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7team7 · 4 years

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Sharp edges

Mai notices. Zutara from an outsider POV // eventual Zutara, eventual Mailee

A/N: ok hi i love sasusaku fics told from an outsider pov, there are a few really good ones from karin’s perspective so i was like ok sorry mai i will do this LOL (if you’re unfamiliar, karin had feelings for sasuke but he didn’t return them and he married and had a baby with sakura) this is not at all supposed to be The Other Woman type of thing, there’s no cheating, it’s really observations and another way to look at zutara yup!

Mai stood by Zuko because she knew he was a good man. She knew he cared about her. Her childhood crush on him wasn’t misplaced.

When she first sensed the distance growing between them, she chalked it up to Fire Lord duties demanding all of his time. But despite his good intentions and traits, he was not in love with her the way he was in love with someone else.

She first really noticed when he was running around the palace like a komodo chicken with its head cut off while preparing for visitors. Not just any visitors — his old friends from across the nations used the one year anniversary of his coronation as an excuse to get together. She had sensed his loneliness in the way he constantly gazed at the sky, lost in his own thoughts, in the way he sent off pages and pages of letters. But she assumed he yearned for friendship and not romance. She was only one person, she could only give him so much.

The palace was ablaze with activity in the days before the highly anticipated celebration. “Aren’t you excited?” he asked her, looking like a kid on the morning of his birthday.

His face drooped when he realized, no, of course she wasn’t. They weren’t really her friends, they weren’t here to see her.

She verbalized her feelings anyway, “Why would I be?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you that Ty Lee is coming too. And my sister got cleared by her doctors to join us for a while. That’s something, right?”

She sighed. He was trying. He always tried his best and that was one of the things that was so endearing about him. “Should be an interesting mix,” she remarked. She excused herself to go lay down and left him to finish hanging the flags of the other nations in the hallway. Even with all his servants doing their best, no one could work fast enough to keep up with his boundless energy. He really was excited, wasn’t he?

Before she rounded the corner to her room, she could’ve sworn she noticed the way he seemed to hold onto the blue Water Tribe fabric just a bit longer. She shook her head. She must have been tired, imagining him run his thumb over the fabric before hanging it.

The Gaang arrived noisily as usual. The way they all arrived on time (at noon, peak Zuko energy time) was a little freaky. It seemed no amount of time would mess with their sync.

A seemingly endless round of hugs was exchanged, everyone chattering excitedly as they caught up with each other and made plenty of nostalgic jokes that you really had to be there for to understand.

Aang had arrived first, flying in and bowing with exaggerated politeness to “Sifu Hotman” that only served to send both Zuko and himself into a fit of giggles. Two of the world’s most powerful benders were really still kids.

Toph came stomping in next, wondering aloud if Zuko would change her life today. He gave her an affectionate noogie, and asked, “Haven’t I already?”

She shoved him, “Don’t go thinking you’re Iroh.” She was happy.

Sokka would’ve been next had he not been intercepted by Suki. They had their own little reunion on the docks before joining the group.

So that left Katara to skip up to the palace, leaving her brother behind. Mai could’ve sworn Katara was an airbender when she all but flew through the air when she launched herself at Zuko, arms outstretched for an embrace.

And Zuko caught her.

He captured her in a tight hug and spun her around, looking like they hopped straight out of an Ember Island Players romance.

When her feet met the ground again, the waterbender seemed to grow embarrassed as she quickly turned away from Zuko to greet her other friends. Zuko seemed to reach for her again, but dropped his hands and squeezed them into fists. The smile on his face was just a bit less dazzling than it had been a moment before, even when Sokka came barreling through the scene with a witty comment.

Mai tilted her head, surveying the situation. To Sokka, he was a fellow swordsman; to Aang, he was a firebending master; to Toph, he was the sibling she never had; he was their friend. To everyone — Suki, Ty Lee, Momo, Appa — he was a friend.

But who was he to Katara? The question grated on her nerves. It was too loud. She left to check on Azula.

Maybe she was reading into it too much. It wasn’t like Katara had no options: Aang’s feelings for her were obvious. She watched closely to determine if those feelings were reciprocated. Maybe time and distance had changed things.

Katara had suggested going into town to explore the marketplace and Aang jumped up to join her. But then Zuko started droning on and on about the economy and instead of being bored to death like any normal person, she started offering her own suggestions for improving revenue streams and diversifying product offerings. Yawn.

Aang trailed after then, looking forlorn. Katara had the Avatar hanging on her every word, yet she chose to pay attention to Zuko, her former enemy. That was really something.

And Zuko, he was listening to her more intently than he ever listened to his aging advisors.

Mai stayed back. She wasn’t interested in inserting herself. Time and distance only seemed to make Zuko more sure of his feelings, even if he didn’t realize it yet. She would need to reevaluate the situation herself.

Mai never felt left out as a nonbender. She had seen the way fire had destroyed her own nation.

But she had always wished they could spar together. It wasn’t about meeting halfway, she could have easily requested that he use his swords to level the playing field.

But his identity would always be tied to that of a firebender. He was the Fire Lord, for one thing. He could put down the swords whenever he wanted, but the fire would always be inside him, licking at his insides, smoking its way out in every exhale.

Fire and water were opposites, but they worked together surprisingly well. Balance, she thought as she lazily twirled a dagger in her hands while watching Zuko and Katara’s sparring session.

“You’ve improved,” he praised her, clearly impressed. Zuko wore his heart on his sleeve, something he apparently thought Mai should try. Her face pinched in for a split second when Katara’s shining eyes met his. For a waterbender, Katara’s eyes had so much warmth. Like the changing tide, they held a special sort of softness when she looked at Zuko.

“You have too. But what else would I expect? You’re the Fire Lord now,” she teased. Fighting alongside Zuko had always felt natural, but it was a joy to be able to practice against him now that they weren’t sworn enemies.

“A Fire Lord who will get rusty if he has to do anymore paperwork,” he grumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Well come on. I’m sure paperwork can wait for a little while longer. Can you show me that new move you did at the end?”

Mai remembered Zuko promising the other benders that they’d get a chance to spar with him too, but that seemed to slip his mind. He eagerly started showing her the forms. Katara picked it up quickly: it was clearly a fusion of water and firebending styles.

An understanding started developing at the back of her mind: there were things Zuko and Katara had that Zuko and herself could not have.

The session only ended when Azula came waltzing in, asking if anyone was up for a little fun.

Breakfast the next day was held outside to take advantage of the favorable weather. The pleasant breeze coupled with sunshine put everyone in a merry mood. Instead of Zuko sitting at the head of the table in his fancy throne-like chair like he would inside, everyone squished together on two long benches at one table. Mai sat to Zuko’s immediate left, at the edge of the table.

People like Aang, Sokka, and Toph were driven by hunger and started digging in quickly. Suki had clearly taken a moment to actually get ready because when she took her place next to Sokka, her hair was neater than almost everyone else’s.

Katara came in last, yawning and rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. Zuko brightened when he saw her, “Katara! I saved you a seat.” He scooted closer to Mai, brushing her side with his, but only so he could make room for Katara. Mai sighed. Why was he so clueless sometimes?

As soon as Katara was settled next to him, Zuko poured her a steaming cup of tea. She gave him a sweet smile in thanks. He pushed a plate towards her, “Here, this one shouldn’t have any fire flakes.” She dug in eagerly, nudging his shoulder with hers in silent happiness while she chewed. Zuko’s body jostled up against Mai’s as a result of being nudged, but he had never felt so far away.

“Anyone else want some tea?” he asked the table. Of course everyone wanted a sip of Iroh’s delicious breakfast brew, so they all said yes. But instead of serving everyone the way he had served Katara only a moment ago, Zuko just passed the teapot across the table so everyone could pour their own cup.

Clueless, truly clueless.

“Guess what my silly brother told me when I arrived yesterday? He said, ‘Be nice.’ Ha! As if I would ever imagine being anything but,” Azula cackled. He had pulled her aside when he noticed the way everyone (or really, Katara) hesitated around her. Her unpredictable energy still put everyone on edge.

“I can hardly believe little ZuZu is the great big Fire Lord now,” she continued. The original trio — Azula, Mai, Ty Lee — were strolling around the city. There wasn’t much to do at the palace until dinner time seeing as Zuko was tied up with his daily meetings. Bureaucracy didn’t stop, even for visitors.

“I know right. Things are so different now.” She knew what Azula left unsaid: Zuko was Fire Lord and she wasn’t. Mai still wasn’t sure exactly how to go about tending to Azula’s feelings. She was still her friend, but everything had changed so much, there was a much needed distance between them. No matter how bored she was, she would never follow the princess’s every whim again.

“I’ve been told to work on being happy for others. Even if they have what I want, even if I can’t get it. He’s still a dumb dumb, but you know. I’m working on it.” Azula examined her nails as if the conversation was completely casual, but her words held great significance.

Oh.

It would take time, but maybe she could work up to being happy for them.

She waited a day, mulling it over on her own. But she didn’t wait until everyone else went home to end it. Really, why bother?

“What are you talking about? Why would you leave? Does this mean we’re breaking up?”

She closed her eyes. The pain and confusion written all over his face were making this difficult. “Yes. I’m not the one for you and you’re not the one for me. There’s no reason for me to stay here anymore.” She wasn’t sure where she’d go, but it might be nice to see the world when she wasn’t on a manhunt.

He spluttered, “But if it’s not us, then who is it?!”

She waved her hand vaguely, “You’ll figure it out.” Even if he wasn’t in love with her the way he was with Katara, he was still emotionally attached. Since he had yet to confront his own feelings, she realized this break up came as quite the shock. But he’d get over it. There was someone who would help him. She was almost positive that he’d go running into her arms momentarily.

Mai was truthful when she told Azula she loved Zuko more than she feared her.

Zuko had done a lot of growing up, had gotten so much stronger; she was proud of him for it. But Mai had to come to terms with the fact that Zuko still feared Azula because of her capacity to hurt Katara. He still feared Azula because he loved Katara.

Katara was so precious to him, he would put his life on the line to save her — he already had.

That pained Mai to think about, it cut her to the core, it stung so, so badly to be the second choice. But there was nothing she could do.

How could she compete? The difficulties of a Water Tribe girl being with a Fire Nation boy obviously didn’t matter. They would make it work.

Conceding defeat to someone like Katara should not be so hard. Bowing out was the graceful thing to do. She wasn’t the type to make a dramatic scene anyway.

But when she finally walked away, she dug her fingernails deep into her own palms despite it all. Loving Zuko was not so easy to let go of.

She returned months later with a slew of Kyoshi Warriors to celebrate Zuko’s birthday and found that Katara had never left. She squeezed Ty Lee’s hand to say I told you so.

The girl in pink gazed up at her in wonder, “You’re so good at predicting!”

Mai muttered, “Not that hard when it’s right in front of you.” They were clearly not shy with the displays of affection now that they were officially a couple.

Ty Lee sighed in contentment when they walked into the palace, “The auras in here are so much happier than they were a few years ago, it feels great!” She turned to poke her girlfriend’s side, “Yours too.”

“Don’t make me blush,” she murmured.

“That’s why you like wearing the Kyoshi Warrior makeup, huh? But I know, I always know.” Her tone was light, but it was true. Out of everyone, it was Ty Lee who knew her best, who always stood by her. It was Ty Lee who dealt with her dreariness after breaking up with Zuko, and it was Ty Lee who gave her time and space when she hesitated to step into a new relationship. And Ty Lee was the one who made it worthwhile.

“How are you feeling though?” Ty Lee regarded the other girl carefully. Zuko had been part of her life for so long, it was no simple feat to move on from him.

“The usual, I’m fine.” Her emotions had always been low key and thankfully, no jealous beast reared its ugly head upon seeing Zuko and Katara together. Really, she was fine.

Ty Lee nodded in satisfaction. She tilted her head thoughtfully, “They look happy, too. I’m happy for them!” Ty Lee might’ve felt it more acutely, but Mai agreed. It was a good feeling, light and sweet and satisfactory. She hoped Azula could feel even a fraction of this relief in her own life.

It had taken a while for all of them to get to this point, but it was worth it and they were all good. If that wasn’t something to celebrate, she didn’t know what was.

She finally walked up to him. “Happy birthday, Zuko.”

“Thank you, Mai. It’s good to see you.”

She nodded at him. It really was good to see him so happy. It didn’t hurt anymore. Letting go of each other didn’t necessarily mean that they had lost.

A/N: I chose Mai over aang bc I feel like her quiet nature is just more observant and aang is babie. Also I don’t hate Maiko lol I just. Ship zutara :P I don’t really ship aang with anyone, so he’s j chillin, he has his own happy ending everything is fine

Please let me know what you think about this one >_< I have a few other zutara things in my wips, plus of course I need to keep updating my sasusaku arranged marriage story, so some of those will come out eventually. Couldn’t keep up with zutara week or ss month but its ok!

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #yeah we italicized the oh so what #mailee #atla #fan fic #my writing

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kcystotheheart · 4 years

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{🍎} I don’t feel like i got all of them but MASSIVE TAG DROP/DUMP

♡ Home is where the Heart is... {IC}

✧ I foresee the end of all I know... {Ava}

#☪︎I'm howling with the wolves {Fida}

#✦ Breaking Traditions {Sub Alt V.} ⚔︎

#☮︎You are the future; the hope of this world... {Hope}

#♟Hidden from the rest of the World… Until now {Wandering V.} ✧

#🍎of someone's eye {Mun}

#✎ We may feel out of place; but we fit together so perfectly... {X Ventus} #♔♡ Eventually we all return to it... Kingdom Hearts {S A V E D} #⚖︎ I will keep a just and fair eye... {Invi} #♘ They look to me for Guidance... {Ira} #Heartless; Dusks; Unversed? All the same {Anon} #❥ ANSWERED

#✎ He's a work in progress and that's what matters! {Vanitas/tenebrxsus}

#✎ The Light to my Darkness; he makes up what I lack... {X Vanitas}

#✧ He may be all brawn; but he has the biggest heart {Aced/ursaced}

#✧ You wouldn't hurt me; I know... {X Aced} #✦ The Beginning of it all… {Past V.} ♙ #➳ All right; No more playing around! {Hayner} #♡ It's time to strike {Open Starter} #♔ Beyond the realms... {OOC} #♥︎ I'll find my way... {Riku} #✎ Let's make a promise; To hold each other through it all {X Riku} #♤ I won't fade away so easily! {Lingering Remnant!Vanitas} #♠︎ Different from the rest... {Springy/Hareraiser} #♥︎ Once a Somebody... now a Nobody {Nobody V.} ♤ #✦ A little Generosity never hurt nobody~ {Cari} #✦ He thinks he's sooo good; but I know he's bad~ {Indus/ursaced} #✦ Momma I'm in love with a criminal; I'm the bad guy duh~ {X Indus} #♡ We'll never let the darkness consume us... {Queue}

🎲 May Lady Luck be on your side~ {Fortune} 💘 No matter what happens i’ll always be by your side {Faith} ⚔️ That was undeniable proof that we totally owned you lamers! {Seifer} ⌨️ Cracking the {Code} 🌱Rough around the edges by soft on the inside [Jagged} 🌿 My Strength will help support them… {Aced} 🌟 I will always help the weak {Starlight} 🍃I’ll sweep you up and leave your head spinnin’! {Wind} 🛡 I will always defend them {Keeper} 🃏 Care to take a Gamble? {Luxord/Ordul} 🎵I can drop a beat {Demyx/Dyme} 🎼 Let me play a song for you~ {Arpeggio}

⚠︎ You make me feel things I thought were lost {X Lauriam} ♟ More alike than you know {Rei/solaimaginem} ✎ Even after all this time… we’re connected. {Terra/willfulwayfarer} ✎ We’ll find new secrets to discover… together! {Pence/dxgstreet} ✎ I want to capture this moment {X Pence} ➸✮ Blessed or Cursed with magic that runs within him {Magia} #🎐My Lazy Companion {Sir Snugglesopholis the Flood} #♝ I will prove my worth... {Xionort} #𝒳 No one will know... {Subject X V.} ⭑ #No longer Lost {Naminé; Vanitas & Repliku } #✎ We've had tough pasts but we can move forward {Aiden/lethargic-hunter} #♟We've cut our own strings and now we're free {Xion & Repliku} #Made a sacrifice {Repliku} #Always busy saving everyone else... {Aqua} #☯︎ Disciplinary Committee {Fuu; Seifer & Rai} #yOU leFT mE... {Nightmare Chirithy}

