#next portion should be the last in ch. 9 i hope i hope i hope

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 10

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Explicit for graphic violence Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Mentions of sexual assault, domestic abuse, graphic depictions of violence, fire/burning, swordplay, death. Sickness, fear, time travel. Technically this could be marked Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, but frankly the doves in question have it coming.  Summary: Something has gone very wrong on the morning after the double wedding, and a certain group of traveling assholes arrives in Gretna at an extremely inopportune moment. Notes: This week is sort of a doozy folx. Practice a little kindness with yourselves if reading the heavy stuff weighs on you.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

It’s the light that wakes you the next morning - seemingly brighter and more blinding than you ever remember the Scottish sun being, but maybe this room faces East? Ugh. No. That’s not it. Instantly upon half-opening one eye you are hit with the sensation of a pounding headache and whimper. Must be a hangover, you think, though you can’t remember having enough mead to cause such a severe one. The bottle on your tray had been relatively small and you had shared it with Pero evenly. But when your stomach rolls after five minutes of lying in bed with the blanket pulled up over your eyes, you figure that must be it. While it’s annoying, it’s also manageable. You’ll just have to dip into your herbs to make a portion for yourself, no big deal.

A groan makes Pero’s eyes open, sleepily finding you as he turns his head. You sound slightly pained and he wonders if he had gone too hard on you last night after so long without being intimate and having to sit on a horse. “Amor?” He rasps out, sitting up and reaching over to touch the lump of furs and sheets that should be his wife. “Did I ride you too hard last night?” He asks playfully.

“No, cariño,” your voice is just a mumble under the covers, but you reach behind you to find him and grasp his hip in what you hope is a reassuring gesture. “I think it has been too long since I had that much to drink. That’s all.” That’s all, what a stupid thing to say when you feel like you’re going to throw up.

He frowns and climbs out of the bed to where the water jug is sitting. “You did not drink much mead.” He reminds you, knowing there wasn’t enough to make you feel as if hammers are pounding at your skull. He pours you a large cup and brings it over to you. “Drink.”

“I am sorry to make you play nursemaid on our first morning as man and wife.” It’s downright embarrassing, if you’re honest, but you take the cup from him and sip gingerly. The water makes your stomach heave all over again and the light makes you wince. “I can treat myself,” you murmur. Even the sound of your own voice hurts. “Do the windows have shutters? Curtains? Anything to keep the light out?”

Pero frowns, knowing how much you enjoy having as much light as you can. “You do not look well, Sassenach.” Reaching over, he cups your cheeks and huffs. “You are burning up.”

“I can treat myself,” you insist again, though it’s much less convincing than the first time when so much as speaking makes you dry heave.

You are warm, too warm, and even though he tries not to show it, he’s worried. He’s never seen someone become so ill so fast without a wound that is rotten. “Drink your water.” He gruffs at you.

“My herbs.” It comes out rough, sounding like a demand rather than a request, and you shiver without realizing. The damn room is freezing this morning, a deep contrast to how warm it had been last night.

Pero moves towards your bag, easily pulling out the satchel you carried everywhere that is filled with dried herbs. “What do you need, amor? Do you want me to get the girl to help you?”

“Don’t b-bother Wena.” The thought of interrupting her and Briac hurts worse than your head pounding. It’s their first day as a married couple. They should be allowed to indulge and enjoy, not be forced to fret over their hungover friend. “Feverfew…” you breathe deeply, trying to stave off the nausea. “Mint. Chamomile.” Fuck you wish you had ginger. Why couldn’t that have been a random thing he still had in his pack from China? You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale deeply again, wishing it was nighttime so the sun would be gone.

“Sassenach….” Pero roots around in the pack for the herbs you are calling out. Having spent a lot of time watching you and learning beyond his own knowledge. Instead of arguing with you, he brings the herbs over to you and hands them to you. “Do you want me to cover the window?”

“Please.” You can barely nod; it’s starting to make your head spin. “This will pass.” Once you can control the nausea, you can treat yourself with your own magic and move on from this embarrassing incident. Hopefully Pero will one day entirely forget that his wife woke up ill the day after the wedding.

“I will do it.” He leans over and kisses your forehead gently. You had taken care of him when he was ill, and he will do the same for you.

Your instructions are halting, having to pause because speaking hurts your head, but Pero gets the necessary ingredients in the cup of water and sets it by the fire to heat. “M’ sorry…” You manage to mumble, looking sheepish as you bury your face in the pillow you had slept on. How utterly embarrassing for a healer to get sick.

“Don’t be stupid.” The comment comes out harsher than he meant as he looks over his shoulder. He stands and walks over to you, his hand caressing the back of your head. “We take care of each other. Even if you shit yourself, I’ll bathe you and change the sheets. You would do it for me.”

Laughing is the last thing you expected to do this morning, but he has a way of making you feel more relaxed through being blunt that is much appreciated this morning. “I’ll try not to,” you promise.

He’s worried about you. The way your eyes droop and look heavy, a completely different aura than you had hours ago. “Are you sure I cannot get Arwena?”

“It’s just a hangover, amor.” It would do nothing but worry her if Pero knocked on the door across the hall, and there is no need for that. You can be embarrassed in front of just your husband and that is fine with you. “I will nap after I drink my brew.”

He doubts you are hung over, but he nods, stroking your hair once more before he moves back over to the fire that he had lit this morning. “You will get to drink the foul brew.” He jokes, rolling his eyes and grinning at you.

“Yes.” Groaning a little, you settle down under the blankets again and shut your eyes. “Wake me when ‘s ready.”

Pero grunts, looking over at you every few minutes while the drink is heating up. You are shivering and he decides that if the drink doesn’t make you feel better, he will get Arwena whether you like it or not.

******

Nearly two hours of napping later, you awake feeling worse than before but still strong enough to bicker with Pero about getting Arwena before he slips out into the hall to knock on the younger couple’s door. While you have to admit now that this feels like more than a hangover, it can’t be any worse than a flu or a stomach bug. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours and you’ll be good as new, you promise.

Pero knocks on the door insistently, not caring too much that he is interrupting their small little honeymoon. He knows Arwena would want to know. There’s shuffling from behind the door, and it’s yanked open and Briac peers out in annoyance turned concern. Before he can even open his mouth, Pero is talking. “Sassenach is sick.”

“What kind of sick?” Arwena’s voice comes from beyond the door, and Pero can hear rustling and creaking as she rises from the bed and grabs at clothing for some semblance of modesty.

“The light hurts her and she is burning with fever.” Pero calls out, his mind racing to remember details. “Feels like she is going to empty her belly but isn’t throwing up. Head hurts.”

"I would not have thought her to be weak to mead," Briac comments, stepping away from the door to find his breeches and let Arwena sweep past him in her tunic. "She is not." Arwena tells him, looking from her husband and into Pero's concerned face. "She has a strong tolerance, usually. It is more than just drink, isn't it? Otherwise you would not have come to get me."

“I do not know what it is.” Pero admits. “She had gotten ill fast. Quicker than anything I have seen.” He swallows. “She is moaning in her sleep.”

"Has she taken anything yet?" Arwena knows you would insist on healing yourself if you were at all able, but she is already pushing across the hall with the men in her wake to get to you.

“She had me brew her some herbs. Mint and chamomile with feverfew.” He nods, not liking the way Arwena is frowning. He knows he should have insisted on you letting her come over sooner.

"And did it help even momentarily?" Kneeling beside the bed, Arwena puts one hand to your cheek and her frown deepens measurably.

“No.” Pero answers so you don’t try to deny it. “She slept for a couple of hours after, but she was restless and moaning.”

"'M fine," you manage a murmur through the haze and roil of sickness, embarrassed that Pero had interrupted Wena and Briac's day.

"You are not fine," Arwena informs you, shaking her head in dismay before turning to Briac. "Husband, fetch my book?" She asks, chewing on her lip in worry. The grimoire has all of the knowledge that you have imparted to her so far, and she hopes desperately that there will be something inside to help you.

“What is wrong with her?” Pero demands, nearly beside himself with worry. He moves over to the pitcher of water that has been placed in the room for bathing and wets a piece of cloth.

"I do not yet know." And Arwena would never claim to figure it out that quickly, either. "But I will do my best to find out." It is a promise she does not make in vain, and when Briac comes back into the room with the grimoire that you made for her she starts to scour the pages immediately.

Pero bathes your forehead with the wet, cool cloth even though you are shivering. “Relax, Sassenach, your Wena will fix you.” It’s more for himself than you if he were honest. “Briac, can you ask them for more water?”

"Aye." Without another word Briac is gone, bound for the kitchens for water and to ask Father Malcolm for a prayer to your safety. Witch or otherwise, you are still God's child and Briac cannot believe that Heavenly Father would abandon you in a time of need.

The urge to tell Arwena to hurry up is nearly overwhelming and he has to bite his lip. Instead, he concentrates on wiping your forehead and your neck with the cool cloth.

There are things in the grimoire that are not magic, but deductive. How to discern the cause of an illness if you cannot immediately identify it. Arwena’s eyes speed over the words, looking around the room for clues but knowing that anything here would have affected Pero as well. “Did she do anything without you last night?” The girl asks, chewing on her lip as she tries to think things through. “Go outside? Take a gift from someone? Eat something you did not?”

Dread washes over Pero and he nods. “The dried berries.” He whispers, looking back down at you. “She – there was a bowl of berries that she said reminded her of—of things she used to eat and I let her have them all.”

There is guilt clear as day even in the dim room, and Arwena conjures a small ball of light to better look Pero in the eyes. “If you had not, then you might be lying here beside her and we would never have known you were ill,” she tells him honestly. Though only a girl by any rights, Arwena’s calm in this moment makes her the equal of anyone with professed maturity, and she grasps Pero’s hand tightly. “You must go to the kitchens and find whatever you can about those berries. What they are, where they came from, what they were stored in. If you can bring any back to me, so much the better.”

Pero nods, immediately standing and moving over to the clothes so he can put a shirt and his shoes on.

Briac comes sprinting back into the room with a large jug full of water and some clean cloths, chewing on his lips with nerves. “Father Malcolm was downstairs,” he reports, seeing the jug on the floor beside Arwena and the cloths beside that. “He asked if he could do anything to help.”

“He can.” Arwena nods, pouring out water into a cup and beginning to add herbs and powders from your stores to it carefully but quickly. “I need to know if anyone else in the village has been sick recently. Or—” she looks up at her husband, a note of fear betraying her behind her eyes. “Or died.”

Briac’s eyes widen and he glances towards the door where Pero has already disappeared downstairs. “He can’t lose her.” He tells his wife the obvious. “Not now.”

“I know.” When Arwena nods it is solemn, and she does not take her eyes off you as you shiver and sweat in bed. “That is why we must know what made her sick.”

Instead of coming back with information, Pero has the woman who had brought the meal upstairs in tow when he opens the door. “Here.” He tells Arwena. “Ask her.”

“Mistress,” Arwena’s ball of light disappears instantly and she moves to pull the blankets up on your body a little more, but she does not leave your side as the woman enters the room. “My sister has taken gravely ill, as you can see, and I must know what it was that you gave food to us this last night. She was not ill before she ate.”

“I-it was nothing different than I serve any of the guests.” Her eyes widen slightly, and she looks between everyone in concern. “Stew and bread, cheese and mead.” She insists, “there was only enough berries for one tray though. I’m not sure which room it was left at.”

“What were the berries?” Arwena asks, her voice hard to disguise her fear. “Where did they come from? Has anyone else been ill after consuming them?”

“They are local.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “Bilberries. I picked them myself.” She frowns. “Old man Tuner passed this fall and so did little Ernak but it was a sweating fever that took them.”

“No one else has been ill?” An old man and a young boy dying of sweating sickness does not help Arwena, and she must work very hard not to look panicked.

“There has been an illness of the stomach, but the berries were sparse this year.” She gives a small shrug. “I had to feed most of them to the animals because they turned before I could dry them.”

“Can you tell me how you dried them? Were they left outside in the sun? Did you leave them by fire?” She’s increasingly desperate with every question, trying to find anything that could lead her to an answer of what has made you sick.

“Like I always do.” She frowns, slightly insulted by the questions. “They are laid out and dried in the sun. What the birds don’t pick and take away.”

“Thank you, mistress…” It doesn’t give an answer, not to Arwena, but it’s clear that this woman will not be able to provide any. “If you would be kind enough to send up a bucket of boiled water and some clean cloths for my sister, we would be grateful.”

“At once.” She nods quickly, eager to get out of this room and she hustles out the door quickly. Calling out for her other servers to help her get the supplies required quickly.

“I will do everything I can.” Arwena promises Pero, knowing that he does not doubt her dedicating to helping you but wanting him to know that healing you is now her entire focus.

“Whatever it takes.” Pero demands, the white of his eyes showing as he stares at you. “Anything you need, I will get it for you.”

“For now, I think moving her would not be wise.” At least, since she is not sure how to do So safely, it is not something she wants to think about.

Pero nods, keeping the rag moving over your face and trying to cool you down. “You will save her.”

Arwena swallows, looking between Pero and you as you shiver in the bed. "I will do everything in my power."

******

Hours go by and Pero’s patience starts to wane. Not because you are sick and he is ill tempered, but because you are getting worse. Your fever continues to climb, your skin burning to the touch as your teeth chatter together so hard he put a cloth between them so they couldn’t break. He’s helpless and he hates feeling this way as Arwena pours over the book. “I will go see Father Malcolm.” He decides, desperate for any kind of miracle.

“I will stay by her side,” Arwena promises, still pouring through the book you wrote for her. If only she had had more time to study. If she had started sooner. She might know how to cure you on her own.

“I will go with you.” Briac volunteers, knowing that Pero is about to come unglued and he is hoping he can help the mercenary in some small way.

Father Malcolm spends less time inside his church than other priests he has known, but not out of neglect. His vows include charity, and he takes them very seriously. So when he hears his name called out across the village square on his way back from visiting a birthing bed, he is not surprised. That it is the voice of the young man he married yesterday does surprise him, as that same young man had reported to him this morning that you were taken ill.

Pero quickens his steps towards the priest, trying to make his face look something other than wrathful. Aware of what you had called resting asshole face, which apparently he is cursed with. It worked when he was a mercenary, but he does not need the Father to fear him. “Father, we are in need of you.” He rushes out.

“I am at your disposal, señor.” The young priest nods toward the church. “Is the conversation a private one?”

Starting to shake his head, he pauses, wondering how close to you he had been. Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “Do you know where Sassenach comes from?”

Malcolm squints at the pair of men for a moment before releasing the latch on the church door and waving them inside. “I know enough,” he tells Pero honestly. “To know that this is not a conversation that should be had near prying ears.”

Pero turns to Briac, grabbing the boy’s shoulder. “Do not be wary of her after this.” He tells him. “There are things you do not understand.”

Briac can only nod, too confused by the secrecy that Pero and the priest seem to consider necessary. You are from another land - he knows that - what could possibly be so mysterious? “I was not wary of her after learning she has magic,” he reminds Pero in a low voice as the priest pulls the door of the church shut and bars it. “I shall not be now, either.”

“This is magic of a differing kind.” Pero turns to the priest. “The Stones. How far away are they?” He demands, not exactly sure how far they are from Inverness. “Where she came through.”

“Craigh na Dun is two days hard riding in summer sun. This time of year it will certainly take longer.” Father Malcolm swallows harshly, undisguised confusion written in his features. “But surely she cannot wish to return? You have only just been wed.”

“I fear that our herbs and her remedies are not enough.” Pero gives voice to the fear that has clenched his heart since you first woke up from your nap worse than you were when you fell asleep.

“I see.” Malcolm sighs deeply, wiping one hand over his face. “You think her home will have healers that can help her.” It is not so unbelievable. You had spoken of brilliant and potent medicine when you healed him, and of the things from your home which made your home - your time - so remarkable. Soon enough you had learned not to speak of such things, but at his bedside you had spoken of wonders.

“Yes.” Pero tongue feels heavy, and his heart drops but he nods. “If she does not break the fever soon, she will die.” He watched his own mother die of fever and it terrifies him.

“You have little time, then.” The young priest leans on the windowsill and looks out into the square, frowning slightly to himself as a group of well-dressed travelers approaches the village. “If you do not know the way, I must journey with you. Craigh na Dun is not easy to find, and your wife will be unable to guide you.”

Reaching out, Pero clasps the Father on the shoulder gratefully. “You will be protected, and I will give the Church whatever you desire.”

“We will remain.” Briac offers, still unsure what exactly is going on, but knowing he can be of service in this small way. “Care-take your church and animals. For however long your journey lasts.”

“You are good men, and she is lucky to have your devotion.” Father Malcolm returns Pero’s gesture with a solemn nod. “Go and make her ready. I gather food and ready our horses. It will be good to see my family lands again. Even for such a dower reason.”

Pero nods, turning and striding towards the doors of the church. It was just by happenstance that he glances out and he comes to a dead stop, Briac running into him in surprise. “Shit.” He hisses, unwilling to deal with the headache that just rode into town.

“What is it?” The priest had turned away already, bound for his own chambers behind the chapel, when he hears the Spaniard curse and turns around.

“Arwena’s father and I’m assuming his bastard friends just dismounted their horses.” Pero growls, his hand twitching as he recognizes the men from the descriptions that both you and the girl have given him.

“What?” Briac is at the door in an instant, hand straying to his sword belt as he stares in horror. “God a mercy. They found us…” His only solace in this moment, this moment of truly poor timing, is that the wedding has already passed. “They are a day too late. Thanks to you, Father.”

Pero watches for a moment, gauging their abilities and while he finds them lacking, he does not want to waste a moment dealing with them. “Briac, go to the stables and ready the horses.” He orders the younger man. “Keep your face hidden.”

“Should I not warn Wena?” The youngest of the three men had put long, hard hours into his sword work, but that does not mean he has any desire to fight his wife’s father. The drunkard watchman Dergen, however? Him, he will fight.

“Father?” Pero turns towards the priest. “Can you get me into the inn and distract them? I do not wish to run them through in front of a man of God, but I will kill every one of them without thought if they try to keep me from getting Sassenach to the Stones.”

“My destiny was not always the cloth, amigo.” Malcolm nods to Pero, unsure of exactly what he is putting himself in the middle of, but knowing that he owes you. You saved his life, and now God is giving him the chance to repay that enormous debt. “Briac, go through the chambers at the back of the church and out the back door to find your horses in the church stables. All of their dressage is there with them, and my horse as well. And you, Pero? There is a basket and my spare cloak in the same chamber. You will look like any other clergyman while carrying the basket to the inn, as long as you keep the hood raised.”

Pero nods, finding the hasty plan better than just trying to kill all of them. If he gets hurt, it means delaying your trip back to your time, maybe even your life, and he’s not willing to risk that. “I will get Wena.” He promises the younger man, knowing he will worry about his wife.

“God bless us all and forgive us this deception.” Father Malcolm makes the sign of the cross in the air between all of them, as though it will guard them from any evil still to come.

Pero makes his way back to the priest’s chambers and dons the garments, waiting for God to strike him down as he pulls the hood up and takes the basket in hand. Briac slips out the door towards the stables and Pero follows, making for the inn as inconspicuously as possible.

“God give you good morrow gentlemen.” As soon as Father Malcolm steps out of the front of the church and into the square, he can feel the icy cold of evil men before him. It is his sixth sense, and one that does not betray him now as he watches the men step forward. “Have you traveled far?”

Padrig sniffs, never caring for men of the cloth particularly, especially when they expected money from him as tithes or attend church as his duty as town magistrate. “Searching for my kidnapped daughter.” He lies easily, adopting a worried countenance. “I am hoping that someone in this town has recently seen a group traveling?”

“We see many travelers on the road from England,” Malcolm smooths his face into a placid expression and steps forward toward the men once more. “But I do not recall seeing anyone in distress.”

“She’s under the spell of a witch.” Padrig hisses, spitting on the ground just to the left of the father’s feet. “A bitch I’ve ever intention of seeing drawn and quartered for her crimes.”

“I see.” Inside the sleeves of his robes, Malcolm’s hands twitch, hating to hear you maligned when he knows you to be kind and loving. “There have been no enchanted visitors to our village, sir. I am sorry to say that I do not think your daughter has traveled through here.”

Franbar lets out a burp and shakes his head, dark eyes watching a girl of about fourteen as she draws water from the well. “Might need to rest here a night.” He huffs, smirking to himself as he hooks his finger on his dagger and works his jaw in contemplation. “See for ourselves.”

“For your own safety, sir, I would seek the tavern in the next village.” The advice is twofold, though Malcolm can hardly say that the man’s life is also in danger by Pero’s blade. “There is sickness here. A fever at the inn that may turn deadly.”

Durgen lurches back, as if the priest himself carries a sickness on his person. “I’m getting tired of chasing this bitch down.” He growls. “She should be on her knees for me right now, at home, where she belongs.”

“Is your soulmate amongst the party you seek?” Any question that he can ask will give Pero and Briac more time to ready for travel, and he already likes these men quite intensely, so he will come up with as many questions as he can.

Durgen glowers at the priest and rolls his eyes. “Soulmates are made, Father.” He huffs, pissed that she still doesn’t bear any of his marks despite taking her maidenhead.

“Are they so?” It takes all of Malcolm’s composure not to flinch at this, but he remains entirely calm on the outside. “Then no doubt God gifts them to us when we are ready to do the most good for them.”

Padrig snorts and brings the priests attention back to him. “All they are going for is breeding our children according to God.”

“A life in God’s light is a blessing.” Father Malcolm is more glad than ever that he was the priest to meet and marry the young couple yesterday, seeing how Arwena must have been treated at her father’s hands. While many men believe complete submission to be a woman’s most glorious duty, Malcolm had been raised by a woman made of sterner and more stubborn stuff. He had been taught that all of God’s creatures deserve respect, and he preached as much at his pulpit. “But gentlemen I must insist. There is sickness in our village and it would not do for prominent men such as yourselves to fall to it.”

“Maybe we should leave.” Dergen shuffles again, casting a worried glance towards the inn. “I do not want to get sick from some foreign disease.”

“Don’t see why we should die for a disloyal wrench.” Eon agrees, not moving down from his horse for even a moment.

Padrig sighs, nodding once. “We will sleep outside of town.” He tells them, hating being denied a hot meal, a warm bed, and a warmer cunt.

******

It has been an aching, wrenching morn. Watching you writhe with fever in a borrowed bed in what should be such a happy day has Arwena beside herself with tears, but she holds your hand with one of her own as the other dramatically flips through pages of your shared grimoire looking for answers. She has managed, with her magic, to keep your fever from progressing any further and for now that has to be enough - though she isn’t sure how much longer the enchantment will hold.

The door opens and Pero slips into the room. The urgency in his steps carries him over to the bed so he can set eyes on his soulmate. “Pack yours and Briac’s things.” He tells Arwena. “We are leaving. Your father and his bastards are here.”

“We can’t leave!” The look in her face is fearful rather than surprised, knowing that her father would catch up to them eventually. He was nothing if not relentless. “Her fever is no longer rising but she is not safe to travel.”

“She has to.” Pero has already decided, knowing that you have not regained consciousness and it reinforces the idea that he’s doing the right thing. “I am sending her back to her time.”

“Her—?” The tilt in Arwena’s head and the confusion on her face makes it clear that she has no idea what Pero could mean by such a declaration, and she reaches to hold your hand as you shuffle in your sleep under the blankets. “I will heal her,” the girl promises desperately. “I just need more time.”

“Wena….” Pero murmurs her name quietly. He sighs, feeling like his heart is being torn in two. “Go get ready. We don’t have more time.”

“What do you mean her time?” Arwena insists, clutching your hand tighter. It’s as if she is now fearful to leave you alone with him, although she could never be afraid of Pero. “It is not yet her time. I will not let her die.”

Pero grabs the bags he had brought into the room and starts to shove your possessions into them. “Sassenach isn’t from our time, Arwena.” He explains. “She is from— a time where this sickness could be easily cured. Where she will be safe.”

“A time?” Even with months of studying magic behind her, Arwena cannot seem to wrap her mind around the concept of a person traveling through time. “It is impossible.”

“I know it is hard to grasp, but Sassenach is from another time.” He ties off the bag and moves over towards the bed, needing to wrap you up to keep you as warm as possible. He’s even taking the bedding with him. “We need to get her to the Stones.”

“What Stones?” Arwena’s distress is different than Pero’s, her fear building with every passing moment, but she shows it in a stubbornness that he does not. One that reminds him of you and therefore does not make the situation any easier. “Pero, I do not und—”

“Beth?” The sound of your voice from the bed brings her back to your side instantly, reaching for your hand while you murmur from deep within your own sleep. “I don’t want to get up…” You squirm in bed and whine, eyes still shut and sweat beading your brow. “The grocery store’s gonna be mobbed and turkey tastes like napkins…”

He watches as her brow furrows in confusion, not understanding your words. They are unusual and foreign to her as they had been to him until you had explained your world over the course of several snowy nights laying wrapped up in each other after sex. Coming over, he lays his hand on your forehead, swallowing at how hot your skin is. "Sassenach?" He murmurs softly, hoping to rouse you. You don't respond to him, and he says your real name just a bit louder.

Arwena watches as you flinch and then lean into Pero's touch, saying more things that she does not understand with words like car, laser pointer, and teevee. Mere moments ago she had been begging God to wake you from your slumber but now she fears that this may be even worse.

After another minute of incoherent rambling, Pero shakes his head and looks over at Wena almost desperately. “Help me get her ready to move.��

"You will explain everything to me when we rest." It is not a request, and while Arwena rarely makes demands of people she needs a full explanation of what is happening. But she is not fool enough to think that there is time now. Not when she remembers that he had said that her father had arrived. For this moment she springs into action, keeping you wrapped tightly in layers that will insulate you from the winter cold as you ride. Once she has you wrapped up and Pero has your things packed, she flees to her room across the hall to find Briac there with their things nearly finished packing.

Pero is strong, ruthlessly so from the life that he has led, but you are heavy. Dead weight in his arms and that worries him more than anything. You've never been helpless around him like you are right now. Your body limp and he can barely keep your head from hitting against things. The cat is on your chest, buried under her own bundle and he listens to her meow in her own worry. "Just— gotta get to the horse, gato." He grunts, knees threatening to buckle on the stairs.

Arwena and Briac are quickly on his heels, because while Arwena is still wary in her fear, Briac believes in your unorthodox origins entirely. That, for now, has to be enough for her. Down the stairs and out the back door of the inn, the group stops short when four men on horseback force them to pause - and the short, pungent smelling, red nosed Dergen looks down to scoff at the peasants. Instead of scoffing, however, his eyes widen and he growls Arwena's name in angry disbelief.

Pero hisses, he cannot set you down in the wet and cold mud, so his sword is rendered useless. His eyes narrow on the group and he squares his shoulders to look as intimidating as possible. "Briac..." He growls, warning the boy to keep his head about him. "You have no purpose here." He states clearly to the men. "The boy and girl have been married by a priest and their vows consummated in an inn full of witnesses."

"You have no stake in this, foreigner." Dergen barks, pulling his horse to a stop in such a way that it separates the younger couple from the rest of the group. "The bitch is my property, given by her father."

"Arwena!" Padrig's hoarse shout rings out through the square as he and Dergen dismount their horses, and the magistrate's round face is redder than fire as his anger at being disobeyed quickly boils. "For shame child!"

“Remember what I taught you boy.” Pero barks at Briac, looking around for somewhere to safely put you down so it would not be one on four.

