#but the two of you just concocted a plan of climbing this mountain of a man tonight 👀

[crybaby-bkg]

drunk Bakugou that keeps blinking big wet eyes up at you while you help him get undressed and brush his teeth and wash his face. he’s slurring the whole time about how much he loves you and how pretty you are and how you’re the better part of him and how he’s gonna marry you and give you two and a half kids and a dog and a cat. muffles half of his confessions into your stomach where he keeps resting his heavy head, and doesn’t care about the tears and and toothpaste he’s getting on you in the process. no, he doesn’t remember everything when he wakes up, but he has an idea of what he’s said when you wake up with a grin, ready and armed to tease him.

[femininenachos]

Vacation au? Do tell 👀

They arrive via ferry from the mainland, then by rental car.

“We would’ve got here a lot sooner if Grandma Wells ever dared to go above 20 mph.”

“Excuse me for not wanting us to plummet to our deaths on a blind turn, Octavia. Those roads are treacherous.”

“The speed limit was 40. 40! A senior citizen could go faster. In fact, an old lady on a Vespa overtook us back there.”

“That is such bullshit.”

Clarke drops her luggage and cuts across the argument. “Guys, enough! Come see the view.”

She throws open the patio doors to reveal an infinity pool with the most spectacular backdrop. Sparkling azure waters, rippling in the early evening haze, dramatic red-brown cliffs in the distance descending sharply into the sea. The picture postcard perfect village of Polis sprouts out of the rugged mountainside, whitewashed cuboid houses with painted blue doors, window frames and shutters, clustered tightly together and cascading down the steep slope.  

It takes her breath away.

“Oh, wow.” Wells peels off his shades and stands alongside Clarke in silent awe for a minute, transported by the sheer beauty of their surroundings. “Okay, I could get used to looking at that every day.”

“Right?” Clarke agrees with a wistful sigh. “The Airbnb photos didn’t do it justice.”

“Bell’s going to be so fucking jealous when he sees this on my Stories,” Octavia says, whipping out her phone.

To one side there’s a secluded courtyard, hemmed in by purple oleanders, the fragrant air thick with the scent of bougainvillea in bloom that climbs the walls.

It’s a slice of paradise; a dream come true.

Their haven for the next two weeks, and Clarke already feels the stress that followed her across the Atlantic melting away.

She fully intends to make use of that hot tub, preferably with a trashy airport novel in one hand and a fruity alcoholic concoction in the other. Just switch off, relax, and unwind. Mentally, she’s already changed into her swimsuit when Octavia pushes in between them and drapes her arms around their shoulders.

“So… what are our plans for this evening?”

“A glass of wine and some nibbles and an early night.”

That earns Clarke an appalled look from both her friends.

“I just came off a sixteen-hour shift. Who else here scrubbed in for three separate surgeries yesterday then hopped on a plane? I’m exhausted.”

“Fair,” Wells shrugs.

Octavia isn’t so sympathetic.

A frown sits on her face. “You can’t be a shut-in on our first night, Clarke.” Her eyes turn pleading. “Look, we’ll just have a nice, low-key dinner at the taverna. Maybe hit a bar or two after.”

Clarke groans.

A tug on her wrist. “Come on, we’re on vacation. Live a little. Whatever happened to party monster Clarke Griffin?”

“Uh, residency and 200k of student loan debt.”

She looks to Wells for backup, but he remains studiously blank. Some ally he is, she thinks with an inward tut. Meanwhile, Octavia just pins her with one of those formidable stares that always fills Clarke with a vague sense of inadequacy. 

She crumbles after a beat.

Heaves an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine. But no shots.”

~*~

Of course, the first thing Octavia does when they’re seated on the outside terrace is order a round of fayaflou. Distilled locally, it might as well be 100% proof pure ethanol by the way it burns down Clarke’s throat and starts an inferno in her chest. Even Wells chokes a little, but Octavia just acts like she guzzled down spring water fresh from a mountain stream.

“Another?” She asks, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Fuck, no,” Clarke croaks out through a coughing fit. She holds up a palm in surrender, the other flat against her sternum as if that could somehow mitigate the effects.

A scoff from Octavia. “Lightweight.”

“I’d just like to return home with my liver intact.”

“Same,” Wells says, his features contorted into a pained grimace. “I didn’t agree to this trip to get blackout drunk. Polis is steeped in culture and history. I mean, did you see those incredible ancient ruins on the drive here?”

Octavia rolls her eyes so hard the retinas nearly detach.

But after a moment’s reflection, she concedes. “Actually, you have a point. Gotta pace ourselves. The night is young and I’ve got my eye on that hot piece over there.”

All eyes follow her nod to the bar, where an impossibly chiselled, handsome guy is making cocktails. Tall. Tattooed. Muscles bulging out of his tight black shirt as he juggles two bottles at once with impressive showmanship. 

They all have to scrape their jaws off the floor. 

He might be the most beautiful man Clarke has ever seen, not that she would dare interfere when Octavia has her sights set on someone. But then a waitress glides up to him, passing off an order with a short, melodious laugh that reaches Clarke’s ears and when the woman turns around, Clarke’s mouth drops again.

Because she is gorgeous.

Chestnut brown hair pinned up in a twist, a few loose tendrils framing the kind of face that people wrote epic poetry about thousands of years ago. High cheekbones and pouty lips. A jawline cut from marble. Eyes drawn heavy with liner scan the terrace, landing on Clarke for a second, and those lips pull up almost imperceptibly, twitching into the subtle hint of a smile.

Caught staring, Clarke flushes and drops her gaze, feigning a sudden fascination with the laminated menu.

“How is it that everyone here looks like a model?” Wells wonders aloud.

“It’s all the genes,” Octavia says in a superior tone, proud of her own distant Polisian ancestry. She props her chin on her hand and bats her lashes. “We’re naturally beautiful people, what can I say?”

Wells snorts. “Naturally conceited, maybe.”

“Whatever. Clarke. Clarke? Clarke.”

A finger snap in front of her face jolt Clarke out of her daze. She scowls, but when she lifts her eyes, seeking out another glimpse of the waitress, Clarke is disappointed to find her gone.

“What are you having?” Octavia asks. “I’m thinking… calamari to start, and maybe we could share the seafood platter?”

“Uh…” Clarke pretends to pour over the menu options, still in a state of distraction. The words blur together. Her pulse hasn’t slowed yet and her palms are sweating. “Sure, sounds good.”

“Clarke might prefer something off-menu,” Wells says, and she looks up again just in time to see him incline his head towards the waitress approaching.

Octavia hoots delightedly and Clarke kicks her under the table.

All the same, Clarke’s throat dries out.

She can’t force her eyes away, drinking up the sight in front of her. How the crisp, white short-sleeved blouse hugs the girl’s torso and toned arms, such a striking contrast against sun-bronzed skin. One too many buttons are undone, affording a peek of sharp clavicles and a shadowy inch of cleavage. It has Clarke wetting her lips as her eyes dip down, taking in the neat black skirt and heels. Legs that go on for miles and miles.

Clarke shifts in her seat, warmth spreading through every inch of her body. She can’t even blame the residual heat of a sweltering day, the gentle sea breeze providing welcome relief as the orange disc of the sun squats low on the horizon, the last golden rays reaching out like fingers across the sky. 

“Not a word,” Clarke warns, seconds before the waitress arrives at their table.

Then Clarke hears her speak. “Hello, I’m Lexa. Are you ready to order?” Lightly accented English delivered in a crisp, coolly confident voice with a girlish lilt, and Clarke is a goner. 

Fully melts into a puddle of lust while Octavia and Wells rattle off their choices. When it’s Clarke’s turn, she finds herself tongue-tied. Up close, those eyes are the lushest, loveliest shade of green, and Clarke is transfixed.

Her stomach swoops.

It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult, a medical professional with years of clinical training below her belt, and inside she’s a mess because a beautiful woman is looking at her with an expectant arch of one eyebrow, patiently waiting for Clarke to recover from whatever brain malfunction she’s currently experiencing. 

“Hi, hello,” trips from Clarke’s mouth and it feels like her soul leaves her body at the same time. In an instant, her face heats. She offers a small, flustered laugh. “Sorry, I’m a space cadet today. Head in the clouds. The time difference, I guess.”

Across the table, her friends hide their amusement behind their knuckles, clearly entertained by her latest episode of undignified flailing in front of an attractive stranger. 

Full lips curve into a smirk that does absolutely nothing to slow the rapid hammering of Clarke’s heart or cool her flushed cheeks.

“What can I get you?”

A date, please.

(And in five years, give or take, a springtime wedding in a converted barn with fairy lights strung everywhere and two hundred guests in attendance, if Mom has any say in the planning.)

Get it together, Griffin.

Like the flip of a switch, she turns on the charm. Eases into a smile, one that’s seldom failed her (and gotten her out of plenty of scrapes besides). Tucks her hair behind her ear and lets her fingers trail down her neck. She sees the way the woman–Lexa’s–eyes darken as they track the movement, how they make a quick but unsubtle appraisal of Clarke’s seated figure.

Her confidence soars.

The mild funk she’d found herself in from a long day of travelling evaporates.

“You know what, I’m feeling adventurous. Surprise me.” Her gaze flicks towards beestung lips then back up, locking eyes once more. “Lexa.”

They hold eye contact for a stretch of seconds, and Clarke feels a current run through her. Mutual attraction, instant and electric.

“More drinks?” The question is intended for the whole table, but Lexa’s attention doesn’t stray from Clarke until Wells clears his throat. She almost appears annoyed by the interruption, a flash of irritation in her eyes, a muscle in her lower cheek flexing before her expression smooths out and she turns her head to look at him. And, God, that jawline nearly takes out Clarke in the process. It’s lickable. 

“Could we have a pitcher of water, please? My friends here are extremely thirsty,” Wells says, glancing pointedly between Clarke and Octavia.

“Make that three margaritas,” Octavia overrules him. “And have the sexy bartender bring them over.”

“O!” Clarke snaps, mortified.

So brazen. 

She gives Lexa an apologetic look, but there’s a ghost of a smirk on her lips again, a gleam in her eyes that suggests she’s happy to play along.

When Lexa departs, Octavia bumps Clarke’s arm excitedly with her fist. “I saw that! My girl, getting her flirt on like a pro.”

“Flirt?” Wells chuckles. “She practically had a sign on her forehead that said: ‘funny how my legs are wide open all of a sudden.’ Zero points for subtlety.”

Clarke huffs out a sigh and crosses her arms. “Oh, fuck off. Let me objectify someone in peace.”

“No, no. It’s good!” Octavia insists. “You should be putting yourself out there more. Especially after the F-I-N-N debacle.”

An eye roll. “You can say his name, O. I won't relapse into a depressive episode.”

“Okay, but you deserve to have fun. Ogle girls. Guys. Nonbinary eye candy.” She pats Clarke’s wrist. “I fully support your hot girl summer.”

Octavia peers past Clarke to check out the bartender again. She bites her lip, eyes glazing over a bit. “And I, for one, plan to climb that fine man like a tree before the night is over.”

Clarke sighs again. Unfolding her arms, she reaches for the empty shot glass in front of her, twirling it around with her fingers. “She’s probably a player, anyway. I bet she’s slept with six sunburnt British girls already this season.”

Tearing her gaze away from the beefy hunk behind the bar, Octavia looks at Clarke dubiously, brows pulled together. “Uh, she seemed pretty laser-focused on you. I felt like I was intruding on some serious eye-fucking a minute ago.” 

A fiendish grin spreads. 

“All signs indicate that Sexy Lexy has the hots for Clarkeypoo too.”

“Stop,” Clarke groans, hiding her face in her hands while she squirms with embarrassment. She shakes it off. “Vacation flings are so cliche, and the last thing I need as a souvenir is an STI.”

“Can we just enjoy a civilised meal, is that too much to ask?” Wells says, shaking his head in dismay. “All this sex talk is spoiling my appetite. I really don’t want to think about either of you in that capacity, ever.”

“Such a killjoy,” Octavia tells him. “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone for you too. A bespectacled, buck-toothed museum guide or something, that’s more your speed.”

Clarke tunes out their ensuing good-natured bickering, eyes landing on Lexa where she stands at the bar, chatting up two stereotypically Scandinavian blonde backpacker types. A tiny, unreasonable ember of jealousy flares in her gut that she tries to ignore. It’s not like they’re anything to each other (yet). Maybe Lexa flirts with everyone to alleviate the boredom of her shift and this is all just a mildly diverting game to pass the time.

As though sensing Clarke’s attention on her from afar, Lexa glances over her shoulder, and in the brief moment when their eyes catch and hold, the slight smile that curves across Lexa’s lips feels like it might be Clarke’s downfall.

Next

[thenon-floweringfairies]

How the Forest Finds the Island

You Catch More Flies With Honey

The rain was soon pelting down, steadily raising the waters of the creek. Not wanting to hang around and see if the banks burst, Sen approached the trunks of the twin ginkgos. Without wings, climbing the taller of the two was a daunting prospect, but the shorter tree had more crinkled bark that should provide a firm foothold. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Sen placed a hand on the bark, enjoying its slightly warm roughness, then started his ascent.

Some tiny tarachocelid flutterflies were nibbling tender leaves at the tips of the freshly sprouted twigs. Sen glared in their direction, but refrained from shooing them off. Despite being leaf eaters, they also helped to spread pollen, and were overall beneficial for ginkgo survival.

Approaching the crown, Sen scanned the nearest branches for a suitable perch. He soon settled on one with a bowl-shaped dip in it, testament to healed storm damage. From here, he had an unparalleled view of his other ginkgo, the lake, and the expansive fern fields beyond. Perfect.

The rain had already begun to ease off, and gentle sunlight filtered through breezy clouds. Sen sat cross legged, closed his eyes, and soaked up the energy surrounding him. As it invigorated his body, he smiled and bowed his head. His brow knocked softly against the wood. Magic began to emanate, vitality flowing from his system into the ginkgo's.

The effect was visible straight away. Slight vessels rose along the sides of the knot, while the knobbled bark along the rim closed over, forming a little roof. Soon there was only a small aperture left, shaded by an overhang, along with some tiny pores along the edge for drainage. Sen wriggled through the gap and snuggled down. The rainwater was already being channelled out by the newly grown network, leaving the space dry and cozy.

Coming out of dormancy and straight into a rather hectic day had taken its toll, and Sen felt exhaustion creeping up on him. Warm and safe, he lapsed into a sleep of fervent dreams.

Sen awoke before dawn, well-rested and motivated by the scenarios his mind had conjured in the night. He quickly shimmied out through the crack in the bark and gazed upon a starry sky. His mind continued to whirr, concocting plans for all he hoped to achieve in this boundless habitat.

Firstly, he was going to construct his nest. The alcove he had formed in the bark was suitable for the time being, but it was a fixed structure. It left no room to expand without harming his tree, something he wouldn't countenance.

Strolling along the branch, Sen picked up a munching noise. The flutterflies were gone, but a hungry horde of inchworms had taken their place. Sen crouched and watched them. They were doing more damage than the flies had, but there was one very useful substance that caterpillars produced.

Silk.

Sidling inquisitively over, Sen inspected the larvae and their depredations. The sooner they pupated, the better, as then they'd stop eating and their silk would be available to harvest. If they weren't due to metamorphose for a long time, it would be prudent to just get rid of them now.

Deciding that could wait until sunrise, Sen instead studied the half-eaten leaves. They were no longer any good for photosynthesis, and pruning them would make way for fresh growth. They'd be his breakfast.

By the time he was done eating (and trying to stomach the residue of inchworm saliva) the sun was peeking over the mountains. Sen stood and trilled a series of notes, more meaning being added with each layer of sound, until the melody, though not quite forming words, carried meaning. Sen listened as his song faded and the shadows crept down the slopes. Presently, an answer was given, a song deeper and more rhythmic than his. Si-woo was awake too.

Smiling, Sen returned to the worms. He gently patted an average sized individual, and at his touch, it reared up in its defence response, looking exactly like a bare twig. With the insect motionless, Sen concentrated and envisaged four steadfast pillars standing around him. He then laid a hand on the inchworm, transmitting its experiences into his mind. After a short interval, he broke out of his trance, satisfied. This larva was close to pupating, and given their similar size range, the others must be too.

Until they did so, Sen had other jobs to do. Gyrating his neck and brushing his feelers, he returned to the tree's trunk and descended. It was nerve-wracking, but he knew he wasn't in serious danger; his negligible mass meant that he wouldn't reach terminal velocity should he fall.

Following the grain of the bark, Sen reached a small burl near the trunk's base and jumped the last foot from there. Landing softly in the fronds and leaf litter, he stood and headed down the creek.

In the preternaturally fertile soil, some of the clipping's he'd planted the previous day were budding already. This warmed his heart, but unfortunately he wasn't the first on the scene. The flutterflies were back, and on small shoots that hadn't yet developed their reproductive structures, they were nothing but a menace.

Sen shouted, racing forward, momentarily forgetting his wings had not regrown and launching himself into the air, only to come stumbling down in an awkward leap. He tottered rapidly ahead, regained his footing and launched himself the last few centimetres at the tarachopterans. They rose into the air, evading him easily, and buzzed off a short distance before settling on another shoot. He drew to a halt and watched them.

If he kept chasing them, he'd only tire himself out. He could see insects on some of the other nearby shoots, and he couldn't target them all at once. Normally he'd resort to magic in this situation, but he was still feeling a little drained. He didn't reckon he could manage any more after already magicking not long prior.

Maybe he could build some kind of scarecrow? But insects reacted more to movement than to shape recognition. Unless it was something that blew constantly in the wind, they'd ignore it. And there wasn't much wind. He sighed. It looked like he was going to have to kill them.

Sen disliked killing animals, but if it came down to them or his trees, there was no contest. Shaking out his limbs, he strode purposefully to the nearest group of flies. He made no attempt to intimidate them, and though they turned to keep an eye on him, they didn't immediately take flight. He paused for a second, tensing his legs. Then he sprang.

The flutterflies rose into the air, but Sen was easily within range now, and knocked one of them into the dust with a well-timed thrust of his palm. This was followed by a slanting heel kick that took its head off in one neat movement.

He covered his nose with one hand and tucked his feelers down with the other as fumes of pungent haemolymph rose. Turning, he saw the others had gotten out of reach. He approached the next sprig. The flies here seemed more wary, and he imagined they could smell their dead congener. This wasn't enough to put them off their meal, however.

Slowing to a tiptoe, Sen got as close as he could. The flies turned, one looking him dead in the eye. He leapt, catching it by its legs and thrusting it down. Landing on its back, it buzzed frantically but couldn't get airborne, and lashed out in panic. Sen yelped as keen tarsal claws lacerated his forearms. Sap welled up through the smarting wounds. Furious, he curled his knuckles and delivered a leopard blow, punching clean through the insect's abdomen and severing it from the thorax.

