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keeping-writing-frosty · 5 months ago

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Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Startled Cara out of her dozing daze, she existed in that state between full-on slumber and being aware of everything around her. A sound much like deflating bellows, a huff and a sigh, escaped the girl as she got up and padded over to the window for a quick peek behind the curtain. There stood in his corduroy slacks and a white undershirt, stained with only what Cara could guess at, Mr. Jakub Kaczmarek. He peered at her with his bright blue eyes, which forced her to give a small wave.

She opened the door and cocked a hand on her hip. “Hey, Mr. Kaczmarek. How are you doing?”

“Ah, little Cora. Hello to you,” he uttered in his thick Polish accent. “Are ya busy, little one? I just need to borrow ya for a few moments. Well, more precisely your balancing ability.”

“It’s Cara.” Cara scrunched her nose, regarding the man for a moment. “For what?”

“I need ya help to get my little Mruczek down from the rafters,”

“Um, what’s Mruczek?” Cara questioned the man, head tilted to the side.

“Ah, Mruczek is my star kotek,” as he spoke, his broad chest puffed up with pride. “He will be the star of the show. Has that je ne sais quoi, unlike his brothers and sisters.”

“Oh, that’s right! You are training your cats for a show or an act, right?” Cara’s face lit up with such a brightness its radiance could challenge the sun at its zenith.

Yet today the sun wouldn’t show its face as rain pelted the wooden awning above both of them in a somewhat melodic rhythm. That it had been raining the past few days, mother had lessened the restrictions on Cara going outside. Even if she wasn’t allowed past the porch. Since Mr. Kaczmarek lived upstairs, she figured it would be okay to go with him.

“I’ll never say no to a kitty in need,” Cara expressed, rocking back on her heels.

The porch was wrapped around the house halfway, and its construction was quite newer, as it led to an opened metal gate that led up some black-painted metal stairs, of which the rain had slicked just to make each step upwards a tiny, concerning adventure. Through unwavering confidence, Cara climbed up the stairs where Mr. Kaczmarek used some strength to push open the wooden door which scraped along the floor.

Before Cara could even step inside, her nose picked up on one of the more tantalizing aromas she had ever smelled. It seemed to permeate the entire room; an acrid, tangy scent of whatever boiled in the wide pot on the antique cast-iron stove top, which sat center in the spacious attic. Beside this pot sat a frying pan, still dirty from its recent usage, and a metal bowl filled with fried golden-brown crescent moon-shaped dumplings packed full of whatever was inside. Cara’s stomach growled, and she temporarily forgot why she was there.

“Pierogies, Cora,” he grunted with the entirety of his chest, which caused the girl to have a little start. “Have at ‘em! I always make far too many. Cheese, potatoes, onions, just like my babunia used to make. Homemade sauerkraut in the pot, as well. Once ya get my little Mruczek, I’ll give ya as much as you want!”

“It’s Cara.”

Despite those little pockets of dough that looked so good. From their crusty edges cooked to a perfect golden, delicious, to the plump filling that somehow didn’t ooze out, yet one could smell regardless of its doughy prison. Cara had a job to do first.

Where in the far corner, on a rafter stained a dark brown, sat a black-and-white tuxedo cat whose blue-green eyes stared daggers at Cara. Situated over a cracked and hastily mended clawfoot bathtub, with an old shower curtain frayed at the edges and threadbare, pushed all the way to the side. All the while seven other cats had gathered around the strange, new girl, of which Mr. Kaczmarek, with the politeness of a trained diplomat, introduced each one as: Puszek, Kociurwa, Philemon, Kicia, Hank, and Gruby, which was a fat gray-blue cat that didn’t seem to have a single care, or brain cell, in the world.

“Besides my pride and joy. You got Kicia who can put on a performance when needed. The rest are just backup acts, I say.” An almost haughty sneer crossed his face while he gazed at the felines. “They won’t hurt ya none. Maybe a brief hiss. Perhaps an arched back. Philemon is a bit of a wee coward, so don’t mind her. Now what I want you to do is climb up this here ladder and grab Mruczek. I can’t do much on the ladder anymore in my physical state,” Mr. Kaczmarek announced, clapping his hands together.

Just under the obstinate cat was a well-used and splinter-filled wooden ladder propped up against the wall. So, fortified with the thought of a delicious, gooey dumpling in her stomach, she climbed up a step on the ladder. Mruczek took a half step backwards and resettled herself. Then Cara took another step up and another, until she teetered-tottered on the second to the highest rung. Despite having short arms, legs, and just in general even for her age, Cora reached as far as she could. All the while the cat scooted as far back as possible. Which left her just out of reach.

Without a hiss, spit, or growl, Mruczek sat there and watched Cara, if it could be bemused it would, but instead it sat rather indifferently. Though it might be judgmental, no one could tell. That’s when Cara reached out again, a brief fear fluttered in the back of her mind. That’s when, as quick as a flash, an event flashed before her mind’s eye. Of her falling headfirst into the tub, cat latched onto her with all its claws in fear, and a fall that ended up with her crumbled up like a balled-up napkin. So when it didn’t happen, Cara thanked what gods were out there.

When she reached up with both hands, legs stiffened as Cara tried to keep her balance, took hold of Mruczek, who mewed in response. Her fur felt quite soft and more fluffier than expected. Nails like little needles, poked pinpricks onto her right arm, which forced her face to scrunch up. Yet before Cara lost her balance, the cat jumped off and bounced away as Mr. Kaczmarek broke down in tears and rapidly spoken Polish.

An indignant look crossed the cat’s face, who pried itself from the man’s affectionate embrace before she took off toward a tiny bed off across the attic in a darkened corner where it spent the next several minutes cleaning her fur.

“Cora!” He came up to Cara with a sweeping, grandiose movement of his arms.

“It’s Cara,” she groaned as Mr. Kaczmarek pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you very much, Cara! I know it seems like such a wee thing, but it is the small things that mean, and matter, the most.”

There was something about the man that made him grandiose and dramatic. That when he begged Cara to sit at the wooden table, barely big enough to fit a plate upon it. When he placed a bowl filled with dumplings on top of a small helping of sauerkraut. Cara found herself in doughy, delicious heaven.

As she ate her impromptu lunch, Mr. Kaczmarek regaled her with stories from the old country. Legends and myths, but what Cara enjoyed the most were the simple stories. From the farm his family used to have, how his father taught him to hunt, fish, tend to the crops, while his grandmother taught him the delicate art of flowers and shrubbery, as well as the proper cookery of his native land.

Cara finished, her belly full and nearly swollen, she thanked the man and gave a wave to the uncaring cats. The rain had picked up, not lessened as expected, and on the stairs gave her a clear view of the neighbors with Rowan on her porch, face buried into a book. Her orange hair pulled back into a curly ponytail. Until she heard mother’s voice, and Cara rushed down the stairs regardless of how sketchy they were.

With her chores done, Cara looked outside where the rain had finally stopped. The sun had peeked its rays through the darkened clouds and already headed toward the horizon. Still, it cast its rays across the land as it did so, creating long finger-like shadows across the wet landscape. A gentle breeze blew into the open window and carried with it the exquisite fragrance of flowers, grass, and trees that mingled in such a natural harmony with the salty tang of the ocean.

. Cara moved to her usual perch on the front porch railings, her legs dangled off swaying back and forth as she watched a group of kids playing on that narrow back road the edged the property. They seemed to be playing a game of tag, moving out of the way as the random car and pick-up truck rumbled down the way.

As if on some kind of cue, Rowan stepped out of her home with an old, worn soccer ball tucker under her arm. She ignored the world around her and propelled the ball into the crisp late afternoon air, setting off a symphony of rhythmic thuds and soft bounces. The tall girl lost in her own skillful routine as Cara watched in both awe and admiration as the ball bounced against her knees, feet, and chest, each and every touch a testament to her determination and unwavering focus.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Rowan spun and kicked the ball towards Cara. “You just going to watch, or do you want to join?” She questioned with a playful grin.

With only a few hours left in the day, Cara joined Rowan as the two played and giggled and talked. All the while Cara learned the basics of how to play soccer, dribbling and passing more than anything else. More important that that, she got to spend some more time with her new best friend, and that was how both girls felt. As they passed the ball back and forth, the talked about everything and all things, about life here on Mount Desert Island, and the weird stories and modern urban legends.

Cara ears perked up as Rowan’s words and stories weaved into her imagination. More precisely the brutal murder at an old antique store in Haven Bay intrigued her, even if it was more legend than fact. When Rowan, however, mentioned occult symbols painted in the victims’ blood that adorned every surface—the walls, ceiling, floors, all over the merchandise—something crawled up Cara’s spine and planted itself in her mind, there came a sense that this was closer to the truth than most would think.

“Goddamn,” Cara uttered as she passed the ball back to Rowan.

With a bit of natural flourish, Rowan kicked up the ball and caught it. “The killer was never found, ya know? The only thing known was it was a woman not from here. She could still be around. Which is just creepy.”

Mother called out from the porch time for Cara to come inside for dinner. Which before she left, Rowan pulled Cara into a tight hug and wished her friend a goodbye with a promise to message her later. Which Cara smiled in reply but said nothing else. Gave a little wave before she scampered off back home.

Even though the rain stopped, Cara peered through her bedroom window which showed the dark landscape through a sheen of water drops that clung to its surface. Through it, she watched the forest at the edge of the property that seemed to stretch on forever into an endless void of darkness. Unlike back home in Oregon, where so many lights would drown out true darkness. Now, for seemingly the first time, she could actually see the night.

A gentle rapping came from her bedroom door, followed by the creaking of the old hinges as it swung open. In the dim like, mother stood as a silhouette with the light behind her. Wrapped in a plush, dark blue bathrobe, it seemed so warm and invitingly soft. What danced across her face was a wide, toothy smile, with that small glimmer of warmth in her brown eyes. The closest Cara could ever recall getting a hug or a good word from her.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Mother questioned with a wine class clutched between two fingers, half-filled with a rich, burgundy-colored wine.

“Yes, mom.”

Even when she tried, Mother still never sounded interested or cared. “Did you have a fun time playing soccer with your new friend? What’s her name?”

“Rowan.”

“Yeah, Rowan,” her tone seemed more disinterested than ever, “is she your age? She’s rather tall and athletic-looking. I don’t want you spending time with anyone too old.”

The young girl sighed and rolled her eyes before she turned to look at her mother. “She’s only a couple months older than I am. I did have lots of fun. She’s teaching me how to play soccer, and I just like spending time with her.”

“Well, good,” Mother’s half-smile seemed a bit more boozy than it did actually happy. “I’m happy you found a friend so quickly. Her mother’s kind of fucking weird, but Rowan, well, seems sweet. Since it is summer I’ll let you stay up an extra hour tonight, okay? Have a goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too, mom. Thank you.”

Once mother was gone, Cara stood up and closed the door. Turned off the overhead light with only the tiny My Little Pony lamp she has had since before she could remember lighting the room. Climbing under the cozy quilt that her great-grandmother made back when mother was born. Despite never meeting her, the quilt had a certain quality about it. From when Cara was a babe and inherited, nothing else had, or could have, brought more comfort to her. In her hands, The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley, a book Rowan was quick to offer her and one that Cara adored from the opening passage.

Whenever she found her nose buried deep in a book, time seemed to fly by at an accelerated rate. That, when her father came around to remind her of the set bedtime, Cara peered over the top of her book to notice that it had long since passed her bedtime. Yet she hopped out of bed to give the tall man a tight hug and wished him a goodnight. Where he closed the door behind, and she finally turned off the bedside lamp.

As the room was cloaked in a rather comforting darkness, only punctuated by the ethereal moonlight which cast its rays through the curtains. Its silvery glow danced upon her antique store dresser, that had travelled with the family as Cara could never give it up. Then flickered to and fro across her desk and laptop, rarely used. The ambiance had a soothing quality to it.

Despite Cara not being tired, it seemed her mind held some type of hatred for sleep and fought against it at every turn. At least tonight, it seemed as much. From her viewpoint on the bed, Cara could see the dark forest through the window, it stretched on and on. Yet amidst the darkness, and through the wet, rustling leaves, a soft blue light emitted through the trees. It cast a gentle glow, an aura that moved back and forth, up and down. Cara found herself mesmerized, even though she thought her eyes played tricks on her. No matter how many times she blinked and rubbed them, nothing changed. Then it vanished as quickly as it came.

Weird she pondered to herself.

Cara kept her wide eyes on the tree line for many moments longer, just hoping to catch another glimpse of the light again. But it never came back. That was until a shadow seemed to scurry across the floor in the form of a little mouse. It ran figure-eights on the wooden floor, almost in a playful manner as it zipped from here to there. Then it ran towards, and somehow through, her bedroom door.

Having to summon all her sneaky-sneak skills and quietly slipped out of bed. With cat-like grace and dexterity, Cara moved as silently as she could and tiptoed towards the door; her steps avoided squeaking floorboards. Knowing how loud her door was, she stilled herself as the door broke the silence with a loud creyeak! That seemed much louder than ever before.

Long shadows stretched across the hallway as the only source of light came from a dim nightlight in the bathroom whose door stood ajar. Which partially hid the shadowy shape just a few steps away at the top of the staircase, fully in defiance of any type of logic. Though it looked like a mouse, it sounded like one as well, Cara had never before seen through a mouse. Then it seemed to morph before her eyes, to a different form, almost a hideous one before it changed back to a mouse in the blink of an eye. Before it darted down the steps in a remarkable blur.

At once, she followed behind it, wincing when the floors would protest with a chorus of tiny squeaks and loud groans. Each step she took echoed through the old house, but she didn’t care right now. The living room was dimly-lit, and it seemed that shadows moved ever so slightly yet nothing moved at all. Other than that weird mouse shape.

She strained her ears, listening to hear any of the telltale signs that her parents were fast asleep. Father’s deep snoring, a thunderous symphony one could here from anywhere in the house, that acted as the background music that somehow comforted her. While her mother would mumble in her sleep, unknown conversations, emboldening Cara to finish her trek downwards.

Once at the bottom landing, the shadow-shape sat in front of that ancient wooden door, nestled beneath the stairs. It cleaned its snout in a pantomime of a mouse until it spotted Cara with eyes of uncommon intelligence. Then it disappeared through the hatch. Unlike moving day, this time the door slowly with a barely audible creaking hiss, opened just large enough for her to squeeze herself through.

Kneeling down on the cold floor, her hand quivered as she cautiously grasped the door handle. Breath caught in her throat, there came a faint melody from within the depths of the darkness. The kind of song from an antique music box, so much like the one her grandmother had on top of the mantle. Even the song sounded the same, but it was just a little different.

Then this mouse-shaped thing slowly transformed into that same grotesque, hideous shape which changed into a vague-outline of her grandmother’s face. Who watched Cara so many times as her parents were away working, it was still the same caring, loving face.

“Nana?” Cara choked back tears as she reached out. Then she stopped, something deep in the pit of her stomach yelled at her, Cara pulled back her hand just as quickly as she started.

“Cara Amelia Quin! What in the hell are you doing out of bed down here?” Her mother’s voice cut through the house which forced Cara back and the door shut heavily in front of her. “I don’t know how you opened that damn door.”

With a sharp slap to the back of Cara’s head, it caused her to rub the back of her head. Whining as she scampered back upstairs and into her room as mother cursed and spit. Cara clambered back under the quilt and sheets, where mother stomped back upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Cara didn’t get a lot of sleep that night.

*****

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survivalist-anon · 1 year ago

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Log 12: Long Road to the Stars.

It has been roughly 12 hours since they were departed from Lorey and Fjord. Sten and Toke now embark on a mission to retrieve a Raven Guard by the name Wick. Just two hours away from the city of Las Vegas, the Imperial Fist's transport bus had to make a necessary stop at what deceptively looks like an abandoned gas pump, likely built as a result of the expectations of the nuclear age of the 1950's. Parking right next to an old, derelict fiberglass statue of a clown holding a gas pump.

The driver, Moors, lowers the driver side window. Sticks his head out, hanging his turgid arm out like a trucker.

The eyes of the clown begin to glow green, clearly indicating there is a camera behind the big, happy wide eyed time pieces. A little slip opens on the clown's bowtie, revealing a mic.

~Ckkssshhh

"Hehehehey Hello Welcome to Gassy Gus's Gas Pump! HOooow may I be of service?"

A scraggly, cigarette scarred voice eruptes from the mic.

Moors never ceases to be amused by this. "Yeah, give me the usual Gus."

Sten, Toke, Bilhard and Cahrilo watch from the bus's camera system. While this isn't new for Cahrilo and Bilhard, Toke and Sten watch in discomfort at the creepy talking clown.

"It's like someone took a Harlequin's head, stretched it and inflated it. Never would I be so unfortunate to see something so depraved.", Toke whispered as quietly as he could to Sten.

Sten stood there less in horror but more in underwhelmed bewilderment. "Yes...'tis.... unnerving."

Cahrilo and Bilhard look at each other, rolling their eyes at their reactions.

Outside of the bus, an old crusty, funky little man, still dressed in the Woodstock 60's outfit with some odds and ends of spaceage memorabilia, comes out from the gas station woman's restroom door. Looking like a human, maximalist's wall of colorful alien Americana, with big iridescent googles, long dreads with plastic and metal charms intertwined within the tight knots.

The boys where shooketh, Cahrilo and Bilhard however literally were use to this horrendously whimsical spaceman.

"Hehehe, well now long time no see boys! How's them yuppies up north treatin y'all?!", he gives the haul of the bus a hardy slap. He goes up to the clown and takes out an industrial hose, hooking the giant nozzle into the gas tank. He jambles to the driver side. "Well Moors, HA, yah still don't look a day over 50!".

"And you have aged like fine cheese Gus! How are those fools back at Area 51? They haven't questioned why some of their fine equipments' been missing have they?", Moors and Gus go way back since the 50's. Moors, much like any of the other Astartes, had come involuntarily to Earth. Moors had been wharp sent to Ohio in Gus's family corn farm. Since then, Moors has been Gus's guardian Astartes since he was five years old. Occasionally visiting him in his later years since he joined Aldercon's facility.

"Oh those narcs hadn't even opened them danggone garages since Roswell! So what brings you down here in the fine bosom of the Newe land?", he says with a big old, carefree smile on his face.

A good chortle from Moors was a sign that he's happy because his mortal was happy. "Ah, it's Wick again. You've seen him around?", he inquires.

Gus pouts, putting his old noggin to work. "Hmmm, let me ask Keith!", takes out a sock puppet, his puppet silent, whispers into his ear, "hmmm...oh really?! Again? Great moogly that's incredible! Hmmhmm, oh....oh Keith stop it now.", he casually puts his sock puppet. "According to Keith, Wick raced the airbase again yesterday! He almost bit the dust this time. Buuuuut it seems he's in Vegas, only other place. Don't know why he keeps going there for. ", Gus over the years has developed Dementia and age related mental health issues, Moors has tried and tried again to convince to move to Fort Dorn, but sadly Gus seems to be extremely resistant to the whole plan.

"Is that so......well. Looks like I'll heading to Heresy town then. Gus. Why don't you stick with us for awhile. You do understand that you don't have to be here.", although Moors doesn't show it on his face, it breaks both his hearts to see Gus hasn't gotten any better. "We can bring your Unidentified Flying Objects too."

The crunchy desert man knew what the discussion was leading to, his smile turned into a sad frown. "Oh Moors, I can't. The desert stars need me! The great road to Milky Way Galaxy has yet to be defended, the Long Road to the Stars! I have to defend them from the forces of darkness, welcome them those can BE welcomed with open arms, and who's going to give them MIBs the good ol' runaround!? Them boys in black gotta give up one day ya know! I'd love to Moors, but I'm...needed here.", he looks to the blue void of the noon sky. "My time ain't done yet.", he whispers to himself.

A tired sigh flies from Moors. He knows Gus doesn't have much time in this world. The longer he waits for Gus to consent to coming with him, the higher the chances he will have to retrieve Gus from his bunker. "All right Gus, but listen...if you need anything. Remember I'm always here kid.", as Moors was telling him this, Gus had already unlocked the gas hose, closed everything up for next time.

Gus skitters back to the driver side window, "I'll be fine Moors, you go on ahead a win against the house big fella, take care now", again that big smile from cheek to cheek gleamed in the sunshine of the Nevada heat, waving goodbye as the bus goes on.

Moors waving his goodbyes as well.

As the buss drove a long the stretch of highway towards Los Vegas, Bilhard had gone to the driver seat slot and opened it to see if Moors was ok.

"Moors. How are you feeling?", Bilhard asking.

Moors was silent for a short moment, "....he's getting worse.", he whispers to himself, his usually calm demeanor has become somber.

"Hey, Moors, are you going to be ok?", he asked again, dryly yet concerned.

"Oh, yeah, I'm going to be fine.....for those who live such short lives...why must they be so stubborn.", Moors pondered loudly.

"It's because they live such short lives they make these decisions for themselves Moors, remember where you came from.", Bilhard had to remind Moors the occasional truth of Astartes.

For every angle of the Emperor, was once mortal.

Moors had to accept Gus's decision. Wether he wanted to or not. "Yeah...I guess....", he turns on the radio to distract himself from his own thoughts.

As country music blasts on the radio, the bus heads out to Los Vegas, the city sin, sex and as of recently..... something sinister.

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

My dreams were once nothing but dark voids of screaming voices and sounds of bolters going off ....now .....they speak to me through visions of tormentful pleasures of desire and uncertainty.

It would have gone forever, if it hadn't been for the blaring sounds of traffic outside the penthouse suite. The smell of last night's passionate rutting had been dancing with opened bottles of sweeted acholic beverages, perfume and more.

Surrounded by the majority of the female cast and a few brave fools for the casino's seasonal....I hazard to say performance....more like an avant-garde bastardization of some cultural myths from thousands of years ago.

One could consider me a king, surrounded by his well-satisfyed harem......I was merely a willing whore to these lonely souls.

For my heart belonged to one who was not laying upon my bare body in this room. One who is pure as her heart was kind.

These mortals can have my body....for everything else was hers....and hers alone.

I lay there pondering, how have I been so lucky as to not fully corrupt myself and give in to the chaos of deviancy and lust, does Slenessh not see the usefulness for their Chaos in me? Has the emperor blessed me with immunity, turning a blind eye to my activities? Is there nothing in this reality that could be even considered some divinity to hinder or help me, and I have just reverted to the comforting, familiar embrace of animalistic instinct....to endlessly spread my seed and be stirred by true unfiltered sexual high?

....than again....I could be just being....as chaplain Aldercon would so graciously say, 'being over dramatic '.... considering my role in this burlesque garbage.......he could be once again correct.

I turn my head to the hotel door, I could hear the heavy, lumbering footsteps our....our show director.... William Sleen.....

He unlocks the door, already smelling of his filthy cigars and tasteless cheap cologne.

"WAKE UP LADIES! oh I see there's a few gentleman here, hehe, come on folks! Next show starts at 5 o'clock this afternoon! Come on wakey wakey!", a quarter of a mortal man in sense of the word....his vision is just a sick, perverse fantasy of the exploitations of beauty, he was no cultured man either....his show from my understanding doesn't reflect the reality of the stories he had vicariously stole for profit. I could see him glinting at me through those glasses of his.

"Ah there's my Atlas! And my Hercules, and well hehe my big bronze robot.", he could barely even remember the correct name of his own characters.

"Do you mean, Talos? The bronze creation of the god of fire?", I could oml growl, everyone was in blissful peace this morning.

"Yeah yeah whatever! The guy who kidnaps Madea! Hmf, you college going types are so nitpicky, anyways Lady Luck for some damn reasons out to get a taste of your staff too. The hydrologic and pyrotechnics have broken down so looks like you won't sweatin all over the place for act 2. Sheesh.", he practically ravages the curtains open.