#Why does everything involve running? {Pence}

#Not your Typical Princess... {Kairi}

#Fun and Playful; Strong and Powerful {Ventus}

#♠︎ A little noisy... {Skitters/Flood}

#☓ Always watching; always seeing~ {Master of Masters}

#⭑ How bright is the future? {Skuld}

#♚ Stuck in Between Worlds... {Lingering V.} ♤

#✨I'll learn to use my magic for good {Apprentice V.} ✎

#✎ He understands me like no one else does {Max/pageofgoof}

#🍀I've got a present too; for all of us! {Olette}

#He once wandered the darkness seeking light; only to find he was the light {Riku}

#His smile brings about other people's happiness {Sora}

#👁‍🗨If only I could stand in her light... {Ava/verumheart}

#👁‍🗨If I could begin to be; half of what you think of me I'd do about anything {X Ava}

#🍀She sits by the Seashore {Kairi/thalassicradiance}

#✎ I'll never forget you; promise? {X Sora}

#♜ We all have our Roles to Play... {Foreteller V.} ♠︎

#♗ I have made mistakes & have more regrets than you could imagine {Master Eraqus}

#One of the strongest wielders there is {Terra}

#🎐My lovely little Pearl... {Kairi/thalassicradiance}

#♡ Something that simply resonates with me... {Aesthetic}

#➦ Portal Time {Shooter}

#➥ Eagle Eyes {Sharp}

#🌪Whispers on the Wind {Gale}

#♤ The Nobody that never was... {Kuxir}

#🎐When things are tough; I'll always welcome you home... {Ansem/afoolelopedindarkness}

#✦ I have to complete my role... {Sacrificed V.} ✧

#♡♔ Kingdom FARTS {Crack}

#♟No longer just a vessel... {Xion}

#♣︎ No one would miss me... And yet... {Roxas}

#☀︎ I always keep my promises... {Axel}

#⌁ I have to uncover the truth... {Gula}

#⚠︎ I will find a way to rewrite my Fate {Brain}

#☆⭒ A lost little Star {Strelitzia}

#♚ The Darkness has consumed us… {Alt V.} ♥︎

#{Headcanons}

#☁︎ Where there's rain; there's a storm {Rain}

#🌸As Pretty as a Flower but twice as Dangerous {Song}

#✴︎ May the Tears of Heaven hear my call... {Sterling}

#❅ Her Colours are a reflection of who she is {Aurora}

#✵ Hear my prayer O'Morning Star {Ivory}

#♾You'll never hear their name on the wind... {No Name}

#⚡️The Eye of the Storm {Tempest}

#✑ You write down your feelings on paper {Memoire}

#☆⭒ A Light in the Dark... {Roxas/aftrliight}

#👁‍🗨 It's a heavy burden to carry... {Luxu}

#♥︎ He has every right to be mad at me; but i had to do it {Roxas/caelumobscura}

#♥︎ Twilight and Dawn... What an interesting combination {X Roxas}

#☘︎Oh Look- Nope it's just them... {Dani}

#♣︎ There's just something about him that i hate... and i love {X Riku}

#✎ You remember me; the way I remember you {X Roxas}

#☆⭒ He gives me the courage I need; she is always so kind... {X Roxas}

#☆⭒ Let's go to the garden... {Lauriam/lordofoblivion}

#✘ There is always something worth fighting for... {Kohaku}

#♡ No longer just a Copy... {Repliku/Kouki}

#⚙︎Just because I'm not a 'True' Keyblade doesn't mean I can't kill you {Void}

#♥︎ You and I; were intertwined from the start... {X Kairi}

#♡ These will make anyone laugh! {Memes}

#✬ Here to help! {Chirithy}

#🌼You'll never learn from your mistakes if you don't make them {Ayaka/Roxas' mom}

#♔♡ The Mark of a Master~ {P R O M O}

#✿ Thinking of you wherever you are... {Hana/Sora's Mom}

#♤☆ When the Light embraced the Dark... {Mending Hearts V.} ★♠

#✎ He wants to break the mold {Roxas/serendimpetus}

#🗝🖤The Kingdom's Protector and the Original Blade {Chi}

#♔ Mirrored Reflections; Two in the Same {Twin V.} ♡

#★ I'll be there to hide your light when you need it {Dusk}

#♻︎ I'm not even the real thing...And yet in my soul it says otherwise {Soul}

#✩*~ I'll unlock the mysteries of the world {Ephemer}

#♠︎ Made completely out of Darkness {Vanitas}

#✩*~ We'll meet where the darkness meets the light {X Vanitas}

#➳ Skateboard tricks and Sea Salt Icecream... {X Roxas}

#♡ Let's line up the pieces... Together {Main V.} ♔

#❁ He'll always be my little Sprout... {Kasumi/Riku's mother}

#❁ To trust or not to trust is the question... {Xemnas/potestasaeterna}

#♘ He trusts me to look after everyone; but who's going to look after him? {X Master}

#♘ Always one step ahead... or two- or three {Master/masterxmasters}

#☾ The path between Night and Day... {Dawn}

#♡ A Watchful eye... {Dash Commentary}

#☯︎ Total Annihilation {Fuu}

#✎ Don't forget me... {Naminé}

#☄️ I will always rise up from the Ashes {Libra}

#🔥Better watch out because I always bounce back {Ember}

#💥I will burn Eternally {Flame}

#♕ Together we'll protect the world! {Kiki}

#♛ We'll free their hearts and consume the world in darkness... {Heart!Kiki}

#🍨Not just a sweet treat~ {Sweetie}

#♜ I'll protect you from the Shadows {Oblivion}

#♖ Just follow my Light {Oathkeeper}

#♥︎ No matter the Nightmare; I'll be there {X Ventus}

#♠︎ A little noisy... {Skitters/Flood}

#🎐When you feel it in your heart; you know that your home {Mitsuki/Kairi's Grandma}

#❁ He's my stubborn Rock. {Roxas/aftrliight}

#💥She rises with the moon {Luna/verumheart}

#♧ Even in your dreams... {Dream Eater V.} ♥︎

#🍡 Cheeky Cheel {Leche}

#❦ There's more to Light than meets the eye {Young Eraqus}

#❦ And that's checkmate I win; Hold on it's still my turn {X Young Xehanort}

#The Copycat Trio {Repliku; Vanitas and Xion}

#Created with a purpose {Vanitas}

#🐶Watch out for the Mad Dog~ {Mady}

#➸✮ Reliable and Sturdy as the Shield he carries {Aegis/verumrook}

#➸✮ I shouldn't feel this way but I do... And I don't want to stop {X Aegis}

#✘ ...I will protect his light with my life... {Artemis/keyfamilia}

#✘ I don't know what he sees in me... but i'm grateful {X Artemis}

#🗝🖤A shroud of Mystery and Darkness {Master of Masters/eyesofparoxysm}

#🗝🖤The one who compliments me; who truly understands {X Master of Masters}

#✧ He's a good listener and a good friend {Luxu/gravitasfatum}

#✎ What did I do to deserve you...? {Riku/darkheartedprince}

#♔♡ It rests now within us all... {Drabble}

#💚As playful as a breeze; but as strong as a gale wind {Ventus}

#💫Not even the Night Sky could contain her Light... {Astraea}

#🍏A Bad Apple spoils the bunch {Negative Thoughts}

#☀︎ Set me ablaze; start a fire in me {X Terra}

#☀︎ He's my pillar when I'm not strong {Terra/willfulfwayfarer}

#🎐Just like the Stars; He will burn long after... {Yen Sid/omnipotentmxster}

#☀︎ Never expected to fall for a flower {X Marluxia}

#☀︎ Every Flower has it's thorns and he's full of them {Marluxia/lordofoblivion}

#✿ My Little Sparrow {Sora/lightheartedwarrior}

#❁ My Little Sprout {Riku/darkheartedprince}

#🎐If we keep each other in our hearts; we'll always be strong {Young Mitsuki}

#🎐The Stars align when he smiles... {Young Yen Sid/omnipotentmxster}

#⚚ I'm sending a message to you and I hope that it makes it through {Hermod}

#⭑ He could light the sky with his colours {Sora/valorxdrive}

#⭑ He's my knight and I'm his princess {X Sora}

#⭑ We both just wanted a friend... {Blaine/virusplanted}

#⭑ The future may be uncertain; but I'm certain of us {X Blaine}

#🧶Tying the knot {Married V.}

#♔ In another World; another Time or another Place {AU V.} ♡

#⚖︎She moves with the beauty and grace of her namesake {Aqua/theheartstreasure}

#⚖︎I certainly don't know what I did to deserve you; but i'm grateful {X Aqua}

#⌁ The only one I'll always trust {Ava/starshold}

#❀ Careful the Flowers have ears {Foxglove}

#☆⭒ He's my bookworm... {Blaine/virusplanted}

#☆⭒ One day I saw him there and couldn't help but gravitate towards him {X Blaine}

#♔ A World without Magic... {Modern V.} ♡

#🎐An old friend and fellow Master {Eraqus/eraqus-the-defender}

#❦ I wish I was enough to keep you from the Darkness... {Young Xehanort/iuvienis}

#🌕A place where all hearts are one... {Kingdom Hearts}

#🔮The Mistress of Darkness {Maleficent}

#🐚Overcame the Impossible {Maryllis/Kairi's Mother}

#🌊I will do my duty to protect the people {Nalani/Destiny Islands Mayor}

#🥀Poison runs through their veins {Vera}

#✩*~ He's the smartest guy I know {Brain/virusplanted}

#✩*~ We'll always be connected; no matter where we fly too {X Brain}

#🐚His Majesty and My King {Ansem/afoolelopedindarkness}

#🐚Two halves of a whole {X Ansem The Wise}

#✩*~ Flowers can be strong so long as you let them {Lauriam/lordofoblivion}

#🐚My Precious Treasure {Kairi/thalassicradiance}

#🐚Like Mother like daughter {Maryllis and Kairi}

#🎶Listen to my Melody {Maestro}

#Before Summer Vacation is over; we should go to the beach! {Twilight Town Gang}

#♘ More important than he realizes {Kage/thechessboard}

#✩*~ I use to think Dandelions were just weeds; I think they're beautiful {X Lauriam}

#📓Don't always believe what you see... {Lexicon}

#🌹Strong and Elegant {Rose}

#⚠︎ Infuriating and yet... He's Mi Rosa {Lauriam/rxsoideae}

#✧ She's as strong as she is beautiful {Aqua/theheartstreasure}

#✧ She makes me feel like a princess; she gives me hope {X Aqua}

#✎ We will always have each other's backs {Naminé and Aiden}

#☆⭒ Wallflower friends {Luxu and Strelitzia}

#The Darkness gave us purpose... {Dark Repliku; Vanitas & Xionort}

#Let's go to the beach {Axel; Xion & Roxas}

#⚔︎Childhood rivals to lovers {X Hayner}

#⭑★ Fallen Hearts turn to Dark Stars… {Darkling V.} ❤︎♥︎

#⭑ ...Unknowingly My Protector... {Braig/freeshooterxig}

#🍀We're stronger than we look {X Kairi}

#♟He isn't all darkness... {Vanitas/unversedshadow}

#✧ My precious Snowflake Dandelion... {Theo/keytosolidarity}

#✎ She was my light; He was my knight {X Repliku}

#//i really hope i got most if not all of them #//but i feel like i'm still missing some;;#//do not click unless you wanna be scrolling for awhile

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clairelutra · 5 years

Note

Dragon AU with Akirann maybe? Where Arsene and Carmen/personas are dragons! (the rest of the PT? also persona dragons??) AND/OR Role Reversal Lunoct would be neat (I hope you have fun with these!)

send me an au for a short fic

ty!! :D

…it’s an odd fusion of pern and inheritance cycle, really

Akira wasn’t saying it was awkward to stand next to Ann Takamaki as they registered their dragons for a mating flight, but it was something close.

The sheer number of other Riders attempting to murder him with their eyes was really something, especially with Arsene radiating smugness through their soulbond and Carmen’s proud, hungry lust echoing from down the metaphorical hall.

He wasn’t exactly surprised that Carmen had chosen Arsene for her first flight (he was the squad’s leader, after all), nor was he too surprised that Ann had agreed to it (they were good friends, and Ann had always valued trust in her relationships), but it was still pretty surreal to walk into Igor’s office and ask for the papers to make it official.

“So! Um… Thanks… thanks for doing this for me,” Ann murmured as they waited to be summoned. “Carmen’s so picky I’m not sure what I would have done if you said no.”

“All out of the goodness of my heart,” he murmured back, dry as cracked scales. Did she think he got nothing out of this? There was a very good reason that most of the guys in this room would kill to be him.

(In the back of his head, Arsene’s smugness got louder.)

She laughed quietly, then trailed off into a sigh. “Seriously, though. Carmen was refusing to consider anyone else so hard I really thought we might be doing this alone.“

Carmen broke into the conversation with the mental equivalent of a snort and a distant, I’m certainly not the only ‘picky’ one around here.

Ann flushed.

“…I’m flattered,” said Akira. That wasn’t quite the word for the acrobatics in his stomach or the five-alarm heat of the thought that he’d been among her first and only choices, but it also was something close.

She sighed again, ruefully this time, her blush gorgeously accentuating the already-gorgeous lines of her face. “Ooooof course you are.”

He tilted his head in silent question.

“W-well!” she blurted, now adorably awkward and alarmed. Wide blue eyes danced to him and then away, her fingers curling in the collar of her Rider leathers. “I-I mean… Not much you can do about it, I guess, I just… thought my first flight would be a little more romantic.”

Most of the Riders he knew had a much more utilitarian view of these things—it was the norm to find a temporary partner for your bi-yearly mating flights until you had a mate—but somehow… it fit that Ann Takamaki would break the mold.

“Roses? Fireworks?” he asked, not bothering to disguise his interest.

“Well, those are nice,” she agreed, smiling wistfully. “But really just… I don’t know. Someone who loves me for me, I guess.” She looked down at the sheaf of papers in her lap and ran her thumb over the empty ‘yes’ checkbox for Will this flight establish you and your chosen partner as a matepair?

Done, said Arsene to Akira, sotto voce and knowing.

Akira shoved his dragon out of his mindspace.

“A-again!” Ann blurted, endearingly embarrassed. “Not really something you can help, you know? It’s pretty silly idea anyway. Nobody really expects their first flight to be with their one and only, yeah?”

(I could be your one and only, flitted through Akira’s mind apropos of nothing, and he couldn’t even blame it on his dragon that time.)

“Well,” he said aloud, rather than dwell on the fact that this wasn’t nearly the first time he’d thought something like that. “Let’s start with the roses.”

“Huh?”

He nodded at the papers. “We have three weeks before the flight. Let me make up the difference.”

“Y-you don’t have… to…” She trailed off when she met his eye, her own going wide and soft.

He’d by lying if he said his heart hadn’t lurched for that look.

Her fading flush darkened yet again.

(How many times now? He could count but he was too busy glowing.)

“…Okay.”

—

And so three weeks passed in a parade of dates, from roses to fireworks to late night rendezvous in flower fields and mid-morning brunches in uptown.

Arsene only judged him a little bit and Carmen actually helped, which Akira was equal parts suspicious of and grateful for, and by the time the day itself rolled around, He’d been forced to admit, if only to himself, that maybe he’d fulfilled Ann’s initial wish too—there weren’t many other explanations for how or why her mere presence turned up the color contrast on the whole world.

(It always had, and that blend of overwhelming peace and quiet thrill was nothing new.

Dammit.

There was a reason he tried not to think about how lovely she was or just how many people wanted her.)

Night came all the same, and if his part in the lovemaking was a little too fervent and a little too honest, then no one was in any state to comment on it.

They fell asleep together with fingers intertwined, and Akira himself wasn’t in a state to question that either…

Until the next morning, when he found his veins alight with a new bond singing through them, Ann’s rose-petal-and-ember presence pressing up against the edge of his consciousness just as surely as her naked form was pressed against his side.

Neither dragon—neither of the two that he could hear equally well now—had any apologies to offer.

This is a mess, he mentally muttered at the both of them. Summoning any stronger negative emotion was beyond him right now.