Sen swayed gently as behind him, the tarachopteran's convulsions ceased. He was bleeding and somewhat winded, but, after catching a breath and letting the sap coalesce over his scratches, felt confident to continue. The flies were too wary for him to sneak up on, so instead he made repeated runs at them, chasing them back into the air when they tried to land. He wasn't quite sure how long he spent doing this, but after what felt like hours under the sun, he was starting to wilt. Drawing to a halt, he took stock of the situation. Some of the flies had given up and fled, but most remained stubbornly in place. Girding himself, Sen made a final charge at the tarachopterans. His spirits rose as they lifted off his plants, and sunk in tandem as they simply picked new ones. He staggered to a smooth, moist root and sprawled out.

After a moment, puzzlement ran through his brain. There were no trees large enough for this root to belong to nearby. And it certainly hadn't been here yesterday. Rising once more, he ran a hand along it. The texture wasn't bark, but… skin. His fingers stopped at a mottled-brown, heavy-lidded eye.

Sen just about stopped himself from jumping half a metre. Very, very carefully, he crept back, lips tightly pressed together. But the beast displayed no interest in him. He could now discern a wet trail, where it had hauled itself from the creek. Given that the earlier sections had dried out, it must have been moving unnoticed for several minutes.

As he watched, the elongate crawler opened a cavernous maw with deliberate, creaking patience. Unlike his own mouth, it was not the bottom jaw that moved, but the top, so it didn't even have to lift its head. As the mouth grew wider and wider, it revealed a stunning, golden throat, and a fringed tongue of a similar colour. This appendage unrolled, spooling like a meaty fern out into the dust.

Enraptured, Sen was overcome with a sweet, heady fragrance. It was so tempting that he nearly took a step forward, before the logical part of his brain snapped into focus. He remained rooted to the spot. Soon, the flutterflies were stirring. The first took flight, followed by another, then many more, all homing in on the alluring tongue. They landed in droves, attempting to feed, only to find their mouthparts gummed by viscous mucous. When they tried to struggle free, the same secretion thwarted their escape. With remarkable speed, the tongue flicked back into the mouth. The creek crawler swallowed in a deep, satisfied manner, then with a sweep of its tail swished back into the water. The ginkgo grove fell silent, untroubled by fluttering.

---

Next chapter

Previous chapter

[richincolor]

New Releases

The end of 2021 is upon us and another year of wonderful releases. There is still one more month of highly anticipated novels, so which one of these will you be adding to your TBR pile?

Week of Nov. 29

Girls of Fate and Fury (Girls of Paper and Fire #3) by Natasha Ngan Jimmy Patterson

“Don’t struggle, Lei-zhi. It’s time to take you back to the Hidden Palace. You’re going home.”

The final pages of Girls of Storm and Shadow brought a jaw-dropping conclusion that had the fates of Lei and Wren hanging in uncertainty. But one thing was certain – the Hidden Palace was the last place that Lei would ever consider home. The trauma and tragedy she suffered behind those opulent walls would plague her forever. She could not be trapped there with the sadistic king again, especially without Wren.

The last Lei saw of the girl she loved, Wren was fighting an army of soldiers in a furious battle to the death. With the two girls torn apart and each in terrorizing peril, will they find each other again or have their destinies diverged forever?

Girls of Fate and Fury is the epic conclusion to the “glittering” and “adrenaline-soaked” series by Natasha Ngan, hailed as “a stunning, new talent” for her “beautiful, lush, lyrical” writing.

Week of Dec. 6

The Righteous (The Beautiful #3) by Renée Ahdieh Hodder & Stoughton

Pippa Montrose is tired of losing everything she loves. When her best friend Celine disappears under mysterious circumstances, Pippa resolves to find her, even if the journey takes her into the dangerous world of the fae, where she might find more than she bargained for in the charismatic Arjun Desai.

Renée is back with her rich, atmospheric fantasy world that will continue to enthrall readers, new romance and mystery, and lush, pacey writing.

Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman Viking

Amanda Gorman’s remarkable new collection reveals an energizing and unforgettable voice in American poetry. Call Us What We Carry is Gorman at her finest. Including “The Hill We Climb,” the stirring poem read at the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States, Joe Biden, and bursting with musical language and exploring themes of identity, grief, and memory, this lyric of hope and healing captures an important moment in our country’s consciousness while being utterly timeless.

Spin Me Right Round by David Valdes Bloomsbury YA

All Luis Gonzalez wants is to go to prom with his boyfriend, something his “progressive” school still doesn’t allow. Not after what happened with Chaz Wilson. But that was ages ago, when Luis’s parents were in high school; it would never happen today, right? He’s determined to find a way to give his LGBTQ friends the respect they deserve (while also not risking his chance to be prom king, just saying…).

When a hit on the head knocks him back in time to 1985 and he meets the doomed young Chaz himself, Luis concocts a new plan-he’s going to give this guy his first real kiss. Though it turns out a conservative school in the ’80s isn’t the safest place to be a gay kid. Especially with homophobes running the campus, including Gordo (aka Luis’s estranged father). Luis is in over his head, trying not to make things worse-and hoping he makes it back to present day at all.

In a story that’s fresh, intersectional, and wickedly funny, David Valdes introduces a big-mouthed, big-hearted queer character that readers won’t soon forget.

Fools In Love: Fresh Twists on Romantic Tales Edited by Ashley Herring Blake & Rebecca Podos Running Press Kids

Join fifteen bestselling, award-winning, and up-and-coming authors as they reimagine some of the most popular tropes in the romance genre.

Fake relationships. Enemies to lovers. Love triangles and best friends, mistaken identities and missed connections. This collection of genre-bending and original stories celebrates how love always finds a way, featuring powerful flora, a superhero and his nemesis, a fantastical sled race through snow-capped mountains, a golf tournament, the wrong ride-share, and even the end of the world. With stories written by Rebecca Barrow, Ashley Herring Blake, Gloria Chao, Mason Deaver, Sara Farizan, Claire Kann, Malinda Lo, Hannah Moskowitz, Natasha Ngan, Rebecca Podos, Lilliam Rivera, Laura Silverman, Amy Spalding, Rebecca Kim Wells, and Julian Winters this collection is sure to sweep you off your feet.

Week of Dec. 27

Here’s to Us (What If It’s Us #2) by Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera Quill Tree Books

Ben has spent his first year of college working on his fantasy manuscript with his writing partner Mario, who is a great Spanish tutor, and an even better kisser. So why can’t he stop thinking about the fact that Arthur’s back in town two years after they called it quits?

Arthur is in New York for a dream internship on Broadway, with a boyfriend back at home that he couldn’t be happier with. But when he comes upon Ben cuddled up with a mystery boy, he starts to wonder if his feelings for Ben ever truly went away.

Even as the boys try to focus on their futures, they can’t seem to help running into each other in the present. Is the universe forcing them to question if they’re actually meant to be?

Possibly not. After all, things didn’t work the first time around. Possibly yes. After all, the sparks are still flying. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and raise a glass.

Here’s to celebrating old friends! Here’s to embracing new beginnings! Here’s to believing in second chances!

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 8

It’s almost over - after this, Ch. 9 is the epilogue.  Thanks all for reading and reblogging.  I hope my readers new to Schitt’s Creek have enjoyed this!

Read from the beginning on A03; or go to Chapter 8.  M, 24k.

Summary – An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 8

David’s head is pounding when his alarm goes off.  He swats it and turns over, curling up under the blankets.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he feels someone gripping his arm.  “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping.”

“David?  It’s almost eight, you overslept.”

David scrunches his eyes closed.  He flinches from the touch of Patrick’s hand on his forehead.

“Shit, you’re burning up.”  Patrick’s hand is cool, almost painful on his skin as he rests the back of his hand on David’s cheek, and then it’s gone.  David presses his face into the pillow and drifts off.

The next thing he knows is Patrick shaking him again.  “I know you don’t feel good, honey,” Patrick says, his voice soft.  “But sit up just for a sec, and take some medicine.  Come on.”

David squints one eye open and sees Patrick in his chair, next to the bed.  There’s a glass of water on the nightstand, and Patrick has two Tylenol in his hand.  David shoves himself up against the pillows and takes the pills, his hand trembling as he brings the glass of water to his mouth.

“Drink all of it,” Patrick says, and David grimaces.  His throat is on fire and the water isn’t helping.  He drains as much as he can stand from the glass, Patrick taking it from his hand when it is clear that David is done.

David sinks back against the pillows and closes his eyes.  He falls asleep to the reassuring sensation of Patrick stroking his shoulder.

He dreams about hiking, but instead of climbing a rather tame Canadian hill, they’re in the desert, David and Patrick and far too many cactuses – cacti?  There’s a long road winding in the distance, but they’ve got a ways to go to reach it, and their path is filled with sand and rocks and darting small versions of wildlife that seem to morph between lizards and furry things that might be weasels.  Patrick scolds David for not wearing mountaineering shoes, and tells him to take off his sweater because it’s making him overheat.  Suddenly there’s a cliff, and Patrick is standing close to the edge, pointing out the view, and then he’s gone, disappearing over it without a word.

“David,” a voice calls, and David jolts awake, eyes flashing open to see Patrick’s worried face.  

“You shouldn’t stand near the edge,” David says, grabbing Patrick’s arm.

“Um, okay, I won’t,” Patrick says.  

David blinks, looking around at their bedroom, his eyes landing on the dresser from Patrick’s old apartment, the wardrobe half open with all his knitwear stored carefully inside, the wooden chest at the foot of the bed.  “I was dreaming,” David says, and he tries to take in a deep breath, but his throat hurts too much.

“I got that,” says Patrick.  “Here, drink this.”

David shakes his head.  “It hurts.”

“This won’t.”  Patrick tilts the glass towards him, a straw sticking up towards his mouth.  

David takes a sip and practically moans in relief.  “What is that?”

“Chocolate Nutella milkshake.  Twyla brought us some supplies.”

“She didn’t make it herself,” David says.  It’s not even a question – Twyla’s concoctions are universally terrible.

“No, she did not.”  Patrick leaves the milkshake in David’s hand and points their thermometer at David’s forehead.  “Hold still for a second.”

David lets Patrick take his temperature, not really paying much attention.  When he’s done, Patrick tilts the milkshake straw in David’s direction.  He drinks a little more, then shakes his head to try to clear it.  “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.  Time for you to take another dose.  We’ll alternate until your fever comes down.”  Patrick shakes a few Advil out of the bottle on the nightstand, but David is still confused.

“But it’s Monday.  You have PT.  We have to go.”  David pushes the blankets down and tries to get out of bed, but Patrick stops him with a hand to his shoulder.  David feels so weak he can hardly fight back.

“We’re not going.  Lie down,” Patrick says firmly.

“No, it’s okay,” David says.  “Let me get up and get dressed, I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” says Patrick, and reaches over to tuck David back in.  “I can skip a day, I already called and told them.  Go back to sleep.  If you’re good, I’ll make you another milkshake for dinner.”

David sighs.  His bed does feel wonderful, and his arms and legs feel far too heavy to get out of it.  But Patrick needs him, he needs to be taken care of.  David can’t just stay in bed all day.

“That’s very sweet, honey, but I can take care of both of us today.”

“Didn’t say that out loud,” David mumbles.

“You did, and that’s okay.  You’ll feel better soon, when your temperature comes down.  Close your eyes.”

Patrick is rubbing circles on David’s back, and David is powerless to resist as sleep overtakes him once more.

It’s another twenty-four hours before David feels like himself again.  He wakes up to Patrick pressing his lips to his forehead and smiling.

“Do I pass the kiss test?”  David asks, smiling back.  He swallows tentatively – even his throat feels better.  He clearly wasn’t as sick as it seemed.

“Yup, you pass,” Patrick says, pulling David into his arms.  “You’re back to your regular levels of hot.”

David squirms and runs a hand through his rather disgusting hair.  “Say that again after I’ve taken a shower.”

“Deal.”  Patrick presses a kiss to David’s lips, and David opens easily to him.  Sadly, Patrick breaks it off all too soon.  

David covers his mouth with his hand.  “Sorry, I must taste awful.”

Patrick laughs.  “You’re not exactly minty fresh, but, um, since you’re not on your deathbed anymore, I kind of have plans.”

David stares at his husband.  “You what?  What kind of plans?”  He realizes that Patrick is fully dressed, and apparently got back in bed just to wake David up with a kiss, like some fairy tale prince.  

“Stevie’s taking me out to lunch,” Patrick says quickly.  He’s looking away from David, but he’s still got his hand on David’s shoulder, worrying his thumb against his skin.  

David may have been stuck in bed with a fever, but he hasn’t forgotten how to read his husband, and while Patrick is obviously feeling awkward about whatever this is, it is clearly important to him, too.  They haven’t been out to eat since Patrick’s accident, and Patrick hasn’t been in the car with anyone other than David.

“That’s great,” he says slowly, choosing to focus on the most critical part of this piece of news – Patrick agreeing to go out in public, despite his embarrassment.  “Where are you going?”

Patrick blinks at him, and then adjusts.  It’s what they do.  “The Thai place in Elm Valley.  With the good satays.”

“Bring me home some masaman curry?”

“Sure.”  Patrick gracelessly rolls to his back and lets out a long breath.  “I was afraid you’d be mad,” he says to the ceiling.  “But Stevie offered to take me to PT tomorrow, if you weren’t well enough, and then since you were feeling better last night I told her she didn’t have to, and she said she had been looking forward to getting together, and I’ve missed her too, so she asked me to have lunch, and I – I just said yes.”

“That sounds nice.”  David rolls to his side and puts their joined hands on Patrick’s chest.

“Maybe. But…” Patrick turns his head and catches David’s gaze.  “I haven’t, since-”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to go to the café.”

It makes sense.  Everyone at Café Tropicale knows him, and would want to have a chat, and ask too many questions.  “The Thai place is neutral territory,” David says.  David and Patrick love it, the wait staff are friendly but not nosy, and he doesn’t think they’ve ever run into anyone from Schitt’s Creek there.  It’s a good choice for Patrick’s first foray out in the world.  David wishes he had thought of it.

“Yeah.  And I called, it’s accessible.”

David feels a little pang, and thinks of Stevie trying to get Patrick’s chair over a too high threshold, or god forbid up a stair.  They’ve put a few rubber threshold ramps in their own doorways to make it easier for Patrick – it’s ridiculous how hard it is to get around in a wheelchair.  “Good thinking.”

They lie there for another minute, and David can feel how uncomfortable it is.  He doesn’t quite know why, and he’s searching for something to say to lighten the mood, when Patrick speaks up.

“Do you, um, do you want to come?”

David instantly knows his answer has to be no.  It’s hard to say, when it means Patrick will be out there away from him.  There will be someone else helping Patrick in and out of the car, making sure his feet don’t catch and trip him up.  Someone else responsible for his safety, for making sure he doesn’t freak out, for protecting him from prying eyes.

But David has to say no because by agreeing to go out to lunch with Stevie, <i> without</i> David, Patrick hasn’t just decided to risk that Stevie won’t let him down.  Patrick has decided to trust himself, and David needs to trust him, too.

David pushes up on an elbow and waits until Patrick looks at him, and then he smiles and ducks down for a kiss.  “Nah.  You go.  I’ll be here when you get home.”

The look on Patrick’s face is like the sunrise.  “Yeah?”

David wraps his arms around his husband.  “Yeah.  You’ll do just fine.”  

Patrick hangs on tight, and David presses his hands to his back, hugging him for all he’s worth.  They’re strong, the both of them, and they’re going to be okay.

*****

A few days later when they get to the hospital Patrick tells David to park in the lot instead of dropping him off at the front door.

“Everything okay?”  David asks.

Patrick nods.  “Yeah, but, um, I want you to come to PT with me.”

They take the elevator to the second floor (it’s not a very big hospital – David thinks the whole thing could fit in one wing of Sloan-Kettering) and Patrick leads him down the hall to the physical therapy department.  When his name is called, they go into a large room and are met by a tall man with a ponytail and an impressive set of muscles.

“Is this your PT guy?”  David asks under his breath.  “He looks like he could hurt me.”

The ponytail guy is in fact Patrick’s physical therapist, Luis, and he introduces himself and then he and Patrick get to work.  David sits in a chair at the side of the room and watches.  He’s impressed at how hard Patrick is working.

“David?”  Luis beckons him over to where Patrick is sitting on a padded table.

“Yes?” David stands awkwardly next to Patrick, not sure what his role is in this situation.

“This is the part I wanted you to be here for,” Patrick says.

David looks at him quizzically.

“I asked Luis to give me some exercises to work on at home.”

Luis clears his throat, and Patrick frowns.  “I asked him to give me some <i>more</i> exercises to work on at home, since I haven’t been making progress as quickly as I would like to.  And there are some things you can help me with.  So I can learn how to walk again.  If you’re willing.”

“Of course,” David says quickly.  He looks from Patrick to Luis, who has a rather doubtful look on his face.  “Of course I’ll help, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I… I wanted to do this by myself.  I didn’t want you to have something else to worry about.  But I realized that by not letting you help, I was just hurting us anyway.”

It sounds like a rehearsed speech, and David doesn’t miss Luis nodding his approval.

“Is there something else going on here?  And honestly, I haven’t seen you do any exercises at home.”

“I don’t do them when you’re home.”

“But I’m almost always home,” David says.  “Oh.  Oh.  That’s the problem, isn’t it?  You didn’t want to do your exercises with me there, and I’m usually there, so…”

“So I don’t do it.” Patrick says.  “But I’m not going to pull that crap any more.  I’m way behind-”

“There’s not really a timetable,” Luis tries to interject.

“There is, there is definitely a timetable, it’s far past time for me to get out of this goddamn chair,” Patrick insists.  “I’m going to put the work in every day from now on.”

“We’ll put the work in every day,” David says, ignoring how ridiculously sappy he sounds.

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick says, blushing.  “Yeah.”

That night at home David pulls out the yoga mat that Patrick has kept shoved under their bed and spreads it out in the middle of the living room floor next to their reclaimed oak coffee table.  

“David – you don’t have to do that.  It looks dumb there.”

David isn’t going to argue that the bright blue synthetic mat doesn’t exactly fit the carefully curated cream and crimson tones of their living room, but that’s hardly the point right now.  “It’s too cramped in the bedroom.  You said you wanted to take this seriously, so we’re taking it seriously.”

It turns out Patrick has a spreadsheet of all the exercises he was supposed to be doing.  David sits himself down on the floor next to Patrick and coaches him through his stretches, using his phone to time him, and occasionally adjusting his position.

“Nice.  That last one was even better.  Concentrate on engaging your core.”

Patrick pauses, sweaty and panting, and looks curiously at David.

“Something on your mind?”  David asks.

“How are you so good at this?”

David raises his eyebrows.  “If you must know… Alexis wanted to make the cheer team when she was in junior high, but she was a disaster.  Mom hired a trainer for her, but he just wanted to get high with our driver.  So I worked up a plan, and made sure Alexis practiced.”

“Did she make the team?”

David laughs.  “No way, have you seen her dance?  But she could do a mean split and broke a seven-minute mile.”

Patrick sits up with a grunt and leans his head on David’s shoulder.  “I should have let you help me from the beginning.”

“You said it, not me.”

It’s a pretty good day, all things considered.  But David’s favorite part is the last set of exercises they do.