The collective groans spoke volumes of the protest of the early morning routine of waking up, eating their fill at the buffet downstairs for the day, and rehearsals until the show begins. It was clear the continued labor of the previous production's work load had exhausted them to the soul.

I gently coerced the actresses wrapped around my arms. "Ladies, good morning.", greeted by kisses to my chest and jaw are at this point a highlight of the morning. In spite of my guilt, I do not object to experiencing such pleasantries....the highest luxury back home on Deliverance.

"oooh good morning Wicky, last night was absolutely crazy.", Angelina cooed. Her twin, Magan, was busy getting up, caressing me. "Good morning handsome."

Adjust myself, clearing my throat, "Good morning every one.", my one command was enough to get the cast mobilized. "See ....a good morning is all you need.", ever since I've come into the scene.... Sleen has been having a bit of trouble even persuading anyone to even fallowing his suggestions.

His sneered grimace said it best on how he felt about me, "well I ain't paying you overtime to be a volunteer director here WICK. Anyways, I'm not in the mood for your Edger Allen Poe bullcrap either, I already have my brother coming in from Hollywood just POACHING my best and brightest.", his brother a movie producer named Carl Sleen, is his older sibling who's been known to make even the least known plebian into celebrities. His talent is to get hidden potential, and elevate them to fame and fortune.

From what I hear, it's a shame he is an exception and not an example.

"Well...hehe, he ain't getting my Selene. She's off limits. Can't have him taken my star performer.", he looks to me, knowing very well that he has also forbid me from interacting with her. The mortal equivalent of a squig hobbles to me, audaciously before I have even gotten out of the bed.

"Listen here big, oversized, cock. You know your role in the act, and it's to stay BENEATH the earth...yah got that? It means both on and OFF stage....", his reeking breath had nearly triggered my deepest fight response.... reminding me of the foul smelling Orks I was accustom to crushing under my boots.

"But of course.......it would be....greedy of me to ask for anything more.", I wasn't going to let this 'nurgling' get in my way.....I needed the money, but I also had to fane my loyalty to him if he were to pay me.

Selene was an immigrant from Mayotte, her family had to leave the country due to political tensions and later planned on escaping to Paris few years ago. Unfortunately, Selene had become caught in an international trafficking ring. Ending up here in this bright neon hell scape.

She was the best acrobatics performer in Los Vegas. She had worked her way through multiple shows, but now she was in Sleen's wardenship.

The crew head down stairs for our morning meal, I contemplate on how was I going to convince the battle brothers back at Fort Dorn not to put me under house arrest.

What has once started as a meaningless drive to challenge even the fastest of aircraft...now has metamorphosised into a mission to help Selene.

"So Wick, I heard yous almost died yesterday. Haha, what happened the Air Force narcs nearly beat at chicken or something?", one of our cast members, 'Tulio', was one of the back stage hands who had helped me get to my position since I had arrived in the outskirts of this city a few years ago.

"Yes. I crashed into one of the mountain sides. I lost control of the air stream and lost focus.", I responded.

"Man, you gotta be more careful, those guys at the air station literally go SPLAT if they crash. Lucky that fancy Ironman suit of yours actually works. Not like the cheap prop stuff.", he takes a quick look at the pantry chef at the dessert table. "Hey homes, I reckon you got 20... maybe 30 seconds. Mr. Wan is working.", the second I saw one of the chefs, I spared no second heading to him.

Covertly slipping him a piece of paper. "For Madame Moon, please.", I grab a plate not to see conspicuous.

He gives me a nod.

For my time here, I have befriended much of the casino staff, all of which willing to assist me with Selene.

"Smooth homes, by the way thanks I like cheesecake for breakfast.", Tulio takes the plate. "So what now, you and I don't got nothing to do for like ....8 hours?", he happy takes a sizable bite.

"hmmm....I'm in the mood for a rematch. Meet me at the truck in an hour.", as I get up from the table to pay the bill, I pass Selene.

She had passed by without a glance. As per Sleen's request....I couldn't tell what she was doing...but I'm certain she will answer the message.

End of log 12

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@starfrost740 @squishyowl

#space marine husbandry #warhammer 40k #space marine #survival log #space marines #space marine husbandry sentience #space wolves #imperial fists #raven guard

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itsdeathofabachelor · 2 years ago

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any hazamada headcanons?

I really really need to crane my sights onto more characters outside of part three because part four is so good specifically because there are so many reaccuring characters. Like, I remember seeing Hazamada and thinking, ‘Oh, he’s a little funky, I like him.’ And then not expecting to ever see him again and then I remembered this was part four we’re talking about here— there’s so many little side quests and I love it. So, yes!! I do have some Hazamada headcannons!! Let me know how you like them, I’d love to hear!

He gets ideas from other people. What I mean by that is you know when you see someone buy something and you passed the thing already and didn’t even think about buying it, but now you’ve seen someone else buy it and it’s like, ‘Awe shucks, I should’ve bought that’ ?

Hazamada. Hazamada does that. Except he has no shame about it. Like Josuke and Okuyasu are talking about going to a bakery to get that limited addition cake for this upcoming festival and it wiggles into Hazamada’s mind who’s sitting a bench over. He saw the ads already; could not have given less of a shit. But now he’s already half way to this stupid bakery to buy this stupid cake.

He gained consciousness like two months ago and still hasn’t gotten used to it. He looked out the window in math class and was like, ‘I’m gonna die one day.’ And has been off kilter ever since. Koichi found him trying to transfer his working mind into his stand like some sort of freak immortality glitch by pressing his forehead really hard against it and holding his breath. His lips were turning blue. Koichi had to call Jotaro. Jotaro told him if he ever became immortal from that he would lock him in a metal box and throw him in the ocean. Hazamada believed him.

Hazamada fucking hates cheese. Can’t stand it. When he was a kid his mom wouldn’t tell him there was cheese in something but he knew. It was like a sixth sense. He also knew if she used the same knife to make him a peanut butter and jam sandwich. On that note, he was also the kid who wouldn’t eat a sandwich if you didn’t cut it right.

His favourite idol had a buzz cut so he got one as a tribute to them but found out he had a weird shaped head so he worn a hat until it grew out. Now his hair is super layered because he didn’t leave the tuft of hair at the top of his head so it would grow back even. His hair is so dark and fine nobody can tell.

He tried to make his stand look like his childhood dog but it couldn’t make the right shape so it just turned into a really fucked up realistic furry and it scared him so bad that he still has to sleep with his blankets pulled over his face.

Hazamada doesn’t actually have insomnia but he likes the look of ‘crusty no sleep’ so he obsessively researched special effects in movies (movies are his long time, recurring hyperfixation btw) and found out how to make himself look as sleep deprived as possible. When people ask him why he looks so tired he gets super proud and hides it so badly. He makes a killing on Halloween though. I headcannon he has some American cousins and him and his family visited around that time when he was a kid so he’s uber invested in Halloween and takes it way too seriously back in Japan.

#jojo part 4 #jojo headcanons #jjba hazamada #I love him so much he’s so actually #he is the character #thank you for the suggestion!!#jojo

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clickbait-official · 4 years ago

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mbc

from @artwitch28's headcannons

masterlist

tw: implied/referenced abuse, depressive themes, and transphobia

---

Endeavor was a stuck up little bitch.

Not that a lot of people knew.

Oh well. He’ll get his revenge one day.

Touya sighs, setting his keys on the counter.

“Keigo! I’m home!”

The house was big- airy, if that was a word. Birdboy hated closed spaces. Touya couldn’t blame him, either; he couldn’t stand anything that looked like his “training” room.

There was a thunk upstairs as Keigo ran down to greet him.

“How was work? How was Dad?” He asks.

“Dad”, Atsuhiro Sako, was Touya’s adopted dad. They worked together under their agency, the League of Heroes. The League of Heroes were made up of heroes who were told they were villains, or considered outcasts.

“It was alright, Big sis Magne started asking people if they wanted interns.” Touya responds to his fiance.

Keigo comes up behind him, hugging him and wrapping his wings around Touya.

“Hmmm. Did you look for an intern, dove? You could get your brother~”

“I didn’t think about it, no. But there’s Toga already. Did you?”

Touya can feel Keigo smile into his shoulder.

“There’s one with a bird quirk.”

“Oh, I see.” Touya smirks.

His stomach rumbles as he does.

“Aww, does my little birdie need some food?” Keigo says, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll go get you some.”

He grabs his hand and leads him to the kitchen.

They look through the fridge, then the freezer.

“Chinken nuggets?” Keigo asks, after a beat of silence.

“You did not just reference that, again.”

And Keigo laughs, loud and clear. Touya thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

God, he’s in deep, isn’t he?

They sit together at the counter while they wait for the food to cook. They don’t talk for a bit, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Speaking of Shoto, how’s the family? Rumi’s been talking ‘bout Fuyumi a lot.” Keigo says, taking the pan out of the oven.

“Oh my goodness- remember that crusty kid I was talking to you about? He’s dating Natsuo.” Touya deadpans, and Keigo bursts into giggles.

“God, he could do so much better! And he chose the crustiest kid on this side of Japan!” He rants, Keigo staring from across the table.

“Hana’ll kill you for that.”

Touya sighs again, knowing that he was right. “Yeah, I know. I still don’t know why Natsuo chose her crusty brother, but he’s happy. And it gets him out of the house, too.”

Keigo nods. “Away from Endeavor.”

“Away from Endeavor.”

They sit for a while in silence at that. Touya knows Keigo used to idolize Endeavor, and he knows why.

God, out of all people, couldn’t Keigo have a good childhood?

At least he’s not hurting now.

The sun has fallen, and they’re laying on their bed.

The moonlight filters through the curtains. Keigo’s been asleep for a while now.

The slightest breeze drifts into the room.

If we lived in a harsher world, we’d be so much more cruel.

Oh, what a beautiful night to be alive with you.

---

Touya brings Keigo into the agency. He’d been curious about how it worked- the League was unprecedented.

Touya hoped he’d want to join too. He wouldn’t mind his soon-to-be husband patrolling with him.

Hero work is a dangerous game to play, after all.

The League of Heroes’s building is not very intimidating. It’s survived thunderstorms, 52 mental breakdowns (not by the same person), and now the prank the entire League is in on.

It’s time for the hero charts.

Showtime.

It had taken so much bribing, from the poor intern that worked for one of the higher ups, to one of the higher ups themselves.

Touya could only hope it was worth it.

Oh, it was worth it.

On live television, in front of nearly the entire world, Enji Todoroki, known as Endeavor, had gotten massively pranked.

First, it was the glitter. Then, the water balloons and the rainbow slime. After that, it was the chicken and the three fire extinguishers.

And of course, copious amounts of cheese.

And it was all filmed. It was all broadcasted to a live audience.

Oh- and everyone knew who did it.

But there was no evidence.

God, Touya loved trashing Endeavwhore (and that’s an insult to sex workers).

It was the night after when Twice suggested something Touya had never thought of before.

The night was young, fireflies just beginning to come out. They were on the balcony, drinking and catching up like family would.

“Hey,” He said, “Why don’t you sue him? Get your bro outta that place and over here.”

Twice was a genius.

Twice was a goddamn genius.

Headlines were all over the place. “Endeavor gets sued?” “Enji Todoroki- an abusive piece of shit?” “Endeavor loses custody!”

God, the journalists were having a fucking field day with this. Touya can’t blame them, though.

The day was beautiful. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and little kids were running around outside. Keigo was sitting next to him, listening to his music. Touya finished up some paperwork to finally, finally get his siblings out from under Endeavor.

Thankfully, there was enough evidence to prove he was at least neglectful. People could finally see just how much of an asshole he was, and how high his civilian casualty and endangerment rates are.

There was one teeny, tiny, thing.

The Commission.

The only reason Endeavor was still in the top ten is because of that fucking Commission.

God, he hated the Commission. The things they did to Keigo, the scars that still remain on his psyche.

Fuck the Commission.

It just- It made him so angry. The way Toga and Spinner were treated, how Twice wasn’t able to get help until he became a hero- God, he hated it.

And he didn’t even know how bad it was! He was sheltered from Quirkist attitudes. Well, as sheltered as you can be, living with Endeavor as a dad.

He only knew a little bit of how much they had suffered under this system. He knew there was something more to how Twice always stayed in his hero costume, or how Magne avoided that one part of town. How Toga stared at that one schoolyard for a little too long before walking away.

And he hated it. So, so much.

Fuck the Commission.

---

It’s Touya’s first free day. The hecticness of moving all of his sibling’s stuff into their house was crazy. Who knew that keeping a house was so hard? Not him, that’s who.

So, like any rational person, he goes out to catch up with a close friend.

He had met her during his time at U.A. Her name was Hana Shimura. They bonded through their shitty parents. She was the older sister of the crusty fuck, Tenko.

Why did Natsuo decide to date him? He'll never know.

Somehow or another, the conversation went from how their days went to when Tenko got his quirk.

“Yeah, he decayed the dog! Thankfully he froze up after, so I got Mom. If he didn’t freeze up, I’d be dead.”

The way she had said it- so casually...She probably was terrified at the time.

“There was a UA student that helped him, too. Oboro? I think that was his name...Anyway, Oboro really helped him! He’s kinda a father to him, if I’m being honest.” She went on, telling Touya how proud of Tenko she was.

How he had become a search and rescue hero, which he already knew, and using his quirk he had helped so many people! Because he can decay the debris trapping civilians and rescue them!

They walk down the street, still talking about their siblings and generally how life was going.

They were gonna meet up with Twice. There was a new restaurant that he noticed during his patrols.

Touya heard it was pretty good from Fuyumi and Rumi.

It looked pretty nice, too. He’d walked by it a few times.

“So how is Twice, anyway? I don’t hear much from him these days.” Hana says, pushing open the door to the restaurant.

“Guess you’ll find out, huh?”

Twice is sitting at an empty table in a corner. He was smart enough to change out of his hero costume, just like Touya and Hana.

He lifts his head as they get closer to the table.

“Hey guys! How’ve you been!” He greets them as they sit down.

“Good, good. We were talking about my brother, Tenko.” Hana says. Touya nods in agreement.

“And also how he got to be a hero, too.”

“Did I ever tell ya how I got to be a hero?” Twice asks them, barely containing a smile.

He never told them, well, not Touya.

Turns out, when he was having trouble with his Quirk, one of his doubles went and got a hero license. At the time he was barely of the streets, so he became a hero, joining up with Mr. Compress and Magne to create the League of Heroes.

Because why not? It kept him off the streets and he could help people like him.

A win-win for Twice.

Touya hated how his weird uncle was treated before he became a hero.

Because he was a person, like anyone else. Just a person.

So why was he treated so differently? Why didn’t people help him when he needed it?

God, Touya was so tired.

---

It’s late one night. Touya is alone with his adopted father.

“Dad, why’d you decide to be a hero?” He asks out of the blue.

Atsuhiro’s eyes mist over, and Touya worries for him. Touya’s told him all about the horrific shit he’s gone through, and he can’t help but wonder if he had gone through something horrible too.

Atsuhiro takes out a silver locket, and gently pries it open. He points at the picture inside.

“Look! It’s them…My perfect little family... That’s them! There’s my little girl, and the most beautiful person to ever exist. There they are…”

It’s silent for a moment, the only thing one could hear were the cicadas far away from here.

Touya opens his mouth, “What...What happened to them?”

“A hero. He didn’t care for protocol. He killed- He killed them! And no one believed me…” Atsuhiro trails off, looking down at the floor.

Touya can’t help but feel sorrow, too. He could’ve had a mom, another sister...

He really needs to stop adopting people.

He can’t imagine the pain Mr. Compress must’ve been in. To lose a lover, a child? Oh, it must hurt- so, so much. To lose what was essentially a part of you?

Oh, it hurts to even imagine.

“...They’re really pretty, Dad.”

“They...were both so beautiful in this picture. Toga reminds me of her, y’know? They are both so pretty, so grown-up, and have that same sense of humor…”

Touya’s not sure to who he’s referring to, but nods anyway.

Who’s he to question grieving old men?

“And the days fly by so fast now, I can’t help but feel as though I’m supposed to be insulted by it. But I can’t bring myself to care anymore…It hurts, Touya, it hurts. Sometimes...I can hardly bring myself out of bed...I feel like a ghost…”

It’s silent for a moment, before Touya speaks.

“Dad, I think you need to get help. This isn’t normal. And…I think they’d want you to be happy too, Dad. Don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t...know?”

“I don’t think I am. But...I want you to be happy. And Tenko, and Hana, and Twice, and Magne...But it’s so tiring, being happy. And I don’t know what to do!”

His sobs seem to echo through the building.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get you help. You can get some rest.”

He leads Sako back to his house, Atsuhiro being half-asleep by the time they get home.

Mr. Compress takes the spare bedroom, and falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. Keigo notices Touya, and walks over to him.

“Heya dove~ How was your day?”

“Worrying. Dad...Dad needs some help. He’s got some shit going on...He’s so tired, Kei. We need to get him therapy or something.”

“Oh, baby…” Keigo whispers, but Touya is too tired to hear.

He falls asleep in his fiance’s arms, safe and sound.

---

The house is abuzz with activity when Touya wakes up. Keigo’s laughter echoes around the place, filling the air with a sense of home.

What a beautiful way to wake up.

Touya gets dressed and walks downstairs. Keigo’s in the kitchen, talking amicably with his sister, Fuyumi. Dad was smiling fondly at the sight, picking at his food. Natsuo was talking on the phone with someone, blushing a little.

Keigo turns towards him, and oh, he was so handsome.

“Good morning, dovely~”

Unbelievable. It was too early for puns.

“Ugh, no. Don’t ever make puns this early. Dad, you doing okay?”

Atsuhiro looks over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’m doing just fine, sonny boy~”

“God, it’s too early for this shit. Keigo, get me some coffee, will you?”

“Language!” Fuyumi scolds.

Eventually the coffee is made, and tables cleaned. Breakfast is done.

Keigo helps set up an appointment with Fuyumi. She’s a part time therapist, part time substitute teacher.

Touya takes a deep breath. One day, Dad will be okay. He’ll be alright.

Time for work.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day when Touya goes on patrol again. This time with Magne and the new intern, Toga.

He already knew somewhat what the girls had gone through.

“Good morning, Magne, Toga.” He greeted them.

“Good morning!” Toga says, and then they go off.

Touya’s stuck in his thoughts as they walk to a coffee house while on break. He listens in as he reaches for the door.

“Yeah, my parents threw me out cause they didn’t think I was a girl.”

“My parents threw me out, too! I had to run away, they didn’t like my quirk very much...I got lucky, and Mom became my mom! That’s how I became a hero! How did you, big sis Magne?”

“Mr. Compress saved me from one of those fucking creeps. He let me stay with him for a while, and helped me get back on my feet. I decided to be a hero then, to help people like me.”

They sit down at one of the tables, still talking about their lives. Touya takes a bite of his muffin.

Ah, life was alright, if just for a little while.

--- requests & asks are open! (request em here) ---

@kirililbb

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indiavolowetrust · 5 years ago

Text

LOCKED-ROOM MYSTERY: an Obey Me! AU

The year is 1908. You, MC, have been invited for an extravagant getaway at the mansion of the eccentric Mr. Diavolo, who simply insists that you must come. You are quite the busy person yourself, you know, what with all this detective business -- but there is something so genuine in your old friend's letter that you cannot help but relent. So you pack your suitcases, send in a note to Mrs. Adams at the front desk about your leave, and set off to your good old friend's mansion.

As expected, it is in quite the isolated location. There is quite the breathtaking view of the mountains, seeing as you and the guests are the only ones here, but there is something eerie about it. Something odd. And the guests here are very strange indeed. Mr. Diavolo seems to have amassed a great variation in his ... colleagues. From a sultry actor to an irritable professor, a greedy banker to a shut-in, and a chef that eats more than he cooks to prideful, incorrigible politician -- well, it seems he's had quite the adventures over the years.

The dinner is good. Very good. Mr. Diavolo has spared no expense for his esteemed guests. There are nine courses in all: trays of exotic fruits and sliced cheeses, a charcuterie of all sorts and herbed butter, poached fish with risotto, roasted lamb that still crackles when it reaches the table, spiced meats that you cannot even recognize, soup with good, crusty bread -- oh, you do not know where to even begin! The strange guests, you, and your old friend make merry long into the night, and it is obvious that all look forward to the getaway.

Everyone is ushered into the parlor by his loyal butler, Barbatos, and it is here that more brandy is poured, bottles of wine are opened, and good champagne is inspected. It is also here that Mr. Diavolo says to you that he is going outside to light a cigar, for it would be a waste to let such a beautiful night go to waste. You think nothing of it.

An hour passes. Then another. And another. Some of the guests have begun to consider retiring to their rooms for the night. And then --

And then there is the scream.

You follow the sound, running through the corridors. There is a great door before you. You all but kick it open -- and you realize that you stand before the bleeding, facedown, very much dead body of Mr. Diavolo. The actor, Asmodeus, trembles before the door, having witnessed the gruesome scene through the glass windows of the door. Moments later, the other guests rush in to find the source of the panic. Varied looks of shock, panic, and horror can be seen on their faces.

This is the locked-room murder of Mr. Diavolo.

The Murder

There appears to have been no signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle either. All the locks on the windows and doors remain undamaged and have clearly not been tampered with. The position of the furniture seems to be typical of a study.

Mr. Diavolo lies facedown in a pool of his own blood, the imported rug soaking up most of the liquid. There are exactly three stab wounds to his neck, ribcage, and stomach, with all entry positioned at the front. If he did not struggle -- at least, if he did not struggle initially -- then he must have known his murderer.

Time of death appears to be midnight, given the state of his body. He must have been murdered shortly after retiring from the party to have a cigar.

There are no footprints, fingerprints, or traces of the murderer at the scene ... at least for now. You do your best to corral the guests out of the study and begin your investigation. You have exactly six nights before the coachman comes to fetch everyone from the mansion.

The Guests

Lucifer

The prideful, insufferable politician that Mr. Diavolo has become acquainted with over the years. Unsurprising, of course, given his work overseas. You can imagine no other reason why anyone would desire to remain in this arrogant peacock of a man's presence.

He insists he was in the parlor the entire team. Which you can believe, to an extent. You quite clearly remember him arguing with the blond professor over the manner of drinking brandy. But what was he doing beforehand? Why suddenly make himself so conspicuous in the argument?

Mammon

The rather loud, obnoxious banker that Mr. Diavolo has trusted to run his accounts. Once more, you question the judgment of your late friend's business decisions. He does seem somewhat legitimate, given the fact that your late friend's business hasn't gone completely under. To your knowledge, that is.

Why on Earth would he want to murder one of his best clients? He insists that he would have no motivation to do so -- if anything, this is quite the blow to his establishment. But why was he late to dinner? Surely this loud buffoon could not have been doing any work on holiday.

Leviathan

The shut-in author of many strange, niche novels. You tried to make yourself seem more amiable earlier by lying and telling him that you have read his novels, but he only grew quiet in response. The conversation was very brief. Mr. Diavolo claimed he was a great fan of his work. You do not try to wonder why.

As a social recluse, Levi had decided to retire to his room immediately after the dinner, citing some illness or exhaustion or whatnot. He was not present immediately at the time the body was found, but he did rush all the way from his room down to the scene of the murder upon hearing the scream.

Satan

The irritable professor of a Very Important University, mind you. He seemed quite offended when you had little knowledge of his published journals, taking you for an ignorant idiot for some brief time afterwards. You quickly ended that with a scathing review of the clothing he has clearly forgotten to iron in his rush to get here, his mismatching socks, and the clear complex he has surrounding his intelligence.