I do believe someone had to do it, was all Arsene said, normally-wily Carmen radiating contentment behind him.

Akira was about to protest, he really was, but then Ann half woke up, blinked at him blearily a few times, and then sighed herself into a puddle against him, mentally, emotionally, and physically.

After that, the only objection he could make was, …Now the paperwork’s all wrong.

Arsene laughed his draconic laugh and nudged Akira back to sleep.

#akirann #renann #shuann #persona 5 #p5 #my fic #hallie memes #thenoraninja #rushed as hell oops >.<

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gerbiloftriumph · 5 years

Photo

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

6/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)

~*~*~

The goblin ropes were hard, scratchy, and tight. He clutched at the arms of his throne, twisting, but he couldn’t free himself, no matter how much he struggled and pulled and fought. He was alone in the throne room, bound to his own seat of office, ropes biting into his wrists and arms and shoulders, and he yelled for someone, anyone, to come, please.

The far door creaked open agonizingly slowly, and though the ropes kept him at attention already, he stiffened. His fingers curled into fists and he swallowed, trying to slow his panicked breathing, to stop the little thrills of fright shivering across his skin.

Wente edged into the throne room, bowing and scraping and anxiously tying and untying the knot holding his apron in place.

Graham sighed, relieved, and sagged against his restraints. “Wente! Stars, Wente! I am so—” But he hesitated, a twist in his gut warning him that something was wrong.

“Your Royal Highness, most noble sir, I, I don’t mean to intrude, but, ah, it’s…oh dear.” Wente kept ducking and bowing, not daring to look at Graham for more than a fraction of a second at a time. Why? “Please, Sire, I’m sorry, but I can’t. The shop. I can’t. Taxes. Er. I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I know it’s for the kingdom. But I can’t. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t even be here. Um.”

“Wente?” Graham tried to lean forward, but the ropes had no slack at all. “What?”

“I can’t. I don’t. That is. Maybe an extension. I know you’ve given me so many, but maybe just one more. I can make it work with one more. Definitely.”

“Wente, please!”

“Bramble’s pregnant, you see. So, it’s. Not. Not her fault. The guards said it was for her safety. Until the taxes were paid. Not that I, uh, think it’s a lie. I would never doubt. But she can’t be locked up, sir. Not because of me, and the money. I promise, you’ll get every coin. I just can’t…now.” He edged closer a fraction of an inch, head low.

“Wente, release me this instant!”

That finally broke through the nervous chatter, but it didn’t help. Wente flinched back and collapsed onto the carpet in a low bow, nose pressed against the floor, and said nothing more, and didn’t move again.

Graham stared, dread settling over him like a suffocating blanket. “Wente? Can you hear me?”

No response. Wente shivered in terror. If Graham held his breath, he could just hear the baker muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” endlessly.

And then, slowly at first but suddenly an inferno, he melted into ash and smoke, like he’d been struck down with dragon fire, and there was nothing left, nothing at all—one moment Wente was there, and the next he was gone, forever.

Graham shrieked, rocking back against the throne, but the ropes wouldn’t let him move, wouldn’t let him look away, wouldn’t, wouldn’t—

But almost immediately he froze, scream bitten off, as Amaya stumbled forward, her hair half burned away. She yelled that the dragon was at the gate, that he needed to hurry up and do something about it, but not send her back, no, gods please don’t send her back, she would do anything, anything he wanted, just please, she’d just escaped, don’t send her back.

“I would never—”

The Hobblepots clamored for attention, wailing that there was nothing they could do, that the fields were burned up and that they had nothing to give, and then they were gone too, and the royal guards scattered, and the whole room was going up in smoke and flame, embers flying off the curtains in blazing orange and yellow, and Graham struggled against the throne but no one could hear him.

“No, wait—”

Bramble cowered in chains, and the Merchant huddled in a corner clutching his unicorns close, and the light was fading from Triumph’s eyes, and Daventry’s citizens were clawing at the smoldering carpets, asking him to let them live, and Graham pleaded with them, and apologized again and again and again for not helping them, not doing what they wanted him to do, but no one heard him, and he couldn’t free himself, and the throne room continued to fill with smoke and ash, and he heard the dragon roar.

“Please, I don’t know what to do!”

His voice echoed in the sudden perfect silence. The room was empty except for gathering smoke curling around the pillars.

He could feel a presence next to him, and he twisted but he still couldn’t see, and out of the stillness he heard Manny’s low chuckle and a whisper, “Ahh. You’re not doing a very good job, are you?”

Manny slipped from behind the throne and stood before him, taller than expected, taller than he should have been, armor streaked with dragon ash. He stepped closer, studied Graham, and then punched, his gauntleted hand driving deep into Graham’s stomach and forcing all his air out in a wheezing gasp. He jabbed him again in the chest, high and hard, and Graham coughed and spluttered. Again and again, harder and higher, whispering, “All hail the king” with each blow.

The last jab blazed through his throat, ice cold and burning hot at the same time, harder than even an armored hand should have managed, and Graham couldn’t breathe at all, and he looked down, and found a purple-shafted arrow sticking through him, pinning him to his throne, and he looked up, frantic, as the ash and shadows pressed around him, vision blurring with tears of pain and terror, and he couldn’t make out the details on the shape in the door, not really, but he knew who stood there. Knew the slope of disappointment in those familiar broad shoulders. Knew the disappointment dripping off the arrow, like blood. Like death.

He screamed.

~*~*~

He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and the nightmare shattered like glass. He found himself lying tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, staring up at the royal bed’s canopy. His throat burned, and his chest ached, and he tried to free a hand to rub where the arrow had hit (no, there was no arrow, it was a dream, stop, breathe, please, breathe), but his arms were twisted and pinned to his sides. He’d tossed and turned so much that the sheets had bound him up, and he was too weak to fight them back.

The door slammed open, bouncing against the bookcase behind it, and one of the guards skidded in, boots sliding along the wooden floor. “Your Majesty! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” No3 stared at him for a second, then whirled back to the door and shouted, “Distress! Someone get in here! Distresssss!”

More aches and pains started announcing their presence, like they’d been anxiously waiting for him to wake up to be acknowledged. He tried to sit up. Couldn’t. His lank, sweaty hair was in his eyes, and he tried to toss his head and achieved absolutely nothing but a sharp stab of agony in his neck for his trouble. There was no hiding this, no pretending everything was fine. Not now.

“Help,” he whispered, ragged. His voice sounded wrong, deep with fatigue and pain. “Please.”

No3 was talking to someone he couldn’t see. “Are the Hobblepots awake?”

“It’s four in the morning,” No1 said doubtfully.

“Check the kitchen first,” No3 said. “Be willing to bet anything. Get them in here, quick!” A brief pause, the sound of clattering footfalls fading down the hallway, and then she said to Graham, overly loud in her fright, “Your Majesty, we’re getting help now. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Graham tried to acknowledge her with something dignified, but it came out like a choked sob.

“What can I do?” She hovered nervously at his side. He shifted his shoulders deeper into the pillow, squirming and trying to free an arm. “Here, let me.” She gently started unwrapping the tangled sheets.

He sighed and instantly regretted it; his throat burned, like he’d eaten firepeppers raw by the handful.

“Is everything okay in here?” Larry asked from the door.

Kyle peeked over his shoulder. “Thought we heard a distress call. Graham? Er. Your Highness, I mean. Highness Graham? You…you look awful.” He rushed in and tripped over the bed pedestal, overbalanced, and bounced on the mattress.

No3 glanced up. “If you’re going to be in here, you’re going to help!”

“What can we do?” Kyle asked. “He looks near death.”

No3 had managed to pull Graham into a sitting position to untangle the sheets tied around his chest, but at that remark, everyone froze, even Kyle, and No3’s nerveless hands let go of Graham, and without her support he collapsed helplessly back into the pillows with a squeak of surprise.

“No no no no no, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound like it did, I’m sorry,” Kyle wailed, clapping a hand over his mouth so that everything he said sounded muffled.

Larry desperately tried to fix things, touching Kyle’s shoulder and saying, “Of course you didn’t,” in an uneasy falsetto. He kept babbling, “But, I mean, it’s all okay. If we needed someone to rule temporarily, Whisper could d—"

Every head snapped in Larry’s direction. Larry paused, realized what his mouth had gone off saying, and backpedaled with a lame, “—efinitely not do it. Definitely not.”

“I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere,” Graham managed, propping himself up on one elbow. For a moment, anyway, before his elbow wobbled and gave out, dropping him into the pillows. He tried to speak again but was interrupted by his own terrible, damp coughing. He scrabbled at his aching throat, wheezing.

“Yeah, for now,” Kyle mumbled distantly, and then, eyes wide, pressed both hands over his mouth again.

No3 bristled and flung a pillow at Kyle. “If you’re going to act like this, you’re going to leave. Both of you.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me, I’m so sorry Graham, I don’t mean it to sound like that, you know I don’t, I’m sorry—but,” and this was a hastily muttered aside to No3, “I mean, look at him!”

“I am. That’s why I sent for the ‘pots!”

“Oh. Um. Do you…think they’ll actually be helpful?”

Graham’s throat moved from firepepper-burn to swallowed-several-cups-of-broken-glass, and he could feel a headache kicking up on top of everything else.

Nos 1 and 2 were next in, saying that they’d found the Hobblepots and that the alchemists were on the way and what could they, the royal guards, do to help in the meantime? Tea? Coffee? Pancakes? Fluffed pillows? A teddy bear? A large and well-meant hug? They crowded around the bed, and all went rather quiet when they saw their pale king awash in sweat, laboriously drawing breath and clawing at his own neck. No one seemed quite sure what to say or do, and everyone stood around helplessly, eyeing each other with increasing apprehension while Graham shivered in fever-soaked blankets.

Muriel came bustling in, fire and fury, Chester a few paces behind. She seemed to be in the middle of a long, angry rant to the air: “—and you didn’t say anything? Do you have any idea what could have happened? That noble attitude you’ve got is going to get you killed!” She quieted when she saw the little crowd at the bedside, but only for a second. “Everyone back up, let the poor thing have a moment to himself.” She started pushing people aside with more strength than a little old lady starved in a cell for a week and a half ought to have. “King boy, tell me. How are you feeling?”

“Not fine.” His voice cracked around the words as he fought back another cough.

“Little wonders. What’s wrong, specifically?”

“Everything.”

She clicked her tongue and put her hand against his forehead. Frowning, she caught the skin under his eye with her thumb, pulled, looked at his pupils, and said sharply, “Open your mouth and say ‘aaaaaah.’”

“Gaaahhrgh.” He winced and clapped a hand to his throat.

“Mm-hmm. And deep breath, deep as you can,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest.

He tried, but it felt shallow. She didn’t look pleased. “Again.” After the second, equally pathetic try, she went for his wrist and felt for a pulse. “Chesterrrr,” she trilled.

“Hang on. You wouldn’t believe the books in here! This one shows how to catch a dragontoad without getting burned! I’ve never been able to do that!”

“Chester Hobblepot, are you reading? Get over here now!”

“Yes, dear.” He shuffled forward, stuffing the book into some unknown pocket deep within his robes with a perfectly innocent smile.

“Double check my work,” she said, inspecting Graham’s fingers for swelling.

Chester started to reach out to rest on Graham’s forehead but pulled back sharply. “You could fry my breakfast egg on your face, my lad!” he said cheerfully. “Might we get you to hold a teapot for a moment to boil it? I’d love some chamomile. You might, too.”

Graham groaned and stared pleadingly at the canopy above him for some divine intervention.

“All right, all right, just a joke,” Chester said, doing much the same motions that Muriel had a moment earlier, though with more poking and prodding around Graham’s ears and nose. “Interesting,” he said to his wife under his breath. “Could get ugly.”

“Could get ugly?” Kyle said, leaning over Graham’s prone body. “You mean this isn’t ugly?” His hands pressed into the bruises on Graham’s legs. Even through the blankets, the sharp pain made Graham yelp. Kyle shrank back, apologizing frantically (though without understanding why this time).

“You haven’t seen anything in my sick room if you think this is as bad as it can get,” Muriel said, darkly. She eyed the spot where Kyle had pressed against Graham with suspicion. “When did this start?”

Graham swallowed. “Yesterday…? Before helping Bramble. Didn’t hurt. Just a little dizzy.”

“Well. You’re lucky, at least.”

“Lucky…?”

“Imagine if you were still locked away when this fever kicked up properly.”

He blinked, horrified realization clicking into place.

“Those stressful conditions. You said your cell was constantly wet, yes? It’s a miracle it didn’t start earlier. Now.” She looked at him, shaking her head. “We need to move you, for just a minute. We can’t leave you in these damp sheets. You all should have gotten fresh linens out already,” she added, glaring at the guards. “Haven’t you ever tended someone before?”

Graham tried to get his elbows underneath him so he could sit up, but his body had dealt with more than enough in the last week and refused to listen to him. Every sprain, scrape, and bruise clamored for attention.

Impatient, No1 scooped him up with ease, and Graham dangled in his arms like a melodramatic painting subject. The guard’s armor was cool against his skin, and Graham leaned his feverish cheek against the man’s breastplate with a sigh of relief.

Around him, though, the room took on a decidedly tense atmosphere. Guards 1, 2, and 4 had seen and gently washed the scrapes and cuts from the tips of his curls to the bottom of his toes and were unaffected, but 3, Kyle, Larry, and the Hobblepots were staring, openmouthed. Graham cracked open an eye and blearily considered what had them rattled.

His bare legs hung over the guard’s arm; he realized that his men had, rather than dressing him in his usual nightshirt and trousers, gone for just a long nightshirt. Which…okay, fair enough. He wouldn’t want to force an unconscious deadweight into anything more than that either. This shirt just reached his knees. Wouldn’t have normally raised any sort of comment but for the fact that his shins were covered with finger shaped bruises. Like he’d been gripped tightly by dozens of rock hard hands. Flipped upside down. Shaken. Nearly every night. For a week and a half. He deemed them less unpleasant than they’d been earlier—many were fading off into a rainbow of green and yellow instead of that awful purplish-black color. But the flickering firelight did sort of emphasize them a bit more than expected.

Muriel clicked her tongue angrily and pressed her own finger along some of the fresher marks. Graham sucked in a startled breath and she drew back. “Add some salve to the list,” she said to Chester. “We can get these healing faster, if we pull out a touch of that green ice scale.” She turned and clapped her hands. “Come on, it’s not that interesting. Get those sheets replaced, now.”

~*~*~

Graham sat on the edge of the freshly sheeted mattress, slumped against one of the royal guards sitting beside him for support, while No2 gently wrapped his legs in bandages to keep the green-tinted salve in place rather than staining the bedclothes. The icy medicine numbed the aches in his legs the moment it was applied, and he felt like he was floating away from his own bare toes.

No2 laughed quietly to himself as he knelt there. “Do you remember addendum 867530? Daily foot rub?”

Graham hesitated—it felt like months ago—then grinned. “Light touch, wasn’t it?”

In the corner of the room, Chester and Muriel were debating, checking vials, crushing leaves, mixing up gloppy looking ingredients. After a while, Muriel turned to No3 and said, “I need a cup of strong chamomile tea for His Majesty.”

Chester nodded sagely, muttering, “Told you all so.”

She glanced at him and added, with a trace of a smile, “And also a cup of hot chocolate for Chester.” Chester licked his lips and reached into his pocket. “Just hot chocolate,” Muriel snapped. “Not including whatever he’s about to hand you.” Chester withdrew his empty hand.

The guards folded Graham under fresh bedclothes, being careful not to jostle bruises and scrapes as they did so. Once the tea arrived, Muriel took Graham’s mug and turned her back to the room for a bit with it. Meanwhile, Chester accepted his hot chocolate with magnanimous grace and clambered up on the bed to drink it, bumping Kyle out of his way.

The chamomile didn’t look all that different once it was passed to Graham. Whatever Muriel had done to it hadn’t changed the look of it, though it did taste ever so slightly stronger of lavender than he would have liked. Too floral. He drained it, and the heat soothed his throat.

“And that will help you sleep,” she said, mostly to herself, as she took the mug back.

It took a beat before he realized what that meant. Panic swept in, sharp and hot. “No, wait!” He grabbed her hand, clutched it tight, knocked the mug away; it shattered on the floor, pieces rocking back and forth. “You can’t! No, please don’t let me sleep again. I don’t want to sleep. I can’t! You have to stop it!”

