#i think i misunderstood what sweeping bangs are

[m00ngbin]

Take some Teru concepts I made while I finish up the last few things I'm drawing!!!

I'm so sorry they're taking so long I have had a really long week 😭

Go read The Forgotten Son pretty pretty please :3 it's by @teruthecreator on ao3 and it's so good. You'll love it I promise

Oh um this is me editing this, I originally forgot to actually tag him when first I posted this. ANYWAYS HE USES THE SAME NAME ON AO3 AS HE DOES ON HERE

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Loving the batmom with Jason. Could we get batmom with Tim?

I’d love to see Tim get the love and support he deserved at the beginning of his time as Robin, and also batmom not putting up with this whole “he’s not my son, he’s my partner” excuse of borderline mistreatment :)

"Bruce Thomas," you say, the door to the study banging open as you swept into the room. A tiny hurricane of indignation and righteous fury.

"Oh dear," Alfred said taking a step back from the desk to get out of your mental cross hairs. It wasn't often that you took your husband to task for something but- the scoldings had been known to leave him thoroughly chastened AND leave anyone standing too close similarly afflicted.

"Sweetheart," he started, trying to head off the storm. Not realizing until you cut him off with a glare that it was already too late. You were in a lather and you would probably go toe to toe with God if he would deign to step into the ring.

You lean on the desk, heedless of his papers scattered about and smile dangerously, "Please. Tell me you didn't tell that child that he isn't your son he's your partner? Tell me he misunderstood you."

Bruce looked away uncomfortable and exhaled slowly, "Y/N I don't want-"

"Then you shouldn't have brought him home," you hiss. "A 9-year-old isn't your fucking partner, Bruce. A 9-year-old is a child that needs rules and boundaries and love."

Slowly Bruce met your eyes and nodded. He could hear the hurt and the pain. He'd brought Tim to the manor to protect him. And regardless of your feelings about it- the way having a little boy in the house again made you miss Jason so much you thought you were going to die. You'd opened your arms and let him close to you. Because your feelings weren't Tim's fault.

"You call him your partner again and so help me Bruce-"

"I'll apologize?" he tried. He'd have preferred you just come in and shout at him. The fury was giving way to tears, and he had no defense for that.

"With Icecream and a fucking puppy if need be," you tell him, pulling back to wipe away angry tears. "Who says that to someone? Have you lost your mind?"

"Madam," Alfred said, clearing his throat, proffering a box of tissues as Bruce sat there paralyzed.

"I'll put the money in the-"

"Bah," Alfred said waving the words away as you took a tissue and turned your back for a second to wipe your face. "Sometimes swear words are warranted. I think this may be such an instance." He shot Bruce a look and glanced towards you as you were about to sweep back out of the room.

And All Bruce could do was make a little helpless gesture. When you'd swept over the threshold, he'd expected there to be an actual fight. Not this. A Fight he could handle. But hell if he knew what to do when you cried. He hadn't known the entire 10 years you'd been together- it wasn't logical. And it didn't happen often enough for him to establish a pattern.

They watched you go and Bruce exhaled slowly, "I should go find Tim-"

"Probably wise," Alfred said disapprovingly. "Honestly Bruce- I know it's been hard. But. You weren't the only person who lost a son. And before she even had time to breathe, you handed her another child- and you expect her NOT to be fiercely protective of him?"

Bruce winced. "I didn't think-"

"No," Alfred snorted, "That much is obvious."

[kats-fic-recs]

My favorite Gaara/Rock Lee Fics

idk man idk I read ONE story because I was curious and now I have this whole list. All I can say is these stories are amazing.

1) Skeleton Key

Words: 21,504 Chapters: 5/5 Rating: T

Rock Lee: Handsome Green Devil of the Leaf Village! Master of the Eight Gates! . . . Consort of the Kazekage?

When Lee is asked to pose as Gaara’s significant other at a coronation in order to avert an assassination attempt, he readily agrees. He’ll do anything to protect Gaara. Even if he has to leave his weights at the door. Even if he has to face down the Wind Country diplomats who don’t consider him a shinobi because he can’t do ninjutsu. Even if he has to spend hours looking at Gaara’s handsome face in ceremonial makeup. (This may be more difficult than he anticipated.)

2) your quietest feeling

Words: 9,607 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: T

“Inta ktkoot.”

Shijima froze as if she’d been caught in her own defective sharingan. Surely she’d misheard. She’d never known the Kazekage to use an endearment, much less to call someone adorable.

Or, five times Rock Lee utterly misunderstood the Kazekage, and one time they understood each other perfectly.

3) Sleeptalk With Me

Words: 19,565 Chapters: 4/4 Rating: T

“What is it?” Gaara whispered. “What do you see?”

Lee smacked his lips, the sound wet and echoing in Gaara’s ear.

“The turtles … I tore up their contract,” Lee mumbled, “and now they’re pissed.”

During a joint mission to Snow Country, Gaara discovers that Lee has a unique sleep habit.

4) Gate of Dreaming

Words: 27,893 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M

The world was bathed in a red light, soft like rose petals, but not quite pleasant. Not quite peaceful. The red light hid something sinister within, but the world over no one was awake to notice.

High above, the moon bled.

5) Until the Last

Words: 14,877 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: G

Sand still hovered around him constantly, holding him even when Gaara was gone, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Gaara.

|| Lee falls into a coma after a mission and Gaara waits impatiently for him to wake up ||

6) Oh Mr. Nurse I've Fallen (For You) And I Can't Get Up.

Words: 9,785 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M

"Ah, then if you're related to him means you got into some type of accident while 'getting busy' right?"

----

Gaara becomes the designated driver everytime someone hurts themselves, but the moment his eyes land on ER Nurse Rock Lee, he suddenly cant wait until next time someone gets hurt so he can drive them back to see the man work in those tight- to the point of bursting- scrubs of his.

4 times Gaara drove someone to the ER and 1 time he ended up there.

7) Odd One

Words: 7,953 Chapters: 3/? Rating: Gen

Gaara is a little bit weird, but Lee likes him anyway.

8) a fireside waltz

Words: 6,664 Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M

In an effort to resist the urge to sweep Gaara into an embrace, Lee forces himself to look at Gaara’s forehead – not those eyes that entrance, or those lips that beg to be kissed – and spies a splotchy birthmark under his tousled bangs, vaguely in the shape of a heart. Even his birthmarks are adorable. Is there anything about this man that isn’t utterly captivating?

If there is, it’s not his smile, tiny and shy when Lee and Gaara take hands for the second time.

Nor is it the longing glance Lee thinks Gaara gives him when they must part.

9) Word and Deed

Words: 19,086 Chapters: 4/? Rating: T

Gaara finds the name for the first time a month and two days before Lee’s forty-seventh birthday, the thread-like kana blurring into the damp Konohan earth sticking to his skin so he thinks at first he’s imagined it. It’s forgotten with a blink and a shake of his head.

————

Or “Lee’s a blank, and Gaara discovers he’s something of a late-bloomer.”

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 29: “Frontline Base”

Even heroes need some downtime. Show us what the schoolyard crew gets up to when they’re not saving the world or studying for finals. Sleepovers perhaps?

BROT4 GOOOO!

Seven pages of pure, nonsensical fluff.

Jesse jerks as the door bangs open and Christina leans in, breathless and giddy. “Jay, movie night at Lexi’s!”

“Sweetness!” Jaden scrambles to his feet, all but abandoning the cards spread out between them as he sweeps his deck back into its box.

Hold up. “What?” Jesse glances between his new friends in confusion.

“We watch movies in Alexis’ room,” Jaden says like this is a perfectly natural occurrence.

“Yeah, no, I got that.” Jesse frowns, trying to think back to the rules and regulations sheet he’d been handed at orientation. “I thought guys weren’t allowed at the Girls’ Dorm?”

Jaden makes finger quotes and winks. “You coming?” he asks, already halfway out the door. Christina shouts at him to hurry up from the distance.

Oh, okay. So this is a thing. “Sure.” Collecting his own cards, Jesse slots them all neatly into his deck box. He isn’t about to turn down an open invitation, arbitrary rules be damned. Christina hangs out down here enough.

The smile Jaden gives him looks like a miniature sun. Then he charges down the stairs after Christina. Jesse hurries to catch up.

*

The Slifer Dorm and Obelisk Girls’ Dorm are the farthest from each other, so it’s a fair bit of a walk. Jesse tries to pay attention to the route to remember it later and fails, because it’s either that or lose track of what his new friends are saying. As it is, the pair use terms that Jesse isn’t familiar with yet. Christina’s quick enough to translate or explain as best she can; Jaden’s English is a lost cause.

The building finally comes into sight. Jaden immediately veers off to the side as they approach and makes a choked noise as Christina grabs him by the collar. “It’s a different room!” she hisses and proceeds to lead them around the back of the building.

“Right…”

They enter through a tiny door that Jesse would bet money students aren’t even supposed to know exists and weave their way through the hallways up to the second floor. The layout is definitely different than the Obelisk Boys’ Dorm from what little time he’s spent there. Still stupidly posh. Jaden charges headfirst into the room as soon as Christina points to it.

“Yo, Lexi! First movie night of the year!” He flops face first into the mattress. “Man have I missed these beds.”

“Nice to see you too.” Alexis huffs with a grin, glancing up from the adjacent desk as Jesse shuts the door behind himself. She visibly startles at the sight of him, and Jesse freezes as he considers for the first time that he might have received the invite from the wrong person.

Well, shit. This just got awkward.

“Oh, right, uh-” Sitting up, Jaden glances between Alexis and Jesse before giving Alexis a big, cheesy grin that looks nothing short of terrified. “-plus one? If you don’t mind.”

Surprisingly, Alexis relaxes with no more than a breath. “It’s fine. Just send me a heads up next time.”

“Heads up!” Jaden chirps with another smile made of sunlight. No idea what that means, but Christina starts giggling and Alexis shakes her head like an exasperated parent. She doesn’t seem mad though, so Jesse figures it’s safe to join Christina by the couch instead of letting his Beasts guide him back to his own room for the night.

“You’ve got a single room this year,” Jaden says, glancing around the space. It looks a lot like the one Jesse was given - really big and really empty with far too much space for a single person.

��Yeah. I got one too, not that I’ll be using it.” Christina shrugs as Jaden hops off the bed and belines toward the window.

“You’ll probably end up crashing here when you’re not at the Slifer Dorm,” Alexis agrees, clicking out of the program she had open on her computer before standing.

Christina beams. “You know me so well.”

“You have a balcony!”

“Which is why-” Alexis holds out a key between her and Christina, seemingly ignoring the Slifer leaning out her window. “-I got an extra.”

Squealing, Christina snatches the key and hugs the other girl. “They can’t keep besties apart!”

“Hey!”

“Oh, hush.” Christina waves a hand at Jaden’s offended expression. “You’re my boy bestie. Lexi’s my girl bestie.”

For a moment, Jaden pouts and Jesse wonders if he just stumbled into some friendship drama, but then the Slifer shrugs and returns to studying something outside below the balcony. “Fair enough.”

