current apartment, to be honest, but sentimentality and something else has kept him here. (Someone.)

Whatever his reasons it’s a moot point, considering the current situation.

Annoyed, because things were going so well for him for once. He was so close to being reinstated, had something of a life outside work, and now there’s another hole in his shoulder. Too damn close to the first and bleeding like a son of a bitch.

His fault, for allowing himself to develop routines while he’s on medical leave. Patterns. Made himself predictable, allowed his enemies to set up a trap and bait him into it.

And now there’s a broken off blade in his sill-healing shoulder (it seems to be a magnet for things like that) and a dead enemy agent behind him along with Ryan’s phone that bravely took a bullet for him.

Something close to fear in his chest and too far from home. (Guilt building up with each painful step because there’s someplace closer he thinks might be safe, and resignation because somehow it would turn out like this.)

He makes it to the alley behind the flower shop, thankful for the heavy downpour that’s driven people inside, fewer potential witnesses. Knocks on the back door and hopes like hell someone’s close enough to hear it.

That there aren’t any customers to deal with, other complications he hasn’t considered -

And then the door opens.

Ryan stumbles back, hisses softly as the motion jars his wound, and looks up to see Gavin standing there, eyes widening as he takes in Ryan’s battered state.

“Ryan?”

Ryan opens his mouth to answer, but the words don’t come.

Doesn’t know what he could say to explain himself even if they did.

Thankfully Gavin doesn’t seem to care, already moving to help him. Slips a shoulder under Ryan’s good arm and guides them inside. Leads Ryan to a stool in front of a workstation of sorts and eyes him with something more than concern.

“Can you sit up on your own?” he asks, strange sort of familiarity in this sort of situation that speaks of past experience.

Ryan nods, hand pressed to his shoulder as he watches Gavin go over to a counter and pull a sign out of a drawer. For the front door, and he catches a glimpse of it before Gavin slips into the shop proper, an apology for being closed but Gavin’s gone before he can read it fully.

He recalls seeing it in being used before and the excuses one of the others gave him afterward and not thinking twice about it. The way Gavin’s moving now, with such purpose makes him wonder if he should have.

Hears the sounds of Gavin pulling the blinds and shutters closed, locking up behind him before he comes back, phone in hand.

Pauses with his thumb over the call button and glances at Ryan.

“Ambulance?” he asks, and nods to himself when Ryan shakes his head.

Bad idea at the moment, speaking from personal experience. Ryan should put a call in to Geoff, the agency. Get a team out here to deal with the mess, have their people handle things, but he’s so tired.

Doesn’t know what he’s doing here, why he’s not doing a damn thing as Gavin calls someone. Talks too quietly for Ryan to make out what he’s saying and the concern he should feel nowhere to be found.

Tired.

Aware that whatever else happens now, things are going to change between them. Already have, with the way Gavin’s acting.

No longer the slightly clumsy co-owner of a quaint little flower shop and more...something.

Someone who knows how to react in a situation like this, isn’t nervous or panicking. Flustered. Just this calm sort of efficiency to his actions, clear protocol in the steps he takes.

From the quick assessment of Ryan’s current state to making sure other people – civilians – don’t wander into this little mess unsuspecting, to whoever he’s called to alert them.

Gavin hangs up and turns to Ryan, expression Ryan can’t read on his face.

Shaky little sigh and then Gavin pockets his phone and goes over to the counter he pulled the closed sign from. Takes out a hefty looking first-aide kit and comes back over to him with a little detour to turn the heat up as he does, wry twist to his mouth.

“Well then,” he says, tries for a light tone even though the look in his eyes is anything but. “Why don’t we see what we can do about that nasty wound of yours, hmm?”

Ryan blinks up at him, feels like he should be asking questions. More so as Gavin picks through the little plastic box, setting out medical supplies and muttering to himself.

Little laugh as he brings a desk lamp over for better lighting and Ryan tries to help, get his shirt unbuttoned, but his hands are clumsy from the cold and everything else and he makes a mess of it. Stops when Gavin places his hands over his and laughs, eyes sliding away fro Ryan’s as he helps him out of his shirt.

“Can’t say this is how I saw things going,” Gavin says, another awkward little laugh and dusting of red high up on his cheeks.

Ryan – doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Gavin clears his throat and mumbles something Ryan doesn’t catch as he shakes off whatever nervousness took hold and sees about doing what he can with the supplies at hand.

There’s this...Gavin makes this noise when he sees the bullet wound, fingers ghosting over it before he moves on to seeing about the knife wound.

“I don’t have the proper medical tools to remove it,” he says apologetically when Ryan tells him the blade’s still in there. “Probably for the best you get someone qualified to see to it anyway.”

He keeps Ryan engaged, chattering on about nothing and handing him things to hold. Nudges him with his knee when Ryan’s mind starts to drift, presses his fingers into his shoulder causing a slight sting and yanking his mind back to the present with a murmured apology.

Trevor and Alfredo show up just as Gavin’s double-checking his work, stopgap measure at best that he apologizes for several times, but he’s already done more than Ryan expected when he made his way here.

“So,” Trevor says, taking in the mess before him, Ryan included. “This is quite the pickle.”

Gavin continues cleaning up, neatly avoiding Trevor’s eyes and ducking around Alfredo who seems content to watch things unfold.

Ryan...should definitely be more concerned about all of this, the way Trevor’s looking at him, but can’t seem to when Gavin comes back to stand beside him. Puts himself between Ryan and the others and his heart trips over itself in his chest at that.

“Trevor,” Gavin says, layers of meaning to it Ryan can’t hope to understand as they stare each other down.

Alfredo shuffles his feet and clears his throat pointedly when the tension in the room rises, gestures at Ryan who’s just sitting there like an idiot. Thoughts slow and stupid, far from the top agent he’s supposed to be because he’s not doing anything about this, is he.

Just letting things play out like it has nothing to do with him and honestly, it would be nice if that were true, wouldn’t it.

“This changes things,” Trevor says, and Ryan knows that tone of voice, doesn’t he. The slight shift of his stance from an odd sort of civilian to someone who very much is not. “We can’t - “

Ryan gets to his feet because nothing good ever comes after a statement like that, and it’s clear he’s made a mistake. Let his guard down when he shouldn’t have, forgot his training and all the lessons he learned the hard way.

Much as he tried to ignore the signs that something was off about this quaint little flower shop and its owners, that he just couldn't turn his training off there’s no way to interpret the shift in the three of them.

Trevor’s a threat. Alfredo’s a threat. Gavin’s a threat, much as it hurts to think of him that way, and he can’t continue to sit there letting things play out any longer.

Ryan stands, but his body betrays him. Blood loss and pain, shock, strain on his body – all of it – finally catch up to him as the world tips sideways on him.

He hears Alfredo's low swearing as he reaches for him, sees Gavin start to turn back and the world fades out before he hits the floor.

========

“You’re an idiot.”

First thing Geoff says when he gets to the hospital Ryan woke up in, which had been a surprise given the last thing he remembers. (Honestly a surprise he’d woken up at all, with the way Trevor had been looking at him.)

Geoff is in a chair beside his bed radiating an enormous amount of disapproval at him, and Ryan?

He’s just confused.

“I know,” Ryan says, pokes gingerly at his shoulder and the thick swathe of bandages there. “Thanks for the reminder, though. I really needed it.”

He’s not even being sarcastic about it, which seems to throw Geoff for a moment. Has him eyeing Ryan like he’s worried he hit his head and failed to tell the doctors. He might have, actually, that last little bit in the back of the flower shop.

“Ryan - “

Ryan’s not looking at him now, watching a bird winging its way past his window. Sky cold and gray, storm clouds rolling in over the city to match his mood since waking earlier that day.

“Any sign of them?”

Quaint little slower shop setting up business in Ryan’s neighborhood while he was gone on a mission and hadn’t given a second thought to being there. New businesses popped up all the time like it, shopping about for good locations to set down roots and hopefully turn a profit.

Nothing suspicious about it, and the young men running it were so sweet and charming. Kind, and so knowledgeable about the flowers and pants they sold. Ingratiated themselves with the other local business, the community.

No reason to be suspicious about it, even when he should have known better. Trevor and Alfredo and the way something about them seemed ever so slightly off, but he’d been distracted, hadn't he.

Saw a pretty face, fell hard, because Gavin was kind and didn’t push, wonder, about the half-hearted lies Ryan fed him. Had this energy, light to him that drew Ryan in. Snared him easy as anything, even though he knew better. (Should have.)

Never would have pegged him as a thief, though. Three of them leaving behind enough clues to point to a heist they were forced to abandon, months in the making and Ryan nearly bleeding out in their little flower shop to ruin it.

The spate of jewelry robberies and other burglaries that had happened since the flower shop opened. Odd days off one or more or the three of them would take, easy explanations for it that just rolled off the tongue.

No trace of them aside other than a handful of clues about their next target, a rare set to be on exhibit at the museum in a few weeks time. Only window for them to grab it when it arrived in the city, jumble of faces around it and risky as hell but doable.

Sounds too bizarre to be true, and yet -

And yet.

Ryan’s always had the worst luck.

He’s surprised they didn’t leave him to die in the back of their shop. Sure as hell no incentive for them to help him, even less reason knowing they’d have to abort their heist. Run, before their...activities were discovered, careful lies and plans unraveling under the agency’s scrutiny, police involvement.

Geoff’s staring at him.

“You know,” he says, quiet, thoughtful. “When we got the call from them, we thought you were dead?”

Wouldn’t be the first time, the way Ryan’s luck runs.

Presumed dead several times over and always coming back like a bad penny.

He says as much, and can’t help the touch of amusement at Geoff’s aggravated sigh, frustrated growl.

“Jack warned me,” he mutters, scowling now. “Asshole warned me when I took the job. Told me what assholes you all were and I’d be lucky if I didn’t have an ulcer in the first six months.”

Ryan looks over at him then, curious.

Geoff cares, and the rest of them have long resigned themselves to working for people who didn’t. Saw them as expendable. Assets. Threw them at the current problem and no skin off their nose if they didn’t survive, because God knew there would be more recruits fresh out of the academy to take their places.

Geoff, though.

He cares.

Worries about them, the kinds of missions they get handed because their agency’s gained a reputation for taking on the most dangerous missions. Incredible success rate and never mind the cost.

They’re still adjusting. Learning to trust Geoff’s different, that he and his people are working to change the way the agency works. Put their people first. (When they can, because sometimes there’s no other choice.

“Just out of curiosity,” Ryan asks, “how long did it take?”

========

There’s a big to-do about the attack on Ryan.

All these security concerns and everything else that turns the agency even more on its head than when Geoff came in and started to rip out the roots past Directors planted years ago.

Something of a conspiracy from the remaining old-guard and those loyal to them and Geoff and those loyal to him have Ryan quietly relocated. And relocated again, because paranoia and all the things that come with his job.

No one can confirm if the attack was related to his last mission or something else. Old grudges from enemies he’s made over the years or someone discovering his status as an agent, to some as of yet unknown reason.

It’s the least reassuring thing in the world, and exactly what he was expecting to learn.

Ryan’s own bad luck and the nature of their jobs.

They put a security detail on him while he’s recovering from his latest injuries, because Geoff won’t take no for an answer and Ryan’s learning to accept that.

Still.

“Hey,” Michael says one day, disgruntled look on his face as he lets himself into Ryan’s place. “Got your mail for you.”

Ryan looks up from the newspaper he’s reading where he may or may not be looking for stories about recent robberies or burglaries. (Stupid of him, he knows. Foolish in the worst way.)

It should be annoying, really, the way the agency’s handling this. Michael and the others assigned to it not quite barging into his private life as...he doesn’t have the words for it, and is surprised he doesn’t mind it as much.

Blames Geoff for that, changing the way the agency operates and encouraging them to forge bonds with one another that was once frowned upon. Going from what amounted to work acquaintances to something more to the point Ryan doesn’t bristle at the thought of someone else collecting his mail.

(Security reasons for it too, scans and checks and that paranoia in action.)

He’s not an invalid, can make the trek down to his mailbox just fine, but he gets tired easily and some days it doesn’t seem worth the effort.

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Thanks, Michael.”

Michael eyes him when he notices what section of the newspaper Ryan’s reading. Looks like he wants to say something and just shakes his head before dropping Ryan’s mail in front of him.

“Yeah, sure.”

Ryan knows the agency is looking for Gavin and the others as well. Unsure if they were somehow involved in the attack or otherwise connected. Why they bothered to help Ryan knowing it would compromise their own operations and concerned at how completely they’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth.

A lot of questions there, and no luck in finding a hint as to where they’ve gone.

Ryan sets the newspaper aside and sorts through his mail, pausing on a brightly colored postcard. Gorgeous photo of a beach in Miami from the name emblazoned across the front in elegant script and brief description when he turns it over.

No message, just a little doodle of a Venus flytrap that has Ryan staring at it too long, because Michael notices.

“Something to be concerned about?”

Nice and casual, but when Ryan looks up it’s clear Michel knows the postcard means something. He might not know what the significance is, but he’s far from stupid.

“...No,” Ryan says, knowing what a risk he’s taking. With whoever sent the postcard (he knows, though, he does) and with Michael.

They’ve known one another or years, and Ryan’s always counted him among the small group of people he works with he could trust. (For whatever that’s worth.)

Michael gives him a long look – far from stupid – and shrugs.

“If you say so,” he says and goes off to check in with the team across the way.

========

Later that night Ryan does a quick online search and discovers several news articles about a spate of jewelry store robberies ad daring burglaries that took place in Miami recently.

Unknown suspects and so on and so forth that sounds far too familiar.

Ryan should, he knows, should bring it to the agency’s attention. Inform them there’s a possibility said crimes are related to Gavin and the others, too coincidental to be anything else, and yet?

He doesn’t.

No.

He deletes his search history, scrubs it from his laptop and harddrive, goes overboard with it because it’s what he knows and tucks the postcard away in the drawer of the table Audrey II sits on.

========

He gets more of them over the next few months. Always a new city, new state and all these news reports from those locations he uncovers after the fact.

Enough to make him wonder what Gavin’s playing at, hoping to gain from any of it.

Michael pretends not to notice, and the others assigned to babysit Ryan do the same.

And it would be fine, it would until Ryan comes home from his morning jog one day to find Lindsay cooing at something on the other side of his kitchen window while Geoff looks on.

“Uh,” Ryan says, sharing a look with Michael. “Lindsay? Geoff?”

Lindsay continues to coo, babbling nonsense and tapping her nails against the screen. Geoff turns to look at them, expression on his face that has Michael going to Lindsay to drag her out of Ryan’s apartment.

She protests, calls Geoff and Michael heartless buzzkills, but still lets Michael pull her away.

An impressive enough feat once Ryan goes over to see what had her so entranced.

It’s the stray.

Happily sunning itself in Ryan’s new planter he hasn’t bothered to plant anything in with the fall in full-swing and colder weather on the way.

“Oh,” Ryan says, because he hasn’t seen it since the agency relocated him. Tried his best to put it out of his mind because there were other, larger concerns than one small stray he wasn’t sure he wanted in his life anyway.

He’d done a terrible job of it though, sneaking away from under the noses of his babysitters to go back to look for it more than once with little luck. Realized it had run off to harass some other unsuspecting idiot, worm its way into their reluctant affections the way it had with him.

“Looks like your cat found you again,” Geoff says, and it’s a mix of Ryan’s boss and Ryan’s friend looking back at him.

Worried about the implied security risk to Ryan and God knows what else, because.

It’s fall and while the weather hasn’t turned terribly cold just yet, there’s a definite chill in the air once the sun goes down. Noticeable shift in temperature.

The stray’s sunning itself in the planter, yes, but there’s also a pet bed with blankets place on the small balcony that Ryan knows for a fact wasn’t there when he and Michael left for his morning jog. Bowls of food and water.

Ryan tears his gaze away from them to look at Geoff, unsure what to say.

It’s possible the stray might have somehow found him all the way across the city after being relocated twice. He’s heard about the incredible journeys pets will go on to find their owners after being separated from them, but something like this is more difficult to explain away as part of that phenomenon.

But like Michael before him, Geoff just gives him a look.

“I always heard you don’t choose a cat as much as it chooses you,” he says, sarcastic as hell. “But I never expected to see proof of it like this.”

The stray opens its eyes and lets out an accusatory cry when it spots Ryan, right on cue.

========

The postcards trail off after that, so slowly Ryan almost doesn’t notice. It coincides with Geoff lifting the extra security precautions and being cleared to go back light duties so he doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

The fact that Geoff saddles him with a rookie lifted from some shady government agency or other around the same time helps in that regard too.

Jeremy’s bright in a way Ryan doesn’t remember being when he came to the agency, but he supposes that makes sense.

Ryan had half a decade of experience by the time he was handpicked by the agency’s former Director. Knew the dangers and risks inherent in their job all too well by the point and already had quite the collection of scars to show for it.

He’s also a quick learner, and a few short months after the two of them are partnered together the two of them end up in a coastal city in Italy.

Scenic, picturesque.

Enough so that Ryan finds himself playing the part of tourist while he and Jeremy scour the area for signs of the target they’ve been sent to find. (Eliminate if necessary, although Ryan’s hopeful it won’t come that.)

Jeremy’s snooping around a mansion overlooking the town while Ryan listens in to his end of things over their comms. Wry observations and quiet humming as he evades security guards and staff alike, no nervousness or alarm in his voice.

Ryan finds his eye drawn to a rack of postcards at a little kiosk in a marketplace and is looking though them when someone bumps into him. Ryan stiffens, turns to face whoever it is, voice voice in the back of his head chiding him for not paying attention to his surroundings. (It sounds like Geoff. Tired and long-suffering and this underlying concern for the lives, people he’s responsible for, Jesus Christ, do not make me have to do the paperwork on you if you get yourself killed on the clock you assholes.)

“Are you alright?”

The man who bumped into him is wearing a button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. British accent and a wild shock of hair. Too-big nose and eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses.

Seems friendly enough, but there’s this touch of wariness to him like he’d bolt if Ryan says the wrong thing.

He frowns as he looks Ryan over, checks to see if he’s alright since Ryan still hasn’t answered him, gaze lingering on Ryan’s shoulder before meeting his eyes.

Ryan, for his part, can’t seem to stop staring.

“I - “ he manages after a long moment. “No, I’m fine.”

Gavin smiles.

Small, crooked.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and glances at the postcards Ryan was looking at before he picks one up.

Photo of the coastline with the town behind it as the sun sets in background and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“I’m rather partial to this one,” he says, and there’s a note of mischief to his voice Ryan doesn’t remember hearing before but finds that it suits him perfectly.

Thinks back to the postcards he’s received, most with photos taken at sunset or just a little afterwards with the sung hanging low in the sky and night starting to set in.

“Oh?” Ryan hears himself say as he takes the postcard from him.

Gavin laughs, and then winks as he pays the kiosk owner for the postcard.

“Consider it a gift for running into you,” says, as the two of them amble along to avoid drawing attention to themselves. “I’d offer to buy you a drink instead, but I’m afraid I’m just passing through.”

Ryan looks at him from his peripheral when they stop on a section of the marketplace overlooking the docks. Notices the way Gavin’s watching a boat down there, pair of figures already on board.

He still seems calm, relaxed but still has that edge of wariness to him.