“Graham!” Startled, she looked to the others. No one else seemed capable of doing anything, afraid of speaking against a monarch no matter how sick he was. It just wasn’t something a royal guard did. The tips of her fingers were turning dark beneath his wretched grip. “You must sleep. It’s the best way for your body to heal.”

“But if I sleep…if I sleep…what if he comes back?”

“He?”

“I dreamed…” Graham forced the words past cracked lips, “I dreamed about Achaka.” The room seemed to grow perfectly still. “Please, I can’t. Don’t let me sleep. I can’t face him again.”

Muriel’s face softened, and she sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you? What happened?”

“He was so disappointed in me. I let him down. I failed. I couldn’t protect…I couldn’t protect anyone, and he, he shot, he shot....” His voice broke off.

“You didn’t let him down. You couldn’t ever let him down.”

“Because he’s dead, and I got him killed. It’s all my fault. It’s always been my fault.”

“No! Never think that. You have done more in these last days than anyone could imagine. He would be proud of you. He would never want to hurt you because of what you did to help us survive, Graham. He would be proud.”

A wave of dizziness washed over him in spite of his frustrations and fear, and Graham collapsed back into the pillows. The world was splitting apart into filmy, iridescent soap bubbles. They popped gently one by one, and the room dimmed with each lost bubble. He sank deeper, fingers slackening, but she caught up his hand in hers.

“Never, ever think that you let him down,” she said gently, rubbing the back of his hand. “No one could act with more bravery and compassion and wisdom in those caves. No one but you.”

Everything was going blurry, his friends fading off into ridiculous colors and shapes and disappearing, but he forced himself to focus on her, to bring her back into real shapes and real colors. He had to be sure. The Hobblepots were very old and very judgmental people, he remembered. They would tell the truth. “Muriel,” he whispered, desperate, slurred, sleepy. “Did I do all right?”

“King Edward could not have done better, Your Majesty. You protected Daventry magnificently. Now, you have to rest. We still need you, but right now, you’ve done enough. Sleep.”

And he did, slipping down beneath sheets and stars, and the nightmares held their peace.

~*~*~

She sank into the rocking chair. The last few weeks had taken their toll on her, and now that Graham was unconscious again, the flurry of activity over, she looked just as sunken and nearly as sick as he did. Chester was snoring already, snuggled against one of the pillows. Kyle and Larry were whispering if they should wake him or carry him to his own bed.

Muriel listened to the whistle in her monarch’s throat as he breathed. “I’d bet he’s contagious,” she said, as casual as an afterthought. As one, every single guard took three steps back from the bed. “We’ll need more of the frostleaf, sooner rather than later. Just under his tongue. It’ll melt. It’ll help with the wheezing.” She stretched. “Lots of it. Bramble’ll want some, too.” She rubbed her own throat. “And me, if I’m to be tending him.”

“Muriel, we can take care of him from here,” No1 said, gently.

“No, I don’t think you should. You mean well, but unless you get another healer in, I’m the best way to beat that fever before he goes delirious. Just bring in the rest of that list from the shop; I expect we’ll need it all soon. Delicately, now. Don’t go bruising leaves before it’s time to bruise ‘em.”

She eased herself to her feet, wobbled, and No1 took her arm to steady her. She smiled at him, but the smile disappeared again as she thought. “Someone’s got to stay and keep watch. If he starts to wake, you get me. He should be out for a few hours, but he’s a fighty little thing. Gonna be a pest, especially if he decides he can use them kingly orders to make you all let him out of this room before I say so. Which you won’t do. Matter of fact, you’ll not even let him get out of that bed before I personally and explicitly say it’s okay. No matter what he threatens, you’re going to keep him put because I can make threats too, and mine have more interesting consequences.” She eyed each guard in turn. “Think frogs and Chester,” she growled.

In unison, every guard agreed, stiff with terror.

“Fine,” she said, mostly to herself. “We’re all fine.” And the kingdom would be…well, more than fine, truly, with this man wearing the crown and leading them forward. They would be wonderful.

#King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #he's fine #ch2 #fic'ing

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nate-the-ok · 6 years

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Sugar Napkins Glass

One of my larger projects, written in a particular mood, then I got out of the mood. Lost interest. Its a time investment, fair warning

Sugar, Napkins, Glass: Chapter 1

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. The things sea air does to cream cheese.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. (Three more furious scraping sessions)

It was late evening on the isles of Costa Marco, and Greg Sattle was deeply contemplating how drowning actually felt as he psychologically held his nose and cleaned the day`s cream cheese stains from the floors of his seaside café, The Port Side. He certaintly never imagined himself as the owner of some cream-colored scene out of a Martha Stewart Magazine, but crazier things have been done for love. Well perhaps not, Greg thought to himself. Ships were launched. Hundreds, perhaps thousands have died. But no one surely would subject themselves to ten years of imprisonment in a coffee shop. Her name, as apt as names go, has changed over the years. First, it was Elizabeth. Then, it was Liz. Then it was Ellie. After that it was Mom. Now its…well there are a plethora of profanities on Costa Marco relating to nagging old sea hags.

As the sun set over the ocean waves, bubbling and rippling the light from a distance, inducing a trance-like state for all of the barely clothed onlookers, Greg scanned the beaches, reigning down his mighty judgement upon all of god`s creation.

“Perverts. Sicophants. Mankind is a disgusting thing. All of these people, living artificial lives in artificial clothes, with artificial personalities, having sex with each other and drinking and lazing about. The fat jiggling bipeds live meaningless lives, consuming and consuming and consuming. A colony of walruses lives with more honor”

While deep in his sociopathic rants, Greg`s only son and heir to his legacy, Samuel, sauntered over to his father.

“Hey uhh, dad”

Greg hated his son. He was positive that he was the dumbest person on the entire island. No, the entire planet. It wasn`t even that that bothered him. It was his stupid, rage inducing manner of speech. It was a cross between the calm, swaying way of the islanders, and a lifetime of listening to the worst music god ever created. It was like listening to a four year old whine about having wet himself for 23 years. There were many occasions where Greg would chuckle to himself as Sam stubbed his toe on a door, or got beat up by a gang of street thugs. Ah the glories of cosmic justice he thought to himself. Now he approaches, likely to ask for something, as all weak willed individuals do on a regular basis.

“Yes Sam?” Greg said with obvious disdain, mocking Sam`s imperceptiveness, and crying on the inside that his son would always be, that stupid.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to loan me like uh…fifty bucks?”

Another thing that bothered Greg about Sam. He had zero charisma. He came off as needy and useless as he actually was. The only job he could ever get, was washing dishes at the cafe, which somehow, he still showed up late for. You couldn`t send him to military school to straighten him out, because they`d probably kill him for being such an annoying little shit, and say it was an accident. It was that part, that he regretted that his son would die, that really bothered Greg. Why god? Why other than by blood relations should I care about this…

“What exactly for?” Greg retorted

“Um…Im taking a girl on a date and I uh…need some spending money”

It was here that Greg paused. Surely, with this small investment of mere material gains, perhaps this will finally change sam`s silly ways. Hopefully he falls in love with this girl, and eventually she breaks his heart, that always toughens up a man in the end. Good god was sam a virgin? It`s a distinct possibility, but how could he know? Sam never confided in Greg. Ever. What the hell. Maybe it`s worth a shot.

“Sure, here…consider it a bonus…actually it`s not a bonus you`re a terrible worker and if you weren`t my son i`d fire you”

“Thanks dad!” Sam replied with renewed elation, as he scurried out the door, hopping into the old convertible Greg had gave him for his nineteenth birthday. Another failed attempt at manning him up.

“Maybe im just a shitty parent” Greg said out loud to himself.

Maybe he`s a lot of shitty things. However, that`s not nearly the most important part of this story.

“Oh a whisky oh a danny, when will the whisky run dry?” Bellowed each member of the small crew. Caribbean lobsters were rare, but in recent years, their populations blossomed, for almost unfathomable reasons. Regardless, dozens of fishing companies cropped up around Costa Marco, looking to cash in on a commoditiy, which pound for pound, was more valuable than gold. Of this small crew of the “Sandy Boot”, there was Rook, the boats` captain. He was a truck driver, for more years than he cared to remember, or forget for that matter. When the sea called to him, he remembered childhood stories his grandmother told him, of sailors and pirates, of heroes, and most importantly, drunks. Those decades of sitting in the cab of a truck, passing by non-descript highway rest stops and meaningless landmarks gave him a hunger for a real culture, and companionship. Sure there was the occasional bar-room hookup, as many as a guy as old and as fat as him could get but…he wanted a friend. More than anything.

Rook did the song justice, and drained the last swig of whisky from the clear glass bottle. Happily giggling as he spun the thin aluminum wheel around in the cabin making a course for home, while the other members of the crew scoffed in sarcastic disappointment. The small lobster boat only cost the crew a collective fifteen grand to purchase and insure, but had already made them incredible returns. None felt the weight of that more than Trip, the crew`s most experienced fisherman, but also the poorest. You see, Trip was a local to Costa Marco. His ancestors were slaves, and each preceding generation were slaves. First to white men, then to oppressive governments, then to drugs, and finally, to the sea. Many of the ethnic locals to Costa Marco are fishermen. But not all of them were ever good fishermen. All of them, save for Trip. To anybody else, he was just another kid who knocked some poor girl up, and ruined the rest of his life, trying to take care of a kid. To Trip and Louisa, they were in paradise. Sure they lived in a small apartment by the docks. Sure they didn`t own a car, or even have a checking account. What they did have however, was the kind of love that we all refuse to believe is real, and a beautiful baby boy to match. Their life went as followed. Trip would get up early in the morning, and join the rest of the crew on the boat to fish. Louise would wake with the sunrise and feed their child, sipping tea and reading books, gossiping with her neighbors on the beach behind their home. As the sun went down, she would build a fire, and cook a meal of chopped fish and island fruits. When Trip returned, he would walk onto the beach, lay on the sand next to his wife, take his son in his arms, and they would laugh until the fire left their minds, and fell to embers. When the clock struck ten, the three of them would settle down to bed, and the process would begin again. I`d wager that at the time, since Trip had finally been able to bring in good money, they were the happiest people alive.

As that rusty old boat pulled into the docks, and Trip called to Louise, Margo was tying off ropes, and looking over cages that had been damaged, eager to repair them. She was a kind of inquisitive, thoughtful human being that had been completely ensnared by the mere concept of rope in general. She could not explain just how-hold on a second, a woman? On a boat? Believe it or not, yes. A woman on a boat. Perhaps it was because Rook`s guilty pleasure was staring at her ass when she pulled a cage up from the sea. Perhaps it was the fact that on Costa Marco, everyone was too laid back to care at all. In reality, it was the mutual understanding between workers, that if you wanted the money, you worked hard for it, and you weren`t a total bitch, then you could fish like anyone else. It was that kind of atmosphere that Margo really craved. The kind of togetherness and happiness that was alive in the isles of Costa Marco. She could walk the streets on a Friday night, and join any party she wanted. Smile with whoever she wanted, laugh with whoever she wanted, and drink with whoever she wanted. It was her other craving though, that drove her to the fishing industry, and to the seclusion of the house she was able to purchase, just outside of town.

Cinnitar. A strange name for an incredibly popular opioid. It`s popularity wasn`t in it`s nature or it`s flawless marketing. It`s popularity was based on it`s safety. Margo would walk home from the boat after Rook distributed the previous day`s pay, spend a third of it on Cinnitar, and crash at her place, unwinding slowly into a peaceful, yet dreamless sleep. The gimmick associated to Cinnitar was that no matter how much of it you took, you couldn`t die, and there were virtually no side effects. While initially created to humanely kill family pets, when the formula was released to the general public, crafty chemists soon realized the drug`s massive potential. Margo had a massive amount of reasons to take the drug, but only one that she really couldn`t get out of her head. Her Abortion. Breaking up with Grant. She wasn`t supposed to feel guilty. It was the right thing to do. She was taking control of her body, and her life. Where did that ever get her? Where could it have gone? These kinds of questions only frightened her more when she knew Trip`s story, and watched his family eat dinner on the beach a hundred times. She wanted that, more than anything she wanted that, but she made that choice a thousand years and a thousand miles ago, and there was no way to go back. So it was here, that she would lay back on the hammock, ladle some Cinnitar into her arm, and imagine she made the choice she wanted, maybe even the right choice.

Suddenly, the newest member of the crew, Spencer, was knocking at her door. Margo couldn`t even stand to respond, and hoped he would just go away. She only ever invited him over along with the whole crew one time, as a housewarming party, but besides that, she had been a hermit. Spencer though, was persistent, knocking away like an idiot, because he saw her going in there…which yes, means that he followed her.

“Oh well, I guess she was just tired from fishing today. It was pretty hot out” he sighed to himself.

Margo relaxed back into her hammock. She liked Spencer. As far as guys went on all the islands, he was pretty cute. But it had only been…two years? Since she up and left her home in Georgia to find her way in the carribean, just to throw herself at the map and see where she could stick. It had been a long time, she thought. Maybe too long. Maybe she should give Spencer a shot, she thought, but before she could explore that line of reasoning, another wave came over her, and she was further back in that hammock than ever before, further back in her past and her guilt.

Walking home at night on Costa Marco is a very surreal experience. There are Boas hanging in the trees, pigs and dogs scurrying about, and when you hit the city, it`s a complete paradigm shift. There are vibrantly dressed locals and self-proclaimed locals dancing and drinking and laughing, jabbering and swooning to the hastily strummed guitars and battered drums. When Spencer left that small but happy place in the world, he turned down the many streets until he reached his own little cobblestone corner. Really a treasure of an abode, an old colonial townhouse, shoulder to shoulder with the infinite, but not quite well laid out rows of the other townhouses. He turned the old iron key, creaking open the heavy wooden door, into his own little grain scented shelter. Throwing wood into the fireplace, and firing up his laptop, he began to peruse his greatest passion… bread. Artisan, hand crafted, wood baked, the boy was obsessed. You see, Costa Marco was surprisingly devoid of this kind of bread industry. No dish, local or otherwise served or prepared on the islands required it, in fact, one would be looked upon with a small amount of disdain if seen eating a sandwich. This kind of atmosphere suffocated Spencer. He wanted to share his passion for bread with everyone he knew, by opening his own bakery. You could imagine by this description, that Spencer was a simple kind of guy, but in a magnificently pleasant kind of way. Spencer had spent most of his life travelling, as his father and mother were both in the navy, which meant that for the most part, spencer grew up on naval bases and with other navy kids. They all wanted to follow right in line with their parents, as disciplined and honorable scholars, pilots, or sailors. Spencer wanted none of that. All he wanted, was his bakery. It is hard to determine when, where or how he became obsessed with bread, or why frankly anyone cares, but all this interest is a testament to, is the kind of purity of heart Spencer possessed.

“Just a few more weeks” Spencer muttered to himself with a smile,

“And they`ll all see”…He trailed off, sensing he was tired, and rising to his bedroom. With each thunk of the heavy wooden steps he thought of Margo. How pretty she was. How her hair glistened in the midday sun. How the waters rolled off her skin. Yes, this is love, he thought.

The crew of the sandy boot were a lively bunch. The money was good, but what would it mean if they couldn`t buy paradise in…paradise. Poor old Greg was no exception. As he forked the thin steel key out of the decrepid lock of the café, and wandered over to his old Toyota truck, he began for the first time in his life, to seriously examine the choices he had made. For an inimaginable amount of time, Greg was locked in his relationship with Liz. Funny. He hadn`t even called her that in his thoughts in years. He could sense it. Just like how he sensed some asshole slowly crawling up his tail light on the old highway.

“Why I oughta” Greg snarled to himself, well aware that he only said that due to the fact thousands of other faces on the televisions did before him,

What he “oughta” do became less and less clear. His stream of consciousness was inundated with images of graphic, brutal violences he would inflict on the morally devoid creature that parasitically perched itself on his mechanical posterior. While making a curve on the old road, he caught a good glimpse of the driver in his rear-view mirror. It was just some...average young woman. Really nothing of great stereotypical or demonstrative worth. Suddenly, a wave of sympathy overcame Greg. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Maybe she was just angry about something. Maybe he had tailgaited her some time ago, and this was her form of revenge. Maybe, and entirely possibly, she was thinking the very same thoughts he was in his car, driving home late at night. Wondering about all the things he had done, the bills he had to pay, or the big decisions he would have to make. And a big decision, he certaintly did have to make. And it would pertain to whether or not he would stay with Liz.