Should Jesse really be here? He took up the offer - that wasn’t even from the person who’s room this is - on a whim. He’s barely known these people two weeks when they’ve all known each other at least two years.

“Jaden, get back in here.” Alexis twists to chide the Slifer still standing transfixed on her balcony.

Jaden doesn’t budge. “As soon as I figure out the best route!”

“Route?” Curiosity overriding the sense of displacement, Jesse joins Jaden on the balcony.

“Yeah, up and down.” Jaden leans over the balcony railing, face scrunched up in concentration. “Climbing’s easier than sneaking through the hallways every time.” He says that like he does this often. So this is definitely a thing. Jaden and Christina struck Jesse as the rebellious type; Alexis not so much. But hey. Jesse likes being wrong; means he gets to learn new things.

Poking his own head over the railing, Jesse looks down the side of the building, already spotting places to grab hold or balance a foot. “There’s a few…” he mumbles, sliding back into his mother tongue. Getting to them from the balcony is the tricky part. Glancing up at the treeline, he spots an overhanging branch just close enough to grab hold and reaches up to give it a tug. It holds firm so he shifts his weight, braces, and swings himself up with a practiced ease. Jaden gapes like a fish and Jesse smirks.

“Get down!” Alexis hisses, sharp tone chasing away most of his pride. “It’s still daylight!”

Right. And he and Jaden aren’t supposed to be here. Jesse doesn’t fancy getting himself kicked out this soon. He can understand the intention behind not allowing boys in the Girls’ Dorm but the fact there’s been no indication of a similar rule for girls at the Boys’ Dorm does imply a few things. Jaden still looks starstruck when Jesse lands next to him. “Dude, teach me?”

“Sure. Later?”

“Sweetness!” Jaden bounces back into the room with an enthusiasm that, for once, looks entirely genuine and Jesse finds himself smiling too. “So what are we doing first?” Jaden looks to the girls for input.

“Well, since you’re here-” Alexis turns a confident grin in Jesse’s direction, and Jesse has to stop himself from shying away from the sudden attention. Alexis’ eyes are as sharp as her smile “I wanted to get a better look at that deck.”

Oh, okay, this is familiar. Running thumb over his deck box, Jesse feels his Beasts vibrate with anticipation. He grins. “Sure. Duel?”

“Game on.”

*

They spread out the cards between them on the coffee table, sitting on those pillow things the Japanese substitute for chairs. Christina bounces between rooting for Alexis and rooting for Jesse play by play.

“Who’s side are you on?” Jaden asks, chin propped on Jesse’s shoulder where it’s been pretty much the entire match.

“Both!” Christina chirps from her seat next to Alexis.

“That’s not how it works!”

Sure it is; Jesse tries to hide his laugh behind his cards. Although he’s flattered that Jaden’s apparently willing to take his side, who really wants to pick sides between friends?

Christina hums, leaning back with a suspiciously smug expression. “Should I tell you that next time Sy and Hassleberry start fighting over your attention?”

Jesse feels Jaden cringe as he pulls away. “They don’t duel over me! That’s different.”

“They did once.”

“What?! When?!”

“You were in space chilling with a dolphin man.”

“What?” Jesse jerks, misplaying his next card as he gapes at the redhead.

Christina only breaks into giggles as Jaden angrily pouts. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope!”

“Space??” Jesse repeats in an effort to distract himself from the horrible position he just put himself in on the board as he passes the turn to Alexis. He had to have misunderstood that.

“Neo Space,” Jaden says in English which does absolutely nothing to curb Jesse’s confusion. “Not actual space. It was like…” He trails off with a frown.

“A separate plane of reality,” Hummingbird says from where he’s been perched over the game board with vested interest. “Another dimension.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Yeah what?” Alexis asks without even looking up from her cards, and Jesse automatically braces for the backlash.

“Uh, a separate plane of reality,” Jaden repeats. “Or dimension, I guess?”

“So like the Dominion,” Christina muses.

“Makes sense.” Taking out his defense, Alexis sets a card and passes the turn to Jesse.

Oh, right. Even Jaden’s friends who can’t see them too just kinda accept that he can see spirits. Feels weird to talk about it so casually, but Alexis doesn’t look bothered at all. “So what’s this Dominion place?” he asks as he draws his next card. Ah, sweet! He needed this!

“You don’t know?” The confusion in Christina’s voice pulls Jesse’s attention away from his cards again.

“No?” But now he feels like he should.

“It’s where they come from.” Christina gestures to the cards on the table. “The Dominion of the Beasts. Well, most of them.” She glances at the Neospacian perched on the arm of the couch.

Jesse should probably be less surprised that duel spirits are from an entirely different plane of existence. “And ya couldn’t have mentioned that?” he turns to grumble at the tortoise by his side.

Emerald blinks slowly and sounds far too honest as he answers, “It wasn’t relevant?”

And Jesse thought Athena had been cryptic. Actually, why hadn’t she or the other fairies ever told him about this Dominion place?

“To be fair, I don’t hear a lot of other duel spirits talk about the Dominion.” Jaden plops his chin back on Jesse’s shoulder and squints at the cards in his hand. “Oo, that one!” his hand snakes around the other side of Jesse’s head to tap a spell in his hand. “I only know about it cuz of you and Dark Magician Girl.”

“And we’ve been there,” Alexis says, and Jesse’s head snaps up again.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Jaden agrees far too casually.

This is probably the part where Jesse should just stop asking questions.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Christina groans flopping backwards onto the floor. “Or I’ll have to go track down Pharaoh to kick Banner’s ghost.”

“Banner’s what?” Alexis and Jaden ask at nearly the same time and Jesse is glad to finally not be the only one in the room with no idea what’s going on.

“I…” Christina hesitates, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t actually want to explain that one.”

“You can see ghosts?” Alexis stares at the other girl with no small amount of shock.

“Yup.”

“What does Pharaoh have to do with it??” Jaden almost looks afraid of the answer, and frankly, Jesse doesn’t blame him. Does this Banner guy possess the dorm cat? He’s seen that cat hang out in the rafters of Jaden’s room. And now there might be a dead guy watching them.

“You don’t want me to answer that.” Christina pulls herself back up to sit properly on her floor pillow with a sigh. Jaden squints her a while longer before turning his attention back to the nearly forgotten duel.

“Okay, but seriously, if you combo these cards-”

“No backseat duelin’!” Jesse tries to shake the other boy off as he taps the cards in Jesse’s hands again.

“I’m trying to help!” Jaden whines petulantly.

“Well yur not!” Jesse would rather fight his own battles, thank you very much, at least when it comes to a fair match like this between friends. Also Jesse can’t always follow Jaden’s scattered brained logic for card combos and still doesn’t understand how the guy won his last daily match.

"Ungrateful!" Jaden huffs, sitting back with his arms crossed and cheeks puffed out like a child. Jesse has to stop himself from reprimanding Jaden for it.

Alexis creams him. But Jesse spent half the duel distracted, so he’s not surprised. Just means they’ll have to have a rematch sometime to find out each other’s true strength. Jesse looks forward to it. By the look in Alexis’ eyes, she feels the same.

*

They end up smooshed together on Alexis’ bed watching movies on the obscenely large TV. Jesse stares at the screen like he’s never experienced an in-home theater and Christina has to admit the awestruck expression of complete immersion looks cute. Near the end of the movie he starts to fidget, pulling restlessly at his hoodie. Jaden didn’t even bring his jacket, so he’s just in his black t-shirt and the school issued track pants. Christina’s wearing her usual tank top and shorts, and Alexis changed into her pajamas before setting up the movie. Jesse’s the only one wearing long sleeves.

“Hey, å, do any of y’all care if I take this off?” Jesse asks as the credits roll, pulling at the white fabric.

“Was wondering why you were still wearing it,” Jaden mumbles.

“It’s...it’s my shirt,” Jesse says after a moment’s hesitation.

“Dude.” Jaden giggles against his shoulder.

He’s not wearing anything under it? Alexis sends Christina a glance and she shrugs. She sleeps at the Slifer Dorm most of the time anyway. Shirtless guys don’t bother her.

“No, that’s fine,” Alexis says.

“Cool.” Jaden sits up as Jesse pulls his hoodie up and Christina does a double take at those abs. What? She wouldn’t call it ‘chiseled’ by any means but, even in the dim light, distinctly defined muscles shift and ripple as the hoodie goes up over Jesse’s head. Hi there, pretty biceps.

“You work out?” she hears herself squeak and quickly clears her throat.

“Freerunning, mostly.”

Free what? Christina’s brain stumbles over the unfamiliar phrase. She recognizes both words but she’s never heard them mashed together like that, and just running does not give you biceps like that.

“That counts,” Alexis says. Glad one of them knows what he’s talking about. “Atticus tried it in middle school. He broke his arm and sprained his ankle.”

Jesse winces. “Yeah, it’s challenging. I’ve taken my share of tumbles.”

Okay they’re obviously not talking about just running. So what does the ‘free’ part mean? “Someone gonna explain?” Christina asks, glances between her friends. Jaden looks as confused as she does at least.

“Å…it’s like…” Jesse trails off as mumbling a few words in a language Christina doesn’t recognize. “Jumping off walls?” he tries.

The image that conjures is decidedly not the one Jesse is trying to convey. He makes a frustrated sound as Alexis reaches over Christina for her PDA. “I’ll look up a video. It’s hard to explain even without a language barrier.”

“Thanks,” Jesse mumbles, slumping into the pillows as Jaden leans on Alexis’ shoulder to peer at the screen. The video paints a much clearer picture of people running through back alleys and vaulting over walls and scaling buildings with their bare hands. It’s like the shit she and Jaden used to do in his backyard but cranked up to eleven.

“Teach me,” Jaden repeats, breathless with awe.

“Sure? It’s not something you learn overnight,” Jesse warns.

“Don’t care,” Jaden declares and flops back against the other boy’s shoulder. “You’re warm…” he sighs, immediately twisting to drape himself across Jesse.

“Å, yeah?”

Christina smirks. “Jay’s a heat leach.”

Jaden grumbles as Alexis reaches past him to place a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Okay, human heater goes in the middle.”

“Hva?” Jesse reacts with that word again that Christina can vaguely guess means something similar to ‘what’ in terms of expressing shock and confusion.

“Human heater goes in the middle,” she agrees and Jaden whines.

“But I wanna be middle!”

“Then you and Jesse can share the middle,” Alexis says, prompting Christina off the bed with her to make room for the shift. “Now come on, scoot.”

Whining the entire way, Jaden wiggles across the bed, dragging a still very much confused Jesse with him. A quick game of roshambo later, Alexis glares at her traitorous fist while Christina crawls in on Jesse’s other side. Ohhh, he is warm…

They debate over their next movie before finally throwing another one on. Christina doesn’t remember the end of it.

*

Jesse wakes with his face in a pillow, sandwiched between warm bodies and Jaden on top of his back.

He could get used to this.