Father Malcolm could never be accused of being a stupid man, and seeing that the time for words may have passed, he rushes to Pero's side to provide whatever help he can. "Give her to me," he insists, also reaching for the Spaniard's possessions. "I will take her to the horses. Be ready to travel when you are finished here."

In this moment, Pero is grateful that the Father showed up. Carefully transferring your unconscious form to the priest while keeping his eyes on the four men. “Gracias.” He mutters quietly, his hand caressing your face before he grips his sword. “Leave now and we will not kill you.” He growls, itching to run his sword through the bastard who had taken the sight in one eye from you.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Padrig’s personal victories are pissing contests compared to the battles that Pero Tovar has fought, but he does not know that. It seems he has an inclining, though, as his hand shakes slightly on the hilt of his sword. After all - this foreigner has the devil for a soulmate. “Unhand my daughter and I shall not run you through for kidnapping her.”

“Kidnap?” Pero sneers and his eyes flick from man to man, assessing them and a small grin twists his lips. “Keeping her safe from rape and beatings is kidnapping? Aye, then I kidnapped her.” He senses Briac’s shifting beside him, feeling the anger and unrestrained hatred pouring off the boy for the pot-bellied, beady eyed swine to Padrig’s left. “Come and try, amigo. You will feel my hot breath on your face the moment you leave this earth and take your place in Hell.”

"No one kidnapped me." Arwena's voice is surer than she expected when she opens her mouth, stepping forward to come between the two men who have done so much to defend her. Her treasured friend and her beloved husband would do anything for her - but this is her fight. "Go home, father. I have married my soulmate and I will never return with you. There is nothing for you here."

“You will still come with me when your little cobbler’s son is rotting in the ground.” Padrig promises. “Dergen is the one who will breed you, bring you to heel and teach you how to be a proper wife.”

"That will be difficult to achieve when I am on the other side of the world with my husband's babe already growing inside me." The anger she feels toward her father is more justified than anyone knows - and the hate she feels toward Dergen more violent than anyone beside you could possibly comprehend. Her hands flex at her sides, fire sparking underneath the skin of her fingertips as Pero and Briac itch to draw their swords.

“That’s what it means to be a man to you?” Pero chuckles darkly. “Terrorizing women who are younger and weaker? Your cock is shriveled without beating or forcing a woman?” He scoffs. “It’s a good thing I plan on cutting it from your putrid body and shoving it down your throat.”

“Who even are you?” Padrig spits, drawing his sword and pointing it directly at Pero’s chest. His outstretched arm is a weakness that a skilled fighter could exploit, the locked joint making his reaction time slower. If he had ever fought a day in his life, he would know that. “What gives you stake in my family doings, foreigner?”

“Pero Tovar.” Pero smirks, eyeing the stance and knowing that the bastard will die within a few moments if he wanted it. “You tried to rape my soulmate. And when you couldn’t, you took her sight and branded her a witch.” He motions to his scar and decides to pull his sword from the scabbard. “And I am a man who has killed far better men than you.”

“A witch bound by for eternity to a murderer?” The man laughs with booming bravado to distract from the tight way his throat has run dry. A murderer. When he has hurt himself with his blade more times than any other man. “God surely has a fucking sense of humour.”

“A mercenary.” Pero corrects him, twirling his sword easily in his hand and pulling his dagger. “Perhaps her guard, her savage predator to slay her enemies while the witch performs her magic.” He chuckles and smirks. “I know my soul is bound for hell because of my deeds, but I will send you there first.”

“Pero…” Arwena says his name firmly, shaking her head to tell him no without mistake. “Lower your blade, brother.” Calling him anything remotely resembling family in front of her father is a deeply intentional insult, and she holds her father’s gaze while she says it. “You will not cut my father down.”

Padrig smirks, thinking that his daughter has decided that she has come to her feeble senses. "For that, I will not beat you before you are married to Dergen." He promises, barely glancing in her direction since she is of no real importance. "Although the boy has to die since you have defied me and wed him."

“My husband will do no such thing.” Arwena’s step forward is measured and deliberate, her breathing even despite her heart hammering and fingers sparking. “And I will never betray him by being married to another,” she declares, just as evenly. Her father has barely spared her a glance, but she is looking nowhere else. “If you wish to see the havoc a witch can wreak, father, then look no further.” The flames that ignite from her fingertips are sudden and tall, bursting to life like the legendary Greek fire that warriors of old fought battles over - all powerful and never ending, with a fury that could never be satiated. “It will be the last sight he sees, after all.” Arwena’s eyes reflect the blazing fire, seeming to surround her as the four men who came to steal her shriek and cower in fear. “You will never hurt anyone again, father. I promise you that.”

“Cursed witch!” Dergen cries out, tearing back in horror from the fire that has suddenly appeared.

“Arwena!” Briac cries out, looking around in fear for his wife, not wanting the townspeople to turn on her or create a mob if any were to see.

“They have earned nothing less.” There is no doubt in her movements, no hesitation or second thought. The fire erupting from her hands is flung directly at the two men who had sought to ruin her life - to destroy her and own her and grind her down into dust beneath their boots. She is none of that now - that scared girl who had not dared to speak for herself - and that is due entirely to the men at her back and to you. Briac who loves her, Pero who encourages her to stand tall, and you who gave her the courage to see herself as a whole woman despite what evils had been visited upon her. She would be nothing without the love of the three of you. She would have flung herself into the sea or drank poison because of her father’s hate. But not anymore.

“Bitch!” Padrig leaps out of the way, but Dergen is engulfed by the flames, screaming in agony as fire licks up his body and burns him, smoke lapping at his nostrils and already burning in his lungs.

“Better a bitch than dead from a beating or from bearing that drunken bastard’s child,” she bites back, throwing another flash of flame in his direction. Let the villagers see. Let the world see. No doubt her father’s two cowardly henchmen scampering onto their horses to flee will tell everyone they can.

Another scream comes from the man who is trying to beat the flames off the fabric of his clothes. Padrig scurries out of the way of the next fireball, like the rat he is. Cursing the witch that taught his daughter such things. Now he would have to make sure that the little bitch had the witchcraft beaten out of her. Sidestepping the flame, he steps towards the Spaniard without realizing it.

“Pero!” Though satisfied that Dergen’s trousers are flaming right where it will cause him the most agony and hurt pride (though how he could have pride in such a tiny, useless cock is another matter) Arwena is not finished with her father. Another arc of flames shoots from her hands toward the man who raised her, and he dodges it again with the scuttles of a sewer rat. This time, however, it lands him not only near Pero, but at the point of his sword.

Pero's chuckle is dark at the wide eyes of his target, a dark patch blooming in his breeches as Pero lifts the blade of his razor-sharp sword slight to stretch his chin up. "Did you just piss yourself?" He asks, glancing down at the man's crotch in disgust.

“You and your bitch wench will pay for what you did to my daughter!” Padrig spits, though he’s careful to keep his distance. Half a step forward and the foreigner’s blade would pierce his throat.

Pero's grimace turns wicked, flicking his wrist and dropping the sword to slice into the man's thigh, filleting it open neatly. "I think not, cabrón." Pero sneers. "I will take you apart, one limb at a time."

Briac is to his left, his eyes on Dergen as Arwena watches her father. "I am going to kill him." Her husband promises her.

“I would let him burn,” she admits, looking to her soulmate and husband - her partner - with fire reflected in her eyes. “The flames will not end until I command them so. Death by your blade will be a mercy. More than he deserves.”

It takes a lot of restraint, but eventually after looking at his wife and admiring her power, her sense of self, he nods. Sheathing his blade and coming to take her hand and kiss the back of it gently. "As you wish, my love."

"Let this be the last thing you see, then." Arwena looks to Dergen with certainty. There is no mercy in her, not for a man who would have ruined her life - and if not hers, then another young girl's who had no mind to fight back. She reaches for Briac as she raises her open and upturned palm, intensifying the flames singeing his skin as she kisses her husband. It is not a lewd act, not a lustful kiss, but a vision of something that Dergen will never have just before he takes his last, smoke-filled breath.

Padrig’s cry of pain is immensely satisfying, although it is not enough. You had told him about losing your sight, the scar on your face and the terror and rage that had filled you while you had been fighting him. Now he was not fighting, apparently a spineless coward when there is a bigger bully. He gasps his leg and hisses a curse. “I will kill you.” He swears, reaching for his own weapon and making Pero laugh.

“You could not.” Arwena tells him, advancing with Briac beside her now that Dergen has fallen. “You are a worm. And my mother and sister will rejoice to be rid of you.”

His eyes narrow and a sneer crosses over his face but it’s not nearly as confident as it had been when his men were still standing beside him. The smoldering remains of Dergen are on the ground behind Arwena and he glances at her briefly before looking back at Pero. “Come to kill me then, you bitch? With your Devil’s magic and cursed breath? I should have drowned you when you slipped from your mother’s cunt. Worthless, just like she is.”

“If anyone should be the one to kill you, it is Sassenach.” Arwena tells him, her gaze flickering between her father and Pero. “But since she is not here, her soulmate will have the honor in her name.” She ignores the insult about her own mother, and about her, no longer having any mind for the words he tries to hurl at her.

Another flick of his wrist and the sword that is in Padrig’s hand falls to the ground with another cry, a splash of blood with it to stain the ground. “Worthless shit.” Pero huffs. “It is almost not worth it to kill you.”

A small sigh comes from the young woman to his right, and flames lick at her fingertips once more. “I will do it if you will not,” she tells Pero. “The hurt he will continue to do is more sin than killing him.”

Pero huffs, slightly insulted that the girl would think he would let this putrid dog live. “He will die.” He smirks, his sword coming up between the man’s legs and making him scream, a high pitched, pained yowl of agony as he collapses to his knees in front of his daughter.

Arwena nods, not even flinching at the sound but grasping Briac’s hands tightly in her own. “May he rot in hell,” she intones, barely glancing at her father on the ground. As deserved as this revenge is - for all of their party for different reasons - it needs to be done so that they can take you to safety. Obviously Gretna can no longer be home.

Pero takes advantage of distraction of Padrig having his cock severed from his body to step forward, sword discarded and his dagger in his hand. “For Sassenach.” He vows, neatly digging the dagger into the man’s forehead and splitting the skin as he drags it down, piercing his eye as he holds the former magistrates dirty hair and imposing the same wound as he had on Pero’s soulmate.

He gives him a moment, allowing the pain to register through the shock as the man’s whimpers of pain and fear to seep into the moment. The moment he realizes that all his blustering and bullying wasn’t going to save his life. He was going to die here today. The clear liquid of his ruined eye mixes with blood under his fingers as he cups the wound and he croaks out a gasp, maybe a plea that is too little too late.

“And this is for your wife, your daughter, and for my wrath.” The clean, deep cut to the neck is more than the man deserves, nearly severing the man’s head. Pero watches as the lone eye widens and the gurgle of a man trying to take his last breath fills the air. Lifting his boot, Pero shoves him over onto the ground and leans down to wipe his blades clean on his coat and relieve him of his coin purse while he is still in his death throes.

“Leave the coins,” Arwena places a hand on Pero’s arm, dragging his gaze away from the corpse on the ground. “In apology for what we have done here. And to pay to dispose of the bodies.” It is the least they can do, when the day has seen so much blood and fear so early.

They were hers to keep so Pero nods and tosses the bag down on the ground beside the still thrashing body. “We must leave now.” He grunts. “Get Sassenach to her Stones.”

“Aye.” Briac nods, taking Arwena’s hand in his and urging her toward the stable behind the church. “The Father will be waiting, and we have hard riding ahead.”

Now that he is certain they will not have to deal with any chasing them, Pero races towards the stables, ready to make sure you have not slipped from this world in the ten minutes he has not held you. Now he just has to get you to the stones and back to where you belong.

______

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[ampleappleamble]

—

Axa could feel them watching her as they settled into their room at the Goose and Fox that night, could feel them wanting to know her. Not only so they could understand why she had done what she had with Purnisc and Kaenra, but also so they could (no doubt) uncover and examine all the painful, humiliating life experiences behind her every decision, all her successes and failures, and then judge her accordingly. Like kith will, she thought, of course. That’s normal and healthy to think.

Genuine concern mingled with morbid curiosity, hung palpably over the group like a scythe posed to reap as everyone sat in awkward silence and waited for Axa to break the silence. So she drained her goblet, got out her pipe and her whiteleaf, and with a grim sense of determination, she told them about it.

About the career she'd built back in Ixamitl, where she had lucked into a scholarship to one of her hometown's more prestigious lore colleges, bestowed on her by a generous politician acquainted with her father. Because she'd always loved to learn and hear stories about kith from around the world, she had chosen to put her good fortune to good use and study to become a naturalist, concerning herself with the cultures and languages and histories that constituted the kith population of Eora.

While most of her colleagues had decided to specialize in Vailian– a popular choice for the political or business-oriented crowd– Axa fancied herself an intellectual, and so she had challenged herself with mastering Ordhjóma: the exotic, mysterious language of the Glamfellen, separated for 10,000 years from their tropical Sceltrfolc cousins in the far-flung, frozen south, in The White that Wends. She had thrown herself into her studies, blowing through massive tomes and ancient scrolls like a hurricane, outperforming her peers with ease. Within four years, Axa had risen like a Dawnstar to the top of her class.

And then the field work had begun.

"It's one thing to read about a people, learn their language from books and study up on their culture," Axa explained, stuffing her pipe slowly, taking her time. "It's quite another to visit their homeland, speak with them, live among them. I was barely seventeen, I'd never even been out of the city..."

Kana winced, painful recognition in his black eyes. "Culture shock can be particularly difficult for younger scholars. We have certain expectations after all our years of academic study, and to find out that the genuine article doesn't quite measure up after all that work can feel disorienting and disappointing. There's not only the shock, there's anger at the natives, and then the guilt over said anger..."

Axa accepted Aloth's proffered light while Kana trailed off– it always delighted her, using arcane flame for something so trivial as a smoke– and sighed. "That's what was really odd about it. I did experience some culture shock, but ultimately the problem wasn't me. It was them. I know it sounds like I'm just being bitter, but... honestly, for whatever reason, the whole village really was actively freezing me out."

"Nice," Edér chuckled, grinning at the unintentional pun until Aloth's glare chastised him back into solemnity.

"No one wanted to talk to me," Axa continued. "Oh, I tried, incessantly, but they just... kept turning away, or answering with nonsense or... or riddles. My colleagues had little difficulty integrating, but I felt like I was just barely tolerated by the villagers. I tried asking the other students about it, but they either feigned ignorance really well or they honestly couldn't tell what these Glamfellen had against me."

"Some sort of... racial prejudice, perhaps?" Aloth looked as uncomfortable as he sounded, but at least the topic was finally broached. Axa shrugged.

"I don't think so, but I honestly have no idea. The other three scholars with me weren't orlans, but they weren't Glamfellen either. And no one ever specifically said anything about my being an orlan."

Sagani nodded. "In my experience, while most Glamfellen tend to be as standoffish as any elf– no offense, Aloth– they don't usually have specific prejudices like that."

"Right? Ordinarily, unity and hospitality are taken very seriously in the frozen south; to support one another is indispensable to survival. Nevertheless, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong by them, and it was driving me out of my gods damned mind. I was supposed to be studying local accents, dialects, and colloquialisms, but that's somewhat difficult when nobody will actually speak with you. So I ended up spending a lot of time eavesdropping on people, mostly outside, by myself."

Sagani shook her head, drawing her whetstone across her hunting knife. "Bad idea to go it alone out there in the White. All kinds of dangers hiding in the snow."

The orlan barked a sharp, sardonic laugh. "You're telling me. That's how I met Vaargys."

As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Axa could feel her entire demeanor transform, and the atmosphere in the room with her. It was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left home, and even though she knew they'd already been listening, her little audience really seemed to be listening now. She felt her face get warm and her eyes sting from the impending tears, so she turned to the window, trying hard to focus on the streets outside and not at her own reflection in the glass.

Come on, girl. You’ve run far enough. It's time you faced this.

"I spotted him from afar one day at dusk: a dark, distant, shaggy figure out there among the rocks, shambling around just beyond the village's borders. It took me a few minutes to even realize he was kith. My colleagues noticed me watching him eventually, warned me away from him: the 'wild man' the locals called the 'Cursed Vagabond,' the 'Exiled Priest.' And he was out there all alone, struggling to survive because nobody wanted him around, and no one could say why..."

"You had a lot in common," Aloth murmured gravely. It wasn't difficult to see where this story was going. And he couldn't help but think it sounded similar, thematically, to one he knew quite well.

"And kith will paint a face on a rock with their own blood if it means they can have someone to talk to," Sagani sighed sadly, sympathy heavy in her chest. She could see where this was going too, and she dug her fingers into the thick fur on the back of Itumaak's neck for comfort. He grunted in appreciation.

"So I introduced myself, like you do. He was... cautious, but receptive. It helped that I'd brought gifts." Axa exhaled, and blue smoke curled up before her, walling her off. "We got to know one another, and over time we became fond of each other. We started sharing meals and stories about ourselves, our lives. He told me he was a priest of Wael, self-taught, and exiled from his clan for venerating the Eyeless Face instead of the Beast of Winter... He let me get close to him, cut his hair, tend to his wounds..." The tears spilled over at last, and she paused for a moment, hid her face.

"And you fell in love," Sagani finished for her. Classic. Tale as old as time.

Axa smiled again even as she brushed her tears away, dragging her little fist across her golden brown cheeks. "And I fell hard. I was his first real friend, gave him his first kiss. And very soon, I became his first lover." This made the men blush and look away. Axa and Sagani paid them no heed.

"I was fascinated by him, and he adored me. We made our own little world together there in the caves, in the snow. And we lived there, separate from everyone and everything else. Until I had to return to Ixamitl, of course. But I had a plan: Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked him to marry me– the very night before I was to return to the Eastern Reach. ...Gods, I had known him for only five months."

"And... wait, how old were you?" Edér spoke up for the first time since Axa had started her story, confusion clear on his face.

"I– Seventeen, almost eighteen by the time I went back home," she clarified, miffed at the interruption. "I'm twenty-two, now."

The blond man held his hands out in front of him, squinting at his fingers, baffled. "And... and how old were you when you left home? Hey, how old was he?"

Kana sighed and leaned over, patting him on the shoulder with one huge hand and confiscating the man's pipe with the other. "Erh– Never mind that now, my friend. Please, Axa, continue." He smiled that big, toothy smile at the little woman, and she blinked very slowly.

"...I brought him home to meet my family and colleagues, to assist me in my studies since all I'd really brought back from the Land was him, and ultimately, hopefully, to become my husband. In the interest of brevity– albeit somewhat belated– here’s how all that turned out: my family and colleagues hated and distrusted him, and after I had defended him so fiercely I'd alienated myself from most of my peers, I found out that about three-quarters of everything he'd ever told me about his home and his language was complete horseshit and all of our work together was complete bunkum. So! I burned it all in a big bonfire behind our house before telling him to leave and never come back." She ticked her misfortunes off on her fingers as she described them, her hands trembling, and then gesticulated fiercely before letting her fists fall to the small tabletop before her. "And then... I left, too. And now, here I am."

...Gods, that was easy. Much easier than I thought it'd be. Why was it so–

She rambled on before she could lose her nerve. "So. That's why I... wanted to do that for Kaenra. My fiancé lied to me and fucked up my life, too, and I can't just ignore that kind of shit when I see it anymore." She sighed, turning to the window again with her pipe still burning away in her hand. "Vaargys is the reason I had to leave my home and everything I've ever known, because his lies ruined my career and my academic standing and my reputation. How could I just stand by and watch as it happened to someone else?"

"Yet, you advised Kaenra to forgive Purnisc?" Aloth twisted his fingers together in his lap, staring at them rather than looking at Axa as he spoke. "After... all he'd done?"

Sagani glanced at him, narrowing her eyes as he reached up to smooth his hair– and wipe away a stray bead of sweat in the process. Is it my imagination, or is he...?

Axa kept her gaze fixed on the street below. "Yeah, that sort of surprised me too, to be honest." She spotted a stray soul, its violet wisps of essence drifting slowly amongst the city goers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, felt them burn behind her eyelids. "I suppose... I just got the feeling that it wasn't too late for them, that what they had for each other wasn't so broken it couldn't be repaired. Vaargys and me... not so. There was no coming back from what he'd done, and we both knew it."

"Whatever became of him? Of Vaargys?" Kana leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with compassion. For once, he actually wasn't taking notes on the conversation, and Sagani noticed that, too.

Axa opened her eyes, and saw the lost soul on the street no more. She shuddered. "After I confronted him, Vaargys simply... left. Vanished into the horizon, just as abruptly as he'd first appeared to me. And then, I got to clean up after him– after us– all alone. I wasn't up to the task; wasn't really up to the task of anything but hiding in bed and regretting my entire life. I could really only scrape together the wherewithal every now and then to go out and sell off or give away all the ridiculous trinkets and baubles we'd accumulated together. A few of the things I tried to get rid of turned out to be stolen, of course– big surprise, Axa, he's a thief and a liar– which did my already brutalized image no favors. Nor my purse, when I was obliged to pay out of my pocket for his chicanery."

"Villain," Kana spat, shaking his head slowly. "Scoundrel! ...Oh, how dastardly, to sow discord between the woman he loves and her neighbors and colleagues, then to abscond, completely free of reproach!" His sorrowful frown was as huge and expressive as his smiles always were, almost theatrically so.

Sagani just barely looked over in time to spot Aloth surreptitiously roll his eyes, and she couldn't suppress her grin. I thought so. Ondra's Lure, they're pretty obvious now that I think of it...

The elf cleared his throat and took the reins. "Shall we assume, then, that your family and friends were unable or unwilling to aid you in your time of need?"

Axa scoffed. "My little brother was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless to help me. He's stuck too far under our mother's thumb. He's a Godlike, and it's made things... difficult, for both of them. He feels obligated to her. As for our mother, she blamed me for my own misfortunes, for 'shacking up' with a man like Vaargys in the first place. So... that sort of says it all about our relationship. My father hasn't been in the picture since I was 13, and any non-academic friends I hadn't already traded for school, I ended up trading for Vaargys. I'd made him my whole world, and he–" She stopped herself, puffed on her pipe. "I don't... really make new friends easily. Never have."

Kana laughed good-naturedly. "With all due respect, present company seems to indicate quite the contrary."

"Ha! Since becoming a Watcher with her own castle who offers to help everyone she meets solve all their problems, I do seem to be quite popular, yes," the orlan agreed with a wry smirk. "...I jest, of course. In any case, the friends I do make, I tend to keep. And cherish." She smiled at Kana earnestly, and now he averted his eyes and went ruddy in the face.

Sagani and Aloth surprised one another, simultaneously faking coughing fits to cover their derisive snorts. Kana went even redder, but still managed a sheepish smile as Axa quickly redirected back to the topic at hand.

"In any case, it was my mother who gave me the idea to relocate to the Dyrwood. She brought back the notice advertising the caravan from the marketplace, threw it at me as I lay in my little nest of quilts and despair, and told me I had better either try and do something to rebuild my life or I may as well just return my soul to the Wheel to start a new one, save it some time and trouble."

"So... in response to your fiancé sabotaging your career and your reputation in your own home community, your own mother told you to... choose between self-exile and suicide?" Aloth spoke very quietly, very carefully. When Axa nodded and shrugged, puffing nonchalantly on her pipe, he couldn't quite come up with anything to say to that.

"As harsh as it sounds," she pressed on as she rose and crossed the room to stand before the hearth, "I agreed with her. I still do. Mama grew up a slave and only finally earned her freedom by running away, so maybe she's biased, but... I was never going to be able to move on like that, lying around like I was dead already, surrounded by bad memories. I had to do something, get up and get out. And wouldn’t it be my luck, she dropped a nice, pre-packaged escape plan in my lap, just like that. Nicest thing she'd done for me in a good long while. ...So. That's what lead me to the Dyrwood."

"And then it lead you to the bîaŵac, the Engwithan ruins, the machine," Kana murmured, rubbing his chin and studying the little woman. "Perchance, did you ever pray to Wael that you might live an interesting life? Because if so, you've had your wish granted many times over!"

"It's funny," Axa sighed as she bent and tapped her pipe against the bricks of the fireplace, "you'd think I'd hold a grudge against Wael, allowing Their priest to make a fool of me like that. But in the end, I had to admit that although he betrayed my trust and wrecked my life, Vaargys hadn't actually ever violated any of Wael's tenets. ...Made me rethink the gods, a bit. Maybe he was a true servant of Wael after all, sent to guide me here for some reason. And I do still pray to Wael for guidance, on occasion."

The aumaua sat up in his chair, beaming. "Ah! Shall we go to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries tomorrow after all, then? We can ask the scriveners' opinion!"

"Gods! I spill my guts to you, and you're still thinking about going to the library?" Axa shook her head and chuckled. "You're a mystery, Kana."

"Wait, so... you were gonna marry a pale elf?" Edér mumbled into his pillow, half asleep and trying to kick his boots off. "But you're an orlan. Would that... how would that work?"

The little woman threw the sheets back on her bed, using a little more force than she'd meant to. "Another mystery, Edér," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Mysteries abound."

The other two men winced as Sagani laid a gentle, steady hand on the orlan's shoulder. "Hey. ...Hel of a day for all of us. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

So they did.

—

[nikadoesanart]

My predictions on BSD getting animated going forward

I’ll be taking a look at the novel page counts (Japanese and English) and comparing them to the screen time they’ve gotten so far and then using this to predict how long the remaining light novel adaptations will be (approximately). At the end will also be my rough prediction/hopes for the order of some of these being adapted. I say some because I have yet to read what there is so far of the gaiden novel translations, the main story manga has essentially still been on the DOA arc almost since where the anime left off, and I personally think that it’s currently too soon for Storm Bringer (aside from money purposes).

Note, most of this was written well before the anime 5th anniversary livestream but the announcements wound up not affecting it. I then of course made adjustments as needed account for the novel content we do have so far, both in Japanese and in English (officially).

Page to Episode Count

Not counting the afterward, ads, etc for the English/US copy, Japanese is including it

Also all eng page counts are using the Yen Press release and jp page counts are taken from the fandom wiki

*148 is purely counting the Untold Origins portion of the novel. If we also count the A Day at the Agency short story that’s included before it (56 pages), then we get the full 203

Also the English page count for BEAST was noted before the English release date but after page counts have been posted by affiliated retailers, so subtract a couple pages from the written count of 176 for the time being to account for the afterward and possible character sheets being included

Now that we have our page to episode counts (as of April 5th, 2021), let’s find the actual content run time of what we do have animated so far.

Seasons 1-3 and the OVA all have the same episode length/duration. Each episode is 23 minutes, and we can subtract 3 minutes on average from that to account for the OP and ED being played. This leaves us with an average of 20 minutes of BSD story content per episode. So on average, each of the first 3 seasons contain 240 minutes, or 4 hours, worth of story content.

Dead Apple’s total run time is 91 minutes, with the OP and ED making up 9 of those minutes. However, we do have a bit of the story content being played while the ED is playing (as sometimes happens in the anime as well). To keep the math simple, I’ll be approximating story content time at 82 minutes.

Apply these numbers to the novels that have been animated so far and this is (approximately) what we get:

Now let’s use these numbers to predict the screen time needed for the other novels

Note that we can’t really use Entrance Exam as a fair measure because of how much got cut out (just compare the run time of it to Dark Era and it speaks for itself). However, the numbers for Dark Era and Dead Apple are the best ones to use, as they both have minimal changes between anime and novel and both have official English translations currently available. Take out the approximate time taken up by OP/ED and and the numbers pretty much match up.

