#i wish there were more trees or bus stops or something to provide shade around town

[jontheredrc]

there's a tree I sit under to wait for my ride to work, and...I gotta tell ya...they need to put in more trees tbh

[mizunetzu]

haha it's me again! could i get iida dating a delinquent male reader? (stuff like he smokes and breaks rules) like iidas trying to get the reader to follow the rules and he's like "i'll do that if you go on a date with me" so he does and the readers actually a really chill guy and they have a fun time, some fluff please?

IIDA DUDE MY GOD. MY RELIGION. MY SAVIOR. ok. Okok so. You said fluff and I delivered. But like-I mayyyyybe sprinkled in some angst. No worries. Fluff ending guaranteed. Also you know I enjoyed writing something when I broke my 1000 words rule. Like sheesh this is 3000 pLUS WORDS-

Also if iidareaders reblogs I’ll eat my shirt in joy

——————

Iida x reader - Selfish Promise

⚠️warnings - delinquent reader? Selfish-y Iida? Idk. None lmao

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

(Y/n) wasn’t going to lie. Iida really got on his nerves. He’s always up his ass about sagging his pants down low, or running in the hallways. It’s not like it was his business. He was in class 1-B, for god sakes.

Everyone in 1-A knew him as that “1-B boy” who always liked fucking with Iida. And he did, it was fun to see him get all pissy and red when he unbuttoned his dress shirt to the point you could easily flash him if you tugged hard enough. Iida was pretty, but even more pretty when he’s flustered. He wasn’t going to deny the fluttery feeling in his chest when he sees an opportunity to interact with Iida.

Which is how (y/n) found himself smoking outside the UA dorms, sitting outside on the steps and staring up at the sky. He didn’t smoke much, only when he really needed to destress, but something felt compelling to just pull one out today.

He already heard the engine boosted footsteps hurling his way, a smile growing on his lips. Once the blue haired boy was in sight however, he wiped it off and replaced it with a neutral expression.

“You shouldn’t be smoking on school property, (L/n)-kun!”

“Mm? And you shouldn’t be on 1-Bs dorms. Wait til Vlad or Monoma finds out.”

Iida stumbled back, biting back the scowl forming on his face. He took the cigarette out from (y/n’s) fingers, and stomped on it. (Y/n) clicked his tongue as Iida hiked his glasses up his nose further.

“Stop acting like such a ruffian!”

“Then go on a date with me.”

Iida choked on his own spit. He knew that (y/n) joked around a lot, but this was just excessive.

“(L-L/n), you shouldn’t joke about such intimate matters like that with someone you barely kn-“

“I’m not joking.” (Y/n) stood up from his step, and stood infront of the taller boy. “I’m dead serious.”

Iida opened his mouth, then closed it. “(L/n) it is highly inappropriate for two students, let alone boys, to go on a romantic outing! This is a place for learning!”

“How bout we make a promise then? A deal if you must.” (Y/n) seemed completely calm, but inside he was sweating like a clam. He had said it on impulse, and there was no going back. Either sell it till he declines or hell, he has a date.

“If you be my boyfriend and go out with me for one full day, I’ll stop acting like a ‘ruffian’ or something. I’ll follow the rules and whatnot.”

“B-boyf...” Iidas words got caught in his mouth. “W-WHY?”

“I’m not going to try anything...! It’s..it’s just for my own...reasons...! If...that makes sense...”

Iida ran a hand through his hair. Did (L/n), a delinquent, like-like him? A proper former man from the Iida family? He wasn’t romantically attracted to the shorter boy at all, but this was a good chance! He could finally be set on the right path if he agreed to be his significant other for one day! Easy enough!

Iida pushed up his glasses once more. “Fine. I will do it. But afterwards you better keep your end of the bargain.”

(Y/n) held the tiniest smile and extended his pinky. Iida looked at him confused, before hesitantly interlocking their fingers and shaking it.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Gimme your number. I’ll text you the info later.” They exchanged phone numbers, and Iida bid him goodbye.

(Y/n) felt like he was on top of the world.

—————

“Oi Iida! Over here!” (Y/n) waved his arms around frantically, trying to get the boys attention. Iida spotted him, and made a beeline towards him. He gave a smile and bowed slightly.

“Good morning, (L/n)-kun.”

“Morning! Haha, I’m glad you came! I didn’t think you’d actually show...and you’re on time aswell! As expected of uptight iida.”

(Y/n) was in a pink, slightly oversized hoodie and black sweatpants. Iida was expecting him to be in full black, ripped clothing with skulls on it. He wasn’t expecting him to look so...soft? If you looked at him, you wouldn’t think he was the same person smoking on the steps of a prestigious school.

“Oh well, what time did you get here?”

“An hour ago.”

Iida deadpanned. Even he wasn’t that extra. “Why...”

(Y/n) rubbed the back of his neck shyly and chuckled. “I was so happy I couldn’t wait, ahaha!”

(Y/n’s) probably smiled more times today then the whole time he’s been enrolled into UA. It was an odd sight, but Iida felt a sort of proudness that he was probably the only one who got to see this side of him. He glanced at his face one more time, this time, looking at his red eyes and cheeks.

“...are your eyes swollen..?”

“Oh I...I couldn’t sleep...”

(Y/n) awkwardly chuckled for the 100th time that morning. Iida was about to go on a tangent about how sleep is important to you, but (y/n) suddenly grabbed his wrist, and pulled him forwards. He was practically dragging the poor boy.

“Is there anything specific you wanna do, Iida?” (Y/n) mused, looking around the plaza.

Iida shrugged.

“No, not really. Today’s more of your day, so I’m fine with anything.”

A bright red painted itself onto (y/n’s) cheeks, as he turned back around to hide it. It was usually iida getting all red and flustered, (y/n) wasn’t used to it. Still, it felt kinda nice.

“Awesome dude!”

(Y/n) went on rambling about places they could go to or eat at, but Iidas ears drowned out the noice as he looked at his smiling face. He didn’t know someone so...rude, could look so sweet. (Y/n) tugged at Iidas shoulder.

“...though I suppose, we could just go to a field and train, right?”

—————

(Y/n) got back up to his feet for the 5th time, and charged at Iida. He knew he couldn’t beat him with speed, so he’d have to rely on his quirk as much as he could. They were sparring in a little patch of grass near a small clearing, with a big tree providing the two boys shade. Iida swerved out of the way, making the smaller boy tumble onto the ground face first.

“Ah! (Y/n)! Are you okay?”

Iida rushed to the boys side and tangled his fingers in his hair. “It’s a little swollen but it’s not bleedi...(L/n)-kun...?”

(Y/n) hid his blush with the back of his hands and tensed up. “You..called me...(y/n)...dude..”

It was Iidas turn to tense up. His glasses fogged up as he swung his arms around madly. “IM TERRIBLY SORRY! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I SWEAR! IJUSTGOTWORRIEDANDSAIDITONACCIDEN-“

“Dude it’s fine! I-I dont mind..!” (Y/n) jabbed him lightly on the chest.

“L-let me treat you to some food! As apology for your head I mean!” Iida stood up, pulling (y/n) to his feet aswell.

—————

(Y/n) was rambling on nervously again, with chopsticks resting nimbly between his fingers. Iida couldn’t help but gaze at his face. His eyes were softer than he expected, softer than the mockingly hardened eyes he pointed like a sword towards people at UA. His gentle clad smile could raise the heavens, with one crinkle near his left eye and a dimple dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. He had unusually long eyelashes for a guy, but it made him look even more pretty for a bad boy.

“Why are you a delinquent at school when you’re such a sweet and funny person?” The words dripped out of Iidas mouth unconsciously, quickly covering his mouth too late.

(Y/n) flushed bright red, squeezing his chopsticks a little too tightly. “W-well...I don’t know. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. People just think I am because i don’t like socializing with everyone I meet? Like-id rather hang out with someone I know and like than go out of my my way to befriend all of class B, y’know? Does that make sense? Ahaha sorry I’m rambling again. I don’t get to talk much with my few friends. And they’ve pretty much heard everything I have to say so it’s refreshingtotalktoa-“

Iida cut him off before he talked his tongue off. “If you don’t talk to people you don’t know well, then why are you talking to me so openly?”

“Because I like you.”

(Y/n) said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He wasn’t tripping over his words, or laughing nervously. He looked at Iida and said it like saying “the sky is blue” with so much certainty, it made a knot tighten in iidas throat.

Iidas question was, why though? Why did his heart thump along the buttery smooth rhythm of (y/n’s) voice? Why did his head reel every time he saw (y/n’s) eyes light up talking about something he found interesting? Why was he at such a loss for words when his gaze fell on him so attentively?

Iida cleared his throat. Maybe he was just excited to have a new friend. He didn’t see him in a romantic light! How could he? He’s just worked up on the fact that this hardass delinquent boy wasn’t who he thought he was.

“Shall we go, then?”

————

The date went by like a dream. Technically it wasn’t over yet, as the promise was for a full “day”, but window shopping and dicking around while Iida chops aggressively really tires you out. They both ended the day by sparring at the same clearing, before taking refuge on a bus stop bench. The sun was completely gone. Leaving behind the pasty purple and blue sky, washing over and killing the clouds.

“Ahhh, time flies by so fast! Damn, well, the days still not yet over soooo.”

“Yes, yes I know.” Iida chuckled. He thought he was going to have to bear through this day, but it was actually quite splendid. He definitely feels like he’s made a new friend.

“Well, is there anything you wish to do before the day is over?”

“Yeah um, so,” (y/n) cast his eyes down, fiddling with his fingers. “C-can we hold hands..?”

Iida wordlessly set his hand on top of (y/n’s) smaller one, waiting as he interlocked their fingers together. His hand was warm, way warmer than (y/n) was expected. He didn’t know, Iida seemed like a cold hands guy.

They sat quietly under the ambient streetlight, occasionally rubbing a thumb over the others hand, feeling it’s warmth and staring off into the distance. Iida didn’t notice his eyes drooping lower and lower until they were finally closed.

Iida let his thoughts roam. It was something he did when he was going to bed, or simply just resting his eyes for a bit. He thought of his family, what he would do for class on Monday, and finally, (y/n). It was the most prominent thing on his mind, and not because he was unconsciously resting his head on his shoulder, softly but firmly gripping the warm hand underneath his own.

The idea of (y/n) so soft and vulnerable in front of anyone else didn’t sit right with him. He wanted that sweet, kind side all to himself. It was selfish, and even wrong if he thought about it. (Y/n) was so sweet and respectable during this “date” of theirs. Perfect manners for when inside the classroom. If anything, he should be more than glad to have the world share this side of him.

So why was he feeling this way?

He felt a shoulder nudge from under his head, before a hand started vigorously poking at his cheek. He initially ignored it, but once he registered the current situation he jerked up and

“Iida. Iida wake up. It’s 11:40. We should be heading back before midnight. A-at least I want to so we can um...we can still technically legally hold hands by promise-“

Iida rubbed at his eyes in embarrassment. “My sincerest apologies for falling asleep! It was not my intention-“

”oh no it’s all good! I-I kinda fell asleep too. It’s been like...2 hours.”

Iida checked his watch. (Y/n) was right. 11:45 pm. He knocked his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and stood up. He extended a hand to (y/n) who tiredly accepted it and pulled himself off the bench.

They spedwalked towards the train station to catch a train back to UA, when (y/n) tugged on his sleeve, halting temporarily.

“Iida.”

Iida turned around with a hum. (Y/n) kept his eyes fixated on the ground, but held on to the sleeve of Iidas jacket like a lifeline.

“Today...is almost over.”

“Yes, um, it’s about 11:57 so we should hurry back-“

“Before the day officially ends,...can you kiss me?”

Iida focused on (y/n’s) downcast face. It wasn’t an expression of nervousness or any sort of flustered emotion. Instead it held a look of unreadable shame.

“If you do, then I would have no regrets. My feelings for you will also end here. I’ll try my best to end it. My feelings grow stronger for you everyday when we bicker or when I simply just see you, so I want to end this with a grand fina-“

“I refuse.”

(Y/n) looked up. Iida glasses glared white, preventing him from seeing his cerulean eyes. But he got his answer from the frown Iida was sporting on his face. Even he could agree, it was a silly request, but he couldn’t help by feeling just a tad bit hurt by how quickly he was shut down.

“I understand.”

(Y/n) averted his eyes, flushing with embarrassment. He scanned the area for something other than Iida to look at, before his eyes landed on the parks clock.

12 am.

Midnight.

The date was officially over.

(Y/n) was quick to let go of the sleeve he’d been clutching for a while now. “A-ah! The day has ended. The dates over.”

He stepped back and ducked his head into a 90 degree bow. “Thank you so so much for coming with me today.”

“I’m really happy.”

His expression betrayed his words. If there was one word to describe it, Iida would say it looked dead. Hollow, even. It looked hollow, like the sinking feeling harboring itself in his chest. He knocked against his ribcage multiple times to shake the achy feeling in his chest, but it never went away.

“Well, let’s head back now. It’s late.”

(Y/n) silently walked past Iida. It wasn’t until seeing his watery face drenched in silent hot tears walk by that Iida realized,

He was in love with (L/n) (Y/n).

He was in love with the sweet delinquent boy who smokes and sits on desks, but also has the most hypnotizing laugh. He was in love with the boy who wore saggy pants to school, but also wore an oversized pink hoodie that made Iida reluctantly imagine him wearing one of his own jackets. Oh, how cute he would look.

He was hopelessly, graciously, entirely in love with (L/n) (Y/n).

