#had a tin of flowers from dad's memorial with me on way home-- made the roomette quite homey- would recommend

[simply-sithel]

Overnight train trips are good mental health check-ins. Seated across the table from someone most likely, three times a day, you are expected to be sociable- entertaining possibly. Everyone being mindful of the fact we must be 'good company' to each other as we travel together. I wonder if there's a similar feeling to cruises...

The need to frame one's narrative- because on the train we're going somewhere. Are we at the beginning, the middle, or the end of our journey? True origin and true destination. These facts are expected to be exchanged with dinner companions, I feel- thus forcing one to construct such narrative to have on hand. It is distinctively different than the routine exchange of job information one often falls into at routine parties.

Took the Southwest Chief from Chicago to L.A. in a 'roomette' -- would recommend.

[demirendil]

「 4AM, you finally came.. 」   (one-shot).

It was nearly 4AM when the rumbling of the thunder made the wooden floor against Serkan’s body shake. He had been lying there for a few hours, inert and eyes closed; his irregular breaths were the only proof that the man was still alive. The wide open curtains let some light inside the pitch-dark room, lightning flashing across the sky for a fifth time, revealing the state of the summer house’s master bedroom. It had been left untouched since the last time they’d both been here. Sheets that still held her scent, pillows against which her head rested were laying on the bed, a moment frozen in time that he hadn’t dared to disturb. The mirror in front of which she stood that morning, fixing her earrings, was covered by a small woollen blanket, hiding the glass debris from his last anger fit. He had stared at his haggard reflection for a few minutes before throwing the glass of water he was holding in hand, hoping to erase traces of his guilt from his eyes, to smooth the pain out of his forehead wrinkles.. alas. The cold seeping from the squeaky wooden floor helped calm him a little.. it was the only part of the house left that wasn’t mocking him with yet another memory of her.

She was everywhere, and traces of her made his heart race.

She was everywhere, and guilt ate him up until it was too painful to stand.

She was everywhere, yet her absence made his soul ache until he collapsed on his bedroom floor and let sadness consume his soul away.

Another booming sound made the windows violently shake, and a startled Serkan hissed as his right hand landed on a pile of glass shards. He plopped himself onto his elbow and absently looked at his bloody hand before turning to the door and staring into the darkness.

She won’t come, she doesn’t wanna see me ever again..

Three days prior, he watched her leave his parents house like a storm, holding her head in a panicked state. His mother had told her everything, and she was long gone before he could attempt to stop her. He had asked his mother to stay out of it less than an hour before, and yet there he stood in shock. She’d found out the truth and left without looking back. He had lost his chance to explain himself, to drop to his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to maybe catch a last glance of her face.. because Eda Yıldız was gone, and her broken eyes were the last thing he had laid eyes upon.

After driving around town looking for her for the past two days, Serkan had decided to go back home -his summer house, the place where he last saw her smile and let himself get lost in her embrace. She’ll come back, he’d whispered to himself the prior night, before he let himself drop on the floor of his freezing cold room.

thump, thump, thump

Serkan blinked a few times, before laying on his back again.

thump, thump, thump

Serkan sighed as he opened his eyes again and turned his head towards the window. The rain was only slight pouring, a few cats might have infiltrated the property again.

thump, thump, thump

He let a frustrated grunt out before jumping to his feet and looking out the window. The lights in the garden were off, but he could discern a silhouette kneeling over the plants in the veranda. Hair flowing in the violent wind, the girl was actively shoveling the wet soil with a small wooden log. He chuckled at the sight before him and shook his head. She was throwing a fit even in his imagination. She was a dream, she would never show up after finding the truth out. She could only be a dream, not even his prayers would make her come back for him. She was definitely a dream, but he had to check for himself.. just in case.

Grabbing another throw blanket from the corner armchair, he quietly made his way to the hall, and out of the house. The lights were still off in every room, but he could see her clearly through the glass sliding doors. She was sitting on the lowest step leading to the gazebo, and was attempting to move the small petunias to dig more holes in the ground. The moon was casting a light all over her, and he wished he could catch a glimpse of her face, trace the lining of her soft jaw with his eyes, feel his heart melt at the sight of her plump lips. He was facing her back however, and her abrupt frustrated movements were a reflection of her state of mind. Cladded in a thin black shirt, she was shivering as the pouring rain continuously soaked her garment. That shirt.. his shirt. Serkan took a deep breath and slid the door open.

"Eda...”

He saw her jump in her spot and hold the wooden log up as a weapon, before she turned around to see him towering over her. Her eyes never met his, she quickly turned to her gardening like nothing had interrupted her labor. The rain soaking Serkan's hair wet made him snap out of his reverie. He grabbed the blanket that was slipping from his hand and put it on her silently, still watching her every move, unable to say a word. “How did you know I was here?”, she finally muttered. Serkan didn't reply and adjusted the blanket around her shoulder before stepping away and sitting on a cushion, facing her.  Her eyes were dark and focused, she looked like she hadn't slept for a few days. A permanent frown now adorning her forehead, she was biting the inside of her cheek as she continuously stabbed the soil.   "There's a few rocks under there, you might wanna try a different corner"" Her head snapped back up, her eyes shooting daggers at him "No, this is perfect". “It's 4AM, you’re going to freeze here” "Just go home” "I am home" He saw her roll her eyes, so he added "This is home. I live here now. I moved out of my parents’ house. " Eda dropped the log in her hand and finally looked at him. She tightened the blanket around her arms and shoulders and tilted her head, studying his face. He could see a million questions flash in her eyes, but she remained quiet and proceeded to grab a small tin box from her pocket. He recognized the little container where she kept her flower seeds, a gift from her mother she always held on so dearly. “I forgot to sow them here as well, I wanted to plant a few in this spot.” Serkan shuffled a little more towards her and watched her grab a few seeds and position them in the little holes she had formed. "Are .. are you sure you don't want to plant them a little further.. there's more space in the garden", he mumbled. He was trying to be as nonchalant as possible, but his shaky raspy voice had betrayed him. He had expected her to throw things at him, scream and shout, but Eda sat in front of him with unnerving composure, as if nothing had been wrong with the world. "No it has to be here. Right here." Here.. Right where time had stopped for them and all voices but theirs had been silenced. Right where he had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, and promised himself he would hold onto her until the end of time. Here where the two of them had confirmed their love for each other, and let happiness take over for a night. It was a little over a week ago, but it seemed like an eternity for Serkan Bolat. There they were again, sitting right where passion claimed their hearts, yet their souls had never felt so apart from each other. The rain had slowed down while Eda was busy covering the seeds in fresh wet soil with her bare hands. The uneasy silence was weighing on his chest, but Serkan found himself unable to say another word. His anxiety grew as he watched her shake the dirt off her hands and jump on her feet, ready to leave again. He trailed behind her, as she determinedly walked towards the house in her dirty wet clothes, when she abruptly turned to face him again.

"What about your mom?"

Serkan stopped in his tracks and lowered his gaze towards her. She was so close, he could feel her familiar scent engulfing him already, like a poison intoxicating every cell of his body. He gulped again, the lump in his throat thickening with every breath he took.

"My mom?"

His eyes found hers, confused, full of concern, sadness that buried the life that used to burn inside her. It tore his heart apart, it made him so angry. At his parents, at himself, at fate that had so long played with his own life and had decided to mess with her as well.

"Eda how can you be thinking of my mother right now?", he shook his head in disbelief.

"I know it pains you to leave your mother behind, after all she’s been through. I see it in your eyes, it’s killing you."

She was staring at him more intently and Serkan couldn't handle the proximity anymore. He stepped away, catching his breath, holding his head as the tension reached his temples.

"I can’t, I can’t do it. I can't do this anymore. I can’t stay there, I can't be under the same roof as them knowing what my dad has done Eda. What he's done to you Eda."

"And yet, you’re taking responsibility for it all Serkan".

Her calm and cold demeanor was driving him crazy. Serkan pushed inside the house and started pacing in the living room, unable to stay calm.

"How are you so calm Eda? How can you think of them right now, how are you not angry at them?"

She grabbed the blanket still hanging around her shoulders and threw it at him.

"I AM angry Serkan, I am so angry I want to scream my lungs out!"

"Then scream, shout, say something Eda, I can't handle seeing you like this."

"Stop telling me what to do Serkan, stop trying to control my feelings, STOP IT!" she yelled, throwing the one tin she was holding in her hand to the floor.

Hundreds of tiny seeds were already scattered on the floor before Serkan could even react. In a moment, Eda had collapsed on the floor, in panic..

"Oh no, no, no.. Mom.. no.."

Serkan hurried over to turn the lights on and ran towards Eda kneeling on the floor when a punch landed on his shoulder, and another, and another.

"I don't need your help! Stay away from me!"

Her cheeks were glistening with tears and he felt his hand reach her face, wiping away her sadness when another punch pushed him further away from her. She grabbed a pillow from the couch to her left and threw it at him, before she pushed his chest again, hit his arm, his shoulder again. Serkan just closed his eyes, taking it all in, the sound of her sobbing hurting his soul more than anything in that moment. A final slap to his face startled the both of them, and Eda finally gave in and dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Stop ignoring me Serkan Bolat! Fight back! Do something!"

Her disheveled hair was sticking to her face, patches of dirt tracing her jaw, his black shirt still clinging onto her skin. He moved forward, and grabbed her face with both his hands, desperately trying to calm her down. Eda finally closed her eyes and softened at his touch, bringing her own hands up to hold his own. Her icy cold hands melted his soul, and he felt the walls of his heart crumble down as an ocean of overwhelming emotions flooded every bit of his being.

Tears filling his eyes, blood gushing out of his palm, he couldn't hold it in any longer..

"Your hand.."

"It's nothing..", he whispered as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I hate you.."

"I know.."

"It wasn't your decision to make.."

"I had to.."

"I promised to be your breath for the rest of time, but you took my breath away and ran from me.."

"Eda.."

He felt her eyes on him, piercing through his soul, asking so many questions, so many whys he was not ready to answer yet.

"Look at me..Serkan look at me."

"I can’t look you in the eye Eda.."

"Serkan.."

She pushed herself away from him and he held her wrists in his hands, unwilling to let her go, yet unable to look at her hypnotizing chocolate orbs.

"They.. my parents..", he took a deep breath before carrying on. "My family is the reason you lost yours, the reason you lost your childhood"

"They stole your childhood too Serkan.", she retorted.

"This is not about me, Eda.."

"No, you’re right. It’s about us, the both of us."

He felt her finger on his chin, raising his face to meet his broken eyes.

"I don't think I can forgive them, any of them.. my grandmother, the people behind the accident, your dad, his company.. but you.."

"Eda, I'm the heir to that holding group, I'm my dad's son, I am just as responsible as-"

Unable to finish his sentence, Serkan dropped his head down, shivering as his chest tightened again in anger and frustration.

"You're not."

He sensed a tear drop on his cheek, and felt his heart dropping at the sight of her sudden tears mirroring his own.

"I don't blame you Serkan.."

She kissed his tear away and his chin trembled, before he collapsed in her arms, quiet sobs escaping his throat. He felt her hands slid around his shoulders and hold onto him, like a plea for him to stay. Tightening his grip on her, he felt her heart race against his chest, as his own slowed down to a regular pace.

"You're punishing the both of us Serkan..", she whispered in his neck.

"I've only brought pain and anger to your life, all I've managed to do is make you cry and break your heart. I'm just like my dad, I destroy everyone I get close to.."

"That's not true.."

"I love you..",

He felt her tears on his shirt and wiped his own, before planting a kiss on her shoulder.

"But I don't deserve you.."

"Yeah, you don't", she sniffed. He backed away to take a look at her face, and his eyes softened when he saw the small smile on his face.

"You're a coward"

"I was never the courageous one."

“You make me go mad, I wish I could stay away from you.. but I feel like my soul is being shredded when you’re not around..”

“I’m sorry..”

"I'm not leaving"

"I don't want you to."

She nodded and slid on the floor to rest her back against the leather couch. Serkan looked around him, screening the dirt and the seeds scattered all around the carpet.

"We should probably get them back in your tin box".

She shivered and hugged her own arms before shrugging "No, just let them grow in the middle of the living room, let them invade your house."

Serkan chuckled and settled next to her, his left arm warming up against hers. "Yes, tiny little laurel trees in every corner that will remind me of you at any moment".

Eda turned around to look at him credulously, and smiled as she remembered the night they had watched the stars in front of Apollo's Temple in Antalya.

Feeling her eyes on him, Serkan turned around and raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"You're no Apollo".

"I'm not?", he smirked.

"You're not... And I'm not Daphne. I don't wanna run away from you."

She slid her hand in his and laid her head back against his shoulder. "I'm not a tree you can set on fire and leave behind you Serkan."

Burying his face in her hair, he whispered "No, you're not.. you survive every fire and spread your beauty all around .. just like a protea.."

Eda let go of his hand and turned around to look at him, big eyes, mouth slightly open in shock "How do you.."

He sighed and muttered under his breath "I may or may not have read your little flower book.. the one you were carrying in your bag on the first day we met".

Tears were pooling again in her eyes, so Serkan grabbed her wrist and softly ran his fingers on her forearm, visibly trying to change the topic.

"We should get out of these wet clothes"

"Serkan..

"You also need to sleep, it's nearly 5-".

Serkan stopped in his tracks as she gently cupped his cheek and ran her finger against his skin, resting her forehead against his.

“You may not believe in fate but I do.. they left me first, but I know they sent you to me.”

“Eda..”

“Serkan let me.. These scars have been slashed open and it’ll take time.. a really long time to let them close back up peacefully.. I know your scars are just as deep as mine, and I won’t let myself heal if you’re not healing with me.”

He let a sigh out he didn’t know he was holding and nudged his nose against hers.

“I still hate you, Serkan Bolat.”

“I love you, Eda Yıldız..”

[kyoka-jirou]

HELLO HI HOW ARE YOU. Soo I heard soulmate au; can we have a tamakixreader where reader has had bad soulmate experiences (parents didnt work out) and is insecure and avoids the situation? Bonus points for Tamaki being insecure and wondering if it's because he's not good enough.

The ANGST IS REAAALLLL! ; - ; this is just so cute and pure it’s not even- like what o-o

note: your dad is aged-up Hawks now. you’re welcome.

Tamaki Amajiki X Reader | Doodles

soulmate au in which whatever your draw on yourself also appears on your soulmate.

(Warnings: Parents that fight, insecurity, self doubt, extreme verbal abuse, lANGuAgE)

They were fighting again. You could hear it from downstairs.

“You can’t just come home drunk every night!” your dad shouted.

“I told you, I was just at the office late tonight! I wasn’t- I’m not drunk!” you heard your mom slur. Even though her words were steady, you could hear her tripping over her own feet.

“I can’t do this anymore, Belle! Y/N cries herself to sleep half the time because of you!”

“Y/N is just a wimpy little whore! She can’t even talk without that damn stutter!”

“She only stutters when she’s talking to you!” your dad shouted, “You’ve made her so scared of you she can’t even look you in the eye!”

You let a small tear fall down your cheek before turning the music in your headphones up. It seems like the only thing that could keep you calm was music. Whether it’d be Garth Brooks, Jared Halley, or (favorite artist), you somehow found comfort on nights like these.

‘Hey, you up?’ you scribbled on your arm.

Thirty seconds later, there was a response. 

‘Of course I am. Is it happening again?’

You sighed. He always knew what was going on.

‘Yea. Trying to drown it out though.’

‘That’s good. Where are you going for your third year of high school? I remember you said you were transferring...’

You sighed, remembering that you were starting school tomorrow. A full two weeks into the school year.

‘Yueei High. How about you?’

‘Yueei? Wow. That’s pretty cool.’

‘I guess. It wasn’t my choice though. I feel pressured into it, my dad being the freaking number two hero.’

‘Wait a second- what?’

You gasped, forgetting you’d barely mentioned anything about yourself besides the fighting. Capping your pen. You curled up on your bed, letting out a sob.

Your snow white wings curled around you, and the halo of hope that you felt in your hidden identity shattered, as you cried yourself to sleep.

----------

“Mirio I messed up.” he said as soon as his friend picked up the phone.

Around fifteen seconds later, a naked teenager barreled through his wall. Tamaki stifled a scream and he covered his eyes.

“You keep forgetting that we live in dorms Tamaki, just come on over and knock!” he smiled.

“M-Mirio, p-please put some c-clothes on.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry about that.” he said blankly, going back to his room. A few minutes later a knock sounded on his door and Tamaki got up and opened it.

Outside stood Mirio and.. Nejire.

He shook his head, of course Mirio called her over. They were practically attached at the hip ever since they found out they were soulmates. It would have made him feel like a third wheel, but he was too involved in their friendship to be let go like that.

He motioned for them to come in, and then he explained the situation.

“Well,” Nejire trailed off. “She obviously doesn’t know you’ll be here. So we could surprise her tomorrow. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

Mirio nodded, “That could work! And, we could all be best friends!”

Tamaki shrunk back, “But what if she doesn’t like the attention?”

“It’ll be fine!” Nejire smiled, “She’ll feel welcomed in no time!”

----

It was Monday.

You had hesitantly gotten up to your alarm at around five-thirty, and had taken a quick hot shower. As soon as you’d gotten dressed and your hair & wings dried, you looked at the clock. It was now six-thirty.

You headed downstairs, being mindful of the shattered vase on the ground. Sliding over to the kitchen in your sock-clad feet, you opened the fridge to find a small bento and a note.

‘hey little fledgling, I made you some lunch- don’t forget that you have a meeting with principal nezu at eight. love you! - the overgrown chicken <3’

You smiled softly at your father’s antics, and you put the small bento in your saddle bag, along with a few one-subject notebooks and a pencil case.

Filling up your water bottle, you clipped it onto the side of your bag and slipped on your shoes. Patting the side pocket, you made sure your phone and wallet were in there, before heading out.

You didn’t live very far from the school, but you still wanted to get out of your house early, before the rush of kids trying to get to school came out. You didn’t like it when they stared at your wings. It made you feel uncomfortable.

Sighing, you trudged along the sidewalk, littered with old pieces of gum and trash. Quickening your pace, you managed to get to school at around seven-fifteen.

Taking a breath, you entered the gates and pulled up the schedule and map of the school that your dad had sent you earlier. Taking a few more cautious steps forward, you made your way up the steps to your locker. 

---

“Hello!” a small white mouse thing shouted, looking at you. “You must be Y/N Takami!”

You nodded your head slightly, “That’s me.”

“Great!” he smiled, taking a look at your obviously nervous form, before starting the meeting.

He ended up giving you a tour, since you were pretty early, and explained how the hero course would work.

“I understand that your father has taught you about hero-work for the past few years, correct?”

You nodded, “Yes, that’s true.”

He grinned, “I take it you’re very well acquainted with the rules of hero-work then.”

You nodded again, “Yes sir, I am. I have even already received my provisional licensing exam.”

He hummed, already expecting as much. “Well then, Takami-san. Here is your classroom. Do you need anything else before we go inside?”

You stiffened, not quite realizing that you’d already made your way to your class.

“N-No, not of the moment. But thank you.” you stammered.

“Ok then!” he smiled, opening the door, and leading you inside.

You took a shaky breath before following him in, your wings stiffened.

“Hello!” Nezu started, “A new student has transferred into your class, please introduce yourself.”

You faced the front of the class with the most false courage you could muster.

“H-Hi, I-I’m Y/N Takami, p-please take care of me!” you bowed swiftly.

“Woah! You have wings!”

“That’s so cool!”

“She’s cute, too!”

“Yess! Another girl!”

You smiled politely at the compliments as you made your way to the back of the classroom, waving Nezu goodbye.

“Well!” your teacher said, “Why don’t you all take this period to introduce yourselves!” 

The students cheered before you were met face-to-face with a guy who looked a bit like tin-tin.

“Eep!” you screamed slightly, startled.

“Mirio!” a blue haired girl yelled, “What did we talk about! Don’t scare her off!”

She sighed, before taking your hand, “Hi, I’m Nejire Hado, just call me Nejire.”

“Y-Y/N Takami, but y-you already knew that. Just call me Y/N.”

“Okey dokey, Y/N!” she smiled. “So! What do you like to do in your spare time?”

You and Nejire chatted away as the rest of the class just fell into a steady murmur. But, as you glanced around, you couldn’t help but notice the guy sitting a few rows from you, who was stressfully talking to the other guy from earlier.

Huh. Weird.

----

“Y/N! Y/N! Come eat lunch with us!” Nejire shouted from across the room. You froze before nodding slightly, feeling like a deer in headlights.

Packing up your bag, you looked at the small red flower you drew on your hand during class. It wasn’t much, but looking at it helped you calm down.

Slowly, you followed a chipper Nejire down the hall, noting the two boys following you as well.