So with that being said, we can estimate Untold Origins (only) at approximately 3 eps/60 min and 55 Minutes at 1h 40-55min/100-115 min or 5-6 eps if it doesn’t get a movie. We can also estimate the A Day at the Detective Agency short story at the beginning of Untold Origins to take up about 1 ep, probably even a bit less.

1+ 3 + 5-6 = 9-10 episodes which isn’t enough for a full single cour season unless they all get put into one big OVA season, but also 10-11 eps (or less) seasons are a thing (ie. Fugou Keiji: Balance Unlimited, Blood Lad, Black Butler: Book of Circus, The Seven Deadly Sins: Signs of a Holy War, FLCL)

My personal predictions/hopes for the anime adaptation timeline going forward

This is considering the manga content, current “pausing/stopping points” what wouldn’t be too awkward, each of the novels relevancy/necessity to the main story manga, and assuming we continue with single cour (12-13 ep) seasons

Hopefully/ideally a 55 Minutes movie

S4: ch 54-70

Early S5 (preferably) or end of S4: Untold Origins or A Day at the Agency

S5: ch 71-88/around where we are now?

A Day at the Agency can, in my opinion at least, be chucked in at any point either as a single episode OVA or as the light novel content for s4 (maybe not even taking a full episode and then starting ch 54 in the last few minutes for example). Keep in mind that the current DOA arc is a long one and has plenty to it, so personally I think it may even be better to not include a novel adaptation in a future S4, as it would likely already be a right squeeze content wise. Remember, we also have a few XX.5 chapters that are continuations of the chapter directly before them.

I still need to read what’s currently available of the gaiden novel fan translations but it can probably be adapted at any point as well. I’m estimating approximately 5-6 eps as an OVA series. I don’t really think it would get a movie, partially because you can make it only so long, especially since it’s an anime movie and unlike Storm Bringer, it doesn’t have Chuuya to practically guarantee the profit.

BEAST also doesn’t directly impact the main story and can be adapted at virtually any point. However, seeing as we do have a live action confirmed for it and it’s page count lines up very closely with Dark Era, it can be either 4 eps or (more likely in my opinion) a movie, as it can be considered almost stand alone content.

Personally, I believe it is currently way too soon to animate Storm Bringer as it came out only a little over a month ago (as of writing this) and has minimal plot necessity as of ch 91, but I do believe it should be either split into 2 movies (a part 1 and part 2) or it would need 8 episodes, likely as an OVA season. If it were to get animated sooner than 55 Minutes or Untold Origins, which I believe to be very unlikely, I feel that it would almost certainly be driven by the financial gains of Chuuya being included, and his popularity alone. Reminder, SB is about Chuuya and not SKK. Dazai’s appearance in SB is proportionally a very small percentage and he’s not even mentioned in the official plot summary.

However, you can argue that SB is starting to have some relevance now, with the recent mention of the Order of the Clock Tower in ch 90 and the increased relevance of sealed ability weapons in ch 91. However, I really do believe that you can’t adapt Storm Bringer before 55 Minutes because of Standard Island and its treaty, it also talks about sealed ability weapons, knowing who Wells is, and 55 Minutes canonically takes place during the “downtime” portion of S3. In fact, here’s Asagiri’s words directly from the Afterward (translation by Yen Press):

“this volume didn’t take place in the past, but rather sometime after the tenth volume of the manga. In other words, it’s a tale about the ‘usual’ detective agency in novel format.” (55 minutes, p 237)

Untold Origins also should be adapted sooner rather than later (at least compared to SB in my opinion) because it’s about Ranpo and Fukuzawa’s shared past, which becomes increasingly relevant ch 70 onwards, as well as the need for the ADA being founded (which ties in with Yosano’s backstory in ch 65-66).

In regards to whether I think each of these would be better suited to a movie adaptation or as multiple regular length anime episodes, it’s mainly due to page count and partly due to the budget difference between the two, as well as how difficult I think it would be to animate each of these based on what needs to be drawn. The anime industry isn’t the fastest to switch to newer technology, hence why we see issues with 3D blending sometimes. I really do think that at the very least, 55 Minutes deserves the movie budget because of how detailed and complex the architecture of Standard Island is described as, as well all the mechanical parts needed for the final battle of the novel. Hate the lizard mouths introduced in Dead Apple all you want, but you can’t deny that the 3D cgi was blended very smoothly. For any of the other novels to be movies, it’s more so because gaiden and BEAST can be considered their own stand alone stories that don’t rely too heavily on the main story in terms of when they take place and get adapted. I feel that SB is more likely to get its own season or an OVA season more so due to its length, but multiple part anime movies have also been done before (ie. the Fate/Stay Night: Heaven’s Feel movies), so it’s not entirely impossible. Especially considering that merely having any Chuuya screen time means that you can expect the profit and popularity to really go up, especially with SKK being on screen together (regardless of whether you love or hate how the fandom tends to push a shipping POV on them).

These are all of course just my hopes and predictions and estimates based on information currently available, so take them with some salt. I’d love to hear opinions on how, when, and why each of the currently non animated novels should be adapted going forward. Also please stop begging the relevant BSD official Twitter pages for SB to be animated next and go read the other light novels you Chuuya simp

[chiaki-translation]

ACTOR’S CIRCUIT: Event Translation Ch8-10

I’m back~ Anyway, I really forgot that my school’s starting tomorrow, but to be fair it won’t really change my schedule so much. The classes are all online and I don’t have a lot of classes this semester so I think I’ll still be able to keep up with the translation for now~ I might get slower in the middle/end of the semester though, but that’ll come later. Anyway, the last few chapters ended with a cliffhanger, so I’ll be uploading the epilogue in about an hour or so. Enjoy~

ACTOR’S CIRCUIT Ch1-4 / / Ch 5-7 / / Ch8-10 / / Epilogue

Disclaimer:

A3! is owned by Liber’s Entertainment

Azuma:

We’re really lucky to pick the mini car with no task earlier.

Taichi:

Right!

If we continue this way, maybe we can actually win!?

Azuma:

Ah, the next one seems to be the last checkpoint.

Turn right on the next junction.

Taichi:

Okay!

<Shifts to Checkpoint>

Spectator A:

Oh, the second one is here!

Aaron:

It’s you guys again…

Fuh, our path of destiny overlaps so many times…

There’s no place for us to fall behind in our evaluation.

Azuma:

Doggy-kun, let’s use this chance to pick the task from the mini car.

Taichi:

Yes.

Aaron:

You guys, listen to what other people say!

Taichi:

Eh, Azuma-san, this checkpoint…

It gives us 2 choices!

Azuma:

2 choices?

Taichi:

The task if the navigator has a driving license and the task if the navigator has no driving license.

Also, if we choose the task for the navigator who has a driving license, it said that we will get some extra points!

Azuma:

I see. So what should we do.

Taichi:

Uh, we don’t know what kind of task will come up…

Aaron:

It seems that you’re caught among the lost thorn.

If you’re that worried, I’ll go ahead and choose first.

Our task is… “say a line towards your victory” huh.

Isn’t it too easy.

To all the spectators who have gathered here today, listen to me!

The gale’s reverberating through the earth, towards the words of our victory!

Moderator:

Aaron and Jack pair, task cleared!

Points have been awarded!

Taichi:

Woah! He got another easy task!

But anyway, his pair didn’t come out of the car at all?

Azuma:

It was like that earlier too.

Maybe he’s just too absorbed in navigating.

Aaron:

We will be the one to reach the victory land first.

I’m going to look forward to see you guys got defeated.

Kukukuku…!

Taichi:

Ah, they’re gone!

Azuma:

Getting to the goal earlier doesn’t guarantee the victory, it’s alright.

Calm down, let’s try to think which one we should choose.

Taichi:

Yo, you’re right!

Azuma:

Let’s see… Why don’t we try to go for the extra points?

The other 2 groups don’t seem to be able to choose this one.

Taichi:

You’re right, Kazu-kun and Tsuzuru-san don’t have driver license after all.

Alright… Then let’s pick the task with the extra points!

The task is… “Driver change”!

Azuma:

I see. I guess it’s impossible to do if any of the participant doesn’t have a driver license…

Taichi:

Azuma-san, are you alright with driving…?

Azuma:

Eh…?

Taichi:

You said you prefer to be in the passenger seat previously, so I thought maybe you don’t actually want to drive…

Azuma:

…Thank you for your concern, Doggy-kun.

But I really don’t hate driving.

We can’t proceed if we don’t do this task, I just don’t have the incentive and motivation to drive recently and I’m getting used to it.

That’s why, it’s fine.

Taichi:

Azuma-san…! Then, if Azuma-san wished for it, I’ll gladly take the passenger’s seat for you!

<End of Chapter 8>

Azuma:

…Fuh…

Taichi:

Azuma-san, are you a bit nervous…?

Azuma:

It’s been a while since someone leaves the driving to me.

…Just a bit.

Taichi:

The passenger’s seat is great, but being in the driver’s seat feels good too right!

There are views that you can’t see unless you’re in the driver’s seat, you can see everyone who rides with you and the places you’re going to, isn’t it so exciting!

I felt it when everyone was riding with me during the trip back from the training center recently.

That feeling, is something that I won’t know if I didn’t get my driving license.

Hehe… I started because I want to get popular, but I think I’m really glad that I get my driving license!

Azuma:

Fufu, I see.

Taichi:

Ah, but if you don’t like it, don’t force yourself!

Azuma:

I don’t hate it. I really just didn’t have the chance.

Somewhere in my heart… Maybe I’m actually looking for the chance.

Thank you, Doggy-kun.

…Alright, let’s go.

<Shifts to Circuit Lane>

Moderator:

Nanao and Yukishiro pair, Goal Line!

Task cleared! Points have been awarded!

Taichi:

Yeay! Goal!

Aaron:

Kukuku… You’re late, MANKAI company.

As expected, this eden of victory, we are the first one who step on it, the Scarecrow.

Hahaha, engulf yourself in the fire of regret!

Taichi:

Uhh! But it doesn’t mean that we already lose!

Azuma:

Ah, everyone’s here too.

Kazunari:

Goal!

Misumi:

We’ve arrived~!

Tsuzuru:

Good work.

Kazunari:

Azu, you’re so fast!

Tasuku:

By the time we realized, we were quite far apart.

Misumi:

Everyone, I’m glad we all can clear the tasks~!

Taichi:

Perfectly! But my team, we got the task to change driver on the last checkpoint--

I got Azuma-san to drive!

Kazunari:

Seriously!? That’s nice!

Tsuzuru:

So Yukishiro-san’s driving. I’m quite curious too.

Tasuku:

So you’re really able to drive when push comes to shove.

Azuma:

Fufu, it was quite fun.

Tasuku:

If you find it fun, why not you drive once in a while.

Azuma:

…Until now, it’s not that I’ve been avoiding driving, somewhere in my heart, there’s a feeling compelling me to try driving again.

But there’s a portion where I pull away because of my family’s accident, I feel that if it’s not needed then I don’t need to do it.

Even more so because there are people who will drive me around here.

Tasuku:

Right.

Azuma:

But, after driving again since so long, I think it’s not bad to drive once in a while.

Tasuku:

It’s great if you can think that way.

Azuma:

Yeah, I think so too.

Announcer:

The points have been calculated.

We will be announcing the result shortly, please gather around.

<Shifts to Podium>

Moderator:

We’ll start the announcement…

The winner of Veludo Race is…

MANKAI company, Nanao Taichi and Yukishiro Azuma pair!

Taichi:

Azuma-san! We did it---!!

Azuma:

Yeah, we did it.

Like what Doggy-kun said, I was able to see the views that I wasn’t able to see from the passenger’s seat, it was fun.

Taichi:

…Hehe, I’m glad!

Kazunari:

So coolz! Congratulations the both of you!

Misumi:

Amazing amazing! Congratulation!!

Moderator:

The spectator’s evaluation of your performance is pretty high…

Also, adding the extra points you got from changing drivers, Nanao and Yukishiro pair’s victory is determined!

Aaron:

Damn you…!

You’ll lose next time…! I’ll remember this!

Moderator:

The two of you, please come up to the stage!

Nanao-san, Yukishiro-san, congratulations on your victory!

Then, please come over here to receive the trophy!

Azuma:

Thank you so much.

Taichi:

Thank you so much!

Amazing! The trophy is really big!

Azuma:

I wonder if the dorm has a place where we can display it?

Taichi:

When we’re back, we have to find a place carefully!

Moderator:

For the victorious MANKAI company, we’ll have you to perform a performance after this, thank you for your enthusiasm!

Taichi:

Let’s deliver a performance that suits the race theme!

I’m happy that a lot of people will be watching!

Azuma:

Please enjoy the show.

<End of Chapter 9>

Director:

Everyone, good work for the race!

You guys were so cool!

Also, Taichi-kun and Azuma-san, congratulation on your victory!

Azuma:

Fufu, thank you.

Taichi:

Yeay, we did it!

Director:

It will be the stage performance after this right. I thought you would be able to take it easy after the race, but just one more hurdle, do your best!

Kazunari:

Leave it to us~!

Misumi:

I’ll do my best~!

Director:

(The tension was pretty high during the race, so everyone seems to be in a good condition now.)

Tasuku:

Then, we’ll be going.

Tsuzuru:

We’ll go first.

Director:

Good luck!

<Short Time Skip>

Sasahara (Kazunari):

This will be the new driver joining our team from today onwards, Amano.

Amano (Taichi):

I’m Amano! Pleased to work with you!

Sasahara (Kazunari):

He will be participating in the next tournament too.

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

Nice to meet you. Let’s do our best, new member.

Amano (Taichi):

Yes!

Sasahara (Kazunari):

I already introduced myself earlier, but I’m Sasahara, the chief engineer.

Nice to meet you.

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

I’m the mechanic, Yasuhiro. And then over there is our racing driver, Naruse.

Naruse (Azuma):

…

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san, as a fellow driver, I hope we can work together from now on!

Naruse (Azuma):

…

Amano (Taichi):

Ah…

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

That guy’s always like that. Don’t mind him.

He doesn’t try to get used to the people surrounding him… The lone wolf type.

Amano (Taichi):

I see.

Sasahara (Kazunari):

That’s that, but there’s the driver change in the middle of the race, it’s impossible not to exchange any words at all…

Amano (Taichi):

…

<Short Time Skip>

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san! Good morning!

Natuse (Azuma):

…

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san, let’s go and eat breakfast together.

Naruse (Azuma):

…I won’t go.

<Short Time Skip>

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san, let’s go and train together!

Naruse (Azuma):

…Do it yourself. I’ll do it by myself.

<Short Time Skip>

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san! Do you need help with anything today?

Naruse (Azuma):

You’re so persistent every single day.

I don’t need any help from you.

Amano (Taichi):

But! I heard that we will be exchanging drivers in the middle of the race, me and Naruse-san it is.

That’s why even just a bit, I thought it will be good to interact with you.

Naruse (Azuma):

I have no interest in you.

Amano (Taichi):

But I have! Please tell me more about you, Naruse-san!

I will never give up after all!

Naruse (Azuma):

…Hah…

<Short Time Skip>

Amano (Taichi):

Do you have anything today?

Naruse (Azuma):

Then, I’ll leave this to you.

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

Oi, did you see that?

Sasahara (Kazunari):

Yeah, Naruse is talking to someone else like that, he even ask for assistance…

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

Fuh, you’re moved by his persistence huh.

Naruse (Azuma):

Shut up.

Sasahara (Kazunari):

Hahaha. But I really have a good feeling from you right now.

Naruse (Azuma):

Huh…

Amano (Taichi):

With this, let’s do our best in the next tournament!

<Short Time Skip>

Amano (Taichi):

It’s finally the tournament day…

Naruse (Azuma):

Are you nervous.

Amano (Taichi):

Uh, just a bit…

Kurata (Tsuzuru):

What? It’s the lone wolf Naruse, it’s rare to see you talking to someone else.

Naruse (Azuma):

You guys…

Amano (Taichi):

Ah, that’s the rival team…!

Shiarishi (Misumi):

Oi Naruse, why don’t you show me your terrible one-man race again?

Naruse (Azuma):

Fuh… I have reliable comrades, so I’ll be fine.

Amano (Taichi):

…!

Shiraishi (Misumi):

Hee. Why not you let me see your skill then.

Kurata (Tsuzuru):

Then, during the race.

Amano (Taichi):

Naruse-san…

When you’re talking about reliable comrades… Are you maybe talking about me?

Naruse (Azuma):

Who knows.

Come on, the race is starting.

<Short Time Skip>

Sasahara (Kazunari):

Goal!!

Yasuhiro (Tasuku):

They did it!! It’s victory for our team!

Kurata (Tsuzuru):

Damn it…

Shiraishi (Misumi):

God damn it…!

Amano (Taichi):

We did it!

Naruse (Azuma):

Fuh… Ah, good work.

<Short Time Skip>

Director:

Everyone, good work! The stage performance was amazing too, I’m glad.

Taichi:

I did my best!

Tasuku:

Good work.

Azuma:

Good work today.

Doesn’t it feel nice.

Tsuzuru:

More than anything else, the audiences seems to be enjoying themselves too.

Misumi:

The race and the acting too, everything’s fun~!

Kazunari:

Right! It’s super lit!

I took a lot of pictures too, let’s upload them to Insta and the Blog!

Taichi:

Ah, right!

I have something to ask from you, Azuma-san…

Azuma:

Something to ask from me?

<End of Chapter 10>

[its-r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s]

Call Me A Freak- Chapter 10: Truth, Beauty, and Love

Words: 3,285

Warnings: anxiety, drowning, suicidal thoughts (kinda), panic, mention of injuries and scars

Ch 9 | Ch 11

~ ~ ~

Auradon was truly beautiful. As I rode on the back of Ben’s bike, I couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous forests and clear skies. Everything about this place was perfect.

I wanted to be angry. How dare they keep all this to themselves and send us off to such a small, gross island? But I couldn’t truly be angry. Because in my heart I knew that Auradon was beautiful because the people here made it beautiful. They took care of their world. We didn’t.

He slowed down. “We’re going to have to walk from here.”

I was about to ask him why, when I got off the bike and saw the long, rope bridge which connected the paths between hills.

He must have seen my look of astonishment, because he quickly asked, “Are you afraid of heights?”

I shook my head. “I don’t mind. I’ve just… never seen anything like this before.”

He grinned and gestured for me to continue. So, slowly, I made my way across the bridge.

It shook slightly underneath us. As we walked, I held onto the sides, swinging myself from left to right, like a child playing.

“Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone,” he prompted.

My shoulders tensed up slightly at the thought. I knew that it wasn’t his intention to try and get information from me. He was just making conversation. But it brought up so many bad things in my mind.

I pushed aside the thought and settled on telling him something that very few knew about me.

“My middle name is Bertha.”

“Bertha?” He sounded like he didn’t totally believe me.

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Bertha,” he repeated, letting the sound roll over his tongue.

I chuckled. “Just my mom doing what she does best! Being really, really evil.” I paused in the middle of the bridge, staring down at the canyon below us. “Mal Bertha…”

He stopped beside me. “Mine’s Florian.”

“Florian?” I laughed as he confirmed it. “How princely. That’s almost worse.”

“I mean, it’s better than Bertha,” he shot back. “But it’s still not good.”

We stumbled to the end of the bridge and I paused, not sure where to go next. There wasn’t a clear road, like the one that we rode on.

“Alright,” he said, stepping around me. “For the last part of the journey, you have to close your eyes.”

My brain went into fight or flight mode. “No, No. I think I’m good-”

“No, it’s fine!” he insisted. “It’s not that far and-”

“Ben, I’d really rather not-”

“What do you think is going to hap-”

“Please Ben!” I interrupted.

His eyes went wide, but he didn’t argue with me anymore. He shrugged it off and said cheerfully, “Okay. Watch your step!”

We walked quietly through the forest, my feet sliding over the moist leaves on the ground. It was peaceful. The woods were enchanting and the leaves let in just enough light that it wasn’t cold.

Ben paused, turning to grab my hands and bring me closer to him. I didn’t even realize that he was turning me to face a clearing until he had me positioned right in front of it.

My jaw dropped open. We had made our way to the bottom of the canyon, where a shallow pond had formed. Situated on the edge of the water was a small pavilion. It was old, with vines running up the stone columns and destruction around the top ring.

In the center, Ben had set up a small picnic. It consisted of a blue blanket, a wicker basket, matching pillows, and small portions of food. The whole thing was ethereal.

“Go on,” Ben told me.

My feet moved on their own. I was as light as a feather as I made my way down the last bit of hill and towards the pavilion. I had never felt so elated to be somewhere in my life. I truly felt… like a princess.

I didn’t want to be enjoying myself, but in the moment, what I was pretending to feel and what I was actually feeling were crossing lines.

Ben sat me down and insisted I have a bite of everything. He was shocked to find so much of the food was uncommon on the island, but I just shrugged it off. Just by staring at Auradon from my mother’s balcony, I could tell that a lot was different there… here.

“Is this your first time?” Ben questioned. He leaned on his right arm, watching me stuff different baked things in my mouth.

I shrugged, rubbing the crumbs off my hands as I finished chewing. “We don’t really… date much on the island? It’s more like… gang activity.”

He chuckled. “Um… I meant… Is this your first time eating a jelly donut?”

I froze. “Is it bad?”

He pushed himself into a seated position and reached forward. “You got a…” I let him brush some scraps from my lip, or attempt to, before saying, “Here, do this.”

He demonstrated licking his lips and I quickly followed suit. The lipstick that I had on was bitter in my mouth.

“Gone?”

He didn’t respond, but I knew he would have told me if there was still food around my mouth, so I let it go.

“You can’t take me anywhere, I guess,” I joked with him.

“You know,” he started. “I’ve done all the talking. Your turn. I really don’t know that much about you… Tell me something.”

I glanced down at my lap. What was I supposed to say? The things that Ben could tell me about himself were fun stories about his family and his friends. I didn’t really have any of those… at least, not any that he would find the same amusement in.

“Well.” I blew air out, thinking of just about anything. “I’m 16 and I’ve only ever lived in one place.”

“Me too! We have so much in common already!”

“No,” I giggled. “Trust me, we do not.”

He seemed to lose a bit of his excitement as I said that. I didn’t mean to ruin his mood, but the statement that Ben and I had similar lives was just too much of a stretch.

I tried to change the subject. “And now you’re going to be king.”

“Yeah.” His voice got quiet.

“What?”

“A crown doesn’t make you a king,” he said.

I frowned. “Well, it kinda does.”

“No… Your mother is mistress of evil. And I’ve got the poster parents for goodness… But we’re not automatically like them,” he admitted. “We get to choose who we get to be. And right now, I can look into your eyes and I can tell you’re not evil… I can see it.”

My heart skipped a beat. Ben could look at me with so much sincerity and say the biggest lies. I knew that he believed that to be true. Sometimes I wished it were true. But I was raised by Maleficent for sixteen years. There was no saving someone like me at that point.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he suggested.

“What?” I jumped slightly. “Uh…”

“Come on!”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” he said, standing up and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

I rubbed my hands together, anxiously. I had no clue that this was a part of his plan for the afternoon. “I think I’m just gonna stay here.”

“No, no, no. Come on.” He reached out a hand to me, but I wasn’t budging.

“I think I’m gonna stay behind and try a strawberry.” I grabbed one of the small fruits from the bowls he had laid out. “I’ve literally never tried a strawberry before.”

I stuffed it in my mouth, pretending to enjoy it, in the hopes that he would take the hint and go on alone. I didn’t need to act for long though, because the minute I started actually chewing, I was in heaven. It was sweet, and juicy, and I found myself devouring the rest of it in seconds.

Ben laughed at me as stuffed the rest in my mouth and reached for another. “Alright. Don’t eat them all.”

I nodded quickly while he walked off.

I was so enraptured by the delicious new fruit, that I hadn’t paid attention to where Ben had gone and didn’t look up from my food until I saw him climb atop some rocks from the corner of my eye.

I stood up and walked to the edge of the pavilion, hoping to make him feel better about the fact that I refused to go in with him.

He waved as soon as he was fully standing on the small cliff, the sun hitting half of his body. His hair practically glowed in the light.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?” I shouted to him, gesturing to the blue bathing suit he was in.

He looked down, rubbing his hands over his legs. I got the feeling that he was embarrassed about the designs, but when he glanced back at me, all he said was, “Maybe!”

He took in a deep breath, then roared at the water, as if he was about to take it in battle. I wondered if he had picked that up from his father, silly as it seemed. He leaped, pulling in his legs to his chest before he hit the water.

It was all just some stupid fun, but I was enjoying the date. I finally was reaching a point where smiling and laughing around Ben was almost natural. Perhaps the spell was wearing off just a bit, making him more human and less like a lovesick puppy.

I could hear my rational thought yelling at me to stop. I had spent the majority of my life preventing myself from getting attached to anyone and then, three days at Auradon and suddenly I was relying on everyone. Jay, Evie, Carlos, Ben…

I had thought that I could walk some sort of invisible line between enemies and friends with all of them. I had acted like we were all together on one side of the fence, but in reality, I had one leg on either side. And now, they’ve caught me. They pulled me over to their side, where everyone was close and happy… but I couldn’t allow that.

I wasn’t under constant surveillance by my mother, like I had been on the island. It had left me with freedoms I never had before and began to explore. But we would be sent back to the island soon enough and then what could I do? Would all of us just forget the things that happened while we were here?

Ben is under a spell, I reminded myself. He should mean nothing to me, because in reality, I mean nothing to him.

I thought back to my talk with Evie after we had made the cookie. She had insisted that I be the one to give it to him. And during this whole charade, she had acted so excited for me.  ‘Because, M,’ her words came back to me, ‘He likes you.’

Maybe Ben did like me. Before all of this. Maybe he already had feelings for me and that was why he became so unbearable when he first had the spell. Because the spell just enhanced the feelings that were already there.

But even if he had liked me, once the spell was gone, he wouldn’t want to stay. No one would want to be with someone who just takes advantage of them.

I was confused, lost in my own thoughts. This wasn’t a debate I would ever have on the Isle. Because on the Isle, the only deciding factor was: would my mother approve?

I determined it was better to focus on right now for the time being. If Ben got back and saw me so distraught, he was going to ask questions.

That's when it came to my attention that I hadn’t seen Ben since I watched him jump into the pond. There were some rocks and other things to block my view of him, if he had swam farther out, I reassured myself, but as I listened, I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t hear him splash or paddle around. I couldn’t hear him come up for air. The whole place was silent.

“Ben?” I called. My voice echoed around the canyon, but didn’t send back any response. “Ben?”

Had the heir to the throne drowned?

“Ben!” I shouted as a last ditch attempt.

No response.

This was not good. There were no witnesses and I was the daughter of the evilest villain of all time. People would see this and insist I had killed him. I would be sent back to the Isle before I had time to defend myself.

And I would be back on my mother’s doorstep, empty handed.

I could only think of one thing to do. Luckily, the water around the pavilion was very shallow and I could jump in without it so much as hitting the bottom of my dress.

I waded out a bit, feeling the water rise around my waist and arms with each step. I kept my eyes trained on the water ahead of me, looking for any smear in the waves that could possibly be Ben.

I was so determined to find him, I didn’t notice the gentle decrease that was below me had disappeared into a much deeper section of water. I missed my step on the edge and before I could think to catch a breath, my head sank below the surface.

It was terrifying. I waved my arms frantically, bobbing up a few times, but as soon as my lungs hit the air, I would violently cough before being forced back under, unable to inhale a thing.

My mind wandered. It would look better for me if both of us had drowned, instead of just Ben. And perhaps… Perhaps death wouldn’t be so bad… Perhaps I could finally just escape.