Iida ran up to (y/n), who had walked past him and kept going with the assumption that he was behind him. His breath crystallized in the form of fog when he ran, faster than he ever did without using his engines. There wasn’t enough time to hike the fabric of his pants up, and he’d rather not burn them to a crisp with the steam from his engine.

“(L-L/n)!”

He wasn’t sure if he heard him. He was still a great length away.

“(L/n)!”

He was closer now. Close enough for him to hear. He was either lost in his thoughts or outright ignoring him.

“(Y/N)!”

The boy whipped his head around so fast, his tears flung into the cold air and landed beside him on the ground. Iida didn’t think far ahead as to brace for landing, choosing instead to glomp (y/n) into a soul crushing hug. Though, it was more of a tackle with the the way they both tumbled over and hit the ground with a thud.

(Y/n) was able to soften the blow with his quirk, but the impact of Iida landing on his chest still knocked the wind out of him. He was waiting for Iida to start swinging his hands and start apologizing profusely, but instead got pulled up to his knees and encased in a more gentle hug.

He was buried in the crook of Iida neck, who in return nuzzled himself into (y/n’s) hair. They stood, or rather kneeled, in a stiff silence, rocking back and forth ever so gently.

“Sorry.”

“Wah! Don’t apologize! You did nothing wrong, you had the full right to deny my request-“

“No, not for that.” Iida untangled himself from the warmth of (y/n’s) body to look at him seriously. “I’m sorry for breaking our promise. Our deal.”

(Y/n) wiped his stray tears away, all bitterness turning itself into lighthearted confusion. “But you didnt-“

(Y/n’s) words fizzled out in his throat when a pair of lips shut him up. His eyes fluttered closed as he wrapped his arms shakily around Iidas neck, drawing him closer than he already his. After what seemed like forever, Iida suddenly jumped back with fogged up glasses and heavy blush on his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! Forgive me!”

“You know, all you’ve done was apologize all day. Is this what you normally do in class?”

“NO!” Iida fell back on his ass, a yelp escaping from his throat. (Y/n) chuckled ironically, pushing himself up to his feet and extending a hand towards the blue haired boy.

“I still don’t see how you broke our deal.”

Iida dusted himself off and adjusted his glasses. “Well-listen I-“ For once in his life, he was at a loss for words.

“I...want to e-extent it. O-Our date, I mean.”

Iida stood rigid as a board as (y/n) blinked.

“Wait-so like, you’ll go out with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“And the day after that.”

“Yes I suppose so.”

“A-and how bout a week from now-“

Iida grabbed (y/n’s) shoulders and shook him roughly. And by rough, I mean rough. This boy has enough beef to throw (y/n) into the sun.

“I-I WANT TO GO OUT WITH YOU FOREVER! I WANT YOU TO BE MY BOYFRIEND! I...I WANT TO BE YOUR BOYFRIEND! I WANT YOUR KINDNESS AND SWEETNESS ALL TO MYSELF! SO BE IT YOU’RE UNINTENTIONALLY A NEGLIGENT BOY AT SCHOOL! I WANT THIS SPECIAL SIDE OF YOU RESERVED FOR MYSELF! IVE NEVER BEEN SELFISH IN MY WHOLE LIFE SO SURELY THIS IS FINE! I WANT TO BE SELFISH! I WANT TO HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS MORE! I WANT TO GO ON SOME MORE DATES WITH YOU! (Y/N)-KUN I LOVE YOU!”

Iida has never considered himself selfish. He wasn’t the type to want something all to himself. If his friends wanted to be friends with someone he disapproved of, so be it. If he bought food but a fellow classmate was starving, he’d be eating only half as his classmate would be happily munching on their portion. If it was reasonable, he’d be willing to give up anything. It was the right thing to do.

Surely all of those good deeds would permit him to be selfish just this once. He’d never known the feeling of wanting something so bad to the point you felt like you were boiling. Of wanting no one else to have someone look at them the same way they looked at him. And how utterly satisfying it felt to have someone to claim as your own. Just this once couldn’t hurt anyone.

And by god, the impossibly wide smile (y/n) held was one thousand percent worth it.

————

“Halt! No running in the hallways, (L/n)-Kun!”

(Y/n) slowed down to a stop and sighed. “Dude, get off my dick.”

“Still pestering (L/n) huh? As expected of Iida!” Mina and Uraraka giggled, as they both disappeared inside the 1-A classroom. The hallway was empty now, making both Iida and (y/n) relax. (Y/n’s) pissed off expression softened, a smile now growing on his face. Iida swears it’s like talking to two different people. It’s kind of scary.

“Good morning, Tenya-Chan~”

“Uh-uh. Don’t ‘Tenya-Chan’ me. You know the rules. You owe me a kiss for breaking a rule. Gimme.”

Iida made grabby hands at (y/n), puckering his lips jokingly. God, he didn’t want to admit it but (y/n’s) sense of humor was rubbing off on him.

(Y/n) snorted at his boyfriends antics, pressing a gentle kiss onto his mouth. “Well-I gotta go, bye bye, Tenya! See you later. Call me, you sexy lamppost.”

(Y/n) timpered off to his classroom, his bad boy attitude returning once he stepped inside. Iida stood there, in utter confusion, before turning around and walking inside his own class.

“Ne ne, Iida, I’ve noticed you’re kinda like...less strict with that 1-B baddie. What’s up?”

Mina followed behind Iida with a curious, shit eating smile on her face.

“Ah. We...became good friends. He’s not as bad as I thought, I suppose.”

Mina looked at Iida unconvinced.

“You know, I saw you and bad boy kissing out there. My god. Iida. You gay liar.”

Iida, along with probably everyone else in class 1-A, collectively choked on air.

——————

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Ten: Make A Wish

Forever? Masterlist

5th July 2017 Ashley woke up to the sound of Daisy babbling away happily in her cot, the sooner she could get a two bedroom flat the better. She climbed out of bed, greeting Daisy with a massive smile, “Hello birthday girl how are you?” She asked, lifting her out of the cot, getting a babble of random sounds back, she had recently learnt to say ‘mama’, something she  had been overusing extensively. “Shall we have a special birthday breakfast? How about some pancakes?” Ashley asked Daisy as she took her through to the kitchen, resulting in an excited clap from Daisy as she put her in the safety of her highchair. She turned on the radio, hearing the familiar sound of Roman’s voice, understanding that Ashley was a single parent he offered to host the show on his own for the day to allow Ashley and Daisy to spend some quality time together. “Shall we listen to some of Uncle Harry’s music?” She asked Daisy as she weighed out the necessary ingredients for pancakes.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Daisy cried from her high chair, before Ashley began playing some classic One Direction out of the speakers in the kitchen.

London was in the middle of one of those heatwaves, the ones where one week it would be chucking it down with rain, and the next it's uncomfortably hot, For this reason Ashley thought it best to travel by bus, rather than subjecting herself and Daisy to the heat of the London Underground. Daisy seemed content though, she was sat on the seat beside Ashley, looking out of the window as they went past all the big monuments and crowds of people, Ashley spotted a heavily pregnant lady sat across from them, reminding her how unbearable she had found being pregnant with Daisy during the sweltering heat of summer, “How far gone are you? If you don’t mind me asking?” She asked the lady.

“Thirty seven weeks, if he doesn’t grow up to be a footballer these kicks will be wasted.” she told Ashley.

“Oh wow, I thought it was difficult carrying this one through summer, but she was born six weeks early.” Ashley replied.

“Oh goodness, how old is she?” She asked.

“It’s her first birthday today, we’re on our way to her uncle’s house for a birthday picnic.” Ashley explained.

“Oh you’re off the radio aren’t you? I listen to the breakfast show every morning, I think it’s wonderful.” She told Ashley.

“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoy it, as you can probably imagine, getting to work in the mornings after getting this little lady ready can be a struggle, but we make it work.” 

When Ashley first mentioned to Harry that she wanted to organise some sort of birthday celebration for Daisy he jumped at the chance to host it, even though the guests only consisted of Anne, Gemma and Linda, he still wanted to pull out all the stops, Ashley’s knock on the door was answered almost instantly by Harry, a massive smile upon his face, like he had just won the lottery, “Hello birthday girl!” He cried, stretching his arms up in the air, which in turn made Daisy smile from ear to ear, Ashley passed Daisy to him, knowing how much she idolised her uncle, he led them both into the kitchen that had been decorated with an impressive jungle theme, green balloons in a vast variety of colours and sizes littered the high ceiling. Whilst on the island in the middle of the kitchen a two tier vanilla and chocolate birthday cake was sat, decorated with figures of jungle animals, also on the island were bowls of crisps and plates of Daisy’s favourite snacks.

“You didn’t have to do all of this H, she would’ve been fine with a cake from tesco and a bag of chocolate buttons.” Ashley sighed as Harry showed Daisy all the toy jungle animals.

“I wanted to, it looks like I’ll be on tour for her birthday next year, and my favourite little lady deserves spoiling.” Harry insisted.

Gemma, Anne and Linda had all arrived shortly after Ashley and Daisy and now the celebrations were in full swing, everyone was sat around the island snacking on the crisps and biscuits Harry had laid out. “Presents! Let’s do presents!” Harry declared, before disappearing and returning with several parcels wrapped in obnoxiously pink wrapping paper. 

“Anyone would think Uncle Harry wanted to be your favourite,” Gemma said to Daisy who was currently sitting on her lap.

“I already am her favourite,” Harry informed Gemma, before miming tossing his hair, he placed the parcels on the table for Daisy, and with the help of her Auntie Gemma she unwrapped them one by one, Harry being Harry had gone all out, the presents ranged from a giraffe teddy to a pair of mini old skool vans, which Harry insisted were a necessity. Gemma treated her to a set of insanely soft pyjamas and a toy elephant, whilst Anne bought her a set of story books and Linda gave her a new dressing gown that looked like a giraffe.

“Thank you so much, all of you, these are such lovely presents, you’re a lucky lady aren’t you Daisy? What do you say to everyone?” Ashley said to Daisy.

“Ta!” she exclaimed, resulting in a mixture of sighs and claps from everyone sitting around the table.

“I’ve got you one more present,” Harry handed Ashley a green envelope, Ashley opened it hesitantly, inside was a picture from London Zoo, “Before I leave for tour, I’ve booked us a tour of London Zoo after they close, so that Daisy can see all the animals properly, and we won’t have to worry about the hassle from photographers and all that.”

“You’re a proper softie Styles,” Ashley said, moving round the island and wrapping her arms around him, “Thank you for all of this.”

After indulging in slices of Daisy’s birthday cake everyone agreed a walk across Hampstead Heath was necessary, Harry carried Daisy on his shoulders, who seemed to be having way too much fun playing with her uncle’s hair. Anne and Linda strolled behind, chatting about their children, and the adults they had become, whilst Gemma and Ashley walked side by side, “He loves her doesn’t he?” Ashley whispered softly.

“He’d do anything for her, they have the purest little friendship.” Gemma told her.

“I don’t know what I’d be doing if it weren’t for Harry, Daisy and I would’ve spent today watching all the Madagascar movies whilst eating our way through a chocolate cake, but he’s made this day so memorable for her.” Ashley replied as they all found a seat underneath a big tree to provide them with shade.

“You alright up there munchkin?” Ashley asked Daisy, gently stroking her cheek.

“I should probably get Daisy home soon, it's nearly her bedtime.” Ashley sighed,  the sun was beginning to set over the heath, a golden glow dancing on all their bodies, the heath was pretty empty except for a few families and couples who were either enjoying the infrequent summer weather or taking their dogs for a well needed walk. Ashley hadn’t really clocked it at first, but there was a distinctive figure hovering by a tree across from them, being friends with Harry for as long as she had, she learnt to shrug off people loitering near them, assuming they were either a fan or a photographer. But when she caught a glimpse of this person again she realised she did in fact know them, “What the fuck,” she whispered under her breath, quiet enough that Daisy wouldn’t hear, but loud enough that Harry did hear, he glanced in the same direction as Ashley, realising what she had seen. Ashley stood up without saying a word and walked towards him.

“Well if it isn’t Harry Styles’ favourite baby mama,” He slurred, taking a swig of what must have been his fifth or so can of beer.

“What the fuck are you doing here Matt?” Ashley asked him, pushing him back.

“I just wanna see my daughter.” He told her, leaning against the tree.

“No, that’s not happening,” Ashley told him bitterly.

“Why? You scared I’ll see she actually has an uncanny resemblance to that prick over there?”

“Harry is not her dad!” Ashley told him.

“Well then why can’t I see her?”

“You lost the right to see her the day you told me you didn’t want anything to do with her, you know she was born six weeks early? She was kept in an incubator because she was too small, except you wouldn’t know that because you weren’t there, so excuse me for not wanting you to have anything to do with her.” 

“Are you alright?” Ashley turned to see Harry, he had left Daisy in the capable care of Anne.

“Here’s your knight in shining armour coming to your rescue,” Matt slurred.

“I’m fine Harry, can you take Daisy back to yours? I don’t want her seeing this.” Ashley asked him.

“I’m not leaving you with him Ash.” Harry replied.

“How long did it take you mate?” Matt asked him.

“What are you on about?” Harry responded,

“To get her into bed? Didn’t take me too long if I’m honest-” Harry tried to swing a punch at him, but Ashley was quick to hold him back, pressing both her hands against his chest.

“H, he isn’t worth it.” She soothed, cupping his face with one hand, so as to make him look her in the eye, whilst still holding him back with the other.

“If you try and approach Ashley or Daisy again, you will be hearing from my lawyers, do you understand?” Harry asked him sternly.