[three-gulons-in-a-trenchcoat]

graffiti AU, Kam, need i say more >:)

You need not anon, you wish is my command :)

[note: this was written at 11:30 at night. It took me an hour to write this, and it’s unedited, so it probably sucks, anyways, enjoy!]

Dragon and Tiger

words: 1.1k

_______________________________

It was around midnight that Keefe Sencen heard a sharp knock on his window. He dropped his phone to his chest, craning his head towards the second story window. The beige curtain waved lazily in the night breeze fanning through the slightly ajar window as a gloved hand pushed it the rest of the way open.

Keefe grinned as a familiar head of silver and black hair poked its way through the opening.

Tam Song glanced up at him, a black beanie sat on top of his flat hair, his pale blue eyes darting around the room as Keefe made his way over to him.

He crouched down so he was level with Tam, cocking his head as Tams lips curled in a snarl, “ Need some help?” he asked innocently, reaching behind the boy's head.

Tam grunted as Keefe pulled the window the rest of the way open, falling to the floor with a less than graceful thump.

“You could have at least caught me” Tam grumbled, pulling himself up.

Keefe smirked, examining the boy as he adjusted his beanie, “So what's the plan tonight Bangs Boy?” he asked.

Tam glared at him as he stood up, crawling back through the window and picking up a black gym bag hidden in the shadows of the shingled roof,“ I’ll tell you when we get out here, just change your shirt into something darker and put on some shoes.”

Keefe frowned, glancing down at his loose white shirt and bare feet, “Whatever you say” he said, shrugging off his shirt and rummaging through his dresser for a darker option. He didn’t miss the way Tam gave him a one-over before averting his eyes.

Once Keefe had changed into more “appropriate attire” as Tam had stated, which Keefe had simply rolled his eyes at, the two boys made their way out of the Sencen household, and onto the empty streets.

“…Soo- you never answered my question earlier,” Keefe said, glancing at Tam, who carried the gym bag on one shoulder, his other shoved in the pocket of his black hoodie.

Tam shrugged the bag off of his shoulder, undoing the zipper and shoving the contents at Keefe.

Spray-paint.

Keefe grinned, his pearl-white teeth flashing in the night. Tam gulped.

“ooh Bangs Boy, you really outdid yourself this time.” Keefe made an attempt to grab the bag from the smaller boy’s clutches but came up dry when Tam snatched it away.

“Not yet,” Tam warned.

Keefe pouted, his ice-blue eyes sparkling, “ Why nottt?” he whined, and Tam rolled his eyes.

“Because the last time I gave you spray-paint we almost got caught.”

Keefe huffed, crossing his arms, “That was only one time” he grumbled.

A smile graced across Tam's face, a rare sight, and yet, Keefe Sencen always seemed to draw that out of him, especially when he was pouty.

“Were almost here anyways, you can have your precious paint soon Mr. Pouty”

Keefe cheered, and Tam shushed him, but smiles stayed on both of the boys’ faces the entire time, even if they both tried desperately to hide them.

_______________________________

The smell of paint fumes filled the air as Keefe shook another can of spray-paint, dusting the side of the wall with a pale shade of yellow.

Tam leaned against the part of the wall untouched by Keefe’s hands. He breathed out a puff of air, watching it cool and drift away into the night.

“You almost done?” Tam asked, dragging his gaze up to his blonde comrade. Tam had never had an eye for art, so when they went on escapades like this, he normally let Keefe take care of it.

Keefe wiped the sweat off of his forehead, sweeping his hair back and biting his lip as he leaned back to examine his artwork, nearly making Tam choke on air.

He covered it up with a cough as Keefe looked over his direction.

Keefe snickered, motioning with his hand for Tam to come over,” Yeah, I just added the finishing touches, comere and check it out.”

Tam pushed off of the wall, dragging his eyes up towards the wall as he stood next to Keefe.

His breath caught in his throat.

He had known Keefe was an amazing artist, he had seen enough of the boys doodles in class to know that. But this? This was insane.

In front of him stood a tiger and a dragon circling each other in the dead of night. both held fighting stances, both had their ears drawn back, with claws out and ready to fight. The tiger had its teeth bared in a snarl. But the dragon didn’t.

Its teeth weren’t bared, sure its claws were, but it looked at the tiger with amusement instead of rage. It nagged in the back of Tams’ head, reminding him of someone.

Keefe stared at Tam as the boy took in his artwork, a small smile gracing his features.

“It’s us,” Keefe said, finally breaking the silence.

Tam glanced at Keefe, he was facing Tam directly now, his eyes and posture reflected the dragon perfectly.

Tam snarled. Just like the tiger.

“Tiger and Dragon” Keefe mused, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“They are supposed to be mortal enemies,” Keefe continued,” But I think they are simply misunderstood.” Keefe reached out, softly grasping Tam’s face in his palm.

Tam inhaled sharply as Keefe cradled his cheek. His throat felt dry and his silence seemed to make Keefe more confident.

Keefe leaned closer, his lips a millimeter away from Tams, both of their eyes lidded

“Can I kiss you?” Keefe breathed, his breath fanning Tam’s face.

Tam didn’t answer, just surged forward, capturing Keefe’s lips in his.

Keefe made a pleased noise in the back of his throat as his hands shot out to steady the both of them. Tam’s fingers grasped the back of Keefe’s head, pulling him closer to him. He needed to be closers, impossibly closer to this boy.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until both of their lungs began to burn did they finally break apart, clinging to each other as the sun began to rise.

Tam closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Keefe’s, breathing heavily.

They opened their eyes at the same time the sun rose, painting the dark of their eyelids a deep red.

Keefe giggled, a snort making its way out of his nose before he could cover it up, looking up at Tam with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. Tam snickered at the way Keefe looked at him, and before both of the boys knew it, they were both on the ground, giggling and laughing over nothing and everything. Tears gathered in the corners of both of their eyes as they leaned against each other for support, unable to keep the smiles off of their faces, now no longer desperately to hide them.

Dragon and Tiger

Yin and Yang

_______________________________

send me some prompts!

[lokiondisneyplus]

Sasha Lane always plays the rebel. “Somebody make me a f***ing fairy princess, please,” says the actor, sighing with exasperation. “I promise I won’t say f***.” She is the type of plucky young star you imagine can do anything but, until now, Lane has excelled at playing the daring renegade, whether it’s as a teenage runaway in American Honey, the dazzling coming-of-age film that made her name in 2016, as a spliff-smoking “bad kid” in The Miseducation of Cameron Post, or, this month, as a violent fugitive in Amazon Prime’s Utopia.

The 25-year-old puts these sorts of roles down to her 20 tattoos and her dreadlocks. “I’m immediately seen as dirty and dark,” she says, recalling when she attended the illustrious Met Gala event in 2018, wearing a white lace dress. “I had diamonds in my hair – diamonds,” she says, with faux indignation. “Somebody was like, ‘She's so grungy.’ I was like, ‘What about this outfit says: ‘I'm gonna do a head bang and burn a town down?’ No. I'm sipping with my pinkie up and feeling very graceful and I wish you would just let me have my moment.”

Lane is just as captivating to watch on Zoom as she is in her films. She plays with her distinctive dreads – piling them atop her head, sweeping them over her shoulder – and her hands spiral around each other as she talks in a rhythmic southern drawl. When we speak, Lane has just got off a video call with her one-year-old daughter. She's currently in Atlanta, where she’s rumoured to be shooting the new Thor-spin off series, Loki, with Tom Hiddleston. “I'm just gonna skip over that one,” she says, laughing, when asked about it.

No one could have foreseen that Lane would end up here, though she is easily one of the most intriguing actors of the moment. She’d never planned on acting, let alone liked it, and thought she’d join the Peace Corps after college. But in 2014 her life changed forever when, aged 19, she was spotted on a Miami beach by Andrea Arnold. The director had just lost her lead actor for American Honey, the dizzying, sun-soaked Cannes Jury Prize-winner about a girl who decides to cut and run with a band of misfits. Among the tens of thousands of students getting wasted on spring break, Lane stood out.

“It was a crazy trip,” says Lane. “Me and my friends had been kicked out of a hotel and we ended up on this beach. I had no care in the world and that's when Andrea saw me.” Arnold told Lane she was making a film and later that night, while two of her friends were passed out from partying on her hotel bed, Lane improvised scenes in the lobby. “I had definitely been drinking that day, but I can hold my own,” she says now.

The next day over breakfast, Arnold asked Lane to stick around for another week. Lane was cautious. “I was like, ‘Alright, well if you turn out to be a murderer this is not gonna go well for you. I know s***. You're gonna have to really hack up my body if we're gonna do this.’ Which is weird to say to someone, but I did,” says Lane. She stayed, and by the end of the week she’d been cast in the film opposite Shia LaBeouf. She dropped out of college and flew out to Oklahoma to start shooting.

Her resulting performance as Star, a teenager from a broken home who hits the road with a travelling, partying sales crew in the midwest, was magnetic. With no professional experience, Lane managed to delicately balance her character’s mixture of vulnerability and grit.

Lane, like Star, left her life behind to go on the road with the film’s cast and crew. “I didn't know how to act,” she says. “So I didn't know what to do other than pull stuff from my own mind. I got to the point where I’d be crying to Andrea, saying, ‘I can't tell the difference between who I am and who Star is.’ We were in a bubble and had no visitors. We slept in s****y motels together, we were in the van for hours. There was no escaping American Honey.”

Star’s love interest in the film is the crew’s wild, hyperactive “business manager” Jake, a rat-tailed LaBeouf who Lane was reportedly dating off-screen. LaBeouf was intense on set. In one instance, Star was supposed to be angry with Jake, but Lane was struggling to conjure the emotion. “I was just laughing,” she says. “So Shia started telling me, ‘You're ruining this scene. You're f***ing ruining the whole movie.’ I knew what he was doing but it hurt and it was pissing me off. I just snapped and then they started filming and it was like, ‘Oh right, I see what you did there. You f***er.’ It was smart.”

The kids in the film, who are from forgotten, midwestern towns, are in a demographic that Donald Trump claims to be the voice of. Our interview is a week ahead of the 2020 election, and Lane is not convinced. “He's had his time and he has nothing to show for it,” she says. “He didn't deliver. I understood, especially back then, why certain people voted for him. They just wanted to believe that he would put money in and give us jobs, but it didn't work out that way.”

Like Star, Houston-born Lane moved around a lot as a child, between Texas, Florida and Dallas, and helped raise her little sisters. “I don't really like to talk about my family but my mom was gone a lot,” she says. “I played this role of being the glue, trying to keep everyone together. I grew up really, really young. Bad things happened to me as a kid but I had this feeling that it made me a better person. I have empathy and perspective.” As a result, she continues, she “internalised a lot because I never wanted people to feel my pain. I wanted to appear strong and light and be able to take care of everyone. Meanwhile, I would sit in my closet, give myself like 10 seconds to cry, then I would suck it up and be like, ‘OK, move forward, time to go get my sisters some food and act like everything's OK.’ I got really good at pretending things were OK.”