Something grabbed me around the back, hitting the backs of my legs. I tried to get away, but I wasn’t strong enough to do more than tap it.

It dragged me along with it, until my mouth hit the surface once more. I sputtered, my chest convulsing as it attempted to release all the water from my lungs. My nose and throat burned once I was finally able to get in some fresh air.

The next thing to pop up above the water, besides my flailing feet, was Ben’s head.

Once I had recognized him, I stopped resisting and he began to carry me back to the edge of the pavilion, bridal style.

He set me down, shaking all the water out of his hair. I coughed up the last of the water, groaning. The outside wasn’t warm enough to prevent me from freezing while soaked. And my boots were full of water.

I glanced at Ben, who was looking me over concerned and I snapped. “You scared me!” I yelled, smacking his arm.

He was startled and pointed back at the water. “You- you can’t swim?”

“No!” I cried in frustration.

“You live on an island.”

“Yeah, with a barrier around it, remember?” I replied, snarkily. I reached up for my hair and began to squeeze some of the water out of it.

“And you still tried to save me,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I grimaced. “And do you thank me? No! All I get is soaking wet.”

“And uh… this fancy rock,” he said, holding up a glowing, white crystal. “It’s yours. Make a wish and throw it back in the lake.”

He gently placed the rock in my hand and gestured for me to throw it.

All I could think to wish for was that no one would hear about this incident and I chucked it a few feet away before standing up to let some of the water out of my dress.

He hopped up beside me and as I released some of the water from the hem, he gently pulled my leather jacket back from my shoulders.

I didn’t have a moment to stop him before he noticed the scars peeking out from the top of my dress and froze.

“What are you doing?” I flipped around, lifting the jacket back up.

“Mal,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “What happened?”

“I got burned,” I grumbled.

He shook his head, eyes trained on me. “Mal, what happened?” he repeated.

I pulled at the ridged skin inside my cheek. “Things are just different where I’m from.”

I wanted to get away. First Evie, now Ben.

He grabbed my chin. It wasn’t forceful, like my mother would when we were disagreeing about something, but it caught my attention.

He looked me straight on and said, “Did Maleficent do this to you?”

“Ben…”

“Mal.” His voice was filled with concern. It was… scary.

“You already know the answer to that,” I whispered. I was worried if I spoke any higher, my voice would crack or I would begin crying. “Why were you taking my jacket off anyway?”

He let go of my chin and mumbled, “It was wet… I was going to give you my dry one instead.”

My breath hitched. And something came over me. Who knows what it was: sympathy, understanding, desire.

I started to peel the wet, leather monstrosity from my shoulders. Ben was confused as he watched me rip the sleeves from my wrists and handed it to him.

He caught on as he took it from me, walking over to the chair he had dropped his varsity jacket on and switching them out.

I stood still, letting him drape the varsity jacket around my shoulders. It was a sweet gesture. One that I couldn’t forget. He gave me a meaningful look as he did it, rubbing my arms underneath it to warm me up a little.

He walked back to grab a towel and I lowered myself back down on the edge of the picnic blanket, him joining me after he had wiped off most of the excess water.

There was a pause between us. What was there to say?

While I was looking off, shivering under his jacket, Ben reached out and began to play with a small section of my hair. I didn’t move my head, not wanting to disturb him.

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me cover your eyes? Because your mom?”

I shrugged. “You can’t let your guard down on the Isle, Ben. And I know that you wouldn’t rob, or kidnap, or kill me like someone over there would, but that’s the only thing I know. You never give the other person an advantage over you.”

He hummed in understanding. “Uh, Mal…” The nervousness in his voice caused me to turn towards him. “I told you that I loved you. What about you? Do you love me?”

My eyes glazed over before he had finished. Because as soon as he said the word ‘love’, I was reminded harshly that this, all of this, was because Ben was under a spell. And if we hadn’t done that to him, all so that I could steal the wand and take over his kingdom, I wouldn’t be here.

I could see the hurt in his face as I struggled to answer. But I couldn’t just lie… not this time.

“I don’t know what love feels like,” I admitted, glancing away.

He put his fingers under my chin once more and I was caught. I didn’t want him to see me like this. Vulnerable. But this was Ben.

He smiled, running his thumb along my jaw. “Maybe I can teach you.”

[d20owlbear-deactivated]

The Mathematical Improbability of Reaching the Stars Ch 2

By cassieoh and D20Owlbear

Ch Summary And finally, the twain shall meet. We learn more of Crowley and Aziraphale and something more of Eve and Doctor Haistwell.

The walk across campus was a pleasant one when he wasn’t rushing to avoid being late or hauling far too many books or dodging undergraduates. He paused to adjust his satchel, hiking the aging leather strap higher on his shoulder; it liked to slip down as he walked, especially when he was distracted by something (as he often was). He patted the side of the bag, checking that everything he expected to feel was there and then started up the short flight of stairs that lead towards the courtyard in front of the Athenaeum, pulling out his phone as he went.

He clicked the little button on the side to check the time, suddenly nervous that he’d forgotten something and was actually terribly late to an appointment. It was an old fear, one he struggled with often, but not one he needed to worry about just now as he had nearly a full half-hour before his next lecture. 

Just as he moved to slip the phone in his pocket there was a little flash of bright green. He paused, turning the phone so he could see the screen. The little, flashing LED light lit up again, indicating he had a notification. Paranoid about disturbing a class or drawing attention to himself, he usually kept his phone on silent at all times (and triple checked it hadn’t somehow changed status spontaneously), so the light was all he used to mark that he ought to pay attention. The thing was Aziraphale rarely got notifications; his most-used programs were offline games like sudoku or word puzzles and reading apps (though he still greatly preferred the feel of something old and real in his hands). Really, the only ones that deviated from that were the food delivery apps (for when he was too busy to go out to eat, of course). He also rarely got messages at all, so it took him a few moments to place why the light might be green instead of blue as usual.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured to himself, surprised at the very notion of being messaged on his phone, “Oh!” He exclaimed half a second later and pulled the phone up close to his face, scrambling to turn on the screen again without dropping it as the phone had nearly jumped from his hands when he remembered he’d sent a reply to the silly astronomy pun from 2am! His tutor!

[Anthony Thursday 2:13 am] Your eyes are like black holes, I can’t seem to escape them. But that’s alright, because I like astronomy.

[Azira Thursday 7:56 am] Oh very good! I’m looking for help with astronomy!

[Anthony Thursday 9:28 am] I’m always happy to lend a *helping hand*, if you know what I mean. ;)

Aziraphale grinned at the last message, now certain that he hadn’t been overconfident when he told Doctor Haistwell that he’d found a tutor. This Anthony fellow certainly seemed like he was chuffed about it. Sure, he’d used asterisks incorrectly and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to accomplish with them in the first place, but that was alright, Aziraphale wasn’t in need of grammar or sentence structure help. In fact, he’d always rather excelled at that portion of his studies. 

[Azira Thursday 10:01 am] Then should we set up a meeting? Maybe coffee? Just to see if we mesh well.

He pocketed his phone with that and hummed a slow tune with Latin lyrics he’d always liked from the days he participated in choirs as an extracurricular, making his way across the small lawn. By the time he reached the doors he was certain he would be receiving another message soon,  would meet his tutor tonight,  understand astronomy by tomorrow, and there would be nothing at all for Doctor Avgerinós to complain about. 

All he had to do was be normal for the time it took to drink one coffee and all his problems would be solved. 

He grinned. 

*

The little shed at the back of the garden center wasn’t especially comfortable, though Crowley had plans to change all that. He had big dreams of using his first paycheck (a real, honest to fuck, paycheck that was all his, that he could use to buy food and fill the aching cavern of his belly without standing in the long lines at the local soup kitchen) to buy a blanket that was soft and warm and a little area rug because his toes got so cold in the mornings. He wanted to find lights that he could hang around to make it bright and cozy and maybe a walkman to play the tapes he’d shoved in the bottom of his ratty backpack before– well, before. 

But, those were all plans for another day. Right now, he could just see the early dawn light peeking over the buildings through the thick windows on the eastern wall of the shed. He needed to be dressed and in the main building by sunrise. The idea had been easier to contemplate yesterday, when the old lady first proposed it. But then again, yesterday he’d been hungry and more than a little afraid and before Crowley knew it he’d been bundled up and presented with a large sandwich and a glass of milk and, most alarmingly, a job and a home. 

The shafts of light shifted, arcing further across the corrugated metal wall, dipping and curving in ways he thought he might grow to love. He needed to get up. He stuck a hand out of the meagre warmth the sheet provided and shivered as chilled air rushed in.

It was just... The little futon was so much more comfortable than the hard-packed earth. 

He allowed himself another thirty-count of comfort before throwing off the thin sheet and surging to his feet, throwing himself into the discomfort as quickly as he could. 

An extended groan tore its way from his throat as he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, listening as his spine cracked and popped. Then he twisted around, angling his hips to try and shake the ache from them. 

After another few minutes spent greeting the day (which included brushing his teeth and oh how he’d forgotten what a pleasure that was), he emerged from the shed and made his way quickly across the garden center towards the small building at the front. Being that it was located in the middle of London proper, Eve’s Eden was compact, with only two true greenhouses and a small outdoor stand of fruit trees. At the center of the outdoor space was a large pear tree, currently laden down with fruit. He realized just after passing it that he didn’t have to refrain any longer and doubled back to pick three pears, immediately biting into the first and holding it between his teeth as he shoved the other two in the overwrought pockets of the trousers he’d been obliged to borrow from the shelter last week after his last pair had finally fallen to little more than threads. 

That was another thing he was going to buy, he thought, trousers. Trousers that fit him and didn’t feel like he was wearing a tent. He never felt quite like himself when his legs weren’t free to move and bulky, cargo monstrosities made his skin itch and his hands dance and his chest feel tighter than he thought clothing probably should do and so he was going to buy a good pair and if that meant the blanket and the area rug had to wait then that was alright. 

Crowley frowned to himself as he mentally calculated what would cost what and adding it up in his head, no matter how he spun it, food would be the most important - he could buy a water bottle to keep filling up and a couple of gallons of water on the side for cooking would be cheap as well. Hell, he could probably use water from the hose if it came to that. A blanket would be good and likely doable if he went second-hand shopping instead of buying new, and if he couldn’t get a proper rug that way then he would at least be able to splurge on some of those mass-produced packs of socks from Tesco when he went for cheap groceries. A thought interrupted his happy musings of warm toes, stopping him in his tracks. 

Eve– Eve might not mind if customers couldn’t necessarily tell–if he got a sufficiently baggy sweater from somewhere and grew out his hair a little more–he could wear a skirt. They wouldn’t be as cumbersome as the damned cargos he wore currently or grate on his skin. Long skirts would probably be just as comfortable as the tight jeans he preferred. Cooler too, he thought, the greenhouses were comfortable now, but he knew they would be unbearable in the summer. A breeze on his legs would be a welcome change. 

He realized that he’d been dithering outside the main building for quite some time and took a deep breath to calm himself. 

Eve wasn’t going to throw him out, he thought. She’d seemed tough, but not cruel, not someone who would give him hope that he might have any sort of future at all only to snatch it away. 

She wasn’t like that, wasn’t like-

She was different. He just knew it. 

So, he straightened the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, quickly giving up on seeming any more presentable than he had yesterday in it, and strode in as if he were the picture of confidence. Eve raised an eyebrow at him from behind her cuppa, slow and still a little sleepy from the morning haze that settles down habitually over cool London mornings. 

“Mornin’.” Crowley sketched a sheepish wave, unsure exactly where he was supposed to fit here (other than beneath the Ailanthus tree where Eve had found him sleeping last night). Nothing else seemed like it would know what to do with a Crowley-shaped person next to it, none of the other rows of plants and flowers looked like they could handle his bumbling hands sitting next to their pristine plots. He didn’t know what to–

Crowley was shocked out of his inward spiral by Eve’s hand on his bicep, squeezing just tightly enough to be reassuring instead of scolding. She smiled at him like someone might smile at a dog on the side of the road, bleeding from where it was hit and left for dead. Crowley grimaced in his head, the metaphor was more apt than he’d wanted to admit.

“You know what weeds look like?” Eve asked him, all her pretenses of grumpiness up front at full force, though to Crowley it felt like a welcome, somehow.

“Y-yeah, of course I know what weeds look like!” Crowley stuttered, what little pride she’d let him scrounge up the night before when he’d gathered up his bag and stood to leave when she’d found him curled up behind the roots of the tree furthest from the door was coated his tongue like lead. Heavy and tripping. It dripped down the back of his throat and the molten, toxic metal burnt on its way down, churning his stomach until he was nauseous and coated his heart so that it felt like bands wrapped around it and every beat and every breath pressed uncomfortably tight.

*

Ping! 

Crowley’s phone chimed and he sucked in a surprised breath, tearing himself from his uncomfortable recollections on how he came to be here, nearly a decade ago. It would be nine-and-a-half years soon. And almost ten years exactly from when he’d been kicked out in the first place as a teen. 

Crowley blinked at his messages unseeing, lost in his thoughts of Eve and her garden center. And then he blinked some more after he set the phone down, dazed with a stupid grin threatening to overtake his face. How bold! And not in a disgusting way like some people were on dating apps. “To see if we mesh well, ” Crowley’s grin ticked up a bit further at the thought. Posh and poncy, but not in a holier-and-richer-than-thou way, and he could already tell he’d like this Azira guy. Quickly he typed out another reply.

[Anthony Thursday 12:05 pm] I’m certainly interested in meshing with you.

[[Full Chapter]]

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Ohkay. 2, 4, 5, 9, 11 for Can Your Friends do This?

2: What scene did you first put down?

Death and Hari sitting in the cell in Ch. 1 and Them offering to kill everyone who ever opposed her.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

This Sasunaru moment from Ch. 11.

"You're an idiot."

"Sasuke!" Ino hissed, glaring at him for probably the first time in her life.

The Uchiha ignored her and instead, looked Naruto dead in the eye. "You feel guilt over ridding the world of those pieces of trash? They were trying to kill us. For a grudge they held against a man long dead. You used a power you mostly have never used before, in order to save our lives, and are beating yourself up over not having enough control necessary to stop a creature that can't even be killed. As if a little Genin such as yourself has power over the most powerful Biju in existence."

Naruto and Ino were both gaping and though Kakashi would never admit it to anyone, he was as well.

"If you weren't strong enough to control it this time, get stronger so you can control it next time. Your father entrusted you with this burden for a reason. Remember, that everything you learn as a ninja, is just like a double edged sword. It can be used to do harm and can be used to stop harm. How you use it defines who you really are. It is not what you are that matters, Naruto, it is who you are."

This training from Kakashi from Ch. 16.

Naruto wanted no time in scaling the wall and entering through the bathroom window. The memories of his one Bunshin let him know where to go. He crawled along the wall instead of using the stairs. He didn't know what sort of condition they were in and didn't want to deal with the possible creaking.

The lounge was decorated nicely in shades of blue and brown. So even though the outside was a mess, the inside was decent enough. Naruto recognized the civilian immediately when he glanced around the corner. She was an avid, anti-demon supporter. In other words, she really hated Naruto and made her dislike of him very well known over the years. A few stones may have thrown a few times as well.

He was overcome with the urge to do some damage to her property. To pay her back for being such a horrible person over the years. However, there was just a small voice inside that was telling him it was wrong. He was there for a mission. He was supposed to be training, and his emotions should not be interfering on said training mission.

But even more important than that, were the words of his nee-chan. Hari insisted that a prank was never meant to hurt anyone. Pranks were supposed to be funny and done in good humor(unless they were revenge pranks like he did to an old Academy sensei). She had told him stories of her twin friends who played pranks but didn't do so with the intent to hurt people, unlike her father and his friends who became bullies in school because their pranks went far enough to hurt others or worse.

Naruto didn't want to be a bully. And he didn't want to be a bad person. Just because the civilian was horrible to him, didn't mean he should lower himself to her level. If she was too stupid to see him for who he truly was, that wasn't his fault. She'd simply learn her lesson when he finally became the Hokage. One day she would see.

Until then, it was not Naruto's job to play judge or jury. Being mature sucked.

Huffing to himself, Naruto slipped through the room, sneaking up behind her chair and taking the remote off the table beside where she sat. She never even noticed either. He stuck his tongue out for good measure, and then fled because his time was almost up.

"Here you go, sensei!" he said when he returned to his team, well within the time limit, offering the remote to the man.

Kakashi hummed and accepted the offered item. "Well done. You showed some admirable self-control as well, Naruto. I'm proud of you."

He flushed. Apparently his sensei had known the type of person that had lived in the house. It wasn't necessarily a mission for him to prank, but for Kakashi to see his temperament. He wanted to know if Naruto could put the objective of the mission before his own wants and desires. He wanted to know if Naruto was capable of understanding when revenge was necessary and when it wasn't.

And he probably just passed a very important test in the man's eyes, which made him beam with pride. And to think, if he hadn't had Hari-nee-chan in his life, he probably wouldn't have made the decision to be the better person in the first place.

Sometimes, Kakashi could be pretty cool.

"Naruto, wait ten minutes and then go put the remote back exactly where you found it. It'll be enough time for her to notice and get agitated. Your time limit is thirty seconds this time. If you get caught, not only do you fail and end up with horizontal training all day, but you will have to dig yourself out of the hole you fell in."

He sighed. Kakashi was still evil though.

This Hari/Kakashi scene also from Ch. 16.

The silver-haired man hummed. "Since you're training is finished for the day, would you care to help with my training?"

She sent him a bland look. "I am not sparring with you any time soon. While the last time was humorous enough as it is, I don't feel like getting wet at present. It's a bother."

"How sad!" Kakashi sighed dramatically. "Koneko-chan doesn't like it when I get her wet and bothered."

The woman flushed at the suggestive words, but did not answer his taunting. She would not let him see the results of his words. She was better than that.

"No you aren't," said Death. "You give into his teasing all the time. You like it."

Shut up!

Anyway, back onto the subject at hand. "What kind of training and what's in it for me if I do help you, Koinu-kun?"she asked in a sickly sweet tone, batting her lashes repeatedly in hopes of annoying him or at the very least creeping him out a bit. Because that wasn't her normal attitude and obviously it would be weird, right?

It didn't work. He merely seemed amused. Perhaps all the other odd Jonin he knew raised his tolerance for wonky shite. "Mah, I figure that if you could help me with this, then we can both read this lovely book I own, that you have yet to get a copy of." He held up said book. The one from the time in the kitchen. When she had him set the table while she messed around with the book and Jiraiya gaped like a fish as they argued over his porn.

"And how would we both read it if we're working?" inquired the woman doubtfully.

"Simple. I place it on the ground, and as I do my push ups, you sit on my back and read over my shoulder. You can then use your Kekkei Genkai to turn the pages. Both of us will be getting something out of it then."

She had sat on Anko's back a few times when the woman trained, but never anyone else. And this was Kakashi of all people. He wanted her to sit on him and read erotica with him, while he exercised. He she had been anyone else, she might have thought he was trying to be a pervert, but she knew better.

While it could have suggestive themes, it was a practical request and both would indeed benefit from it. He for exercise and she for new reading material. And he didn't ask her to read it aloud, which kind of negated any assumptions of him doing this out of a desire for sexual anything.

"Okay," she found herself agreeing, wanting to read the damn book. "How many push ups will you be doing?"

"One thousand."

Merlin.

"Speed run, or taking your time?"

"Taking my time."

He was suddenly even more impressive. And Hari was going to be sitting on his back for the next however long, reading erotica. She ignored the small tingle in her belly, and shrugged. Not sexual despite the content that would be involved.

"Let's do this."

Kakashi got into position and Hari gazed at his arse only for a few seconds. It wasn't wet this time so the fabric didn't cling as much, but it was still a nice view. Probably a result of the hard training he put himself through for years. Pert and firm. Nice.

"Go ahead," he urged her, and Hari was careful, throwing a leg over him and ending up straddling him. She shifted a few times, before shrugging and laying down instead. Sitting would be uncomfortable since he was ripped and she was pretty thin herself. So her butt would end up hurting. But laying on him was far more easy, and brought her face closer to the book. And if her head rested beside his own, neither acknowledged it.

And yes, she realised that this was not the position he'd spoken of, but it was just better for both of them. Besides, he was longer and wider than she was in frame, so she was easily able to lay on his back and not cause him any discomfort. Her hands couldn't even touched the ground from how her arms dangled over his sides. So it just made sense. Also, her weight was more evenly spread out this way.

"Chapter one," she announced unnecessarily, flicking a hand and watching as the page turned. "Just tell me when you're ready for a page flip."

And so went the next hour of Hari trying to divide her attention away from the rippling muscles of Kakashi's back, to the book that the both of them had managed to get twelve chapters into. It was difficult, and she only slightly regretted the position, especially when she was left feeling warm and fuzzy in the lower portion of the body.

How dare he be attractive and strong. And shame on her body for being so damn weak in finding obvious displays of strength, sexy!

5: What part was hardest to write?

All the battles during the Rebellion Arc.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

I briefly considered pairing Naruto and Gaara but my sasunarusasu heart said nope!

11: What do you like best about this fic?

Changing things little by little and yet those small changes making BIG changes later on thanks to the butterfly effect.

[heoneyology]

Hearts on the Line: Ch.9

A/N: Things have calmed down a bit! Heads up there’s a portion where the MC has to get stitched up, I tried not to go into too much detail.

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 4925

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

The ride back to the base camp is uncomfortable, to say the very least. You’re barely able to stay in the saddle on your own, and so Yunho rides behind you and allows you to lean back against him, an arm snaked around your waist as he holds you upright. He leads his horse along at a gallop with the reins in his free hand. He attempts to go slow and gently, but there’s an urgency to getting you back to camp that you can understand—that doesn’t make it any more comfortable, of course.

Each movement of the horse beneath you jostles you in a way that has you clenching your teeth against the pain. Every now and again, Yunho will ask you a question softly, close to your ear. You answer each time, not really able to remember what it is he’s asking and what you’re giving an answer to. You know he’s making sure you’re conscious still and not slipping away on him.

After a while, he begins to softly hum in your ear. Despite his deep voice, it’s melodic.

You don’t fall asleep, but the sound reverberating from the back of his throat soothes you enough to make the ride pass in a way that seems too fast yet too slow at the same time. You’re unable to firmly grasp at the concept of time.

“San!” Yunho’s sudden shout pulls you back to reality. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, having been lulled into a strange state of in-between by your riding partner’s humming. “Choi San!” He yells again, this time a bit more urgently.

Yunho slides from the saddle first, keeping a firm grip on you with a single hand as he does so. You realize then that you haven’t stopped clenching your jaw since the start of the ride. Slowly relaxing, you let out a breath, mentally preparing yourself for the pain about to come. There’s a frown furrowing Yunho’s brow again.

“Careful,” he croons to you, as you position yourself slowly to assist him in getting you down from his horse. Arms wrapped around you, he slips you from the saddle. You’re about to tell him that you can walk, but he’s back to carrying you bridal style without a single shred of hesitation.

“Choi San!” Yunho yells, once more, this time the urgency hovering close to a state of panic.

A sudden thundering of hooves, followed by some faint barking, makes you peek over Yunho’s shoulder. “There,” you murmur, and Yunho turns with you in his arms. The two of you watch San ride back into camp on his palomino, a small dog haphazardly barking as it trails a little too close to the horse’s hooves, pulling up short to a stop.

“You found Shiber,” Yunho comments off-handedly, before continuing, “Did you search the camp at all? Are your supplies mostly here, still?”

San dismounts, and as he does so he shoots his hunting hound a wide grin. The last you’d seen of the canine was when the dog had been curled asleep by the fire next to a contently sleeping Yeosang and Jongho. That seemed like ages ago, now, despite it only being close to a week, maybe a week and a half. You briefly wonder if Shiber had gone missing all of a sudden—it was no unknown fact to anyone that the dog was extremely fond of his owner, and didn’t take well to moments that San was away for days on end.

That’s when you notice the state of camp. You feel your head rolling along your shoulders in imitation of an owl as you do so, attempting to crane your neck around Yunho’s frame. While the camp isn’t completely torn apart, it’s clearly disheveled, as though some sort of tussle had happened. Items have been upturned, ripped open, and contents even spread around.

What happened? You wonder, just as San asks aloud, “What happened?”

He’s right in front of the two of you then, staring down at you with a stricken expression across his face. You pull your attention from the camp to meet San’s gaze, giving a meager smile.

“When you guys taught me how to fight and fend off knife attackers, you never followed up with what to do if that person had two knives.” Your attempt at a joke is quite lame, but you hear Yunho let out some sort of scoff-like laughter, and San—though he presses his lips into a hard, displeased line—gives a good-humored head shake.

“Yes, because you weren’t actually ever supposed to get into a knife fight,” San mutters, before nodding towards the center of the camp, close to the barren fire pit, a silent instruction for Yunho. San turns away, saying, “My tent was still fine, I should have enough to stitch her up.”

Yunho follows San’s silent direction, carefully setting you down on the ground next to the fire pit. He glances around the disheveled camp, moving about to collect some fresh wood to put a fire together.

“What happened here?” You ask, turning your head enough to allow you to study the state of what had been your temporary home until then.

“We don’t know.” San is the one who answers, returning to your side with a bag. He sets it down before he crouches at your side. “Hongjoong has an idea, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Seonghwa is also missing.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was the only one who hadn’t come to town that night. Yeosang and Jongho had said that they weren’t able to extract him from his tent, pouring himself over the books he carried with him. You remembered that the first night when this all had began, Seonghwa had been focused on studying something, but you could barely remember what. Considering he hadn’t been in the line of danger at all, despite his warnings, you found yourself worried.

“So, what happened?” San asked as he set about to work, he glanced up briefly at Yunho. “Get some water boiling in a pot, since we aren’t in any immediate danger ourselves and she isn’t, I want to sanitize this wound correctly. The bleeding seems to have stopped a while ago.”

You hear a hum of acknowledgement from Yunho, before the sound of a small spark against wood touches your ears. You flinch in surprise, briefly turning your head to watch Yunho tend a campfire, doing as San instructed with the water. Letting out a sigh, you turn back to San, watching him rummage through his belongings and pull out some various vials, bottles, and instruments, until he was satisfied with the assemblage.

“Short version of the story,” you begin, too tired to give all the details. They’ll hear it again, anyway, when Hongjoong inevitably sits you down to question you. “Wooyoung had a stupid idea, I went along with the stupid idea. I was acting as a spy. Got in a scuffle with a woman from Wooyoung’s past after gathering some information. We had a physical fight, I got stabbed—” You cut yourself off, glancing up at San then, “—the blade was doused in Gila monster venom, by the way.”

San has been handed a pot of boiled water by Yunho at this point, and he’s working on carefully cleaning a regular old sewing needle he’d procured. “Oh my,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, how are you feeling? I hear those are nasty to deal with. They won’t kill you, but they’re insanely painful. Unfortunately you have to just ride the venom out.”

You let out a grunt. “Ride it out is exactly what I’m doing, and it’s definitely not the most pleasant experience I’ve had.”

Quirking a brow, San studies you. “You’re handling the pain quite well.”

“I think the venom numbed me, to be honest. I ache inside. The stab wound I can’t really feel unless I make a sudden movement. Feels like my body has failed on me, because I feel nothing at all.”

After the needle is sanitized to his liking, San sets it aside. “Well, I hope you’re ready to feel something, because these next few things probably won’t be pleasant.” From under a curtain of hair, he looks up at you as he hovers of you. “For now I’m just going to clean this wound. Painkiller after, before I stitch it up. Can’t do anything for the venom, your body will naturally fight that off in its own way.”

