#drink Fisher's water and get all of those memories back

[liltaz-asatreat]

Welp, I didn’t finish that one scene I wanted to write for both Julia Burnsides vs Canon Lore and the taz November celebration thing last night

But I did finally finish chapter 2 alskghdslgkhdglkhg

Next up, either that scene or chapter 3 lol

[delicateflowerss]

You Were Never Mine

You couldn't have Conrad Fisher in the fall, but maybe you can have him in the summer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, underage drinking, mention of loss of virginity, mention of drugs, angst, friends with benefits, unrequited love

Word Count: 2.1k

You never expected to see him here.

Now you hide behind strangers, hoping he doesn’t see you too.

You watch him run his hand through his hair, almost nervously, maybe absentmindedly. He cradles a beer in his other hand, his attention on the friends that surround him.

It’s those tiny details that make your heart clench, wincing at the things that could have been, the things you could have had.

You met Conrad last fall. It was a party similar to this one. It was full of firsts, loud and messy. A college party through and through.

You had gotten into some drunken debate with some friends, and you hadn’t noticed that Conrad had joined in until it was just the two of you, arguing over something stupid that most people wouldn’t care about.

Then before you knew it, his lips were on yours and clothes were being thrown to every corner of some small bedroom.

It was your first time, but Conrad didn’t know that. You cursed at yourself when you were sober enough to realize what happened. You never intended to lose your virginity while you were drunk, let alone to a guy you just met.

You knew nothing about him so you worried he would be stuck as some one-night stand, your first one-night stand.

Until you ran into him when you were leaving the library one night. You were there late, studying for an exam the next day. He was the one who called out to you, even remembering your name.

You don’t know why you expected anything less from him.

It was cold and dark, so he offered to walk you to your dorm. You thought it was sweet, that he cared enough to do something like that.

After that, you saw him more and more. It wasn’t too long before you were spending the night in each other’s beds.

It became a habit, a dangerous one.

Sometimes, he would accidentally leave his plaid shirts in your room, leaving them draped over your desk chair.

Normally, you would give them back. Except, one you kept. You hoped he would forget he ever left it, and you would get to keep it for yourself.

And he did, never asking about it.

Now it’s summer vacation and your family decided to spend it in Cousins this year. You thought Conrad had mentioned to you once or twice that he spends his summers here too, but you hoped your memory was false.

All you can think about now is when you’ll be able to leave.

Your hiding game doesn’t last long before he notices you, your gaze meeting his. You don’t miss the surprise that paints his face, but you don’t see it for long as you’re turning away, leaving the smell of weed and booze behind you.

Summer is cruel for playing this sick joke on you. The town must be small because you’ve had to dodge Conrad a few times since you saw him at that party, including hiding behind a produce stand at the market.

You hope to find a reprieve at the beach, salt air hanging heavily around you as you lay sprawled out on a towel.

But all you have to do is turn your head and you see him again. You want to roll your eyes at your luck and it’s like he can sense you’re looking at him because he catches your eye.

You hope that he’ll go the other way, pretending he doesn’t see you.

He doesn’t do that.

Your name falls easily from his lips as he walks up to you.

“What’re you doing in Cousins?” he asks, and you wonder if the slight smile on his face is covering his annoyance that you’re here in the first place.

You clear your throat, standing up so he’s not looming over you.

He has a surfboard under his arm and his chestnut hair is wet, droplets of water falling from the strands onto his skin.

You swallow, wanting nothing more but to trace your fingertips on his damp skin.

“My parents decided to vacation here this summer,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, making it clear you had no choice in the matter.

All he does is nod, his blue gaze still on you and it makes you nervous as you don’t know what’s going through his head.

“How have you been liking it?” he finally asks, ending the awkward silence.

“I like it a lot. It’s really nice here.”

You avoid talking about how you dread leaving your vacation house just in case you run into him.

Your stare finds the sand beneath your feet, and you don’t notice him starting to say your name, his brow furrowing like he’s about to say something serious.

“I should get going,” you interrupt. “It was good seeing you, Conrad,” you hurriedly say before grabbing your things and leaving.

He watches you, a heaviness passing through his eyes.

You and Conrad were like a lit match, burning bright for a short time before being snuffed out, leaving nothing but a lingering smoke.

You could’ve lived forever in those few months when the air was crisper and fall leaves littered the ground.

It was an unspoken agreement that the two of you wouldn’t talk about what you exactly were. It was just kisses on collarbones and hands on thighs. It was whispered late-night conversations where you could say anything that was on your mind, except if it had to do with you and Conrad.

Then you slipped up.

You could hear his even breathing next to you, but he wasn’t asleep.

“Conrad?” you whispered.

He hummed in response.

“I need to ask you something.”

You don’t know why you broke the rule, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t know why he didn’t want to be yours.

You could feel his gaze on you but in the darkness, you couldn’t see the intensity of it or the slight worry.

“I need to know…what this is,” you said so quietly that you almost hoped he didn’t hear you.

You could feel him shift, turning onto his back so he stares at the ceiling instead of you.

“Does it need to be something?” His voice is even.

“Isn’t it, already?”

A moment passed and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s just sex, Y/N,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders.

You swallowed, not wanting the tears to well up any further.

It wasn’t a second later before he got out of bed, putting his clothes back on. He said something about seeing you later, but you knew it was a lie.

And it was. For the rest of the school year, you would sometimes see him at a party or somewhere on campus. But he would just act like he didn’t know you, and you did the same.

For some reason, you kept his shirt, maybe because it still smelled like him.

That’s why it was so confusing that he would talk to you now, just because you happen to be in the same town as him for the summer.

The music is so loud it’s hard to think. But maybe you don’t want to, choosing to drown your sorrows in whatever is at the bottom of the red solo cup in your hand.

You’re not sure why you let yourself go to another party, knowing it’s likely you’d see Conrad again.

But as you walk through the swarms of people and you don’t see his face, you almost wish he was there.

It’s not until you find the backyard that you find the face you could recognize anywhere.

He sits by the pool, the blue reflecting onto his face. Locks of his hair fall over his eyes as he takes a swig of his beer.

He’s alone, a sullenness overtaking his features.

Your feet move on their own accord, your mind not having caught up with them. Why should you talk to him?

It doesn’t matter that you can’t think of an answer, you’re already stepping outside.

He finally moves to see you walking up to him. He doesn’t fake a smile, his gaze finding the water.

“What’re you doing out here?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sure you prefer it. So, you don’t have to see me,” he says, looking at you.

Now it’s your turn to look away, also finding the pool more interesting.

“I came out here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, slightly nodding. “But what about all those other times you avoided me?”

You can feel your cheeks getting warmer.

“You can’t hide from me, you know,” he adds, his tone teasing.

“I don’t want to,” you say, staring at the ground.

Something thick settles between the two of you.

“And I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” he replies.

“Really?” you scoff.

“I never meant to make you feel differently.”

You assume that’s his version of an apology.

“Well, you did, Conrad. It really seemed like you never wanted to see me again.”

You cross your arms as you wait for his response.

He swallows, setting his beer down on the concrete.

“But that’s not true,” he says, standing up, finally looking you in the eyes. “I never said I didn’t want to see you again.”

“No, you just lied about it.”

His fingers are back in his hair, nervously pushing back the strands in his face.

“I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”

You furrow your brow, wondering if he’s oblivious to his rudeness or if he knows he’s an asshole.

“You didn’t think I liked you? At all?”

Anger seeps out of your voice as you step closer to him.

A moment passes, only the distant sound of waves crashing, and the muffled sounds of the party can be heard.

“I liked you, Conrad. A lot,” you explain. “And you just left, without saying another word to me. You know how shitty that is?”

“You shouldn’t have just sprung that on me,” he argues back. “Especially at that moment. I mean, who does that?”

“There was no other time you talked to me,” you say, and it almost sounds pathetic.

He just stares at you, and you realize it is pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You don’t think you can take it anymore, so you turn around quickly, wanting to get far away from him. But your foot catches on something, forcing you to lose your balance.

You try to grab onto Conrad’s arm, hoping he would pull you back from the water’s edge. Instead, you fall into the pool, Conrad right after you, both of you submerged in the deep, deep blue.

You swim to the top as he does the same, finding him blinking the water out of his eyes as you both take a breath.

“Why did you pull me in?” he asks with feigned irritation, splashing you a little.

“You pulled yourself in. You were supposed to catch me.” Your tone matches his as you splash him more than he splashed you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, too genuine for letting you fall into the pool.

“It’s fine. I mean, you’re in here too.”

“No. About…what I did,” he says with a shaky breath, sincerity written on his face. “It was shitty, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Now that you’ve heard the words you’ve been longing to hear, your mind is blank.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about trying to talk to you again. And when I saw that you were in Cousins…I took my chance,” he continues.

“Why did you wait so long?”

“I thought you hated me. And I was right.”

“I don’t hate you, Conrad,” you interrupt. “I could never hate you.”

“You should. I hope you burned that shirt I left in your dorm.”

“What? You knew I had that?”

His lips curve into a smirk before you splash him again.

“Why didn’t you say anything if you knew I had it?” you ask.

“Because I wanted you to have it. Have something that was mine,” he adds, his voice gentle.

Your eyes soften as you feel yourself inching closer to him.

It’s not long before he presses his lips to yours, a hand holding the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss.

Your legs curl around his hips as his other hand hooks under your thigh. He softly bites your bottom lip before pushing his tongue inside your mouth.

While his other hand moves from your neck to your chest, his lips drag down the wet skin of your neck.

His fingers go down farther, finding the inside of your shorts. You can’t help the soft moan that falls out of you as he rubs the front of your underwear.

Your hips move, grinding yourself on the palm of his hand.

“Should we move this inside?” he whispers against your cheek.

And you can’t help but wonder if this means things will change.

[hellfirenacht]

Can’t Be Unseen Chapter 7

Sal Fisher x Reader

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

AO3

Notes: We continue

The distant sound of cars echoed from under the overpass. It was dark, and snow glittered off the side of the road under the moonlight as you, Sal, Larry, and Ashley trudged your way through. The party that Ashley’s parents had been hosting had long since been abandoned in everyone’s plans, as it was made clear that the party was more for the parents than you all. Not that it mattered, the second someone suggested you ditch and celebrate somewhere else everyone had packed up the snacks, snuck a few bottles of wine, and bundled up to make the way down to anywhere else.

The overpass a few blocks down the road seemed like a good place to set up camp. You had just returned a few hours earlier, barely having the time to set your stuff down before hopping in the van with Sal and Larry to head off to Ashley’s parents house. You were tired, damn near exhausted after not having slept very well the previous night, but you wanted to see your friends.

And they had wanted to see you as well. Sal and Larry damn near tackled you to the ground with hugs when you stepped off the elevator into the basement of the apartments. They had been waiting for you all day, so worried you weren’t going to make it with all of the snow that had fallen over the past two weeks.

“It wasn’t the same here for Christmas without you.” Sal had said.

“We tried to watch some cheesy B-movies that had to do with the holidays, but without your zingers it didn’t feel right.” Larry had added. “We still ripped the movie to shreds, but it wasn’t as fun without you.”

Your heart melted at the comments from your two best friends. After two weeks away, having had time to sort out your thoughts, there was a relief in being home with them.

Of course, you still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Larry. But with the New Years party tonight, there wasn’t exactly a good time to bring up how the two of you made out before you left. You needed to talk about it.

‘Soon’ you told yourself.

Despite being the middle of winter, it wasn't as cold as it could have been. Everyone dumped their party bags next to the underpass slope. Ashley pulled out a bottle of wine and uncorked it, taking a sip and passing it to you, who took a sip and passed it to Sal, who reached into his bag and pulled out a crazy straw to stick in it.

It seemed like four lifetimes ago that you two won those at the festival. The memory no longer burned you, no longer made your stomach twist in knots with guilt. Now the site of him using that straw for some underage drinking just made you laugh. Sal turned to hand the bottle to Larry, but he was rifling through his bag.

“The booze is over here, Larry.” you called out.

“I’m looking for something else” he called back over his shoulder, elbow deep into his backpack. “Here it is!” Larry’s arm started shaking and a faint rattling sound echoed through the open tunnel. When he stood up he was holding a can of spray paint. “I’ve been meaning to try out a new medium.”

“Underage drinking, weed, and spray painting.” Ashley shook her head and laughed. “We’re gonna get in so much trouble if we get busted.”

“‘If’ being the key word.” you chimed in, taking the bottle back from Sal and taking a long sip. It wasn’t your first time drinking, your parents had let you have the occasional drink inside the apartment since you were sixteen. If you were honest, you were glad that the cabin never had any signal, as one night you had a bit more than you could reasonably handle and had considered sending some texts to your friends that probably would not have been the smartest. Your parents had only laughed at you slurred words and stumbling, gave you water and an Advil and sent you off to bed.

It was nice to have parents that trusted you and gave a shit.

“We’ve done more questionable things.” said Sal, taking the bottle back from you. You hadn’t even thought about it, but you had used his straw. Oops. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything. “Remember that time we snuck into the principal's office to get back Larry’s confiscated ‘soda’ can?”

“That was not my fault!” Larry called out, sizing up the large empty slab of concrete in front of him. “I thought I grabbed a real soda that morning!”

Ashley laughed. “You were still high! You had detention and me and Sal had to get that fake can back before they realized what it actually was.”

“You saved my ass is what you did. Mom would have murdered me before I even got charged with possession.” Larry stepped forward and started in with the spray paint.

The four of you reminisce about the times of teenage rebellion over the past few years. So many wonderful memories about causing trouble, covering for each other, and fun memories about sneaking around. In a few months, those days would be behind you all. With Sal being the last of the group to turn 18, there were few things left to be sneaky about.

Soon you could do whatever you wanted, within reason, legally.

The bottle was back in your hands as you chatted, now over half gone. There was a pleasant buzz in the back of your head as you took another sip. Not enough to be sloppy, but enough to relax and remove some inhibitions.

“Larry, you want some of this?” You called out as he finished with his painting. It looked like it was a stylized version of his name, but it was hard to tell. Why did so many graffiti tags have to be nearly impossible to read?

“In a sec, I gotta clean my hands,” Larry said, setting down the can. “Then I definitely could use some of that”

“You want some wine too?” you teased with a wink that he couldn’t even see because his back was to you. It felt good to flirt again, even though there was a small part in the back of your brain that said that maybe you should talk to him first before acting like old times.

That piece of you could shut it.

“You’re flirty sober, so it shouldn’t surprise me that you’ll crank it up when you’re buzzed too.” Ashley said before Larry could respond.

“Who am I to deny that my friends are hot?” you giggled through the straw before Sal took it back taking his own sip.

Sal had been quiet for a bit now, and you could have  sworn that he had been staring at you tonight. It was hard to tell, as you had stayed on the side of him that had the fake eyeball. But through the night you could feel a gaze on you, and with Larry at the wall and Ashley looking you in the eyes it had to be Sal.

Music started playing. Larry had pulled out a small speaker from his bag and had hooked his phone up to it. Excitement filled you as you grabbed Ashley’s hand and spun her around, demanding that she join you in a dance. She only laughed and shook her head but let you lead her around the area under the bridge in a stumbling and silly dance. You attempted to dip her, but that did not go well for either of you as you both slipped and stumbled to the ground laughing.

“So, does this mean you’ve finally fallen for me, Ash?” you giggled as you both got to your feet, brushing off any dirt.

“If it wasn’t for Jamie, you’d have my heart” she laughed.

You gripped at your shirt above your heart. “Rejected again!” you fake sobbed. “My poor heart, how will I ever recover?”

“I’m sure you’ll live.” she clapped your shoulder, leading you back towards the boys who were jamming out to the music. The two of you hopped in, letting the music take control of your body and mind. The alcohol relaxed you, allowing your brain to calm and focus on just being here with the people you loved.

A familiar hand grasped onto yours and gave you a quick spin. Larry made sure you were kept steady as he spun you around and around and around by the hand. Your mind was swimming and dizzy but there was joy and comfort and safety here. When his hand slipped from yours, you stumbled back, thudding against something.

Sal had caught you, his arms wrapped around your waist and shoulders. He kept you steady as your brain caught up to the rest of you. “Thanks!” you said, panting slightly.

“No problem.” he said, making no move to let go. A few months ago this would have sent you heart pounding and your cheeks red. Okay, if you were being honest there was still a small part of you that was flushed from the gesture as well as the cold. It didn’t help that he just kept... looking at you. His expression was completely unreadable with the mask right then.

“What?” you giggled. “Something on my face?”

Sal shook his head, “No”

“Have Ashley take a picture, or subscribe to my private snapchat” you gave him a good old fashioned over dramatic wink.

“Maybe I should.” Was there... a slight stutter in his voice? Was it the cold? “You look really good. And hot.”

Your eyes widened and he quickly stood you back up fully, the tips of his ears bright red. You were in disbelief at the words. It seemed so unlike him to say that, say things like that. It had to be the wine. You decided, absolutely. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to flirt sincerely after everything, right?

“Why, Salamander Xavier Fisher, are you  flirting  with me?” You gave him a playful nudge.

The sound of a bag of chips immediately distracted you from the boy in front of you. Ashley and Larry had pulled out the snacks and you were starving. You hurried over to partake in the salty joy, Ashley cracking open a second bottle of wine that she was sharing between herself and Larry.

The four of you passed the bottles around and tore through the snacks like no one’s business. Laughter echoed off the concrete walls as you reminisced about the past year.

“I need to pee.” Sal said, standing up and walking outside of the ove pass to find a private spot. Larry watched him for a moment and stood up.

“Hey, come over here for a second.” Larry said to you, offering a hand. You took it, and he hauled you to your feet before leading you to the opposite side of the bridge. Ashley had pulled out her phone, making sure that no one was looking for all of you at the party you had originally been invited to.

“What’s up?” you asked, but you knew what was up. Being mildly intoxicated might not have been the best move for this conversation, but it was happening anyway.

“I just want to make sure we’re alright.” Larry said, seriously. “After the party we didn’t really get a chance to talk about what happened.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from rising up your cheeks as you remember that night on the couch, sobering you slightly.

“I want us to be alright. That night, I-” you closed your eyes to clear your head, but the fog of the buzz made it a bit difficult. “I don’t regret what happened. But I also don’t think I want to date right now.”

Larry’s shoulder sagged and you panicked, worried that you just broke your friend’s heart. But instead, he let out a relieved laugh. “Oh, thank fuck I was worried.” he admitted. “I didn’t want to lead you on. I don’t regret it either, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t ever want to do it again.”

“I don’t blame you, I  am  pretty irresistible.” you tossed your hair with a smirk. “I can’t keep people off me, too hot and charming for my own good, really.”

Larry pulled you into a hug and you wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing. It felt good knowing that you didn’t screw anything up with him either. Sal had already been so hard to get over, if this had happened with Larry as well you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You make a mental note to not try and get with Ashley, that would be overboard. Not that you had any real interest in her, she was taken after all. Dating within the friend group was just too complicated, and your friendships with them were far too important.

You pulled Larry in and gave him a kiss on the cheek before the two of you made your way back towards Ashley and Sal who had rejoined the group. Sal was struggling to get the last dregs of some hand sanitizer out of the bottle.

“Just keep shaking and pumping it, and it’ll come out eventually” you teased. “That’s how it usually works, right?”

Sal just snorted. “Yeah, usually. Something like that.” He finally managed to get a satisfying amount on his hands before tossing the bottle in the grocery bag you all had decided to use for trash. Just because you all were breaking the law, didn’t mean you wanted to litter.

“So how much longer until midnight?” asked Larry.

Ashley checked her phone. “About a half hour”

“Well, I’m just drunk enough that I don’t want to be bringing in the new year underneath a bridge.” Larry decided. “Let’s find somewhere else to be.”

There were no objections from you or the others, though Ashley did stop in front of his tag to snap a picture. “Anything you want to say about this piece?” she asked.

“It’s our names.” Larry said, making everyone immediately turn around to get a closer look. Larry’s name had been obvious, with a stylised L and Y. Looking closer, you could each see that the letters twisted into each of your names as well. You had to be looking for it, looking closer to decipher the twists and turns of the paint but there you were- there you all were.

“Holy shit.” Sal breathed. “How long have you been working on that?”

“A few months now.” Larry shrugged. “I figured if I was gonna tag something, I wanted it to be something that would last as long as the art itself, so I picked us.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” said Ashley as she looked over the tag one more time.

“That’s really fucking incredible.” You added. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Oh don’t worry, I am.” he laughed. “Think of it as my holiday present to you guys.”

“Oh shit, presents!” you groaned. “I knew I was forgetting something. I have souvenirs for everyone back at home that I totally forgot about.”

Sal reached a hand out to rest it on your shoulder. “It’s okay.” he reassured you. “You being here in time for the new year is enough for us.”

There it was, that unreadable look in his eye again. The darkness of the overpass combined with his prosthetic was giving him... something. Fuck, you might have had a bit too much wine tonight. You were hardly thinking straight now, and it didn’t help that Sal’s good eye was shining with the reflection of the snow which contrasted with the intensity of the way he was looking at you, or the way his hair was a silvery blue in the moonlight-

“Ah.... thank you. Please excuse me.” you said, walking off to a nearby snowbank, grabbing a chunk of snow and pressing your warmed face against it.

“That’s where I peed.” Sal called out in a deadpan voice.

You replied with a shriek and immediately chucked it at him as he laughed and dodged. “I’m kidding!” he yelled as you threw another chunk of snow at him.

“Salvador Elizabeth Fisher, I’m gonna shove this snow down your throat- and  not in a sexy way!” you laughed, making your way back over to him. Larry and Ashley were busy packing up your goodies for the night and were wrapped up in their own conversation now, talking shop about art and photography probably.

Sal moved closer to you, your shoulders touching. “I thought everything you did was sexy.” he laughed. It was a different sort of laugh. Genuine, playful, but maybe a bit lower? He was tugging at his gloves, as if he couldn’t decide to keep them on or take them off. His ears were red, but it was so cold out.

“You... are drunk” you decided, nudging him. “Oh shit, all those meds you’re on- are you even allowed to be drinking?” Worry suddenly shot through you.

“Not really.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Pretty much every medication says to not mix with alcohol. I’ll be fine though, I didn’t drink a lot and it just means I can get drunk for cheaper. You were the one hogging the bottle.”

“You expect me to control myself with a bottle and a crazy straw?” you laughed. “Clearly, you don’t know me.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Before you could respond to that very cryptic sentence, Larry and Ashley returned and handed you each a bag.

“Larry has decided that we are going to the park.” Ashley said.

“It’s not like there’s a lot of places we can hang out at this late at night.” Larry shrugged. “I figured it’d be better than finishing off the night here or at the other party.”

“No objections here.” Sal said, looking at you.

There was a question in your eyes, but Sal’s didn’t answer yours. “Yeah, yeah I’m good to go to the park.” you managed, turning to Ashley and Larry.