How could you forget his rather loud argument with that peacock-like politician? You hadn't paid much attention to him until just then in the parlor, given your spat with him. But would an innocent man be so offended at the thought of being accused?

Asmodeus

A charming, sultry actor that Mr. Diavolo has met in his travels. You are not well acquainted with the theater or the novel moving pictures, but he seems quite happy with the recognition of his name. Then again, it isn't like you can take him for anything else but a bohemian artist.

He debated with Mr. Diavolo quite frequently over the finer details of art and theater over the course of the night, sitting by his side for the entirety of dinner. There was the brief interlude after dinner, but he insists he was only having a tryst with one of the maids. And he was the one who found his body.

Beelzebub

A chef that Mr. Diavolo has had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with over his travels. He seems to eat more than he cooks, really, but despite his eccentricities, he seems to be the most normal of the bunch. Certainly one of the most amiable.

You are quite sure that this guest is not the murderer. Every moment you have seen him seems to center around either the making or eating of food. Even now during your questioning, he chews on some bread roll that he has taken from dinner. If he were to have murdered Mr. Diavolo, you're sure his method would have simply been devouring him whole.

Belphegor

You're not quite sure what he does. He trails before Beelzebub as if he were a shadow, managing to look exhausted yet attentive to his brother's antics all at once. You can only guess that he was strung along by the aforementioned individual.

Like his brother, you find yourself doubting that he could be murderer. He has been in his brother's shadow for the entirety of the night, as you recall, and he seems to know little of the other guests or even of Mr. Diavolo.

Who murdered Mr. Diavolo?

This is now a choose-your-own-adventure novella. Read it here.

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onlydreamofmysoul · 5 years ago

Text

Let Them Eat Cake part ii (Wolfstar bake off au)

This week on The Great British Bake Off

“Oh Lord I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I’ve just dropped my dough”

“I forgot to turn my oven on.”

“I’m going home for sure.”

Remus woke up to his phone ringing.

“Remus!” His mom half-yelled down the line, “You came third in the technical!”

Remus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Mam, I already told you that, I rang you right after it happened.”

“I know, I know,” Hope said, “But the first episode only came out last night so I’m all excited about it again. Christ Re it’s so strange seeing you on the telly.”

Remus let out an amused huff and flopped back down onto the plush hotel pillows. “Thanks?”

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart… What have you got on today?”

“We’re filming again today, so the first two challenges.”

“Oh, what’s the theme this week?” Hope needled and Remus rolled his eyes fondly. “Man, you know I can’t tell you that yet.”

“I’m your mother. I think if you told anyone, it should be me.”

“Well if I were telling anyone, I would tell you, however…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re not telling anyone.” She said a little disappointed. “It was worth a shot.” She let out a melancholic sigh, “My only child, too big a star now, doesn’t even have time to talk to his own mother.”

“I’m currently talking to my own mother so I think that contradicts your point a little.” Remus chimed in. “Also, I hardly think being on one episode of Bake Off counts as a star.”

“Well it’s all anyone here at home has been talking about for at least a month.”

“Wow, they really need to get a life.” He said dryly and chuckled when his mother began to admonish him. “Oh mam, I’ve got to go, I’m almost late for filming, I’ll call you later.”

“That sounds like a cop out if I’ve ever heard one Remus Lupin, but I’ll let you go anyways. Good luck today, I love you.”

“Love you too mam. Talk soon, bye bye.” He pressed the end call button and lay with his phone on his chest for a moment before actually checking the time. He had about an hour before he was expected on set. He rolled out of bed with a groan and headed into the shower.

Remus quite literally ran into Sirius.

“Oh shit sorry!” He cried as they collided. Sirius caught Remus’ wrist to steady himself and held on for a split second before letting go.

“In a hurry Lupin?”

Remus flushed a little, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah I was supposed to meet Lily at the door five minutes ago but I got caught up.”

Sirius just maintained eye contact for a moment before reaching out and touching the sleeve of Remus’ cream knit sweater. “This is nice.”

Remus lost his words. “Oh um, thank you. I made it actually.”

Sirius quirked a smile. “A baker and a knitter? You’re a real home-boy.”

Remus laughed a little. “Yeah you could definitely say that. I knit when I’m watching TV or whatever, I hate when I don’t have something to do with my hands. ‘Idle hands’ and all that.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus said, shrugging him off despite the fact that he was possibly about to lose his mind. The Sirius Black was teasing him.

“Anyways, I should probably go.” He said, ducking his head. “Lily’s waiting for me.”

“And we’ve got a show to get to.” Sirius added.

“Yeah,” Remus smiled. “Yeah we do.”

“Hello and welcome back everyone, to this week’s episode of The Great British Bake Off.” James said grandly as soon as Marlene had signalled that she was recording. “This week, it’s bread week.”

Remus sighed. He fucking loved bread. He was coeliac, so he didn’t eat bread but… he fucking loved bread.

“For our first challenge,” Sirius announced, “Our judges would like to see two plaited loaves. Any flavouring is up to you, but each loaf should be twelve inches in length with clear, defined plaits.”

The bakers all nodded and the camera panned around the room to catch everyone’s reactions.

“Alright then, Sirius, dough you want to tell them to begin?”

Remus bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. That pun was so cringy but Remus was a sucker for bad jokes.

“Why yes James, I most certainly dough. Three, two one… Bake!”

Marlene started her rounds today by coming straight to Remus.

“So Remus, what’re you making today?” James asked, appearing by his side.

“Well the first one, is going to have basil and some tomato sauce and then have some mozzarella plaited in.” Remus said as he took out a glass bowl and began adding ingredients to it. “Then the second one is going to have four different kinds of cheese in it.”

“So basically, no one who’s lactose intolerant can go anywhere near your bread.”

Remus laughed and scratched his cheek. “Pretty much. But I mean, neither of them will be gluten free, so I can’t eat them either.”

James grinned. “I suppose I’ll just have to be your official taste tester then.”

“You know, those already exist. They’re called judges.” Remus chirped and Sirius who was passing laughed, shooting Remus an appreciative look.

James moved on to Lily and Remus could hear her telling him about her toffee bread. Remus had seen her practicing it - it always looked amazing and the other contestants had raved about it. Remus had gotten the recipe from her and he was going to try to make a gluten-free version when all of this was over.

Remus covered the bowls with a layer of cellophane and put them in the proving drawer, waiting until they had at least doubled in size before he would take them out again.

In the meantime, Remus got busy finely chopping fresh basil, making a tomato sauce and slicing mozzarella.

“Looking good, Lupin.” Sirius said, jumping up to sit on the end of Remus’ bench, away from the food.

“Why thank you.” Remus said then had to slap Sirius’s hand away when he tried to steal a slice of cheese. “Oi, get away you cheeky bugger.”

Sirius shrugged,” I’m just trying to relieve James of his official taste tester duties.”

“You’re trying to relieve yourself from your stomach grumbling is more like.” Remus shot back, but he held out a chopping board with his many different cheeses all neatly sliced and grinned. “Go on then, you can have one.”

Sirius’s eyes glimmered. “You know, I quite like you Lupin.” He said, before hopping off the table and wandering away.

“It’s a good thing I quite like cheese Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said in an almost teasing tone as they reached Remus’ bench to judge. They cut the first loaf and each had a taste.

“I think I would have liked it to have stayed in the oven for a little longer.” McGonagall said, “It’s just missing the really crusty outside we were looking for. But the flavours are wonderful, I quite like the concept.”

“And I, as the official taste tester, i think it’s amazing.” James said, stealing a slice and there were a couple of giggles around the tent. Even Remus cracked a smile.

“Let’s move on to the next one, shall we?” Remus just nodded, his jaw clenched as he listened. This time, the knife made a much more satisfying sound as it cut through the bread. Remus couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief, his eyes trained on the loaf to see if the bake was even.

“Now, this one is much better.” Dumbledore said before he took a bite. His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed and Remus pursed his lips together to stop himself from smiling. “Very enjoyable Mr Lupin, I can’t find a fault with this one.”

McGonagall nodded in agreement and with that they moved over to Lily’s bench. Remus sat down on his stool with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“Hey, good job. ”Sirius whispered as he passed and Remus smiled. Yeah, he quite liked bread.

“Ah look at little Remus, eating his salad.” Tonks teased, ruffling his hair as she plopped down on the chair next to him. Remus scowled. “Believe me, if I could be eating bread like the rest of you lot, I would be.”

“Alas, alack!” A guy Peter, another contestant proclaimed. “We get to eat your bread though. It’s so good mate, much better than that sad lump I presented.”

Everyone around the table started sniggering. Peter had had a bit of an accident resulting in burned bread. It was edible, but it really hadn’t looked like much.

“I’m really going to have to up my game in the next two challenges.” He moaned. “I really don’t want to go home yet.” They all nodded in agreement and the table went quiet for a moment as everyone thought while they munched.

“What a rowdy bunch you lot are.” Sirius said, he and James each pulling up a chair. ”Can we…?” He asked, pointing to the selection of breads, all sliced in the middle of the table.

“Yeah of course,” Remus said. “They’re there to eat.”

Remus certainly didn’t that Sirius immediately went for one of the loaves he made. Nope. Not at all.

“So how are we all feeling about the next challenge?” James asked, tearing parts off his hunk of bread and popping them into his mouth.

“Oh my god, new rule.” Tonks declared. “No competition talk when we’re on our breaks. I need to talk about something other than the ratio of sugar to flour.”

Sirius chuckled at her abruptness. “Fair enough. Let’s see… What are your favourite colours?”

“Basic question.” Tonks countered, leaning back in her chair, “But I’ll take it. Mine is pink.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.” Remus said dryly, gesturing to her hair. Lily choked on her food.

“What’s yours then Remus?” Tonks challenged.

Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a favourite, I like them all.”

“Even brown?” Peter piped in.

“Especially brown. It’s the colour of chocolate. It’s also like the most hated colour, it needs some appreciation.”

“It’s one of the most hated colours because it’s boring. Like is there any colour more dull than brown?” James asked.

“Beige.” Lily said and James pointed a finger at her, indicating that she had made a valid point. “Okay, that’s very fair. Beige is boring as fuck.”

“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re having.” Sirius mused and Remus looked at him incredulously. “You’re the one who started it!”

“I asked for favourite colours, not the opposite. It was you who set us on this dull - coloured path.” Sirius counted, his eyes playful. Tonks looked between the two of them for a moment before checking her watch.

“I hate to be the one to break up the band but, it’s time for us to get back to it.”

“Ah, the woes of the working life.” Sirius lamented and Remus snorted.

“Oh hush, you have like, the best job ever.”

Sirius threw his arm around James’ shoulders. “That’s very true. Come on then Jamie, let’s get back to it.”

“Our next challenge, is of course our technical.” James announced as the cameras began rolling. “This week, our judges have asked you to make bagels.”

“You should have five identical bagels at the end. Your instructions are on your bench.”

“Ready?”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus lifted the cloth that was covering the ingredients and recipe McGonagall and Dumbledore had written for them. He both loved and hated the technical, possibly for the same reasons. The steps were vague and needed a lot of thought which was pretty annoying but it challenged him and pushed him to see what kind of baker he was.

“You ever made these?” Lily asked and Remus shook his head. “No, never. You?”

“Nope.” She said, popping the ‘p’. “This should be interesting.”

Remus chuckled as he began reading the instructions. make a dough, it read.

“Don’t you love how specific these instructions are?” Remus said to Tonks sarcastically and some of her hair fell out of her comically short ponytail as she laughed.

“This dough is meant to be stretchy I think.” Lily commented and Remus nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too.”

Remus set to work, covering his dough in cellophane once more and popping it into the proving drawer.

“You know I could really get used to this proving business,” he commented, “It gives me the chance to make a cup of tea.”

“Glad to see you have your priorities.” Sirius joked as he appeared. “Any chance I can have one too?” Remus just nodded to the bench in response, where he had already taken out a mug for Sirius.

Sirius finished making the tea as Remus took out a pot, filled it with water and put it on the hob to boil. Just then a panicked wail sounded through the tent.

“Oh lord, I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I dropped my dough.”

James was immediately at his side to help him figure it out. They chatted intensely for a minute, the cameras circling like vultures as Peter forlornly tossed the ruined dough in the bin, but began to make a new one. Remus let out a shaking breath on his friends behalf, Peter would really be racing against the clock.

“It’s make it or break it time.” Remus said, turning back to his own work , decking to focus on that for now. His thoughts wouldn’t help Peter and all Remus could do right now was work on his own project. Having divided his dough and rolled it into shape, he boiled them one by one, praying he was doing the right thing. “And now you fuckers are going in the oven.”

“Oh my god Remus.” Marlene said. “We had great footage of you there and you totally just ruined it.”

“Sorry sorry, I’ll do it again.” Remus smirked and slid the tray into the oven. “And now you little shits are going in the oven.”

Marlene just turned around and left as Sirius’ laugh filled the tent.

Remus walked up to the table to present his baking to be judged. As per the rules, he placed the plate down behind his picture and sat in one of the stools lined up, facing the table. McGonagall and Dumbledore arrived, looking much to chipper for Remus liking, not when he was struggling not to start biting his nails. He chose instead to pick at the hem of his jumper until Lily took his hand in hers. He was grateful - he really liked this jumper.

Peter was disappointed but not at all surprised when his bagels hadn’t risen enough. How could they have when making a second batch had essentially cut out the proving process. Tonks’ were a bit too small. Lily’s were a bit too chewy. Remus bit his lip to stop himself from beaming when his were the best of the bunch. Still not perfect, not by a long shot, but he had won the technical challenge and his relief sent him out of the tent, unable to lessen the grin on his face as Marlene questioned him.

“How are you feeling, after today?”

“I’m feeling pretty good! I got off to a bit of a rocky start today, but I think I recovered well so I’m looking forward to sinking my teeth into the challenge tomorrow.”

Marlene gave him a thumbs up and wandered away to find some of the others.

“Well done Mr Technical Challenge!” Lily cried, slinging her arm around his waist as they began to walk back to the hotel.

“Why thank you, Ms Star Baker.”

“We make quite the pair.” Lily observed.

“That, my dear Lily, we most certainly do.”

Remus woke up in Lily’s room.

“Ugh, that alarm is so loud.” Remus groaned and ignored Lily giggling at him.

“I can’t believe how much you’re not a morning person, you seem like you’re hungover or something.”

“I am hungover as a result of life, Lily.” He muttered. “Existing is exhausting.”

“By god, you really are dramatic in the morning.” She gathered up a towel and some toiletries. “I’m going for a shower and to get ready. Meet you for breakfast in twenty?”

Remus nodded in agreement, shoved on his shoes and started gathering the one or two belongings he had. He hadn’t meant to sleep in Lily’s room, but they had stayed up so late talking the pair had just drifted off. It had been the best night Remus had spent her so far - he and Lily curled up under a pile of blankets, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate as they gossiped like school girls.

Remus stepped out the door and very closely avoided a collision with Sirius.

“I’m getting a freaky sense of deja vu right now.” Remus said, grinning.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “This… isn’t your room.”

Remus shook his head as they began walking down the corridor. “Nah, it’s Lily’s, I’m heading back to mine now.”

“You and… Lily?”

Remus choked as he realized what Sirius was thinking. “No, no, God no. I mean, Lily’s fantastic but no. We’re just friends, we fell asleep talking.”

Sirius’ shoulders almost seemed to visibly lighten. “Oh right, yeah.”

Remus grinned and nudged Sirius’ shoulder with his own playfully. “Lily’s not really my type.”

“Oh yeah? What is your type then?”

“Oh you know… not women.”

Sirius smirked and looked at Remus sideways. “Now that, sounds like something I quite relate to.”

Remus slowed to a stop as they reached his door. “I suppose I’ll see you in the tent?”

“That seems pretty unavoidable, doesn’t it?” Sirius threw him a cheeky wink and turned on his heel, continuing down the hall. Remus would be lying if he said he didn’t watch him walk away.

“Welcome back for our showstopper challenge!” Sirius said, smiling at all the contestants.

“This will be your second showstopper, so get ready.”

“That’s right,” James continued, “This week's challenge will be to bake pull apart rolls.”

“Jamie, are you sure you have the right challenge? That doesn’t sound very showstopper like.”

“Why thank you Sirius, you’d be right. I did forget to mention that your rolls should make the shape of your favourite animal.”

Remus rolled his eyes at the obviously pre prepared banter and yet he found himself smiling anyways.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus immediately set to work, knowing exactly what he wanted to do and how to do it, however he had been cutting it quite close on time every time he had practised, so he wanted to work as quickly as possible to allow for all and any mishaps that tended to happen under pressure.

He made, proved and rolled out his dough in record time and was now assembling the little rolls into the shape he wanted. He was shading the top with poppy and sesame seeds and stepped back for a moment to admire his handy work. He was in no way close to an artist, except for when it came to baking. If his canvas was starch and glucose, he might as well be Michelangelo.

He made one or two more adjustments before putting it in the oven for thirty minutes. That still gave him twenty minutes to spare, making this the fastest he had ever completed his challenge. Maybe the pressure had its benefits after all

“Oh fuck.” He heard Lily say from behind him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” She cried, her time getting more and more panicked.

“Lily?” Remus asked, whirling around in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to turn the oven on.” She whispered, her face pale.

“You… What?”

“I forgot to turn the oven on! Remus I’m screwed this won't heat up for at least ten minutes and I have fifty minutes of work left at least!

Remus wasn’t sure what overcame him in that moment, maybe some panicked curled hormones but suddenly he was in full disaster mode.

“Okay,” he muttered, opening his own oven and adding another wire rack. “Okay Lily, put yours in here with mine while your oven heats up. It’s not ideal, I know but it’ll get you started.”

“Remus Lupin.” Lily declared as she collected her tray and walked around her own bench to reach him. “You are my literal hero.”

She lifted herself up on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek swiftly before putting her doe - shaped dough in the oven and racing back to her own workspace to turn hers on.

Remus let out a shaky breath as he sat down for a moment. It was such a simple mistake that could happen to any of them. Remus vowed to himself to be extra vigilant from now on and to never assume he did anything on muscle memory. Here everything was strange and new and it could quite throw off your routine, especially if you’re used to working consistently in one particular venue.

“That, Mr Lupin, was quite the save.” Sirius commented, swooping in like he always did. Remus smiled weakly and ran his fingers through his hair. Just then Lily appeared again and took her bread out of the oven.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried as she dashed back to work, putting her bread in her own oven with a deafening clang.

“Thirty five minutes left!” Sirius called and Remus stood up cracking his knuckles. He could chat to Sirius later, right now? He still had a little work to do. He grabbed the little bit of extra dough he had set aside in the fridge and set to work.

“Mr Lupin, if you would please bring your challenge up to the table.” McGonagall called and even in his mild panic, Remus could still take a moment to appreciate the lovely lilt in her words.

He set his baking down on the table and stepped back to look at his work - a wolf, howling at a full moon.

“The moon detailing is quite clever Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said and Remus sighed in relief. It had been the little bit of dough he had set aside - put in the oven later to account for it’s smaller size.

“It certainly looks excellent, but the question stands; how does it taste.

“Remus winced as they pulled apart his, frankly, perfect design and each took a bite. Dumbledore gave him a broad smile and Remus bit his lip, grinning.

“I think you’ll find we’re very pleased Mr Lupin. These truly are very good.”

Remus could actually pay attention to the rest of the assessments after that thrilling review. He watched Peter present his rat bread (side note - what in the world had possessed him to make food in the shape of a rat?), Lily displayed her doe which had turned out very well in the end and some guy even made an alpaca. Remus didn’t know that dude too well yet, but he thought his name was Benji.

They all sat once more on the stools lined up at the front of the tent while the judges made their decisions. James and Sirius regaled them all with stories from their childhood while they waited,

“And then what do you know?” James cried, his hands flying everywhere as he told the story. “I look up, and there’s Sirius, hanging out the second floor window with his trousers down around his ankles.”

The entire room burst out laughing, Remus was pretty sure there were tears streaming down his face.

“But what made you think that would be a good idea?” Remus wheezed, still unable to breathe properly for all his laughing, but desperate to get a look into teenage Sirius’ state of mind.

Sirius just shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He admitted sheepishly and that set everyone off into another round of deafening laughter, when the judges walked in and they all sobered quite quickly.

James and Sirius conferred with them quietly in the corner a moment before walking back over to the contestants.

“Today, I have the absolute pleasure of announcing our star baker.” Sirius said, looking around the room with a small smile. “Our star baker this week is…” Sirius scanned the crowd for a moment before his eyes landed on Remus. “Remus.”

Remus didn’t even move. He wasn’t even sure he could if he had wanted to. He had won star baker.

“Which leaves me with the awful job of announcing who’s leaving us today.” James said in a flat tone but Remus didn’t even hear or register that some guy Fabien was leaving. He was just another baker Remus didn’t even know that well. But he was star baker. Lily pulled him into a hug and held him tight. The room around him was filled with pats on the back and congratulations and Sirius looked him right in the eye and mouthed well done.

Remus was pretty sure he wanted to live in this moment forever.

“Remus, would you be alright calling your family on camera? We’d just like to capture their reaction.”

Remus nodded and rang his mom. She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Ma?” Guess what?”

“What is it love, how did your day go?”

“I won star baker.”

Marlene giggled behind the camera as Hope let out a series of delighted yells. Remus laughed along with her for a moment. “Okay mam, I’ve got to go finish my interview, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

He said his goodbyes, hung up the phone and turned back to the camera. “So Remus, what were you thinking throughout the challenges?”

“Well after the first one, I kept thinking I’m going home for sure. But obviously I recovered a bit.”

“A bit? Marlene chuckled. “From going home to star baker. I’d say you recovered quite a lot.”

Remus chatted with Marlene for a few more minutes before she sent him away, claiming she had taken up enough of his time. Just as he was beginning to leave, Sirius sidled up to him.

“Well, if it isn’t the brightest star.” Remus teased.

“I think that today,” Sirius countered, “That would be you.”

Remus blushed and looked down at his feet. “Want to walk back to the hotel?

Sirius smiled. “That sounds like a plan.”

#let them eat cake #bake off au #wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin/Sirius Black #wolfstar au #tgbbo #the great british bake off

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polymathemawrites · 5 years ago

Text

Hand Holds - Part 1/?

cw: wow typical violence, rogue nonsense, mentioned trauma, mathias being mathias

No beta here, this doesn’t follow the canonical plotline for them because I do what I want, if I never finish this please forgive me I am a flake

Read under the cut for the story

He watches Fairwind work on the deck of the Middenwake, muscles shifting under the linen of his shirt, his coat thrown somewhere and not on him for once, not surprising considering the work Mathias has been watching him do for the last bit of time. Heavy ropes coil and shift, and he's doing something with the sails that the Spymaster does not pretend to understand even a little bit. The lights onboard the ship illuminate him better than the setting sun, but even then Mathias would have been able to see the familiar frame just fine. Even with his wandering focus he can still feel someone watching him in turn and seeing as it's not Fairwind, he looks down from his dark little alcove to the deck proper to see what he expected to see - Shandris Feathermoon watching him, better than the Commander at least.

To stop what he is doing would be to admit guilt, so he turns his attention away from her and back to the Captain of the Middenwake, hip shifting to rest cocked against the wall. He doesn't hear her come, no surprise there, only knows she is there when she lets him know, the exhalation of a sigh.

"Humans have such odd courtship rituals."

"I'm not courting him."

She leans against the wall next to him, her arms crossing her chest, nearly mimicking his own stance, "Are you not?"

He does not want to be having this conversation and definitely not with Feathermoon.

Leaving is conceding ground, again - guilt he isn't going to admit. "I would be far more up front about it, if I were."

"So you've been standing up here, watching him for an hour, for no reason?"