Ryan’s sure he’d be gone like a shot if he says the wrong thing. Hop over the railing and down the pier faster than he could hope to catch up to him along with Trevor and Alfredo. Maybe he’d just turn and bolt into the crowd around them, lose Ryan in the crowd while the other two take off to rendezvous somewhere else.

Some other scenario Ryan hasn’t even considered.

And maybe, maybe, if Ryan wasn’t here for a mission, if he was still the same Ryan from a year or even a month ago he would do what’s expected of him.

But he is here on a mission, and he’s definitely not either of those Ryans.

Isn’t really sure what kind of Ryan he is these days, is still working on finding that out for himself.

“Maybe some other time then,” Ryan suggests, because there’s always something with them, isn’t there.

Timing gone wrong somewhere and no way to change it he can see right now. Maybe one day if they’re lucky.

Gavin laughs, and it’s the same as Ryan remembers. So is the bright smile on his face when he looks at him.

“Sounds lovely,” Gavin says, and Ryan’s sure it will happen when the time is right for both of them. “I rather think I’d like that.”

========

The mission is a success and Ryan comes home to find Lindsay’s coaxed the stray to come inside when checking on things for him while he was in the field.

“Only for a few minutes at a time,” she says as she lets herself out now that he’s back, “but, hey, it’s a step in the right direction.”

A welcome one at that, with winter nipping at their heels and threats of snow on the way.

The stray’s skittish, hides under the couch and whatever else it can find but willing to be talked into coming close for a tasty treat.

There’s an envelope waiting for him postmarked from Italy. When he opens it he finds a postcard inside with a collage of landmarks of Rome across the front and a message on the back.

”For that other time,” with a phone number to go along with the Venus flytrap doodle.

Ryan’s sure of what he’d find if he looked up news reports from Rome around the time Gavin and the others would have been in the city, so he doesn’t. (Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise when Geoff comes to him about it because he’s been keeping tabs on a certain group of jewel thieves.)

No.

Ryan laughs as he commits the phone number to memory and adds the postcard to the collection already there and looks forward to what the future holds in store.

#freewood #ragehappy #spy agency au #Anon #prompt fills #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #this is somewhat what anon asked for #kind of #sort of #:D???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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interesting-blog-name · 5 years ago

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LOOSE REVIEWS (It Looks Sad., Pablo’s Paintings, Vancouver Sleep Clinic, Steve Lacy)

Just a bunch of very quick, very throwaway reviews that I put together while I’m writing the Björk discography post (I’m currently at Vespertine, so this shit is gonna take a while). Mostly slightly underground bands, all very short projects and one of them don’t even have a project, but you should check them out. Anyway.

It Looks Sad. – Songs For Quarantine

Not much to say about this. It is a 9-minute EP, obviously not meant to be taken as a serious, ambitious release, but it’s from a band I wanted to check out: It Looks Sad.. They’re categorized as emo, but their style reminds the listener a lot more of shoegaze and dream pop, at least from what I’ve heard by them (right now, this and Drool, which fits cozily in my Summer playlist).

If you want some moody music for the quarantine (if it’s still going on by the time I post this) and you don’t care if the songs sound like they were recorded in an underwater cave, then go ahead and listen to this I guess. It’s average as fuck but whatever, that’s the point.

WORST TO BEST: Eyes, Love, Waves, Bug

bedroom music/10

“*insert shoegaze mumbling here*”

It Looks Sad. - Kaiju

2015 EP. Two tracks, one sucks and the other is tolerable. Like I really don’t know what the fuck the singer was trying to do with Creature, he’s hollering all over the place, and the delivery would be more at home in maybe some poorly-recorded punk song, but the instrumental is nothing like that, as it’s pretty much indie-rock 101; not to mention the lyrics, which are the blandest broken-hearted songwriting I’ve heard yet, probably. I now understand how truly emo they were.

For Nagoya, I can at least say the hook is pretty cool, but that’s it really. I guess I’m grateful they changed their style.

2.45/10

“Best friend this is terrible. You know it’s inevitable. I hope you come back, I hope he comes back.”

Pablo’s Paintings

Just wanted to give a shoutout to the underground Leeds, Yorkshire band Pablo’s Paintings. I had listened to Lizard a long while ago, and loved it, so I decided to check out the rest of their stuff today (May 25th), and it’s very solid. The track You’ve Got A Long Way To Go draws heavily from a psychedelic influence, while Paint’s Gone Dry and So Long (All Your Friends) sound like something The Beatles would maybe write.

I guess you could call them formulaic, but their mixing and distinct sound are all pretty good for a band that hasn’t gotten a song with over 2000 streams on Spotify. Their songs can be a little to bubblegum-ish, such as So Long (All Your Friends) which doesn’t really stand out as many others, but for the most part, they deliver. Can I Draw You Something? has a slight edge to it, in comparison, but still sporting cute lyrics about just drawing for someone, and Ghost In The Machine has a great progression to it, and a very cool cover art to accompany it. It’s clear the band has a taste for visual arts, from the lyrics to the band’s name.

In short, they do have a long way to go, and I hope they release an album soon, considering all but two of their Spotify singles were from last year; I’d be the first to listen to it.

WORST TO BEST: So Long (All Your Friends), Paint’s Gone Dry, You’ve Got A Long Way To Go, Can I Draw You Something?, Lizard, Ghost In The Machine

good band check them out/10

“I draw these lines and take them for a walk. I find that I say things better when I don’t need to talk”

Vancouver Sleep Clinic – Winter

Contrary to the name, the band Vancouver Sleep Clinic is from Australia. Led by ambient singer (a term I didn’t know existed until today) Tim Bettinson, from my understanding, the band have partly built their audience by reeling people into the music by putting having the songs feature in TV shows and movies and whatnot, since there’s a hefty list of times their songs have appeared in this type of media on their Wikipedia page. I decided to listen to Winter because I discovered Stakes from the fact that the $uicideboy$ sampled it on the song Sold My Soul To Satan Waiting In Line At The Mall, and liked it a lot. The EP as a whole, however, not nearly as much.

To start off with the main problem I have with Winter, the tracks are all the same. Seriously, I cannot distinguish one from the other; all the songs are soaked in reverb and mainly center around simple acoustic guitar chords and generic pianos, mixed with Tim’s head voice and sometimes the dumb decision to include a synthesized drumming track, like in Vapour, where the fast-paced hi-hats sound so out of place and clip so badly in your ears, it sounds like your earphones are having a mini seizure, but not in a cool way. Meanwhile in Flaws, there’s this unnecessary, wack finger-snapping that makes it sound like I’m listening to some techno song with around 3000 views on YouTube (I do like his backing vocals in the track though).

At its best, tracks like the opener, Collapse, offer an actually powerful passage, in that song’s case, the hook breakdown, where the 808 drum patterns are actually very welcome, and the synths under it are very beautiful and harmonize really well. The final track, Rebirth, also attempts a grand breakdown of sorts, but falls flat because the song is so unnecessarily stretched out and weirdly segmented, and it’s so unexpected: the song is a slow piano/guitar ballad as usual, and then, around 3 minutes in, after the song fades out almost entirely and tricks you into thinking it ended, the drum kicks start rising and all of a sudden there’s... something? I don’t even know what instruments are playing apart from the superimposed drums and what I think is an electric guitar, because it sounds like god knows what, an overheating computer mixed with some shrieking sound, which I assume is the guitar, way off in the background. And then Tim sings a last verse and the song suddenly ceases to exist. Same thing happens with the shortest track here, (Aftermath), consisting of 4 lines, your average piano and strings, and of course, the reverb. It builds up an epic instrumental, and after the brief singing section, just ends. No further instrumental work, just woosh. It’s gone.

I will give credit to Tim’s verses. Even though they’re always delivered with the same intonation, his lyrics are alright, and at least in Stakes, he employs some backing vocals that really make the track, and the hook is magnificent. They tend to blend into one another, with constant themes being metaphors for words he should have or regrets saying, the cold (obviously, given the EP title), sometimes drowning/large bodies of water, and of course, all tracks are about melancholy and heartbreak. But in some parts of the EP, his verses really do feel like some alright poetry, such as the awkward last verse in Rebirth (“I’m starting again, tearing my flesh, stripped to the bone, the all that I’ve grown. Leaving behind, breathe like a child. It’s taken the winter to find who I am”) or the already mentioned beautiful hook in Stakes. In most of the songs, however, I find his themes to be too repetitive and, I wouldn’t say uninspired, but run-of-the-mill.

So overall, the EP doesn’t amount to much. All the tracks attempt to go this emotional route, but they’re very repetitive, and that numbs them and robs them of their emotion a lot. Listen to it if you want to relax, or maybe even sleep to it if you want to take their name literally.

WORST TO BEST: Vapour, Flaws, (Aftermath), Rebirth, Collapse, Stakes

4/10

“I sunk in oceans blue, now they’re all frozen over. I should have took your hand, we should have crossed the border.”

Steve Lacy – Steve Lacy’s Demo

Member of The Internet, singer-songwriter, guitarist, bassist, drummer and producer Steve Lacy is an artist I’ve wanted to check out for a while. I have at some point in my life heard his song Looks, off this demo, but thankfully I forgot how it went so I can check it out again. It’s gonna be a quick listen and review, but I’m curious (and while looking him up I found out he won a Grammy with Kendrick’s DAMN., for producing, backing vocals and songwriting, so that’s cool, congrats Steve).

Right away, I’ll just mention this project is very lo-fi. As in, the drums and his voice are poorly mixed. I’ll give it a little bit of a pass because this man played all the instruments in here and I appreciate the fuck out of that, but anyway. You can tell right at the first track that singing isn’t Steve’s forte, at least in this album, at this time. The hook in that song is just bad, the good part are the instruments, the guitar riffs and the very dynamic bassline, plus the fun little bongos. However, just like all songs here except Dark Red, this is waaaaaaaay too short. It has two short hooks, the verse, and that’s it. The songwriting, I feel, is one of Steve’s more substantial talents; this song I just mentioned is mainly about how a relationship can’t progress because the two involved don’t like much about each other apart from their looks, and Ryd is all about taking a girl to your backseat, but even though these themes are very simplistic, Steve fleshes them out into something more interesting and melodically rich. In Ryd, his smooth vocals surf over the sunny riffs, but what takes away from it are the weirdly mixed drums, as they sound like they’re playing way louder than they should be. The track is groovy though.

The most focused song here, Dark Red, tells the story of a man who’s worried his girl might leave him soon. The instrumentals are nothing special, very basic, and same with the vocals, even though they’re more rooted and solid in this song. The next song, Thangs, emphasizes its bass way more than other songs, but once again, Steve’s voice is not pleasing to listen to, specifically his high-pitched backing vocals, they’re awful. The lyrics are the most basic here, and this song just goes by without leaving any impact after ending pretty abruptly.

Haterlovin is weird. The vocals are way too low, but I like how they differentiate themselves by not going the melodic route, instead Steve chooses to rap them, and his flow in the verse is impressive, but at the same time the hook is way too repetitive for the song to work, and even though it’s nice he switched up and focused the track on the drums, it still leaves it pretty bare.

To close it up, Some brings some promise, with a pretty funky bassline and hook, but then ends out of nowhere and starts a hidden track, Snaily, which I admit has nice falsetto vocals from Steve, but I don’t know why I couldn’t be a separate track. Overall, the album isn’t great, but I appreciate how organic and talented Steve is. Throughout the songs, his creativity is pretty noticeable, so I can’t hate his efforts, but unfortunately his ideas don’t find the right light to shine here.

WORST TO BEST: Thangs, Haterlovin, Looks, Some, Dark Red, Ryd

4.5/10

“Next thing I know she was feeling on me, and I was in the M double-O D when she said park my car down the backstreet”

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purplesurveys · 6 years ago

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474

Tumblr makes the spacing kinda weird by the end, idk why but I hope it gets better for everyone else who wants to take this haha.

ONE - HI THERE! It’s an intro!

What do most people call you? Robyn. In what month is your birthday? April. What country were you born in? The beautiful but politically miserable Philippines. Do you have siblings? How many, if you do? I do; I have two. I’m the eldest, but they aren’t that far off from me. Who do you live with? I’m still studying so I’m living with family for now – mom and dad, a sister and a brother, and a dog. I really want to move out in the next couple of years though.

Are you in a relationship? Yes. Do you go to school? As I said, yes. I’m in university but I’m supposed to graduate next year. What mood are you in right now? Well, I wrapped up my internship last week and my entire weekend was booked with stuff I did, so now I’m just super glad to be home and bum around after all that hectic-ness. I just had 8 hours of sleep and am feeling pretty well-rested right now. What does your shirt look like? I’m wearing a big-ass gray Knicks sweater that’s like 3 sizes bigger for me. What’s your zodiac sign? Taurus.

TWO - Your Appearance

If you could have plastic surgery on any one body part, what would it be?Boobs. They’re so abnormally small that I’m tired of having to waste what would have been completely bomb outfits just because of my chest.

Are you satisfied with your hair? It could have less baby hair, honestly. But I’m fine with it for the most part.

Do you have a hitchhikers or a straight thumb? It’s a straight thumb. My left pinky is quite crooked though.

What colour are your eyes? Dark brown.

Do you have any tan lines? No, I haven’t gone to the beach in a while.

How old do people usually think you are? I just asked this question to Gabie last week and she said that I look 15.

What about your appearance do you get complimented on the most? Face and my overall figure.

Are you comfortable with your weight? Sure, but it’s always worrisome when I get to the lower 90s.

Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Where? Yeah, just the basic earlobes piercings that my parents got for me when I was a couple of months old.

How tall are you? I am 5′1″ and a half. I’m shorter than 5′2″, that’s for sure.

THREE - True or False

I love winter. Neither true or false as I have never experienced snow. I think I’d love it though.

I have eaten meat in the past five days. True. Filipinos eat meat a lot.

I have painted a room in a house. False. My mom is so controlling over adult things like that so she hired people to do it to all our rooms.

I can whistle. True. I learned pretty early.

My keyboard is black. True-ish? The buttons are black, but the spaces between them are silver.

I have never bought something off an infomercial. True. My mom would be so furious because it would be her money anyway.

I own a snuggie / would like to own a snuggie. False.

I bite my pens / pencils. False. I do bite my straws though.

I wear glasses / contacts. True.

My nails are painted right now. False.

FOUR - Childhood Memories!

What was your all time favourite movie as a kid? THE GAME PLAN, without a shadow of a doubt. Watched that shit everyday through third and fourth grade. My runner-up would be High School Musical.

Do you still have your first pair of shoes somewhere? Doubt it. My mom isn’t big on memories like me.

Did you have anything you always dragged around the house, like a blanket?Nope. I did use my parents’ blanket as a cape some days, and other days it would be a gown train and I’d pretend I was the Queen, but I wouldn’t drag it because it would get dirty.

What toy did you play with the most? I was always into grownup stuff so I always got kitchen appliances, dollhouses, etc. I once had toys that mimicked a pizza restaurant and it had a pizza roller and it was super fun for me haha. Once I got a pretend cash register though it was game over for all these bitches.

Did you ever bring your favourite toys in the bathtub? We didn’t have a bathtub, but yeah we would bring in our toys when we would shower.

Did you used to take baths with siblings/cousins? ^ Ooh, barely missed it. Yes, we did.

Are you still friends with your best friends from long ago? A handful are still my best friends. I keep in touch with most of my batchmates from my high school because we’re all close and we’re family and there was generally very little drama – and if there was, it was easy to let go.

Do your parents ever tell you stories about how cute/silly you were? They have several stories, but I was mostly a quiet kid who didn’t like getting in trouble.

Did you go to the park often? What was a typical outfit for the 5-year-old you?Blouses with a girly pattern, denim jeans, and Nike rubber shoes. The top always has to be tucked in.

FIVE - FAVOURITES

Actor/Actress: Kate Winslet

Singer/Band/Both: Beyonce / Paramore

Chocolate: Reese’s

Toothpaste: ??? Whatever we have at home I guess?

Picture of yourself: Nah man, not doing that here.

Pair of sunglasses: I don’t have a favorite.

Vegetable: Broccoli!

Sandwich: Monte Cristo

Aspect of nature: Waterfalls

Word to say: “Literally”

SIX - Love Life ;)

Who was the first person to ever ask you out? No one’s ever asked me out before. Although I think that dude from one of my classes in sophomore year intended to…but I dunno. We were paired up together for this class and he wanted to spend time with me in a coffee shop after our work was done; I didn’t feel comfortable just being by myself so I told him in advance that I was gonna be bringing Gabie…never heard from him ever again :/

What does your ideal date consist of? Dinner somewhere nice (Italian or Japanese) should be enough for me.

What’s one thing your partner must be able to accept about you? I get sad and I’ll need loooooooong stretches of time alone some days.

Does your ideal person have any special talents? She can paint and draw. She doesn’t really share these with other people but she does with me.

Do your parents like the person you’re with? (Or the last person) My parents liked Mike and were convinced something was happening between us lmao. They don’t know about my relationship with Gabie yet.

Do you like pet names? Yes when it’s just the two of us. Publicly, I control myself, cos I know it annoys me when other people are too showy/vocal. Like I don’t call Gab pet names when we’re out with friends; and when we’re out at the mall or whatever, I’m not very physical other than holding her hand.

What is your age range? Same age. I can’t imagine dating someone younger or older, but then again this is because I haven’t had any other experience.

What is one attribute that your ideal partner must have? Sincerity.

When was the last time someone seriously said “I love you.” to you? This morning.

Have you ever been in more than one relationship at a time? No.

SEVEN - The wonderful world of the Internet!

What is your most used website? Probably Twitter. It’s the first thing I check everyday.

Do you play any online games? Other than playing on Y8 when I was younger, no.

Which chat program do you use most often? Messenger.

Facebook vs Myspace- which is better? I haven’t used Myspace in a hot minute, so I’ll go with Facebook.

Is there someone you met online that you’d like to meet in person? Yes, I’m still waiting to meet Aliyah. Girl is in BGC every single day but I can’t seem to grab lunch or dinner with her!

Have you ever sold something on Ebay or Craigslist? No.

Have you ever gone on Chatroulette? Or Omegle video? Yeah, when I was like 12 and curious about the Internet haha.

Are there any videos of yourself on Youtube? I don’t think so.

Mac or PC? Mac.

Have you ever Googled your name? I’ve Googled my username before, but not my name.

EIGHT - This or That?

Twilight or Harry Potter?

French fries or potato wedges?

Liquid ortape white out?

Digital or film camera?

Nail clippersor nail scissors?

Rock, paper, or scissors?

Beard or mustache?

Knee high or ankle socks?

Hockey or basketball?

Mr Clean or sponge and ‘the other leading cleaning product’?

NINE - Be cool, stay in school!

What subject are/were you best at? It’s always history, or social studies in general.

How old will you be when you graduate high school / how old were you? I was 18 when I graduated.

Isn’t there that point in the year when you stop caring so much? Yep, it’s usually when you’re a senior.

Do/did you have any really cool teachers? In UP? Absolutely. There’s a lot of shitty profs, but the cool ones are way too hardcore.

Who is/was your most strict teacher? Sir Ruel in my old school. Old man was and is such a fucking loser. Once had a comment about my breasts and I never forgot about it. Also kicked me and a bunch of other kids out of his class in fifth grade because we didn’t have crayons. He actually got booted by the school for a year because a parent complained about him, but he came back after.