It wasn’t a long trek to the park. You walked down past Ashley’s house again where you all stopped to pee, make a polite appearance, and drop off your trash. Then it was another few blocks to an empty playground, where you all immediately climbed up to settle in for the next ten minutes.

“So, what do you want to do next year?” Sal asked the group while looking at you.

You thought about it. “I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m so used to moving around that I didn’t think I’d be here this long.” you admitted. “My parents want me to go to college next year, but I’m thinking of maybe a trade school instead.”

“I’m applying for art school.” Ashley piped in. “I’ve been working on my portfolio all semester, and I have a few schools in mind.”

“Mom wants me to keep going to school, but I doubt we’d have the money for it, and scholarships are out with my grades.” sighed Larry. “I’m happy to just get my diploma and get to work somewhere.”

“I haven’t decided what I want to do either.” Sal said. “I’m probably just going to try and find a job too. If anyone will hire me that is.”

“I’d hire you.” you said. “Don’t know what I’d hire you for, but I’d hire you.”

He snorted. “I’ll play you guitar every day and get you snacks.”

“You’re hired. Immediately. When can you start?”

Sal responded by pulling out a bag of cookies and handing it to you.

“Motherfucker, are you trying to make me fall in love or something?”  Again?! You accepted the bag, shoving a cookie into your mouth. Sal said something that you couldn't quite catch over the crunching of the snack and the swimming feeling in your head.

Talk continued between the 4 of you, with Ashley keeping an eye on the time. At some point you stopped responding, closing your eyes to just take in the night and the chill and the warmth of those you loved.

You felt Sal's warmth next to you as Larry began a countdown. Your eyes remained closed, breathing steady. Each second that counted down to your midnight weighing on you. Soon you'd be back home in bed and you'll be able to rest before school starts. You though of what was to come next; spring break, prom, graduation, and then the final summer vacation.

It was exciting to think about.

"3"

You never want to forget nights like this.

"2"

With the friends that stood by you, stayed with you, and never made you feel unwanted.

"1"  Click.

Something pressed against your cheek. It was soft, warm, and pleasant. So much so that you didn't open your eyes until it pulled away. Slowly you opened your eyes and turned just in time to see Sal readjusting the prosthetic to his face. from even under the light of the full moon you could see the misshapen jawline as he pressed everything back in place.

"Happy new year" Sal said, taking your hand. You smiled at him as Larry started blasting music again, echoing the cheers of distant parties and the fireworks that now were littering the skies.  

[jakepullsthetrigger]

I met RR from Grindr last 2017. We’ve been fucked buddies slash almost lovers for almost 5 months.

I just came out from a relationship where my ex boyfriend cheated on me.

RR just came out from a toxic relationship with his ex, tho, they were still living together since they have rented a condo unit with a contract together.

I had no issues with that. Past is past, right?

It was a bitter sweet 5 months.

Walang away. Walang gulo. Pero were crossing tight ropes.

Unsure if falling is an option. Unsure if we will try to catch each other.

Those 5 months were too good to be true.

We were there for each other.

He would go to my place always.

We will spend the evening together.

Talk about arts, and life, and things in between.

The fuck — oh, the fuck, it was so good.

He admired me and I love that feeling.

I introduced him to my dad and to my friends.

He introduced me to his friends.

Unsure of our label, we kept on clinging to each other.

We were even calling each other babe. Exchanging playlists.

Acting like lovers. The operative word - acting.

But we ended as well, like almost all acting lovers.

We were not able to translate the almost into a real one.

It was too frightening for us, so we decided that flight was the best course of action.

There were relapse. There were attempts to get it all back.

But the void was too big that we just couldn’t bring everything that has been lost together.

In the first place - there was never an us.

So there’s nothing to bring back together in the first place.

Only ghosts and memories of dream-like evenings together.

So after parting ways, I kept on sending letters to the emptiness.

Hoping that in one impossible way or another, it would reach him.

I am not expecting anything, but I just wanted him to hear it.

Here are some of those letters.

Mostly written after seeing bits of pieces of him in movies, random conversations or familiar places that we once wandered of together:

-----

RR,

I cannot recall all the details clearly.

I am standing outside the old condominium. You are standing outside somewhere else. EDSA seems peaceful on Sundays. A lady passes by with a pink umbrella. The train rushes through the railway, but slowly takes a halt as it goes to Boni Station. I see you walking towards me. Black shirt. Rubber shoes. Big smiles. 

I wonder if trains also need to take a rest. My head on your chest. You create traces of unknown lands on my skin. I hear your breathing. The room gets colder the longer we stay together without any words. Our bodies refuse to tell another paragraph. We are lost. Time is just a clock. The magnitude of gravity falls into our bed, while we hear the honkers of buses outside the window.

How long has it been? It feels like a thousand march from my island to yours. We are waters apart. I still pray that the waves kiss your cheeks on my behalf. I hope that the fisher folks greet your great mornings. I hope that your village is kinder than what we have had.

I drink from a bottle of beer as if I am remembering your kisses. I follow it with a shot of tequila. After every gulp, it feels like a punch on my gut. It pains me to know not knowing. I walk home not knowing. 

Do trains also need to take a rest? Maybe on Sundays. Maybe when it has been rushing too much. Maybe when it has let so many people in from and to their destination. Maybe if it has gone cold and old.

Maybe trains need to. Your side of my bed still has your name on it.

Why do you still visit me on my dreams, RR? I miss you. How long has it been?

----

You know what. I still check your blog to see if you have written any love letter lately. You see, I still hope that you will write some for me. You see, I miss talking to you. Half-drunk wits in the cold corners of the room. I remember your lips trembling. I remember how you always check the time - not because you already want to go home, but because you want the night to be longer. You know what, that scene in Saguijo is still vivid until now - we’re both holding our own bottle of Pale, few inches apart, both of us facing the now famous Ben&Ben, and then we closed our eyes as we absorbed every word of Kathang Isip, of the safe feeling amidst the noise of the crowd, of how time chose to freeze at that moment. 

You know what, I didn’t really close my eyes. Looking at you at that moment was one of our loveliest moments together. 

----

Here I am in Antipolo. Sitting by the window, I look at how vast the sky is. I crave for beer. I crave for you. When the wind blows, the leaves flutter, and the trees sway, and I whisper your name. 

You’re somewhere in the Metro. Is it unfamiliar to see the highways empty, the streets empty, the room empty? See, unfamiliarity is the enemy of sudden longing. I crave for your touch.

I am by the sea of your hometown’s island. I stare at the sun’s reflection on the ocean. It’s a subtle way for the heavens to kiss the lands. I look at the strangers - the people, the forests, the winding pavement. I wonder, can the village trace me back to parts of you left unknown?

You’re inside the bar. Maybe two, or three bottles already. Your lips still tremble, I see. The music’s tempo is getting slower. The lights heavier. My body is a little off key with the promises we said, to not lose in this game.

I am in a rushing bus going to the city. I received another song. I remember all the songs that you sent to me. Sometimes, music is a hotline to memories. I have heard that line before somewhere, but quite different. I have heard this song before, but right now, quite different.

You’re in Rizal, I’m in Baler. In Catanduanes, in Laguna. In Mandaluyong, in Cubao. See, there was once this small dingy room where we once met. We’re all over the places, but never in the same space. See, we’ve hold each other dear, once.

----

Last night, I’ve watched Lady Bird. There was a scene where Lucas said that he wanted to go to Paris that’s why he was studying French. Yesterday, my boss replied Merci. I was unsure with the usage of Bienvenue or  bienvenu. I remember a boy who keeps a daily schedule to study French. He dreams of going to Paris and settling there for good. We never had a chance to talk in French - only snippets of translations and expressions. Only kisses. Only fucking. Paris was the small room in our apartment. A friend once told me that French is a love language. I’m bad with language. My French is my silence. My French is my surrender in free fall. My French is my I’ll be there in your darkest of days. My French is holding on and kissing the bruises of history. Oh god, how can language divide strangers yet create this feeling of distance between the familiar. Boy, our tongues are more than French. 

----

Laguna de Bay stretches from Metro Manila to Laguna to Rizal. The people of the lake call it Lawa ng Báé. We were in a boat without the usual katig. The moon glimmers on the gentle ripples of the lake. You were holding tight, calm yet mindful of the uncertainties that the darkness, the waters, and the danger of the unfamiliarity might bring. I remember how your lips tremble when we kiss. Shot after shot, it was an evening with the fishermen. They brought some fresh catch. We brought bottles of whiskey, I think, or brandy. I was not sure. I was sure of you. Was - imagine how words can make memories slumber in peace.  I was sleeping on the bamboo bench, you on the bamboo floor just beside me. The waters rest below our bamboo hut mounted in the middle of the lake. I was sure that we were trying to hold hands while sleeping. Half drunk. We didn’t care about what the fishermen might say. The world was sober. That was the last time we’ve seen Talim Island together. The water, the sunrise, the people. The island was gentle for vagabonds like us. Gentle memories still open old scars.

-----

Dear RR, I wonder if you also think of me.

1. I have discovered that you have stopped writing after that disaster. Maybe, we’re just a little bit of bad poetry trying to make words sound a little bit better. Maybe, we have been hiding too much in parentheses that we have started to become unfamiliar of our own sentences. Tell me, were those old love letters really meant love?

2. I pray that you find refuge in yourself. Not just in the people you meet. Not just in the people you kiss. Did you kiss someone lately? It pains me to know that someone can now describe how indescribable your lips are. 

3. Tell me, if you happen to pass by, will you knock at my door like an old friend visiting a familiar home? This was once our home, right? The place where everything stops. The place where logic does not reign. The place where we pray for a long evening, and a longer lifetime. Together. Can I kiss you?

[kravkalackin]

okay actually i’ve been thinking about this au all night and consider a balance au where everyone is just sort of... jumbled around

in this lucretia’s plan goes off almost without a hitch. Lup dodged the knife, got the gauntlet put away, and was able to come back. She’s there when they forget, and even though Barry is panicking because he doesn’t know who she is it’s too late by the time he realizes what’s wrong, and he doesn’t die (yet, anyway).

No, Lup stays, but they haven’t seen Magnus in over a year now. He went out to place his relic, and he just... never came back. It leaves an emptiness in the crew, even as they celebrate their plan working, watch as the hunger doesn’t arrive. It worked, so his relic must still be out there. He must still be out there somewhere. 

Magnus’s absence is another reason why Lucretia feels she needs to enact her plan. One of the relics took him immediately, how can they call that a success? Still, by the time she starts he’s already been gone for over a year, there isn’t quite that same urgent search as there had been for Lup. She forces herself to take her time, to be as careful as possible. She can edit Davenport’s life around the mission better, and even he can be sent out to the world. 

The one, tiiiiny problem is when she goes to place Merle, and he... didn’t forget. He asks if this is some kind of prank they’re pulling on him, real funny guys, and eventually admits that okay, sometimes he uses water from Fisher’s tank to water his plants because it’s closer than the kitchen and maybe sometimes when he’s tired he drinks from his watering can and sometimes those two things overlap. 

So Lucretia explains her plan, explains that this is temporary, that the relics weren’t working and her shield will, and she begs him not to stop her and he doesn’t. Maybe she’s right, maybe the others do deserve a break, but she’s not getting out of this so easy missy. Oh no, ain’t no reason to do any of this without backup.  

They set the others up with their lives. Taako and Lup with a cooking show, Davenport with his own boat and a small but hardworking crew, and Barry... Barry’s hard to place. She had hoped to place him working at a school, maybe a university, but with the mission erased so much of his knowledge of the arcane and sciences were as well. 

Merle’s the one who suggests putting him up at a temple. The creep always did like weird dead things, he is a weird dead thing, he’ll be right at home. Lucretia supposes that’ll work and sets him up at a temple of the Raven Queen. 

It doesn’t last long. Maybe a bit longer than it should have, but Kravitz doesn’t think anyone would blame him for not looking for liches in their own temples. It doesn’t take much to kill him, but once he’s a lich he’s able to get away. To realize what’s going on, and to try to set it right. 

He finds the cloning pod, sets up a coin recording and gives himself a few simple instructions. He has a wife, he needs to find her no matter what the cost and find a way to get back the memories that were lost. Also, if a handsome man in a black suit with raven motifs shows up run away please. 

Davenport’s time on the sea is as far as he can remember, the happiest he’s ever been. This is what he was born to do, what his life should be. He cares about his crew and they care about him and they take care of each other. 

One day he pushes too far though. He always wanted to go further, to have more dangerous adventures, to push the limits and come out on top. Some of those limits are there for a reason though. When they end up being attacked, Davenport almost manages to out run the pirates. He always expects his ship to be able to do more than it should though, and the old girl finally gives out on him. 

He’s thrown overboard, small enough to be able to hide among the debris from the ship, to cling to a piece of wood and wet cloth until they leave. The rest of his crew isn’t so lucky. Once he finally manages to get back to shore, Davenport decides to take a break on the ocean for a while. 

Sizzle It Up with Lup and Taako is great. They’re a well oiled machine, and they’re well on their way to make something of themselves. They have an audience that loves them, their cookbook sales are great, they’re happy. Everything is perfect. 

And then one day Lup wakes up and Taako is just... gone. There’s a note on the table saying he went out for supplies for their show tonight, and she doesn’t think anything of it. Not until the hours pass, and he’s still not there. Not until she goes to town, and no one has seen him all day. It doesn’t make any sense, she went to sleep and her brother was here and now he’s not and he’s not dead, he can’t be dead, she has to find him. 

She puts the show on hiatus and starts to look. 

After Barry, Kravitz was already on the look out. Finding Taako had been a bit more intentional, and he thought he would be more prepared when one of these things turned into a lich, but Taako was surprising in a whole new way. As soon as he fell and the lich form arose, he wasn’t going in for a fight. No, he wanted to make a deal. 

The end of the world was coming, and they all just forgot. Really, it was a simple compromise. Kravitz leaves his sister and Barry alone. He stops trying to kill his fucking family, and Taako will get this whole mess sorted out. He’ll find Lucretia and Merle and make them stop, make sure the hunger doesn’t destroy this plane, and won’t cause anymore undead problems.

Kravitz agrees, mostly on the behest of the Lady of Fate, but Taako needs to work with them. Taako gets rid of the body, he doesn’t want Lup to find it and get upset, and he tells himself it’ll be quick. As soon as she remembers she’ll understand him leaving, she would have done the same. 

Lup, Barry, and Davenport end up being hired by one Gundren Rockseeker, on the recommendation of one of his cousins. They join the Bureau of Balance, and even though the Director is standoffish her kindness shines through, and even though Merle is... odd there’s something comforting about him. They like it here. 

Magnus has been in Refuge for about a week. Magnus was just stopping through, thankful for the rest after Jack and June found him in the desert. He didn’t plan on staying for very long. This bubble makes it hard to leave, but he’s only been gone for about a week. He can’t remember where he was supposed to go at this point, so it must not have been that important. 

Besides, it’s only been about a week. 

[yandere-sins]

18 with sea monster Levi from the supernatural prompts list (if your still doing it)

I am really glad you guys enjoy these prompts so much :3 And I get to regularly write for Obey Me too, that makes me quite happy ^.^ Please enjoy!

“Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««  

No one could blame you for the fear you felt as you woke up from your uncomfortable slumber. Coldness and wetness only added to your discomfort, as did the pounding in your head and the dry throat you were experiencing. You remembered the last thing you did before passing out, sitting at home, drinking the new herbal tea you bought from a fisher offering it to you.

You weren’t usually someone who gave money away easily, but the man looked so poor and shabby, you thought he must have done everything he could to collect the herbs and make his wares that he offered next to the even less appetizing fish that he sold. You quickly exchanged money for a bag for his tea, but when you arrived home, you didn’t feel right with throwing it away. After all, it was only a herbal tea and just one bag at that. It might not have been your usual go-to, but you prepared it for yourself and sipped away happily on it as you read your book.

After that... was only darkness.

Like a hole in your brain, the memory slipped from you of what happened, but there were other dire matters to attend to now. Wherever you were now, it wasn’t your cozy home, nor any place in the village which you knew like the back of your hand. It was awfully dark here too, the only company you had was the faint sound of dripping of water.

With your hands outstretched, you guided yourself through the darkness by keeping to the wall closest to you. Even though it made you shiver, you tried to ignore the things you were touching. It could have been moss or similar things, you just hoped it wasn’t anything like mold, considering how damp the place was. Occasionally, you’d hit your head by a low hanging ceiling, and it made an impression on you that this wasn’t any kind of housing, but instead a dark cave. But what were you doing in a cave?

For a long time, there were no answers to be found. You weren’t sure if you were doing yourself a favor following the only path you could find and pursue, but when a crack in the wall in the distance came into view, you were never happier to see it was illuminated. If only darkness had continued to be on your way, it might have driven you mad the longer you stayed in it.

The squeeze was tight, but not impossible. Taking a deep breath, you reveled in some wind that came through an opening in the ceiling, together with what seemed to be rays of the sun. They reflected in multiple spots in the cavern, especially the water surface of a pond, which took up almost half of the grotto.

Though you approached with hesitation, once you stood in front of the water, you were eager to kneel down and wash your hands. The feeling alone, of being clean again, made a tremendous amount for your mental health. With a splash in your face, you finally felt like you could take rational thoughts again, not just being driven by your feelings and survival instincts like when you woke up.

You stood up, ready to think about a way to get out of wherever you were when your eyes fell back into the water again. Strange, you thought to yourself. Isn’t it supposed to be calm?

Before you could even approach it again, you were greeted by scales breaking through the surface, a body like a tail winding in and out of it. It was so big, you couldn’t think of a creature that would explain its mass, despite thinking to yourself it almost looked like a sea serpent. Those were, of course, only myth, but you were clueless about what else would be an option.

Gasping in shock, you stumbled back, unfortunately tripping over a stone on the ground that brought you to a tumble. Falling to the ground, you felt the shock of hitting the cold ground, your body complaining about your clumsiness, as a loud sound caught your attention.

A head that you could only describe as one of a moray, but as big as a dragon's finally broke out of the water. Its orange eyes must have had your size, and they focused on you eerily. Before you knew it, you had stumbled to your feet, ready to bolt back to the darkness, which now seemed much more welcoming than ever before.

But before you reached the gap, a strangely familiar voice echoed through the whole cave, and you turned your head to the only possible thing that could have used it — the sea monster.

“You are finally awake,” it noted the obvious, and you were so sure that you knew the voice from somewhere, despite the distortion that laid over it. When the monster talked, it showed a couple of terrifying sharp teeth, and it scared you even more, despite feeling intrigued to find out the mystery.

Lucky for you, your body was wiser than to stay, slipping you through the crack that would bring some space between you and the giant monster, even though you could still watch it from behind there. “Aw, that’s no fun,” it complained, and you watched in awe as its body began to glow in a bright, purple light. It was so flashing, you had to look away for a moment as it illuminated even the dark corridor behind you.

But when you finally managed to look back again, the monster was gone, and your curiosity was picked by its sudden disappearance. Sticking your head back out into the cave, you slipped halfway through the crack in the hope of finding out where it was. Perhaps it had lost interest and just gone somewhere else? Had it been real or just your imagination? What the hell kind of herbs had you consumed to even think this thing up--

“Boo!”

The way your body was stuck in the gap still made it very painful as you jumped in surprise, a wet hand gripping for your wrist as you tried to get back into the dark safety. “What?! W-Who?!” you tried to ask the face you were looking at as a man jumped out in front of you. “Come on out, I’ve been so eager to have you over.”

“Have me- woah?!”

Surprised by how strong a simple tug coming from the man was, you got torn out of your hiding spot, landing ungently on your knees before him. “Where is this even? Who are you?!” your voice grew louder and louder as he pulled you up and to your horror, towards the water, which was a place you absolutely did not want to follow him.

“What do you mean ‘where is this’?! Home, of course, you Idiot!”

“That...” your brain needed a second to register his words before you could properly answer him, your head shaking quickly as you tried to pry him off. “T-That’s not my home at all! And who are you?!”

Finally, he stopped, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun at all. Do you know how long I have been watching over you and your little village? Shouldn’t you be a bit more grateful towards your super awesome deity?”

At least, you finally felt able to hold a conversation with him, though you shivered under his cold touch and strange words. “I... I don’t understand...” you admitted, and you could see his shoulders sink in disappointment.

“Ah, how unfair... All my brothers always get recognition for their doings, but I am always stuck with the ungrateful little fisher villages...” You were relieved when he finally let go of you, in between his mumbles. It wasn’t even as if he was talking to you anymore, much more so to himself. “They don’t even know how lucky they are that I bring the fish to them... I do everything...”

Slowly, you began to back up, ready to make a run for it again and hide in the shadows, when his head suddenly snapped up again, eyes piercing through you coldly. Only now you realized they were as sharp and orange as that of the sea monster, and a bad thought came up in the back of your mind, but you banished it quickly.

“Hey, you,” he called out to you, and you gave him a nervous glance and bit your lip. “You’re the child of the major, right?”

At this, you stopped, looking at him with confusion in your expression. “How would you know?” you asked him with almost naive curiosity.

“Listen to me, I told you I’ve been watching you for a long time. You were promised to me by your father if I kept the fish coming and your boats safe.”

“That’s... That’s impossible!” you managed to gasp. “I never heard anything about that.”

“It doesn’t matter, you are here now.” He turned sideways to point at the water behind him. “It’s not like your tiny, human lungs can get you out of here. You are mine now.”

Though you felt a sting in your heart, doubting your own family over a stranger’s words. Could you have been set up? Were you really promised to this... person... creature... whatever he was? But even so, shouldn’t you have a say in this?

“I will find another way... I definitely won’t stay here, and I absolutely don’t belong to you!”

His mouth opened in surprise about your refusal, watching you as you darted back to the gap, disappearing in the shadows. You heard him shout after you, his voice carried by the hollow cave, “There’s no other way out.”

There had to be. There must be.

You sprinted the way back that you had come from, earing a few more bumps in the head from not seeing the ceiling. But when the smaller cave opened up again, you couldn’t find any wind telling you about another way out, nor did you anticipate to only find another body of water, this time, in a pool maybe as big as your body was. It was so pitch black, you couldn’t make out if this was only a hole in the ground or another way to get out, but you began to panic when you heard tapping steps behind you.

“Come on, don’t be such a killjoy. I am sure we can have fun together once we get used to each other! It’s not like I want to hang out with you, but it’s better than watching fish all day. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You didn’t see him, but it was almost as if you felt his presence as he reached your cave. And after an initial blink he made, you knew he could see you too, judging by how his eyes glowed in the dark as the only thing there was. “Found you!” he chuckled, clearly happy about his victory as if you were two children playing.

It was only then that you were ready to throw hands if you had to. Perhaps you’d just chase him back and forth, but you did not want to stay in his proximity like a trapped mouse. But when you decided to storm forward, you felt something eerily, slimy and wet around your right ankle, gaining your attention. A long tentacle - or perhaps, the end of a tail, it was hard to make out - wrapped around your leg tightly, glowing purple, but not enough to actually illuminate the room.