When you all had finally found an empty table in the cafeteria, you sat down and began to eat.

“So, Y/N-” the tin-tin look-alike, who you knew as Mirio, started, “Have you found your soulmate yet?”

You, Nejire, and the shy boy you were introduced to, Tamaki, choked on your food.

“Mirio!”

“Y-you c-can’t j-just ask t-that!”

You giggled slightly at their antics, the question settling deep into your mind. What do you say?

“No.” you sighed, “I haven’t met him yet.”

The table was silent as you began to eat again, the tension thick.

Finally not being able to take it, you sighed looking up, “Is there something wrong with-”

Your breath caught in your throat.

On Tamaki’s hand, was the very flower you drew in class that day.

They seemed to notice your tense stature as they one-by-one began to follow your gaze.

“-oh.”

“Surprise?”

Your eyes widened as you realized that in fact, your soulmate was sitting right in front of you. This was it.

As your mind processed your feelings, you were reminded of last night, and how everyone at this table might know about your situation. Memories rushed through your head; the fighting, the drinking, the words, abuse, everything.

It all came back to you in a rush as panic started to seep in.

“I, u-um.” you started, trailing off, “I’ve gotta go.”

Turning quickly, you hurried out of the cafeteria, tears slipping past your eyes.

“H-hey, wait!” you heard, but it didn’t stop you. You just kept running.

Suddenly you found yourself under a water fountain, hyperventilating. 

What felt like hours later, you heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Soon enough, you were wrapped into unfamiliar, yet comforting arms.

“H-hey, hey. It’s alright. Nothing’s gonna hurt you here, ok?” you heard someone whisper into your ear.

“I’ll go grab Recovery girl.”

“Ok, I’ll go inform sensei.”

You heard other voices, but you slowly drowned them out and listened to the one who was beside you. They rubbed soft circles on your back as your breathing slowly calmed down.

“Are you alright?” They asked, and you finally opened your eyes.

It was Tamaki.

“I-I’m so sorry!” you cried, “I couldn’t stop thinking about-”

“It’s ok-” Tamaki cut in, “Y-you’ll be okay. We can sort this out.”

You let a few more tears out as your breathing slowed. You felt your eyes close as your last thought flew through your mind.

‘Maybe- this’ll be alright.’

Bonus:

“I hereby give full custody of Y/N M/N Takami to Takami Keigo.”

A loud slam was heard before you broke out into tears, hugging your soulmate and your father close, one of which was being very stiff and awkward at the sudden contact.

‘Yeah, this’ll definitely be alright.’

Hope you enjoyed!

-alice <3

5.12.20

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 41

Final touches took up the full day prior to the nuptials and Norma while on her feet made certain each of the flowers you had chosen were spectacular before returning to her chair to put up her feet knowing that the ceremony involved a good bit of time going up and down. Tradition had the rule that you shouldn’t see one another on the day of and by the past ten hours without a glimpse of James you had guessed that Father Thomas had abducted him to ensure that your paths would not cross. Early morning he had set aside a time for a private confessional to be free of any possible sins for the sacred union and before the guests would be arriving and he would greet them warmly while you got ready until James could entertain them up to the start of the ceremony.

The sight of your blindfolded fiancé in the bed seated upright had you laugh, the sound of which split a smile across his face that shattered his nervous wait he had lost all grasp of how long he could have been there in the first place. Fully relaxed now you were with him the pair of you unloaded the stresses of the day while you got changed and ready for bed. Once the lights were off just leaving the lit fire crackling his body shifted to roll onto his side in a blind catch that you wanted to be held. A bit odd though he didn’t feel the usual peck on his cheek you gave him when you assumed he was asleep or close to it, rather timidly however you spoke in an instant relax of his nerves at his worry you might want him to not be here. “Can we wait for the kisses until tomorrow?”

Around you his arms wrapped to bring you more into his chest nestling his head into your hair, “I’ll wait as long as you want, Darling.”

“That’s not weird?” You barely whispered and he chuckled.

“You’re asking a man wearing a blindfold to just hold you before our wedding night. I love you.” Close as he could he wiggled up against you and settled down to sleep at your body scooting back into his some more.

 *

“Close your eyes, fair Queen of the Cosmos.” Like a distant echo you were back in your bed as a child in the room you shared with Steve. The huffing teen who was now seated on the counter in the kitchen counting how many olives were in the jar he had been rationing for his snack food that your dad had kept well stocked in the house knowing his affinity for them after having stolen one from an empty martini left out at a Christmas party years prior. The simple food he’d always seen and never tasted as his own dad preferred hard liquor over the more classy drinks and rarely had funds for your mother Sarah to have more than the bare minimum tin of oatmeal and weekly single servings of vegetables around the odd apple or orange she could sneak to Steve while the drunken brute slept. The teen in the kitchen held back his snarl to the soft giggle you gave at the kiss left on your nose as a prize for following his request.

“Now, we left off on the Battle of the Dark Elves that drove them into oblivion.” You nodded and his smile spread nestling you more into bed as he said, “Deep underneath the bloody fields, valleys and caverns the war had been waged throughout tiny sprouts burst forth and the most beautiful glowing white pear trees. A sign of peace, prosperity,” into your palm while you drifted off he pressed the medallion that wreathed your body in a glimmering cloud in a nightly ritual of imbuing the strength trapped inside his essence from his being tasked with charge of your essence to find a being to aid in your physical form to be remade fully. The story flowed on until the last of the strength he was given to hold had been returned to you and in the turn of the body in his arms to cling to the stuffed bunny he had traded for his medallion he tucked away again and slid out of bed beaming at being tasked with this blessed task. Over your shoulder he eased the blanket up and quietly slipped out of the room leaving the door open so Steve wouldn’t make it creak and wake you when he went to bed.

In his arrival in the kitchen Steve slid off the counter and flinched to the table awkwardly sitting in his seat at the table he reached down to straighten the chair in a quiet slide of the seat he was seated sideways to quiet the pinch of the edge of the wood pressing into his bony butt. Into the bottom of his button down shirt he folded the jar he eased closed pretending he hadn’t been eating anything, a blatant lie proven by the slow chews on his last stolen olive behind the back of the assumed monster who was readying a meal in the now heated skillet on the stove. Frightfully his eyes kept locked on that back and each calm movement waiting for the snap when he would be sent flying across the room for his now wavering breaths that surely could trigger an asthma attack that always made him a popular target in his younger years.

In all of his focus however when the back had turned he flinched upright in his chair now face to face with the broad wall of a man with a stoic expression that settled a plate in front of him. Wordlessly his hand extended in the settle of a second plate for his mother down to grab the top of the jar that had his eyes shut in anticipation of being struck with the jar. One at a time to the steps away to the fridge his eyes cracked open and through the tremors that wracked through him he sat up again in a pretend way of regaining his pride in front of his monster. True it had been years of not so much as a ruffle of his hair and while a mug of cocoa was made up his eyes narrowed in his plan that again repeated in his mind of his escape when he was old enough. No one changes, no one grows out of that brutality. No one who ever had that much power over another being could possibly then turn kind.

The mug on the table made him flinch back to the present and like always he turned his head to watch the monster stroll to the front door that echoed of the creaks on the stairs to warn his wife was returned home. Keys shifting in a hand was answered by the open of the door and a second bright blue pair of eyes flinched a bit wider at the sudden greeting of her now warmly smiling husband Sarah returned a sleepy smile to. “Rough night, my treasure?” He asked stepping aside to let her in, the door was shut and off her shoulders he eased the jacket that was hung up for his loving shadow of her path to the waiting meal that deepened her smile. Down she settled sharing about her day that he listened to lovingly and shared a bit on his own classes at Columbia, leaving only to pour her a bath to get ready for bed while he did the dishes they had just used.

Bravely Steve spoke up about something he had heard the monster say over the years. “You shouldn’t tell her she’s a Queen.”

Low and rumbling a chuckle was his reply in the rinse of the used mug and glass of milk Steve had been poured, “And what would you call your daughter?”

“Not a Queen. There’s no King out there waiting for her. She’ll get as far as she’s allowed in school and then probably get knocked up before she graduates by some scumbag who’ll use her as a maid and footstool.”

Instantly those purple eyes were on the teen again and he flinched harshly to the stoic expression, “I asked what you would call your daughter.”

“I, don’t,”

“You set the example for your daughter. How you treat your wife is the relationship your child will seek out. If you want your child to be nothing more than a punching bag then by all means, instill that upon them. Until then, give them, Jaqiearae and yourself the benefit of the doubt. Do not limit yourself simply upon your suffering. Strive to be more than a punching bag. Raise Queens and be the man who will not be ashamed to wield less power than the woman you love.” Steve should have scoffed, had the tone not been so imposing of an order. “Jaqiearae is your sister Steve.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his monster turned around to face him fully drying his hands on the towel he set down beside the sink once done. “She will never stop looking to you, perhaps one day you might try returning the favor and be the brother she deserves.”

To the bathroom he went to crouch behind his wife and rub her shoulders, arms, hands and back then move to the foot of the tub with kiss after kiss stolen before he wrapped her up in a towel and took her to bed where he laid out a fresh set of clothes she pulled on and sat up for him to rub her feet and legs.

The memory replayed in the mind of the reformed essence of Erich down in the gardens of Hel strolling with his beloved in his arm and her hand that was playing with the tassel on his outer cloak had his second hand smoothing up her forearm to steal hold of it to lift for a kiss on her palm. Soft and gentle to their gifted abode from the guardians of Hel they chatted together lost to their bliss until at the front door inside the mail box a letter was sticking out that halted him in place. On the sheet of parchment inside he smiled as his wife did in the reading of the wedding notice of their beloved child the pair hurried inside to ready for. The medallion around his neck in the process was removed and clutched inside his palm he sent off ahead to warn of their arrival.

 *

Footsteps across the floor downstairs triggered the arms coiled around your body as well as the hand laid over the back of your loosely curled fist now with the glimmering mist coated medallion inside of it. The shape of the object mid furrow of your brows opened your eyes that moved to the fist now turned in the slide of James’ curious thumb at the feel of something in your hand. “What is that?” He asked not moving anything but his thumb.

At the frightened open of your palm followed by a tremble of your body his grip eased tighter, “What is it, Darling?” His thumb moved to ease across the medallion to try and find what it could be.

“This was my dad’s. He was buried with it.”

Post soft inhale he said, “If it helps it doesn’t feel like jewelry me and Vic have dug up with bodies before.”

“Please tell me you weren’t grave robbers.”

With a chuckle he replied, “Archeologists always need helpers. Rather easy job to get while traveling the world.”

Around the medallion your hand closed and into his chest your body turned to tuck against his chest with your arms looping around his torso that helped you to be brought fully against his bare chest in his kiss to the top of your head. Into your hair he hummed, “I love you, I would take it as a sign that he’s going to be watching. Golden guy and Elliot said he was alive somewhere, maybe he’ll show up with blue eyes to the ceremony.”

“I won’t be able to dance with him though.”

“Vic’ll cause a scene and we can slip out for your dance if we see him.”

Steps came closer to the door and softly he grumbled and kissed the top of your head again. There wasn’t much more time until the door opened and he grumbled again muttering in Vic’s path in and out again with his blindfolded baby brother with a smile your way in their path out and Norma’s path in to settle on the empty side of the bed smiling at you. “Sleep well, Bunny?”

“Pretty well.” Her eyes shifted to your left hand now ring-less with the medallion on the end of the knotted chain necklace, “Found my dad’s necklace.”

She smiled shifting the medallion in your palm to say, “This is beautiful. Could work great as your something old.”

Dawn slipped in through the open door with her daughter nursing under her shawl sideways tied across her torso saying, “Father Thomas just got here for your private confessionals, he’s starting with James.”

With a soft sigh you sat up saying, “I have to pee.” In a quick loop over your head the necklace was put on and the pair smirked waiting as you went to relieve yourself and freshen up then change into a simple sundress over the strapless bra and slip you secured over your nude stockings to Norma’s help fixing the sash on the back of the dress.

 *

Freshly changed to a simple pair of trousers and a button down shirt with some socks and his slippers James turned at the knock on the door to find Eddie still disheveled with Teddy against his bare chest gumming at the spoon that was formerly being used to feed him. “Father Thomas is here for your confessional.”

In a swift exhale he nodded and said, “Right,” that was all he could croak out earning a stroke of Victor’s hand across his back in a comforting motion knowing the one thing he might be carrying and wish to voice to someone other than his brother who might tell him the ‘right’ thing he should have done or could do to make up to you. The words for what he did were lodged in the back of his throat and after having killed his own father and hundreds if not thousands of others there was one true crime he had committed that had hurt you so terribly and couldn’t voice.

Father Thomas with a smile fully dressed with bible in his hand said as the others left the room and closed the door, “Morning James, I trust you slept well, or at least one would hope so.”

James nodded and said, “Would always be nicer to get more sleep, but I slept well.” He motioned his hand to the side to the pair of chairs in the corner they both settled into facing one another. “Did you sleep well?”

Father Thomas chuckled answering, “Yes, weddings are always a blessing and I am gratefully blessed with ample sleep the night prior.” His eyes scanned over the thumb smoothing across the curled fist on James’ thigh and he asked, “Are you nervous? Surely Jaqi will be very excited for today you have no reason to worry about any runaway bride troubles.”

To himself James chuckled and replied, “I’m not nervous about Jaqi running away. The only thing I’d have worried about was her sleeping soundly and we slept just fine.”

That had the Father’s brows twitch upwards a moment, “Did Eddie or the girls tell you how she slept?”

“No, we worked it out we slept together and Vic blindfolded me so I wouldn’t see her.”

Father Thomas said, “That is the Sin of Scandal to share a bed while unmarried. I understand while in the war you might have shared a space to keep warm at night while in the open, however-,”

James said in his word searching pause, “There were other nurses in the hospital on the base that was attacked when Jaqi was put in that uniform by Eddie.” The Father’s eyes narrowed a moment wondering what he was trying to get at. “And every single one of them aside from Jaqi were sent home in pieces,” that parted his lips, “There’s a record that she was given when she returned to Canada about that attack. It basically says the men who found the two nurses that were barely alive were mentally broken at their continued fighting and screams for them to find her. Because they knew what the Nazi’s had done to them and what they would have done to her, facts that when the men slept had them steal a pair of pistols and shoot one another.” That had the Father cover his mouth a few moments. “Up until the point Jaqi got shot and was given a field promotion to E-4 Medic they had her classified as a POW. She would have saved them, she thought someone would have saved them, but Eddie was the only one who made certain any of the women there were safe.”

In the lowering of his hand he said, “Would you give me their names later, I will pray for them and their families.”

James nodded and said, “Most nights Jaqi makes it through, some nights are harsher for her to face alone.”

“Regrettably that had never crossed my mind for what she might have faced. Eddie never allowed anyone to endanger or insult her before they left town, I never imagined she may face that fate. I knew she bore a burden,” he shook his head, “I had guessed it was shell shock and nerves from balancing school and the wedding. Under those circumstances truly comfort of a spiritual level with one is trusted will be welcome to face this day of blessings. And greatly proves the foundation of your bond.”

James said, “I know I may not be the best Catholic, but Jaqi is the kindest soul I know. Even to the point she wanted to wait on even a good morning peck on the cheek until our ceremony is through. I don’t want my lack of history on following the guidelines to be held against her ever, especially today when it means so much to even the memory of her parents who wanted the best for her.”

“And they would be so pleased to have known the man she has chosen to bind herself to in matrimony. We all are so proud of her in that.” His eyes scanned over James’ face asking, “What else it troubling you?”

James sighed and said to the slide of his thumb over his knuckles again. “A couple weeks before Steve died I spoke to him.”

Father Thomas nodded with a slightly tightening of his expression in focus, “Go on.”

“I told him the base hospital Jaqi was in was attacked, and I made him think she died. I spat back every cruel thing she told me he did to her and let him know it wasn’t just between them and God, people knew and would always know how he made her suffer.”

Father Thomas, “Someone was due to do that eventually.”

James looked to his hands and closed his eyes and said to the hand that came to rest over his, “I told him she was dead and a few weeks later he drove the plane he was in into the arctic. If I hadn’t made him think he was alone-,”

Matter of factly the Father cut him off, “Steve never would have returned to her at all had he survived.” That had James lift his head to hear, “Upon notice of his death we were informed that the church was the sole beneficiary of his property and funds including all of hers. Although through the Brocks we were aware of Jaqi’s survival and after legal consultation we were assured we could act as, guardians of that inheritance until she had returned home safely as she was his living blood relative. Steve fully intended to leave her penniless and homeless to the point we considered offering her a spot in our nunnery had the Brocks not taken her in somehow.”

“How could you stand him and all he did?”

“Honestly we had little interaction once he gained custody. Excuses of work kept him from attending mass, Jaqi attended with the Brocks.”

“Did anyone attend his funeral?”

“We did not have the ceremony in the church, as on usual occasion suicides are forbidden our services. However as he died in war and the military gave the impression there was an unstable explosive onboard he was taking away from others so we spoke a few words at the graveyard. All soldiers were expected to have full burials, and truly the burial of Steve was as a kindness to Jaqi for her return to have a place to mourn him relatively close to her parents.” Still with hold of his hand he said, “I understand you lost your parents when you were young. Would this ceremony have pleased them?”

“Yes. My parents always expected me to marry well and to have a proper respectable ceremony.”

“Well you certainly have achieved that, and a fine woman to claim as your own.”

James chuckled, “She’s the one claiming me. And I’m the one who’s marrying up no matter what other people say.”

Off the top of his fist his hand was eased out and into his palm a rosary from the priest’s pocket was settled in his palm. “Though your relationship may have been strained I know on this solid ground to share the faith of your wife and to raise good Catholic children will bring you unequaled bliss in following our Father’s path for you that has brought the both of you together.”

Around the rosary his palm folded without the anticipated burn of having held the weight of an assumed guilt on having cost you your only blood brother. A brief share of more comforting words came before a joint prayer and then the Priest stood with him saying in a pat on his arm, “I will see you in a short while at breakfast, for now, I’m going to steal a few moments with your young Bride.”

James nodded and shifted his fingers around the gifted talisman that upon his being alone again he looked down at eyeing the ruby and pearl beads on the silver chain. Victor’s pop in again had his eyes rising and in their time alone big brother got back to bolstering his mood reminding him of everything that was on the other side of this big day. This was just the tip of the Catholic iceberg that you would be plowing at this whole gigantic day. It all meant so much and years of waiting since first meeting in that store room now found you on your wedding day. After which he could be in every way all yours and devote himself to aiding at least legally in building up anything you desired until laws could be changed for the better and grant you some well deserved freedom. Off to breakfast he was helped with eyes fixed ahead far from being able to turn and try for a glimpse of his true love.

.

Softly there was a knock on the door and with Dawn’s open of the door Father Thomas came inside to be left alone in the room. From the bottom of the steps Erik and Edie waited for the meeting to be through for their chance to have their own talk with you to share their own traditions for wedding days to at least tuck away in your memory to look back upon later. Straight to the open chair beside yours he came with a soft grin saying, “Good Morning Jaqi, you look well rested.”

“Yes, I um, I should probably start there.” He nodded and you said, “James and I shared a bed last night. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep alone. Time with such big guests put me more than a bit on edge.”

“Oh that is quite to be expected. And those who have faced troubles as you have often do face trouble sleeping alone. Which thankfully you have such an honorable man to hold guard over your nights when you are your most vulnerable.” His eyes brimming with hints of the tears of a knowing now of the pain that dwelled deeply in your eyes no matter how brightly he had seen you smile on occasion since returning with James to Brooklyn. From his thigh his bible was eased out between you and he began to flip through saying, “Before we pray I wished to read you something.”

 *

Breakfast for you was brought up and your family came up to join you to keep you calm before those outside of the Bridal party who helped to run through the final checks of the day and to guide the earliest of arrivals who were being entertained by those in the town gathering to help as they always did for other weddings with those from out of town attending. Closer to noon was when your service was beginning and the closer you got the more shared movements were given. All but shoved in a trunk of a car James was taken off first for your comfortable drive to the church afterwards to be kept separate enforced by his path in a side door to the upstairs Groom’s Quarters while you filed into the Bridal Quarters.

One final task was taken up prior to changing, Victor and Dawn both stood witness as you and James signed the marriage license that Father Thomas signed and slipped out to change himself inside his own private quarters he could pray and center himself. Downstairs with boot in hand James stood one legged in white pants and undershirt tucked in adjusting his sock up over the top of the pants to help make the seamless look of the pants under the knee high boots. A vest came next and in the adjustment of the sash that laid across his chest there was a knock at the door that opened to reveal King George on a brief stop to congratulate the groom and share his own experience at his own big wedding day followed by a stop from President Truman. After which Mackenzie King the Prime Minister of Canada had come in as well for his own well wishes for the Groom and Groomsmen who were all nearly dressed completely or at least partway in the process of adjusting their suits.