“I get you big man, I’m not sticking around to deal with you and your emotional baggage.”

The group had now returned back to Harry’s house, Gemma, Linda and Anne were entertaining Daisy with cartoons in the living room, “You didn’t have to step in like that H,” Ashley whispered as she poured him a cup of tea.

“He was out of order.” Harry insisted as he took his mug of tea, “I wasn’t just going to stand there whilst he talked about you like that.”

“He’s not wrong though is he? I didn’t have to sleep with him that night, I just did anyway.” Ashley said, fiddling with the lid on the milk bottle.

“Just because you slept with him that doesn’t make you easy, you think I haven’t slept with people I regret?” Harry replied.

“It’s different for you, a man sleeps with twenty girls and he’s a lad, a girl sleeps with five men and she’s a slag.” 

“You know I don’t think that don’t you?” Harry assured her.

“I know, because you are a gooden, and one day when Daisy brings a boy home I want him to be as good as you, and I think by having a positive male role model in her life like you, she will learn that she deserves someone who if she asks for the world will give her the universe.” Ashley told him.

“Is that you saying you think I am boyfriend material?” Harry grinned.

“Don’t push it Styles.”

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Café Rischioso 

Word: 2k+ Dedicated to @taetaesbaebaepsae

Hearts of gold are hard to come by, especially within the anthill that is your university - each person focused on their mission, side-quests be damned. Still, there are those who appreciate deviations from their mundane routine. They relished in the oddest hours of the day, nursing their own thoughts and temptations in the wee hours of the rising sun, when the moon still warred with full force for its rightful territory in the sky. You found one in the man standing opposite the café where you worked.

There he stood, under the golden blaze of the street light, waiting for the last bus; that blessed soul ferrying souls to their final destination whether it be their own bed or the painful solace of someone else's.

On his watch, the number three blinked in the dim light; a timer counting down, but paused as if understanding the infinity that existed in this moment. The world seemed different when he was limited to only the energy left to him. The ghosts of the day left to join their families in desolate graveyards as he continued to stand under the lamplight, waiting with bated breath for a stranger to carry him home. Across the way, his eyes fell on another source of light, this one eliciting much more warmth that his current shelter. It flowed in rivers out of a jazz bar, the familiar melodies providing the soundtrack for his conversation with .... who was it again that he was talking to?

It could have been anyone, but he remembered a voice, throaty and pristine, that he had listened to for hours. Her voice was not beautiful by any standards, but it had character to it. Between muttered profanity and biology, he read wonder and pain, anger and compassion, and all sorts of paradoxes that only existed in the minds of the elderly. Yet here they were, swirling around in dark coffee he had held, both hands, interlocked at the fingers; the only proper way to hold a coffee.

In the beginning, there was a butterfly. And on this chilly morning, where the winter air chipped at upturned collars and muslin scarves, Taehyung found himself leaning over a parking timer staring at it; the poor thing had gotten itself stuck on the cold metal. Thus far, the man’s morning had not been the greatest. He had woken up late, spilled his coffee, let out an undignified yelp, and missed the subway. At this point, he had given up. He was already late, would a few more minutes change much? Besides, he had never seen the park covered with snow like that, sparkling teardrops from Mother Nature accumulating over the trees and water.

With a minute smile on his face at the soon to come festivities, for snow always meant Christmas in his mind, he reached out a hand to the frenzied wings of the creature that flashed alternating colors of muted grey and vibrant orange. As delicately as he could, he allowed a single finger to rest on the ice, hoping his body heat would coax the solid to change. Soon enough the chemical laws of water had allowed the butterfly to be free. As it flew away, the man stared at it longingly, eyes trained on the small insect until it disappeared into the foliage alongside the lake. As most did - he too wished he could fly. Why did man want to fly? It was still a mystery to both the man and to the human species as a whole.

‘Why am I here?’ he asked himself an hour later sitting in his main class. The meaning is buried under the Mount Everest of morals and conflicting theories. Yet, this does not stop individuals from making their own call on the subject. The man does not know yet.

All he does know is that he wants another coffee, so during a break between classes, he dashes to the only café on campus; and a regular hub for those looking for their aesthetic fix for the day. It was late afternoon, and the café was vacant, except for a lone figure occupying an entire table. She was surrounded by an explosion of papers, each one marked with the rainbow as she pored over each one with meticulous detail.

Calloused hands rubbed at downy skin, not doing much to prevent the words from swimming before your eyes. It had been a long two hours of studying for you, but the information had stopped sinking in a long time ago. Feeling like you deserved a break, you tore your eyes away to stare at the menu, deciding that the best reward for a job well done was the overpriced food that this café offered. Standing in front of the only visible barista was a tall figure blocking your perfect view of the glass case of pastries. Scowling at the fact you would actually have to get up, you walked around his form, eyes searching for your personal favorite; coffee cake.

As you ordered, Taehyung chose to secure his favorite spot in back, his drink and food in hand as he searched for his own little haven among the tell-tale wood of the furniture. There was something ancient about the wood, which most likely had only been created a few years ago. Still among the imperfections he found the history of the world. Each impurity had a source and each source was the pure power of raw emotion.

An artist had the job of capturing these moments within their work, but seemed a daunting task for the dark-haired male. How was he supposed to capture something so vast in a single moment; it was evasive at it's core and as ambiguous as the fog that set in during the melancholy breaths of the city. How was he supposed to put these feelings on a piece not even a foot in length and width?

"Just my luck!" Hard eyes quickly glanced in the direction of the guilty party that had stolen the last piece of coffee cake. In your moment of distraction, the prize had slipped out from under your nose. Thus, you settled for second best and made your way back to your mess of a table with your consolation prize. There was something about the atmosphere that made today feel different for him. It could be the empty café.

Most of the time there was a steady stream of customers to provided the soft melody that he worked to editing his latest camera roll, ceaselessly scrolling through the park flowers until he finds the one. His intuition was not to be questioned; when he said that a photo was the one, there was nobody in the world that could convince him otherwise. Many times he had followed his intuition down the most unlikely of routes, only to find the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. His most famous photograph was discovered at the end of an alley way, in the explosion of colors on the brick wall. Timeless in that it didn't seem to be dated and with the telltale signs of fatigue in the wrinkles of pain across the vibrant shades of spray paint.

But in the middle of the day, with only the bored worker and the other student, the moment felt serene. A coffee shop could be nice with the background chatter of the patrons that muted itself to a low buzz if you stayed there long enough. On the other hand, it could be silent in everything, allowing the select few who gained access to feel the building breath. The comforting scent of ground bean wrapping around the body with its musky tendrils, lulling you into the safe embrace of sleep.

Perhaps it was fate, or it was the explainable powers of the shop, but you and the man with you let out a loud sigh at the same time. Both of you heard the other, forcing you to lock eyes over the edge of the table and let out a small smile. It was a language all on its own, one created by strangers that bridged the social barrier for just a moment. But then in the next moment, it was always lost.

You feared that like most of the other lingua francas in your life, this one would lose itself as the male was drawn back towards his own world. It was moment of disappointment whenever you fooled yourself into being hopeful that perhaps the conversation would continue past shared looks in the middle of crowed hallways, or in this case an empty coffee shop. Then all feeling faded as they went back to whatever felt more important to them, which from what you've seen could be a wide variety of things.

Turning back your messy biology notes, you tried to lose yourself in the world of protein formation. But before you could study a single world, a shadow fell over your papers. Scowling a little at the interruption, you turned your head only to find yourself staring up at the man who you had locked eyes with before. It was jarring, realizing that maybe he had not forgotten about you after the small connection the both of you shared over a mutual sense of fatigue.

You didn't even know his name, but it was a meeting of kindred souls. You didn't know how you knew, but somewhere in the crevasses of your bones, you felt that he was the type nurse a coffee into the small hours of the morning, or curl up in front of the fireplace with a book. He would accompany you on the times your spontaneity overcame your common sense and forced you into morning convenience store runs, scouring the aisles for ramyeon or sausages; something to keep you satiated as you finished the season of your current Netflix obsession. He was the kind that enjoyed the mere presence of someone, and didn't need anything fancy in terms of dates.

All these thoughts hit you at once, muting you for the mere second it took for him to turn his head and face you; shock and awe evident on his face.

"How?" It was like ice shattered around you, some kind of special effect from a movie. His voice was hot chocolate, dark, rich, warm, and comforting all at once. You were rendered mute for a moment. Perhaps that's why you were unable to form even a full word when you responded.

"Huh?" It was a sound existing somewhere on the edge of shock and awe, unable to fall of the white picket fence in between two neighbors. He didn't seem bothered by your lack of vocal cords. He just continued. That's all he had ever known was to continue, so that's what he did.

When his grandparent died, he continued.

When he became scarred with a leather belt, he continued.

When he was abandoned for a new son, he continued.

It was a dreary life, but it was his life.

"How do you manage to look so tired, yet so alive at the same time?" His voice faded out towards the end as the both of you locked eyes. And suddenly, he wasn't a stranger to you. The lingua franca the both of you had created moments before returned and the both you spoke it with such a ferocity that you nearly started at the experience.

It was the purest of connections between the both of you. No knowledge of the space you inhabited, only the universe that you had created with him. It was colored the warm honey of his eyes and spun to the beat of his breathing, timing itself with each rise and fall of his lungs. Through the far window you felt the rays of the sun on your face and watched how they reflected in his eyes, shifting the shade to more of a warm brandy. It was a bitter and rough taste that lingered on your tongue as you watched him.

His hand itched, fingers aching to press the shutter on his camera and capture the roaring waters in her eyes. The more he looked, the more he willingly drowned. And the more he drowned, the more he felt like he was alive.

"I really hope that what you said was just a really bad attempt at flirting." You let out a slight giggle, leaning away from the mess of notes on the table.

"Nope. That was me trying to ask if I can take your picture." The worst past was how serious he sounded. Taehyung fell in love during an infinite minute. Stretching impossibly long despite it being only a moment in time.

They were all a moment in time, controlling each second that stamped itself in history, whether or not the action or thought was recorded for later generations. The most beautiful idea was a the butterfly effect. Something so small and insignificant could create such a powerful effect on the world. He'd always wanted to find that butterfly for him. That one thing that he could look back on as a series of happenstances, randomized coincidences that brought him to the prime of his life.

He had never seen such expressive eyes in his life. Taehyung, a connoisseur and creator, had never found such inspiration, and he never would again. Among the swirling depths of her eyes, danced a storm; and he was caught in the middle. Between thunder and lighting, he existed for a minute in her eyes. Not just living to continue, but living to live for once. She was the perfect paradox to his life. The perfect person to take everything he knew and spin it on it's head.

He was the perfect logic for her mind to solve. Ingenuity flowed from his skin like a natural pheromone, tainting the air with his ideas.

They were infectious to each other. Yet, they were also each other's cure.

[name-me-regret]

Second Star To The Right - Chapter 3

Second Star To The Right Chapter Three

Read on AO3.

- - - -

“Before all of this ever went down In another place, another town, You were just a face in the crowd Out in the street, walking around A face in the crowd

Out of a dream, out of the sky Into my heart, into my life And you were just a face in the crowd Out in the street, thinking out loud A face in the crowd.”

A Face In The Crowd - Tom Petty

- - - -

June 15, 2019 (Saturday)

He’d refused to return to the park no matter how many times Abbie begged him all weekend.

“I wanna see the stolen boy! Maybe we can help save him from the fairies!” she’d shouted. Tony wasn’t there to hear her, or he’d likely have something to say. He had agreed with Harley when she’d talked about meeting a fairy and that it was probably some kid playing a prank on them. As for Harley, he hadn’t told them Peter’s name, because he was afraid that he really was a boy stolen by the fairies and his face would be on a missing poster or something.

Now it was his birthday and it seemed Abbie was more devious than he gave her credit for. She’d somehow convinced Pepper, who was their adopted mother since she was married to Tony, that it’d be a good idea to have Harley’s birthday party in Central Park.

It wasn’t exactly a party, but ‘A Walking Tour & Picnic’. It was a guided tour of Central Park and there was a picnic after the 2 hour tour! Two hours! Who wanted to walk for two hours on their birthday?!

Well, technically his birthday had been Monday and they’d had a small cake just the newly formed family, and now some of Tony’s friends would be along for the festivities since neither Harley nor Abbie had any friends. But still, he didn’t want to go on a hike. Harley didn’t want to risk running into Peter again, because cute boy or not, he was super weird and freaked Harley out.

That’s the reason he was trailing behind the group, hardly peddling on this stupid bike he’d been forced to ride. They weren’t even that far into the two hours, it’d been ten minutes and Harley wanted to quit. It wasn’t because he was out of shape, because he was use to hoofing it to school if he ever missed the bus. He just thought this was really dorky and there were some kids his age pointing and laughing at them.

“I wanna die,” he groaned, wishing he could hide his face at least, but the bike was so old that if he let go he’d likely topple off it.

“Then perish,” a voice cackled. His head whipped around toward the familiar voice, and his stomach flipped when he saw Peter in the trees he was passing.

Harley wanted to ride off, but his gen-z genes wouldn’t let him. “That’s not right. I have to say, I would die for you. And then you say, then perish.” He’d stopped, putting one foot on the ground so he would topple.

Peter grinned with a shrug. “I’ve never been one for memes.”

Harley eyed him. “You are strange, what kid of gen-Z kid doesn’t like memes?” He noticed then that he had the same clothes... again. “And don’t you ever change clothes? Do you live in Central Park or something?”