It did one tug to try, before you were swept off your feet with a scream, pulled towards the man-big hole filled with water. “New game,” he announced. “You want to get out here so badly, we will see how long you can hold your breath first, okay? If you win, you get to swim away. But if I win, you stay.”

“N-No!” you disagreed, but you were already soaked up to your chest in the water, clawing at the unforgiving stone ground as the man approached, leaning down to you. “Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.” 

He watched you disappear, leaving only bubbles behind as he simply pulled you back to the main area with his tail coming from his back. This water path was merely a connection to the main pool, his home, but it would be enough for your human lungs to not want to get back into the wet yet again.

Going back to the grotto slowly, knowing you were occupied below the water at the moment anyway, he thought how terrible tiresome and unnecessary your struggles were. So what if he had turned himself into an old fisher, giving you herbs that would knock you out for a while? And so what he did all of it just for his own pleasure? Being a sea monster was hard. He deserved a human of his own for a change since he did so much for them in return.

“Hey, let's play something different now, okay?” he demanded, poking you with the tip of his big toe, as you held on to the edge, panting. You were shivering, terrified both by your deep-sea dive, as well as all that happened around you and the sea monster, clad in a man's skin, as you coughed up water while climbing back onto solid ground slowly.

“I’ll teach you to say my name in all languages I know, alright? Listen well, I don’t want to repeat myself!”

All you could do was watch as he began to say his name over and over in languages you shouldn’t be able to understand even. Tears formed in your eyes as you looked down to your ankle, still wrapped by the tentacle, and you imagined what would happen when you couldn’t keep up with his definition of fun.

At the same time, only his voice kept ringing in your head, over and over.

Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

You were already his.

[maxineswritingcenter]

The Little Mermaid AU! - Sam x fem!reader part 2

Haha, nothing like procrastinating

Here’s part 1 as a refresher to whatever the hell I’m doing. 

------------------

(Y/N) slowly peaked her head out of the water, searching for treasures left behind. She had found a few things, including her new prized possession. It reminded her or her father's trident but had four of the pointy things instead of three.

To her right, a fish rubbed up against her side.

"Flounder, there you are." She smiled, running her fingers softly over his scales. She produced the fork from her sack she wore, "Look at this? Isn't it cool? I've seen the humans use these to brush their head hair. Or... It looked like that's what they were using. I'm gonna call it a dingle hopper."

Her fish friend look at her, then back toward deeper water, "Uhh, (Y/N)..."

"What is it?" She thought, trying to remember if she had anything to do today, "Oh no. Oh No!" She started swimming back towards her home, Flounder hot on her heels, "The ceremony!"

-

(Y/N) swam through the curtain to the throne room where her father at in his throne, flanked by her sisters.

"Well, look who the catfish dragged in." Pallas spat.

Ignoring her sister, (Y/N) bowed her head, "Father, I'm so sorry. I forgot-"

"Young lady, as a result of your behavior-" Father began.

"Reckless behavior!" The royal advisor crab, Sebastian piped in.

"The whole ceremony-"

"Was a disaster! I was the laughing stock of the reef!" Sebastian clicked.

"Sebastian."

"I had a courtship planned with the prince of the Arabian see but I dropped it all for you!" Triteia shouted.

"No wonder we were mother's favorites!" Pallas sneered.

"Enough!" Triton struck his trident on the ground, silencing the chatter. He moved him thrown to where she was, head still bowed. He lifted it up gently.

"My sweet child, you have such an amazing gift."

"I know," She sighed, meeting his eyes, "I have mother's voice."

"Then please, for her memory's sake."

"Alright, father. I promise." She smiled softly.

"It wasn't her fault really." Flouder bubbled up, "She couldn't have heard the call horns from shore-" He quickly shut his mouth, realizing what he had said.

"The shore?!" Triton bellowed.

"Nothing happened." (Y/N) fiddled with her fingers.

"How many times must I tell you?” Triton boomed, “You could have been seen by those barbaric humans!” 

“Father, they’re not barbaric!” 

“They are dangerous. I will be long gone in the muck before I see my youngest daughter snared by some fisher-eater’s hook.” Triton crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I am not a child!” She called back. 

“Don’t you use that tone with me, young lady. As long as you live in this ocean, you’ll obey my rules.” He turned to go back to the throne. 

“But, if you would just listen-” 

“Not another word - and I am never, NEVER to hear of you going to the surface again. Is that clear?” He didn’t even look at her, just tossing a glance over his shoulder. Tears pooled up in her eyes, she swam out of the throne room. Flounder came up behind her.  They both swam all the way to her secret cave where she had started collecting her human treasures. 

‘Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Flounder asked. 

She shook her head, “If only I could make him understand.” She sniffled, “I just don’t see things the way he does. I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things could be bad.” She swam to one of her shelves, motioning to the various items. 

“I mean, look at this stuff. Isn’t it neat?” She swept her arms out, “Look at this trove, treasures untold. How many wonders can this cavern hold? Looking around here you’re probably think that I have everything that I would need. I’ve got gadgets, gizmos, whozits, whatzits. And thingamabobs, I must have twenty of those. But, I want more.” She grabbed a flimsy thin thing that had colored art of people near the beach. 

“I wanna be where the people are. I wanna see them dancing. Walking around on those...feet. Feet. Flipping my fins, I won’t get too far.” She motioned to her tail, “Legs are required for jumping, dancing, walking along down the...what was it? Ah, the street. Up where they walk, run, stay all day in the sun. Wandering free, I wish I could be part of that world.”

She sighed, “What I would give if I could live out of these waters. What I would pay to spend a day warm on the sand. And I betcha on land they understand, bet they don’t reprimand their daughters. Bright young women, sick of swimming and ready to stand.” Flounder only watched her rant, following her around the cave. 

“I’m ready to know what the people know. Ask them my questions and get some answers. Like what’s a fire and why does it...does...burn. I just wish I could be part of the human world.” She sighed, resting on a large rock. 

Suddenly a large crashing brought both of their attention to Sebastian who was scuttling around the cave. 

“Sebastian!?” They both shouted. 

“(Y/N), have you gone mad? How-what-what is all this?” He clicked. 

“It’s my collection. Of things.” She said.

“Ah your collection. Hmm.” He thought a moment, “IF YOUR FATHER KNEW ABOUT THIS HE’D-”

“You’re not gonna tell him are you?” Flounder swam up to Sebastian. 

“Oh please, Sebastian. He would never understand.” She pleaded. 

“Your highness. You are under a lot of pressure down here. Come with me, I’ll take you home and get you something to help you feel better.” As he said this, the cave went black, meaning a ship was passing overhead. With an excited giggle, she started her way up towards the surface, Flounder followed while Sebastian called after her. She swam up until she was looking across the floor of the ship. It seemed the humans were having a little party. They were laughing and music was playing. One of these men was the most handsome creature she had ever seen. He was tall, his hair was longer and a brown color. He had the kindest looking smile. 

A short man with shorter came up to the tall man. 

“Congrats, First mate.” He chuckled, patting his back, Here, I wanted to show you this.” 

The tall man took the picture, “The woman and white case. First picture of our first hunt together. Thanks.” 

“No problem. Bitch.” 

“Jerk.” He chuckled. That must be his name. Bitch. It sounded cool.

From up above, the sky grew dark and thunder rumbled in the sky. 

“SEA STORM! STAND FAST! SECURE THE RIGGING!” One of the man shouted. (Y/N) and Flounder swam a ways from the ship, the violent thrashing of the waves was too dangerous to be around.

-

 A large wave crashed into the ship, causing the Dean to loose his footing, falling and sliding across the deck, holding onto the bars of the ship top. 

“Dean! Hang on!” The Sam shouted over the wind. 

“WE’RE GOIN DOWN, LADS! GET TO THE BOATS!” The sailors made their way to the boats. Sam went to follow, but his life line to the mast was tangle around his feet. 

“I’m stuck!” He called, but the rest of the sailors had gotten to the life boats. 

“SAM!” Dean called. He was about to call back his brother’s name but the tallest wave he had ever seen crashed down on the ship, plunging him down into the depths. 

(Y/N) watched the ship go down, “Oh no!” She dived down, Flounder calling to her. 

“It’s too dangerous!” He bubbles fell on deaf ears as she swam down into the wreck, seeing the tall man. His eyes were closed and little bubbles came from his lips. She grabbed the sharp silver stick from his belt cutting the rope, grabbing him under his arms and pulling him towards the surface. When they broke the surface, she pulled him all the way into shore, laying him on the beach. The storm had gone as quickly as it came. 

(Y/N) looked over him, brushing wet hair from his face. He looked so peaceful. He suddenly turned his head to the side, coughing up water loudly, taking deep gulping breathes. She pulled away, then came back when he was back on his back, he eyes still closed. 

“Oh what I would give to live where you are. What would I pay to stay here besides you. What do I do to see you smile? Just you and me and I could be part of your world.” She spoke softly, tracing his face.  

-

Sam slowly opened his eyes a bit, the bright sun making it too hard to see. He could see the outline of someone above him. He could hear a soft, sweet voice humming, the same song that he had heard earlier that day. 

“Sam!” He heard a voice in the distance, the person above him looked in the direction and quickly moving away, followed by a splash in the water. He heard footsteps approaching, Dean kneeling down next to him. 

“Sam! Sam, can you hear me?!” Sam opened his eyes a little more. 

“Yeah, I can hear you. Loud and clear.” 

“You almost gave a heart attack, you know that?” It had been a while since Dean scolded him. 

“There was a girl. She rescued me.” Sam panted, happy to feel the air in his lungs, “She was singing.” 

“Did you drink too much sea water?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him, “Come on, up you go big guy.” Dean helped Sam to his feet, helping him back towards the others while medical helped arrived. 

- 

(Y/N) watched them from behind a stone, Flounder and Sebastian at her sides.

“We just gotta forget this whole thing ever happened. The sea king will never know. You won’t tell him, I won’t tell him. I stay in one piece.” He clicked, snapping his claws nervously. 

“I don’t know when, I don’t know how.” She clutched the photo of the two humans to her chest, “But I know something’s starting right now. Watch and you’ll see. Someday I’ll be part of your world.” She said to herself, following after the crustacean. What she didn’t see, however, were the two eels that had been following and watching them. 

--------------------------------------

I definitely didn’t only now just make the sequel for this AU it’s fine. I think I’m afraid that these will never be as good as Beauty and the Beast AU

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated! 

Taglist: 

@happy-little-winchester

@hobby27

@tranzfred

@vicmc624

@ria132love

@lilulo-12

@teenwaywardasgardian

@tloveswriting

@mikrokosmicjoon

@calaofnoldor

[thevoilinauttheory]

Fire

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 2: Aberrant ]

The Five Part “In the Dreams of Ashley” series is done! Go read the others here! {Prelude} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Wind} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Fire} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Water} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Earth}

[ HEAVY CONTENT WARNINGS - THIS PIECE IS TO EXPLORE ONE OF MY DEEPEST FEARS CONTAINING: mentions of death/blood, regrets surrounding said death, nightmares, detailed suffocation, detailed description of burning to death, suicidal ideation ]

[ also decided to do a music theme this month and all of these will have musical accompaniment lol ]

To dream that you or someone is being burned alive suggests that you are being consumed by your own ambition. To dream that you are being burned by fire indicates that your temper is getting out of control. Some issue or situation is burning up inside you. If you are setting a fire to something or even to yourself, then it indicates that you are undergoing some great distress. You are at the brink of desperation and want to destroy something or some aspect of yourself.

==

“So how did you even get here?” Ashley shoved a dumpling into his mouth, having yanked it from the pot as soon as he realized it was ready. Ruta had set up a fire, a large heavy pot on top of it, filled to the brim with broth and vegetables. He didn’t question where she got it, or even how she carried it - though common sense dictated that she borrowed the pot from the fishermen in Isari, as well as bought the food; they *were* set up right outside it, of course.

“Hm?” Ruta had her mouthful already, slurping up what noodles were left in her mouth. It took her a good minute to finish chewing so she could talk; and in that time, Ashley had already taken to swishing thin slices of fish around until they were cooked enough to eat.

“Y’know, get here. Back in the cells, you said you were from Kugane… but, uh… no offense, but.” “Because I’m Xaelic?” “...Yeah, sorry. That’s rude of me to point out.” Ruta only laughed. “Yeah… I left that part of me in the Steppes. I was capable, but… I thought, as a kid, if they’re gonna leave me tied up to a tree, I might as well go my own way. What’s to say that it’s not going to happen again?” “Tied to a tree? Oof, that’s rough.” “Made it all the way to Kugane and ran into some nice folks who thought ‘who in the hells let this child run around on her own!’.” She laughed. “They adopted me. Real nice people.” “They still with you?” ”Hope so, it’s been a few years.”

He stared at the flames, leaning back on his hands after he filled himself up on food - thinking about her words, how everyone he knew would have moved on with their lives without him. “Where’re Colette ‘n’Hunter? They’ve been gone a while.” “I think they went ahead to scout for a boat. We gotta leave in the dead of night, if we want a chance at getting past those pirates. You know how to swim?” “Uuhh… I’m gonna say “I’ll figure it out”.” He laughed. “Grew up in a desert, don’t really have time to learn to swim.” “You might have to! If we have to jump off the boat and swim our way there. I’m sure Hunter wouldn’t mind dragging you with him - guy loves to swim.” “Does he?” “I mean… he’s told me as much, at least.” “Hm.” That grin on her face only told him how much she was judging him. “What! Leave me alone! Stop staring like that, gods, it’s weird.”

==

“Don’t y’think you’ve been “retired” long enough?” Ashley leaned back in his chair and kicked his legs up on the table in front of him; he stuck the tiniest crumb of paper under his tongue, then closed his eyes. “Nope.” “Kid, you have to *move on*. Shite like this? This happens all the time - you’ve been sheltered way too long--” “Who died and made you th’boss of my life, huh? If I’ve been sheltered, then y’leave me to be the little bitch I am until I’m *ready* to “move on”. You haven’t experienced what I have. I haven’t experienced what you have.” “How’re you going to make any money to live with an attitude like that.” “Off my savings? My life ain’t your business - you can either sit here and enjoy a drink with me, or you can piss off. I don’t care either way, I ain’t working yet.”

==

He didn’t really need the road down memory lane - but it helped ease the pain, just for a little bit. His boots crunched over the shells and rocks that made up the shores of the Ruby Sea, staring at the water as he strolled. He had always questioned why they had referred to it as “ruby”, there was nothing as brilliant or red about it… back then, of course. He had taken its beauty for granted. The crimson kelp that made up the depths against the sparkling reflections from the sun, everything was so… peaceful. To a degree. He couldn’t account for the Garlean control over the area, and had to be on his toes because of it, but it was nice.

He wished his friends were around to witness it - it was dark when they were able to see it, if one could even call it “seeing”, as much as it was a black pit of unknown they were diving into.

He made a stop in Crick - he wasn’t necessarily welcome, but he wasn’t unwelcome either. They regarded him with impassiveness there, letting him relax as he wished or needed to - which happened to be in front of a fire with a pot attached to it, boiling water. How much longer could he stand to be here? The memories were starting to hurt now, they ached, and suddenly he felt ill to his stomach. That was when he decided it was best to leave, standing up to turn back the way he came - watching the ocean once more with the unevenness of the shore beneath his feet yet again.

There was a fisher’s boat floating in the middle, a small Auri woman casting out a line with a basket of fish next to her. Living a carefree, or… mostly carefree life. Living life as she could, and it seemed she was doing well enough. She turned her head and made accidental eye-contact with him-- those eyes, that face.

“Ruta?” He questioned softly, then smiled brightly and waved. “Ruta! You’re safe! Gods be!” As he watched the woman wave back, his vision blackened - flashes of the body of his fallen friend bleeding out on top of her girlfriend’s, looking behind him as he ran.

The next he knew were flames - and only flames. His whole body was searing, the heat too much for his skin. He tried to pull his foot from the ground, to try and run for the ocean, but he could not move. He stayed in place and it only seemed like the relief of water got further and further away the more he longed for it. It started with his legs, that’s where his eyes turned to next. One foot stood solid in the slowly creeping fount of lava, threatening to take the next one over. What happened? How did he get here? There was no way he would have done this of his own volition, was there? But no, he did - he stepped right into it, a wonder, no, a *knowing* of what the consequence would bring. A solace in knowing that this would be the price he paid for his inadequacies.

Even as he tried to change his mind - tried to scream for help that could not hear him, the fire climbed only higher. All he could do was cry out in pain as he watched his clothes set ablaze, and his skin begin to blacken and peel. The pain of it all, the searing pain of his skin melting from his bones wasn’t even the worst of it; it was the agony of seeing it happen slowly - the scent of the hairs and flesh charring; the popping, bubbling, cracking noises that followed until he was swallowed whole by it. Each scream, each breath, he was forced to swallow the flames until they choked him - then each cough cooked his lungs; his vision was nothing but reds and oranges until it had gone black, and what was left of him could only fall to try and drag itself to an escape out of pure need for survival. Only to be overtaken by the slow and searing pain of pure fire covering the entirety of his body - the last he heard was not the crackling of his bones like tinder, but the paddles of a boat hitting the still water as it passed right by him.

==

His awakening was a slow one this time, feeling the tears that had dried against his cheek. He woke up next to the flames of the dying fire, left alone by the people of the town around him. He was disoriented, confused. When it finally settled that it was a nightmare, he let out a heavy and relieved sigh.

Not quite the same as the last, but no less painful and terrifying.

[jelloopy]

The Forgotten Bird

What if our favorite Plane Jumping Embezzling Janitor was more than just that? 

Here’s my crazy long one shot of Clint McElroy being the Forgotten 8th member of the IPRE Crew. Be warned it is 8.2k.

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

No one really knows who Clint McElroy is. 

He seemingly popped up out of nowhere one day and continues to show up at random times and places. Little did the IPRE gang know that Clint was also on that mission with them. He was with them every cycle, every attack from the Hunger. He just disappeared after 48 long years when he learned about the Voidfish. 

Like the others, he was chosen for the simple 2-month excursion into space to explore the outer reaches of the planar system to potentially see what lies beyond it. He shadowed under Davenport in the year after finding the Light of creation. Helping him figure out how bonds work and assisting him with any sort of research. He met Barry while he worked at the institute as well. Never got to know him too well but worked alongside him in a few research projects. On the Mission, he was “Lieutenant”, second in command under Davenport.

He knew the mission was risky but his family supported what he did and urged him to go. So he waved his goodbyes from the hull of the Starblaster and went to his room as they took off. He is thankful most days that he didn’t see the attack as they exited the atmosphere. The last thing he saw of his homeworld was his family’s smiling faces and that’s all he needed. So when they reentered the atmosphere only to see a planet that wasn’t their own he didn’t know how to feel. 

When Magnus died at the end of the first cycle as they retreated from the Hunger and he was so afraid of what that meant. Just as the sinking feeling of losing a member of his crew began to set in they all were repositioned. Magnus was back. Clint was in his room on the ship. Everyone was still in their Red Cloaks from the first departure. How was this possible? No one knew. But as the next few years went by they fell into that routine of trying to find the light before the Hunger could. 

Some years they found it before the Hunger others took months and the Hunger had already spotted it. But every year within the first 2 weeks the sky would be filled with eyes for just a second. Those eyes, filled with fear, hunger, and hatred, burned into the crew. At that moment the clock started to tick. They had one year. In one year’s time, the Hunger would fill the sky and decimate the planet.

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

47 years they had been doing this. 47. This cycle was fun though. They were at a place called the Legato Conservatory. The locals said that the light of creation was in the mountain. So to follow their tradition on the planet the crew decided they could spend some time mastering certain arts to appease the mountain in order to get the light. They could have some fun. So everyone got to work. Magnus worked on carpentry, Merle danced, Taako gave motivational speeches, Davenport sang,  Barry played piano, Lup played the violin, and Lucretia and Clint took painting lessons. 

The year passed and they all submitted their works with pride. There was a moment with Barry and Lup that Clint saw growing over time and was ecstatic to see it coming to fruition. Everyone’s submissions were accepted and yet there was no Light of Creation. This made everyone in the crew on edge. Later that night Clint saw Magnus go for a jog probably from the nerves. 

However, the next night after the crew submitted their pieces Clint went to investigate the cave himself. When he peered into was greeted by a weird sort of jellyfish. The creature somehow gestured in a way as if to say “follow me” to him. So he did and it lead him into the cave. Looking around he notices a bunch of other creatures like the one he was following that start to float towards him. They are larger than the one he is following but stop short and float away as the smaller one in front of him hums and glows as if saying ‘he’s cool, he’s with me’.

 As they make their way further into the cave he spots another smaller creature with the duck that Magnus submitted in its tendrils and chuckles. Finally, they reach a back corner of the cave and Clint understands why the jellyfish brought him here, the painting he submitted leaned against the wall. He smiles as he approaches it.

The painting pictures a park from their home planet. Three boys are playing around in the sunlight, laughing. The smallest one in a blue shirt chasing what seems to be his older brother in a green shirt grinning ear to ear the whole way with joy in their faces. The last one who looks to be the oldest in a red shirt is hiding behind a big tree watching the other boys chase each other. Sitting in the foreground on a blanket leaning against one another is a man and a woman watching the whole scene take place.

“That’s my family. My wife ‘n I, then my three boys running around,” he says.

The creature hums softly. And floats closer to the painting touching a tendril to the man in the frame. 

“Yep, that’s me alright,” Clint assures. The tendril moves over to the woman. 

“That’s my wife Leslie. An absolute wonder of a woman. Always supported me. Took care of the boys. Never failed at bringing a smile to my face,” Clint tells the creature. Some tears start to well up in his eyes as he talks, smiling the whole time. The creature hummed a soft tone and glowed blue for a moment, brushing up next to Clint. It then pointed towards the Boy behind the tree.

“That’s my oldest Juice. His real name is Justin but when he was like 10 he had an obsession with drinking juice for a while so it just stuck. He’s such a good kid, always lights up a room when he enters, crazy funny too,” He explains, now sitting on a rock next to the painting. A few tears have begun to fall. The creature now points at the boy being chased in green.

“Ahh, Travis. He’s very passionate. Horribly afraid of spiders though. Insanely funny too. He and Juice butt heads some times but that’s what brothers do am I right?” He wipes a tear from his cheek as he chuckles. The creature finally points at the smallest boy in blue. 

“Now that’s baby Griffin. Spoiled Lil shit he is. Never will not bring up the fact that he has his “own birthday”. See Justin and Travis both share a birthday but they were born 3 years apart oddly enough. But Griffin got his own. He’s a little ball of energy. Used to help me out with stuff for the Institute before the Mission.” Clint can only smile looking at the painting now. He wipes a few final tears from his eyes and stands up. 