You nod, grateful that he’s at least explaining to you what he’s doing and intends to do. Lying your head back, you let out a sigh, bracing yourself as you stare up at the night sky, littered with stars. You hear the tear of cloth as San cuts away the lower half of your shirt, flinching as he gently pours the hot water Yunho had boiled over your stab wound. The liquid, despite being smooth, is uncomfortably hot as it rushes around the edges of the wound and into the cut itself. San’s bare hand moves gently over the wound, rubbing away both dried and fresh blood.

As he works, you find yourself hyper focused on what he’s doing without looking, attempting to piece together a mental image of his hand at work.

“So,” you exhale, deciding the continuation of your story will distract you, “we got into a physical fight, I got stabbed—and I’m not really sure what made me think it was a good idea, but there was this lamp on the table in the room—we were in the saloon private rooms. I started to fall, my body couldn’t hold up my weight, and so I grabbed the lantern off the table and threw it onto the floor as I fell.”

“I thought the room would set on fire,” you lie, surprised at how easily it comes to you, “but then the whole building went up in flames.”

They don’t need to know that you were aware of Jean’s plan, or that you even knew Jean. They didn’t need to know that you’d smelled the gunpowder on the floor when you’d fallen the first time, and they definitely didn’t need to know you’d planned all of that to help ensure your survival. Now that Wooyoung was possibly injured because of you—these were things they didn’t need to know.

“Well, we heard that explosion from this far off—Yunho, sit her up—and let me tell you, I don’t think it was just that saloon you were in that set on fire.”

San is easy at holding multiple conversations at once, easily talented in the art of juggling multiple thoughts swarming through his head. It was no wonder he still had a shred of sanity left. Everyone liked to tease him for thinking too much, all at once, but somehow he still was able to keep a head about him despite all the ideas he had.

Yunho does as San instructs, carefully sitting you up as San presses a cloth over your stab wound to ensure it doesn’t begin to bleed again from the movement. As you’re guided into a sitting position, you’re met with a flask practically in your face, right at the tip of your nose.

You groan. You hated alcohol.

“Time to drink away the pain. Gotta numb you up,” San gives an impish grin, knowing your dislike for the whiskey.

“Quack doctor,” Yunho mutters under his breath.

San wrinkles his nose at the other. “Hey, you’ll be saying that when I patch Rosette up here nice and good. You’re going to end up being grateful.”

“What I would have been grateful for is if you hadn’t let Hongjoong fall out of his damn saddle,” Yunho argues, “quack doctor!”

“I digress, Hongjoong chose to fall from his own saddle. I had absolutely nothing to do with that—”

“A doctor should have control over his patients!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not even a real doctor?!” San wails, and you suddenly find a headache growing, not just for the fact that he’s literally crying in your ear—but also from their bickering. It’s something they do often, Jongho often joining them, as well. That was something that created an even bigger fiasco.

“And Hongjoong isn’t, nor was he ever, a real patient! He went to sleep after a concussion! Who does that?!”

“Who lets someone do that?” Yunho retorts.

“Okay I didn’t see you wake him up, either—”

“Wait… Hongjoong fell from his saddle? He has a concussion? What’s going on?” You’re dizzy, glancing back and forth between the two of them as they continue their squabble.

But instead of answering you, San decides at that moment, it’s perfect to drop the subject entirely. Yunho seems to be in some sort of silent agreement with him. San shakes the flask in front of your nose. “A story for another time, maybe later when you tell us the lengthened version of your own. Now, bottom’s up.”

You wrinkle your nose as he presses the flask to your mouth, though you have no choice but to part your lips and accept the whiskey. Grimacing, you close your eyes against the bitter taste. San doesn’t lower the flask, and so you’re forced to keep drinking it steadily until he seems satisfied you’ve had enough. When he tilts the flask away, you sputter and let out a cough.

It’s not instantaneous, but you can feel the aged whiskey slowly take hold of your body, a sort of vertigo beginning to build up at the forefront of your mind. You close your eyes against the sensation. “Gross,” you mutter, aware that now the back of your throat burns with the rest of your body.

“Necessary,” is San’s one word answer, as he nods to Yunho, who gently lays you back down. Before you’re completely settled, San is pressing something against your mouth again. Obliging, you part your lips, greeted by the taste of old leather. Your eyes shoot back open, and from the back of your throat you let out a complaint against the leather, lifting your hands to pry San’s away.

“You’d rather bite off your tongue?” San asks, holding the leather there firmly. Though it tastes disgusting—you have to admit to yourself that you would rather not do so. San doesn’t let go until you drop your hands, positive you’re going to concede. “I’m going to start stitching.”

You’re about to close your eyes again when Yunho is suddenly reaching forward, collecting your hands in his own.

“In case it hurts too much.” He gives your hands a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Make sure she doesn’t struggle or move,” San directs, adding to you, “please try and stay still, Rosette, even if it hurts.”

You give a curt nod, feeling your jaw tightening as your teeth clench against the leather. Just as the pinpoint of the needle touches your skin, you snap your eyes closed and find yourself squeezing Yunho’s hands. The needle slides along your skin in a smooth and effortless manner, San working quickly and efficiently. You know he’s trying his hardest to not make things worse for you, but you can’t help the whimper against the leather that escapes from you. If you were to look, you were sure you’d be gripping Yunho’s hands so hard that your knuckles were white.

From faraway, you hear Yunho begin to hum again, until his voice builds up into something a tad bit stronger, softly singing, “It was you, my shine light; true light, came with destiny…”

You focus on that soothing sound, beginning to doze off. Yunho’s singing with the vertigo swimming in your head is enough to keep you unfocused—jumping between different thoughts and feelings. The sensation of the needle and thread and San’s warm touch against your stomach, the burning fire that still lingers in your veins, back to the gentle touch of Wooyoung as he tended to your lip… wondering if Wooyoung was okay, and wishing he were here.

At some point, your body can’t handle fighting against the pain any longer. Yunho’s voice and the whiskey lull you to sleep, a more comfortable warmth settling over your body. The day had been much longer than you’d anticipated, taking a very large toll on your body and mind overall. Nothing had panned out the way you had anticipated, and at the back of your mind is a small worry about what Hongjoong will say about everything. He didn’t know about your connecting to Jean, yet a part of you was concerned he was somehow aware of the buildings in the town being prepped to go up in flame—that you knew exactly what you were doing when you’d knocked that lamp over.

There was also a worry over what Jean was going to say—or even do. Did this ruin her plans? Clearly they’d been thwarted, to an extent, since the three members you’d managed to get to the saloon were all alive and well. That also made you wonder, though, where the heck had Seonghwa gone? And why was the camp in such a state of array?

You felt guilty for being relieved that everyone that had gone to the saloon was alive and well, like you were betraying your best friend. Could you even call her that, any longer? Even with the history you shared?

At the very least, you’d gotten a name out of Monica. Mr. Kim. It narrowed absolutely nothing down, but maybe Wooyoung would be able to do something with that information. You wished you’d gone alone, like originally planned. If only you’d been the one to meet with Monica, and hadn’t dragged the guys along… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe everyone would be alright.

You aren’t sure how long you sleep for, but the sound of voices drags you unwillingly back to consciousness and reality.

“They got caught, the both of them. They’re in a holding cell right now.” Immediately, a sense of further relief washes through you at the sound of Jongho’s voice.

“They didn’t get shot on the spot?” Yunho asks, surprised.

“Sheriff wants to do a public execution,” Yeosang’s quietly calm voice interjects into the conversation. They’re talking about Hongjoong and Wooyoung, you realize. “Everyone thinks they did it—set the town on fire.”

“But—” Mingi’s deep voice suddenly appears, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“There’s no ‘buts’ to it, Mingi. I know you don’t think it’s entirely fair. With their combined bounties? Honestly, what man with a clean name wouldn’t think they did it? It’s not exactly like the sheriff needs a cause for the crime, to kill them. We’re all outlaws here.”

When you blink your eyes open, you find yourself lying on your side. A blanket has been placed beneath you, along with one covered over you, and a pack laid beneath your head. You’re met with the sight of San’s beloved hunting hound, Shiber, lying next to you. When you stir, the dog lifts his head to sniff you, before plopping it right back down and returning to his own dozing. You reach out, resting a hand on Shiber’s side as your eyes adjust to the dark and the firelight.

The dog stirring again, this time at your touch, catches San’s attention.

“You’re awake?”

There’s a pounding in your head that makes you wish you weren’t awake, but you answer with a, “Yes, kind of. Waking up still.” The fog of what’s left of the whiskey in your system and the heaviness of the sudden sleep that had overtaken you make it a bit difficult to push past the grogginess you feel.

San’s suddenly there, hovering over you. Shiber moves out of the way, tail wagging as he stares at San with such dedication and compassion in his eyes. You kind of envy the love the dog has for the man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungover?” You offer with a small smile.

San chuckles, smiling enough that his cheeks dimple. He reaches forward, gently taking hold of your shoulders and guiding you to return to laying on your back. At your waist, he parts the shirt you’re wearing—you realize that it’s one of the guys’, a button-down that’s only half-buttoned, that probably belongs to Yunho since it seems to fit you so loosely and clings to your frame like a curtain rather than a shirt.

“It looks good. Bleeding has completely stopped, no signs of infection at the time,” San studies his work, “I made some poultice with some yarrow not long ago that I put to help stem the bleeding. Whiskey’s all we got for painkillers around here, so if you’re in any pain, you’re either going to have tough it out or drink up.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of drinking anything more, not a fan of the latter option. Toughing it out seems like the better of the two ideas, considering you seemed to have done a decent job of it earlier if you’d managed to stay on your feet through all the events that had gone down.

“Good news is I think the venom is mostly out of your system. Had quite a scare after you fell asleep, you started running a fever,” San explained, letting the material of the shirt fall back down over your exposed stomach. “For a moment I thought you’d caught an infection, but then I realized your body was seemingly sweating out the last of the venom.”

“How long have I been sleeping for?” You wonder, your voice cracking as you speak.

Instead of answering, San turns away from you for a moment to rummage through some items nearby. You glance around at what you can see without jostling yourself too much, aware that the guys seemed to have cleaned up most of the camp. San returns with a jar lid in his hand, and you squint at the thick syrup sitting on it. He reaches forward, slipping a hand behind your back. You brace yourself, helping him assist you into a sitting position.

“Take some honey for your throat, I don’t know how much smoke you inhaled,” he instructs, handing you the jar lid.

You stare at it. There were plenty of cooking utensils around this camp, and this was how he served honey to you? Lifting your eyes, you narrow them into judgmental slits aimed straight towards him.

“We’ve all shared germs here before, but we haven’t shared germs with the ground. I wasn’t about to wash some dirty dishes just so you could have a spoonful of honey. Take it.”

You supposed that made sense, considering the camp had been ransacked earlier. Sighing, you do as he commands and swallow down the sweet fluid. Immediately, it soothes your parched throat.

“Well?” You ask after testing your throat out, satisfied that it doesn’t feel as itchy when you swallow. You hand the lid back to San.

“Long enough,” Yunho answers from over San’s shoulder. You shift your seated position to turn toward the fire, to the rest of the group—Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yeosang were all present.

Mingi gives you a small smile, it being the first you two have seen of each other in a while. You return it, though you have to admit that seeing the latter two’s faces eases some pent up tension you hadn’t been aware you’d been holding onto. They looked worn, hair ruffled and some smudges on their face, presumably from their escape from the fire. They seemed unscathed, though.

Yunho adds, “We’re about three hours off from midnight.”

You’d been in a daze of pain, brain addled by smoke, but you briefly remembered Hongjoong’s words. “Didn’t Hongjoong say—” Before you finish the thought, Yunho nods grimly.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jongho speaks up with a sigh. “Sheriff caught them, presumably not long after you and Yunho rode off. Yeosang and I got out of that fire pretty easily, but we stuck around the outskirts of the town—helped put some of the fires out as best as we could without getting caught ourselves, but I drank too much to really do anything worthwhile. We were waiting for you and Wooyoung. He insisted on returning for you.”

“When neither of you met up with us where Wooyoung told us to wait, we assumed the worst, so we went back into the town to take a look around. Everything’s a mess at the moment and the townspeople are pissed. That’s when we got word that Hongjoong and Wooyoung were being held at the jail,” Yeosang supplies.

Jongho nodded. “We went to check it out, just to be sure—y’know how people can talk, sometimes, especially in a small town. But sure enough they were both there. When we saw Wooyoung, we realized he must have gotten you out. We rode back here, figuring this is where you’d return to since it’s the next safest spot.”

“And that’s where we’re at now, after they kind of filled us in on what happened to you and after I came back from scouting the area,” Mingi speaks up now, a frown on his face. “Trying to figure out why Seonghwa is missing, why the camp was ransacked and who was looking for what, and what to do about Boss and Wooyoung.”

You glance around the fire at each of their faces. None of them seem particularly tired, but there’s a mental exhaustion that lingers on their faces. They’d probably been discussing this for hours, you assumed, while you’d slept off what you’d went through.

“Ideally, we have until dawn to make a decision.” You glance over in surprise at Yeosang as he offers up this information. “Public executions aren’t done until noon.”

“That’s not safe!” You protest, to everyone’s surprise. They all glance at you. “Waiting that long to make a decision is really pushing it. What if they decide to do the execution earlier? If the town thinks that Wooyoung and Hongjoong did this, then now they’ve got a bounty for arson added to their heads. If everyone is as angry as Yeosang says, then that means they’re riled up enough to take action sooner rather than later.”

Yeosang purses his lips, frowning, and turning his blue gaze toward the fire in thought.

Yunho sighs. “She’s right. It’s risky.”

“Going back into town is risky, too,” Jongho muttered from where he sat next to him.

San, who had been quiet for most of this time, speaks up. “But when haven’t we been willing to take risks?” He quirks a brow as he asks this, as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. Which, in reality—it is. “Not only that, but working in the cover of the night is better for us. Things could get messier, in more ways than one, if we wait until morning to take care of this.”

“Can I help?” You ask, glancing at San. Since he was the doctor, and your care provider currently, you figured the decision fell onto him. Not that you were about to take no for an answer.

But before he does have a chance to answer, Yunho cuts in, “No, absolutely not!”

Your head snaps toward Yunho, a glare and a frown on your face. “Why not? If I did all the work I did earlier with the stab wound open and bleeding—yet made it out fine, then why can’t I do this with the stab wound stitched closed? Plus, I’m a woman! If you need into the jail, it’ll be easiest for me.”

You turn back towards San then, raising your eyebrows at him, prompting him.

San clears his throat, giving a small one-shouldered shrug. “Well, she’s not exactly wrong…”

“Quack doctor,” Yunho growls from across the fire.

San turns toward Yunho this time, wrinkling his nose at the other. “If you keep saying that, I may fall under the impression you’ve swallowed a duck.”

Ignoring their squabbling, yet again, you turn towards Mingi. “What do you say?”

There’s already a look of concentration written across Mingi’s face. When you direct your question toward him, he glances up, pulling himself out of his thoughts. With Hongjoong gone, and Seonghwa missing—leadership fell to the next in line. Mingi was one of the three founders, one of the two co-founders, to the ATEEZ gang. That left him in charge for now. It seemed to be something he was aware of, since he’d already been deep in thought.

Everyone turns their attention to Mingi, then.

“Alright. This is what we’re going to do.” He pushes himself to his feet, “Rosette can help—”

A complaint from Yunho sounds, and Mingi glances at him, but otherwise ignores it.

“San, you’re going to accompany her, for the most part. Make sure her wound doesn’t open on the ride back in. One we get to town, it’s on you, Rosette. You’ll infiltrate the jail like you’ve suggested,” as Mingi speaks, his eyes scan and rest upon everyone surrounding the fire, even yourself.

You’re part of the team, you realize.

Have you ever actually felt uncomfortable with us? Seonghwa’s words ring in the back of your mind.

You always have been a part of their team.

“Yeosang, stay behind in case Seonghwa returns. Everyone else, saddle up. We’re leaving in the next twenty minutes. I want everyone alert and on watch. When Rosette goes into the jail, we’re her backup if anything happens. San, you stay closest to her without revealing yourself.” Mingi pauses briefly, glancing once more around the fire, “Everyone ready?”

[searchingwardrobes]

Natural Opposite: 9/16

The dance I invented for this chapter is probably my favorite. One, because it’s to a Nirvana song, and as a nineties teen, I LOVE Nirvana. And second, my dance background is more in this style (contemporary) than in ballroom. I hope you enjoy reading it and the way it brings Emma and Killian closer together!

Thanks to my beta @distant-rose who loved this Nirvana dance almost as much as I did. Ro, our music chats were such a fun part of doing this with you! I’m glad we have similar tastes. And my artist, @optomisticgirl girl, is so talented and perfectly captured a dance that was only in my head beautifully for this chapter. Thank you, B! She also made that gorgeous banner you see every Monday!

Chapter art:

Ch 2

Ch 4

Ch 5

Ch 6

Ch 7

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Can also be read on

Ao3

Tagging: @bethacaciakay @kmomof4 @teamhook @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @followbatb @onceuponaprincessworld @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules

Chapter Nine: Heart Shaped Box

Killian grinned widely at Emma when he arrived for their rehearsal the next day. She returned it and gave him a small hug in greeting, and she couldn’t say it was just for the cameras. As much as she hated to admit it, she found herself looking forward to their rehearsals. They actually had fun together. Yeah, he still drove her crazy sometimes, but he also made her laugh. Last week, Killian had summed it up in a teasing remark.

“You know, Swan, I quite fancy you from time to time. When you’re not yelling at me.”

Henry’s observation about him “liking” her rose to mind, but she quickly pressed that down. Flirting, she had come to find out, was his autopilot. And like her sarcasm, it was largely a defense mechanism.

“Sorry we have to rehearse so early,” Killian told her, “but . . . I brought a peace offering.” He extended a styrofoam to-go cup.

“Coffee?” she asked, with a tilt of her head as she accepted the offering.

“Please, Swan, are you trying to test me? It’s hot chocolate,” he said, tapping the plastic lid teasingly, “with whipped cream and cinnamon.”

“I must say, I’m impressed,” she told him as she took a sip, “and I like the early rehearsal. It means I get to pick up Henry from school this afternoon.”

“I’m glad,” Killian replied, but then he blinked and rubbed his eyes, “although I hope the coffee I consumed on the way here kicks in soon. Filming went into the wee hours this morning.”

Emma frowned. “Be sure you’re taking care of yourself. I know this show is grueling, especially when you have other commitments.”

“I’ll try,” he promised with a weary smile, “though I go straight from six hours with you back to the studio for four more hours on green screen. I’ll be glad when the hiatus begins. If I haven’t gotten voted off by then.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively as she set her hot chocolate down beside her dance bag. “Please. We’re making it to the finale, Jones, I’m telling you.”

“Okay,” Killian said with a smile, “let’s get to work then. It’s decades week, so what decade did we get?”

“The 90s.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “The 90s.”

“Why? You don’t like the nineties?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, that depends. Are we talking flannel, angst-ridden, grunge nineties? Or boy bands, bubblegum pop, dark lipstick nineties?”

Emma laughed. “Well, don’t you know the decade well! What if I said we were dancing to ‘Heart Shaped Box’ by Nirvana?”

Killian’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Yes!” he enthused, pumping both fists.

“So Killian Jones likes angst,” she teased, “good to know.”

“Well, if you were going to make me dance to ‘MmBop,’ you may have had a mutiny on your hands.”

“Well, the cool thing about this dance is also that it’s contemporary. And believe me, angst works well with contemporary.”

Killian nodded, his face suddenly determined. “You can get really creative with this, Swan, that’s exciting.”

Emma put her hands on her hips and studied him silently for a few moments. The corner of her mouth quirked up when he almost started to squirm under her gaze.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he finally asked.

“How would you like to choreograph this dance with me?”

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious?”

“Sure. You’re a performer and a musician.” She winked. “And you like angst.”

He gave her a smile she had yet to see on his face. It was genuine, as if he were truly touched by her offer. “I’d be honored, Swan.”

She cleared her throat, slightly unnerved at how much she liked this new smile on him. “Well, let’s figure out the story we’re trying to tell first.”

“Well, the lyrics are pretty dark.”

“Of course they are,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes, “it’s Nirvana.”

“Aye,” Killian chuckled, “and it’s also about a relationship. One that isn’t making either person happy, yet they stay together anyway.”

Emma swallowed hard. She knew the feeling.

“The man says he has complaints, yet then he turns around and says he’s in debt to her,” Killian continued.

Emma nodded. She had already listened to the song multiple times. “He talks about her having a cord around his neck, yet he climbs right back.”

“An umbilical noose, to be precise.”

Emma wrinkled her nose, “I know, but ew! Why did grunge bands use such sick and twisted images? He talks about eating her cancer, too.”

“They were pushing the envelope. It’s what every revolutionary period in music has done.”

Emma shook her head and smiled. “I better watch out. I’m treading into your area of expertise.”

Killian scratched the spot behind his ear. “Well, this is the genre of music I first learned to play on my guitar. I told you I was a bit morose.”

Her face softened at that. She remembered too well the lonely years before Ingrid. She could see why dark music would appeal to a lonely kid.

“So we’ve got a man who feels trapped in a relationship,” Emma replied, switching topics back to brainstorming for the routine.

“Hence the heart shaped box.”

“But I like what you said,” Emma continued, “about neither of them being happy. I think that should be our story. We’re a couple who aren’t good for each other, but we stay together anyway –“

“ – because we’re afraid of being alone,” Killian finished for her.

Emma smiled and then gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. “You were right, Jones, we do make quite the team.”

“Or maybe,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “this topic strikes a little too close to home for both of us. Loneliness.”

Emma blinked and took a step back. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest. Her hands clenched and unclenched as her mind tried to come up with a response.

Killian gave her his trademark crooked grin and quirked brow. “I mean, who wouldn’t crave loneliness when you’ve got cameras recording your every move?”

A slow smile spread across Emma’s face. “Right. Okay, Jones, let’s figure out the first eight counts.”

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

It was the day of the show, and Emma and Killian sat on a dingy sofa set up on the dance floor hand in hand, waiting to be announced. Around them, the set department had created a living room in a rundown apartment circa 1995. Killian was dressed in faded jeans and a Nirvana t-shirt (of course). Emma wore black leggings and a plaid shirt, unbuttoned and tied at her waist. Underneath it she wore a black sequined bra top.

“You know,” Killian teased, fingering the tied ends of her shirt, “I don’t recall black sequined bras being a fashion statement in the nineties.”

“Well, not all of us are old enough to remember the nineties, old man,” Emma teased back.

“You wound me, Swan! I’m only thirty-five!”

Emma just laughed and rolled her eyes at his mock-offended expression. Behind them, the video package played of their rehearsal week. Just as she had expected, it opened with Killian finding her backstage last week after their Tangled routine. The expression on his face, which she hadn’t seen for herself at the time, was tender as he put his arms around her. It also showed their hug when he brought her coffee, and Killian tucking her hair behind her ear. They also played up the emotional portions of their choreography, showing embraces in super slow-motion. Emma rolled her eyes. It was ridiculous the way they were playing it all up like some sort of romantic comedy.

“Dancing a contemporary routine,” boomed the announcer, “Killian Jones and his partner Emma.”

She wished there were a commercial break so she would have a little more time to put the video package out of her mind. Killian gave her hand a squeeze, and she nodded, pressing her lips together. He relinquished her hand, and they both stared blankly forward as the lights came up and the music started.

The music producers were using a recording of the actual song performed by Nirvana. The live band just couldn’t capture the dissonance or the gravely sound of Kurt Cobain’s voice. She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak. Cobain’s broody voice filled the room as Emma and Killian slid off the couch and onto the floor. For the remainder of the dance, they pushed and pulled on one another, neither of them able to stray very far from the couch, which of course symbolized their toxic relationship. They used the couch often, beating it with their fists, jumping on and off it, falling and sliding from it. Then the dance ended as it had begun, both of them sitting, staring blankly forward. The overhead lights dimmed as other lights flickered in front of them, meant to look like a television playing.

When the music faded out and all the lights came up, Killian leapt up in excitement. Emma, however, felt herself suddenly drained of emotion. If Killian hadn’t pulled her to her feet and embraced her, she may have kept right on sitting there. She felt as if her heart had just been exposed. She blinked as Killian cupped her head, whispering in her ear how “brilliant, bloody amazing,” she was. Somehow, that snapped her out of her daze. She thought about the woman in the song and her heart shaped box. She took a deep breath, and stuffed her own heart back inside of hers.

As Killian led her over to Marco so they could face the judges, her limbs once again cooperated, and she plastered her “performance smile” on her face. She really was proud of Killian. Not only the way he just danced that, but his creativity in helping her with the choreography. She put her arm around him and squeezed him around the waist. They both struggled to breath; the routine had been intense and the movement had never really stopped.

So it took them a minute to register that all three judges were on their feet, clapping. Emma blinked; even Blue seemed moved almost to tears. They all sat and Emma gnawed nervously on her lower lip as Teach began.

“That was artistry, pure and simple. I’ll be straight with you Jones, I didn’t think you would cut it on this show. I wanted to hate you. But that? That was dancing. Amazing dancing. Well done!”

Emma gave Killian a happy little shove, and he beamed down at her with a huge smile on his sweaty face.

Tiana was literally crying and struggled to begin her critique. “That is what dance is supposed to be. I can’t believe you’re the same dancer you were three weeks ago. Remember when I said you weren’t opening up? Well, you took what I said to heart, and you have grown remarkably. And Emma? That choreography was genius. You deserve an Emmy for that.”

Emma was shocked when Killian pressed a kiss to her cheek, nodding vigorously in agreement. Emma grabbed Marco’s microphone.

“I do want to remind everyone that Killian helped me with the choreography, so thank you Tiana, but I have to give this guy credit too.”

Killian pulled her closer and pressed another kiss to the top of her head as the audience cheered. Once it died down a little, Blue gave her review.

“Look, I’m a traditionalist. I like to see ballroom and strictly ballroom. However, you danced that full out, and you were completely in sync with your partner throughout. Not my cup of tea, but I’m impressed.”

Since the decade week dances were performed in chronological order, and they had been assigned the nineties, their routine was the last one of the night. That meant no time for an interview with Ashley, and the judges gave them their scores right there on the dance floor.

“Tiana Sabine,” the announcer intoned dramatically.

Tiana seemed to pause an inordinately long amount of time before revealing her paddle. But when she did, she did so with flourish. “TEN!”

The studio audience went wild with excitement! The first ten of the season! Killian whooped and picked Emma up off her feet in a tight hug. Once everyone settled down, Blue gave her score of nine and Teach, amazingly, also gave them a perfect ten. It was the highest score of the season so far.

There was no time for an interview with either Marco or Ashley. Emma was relieved, worried she may have had to field questions about the very misleading implications of their video package. The couples all lined up, and for the first time, Emma was nervous about the double elimination. However, she didn’t have to worry. Gold and Ruby were voted off, to no one’s surprise, and then David and his Disney channel star Violet. The second one was a surprise, and the fifteen year old sobbed with disappointment. Emma was glad for the distraction as everyone surrounded the poor girl to console her. She still felt a little emotionally raw after that dance. And maybe it was the way the video package had been edited, but was Killian giving her an awful lot of casual affection recently?

According to social media, he was. By the next morning the two of them were the number one trending “couple” on both twitter and tumblr. Emma blushed as she read through the comments.

