#they look like reeds or snakes or something

[northernpintail]

American Coots have very remarkable feet

[riaki]

an excuse to touch | suguru geto x reader

pt.2 of christmas event! cw: reader is kinda drunk, u and him have a bunkbed but he always sleeps w u on the lower bunk :3

not proofread

"su— guru!"

he knows that pitchy voice; a lilt to it that tells him you've been drinking. a slur that links your breathy words together like the taut strings of a spider's web that's so imperceptible that it would've been impossible to pick up, unless you were him. because suguru knows you better than anyone else.

you say his name weird, which means you've indulged on the bottle of liquor your next-door neighbor brought you that morning, wrapped in a pretty festive ribbon with a snowman drawn into the cork. "my son drew it," your neighbor had explained, and suguru wonders how good of a parent he is, to be letting his 6 year-old doodle on a bottle of wine.

he doesn't have time to concern himself with other people's lives, however. he has his hands full making sure you don't topple into the christmas tree you'd both worked your asses off to decorate last weekend when you stumble into the living room like you're walking on two left feet, threatening to trip over the cord connecting the soft yellow lights to the outlet in the wall. he distinctly remembers the argument you had last night— you thought rainbow lights would look nicer on the tree, but he liked just yellow. in the end, he'd gotten what he wanted— but there wasn't much to gain when you had stolen his sweater and refused to give it back as a vengeance. and now, he couldn't find it.

"right here," he calls, looking up at you from where he's seated on the couch in your living room. the little tv screen plastered to the wall has a fake fire playing over the screen; he knows you love the immersion, even if your apartment complex doesn't have a fireplace or a chimney.

you make your way over to his chair and promptly fall into his already-waiting arms. he pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting you snuggle up to him in his lap. his callused hand immediately snakes up your back to slip beneath your shirt, massaging your back. his embrace is warm; soft. and he smells good, like pine needles and something gently sweet, a little smoky.

soon, your hands find his hair, winding a trail up his neck to thread into the dark strands and pull out the tie. before you can move any further, though, a hand darts out to catch your wrist, and the other moves to tilt your chin up and force you to meet his stern gaze, warm like amber resin on the tree bark.

"[name], where's my sweater?" he asks, raising an accusatory eyebrow. just like that, you shrink away, and he smothers the snicker of amusement that threatens to spill out like hot cocoa with a hand over his lips.

you blink, and he watches your eyelashes flutter. they catch the fake firelight, glowing like billowing reeds under a bright sun in lakewater that reflects the summer sky. "i dunno." a blatant lie; obviously, you do know, because a bit of the red string has tangled in your hair. it was crocheted for him by a friend; you'd think a doctor would have good needle skills, but operating on a patient might be easier than operating on a DIY crocheting kit and a bundle of old string. nevertheless, he took the ugly christmas sweater and cherished it; the scent of cigarette smoke and faintly sterile tiles that clung to it.

but suguru was pretty sure that would soon be replaced by the scent of you, if you kept it much longer. not that he minded, of course.

"i, uh. dropped it. in the fire." you said bluntly, stubbornly weaving your hands into his hair and pulling out his hair tie insistently. a few strands caught; even as drunk as you were, you still took the time to smooth out the tangles so you didn't accidentally rip out a patch of his hair. crude as it was, suguru appreciates little things about you like that. not the fire part, though.

"you dropped it in the fire." he echoes, raising an eyebrow. it feels condescending in a very suguru (read: affectionate) way, so you look away, lower lip sticking out. he thinks that just makes you cuter, though; you look like something straight out of his dreams. he can barely bring himself to be irritated.

"um, yeah."

"so.. it burned up?"

"yes."

"you don't have it anymore."

"no, i don't."

"the fire isn't real," he reminds you quietly; softly if you strain your ears.