“Thank you for bringing me here to see this.” he turns to the creature, “I was hoping I’d see it again. Before we left this world.” He begins to walk away when the creature grabs his wrist and seems to hug him. Clint is very confused but goes with it. The jellyfish hums and glows bright colors but eventually let’s go. 

He visits again the next night but doesn’t tell the others about where he went the night before or tonight. This night as he is leaving he trips. He trips into the pool of water that most of the baby ‘voidfish’, as the crew wants to call them, are chilling out in. They all shine bright and hum a shrill note as they scatter away from him. He sits up in the pool wiping the hair from his eyes and spits out some water. 

“Damn I knew I was old but not that old!” he chuckles, looking at his voidfish friend while getting up. The voidfish hums another tune and glows what he can discern as happy colors. He leaves the cave making sure to not trip next to the second pool of voidfish on the way out. He only goes back once in a while, especially after he sees Magnus with another voidfish a few nights later.

The last few days of the year go on by, the crew is searching for the Light of Creation still and everyone is on edge. He tries to keep the peace as much as he can. 

However, about a week after his last visit to the cave he notices something weird while attending another submission ceremony. When the students offering was taken he still remembered the offering while everyone else forgot. Then when it was accepted and everyone remembered he still never forgot. He was very lost for a while and decided to attend a few more to test this. It wasn’t until a student’s submission was declined that he realized that he was in fact not under the effects of the voidfish. He tested it some more and asked Magnus if he could remember the submissions. When he got a very quizzical look from Magnus and an offer to take him to Merle to get his head checked out he also became very confused. 

It wasn’t hanging out around the voidfish that made him immune to their effect. Magnus was proof of that. So he brought it up in conversation one night. He slipped the question into the conversation about whether Magnus had drunk any of the water from the pools in the cave. Magnus denied ever having done so to his memory and Clint had his answer. If you drank the water that a voidfish has been in the effects of the memory alterations is nullified! He didn’t know what to do with this information. It was all so fascinating. 

He didn’t tell anyone. Not yet at least. He knew his crewmates and its not that he didn’t trust them it’s just that they could become very thoughtless and reckless at times and he didn’t know what they would do. Plus nothing would come of it since when they would leave this world the Voidfish wouldn’t even be in their grasp. He would just wait until the next year to tell anyone about it. 

That was the plan until Magnus smuggled Fisher onto the Starblaster and didn’t disappear. That changed everything. Still, no one knew what Fisher was capable of anyway, besides wiping memories and sometimes giving them back. 

Halfway through the next cycle, Clint hit a very grim point mentally. He was deeply depressed. He missed his wife and kids so much it pained him beyond belief that it had now been almost 50 years without them. Had they survived the Hunger’s attack? Was Leslie alright? How old were the boys now? Had they gone to College? So many questions he would never know the answer to. In this time no one really knew what to say or how to act. Clint was really the only one with any attachments back on their homeworld. Besides Davenport or Merle, everyone was really too young to have really set in stone a family. Davenport tried his best to comfort him, Taako made him his favorite meal one night in an attempt to cheer him up, Merle offered some medicinal options to help him out a tad, and Barry tried to offer his condolences but they fell on flat air.

To Clint, he was utterly alone at this moment. He had memories yes but he would never get to hold his wife again. He wouldn’t get to see his boys grow up. 

In a spark of inspiration after seeing Fisher while walking about the ship, he realized what he could do by the next cycle. He could wipe everyone’s memories of him and just disappear every cycle. Being around the crew reminded him too much of what he left behind. Plus he would just respawn the next year on the ship if he died or not so what was the difference. He can live a little. Thankfully he was in his room when the ship left their homeworld so he didn’t have to worry about respawning in the same room as everyone else. That was the new plan.

He spent the rest of the year writing down every memory possible that he needed the crew to forget. He didn’t mind if he would run into them in the years to come because they wouldn’t know who he was. He could say “Hi” then disappear. When the last few days came around he was finally finished with the journal full of memories of himself. 

Standing in front of Fisher’s tank he made sure he drank a little bit of the water just in case. He hesitated for a moment. Should he do this? It’s a drastic decision but if it was needed it could be reversed. He could just have a good few years and when he decided he could sneak some of Fishers water into the tap and bam they all remember him no big deal! 

He did it. Right as the Hunger made its first appearance. He dropped the journal into the tank and waited. 

No one called his name to make sure he was alright. So he waited. He would have to until they re-entered the atmosphere and landed when he could see if his plan actually worked. So that’s what he did. 

Upon finally landing he ran from his room with a bag of personal belongings and jumped ship. He ran into the nearby woods but stayed close though, just to make sure it had worked. Merle was the first one to exit the ship and was alone, he decided it was time to test it out. He set his bag and cloak on a low nearby branch and walked out. He acted as a curious native to hopefully catch Merle’s attention. And it worked thank the gods. Merle called out to him,

“Hello, sir! Do you speak common?”

“Oh! Uh hello! Yes, I uh, speak… Common?” Clint replied acting startled by the dwarf, trying to seal the deal.

“Ah! Well, that’s great! I guess you’re wondering about our ship here! Do not worry we are just humble explorers!” Merle explained.

“Well, that’s nice. I suppose… I’ll be on my way now don’t want to disturb your eh… exploring. Nice to meet you though!” Clint said walking back into the woods away from the ship. He needed to get away quickly. Merle shouted a goodbye as they parted ways.

When Clint traveled far enough away he cheered with excitement. His plan had worked! They don’t remember him! He felt a pang of loneliness for a moment but shrugged it off in favor of finding shelter. He was free to live life as a tourist, a nobody. 

Clint repeated this for the next 18 years. As soon as they would land he would jump ship as fast as possible and live his life whether it be in a new town or out in the woods. He would have his own adventures.

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

When they went into cycle 65 something extremely unexpected happened. The ship was attacked and they went down, hard. When Clint woke up he was thankfully on the ship and only had a few bumps and bruises. He was shaken from his hazy stupor when he heard Lucretia’s voice ring out through the ship calling for everyone. When no one answered Clint began to get worried along with Lucretia. He ran out and found her in front of her room with her own cuts and bruises. She saw him and backed away already preparing an offensive spell. 

“Wait wait wait! Don’t attack! I’m not an enemy! I can help you!” he shouted holding his hands up. She eyed him up and down and dropped the spell for a moment.

“Don’t move. I swear to the gods I will magic missile your ass so fast if you do.” she threatened. Clint swallowed and nodded his head. He was with them for about 50 years he knew what she was capable of. She began to back away and call out for the rest of the crew while running around the ship. She came back into the hall minutes later extremely flustered. No one was with her and Clint hadn’t heard any responses from the others. 

“Have you seen anyone else on this ship?” She demanded.

“N-no I swear.” He answered hands still up in the air. “I can help you through. You don’t know me but I know you and I can help.”

“What the hell does that mean how do you know me.” She faltered.

“It’s really hard to explain. I don’t know where everyone is but we obviously need to last the year until we can regenerate next cycle.” Clint offered.

“How do you know about the cycles… what is going on? Who the fuck are you?” She has tears in her eyes. Clint feels so much sorrow for her. She was only 16 coming on this mission. She’s too damn young to have been going through any of this. She reminds him of Travis though and he can’t just leave her stranded like this. He would have to just wipe her memory of him from this year when the Hunger comes around at the end of the year.

“Look we need to get this thing into the air and away from here I can explain more later but we need to not die for now.” he tries to compromise with her. She looks him up and down again and breaks.

“Fine let’s go but you better fucking explain what the hell is happening or you’re not going to like how you end up.” She starts to walk towards the helm of the ship. He follows in-suite and takes a moment to survey the situation before getting to work.

He is able to start the engines but is unable to get in the air. He takes a lap of the ship, making what repairs he can. The worst was the Bond engine at the stern of the ship. Though it could start up it there was no power going to the thrusters. He was able to fix it enough to get them in the air for a while and that’s all he needed. Someone obviously knew that the ship was here since the rest of the crew was missing. They needed to hide. 

Lucretia watched in confusion as Clint bounced around the Starblaster working on the repairs. How the hell did he know how to fix the bond engine let alone anything about the ship at all? While he worked she cleaned up the helm and readied the ship for the ascent. They made it a good distance flying around the planet aimlessly until they were attacked again. He made quick repairs as they flew leaving the steering to Lucretia. She could at least aim away from the enemy. Obviously neither of them were as good as Davenport but they survived. 

Once in a while, they would find a place to hide and make semi-proper repairs to the ship but as soon as they had any downtime they were back on the run from this relentless attacker.

In the short resting periods, that they did get, he tried to explain his situation as simply as he could to her. He took these times to write down their experiences as well, so he could wipe her memory in the new cycle. 

He loved his team. He really did. But he was having a blast living his own life from the non-stop mission that had stolen his family away from him. He had time to cope without the concerned looks from his crewmates. Most likely he would do this for a few more years then let them remember everything and deal with their wrath then. 

For now, he had to make sure Lucretia survived the year. It was drawing to a close and they were still on the run. He taught Lucretia everything he could about the ship in that time. So when the Hunger appeared in the sky he gave her the order to fly out of the atmosphere as he went to “check on the engine”. Really he ran to Fishers tank and dropped the small journal into it and waited. 

When they re-entered the atmosphere he heard Lucretia’s cry of relief. They- She had done it. She survived on her own the entire year. The crew was so worried about her. She was more than just a mess at this point. She had to live an entire year on the run, ‘alone’ without anyone to help her with the ship. 

Clint hid in the ship for the first day to figure out what the hell happened to everyone in that last cycle. He overheard them debriefing with Lucretia, saying that four giant statues killed them? They judged them on the sins they had committed? That’s insane. After he learned what happened he jumped ship and continued his lonesome adventures.

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

The end of cycle 82 threw him for a loop though. When the hunger appeared he saw a humanoid figure in a red cloak fly up into the air and destroy the first tendril from the Hunger. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. But before he could even begin to process what had happened he respawned on the ship.

He grabbed his small go-bag and went to his normal spot where he jumps ship as soon as they land when he overhears a conversation in the helm. Davenport is yelling at Lup and Barry about something. He finally hears something about them becoming Liches when he has to jump because someone was walking down the hall near him.

When he found a place to settle down for a little while he tried to process what he heard. Barry and Lup became Liches? What does this mean for his disappearing act? How did the Voidfishes powers work with undead beings? I guess he will figure out when that comes to pass if ever.

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

Something weird happened around cycle 90 though. He doesn’t stray too far from the ship this time and see’s Barry die within the first week. He makes sure to distance himself a little more just in case anything with memories pops up with Barry being a Lich and all. That was until he was laying in a big grassy field one day and a Lich in the IPRE robe appeared over him. 

“Clint.” It says.

“Uh who?” he replies. His heart jumped into his throat and his stomach sank.

“Cut the shit Clint what the fuck did you do. Why does no one remember you?” It demands.

“Ahh fuck. Barry?” Clint asks quickly. 

“Yes, it’s fucking Barry now answer the damn question, they all think I’m insane.” Barry shoots back.

Clint sits up and sighs. There was no escaping it now. He spilled the beans and told Barry everything. There was no point in hiding it. 

Barry now sat next to him. Seeing him in a Lich form was very odd but he got used to it after a while. A sigh came from him after a minute of contemplation.

“Well fuck… Shit man. That’s a lot. How long were you gonna keep this up for?” Barry asked.

“I don’t know. As long as I needed I suppose. It’s been fun living out here on my own. None of yall really had anything to leave behind. That’s why you all were chosen to go on the mission besides your expertise. Me? I had a wife and kids. I left them behind. I don’t know if they survived that attack, Barry. I know you all know about them but I can’t just not miss them. I miss Leslie’s hug, reassuring me the mission would go fine and that I’d be back home in no time. I miss my boys. Justin’s big ol’ smile, Travis’ dumb jokes, Griffin’s insane laughter. I miss them. I never got to see them grow up if they were able to. I don’t get to be by the love of my life anymore. And being out here alone has let me cope in my own way.” Clint explained, looking down at his hands.

“God damn Clint. I’m… I never thought of it that way. I knew you missed your family but. Damn, I’m so sorry man.” Barry tried his best. He didn’t know what to say.

“This is kinda why I left Barry. I know you mean well but it makes me feel broken and weak when you guys don’t know how to deal with me. I’m not trying to be the stereotypical guy who has to hide his feelings it just got to be too much. I wasn’t going to be gone forever. I’m gonna come back one day. I just want it to be on my terms. Please don’t take this as me blaming you because by all means its the opposite. I made this decision on my own. Plus you have Lup now and I can only hope that she makes you just as happy or more than Leslie made me. You two are amazing together.” He doesn’t know what to say anymore either. 

Barry lets out a small “thank you” before they sit in silence for a while. Later on, just as the sun is about to set, Barry turns to Clint as he gets up. 

“Well. Your secret is safe with me Lieutenant. I appreciate you telling me all that. Just come back when you’re ready alright?” 

“I will bud. Thank you.” Clint nods at him as he floats away. 

For the rest of the year, Barry and Clint meet once in a while to talk. It’s pleasant. Clint is happy to have someone to talk to again that he knows. They exchange all sorts of stories over the next few months. One day though Barry rushes into Clint in the woods. He talks so fast it’s a blur. Once Clint got him to calm down Barry explained.

“I don’t know what it means or how it works but when Lucretia and I sing a certain tune the rest of the crew hears static. I don’t know if its a big deal but its wicked weird.”

“Alright, that is really weird. What is the tune?” Clint questions him. Barry hums the tune and Clint can hear the notes just fine. He grunts and leans against a nearby tree, thinking. How is this possible and what does it mean. 

If Lucretia drank Fisher’s water that would mean she remembers Clint but she obviously doesn’t. Did she ever go in the cave with the Voidfish? Yeah! With Magnus that one time near the end of the cycle. So was it possible she accidentally drank from the pool too? Well if she did she would remember Clint. Then it clicks for him

He fell into the smaller pool of voidfish. That must be where the baby voidfish swim. It’s possible that when Lucretia was in the cave with Magnus that she accidentally drank from the Adult pool and can remember music from the conservatory. The adult voidfish must stay in one pool while the babies stay in another until they grow up.

Clint turns back to Barry and lies to him. He doesn’t know why but he does, “I don’t know how she knows the song but can’t remember me. I already told you what I know about Fisher. So it is pretty weird. I’d let it go though I doubt there’s anything to worry about.” 

Barry nods in agreement and begins to float away. “Yeah your probably right. It is pretty weird though. Oh well, I’ll see you later!”

Later that night the Hunger entered the atmosphere and then cycle 92 began.

This next time around he watches them as they all learn artificing and get to create their own magical items. 

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

For the next 7 years, he lays low and lives out his own adventures. Staying in various Inn’s in nearby towns, learning different trades here and there, and overall just having fun

Cycle 99 was different right off the bat though. He hadn’t even had the chance to jump ship when the crew found the Light of creation and began discussing how to split it up. He listened in and learned what their plan was. It was actually a really good plan that could end the chase. He still jumped ship though and was awestruck with how similar to their homeworld it was. The only difference was the sky and the lack of one sun. He found a village to live in fairly easy and chilled out in a nice Inn for a while.

After 10 months of being on this planet, Clint heard word of some war for a powerful item start to spread. Everywhere he went that’s all anyone could talk about. He realized that it was probably from the plan of splitting the Light of Creation. After a year passes and the Hunger was nowhere in sight a dawning realization fell upon Clint. He could settle down again! Not start a new family, he was too old for that nor was he ready, but to find somewhere permanent to live out the rest of his years.

Another year passes and he finally settles down in Phandalin. He lives on the outskirts of town and works with the local authorities to make money from time to time. Within the first few days of being in town, he hears word of some man falling out of the sky on the outskirts of town. Other than that he lives in relative peace.

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

 Then after 10 years Barry, Taako, Magnus, and Merle roll on into town talking about some guy named “Gundren”. Clint follows them into the bar and spy’s on them trying to figure out how they’re doing. When Taako, Merle, and Magnus leave Barry behind Clint decides it’s time to figure out what’s going on. 

“You and those guys here to look for those powerful relics?” He asks, approaching Barry who turns and looks him up and down.

“Not to my knowledge. Don’t know anything about ‘em personally. Just here on some escort business.” He replies and gestures to the bartender for a drink. 

“Well, you ever wonder about who created them? Some say its a group of powerful wizards, others say it was an evil Lich. What do you think?” Clint prods. Barry obviously isn’t going to just come out and say that he made the relics. So Clint has to try and trick him into it.

“Look pal, like I said I’m just here on some escort business. I could give less of a shit about those stupid relic things.” He snaps at Clint.

Clint moves away and leaves him to be. Something isn’t sitting right with him though. There is an odd feeling in his gut so he heads home and packs a bag. 

About two days later he looks out his window to see a trail of fire leading into town. He grabs his bag and a nearby horse from the stables and ditches town. Whatever that was, wasn’t good.

By nightfall, the entire town has been reduced to a sea of black glass. Clint watches though as three figures crawl out of a hole in the glass lugging a fourth behind them. He watches as they talk for a while then a glass ball comes from the fucking sky and flies them away to somewhere. Nearby though he spots movement in the woods and sees a flash of red. He knows that color anywhere. Must be Barry.

Clint mounts his horse and shouts for Barry as he rides towards where he saw the cloak. A few seconds later Clint and his horse are frozen in place. A red-robed figure comes out of the woods. When the figure sees Clint the spell is dropped and Clint calms the horse down.

“Clint, what the fuck are you doing here?” It asks.

“What am I doing here? Barry? What the fuck are you doing here?! What just happened with Taako, Magnus, and Merle? Why aren’t you with them?” Clint pressures.

“Listen you need to come with me. I’m not surprised that you don’t know yet. I’ll explain when we get somewhere safe. I can’t have her listening in somehow.” And with that, he simply turns around gesturing for Clint to follow him. So many more questions flood Clint’s mind but he gives up and just holds them for later.

After a long trek, they arrive at the entrance of a cave in the middle of nowhere. Clint ties the horse away to rest and goes in with Barry. The inside is insane. Papers everywhere, words scribbled on the wall, a fucking human floating in a tank?!

“Now I hope you’re going to explain all of this, because… What. The. Fuck.” Clint says just staring around the cave taking everything in. 

Barry does explain. He explains everything that happened in this cycle. What Lucretia did, what she's created. How he is trying to stop her and what he has to do, to do so. Clint is in awe. Lucretia knows about everything now. What Clint did. And she is using it against the crew too. This is why he didn’t want to tell anyone. Something bad was bound to happen with that information. 

Barry turns to one of the cave walls where the seven relics are listed and crosses out the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet. 

“Holy shit. You were the guy that I heard about falling from the sky? Oh, fuck Barry. and Lup? I’m so sorry man. I’m sure she’ll turn up. But that’s a lot to take in holy shit.” He begins. They discuss all the implications behind everything that has happened.

“Wait there’s something I still don’t understand. Did you say that potentially there is a second voidfish? Not just Fisher?”

“Potentially yes. So everyone in the Bureau drinks Fisher’s ichor and they are able to learn about the Bureau and the Relics. But they just went to the base with one of the members of the Bureau so I don’t think Lucretia is going to let them drink Fishers Ichor unless she has a backup to keep everyone from remembering the mission.” Barry posits.

“But if there is a second voidfish then how am I able to remember everything. I haven’t drunk any of the second one’s ichor, as you call it.” Clint pushes.

“Well, that’s the question really. Because obviously Lucretia drank Fishers Ichor meaning she remembers you. But I think what happened was that she didn’t write you into the first story because she couldn’t remember you just like the rest of us. Maybe she just wanted to leave you be when not writing you in the second time around? It could be possible that she worded the journal to be that just the crew forgot each other. No one else in this world knew who we were so there wasn’t a point in deleting us from the world. So I guess she just left you out of the crew as you kinda wanted?” He shrugs. Clint hums in agreeance, thinking of the implications that this means for him.

They spend the next few days together talking about potential plans for Barry. Clint ends up leaving and goes to search for a new place to live. He liked living in a peaceful town. He misses the crew dearly but there was obviously too much drama for him to get involved again. After about a week Barry has a rough plan and Clint leaves to find another place to settle down.

He ends up in Never Winter and is chilling out in a nearby Inn when he hears screaming. He runs out of the building and follows some people down to the train station where he sees the tail end of a train seemingly disappear out of thin air. He looks over into a nearby field and sees about 6 figures get up after a while. Once again he recognizes Taako, Magnus, and Merle. He keeps his distance and instead works on keeping the peace around the town. As he debriefed with the local militia he met a young boy named Angus who claimed to be the world’s best detective. It was odd, but he reminded Clint of Griffin back home. Always curious and a bit vain at times, it brought a smile to his face. 

He ended up not liking Never Winter that much so he skipped town and headed towards Goldcliff. A Town he had heard nothing but praise for. It was now no surprise when all of the sudden vines began causing havoc around the bank. So he stuck around and met Captain Captain Bane who brushed him off. Yet no more than five minutes later those three boys came rolling up. Clint watched from a distance as Magnus tried to chop the vines, then as Merle sweet-talked the plants and got them inside. He saw when someone jumped from the top floor and flew away, he watched a few minutes later as the boys got carried out looking like actual shit. 

He never got to see them race but he heard stories of what happened. He was too busy helping clean up the dead vines from around the Bank and repairing what he could. He did go and visit the cherry blossom tree that sprouted from the race though. He saw the two women at the base of the tree and he knew that they had made sure that the boys were safe. He thanked them and made his way out of town. 

 On his way out Barry in his Lich form appeared out of nowhere and lead him back to his hidey-hole. Barry explained what had been happening. The Oculus and the Gaia Sash had been found, he was suspecting something was happening with the Philosophers stone soon so he has been combing radio signals for any word on it.

Clint found it funny but fulfilling that he ended up running behind the boys and helping clean up after them. He just happened to be where ever they were. He talked it over with Barry and decided that he would make it his job. When he could he would follow the boys and clean up what he could in their wake. 

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

He couldn’t do much when the incident at the Miller lab happened but he was watching, just in case. He followed them with Barry to the town of Refuge. He watched in the woods while the four of them stood there talking about the town and what was happening. The statue of the boys in town was so amazing it made him tear up a little bit. He watched the reunion after the town caught up with the timeline, smiling the whole time.

When it came time for Wonderland Clint became very anxious. Barry told him what he knew of the place and it worried him. This was Barry’s relic after all, but the two Liches that ran the joint where a force to be reckoned with. It was decided that Clint would deter anyone from coming into the area, while Barry followed the boys inside to try and help them out. When they finally came out and he didn’t see Magnus but a fucking mannequin in his place he became extremely worried. He stays behind a-ways and follows them to Barry’s cave. He overhears everything Barry tells them. This was not in the original plan but it might just work. 

