#and I ate them so often they burned this open sore on the roof of my mouth

[canisalbus]

why must Finns always tell people to try salmiakki? you guys sadistic or something?? visited over there some years ago and was given that stuff without explanation or warning and was told "just try it". and then the person laughed at my pain 😭 (and now I sometimes sadistically tell people to try it eheheh)

lmao love your blog tho, your art is very shaped and your dog men are very anguished and it speaks to me as a gay man from a very religious area (not religious myself, tho). also love reading your responses to asks, interesting stuff in there. anyway keep doing what you do! unless it's feeding salmiakki to unsuspecting foreigners, pls don't do that lmaooo

I guess it's just very funny to watch how people react to it! Salmiakki is extremely popular here and comes in many forms (my current toothpaste is salmiakki flavored, so are my d-vitamin supplements), yet it's absolutely inedible to many people who aren't used to it. They aren't offering it to people out of malice and I think in most cases you get a little warning beforehand, that it's a weird local food that might taste strong and unpleasant. I've known people who have moved here and gradually developed a liking for it. It goes well with milk chocolate and that mix might be a more palatable option if plain salmiakki doesn't appeal to you.

[imherongraystairstrash]

Sophideon Christmas fluff

A/N: I was going to post this for Christmas, but I (accidentally) finished writing it today :| Anyways, this takes place after “A Lightwood Christmas Carol” BTW Sophie’s brother and cousin are not canon!!

Also, I’m taking requests from this prompt list! I may not get to them until the middle of December bc school is evil and I have a bunch of other fics to finish, but I’d love to hear what you guys want me to write about!

Gideon stepped into the house and was instantly surrounded by warmth. There was a wonderful smell in the air and he could hear the soft exclamations from the other room. Thomas squirmed at the sound of the voice of his mother’s soothing voice. They had been in London for the past couple of days, and they had finally come home. Gideon took off the layers of coats Thomas had on and set him down. Though Thomas was clearly anxious to get to his mother, he waited by his father. Gideon hung his coat and held out his hand for Thomas to grab. 

They walked into the kitchen but Gideon couldn’t decipher what was occurring. Sophie seemed to be teaching the girls how to make… A house? Gideon was confused, but he couldn’t help but stare at Sophie as she laughed and smiled widely at what she was doing.  

Then, she looked up, her eyes bright. 

“Look who’s back!”

The girls looked up excitedly and came running. They hugged Gideon’s legs. He saw Thomas waddling over to Sophie as she held her hands out to him out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his daughters and embraced them tightly. There was laughter and happiness at being reunited once more. 

“Does anybody want to tell me what that is?” Gideon said, motioning to the structure.

“It’s a gingerbread house!” Eugenia said cheerfully.

Gideon must have looked even more confused because Sophie laughed.

“Why don’t you girls show Thomas the gingerbread house?” Sophie said, putting Thomas down. Barbara took his hand and Gideon and Sophie watched as they eagerly showed the house to Thomas.

Gideon put a hand on Sophie’s waist. “Is this a new tradition?” 

Sophie put her arms around Gideon. “More of an old one. Around Christmas time, my gram used to make gingerbread and my cousin and I would assemble and decorate a house.” 

“What about your brother?” Gideon asked.

“Lawrence? Aunt Josephine was too busy getting him to fix something in her house.”

“Like what?”

“Bookshelves, chairs, ha! Once she made him fix the roof. His arms were so sore, he could barely lift a glass of water.” 

“Meanwhile, you and your cousin built a bread house?”

“No, we made the greatest gingerbread house in the entire village! Everybody would come to visit, just so that they could see it.” Sophie chuckled. “We used to bicker so much about the house decoration, we had to pick a side of the house and decorate it accordingly.”

Gideon smiled. “That sounds like two other girls I know.”

“Goodness, I think I got a few grey hairs trying to teach them to work together,” Sophie said, pointing her chin at Barbara and Eugenia.

Gideon kissed her head, “Grey hairs or not, you are still beautiful.”

Sophie shook her head, smiling.

“I have a question,” Gideon said.

Sophie looked up at him.

“How is that a bread made out of ginger?” It was quite flat and sturdy looking; it didn’t resemble bread at all. 

“Oh, it’s not actual bread.”

Gideon furrowed his eyebrows, “Then why is it called—”

“I have no idea; it’s better not to ask any questions.”

Gideon laughed. “Now I’m intrigued, maybe we should ask Will and Tessa if they have a book on bread-ginger.”

“Gingerbread,” Sophie corrected with a smile. “What would it be called? A Study in Gingerbread?”

“Gingerbread: A Brief History.”

“Oh no. If we’re going to do this, we cannot settle for simplicity. We must read ‘Gingerbread: An Absolute History’.”

“Nothing left behind.”

“Precisely.”

Gideon ended the discussion with a soft kiss on her lips. She tasted sweet and warm. 

“Your lips are cold.” Sophie said, frowning and kissing them again. “Now I have to warm them up.” 

“How I missed having my lip warmer.” Gideon said with a smile.

They kissed again. Sophie put a hand in his hair and stroked softly. It felt so nice, Gideon didn’t even think as he leaned into it. 

“Are they warm yet?”

“Almost. Just one more.”

Sophie kissed him twice more (for good measure) and put a head on his head shoulder with a sigh.

“How did it go?”

“I didn’t find anything in Benedict’s journals.”

“Maybe we should be glad.”

Gideon shrugged. “I guess so. It means there’s most likely nothing wrong with Thomas.”

“Which is a blessing.”

“Yes,” Gideon smiled as he looked at the children decorating the gingerbread house. “It truly is.”

For a while, the only sound that could be heard was the mumbling of the children.

“They are utterly destroying that poor house.” said Gideon, astounded. 

“Yes, I had no idea how tacky our children were.”

“They get it from their mother.”

Sophie snorted. “I’m pretty sure they get from their father.”

“Is that so?” Gideon said leaning in.

“Very much so.” Sophie closed the gap between their lips. 

They pulled away and rested their foreheads together. Gideon looked at Sophie and saw that she had her eyes closed. He kissed her eyelids and she dazzled him by opening her beautiful hazel eyes. 

“I missed you,” he said.

Sophie buried her head in the crook of his neck. “I missed you too.”

They breathing mingled into the same; they both inhaled and exhaled together, unintentionally. Gideon hated having been away for Sophie. He had missed her sleeping beside him so much, he felt like he could no longer sleep alone. He missed kissing her goodnight and good morning. He found it hard to be happy without hearing her voice everyday. 

“Mama! Help!” Barbara called.

“Your father is coming,” Sophie called back.

“I am?”

“Yes.” Sophie said, pushing him towards the children. “Since you are all tacky, you’ll agree artistically! I, on the other hand, have good taste which will cause a clash and perhaps a brawl in which nobody will be able to speak to each other for years to come!”

“What?” asked Gideon.

Thomas giggled, probably at his parents’ silly tones of voices.

“It’s your turn, I’ve had to deal with them while you were in London with the best behaved of our children.” Sophie whispered, furiously. 

Gideon shot her a betrayed facial expression.

They loved Barbara and Eugenia more than life, but there’s no denying that they were little monsters. 

“Fine,” Gideon said, “but only because I love you.”

Gideon walked over to the girls. Barbara had frosting dripping down her hands. Eugenia was spinning in a circle, probably because of stress. Thomas was looking at them with a face that conveyed wariness mixed with extreme confusion. 

Gideon pulled a chair and sat down next to Barbara.

“Papa, papa, papa! Help! The roof is sliding off.”

“It’s alright. We just need to stick it back—” Gideon squinted his eyes. “Are you keeping this up with icing?!”

“Of course!”

“Well no wonder it’s falling! This is a horrible idea. There is no way this measly sugar paste can hold this up.”

“Mama got the walls to stay.”

Indeed she did. Gideon inspected the walls with amazement and then shook his head.

“That’s because your mother is secretly an evil sorceress that is using her magic to keep them together.”

“I am not! I built that house with my bare hands. You just have to wait for it to set.” Sophie said.

Gideon put the roof back on the house. He pressed down and icing splattered and dripped down the house. He looked at Sophie, who looked away, pretending not to see.

“Papa! Do you like my gingerbread man?” Eugenia said while he held the roof in place.

“Where is he?” Gideon said. 

“Right there.” Eugenia pointed at something that Gideon had thought was a yard. It was completely covered in white frosting.

“By the Angel, he’s the palest man I’ve ever seen! He should go outside more often.”

Eugenia and Barbara giggled. 

“Papa, he’s going to melt.”

“A man that melts in the sun? Eugenia, how could you not tell me this fine gentleman is a vampire? He must be utterly offended.” Gideon turned to the cookie, “I’m very sorry, good sir. Do you forgive me?”

The children looked at the cookie expectantly.

“Must be a quiet fellow.” Gideon said, shrugging. “This should be done,” Gideon lifted his hands.

The house stayed for a while, but just as they were about to rejoice, the roof came tumbling down.

“I’m afraid they are going to want a refund,” Sophie said.

“Papa, what happened? Didn’t mama tell you how to do it?”

“It’s your mother’s strange accent. I don’t even know what she is saying half of the time, I just nod along.”

“What accent?” Sophie said, outraged.

“Your funny accent, mama,” said Eugenia.

“I do not have a funny accent.” 

“I do not have a funny accent.” Barbara mimicked in exaggerated cockney. 

“Barbara!” 

Barbara giggled.

“How could you betray me this way?” Sophie said, pretending to be offended. She turned to Gideon. “See what you have done? Now my daughter is insulting me.”

Gideon kneeled in front of Sophie, “Forgive me, beautiful sorceress.”

“I will not,” Sophie said, unable to contain her smile. 

A timer ringed. 

“Oh, I must take the Gingerbread men out of the oven before they burn.” Sophie turned away toward the oven. 

Gideon got up and looked at the house, sighing. 

“Let’s see what we can do about that roof.”

…

Gideon lifted his hands. Thomas, who was sitting on his father’s lap, mimicked the same gesture.

“We did it!”

“But papa, what do we do with this extra piece?”

“Mama cannot know it came off, she will be heartbroken we destroyed her hard work.”

They all looked at Sophie warily and then back at the piece. Gideon picked it up, put a finger to his lips and put the extra piece of cookie in his mouth. The girls squealed which then turned to laughter as they saw Gideon’s face of disgust. 

“What is this made out of? It tastes horrible.”

“You ate it?!” Sophie said, turning around from the cooling rack

“Yes and it’s harder than cement and tastes horrid.”

“That’s because it’s not meant to be eaten.”

“You said it was a cookie!”

“Yes, but it needs to be sturdy so that it can last until Christmas.”

Gideon eyed the gingerbread house warily. “It doesn’t look like it will last another minute.”

Sophie came over and leaned over his shoulder. She smelled like cinnamon and honey and Gideon fought the urge to close his eyes and breathe it in.

Sophie piped a little bit more frosting and held the roof up a little bit higher. They all watched attentively as she filled in the top and wiped off the excess with her finger. 

“All done,” she said, plopping the frosting in her mouth.

The house now looked like it could stay up for centuries. 

“What did I tell you? Sorceress.” Gideon whispered at the children.

“Not sorcery; just practice.”

Sophie reached over and lifted Thomas from Gideon’s lap and kissed the top of his head. “Did you have a good time with Cousin Jamie?” she asked.

Thomas nodded. 

“Oh, darling. Your hands are freezing.” Sophie mumbled. 

Gideon looked up, worried, exchanging a look with his wife. Sophie grabbed a pair of socks (which she had, Gideon observed, begun keeping on hand during the cold, for Thomas) and put them on Thomas’ fists, since mittens don’t fit his impossibly tiny hands. 

“There we go,” Sophie said. “All warmed up.” 

She hugged Thomas tightly and looked over at the table.

“That gingerbread house looks very pretty.” She said, smiling.

Eugenia and Barbara grinned widely.

“Can we put it on the fireplace?”

“Of course!”

Their daughters cheered and went to put it up. Gideon stood up and Sophie put Thomas down on the floor. 

“Go with your sisters, darling. It’ll be fun,” Sophie told him.

Thomas hesitated but after Sophie put a hand on his back, he started walking forward. He looked behind his back at his parents, who both nodded encouragingly at him. He turned and joined his sisters.

Gideon hugged Sophie from behind and they both smiled with overjoy.

…

Sophie stood by the fireplace and ran her fingers over the empty spot on the fireplace. Dust came up. She rubbed her fingers together softly, as though she were caressing the dust. She looked up at a photograph of her children; Barbara, Eugenia and Thomas. It was a long time ago, back when Thomas was still small, when Eugenia was happy and when Barbara was still… 

Sophie closed her eyes tightly and turned away from the mantle. She looked around the living room. She had taught her daughters how to sew on that couch. Around Christmastime, she hugged Thomas—

“Oh, Thomas,” She choked on a sob. 

Where was he? Would she ever see him again? No, that’s not her most pending question. Would she ever see him again alive? Sophie put her back against the wall and slid down it. She hid her face in her hands because all she wanted to do was go back in time and hug her children when she still could. She wanted to go back to when her only problem was a stupid rumor.

If only she had known what was to come. She wouldn’t have shed a tear over those words.

Sophie looked around the parlor. It was the same as it was a couple of months ago, but it felt a million times emptier. She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth. She missed her children. She wanted to see them together, happy and alive. She couldn’t breathe beneath the weight of her despair.  

“Mama, why are you crying?”

Sophie looked away. 

“Mama, why are you sad?”

“Because I lost you.” She said, closing her eyes and feeling hot tears roll down her face.

“You didn’t lose me; I’ve always been here.” 

Sophie shook her head, tears coming down hard. There was something heavy in her throat that made it ache. 

“Sophie,”

Sophie turned towards her daughter. Except Barbara was not there.

Gideon was looking at her, though she’d never hear him come in.

“Sophie, we have to go.”

She sat up. “Why?”

“Thomas. They found him, he’s at the institute.”

Sophie looked up at the fireplace mantle where her daughter had placed the gingerbread house every year. 

“Sophie?”

She looked into Gideon’s green eyes. In them, she saw her past and she saw her future. Gideon was the first and only man she’d opened her heart entirely to. He taught her how to love again and the one she shared her best memories with. She saw a faint whisper of Barbara in those eyes, but most of all she saw the one who she bears the weight of her pain with. 

“Let’s get our son.” she said.

Gideon kissed her forehead.

Tagging: @celias @livvyheronstairs @tsccreatorsnet @livia-dovehallow @hitheresomeoneusingthus 

[guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom]

Hell and Back Pt. 2

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader 

Peter Parker x villain!reader 

Warnings: Language, hospital mentions, mentions of drug abuse, allusions to suicide, allusion to self harm, self deprecating thoughts, a gun, mentions of knives, mentions of the dead, anxiety, signs of abuse, abusive and toxic relationships, and fainting.

Word Count: 6.1k 

Songs: Pleaser-Wallows, 505-Artic Monkeys, Sweater Weather- The Neighborhood, Daddy Issues- The Neighborhood, Paper Planes- M.I.A, We come running- Youngblood Hawke, Young dumb and broke- Khalid, Do I wanna know- Artic Monkeys, Break the Rules- Charli XCX

“I smiled, I know as much as we get into petty arguments or try to annoy each other on purpose but I’d go to hell and back for those girls. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.” 

A/N: There might be some typos and grammatical errors sorry for those, I you want to be added to the Taglist just message me about or comment it. I’ll have a google form for it soon. 

Series Masterlist   Previous Part   Next Part

When I saw my little sisters, that all went away. Sure I still called them a lot but nothing could compare to actually seeing them in person. Sapphire launched herself into my arms and I stumbled back a bit.

“I missed you too,” I said.

I hugged Aaliyah too. When I entered the apartment I heard voices. My dad’s and some feminine voice. 

I walked in to find some woman who couldn't be older than 25 in my kitchen. Talking and laughing with my dad. I didn’t want to assume anything or start a scene so I just went into my room to catch up with my sisters. 

We were talking about some kid who gave me a DMT pen once and I was tripping balls which I probably shouldn’t be talking about, but I want them to feel comfortable enough to come to me. Makes it easier to keep them safe. 

Our dad opened the door and hung in the doorway.

“Hey… Y/N do you mind coming here for a sec?”

“Yeah sure…” 

I stepped out of the room. 

“Is something wrong?” It wasn’t often that he initiated a conversation that would end positively.

“No,no, not at all, I just want you to meet someone,” 

When I entered the kitchen the same woman from before was still there. My dad walked over to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

“This is my girlfriend, Camilla” 

I knew it . I knew it! I was trying not to be hostile toward her every problem I had was towards my dad so I smiled and waved to her.

“Camilla this is Y/N,” he pointed to me. 

“Well I’ll let y’all get acquainted,” He said before leaving the room.

I sat on the kitchen island and waited for her to say something first. 

“Look, I would just like to put it out there that I’m not trying to replace your mom in anyway.”

“Thanks I appreciate it,” 

“Also, are you okay now?” She asked in a low voice.

“Huh?” I questioned.

“Your dad said you ran away,” Of course he did “and I saw the news with your school at the Washington Monument.” So I guess she knew more about me then expected. Not surprised she was the one to ask me and not my so called dad.  

“Thanks for your concern but I’m fine, and sorry to cut this conversation short but I’m drained.” 

“Oh, okay, have a nice night,” 

“You, too,” 

I didn’t have time to think about anything. I just made it back to my room and face planted onto my bed. My whole being was sore including my brain. I didn’t have the energy to change my clothes, to shower, to think about my dad being a pathological liar or anything else that happened today.

I was awoken by my dad. I didn't know how long I slept but the sun was out. I can’t remember the last time I was able to sleep while the sun was up. 

“Hey we’re going out, for family bonding and I want you there with us,”

Family.

We ain’t ever been a family before why start now. Is what I really wanted to say but I sucked it up because again I hadn’t seen my sisters in a while. 

The movie was really boring. If we’re being honest. 

I pulled Aaliyah and Sapphire aside as my dad and Camilla were deep in conversation. 

“You know how I was staying at Wade’s house right?” 

They both nodded.

“What did dad tell you about this,” 

Sapphire just shrugged and Aaliyah was the one to post.

“I dunno he didn’t say much like usual he just kinda said you just left,” 

I felt my jaw tightening as I processed her words, my fist clenching by my side. 

“Oh, oh okay,” I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth a couple times “Well I just want you to know I’d never leave y’all without a very good reason, and I never won’t come back,” 

By the time we got back to the house it was around twelve since we watched another movie and went to a restaurant. Then got ice cream. This is the most money my dad could’ve possibly spent on me in a long time. I mean he didn’t because I didn’t get anything and bought my own ticket. I didn’t want him to be able to use the fact he bought me stuff against me. I’d gotten tired of the “after I’ll I’ve done for you,” excuse. 

I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried I couldn’t sleep. I tried NyQuil, melatonin, and even tea. The tea really did more harm than good. 

This was an extremely stupid thing to do so don’t follow my lead but I was bored. 