When Lane went to college, she started to crack. “I ended up getting diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder,” she says. “There are voices in your head, things are really dark. It's hard to explain to people who care about you that you can't sleep and you're hearing voices all day and you're sad and you're just tired. By the time I was a teenager, I was so tired.”

In the weeks before Lane met Arnold in 2014, the voices were “saying something nice for the first time”. “They told me, ‘Hold on, something’s coming that will allow you to fill your purpose and let you breathe,’” she says. “People ask me all the time, ‘If American Honey didn't happen, what would you be doing?’ Truly, I don't think I'd be here. I think it saved my life.”

There is a serendipity to Lane’s acting career. First, American Honey came out of the blue. Then, in 2018, she starred in Desiree Akhavan’s gay conversion drama The Miseducation of Cameron Post as a girl raised in a hippy commune. The part resonated with Lane as someone who refuses to put a label on her sexuality and whose brother had a difficult time growing up gay and black in Houston. “I've never seen myself as someone who's like, ‘Hey, I'm queer, I'm bisexual, I'm this,’” says Lane. “I just have a very broad and open and unique way of loving. I can literally fall in love with a f***ing squirrel. Anyone.”

Her brother, she says, “always prayed he’d be normal”, much like the characters in Cameron Post try to “pray away the gay”. She says the film moved some elderly conservative viewers to tears and has helped to change people’s minds.

After that, Lane landed roles in the warm indie drama Hearts Beat Loud and the horror Daniel Isn’t Real, and her latest project is the US remake of Dennis Kelly’s Utopia, about a gang of bright youngsters who are in possession of a cult graphic novel that seems to predict disastrous real-world epidemics, making them the target of a shadowy deep state organisation. Lane plays yet another woman on the run, Jessica Hyde, who has been evading The Network all her life and who helps the young group survive.

Lane studied feral cats to get into the character’s mindset. “For them, everything is survival mode,” she says. “You're terrified someone's gonna capture you. You don't hang in packs because you're a loner. That's Jessica Hyde.”  

She may be stuck playing the rebel but, through playing misunderstood outliers like Jessica Hyde and Star, Lane wants her work to bring people together and help us to understand each other. “I’m not the biggest public speaker,” she says, “but if I can make films that touch hearts and connect people, that's beautiful. Of course I want to be a part of that.”

[childofhelios]

“flower blooms and falls scars cure and buds shoot”

ship: Hades!Doyoung x Persephone!Taeyong

characters: Doyoung, Taeyong, with appearances by Jeno and mention of Zeus!Johnny and Poseidon!Ten 

rating: general/teen for slight injury and mentions of blood, also slight possessiveness from Doyoung but he regrets it very soon after

genre: fluff with angst for like .5 seconds

word count: 2.8k

title was taken from seventeen’s fallin’ flower, which is really good to listen to while reading! also, tell me if there are any mistakes bc i did convert a piece of my other writing into this fic. but anywho enjoy and feel free to send a message/ask about what you think about it :DDDD

“Taeyong, please just come out.” I lean my forehead against the black, walnut door where I can hear him franticly running around her room.  “We can talk about this like civilized people.” I hear him begin to mutter under his breath and I catch him saying my name and a few unpleasant phrases that I wish weren't associated with my name, but alas. “Taeyong, don’t you think you’re being a little immature? You’re acting like a child!” 

I almost fall forward as the door opens suddenly. Taeyong’s eyes were ablaze with fury as he stares at me in front of his door.  

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Doyoung. I just didn’t expect to get kidnapped by someone that I’ve never met, starved for six months, accidentally eat a pomegranate, and then be stuck in this terrible, dreary place with no other company other than the dead and you. And I would rather spend time with the dead!”  

“Believe me, the dead are worse company than I am.” 

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” I jolt at his loud voice echoing through the manor. I’ve had his presence for over six months, and I’m still not used to having people around me. To having an actual living, breathing person in my company. He sweeps a hand through bubblegum pink bangs and takes a deep sigh. “Doyoung, I beg of you. The humans need me. Without me, they’ll die. I need to go back on the surface to assist my mother.” 

I roll my eyes. “Humans are made to die. It’s how they're made to be. Plus, She’s is a goddess that has been around for centuries. She was able to assist humans without you there. Besides,” I take a hold of his hands, his beautiful tan contrasting against the blueish pallor of mine, “didn’t you say you loved me?” 

Yanking his hand out of mine, he says, “I said I loved you a little. And if I knew that it would go straight to your head and you would try to use against me, I wouldn’t have said it. If you had given me the chance, maybe it could have grown. Maybe I would have been able to become your bride.” 

“Taeyong, you can’t leave. I finally got used to having someone with me. You can still become my husband.” 

“Doyoung. You can’t just keep me here because you’re lonely.” 

I sigh and rise to my full height, towering over him slightly. “You’ve misunderstood me. You can’t leave. I forbid it.” 

He scoffs and pushes past me. “Haven’t you heard of free will? I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” Before he rounds the corner, something whizzes by his face. He whips around, furious with a small cut on his cheek beginning to spill golden ichor. I stride up to him and yank the sharpened ruby out of the wall.  

“It seems that you've forgotten who I am. I am Doyoung, the god of the underworld and riches. I am one of the oldest gods to exist and I’ll be one of the last to disappear. Did you think you’ll be able to leave that easily? This is my domain and I decide what comes in and out of it. And you,” I crush the ruby and let the powder run through my fingers like sand, “aren’t going anywhere, my little lotus. Now, you can walk to your room on your own, or I can have Cerberus escort you back there. Your choice, my dear.” 

If looks could kill, I would already be six feet under as Taeyong stares up at me. Slowly, he steps away and walks in the direction of his door. I watch as he leads a trail of ichor and shuts his door with a forceful SLAM! 

 I begin walking towards my quarters. As soon as I close my door, my knees give out. “Gods, why did I do that? You know that he’s right. We can’t force him here; he’s going to be unhappy and what’s the point of having him here if he’s upset the entire time?” I stare down at my hands as they tremble slightly. “I injured him. On purpose, I made him bleed.” It’s a weird feeling to be shaken by blood when that’s what I deal with every day. I see the most gruesome of murders and war causalities but injuring a minor god has me shaking in my boots. I wobble over to my sink and submerge my face underwater. I came up gasping for air and catch my reflection in the mirror. At the rate I’m paling, I’ll look more like a ghost than the people outside the manor. My eyes resemble the darkest of obsidian and have deep eye bags underneath them, my face is sunken in as if I’m a beggar from the streets, and my hair is matted in every which way. The longer I stare at myself, the more I can see the monster Taeyong must see.  

“JENO!” My voice booms and seconds later, a pile of bones bursts through the door. No, quite literally, a disassembled skeleton falls through my door and onto the ground before me. The skull, sporting a flat cap, turns towards me and grins widely.  

“Master Doyoung! What can I do to help you today?” 

“Please tend to Mr. Taeyong from now own. First, make sure his wound is taken care of. Second, make sure he eats, sleeps, and does whatever else he needs and wants to do. Do you understand?” 

“Absolutely, Master. He’s in the right hands. Or, um, bones.” 

“No tricks, Jeno. I don’t think our guest would appreciate that. And neither would I.”  

Jeno’s voice takes on a mischievous tone. “Guest? Don’t you mean groom, Master? Unless you’re having second thoughts?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean. But I do know this.” I pick up the skull and stare fiercely where the eyes would have been. “If you do anything to upset her, I will crush your bones into powder and use it as incense for the next 30 years. Do you understand?” 

“Would my bones even last that long?” 

“Do you really test me right now?” 

“Fine. I understand. Now, can you please put me back together again?” I roll my eyes, but I set down the skull in the middle of the bones. My eyes glow a bright gold and with a wave of my hand, the skeleton assembles once more. He fidgets with his cap.  

“Now, that’s much better!” 

“What happened to you?”  

“Cerberus tried to use me as a chew toy. Again.” 

“I knew there was a reason he’s my favorite.”  

“I would take personal offense to that but, he’s my favorite too.”  

“Go to Taeyong. Make sure she’s alright.”  

“Your wish is my command, Master.” As he walks out the door, his bones clatter and then I’m left in silence. I fall back into my bed, wondering if I should just apologize to him directly. I did act unreasonably, and I shouldn’t have let my anger explode like that, but I don’t want him to leave. As I lay there, I slowly drift off.  

 The next month is difficult for multiple reasons. First, immediately after I send Jeno to take care of Taeyong, he throws a fit and makes flowers grow out of every hole in his skeletal body. Then, he refuses to eat with me or even look at me. I would walk down the hall and he’d sprint into a side room just to avoid me. And let’s not even get started with the escape attempts. You would think after about 10, he would give up. But no. He has tried to escape more than 50 times. Fifty. I swear to the gods, he’s making me grow gray hairs just from stress. Then we have Johnny, Ten, and practically the entirety of the Pantheon breathing down my neck trying to bring her back. And I’ve explained to them multiple times that it’s the law of the underworld and I can’t change it simply because one young goddess is down here. But now, Thunder Thighs and Kelp-for-Brains can’t grasp it for some reason.  

I sit behind my desk, grasping my head as I glare at the piles of scrolls in front of me. You would think death was pretty cut and dry, but no. I have to deal with making sure bodies end up with families, people don’t act on stupid grudges and become monsters to kill people, or something else entirely stupid. I pick up one scroll when the door cracks open.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you if you disturbed me, I would- “  

“Let Cerberus year me apart and keep me as his chew-toy, I know, I know. But it’s urgent.”  

I drop the scroll in my hand. “If it means I can get out of my work, I’m all ears.”  

“Mr. Taeyong…. He’s disappeared again, Master.”  

The pounding in my head worsens. “Oh.” 

“Shall I go after him? Or maybe send some people after him?” 

“No, just leave him. If he’s this persistent to leave, then we should just let him go.” 

“But, Master!” 

“Enough, Jeno. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a rest before I break the law of my land.” I stand and stagger my way to my bedroom, ignoring Jeno’s shouts and how my head worsens with each step I take. Ugh, this whole affair is such a mess. I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved with him in the first place. I close my eyes and the next time they open; the sky had faded from the morning’s light dusk to the afternoon’s midnight blue. I rise with my robes wrinkled and sleep in my eyes. I find my way to the kitchen and snag an apple before heading to the endless pile of scrolls I left. On my way there, I see Taeyong’s door slightly ajar.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you about going through other people’s things? You never-” Instead of seeing that insufferable skeleton with a guilty grin, I find Taeyong unpacking a bag. “You’re back.” 

“Not by choice, unfortunately.”  

“Oh? I thought you had left. Did Jeno stop you? I told him not to and not to send anybody either.” 

“No, my mother stopped me. Talked about how if I came back before my time here was finished, you would kill any human that even breathed wrongly. So, now I’m back here. I’m sure you’re ecstatic about it.” 

“No!” He looks at me suspiciously, setting down the robes he took out of his bag. “I knew you didn’t want to be here, so I thought not going after you once you had left would finally let you be happy. But it appears to be untrue.” He shakes his head and turns back to his clothes. “If there’s anything I can do that would make it easier for the next five months, please tell me.” 