He listens to Barry now in his body forget everything and Merle and Taako talk to the Mannequin about the Bureau. He stays and just listens to what’s happening. He figures something big will happen when they go back to the base so when they leave the cave Clint chooses to go back to Goldcliff. It seems like a fortified enough place to be if hell breaks loose. He doesn’t know what is going to happen but he does know it isn’t good. The sky has been becoming darker and darker by the minute. Not only that but the saturation of everything around him has been sucked away.

He makes it to Goldcliff faster than he thought was possible, but he makes it in time just as the first wave hits the city. It’s the Hunger. It’s back with a vengeance. He runs through the town and banging on doors urging people to weaponize themselves and run for the Trust. The Hunger’s tendrils strike the earth and hundreds of Black opal Soldiers come flowing out of them. The insane and horrible noises already has enough people running throughout the streets. He sees the Hunger’s soldiers grab people from their families. What’s weird is that people seem to be running into the creatures. Clint can see them though, so he starts pulling people out of the fray and pushing them in the correct direction. He tries to gather the attention of as many of the figures as he can. He fights well with what weapons and spells he can. 

He takes out dozens as he makes his way towards the Trust himself. He reaches the Cherry Blossom tree from so long ago and finds the two women who are actually dryads protecting a young girl from the Hunger’s soldiers. He helps the taller one defeat a few before he shares a moment of comradery with her and he takes the young girl to the trust.

When he gets to the Trust he finds out the doors are closed but manages to get the girl inside after a lot of convincing people through whispers. He turns and goes back to fighting the soldiers. There’s a small lull of enemies until four figures come tumbling towards him. He readies himself for the fight when his heart sinks.

He recognizes them. 

He can’t even begin to process it when Justin lunges towards him, hands like knives swiping at him, slashing with animalistic movements. He can’t hurt him. Not his son. He plays on the defensive side, trying to figure out what to do. 

In the meantime, Leslie has grabbed broken pieces of wood from a nearby rubble pile and is beginning to advance. Travis and Griffin are following in suite. 

Seeing them like this brings all of Clint’s worst fears to light. They arent is family. But they are. Just corrupted. The Hunger took them. For the last 111 years, he has been mourning for them. He’s had time to cope but this changes everything. They didn’t die. They were taken by this evil world eating being that’s been chasing his crew for 100 years. 

And here they are. His family. But not like he remembered them. He can’t do it. He isn’t strong enough for that. He can’t hurt his boys. His wife. He can’t. He won’t.

He quickly casts hold person on all of them, and immediately starts to prepare to cast Imprisonment. He won’t have to fight or hurt them. They freeze in place and barely move when the hold person spell wears off and the Imprisonment spell takes over. 

Clint falls back and catches his breath. He looks up at his family tears flowing. All he wanted to do was see them again but not like this. Whatever was going to happen this time around needed to happen quickly. He hopes to the gods that he either dies now and stays dead this time time around or that the crew figures out to start over in the next cycle. 

He slowly gathers enough strength to stand back up. He walks over to Leslie. She is just as beautiful as the day he left her. Her face is filled with rage as shes frozen in place from running at him. Clint caresses her cheek one last time and kisses her forehead. He moves over to his boys one by one and does the same. None of them deserved this fate. He will figure out how to avenge them. In the meantime he leaves them be. They don’t need to die a second time.

He walks back towards the two Dryads from earlier and joins them in fighting the Hunger’s soldiers. One by one they all work together slaughtering the figures. Back to back, throwing weapons back and forth, and covering for eachother as they prepare spells.

He doesn’t know how long he has been fighting for but it feels like hours when the Hunger creatures just stop in place. They begin to glow white and slowly float into the sky turning into nothing. He takes a moment to catch his breath. Sitting down he looks around. Hurley and Sloan, as he now knows, join him in sitting down. No one knows what the hell just happened but they do know that they fought long and hard. They deserve to rest.

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

While helping slowly repair someone's home in Goldcliff Clint feels a tap on his shoulder. Wiping sweat from his brow he turns around to find Barry. They embrace, laughing about how they survived. Barry explains that they did in fact finally win. That the hunger was gone for good and they were safe. 

“So does everyone… you know… know?” Clint asks as they walk back to his makeshift house. 

“Clint, buddy? The universe knows, about everything.” Barry replies slapping him on the back. They make their way to the newly named Bureau of Benevolence. 

When they arrive Clint sheepishly greets everyone and is surprised to be met with a dogpile of hugs. Here is nothing but smiling and laughter filling the room. 

“Holy shit Clint it is so good to have you back.” Davenport exclaims, releasing him from a hug. 

“I would say that its great to have all of you back!” Clint jokes, “Barry told me the basics of what happened when we arrived here. We have a hell of a lot to catch up on.” 

Lucretia nervously laughs, “I suppose we do, huh?”

Clint walks over to her and scoops her up in a deep embrace. “Its alright. You know? Everyone fucks up. You just happened to follow in my footsteps and then out do me.” 

Once everyone is settled down in what seems to be a very luxurious lounge area they begin to tell their own stories. Lup’s is very brief , Barry and Taako sit next to her acting as guards. Very understandable. Clint already knew Barry’s story but there were a few things he had forgotten to mention before so it was a bit eye opening. There wasn’t much to Davenport’s story though he was most impacted by Lucretia’s wrong doings. Everyone already knew Lucretia’s story too, she just filled in some small blanks here and there even though she wasn’t very keen on talking a lot. What she had done was still pretty fresh and she didn’t want to make her case worse.

Then it came to Taako, Merle, and Magnus’ stories. Those three idiots had everyone rolling with laughter and crying within two minutes. Taako mainly joked about his whole experience, but that was just his way of coping and everyone knew it. He had gone through a lot of shit that he wasn’t ready to talk about and they all understood that. Magnus and Julia’s story hit home for Clint, he was silently bawling as Magnus explained it. He felt Davenports hand on his back as he cried. Then Merle with Mavis and Mookie, how he spoke of them resembled how Clint spoke of his own boys. Clint smiled, he knew how Merle felt. 

“Did you say Mavis?” Clint interrupted a moment.

“Yeah that’s my daughter.” Merle affirmed.

“No shit? She have red hair, teenageish, glasses?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah actually. You know her?” Merle questioned.

“Surprisingly yeah! She was in Goldcliff on that day and lost her glasses. Sloan and Hurley Protected her from the Hunger and I lead her to the Goldcliff Trust.” Clint explained.

“Holy shit. Thank you Clint! Thank you for protecting my baby. I had no idea that you were the one who did that!” He jumped over to Clint and bear hugged him.

Last but not least Clint shared his story which was shorter than everyone was expecting. The only thing they were really surprised about was him helping Lucretia during the Judges cycle. Other than that it was a bunch of jumping from Inn to Inn, meeting new people, catching low life thieves here and there, and so on. The night continued on with Taako and Lup cooking everyone a big dinner. They stayed up until the late hours of the morning joking and just being family once again.

“We really need to go to therapy huh?” Clint jokes at some point and everyone agrees. But life goes on. Clint is back with his family. Sure they grew apart and started living their own lives but they still talk and that’s what matters. Taako has his school, Merle has his camp for adventurers, Magnus made a school for dogs, Barry and Lup are now Reapers with Kravitz, Lucretia is helping people, and Davenport is doing what he loves. 

He may have been the Forgotten bird but at least he isn’t lonely anymore. He gets to live on his own still in a cottage out in the woods with a nearby town that calls on him for help every once in a while. Life is good. 

[sgtrolandhills]

Is Pat All? || Jared & Roland

TIMING: After the events at Pat’s Place PARTIES: @themidnightfarmer & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: Roland meets Jared to ask questions about what happened at Pat’s.  CONTENT: Food poisoning tw, mass poisoning tw

The hospital had been kind to Jared. He hadn’t been in there for himself very often, but he’d been in repeatedly visiting other people. His last long stay was when Nell had been in from her stay at the ring. They’d not been on speaking terms so he’d hung around mostly with the nurses on the floor, bringing them coffee and lunch in exchange for affirmations that she was doing okay even if they couldn’t give anything more than that. So there he sat waiting for more questions, whatever they’d meant by that. A pudding cup in hand despite being a short stay patient and a cup of coffee to his left, perks of being in with the nurses. Jared looked up when the curtain pulled back and he put his phone down to give the man his full attention. “Oh hey, how the tables turn. I’m afraid I’m keeping the pudding this time.” 

Going through and interviewing all the witnesses at Pat’s had been a tedious process thus far, but Roland was determined to get to the bottom of this. He was not about to let yet another major incident become a cold case. Not on his watch. Not when they got a tip ahead of time. He’d made his way down the hall to visit the next patient. It brought a slight flip to his stomach to see the young man who’d been kind enough to bring him pudding was one of the victims. Thankfully, he seemed to be okay, but Roland supposed they’d have to put off their trip to the bar. “I wouldn’t dream of stealing a patient’s pudding,” he joked. It was good to see Jared could make light of the situation. “Think we’ll have to reschedule our drinking night though.” He took the seat besides Jared and said, “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about what happened at Pat’s.” 

“Reschedule? No way, what's a little bit of cyanide in the afternoon.” Jared was kidding obviously, but he’d found a little levity was doing wonders for the mood of the hospital staff dealing with all this. It also helped him cope himself with the reality of what had happened as well. The idea that so many had been poisoned so easily was pretty terrifying, and Jared was honestly trying not to think about the personal danger he’d been in. But still the nymph nodded with a small smile given for the other. “I don’t know how much I could tell you, but ask away.” 

“Very funny, Jared. There’ll be plenty of cyanide free weekends to enjoy a drink during,” Roland responded with a slightly playful air in his tone. He tried to lighten the overall mood. A mass poisoning was bleak and not something most would want to dwell on. It didn’t erase his responsibility to find whoever was behind this. He rubbed the back of his neck before he dived right into the questions. “Did you happen to have any drinks from the bar? We’re thinking that may be the common link.” 

“One weekend soon alright, I’ll definitely need some sort of day out after this.” He was trying to keep the levity, but it was getting a little harder the more time he had to dwell on the events of the re-opening. Jared felt his smile dim a little and he crossed his legs on the hospital bed. “No drinks from the bar, but I did have a glass of water that was pre-poured and taken around by a waiter? Do you think it was in the water too?”

“Absolutely,” Roland agreed. The younger man was earnest and friendly which were traits he respected. It was never easy to transition to the darker parts of conversation, but it was necessary. Whoever hurt Jared and the others at Pat needed to serve their time behind bars, likely until they rotted away in their prison cell. He shoved the anger down and sympathetically offered, “I know it’s not easy to recount this stuff. It sounds likely it may have been. Do you recall if the waiter was grabbing the water from bottles or from the bar perhaps?” There was still a roaring suspicion that the bartender who ran off had something to do with this. 

The nymph had been ignoring his thoughts of the whole incident, both to try and make the hospital staff's job a little easier as they were likely dealing with a lot of very emotional people, but also just to keep himself together. So his memory of the experience as he was urged to try and sort out the details was a little messy in his head. Jared chewed on his thumbnail idly before he answered. “It seemed odd to be bringing around just cups of water on a tray. I think maybe he came from behind the bar, but I didn’t see any bottles I don’t think. Then again I was sort of busy talking to this fisher guy about stuff, it’s a bit of a blur?” I didn’t see anyone else take a glass from the tray though I don't think. It was full when I took mine and everyone else was at the bar.”

Roland nodded along as Jared recounted the ordeal at Pat’s. While water going around on trays at such a large event wasn’t entirely suspect, he knew it had to be the water. Everyone had eaten the food, but not everyone had ended up with some altered form of cyanide in their systems. “Noted, that’s something for us to check into surveillance wise,” he explained. These experiences were often traumatizing for victims, so he never liked to rush his way through questioning. After a moment, he asked, “How did you hear about the re-opening event?” 

“Got a flier at the market. And I loved Pat's place, coming back after mi- after I was on holiday for a while over winter to the news it had been completely done in was pretty terrible. I’d have gone to Pat’s funeral, he was a stand up guy.” Jared was going on a tangent but he couldn’t seem to stop his mind whirring. “I really hope the place isn’t over for this, Pat would never do something like this. Pats place is too home-y for poison you know? The food wasn’t the same though I guess, now I think about it…” Jared looked at Roland and chewed his thumb nail again. “Did you ever go to Pats from before?”

If the flier was found at the market, it didn’t seem as if Jared was specifically targeted in that case. He remembered Luce mentioned her sisters specifically received invites. It was odd to Roland that some people would be exclusively invited but not others. He’d look more into that aspect of things later. He couldn’t pin whether this was intended to target certain individuals or just some sicko who wanted to hurt a bunch of people. If the latter was the case, it would have made more sense to poison the food. He nodded along and said, “I know some people were specifically. We’re trying to figure out if there was any rhyme or reason to who was poisoned.” Jared really was a good kid. Roland couldn’t imagine Pat’s recovering from this sort of catastrophe. “I guess we’ll see what comes of Pat’s. I had never been before it closed. I’m still fairly new to town. Only been here a few months. Did you recognize any of the staff from the previous Pat’s?” 

The nymph wasn’t sure what was worse. The thought that some people had been targeted specifically and then others were taken as collateral, or the idea that perhaps it had only been done at random to spread the most panic. Jared nodded forlornly at Roland and heaved a sigh to clear his mind. “You missed out bud, Pats maybe wasn’t the highest quality food, but the whole place was filled with those good people and strong coffee.” He shook his head and lifted his hospital coffee from the bedside table to sip. “A lot of the staff died when Pats got hit, the only waitress I know that survived didn’t go back to the place. Got a job somewhere else in town after she got outta hospital last I heard. Sorry I’m not giving you very much. I think she was approached to come back for the reopening if you want her number?”

This Pat fellow probably would have been sad to see what came of his restaurant. Roland was almost glad he wasn’t around to see it. It was apparent that Jared was upset over what happened at Pat’s. Who wouldn’t be? He did his best to keep his tone gentle and clasped his hands together in his lap. “It sounds like quite the place. I wish I could have seen it in full swing before all of this.” He remained quiet for a moment as he thought the situation over. He’d asked all the standard questions and Jared answered to the best of his ability. “Hm, it does seem this wouldn’t be at all connected to the old ownership or staff then. I would like to have her number. See if she knows anything further about the new management that could be of use.” He took a brief pause before asking his final question. “Did you happen to notice anything off about the event before you and others began falling ill?” 

“It was really great before all this mess for real. No other place like it. Worked as a dishwasher there one summer even.” When Roland said he’d like to take Mandys number he lifted his cellphone from the table and scrolled through. “It’s not weird to give a girls number out if it’s the cops calling right?” Jared joked lamely as he placed the device on the table and spun it around so that Roland could read off the number. “The whole thing seemed so normal. The fliers were everywhere so tons of people showed up. The place felt like I imagine any reopening could feel like. The first people to start to get sick didn’t really get noticed by anyone I don’t think. Everyone was too caught up in themselves. But once people started actually falling to the floor that’s when it was obvious things weren’t going good.” Jared grimaced at Roland and shrugged a little. “Probably not the best person to have to question. I tend to get single minded around cheap food, especially a buffet like that.”

It was quite a shame that Pat’s legacy was ruined by the new ownership who Roland had a hunch may have been responsible for this. There was nothing solid to go off of yet, but he’d keep digging until he found answers. It seemed like he was digging more holes than he could keep track of these days, but it didn’t make him any less determined. He forced out a chuckle at Jared’s joke. He’d been through a lot, the least Rol could do was acknowledge his humor. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll be creeping Mandy out.” This was strictly related to a case. It was highly unethical to act inappropriately with witnesses or anyone in custody. He listened along as Jared explained the event and from his perspective, it all seemed normal until it wasn’t. He could understand being more focused on the atmosphere, food, and socializing. It wasn’t like he could have possibly anticipated what was coming. “I see,” he started before putting the cap back on his pen, “I appreciate you taking the time to fill me on what you witnessed. I know you loved the place and this whole thing must have been difficult for you. I can assure you I won’t be giving up on this case until you, Pat’s, and everyone else affected is brought to justice.” He put his pen and notepad back in his back pocket and extended his hand out, “I’ll talk to you again soon, Jared. Think we’ll both need that rain check sooner rather than later.” With a wave, he left to go talk to his next witness. He could only hope they turned up something more.

[the-ipre]

Maybe an AU where Davenport wipes everyone’s minds instead of Lucretia?

- Davenport is the captain, and he shouldered responsibility for a hundred years. He started off as a boss and then become a part of the family, but at the end of the year he was still the one they trusted to drive the ship. He was still the one who could finalize votes, and there were times that he certainly took matters into his own hands. It wasn’t an obsession with control or anything like that; instead, he knew that he could fix things, and he had a responsibility to. He was their captain, he was the one who interviewed them for this mission, and it was his job to make things right after a war broke out on the world below them.

- Fisher didn’t trust him as much as it did Lucretia, and he didn’t have her way with words either, but he was used to working through problems. The entire past hundred years had been a series of problem after impossible problem, and when it’s crunch time, Davenport is willing and able to do what it takes. He composes an opera of their adventures, capturing the essence and the bonds but still trying to leave out what made those individuals who they were. It’s tough, because so much of who they became over that century were due to the people they were around, but he kept going. Always, he kept going.

- He wrote letters to them all, a last thing to erase to cut himself off from their memories. For Merle, a love letter, mentioning the moments of their first kiss, and the first time that Merle broke down Davenport’s walls and made him laugh, and the first time that Merle made up his own rules to their card game and Davenport let him because in that moment he had realized that he had fallen in love. To Barry, it was a sincere thank you note, detailing the ways that he could never have made it through if Barry wasn’t there to figure out the why while Davenport worked at the how, touching on one of their journeys to get the light that allowed them to both let their walls down and be honest about the strain they were under. For Taako, he wrote down the cure for scurvy, and the memory of the time that Taako had made him soup and left it outside his door when he was sick, and even though Taako denied making it he knew that the only person who walked around that late at night with those light of footsteps was Taako. To Magnus, he left the countless rescues to be consumed by the Voidfish, along with all of the pranks that Magnus had pulled and Davenport had turned back on him, breaking down that wall between boss and uncle-figure.

- Writing to Lucretia was difficult, because who would he write it to? The quiet girl who he had picked to go on a mission to the stars, who had written down the world even as it fell around her, who stayed up with her veins full of caffeine because she had to remember their plane, she had to write it down so that they wouldn’t be forgotten? Or would he write it to the woman who had lived longer than she ever should have, who had survived against all odds for a year by herself, who had made her relic a way to protect and defend, and who wanted to carry the world’s weight on her shoulders? In the end, it is both: he honors who she has become, but remembers where she came from. At the end of it all, he doesn’t know who she will be, but at this point he is just writing frantically. The others have heard him practicing his songs, and some of them grow suspicious. He has to fix this.

- To Lup, he writes of her bonds. The duet with Barry and their eternal love story, her refusal to back down and stand idly by while a world is killed, and of course, Taako. The other half of her heart, and it breaks his own to know that this will be lost, but it is something that must be done. He bundles up the letters, tied with string, and stacks them on top of the opera that he wrote. Dropping the papers into the Voidfish’s tank to disperse and be erased, he begins to sing.

- Back at the Legato Conservatory, Lucretia did not get splashed with water, and she was never inoculated, and so when those papers are absorbed into Fisher’s jellycap, she forgets. She is with Magnus, and he is carving while she is painting, and for the moment they have found peace. Lup is missing and the world below them tears itself apart, but together they carve, and they paint, and then there comes a moment where Lucretia doesn’t know what she is painting. She turns her head, and doesn’t know the man next to her, and when he looks up, there is no look of recognition in his eyes. Magnus is left in Raven’s Roost, where he will find and lose yet another family, and Lucretia is placed in Goldcliff, where she will write for a newspaper and once again tell other people’s stories.

- Taako goes to talk to Barry on the deck of the ship, looking for Lup, and then everything falls apart. They don’t know the man across from them, and they don’t know the woman that they were just talking about, and Barry is killed as he is thrown from the deck of the ship, and Taako is left standing in the middle of the sky as everything turns to static. This story is the same. Taako is given a stagecoach and a show, and he is given fame and fortune and is always so alone. Barry would have become a professor, Davenport had the teaching job all lined up, but he was unable to control everything, despite his best efforts. Barry continues searching for Lup, and he continues not finding her, and he relentlessly keeps searching.

- Back, many cycles before this day, the crew had been daring each other to take a drink from Fisher’s tank. Davenport had walked up, taken a sip, and left amongst assorted exclamations. On the day this story kicks off, Davenport once again stands in front of the Voidfish’s tank, except this time the only noise is his singing, until the door opens behind him. Merle had heard his partner’s voice and had come in to see how this secret project was going, but as the gnome in front of him turned around, he couldn’t recognize his face. There was a mustache, and eyes that were brimming with tears, and it was as familiar as his own face, but he didn’t know who it was. For once in his life Merle is speechless, and in that moment Davenport decides to be selfish. He had found a community of beach dwarves, one that would certainly welcome Merle among them, but he couldn’t do that anymore. He was cutting away so much from himself, and he had to let himself be selfish, in just this one thing. In the end, Merle became his right-hand command, and while he was more aware of himself than Davenport would have been if he had been erased, there was always something missing. He defined himself by the people around him and the joy that they brought, and when those people were gone he lost something.

- From the start Davenport builds an organization, because that is what he is good at. He can fight toe to toe with any magic user on the planet, but he has always been a delegator on some level, and despite his best efforts he still has something to lose. Merle was told that he had gotten a job that he had applied for, one meant to help save the world, and even if he couldn’t know what he was saving the world from he still agreed. His memory was spotty enough that he didn’t know if he had applied for a job or not, and something about this gnome made him want to trust the guy. At least he doesn’t have to file much paperwork, though, and most of his job seems to be chilling on an unanchored island and acting as HR for all the folks that get hired to do…something that he doesn’t quite know.

- Lucretia and Magnus are both in their thirties when they meet up with Taako to take a certain job, and none of them know each other but they can fight together as easy as breathing, and they can lean on each other even easier, and so they take the job with these strangers. Taako finds an umbrella, the Barry Bluejeans that they met along the way is burned to the ground along with the town of Phandolin, and the three of them are brought to a strange drifting island via flying boats summoned by a lizardfolk woman who introduces herself as Carey. Their story is the same, but shifted to the side just enough that it is their own.

- Merle greets them, and now he finally knows what the organization is searching for, and he doesn’t get why he wasn’t told until now, but he keeps trundling along. He bonds quickly to the three new recruits without knowing why, and when they meet Davenport (who stands on a dias so as not to be loomed over by all the taller folk) he welcomes them to the Institution for the Possession of Ruthless Echoes, or the IPRE for short. They are in search of relics that are little more than thumbprints on the public conscious, and they hope to make the world a better place by confiscating these weapons. Davenport hopes to reconstruct the light and keep running, because running is all that he knew for so long, but as the years pass he doesn’t quite want to run anymore.