Patrick sits in a chair, and with David’s help, pulls himself up to a standing position.  It’s very similar to how David has been helping him transfer in and out of his wheelchair, but this time Patrick lets himself rest more weight on his legs, pausing and holding himself in position there instead of just pivoting to the next step in the process.

Both of them are somewhat surprised to realize that Patrick can almost support himself.  He’s come a long way even if he hasn’t been doing his exercises as much as he was supposed to.  He stands carefully, finding his balance, with his arms looped tightly around the back of David’s neck, their bodies pressed close together.

“Now you’re supposed to lean from side to side,” David says, locking his grip firmly around Patrick’s back.  Patrick tries it, and his knee buckles, but David holds him tight.  “Go on, try again.”  

Patrick sucks in a breath, and then shifts his weight to one side and then the other.  It’s like dancing, almost, but better.  Patrick’s biting his lip in concentration as he works, and when he finishes the count of ten back and forths, he looks up at David, beaming.

“I did it,” he says softly, and David grins back at him.

“Yeah, you did.”  David leans in and kisses him, but keeps it quick – Patrick’s beginning to tremble and it wouldn’t really do to end the day with him collapsing to the floor.

Patrick falls asleep that night almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, but not before they kiss again, sweet and soft.  “You’re the best, you know that?”

David pulls him close.  “So I’ve been told.”

[woodstockbtswriter]

Voyagers

Genre: Fluff/Headcanon

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Female)

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join BTS on a Bon Voyage adventure leads to once-in-a-lifetime love.

Part Six

Good Morning NZ

You awoke gradually in the morning to the sounds of the production crew and maybe some of the boys getting up and around

After the quick and relieving realization that yesterday had not been just a good dream, you hopped out of bed and began getting dressed

You knew a hike up the mountain was the first activity on the day’s schedule, so you chose your outfit accordingly

Just as you finished lacing up your hiking boots, you heard a knock on your bedroom window

Curious, you pulled open the curtains to find Jimin waving in at you

You waved back cheerily, then made your way out to the main part of the cabin

In the lounge, you found Jin and Namjoon starting on the breakfast buffet while Jungkook told them how he’d already hiked up the trail

You poured yourself a bowl of cereal and took a seat at the table, exchanging “good morning”s with the boys

Not much later, Jimin came inside, his boots caked with mud, just as Yoongi made his appearance, looking as adorable as always

He caught your eye as soon as he entered the lounge, giving you a small nod in greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him

Your heart made its usual leap each time you saw Yoongi, and you began to doubt you’d ever get used to being around him

He came over to the table and took the seat next to you, inquiring about your night as he sat

You replied that you’d slept soundly through the night, better than you’d expected, and he was glad to hear it

Yoongi then asked the others when you’d be leaving on your hike, saying he’d wait to eat until they got back so he could do some fasting cardio

You, Namjoon, and Jin exchanged smiles as you all continued eating, facetiously agreeing to do some fasting cardio too

Then Namjoon informed Yoongi that you were just waiting on Taehyung and Hoseok to be ready

When you finished your cereal and cleaned up your bowl, you returned to the table to wait with the boys

Giving you a cursory glance as you sat between him and Jimin, Yoongi remarked that he liked your headband

You were wearing the one he bought you and you were pleased that he’d noticed

Jimin overheard Yoongi and, hoping for a compliment too, leaned around you to ask his hyung if he liked his cap

Yoongi hardly spared him a glance before dispassionately approving of his headwear too, and Jimin beamed

Finally, Taehyung and Hoseok emerged and you were all ready to hit the trail

A Mountain Hike

Jin led the charge out of the cabin and up the trail, and the rest of you followed, with you and Yoongi bringing up the rear

As you hiked, you and the boys sang your “Bon Voyage” chant, improvising different versions like acoustic and EDM

It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining brightly, and though the air was cool, you began to feel warm in your down coat

When you reached the top of an incline, you pulled out your phones to take pictures of the expanse of snowy mountains

On his way to hand a GoPro camera to Taehyung, Namjoon tripped and fell, landing on his back

He didn’t seem hurt, only embarrassed, but you hurried over to check on him while the boys laughed

Namjoon was grateful for your concern, and when he was back on his feet you helped him brush the dirt off of his clothes

While you assisted Namjoon, Yoongi observed you, seemingly deep in thought

Then Jungkook suggested you take a 360-degree shot, so you all gathered around and performed another acoustic rendition of “Bon Voyage” for the camera, really getting into it

When you finished your song, the boys decided to play rock-paper-scissors to see who should continue up the trail until they reached the snow

You, Hoseok, Jin, and Taehyung won the first round, and Namjoon and Jungkook won the second, leaving Yoongi and Jimin

The two losers groaned and you took pity on them, offering to accompany them

No one argued with you, so the three of you began your trudge uphill while the rest of the group headed back down

You climbed steadily higher, but the snow never seemed to get any closer

You were starting to get tired, and you could tell Yoongi was too, but you both pressed on, encouraging each other

Like him, you weren’t a particularly active person; you could rally to participate in the occasional physical activity, but you much preferred activities that allowed you to stay still

Finally, you reached the crest of the hill, and you and Yoongi immediately sat on the ground to rest

Seeing your exhaustion, Jimin kindly offered to run ahead and grab some snow to prove you made it to the top

After obtaining a solid chunk, you all started back down the trail, joking as you walked about making iced Americanos with the snow

When you arrived back at the cabin, you stopped outside the door to clean off your muddy boots, and the other boys were amazed that the three of you actually made it all the way up

Since it would be time to leave soon and Jimin and Yoongi hadn’t eaten anything yet, Hoseok offered to make each of you some of his special toast

You finished cleaning up first, and went inside to help Hoseok gather ingredients from the buffet

Yoongi wasn’t far behind you, and told Hoseok that you’d encountered a bear on the trail but he’d subdued it with a chokehold

You laughed appreciatively, but Hoseok was busy preparing food and was unimpressed by Yoongi’s tale

When Hoseok finished, you, Yoongi, and Jimin enjoyed his golden toast concoction, thanking him for the good meal

Yoongi remarked that he doesn’t usually care for breakfast food, and you were surprised, replying that you love breakfast and could eat it all day

Sipping his iced coffee, he casually commented that he might enjoy it more if you made it for him

And you thought that sounded like something you would enjoy too

On the Road Again

After you were done eating, everyone gathered their belongings and loaded up into the vehicles

You, Yoongi, and Jin chose to ride in the SUV again, but Namjoon traded Taehyung for a seat in the camper

No one spoke much as Jin drove, and Taehyung wondered if he’d ended up in the quiet car

You and Yoongi assured him that you were plenty loud the day before, but that you were just tired right now

So to lift the energy of your group, Taehyung started playing some upbeat music, and everyone quickly joined in on another episode of carpool karaoke

The camper van team even joined in, and your groups sang back and forth over the walkie-talkies

After a while, Jungkook pulled the camper into a gas station to refuel and Jin followed

While Jungkook filled up the tanks and cleaned the windshields, you and the others wandered inside the convenience store next to the gas station

The store had all kinds of cold-weather accessories, and Jimin found a cute furry hood with an attached scarf

You and Namjoon liked it so much, you each decided to get one too

Yoongi chose a pair of gloves, but as you stood in line at the register, he realized he left his wallet in the car

You offered to pay for his purchase, but he declined, not wanting you to spend your money on him

You tried to convince him, saying he could pay you back or buy something for you if he insisted, but he was still hesitant

Ultimately, Hoseok decided he would pay for everyone, but you assured Yoongi you wouldn’t have minded helping him out and he meekly thanked you

As you were piling back into the vehicles, Hoseok realized he’d bought one too many hats, and returned to the store for a refund

While he was inside, Jin suggested pulling a hidden camera prank and pretending to leave Hoseok behind

You and Yoongi were already in the backseat of the SUV when Jin and Taehyung climbed in the front, sniggering as they told you both the plan

As Jin drove off, Yoongi expressed his disapproval, and you agreed that it was kind of mean

A few minutes later, Hoseok called and was clearly upset

Taking pity on him, Jin turned the car around and went to pick him up from the side of the road

You scooted over to the middle of the backseat to make room for Hoseok, and when he got in you were practically squished against Yoongi

He didn’t seem to mind (though he may have blushed)

(And you might have blushed just a little bit too)

He just moved his arm across the back of the seat behind you, shifting to give you more room, and you fit into the curve of his shoulder

Once Hoseok was safely transferred back to the camper, you reluctantly returned to your own seat, exchanging a shy smile with Yoongi

Both vehicles then continued on toward your next destination

Conversation in the SUV dwindled as the miles went by, and you could tell Yoongi was growing drowsy

You told him he should try to get some rest while he could, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes without any argument

Within moments, his breathing evened out, and you knew he was sound asleep

And you couldn’t help but admire him as he slept, your fondness growing

An Outdoor Lunch

Midway through the day, your group stopped for lunch at a cute farm with a cafe, and you gently nudged Yoongi awake as Jin parked

The sun was bright and warm, so you and the boys chose to sit at a table outside

There was a swing set by your table, so while you waited for your food, you and Jungkook took turns pushing each other on the swing

You felt so light and carefree as you swung, giggling happily

And you couldn’t help but notice Yoongi watching, his gaze fixed on you as he sipped his drink

When the waitress brought the food out, you and Jungkook took your place at the table, and Yoongi slid over to make space for you next to him on the bench

Before you even had a chance to take a bite of your panini sandwich, Yoongi wordlessly slid some of his sweet potato fries onto your plate

And took a couple of your French fries, but you didn’t object

As everyone ate, you discussed the agenda for the rest of the day

You would be cooking for yourselves that night and Yoongi wanted to pick up a few more supplies, so it was decided that the whole SUV team would get the groceries and meet up with the camper team afterwards

So when lunch was finished, you, Yoongi, Jin, and Taehyung said “see you later” to the others, and headed out to the store

Previous - Next

[tsarisfanfiction]

Toffee: Chapter 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott, John, Grandma, Tracy Family

Not quite such a long wait for the next instalment this time.  The next chapter of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief prompt “toffee on the couch”, and the second of my three fic offerings for Thunderbirds Day, we have a little more scheming and Scott’s tale of woe continues.

<<<Chapter 2

The explosion of expletives from his eldest brother were clearly audible even from where Gordon was floating in the pool. It didn't take a genius to surmise that Scott had just discovered the toffee on the chair, and probably by sitting on it.

As far as pranks went, it was simple but effective. No-one had been in the room when Gordon had slipped the small chunk of toffee, warmed in the microwave under his watchful eye and Grandma's carefully blind one, onto the seat just after dumping his mud-lathered uniform off in Scott's despairing arms. Barring Grandma, none of the island residents had any idea that the toffee hadn't just slipped out of Scott's pocket earlier a la the first incident style, and both Grandma and their ever-watchful Eye in the Sky were firmly on his team. It had been John that had struck a conversation up with Alan to keep him out of the way, after all.

Grandma's voice carried clearly from the kitchen as she hollered up at Scott about minding his language. There was the vague threat of washing his mouth out with soap in there, and Gordon could well imagine the look on Scott's face as he called an apology back down.

He suspected Scott was already sick of soap. The washing machine had been a stroke of genius, even if he did say so himself. A little bit of toffee in Scott's jean pockets wasn't even suspicious, not when toffee in his pocket had been the start of it all. Add in an unaware Alan proving him the perfect alibi, and there was nothing to even suggest it wasn't an accident. Still, there was revenge and there was cruelty, and even Gordon had limits. Virgil would get the machine repaired by the end of the day, as long as no more rescues cropped up, and Gordon wasn't about to keep crippling it.

Scott wouldn't be the only one getting suspicious if it kept breaking, and he had no plans to get Virgil on his back, especially as his older brother was clearly annoyed about having to fix it the first time. If he realised it was intentional rather than accidental, well, that would probably be the end of a squid. No, Gordon had to keep things fluid, unsuspicious. Neither John nor Grandma were providing ideas, but as long as they kept providing the means and alibis (when an innocent Alan didn't do the job for him), he had a week to prank with his brother with no fear of retribution.

Scott's toffee stash would last a week, easily. Even if he turned to it as comfort food. Gordon hoped he did; it would be much easier to pull off his plan if Scott continued to eat the stuff. He had John on Scott-watch for that exact reason. True to form, John hadn't told him where the stash was, but he had suggested where a really good hiding place away from younger brothers might be, and sure enough, Gordon had found a whole mountain of the stuff there.

It was a literal mountain. Gordon had no idea how Scott's teeth hadn't all rotted yet. His ached just looking at it.

Above him, it sounded as though Grandma had gone to investigate the cause of Scott's language, because she was still berating him for it. As tempting as it was to go up and see the scene with his own eyes, Gordon had been a prankster long enough to know that returning to the scene of the crime automatically made him suspicious. Content that Grandma had it all in hand, he rolled over onto his front and continued his laps.

He eventually left his beloved water at a call for dinner. Reluctantly, of course – the call had come from Grandma, and just because she was helping him prank Scott didn't mean she'd suddenly become a competent cook. Unfortunately, the pool was right by the kitchen, and with his grandmother standing just under the eaves, there was no way for him to pretend he hadn't heard the call.

At least none of his other Earthbound brothers were escaping, either. John was invariably munching on some dehydrated just-add-water feast above their heads, and not for the first time Gordon thought it thoroughly unfair that he had the better deal. Dehydrated food was not supposed to be better than good old fashioned home cooking.

Maybe that was why Dad had spent so much time in space. Gordon could hardly blame him.

None of them even dared to hazard a guess at the name of the concoction on their plates, but with Grandma seated firmly at the foot of the table and watching them all closely, they had no choice but to tentatively take their first bites before simultaneously reaching for large mugs of their preferred drink.

Alan mumbled something uncomplimentary into his juice, and Grandma sent him a sharp look. Virgil chose that moment to speak, and Gordon knew the timing wasn't coincidental.

"I've got the washing machine fixed," he said, sending Scott a glare. "Don't break it again."

"I don't plan to," Scott groaned in response, throwing back his squash to get rid of the taste from his latest mouthful. "I'd like to see something other than laundry this week."

"Speaking of the laundry," Grandma interrupted. "I want that chair spotless, young man."

"What chair?" Alan asked, fixing their eldest brother with a suspicious stare when he groaned. "Is one of the chairs dirty again?"

"Some toffee appears to have found its way onto the desk chair," Grandma explained. "Your brother found it by sitting in it." Virgil stiffened.

"If that washing machine experiences another death by toffee, I am not fixing it," he threatened. Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked tired, not that Gordon blamed him after that hell of a rescue. They were all tired from trudging through mud and then cleaning it off of Thunderbird Two once they got home.

"I'll handwash them," he promised. "I have no idea how toffee even got there."

"You mean it didn't fall out of your pocket this time?" Alan chipped in.

"I didn't have any in my pocket for it to fall out, Alan," Scott defended himself. Alan shrugged as though that wasn't a factor that needed considering.

"You had some in your pocket yesterday, maybe it fell out then?"

Gordon watched a look of uncertainty flicker across Scott's face, before his shoulders slumped.

"I guess that's possible," he admitted.

"You're quiet, Gordo," Virgil commented, and he looked at him.

"Huh?"

"Something wrong?" Toffee incident(s) forgotten, Scott was straight into smothering older brother mode. Annoying, except when it was useful. He poked at the concoction on his plate dubiously.

"I don't think I feel too good." It was hardly a lie; he loved his grandmother but he could also really do without her cooking.

"Try a few more mouthfuls, dear," the wicked witch of the kitchen said. "Some good food should help."

"I don't see that here," Alan muttered under his breath, but Gordon gave her a patented Believable Fake Smile and prodded at his plate some more, reluctantly forcing himself to eat a few more bites. She beamed at him, and he gave her a polite smile back, all too aware that his alliance with her was just as tentative as his alliance with John, and therefore relied on keeping her sweet.

Which, right now, meant consuming as much of her latest cooking disaster as he could stomach.

Scott – oldest, bravest, sacrificial lamb on behalf of his brothers – was the first to cave, begging off on a full stomach and a reminder of the jeans he now had to handwash. His plate was mostly empty, although when he'd managed to stuff that much in his mouth Gordon had no idea, and after a moment of silent contemplation on Grandma's side he was given permission to wash his plate up and leave.

Gordon loved it when his brothers made things so easy for him. He shoved the concoction on his plate around for another few minutes, occasionally taking mouthfuls, before putting his cutlery down with a groan.

"Sorry, Grandma, I don't think I'm going to eat any more." She peered at him closely before standing up and walking around the table to get to him. He wasn't expecting her to press a hand to his forehead, and jumped when she made contact.

"Well your temperature's normal," she mused, and inwardly he groaned. Please let me leave the table, Grandma! "But if you're really not up to eating, off to bed with you." Yes! Grandma you are The Best!

"Sorry," he said out loud, standing up slowly and picking his plate up. "I'll just get this cleared up-"

She whisked it out of his hands.

"I said bed, young man," she scolded. "I can do your dishes for one evening, but I'll be up to check on you once I'm done and I don't want to see you out of bed." She steered him towards the stairs and, once out of sight of his brothers, gave him a wink. He grinned back, before starting the climb to the bedrooms – and, more importantly right now – Scott's toffee stash.

Having Grandma for an ally made a real difference to pranking.

He kept up the pretence all the way to his room, just in case he met Scott. He didn't, but Gordon had long since learnt not to take that for granted. Shutting himself in his bathroom, he called John.

As predicted, the ginger was munching away on cardboard-flavoured food that Gordon would do a lot to have instead of his grandmother's cooking.

"Scott's in the laundry room," his brother told him without preamble. "Brains and MAX are in their lab, and Grandma has Virgil and Alan pinned in the kitchen." Not for the first time, Gordon was pleased Kayo was off doing agent-y things with Lady Penelope for the week. Her allegiance was harder to secure than John's, and even when he had it she was liable to tell on him to Scott or Virgil at any time. Sneaking past her was also much harder. "I'd estimate you have five minutes before any of them move from their current locations."

"Roger that," he grinned. "It'll take me two."

Scott's hiding place was brilliant in its simplicity. It was both somewhere no-one, not even Gordon, would think to look, but so easily accessible that the chances of being caught in the act of retrieving some were close enough to nil – barring John and his All-Seeing Eyeness. Unfortunately for Scott, now that John had Not-Shared it with Gordon, those same factors made it child's play to steal from.

Gordon was careful not to take too much – Scott was the sort of person to know exactly how much toffee he had, and would very quickly put two and two together if toffee kept appearing in places he didn't remember having any and he noticed it vanishing from his stash. Besides, too much and the game would be up before it even began. He took a couple of small pieces from near the back, ones with identical wrappers to many others. Scott would have to be particularly observant and calculating to notice the disappearance of those.

Prizes obtained, he found his way back to his room and connected with John again.

"Grandma's on her way up," his brother warned, and despite having Grandma as an ally, Gordon figured it would be best to throw on some pyjamas and slink into bed regardless – after depositing the toffee in his bathroom cabinet inside one of his boxes of tablets.