A bit more puzzled than anything else on how he was meant to take their outstanding ceremonies and marriages since then his coat was eased on in his turn to the mirror on the wall to double check his hair. The few swipes of his comb only stirred up a rare ache at not having you here to fix his hair as you had since that first day you bathed together back in that hotel mid war. It didn’t seem to sit right no matter how he had adjusted his hair only bringing Eddie over to playfully say, “You keep that up and we’ll miss your warning to walk out.”

James smirked and looked back at him, “Not my fault, Jaqi usually fixes my hair.”

Eddie, “Compared to her hair yours is a picnic.”

Victor chuckled, “Clearly you haven’t tried to brush his hair, it’s eaten brushes. When he was a kid I used to check his scalp for teeth.” Eddie chuckled in James’ head shake and eye roll to turn and fetch his top hat he could spin in his fingers as he sat on the arm of the chair he didn’t want to sit in to keep from wrinkling his dress jacket. Where he could have worn his Military uniform instead he broke out his father’s dress jacket to dress to that rank he had inherited that had impressed the King especially upon realizing he had dressed to that rank.

Of course in Canada’s break from the English Peerage it was no more than an empty echo of that title of Baron that his Grandfather died with and was able to pass down legally by his own birth in England. Of course across the jacket he pinned his Military pins that Victor helped him to straighten with a grin at how his brother looked in the uniform he hated to see the senior Mr Howlett wearing at special occasions. The terribly cruel man who made it his life’s goal to discipline James as he felt that his only grandson was being coddled. Now the rank was held by a more suitable man to uphold that weight on the day he was marrying a woman who could take up the title of Baroness James’ mother Elizabeth had aspired to gain but was passed over in her husband John’s death.

 *

Tucked back the sides of your hair in elegant braids the curls from your face were held back to meet in a crossing braid that would lay over the rest of your curls, each was gently combed out to lay down your back in a style that was tested to hold the weight of the veil. Seated in the tall chair shoeless you tapped your toes on the footrest while Norma readied your wedding shoes from their box, namely the bow on the back that required some straightening. A sudden knock on the door had your brow arch up and your fingers fold around the arms of the chair in your body’s frozen state while Ambrose was doing your eye liner.

Across the room you heard, “Your Majesty,” ripple around that once you turned in your seat you saw Queen Elizabeth who nodded her head to your respectful head bob.

She spoke in a stop a few feet from you, “I must say that you have crafted a lovely ceremony, amply fit for the makings of a Baroness.”

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Queen Elizabeth, “I understand the both of you are not to be introduced to your rank, however I assure you the press will be properly informed of the title that James has inherited from his grandfather, the former Baron Howlett.”

“That should be interesting to see unfold.”

She smirked and said, “Now there is little to be concerned over, simply follow the steps of your ceremony and all will be received warmly by the public. Just let the cameras do the hard work and the press will handle the passing of details. You are not dressed yet?”

“My dress is fairly simple to get into.” You said gesturing to the gown draped over a daybed that parted her lips in a silent tug to get a closer look. “Ordered it under Dot’s name so it could be a surprise.”

“Oh that is a lovely gown.” She said and a cleared throat on the other side of the door had her turn to you with a kind grin to say, “We will see you rather shortly. It would appear Bess Truman has come for her own moment with you.”

Curtsies and kind goodbye’s were traded for hello’s to the First Lady Bess Truman, who was shortly joined by Joan Patteson the best friend of Mackenzie King the Prime Minister of Canada. Both whom adored your gowns and excitedly went down to claim their seats to let you all get finished getting dressed. The Bridesmaids had split up into pairs to all get into their gowns with their hair and makeup already completed. You came next with Ambrose and Gina to hold your gown and their tears back as you stepped into your gown that was folded around you. Again you held the bust of your dress that was laced up for the corset to be added over the top of it. When that was secured the door opened again to reveal Momma Brock with a grin that crept wider to Dot’s lift of the hat you would wear, and in an eager trot over in the spill of the girls she had gotten dressed to help secure the Brock lace and silk veil into the braids on the ends of decorative jeweled pins and large hair comb. Over the top of that the top hat was settled for Dawn and Dot to adjust the netting down partially over your face.

One by one each Bridesmaid had their hats secured in place while Edie’s eyes focused on the medallion around your neck that Gina was the first to bring up, “You found your dad’s necklace?”

With a grin you said, “Yes, just sort of woke up to it.”

Compliments rippled around until the next knock on the door when the stunned Father Thomas would come into view, “My my you look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

You replied in a weak try to speak and he said, “James is ready and waiting.”

Pt 42

[stoppit-keepout]

when nobody is listening

Kissing prompt 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (I realise most of the prompts are v romantic, but I listened to some Mountain Goats and couldn’t stop myself from writing sad things, oops. Title from Long Neck’s Rosy)

Heads-up: this is about Nile Freeman’s family dealing with death--hers and her father’s.

Tony has a few memories of Dad’s funeral. They have hard edges, and they shine through tears, crystalline.

Auntie Kai singing Amazing Grace, a red flower on her black dress. Mom pressing a kiss to his praying hands. “Come here,” collecting him roughly into her arms with Nile, God, Nile.

He’s not going to remember Nile’s funeral. He’s not going to go.

He tells Mom while she’s making a salad to go with dinner on Thursday. Auntie Kai dropped off lasagna and tried to stay, but Mom wasn’t ready to see her, see anyone yet, so it’s just the two of them.

“What do you mean ‘I can’t go,’ you got plans?” The retort comes fast, before she’s looked at him.

Mom’s always on the move--ADD, Nile calls it, though who knows for sure--and it’s only gotten worse since they got the news. Since Tuesday.

There’s a lot to do, she says when Tony asks if she wants breakfast, and she can see the TV from where I’m ironing, thanks, baby, you just watch your show, and she’s just going to call Father Willem to make sure everything’s set, but she’ll go to bed soon, she promises.

“I can’t,” he says. His grief presses a greedy hand across his throat, strangles the rest of what he’d wanted to say.

Mom knocks over the salad dressing. The plastic thunks when it hits the counter. “Baby,” she says, and she’s there.

Tony pushes his face into her shoulder, and her hands push against the back of his head too, hiding his twisting sobs in her at-home sweater. “I can’t, Mom, she’s gotta come back,” the words lurching out around his crying.

“Shh,” Mom says, and holds him tighter. “I’ve got you.” Her voice trembles so hard that it shakes the bones in Tony’s legs, and they’re folding, Mom slowing his fall, but both going down together.

“Who’s gonna keep me out of trouble now?” Tony doesn’t know if anyone but Mom would be able to understand the words, they’re so clawed-up from tears; he doesn’t know if they really make sense, but it was what they always said. Mom and Nile, keeping their boys out of trouble, but Dad’s dead, and then Nile enlisted, and now, and now--

Mom’s crying just as hard as Tony, now, but he can still hear her say, “She’s still watching out for you, baby, she always will.”

The lasagna doesn’t taste like anything, but at least the lid was on the salad dressing when it fell. Nothing spills.

Tony goes to the funeral and stares so hard at that stupid flag that it shows up, inverted, when he blinks.

-

Tony’s heart churns in pain that whole first month. It’s somehow even worse than when Dad died, because at least then, he and Nile had been a team. Mom took care of them, and they’d make sure she didn’t stay up alone. Nile always made their cousins take Tony, too, when they go out for bike rides, always let him tag along and play his music. Tony made sure that when Nile got mad, she didn’t get mad alone.

Mom’s not mad now. The closest she gets is when Tony gets detention for getting in a fight with some guy trying to get him to join JROTC--she descends upon his principal like an ice storm, and Tony doesn’t get a mark on his permanent record from the incident.

But mostly she’s sad, and Tony’s sad, and it’s new enough that he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

His friends start coming over to hang out. The Sunday after the funeral, they just show up, and from that point on it seems like someone’s always around--he can’t complain about it. They teach Mom to play Breath of the Wild on Jalen’s Switch, and they pull a jagged laugh from him when Mom tries to catch the giant horse.

When Auntie Kai finds out that Mom’s letting Tony’s friends come over and play video games, she practically moves in. “Let me take care of you,” Tony overhears her telling Mom one night, and the echo of Nile hits him so hard that he has to sit down right there in the hall.

Auntie Kai’s able to be around all the time because work is giving her some paid time off--something about a bunch of vacation days she needed to spend, though she also told Mom the days definitely hadn’t been there in December when she’d wanted time for Christmas. Tony’s dimly grateful for whatever glitch had hidden the vacation from her then, though, because it means now she’s here, and she can help.

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen, even though food still doesn’t taste right. Tony sleeps in Nile’s room sometimes and tries to tell himself she’s still there looking over him, like Dad.

It doesn’t get easier that Nile’s gone, but it gets easier for Tony to still be around.

-

He gets into U Chicago. He gets into a few other schools, too, and has a couple rejections he didn’t care to read, but he gets into U Chicago.

“You deserve it, you worked so hard,” Mom says. He picks her up off her feet in a hug, and she laughs, loud.

“Thanks for making me work,” he says. “And thanks for fixing my application essays.”

“Oh, for--” She’s grinning as she slaps at his arm, and he puts her down. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t do that!”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s sure he’s still grinning like a fool. “Sure, Mom.”

“You need to give yourself credit, you earned every bit of this.”

Sure, he did, but he knows he’s never totally perfected the right ‘their/there/they’re/whatever,’ no matter how many times Nile had tried to explain it. He also has some proof that Mom went and fixed things even after she gave him her approval for his submission--when he’d checked the system the day after he’d uploaded his application, the PDF didn’t look quite the same as the one he had on his computer.

Mom probably doesn’t want to bring down the moment with reminders of what they’ve lost, so he doesn’t bust her for it just yet.

She’s his mom, though, so she sees the bite in his smile even without him saying anything. “They’re so proud of you,” she says, and gives him another hug. “I just know it.”

-

In a weird twist, one of Nile’s old friends is the TA for Tony’s object-oriented programming class. He hadn’t recognised her name on the syllabus, but when she walks into the tutorial saying, “Okay, students of MPCS 51410-B, please correct your syllabi because you are now in Sandra’s section,” her face and voice shove him abruptly back in time.

He’s eight and he’s threatening to tell on her and Nile for cutting gum out of Nile’s hair, he’s ten and he’s trying to convince Nile to let him watch horror movies with them, he’s twelve and got roped into taking pictures of her and Nile posing in Hallowe’en costumes.

She looks shaken when she sees him, then shakes it off.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, but he goes to her office hours in the second week of class anyway. Before he goes in, he doesn’t really want to talk about Nile. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to have to lie that it’s okay, he doesn’t want to listen while someone talks about Nile the way people talk about Dad. Like she’s gone. Like she’s over.

He goes in anyway.

“Tony,” Sandra says, and she’s not crying yet at least. “I’m so sorry.”

It ends up not being too bad. They talk about Java for a bit, because there’s an assignment coming up next week, and Sandra mentions she just got a grant to work on something about databases that Tony doesn’t totally follow yet (but he will).

He comes back a few more times. It eventually ends up being nice to trade stories back and forth with someone who knew Nile, and Nile’s drive, her sharp wit, her big heart. Tony learns again that Sandra and Nile had met on the first day of kindergarten, and that Nile had screamed when the teacher had tried to partner them up with different people in the second week of school.

“She always said she just knew, with me,” Sandra says like a badge of honour.

“She was like that,” Tony says. It settles, a small betrayal, in his ribs. She’s still like that, he silently, irrationally papers over.

--

“You coming today?” Mom asks. She’s already dressed for church, but she’s sitting half-on the chair in front of the computer, distractedly typing something into a comment box on Facebook. “I’m leaving in a minute, just have to do...” She trails off, her typing picking up tempo.

Tony doesn’t bother responding out loud, just ducks back to his room to change his shirt and goes to wait by the door for Mom to finish up.

“Okay, okay, we’re already late,” she says, grabbing her purse and rifling through it for her keys. “Is your sister already in the car?”

The words pounce on them both. Stillness, then explosive motion as Mom flinches, as she drops her purse and her little tin of breath mints bursts and scatters.

“Mom,” Tony says, and she’s already on her knees, gathering up her things. His knees thud on the floor, following to help.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“I know,” he says, and he repeats it because Mom wasn’t looking the first time. “Mom, I know.”

“I didn’t forget,” Mom says, hands finally still, eyes meeting Tony’s. “I could never.”

“But it’s like she’s still here, right?” Mom blurs and glows in the tears filling Tony’s vision. “You feel it, too.”

That’s what tips Mom over into crying, too.

They’re late for church, but they still go.

Peace be with you, murmuring around them, and Mom holds his face in her hands and makes him bend so she can kiss him on the forehead, like she always does.

Communion, and prayer. Please protect Mom, and bless the whole family, and let me get through finals okay. Tony prays the way he’s been praying for almost a year now: to God, and to Nile.

Mom’s kneeling beside him, her shoulder against his, and he crosses himself when his thoughts have smoothed out. Mom catches his hand in a tight grip as he’s lowering it; they hold on to each other.

[dansnaturepictures]

23/08/2020-Cape Cornwall, Botallack and pictures and experiences at the cottage either side: Once again all these photos different to ones I tweeted from my time away

Today we did something that was a surprise idea and something we did not expect to at all this long weekend, and made the trek from where we’re staying near to Oakhampton, Devon to Cape Cornwall and Botallack in the vicinity of Land’s End in Cornwall two standout locations of our wild Cornish September 2019 holiday to see if we could see two star birds there that we did last year which I wouldn’t see anywhere else this year another of my favourites the Chough and a B lister for me the Manx Shearwater. Since 2016 the beginning of my working life holidays particularly as well as all time off have increased in importance for me with long summer holidays and the like no longer something I can enjoy. And the lineups in each year since, particularly 2018 and 2019 although 2017 taking in locations we already know well was good too have been amazing with so many memorable trips away from home and smashing stuff happening in them wildlife and landscape dominated and mostly both. In my 2019 holidays particularly the last to Cornwall I really realised how content I was going away to different locations in my own country and doing what I love wildlife watching and photography. So places like these I took to my heart. When we left Cornwall, doing a second trip to Cape Cornwall mostly to walk the dogs before we left due to practicalities and because we loved it so much, I sort of thought I treasured these places so much and I wouldn’t see them again for another three or four years if I was lucky. I said to my Dad before coming away at the possibility of if we didn’t see a Dipper yesterday which we did in the end at Fingle Bridge in Devon our main bird target, maybe crossing the Cornish border to go to Boscastle where we’ve seen them before a little bit into Cornwall that would feel strange in a good way returning to Cornwall so soon. But to actually be going to the places we were at last year, in this crazy rollercoaster of a year was something else.

The day started in a wild way as I saw and photographed a spider in the bath in the cottage we stayed in a similar one to one I got a memorable photo of in my en suite at home on the second May bank holiday Monday.

After a long journey in which we saw a lot of birds of prey, plenty of Buzzards they seem to rule the skies along main roads in this part of the world with Red Kites yet to really reach, Kestrel in Cornwall on a wire near to our destination and possibly a Peregrine too we arrived at Cape Cornwall. As I saw the distinctive hill with the monument at the top which I became so used to from my photo of it last year and the memories I let out a smile as we drove to get parked. This all felt a bit like in 2016 when we holidayed in Snowdonia but did a massive journey within a holiday going to Anglesey for the day going to the very edge of the land today like we did then. This was where we were supposed to holiday this June but obviously couldn’t and have postponed that and where we saw Choughs in 2016 a target again today so Chough was one we were expecting to get a chance to see this year so this opportunity now substituted this well. One notable thing of that Anglesey day trip was the heather looking nice and purple perhaps ahead of it turning its peak colour in our local New Forest not so much this year it’s turned nice there already but it was one similarity.

We had a lovely walk around Cape Cornwall today in brilliant sunshine and really reacquainted ourselves with this place taking in the views similar to last year photograph wise. I took the first picture in this photoset as we walked up the hill showing the bright blue sea and glorious purple heather. We also saw birds we had done well here last year, lots of Ravens, Buzzard I saw them at each place today too and seabirds such as the scores of Gannets flying over the sea young and old, Fulmars and Shags as well. I also got some intimate moments with gull species here today, seeing a Herring Gull very close particularly and lots of Great Black Backed Gulls flying well. I took the second and third pictures in this photoset of a Gannet flying and the close roaming Herring Gull respectively.

I also saw a decent few butterflies at Cape Cornwall in perhaps the hottest weather we’ve had all trip. It was nice for it to be and feel so hot and sunny after a wet start in Devon for us today. This included Small Tortoiseshell, some Common Blues and most notably a smashing view of a Wall Brown. I finally got to see one and really make out its features this year one I had had two occasions of quick and flighty and quite distant views of prior to this point in 2020. I very much enjoyed seeing this beautiful mostly coastal butterfly for us up close and I liked taking a picture of it with my big lens with its wings closed which I tweeted. I took the fourth picture in this photoset of I believe Michaelmas daisies.

At this stage like the Dipper yesterday we had not seen a Chough and we were rather making hard work of doing so. I joked we were chuffed to see a Dipper yesterday but were we going to dip (out) on Chough today (to those who don’t know, “dip out” is a birdwatching term to mean you have missed seeing the bird you are looking for). But I kept the same motto as yesterday, we must stay positive and focused as it only took one moment for it to happen.

On the way back to the car at Cape Cornwall today we got that moment. The one thing had concerned me compared to two visits here last September was we had not heard the distinctive call of this scarlet-billed crow at all which we had a lot here last year. The Chough is a bird you’ve really got to be hearing before you can even think about seeing one. As we walked up the hill I heard two finally, and turned around and there were two black birds flying from where the call was made. I got them in the binoculars but could not quite see their beaks properly. My Mum had just about seen the shape of them but not the red colour and thought Chough. I needed that little bit more convincing as similarly sounding Jackdaws were by the shore to the left of where we were looking moments before so could have easily rose up. They looked more right for Choughs though and we walked back in the direction of the lower reaches of the hill where we’d seen them last year. Here we managed to see them again today sitting on the cliff and the pair flew frequently, but we saw their red beaks and were in no doubt now they were Choughs. We enjoyed a glorious few minutes with these precious birds we really did get so close to them, I felt very happy to see and hear them. Once again this weekend away patience had paid off. I took the fifth picture in this photoset of one of the Choughs.

As bird 171 in my year it did make me happy and made my year list my third highest compared to what I had seen on this date in previous years behind 2018 and 2019 my two highest ever year lists. It also marked the first time I saw one as one of my favourite birds which was nice, I had always been fond of them but last September after the holiday I added it to my list of favourites. There’s only six of my current list of favourite birds I am yet to see now, six I know I have not visited any locations I could see them or are just very hard ones to see so I did very well for seeing them this year. We left Cape Cornwall once more feeling very satisfied indeed.

We then moved onto Botallack and had a lovely covid-secure takeaway cream tea to eat on benches I always say you have got to have a cream tea if you come to the West Country and between this and a Devonshire one waiting for us when we arrived at this cottage in Friday we had a Devon and Cornwall one ultimately. At Botallack it started to cloud over as the weather forecast suggested but as the visit went on we saw quite a bit of the sun as well. It also looked very purple here perhaps compared to when we came last a few weeks later in the year last year into September thanks to the flowering heather. This meant three of favourite habitats have been combined this weekend away, heather, coast and water flowing through a rocky valley in woods over steep gradients and three of my most beautiful places to be. It was more of the same bird wise at Botallack with Choughs delightfully seen again over the café’ area and over the sea, Jackdaws showing well and a Raven seen sitting on the central chimney for a very long time which was great to see. I took the sixth picture in this photoset of this chimney with the Raven just visible and as the visit went on seventh, eighth and ninth pictures in this set of a view, another Buzzard and a view looking through the old tin mind buildings they have here in BBC Poldark country much of it was filmed here.

We were here mostly to try and sneak in seeing a Manx Shearwater as we did last year and my Mum has the last two years here, a bird we did not expect to see at all this year. We studied Gannets flying right to left across the sea as the day rolled on; we did wonder if we were too early to see a Manx Shearwater and we would have had more luck in September as we did all across this part of Cornwall las year. But we did just manage to see a few Manx Shearwaters flying over with the Gannets, making out their features. It was not my best ever views of this bird but it was good enough and meant I could tick them and enjoy seeing them a little. Whilst looking at the Buzzard and more Choughs it was a really nice atmosphere of arriving here and waiting until a point in early evening to see if we could see any quite magical really. The sea remained calm but perhaps the day got a little rougher and it was a weird sensation after weather lately being a bit cold this evening. I ended the day on 172 birds seen in 2020 something I reached in July the last two yeas so I am not too far behind really.