- The reclaimers reclaim relics, and Merle works with Davenport, and the first time that Davenport finds himself laughing at something Merle said he feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He built up walls, and he did his best to make this different than before, but he can see the cycle happening again. His walls come down, and he laughs, and they kiss on the beach of this floating island, and Davenport’s surety that they will leave this world afterwards isn’t quite so sure anymore. He doesn’t know what he is going to do when the time comes that they all get their memories back, because at this point he knows that it will have to happen someday, but he keeps pushing that back.

- When the Hunger returns and their memories come flooding back, when a world is sung an opera of seven fools who tried their best to save plane after plane, when they hear the six letters to six almost-lost members of a family that was torn apart in an effort to do something good, there is another song lying underneath it all. A repeating seven notes, a note for each bird and two words for the lost child who allowed the Starblaster crew to come back together, and it pulls together the scattered sheets of paper like thread. This, too, is a story that we all know: the people of Faerun are afraid, and then they aren’t, and then they take up arms to protect their homes. The Hunger is cut off from the inside, and the seven birds don’t have to keep running. Finally, they can find a home.

- The others are betrayed, understandably, but most of them do not hold grudges. They may hurt at what was lost, they may hurt at the fact that their captain didn’t trust them to help him with this terrible undertaking, but they stop running. They are a family, and this is a home that they have fought for, and they can not hold grudges in this last life that they will have.

- Davenport is prepared for Merle to…well, he doesn’t know. Turn away? Break things off over what happened? Move on like nothing had happened? Merle, always one to surprise him, does none of those things. He doesn’t run, or separate, or ignore. He remembers both times that they fell in love, after all, and he can certainly admit that what Davenport did was kind of fucked up, but they lived through a hundred years of fucked up. They still have many years left, and he doesn’t want to waste them. All he asks is that Davenport will meet him halfway, that when he stands with a hand outstretched Davenport will take it, and that they can finally, finally make a home. Davenport agrees, of course, and they build a house on an island that never sees the same beach twice.

- An IPRE is built on this planet, the Institute for Planar Research and Exploration hoping to bring Faerun into a new era of technological advancement, and when Davenport gets a letter asking him to take a leadership position he tears it up. He’s good with his life as is, thank you very much, and he’s had enough time in charge. For now, he just wants to live on a beach, go boating when he pleases, and grow old with one Merle Highchurch.

[yelloworangeredrainbow]

Dark Night Poem

They say that

Nothing is wasted:

Either that

Or

It all is.

I had set my feet in Los Angeles a few months before Charles Bukowski came into my life in the form of an English Literature Assignment. I couldn’t hold a conversation longer than 2 sentences with my broken English then; it took too long to translate things in my head and articulate them to whomever I was speaking. In the back of my head I assumed no one could understand me, so I stopped talking. No one told me this, the assumption came from the back of my brain where the insecurity of being an immigrant in a foreign country came from. To this day I still don’t know how I managed to score high enough to start at English 101 in the college I attended. Speaking was out of the question, it was too complicated, complex and required a lot of studying and preparation from my part. The way my tongue had to move to pronounce the “TH” sounds or curl it to make the “R” sounds felt so alien; it made me feel so detached from what I was saying. I hated it when I had to publicly speak; there were hours spent in front of a mirror practicing for my Public speaking class and the presentations for the College Introduction courses all International students had to attend in the first semester. I hated it. Not understanding or being understood led to long crying sessions at night and once or twice, or three times packed a bag with the idea of going back home, where life was familiar and comforting.

English in writing from the beginning was different; it made sense in my brain a lot more than the cursive slurs that came out of people’s mouth, or the staccato sounds that came out of mine. English had beautiful rules, I had the rule book and with time, I learned to play the game.

I don’t remember now the name of the professor that spent so much time explaining the magic behind the simple sentences that “the dirty old man” wrote. She patiently spoke to me and explained them in Spanish. We sat an hour a week during her office hours and talked about what he meant for the literature culture of Los Angeles, what he meant to contemporary poetry, and ultimately what he meant to anyone that can read a sentence and nod their head. Above all, this is what I found the most magical. I understood him and it was far beyond a translation.

I grew up playing and listening to classical music thanks to El Sistema program. We were taught to appreciate poetry at a young age and I gravitated to big symphonic poems by Ravel and Debussy.

The French have always had my heart.

I could recite quotes by Gabriel Garcia Marquez by memory and do so whenever I had an audience. Often I could be found consuming Neruda’s poems hoping that every word could be etched under my skin; like a disease attached to every one of my cells, multiplying and taking overmy body. Bukowski had the same effect and I was addicted.

I remember getting a list of all the great American Literature masters that told the story of America’s lives and trying to comprehend what each word meant, how they tie together and try to follow the story they wanted to tell. I had a paper dictionary and an electronic one by my side at all times then; it was tedious work and I hated it. The horrors I experienced when I tried to read “Animal Farm” by George Orwell! I resented Kerouac and Vonnegut, now two of my favorite American authors. I hated having to translate everything, which drove me to spend hours every night practicing English by listening to Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, Iggy POP and the Misfits to practice the language I so long to become fluent in. But then, I hated it..

Charles Bukowski’s writing became a second language to me. So simple, so clean, so forward. I rode a wave when I imagined his raspy, deep voice inside of my brain telling me about his mundane life, about hookers, about cats; I felt the pains of age, of ridicule and poverty with him. I innately loved that dirty old man and the feeling of belonging to the words that came from his drunken brain. Every time I could write about him I would, and my obsessive self got every book I could that he authored. I was a broke international student then and didn’t have any money. I would go to the Grove and sit for hours reading Woman, On cats, On writing at Barnes and Noble. I sat on the floor like I’d seen on Films until I was told to move, romanticizing the immensity of the book store, pretending I was part of a poem someone was always writing. I had not lost myself then and was always curious about talking to strangers. Everyone I talked to knew of him and loved or hated his work for different reasons. I met very few people In Los Angeles that didn’t know about Charles Bukowski and usually after giving them the spiel I had to diligently practice in my broken English, I was assured they would check him out.

I’ve always been pushy about wanting other people to read. Though I am attached to my books like an extension of myself I never hesitate once to put it in someone else’s hand. I always hope my enthusiasm would lead them to find something in the words I so eagerly advertise; even when I know I would never see my books again or worse, never be read.

Charlie Bukowski was part of my life for many formative years; a constant just like Neruda had been in my teens. I got a degree in accounting, worked in the industry for a few years and hated it. Moved to managing a fast food restaurant for about a year before deciding I hated that more. I was stuck unhappy in a dead-end and sad relationship since I was 19. I was 27 when I decided to go back to school to study Music History, like I had planned when I lived in the land that saw me grow; back when the violin was the only man in my life.

It seems fitting that as I start this new chapter in the book that tells my story, he is back in full force to whisper in my ear once again. I cling to his words, advice and complaints and if they were my own. I feel them inside of me just as I did when I started to understand this beautiful language.

I opened The Pleasures of the Damned today and landed on page 9. A poem that had resonated with me as a starry eye Colombian girl in a big, strange city and it reminded me of the drive, the ambition, the willingness to work harder than anyone else and the ganas that once carried me.

My first serious violin teacher was Olga, a stern Russian lady with piercing blue eyes and a stick that would hit me in the head whenever I got distracted. I still remember in a harsh Russian accent telling “You have one hour with me, if you are not giving a 100% you are wasting my time and yours.” This is the first thing that came to mind when I read that poem, it's what had been encrypted in my brain and the very core of my being before there were 10 candles on my birthday cake. I was either wasting time or I wasn’t. I was 19 and a man that had died when I was 3 years old understood who I was, wrote about it and created a connection that went above language, culture and ethnicity. Someone had understood what drove me and what led me to where I was and where I was going. A young woman with dreams in a big, strange country had seen the words and decided to keep on learning. I stayed in America.

My professor would smiled at me and wonder how I got that from 45 letters, plus two punctuation marks, minus the title. I was an emotional mess, as he always was. We understood each other and connected. I learn to understand the Los Angeles that once was because of him and learn to navigate the complexities of the dreamers that come to Hollywood. I learn more from him and this beautiful city than with anyone else. Those 45 words are a reminder that I made to myself when I felt the little town that saw me grow was too small for the big dreams that hunted my nights.

I don’t know how life continues after Covid-19. Always a pessimist, glass half empty type of gal who is scared of everything, I feel a sense of finality to everything. That mainly has to do with what happened in my personal life in the last 6 months; I have barely been keeping it together when another catastrophe starts or ends. Which is why after thinking about it for years, I have decided to write again. I told my mom once I wanted to become a writer after reading “El Caballero de la Armadura Occidada” by Robert Fisher when I was in 6th grade. This was an idea she cultivated with hope, support and endless enthusiasm. I have written programs for many theater musicals, columns in different cultural publication from my home country, and even got credit for my contribution in an exhibition in Monetevideo’s National Institute of Fine Arts classic instrument exhibition, in which I got to play for 3 minutes with a $3.2 million dollar Stradivarius. I have never taken writing seriously but anyone that knows me always hears the words “I love writing” or “I am going to become a writer” come out of my mouth. I figure the more people I tell, the more accountable I am for keeping my word.

I am at home with my family and a free woman. I am a free woman for the first time in my adult years, navigating virgin waters. I am a free woman incarcerated at home by the circumstances with endless free time and no more excuses to simply start. I have always been afraid that I will never be good enough or know enough grammar to let myself be understood in English. The perfectionist in me wants each sentence to follow a structure, to use punctuation correctly and simply be grammatically perfect. Every time I write something the anxiety of less than perfection and the need for approval makes me irrationally delete everything, have a drink and try to forget about the place where the courage to believe I could do it came from. I am my own worst enemy and self-sabotage. But what the heck? I am stuck at home, with no Job, going crazy over the need to have a project to work on that gives the illusion of time moving forward. I have decided until the quarantine is over and I can go back to work, this is my job and I will write. I will find my style, my voice and the confidence to do it my way.

Just as I did when I was 19, I cling to simple sentences to give a reason to move one foot in front of the other. One step at a time, with courage and conviction.

Was it all wasted? No. Absolutely not, because if it was I wouldn’t be here, I would be over there. Today I start writing about my love for reading. A perspective I now understand is very unique and incomparable. No one sees the world as I see it, so let me tell you about it my way.

Victoria

#CharlieBukowski #Bukowski #Bookworm #ThePleasuresofthedamn #Biography

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 3 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Y’all, wow, your response to this fic is continually amazing, THANK YOU SO MUCH. I feel so inspired to continue with it, I plowed through this part as soon as we got back from Brooklyn today. Despite my dislike for DC (I’ve spent a lot of time there and it drives me nuts) I’m becoming an expert in high-end DC businesses (tailors, florists, restaurants) thanks to this fic! There’s a lot of logistic details I needed to get through in this part, so pardon its plottiness, I PROMISE we are getting back to the smut very soon. Madeline Stone, Mackenzie’s mom, a character I invented for this fic, is basically Carrie Fisher if she were a journalist (and still alive :’( sobbb) in my eyes, so think of her as Carrie, visually and temperamentally. I think I’ll keep switching between POVs as the fic goes on, so Part 4 will be from Kenzie’s perspective, 5 from Duncan’s, etc etc. Wait till you see what Duncan’s gonna do with all those roses.

Duncan stared from the window of the backseat of his private car, out onto the National Mall where Sunday tourists were snapping photos of the Washington monument with their smartphones, children screaming and running, blue sky mirroring his blue gaze, clouds skirting over the bright May sunlight, clouds passing over his eyes; the clouds of his thoughts, the darkness of them, whirling in his mind. 

He still felt dizzy and disoriented from the last 15 or so hours; felt the cold quelling in his heart that he couldn’t push down entirely, trying to convince him that Mackenzie had indeed been a very vivid, very beautiful, very soft figment of his imagination. He stretched his fingers absently, longingly, trying to trap the memory of the feeling of her small hand in them; trying to recall as clearly as he could the soft ache of her lips against his mouth. God, if only he could bottle feelings into tight containers, safe and hidden to open when he wished to breathe them into his lungs; if only memories, however recent, could be recalled into reality whenever you wanted them to be. He wanted to recall every tiny detail of her; her cascading, shimmering hair, her impossibly deep eyes with their long lashes, her small mouth and her dazzlingly sincere smile, her throat with its quartz, the jewels of a goddess, the round hardness of her nipples in his lips, the sweet scent of her down between her thighs, the ridges of the outline of her ribs under his hands, a map he wanted to memorize in minute exhaustion.

He thought of her wearing his tee shirt, the fall of her damp hair over her shoulder, the way she stared at her plate, a light blush on her cheeks, her look of doubt as she stared into his eyes, disappointment and sadness flickering there as she stood up, saying she would leave; he thought of how his heart had lept in his chest in horror at the thought; the idea of her leaving, of her vanishing into the void of the world when he’d finally just found her this way, when he had held her in his arms so entirely, had made him want to scream. He would have begged her to stay if need be; would have gone on his knees and kissed her fingers and fucking begged. The knowledge of this shook him to the core; when and how and whereby could this small gold goddess, stepped out of the ether itself it seemed, make him feel so entirely unraveled, unhinged? He shook his head lightly, closing his eyes, bringing his hand up to his chin and over his lips again, the way he always did when he was troubled in thought, lost in confusion. He didn’t know how, he didn’t understand any of this, but he knew one thing: he knew he couldn’t wait to see her tonight, the thought of seeing her again was bringing that warm-water-over-a-glass-cascading-into-a-black-hole feeling into his veins again, filling him up, causing his nerves to tingle, the back of his skull to vibrate with sensitivity. He felt overwhelmed in the feeling; the memory of their bodies pressed together in ecstatic sensation, that hidden brightness inside her eyes, her voice moaning his name, her little mouth around his cock, god, god, Mackenzie.

Madeline goddamnfuckingshitfuck Stone’s daughter.

He still couldn’t believe that; it was as if there were a brick wall in his mind that was preventing it from really settling, really sinking in. Annette Shepherd and Madeline Stone had once been classmates at Georgetown University; but it wouldn’t be accurate to have ever called them friends. While Annette had chosen the path of power wherever she could find it, Madeline had channeled all her energies into journalism and feminist theory, earning her a Pulitzer at 23; a feat that gained her worldwide notoriety and a permanent position with the Washington Post, a position she’d kept through a pregnancy (Mackenzie, Duncan thought, hand still wrapped around his chin, and his mind moved unbidden to the feeling of her velvet dress under his fingers, the dip of her neck between his lips, the moans of ecstasy falling from her lips as his mouth worked at her clit), two divorces, bipolar disorder, and a benign lump in her breast.  Madeline Stone was un-fuck-withable, had written candid bestselling memoirs about her mental health struggles and her failed marriages and love affairs, as well as two bestselling books on feminist theory that were now considered essential literature in college women’s studies courses. She was a hero of modern feminism; a powerful force in Washington, as revered a figure as Gertrude Stein, a hero to millennial women. 

And oh, how Annette Shepherd hated her. “Fucking Medusa,” she’d called Madeline once in Duncan’s presence, the words slipping between her teeth in a hiss. “High on her femdom shit looking down on the rest of us. A thorn in my fucking side, splashing her harlotry all over my fucking city.” Stone and his mother had had several very public arguments on C-SPAN and CNN; in one, Madeline had called Annette “an absolute viper of white, privileged, colonizing complicity,” the clip of which had made the rounds on YouTube to the tune of 1 million views when Annette had stormed out in a fury.

He imagined the look of cold shock on his mother’s face at the theoretical admission from him that he had slept with Madeline Stone’s daughter last night; imagined the blood draining from her cheeks and the twist of her mouth if she knew a modicum of the truth of his thoughts. Those thoughts were still swirling in his head, glowing and fervent and warm and tender, thoughts that pulsed with longing, with desire. If Annette Shepherd knew that not only had her son and Madeline Stone’s daughter fucked each other’s brains out last night in a frenzy of lust, but that her son, her fierce pride and joy, whom she trusted implicitly and demanded complete loyalty from, was, dare he say it, dare he even think it, already, somehow, insanely, and with total abandon, falling hopelessly in love with Madeline Stone’s fucking daughter.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, biting his lip. “Fuck me.”

“Okay,” the memory of Mackenzie’s voice rang in his ears, echoing through the recent past, her invisible lips brushing his ear. “I’ll fuck you, baby. I’ll fuck you so good.”

He shivered, the fine hairs on the back of his neck tingling and standing on end, goosebumps rising on his arms under his immaculate black cashmere sweater. He hooked a finger around the band collar of the perfectly ironed shirt under the sweater, feeling too hot. God damn, but I really don’t care deep down, I really don’t, still. Even if Mom started to spit fire. I don’t think I could stop. I have to see her again. What’s happening to me? Who is this girl, how am I feeling this way? God, I need a drink. What the fuck time is it?

He glanced at his watch; today it was the round black Movado he usually wore on regular days. 11:24 AM. He was shocked to see his hands were shaking a little; the bourbon and too much coffee, he insisted to himself. But he thought of her mouth again, her soft little hands on his cock, and he knew better.

He thought back on how they’d parted.

--------

He’d thrown her underwear into his silver, round Miele dryer; it took an average of ten minutes for it to dry practically anything, but for the first time since he’d bought it he wished it would dry slower; he had hated to stare at the thought that soon she’d be leaving, the smell of her lingering on his old Led Zeppelin tee, vetiver, geranium, roses, the heady smell of her already ground into the lining of his skin, haunting, bittersweet. She’d gone back into his room while he was at the dryer, slipped on her little velvet dress, her hair mostly dry now; he noted with a sad, low thump of his heart that the tee she’d worn was folded neatly on his nightstand as he went into the bedroom, gazing over her and the bed where they’d embraced so unforgettably a few short hours before, gold light all over her body, and he’d gone up behind her as she leaned to fix the hem of her little dress, wrapping his arms around her hips, bringing his hands up tenderly around her arms, pressing his face into the crook of her ear and jaw. She had sighed; the sound of it slinging bursts of light along every nerve of his body.

“Give me your phone number; please?” He’d reached his head forward a little, lips brushing her cheek, which was cool and smelled of the jasmine soap from his shower. She’d let out a little burst of a laugh, a sort of ha!, as if at the silly reality that they had been wildly intimate and didn’t have each other’s phone numbers yet; he silently agreed that modern life was constantly bizarre, but didn’t move his arms from her body; he felt loathe to.

“I’ll leave it on the nightstand with a receipt for my fee,” she joked.

“You know, I should have known you were Madeline’s daughter. She can’t stand to be serious either.”

Her elbow jabbed him softly in the stomach and he let out a little choke of laughter. She turned around, her face held up to him, the sunlight glowing around her head from his tall bedroom windows, dark damask curtains pushed aside, like a halo, this angel, angel baby, his mind murmured in a rush, and he was struck with a terrible tender feeling of longing; their lips connected, soft, suddenly reverent; and Duncan felt as though the air was abruptly sucked away from the sphere of matter that surrounded them. I could kiss this girl forever, forfuckingever, everlasting, his hand came up and buried itself in her hair again, holding her mouth against him, insistent. And he was overwhelmed again, again, again.

“Let me give you one of my jackets to wear home,” he had insisted. “It’s chilly today.”

She had smiled sweetly at him, her hand coming up to her mouth absently, biting her nail shyly. “I don’t need to, Duncan--”

“I want you to. I want you to wear my jacket. Please?”

She’d nodded, the blush spreading over her cheeks, and he wanted to cover her face with tender kisses, he ached to hold her face in his hands again, but he resisted with all his might; she might not want to be touched so much, and he was loathe to do anything she didn’t want. God, she looked so beautiful in this light; ethereal in a way that was different from the night before, like a Bouguereau to last night’s golden Waterhouse; he imagined flowers in her hair suddenly, imagined her dancing with sunlight on her shoulders, and he felt lost in her, speechless, thoughtless, struck dumb at her wondrousness.

He’d wrapped a black wool Brooks Brothers’ cardigan around her small shoulders; his favorite cardigan, he silently admitted to himself, warmth pooling in his mind, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, this is lovely,” she’d whispered, and he loved how big it was on her small frame, loved the way its hem fell behind her knees, the arms falling past her fingers, enveloping her.

“Let me get your underwear,” he’d whispered with a mischievous grin, and she’d smiled and nodded, her little fingers playing with the zipper on his hoodie. He’d brought them back to the bedroom to her with her clutch which he’d retrieved from the floor by the front door where she’d discarded it the night before in their passionate distraction; he turned away modestly as she stepped into the panties, but he felt her hand on his arm and turned back around; she roughly pulled his face down to hers, her tongue slipping into his mouth, thrilling him, and she had said “Duncan, you’re wonderful,” and he’d shook his head a little without pulling his mouth away, whispering “fuck, Mackenzie, you fucking are,” into her. She pulled away and he felt empty and too full at once, leaning toward where she had been, and he saw the way her eyes glinted with approval, happy with his obvious want.

“Phone numbers.”

She’d taken his sleek black iPhone from his hands, swiftly opening his contacts and typing in a new entry with fast fingers; she turned it around and presented it to him, that luminescent smile playing around her mouth; Kenzie Stone, she’d typed, digits below. “Kenzie,” he verbalized. “I love that.”

“I’d call you Dunc, but I don’t know if it has quite the same ring,” she giggled, and he was lost again for a moment in her dancing gaze. He laughed; he saw her grin widen. She liked to make him laugh, and that invisible hand squeezed around his heart again. He pressed the ‘call’ button; Mackenzie unbuttoned her clutch and pulled her phone out (which was on silent, though Duncan could see it vibrating in her hand), smiling at the phone number on her screen. “Infamous Playboy and Cutthroat Duncan Shepherd,” she said aloud as she typed, hiding the face of her phone from him; he snorted and pushed it down to gaze at what she’d written; just “Duncan Shepherd”, thankfully. “I’m not a fucking playboy,” he said, hand coming up to her arm, pulling her close with just a hint of roughness. “You have a fuck shower,” she countered, smirking, gold rings dancing in her hazel gaze, her sweet breath grazing his neck as he pressed her to him. 

“Well, thank god for that, now that you’re here,” he hummed, mouth hovering over hers, relishing the softness of her skin under his grip. “That investment finally seems to have been worth it.” He captured her mouth, hand holding her neck gently once more, and she seemed to melt into him and the sun emerged from behind a cloud in that moment and bathed them in radiant splendor, a heavenly glow akin to the brilliance of daylight skewed in stained glass and there with her wrapped in his arms beside his bed, he thought this moment could be my last and I’d die happy, here with you, Mackenzie Stone.