Empty tablet boxes that had not yet reached their expiry date made fantastic hiding places for small objects. With the prescription declaring them for the sole use of one Gordon Cooper Tracy, none of his brothers had any cause to ever touch them. Not even John knew about that hiding place. Probably. You could never be too careful with the Eye in the Sky.

"You decent, kid?" Grandma asked, knocking on the door. John flickered out of sight, and Gordon made a noise that was probably an affirmative from under the covers. She took it as such and his door hissed open. Footsteps crossed his floor, and the bed dipped near his head. He looked up to see her grinning back down at him. "As you're in bed, I assume you've done what you needed to?"

He grinned back at her.

"Yup," he admitted.

"Good, good," she said. "I must say, it's a nice change to see your brother away from that desk more. Toffee or not, he was starting to stick to it."

Gordon laughed and she ruffled his hair.

"Now get some shut eye. Your brothers will have questions if you're out and about after I sent you to bed, and with you boys' job, it's something you're all lacking anyway. If I catch you out of bed again, I'll be dragging you back in here by your ear, got it?"

"Yes, Grandma," he agreed; sleep was nice, even if he'd rather be doing a few more laps in the pool. Ah well, sometimes sacrifices needed to be made in the name of pranking.

"I'll see you later," she told him, kissing his forehead – he made a face – before leaving the room.

So, Grandma didn't want to see him out and about? Well, that was what John was for.

"Hey, John?" he called once the door was shut. His brother appeared immediately, and Gordon suspected he'd never actually left, just culled visual. "Let me know when I have another five minutes free on this floor?"

"Sure thing," his brother agreed. "What's your next plan?"

Gordon grinned at him.

"You know the story of the Princess and the Pea?"

Chapter 4>>>

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 15

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: R (all the adult language - what can I say, Drake swears)

Summary: A much needed conversation, part two.

Author’s Note: Thought I would have this up yesterday, but my Vikings broke my heart, so I couldn’t bring myself to do final edits. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! This chapter is not even remotely holiday themed, but it contains one of my favorite scenes in this story, so I hope you enjoy it!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

It was pitch black out when Drake awoke to a faint tapping sound. He checked his phone. It was 3:26. He figured he must have imagined the noise and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but the noise returned. It was a knock on his door - light, but insistent. Drake was tempted to ignore it, but deep down, he knew who it was. So he shuffled over, flipped the lock, and cracked open the door. 

“You know it’s 3:30 in the morning, right?”

Liam nodded. “I apologize. I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe… But you’re right, it was rude of me to come by at this hour. I’ll just-”

Drake cut him off with a groan, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Liam to enter. “No, come on in.”

But Liam didn’t enter, instead pausing in the doorway for a moment before he spoke, “Actually, I was hoping you might want to go fishing.”

Drake blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his mind. They hadn’t gone out, just the two of them, in a long time. And given their most recent… conversation, it seemed like an odd choice. But Drake had stuck around to support Liam, so if he needed to go out fishing in the middle of the night, well then Drake would be going with him. “Yeah, okay. Just gimme ten minutes.”

So Drake brushed his teeth and got dressed, grabbing the fishing rods, the lawn chairs, and the tackle box before making his way down to the private garage. It was just Liam there when he arrived, so either Bastien had cleared a private outing, or Liam was ducking out without his security team knowing. It didn’t matter much to Drake either way. He just loaded their gear into the back of his car and moved to hop into the driver’s seat, but Liam called out, “Actually, do you mind if I drive?” Drake shrugged and walked around, sliding in on the passenger's side and settling in for the short drive to their usual spot. Except instead of turning right after passing through the palace gates, Liam turned to the left.

“Uh, where are you going?”

Liam glanced over at Drake before returning his eyes to the road ahead of him, “There’s a different lake I want to visit. I hope you can forgive me this break from our typical routine.”

Once again, Drake found himself shrugging. Not knowing how long of a trip they’d be taking, he leaned his head against the side window. It was dark enough out that he couldn’t see much of the scenery, but he knew they were basically heading east. They drove for well over an hour, not talking, just listening to Liam’s classical music playlist, the one he used when he needed to think. Drake didn’t know what was going on, so he let Liam drive on without any questions about where or how or why. They just drove and drove, and eventually, tinges of orange and pink started to appear in the sky. As the sun began to peek above the horizon, Liam turned off the main road onto a smaller frontage road. After about five more minutes, he pulled over to the side and stopped.

“We’re here,” was all he said before he got out of the car and went to grab his half of the gear from the back. Drake followed his lead, carrying his rod, chair, and the tackle box down a gravel path, Liam just a few paces ahead of him. It was a short and easy hike, leading to a large, crystal-clear lake. The area Liam had chosen was basically a meadow, but there were thickly forested patches along the shoreline, giving rise to large hills and mountains just beyond. Across the lake, Drake noted a grand estate.

He had no idea why they were here and not at their usual lake just west of the capital, but Liam had already set up his chair and was threading his line through the guides. So Drake placed his own chair next to Liam’s, opened the tackle box in between them, and started prepping his own line. Soon enough, they were casting out, the sky lightening in color by the second as the sun continued to climb upwards. They were both silent at first, but after several minutes, Liam broke the ice.

“So, Olivia’s aunt is behind the attacks.”

Drake whipped his head over to the left, trying to gauge Liam’s mental state. That must have been why Olivia came to the palace two days ago. It certainly explained the surge of activity triggered by her visit. Liam didn’t make eye contact with Drake, choosing instead to stare out over the water as he continued to fill him in on the situation.

“She wore a wire yesterday, securing recordings of her aunt talking about the whole thing. Lucretia’s initial plan was to kill any degree of public approval I had before I abdicated, leaving Olivia poised to take the throne. Olivia somehow managed to convince her that we were sleeping together and to give her more time so that she could eventually get pregnant and a Nevrakis would become the heir to the throne.”

“Wait, her aunt thought you two were sleeping together?”

“Olivia didn’t disclose how that even became a point of conversation with her aunt, but Lucretia brought it up unprompted very early on in Olivia’s surveillance, so it must have been part of her ploy to get the initial confession out of Lucretia. Regardless, it was effective. While Olivia was informing me of her aunt’s aims, Lucretia was scrambling to strike deals with her co-conspirators since they were no longer a necessary part of her scheme.”

“How’d that work out for her?” 

“About as well as you would expect. Turns out people who are willing to destroy and kill to gain power don’t respond kindly to being cut out of a coup. Lucretia started naming them all without Olivia even asking because she was planning on having the two of them take out the other key agents in the attacks, all of whom were looking to kill Lucretia at the first opportunity after she dismissed them from her plan.”

“Ah, classic Nevrakis family bonding.”

“Heh. Olivia made a similar remark. Regardless, the strike teams will deploy today to bring the parties involved into custody. Hopefully, things will be well coordinated enough that no one will be forewarned and able to flee. One other insurgent in particular is someone we absolutely need to arrest. His name is Anton Severus, and he and Lucretia seem to be the ringleaders.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“We hadn’t either. Initial research turned up some… strange connections to Olivia that we’ll need to investigate further. However, this photo was even more interesting.”

At that, Liam grabbed a small piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and passed it over to Drake. He nearly dropped his fishing rod when he saw the face on the paper.

“It’s that Justin prick!”

“Indeed. Seems he was working under an alias.”

“What the fuck, Liam? He was Liu’s press secretary. He spent a shit-ton of time with her one-on-one. He could have-”

“Drake, this whole situation is a disaster. If you have concerns about the vetting that went into hiring this man, I suggest you take it up with Bertrand. There is something else I thought it prudent you know regarding him, though. He arguably stood to gain the most from the initial scheme concocted by him and Lucretia. Understandably, it sounds like he is the most upset by her recent change in strategy.

“From the way Lucretia talks about him, not only is he highly dangerous, but he also has access to key information Lucretia has been collecting. This includes the findings obtained by the PI that was following you in New York. Apparently, the goal there was a titillating piece surrounding you, me, and Riley. Unfortunately, we think it is highly probable that he will have leaked the information obtained thus far to the press given Lucretia’s description of her conversation with him. So I apologize, but it is likely you and Riley will gain some media attention.”

“So will you.”

Liam shrugged at that, “Yes, well, that comes with the job description for me. That’s not exactly the situation for the two of you.”

“Was warning me about this why you brought me out here?”

“No, that was something I obviously needed to do, but that’s not why I wanted us to go fishing.”

“Why, then? Why today?”

“It's all just been... It's been hard to handle all the…” Liam trailed off. Drake couldn't remember the last time he was at a loss for words.

“Yeah, you've had a lot of shit to deal with.” 

Liam chuckled. “I think that safely qualifies as an understatement.”

Drake smiled softly, letting the quiet of the surrounding nature keep the moment still and peaceful. When Liam got like this, it was best not to ask a lot of questions. just let him talk when he felt like it. So they sat there, lines dipping below the surface of the water. The fish weren't biting, but that didn't really matter at all. They were both silent for many minutes, but eventually Liam started talking.

“My mind is just so full all the time. As soon as I think I have a handle on one topic or issue, another one just worms its way deep into my brain. Being out here, it's nearly like all those conflicting ideas can just float away from me. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe, that I can decompress even slightly. I know that I can't escape the realities of my life forever, but this is a nice reprieve. So thank you, Drake. Thank you for indulging me, even if I did wake you before 4 o’clock.”

Drake nodded, “Of course, Liam. you know I'd do…”

Liam's eyes drifted over to Drake's as Drake trailed off. He wasn't sure if he had the right to finish that thought. A few months ago, there was literally nothing that Drake wouldn't have done for Liam. He couldn't imagine a single thing. But now, after everything with Riley... Well, saying something like that seemed pretty fucking disingenuous.

But Liam just shook his head sadly, “Even after I said horrible things to you the other day.”

Drake frowned at that, “Liam, I deserved nearly all of it. I should be the one apologizing. You have a shit-ton of crap to handle everyday, and my pissy attitude should not have to be part of it.” He kept his eyes focused on the water, ashamed that he couldn’t even figure out how to be the first one to apologize. But Liam chuckled lightly, seeming to be oblivious to Drake’s pain and guilt.

“Drake, since when are you worried about your attitude around me?” 

He let out a sigh before he responded, “Pretty much whenever I can tell you’re stressed.”

“But that shouldn’t be how this works,” said Liam, “We are supposed to be equals, my title be damned. That can’t happen if you are tiptoeing around me when my life becomes stressful.”

“See, I knew you would see it this way. But you’ve gotta understand that the shit you face is so much worse than the shit any of the rest of us face. I gotta be more careful with you than you are with me. Besides, you look out for me, too. You gave me a place to stay, you let me duck out and do my own thing when I get antsy, you find me lots of high quality whiskey.”

“Are you kidding me, Drake?”

He smiled at that, glancing over at Liam, “Just a little. My point is that we both have been there for each other.”

Liam shook his head. “But don’t you see, Drake, that everything you just listed didn’t really impact my life in any major way. Doing those things for you required very little sacrifice. You, on the other hand, just aggressively reminded my brother that you have uprooted your entire life for me. You put long-term plans on hold to be there for me.”

“You were a prince, Liam. Now you’re the fucking king. You made the best accommodations you could for me given the situation. I did the same. It’s no one’s fault that your life doesn’t allow you the flexibility that mine does.”

“Be that as it may, I worry I’ve taken you for granted, that I’ve treated your support as a given. You altered major life plans for me. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

Drake waved his hand through the air, almost as if he could swat away Liam’s concerns, “Trust me, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Your screaming match with Leo would suggest otherwise.”

“Eh, Leo was just being an ass and things got outta hand.”

Drake dropped his eyes to the lake’s surface, watching his line cut through the water. He could feel Liam’s stare on the back of his neck, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe, if he just sat there quietly, Liam would let it go. Accept his statement as the truth.

“So this is what you meant about keeping your attitude from me when you think I’m too stressed to handle it.”

Drake sighed slowly, rolling his head around to look at Liam. He didn’t know what to say, but his silence kind of confirmed Liam’s statement.

“I don’t need you to turn yourself into an emotional martyr for me, Drake. I would never want that for you.”

“That’s not what this is, I just-”

“Drake, I think you do it without even thinking about it. It’s become nearly reflexive for you. Remember at my coronation, after Riley was forcibly removed from the palace?”

Drake nodded. While the overall events of that night were burned into his brain, he honestly didn’t remember the details all that well. He’d been a mess. Chasing after Riley. Thinking he’d fly out to New York. He’d gone from being convinced that she was going to be this gnawing presence in his life, happily engaged to Liam and just out of reach, taunting him as the possibility that was never meant to be, to being terrified she would not even be a small part of his life anymore. It was in that moment that he decided if he ever saw her again, he would be grateful to fill whatever role she wanted for him in her life, even if that meant opening himself up to excruciating pain in the end. “Yeah, that one was pretty hard to forget.”

“As soon as I got visibly upset, you jumped into action, planning and organizing. You even told me you would go to New York, and I just assumed that you were doing that for my sake. But that wasn’t your primary motivation, was it?”

Drake closed his eyes and shook his head, “I needed to make sure she was okay. I just wanted to be there for her.”

“You loved her already, didn’t you?”

Liam’s question gave Drake pause. He’d never really bothered to think about when he’d fallen for Riley. It was just one of those things, where one day it had just hit him out of nowhere that he was completely gone on her. They’d been eating breakfast with Hana and Maxwell at Applewood the day after finding the photographer’s ID badge. She’d been giving him shit in response to some comments he’d made about mimosas and after a few moments of bickering, she’d stuck her tongue out at him, as if that would win her the argument. It had just been so stupidly silly, so damn playful, so completely her that he’d just known. And that had been it. He’d never really bothered to try and figure out when he actually fell in love, at least not until this moment.

“I think so,” he finally spoke, barely getting the words out. It felt so shameful, to admit out loud that he was in love with Riley. That he’d been in love with her for a long time at this point. It was stupid to get hung up on this. He’d moved to a new country for her. Of course Liam knew he loved her. But to explicitly state it felt wrong. Dirty. Cruel.

The silence of the surrounding nature felt unbearable. But after a painful minute or two, Liam finally responded to Drake’s confession.

“I wish you would have told me how you were feeling. I wish both of you would have told me, but I really wish you would have told me.”

“Liam, I-”

“Let me rephrase that. You should have told me. The rejection would have never been pleasant, but I would have handled it. Romantic feelings go unrequited all the time. But you lied to me, if not outright, then certainly by omission. And that Drake, is the aspect of this whole mess that I am struggling with the most. I always trusted you to be the one person in this world who was honest with me, to never have an ulterior motive during our discussions. And I’ve lost that faith, Drake. That is what hurts the most.”

“I know, Liam. I’m so sorry.”

“See, this is why you can’t just decide that you need to hide your actual emotions from me. Regardless of whether or not my royal obligations are intense, there needs to be mutual honesty between us.”

Drake shook his head roughly, “It wasn’t all about protecting you. That was part of it, sure, but it was more complicated than just that. I wasn’t exactly trying to be noble.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t want to make excuses here, Liam. I know I fucked up.”

“I just need to understand, Drake. I need to make sense of all of this. So please, just talk to me openly.”

Drake took a breath, trying to organize his thoughts before he started, “It was self-preservation really, and I know that’s selfish of me, but it’s the truth. It was going to be bad enough in the end when she chose you. That alone was going to hurt like hell. I just couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing about it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was convinced that she was going to choose you once she cleared her name.”

“Is there some reason you thought that, or…”

“Previous experience mostly. It’s not important, though.”

“It kind of is, Drake. You are talking about this like it was some foregone conclusion that she wasn’t as interested in you as she was in me, when all I have is evidence to the contrary.”

Drake let out a huge sigh, his shoulders sagging in the process. He wasn’t sure if this topic was wildly embarrassing or just uncomfortable, but they were here now, and Drake didn’t see a way out of it at this point. “Over the years, there have been quite a few women who’ve tried to use me to get close to you. Some just feigned interest until you guys were introduced. Others seemed to have researched me and my interests pretty extensively, letting things escalate between us for quite a while before they suddenly didn’t have time for me. Usually, that was right after they met you. It didn’t take long for me to learn the drill.”

“And you thought Riley was doing the same thing? Drake, she hadn’t even heard of Cordonia when we wandered into that bar.”

Drake mustered up what was left of his courage before continuing, “I think she would have accepted your proposal that night. We snuck outside for a bit. Talked a little. We kissed. I don’t know. We both made it pretty clear that was it for us. It felt a lot like goodbye.

“Then after you got engaged and she came back, I don’t know. Things were different. She kept bringing up us actually being together. It was a strange shift, and part of me just couldn’t believe that she really wanted to be with me. I  kept wondering if she was just looking for comfort after being publicly rejected and I was the best option. So I kept telling her we should wait until she cleared her name to talk about our future. And I braced myself for the day that would happen and she would realize she could have you again. That she could go off and be with who she actually wanted.”

“You told me about your relationship the day after she cleared her name.” Liam’s voice was quiet, but calm. Understanding. Gentle.

“I know it’s not an excuse, Liam. But I just didn’t really think that she had any deep feelings for me until she told me she loved me that night. Some part of me couldn’t shake the thought that whatever the hell was going on between us was about to come to an end.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No. It didn’t.”

They both sat there, still and silent. It was tense, to be sure, but unlike the other day, Drake didn’t sense any anger rolling off Liam. He knew he was much calmer, too. Maybe they had just needed to purge their more toxic thoughts before they could have this conversation. Or maybe it needed to happen outside of the confining, binding walls of the palace. Out away from pressures and obligations, away from nosy servants and nobles. Maybe that was why Liam had wanted to go fishing. Maybe deep down he knew this was the only way either of them would talk. But that didn’t explain his choice of location.

“Why here?”

“What was that?”

“I am just trying to figure out why you wanted to come out here to… wherever the hell we are to have this conversation.”

“Valtoria. That’s where I brought us.”

“Okay, so why Valtoria?”

Liam sighed, looking around and fully taking in the surrounding woods and meadows. He was silent, with only the lapping water and the hum of last of that year’s cicadas filling the air. Eventually after several painfully long moments he answered.

“You know how Valtoria has been vacant for decades? Well, it was going to be hers.”

“What are you talking about, Liam?”

“I was going to offer her the title of Duchess of Valtoria.” He kept looking around, almost as if making eye contact would be unbearable.

Drake's mind raced as he tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about. It only took a few seconds for him to realize the truth behind it all. “You couldn't marry a commoner. You had to make her fucking suitable match.”

Liam winced at that, finally turning his head to face Drake. “I was trying to give her a home. I wanted Cordonia to feel like her country, not my country. But yes, Drake. I was also looking to appease her critics on the council. Titling her was a needed formality.” 

Drake let Liam's words wash over him. He knew that Liam himself didn’t really care that Riley came from poverty, had clawed her way to a working class lifestyle. But somehow, the fact that he would have elevated her to noble class before marrying her rubbed him the wrong way just the same. His discomfort at the idea must have shown on his face, because Liam spoke again after a brief moment.

“Come on, Drake. I know it’s your reflex to hate the nobility, but surely that wouldn’t apply to her?”