Where do/did you sit at lunch? In high school, the cafeteria was too crowded so my friend group would hang out in our classroom, since most of us were classmates. Right now, lunch just depends on my schedule and where I happen to be by noon.

What do/did you do at recess? Catch up on homework I skipped the night before.

There’s always that one kid who no one really knows, right? LOL, yes.

Is/was your cafeterias food actually any good? It used to be good. Then they kind of hired this company to start making the meals starting junior year and the food was never as good again.

Do/did you have a stereotypical school, with all those cliques and such? You can say that. We had popular party kids, smart but still cool kids, soccer players, the basketball players who all turned out gay, kids who kinda just hovered in the middle, and those who were kinda brushed to the side were the theatre and anime kids.

TEN - Randomly Platypus.

Do you like your toothbrush really wet when you’re brushing your teeth? Not really wet. I just make sure I’ve put it under the running water before applying the toothpaste.

What song are you currently obsessed with? Not into anything at the moment.

What was the stupidest dare you’ve ever done? I hate dares, so I don’t do them haha.

Do you enjoy playing with tape? No?

What’s one word/phrase you say too much? LITERALLY. Which is a problem because most of the time, the things I associate the word with aren’t literal.

When was the last time you went trick-or-treating? 2017.

What did you last use a knife for? Haha, my orgmates were cooking up lunch and I volunteered to chop up the onions. Fun fact: First time to use a knife, ever.

When you open a pack of gum, why is everyone your best friend? Because gum is always a good idea.

What has been on your mind way too much? Completing my requirements for internship so I can submit them as early as possible.

Did you actually enjoy my survey? Sure. Categories are always fun.

#survey #surveys

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centrally-unplanned · 6 years ago

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Napoleon’s Culture Victory Strat

So I recently returned from a month-long trip through a bunch of European places, and I may have a few posts in me on it. A lot of the trip was spent in North Italy (or, if you were to ask Lega Nord, Actual Italy), where I visited three (beautiful) locations.

First up was Lake Como for a wedding, part of a long tradition of Americans using favourable terms of trade to purchase romantic legitimacy. Lake Como is dotted with historical villas, including the site of the declaration of the crusade against sand and all its ilk, but its most impressive is the Villa Carlotta:

Possessing one of the largest botanical gardens in the country and a host of Romantic-era art, it was finished in 1745 by a Milanese merchant family, but they were bankrupted in the process of building it and other projects, so it sat bare and underutilized until Napoleon’s Republic of Italy puppet state was established. Sold to Giovanni Sommariva, a leading politician of the new republic that Napoleon elevated, he set about beautifying as many places as he could get his hands on to establish the new legitimacy of the fledgling state (not to mention his own legitimacy, compensating for his roots as a barber’s apprentice). As such the Villa Carlotta came out of that process one of the most intricately decorated estates in Italy, with multiple statues and frescoes of Napoleon approaching various states of divinity, and stands as one of most-visited sites in the area today.

Next up was Milan, capital of fashion & finance, criminally under-visited as far as Italian cities go. Seriously, they have some of the best architecture in the world, no city is as obsessed with design and as open to experimentation as Milan (check out the Bolsa Verticale for one). And at the literal center of it all, all-roads-lead-to-Rome style, is the Duomo Cathedral:

The Flamboyant-Gothic pariah in a sea of Renaissance constructions, the scale of its aesthetic impact is matched only by the scale of the boondoggle that was its construction. Started in 1386, the facade and main decorative elements still remained unfinished by 1765, when construction halted for the seventh-odd time due to funding and political constraints, and it stood imposing but incomplete.

That is until Napoleon, on the eve of his crowing as King of Italy in 1805, ordered the magistrates of the city to finish the Duomo as a symbol of his new reign. Promising Milan a blank check that would be borne by the French treasury, the government erupted into action and completed the Cathedral in 7 years, and giving Napoleon pride of place as one of the statues topping the spires of the facade alongside the saints. Ironically, this date put the completion of the Cathedral right around the disintegration of the Grande Armée in Russia, and the disintegration of Napoleon’s empire followed soon after. France wound up never paying Milan a cent for the construction, but the Duomo was already finished, and the third-largest cathedral in Europe stands today, defining the city, covered with Napoleon’s prints.

The final stop in the Italy-part of my trip was Venice, which is where the pattern inverts as Venice is a far older city than most. The height of the Venetian Republic begin in the 13th century, and by the 18th century it had entered terminal decline, and as such its cultural and architectural achievements all back-date the modern era. Most of these achievements surround the Piazza San Marco, named after its dominant building, St. Mark’s Basilica:

Completed in the 11th century with 13th century expansions on its domes, it is the standard-bearer of neo-byzantine architecture. Yet the leaders of Venice in the 13th century were apparently full-on hipsters - why settle for a modern recreation of something historical when you can have the authentic thing itself? As such, in 1204 when Venice baited the 4th Crusade into pillaging Constantinople as a participation trophy for their failure to even reach the Middle East, they took as compensation four Roman-era horse statues that the Byzantine Empire had on display in the Hippodrome, and mounted them on top of the front gate of St. Marks. Very vintage.

Over time the Four Horses of St. Marks became a symbol of Venice’s independence, with rival merchant states and monarchies alike aspiring to “tame the four horses” and bring their ambition to heel. None succeeded at that task, and Venice remained an independent, unbridled republic for centuries after.

Until Napoleon came along, that is. In 1797 Napoleon blitzed through Italy on his way to confront the Austrian forces taking the direct route to France. Venice tried to play the Swiss-style neutrality card and rebuffed offers from both sides for alliances, but apparently forgot they lacked the Alpine mountains terrain bonus that made such a play viable, and Napoleon found it easier to simply invade them and be done with it. To commemorate the ease and completeness of his victory, in what was described at the time as the most “big-dick energy play of the 18th century”, Napoleon had the Four Horses of St. Marks stripped from the basilica and sent to Paris, where they were mounted on top of the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. They were eventually sent back with the defeat of Napoleon in 1815, but replica’s were commissioned and remain on top of the Arc to this day. Venice itself never regained its independence, being traded in between France and Austria until its annexation by present-day Italy in the 1860′s.

Napoleon is obviously someone that you learn about in the history books, but his influence is maybe sometimes a bit inscrutable from a distance, as he was a short-lived military conqueror whose states did not outlast his campaigns. Its in his nation-building that his legacy is the most lasting, and I was shocked at how pervasive it was. My trip had zero thought put into “Napoleon” in its planning, and I never set foot in France, yet every Italian city I visited didn’t just have a “mark” of Napoleon on it, but had that mark on their most central cultural achievements. And it wasn’t just one-way, as the Venice story showed - he not only built up these monuments locally in Italy, but brought elements back to France as well. You cant just make Italy love being part of the global empire, but also need to make Paris love being the center of it, shape their own identity around it.

And the way he was able to do it consistently is interesting - his methods can honestly be summarized as “just do it”. He was personally involved in all of these projects - issuing guidelines for the villa-type projects, directly ordering the construction of the Duomo and the confiscation of the Four Horses for the Arc. Yet Napoleon didn’t bring in grand new sources of funding or innovations in construction technology - he just let his aura of invincibility lead the way on letting him do things others never could muster the collective willpower for. Milan always had the capability to finish the Cathedral, and other invaders could always have confiscated critical monuments to build even-more-impressive moments as symbols of power. Napoleon just...decided to be the one to do it. And it he did it everywhere he could. These projects were strategies to build the empire, and its impressive to notice the effects of that strategy defining cities still today.

#Travel Bleg #Cultural History

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lunamanar · 6 years ago

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Embodiment

So, the last three or four years have been...rough. It’s weird, the way time seems to warp when you’re going through something. You think of your current, extended trauma as being somehow apart from the life you were living before it started, and you keep thinking it’s just temporary, and that once it’s over, you’ll be able to get back to the way things were. Time will start again. ‘Now’ doesn’t really count.

And you keep waiting for “now” to be over...but it just keeps going, and pretty soon you’re not sure if it’s ever going to end. Like you’ve been diverted down some darker timeline that isn’t really yours, but there’s also no going back.

It feels horrible. It feels like you’ve been lied to. This wasn’t part of the plan, it was supposed to be a detour that would ultimately circle back to the main road, and home. Now you’re in some strange place, you’re lost, you have no GPS signal, and the 'detour’ has vanished behind you. Wherever you are, you’re here. ‘Home’ is a memory. This is it, this mess is your life, now, and you never wanted it to be this way, but you can’t change it, so you have to find some way of living with it...and with your grief.

I spent three years thinking I was still on the detour, waiting for the moment everything felt safe again and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief that it was all over. I thought that moment would come when I bought this house. When my husband finally moved up with me from the old house. When I finally started working from home. When I got my promised raise. When I finished the last of my three years of training. When, finally, I sold my old house.

But months after that last milestone was reached, I was still lost. I’ve been working steadily in the job I’d fought so hard to acquire. I managed to keep in touch with Tumblr and Discord for the first couple years, but as time dragged on and my schedule never quieted, my energy began to flag. I fought that; I’ve done everything I can to make this new house Like Home. The walls are painted, pictures are hung (which is more progress than we made on the old house in our 6 years of living there!), we replaced flooring. I got a new computer, a monster rig I built myself that will hopefully last me another 10 years, just like its predecessor. Got a new car. I’ve done everything to infuse this place with myself, my family, my interests. Everything that makes me who I am. Everything outward about my life would have you believe that I’ve settled, that this is home to me, now. It should be.

And still, I’ve found myself holding my breath, waiting for Time to start again.

It’s been so confusing. Nothing makes sense: why haven’t things gone back to normal? Why do I feel so displaced? Why doesn’t my bed feel like it used to at the other place? Why can’t I concentrate? Why can’t I feel safe enough, settled enough to go back to writing? After all this struggle and accomplishment, why do I feel like such a goddamn failure?

Where’s that feeling I used to have of connectedness? Of confidence? What’s happened to me that I’m so insecure and lost-feeling, flinching at every perceived danger to my self-worth? I’ve done so much, come so far! Everything should be fine. I shouldn’t be this broken. I’ve built this life, this house all around me. I should be home, by now.

This confusion, and the creeping fear and despair that follows it, along with a grueling work schedule, has resulted not only in my continued silence (albeit with occasional pop-ins to deal with situations of immediacy, like the tumblr purge, as well as simply to indicate “I’m not dead, no one steal my url plz lol”), but a stagnation in my creativity. Not that I haven’t raged against the dying of the light--not a week goes by I don’t open a story I’d been working on in 2015 and at least stare at it for a few minutes--but the vision, the enthusiasm I had for them before eluded me, and any words I put down were more this seems to go here than this is what happened, like I was finishing someone else’s abandoned jigsaw puzzle. I could still see where all the pieces went and even how they fit together, but that’s not how it’s supposed to work for me. I feel my way through my writing puzzles. I know what goes where, because I just know. I don’t have to look.

That was gone, and it was the same everywhere. These stories felt vast and overwhelming, and I was no longer grand enough to contain them. I wasn’t an integral part of them, like I had been. I was just another visitor, constantly checking my map, trying to figure out just where the hell I was going with all this. I was small and too disconnected to feel like I had the authority to write for this world, or any other. To say anything about it at all, really. I’d gone away, and like so many other spectres of home, it didn’t know me, anymore.

To say I’ve felt isolated, even abandoned, for the past several months, would be an understatement. I’ve blamed no one but myself. I made the choice to take this job, to uproot myself and move everything and everyone I knew to a place none of us had lived before, on the premise that it would make our lives better. I’m the one who turned off the main road. I was behind the wheel, for all of this. If that frankly traumatic process had destroyed my ability to be open, to be grand, to remember how to feel and lift up all of the things I love and let them breathe through my words, then that was my fault.

It sounds dramatic, I guess. But, I imagine, a lot of people who write understand this experience of feeling at once both insignificantly small and unfathomably vast all at once, where you can feel exactly how the influence of your words changes the world and its story as you write them, such that you don’t really have to think about it; you change the trajectory slightly, and the world in your head shifts with it naturally. You don’t have to remember to change this or that detail later to align it. You already know it’s changed to reflect what you’ve done, because of course it has. You know what a character would say in any given situation, because you put them in it and they’re there, saying it. You at once have no real control over it, while being utterly tuned into it, to the point of omniscience. Being unable to access that part of yourself is suffocating.

The worst part is when you know that you’re the one choking yourself, but you have no idea how to stop. I know I’m home, everything is okay, so why don’t I feel like it? I could do this, before, I could feel this, before. Where has that feeling gone? Why can’t I remember?

In the midst of this whole transition, I’d slowly stopped doing things that connected me with those feelings. I stopped listening to much music because I had no time. I stopped taking walks because I was too tired and I didn’t know the area. I stopped going on long drives just to talk and listen to music with my husband, because gas is expensive and the tags on that car are expired (still). And, let’s be honest: I stopped taking the pain medication that made relaxing so I could get into that headspace a hell of a lot easier.

Somehow no single one of these faded habits seemed significant, and by themselves, they probably weren’t. But together, over time, the lack of these and other rituals I’d kept without thinking about it when I lived in NC had closed me off. Unused pathways in my brain became overgrown with other things, thoughts and worries, weeds and vines. When I moved, it wasn’t just the geographical scenery that changed. The landscape of my very neurons changed to cope with the stress, adapt to new social patterns at work, clear out space to make room for all the technical mumbo jumbo being shoveled at me.

The fact is, by the time the dust settled, my whole world had changed, inside and out. Even if I could have gone back to NC, it wouldn’t have mattered at all.

Realizing this was one of the most depressing, horrifying feelings. And the thing was? I knew better. Hell, I wrote a short story years ago that was exactly about this, about a character who had left home with the intent to return, but when he finally got the opportunity to try, too much had changed, about him and the world, to recover the serenity he’d left behind. Now I write about another character whose life changed the day he was separated from his sister, who, in the course of building himself up to be deserving of her again, disconnected himself from the vulnerabilities that had enriched his life and then forgot she even existed.

This is either obscenely ironic, or it’s absolutely, perfectly human (well, I think it’s both, really). How easily we convince ourselves that that closed road, that turn off into the woods, that slight change in trajectory is just a detour. We should know better. We do it anyway. That’s why is a horror trope.

I’ve been lost in those woods for years. I got out, just yesterday. I escaped because I was attacked by a monster. Something happened to me in those woods. I almost lost someone I loved. No, I don’t want to talk about it.

But it’s a fact that a side-effect of the event was to mark a definitive end to the endless transition. My life now is very different from what it was two days ago. No more limbo, no more waiting. Time has started again. It was necessary to tear up the brambles in my brain to free the gears and expose the roots of deeper things beneath.

Here’s what I learned, or rather, lived: everything changes. There is no going back, but the starting point, home and whatever that means to you, will always be there, somewhere, even if the roads you took to get there are thick with obstructing experiences. Those roads have roots in you, and those threads are how you’ll find your way.

If you do, by choice or chance, the home you’ll come back to will have changed, too, thrived or crumbled as you’ve allowed it. You may or may not want to linger; I imagine that would depend on the person. As for me, I feel incredibly lucky. I was welcomed in my dreams.

Not welcomed back. It’s not a question of being back. It’s being here, and knowing what you’re about. It’s accepting home for what it is: the embodiment of connection and definition. Roots and branches that enable everything you are to feel and breathe.

It’s easy to lose those magical taps, the points from which we draw inspiration and awe. If you find yourself cut off from them entirely, regardless where your life has taken you, you can die right there on the vine. I can’t tell anyone what feeds their soul, but I will say it’s worth learning what that is, and that no matter how quick of a detour you think you’re taking, you keep those things close to your chest. They’re what you’ll need to reach for, in the end.

Hello, again.

#personal #essay #home #ff8 #writing #longpost #long post #bonus!#find all the ff8 references #because i was SHAMELESS with them #early easter egg hunt

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yungcz · 6 years ago

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My Last Summer

Okay so here is a true story of mine, not sure what to make of it and it still makes me wonder about everything spirituality and energy related to this day.

The story on how I "sold my soul"?

It all started about almost 2 years ago, I was in my old home town, well not really my home town but somewhere I lived when I was younger, I had a lot of family there so going back and visiting was a part of my yearly routine.

So I'm in Tofino (literal name of town) walking at sunset with my older brother, as we are walking in the downtown area we come across an old homeless man, he introduces himself and right off the bat starts talking about the devil, I can't remember too much of what he had said but something that stuck with me was this "never sell your soul to the devil, or you'll end up with scars like mine" he says will holding up both his thumbs and grinning ever so slightly, it was quite spooky but at the time I didn't believe in spirits enough for it to actually scare me... Until a year later.

Alright so about 2-3 months prior to that summer I started diving into the deep end with conspiracies, and other things alike, so much so that I actually tried to sell my soul, I never told anyone about this, but I pretty much wrote my name, date of birth, the time and date and a list of demonic names I gathered through my research. Please try not to judge to much, I like to think of this more as a "science experiment" rather than for any personal gain this may have given me or might have, but of course it had to be authentic; on the same peice of paper I had started doing some quick math that I made up, I was also deeply interested in numerology, so I had practiced a lotbwith my own numerology, prior to this event. As I gathered up number information on my peice of paper (over the course of about 2 weeks) I had used an algorithm that interested me, also one that I had made up, and used it to put my puzzle of numbers together. So just a recap, on this paper had everything about myself, date of birth, full name and I boiled my list of demons down to one, the one I could invest this experiment into, the one I would hope would give me results, its name... ZoZo. I then proceeded to add my numbers to the page and add them using my algorithm (the algorithm is intended to give me a time, or a date) I pretty much used the numbers that appeared most throughout my 2 weeks.

After all of this very precise work, and careful thinking and planning of this ritual, I had my letter. Also the algorithm went little to nowhere, I believe it was close to events that were related but, I can't rememebrr. Now notice if you look online, there isn't really anything you could find to help you "sell your soul" so basically I went as personal and realistic as I could imagine, also adding my own energetic twist with my algorithm. Never try this. I have not been the same since.

With my paper and countlessly repeating a "spell"(I say spell for lack of other ways of describing it)

I then proceeded to chew the paper until it was a small ball of wet, well paper, wet paper lol.

I asked for wisdom and guidance in life, also the protection of all my loved ones, for my soul, I figured this was the best thing to ask for, if I would ask for anything. Also guidance into what ever the spirit world is, and help in figuring out what exactly reality is, that sounds stupid I know, but I was having an existential crisis at the time, religion and science wasn't doing it for me, I knew/know there is so much more to life, that we as humans have untapped potential, and have the capabilities of unlocking things unimaginable to the mind, things we are born knowing to be true, and that I believe we could alter these elements/energy. So I asked what I thought would be the best thing to ask something that is supposedly an old, old spirit, I asked it for wisdom and guidance, not literally, I wouldn't speak with this thing, more or less I asked it to provide hints in my future, through numbers and patterns, to help me understand life. Also how to understand the patterns of life and in life. But like I said, I had no results, and forgotten all about it... until last summer.