Peter looked down at his clothes with a confused look. “This is what I had on when I was taken, so I can’t change.” He looked at him, head tilting with a sorrowful expression. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” He stepped back into the tree line, and damned if he wasn’t starting to disappear right before Harley’s eyes.

“Wait!” Harley called, dropping the bike and rushing forward. Peter paused and started to reform again, almost like some kind of ghost. “Shit... fuck,” the taller boy gasped, stopping just a few steps from him. “If... if you’re being held by fairies, can I help? Can I save you?”

His heart was pounding as Peter looked at him, head titled curiously. “Maybe... maybe you can,” he said slowly.

“Harley, where’d you go?” Harley heard Tony’s voice.

Peter looked shocked when he heard the voice, turning to look at Harley. “Peter? What is it?”

He shook his head, stepping away from him. ’Come back... don’t forget about me,’ he whispered, but his mouth didn’t move this time. Before Harley could reach for him, he he was gone as if he hadn’t been there at all.

Tony found him a moment later, but Harley was too shaken that he only managed a ‘sorry’ to being reprimanded about falling behind, and followed the man back to where he’d dropped his bike.

- - - -

June 16, 2019 (Sunday)

Harley wouldn’t say that he was scared, because he wasn’t, not anymore. He’d seen the sadness in Peter’s eyes, the truth; or at least, what he believed to be true. Peter truly believed that he was being kept prisoner by fairies, and he wanted to help him. Harley didn’t want Peter to keep having that desperate look on his face. So, against his better judgment, he returned to the park the next day without telling anyone where he was going.

Sundays were a bit tricky for Harley. His mama had always insisted on going to church every Sunday, and Harley always resisted her on account that he’d feel like a big hypocrite. He was what all the people in the congregation referred to as ‘wicked’. Damn, how he despised that word more than anything he could ever describe. It was hard being gay and religious, because he did believe. How could he look at his mama, who worked so hard so they the things they needed, and not believe. While she was gone now, he still had his sister, he saw her as her smile got a bit wider each day, and she made him not just give up.

So, it was necessarily that he didn’t believe, he just didn’t want to go to a place that called him wicked, disgusting, or immoral. Harley knew that no every place was like that, but he had no time to try and differentiate. He was fifteen, had a nine year old sister that needed him, and that’s all that matter.

Only, Abbie wanted to go to church, and Pepper had agreed to take her, because it’s what their mama use to do. Harley didn’t go, refused to be guilted into going even by her. So, he had Sundays to himself, trying to figure out what to do with himself.

This is the reason he was here now, back in Central Park and trying to find a boy that may, or may not be a ghost. Hell, he could be one of those supposed fairies he said that had stolen him away, and now wanted to steal Harley away. Harley would just have to make sure not to eat any food the other might offer him. It was just that, he didn’t know the first place to start looking.

Harley was moving along The Ramble when he heard something that sounded like ‘pssst!’, which was strange to hear so clearly when there was a lot of people around. Then he saw Peter motioning from somewhere off the man-made path, looking to he halfway inside the stones. It was late afternoon, and it was slightly darker here with the amount of trees surrounding this place.

It was Sunday, so the majority of the people were located in the larger areas of the park, such as the ballfields and the playground areas. This part of The Ramble was strangely secluded at the moment, almost like it was intentional. It felt a bit ominous to Harley, and he felt uneasy, because he wasn’t too familiar with New York, never mind the 840 acre Central Park.

Even so, he jumped the fence easily and approached with caution to where the ghost (maybe) was waving at him. “Hey,” he said cautiously, and was a bit surprised when he seemed to have changed his appearance even when he’d said that he couldn’t change. He would have said something, but he was worried that he might disappear again.

The clothes he was wearing weren’t any less strange, with a bright orange shirt and a green windbreaker with blue trim, and a pair of black and white shorts. His whole outfit clashed with one another, but damned if he didn’t look adorable. ‘Could you stop being a disaster gay for a moment, Harley,’ the blonde haired teen chastised himself.

Peter looked at him, swaying back and forth as if being buffeted back and forth by the wind, only, there was no wind to be felt. It was warm and uncomfortably sticky, so Harley would have been grateful for just a small breeze. He was use to Tennessee weather, but he’d never liked them. At the moment he was wearing cut-off jeans, and a white t-shirt along with his old beat up white sneakers. While it was true that he had been adopted by Tony Stark (there had been a press conference and everything, but Harley and Abbie’s faces hadn’t been shown to protect them for the time being), that didn’t mean he was going to become a douchey rich kid. He still wore the clothes he’d brought from Tennessee.

When he reached Peter, he saw that he’d been right about his mismatched clothes being terrible, but he still made it work some how. Or Harley was just blinded by a cute boy. “So, what do I have to do to... help you?” he asked, trying not to shuffle nervously. Because cute boy or not, he was also a ghost or a fairy trying to steal his soul or something like that.

The other grinned, reaching out toward him and Harley was proud of himself for not flinching away. When their hand’s connected, and it was strange but it didn’t feel like a flesh hand, but it was corporeal and cool to the touch. Harley shivered a bit as he got closer, but made no move to distance himself from Peter. He was seriously screwed if Peter was some kind of fairy creature trying to steal, or eat his soul.

“Come on,” Peter said, grinning as he pulled him forward. He found himself being led down a stone stairway. There was literally nothing down there, and Harley had to duck down under the large rock to get to the sheltered inlet that Peter led him to. He was surprised when he saw some kind of blanket or other spread out, so he didn’t get the seat of his shorts down when he sat on the ground.

When he turned toward the front, he was a bit stunned at the sight. The streets were low with their green leaves, some just bushes, and the shade they provided was no as ominous at all as he’d first thought. It was beautiful, and there was almost something rhythmic in watching the movement of water, no matter how dirty it looked, and now he could hear the soft movement of the wind. It was almost like it was just Harley and Peter, the other’s hand still gripped in his own; cold but solid.

“Who are you, really?” Harley asked him, looking at the other teenager sitting next to him, far too close. Even so, when the other shifted closer, he didn’t move away as his heart started to pound in his chest.

“I’m the wind... and the trees, and the ground under your feet,” he whispered. Harley couldn’t help lean back and away from him, but the rock was at his back, and Peter was so close that he should feel his breath on his face, but there was nothing. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

The came that voice again, like two voice overlapping that he couldn’t distinguish one from the other.

‘It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood...’

Harley reached out with hesitant hands to the other’s face because he seemed to have gotten lost to whatever he was hearing or seeing. “Peter, come back,” he told him.

’And, all at once, the moon arose through the thin ghastly mist, and was crimson in color. And mine eyes fell upon a huge gray rock which stood by the shore of the river, and was lighted by the light of the moon.’

He was confused, since he didn’t know where the voice was coming from but the other was lost as he stared straight ahead without really seeing Harley. So, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the other’s cheek, to wake him from his trance and because Harley really wanted to.

Peter blinked and looked at him as his eyes cleared. “Did you just-?” he choked and Harley was a bit amazed as his face flushed scarlet. It was a good look on him, and he found that he wanted to see it more. So, since Peter had leaned close enough already, he closed the last few inches between them and while he could feel his lips, cool and solid, it didn’t really feel like him.

Even so, he heard Peter gasp even if he doubted he needed air, and then he was kissing him back. His hand fumbled for Harley’s and their fingers locked together. Even if he was sure he might have been kissing a shadow or an illusion, it felt nice and he wanted to kiss him for however long he had breath. Harley knew though, that he had to stop, so he broke the kiss.

Peter made a small whimpering sound when Harley pulled away, but he needed Peter to focus; he needed to focus on how to help him.

“Peter, what can I do to help you?” Harley asked, scooting back a bit. Peter leaned forward, probably to keep the kiss going, and damn if he didn’t want to. So, he grabbed him by the shoulders and stopped him, and once again marveled that he felt solid. “Focus, Peter!”

The smaller boy’s face changed to that vaguely distant look, and he was in time to only say his name again before he disappeared like the mist. Only when he was gone did he realize it was dark, the sunlight had gone when before it had been shining through the tree branches, and he hadn’t realized how long he’d been there. Harley realized he had lost time.

Harley suddenly heard the crunch of footsteps and he tensed and moved further under the boulder, eyes darting toward the water, wondering if he could get away through there even if it meant getting his shoes wet. Then he relaxed, because it was likely just park security, and only had a moment longer to wonder what they were doing off the path when he realized it wasn’t park security.

“Hey, what’re you doing there kid?” a rough voice asked. He couldn’t make out much of the man’s face, dark as it was, but he felt one of his hands close around his leg and drag him out. “Spying on us, are you?” he snarled, and Harley saw there were two of them.

“Lemme go!” Harley growled, kicking at him as the man yelped when his foot connected with his face as he cursed. Harley darted around him, barely avoided the other man’s grabbing hand as his sneakers made a scraping sound on the stones as he threw himself up the stairway. The men were shouting after him, but he refused to stop, managing to jump over the fence and took off running, aware that he was being followed.

“Harley,” he heard someone call and his head snapped up, seeing Peter motioning through the trees off the path. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the path and crashing through the woods, but he also wasn’t going to get caught. So, he hopped over the fence, following Peter as he seemed to shine, reminding him of stories that told of lights that would lead travelers stray and to their deaths.

Harley certainly hoped the ghost boy wasn’t leading him to get lost and die.-

- - - -

[cult-magic]

Oh boy, ResDogs fic. Buckle up, kids, it’s gonna be a wild ride.

“Freddy, newly 18 and with no prospects, settles in a vacant house. He gets more roommates than he ever wanted, and some of them are less than human.”

   The bus pulled away in a suffocating cloud of hot exhaust and dust, leaving Freddy standing alone at the bus stop with a hand over his eyes despite his sunglasses, wishing he’d spent those few extra bucks on a decent pair of shades. But his money was running low already, the few hundred bucks he’d saved after working for Holdaway at the local precinct going to the bus fare and what little food he’d eaten since he left two days ago. Both his wallet and his stomach were running on fumes now, and he needed a place to stay.

   Two hundred and forty dollars had taken him to the middle of Tennessee, where the sun beat down hard and heavy even though it was mid-September. The air was sticky, the tarmac so hot he could feel it through his shoes. Heat waves rolled up from the horizon just down main street. Next to the sidewalk where he stood, a small diner boasted the best white gravy in all the south. Across the street stood an antique store, rusted and racist junk lining the windows masquerading as history.

   Freddy went walking until he came across a city hall in the center of the town square. Most of the storefronts surrounding it were empty, a few cars scattered in the parking lot. There was a barbershop across from the front door of the city hall, a pet store next to it with the door open and a loud fan whirring in the vacant threshold.

   Inside city hall, it was blessedly cool. The small, empty lobby gave way to one long, white corridor. On the walls were various maps and a copy of the town charter from 1876. The glass was smudged with fingerprints. On either side of the hallway, the pale wooden doors were closed, the frosted glass dim or backlit with the high afternoon sun. In the right corner at the end of the hallway, next to another closed door, a fern was dying slowly.

   One door was open on the left side, but when Freddy looked inside, he was greeted by an empty waste management office. He cut his loses and left the building.

   Around the back of the city hall, Freddy found a cafe sitting alone among a strip of empty storefronts, claiming to have coffee and milkshakes. Come back after five, the sign said, and they would serve him alcohol too. Freddy wondered if they carded as he stepped in.

   The woman at the counter waved him in lazily, said she’d be around to take his order in a second. Freddy slid into the booth, the cracked red vinyl sticking to his sweaty ass and back, pulling his skin unpleasantly. He tucked his bag between himself and the wall.

   “What can I get you?” the woman asked when she ambled up a few minutes later. She smelled like cigarette smoke and damp perfumed skin.

   “Strawberry shake,” said Freddy. The woman nodded uninterestedly and ambled off to place his order, her scent lingering until the overworked fan in the ceiling swept it away.

   When she returned, placing his already sweating glass in front of him, Freddy asked if she knew of any vacant houses around town. She eyed him suspiciously and said, “You can’t spit without hitting an empty place ‘round here.” She ambled off with a little more speed this time, taking glances at him from the counter as he finished his milkshake. He put money on the table and left without another word, her glassy yellowed eyes watching his retreating back.

   Freddy walked down a few empty streets, passing only a few people on the sidewalk or in their yards as he went, until he turned down a red gravel road and found a decrepit old house standing in a lot of tall yellow grass, a tangled jungle of trees starting on the edge of the yard. It was isolated, maybe a few miles from town, and deadly quiet. The sun was starting to make its way to the horizon, casting the world in golden light. Freddy decided, looking at the broken living room window refracting stretching orange triangles across the rotting wood of the porch, that this would make a fine temporary home.

   He went inside.

...

   They took two cars northeast out of Mississippi, passing through Memphis and stopping in Jackson for gas. When they came to Myersville - tiny, sparsely populated, and with only one road in and out - they decided this was home until the heat died down.

   Larry was driving the lead car, taking the curves nice and slow so the townspeople took no notice of their little motorcade. It was a rather moot point, seeing as it was so hot today no one was braving the outdoors. They drove through the town square, then on through what Larry guessed to be the only traffic light in the town. He followed the road to nowhere, checking his mirror occasionally to make sure Vega was still on his tail.

   Finally, after driving through what passed for suburbs in this town, Larry came across the perfect place. The house was old and had obviously been abandoned for some time, but most of the windows were unbroken and the roof looked in good shape. The grass was tall, but the woods off to the side would provide good cover for the cars. Plus, the place was at least three miles out of town with neighbors half a mile out. In the moments before dusk, Larry decided this place would be HQ until Joe called the all-clear.