I took the tenth and final picture in this photoset of a lowering sun behind trees visible from the cottage when we returned that evening the sky looked stunning in the evening too as we drove home I took and tweeted some photos from a layby on the main road actually it looked that nice in the landscape. This ended two really packed full days away this weekend and I have loved being away so much. A perfect substitution to being at the Bird Fair, what a way to spend a summer weekend it did feel so hot and summery this weekend with okay some rain in places and I felt very happy and relaxed. I saw some top-class wildlife birds especially but butterflies and flowers too alongside other things and took in some varied and breathtaking views. Meeting some great people at a safe social distance along the way! So many photos produced again possibly some of my highest amounts ever each day and so many top memories made little and big.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: (Cape Cornwall) My first Choughs of the year, three more of my favourite birds the Gannet, Fulmar and Buzzard, one of my favourite butterflies the Small Tortoiseshell, Raven, Jackdaw, Carrion Crow, Shag, Herring Gull, Great Black Backed Gull, Oystercatcher not something you always see in this habitat but it is strong for, Stonechat, Swallow, House Sparrow, Wall Brown, Common Blue, moth and cricket. (Botallack) My first Manx Shearwaters of the year, three of my favourite birds the Chough, Gannet and Buzzard, Raven, Jackdaw, Magpie, Linnet, Woodpigeon, Herring Gull and Meadow Brown butterfly.

[peter-parkers-passport]

Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 6: Lila and Ted’s Excellent Friday Night

warnings: mentions of death and grief, poorly translated French

Lila Landry hated few things. She hated intolerance, and saw no point of those who couldn’t accept differences between people. She hated ignorance, and people who let intolerance and injustice prosper simply because it didn’t affect them personally. She positively loathed big pharma and fossil fuel industries, but that was just the political stance she was raised on. She also dreaded the idea of being surrounded by massive crowds of her peers, which was exactly what her school had planned for Friday afternoon. 

Midtown kicked off their homecoming week with an assembly the Friday before, just to get the students hyped for the week of events soon to follow. There was a themed week, something Lila personally didn’t partake in (especially when the theme was a return to the 1980s), a ton of after school activities, something Lila didn’t care for, and finally, a dance. The only reason Lila knew so much about it was because Liz Allan was head of the homecoming committee, and spent her free time in decathlon going over planning. Lila noticed that it stressed Liz out quite a bit, but she took great measures to keep that to herself. Some kind of leadership trait, Lila figured, although didn’t necessarily agree with.

What stressed Lila out was that the thought of sitting in a completely full auditorium where multiple things happened all at once, and she was sandwiched between people she didn’t really know on all sides. It made her stomach turn thinking of all the things she had to do before she got home to her dad, and sitting still for an hour and a half was not going to make it any better. So instead, Lila talked to the home economics teacher, Mr. Crayne, who had agreed to let Lila use the kitchen that was his classroom. 

So while everyone gathered for the homecoming assembly, Lila entered the home economics classroom with a slip of paper permitting her to be there during the assembly in one hand, a bag full of baking necessities in the other, and flicked on the lights. Setting down the bag and note, Lila pulled out her phone, selected a song from a playlist inspired by her mother (the particular song was by Tears for Fears), and made her way to the sink to wash her hands. Once that was finished, and the groceries were emptied onto the countertops, Lila’s body slipped into autopilot, and the baking commenced.

Baking was second nature to her, as well as cooking. She was an expert at it, but that was likely due to the fact that she’d been doing it long before she’d even learned to write. Lila liked to think that it was just because her mother was a natural, and passed that skill down to her, but she knew that it was because cooking was Mommy-and-Lila time. Ted Landry wasn’t allowed near the kitchen on days when they were cooking, not even if he needed a glass of water. The record player was always blaring some classic or another, and the food meant to be prepared was scattered around the countertops. It was these memories that put a smile on Lila’s face as she sifted the flour.

When the flour was appropriately measured and placed in the correct bowl, Lila turned her attention to the fruit she had gone out of her way to purchase that morning. There was a stall at the Forest Hills farmers market that Angelina Landry used to take Lila to that she claimed sold the best fresh fruit in New York. It was at that tiny booth that she met Isaac Evans, a man of eighty, who sold the Landrys their best fruit. Now that her mother wasn’t there to keep the tradition of buying the fruit with her, Lila always made sure to stop by and check in on the man herself. Only now, she made sure to bring a bright bouquet of whatever was newest and (in her opinion) most beautiful. Isaac always sold her the fruit at a ridiculously discounted rate, so she made sure to return the favor, and catch up with him and Mrs. Evans if she was there.

Soon, the smell of citrus overwhelmed her, and Lila’s fingertips had splotches of blue on them as she completed the batter. Whisking furiously until it was at the appropriate consistency, she poured the batter into the two bread tins she’d brought along with her. Sliding both of the tins into the oven, Lila set a timer, and hastily cleaned up her workspace. She had roughly forty-five minutes before she needed to prepare the icing that went along with the recipe, and she figured she’d better finish her homework in the meantime. 

Since her trip to D.C. was tomorrow, Lila had spent all of her free time finishing up her school work, so as to be completely free of any outside responsibilities, per recommendation of Liz. Not to mention, she’d had a very busy evening planned out, hence the baking at two in the afternoon. The baking was for May Parker, who couldn’t get enough of Lila’s desserts, and was in need of a thank-you from the Landrys for being so accommodating of their need to switch around their volunteer schedule. At the nearest homeless shelter in Queens to the Landrys, Ted and Lila made their regular appearance helping out wherever they could on Sundays. Be it making repairs, helping in the kitchen, or just keeping the homeless company, they were there every Sunday morning. May Parker happened to head the location they volunteered at, and became fast friends with the family that visited regularly since the Battle of New York.

She was a busy woman, rebuilding a community after the disaster in Manhattan, and helping the people who needed it most. Lila figured it was a good thing, hardly being able to switch volunteer schedules around due to the sheer enormity of the volunteer list. But May managed to, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the Landrys. So Ted got her a bouquet, and Lila was left to bake one of her favorites: lemon and blueberry bread. And while the sweet smell filled the kitchen around her, Lila tried to focus on her chemistry homework. She didn’t want to be left with homework after volunteering, for she also had plans to spend with her dad that evening. He’d managed to take the night off, and they were both looking forward to spending it together.

At long last, Lila finished her homework, and hastily shoved it in her backpack before getting started on the icing to complete her bread. She finished just in time, taking the bread out, removing them from the tins, and placing them on a rack to cool a bit. Speeding up the process just a bit by fanning the bread with a spare baking sheet, Lila waited five minutes before drizzling the homemade icing over the top of both loaves. The smell was intoxicating as always, and Lila smiled proudly at what she’d made. Cutting into it, she made neat slices and decorated them intricately around a plate she’d brought from home. After wrapping up the bread in cling wrap, Lila cleaned her station one last time, and left the classroom.

A quick glance at the nearest clock told Lila that school was almost over. Students were still being held in the gym for the remainder of the assembly, and Lila figured that it might be alright to text her dad to pick her up a little earlier than anticipated. A quick reply informed her that Ted was on his way, and excitement settled in Lila’s stomach. As she shoved her phone in her back pocket, she rounded the corner, nearly dropping the bread she’d worked so hard to bake after running into two men clearly looking to leave the school as quickly as possible. One of the men was short, with long hair and a baseball cap perched firmly on is head. His beard had patches of black and white, and he looked absolutely terrified to be running into a teenage girl in the middle of a high school. The other man was taller, and a little more at ease, looking at Lila in surprise, but also disregarding her as soon as she was assessed. He placed a hand under the plate that Lila was fumbling with, and another on her shoulder to quickly steady her. 

“Oh, my gosh, I am s-so sorry,” Lila apologized, heart skipping a beat. The man quickly removed his hands as soon as she was steady once again. He didn’t seem completely threatening, but a bad feeling panged in Lila’s gut regardless.

“No problem,” He grumbled, and the pair walked away. She turned to look at them, and noticed the shorter man look over at the taller one as they both assessed a piece of technology that had a resemblance to a scanner Lila wasn’t able to place.

She furrowed her eyebrows when she heard the shorter man whisper harshly, “I told you high schools creep me out. Teenagers, they’re everywhere.” Another detail caught her eye, something bulging on each of their hips. Lila’s eyes widened, and silently hoped they were carrying outdated pagers-

Suddenly Lila was nearly knocked down once again; and once again, she was steadied. A hand went to the bread, and another hand went to her arm. A small gasp of surprise left her lips before her head whipped back around to see Peter Parker staring at her equally in shock, Ned Leeds not far behind him. “P-Peter,” She whispered, more so a reaction than anything else. He let go of her once she got her bearings once again, and took a step back. Lila looked from him to his friend. “Ned, hi.”

He waved and smiled warmly at her, like he always did. “Hi, Lila.”

She glanced back behind her, and the two men she’d previously run into were nowhere in sight. Lila frowned in confusion before turning back to Peter and Ned. They were both looking over her shoulder as well, like the two men she’d encountered had also run into the pair of them. “What are you - what are you doing out of the assembly?”

A look of poorly concealed panic settled into Peter’s features, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before being able to make words come out. Lila’s suspicion, which wasn’t there in the first place, began to form as Peter struggled to answer a seemingly simple question. And it wasn’t even Peter who answered it.

“Oh, you know,” Ned said, though Lila didn’t know, “Peter hates large crowds, and I wanted to show him my new Lego Death Star set.” A tint of pink splashed across Peter’s cheeks at the mention of the Legos, and Lila saw him send Ned a warning glare. Ned’s answer felt very much like a lie, but for the simple reason that Lila couldn’t prove otherwise, she let it slide.

“That’s r-really cool. How many pieces?” It was merely her being polite, but the surprised expressions on both of their faces made up for it entirely. Peter was still fidgeting, looking over her shoulder and down the hallway the two men disappeared. She tried her best to ignore it, but when it came to Peter, he was always difficult for her to ignore.

“Three thousand, eight hundred, and three,” Ned said impressively, and Lila’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“Wow, that’s amazing-”

“Is that lemon blueberry bread?” Peter interrupted. Lila looked over at him in surprise, and followed his gaze down to the plate of warm dessert she still held in her hand. The abrupt change in topic didn’t slip by Lila as Peter seemed to hope it would.

But once again, Lila had to let it slide. “O-Oh.” She replied, a blush matching Peter’s finding its way to her cheeks. “I totally forgot that M-May always saves you a piece. Yeah, it - it is.”

Peter still seemed flabbergasted. “I had no idea it was you that made them.”

“‘I find your lack of faith disturbing,’” Lila quoted boldly, cracking a large smile at the shocked looks they wore. “I’m perfectly capable of - of making delicious desserts.”

“Oh no,” Peter said, suddenly trying to backtrack, “That wasn’t what I meant at all-”

“I’m messing with you, Peter,” Lila said, still screaming on the inside that she was even capable of such an easygoing conversation with Peter. “Do you guys w-want to try some?” She’d lifted the cling wrap off of the plate just enough for the boys to each grab a piece and dig in. A warm feeling of satisfaction sat with her as they wolfed down their pieces, complimenting her baking the entire time. A buzz in her back pocket brought her back down from the blissful cloud she was on (being able to talk to the boy she’d been obsessing over so normally had her on a high she wasn’t sure she could replicate), and she remembered her dad saying he was going to meet her at her school.

“Well, I-I have to get going, my d-dad’s coming to get me.” The boys offered their thanks for sharing the dessert, said goodbye, and skirted around her, heading down the hallway quickly. Lila, still acting strangely out of character, called after Peter. He turned back to face her, and she smiled sadly. “I’m sorry Tony St-Stark is keeping you from going with us tomorrow.”

Peter, for the briefest moment, looked confused, before remembering what exactly tomorrow was. He smiled tightly, and nodded. “Thanks, Lila.”

He raced down the remainder of the hallway, seemingly chasing after the two guys who ran into her previously. As Lila walked in the opposite direction, a strange feeling grew in her gut, thinking back on Peter’s behavior. Maybe her initial impression of the strangers she’d encountered wasn’t at all incorrect, and maybe Peter felt the same way about them that she did.

                                 *****

“Comment ça va, Tulip?” Was the first thing Lila heard after getting in the car. Looking over at her father, who was perched in front of the steering wheel, her smile almost fell. He wasn’t okay. His complexion was pale, and he didn’t trim his beard that morning like he usually did, instead letting it stay a little scraggly, something he typically hated. The bags that rest under his eyes were a little darker than normal, and there was a crease in between his eyebrows. The smile on his face, and the dim light that was in his eyes told Lila that he was trying to put on a brave face for her.

But she wouldn’t have even had to look over at Ted to realize something was wrong. He was speaking French, something he had learned from Angelina while they were together. She spoke it all the time in their household when Lila was growing up, and it was as easy to speak and comprehend as breathing. She loved the language itself, it was gorgeous and romantic, much like her parents. But now, with her mother gone, there was always a touch of nostalgia that came along with speaking it. Lila and Ted fell into a rhythm of only speaking it at times where they really needed Angelina, when they missed her the most. 

Being as their grief occurred at any point in time, the pair decided never to question the other when it happened. Speaking in French was a brief respite from the weight of her not being with them anymore, and was also a means of supporting each other in her absence. So Lila gripped the platter of goodies fractionally tighter, and smiled reassuringly. It made her feel better seeing Ted’s shoulders relax ever so slightly at her expression. “Ça va bien.” She skipped over asking him how he was doing, as the answer was obvious. “J’ai fet ça pour May,” Lila gestured to the platter of food that Peter and Ned had previously gotten into, and smiled proudly down at the bread. She glanced up to see her father’s reaction, happy to take his mind off of whatever was troubling him. He commented on it, saying how they looked positively delicious, and that May was going to be thrilled. Simultaneously, Ted pulled out of the school parking lot, and headed over to the homeless shelter that they were due to volunteer at. 

They spoke about everything that happened in their days, and managed to have a completely normal conversation, just in French. It was difficult for Lila, seeing her dad hold himself together so that he wouldn’t collapse in front of her. Not that he hadn’t before, the two were very open with their emotions due to years of therapy the pair attended, but it was still hard on her that it was hard on him. She hoped to whatever higher being was out there (more than likely the Asgardians) that when it was Lila’s turn for love, she wouldn’t end up like her dad. Loving someone so wholeheartedly and completely, only to have them ripped out of her grasp forever. She also prayed that her dad would someday find it in himself to recognize that he deserved to be happy with someone new.

The traffic through Queens wasn’t as awful as it could’ve been, and Ted and Lila arrived five minutes early to the shelter. They spoke for a few minutes more in the car, before deciding to head inside. Ted opened the back door of the car and pulled out a beautiful assortment of vibrant yellow sunflowers with purple asters scattered in between. She smiled, complimenting him on his choice, and Lila then turned to face the door. Only, she was stopped when Ted placed a hand on her shoulder. Looking back around at him, he smiled warmly, blinking quickly to stop the tears that looked to escape. “Ta mère serait si fière, Lila.”

Your mother would be proud, Lila.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, not expecting the comment at all. Looking up at her dad, in his warm, brown eyes, she could tell he meant it more than he meant anything. She wanted to take it, she wanted to accept that compliment, but truthfully? She couldn’t. What had Lila done besides get good grades and help her dad around his business? Sure, she was kind, and treated everyone with respect, but was that enough? Was that really enough for her mother to be proud of her? All Lila was able to manage was a shaky smile (which felt more like a grimace, in her opinion) and squeak out, “Really?”

“She’d be so proud, Lila,” Ted repeated. “With you branching out, making new friends, and this whole decathlon thing? She’d be over the moon for you, just like I am.” Lila wasn’t sure how to take that, and she was lucky her dad understood that. Instead of waiting for a reply that was unlikely to come, he threw his arm over her shoulders and brought her in close. With a gentle kiss on the forehead, he rubbed her arms reassuringly and guided her inside.

                               *****

It was all Lila could do to not burst into tears after her dad talked about her mom the way he did, but fortunately, the shelter was so busy that it didn’t even seem to matter. They were immediately greeted by the staff of the shelter, including May Parker, who looked busy and tired. Any creases due to worry melted off of her face after seeing the Landrys walk inside, and lit up exponentially at seeing that they didn’t come empty-handed. There were volunteers bustling around, spending time with a few kids here or there, talking to some of the people in need of a place to stay, and some were leading activities. The familiarity of the place calmed Lila down a bit, and she smiled warmly as May walked over to greet them.

“Ted, Lila, so glad you could make it!” She weaved in between a few tables and stopped right in front of them, eyes darting in between the two. “What’s all this?” Her gaze flickered down to the flowers and lemon bread, expression brightening just a bit more. 

Lila smiled. “It’s the least we could do. We know how b-busy you are, and switching around our schedules means more than you know.” Together, Lila and Ted handed her the flowers and treats, and watched with satisfaction as she took them appreciatively.

“You guys… you didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Ted commented. She sent him a grateful smile before quickly digging into a slice of lemon blueberry bread, and guiding them to the back so she could assign them to their stations. Lila smiled as Ted and May caught each other up on their weeks as they walked, occasionally stopping to greet people they recognized.

Lila loved her dad’s relationship with May. She was the person who helped show Lila and Ted the ropes when they decided to start volunteering at the shelter, and was incredibly sympathetic towards their reasons for joining. For the last eight years, she bonded with Ted over their kids, over their interests, and over what had happened when aliens invaded New York. Volunteering was something that Lila and Ted were able to look forward to, and feel like they were giving back to the community that helped them rebuild after Angelina died, and the biggest favor of all came the previous January, when Ben Parker was shot and killed.

Lila had been lucky enough to meet Ben Parker, and develop a good relationship with him. He came in on the occasional Sunday, helping out where he could and talking to Lila in the process. She always got the impression that he liked her, and he often pulled her aside to tell her funny stories, especially on the days where she couldn’t help but miss her mom. Ben always laughed at her corny jokes and listened intently whenever she would speak. His patience was unending, and Lila felt her world grow a little darker when she had heard of his death.

There was no question: the Landrys supplied the best flowers they possibly could when Ben was put to rest. And Ted and Lila were constantly at the ready to help May (and by extension help Peter) grieve and process. That was really how Ted and May grew to be such good friends, was by helping each other through the loss of their spouses. It wasn’t a simple matter, dealing with that type of pain, but knowing that someone like May Parker was in Lila’s corner helped ease some of the burden of no longer having a mother, and Ted not having a wife.

May put them to work with food, and caught up with them a little bit before returning to her office. She asked Lila how school was, to which she replied that she was doing well, and that she was terrified for the decathlon. May had even been so kind as to ask her about how she was healing, knowing full well what had happened at Delmar’s a few nights ago. 

“I’m on the mend,” Lila admitted, washing her hands before putting on some gloves, turning to face May, who had given Lila her complete attention. Thinking about the past few days walking around with her injury brought memories to the surface that made her cheeks tint pink. “I really c-couldn’t have made it through this week without Michelle o-or Peter.”

“Peter?” May’s eyebrows raised a little bit, but were accompanied with a smile. “My Peter?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lila tucked her hair behind her ear, trying her best not to blush too much, or smile too wide. “Ever since it h-happened, he’s - he’s gone out of his w-way to make sure I was okay.”

Apparently, Lila said just the right thing, for May’s smiled a genuine smile at her comment. “Good, I’m so glad to hear that. Honestly, I’ve been a little worried he’s been neglecting his friends, lately.”

Lila tilted her head in confusion, “Why would you think that?”

“Well, he’s been so busy, you know? With the Stark Internship, he… he’s so focused on that internship that sometimes I worry he’s letting everything else go.” She let out a sound that was a blend of a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I worry too much.”

“H-He’s too smart to let things go, May,” Lila answered truthfully. Peter Parker was the smartest person she knew. Well, besides Michelle. “I’m sure it’s just overwhelming to him at the moment. Working with Tony Stark, they’re lofty e-expectations. If anyone could navigate it, it’s him.”

May looked over at Lila, regarding the small girl as she threw an apron on over her head. Smiling, she nodded, “Yeah. He’s a pretty bright kid.”

                      *****

“You’re wrong, you’re dead wrong.”

“Yeah, okay, Tulip.”

“No, listen, I’m just saying - Dad, stop, for a second. I’m just saying, Sokka’s character development is some of the best in any television show ever.”

“Over Zuko, Lila? Zuko? He literally overcame evil and helped Aang overthrow his own father for the sake of good. No way is Sokka’s better.” 