Now before I get into the main part of this story, I would like you to keep an open mind about what I'm about to tell you, and do what you will with the information, I don't ask you to agree or disagree. Honestly I have been carrying this around for a year now, and I sincerely would just like your opinions, nonetheless if you find a way to think about all of what I talked about, and find a way to deconstruct it and come up with a realistic answer, I would honestly love to hear it, this was my own little brain teaser, in a way, trying to decipher and come up with different ways of thinking about all of this, that just made sense, until it drove me mad, and I ended up having to brain wash myself into forgetting most of it (which has taken/took about 6-12 months), or coming up with different viable explanations for it.

So, last summer.

Last summer was a long one, I was invited to work in Tofino at a family run business, I'm 16 at the time and turning down a summer job in Tofino would be madness, especially since I would be living in a bachelor pad by myself, I was a drug abuser and on the verge of being an alcoholic, but I have good work ethics and I'm a pretty good people person (since my dads job was pretty much talking to people and giving lectures, I was well practiced in social situations), so getting the job was that much easier. But back to Tofino, I saw the opportunity for a party filled summer with as much drinking and smoking I could imagine, I smoke weed and have been since I was 11, picking it up around the age of 13-14, but now I was mixing in tobacco, I brought my bong with me when I left for the summer, I probably went through a pack of cigarettes a week, and got drunk ever day or every other day, so I give my bad habits credit for inducing me into a psychosis, or at least this is what I was diagnosed with at the hospital, that's later in the story. So the job payed well, and it was summer in Tofino, so finding somebody to boot for me wasn't hard.

The first week:

The first week wasn't hard work wise, I was in the sun and it required lots of exercise so I loved my job. Until one night I was bored, bored with drinking, smoking and all the rest, I needed something to do, I was staying in the upper level of my grandfather's wood work shed, and I was feeling creative, I decided making a small canoe would be a fun way to spend my time, and would pay off when I showed off my awesome carving skills to my grandpa, turns out I'm not as good as I think... I ended slipping and slicing my thumb directly down the middle, it didn't hurt really, I was just frustrated because I had no bandages, so I had to make some, it was pretty rough, especially since my job required my hands to be in working order, but I made it work. About two weeks after the incident, it was pretty much healed completely, only a small part was unhealed. And that's when I started craving fish, so I decided to go fishing, thinking about cooking it made my mouth water, I made a spear, and would borrow my grandpa's fishing gear, all I needed now was bait. I remembered back to when I was younger living in Tofino, being told that dock worms are the best fish food. So I set out as fast as I can, headed to the docks. It's a gloomy day, not out of the ordinary for Tofino, I just thought I might let you know. As I'm getting the bait, I notice that when there is any movement in the water, the worms dive down, I forgot this and proceeded to harvest 3 worms with ease, after getting them out of their tubes, I found out that I barley got the heads off of the worms, left with inch sized bait I knew I would need more, and I would have to be faster, after getting two that were decently sizedd, I went for the biggest one I could find, as I inspected the worm, I noticed it was right in the open(usually they stay in patches, making it harder to harvest them, because any disturbance would make them all immediately shoot down into safety) as I said before this one was big, about 4-5 inches, and had about a foot of space between it and other worms on either side of it. I was excited, with this I could catch a big fish, and so I proceeded to overthink the amount of force I would need to harvest it, with my knife it was pretty much like a hot knife through butter, I ended up actually cutting my other thumb right down the middle, and this one is even deeper. so know I have two vertical cuts on my thumbs from tip to the first Bend in my thumb, and no fish because I had to check if I needed stitches, I didn't, just ended up using rope and cloth. Although you would've thought I'd be all "Holy shit the guy said this would happen!" But it didn't come to mind, not until a day later, and boy did that shit ever excite me but terrify me at the same time, I literally could not believe what had happened, and the thing is, one was just perfectly healed up and the other was about half an inch deep. I quickly enter panic mode, I'm alone and explaining this all to somebody was not on my to-do list, so I did what any sane person would do in my situation, I entered ceremony mode, every moment was a lesson to be learned, everything that happened either meant nothing, or was a teaching waiting to be learned, you may ask yourself "weren't you terrified?! What if something has attached itself to you?!" Or "are you fucking stupid?" Well you'd be goddamn right because that's what I was asking myself at the time also, but I was damn proud of myself, my experiment had a lead, and I was destined to have more things come to light that would help give an explanation or, help me figure out what exactly I've done to myself, or rather "did" to myself.

Okay so this part I'll sum up nice and fast, because this story is long, in the coming 2 weeks after this incident, I proceeded to have over 10 different near death experiences, 4 of them occuring 4 days in a row, and the rest spread out through my week, just to keep shit interesting I guess. I'll tell you what happened in 4 of the days.

First day:

As I was biking home from a kind day at work, I found myself basking in the sunlight, absorbing every bit of the moment as I could, I felt good, but I was cocky with my biking skills, as I passed by a long stretch of black berry bushes that went deep into a ditch, I stupidly was going back and for forth, sort of how a snake would slither, I ended up going right off the path and horizontally into the ditch, I didn't even have my helmet on that day. As my bike was nearly fully in the bush, I leaped off to reach for the sidewalk, and managed to only get a small scrape on my hand from hitting the concrete and pebbles, nothing compared to what would've happened if I fell directly into it. The craziest part was, as I picked my bike up, a dandelion was caught in the bike chain, right at the very top of it, as I was fixing the chain, I checked my hand, only to find 4 small dots, what shape were they in? Well thank you for asking, THEY WERE IN THE SHAPE OF A GODDAMN FUCKING CROSS, I'm baffled, fucking lost it, I couldn't believe what I was seeing, right after the events to, it had to mean something.

The second day:

Now this is kind of backwards in comparison to the other story, I was riding to work, and for some stupid fucking reason, I decided to close my eyes, WHY? good question, idk I like to live life on the edge, after opening my eyes, I noticed I was about 10 seconds from going head on into a moving car, my bike was literally facing it and the car was facing me, I again, didn't have my helmet, if I didn't open my eyes when I did, well you know.

After that I decided it's best to always wear a helmet, or have it on me.

The third day:

So, the house I was staying, well more like shed, had a toilet and shower, god I felt lucky, the only thing was, I had to turn this nozzle to flush the toilet, and I and to turn it off so it wouldn't flood the bathroom, like I said I smoked a lot of weed, I ended up flooding the bathroom 16-20 times, fuck. The third time it happened, was the morning, I left it on the might before, and also my bathroom was located right at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to my room, so my jolly go lucky ass decides getting down the stairs as fast as I fucking can is top priority, I end up leaping down 3 steps, slipping in what is about 1/2 an inch of shit piss water, landing directly on the side of my body (luckily) and barley missing direct floor to head impact, I'm in shock, I couldn't actually tell if I hit my head or not, so this was scary for about 30 seconds, wondering if I and a conclusion or not, I got up and I felt fine, other than my shoulder being sore, I was aces. I actually ended up somehow fucking up the plumbing do bad my entire tub FILLED WITH PURE FUCKING SHIT WATER, THIS IS NO EXAGGERATION THERE WAS CHUNKS OF SHIT IN MY BATHTUB, and on top of that I had no place to wash my clothes, so for about 3 weeks I had to use the same disgusting sewer smelling clothes, because all my other clothes smelt like piss and shit from the other times I slipped in toilet water. And I couldn't use the toilet, for a solid week. And for those wondering yes I cleaned up the flood every single time and paid for all the cleaning tools to do so, I did my best to clean up with tub but I was kicked out before I finished it, I felt terrible, I nearly did enough water damage to the floor that my grandpa would have to renovate it, what was supposed to be a fun summer turned into hell. Literal fucking hell.

But weirdly enough, not enough of it actually fully registered with me, I was pretty Zend out and dealt with each problem as effectively and efficiently as I could, and handled it well mentally. Luckily I cleaned up each flood fast enough to prevent the renovation, also the plumbing wasn't entirely my fault, apparently the pipe was crushed from cars driving over it, so it was nice to know it wasn't entirely my fault.

And finally.

The fourth day:

I'm pretty sure I had a brain hemorrhage, I was drinking a lot, I mean lot, so much that I was still tipsy in the afternoon after a night of drinking about 8 beers (high alcohol percentages) I didn't puke or per before I slept, when I woke up I woke up to the sensation of smelling death, literally, it was a cross between my breathe, my dirty clothes, and lack of water. Later that night I decided to drink again, ended up going cross eyed and forgetting the rest. With all the stress I was going through, abusing drugs was not helping at all, I ended having a slur for a week, and not being able to think properly for a couple of months later. When I say I had a brain hemorrhage I'm not sure, I just remember immense pain in my head, and a feeling of numbness through out half of my body for a couple minutes at a time.

So that's probably the freakiest part of my story, other than all the hallucinations and the mini psychosis episodes I went through, this next part haunts me to this day.

I'm laying in bed, it's my day off, I remember being there and hearing somebody open the door... Sometimes my grandpa comes to do work, but he answers when I call for him. So I'm laying in bed, listening carefully, not knowing who or what's happening down those steps. I then hear foot steps, almost like if somebody had sandels on, they walked a couple steps, then skipped two then 3, I could hear that they were right out of sight but nearly at the top of the staircase, frozen in terror, I can't find the words to say anything, I honestly thought I was being robbed, or somebody had broken in, I yelled to see who it was, I have a deep voice and if you didn't know me i would probably sound pretty menacing, no answer... I yelled again and asked them to show themselves, No answer again. I then told them to leave, and that they weren't welcome here, and for fucking fuckSakes out of all the goddamn things to happen, I heard a fucking screech, A FUCKING GODDAMN SCREECH, I'm immediately thinking that I'm just having auditory hallucinations, I mean from all that's happened and the stress, it's all that made sense, I then shakingly laid down and waited, trying to relax myself, then just as I'm relaxed, I hear foot steps going down the stairs, and walk directly under neath my fucking bed, I wait and listen, all I hear is malevolent growling or something like that, and scratches, so many fucking scratches, this continues for about 2 minutes and it stops, suddenly everything is quiet. I summon the courage to go and check what had just happened, all that I see when I go downstairs is the door wide open, with my key still in the lock, I felt so stupid, but I forgave myself and tried to move past what just happened. I left the door open with my key in it 3 times when I was there, nothing else happened.

This is so fucking awesome I think to myself,

It actually worked, my experiment was successful, but I wasn't done, now I had to undo whatever was done, and deal with what else was to come.

If you hadn't noticed by now this story is hard to follow, the timeline is very broken up, contact me for any questions. I'm going off of memory and my memory isn't that good all the time, I practiced telling these stories when it happened, so I could in the future, I also told my closest friends the darker things, so I wouldn't forget, I was also smoking a lot of weed, so that didn't help either.

Over this time period (1 month in tofino) I also became the most spiritual I've ever been in my life, also, I began finding sticks, not just any ordinary sticks, but sticks that resembled wands, I've always been obsessed with magic, and these were very special looking sticks, especially when this was all happening I got more creative in finding things to store energy in, positive energy, to protect me.. I found 3 identical sticks, one was completely white, the next was more sticky, it had bark but was white, sort of like a cows hide, the third was completely brown, I found them before the interaction with the thing that went up my staircase... After that I got bad vibes from them, really bad vibes, so I broke all of them into even pieces and threw them out my window.

I then got a sixth sense, something was telling me that my real wand was in the forest somewhere waiting, plus who doesn't want a sick ass fucking wand?? So with my hopes up, I waited for the perfect moment, when I knew my stick was near by. The shed I was staying in was on a small mountain that was on the edge of a cliff, also surrounded by trees, so finding a stick was easy, but finding my stick, that was a bit more tricky. About 2 nights later I had a feeling I knew exactly where it was, my wand. It was pitch black in the night and I vouched to myself I would check tonight, so I do what I always do, I go out for a toke (smoke week and tobacco from a bong) and I went to where I thought it would be, thankfully to my sixth sense, I found one of the COOLEST fucking stick wand things, when I say this, oh god, it was so cool, I'll explain why, so you know how I got those cuts on my thumbs? Well this stick has two parts that act like a handle, and also they match up PERFECTLY with my thumbs, and at the end of the stick is a snake like tongue (I'm the year of the snake) after finding this, I decided to try something out... Now I know, for you sceptics out there this is going to seem like over the top bullshit, like grade A fucking bag of horse shit, but it's the truth. And I'll say this, there is other things I did to try and test the wand out, to see if it had any sort of power, in my research it did not. But something was different, I got this feeling that, that I wasnt using is properly, so what I did was I put positive energy into it, and I let it be in a hidden place. I left it there for about 4 days, then on the day that felt like well, the "one" I decided to do something with it. I wanted to make a swirl of clouds or something like that of a tornado, I know right? Fucking easy, lmao nah but I had no idea how to do this, so all I did was, get my mind completely clear, and then I pictured my mind's energy being transferred through my thumbs into the stick.

I then pictured myself forming a tornado, I started to move my wand in the way a tornado would. It took 3 or so tries before it felt right. I felt so weird about it. But I had to believe, it was the only way to get any form of result, at least that's what I found helped me to get results.

A little back story before I continue, my shed is surrounded by trees, not only that but it's home to eagles, crows, ravens and seagulls, but mostly crows, I actually became friends with them, I would whistle and they would respond, I know how smart they are and I respected them, there was even times when I would come back from work, they would jump from powerline to powerline following me home, or even fly back to the house when they saw me, but they usually just waited for me close to home, and then flew back to the house. Most amazing experience in my life ever.

But back to the story.

I've just finished casting my tornado spell or whatever the fuck my psychotic ass just pulled off in my bedroom, and decided to go outside for a bike ride. I decided to go out of my way to a far away dock, as I arrived to my amazement, there was two giant heard's of crows flying high up in the sky, both packs of birds (probably 30 or so) were flying in this sort of tornado like pattern and soon after formed a giant swirl of one for the most beautiful things I've experienced, I still to this day can't explain it, I'm also too embarrassed to talk about it with anyone, fear of ridicule I guess. But I haven't found a use for the wand to this day, I still have it, but I respect it, it's more or less a momento of the summer, I nearly destroyed it after I got back home, after being kicked out of my sweet Tofino pad, haha nah I wanted to leave it was cool, I would've stayed but it was out of my hands, almost hooked up with this amazing girl to solid (8/10 blonde), kinda fucked up timing if you ask me, but oh well, there is so much more I could talk about from what happened in the summer, but I covered all of the big stories.

So back home.

After all of this I'm feeling good, fucked up as fuck but good, I got clean clothes, food in the fridge, a place I can bathe (I wasn't for about 3 weeks) and a comfy bed, also no work and there was a month left of summer, amazing.

I had a lot of realizations, and came back with lessons for myself, but before that, my parents were pissed.

Not only was I ignoring them about half way through the month, I basically blocked them, not answering phone calls or texts, looking back on it now that's probably the stupidest thing I could've done, but with all that happened who could've blamed me. fucked up part is, my dad is now harrassing the fuck out of me to get a job, while I'm already worried about school because I skip alot and I've failed classes, I don't blame him I'm just saying, I was in a sensitive place.

Okay also a year prior to this, before Christmas, I was involved in a car accident, nearly killing me or crippling me, I left unharmed. What happened was they T boned the car at about 70km/hr hitting the passenger side, not my door but the one behind me, just two seconds off and I would have been major key fucked. Ended going into 30k worth of debt.

Okay so I get back from Tofino and my dad let's me know that me and my brother are now 24k more in debt, originally only 8k or so. So now I'm stressing about debt, getting a job, and school, right after all that shit happened, like I nearly fucking died multiple times and I kept it all to myself and didn't tell anyone, after getting back I didn't want to either, I was still processing that and the new news. I ended up bottling everything up and becoming suicidal, still something I don't talk

Too much about nowadays, or at least I haven't elaborated about how suicidal I was with anyone. So school pulls up on me as I'm bent down grabbing the soap and prepares me for a royal raping. I now have a job at my old work (save on foods) and I've grown to hate my job a lot, I didn't before, but for some reason I couldn't stand it now. One day I ended up seeing how far I could go before I either blacked out or stroked out, I think that day I consumed roughly 80 cups of coffee, and around 30 cigarettes, I was having heart pulpitations and at one point the left half my body went numb and all I could see out of my left eye was a bright flash, I tried to get up but couldnt for a good 3 minutes. Decided just to go full limp and see if I'd make it or not, i was trying to fight the numbness and headache but couldn't.

After this I got up, found my balance, proceeded to hock up a handful of mucus and went back to to cash because my 15min was over.

Later that week at school my counselor had been helping me with classes and decided to dig deep into my personal life, I let her have it and told her I was "testing" myself with coffee and cigarettes to see how long I could go before something happened, and the next day she asked if she could take me to the hospital to have me checked out medically, I said yeah sounds like a good idea, it really did I felt like shit, so we did and I proceeded to have a mental break down, never once did I bring up all the fucking selling my soul shit, nah I'm not that stupid son. But I did bring up what actually happened, and how I struggled with depression in middle school, once writing a suicide note and another time making a video giving my farewells, I was in grade 6 and 7.

Along with my story of coffee and cigarettes I gave them enough juicy details to keep me locked up for a fucking month, they did tests on me to make sure I was okay, everything checked out, I was actually in optimal health. I won't lie it wasn't that bad, there was lots of nurses, like sexy ass nurses, and I ended up working out a lot in my room, I was up early in the morning and couldn't be on my phone, so everything was good except being locked up in a hospital, they ended up sending me to a troubled teens home were I stayed for about a week or two, finally got out and ended up dropping out of school.

Well I hope you enjoyed that, it took a lot of brain power and about 3 hours to write (nonstop) nearly cried but I'm feeling good about it, everything in this story is 100% true, message me for questions, or if you want some pictures of my journey, I'll even show you my wand;) also some bts of other things that happened in Tofino.

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spookyjuicefiction · 6 years ago

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The Black Diamond - Chapter 1

MASTERLIST

A/N: Kind of a long setup, but it’ll be worth it, I promise. No smut yet! Just a little tasteful burlesque striptease.

BUCKY BARNES X READER

Brown, brown, and more brown. Bucky scowled out the back seat window at the desert which seemed to scroll by on loop like an old movie background. A cactus here, a tumbleweed there. And then again. Welcome to The Middle of Nowhere, Somewhere In America.

“We’ve got to be getting close,” Steve took his eyes from the road momentarily to Natasha, who was sitting shotgun and studying a huge map spread across the dashboard. Cell phone service had disappeared an hour ago, and GPS along with it. Not that the place they were looking for existed on Google Maps. Natasha only frowned.

“If we get stuck out in this wasteland, I’m going to kill you, Rogers,” groaned Sam, peering over Nat’s shoulder. “You said you knew where it was!”

“If the map is accurate, we should be coming up to it any minute now,” Steve replied calmly. “Let’s review the plan in the meantime. Nat?”

Although Bucky could only see the back of her head, he could tell she was rolling her eyes. “You three are escaping your wives in Phoenix for a boys’ getaway up to this club Sam heard about from his buddy at work.”

“Sam?” Steve prompted.

Sighing, Sam sat back. “We picked up Nat hitchhiking on the side of the road. Her boyfriend dumped her, she’s homeless, and she’s desperate for a job. We don’t want to leave town until we know she’s settled in.”

“Good. Buck?”