"but it's so warm over here. and nice, and cozy. what else could it be?" you protested, flailing your arms as if hitting him would force him to reconcile with your beliefs. suguru just opts to lean away from you, an amused and easy smile on his lips. like he's looking at you in adoration; like you're still the one who was molded from clay to fit in his arms even though you supposedly 'burned' his sweater up.

"not sure," he hums, watching as you stand up on two shaky legs like a newborn doe away from its mother's side; the soft glow from the light of the christmas tree gently illuminating your frame. he wishes he could tug you back by the wrist and kiss you breathless, run his hands over you ever lovingly. "you're just like my personal little space heater." he chuckles, soft smooth and melodic, and it snaps you from your tipsiness as you glance back over at him. “fools me into thinking the fire’s real.”

his hair is loose, tumbling over his shoulders and framing his face like a renaissance prince under the soft light; the brown of his eye shines a gentle caramel, soft and smooth as butter and syrup. there’s an easy smile that curves his lips up; he looks unfairly handsome. he thinks he can catch sight of his reflection in the void of your pupil; it looks like there's a birdnest on his head. he frowns, reaching a hand up to muss the tangled black strands. the windows in the living room are vignetted by a frosted glass, a cold world of white waiting outside. it's almost enough to make him shiver, but here, in the warmth of your presence, the snow melts away with the sunshine of your smile.

his fingers catch in his hair and he lets out a pained grunt. he's straightening his bangs when he looks up from his comfy seat on the couch; you're across the room, sitting on the soft wool carpet. there's a stain on the bundles of fluff, constantly hanging over the both of your heads to remind you of how you'd been enjoying a shared cup of hot cocoa with candy cane chunks when your nasty feline sauntered over and promptly jumped into your lap yet again, knocking over the mug and pouring its terribly sweet and sticky contents onto the wool. it had haunted suguru's domestic household nightmares for days after. your evil cat is curled up in your lap, fluffy mitten paws tucked beneath its head as it naps, and suguru doesn't like the flare of jealousy that springs up in his gut.

you catch the look of disdain on his face and shoot him a lazy smile, tilting your head. it's an invitation if he's ever seen one-- deserved, he thinks to himself. that should be him with his head in your lap, your hands in his hair, smoothing out each individual knot, gently massaging his scalp in the way you knew he loved.

...

he shakes his head and stands, brushing the lint (and cat fur— always a pest) off his sweats and saunters over to you; there's that familiar gait in his step from always walking hunched over during his earlier years of youth. sometimes, you'll build a little pillow fort on your bunk bed and settle in his arms between his legs and listen to him tell you stories from a time that seems so long ago but so fresh like new mint leaves in his memory. he'll play with your clothes, bury his nose in your hair and breathe in the scent of home and something like apples and cinnamon in your shampoo. those fun little story nights are always enjoyable, only because he has the best audience.

he squats down, balancing his elbows on his knees as he peers down at you. your cat in your lap lifts its head, looking like the very dictionary definition of judgmental as it squints at suguru. you just laugh, like silver bells clear in a snowstorm, parting the howling wind as if it's the red sea. paving a path straight through the center of his heart like some cursed cupid's arrow.

he doesn’t mind, though, when you scoot your cat off your lap and open your arms wordlessly. he scoots a little closer before settling into you, back flush against his chest as your arms lock around his waist. you rest your chin on his shoulder and he can’t help the rush of butterflies in his stomach; suguru’s never been the type for this sort of girlish, giddy love. but you always bring new things to the table, don’t you? he loves that about you.

suguru settles into your arms, tilting his head to intercept the kiss he knows you’re about to plant to his cheek to instead meet your lips with his, and he swallows and relishes the little surprised gasp that leaves you when he does. a moment later, he hears a pretty little giddy laugh, and he can’t fight the smile that spreads over his lips.