“I don’t know. Not being here would be pretty great.” 

I wince. “Other than that?” 

“Answer this for me. You say you want me here, but you act like a shriveled prune every time I’m near. Why?”  

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean.” 

“I mean this! This is both the most you’ve ever spoken to me and the nicest you’ve been to me. It’s been a month and we’ve barely talked.” 

“So, what should I do?” 

He walks past me to the door and looks back at me from the doorframe. “Show me. Be sincere and I’ll see if I’ll want to stay.” He walks off and I’m just left stupefied in her room. I all but sprint to my office and start scrawling out two letters.  

I summon Jeno and give him a message. “Give this to Ten and Johnny. Tell them to respond to me immediately.” 

If immediately means 6 days later, I fear for their subjects. As I skim through both of their letters, I see the same pattern of making fun of me, attempting to help, and then making fun of me again. I should have expected it from Airhead, but I thought Ten would be at least somewhat helpful. I throw both of their scrolls in the fire because there was no use in keeping those around. I slam my head into my desk a couple of times, wallowing.  

Over several days, I tried every trick known to man and god. But it either ends with me making a fool of myself or just making Taeyong even angrier. I squat in the garden and hang my head in defeat. The artificial sun in the sky beats down on my skin and my hands are covered in coarse dirt.  

“Master, are you sure you don’t want us to help you? We have staff for this sort of thing.”  

I look back at Jeno. “For the fifth time, Jeno, I truly don’t mind doing this. At least, this is something to distract me from my work. I think my headache is getting better too.” 

“That must be true, sir, because you haven’t stopped smiling since you started planting. “ 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I look towards the lavender sprigs sitting next to me. “I was just thinking of Taeyong’s reaction when he sees this. I hope this brings a little bit of happiness to his stay here.” I continue planting the lavender until there was a cluster in the section closest to the entrance. At this point, I’ve only put half of the flowers in the ground. But I feel pride swell in my chest as I look at the tiny cluster I planted.  

“What are those?” I whip around to see Taeyong standing on the steps. 

“Oh, um. I was just planting some flowers in the garden. I know you’ve missed nature so I thought I would try to bring some to you.” 

“Wouldn’t they just die?” 

“No. I’ve been trying to grow different types of flowers down here and lavender was the only one that survived.” He continues to stare at me with a mysterious look in his eye. After a couple of seconds, he speeds down the stairs and gets on his knees in front of the sprigs I just planted. “What are you doing?” 

He snaps at me. “Shut up.” If it had been anybody else, they wouldn’t have been saying another word for the rest of their lives and even after that. But I close my mouth and I study Taeyong and he studies the lavender. His hands glow a soft pink and the lavender turns vibrant, almost energized. “There. That should help it for a little while.” 

“What did you just do?” 

“Just gave it a little pick-me-up.” I nod in understanding and Taeyong moves where I had placed the other flowers. “Where were you going to put these?”  

I point at the other side of the garden and he strides over there with the flowers in hand. “Ah, Taeyong. There’s no need. I have this under control.” 

He scoffs. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for the flowers because you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“Isn’t it just simply putting the plants into the ground and tending to their needs?” 

“Oh, gods. It’s so much more than that. You must be gentle and treat them with the utmost care. You move slowly and fluidly. Come here, I’ll show you.” I squat next to him and see him sprinkling dirt to cover the roots. “Doyoung?” 

“Yes, Taeyong?” 

“Did you know that there’s a language just for flowers?” 

“Really? Fascinating. Is it possible for me to learn? Can you understand it? Wait, has the lavender been speaking the entire time?” 

Taeyong giggles and the artificial sun shines brighter. “Not that kind of language. Each flower has its own meaning. Roses are passion, daisies are innocence, carnations are good fortune, etc.” 

“Wow, then what’s lavender?” 

He stares directly into my eyes, the mysterious look back on his face. “A lot of things but to name a few: purity, calmness, and... devotion.” 

The sun beats down harder, feeling like ants are crawling over my back. “Oh.” 

“Mhm. That’s why they’re one of my favorite flowers. They have a pure message, they’re absolutely beautiful, and they’re able to grow anywhere.”  

“Oh.” 

“Doyoung, do you understand what I’m saying?” 

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

His eye twitches and throws a handful of dirt at my chest. “You’re a fool. I’m saying I return your affections. I acknowledge your feelings and feel the same way. Gods, I’m saying I love you and I’m willing to become your husband.” 

It didn’t fully register so my response was: “Oh, that’s nice.”  

“Let’s just continue planting these before it gets too dark, or at least darker. Then, we can discuss this later.”  

And so, we spent the afternoon tending to the flowers and as the day faded to night, we fell asleep with “I love you’s” littering the air like the sweetest and most intoxicating perfume.  

[mentalmimosa]

far too simple (pt. 2)

Part I here.

When the doctor arrives home at half-past seven, far later than he’d meant to, the blaze of the day has faded. He pushes through the front door with his coat on his arm, a thin sheen of sweat beading over his neck and clouding the skin on his face. He needs a wash desperately, a bucket of cold water and some rosewater soap; a good meal and then some kind hours of sleep. Too many calls today, too much glad-handing. Maybe, he thinks with a stretch, wincing as his stiff knee starts to bark, Mary’s picked a fine night to be gone. He’ll be of no use to anyone on this evening.

“Holmes?” he calls. “Are you here?”

A vague sort of sound comes from the kitchen. “No need to ask the same question of you,” Holmes calls. “You’re quite pungent, you know.”

“I am aware.”

Holmes’s head appears around the door jam. “Then for the love of god, please clean yourself, doctor. I’m not sitting down to supper with you smelling like that.”

“Says the man who bathed in camphor for a month!”

“That was an experiment!”

“No, that was torture. For everyone, I suppose, except you. We had complaints from the neighbors, do you remember?”

A flit of a smile. “I remember, yes. You talked them out of calling the police.”

“I bribed them,” the doctor corrects, tugging at the laces of his boots. “With your half of the next month’s rent, as I recall.”

“Well, you’ve no such excuse as science for smelling like a monkey.”

“Don’t I? What do you suppose I’ve been doing all day? Gallivanting in the sunshine for fun?”

“Tsk. You are tired, aren’t you?” Holmes says primly. “You do get short when your bones are weary. Mary and I have discussed it several times.”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Yes. Now shoo. There’s a fresh pitcher in your bedroom. And some semi-decent soap, I should think.”

“There’s what?” The doctor comes up short, his stocking feet skidding a bit on the floor. “I say. Did you lay that out for me, Holmes?”

“I did ask Gladstone to do it, but he was rather rude in his refusal.”

A warm feeling spreads through him that has naught to do with the heat. “Did Mary tell you to do that?”

Holmes’ cheeks turn delightfully pink. “She, ah--not in so many words.”

“Well then,” the doctor says, amused, “perhaps we’ll make a fine wife out of you yet, old boy.”

When he comes to the table freshly scrubbed, Holmes is still flushed, as if he’s stuck his head too close to the fire. Except there is no fire tonight, only a cold supper laid out beneath a confident candle, its flame twisting jauntily in the draft from the open window. A supper that Holmes, the doctor notices rather belatedly, when his own plate is nearly scraped clean, can’t be bothered to touch.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“It’s too hot to eat.”

“Which is why you’re smoking, obviously. To ward off the heat.”

He expects a comeback from Holmes, a snapshot bon mot. But his friend says nothing. Reaches instead for a match and a fresh cigarette with fingers that, in the shadows of the candle, appear almost to shake. Almost like the man was nervous, as if he’s holding himself on an edge.

“Holmes?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?"

“You seem...very ill-ease.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” The doctor sets down his fork, swallows the last of his buttered bread. “You do indeed.”

And it is at that moment that Holmes’s carefully-laid plans go awry.

The order of the evening was to be this:

See to it that Watson was refreshed, washed clean of the stress of the day.

Offer sustenance and good company. Give no hint that this evening, aside from the absence of the good Mrs. Watson, would offer anything other than the ordinary.

Brandy by the open windows in the parlor. Brief discussion, as needed, of anything of note that had occurred during the day.

Place hand on Watson’s knee. Make concise declaration of affection. Clearly state intention.

If acquiescence is received, pitch forward and press mouth to Watson’s. As needed, employ tongue.

And scene.

But what Holmes had not anticipated and now could not control was his fear.

What if Watson rejected him, shoved him to the floor and ran for the not-at-all metaphorical hills? Or what if he thought Holmes was joking? Oh gods, what if he took the whole thing as a great joke? What if he laughed when Holmes touched his face, when he at last said what his blasted heart had waited twenty-odd years to express?

What if he stared at Holmes coldly and told him that he was wrong, that he, the great bloody detective, had misunderstood every word and every gesture for the past twenty years?

What if he sent Holmes away?

At a simmer these thoughts were, all the hours of that long, lovely day, but when he’d seen Watson standing in the front hall, covered in dust and at least six different kinds of pollen and smelling of exertion, of sweat and strain, they’d been kicked to a boil, one only exacerbated by the basest, most delicious sort of want.

John looked liked he’d been working hard, had pushed his body to the limit and back, and oh, how Holmes was sure that he could make Watson look exactly like that given a few hours, the application of certain oils, and a big empty bed.

It took so much effort then to wait in the kitchen, to not stride down the hall and throw open the bedroom door and wrest the sponge away from Watson and spread his fingers over soapy skin and say unguarded things he desperately meant that when the doctor did come to table, smelling sweet now, scrubbed fresh, there was naught Holmes could do but suck in smoke and cling hard to the threads of his plan.

And then Watson says: “You seem...very ill-ease.”

Holmes sticks a new cigarette between his teeth, can’t remember how to light the damn thing. “Ah. Do I?”

“Yes. You do indeed.” The doctor leans forward, the western sky behind his head crowning him in a halo of light. “Are you sure that you’re well?”

There is a sound, one that Holmes will only hear later, one that only later can he understand came from him. In the moment, what he knows is the scrape of his chair, the tumble of the cig from his lips, the very startled expression on Watson’s face when Holmes’s hands cup it, the sweet cream smell of the doctor’s breath.

And then their mouths are joined at a rough and awkward angle, Watson half-twisted towards him, Holmes half-tumbled into his lap, and Holmes’s heart is a hammer, one banging certain on this is a terrible mistake until the moment when Watson’s hands find his hips, certain, and squeeze.

All at once, the kiss is Watson’s and Holmes is falling, following, leaning into Watson’s mouth, the play of his fingers, the confident sweep of his tongue, and vaguely, he’s aware of being manhandled, of being pulled bodily astride Watson’s thighs, of the soft little growl that accompanies every kiss.

He is weak, he is water, he is drowning in pounding waves and he’s aroused, god help him, shamelessly hitching himself against Watson’s body, his back banging against the table, the state of the supper dishes be damned.

It’s Watson who stops them, Watson who gets a fist in his shirt and pulls back. Hisses. “You kissed me, you bastard.”

Holmes opens his eyes and tips their foreheads together. “I did.”