Bucky looked back out the window into the brown dustland. “Natasha will infiltrate by getting in with the staff and finding out what they know about their employer. Meanwhile, we will befriend the other patrons and locals and gather intel that way. Once we can get a good layout of the place, we search for information.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” said Steve, for the millionth time. “If this guy really is ex-Hydra, he’s not going to be leaving his old paperwork just lying around for anyone to find. Luckily, our intel says news doesn’t travel fast out here and we’re unlikely to be recognized. Hopefully we can slip in and slip out before this guy gets back.”

“How do you know he won’t be there?” Sam asked.

“I don’t,” Steve admitted. “I’m putting trust in our informant. That’s why I brought so many of you. It’s only a club; if it gets ugly, I think we can handle it. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Great,” Sam murmured, “sure, let’s trust the anonymous informant.”

“Check it out,” Nat pointed out the windshield and Sam and Bucky leaned forward to squint. In the distance, a building began to grow out of the horizon. As the car drew closer, they could see it was a fairly large, three-story warehouse, dropped in the middle of the empty landscape on the side of the dirt road. Further down, in the distance, was what appeared to be a small town: Bucky could make out two motels, a gas station, and a shabby grocery store. He wondered where the hell the people lived that worked there, since there was nothing else around.

The building had no sign, but dozens of cars were parked haphazardly all around it and people were lingering near the door, smoking cigarettes and God knows what else. Steve maneuvered the car into an inconspicuous spot and cut the engine, turning in his seat to look at his team.

“Okay. You ready?”

Bucky, Nat, and Sam nodded at him and then one another before stepping out of the car.

Bucky sucked in a breath as the scorching hot air enveloped him the instant he opened the door. He could see the air sizzling over the dirt in the distance, and he felt a pang of longing to be back at the compound, swimming in the cool lap pool. He tried to focus as they drew near to the warehouse, making mental notes of where there were service doors or the occasional boarded window in case they needed to make a quick getaway. A bouncer by the door, nearly as tall and muscular as Steve, gave them an irritated look before gesturing them vaguely inside.

The room inside was nothing like Bucky had expected. Instead of dusty wood floors and cement walls, there was plush plum carpeting and wallpaper decorated with fleur de lis and spiral patterns. Sconces lined the hallway, dripping with crystals that caught the muted light as they twirled in the gust of hot air that followed them through the door. They approached a mahogany desk manned by an attractive young woman who bestowed a sickeningly sweet smile onto them.

“Well, well, well,” she cooed in a voice that had to be faked, “What do we have here? We don’t usually get such good looking boys around these parts.” She winked at Bucky. “Are you here for the show?”

“They are,” Nat stepped forward, pushing her chest out, leaning over the desk and adopting a southern accent, “but I’m lookin’ for work. I ain’t as pretty as you, but maybe there’s something I can do?”

The girl behind the desk frowned at her at first, and then cocked her head. “Hmm. Actually, you might just be his type. I’ll see what I can do.” She snapped her fingers suddenly and two men in black suits appeared.

“See if we can find a job for this gal,” she said to them in the sweet voice, and they obediently led Natasha out of the room. Nat threw a last glance at them over her shoulder and tapped her wrist, their sign for “I got this, don’t worry”.

“Show’s standin’ room only tonight,” chirped the girl, turning back to them. “Sold out.”

“Wow,” said Sam, raising his brows, “does it usually sell out?” Bucky was apparently not the only one to think this was odd, considering the remoteness of the club.

“It does when Bombalurina performs,” the girl cooed with another wink. “Trust me, boys, you won’t wanna miss it.”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky were ushered by another pretty girl through a set of double doors into the lounge area brimming with people. The bar in the back was packed shoulder to shoulder, while the small round tables throughout the room were so crowded, the guys could hardly scoot through the room. They found a spot along the wall at the opposite side from the door where they could see the stage, which extended into a catwalk that cut the room in half. They stood in silence, politely shooing away a girl with a drink tray while they studied the room around them. To Bucky’s surprise, it was not just creepy older men in the crowd for the show, but women too, most of whom appeared dignified and well-manicured. It was strange to see so many high-society folks at this warehouse in the middle of the desert. What exactly was going on here?

“Most of these girls aren’t eighteen, much less twenty-one,” murmured Sam as another shot girl walked by, smiling at them shyly.

“Yeah. It’s too dark in here to tell, but I’ll bet most of them look like they’ve been through some stuff. You don’t end up working out here if you’ve had an easy life,” Steve responded, sounding worried.

Just then, the room went black as the spotlights blasted the stage with light, illuminating a short, thin man with oiled back hair and a glittering tuxedo. He was wearing more makeup than nearly any woman Bucky had ever seen in his life.

“Hello and good evening to all of you freaks, geeks, chics, and sharks!” he boomed into the microphone, and was greeted with loud laughter and applause. “My name is Luxardo and I am pleased as punch to be your host for the evening! Gird your loins, clutch your pearls, and loosen your belts because you are in for a night of tantalizing beauty and sensual sexuality that will take your breath away!”

Bucky ground his teeth as Luxardo yammered on for another few moments, cracking dirty jokes that had the crowd laughing with delight and Steve blushing scarlet. When the first number came out, a troupe of scantily-clad dancing girls, Sam leaned over and whispered, “Maybe you ought to turn your back, Cap. Wouldn’t want to offend these girls’ delicate sensibilities.” Steve slugged him, and even Bucky had to chuckle a little.

Scantily clad dancing girls turned out to be the majority of the program, to no one’s surprise except perhaps Steve, and Bucky had become fidgety and restless by the time Luxardo returned to the microphone over an hour later.

“Dearly esteemed guests of The Black Diamond, we humbly thank you for supporting our little show. And as the sweetest, richest, most decadent dessert we could offer, please enjoy our final number: the Queen of Diamonds herself, Bombalurina.”

A hush fell over the crowd in such an odd way that Bucky felt himself snapping to attention. The stage went dark, and then one, single spotlight lit center stage. A sensual, jazzy tune began to play, and a woman began emerging from the floor with her back to the audience. When she was fully above the stage, the music paused dramatically. In the instant that she spun around to face the room, the music crescendoed and the stage lit up in blues and pinks, showing her in full, technicolor detail.

That was the first moment of Bucky Barnes’s life.

He was sure of it. He had never existed, never breathed, never seen a single thing, until this very moment. Until he saw her for the first time.

He forgot everything. He went deaf. All he could do was look at her, watch her as she sauntered down the stage in her glittering, sequined dress. All he ever wanted to see again was the way her red lips moved along with some music that he could no longer hear. It didn’t matter, nothing did, so long as her eyes, her hair, and her skin existed in the world. In his world.

He watched the number as if in a dream, foggy and surreal as though under water, and he could not move nor even feel his body. First she was only dancing, and then she began taking off her clothes. First gloves, then dress, then, hook by hook, the corset that held the secret of her chest from him. Somewhere, the recesses of his mind told him he should look away, but he could not bring himself to do it. She turned, swaying back to the spot where she started, and planted her feet. On one beat, she tore open corset and dropped it to the ground beside her. On the next beat, the final beat, she spun around, hitting a stunning pose with her pastied breasts exposed -- and locking her eyes with his.

The room erupted into cheers around Bucky as he stood motionless and transfixed, their eye contact intense and certain. Bombalurina stood still too, locked in her pose, and he was sure he saw her cock her brow at him before she broke the spell and turned to take her bow.

“Wow,” he heard Steve breathe beside him and turned to his friend, blinking away the dream, “she’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, feeling a little woozy and leaning against the wall subtly for support.

“I guess we know why people come out here,” observed Sam, motioning to the way the whole room was on their feet, clapping and whooping and catcalling.

“You got that right.” The guys jumped at Natasha’s voice as she emerged from a curtain next to where they stood, bearing a tray and apparently collecting empty glasses. “The men are all in love with her, and the women all want to be her.” Reading their looks of surprise, she explained, “They were busy so they hired me on the spot. I’ll catch you guys back at the hotel later and we can debrief.”

Steve nodded briskly to her and watched her disappear into the crowd before turning to Sam and Bucky.

“We’d better get out of here. I saw a few guys from the CIA that might recognize us if they sober up enough.”

“The CIA?” Bucky asked incredulously. The Black Diamond apparently had some serious reach. Before they could take two steps, however, a man in a black suit appeared in front of them. He was tall and muscular, like the bouncer had been, and was holding a rather large martini.

“The Queen would like a word with you all in her dressing room,” he said quietly.

“The Queen?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Bombalurina,” the man replied. “She won’t be kept waiting. Come.”

The man in the black suit set off, weaving through the tables, and the guys could only exchange a quick look before turning to follow. He led them through a door behind a curtain that was apparently the backstage area, scattered with glitter and feathers and lingering puffs of perfume. Bucky, Steve, and Sam followed the man through a labyrinth of purple hallways until, at length, they reached a red door with a gold star on it. Bucky took in a breath as the man knocked gently.

From within, a woman’s voice called back, “Come in.”

The man in the black suit pushed through the door, the Avengers filing in behind him.

“Ah, thank you darling,” came the woman’s voice again. Presumably, she had been handed the large martini. Bucky found that he was afraid to look at her, as if it might hurt, like looking at the sun. At last, he slowly raised his eyes.

She sat with her back to them at a large vanity table, fussing with some makeup and sipping the martini. Finally, she looked up at their reflections in the mirror, a coy smile spreading across her perfect red lips.

“Well. Captain America. Now, this is a surprise.”

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gwenpaint-blog · 6 years ago

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==> Sweet surprise

((In which Paint drops in on PI unannounced and they share cookies, cocoa and make some Valentines plans.

@dilldaydreamer

Ms. Paint

Your name is Gwen Paint. It's a cold day and you have work off unless there's an emergency so you decide to call into the police station and check if Pembrooke will be in. To your delight, he is and so you pack up some hot chocolate and other goodies and head over to surprise him. You arrive and someone goes to tell him that he has a visitor.

Pembrooke

You get a call saying a visitor has arrived to see you, which catches you by surprise. Huh...you weren't expecting anyone. Your paranoia begins to bubble up as you debate between letting someone in versus getting up to go check yourself. Normally the latter wouldn't be an issue if it wasn't for the fact you'd have to scurry around the corridors in shorts which just feels embarrassing and an open invitation for your fellow officers to comment. Still...you can't forgo security just for your own pride so you let the front desk know you are on your way as you begrudgingly leave your desk to go down the halls. Fortunately it seems the coast is clear, and to your surprise it's Gwen of all people! Oh! Well, time to replace the paranoia wish sheepishness. Both in being paranoid in the first place and also because of your lack of professional attire. "Oh! Hello! I didn't expect a visit! Hello!"

Ms. Paint

A bright smile lights your face as Pembrooke arrives. "Yes, I was hoping to surprise you," you giggle then continue, "I understand if your busy and can't talk long, but I bought hot cocoa and cookies." You hold up the thermos and cute cookie tin you'd invested in after making so many cookies during Christmas time.

Pembrooke

Your eyes light up at the surprise. "Oh! Well consider me quite surprised! And no no, I can make some time for a visit. I...well truth be I probably should be taking a break as is so consider myself on break. Please, follow me, if you'd like." You lead her through the hallways to your office, not as tidy as you'd like though you are quick to shuffle papers and things off and out of the way. Folding up a quilted blanket, you smile warmly. "It is great to see you, I hope you are doing well!"

Ms. Paint

You follow him back to his office and set down the items where there is a space for them. "Oh, yes I'm doing very well!" you say cheerfully. "It's a great season for knitting so I've been knitting like an absolute fiend. Oh! And the gallery is going to display a few of my pieces in the spring so that's quite exciting," you tell him as you pull off on of your many knitted hats causing your hair to stick out from static. "Oh bother..." you mumble as you attempt to pat it down. "What about you? How have you been?" you ask him in turn, hoping that he is not still waiting for the former Derse ruler's to rain their ire on him.

Pembrooke

"That's wonderful news. Both the gallery and that you're doing well!" you chirp. There's a momentary grin of amusement at the static frizz, if only because it's adorable in your opinion...but you quickly busy yourself with the last bit of tidying. If it wasn't for make-up, your raccoon eyes would be far more noticeable right now...but thankfully you have learned enough cosmetic tricks. The unsung perk of undercover detective work at its finest. "I'm doing rather well, grey magic annoyance notwithstanding. If anything it offers a good excuse to catch up on some documents and paperwork."

Ms. Paint

"The paperwork never ends. A bit like laundry and dishes," you compare. There are many endless chores in life by virtue of those things having to be done again and again. But at least that meant there was always a simple problem that could be solved even when the world felt chaotic. You pop the tin open on the cookies revealing raspberry thumbprint cookies and some pumpkin cookies with cream cheese frosting. You then realize you forgot something and blush slightly, "It seems I failed to arm myself with cups for the cocoa. Ehehe! Is there any on hand we could perhaps barrow?"

Pembrooke

"It's true. The never ending cycle of bureaucracy." you chuckle. As the tin pops open, your eyes sparkle with delight because oh goodness! Those look like everything you could ever want in cookies! "Oh wow, those look absolutely stunning! I see you're now aiming for the crown of best cookie-maker to go along with your title of soup master." you beam as already you're trying to build the internal resolve to not just consume the entire tin in a single night. At her question, you look up and nod vigorously. "Indeed! I keep a few cups and mugs on hand since well, coffee and tea is probably the lifeblood of this precinct. Heh..." You rise again to go over to a cupboard and pull out a couple of mugs that contain cute kitten patterns on them.

Ms. Paint

You blush more at his praise and smile a little. "You try some baked goods from Mr. Gamzee. He's really a master of baking," you admit. "I certainly am attempting to improve beyond soups, and given how much I like sweets myself it's quite a motivator to get better!" Those cups are adorable and you make a little 'aw' sound as you admire the kittens. "How sweet! Is there a collection of community mugs? Coffee is quite the savior of many a workforce, and tea should get more attention too."

Pembrooke

"Oh. Yes that is true. Gamzee makes some amazing pastries. I'm quite glad his business is back and running. It was one of the big tragedies of that well...tragedy in general. So many small businesses were damaged and folks livelihoods nearly lost." You set the cups down. "I like to keep a small collection in here, though there is another in the breakroom. Really I like to try to get most new members on the force their own personal mug. Sort of a welcoming gift. Though hm...I think I've been negligent in that recently. Will have to correct that soon."

Ms. Paint

You nod to the sentiment of small businesses getting back on their feet. You made a point to visit the small shops in your area to try to give them as regular business as you could. "A lot has been happening so I doubt anyone would begrudge you over mugs," you say comfortingly as you pour some hot chocolate in each mug. "I had made some marshmallows but my first attempt didn't turn out. Sugar is a persnickety thing to work with at times."

Pembrooke

"True. I expect most of them don't even realize it's a thing. Yet. I'll correct that in good time. Well...maybe after Valentine's day. Not sure I want to give a mixed message there. Ha heh..." You nod your head in thanks as you take your own mug and a sip. Rather good, though no longer as hot as it likely first was even with the thermos' best attempt. "Thank you. It's quite nice! And oh goodness yes. I can't even begin to imagine how one goes about making marshmallows from scratch, so my hat is off to you!"

Ms. Paint

"It is a struggle with sugar and gelatin and a stove. Making candy is not for the faint of heart," you tell him. "I'm glad you like it!" You take a sip from your mug and nibble one of the pumpkin cookie. Then the part about Valentines day hits your brain. "Oh! Right! Valentines day!" you laugh a little at yourself. "Truth be told, I've never celebrated it before."

Pembrooke

"I can only imagine." you grin. "I think I'll just stick to eating the candy versus trying to make any." Though part of you suddenly wonders if its possible to imagination up candy. Mmmmmaybe you'll try that a bit later. "Oh? Would you like to?" you ask before you realize just how bold a question that was as you sputter. "Ah! I mean, my apologies that was a bit forward there wasn't it. I meant more in the sense of is it one of those holidays that well. I mean. Well some people don't find the holiday appealing at all because they've never celebrated it??"

Ms. Paint

You blush as he asks then laugh as he fumbles knowing that is exactly what you would have done in his position. You gently pat his hand as you say, "If you would like to as well I think it could be fun! I've never bared ill will for the holiday, I just never had anyone to share it with until now."

Pembrooke

Your fumbling stops as she pats your hand. Giving a slight chuckle, you nod. "I admit I work part of the day, and this is so last minute it likely would be nothing quite grand." No doubt every restaurant and theatre would be booked to the gills with reservations and every flowershop sold out. "But! If you'd like, we could get coffee and have just a small little get together? No pressure, just pleasant?"

Ms. Paint

"That sounds lovely, Pembrooke," you smile warmly. Grand was interesting now and then, but you've personally found you enjoy simple things. "It's a shame it's set in such a cold season or I'd say we should picnic."(edited)

Pembrooke

Her response gives you pause, and she can likely see the wheels in your head turning as you get a contemplative expression. "Actually...." you say... "Tell you what. How about we prepare for a picnic. I think I may know a spot that isn't quite a summer's park, but it may still suffice. If not, there will at least be a fun story to tell about it." You give her a mischievous smirk.

Ms. Paint

You look at him with great curiosity then realize with that smirk that he's not going to tell you exactly where this mysterious place is. You smile back, "Why my dear Inspector, are you plotting something? Oh gracious how delightfully intriguing. I would wager you're not going to tell me more?"

Pembrooke

"Perrrrhaps. Tell you what, if you like we could each have a mystery. My mystery is the location, yours what is inside the picnic basket." A pause. "Well. I mean unless that feels unbalanced. I don't want you to feel obligated to do any extra work and whatnot..." You almost felt suave. Almost.

Ms. Paint

"I find that quite agreeable," you grin. You love making food for people. And you do have a knowledge now of some of Pembrooke's favorites. "I would like to know if you have any food allergies just to be extra safe."

Pembrooke

"None that I'm aware of." you laugh as you shake your head. "Though I may just say I'm allergic to okra as a means to avoid ever eating it." Another sip of your cocoa before you take one of the cookies out. "Would four in the evening sound alright? We could meet here since I'd be getting off work at that time."

Ms. Paint

A nod to that, "Sounds dandy!" You can't deny you are excited with these plans and it shows. Brushing down a stray still staticy strand of hair still attempting to fly away, you ask, "So how do you like the cookies? I wasn't sure if raspberry was a flavor you enjoy but they seemed like an interesting choice to try with the jam."(edited)

Pembrooke

You're unable to respond right away due to there being cookie in your mouth, but there is that attempt to murfle a sound of agreement as you nod your head. Finally you are free of cookie-mouth and are able to speak again. "They're quite good. Raspberries are indeed a flavor I enjoy, though I confess there's very few berries that I don't get along with. Ah heh." No need to speak of the expensive elephant in the room regarding the cost of fresh fruit in this city. At least preserves were still delicious and more cost effective. "Thank you so much again, for both the cookies and cocoa. This was, quite a delightful surprise. I appreciate it."

Ms. Paint

"I'm glad!" you chirp brightly. "I thought a nice surprise was due to you after the various Greyface shenanigans you've been dealt of late." You also may have made and sent MK sympathy cookies for him and Ms. Snowman after the whole frog thing, but only Pembrooke is the one you personally bring the cookies to. "If you'd like to borrow my thermos the cocoa should take just fine to a gentle warm up in a pot or some such if you'd like more later," you offer.