   He parked on the side of the street in front of the house; he wanted to walk the grass before driving into it so he could avoid something gouging the tires. Vega pulled up behind him and climbed out, Brown emerging from the passenger side. Both squinted into the setting sun to see the house.

   “This the best place you could find?” said Brown.

   “It’ll work,” said Larry.

   Vega nodded. “Discreet and isolated. It’ll work, at least ‘til Eddie gets here.”

   “It’ll work ‘til Papa says it doesn’t need to work anymore,” corrected Larry. Nice Guy Eddie was the heir, but Joe Cabot was still the King, and Larry was nothing if not an obedient little knight.

   “Okay,” said Pink, “but what do we do with the cars? Any cop sees us loitering around here and they’ll be on us like pigs on slop.”

   Vega slapped Pink on the back genially. “You calling us slop?” he asked around his vague, threatening smile.

   “Only if you get us caught,” said Pink as he stepped away from Vega warily.

   “No one’s getting caught,” Larry interrupted. “We’ll pull the cars around the side after we case the place. C’mon, while there’s still daylight.”

   Larry brushed his fingers over his piece where it was tucked into the back of his pants. The place gave him the creeps: the low light cast long shadows over the yellow grass; the dying sunlight glinting off the broken windows on the first floor; the way the gables casted the top windows into darkness. The air smelled like dry dirt and wet rotten wood, and was mostly silent but for the bugs in the trees.

   “Creepy,” said Brown offhandedly.

   Pink threw a glare over his shoulder. “Be a goddamn professional,” he replied, as he had many times over the weeks they’d planned this job. Even after they had gotten away with the heist, Pink’s paranoia was in overdrive. Not to say that was a bad thing; they’d saved themselves from a nervous rent-a-cop thanks to Pink’s paranoia.

   Larry tried the doorknob, unsurprised to find it open already. The porch steps groaned in protest as the other guys followed him. Pink had his gun hanging at his side. Blonde was smoking, waving his cigarette at Brown when he tried to peer around him into the house.

   The inside was dark, the trees to the left blocking most of the light that would come into the living room. It smelled damp, like mildew and rotten leaves. The broken window was in the kitchen to the right of the front door, dead leaves and puddles of stagnant water were collecting in the sink and on the floor below it. Down the hall, Larry could see light falling in from open doors that probably led to bedrooms.

   “Hey, what’re you-”

   All four of them had guns pointed at the kid before any of them really had time to think of it. The kid looked terrified, fear-wide green eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight he had in one hand. He was camped out on a bare patch of floor, a sketchbook open in his lap and a pen clutched in his free hand. A duffle bag at his side was propping up his flashlight hand over the book.

   He was dressed like a kid trying to look tough, decked out in a leather jacket over a white t-shirt and dark jeans that all hung off his skinny frame like they belonged to his dad. His hair was dirty blonde and a little greasy with sweat, falling to frame his face like he didn’t know what to do with it otherwise. A pair of cheap sunglasses sat atop his head, probably meant to keep the hair back but not succeeding.

   “Shit,” said Larry, tucking his gun back into his pants. “What the fuck are you doing here, kid?”

   “Squatting,” said the kid. He was watching Pink, who had not yet lowered his gun.

   “Put the fuckin’ gun down,” said Larry. “He’s just a kid.”

   “I don’t fucking know that,” said Pink. “He could be a thief, or a fucking rat.”

   “He’s got a point,” said Vega, an amused smirk curling around his mouth. He took another drag from his cigarette, posture loose.

   Larry glared at him. “Stop egging him on, you fuckin’ degenerate.”

   “What’re we gonna do with him?” asked Brown. He was frowning at the kid from around Vega, but was making no threatening moves.

   Larry turned back around. The kid was standing now, legs long and ungainly, a little awkward and looking ready to run with nowhere to go. The flashlight was hanging uselessly from his fingers now, the dim light that made it through the gaps in the leaves casting sharp shadows across his pale face. Larry thought, with little difficulty, that he was gorgeous.

   “What’s your name, kid?” asked Larry.

   The kid hesitated, then said, “Freddy.” The fear in his face had lessened a bit, fading into cautious intrigue.

   “And what are you gonna do if we let you go, Freddy?” asked Larry.

   Freddy shrugged casually. Larry was caught by the way his hands, long-fingered and elegant, flexed with the motion of his shoulders. “Go find a new house, I guess,” he said. He looked at all of them, eyeing the guns where they were visible. “Squatting isn’t exactly legal, even if it doesn’t ping on their radar next to whatever you did.”

   “See?” Larry gestured at Freddy, shooting a smile his way when the kid started to fidget. “He’s not gonna do shit.”

   “Oh gee,” said Vega, blandly, “do we really get to keep him?”

   Larry rolled his eyes and started moving further into the house. The two doors on the right were bedrooms - one of which was suffering from a hole on the roof and a soggy mattress - and the doors on the left revealed an empty closet and a bathroom, respectively.

   “There’s still running water,” said Freddy, “but no electricity. I think it’s from a well. Water comes out kind of red at first, but it seems all right. I wouldn’t drink it, but.” He shrugged. “Should be okay for bathing and cooking.”

   Brown whooped, already undoing his tie. “You have no idea how much I need a shower, man.”

   “There’s no curtain,” Freddy called down the hallway where Brown disappeared, “or towels, or soap. Try not to make a mess.”

   Vega raised a cool eyebrow at Larry and cut his eyes to the kid before going outside to call Eddie and update him on their situation. Pink squinted at them all before disappearing into the back bedroom, whose mattress was dusty and a little moldy but not wet.

   Larry sat on the couch beside where Freddy was resettled on the floor. It was dusty and ripped up, one cushion missing and the whole thing smelling of mildew. Freddy had put aside the sketchbook and turned off the flashlight, now sitting with his back against his bag.

   “What’re you doing here, kid?”

   Freddy sprawled out a little more, forced casual. “Foster system cut me loose,” he said.

Larry’s eyebrows shot up. The kid was probably freshly eighteen, then, really just a kid. “So you packed up and moved here?”

“No.” Freddy made eye contact, like a challenge. “What are you doing here?”

Larry met his challenge head on. “Hiding from the cops ‘til the heat dies down.”

Freddy nodded and turned to watch Vega swagger through the door. He turned back to Larry after staring after him contemplatively. “What’s your name?”

Larry hummed and turned away from those pretty green eyes. “Mr. White.”

...

Weird shit started happening the first night. Brown and Vega took the bed in the back room and Larry convinced Freddy (with surprising ease) to settle with him on the floor of the front bedroom, where it was dry and the broken window kept the hot air circulating. Pink was in the living room, on the floor and using one cushion as a pillow.

Freddy was laid out beside him, sleeping the sleep of the deeply exhausted but newly-freed. Dust motes were floating in the faint moonlight seeping in through the window. Larry was too wired to sleep, so he watched Freddy instead. He really was gorgeous, especially with the soft white light falling across his face, long eyelashes casting gentle shadows on his cheeks. Sometimes, when he shifted, he made sweet little noises that had Larry’s mouth twitching into a smile.

He was knocked from his thoughts by footsteps outside the door, but when he got up to check, the hallway was clear and all three of his guys were sleeping.

Larry turned back to his room to keep vigil over the kid, his gun resting on the pile of his clothes.

...

Larry was woken from his light sleep by screaming, and he was in the kitchen just behind Pink with Brown on his tail, Vega following from outside, all four of them dressed for sleep with guns leveled on the problem.

The problem was this: Freddy backed up against the counter opposite the bloody dead animal, looking like he’d had the life scared out of him.

Larry put his gun down and moved to Freddy, slipping an arm around his back to steady him. “You good, Freddo?”

The kid sucked in a deep breath then started coughing; the kitchen was starting to smell like the thing’s insides. “Shit, yeah,” he said eventually, “just scared me s’all.”

“Well you sure scared the shit outta me,” Pink groused. “I thought someone was dyin’.”

“Someone did,” said Vega. “What is that, some kinda raccoon?” He looked like he wanted to poke it, but all he had in reach was his gun and he treated his piece like his baby.

“Opossum,” said Brown. He wrinkled his nose. “Looks like it’s been dead for a while.”

Freddy let out another breath. “I didn’t see it when I first got in here,” he said. He was trembling gently under Larry’s hand, coming down from the sudden adrenaline spike.

“Probably killed itself trying to get in last night,” said Larry. “Caught on the glass or something.”

Freddy seemed to accept that easily and let Larry lead him out of the room. Larry didn’t add that there was no blood on the window. He did add: “Someone get that shit outta there, it’s disgusting.”

Behind them, the others started arguing about who was handling the mangled little body half hanging out of the sink and who was cleaning up the gore.

...

Freddy was alone in the front bedroom, laid out on the floor and staring at the ceiling. The others were outside, talking about something heist-related to which Freddy was supposed to be privy. He could hear their voices filtering in through the busted window, muffled baritones and distinct profanity. Beyond them, the leaves were rustling in the wind. The sun was high in the sky, the wood where he was lying pleasantly sun-warmed.

Despite being effectively homeless and entirely broke, Freddy felt like he was doing all right for himself. He had a roof over his head, even if that roof leaked, and he had friends, even if his friends were nameless and aloof. White, at least, seemed to genuinely like him, and Blonde liked to tease him. It was more than he’d had before, so that made every bit of this situation precious.

White told him earlier that they were waiting for Joe, whoever that was, to call the all clear. Freddy figured he was some sort of mob boss or something, which as cool as hell if a little scary. It’s not like his life was going anywhere but the ground, anyway, so getting involved wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing he could do.

Outside, the voices were moving away, probably going to the cars parked around the other side of the house. Freddy strained to hear them, but eventually their voices faded into the nature sounds, so Freddy let his focus drift, and that’s when he heard the murmuring. It was indistinct, soft, almost sounded like insects, but the longer he listened the easier it got to make out the individual voices. They were all talking at once, from every direction, filling the room like a tangible being. Freddy thought of Venom, huge and amorphous and hissing, and felt excited before the sensation fled.

A voice broke through the clamour, a clink of glass among the crunch of gravel: a clear “come” whispered in surround sound that sent a shiver through Freddy. He sat up, staring into the open closet. It seemed darker than it was before, or was that the midday shadows?

Freddy clambered to his feet, cold sweat starting to gather on his face, and stumbled out of the room. He could hear the others on the front porch, anyway, there was no reason not to go greet them. No reason to linger in his terror.

...

“I had the weirdest fuckin’ dream last night,” said Brown during lunch. He was talking around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “Dreamt I was a little kid again, and my dad was putting me to bed, but it was this house and he was covered in blood.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Larry, grimacing. Freddy grunted in agreement.

Pink groaned loudly. “Can’t I just eat my lunch in peace?” he demanded.

“No one needs to know about your daddy issues, Brown,” said Vega.

Brown made a face. “Who do you think I am, Madonna?”

“You talk about her enough,” said Larry.

“Fuckin’ ugliest Madonna I’ve ever seen,” said Pink.

“Listen assholes-” Brown was cut off by a crash in the back of the house. They were up and going before they were even done swallowing, guns at the ready. Freddy was slinking along behind them, curious but smart enough not to get in front of the action.

They found the the source of the crash in the bathroom. The curtain rod had fallen from above the bathtub, one side of it bent a little, the end broken in an ugly jagged edge like a broken bone. In the wall next to the mirror, the tile was shattered.

“The fuck?” said Pink. He swung around abruptly, sweeping into the back bedroom. The bathroom had no window and only the one door. The rod looked as if something heavy had been dropped from it, or pulled down on it.

He and Vega returned after a few tense moments. “No one’s here,” said Vega. He was cool as ever when he said, “Probably a ghost.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Larry snapped, but the way Freddy shifted beside him made his voice waver.

Vega grinned, smarmy as could be. “What,” he drawled, “little doggy scared of a few ghosts?”

Pink scoffed. “You believe in that shit?”

“Nah,” said Vega, “but our boy sure seems to.” He gestured to Freddy, who was looking a little pale-faced.

Freddy blew out a breath, flipping the bird at Vega. “This is just weird shit, man. Unsettling.”

Behind them, Brown nodded in agreement. “This place is straight outta Poltergeist.”

Freddy’s eyes got a little wider, so Larry told them to knock it the fuck off and pulled the kid out.

...

The day was rolling towards one and Larry and Freddy were settled in the ruins of the living room, Larry reclined on musty couch cushions and Freddy on the floor, leaning back on the couch and sitting on Pink’s makeshift pillow. A sketchbook was open in Freddy’s lap, the same one from the first day they met. They were silent, Larry smoking and staring at the ceiling and Freddy drawing with quiet concentration. The others were elsewhere in the house, occupying themselves as best they could. Somewhere outside, Brown was singing badly, a subpar soundtrack to a pleasant afternoon.

And it remained pleasant until Freddy nudged his leg gently and said, “Hey, look,” while shoving his sketchbook under Larry’s nose.

It was a bunch of figures walking as a loose group, swaggering across the page in comic book style. There were five of them, all decked out in black suits and sunglasses with ties acting as bright pops of color. It was highly stylized and made Larry grin; it was them, a bunch of fucking crooks done up in gel pen ink and thick paper. But he counted again and his grin falted.

“Kid,” he said, “who-?”

“That’s me,” said Freddy, goofy grin taking over his face. “Mr. Orange, fucking green as spring-”

“Kid,” Larry interrupted. “You aren’t one of us,” and god, watching that grin fall off his face was hard, but it needed to be said, “we aren’t some fucking Brady Bunch family, we’re a bunch of dirty thieves and you’re too fucking good to be a part of this. You deserve better than us.” Than me went unspoken.