It wasn`t like it was rocket science. Greg wasn`t always this spiteful, this mean, or even this domecticated. Liz hated camping. Before he met her, he could barely stay out of the woods.

“Yeah, Camping. Another thing to look foreward to when she`s out of the picture” Greg said aloud to himself, in rhythm with the soft country music on the radio.

“And that stupid kid of ours. He can be HER problem”. His voice began to rise with elation, as if the lightball was slowly coming on in his head.

“And I can finally smoke a cigar, inside or out…Hell ill be sure to ash`em right in the carpets”. The rhythm was infecting his reasoning, a little song being invented as he talked more and more.

“Oh yeah you bet it baaabay, that I`ll be smokin` up the town…do do do, pah do do pah pah… Oh yeah won`t be a clean carpet arooooooouuund” He laughed and tapped on his wheel as he sang his little song, all the way up his driveway.

Greg didn`t even bother to go in the house anymore. The ol` salty sea skank (his favourite colloquialism), would always be there to ask him how much money he made at the café that day.

“It was your idea bitch, and you`d know how much we were making if you ever left the house”

Greg pondered that hypothetical strategy in an argument as he walked into the shed, and flicked then lights on. Upon the table, lay his only true love. His beautiful bearded lizard, which he named Tequila. Greg…Greg was the kind of guy who loved to watch things. To be in control. There was nothing Greg loved more than to feed Tequila, in the morning before he went to work, and at night when he came home. Despite the fact that all the simple lizard ever gave him was the occaisional eyeball lick, or even a rare nibble on his fingers, Greg interpreted that as true affection.

“Oh little Tequila, you look so hungry!” Greg said, opening the cabinet above the lizard`s massive tank, and pulling out a small colony of grasshoppers.

Greg thought for a moment as he fauned over his pet, and smirked when he said, “So hungry that these little sons of bitches…might not be enough”

Greg put the grasshoppers back in the cabinet, and pulled another tank up from the ground across the floor. Within, rested half a dozen garter snakes, just now becoming startled at being lifted on the table.

Then, with the methodical preparation of a serial killer, Greg donned a leather apron and a pair of leather gloves, grabbing the fattest snake from the tank, and sealing the rest away. Greg took time to examine the creature, ensuring that it wouldn`t be strong enough to possibly hurt cute little Tequila. Of course none of those snakes stood a chance, but even a scratch on one of his stubby little legs would deeply disturb Greg. He gingerly placed the snake in the opposite end of Tequila`s tank, pulled up a chair, cracked a beer, and just watched.

Tequila was quick to take notice. It wasn`t very often that he had roomates. The new company was very exciting, but quite strange. Like an innocent, scaley puppy, tequila plodded off of his log, and towards this new arrival.

“Hold on a moment” Tequila thought to himself, slowing his pace as he analyzed the scent of the creature. He approached with caution…and a feeling…came over him…

Within a flash, bits and pieces of his new friend were strewn throughout the sand, a chunk of it`s torso sliding down his gullet.

“No…Not Again!”

Greg was sufficiently appeased by this display, and took the time to clean the cage while Tequila was occupied with his food, and changed his water.

“Isn`t it maaaaagic” Greg sang to himself, as he closed down the shed, and turned off all the lights, only dimming Tequila`s light in his tank.

“He gets scared of the dark…musn`t do that to him” He muttered, having thought about it and said that phrase a thousand times by now, it had become more of a routinely incensed nervous tick, for now Greg would have to actually go inside his house, and face his wife, which especially as of late, had become thornier than Tequila. Yes, thornier. Nothing else… weirdo.

Greg walked up to the bug screened back door, and as he climbed the second of the three steps, the light above the door came on, which meant that Liz was fast approaching, likely having seen Greg leave the shed. He opened the door, with her standing in front of him, crossing her arms and staring at him with pursed lips. She always had a flair for the dramatic. Never seemed to like existing in a state of calm or contentment. As far as Greg knew, she loved to be miserable and combative.

Greg wasn`t really in the mood for one of her fits. He knew how the argument would go. He knew exactly what she would nag him about. The Café isn`t making enough money, the house needs renovating, you need to spend more time with sam, you need to work out. It was the last part that bothered Greg the most. His physique had never been exemplary, he knew this, and he thought she knew this. Where did this desire for a six pack and biceps appear? When she started to have to shimmy through the closet door sideways?

After a single, tense moment, Greg simply put his keys on the hook beside the door, and walked on by. Sure it required one awkward shove, and really did nothing to appease Liz, but what was the point? All she wanted to do was argue till the sun came up.

He casually walked over to the kitchen and pulled some raw fish he had bought from the market two days earlier, prepared a skillet, and began to sear it on the electric oven, not expressing a single emotion aside from blank disdain as she walked in, still pouting about…well he didn`t even bother to find out.

He kept standing over that fish, casually turning from side to side as he grabbed various spices off the racks beside the stove. Ultimately, he found her performance entertaining and predictable. She had done this a thousand times. She would continue to do this a thousand times. It had been years since he stopped wondering what he could do, what he could say so she would finally hug him after a long day of work…again Greg felt regret.

“How terribly attached to a terrible woman have I become? I would be so much happier if I just…left. But I can`t…How fickle the heart is”

He remembered when they first moved into the house. They had arguments yes, but they were small, never lasted long, and were always resolved. He thought that was the sign of how resilient they were as a couple. Over time though, with the innumerable failures of Sam, the highs and lows of the café, the hurricane…Their arguments grew more fierce. They could argue for hours. First it was a low rumble. Then it was a scream. At least he`d get the occasional “I love you” from her. Nowadays, he couldn`t even remember the last time he, or even she said it.

He could remember the last time they cooked together. It was beef stew. He remembered the sound of her laughter as they casually splashed the red wine into the broth and their glasses. He remembered how warm she felt in his arms as they fell asleep on the porch, stinking of wine and spilled stew.

“Yes…that was the last time we were happy together” he thought to himself.

He slid the fish off the skillet and onto a pan, turning around and placing it on the table, unsuprised to see he wife still standing there in the doorway, maintining that blank, judgemental expression. He sat down, pushed the plate to the side slowly, and motioned for her to sit down. Slowly, she rose from her stance, and took the chair across from him. After a long moment of silence, and losing the staring contest with the tribal figurine in the middle of the table, Greg spoke.

“Aren`t you tired?” He asked, deliberately, implying so much with so little.

In complete understanding of the implications, she replied

“I…Yes… I am”

“How long has it been…since you were actually happy to see me?” He asked, having completely forgotten about the fish growing cold beside him.

“Too long” She curtly replied.

There was another long pause as Greg began to feel a wash of emotions come over him. He really loved her. There was no denying that. He began to process the thought of her not loving him, images of her leaving, of her looking away when he passed her on the street. It began to destroy him in ways he couldn`t imagine. He couldn`t stop it, he had already set in motion.

“ Do you still love me?” He asked, having asked a thousand times before in the past as a rhetorical question, always replied with “of course idiot”, or “you know I do”. This was the first time he really meant it, and really wondered. And it really hurt.

There was another long silence. Everything felt colder, and darker to Greg. His life, and his worldview were hanging in the balance. The fact that she even took a second to consider sent him spinning. It felt like a knife was being pulled out of his chest, the sheer anticipation of what he knew would come next.

Liz rose from her chair, and took a picture off the wall. It was from years ago, when the whole family had taken their first vacation together. Greg was standing over Liz, his hands on her shoulders, as She was sitting on a canoe, sam in her arms, still a baby. She came back to her chair, and put the picture on the table, staring at it for yet another agonizing eternity.

“I loved you for who you were…but not for who you are”

He could not think. He could not speak. He responded as blankly and as simply as he could muster.

“In that case…I want you out of the house by next week”

“What? Greg that`s completely unreasonable” she said, which to Greg indicated that she wanted to go, and she wanted to for a long time. It also enraged him for some reason, that she would have the gall to break his heart, and still ask for reparations.

“I don`t particularly care. Actually, here`s the deal. I`ll give you that goddamned café, and ill keep the house, which I paid for by actually working at MY café. I swear to god if you say it`s somehow yours to give, the only claim you have was that it was your goddamned idea. It`s in my legal name, I did all the work to get the land, to build the damn thing, and still ran it for ten years. Take whatever damn money you`ve got saved and get an apartment in town. Maybe you`ll find a skinny Cuban guy to sleep with while you`re there!” Greg yelled.

“Just…fuck you Greg. Fuck you.” Liz replied, tears streaming down her face as she ran upstairs, the clunk of her suitcase slamming to the floor. Greg didn`t care. This was the hundredth argument they had gotten in, and he was making sure this was the last. He was angry, but only as a way to drown out just how upset he really was.

The sound of the suitcase hitting the floor, of dressers flying open, was the melody to which Greg went on his laptop in the living room, and electronically transferred ownership of the café over to Liz. He promptly went into their bank account, destroyed the split account, taking what was his, and establishing his own account. “Hmm…She only has $38,000 left…How did she even earn that much?”. He didn`t bother to find out. He had now financially cut her out of his life. The wonders of the internet.

There was a pang of regret in Greg. Perhaps this was too extreme. Maybe it was, but there was no coming back from what he just did. Those two minutes of conversation could have gone a thousand different ways. It began to feel like he chose the worst way possible. All he wanted was for Liz to love him again, but instead, he pushed her away. Was it justified? After years and years of these arguments maybe it was. He just felt like he needed to…pull the plug, so to speak. Just to cut it off and end it. So, he reasoned, like any other case of amputation, it would hurt, but in the end, he would be better off. Still, he wouldn`t have an arm. That was ultimately the question. Would Greg rather have a cancerous, venomous part of his life that made him miserable, or not have that at all? What was worse? What Greg did know is that it was too late to wonder. He had tried medicating for decades, with know sign of remission. Now, Liz was coming down the stairs, and Greg began to be so upset that he couldn`t think of any more medical juxtapositions.

What was worse was that she didn`t even look at him when she went out the door. All he could yell at her was that the Café was her responsibility now, and she`d have to find a way run it in the morning. He remembered the keys in his pocket, and threw the café key in her car as she opened the passenger door to throw her suitcase in. She still did not look at him. She refused to look at him. Even when she was pulling out of the driveway, She didn`t even look towards the house, and sped off to town. So Greg stood there, on the porch, and for the first time in fifteen years, he cried.

It wasn`t like how he imagined. The house didn`t feel free. A weight wasn`t lifted off his shoulders. It felt empty. Like there were still parts of it that were actually hers. He wanted to call her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that she should come back and they could talk things over. It was too late though. He knew her. She would take this whole incident to heart. She would go through with it, regardless of how she still felt about him. The ultimate issue was that they both loved each other, but they couldn`t stand each other. It was a sick, unhealthy way of existing, and Greg sought to excise those feelings as he cleaned up the bedroom and the bathroom, putting whatever she left behind in a box, which he was debating either burning, burying, or throwing at her whenever she found out where she lived. Fortunately she was pretty good about it… in fact it was too good. Maybe she had rehersed this. Maybe she was just waiting for this argument, the go ahead, the justification to finally leave. She had to have been thinking about it. Way more than he actually was.

The reality was that when you`re married to a woman for thirty years, she accumulates more crap than she could possibly fit in one exceptionally large suitcase. She took the essentials, her clothes, her jewelry, so on and so forth. What did she leave behind? The kind of things that hurt to still see. Photos. Letters. Little arts and crafts, any kind of sentimental object.

“Regardless” Greg said to himself.

“This was going to happen one day or another…just when and how were the only questions…doesn`t change the fact that I still feel like shit about it.”

There really isn`t anything he could do except just sit on the bed, and imagine what life would now be like. Where his fit of rage and honesty really put him. He didn`t have a job anymore. That was something to consider. What could he even go for? He had a degree in business management, and sociology. He had years of experience running small restaurants. Those kind of credentials don`t get you far in this kind of a place. What really mattered was that he was old, fat, and…didn`t have Liz. He felt guilty about not being more sympathetic. About not feeling at all bad for essentially kicking her out in the middle of the night. It was just…her words. I loved you for who you were…not for who you are”. She had, without any kind of anger or impotice, said the most hurtful thing Greg ever heard in his life. He regretted ever complaining about her, even though that complaining was mostly to himself. He was angry, shocked, and plunged into this deep pit of depression all in an instant. The fact that he suddenly lost control of his emotions wasn`t forgivable but to Greg…it was understandable.

-----------

Greg awoke the next morning, with a pain in his chest. The knife wound from earlier had moved to the center of his chest, slowly ripping and tearing. It no longer felt metaphorical. It was a literal, real pain, and as he saw it… it was all his fault.

“What am I thinking?” he said to himself, squinting his eyes as he sat up in the morning sunlight.

It was eight o`clock in the morning. He normally got up at six to get to the shop and open by seven, but what the hell. It`s not his problem anymore.

“I am a grown ass man and I`m pining after that hag?”

Oh god of course. The only reason he was sad was because he only chose to remember the good parts of their marriage which to be honest, were just as she described. They started good, and tapered off around… jesus a quarter of the way through? Did he not remember the endless, pointless, and frustrating fights they would get in? How she would blame him for how Sam turned out? No. He shouldn`t feel sad. The only reason he does was…human nature.

“Yeah… that`s gotta be it.” Greg thought.

He got up, and went through his typical morning routine, plus a mug of rum and fatefully, a cigar on the porch. As he took deep, long tokes on the sweet treasure he had denied himself for years, he began to remember what kind of a man he really was.

“Just getting in touch with my ego. It`s what Freud would want”

Suddenly, he remembered his only friend, and ran to the shed. He scooped up little Tequila from his tank, and placed him in a basket (formerly used for bath towels…why would you want a smaller towel? Why not just the one size towel? Another annoying mystery of Liz) beside him, pouring him a little dish of rum.

“This is the life eh Tequila? A bit of rum, the lazy island breeze, and the cool morning sun…I just feel like staying right here. Doing absolutely nothing. In that way I guess we aren’t that different eh little man?”

Tequila had already taken a few sips of the rum, and began to feel groggy, making a movement with his head that appeared to Greg as a nod.

“The food god has poisoned me…the sweet smelling liquid was a deception…”

The spiny lizard felt the warmth of the sun on his scales, and reminisced on the few times he ever saw the great ball of orange light.

“Perhaps I am dying…why else would the food god bring me here?”

Hours indeed did pass. The sun rose, and all the island birds were chirping and cawing. Greg used to think it was an annoying racket, but now, a little buzzed on the rum and having meditiated in this state for some time, it was a chorus, more beautiful and sanctified than any church choir he ever listened to as a kid.

Greg felt sore, and decided to rise from his seat, and noticed that Tequila had finished his bowl of rum, and now was listing around his basket, attempting to escape.

“I think it`s high time I did something…that I expanded your perspective”

He picked up Tequila, and brought him in the house. He had never left the confindes of his tank, save for the one time Greg brought him out in the yard to run around a little bit. He gently laid him on the couch, set out a plate of pre-killed grasshoppers and a dish of water, and closed the door behind him.

“I`m just curious as to what the hell happens” he giggled to himself.

“Also as to what…has happened”

He grew morose, and finally decided to assess the damage on what happened the night before. As he was pulling out of the driveway, he questioned for but a moment, the soundness of the decision to let Tequila have his way with the house. Before he could consider that for any longer, he saw Sam pull into the driveway, or attempt to. For the first time in his life, Sam looked truly angry with his father. Greg sighed, and pulled back in the driveway, getting out and leaning against the bed of the truck as Sam pulled in himself.

“Hey Dad can you tell ME what uh, happened last night?” Sam said, with a kind of difficulty that made it very apparent he was inexperienced with this emotion.

“When did you find out?” Greg said, with the kind of calm respect he never gave to Sam. He was innocent here. He deserved to be treated with respect when it came to this, of all things.

“Last night Dad. Mom`s staying at my place right now” Sam answered, still pseudo angry with Greg

You mean the apartment I pay for? Greg thought. No. This wasn`t the time for bitterness or sarcasm about anything. Not with Sam.

“Sam, I know you`re a man and you have a lot of things of your own to worry about and pay attention to but…you must have known this was coming”

“OF COURSE I did dad! I just never thought you would be the one to…do it. And that way? Do you know how mom feels right now?”