Pembrooke

"It is appreciated! Though hoo...best be on guard. Holidays tend to get really....something." You make a face as you remember years prior. "Especially Valentine's day. Some consider themselves bonafide matchmakers...I recall a time when I was smitterpated with one of the officers at the precinct for weeks. Awkward. Very awkward. Would not recommend." Weighing the thermos, you look in. "If that is...alright with you. I can definitely have it cleaned and returned next we meet."

Ms. Paint

You look a bit concerned at that. "Dear heavens... I certainly hope for calm then and no unsolicited matchmaking!" you say as your mind already starts to panic over the possibile horrors that my be inflicted on you or others. "That sounds just fine," you tell him in regards to the thermos as your fingers anxiously worry in the collar of your coat.

Pembrooke

"Same. Thankfully it was nowhere near to the...hm. Nowhere near to the extent of what happened in the fall. It was more like...the feeling of unrequited crush was there but one still had their senses about to realize it was something unnatural. At least in my case. Didn't negate the heartfelt longing feeling...but not devastating." You try to reassure her, noting the sudden concern and remembering the events prior. "Who knows, maybe they'll just do something completely benign like give everyone candy."

Ms. Paint

You sigh and take a few deep breaths to calm before summoning back your smile. "I certainly hope so. The benign ones are not bad at all and some even seem kind. If luck is with us then perhaps they'll be the only ones to appear." You think maybe you might have some post traumatic stess from October that you have never properly addressed. Might want to check that, you tell yourself as a mental note that sadly will be forgotten most likely.

Pembrooke

"I'm going to go with optimism, and that nothing remarkable other than a pleasant evening occurs." you smile gently. Inwardly you make a mental note of your own to be more sensitive regarding such a subject. Not that you aren't without your own inner traumas, the hallways of the hotel still give you a bit of a fright from time to time and you still feel bad startling one of the queen’s attendants when she accidently startled you.

Ms. Paint

You nod a little, "Optimism is a good choice. I'm very much looking forward to that evening as well." If he has a hand free of cookie and cocoa, you gently hold it for a brief moment blushing a bit at your own daring as you say warmly, "Thank you, Pembrooke."

Pembrooke

"Same. I think it will be a wonderful time." the smile widens as you give her hand a little squeeze. "Really though I should be thanking you."

Ms. Paint

"For what? You already thanked me for the cookies," you smile a little bemused.

Pembrooke

"For being just who you are, it's something that I suppose feels like doesn't get enough thanks in general." you laugh. "If you stick around too long though I can likely come up with a sizable list of thankable qualities."

Ms. Paint

You blush deeply and your mouth opens and closes twice without words till you finally find the ability to speak again, "M-maybe? The quality of.... qualities can be somewhat subjective. But, I think you have a great many that are thankable as well."

Pembrooke

"Well if you'd like me to make a starting list for the picnic I could. We can debate the subjectiveness." there's a chuckle as you pat her hand. "I imagine yours would be universally agreed upon however."

Ms. Paint

"Gracious goodness! No needs for lists!" you say waving your unpatted hand. "You're extremely sweet, Pembrooke. You are kind and bright and I hope you are appreciated daily." Brazenly, you then put a cookie to his lips intending to prevent him from coming back at you with his sweetness right off.

Pembrooke

A counter argument was beginning, and then stopped via cookie combined with your innate habits of now speaking with your mouth full. Well played Miss Paint. Well played. "Mmrph mm mphmm...." you mumble, by the time you are done chewing the subject has passed freshness. "Very well then. No lists. Just a nice evening."

Ms. Paint

A giggle escapes you as he mumbles and you nod in agreement to his work. "It sounds perfect to me," you say. Chatting with Pembrooke, joking and being silly is just very nice. You look into his kind face and his dark eyes and you just smile as a blush you don't realize is there dusts your cheeks just a little. He is a good and wonderful friend who also makes your heart do those little flutter things. "Oh!" you say as you think of them, the somewhat lovestruck look on your face vanishing for the moment. "I just got my new pet! I've already filled my phone with pictures if you'd like to see her," you say beaming with all the pride of a new bunny mother.

Pembrooke

"Oh goodness yes please!" you grinned. Chances are before this is through the two of you will have shared photos of bunnies, cats, and kiwis. The joy of the excited pet owners and their fuzz babies. After a bit though, you'll note the time on the wall. "As much as I hate for this visit to end, I should probably be ending my break soon..."

Ms. Paint

You are gushing over kiwi pictures and then look to him as he speaks. You sigh a little but smile, "That's fair. I should be heading home as well. After all, there is a small bunny waiting for me." You put the lid on the cookie tin and pat it, "You can keep this as well till we meet up." After all, there were still more cookies in there for him.

Pembrooke

A nod. "Of course. Thank you so much again for the cookies and hot cocoa. I'll make sure the tin and thermos are cleaned and ready next we meet." You're all smiles, and are already plotting the demise of that tin's contents as you begin making plans for Valentine's Day.

Ms. Paint

You wave goodbye and leave how he lead you in. Happy and all a flutter with excitement for Valentines day. You can't wait to tell Karkat!

#dilldaydreamer #discord rp #long post #ic

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kai-bobbi · 3 years ago

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9/26 (at least it was when I started writing it this 😅)

RESEARCH PROJECT 3: The $2.00 Shopping Spree!

Living off campus always gives me the temptation to go home between classes. "20 minutes there; 20 minutes back; bada bing bada boom." Today, I thought a quick stop at Aldi couldn't hurt to add. It was about 1:30pm when I got there. I was surprised by the amount of people there for the middle of a Monday. This Aldi has a vibe. The lights are always suuuuper bright. Someone needs to turn up the volume on the music though. It's way too low. It's just high enough to almost decipher which song is playing. I just exited a hypomanic episode and on the other end is often drop where I'm easy irritated. My mind felt burnt and I was feeling low, so I just wanted to get out of there. as quickly as I could. Today was a bit more colder inside there than normal. I regretted leaving my jacket in my car. Even thought outside was a bit chilly, the sun was out. I falsely believed no coat was the way to go. Fooled again! This Aldi kind of smells like if Nothing were a scented candle. I think I saw an article (probably a TikTok video about how they intentionally try and keep the scent of a grocery store low. Hmmm.

A few items in, I remembered that I still needed to buy something for my splurchase item project. I tried to go about my shopping as usual. Fun thing about my brain is that when you tell it not to think about something, it is gonna think about that thing. So between grabbing my go-to items, my mind kept trying to find sometime that fit the assignment. I found these two colorful chocolate bars that together would cost about two bucks. It was the color of the packaging that caught my attention. The design was meh, but I couldn't find anything else. I put them in the box I snagged from the giant wire crate of boxes. For some reason, I always feel like I'm stealing something when I take one. As if, the employee cares I didn't bring or buy a bag. I took some photos of the chocolate bars and how they were existing in the aisle. I thought that I had found my splurchase. I was wrong. I kept on moving down the aisles and only one away, I came across this box of individual cans of tea, Honestly, it was the font choice of Tea that pulled me in; super fun. It was displayed almost perfectly as a repetitive. I love patterns. They make my brain happy. It also helped that it was at my eye-level. I saw the words organic and realized I had naturally found what I was not looking for. I always associate organic with expensive and almost always go another route. I often don't even glance at the prices. I just assume I can't afford it.

But this is my splurchase! And although I always bulk buy and get my tea in big jugs with a handle, I said screw it and I grabbed one. I pulled up a tea from the box that was cropping off the half of the can that sold me on this item perfect… it's blood orange! OMG! I loooove blood orange! It's sooooo good!

I started taking photos. I noticed that it was in a section that said HURRY and THESE DEALS GO FAST in the signage at the bottom! I love how I associate organic with expensive and yet this tea is in the leftover discount section; calling out to me as something special. I noticed the top was a little dusty. Clearly these had been here for a spicy second (<--- this is my made up alternative to hot minute. It'll catch on. I can feel it). But a little dust didn't bother me. That's what waters for.

After I checked out I realized but after my photoshoot, I forgot to actually take and buy the tea. I ran back full armed with a box of La Croix in one hand and a box of groceries in the other. I came back to the checkout line again to see only one lane open. The amount of items the stranger in front of me was loading on the belt seemed like it was was endless. I checked my watch and realized that I was running out of time to get home in time to make lunch, eat and get back on time for my last class.

I asked if I could cut ahead. I got the kindest "Of course!' The kindness ended my roller coaster of a shopping trip on a happy note. I check out and off to to home I went. I thought I'd have it along with lunch. I got lost in a conversation with an ex I'd rather call a roommate. I slapped together lunch real fast and took it on the go. I housed my sandwich on the drive back but spaced and forgot to grab my tea in to enjoy in class.

I ended up being happy that I did, 'cause when I got home I thought it would be a delightful porch hang beverage to end the way with. I made sure to bring my coat. I took some artsy photos. I hopped on my porch swing and stationed up with my things on the side table. I cracked it open and took a big sip.

For now, I'll keep my review a secret.

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sp4c3-0ddity · 7 years ago

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Water Rescue: Part Three

and so ends “Water Rescue”. as usual, go politely yell/gush at @rueitae for envisioning the mage/familiar AU here and here. i also owe her for letting me play in her sandbox, as the saying goes

this final part is ~5500 words. enjoy!! <3

warning for non-graphic violence/major character injury

Read on ao3 | Read Part One | Read Part Two

There was little reason for Pidge to be so exhausted this early in the day, little reason but staying up too late and waking up too early. She dragged her feet through the village, plastering a half-hearted smile onto her face after knocking on cottage doors and waiting for a resident to greet her.

“I have your sleeping draft, Madame,” Pidge said when the baker’s wife opened her door. She offered the bottle to her, all while wishing she could uncork it and down its contents for herself, perhaps curl up on the porch beside the cat that, somehow, didn’t rouse at her approach.

“Thank you, Pidge,” said the baker’s wife after taking the bottle. “Did you add something to it to mask the taste?”

Pidge grimaced and admitted, “I forgot. I had to make several batches this time, so I couldn’t take special orders into account.”

Her customer sighed. “I guess it’s still worth it.” She then passed Pidge a few coins, which she carefully tucked into her belt pouch before picking up her steadily emptying bag and retreating back to the main road.

To her surprise, the cat followed her, nearly tripping Pidge as it tried to pass between her ankles. She cursed but caught herself after stumbling forwards a few paces, right as the cat froze, its amber eyes fixed on a point that she couldn’t see.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at it. “Did you spot a mouse?”

Predictably, the cat ignored her and darted away down the road, its bushy gray tail streaming out behind it.

Pidge took the opportunity the quiet moment allowed her to check her bag for the remaining orders she had to fill, and when she only spotted a few bottles, she smiled in relief. With luck, everything but one would take less than an hour to deliver, and after visiting Allura and Coran, she could be on her way home in time to get back by sunset. And then perhaps a nap before she tended to the garden, and then, maybe, Lance would finally arrive.

The thought of Lance brought both a flush to her face and a slump to her shoulders. He should’ve visited days ago, if the pattern held, and for every day he didn’t—

Pidge scowled, inhaling bracingly before setting her shoulders and continuing the rest of her tasks, pushing Lance from her mind and hoping he’d stay out until she had a second to spare.

When she was finally on her way to Allura’s, her bag far lighter than before, a gray blur skittered across her path.

Pidge stared as the cat pursued a white rat - no, a large, white mouse - with copious whiskers sprouting from its snout. Its pointed ears twitched frantically, but then it spun around, standing on its hind legs and facing down the cat.

The mouse sneezed.

The cat recoiled with an undignified, pained yowl, every hair along its spine standing on end. The mouse nodded as if satisfied, with its hands on its hips, its mannerisms eerily human.

Pidge stifled a giggle, then approached the mouse, which peered up at her with beady blue-black eyes. “What did you do to it?” she asked.

“Taught it not to mess with me,” the mouse replied with a firm nod.

“I thought the village cats already knew not to mess with you,” Pidge said.

“That one must not have gotten the message.” The mouse turned, falling back to all fours as it started in a different direction.

Pidge followed close behind, careful not to overtake it though the pace her stride set was greater. “I thought you preferred walking around the village in human form, Coran,” she said.

The mouse’s ear twitched. “I did, but then I remembered how much fun being so small is.” It squeaked, a sound which Pidge took as a strange, mousy laugh. “Why didn’t you remind me sooner, Number Five?”

(Pidge had no idea why Coran insisted on calling her that.)

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, “I’m not that small.”

“No, I suppose you haven’t been this small since you were a wee fetus in your mother’s womb,” Coran said cheerfully.

“I—”

“By the way, Number Five, have you been getting enough sleep?” Coran cut Pidge off, sparing her the need to formulate a reply. The mouse tilted its head back, pace faltering just slightly, and observed, “Your eyes are looking very droopy, and you’re dragging your feet.”

The comment stunned Pidge into a stop just a few yards away from Allura’s shop entrance. She rubbed her burning eyes with one hand and tightened her grip on her bag with the other. “I’m just a bit…worried,” she confessed carefully. “The life around the lake doesn’t feel as it should.”

It wasn’t all that bothered her, not when she hadn’t seen Lance in almost two months, but it was significant enough that she felt drained of energy most of the time.

Her damn sensitivity to nature sometimes worked against her as much as it strengthened her.

At a tug on her trouser leg, Pidge glanced down to see Coran standing beside her foot. “Ah, yes, I was wondering if I imagined that my garden isn’t doing well. Perhaps after you and Allura conduct your business, you can take a look?”

Pidge nodded. “Sure,” she said. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Coran left her at the door, slipping through a crack in the wall big enough for a rat-sized mouse but far too small for a short woman. And within a few seconds, the door opened in front of her, a tall man with neatly combed orange hair and a matching, bushy mustache smiling down at her.

At least he remembered to put on clothes before greeting her at the door…

“Welcome, Number Five, to Allura’s crystal shop,” Coran said. “How may we be of service today?”

Pidge snorted as she slid her bag down to rest in the crook of her elbow, already reaching inside while Coran shut the door behind her. “I’ve been here more times than I can count, Coran,” she reminded him.

“So you have,” Coran agreed, twirling the end of his mustache. “It still does to be polite when greeting potential customers.”

Pidge glanced around the empty shop, far smaller than Shiro’s and Hunk’s in her hometown, though it sold similar wares. The demand for Balmeran crystals in this village was nothing like it was in the city, and Allura didn’t have the skill to cut them like Hunk did. But she was far more adept at infusing them with magic, and individual crystals glowed so powerfully here that the shop needn’t bother with windows for sunlight.

“Who are you talking to, Coran?” a voice spoke up from the back, and Allura herself walked in, her heeled shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. She beamed as brightly as any crystal when her eyes fell on Pidge, her earrings glittering with stored magic. “Pidge! What brings you to the village?”

“Just deliveries,” Pidge said with a quick smile. “Yours are the only ones I have left.” She took the last few bottles from her bag and handed them to Allura, who tucked them into the voluminous sleeves of her dress without examining them.

“Well,” Pidge said, shouldering her bag again and stepping towards the door, “that’s everything. I should be—”

“Didn’t you ask her to check your garden, Coran?” Allura interrupted, frowning at her familiar.

Pidge tensed, stifling a sigh, and said, “Yes, he did. I’ll go do that now.” She swept past Allura, through the kitchen behind the shop, and out the door that led to the garden.

Behind her, she heard Allura ask, “What’s the hurry, Pidge?”

Pidge paused in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m just expecting company,” she said, shrugging and feigning nonchalance. “The idiot can’t be bothered to tell me dates anymore, so I have to guess.”

Never mind that, so far, her guess was several days off the mark than ever before.

Pidge swallowed the flash of anger and dismissed the unhappy thought that Lance might’ve simply not wanted to visit her anymore. He’s probably just busy, she told herself. He has a big family; maybe a new niece or nephew hatched…

They were empty platitudes meant to comfort her, though sometimes they worked.

Now they didn’t, but they thought that he’d stop coming no longer made her heart sink. She knew he’d tell her if anything prevented or stopped him, so something must’ve happened.

Something awful, an emergency he couldn’t escape. Her palms grew uncomfortably damp, and she stared out at Coran’s garden with wide, unseeing eyes.

“Who are you expecting, Number Five?”

Coran’s voice pulled her out of her head and back to the present, and she turned to see him and Allura peering at her worriedly. She forced a smile onto her face and said, “Just Lance.”

“Oh, just Lance?” Allura grinned. “If it’s just Lance, then he won’t mind us keeping you for dinner, maybe even for you to stay the night, or—”

“No, I have to be home in case he comes today,” Pidge said, maybe a little too quickly judging by the slight widening of Allura’s eyes. Her cheeks warmed, and she amended, “I sleep better in my own bed.”

“With Lance?” Coran raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? That has nothing to do with it!” Pidge returned her attention to the garden and hoped neither of them could see how lividly red her face must’ve been.

“Perhaps it is for the best that you leave sooner,” Allura agreed, to her surprise. “There has been some…concerning activity around the lake of late.”

Pidge gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Finish your look at the garden,” Allura said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then we’ll talk.”

Pidge scowled, but Allura retreated back inside before she could argue. So she closed her eyes and extended feelers towards the flora surrounding her.

Coran’s garden was well-tended, mostly vegetables and a few saplings that would one day bear fruit. He was practical - perhaps it was the mouse in him - and rarely planted anything for aesthetic value. But despite the season, no vines yielded flowers, and little new growth could be spotted.

When her magic touched the nearest grapevine, its energy recoiled in alarm. But Pidge coaxed it out within seconds, reading its fear of…corruption.

She repeated the process with most of the rest of the garden, sensing the same trepidation in each plant. They grew but little, their purpose altered so that they didn’t seek to bear fruit, only to survive. And when she crouched beside a tomato vine, funneling magic into it to convince it to flower, it took far more of her energy than it should’ve.

The garden was far from dead, but it behaved just like it was winter rather than spring.

Pidge stood and faced Coran, who watched her efforts with a clinical gaze. She rested a hand against her head at a sudden rush of dizziness, but when it passed she told him, “They’re afraid, so they’re still hibernating. My garden’s the same.”

“Afraid of what?” Coran wondered.

“Corruption,” Pidge said. She bit her lip, worried and wishing they could tell her more, but as her own garden knew little of the source, so did this one.

Coran sighed. “I suppose Allura and I will be relying more on the market for food this year then,” he complained.

Pidge snorted and didn’t bother pointing out that Allura was easily the wealthiest person she’d ever met, here or in the city.

She followed Coran back inside, prepared to leave until she spotted Allura approaching her with a bundled handkerchief in her hands.

“I didn’t pay you for the tonics earlier,” Allura said with a sheepish smile.

Pidge laughed and held out her hand, then raised a surprised eyebrow when Allura put a few coins rather than the handkerchief on her palm. “Thank you.” She slipped the coins into her belt pouch. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I…noticed your energy isn’t the same as usual,” Allura explained. “I fear that whatever’s affecting Coran’s garden must also be hurting you.”

Pidge blinked at her, stunned that she noticed - until she remembered Allura’s unique ability to read magic and energy. “Do you know what’s corrupting the lake’s flora?”

“I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t glean,” Allura admitted, her eyes downcast. “But here.” She set the handkerchief in Pidge’s hand. “Use it carefully, but when you do drain it, I’ll be more than happy to refill it.”