“Anyone else out there shipping Killian Jones with his dancing partner?” - @killianjonesandfairydust

“OMG! I ship it so hard!” - @neverland4evr

“Did you see the PDA last night? That was a lot of hugs and kisses!” - @hookNtink4life

They even had a shipping name: Captain Swan. And surprisingly, there were no longer any threats upon her life. She wasn’t sure where the Killer Rose shippers had gone, but there was only one remotely threatening theme among Killian’s “hookers.”

“She better not break his heart.” - @yeahiamahooker

But the only heart Emma was worried about was her own.

[dioskourixx]

In The Blood Ch.9

“So...how was you guys’ Spring Break?” I asked. Raven, Sophie, and I had met up for lunch in between classes the first day back. Himchan and Yongguk were kind of AWOL, so it was as good as time as any to talk with just us girls. Sophie was the first one to respond, speaking in between small bites of her pepperoni Hawaiian pizza.

“Mine was great actually. I had so much fun in Tennessee. Oooh! You guys should definitely come with me next time! My uncle wouldn’t mind at all. And the animals are just so darn cute! The horses are so big now since last time I saw them. Oh! And I got to see a couple of the ducklings hatch. It was so cool!” Rae and I laughed softly at our bubbly friend.

“Well then,” Rae started as she picked around her spaghetti. “Sounds like you had a rather busy and adventurous break. I’m glad you had fun. I just mostly shopped around Washington and slept in. You know, catching up on my beauty rest and what not.” She chuckled as I rolled my eyes at her last comment.

“Wait a minute. I thought you and your parents were going to go to New York. What happened?” I asked, remembering how excited she seemed for the shopping trips she was bound to have in the big city. I heard her groan.

“You know that my dad is a history geek right? Always spouting off random facts and whatnot. Well, for some reason, he felt like New York was just a place for people to become mindless zombies of sales, and figured Washington would be more enlightening and beneficial. I, of course was not happy. Mom was kind of neutral.” This time Sophie spoke up.

“Well if it’s history he was seeking, you could've tried to persuade him by mentioning the Harlem Renaissance. Lots of history and art with that argument.” Sophie sipped her drink in a matter of fact manner as Raven groaned into her hands, muttering to herself that it would’ve been genius.

“Ugh! Enough about me,” Rae declared as she stopped wallowing in self pity. “How was your Spring Break Haze?”

“Not much, actually. I mostly just sketched and read.” I could already see the disappointed looks they were giving me.

“Don’t you do that on a regular basis, Haze? Is that all you did?” Sophie was the first to speak. I took another bite of my food before I told them that I also went to see a movie.

“The one you and Yongguk were supposed to go see?” Raven asked. “How’d that go by the way?” I looked down at my plate.

“I didn’t go with him.”

“Oh really?” It was Sophie’s turn. “So, you went by yourself?” I bit my bottom lip.

“I went with Ethan actually.” Immediately there was eyebrow wagging and “ooohs” from both of them. Raven spoke up after having her fun.

“How’d that happen? How did it go??” So, I ended up recounting the whole thing. Starting with meeting him coincidentally at the sandwich shop and him tagging along with me to the sci-fi movie.

“....then he walked me back to my dorm and he kind of...kissed me.” A confused Raven looked back at me.

“So? What’s the big deal? He’s kissed you before hasn’t he? On the first date? Unless this kiss was more on the hot and heavy side. If that’s the case then I need details miss.” I scoffed at her.

“What? Of course not. It wasn’t like that. It was on the forehead.” This time Sophie spoke up.

“Then, what’s so special about this kiss Haze? I’m confused.”

“I’m not sure Sophe. It just felt different. His demeanor was different. Instead of being shy like how he was the whole night, he seemed more...confident. More bold. I’m honestly confused myself. I can’t really pinpoint him just yet.”

“Well aside from all of that, it seems like you two are getting along well.” Sophe said in between small sips of her coke.

“Yeah...it seems so.” I caught a small smile play on Raven’s lips at this revelation as she took another forkful of pasta.

I saw Yongguk the following day in class. As we prepared to start taking notes on the lecture, my phone let out a soft buzz from my back pocket. Fishing it out, I saw that I had received a text message from Ethan.

“Good morning Beautiful :)” I felt the familiar smile I seemed to get lately find its way on my lips. I quickly typed out a “good morning” back, turned my phone on mute, and set it down on my desk. The teacher had just started talking about the midterms we had taken before Spring break. Apparently she wasn’t finished with the grading, but promised to finish soon and have the grades posted by the end of this week. My phone’s screen lit up briefly, before it faded to black once more. Another text message.

“How’d you sleep?” I responded with a simple “fine,” and asked him the same. The teacher began lecturing as I placed my phone back on my desk. Yongguk proceeded to get his pen out, ready to take notes and I followed suit, taking a sip of my morning coffee I bought before class. The teacher’s voice droned on as I tried to pick out the key concepts of the lecture. About ten minutes passed by before my phone lit up again. Ethan.

“I slept fine.” Before I could type out a response, another message popped up on my screen.

“So...I sort of have a problem. Maybe you can help me.” Now this definitely piqued my interest. My fingers started dancing across my keyboard before I had time to stop myself. I mean, I was in class after all.

“What kind of problem?” I placed my phone down on my desk, once more, only this time it was face down. Hopefully, by me not seeing my phone brighten whenever I get a text, I’ll be less inclined to respond immediately. I will say, that I managed to go a good twenty minutes before I couldn’t help but to snatch my phone up and read Ethan’s next message. I managed to jot down a few notes before then though. One glance at Yongguk’s paper though, told me that I missed a good bit of key points. Bright Screen.

“So there’s this really pretty girl that I want to invite for dinner this week, but I’m a little nervous. :/” A small burst of giggles left my lips as I read the message. Is he being serious?

“Well, why are you nervous?” I typed back. I went back to try to take more notes. God knows that I missed a huge portion of the lecture. The screen lights up again.. Only this time, I ignore it. The information seems really important, and I already don’t have sufficient notes as it is. No. I need to focus. That message will be there at the end of class, but for now, I need to take notes.

I’m not exactly sure, how many minutes ticked by, as I struggled not to let my curiosity of what Ethan sent back, win. Concentrate Haze. Stop looking at the damn phone! It was only a minute after chastising myself, that I rolled my eyes in annoyance towards myself and simultaneously picked up my phone to read Ethan’s reply.

“Well, it’s because I want to cook for her, and I don’t want to mess it up. Plus, I’ve never cooked for a girl before. What if she doesn’t like it?” Why was he being so...adorable right now?

“Lol. I’m sure she will be happy with the fact that you’re even trying to cook for her. Girls tend to appreciate the effort given. As for what to cook...what does she like to eat?” I exchanged the phone in my hand for my pencil as I was about to take notes...again. That is, before I saw what time it was. There was only seven minutes left. There was absolutely no point in trying to jot down the remainder of the lecture. I just hope Yongguk pulled through this time around. Bright screen.

“I’m not sure. :/. Let’s say that you were the girl I was planning on cooking for...hypothetically speaking, of course, what would you want to eat?” I didn’t have to ponder for long.

“Pasta and salad. It’s simple, easy, and hard to mess up.” As I sent my last message, everyone around me was packing up their belongings and headed for the exit. I followed suit, placing my notebook with my half assed notes and barely used pencil inside of my backpack. Once Yongguk and I were on the outside, safe from the herd of students, I turned to Yongguk wearing what I imagine looked like a sheepish expression.

“Soooo….Any ch-” Yongguk began shaking his head in amusement and laughed at me.

“I already know what you’re about to ask me and the answer is yes. I do have good notes this time, and yes you can copy them down.” I let out a relieved breath.

“Thanks Yongguk. I was somewhat distracted today.” A wide smile found its way on his lips as he nudged me in the arm.

“Yeah, I noticed. Was it this Ethan guy? You know, I’m not sure if I can approve of him, if he’s already hindering your school work young lady.” I playfully rolled my eyes at him.

“Come on. I’ll treat you to breakfast while I copy your notes.”

“Deal. But I’m buying.” he proclaimed. I shrugged at his offer.

“Fine by me. Let’s go ‘Dad.’” I said with as much sarcasm I could muster up.

A few moments later, I was nibbling on a piece of French toast while copying the final page of  Yongguk’s notes. Yongguk sat across from me, grumbling about the amount of people that asked for his tutoring help. After a while, I guess he figured out that I wasn’t wholeheartedly paying attention to him. It wasn’t until he brought up the movie he had missed, as I finished writing the last bit of notes, that I finally looked up at him.

“I’m sorry I had to miss it,” he said, but I just waved him off. It wasn’t really a big deal after all.

“It’s fine Gukkie. I ended up going with someone else, so we’re good.”

“Oh, so what you mean is that you replaced me with some second rate being. Alright, who was it?” I shook my head at his silliness.

“I went with Ethan, actually.” I looked down at my plate of French toast, as I waited for Yongguk to say something.

“Oh really? Wait, I thought you said he was going to be out of town until the end of the break. How’d that happen?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I was just as surprised as you are. We met as I was getting food before the show. It was pleasant coincidence.”

“Hmmm...Pleasant huh? Sounds like I’m already getting kicked to the curb.” I couldn’t help but laugh as he started to pout.

“Oh shush you big baby. No one is kicking you to the curb as you like to put it. Like I said, it was a coincidence.”

We continued to talk as we moved on from the subject of Ethan. I was in the middle of laughing at some corny joke Yongguk had told, when I noticed him stiffen in his chair. My giggles died off my lips as I regained my composure. I started to ask what was wrong, until I heard a familiar voice behind, saying my name. I turned back to see Ethan standing behind me, looking casual in his plain jeans, but still handsome.

“Ethan. Hi. You remember Yongguk don’t you?”

“Of course. Nice to run into you again.” he said smoothly. Yongguk gave a quick nod.

“Yeah...you too.” Yongguk started packing his belongings and stood up from the table. Before I could ask where he was headed too, Yongguk spoke first.

“Haze, I’ll see you later, okay? I gotta get this tutoring schedule in order and stuff. I’ll text you alright?” But before I could respond, he had already started walking towards the doors that lead to courtyard outside.

“So,” Ethan began. “When’s your next class?” I looked at my phone for the time and realized that time had gone by quickly and that my next class started in half an hour.

“Then can I walk you to class? I’m not busy with anything.” He looked at me expectantly.

“Sure. I’d like that.”

With ease he picked up my bag after I had packed it and carried it while we walked.

“So, how was your break?” I asked after walking for a couple of minutes.

“It was alright,” he stated. “A little weird though. It felt like I was being watched most of the time.”

“Watched?” I asked, clearly puzzled. He laughed at my worried face.

“My dad was in the military and sometimes his PTSD and paranoia consumes him. He was very...watchful during the break. Another reason why I left earlier. But enough about that...How about dinner? At my place? I’ll cook.”

I pretended that our little text conversation hadn’t happened earlier and feigned surprise. I let out a small gasp.

“You cook?” Ethan gave me a sideways smirk before he answered.

“Sweetie, I’m full of surprises. Stick around long enough, and you might get to see them all.” Okay. To say that I was unnerved...again, would be an understatement. I don’t understand how he can go from cute, shy, and  dorky to...well, this. I found myself flustered before I was able to respond.

“Oh really? I might just have to take you up on that offer.” Ethan flashed his white teeth in his signature smile.

“Good. You won’t be disappointed. Now, come on. We gotta get you to class,” he says while slightly picking up the pace.

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 9

You can read Chapter 9 on Ao3 Here. (Can we believe this is already on Chapter 9?)

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Chapter 9: The Visionary (The Assignation)

           Lloyd Bowman woke up in a hospital much the same way that a drunk does –confused, nauseas, and with movements just sluggish enough that they slopped about and ultimately settled restlessly against sheets boasting a ridiculously low thread count. Government edition, from the feel of it. His eyes flicked and listed about the ceiling as he breathed, counting specks in the tiles. Hospitals on television always showed people waking with violence, swinging about as they ripped tubes and needles from their body in a frenzy, but Lloyd wasn’t much for dramatics when his body felt both like it were floating and also as though it were made of lead. Even if he wanted to be dramatic, he didn’t have the strength for it.

           He was alive, though. He marked the echoing, chirping sound of his heartrate on the machine and managed a slow, steady nod. He was alive. Being dead wouldn’t feel this damn bad.

           There was a steady, pressing ache near the center of his core, and he knew without having to look that it was where he’d been stabbed. If he was stronger, he’d have ripped the blankets back to dig at the bandage, really and truly see just where that woman had gotten a hook into him, but he couldn’t. Lloyd blinked, and he recalled the sensation, a ripple of shock followed by the sense of his insides trying to fall out, a pressure tight on his skin and muscle that made a violent burn rub raw through his veins. He tried to shake his head to dispel the memory, cloying and painful, but the tube shoved down his throat made it difficult. He groaned, low and agonized.

           Oh, good!

           He wasn’t found until a few minutes later, when a nurse came in to check his vitals. At his open eyes and calm, steady breathing, she paged a doctor and began the uncomfortable task of removing the tube from down his throat, massaging it with gentle, clinical attention. He allowed it because even though it was invasive and mildly embarrassing, it also soothed the ache in his jaw from the angle. She was just doing her job, same as Jack was just doing his job, same as Lloyd had only been trying to do his job when a pretty woman in the crowd ultimately tried to kill him for doing his job.

           Oh, good!

           He cringed, and the nurse misunderstood it.

           “Are you in pain, Agent Bowman?” she asked.

           He managed to shake his head. Normally, he’d have something for this, a joke to lessen the tension that sat in the room like an ugly, obtrusive toad. He’d have to test his voice, see if it was as ugly and wretched as the rest of him likely looked.

           “I need…to make a call,” he said, and yup; hoarse and scratchy. Lovely.

           “We’ll have a doctor in here so that we can discuss what’s happened and how we’re going to move forward, but first I just want to say that you’re safe, Agent Bowman, and you’re doing just fine,” the nurse informed him. “After we see exactly where you’re at, we can think about that call.”

           If he was a grouchier man, he’d have protested. Bowman wasn’t much like Price during a stressful case, though, so he lay stretched out in his hospital bed and waited. He waited while a doctor came in so that she could explain just what’d happened to him. A linoleum knife wasn’t the best of weapons to use for an attack, but it had certainly gotten through his skin, his muscle, and his intestinal lining well enough, she said. Surgery was touch and go, but he pulled through, and wasn’t that something to celebrate?

           Are you Agent Bowman?

           His chart was looking excellent –he was going to heal just wonderfully, the doctor said.

           Oh, good!

           “Thank you,” he managed after she asked if he had any questions. “I appreciate your hard work in saving me.”

           “That’s our job, Agent Bowman.”

           “If I could just…make a call, though. My cell phone should be with my things?” At the doctor’s confused expression, he continued, “I’d like to call my family and hear their voices.”

           “No one’s charged it,” the nurse said, presenting him with his phone. Her nails were unpainted, although she did sport a sensible, rubber watch on one hand. “I hope it’s not dead.”

           “Thank you.”

           It was an old military edition phone, a ‘relic’ among phones, but he loved it all the same. Unlike smartphones, whose batteries burned while struggling under the weight of running a computer in their tiny frame, his flip phone lasted for days before dying. At his assurances that he could make the call alone, the nurse administered his pain medicine and they left him to it, thumbing through the contacts before he found the one that he needed.

           Oh, good!

           “Hello?” their disembodied voice was firm, curt, and to the point. Lloyd hadn’t realized just how much he was looking forward to hearing it until he relaxed into his pillows, a sigh breaking past his lips. God, he was tired. Being awake like this was tiring.

           “I’m glad you answered.”

           “Agent Bowman? What number are you calling from?”

           “My personal phone, not my work phone,” he said, and at the beginning of their questions, he cleared his throat weakly to cut them off. “I know you’re worried, but I don’t have much time. I think…I think I got the girl that did this, so Jack will have her in custody, but I need to ask you to do something for me.”

           “Wait, you mean you haven’t called Crawford yet?” they asked, and their tone lowered to censure. “You wake up from a fatal stab wound, and the first thing you do is call me to talk about work?”

           “Not a lot of time, I don’t think,” he replied, and he resisted the urge to lift his blanket so that he could see just what his stomach looked like. Reason told him that it’d be bandaged, and he wasn’t going to work at peeling that off just to take a gander. “The girl that stabbed me was targeting me specifically. She asked who I was.”

           Are you Agent Bowman?

           “She was tasked to attack you, then? A job, not random chance?”

           “Another jab at Jack, probably, to take his trusted men out.”

           Oh, good!

           “Do you think that-”

           “I think Price and Zeller are probably in danger, too, but if it gets out that I’m alive, they’re going to come for me. One thing I gleaned from his writing in that letter to Jack –you’ll have to get a hold of that and read it, tell me what you think –”

           “I really shouldn’t be surprised with you thinking of work at a time like this –”

           “–he’s thorough. He won’t like my loose end because it’s supposed to hurt Jack, cripple him. With Agent Dolarhyde one of his own, we…can’t take chances about who is working this case. We can’t just bring in agents that we don’t have complete background checks and clearance on.”

           “I’m not your department, Lloyd.”

           “No, but you’re the department we should be using. I worked with you on that FLDS raid in the early investigations. You know what you’re doing around cults. I deciphered their manifestos and tone in writing, you kicked down their door and saved hundreds of children.”

           “You think it’s a cult?”

           Oh, good!

           “Yes. The tone, the actions…the disregard for personal survival in the wake of the orders from their leader…I think Zeller and Price are in danger, too.”

           “Why wouldn’t he just go for Crawford?”

           “It’s not suffering if Jack dies too soon,” Lloyd replied. The medicine was making his mind foggy, tossed about before settling in a sort of entropy. It reminded him of smoking pot in college, how he could just take a hit and lay back on the couch for hours after, lazy. Listless. “I’m not much in the way of…doing anything right now that requires physical movement, so I need your help.”

           “I can get a safe house set up, if it will make you feel more comfortable. Or we can place agents there that –”

           “No agents,” he cut off, probably harsher than intended. His deep voice was oftentimes loud, boisterous. He lowered it, tried to soften it around the concerns that tried to poke holes in the calm of the pain medicine. “If we want to do this right, we need to take me off of the table completely. That’s why I’m calling you, not Jack.”

           “…Just what is it that you want me to do?”

           “I need you to kill me, Agent Starling,” Lloyd Bowman said and he smiled wryly as he looked back up to the scuffs and stains of the aged hospital ceiling. “I need you to kill me off, and I need you to go save Jack from himself.”

           You’re so sly, but so am I.

-

           Francis visited him in the evening to bring him his food.

           He didn’t try to coax him to leave his room the way that Beverly tried to. In truth, Francis Dolarhyde seemed to be the only person thus far that wasn’t intent on asking him to ‘just…’

           He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, that Ex-Agent Francis Dolarhyde of all people desired nothing of him. He did his job, therefore he expected Will to do his job. It seemed to be more along the lines of a cause and effect, a system in place where every gear turned into another, creating a working and cohesive machine.

           The job everyone asked him of, though…

           Dolarhyde set a tray down on the desk, adjusting the fork and knife on either side. Wine was filled in the bottom portion of the glass, a white whose color turned ocher in the lamplight. Poised beside the bed as he was, Will tracked the careful motions of him, the unassuming nature of each bend and creak of his bones.

           “Did Jack talk about me a lot?” Will asked, unable to help himself. “When he asked you to guard me?”

           He paused beside the desk, a hand coming to rest on the back of the chair next to it. His flat, intent stare didn’t pierce the way that Hannibal’s did, but it was a fixated expression none-the-less. It told far more about him than anything else had, in truth.

           “Yes, Mr. Graham.”

           “What’d he say?”

           Francis took his time gathering his answer. Drifting through the doorway, the sound of dinner downstairs punctuated his slow and unrushed collection of thoughts, like he had to sift through each one to find the right words to say. Will didn’t rush him, merely watched. Merely tried to understand. He felt like he’d break himself, trying to understand.

           “He said that you had a troubled past,” he said at last. “You didn’t want pity, but he wished that he could have given you the sort of quiet that every other person seemed to be able to enjoy. Normal problems, like a late payment on a credit card, or expired milk.”

           “He trusted you.”

           “He did.”

           “And you ultimately betrayed him.”

           The look Francis Dolarhyde gave him would keep him awake for most of the night. “I was never loyal to him. He may have thought so, but that was not the case.”

           “Just what are your loyalties? Where do they lie?”

           He smiled very faintly, the scar from his cleft pallet making it crooked and altogether untrustworthy. “My loyalties lie with Dr. Lecter, you, and this house we have made a home.”

           His conviction was absolute, unwavering. Just beyond his expression was utmost belief, an unquestioning faith that wasn’t so much blind as much as it rang true with the proof in his actions. When Will had nothing more to say, he made his way to the door and paused in it the frame of it, hand grasping the doorknob to close it. He glanced back to Will, and the oddest of expressions crossed over his face, a cross between mild discomfort and honest hope.

           “Here, Mr. Graham, you won’t even have to worry over late payments and credit cards. We’ve created a place where the peace Jack Crawford sought so diligently for you can finally be achieved.”

-

           Abigail sat next to the boy from breakfast that evening, after dinner.

           It wasn’t so much a meeting as it was a time for everyone to gather in one of the large, formal rooms so that they could socialize –half of what kept their group together was the communication, the understanding. Now that Dr. Lecter was there, there was also a special part of every other evening where he’d give a devotional of sorts, something to share with them that showed his own personal traits and behaviors that he’d gained through honing in on his deadly capabilities. Sometimes, he even spoke with reverence the way it’d felt like to kill.

           “You’re…Jacob, right?” she asked, sitting down.

           “I am.” He flashed her a smile, hands occupied with a glass of orange juice. “Abigail?”

           “Yes.”

           “I always love this time of night,” he said, glancing about the room. “Back home, we’d have never had something like this. Family time wasn’t exactly our thing.”

           “What was it instead?” she wondered. Her tone was gentle, probing without being nosy.

           Jacob let out a bark of laughter. “Dad was watching the game with a few beers, mom was probably in the kitchen on the phone with her friend and a bottle of wine.”

           “What did you do?”

           That part wasn’t so easily shared. He turned the glass about in his hands before he took a sip, wiping his mouth distractedly.

           “I don’t think that they noticed when I left,” he said instead, after watching a few people enter the room to sit down. “You can’t really call it running away at this point when I’m nineteen, can you?”

           “Legally, no.” Abigail assured him.

           “I’d say it’s more of a ‘not my problem’ situation where they’re concerned. They probably think that I went to college, since the semester started a few months after I left. After I was able to contact you guys, I made my peace. They won’t notice that I’ve really disappeared until it’s time for Thanksgiving, I think.”

           “You brought your computer with you?”

           “No, but I destroyed the hard drive before I left. Cell phone tossed somewhere like I was headed for New York.”

           Jacob was clever enough, it looked like. Abigail shared with him a kind, flitting smile before she looked over to the rest of the people walking in. She marked her three other problems to deal with, noted their facial expressions and mannerisms as they sat down. Two of them were easy fixes, and they already appeared to be placated and part of the fold once more.

           One of them, though…

           “It’s your dad that you walk around with sometimes, right?” Jacob asked. He finished his orange juice and set the cup on a coaster.

           “Who else would it be?” she asked with a snort.

           “I don’t know…an uncle? A…” Jacob floundered for a moment before he shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder couples.”

           The thought made her nauseas, dinner going sour in her gut. “…Definitely my father. Not one of those weirder couples.”

           “That’s cool,” he said, and that flirty smile appeared again.

           He seemed nice enough, she decided, as he chatted with her about bands and music that he liked. He’d brought his CD’s –was that too cheesy? Too old school? He’d brought a Gameboy as well because he didn’t want to risk any electronic that could connect to the internet, in case that somehow made a difference in security. It didn’t, but she didn’t want to burst his bubble about having to leave his Nintendo Switch behind. He was thoughtful like that, and the more he spoke to her, the more Abigail wanted him to be an easy fix, just like two of the others.

           When Hannibal came in, the companionable conversations among everyone quieted, stilted to hushed murmurs that folded smoothly into silence. For those that’d been there for years, this was something they’d been waiting for –it was one thing to believe in someone, to look to them for guidance. Abigail glanced about the room attentively, noting those that were there even before her, when Francis and Matthew first began their mission. They’d believed in nothing but the shared words between Francis to Hannibal, then back to them. They’d hoped for things without even being able to see him in his glory.

           Here they were, though.

           “I much prefer evenings like these than evenings in the Baltimore State Hospital,” he said, and everyone laughed, warm and lovely with the feeling of wine he’d graciously shared with them at dinner. Even Abigail got to have a glass. “There, the tales of my actions were psychoanalyzed, cross-examined for what the deeper nuances meant. They couldn’t appreciate the art of it, nor did they care for what it truly symbolized. I didn’t share much with them, as you could surmise.”

           “Sir?” someone asked, and standing poised before the fire, Hannibal looked somewhat god-like, if a god were to live in the modern day and dressed like a successful businessman. Flames licked about his neatly pressed suit, a delightful backdrop to his intent, focused stare. “Is…is it true about Nate?”

           The worry was apparent on the faces of everyone, a tautness at the skin around their eyes. Abigail worried over her lip and looked to Hannibal, frowning.

           “While he and Alyss were dispatched to take care of Agent Lloyed Bowman, he was killed in the line of duty,” Hannibal said at length. His face wore grief with ease as he looked at each and every person, mouth twisted down regretfully. “Alyss was taken for questioning at a secure facility. Mr. Dolarhyde is working diligently to try and see just which prison she’s being detained in, that we could potentially free her.”

           People reacted differently to death. Each and every person experienced it in some unique, fundamental way, and it always fascinated Abigail to see. Beside her, Josh reached and took her hand, holding onto it tightly as he fought to hold back whatever emotion struggled to reach his face. Others openly wept, heads dipping down to tissues dabbed half-heartedly at reddened eyes.

           Even Hannibal Lecter, powerful and capable as he was, shed a tear and wiped the track of it from his cheek.

           Abigail was certain that there was something wrong with her, that she felt no impulse to cry for Nate and Alyss. In reality, her thoughts were centered on their failure and just what that meant for Hannibal’s carefully laid plans. She’d cried for her mother, buckled into the passenger seat of their Subaru as they headed towards the rendezvous point where she finally got to see Francis for the first time, but she’d known her mother. Her death was a necessity, but she certainly didn’t enjoy it.

           “One thing we must take with us is Nate’s vitality and life,” he said, and as people contained and took hold of their emotions, he smiled gently. “Those of us in this house that take these great risks to carry out the plans of everyone, they take risk and reward and clutch them in the same fist. They understand just how fragile the balance of life truly is, the way that it tips in either direction with the barest of nudges. Nate had an honest grasp, and with his actions, he became something of a god, didn’t he? In taking control of his situation, he was able to make it to this home so that they couldn’t take the car and glean from it our secrets.”

           Heads nodded, bobbed with understanding.

           “As we study how fickle the aspect of life and death are…each of us, I think, knows in our own way the scales that do not always tip to us. We have to take control of it, be as powerful and capable as destiny. The only thing in this world that is certain is death. How we come to it, though, is what makes us powerful.”

           Someone raised their hand, and at his gracious nod of acquiescence, she said, “Three days ago, Dr. Lecter, the roof of a church in Oregon fell on thirteen teenagers and two adults during their mutual. Every single one died.”

           “Within God’s own home, they did not escape,” Hannibal murmured.

           “Did God feel good about that?” another asked.