Drake shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? Why would the mere formality of titling her upset you?”

“That’s not…. It’s just… No one needs to change anything about her.”

A faint smile crept across Liam’s face at Drake’s reply, even as he squinted his eyes in disbelief, “My god, who are you and where have you hidden Drake Walker?”

“What?”

“That was dangerously close to romantic, my friend. Certainly more saccharine and sweet than anything I have ever said.”

“Bullshit, Liam.”

“Fair enough, but you have to admit that was far more sentimental than you usually act.”

“Jesus, Liam. I’m not saying that to be romantic. I just don’t like the fact that you wanted her to change who she is to marry you.”

“It was never about changing her. It was merely adding a formal title.”

Drake squinted at Liam, trying to figure out how he could be so oblivious, but then it dawned on him. Riley hadn’t let Liam see her as she really was. She’d kept things light and polite. She’d never laid into him. Never opened up to him. She had kept playing at being princess the whole way through.

“Tell me, Liam -  how many times have you heard Liu swear?”

After a couple of seconds, Liam said, “My answer is that I can’t recall her ever swearing, but I can guess that is not her typical behavior based on that question.”

“She called me a ‘goddamn motherfucking asshole’ within her first few days here,” Drake responded, shaking his head with a smile, “You may not have asked her to change who she was, but…”

“You’re saying she just felt compelled to act differently around me.”

“I think so.”

Liam was quiet for a few moments, likely thinking about everything that had been said. Eventually, he shook his head, “Well, I think there’s some form of irony buried in this whole situation. Apparently, there have been many women out there who acted differently around you to get to know me. The one woman I actually wanted to get to know was acting differently around me as she fell in love with you.”

“Liam, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Drake. At least not for that part. I will certainly accept your apology for hiding your feelings from me and prolonging the uncomfortable situation. But the rest of it is just life. I fell for someone, but she fell for someone else. There’s no reason for her not to be with the person she loves if he loves her in return.

“I’m not blameless in this whole mess. You were right; I just assumed she was interested in me. I could blame the entire dynamic of the social season, but that wouldn’t be proper. I am a grown man, and I should have recognized her waning interest in me.”

“No, you were right. We should have talked to you sooner.”

“And I probably shouldn’t have offered up being my mistress without asking about her feelings surrounding my relationship with Madeleine. There is plenty of blame to go around.”

“Excuse me, you what?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, Drake, but I was desperate and grasping at straws. Looking back, I certainly could have done better there. However, I am guessing you have some moments you wish you could redo in this whole debacle?”

Drake was still trying to process the fact that Liam had apparently asked Riley to be his side piece, but he knew his overall point was valid. They both had made mistakes here. And maybe it was time to leave those mistakes in the past and start moving forward. So Drake just nodded, a gesture Liam returned with a smile before he looked out over the lake again. The silence between them wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it certainly felt closer to normal than it had in a long time.

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

Riley poured the couple at the bar two more IPAs, then quickly glanced around the room, trying to see if there were any other customers who needed another round. Not seeing any obviously empty glasses or anyone trying to flag her down, she started loading up a tray with dirty glassware to bring into the back to get cleaned.

After her breakdown her first night back in New York, she’d resolved to not think about Cordonia, and she honestly felt like she’d done a pretty good job. One of the afternoon bartenders had quit unexpectedly, so she volunteered to pick up some extra shifts, which not only kept her busy and distracted, but also helped her earn some much needed cash.

She gotten some texts from Maxwell and Hana, but she’d kept her responses light and casual. She really was doing fine. She just had to convince them of that fact. If they kept asking her how she was doing, she would fixate on everything that had happened, and the would be the opposite of helpful. She needed to keep moving forward, and then she would be able to move on with her life.

Riley carried the heavy tray into the backroom and loaded up the industrial dishwasher. After washing her hands, she went back out front, but the sight in front of her stopped her dead in her tracks. She knew that hair. She knew that face. But that hair and that face were supposed to be in Cordonia, not scanning the room awkwardly, clearly looking for someone.

“Hana?” she finally called out when she found her voice, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Tags: @addictedtodrakefanfic @kingliam2019  @dcbbw @mfackenthal @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @thesumofmychoices @texaskitten30 @yaushie @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd @feartheendlesssummer @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @ao719 @ooo-barff-ooo @octobereighth​

@sunnyxdazed @lilyofchoices

[lorentibbs-blog]

Manic Depressive

Manic Depressive.

Every morning he makes me a cup of tea.

Once he even delivered a Harry Spesh- one-part espresso, one- part hot water and one- part steamed milk, to me in the shower. I wondered whether Espresso Cartel could offer this service during alert level 3 in the current pandemic.

“I do not want a relationship”. He looked at me with eyes verging on panic. Our conversation before that had also put me on edge. I had introduced myself and he said ‘I know who you are. We are friends on Facebook’. It had made me feel uncomfortable to have been connected on social media with someone who I did not recognize in real life. He had even come to my flat to collect a costume from my flatmate before the party we were at and I did not recognize him then or now.

 A party on top of a mountain. Well because my life had become rather progressive and trendy from the outside looking in. My flatmates had introduced me into a world of polyamory, sophisticated and successful people who cared about the environment, radical self-acceptance ( I only understood it as a concept at this point), and drug use that took me to places I’d never imagined. Inside however, I was in absolute turmoil. I was very unwell and did not know how sick I was at that point.

We had laughed as he explained that we had matched on Tinder and I had insisted on communicating on Facebook. We had arranged to meet at Toad Hall for coffee but 10 minutes beforehand I had decided it was all too much for me. When I looked back on that conversation, Sebastian had responded eloquently to my crazed blow off message and even said that he had had a lovely morning at the market instead. He has this way of understanding and making you feel human for your flaws rather than an insane nut job. The jury is still out for me on that one

The party itself was too much for me. I had climbed a mountain on LSD with two amazing wahine and then stepped into the lodge which was full of equally astounding people. I was terrified. I made my way to a bunk and clung on to my safety duo, Clara, and Tess. We went through the motions, the costumes, dinner (more vegan options than not), excruciating anxiety, the drugs, the fashion show, and the sex pile. The fashion show had ended with my flatmate Ngairi, whose birthday it was, atop a human pyramid. I dropped some MDMA like most of the party goers had. I had hoped this would curb my anxiety and fatigue. It helped but I did find myself going back and forth between the main room and my bunk all night. At one stage I had been led onto another bunk by my other flatmate Ryan, who was Ngairi’s partner. They are polyamorous you see, and he had asked me if I had wanted to hook up.

I always feel so good the next day after MDMA. I should probably explore why this is. I guess when I am on the drug, I have all these revelations and then the next morning potentially I feel lighter?

So, after 12 hours of stepping into the lodge I was finally ready to introduce myself to someone. 

Sebastian was by himself pretending to look busy with a broom. I enthusiastically (probably the most energetic and social I had felt the whole time) introduced myself and the conversation flowed around depression, anxiety, and Sebastian’s house build. I had suggested that we go for coffee at Toad Hall like we had initially planned to 2 years before. This is where I was taken back with his response of “I don’t want a relationship” it was like he had seen my brain ticking off all the characteristics I was valuing as we spoke. “sensitive, understanding of depression, attractive, a Colgate worthy smile, built his own house, older than me, mutual friends and blue eyes that saw right through me”. Later I would tease him about his panicked response as if I were ‘just’ asking him to go for coffee

Getting to know Sebastian has been a remarkably interesting journey since then and has been the catalyst for much introspection.

As I walked down the mountain that afternoon, I did a lot of self-reflection. I was thankful that one of our trio had left us early and I was left just walking down with Clara Keel. I found it so easy to talk to Clara. I think she found it easy to talk to me too. Even in a manic-depressive episode I was able to make beautiful connections with admirable people. Her girlfriend suffered from major depression and anxiety and was on Venlafaxine. It was very enlightening to hear from Clara as a partner with someone with depression. Clara invited me to go snowboarding with her and her friends over the winter and we promised to see each other very soon. I did not see her again for a long time. Turns out she is outrageously hard to pin down. I am stoked about that though because Clara keeps herself busy with a lot of incredible environmental and political work. We stopped and chatted to various people from the party down the mountain. Our ride Mikey Clementine was running down the mountain and said he was happy to wait for us at the carpark.  We caught up with Sebastian and a crew he was walking with. We walked down with him and I was very aware of him positionally to me. I did not really talk too much. Id taken a mushroom and weed coconut concoction that my ex had made me and I was vibing with the trees and my surroundings. I was very appreciative of the conversation Sebastian and Clara were having and was happy just witnessing it

On the ride back, my mushroom trip was really kicking in. Mikey blew my mind when he described his interest in the dominant and submissive scene. He made a point I have never forgotten and in that moment a switch flicked in my head. He explained that with every sexual session all participants would sit down before hand and have a discussion around their expectations, wants, limits, and fetishes. If either party felt uncomfortable or did not feel like their sexual style matched, then nothing would go ahead. I felt like these conversations should be happening around any kind of sex. It would save so much miscommunication and boundaries being crossed. In the history of my sexual life these conversations were really lacking and had there been space for them that may have saved a lot of suffering. Interesting that this style of sex is viewed in quite a dark and risky light by most but could potentially be the safest kind in terms of discussion, boundaries and consent. Purely because a discussion is expected and is compulsory beforehand.

Ngairi was absolutely filled with joy after her birthday party. We chatted in the kitchen and she was fizzing about the weekend’s events. I began to tell her the story about Sam and I and our failed tinder meet up. She paused me mid-way through and vomited rainbows and unicorns over her experience of Sebastian that weekend. She described their rendezvous in the pile of costumed MDMA cuddle puddle participants. Ngairi was on top of Sebastian in the cuddle puddle.  “Ryan bounced up to me in his bunny costume and I was so happy to see him” she described their embrace as she disclosed into Ryan’s ear “Sebastian has a boner!”. Ryan and Ngairi both giggled and shared a cheeky grin as he bounced away. Sebastian was fingering Ngairi the whole time the interaction took place. As it turned out, Ngairi and Sebastian had fooled around in the cuddle puddle and had intercourse before Ngairi returned to her bunk with Ryan. Later Sebastian would tell me he thought I had known that him and Ngairi had slept together the night before when I asked him if he wanted to go for a coffee. ‘yeah I thought you knew and were still asking me out. I thought wow this polyamory thing is real eye-opening stuff

Ryan in turn had hooked up with a large percentage of the party, me included. When Ryan and I had hooked up I was taken back when he stopped our encounter and told me he was going back to the party. It was interesting to initially feel rejected he did not want to take things further like I thought we were going to. I am thankful for the experience of having someone stop me in my tracks sexually. Anyone can stop any sexual encounter at any time. I guess I was just flabbergasted momentarily as I have never had any male stop me before. I stayed in the bunk and rested after this. Ryan came back to check if I was okay. I was so exhausted, and my brain was very fuzzy at this stage.

I will not deny that I was disappointed when Ngairi had told me about her encounter with Sebastian. In fact, I will go as far as to say I thought “fuck you Ngairi, you have the best boyfriend can’t you be happy with that”. I reflected on this thought process and by the end of the week I was disappointed in myself for thinking this way.

Ngairi Newton chose to live her life this way. She was in a committed polyamorous relationship with Ryan Mcgregor This relationship allowed her to explore any other relationship in any way she liked and vice versa. I had found her perspective on relationships so exciting initially.  Polyamory was a new concept for me, and I had found myself in the household of the most exceptional and liberating relationship id ever heard of.

So how did I find myself in the position I was in? Unemployed, depressed, anxiety ridden and barely coping, living with two of the most inspirational and functional people I have ever met?

I was living with Ngairi and Ryan for the second time. The first time was only a three week stay while I was in between places. I am always in between places as you will find out. I am in between places right now as we speak. And will be 5 times over by the time this story is done.

Emilie my flatmate at the time had invited me to a Halloween party. Emilie was a very bizarre and unnerving woman but one that was difficult to say no to. I remember feeling instantly connected to her when I first viewed the room. We engaged in deep conversation incredibly early on, I mean I do not believe I was there longer than half an hour. We both identified our fathers as the cause of all the turmoil in our lives.  She did not hear me when I first knocked on the door even though I was bang-on on time (sat outside in the car for 20 minutes because I was early). She was on her kitchen floor pulling all the contents out of the cupboard. Her current flatmate had told her about a book that was about de cluttering your life (literally). She had just flown back from a disastrous 3-month trip in France and was experiencing some severe jet lag. She had just cleaned out her wardrobe and I left in a state of glee with all the gorgeous garments this exciting woman no longer wanted. Two weeks into moving in with Emilie I knew I had made a mistake. We found ourselves in a very messy situation in the end that was further complicated by my close friends taking the room I was not quite ready to give up.

 I had realized that I could not live with her. She had taken it to heart when I told her this and somehow my telling her I was thinking about looking for a new room turned into me giving her two weeks’ notice. I guess there may have been a miscommunication. Little did I know how scarce accommodation in Nelson was at this point.  Anyway, through all of this we managed to stay civil and she invited me, like the Gemini she is, to a party the weekend before I was to move out.  We found it difficult to find the party and when we did it was really humming. Turned out to be a party of a woman who I had met before. Again, on the path to finding the right accommodation.  Chrissie and I had met at Claudia’s house. Claudia owned a house I had fallen in love with, the room available was Christie’s room. I did not get the room. This party was a housewarming for Chrissie’s new place. I had enquired about this place as well.  Chrissie had told me over text that she was looking for a new house because she wanted to take drugs over the summer and have more of a party living environment. She then said that she thought it would not really suit me as at that point I had intense social anxiety. Since then I have befriended several people in a circle of friends that Chrissie and I now share. We have encountered each other a few times. Each of those times I have been unwell. She is beautiful, funny, Canadian and she is an engineer. Its hard not to be starstruck by her. I imagine Chrissie and I would get on like a house on fire if I were at my best when I ran into her, I always seem to be unwell though. Emilie is gone within moments of us entering the sea of costumed people. I make a bee line to the table of snacks. And I start munching on chips and dip as if my life depended on it. I am not sure how it happened but I found myself in a conversation with a woman in an amazing shiny pants suit, the blazer atop a sequined bikini top, her face was painted in a Mexican skull design and she had a platinum blonde bob. What a bad bitch. (id never actually say that in real life. Real hero behind a keyboard type stuff)

When Mel, a fellow volunteer from the Wellness Movement, suggested asking her if she would rent out her spare room, I was not picturing Ngairi as the woman in from of me.

I had imagined a 40 + year old slightly chubby Maori woman with a couple of cats. As it turned out Ngairi only had one cat named Espresso. I am fairly sure Espresso wouldn’t have had me if she had had a choice in the matter. Fair enough too as it turns out.

[clariverse]

Writer In Motion: Week Two

It’s November 12, which means we’re a few days into the second week of Writer In Motion: the week when we look at our imperfect first drafts, give them a critical thought or two, and edit them into something slightly less imperfect, before sending them off to CPs for another critique round.

I also have exciting news: I’ve been added to the group lucky enough to receive some feedback from the editor Jeni Chappelle, as well as having my posts featured on the WiM blog. Do check out some of the other participants’ stories in the official first week wrap-up post!

Click here for my Week One post and the first draft of my short story.

Click here if you’d like to skip my process talk and just read this week’s draft.

Alright.

Upon finishing my first draft, I let it rest a couple of days. And during those days, for the most part, I felt like it was the worst thing I’d ever written. In my memory (I had read it in full once at that point, and edited nothing), it was just all kinds of wrong. So I consulted some of the notes I made for myself at the end of my first post, and combined those with some more thoughts, because by now I’m pretty used to combatting my brain’s conviction I’m a horrible writer. What I needed was to pinpoint what really felt wrong on a tangible level, translating intuition into something I can tackle with edits, because knowing WHY something feels wrong makes it much more manageable.

I do this process in my head, so I don’t have all the notes for it, but these are the big points that came out of it:

Both the dual timeline and the vignette-y feeling are something I don’t want to let go of, because those were a big part of what made this story an experiment and I’d prefer to make them both work over changing it all into something more streamlined. (The order of the paragraphs and thoughts within can use some work, though.)

At least one of the storylines lacks a sense of arc. Now, this was a big one, and I identified it as the core of my intuition’s screaming. I had a series of things that happened, but I missed some kind of change in there, some kind of progression. I considered what that would mean for the present story—perhaps the Giant has a secret plan? Perhaps there’s a twist ending?—but that didn’t feel right. It was the past story that had room for an arc of sorts, that needed something to change between that first snippet and the last. So I wondered: when the Spirit fell from the skies at the child Giant’s wish, what did she want? The answer was simple: to go back home. And she’d do everything for it—if only the child hadn’t been quite so lonely.

And so, I tweaked and edited the story with that in mind. I didn’t change the whole thing much—the present story is mostly the same, sans some wording tweaks and general edits—but I aimed to change it in the right way. A title also came to me sometime as the edits were done. I’m not entirely sure where it came from, but I never am with my titles: what matters is that I feel like it somewhat reflects the storytell-y feel of the piece, which is also something I hoped not to lose with this revision.

Without further ado, keep reading for the second draft.

Sometimes Our Skies

The Giant climbs the mountain one narrow, cut-into-the-slope stair at a time, carrying in her arms a dying spirit of the skies. She pushes against the chilling wind and raindrops swirling before her face, her heart drumming the rhythm, almost there, almost there.

#

On the eve of the equinox, the Spirit fell from her skies by the wish of a lonely child, and concocted a plan to trick her.

#

More-stairs-than-she-can-count up the mountain, the Giant pauses to look back, for the first time since she started the climb. Far below, the stairs disappear in the ocean of white, where islands of smaller mountaintops peek through the clouds and early snowflakes await to flutter upon the giants’ cities. Up ahead, the stairs lead into the quiet mist of further heights, to new, thinner clouds caught against the sharp peaks. She still has ways to go.

#

On their first night, the Spirit asked not for the child’s name, because she wouldn’t be staying long. On their first dawn, the child cried not to be alone, and the Spirit held her hand.

#

Step, step, step. The Giant hums to herself a song in a voice made hoarse by the cold, and it’s an upbeat song, a hymn to the adventurers designed to bring spring into one’s step and courage to one’s heart.

“We’re almost there”, she tells the bundle of tawny fur and ashen curls in her arms.

The Spirit says nothing.

#

On the night of their first year, the Spirit remembered she had plans. She would get the child to make another wish soon, and the wish would tear her apart to take the Spirit back home. Soon, she told herself.

But to the child she said, you’re growing up.

And the child, as children may, chuckled. Not fast enough.

#

The Giant reaches the top cold and tired. Her fingers might be blocks of stone, even shielded from the worst cold by the furs around the half-conscious spirit. There’s the tower, up ahead, almost there: on a pier of concrete between the worlds, a structure of metal and hard work rises up to meet the sky, built to withstand millennia by the giants of the old. The stories say they lived for hundreds, thousands of years.

The thought, even through the cold, makes the Giant’s chest warm with excitement. Oh how wonderful it would be, to live that long, to live forever. But perhaps so lonely, too.