Pidge unwrapped the bundle, her eyes widening as she laid them on a small Balmeran crystal set in a simple ring. It glowed as strongly as Allura’s earrings. “I…can’t accept this, Allura,” she said, glancing up at her. “This is too generous, and—”

“Take it,” Allura insisted. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

Pidge grinned, excitement taking root at the prospect of using the crystal. She’d never used one before and, once she accepted Allura’s generosity, was eager to try it on her way home.

“And, Pidge…” Allura sighed. “Warn Lance.”

“Of what?”

“There’s been some strange activity around the lake and in the village,” Allura said. “I suspect at least some of it is due to dragon hunters.”

“What?” Pidge wrapped her fingers around the crystal as her heart skipped a beat.

“One of them came into my shop,” Allura said, her eyes narrowing. “He had the audacity to think I’d sell him one of my crystals or tell him anything about rumored dragon sightings.”

“Y-you didn’t…”

“Of course not!” Allura said. “Despite his…inappropriate flirting when we met, I’d hate to see anything bad happen to him.”

Pidge couldn’t help her scowl and stab of irritation at the reminder. The first time she brought Lance to the village, he’d been quick to try his hand flirting with Allura, practically preening and tilting his head in a way that his scales caught the sunlight. Allura herself was quick to disabuse him of any notion she was interested, and even later provided him with a stern chat.

(Pidge never expected to see the day that a mouse intimidated a dragon.)

Not that the memory mattered now. It had been almost a year since then, and Pidge had another dilemma on her hands.

Her heart pounded as a new fear took hold. “I have to go then,” she told Allura and Coran. “I have to tell him.”

If he was my familiar, I could’ve warned him already.

Pidge cursed herself for her own cowardice, that she couldn’t bring herself to ask last time she saw him. She’d never put it off again, she decided; in fact, it would be the first thing she asked this time.

“Then go,” Allura said, understanding in her smile. “And come back again soon so we can invite you for dinner.”

Pidge grimaced, remembering the last time she ate Coran’s cooking, but she said, “I’ll look forward to it.”

After a quick, warm hug from Allura, Coran guided her to the door. As she stepped outside, he said, “He won’t say no.”

Pidge stiffened and glanced at him. “Who won’t say no to what?”

Coran smiled. “You know.”

“I—”

He shut the door in her face.

Pidge frowned at it, then spun on her heel and stalked down the main road. She set a quick pace, slipping the crystal ring onto a finger and stuffing the handkerchief into her belt pouch.

She struck her usual path out of the village and around the lake, sticking within the shade of the short trees that grew in the marsh. Her feet sank into soft ground and roots stuck out, threatening to trip her if she didn’t watch her step.

The whole marsh and the outlying forest seemed…depressed. They didn’t flourish like they should in the spring, greens muted into browns and yellows while branches and tendrils drooped.

This depression - this corruption the flora whispered about when Pidge prompted them with her magic touch - affected even the creatures of the marsh. No moths or butterflies fluttered through the air, no frogs lurked in the ponds, and no squirrels skittered over tree trunks.

The eeriness filled Pidge with a sense of foreboding, and between that and her new fears for Lance, she hiked as quickly as her strength allowed her. Even with the crystal Allura gave her, Pidge didn’t want to use the magic encased within except as a last resort.

She was less than halfway home, barely an hour shy of sunset, when voices drifted across the marsh.

Harsh, male voices, Pidge observed, and they were loud and brazen enough to set her on edge. She slowed her approach and ducked behind a tree, peering around it.

“Haxus, why is it that we are not yet out of the marshes?” the first man asked.

The tallest frowned at a parchment map spread between his hands. “I may have underestimated the distance between the lake and the travelers’ road,” he said mildly.

The first man piped up, “I see no reason we can’t camp here.”

The taller man grumbled, “You really want to spend one more night in this godforsaken marsh, man?” He nodded towards what looked like a long, water-filled box at the edge of the clearing. “No, the sooner we return to Daibazaal with our living quarry, the better it’ll be for our pockets. If it gets any weaker, I fear it won’t be worth as much.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at the thing the man indicated. It lay in heavy shadow beneath a taller tree, and when she couldn’t make it out, she reached out to the tree, probing it for answers and trying to see what it did.

Trees were surprisingly verbose for flora and could even hold simple conversations, their thoughts more complex than those of smaller, faster growing plants. But rather than bare speech, all Pidge sensed from it at first was anxiety.

Pidge flinched away from it, the feeling making her heart pound and stomach churn, but she pressed the tree for details.

Bleeding dragon, it replied. Weaker than a seedling.

Pidge’s eyes shot open as she gasped, horrified at what the tree showed her. “Lance,” she hissed, fingers curling around the trunk of the tree she hid behind. Something hot and angry twisted in her gut, replacing her fear with an urge to move and to fight.

But she forced herself to take account first, to observe and to gather information. She couldn’t just draw energy from the crystal ring, couldn’t just call upon the weak flora in the marsh to capture the two men before her, not when they somehow incapacitated a dragon.

They were dragon hunters, just like Allura warned her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, blood rushing and feeding her limbs strength that she shouldn’t have after so little sleep and so long on foot. And Pidge realized that Lance could’ve avoided this if only she bonded him when they had the chance.

Pidge closed her eyes again, reaching out to the vegetation that grew in the marsh, to the creepers and vines that wound around tree trunks and branches and extended across the rare footpath, lying in wait to trip and tangle unsuspecting travelers.

But with the flora so dormant of late…

Wake, she bid the vines in the trees overhead. Creep, tangle, bind… She reminded the sleeping vines of their purpose, to ensnare and to entangle, to wind and to strangle. Then, when too few responded to her call, when only the youngest and weakest met her request, she inhaled.

Magic funneled from the crystal ring into Pidge. A soft gasp escaped her at the sudden rush of energy, but before she could revel and truly enjoy it, she expelled it into the world around her.

Creepers burst from tree branches and shot down towards the men making camp beneath. They screamed in alarm as thick tendrils wound around their arms and legs, binding them tightly to their bodies.

Pidge’s lips twitched up into a smirk as she half-watched, half-felt the vines pulling the men up into the trees, the contents of their pockets falling to the ground below. She bid the vines to tie the dragon hunters to the trunks and to keep them there, feeding them extra energy from the crystal ring to hold them while she redirected her attention onto something - someone - more important.

“Lance!” Pidge shouted, dropping her bag and sprinting across the half-built camp towards the box. She knelt beside it, inspected what now looked like a glass casket filled with water, and touched Lance’s cheek.

He lay in the water like the glass casket was his bathtub, eyes closed as if he slept. His scales looked unhealthy and wan without their usual glimmer, his skin pale and clammy. An arrow stuck out of his shoulder, oozing dark blood into the water.

Pidge reached into the water, intent on taking his hand and doing something to revive him, but then an awful, barely familiar emptiness touched the edges of her mind.

She flinched away, shaking her hand in an attempt to dispel the feeling, and stared at the hungry center of that vacancy.

The arrowhead half-buried in Lance’s shoulder pulsed with an ugly violet light.

Pidge resisted the urge to stumble away at the sight of the corrupted Balmeran crystal, its negative energy so different from that of the crystal on her finger. It explained how two mere humans - how dragon hunters - could’ve subdued him, but—

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Pidge muttered, swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat. “I should’ve asked you last time.” She gritted her teeth and gripped the arrow’s shaft as close to the head as she could get without her skin brushing the corrupted crystal.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep, gravelly voice spoke from behind her.

Pidge froze, heart jumping into her throat.

She’d missed a dragon hunter.

“I need the dragon alive, you see,” the voice explained, “and if you pull that arrow out, it’ll bleed to death within minutes.”

Pidge stood slowly and turned to face the third dragon hunter, her mouth set into a scowl and her heart pounding furiously. She reached for the vines again, saw them begin to descend on the man, eager to tie him to his companions.

The dragon hunter narrowed his single eye at her.

Pidge pulled magic from her crystal ring.

The vines grew, wrapping around one of the man’s arms. But he growled, a spark flashing between his fingers before he lashed out.

A burst of flame erupted from his hand, igniting the vines and breaking their grip on him.

Pidge’s eyes widened, recognizing a fire mage, but she refused to be cowed. She forgot all wariness of overtaxing herself, drawing as much of the ring’s magic as she could hold, and threw it into the marsh.

The flora burst into life, trees all but glowing with a fresh green while vines and creepers dangled to the ground below. Roots creaked, their ends thrashing out of the wet ground and scrambling for a new hold.

The dragon hunter - the fire mage - before her only hesitated for an instant before he conjured fireball after fireball, meeting Pidge’s efforts blow for blow. “A child, I thought,” he said, grunting with effort, “but a talented tree talker after all.”

Sweat dripped down her brow, limbs heavy, and her attacks started to weaken as she breathed heavily. Likely as not, the fire mage had a healthy Balmeran crystal of his own, and she needed to end this quickly.

But before Pidge could brace herself for one last, more powerful attack, he pushed towards her. She jumped away from him, but she wasn’t fast enough.

A large hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her breathing. He lifted her into the air, his single eye focused on her face with a glare.

Pidge tried to cough, tried to pull air in through her nostrils, but she couldn’t. Instead her lungs ached, her head light while dark spots crowded her vision.

“The dragon is my quarry,” said the fire mage.

His hand grew hot, scalding her skin, but she couldn’t even draw the air she needed to gasp at the pain.

Then the mage’s eyes widened, his grip on Pidge’s throat slackening, and his fingers uncurled.

Pidge fell, gasping for breath and dropping to all fours as the mage crumbled before her. He put a hand to his chest, and when he pulled it away it was covered in blood.

“Who…?” he said, tone hollow.

A figure stood over him, glaring down at the dragon hunter, a dagger dripping blood in their hand. “Pidge,” they said.

Pidge fought through her exhaustion to stand. She leapt forwards, catching Lance right before his knees buckled. He leaned heavily against her, so she slowly lowered them both, helping him lie down and pillowing his head in her lap.

The arrow still stuck out of his shoulder, the corrupted crystal staring up at her with an evil gleam.

Lance found her hand first, but his grip on her was weak - too weak. “A-are you all right?” he asked her, sounding faint.

“I’m fine,” Pidge said, her voice hoarse. “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine.”

“Good,” Lance said. He smiled warmly up at her. “Sorry I’m so late. Hunters caught me with my pants down…”

“Shh, you’re fine.” She interlaced their fingers together and rubbed a burning eye. “I-I need to fix you. I need to get that arrow out of you—”

“Bleed out f-fast if you do,” Lance argued.

“Th-then take this.” Pidge tugged the crystal ring from her finger, but she hesitated before she could slide it onto one of his. “I-it’ll get corrupted if I give this to you without pulling out the arrow, Lance.”

“Water might help,” Lance suggested.

Pidge searched around for her discarded bag, but Lance grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

“Not to drink,” he said with a weak chuckle.

“Then…? They had you in a water-filled casket.”

“This stupid crystal’s killing me,” Lance explained. “The water was the only thing keeping me alive.”

Pidge blinked hot tears from her eyes. “I’ll get you back,” she decided, glancing over her shoulder. But she sighed when she saw how far away the casket was. “Once you’re back in water, then we can figure something out.”

“Pidge…” She spun back around when cool, gentle fingers brushed the hot skin on her neck. “He hurt you too.”

“I’ll be fine,” Pidge insisted. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. We need some way to boost your strength and then—”

She knew how she could do it without water.

Her eyes widened in realization, the idea captivating her. It was the only way, but…

“Lance,” she said, carefully cupping his cheeks and meeting his eyes. “I-I need you to let me bond you.”

His jaw dropped, surprisingly comical despite their situation. “A-as your familiar?”

Pidge bit back a reflexive, sarcastic response and said, “Yes. It might be the only way, but I can’t without your—”

“Yes.”

“What?” Pidge stared at him. “Lance, you - we can’t take something like that back, and if one of us dies—”

“Pidge,” Lance said, coughing, “I’m dying. And even if I wasn’t, I’d still…say yes.” Color entered his cheeks, his face warming under her hands.

Pidge gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. D-do you know what to do?”

Her eyes still wide, but with her heart pounding, Pidge shook her head. Then she admitted, “I think I can guess.”

“D-do it then,” Lance said before another fit of coughs seized him.

Pidge’s chest ached seeing him in pain, but she had to shove that aside to perform the task at hand. She pulled all the magic that remained in the crystal ring, closing her eyes as it filled her, then reached for Lance’s consciousness the same way she would reach for flora.

Where most people would have some sort of block between their minds and the rest of the world, Lance’s opened easily when she probed. His mind touched hers, tendrils of thought surrounding her without overwhelming, all manner of emotions filling the space between them.

In exchange, Pidge opened her own mind, trusting someone with the deepest parts of herself for the first time in her life. She let him see her fear for him, her anger at his tardiness, her jealousy about Allura. And in him she read his fury at seeing her in danger, his regret over not coming back sooner, and…something so warm and soft Pidge wished she could weave a blanket from it.

Memories that didn’t belong to her unfolded before her mind’s eye, of playing in a bay with small fishing boats bobbing on the iron-gray waves, of chasing hatchlings over glaciers, of sitting around a fire tended by a tall woman with blood-red scales under her eyes.

(She wondered what memories of hers Lance saw.)

Energy flooded her veins, making her shudder. Her eyes shot open as she gasped, surprised at how rapidly strength returned to her limbs, and when she looked down at Lance he met her eyes with his own wide.

He took her hand in his and rested her palm over his wildly beating heart.

Pidge held her breath and leaned down to press her lips to his forehead. “H-how do you feel?” she said, her voice low so she wouldn’t disrupt the strange and sudden peace that fell over them.

“Amazing,” Lance breathed. “I think I can heal myself now if you take out the arrow.”

“O-oh,” Pidge said with a nervous laugh as she straightened. She’d nearly forgotten the corrupted crystal stuck in Lance.

“I don’t blame you,” Lance commented. “That was…a lot to take in.”

Pidge frowned. “Blame me for what?”

“Forgetting the crystal.” Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you not—”

Pidge sighed and said, “We have a telepathic bond too.”

“Oh, then…oh. That’s going to be…hard to deal with.”

“According to Hunk, we’ll learn how to use it,” Pidge promised. “For now, we need to heal you.”

“Don’t touch the crystal,” Lance reminded her.

Pidge took the arrow’s shaft in her hand again, wary of the emptiness that threatened to suck the magic from her if she touched it, then pulled.

Lance inhaled sharply, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye while more blood soaked into his shirt. Then his hand covered the wound, and he breathed out.

Pidge winced, feeling his pain through their new bond, just as she could feel him pulling magic away from her to heal his injury. She distracted herself by finding the handkerchief Allura gave her earlier and wrapping the bloody, corrupted crystal with it.

“I think I’ll need to head back to the village,” Pidge said, sighing. “Someone will have to get those dragon hunters down from their tree, and I want Allura to take a look at this.”

Lance smiled in relief, his hand falling away from his shoulder. He then sat up, tugging at the collar of his shirt and peeking in. “I’m healed,” he told her cheerfully. “Want to see?”

Pidge flushed. “I think I’ll take your word for it, Lance,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Suit yourself.” Lance glanced at her. “Your turn now.”

“My—”

Two cool fingertips touching her neck cut her off, the warmth of a healing spell seeping into her skin and soothing the burn. When Lance dropped his arm with a satisfied smirk on his face, Pidge reached up and felt the fresh growth of skin on her neck, her eyes wide.

She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, not when she now had a direct link to his thoughts.

Then Lance asked, “Wait, what’s this about the village?”

“I need to go there.” Pidge stood up, brushing dirt from her trousers and shirt, then offered Lance a hand. “And since it’s so late, I’ll have to spend the night too.”

“I wish I could fly you,” Lance said, eyes downcast, “but even with the new bond, I don’t have the strength to shift into the dragon.” He took her hand, but after she pulled him to her feet he didn’t let go.

“That’s fine,” Pidge said, though her feet already ached at the thought of the long walk ahead of her. “I’m sorry to cut your visit short.” Her heart sank, and she thought, This is rotten…

Lance tilted his head, an eyebrow quirked. “Visit?” He laughed, a stray thought of I thought she was smarter than this radiating from his mind. “Pidge, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I…what?” Pidge stared at him, confused, but then her heartbeat sped up. “I-I am?”

Lance laughed and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, making her flush from head to toe. “I’m your familiar now, remember?”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, and she uttered a soft, “Oh.” Then she smiled, so wide she thought her face would ache if she held it for long, and cupped Lance’s cheek with the hand not currently encased in his fingers. “Then I don’t mind being stuck with you after all.”

End

#rueitae #plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #please comment/reblog if you like #boost my self-esteem #voltron #reem writes fic

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get-fcking-reddie · 7 years ago

Text

Give You Hell (5/5)

Pairing: Reddie (Main), Stenbrough (Side), Benverly (Side)

Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four

Summary: When Richie Tozier moves into the apartment across from Eddie’s, they nearly start a war. Richie keeps Eddie up at night and Eddie keeps Richie up in the morning. If only they got to know each other, they’d realize they’re actually not that different.

Note: Thank you all so much for your love and support! <3

Inspired by the song Give you Hell by the All-American Rejects

Taglist: @princesschelliebelle, @lolrichie, @breakmyreddieheart, @reddie-to-go, @richietoaster, @i-believe-in, @imakittehkatt, @beepbeeprichiellc, @reddieismygazebo, @donvex, @basic-internet-trash, @aristosachaiov, @bitchardtozier, @richiestoziiers, @officiallyreddie, @ihavesympathyforthedevil, @birdie-greenthumb, @the–sun–and–the–moon, @zoinkstoto, @megelizabethvh, @eternitynurarms, @burymestanding, @finnwqlfhard, @80srichie, @doctor-lobster, @drunkrichietozier, @1picklepup2, @onesmallgeese, @tapetayloe, @exxervescence, @reddieforanything, @phantomkayyy, @allison0609, @jem-carstairs-is-perfection

Eddie never sleeps in. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep in, there have been days when he would have gladly given an arm or a leg for a few more hours of sleep, but he always wakes up early and once he is awake there is no turning back. That doesn’t mean he is an early riser though. He loves to stay in bed a little while longer and hear the city come to life. This day was no different except for the fact that he didn’t wake up in his own room.

Richie was still sleeping next to Eddie or at least that’s what the soft and slow sounds of his breathing suggested. Eddie didn’t turn around to check, because he was too afraid that he would wake Richie and rob him off some desperately needed hours of sleep. So instead he let his eyes wander across the room to try and gain some insight in Richie Tozier.

Richie’s room looked like a record store and a movie theatre had a baby which was then adopted by someone who sold vintage clothing. The walls were covered in posters from bands, concerts, and movies. Eddie recognized a few of the classic rock bands, but there were a lot of band names and logos that he couldn’t place. Richie appeared to have a preference for the weird and the obscure anyway and the movie posters were mostly from bad horror movies that had gained cult status over the years. Eddie had seen almost all of them because of Bill, and he had to admit that he had developed somehow of a soft spot for B films, At least they had that in common.

There was a closet opposite the bed which held a record player and was filled to the brim with vinyl. Richie seemed to have sorted them by color instead of alphabetically which was impractical but oddly charming. It meant that he knew the records well enough to find them that way. Eddie imagined that Richie was the kind of prick who’d tell you that you have to listen to the whole album in one sitting to really appreciate the story. He had to admit that, yeah, he was that kind of prick too.