Ted and Lila were busy pointing their chopsticks at each other to actually eat the food perched in their laps. Their heated discussion came from their binge-watching of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Over the past few weeks, they’d been re-watching the show for the fun of it, and repeatedly arrived at the intense debate of whose character arc was better. Obviously, Lila thought it was Sokka, who ended up with a fresh respect for how capable women, particularly the women of the show, actually were. Ted, however, was convinced it was Zuko, having shifted sides from being evil just to win favor of a father who didn’t really love him, over to the side of good, because it was right.

He was completely incorrect, of course. And even if he was right, what a cliché. 

Lila had a pretty great night with her dad. After preparing meals for the homeless throughout the afternoon, Ted treated her to their own dinner. Consisting of Lila’s favorite, they shared sesame chicken and dumplings as well as many laughs over the children’s cartoon Ted bought her as a gift. They’d talked over the show about everything and nothing, mostly just enjoying each other’s company. It started as a trading of stories, mainly concerning the shop and the customers fitting in it. Then it became a casual commentary of the show, ending with the furious debate between whose arc was better.

Lila took another bite of chicken, rather half-heartedly at that. “Dad?” She asked, and her father hummed in response, staring at the chicken he was still digging into. “Do you think this weekend’s gonna be okay?”

Ted looked straight up at her, “What makes you think it won’t?”

“I don’t know,” She shrugged, setting her food down. “With Peter quitting the team, I just-” Huffing, she brushed a loose strand of hair to the side. “- I know there’s a possibility that I might have to be on the panel, and I don’t want to mess it up for anybody. What if I mess it up? Like, royally screw the pooch, how can I-?”

“Tulip,” Ted said sternly, taking Lila off guard. “This competition doesn’t matter if you don’t stop digging that hole you’ve made for yourself. You are thinking little: Little of yourself, little of your capabilities. You need to remember that you are Lila Landry, you’re smart, beautiful, and you can do absolutely anything because that’s who you are. Don’t let this competition consume you, it’s not everything.” 

He paused and looked at her as Lila looked back down at her lap. Blinking furiously, she tried her best not to cry. Good tears, thankful tears, but that was the last thing she needed. In the end, her dad was right, Lila was ready for Washington, and the academic decathlon wasn’t ready for her. If she had to, she was going to kick major ass, and protest in front of an embassy (Michelle’s idea) in the meantime. Ted then nudged her leg gently, and she looked up at him. “You wanna open your fortune cookie, now?”

Lila chuckled, nodding. Reaching for the cookies that sat on the table, she tossed one to her dad before opening the packaging around her own. Watching as Ted did the same, she waited until his was off, too. They counted to three, and each opened their fortunes. As per usual, Lila read hers first. “‘Soon life will become more interesting. “Hmm,” she hummed happily, glancing up and laughing at her dad’s confused expression. “What’s yours?”

“‘You cannot direct the wind. Or a cat.’” 

They shared a look and cackled at the silly fortune. But when she looked back on it, Lila really should’ve paid more attention to her own fortune. For in two days’ time, her life would be changed forever.

[texastheband]

Texas: Is not from Texas; Has never been there; Has a terrific debut LP

By Kim Reed Taken from "Pulse !", the US Tower Records magazine, September 1989 Transcription by Sophie van Rooijen

Texas is a band of multiple ironies. It takes its name from a state with powerful images and traditions, yet it hails from Glasgow, Scotland. Its members are barely out of their teens, yet the band sounds like it's been playing for years. And its debut LP – Southside – offers ample proof that Texas is gonna be around for a long time. Sydney's winter sun slips under the Harbour Bridge as Texas – a talented group from the unlikely locale of Scotland that has released one of the most stunning debut LPs in recent memory – enters the Sebel Townhouse for its last interview of the day. Post-concert parties are frequent in the cozy bar of the Sebel, where the walls (decorated with hundreds of glossy eight-by-tens) have absorbed many a tale. Lead singer Sharleen Spiteri and guitarist Ally McErlaine retire to one of the adjacent alcoves. Both members are eager to talk, despite the fact that they've probably relayed the basic history of the band to the press over and over ad nauseum since Mercury/PolyGram released its first single, "I Don't Want a Lover," earlier this year. The album, Southside, followed on its heels. “We toured the U.K. extensively before the album came out,” Spiteri begins. “When it was released there it entered the charts at number three and then went straight to gold. Even the record company was surprised because they really hadn't done anything or pulled all of the strings.” In fact, not only did Phonogram (the U.K. parent company of the band's label, Mercury) take a conservative approach in promoting Texas, it was downright blasé about the band since it was signed three years ago. Which is not to say that the label was unsupportive; on more than one occasion Texas got itself in a sticky situation and the record company came to its rescue. Three years ago, Spiteri was on her way to international status as a hairdresser when a friend told her about a band that his friend was putting together. He convinced her to take her guitar down and play a few songs with him. The result was an invitation to form a band. Despite McErlaine's affinity for Cooder's fretwork, the Texans are adamant that the name for their group evolved after they had developed their unique brand of contemporary blues. “We saw the movie 'Paris, Texas,'” explains Spiteri patiently, “and we just liked everything about it. We liked the soundtrack, too, but everything in the film is just so open. And, in turn, we feel that our music is very open and sparse.” Apparently, the name didn't evoke the wrath many had predicted when Texas started taking off, and it has been the freshness of McErlaine's playing and the natural power and control of Spiteri's singing that has been attracting all the attention. “Johnny and I got together and wrote a few songs,” says Spiteri, referring to bass player John McElhorne, “and then sent them off to various record companies. Within weeks Phonogram signed us up without ever seeing us play !” It's a story that every frustrated musician cringes upon hearing, but the fantasy sequence stops there. “Only a couple weeks after we signed I got a call from Chic producer Bernard Edwards telling me that he'd heard our tape and he wanted us to go to L.A. to record,” she explains, “but he had a lot of personal problems, and after a month we ended up scrapping everything and going home.” “It was a great learning experience for me because it was the first time I had worked with a producer,” she continues. “Things just didn't work out, though, and I guess I discovered that everybody isn't nice.” When Spiteri and McElhorne returned to Glasgow, their hometown, they concentrated on getting the band together, and that's when guitar-mad McErlaine was enlisted to join Texas. He had a reputation for skipping school in order to stay home and practice the licks of his idols, players like Keith Richards and Ry Cooder. “The band had lost a lot of money trying to record in the States,” says McErlaine, taking up the story of how Texas floundered before hitting paydirt. “When I joined the band we tried a few other producers in Glasgow in order to do it as cheaply as we could, but things weren't working out, and so we scrapped them, and there was more debt.” Eventually Texas connected with producer Tim Palmer, who has worked with Robert Plant (Now and Zen), the Mission, Mighty Lemon Drops and David Bowie's Tin Machine. His enthusiasm for the band's material and his easygoing manner endeared Palmer to the band, and he's already been enlisted to produce the next album. The other two members brought experience into the studio – McElhone had worked with Altered Images and Hipsway; drummer Stuart Kerr had been with the group Love and Money. With Spiteri and McErlaine, they were able to maintain the sound they'd developed, which was not dramatically altered by Palmer in the studio. “What Tim really did for us was give us confidence,” says McErlaine, while ordering some potent Red Back beer. “We just wanted to make an album that we wanted to hear.” “The album is really one long story about our lives in the past three and a half years,” says Spiteri. “We really put our necks on the line for this record and we fought for everything.” “People told us that 'I Don't Want a Lover' was too long because it was over four minutes, but we refused to let them edit it,” adds McErlaine. “They told us that radio wouldn't play it, but we said that if radio liked the song, they'd take it no matter what.” The band's insistence paid off, as “I Don't Want a Lover” can be heard on a majority of the globe's seven continents these days. “Lover” – with its atmospheric slide guitar runs knifing through a (now standard) modern MTV-pop synth/guitar/walloping drums rhythm track, over which Spiteri's husky contralto lays down the law – is, like the remainder of Southside, uncommonly confident for such a young band. You know how some records just sound like smash hits, even on the first listen? Southside sounds massive, with at least three other potential chartbusters – “Tell Me Why,” “Everyday Now” and “Thrill Has Gone” – lurking in the album's grooves. Texas' sound is a unique reflection of the music that has been imported to Scotland via radio, TV, records and tapes. And by the friends of Texas who sought out the rock, pop, soul and blues of North America on their trips overseas. “My dad was in the navy and went to San Francisco during the flower power days and brought back all these records,” says Spiteri, laughing. “'These Boots Were Made for Walking' by Nancy Sinatra was one of the first records I can remember listening to. But my dad's also a big Stones fan, and he even gets into Beatles vs. Stones arguments with people!” Spiteri cites Billie Holiday, Patsy Cline and Sarah Vaughn as her biggest influences; she also admits that critics who compare her to former Lone Justice singer Maria McKee aren't far off. McErlaine doesn't hesitate when naming London Calling by the Clash as his first album purchase. The names of guitarists Jimmy Page, Keith Richards, Eddie Van Halen, The Edge and Peter Buck also creep into his conversation, and it isn't hard to see what other albums and tapes he checked out in order to forge his slide guitar style. Radio is definitely not an influence on Scots who wish to discover the talents of artists outside the mainstream. “Radio stations in Britain are so conservative,” Spiteri moans. “It's all monopolized by the government, and Radio One seems to have a playlist of about 20 records. That's all you hear.” Spiteri and McErlaine like to reflect on the quick rise of Texas and with it the newfound freedom of leaving your past behind, not always a pleasant thing when you're used to a close group of family and friends. “It's very weird traveling to different countries,” says McErlaine. “You know how it is when you go home at night and you feel very comfortable? Well, now we don't have that security.” “Plus, when you go on the road,” adds Spiteri, “you become like a little family. You try to stay in touch with reality, but you can understand how some people lose it after so many years.” “But when you go back to Glasgow it brings you right down again,” says McErlaine. “Like, my dad's unemployed and I feel very lucky to be doing this. You know, my friends won't even tell me that they have a copy of our album! Sometimes we'll go to friends' houses and you'll hear our album blaring out from the living room, but as soon as you arrive at the door, it's off.” The down-to-earth attitude that Spiteri and McErlaine have toward their music (and the music business) is not as unique as it is refreshing. “Sometimes it's hard to believe that we're in a real band,” says McErlaine. “It's like when we were in Ireland for some Irish music awards,” Spiteri says. “We were just standing there watching everybody when they started saying 'U2 are here! U2 are here!' Suddenly somebody tapped Johnny on the shoulder and there's Bono and The Edge standing there! Bono says, 'I just wanted to tell you that I really like your record.' I think my jaw dropped wide open and we didn't stop smiling all night.” “We know that they're real people like us,” says McErlaine, “but we've grown up loving their music and still respect them. Now we're in the situation where we can talk to these people. Like when we met Robert Plant when we were doing the album. He had that voice that you've heard a million times on record !” Not all their meetings are as pleasant, however. “Sometimes we'll be taping a TV show or something and I'll say something to one of the other bands there, “Spiteri says, “and they'll just ignore you. Some people really do have problems. “We always think that civility costs nothing,” she continues. “You're nobody special if you are in a band; it's just a job.” Unlike most professions, however, musicians are fair game for the media. As the band is finding out, music journalists have incompetents in their ranks like everybody else. “We had one reviewer at our gigs who wrote that he didn't like the way our guitarist was standing!” Spiteri recalls. “And we think to ourselves, 'This is supposed to be a music paper?' The article went on to say nothing about the music or the songs we wrote, but at the end he wrote, 'Texas are a very good band.'” Live performance is the band's current focus, and it puts the group in a put-up-or-shut-up situation with the press and punters alike. Spiteri agrees that Texas' material like “Thrill Has Gone,” “Tell Me Why,” “Future is Promises” and the band favorite “Fight the Feeling,” is much harder to play live now than it was before going into the studio. The precision that Palmer helped the band achieve has a sharper edge than its previous rehearsal halls of Glasgow sound. The material on Southside, even after a few listens, is so sophisticated and mature that virtually anyone hearing the album will swear that the band must be longtime veterans of the music business. The album's 10 tracks (the compact disc contains the bonus track “Faith”) contain music so rich and full that it's leaving journalists scrambling for yet another way to say “brilliant”. Texas' material is completely original – with obvious influences by Cooder, Richard et al. in the guitar department – and the sound is not only a surprising hybrid, but one that's decidedly non-Celtic. Simple Minds, Big Country, Aztec Camera and newer outfits like Gun and Slide have nothing on these guys. The band is already responding to the pressure that comes with this type of recognition. “We know that there is a lot expected of us for the second album,” says Spiteri, “but we won't go into the studio until next year because we don't want to get off tour and go in tired and bored. This is very important to us, and we're not going to rush into anything.” “We recorded Southside in two and a half months,” McErlaine adds. “So we know that we don't need a year in the studio. But, we want to do it right.” Doing it right means heading back to the States for a tour of the clubs in August and September before returning to Europe for another sweep across venues teeming with an ever-growing number of Texas converts. The band has chosen to play the smaller clubs in preference to supporting a major artist in a stadium tour, and this game plan may just work. Countrymen Simple Minds did three pub tours of Australia before cracking it overseas. Now it's up to the denizens of the U.S. to decide whether to embrace a Scottish band, bold enough to name itself Texas, that has made the rootiest, most American-sounding record of the year. The welcome mat, unused as of late, is all theirs.

[weissfai-blog1]

The Prince & his Knight ~ Chapter 1

Thebes, City of the Living. Crown jewel of Pharaoh Seti I. Home of Imhotep, Pharaoh's high priest, keeper of the dead; birthplace of Ammon-The-Golden-Flower, Pharaoh's lover. No other man or woman was allowed to touch him. Ammon-The-Golden-Flower was said to have been born from his Egyptian mother and The Exalted Ra, the deity of the Sun. Ammon was born with beautiful blue eyes and golden hair. When Pharaoh Seti I saw him, he knew that he will have him. Since the day Ammon was born he was groom to be the Pharaoh's lover. He was given everything and was pampered. No one is allowed to touch him, even the Pharaoh's legal wife dare not to touch Ammon for fear of her husband and the Gods. For Ammon was the living God his beauty and form is of divinity. But his heart… Ammon's heart for all eternity belongs to his secret lover… Imhotep. Imhotep who takes care of Ammon's injury whenever the Pharaoh exceeds his lovemaking. Imhotep heals all Ammon's injury, bruises and pains… It was Imhotep that taught Ammon the gentleness of a touch, the beauty of a smile and the sweet embrace of a lover. And with their simple and short encounter - they formed a beautiful yet forbidden love. But for the love - they were willing to risk life itself. Ammon killed himself to show defiance and to prove that Pharaoh Seti I may have his body but never his heart and soul. To resurrect Ammon, Imhotep and his priests broke into his crypt and stole his body. They raced deep into the desert, taking Ammon's corpse to Hammunaptra, City of the Dead, ancient burial site for the sons of pharaohs, and resting place for the wealth of Egypt. For his love, Imhotep dared the gods' anger by going deep into the city, where he took the Black Book of the Dead from its holy resting place. Ammon's soul had been sent to the dark Underworld, his vital organs removed and placed in five sacred canopic jars. Ammon's soul had come back from the dead. But Pharaoh's bodyguards had followed Imhotep and stopped him before the ritual could be completed. Imhotep's priests were condemned to be mummified alive. As for Imhotep, he was condemned to endure the Hom Dai, the worst of all ancient curses. One so horrible it had never before been bestowed. He was to remain sealed inside his sarcophagus, the undead for all eternity. The Medjai would never allow him to be released. For he would arise a walking disease, a plague upon mankind, an unholy flesh-eater with the strength of the ages, power over the sands, and the glory of invincibility. For 3,000 years men and armies fought over this city not knowing what evil lay beneath it; and for 3,000 years we, the Medjai, the descendants of Pharaoh's sacred bodyguards, kept watch. . . . . . . Pete closes the book he was reading and looks at Tin. Tin raises his eyebrow, ‘So?' ‘So?! I mean isn't this amazing?' Tin rolled his eyes and flip the pages of his own book ignoring his best friends dreamy look. ‘Amazing? That what? Even the great Pharaoh can get gay? Well, any man can get hard if the description of Ammon is accurate.' ‘No dummy! Imhotep and Ammon's love story!' ‘It's a cursed love. And that story is full of loopholes.' ‘What loopholes?' Tin close the book he was reading and look at Pete, ‘For someone smart and a genius like you when it comes to love story even from the crypt you lack braincells.' ‘Tin! Thank you for insulting me and complimenting me. You're the only handsome bastard who can do that at the same time. So now spill – what're the loopholes?' Tin rolled his eyes once again, ‘One. If I were the Medjai, why the bloody hell will I condemned or perform the Hom Dai to Imhotep? What if the curse was true and some moronic asshole dig up his bones and what – he will have the power of the ages? No way. I'll bury him alive alright.' ‘Tin! We don't know exactly what's the Hom Dai aside from being the worst of all ancient curses-‘ ‘Yeah, so if I were the leader of the Medjai, I'll just remove some of his vital organs and let him feel it while being removed and then bury him alive.' ‘You're cruel.' ‘He messes with the Pharaoh's lover. And what the hell is the Book of the Dead? That's Ancient Egypt – there's no way there's a book.' ‘You know for someone with brains and so-called intellect you're a dummy yourself.' ‘How so?' ‘This is Ancient Egypt. If they can build the bloody pyramids then they can create a book as well. The Book of the Dead was said to contain all Ancient Spells, Speech, Incantation and the secret of the pyramids.' ‘And its made of gold.' ‘White gold.' ‘Yeah anyway, why are you bringing up Imhotep's love gay story? Wait, don't tell me that's the reason you're studying Egyptology? Cause if it is – let me smack your head with the book.' ‘Tin~~~' ‘What?! Tell me the reason before I hit you with this book.' Pete smiles and takes out the locket necklace he was wearing, ‘This is the reason.' Tin smiles and ruffles Pete's hair. ‘Tin!' ‘You know you're still in love with your parent's love story.' ‘Tin… my father left mom, but every day since he left us, the love in my mother's eyes is still the same. As if dad's departure was predestined.' Tin put his hand on his chin and look at his best friend, ‘Pete. Your dad was a douchebag who left your mom. Don't romanticize it with delusional crap.' ‘It's not delusional Tin. Mom's eyes still sparkle when I talked about Dad.' Tin shook his head and continued reading his book. Pete pouts and when he saw that Tin wouldn't talk to him anymore, continued to read the book he was reading. Tin looks at Pete. Pete Pitchaya El Sayed. The Prince of the Department of Archaeology at the University of Cambridge. The only son of the Famous Family in the Hotel Business and the heir to their empire. Pete is the living Prince Charming as he is the most beautiful man he had ever met. Tin can be described as handsome and muscular while his best friend Pete can be described as a beautiful angelic man. Pete is beautiful for a man, he is not muscular but petite and tall. Pete has milky white skin, not white skin like him, but of milky smooth white skin that feels so soft to the touch. It's like touching milk and butter. Pete was gifted with a beautiful cupid bow's lips that is red. Pete can rival any girl's lips for he doesn't need any red gloss or rouge, Pete's lips are naturally red. He has soft – very soft silky brown hair that perfectly crowns his head. Pete's style of hair is different from the British and American with a clean cut or sports a suave hair gelled at the back – Pete's naturally soft hair just crown his head so beautifully. Pete told him once that he tried putting his hair like the others but the gel made his head itchy. But what everyone's focus was his eyes. Unlike them with blue, green and grey eyes, Pete's light brown eyes are like of a doe. It's sweet, gentle as if your very soul will be pulled in. Surrounded by long lashes that made Pete looks so divine and beautiful. Tin knew that not only the girls are after Pete, but so many guys in the different department. The only thing that stops them is him. He is after all the so-called son of a Gangster/ Mafia. Well, he doesn't deny it nor admit it – he just doesn't care. People in this society will leech you and use you, the only person who ever look at him as a person was Pete. Pete who has no mean bone in his body. Hell, if angels are real – Pete is the fucking reincarnation of said angels. Pete is not just beautiful outside but inside as well – he has the purest of heart and kindness to everyone. Thus he met so many bad people who take advantage of him when he was young, and thus he was always there to protect Pete – making him the bad guy but still its cool for him. As long as he can protect this Little Prince its worth it. Pete is the only one who ever looks at him and talks to him as Tin. Pete will talk to him and even jokes with him, hell Pete even befriend all his bodyguards that if anyone dares to hurt even a strand on Pete's hair – his whole bodyguards will rain blood on that bastard. Even his father who was known to the world as the biggest deadliest Mafia Lord can smile and laugh whenever Pete brings him flowers of baked cookies which Pete burnt most of the time. ‘Tin…' ‘Hmm?' ‘I wanna go there.' ‘Where?' ‘Egypt.' ‘Well you have to, you're studying archeology of Egypt right?' ‘No! I mean, yes, but I wanna live there.' ‘I beg your pardon?' ‘I just don't want to go there to dig. I wanna live there for let's say a couple of years to know the culture, the people, the history. I want to be there to learn the ancient civilization and not just vandalize and dig.' ‘Pete, you're graduating soon, where do you wish to work there? You don't even know if they'll hire someone as-‘ ‘I'm hired.' ‘What?' ‘Uhm… I send my application weeks ago and I received it an answer this morning. I'm hired as the Archivist per curator.' ‘Where?' ‘The Museum of Egyptian Antiquities.' ‘Bloody hell. How the hell where you able to be accepted? I mean, sure you're a smart and a genius but to be able to be accepted there – you got to have merits and background. You're just a fresh grad if ever.' ‘Actually… I was getting more subjects and I talked to Professor Abraham last time and they release my grades earlier so that I can send the letter. And Professor Kashim and Professor Khalifa and Professor Wellington gave me their letter of recommendation.' ‘Wait… those – you mean to tell me aside from the major subject you took more?' ‘Uhm… see here.' Pete then slowly with his dainty fingers push the papers to Tin. ‘Egyptian Language, Sumerian Language, Egyptian Archaeology, Egyptian religion, Egyptian Language, a perfect score in Hieroglyphs, Cultural memory, Anthropology, and the hell - you pass Lexicography and Demotic… Tell me Pete are you planning to invade Egypt or be the next Herodotus?' ‘Tin~' ‘What? I'm just saying, the reason you always stayed up all night, the reason that you're always at school even on vacation - you were taking these lessons and here I was thinking  that Management Studies and Mathematics is already a drag.' ‘But Tin, you're also taking Natural Science and some Akkadian subjects.' ‘Yeah because I like to be challenged, unlike you – you do it cause you wanted it and you work hard.' There was silence. Tin looked again at the grades of Pete and he was impressed, really really impressed. And the professor who gave these letters of recommendation is not an ordinary professor. They are the backbone of the university and to even give a recommendation is like asking the president to sign an autograph while inside the white house when there's a world war meeting. That's how hard it is to get those signatures. But Pete did all that. The grades are given not because of surname or family names and reputation – the professors in Cambridge are hardcore I will whoop the word ABC in your brains for good and will never be swayed. To get those grades, one must work hard – harder than anyone. Harder than the professors themselves. ‘Congratulations Pete. I'm really really proud of you. When are you planning to leave?' ‘Five months from now. After graduation, I will arrange everything first at home and then have my books and other stuff packed and send to Egypt.'.