           “I think he felt powerful,” he replied, and heads bobbed in agreement. “Humans try to attach human emotion to a being that is considered omnipotent, but his behaviors are not so easy. There is no good or evil in nature, and nature is what God made. There is balance, action and reaction, and animals that survive due to their ingenuity and desire for that survival. God felt powerful dropping that roof on his followers, just as God felt powerful in watching Nate react and behave in a situation that did not favor him. By his own hand, Nate died.”

           Abigail loved the feeling that came with his words, the honest sense of logic and the intoxicating taste of just how capable that made her. God was neither good nor bad; he simply was, and he simply did. That is something of how it’d felt to kill her own mother. She saw an opportunity to escape from beneath her father’s gaze, and the price was her mother’s life.

           She’d have liked to say she regretted it, but that would make her something of a liar. A quick glance about the room told her that no, her father wasn’t present. He was off on watch duty, ensuring that the perimeter would stay safe from those that sought to take this paradise from them.

           Thanks to Hannibal Lecter, he’d be so busy he’d never have a chance to ‘honor’ her the way he did eight other girls.

           “Tonight, I want us to honor Nate,” Hannibal said, and at a motion from him, a few people walked into the living room in order to divvy out glasses of wine, as red and bright as the color of blood. Abigail wasn’t much a drinker, but she could appreciate the time he’d taken to get the color choice right. “One of our own has fallen trying to bring to fruition our goals, hopes, and aspirations. He saw what was necessary to survive, and he took his life into his own hands and chose to Make it more than what it was.”

           “To Nate!” someone cried out.

           “To The Red Death!” another chimed in.

           “To their success, that although Nate fell and Alyss was detained, Agent Lloyd Bowman is now a crutch to Agent Jack Crawford rather than an aid,” said Hannibal, and someone clapped heartily to that.

           “The Red Death,” Abigail murmured, hushed. She accepted two glasses and passed one to Jacob, who looked distinctly uncomfortable as he accepted it. His orange juice glass lay empty on the table, taking up the only coaster.

           “What do you think?” she asked him, quietly.

           He looked unsure of how to answer that, and when everyone lifted their glasses in the air, he mimicked them, teeth worrying over his bottom lip.

           “To Nate and The Red Death,” Hannibal said grandly, and he tipped his head back to drink from his glass.

           Every other person in the room drank in unison, save Jacob beside Abigail who hesitated a bit too long before following suit.

           It was somewhat of a disappointment, in truth, to see him hesitate so assuredly. When Hannibal met her gaze over the rim of his wine glass, she knew that she was supposed to shake her head, a sign that Jacob would have to be dealt with, and soon.

           She thought of the care he’d taken when he’d left home, though, to make sure to bring things that couldn’t compromise their location or safety, the way he’d spoken bitterly of parents that took to the drink rather than look after their son. Unlike the one that was a lost cause, Abigail wondered if she could maybe just show him the way, the path that would ultimately lead him to a greater purpose and happiness, then they could spare him and utilize his cleverness rather than waste it with his end.

           Rather than give the sign to Hannibal that not all was well, she smiled at him from her seat beside Jacob, and she took a long gulp of her wine, savoring the sour and dry taste as it lingered on the back of her tongue. It felt rebellious, drinking at her age.

           “We should hang out,” she told him once Hannibal looked away.

           He smiled, quirky and more than a little awkward.

           “Yeah…I think I’d like that,” he said, and he took a quick sip of wine to hide the way his voice cracked a bit at the thought.

-

           There were exactly 32 other Will Graham’s in the United States of America, four of which were females: Billy Graham, Willow Graham, Wilhelmina Graham, and Wilma Graham. The rest were male or non-gender specific.

           The next day, by approximately 2:00 P.M. eastern time, every single one of them would be found dead by various means ranging from being pushed in front of a moving train to being found in their bathtub with a breezeblock on their chest.

           Where each body was found, a small message would also be found:

           And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all

           Of course, for the body thrown in front of the train, the message was found five miles before the train stopped. It takes time to stop trains, after all.

A special and lovely thanks to my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @sylarana Heather Feather, Duhaunt6, and Superlurk!

[austinpanda]

Bangor Bound Ch. 9

Monday, Sept. 16 - Tuesday, Sept. 17

So of course I got sick and threw up as soon as I was awake at 6:30 this morning. I believe I’m the next evolutionary step; I don’t have to be awake to be acutely aware that the walls of the garbage masher just started getting closer together. At 6:30 I woke up, and all at once thought, “It’s Monday again, I’m leaving for Bangor in 11 days, I don’t have a place to stay after the first day’s drive, I don’t have a place to stay after the second day’s drive, and I don’t have a place to land in Bangor. And I don’t have half of our money yet, and I have a guy trying to get me to move into his apartment that’s making me VERY nervous. 

Let us start with the guy, because he was most of yesterday, which was Sunday. He’s got a big house with an apartment in it. It has three bedrooms. It’s been professionally cleaned. It has all-new, stainless steel appliances. It’s on a river. It’s beautiful. It’s affordable. It’s almost too good to be true! There are, however, a few red flags. The guy doesn’t do leases. You’re just there month to month, as long as it works out. When I asked him why, he said it was for his protection, in case things didn’t work out. 

More red flags: He doesn’t want any of my information. He never asks for my name, or social security number, or phone number, or work history, or rent references, or anything. He just wants first and last month’s rent. He says a couple of quiet guys with an indoor cat is best for him, because he’s fussy about who he rents to, and doesn’t like children running up and down the stairs, etc. 

More red flags: It’s important that we do the deal quickly, because he has others who are looking at the place. No problems renting it, but it’s losing money as long as he doesn’t rent it. So it’s important that I pay him now. I offer to give him a couple of hundred to hold the place, and he comes back with, “So what do you think? Want to send money ASAP please? Losing money here?”

I think I may be passing up an actual opportunity for something awesome here, but I also think I’m passing up an opportunity for a scary guy to not communicate with me very well, possibly leading to a horrible landlord/tenant situation. And I guaranteed that the situation would have another uncomfortable chapter because I emailed him and said, “Okay, how should I send you the couple hundred?” And then I emailed and said, “nm I’m just going to look for something else, sorry for my confusion, sorry, thank you, bai” And then I got Zach to show me how to block this guy, so I don’t get any other emails from him.

Today, a few things huge things happened in quick succession. 

Zach started a shower. I started house hunting. I thought, “I’ll check Fidelity Net Benefits and see if I can request money from my retirement and roll the rest over today.” Turns out I CAN!!! I’m getting about a quarter of my retirement savings turned into cash, for my move to Bangor, minus a bunch for withholding. The website made it take about five minutes. It’ll be direct deposited. I’m rich, biyatch!! Sort of, kind of, etc.

My next step, and this was both large and heroic on my part, was that I got us a place to land in Bangor. I spent two hours making three hotel reservations. The first is in Nashville, the second in Buffalo, and finally a week at the Ramada in Bangor while we house hunt. This means pretty much all dates have been decided. Here they are:

Wednesday, September 25 - two U-Box pods and some movers arrive at 2:00. They deliver the pods, then fill them with all our stuff. By this time we need to be completely packed. Everything that goes in the pods needs to be ready to move. By the end of this day, we’ll have two full and locked pods in the parking lot, and the only stuff left in the apartment will be that which gets to Bangor in my car. 

Thursday, September 26 - We clean our empty-ass apartment and do whatever final, last-day shit we have to do. Not sure what we’re going to sleep on. The cleaning won’t take long, because...you know...the place is already clean NOW, dammit. :)

Friday, September 27 - We wake up and begin the 13-hour trip to Nashville in my car, Beige Lightning, with my cat, Samuel L. Jackson in the backseat kitty condo I’ve built for his lazy ass. We drive through A large swath of Texas, Arkansas, and Tennessee. This is, I predict, the period of greatest police peril. Two gays and an African American cat who’s probably a pot-head, trying to escape The South. Hopefully we arrive in Nashville and acquire our hotel room at the Super 8 by Wyndham Nashville West without incident. This will be the longest leg of the trip. The other two legs will be about 10 hours each.

Saturday, September 28 - We wake up, toss the kitty in the car and begin the second leg of our journey, the one from Nashville, Tennessee to Buffalo, New York. I know a guy in Buffalo who’s gay and would take off all his clothes and rub his bits on me if I asked him nicely! I shan’t, because, you know, that ain’t how my marriage works right at this moment, but it’s still a great feeling, the virtual bit-rubbing (the newest crypto-currency!). We spend the night at the Red Roof Inn Plus+ University at Buffalo-Amherst. And by the way, if they say Plus and use the plus sign, does that make it a minus?

Sunday, September 29 - We wake up, load Beige Lightning, and begin the final leg of our trip, from Buffalo to Bangor. This final leg of the journey will take about ten hours, and the first half will be driving from the far left side of New York state to the far right side. We exit the east side of New York, and enter the west side of Massachusetts. We drive from left to right across Massachusetts, arcing northward, until we hit New Hampshire. We’re in New Hampshire for about 30 seconds--we drive through but a tiny portion of the state--and then we’re in Maine.

By this point in our journey, the fall colors will have arrived in the state of Maine. (I’m paying extra to be certain of this.) So the trees will all be a beautiful multicolored stained glass collage of gold, orange, and red. Everything will look like a postcard. When we drive by a house on the side of the highway, it will be quaint, and rustic, and have pumpkins out front, along with that corn where the kernels are all different colors. And little gourd things. Many of the towns we drive through will be in the middle of their annual harvest festival and parade. For a brief period, my car will become part of the parade, and when the people see from my license plates that I’ve just come from Texas, they’ll throw mardi gras beads, and candy, and poutine into my car, as a way of saying, “Welcome!” 

We arrive in Bangor. Time stops for a few seconds when we drive over the line, while all the time lines readjust, and the city expands to accommodate two chunky white guys and their cat, and this is when the first snowfall begins. We’re not going to be driving a moving truck, and Beige Lightning is sporting brand new tires, so a little snow won’t imperil us. We check in at our hotel, Ramada by Wyndham Bangor, the hotel with the shortest damn name in the whole world, only four words. I’ve pre-paid for 8 days at this place. And we’ll unload the car in a gentle snowfall, while the cat’s eyes become enormous with awe. 

I sincerely wish we could have a home already there to move into, but the way in which we’re doing it has a couple of advantages. I won’t be at the mercy of crazy no-lease guy. I’ll be able to house hunt while actually there in Bangor, so we can visit places, and speak to people directly. I predict house hunting will require more effort, but produce better results this way.

Me:  Give me an apartment!

Then: But you aren’t employed!

Me: I know. (whipping out bundles of cash) Will MONEY help fix that?  Mwahahahaha!

And finally, one reason why I don’t mind spending three days driving to a state I’ve never visited before, with no home to move into once I’m there, is because...part of what makes this a legitimate adventure is the fact that its conclusion contains some degree of uncertainty. Yes, it’d be nice to drive there with all our plans set and all our questions answered, but that’s inconsistent with reality, and robs you of the growth you experience through facing your fear and surviving the adversity. It’s not that it has to be scary or it doesn’t count. It’s that, if you had to do it while scared, at least it’s a greater accomplishment. And that, I hope, will feel good forever.

[spider-man-and-i]

master-list 

8. Understanding Power.

(That's what I imagine the dark shadowy tendrils that appear when Eve uses her powers to be like.)

"Yes, before I was unconscious, before the bridge, he injected me with some kind of blue liquid, He never mentioned what it was...so Doc, what's you diagnosis?" I ask Bruce who had just spent the last 3 days monitoring me, intently. "Well, Genevieve-" "Eve. Just Eve." "Well, Eve, through my observations I have come to the conclusion that you have come to possess at least 4 powers, not including heightened senses and healing factor." Bruce says and he speaks slowly as if unsure I will be able to handle the truth. I simply nod and wait for him to continue. "These include telekinesis, empathy, and self healing. That is all we know so far, but more can show up later." He says. I try to focus on my breathing. "I can't do this..." I say quietly. "I can't be like you and the avengers. I'm not strong enough." I say. My heart starts racing and I can feel my stomach drop. Sweat beans at my hair line as I start to panic. "Bruce..I-I can't do this." I say, the words fall out of my mouth quickly almost incoherently.

The more I panic the more pressure I can feel on my body. "Can you help me? Can you take this away?" I plead. Tears falling and my heart racing. I know Peter and the others are on the other side of that 'mirror' watching me. "I'll need another blood sample to run some tests, and Eve I hope you know I can't promise you that I can take away these powers..but if all else fails, we can help you control them, so that they don't control you." Bruce says and my breathing hitches. "No..No you-you gotta un-do this. I can't. I can't be this..Please.." Panic grips my chest and I close my eyes. "Don't pity me, Banner." I say quietly, anger ripping into my mind. "Fucking help me!" I yell. My eyes open and when they do I see the shadows, they have encased Bruce and are dangling him in the air. "Oh god!" I cry out. "I'm sorry. Please...Stop..I can't make it stop! Oh my god! Just Fucking STOP!" I scream and suddenly everything around me goes up into the air. My knees buckle and I just lay thee and cry. I hear Bruce fall back to the ground and while he remains calm on the outside, I can feel the panic he had been adding to mine. "I'm so sorry." i say before falling unconscious.

3rd Person p.o.v.

"What can we do?" Peter asks and Bruce just shakes his head. The blood tests failed, there was no taking back those powers. "Well...We can't change it but maybe we could have someone help with the effect of her powers. Create a barrier or something." Bruce says, racking his mind. "Do you think she'll ever be normal again?" Asks Sam and Tony Stark just laughs then clears his throat. "Of course not. She will never be normal again, Samantha. Her life has changed more drastically than last time," He shoots her a knowing look, "But there are people here who can help her, my people. We can help make sure she isn't alone in this, and that's all we can really do." By the time Tony stopped talking, Sam was silently sobbing. "I'll ask around  about the magic barrier." Tony says before standing. "You should go get some more clothes, I will have  bedrooms cleared out for the three of you. I hope you don't mind but I don't think that your sister is ready to go back into civilization quite yet." "What about school?" "Peter can help, right Pete? When school starts you'll help out by getting her homework and tutoring her or something. You're smart enough." Well actually, sir, I-" "Right Peter?" "Right, sir." "Okay, good. It's all settled then. The 3 of you will share twin rooms, they'll have doors separating you from the girls. Go get everything you will need and your rooms will be ready when you get back. And Peter, I already talked to Aunt May, but you go get clothes and all your school supplies and talk to her." Tony says before walking out of the conference room.

Samantha drove to Pete's house first, it was farther away. "I think it's time we talk about your...secret." Sam begins the talk Peter was dreading "Before you say anything, hear me out, let me tell you what I think." Peter nodded silently, his heart racing in his chest, not sure he was ready for the verdict."Honestly, Peter, I was so mad at Spi-you, because you involved my kid sister in the messed up world of Heroes and Villains, and involving her, almost got her killed. It changed her completely. And I was so mad because I thought you were just around to have something to do, the Spider you that is...But Peter, I can see it, when you look at her. Peter I was wrong to ever think you would knowingly put he in harms way. She loves you too ya know?" Sam says and Peter lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"So..I can still see her?" He asks slowly, not wanting to push the limits. "I'm almost positive that even if I said no, you still would see her. Listen, Peter, I'm going to need all the help I can get with her..I don't think I trust anyone else." Peter nods. They pull up to his Aunt's apartment building and Sam wraps an arm around Peter. "I'll be back to pick you up in 30?" "Yeah, sounds good." And then Peter was left to go talk to his Aunt. She was waiting by the door when he came in.

"How is she?" Aunt May asked, her worry lines evident on her face. "Still asleep as far as I know. After I called you, Bruce upped the sleeping medication because even though she was asleep, she was still using her telekinesis powers." Peter says, running a hand through his hair. "Aunt May, what if she's never able to handle this? What if she can't ever handle being like this? What if...What if she decides she doesn't want me anymore..?" Peter asks his aunt, her eyes moisten a little bit as she looks at the man her boy, her Pete, is growing into. "If she really loves you, Peter, then I know she wont be able to not want you." Aunt May says, running a hand through her nephews hair. "Everything will be alright," She hands him his favorite blanket and pillow. "You are a good boy, Peter; becoming a good young man. Eve will come around, just help her through all of it. Stay with her, guide her. I am sure that she is experiencing what you were when you were bitten, probably worse, even. But she needs people who will help her. Peter, you are a good boy, Eve will come around, and even if she doesn't, that is her loss. Just don't pressure her, let her decide." Aunt May finished talking and helped Pete gather the rest of his stuff. With a hug and a kiss on his Aunt's cheek, reciprocated with a kiss on his forehead. Peter was downstairs waiting on Sam.

Eve's p.o.v.

"So basically, this man is going to set up a barrier, so that you can train your powers one at a time. We will start with your empathy, then move on to the others, do you understand?" Tony asks me and I nod. There is a man sitting next to me on my bed. He is wearing a blue robe with a red cloak I glance at Tony. "What if I say no?" I ask, my words coming out much harsher than anticipated. I muttered an apology, but wait for an answer. It's not that I was going to say no, more like I wanted to know what they would do if I had said no, would they have done it force-ably? Or proceed while unconscious me can't say no..? "Well we would listen to your wishes." The man says. "But I advise for you to agree and let us proceed." "So who are you?" I ask raising an eyebrow. "Doctor Strange - There will be no pain with what I am going to do, it'll actually feel like the nonstop pressure of having powers, will be relieved." This was something I needed to hear. My body and mind constantly felt like they were going to explode. I feel like I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, all that pressure crushing my body, oh, so slowly killing me. "I am going to have to touch your body, any part, a hand, forehead anything." Dr. Strange says and I nod, reaching out my hand. "I will tell you all the things I am going to barricade, alright?" He says after a minute. He continues to be quiet for almost 50 minutes, his trembling hand touching my own. It proved to be an agonizingly long process to barricade just one power. I felt a Strange presence in my mind, not the powers but Dr. Strange's subconsciousness. "I am putting away your telekinesis." Came his voice and then a portion of the pressure was removed. I felt lighter already. Dr. Strange was, seemingly able to make quicker work of the others. He explained that his powers made deciding which power was which, almost exactly. Tony had told me that he can help decipher what powers I have, what crazy abilities I now possess. I thought about how accurate he was as he told me what power as now behind the barricade. "Ability to implant suggestions into others self conscious." Another huge weight lifted. "Precognition." I almost felt normal again..almost. I felt more pressure removed but this time Dr. Strange didn't say anything . He just glanced at Tony. "Well, that's all I can barricade. You still have your healing factor and I can't take away your heightened senses. But all the other powers except for the decided empathy, have been hidden. Think of it as being behind a big wall that you can take down when you are ready." Dr. Strange says, then he glanced at me sideways. "How do you feel?" He questions quizzically. "Well, I feel better. You were right about the pressure thing. Thank you...so much." I say. He nods in response. Then him and Tony go out to talk and suddenly I am hit with a feeling of confusion, worry, and dread. I  didn't hear what was being said due to the literal sound proof walls I was confined in, but I felt relieved by that. If it was something of immediate concern Tony would tell me, I knew that. I knew that when the time came and we were ready, I would know what other dread filling power I had.

ch.9

[manic-old-man]

T17-02

Here we go.   --   Those words were ca. written before 8.56 W, during last evening, as we started the Save As/creation process for this file, now J17-02.doc, the current monthly chapter-file of my ongoing Journal.  The date, and current time, are:

  2017./2/1 A 8.59 W, and we turn soon to the persisting housekeeping chores of copying the sealed J-orig version of last month’s file to become the current working version of it in the Journal folder.   Seemingly done at 9.14 W.

  At 8.35 W, I have the thought that I need more local T-readers, and not so many like Loky and Bivvy, and maybe Zippa, they whom I can’t readily interview.  I would like to ask Loky if he has gotten started reading, and if not, is it purely his ca. own, local problems, and not problems of getting into Tumblr, etc. 

  I would like to ask the local people if they have read the introduction and taken a goodly sample of about one of the monthly files – then I think they would be in a position to say about various issues, like does the whole thing put them off, does it seem crazy, does it seem ill-advised, does it seem hopelessly self-fixated, inwardly directed.  Or maybe it seems fascinatingly multi-layered, SO many things going on at once, dizzying, and, in ways, hard to read – hard to read at a thorough, scholarly level.  8.42    After 9.02, is it perhaps fun and amusing to read at a light, skipping & dipping level?

  Fairly soon after 9.49 we need to shift to give primary emphasis to starting and keeping going the Les Mis disk-ripping process, to have the box of disks ready to go back to BPL Friday. 

  On we go at 10.22, with enuf of the snow swept away, leaving me a bit tired, and a bit more draggy and uninterested than I was before – inflated mood, energy, etc., are nowhere to be seen.  Is this what we would call M0, feeling just fine but not ca. significantly fine?  No, it’s more like a D0.2 level.

  At 10.40, try to rally our collective strength, set a goal, and figure out what L Mis disks we have already ripped, and where we need to pick up the game, to resume.  Disk 43 needed at 10.42 – can we stay upright long enuf to find it?  Whew, we made it at 10.47. And that disk is spinning, but it was a tad close.  #43 was even out of the sleeve/sock thing – what a concept. 

  PJ Pocket 3x5 of 1/4, initial draining at 11.07, finally ready for such

V #1. W 5.24 – CA - & FUTURE WORD CHOICE   --   That is, before xygy 11.09, I think I meant that I should maybe amend the Abrv entry for ca., to say that the word choice that it precedes might not be at all the word choice that I might settle on in the future, with more reflection – and time.

  Well, at 12.26, the Pipe Fairy has certainly got her work cut out for her today, to get me to a Fully Restored State.  Lunch helped, and some more from a scant 15’ lie-down, punctuated with ever so many flashes of dream-like fresh, unfamiliar, dream-like scenes – just ping/bang, and gone.

  Before cleaning up at 8.47, we, at / 3 58 \ said / CONGRATS \ to that Pipe Fairy, SHE DID IT – see below.  And at / 4 25 \ we saw a / CHAIR WASTE \ of time in helping a tiny bit and listening a lot to the problems. 

  All the available L Mis disks are ripped at 4.28 – how to check that all are done that I can do?

  The relevant text at 4.31 of Zippa’s card is: We are coasting along.  Zippo stopped taking courses at Yale.  Whatever you write, we will be delighted to praise and read.  Bob Laudauer blah, blah.  Be in touch.  Our best wished to you and your family.  Very warmly, Zippo & Zippa.

  At 4.46, I wish my feet would warm up better from the outing – then I would feel quite completely restored indeed.  It was ingratiating after all to get around a full-loop walk, and better still to sit and smoke in my good corner, low on tobac with portion-run a-coming. 

  Well, before 7.26, still feeling quite good going toward my nap bed, I lay down, with a 15’ Timer session and hopes for a shorter nap and longer work time.  But I finally got up with 36; 55.19 on the SW; so much for such dreams.  We shall ca. improve.  The dishes call, or their mistress, at 7.29.

  I am back and resting at 8.40 mainly with my good friend, not Jack, but sol, after a dish session made particularly long and onerous by the delicious pot roast cuisine, thru which I sailed with rapid, precise movements, which went on and on and on, in great number.  Let us see what routine cleaning still needs to be done above.

  It seems ship-shape at 8.59 – a week ago, in the throes of EOM work, what would I have fancied doing now, more than alias-editing?  Oh yes, J-Book-Lunch round-up.  Heat the coffee, and get started.                        W

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. R

  2017/2/2 A 9.16 R – well, that round-up did not go particularly well.  After a fairly good start, it bogged down on the complexity of trying to ca. match scripts, and we quite ca. 9.35.  Then the possibly-anticipated TV-bailout for TV tape, this didn’t happen either, the Ch. 2 Aurora show being pretty good after all. 

  Now at 9.25 we need to drain a ca. newly-arrived Slip, portion the tobacco and with that resolve a crises of ca. raggedy toilet paper supply, and load WM recharged batteries; then we can start that round-up again, right? 

  Slip, all-blank of 2017-OH, for 1/31 T, drain at 9.51

V a. 9.40 – cal log 2/9   --   On ca. wall calendar, the lunch. BELLS X

  V b. 11.38 – poop #2

  X c. W 2.23 – pee #1, prep 11; 2/1.  3E jet lag?  Long awake, it seems.  But no audio – yet.  Scant snow.  Do pills.

  V d. 5.07 – pee #2; doing whipping – now do drops.  Cut KK back down to 15’ – MPE is too full.

  V e. 7.01 – up, & pee #3!  VG!  Real close. 

  f. 7.19 – RKO – second guess)   --   At 9.56, add brow beat)                XXXX

  V g. 7.29 – poop

  V h. R 1.22– pee #1; I dreamed of doing the whipping – pills, & do it now? 

  V i. 4.33 – pee #2; drops; no audio

  V j. 6.08 – pee? #3, c later, 2 up.  Start audio. 

    At 9.58, with the draining ca. crudely done, next priority is tobac, right? That done at 10.56 with bed made and ca. working pocket paper solution; Capote NF, and WM to come also.  Landing?  No, at 11.06 in nearly top form, we will attempt to break thru that fog barrier to J-Book productive methods. 

  Okay, at 11.22, I give up – what’s next?  I need a better - or at least clearer - concept.  Landing, yes – T God for easy work.  Mostly done at 11.31 – scan a ca. shrink book for BPL return.    After 11.41, I should capture the ID data for these pretty-good two books, especially if we assume I will return them before running thru the Marc D drill.  7.20 – Back to Normal, by Enrico Gnaulati, and Making Us Crazy by Herb Kutchins et al.

  At 12.16 we feel somewhat refreshed, maybe restored, from a 13’ natural-enuf nap, featuring some scenes, not so many as recently, seemingly strung together by some sort of a social scheme or school or something. 

  At 7.23, I feel little motivated to write about the day, maybe after dishes.

  Only a little better at 8.32; earlier we succeeded in clearing all the IXp screens and starting it over, but finding / Google still stuck \ defaulting to show a Glen Beck query; somehow gone later.  / Take another Favorite? \ Maybe such still to be done.  In the Pepys Wiki reading, before / 7 28 \ it was written that he wrote a / Million words \ in the / Pepys \ diaries – I will beat that, in ca. 1,000 pages?  Only if I have 1,000 words per page, right?  8.37

  Where’s that easy work, at 8.29?  Why so tired?  Too little nap?  I don’t think so.  Too little mood?  Well, do something for the day.  It saw a loop walk, fine enuf, and a good but cold smoke in that corner again, returning to put on the full smoking-suit, and drape the scarves too.  Cleanup was not completed, contributing some easy work, at least. 

  With UP cleanup done, and nothing like the strength to resume e/m collecting, can I get up the energy to vacuum the floor?  Try TV tape – it will put me to sleep?  Try reading some Capote.                                              R

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. U

  2017./1/2/5 A 11.33 U – note here a very significant gap of two days, two days spent in hell, or closer thereto than I can remember in a long time.  I thought some of Jim Donohue’s flu lament about no longer being frightened, that he might live.

  At 11.36, let us begin, here at the dining room table, fortified with hot coffee, to try     after an interruption till 11.45, being lunch time, to try to carefully ca. unwind the draining, and more carefully still, the landing.  From these we hope to reconstruct a careful picture of the the onset of this affliction, and its. possible. cure. - maybe it IS sciatic nerve pressure.  Quit at 1148, moderately exhausted, typing terribly – and leaving it all for 3rd shift to clean up.  Done at 8.42 W – with great team work.

  Now, at 4.24 with some talent borrowed from the lovely and talented third shift, maybe we can creep either into cleaning up the mess above, or preferably starting that Draining. 