I grabbed a lot of useless shit from the floor of my room and made my way to the roof. I poured hand sanitizer on it and set it on fire. Putting aside the fact that it was really weird the fire was oddly beautiful. I sat there watching it for a minute before stomping it out. 

I was going to text my friend Carmen but I realized she was supposed to be asleep and I didn’t want to get her in trouble. 

I ended up scrolling through Zillow for a while then that turned into me applying for like four jobs. In which turned into me making spamming multiple friends saying we needed to hang out.

While I was on Zillow there was a relatively cheap apartment in Queens. Which was close to my school. It kept drawing me in for some reason. I bookmarked the tab.

Before I knew it the sun was up. I figured if I couldn’t sleep I would go on a walk to the park. 

When I got back to the complex everyone was still asleep except my dad who walked outside like he was waiting on me. He grabbed my arm, squeezing it tightly. 

He basically told me I looked like a prostitute. I was running so my sports bra and leggings were actually pretty appropriate. He said that I was probably going out to fuck people and that’s where I always was. I opened my mouth to defend myself.

“Actually I was just going to the-“ I was cut off by a sharp sting on my cheek. 

He fucking slapped me. Hard at that. He then grabbed my arm even tighter than before dragging me into the house.

 I don’t know what hurt worse my face or that fact that I wouldn’t be able to blame him being drunk on all the times he’d hit me before. He was just an ass.

  By the time I made it back to my room it felt like my body was burning itself from the inside out. My face was red and so was my arm from my elbow to almost my wrist. To try to cool myself down I took a cold shower and took some Tylenol. 

I still couldn’t sleep but tonight it was because it was so hot. I really needed a fan in my room. It was already 6 so I just decided to get a head start at the school. Not without taking pictures of my bruises before covering them with green concealer and foundation. I wore a hoodie for good measure. 

I felt dizzy and decided it was probably best not to skate at the moment and I’m 90% sure I fell asleep on the subway.  Apparently we had an art project due which I had no idea existed in the first place so I wasn’t going to that class today. Even though I did truly love Ms. Kramer. I was just gonna skip and go to Bri’s class. Which just happened to be chemistry. 

I wasn’t surprised Mr. Cobwell asked no question when I walked in. I ate lunch in his class a couple times, he was chill. He continued on talking about Quantum Theory. 

I made Flash move from his seat next to Bri which he immediately did. I guess he was scared of me now. 

“Hey,” I said, placing my non bruised side of my face on the desk.

“Hey,” She whispered back. “What class are you supposed to be in?” 

“Art,” 

“Why are you there? You love art,” 

“I’m not feeling it today,” 

“Alright,” she nodded.

“Lemme use your AirPods,” 

She reached into her bag handing them over going back to taking notes. That didn’t last long.

“What ya watching?” She asked.

“Bad Girls Club,” I smiled knowing she liked this show. 

“What season?” 

“7,” I whispered because now I felt too weak to waste my energy on speaking. I placed the phone on my lap and she took the other AirPod and before I knew I class was over with Tasha throwing trash everywhere.

I figured I was feeling sick because my blood sugar was low or something so I drank some Apple juice at lunch and called it a day.

Now time for Physics. I hate physics. Why would science ever require so much math? 

It was so hot. Like on the face of the sun, hot but I couldn’t take my hoodie off because I felt like I’d sweat my foundation off. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked me “You look pale,” I swear if he doesn’t learn to mind his business.

“I’m fine,” I told him, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself, I gestured to his notebook. “Do your work,” 

“Alright fine,” he said reluctantly, glancing at me once before getting back to writing whatever we were supposed to be doing down.

 I pulled my hoodie back over my head and sat up in my seat about to try to do my work again. But it was so hot and I was so dizzy that I couldn’t focus.

The world began to swirl and I knew the switch in my brain was going to flip off. I just didn’t have time or enough energy to tell anyone. 

When I woke up I was in a bed in the nurse's office and the first thing I noticed was I didn’t have my hoodie. Shit. I used to make fun of people for passing out because how does your own body clock out on you? Until it started happening to me like last year. 

I went into the bathroom and sure enough the giant bruise on my cheek and arm were kinda visible. 

Again shit.

I patted my forehead with a cold paper towel because the nurse’s bathroom actually had paper towels unlike all the others, before the nurse came back. 

“Hello, Are you feeling okay?” 

I nodded. She smiled down at me before giving me water and checking my temperature. 

“You have a fever,” she said after looking down at the thermometer “We called dad to come and pick you up but we got no answer. Is there anyone else that can come and take you?” 

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. 

I drank some more of the water before speaking up. 

“I have a friend who’s at this school she could maybe drop me off?” 

“I’m not sure if that’s allowed,” she said. 

“You know what? Go back to class, get your friend and come right back.”

I pushed off the bed and headed out of the nurses office surprised to find Peter sitting on the bench outside it. 

“Are you okay?” He asked me again 

“Yes I’m okay” I nodded. Apparently I wasn’t as okay as I thought because I almost tripped over my leg trying to move. But Peter immediately reached his hand out to stabilize me. And I don’t know why that made me as angry as it was but I said “I don’t need you to help,” harsher than I need to. 

“Sorry,” I said calmly almost immediately after. 

“It’s okay,” He said scratching the back of his neck.

“If you don’t mind me asking where’d these bruises come from,” 

“I fell,” was all I said. He looked skeptical but that was all he was going to get, I didn’t need CPS all up in my business. That’s also payback for him lying to me about “cat scratches”. 

“Can you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Yeah, anything,” he said. 

“Can you go get Briana from Mr. Dell’s class for me?” 

“Yeah I’ll be right back,” he said before sprinting down the hallway. I giggled at his giddiness. It was still extremely hot everywhere my body was tingling. 

Bri ran towards me 

“Oh my god are you okay,” 

“I’m fine, I just need you to talk to the nurse with me real quick,” 

She apparently didn’t have her car with her today so she was a no go. 

“I’m sorry girl,” she said, pulling me into a hug. 

“It’s okay, go back to class now,” I said.

“Alright feel better,”

I walked back out of the office to find none other than Peter still waiting there.

“So what happened?” He asked.

“Looks like I’m walking home,” I smiled sarcastically. “Yay,”

“I can walk you home,”

“No, thank you” 

“I insist,” I laughed again 

“I still think that word is funny,” I said.

“Okay, now let me walk you home,” 

We were walking in no general direction. No one but MJ and Bri know my address and  I’d like  to keep it that way. 

“Wait, you need food,” He claimed.

We ended up at this place called Delmar’s Deli. I’d passed it a couple times while walking home and during my less legal “hobby”. I really wasn’t hungry at all. I took all of like two bites from my sandwich claiming I’d take it to go before throwing it away. It wasn’t bad, it was quite good, actually I just wasn’t hungry. 

“My aunt is a nurse at an emergency room, she can check you out,” I hate anything that's anything like a hospital at all brings terrible memories, but I didn’t want him to know where I lived so I agreed. I’d ditch him then.  

It took us a while to get there but by the time we did I had to stop and catch my breath. He offered to walk me home and got me food. What a Spiderman thing to do. I’d say I had much solid proof to go on by now.  

“Peter!” The gorgeous brunette woman came over to the waiting room “What are you doing here don’t you have school?” 

“Yeah but my friend-“ When her eyes ghosted over to my face she cut herself off. “Oh my God are you okay,” she referred to my bruises “What happened to you?” 

“Did Flash do this to her?” She asked Peter and I had to stifle a laugh at that. I wish he would try to lay a finger on me. 

“No, she just told me she fell, we’re here cause she fainted and I don’t know if the school nurse is very capable of actually helping,” 

Is this a new thing Peter just decides to randomly worry about me for no good reason and forces me into taking care of myself. Because I hate it. 

“Oh, ok,” She nodded her head. “Grab one of those questionnaires over there,” She pointed to the sign in table. “Are your parents going to come too?” She asked and I shook my head. 

She and Peter moved over to the side and started talking about something I had no interest in. I grabbed the questionnaire and sat on the edge of the closest seat.  

1. What’s your age?

That’s easy 15.

2. Specify your race 

African American of course.

3. Select your highest level of education

Some high school

4. What’s your marital status? 

Single never married. Unless you count that un-ordained wedding I once had.

5. Specify your employment status

A student. 

6. Have you ever been treated in an emergency room (specify age)? 

Yes, as a child. 

7. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital? If yes, do you remember why?

Okay wow. Yes. 

I sat on the cold bathroom floor, vision blurry from tears forming in my eyes. 

“Y/N, you okay in there?” I heard my brother ask after lightly rapping his fingers on the door. 

“Yeah, I’m okay!” 

No I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay at all. In fact I was the farthest thing from okay. I glanced down at my thighs, you could see cuts from the night before and scars peeking out from underneath my shorts. I was sobbing at this point. 

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if it was for myself or to everyone I knew I’d hurt by this. I already had the headache. I was just waiting for the rest of the pills to kick in. 

I was holding onto the sink for support when the left side of my body started to feel tingly. The whole situation felt hazy. I was shaking hard before I fell, taking almost everything on the sink with me. 

My head hit the bathmat and I could feel my heart slowing and hear my breath become shallow. I heard the doorknob jingle and that was the last thing before a feeling of true bliss and peace took over my body. 

I could hear screams and sirens and I knew I was in an ambulance. Slowly I awoke with wires all over my body and an IV in my wrist. My limbs were dead weight, I couldn’t move. 

A single tear fell from my eye alerting me off my surroundings. I quickly came back to myself. I made up the excuse of a family emergency and left.

I ended up halfway across the city. Then in Brooklyn visiting a friend. 

I knocked on the window of Aaron’s apartment. I could see Miles sitting on the couch.

“How’ve things been over here?” I asked once I was settled on the couch as well. 

“Uh, pretty tame, and you?” 

“There was that whole elevator stunt and I almost fucking died which was fun.” 

“Forgot you never take anything seriously,” He rolled his eyes. 

I laughed in response “Well one of us has got to be fun for us since it’s clearly not you,” 

“In celebration of me not dying I’m making sundaes,” 

“Alright,” He said leaning back on the couch. 

“Hey uh, When’s Aaron coming back?” I asked, getting the whipped cream out of the fridge.

“I’m not sure,” 

This is actually like really fucking dangerous. Like it could kill me. It’s just I was already in pain and had a headache. I also wasn’t thinking. I’d already made the sundaes. I turned around so Miles couldn’t see what I was doing before I- Okay I’m not going to do this. Get it together God you’re acting like an addict. The amount of people who’ve died from inhalants were insane. There it is again death. 

“Drawn anything new lately?” I asked, wanting to get my mind off of the topic of death that seemed to be plaguing my brain lately.  

“Some small sketches,”

I got the text that’d I been waiting for. I’d been talking to Aaron for the past few days. I’m not sure how Miles would feel about that. So I haven’t said anything. 

But I got the text. 

Staten Island Ferry 3pm

I immediately popped up from the couch.

“I have to go like right now, it’s an emergency,” 

I sprinted towards the door almost running into the punching bag in front of me. 

“Y/N-“ 

It’d been a week and things were looking up. I had a great day yesterday without the use of any drug. But nothing good ever lasts too long. I didn’t have to worry about that now. What I needed to worry about, was getting Peter to stop falling on his ass. 

I tried not to laugh at him and failed. 

“It’s not funny,” he said, pulling me down with him as I reached out to pull him up. Soon he was laughing too. 

I felt a vibration in my pocket and saw that Aaron texted me. 

hey the results from the search came in.

what???? don’t play with me I’m on my way right now. 

“Uh hey I gotta go sorry,” 

“No it’s fine I probably should get home too,” He pushed off the ground reaching down for me. 

“Do you wanna do this again tomorrow?” He asked a hopeful glint in his eye once we were both on our feet.

“Yeah sounds nice,” I smiled.

“Okay,” He nodded.

“Okay,” I echoed heading off. 

Ned was being fucking stupid.

“NO!” I slammed my hands down on the table “You don’t stab anyone especially if you plan on using bleach to clean up the blood. At least use vinegar and lemon,”

“Okay, jeez,” he said reeling back, “How would you do it then?” 

Before I could say anything MJ spoke up

“You could just use a needle full of air in between their toes, Their heart would fail” 

“Orrr,” I said spinning around on top of the table towards Ned. “You could overdose them on potassium and by the time the police get there the potassium in their blood is back at a normal level,” 

“Yeah that works too,” MJ stated going back to whatever she was drawing.

“You guys scare me,” Ned muttered making me smile. 

“Where’s Peter?” I asked and Ned pointed across the room. 

There he was sitting by Liz. It was cute I knew about his little crush on her. I’m sure the whole school did. Glad it’s working out for him. However that did not stop the pain in my stomach. 

I got up from the table because suddenly I did not want to be at school anymore. 

“Where are you going?” MJ looked up at me.

I shrugged. In all honesty I had no I idea where I was going. Somehow I always end up at Wade’s house when I don’t know where I want to go. He wasn’t home but I had a key. I can’t remember if he gave it to me or I stole if we're being honest. 

Clearly I hadn’t passed by a mirror in a while because damn. I look terrible. 

My eyes were red and circled with a dark hue from lack of sleep. I still had a yellowing bruise on my cheek. I was pale. I looked to be on the verge of death. 

I looked frail, like at any second I’d just fall apart. 

It was so unfair. My bones dragged down my body. The pieces of my soul that were mined out and removed from my mind. There’s a hole leaving me forever longing and I cannot fill nor feel. Hiraeth, a beautiful word for a ugly feeling. longing for a home that I never truly had, a home in which I’d never return. I would like to drift to where my spirit lies. It’s in the eyes of you and me and everyone in between. Drifting on a small boat in the sea. Viridian. Yes! That's the place I would like to be, that's where my soul lies yes you see.

 I kept punching his punching bag over and over again. Until I was on my back on the floor begging my lungs to allow air into them with Time (Is) by Solange playing on loop. Something put it into my head that I had to kill Vulture. I’d never directly killed anyone but that was gonna change. Having people killed or knowing someone was going to kill someone and not doing anything about isn’t killing anyone in my book, but I’m sure it would be in Spidey’s

That’s literally Liz’s dad though…

Okay maybe I’d just get him locked up. Great now I gotta be a snitch. That’s new. I showered not even caring about my hair now my curls were sticking to my face. I was freezing now though. I didn’t know whether to be glad that my body wasn’t on fire anymore or be upset that I was covered in goosebumps. 

Wade’s laptop was sitting right there on his bed. I was only taking a shower but, I think I should be allowed to watch Netflix and he wouldn’t mind, I was already on his account anways. 

After like 3 episodes into this random show there was a folder that was calling to me for some reason. 

It’d be okay to take a sneak peek. I thought to myself. 

I clicked on it and it was locked. I guessed the password in like three tries. He’s really gotta up his password game. It opened to multiple folders, one with my mom's name. Okay I had to click this then. 

I opened it which opened to more folders one titled ‘In Case of My Death’. 

Okay, okay cool my mother has had a video of what to do all if she died all along. This would’ve come in handy five years ago. 

There were three videos with the names of myself and my sisters. I clicked on mine then paused it. 

Then unpaused it again. 

I couldn’t do it. Okay, yes I could. I played it again. As soon as I heard the beginning of the word “hi”. I shut the computer off. I couldn’t do this. Couldn't do it because I was weak, I couldn’t handle myself. I was stupid and weak and a fucking disappointment. Guess my dad had been right all these years. I knew there was always some truth to the words he spoke only a matter of time until I started acknowledging it. 

I don’t remember coming home to the apartment. And I definitely don’t remember writing all over the walls of my dad’s room. But I had a marker in my hands and it looked like a toddler had gone to town. 

Holy Shit 

He was actually going to murder me, in cold fucking blood.  I trashed, the living room area, his room, and then mine. I was not coming home tonight. Looks like I’d need to find a new home now. At this point that sounded like a pretty solid plan. 

I text my sisters a quick text ‘stay at grandma’s house tonight dad is going to pissed like Super Sayian mode’ before grabbing my go-bag which was: a bag of the essentials, like hygiene a couple shirts, shorts, hoodies, pants, and of course the flash drive can't forget the flash drive. 

The flash drive that’s driving me crazy. I’d yet to open it though.  I knew I was crazy because I did all this while fucking sobbing.

I wandered around for hours. Making my way to Brooklyn, Manhattan, Harlem, AND actual New York City.  

Somehow I still ended up at Olivia’s door at the end of the day. I honestly believe we were soulmates. Most people don’t know you get many soulmates in a lifetime. I think Olivia and I would be the karmic kind. A karmic relationship is meant to help you grow, but it is never meant to last—it's often playing out a bad experience from a past life. I’m guessing I hadn’t grown yet because here I was.

She opened the door after a second. I’m surprised she did because I used our special knock so I knew she knew it was me. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” I screamed in her face. 

“You're the one going off and being secretive and shit, like you’re scared I’m gonna hurt you or something,” she yelled walking up the stairs. 

I followed after her, 

“Maybe you would hurt me. I don’t know you are insane,” I said, tears brimming my eyes. 

“Just because you have fucking daddy issues, doesn’t mean you have to carrying them into every part of your life,” 

“I have daddy issues?” I screamed soon turning into me choking on a laugh making an unhinged noise “Oh, I have fucking daddy issues, now? Oh, okay,” I nodded. 

“Your parents didn’t even fucking want you,” I pointed at her. “At least my mom stuck around before she died,” 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

“Yeah well right back at you,” 

“You’re fucking psychotic! Literally you’re so much like your dad and you don’t even know it, You’re trying to please him and he doesn’t give two shits about you, Wake up Y/N! Wake up.” 

“I’m hard on you because I love you so much,” She claimed, but her love was suffocating. 

“Oh yeah? I asked “Well i don’t know how much more of this ’love’ I can take,” 

“Fine then,” She screamed. 

“Fine,” I said before she slammed the door in my face leaving me standing out in the cold crying. 

That wasn’t even the worse we’d said to each other. It was the first but not the last time we’d break up either. I do believe we loved each other though in our own twisted way. Well at least I know I loved her. 

“Hey,” She said softly as she could sense I was due to break at any second. My cheeks were probably tear stained. 

“Hey,” I whispered back. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

“No,” I shook my head. One thing I liked about her is I didn’t have to fake it around her, because masking my real emotions was so draining. At least I didn’t have to do it with everyone. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“No,” 

“Okay,” she said softly “My parents aren’t home, so you don’t have to worry about them,” not surprised. 

I nodded before she grabbed my hand bringing me inside.

“I missed you,” she said stroking my hair as I laid on her bed, my head in her lap. 

“I missed you too,” I wasn’t lying my head drifted to her from time to time. It wasn’t that I wanted to get back together I just missed her presence.  

She smiled sadly at me running her finger over the bags on my eyes. 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” She quotes.

“Yeah well, ’m not queen or princess and definitely don’t have a crown, so we don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” I said. 

“You’re a princess to me,” I gave a genuine yet tired smile at that.

“You can go to sleep, it’s okay,” She said.

That was the first time I was actually able to fall asleep and without medicine or having to go on a walk or do anything really. 

I woke up in the bed alone only to find Olivia sitting at her kitchen island eating spaghetti. 