"you're so soft," he whispers, and it's much more exhausted than he thinks it has any right to be, on such a comforting night like this when your laugh smells of sweet liquor wrapped in chocolate and you serve as good of a sweater as any clearance sale item could.

and soon enough, your fingers slide into his hair, separating soft dark strands like you're organizing a collection of seashells. it takes him a while to notice, but he soon realizes you're braiding his hair. the wind howls outside and the fake fire doesn't provide any heat, but your gentle touch and warmth feel like a cozy throw blanket hanging around his shoulders. and he feels okay now; with the way you run your fingers through his hair, delicately gathering the strands from his hair and running a thumb down the length to smooth the knots, weaving them together like a natural crown of holly flowers.

you brush a stray strand from the nape of his neck, and he shivers when your fingertips brush against the tip of his ear. he can't help but smile when you notice the goosebumps on his bare arms and free one hand to reach for his, tangling your fingers together while you untangle the mats in his hair. it's far too cold for him to be wearing that simple, worn white cotton shirt, but he doesn't mind if you'll be the one to keep him warm through this cold season.

it's all fine and dandy until he speaks up again, when you're nearly falling asleep over his head and your arms drape over his chest, toying with the sapphire necklace around his neck. your little cute breaths tickle the top of his head; you've finished the braid. it's a little messy and stray hairs stick out here and there— but at least you didn't settle for pigtails.

when he speaks, it's not directed towards you, though— he's speaking to your cat, with a stern tone you only recognize as the one he uses with you whenever your clothes end up on his side of the drawer or when his jewelry (or hairties) go missing.

and when you open your eyes groggily after suguru shifts to sit up, feeling the dreary loom of a mini hangover after you fall asleep in his arms tonight— you're blessed with the sight of your beloved house pet— a shredded chunk of tacky fabric from suguru's sweater in its mouth, and the death glare that you can only imagine contorting your handsome boyfriend's face.

needless to say, your cat will be nowhere around the two of you when you decide to share a therapeutic cup of hot cocoa again this time.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[featherandferns]

pirates (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | shamelessly and obviously inspired by taylor swift's 'seven'

content warning: mentions of abuse

word count: 9k. roughly

Blurb: if you ever needed to find yourself or jj maybank, one would recommend you head to pirate's cove, no matter the age or day.

The water was tepid. There was some lingering woodsy fragrance, probably from the cedar trees that towered high all around the waterside, alongside something undeniably fresh in the air. JJ waded in the murky water. The ground was warm with sunlight that flitted through the canopy of trees. As it illuminated the leaves, there was a strange greenish hue that overcame everything. The water plants and reeds only added to it, making the place feel peaceful and serene. In one hand he held a net, and another a bucket. JJ was searching for frogs. His father had told him it was season for them and JJ had taken that as his summer-break mission.

There was a ripple in the water and something that wasn’t short of a ‘splash’, and JJ spun around in time to see a frog leap from the water and onto a moss-covered rock. He grinned.

“Got ya,” he muttered to himself.

Slowly, carefully, he approached. Net at the ready, he continued to ease towards it. ‘Slowly now, JJ’, he told himself. ‘Slowly’.

A sudden scream ripped through the trees.

The frog leaped away for safety and JJ, in the fright of it all, stumbled backwards and tumbled into the water. It came up to his shoulders, his tiny body almost fully submerged, and he swore out like he had heard his father do. Somehow, it made him feel slightly better. Before he could get to his feet, the scream came again. It sounded high, but there was no telling if it was girl or boy. It was probably somebody playing around. He rolled his eyes, frog now gone, and got to his feet. Just as he went to get back to frog spotting, he heard it again. Only, this time:

“Help!”

His head spun around to where it came from. That didn’t sound like no joking. He waded out the water as quick as he could, feeling as if it were pulling at his legs to keep him from land. Managing onto dry ground, he looked around through the thick forestry for where it came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled to himself. His little legs were a little scratched up from the rocks and dirt he’d fallen on in the water. As the air got to the tiny cuts, making them sting.

The scream came again, this time louder and more panicked. JJ started off in the direction of it, ditching his bucket but holding onto his net. He raced towards the sound, perfecting his course with each one that came, until he stopped at a bank.