Greg sighed heavily, and moved to the porch. Sam followed, eagerly awaiting his father`s answer. Greg sat back down in his chair, and sparked up the short cigar he had been working on since the morning.

“Come on Sam…Sit down” Greg motioned to the other seat, formerly Liz`s seat, back when he and Liz used to do things like that together. Sam complied, and pulled the chair over to sit beside his father. Greg looked out at the island and the jungle, the ocean and the birds flying over the canopy. Sam sat staring at his father, incredibly nervous as to what he would say next. Greg looked over, and began.

“As you know very well, your mother and I loved each other very much, and that`s how and why you came about…but that was a very long time ago. Now we just make each other miserable, and we just need to go our own directions”

“That still doesn`t explain why you were so fucking rude about it” Sam said, calmly responding. It was the first time he had ever cursed in his father`s prescence, and frankly, it impressed him.

Greg took another cigar from the wooden box, and waved it as an offering to Sam. Sam nodded, and awkwardly fumbled the lighter as he lit it up. He coughed, and took the cigar between his thumb and index finger, resting his arm on the arm of the chair, the way all the mob bosses did in the movies.

“You know what kid…you`re right. Maybe it was a bit much for me to have done what I did and said what I said the way I said it last night. I can`t take that back…but you know what? If I did it any other way, your mom and I would have second guessed it, gotten back together, and six months later I`d be thinking about doing the exact same thing again. I know it was a shitty thing to do but…that`s how your mom and I are. That`s how it would have worked out either way”

Sam didn`t seem satisfied with the explanation, and kept looking off in the distance, waiting for a further explanation.

“Listen, just help your mom out for a few weeks so she can find a place and get back on her own two feet. I assure you, after all of this is over, her and I are going to be far better off, and you`ll start to see that in both of us”

Sam continued to stare foreward, but then began to speak.

“I just can`t understand it. How two people can be together so long and now…it just happened so fast”.

“Yeah kid… it still kinda feels like just a…nightmare right now. Like it hasn`t really happened”

“Do you still care about her?”

“I`m…I`m not sure”

They now both stared foreward. For the next moment, Sam put the cigar in his mouth, stood up, and went to his car without saying goodbye. Greg couldn`t imagine it. He had lost Liz, and now he wasn`t sure if he had lost his son. It felt wrong, but he indulged his desire to ash his cigar, which had gone out in the long pauses of his conversation. He leaned over the chair to the rug, made two little eyes, and pondered what kind of face he should make. Had everything happened the way he thought, maybe it would have been happy. Had he really and truly regretted his decision, it would have been sad. All he could accomplish was a long, straight, simple stroke along the pattern.

There is a kind of surreal nature to the inside of Spencer’s bedroom. The junglewood timbers and the two hundred year old stonework of the roof are the first things he lays eyes on in the morning. When he gets up and looks around, there is a computer, and a primitive modern plumbing system jammed into the old washroom. The space felt hijacked by modern amenities and the ever demanding creature comforts of a technological generation. As Spencer rises, he is careful to have a steady hand as he shaves with the straight razor he bought at the old market when he got off the boat, appalled by the apparent lack of multiple blade technology. While it had been six months since then, and his aim had improved, not a week would go by before he would give himself a solid nick on the jaw, and he would be reminded of this embaressment when the salt of the sea was splashed in his barely visible wound.

He was always a hard working kid, who quickly got over the whole “up ‘for dawn” moans and groans that were associated with being a professional fisherman. It took a particular kind of talent to get in his fishing overalls and his graphite grey hoodie, make a decent pot of coffee in the five dollar French press he had to work with, and head down to the docks in time, all with only three lights in the house.

While it was dark in his house, when Spencer began to walk the streets is when his childhood fears really began to resurface. At least at night the darkness was always dulled by the sound of music and the songs of drunken tourists. This early in the morning, most everyone who was out the night before was holed up somewhere, or was enigmatically dumped in a gutter, resulting in more than one occasion when he would accidentally kick one. The resulting groan would scare the hell out of Spencer, sending him nervously jogging down the street for a moment, before he looked back and saw a tattered figure slowly shift on the ground. The sight gave him no relief, but he endured.

The morning air in the town of Tileo had a bitter, metallic tang to it, which began to mix with the smell of dead or dying fish and sea air as he approached the docks.

“soon… it’ll be cinnamon… flour… rye” Spencer said to himself, panting as he shuffled towards the docks.

Rook was always the first to greet the crew as they arrived. He didn’t wake up any earlier than the rest of them, he just slept in a little house by the dock where they docked the boat, always fiddling with a lobster trap or studying the weather reports when Spencer walked down the dock and jumped on the boat.

“early as always” Rook slurred, not taking his eyes off the monitor.

“I thought we established that you liked that kind of thing” Spencer slurred back, stacking the fixed traps on the back of the boat.

“I do, but one day that enthusiasm will kill you”

“trust me man, if the money weren’t good, I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic” Spencer replied, standing up to put his gloves on and give a cordial wave to Trip as he jumped on the boat, only a few minutes later than Spencer.

“Hey Trip how`s it going?” Spencer asked, in the way he had been for the past four months. It seemed too sarcastic, too obnoxious to say “good morning”. There was an unspoken pact agreed upon by all the crew members to avoid the phrase in general.

Trip gave Spencer a hearty pat on the back, and leaned over to help him drag in rope.

“Feel good enough to make some money…shit it`s colder than a witchs’ teat today”

Spencer was proud that he taught Trip that phrase.

About fifteen minutes later, Margo appeared, quickly plodding towards the boat, hood up, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie.

Ironically, she was the sunniest of the crew, typically buying something for the whole gang so they wouldn`t have to fish on empty stomachs. Today, it was a plastic netted bag of oranges.

“Thanks darlin’” Rook muttered, catching the orange as she tossed one to each of the crew.

A few more moments were spent organizing the tackle and throwing overall straps over shoulders, and then Rook gave the word to cast off.

The rhythm of work had become as automatic and unconscious as breathing to even Spencer. It went as followed. See bouy. Throw hook. Drag up trap. Empty trap into tank. Either stack the trap, or throw it back. Really the only person who had to actually think about their job was Rook, scanning the computer screen, and his paper maps, trying to find his traps and direct the crew which traps could wait, and which traps to pull in.

Due to the constant, straining mononteny, conversations between the crew would be running, and incoherent as they haul in their catch. Despite how this description sounds, they did not suffer at all under this strenuous labor. When each lobster dumped in the tank essentialy was another five bucks in each of the crew`s pockets, they had very little reason to complain. This kind of money, fishing easy waters, attracted drifters and shills, old hands and young hopefuls alike. The beauty of most of these fishing boats based off Costa Marco was that hiring and firing, well that was all at the captain`s discretion, weeding out all the lowlifes who didn`t meet the island`s “exacting” standards. The territorial government of the islands was almost non-existent, which led to virtually no enforcement of labor laws. Rightly so, because the fishermen of Costa Marco lived under a non-verbal, contractual agreement. To work hard, not to piss anyone off, and to enjoy life once in a while. If you were the wrong kind of personality, the wrong kind of person, hell even if the captain thought your fashion sense was abhorrent, all of these things were grounds for firing. The result? A tightly knit community of hand-picked fishing boats and their captains. Now it would be obvious to discover that most boats had some unfair preferences for their crews, locals picking locals, Hispanics picking Hispanics, black captains picking black crews, all of this was rampant and obvious, but nobody complained. It was more like a friendly competition, to see who, or what kind of person could really bring in the most cash. Which really befuddled Spencer, who finally decided Trip might not be offended if he asked Rook why he brought on Trip.

“Hey…Hey Rook?” Spencer asked, panting as he bent over to throw a trap in the water.

Rook looked up from his monitors quickly, obviously bored with his task as the weather seemed to be pretty much dead for the day

“What`s up Spence?”

“I`ve been working on this boat for a while now and…”

“Yeah?”

“I know how things are around here…Ah let me cut to the chase”

“Spit it out man” Rook asked, laughing a little at Spencer`s awkwardness.

“I`m just wondering why you brought on Trip…I mean, I know he`s a good fisherman and all, and a really nice guy, but…From what I see that isn`t what most people do around here”

Trip looked up from the back of the boat while spencer was asking his question, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, as if he couldn`t help just being an awesome guy, but his mood became serious when Spencer finished, his gaze turning to Rook.

Rook paused and stroked his salt and pepper beard, taking a quick glance at Margo, and then returning to his thoughts

“You said it yourself. Great fisherman, great guy. What else could I ask for?”

“Yeah Good point good point…” Spencer became nervous, as he now looked like a flaming racist.

“Oh don`t go shaking in your boots now Spence. I know you meant well” Trip piped up, grinning at Spencer, empathetic to his existential plight.

Spencer smiled nervously and shook his head, sighing as he bent back down to throw another trap.

Margo, largely oblivious to this whole exchange, staring off into the ocean, readied the last hook for the morning. Throwing it with impressive accuracy, a skill that was acquired over years of experience, and thankfully carried over to horseshoes. The effects of her habit were unpredictable at best. Sometimes she would be warm and sunny, optimistic and happy with the disposition of freshly poured chamomile tea. Other times, it was exactly as a hangover should be, a writhing, seething pain in her gut and a pounding in her head that always drove her to the point of swearing off the stuff for good, and made her despise every ray of sunlight or moment of attention thrown her way. Today however, was a great day. She had long figured out the exact formula for warding off these hangovers, that being exactly seven and a half hours of sleep, with two cups of coffee and half a lemon before leaving for work. That recipe always perked her right up as she made her own stroll down to the docks. It was that state of contentment, a lack of bereavement, that was almost better than getting high itself. In this kind of condition, she was really and truly just a fisherman on an exotic island.

As the crew halted work for the lunch break, huddling over the canvas covered interior of the boat as the midday sun bore down on them, Margo decided to make a tactical move. For almost a year and a half, she would always turn over a plastic bucket and sit between the two fiberglass benches that ran the length of the covered section of the boat. Rook would wheel around his chair in the cabin, opening the door to talk to the rest of the crew, Trip would sprawl himself out along the right bench, and Spencer would sit, with a hunched posture, nervously leaning against one of the polls holding up the canvas on the end of the left bench toward`s the captain`s cabin. In this fantastic mood she was in, she decided to sit directly next to Spencer. Within a far closer proximity than could be deemed permissible between coworkers or aquaintences. A single hand length, to be exact.

Spencer, munching away at a chicken wrap he had constructed himself, tried to play off the gravity of such a maneuver. Surely her bucket was no longer suitable for sitting, after all a rather rotten lobster did explode near the bottom. No amount of bleach could…

Never mind that tragedy! This wasn’t some kind of middle school panic attack he should be thrown into. Enough fanticising. Just…talk.

Thankfully, Rook broke the slow silent munching between the four of them.

“You know Spence, you were a little right about earlier”

“About what” He calmly,, yet nervously responded.

“About how it was unusual I took on Trip”

“Oh yeah?” Spencer calmly replied.

“You see… there is a story attached to his being here”

Trip rolled his eyes and scoffed, laying back on the bench in amusement.

“About oh I`d say coming on six years ago, I was just a lowlife truck driver, travelling the mainland for no other reason than sheer boredom.”

Spencer was relieved this appeared to be a happy story, as was indicated by Trip`s relaxed posture, and apparent annoyance for hearing this story-

“Close to a dozen times you`ve told this story old man” Trip piped up packing away his belongings, quickly trying to get back to work

“Oh ho ho not so fast there man, and that`s an order…I`m telling the story and you`re going to like it” Rook commanded, pointing one of his thick, calloused fingers at Trip.

Trip dramatically slumped his shoulders, and plopped back on the bench with a grin on his face, and his hands covering his cheeks.

“You see, one day down by Orlando, after hauling a whole bed full of toilet paper, I decided that I had had enough of that shit…”

There was a long pause, when nobody would appreciate his-

“Woooooooow” Margo said

“I know right?” Rook grinned, chuckled to himself a bit, and moved on.

“I just parked the truck by the beach, and took some time to weigh my options. After a long while of just watching the um…sunset…yeah the sunset”

“Huh” Margo sarcastically snorted, fully aware of his “admirations”

“As I was saying” Rook continued,

“All of the sudden, this crazy sonofabitch just runs a ground, right on the beach, out of nowhere, clinging to the steering wheel like Ahab”

Trip now began to nervously recoil, smiling and giving one or two laughs as the story continued

“Me being the only one there who wasn`t passed out, who actually knew what was going on there, I ran over to check out what was going on”

“Ran?” Trip asked with the foxy smile that dressed his sarcasm.

“Shut up asshole I`m telling the story. How about when you tell it you can say I flopped like a seal and dragged myself across the beach ok? Christ”

The crew now laughed in unison at Rook`s flustered anger, so much so that even he couldn`t keep a straight face.

Stopping himself to guffaw every now and then, he proceeded,

“So…heh, this guy is just like…completely out of it, absolutely dead tired, and I ask him, “Hey man are you okay?”, and heh heh, this guy just said, “I`m going to be a…Father!””

Spencer laughed the loudest, Margo only laughing because his was so infectious. She had heard this story a couple times before, but she didn`t want to seem too distant.

“I know! With the dramatic pause and everything!... Jesus Christ that was so damn funny, but let me tell you, I didn’t let him know that!”

Rook settled himself, and resumed in more technical terms, talking with his hands as he described the next part of the story.

“So Trip here was hungover something fierce, and judging by the bottle in his hand, he was trying to drink his way out of it. That didn`t really help his situation, because he was almost three feet on shore at that point, and nobody else seemed to give enough of a damn to help. At that point, only a few people had whipped out their phones to take pictures of it”

“You know I`m really disappointed that I don`t get to tell this story, because I`m sure someone must`ve called the cops” Trip added, partly shameful that he was drunk, alone, at sea, which is something every fisherman knows is incredibly dangerous.

“Well they only called the cops after I pulled the next stunt…so I got the idea to just unhitch my truck, and just… push him out to sea”

“No way!” spencer interjected, amazed that such a thing could even be accomplished. He remembered a time when the whole family was on leave, and the car his parents rented to go to the beach almost got stuck in the sand. Should`ve known better.

“Yes way, so I deflated my tires a bit, and after twenty minutes of that, I just drove out and over, and ever so slowly, pushed him out to sea. Now I had either neglected to tell him, or maybe he just forgot that I was going to do this, so he was just freaking out this whole time just screaming, “what are you doing you crazy white man!”

Rook had attempted to impersonate Trip`s accent in that last part, which got a good laugh out of the whole crew.

“So once I had got him free, I got a little thought in my head, and I just said “Hey, fuck it” and I jumped on the boat with him”

“That`s fuckin insane man” Spencer replied, noticing Margo almost hanging on his shoulder, the heat of her overworked body warming his right arm, just barely out of reach.

“Two days later, a few angry calls with the truck company and the bank, and here I am…you see that house on the end of the dock used to be Trip`s old dive, but I bought it for a pretty sum from him, and paid for most of the boat. And that my scrawny friend, is how a low down truck driver became the captain of a lobster boat. Fun story eh?”

Work continued as normally as it does on a Saturday in the sea. The only thing that changed really about the routine is that on this particular Saturday, Rook demanded that they all go bowling at the only lanes in town, which for reasons…disappointingly within comprehension, was called, “The Long Dock”.

Nobody in the crew actually had a car, because really, there wasn`t a need. Besides, the only thing you could buy on the island were old steel shipping containers with wheels, or whatever passed for drivable in the pool of old Chevrolets or Cadillac’s imported back in the 80s. Only a small, select few of wealthy CEO`s camped out on the far side of the island actually had new, even nice cars, but they rarely mixed with the gentiles of Tileo. Why would they? The cobblestone streets were so awfully maintained that you could lose a toddler in the gaps. For the Crew though, they wouldn`t have it any other way. People like Rook and Margo grew up hating rich guys and their million dollar carbon-coated palaces. The real fun of Tileo was just walking the streets, brushing up against the occasional sweaty islander, weaving and winding through the historical pathways and not so new infrastructure. It was an organic experience, which began to clash at the bowling alley.