.

.

.

.

Pete looks at the note once again. Meet me. 3rd section. Library. ~Tin. His brows furrow as this is the first time Tin sent him a note. Occasionally Tin will just find him and doesn't send any note. Or one of his bodyguards will just pop out. Pete grew worried about Tin he hurriedly went to the library. Only Tin knew about him going to school on Sunday. The professor gave him access to the other research rooms for his studies and he was allowed to go inside the school even on a holiday. Pete went inside the library. It was 5 in the afternoon and the sun is about to set. And there were only three main lights inside the library. He switched on the first one and called out, ‘Tin?' Pete went inside and close the door. The librarian is out of course as it is a holiday or no school for the students. He was walking the third row of books when someone grabs him. ‘Got you!' Slap! Pete fell down with the hard slap from his attacker. ‘T-Trump?' ‘You bitch! You think you're so high and mighty! Who the hell are you to reject me?!' Trump grabs Pete's hair and holds his face. Pete's angry eyes glare back at him with so much hate. ‘I told you I don't like you!' ‘Bitch! You like men! I know you do! You kept so close to that bastard mafia son! I'm a decent man! I'm even willing to oppose my parents arrange marriage for you!' ‘And I told you I don't like you! I politely rejected you! I told you to marry anyone and don't bother me! I have never done anything to make you think otherwise!' ‘Then why are you so kind to me!' ‘I am kind to everyone!' Trump's eyes glare and slap and punch him, ‘You slut! I bet you use your ass to that gangster and his bodyguards! Then why not me! I have been lusting after you and while here I was going crazy, you spread your legs to them!' ‘Damn you! Don't ever think about my friends like that!' Pete tried to push him but Trump was strong and overpowering him. Trump rips Pete's clothes and was about to bite his chest when someone throws him off and landed a punch that made Trump doubled in the floor. ‘Bastard!' Trump get up and was about to throw a punch when he was kicked hard in the chest and was punched in the face. Blood ooze from his face and when he tried to get up once again, a hard solid punch knocked him out. Pete cannot see clearly, the slap and punch had him in pain and his eyes are blurry. He wanted to open his eyes and stay conscious to fight anyone who will touch him. Someone then knelt beside him and touch his naked body, he shouted, ‘DON'T TOUCH ME!' ‘Shhh… shhh angel. I won't harm you. No one will harm you now…' Pete then felt warm clothes wrap his naked upper body and he was held tight while a cold cloth gently caresses his face. ‘Hmmm!' It pains him. It stings. ‘Shhh… I know it hurts, but I need to put this on your face so you can heal much faster. Sorry I arrived late.' ‘W-Who?' Pete was not able to finish his sentence, he felt so much in pain and his consciousness is losing He heard a deep yet gentle tone, ‘Me? Hmmm… let's just say your Knight little Prince. I thought a damsel was being assaulted, surprised to see a boy. What are you doing here hanging out with that asshole?' His knight was wiping the blood from his mouth, 'Angel, do you want me to kill the bastard? He really did not hold back.' ‘Hmmm…' The Knight chuckles and carried him out of the library. Pete heard noises and shouting but everything was losing… he cannot hear anything anymore… all he knew… the gentle warm arms that carry him and the broad chest that made him feel safe. And the heartbeat of the Knight. Calm. Powerful. Steady. 'W-who...?' He tried so hard to let the question out. He has no idea if he was heard, but a whisper in his ear reaches him... warm soft yet firm. 'Ae.' . . . TBC Author’s Note: First intro ~ The Story of the Lovers ~ was from the movie The Mummy ~ though I have change some things. :) Enjoy reading.

Please be advised/ reminded that ENGLISH is not my natural language but I do try to deliver the story… Please forgive any grammatical error, typo error or any ERROR at all. If you find any error – then feel free to change it in your mind. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of LOVE BY CHANCE. All rights belong solely to the author MAME and the Director New Siwaj And neither do I make any money from this story. Any resemblance to any real people (living, dead, or stolen by fairies), or to any real animals, gods, witches, countries, and events (magical or otherwise) is just blind luck, or so I hope.

[plumeriafairy14]

One-Shot: “Faithful”

Whenever Lance fought with his boyfriend, Lotor, he would storm off and drive several miles south to visit his ex.

Inspired by an anonymous confession in my college's anonymous confession FB page.

A gift fic to buttplug of marmora (@taosalikod122) from Twitter

Pairings: Lancelot, Shance, a little Hunay

TW: Main character death, alcohol, toxic relationship

Fairy’s other Voltron drabbles: Pieces of the Sky

The peaceful concerto of birds was violently interrupted by the sound of dishes shattering on the floor. It was not the best way to begin the day but it was how Lance’s mornings had been starting the past year and a half.

“I keep telling you that there isn’t anyone!” Lotor yelled from across the room at Lance who stood his ground on the opposite side, his fists clenched and his breathing erratic. “I’m not cheating on you!”

“That was not your cologne, Lotor!” the other spat out in retaliation and he chucked his boyfriend’s dress shirt back at him. “And guess what? It wasn’t the one I gave you last Christmas either!”

“I bought some new cologne, so what?” Frustrated, Lotor raked his long fingers through his long platinum blonde hair that appeared almost white underneath the morning sun that flooded from the living room window.

“Did you buy new underwear too, huh?” Lance challenged and he took a bold step towards Lotor who, this time, gritted his teeth in anger. Tears streaked Lance’s face and his eyes were red and puffy from the lack of sleep he had last night. “Because the one I found in your travel bag sure wasn’t your fucking size nor do you have that brand!”

“Lance, it’s not---!”

“What’s that supposed to be? A sick souvenir of your escapades?!” Lance demanded and his voice cracked now. “You’re merrily fucking around while I sit here like an idiot duck waiting for you to come home?” Lance shook his head. “I don’t need to see your inbox, I know. Look me in the goddamn eyes and fucking tell me that I’m the only one.”

Lotor stood there, fuming, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I knew it.” Lance’s voice fell into a broken whisper. “I fucking knew it.” He paused and took a quivering breath; Lance had prepared for this and for the record, it didn’t really matter anymore and it’s been that way since the signs started popping up.

“I’ll come back for my stuff later.” Lance turned around and pushed past Lotor as he headed to the living room. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Lance, hold on!” Lotor pleaded and Lance rolled his eyes while he grabbed his keys from the ashtray beside the couch. Without looking back, Lance stormed out of the house and got into his car. When Lotor rushed out of the house and strode to his vehicle to knock on the driver’s window, Lance flipped him the middle finger then pulled out of the driveway. He didn’t even bother glancing at the rearview mirror at his dickbag of a boyfriend.

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat, ignored the vile in his mouth, blinked past the tears, and he just…drove.

The joke was actually on Lotor because whenever they fought to the point of toxic insanity, Lance always walked out to prevent the situation from getting worse and he would drive miles two cities south to see his ex-boyfriend.

But this time, Lance decided that what transpired will be the last fight he will ever have with Lotor. He couldn’t take it anymore and Lance knew that he deserved better because his ex didn’t love him unconditionally just so some shitfaced asshole can ruin him.

Unfortunately, he and Shiro never worked out but Lance still came to see him as much as he could.

Not being able to take the deafening silence of the car, Lance turned the radio on and the station was playing Katy Perry’s song, Thinking of You. Lance laughed bitterly; it fit his fucking situation so well but he didn’t say anything besides that.

Two hours of non-stop driving in the freeway, Lance took an exit to the city where Shiro was and just like always when Lance visited him, he brought flowers and a cold six pack from the local 7/11 for them to share. So Lance went to the first flower shop he found, got a small bouquet then found a store, brought the beer and in a heartbeat, he was on the road again.

When Lance arrived to his destination, he took the flowers and the beer and got out of the car. His sneakers crushed the freshly fallen autumn leaves that carpeted the ground as Lance made his way through a cobblestone path before he stepped off and walked on the spacious manicured field of Bermuda grass.

And just as always, Shiro was there, waiting for him.

“Hey, baby.” Lance smiled, his tears having dried already hours ago. “How are you?”

The black marble headstone did not give an answer but the cool breeze that blew made it clear that his greeting did not go unheard. Lance approached the grave and sat on the grass.

“Here, these are for you!” Lance said cheerfully while he laid the flowers on the base of the marble. Taking his time, he traced the tips of his fingers gently on the engraved silver letters that were a stark contrast against the black stone.

Takashi Shirogane

Sighing contently for being reunited after many long weeks, Lance pulled out a can of beer from the holder and cracked the top of the tin open.

“And I got your favorite too!” Lance placed the can beside the flowers before he opened another one for himself. “It’s actually the last on in the store; it was like it’s meant for us. Pretty cool, huh?”

Silence.

“Oh, Keith called me the other night.” Lance continued and he paused to take a drink from his beer. He closed his eyes as he savored the malty taste and the cool liquid soothed his parched throat that was scratchy from yelling at Lotor. “We went out with Pidge and Hunk to celebrate because Hunk’s finally a dad!” he chuckled. “Twins, babe. Twins. Sometimes, I think Shay is Wonder Woman in disguise.”

Still, more silence. Lance was the only one in that part of the cemetery that day which was something he was fine with because he’d be able to talk openly to Shiro as if he was there.

Well, Shiro really is there; he’s just never going to wake up again.

“I’m breaking up with Lotor. He cheated on me.” Lance pierced the silence and he placed his beer beside him. “God, what was I thinking? I’m such an idiot; I should’ve broken up with him the moment I noticed what he’s doing but I just… I don’t know, Shiro. I deserve someone better. You never treated me like that and I’m not about to let someone ruin me like this; not after all the love you’ve given me---“ his voice trailed off at the end and the sobs finally broke out.

“Fuck, Shiro, I miss you.” Lowering his head, Lance saw the image of the grass beneath him blur with the tears that fell. “I miss you, baby, I miss you so much. I’m sorry I let it get this far.”

No one was going to hold him, kiss him, make love to him, or love him the way Shiro had. And with that fact, Lance knew that Shiro would always be the missing part of him that he can never again have. Back then, Shiro had prepared him for the possibility that he might come home in a box wrapped with a flag.

And to Lance’s heartbreak, Shiro did.

“No one will ever match up to you, baby.” Lance said quietly. “But if I ever fall in love again somewhere along the way, I will make sure that they’ll be worth what you’ve made me realize about myself; that I, myself, am worth it.”

When Lance’s phone vibrated, he wiped his tears and calmed himself before he pulled out the device from his pocket to see that Pidge had sent a message asking where he was because Lotor called them and they were suspicious because his stories were inconsistent.

‘Douchebag Prince smells like a fucking liar, Lance. Did something happen? Come to my place.’

Lance ignored the text for that moment because the moment belonged to him and Shiro. The rest of the afternoon passed in comfortable silence with Lance consuming three cans of beer before leaving the other three popped open at the base of Shiro’s grave. It was just like old times with the two of them sharing everything: food, clothes, the bed, beer, laughter, sadness, smiles, tears, love…

The hardest part came when Lance knew that he had to go.

“The others are probably worried.” Lance said to Shiro. “I need to head back before Keith launches a search party for me.” He chuckled and gave a small but sad smile. “Your little brother’s doing great, babe. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Lance finally stood up and dusted himself off.

“I’m heading off now,” he said. “I’ll see you on Memorial Day, captain.” A pause and Lance felt his heart swell in the silence of the peaceful cemetery.

“I love you, Shiro.”

Those four words echoed deeply in him and he knew that a part of him will always remain faithful to Shiro just like how he would always love him. Blowing a kiss into the wind for his beloved, Lance walked off, got in the car, and drove off.

[ongpinned-blog]

Memories in Binondo

by Gabrielle Louise G. Gesilva

When I was five years old, my mother and I attended my ninang’s wedding as a flower girl at Binondo Church, also known as Minor Basilica of Saint Lorenzo Ruiz. The wedding had three parts, the morning wedding service in church wherein the bride would wear a western or the white bridal dress, an afternoon tea ceremony, and a Chinese-style wedding dinner in the evening where the bride was expected to wear her red cheongsam. It was a typical Chinese Christian wedding set-up. I remember my mom getting annoyed at me because I was asking so many questions about what was happening, ever since then I could say that I became interested in Chinese culture. One can even say that I’m into chinito boys because of how interested I am in their culture. Kidding. I was lucky to grow up knowing about Binondo and going there from time to time may it be going with my grandfather for bulk buying of supplies, having dim sum for lunch with my family, or just shopping at the nearby mall with my mom and grandmother.

The day before March 6, 2019, I texted my mom if she and my grandmother could accompany me to Binondo. They agreed, and even though I’m familiar with the place, I started searching on Google what are the must-eat and must-do’s in Binondo, so that I could try everything I had missed out on. The next day, we agreed to just meet at Carriedo station since they would be coming all the way from Bulacan. I took the LRT from Quirino station, even with my mom’s paranoia by calling me every after five minutes to be updated on where I was— she knew that I am not used to commuting, I still missed my stop. I went off at Abad Santos station and took the train back to Carriedo, mom was waiting for me at the platform when I arrived. She gave me a lecture about being attentive. Her lecture was accompanied by the scorching heat of the 12 noon Manila sun, both of being factors for my ensuing migraine. Before going to Binondo from Carriedo, you might pass by one of the oldest streets in Manila, which is Calle de la Escolta or Escolta for the locals, also known as Manila’s Queen of the Streets. Back then, it served as a place for shopping from Chinese merchants, now it is known for its noticeable neo-classical buildings.

[Eskolta. One of Manila’s oldest streets.]

Because of my love for food, the first thing that I googled was the best place to eat lunch in Binondo. Usually, my family and I just eat a King Chef. It has been our go-to Chinese restaurant, especially since dad’s stress reliever is eating the chicken feet dish there. He’s been to a lot of countries and he said that King Chef’s chicken feet are the best one yet. But for this trip, I wanted to try something new. I found out that the best place to have lunch in Binondo is at Sincerity Cafe & Restaurant. I’ve decided that our first destination should food because I would surely get grumpy if forced to deal with the Manila heat and my rumbling stomach. My mom, grandmother and I took a padyak so that I can take pictures along the way from Ongpin to Sincerity. From observing, I could say that Binondo was not exactly as organized as I expected it to be, so it was kind of difficult to look for the restaurant, I even had to use Google maps to get around.

When we arrived, the restaurant wasn’t really all that fancy, it looks like an ordinary restaurant with a very Chinese touch—bright red and gold hints, ceramic plates, heavy utensils. As a fried chicken enthusiast, since they claimed to have the best fried chicken in Binondo, my expectations were high. The fried chicken was alright, it tasted like a typical fried chicken, nothing special. I think it is an acquired taste though since after eating another dish like fried rice and the chicken soup, I realized that all of their food wasn’t too flavorful. Just the right amount of spices. My mom and grandmother we were not satisfied since we tried a lot of Chinese cuisines and expected that Chinese food should be flavorful. Aside from the food, the service was commendable, the serving of food was fast and the staff that served us was kind enough to answer all of our questions may it be about the food or her recommendation on where to go next.

My mom is ¼ Chinese, she grew up eating Hopia that my grandfather bought for her. She specifically requested that we should try all the famous Hopia, after thorough searching, there’s a competition between Ho-Land and Eng Bee Tin on which is the best Hopia. Our next stop was Ho-Land’s Hopia and Bakery since it’s on the same street as Sincerity. The shop resembleed a convenience store for they don’t only sell Hopia but other Chinese delicacies like Tikoy, as well as chocolates, candies, soft drinks, etc. Mom bought five flavors of Hopia to try all of it and compare it to Eng Bee Tin. Aside from that, I also added white rabbit candy, the kind that you eat with the wrapper, and Buchi into mom’s basket.

[Eng Bee Tin. The biggest international exporter of Hopia.]

Ho-Land’s Hopia rival, Eng Bee Tin was our next stop. Eng Bee Tin Chinese Deli has many branches all over the Philippines but the original store remained in the same spot it has occupied for over ninety years. Before entering the store, you could find a big violet fire truck parked outside the store that has a small logo of Eng Bee Tin on it. I was surprised on how modern the inside of the store looked, it has two floors and only serves their product. They had a wide variety selection of products including their famous Hopia in different flavors, frozen dim sums that you can just steam at home, drinks on-the-go like Mocha, Milk Tea, etc. Like what my mom used to do in Ho-Land, she also bought a lot of flavors to try. On the other hand, I bought the readily made Milk Tea and a pack of frozen Hakaw, my favorite dim sum. Eng Bee Tin does not only provide good cakes, hence the name Hopia, Ho means good, and Pia means cake, they also contribute to the community by providing fire trucks to the local fire station explaining the parked fire truck outside.

[Lucky Chinatown Mall offers a unique blend of history, tradition, and modern shopping and world-class leisure experience.]

For our Binondo trip, our last destination was Lucky Chinatown Mall. We went around the mall to window shop and buy milk tea from CoCo. I also went where my friends were eating to say Hi to them. Overall, a Binondo trip is something that anyone should experience in a lifetime to have a grasp on the daily lives of Chinese people in our country. After this trip, I felt more connected to my Chinese blood and I am also glad that my Chinese culture and tradition interest was reignited.

[gaiatheorist]

Standards.

I started this one yesterday, inflamed by the Tim Lott article in The Guardian. My impression of the column was that he was suggesting that women created their own mental health issues, by virtue of being virtuous. Maybe I read it wrong, maybe, in my perilously precarious psychological state, I’m looking for issues that aren’t there. What do I know, I’m only a woman, with mental health issues. (No current formal diagnosis, I’m free-range mad.)

I am not a virtuous woman. I try to do the ‘right’ thing more often than the ‘wrong’ one, and, as much as I rant about amusingly disturbing revenge on the neighbours that steal my bin, I don’t actually intend them harm. The reason that I didn’t finish this yesterday was other people’s standards. The ex in-laws were collecting my son, to take him to his Dad’s for the weekend, and the house looked like it had been rolled down a hill, due to the kid being back from uni, and having no concept of putting things ‘away’. 

Domesticity isn’t my strongest suit, if I was a domestic Goddess, I’d be Kali, I’m barely house-trained, house-proud is an alien concept, but the in-laws look at me all disapproving if the house is untidy. (Manic urge to tell them to wait outside next time, I have a thundering headache from the Mother-in-law’s gallons of perfume, and the Father-in-law has a habit of picking up and inspecting things that don’t belong to him. The kid has given me very stern instructions NOT to ‘leave’ any sex-toys on top of the cupboard that the F-i-l likes to have a good old nosey at.) It’s me, it’s not them. Years of the ex telling me to ‘straighten up a bit before my Dad calls.’ resulted in resentment, because it was his mess I was expected to ‘straighten.’