There stood a girl on a mud bank.

You couldn’t have been older than seven. You were surrounded by marsh water. Hair falling around your shoulders as if the sea had churned you up and spat you out. Your cheeks were wet and eyes wide, focused on something below in the water.

JJ squinted as he tried to focus. Driftwood?

The wood shifted closer to the bank and you opened your mouth in a screech.

“Gator,” JJ said.

Your head darted up at the sound. You locked eyes with JJ. More tears came.

“Help me!” you cried. “Please!”

JJ looked around. Where was his dad? Wasn’t there somebody else here? Could nobody else hear you hollering like someone being murdered out in daylight?

“It’s getting closer!” you wailed. JJ watched the gator slowly slink towards you, as if taunting.

“Okay, okay,” he said, nodding. “Lemme think, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

“Hurry,” you continued to sob.

JJ’s young mind was racing. He thought back to his mother’s lessons when they were sat out in the sun the other week. Snakes don’t like dogs and gators don’t like noise? Was that it? He looked down at the net in his hand. It was a long stick, at least half his height. If he were to disturb the water and yell, maybe it’d change course? That’d give you enough time, perhaps?

“Alright,” he said, voice trembling. He looked to you again and, as if you could feel his gaze, you looked up from the gator. Clearing his throat, he tried to make his tone more demanding like his pops. “Alright, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna try and distract him over here, and you’re gonna make a run for this here bank.”

“What?” you gaped. “I…I can’t do that!”

“You gotta! Run as fast as you can, alright! Keep running that way, back to the houses,” JJ instructed, pointing to his right. Your lip trembled. “You can do it, alright? I’m gonna be right behind ya.”

You stared at him. Looking back down at the gator, you seemed to consider his plan. Then, meeting his eyes again, you pursed your lips, sniffled, and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” JJ said, nodding himself. He swallowed his fear, squared his shoulders, and moved to the left of the bank. Grabbing another large branch, struggling only slightly with the weight, he took a deep breath. Then, splashing the water as hard as he could, he began to yell. “Come here gator! Come on!”

The moment the gator turned; you took off running. Your small body met the water and you started to swim as fast you could. JJ hit the water harder now, yelling louder.

“Come on gator boy! Come on!”

The frantic splashes of your front stroke seemed to catch the gator’s attention more so. You weren't looking behind you, eyes focused on the land.

“Come on! Come for me!” JJ practically pleaded.

The gator stayed still a moment. Then, slowly, began to sulk towards JJ.

His victory and smile were only brief, as his prepubescent brain caught onto the fact that a gator was making way to him.

Glancing to you, he saw you crawling onto the land, coughing and panting. You began to race towards the houses, just as JJ has instructed. Following suite, he ditched his net and branch and took off after you.

“Keep going!” he hollered. “Keep going!”

The pair of you ran and ran and ran. You ran until you were out of the marsh, out the of the clearing of the trees, and out onto the main street of the neighbourhood you were in. You finally stumbled to a slow, and eventually a stop. JJ copied. The two of you hunched over, panting heavily, hands on knees.

“Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself.

JJ felt as if he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. It certainly didn’t help when you flung yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Thank you!” you cried.

It took a moment for him to react. Then, he wrapped his scrawny arms around your frame.

“Hey, hey,” he coaxed, rubbing your back like his mom did with him when he was poorly. “You’re alright now.”

You nodded against him but continued to cry, nonetheless.

“I thought I was dinner for a second,” you laughed sadly. JJ chuckled too.

“You scared off my frogs,” he told you. You laughed harder, untangling yourself from him.

“Sorry,” you said, wiping your cheeks.

“What were you doing on that bank, anyway?” JJ asked.

You looked down at her feet nervously, almost embarrassed.

“There was this real pretty butterfly on there and…I just wanted a closer look.”

“Don’t nobody tell you that’s gator land?” JJ said. You looked back up to him and shook your head.