Mathias turns to level her with a look that would have sent trainees in Old Town running, but he doesn't expect it to do much to her, and it doesn't. Partial commander of their forces here, and he himself too for that matter, not much could have cowed the sentinel, and certainly not one human a fraction of her life-span. "He's easy on the eyes." It's in itself a damning confession but there are few who know him by name that do not know his predilictions. It had been a political move mostly, no one would ravel him up in their machinations for marriage plots to better their station if he was confirmed to be unwedable because he was unlikely to produce and heir.

He could swear she rolls her eyes at him. "Odd, what did I say? Why do you not just go offer him your bed?" She motions toward the Middenwake, "He would accept, if that is what worries you."

Nope, nope - not having this conversation. He takes a steady grip of the rail and swings himself up and over, landing on silent feet on the bottom deck, startling a champion on her way to report to Commander Wyrmbane. He sidesteps around the woman with an apology, catching a glimpse of movement from the deck of the Middenwake he spurs himself faster and takes the gangplank, only to hear the footfalls of a night elf doing nothing to hide herself behind him.

Cursing under his breath he swerves rounding the dock, hoping to lose her in the crush of people outside the harbormaster's office but as easily as he weaves through the crowd, so does she. Night elves and their damnable grace, it took him an entire twenty years to learn this. "Are you running from me, or from yourself?"

"I would appreciate it immensely if you minded your own business, Feathermoon. Do you not have enough to do, would you like me to set you up a target practice range, find someone who needs killing?" They break from the press of people, hitting the ramp that leads up and along, but right as he moves to round the corner, he realizes his mistake, too close to the edge, nowhere to go, he runs right into the large form of a Kul Tiran sailor.

He's seconds away from breaking the steadying hold - hands on his arms, before he realizes the surprised face looking down at him is none other than the focus of his last hour's wandering gaze. "Captain." He only just sounds this side of breathless which is embarrassing enough.

"Aye Spymaster, you're going at a right clip." His grin makes Mathias' stomach do unfortunate flips, "Were you coming to see me?"

"He was." Feathermoon pipes up behind him.

Oh that damndable elf and her meddling, this is what he gets for abandoning his paperwork. "I wished to hear your report on the Azerite shipment from earlier today, first hand. I heard there was a dragon spotted?" He does break the hold now, easily stepping back but the heat of the Captain's hands remain burning on his bare skin beneath his pauldrons.

An admirable cover, he pretends he doesn't hear Shandris' sigh to the side.

Fairwind seems to only just have noticed Shandris and he does as passable a salute he seems able, nothing at all respectful about it, and his easy grin ruins the whole pantomime. "Were you coming to hear me tell all about the dragon too, General?"

She shakes her head in the negative, bouncing on her heels in a way he's seen her do when she's at ease, an oddly childish movement for a woman so very old. It just reminds him of how different night elves are to humans, and he wonders how old she actually is, not just in terms of years but in terms of her people's maturity. His wandering thoughts are interrupted by the sweeping and dramatic bow that Fairwind gives her.

"Then do you mind if I steal the Spymaster? It's not often he comes to talk to me of his own volition you see, and I was hoping I could convince him to get a bit of kip with me."

Food. Kip was food, Mathias opens his mouth to deny the invitation, but Shandris is quicker.

"Of course Captain, and well you should - I have not seen Master Shaw eat all day."

"Like a bird he is." Flynn spins on his heel, throwing a look back at them - mostly at Shaw. "Coming Spymaster? I have some victuals in my cabin you might find enjoyable."

"I'm sure he will." Shandris Feathermoon bounces on her heels again. Damned woman.

He easily catches up with Fairwind, following him the short distance to the Middenwake, berthed as it was directly across from the Wind's Redemption. "Have you really had nothing to eat?" Fairwind's voice sounds soft with concern.

"I skipped lunch, although General Feathermoon wasn't there to see me do so." He's annoyed at that, she'd guessed and it had been correctly, which grated on him. That she probably paid close attention to his routine to know the truth of it.

"You do that too often and I'll be able to throw you around."

The glare he levels Fairwind with lacks teeth, "You would be sorely pressed to try."

He finds where the man had put his coat once they're in the Captain's quarters on the ship, slung over the back of the chair seated at the man's very messy desk. The window is open to let in the breeze and also the sounds of Boralus outside. Lighting a number of lanterns and also putting wood in the stove, Fairwind bids him to sit in-between tasks, and Mathias obliges him by perching on the only other chair in the room not piled with things.

"So the dragon-" is how the story begins and Fairwind is a consumate storyteller, Mathias finds himself enjoying the journey despite the little barbs he puts in to tell the man to hurry up with it. He doesn't hurry up with it anyway, and so Mathias has been plied with a large number of hard meats, savory cheeses, and crusty bread, as well as a bottle of wine, "And then we had to avoid the Horde chasing us halfway back to friendly waters."

"That's the part I want to hear more about." It's been an hour maybe, there is nothing but darkness outside and the weight upon his shoulders has gradually lifted with the application of wine and company. "Did they open fire on you?"

"Oh no, no. We were a good bit out from them, it would have been a waste of cannonballs, if I were to take a guess I'd assume they wanted to see if we knew any other islands in the immediate area."

A blade's edge of anxiety leaves him then, and he doesn't even realize it was there until it is gone. "Glad to hear it."

When did it happen, he wonders on his way back to his berth on the Wind's Redemption. When did he begin to fall for Captain Fairwind? Was it the treasury? Before? Was it the man's docier on his desk? In the past it had been easy to bury it, send the offending person away, or himself away. But Fairwind wasn't one of his and he had nowhere to go to escape this slow descent into familiarity. He should push away, he knows. Too much at stake and more - he is terrified of the release in it. To let go of that control and what does he have but himself to master? Too many variables and one can never control them, but himself - he was good at that. At denial and the chains of servitude. He was born for this, bred to serve the Kings of Stormwind in blade and body.

But looking at the light coming from the Captain's quarters on the Middenwake stirs something in him. Dangerous as a knife to the throat it is a hunger inside of him for something more than he had been made for. He knew where that got him in the past, it bloodied his hands and broke his heart, it resulted in a man's head on his desk and the dagger at his side instead of the man who it had belonged to. What was right and what was moral? Not for him to determine, that was the work of greater men. Ripples in a pond and Mathias was the man who monitored them, sent them in the right direction when needed. He was not meant for soft things, for a warm body to come home to, or in this case - to be the warm body to return to. He was no man's home, and never would he be, as much as he might ache for it.

He looks up the gangplank and sees Shandris Feathermoon's back and he turns on his heel, something in him aching too much to be prodded and poked at right now. His mind is far away and he pulls it back, reins it in with the spur of his own physicality. He sets off at speed, kicking off the high wall, his gloved hands finding perfect grooves in the old harbor wall to pull himself up the distance. There is an exhalation of breath behind and below him, a vendor gathering their wares for the day, but he is gone before they even fully register he'd been there and likely their surprise will bleed into disbelief for he is nothing but a shadow. He is running the length of the wall then, high but not yet high enough. Age and strife has worn the brick work - nothing like Stormwind's pristine harbor wall, it's gleaming white masonry - so when he jumps gaps he's able to actually breathe without the weight of guilt in every step, and that freedom causes each leap to carry him further, like a bird nearly in flight. Too long grounded for a roof-walker, too long at desks and buried under bureaucracy.

He takes the gap from the wall to the rooftops as if he is weightless, barely do his feet meet the tiles before he's off again, running the length of the roof's crest on the strongest part of the structure. When he jumps the next gap he looks down to see the market below for that fleeting second, the milling merchantiers and the travelers from all corners of Azeroth, with him above them all.

He's passed the trade's district, passed the Middenwake now too, he's scaling the upper level of the bridge toward Mariner's Row when his lungs turn to fire. He pushes further, further, a snarl as he forces air into iron barrel of his aching chest. One long wide gap and he soars. The landing is rough, he rolls through it and pushes himself up, staggers forward, on, on, he's not done yet. Shandris' words come back to him, 'Are you running from me or from yourself?' He flings himself forward, off the bridge, only to catch his hands against the old stone, the leather beneath them burning as he slides, down and down - but it's enough friction to slow his descent.

On his feet he shakes his hands out, casually looking up to meet the stare of the guard stationed a few feet from where he'd landed. The man has his mouth hanging open in shock. Mathias pushes the hair falling forward onto his face back. "Just testing the structural integrity of the bridge." He murmurs, turning back towards the way he came.

Luck, or something like it, is with him when he gets back to the Wind's Redemption. The only people on deck are Wyrmbane and a couple of Alliance Champions all three of them focused on the campaign map. He moves to slip past them only for the paladin to look up and catch his eye, and before Mathias can nod and dismiss himself, the man is speaking.

"Master Shaw, these two have some information you might like to hear."

There is nothing but darkness and stars above and yet the work is never done so he comes to stand by the table instead of vanishing into the hold - as much as he wanted to just curl up with a pot of tea and his paperwork. One of them is a Ren'dorei in cloth and the other a human in leathers and he leans against the table with one hip, arms crossed over his chest.

"Master Shaw," the Ren'dorei man bows with the customary flourish of his ilk that Mathias still had trouble determining was sarcastic or not, but the man's words didn't betray any disrespect as he continued, "When my partner and I were flying over toward Drustvar we saw some suspicious Horde activity in the region between Tiragarde and the coast over there."

Here the human man took up the thread, "They had a landin' part right along the coast almost up to Fletcher's Hollow." The man had a thick Gilnean accent, "We couldn't see how many there were, but it was likely enough to give someone up there trouble."

Commander Wyrmbane looked to him, "It doesn't appear to be a full incursion." There was an unspoken request for input at this point and Mathias leaned over to look at the map, tracking where Wyrmbane had put a pin in to denote the Horde sighting. The little cove was protected enough by mountains and more, and he could only imagine the havoc that might be wrought by a raiding part with a good foothold there.

"I'll send scouts." But what he really meant was that he was going to go down, pack an overnight bag, and go out himself. "Can you tell me anything about the individuals you saw?"

"I know one of 'em was an orc. There was also a couple of goblins, or extra large green mice, we were fairly high up, I'm afraid." The Gilnean man rubbed his bearded chin, "Saw a lot of crates."

Mathias excused himself after reassuring the commander he'd have something to report to Wyrmbane about come the next day. Finally slipping away to below deck he went to his office and then pushed through the door to his private quarters behind. Lighting the lamp he hung it up over his bed and began to arrange his pack. Poisons, a gnomish spyglass, and a small ration would hold him for the night. When he came back on deck the only one out was the night watch guard on duty and he gave the woman a nod as he took himself down the gangplank again.

Stopping to fill his canteen at the fountain in town and slip in a bit of cleansing powder, he let the sound of night-time revelry from the tavern nearby pour over him. It would have been easy to assign an agent to the task, there were a number of them off-duty tonight, probably finding their pleasures and daily relief in that very tavern. But the thought of the cold air against his face, the thrill of flight, and the promise of a mission to get him out of his head was too tempting.

The gryphonmaster greeted him with a wave, hands full of straw, in the middle of packing it down onto the nest of the gryphon standing nearby. The dark blue and red creature greeted him too, with a headbutt to the shoulder that would have knocked him over had he not braced himself for it. He sunk his fingers into her feathers and gave her a good scritch. "She'll miss you when you've gone, Spymaster Shaw."

"Doubt that will happen anytime soon." The war felt like it would go on forever, certainly he'd been in Boralus more than he'd been in Stormwind for the past months. "I'll need her overnight if she's rested and fed."

"Shadowtalon just had her sup, so you'll be doin' me a favor taking her out. She'll only want to fly after that meal, I wasn't looking forward to have to fluff up her nest for hours to try and get her to settle."

Drawing away from petting under her beak, Mathias took himself to saddling the gryphon, "There's a girl, we'll get you up in the clouds soon." Glancing toward the other nests he noted that one of them was noticeably empty. "When did Cadet Fordragon leave?"

"Oh 'bout an hour ago, took off toward the south."

He hummed a soft sound and slipped effortlessly into the saddle, already Shadowtalon's body was tensed beneath him so eager to take wing. With a final nod exchanged he gave her the pressure of his knees and then she was off, strong wings buffeting the ground and knocking straw about, before they were zipping up into the cold night sky. While all the gryphons he'd ridden in Boralus had been exceptionally well trained, there were two he had a fondness for, depending on where it was in Kul Tiras he needed to travel. There is a duality in the gryphons he favours too, ebon and snowy-white, both good for different cover. But for tonight's trip Shadowtalon's ebon coat would disguise him best, and that's exactly as Mathias preferred it to be.

Tiragarde unfolded beneath him, the long edge of it's coastline and the lights of various townships. He was barely at the height he liked best to travel at when the first sign of trouble became apparent. Smoke rising up from the south, near the mountains that cut off the main body of the isle from Freehold. The amount of it was reminiscent of a forest fire or a town burning and he banked Shadowtalon back down low to skin treetops, the air currents holding them steady. The source of the smoke became clear soon enough as they rose over the crest of a hill, the little hunter's lodge tucked away on the edge of the mountains was being attacked. With no sight of backup from Bridgeport in view he leaned his weight forward and Shadowtalon swooped evenly toward the ground. A less trained gryphon would have balked at the heat and smoke in the air but she just shrieked shrilly, a call for battle and blood. They hit the ground running and she bowled over a man about to strike down one of the lodge's hunters with his bully club. With an effortless motion, Mathias dismounted and then clucked his tongue and pointed toward the treeline. The look of distaste showed in her deep brown eyes but she fled the battle as directed, if she ended up hurt he'd never be able to rent a gryphon in Boralus again.

The hunter with her broken crossbow scrambled to her feet and then kicked the club away from the downed man, Mathias caught sight of her removing her skinning knife from her belt before he was turning, already slipping into the shadows.

He worked best in the dark and the fires from the inn set ablaze and various tent structures only aided in the shifting chaos of shadows, helping to even further obscure him. Humans against humans always put a bad taste in his mouth, but it was easy enough to determine between sides here. The hunters and traders of the lodge wore traveling leathers or hunting gear and were also well warmed against the falling snow - the raiders in contrast looked like burly dock workers and were trying their best to loot during the ensuing chaos caused. Ashvane dockworkers, Mathias guessed. Out of work and on the wrong side of the war.

Shadow stepping behind a truly massive mountain of a man, he struck sure with his blade into the man's lower back. Swift and sharp, he hit with a kidney shot before kicking the man in the back, only managing to stagger him to begin with thanks to his blade work. Even still it didn't prove enough to put the man down and he rounded a circle, swinging his sword wide. Easily Mathias dodged back, and the next blow he easily parried and swept to the side with the cross of his daggers. "Little Alliance dog!" Spat out along with blood and frustration, and Mathias slid under another angry swing. The crimson bloom of flowing blood was spreading through the man's shirt now, but his adrenaline was keeping him going. Soon enough even that wouldn't save him though, Mathias merely needed to wait him out.

He didn't have the patience for that tonight, not with the smoke catching in his throat and the necessity of ending this soon before the fires could do any more damage. Fielding another blow he caught it with his blades but instead of bracing himself he let the blow carry him smoothly sideways, knocking the man off balance. As he raged and stumbled forward, Mathias followed after him and with one economically placed swipe, he opened the man's throat up, the arterial spray hitting another raider in the face - likely the man had meant to aid his friend, only to then be bathed in the man's blood.

Mathias watched as terror set into the man's eyes as he watched the corpse hit the ground and lay unmoving. The scream that ripped out of that man was one that Mathias has heard many times before. Loss, fury, fear, hoplessness. He braced himself for the impact of blade but instead the man turned and ran, fleeing for the treeline. Before he even made it three yard there was a crossbolt in his back, and then two more.

The battle was over, the raiders were trying to flee, and mostly failing. The workers of the lodge had set up a chain of buckets from the nearby stream to put out the fires. He's in the middle of cleaning his blades when a well built woman with greying hair comes toward him. "Well you came down like a very pointy avenging angel. Alanna Holton, my thanks for taking out their leader."

He took her offered hand and shakes it after sheathing his blades, "Mathias Shaw."

With the widening of her eyes he can tell the name is recognized. "Wait here, please Spymaster. I've got an inn fire to put out." She was off then, rushing on to help her workers organize.

Taking himself to the treeline he was barely in range of the underbrush when Shadowtalon trampled over a berry bush to reach him, butting her head into his chest with enough force to make him catch himself or risk falling over. "There there girl, you did well."

Holton finds him in the middle of watering and feeding Shadowtalon to calm her from the excitement, tucked in next to a lightly singed caravan near the Gryphon master's stand. "Thank you for your aid again, Spymaster. We've got some help coming in from Boralus now. Is there anything we can do for you, or were you just sight-seeing?"

With Shadowtalon beak deep in chicken innards, he considers the downtime this little sidetrack is going to cost. While swift and feisty, Shadowtalon was also prone to battle-lust, and he didn't much favor the idea of taking her on a covert scouting mission with her feathers ruffled like this. She might try and divebomb the Horde and that would not suit his needs at all.

"I was scouting something along the Drustvar's edge, but I'll need to wait now for my gryphon to recover."

Carefully reaching out the middle-aged woman gave Shadowtalon a pat, holding her hand there she was obviously testing the mood of the beast. With his own hand buried in the soft feathers under her cheek he could already feel what she was looking for, the fine thrum of energy and a creature well worked up. "This one of Boralus' Gryphons?" She asked and he nodded in turn, "I'll have my man tether her to a line and send her flying to wear her out for you and then bed her down. I'd offer you our gryphon on loan but we sent him off to Boralus to call for aid and he's down for his own recovery."

"Thank you, that will have to do."

"The inn isn't likely to collapse in on itself and the fires all out now, you're hardly dressed for the weather, Master Shaw, please go settle yourself by the hearth while we take care of your gryphon." She smiled at him and gave him a bow before she was off, her shouted orders carrying across to workers and hunters alike, with a tone that commanded to be followed.

It was not until he was in the quiet of the inn that the actual chill of the outside air hit him. With the heat of the room around him closing in like a firm blanket he found himself biting down a shiver. Sweat from activity and also the abated adrenaline left him trembling and he settled down near the hearth of the fireplace, sinking into a chair with a cushion settled atop it. Around him was the bustle of many being tended to. Bandages and burn salves, a lone priest doing his best to take care of the ones worse off. He watches, letting the scene roll over him, only to find a steaming mug shoved into his hands by one of the workers. Taking a whiff proved the beverage to be hot cocoa and he sipped at it, leaning himself back to then settle the warmth of the mug over his chest.

He'd have to go on foot, likely. Which meant sending word to Wrymbane about his change of plans. Pulling his map out he balanced his mug on one knee and planned the best route to take. The Old Drust road would carry him through to Vigil Hill, and from there he could cut over to the coast. On foot it would take a number of hours all told unless he wanted to run the entire way, which he did not - only now regretting the roof-top run he'd taken after dinner with Fl- Captain Fairwind.

Bringing out his writing kit he pens first a missive to Wyrmbane and then begins the more laborious process of encrypting messages to his agents in Boralus. Thrice his mug is refilled as he works, while the bustle of the tiny inn flows over him. The fireplace was kept blazing and in no time the cold that had permeated him fled to be replaced by bone-deep warmth and contentment, he would not relish leaving his place before the fire when it was time to go.

"Shift switch!" The strong commanding voice of Holton filled up the inn after some time and Mathias looked up to see the tired forms of Boralus dockworkers and guards come in, sooty and wet. To his surprise among them was a familiar form, Fairwind's sure frame coming to slump against a wall, charming smile alighting on the lady to hand him a mug identical to Mathias' own. And as if feeling the weight of his gaze, Flynn's attention turned from the inn worker to meet Mathias and hold, a look of pleased surprise passing over his ever-expressive face. Despite the way he'd leaned on the wall looking like a cat drug from the Stormwind canals he bounded up to Mathias' chair like an energetic puppy. His cocoa splashed over his sooty knuckles as he plopped himself on the stones of the hearth.

"Fancy meeting you here, Master Shaw, come often?" Fairwind batted his lashes at him and Mathias applied himself to sealing his letters. "Shouldn't you be asleep on top of your paperwork or something?"

"There's something I needed to check up on along the Drustvar coast." Draining his mug he handed it to Fairwind who was tricked into taking it, before standing.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Fairwind asked, peering into the empty mug. Someone was trying to put a blanket around his shoulders but he was too busy scrambling up after Mathias to let them do it properly so they gave up on him.

"Whatever you'd like." He isn't much surprised to find Fairwind following his steps out, it was too much to ask that the man be exhausted from helping out, at least too exhausted to hound him.

#fairshaw #mathias shaw #flynn fairwind #fairshawlidays #I'm gonna try and get at least one prompt a day in but I don't promise anything

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malefi-andromeda · 5 years ago

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Long Winding Road Stay Strapped My Dude

By: Astoria Cathryn Andromeda

Alrighty, this is a long one boys. So I touched briefly on this in my Welcome to Literally Everything post. No worries I'll recap you, so you don't have to switch back and forth. I just diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and then ADHD when I was 18 years old, and even then I had to fight for it after countless hours of research. See, there seems to be a wee bit of misogyny in the neurodiverse diagnoses. When I say a wee bit, I mean that scientists used to think that only boy could be autistic or ADHD. They only studied autism in males. Fortunately, nowadays we know that girls can be autistic and/or ADHD, but we present the traits differently than boys, and a lot of our traits are played off due to gender roles in society. For example, being overly talkative in girls is called chatty, whereas boys who can't sit still are sent off for testing immediately. This also causes problems for the boys, because little Johnny gets put on Adderall at the ripe age of 6 years old, just because he can't sit still for 8 hours straight, which by the way should not be expected of any elementary school kid, By the time, he's 25 he's 1) completely dependent on amphetamines 2) his body will stop producing dopamine due to being on the medication for so long. Nicht Gut. Generally, boys who are on the spectrum get picked out earlier due to late speaking, or lack of social skills. This is the one thing that girls happen to do better than boys. Girls are good at masking, which is basically taking social traits, phrases, personalities, demeanor, and copying them. In public, they put on a mask and at home, they have a meltdown. Girls are still not picked up as being on the spectrum, because shyness is called being 'ladylike' and 'dainty', and having a meltdown is just because :( girls are oh-so emotional, boohoo. Anyways tons of women do not get diagnosed with autism until they are well into their adulthood, I actually can be considered lucky to have technically still been a teenager when we finally got all the pieces together.