#

On the last day of their fifteenth spring, the Spirit’s eyes fluttered closed. It was the birthday of the giants’ matriarch, an evening festive and alive with colour, and the Spirit feared. I am tired, she said.

The child who was growing up held her close, stroke her hair and whispered small poems into her ear, and said, Please don’t leave me.

And the Spirit didn’t even think of seizing her chance.

#

The Giant climbs the tower with the last of her strength. She now carries the Spirit in a makeshift sash across her chest, and if there wasn’t for the scarf wrapped tight around her face, her lips would be brushing against the softest curls she’d ever touched.

Quietly, the Spirit stirs. She senses the closeness of her skies, of the home she’s already thought lost.

“We’re almost there,” the Giant coos.

“I will miss you,” the Spirit whimpers.

#

On the morning of summer solstice, when the child was a child no longer and the Spirit had paled to an ashen shade, she told of a plan long discarded and said, I will extinguish like stars before the morning sun. But I will not let you burn in my place.

On the morning of summer solstice, when the leaves on the trees were bright, the child who was no longer a child said, I wish to take you home.

#

The tower pierces the skies. It enters the realm of the spirits with a sharp peak bright with snow and stardust, but the Giant doesn’t climb that far. She stops when the clouds swirl closer with the wind, the skies excited and concerned to meet their long-lost denizen.

She unwraps the furs and kisses the Spirit’s forehead, the skin burning hot against her lips despite the weather. And she says to the wind and the cold and the heights, “She’s going to be alright.”

The winds take hold of the Spirit’s pale curls. They tug at her sweater—the one the Giant made her, purple and blue and silver like the evening—and, finally, lift her up to where the heights chatter in voices of all the others, our lost one. Welcome back home.

And it’s now, not when her knees had started hurting or the Spirit had been so silent in her arms, not when the elders of the city had warned her she would not return from the mountain, that the Giant cries.

She doesn’t speak, because she can’t find her voice. But she holds the Spirit’s hand, and for a moment it’s like holding a torch, like touching a star. The clouds light up with all the shades of autumn and fire, all the pinks of chilly dawns and golds of warm sunsets. And she puts in her touch all she needs to say, a fragile plea upon tear-stained memories: Don’t forget me.

She watches as the light flashes once more and goes out, the touch gone from her still-reaching hand. She is ready to start her climb down, only hoping the cold and the exhaustion would catch up with her far enough for the Spirit not to have to witness it.

But the sky lights up again.

#

The Spirit reaches with a hand no longer so pale, smiling that lopsided smile of hers that sends the Giant’s chest fluttering. And as the wind calms and the voices of her family sing a quiet song of gratitude and welcome, the Spirit makes a wish of her own: stay with me.

Thoughts

I do like this version better than the old one. But I wonder:

Is pacing still off? Is there a balance between the progression of present story vs past story?

Do the characters need more? I think they might, but at the same time I want to keep that sort of “could be any giant and any spirit” almost folktale-y feel of it, and I want to keep the narrator’s voice. Still, worth experimenting with? Making at least one of the two a closer POV after all?

With the changes to the order/length of some past paragraphs, is the past story too abrupt now? Lacks just one more beat somewhere in there?

[microshiner]

Ska, craft spirits, and Colorado's real drinking town

The hangover bell rings loud and clear in my head as I lift a 70 pound guitar cabinet into the back of a white 2000 Ford Econoline XL. Rain falls lightly. I am running on only a few slovenly hours of sleep but despite the pounding head, my mood is jovial. My band mates and I recount the night before over and over. In the world of ska music, there are few bands more respected than Hepcat, and few bands more infamous than Mephiskapheles, and we just shared the stage with both in one night. It was also the kick off to the second leg of our spring and summer run- this morning we hit the road out of Denver and head for Durango, Colorado, where we’ll spend a week in the studio and follow it up with two shows in the area including a performance at the legendary Ska Brewing Company.

Alright.

Personally, I am excited for more than one reason. I went to school in Durango, but it’s been six years since I’ve lived there and from what I can tell, the drinking scene has only gotten better. A new craft distillery just opened up, and the number of breweries has jumped from 4 to 6 (All this in a town of 17,000. Fort Collins gets the glory, but at over 150,000 residents, are their 14 breweries and 3 distilleries that impressive? Which is the real drinking town?)

I contemplate this and other pressing issues to pass the time on a 7 hour haul over the Rocky Mountains. As we climb in elevation, my mood levels off. It always does when passing time in the van. Whether I am headed somewhere new or somewhere I’ve been many times, as long as it’s light outside touring has always had a bit of a weird vibe to me. The late nights, the shows, the people, the free drink tickets - that is what it’s all about and what makes it worth it. The rush of playing a good show is matched by no drug or other experience I’ve ever had. But during the day, driving through the middle of nowhere to the next town while getting further and further away from your personal life back home, the anxiety creeps in.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never been in a band at a level where touring was our income. I’ve always had to hurry back home after each run and get to work in order to keep the bills paid. Right now, it’s about 9:30 on Monday morning. Everyone I know (except the three guys sitting here with me) is at work, or walking the dog, or heading to the bank, something normal.

Don’t get me wrong, there is certainly a level of awesome to all this. I’m never going to be a ‘company man.’ I knew that by the time I hit high school. I take a lot of pride in what I do for a living and for a hobby. But the older I get, the harder I find it to relate the stories of the road and the stories of the pen and the stories of so many nights passed in rock clubs to people who are my age but haven’t had a night out in months. The word ‘baby’ means something entirely different to them.

As Vonnegut would say - So it goes. We pull into town just in time for happy hour but unfortunately the liquor store will have to suffice for tonight; we’ve got to get to the studio. Tomorrow I will have the opportunity to experience some of the actual culture of this town I’ve missed so much.

Tuesday morning I am walking down Main Avenue bright and early in a leisurely search for a cup of coffee and a paper. Part of me feels like a Texan, stopping to gaze into each store window as I pass by and then actually purchasing, after looking around to make sure no one I know is in sight then ducking quickly into the storefront, a “Durango” t-shirt. I’ll have to bury this down in my backpack so my bandmates never see it. I justify the window shopping and eventual purchase as a mere way to pass some time before my scheduled meeting with some real locals, the owners of Durango Craft Spirits, at 10 o’clock.

I walk into the tasting room to meet owners Michael and Amy McCardell. Immediately I can tell that the duo lives by their motto and are ‘Inspired by the true spirit of Durango’ - It is only 10 am but the room is full of bluegrass music and the McCardell’s beckoning call for a drink. Michael handles the distilling of what is currently their sole offering - Soiled Dove Vodka, made from a mash of 60% native grown, non-GMO white corn they get directly from the Ute Mountain Tribe of Ute in Towaoc, Colorado (just a little over an hour from Durango). His soft voice, with a bit of a country tinge, makes even a short sentence sound well-rehearsed and wise. Perfect for telling stories, and I’m guessing he has a lot of them.

Lucky for me, Michael is not at all shy about telling the story of Durango Craft Spirits, his pride and joy.

It is, I learn quickly, Durango’s first post-prohibition, grain-to-glass distillery. “We’ve got a couple friends over at Ska, Dave (Thibodeau) and Bill (Graham), that opened Peach Street Distillery, in Grand Junction) years ago and one day I met the old distiller and Bill brought in one of their first bottles of gin, along with a bottle of Bombay Sapphire,” Michael says. “It was just unbelievably so much better. That first opened my eyes to craft distilling.”

This was over ten years ago, and until that day Michael had no plans at all of going into the distilling business. “A couple years later, I’m hiking around a piece of property up north with the county assessor, and he said ‘I gotta tell you this story. There’s a buddy of mine who thought he found some ancient Anasazi ruins on his property and he wanted me to come check them out. They hiked up there on a cliff to an Anasazi looking wall and there was an old still sitting back there.’”

He decided to do some research and try to figure out what kind of distilling was done in the area. “I started reading a few books about distilling in the area, and there was quite a bit done,” Michael says. “Especially turn of the last century when the silver market took a crash. A lot of the miners took to cooking booze in the mines.”

With his interest piqued, Michael attended three distilling schools and landed himself an internship at Wood’s High Mountain Distillery in Salida, CO, with the intention of opening his own show in Durango once he learned about the operational side. Both Michael and Amy had spent years in the local hospitality industry managing hotels and a golf club.

As their current jobs came to end due to sell offs, the decision was made to go full-steam with the distillery concept. Step one, securing a location. Where They landed right on the corner of 11th and Main, in the heart of downtown, and opened in January of this year.

Their setup is pretty simple - tasting room in the front, still setup and work area in the back (visible to guests), and office off to the side. Nice and cozy. “We go grain to glass right in the building with all regional grains,” Michael says. “We’re real proud to mash, distill, and bottle right in house.” I had been sold on their concept already, but at this point I could not continue the interview without trying some of their product.

Amy, generally in charge of the tasting room and PR, hands me a pour from behind the bar. I stir, smell, and sip. Then I gasp.

I am not a vodka drinker. My taste for the stuff was ruined by too much Smirnoff as a teenager. But this morning I am happy to make an exception. This stuff is good. Smooth, one of those spirits that you know would be perfect in a cocktail but it almost seems like a sin to dilute it, like a fine scotch. Until you realize that a vodka of such high quality could finally allow you to drink those plastic-bottle vodka infused party concoctions you swore off in your mid-twenties because you can’t stand the headaches any more, minus the headache. “I use a pretty strange recipe for the vodka compared to other distilleries, and it gives it a pretty unique flavor.” That, I agree, is easy to notice.

“The product is tied to Durango’s history,” Michael informs me as empty my glass. “Soiled doves being a Victorian term for the prostitutes of the town. They operated into the 1960s in Durango and were fined heavily, with the fines helping to cover the cost of the schools, the police department, and the fire department.”

The McCardells pay homage to these lovely financiers on the back of their bottle. The cocktails served in the tasting room are also related to the town’s history, an effort that has most certainly allowed the curious tourist to feel more accomplished in his imbibing. The distillery looks to release an unaged whiskey this fall, with barreling scheduled to begin this month. The vodka is currently only sold within 150 miles of Durango. “We are being (probably) too cautious about our growth,” Michael says. They do, however, plan to expand further across Colorado. Not bad for a true mom-and-pop and operation.

I like to think that my band is a mom-and-pop operation. I guess it would be a quadruple-pop operation. Like Michael and Amy, we have grown our small company from nothing into nothing less than an amazing life experience, with no real guidance other learned experience. We have made plenty of mistakes over the last eight years but have slowly made progress come from each of them. We’ve dealt with marriages, jobs, mortgages, kids, operational disagreements, and an old van catching on fire on the road, and as life has happened, we have found a way to happen with it. Back in the early days, circa 2007-2010, I put all of my eggs in that basket. I was willing to work crappy kitchen jobs and live in dilapidated apartments so that I would in turn have the flexibility to leave town when I needed to and be able to keep my financial overhead at a bare minimum in order to play music multiple nights a week. I cared about nothing other than making the band succeed. I lost relationships and friends.

The other guys, at least the two I started the group with, did the same. And then, in the fall of 2010, we crashed and burned hard. So hard, in fact, that over the next two years we did next to nothing with the group. We had no money, our leases were up, and we had nowhere left to go. For a while, we went our separate ways. Our biggest lesson, and one of the most important things I have ever gotten out of life, is that you have to have options - you have to have more than one card to play. As we’ve grown up since then, we have found ways to have other priorities in life while still being able to come back and execute with the band when it’s time.

While the band was on ‘unofficial hiatus’, I filled the musical craving in another group, but I was also able to take the experiences I had with the band, mix them with my college degree, and create some kind of shit show career path based on music business and journalism. Five years later I feel I can see it blossoming. To me, the craft lifestyle embodies that same spirit - live life, take what you’ve got, mix in a heavy dose of passion, and throw it to wind. It takes awhile, but when it finally comes full circle, it tastes so damn good.

[wisccamping-blog]

How Bear Canisters Fail

At any rate more often than not, hard-sided canisters, similar to the BearVault BV500, shield nourishment in the backwoods from bears and "smaller than normal bears" (mice, squirrels, dark jays, and other little searching creatures). Be that as it may, for reasons unknown, they're not 100 percent bear-or idiotproof.

As of late, I glanced through a spreadsheet consented by the National Park Service that recorded 199 nourishment related bear occurrences with explorers in Yosemite between July 2012 and July 2017. The genuine number of occurrences in Yosemite and the bigger High Sierra is likely more prominent (perhaps a lot more prominent), in light of the fact that numerous episodes are not detailed and in light of the fact that mountain bears occupy most corners of this world-class wild.

The sheet depicts contextual investigations on different disappointments of canisters (from organizations like Bearikade, BearVault, Garcia, and Lighter1 in addition to the Ursack bear sack) that were expected overwhelmingly to human blunder just as plan or auxiliary blemishes. It additionally gives narrative help to Yosemite's nourishment stockpiling guidelines—for each bear-canister disappointment there are a few instances of bears acquiring nourishment or scented things that were hung in a tree, covered, or left unprotected medium-term . These capacity "systems" may work somewhere else however not in Yosemite, which is home to ostensibly the best-prepared camp burglars in North America. I dove into the information and concocted these takeaways.

Land Concentration

One striking example in the spreadsheet was the land centralization of the occurrences. Of the 199 reports, 142 (or 71 percent) occurred in only four spots:

Snow Creek

Little Yosemite Valley

John Muir Trail

Lyell Canyon

While it's sensible to expect more episodes in high-use backwoods territories, the recurrence still appears to be lopsided—I question that on some random night, seventy five percent of all hikers in Yosemite are stayed outdoors in simply these four areas.

These focal points present a solid defense for choosing campgrounds all the more purposely and staying away from high-use spots and passages. Like a berry fix in August, bears have discovered that a few destinations are dependable wellsprings of calories.

It's additionally worth referencing that these four regions will in general pull in numerous tenderfoot explorers, who by and large won't be as taught in boondocks matters like appropriate nourishment stockpiling and bear conduct.

Disappointments

Bear canisters are more defenseless against disappointment than I suspected, however for the most part because of human mistake. A more critical take a gander at the episodes uncovers that disappointments fall into five containers:

#1. Flood

Case #5 (July 31, 2012): "Troop of boy troopers couldn't fit all their nourishment into their 14 bear canisters, so they hung two stuff sacks with nourishment from a tree. The bear climbed the tree and hauled the nourishment down and ate it. There was roughly 5 to 10 pounds of nourishment. Troop pioneer got an obligatory appearance reference."

For a canister to carry out its responsibility, all nourishment and scented things (like toothpaste and sunscreen) must be put away inside. This can be a test toward the beginning of long excursions, in light of the fact that the commonplace limit of a full-size canister is around six days of nourishment, contingent upon your day by day consumption and the measure of room those calories take up (i.e., bagels versus Snickers, canned soup versus dried soup blend).

In any case, justifiably, you might be hesitant to convey two canisters and twofold the weight and unwieldiness. All things considered, what are your choices? Until the majority of your nourishment and scented things can fit in one canister, consider:

Remaining in set up boondocks campgrounds with perpetual nourishment storage spaces. In Yosemite, discover them in Little Yosemite Valley and at High Sierra campgrounds like Glen Aulin. In Sequoia-Kings, allude to this guide.

Outdoors in zones where noncanister stockpiling strategies (e.g., a hanging Ursack Major) are allowed. Canisters are required all through Yosemite however just in the most elevated use regions of Sequoia-Kings and the national timberlands (e.g., Mt. Whitney Zone in Inyo). In lower-use territories, there will in general be less bear movement.

#2. Opened

Case #3 (July 20, 2012): "A bear came into the campground and broke into an inappropriately shut carbon fiber canister. The bear had the option to eat a pack of trail blend before it was frightened off. Beginning verbal shouts and shakes didn't stage the bear. In the wake of shouting uproariously the bear fled. The guest was reached and unveiled that just one of three fastens on the canister were hooked appropriately. The bear pried the top off and sheared the single shut fasten to acquire the nourishment. The canister was not crushed."

Case #61 (July 25, 2013): "The bear canister was in a bad way shut however not past the locks on the cover. The canister was opened however not broken. The bear tore through plastic sacks and got nourishment. Nourishment eaten incorporates hotcake blend, salami, control bars, Gu gel, saltines, and nuts."

This would appear to be an undeniable one, however there were in any event ten instances of bears getting into opened canisters. Bears are brilliant and constant and have astoundingly solid and handy hooks. Due to past victories, they will endeavor to contort off the highest points of BearVaults and pry off the highest points of Bearikades and Garcias.

The answer for opened canisters is simple: lock them! Set up the twofold checking of canisters as a component of your daily practice. In certain gatherings, it might merit doling out a canister csar who regulates this duty.

#3. Open

Case #157 (August 29, 2015): "2 bear jars in camp, one was shut the other was open. Explorers were cooking soup. Bear strolled up behind a log and stood up on its rear legs to peer at the climbers cooking soup. Explorers hollered and stood up and got posts to blast together. Explorers wound up frightened and thought the bear was getting to be forceful so they moved in an opposite direction from their open canister. Bear moved toward canister, snatched it by its opening, and left. Canister was unrecovered. Bear got trail blend, bars, and drugs from a medical aid unit."

A few bears in Yosemite show amazingly audacious conduct, since they've discovered that it regularly brings about nourishment. Once in a while they get shot with elastic projectiles by officers or hit by shake tossing hikers when they get excessively close, however they additionally experience frightened people and gatherings who penance their canister for individual security.

That response is justifiable, yet it doesn't support the explorer or the bear. In the event that your canister is open, never be in excess of a stage away from it. Furthermore, on the off chance that a bear enters camp, promptly lock your canisters and afterward start tossing things at its body. (Rocks, sticks, pine cones will all do.) In bear language, this protective conduct says, "Leave. There are simpler calories somewhere else."

#4. Rolled Away

Case #122 (June 2, 2015): "Campers at Snow Creek scaffold had bear canister taken. Second time in 2 years at a similar territory. Couldn't discover canister in encompassing territory. No proof of bear. Model of holder is Bear Vault 450."

Case #123 (June 5, 2015): "Two bear canisters were folded into Snow Creek medium-term. Indeed, even in the wake of playing it safe. Additionally the bear bit on some outdoors rigging like our table material and plastic pack presumably because of modest measures of nourishment buildup."

In any event 30 canisters went "missing" after a bear moved it away in the center of the night. This was outstandingly basic along Snow Creek—canisters get folded into the brook (which has enough volume in pre-summer and late-spring to divert a canister) or off the close by bluffs. NPS never again allows outdoors at the highest point of the bends because of the bear movement. The NPS disclosed to me that the Snow Creek occurrences were "brought about by one especially brilliant bear that has taken in this conduct just at this particular area."

The recreation center suggests putting away canisters outside camp for security reasons. In any case, pick the spot carefully. Actually, I keep my canister around 20 feet away and leave my (perfect) cook pot on top, so I will be woken up by the upheaval.