She smiled when she saw me coming into view. 

“Sleep well?” She asked.

“Yeah surprisingly,” How long had I been asleep for I wondered.

“It’s 10 pm,” She said, still being able to read me. 

I made my way over to her and sat across her.

“So what’s really going on with you miss Y/N?” She questioned. 

I shrugged “I don’t know, nothing,”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Cause I’m not buying,” 

I explained to her how my dad was being weird and how I wanted to move out now. How I had pretty much vandalized the house. How I found the video of my mom. Just everything. Well maybe not everything I didn’t tell her about Vulture because I feel like she’d try to do something and I didn’t want her to get hurt. 

“Oh wow, damn... holy shit. Are you gonna watch your moms video?” She asked. Huh I hadn’t thought about that.

“I mean of course I will, yeah,” I nodded “Probably, I don’t know I’m scared,”  

“Wouldn’t you rather just push the fear back and watch then wonder the rest of your life what it says.” 

I sighed. Can't argue with that logic.

“I’m assuming you came here because you need a place to stay?” She said. 

“Yes, I need a place to stay just for a while but I don’t want it to seem like I’m just using you I can find somewhere else,” 

“Now it’s fine stay as long as you need but my dad gets back at the end of the month and we both know he doesn’t like you,” She chuckled at the last sentence and I laughed too. 

I was on the ferry heading towards Staten Island now. I knew the sale was for these weird alien shits but that's pretty much all I knew. I figured I’d sort of “out bid” the buyers then get rid of everything. By outbid I mean straight up steal. Some guy in a white pickup truck is officially my target. Thorn was still on hiatus. Meaning no knives unless you count the pocket knife I always had on me, no suit. I did have a trejo though, you know just in case. I couldn’t help my mind from drifting to Pop Smoke’s “I got it on me”. I let out a small laugh.  

I was hiding behind some car waiting for a crack in the plan to slip in. 

That was until Spiderman showed up. It’s like he had a sixth sense to ruin all of my plans. 

Shit 

Well abort mission. Just as I started walking around to get to the side of the boat. The van I was next to had Vulture literally coming out of it. I knew it’d looked familiar. 

I made it up to the top deck looking down on everything unfolding. So a quick rundown,  the FBI was here, meaning Tony Stark or someone with government clearance probably did something because I highly doubt that Spiderman, the Spiderman that I’ve seen hit a window like a bird while swinging, had any government clearance. 

See now I was looking to find a good time to make my escape. That was until that purple alien shit started spewing stuff beams of light through the ship. And fuck, I look away for one second and the new Shocker guy was gone. I turned around and saw he was running in another direction. I chased after him the rubber of my sneakers squeaking on the deck. 

I jumped down onto Shocker’s back sending us both to the floor before he pushed me off. I was definitely going to be sore tomorrow and I’m pretty sure I heard something pull in my leg. 

He jumped off onto the Vulture and I knew I couldn’t do anything anymore. Not like I was just going to shoot them down in public. I saw the light shooting down the middle of the ferry. I was gonna make a run for it but the loud squeal noise was so loud I fell over. Soon I was slung back into what I think was a bench not entirely sure I just knew it hurt like a bitch. 

I’m pretty sure I feel unconscious for like 30 seconds. 

But that was enough because the boat had already split in half and I couldn’t get to the deck or a lifeboat. However Spider-Man was frantically trying to get it together. 

I was trying to be hopeful because everything was looking up, as the parts of the ship got closer together but I think we all know the saying ‘what goes up must come down’ 

Over the ringing in my head I could assume that things were fixed because people were cheering. One thing that comes from cheering is movement and if I learned anything from the elevator it’s that moving in a very unstable metal death box is not a good idea. 

The ship was falling apart again until it wasn’t. It was pushed back together by I could only assume would be our government clearance guy Tony Stark. I looked out the window and yep there he was. 

As soon as I got on solid ground I called my sisters.

“Hiii!” I exclaimed. “Where are you, are you okay?” 

“Yes we’re fine, and where at grandma’s house like you told us to go to where else would we be,” I could almost hear the eye roll in Liyah’s voice. 

“Okay little Miss attitude stay there until I can feel everything out with dad,” 

“Alright,” 

“Okay I love you guys,” I said, getting a small “love you too” from Sapphire. 

“I know,” was the response I got from Liyah. I almost gasped the audacity of this child. 

“Say it back,” 

“Say it back,” She mocked, evoking laughter from both sides of the call. 

“Okay love you too byeeee,” She said hanging up. 

I smiled, I know as much as we get into petty arguments or try to annoy each other on purpose but I’d go to hell and back for those girls. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.

Taglist: 

@tomdiddlyumptious

[ivadeshin]

Pasadena Iced Coffee (6/?)

(Sequel to Five Soda Maximum. Catch up on previous chapters on Ao3.)

"So Yasha had a different foster family before she came to your foster family," Bryce summarizes, over their second biscotti.

Molly nods around a mouthful of cookie.

"And she's going back to get her foster sister?"

Molly squints and seesaws his hand. "Another girl who had the same foster mom. It wasn't really... a family, over there."

"The Moondrops are very unique, I think," Caleb adds. "It seems like the second you step in there, you are family for life, ja?"

"Ja," Molly agrees. "A lot of other homes, it's very revolving-doors, conflicting personalities, blah blah, not necessarily close ties. Sometimes! Not always. Definitely not with this old hag they were stuck with."

"So your sister's going to kind of kidnap her... not-sister." Bryce quirks a brow.

"No no, no kidnapping, the not-sister is turning 18, and she's been fucked over and hasn't been able to graduate or get any money together or even have a phone, so she's-"

"She's hamstrung," Bryce summarizes.

"Yeah."

"In North Dakota."

"Yeah."

"Gotcha, gotcha, needs help to escape and not end up on the streets." Bryce's expression changes quickly, and Molly turns to see what look Caleb gave them, but it's already gone. "Is that - ? Sorry?"

Molly gently smacks Caleb. "You don't have to stop people from mentioning homelessness." Caleb gives a slightly chastised frown, and Molly pats his thigh with his tail to reassure him.

Bryce tilts their head. "Sore spot?"

Molly decides the shorter version is better. "I was on the streets for a little while, and some ladies found me and took me in, and when some cops came through they were like 'hmm, none of you ladies are very purple, who does this little bastard belong to.' And then I went into the system, and got shipped over to the Moondrops."

"Oh." Bryce blinks. "Well, I'm glad you didn't go to North Dakota, apparently."

Molly nods and smiles. Very slowly, he feels Caleb's hand rest over his tail, not-quite squeezing. He fights back a happy blush. "My foster dad is great, very woke, I still live there and pay a little rent while I save up to figure out where I want to settle."

"Out here, do you think?" Bryce gestures with the remaining nub of their biscotti to the general surroundings. "Caleb showed me that Cabaret clip,"

"Say that three times fast," Molly interjects to demand.

"No, fuck you." Bryce is clearly a darling person and Molly already likes them. "I saw the clip, and I don't know shit about shit but it seems like you can sing and dance and do a mean Berlin accent, no idea where you studied that," Caleb laughs and hides his face. "So you could... right? I mean, this isn't quite LA, but we're close, we've got shit going on." They look uncertainly toward Caleb, who, to Molly's surprise, has taken out his phone.

"There are several smaller companies which are poorly reviewed." Caleb hesitates as Molly leans over to look at his screen, but continues tapping through - there's a bookmark list? Of local companies and troupes? "The one in Burbank is having... tests... recitals is the wrong word, the other thing... but they are only interested in modern American plays, and Molly does not like those much..."

Molly's throat tightens a little. "You've been looking at...?"

Bryce hums amusedly, leaning back in their patio chair and grinning at Caleb.

"Wie sagt man tests, recitals," Caleb mumbles instead of answering.

"Auditions," Molly provides, not letting himself be deterred. "Have you been shopping around for me?"

"Just in case, I did not know if... if you liked staying in Exandria I was not going to... ask you, 'please move here'...."

Molly shouldn't be shocked, but Caleb hasn't said a single word about this, and as he looks through the tabs he's seeing a ton of places with little notes in German in parentheses at the end of every link. "Honey."

"I gotta jog," Bryce says, getting up and stuffing their phone and wallet back into their pockets. "I came out here to jog, I sat down on my ass and ate snacks instead. Molly, I'll maybe see you later? Good to meet you."

"You too," Molly says, pulling his eyes away from the screen to give a proper look and wave. "Really cool to meet you."

Molly watches them for a few moments, down the sidewalk and to the light, and then back to Caleb. "You want me to move out here?" His voice is small.

"Of course I do," Caleb says. His cheeks are burning red as he scrolls through a website with pictures of a dimly lit stage. "I, I need to get a strong degree, but there are no good places back home, and. If I had gone to MIT, that is sort of close to New York, but the drive is very long and bad, so, this, this is closer to LA, and it-"

"Caleb?"

"I did not want to put pressure on, on you, when I was picking a school. Maybe you would change your mind and not want to act in, I did not know if you would still want that or something else, and either school was fine for me, they offered full rides and I,"

"You've been thinking about this since you started applying to colleges?"

"Before," Caleb corrects flatly, frowning a little. "About two months after we went to the date on the roof."

Molly tucks in closer and kisses his cheek, hiding the pricks of tears in his eyes.

"I just," Caleb says, and begins a phrase in German that Molly can't pick up. It's gone as fast as it came. From here, Molly can see and hear him swallow. "I wanted. To make choices where you could be happy also, if we were still. Together. And if you wanted to come, you would be happy in the new place."

"I love you," Molly says to his cheek.

"I love you too." Caleb puts his phone down on the table and resumes the gentle squeeze on his tail. "There are two options I think are good. One is in LA but the drive is not awful. An hour or so."

"I'm eighteen. I'm a small town fish. You might be thinking a little big."

"You are beautiful and you glow on stage."

"...you practiced that."

"Because it is true." Caleb strokes his thumb along Molly's tail. Molly wraps the end of it around his wrist. "I do, I am always scared of, making you feel rushed. Or like you must come too. But if you ever... talked about it, or said you wanted to be here also, I wanted to show you that you could do it." He hiccups. Christ, he's crying too. "And ze, ze down payment for my parents' house set me back a lot, but I always have enough to pay for both of us whenever, if, if you ever decide to move here, and,"

"I love you," Molly insists again.

Caleb nods back and squirms a little, blinking. "Can we." He makes a noise like he's a little frustrated with himself. "Können wir nach Hause gehen."

"Yeah," Molly says immediately, straightening. "Yeah, let's go." He didn't realize until just now that getting this emotional in public is probably making Caleb a little overwhelmed. "I'm sorry, honey. Tut mir Leid."

"No, no." Caleb waves it away as they get up and pocket their things. "I just, you know."

"You're doing great," Molly reassures.

They throw out their trash. Molly makes sure they hold hands on the way back, and when they reach the common area on the main level, Caduceus is there with a laptop. Molly waves with his tail, and Caduceus smiles broadly and waves back.

"I met him when I was getting snacks," Molly explains as they take the stairs.

"Do not tell him about. My Caleb Yells. Please."

"Your fanboy status is safe with me."

They get to the door, and Molly waits until they're inside and locked tight before he takes Caleb's phone and wallet out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

"Hold on," Molly assures him. Once he's gotten his own out too, he bends down a little, picking Caleb up bridal-style and carrying him to the bedroom door. "Shit." It's closed. "Okay, I need you to get that for me.”

Caleb is beginning a laughing fit. "You cannot -- wis your tail?"

"You know what? Fuck you, I can." Molly fake-huffs and turns in place, fumbling around with his tail until the knob turns and he can push it open. He can't carry Caleb for much longer, but damn if he'll let that show. "There. Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," Caleb says fondly, as if Molly just said 'I love you' again.

Molly gently dumps him on the bed and begins kicking off his shoes. Per the rules, Caleb stays where he's been put.

"I have a thing I wanna say," Molly reports, and Caleb nods. Molly crawls onto the bed, covering Caleb, lowering down and nuzzling his way into as much contact as possible. For the first couple seconds, Molly is silent, and his patience is rewarded as he starts to feel Caleb relax underneath him. They haven't needed to do this for a while. Needed? Molly always guesses. "When you have stuff like that you're thinking about, please tell me."

Caleb makes a low hum and begins to wriggle, getting more comfortable, and then kicking his own shoes off while keeping Molly on top of him. "Okay, but. Vague."

"Things about us, about plans, about feelings, I don't know, that's still vague." Molly cards his fingers into Caleb's hair. He smells so good. His skin is still warm from the sun and it's hard not to think about tabling this conversation for something else. "I think when you keep it to yourself you get more and more scared that you're keeping it to yourself because it's definitely something I wouldn't like, not maybe something I wouldn't like."

Caleb wraps his legs around Molly's waist and buries his face in his t-shirt. "That makes sense," he admits into the fabric. "That makes a lot of sense."

"So if it's hurting you, say it," Molly summarizes.

"Okay." Caleb huffs out a short breath. "I have," he hesitates. Molly waits a few seconds, then longer, but it doesn't feel like Caleb's composing something like he often is.

"You have?" Molly prompts. "You have a thing?"

"I don't know," Caleb hedges.

Molly thinks about it, letting his tail wrap around Caleb's ankles where they link at the small of his back. "Du... hast... eine... Dinge."

Caleb laughs, breath ghosting through Molly's shirt to his chest.

"Was that right?" Molly asks.

"I want you to try to fuck me again," Caleb says all at once.

Molly feels his heart stop for a moment.

[ko-fi]

[twdeadfanfic]

Life at the end of the world Pt 12

Summary: Your life as a zombie apocalypse survivor. It starts with the Reader settling into the camp at the quarry, before s1 and then follows the show events and storyline, more or less, but with the Reader in it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, violence, language.

Author’s note:  I’ve been itching to write a fic like this for a long while and I write it for fun, I don’t claim to be a writer so if you find you dislike this fic, please be kind and just stop reading. English’s not my first language so maybe there’re some mistakes, I apologize in advance. For the same reason, I can’t write character’s accents and things like that. At any rate, I hope you enjoy it. There’d be several parts to this.

Slowly, seasons changed again.

You couldn’t even be sure in which month you were anymore, but you could feel the cold of winter gave way to a warm and humid spring that had you drenched in sweet whenever you’d to run from walkers or scavenge for supplies.

You weren’t going to complain though, you’d been so cold during winter you thought you might just freeze one night and never wake up, though you couldn’t deny you felt totally disgusting covered in sweet and dust more often than not.

Your cars, which had protected you from the cold and wind all winter, were now becoming ovens that you all resented. No matter you drove with the windows open, four or five people crammed inside it were a bit too much. Carol and you would draw lots anytime you had to hit the road to see who’d get to go with Daryl on his bike, the fresh and cold wind as he sped up the road a welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere of the cars.

Lori’s growing and growing belly was also a way for you to track the pass of time, but by this point it seemed it couldn’t get any bigger. You hadn’t imagined she would get that big and were honestly amazed she was able to keep up with everything without complaint.

You could see it in her face, though, how exhausted and scared she was. In Rick’s face too, in his desperate search for a place where she could be safe and his baby could be born. You all were afraid she would have to just deliver there, in the middle of the road or the woods, wherever you were staying, walkers not far.

It was a terrifying idea and you all took good care in never saying anything like that in front of the Grimes, but it was obvious they were worried about it too.

You stood silent, half hidden behind a tree, Daryl’s crossbow on hand, aiming at a rabbit that was oblivious to your presence, eating grass a couple of meters away. It was very cute and for a moment you felt a pang of sadness in your heart thinking about what you were about to do, about killing that beautiful living animal. Then your stomach growled, reminding you that your group was in desperate need of food, you hadn’t had much luck scavenging lately.

You tightened your jaw, took a deep breath, aimed and shot...Your arrow missed the target and the rabbit ran away startled.

“Shit, fuck.”

You grumbled under your breath and heard Daryl’s quiet chuckle from behind you. You shot him an angry look and he said nothing but still seemed amused at you.

“Give me that.” He took the crossbow back. “Gotta get us something to eat.”

“I’m still half asleep anyway...” You muttered grumpily.

Your group had made camp last night in a clearing in the woods, not far from the road, as night was starting to fall and you hadn’t found any place with a roof to stay. Next to it was a small creek, clear of walkers, which was a welcome sight to your dirty and sore group.

You hadn’t even bothered pinching your tents, when walkers appeared suddenly there wasn’t much time to dismantle them, so as the weather went milder you tried to camp only with your sleep bags and blankets.

You’d woken up when the sun was just a dim light at the east and had turned around hoping to fall asleep again, but then had seen Daryl already up and about, shouldering his crossbow, ready to go hunting. You had quickly got up, wanting to practice your aim and maybe catch a thing or two about tracking and hunting, knowing how valuable those skills were in this world.

It was hard, though, so hard you were starting to believe you would never learn, though every time you complained discouraged Daryl just shrugged telling you it wasn’t rocket science and that you’d get better.

He had stopped not far from the camp, totally silent as he pointed to you the rabbit. He had carefully handed over the crossbow to you, trying not to make any sound and you held your breath as you aimed.

And there you were now, shot failed, rabbit gone. Just great.

“Are you okay going back to the camp alone?”

You nodded, hand over the holster of your gun. “I’m way better with this than with that damn thing.”

You knew Daryl wanted to go hunting deeper into the woods and even though he didn’t say it, you were painfully aware that you’d slow him down and maybe scare the game away, and right now he couldn’t afford to waste any opportunities to bring food to your family.

“Be careful okay?”

Daryl went out hunting alone on a daily basis and even though he was one of your most skilled fighters, you worried every time. It wasn’t safe to be alone in this world, for anyone. He could be attacked by a sudden herd of walkers at any given moment...he always returned safe and sound, though.

He nodded before disappearing further into the woods.

Back at the camp, the others were starting to get up, besides Glenn and Maggie who’d been on watch when you left and were now curling up together for an early morning nap. Carol raised her hand in greeting while she put together some breakfast and you made your way to the creek.

You cursed under your breath as you slowly got into the freezing water. You hadn’t got any soap but you scrubbed yourself harshly anyway until the dusk stuck to your skin washed off and then you dipped your head under the water, rubbing your fingers through your hair, which reached past your jaw now, and scrubbing at your scalp until it felt less greasy.

By the time you got out of the water, you felt numb from the coldness but way more refreshed and rested than you had felt in a long while, not to mention clean. Greasy hair and dirty skin was something none of you minded anymore but it felt so good to be clean again.

Later that morning you were doing some laundry with Carol and Lori, taking advantage of the close creek and the sunny day that would dry the clothes, when you heard the sound of Carl’s laughter. It was something you hadn’t heard in long, too long, as the kid too felt the pressure of having to be always on the run, always scavenging and killing monsters, the desperate fight for survival stealing his childhood, turning him silent and sullen.

He looked like a kid now, though, laughing as he played-fought inside the water with Beth, Maggie, and Glenn, who’d just woken up from their nap, all of them squealing about the coldness of the water, trying to keep it quiet.