Alright, let's start with I don't know me as a baby. I did not speak until I was 2 years old, and then it was immediately full sentences from then on. I didn't do the babbling thing, which I don't know how impactful that really is to the topic. I was a very shy little girl. I was teeny tiny, we didn't know I if I was going to make it to 5 feet tall until I had a big growth spurt in 7th grade. I am 5'2 now and definitely done growing in case you were wondering, so not that short anymore. I did not like talking to adults, especially strangers, especially men. I did not look anyone in the face, and I will always hide behind my parent's legs when they would try to introduce me to people. I am an only child, and I spent a lot of time entertaining myself. I always had seasonal affective disorder, where my grades would dip in the winter. My parents knew I had a timer, they had 45 minutes from the moment they stepped into a restaurant before I would start breaking down. If I got off schedule as a toddler in any form, it was a catastrophe. Or this is what my parents and family tell me. I didn't really notice. I did not like being out in public a lot, I was a very picky eater, and I was extremely hyper. I was a very eccentric child, I only had 1-2 close friends and they were always a very well-liked outgoing girl who I just followed around. Looking back, I don't know how we missed it. I was shy because I didn't understand how social interactions worked, I was anxious about it because I didn't understand, I had sensory overloads, routines, and a very bland diet with a safe food which was ketchup. I put that shit on literally everything, eas, apples, mac and cheese, pizza, all meat, anything something forced me to eat that I did not like. But because I could sit still in class, and because I could zone out and daydream all day through school and still make A's nobody ever flagged me for anything and how I was supposed to know that not everybody just copied other people, scripted things before they talked, and could never pay attention. My mom always required me to be in a sport, and I was a gymnast and a swimmer for a long time, two very high-intensity sports, to help lower my energy levels, and because my mom has mild depression and she knows that exercise does help. Skip to middle school, my mom tells me I'm being bullied at church. It's not that I wasn't observing my surroundings I knew I was being excluded, but I didn't understand vindictive behavior, I thought it was my fault. I had zero friends in 8th grade until I sat down next to a random acqutaince I had gone to school with since I was 4 and the same gymnastics place. Then we were immediately attached at the hip after that. She is my best friend due this day and definitely got me through high school. Led me through so many social situations without either of us knowing. I had a very close friendgroup in highschool, all of them were on the drumline which I met through my best friend, and my first boyfriend was my best friend's neighbor. I ended up playing bass guitar for my high school's indoor drumline, and it was the best experience ever. I love my friends, but I had really bad depression when I was 15-now:) jk It's better. I didn't really realize I was depressed, I just didn't want to go to school, or swim practice, or do anything so of course, my mom noticed, and then once it was pointed out to me it got worse. My severe anxiety spiraled with my depression. Senior year of high school, my boyfriend and I were like toxic star crossed lovers, hurting each other over and over again without meaning to. My friends and I were self harming, all my close friends gad some demon going on. I finally decided to try therapy again after the disaster of being forced to go when I was 15 and the lady told me I wasn't depressed because I had a boyfriend and good grades. It helped a bit, I was able to get my panic attacks under control. Then I went away to college and stayed dating my senior high school boyfriend, we were just up and down as always, but with slightly better communication. My freshman year of college I joined a fraternity, a research lab, and my first hs boyfriend/ex/best friend and I went to a Christian campus place. By second semester, I had a lot of people who knew me and talked to me, but I didn't have any close friends, and even less close friends who were girls. All my close friends who were girls were at another college. My parents were worried about me, so they made me rush a sorority, which I knew was never my scene, but my parents made me join and I found a few girls I liked. Soon I was going to 6 classes, fraternity chapter, research lab meetings, christain crash group meetings, soriorty pledge meetings all on every Tuesday. I was different person at each of these events and wore a different mask. I was having what I know now were autistic burnout meltdowns every single day on the phone in my crusty dorm's stairwell. It was not cute. His mental health had always been bad too. Finally I decide I need to try a psychatrist and go back to therapy, and then he broke up with me. Then I made my first close friend, a guy who was in 3 of classes, and I took him to my fraternity's formal, and then coronavirus happened. Rona kinda saved my grades, and mental health by sending us home event though it did suck. I got on anti-anxiety meds and things went up, but I was still having what I thought were panic attacks, they were austistic meltdowns. My psychiatrist, he's kinda an asshole, he diagnosed me with Obessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. I'll insert definition here: (OCPD) is a personality disorder that's characterized by extreme perfectionism, order, and neatness. People with OCPD will also feel a severe need to impose their own standards on their outside environment.> Basically hr told me I had rules for everything like how everyone drives on the right side of the road, but nobodythinks about it andwhen I broke one of my rules I got depressed, and when wasn't perfect I got depressed, and when I made an A I was relieved not proud. The diagnosis seemed to fit really well, and my therapist and I started working finding my rules, and getting rid of the bad ones, and making the others less harsh. I had thought every once and in a while in my life when I was really upset, what if I'm on the spectrum, because I just felt so hopeless for social interactions and I didn't understand. I always felt like I was a very specific person, but after the ocpd I started thinking more and more, and I saw a tik tok of a girl with lae diagnosed autism basically describing me and ranting about the misogyny. I did more research and I decide, yea I'mm gonna bring it up to mypsychatrist well he's a dick, so he was like um you don't act like sheldon cooper from the Big Bang theory,and I was like wellI just I have always thought I might have adhd like be neureodiverse, and he was like your grade point average in hs was a 97.8%, you're not adhd. I immediately cried, because I can't handle when anyone says anything in a even a slightest stringent tone. I'm baby, I know lmao. It made me angry though because I felt like he just brushed away all of my struggles I had in my whole life. I spent hours researching and typed up a 47 page document on evidence for why I was on the spectrum, and had my parents help will some of checklists to make sure I was getting outside perspectives. I rally my parents to be my back up and next psychiatrist appointment we actually talk about it and he asked my parents questions about when I was young and such and finally he was okay you're on the spectrum. I felt so validated and like I could start being myself. I slowly got more and more confident, changed my style of clothing, and researched more about adhd pushed to be tested, and oh look at that I also have ADHD. So basically discourse: "I feel like as a child I coded a machine to do life for me so I didn’t get bothered except I didn’t know about the machine I thought i was the machine and now I’ve become self aware and I have to learn how to read the code and rewrite the code because it’s dysfunctional because I’m not functioning well as a human being. I was really shy as a child. I would turn beat red when people talked to me or looked at me so I think I started cookie cutting situations and using them over and over again because they worked until I accidentally hard wired these expansion rules and expectations for myself. I didn’t may attention is class ever I just day dreamed and if I got good grades i wouldn’t be bothered i could just stay in my head and if I did my sport well my parents didn’t bother me. I was never asked if I did my homework I just did it so I wouldn’t be asked and have to deal with that situation. I would cookie cutter situations in class that would draw the least attention to myself.

I feel like i don’t have friends I just fulfill the expectation like a side quest on video games" I wrote this down pre autism confirmation when i just thought I had ocpd. Now I don't directly identify with ocpd, but I definitely think I developed that personality disorder a bit from living with undiagnosed autism. I am linking below the very informative Tik Toks by the lovely Paige on autism in girls. The imposter syndrome one really hit home. I had had so many panic attacks about thinking I tricked people into being my friend, or thinking I was smart.

I highly suggest watching these short tik toks, you'll definitely learn something

https://vm.tiktok.com/wVvcYA/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqRRUf/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnqhvX/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqeyYg/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnoE7u/

https://vm.tiktok.com/Kas6gB/

https://vm.tiktok.com/owM9hs/

Imposter syndrome

I am also linking an article about Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory and Autism that explains why my psychiatrist was wrong, and also I am a girl and the spectrum is called a spectrum because it's a fucking spectrum no two autistic people are exactly the same it's like a color wheel.

http://www.autismsupportnetwork.com/news/problem-sheldon-cooper-and-cute-autism-387783

Here is a fun comic about the spectrum and how to view it.

https://the-art-of-autism.com/understanding-the-spectrum-a-comic-strip-explanation/

I am still learning about myself, and how to be me, and how to be myself but without breaking bad social rules. It's quite humorous though because I'll learn something is related to autism and I'm like oh shit again, like still, like, we're still discovering things.

"Tu ne me manques pas"

Bis später,

Astoria.

#asd #autisminwomen #autism #actuallyautistic #aspie #aspie memes

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caitlinclark · 5 years ago

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Maitane López: «We are more tactical and therefore we play a very different football»

Our first 'C' in this tremendous trident is Maitane López Millán or also known as “the smile of the Liga Iberdrola” or “Mai”.

She says that it is something natural but unconsciously gives off that 'good vibes' energy that makes the interviewer (in my case) feel like being with a friend drinking something.

And before you start it is important that you understand that ...

For this and subsequent occasions, I have decided that my interviews can be taken as a souvenir home. For Maitane I drew half a soccer field on an A4 sheet and put 11 representative photographs of the player in question, symbolizing the number of components of a team. Her name also appeared in large print, a drawing of a book (later you will understand why), an orange and a star. Once the rules of the game have been explained, I give it to her and when she sees it, she smiles and immediately says, "Very original, really." And with an Aquarius in each hand, Mai begins uncovering the first photograph and ...

Photograph 1 (Maitane as a child) M: Oh! (She laughs). My beginnings, right? I started with 4 or 5 years, all my paternal family was related to football my father, José Ignacio López Rekarte, my uncles, Luis María and Aitor López Rekarte and my grandfather, Luis López. Until one day I came home and told my mother to sign me up. And of course, my mother didn't know anything about women's football in Mallorca because we had just moved from Murcia, and she decided on the Son Cotoner club, which was later renamed Sporting Ciutat de Palma. (Laughs) This anecdote is very funny because with 4-5 years I went to train, and my poor mother told me "don't be sad if they don't pick you", and on the first day, I went up two categories!

ESF: Did you play with boys? M: Yes, until there was a moment that another girl came who became my best friend. At age 12 I was beginning to notice inequalities between men and women because we are biologically different. But I never had problems with any teammates, they were more screams from the stands than anything else. In fact, I keep in touch with some of them.

Photograph 2 (Maitane with her uncle, Luis María López Rekarte) M: My uncle ... has always been my role model (snorts). I still remember this picture, I can see the smile on my face ... It was radiant. Imagine, thanks to him I could have access to my idols, that is, I was next to Kovacevic, Nihat, Xabi Alonso etc.

Really, I had devotion to him, when he came to play against Mallorca, I brought all my friends and they freaked out, for me he was my idol and he was the one who pushed me to continue.

ESF: Is your uncle going to see you at the matches? M: Yes, and my whole family when we play in Zubieta.

Photograph 3 (In his second football team: UD Collerense) M: Colle ... I was in Sporting Ciutat de Palma until the second division and then I went to Collerense for three years and I was a little scared of the reception because they are rivals to death, but nothing, everything was great (smiles). This club has been my trampoline, a super humble team with very few resources that gave me the opportunity to play in the first division and over at home. I think it is worth considering that the club has been 5 years in the first division (seasons 2011-2016). I take great friendships, in fact the day after tomorrow I will stay with them. But for me Sporting is special because I entered with 4 and left at 15-16 years of age there.

Photograph 4 (Studies) M: I am currently finishing the Primary Education career with a mention in Therapeutic Pedagogy, now I am doing an internship at a Special Education center in Cheste. I've searched for it near Bunyol to get everything on time. The truth is that I've been trying to get my degree for 7 years (she laughs). No, I have not suspended any exams, the thing is that because of football I could not do the practices. And now yes, I have TFG, practices and memory, and that's it.

ESF: And that's it? M: Yes!!! (Smile from ear to ear). I've been doing this for 7 years, but it seems normal, but it's good to combine studies and be a professional football player. Although I have always been clear that I wanted to do both for what could happen, I also believe that when I leave this sport, I would like to dedicate myself to what I have studied, since it has nothing to do with football.

Photograph 5 (First day in the east) M: Incredible... Levante UD has given me everything, Colle was the springboard, but in this club I have evolved both personally and professionally. In addition, I had never lived alone outside home but this team welcomes you and takes care of you so much that I adapted very quickly. And it’s that (laughs) I'm still hallucinating that they iron our clothes and leave us folded in the locker room, really, I’m grateful for everything and I feel immensely happy in Levante UD.

Photograph 6 (Selection) M: I did freak out there, in fact I was with my partner on a off weekend in Salamanca and I was in a bad mood, Jorge called me and asked me how I was and I told him that great, and he told me that I was going with the National Team to Prague. It was a dream for me, to train with them, some of them were already friends ... Now they are in the United States and I wish them the best of luck.

Photograph 7 (Maitane smile) ESF: A lot of people say you're always smiling ... M: (laughs) Yeah, it's true ... (laughs again) Obviously I don't realize it and although it sounds like a cliche I think you have a better life smiling than crying. Also in the team along with Rocío we are the ones who pull pranks... and Lucia and ... Eva (laughs). And nothing, you just have to enjoy everything you do.

Photograph 8 (Eva Navarro, Ona Batlle and Maitane) M: My gorritis !!! They are Eva Navarro and Ona Batlle, they are not my friends, they are like my daughters (laughs). Although Ona is not so much now because she has already grown but Eva is... And I love having them on my team and having met them, it is one of the most beautiful things that football gives you and I am very grateful for it. I love them a lot.

Photograph 9 (Maitane playing the guitar) M: It's one of the things that disinhibits me from football ... I am very much the kind of person who goes with a book to read sitting alone in the street (stares at me and smiles) don’t think it’s weird if you see me one day out there or on the beach giving a walk… In addition, whenever I am a little sad, I feel immense desire to play the guitar and I think… (raises her index finger) “What's wrong with you? You have been playing for half an hour, two hours… ” (Laughs) It is true that my 'gorritis' suffer a lot, although many times it is them who ask me for songs, and we start singing and dancing all three. We have a lot of videos being dumb together (laughs).

ESF: Favorite singer? M: Ainoa Buitrago! (she doesn't doubt a minute)

Photograph 10 (Stadium) M: From the final of the U19 European we lost, I think that defeat has helped me a lot to mature as a footballer. A few years later, you value being a starter in a final. In addition, we faced the Netherlands with some very good players, moreover, the one that scored a goal was the now Arsenal striker and an undisputed starter of the Dutch national team, Vivienne Mediema. And I think about it and I still hallucinate having played that final.

Photograph 11 (The British Ladies Football Club team) ESF: Do they sound like you? M: (Stares) Mmmm… no.

ESF: Do not worry, it is a very old photograph and almost nothing differs. They are the British Ladies Football Club, the components of the first women's soccer team on March 23, 1895 in England. What do you think? M: In the end I think they were the first to open the doors. It is true that now we are being given more visibility and I think we are collecting the reward of all the work not only ours, but since that March 23, 1895. And in the end, we are so grateful to them that they were the first as to all those who have fought for equality both inside and outside the football field. For example, to me past generations like Sandra Vilanova, Melisa Nicolau etc. All of them have opened the door for us here in Spain in many things.

ESF: What do you think of the collective agreement? M: Every step is important. Everything is improving, now there is a sub-20, sub-15 and before it did not exist, I think it is progressing a lot and faster and faster, although there is still much to improve.

ESF: And about future generations? M: I think we have to keep working so that in the future, girls can get to live football as boys do.

ESF: What do you think of the phrase 'girls don't entertain? M: Well (snorts) it's football and it's another kind of show, you don't have to compare men’s football with women’s football because I've said it before, we're biologically different and therefore, we play differently. We don't have as much speed, aggressiveness as they do… We are more tactical and that is why we play a very different football. That’s it.

Female football star M: The best player in the Liga Iberdrola is ...? (sound of drums) Jennifer Hermoso. And the one that is very good but is not given media hype… Mariona. (She laughs)

Favorite book M: I love reading and this question is always a problem for me but ... ' Contra el viento del norte’ by Daniel Glattauer oe ‘La mecánica del corazón' by Mathias Malzieu.

Food ESF: Star dish, favorite ... M: Well, let's see ... (laughs) If you like to eat well, you have to know how to cook. And I know! I love to eat, really, but for football I have to reduce certain foods. For example, my star dish, which is to suck your fingers is: crusty bread, with a layer of provolone cheese and another of hot foie. (close your eyes) Mmmmmm. Really, great. But this I can only allow once every two months (she smiles) that then you have to go out play.

ESF: Thank you very much Maitane, really, ESF thanks you for your time and your sympathy. M: Thanks to you and ESF that I get along great with many of that media. Goodbye, see you soon (smiles and leaves).

And I hit the pause button. I hope you never forget this interview, take a little piece of ESF home and we smile and closeness. Maitane from ESF we wish you all the luck wherever you go and we will always be grateful for these times you give us. Really, do not lose that illusion and desire to live the life that has led you to achieve so much. And we also want to thank Levante UD Feminine for their willingness.

Interview conducted and written by Cristina Brull. Original photographs by Juanfra Galindo for «They Are Soccer»

#she's so humble i love her 💕💕#also i love that she said mariona is one of the best players in the league but doesn't get the spotlight :')#also when she said that eva and ona are like her kids :')#maitane lopez #football

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vampwrrrmistresslist · 6 years ago

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Honey Moon

You opened your eyes to see Chanyeol gazing down at you, his eyes sleepy, but warm.

“Ah!” he purred. “Good morning, yeobo…” His voice was even deeper than usual, and you hid your face in the crook of his neck, blushing. It would take a while to get used to that.

“Good morning…yeobo…” you giggled into his neck.

“Why?” he rumbled. “Are you shy?”

You nodded.

He pulled the covers over your heads. “Shall I help you with that?”

You missed breakfast.

***

Fortunately, the inn owner was used to newlyweds. She left a tray outside your door, and you both spent the morning replenishing your energy with thick, warm drinking chocolate, steaming croissants with fresh preserves, and bowls of artfully cut fruit.

***

“So, what do you want to do today?”

“Well, if you really want to know, I’d personally like nothing better than to carry you back to–”

“Yeolliel!”

“That’s yeobo, to you!” He stuck out his tongue playfully.

“Yeobo…” you whined. “We haven’t left the room in three days! They’re going to send in the authorities soon.”

“As long as we keep eating deliciously, they’ll know that we’re still alive.”

You jumped on the couch beside him, taking his hand, and playfully swinging it back and forth. “Yeoboooo! I want to go out! I want to show off my handsome husband!”

Chanyeol tilted his head, looking at you fondly. “Ahhhh! So cute! I can’t stand it!” He pretended to wrap his hands around your neck, but instead of squeezing, he just pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you over his lap, as he proceeded to give you playful kisses all over your face until you were a giggling mess.

“So!” he finally said, decisively patting you on the bottom, and setting you down beside him on the couch. “What do you want to do?”

“Honestly?”

He slanted you a sly look.

“No! I mean, yes, but…not right now!” You hit him playfully on the shoulder as he threw back his head and laughed.

“Okay, yeobo, I’ll stop. Maybe. Probably not. So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to go exploring.”

His eyes lit with excitement. “Really?”

You nodded vigorously. “I mean, we’re surrounded by all this lovely scenery, and I would love to see what the town has to offer, but for now…I just really want to see the countryside. I kind of just want to explore…like we used to do when we were little.

You and Chanyeol had grown up together, and no one had been surprised when childhood friends turned into high school sweethearts. You had weathered high school angst, college overwork, and the separation of the military, and though there had been fights along the way, you had never even thought about leaving each other’s sight. You couldn’t imagine life without him by your side, and he felt the same.

There had only been one real rocky patch in your relationship, after he had returned from the military. He had seemed as if he were constantly pushing you away, but when you confronted him about it, you were finally able to work it out, and come out on the other side stronger than ever. Sometimes you still wondered what had caused the momentary rift. He had never told you.

Chanyeol wasn’t like most men. He was extremely vocal, and demonstrative in his love, uncaring of what anyone else thought. All he cared about is that you knew that you were loved, protected, and cherished, and–secure in that knowledge–it was your pleasure to protect his heart for the rest of your life.

“We can make a fort!” he said excitedly.

You laughed. “Maybe!”

He put his hands on your shoulders, pushing you up off of the couch, as he followed, leading you to the door. “How about you ask ajumma to make us a picnic basket?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed.

He pulled you back briefly, to give you a peck before you left. “Love you.”

“Love you, always.”

***

The inn ajumma was as delighted to pack a basket for you as she was with your schoolgirl French. Reaching up a hand, she affectionately patted you on the cheek. “Ah, I will never get tired of seeing newlyweds. You’re always so bright-eyed, and red-cheeked! You know,” she began conspiratorially, “I think that constantly being surrounded by all of this young love helps keep the fire alive between my Phillippe and me!”

You blushed, and she winked. “Ahhh, newlyweds! So cute!”

***

“Wow! This thing is heavy!”

“We can take turns carrying it.”

“Absolutely not!”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying heavy objects, you know!”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re such a caveman!”

“Yeah, but I’m your caveman!”

You tried to hide your smile. Sure, you put up a front, but you secretly loved it when Chanyeol took care of you.

He knew it, of course, which is why he did it. That, and it made him feel all manly.

“Where do you want to go first?” you asked.

“Mmm, do you want to explore first, or eat first?”

Your stomach growled.

He guffawed, clapping his hands.

“Yah, it’s not my fault that you’re constantly making me burn so many calories!”

He blushed. “Let’s find a nice place to eat.”

“Ajumma did mention that her brother had a late season lavender field somewhere around here that we could use. That sounds nice.”

“Shall we?”

You nodded, turning in the direction that she had described. You both wandered for a while in comfortable silence, the early autumn sun warmly caressing your backs.

He broke the silence, inhaling deeply. “Ahhh, this weather is so nice! This Provence air is really on another level, don’t you think? It’s so refreshing!”

You nodded. “This is a beautiful place. Thank you again.”

He shook his head. “Let’s see, fresh air, delicious food, isolated room, grateful wife extra excited because she’s on her dream vacation, yeah, it was such a hardship to come here!”

Snorting, you leaned over, and bit him on the shoulder.

“Watch out, yeobo, or I’ll make you burn even more calories before we make it to lunch!” he grinned teasingly, bumping you gently with his hip.

“Oh! Look! Over there!” you pointed. You could just make out the edge of the lavender field in the distance. Turning, you both made your way toward it. “Oowha!” You were in awe. “It’s lovely!”

Chanyeol had to agree. “We’re going to smell like lavender for days,” he grinned, picking a nice spot, and laying down the blanket that was in the basket.

Reaching inside, you began to pull out the goodies that ajumma had packed. There was crusty fougasse–fragrant with rosemary and olives, and still just a bit warm from the oven, soft assertive cheeses, creamy liver pate, sweet candied fruits, smoky jambon and lox, salty saucisson, crunchy cornichons, full, tight, blushing apples, a whole roast chicken, and crunchy black nougat, filled with sweet honey, and fat almonds.

Chanyeol’s eyes widened. “Yeobo, I love you, but I think that I’m going to have to leave you for ajumma.”

“Not if I leave you first!” you retorted, looking over the spread.

“Shared custody?”

“Call,” you nodded decisively. “Oh! We can’t forget…” you did a little dance as you reached inside the basket for the last items–two bottles of rare sweet vendange tardive–one white, and one red.

“Two bottles?” he asked, his eyebrows raising.

“I love this woman,” you muttered. “Thank goodness she packed a lot. Even she must have realized that your appetite is legendary!”

“Ang!” he growled playfully, making adorable cat claws.

True to form, between the two of you, you were easily able to polish off the feast, though admittedly, most of it made it into his belly.

After the picnic, you lay on your back, your head in his lap, looking up at the sky while he fed you slices of apple, and bites of nougat. You were both in a pleasantly tipsy haze in your lavender cocoon, having finished one bottle of wine, and started on another.

“Yeobo,” Chanyeol drawled lazily.

“Mm?” you answered, your voice sleepy.

When he didn’t answer, you looked over at him. Your eyes widened. “No! No! Absolutely not!” You scrambled up, trying to put distance between you.

He caught you easily about the waist, and dragged you back, struggling and giggling. “Why not? There’s no one around for miles…”

“We’re outside!”

“In the middle of a very tall lavender field.”

“We’re not animals!”

“This is France!” he said expansively, waving an arm to indicate the fields glowing in the late afternoon light. “The country of love and romance! Dare we be impertinent enough, dare I say…rude enough not to experience everything she has to offer?”

You giggled, suddenly realizing that you were more than a little tipsy.

He leaned forward, nuzzling your nose. “Just this once?”

Your head tipped back, as you laughed, and laughed, peals of delighted joy pouring out of your throat like birdsong. Looking back down, you pushed him back onto the blanket, and leaned forward to lovingly kiss his eyelids.

“Just this once.”

***

You didn’t get to start exploring the forest until much later than you had previously anticipated.

***

You tucked the basket into an out-of-the way nook in the stone fence surrounding the lavender field, and taking Chanyeol by the hand, let him lead you into the forest.

It was like another world, all in gold and green. Butterflies flitted here and there, and the warm sunlight filtered through the trees in softly luminescent beams. Chanyeol seemed to perk up in the forest, becoming even more energetic than usual, quick to point out a shy animal, or beautiful flower. There wasn’t any discernible path, but you weren’t worried. Both of you had your fully charged phones and, according to the ajumma, the forest was only a few kilometres in any given direction.