-------

“Can I pick you up at 9?” He’d asked, an uncharacteristic shyness creeping into his words again, still taking him off guard though it had happened so often over the past 12 hours, his hand coming up behind his curls, absent-mindedly, self-consciously. He suddenly felt like he was 16 again, asking a girl to prom, but with a whole undercurrent of intensity that prom never brought on to any teenager in all human time; the weight of destiny was pressing on his psyche, he could feel it, and it was intoxicating and terrifying. “It’ll be my private car.” She was stepping into her strappy heeled sandals, about to lean down to tie them again when he kneeled to her as he had last night, wrapping them expertly around her tiny ankles, tying them in double-knots. He looked up at her from where he knelt before her, and he could see the reticent rosiness of her expression as she gazed down on him there, a sort of satisfied apprehension in her eyes. I’d do this for you every day, he thought. I’d kneel to you always.

“Okay, sure,” she said, her quiet voice ringing across his immaculate wood floors and stone countertops and in the empty space of his penthouse, filling it with her energy. “Yes.”

“Kenzie,” he said.

“Duncan,” she replied, her hands fumbling against her clutch, nervously.

He stood up, his height towering over her once more, her small frame outlined against his much larger one, and he thought of the way she fit against him, folded into his arms, the feeling of their bare skin against each other, a haze of desire washing over him again.

“I can’t wait to see you again. This has been…”

“So amazing,” she finished, boldness bleeding into her eyes as she looked up at him. “This was so wonderful.”

“Yes.” His hands found one of hers, grasping it tightly, reluctant to release her. “I feel exactly the same way. I...I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel this way before. You’re--”

She’d hushed his mouth with a hot, fervent, lightning-quick kiss. His words had bled into a groan into her, and he’d tried to grasp her, but she’d flitted away from him then, out the door, and she was running down the hall to where the elevator flew open to receive her, as if by some strange magic, and she’d called out “I’ll see you tonight, Duncan Shepherd,” over her shoulder, and oh, fuck, how his heart had ached to see her go, his cardigan wrapped around her, her hair shining in the warm light of the hall, the smell of her lingering all over him with a terrible ache, and he felt a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere fall over him; the wind of fate, closing in, claiming its prey.

-------

Duncan’s driver pulled up to his mother’s opulent four-story home, the vast Colonial-esque mansion he’d grown up in, and he pressed a deep, apprehensive breath out of his lungs, hands raking along his thighs. His mother was good at needling his moods out of him without him saying anything; clearly she would notice his strange temperament and question him about it. He needed to steel his nerves against Annette Shepherd’s almost supernatural second-sight.

“Samuel, I won’t be long,” he said to his driver, a handsome older black man of indecipherable age with a shiny bald head and a closely-cropped white beard and rectangular glasses. Samuel had been working for the Shepherds for over 30 years; he was faithfully discrete, as any employee of the Shepherd family was required to be. Duncan trusted him implicitly.

“Right, Mr. Shepherd,” Samuel replied, staring at him through the rear-view mirror. “Are you feeling alright today, Mr.Shepherd?” Samuel was unfailingly loyal, but he was also extremely observant. Duncan hesitated. Samuel had the night off yesterday; hence Duncan arriving at and leaving (with Mackenzie, oh Kenzie) the party via Uber. He wondered how much he should tell Samuel about her. He’d have to say something; they’d be picking her up tonight, after all.

“I met someone.”

He saw Samuel’s eyebrows raise in the mirror, a small smirk coming into the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, now. When do I get to meet them?” Samuel was aware that Duncan had had intimate relationships with other men before--a fact Annette still was not factually aware of, though he sometimes wondered if she knew and just didn’t want to acknowledge it-- and Duncan silently appreciated the discretion of his word choice. His bisexuality was one of those things Samuel was silent as the grave to his mother about, though he knew its reality quite well.

“Her. Tonight. I made reservations for Le Diplomate. And I need to stop at English Rose Garden after I’m finished with Mom.”

He could see Samuel grinning at him, his happiness and interest immediately obvious.

“Whatever you need, Mr. Shepherd. I look forward to meeting her.”

“Samuel...she’s wonderful.”

“I can tell that much just by looking at your face.”

“Believe me, anything I say would not be enough to describe her. Just wait.”

He opened the car door, taking a deep breath again. Into the lion’s den.

He quickly ascended the three wide front steps and turned the embossed gold knob, stepping through one of the opulent double doors that led into the entrance hall of the Shepherd mansion; “Mom?” he called into the house, eyes searching. “Mom, where are you?”

“Up here, Duncan,” he heard her silky voice call; he took the winding white staircase with its familiar gold-lined banisters (the left side of which he’d crashed off of when he was five years old, breaking one of his front teeth) two at a time, towards where he knew the exercise room off her office was; as he entered the room she glanced up from where she was walking quickly on her Peloton, sweat glistening from her forehead, her perfect hair swatting from side-to-side in an impossibly neat ponytail. She hit a button to slow the machine down, stepping off it with a sigh; grabbing a white towel slung over the side, pressing it to her slender neck.

“So, what do you have for me, darling?” She asked expectantly.

“Senator Howell will do everything in his legislative power to press the bill through, but of course, it’s Claire who we have to press hardest once it gets to her,” he replied in clipped, business-like tones, the kind she preferred he use with her, the kind she’d taught him to use for leverage since he was in middle school. “Uncle Bill can do more there than I can, but you know that.”

He bit his lip; a vision of Kenzie’s eyes had passed through his mind, and he rubbed his hands together absently, his right thumb pressing into the palm of his left hand to quell any shake that tried to threaten his voice.

Annette looked at him with satisfaction for a moment, and then her eyes clouded with concern--concern for the bill no doubt, Duncan thought bitterly, she thinks my obvious discontent has something to do with that, not with the angel who fell into my bed last night.

“What is it, Duncan. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing. I just didn’t get as much information out of him as I wanted, that’s all. I wanted confirmation of all of his PAC donors, but he only gave me two.”

She gazed at him and Duncan tried to keep his expression neutral. His mother was just too damn good at getting things out of him. He was reminded of a time when he was a boy when he’d stolen Valium from her purse and had lied to her when she had asked, though he knew that she knew he’d taken it. The dark cloud that went over her expression was one he’d never forgotten; you either told Annette Shepherd the truth or you paid dearly. His mother never hit him; her anger was far deeper than that, her grudges unshakable and unrelenting. He’d learned that day that it simply wouldn't do to lie to his mother. And yet here he was, on the edge of doing so for the first time since he was a child.

She seemed to be about to ask him something else, but her gaze shifted indecipherably, and she moved the conversation somewhere else; from what he couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t want to know. He hadn’t convinced her. She knew already he wasn’t telling her something.

“Fine. I’ll see that paunchy fuck at the Gala. I’ll make him tell me the rest. We have evidence of his mistress in Clarendon, but we only got confirmation last night after the party had already begun and I was tied up with the cable coverage. It’ll be the leverage we need. The bill will be on Claire’s desk by the end of the week for certain. Your uncle won’t accept anything less.”

Duncan rolled his eyes, “Oh, of course, because Bill Shepherd’s will is the will of God.”

“It might as well fucking be, Duncan.”

She looked at him strangely again, and Duncan tried to maintain his composure. His mother’s eyes had always made his blood run cold when she looked at him like that. His stomach turned over. Madeline Fucking Stone’s daughter.

“What are your plans tonight, dear?” She toweled her neck again, throwing it back over the side of the Peloton rail.

“I have some information to go over with Melody for the next show,” he rambled, “and I need to look over that report Seth was compiling.” More lies, he thought with a nervous edge. If she asks Seth about the report my cover’s blown, he gave it to me two days ago.

“Fine, dear. Let’s have dinner tomorrow. I miss my boy.” She came up to him, hands pressing into his shoulders, smiling her familiar smile, somehow both warm and terribly cold at once, her eyes two orbs of void, staring into him, deciphering him. Always knowing.

“Of course, Mom.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and he saw the strange expression come over her face again as he brushed against her. Oh god, she smells Mackenzie, he thought.

“That’s an interesting scent,” she murmured into his ear, unnerving him with her confirmation of his fears. “Vetiver, is it?”

“I’ve always liked it, thought I’d try something different.”

“I don’t think it suits you,” she replied in a low voice. The edge in her tone made a cold sweat break out under his shirt, clammy on his skin. She turned away, stepping back onto her Peloton, hitting a few buttons, putting her earbuds in, looking down to the screen, her attention sliding off him like water in that familiar way. He knew that was his cue to leave.

----

At the florist Duncan bought three dozen roses, dark red like the roses that had lined the balcony last night when he’d seen her standing there in her little black velvet dress, her hair shining like starlight, her face gazing into the distance like Artemis bathed in a pool of moonlight, surrounded by her does and hounds. He had an idea, and he was determined to get Kenzie to stay the night again tonight, any work to be done tomorrow in the cold grey light of Monday be damned. He would do anything and everything he could. He’d woo her for as long as it took. Kenzie, Kenzie, Kenzie, he thought in a daze, thought of her hands and her ankles wrapped in the heeled sandals, the curves of her hips (god, I got to see what they look like, they’re fucking gorgeous), the tiny crystals dangling from her ears, the delicate rise of her breasts, the hairless moisture between her legs in the glow of the lamplight over his bed.

His heart was shaking; god, this feeling was so strange, so different from anything he’d ever felt for another person before; now that she wasn’t in front of him in the flesh, he did truly fear he’d dreamt her. But the smell of her clung to him like a dream that he couldn’t shake off. Even his mother had smelled it. And oh no, his mother, who definitely knew he wasn’t telling her something. He didn’t know what in the fuck he’d do about that; he couldn’t imagine a scenario where his mother’s face wouldn’t take on the pallor of death. Madeline Stone. I fucked her daughter, I kissed her daughter’s neck and kissed her clit and I kissed her mouth two dozen times in rapture and I’m enchanted with her, I think I’m in love with her and I’m seeing her again tonight and I can’t think of anything else, she’s all I can think of, I want to call her right now and beg her to come to bed with me again, beg her to let me press my mouth into her body again, and I’m not fucking sorry, not sorry at all, not at all, at all--

“Samuel, Geoffrey Lewis please.”

“Of course, Mr. Shepherd.”

Tailoring was an area of comfort for Duncan. If his clothing was well-tailored, he felt more confident in everything. And he felt in dire need of courage tonight. The idea of seeing Kenzie again was filling his blood with a razor’s-edge of sensation, and everything had to be perfect. It had to be perfect because it was for her.

[penniesforthestorm]

Castle Rock

Part I: Memory and Time

Episode 1: “Severance” Episode 2: “Habeas Corpus” Episode 3: “Local Color”

“What I keep wondering—all the smells we smell, all the songs and pictures—do you lose them all? I mean, wherever you go next, does the tape get erased? And if it does, you aren’t really you anymore, are you?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

 “That’s what I want.”

The above conversation takes place almost halfway into the first episode of Castle Rock, the new Hulu series produced by Stephen King and J.J. Abrams. Henry Deaver (Andre Holland), a death-row attorney, is having a final conversation with his client, a 93-year-old woman whose appeal has been denied. She is musing on the nature of memory, and we get the general idea that her life is full of scenes she’d rather leave behind. For his part, Henry is drawn back to an incident from his childhood: during a freezing winter, he went missing in the woods near his home, and was found by the local sheriff, totally unaffected by the subzero conditions. The sheriff asked what happened to him, but Henry did not remember.            Memory plays an enormous role on Castle Rock, both within the world of the series and outside of it. It’s been established that Stephen King’s work takes place within a connected universe, and ever since Castle Rock premiered, the internet has been buzzing with theories about how it ties into the larger King canon. Now I have to make a confession: I am nobody’s idea of a Stephen King aficionado. I’ve seen several of the most popular screen adaptations of his work, and just through pop-culture osmosis, I’d say I have a general awareness of his major stories, but nothing beyond a surface level. So that’s going to impact how I write about and interpret this series. Honestly, though, I haven’t felt like I’m missing out—the story so far has been strong enough to stand on its own.

In Episode 1, however, a near-immediate connection is established to one of King’s most famous works: The Shawshank Redemption. We see a man (Terry O’Quinn) cooking breakfast for his wife, and they have a brief conversation mentioning the man’s imminent retirement. The man, addressed as Mr. Lacy, drives through town, and on his car radio, an aria is playing. It’s “Che soave zeffiretto” from The Marriage of Figaro—the same piece from one of the climactic scenes of The Shawshank Redemption, when Andy Dufresne plays it over the prison’s loudspeaker system. We watch as Mr. Lacy drives into the woods, stopping atop a bluff. The camera shows a length of rope trailing out of the car, tied to a nearby tree. Mr. Lacy takes the other end of the rope (looped into a noose), slips it around his neck, turns off the radio, and floors the gas pedal, launching the car off the bluff. As the vehicle sinks into the black waters of the lake below, the camera fixes on its back bumper, where we see the insignia of the Maine Department of Corrections, and that evocative name: Shawshank. Then we see Shawshank itself, its stone turrets and barbed-wire fencing rising out of a grey mist. It turns out that Mr. Lacy was Warden Lacy, until recently. The new warden, played by Ann Cusack, listens grimly to the guards as they hint at the prison’s dark history, showing particular interest in a young guard’s remark about a wing of the prison that has stood empty for thirty years. The young guard, Zalewski (Noel Fisher), is sent to count the empty cells, and immediately finds something that doesn’t seem right—boot prints. He follows them to a heavy metal door, which leads to another door in the middle of the floor. Zalewski opens it, revealing only a seemingly disused water tank, and is about to leave when something falls out of his pocket. He crawls down the ladder on the side of the tank, and finds… A chair. A coffee can full of cigarette butts. A metal cage, with a young man in it. The young man, played by Bill Skarsgård, is emaciated and pale, and his bearing is meek and fearful. He does not speak, and more unnervingly, he doesn’t blink, his large hazel eyes staring hollowly at his questioners. Finally, in the warden’s office, he mumbles a name, through a voice that clearly hasn’t been used in some time: “Henry Deaver.” This brings us to the scene I discussed at the beginning. It turns out that Henry Deaver grew up in the town of Castle Rock, twenty miles from Shawshank. Zalewski calls him anonymously, defying the warden’s dictum that the mysterious young man should be kept secret, and Henry comes back home. Over the course of the rest of the episode, Henry begins to realize that something is rotten in Castle Rock. The storefronts downtown are boarded up, his adoptive mother Ruth (Sissy Spacek) is exhibiting severe memory loss, the local cemetery has been paved over, and the kindly sheriff from Henry’s childhood, Alan Pangborn (Scott Glenn), has taken more than a neighborly interest in Ruth. Also, no one at the prison seems willing to give Henry any information about his mysterious ‘client’.

In the second episode, Henry pays a visit to Warden Lacy’s home looking for clues, and at first, seems to find a sympathetic ear in the widowed Martha Lacy. But once she discovers who he is, she turns him out. Some people in Castle Rock have longer memories than others. When Henry vanished into the woods all those years ago, his adoptive father, the Reverend Matthew Deaver, was found with his neck broken, and later succumbed to his injuries. The young Henry was suspected of an active role in that circumstance. When Henry visits his father’s old church, the new pastor makes an awkward remark about Henry being ‘redemption in the flesh’. Over at Shawshank, the mystery around The Kid (as he is named in the credits) has deepened. Zalewski, on security camera duty, sees The Kid in a hallway, with a trail of corpses behind him. But it’s a false alarm—everything is as it should be. Meanwhile, Warden Porter is enjoying a drink at a hotel bar when she is interrupted by none other than Alan Pangborn. He tells her a strange story about Warden Lacy—that he claimed to have found and captured the Devil. Pangborn growls, “Don’t let that fuckin’ kid out.” The episode also fully introduces the character of Molly Strand (Melanie Lynskey), who used to live downhill from the Deaver house, and nursed a childhood crush on Henry. Current-day Molly is a nervous misfit, swallowing pills she buys from a scraggly teenager to deal with what she calls ‘other people’s noise’. In a flashback, it’s revealed that she may know more about Henry Deaver’s disappearance than he does—we see the young Molly watch from her window as Pastor Deaver calls Henry outside in the middle of the night. When questioned by the police, however, she denies any knowledge of what’s going on.

Episode 3, “Local Color”, opens with a scene of young Molly walking through the snow to the Deaver house, putting on Henry’s red plaid jacket, and climbing the stairs to where the injured Pastor Deaver lies. Without a moment’s hesitation, young Molly pulls out his ventilator. Now, the viewer knows the answer to at least one of Castle Rock’s mysteries. In the present day, we follow Molly as she prepares to go on a local-access show to talk about her plan to revitalize Castle Rock’s moribund downtown. Molly finally has a face-to-face conversation with Henry, and it leaves her so upset that she tracks down her dealer, who tells her to try her luck out at the motor court. Molly goes to the motor court at night, and asks a little girl if she knows where ‘Derek’ is. The girl points Molly toward a structure nearby, and as Molly approaches, we hear the voices of children. It appears to be some kind of mock trial, and almost all the children are wearing grotesque papier-mâché masks.  The ‘witness’, a little boy, says that the ‘killer’ is in the courtroom, and immediately points to Molly. “Guilty! Guilty!” the children shout. It’s oddly disappointing when the ‘judge’, aka Derek, brings Molly to his perfectly ordinary trailer and they begin to haggle over the pills, only to be interrupted by sirens. The next morning, Henry happens to be at the local police station, trying to get information. He bails Molly out just in time for her to make her TV appearance. After an uncomfortable few moments, Molly bursts out with the truth: there is a young man being kept at Shawshank, without being convicted of any crime. At last, Henry Deaver is formally invited to Shawshank. At last, Henry sits down face-to-face with The Kid. At last, The Kid communicates more, asking Henry, “Has it begun?” in a way that seems fraught with some deeper meaning. Skarsgård’s gawky physicality and hesitant speech patterns make an intriguing contrast to the menacing aura that has developed around him. In the previous episode, he was forced to share a cell with a burly neo-Nazi, and shortly thereafter, the other man suddenly dropped dead. Henry, however, seems instantly won over, reassuring The Kid that he’s there to help.

I’m grouping the episodes three at a time for reasons that will become clear in future installments (hey, look, I can do serialization too!). Before I go, I do want to make a note of the music on the show: the score is composed by Thomas Newman, who has contributed to some of my favorite films (Road to Perdition, Meet Joe Black, and, of course, The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption), and his spare piano chords go a long way toward establishing the show’s eerie atmosphere. I think I have now gone on entirely long enough for this round, but if you like what you’ve read, come back for more! There will be more anyway, because this is my blog and I’ve committed to this, so… that’s that on that.

[iotaarcane]

XnationalZ

BUSY BLOW TORCHING DABS

Door doesn’t open it glides on rails like the entrance impales tracks leave scabs

They pick at them like a flurry of energy inertly imperil and in peril while sterile the enemy isn’t at his post busy blow torching dabs

Laughing gas to a mass of brain cells that might as well been in cell or for sale to sell for the fact of not being usable like loud theater patrons at musical

Stomping footsteps upsets the stairwell, Hercule as security

picks you up and while airborne you get the farewell.

A good bye of sorts a great try physically the body with a little help contorts but spiritually its dormant in hibernation protected in a fort.  The outside winds set him to the maximum miles per hour bumping over the welts.   Swelling is mainstream never go underground.  A golf club waving at lightning

A day filled with bad decisions.   A perfect life a nocturnal health freak who is slowing dying because of the hours he choose to sleep.  North of the sauna lives out of water a piranha gills with chankla….  Flip flop the hip hop to this mantra….   They got Bin Laden but the tomatoes slices cut au gratin and their insides just by general principal all rotten every good deed all but forgotten.

They attempted because it looked great on camera to have caughten Sadam but the madam of the ministry secretly had  many a body double dangling feet from noose corpse of course wasn’t who they thought they had bad DNA tests fail when not given. You’ll just straight believe without any thought or thinking in a closed space trying to identify who is stinking. This planet in that galaxy is sinking below where it once orbited and your whole existence is defined of what you afforded how toxins are absorbed y’all point the finger iota morbid.

As blood dripping on everything like a loop of hemoglobin training goblins to run tasks on apps.  Hairless ape with only a little fur missing - hand and the wrist  slice is still fresh magenta pink placenta veiny underwent chef prep,  impractical to prevent a story to end like this begin as it went, we muster the emotion to climb street curb like step, tentacle suction cup girlfriend tales like cotton swab on bunny ear manifesto.  One piece bikini transacting - posts no bill.  Open register the creditor turned into a collector, an editorial of breadwinner meanwhile back in the western hemisphere sky is too clear - cuts retina sundries colander fluid filter an array of enemies attacked the command post.  The mid morning foray angrily adjusted.  You could totally notice the moment the ward went kaleidoscope twist 33 degree.  As the crow fly viewpoint saw the west wing extend and to what seems like an elbow bend but they aint drinking consuming much of nothing except orders from the chief who dictates the whereabouts and you gotta be down cannot have doubts they don’t come in shouts - illest hand signals in the game it’s an artistic beauty to see the tic for tac counterattack he who gets the most vagina must be the Mack.  Diesel easel drawer no undies they were left in dresser drawer and if it don’t work out oh no the lawyer is not pro bono yet the retainer fixed the teeth apprehended the beef no more issues.

Him whose piss poor planning continues will be facing the sultry seductress Miss Hughes 4 feet 6 shoes opposite of the elephant of Hindus infamous for the pop ins on miscues So real was breakfast cereal mammal sauce from cashews.   Nipple hula hoop sports car aficionado drop top in the coupe where they kept the chickens.   Jumpy trampoline mouth fortune reader foreseen vulgar obscene potty lips unclean that contingency of the attorney of where wonder land on a poca dot which marks the spot.  Accuracy solar hot, lift off broke apart space shuttle heat pads over hot not matter if they were chosen or not.  Nudity not as bad as could be frontal, wide opening little exit funnel so many come backs you can’t shoot down every rebuttal.  We double as secret agents where birds are fowl and flagrant evil as the vortex in control of this spaceship.  I got it plannded see use that ladder granted to climb into the zoo – carefully pinpoint were from the top we landed snag a handful thus huck right between their eyes candid close to the nose as possible rancid so they go crazy - ape shit

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++NOTHING and LIKE it

You’ll get nothing and like it. No matter how much you despite it.

Like you wanted that new whip but you were too good for the bus so you bike it. 