You couldn’t help your smile watching them and it grew bigger when you saw the glee in Lori’s eyes as he saw them. You knew she worried about Carl the most and that their relationship was strained.

Even Rick, as serious as he always was and as stressed as he always looked, was smiling softly at the sight while he kept watch over the camp.

Daryl didn’t come back until the evening and you gasped a little at the blood that spattered his arm. It wasn’t much but still, it was blood. Rick saw it too and made his way towards the archer to question him.

“Found two walkers in the woods, but there aren’t any close, I made sure as I came back.” He assured Rick who seemed to relax ever so slightly, considering he was always on edge.

“You are not getting any dinner until you wash off that blood,” Carol told Daryl as she took the couple rabbits he’d managed to hunt to skin them, and you chuckled softly when you heard him grumbling as he made his way towards the water.

He came back with his hair dripping water as he shook it and sat down to help Carol with the rabbits. He worked methodically but you could feel he was frustrated and you sat down next to him.

“We’re lucky we eat fresh meat instead of canned food so often...” You said casually, trying to talk him out of his bad mood.

“Not that these rabbits are gonna feed us much.” He grumbled.

“It’s something. I’m tired of those canned beans and we have barely any left...but you’re always bringing us meat...” You head-butted his arm and he scoffed but gave you a reluctant, small smile.

He wanted to bring bigger pieces, you knew, and anytime he didn’t manage he’d get angry with himself. Still, you ate thanks to him, food being scarce to find as you were always moving from place to place without much time to go on runs, and the places that hadn’t been raided already were bustling with walkers. It bothered you that Daryl didn’t seem to see how important he was for the group.

That night you weren’t able to sleep, a usual thing for you whenever you had to sleep in the woods, in the open air. You felt vulnerable, hearing imagining sounds of walkers when you were about to fall asleep. It had happened a few times before, a herd of walkers suddenly showing up and making their way through the trees towards your camp. You always had time to leave before they were on you, though, but you lived in fear of the day you might not realize it on time.

Daryl was on watch and you got up and tiptoed your way towards him, carefully as not to wake up those of you who’d managed to fall asleep.

“I can’t sleep.” You complained, sitting down next to him. “So I can keep watch if you want to sleep.”

“Nah, I’ll sleep when it’s T-Dog’s turn.”

You nodded and hugged your knees, resting your head on them as you closed your eyes, a headache beginning to form for the lack of sleep.

“There aren’t any geeks close.” You heard Daryl’s voice. “And if they come I’ll see them.”

“I know...” You assured in a whisper. “Can’t help but be scared tho...”

Neither of you said anything else for a moment, as Daryl kept watch over the camp and you tried to relax enough to sleep.

“Those cats we found must be young adults by now...” The image of the kittens had sprung to your mind while you were half-awake half-asleep. “I wonder if they still live in the house you made them.”

You smiled at the memory. You knew there was a big chance they’d ended up being walker’s food but you refused to acknowledge it. They were safe and sound in your mind and memory.

“If we keep going in circles maybe we’ll get close enough to check...” Daryl replied quietly.

You stood silent. You didn’t want to check in case you found evidence that the kittens had met a deadly end

Besides, you couldn’t just keep going in circles. There weren’t many places to find supplies that you hadn’t already cleaned of that weren’t full of geeks, and you hadn’t find any place where you could settle for long. The herds of walkers kept moving and cutting your paths, making you go in circles or backtrack all the time.

It was frustrating and you could see Rick growing more and more tired and irritated each day, everyone in the group tense and exhausted.

“Did you have any pets before?” You asked Daryl, wanting to take your mind away from your anxious thoughts for a moment.

He shook his head. “My father didn’t like them. You?”

“Not really, but the cats at the village were kind of everyone’s. Also, my best friend had a dog that I saw every day and I loved it as if he were mine...” You felt a pang of sadness thinking about them.

You knew by now that you would never see anyone of your life before again, no friend or family. It didn’t make you break down and cry as it used to anymore, but it hurt nonetheless. You always tried to keep up the fantasy in your head that they were all alive and safe somewhere, with a group maybe, even though you knew it was delusional.

“I don’t want to check on the cats, I want to pretend they’re alive and well...like I do with my friends, with mother and brother...” You explained to Daryl.

“They might be alive, you don’t know...”

It was sweet of him to say that, you though, but his words didn’t make you feel better.

“Daryl, you had seen how the world is now as much as me...” You gave him a sad smile.  “I might be delusional but I’m not an idiot...if they are out there I know they’re most probably dead.

“We’re out here and we ain’t dead.” Daryl shrugged.

“Yeah...yeah, I guess you’re right...thanks.”

You smiled again, grateful for his words as he tried to lift your mood. You nudged his arm with your shoulder and he gave you a crocked, small smile that always made you feel better, before looking back at the forest. You stood silent now, taking comfort on his reassuring presence, trying to believe his words.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep sitting down there until you felt a shift of movement next to you when Daryl got up, and you opened your eyes to see T-Dog coming to keep watch now. He seemed amused at your half asleep self and you grumbled some nonsense, getting on your feet too and stumbling towards your sleeping bag, managing to sleep for a couple of hours before the sun went up and you had to move again.

Your group spent the following days on the go but still close to the creek so you could easily cool off, the weather growing warmer and warmer. The shelters were scarce and walkers found them after you were able to rest for just a few hours. Herds of walkers kept cutting roads and paths, blocking your way, forcing you to study maps all the time, trying to guess where you should go next.

You were washing clothes and cooling off in the creek, all of you in your lowest point, desperation, and exhaustion clear in everyone’s face. Lori was sitting down, resting against a tree, face pale and eyes closed, hand on her belly and you exchanged a worried glance with Carol.

Lori didn’t seem to be doing that good lately, she didn’t eat enough, didn’t get enough rest and was forced to move from place to place, running away from the dead. If things kept going like that, it seemed Lori might have to deliver her baby in the middle of nowhere and you knew the idea was hunting Rick.

He and Daryl had gone out hunting and when they came back Rick had a smile and a glimmer of hope in his eyes you hadn’t seen in a long time, maybe never, and that was at odds with the fact they were only bringing back a few squirrels. Daryl was bound to be pissed with such a scarce booty, but he didn’t look like it.

They explained they had found a prison nearby, fences still standing. The downside was that the perimeter was full of walkers, but Rick was positive you might be able to clear it. You could understand why Rick and Daryl seemed so hopeful about it, the idea of having fences separating you from the monsters was too good to ignore it, not to mention the potential safety of the strong walls of the prison. You were worried about clearing the walkers, though, it seemed they were more than what you were used to handling.

Still, it was your best chance so you all went there, wanting to see it by yourselves and see what could be done about it. r

You began by cleaning the walkers close to the first fence while Rick cut an opening in it, tying it close again with some wire after you all were safe inside. Just the feeling of having those fences around you, even if you hadn’t reached the yard yet, made you feel safer, though the walkers kept pushing at the fences dangerously, excited by your presence.

Rick wanted to take the field surrounding the yard of the prison, for which you needed to close the door that was getting the walkers in from the yard, and then kill all of the geeks that were inside already. It was dangerous but Rick seemed to already have a plan of action prepared and at that moment you felt totally proud of your leader. Now the plan had to work.

Rick would run to close the gate and you all had your part in the plan. Daryl, Carol and you’d climb to one of the watchtowers and Hershel and Carl to the other to cover him while T-Dog, Maggie, Glenn, and Beth tried to bring the walkers attention to them instead of Rick by making noise next to the safety of the fences.

“Sorry...”

Carol murmured when one of his bullets almost hit Rick’s feet and you chuckled nervously. It was hard, shooting from so far away but you did your best, and you howled with happiness when Rick managed to close the door and then quickly hide in another tower. With your combined efforts the field was soon clean of walkers.

“We did it!” You cheered, jumping and hugging Carol.

“Come here,” she giggled, pulling Daryl into a half hug with you both. He rolled his eyes, grumbling something and pulling away after a second but you could see his happy smile.

“Nice shooting,” he congratulated you both.

You rushed out of the watchtower, congratulating and hugging each other, running around the field. Even Rick had a big smile on his face, seeming to be rejuvenating by moments.

It was the best thing your group had come across since the farm.

Spirits were high as night fell and you were safe inside the fences, the walkers outside unable to get in. You roasted the squirrels Daryl had hunted for dinner and you felt totally content, safe and fed. Your smile just grew even bigger as T-Dog explained how you could dig a canal under the fence to have fresh water and Hershel assured the soil was good and you could grow crops in it. Yes, this was a place where you could live in. What all those months ago had seemed like Rick’s impossible dream was beginning to turn into reality.

Rick was keeping watch, patrolling the fence that separated you from the yard while Daryl kept watch at the other side, on top of the car that blocked the gates to the prison’s field.

Daryl hadn’t had any dinner and you saw Carol getting a plate ready for him before there wasn’t any food left. She winked at you, cracking a joke about him being unable to take care of himself unsupervised and made his way towards the car. She was right, most times Daryl would go without if he thought the others were hungry or Lori hadn’t had enough. It was sweet of him, sure, selfless and caring as he was, but still, he had to eat just as anyone and you worried about him. Carol wouldn’t have any of it, though, always reminding him to eat and winning any fight they might have about it.

You smiled warmly watching them joke around and chuckled softly when they made their way back to the group and you saw the blush that tainted Daryl’s cheeks. You smiled and raised your eyebrows at Carol, silently asking her what she had done to him this time.

“Don’t mind him, he wasn’t that shy two minutes ago... were you?” She teased Daryl who just blushed more and pushed her with his shoulder roughly.

“You are gonna have to tell me what was this about.” You giggled and Daryl seemed mortified so you let it go.

Beth and Maggie had started singing and you lied down, curling up on your blanket and resting your head on Carol’s thigh. The song and the voices of the Greenes were lovely and you closed your eyes, feeling more relaxed than you had been in a long, long while. You were about to fall asleep but your eyes snapped open when you heard Rick’s voice.

He explained how you had to do a last effort and clear the prison of walkers. It wasn’t only for the safety of the walls, which was a lot just on its own, but also he believed there must be supplies inside and an infirmary, commissary, armory...all the things you were in need of.

You knew he had a point, place was a gold mine, but it sounded too dangerous, especially having to go hand on hand as you were too low in ammo.

“After all we’ve been through...we can handle it, I know it. These assholes don’t stand a chance.”

Rick delivered, trying to lift the group’s spirits, and he sounded totally confident but he didn’t make you feel better about the plan. You were exhausted, all of you were, and it was a dangerous mission.

Before you realized it, though, you were falling asleep, your worries soon forgotten as you drifted into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling safe enough to let your guard down, protected by your family and the fences.

 Next morning, Rick’s plan to take over the prison began. It was dangerous, sure, but you all knew the prison was your chance of surviving, your long sought haven, so there wasn’t much to discuss.

Rick, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog, who were your best hand to hand fighters, would be the ones cleaning the first yard while Carol, Beth, Carl, Hershel and Lori stood outside, rattling the fences to bring walkers to them and killing them once they got close enough.

Your part in the plan was to stand on top of the watchtower with a rifle and your scarce ammo, shooting at any walker that might be a threat for the group inside the yard. They had deemed your aim good enough to help them like that, entrusting you with the remaining ammo you had, and you couldn’t be proudest. You were going to make sure you didn’t let Rick down.

It went smoother and better than you had expected, your group working in synchrony, all moving together in formation, bringing down walker after walker, and you couldn’t help but admire them, and be proud of them. There was a moment, when some walkers in riot gear attacked them,  that you held your breath in fear, but they managed to put down those too.

“Yes!” You cheered when they managed to chain the door, stopping walkers from coming into that yard which was now clean of them.

You saw them talking and then they made their way towards a cellblock, disappearing inside. You rushed out of the watchtower, running down the stairs.

“Where are they going?” You asked Carol, short of breath, but she just shrugged.

They came back bringing good news. The cellblock of that yard had been almost clear of walkers and it was free of them now. It was full of corpses and rubbish, though, and the group spent the next few hours cleaning it and getting it ready. It was hard work but none of you could complain, you were all elated at having a roof and sturdy walls, also surrounded by several fences, that protected you against the monsters and served as a refuge...this could be a home, maybe...

“You were right,” you squeezed Rick’s arm gratefully when he walked past you and he gave you a tight smile and a nod, congratulating you for your shooting skills.

He was as glad as any of you, but you knew he wanted to keep cleaning the rest of the prison, it was necessary if you wanted to live there and be safe for long. You also were in need of food and supplies and Lori needed you to find the infirmary.

But that would be in the morning, for now, it was time to rest and enjoy your hard-earned price.

“Thought it was Rick who was keeping watch?”

You walked towards Daryl who was walking up and down the fence that separated you from the other yard, walkers snarling through it.

“I ain’t keeping watch, just trying to guess how many of them are there.” He frowned looking at the monsters.

“We’ll take care of them, little by little, we’ll secure this place, it’ll be a home.” You assured him, sounding confident. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that hopeful. “Rick reckons we’ll find weapons and ammo.”

“We better...”

“Come on, let’s get back inside.” You squeezed Daryl’s arm gingerly. “They just get worse when they see us close...”

The geeks were starting to push harshly at the fences and they were starting to worry you a bit.

“Wait, I wanted to show you something.” Daryl turned towards you. “Got your knife?”

“Yeah...” You were puzzled but took your knife from your belt as he did the same.

“I know you are always complaining you can’t reach half of the walkers’ heads...” He began and you blushed, embarrassed.

“It’s not my fault I’m short...” You mumbled.

“Look.”

He harshly grabbed one of the walkers from the other side of the fence, bringing it towards him and you recoiled a bit. You watched as Daryl stabbed his knife under the monster’s jaw and sank it up deeper until it reached the brain, the geek dropping dead as Daryl took back his knife and released it.

“Could be easier for you, stabbing them from below.”

“Maybe...” You weren’t very sure, you understood the theory but weren’t comfortable with the idea of being in such proximity to the monsters. Still, you knew you should better learn, it was a vital skill and if you wanted to help the group clear the prison, you couldn’t rely on guns always.

“Come, on, try.” Daryl was already holding a walker for you.

You were nervous about it but wanted to try and didn’t want to disappoint him so you stepped closer and sunk your knife under the monster’s head. It was hard, you had to push it up with strength, but you managed.

“That is.” Daryl encouraged you.

By the time Daryl and you went back into the prison you had managed to put down two more walkers, this time holding them yourself, and you were growing confident in yourself, even though you knew it would be a lot harder without the fence holding them away from you. At least you wouldn’t be so defenseless whenever you had to rely only on a knife.

Back inside everyone had already sorted their things into the cells. You had left your things inside the cell next to Lori’s and Carol’s, both of them sharing one in case Lori needed any help.

“You’re really gonna sleep on the floor instead of on a bed, with a soft mattress and all?” You shook your head in disbelieve at Daryl as he spread his sleeping bag and blankets over the perch.

“Ain’t sleeping in a cage.”

“It’s not a cage, it’s not even a cell anymore...”

You didn’t dare to call them ‘your rooms’ yet but that was almost what they were, what you hoped they’ll become as you made a home of that prison.

“Well, if you get tired of sleeping over concrete, top bunk of my cell is free...” You said, shrugging when Daryl remained silent, before making your way towards it.

You heard Carol and Lori talking inside hers and you joined them for a bit, chatting quietly in good-mood until you all went to sleep. You felt a bit strange, being alone there without Carol huddled next to you, without the others close, it was strange how silent everything was around you. But the bed was comfortable, the most comfortable you had had in so long, the walls sturdy making you feel safer than you ever had in this nightmarish world and soon you were fast asleep.

@momc95@jodiereedus22@osweetdevilo@sapphire1727@coffeebooksandfandom  @the-destielr @checkintoreality @aislingsartistry

I never thought anyone’d like to be tag in any of my stories so thank you! It means the world! <3

If you want to be tagged please let me know.

[jessethejoyful]

part three bc i’m weak-willed

more of this art school au that is dominating my life tbh 

read it here on ao3

BAZ

Class on Monday is an unexpected balm to my stress, and I’m feeling rather pleased with myself when I walk out. The professor was very complimentary, as they always are, but this felt different. Maybe because I’d felt so unsure about the piece. The colors had felt off, and I told the professor as much, but he told me it conveyed something private and almost intimate about me.

Which is cool, but a little scary. I don’t like to convey too much about myself, not to anyone.

Dev had texted me that morning about getting lunch, and I agreed to meet him in the student union after class, where several fast food restaurants had set up storefronts. I don’t have much interest in the food, but I do get myself a milkshake and let myself enjoy it. Meanwhile, Dev sits down with a tray full of fried food, and I try to ignore how the smell makes my stomach twist. My cousin might also come from money, but he never really acts like it. It’s almost refreshing sometimes.

Almost.

“So you ready for the show?” Dev asks, shoving food in his mouth like a cretin. He even talks with his mouth open. “Aren’t you taking like three pieces this time?”

I grit my teeth, fighting down the swirling stress that threatens at the edge of my mind. The art supply store in town is hosting another huge art sale party. I always attend with one piece, and am out of there before ten o’clock. That much of a crowd, milling around and talking about art - nope. My social anxiety doesn’t allow for it. But Fiona was up my ass this summer to do more (“You could be making a mint off these, Basil! What’re you doing, holing up with these at home, building yourself a nest? Don’t be such a coward!”) and I’d finally given in, if only to get her to shut up. I had three large paintings ready to go, but I still felt the nerves like a hot poker shoved into my side, burning me.

“Of course I’m ready,” I say through my teeth. “It’s in two days. Unlike you, I don’t procrastinate everything until the night before.” Dev grins at me, and he’s got a mouthful of food, and it’s horrific.

“Well, I can’t wait to see them.”

I stare at him, straw halfway to my mouth. “You’re coming? You’ve never come to one of my shows before.”

“Thought you might like some support.”

“What ever gave you that idea?” Dev shrugs and doesn’t say anything, focusing on his disgusting food again. “I… thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Basil.”

I head back to my apartment, my classes over for the day and with half a mind to take a nap, even knowing how it’ll ruin me later. Usually, I’d spend the rest of the night in the studio, but the sore ache behind my eyes is getting to be too much. And I’m hungry. I’m regretting not eating lunch, especially since that had been the point of meeting Dev today. My cousin had looked dubiously at my milkshake, but hadn’t commented.

In the end, I decide to go to the bakery down the street. The scone Snow had given me had been wrapped in paper with the store’s name printed repeatedly across it and it had actually been quite good, even when it was lukewarm.

When I step inside the cushy space, I immediately regret it, because there’s Penelope, Simon’s other friend, behind the counter. Another potential girlfriend? Probably not.

If I didn’t know any better, I would think this idiot boy is trying to take over my entire life. But it’s too late for me to step out, she’d called out a welcome when the door chimed, so I step over to the line. I stare hard at the pastries behind the glass without really seeing them.

“Basil!” Penelope greets me, and I’m taken aback by the friendly tone. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

“I’ve - never come in.” I swallow down any snarky remarks, ready to make nice. “Snow brought me one of your scones the other day, and it was quite good. I wanted to see the source.” She smiles at me, and her chubby cheeks push up her garish turquoise glasses.