The sparkle in those huge green eyes had disappeared halfway through his little lecture, his mouth set in a grim, disappointed line that looked too familiar on a face that sweet. Freddy’s eyebrows were drawn low, eyelids drooped, and his lean body held carefully relaxed where it was laying against the couch. “Y’know,” he said, casual as could be, “I don’t think you really get to decide what I deserve.”

Larry realized what was happening, then. He was taking cold for casual, hurt for apathy. The kid was a good actor, he though, better than anyone had ever probably given him credit for. A product of the system. And yeah, he realized he made a mistake right then, too.

...

That night was tense. Freddy laid with his back to Larry, curled into a ball like the last thing he wanted was Larry’s touch. Neither of them slept for most of the night, jumping at any little noise. Some time past midnight, something clattered in their room and Freddy made the most heartbreaking little noise. Larry wanted nothing more than to soothe him, but Freddy never turned to seek comfort, instead curling up tighter when Larry shifted. What little sleep Freddy did manage to get was plagued by nightmares that made him cry out. The one time Larry woke him up, he got a face full of scared green eyes and a weak scowl for his trouble.

The next morning, a hammer sat in the shade of the closet, something brown like rust smudging the handle and head. Freddy let out a puff of breath and shuffled out of the room as soon as he could.

Nice Guy Eddie showed up later that morning, Blue snoring in the passenger seat. Eddie swept into the house, zeroing in on Freddy immediately.

“Who the fuck is the kid?” he demanded, hand already reaching for the gun in the waistband of his fuckugly pants that went with his fuckugly windbreaker.

“Just a kid,” said Larry. “He don’t know nothin’.”

“Fuck’s he doing here?”

“Found him squatin’ when we got here,” said Vega. He was lazing against the kitchen counter. “He’s good company. Gets spooked easy.” Vega wiggled his fingers at Freddy, making half-assed ghost noises. Freddy made a face at him, which made Larry laugh under his breath.

Eddie glared at the kid, probably deciding whether to just kill him anyway, before he said, “Whatever. Keep your stupid mouth shut, kid.”

Freddy waved a hand, said, “Don’t have anyone to tell.” It was one of the saddest things Larry had ever heard, but no one else gave it another thought.

Blue brought in bags of food from the car, enough to last a couple days if someone shared rations with Freddy (even if the kid was an unexpected burden, Eddie wasn’t gonna make him starve). Eddie moved himself into the back bedroom, relegating Brown to the floor so he and Vega could share the bed. Blue put his bag next to the couch in the living room, picking the cushion up off the floor and putting it back in its place on the couch, claiming it for himself.

“Hey,” said Pink, “you can’t take that.”

Blue leveled Pink with a tired glare. “And why is that?”

“It’s mine!”

Blue sighed. “Son, I am sixty-eight years old. If I want the couch and all its cushions, I will fucking well have it.”

The group laughed, but Larry kept his eyes on Freddy. He was smiling faintly, but he was standing back, tucked between the doorway and the counter. He looked sad around the eyes, separated by a distance greater than whatever few feet he’d put between himself and the others.

Larry did that.

...

Eddie got the call at four in the morning. He was loud, greeting the other side with enthusiasm and saying goodbye with even more. “Home free!” he yelled, startling Freddy out of the last vestiges of sleep. The guys called out various exclamations of relief, White chiming in as well. Freddy curled closer to himself and buried his face in his jacket, his stomach churning. They would be leaving tomorrow.

They were ready to go by dawn, stuffed packed away in their three cars. The plan was to split up at the first major highway and meet up in a port city in South Carolina at staggered intervals. White and Pink would show up last after winding their way through Kentucky, up to West Virginia, and then down the coast.

Freddy was standing behind them as they went through the plan one last time, watching with detached interest. None of them had plans to bring him, though he saw White glancing back at him every few minutes. He wondered what White thought he was doing, looking back like he regretted leaving him here. Did he think he was making it easier on Freddy, making him think it was a choice out of his hands? Did he think the pity would make Freddy feel better once they were gone? He was either stupid or cruel.

Blonde slapped him on the back and called him a good pup before he left, a mean smirk on his face that was more familiar than offensive at this point. Brown gave his shoulder a squeeze, perhaps genuinely fond and perhaps patronizing. Pink cast him a suspicious glance on his way out and Blue and Eddie left without a second thought.

White waited until the others were gone before stepping up to Freddy and pulling him into a hug. Freddy stood stiff against him, head down to rest against White’s shoulder.

“Sorry, kid,” said White. Freddy sighed, sagging against him for a moment, letting his weight rest on his solid body. He pulled himself away, looking at White as he moved to stand closer to the ruined couch. They stood in silence, just watching each other. White left after that, wordless in the heavy silence.

The sun was hot on his face as he watched the cars pull away from the broken window. There was no breeze this morning, just hot sunlight and humid air.

Footsteps rang down the hall behind him. “Okay,” he said, “I’m coming.” Freddy turned away from the window, going further into the house.

...

“Shit,” said Larry before he pressed on the break and jerked the wheel around, doing a U-turn in the middle of the street. The two cars in front of them disappeared around a curve.

“What?” said Pink. “Did you fucking forget something?”

“Yeah,” said White, “Freddy.”

“We can’t go back to that fucking house,” protested Pink, “not for that goddamn kid.”

“The hell we can’t.” Larry sped back the way they came, urgency rising in his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on the kid’s face as they left. He’d seen that kind of hopeless resignation before, in criminals when a heist goes wrong, in cops when a heist goes all too right.

Pink huffed, glaring pissily at Larry. “Why the fuck do you care anyway? Just some kid.”

“He’s grown on me,” said Larry. He parked in the grass in front of the house, barely pausing to undo his seatbelt before exiting the car and running up to the house. He had a horrible feeling something bad was happening in that house.

He found Freddy bleeding from the gut in the front bedroom. It looked like something had tried to tear into him, but there was no weapon, nothing but Freddy’s hands, but the kid couldn’t do that to himself.

Against all odds, he was conscious and reaching for Larry when he appeared in the doorway. “Freddy,” said Larry, collapsing next to the kid and gathering him up as best he could. “Kid, fuck, what happened?”

“You came back,” Freddy croaked. His face crumbled then, in pain and fear and misery. “I don’t want to go anymore. I- bring me back.”

“Yeah,” breathed Larry, “yeah, yeah kiddo, I’m bringin’ you back with me.” He grabbed Freddy’s hands and put them over the wounds, pushing them down. “Put pressure on it, kid, c’mon Freddy.”

Freddy was groaning, no fucking tolerance for pain, when Pink showed up, gun drawn and panting. “I couldn’t find anyone,” he said. “Fuck, that’s a lot of blood. Fuck. Is it bad?”

Larry looked at him. “As opposed to good?”

Freddy cried out, one hand reaching for Larry. “White, bring me- bring me back, please.”

Pink tucked his gun into his pants and said, “What the fuck is he talking about? Bring him back from where?”

Larry paused, looking at Pink. He hadn’t thought of it like that. But that didn’t matter, not yet. “Help me,” said Larry. He lifted one of Freddy’s arms around his shoulder. Pink took his other, bending under Freddy’s weight. “Press on his wound,” he ordered. Pink reached around to Freddy’s belly, bitching the whole time.

They stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall, out the door and down the ramshackle porch with footsteps from nowhere booming from behind. They staggered across the lawn of overlong grass to the car, Freddy wheezing and crying out Larry’s alias with every step.

Larry opened the back door of the Cadillac and dumped Freddy in, climbing in after him and tossing Pink the keys. “Get to Nashville,” said Larry, “I’ve got a contact there.”

Pink groaned. “You fucking owe me one, asshole.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Larry, “just fucking drive, fishface.”

Freddy’s breathing was labored and he was clutching at Larry’s hands, mumbling “White, White” under his breath. Larry pushed the kid’s hair out of his face, grimaced when all he did was smudged blood over his face. “My name is Larry, kiddo. Can you say it?”

“Larry,” said Freddy. He grinned tremulously, teeth streaked with his own blood. He tried to shift closer and screamed instead.

Larry hushed him, moving to support his head. “That’s it, Freddo. Rest now, we’ll take care of you.”

...

Six years into a life of crime and this was the first time Freddy was seeing the dogs again. Blue had long since retired, but the others were sat around the table like they’d been together all that time. Brown had shaved his awful goatee in the interim and Pink had gained a little weight to fill in his bug-eyed face, but otherwise things were mostly the same. Eddie brought a job from Joe (who was not a mob boss and was, in fact, Eddie’s dad) and, after delivering it, was laughing along with the lot of them at Freddy’s story.

He was telling the one about the ghost baby that haunted his and Larry’s apartment. It screamed and cried and banged on the walls at all hours of the day. Freddy knew it wasn’t actually a ghost; their neighbors had a kid about three years ago and he still cried like an infant, and the banging came from their loud fucking teenager. Still, it was a running joke between them that made for a good story during dinner with their friends, and who said the dogs couldn’t be friends, even if most of them didn’t know each other’s names?

Eddie slapped his hand on the table, still laughing. “You believe in that shit?”

Freddy sobered a little, still snickering but with a tinge of nerves. Beside him, Larry had gone still. Between the two of them, the incident six years ago was still rawest for Larry. “Yeah, I believe in it,” Freddy said, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Eddie snorted. “Because you’re a rational fucking human being?”

Freddy shrugged and leaned back to rest against Larry’s arm, which was stretched across the back of his chair. “I’ve got personal experience.”

Pink groaned. “And he got that personal experience all over my fucking car-”

“That wasn’t your goddamn car,” Freddy laughed, throwing a roll at him from across the table.

“Children, please,” said Blonde, unwrapping a toothpick. Beside him, Brown laughed loudly.

“Says the last guy on earth who still uses toothpicks-”

“What’s that got to do with anything-”

“Oh my god,” said Eddie, “shut the fuck up.” He leaned towards Freddy. “Anyone else seen your fuckin’ ghosties?”

“Yeah,” said Freddy. The table’s occupants nodded in varying degrees of enthusiasm. “Do you think I ripped myself open with a hammer claw?”

“His day’s over if he stubs his toe,” Larry added.

“That’s an exaggeration,” said Freddy. “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause everyone else knows about the ghosts.”

“Always getcha when you’re alone,” said Brown, nodding sagely. “In your dreams.”

“Oh sure, Madonna,” said Blonde, sending the whole table into peals of laughter.

Freddy leaned into Larry’s side, hand coming to cover his scared abdomen as he laughed. It was the last visible reminder of those lonely few days. Larry always got this pinched look on his face when he saw it, but Freddy liked it. The texture was nice, moving his fingers from numb, rough scar tissue to smooth skin, and he liked remembering that he hadn’t been abandoned to the mercy of more than his share of ghosts.

Besides, he had his own Ghostbuster right here. He grinned at Larry and Larry smiled back, effusively warm.

“I’ll get the bill,” said Eddie when they started to quiet down. “You lot get to work.”

They all pitched in for the tip, though Pink bitched about it until Blonde offered to shoot him to the table at large. They shuffled outside, Blonde and Freddy lighting up the moment they got outside. “See you,” said Freddy, waving at the dogs as they drifted to their own vehicles.

“Later, Orange,” said Brown. He was swinging his keys around his finger on the way to his shitty old Chrysler, and when he got in they could here the strains of KBilly’s turned up too loud through the closed door.

“What a loser,” said Larry. Freddy laughed and followed him to their own car, rolling down the window to finish his cigarette and turning up their own radio.

“Just drive, old man,” he said, and they pulled away in a suffocating cloud of hot exhaust and dust, leaving behind Eddie and Blonde to their argument about whatever.

[mycrofts-sword-gunbrella]

Prequel to The Syncode: Part 1

                             First Meetings, Flights and Arrivals                                            

                     Joanne Hartwell had never flown in a private jet before. Julian had promised her a little adventure into his world of secrets, MI6 and its equivalent, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service.

She wished more than anything that Julian could be here to share in the sumptuous surroundings of his luxury gulf stream. She missed him and their lively conversations they'd have when he'd return for a few weeks to his vacation home at Patos in the north Puget Sound - one of the many islands in the San Juan archipelago.

Due to the politics and intrigue Julian was currently embroiled in, he'd had to remain in Australia with ears on the ground as to who had infiltrated the top ranks of both the British and Australian Intelligence. He suspected it was more than one person, who was possibly working for a cabal or other secret network. True to form, he had made Joanne sign the Official Secrets Act; dear friend that she was, state secret knowledge of this magnitude needed to be in writing. He was quite the stickler for rules.

Still, the fact remained that nobody in the ASIS or the British SIS could be trusted. It was with her alone that he sent the top secret letter to give to his cousin Mycroft Holmes, head of British Security Services, and was now sending her across the Atlantic to meet him in London.

The trip would be a short one due to the potential danger Joanne could be in should she be found out. She was to meet Mycroft at The Langham hotel to hand off the letter.

   Settling down to lunch, she spread a fine linen napkin over her lap and tucked into the tasty salad, pasta marinara and fine wine. Joanne couldn't wrap her head around all this wealth. She had known Julian was well off, but not to this extent. Although a practical man, his tastes ran toward the elegant and refined. The polished table and sideboard gleamed, the scent of the freshly cut flowers sublime. Knowing she would probably never again be surrounded by such luxury, Joanne intended to enjoy this to the fullest.

           Savoring the exquisite cabernet sauvignon (over $2,000 a bottle!), she sank into the soft leather seat, her mind melting into sensory overload.