“No! I just…I wasn’t thinking!” you replied, becoming tearful again.

JJ reeled himself in.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It gets confusing out there.”

You smiled tentatively and nodded. Sniffling once more, you stuck out a hand and introduced yourself.

JJ took it and gave it a shake like he’d seen adults do at school and his daddy’s work. “JJ.”

“Nice to meet you, JJ.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

You both stood a moment and smiled at one another. “I’m sorry about your net.”

“It’s alright. Had it for ages.”

“I can get you a new one,” you told him. Then, as if a light bulb had gone off, you said, “I have a spare one I think!”

JJ hesitated. His mom had told him not to be greedy of people. ‘We don’t take charity, JJ.’

“You don’t have to,” he hesitated.

You shook your head firmly and took one of his hands in yours. You began to drag him as you set off walking down the road.

“Yes, I do. You saved my life, after all.”

JJ couldn’t really argue with that logic. Hand in hand, the two of you walked to your house. As you went, you asked about the frogs. JJ told you as much as he could remember reading. There was a picture book in school about them with a few easy-to-read facts put here and there. It was far more interesting than the maths the teacher had been going on about, so he’d read it under his desk. You nodded along and listened fervently. At some part on the walk, you'd started playing frogs. Ribbiting and hopping around, even playing leapfrog. Eventually, you came to your house.

JJ paused as you started walking up to it. When you noticed he was no longer by your side, you turned around.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s just…I live just down the road there,” JJ said, pointing. “Near the water.”

Your smile came back, wide and pure. “No way!”

He smiled back. “Yeah!”

You raced over and grabbed his hand, pulling him around the back, to the shed.

“We’re gonna be best friends!” you cheered, making JJ laugh.

He didn’t hate the sound of that. Making friends at school hadn’t been all that successful. There was only one boy who he truly got on well with, and he was called John B. JJ wasn’t sure why his name was John B, but then again he wasn’t completely sure why everyone called him JJ. He liked your name. It was different, a bit like you.

You came to the shed and pulled it open. Going through the tools and such, you dug about until you found a spare net buried amongst spider webs near the back.

“I knew it!” you triumphed, holding it up. Walking over to JJ who stood out in the late afternoon sun in her garden, you stopped before him. “Kneel.”

JJ did as demanded.

Tapping him on each shoulder, you announced with a laugh, “I now pronounce you sir knight JJ…Uh, what’s your last name?”

“Maybank.”

“Sir knight JJ Maybank!” you said, loud and proud.

JJ giggled as he got to his feet, giving a bow. He then began to wave like he’d seen the English queen do on TV once. You began to applaud and cheer, pretending to bow to him like he was Jesus walking into town on palm Sunday.

Someone called your name. "Is that you?” a voice called from the house.

The pair of you turned to see a woman stood on the patio, using her hand to keep the sun from her eyes.

“Yeah, ma!”

“Come on in! Dinner’s nearly ready!” She called.

You nodded and looked to JJ. You handed him the net.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, I don’t think,” JJ replied.

“Want to play pirates?”

“Sure,” he said, not fully sure what pirates involved but very interested, nonetheless. Maybe he could see if John B was free too. The three of you might make good ruffians.

“Okay,” you grinned. You flung your arms around his neck again before racing towards your house. As you went, you called out your farewell to him.

“Smell you later, Maybank.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The creek had quickly become the usual haunt of JJ and yourself. It was a little bit from the waters near his house, more secluded by forestry, though not as much as the marsh. You still got twitchy about going in there after the alligator incident. JJ couldn’t really blame you. The thing would’ve eaten you in one bite.

You'd found a small nook of fresh water, deep enough to swim. There was a rope swing tethered to a branch which made your secret spot feel only slightly spoiled, under the notion that someone else had gotten there first. Never the matter, every time you went, it was empty. Your whoops and hollers, and the narrative of whatever make-believe game you had come up to play, filled the air. It probably carried through to JJ’s house, which was nearest the spot that only JJ and you knew.