“Well, you came at a good time. Just took the cherry scones out of the oven. How many would you like?”

“Ah - just two, I think.” Penelope nods and pushes the glass open, wrapping the two pastries in wax paper before slipping them into a bag and handing it to me. “How much do I -?” She’s shaking her head, and I frown at her.

“Take ‘em. I’m glad we’ve a new convert, and I expect to see you in here more often, alright?” And then she winks at me, inexplicably.

“Yeah… alright. Thanks, Penelope.” She looks pleased, and gives me a small wave as I turn to go. I leave feeling oddly warm, if a bit confused by the kindness I’ve been shown by Simon’s two friends, after the treatment I’ve subjected him to. Maybe they’re all just too nice for their own good.

My keys are in my hands, hovering by my lock, when I have an idea. I go across the hall and knock before I can talk myself out of it, and wait. Snow could easily not be home. But then I hear a thump and a grunt inside, followed by a moment of silence before the lock clicks and the door swings open. Simon is staring at me, brow quirked and glasses on, half of his hair poking up like a rat’s nest.

“Yeah?”

I try not to frown as I dig into the bag and take out one of the scones, holding it out to him. He takes it slowly, looking at the pastry and then back up at me, eyes wide. And then I turn away, quickly unlocking my door and diving inside before Simon can get a word out. I shut myself in and lean back heavily against the door, breathing heavily and closing my eyes.

What was I thinking? What the fuck was that? Simon probably thinks I’m an asshole as well as a fucking weirdo now. Not like it matters.

Safely in my apartment, alone, I kick off my shoes and wander through to the second bedroom of the flat, which I’d converted for my use to a type of studio. But it’s carpeted, so I mostly use it for storage, supplies and paintings. The three I’m planning on selling are carefully leaning against the wall, staring at me.

One of them had sprung from an absolute fit, when I’d woken in the middle of the night with the shakes, drank three mugs of tea, and shoved paint across a canvas until I was happy (or as happy as I get) and went back to bed. The other two were from this summer, when I’d spent two dreadful weeks at home, closed into the studio my father had decked out for me three years ago for my birthday. That was the only good part of going back to the family manor. That, and my little sister, Mordelia. I give her a lot of shit, but I’m quite fond of her.

Those two pieces aren’t within my usual style. One is far more colorful than anything else I ever do, with flowering branches and a fading backdrop. The other was a fluke, some error of my subconscious. It was of a kneeling figure, a dancer, in her final resting position in the bottom corner of the canvas, bathed in dim light but with darkness surrounding the edges. It reflected Snow’s animation, and I hadn’t realized it until I was through. I might have painted over it, but it was beautiful, and I ended up keeping it.

I’m ready to be rid of it. After everything that’s happened, I don’t need any more reminders of Simon Snow. There’s no way he won’t avoid me now, and I try to tell myself it’s for the best.

I should make some tea.

PENNY

I’m exhausted when I get back to the apartment. The evening rush was hellish - we’d run out of filling for the eclairs, and I thought the roof was sure to fall it.

I might have been grateful if it had.

All I want to do is rip off my clothes, take a bath, and go to bed, but instead, Simon greets me at the door like a dejected dog, having another one of his stresses.

“He actually came into the bakery?” he asks, following me as I go into the kitchen to shove a piece of cake I’d stolen in the fridge. “Like, he was actually able to get through the door? I thought vampires had to be invited in.”

I look at him skeptically, furrowing my brows. “Simon - what? How is he a vampire? Aren’t vampires pale? His skin is nearly darker than mine.”

“With a widow’s peak like that, you’d doubt it?”

“He can’t help his hairline, Simon.” I’m too tired for this conversation. I continue to my room to put on my robe for the bath. Simon stays in the living room, but keeps talking to me, elevating his volume.

“Was he rude? Did he shove over the other customers in line? Did you see him put poison in my scone?”

“You ate it, didn’t you? You’re not dead yet. If you were, I’d have some peace right now.”

“It could be slow working!” I come out of my room, comfy in my fluffy yellow robe, and stare at Simon tiredly.

“He was incredibly polite, Simon. He complimented the one you gave him, and thanked me by name when he left. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up over. He’s not out to kill you.”

“He’s a wanker, Penelope! You said it yourself, he’s endlessly contrary!” Simon leans over the back of the couch, spreading his arms at me wildly. “He’s trying to turn all the people in my life over to his side!”

“Simon, for the love of God.” I close myself in the bathroom and flick the lock loudly for good measure, making sure Simon hears it. I hear him groan, but he doesn’t keep trying to yell at me. I turn my music on loudly and start the bath water, sliding in before it’s finished filling and not minding the heat.

I glare at my nails. They’re caked with both flour and clay. That’s the struggle of being a sculptor - it’s all but ruined my hands and my nail beds. I try to let them soak in the bath, beneath the foaming fizz coming from my bath bomb, but I’m too fidgety. I dry my hands and reach for my phone, typing a quick text to Micah to see what he’s up to. Maybe I can convince him to bring me dinner.

Sure thing, he texts back almost immediately. Curry?

Perfect.

SIMON

This new job has honestly been really good. Even if it did take me a bit to figure out the register. It kept honking at me anytime someone tried to put their card in, and it took me too long to realize it was in the wrong mode.

Anna’s been very sweet, gently reminding me of things I forget when I need it. She blushes whenever I ask her a question and it’s kind of adorable.

It’s Wednesday, and we’re decorating the store for the event this evening, another one of the big local sales. Penny has two pieces she’s putting in, and I’m excited to see the party. I know a few of the other kids from the art school will be there, and I’m intrigued to see what they decide to sell, if I’d seen any of them hanging in the halls at school.

I can’t help but wonder if Baz will be there. Baz. Basil. I haven’t seen him since Monday with the whole scone thing. I figure he’s been holed up in his studio, being a recluse and hissing at sunlight, or whatever. I couldn’t help but take in the dark circles under his eyes the other day.

I don’t imagine he’ll be here - that would mean actually interacting with people. Smiling. Selling. I can’t fathom Baz willingly doing any of those things. The thought makes me snicker.

We’re closing up at seven for an hour, so we can all run home and put on nicer clothes. I end up taking a shower, trying to tame my curls to look a little more presentable, and dress in the smart suit Agatha helped me pick out. It’s sky blue, perfectly fitted, and I push the sleeves up to my elbows so my tattoos are visible. Blank ink wings, my designs, on the insides of both of my forearms. The white button-down underneath is well-fitted also, so if I get hot (which I tend to), I can easily take the jacket off and still look nice.

Penny finishes up about the same time, stepping out of her room and coughing. I look up from my phone and feel my jaw drop. She looks amazing. Her normally frizzy curls have been tamed into a sleek braided crown around her head. She’s wearing a deep green, flower-covered dress with a very vintage feel to it, with a boat neck and a natural waistline, and a pair of shiny heels finish the look.

“Holy shit, Penny,” I say, pushing up from the armchair, “you look - amazing. Seriously.”

“Such a way with words,” Penny says fondly, going to pick up the box holding her sculptures. I intercept, grabbing the box and slipping away.

“Uh-uh, no way you can carry these looking like that. I won’t have anything distracting Micah from how good you look!”

“He’s already my boyfriend, Simon, I don’t have to impress him anymore! Give me my stuff!”

“No way! I won’t drop them, Penn, I swear.” She glares at me, hands on her hips. “Penny. Trust me. I would never, ever let anything happen to these.” She finally relents about the time that there’s a knock on the door, and she goes to let Micah in. He comes into the room, raving about how good Penny looks, and I think he must have had a heads-up on her outfit. His suit complements her dress perfectly, a navy blazer with tan trousers, and a tie the exact green of her dress.

I like Micah, but the guy always makes me feel small. I’m not short, at a hundred and eighty-two centimeters, but Micah has to be nearly two hundred.

“Looking good, Simon,” Micah says, grinning at me with his blinding white teeth. “Working man. Congrats on the new job, dude.” He offers me his massive hand, and I grip it firmly, smirking.

“Thanks, Micah. Penny kind of forced me, but I’m glad she did.”

“I’m convinced she knows what’s best for both of us at this point. I’ve stopped arguing with her.”

“That is false, and you know it!” Penny calls from her room, where she’d left her clutch. “You argue with me constantly! About everything!”

“Only to keep you on your toes, babe!” She comes out of her room, snickering and shaking her head, and Micah stops her to press a kiss to her temple as she passes him.

“Ready then, boys? Simon can’t be late.”

Micah turns to me. “Want me to take her sculptures, man? I don’t mind carrying them.”

I shake my head. “No, no, I’ve got them, don’t worry.” He doesn’t argue, going to take Penny’s arm. I step out the door first, and they follow me out, locking up behind us.

When we get to the store a bit before eight, there’s hardly anyone there apart from the selling artists. Penny told me that people who aren’t selling don’t usually show up until eight-thirty or nine, so I’m not really surprised at how quiet it is. Anna is excited to see Penny, recognizing her from last time, and Penny takes a moment to introduce Anna to Micah. I continue on ahead, taking the sculptures to the spot where Penny wanted to set up, carefully placing the two beautiful sculptures on display before continuing to the back room.

My manager is back there, a big man named Alex, and he tells me my main role tonight is just greeting and talking to people, and making sure that the hors d’oeuvres and wine don’t run out. Which is fantastic, because I’m really good at talking to people.

I return to the main room, dazzled by how posh everyone looks, and approach one of the artists. It’s a boy I recognize from school, and Penny and Micah wander up and fold easily into the conversation. When it gets to eight o’clock, the door swings open, and I look over.

And there’s Baz, standing in the doorway and staring back at me, holding three canvases very carefully, another boy following him in and nearly running into him.

“Oi, Basil, go on, mate,” Simon hears the boy say behind Baz, and it’s like he gets an electric shock. He comes all the way inside and goes to set up, obviously used to the routine. I try not to watch him, but he looks so good in a fitted green and black suit (more posh than the rest of us) that I can’t really help it. I give him a few minutes to set up and get his bearings, before I excuse myself from my conversation and start over.

Baz actually meets me halfway, leaving his companion by his paintings, hidden from my view.

“Er, hi,” I say, trying for a smile, and it’s awkward. “I’d actually been wondering if you were going to be here.”

“I always come to these.” I’m startled, then look around the room for Penny, who could have (and should have) warned me. I find her watching us, looking smug. “But you’ve never been here before.”

“Oh. Well, no. I just started working here last week, and -”

“You work here?” Baz cuts me off, and I take a half step back. “Sorry, just - ehm, congratulations. On the new job. I’m in here all the time.”

“Oh! Thanks.” An uncomfortable pause settles over us, in which Baz adjusts the cuffs of his green blazer, a faint blush on his dark cheeks. “Thanks, by the way. For the other day.” Baz looks confused, so I add, “For the scone?”

A slight nod. “Just returning the favor.”

I figure he must be shit at things like this, but he’s actually working to be friendly. I make up my mind suddenly and offer Baz my hand. He stares at it like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it.

“How about a truce, Basil? It’s clear we can’t avoid each other, you seem to be basically everywhere I go anymore - and you seem like an okay bloke. Maybe not friends, yet. But not all this bickering. What do you think?”

He stares at me, so fucking cool, like he’s just mulling it over, weighing his options. Finally, like a swan lifting its head, he raises his hand and places it in mine. His skin is smooth and surprisingly cold, but his grip is solid. “Alright, then. A truce.”

BAZ

I don’t know what to do with myself now. I didn’t expect Snow to be at this sale, let alone looking so fucking good in that suit. The color perfectly balanced with his skin and his eyes, it was hard to look away. I’m not ready to admit how badly I’ve got it for this stupid boy, when I don’t even know if he’s gay or not.

We parted ways after shaking hands, which had been almost too much, and I returned to Dev.

“Who was that then?” he asks, having watched the whole unfortunate exchange. “Guy turned bright red when he saw you. Nearly matched his hair.” I look sharply at Dev.

“Did he really?”

“Yeah, mate, I figured he was your boyfriend or something. Or maybe that you two were just fucking, I dunno.”

I nearly choke, but pass it off as a scoff. “Don’t be so vulgar, Dev, good lord. That’s Si-, er, Snow. He’s an animator from school.”

“He sure did seem pretty animated.” I can’t deal with this, and I leave Dev again to wander the floor and look at some of the other artists’ works. Penelope is there, standing beside two pieces that really are quite good, with a black boy who nearly dwarfs me.

“Oh, Basil!” Penny calls me over like we’re friends, and maybe we are. I step over. “Baz, this is my boyfriend Micah. Micah, Basilton Pitch. He’s a spectacular painter.”

I shake Micah’s platter-sized hand, surprised by the compliment from Penelope. I didn’t realize she was even aware of my work.

“Baz. Nice to meet you.” American.  A bit of a shock, but I don’t show a reaction. At least this confirms for me that Penelope isn’t Simon’s girlfriend.

“And you.” I clear my throat and step forward to look at the two pieces Penelope is selling, and they really are nice, but I don’t know enough about sculpture to give an educated compliment. “Those are lovely, Penelope. I can tell you put a lot of time and work into both of them.” She beams, and I think maybe I said something right for once. One of them is a smaller bust, with impeccable attention to detail, and I think she might have used Simon as a reference, because the nose and the hair look impressively familiar. The other is a bit more abstract, possibly two people embracing, but the colors are far more aggressive than the neutral grey of the bust.

I continue on, replying with a few quiet words to any greetings, but I keep mostly to myself. I’m painfully aware of Snow bouncing around the room like a hyper mutt, talking to pretty much everyone. I’ll glance at him now and then, because I’m weak, and always seem to catch him turning away, a blush spreading across the back of his neck.

Agatha shows up at some point, and she makes sure to say hi to me (and Dev, who’s awestruck by her), before going over to Penelope and hugging her and the American boyfriend.

I don’t see Snow again for another hour, when he finally wanders over, where Dev left me on my own to try his luck at flirting with Agatha, who clearly has no interest.

Simon smiles at me, shy again, and takes his time looking at the two paintings I have remaining. The flowering one sold almost immediately, to an older woman I didn’t recognize, and who gave me far more than my asking price. When his eyes slide to the dancer, I freeze, remembering where the idea came from. He goes stiff as well, leaning closer to the canvas.

“That’s -” He doesn’t continue, looking at me in alarm.

“I saw your animation reel at the student showcase.” No point in hiding anything now. “The ballerina clip… it was hauntingly beautiful.” He runs his hands through his hair, looking back at my canvas as I continue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wasn’t really thinking about it when I made this. But I realized when I finished, I’d tried to draw some of the emotion out of yours.”

He’s quiet for a long moment after I finish explaining, and I’m worried he’s going to get mad at me for plagiarizing or something. Instead, the eyes that turn to me are like pools of warm water, flickering under the surface, and I’m instantly drawn in. “Baz, this is - amazing. Really. You somehow captured - everything. All of it.” He looks back at it, and my heart catches.

This is too much of a soft moment for my cold, dead heart. “But the bit after the ballerina - two stick figures having a fight? Really? I was ready to shut the laptop off when that came up and ruined the mood.” He looks up at me, brows furrowed, but the look didn’t sit like anger.

“Two stick figures? What are you talking about? I didn’t put that in my reel.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s messing with me.

“Yeah, the clip immediately after the ballerina was two really shit looking stick figures beating the shit out of each other. You don’t remember?”

His eyes widen in sudden realization. “Fuck. Fuck! I hadn’t meant to leave that in! I’d put it in there as a joke when I sent it to Penny - I must have set up the wrong file.” He claps his hand to his forehead, bursting out in sudden laughter. “No wonder you wanted to shut it off! Christ, that’s embarrassing. I can’t believe that shit was playing at the showcase.”

I’m breathless, because watching him laugh is such a fucking gift. A gift from the universe that I don’t deserve. His whole body goes into it, his head going back and his legs tilting. I knew he was an idiot, though. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me.

“Amazing. I’m almost impressed by your ineptitude, Snow. Such lovely work, and you manage to fuck it up.” He looks at me, ready to fight, but realizes I’m teasing and grins, breathing out a weak laugh.

“That’s me, the inept, lovely idiot,” he chuckles, and I wish I could tell him how much I agree.

[kairi-chan]

Mutuality Sequel - BoruSara

Title: A Text Away

Characters/Pairing: BoruSara, Mitsuki, Konohamaru

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Humor

Summary: Sequel to Mutuality - Love Sickness. Boruto is furious Sarada did not tell him she was sick. Despite her stubbornness, Boruto still successfully eases her illness away.

He was halfway out the door when his mother called him.

"Boruto!"

He stopped mid-step and turned to face his mother. "Yeah?"

She handed him a brown paper bag. "After your training, can you please bring this to Sarada? Sakura is still out on a mission, and I think Sarada's got the flu flying around."

His brows flew up. "Sarada's sick?" She didn't text me. She would have if she was. He was supposed to have training with his team, after all.

His mother nodded, "I bumped into her last night at the market. She wasn't looking so well."

He looked at his watch. It was only eight in the morning. Their agreed meeting time was in one hour. He was hoping to squeeze in some training alone beforehand.

Gingerly, he took the bag and nodded. "If she's sick, I might as well go check on her now."

Hinata smiled. She felt pride bubble in her chest. She had raised a good and caring son. "Could you?"

He grinned until his eyes disappeared. Whenever he smiled like this, he was the splitting image of his father. "Sure. See ya!"

He turned around and ran out the gate. After turning the corner, he jumped up on the nearest roof. He decided to delay texting Mitsuki and Konohamaru that Sarada was sick. Boruto wanted to check on her and see how serious it was first. There was no need to worry the other two if he could handle it. He opened the paper bag and spotted the bottle of cough syrup. He raised a brow before securing the bag closed. That's it? No food?

He decided to stop by the small tea house that Sarada frequented. He bought two cups of black tea, a tray of onigiri, and four sticks of dango. It's not the usual breakfast picks but Boruto recalled vividly these were what she would order after a particularly rough day. After paying, he checked his watch. It was already eight-twenty.

He jumped up on the roof and made his way to the Uchiha District. After five years of being on the same team with the Uchiha, Boruto had grown comfortable with the place. It was still quiet and fairly isolated, but ever since Sakura and Sarada moved in the place brightened up. He walked over to the main house.

It was automatic for him to walk to the right side of the house where Sarada's room was located. He barely ever went through the front door. Why bother, anyway? He smirked. It was so much better when she was the first face he would see. Before he could take another step, the front door opened.

It was the second time that day he stopped mid-step. His eyes widened as he took in Sarada's appearance. Her long dark hair was worn down, and unruly. Instead of wearing her usual sleeveless qipao shirt, she was wearing a loose red sweater. A pink face mask covered her nose and mouth. Her eyes looked flat and tired. In short—she was sporting the sick person look.

Boruto placed his foot down and approached her. "Oy!"

Sarada squinted her dark eyes. She already had a headache, but his loud voice was making her head pound even more. "Boruto? What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he chose to chastise her. "Baka! What are you doing? You look awful."