Diagnosed around age five with Synesthesia, life was an interesting, but not always a pleasant one. Some things, like the sweet, smooth wine she currently sipped, the colorful fragrance of the flowers, and the zesty full bodied pasta sauce, were wonderful to her senses. Colors and textures abounded.

When those senses crossed, colors were smelt and tasted, and impressions of everyday life were filtered and focused into her brain in ways she could not put into words. Touch was also affected, but to a lesser extent: Most objects could somehow be physically felt by only looking at them. Visually, letters and numbers were assigned their own various shades of color.

The auditory faculties gave her the most trouble. Sounds, as well as smells, had texture, weight and color, which could be hard to endure, especially in a city or large town. Joanne couldn't set foot in one without earphones and music to neutralize the noise and physical unpleasantness.           

It was this very curse, or, as it turned out, gift, that was the cause for her current trip to London. Looking out the window, Joanne’s mind drifted back to the first time she had met Julian, a little over a year ago. 

*****************************************************************

             The couple ahead of her paused, stopping to look at something on the man's phone. Joanne slowed, debating whether to venture into the street and pass them, or wait. The bus to work was due in 4 minutes, and she wasn't in the mood to watch their romantic antics. Love, or the lack of it, had been on Joanne's mind lately.

She would be 46 in less than five months, and sensed time for that kind of thing was running out. What decent looks she possessed were fading by the year. It really was true, that on reaching middle age and beyond, some women wanted to find a mate; someone to take care of them, to grow old with and to not be alone in their later years.  Being fiercely independent, Jo had scoffed at the idea. Yet lately on her brisk walks around the local trails, it seemed there was no avoiding couples and lovers, both young and old. Would she ever find someone? Considering she was a real homebody and never went out except for work, invigorating walks around the neighborhood and visits to the local park, it seemed unlikely.

    Most days, she sat under the pine tree at the park with the geese. They were her only friends. Jo preferred the company of the birds to humans, especially after interacting with patients and co workers for hours on end.

It was very calming to rub her cheek against their soft, smooth plumage while they were otherwise occupied eating out of the treat bag. Each one had a different scent. One smelled like creosote, another like Lilacs, yet another like sunscreen. Joanne figured it was her Synesthesia playing with her senses, but still, it was wonderful. On cold days, she would slip her hands under their wings to keep warm. It felt like being enveloped in a warm down coat, the colors in her mind soft and fuzzy, subdued and calming. She'd been coming to this park for years, and all the geese knew her. As far as Joanne could tell, she was the only one they would let pet and hug them. In spring, the parents would nudge their goslings over to her. How many generations were there, now? She'd lost count.

            Watching the parked cars across the small pond, Joanne wondered who sat inside them; it was usually the same cars day in and day out on their lunch breaks. Who were they? Possibly single and also looking for someone? Her hopes were dashed when the doors would open and a couple would emerge, or a family would tumble out, the kids running over to the nearby playground. The few men that were alone were either too old or too young.  Resigned to her fate, she squared her shoulders and checked for oncoming cars, quickly hurrying past the mincing couple. They barely glanced at her as she rushed by.  

   Arriving at work, she checked the schedule to see when the last patient would be. The list was short, the patients spaced out by half an hour or more. Still, if all went well, there would indeed be time for a few quick laps around the block.

The afternoon went by quickly, each patient needing something extra, it seemed. An xray here, a layered compression cast there. The doctor was beginning to run behind, when her boss, Dr. Packman’s wife, informed her of an end of the day walk in, and a new patient, no less. So much for that walk. Still, with the rent going up astronomically every year, Joanne wasn't complaining, and coveted any extra hours provided.  The Packman’s had been good to her for the five years she had worked there, had been spoiled in fact. She owed them much.  

   The last scheduled patient was leaving when the new one arrived. Joanne was cleaning and preparing the exam room when she heard a deep, booming voice come from the reception area. The accent was Australian, yet, there was a very definite underlying British one.

        She heard the patient retire to the waiting room to fill out the new patient paperwork. Burning curiosity brought Joanne out to the front desk, who peered over the counter at the new arrival. Another man sat with him as they quietly conversed. 

He was a big man; not fat in the conventional way, but large boned, and tall. She estimated him to be at least six five. He was elegance personified, impeccably dressed in a dark three piece suit, complete with a silk handkerchief and double Albert chain attached most likely to an old fashioned watch fob hidden inside the waistcoat pocket.

Dark hair thinning at the top and with slight jowls, the man looked to be in his early to mid sixties. Sensing her gaze, he glanced up at her. Piercing dark brown eyes bore into hers. Deep intelligence glittered in their depths, and something else, as though he could read her mind. There was something almost Middle Eastern about his features, yet his skin was as pale as an Englishman's. This was a new one for Jo, who could usually tell where a person was from, based on either accent or physical characteristics. He seemed to encompass both. She glanced down at the penciled in name on the schedule: Julian Holmes. 

His companion was also well dressed, but not as extravagant as her patient. His bearing and speech to Julian Holmes was as a subordinate or employee.

   Time seemed to stretch like melted taffy as she thought of something to say. Who was this man? No one of this caliber ever came to the clinic. Usually the clientele were Medicare patients, as well as the occasional retired doctor and everything in between. This was someone outside of normal social circles, and she couldn't wait to find out more about him. The reason for his visit never even crossed her mind, until she saw how he was holding his right foot. Even from across the room, she could tell it was painful for him.

Misinterpreting her curiosity for impatience, he stated drily, "Almost done. I am sorry to keep you so late this evening, I imagine you are ready to go home." His voice was deep and sonorous, cultured and refined.

The receptionist had left for the day an hour earlier,  and the boss had gone downstairs to her office after checking him in. Her co worker was long gone, having been the opening MA that day, and the doctor was in his back office typing away at chart notes. It was just Joanne, this intriguing man, and his companion.

    Signing the last of the paperwork, he slowly stood and came over to the desk. "Back in a tic, Henry", he called, looking over his shoulder to the seated man, who bowed his head curtly in acknowledgement and resumed texting.

"I believe you will find everything in order", Julian stated, sliding the papers across the counter. Considering how impeccably he was dressed and well groomed, she didn't doubt it. Just his attention to the smallest details of his wardrobe was astounding.

His expensive cologne also drifted over. Subtly spicy, the scent flashed colors and textures through her mind: A dark red with subtle indigo, smooth with small gritty points of yellow sprinkled throughout.  It was exquisite.

Barely glancing at the paperwork, she nodded, suddenly shy. "Yes, looks fine. Come on back." Opening the door, she was about to lead him down the hall to the exam room, when she paused. "Would you like to bring your friend back with you?", she asked.

He shook his massive head in the negative. "No need. That is my assistant Henry, who sees to my transportation needs." She nodded to Henry in greeting, who looked up and smiled briefly before returning to his phone. Joanne took her patient back.

Although clean, she realized the rooms and the small clinic in general, must have appeared very homely and economic compared to what he was normally used to. It was all somewhat daunting. How had he ended up here? 

Taking a deep breath, she was determined to stay focused. "How're you this evening? She gestured to the podiatric chair. "Go ahead and have a seat in the chair of honor!” Normally her attempt at humor would crack a smile on the face of even the most reticent of her patients. Not so with this taciturn man. His sense of humor was either nonexistent or very dry. “Also, please remove your shoes and socks. What brings you in tonight?"

Slowly, the man named Julian Cambridge lowered himself into the chair next to the one she had indicated. "I'll pop up there in one moment. It is difficult to bend down these days," he said, indicating his shoes.  She couldn't imagine this man 'popping' off anywhere.

"Do you need help removing them?" she asked. He impatiently shook his head, looking slightly affronted. "I may be getting on in years, but I've not reached that point yet. Tell me, do I look in need of assistance?" Although stated politely, there was an undercurrent of indignation. His dark eyes flashed.

Startled, Joanne backed away. "No offence meant, really! It's just, I always ask.. as a courtesy..", she faltered.

"To elderly persons, you mean?", he added somewhat testily.

"I.." She trailed off. What could she say? This was going sideways very fast. Focusing on his current problem, her mind went on autopilot as she peppered him with medical questions.

Shoes and socks removed, he settled his large frame into the exam chair. "Lift up for me?", she asked, indicating his long legs that stretched far beyond the chairs edge. Shifting a lever, the bottom half was pulled out to extend it. Tipping him back using the foot peddle, Joanne continued on. "Any history of gout?", she asked, noting the red, swollen first toe.

"As a matter of fact, yes. That is what brings me in tonight. As you can see, it is incredibly painful". He almost winced as Joanne lightly felt the heated skin with the back of her hand.  Scribbling down notes, she continued the obligatory questions while glancing at his paperwork.  Age of 61. Unmarried.  Local address on one of the San Juan islands up the Sound. Employment: Civil Servant. Hmm. Interesting.

Julian' sharp eyes missed nothing. He seemed to be studying her as much as she was him. Sensing what she was thinking, he said, "I live in Australia, but make my home on Patos Island during the summer months. As you can see, the heat does not agree with my condition."

"You live on Patos Island? I didn't know there were any homes there. It's all owned by the Bureau of Land Management, if I remember right. Nice island, but all wilderness."

"Ah. Well, some years ago, I purchased the island from your government. There is only one home there currently - mine. Of course, it's closed to the public now. It's private and quite suitable."

"No way! You OWN the entire island?!" Jo couldn't help gawping. Some of her patients did indeed live on the San Juan's, but none actually owned a whole island.

Julian smiled, amused by her reaction. "A man in my occupation likes a bit of peace and quiet. I obtained it at a discount. "

"How'd you do that? Our gov isn't exactly known for that kind of thing."

A rich, baritone laugh suddenly erupted from his expansive chest. "Connections my dear girl. I know many people in your government, and some of them owe me favors." His reserved demeanor returned once more. 

She could only stare wide eyed at him. His check in complete, it was time to let the doctor know he was ready. And yet, the more she learned of this mysterious man, the more she wanted to know.

One thing was certain: There was an authoritative and possibly dangerous air about him. Whatever position this man held, most likely a senior one, he was not one to be crossed. Julian Holmes was perhaps the most intimidating man she had ever met. And fascinating.

"How did you find out about us?  I would have thought there would be podiatrist somewhere nearby on one of the larger islands."

"There is not. The one on the nearest island retired, apparently. I met one of your prior patients in a small supermarket on Orcas Island. It's the nearest grocers to Patos. After noting my bothersome foot, he commented that I should see a podiatrist, and yours came highly recommended."

It was true, a few patient of theirs currently lived or had retired up to the various San Juan islands. It was a small world, indeed.

Joanne wondered about his 'connections' in the government. Civil Servant, it had said on his occupation description. Definitely Australian government. How had he even found Patos? Who exactly was he connected with, and how high up did they go? How high in the upper echelons was this man? She had to know.

"What is your job, if you don't mind my asking? What kind of work does a civil servant entail?” Joanne indicated the registration form. “You can tell me if I'm being too forward. It's just, you are unlike anyone that's ever come to our clinic before.." Afraid she had been too bold, she held her breath, praying his temporary good humor wouldn't evaporate. It didn't.

"Ah!", said he, still chuckling. "You know much more about me at the moment, and you've yet to tell me your name." The man was evasive, she gave him that!

"It's Joanne.."

He raised an eyebrow, silently entreating her to continue.

"Hartwell," she finished. "'The Average' Jo to my friends."

"Well, Miss 'Average Jo to my friends Hartwell', it is very nice to meet you. I assume you've surmised mine," he noted, glancing at the paper and back to her. 

 A wide grin spread across her face. "Why yes. Yes I did!" 

She liked this man. Reserved and dour at first, he slowly opened up to her. Joanne detected a certain loneliness about him. Having worked over twenty years in the medical field, she had come across many like him. No matter their job, they were usually loners outside of work, and not quick to trust people. Oh yes, she knew this kind quite well. It took one to know one. He seemed to sense this, and was possibly thinking the same.

           Not wanting to keep him here later than he needed to be, she went to inform Dr. Packman that he was ready. Still furiously typing out a prior patients' note, he barely nodded and indicated he would be in shortly. Joanne quickly rushed back to her patient.

"He's just finishing a chart note, and will be in shortly. Hey, I notice you seem to have both an Australian accent and a British one. I could be wrong.. I always like guessing where folks are from with their accents, but yours is different!"

Julian looked surprised and taken aback. At first she thought she had (again) offended him, but there was nothing but a keen interest on his face now.

"Really? You picked up on that?” Smoothly evading her question, he asked a few of his own. “Tell me, do you know any foreign languages? You appear have an ear for it".

"Well.. I learned Italian when I was stationed in Naples. Was in the Navy for 12 years before I had to get out for my back." (In truth she had gotten herself kicked out, having taken a drug that she shouldn't have, but her bad back had played a part in why she had had to take it. There was no way she would admit any of this to him). Joanne sensed he knew she was holding something of importance back. Luckily, he didn't press the issue.

"I also learned the Russian alphabet," she continued,  "and the Greek, as it's the parent to the Cyrillic, so it wasn't too hard. During my stay there, I'd gone to both Russia and Greece, and figured I should at least learn how to read it, even if I didn't know what I was actually reading. Unless it sounded like English phonetically, I had no clue!"

He looked at her, curious. "And how long did it take to learn them?"

"A few days."

Julian's eyes widened, studying her intently. "Yet you say you did not actually learn them. Only how to read the written texts."

"That's correct. I wanted to, but figured it wasn't worth my time as I'd only be in each place a week. Still, I liked the music, especially Greek. I still read it, and YouTube the videos with subtitles. Also the cursive."