“Ahoy!” you growled, jumping out from behind a bush. “Gimme your gold and nobody gets hurt.”

“If I’m getting hurt then there’s gonna be two funerals!” JJ returned loudly as he unsheathed his sword.

You advanced forward with yours, already posed for fight. JJ slashed in return and the two of you heard the clink of metal hitting metal. You swung and sparred, dancing around the bank of the water. Bare feet treaded over pine needles and rotting, fallen leaves, damp from the water from when the rain pushed the level to rise yesterday.

Gasping, you ducked to avoid a deadly swing of JJ’s sword to your head.

“You’re gonna regret that, matey!” you threatened, and with that, drove him into the water. Before you could break free, JJ was pulling you in with him, and the two of you became submerged.

The water was cold. The continuous flow of it meant there was no time for the sun to heat it, least of all through the leaves above them. There was only one break in the trees where you could see the blue sky fully. You broke to the surface first, then JJ. The two of you were grinning as they clambered to your feet. The water came up to your waists, though only to your parent’s middle thighs most probably. Not that your parents knew their spot. This was sacred ground. When you'd found it, you had demanded that JJ keep it a secret.

“Cross your heart, won’t tell no other,” you'd said. JJ did as you asked and you grinned that same carefree grin as you copied. JJ was still warming up to ask youif John B could join. As the summer had gone on, he’d become closer and closer to Big John’s successor.

“You’ll never find me gold!” JJ announced, holding his sword above his head with one arm. “It dies with me!”

“As will I!” you countered loudly.

Another battle, bloodier than ever, and JJ ended up on his back on the wet bank, dripping from head to toe. His t-shirt was drenched, sticking to his sun-kissed skin, and you stood over him in your sopping blue summer dress. Your skin sparkled with the sheen of the water under the sunlight. It was as if the heavens were blessing you.

Your sword’s tip met his chin, driving his head backwards and up.

“Any last words, Maybank? Your crew is nowhere in sight,” you snarled.

JJ grinned. “Kiss my ass.”

You couldn’t help but gasp out a laugh. Taking advantage, JJ batted the sword off of him and drove his into your chest in one fluid motion. You stumbled backwards with another gasp, this time more dramatic. Holding the handle of the sword, you gently pulled it from her chest.

“You’ll rue this day,” you warned weakly.

Then, you tumbled backwards into the water to meet your untimely demise.

A hand searched for your arm and wrapped around your bicep, pulling you up to sit.

“What does ‘rue’ mean?” JJ asked you.

You sat in the water.

“I don’t know,” youreplied. “I just heard them say it in a movie once.”

“Hm,” JJ thought.

He sat himself beside you. You were no longer pirates battling over treasure. Instead, you were best friends for the summer. At that age, of seven-turning-eight, friendships come fast and easy. All what matters is if you’re any good at gallivanting and sword fighting, or running secret missions against the Russians and English, or racing from one house to another. Not what clothes you wear or how much money you have, or if you’re a kook or a pogue.

“I should probably go home soon,” JJ said. The sun was getting crisper, more orange, warning of dusk.

“You could stay for dinner at our house if you like,” you offered.

JJ thought it over. “I’d have to ask my parents.”

“Okay. I can come with you, if you like.”

“That’s alright,” JJ said. He got to his feet and you got to yours. “Come on.”

The two of you made their way out of the hiding spot and back into real life. A slight shiver had begun to run up your back now that you weren’t racing around in battle. It was a chillier night. You came to JJ’s house first. He hesitated as he looked up at the door. There was a faint ruckus coming from inside. You stood beside him and stared up. He’d been in your house plenty of times, but you’d never been in his. Come to think, you'd never met his parents.

“You gonna ask?” you wondered.

JJ didn’t look at you as he nodded. His eyes remained focused on the door.

“Yeah. Just…wait here a moment,” he said quietly.