Her brows furrowed to the center and glared at him. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going to training."

He rolled his eyes. She was being stubborn again.

Stupid Boruto. She thought. I'm fine. This is nothing. Sarada crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked to the side. Suddenly, she felt his hand come up to cup her cheek and jaw. She stood straight and turned to glare at him once again. How dare he touch me right after insulting me! Her anger dissolved the moment she saw the concern reflected in his clear blue eyes.

"You idiot," he said softly. Boruto grit his teeth and his concern turned into righteous anger. "You're burning up. How could you think about going to training? How are you even standing?" Why didn't you call me? Was left unsaid. He was angry enough that she was pushing herself, but he also felt hurt that she didn't bother to ask for his help.

Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. She felt even more heat rush to her cheeks.

"See!" He pointed at her face. "Your fever is so high you're turning red!"

Sarada sweat dropped. Thank Kami for that excuse.

Boruto placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her back into the house. "You're not going to training, and I'm staying here with you to make sure you get enough rest."

She felt her face grow even hotter. "Wha-what? But Mitsuki and Konohamaru-sensei are waiting!" She tried to reason her way out of this.

Over the years, Boruto had grown more and more protective of Sarada and her health. She never fully understood why, but he would go through unnecessary lengths to make sure she wouldn't even catch a draft. Often times he would readily lend her his jacket, or tilt the umbrella more to her side so she wouldn't get wet despite his sleeve getting drenched.

"It's fine, I'll call them. Just get back in bed!" He pushed her up the stairs. She grumbled but did as she was told.

Boruto placed the food he had bought on the kitchen counter, pulled his phone out, and sent a text to his two teammates.

"Sarada's down with a fever and she's being stubborn. We won't be coming to training. Go ahead without us."

Once he hit send, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and fixed up the onigiri and dango on a plate as he grumbled. He always got riled up whenever she got sick. He knew it was because Sarada was a perfectionist and just always had to overwork herself. She really needs to loosen up.

He rummaged through the cabinets and found a tray. He set the food, tea, and a glass of water on it and made his way up the stairs. Boruto was still frowning. He couldn't shake it off that Sarada didn't bother to inform him she was feeling unwell. She had been living alone in the main house for nearly two months since Sakura left for a mission with Sasuke. Sarada was old enough to take care of herself, but it really irritated him that she wouldn't ask for help even when she knew she needed it.

Boruto found her sitting on her bed with her legs crossed as she looked out her window. She had changed back into pyjamas. She was still wearing the mask.

He set the tray down on her bedside table. He felt bothered that he couldn't see her whole face. "You can take the mask off, you know."

Slowly, she turned her gaze to face him. She looked apologetic. She shook her head and said, "I don't want you to get sick."

Boruto laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Don't worry about me." He leaned in, added cheekily and winked, "Besides, I don't mind catching a cold if it means I can look at your face all day."

Sarada gasped at his audacity. She threw a pillow at him and looked away, furious with herself that her face was turning red. Why does he always have to play with my feelings like that?

Boruto caught the pillow and laughed even louder. He loved to tease her and see her reactions. After he had calmed down, he made her lean on her headboard so he could place the tray of food down. He took one cup of tea and sat at the corner of her bed. He enjoyed watching her eyes widen at the food selection he made, but he pursued his lips as the mask was keeping him from seeing her whole face.

"Could you remove that mask now?" His voice sounded irritated.

Sarada leaned back and lifted her brow. "Why?"

Boruto choked. Why did he want to see her face so badly? "You-you can't eat with that on!" He reasoned.

"Oh?" It was Sarada's turn to tease him. "Is that the only reason why?" She bat her long eyelashes at him.

It was Boruto's turn to blush now. "Of course! What other reason would I have?" He harrumphed and looked away, mentally punching himself for blushing so hard.

Sarada giggled. She wouldn't admit it, but she loved seeing him get all flustered like this. Especially if she was the reason why.

Boruto sorely dismissed her teasing. "Just eat your food so you can take your medicine already!"

"Hai, hai," Sarada was still smug but did as she was told. She removed her mask and placed it on her bedside table. She placed her hands together and said, "itadakimasu!"

Boruto finally looked at her again, and he felt himself relax to see her whole face. A warm feeling filled his body. He enjoyed watching her eat, and took comfort knowing she was finally taking in some nourishment for her body.

Sarada caught his gaze. She picked up a stick of dango and handed it to him. "Eat with me," she smiled.

Boruto held his hands up in front of his chest and shook it. "No, it's alright I already ate."

"Please," she insisted. "I want to share this meal with you."

Boruto felt his heart skip and his stomach twist. He didn't get these odd feelings often, but they always and only happened whenever he was with Sarada. She was smiling so tenderly at him. How could he refuse?

He took the dango and grinned. They both shared the meal in a comfortable silence. After they both finished their food, Boruto gave Sarada her medicine and took the tray back down to the kitchen.

"You just rest, I'll take care of this."

Sarada nodded. Feeling full and satisfied, she made herself feel comfortable in her bed and pulled out a book she had been meaning to finish.

After Boruto cleaned up in the kitchen, he made his way back upstairs to find that Sarada had fallen asleep. Her glasses rested on top of her book on the bedside table. She looked so peaceful. Her cheeks were still slightly flushed from her fever. He stood by her door frame for a little longer before he padded over to their bathroom to find a towel to place on her forehead.

Sarada slowly blinked her eyes open. Two layers of blankets covered her body. She felt sweaty and sticky. Her hand came up to her forehead to remove the damp towel. She felt so much better than she did earlier. She placed the towel back into the bowl by her bedside. She noticed Boruto was sitting on the floor, leaning on the foot of her bed's frame.

He was playing on his hand held gaming console. Feeling her movements, he paused his game and placed it down. He looked at her and asked, "how are you feeling?"

"Much better," she replied. Her throat felt so dry.

As if he read her mind, Boruto stood up and handed her a glass of water. She sat up and took a sip.

"I wanted to go out to buy us lunch," he grinned sheepishly. "But I didn't want you to wake up all alone."

She felt a warm feeling blooming from her heart. A tender smile came to her face. Boruto could be rude, and spoiled at times but he was really sweet and caring when he wanted to be. Sarada really appreciated the gesture. "It's no problem. I can cook us something."

He shook his head and grinned, "no need! Mitsuki and Konohamaru-sensei are coming over with take out!"

As if on cue, someone started knocking on the door. "Right on time!" Boruto dashed out of her room to let his teammates in.

Sarada giggled. He was always so full of energy. As she walked down the hall, she could already hear their lively chatter. She walked into the kitchen and saw Konohamaru sitting at the head of the table while Mitsuki laid out the paper takeout containers. Boruto was rummaging through the cabinets looking for tea cups.

Konohamaru noticed Sarada's presence and beamed. "There you are!"

Mitsuki turned around and smiled, "how are you feeling? You should have called me if you were feeling sick. I would have healed you, and made you medicine to take."

She smiled and shook her hands in front of her face. As much as she appreciated the gesture, she really didn't want to bother Mitsuki. He was already busy enough in the hospital since her mother was away. "There's no need, I'm feeling much better."

Mitsuki insisted, "even if. I'll take a look at you later after you eat lunch."

Konohamaru nodded, "You've been living alone in this big house for a while, you should have told us you weren't feeling well."

She felt so embarrassed. She hated it whenever people would fuss over her. She didn't want to be a bother. "It's fine, really!"

"It's not!" Boruto cut in. "You always take care of us but you never let us return the favor." He pouted, "it's not fair, you know. It's neither a bother or a chore for us. You're our teammate. We all know you would do this for any of us in a heartbeat."

Sarada felt her face flood with heat. She was as red as her father's favorite fruit. She was at a loss for words. Her eyes pricked with tears threatening to spill.

Boruto took her wrist and lead her to the table. "So just sit down and take it easy. Let us do the heavy lifting for once, alright?" He grinned. "I'll go make us some tea."

She sat to Konohamaru's right. Mitsuki sat next to her.

Boruto was crouching around, looking around in the bottom cabinets for those elusive tea cups. He was practically sticking his head into the cabinet.

Konohamaru leaned in and whispered loud enough for Mitsuki to hear, "so Sarada, you and Boruto were all alone in here since morning. You guys didn't?" he waggled his eyebrows and gave her a suggestive smile.

Sarada felt a chill go through her spine at his implication. She often forgot her sensei was a pervert. "se-sensei!" She exclaimed. She was flustered and so embarrassed he would say something like this in front of Mitsuki.

"There's no shame, Sarada." Mitsuki assured her. "You two are old enough for sexual inter—"

Sarada slammed her hands down to the table, making a loud noise. "WHERE IS THAT TEA?"

Boruto hit his head on the cabinet out of surprise. "Ow!" He held on to the sore spot. "What the hell was that for?"

"You're too slow, hurry up!" She exclaimed. Poor thing was still red in the face and deeply embarrassed.

Boruto lifted a brow. He noticed how flustered she was while Mitsuki and Konohamaru were laughing their asses off. "What did I miss?" Boruto asked.

A/N: This was my story entry to fanofthisfiction’s Show me the Love Challenge for February. I wasn’t planning on making a sequel, but here it is! How I managed to make another story from scratch in one day is a mystery to me. Haha!

You can read more of my stories in my fanfic master post or ff.net account.

If you have questions, just ask!

[nicolestar666]

Quiet (A short horror story)

Jack flopped down on the couch in the small room he dared to refer to as a living room. The floor was tinted brown with the worn in dirt and grime of people trudging through. He hated looking at it, the thought of the grim apartment made him sick. The only thought that entered his head as he laid there on the disgusting couch, was of her coming home. He knew that she would be there any minute like a parasite that he just couldn’t seem to kill. He took his regularly scheduled deep breaths and waited for the knock and as always, at 2:45 exactly, there it was. The sound echoed through the small room, emulating sound bouncing off of cave walls.

“Jack open the goddamn door.” She blared from the other side of the door.

           He had treasured the silence while it lasted, but now it was gone and he was pulled back to his reality. He took his last deep breath and flopped off the couch to open the door. He pulled the door open to see her standing there looking worse than ever. The knots that filled her hair seemed to multiply, and the oozing sores that covered her reminded him, yet again, of the hell he was living. He looked her up and down with disgust before moving and letting her in.

“Welcome home mom. It’s nice to see you.”

She replied quickly, with a sharp tongue that always hurt, “I hope you know you’re a dumbass.”

“My day was just great, thanks for asking.” He replied, his condescending words fell from his mouth the same way her teeth were falling out of hers.

           He grabbed the beat up backpack off the floor and rounded the corner to his bedroom. He sat in solemn silence reviewing the pestilential prison that surrounded him. The walls felt as though everyday they were moving closer haunting his every move. He found his only solace in books and knowledge. It kept him sane, as he slowly drowns in the world around him. His mind snapped back to his place in time when he removed his hole-ridden jacket, revealing the suit of bruises that he wore underneath. He poked at the ones that were the blackest, and probably the newest but at this point he stopped caring how each one occurred. The circumstances behind each blue or yellow mark didn’t change the reality that they were there or change the pain that accompanied them.

           His attention shifted to the sound outside his bedroom door as he heard his mother destroying herself feet from where he sat. She was yelling and hitting the wall, probably pulling her hair out, but he wasn’t about to get up and look. He had learned at an early age that he should just let her do what she was going to do and keep his head above it all. He laughed as that thought crossed his head. It was easy for him to keep his head above it as he stood at 6ft 8 inches and his mother only stood at 5ft nothing. He kept his head buried in a book and drown out the sound. His gaze was pulled from his book when he heard a slight tapping at his window that he often expected but was hardly ever there. The light tap, tap, happened again as he took the three steps from his bed to his window. When he looked out, he saw nothing. Just a cold and empty street, it was the only thing that he ever saw. The sound had come from a tree tapping against the pane of glass.          

  He looked the tree up and down trying to decide what was happening in his life. There was a sense of peace that came over him as he watched the tree sway in the wind. For once, he felt okay. He always over thought the things that were not normal in his life. The more good that was happening the more bad would eventually happen and he and learned that at this point in his life. He felt lost in the tree, he watched it, over analyzing every movement.  His concentration was broken as reality burst through his door. He expected his mother but what walked through was so much worse.             His face was long and thin, matching the rest of his body. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides staring Jack down with piercing eyes. “Stand up, boy.” Steve growled in Jacks direction.            He stood slowly knowing that nothing good was going to come out of this and he wasn’t about to make it worse. “You better not be disrespecting your momma like that.” His mother stood in the door way watching them both. He eyes darted back and forth between him and Steve. She just stood and watched and waited.“I wasn’t… but not like you would know what respect is. I’m just minding my own business.” “You and I both know that’s a load of horse shit.”            Before Jack could respond he was on the floor with a red burning cheek. His door slammed as Steve walked out of the room. He let a tear fall before he got back up, the only thing that he could think about was getting out of that goddamn place. Thoughts flicked through his head, each one getting darker. The thought of slitting his throat became more real with each beating and the more he thought the more he planned. His plans grew and he had truly began scaring himself with his thoughts. He was truly prepared to kill another human. His own thoughts were making his stomach turn and his hands twitch. He felt as if his blood was boiling inside his veins and with each contemplation or change of plans he felt more drawn to the idea. Jack woke up the next morning with the same pestering thoughts filling his head. He was falling into madness as his thoughts grew louder and yelled at him to fulfill his desires even though he knew how wrong it would be. He walked to school through the cold, the air biting at his face. He was too distracted to feel the icy burn on his nose. He was focused on the dark thoughts that filled him. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his head and tried to focus at school. He was being pestered yet again, but this time by people.             A group of boys in his class were incessant and wouldn’t leave him alone no matter what he did. He tried to ignore the cloud of hurtful words that followed him day in and day out but he knew the more he ignored them the more they ate at him. He pushed on through his day ignoring the world around him. High school was almost over and he would never see these people again. He found immense joy in the thought of leaving that awful place. He was in the highest level classes they could find for him and he still found himself bored with the repetitive content. His mind often drifted and he would be pulled back to reality by the call of a teacher or another student.             “Six more months, just six more months and you can leave this wretched place.” He thought to himself. Those thoughts were the only way that he could get through the day. His life was swallowing him whole as he was lost in his own realm of being. “Just six more months.” Jack walked through the small hallway that seemed to stretch on forever as he walked closer and closer to the “living” room. He chuckled to himself as he thought about it being more of a dead room rather than a living room. He rounded the corner of the hallway to find Steve and his mom passed out on the floor in the small disgrace of a kitchen. He watched Steve twitch as his eyes fluttered. He was everything other than peaceful but Jack felt safe for once. He had never felt safe around him but right now in this moment, he felt okay. He wasn’t afraid of being hit at any moment which was a new feeling for him. He just watched him breathe.            The thought of smothering him crossed his mind and he contemplated it for longer than he probably should have but he didn’t care. He could see him squirm underneath the couch pillow trying to take his last breath but suffering and being completely unable. The thought was pushed from his head by his own conscious. He sat on the floor and thought about everything that was happening here and how he just wanted to leave. He knew that there was nowhere to go and in this Minnesota winter, he would die out in the cold. His mind floated between thoughts of homicidal rage and running and never looking back, but he knew he couldn’t leave. He was stuck here the same as she was.             His attention shifted to his mom, Kelly, she looked like a completely different person lying on that kitchen floor. He could remember small pieces of his childhood when she was still vibrant and beautiful. He blonde hair bobbed over her shoulders and she was always smiling. But now, she had morphed into something he had never seen before. He hair was matted and it looked as if a rat might come crawling out at any moment. Her face had sunken in and he barely even recognized her anymore. He looked her up and down with so much disgust and hatred that he nearly puked. It made him sick to look at the true hell that he was living in. It was all falling and crumbling around him, he had a choice to make right there. Live or die.            His choice was made, right there. He was not going to be another statistic or just a child of abuse and addiction. He was prepared to fix this. His trance was broken cruelly. He closed his eyes and rubbed them shaking his head making sure he wasn’t dreaming. He looked around and was crudely showed that he was, in fact, not dreaming. His felt the weight of life crashing down on top of him and he felt like there was nothing more that he could do.            He retreated back to his room where he felt something that reminded him of happiness, it was where he could hide from it all. He listened for a tap on his window or a whisper in his ear telling him everything would be okay, but it never came. His escape was just out of reach. He waited and waited but he knew that it would never come. He felt alone again, but that wasn’t a new feeling for him. Each day that passed by felt the same as the last. His emotions were no longer his own, he was being told how to feel by something or someone deep inside himself but he didn’t understand it. He could only feel it.             He started walking more and more. He would go around just the block, then farther and farther until he felt that he had walked the whole city. He looked at every broken window or leaking roof and he knew it told a story that he would never hear. He thought about what people thought when they saw his house. He knew it was the same things that he was thinking right now. They were judging him, the same way that he judged them. He knew he had no right to judge them, they were all just as lost.             He carefully pushed the front door open, doing his best to minimize the squeak. He poked his head in first to see what he was walking into. He was shocked to see no one, nothing. Everything was still, and quiet. He tip-toed through the house trying not to make any sound. He pushed open his bedroom door to see something was wrong. The books that were once piled against the side of his bed were gone, each and every one was missing. He tore through his room looking for anything that he could find, but there was nothing. All of his books, his paradise had been ripped away from him. His heart pounded and he saw red. He pushed through the broken door to his mother’s room, her face was heartless and high.  “Where are they?!? What happened to them?!” he yelled pushing over a desk in his frustration.            “Don’t throw a fucking fit.” Her words slurred together. “It’s not a big deal, we’re leaving here soon.”            He felt his soul disappear and it was replaced with pure hatred and he was ready to kill her. His face went blank as we walked towards her. “What are you doing? Get away from me.” Her voice began to tremble as she saw the rage and misery fill his eyes. Her pleas went unheard as he grabbed the lamp off of the floor.“HOW COULD YOU?! YOU SELFISH BITCH.”              His screams covered the sound of the lamp shattering against her head. She fell to the floor and her face was left with a crooked smile. He brought what was left of the lamp back down again, and again. Her blood pooled underneath her, soaking through the disgusting carpet. The once black with dirt carpet was now red. Her skull was pushed in and cracked. Her hair and scalp were pulled away enough for him to see the white bone that hid underneath. He felt a sense of great relief, his parasite was finally gone. He brought his foot down crushing what was left of her skull. Her insides, slowly oozed out. He sat watching her, the pool of blood growing around her. His head and heart pounded in unison as he began to realize what he had just done. He now faced the reality of what he had just done. He felt nothing, he tried to feel something close to remorse, but there was just emptiness. His mind began to flash with the images of Steve coming home, he knew that he couldn’t hide this forever no matter how hard he tried. He was filled with rage again, his hand pushed so hard again her mouth he felt her jaw pop under his weight. He pulled away to see her jaw pushed off exposing her teeth in an evil grin. She was laughing at him, he could hear her words ringing in his head and he began to push what was left of her face into the floor. Blood covered his hands, but he couldn’t feel anything. He twisted her neck pushing harder until there was nothing left to push. She was truly gone and everything was quiet. 