You see, the only really well developed, actually paved road that ran through the outskirts of town, went by the alley. All of that roadwork and development had happened during the nickel mining boom back in the 80s, which “The Long Dock” truly reflected. Gaudy neon lighting, stale, pale concrete walls, and brushed steel and glass doors that looked like the rust was finally getting to them. In the parking lot, the dichotomy was clearly noticeable. On the right side of the doors, there were Maseratis, Porches, Mclarens, so on and so forth. On the left, were the old Ford trucks, the beamers, and even the occasional indian motorcycle.

The inside of the alley was equally divided, hell there were even separate counters on each side. Over the last five years or so, the rich guys and their heirs began to notice something about their collective of mansions and resorts they called Keith`s Bay. What a god awful name it had, and how tasteless all their neighbors were. Each one would try to one up the other, adding an infinity pool or a twelve story New England lighthouse. Between the upper-middle class tourists and sheltered trust fund kids, a few of the residents formed a small clique, the only clique that ever ducked out of town for more than twenty minutes to go into the jungle and “focus their chi” with the maid. These ten or twelve guys were a bunch of savvy internet millionaires, old coal mine owners, and fast food moguls that felt that because they went to the bowling alley twice a week, they were the “real islanders”, and the rest of the whiney losers that just hung out in town were inferior to them.

Of course the locals and others like the crew had some disdain for these guys. Not that they were rich, but that:

“They really just fuck with the way everyone is around here. I`ve been to that stupid fucking “Douche Bay” man. All it is, is a bunch of huge, white buildings…and I`m not a racist or anything Spence, but the whole place is just filled with Asians who don`t speak a lick of English”

“I think they`re Koreans man” Spence added, trying to break up Trip`s angry monologue with some analysis as they picked out their balls.

Spence always chose a purple ball. He didn`t know why. He didn’t care. It`s just a habit like any other. But for some reason, he felt pissed that the guys from Douche Bay had monopolized the rack that the balls were on. No matter. He`d just use an orange ball. Fuckers.

“What difference does it make? Asians are Asians man” Trip continued, waiting for his turn, as Rook, as a rule, always went first.

“Hey man, you`re telling me you`re not racist, but that`s kinda racist to say. What would you think if I said hey, “Blacks are Blacks”. It just completely disregards the individual differences between the different groups, and believe me, they make the distinction” Spencer argued.

“Well at least I look different than a guy from the Bronx or a guy straight out of Darfur. They all look like they`re all coming out of the same iphone factory” Trip grunted, tossing his first ball.

“Shit…a seven ten split” he muttered

Rook and Margo laughed a little, and Spencer lightened up.

“I don`t think the bowling gods appreciated that comment” Spencer said, waiting for Trip to attempt a spare.

“Well whatever the fuck I think about Asians, the fact of the matter is that they`re being treated like slaves. They all live in these shitty condos and its like, fuck, why don`t they just build a bunkhouse and chain`em to the floor at night. They can`t leave, they all eat at the one Chinese-“

“Korean” Margo jokingly interrupted

“Fuck you Mo” Trip scoffed in an embaressed, high pitched laugh

Rook chimed in, grabbing the sides of his eyes to squint them, “Don`t you mean Fook yuu?”

Margo and Spencer mimmiked the captain, prancing around Trip, squinting their eyes and professing their love for ramen noodles. Trip`s unwarranted distrust of Asians was often the subject of teasing.

After three games of heated competition between the four, Rook emerged as the winner, by only three points over Trip.

“A truly worthy opponent...well now my wrist`s sore. Who wants a drink?” Rook bellowed.

“Not me man, it`s already midnight, I`ve gotta get home” Trip trailed off, laying his ball back on the rack

Chapter Two: Sour Shots

The greatest part about the jungles of Costa Marco was that nobody seemed to be there. At least, that was the best part to Greg. Propped up against a tree stump, balancing a tin of coffee on a rock next to the humble cooking fire, he took stock of his provisions, seeing just how long he could stay in the mountains.

“Another week maybe. So long as I don`t mind eating rice and tuna for the last few days” he muttered to himself, hoisting himself up and sliding on his poncho

It had been several months since he kicked Liz out. Or at least, that`s how everyone seemed to take stock of it. What Sam or the coven of witches Liz called friends thought about him didn’t matter He cared more about how many pairs of dry socks he had in his bag.

“It`s a midlife crisis” they`d say.

“He was always kind of an asshole”

“You deserved better anyway”

After it all went down, he was barraged with calls from her friends, who either berated him, or acted as mediators for negotiations. That was how he got the money to take some time off. Climbing around the tight path of a mountain trail, he began to rant, as he always would when he was positive he was alone. The trees and the snakes were the only ones who seemed to listen anyway.

“She sold the fucking café…bet it was for a vacation with a little peurto rican guy” he grunted, hoping over a log

“At least she gave me half. Fucking half…goddamn I hate her. Every opportunity she got to tell me to fuck myself, she took it. Then she pisses and moans about being lonely…ha…never was a problem before I met you…”

This kind of therapy could go either way for Greg at this point. He would either put a machete through a tree, or he`d end up laying on a rock, calmly listening to the rustling of wild boars in the bushes.

He had the money to do these kind of things now. Early retirement was treating him well. But overall, he wasn`t satisfied.

At least, not until he put together the perfect storm of simplistic material satisfaction.

“Ok Greg…just like the little seniorita in Kipp`s Cove taught you”

He had stopped at the peak of the lush mountain cliff, sluffing off his pack and setting Tequila`s little wooden cage to the side, under the shade of a leafy bush. Pulling a couple of limes and a tin cup out of his pockets, he began to ruminate on his recent bar-hopping adventures. Greg was a real people person, a man of culture. It was also his personal belief, that the best way to understand a people and their ways was to drink what they drank, the way they drank it.

“And the Venezuelans are bitter socialists” he said, as he spat out the strange concoction he conducted from memory

Watching the acrid liquid drip down the rock as the afternoon sun braized his skin suddenly gave him a bout of existential dread. This wasn’t the life he wanted to live. This wasn`t anywhere near where he wanted to be at his age. Farting around on a tropical island with a lizard, divorced, unemployed, pickling himself with every latin beverage under the sun.

“Christ…Pete`s a goddamned English professor. Josh has what- seven kids?” he muttered to himself, taking stock of the accomplisments of his old college friends.

“And I mean, Fred smoked so much weed we thought he`d lose a chromosome. Now he`s making six figures with a tire company”.

Greg`s morose self pity turned to anger, and then to a calm, quite acceptance. There was a reason he went on these hikes. To disconnect himself from that kind of anxiety and appreciate his surroundings, slowly mellowing his mood with a neat burbon and Cuban cigar, allowing the breeze to massage his lurid eyes.

“Regardless…there needs to be a change” he said, swaying the bottle over to Tequila`s bowl, giving him a few more drops.

“Nothing major. The last thing I need is to go back to the states. They`d probably institutionalize me the second I got off the plane”

Greg chuckled to himself, feeling the handle of his machete gouging into his side as he took another swig.

“I need a simple job. A simple job, that makes me feel fulfilled *swig* as a man”

By this time, the horizon was dark with storm clouds and an evening sunset coming on, creating a molasses enamel on all the rocks on the shore. In the distance, Greg could see the ships coming in, bobbing gently on the calm ocean glass. Soon, fantasies of being out on the open ocean fishing the ocean`s bounty danced across his addled brain.

“what a wonderful profession. Where being a drunk shrew is actually a virtue”

Or so he thought

That night, a storm did indeed roll over the island. It was fierce, for sure, but not fierce enough to stop the festivities from continuing inside one of the many lively dive bars. There were even a few fishermen playing a rather extreme drinking game. If you flinched at a lightening strike, you drank. As you could probably guess, Spencer wasn`t doing too well.

“Look at him, still shaking like a leaf even three shots in!” Trip scolded

It was true. Spencer was in fact, visibly nervous. Not neccesarily because the thunder and lightening were beginning to sear the masts of every boat in the harbor, but because the alcohol was beginning to convince him that now was the time confront Margo about his feelings. Rook, sporting an even longer salt and pepper beard, could see from the head of the table at the back of the sour smelling shack that the kid was going to make a big mistake. And, maybe, a small part of him was feeling territorial.

Placing his big paw of a left hand on spencer`s chest, he saved him

“ Boy, stay down. Look at these hands” he gargled, slamming a beer down in his right hand

At that moment, a flash and rumble, but not a single quiver from those beastly mitts.

Spencer was forced to try and get ahold of the reigns of his depth perception. Standing felt like something he was disinterested, the sullen and aged booth he sat at becoming fuzzy to the touch. Suddenly the seven or maybe only five shots he had downed had caught up to him all at once, and he wasn`t going to have any more, or else risk an incident like last month where Trip had ruined strawberries for him forever.

Margo was far more sober, but certaintly not by choice. Nobody else had noticed but she had only finished half of her glass of light beer from the tap that may as well have been creek water given its quality and the horrifically poorly washed glass it came in. Her interests were growing more and more desperate with every joke or story she had to smirk and gesticulate her way through. The only thing keeping her from picking up her chair and using it to fight her way through the packed cigar box of a dive bar she was crammed in to get home and get her shit was the face that the storm outside could put a two by four through her chest at any minute. Death might be preferable to having to pan across the bar one more time to see the well exposed crack of Captain Stug`s ass trying to escape his cargo shorts at the bar. Stug was too old of a salt for anyone that wasn`t the bartender to tell him what to do, so on his ass marched outward as stug got more and more drunk. Christ. It was like watching a seal clubbing on national geographic. Could’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t so hard to watch.

“10 bucks I get this quarter in there” Rook said, holding the silver coin between his calloused index finger and thumb. Margo noticed that the whole table had been staring like she did. Spencer saw that others in the room were either giving Stug a wide berth, or sizing up their own marksmanship competitions.

Looking to find some immature joy, Margo joined in.

“I`ll fucking take that. You haven`t thrown a hook since I came on, doubt you could hit an ass crack at twenty paces” Margo joked. The others would have laughed if they weren`t all pushed to their respective limits. Margo and Rook slammed down what their bleary eyes perceived to be ten dollars a piece on the stained wood table, then Rook sized up his target. In one majestic, fluid motion the quarter left his hand, flying straight and true over the bar counter, tapping between bottles of whatever the hell Cesar could stack behind him.

“gat..damnint” Rook grumbled, shuffling back into his seat as Margo swabbed her hand across the table, scooping up the crumpled dollars. She didn`t care. She needed to go home.

The taste in her mouth was like she`d threw up a flower shop. She hated it she hated it she hated it. The heat and the sweat and the air and the smell the smell the smell. Too many people too many things, eyes, sandels, fucking stray cats every fucking five fucking feet in this tiny fucking block on this tiny fucking island. Home. She needed to get home.

Margo suddenly, abandoning any kind of formal convention, stood up and walked out of the bar, the wind and rain whipping momentarily like a jack in the box as she opened and closed the door behind her. Spencer was too out of it to do anything, but others were slightly alarmed. A few, tired of waiting, tried to follow her out but were blown back by healthy gusts of wind. Spencer was worried. And he wondered why she would leave like that.

“Should we call the cops? No way she makes it out there!” he yelled to Trip and Rook

“Cops are busy enough, wouldn`t risk it. Woman`s always been skittish. Her house ain`t far so I wouldn`t worry too much. Either of you wanna hear about the time I got held up by a biker gang?” Rook largely brushed off Spencer`s distress, motioning to a waitress for more whatever would occupy his time. This grew into what could only be a fruitless and flirtatious conversation.

Spencer turned to Trip for some sympathy.

“ Are you just going to sit back and let this happen?”

“ If anything man she`s got the right idea. I`ve gotta go check on my family at some point tonight. The whipping I`ll get if I`m not back by midnight oof” Trip joked.

No one was taking him seriously, which would have made Spencer feel uneasy if he were more sober, but like any young guy with a background like his, he was curious.

“well I`m going” Spencer said, gathering his wallet and finishing his drink. He put up his hood on his rubber coat, bracing himself for his excursion. Before he left, Trip followed behind him with his own boat issued rubber coat, and the two of them turned to give a gruff but well understood farewell to Rook, who was far more comfortable wading out the whole storm and then some in the back of that bar.

“I think you`re crazy boy” Trip said to Spencer.

“But good luck anyway. I`ll see you whenever Rook says its safe to work again” Trip said, putting his hand on Spencer`s shoulder, then opening the door, fighting the wind walking towards his home on the shore.

Spencer couldn`t believe it, but the wind felt rather calm as he walked towards margo`s home. It was almost as if all the old geezers and shop owners were just trying to find an excuse to drink, or at least jumped on a better excuse than most. As he crossed the street past the more tourist focused bar with its stained colonial white walls, a gust of wind picked him up off his feet and tossed him on the cobblestone street, with every attempt to fight the gust and stand up just resulting in him being rolled another five feet down the street. This dance lasted for what felt like an eternity, until he crawled behind an old chocolate shop to get out of the wind.

“Sweet jesus…how the hell did Margo do in this?”

Clinging hand over hand to the railings on the storefronts, Margo finally reached the trail that led to her home. All that it took was a run over a fairly wide patch of open ground to the start of the trail. Her mind wandered to the swaying of the trees in the violent wind, how small she felt as she watched a hundred trees move like dogs on a beach playing with a ball. Digging in her heels and thinking only of the sweet relief behind a mere hundred or so yards of woods. Thinking only of relief, of calm, of the comfort that awaited her so close in the present, her body moved like she was all tendon. Her desperation drove her arms and legs to precisely and intensely grip the trees and earth, when she stumbled, to nearly fling herself towards her front door. Her body slammed against the wood door like it was a queen sized bed with silk sheets. Before she could process anything else she was inside, and feet guiding her unconsciously to the drawer she kept her stash. Clean clean finally clean. Cold and clear and free free from fat hairy yellow toothed bastards.

Sweet Christ. How did she ever go any longer than a day without this?

Spencer wasn`t sure if she had made it home. The wind was getting worse and worse and there was no way

#my writing

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12freddostories · 7 years

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Contrary to what her father thought, Azula mused as she sat on the porch, she didn’t particularly want to kill Zuko to become Fire Lord. That was Plan D.

Oh, she wanted to be Fire Lord as much as ever, and she was confident her father agreed with her ambitions. Ozai acknowledged Zuko as a war hero, but his feelings seemed to be more as if Zuko was an honoured general than his son. No, Azula was the prodigy, the strategist, the natural ruler. For all his skills, Zuzu wasn’t set to rule the Fire Nation.

That didn’t necessarily mean he had to die.

The succession hierarchy was a problem. Due to an irritating quirk of nature, Zuko was firstborn and thus the natural heir. Still, Iroh had been the firstborn, and yet he was disowned.

Plan A was to have Zuko follow in his uncle’s footsteps. He certainly seemed naturally inclined to it, more likely to copy the tea-loving fool than their father. It was entirely possible that he would have a similar embarrassment to the Dragon of the West losing Ba Sing Se: not harsh enough to warrant another banishment, but enough to lose being heir. A disgraced prince, but still a prince. He might even do it without her influence.

On the beach, Zuko and Mai spoke softly, sickeningly close. Mai ran her fingers through Zuko’s hair, which had gotten awfully long. Ty Lee had mentioned that he should have it cut after they got back from Ember Island.

Azula wondered if Zuko might marry Mai someday. Her father would be displeased to have a nonbender brought into the family, but Azula would welcome it. Mai was tolerable to the point that she enjoyed being in her company, and Azula would be happy to call her a sister.

Regardless of who it was, Azula was confident that Zuko would marry. He’d find a wife, and have his own children who would almost certainly inherit the bending gene – they’d be related to royalty, after all.

That fitted into Azula’s vision of the future perfectly. A Fire Lord would be expected to marry and produce heirs, but the thought wasn’t appealing. Azula was willing to marry if the situation required it – she would do her duty – but ideally she’d like to rule alone. Her brother’s children could be named heirs instead, and carry on the bloodline just as surely if she’d had her own.

Plan B was to see him banished again.

The easiest way would be to allow the Avatar to reach the Capitol. Azula knew he was coming, but she thought she’d try Plan A first. That was why when Mai had come to her, asking if she knew any assassins, Azula had happily provided a list of recommendations with the full knowledge of why Zuko wanted one.

After all, her father was a picture of health; Azula had plenty of time to usurp her brother’s birthright. She might as well prevent the Avatar’s arrival.

Azula wasn’t quite sure what it would take to have Zuko banished again. No matter how she teased him, he wasn’t dumb. She doubted he’d make an obvious mistake like he had last time.