His standards were embedded by being raised as the blue-eyed boy who could do no wrong. A mother and an older sister idolised him when he was young, then, when his mother died, his father married the ironing gremlin, with her three daughters, and equally spoiled, and much-longed-for son. They’re weird-to-me, with their shopping-trips, and flowers, and soap operas, and chocolate, a different kind of dysfunctional. I don’t suppose there’s anything really ‘wrong’ with them, on a cosmic scale, I was just a square peg, refusing to spin in their chosen direction to fit a hole I didn’t want to occupy. I was a feral thing, the ex sometimes said that the ‘spark’ in me reminded him of his Mother, which is way too Oedipal to unpick at half past two in the morning.

I was feral because I hadn’t really been ‘raised’ by my parents, Creepy Carpet Tile Man referred to me as “An experiment, to see how far a person could be pushed, and sill remain vaguely functional.”, he has a point. A brutal, awful, impoverished, abusive childhood, with two parents who were barely functional. If there had been some sort of test that people needed to pass before having children, my brother and I wouldn’t exist. I’m covered in scars from wounds that should have been stitched, but my Dad was ‘scared of hospitals’, and my brother had a minor obsession with setting things on fire, how the two of us made it to adulthood still astounds me. Dirty, scruffy, feral children, and I have no idea how that happened, because both sets of grandparents ‘kept a nice house.’  My parents muddled through, times have changed, and there’s no point at all using my now-knowledge to reflect on all the ‘missed opportunities’ for that scruffy little girl and boy, I’ll park all of that in the ‘shit that happened’ file.

Standards, in my early development, were essentially “Do as you’re told the first time, or you’ll get a crack.” There were lots of ‘cracks’, sometimes there would be an identifiable trigger, more often not, if there had been a lovingly hand-sewn cross-stitch thing above the fireplace, it wouldn’t have said “Home sweet home.”, it might have said “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll GIVE you something to cry about.”. Dad hit us because he was an unpredictable, egocentric alcoholic, Mum hit us because Dad hit her, and she’d never really wanted us in the first place, we just tethered her to him. No fancy finishing school for me, I sit with my knees together in public because I hate the thought of uninvited physical contact, and, if you put me in a fancy restaurant with more than one knife and fork, I wouldn’t know whether to start with the inside ones, or the outside. (It’s outside, isn’t it? It has to be, it doesn’t make sense the other way. I do, however, know which side to ‘serve’ from.)

Chaotic, dirty, and very often hungry, my mother lit endless cigarettes from the gas-fire, and my father had endless ridiculous ideas to make his fortune. (Hello, direct comparison to my ex, and his stupid, expensive ‘projects.’) It was our ‘normal’, all we’d ever known, we didn’t know that other people didn’t have a goat living in the house, we just accepted that there ‘was’ a goat. We didn’t know that other people’s Dads didn’t butcher pig-heads on the manky kitchen floor, with missing tiles, and no doors on the cupboards. (I still have the scar from that, it was the only way I could tell left from right, I’ve always been a bit odd with directions.) Dirt-poor, too poor for cheesy chips in front of the TV, Jamie Oliver. Our ‘standard’ life quite frequently involved our mother, covered in tears, and snot, sometimes blood, dragging us out of bed in the middle of the night, putting our coats on over our pyjamas, and driving us to a friend’s house, ‘leaving that bastard’ again. She always reneged, and brought us back after a couple of days, though. 

I was 7, and my brother 5 when she did it properly. I’ve never asked her what the catalyst was, I always assumed it was just the cumulative toll. “More power to you.” was a line she threw me in a text-message conversation the other day, in some ways we’re similar, but not very many. She made an appalling decision in the direction she moved us in, again, I’ll file that under ‘shit that happened’, and move on. She would have been 28, so I’ll give her the points for ‘getting out’ of the abusive marriage at a younger age than I did mine, but I’ll take them away again, because she went on to marry another violent alcoholic. (I’m not awarding myself any points for staying married to an emotionally controlling, coercive egotist for nearly 20 years.)

The point of re-telling all that seemingly disjointed history does loop-around to standards. She moved us away from my father before he killed her, or one of us, she worked, and paid the mortgage on a crappy house on a rough estate, we had food in the cupboards consistently. It was shit food, and she was a terrible cook, the St Ivel Gold margarine, and the frozen curry sauce microwaved on the pickings from the Sunday lunch triggered my ‘Eating disorder not otherwise specified.’ I had no control whatsoever over any aspect of my life, so I’d periodically stop eating. Nobody noticed my little rebellions of pushing the food around my plate, and not actually putting any of it in my mouth, because we ate in front of the TV. It was never a body-image thing, it was the mid 1980s, all that malarkey hadn’t been given a name yet, it was just me controlling the only thing I could. I buggered up my appetite with that, I’ll still go days without eating at all, and I can’t stand cheap-bland food, it tastes of ‘what happened to me.’ 

Major, major issues with, and around food. The last two tabs open in my browser are Jack Monroe’s ‘Bootstrap Cook’ site, and a Google search on recipes for lobster. I know, right? Looking up 20p meals on one tab, and lobster on another. I ‘fell into’ Jack’s website quite badly yesterday, because I needed something to focus on, distract-deflect, it’s what I do. Food seemed like a relatively safe rabbit-hole for me to stick my loopy head into, and distract myself from the imminent in-laws applying their standards to a life that’s none of their business. (Side-loop, they’re prolific ‘feeders’, the father-in-law likes fat women, and the mother-in-law likes making people fat. I’m not quite “All elbows and Adam’s apple.” emaciated, like I was a couple of years ago, but I cover myself in baggy clothes, I’m like a train-wreck that’s collided with a jumble sale.) The ex didn’t like cheap food, his family aren’t exceptionally wealthy, but there was always ‘good’ food, and plenty of it. The ex was spoiled, if he didn’t fancy what his step-mum put on his plate, he’d ask for something else, and she’d make it. He thought that was normal behaviour, “I’m sorry, love, I can’t eat this, is there anything else?” I’m having a BFG-moment here, the BFG explaining to Sophie that “There is no ‘else’.” 

I’m unemployed, and disabled. There’s a frozen lobster thawing in my fridge. Have that, Jamie Oliver and crew, with your ‘poor people eat rubbish.’ theory, the kid and I are having lobster tomorrow. Stand down with the soap-boxes, I was working when I bought it. The juxtaposition of 20p meals, and suggestions for lobster would have amused me more if I wasn’t looking at the “This woman has tattoos, and mirrored kitchen tiles.” article. Other people’s standards, yet again, it’s a good thing it’s an old blog, because I’m pure outraged at some numpty commenting “Economy brand food is not nutritious.” They’re missing the point entirely, tinned pulses and frozen veg are probably more nutritious than fancy-flouncy ready-meals. Yes, there is some skills-gap, where people who were not ‘taught’ to cook-from-scratch will see own-brand chicken nuggets for 69p as a less contentious meal-choice for children than explaining what all the ‘bits’ are in something cobbled together from tins. Nobody ‘taught’ me to cook, my mother was a disaster in the kitchen, and my only concrete memories of Home Economics lessons at school are how to rescue a sponge-cake mix if you add the eggs too quickly, and carrying a Roses chocolate tin full of slightly warm chilli the mile home from school. 

Standards. I’ve stopped buying the ‘emergency’ £1 ready-meals, for the days when my cognitive fatigue makes sharp-knives-and-hot-pans a dangerous activity. That’s partly because £1 for a single serving isn’t affordable on Universal Credit, I was splitting the single meal across two meal-times. It’s more because they’re not ‘really’ food, the stress of the last year has massively flared my digestive issues, and the value-range ready meals invariably contain either wheat-gluten to thicken them, or artificial sweeteners, both of which have undesirable outcomes for me. Far-away trolls and commenters, telling poor people that a bag of carrots is 50p have different standards. I’ve siege-mentality stocked my cupboards and freezer, because I won’t be able to afford groceries soon. My work-coach has started offering me food bank vouchers, which I’ve declined, because I still have food in the house, some of the new Universal Credit claimants won’t have had time to stock up.

Gods, I went the long way around that, didn’t I? Everyone has their own ‘normal’, their own ‘standards’, and Tim Lott’s column, saying that women might have fewer mental health issues if they lowered their standards irritated me. They’re not ‘our’ standards, Tim. They’re the standards imposed on us by others. Most of us don’t want to spend hours making ourselves ‘presentable’ in line with whatever the glossy magazines tell us is aesthetically acceptable this month, some choose to, and that’s their business, not mine. I don’t think any of us enjoy ironing clothes for other people, or cleaning yet more piss off the toilet. We don’t do these things because we want to, we do them because nobody else does, and we can’t inhabit environments that hover between ‘Men Behaving Badly’ and ‘Bottom’. Asserting that ‘women’ might be happier if they didn’t expend energy being ‘nice’, or ‘good’ enraged me, because we’re expected to be both of those, continually, and unconditionally. Good-wives. 

My ex had standards that he expected the pixies to maintain. He’d stuff his rancid worn socks down the arm of the sofa, and then buy new socks when he couldn’t find any clean ones. (In his SOCK DRAWER.) He’d leave used crockery all over the house, and then suggest I ‘have a quick run around with the Hoover’, because he was expecting visitors, and the house was covered in toast-crumbs and dog-hair. I put up with that for far too long, and, when I started to challenge him on it, he’d reply “Yeah, in a minute, I’m just watching this.” His parents embedded that in him, that he could do as he pleased, and somebody else would pick up after him, they skewed their standards of acceptable ‘house-keeping’ onto me. I was ill yesterday, because I knew that they were coming, and that if they realised that I wasn’t coping, they’d judge my competency at dusting, rather than my disabilities, due to me being ‘female.’ I’m still not free of their expectations, and they’re nothing to do with me, I can’t ‘just leave it’, because they’ll see the mess, and want to help, I don’t want them anywhere near me, so I tidy to give them the impression that I’m managing.

I’ve had contact with my various parents and step-parents recently. My step-mother is a mouse of a thing, terrified of my father. My mother looks at my step-father before she speaks, as if asking permission, she has to iron his clothes just-so, and made reference to an argument they’d had recently, where he’d burned his arm on the iron after she refused to do it for him. She was messaging me as she was ironing. We’re extreme examples, I know, but the assertion that ‘women’ would be in better mental health if we stopped being ‘good’ or ‘nice’, stopped caring doesn’t work. We’re still being conditioned to care. By other people’s standards.   

[portersnotebook]

The Lamplighter

For twenty years, the lamplighter chased the shadows away from Chatham Square and the Bowery. My father worked on the docks and when I was young told me stories about pirates and sailors. He stayed off the open waves when Momma had me. Told me he had to stick around and take care of his little spark, especially after Momma coughed herself out of the world. I would hold his rough hand when I was just a little boy and he would sigh and put up his aching feet. It’s no life compared to climbing the rigging in a squall, he’d say, to the pitch and roll of the deck under your bare feet, but it would do.

Go back to sea, Daddy, I’d tell him. Go back to sea. I can take care of myself. I’m a big boy. He would laugh and ruffle my hair and send me downstairs to the grocer for more beer, the old pail banging against my hip.

First kiss I ever had was against that lamppost. Marie. A flower girl. It cost me a penny. I never spent money better, not on candy then or charms and whiskey now. That pool of light saved Johnny Tin Rickets’ ass when he was running from who knows who and fell into it just as a pair of coppers were passing. Tin Rickets waved his folding money at them and they rescued him. Then they rolled him. Even made him take off his shoes to get his sock money. I used the lamp to find my way home when I was drunk, it was my lighthouse for when I was lost at sea. I know I wasn’t the only one who leaned against it sick when the rum, whiskey and beer went down fighting. That lamp gave Darlo Ginty a job when he came back from the war. A few minutes before the sun ducked behind the tenements, Darlo would mutter his way up from Cross Street with his ladder tucked under one arm and a bit of flame in a smaller lantern over his shoulder. When we were kids we used to wave at him but he never waved back.

I followed him home once. Dad was working a second shift at a rum hell on Bleeker and so I walked after Darlo as he made his rounds creating lighthouses on corners from Chatham Square to Warren Street, his smaller lamp bobbed like a playful specter. I was brave the way a lot of small boys are brave, and so I followed him through the darkness, even though I saw teeth at the edge of the light. I didn’t stop when Darlo got to a tenement on Spring Street, and I didn’t stop when he climbed the stairs. I didn’t stop when he got to the door or when he turned his key in the lock. I did let the door shut behind him, I had that much sense. I did peer in through the keyhole. Darlo sat down in front of a metal box with a sigh and he opened it with a hooked tool. A glow bathed his lined face and I knew he had the sun in there. He had a coal from some celestial fire. Darlo had not gone away to war, Darlo had gone to hell and brought back an ember from under the Devil’s stew pot.

The years polished the memory until I knew it was just a coalbox for heating a small room on a cold New York night. I know. Years and learning polish memories down to slivers, buff away the shine from how children view the world. It steals every moment.

Which is why I never told my father that I knew he’d never been to sea. He’d never left the docks. He wanted to stand tall in his little boy’s eyes and maybe he thought his dockworker stories weren’t good enough. Maybe he wanted to sail away after the coughing faded from my mother’s room for the last time and I thought she’d finally tired herself enough to sleep.

Time steals enough. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no thief. Photo Credit: A lamp lighter at work in Finsbury Park, London. 1935.

[italiasoloitalia]

Days 20, 21: Pescara del Tronto

Glimpses of the turquoise waters of the Adriatic as take the autostradale towards Pescara del Tronto. Green, lush patchwork countryside to our right. We decide to overnight in Ascoli Piceno though my cousin Anna is in Rome atm so we stay at Torre 100. Straight into Piazza del Popolo to see that beautiful space and have a coffee at Caffe Meletti. Yay! It is the quiet of siesta time but we explore the major buildings and churches around it and Piazza Arringo. Medieval history at every turn. Several buildings showing repair work yo earthquake damage.

After a refresh and feet up we return for aperitivo and the piazza is glowing in the afternoon sun, there is a group of well-dressed family members gathered in the centre, cones of confetti at the ready as they await the bridal couple from the civil ceremony in the comune. Pigeons swoop, children bike, families circle and the scene is a delight. Dinner nearby at Trattoria Nonna Nina begins with Oliva Ascolane, certamente, they’re very good though the olive has not been peeled (a la orange) but split and stuffed - the olive itself is ‘fleshier’: 8 olives for 5€! Not $4 each like in Melbourne that time! A beautiful stroll back through lively streets.

Pear-shaped! It had to happen I guess for things too good - Glenn wakes after a restless night, dizzy and unbalanced on his feet, slightly nauseous. One would forgive forgive us for 😱😨 ... stroke? after friends’ recent events. 🤔 middle ear/vertigo ? Because we were to be iheading to the somewhat isolated village with limited access to medical care, I thought doctor best option but not so...ambulance to hospital 🤢 where within the hour he’s on a drip, followed by a ‘tac’ (head scan), followed by a specialist otorino (ent) who diagnoses middle ear/ vertigo, medication and I’m guiding wobbly-boot to taxi at 2pm. Amazing service and attention from hotel staff, three lovely female ambo’s, nurses and orderlies....all for...zip, niente! 😲

The hotel have kept our room and as we enter, Caterina my cousin rings - we were to be calling her tomorrow and I had not wanted to trouble them with this until tomorrow. I asked what made you call, “ti sentivo vicino” (I felt you near) 😌

We decide to let G rest and tomorrow they will come to drive our car to village as G of course should not drive till that dizziness goes 🙄. I scurry out to fill the script and ... the first rain of our holiday descends - thunder cracking, torrential, hail kinda rain .. yep, pear-shaped

“Don’t complain” I mutter as I trudge along - the first hiccup...(non è grave, solo fastidioso: not grave just annoying said dottore) and hopefully within a few days he’ll be ok and to top it off, we’ll be with famiglia. Next hiccup, farmacia doesn’t have one of the medications, ritorna domani mattina - I anxiously respond “but that will delay his recovery”...no, no the compresse (capsules) will be the help, intanto. All this today in Italian mind you! Exhausted, I pull in out of the torrent into a welcoming bar to get a bite for G and a welcome macchiatone! Forza Leda!

A picnic dinner in and early night after getting in touch with my family in Pescara del Tronto and they insist they will come in tomorrow morning to drive our car back to paese. I’m at la farmacia on the dot of 9am after having called into the same bar for a cappuccino. Must say I felt like a local on the way back, a signora having done her morning chore and back home. Now is the time for me to put on my infermiera 👩‍⚕️hat and administer G’s prescribed puntara (injection). 😱🤷‍♀️. Gs not convinced I can manage so I go downstairs to prega help from the lovely signora first aid and she is happy to help I’ll simpatico 🙄 signore by showing me how. I plunge that needle with a good jab 🤨 and we head downstairs to see Vinicio on doorstep 😍🤗. We’re off and V and I jabber on the way while poor G keeps his eyes straight ahead. We slow as we pass the paesi along the via Salaria, all affected by the earthquake. PdelT from the road below is as awful as we’d seen and heard via the internet and we move on to the area on the flat near il Fiume Tronto where the ‘provisorio’ casetti (‘provisional little houses’) have been built, together with little shops, bar and community areas, to those who chose to stay in the area instead of relocating, until decisions re future permanent situations are made.

My mother’s family are there with open arms, tears and an heartwarming welcome. Their suffering over the past two years is palpable but they are making the best of their straightened circumstances by beautifying their homes, frequent gatherings, celebrations and planning for the future. The table is set and we await the arrival of family by sharing news, photos and calling Mum. More tears, passing the phone around to all though not mentioning anything to her about G - she’s been praying constantly for our safe journey and we wouldn’t want to shake that faith! g is not himself but putting a brave face on it and when lunch is served he’s given the head of the table and much fun, hand-waving translations and feasting begins. It’s 4pm before coffee is served after prosciutto and melon, lasagne, arrosto di manzo con verdure, piselli con prosciutto, insalata, pomodori e citriole, frutta and zuppa inglese 🤭. G thankfully is not nauseous and able to satisfy the “mangia, mangia” on repeat though is head is still spinning and is wobbly on his feet. Poor thing. I leave him to rest still why I’m taken up to see the village up close. It’s devastating and we are able to walk the upper road where my father’s childhood home stood. It’s mostly rubble save for the cantina which is amazingly in place. A little park near my aunt’s home is now the site of a memorial and there are t-shirts with images of the victims strung along the fence. Very moving as my cousin Pierino goes along telling me who they were and little anecdotes about how and why. Most were not from the village but visiting for summer. At my Zia Fenisia’s home I recognised the edges of the marble stairwell that I so well remember and remnants of the little green tiles that dotted the terrazzo at the front of the house. 😰. It is pleasing to see the beloved Fontana (drinking fountain and one time clothes-washing site), whose renowned water stems from the fantastic Monte Vettore which looms above and behind, has survived but unlikely to remain.

Up to the cimitero to visit the crypts of all the family members on both sides of our family that have passed away over the years and it makes for an emotional day of both joy and sadness. Our family names of Rendina and Filotei are abundant and gives my sense of belonging even more piquancy.

We return and preparations are in progress for dinner 🤭😳 and G is doing ok having had some funny and interesting exchanges in Italglish. So much ribbing, dry and witty remarks tells the story of people who know each other so well, spend a lot of time together yet are caring and respectful. A ‘light’ cena of frittata con buffala, leftovers from lunch, more prosciutto and cheeses, frutta and a ‘marscapone’ (tiramisu but with a very light and loose creamy mascarpone). Uffa! A great day but I need to get Mr Wobby-boot to bed so my kind cousins drive us to nearby Agriturismo Grisciano and will collect us again in morning.

We sleep like logs and wake several times towards morning when everything is dark...dormi says G, it’s still night, dormi says I the next time...finally G gets up to open the shutters to a brilliant sun and it’s 9.30am 🙄😬😆. A cappuccino before we are collected and back to family where the women have been to church and I go to meet them and check out the new church of Santa Croce di PdelT where the original bell has been returned and erected. Inside, only the ancient crucifix and a wooden statue of Our Lady have been saved from the old church which sadly had housed ancient relics. Two new bells are planned in addition to the original and it is lovely to see and know that this important part of their lives is resurrected (😏) and continues to sustain them.