Like it ever mattered – your best bud did the same inebriated on the way home dump truck made him splattered we identified the body basically because only thing left the t-shirt he wore that night tattered.   I want a hamburger – with a vegan patty in the current state of Armageddon it doesn’t look good brethren Xnational that’s why I rock the same hairdo as a Tibetan.  No a cheese burger yall overreacting on this meat is murder so is a relentless ethic of work especially when exhausted and it hurt. We’ve been threatened by a heavy weapon.  I was reading about Reagan and outline seems Pagan that’s as good for you as dippin Copenhagen spittin telling the surgeon do not beckon the question I love when my gummies are redden.  Cancer of the embouchure is more than a Horoscope sign I concur.   I want a hot dog.  Smothered in mustard covered in meat trimmings ground up chemicals as the fixings.  Bought my rhymes with a great bargain from Groupon.  Even added a discount photoshopped counterfeit coupon. Creating to the beat the loops on.  I don’t know is a Bentley a Rolls Royce because in the back seat the window lowered and I was offered grey poupon do you happen to have another choice.  Already had condiments on my weenie.  Get off my computer don’t you dare peep my documents.  My sentiments exactly the conference in regards to arguments approximates Many inter-nationalities at least 3 continents. Ancestor occupants with these words I’m a biochemist marketing guerrillas in the midst of this mist.  We the tapestry of ornaments via the internets correspondents it’s like I’m studied on my own no paperwork to show my doctorate of rocking it.  I want a milkshake mixed extra thick so it actually improves my life.  Massacre in the streets.  Soul gets fasten to the beats.  Emotion in a drum pattern.  Puts the spirit at ease changes lives makes memories.  We reminisce lacking candor look back in retrospect kinesis situational intensity convince myths as the centripetal force drifts making you cause conflicts with the dame you caressed whose early departure has you dismissed flailing arms is a fit temper tantrum get nothing and like it anthem in this for the marathon and beyond whereupon such a large portion of our population is related to Genghis Khan.  What was going on?  Mating a savage motivation bondage of ancestral astral projections.  In a succession of going with aggression. Talking too much now I’m a witness to this confession.  I didn’t want to know that nor should you want to share it - in your heart bear with it. I need to check up on what era that was. I want potato chips crisper than a whisper in a dark room embracing solitude twiddling a whisker brisker than podcast radio transistor, he was very bad only did one movie but he was a fister, turned that lifestyle around and became a wonderful listener, except after he kissed her, she fiddled his zipper, polished half handle of liquor, hand cuffs cutoff circulation like a prisoner, as she moved towards his waistline she announced OK noodle, his phone screen lit up he couldn’t get up - his unit wouldn’t get up, Here is the kicker, she addressed yours is so much pinker, than red shade of a swisher, Oh yes it is sir right when she was about to go to town cell phone screen with the rear camera face down accessed a video Oh yes Mister Fisher.  Vid featuring a debutante with oily wrist smash grab a sphincter.   Homegirl peeped it out the corner of her eye.  Jeez Louise Guy, you think she liked it, those are screams of terror why did you video tape and mic it?  Payback is real He said no no stop she said you will get nothing and like it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bloop Didn't Match Bleep

Flat line monitor they filed with the manufacturer to get truth because bloop didn’t match bleep

Was she dead or deep asleep it takes a large leap of courage to surpass milestones when laid out flat on  back thick as a board bright as feather totally do laps passing my stone counting per mile our style lashes out flashes of the bang - boom go sky.  They hope when it’s over something changes dramatically like a star fall macho man bar brawl telekinetic script to anyone one whom you bonded importance of existence is something you cannot deny.  

Fly by the seat of pants, advance like cash flow, difficult to rap slow, I wanna run it like you need it get roller pinned and kneaded, Hebrew jui-jitsu submission look at what his knee did.  Star of David on his playlist we turning off tech on Satur no matter bribery or how you flatter your condolences belated along with ski masks raided should of seen them coming the porch was shaded driveway isolated doctrine confirmed over something we traded urine peptide beaker foggy but perplex this –  His best amigo did too much acid like amino so when he was at cathouse heard a whore moan he could only cognate behavior to influence mood balanced hormone as the counterpoint feline payment never transacted fee to wait in line.   What skill or excellences are you pursuing how can you portray without any cueing.  Hit your marks.  Spit in pitch black fire mouth out sparks.  

It’s your energy that relay tend to take opposition and sway.  Assists their dishin’ drug addicts spinning to get spun on a mission in addition to addiction they act like they don’t lie this is no audition you’re grown why you want permission to ruin your life You see in LA a Bruin cub a forty niner in Long Beach data gets scrubbed unit information placed out of reach.   Look what the cat drug in, breeze blew in you could have been somebody a shoo in.  Migrated to Peru in a mobile pyramid amongst doubters, its like the shouters are first with inside out lower lip pouters claim to be ballers all they are is browsers knickerbockers shirtless with trousers waving a give me a freebie voucher so I roll with moon howlers now does this overwhelm like towers stimulates give us powers of the third kind and our encounters.  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gun Laws

-  No fun wit dem laws especially when encountering rough edges grainy surface with gun laws

-  The cause is mass hysteria because amendments put both sides into a predicament

-  Wing of the Eagle into action Xnational Activist after a sour apple up spring the people Active Fist raised above the forehead concurrently nobody wants more dead.

-  Not even the gunman but what about that run in my states Capitol Sacramento

-  Odd… Cell phone is not a weapon 20 trigger pulls the Police can act like a beast, On tempo protest Florida mad man rampaged blood everywhere escorted in handcuffs away facial expression wonder struck departed campus quad

-  Dem our rights in dat bill but that bill was proclaimed before our land fell ill Overdose of fluoride oxygen intoxicants horrible supplements processed food and diabetes from too much sugar in condiments

-  Now to fix your country don’t be chicken like poultry spend love to arrange a redeeming elixir

- This is precise calculation when you are overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like an exchange of demon trading evil for evil soul grasp tool sickle--- Concise to arbitration overcrowded too many people in population the hypertension trying to keep up with what you commercially demonstrating sort of like is regal viper fang retention seek help contemplating like gleaming shovel off moonshine fickle.  

-  Everything even your status is the status materialism is the apparatus zero the sum on the abacus but yet the ability to function not be bullied or tempted to destroy yourself or others can be uncontrollable

-  Mental health doesn’t have a look so why they judge based on the cover texture ink print of book

-  No civilian needs an automatic machine gun.  Home protection can be accomplished with 20 gauge is plenty.  

- There are more guns in the US than people.  So agree with March for our lives.  I disagree with anything I’m not feeling and if we all could be a Democracy and meet in the middle we all should be fine with the compromise.

- First person liver body organ problem corking, ostrich keeping dome piece dipped into land chunks hoping not to get things out of proportion

-  News was sidetracked Porn Star had protection less sex with President along with a dry cleaner hanger abortion clinic minute men attacking those who look immigrated

- It’s a circle of blood you been initiated.  We do not exist in a dystopia but these large organizations can paint whatever portrait they want to fit into an agenda

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++You Can Be Anything

You are where you at in fact you could go where you want to be and you can be anything

So easy to feel like nothing complain and become doubtful with a mouthful of evil they walk in a horrible path of negativity and self-destruction same time place continuum hurting others while they just trying to get through the same as you do.  What is this reasoning?  Who created the outline?  Why if I don’t play ball can’t I get a pass down on the baseline? Appeasing you either got to be a mover and shaker or to the sideline your thrown and labeled a space waster.  Money identifies so much.  Status class how your friends and family eat continuous and fast.  Totally empty posthumous till those on top of the power structure find those beneath humorous.  Better teeth greater smile success is subjective.  I took the elective to be me why don’t you be you. Underneath all the bogus ideas and understandings  I breathe near the 14th of the month only to inhale and not exhale for another 30.  If you do business justified you can really be wealthy if you lied play dirty. Landing around the 5th I derail in a matter of moments look sick and pale living again for less than allowed.  Now the natural lines in my face is  scowled. I want to be an xnational not into whats in or rational I’ve never admired reality TV or what is force fed to me. The world is very fluid with whats not allowed how you make your bread and weather you get a box or become dust when dead.  They never said it would be like this but they never stated it wouldn’t or couldn’t I’m tired of the chosen getting a vote I never balloted giving me basically 2 options on major decisions unanimously untalented more than perfected for the future while living slithering past the masses until something so major happens to a loved one a ugly ungloved one frozen in the headline archived content someplace indefinite it is about time.  Dig through scorched Earth.   Charred ground far fewer giblets in the stew to see self in mirror the spoon is wooden and sipping left a splinter too difficult to survive this nuclear winter.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++To Get Bye

Chatted with an annoying carcass inverted in Caracas on an apparatus and we agreed about this

You’re all I need to get buy

-  The voice don’t know but like a bass line I record in mono Remember before I kissed a girl I got mononucleosis and this in general gave me a neurosis if I haven’t kissed how the heck did I get mono

-  Punctuality arriving pronto seconds click nimble with the fingertips pulling a combo characterized in metabolic state ketosis

-  Fasting near or around roses favorite floral Lotus.  To get by stay fly no aeronautics my aerobics consists of verbal trampoline pounce the guardrail carine upon the jet strip Don’t Trip.

-  Landing gear engaged to get by clearance from the air traffic controller, just this style is me high roller tip toeing soldier avoiding ebola maintain employment meeting or exceeding quota.

-  To get buy you need straight cash homie loads and loaves of bread cheddar or whatever Hamilton greenbacks, paper guap of franklin will do

-  To get by Your Blessing will be thee necessity sky beautiful.   Open heart to keep it plain and simple more than the crease unfolding the ripple

-  To get by clean water fresh air healthy food the ability to create mobility infinitely friends family meditation agility stretching.

-  Concept of these scriptures stacks all the to the back of literature willingness be the finesse all this and that’s success

-  To get by why try easier to complain make it artificial cause others through the tidal waves stress and strain

- Sitting on your knees sneaker heels tap the back of your button ups Long Barrel at temple.  Imagine the thoughts before you’re executed.   That process of it’s over.  Can you fanaggle?   Use communication for survival last chance come at them sideways like a tooth that snaggle

-  This snag will either end your current existence begin into a newish dimension an entrance how did these doors swing open? Never let them see you moping. Laugh in the face danger many elements to this for coping.

-   Change is a guarantee and you can’t get much of anything so constant.  Who can adapt the fastest?   Chip up as soon as society is cashless.  Global position the system while mapless.  I’m going to flow more rap less.

-  Concubine colorful sword edge dull, The Ktown market I copped it at in the China shop bull.     Tea party porcelain porcupine alarm module.

-  iota needs some soda caramel color cola so the bubbles can fix my upset tummy stay scummy my friend is a sin and not funny Lowest on totem pole that explains the mischievous grin

-  Never find work attitude be the jerk stay going bizerk at the store with the clerk make it impossible for them to accomplish the mish undertone a smirk relentless and abscessed until they fail find out it all evolved from silly little games your repercussions wrong answer given to test

-   Well rounded knew how art felt, Chemicals were spilt and the fumes of the 2nd story would melt.  Heartfelt never dealt a hand like that patience is all precious up til you are the doctors patients and he truly evil terrorize a boll weevil wore wild long tail lab coat crazy colors of crayon except no cotton all rayon and he would lay on the guilt deprive of medication till the truly ugly wanted to be killed subconsciously the whispers You’re all I need to get by…..

[semi-imaginary-place]

Name: Nacre Hallis

Role: Perspective

They catch the updraft off the windward side of their Lighthouse, rising into the sky. A constant battle against gravity, an inevitable fall. They ride from wave crest to wave crest, just a little more.

Nacre is a Gull of Selkie’s Rock. Every day they leave the lighthouse either by glider or on their nimble one-person sailboat to watch for storms and incoming ships. Nacre spent their 20’s roving from lighthouse to lighthouse before returning to Selkie’s Rock and was both comforted and disappointed to find it much the same, the same families and the same problems but new coats of paint. They stirred the lighthouse up a bit when they first got back but nothing really came of it and they eventually settled into their job as a Gull. They’re a little bitter and a little tired.

Wish/Fear: "May winds stay fair”

Issue: Torn between their loyalty to Selkie’s Rock and their desire to chase the horizon and never look back

《Bond: Old Man Zim: Facinated by Zim’s monster stories, Nacre was inspired and encouraged to go beyond Selkie’s Rock. They often meet up for drinks. Nacre goes to him for seafaring advice.

》Bond: Maeve Conmara: Nacre sees Maeve as dangerous, that she’s always looking down instead of up, looking back instead of forward.

Locations: The Bluff, The Docks

 Nacre is just finishing filling out their side of the papers for the incoming vessel when they hear Cormac approach. They raise a hand in greeting, snorting at his question.“Well it certainly could be better, you’re right about that. Fair weather the whole week but the number of ships are down.”

“That Slimer’s really gone and done it this time. Who gave that idiot control of a ship? Oh right. His dearest family.” Nacre sighs but then pauses looking thoughtful, “But it can’t just be that. News wouldn’t have reached the Dallion Alliance yet, or the lighthouses farther out. And I can’t see them opening their hearts and caring all of a sudden...It might be the sea beasties, been seeing more of them. Saw one of those greater spined morays just this morning, you know, the ones with the giant head spines. “

.

 Yes:

Statement that no family rules selkies rock. Precedent

 No:

People will go hungry this winter

Conmaras will try to get away with more in the future.

 Nacre watches the *Azure Arrow* approach, her sails taunt from the wind, "Well, we’re going to be hurting for the loss of commerce. Then we’re going to hurt when all that oil affects the harvests. If the Conmaras don’t pay it’s the regular folk that will."

 Their eyes turn up to the gathering clouds, “Making ol’ Slimer pay sets the precedent. No family rules Selkie’s Rock. Not the Conmaras, not the LirBorns, you mess up, you pay for it.”

 Nacre looks back at Cormac, clasps him on the shoulder and walks over to greet Old Man Zim.

.

 “Well the council didn’t seem pleased with the proposal, but when I delivered this letter, the man immediately ran off, didn’t even close him front door. Wonder what that was about.”

 “How’s your morning been?”

.

 Nacre turns the bit of cloth in their hands. Rionna? or was this more Scrap’s doing? Part of Nacre was glad to see the foundations of the lighthouse shifting. Just, anything. Rionna, Cormac, Slider, Scrap, Maeve... yes. But also the crew cleaning up the spill, this whole leaning tower built on the families. Letting Slider slip out meant the burden would fall on those already hard hit by the poor harvest. Someone would starve regardless of how Rionna planned to use it as kindling. Disciplining the Conmaras would keep the other families in line, set a standard…

 Tear down the tower or brace it, either way a storm was brewing.

.

 Zarc Talkeen’s been a seaman for a few years now, practically jumped at the opportunity to crew The Mother of Pearls and follow in his mother’s footsteps out to sea. But then the rope snaps and tangles his legs and he is dragged along with it. Under the water, dashed against something he doesn’t have time to process, and under again; the shouts of Maeve and the workers are distant and interrupted, Zarc’s thoughts only on freeing himself, it’s the only thought his brain can process in the chaos.

 And then steel cable strikes steel and there’s a spark. Zarc’s last memory is of fire on the water.

.

 The moon hangs low on the sky closer to sunrise than sunset, its light mingling with that of the lighthouse’s. Nacre stands on the edge of the Bluff, watching the sheen of residual oil on the waves. They are exhausted, drained and numb after the events of the day. From seeing their friend go down to a blow to the head, unmoving, to holding a cloth to his head to stop the bleeding, to stepping back so Old Zim could speak, so awkwardly hovering besides their friend all the way home, Nacre had not stopped moving. Now everything was still, everything except the endless churning on the waves.

 All things pass, both foul and fair. The roar of the mob… they weren’t wrong, and with that a bitterness wells up to fill the emptiness. Always a step ahead or a step behind, never in the right place at the right time. Nacre had cried out of the Rock’s crumbling foundations, the corruption of nepotism and the turf wars between the families, but their voice hadn’t reached anyone. Like an invisible wall cutting them off from the rest of the Lighthouse, no matter how loud they had shouted, no one had turned their head.  Would the council try to sweep this too under the rug?

 .

 <NEW SCENE>

Location: at sea

 A Gull must be able to read the wind, it’s the wind after all the decides how long and how far you can go in a day, go too far or stay too late and you’ll be stuck in the middle of the sea. Nacre remembers watching the others take off from the Lighthouse, still stuck on the ground as the flight instructor explains they aren’t quite ready.

 This day has been clear with the strong winds that come in Autumn. Ardan and Nacre have been out several hours to the far reaches of the Gull’s range, leaving the ship registration to others for the day. Soon they will enter the danger zone for returning. Nacre is about to give the signal for the two of them to use the next gust to pivot and start heading back to Selkie’s Rock when movement catches their eye. Looking attentively, they see its not the movement of waves but a large fin sinking back into the water. Nacre and Ardan circle watch as another fin breaches the surface. The King Fishers are finally here along their annual circumpolar migration, a little late but here. Ardan lets out a whoop as the two head back.

.

 Nacre watches with amusement as Ardan bounces around. They then survey the rebuilding of the Docks, mycelium composite beams being hauled in to replace charred wood, “We need that oil”. The hand on their glider tightens.

 They back to Ardan, “Don’t get too excited now, if you wanted action you should have become a monster hunter instead of a Gull, our job’s just about done. Just some more scouting and maybe running a distraction during the hunt, but that won’t be you or me, probably Andre or Crisol or Haley, they all have excellent control. Its dangerous work, you know how every year someone comes back injured, or worse”

 Ardan deflates a little and seeing that Nacre exhales, takes a breath and says, “Look, just means you have room to grow. You do it, and you slowly get better at it. Look at us. A few years ago, neither of us could fly, and in a few more years who knows how far you’ll go.”

 Nacre lightly slaps Ardan on the back and starts walking towards the Lighthouse. They smile as they walk, “You know, Old Man Zim used to tell me stories of the old King Fisher hunts, the water teeming with so many of the scaly beasts that you could walk a mile on top of their backs without ever getting your toes wet. Always thought he was exaggerating that bit, certainly never seen anywhere near that many in my years as a Gull. But my gran said the same thing, that our boats would come back sitting low and fat in the water and we’d have extra for the entire next year and to sell.”

 All around them word of the arrival of the King Fishers is spreading, excitement grows as people look forward to a good harvest, a little more food on the table, the security that the light won’t go out.

 “Makes me wonder, where did they all go?”.

.

 As two pairs of feet make their way up the Lighthouse. Nacre turns over the question in their head some more and rubs the back of their neck, “I might just be rambling here—I mean who here really knows—all we’ve gots are the old tales of sailors to go off of and the recent unrest has thrown off my compass so to speak but I don’t know maybe they went somewhere else I mean they’re always going somewhere aren’t they just passing by or maybe there really aren’t many left things are always changing maybe it’s us I haven’t thought this one through—Actually you know who might have a clearer picture here. Ol’ Selsei . A right old seadog she is, been watching over the fisheries ever since she retired from monster hunting. Perhaps accessing the archives or asking Diana would be a good idea as well.”.

 “Just in time for the afternoon meeting.” Nacre nods at Ardan,  “Ardan, they don’t need two of us there. Go ahead and write the report and leave it on my desk, I’ll read over it and file it later. When I get back you can come with to go see Selsei is you are still curious”

 As Nacre nears the meeting room, they hear the rumble of conversation through the door. They knock and open the door to Lyra Conmara glaring at the Council of Selkie’s Rock. Lyra looks glances at the door before standing, setting her jaw and fiercely articulating “I dearly hope the Council remembers who are truly the foundation on Selkie’s Rock”. Nacre watched Lyra leaves the room, her heavy footsteps retreating down the hallway.

 “I am here to report on the patrol of today the 23 of the 10th month, a formal report will be available on file shortly. Today a group of approximately 16 King Fishers was spotted along the eastern boundary. The hunting companies have been notified. Taking into account yesterday’s finding, it is recommended that they embark soon,”

.

 “Rionna Lirborn hmm?”, Nacre turns their head to Rionna, face neutral.

“We all have a place here at Selkie’s Rock, but as our Lighthouse crumbles, you will find those places easily shift and fall away.”

“The council would do well to make an informed decision.”

.

Diana was a bit past her flying years but no one had a sharper memory or knew the archives better than her. And every afternoon she took tea with her old friend and diametric opposite Selsei. Today, Selsei and Diana sat in an alcove lit by lanterns, heads bent together, makeshift table cluttered with papers and mugs of redfan tea. At the approach of Nacre with Ardan trailing behind, Diana lifts a hand to greet her coworkers while Selsei tilts her head and chuffs at the new arrivals before taking a deep draught from her mug.

 “Excuse us”, Nacre nods to the two of them, “I’m sure the buzz of the King Fishers arriving has reached you two—Me and Ardan were out there this morning actually—and I had a thought. Wasn’t there more in the past? Diana you know the recorded sightings from past years, could I take a look? And Selsei you were out there on the water, Old Man Zim told me there used to be droves of them.”

 Diana lowers her eyes and takes a sip from her mug before folding her hands in her lap, mind sorting though all the reports she’d read. Selsel though leans forward, elbow on the table and says, “Nacre eh, ohhh the one always hanging onto Zim’s sleeves. Yeah, crewed a few of those with Zim and just as many on a competitor, heh, taught him a good few tricks I did. And well you’re not the only ones who’ve noticed, I may be retired but I keep up with what happens out on the sea. Them hunter still bring back a fair amount, but each year the big ones are harder to find. It used to be about testing yourself, reaching the summit of what us humans can do, taking down a god. Now its just business, feed the light, profit off other lighthouses. And the King Fishers the bring in keep getting smaller, haven’t seen a real big one in years. Oh what’d I do to hunt one again.”

 Diana speaks as Selsei falls quiet, eyes on her friend. “Yes, I do believe the reports match up. Well, the early records are all a mess, I never spent much time with those, full of strange words. But ever since we’ve been keeping track of the number of King Fisher sighted and caught, yes the trend has been downward. Let me write down the ones I remember.”

 Nacre frowns, “I can look up the remaining years, but would either of you two have an idea of why? I hesitate to jump to conclusions and say its us, but has anything else changed? Maybe their food or the water itself?”

 “Its those damn Lirborns muscling in and trying to squeeze us dry, all for what, a lil more cash”, Selsei scoffs, “They forget about the Hunt, and what it means to kill one who fishes for kings.”

 Diana glances at Selsei but looks to Nacre and responds, “Its hard to say for certain, the sightings and catch are what we have most consistently recorded, but everything else either falls outside of our jurisdiction, or its at the whims of the council. What is determined to be important enough to record cycles with who sits in the Council.”

 Diana sighs, “I tried appealing for a long term plan, but we need funding for that. Securing funding for the decades that have not come, it was difficult. But data like this is no use to anyone in fragments. I can’t track any pattern.”

 Nacre nods, “I guess we’ll just have to work with incomplete data. Maybe it really is us. If we killed all the big ones that’d explain when we don’t see none anymore. And the steady catch would be because every year we try harder. If that’s true then one day soon there won’t be any more King Fishers.”

 So there in the belly of the archive, four huddle over a small table as they try to piece together a puzzle missing half of its pieces, but elsewhere in the Lighthouse hunters prepare their harpoons while the council argues on. Along street and houses lanterns and paper fish are being hung up to welcome the arrival of the Kingfishers, children run along the street, King Fisher kites streaming behind them. The waters are calm, no back breaks the surface.

.

Y1: extinction of kingfishers (maybe not immediately but eventually)

N1: public moral plummets and discontent spreads

N2: resources shortages (food, oil), so winter rationing starts or something

 N1: king fishers dont go extinct

Y1: public moral increases

Y2: we make it through the winter