  Slip of 1/21-22 for 2/2 R, at 4.30, draining wins; Landing starts 2.50 T.

a. 7.18 – poop, hard, 1 from brek. Table, & bed – no lower   BELLS X xxx MPE ~folder?   --   Such can’t be made, if MPE is found after 2.51 T 2/7?

  b. 7.40 – from bed – Check Fox25! Also, check 62.4 on TV-T – Star Gate-- --   break for TV T check and 60M stuff                                           xxxx

  X c. 8.28 – Capote book is in Bath Room?  Read for BPL trip   --   back at 4.47

  V d. 8.36 – poop #2

  V e. P 11.44 – prep

  V f. F l.07 – pee #1; cold, covered   --   I think this meant that before 3.21 T, that I had felt cold, sitting on the pot draining the lizard, and covered my shoulders, and perhaps head, with my bath towel; rarely done, and maybe the first sign of malaise. 

  V g. 3.31 – pee #2, rushed

  X h. 6.22 – pee #3; do drops, pills later, SOME whipping   Note fwd & khuol?

  V i. 6.38 – left only done; sounds like DPR.   --   To stop with only one eye dripped is rare indeed, and maybe pathological.  3.24 T

  V j. 7.03 – up – pee?  Beat to the sox – strange   --   First REAL sign of pathology, and very definite.  There was no soreness in hip, or shoulder?  3.26

  V k. 7.32 – poop – dead tired   --   Screamingly bad that such fatigue continued into the early day – a real sign of trouble.  I continued dead tired, but I think not sore, all day, moving the target of morning bike ride to PM, and then being driven to barber, in preparation for hockey party.  With barber, I was indeed jolly enuf, if listless, and we went on to the hockey dinner.  There I was zombie-sque, sitting alone at table with all others standing and talking up a storm, and my eyes dropping shut, in spite of my beer.  I ate but little, and gave Don’s treasured Sharon mere mumbling, and presently we came home, on a timely basis.  3.38 T

  V l. S 12.34 – pee? (#1) can’t get comfy – move to love seat   --   Pain was not yet specific to hip and shoulder?  I can’t at 3.39 T remember any earlier pain, sciatic or otherwise.  My early summary was, not borne out here, that I had somehow fallen into a pathologically deep sleep, on my right side, mediated perhaps by the excess or insufficiency of some neurotransmitter, and lain still so long as to cause sciatic nerve damage.  If the shift were at 4 AM to the floor 1 love seat, such a scheme would compute.  3.45 T

    One slip drained, and I’m exhausted – shift to some easier work.   Or love seat?    6.59 – that won, easy.

  6.56 – get ^RL start date    Work up cleaning, in fatigue, waiting for soup and super bowl scoring.                                                                             U

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. M

  2017/2/6 P 4.31 M – now well into the afternoon, but with some cleanup/catchup things done like a load of wash, and mobility improving, particularly over last night, maybe we can manage to stagger thru this still-hellish fog of pain and discomfort, and get back to this huge-seeming drain/etc. process. But first let us finish the Eclipse file-loading process started earlier, with the poor mpe still among the missing,  maybe I am indeed going to research and order a Clip Zip Sport, even if it is used and factory reconditioned.  There are so many goodies I would like to have back.  4.36

  Well, the effort to click the Computer icon, and get the Eclipse load control, this at 4.52 has caused very strange unresponsiveness, but since looping is not involved, we will let it sit and think about it, while we get back to THIS.  5/.15 – maybe a Restart IS needed.

    Slip of 1/14-15 for 2/4 S, drain at 4.57, typing painfully

V a. S 2.27 – pee finally – not quick enuf.  Lo-U – signif – shuttle back upstairs.   --   I was, before resuming landing at 3.55 T, somewhat comfortable in the un-flat love seat/recliner; the Lo-U was maybe significant of distorted mood disruption of biological function, but it seems a stretch now.  Upstairs I was not comfortable. 

  V b. 3.42 – pee?  No? V  Shift AM.   --   Draining resumed, before 8.12.  Landing continued at 3.59 T; the Shift AM thing may have meant that later in this early morning I resolved to shift back down.

  V c. 5.05 – pee? V   Stay down?   --   Yes, supporting above, at 4.01 T.

  V d. 7.54 – pee, #3?  Getting some rest – return to bed/seat.   --   Meaning, I guess at 4.02 T, try to get more rest STILL after 7.54 and well after usual rising and active time. 

  V e. 8.54 – poop? X   back to bevtxx –   --   This may have been: return to try to get more rest still, before 4.05 T. 

  X f. <10.01 – poop, Alli crerxx

  X g. ~~~~~~~ - see 3x5   --   NF at 8.10 M.  Still NF 8.04 T – I think it was nothing but a pee entry, that will turn up.

    Well, at 7.52 we guess that Restart is the appropriate course.

And, at 8.04, it is done, pretty smoothly and rapidly. 

  8.15 – with only half this slip drained, take a major break – set up to take CTC, I guess, and try that Eclipse load again.

  Did it work before 8.32, did I it fail?  Maybe time will tell.  Too tired to drain, maybe to ca. repair. 

  Ugh, at 9.32 that repairing, of lousy typing, seems to be all done, and I am not at all up the harder work of Landing.  Have I earlier noted the absence of the Friedman folk song book?  I want it now, re the Nama M sideo song, re fish in the sea, etc.                                                                 M

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. T

  2017/2/7 A 10.07 T – Niceties with one hand is currently my top speed       - right hand is still very awkward esp re reaching for backspace key.

  The clouds of hellish pain continue, or some part thereof, at 10.02.  Alas, I must inform Kurt and Ron of my infirmity and NG re mtgs.

  Done at 11.19, and more, some, but with difficulty.  We can struggle up to the TV Titan? 

  Done, enuf, 1 day, before 2.38; being of passably sound body but of kind of dopey mind, maybe just from too much chair-time, we seem competent to struggle up to start the Landing, and evaluation.

  Well, all of that, before 8.06, went way better than I would have hoped – as I said in the midst of it, my hip must surely be getting better, and my overall state of health – but my shoulder seems to be getting worse.  In several stages, I got thru all the Landing above, and well too – I thought as I sent it to Arthur, and to Don, but didn’t say just that. 

  Slip of 1/14-15 for 2/4 S, resume draining at 9.15 T

V h. <3.42 – all pills, drops done – sans swish   -- This would be 3.42 PM.

  V i. 4.41 – BDC up, & UP   --   Meaning, before 8.35 W, that this computer was moved up from the cellar, and gotten running – on this dining room table.

  Cease draining at 9.21 – just too painful.  Resume draining P 3.15 F – ca. in place.

  V j. ~ 8.50 – F2 – pee – preo?  Dried urine is hard, & very granular?   --   Not seen again, before 3.19 F.

  V k. 11.59 – prep, down

  V l. U 3.01 – pee #1

    Slip of 2/1 for 2/5 U, drain at 3.22 F

V a. 5.30 – pee #3?   --   Plausibly #2 – 3.24 F.

  b. 6.56 – I came up to   --   try again later, after 4.03 F.                     xxxxx

  V c. 7.24 – moved to DR table, wholesale, after poop, pre coffee, lots of gas, long term.   --   This gas was so persistent before 4.07 F as to seem pathological, and significantly so.

  V d. 11.13 – we can drain, etc?

  V e. 11.31 – poop #2, F_2_

  V f. 4.22 – party off, some recovery?  Pipe a help?   --   There is no indication, seen from 4.12 F, that the short-ish pipe experience did a thing to help, let alone restore me.

  V g. 10.16 – prep

  X h. 10.57 – shift down (W) xx moyingxx some.

  7X – I should be doing Landings up here 11.34 2/26 U.

  Slip of 1/31 for 2/6 M, drain at 5.05, struggling onward

V a. 12.57 – pee #1, rushed; walking much better?  Dreaming of smoking in living room

  b. 1.16 – 2 from bed – check T-mails,   --   That is, 2.35 U, can       xxxx T-readers reach me via e/m to Manic-old-man@Tumblr.com?

  c. search for clip zip sport, & ask re ^linear skip speed - & PC xxxx

  V d. 2.51 – pee #3?  Rushed again; try F2?

  X e. 3.47 - it didn’t work, pee   :

  V f. 5.44 – pee #4?  Pretty comfortable on F1   --   This, before 8.21 F, was in the recliner?

  V g. 7.01 – up, pee?  Quite asleep; fetch WM, etc., from F0.

  V h. 10.21 – poop #2? X

  V i. 12.01 – poop? V   hard

    After 8.33, we can squeeze out another Slip?

  Slip of 2/2 for 2/6 M; Drain at 9.24., maybe

V a. P 2.39 – Roll over; catch up?                                     BELLS X

  9.31 F – maybe NOT.               

  Let us endeavor, at 1.53 2/11 S, to continue draining, here in place.

  V b. T 12.34 – pee #1 – prep 11?  F2   F2 TV was disasterousxx, pain is widexx.

  V c. 1.26 – pee #2 – W small, M suggested?  >0, & dry-mouth is suggestive of dehydration.

  V d. 2.58 – pee #3 – M up, W down, dry-mouth continuing.

  V e. 4.11 – pee #4 – hold the H2O, mouth not dry.

  V f. 5.46 - #5, surely a record.  Mania is indeed suggested, from improved health.

  V g. 6.58 – poop? X   up just a bit early.

  V h. 7.23 – poop

  V i. 10.18 – poop #2

    after a good rest at 3.00, and deserved, try to drain what is maybe the last slip to belong in this Place.

  Slip of 1/30 for 2/8 W #1; drain at 3.16 S 2/11

V a. 12.19 – pee #1, F1, rushed                                        BELLS X

  V b. 1.21 – pee #2 – rushed, some; W badly small – signif of M? Or 0 pills?

  V c. 2.46 - pee #3   --   Struggling onward at 3.55 S

  d. 4.04 – pee #4; walking ever so well, starting to get horny!  G: XXXX Gen. Rodetsky parade music

  e. G: sciatic recovery                                                                   XXXX

  V f. 5.46. – pee #5?  2 from bed/chair – flag pole, ____  earlier dream vivid & elaborate re flag pole function up hill & car on top; #2 was re ~spider web against a surface. 

  V g. 7.31 – pee; c later, shower needed.                                                      T

          Dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd. W

  2117/2/8 P 5.03 W – THANK God for work as easy to do as these Niceties.

  At P 8.28, maybe we can struggle thru this stuff.  At / 2 10 \ we were off the call to Arthur, very warm and supportive, some constructive, and VG, he posed the question, had I ever had a zombie-sque, seemingly depressive session before, like that at the Stockyards \ I thought tentatively no at the time, and more solidly so now. / Ever before \ No.  We are, at 8.33, much too tired to Drain, right?  Picking about above, maybe.  Hopefully there’s some good scratching.

  Well, before 8.45, there was moderate of such, and it all seems clean now; time to quite for TV?  Bad news – another hour.  Some Recliner Time might set me up for draining?                                                          W

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. R

  2017./2/9 P 4.28 R – Struggling back for any sort of relief.

  If I looked hard, I could find some aspect of ill health that is a little better today, at 4.05 PM?  Or am I worse, sliding down off of a little bit of an Arthur-induced mood bump?  None of it so you would notice.    The night’s Slip stuff is interesting – and complex?  Let us drain it here; and herewith, returning soon to drain the next-oldest slip above, in chronological place – thus maybe being nice to the text-historians of that possible future. 

  Slip of 2/7 for 2/8 W #2, drain at 4.15

V a. P 10.12  2 pills, & Aleve, down                                  BELLS X

  V b. R? V   1.39 pee #1, bit late

  V c. 1.37?  Pee #2

  Hip is almost all better? Earlier – don’t lower the leg rest.

  V d. 2.21 – pee;

  X e. 2.48 – pee.  The 1.37 was correct; 1.37 was 12.37?  2.48 was a bit late

  V f. 3.39 - pee?  Sit, for a change – pills finally pulling in?  Mania passing?  No?  Blow nose again.

  At 5.02 of 2/14 T. , I guess it as is appropriate to continue draining here.

  Slip of 2/6 for 2/9? V, drain at 7.41 

V a. 5.01 – pee.  X above,                                                  BELLS X

  V b. 7.01 – pee

  c. 7.09 – copy out Bernhard’s tribute, & E’s                                        XXXX

  V d. 3.3 7.32 – poop

  X e. P 2.39 – poop #2, normalcy returns   --   Balk at 7.53

  V f. F 1.31 – pee #1 – pills 10; rushed, seat pinched again?  Quite carlxx

  V g. shifted sofa à seat   --   Trying again 5.19 2/17 F.

  h. 2.42 – pee? V #2, get out Drypads.                                        XXXX

  X i. ISDN – Update thing is all exhausted?

  V j. the old 3.30 drill is returning?  Not really; rather strange thing this is

  V k. 9.42 – poop – terrible time – fallen pxx – 2.

    Slip of 1/23 for 2/10 F, try at 8.22 F to struggle further ahead, 1 hand

Va. 10.27 – earlier – worst morning ever?                       BELLS X

  V b. P 11.06 – prep; try no pills   --   Back 4.12 3/16 S.

  V c. 11.58 – pee #1. X   quick start, still a hit rushed; W small; pills needed?  Standing   --   Struggling on at 5.24 S

  V d. MPE is down in recliner?   --   Struggling forward at 3.25 2/19 U.

  V e. S 1.04 – pee #2, quick enuf now to get a seat, the preferred posture.

  V f. 3.04 – pee #3   rushed but OK  Coming out of a dream of a great copper-headed girl.

  g. 4.06 – pee? V  EM à JR re SM jokes   both leg & arm are worse XXXX

  V h. 6.09 – pee; poop?  Rushed; hit RKO

  V i. 6.21 – NG!  Sat!  Mood is up?  Not legs?

    Slip of 1/28-29 for 2/11 S, drain at 8.22 2/20

V a. 6.43 – 2/2 V   RL – near done    OUT              BELLS X

  V b. 7.21 – 2/13 early out – ½ hr, or 2 ½?   --   Continuing 3.56 2/12, not well

  V c. <7.46 – poop - hard, pre coffee

  V d. 11.42 – poop? #2

  V e. <3.17 – pee – not nearly quick enuf

  V f. 8.54 – 2 pills taken

  V g. 10.30 – prep

  V h. U 1.29 – pee #1, awfully rushed, but OK, & dry.  Swaying?  2-Pt. walk - NG?  W = 3 hr’s, fine.

  X i. 2.49 – pee #2, dropped W is OK?  It seemed I went back to sleep, Shapgxx, a bit?  Earlier sleep on left side was great.  D: call all Swithsxx

  V j. 4.31 – pee #3, bit rushed, OK, finally sit – hardly sleeping – try some Rush, Know that what (NG) CTC is on.

  V k. 4.28 – mood is continuing fine – call it up?

  V l. 5.29 – 2/4 KG – out V

    Slip of 1/27 for 2/12 U, next?  At 11.33 2/22 W.

V a. 6.46 – false poop – bad trip.                            BELLS X

  V b. 7.06 – poop?  (W) Coffee

  V c.7.43 – 10/19 later out V

  X d. 8.11 – poop haze

  V e. P 11.14 – prep, & 2 pills   10 P, etc.   --   Struggling at 10.11 2/23.

  V f. M 12.48 – pee #1, some rushed to sit noxx

  V g. Sleeping swell on side – some dreams of bastion world shakyxx – sent and from stretch to crutchxx.

  V h. 3.31 – pee - #2 – bottle, #1.  Messy (W) drips.  More shakiness.  Nose couldn’t blow clear – snuflyxx clean nose?

  V i. 4.18 10/20 16.28 HC out

    Slip of 2/3 for 2/13 M #1, struggle to drain at 11.36 2/23

V a. 4.23 – xx 0207 11 24 - - rpfxx at 9-38 10.39 debetxx out   BELLS X

  V b. 5.36 – up, pee? V   Drink slow   Sway

  V c. 6.45 – 2/3 12.00 cut

  V d. 6.51 – pee; fatted, outxx

  V e. 7.37 – poop? X

  V f. 8.01 – poop   --   struggling on 7.46 2/23

  V g. 9.34 – pee, another, after ½ hr. heavy sleep

  V h. 11.03 – 2 from sofa – Paul Ehrlich, shit in a boot G:

  V i. 11.52 – Dr. Lisa Golding for 2.45

    Slip of 2/10 for 2/13 M #2, drain at 7.57 2/23

V a. M P 11.14 pills, prep

  V b. T 1.24 – back OK   roll higidsxx over

  V c. 2.23 – pee #2.  Bottle NSH, roll over V   --   Scratching forward 11.09 2/24.

  V d. 4.24 – pee #3, more NSH

  V e. 6.12 – pee #3. OK, doing better.

  V f. 7.01 – up – quite asleep, dreaming of a soccer kick, pee

  V g. 7.42 – poop – pre-coffee – almost normal.

  V h. 10.42 – shower – 2 koksxx, Least DMA class …xx

  V i. 11.43 – poop? #2 Reminiscent of better times.

  V j. 2.31  Trxx/6 RL out – another chore done

  V k. 11.14 – F1, bring hat, wrong PJ top, pills 10, prep 10.30

    Slip of 2/11-12 W, for 2/15, next, I hope at 1.33 2/24

V a. 1.21– pee #1, bit rushed to F1 sink, OK, open later F2 sitxx BELLS X

  V b. 2.47 – pee #2, bottle #1, OK; leg NG

  V c. 3.47 – pee #3 V   Try V a little luchxx.

  V d. 5.37 – pee; fetched WM & headset.

  V e. 6.44 – just sunrise peeping, post pee, some troubling

  V f. 7.34 – exhausted post poop & brek.

  V g. 8.17 – old cry, mama come … => depr.   --   That is, before 5.02 2/24, this very early memory, of 2 or 3 years old, of calling repeatedly for my mother to come wipe my butt, and her so slowly responding, now suggests depression, maybe dysthymia.  This would have been in TX.

  V h. 4.48 – 10/28 X  2/3 2/3 2/6 10/9 1/20

  V i. R 12.41 pee #2, bottle, OK!

  V j. 1.26 – pee #2; finally the right P3xx top, & 3x5 loaded

  V k. 2.44 – pee #3, ~overusxx terribly

  V l. 4.32 – pee #4

  V m. 6.39 – pee? V   sitting up  lay tenexx -- Struggling back 11.10 2/26

  V n. 7.16 – terribly lame

    Slip of 2/9 for 2/16 R, drain at 11.14 2/26 U.

V a. 7.37 – right arm terrible                                  BELLS X

  V b. 9.32 – wake, & pee, post ~(1/2 hr. sleep, under towel, (W) dream of 8 yr. sex, + 2 days, dashing the more, & say better fantasy.   --   I hope, before 11.23 U, Pepys had better success with his fair copies.

  V c. 10.29 – awake, & pee, from XCL sleep – surprisingly   --   Struggling ahead at 10.06 2/27, with Landings surprisingly done.

    Here at 4.27 of 2/27 M we give up the effort to get all the Slips caught up and unloaded, here or below, before the EOM closing.  We have nine plus Slips that want draining, seeming to get harder and harder to read.  May we drain some of the most recent stuff below close to the point of currency?  Probably not, 4.31 M. 

    8 31   --   from F. / Crump \ / 10 43 \ Done   Undone   --   Meaning that, before 4.33 of 2/27 M, on an earlier Friday evening, we got something done, a draining maybe, and we were undone, with fatigue.

    At 8.04, I should be well-rested, and ready to work, having been out cold on sofa for 1 ¼ hr’s.  Continue draining above, I guess.

  8 35 \ Before 2.16 F, / EXCREBLE \ was a reference to how I felt, and functioned, not to how I was typing?  Below, we DID get the slip pick done, and a little more - and trundled off to bed.

  Before 9.21, that was typing, right?  I can pick a next slip for draining? F

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. F

  2017/2/10 P 2.14 F – after what was noted at the worst morning ever, we a getting a pretty good afternoon?

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. S

  2017/2/11 A 8.12 S – We can’t even do a day breaker now?    No, it ain’t right; try again soon.

  At 11.13 we will attempt to redress a horrible wound – the loss of a considerable amount of very slowly and painfully prose gained just above, lost in a bobbled Doc 1 file handling. 

  The major thing that said prose had to say, before 11.21, was that that worst morning centered around falling trying all kinds of ways to get out of the recliner, and winding up like that now-famous guy in the TV ad calling saying help, I’ve fallen walking in the park and can’t up.  The winning move of many excruciatingly tried was Liz giving me about 20 pounds of ca. hand-grip.  

  With the cube tap finally brought from the cellar and installed at 11.37 giving better desk light use, good for draining, let us try to find a candidate slip to work above.

  With seemingly only two slips left to drain at 4.30, return to Cokie’s spinning chair for more Rush therapy.

  That therapy chair indeed works good, and did before 8.52, but  not as good as me whacked out for ca. 1 ½ hr’s on the sofa after supper.  Cokie will come over tomorrow to work the snow thrower.  Mpeb for ca clearing is back by the sofa?  Fetched before 9.09.  Cleaned some at 9.21. CLEAN ABOVE.    Working awkwardly with one hand, we seem to have finished that EASY stuff must soon start the harder Landing. 9.44    S

          Dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd. U

  2017/2/12 P 4.55 U – Maybe a recovery day, so me, for both of us – we slept and slept.  I found a working position with my left side on the sofa with my back firmly cossetted, and knees just simply drawn up, resting on the table.  Energy will continue into the evening?  Just a bit of cleaning to do here at 4.49, with crackers delayed.

  Bottles   ---   This before 4.05 T was the idea to bring up big and little bottles for drink or drain, an idea proving in somewhat slowly.              U

          Dddddddddddddddddddddddddd. T

  At 2/14 3.49 PM T, having again cleaned up thhe of chores, I asked myself, what‘s good to do, or some such thing – oh yes, the Journal.  A superficial glance got the reaction Good Lord, what happened to Monday?  Soon I got the answer, driven by Cokie for to Dr. Lisa Golding for Wellisch, pretty time consuming, but yielding icing advice, continued Aleve, and visit later to Dr. Leo Troy, Pro Sports, for maybe shoulder shot of cortisone, or more modern equivalent. 

  Today has gone on before 3.54 as a day seen thru a view of pain, and trouble.  But being able slowly to catch up with chores. 

  Jolly tired at 7.57.                                        T

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. W

  2017./2/15 A 11 23 W – can we ease    over into Rush cleaning, before 4.39?  No way; far too tired. Not a chance.

  8 .03 – CHANCE.

  8 11 – done and refilled – hard.                                                                  W

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. R

  2017/2/16 P 4.18 R - Hard

  Gluster    --   is a town, before 8.02 2/21 T, creeping about, that I decided is al  log like Glouster, buy / Muddier \

    4 52

  Restart could be svc fix qq   --   Still good 8.04 T.

    GOOD AT 5 09                                                                                             R

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. F

  2017/2/ A   F 9.02 – we might actually get something done today? Maybe.  10.6 – maybe not.  Veil of pain

  3 17

  Next Sunday

  minlib

    3 47

  Lydia Uday

      4 08

  Just can’t do zip

    5 12

  Try

          Dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd. S

  2017./2/18 A 11.17 U – more trouble

  4.08 – walking better?                                                                                S

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. U

  2017/2/19 P 3.00 U – no church, one only to Lydia’s talk, with recorder, a but at least we are indeed walking better, and best o of all, I can sleep like a log on the big bed, with my arm at least in temporary honeymoon.  We can creep further ahead above?           S

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. M

  2017/2/20 P 4.35 M – can we even creep in to another day’s record?

  Or, at 8.13, advance an inch?                                                                   M

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. T

  2017/2/21 A 2.50 T – record early start?  Above, yes, only 1 inch – this record showing that I did NOT sleep all evening before trying the bed – NG.

  9.22 – ready for doctor.

  3.39 – maybe real help.

  7.53 – doing disappointingly.  Clean above a bit.                                        T

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. W

  2017/2/22 A 10.43 W – Doing some get better?  Try above.

  4.36 – some progress made.  Puzzle – does ca. fresh L Mis box have uncopied disks?  Re book due and unrenewable.  Disks 1-29 dup?  Disk 29 seems heard; we are done?                                                                         W

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD, R

  2017/2/23 A 10.04 R – struggle on ahead; surely a bit healthier.

  3.23 – hanging in?                                                                                      R

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. F

  2017/2/24 A 6.48 F – Hanging, yes.  And, what has happened to mood, and its variation?  I have settled into some sort of M0 state, toughing out the pain and the difficulties of bad health?  11.06 – try to Drain.          F

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. S

  2017./2/25 A 11.19 S – Strange night to drain, directly, here.

  Slip of 2/21 for 2/24 F, drain at 11.21

V a. P 1.48- poop #2                                      BELLS X

  V b. S 12.36 – pee #1, can’t get arm comfy

  V c. 3.19 – pee, after much dreaming of ~Jimmy Church, on sofa, after shift from recliner, up, NG, try bed?   --   Not, before 4.08, the J Church of CTC, but a leader?  In a gathering of M/D’s, early dreaming of two cans of cement.  The folk kneeled in a row, maybe a circle, getting instruction or something. 

  V d. 4.51 – gas – pee? V   dreams of assembly on hill top, & my levitation as proof   --   Of my ability?  4.13

  V e. Try bed? Shoulder says no, sofa.

  V f. 5.54 – pee?  Sofa OK.   --   All I can do to land it, at 4.16.

  V g. 7.09 – Pee, up, what a strange night - drain it.   --   Done at 3.47.

  At 4.17, resume draining far above.                                                            S

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. U

  2017./2/26 A 11.03 U –EOM near-th, and have we ever been in such bad shape for such?  Slurp the old draining over into the new month’s file, I suppose.  Liz is off to church, where maybe I should somehow have gone, and scooped up the blessings, for 2/14, and from 3 healing stations. 

  3.21 – Scraping along doing Landings above.                                           M

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. M

  2017./2/27 A 8.30 M – We can do better than scrape today?  Continue the Landings.  At 4.27, we have above packed in the effort to catch up the Draining-s.                                                                                        M

          DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. T

  2017./2/28 A 11.11 T – Can we possibly drain the most recent Slip, as some sort of month closing gesture?  Maybe, done right here.

  Slip off 2/23 for 2/26 U, drain at 11.14, so tired of being tired.

V a. P 3.08 – poop - #2? Rushed, F2, back to left hand wipe-up. BELLS

  V b. 3.18 – no poop!

  V c. 11.54 pee, 3    --   That, before 11.20, being three pills?

  V d. M 1.01 – pee, c later

  V e. 3.39 - pee

  V f. 5.38 – pee – too much drainingxx

  V g. 5.43 – poop, early

  V h. 7.09 – pee – up late, enjoying ~dreaming, candiaxx?

  V h. 1.59 – poop #2

  V i. 1.21 – pee, post sexy dreams. Try.

  V j. 3.14 – pi time!  Pee, post dream of asking H U pres Bill Purcell for name of a book about concept of finishing the BA degree.

  Thank God, at 2.16, I have finished draining the slip!  A Herculean task!  Now, to Land it.  Done at 3.09, but SO tedious, and difficult, and painful – stop writing the Slip Stuff?  No, don’t drain the slips, just let them accumulate, going toward a better day, a better time?  With Trump on TV tonight, go on toward closing this poor puppy out?  Glance at the 3-x’ies.

Okay at 3.48; stagger onward, toward Closing.                         T

          2017/2/28 P 3.56 T – This is the working, on-going copy of J17-02, in the Journal folder.

  2017/3/1 P 4.09 W – this page 23 of output for a 22-day month, scant – but understandable, I guess.

  2017/3/3 A 10.20 F – herewith we start the Tumblr-izing of the file.