#5. Basic Failure

Case #21 (August 3, 2012): "Bear got nourishment from IGBC affirmed 'Lighter1.com' brand canister by breaking the equipment that keeps the top on. The guest revealed the bear at 2300 and depicted it as being 'dark.' The bear got the total substance of the compartment including: 2.5 sacks of blended nuts, a large portion of a salami, 2 packs of triscuits, 6 'Zoneperfect' bars, a large portion of a pack of vita-light squeeze blend."

Case #57 (July 18, 2013): "Bear removed rental Garcia canister from a spot in the shrubs around 1:40am. I got out and pursued the bear away. I put the canister more profound in the hedges. We were wakeful for one more hour-90 minutes. We didn't hear it once more, however in the first part of the day it was no more. On our climb out we found the unfilled and broken canister without top mostly down the [Snow Creek Trail] bends."

Case #114 (August 10, 2014): "Bear shuffled and tossed bear canister until it popped open. Bear devoured all substance: oats, rice, shot squares, precipice bars."

At the point when utilized appropriately, just a couple of canisters level out fizzled. Much of the time, they were crushed open in the wake of being moved off a precipice, for the most part along—you got it—Snow Creek.

From what I can accumulate, when utilized appropriately, there were no announced instances of broken Bearikades or the Ursack Major (once in the past S.29 AllWhite), and only one BearVault. The Garcia canister flopped frequently, yet you'd expect that since they are the most widely recognized rental canister. Without a doubt the NPS verified that "rental Garcia compartments were not being appropriately kept up, thus the covers were free." For more in-depth information I highly recommend bear bag cord.

[witcherislovewitcherislife]

An Old Friend Long Thought Dead for @LisaFlowers

This is my fic written for The Witcher Secret Santa 2018. My giftee was @lisaflowers

I wasn’t too sure of what to write. I originally planned to write a fic involving Avallac’h and Ciri but I was very unsure of how to write that pairing, specifically Avallac’h so instead I went for this. Sorry that it is a bit late. I had some writers’ block with this. I really hope you enjoy! :)

When Ciri took a contract to kill a monster that had taken up residence in an old cemetery, the last thing she expected was to see an old ally. An old friend.

Her travels as a young Witcher had taken her to lands far away. But every Witcher grows tired and weary of the path eventually and needs a break. She had traveled back to Toussaint to visit Geralt and Yennefer in their new estate. But while riding through the vibrant and rich lands, a farmer had stopped and asked for her help. Disturbances had been happening in a nearby cemetery. Strange noises and occurrences had become more and more frequent in the area. And a hooded figure could often be seen coming and going late in the night. The farmer agreed to pay Ciri generously for investigating and taking care of the issue.

Ciri first stopped in a village to properly prepare for the battle that may ensue. She handed off her swords to the blacksmith to have them sharpened and headed into a cute little alchemy shop to resupply her herbs and potions.

As the sun set, Ciri headed back out towards the Mere-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. She arrived just as the sun fell beyond the mountains of Toussaint. Ciri climbed up on a small perch and began to meditate and watch for the hooded figure that she was warned of. With the assistance of the moonlight, Ciri was able to make out a small bat flying towards a crypt. Ciri was quite shocked to see the bat transform before her eyes into a man. She couldn't make out a face but she could faintly see a fang glisten in the moonlight. She stealthily drew her silver sword, freshly coated with vampire oil and closed her eyes. She focused her powers and teleported in front of the creature, pointing the blade at it's chest.

"State your business!" she shouted.

The creature, now clearly a man threw his arms in the air before replying, "Is this how they teach you to greet old friends up at Kaer Morhen?"

The voice sounded familiar to Ciri but she could not pinpoint from where.

"Who are you!?"

"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't remember," the vampire said, offering his hand to shake. "Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. But you can just call me Regis."

Ciri lowered her sword but her guard stayed up. "W-what? R-Regis? No, you can't be. Regis died. Who are you really, Doppler?"

"It's me, Cirilla. It's Regis. I have been...regenerated. It is quite a complicated story. Please come in and I will explain," he said while gesturing to the entrance.

"Into where? This tomb?"

"Oh! Yes, my apologies. I should explain this first. I've made a little home for myself here. Tensions are high in Toussaint at the moment. Quite a lot of vampire sightings. I figure it best to stay out of everyone's way. What better place to lay low then in a cemetery?"

Ciri was wary but accepted his invitation none the less. She figured she could always teleport out if the need arose.

Regis led her down a stone staircase, past several alcoves, many of which were filled with caskets and cobwebs. "Wow, this place is really to die for," Ciri joked dryly.

"Ha! I see you've Geralt's sense of humor as well."

The staircase led to a large room. The space was dimly lit with old melting candles and bookshelves lined the walls. An apothecary table stood next to an alchemist's stand with a cauldron nearby. Manuscripts and lab notes were posted on the walls. In the corner there was a small bed and bedside cabinet.

"Surely there has got to be better places to hide out then here."

"Maybe so. But I quite like it here. Nice and quiet."

Regis prepared two bottles of mandrake hooch for them and sat at his dining table.

"Mandrake hooch," Regis explained after seeing Ciri's inquisitive gaze. 'Made from the finest mandrake roots Toussaint has to offer. I'd just sip it if I were you. Even Geralt could barely handle it."

Ciri's ears perked up at hearing Geralt's name. "Geralt!? You've seen Geralt? Why had he not informed me that you were alive?"

"Probably didn't deem it important at the moment. We only reunited recently. He has been extremely busy as of late. Well between the hunt for Dettlaff and getting his vineyard up and running. Not to mention all the women he has to deal with. That man brings out fire in women that I have never seen in my hundreds of years alive on this planet."

Ciri could tell that Regis was rambling but hearing him talk about Geralt brought a smile to her face so she simply listened.

"The Duchess and I get along wonderfully for years, Geralt shows up and one week later she is sending the beagles after us. You think after all these years with Yennefer that he would know when to tie his tongue but no. To tell the truth, I quite think he likes being yelled at by beautiful women. A fetish maybe?"

"Okay! Okay!" Ciri chimed in, not wanting to hear about her father's fetishes. She already knew of the unicorn and that was more than she ever needed to know about what goes on in Geralt and Yennefer's bedroom. "I believe you were going to tell me how you came to be alive and well."

"Ah! Yes, my apologies again. I rarely get the chance to speak so freely."

Regis regaled her with the story of his regeneration. He told her of Dettlaff, how he had found Regis' ashes and after much time, energy, and blood had been able to bring Regis back to life.

"I suppose I should thank you. You played a major role in saving Yennefer and I. I truly owe you my life," Ciri said sincerely.

Regis waved her off, "Please, I shall tell you the same thing that I told Geralt. No one twisted my arm. I accompanied Geralt to that castle under my own free will and I would do it again. That is what friends and loyalty are for."

Ciri smiled genuinely at his words before adding, "Still I feel quite bad about it. You lost years of your life. And all the pain.."

"No matter. I am here now and that is what matters."

They clinked their glass bottles together and took a big sip each before Ciri continued on, "So how long have you been back for?"

"I do not know for certain. When you live for hundreds of years, eventually you just stop caring about time."

Ciri nodded and took in his words. The outlook on life for a vampire was much different from her own. She was lost in thought before Regis spoke up again, "You asked me a question, now may I ask you one in return?"

"Of course."

"What were you doing here in the first place?"

Ciri considered her words carefully. Not wanting to offend Regis. "I took a contract from a farmer nearby. Said some strange occurrences had been happening around the cemetery and wanted me to take care of it."

Regis thought on her words before speaking again, "Well, I am glad you were the one to come along. Someone else taking that contract and this night could have taken a very unfortunate turn. I must be more careful with my experiments. Or perhaps it is time for me to move on again."

"Oh no! Don't go. I will inform the farmer that the issue is no more. As long as you don't make too much ruckus you should remain unbothered."

"That is kind of you, thank you. One less mess that I need to clean up."

They talked for many more hours, until Ciri was sure that the sun had begun to come up outside. They talked about their travels and Ciri's great battle against the Wild Hunt and the White Frost. Regis jotted done notes about her experiences. Planning to research them further and expand his education. He told Ciri of the class that he used to teach at Beauclair University and of the class he planned to teach once the University was reopened.

"Well I should be going," Ciri eventually said long after their bottles were empty. "Geralt and Yennefer will be expecting me later today."

"Give them my regards, I must visit soon as well."

"I'm sure they will be glad to hear that you are in good health."

The pair embraced and Regis gave Ciri some concoctions for the road before she set back out.

Ciri informed the farmer that issued the cemetery contract that the threat was taken care of but refused payment. He was confused but Ciri waved him off. Seeing Regis again was more than payment enough.

She continued back on the path. In the large village of Francollarts, Ciri purchased a white mare from a kind woman and named her Kelpie. Giving all of her horses the same name seemed to be another habit that she picked up from Geralt.

Ciri climbed atop her beautiful horse and headed off towards Corvo Bianco. She was extremely excited to reunite with her parents and explore the beautiful Duchy of Toussaint with them further. She also made a note to give Geralt a right hiding for not mentioning Regis was alive.

[mf-despair-queen]

Your Name (Part 6) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen​

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 3,253

Summary: The girl with no name tries to save the town before the Ghost Riders appear.

Warnings: I’m hoping you will cry at ONE specific moment.

Notes: There is like... no Stiles in this. I’m so sorry. He will return in part 7.

Listen to Me (Please note you are not required to listen)

Part 5 | Part 7

Wherever you are in the world

She sat up with a start, glancing around in pure confusion.

“Stiles…” she mumbled to herself, feeling a tear slide down her cheek. The salty tears mixed with droplets of rain that hit her face, the wind blowing it to pelt her face. She was sitting at a table under an awning in the park, having stopped when the rain picked up on her way to her friend’s house.

She glanced at the date on her phone. Mid July. The day of the storm. She remembered the date so clearly because it was the day she had arranged the date for Stiles with Lydia when they were still switching. The cracks of thunder were still distant, but now they seemed to make sense.

They were the source of her inevitable demise.

“He said I can change it,” she told herself, rushing to stand from the bench. The rain around her had slowed and the wind had lessened, giving her a chance. “I’ve still got time. I-I have to get people to leave before they arrive.”

She paused, grabbing her stuff in her left hand, stopping momentarily to stare the the tightened fist of her left. She vaguely remembered his touch, the memory starting to fade for some reason - it was almost like it had never happened, or wasn’t supposed to happen. But she remember it, seeing his mouth move as he spoke. She remember the touch of the marker to her skin, Stiles’ chicken scratch ebbed against her skin. She wanted to look, but she fought the urge, keeping it locked until she needed it, feeling her thoughts slip.

“I trust you, Stiles,” she said aloud, staring up at the dark sky. “I trust you. I will always trust you. And I will see you again. I promise.”

She didn’t care that she was doused the second she left the safety of the park. She had to hurry. They were coming for her. They were coming for her friends. They were coming for her family. But, she wouldn’t let them. They weren’t there yet, so if they could get away, they would be safe from the mark of the Ghost Riders, safe from being taken by the Wild Hunt. They wouldn’t be erased from existence.

She wouldn’t be forgotten by Stiles.

She crashed through Camile’s front door, ignoring the strange look her friend’s parents sent her. They saw her dripping wet, her bag dropped to the floor with a loud klunk when she barrelled up the stairs two steps at a time, stumbling occasionally over her feet. She ran as fast as she could towards the room at the end of the hall where he two friends sat, playing some board game she didn’t care to get the name of.

“We have to go,” she told her friends. Nia and Camile glanced at her oddly, not understanding why she was winded or what the rush was. “Please, I need you help. We have to go.”

“Are you ok?” Camile hesitantly asked, standing from her bed.

She shook her head, chest heaving for air. “This storm… it’s more than just a storm.”

“You’re talking crazy again,” Nia told her, standing beside Camile. “Are you actually you right now?”

“Yes, I’m me right now!” she shouted, her friends seemingly unconvinced. “But that’s not the thing right now, alright? If we stay here, we’re going to… well, in a way, we’re going to die.”

“Eh?” the two girls let out.

“The storm. The one that’s been approaching. It’s going to ruin this town. It’s more than just a storm.” She paused, biting her lip. She knew how weird it sounded because it still sounded surreal to her. But, after what she had been through, he had to try. “It’s called the Ghost Riders of the Wild Hunt. They come by storm and take souls. That’s the storm that’s coming now.”

Nia and Camile shared a skeptical look before turning back to her. “You do realize that is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, right?” Nia told her, frowning. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine! But I need you guys to believe me!” she screamed, shaking her head to hold back her tears of frustration. “Please. You have to trust me. I…”

“What?” Camile ask.

She thought back to the eerie train station she had sat in for so long, the dark atmosphere making her feel cold. Warmth only came when she heard his voice, giving her the energy to stand and the power to walk until she saw him standing there in front of the boarding sign. “Because I pretty much saw it happen.”

“You… saw it?” Nia asked slowly.

“Yes,” she mumbled to them. “Stiles told me… he told me what is coming.”

“Is this really about the storm? Or is it about Stiles?” Camile asked, staring her friend in the eye. Camile saw the steady look she held, not an ounce of lies held behind them.

“I trust Stiles, guys,” she told her two friends. “And now, I need you both to trust me. I can change it. We can change it. We still have time. But I can’t do it alone. I need your help to evacuate the town.”

She feared for a second they would brush her off, calling her crazy and idiotic for the preposterous insinuations she had come up with. She didn’t blame them. They weren’t normal explanations and they seemed completely farfetched. Why would they ever believe her? Why would they believe Stiles? This wasn’t something people would believe and she was sure her two friends would lock her in the loony bin when the storm passed.

Assuming they still existed, that is.

But, her jaw fell open when they nodded in unison. They smiled at her, grabbing their shoes from the floor. “So, what’s the plan?” Camile asked.

Her eyes filled with tears, giving them a thankful smile. “You guys are the best.”

“Thank us later if we survive this crazy storm story you concocted,” Nia laughed.

She dragged the two girls out of the house, Camile’s parents protesting before the door shut behind them. The rain had stopped for the moment only the bursts of wind making their hair fly around and their clothes billow around them.They three girls darted up the road, headed for the one place they thought could make a difference.

“The town is equipped with an emergency broadcast system in case a storm or forest fire threatens the safety of the townsfolk,” she told her friends, her steps hasty up the road. “We can use that to get people to evacuate I think.”

“Are people going to listen to us? Or to that for that matter? You know the evacuations they do are typically bullshit and no one ever truly evacuates,” Nia hummed to the other two.

“They have to listen,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“I can probably whip up something to help,” Camile said. If I can get my hand on some forest fire film that was produced by a storm, we can broadcast that in a televised evacuation announcement. If people see evidence, maybe they will listen.”

“Smart idea, but it probably won’t work. They’ll look outside and there is no evidence of the fire,” she sighed sadly.

“We could blow the power,” Nia offered. “The emergency system runs on its own generator, so blowing the power wouldn’t affect it at all. And the power station is right there. We can kill two birds with one stone. With the loss of power, people will have to listen because it could be caused by the storm. If we emphasize the severity because it managed to blow the power-”

“They’ll be more willing to leave. You guys are geniuses!” she cheered. “This is why I needed you guys.”

“What about evacuations? Not everyone can leave easily. There isn’t enough cars and some people don’t own some.”

She thought for a second before it clicked. “The school. We tell everyone to evacuate to the school. The buses there will be enough to get everyone out of here.”

“Brilliant!” Camile grinned.

“You guys realize we are breaking a shit ton of laws right now, right?” Nia laughed. The other two girls smiled and laughed with her.

“Guess we’re all criminals now!” Camile laughed. “But, if we get caught, we’ll go down together.”

“We won’t get caught,” she tried to assure her friends. The girls stood before the power station, a gate between them and the building. “Because this plan can’t fail. If it fails… this town is doomed. And I won’t let that happen.”

Just as she began to jump the gate, Camile cut in. “Because of Stiles?”

She paused, thinking about the nerdy spazz. She shook her head though. “No. Because I will save as many as I can before they have to suffer that fate.”

“Alright,” Camile said, jumping the gate with her. Nia followed, the girls finding a broken window to climb in.

Nia got straight to work on the power, Camile taking her place at the panel for the broadcast. While they were at work, she worked on grabbing the microphone, placing it in front of Camile as she flicked on the device. She glanced out the window, cheering when she started to see the lights of Prattville diminishing, going dark to the storm. It made the dark sky an ebony black, nearly unable to be contrasted from the dark land below it. She could barely make out what was happening below in her home, but she was glad.

A few streaks of lightning lit up the sky, the only source of she was given as she cheered. “You did it, Nia! Now, hit it Camile!”

“Why me? The girl mumbled, hitting the talk button after clearing her throat. A siren began to sound through the small forest town, the strong winds carrying it further, amplifying the noise. “This is the Prattville Emergency Broadcast System. A powerful storm has been coming in from the west, knocking out the power substation on the edge of town. Wind speeds of nearly seventy miles per hour have been recorded and rain has been flood parts of Ruffa Ridge and Butt Mountain. It has been determined that the storm is too dangerous for the residents of Prattville. There is danger of further, more severe outages, damages to housing, and potential fires and floods. Residents please evacuate in a calm and orderly fashion to Prattville High School. I repeat, please evacuate in an calm and orderly fashion to Prattville High School for full town emergency evac.”

Camile clicked off the microphone, leaving the siren running. Standing from the chair, Camile was tackled by her friend. The girl was bouncing up and down, shaking Camile wildly. “That was so good!”

“Alright, alright,” Camile laughed, shaking her off. “I know I’m awesome, but we can discuss that later. Let’s get out of here before someone shows up and realizes it wasn’t a real broadcast and tries to arrest us.”

“Fine, fine,” she groaned. Nia walked over the them, hands in her pockets.

“What now?” she asked her two friends. The girl bit at her lip, thinking about what to do. She wasn’t sure if their plan worked or not. Their time was already thin. She didn’t know what to do. If they headed straight for the school and no one had listened to them, this was all in vain. But, they couldn’t very well run around the entire town pounding on doors to make sure people had left. That would make their efforts even more pointless.

Her phone rang, the girl’s brow furrowing when she saw her mother calling. She mumbled for her friends to hold on, answering the call. “Mom?”

“Honey, where are you?” her mom questioned. She felt sweaty, hating the lie she was about to blurt out like nothing.

“I went to hang with Camile and Nia. We were playing some card games when the power went out,” she mumbled.

“So you heard the emergency evacuation?”

“Yes, we did. We are getting ready to go right now. Are you and papa heading to the school?” she asked, unintentionally crossing her fingers and toes, praying for the answer she wanted.

“Yes, we are. Everyone is already headed for the school. Get there soon, sweetheart. I love you.”

She couldn’t stop from grinning, fist pumping the air - a very Stiles-like move that he would be proud of. “Of course, mom. I love you too. Try to help people if they need it, alright? I will see you soon.”

“Be careful, baby girl.”

The girl cheered vocally when she ended the call. “They’re evacuating!”

“It worked?” Nia and Camile asked, mirroring the joyful expression on the girl’s face.

“Yes!”

“So, do we head for the school?” Nia asked.

“What if we split up?” Camile proposed. “From here, there are three paths that lead to the school. We can just do a quick check to see if anyone is left behind on our way.”