“What on earth made you do such a thing?”

“Are you complaining?”

A chuckle, damp and soft across his chin. “No, Holmes. God, no. I’m just a little confused.”

“Ah, well. Your wife made me.”

“My wife,” the doctor says, incredulous. “My wife made you kiss me.”

“Well, she bade me to. Essentially the same thing.”

Watson lifts his head, stares wide into Holmes’s eyes. “She bade you to?”

“Yes. Glad to see your hearing’s not affected by your--”

“She bade you to,” Watson says again.

“She did.” Holmes traces the line of the doctor’s bright cheek. “She said some other very interesting and dare I say telling things.”

“Did she? Like what?”

“In summary?”

“If you like.”

“She said that we’re both fools for not doing this a long time ago.”

A hint of that growl, a hitch. “I’d say that she’s right.”

“And she gave us our blessing to do what we would tonight and she and I would sort it out in the morning.”

Watson pitches in and nuzzles the base of Holmes’s throat, his tongue a hummingbird on hot skin. “You and she will sort it out? Don’t I get a say?”

“As I’ve said many times before, you have a very wise wife.”

“I’ve never heard you say that. Not once.”

“I have,” Holmes breathes, stroking his fingers through Watson’s hair, tipping his head back to get more of that glorious mouth. “You must not have been listening.”

They stagger, when the time comes, to Holmes’s bed, and if Watson laughs at the fact that it’s been made for the first time in months--the sheets pulled up neat only to be snatched and torn down--bare skin against skin makes forgiveness easy, as does the eager brush of his hand.

“Oh,” Watson hums in Holmes’s ear, “you like that, don’t you?”

“I like a hand on my cock, yes, indeed. What a novel reaction.”

“No, you like that it’s me touching you. That’s what’s got you dripping.”

Holmes shoves at him, a gesture thoroughly belied by the arch of his back, his hungry press into the doctor’s tight fist. “Are you always this chatty in bed, Watson?”

A cruel, perfect stroke, one that incites a great whine. “Not always. But often.” He kisses Sherlock’s cheek. “Mary likes it. Do you?”

“That depends, I suppose, on further exposure. I don’t have enough data as of yet.���

“Hmmm. That is a quandary.”

Holmes swallows, dry grass on dry land. “What do you, ah--what do you say to her, then?”

“I pet her where she’s softest and tell her what it feels like. How wet she is, just from my fingers.” He bites gently at Holmes’s throat. “How good I’m going to make her feel as I get her ready for my cock.”

His blood is electricity, every thought a raw spark. “Oh,” he manages. “I see.”

Watson’s voice is a feather, a flicker of flame. “Would you like my cock, Sherlock?”

“Not yet,” Holmes whispers, sandpaper, clutching at the doctor's shoulders. “Talk to me some more first.”

[fantroll-purgatory]

@47098

I hope you don’t mind how long this is!! I’ve been working on her for a long time!

Don’t worry, we always appreciate well developed trolls!

The left is before the game and during the beginning phases, the right is after some self-reflection.

Alternia or Beforus or some type of AU?: Alternia

Name: MAROUX RAURBE

Maroux- Partially from Marcel Marceau, a famous mime. the -oux is from another famous mime, Etienne Decroux.

Raurbe- I don’t exactly remember, I think it was from another famous Mime? I’m not too fond of this last name tbh

Oh I have a friend who absolutely loves mimes, he’d be very excited about this character. I love her a lot! I think pantomime performance in general is a good place to seek names for her… So I think I’m going to replace Raurbe with Pierot. The Pierrot is sort of the origin of the sad clown and was originally regarded as a fool, and typically played a servile background role, but evenutally developed into an everyman image fondly regarded by post-revolutionary people and misunderstood artists. I think it sort of echoes Maroux’s role enough to be an effective surname. 

Maroux Pierot. 

Age: 6.9 sweeps

Weapon, since I don’t use specibi: Jack in the box weaponry, where she pulls out a jack in the box and when it unwinds a random weapon or joke pops out. These can range from anything as useful as a gun or sword, or as useless as a bag of confetti.

That is SO cute and definitely applicable within canon. I hope all the weapons get fun punny names, like if a staff comes out calling it The SlapStick.

Inventory: CIRCUS, where there is a constantly spinning wheel that her items are spinning on. She has to wait for the rotation to reveal the item she wants. It also displays her joviality, whereas most inventory systems in my story show health (like HP).

Maybe you could add a Wheel of Death element to this. Place each item on a target and she has to use a knife to hit the target without damaging the item if she wants to extract it.

Blood color: Purple (she isn’t a mutant or anything, her color scheme is just bright. shes meant to stand out but maybe she stands out a bit too much??)

To keep her canon compliant I’ll have to bring her blood color down, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure she still pops! 

Symbol and meaning: Her symbol is in the shape of a smile, almost. The loop in the center is supposed to be sort of reminiscent of her tricky nature, while the two lines on the side show her silence. I sort of came up with it on the spot, though.

A really cute symbol, but with regards to our newer rule I’m going to go ahead and replace it with. 

Capripia. It has a nice similarly loopy design and it represents the dream planet and class assignment that you gave her- which I totally agree with! The symbol’s name is ‘the Brusque,’ which fits her actions more than her speaking habits (since her speaking habits are None).

Trolltag: silentComedian [SC]

I think corporealComedian [CC] communicates what you’re going for in a much subtler way. Corporeal Pantomime was a sculptural pantomiming artform that focused a Lot of attention on the art and evocation of emotion through gesture. Like Advanced Miming. It fits in well with her general theme and interests.

Quirk:

OuO? UnU hEhEhE!!! DuD (At first she only giggles or uses emoticons. Later on she speaks more. She capitalized Es and uses rhyme.)

Adorable quirk and very fitting for a mime character. I like the capitalized E because it feels like it provides a good creepy emphasis on that laugh.

Lusus: A dove, unnamed because it died extremely early in her life. A dove… hm. I can see why you’d pick that. But purples have a tendency towards aquatic mammal lusii, at least from what we’ve seen so far. I don’t think it’s impossible for the dove, so you can keep it if you want- especially because they’re associated with magical acts and all! But I might recommend a Hooded Seal. If only because their inflating nose is very clowny and very, very funny. 

Personality: She’s super sweet, always smiling. She is extremely creepy, coming off that way intentionally. She thinks that her creepy attitude mixed with her odd interests and persona makes her comedy better, which it sort of does.

Extremely curious, she will read almost anything put in front of her. She enjoys books about or involving comedy the most, but she won’t say no to a good mystery or romance if it happens to pass by. She secretly loves them, but don’t tell anyone! Her curiosity leads her to have some extremely odd and sometimes nonsensical pieces of information in her mind, most of which is inconsequential because she can’t recite them. This leads to her knowing how to do things that others don’t, though, and that only adds to others interpretation of her as a mysterious and off-putting figure.

She has a vow of silence due to her involvement in the religion of the Subjuggulators. She was never really given much of a choice about her decision, mostly because she was sort of… born into it? Her lusus was murdered very early on, and she was taken in by them to become a sort of charity case. Their violent tendencies rubbed off on her, though, so she is incredibly strong and versitile in battle. She was an active member, seeing them all as her family, and would kill anyone they wished. She was essentially the reaper among them, the silent mime made to do dirty work. She had doubts, mostly because she reads a lot and learns about the trolls her group is bigoted against, but never had the guts to leave them. She also has some inherently bigoted ideals, despite her research into the lower castes. Even as the trolls she murdered would beg for life, she would offer them no mercy.

She does change later, though! Especially before she goes god tier.

I ADORE her personality and the detail and thought you’ve put into it. Her being in a role where she feels she has to listen to the cult and is influenced by them despite her research, and how she has to learn to be better… very compelling and a lot of development potential! 

I do have to remind that purpleblooded trolls are known for being biologically predisposed to violent and unpredictable behavior, so you might want to scheme up a way to avoid such tendencies? Maybe her clowning around helps soothe her… Or maybe she just takes a good sopor nap.

Interests:

Clowning ?? BRIGHT COLORS ABSTRACT FORMS OF COMEDY THAT AREN’T NOTICEABLE UNTIL YOU LOOK CLOSE FUNNY DANCES squirt guns CLOWN IN THE BOXES (used as weaponry) ANIMALS

All so cute and good! Does she like interpretive dance, too? You should maybe give her a little interest in slapstick. But the whole abstract comedy thing is wonderful. 

Title: Knight of Light

Her being overwhelmed with information makes this a very fitting title imo. She needs to learn to exploit and utilize all the information she has in her mind and how to filter out the lies and unnecessary bits and get things down to a functional core. She’ll be very powerful once she reaches her potential! Her inverse is Rogue of Void, which means she can passively redistribute mystery and secrets, too! 

She is...an adorable clown KnightLight. That is all I came here to say thank you.

-TR

Land: MANSIONS and PURSUIT

Ooo, so a whole planet full of mansions? I wonder how that’ll work. Pursuit makes sense because her title implies a pursuit of truth and information… 

Dream Planet: Derse

Sorry that that was so long! The personality segment especially. She’s one of my favorite fantrolls, and I really want to do her justice;; 

Don’t apologize, you provided the perfect amount of information! I adore her! Now on to design stuff!

Hat/Horns: I loved the hat so much that I had to keep it around. I made it a darker purple stolen right from the pants and changed the outline, and then added a little stripe to add some extra visual interest. Her horns I changed to match the bend of her symbol, but also to fit perfectly inside her hat! 

Hair: On her mime side, I felt like she felt a little bare without visible bangs. I still kept them pretty sparse, but I put a few more peeking out. On the right, I just gave her a few more flippy bits to fill out the body of her hair. 

Eyebrows/Eyes: On the clown side, I liked the eyebrows really high because it looked silly and clowny, but I wanted to bring them down to a more reasonable height on the right. For the eyes, I wanted to add eyelashes to match the traditional girl troll rule. On the mime side, I also added a little mimey makeup!

Collar: I gave her ruffly collar an outline. 

Shirt: Changed the symbol on both sides to reflect her new symbol! 

Skirt: I wanted to give her mime side a mimey kind of overalls with gold snaps and some light stripes. Cute and fun. 

Pants: I kept them the same on the right side to keep that pop of light color that she really needs, but on the mime side I recolored them to be blood colored with light spots. 

Thank you so much for sharing her. She’s so cute and I love her to death! 

-CD

[dreamjournaliguess]

9/26/2020

I went to Universal (?) with my parents. We kept coming to a four way stop and they would always choose the right, and we went in the same direction over and over. I kept saying “the hulk is in the other direction, if we want to see it” and they kept ignoring me. We drove on a mega sky-highway and my stepdad kept driving too close to the edge, I was afraid we would drive off (recurring theme! Driving off the edge of highways, always always). 