The women are off to the bar for an aperitivo and I am taken in arm ... G tags along but then scampers after the men, making the women laugh with his horrified face and ‘chattering’ gesticulations. Cries of “quando e simpatico!” have him 💁🏼‍♂️🤦‍♀️

Crodino’s (a non-alcoholic Campari-ish fizzy) all ‘round, a platter of olive-oiled bread, prosciutto and lonza and I am joining in the banter like a local. Such fun. That would have done me for lunch but we apparently lunch is at the new ristorante on site! On our way, meetings with many who again introduced themselves as amiche and parenti of my mother, sending her regards and telling anecdotes of their relationship. Sweet.

Lunch is funny - talk about fussy about their food! The trouble is of course that they eat so well at home, that going out never, or rarely, meets their expectations. The antipasti of meats and local cheeses was served (trendily) on wooden platters but as whole salamis and cheeses with knives to slice for yourself. My cousin quipped “when it comes time to pay the bill, I’ll take it outside and leave it there for them to get for themselves”! 🤣. The fantastic spaghetti all’amatriciana had pecorino cheese in the sauce(🤦‍♀️🙇‍♂️); the tagliatelle ai funghi had too many other kinds (and too much of them) and not enough porcini (🤦‍♀️🙇‍♂️); Leda wanted agnello, there wasn’t enough, said Pierino, the potatoes are burnt said Vinicio...let me say, it was all delicious (we’d be very happy for it to be our local!) and it added to our fun!

It’s decided ‘una scarpata’ (a jaunt) to Castelluccio to show us the beginning of the famed ‘la fioratura’ (flowering) of the lentil plains of Monte Vettore, about 15 kms away. I had been with my family when we came when I was 15 and Dad had so wanted us to see it and relive the times he used to climb up from PdelT to tend to fields with his zaino (backpack) of bread and tinned beef (Simmenthal). It is a spectacular drive up and so beautiful in the afternoon light. Castelluccio too was virtually destroyed in the earthquake and the proprietors of the many shops and restaurants have set up food trucks as an interim measure until a restaurant plaza is finished. It is busy with visitors and we are invited for a coffee at the one remaining Agriturismo la Valle Delle Aquile owned by friends of Linda (Vinicio’s daughter) and her boyfriend GianLuca. A fabulous view which is supposed to be even better at sunrise. Next time? The flowers are just beginning to open and the poppies this year are late but it is something I’d love to see at its peak (early to mid July usually). Still, stunning.

The table is laid...again...🤦‍♀️ but the freshest local buffala mozzarella and sweet tomatoes, stracchino and other local cheeses, salads, carciofi, salami, prosciutto etc is hard to resist amidst the cries of “magari un pocchino” (even just a little). Dolci, more, then we’re taken over to the con.tain.errr where they have community gatherings with a kitchen, tables, tv and even karaoke (😫) and all manner of boxes are taken out for us to choose some PdelT mementoes for the family. Lovely.

We are driven back to Grisciano for the night and,all being well, G will drive us back in the morning to farewell before we move on to Orvieto. Yes, many tears, warm embraces, loving wishes to all in the family later and we leave. Such a wonderful few days, even though emotionally draining, my heart is full.

It was fortuitous (or from mum’s prayers🤔) that G’s vertigo thing happened when it did as we were able to work around it in a safe harbour. It’s improving (slightly) daily and it’s more likely, Dr G thinks, stemming from neck exercises and movements he did rather than any middle ear issue.

Orvieto, here we, slowly, come.

[lindoig]

Days 124 to 132 (Monday 28/8 to Tuesday 5/9)

It is about 3 weeks since I posted anything, but we have had some adventures and things get busy even when travelling.  Busy is not the best word, but some days really are busy with all the overheads that need doing – paying bills, answering email, minor maintenance on the car, van and equipment and so on. And we always fill so much of each day that we don’t have time to write much at the end of the day – even if the brain was capable of ordering our thoughts. Nonetheless…….

We were up early on Monday for final loading and connecting the van and with hearty thanks and goodbyes to Judy and Garry, we hit the highway and took the rig to Dometic to have the hinges on the fridge replaced, the door reset and some of the shelves replaced.  It only took about 30 minutes, but we strolled down to a lunch shop around the corner and had ourselves some brekky.  I also took the opportunity to return a call I missed on the previous Friday from our caravan storage company in Melbourne.  It seems they had a major break-in to the yard where we store our van (several things were stolen, including at least one caravan) and they need to reorganise the area to make it more secure – and we may not have a place to park when we get home.  This is a really big catastrophe for us and we are anxiously awaiting further information about whether we will still be able to be accommodated in the newly secured yard or not!  We certainly hope so!!!  (Twelve days later, they contacted me again and assured me that all would be well and our place in their plans is secure – we were mightily relieved and thanked them accordingly!)

We collected the van with an operational fridge/freezer and headed for our pre-booked hidey-hole back at Guilderton.  We arrived in time for lunch and set up in a quiet area of the caravan park and I went fishing!  Must be at least 10 years since my line got wet.  I always think it would be good to give it a go, but it usually seems a lot of work getting ready and I don’t have a clue how to catch fish anyway.  It is largely an opportunity to stand somewhere quiet near the water and watch the birds.  At least my luck held with my fishing – same as all the other times, I caught nothing.  (I tried again the next day with identical results so at least I am consistent.)  I had a couple of half-hearted nibbles, but that was it!  Next time I might have to try with some bait on the hook or something equally scientific. I did watch quite a few birds, many venturing very close to me – pelicans, Pacific black ducks, welcome swallows, silver, crested and Caspian terns and lots of cormorants flying past. Also saw a couple of kestrels, a little eagle, an osprey, a white-bellied sea eagle and numerous small birds flitting about in the middle distance.

We walked down to the beach a couple of times while we were at Guilderton and noticed how radically different the mouth of the river (the Moore) was from day to day.  The river flows out of the estuary, but the tide also comes in – at least the breakers flush large volumes of water back into the river.  The first day, the river was winning and the surf was strikingly brown from the tannin in the river – you can see less 50cm into the water it is so dark!  Next day, the sea was winning and the waves looked sandy and the river was a little clearer – and well over half the sandbar where I went fishing was under water.  Nature never ceases to amaze us and there is a lesson every day if we just take the time to observe and think about the differences and the reasons for them.

Heather did a lot of cooking while we were there and we are enjoying the spoils as a result – delicious! We have also caught up with email and our blogs are more current than they have been for weeks.  I went out to explore what seems to have been an old sand quarry on Wednesday.  It is just a couple of clicks out of town and it is mainly yellow sand that has obviously surrounded dozens of odd-shaped sandstone rocks.  They have mined a lot of the sand, leaving a fascinating landscape of yellow sand and white sandstone pillars.  There were lots of invisible birds there – plenty of bird-calls, but it was outstandingly hard to find the birds – but I also enjoyed finding wildflowers. In particular, I found an area of donkey orchids, lots of cow-slip orchids, some snake creeper, one lonely kangaroo paw and a variety of other exquisite flowers hidden away out of sight. The quarry is perhaps 400 x 100 metres and just off the road.  I saw a memorial plaque hidden way in toward the back for someone unknown – but I noted a sign saying that the area had been replanted (by a well-known funeral company) as a memorial park in 2001.  I guess very few people would ever take the time to visit it, but I was delighted with my hour or so there and would like to go back for another walk around. While I was out in the car, I explored a bit more of Guilderton and discovered that it had more to offer than we thought with access to Silver Creek (a minor tributary to the river), with more water-birds to see and more river to explore.

The downside of my sand quarry excursion was that I scraped an invisible post near the caravan as I was leaving and bent the passenger-side side-step/running board and that will need replacing at some time.

I have just realised that I completely forgot to mention an important detour we made on the last day approaching Perth.  We visited Cervantes (quite a pleasant little burg) and went to the stromatolites that fascinated my Mum when she was alive.  We took her there in the caravan after Dad died and she really enjoyed that – but it is now very different.  Instead of just stopping on the road and pushing through a few bushes for a squizzy, it is now built up with an extensive parking area, picnic tables, a boardwalk, signage and a 2-kilometre circuit around the lake.  We were as fascinated this visit as we were last time and did the circuit – with many stops for photos and closer examination of plants as well as the stromatolites and thrombolites – even checked out some birds along the track, but there were not many of them.

We took advantage of the picnic tables and ate our lunch there while working out some more details of our next year’s travel plans.  I don’t pretend to understand a lot about stromatolites, but the idea that the things we were looking at are so many hundred million years old, with perhaps billions of generations of micro-organisms living and dying to produce the columns and mats of living cyanobacteria we see today (along with a few small fish) quite astounds me.

After two and a half delightful days at Guilderton, we set sail for Moora on the Thursday – but spent a couple of hours detouring around Guilderton before really putting the foot down. We went back to the places I had found on the previous day and I think Heather enjoyed them as much as I did. Silver Creek was nice, but we spent at least a couple of hours wandering around the sand quarry again.  Lots more photos, a few birds and other creatures – and we even got quite wet when it rained on us, but didn’t slow us down. We found a couple more memorial plaques hidden around the rocks and bushes – even a tin pooh-bear – who knows who or what he commemorates.

We thought we would camp at Moora that night (we had to go there anyway to collect the mail), but arrived earlier than expected so decided to put a few more kilometres under the wheels and set off on the Miling road, intending to follow the Great Northern Highway. Unfortunately, someone moved the road (or hid the turn-sign) and we ended up quite a few clicks up on the Coorow road.  We had to back-track a little, but eventually found our way through to Dalwallinu via some odd twists and turns and camped in a really nice quiet van park there.

Next day (Friday) was a really interesting one.  We headed north to Payne’s Find and bought fuel and ate our lunch under a tree near the old gold battery.  It was open to tourists and we spent a fascinating hour or so with the woman who runs it.  It has been in her family for over 100 years and she still does a bit of crushing, processing and refining in the only privately-owned battery in Western Australia. She is also the only woman ever to run a battery in Australia and she does all this at an age I suspect is at least 5 years more than mine!  It was a great tour and we had a good look at everything and got a lot more information about hands-on gold processing.  Once I told her about Dad’s time in the mines, that opened a whole new stream of discussion.  Very interesting and educational to boot.  We had not really planned to go in there, but we were really glad we did!!

From Paynes Find, we did a major unplanned detour 200-odd km to Sandstone. We had been trying to organise a rendezvous with some friends from Melbourne.  Barbara was the key government person we dealt with while at LACVI; and her husband, Jeff, is an artist who has just completed illustrating the Australian Bird Guide: a wonderful new Fieldguide that we purchased prior to publication and that is sitting on our table at home.  We have met with them socially a few times and were looking forward to having a ‘home away from home’ with them whilst we were pursuing our respective travels in Western Australia.  We had arranged to meet them at Nallan Station near Mt Magnet, but timing wasn’t quite perfect so we decided to catch up with them at Sandstone instead – but being out of mobile range, we couldn’t tell them of the change in plans.

The map showed the road to be potentially dodgy so we asked about it at the Payne’s Find roadhouse with somewhat lukewarm results, but it turned out to be in superb condition, easily the best dirt road I have ever driven on.  A great drive with lots of changes in scenery – a really enjoyable day all round.

We had a wonderful night in yet another gravel pit, 101km from Sandstone.  It was only one day to the full moon and we camped a couple of hundred metres from the road in a very safe and comfortable place, well isolated from the two vehicles that passed (like ships) in the night.  I found a few birds and at least one flower we hadn't seen before and we had a wonderful fire that we kept going for several hours.  We sat out under the stars to have dinner (another great Dream Pot meal) and discussed life and all sorts for a couple of hours before retiring to a movie on DVD.  The silence of remote places, with only the occasional bird-call, a gentle breeze and the friendly crackle of our fire is simply beautiful, romantic, exotic, even erotic, but completely wonderful, irrespective of the adjectives.

We drove on to Sandstone next morning and booked into the caravan park, in a site almost opposite Barbara and Jeff.  Of course, they weren't expecting to see us until two days later and 300km later so when I did my 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume' thing, it was a big surprise to them.  We were welcomed most warmly and once we set up our van, we shared some victuals - Barb's tea, coffee and scones and Heather's fruit cake.  That took a couple of hours and we shared lots of stories from our respective journeys and a good deal more.  Later in the afternoon, we headed out in Barb's car, 50 clicks up the road to where Jeff thought we might see one of his major quarries: the Western quailthrush.  Finding and photographing this species is a big deal for Jeff, so it was a bit disappointing, but it was fun tramping around the bush looking at other birds and photographing flowers.  As it turned out, he caught a couple of distant glimpses, but none of the rest of us saw so much as a feather.  Back at camp, we indulged in some bubbles and more and ate our respective dinners together, with more chat and laughter before retreating to our caravans for sleep.

They left for Mt Magnet a bit before us next day and we agreed to try to meet up again at Nallan Station two days later - they were booked in there for three nights.  On our way in to Mt Magnet, we saw 12 wedgies and would you believe, a female western quailthrush flew across in front of our car and settled no more that two metres from our car.  I was unable to stop, but still got a good look at it and was itching to tell Jeff.  We had a minor problem 100km from Mt Magnet when a warning light came on in the car, telling us (again) that our fuel filter was clogged and needed replacement.  Not a big deal, but we didn't want a lot of crap feeding through our injectors so decided to stay overnight in Mt Magnet and get it replaced on the Monday.  We ran into Jeff and Barb again as we were driving into town and they were driving out so I got to tell him that we saw the illusive quailthrush that he was still chasing.

We booked into the caravan park on Sunday in time for lunch and caught up on the washing and I had a delightful couple of hours wandering along the river photographing birds, including a couple of new ones for us, as well as some flowers - all while the washing was drying.

I was down at the local mechanic's place by 8.30 next morning and by nine, the fuel filter was replaced and I had had a lesson in how to do it in case I needed to do it myself next time.  We carry a set of filters with us in case we need them along the track, but knowing how to fit them is a bonus.

We had quite a bit of restocking to do at the local IGA and then we were off to Nallan Station a mere 12 km further north.  We camped across from Jeff and Barb and we were the only people there.  It was wonderful!!!  Nallan is a working Station and has showers and toilets and easy access to potable water, but it is rustic and really quite delightful - just our sort of place.  Not quite 3-star, but quite lovely with free lemons and grapefruit thrown in as a bonus.  The grapefruit are/were the yummiest I have had anywhere.  Delish!

Plenty of birds around, including some not often seen and we could wander anywhere we liked around the Station.  We spent the day with Barb and Jeff - Heather mainly with Barb and me mainly with Jeff, but we also all did a bit of exploring on our own.  Just on dusk, we all went out to a waterhole where some Bourke's parrots were supposed to visit.  We had good views of a few birds, including some mulga parrots, but by the time the 30-odd Bourke's came in, it was really too dark to see them, even with the full moon.  We did see yet another fabulous sunset though.

We returned to camp and lit a roaring fire that we kept burning for a few hours.   Heather had cooked our meal, but Barb cooked their sausages over the coals.  I suspect that they ate semi-raw snags, but we spent a few more hours enjoying their friendship, chatting around a perfect campfire.  I think the time we spent with them changed our work colleague and birding authority relationship into one of real friendship.  They are both lovely people and we enjoyed every minute of our time together and hope there will be many more similar times.

They were off to Walga Rock next morning so we said our goodbyes soon after Jeff gave up trying to find some white-browed babblers.  We stayed on for an hour or so and enjoyed some interesting birding - including seeing Jeff's missing babblers.

Then it was on to Cue and Meekatharra, both interesting places, particularly Cue.  This trip has taught me a lot about WA geography.  More importantly, it has untaught me a lot I thought I knew about where places were, how big and/or important they are or were.  I always imagined that Cue was out near Leonora, rather on the Great Northern Highway and some of the other towns we have seen or bypassed are hundreds of kilometres from where they should be according to my childhood mental map.  It has been very interesting to learn so much about the State I grew up in and to encounter so many places, rivers, ranges and other landmarks that echoed 60+ year-old memories and evoked thoughts that hold a wealth of forgotten romance for me.

We had a magic bush camp that night, just off the road about 28 clicks south of the Kumarina Roadhouse – another fantastic night under the stars.

[spicy-dyke]

hey can u do all numbers ending in 0 and 5 in that 200 asks question meme thing

yea sure thing!

200: my crush’s name is isaac! he’s a dream boy and i love him195: my shoe size is 8.5 us, which is like. a 6 uk or 40 eu190: my first job was a babysitting job if memory serves, it was these two elementary school kids who were. loud but good hearted185: i like the maui moisture shampoo with bamboo fibres i think? it’s the formula for damaged hair bc im a messy binch180: my opinion on marriage is, how the hets say, complicated. idk when i was a kid i didn’t see many healthy marriages and im not particularly religious so i don’t have an opinion on that front. i don’t think it should really be a permanent bonding of two people, because people change and relationships change, but if two people want to stay married for the rest of their lives and they’re happy in doing that i think there’s beauty in that. removing my opinions on the Capitalist Profiteering Off Of Marriage, i think that a celebration of love like that and a willing to commit is beautiful. this answer is messy im sorry lol175: im not sure how many cousins i have! a lot! i think 5 on my dad’s side, im not sure how many on my mom’s side. i haven’t met most of my extended family, and the ones i have met i haven’t spoken to in a while lol170: yesterday i had math, history, chemistry, and chinese, which were all alright! i had a quiz in math and a presentation in history. i also got complimented on my eyelashes by a person i’ve been meaning to get to know better which made me rlly :3cc165: i do believe in aliens! idk i don’t think it’s likely that earth would be the only planet with life on it in this vast universe, and i could get into how if multiverse theory turns out to be reality then it’d be impossible for us to be The Only Life, but. yeah160: im not sure if i believe in soulmates! i do think that it’s rare to find someone who you really feel at home with or feel that strongly connected to, so in that sense i do believe in soulmates, but im not sure how i feel about the Destiny part of it yfm155: i do believe in magic, i think! i don’t have many religious beliefs but the ones i do have are largely neopagan so. yea150: here is where i say Gentlemen Prefer Blondes as a joke without having seen the source material145: it depends! i like walking around cities at night, and im usually pretty productive at night, but i also am more prone to Weird Moods at night140: i’ve never used a mac, so pc!135: if i had to choose i’d rather be cremated, but above either of them i’d rather donate my body for organ transplants or science130: target, i resent the way walmart treats its employees and if memory serves they’re largely more bigoted125: flowers i guess! idk im not a huge chocolate fan most of the time, and i am a flower fan most of the time. im not picky though, it’s a sweet gesture either way (pun intended)120: i prefer gay marriage to straight marriage115: my opinion on parents is also jumbled. if you have a good relationship with your parents i think that’s a good thing, but if you don’t you shouldn’t be beholden to them. if your parents fucked you up you shouldn’t be forced to try to fix things with them and you shouldn’t let anyone tell you to want closure, because, in my experience, closure is frankly bullshit. that said, if you want closure because You want closure, if you want to fix things because You want to, that’s not wrong! there’s strength in that and i support you!110: i haven’t interacted with my neighbours very much, but from the times i have they’re rlly nice! they let me borrow some tin foil and watched our cats for a week or so once100: i haven’t cried in front of anyone in a really long time, the last time i did was probably in therapy? idk95: the last time i got my nails done would’ve been years ago, im not rlly sure when tho :0c90: i was just texting my bf on kik if that counts, the last time i used my phone’s Actual Texting App was maybe 30 minutes ago85: im not looking forward to my ap environment test which is next class lol80: the first person i talked to today was isaac i think over snapchat but im not sure? it sounds like sleepy me to send him smth dumb at 5 am but i can’t remember if i did lol75: i’d like to be a storyboard artist, or defense attorney, or clinical research psychologist! or something with music! honestly im planning on getting as many degrees as i can manage and then moving around in my career70: next weekend im not rlly sure what im doing! i hopefully will be going to a thing for my friend amelia’s birthday but the day before i have a school tour so im not sure if i can go65: the last time i cried was probably a week or two ago? idk it’s a bit of a long story60: i don’t respect bigots. or people who don’t research their opinions.55: oof, i really like the idea of backpacking across europe? it’s probably not going to happen because me me poor boy but that would probably be a really cool experience50: does it make me a sap if i say i’d like to be with Boyfriend45: really good debates make me feel powerful, or just talking to the people i love after a long day honestly!40: im not sure if mad is the right word but. im rlly frustrated with this one person and im not gnna call them out by name (it’s no one reading this tho) and it’s not a good time35: obama is always gnna be my fav president30: i like catherine zeta-jones a lot, or lucy liu!25: i love bojack horseman with all my heart and soul20: i like new year’s a lot, and i like the sentiment behind valentine’s day but i also have opinions on the capitalism surrounding valentine’s day15: i like fridays, it’s Relieving to not be required to do anything the next day most of the time10: oh oh oh this little cafe that has really good sandwiches and coffee! it was near my friend rae’s school for a while but their campus moved5: i like pale greens a lot! and burgundies