But then, she didn’t need to have all the details figured out. She hadn’t even begun to put things in place for her first plan, let alone the second. The comet was only a few weeks away, and she felt that she needed to focus on the upcoming invasion led by the presumed-dead Avatar.

Plan C was to have Zuko flee.

Azula knew exactly how she could accomplish that. All it would take is a few strategic words, a scroll or two that was ‘discovered’ in his quarters, and her brother would be accused of treason.

She thought she might wait until Ozai began to grow frail. Then she could anonymously accuse the prince of poisoning his father in order to take the crown. It wasn’t a realistic lie, but Azula had found that it only needed to be a good story to be believable. Besides, she had plenty of time to work out the details.

Once the rumours started, she could warn him. Tell Zuko to run, like she had the last time Ozai had planned his death. This time she would have evidence, potentially fake, to convince him he needed to go.

He would escape the Fire Nation and disappear into hiding. Knowing Zuzu, he’d go on a dramatic quest to prove his innocence.

Azula thought that if she went with Plan C, after her coronation she’d send for him to come back. Claim to have found evidence of his innocence, possibly pin the blame on whichever enemy at the time she needed to have disposed. If she was already in power, he wouldn’t be able to unseat her, and so Plan A would work. He could live in the palace again and be happy.

And then there was Plan D. Which was, frankly, painless. Azula didn’t have any further details worked out, but she already knew it wasn’t going to hurt. In fact, she seriously considered doing it herself, as the crown prince deserved that dignity.

Unless, of course, it was inconvenient for her to do it personally.

Azula wished to avoid killing her brother for a very simple reason: it was a debt. She remembered being a young child and crawling into her brother’s bed to escape the nightmares; she remembered him quietly lighting her candles when she was unable to manage it in order to spare her the shame; she remembered him getting into a fight with the first boy to ever call her creepy; she remembered long hours when the palace was empty and the only one who was always willing to play was Zuzu.

It was dishonourable to let that debt go unpaid.

Azula understood the laws of honour, but she was less concerned with them then her brother was. Zuzu had been banished during the lessons Azula had learned at her father’s side, that honour was important but not nearly so much as victory. One should only play fair if they were certain to win.

And in the game of becoming Fire Lord, she was certain to win.

Four plans assured her of that.

#avatar: the last airbender #atla #atla fanfiction #a:tla #fanfic #just a little piece about Azula because I love her thought processes #also I love the idea that half the time when she said 'i'm trying to help' she was being literal #'i'm trying to help when i say dad wants to kill you' 'you'll get into trouble if they find you seeing uncle'#'i figured you'd be staring at old paintings of us as kids' 'you can come back with us to the fire nation if you want'#but that being said she's still a villain #i wrote this in like thirty minutes tonight i just had inspiration #murder //#abuse //#abusive sisters //#i'm sorry i feel like there should be tws and i don't know what they are #villains //

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theplattexperiment-blog · 8 years

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Pray for the world. Reading: Proverbs 26-31 Proverbs 26-31New International Version (NIV) 26 Like snow in summer or rain in harvest,  honor is not fitting for a fool. 2 Like a fluttering sparrow or a darting swallow,  an undeserved curse does not come to rest. 3 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey,  and a rod for the backs of fools! 4 Do not answer a fool according to his folly,  or you yourself will be just like him. 5 Answer a fool according to his folly,  or he will be wise in his own eyes. 6 Sending a message by the hands of a fool  is like cutting off one’s feet or drinking poison. 7 Like the useless legs of one who is lame  is a proverb in the mouth of a fool. 8 Like tying a stone in a sling  is the giving of honor to a fool. 9 Like a thornbush in a drunkard’s hand  is a proverb in the mouth of a fool. 10 Like an archer who wounds at random  is one who hires a fool or any passer-by. 11 As a dog returns to its vomit,  so fools repeat their folly. 12 Do you see a person wise in their own eyes?  There is more hope for a fool than for them. 13 A sluggard says, “There’s a lion in the road,  a fierce lion roaming the streets!” 14 As a door turns on its hinges,  so a sluggard turns on his bed. 15 A sluggard buries his hand in the dish;  he is too lazy to bring it back to his mouth. 16 A sluggard is wiser in his own eyes  than seven people who answer discreetly. 17 Like one who grabs a stray dog by the ears  is someone who rushes into a quarrel not their own. 18 Like a maniac shooting  flaming arrows of death 19 is one who deceives their neighbor  and says, “I was only joking!” 20 Without wood a fire goes out;  without a gossip a quarrel dies down. 21 As charcoal to embers and as wood to fire,  so is a quarrelsome person for kindling strife. 22 The words of a gossip are like choice morsels;  they go down to the inmost parts. 23 Like a coating of silver dross on earthenware  are fervent[a] lips with an evil heart. 24 Enemies disguise themselves with their lips,  but in their hearts they harbor deceit. 25 Though their speech is charming, do not believe them,  for seven abominations fill their hearts. 26 Their malice may be concealed by deception,  but their wickedness will be exposed in the assembly. 27 Whoever digs a pit will fall into it;  if someone rolls a stone, it will roll back on them. 28 A lying tongue hates those it hurts,  and a flattering mouth works ruin. 27 Do not boast about tomorrow,  for you do not know what a day may bring. 2 Let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth;  an outsider, and not your own lips. 3 Stone is heavy and sand a burden,  but a fool’s provocation is heavier than both. 4 Anger is cruel and fury overwhelming,  but who can stand before jealousy? 5 Better is open rebuke  than hidden love. 6 Wounds from a friend can be trusted,  but an enemy multiplies kisses. 7 One who is full loathes honey from the comb,  but to the hungry even what is bitter tastes sweet. 8 Like a bird that flees its nest  is anyone who flees from home. 9 Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart,  and the pleasantness of a friend  springs from their heartfelt advice. 10 Do not forsake your friend or a friend of your family,  and do not go to your relative’s house when disaster strikes you—  better a neighbor nearby than a relative far away. 11 Be wise, my son, and bring joy to my heart;  then I can answer anyone who treats me with contempt. 12 The prudent see danger and take refuge,  but the simple keep going and pay the penalty. 13 Take the garment of one who puts up security for a stranger;  hold it in pledge if it is done for an outsider. 14 If anyone loudly blesses their neighbor early in the morning,  it will be taken as a curse. 15 A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping  of a leaky roof in a rainstorm; 16 restraining her is like restraining the wind  or grasping oil with the hand. 17 As iron sharpens iron,  so one person sharpens another. 18 The one who guards a fig tree will eat its fruit,  and whoever protects their master will be honored. 19 As water reflects the face,  so one’s life reflects the heart.[b] 20 Death and Destruction[c] are never satisfied,  and neither are human eyes. 21 The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold,  but people are tested by their praise. 22 Though you grind a fool in a mortar,  grinding them like grain with a pestle,  you will not remove their folly from them. 23 Be sure you know the condition of your flocks,  give careful attention to your herds; 24 for riches do not endure forever,  and a crown is not secure for all generations. 25 When the hay is removed and new growth appears  and the grass from the hills is gathered in, 26 the lambs will provide you with clothing,  and the goats with the price of a field. 27 You will have plenty of goats’ milk to feed your family  and to nourish your female servants. 28 The wicked flee though no one pursues,  but the righteous are as bold as a lion. 2 When a country is rebellious, it has many rulers,  but a ruler with discernment and knowledge maintains order. 3 A ruler[d] who oppresses the poor  is like a driving rain that leaves no crops. 4 Those who forsake instruction praise the wicked,  but those who heed it resist them. 5 Evildoers do not understand what is right,  but those who seek the Lordunderstand it fully. 6 Better the poor whose walk is blameless  than the rich whose ways are perverse. 7 A discerning son heeds instruction,  but a companion of gluttons disgraces his father. 8 Whoever increases wealth by taking interest or profit from the poor  amasses it for another, who will be kind to the poor. 9 If anyone turns a deaf ear to my instruction,  even their prayers are detestable. 10 Whoever leads the upright along an evil path  will fall into their own trap,  but the blameless will receive a good inheritance. 11 The rich are wise in their own eyes;  one who is poor and discerning sees how deluded they are. 12 When the righteous triumph, there is great elation;  but when the wicked rise to power, people go into hiding. 13 Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper,  but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy. 14 Blessed is the one who always trembles before God,  but whoever hardens their heart falls into trouble. 15 Like a roaring lion or a charging bear  is a wicked ruler over a helpless people. 16 A tyrannical ruler practices extortion,  but one who hates ill-gotten gain will enjoy a long reign. 17 Anyone tormented by the guilt of murder  will seek refuge in the grave;  let no one hold them back. 18 The one whose walk is blameless is kept safe,  but the one whose ways are perverse will fall into the pit.[e] 19 Those who work their land will have abundant food,  but those who chase fantasies will have their fill of poverty. 20 A faithful person will be richly blessed,  but one eager to get rich will not go unpunished. 21 To show partiality is not good—  yet a person will do wrong for a piece of bread. 22 The stingy are eager to get rich  and are unaware that poverty awaits them. 23 Whoever rebukes a person will in the end gain favor  rather than one who has a flattering tongue. 24 Whoever robs their father or mother  and says, “It’s not wrong,”  is partner to one who destroys. 25 The greedy stir up conflict,  but those who trust in the Lord will prosper. 26 Those who trust in themselves are fools,  but those who walk in wisdom are kept safe. 27 Those who give to the poor will lack nothing,  but those who close their eyes to them receive many curses. 28 When the wicked rise to power, people go into hiding;  but when the wicked perish, the righteous thrive. 29 Whoever remains stiff-necked after many rebukes  will suddenly be destroyed—without remedy. 2 When the righteous thrive, the people rejoice;  when the wicked rule, the people groan. 3 A man who loves wisdom brings joy to his father,  but a companion of prostitutes squanders his wealth. 4 By justice a king gives a country stability,  but those who are greedy for[f] bribes tear it down. 5 Those who flatter their neighbors  are spreading nets for their feet. 6 Evildoers are snared by their own sin,  but the righteous shout for joy and are glad. 7 The righteous care about justice for the poor,  but the wicked have no such concern. 8 Mockers stir up a city,  but the wise turn away anger. 9 If a wise person goes to court with a fool,  the fool rages and scoffs, and there is no peace. 10 The bloodthirsty hate a person of integrity  and seek to kill the upright. 11 Fools give full vent to their rage,  but the wise bring calm in the end. 12 If a ruler listens to lies,  all his officials become wicked. 13 The poor and the oppressor have this in common:  The Lord gives sight to the eyes of both. 14 If a king judges the poor with fairness,  his throne will be established forever. 15 A rod and a reprimand impart wisdom,  but a child left undisciplined disgraces its mother. 16 When the wicked thrive, so does sin,  but the righteous will see their downfall. 17 Discipline your children, and they will give you peace;  they will bring you the delights you desire. 18 Where there is no revelation, people cast off restraint;  but blessed is the one who heeds wisdom’s instruction. 19 Servants cannot be corrected by mere words;  though they understand, they will not respond. 20 Do you see someone who speaks in haste?  There is more hope for a fool than for them. 21 A servant pampered from youth  will turn out to be insolent. 22 An angry person stirs up conflict,  and a hot-tempered person commits many sins. 23 Pride brings a person low,  but the lowly in spirit gain honor. 24 The accomplices of thieves are their own enemies;  they are put under oath and dare not testify. 25 Fear of man will prove to be a snare,  but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe. 26 Many seek an audience with a ruler,  but it is from the Lord that one gets justice. 27 The righteous detest the dishonest;  the wicked detest the upright. Sayings of Agur 30 The sayings of Agur son of Jakeh—an inspired utterance. This man’s utterance to Ithiel: “I am weary, God,  but I can prevail.[g] 2 Surely I am only a brute, not a man;  I do not have human understanding. 3 I have not learned wisdom,  nor have I attained to the knowledge of the Holy One. 4 Who has gone up to heaven and come down?  Whose hands have gathered up the wind? Who has wrapped up the waters in a cloak?  Who has established all the ends of the earth? What is his name, and what is the name of his son?  Surely you know! 5 “Every word of God is flawless;  he is a shield to those who take refuge in him. 6 Do not add to his words,  or he will rebuke you and prove you a liar. 7 “Two things I ask of you, Lord;  do not refuse me before I die: 8 Keep falsehood and lies far from me;  give me neither poverty nor riches,  but give me only my daily bread. 9 Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you  and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal,  and so dishonor the name of my God. 10 “Do not slander a servant to their master,  or they will curse you, and you will pay for it. 11 “There are those who curse their fathers  and do not bless their mothers; 12 those who are pure in their own eyes  and yet are not cleansed of their filth; 13 those whose eyes are ever so haughty,  whose glances are so disdainful; 14 those whose teeth are swords  and whose jaws are set with knives to devour the poor from the earth  and the needy from among mankind. 15 “The leech has two daughters.  ‘Give! Give!’ they cry. “There are three things that are never satisfied,  four that never say, ‘Enough!’: 16 the grave, the barren womb,  land, which is never satisfied with water,  and fire, which never says, ‘Enough!’ 17 “The eye that mocks a father,  that scorns an aged mother, will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley,  will be eaten by the vultures. 18 “There are three things that are too amazing for me,  four that I do not understand: 19 the way of an eagle in the sky,  the way of a snake on a rock, the way of a ship on the high seas,  and the way of a man with a young woman. 20 “This is the way of an adulterous woman:  She eats and wipes her mouth  and says, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’ 21 “Under three things the earth trembles,  under four it cannot bear up: 22 a servant who becomes king,  a godless fool who gets plenty to eat, 23 a contemptible woman who gets married,  and a servant who displaces her mistress. 24 “Four things on earth are small,  yet they are extremely wise: 25 Ants are creatures of little strength,  yet they store up their food in the summer; 26 hyraxes are creatures of little power,  yet they make their home in the crags; 27 locusts have no king,  yet they advance together in ranks; 28 a lizard can be caught with the hand,  yet it is found in kings’ palaces. 29 “There are three things that are stately in their stride,  four that move with stately bearing: 30 a lion, mighty among beasts,  who retreats before nothing; 31 a strutting rooster, a he-goat,  and a king secure against revolt.[h] 32 “If you play the fool and exalt yourself,  or if you plan evil,  clap your hand over your mouth! 33 For as churning cream produces butter,  and as twisting the nose produces blood,  so stirring up anger produces strife.” Sayings of King Lemuel 31 The sayings of King Lemuel—an inspired utterance his mother taught him. 2 Listen, my son! Listen, son of my womb!  Listen, my son, the answer to my prayers! 3 Do not spend your strength[i] on women,  your vigor on those who ruin kings. 4 It is not for kings, Lemuel—  it is not for kings to drink wine,  not for rulers to crave beer, 5 lest they drink and forget what has been decreed,  and deprive all the oppressed of their rights. 6 Let beer be for those who are perishing,  wine for those who are in anguish! 7 Let them drink and forget their poverty  and remember their misery no more. 8 Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,  for the rights of all who are destitute. 9 Speak up and judge fairly;  defend the rights of the poor and needy. Epilogue: The Wife of Noble Character 10 [j]A wife of noble character who can find?  She is worth far more than rubies. 11 Her husband has full confidence in her  and lacks nothing of value. 12 She brings him good, not harm,  all the days of her life. 13 She selects wool and flax  and works with eager hands. 14 She is like the merchant ships,  bringing her food from afar. 15 She gets up while it is still night;  she provides food for her family  and portions for her female servants. 16 She considers a field and buys it;  out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. 17 She sets about her work vigorously;  her arms are strong for her tasks. 18 She sees that her trading is profitable,  and her lamp does not go out at night. 19 In her hand she holds the distaff  and grasps the spindle with her fingers. 20 She opens her arms to the poor  and extends her hands to the needy. 21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;  for all of them are clothed in scarlet. 22 She makes coverings for her bed;  she is clothed in fine linen and purple. 23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,  where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. 24 She makes linen garments and sells them,  and supplies the merchants with sashes. 25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;  she can laugh at the days to come. 26 She speaks with wisdom,  and faithful instruction is on her tongue. 27 She watches over the affairs of her household  and does not eat the bread of idleness. 28 Her children arise and call her blessed;  her husband also, and he praises her: 29 “Many women do noble things,  but you surpass them all.” 30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;  but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. 31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,  and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

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