I was in a strange house wandering the halls. Toby was there, and another woman. Here is very fuzzy, there is a section where I can’t remember what happened, but I woke up within my dream and was in bed with both Toby and the woman. We were all naked, and she and her were wrapped around each other while I was on the other side of the bed. I was very disoriented and started climbing out of bed, but he woke up and asked if I wanted him to hold me. I sleepily nodded, and continued on to the bathroom. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and being confused, I looked the way I did when I was dating Raven, my bangs were purple again and I still wore my hair straight. There was a tattoo on my hip, I can’t quite recall but it was intricate. I think it was some kind of octopus or jellyfish, or maybe it was a plant. There was some kind of tendril snaking down my thigh, and I wondered why I didn’t remember getting it. I kept shaking my head and trying to remember how I got here, who the other woman was, if I did anything with both of them, what was happening. When I came back to the room, the woman was settling into the corner of the room and Toby called me to him, and I started apologizing because I felt bad that he kicked her out; I had misunderstood when he asked if I wanted him to hold me and assumed he meant later. He gave me a little black bowl, and I asked what it was for, and he said it was for me to rest my head on. This made complete sense to me, and I held onto the bowl for the rest of the dream. This whole scene is very funny to me.

I was hesitant in coming to bed because I felt bad about the other woman, so he came to me and picked me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me to another room, and in that room was a bathroom. He perched me on the sink and we got hot and heavy for a few minutes, before a woman’s voice in the room said “please don’t do that in there”. He said “shit, it’s my mother”, and we hid behind the bathroom door. She came in, and I looked at her profile, it seemed she couldn’t see us. He made some kind of noise and she found us, I was very embarrassed.

I went out into the living room and there were plenty of people I knew there:Tam, Nicki, Maya, maybe Al? A bunch of people. I was watching a movie, and I realized everyone around me was either making out or fully involved in intercourse, and I went to the kitchen to give them some privacy. A woman came to me and started stroking my arm, saying we were supposed to be paired up. I think it was Tam? Whoever it was was very beautiful and I felt self conscious. I didn’t know what she was talking about so I politely demurred, and remembered wondering about that woman in the bedroom. I wanted to go check on her, but went to shower instead (another recurring theme, I’m always bathing in my dreams)!

I was at a cabin the forest, at some kind of party. A man came through the bushes and said “it’s time, we have to go if we’re going to make it”! I looked down and thought my outfit was inappropriate for being in the woods, some kind of burgundy gown. I was barefoot, the air smelled like oranges, elderflower, and smoke. It reminded me of being at the farm, or maybe at the compound. There was a syrupy heaviness in my mouth, as if I had swallowed a mouthful of grenadine. We went to a break in a nearby fence and peered through. There were civil war enthusiasts reenacting and dressed as their respective parts, firing weapons at dummies. We slipped through the fence and boarded a yacht. A man I didn’t recognize slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me toward him, and said “you’re always late and wearing the wrong color”. I apologized and felt badly for the rest of the party.

Scene change, I was in a school that was on lockdown. All of the teachers were locked, arm to arm, blocking all of the exits. I was with a group of people, we seemed to be transporting a small girl to a new location, but were being chased. We got separated and I was stuck with the girl, lost her at one point and had to double back. It alternated between being a school and a hospital. We escaped through a library. 

I was walking through some kind of district or city with Laura, there were all of these hotels with strange names. I said “oh look, a Dirty Sex Hotel”, and she said “don’t call it that!” but I replied with “no, that’s its name”. The sign said Dirty Sex Hotel. We walked and looked at all of the lights, we may have gotten dinner, this area is unclear or maybe my heart wants to forget.

There was a zombie apocalypse at some point. I remember someone trying to point out some kind of conspiracy theory to me, showing me how every x amount of years a “zombie Apocalypse” sweeps through a particular region. I think the implication was that it was being used as some kind of population control. 

[toddlazarski]

Last Suppers Vol. 5

Shepherd Express

“In this past I long for, I don’t remember how even then I longed for the past.”

— Denis Johnson

In the El Tsunami parking lot in mid-January snow turns tumor-black and gets pushed, in some unholy unseen hour, into jagged triangle wedges up against the brick building, clearing space for the subsequent gray slush and glut of cars and those cars’ passengers, all trying to avoid ice-flecked black puddles and questions of why any of us would live in such an environment so threatening to dry socks. My daughter somehow eschews usually prominent stranger danger notions to cheerily, proactively, greet the panhandler just outside the door, leveling the playing field, at once, for all three of us, erasing discomfiture in smiling unexpectedness, seemingly validating good vibes therein. Inside, nursing a sportscar-red michelada, in a frosty mug of the size and depth and seriousness of an extra in that scene from Indiana Jones, the rim coated by a grainy quilt of spicy salt rendering the straw a silly suggestion, there is a pulse, well aside from the bumping telenovelas on all the TVs. It almost feels like there is a no-sitting rule for children, as they bounce around, between tables, blurring the distinctions between families, pirouetting by waitress trays, skipping and skirting and flaunting even pre-pandemic social graces. Parents look appropriately tired, waitresses overwhelmed, the end-of-week Saturday reward day is aglow, salsa-amped and horchata sugar-lit, even before a wandering mariachi duo wanders in, seemingly at random, as if they were traversing South 13th in the 30-degree day in cowboy hats, with classical guitar and accordion. By the time the oompa of alternating bass line balladry and emotively stretched squeezebox reeds mix—table to table they go, for a palmful or two of cash—with the svelty green table sauce, the ceviche dip, the warm chips, fierce, charcoal-kissed carbon tacos, or greasy smoky housemade chorizo, or oily flaky fish, it is easy and instant to forget what life resembled back in the parking lot. We’ve all, communally, arm-in-arm, with collective vision, forged the perfect escape plan.

At Vanguard, when it’s summer, or spring, or any time when the Packers are not on and it’s not a wrestling night or Halloween, when there’s room for small chat and the usual backdrop—Soul Train, maybe an O.J. Simpson workout video—there is no better feel than happy hour with exactly one open swivel black chair near the end of the bar. Even though the bartenders render me not cool enough, probably too old, far from properly bearded, I will stake a claim, rope off my spot with a hoodie on the back of the seat, like delineating property lines, as close to Manifest Destiny as I might get, sticking out elbows just a bit in subtle “don’t tread on me” histrionics. You can hover, sure, go ahead and take my drink menu, yes, food menu too, fine, oogle away at my curds and beer stein aioli all bloodied with house hot sauce, you can even talk close and ask for suggestions and pat me on the back when you lean over the shoulder to catch the barkeep’s eye. Just let me sit in the middle, in the beating heart, like the front row at a boxing match where part of the excitement is getting hit by a little sweat, like the Stubhub offerings we click just to see, front rows price tags to voyeuristically consider, to think what if? While I’m in, while the place fills to capacity—only now a nightmarish notion—-behind me, I slow-sip and savor a hungry evening bustle and a draft Manhattan, I delay gratification with menu pondering, possibility appreciating, before inevitably tackling a chilli cheese dog, a Velveeta-blanketed and appropriately-named “Durty Burger,” the whole thing a silly gesture of why not gluttonous indulgence, barely leaving room for the IPA I’m always about to order—like some kind of metaphor for the stuffed barroom itself.

These will be my first stops, when we’re all back, fully rubbing elbows, finding space in standing room only occasions. When we can be, what I’ve heard more than a few service industry folks refer to, “nuts to butts.” If and when the unidentifiable health metrics in my heart all check green, these are my buzzing Milwaukee mind spots, of food poetry yammering, of context being an ingredient, of flavor deriving as much from the atmosphere, as much from the flutter of a true peak social experience. I think of an Istanbul market, the group teem, the contrasting currents of crowds lending pick-pocket anxiety, general personal space ruffling, some dangerous enticement to the prevalent smell of roasting, rotating meat; a pizzeria in Naples, needing to engage in mosh pit antics for a spot on the list; Steny’s, for an Eastern Conference Finals Bucks game. The times to eschew ease, embrace struggle, deal with an annoyance for this will be worth it. When all is well, again, when I can cruise the city streets, casually pop in for a taco or four, stop for a beer or beers, such spots are where I might set my aims. Once so small-town, so simple-minded, now the idea of someone handing me a menu is a memory seed I treat and water like the notion of the one that got away. Here are the daydreams I’m afraid to risk, but keep tucked away in some kind of hope chest of sights to get back toward, one day, comfortably, normally, the good food times that come as much from the setting, from the moment, the people.  

And I don’t even really like people.

Another thing I’m not crazy about—outside. And yet, here I am, often these days, and not just because the weather has turned friendly, ironically, as the country seems to burn, standing in my backyard, staring at the stars or the clouds, or the military-hued helicopters, sometimes, waiting for my gut, or my meat thermometer, to tell me it’s time to turn back to the Weber, flip the sausages, burgers. Always aggressively testing the tongs, grabbing at ghosts as they waft, I wistfully wonder how the maestros at Vanguard always avoid the flare-ups, the drying-out, nearly always get it all so right, the snap, one order after another, without looking like they are trying, cool in backwards hat insouciance, even when confronted by an endless stream of hungry scenesters.  

Here I am, too, with makeshift picnics of Foxfire takeout fare, of taco truck tlayudas, cautiously staking a blanket claim or bench at Sheridan Park, its meandering jogging path and sweeping lake vistas leaving space for grass-tabled meals. Or at Humboldt Park, by the grimey pond that might as well be Walden’s, for the existential dread I’ve brought to it these past three months. It seems like a sanctuary of sorts, emblematic of anywhere there is space, really, from headlines, and health metrics, enough of it for nobody to be near enough to be afraid of. But of course there is no one to say gracias to after a salsa refill. There is fresh air, yes. And there is also the fending off of the geese, the dancing around of the geese poop, the chasing of napkins— inherent that any picnic venture provide at least this bit of Charlie Chaplin skit performance—and, inevitably, the throwing out of napkins because they probably touched some geese poop.  

Still, with a double patty Foxfire burger, coated and buffed in salt and love and oozing American goo cheese, or with some foiled-taco steam, anywhere I might end up, today, isn’t so bad. And also, before wasn’t always good. The past is only painted in technicolor ideals in our minds, and especially now. Vanguard was many times just far too crowded, and sometimes, too many times, they forgot to toast my bun. And it felt too loud to even mention. Tsunami, despite my perpetual best efforts and bad dietary habits, has never cared I’m there, that I keep coming back, that I talk about it and write about it and bloviate. Every time I hit the door they almost always collectively look at me as if I’m lost or am about to ask to use the bathroom and then leave. In general, how many restaurant tables are too dirty? How much service is too slow? How many menus are so alike? Oh wow, look, a Southwestern Burger! How many bartenders have that attitude that this next shake of the shaker—no, this one, above the head!—could be the one to cure cancer, and how dare I interrupt or not be appropriately captivated?

The now, at least, has options. Such as, when it’s rainy, or too cold, or suddenly, too hot, we can sit in the car. The radio sounds better from in there anyways, the wind can’t steal and confetti-toss all the napkins like a cruel game of keepaway. We can think of ourselves as trying new things, embracing fresh thoughts, getting stains on our pants and shirts in different places, from different sit-and-eat situations. This month brings a new Bob Dylan album. It certainly won’t be Blonde on Blonde. It won’t even be Love and Theft. But there will be something you’ve never heard. Likewise tomorrow will bring something new, another distraction tactic, another approach, another appetite, and, if we’re lucky, another way to satisfy it.