JJ approached the house and made his way up the porch steps slowly, then opened the shutter. To the back door he went. He took a breath before pushing it open and walked into his home.

You stood in the garden and waited.

The ruckus was getting louder and it began to sound like voices, shouting. A woman and a man. There was the sound of something being shoved, maybe a table, and then a loud smash of a plate. You gasped and felt your heart begin to pick up. This wasn’t the same sort of heartbeat as when you were battling JJ on the water banks. This was true fear. The type you'd felt when you were face to face with the gator. It only seemed to speed up the louder the hollering got.

“Leave her alone!” you heard JJ’s young voice yell.

A crisp, clean noise echoed in your ears.

Skin hitting skin.

JJ’s unmistakeable screech.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking flight. You raced to your house, up the street.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was the sound of something tapping. It wasn’t a regular tapping, like a leaky drain dripping outside. It came and went for ages, then again, maybe louder or quieter. You groaned and tucked your head under her duvet, hoping it would pass. It wouldn’t. You tossed your sheet off and flicked on your lamp. Staring to the window, you waited for it to come again. For a long while, it didn’t. Then: clink.

“Are you joking me?” you mumbled sleepily, getting up. You trudged to the window and pulled up your blind. It was dark outside. The sound of crickets and a distant owl hooting was the only sound you were met with when you pushed the window up and open. Looking around, there was nothing save for your back garden.

“Psst!”

You frowned and looked down. There stood JJ. He was in his pyjamas, barefoot.

“JJ?”

He replied with your name as if checking, nervous. You heard him sniffle.

“What are you doing? It’s really late,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes to help them adjust.

JJ rubbed his arm.

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice to a whisper. JJ looked up at you again and now, with your eyes adjusted, you could make out tear streaks.

“Can I sleep over, do you think?”

Glancing briefly to your bedroom door, you wondered what your parents might say. They liked JJ for the most part. He was polite when he came around. They knew he made a good friend for their daughter. Besides, it was the summer break. Why couldn’t you have a sleepover? You looked back down to him and nodded.

“Can you climb up?”

You lived in a lodge, the same as most of the people on the cut. It was elevated from the ground by a meter or more. JJ nervously eyed up the wall before shaking his head.

“Do you have a rope or something?”

You turned around and searched your room. You could tie together your bedsheets and blankets, like they did in the movies. No, that wouldn’t work.

“Ah,” you said.

You spotted a skipping rope hung up on the back of your bedroom door. Grabbing it, you came back to the window and lowered it down. JJ wasn’t particularly large. You were the same height and nearly the same weight. His shoulders were a little broader and his legs a little longer, but save for that, you were equals. You believed you might be able to tug him up.

“Grab on.”

JJ began to climb up the wall, using your rope to help. You struggled as you held it steady, managing his weight only just. He came to the windowsill and got a grip, clambering in. You helped him step down into your room. In the full light of your bedroom, you could make out his running tears. On his left cheek was a bright pink mark, almost the perfect shape of a hand.

“Oh JJ,” you mumbled.

That only seemed to make him cry more. You quickly wrapped her arms around him in a hug. It made you feel better to be hugged whenever you scraped your knee or fell off your bike. JJ hugged you back, crying into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, voice small and fragile like a fixed China plate.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” you told him quietly.

When JJ had cried most of his tears, you pulled away and closed your window. JJ made his way to your bed, burying himself under the pink and orange duvet. He mumbled something about his head hurting. You closed the blinds, climbed in too, turning off your lamp. You tucked your white childhood bear, named August bear, under one arm.

You lay in silence for a moment. This was different to the other sleepover you'd been to. You'd only been to one, for a girl classmate’s birthday. The other girls and you had spent all night whispering, giggling about anything and everything. The birthday girl’s mom had shushed you several times. Here, all there could be to hear was JJ’s shaking breaths and occasionally sniffs.

“JJ?” you whispered. It was dark now and you couldn’t make out his face.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.”