"And Italian. You spoke the language, then?"

"Yes, it was easy once I learned how each letter or pair of them are pronounced. Like 'CH' is pronounced with a hard 'K' sound, not like CH in say, chips."

"And it took you how long?" The intensity of his gaze was unnerving. It was as though he were deeply considering something. What, she couldn't fathom.

"Ah, well, I didn't really apply myself too hard. I worked at the Naval Hospital, so everyone including the Italians spoke English there. It was only when I moved out into town that I really buckled down on it. Probably a month or so, and even then, it wasn't that good, but ok enough to get around. It’s only when totally immersed in a language that I can learn it fully, and since I wasn't, well.. it was a bit broken."

Julian's hands were steepled under his chin as he gazed at her, his thoughts turning inward. She remembered her earlier question.

"So, how is it that your accent both British and Australian? Or am I wrong?"

           He was about to reply, when the Podiatrist walked in, thus ending their engaging conversation. It would have to wait, but by then, the visit would be over and he would be wanting to get home.

It was this last thought that made her wonder how he was getting home. Patos Island was a good three or more hours by ferry, at least. She had taken the Victoria Clipper to British Columbia a few times; it was almost a two hour ride. This island was farther north than even Victoria. She needn't have worried, though.

"I have a marine vehicle waiting at the Edmond docks," he said, rapidly texting something into his phone.  "My assistant is calling a cab as we speak. "

Marine vehicle?  What kind? She couldn't imagine the man in a speed boat.

Reading the question in her eyes, he stated simply: "Just a small boat to get about around the islands."  Enigmatic indeed.

The diagnosis of gout was confirmed by ultrasound, as well as mild arthritis in the joints of the foot and ankle. A repeat visit would be required for the gout, as well as a cortisone injection for the ankle at a later date, after the gouty flare up subsided. A soft cast would be needed both today and again at his next visit to keep the swelling under control.

Joanne was applying the wrap when the doctor walked back in, telling her to schedule a follow up for Julian in a week. For some reason, this made her very happy. Julian hid a small smile as well.

Joanne led him out the connecting door to the waiting room. The assistant Henry was still texting on his phone.  She suspected he did more than just see to Julian's transportation.

About to hand him a reminder card, Julian waved a large but elegant hand, the cufflinks on his sleeve gleaming.  "No need for that. I've memorized it, as well as the phone number of this office, should I need it." She had memorized the date, too.

He looked pointedly at her. "I trust I will see you again?"

"Yes, I'll be here." With bells on, she thought.

"Very well. We will continue our earlier conversation at that time, and I shall endeavor to have an answer to your earlier question. Now! Henry! I believe that is our cab." Bright lights swept the small but otherwise empty parking lot outside as the cab parked and waited.

Julian extended his hand to her as he warmly shook it. "Thank you again Miss Hartwell for yours and Dr. Packman’s excellent service. It was a pleasure, I assure you. Ma'asalama. Hataa naltaqi mujadadaan."

With that, he turned and was followed out the door by Henry. "Goodnight, Miss Hartwell", he said, hurrying after his employer.

Julian's exotic cologne lingered in the room.

They were gone before she could ask for a translation of that last line, and what Arabic dialect it was that Julian had spoken. There was still the question regarding his mingled Australian and British accents.

Another mystery surrounding this fascinating man. One and more that Joanne hoped would be solved in one weeks time.

On their next encounter, however, she was to discover that Julian knew far more about her than she realized, and that his answers would lead to even more questions.

[thesylvalining]

Sometimes I feel like my life is like a conversation between myself and Tom Petty.

Me: Man, I’ve got the travel itch.

Tom: Time to move on, time to get going.

Me: But where?

Tom: You belong somewhere you feel free.

Me: Duh! Where would you suggest? Italy?

Tom: You belong on a boat out at sea.

Me: But Tom, you know my track record with seasickness…

Tom: Let me get to the point, let’s roll another joint…

Me: Okay, now we’re getting somewhere!

It’s all my dad’s fault: he listened to Tom Petty for ages before I could even say “Tom Petty.” In truth the first complete sentence I said — “Go play on the freeway,” to a cute little old lady at the grocery store — was his fault, too. Supposedly I heard him say it to the dogs… apparently it’s real  kids understand more than you think.

Speaking of kids… munchkins actually play into the way things are evolving but first: I want to touch on the way I’ve been feeling lately: like a leaf in the wind. Every day I am blissfully unsure of how things will unfold. It’s the most free and open I’ve possibly ever felt in my silly little life.

So when I read this bit of “Jitterbug Perfume,” by Tom Robbins (borrowed from my Italian friend/queen Lisa) I almost fell off the toilet where I do most of my reading. In this section one of the main characters, an ex-king named Alobar, is having a conversation with the village shaman, who speaks first:

“I encourage you to ride this strange wind that is blowing through you, to ride it to wherever it will carry you.”

“But which way shall I go?”

“That is between you and the wind…”

Lately the wind and I have been having a riveting dialogue, because in the last 72 hours, the “plan” (if anyone can call it that) has changed. It’s worked itself out in the most enchanting of ways, unrolling like pastry dough on the counter, ready to be filled with crema, nutella or marmellata… But the last couple days, my friends, are a story all of their own. Long story short, I am not coming back to the States until September… but the details are still evolving and all of that deserves its own glorious post.

So, while this new direction works itself out like a much, much more pleasant kidney stone, let’s allow the wind to blow us back to Rome, shall we?

We therefore pick up the trail in a hot and humid afternoon breeze outside the train station in Spagna, the Spanish quarter, in search of our quaint hotel. Kelly and Jacob are uncomfortably warm; I — the lizard — am in my happy place.

After ditching our bags at in our cool hotel room and chugging an appropriate amount of water, we burst back into the sun to check off the first item on our tourist list: the ancient Colosseum. And on the way, enjoy horse hats, the stately Altare della Patria and some more really old crap.

Not to be that person (although I’m gonna be that person)… but last I spent time in Rome, it was March of 2005 with my good friend Amy (AP Photo!) and her friend, Sherry. The streets — and the Colosseum — were cold, but deserted. This round it was busier than centro on market day, but nonetheless, the ancient, enchantment of such a structure remained intact.

With throngs of other humans we wandered in awe past old columns the size of Redwood trees and arches that had watched not only gladiators, but now — with an ancient eye roll — modern-day Selfie Stick aficionados battling with their Smartphones. I personally don’t need one because I was born with an arm… actually, two of them…

Boom! The Colosseum 🙂

Frands.

The big picture.

Old crap.

Selfie sticksssss.

More selfie love.

Even people carried from across the globe and deposited there like so many pieces of guanciale in a really good Carbonara (one of Rome’s specialties), the magnificence of so much history was not obscured. To read the Colosseum was regularly flooded for ship battles is incredible; to read people were tossed into the labyrinth of the Colosseum with lions like fish food into a fish tank to be ripped into tiny little fish food-sized pieces is gruesome… but fascinating, to be sure. Ahhhh, history.

Outside the Colosseum, with sweat moving like curious ants through crevices on our bodies which — unlike the Roman ruins we stood among — had somehow until this point avoided excavation, we spotted something incredible: free cold water. Throughout Italy a refreshing army of potable water pours from the frozen metal maws of lions or stoic faces but here, there was a choice between naturale (still) or frizzante (sparkling) water. From that moment on, the fizzy water stop became mandatory on all expeditions.

Post-Colosseum we paused for our daily gelato stop and found an appropriately ugly spot to suck it down…

We took the scenic way home, bypassing the chaotic, clogged but more direct shopping hub on Via Del Corso, stumbling across this lovely courtyard that probably has a story of its own…

After the hot sun went to bed, we decided a trip to Trevi Fountain — featured in Fellini’s “La Dolce Vita,” — would be next. Despite feeling more like a zoo than one of Rome’s most ancient water sources (the Aqua Virgo Aqueduct built 19 B.C. provided water to the Roman baths and Rome’s central fountains), Trevi fountain at night was still magical. We grabbed a bottle of wine from a nearby enoteca and pizza al taglio (pizza baked in large rectangular pans, sliced in squares and re-nuked) and observed people chucking coins in the water. After some wine and some time, we noticed most people tossed over  left shoulders, turned backwards. The key to a wish come true, apparently, is not to watch after the coin leaves your hands.

After leaving the zoo, we retreated to our cool, dark room and passed the flip out.

In the morning it was ____. Yep, you guessed it, hot! After an Italian-style caffeine-pastry breaking of the fast, we headed towards the Roman Forum, rented audio guides and proceeded to march around learning about, among so many other things, the 7th century Temple of Vesta, Umbilicus Urbis (the Roman entrance to the Underworld) and Basilica Julia, built by Julius Caesar. Over it all sat a blue sky over which the brilliant sun ruled; Kelly and Jacob sweated to death and soon retreated to a popular shady area to revamp; I continued my wandering, sweating to life 🙂

Listening to some audio…

The remains of the Temple of Castor and Pollux.

Temple of Saturn, in the distance…

The Temple of Saturn.

Sharing grounds with the Forum was Palentine Hill, one of Rome’s Seven Hills and where Romulus first founded the original city in 753 BC. We wandered among the House of the Vestal Virgins, learning those lucky ladies had to keep their virginal, ahem, properties intact or, of course, they were killed. Lovely.

Kelly and Jacob kicked it in the shade while I ran up to the top of Palentine Hill to check out the garden atop it and of course, the view!

Post-Forum we made a pit stop for acqua frizzante with a herd of other thirsty humans, found more pizza al taglio for lunch and made our way to Via Labicana to rent three neon bikes from Wheely Bike. With the wind in our hair, we zipped over to the (free!) and glorious Pantheon. Formerly a Roman Temple, the Pantheon was constructed between 118-128 BC.

Inside, with everyone else, we gazed silently upwards to marvel at the Pantheon’s spectacular oculus. And — equally stunning — to postulate how, almost two thousand years after it was built, the Pantheon is still the world’s largest un-reinforced concrete dome. My mind still struggles to wrap itself around such a feat like a thick spaghetti noodle around a fork in a bowl of cacio e pepe (cheese, pepper sauce — another irresistible Roman culinary masterpiece).

After the Pantheon, we zipped through nearby (crowded) Piazza Navona on our way to the river and our obligatory gelato stop of the day: Gelateria Del Viale, some of the best gelato in Rome, according to a friend of mine. We cooled off along the river and rode the long way back to Wheely Bike to return our neon steeds…

DCIM101GOPRO

Gelateria del Viale.

Looking down from steps near Altare della Patria.

Exiting the bike path by the Tiber River.

Coming around the back of the Forum…

After we ditched bikes, we figured we’d have enough time to trot over to the room, powder our noses and head to dinner at the charmingly-named Guilio Passami l’Olio (Guilio, pass me the olive oil). But suddenly we were the Lemony Snickets amongst a series of Unfortunate events: First, missing the first bus because we were on the wrong side of the street. Second, Sylva — The One Who Has Been to Italy Many Times Before forgot to pop in a Tabacchi and buy tickets before catching the bus. And the third bus (of course) was late enough to push our delayed arrival into the realm of “maybe they’re not actually coming at all…” Eventually, we threw in the cheaper public transportation towel in and hailed a cab.

At Giulio Passami l’Olio we found a hopping scene and our reservation had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle like an olive in a very loud, well-dressed salad. Eventually, however, we sat in sweaty clothes and tennis shoe to eat delectable food and consult the restaurant’s fantastic wine bible, or Wible.

To digest and enjoy the temperate evening, we wandered back along the river, enjoying the play of the lights on the water, the trees swaying in the breeze and the feel of a big city under darkness.

Back at the ranch, we made quick work of falling dead asleep. In the morning, at 8:30 a.m., we had a hot date with the Vatican and the even more infamous Sistine Chapel…

Morning found us squeezing onto la metropolitana with the rest of Rome — the Romans to work and us to Vatican City. Like an open bottle of red wine, we poured out onto the streets, directed this way and that by hawkers and helpful folks associated with the Vatican — problem was, it was impossible to tell the difference. But with such volume of people heading to gawk at the plush, art-full innards of the Vatican, we found ourselves funneled right into the gaping, rope-lined mouth of the museum. Luckily, we bought tickets in advance and soon marched up a long spiral staircase into the Vatican.

A sign presented two options: a short tour and a long tour. Two plus hours, Egyptian heiroglyphics, Roman statues, ancient painted maps and medieval tapestries, several Salvador Dali pictures and a Sistine Chapel later, we couldn’t even imagine what the long tour entailed…

From one of the many Vatican windows, Rome, on and on…

Old ass stuff.

The Hall of Muses.

Some of the coolest maps of Italy and Europe possibly ever.

The Vatican’s dome.

Salvador Dali! One of my favorite artists!

In the Sistine Chapel, I was a very, very bad monkey and — amongst loud, firm admonitions via intercom for “Silenzio, per favore; silence, please!” and “no pictures” I fake sneezed, glanced both ways and pointed my very incognito camera straight up:

Oops…

After the Vatican, we located some grub and had just enough time to sprint up the Spanish Steps for a view before getting sucked back into the cockles of la metropolitana and the expansive Roman stazione for the ride back to Faenza…

On subsequent episodes of The Sylva Lining… there’s Venice and I answer the same question The Clash pondered: Should I stay or should I go now? And furthermore, how? As they say, where there’s a will there’s a way. Or, as this Roman street artist penned:

La Dolce Vita Sometimes I feel like my life is like a conversation between myself and Tom Petty. Me: Man, I've got the travel itch.