Next to the closet was a clothing rack that seemed to burst with color. Eddie could already spot several leather jackets full with pins and studs, jean jackets with patches onto them, a neon windbreaker, and several hawaii shirts. He thought it would be nice to see Richie in one of those instead of the black and white band shirts. He imagined him strutting through the streets dressed in colorful, mismatched outfits and making it work through cheer confidence.

Eddie smiled at the life he imagined Richie lived: a life filled with music; late-night screenings of films; popcorn and midnight pizza; thrift stores and crazy patterns; road trips without destination; shouting you love someone into the night; and jumping off cliffs into the water. In his heart, he already imagined himself doing this with Richie. He imagined a life where he could be proud of who he was, a life of us against the world and winning for a change.

He thought all this as he pulled the blanket up a little higher and inhaled Richie’s scent. Eddie heard some mumbling behind him and he figured shifting the blanket had woken Richie up. He was about the apologize when he felt an arm sneak around his waist and pull him flush against Richie. Eddie closed his eyes contently when Richie nuzzled his neck and placed soft kisses on his skin.

“G’morning” Richie’s voice still sounded hoarse and it made Eddie shiver and press up against him a little harder. “Are you cold, babe?” Eddie nodded and let Richie turn him around in his arms so they were now face-to-face. Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie and even one leg as he tried to rub him warm. It made Eddie heat up sure enough as he nested his face in Richie’s chest. He could still smell a hint of last night’s cologne on Richie and inhaled deeply.

“How long have you been up for?” Richie asked, resting his chin on Eddie’s head.

“About half an hour.”

Richie reached for his glasses which were on the nightstand on Eddie side, apologized when he nearly elbowed Eddie in the face, and put them back on. He looked away while he pushed them up his nose, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. Eddie noticed for the first time how thick Richie’s glasses where and he figured his prescription must be pretty bad. It was strangely comforting to think that even a cool guy like Richie had something he was insecure about.

“Fuck, I forgot how good you look.” Richie said, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s hair.

“Shut up.” Eddie said, burying his face in Richie’s chest. “My hair is a mess and I probably have the worst morning breath in the world right now.”

“Don’t worry, Eds, I love the smell of beer and vodka in the morning.” Eddie groaned into Richie’s chest while Richie laughed at his own joke. “I’ll go make us some breakfast and you can do whatever you need to do. You can take my toothbrush and a clean shirt if you like. Mí casa es su casa.”

With that said, Richie let go off Eddie and left him alone in the cold bed. Eddie watched him walk away and bent over to grab some clothes of a chair. Eddie’s eyes shifted to Richie’s briefs for a moment. He quickly looked away and mentally slapped his wrist. What if Richie had seen him looking at him like that? He would think that he was some kind of pervert, that he was eyeing him up like-…

No, he wouldn’t. The all too familiar train of thought came to a screeching halt. Eddie wondered not for the first time this week, why he was still thinking like this when he really knew better. Richie and he had spent all of last night kissing and had then fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Why would Richie think it was weird if Eddie was attracted to him? At this point, it would be weirder for Richie to find out that Eddie wasn’t attracted to him.

So, Eddie found himself looking back at Richie and the way the thin fabric of his briefs pulled over his pert ass. He gripped the sheets and bit his bottom lip as he looked at him. Of course, that was the moment Richie found a clean enough shirt and turned around. He smirked when he saw the look on Eddie’s face and slapped his ass.

“So, what’s the doctor’s verdict?”

Eddie’s first thought was to lie and pretend that he wasn’t looking, but his second thought persuaded him to keep going. He tried to regain some of the boldness that had gotten him through yesterday night and into this bed.

“I think I need to have a closer look, maybe pull those briefs off.” Eddie said, and he saw a glint in Richie’s eyes as he turned his body towards Eddie a little more. Eddie thought he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew at the moment, so he added a sheepish: “But, maybe some breakfast first.”

Richie smiled and looked away before pulling the shirt over his head. Eddie felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of having lead Richie on for a moment, but Richie seemed to bounce back in no time.

“Let’s get some breakfast for the docteh, stat! Chip-chip off to the kitchen!” He said dramatically in a British accent. Eddie smiled and shook his head as Richie marched off to the kitchen while whistling God Save the Queen.

Eddie got out of bed as well and took one of Richie’s shirts with him to the bathroom. He went through his morning routine as usual: he relieved himself; took a shower; brushed his hair and then his teeth. Richie didn’t own a hair brush so Eddie had to improvise somewhat with his hands. He didn’t get his side-part exactly the way he liked it, but he was at least glad that he had gotten rid off all the product that Beverly put into it.

Eddie changed into the shirt which he had picked out. It was a pink hawaii shirt with yellow flowers that had caught Eddie’s eyes when he was looking around the room. He picked it because it was colorful and seemed large enough to cover his underwear. He appears to have been right. It took him a while to decide whether or not he wanted to button it up all the way or not and eventually he decided to leave it.

He left the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt, and was greeted by the smell of eggs and bacon. His stomach grumbled and he made his way over to Richie a little more greedily than he had intended.

“That smells really good.” Eddie said, very much aware of the fact that he was eyeing their breakfast as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “Do you want me to set the table?”

“Sure, plates are in the top cupboard over there.”

Eddie walked over to the cupboard and had to get on his tiptoes to open it. He didn’t see any plates, however, just mugs and some cups. He looked back at Richie in confusion when he saw the dirty grin on his face and he noticed that his shirt had ridden up and exposed his own briefs.

“You tricked me!” Eddie said and he lightly shoved Richie who just laughed.

“I can’t believe you fell for that.” Richie grinned. “But then again, you’re here with me, so you must fall for stupid things all the time.” Eddie rolled his eyes at the comment, but he couldn’t hide his smile completely.

Richie helped him find plates and cutlery, and they sat down on the couch to eat their breakfast. Richie had made coffee as well which almost looked as good to Eddie as his bacon, almost. After a few comments about the food, they settled into a comfortable silence. It seemed that the only time Richie was able to shut up was when he had food in his mouth.

Eddie looked at his half-eaten smiley face made out of fried eggs and bacon and suddenly he wondered how many people had sat down on this couch next to Richie and done the exact same thing. Richie had been the first guy he had ever kissed, and if this were to go further he would be the first person he ever dated. He was certain that Richie had had other partners before him, so this might not mean that much to him. It would be unfair to put the pressure on him of being Eddie’s first, well, first everything really when he might just be looking for something casual.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the eggs?” Richie asked. Eddie noticed that he had been staring at his plate with a frown on his face, and he quickly looked up to meet Richie’s eyes. Richie looked genuinely worried even if he was joking about the quality of the breakfast.

“No, they’re great.” Eddie assured him and when he continued speaking he choose his words very carefully. “I’ve just never done this.”

“Eat breakfast? Maybe if you kept the music down, you would have more of an appetite.” Richie joked, but he was bouncing his leg and his eyes were searching Eddie’s.

“You know what I mean…” Eddie said, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate as he stabbed at his breakfast. “I’m… I’m a virgin.”

“You’re kidding? Look at you! I’m sure you have boys and girls lining up around the block to sleep with you.” Richie said, but his smile fell when he saw the pained look on Eddie’s face. “Wow, you really are serious.”

“I know it’s stupid, but I grew up in a small shitty town where being gay would get you your ass kicked or much, much worse. So, I tried really hard to not be gay.”

Eddie look at Richie defiantly, challenging him to laugh at him again, but he didn’t. In fact, Richie said nothing. His leg had stopped bouncing, but his hands were clenching his cutlery so hard that his knuckles turned white. And when he looked back at Richie’s face, he thought he saw a small scar above his lip.

“And then I stopped trying when I met you.”

Richie snapped out of whatever painful memory was holding him prison. His eyes met Eddie’s and he frowned a little.

“You did?”

“Yes, and I know that’s a lot to put on a person and I’m really sorry.” Eddie said and he felt actual tears stinging his eyes. “If you want us to go back to just being neigbors that’s completely understandable. I won’t ever bother you again, I won’t even turn the stereo on.”

“No, I don’t want that.” Richie said, and he put the plates away before pulling Eddie into his arms. “Eds, I don’t care that you’re a virgin, I honestly don’t. I like you. I like that you’re sassy and spunky, and don’t let me get away with my shit. I like your button-ups and your freckles. Hell, I even like your corny taste in music.”

Even though a few tears were making their way down Eddie’s cheeks, hes laughed at that stab at his music taste. Richie held him a little closer and pressed a kiss on his forehead. He rested his chin on Eddie’s head while Eddie buried his face in Richie’s chest and inhaled his scent.

“I’ve never done this either, you know?” Richie said, wetting his lips before continuing. “Or do you think I talk about every cute guy I meet on the radio?”

“I guess not.” Eddie said, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the heel of his hands. His breathing was still a little unsteady, but he had stopping crying for the most part at least. He hated that he was so emotional, but he figured that he had bottled everything up for too long already.

“Definitely not, you’re the one and only, Spaghetti Man.”

“What did you just call me?” Eddie said, wrinkling his nose and he stopped crying in the confusion.

“Spaghetti Man! Like, Eddie Spaghetti, you know?”

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Should I stick with Eds or do you hate that too?”

“Definitely hate it.”

Richie threw his head back and laughed, and Eddie found himself smiling at how dumb they were being.

“So, what can I call you then? Baby? Babe? Princess? Lover? Sugar? Honey?” Richie said, punctuating every nickname by pressing kisses across Eddie’s face, before whispering in a low voice. “Daddy?”

“Gross!” Eddie shouted and he shoved Richie, but soon enough they were both laughing again. He felt like all his worries were just rolling off him, and in that moment, he felt invincible. When they were done laughing, Eddie managed to say in a semi-serious voice: “I prefer Eddie, but you can call me anytime.”

“Does that mean I get to take you on a proper date?” Richie asked, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s hair. “Because, the drive-in theatre is showing Grease tonight and I thought that might be perfect.”

“Are you serious?” Eddie asked, shaking his head before giving in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, after all you are the one that I want.”

Richie gave his best Danny Zuko impression by shouting “Eddie!” in the way that he shouts Sandy’s name, but half of it got lost when Eddie pressed a deep kiss on his lips. Their teeth knocked together and they both laughed against each other’s mouths.

Richie pulled Eddie on his lap, his knees on either side of Richie’s hips, and drew him into a kiss. Eddie licked into Richie’s mouth while he tangled his fingers in Richie’s hair and tugged a little. Richie moaned into the kiss while his hands roamed across Eddie’s back.

Eddie felt a little breathless when they stopped kissing. His lips were still buzzing and his cheeks were flushed. His heart was racing and his blood was flowing elsewhere. He traced the freckles on Richie’s cheeks and tried to memorize every one of them.

Eddie always thought that he knew himself very well: he was someone who liked rules and planning; someone that liked to play it safe; someone who might waste their life on the side-lines. But, that wasn’t who he wanted to be. When he looked at Richie, he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He wanted adventure, romance, and spontaneity, and he only had to reach out to get it.

“I’m so fucking gay.” Eddie sighed, and they kissed again.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #give you hell #it #itmovie #it2017 #mine #final

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magic5ball · 4 years ago

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Nature Trail to Hell Arc V: Back into Hell (1)

Chapter 1: It’s Always Chilly at Camp Sham

Back when I was in the cub scouts, my dear old Dad gave me a manual on Boy Scouting. Can’t remember a single thing from that book, except for the ever so honorable motto: ‘Be Prepared’. It was right pretty in its simplicity, something I remembered long after I’d spilled grape juice all over the pages. Not to always be prepared of course. That was something only total NERDS believed, but that if I had a short. simple slogan, people would think I was the smartest guy in the room no matter what I did. Which was why, when yours truly had done gone and sent his army straight into enemy territory without so much as an ink of what he was gonna do, he thought improvising the whole thing over two hours was the smartest idea since chocolate chip waffles. Granted, I had been to an improv camp the last summer, but considering my greatest accomplishment was getting coffee splashed in my face, my prospects weren’t looking so hot.

Not helping were the little sponge dinos asking what the plan was every five minutes, like one of those backseat drivers constantly asking if they’re there yet.

But what I lacked in improve skills I more than made up with in last minute panic. I’d been evoking that dark power to plow through school as long as I could remember. Heck, even in kindergarten I’d build an entire six foot scale mansion with a swimming pool and martini bar just one minute before the thing was due! AND got that passing C- (I got the grade raised by threatening legal action). So I buckled in (not literally. Cardboard boxes don’t exactly have safety regulations) and got thinking.

And you know that moment where you’re trying to get an idea, but for some reason the more you try to look for it the harder it gets to find it? Guess when that old feeling decided to set in. I tried everything. Wrapped my head in my hands, rocking back and forth. Rubbed my temples. Banged my head against the side of the box. But no matter how hard I pushed the old noggin, nothing came out. Like squeezing a potato through the eye of a needle.

As the icing on the crap cake, turned out packing peanuts weren’t even edible! All those years figuring Mom was keeping me from them because they were bad for my teeth, pining for that soft, rainbow marshmallow flavor that would melt on my tongue: WASTED!

“Is the plan ready yet?” Growled the little sponge dinosaurs at the worst possible time. In the EXACT same tone I used when I found I wasn’t getting that pet Lystrosaurus from Santa, too!

Still, the old grey matter was totally clogged. Only thing to do was keep pushing the metaphorical tater through the needle until the Almighty got embarrassed for me and struck me with divine inspiration.

For their part, the sponge dinos looked up at their leader as he babbled about potatoes and coming to the terrible realization that maybe, just maybe, the horse they were risking their lives to back wasn’t exactly the sharpest steed in the stable.

The rumbling truck came to a halt. Couldn’t have been more than ten minutes of driving. Frankly, I had no idea what was worse: the fact I had run out of time, or that I HAD DIED LITERALLY TEN MINUTES FROM A FREAKIN’ WEGMART! OF ALL THE STUPID, LOUSY THINGS THAT-

My whining would have to wait. Outside, I could hear the wails of kids having to sing about Tarzan getting a tan for the five zillionth time, a shiver running down my spine. And beneath that moaning of the ding-danged, I heard none other than the thing disguising itself as Ms. Hoebag chatting it up with the delivery guy. The spongey dinos, still unsure about what they were supposed to be doing, started to make inanimate object noises to disguise themselves, proving that maybe they should have been the ones leading this operation.

“A week late!” She roared, her deep, satanic baritone a far cry from the pleasant camp counselor voice I’d heard when I first arrived all those weeks ago.

At least the truck guy wasn’t gonna take it lightly. “Listen. Ma’am, I’ve had a crazy day and frankly, after certain events, I kinda want to check into an asylum.”

“In that case, want to SELL YOUR SOUL?” She went prattling in a tone no camp counselor should have been able to make. Not even the sort who’d expose young, impressionable minds to Carney the Dinosaur.

“No can do, Ma’am. I already sold it for a lifetime supply of spicy bean chalupas at Tako Shak.”

At that, Hoebag wasted no time eviscerateing the poor feller about the good virtues of selling your soul wisely. Funny how the first useful thing I’d learned at camp I’d found weeks after the fact. If nothing else, at least I got twenty new swear words to add to the ol’ collection.

This took up a good half hour I should have been using to plan, but really, when could I expect to hear those words so dirty I would still be cleaning pieces out of my ears three years later again? I wasn’t about to waste my chance to gather forbidden knowledge! Like the little kid I was, I insisted on waiting just a little longer… until I felt the ground beneath me get all light. Somebody was lifting the box, taking me in… wherever it is the Camp kept its’ Styrofoam containers. But going to that place meant passing through Camp Sham itself. And the more I waited, the more curious I got about what was happening in the camp since I’d been away. I’d only heard Freddie’s rumors, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Mostly what came to mind were images from those old Disney movies my Grandma showed me under the delusion I’d find them fun, only to realize Fantasia involved a literal trip to Hell that gave me nightmares for weeks (and also a scene with dinosaurs that would pretty much define my life for the next half a billion years).

My dumb kid curiosity, the kind that makes you think flooding the house to make your own pool is a good idea, finally got the better of me, and I poked two little eye holes in the cardboard. Or tried to. Now that I was a ghost in the physical world, my fingers kinda just sunk through, like quicksand. After taking a moment to feel dumb for not thinking of that, I put my face to the box so I could look through. Didn’t have to worry about being seen, of course, being a ghost and all.

Freddie had lied to me back at Tako Shak. What I saw outside was worse than anything that had come out of the old turd’s mouth. It was less like a camp, and more like one of those old Renaissance paintings of the underworld used to scare kids out of snack time, except greyer, with giant snow-belting storm clouds circling the sky in a massive vortex. Christmas in July, courtesy of some genie who went out of his way to be a jerk. There was not a single festive light or wreath to be found, but rather large television screens advertising how ‘Carney is Watching You’ duct taped to cold, three legged lookout towers. Kids, dressed only in swimtrunks and coats most likely made in arts and crafts, shoveled snow quickly as their little arms could go, while guards carried around sabertooth tigers- actual sabertooth tigers!- on chains, threatening to sic then on anyone who might slack even a little bit. I recognized those guards, too. Where their skin was exposed I could see elaborate tattoos (though branding marks is more like it) with some all-too-familiar patterns on them. Patterns like ‘Orange you glad to be here?’ or ‘I’m berry proud of you!’. I felt sorry for those poor kids. My Dad says they don’t hire people with tattoos anymore. Yet as bad as things got, I kept STAREING. That’s the thing about Summer Camp, the thing I learned the hard way: no matter how much you try to erase it, to drown it out the memory with video games and t.v, you can never really run away from the horror, always sitting at the back of your mind, waiting to pounce you when you least expect it, like a hungry sabertooth.

All this, in the name of building character or some other buzzword the grownups read off their memos.

The last thing I saw before I drew my head in, curling up in a ball on the opposite end of the box, was a kid, his butt frozen off- LITERALLY FROZEN OFF!- standing in the snow as three other campers tried to reassemble his gluteus maximus like one of those 3-d wood puzzles you find at bookstores, their fingers stuck fast to the pieces.

Somehow, the inside of the mess hall was even worse, a chromium dungeon of pure monotony, icicles long as I was a danglin’ menacingly from the ceiling, ready to (try and) impale my ghost body at a moment’s notice. Here, delivery guy finally put the dinos and I down on a shelf, leaving us for dead in that wintery world. Even after his footsteps were long gone, I got the jitters something fierce, fierce enough to stick me in place. Felt especially bad for the dinosaurs. If I was stuck in place, those guys must have been frozen solid, warm blood or no warm blood.

Heck, at that point I think I forgot about planning entirely in favor of thinking about how to find warmth, because Lord knows thinking doesn’t do you much good when you’re frozen half-solid! Rubbing my Rhode Island-sized goose bumps for just a little bit more heat, I faded through the box before I became the human Watt-sicle, landing smack-flat on the metal floor, sending a fresh wave of shivers through my ethereal form.

I could barely get my feet off the ground before I heard someone coming. Coming, and looking right at me. A chunky kid in a dirty white chef’s apron, his sleeves rolled up despite the obvious weather conditions; feet not slipping despite the icy floor. A kid I recognized him almost immediately.

“SHATNER?!”

He jabbed a butcher’s cleaver into the empty air, clearly startled.

“WHO GOES THERE?!”

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #summer camp #sponge dinosaurs

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