Meanwhile, so much of the future seems to be being written for us, by unseen authors with little writing experience, the lot of them banging away on outlines behind scenes, on drafts where they can’t even fully commit to a genre. Post apocalypse-ism mixes with an economic playbook, fantasy meets self-help meets realism. Throughout, uncertainty seems to blend with malfeasance, announcements are unmade or surprise-made, or made and reversed, or misunderstood or ignored. Restaurants are not open, but tomorrow, at precisely 2pm, they can be and we will all be safe. Go ahead. Our reality, our way forward, seems tenuous, a bit dreadful, a venture out still coming with constant subconscious risk assessment, a survey of an unpredictable and maybe cataclysmic thunderstorm before a bike ride, the checks and balances on fun and need. Skipping headlines for more than a few hours seems to be willful ignorance. But maybe it’s more simple: if I can’t safely see my restaurant servers face, this situation is probably not quite right.

In our bubbles, in our political allegiances, it was easy to know where to stand, especially gauged by the actions and virally-spread photos of a bunch of boneheads at a bar Platteville, when the Supreme Court struck down caution and reason to make Wisconsin, again, a national laughing stock of unawareness. It seemed a slap in the face, the wake-up kind, a dose of belligerent selfishness. Yet, maybe history will see it all differently. Perhaps they, us, are all simply, naturally, hellbent on togetherness. On connection. With the country seemingly schisming more by the day, with fractures leading to offshoot fractures, maybe we actually just need something, somebody, each other. We invented taco trucks, and then, eventually, taco truck parks, as if even our restaurants should socialize with each other. We came up with small plates so that the same table could legitimately hold, say, at La Merenda, goat cheese curds alongside Jamaican goat curry next to seared Sockeye salmon. And they could all become friends. Cheers has always been so popular, held up, not just because it is pretty funny, but it represents an ideal, of comfortable cahoots, of escape from the real world. We can see, hope ourselves, there, all of us being our self-deprecating and whimsical best, with buds and brews and wisdom found. It represents a coming together, in the face of our absurd existence. A mariachi duo, or far too much to eat and drink, can show that our time is still now, that we—me, and you over there, at the same spot, in the same moment!—deserve something, sometimes.    

These days I think often of a long-shuttered Bay View corner tap I used to freely and proudly proclaim to anybody listening as my Cheers. It was a strange, dim nook of the world I drank and wedged my way into, forging a musical and lyrical brand of late-night conspiracy. By the time I became a regular, my bartenders, my Sam and my Woody, would occasionally let me stay after hours, would pour me a shot of Bulleit at 2:30, would joke about me having my “shift drink,” would not kick me out until I kicked myself out. We would bitch, complain, jostle, josh, give each other hurried TED Talks in the sporadic crowd lulls. I knew the names of their siblings, the health statuses of their dogs, they were invited to my wedding. All those nights, eventually, I would stumble out the door, solo stagger home, bleary-eyed but content, untouchable to Monday, knowing, simply, far from sober but assuredly, somebody got me. In the hullabaloo existence of parking lots, indifferent masses, I had a spot. I don’t know when, I don’t know who will tell me it’s time, I don’t even know where, but I know I need to get back to that place.  

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Cold of the Grahve

#OpeningSolo #ColdOfTheGrahv

Grahve - 

It was a funny thing being caught between two worlds.

Having spent the better part of my life doing exactly that, you learn quickly there is a trick to it if you want to get out of either one alive. For starters, never let the people from one world know you’re part of the other. They don’t like sharing or mixing any more than the other side, and they judge pretty damn quickly those who move between.

Take the humans for example. Let them know that you’re a vampire and their shit goes sideways in a big way. You get the conspiracy theorists that think the government uses us and hides us as WMDs. You get the love struck teenagers who think we’re misunderstood parasites who just need to be loved. And you get those that are truly frightened by us - the ones that think we’re some unholy abomination to be purged from the earth. As if we weren’t here as long, if not longer, than they were.

Then you get the vampire reverse. Spend too much time with humans and your own kind starts to question your motives, if you’re siding with the tailless rats or undermining your own people. Better to just move between both as quietly and easily as possible without making too many waves.

That’s what I’ve been trying to do ever since the Old Country.

For the longest time, vampires existed in one place, and for centuries, nay millennia, we fought there, we bred there and we died there. The Lessers would come, growing with the times and the weapons as we did, but they always came, and our kind always fought. Such is the way of vampires.

But then the families, the glymera, began to grow restless. Lazy. Afraid. They learnt of other lands, new lands, and they thought to sail themselves across the great water to try and hide from Lessers elsewhere. Leave the fighting to the warriors on another shore and set sail. But predators do not linger if there is no prey, and the Lessers followed them across the sea, taking our war to another continent, another place, and continuing through the generations.

My family had not been one of those who left. Rather, they were the kind that staunchly defended the lands they’d had for centuries, breathing into every generation the will to fight and protect that which is ours. And even as every other blood line either died off or drifted away, so we remained, until there was naught but us.

Us and the Bastards.

Theirs was a castle I remembered seeing as a child and thinking ‘I wish I were one of them’… part of that motley horde that sought the destruction of Lessers, indeed hunted them with a passion. While my family had stayed rooted to the land for so long the Bastards didn’t quibble over who owned what, instead seeking their quarry out and bringing the fight to them.

Oh, how I longed for that, to hunt down the enemy and take the fight to their doors instead of weather it on mine. To not clean the sticky black blood from my path but from a blade or leathers… /that/ was how a male fought.

Yet as mine Mahmen aged and my Da passed unto the Fade, I sensed a time was coming where there would be no need to fight to protect this hearth. If there was no family within the walls of a home… was it then a home, or simply a house? Four walls are just walls when there is no warmth and heart within to make it someplace… special.

My Mahmen went peacefully. Quietly. Between one breath and the next one cold winter night she was gone, and I felt the last of the warmth leave our home after so many generations. I wept. I followed the funeral rites. I laid her to rest and prayed to the Scribe Virgin she had found my father in the Fade.

And then I had gone to the castle.

I can remember the skip in my heart beat, the thundering of my pulse under the skin as I traipsed my way up that long road to impossibly huge doors. I can remember banging my fist against the wood so hard it hurt, my fingers tingling in the minutes after as I waited. And I remember the faces that answered. I’d seen them enough, knew of them by name and legend. Leader, Xcor, and fellow soldier Throe.

They loomed toward me, backlit by the flicker of candlelight in the atrium and with faces as if carved from marble, cold and hard. There was no relief in their eyes, no warmth like I’d known in my Mahmen’s home for so long, and I knew that if I wanted to fight, I would lose the warmth too. There was a catch, however, I had not considered.

They did not want me.

‘What use have I for a male that doesn’t know one end of the sword from another?’

Xcor’s harsh words had cut at something deep inside me, my eyes narrowing, anger leaping to my defense as my hope was trod on. Of course I knew how to hold a sword. I was no male of the Brotherhood, certainly, but nor was I babe in arms. I could be trained. I would be trained.

But that twisted lip had curled further, disdain and dismissal so evident as he turned and walked away, leaving me on his doorstep. Throe had spared me a glance, a quick sweep of the eyes, before he too had shaken his head and shut me out in the cold.

And I had never felt so cold as in that moment, so terribly alone in the world.

What left was there for me if all my family had gone unto the Fade, and the Bastards thought me unworthy? How did one prove their worth if they weren’t taught or trained? How was I supposed to grow, to strengthen myself if they would not teach me?

There was no one left… Not here. Not anymore. The glymera and major families had long ago fled to new worlds and lands. And assuming I made the journey across to them, found whatever newly crafted society they had, what then? I was no pureblood. I was no aristocrat that could swan about at parties and pretend like the world was there for me and me alone. I was no Brother born to the bloodline, not of a Chosen or a male of worth that had wielded a sword for nigh on centuries.

I was… nobody.

That reality had been the hardest I might have ever faced. For decades I had thought I’d known myself, known what I wanted and who I was. But in the face of such nothingness I felt suddenly bereft. That empty house was no longer my home, and the land that I had felt so tied to for so long didn’t pulse with the same life. The strings were cut, and I was floating adrift in the world, so terribly lost.

But not defeated.

If the Bastards had been trained by the Bloodletter and tested, then I would find my own trainers. I would find whatever tests I could until I could throw myself at the Bastards and demand they see me. Through blood or battle, I didn’t care. They /would/ see me.

I tried to ignore the crushing sensation of being able to reduce my life to a single bag, and I wasn’t at all surprised by the funds I received for the land and home I’d spent my life in. It had been enough to see me on the first part of my journey, and from there I’d had to make my own way, my own means.

Surprisingly there were a lot of jobs a vampire could do to ensure they made ends meat, and as I immersed myself in the world of humans, I did whatever I had to. Understanding their thirst for technology was first, and while I admit it wasn’t as titillating for me as it seemed to be for them, I nevertheless got the hang of things. Computers. Telephones. Stock markets. That last one was particularly handy.

Then there were the other means. Gambling. Fighting. Some human men were quite savage, and after all, when Lessers were made from them, they had to have some merit to start with as far as strength.

But I never stayed in one place too long. I stayed only as long as I needed to learn, and then I kept moving. Travel was a means of survival. While my race had moved predominantly in one direction, there were the odd pockets here and there, but they were few and far between. Feedings from females were at times such a rarity I had to succumb to feeding from human women, and while their blood kept me going, it was much like trying to run a car off alcohol instead of petrol. Sure, at some point they shared similar makeup, but they really didn’t do the same thing.

The years passed though, and I persevered. I grew. I learned of new weapons, I taught myself new skills, and I saw parts of the world that most of my kind won’t dare traverse into. And as I drifted back closer, toward the heart of the race and the glymera, news began to drift to me of the Brotherhood and their warriors.

At first I took the stories with a grain of salt - for so long they were of shadows darting in to try and save the day as the race suffered without a king - but then the tenor of them began to change. Gone were the tales of a King who shirked his responsibilities. In his place was a leader bringing the race together, ignoring the scolding judgment of the aristocrats and decimating old laws that prevented the growth of our people.

And gone were the laws that prevented those not born of a Brother or a Chosen from applying to be a part of the Brotherhood. There was a new Brother already, inducted into the group of males that was not born of the blood, and even bore what many might class as an imperfection; dual colored eyes.

It was dizzying, the hope that charged through me, as fresh and sweet as that first bloom when I’d crawled up to the Bastard’s castle. I could apply to the Brotherhood at last, pledge myself to fight for my people as more than some wandering nomad. My name could mean something, if only they’d let me in. If they didn’t reject me like the Bastards had…

So now I travel to the heart of Caldwell, and the chance at an actual future. I will find the Brothers and prove myself.

After so many years of being alone in the cold… I might finally have a chance at warmth again. If I can just figure out how to walk from my world into theirs…