Soon, you came upon a large, lazy stream, and proceeded to spend most of the afternoon playing in the water, climbing the trees that surrounded the stream, and jumping in, trying to see who could make the loudest splash. You caught frogs, wrestled in the mud, and finally cleaned each other off in the cool, clear running water, watching as curious little fish played around your legs.

“Did you know that France has panthers?” you asked as you gently palmed water over his muddied cheeks.

“Oh?” he said, splashing water over your arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not worried. I’m just trying to scare you.”

He laughed arrogantly. “I’m not afraid of a little cat.”

“France has bears, too, you know.”

His adorably large ears perked up a bit at that. “Do they?”

You nodded mischievously. “They’re in the mountains, though.”

He slanted you an oblique look. “Minx.” Ablutions complete, he took you by the hand and carefully led you out of the stream, to sit on the rocky shore.

“To be honest,” you started, “the most dangerous things recently, have been boars and cows.”

“Oh, you mean dinner?” he snorted, drawing you into his lap, and burying his face in the side of your neck.

You opened your mouth to retort, when your attention was drawn away by the soft glow of a firefly. Looking around, you realized that the gloaming had descended. “Yeobo,” you whispered, “look!”

Chanyeol lifted his head to see the fireflies glowing here and there, points of gold illuminating the soft rich blue of twilight. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

You watched his face as he looked around in awe. “I love you.”

His eyes came to rest on your face, his gaze gentle. “I love you always.” Leaning forward, he brought his hands to your face, tenderly cupping your jaw and slanting his mouth over yours in a slow, sweet kiss.

A wet, tearing noise rent the silence, and Chanyeol broke the kiss with a startled cry.

“Yeollie?” In your fear, you reverted back to your nickname for him.

“What…what day is it?” he groaned.

“Uh…I don’t know. Hold on, let me check.” Grabbing your phone from beside you, you swiped to check the date, but he snatched it from you, seemingly searching something.

He must not have liked whatever he found, because his face grew pale, paler than you had ever seen, and sweat started to bead on his brow. “No,” he whispered. “How could I have…?”

“What’s wrong? What is it?”

Another sloppy, slimy, rending noise rang through the still evening, and he doubled over, falling onto his side, a pained growl escaping through clenched teeth.

“Yeollie, what is it! Tell me where it hurts!”

Slowly, he crawled away from you. “Yeobo,” he gasped, “do you trust me?”

“Of course, now tell me what’s wrong!”

He turned, his face screwed up in pain, but managed to stand. Stumbling over to you, he took your face in his hands. “I need you to do something for me, can you do that?”

“Yes, of course, whatever you need–do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No!” His voice was so loud that it hurt your ears as it rang through the clearing. “Listen to me, I need you to do exactly what I say, do you understand?”

“Yes! I will–Yeollie, please, what is it?!”

“I need you to run.”

You paused, confused. “What?”

“Run. Run back to the inn. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, you have to run and not stop, do you understand me?” His voice was deep and strident, and you found yourself nodding without even thinking.

“What’s going on?!”

A sharp crack reverberated through the forest, and he fell to his knees.

You looked on in horror, seeing that he had seemingly broken his leg while just standing there. “Yeollie!” you whispered, tears blurring your vision.

His head was down, and he was panting. “Do you love me?”

“Always!” your answer was immediate–you didn’t even have to think about it.

He looked up at you, and you stumbled backward. His pupils…were glowing with a lambent orange light, as if a fire had been lit behind them. As you watched, his face began to distort with even more nauseating, wet popping and crunching noises. His teeth distended, pushing out of his mouth. Yet, in the middle of all this, he looked up at you, and those strange eyes still shone with love. “Then, run.”

You didn’t need to be told a third time.

You crashed blindly through the rapidly darkening forest, no idea where you were going, but hoping that you were were at least going straight.

A loud, mournful howl sounded from behind you.

You didn’t have the luxury of thought. You just ran. You could hear something large and heavy–very large, and very heavy–crashing through the forest behind you.

You hadn’t gone far when you heard a growl to your right. Turning, you saw a thin wolf keeping pace with you. Chanyeol?! Terrified, you put on another burst of speed.

Another jumped in front of you, and you fell on your bottom as you skidded to a stop. Scrambling quickly, you spun in another direction, but before you could take more than a few steps, yet another wolf leapt in your path. You were surrounded.

Desperately, you looked around for something that you could use as a weapon. Nothing.

Growling, the pack crept closer, hemming you in their ever tightening ring of fangs and claws.

Seeing an out, you ran to the nearest tree and leapt, wrapping your hands around a low-hanging branch. Tightening your muscles, you lifted your legs up toward the branch. Before you could get away, however, you felt a sharp tug on the back of your skirt. You screamed as you felt yourself being tugged backward, and struggled to hold onto the branch.

With relief, you felt the fabric of the skirt began to tear away, but at that same moment, your hands, sweaty with fear, slipped.

You fell.

As you fell, you kicked out, clipping the nearest wolf with a sharp cuff to the jaw. It whimpered in pain, falling backward, and the rest of the pack backed up a fraction, realizing that you were not easy prey.

Panting, you pressed your back to the trunk of the tree, afraid to turn and climb, given the wolves’ proximity.

Slowly, they began to slink forward again, but feinted closer when you tried to turn. One of the thinnest, emboldened by the scent of your fear, crouched in preparation for a leap. With a spring, he leapt toward you, jaws wide to tear out your throat.

He never made it.

Suddenly, your view of the wolves was blocked by something. Something huge, and dark, and furred. A low, menacing growl came from whatever stood in front of you.

As the pearlescent light of the full moon filtered through the clouds, you were able to get a better look, though you wished that you hadn’t.

Whatever it was was tall, at least six feet, though it was hunched over, as if it had a curved spine. Dark, dense black fur covered it, and wicked claws tipped its fingers. Gleaming fangs protruded from its long snout–opened in a deep warning growl.

The other wolves paced back and forth, clearly unwilling to give up their prey. One went for the leg of the beast in front of you, but he was batted aside as easily as if he were a mere pup, instead of almost two hundred pounds of hard bone, and deadly muscle.

With a snarl, all of the wolves suddenly attacked at once. It was a flurry of fangs and fur, flashing eyes, and snapping jaws. The cacophony of growls and snarls was terrifying, and you wanted nothing more than to run and keep running, but you finally realized the reality of the phrase, “frozen with fear”. You were too scared to run, too scared to climb, too scared to do anything but watch the vicious fight unfolding before you.

Suddenly, one of the wolves broke free, and ran around the beast before you, jaws opening as it went for your throat.

Spinning almost faster than you could see, the tall beast reached out a clawed hand, and slapped the wolf right out of the air–so hard that it hit a tree six feet away with a sickening thud.

You started, but kept your jaw tight, using every drop of willpower you had to keep from screaming.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, and the pale wolves silently slunk back into the forest, disappearing almost as if they had never been there.

Panting, the beast in front of you waited, turning in first one direction, then the other, large ears on the top of his head turning this way and that, in an apparent effort to catch the slightest noise.

Involuntarily, you whimpered, and it spun to face you. You pressed yourself against the tree, trembling, too frightened to even close your eyes for the end.

Slowly, it approached, snuffling the air. It crouched before you, crawling toward you on its hands and knees.

You shuddered in terror at its proximity, the sudden movement causing it to duck back with a growl. With an effort, you held yourself still.

After a moment, it started forward again, air loudly wuffling through its snout as it brought its face to you, sniffing you all over.

You turned your head away, not wanting to see your end, and it buried its wet snout in your neck.

After a few deep echoing inhales, it snorted, shaking its head with a sneeze, and moved back, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it began to pant. Suddenly it turned and flopped down, laying its huge head on your lap.

You couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t inhale enough oxygen, the fear holding your lungs in an iron grip. The world came crashing down on you, and you fainted.

***

Birdsong was echoing through the air when you awoke, squinting at the sunlight assaulting your eyelids. You could hear Chanyeol making the cute little noises that he made before waking up, and you opened your eyes, excited for another morning of being able to look your fill of your handsome husband.

But, when you opened your eyes, you felt nothing but confusion. You blinked a few times, to clear your head of sleep, and looked around. No, you weren’t imagining it, you were in the forest. Looking down, you saw Chanyeol, naked as the day he was born, his head in your lap as he softly whimpered in his sleep.

“Yeobo…” you whispered.

He didn’t move.

You reached out a hand to gently shake his shoulder. “Yeobo?”

Chanyeol awoke slowly, rubbing his eyes. Looking up, his eyes caught your face, and he smiled beatifically. “What a lovely morning!” he rumbled, his voice flirtatious.

“Yeobo, did we…sleep outside?”

He looked around, then quickly sat up as he took in his surroundings.

Suddenly, the previous night flooded back to you, and you gasped.

At the sound, Chanyeol spun to face you, his eyes running over you. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!” His eyes filled with tears. “Yeobo…nae aegiya…I am so sorry!” His eyes were fixed on your abdomen.

You looked down.

Four long, shallow gashes cut through your clothes, and lay livid against the tender flesh of your belly.

A/N: If you want to follow me, then please do so at my main blog @vampwrrr, as I always update there, first.

#Chanyeol fluff #Chanyeol angst #Chanyeol scenarios #exo scenarios #exo fluff #exo angst #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo #chanyeol #exo fics #Chanyeol fics #exo fic #Chanyeol fic #Chanyeol fanfiction #Chanyeol fanfic #honey moon

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johnboothus · 4 years ago

Text

VinePair Podcast: Are Big Spirits Brands Taking Over Canned Cocktails?

So far, 2021 has seen the launch of a number of new ready-to-drink packaged cocktails from some of the biggest players in the spirits industry: Tanqueray, Bombay Sapphire, Crown Royal, and others have all looked to grab a share of a surging sector of the drinks industry. The big question that still needs answering is the extent to which these new entrants will crowd out of the existing players in the canned cocktail space.

That’s what Adam Teeter and Zach Geballe discuss on this week’s “VinePair Podcast”: Will consumers stick with their existing brand preferences when it comes to canned cocktails? Will craft producers be able to grow market share with more dynamic and interesting offerings? And which cocktails can be captured the way Campari has captured the Negroni?

Listen Online

Listen on Apple Podcasts

Listen on Spotify

Or Check out the Conversation Here

Adam: From Brooklyn, New York, I’m Adam Teeter.

Zach: And in Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the “VinePair Podcast.” And Zach, this is going to feel really weird to you, but because of technical difficulties, I’m running the recording. This means I can mute you know.

Z: I still get to edit these at the end, so, if the audio quality changes, it’s because I’ve had to splice my commentary back in.

A: That’s true. I actually don’t control the editing. … I don’t know how to do that. But what’s been going on, man?

Z: Well, I bought a house. That’s pretty exciting.

A: Congratulations!

Z: Thank you. Yeah, it’s been an adventure. I can’t say that it was all sunshine and lollipops, but given what we were prepared for by friends, family, and our realtor, it actually wasn’t too painful. I should say, I am finding a piece of wood and knocking on it. We have not officially closed yet. Short of that, the offer has been accepted. We have the money, so that’s always a good sign. So that’s been cool.

A: Are you staying in Seattle?

Z: Yeah, we are still in Seattle. We’re a few miles from where we currently live. We are not going to be quite as in the absolute center of the brewing epicenter of Seattle, but still a relatively close drive and actually quite near one of, another favorite brewery of mine, which is kind of cool. It’s a brewery up here that makes all kinds of French-style beers, which is very interesting that I quite like.

A: Can you walk there, or would still have to drive?

Z: Nope, I can walk there.

A: Oh, that’s great, man. I’ve been to Seattle a few times but I mean obviously I still owe the trip where I was going to hang out with you. I have to admit, I don’t know it super, super well, but it’s a city of neighborhoods all over right? It’s a lot of houses.

Z: It’s a city of neighborhoods, and it’s a city where we are finally kind of developing some of the mass transit infrastructure that would link things a little bit. Seattle just geographically and topographically is not like just Manhattan, but even like most of New York City, with the exception of Staten Island, you can just walk a long way before you reach a sort of obstacle that impedes you in terms of a river or a body of salt water. And here we’ve got lakes. We’ve got Puget Sound, obviously, which is the end of the city, and relatively big hills; it’s always been a little more pockets. Of course, as the city has grown, those have grown together more. With a lot of the mass transit improvement that’s happening now, those things will probably be a little less distinct. Definitely, there still are neighborhoods of more than one kind, and all cities have their neighborhoods. I always find it funny in Manhattan when someone would argue about what was the technical definition of the Lower East Side. And it’s kind of it. At the same time, it’s not like the streets look different when you go one block east.

A: So did you drink anything special for the close or for being in contract or do you have something special planned for when you close?

Z: We have a special bottle. We have two bottles, one for when we close, and then one for dinner or the night in the new house.

A: Do share, do share.

Z: Well, the second one I’m going to save, because I’ll leave content for that episode.

A: But remember that half the people who listen to this one won’t listen to that one.

Z: I have unsurprisingly, a bottle of Champagne, which is Egly-Ouriet, which is one of my favorites. Well, I’m not the first person to suggest celebrating with Champagne, I’m pretty sure.

A: One hundred percent, especially when you buy a house.

Z: And then my wife and I have a bottle of wine, actually a bottle of sparkling wine, but from a domestic producer, Argyle Oregon, which is the first winery that she and I went to together when we started dating. And so that would be probably what we have the first night in the new house is the tentative plan. Obviously, circumstances could change, but most exciting, well, many exciting things, the new house will also have space for an actual legitimate podcast studio. I have a little utility closet that will become the cave I go into to record these. You guys will notice, probably, an improvement in sound quality.

A: Nice, nice.

Z: How about you? What have you been drinking?

A: Oh gosh, man, so I’ve been doing this thing I love which I think we talked about much, but I don’t drink Monday through Wednesdays, which I’ve kept up with, which is great. So last weekend, I hung out with Keith on Saturday night. We went out to dinner outside, obviously, with Naomi and Gina (Keith’s wife is Gina), and we had, gosh, we had some delicious orange wine. I can’t remember the producer, but we went to this place, Lorina Pasta Visio, which is incredible in Fort Greene, just really sick pasta. And they have a really amazing wine list. And so that was a really delicious bottle. But again, I don’t like to take pictures of bottles when I go out to dinner for some reason and I like to be in the moment. So I actually feel bad that I don’t remember the producer, but it was a really delicious bottle of orange wine that Keith had selected.

A: And then on Sunday night, I did something I had never done before, and I was actually pretty impressed with myself. I think I talked about before. Naomi’s been a vegetarian since she was 5. Her parents are not vegetarians. It wasn’t like they subjected her to their own dietary restrictions. She decided you want to be a vegetarian based on the animals and things like that. She’s always been that way, but usually, when I want to have a burger night, I’ll make a burger for myself. I’ll make something else for her, like grilled cheese, or I’ll do a veggie burger. And you know what, screw it. I’m going to buy the Impossible Burger meat and I’m going to make smash burgers. I made smash burgers with it, I followed the instructions that I read on the L.A. Times, which were very helpful, like I weighed each patty out to 3 ounces. I made four 3-ounce patties. I got a nonstick pan super, super hot. Then I added a little bit of oil. There’s smoke, obviously, but I seared them on both sides. They get crusty like a smash burger, and then I added cheese. The second you sear one side that is super hot, then when it’s like a minute and a half and it’s really crispy, you flip it, and you immediately add the cheese and sear for another minute to minute and a half. It really has that sort of like Shake Shack, In-N-Out crust around texture. And then I added some caramelized onions, lettuce, tomato. I also bought this new sauce they’re selling at Trader Joe’s called Magnifisauce, which basically tastes like Shack Sauce or In-N-Out sauce. And then I paired it with (this would be weird because I talk about them on another podcast) but Mayacamas Chardonnay. And I was like, oh, it’s a veggie burger actually. I can make a white wine and it will stand up. And it was delicious. The Mayacamas Chardonnay was awesome. But the thing that was really dope, to be very fair, was this burger. I was really impressed. I think I will do it more often. I don’t know why I haven’t been doing these plant-based burgers more.

Z: Was this the first time you had tried the Impossible Burger?

A: I had had it in tacos and things like that where I had seasonings. And I had it once at like a food truck. I remember like two or three years ago and was like, meh. Honestly, I think maybe they didn’t do it well. I guess it was the first time I had made it for myself, and I was blown away. I was like, look, it’s not a burger. I think if you are this person who’s like this better replace my cheeseburger. It doesn’t do that, it doesn’t taste like beef, but it tastes really good, if that makes sense. I don’t know how to explain to people, but if you’re going in being like this better taste like beef. No, It doesn’t taste like beef. It’s not made out of beef, but it tastes really good and better than any veggie burger I’ve ever had. It has that quality of it being meat. You know, veggie burgers get crumbly, they’re dry, they fall apart. It was really, really good.

Z: Cool. I’ve never made them at home. I’ve had them out a couple of times pre-pandemic and I’ve always found my thinking on it has been that when I make burgers, especially at home, I tend to kind of go almost the opposite direction from you. I go with very minimal ingredients — basically just ground meat and cheese. But I also do stuff like ground, ground mayo meat, and usually Kaitlyn makes buns.

A: Oh, when I do real burgers, that’s what I do. That’s sort of like when I read up on the L.A. Times, they were like basically go crazy with the condiments and do them super thin for these. And it did deliver that fat.

Z: Exactly.

A: But higher-end for me. When I do my own “burger burger,” I do sous vide and I’m like let’s just add a little gruyere or something and maybe some sautéed balsamic onions. I 100 percent agree with you, but that’s what was kind of fun about this. I’d never made a burger like this at home before.

Z: You’re right, it isn’t exactly beef but it fits super well into that sort of ecosystem of all the accouterment that you get with like a fast-food burger or even just like a burger out where you’re getting a little more elaborate. To me, the point is a little bit less about the patty itself and more about everything working together. So, yeah, I’m with you there.

A: It was delicious. So let’s jump into today’s today’s topic, which is, obviously we’ve talked a lot about RTD’s and RTS’s. So, ready-to-drinks, ready-to-serves. Over the past few months, a lot of those conversations we’ve had both on this podcast as well as in “Next Rounds” has been with indie producers who’ve been leading the way in terms of creating, you know, boxed Negronis, canned gin and tonics, etc. We’ve had really great conversations with a bunch of different people who are doing this. So too many to name on the podcast. But you should go back to listen to some of these “Next Rounds.” But obviously, as always happens, the big brands have realized that this is a space they should now get involved in. And they’re jumping in. I got a release today that Bombay Sapphire is releasing their canned gin and tonic. Any moment now, the big brand that’s known for spritzes is probably going to release a canned spritz. Crown Royal is coming out with their “Crown and Cokes” and “Peach Whiskey and Tea” etc. Zach, you posed this to me. We talked about everything about the topic for this week, so what does this mean? Are we going to see the same sort of influence and sort of sales muscle we have seen that the big brands have had in other places in this space? I think it’s a really interesting question, and I think it’s yes and no. What I mean by that is, I think the place we need to look at to determine whether there’s going to be the same success is seltzer. And so if you look at hard seltzer, you have two brands that never existed before who are No. 1 and No. 2. You have White Claw being the big behemoth in the hard seltzer space. And then you have Truly who’s behind it — not far behind, but far enough behind that they are very clearly No. 2. But then No. 3 and No. 4, very recently, are Bud Light and Corona. Brands that have brand recognition. I think it’s still early to say and look, maybe it hasn’t been as long for the category to develop, meaning that I don’t know if these craft brands have been in the market as long as White Claw and Truly were before the big people came in. I think there is going to be a lot of these craft brands that are going to now sort of be SOL, because these big boys are coming in. But what do you think?

Z: Well, so I think it’s really fascinating because in some ways, to me, it almost depends on what you’re as a consumer, what your thought process behind buying an RTD or RTS cocktail is? If your thought process is that what appeals to you about it is having a cocktail experience that is somewhat equivalent to the kind of experience that you can have at a bar, at a cocktail bar — maybe not an absolutely elaborate cocktail, because that’s just never really going to work, probably, in the RTD or RTS category, but you want to have a drink that’s a really nice Old Fashioned or a really nice Negroni. I think this is an area where the smaller brands can really compete because in the end, I think what you’re already seeing and I think we’ll continue to see, is that if you are the big spirits brands, you’re Tanqueray, you’re Crown Royal, etc., your approach to putting an RTD or RTS cocktail together is what are our absolute most popular formulations. Crown and cola, peach whiskey and tea, gin and tonic. That is going to be what you are going to put out there. And inherently you’re going to kind of have to appeal to a very large cross-section of drinkers, which means that not the quality will be poor. That’s not at all what I’m trying to say. But merely that you will not be able to offer, I don’t think, as many kinds of variation and differentiation and where these craft brands have already seen it. I think we will continue to see it is, “OK, great. You can make a gin and tonic in a can, but I can make a Last Word in a can, or I can make a Lion’s Tail in a can or something that people who want an experience that is closer to a craft cocktail bar and maybe further away from what you might find in any bar setting on the planet, are going to look at craft brands. But of course, the thing that’s different and I think where the big brands will dominate and where there is, I think, a difference between even hard seltzer and this category is that Bud Light Seltzer and Corona Seltzer have nothing to do with Bud Light or Corona, other than the branding. There’s no flavor similarity, whereas if you are a dedicated drinker and you know even better than I do, Adam, it has always been remarkable to me how dedicated a huge swath of Bombay Sapphire drinkers or Tanqueray drinkers or Crown Royal drinkers or whatever are to their specific brand. I’ve tried, and I’ve been in this experience because sometimes in a bar, you run out of the brand that someone wants or it’s not in stock or you don’t carry it. For those people, the vast majority…

A: They are not happy.

Z: Yeah, they either sometimes just leave or they are grumbling like, “OK, fine, I will take a different gin or whatever.” For that group, that group this is going to be a slam dunk. This is the thing I wanted to ask you about. What I wonder is, how are these products going to compete for space with just the bottled spirit itself? I think that where a lot of these RTDs and RTSs are going to have a ton of success, and we’ve talked about this, like you get on an airplane in a year, they’re not going to open a can of tonic water and give you a little airline bottle of gin. They’re just going to give you a can of Tanqueray gin and tonic. All these areas where the process of mixing a drink is onerous, sporting events, other kinds of venues like that, which will one day be open again if they’re not already in some places, that’s where this is going to be. That’s a place where I don’t know if the craft brands would have ever competed. I don’t know. That was a lot of things, but that’s what’s been on my mind.

A: Yeah. I think a lot of what you’re saying makes a ton of sense. I think on the craft side, there are going to be people. It’s the same like, look, you’re going to always have the consumer. Is it going to be mass? No. But you’re always going to have the consumer who loves a craft cocktail bar and loved that the bartender behind the bar was pouring some bespoke spirit into the can. Now, what I will say, though, is what this is going to demand on these craft producers is they’re going to have to start putting what the f*cking spirit is in the can. Right now, where they are losing and where I think they are going to be in a lot of trouble going forward, a lot of them are not saying what is in the can. They’re saying this is a gin and tonic so there are very few brands that I have seen recently that exist that are making spritzes, that are saying we’re using this bespoke spirit from this place. Some are like Social Hour that we interviewed. Like Julie Reiner, she’s saying that all the spirits are coming from a distillery in Brooklyn. I forget the name now but in Williamsburg. She’s saying that’s what the spirits are coming from. Others are not. I think Crafthouse, they say two of their drinks, they say, are Plantation 3 Stars, but they don’t say what any other spirit is. If I am now a craft consumer and I care, I want to know is that Daiquiri made with Ten to One? Is that Daiquiri made with Kasama? Whatever the rum, is tell me. Because that’s why I also like going to these craft cocktail bars.