“But the path along the lake-” Nia started.

“It’s longer than the rest,” Camile finished.

“I’ll do it,” the girl said confidently. “I can run it faster than you guys. I can do it. You guys get to the school and get everyone on those buses. Just, don’t leave without me.”

“We would never,” Nia laughed. “But, are you sure about this?”

“We don’t have time to waste,” Camile said. She turned to the girl, giving a firm stare. “Go. We’ll see you there.”

The girl nodded, her look full of determination. She climbed out of the same broken window and before, rushing down the windy, winding road. Occasional pellets of rain hit her skin, but her body pushed on without a single care in the world.

But the longer she ran, the further she advanced, her mind felt fuzzy. Her legs pumped on, yet she began to wonder why she was running so quickly and so heavily through the barren streets of her home. There was no signs of life around her, the world bubbling around her in vague confusion.

Why am I running? She asked herself, pushing on without knowing why. What was the reason I was doing this? There was a reason I was doing this. But, why? Why? Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes, trying to remember why. A blurred face flashed in her mind when she blinked, making her heart ache.

It was for him. Someone dear to me. Stiles. I told him I would come back to him. I wanted to go back to him. I need to get back to him!

Her heart was beating in her ears as she ran, more tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t remember, no matter what she did. The only thing she could do was think of Stiles, not knowing what was coming or why it was so important to get out of there. Something was coming, but what? Her mind was blank, but her body didn’t stop, pushing on like her life depended on it.

A streak of lightning filled the sky, making her look up at the cloudy sky. A crack of thunder boomed, ringing in her ears almost like a neigh of a horse. Her blood ran cold, knowing her time was pretty much up. She didn’t have much longer. “They’re here,” she found herself mumbling, feeling whatever was coming oozing their presence into the outskirts of town behind her It made her shiver, fear striking her like a chord. She had to get out before they found her, whoever they were.

A loud shriek hovered in the air, the girl tripping over a crack in the road. She gasped in pain, landing on her side and rolling down the hill quite a few feet. Fresh scratches and bruises were already forming on her body when she went skidding across the graveled road, coming to a rest in a loud thud. Her body screamed at her, muscles aching from the strenuous running and the fall she found herself in the middle of. Her head hurt, black dots in her eyes. The world was spinning, slowing coming back into focus. She laid on her left side, letting her body rest for a moment, letting her mind clear and her dizziness to subside.

Her eyes blinked open, the dots beginning to clear for a sight of red on her right wrist. Her hand was still closed tightly. Her eyes closed to try and remember, seeing Stiles standing in front of her with a marker in hand, giving the same caring smile she had come to know growing up. It was lopsided, his glistening pearly whites seen through the crack in his lips. His lips parted, but the words came out clear this time.

“Leave a message. So, when we wake up, we won’t forget what happened. I can’t guarantee what will happen when we leave this place, so, do not forget, leave a message telling us what we have to do or just something you want us to know.”

“What should I write?” she said to no one but herself. Stiles leaned forward, pushing her wet hair back behind her ear. The touch of his fingers felt real, warming her body completely. It was soft and gentle, a touch she could never forget. She wanted to feel it forward.

“Something that will make me remember you. Something like your name.” It felt like he was holding her hand, words ringing louder in ehr ears than the booms in the sky that were nearing her slowly, clinking footsteps hidden behind them. “Something that will make you remember why I need you need to come back to me.”

She wasn’t sure if it was real or her imagination. She needed to know why she was pushing so hard. She needed to remember what was after her that was driving her this insane. She needed to know what was making her work her hardest, giving one-hundred and ten percent to get back to him.

Slowly, her hand opened, her eyes welling with tears at the words.

I Love You

She stood to her feet, swaying on unsteady feet, but her gaze remained blurred on her hand. A gasp of pain escaped her mouth, feeling streams of the water works sliding down her cheeks and falling to the ground.

“Stiles,” she gasped out through her cries, her hand shaking. “How am I supposed to know what I am doing and what is after us with this?” her hand closed, held close to her as she broke down into muffled sobs. “How do I know why I’m coming back to you besides to give you this bracelet?”

“Because I love you. And I need you to come back to me.”

Were they real or did she conjure his words and voice to push her on? She didn’t know, nor did she care. Her heart skipped a beat, body flooded with sudden adrenaline, feet beginning to carry her forward once again. She was bolting down the road towards the school, a newfound determination to get there. She saw the school coming into her view, a cold chill following behind her.

“I will come back to you, Stiles,” she told herself, hoping somehow, somewhere, he would hear. “Because I know why I am. And I won’t let you down. I will succeed.”

“I will see you soon, Stiles.”

I'll search for you.

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[thinksideways]

27 or 28 for the writing prompt please :)?

27. — boxes

“We got you a fight,” Van Ness says, slapping the contract down in front of Burr, “new guy. Unbeaten as an amateur. Don’t know much about him, trying to find his videos online. You’ll be his debut.”

“They’re giving me an amateur?” Burr tries not to sound sullen, but he thought after his last fight - a one-punch KO in the second round - he’d get somebody with a bit of name recognition. Not some - he glances at the contract - Alexander Hamilton, whose amateur record was admittedly impressive, but who had yet to come into the big leagues.

Whatever. A paycheck’s a paycheck. Burr’s still got the title shot in his sights, and if he has to tear through some amateur on his way, so be it.

*

They find a few videos of Hamilton’s fights, and Burr scrutinizes them carefully. The kid’s got decent footwork, switching stances constantly, good about using his angles. But he opens up quick, exploding all his energy in the first flurries. He has a good number of knockouts, but in the fights where he goes the distance, Burr can tell he gasses, hands dropping, going flat-footed instead of balancing light on the balls of his feet.

He can work with that.

Burr redoubles his cardio, running, biking, throwing himself into whatever hellish workout Van Ness concocts.

He spars, too, finding guys in the gym whose style mimics Hamiltons’.  Circling in the ring, gloved hands up, he imagines it’s Hamilton across from him, trying to predict what he might do, anticipating it.

He wins more of the sparring rounds then he loses, and as the fight draws closer, Burr feels confident.

*

He arrives in Vegas several days before the fight, ready for the pre-card circus, media and open workouts. Not that Burr’s the main fight - he and Hamilton are on the undercard, not even close to the main event - but it’s still a big card, a huge main event, and Burr’s excited to be on it. It’s a good opportunity, and he’s riding a five-fight win streak (over less than stellar opposition, but still, a streak’s a streak), and he thinks, with a flashy enough finish, he might have a case for a title contender fight, if not the title fight itself.

*

Burr’s returning from his last workout - light, more to keep his muscles warm than anything else - when he sees a man across the hall. Latino, with longer hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. His back’s to Burr, which gives Burr a great view of the man’s ass, shown off to the fullest extent in his workout shorts, and then the man turns and Burr almost curses out loud.

He’d been checking out Hamilton.

His hair’s longer than it had been in the videos, which is why Burr hadn’t recognized him immediately, but the features are the same. Fuck.

Burr looks away, embarrassed, as if Hamilton could somehow read his mind. He walks away as quick as he can, and pretends he doesn’t hear someone calling after him.

*

Burr doesn’t seen Hamilton again until weigh-ins. Hamilton weighs in first, and though Burr’s backstage and can’t see it, he hears the cheers and applause that suggest Hamilton made weight.

Burr’s name is called, and he walks out to his own cheers, quickly strips down to his shorts - not risking keeping anything on that might put him over the weight limit. He steps onto the scale, hears the number read out - 155 on the dot - and steps off to his own round of applause. He looks across the stage and sees Hamilton waiting for the face off.

Burr usually keeps his face offs professional, never feeling any real malice for his opponents - it’s just business - but that’s gotten him nowhere, so he strides up to Hamilton, forehead against his, hands raised.

Hamilton doesn’t miss a beat, presses back into him, and talks, low enough that only Burr can hear.

“So you’re the big bad Aaron Burr huh? Don’t look like much to me…”

“Glad they gave me some pansy-ass amateur,” Burr responds in the same low tone, and then he feels Washington’s arm at his chest, keeping them separate, and he finally looks at Hamilton. His hair’s pulled back, and he’s shirtless, and Burr can’t keep his eyes from going to Hamilton’s chest, his abs, every muscle pulled in taut definition from his weight cut.  

Burr swallows the decidedly out of place desire, locks eyes with Hamilton, a final challenge, and absolutely does not think about how stunning his eyes are.

*

Burr re-hydrates, enjoying his first proper meal in weeks (weight cutting’s what he likes least about the sport - punch him in the face any day, just don’t take away the carbs). He lays back on the hotel bed, visualizing the fight for the hundredth time.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally does the sleep is fitful. It always is, the night before a fight. Before walking into the lion’s den.

*

Burr walks out to applause that sounds thunderous. He doesn’t know what the gate for this event was, but the crowd’s easily in the thousands, probably the biggest crowd he’s ever fought in front of. He shakes his arms, trying to stay loose. His hands are tightly wrapped inside his boxing gloves. He stops in front of Van Ness, who pops his mouth guard in, undergoes the final check of his gloves, and then enters the spotlit ring.

His world narrows down to the ring, the noise of the crowd fading out, all his focus on Hamilton as he enters the ring.

It’s just business, but for now, as the referee steps out and the announcer begins, Hamilton’s his enemy. One more mountain to climb.

They step closer to one another. The ref speaks into the microphone the announcer holds out.

“All right guys, have a safe fight, and protect yourselves at all times. Touch gloves if you want.”

To Burr’s surprise, Hamilton extends his gloved fists. Burr taps them lightly. Hamilton gives a little nod, and Burr nods back, glad his antics at the weigh-ins didn’t sour this face off.

The bell rings.

*

Hamilton starts fast, like Burr had expected, throwing several punches in quick succession. Burr dodges several, though one glances off his chin, not full power, but he feels stupid for being caught like that. He fires off his own series of punches, feinting high then dropping his body, catching Hamilton in the stomach with a hard blow. Hamilton doubles over for a moment, then straightens, moves.

Burr continues his strikes to the body - that had been part of the game plan, wear him down his body shots early, which would pay dividends later one as the fight progressed and the shots made themselves known.

His focus lets up for a second, and Hamilton catches him with a hard right hook, rocking Burr’s head back. He hisses through his teeth, low, straightens, drives in with an uppercut that catches flush on Hamilton’s jaw. The crowd screams its encouragement, savage, and Hamilton falls, almost in slow motion.

He gets back up though, almost immediately, dives back in, and the men clinch up, driving into on another with short, inefficient strikes.This close, and he can hear Hamilton’s heavy breathing, which he takes as encouragement, Hamilton’s bruised body having increasing difficulty taking in air.

He drops Hamilton twice more, but each time he gets up. Hamilton’s movements slow, become more obvious, sloppy as he gasses, and Burr picks him apart.

He lands several shots that should have finished him, one knocking Hamilton back against the ring, and Hamilton’s head lifts, eyes meeting Burrs’, and he sees only determination as the other man pushes off the ropes and charges again.

*

He doesn’t finish Hamilton, which is disappointing, but he picks him apart in the final rounds, and when the final bell rings he throws his hands up in victory before it’s officially announced.

The scorecards reflect it, and Burr walks away with another W on his record, having handed Hamilton his first loss. After the announcement, Hamilton shakes his hand, graceful in defeat.

“Congratulations,” Hamilton says.

“Thanks,” Burr replies.

*

He watches the rest of the card, goes out to dinner, after, face already starting to swell. He’ll hurt for the next few days - Hamilton had landed some decent shots - but he’ll be back in training soon enough. He’d seen Washington after the fight, and he had teased a title elimination belt with Jefferson. Big things on the horizon.

He’s tired and when he finally makes it back to his hotel room he’s surprised to see someone waiting outside it.

He’s more surprised when the figure comes into view, and it’s Alexander Hamilton, one eye blackened and already swelling, hair still in the braids he’d worn for the fight.

“Can I help you?” he says, confused. Hamilton’s dresses in a t-shirt and jeans, and he looks good, despite the black eye.

“I want a rematch,” Hamilton says.

“Talk to Washington, not me.”

“Already did. He said no.”

“There you go.”

“Look, Alex, no offense, but I’m gunning for the title, not to beat up on amateurs.”

“Then train me.”

“What?”

“Let me come by the gym. Get some pointers. You could clearly teach me a thing or two.”

Hamilton’s looking at him now, and it makes Burr uneasy. The look is knowing, and far too intimate for two strangers.

“We’ll see.”

“Give me your number, at least.”

Burr sighs.

“Fine.”

They exchange numbers (well, he gives Hamilton his, and Hamilton immediately texts him), and Hamilton departs, leaving Burr to lay starfished on the too-big hotel bed, smelling like Biofreeze and Tiger Balm, trying to process the day.

*

He flies home the next day, takes several days to recover, and then is back in the gym, business as usual. Except - except, well, he finds himself still watching Hamilton’s fights. He finds the video of their weigh-in online, freezes it at the moment when he charged forward. The freeze-framed image is Hamilton, eyes intense and gleaming. And those fucking abs.

Maybe he screenshots it. Maybe.

*

He finds Hamilton’s Facebook fan page, where there’s some really…flattering promotional pictures. Burr likes the page but not the pictures. He doesn’t want to be creepy.

He gets a text all of fifteen minutes later.

I see you liked my page.

He gets another notification - Hamilton just liked his page, too. And a photo. And another photo. Another.

I see you liked mine, too.

You’re pretty talented. There’s a lot to like.

Burr stares at that text for way too long, as if trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. He gets another text.

Shit, sorry. You’re a good fighter, I mean.

Thanks.

This is where you say ‘you’re a good fighter, too.’

Your left hook is sloppy. You wind up too much. Easy to spot.

Asshole.

Just telling the truth.

*

They text a lot and Burr can’t tell if it’s flirting or if maybe this is just how people text the super hot guy they beat and now want to…

Well.

*

Burr wakes up to read a text sent at like 2 am.

I’m in town next week. Still want to train?

His stomach flutters a bit at the thought of seeing Hamilton again, even if it’s just business. He writes back.

Sure. I’m happy to whip your ass again.

Buy a guy a drink first, geez.

Okay, that’s definitely flirting. Naturally, he freezes up and doesn’t respond.

*

Hamilton meets him outside the gym before it’s even opened. It’s a weird familiarity, they’ve texted a fair amount, but this is the first time he’s ever been in real proximity to Hamilton without their fight looming over him. It’s weird, so Burr quickly suggests they get into the ring, do a little light sparring.

“Winner buys drinks?” Hamilton says, smiling, those eyes on him. Shit.

“Winner buys drinks,” Burr echoes. His throat’s suddenly quite dry.

“You’re on.”

They touch gloves.

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Sentimental Type (Part 6)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Seven  /Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten /  Words: 877 Pairing: Han Solo x Reader Timeline: A New Hope  Summary: After the Falcon gets pulled in by the Death Star, the gang discovers their Anderaanian princess is also aboard the space station. They take it upon themselves to rescue her with a half-baked plan concocted by Luke & Han. 

“Absolutely not!” You huffed as Luke held out a pair of golden colored binders to you. “I was promised that this would be an easy transport job from Tatooine to Alderaan!” You glared at Han. “As far as I’m concerned, we did that! Then we barely managed to evade detection from the troopers after you two knocked out a pair and donned their uniforms. Now you’re telling me that Chewie and I, your two greatest allies by the way, are supposed to just let you bind our hands together and pose as your prisoners? I’m not doing that.”

“Listen, [Y/N], it would be less suspicious for us to go walking around the place this way and I’ll be with you the entire time.” Han was holding each of your hands in one of his own. His dark eyes were focused only on you.

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that exact phrase from you?” You asked, not letting the steam of his gaze bother you.  

“Not enough, obviously, Sweetheart.” With a wink, Han stepped back and you looked down to see that he had managed to distract you long enough to slip a pair of binders on your wrists.

“Why do we stay with him?” You asked Chewbacca. The wookie offered up a low howl, which no one bothered to translate for you.

“C’mon, we’re wasting time. You can be mad at me later.” Han wrapped chewbacca’s wrists in their own binders, donned his helmet again and began to drag you out of the room by the elbow.

“I hate this.” You mumbled, walking beside Chewbacca down the corridor.

“You’ve made that very clear, [Y/N].” Han’s voice said through the speaker of his helmet. “Get in the lift.” He ordered you, Chewie and Luke.

It didn’t take long for Luke and Han’s plan to go wrong. As soon as you arrived at the detention center where the princess was being held the officers were not fooled by the “prisoner transfer” rouse. Chaos broke out immediately. Chewbacca was able to break free of his binders and knocked one of the officers on the head. Han, as usual shot his way out of the situation. Luke, also armed with a trooper issued blaster, did his best to follow Han’s lead. You, not possessing the Wookie’s strength, still had your hands cuffed together and were forced to hide behind a communication console until the fight was over.

“Good job idiots.” You huffed, getting to your feet as the smoke cleared. “Will someone get these off of me?” Chewbacca gladly offered up his services and removed the binders with a slight tug. “Next time I’m the trooper and he’s the prisoner.” You nodded in Luke’s direction while rubbing your sore wrist.

“We gotta find out which cell your princess is in.” Han told Luke, ignoring your complaints. Together you and Luke were able to find the princess of Alderaan, the one he and Ben were supposed to be delivering a message to, but Han hadn’t been able to avoid rising suspicion out of the real stormtroopers. They soon flooded the floor leaving your party no other option then to escape through a garbage chute.

“The garbage chute was a wonderful idea! What an incredible smell you discovered!” Han heckled the princess, whose idea it had been to jump down the chute.

“It was a hell of a lot better than your plan!” You defender her. “Oh, that’s right you didn’t have one! And before you go whipping out your blaster like you always do, don’t bother! Luke’s already tried shooting at the door. It’s magnetically sealed.”

“Look, I had everything under control until she led us down here!” Han argued. “You know, it’s not gonna take them long to figure out what happened to us.” There was a loud creak followed by a metallic shudder, a tell-tale sign of moving parts somewhere.

“The walls are moving!” Luke was the first one to realize.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” The princess huffed, motioning for you to help her. “Try to brace it with something!” Together the two of you managed to maneuver a large section of thick piping between the two walls.

“Luke, maybe 3PO and R2 can do something.” You asked the farmboy.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of them!” Luke said, waving the commlink at you.

“Chewie, let [Y/N], climb up on your back.” Han ordered while he helped the princess climb up the mountain of trash. Rather than waiting for you to react or argue, Chewbacca just scooped you up into his arms and forced your arms around his neck.

Finally, Luke managed to get in contact with C3P0 and R2D2. The droids were able to turn off the garbage compactor, release the pressure in the walls so that the door was accessible again, and even unlock the magnetically sealed door.

“One of these days, he’s gonna get us both killed.” You mumbled to Chewbacca as your feet finally touched on solid ground.

“I heard that!” Han complained.

“Good.” You snapped. “You were meant too! If you so much as think the phrase easy job again Han Solo, Force help me I’ll…”

“I like her.” The princess smiled with approval as she whispered to Luke.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

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