This is the second professional length short story I've ever written. I hope you liked it. 

*I apologize for the awkward formatting, I couldn't fix it*

[ecotone99]

[RF] Just one Day

Conrad looked out the window to gaze upon the sunny day. It was hot, it was always hot. It never rained. Outside the loud rumble of bombers flew over. The great city he once knew laid in rubble. The war erupted without warning, without cause. It did not bother him. He had known the war for seven years now. He was not strong enough to fight so they let him be. He gazed around his deteriorating room, photos littered a cork board and a dim, soft, orange lamp illuminated the parchment on his desk. The scattered beginnings of poems dotted the page in a dark, black ink.

He sipped the glass of cold whiskey in his hand. His rounded glasses slid slightly down the bridge of his nose, sweat beaded his forehead. All he wished for was just one day of rain. A storm, a sprinkle, thunder, lightning, wind and the spray of the mist. Just a drop of water was all he desired to fall on his face, to pepper the window. He sighed heavily and sat down at the chair at his desk to finish the scribbles of a screenplay he started months ago.

A single white lily sat on his desk next to a leather framed sepia tone picture of his now passed husband, Rodrick. Rodrick was always kind to him, always knew what he wanted, always knew how he felt. Conrad was a mess of issues and Rodrick was there to put him together when he broke down again and again. He missed him.

Conrad scribbled his writings across the parchment, dotting line after line as inspiration struck him like a roaring wave. After four hours of writing, re-writing, and writing some more, he finally put the pen down. The full moon’s light danced across his face, his clock chimed twelve times, his eyes grew heavy. He kissed Rodrick’s photo and bid the town goodnight.

His bed beckoned him, and he obliged. The day was long and hard, and the rations in his pantry were starting to run low. It wasn’t for a lack of ration cards or time, he simply was enveloped in his work. The prospect of speaking with an enemy soldier who controlled his food was far less appealing than writing and booze. He laid his head down onto a comfortable pillow and sat in his bed restless for hours before sleep overtook him.

The soft morning sunlight touched his cheek and beckoned him to wake up. He checked the window again. Still, no rain. Just the heat, just the sun. The sound of boots marching across the pavement broke the silence of the still morning. Soldiers in grey uniforms with rifles slung across the soldiers marched through the town on patrol.

Conrad sat at his desk and cracked open an oatmeal MRE and poured a glass of his cheap whiskey that tasted more like a burn then a whiskey. He put on a tea kettle and heated the water for his breakfast. The morning was always quiet, no one wanted to leave their house for the soldiers who patrolled the morning were meaner than most. Sometimes he wondered if they even had a home the way they defiled theirs.

His kettle whistled faintly and he took it off the rusted stove. The oatmeal MRE was the worst one, it was bland but salty at the same time. Like eating purposely soggy cereal that was heated in the microwave. He ate his miserable oatmeal and donned his flat cap and glasses, brushed his big bushy white beard and left to go get his next order of rations.

His old cracked leather shoes pounded across the pavement, the hot summer sun beat on his neck. Down the street and around the corner was the ration station that the occupying army had set up for the people of the village. They were tough with the rations, often giving out small orders of them. He waited in a line of maybe fifty or so starving people, all skin and bones. Refugee’s from the war torn neighboring villages. Children and their parents waited eagerly only to be sorely disappointed by the expired rations.

Finally came Conrad’s turn for his meals. He silently nodded at the young, dirt covered soldier. He was the only one Conrad tolerated for the boy reminded him of himself. The boy left and returned with a small box full of bread, MRE’s and water. He silently thanked him and returned back to his rickety wooden flat.

The chocolate covered door creaked open as Conrad set his food down in the kitchen to take stock of his new food. He dug out the usuals, tossed aside the oatmeal and found something special in the bottom. A chocolate bar, some coffee, and a bottle of red wine. And a note.

“I know times have been tough, and this war is terrible. The food is God awful and each day I think the lord above just for keeping me alive. You’re the only one in this town who’s shown me kindness and I wanted to return the favor before my time is inevitably cut short.”

-Fritz

Conrad wiped away a tear. A small act of generosity went a long way in these times. He unwrapped the chocolate bar and ate a small piece. It was dark, warm, and sweet. He paired it with a small glass of the red wine, an aged brew from 1890. Thirty years old, it was an incredible delicacy. It was sweet and smooth and took him back twelve years to sitting on the porch with Rodrick, smoking cigars and sipping red wine with jazz on in the background. They sat and watched the stars, the sound of rain tapping against the patio roof. That was the last time he remembered it raining. All he wished was to go back to that night, just for a minute. Feel the cool breeze touching his cheek, Rodrick’s callused hand holding his. The smell of sawdust from the lumber mill.

He wrapped the chocolate back up and dumped the last of the glass of wine into his mouth. He sat down at his writing desk and went back to work on his screenplay but he could not find the words to pen. He tossed his pen back into its holder and begrudgingly went to bed. He laid his head down and almost immediately fell asleep.

The next day he awoke to a soft tapping. Not on his door. The roof. His room felt cool and the sun was not there to greet him when he awoke. He pulled himself out of his bed and went to the window and was baffled. It was raining. He almost leapt for joy. He grabbed Rodrick’s picture and a cup of coffee Fritz gave him.

“It’s raining dear. It’s raining.” He said, his voice broken. He had not spoken in years. Not since Rodrick passed. There was nary a noise from his flat aside a whistling kettle or the soft sounds of jazz.

Gunfire erupted from the square. The occupying forces of the village rushed in from the east while being chased by a rebel force. The took cover behind the statue of the founder of the village and began firing at each other. Blood and screams of wounded young men and women coated the village like a thick paste. Then a new group of enemy soldiers rushed in from the north.

The bullet came swiftly and unseen. The last thing Conrad remembered was the glass shattering and the feeling of the hot round entering his chest. He lay there in his own blood clutching the picture of Rodrick to his chest. He looked to the sky and prayed before finally closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

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[itsworn]

Industry Icon Ted Dzus: Made In America

Ted Dzus and I go back more than forty years. In that time, he built some pretty hairy companions and all of them exhibited craftsmanship, thought, and even a little whimsy. And this was well before the internet tangle, so we got our news pony express-like from the monthly rags and the advertising copy that accompanied them or we heard it over the land line. There was civility then. Nobody yapped immediate when there was no forum to put it in; there was no specious social media for all that gas and very little grit.

These days everybody’s been dog-trained to spit up a sound bite, no matter how inane, thoughtless, or cruel, for a few seconds of something and there’s always somebody with a phone cam on every greasy street corner in America to record their proclivities. Common sense surely seems to abandon them, or maybe they haven’t got any in the first place. Back in the day, we just kept hammering and kept our derision close to the bar…

I lived in northern New Jersey then, so it was only a short crawl over to Long Island. One powerful fall day in the mid-seventies, I was out there to shoot Ted’s Modified Production Vega wagon that had been naturally riddled with Dzus rounds. We had lunch at Herman’s, one of his favorite haunts. We ate, we drank, we ate some more. Then we burned rubber across the street to a strip-mall gin mill managed by Geraldo Rivera’s brother, who fixed us right up with a six-pack of Kamikazes. (Yo, what’s the big deal, it’s only two o’clock.) About an hour later, we set fuzzy sights on the Vega.

Suffice that I had to put my shoulder to a steady tree so I could focus (a loose term here) the Nikon. I felt woozy, delaminated. When the proof sheets came back they were awful. (Your eyes were closed when you did this, right?)Maybe it was time for a change of scenery. Shortly thereafter, I got the new-car bug at Motor Trend and left the land of hard-core modified for the bright, shiny, and mundane. Fact is, I did a dozen or so stories with Ted over the years.

Then, it’s somehow 1998 and beyond my belief I’ve been the editor of Hot Rod for two years. I’m on Power Tour, the first one to chew down the Right coast (from Ft. Devens, Massachusetts to Tampa), waiting in a ratty motel lobby in ratty Suffern, New York, for some company to arrive. Across the floor I see a tanned head and trademark white shirt, bobbing in conversation—Dzus. When he sees me, his face lights up.

We tramped around for a decade, sometimes on Long Island, always on Power Tour. There were cocktails after five. Sometimes we yelled at the crowd. Sometimes we yelled at shoddy service. Sometimes we yelled at one another. And so it was with a couple of very blessed, very fortunate miscreants (now in their mid-seventies) who never really got beyond the age of 18. Not quiche aficionados. Not cars ‘n’ coffee wanks. Not soap opera stars. Car guys.—Ro McGonegal

William Dzus (born Volodymyr Dzhus)

As a child, Ted’s grandfather had a fascination with all things mechanical and he especially loved large machines. As he grew older, his interest expanded. One day he saw a thresher and followed it to the fields. When his father John found him watching it he was enraged that William had been frittering his time. John Dzhus was not one for any resource spent that didn’t immediately add to his or the family’s wherewithal, e.g., farming. As his ancestors, he was bound to the land in the western Ukraine and fiercely pushed his son to follow the same life; he distained William’s natural curiosity and refused to indulge him in his true interests. One telling example: William had built a miniature tabernacle out of wood for his work-worn grandmother thinking that it would brighten her up a little. When his father saw it, he ripped it from his hands and crushed it under a heavy boot. William was undeterred.

Sometime later, he dreamed of having his own transportation. Because there was no metal to do it with he built a working bicycle from trees and branches as the raw materials. Pieces of rope he found along the roadside became the “tires.” William was pleased with his pure accomplishment. His parochial somewhat sadistic father was not. He found the bicycle and smashed it to pieces. Incidents as such were a large factor in William’s desire to get out of the Ukraine, away from his suffocating father and make his bones in America, in the land of the free. In 1913, he made the crossing carrying a change of clothes in a cardboard suitcase and a small fortune of $25 in his pocket, or so the story goes. He spent years in the new country becoming acclimated and making contacts.

Eventually, William managed to establish a shop in Babylon, New York, even as the Great Depression was raging full. Rather than repairing cars, if they still had them, his clientele was more concerned with putting a potato on the table and keeping the roof over their heads rather than squandering what little money they had on personal transportation. It occurred to William that this trend was a bellwether and he closed the doors to his sanctum for good in 1929.

Subsequently, he went to work as a toolmaker in the fuselage department of the Fairchild Aircraft Company in Farmingdale, New York. At the time, the switch from wood to metal aircraft construction was an epiphany, but there were teething problems. Drawing the light metal alloy through a die produced the frame components, and though it worked fine, often the dies scratched the metal deeply enough to where the intrusions became stress risers that certainly became cracks when exposed to the constant rigor of operation. William, the consummate thinker and inventor unkinked the problem by applying a coat of lacquer to the dies, thus isolating them from the surface of the extrusions.

By 1931, his lush, verdant mind and economy of design had devised a die that formed aircraft window frames rather than doing it the old way of cutting, fitting, and welding, thus saving time and money. He is also credited with developing the first automotive grille and the first radiator fan, but lack of promotional funds and patent knowledge precluded proprietary rights.

That same year, William observed a military exercise, watching planes take off and land, looking for weaknesses. He heard a lot of rattling as the aircraft touched down and he traced it to the cowlings, those removable metal sections that housed the engine. None of them were securely attached to the structure of the plane. The repertoire included fasteners in the shape of a diaper pin, a mushroom-shaped latch fastener, and a trunk latch type. William envisioned a fastener that would prevent the metal from vibrating and eventually hardening from this activity; the hardened metal became brittle and ultimately the piece would fail.

His panacea had three basic qualities; strength, safety, and simplicity. It was easy to lock and unlock in either direction and required adjustment of a scant ninety-degrees. The fastener was self-locking by virtue of a recess in the cam that allowed the drawn spring wire to fall in place behind it (see illustration). Dzus produced 26 sets of fasteners for an experimental aircraft. The set-up worked so well that Fairchild leaned heavily on William to give up the patent or get the hell out. William would not bend. He extended a figurative middle finger and told the company to rotate. He would open a machine shop after his own regard. It wasn’t long before Fairchild invited him back, sorely missing his genius. He was quick to realize that the company was flopping and was able to purchase his vital machine-shop equipment at auction. On April 26, 1932, the Dzus Fastener Company drew tentative breath in a garage on Hawley Avenue in West Islip, New York.

Original line drawing of Dzus quarter-turn done for patent purposes that ran in a sixties issue of Popular Hot Rodding.

Way before a single race car adapted the Dzus quarter-turn fastener, these buttons would become the panacea for military aircraft. That occurred only after the cam-and-spring arrangement had been deemed successful in the field of commercial aviation and that was what finally attracted the interest of the U.S. Army Air Force. The military had long been conscious of the need for a better fastener as repeated reports from pilots, crew members, and maintenance personnel indicated that many aircraft failures were attributable to a cowling that was improperly secured. Such failures were directly attributed to the intense vibrations of the machine guns, frequently causing the cowlings to break away from the superstructure. Sometimes, the defeat was in the fastener itself and sometimes it was attributed to the metal surrounding it.

William proposed to the military that the cowlings were fastened too rigidly to the fuselage and didn’t provide enough cushioning. He demonstrated how this fatigued the metal of the cowling under the fastener, weakening it to the point of breakage. Then he concluded by demonstrating the cushioning effects of his Dzus fastener. As a result, the fasteners were tested in commercial aircraft, and soon afterward, the Dzus prodigy was approved for all Air Force craft.

What’s the advantage of those magic buttons? Here are a few.

Note: Long before race cars entered the big picture and before the aircraft industry travails, one of the earliest application of Dzus fasteners on a race car was by Ed, Sr. and Zeke Justice (eventually Justice Brothers) while working at Kurtis-Kraft in Glendale, California. Ed was an A&E at Douglas Aircraft prior to WW II and had graduated from Fry Aircraft School in Kansas. The car the fasteners accommodated was the “Bullet” Kurtis-Kraft midget owned by Joe Garrison and this “upgrade” had occurred while boss Frank Kurtis was out of town. At first Kurtis wasn’t too thrilled with their alterations, but he later realized the benefits of the quarter-turn buttons.

At age 69, patriarch William passed away from complications of a stroke. He was succeeded by his son Theodore.

Ted Dzus

Before the all-American Ukrainian got into drag racing, he liked American and British two-seaters and had a Corvair-powered dune buggy. He drove upstate to Watkins Glen for the single-seat Formula 1 races. One day that all changed like Dr. Jekyll skizzing into Mr. Hyde. A friend who had a 409 took him for the thrill ride of his life. He was floored. The next day he says he ordered a 1966 GTO and checked the boxes for triple carbs, close-ratio 4-speed, Posi-traction… and also the one for undercoating delete.

“I pulled the engine out and took it across the river to Dick Simonek in Gasoline Alley in Paterson, New Jersey,” said Dzus. “He built me a legal NHRA C/Stock motor. I went to West Hampton a few times, but for me it really was more fun to drive it on the street.” More complicated projects would follow.

It was almost time for young Ted to carry the flag. He realized that he’d have to create a niche for the racing fasteners and a place of his own within the family history.

“After I graduated high school in 1961, I didn’t want to go to college full time. I wanted to work at the plant, but I took Business Management classes at night. I started at Dzus in the fall of ‘61. My grandfather made me punch the clock. He said I would learn something from that. I started right at the bottom and learned all phases of manufacturing by being hands-on. I loved this part of it anyway. I did hand-screw, automatic screw, cold-heading, packing, shipping, engineering, drafting, in-house sales, and applications; I manned the phone and did on-the road sales. What was the correct fastener for the application?” In 1964, he segued to England for about six months and learned how things were done in the Dzus plant there.

Eventually, Ted became an assistant to his father Ted. Then the pace ramped up. He was elevated and sat on the Board of Directors. He married Carol in 1980. Two years later he became president of the company. He and Carol travelled. They went to the facilities in England and Paris and by 1989 there were Dzus facilities in Britain, Scotland, France, Germany, and Japan. In 1989, the Managing Director of the English company formed a group that bought all the other companies.

It soon became apparent that the new owners paid little attention to the aftermarket, speed equipment, race car builders, etc. So, the aftermarket started to make their own fasteners (patents were exclusive for 17 years). Southco in Concordville, Pennsylvania, now owns the Dzus name and along with latches and fasteners of its own design, sells the quarter-turn product to industry.

“I always had a problem with the shrink card companies to advertise all Dzus stuff,” Ted scowled. “They said that they didn’t make enough money to produce exclusive Dzus full-page ads. Although I continually asked them to put Dzus along with other products on their page ads, they never did. They only had Dzus in their catalogs. So the others, the valve cover fastener, clutch stop, quick disconnect for radiator hose, header collector quarter-turns, air cleaner fastener, quarter-turn oil drain plug, which I had patents on, were never promoted.

“After WWII, the guys started using Dzus on their hot rods with the thinking that if they will hold fighter planes and bombers together, they sure will hold our hot rod together and they got busy changing from straps and bolts to Dzus quarter-turn fasteners. Racers got them from surplus stores. I think the first company to supply speed shops was Mr. Gasket. Joe Hrudka and I had some fun out there in Cleveland. Then other speed equipment companies followed.” But Dick Moroso had Dzus on shrink cards before Joe did. When I told Dick there were a few guys that sold the fasteners—body-builders, race car guys, small stuff out of a box, really. He said, it’s good for competition. But boy did he get pissed when Joe shrink-carded the Dzus. I said to him, what happened to ‘competition?’ He cooled down.”

Ted Dzus was a war baby born of a culture that celebrated hard work, dedication, and a strong constitution; he had his father and grandfather to remind him of that. For him it was all about the process and the excitement it generated, and the money not so much.

Dzus Use

“The Stock and Super Stock guys would unscrew the radiator hose clamps and run cold water to cool the motor down between rounds. To address this messy time-consuming job, we designed the radiator hose quick-disconnect device. It worked by releasing the pressure at the radiator cap, twisting the fastener a quarter of turn and then pulling the hose free.”

The valve cover fastener: “Garlits and I are good friends. I asked him if he would try-test them on his dragster. This was 1970-ish. He was still using steel valve covers. I went to the Indy race with fasteners to just give to him some to try later. No, he put them on there and then. Of course he had to ask if they would hold. I said yes. Don said let’s do it.”

The clutch stop was attached to the pedal arm and was adjusted so there was just enough “clutch” to power shift…and keep the foot from going too far. From there, we developed quick-release modes for the oil drain, distributor hold-down, battery cable, carburetor(s), air filter hold-down, and header dumps.” On the civilian side, Dzus fasteners were being used to hold together compound fractures in human long bones.

“In the early shot, around 1968, Big and I both looked good. I’d made a placard for Don saying thanks for testing our stuff, well appreciated, etc. We were great friends. At the Indy Nationals, I brought him a box of the ¼-turn fasteners that I’d patented for rocker covers. I told him to take them home and try them out. He asked if they would hold. I said ‘yaaaah!’ He put ‘em on right there. The ’98 Power Tour stopped by his place and I wanted a sequel image to go with the original.”—Ted Dzus

45 Years Of Animals

Ted’s cars naturally became test beds for various products and not coincidentally were tax-deductable expenses. Exposure to the racing arena exhibited the diversity of application.