Z: Exactly.

A: Instead, the brands I like are telling me Tanqueray is in here, because it is a Tanqueray gin and tonic. I think that’s one place where the craft brands are going to have to get smart. Second, I think you’re going to see a huge fight between all the big brands that are all going after the same cocktail. There’s going to be this sort of push for territory between Tanqueray and Bombay, etc., and flavor will win there. Also, the brand that is just the top-selling mass-market brand will win. I think Tanqueray right now is the No. 1 premium gin in America. I would assume Tanqueray gin and tonic sells better than Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic. We’ll see but that would just be my assumption. Unless Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic delivers a better flavor experience. If you start seeing a lot of press saying that it outperforms by far how delicious it is compared to a Tanqueray gin and tonic. Whoever gets closest to the flavor of a true gin and tonic that you made fresh is going to win there. Now, the true brands, though, that are going to just absolutely crush, are going to be the big-market brands that have done the work prior to this to truly own a cocktail. Obviously, there are two that you can immediately think of. The Aperol Spritz and the Negroni, the Campari Negroni. There’s a lot of consumers out there that think a spritz tastes like a spritz or a spritz they like without Aperol in it. And they do not think that it is a Negroni without Campari. And it’s funny, I was having a conversation with a friend recently who’s tried a bunch of these new boxed Negronis that are made by other companies and they’re using their form of bitter. You can call it whatever you want but they’re not using Campari, either, because I’m sure they can’t. Probably because Campari is going to come out with their own Negroni. They’re like, “It just doesn’t taste like a Negroni. I like it, it’s tasty, but it’s not a Negroni.” They like that Campari flavor. I think when Campari comes out with its RTD, which I think has already been announced, I think they already have one in a full bottle, but they’re going to come out more RTSs is I guess is what you would technically call them, it’s going to continue to do well because they own the space. And I will really be curious to see if more spirits brands decide, “OK, huh. I wonder if this is a way in and I wonder if we try to own the cocktail first as just a traditional spirit that we circle around like maybe we are a rye brand that decides that we should circle around the Sazerac or the Manhattan. Then we see if we gain traction and we do well and then we come out with our own RTD/RTS around that same drink.” I know that Maker’s Mark has already an RTS mint julep. It’ll be really interesting to see if, like Woodford, which is really known as being synonymous with the durability response to the Derby for however many years now, decades, comes out with their own sort of Mint Julep because they really are the bourbon that’s pushed in your face as the bourbon for a Mint Julep. If that does well for them, you know that could be in discussions now. Those are the spirits that I think will just really kill because of their connection to certain cocktails and everyone else. It would be, just as you said, if that’s already your call, then that’s going to be your call here, too. Then, it’s going to be really hard for some other people to catch. If you already drink Crown and Coke, and you now see the Crown and Coke RTS, of course, you buy it. Of course you’re buying it, and the only reason you wouldn’t enjoy it is that maybe you make your own Crown and Coke, weaker or stronger or with a different cola because there’s a lot of colas out there, but I’m a Coke guy.

Z: Really?

A: Yeah man, I am from the South.

Z: I know, I’m well aware.

A: We call all soda Coke.

Z: I know it’s throwing me off before.

A: It’s so weird, “I’ll have Coke.” The Sprite?

Z: I think the other piece of this that’s really interesting to me, too, you kind of touched on this a little bit about how with certain spirits, they’ve been able to own a cocktail more. I think it also creates this very interesting thought exercise, which is: What element of any given cocktail is the thing that is most important? That is, I think, something that is also going to get sorted out in all this. One thing I’m curious about is like, again, the gin and tonic is a perfect example. Are some of these big brands going to collaborate with tonic producers? I mean, obviously, some of them are already kind of in the same broader portfolio. I wonder if some of the more highly thought of maybe slightly smaller — still big production — but your specialty tonics like Fever Tree are going to put out their own version of a gin and tonic. Again, the question kind of comes back to the consumer. The individual consumer will have to judge what is the thing that is most important to me in this drink? Is it the base spirit? Is it the additional flavor, the bittering agent in this case of, as you said, the Negroni or the Aperol Spritz? Or is it the mixer in the case of gin and tonic? I think you can make a pretty compelling argument for that. For some people, maybe even myself included, in a lot of gin and tonics, the tonic is at least as important to me as the gin.

A: Exactly.

Z: Even though I might prefer, you know, Bombay Sapphire to Tanqueray, what I really care about is what is the quality of the tonic that’s being used? If it’s the cheapest tonic out there, I might avoid that whole thing and instead either continue to make my own at home or if I’m looking for a canned alternative, I might look for a canned alternative that offers a higher quality tonic, and maybe at a slightly higher price point.

A: But you’re a craft consumer.

Z: Of course, of course.

A: You’re going to be a consumer that appreciates that whereas most consumers are used to like a gin and tonic that I don’t want to say is truly off the gun, but is something like that, right, they may be much happier. I think what this conversation really brings up, which is what we’ve had before, but it is always worth reiterating in the world of alcohol is: marketing matters. I mean, there are people that just spend a lot of marketing, and some of these brands will and that’s where you either have to be in the spirit space especially, you’d have to be the first in the game, quick and just take advantage of the press you get, etc. Or you’ve got to have a ton of cash. It’s not a game for people without money. It’s just not. I think what’s really interesting actually is to think about an acquisition that happened this week in the RTD space. That is this Ranch Water brand out of Texas that we’ve written about before on VinePair. They only launched it last April, and they’ve only grown in Texas. Already so far, they’re at the top. They’re in the top five hard seltzer brands that are craft, and they are owning the Ranch Water space. They’re saying that they’re sweetened with 100 percent blue agave, whether or not I think, though, they’re actually not tequila-based, they’re still a malt-based RTD. Yet, they’re owning the Ranch Water space. Diageo sees that as a very quickly growing cocktail, so they bought it.

Z: The cocktail that doesn’t have a specific brand attached to it.

A: Exactly, so they bought it. I think that is how you win in this space. The problem is everyone running into the spritz space, like the spritz space is amazing. Everyone loves spritzes. What’s your call for a spritz? It’s an Aperol Spritz. Yes, we in the trade know there are lots of spritzes, like the consumer knows its an Aperol Spritz. I think that those brands will suffer more. They think it’s a generic category but actually, for the majority of consumers, it’s an Aperol category. Then somebody says, you know what, “I see Ranch Water trending. Many tequila brands are around right now. No tequila brand really came into the space. I’m just going to create Ranch Water, and I’m going to grow really quickly.” Then you exit. I don’t think I’ve seen Diageo buy a brand outright that fast in a long time. That’s really incredible. Something to think about, especially if you’re someone listening to this podcast as an entrepreneur as like, you know, what is the cocktail out there that you’re seeing kind of bubble up? People are talking about what people are interested in, but it doesn’t really seem to have a brand around it right now. Can you kind of create that and own it and just be there first? Ranch Water is a phenomenon. It only exists right now in Texas. I know Erica talked about it a lot when she was on the podcast last summer, but it still really is very much a Texan and Southern thing that’s starting to expand. But what is some regional or where you live or some other cocktail that you know nationally, is starting to grow? Can you think of ones?

Z: It’s so complicated because the last year has not so completely stifled innovation, but it’s really stifling to what drinks are spreading because everyone has become so localized for the most part. I think there you will see again a real proliferation of this kind of cross-pollination of ideas. More than anything else, I mean that we know this, that the cocktail there’s a vast cocktail literature that could be mined for these kinds of things that could translate well to the can and that don’t have a well-known spirit attached to them. And of course, there’s also, you always create cocktails that not every good possibility has been attempted, although generally speaking, simple things seem to translate well into this medium. Most of those have been figured out.

A: If you were to create one right now, like, OK, so, and this is caveat, right? Everyone has said, and I think they’re right, that no one ever really knows one yet. I think you should omit this from your ideas, and has figured out citrus in the way that citrus is actually delicious in fresh cocktails. No one’s really figured that out. You can’t really give me a Daiquiri. You can’t really give me a Margarita because they don’t work to the level I think they need to work in a canned cocktail. If it was anything else, what would you do right now?

Z: Well, a thing that I’ve been intrigued by just as a general cocktail profile — and it may be a little bit the citrus element to this might be tricky to figure out, but I actually think it’s a cocktail where the citrus component is a little bit where you can find a way to do it that doesn’t involve fresh juice, even though the cocktail kind of generally calls for it — is the Bramble. To me, that’s a perfect cocktail where you have a fruit profile that blackberries, I think, tend to do really well in cocktails. We talked a bunch about it last year. You can, again, you don’t need fresh blackberry juice. You can use a blackberry liqueur, which is typically how it’s done. And it’s a gin-based cocktail. The gin is important, but I think it’s just a cocktail that I think is going to become more popular. To me, that’s one. Even if it isn’t as sort of cut and dry, you can’t own it the way you can potentially Ranch Water because the spirit is so central to the drink. I don’t know, with my 30 seconds of notice, that’s what I came up with. Do you have an idea?

A: I think it’s a good idea. I love a Bramble. So for me, I’m very torn here. So I thought a lot about the cocktails that I find delicious, and all of them have citrus in them. I don’t know what to do. Then, I actually do think the Ranch Water is f****** brilliant. OK, well, I can’t do that because that already exists so “OK, well, so what would I do?” I’m kind of torn and I think what I would probably do is, and I know this is crazy because it is Campari, but I think I do Boulevardier.

Z: OK.

A: And I think it’s not as well known as being a Campari drink. I think people know Campari leaned in ding so much to the Negroni that I think I would do a Boulevardier or I would do a White Negroni. Again, no one really knows it as being Campari. No one’s expecting it to be Campari, but they are popular. And you would draft off the name, but it would be its own thing. Those would be my two.

Z: I could see those working, for sure. I think you would also kind of have to decide. Well, I think there’s a lot of possibility for both of those we’ll have to discuss down the road. I have one quick question for you about this category, too. Picture a year from now, and you’re going out and you’re traveling for work, and you’re staying in a hotel. But the hotel you’re staying in just has a generic hotel bar. And you order a Negroni.

A: Uh-huh.

Z: What are the odds that Negroni is something that they open a can or open a bottle and pour into a glass for you and that it’s not mixed in any way?

A: How many years?

Z: One year.

A: At the bar, or in the minibar?

Z: At the minibar, the answer is yes.

A: In the minibar, it is 100 percent.

Z: Yes, they’re already there.

A: At the bar, depending on if it is a national chain hotel. I think it’s 50-50. If it’s a boutique hotel, I still think it’s maybe 20 percent, they’ll to be one of these places that want to trade on the fact that they’re, you know, they have a high-end bar in the hotel. If it is a national chain, if I’m at a Hyatt, if I’m at a Hilton, a Westin, a Marriott, it is 50-50, if not 60-40, that it is a very good canned cocktail.

Z: I want to be clear, I posed the question not because I think that is any kind of judgment-based answer. I just was curious about your thoughts, because I agree. I think as this whole industry kind of reboots post-Covid, I think that’s going to be one area that you’re just going to see, a lot of the cocktails that you have in a lot of places that are not really focused on cocktail creation and assembly, they’re going to lean into this category because it’s just it makes a ton of sense from an operator standpoint.

A: Absolutely agree. Well, Zach, this has been super interesting, as always. Would love to listen to what everyone who listens to the podcast thinks. Shoot us an email at [email protected]. Give us your thoughts. Let us know if you think that there’s a future in the world of our RTDs and what the big brands are going to do. Also, let us know how many of you agree with us that you think it’s 50-50 with the hotel bars, if it’s even higher, where you see this category going as well. We always love to know what people think. And any other questions you have as well. Thanks for listening. And as always, Zach, I will talk to you next week.

Z: Sounds great.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, please give us a rating on review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, or whatever it is you get on your podcast. It really helps everyone else discover the show. Now for the credits. VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and Seattle, Wash., by myself and Zach Geballe. He does all the editing and loves to get the credit.

Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tasting director, who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team who are instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening and we’ll see you again.

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welcometophu · 8 years ago

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 29

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 29

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Ángel goes home for a time on Monday night, but he ends up back at the Mollicone house to sleep. His various sets of clothing have all been moved into one of the guest rooms across from Tony’s suite, unpacked neatly into a bureau with the bags resting on top. His toiletries are in the bathroom, and when he passes through the bathroom into the next room, he recognizes Emerson’s backpack on the bed.

No Emerson, though. When Ángel texts Tanner, Hayley is at their house, and they’re planning on watching a movie and making sure Emerson doesn’t get agitated again. Tanner reports that Zita stopped by, and it seems to have helped lessen the number and brightness of the bubbles.

It’s a good sign, at least. They need some positive news.

He pulls on sleep pants and an old t-shirt, then sits on the edge of the bed. He’s worn out, worn thin, exhausted beyond the ability to sleep. He bounces a bit, and the mattress just feels strange. Off. When Ángel scoots up the bed and climbs under the covers, he can’t rest. Eyes tightly closed, the room seems too big. Too cold.

He pushes the covers off and climbs from the bed, padding on bare feet to the stairs and down.

Gabi looks up when he makes it into the living room, slides closer to Luca on the couch to give Ángel room to join them. “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep.” Ángel doesn’t know how to explain that the room’s too empty without sounding strange, so he lets it go. Instead he slides down, tilts his head against Gabi’s shoulder, and relaxes. She’s warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Her arm moves as she types on her phone. “Who’re you talking to?”

“Telling Tony to come down,” she says, handing the phone to Luca, who sets it down on a table with a soft thunk. “We might as well all snuggle if we’re not sleeping.”

The phone pings, and Luca picks it up, shows them the screen.

I’m not coming down. You can all come up.

Ángel hesitates when they get up, and Luca puts an arm around his back, nudges him forward and up the stairs. “Come on,” he says. “Tony’s bed is more comfortable than the couch.”

It’s more comfortable than the couch, and it’s more comfortable than Angel’s bed.

No, not Angel’s bed. The guest room. But it’s the bed they’ve given to him temporarily and he likes Tony’s bed better.

He trails after Gabi and ahead of Luca to the third floor, and into Tony’s room.

“Stop thinking. You reek,” Luca mutters, shoving Ángel toward the bed.

Tony’s sitting up in it, propped against the wall with pillows behind his back. The comforter covers his bent knees as he has a phone in front of him, typing quickly with his thumbs. He’s also shirtless, and as soon as Luca gets in the room, he strips his own shirt off.

Gabi jumps on the bed, and snatches the phone from Tony’s hands. “No more work,” she says, dropping it on the nightstand. “We’re sleeping. You guys are exhausted, and there’s nothing we can do about anything right now.”

Tony glances at Ángel, and Angel’s skin warms. He rubs at the back of his neck, stumbling forward when Luca coughs.

“Just get in,” Tony says. “We’re cats. This is normal.”

“I’m not a cat,” Ángel says, but he climbs in anyway.

“You’re an honorary one,” Gabi mumbles, reaching out to help arrange him. He ends up between Tony and Gabi, Luca’s foot tangled with his at the end of the bed.

This bed has everything the other one was missing, and it’s only moments before sleep steals Ángel away.

When he wakes, it’s into darkness this time, the curtains closed. There’s a warm, empty space next to him, and when he pats it, someone coughs.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony says quietly. “I’m just going downstairs.”

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, you don’t have to leave,” Ángel mumbles, because he’s sure that’s it. He closes his eyes, murmurs happily when a hand drifts across his cheek, and loses the battle with sleep all over again.

The next time he wakes, he’s alone in the bed and the toilet is just flushing in the bathroom. The door opens, and Gabi shuffles out, combing her hair with her fingers. “Luca went downstairs for breakfast,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Ángel. “Tony wants to go back to the shop today and we need to keep him away until the insurance adjusters say we can go back in for real. They promised to call today but we’re supposed to stay out until we know what the deal is. Help us out?”

“I’m still working for you,” Ángel points out. “I’m pretty much yours to order around while I’m paying for Helga.”

“Did you finish the work on her?”

Ángel chews on his lower lip, shakes his head. “Not completely. She’s functional, and she starts, but there’s still more to do before she’s really road ready. Not much, though.”

“You could bring her back here. Maybe that would distract Tony,” Gabi muses out loud.

Possibly. Or maybe not. Working on either Helga or the Mustang might be a brutal reminder that Tony’s SUV is a twisted burnt husk behind the shop. “I think we need something that has nothing to do with the shop at all,” Ángel suggests quietly, and Gabi nods.

It’s quiet for a bit, then Gabi’s phone pings. “Luca says you should shower and get downstairs,” she says.

“I can do that.” Ángel slides out of the bed, pauses. “Gabi—” He cuts off, not sure how to phrase the question.

Her gaze narrows, nostrils flaring. “What.”

He sinks to sit next to her. “When Papi asked if Tony had any idea who’d do something like this, he said look to the church,” Ángel says quietly. “What does that mean?”

“Oh.” Gabi licks her lips, expression twisting tight. “You’ll know what he means, if you think about it.” She doesn’t meet his eyes, her hands curled over the edge of the bed as she leans on them, staring at the wall across the way. “There are people in the church who think we’re demons. Evil. They believe that despite the fact that we’re just as much Catholic as they are, we’re somehow something that’s come up from hell. It’s the same for Clan, although I think it’s worse for us. For people like us. There’s something about sharing a body with just one human form and one animal form that seems to set people off.”

Angel’s brow furrows. “Wait. What do you mean?”

Gabi turns to look at him, keeps her tone careful and even as she meets his eyes. “They hunt us, Ángel. There are people out there who still believe that Clan and Lince and other shapeshifters shouldn’t be alive.”

“Did this happen because of the Emergence?” Angel’s horrified. He’s heard stories of places where the law had to step in, had to keep Talent away from those who have none because the untalented were scared. But he never thought of it as being hunted.

Gabi huffs. “No, Ángel, there have always been enforcers in the church. It’s part of why our family left Italy. Then we came here, and it’s not all that different. Better, now that the world is changing. Better, now that the Emergence happened and everyone knows we exist. But it’s still complicated, and they are still out there, trying to cleanse the world for their Lord.” Her tone is low and dry. “It’s not a pretty history, Ángel. But then again, history rarely is.”

It gives him something to think about as he showers, and he doesn’t like how it feels. Doesn’t like the idea that people he grew up with in the church may be the ones who have hunted the Mollicones.

He stops mid-wash, soap dripping into his eyes.

The accident. Oh.

He grabs for his phone as soon as he’s out of the shower, makes notes to remind himself to add to his research later. The accident that killed Tony’s parents was ruled as being caused by the storm, but there might be something in the report that could point to hunters instead. That could point back to the church.

It doesn’t hit Ángel until he’s pulling on his underwear, and he sits down hard on the edge of the bed, slides off onto the floor.

Mages and Clan.

Hunters in the church.

His friends, his family, the people he’s grown up with.

It’s not possible that that’s who Tony means. But at the same time, he’s seen the Lince’s displeasure with magic, and even moreso, he’s seen how Maritsa’s family treats her and Cleto, and how they think the Mollicones are a poor influence.

He doesn’t want to think that his own community might be hiding monsters, but at the same time, he has to think it. Has to look more closely at it, because he’s damn sure that that’s what Tony meant.

Well, fuck. Isn’t that a pleasant thought to start the day?

He heads across the hall into his room to finish getting dressed, carries his shoes with him when he goes downstairs. Tony and Luca sit at opposite ends of the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Tony has his phone out, and he’s staring at it intently without typing. Luca has the remote for the television, switching channels while it plays quietly. Neither looks up as Ángel passes through on the way to the kitchen.

Gabi points to the coffee, then to the loaf of bread sitting on the cutting board, a pack of cheese, and a pan that looks like it’s been used to make eggs. “Go ahead, make your own.”

The words have gravity to them, and Ángel reaches out slowly for the pan, glancing back at the door as if he expects Tony to barge in any second and take back his kitchen.

When nothing happens, Ángel points at the pan to ask if that’s what he should use, and when Gabi nods, he switches on the burner. It doesn’t take long to fry up two eggs and put them on two freshly sliced pieces of buttered bread, along with two slices of cheese. He’s starving, even though he can’t really say why, and he eats it all while leaning against the counter, Gabi watching him in silent amusement.

“You can have more,” she points out when his plate is clean of everything aside from crumbs.

It’s too much work to make more eggs, but the bread is crusty on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside, and Ángel can’t resist. He cuts two more thick slices and butters them heavily, adding grape jelly when Gabi shows him where it is. He helps Gabi clean up and takes the coffee that she pours for him, making a face after the first sip.

“I need to get you guys started brewing Cuban coffee,” Ángel mumbles, taking another long sip.

Gabi snorts. “Snob. You bring it over, Tony’ll brew it however you like, I’m sure.”

It’s a thought that curls warmly in his gut, in the same place as the distinct pleasure of moving around this kitchen as if he’s no longer just a guest.

Ángel heads into the living room, Gabi trailing behind him. He steps over Luca’s long legs and into the space in the middle of the couch so that he can sit there, between Luca and Tony. He sets his plate on the table, takes up one of the slices.

When Tony glances over, Ángel doesn’t even think, just tears off a piece of bread and offers it. Tony opens his mouth, hands busy on the keyboard of his phone, and Ángel places it at his lips. Tony nips at his finger before Ángel can withdraw, and Ángel shifts in his seat, abruptly less comfortable with how he’s sitting.

Luca snorts softly, finally stops flipping channels and leaves it on something about home improvement.

“Insurance is processing the list of plates and inventory we sent them for the vehicles yesterday,” Tony mutters, glaring at his phone. “They aren’t sure that they’ll have an answer until tomorrow morning. They need to reach out to every other insurance company for all the vehicles we had on the property.” He glances at Ángel. “Including for Helga, even though she wasn’t damaged. You’ll probably still get a call and need to file a report.”

“I can do that,” Ángel says. “But until then—what are we doing today? We can’t go back into the shop, and you trying to talk to the insurance agents isn’t going to help them get their job done. Glaring at them won’t hurry anything up.”

“He’s not even glaring at them, he’s glaring at his phone, and that really won’t help,” Gabi offers, and Luca snorts again.

“Glad I’ve amused you,” Tony says dryly. He pulls his feet from the table, plants them firmly on the floor as he sets his phone down instead. “There. I’m done for now.” When he leans back, his seems to have shifted closer to Ángel, their shoulders tight against each other, warm and comfortable.

Tony crosses his arms. “I was thinking of going down to talk to the investigators. See where everything stands.”

“As long as Papi’s involved, we don’t even need to leave the house to do that,” Ángel offers. “I’ll give him a call, see how things are going. They may have to go back in again before they’ll clear us to start cleaning up. And they may not have anything new at all.”

Tony’s jaw tightens, his muscles flexing where he budges up tight against Ángel. There’s a knock against Angel’s ankle from Luca’s direction, and when Ángel glances over, Luca looks at Tony.

Ángel licks his lip, slowly lifts his arm and puts it across the back of the couch; Tony immediately shifts closer to him, filling the void. Ángel lets his fingers drift across Tony’s shoulder, and Tony makes a low sound in his throat.

Oh. And now Angel’s slightly uncomfortable again, and he shifts to make sitting easier.

They end up with him turned slightly on the couch, Tony leaning back against him. Ángel gets his phone out, puts it on speaker before he dials Papi’s office number. Papi picks up on the third ring.

“Ángel?” A pause, then, “Am I on speaker?”

“I’m with Tony, Gabi, and Luca,” Ángel says, setting the phone down on Tony’s knee. Tony shudders with a rough exhalation, and Ángel continues, “We were hoping for a status report. Tony wanted to come down, but I figured this would be easier.”

The scrape of a chair sliding back, then steps before a door closes. The chair scrapes again, squeaks. “No,” Papi says. “This is better. As long as it’s an arson investigation, just stay back and let the team do their work. If you try to get involved, there could be issues with evidence, or even questions about why you want to be involved. Don’t risk it.”

Ángel squeezes Tony’s shoulder, then moves his hand to the nape of Tony’s neck. Tony drops his head forward, and Ángel licks his lips, tries to keep his heart from racing as he flattens his hand down, presses his palm against Tony’s skin.

Tony inhales roughly. “I understand,” he rumbles, nodding once, slowly.

“Tony,” Papi says quietly. “I also understand if you’re worried. I’ve got the best team I can assemble on this, and I’m on top of it. It’s not a secret that I have a personal stake in the case; that I want what’s best for the place where my son’s been working. One of my investigators says that his stake is somewhat personal as well, that you’re dating his sister.”

Tony sits upright, Angel’s hand dropping down to the space between his shoulders. His nostrils flare, mouth opens, closes.

“Daphne Hamilton,” Ángel says, and Tony glares at him. “We saw Ronnie Hamilton when he stopped by after his shift last night. He had Daphne and his kid in the car.”

A small noise from the other end of the phone, along with the scratch of pen on paper. “I don’t think he logged that visit,” Papi says dryly. “I’ll have to check in with him this morning. He shouldn’t be bringing anyone else on site.”

Tony relaxes minutely, and Ángel presses his palm against the nape of his neck again. He can just barely comb his fingers through the edge of Tony’s hair, and Tony makes a small rumble of approval as he does.

“That’s what I figured,” Ángel says.

Silence for a long moment, and Ángel thinks he should say goodbye, but he wants to give Tony a chance to speak up. The moment stretches without anyone saying anything, and Ángel lifts the phone, about to say something when his father’s voice crackles.

“Tony,” Papi says, voice low. “Son, I’ve been thinking about what you said. Have there been any other incidents—either at the shop, or anywhere else—that you think might be linked to this case? I’m talking with the police, and I have access to records. We’d like to be sure we have all the evidence, and that something like this doesn’t happen again. Next time it could—”

“This is it,” Tony says curtly. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Cruz, but there hasn’t been anything else recently, and anything in the past is in the past. If you figure out who did this, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about anything else.”

“I see.” Papi’s voice is tight, and Ángel thinks he wants to say something, but he holds back.

There’s a knock faintly in the distance, the scrape of Papi’s chair.

“I have to go,” Papi says quietly. “I’ll be in touch later today to keep you apprised, before I head home. Tony, if you’d like to stop by and discuss at dinner, we can talk then. Off the record.”

Another knock, louder now, and the chair scrapes more.

“I’ll see you then,” Tony says.

“Bye, Papi.” Ángel hits end for the call, drops the phone on the table. Tony hunches forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

“I should call Zita,” Tony mutters.

“I’ve got it.” Gabi taps Luca on the way by, and after he rises, she eases into the space he left so she can lean past Ángel to nuzzle Tony’s head and kiss his temple. “Luca and I will talk to Zita, then go spend some time with Emerson. You guys… do something to stay distracted. Nothing to do with the shop,” she orders gently.

“We’re going to watch a movie now,” Ángel says, grabbing the remote that Luca left behind. “And later we’re going to get ice cream for lunch—no arguments, Tony. I’ll keep him busy and we’ll see you after dinner.”

Gabi kisses his cheek as well, hand drifting across his shoulder as she pulls back to leave. Ángel waits until they’re gone before he reaches for Tony again, carefully rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” Ángel asks quietly.

Tony shakes his head. “No. But I’m going to be. I hate feeling out of control. That was our life, and I can’t do anything to fix it it.” He makes a dissatisfied noise, ending in a soft growl. His back arches, pressing into Angel’s touch, and Ángel intensifies the sensation, widening the circle until he ends up just above the collar of Tony’s shirt, massaging the base of his neck.

They stay like that for a long moment, Tony’s head bowed, muscles slowly relaxing. Then Tony straightens, and Ángel lets his hand fall away.

Tony holds out his hand. “Remote. I’m picking the movie.”

Ángel smiles slightly as he hands it over. That’s one small bit of control that Tony can have.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

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firethatgrewsolow · 8 years ago

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Swiss Time - Chapter Three

**Sorry this took so long! Had to wrangle with it for a while. Thank you @lovedyouwild for taking a look and making sure I wasn’t going completely off the rails lol. <3 The slow burn continues - baby steps. :-) Here are links to chapter one and chapter two for those interested. Thanks for reading!**

The walk to the restaurant might as well have been a march to the gallows pole, and she wished she could disappear. The sight of the restroom in the antechamber of the lounge shone like a beacon of light, and Natalie slipped inside, savoring the solitude of the chamber. She leaned over the sink and twisted the tap, cupping her hands underneath the icy stream. It felt like heaven on her burning cheeks, but regret was soon to follow as blurry, black splotches littered the basin. She winced as she peered into the mirror. Her makeup was smeared. Badly. All the painstaking work her aunt had put into it was, quite literally, going down the drain. Sighing at the dismal reflection, she plucked a towel from the elegantly folded stack to her left. She patted the skin around her eyes in an attempt to correct the damage, to no avail. Accepting defeat, she scrubbed it off, tossing the stained cloth in the large gold basket under the vanity. With the last bleak peek into the glass, she bounded for the door. All she really wanted to do was go to bed. Surely Susan would let her leave. She yanked it open, pondering which book would put her to sleep, only to stop in her tracks. He was lying in wait, draped against the wall, smoking a cigarette with not a care in the world. She willed her legs to move as the door bumped her from behind.

“You took off your makeup.”

“You mean all that stuff on my face? So I did.” She stomped by, not giving him a second glance.

Robert pushed off, trailing after her. ”Hey! It’s nice. I mean, you look better without it.”

He sounded conciliatory, almost contrite, and Nat whirled around. “Thank you, I guess?” They stared at one another, both silent. “Is there something you want from me?”

He took a step closer. “I’m, uh, sorry about teasing you back there. Just having a little fun.”

“Whatever, it’s okay. Look, I need to tell my aunt that I’m going back to the suite, so … goodbye.”

A twinge of disappointment coiled through his chest. “Wait, why are you going back? Don’t you need to eat something?”

“I’m alright.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. Dammit. Even her own body was betraying her.

“Come on, just have a bite,” he prodded, taking another step.

Something in his smile told her that he was used to getting what he wanted, and a stubborn part of her hesitated. She was a bit hungry, though, and could probably use a little something. At the second rumble, she acquiesced. As they plodded into the dining room, Natalie spotted their table immediately. It was hard to miss with the cackles from some of the characters ensconced around it. They took the two empty seats next to her aunt and Christian, who were busy chatting away with what appeared to be a giant near the end of the table. To his right, sat a thin, pale man with hair as black as hers. He seemed oddly out of place, sort of ethereal, like he’d stepped from one of the paintings in her art history books. As their eyes met, his lips turned up, a move so slight it nearly wasn’t there, and chills ran down her spine. Uproarious laughter broke the moment, and her gaze darted to the source of it. Two bearded men were talking over each other, exchanging stories, and not exactly dinner conversation. The handsome man next to them shook his head, offering her an apology in the form of a bashful half grin.

“Don’t pay them any mind. Attention only makes it worse. You must be Susan’s niece. I’m John Paul.”

Natalie nodded, immediately comforted by his even tone and polite demeanor, such a contrast to his bawdy neighbors. “Yes, I’m Natalie … Natalie Grace. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Grace?” Robert chirped, crushing out his cigarette. “Is that your last name or your middle?”

The pleasant air she’d summoned for John Paul vanished. “Middle.”

“Ahh, Natalie Grace,” the singer hummed, drumming his fingers on the menu. “That has a nice ring to it.” He opened the thick, leather bound book, errantly flipping through the pages. “So, what’s good here?”

It was the first time she’d heard him say her name, and much to her surprise, she didn’t loathe way it sounded. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never eaten here. I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m only …” she trailed off as a warm, braided roll arrived, the heavenly smell of it trumping conversation. She scooped up her knife and went to work, slathering the lovely brown shell with salted butter.

“You’re only what? Allowed to eat on Tuesdays?”

Natalie rolled her eyes at his attempt at a pun, taking the largest bite she could manage. “Fifteen. I’m only fifteen,” she mumbled, her mouth full of what tasted like ambrosia of the gods. “Well, fourteen, technically.” She’d barely swallowed before returning for round two. “I’ll be fifteen at the end of the month.”

Christ. Robert had assumed she was young, but not quite that young. Although he’d seen younger … and doing a lot more than just … he vanquished the image. “Well, happy birthday, then.”

“Thank you.” It sounded more like ‘fank you’ as her cheeks ballooned, an absolute horrendous display of manners, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious.

“Would you like mine, as well?” the singer asked, holding out his plate.

Natalie snorted, finally coaxing the morsel down her throat. “I’m okay.”

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” She took a sip of water as waiters surrounded them, delivering bowls filled with bubbling cheese and cubes of crusty bread. She reached toward the platter of long forks, bound for the one with the cobalt tip, and her hand collided with his. “Hey, I wanted this one.”

“I got here first,” Robert crooned, gently tugging it from her grasp.

“But blue’s my favorite color,” she grumbled, tugging back.

“Mine, too.” There was a standoff of sorts, neither relinquishing their grip. He was contemplating giving in when she snatched the fork away.

“Hope you like red!” Natalie crowed triumphantly, spearing a healthy chunk. She submerged it in the cheese, swirling for as long as she possibly could. It was a drippy, delicious mess as she pulled it from the pot, twirling madly. She nipped it off and sat back with a groan, delighting in the creamy, fragrant explosion.

“Red’ll do,” Robert murmured, chuckling at the display. “Good, huh?”

“Better than good!” She licked her lips, drowning another cube. “Have you ever had fondue?”

“Yeah, but I’m nowhere near the connoisseur that you apparently are.”

“Make sure to scrape the bottom when it gets low. That’s the best part.” She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, noting Susan’s disapproving glare. She sheepishly picked up her napkin before fetching her prize from the pot. “Oh, and whatever you do, don’t lose your bread.”

“Why? What happens then?”

Natalie tried to answer, but her mouth was too full. Grinning wryly, her aunt did it for her, “If you’re a man, you have to buy everyone a drink.”

“And if you’re a woman?”

“You have to kiss your neighbors,” she replied devilishly, swirling the wine in her glass.

The night wore on as did bowl after bowl, along with an endless supply of spirits. They were a merry bunch, and Natalie found herself growing more and more at ease. Maybe even having a good time, she conceded as another ribald tale made the rounds. She glanced to Robert as he began to laugh. He’d tossed his head back and his curls were dusting across his shoulders. Broad shoulders, she mused, observing him clandestinely. Or so she’d hoped. Catching her perusal, his mouth curved, and hot needles returned to her cheeks. She didn’t know why. She hardly liked him. And certainly not in that way. Dismissing the thought, she perched over the pot, dipping what she’d decided would be her last serving. As she spun the bread in lazy circles, she sensed the weight of someone’s stare, and her gaze flickered across the table to the raven haired man they called Jimmy. He wasn’t eating anything, or not much, seemingly more content with his study of her. His soft lilt sliced through the din.

“So, tell us about yourself, Natalie. What do you like to do for fun?”

She blinked, not certain of her response. His smile was mesmerizing. And knowing.

“Yeah, Nat,” Robert brayed, his dimple deepening, “what do you do? Besides eat.”

She cut her eyes at the singer. “Lots of things, Rob.”

“Such as?” he goaded, nibbling his lip. “Do you ski?”

She hadn’t the faintest idea how to ski but wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I’m living in Montreux. What do you think?”

He cocked his head, charmed by the frown he was so easily able to elicit. “You know, we’re supposed to go tomorrow. Would you like to, uh, come along?”

Natalie opened her mouth to decline, certain that for the second time that night, he was calling her bluff. He didn’t look so smug, though, just curious, maybe hopeful, too, a bit like the boys at school. “I don’t know. My aunt might have plans for me. I’m about to start school.”

“School?” Jimmy asked, raising a brow. “Where?”

“Not far from here. It’s a boarding school outside of Montreux.” She conjured up her finest French accent. “En Lausanne.”

“Lausanne?” Jimmy repeated, matching her pronunciation with ease. “Very nice. Do you speak French?”

“Not … exactly,” she confessed, toying with the handle of her fork. “But I’m learning.”

“So, you’ll live there, yeah?” Robert snickered as she wrinkled up her nose.

“Um, that’s kind of what a boarding school is.” She smirked, fishing the fork from the remaining pool of cheese, only to find it bare. Damn. She scoured the bowl, poking this way and that as she sensed Jimmy’s gaze on her again.

“Seem to have lost something?”

Natalie stilled, nearly trailing gruyere across the table as it oozed down the tines of the utensil. She dropped it onto her plate with a clatter, wiping her fingers with the white linen in her lap.

The guitarist cleared his throat. “It appears our dear Natalie, here, has lost her bread. What was the sentence for that? I’ve forgotten.” It was obvious he hadn’t forgotten, and Nat was sure she was crimson by the time the last set of eyes landed on her. “Oh, yes, you’ve got to kiss your neighbors.”

“That’s right, Nattie!” Susan exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee. “Pay the price! Right here, sweet.” She tapped the side of her face with a ruby red nail, and Nat dutifully delivered a kiss. “Now, your other neighbor, darling,” she cooed, motioning to Robert. Natalie slowly turned, expelling a long breath at the singer’s burgeoning grin.

“Wherever you want, little Natalie Grace,” he purred, scooting his chair closer. “I’ll leave it all up to you.”

Gritting her teeth, she moved in for a swift peck on his cheek, but at the last second, he twisted his head, and her lips smashed into his. She gasped, jumping back in her seat as the table erupted. She wasn’t crimson; she was purple.

“Sorry, love, just having a bit of …”

“Fun. I get it. Evidently, you need a lot of it.” Fuming, Natalie downed the rest of her water.

“Aw, don’t take it like that. Please? I won’t tease you anymore.”

“Well, you won’t have the chance, because I’m going to bed,” she snapped, pushing away from the table.

“You can’t leave. It’s early.” In truth, he’d no clue what time it was, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet. “Stay for a while. Just a little bit. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t count on that if I were you.” Jimmy’s gentle warning floated across to her. His smile was back. Or a hint of one. “You were talking about your school. Do finish telling us.”

Natalie folded her napkin neatly alongside her plate as she gazed between the two men. So different, but in some ways alike. Arrogant … but playful, too. “Well, I haven’t learned much about it yet. I’ve only been there a couple of times.”

Robert traced the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger. “I suppose it, ah, requires a uniform?”

Against her better judgment, her lips curled up. “Yes. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, tapping the base of the goblet. “Just … idle curiosity.”

Nat narrowed her eyes as she registered his tone, a ribbon of something coursing through her. She’d been wrong. He was nothing like the other boys. “Aren’t you a little old for school girls?”

“What? No way! Never too old!” Robert winked, knocking back his wine. “Nah, you remind me of my sister, that’s all.”

Her heart fell a tiny bit. ”Your sister? How come?”

“She’s a brat, too.”

A laugh bubbled up from the back of her throat as he gave her a silly grin, and for a handful of seconds, they were the only two people in the room.

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withickmire · 8 years ago

Text

no place for promises

Fandom: Deltora Quest Characters: Sharn (as Anna), Fallow, Endon, mentions of others Summary: Locked in the palace dungeons, Sharn encounters a familiar face. -- “And she?” “If anything, she is stronger than her husband. She rails at her tormentors, but says nothing of use.” — Return to Del

The damp cold of the dungeon floor seeped through her thin dress, and Sharn shivered, hugging her arms around her chest. It was quiet, which was rare. She had grown accustomed to the sound of screams from the other cells. The room was not lit, but she could hear things scurrying in the dark. She had been in the dungeon for four nights; she knew by counting her meals. Stale bread and hard cheese were shoved through a flap in the water-swollen wooden door in the morning and at night, and a guard brought in a jug of water in between. Hunger pangs prickled in her belly, but they were not unfamiliar, and she knew how to bear them. She knew what it was like to want things that were unattainable. It was the unknown that frightened her.

Terror had pulsed in time with her heartbeat as she and Endon were torn from their bed. Icy fear had clutched her heart as a fierce hand dragged her painfully to her feet by her hair. We have lasted sixteen years, and they have found us out, she had thought wildly as Endon had cried out in surprise and rage. One of the guards upended the dining table, and another threw a vase against the wall. Somehow they know who we are. They will kill us for this, and they will find Lief and do the same to him, if they have not already.

The last time she felt such fear, she had been running through the palace on swollen feet, following Jarred’s lead with Endon just behind her. She had lifted her skirts to step over the bodies of her friends, and listened to dying screams, knowing they could be her mother; her father; her sisters.

But she had survived that night, and she had not been killed after her arrest. Surely, they would not have let her live if they knew who she truly was. Which left only one reason for their imprisonment: Lief and Barda were succeeding.

Her panic had faded over the days, replaced by a steady pulse of fear. There was nothing to do in the cell, except sleep and worry. She had seen no one but the guards with the water jug. She feared for Lief and Barda, and for Endon, who she had been separated from after they were taken. A cut on her cheek throbbed, and a crusty scab had formed on her scalp, but otherwise the guards had not laid a hand on her since her arrest. She would not fool herself into thinking that would last. How strange it was to sit locked up directly underneath the home she had once fled. She had been born in the palace, and maybe she would die below it.

The door to the cell swung upon without ceremony, and a tall man stormed in. Sharn pressed herself against the wall and covered her eyes; she had been so used to the darkness that she was half-blinded by the man’s torch. When at last her eyes adjusted, she lowered her trembling hand and screamed. Prandine stood before her, his thin lips pressed together in displeasure, his face unchanged by time. She remembered the bite of the knife he had held against her throat; the scratch of his clothing against her skin; the weight of his body against her hands; the terrible scream he had made when he died.

“No,” she pleaded. Was this her punishment? Had the spirit of the man she had killed come to claim her? “No.”

I killed you, I killed you, I killed you.

“Good evening, Anna,” the man who wore Prandine’s face said. “My name is Fallow.”

He did not truly know her. The harsh and heavy sound of her own breathing filled the little room. She was missing something. It was not Prandine. It was a trick. Not a spirit, but an illusion? A brother? She had heard whispers of shape-changing creatures from the west, could he be one of them? It did not matter. Monster or not, she would find out what he wanted soon enough.

Her heart thudded in her chest and she felt sick. She had nearly betrayed herself. Anna would not recognize that face. Let him take my reaction for fear, she prayed. She had always been good at playing a part. She rose to her feet on shaking legs, supporting herself on the slimy wall. She would not kneel.

“Why have you brought us here?” she cursed her voice for the way it shook.

Fallow smiled, a terrible condescending expression that tightened the skin around his skeletal cheekbones. Sharn knew that look well, and she hated it. “We are long past such foolishness. You know why. There is nothing left for you to protect. Your son is as good as dead, Anna. Just tell me the truth of where he is, and I promise I will show kindness I would not otherwise share with you and Jarred.”

Sharn went cold. “I do not know what you mean. Lief has forsaken his family,” the lies tasted like poison on her tongue. “He did not like our simple life, and now he gets to do as he pleases. I do not know where he is.”

Fallow’s false smile slid from his gaunt face. He stepped closer to her, holding his torch nearer to her face. The flame licked terrifyingly close to her face, burning a few stray strands of her hair. She flinched backwards and pulled her hair away as the horrible burning smell filled the cell. Fallow withdrew, clearly pleased.

“Your husband has been unhelpful, but I would hope that you are clever enough to provide us with some answers,” the man said sharply, but Sharn did not hear most of his words. Endon was alive. She could not hide her relieved smile. He saw it and glared; the dancing flame of his torch made his face appear monstrous.

“Your son is committing violent acts of thievery and treason through the land,” he continued. “Does it not disappoint you to know your son is a murderer? Tell me then, of his companions. I have my suspicions as to who the man is. Tell me about the girl.”

A girl? That was unexpected. Who was the girl? Barda had wished to enter the Forests of Silence first, but what if they had gone west, instead? The chances were slim, but could she be—

“Anna,” he said sharply. “I do not have time to wait in this stinking pit. What do you know of these people?”

His lips were oddly stiff as he spoke, which she had taken to be a trick of the shadows cast by his torch. But no, she realized. He is keeping them from trembling. He is afraid. He fears my son.

The people of Deltora had nothing at all. Nothing to hope for, nothing to look forward to. Long ago, as Jarred and Anna were preparing to leave the forge, Jarred had taken Endon by his arm.

“Some of my customers do not always have enough money to pay for their goods in full,” he had said solemnly. “But you must help them anyway. That is your duty, now.”

When he had reopened the business, Endon had not done as Jarred asked. Not out of malice, for Sharn could see how his heart broke for the people who had suffered and gone unseen by him. But out of a lack of understanding. Endon could not comprehend, at first— nor could she— what it meant to not have enough. Not enough food, not enough money, not enough hope. It had taken them a month to realize the importance of Jarred’s task, when a very young woman with three small children had cried at the realization she could only afford part of her purchase.

“It is fine,” Endon had told the young woman, gently. “You can pay me the rest later.”

The woman’s swollen eyes had shone with relief, although they all knew there would not be a later, for this was Del. Outside of the palace there was no such thing as more. Endon had wept that night, ashamed that the woman had been the first of his people he had ever aided. If Lief, Barda and their companion were succeeding, it meant that they were bringing back hope to a land that had forgotten what it meant. They could not be allowed to fail.

A wave of quiet fury washed over her as she stared up at Fallow’s face. That man had no right to threaten her, or her family. You do not know who I am. I have killed to protect my family before, the voice in her head was like ice. I would do it again.

“I know nothing,” she said. “Except that you fear them.”

Fallow’s jaw tightened, and Sharn delighted in the tiny gesture.

“You work for the Shadow Lord,” she said softly, “but you are afraid of three people. What a sad little man you must be.”

Fallow stared at her for a long moment with blazing eyes. She waited for him to strike her, but he was clearly restraining himself. How long would that last?

“I will allow you to sleep on your answers, and I will return in the morning,” Fallow warned her. “Think about what you wish to tell me. I showed patience tonight. If you do not have anything of value to tell me tomorrow, I have some tools that will help you remember.”

“If you wish to frighten me, you will have to try much harder.”

Fallow pressed his lips tightly together. “You will not be so bold when I take out your eyes,” he slammed the door as he left, drowning her in darkness again.

Let him return. She knew what torture awaited her. She knew that they would hurt her, and threaten her husband, while they did the same to him. She knew he loved her too much to say anything, even if he thought his words would save her life. The only thing they shared more than their love for each other was their love for their son. They would die before they betrayed Lief.

Her anger faded into exhaustion, and fear clutched at her heart again. She tried to show Fallow that she was unafraid, oh, but she was. She did not want him to hurt her. She did not want to die.

“Oh, Lief,” she whispered, and fell to her knees. “Please take care.”

She buried her face in her hands, and wept.

—

This is more of a snippet than a real scene, but I’ve had it in my drafts forever, and I wanted to finally finish it. I love Sharn! She’s one of the most excellent examples of Rodda’s commitment to not shoving her female characters into the constricting characteristics that are often assigned to women in fantasy. Also, this is the twentieth fic I’ve posted since I started writing Deltora Quest fic again in January! Thank you so much for reading them! Maybe I’ll make a masterpost, or a list of my favourites, or something equally egomaniacal...

#deltora quest #as promised #rodda probably gave us endon's first interrogation rather than sharn's because hers would have raised way too many questions #but it would have been so good #ahh i need more practise writing in sharn's voice!#sharn #fallow #endon #my writing

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