1973 Vega

More than forty years ago, Ted dragged the tiny station wagon into the Dzus plant so he could fix it with rails of his own design. Not that the chassis was something special because it wasn’t. He could have farmed this chore out, but he didn’t and that’s what made it special. He built the chassis and the rollcage from 1 5/8-inch mild steel. Don Hardy supplied the engine swap stuff and the V8 coil springs. Ted pushed the engine as far back as he could without the need of a new firewall.

Speed Research and Development in Malvern, Pennsylvania, sussed out the rear suspension design that included a Don Hardy 12-bolt housing supported by 22-inch upper and 25-inch lower links in conjunction with a Watts link. Hardy’s narrowed axle was damped by Armstrong coilover shocks. This car had two distinct incarnations: the first was representative of a street/strip driver. Later, the shenanigans segued to race-only reptilian.

The LT-1 engine was a hot item in 1970. Richie Zul was booming at S&K Speed when he did the machine work and balanced the assembly, but the engine builder was local Richie Solano. He retained the forged crank and connecting rods and included Manley pistons that contributed a 12.0:1 compression ratio when combined with matched and polished ports of the zippy LT-1 heads. Solano dressed it out with a Racer Brown 66R roller and kit along with Mr. Gasket rocker arms. The Edelbrock tunnel-ram raised 660cfm Holleys. Dzus communed with Jere Stahl, who in a fit of controlled madness squeezed in exhaust with 1 7/8-inch primary pipes. Yeah, and those sixties-style Cyclone side pipes were so stupid loud that the cops over in Queens could hear them.

As a street rat, Ted banged on a T-10 that Zul had built and then followed with a hopeful Hone overdrive unit that offered 30 percent gear reduction and yielded 13 mpg on the open road. But all that needed to change. Dzus reminded me of something that happened when we took the Vega out one day. “I floored it and power-shifted Second gear and it drifted 50-60 feet down the street. We both thought it was cool. You said ‘Eff.’ I was saying ‘straighten out mo-fo.’ Any way, it did that most of the time.” So in the interest of consistent 10.60 times, Dzus installed a Fairbanks Turbo 400 and never looked sideways again.

Dzus: “I drove the Plain Brown Wrapper mostly on the street. Joe Conway painted it Cinnamon Mist and overlaid that with gold pearl. Then I lightened it up and bracket-raced the tri-state area. One of my sponsors, Harwood Fiberglass Front Ends, gave me a slicker ‘74 nose and Moroso followed up with a revised hood/scoop arrangement. Joe painted it again, School Bus Yellow, and the Plain Brown Wrapper became Quarter Turn Fastener Man. Then I sold it to my friend Fred Kobasiuk—who still has it.”

1980 Chevette

“I wanted to build a real race car,” said Ted, “and travel the East Coast. I had a good friend in town who owned Top Speed speed shop. I asked him if he knew anyone who had the time to travel. ‘I have your guy,’ he said. ‘He’s a motor head, sleeps and breathes cars. Well, step in Fred ‘The Kabas’ Kobasiuk. If something broke, I’d say screw it, let’s party. No-no. Fred wanted to dive under the car and fix it right then. We raced from Canada to Florida. We’ve been together through the Chevette, the ’55, the ’51 Merc, and the Henry J.”

If this cartoonish crate comes off a little weird, that’s because it is—a toady, truncated body bracketed by gigantic tires. Throughout, the objectives were easy accessibility and ease of maintenance. To reduce mass, builder Richie Sullivan (Richie Sullivan Race Cars, Huntington Station, New York) envisioned the foundation as a short and narrow 2x3x1/8-inch chromemoly chassis. Richie built a tube axle, custom kingpins, and used coilover shocks for the front (complete with a Pinto steering rack) and leveled a Strange Engineering Dana 60 (5.12:1 gearing) in the back. He ran it with ladder bars welded directly to the axle housing.

To that end, Sullivan prevailed not on a complete body but on a puzzle of panels instead (roof, doors, hood, hood scoop, deck lid, and interior and engine tinwork), all of them cinched by 171 quick-release buttons. The windows were Lexan. Lightweight brackets accommodated the Don Hardy radiator core and connected the fiberglass nose to the frame. Stripping all the pieces down to the naked chassis took about 15 minutes.

Its braking system was unorthodox. The Strange Engineering discs were controlled by dual master cylinders. One attached to a pedal on the floor and was for the front brakes; the other controlled the rear brakes. Ted locked the front brakes for the burnout and to stage the car. On the top end, the rear binders, along with the influence of a drag chute, alleviated the stress on the front ones and helped the car keep composure when slowing abruptly from high speed.

When Sullivan had finished with the body prep, the car went to Burd Turd Auto Body (Deer Park) and Chris sprayed the Chrome Yellow. Bayview Chevrolet (Bay Shore) supplied many of the engine performance parts and all the metal exterior components.

Gasser guru Jack Merkel did the trick oiling modifications and built the 0.006-inch clean-up bore 350 motor on a forged arm, Superod aluminum connecting rods, and Manley 13.5:1 pistons with VHT baked into the gas-ported domes. Jack liked a Comp roller (0.368/0.368-inch lift at 0.050; 312/312-deg. duration) and put it in with Racer Brown’s lifters and roller rockers, Comp valve springs, and Ridgeway girdles. Racing Head Service prepped the Turbo cylinder head castings to the limit of Super Modified rules. The fuel system featured a Holley 850cfm carburetor and an Edelbrock Victor manifold. Somehow, Hooker built the snaky long-tube headers for it.

The viable powertrain included a Fairbanks Powerglide driven by an 8-inch converter and monitored by a Hurst Auto/Stick. Friction or lack of it depended on 15×4 and 15×12 Centerline wheels with 26×4.5 Goodyear fronts and D8 compound 31.5×15 slicks. In Super Gas, the littlest Chevy ran a best of 9.69 seconds at 139 mile per hour. The car met a violent, ignominious end.

Ted: “I was sponsored by ATI. There was a Points meet that weekend at Maryland International Raceway and ATI’s Jim Beattie had secured the track for test and tune on Thursday for his sponsored cars, so I had to be there. I wanted to go anyway. We were running S/G. But before we hit those timers, we’d added weight to slow the car down. It went 9.60s all day long, anywhere.

“Jim wanted to freshen the ‘Glide,” he said. “I went down to his place, picked it up, and put back in Chevette and put oil in it. I made a pass. At the traps, smoke started coming through the transmission tunnel. I pulled the chute and at the same time the car made a hard left turn into the dirt. As it rolled, I let go of the wheel and closed my eyes–that pissed me off because I didn’t see anything but I wasn’t knocked out. There were no photos, no photographic evidence of what had happened because shooters wouldn’t be there until the following day. I’d made a big mistake in haste. No one had checked the drain plug, which was in hand-tight, not wrench tight. It vibrated loose, fell out just before traps and oiled down the right slick.”

1955 Chevy 210

“During a test session at MIR, Ted rolled the Chevette in the lights. When I saw my friend disappear at the top end that was a scary time. But Richie Sullivan had built a superior car. Ted was unscratched after that final 9.90 pass and said that he was alright and just needed a cocktail and he would be better again! We undid the Dzus fasteners and took off the body and interior panels and left them in the dirt, all except for a door and the deck lid which we saved as mementos. We brought the chassis and drivetrain home. The chassis got some minor repair and was sold.

“The Chevette engine was disassembled, basically because it needed a rebuild. Of course, Ted wanted to get back into the game. He had the engine and transmission and I had this ‘55 sitting in a chicken coup. I asked Ted if he was interested since I did race it when I was a kid and had owned it since I was 15. We rebuilt that car from the ground up.

“We did a lot of brainstorming. We did a back-half with ladder bars and coilovers. Removed the old stock front end and replaced it with a Pinto rack steering setup. We lightened it wherever we could. Used a fiberglass front end, doors, trunk lid, and bumpers. I fabricated the headlights out of fiberglass, from mold to finished product. All the glass was replaced with Lexan and we used aluminum wherever possible—interior and brackets and we fabricated hinges for the doors. We made the new grille out of aluminum square and round stock to the dimensions of the factory one. “The car sat very low. To access anything in the back and to remove the slicks meant dropping the rear suspension. We came up with a better plan. We cut large circular wheel openings and we reproduced the cut-out with aluminum and used Dzus fasteners to attach them to the body.

“For consistency, Ted wanted the 2-speed to shift automatically. We started out with an Auto Meter tach equipped with a shift light. I had a friend who was an electronic tech who built a board with relays to pick up the shift-light signal at the pre-selected rpm and send that signal to a solenoid. After some research, we decided to use air as the medium. Parts were readily available. We put an air cylinder and a solenoid in trunk. It worked like a dream.

“We wanted to run that car in Super Gas, but couldn’t get it to go that 9.90; it ran a best of 10.07. Not bad for a shoebox with a 355 small-block, Predator carb (how many remember them?), a Powerglide, and an early Oldsmobile rear. We decided to run in 10.90 Super Street. Ted came up with this idea for a throttle stop: We had the air and the electronics and just needed to add another circuit with a time delay. It worked great, but Ted was uncomfortable with the gas pedal pulling his foot up so he developed a spring setup that when the stop was applied he would not feel it in the linkage. Again, it worked great. We looked at the water pump and electric drive as another place to reduce weight. Ted called Jabsco. We ended up with a marine bait-well pump. We fabricated an aluminum manifold for the block, installed the pump, and we were off to the races.”—Fred Kobasiuk

“I always said ‘Fred’ but no one knew him. This is what I sent to sponsors…and possibly Facebook. Here’s Fred ’The Kabas’ Kobasiuk with the J.”—Ted Dzus

1951 Mercury

By this time, the race-car tramping was well over, but Ted couldn’t sit still. He’d been captured by another idea: long-haul cruising on the Hot Rod Power Tour. On his first one, he drove his triple-black late-model Trans-Am. But after he’d gotten his beak wet, he had a talk or two with Hot Rod’s Gray Baskerville, who steered him to the fiberglass-bodied Mercury, a car that was a hot rod icon and irrefutable in Old Dad’s mind. This one would be a bona-fide street car outfitted like Ted’s Lincoln Town Car and encompassing, among other civilities, air spring suspension, air conditioning, electric window lifts, LED lighting, and an electronically coded entry system.

Then the trouble started. He’d sourced a fiberglass body from a fly-by-nighter in Virginia. The shell he got came off the mold with a three-inch chop and was ready to be channeled but was otherwise rudely unfinished. Joe Rupert at Higbie Collision (West Islip) devoted insane hours to straightening and mending the material and installing the high-mount brake light, directional signals, marker lights, and LED insertions. Rupert says he applied the PPG Ford School Bus Yellow straight from the can.

Torsional rigidity would be the key to a tight, rattle-free coffin. Scott Weney of S&W Race Cars in Spring City, Pennsylvania, created stiffness with a 2×3 chassis on a cushy 118-inch wheelbase. S&W fabricated a 9-inch type axle housing that carries a Strange Engineering third member, Detroit Locker differential, Strange 35-spline axles, and 4.10:1 gears. Weney positioned the assembly with ladder bars, a diagonal link, and Air Ride springs. At the front, he was bound to Air Ride upper and lower control arms to accommodate the air springs.

Dzus was used to having a cannon on the other end of the throttle. He didn’t back down just because the Merc was headed for the highway. He called on contemporary Scott Shafiroff to build the bomb the in Bohemia. It has a 540-inch displacement, an 8.5:1 compression ratio, a whopping fat Vortech V-7 (Race M) supercharger and a liquid-to-air aftercooler system. Mike Ingrossio at MI Performance in West Babylon tackled a pile of 2 1/8-inch Hedman tubing and tucked it all above the bottom of the frame. As a complement, Mike adapted space-saving oval-shaped Spin Tech 3-inch exhaust pipes and mufflers.

The Rat exhales an easy 800 horsepower and to soak up the grief, Ted stuck an ATI Turbo 400 behind it and stacked the sandwich with a Gear Vendors overdrive that effectively turns the three-speed into a six-speed transmission. The Merc motor literally whistles down the freeway laid back and relaxed with an overall final drive of 3.20:1; at 70mph it’s turning 2,200rpm. On the visceral side, the 540 can light up those elephantine 31.0×18.50 Hoosiers at will, though Ted rarely succumbs to ego. Since the Long Island where he is isn’t exactly the land of wide-open spaces, mostly he putts around town getting lots of thumbs up and doesn’t seek any high-school challenges.

One day, though, I witnessed the full-bore Merc. Out East somewhere beyond Patchogue he did something unusual. He stood on the gas! I was about an eighth-mile down the road. Ted locked the front wheels and matted the throttle and the Merc was instantly ringed in a roiling cloud of carbon black that must have been hiding in there since the last Power Tour. Then the tires went up in a white mass. I smiled and uttered something profane as he ripped past me wide open. My ears rang in the silence.

In the practical sense, the car is very accommodating over tens of thousands of miles, but it’s got a sharp edge to it. Though road noise is minimal the exhaust intrudes and so you have to talk above it. Ted has a larger frame than I and the position of the low Wise Guy bucket seats reflects that. While they fit him perfectly, my legs stick straight out and don’t reach the firewall. I’m amazed that such a conglomeration fits so tightly together. The doors latch easily the first time. When the side glass is down, it tends to rattle when you pull the door shut, but thereafter stays eerily silent on the road. More than 15 years since it was finished, the Merc has proven itself time and again, devouring tens of thousands of miles in the process.

When Ted had spoken with Gray Baskerville all those years ago about what he could to do next, Ol’ Dad had also suggested a Henry J.

1951 Henry J

Ted was in a bidding war for this pristine, unmolested roller and he was kind of emotional about it simply because his uncle had one back in the fifties. Daily he would give me updates on his eBay betting progress. He worried that he wouldn’t get the count right and lose out. In the end, his bid was better than the rest and very soon the west Texas J was headed for West Islip.

While he wasn’t fretting, he was planning. When he wanted to know what I thought the engine and drivetrain should be I said that he wouldn’t like my answer. He didn’t. To champion the lightweight vibe, I said I’d go with an all-alloy LS and a six-speed manual. His eyelids fluttered. His eyeballs glazed. He saw no blood in the wimpy Chevy wedge. He wanted old-school terror screaming from hemispherical combustion chambers.

He called old friend Bill Mitchell and they talked about a late-model aluminum 528 that engine veteran Paul Kaufman would massage with a recipe of his own. Paul set the aluminum cylinder block with a K1 Technologies crankshaft and matching connecting rods pushing Wiseco pistons. He stuck the elephant with a hydraulic roller and capped the bores with Mopar Marsh Performance cylinder heads (PN P5153875) fitted with 2.25/1.94 valves, 170cc combustion chambers, valve seats and guide inserts. A hydraulic camshaft went home with corresponding valves springs, retainers, and keepers. But by far, it was the induction system that caused the most consternation.

The issue with the Hemi and twists and turns of manifolding was a minimum of properly vented space to package them in. Ted and Fred had to re-orient the Vortech V4 compressor, and that meant pushing it halfway through a hole in the inner fender. Hogan’s Racing Manifolds fabbed the primary system that features twin throttle bodies, FAST fuel injection, and intake tube plumbing created by Vibrant Performance. A FAST Dual-Synch distributor and an MSD Blaster coil and Moroso primary wires manage the flame front. Once again, Mike Ingrossio turned a pile of Kook’s tubing into 2¼-inch primary pipes followed by a 3½-inch system. Alpha at Induction Performance and Mike at M&S Performance did the initial, get-it-running tune-up with a keyboard.

Torque transfer is handled by a TCI 4L80-E with a manual valve body and a 2,400-rpm stall speed converter. The terminus is an S&W three-link supporting a 9-inch axle. Ted remembers that (the late) Scott Weney began with an engine on the floor and that he literally built the car around it. Weney fabricated upper and lower control arms for the Air Ride suspension and propped the Unisteer electric power steering directed by an Ididit column and a Flaming River rack. There are lots of brakes here, too. A master cylinder hidden beneath the dashboard activates the collection of Baer 14-inch rotors stymied by 6-piston calipers. The Weld S71 three-piece wheels are wrapped with M/T S/S skins and are down for the stance: 17×8 with 245/45 and 18×12 with 345/35.

Ted has affection for wood trim and leather upholstery and the interior in the Henry has lots of both. To set the stage, the dashboard was moved rearward to accommodate the position of the seats and Ted’s long legs. A swatch of Auto Meter dials dominate. The real goof is that Dzus didn’t trash the bus-size steering wheel with the big “K” (stands for Kaiser-Fraser who built the Henry J from 1951-54) in the center of the horn ring. Phoenix Upholstery in Franklin Square covered the seats and door panels as well as the custom-crafted center console.

Dzus is hooked on that PPG School Bus Yellow. Maybe Joe Rupert at Higbie Collision isn’t but he put it on after a minimal body prep. To make it pop a little, he powdered the paint with a pinch of red pearl. He excised the bumper and rolled the rear pan. He removed the front cattle prod and made a low valance panel/air dam in its stead and had the grille/nose re-plated. On the hood, the Henry J script is original.

He established credibility in a world he did not make and ran the business accordingly. He turned 75 in March. He’ll never quit. The Henry still has some problems with its teeth. The intake system has been redone and the final tune-up is still elusive. By the time you read this it will be a lap-top tweaked, chassis-dyno graduate.

During Indy 500 qualifying, a side pod on one of the cars flew off. I didn’t see it but got plenty of phone calls telling me that Chris Economaki said that Dzus fasteners had failed. The incident aired more than once that day as they were filling time due to rain. Spoke to those race car guys to see what happened and they said that it wasn’t the fault of the fastener. I found CBS or NBC, can’t remember now, and asked them to retract what Economaki had said. I dropped a catalog for them and I left. But I’d forgotten something and went right back in…and there’s my catalog in the waste basket! Now I’m pissed. ‘Have Jackie Stewart retract it or I’m suing!’ I later saw him in the pits. We talked. A paper wanted a picture and Jackie quarter-turned my chest.”—Ted Dzus

Car Craft Hi-Risers was a spiff for those up-and-comers we thought most deserved the exposure. The unwritten rule (known only to us) was that if someone had the cheek to ask to be named a Hi-Riser they would never be one. We got a lot of crap for that, especially from the ad strokes. We laughed at them.

Match-head trio at the end of the East Coast Power Tour in the hotel bar in Tampa.

“Don’t know the date but I went to Cleveland to see Joe Hrudka at Mr. Gasket. We partied in his Rolls and that’s when he decided to take the Dzus Fasteners and put them on a shrink-card. When I came home, I put together the “Cheek to Cheek” flier as a mailer-hand out. Dick Moroso actually had the shrink-cards, before Joe. When I told Dick there were a few guys that sold the fasteners, were body builders, race car guys that sold parts from a box. He said ‘It’s good for competition.’ But boy did he get pissed when Joe put the Dzus on shrink-cards. I asked him what happened to ‘competition.’ He cooled down.”

On the civilian side, Dzus fasteners proved invaluable to healing compound fractures like this imperfect shin bone.

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