“I think…I think your house is haunted,” you told him quietly.

JJ sniffed. “Why’s that?”

“Well, your dad’s always mad,” you explained in a hush. “I think something in there takes control of him and…the ghosts are messing with you all.”

JJ’s face was slowly coming into view. His pale skin and blue eyes. Thin lips, still trembling, and nose redden from crying. “You think so?”

“Mhm,” you said.

You found his hand under the blanket and clasped it tightly.

“I think you should come live with me and…and we can be pirates, and sleep at sea, out in the secret spot, and never have to answer to anyone ever again. We won’t have to go to school when summer ends. And you won’t have to hide anymore.”

“That sounds nice,” JJ yawned.

Contagiously, you yawned too. “Yeah. It does.”

Closing your eyes, you felt herself beginning to drift off once more. Your hand remained enclosed around JJ’s. A strong grip, tight like a bowline knot. Then, JJ whispered your name.

“Mhm?”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, smelly,” you hummed.

~*~*~*~*~*

A tapping at the door came. Three rhythmic knocks. Your face lit up and you got up from the breakfast table to answer it.

“Coming!” you called. You'd grown a little over the last school year and didn’t need to go on your tiptoes no more to open the door. On the other side stood JJ, smiling.

"Morning smelly!"

“Morning,” he said. He walked into the now familiar house. Two years of friendship meant he had become a local in your household. “Did I miss breakfast?”

“Nope,” you said, walking to the table with him.

“Morning JJ,” your mom said. She plated him up two pancakes and handed him the syrup as he took the spare seat around the table.

“Morning,” JJ said politely. He was always polite to your parents.

Your dad sat to the left, saying a hi behind the paper. He came alive in the afternoons. Your mom rubbed her swollen belly. JJ had never seen a pregnant woman before. At first, he was worried an alien was growing inside of her. When he told you that, you nearly died with laughter. It wasn’t the greatest feeling to be on the receiving end.

“What’re you kids plans for the day, then?” your mom asked as she took her seat.

“We might go fishing,” JJ said, lathering his pancakes. “There’s some good spots near the marsh.”

“Not the marsh,” you said. Still afraid of the gators, even after two years.

JJ rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you gotta be careful of them gators,” he told you. He grinned as he lent over to steal a slice of bacon off your place. “They might bite!”

“Hey!” you complained, shoving him in the shoulder.

“Easy you two,” your mom chuckled. “What about John B? He coming with?”

“Maybe. We could go by his and ask,” JJ said to you. You nodded.

Your twosome became a threesome towards the end of the first summer. After playing pirates for the majority of your break, they had decided to invite John B to join. Your friendship with JJ was already set in stone (with him sleeping over almost every other night, though neither of you spoke about why), but considering you went to a different school to them both (a Catholic joint for girls only), your friendship with John B had mostly blossomed at the weekends or in the evenings after school like moonflower. Winter was filled playing games mostly inside, and spring in the grass largely. But now summer was back, school done with, and at the age of nine, there was little else more important than fishing, swimming and playing pretend in the wake.

The two of you polished off your breakfast and you finished getting dressed. Then, out you headed on your pushbikes. You stopped by John B’s, said hi to his dad, JJ stealing another slice of toast in the process, and then your trio went off to the jetty with the promise of being safe. John B had learnt how to drive his dad’s boat, so long as you stayed within a certain area, and JJ was becoming a natural fisher like his dad. You made yourself useful in anyway that you could. It seemed your blessing was swimming. You were strong in the water, could hold your breath the longest. You had taught JJ how to backflip off the jetty.

“I caught one!” JJ hollered. He tugged on the rod, struggling a moment. Reeling in a fish, he whooped loudly. It wasn’t exactly large but compared to the three nine-year-olds, anything was a marlin.

You did a little victory dance.

“Think we could have it for dinner?” John B wondered. His brown hair blew around in the summer breeze.

You pinched the still wiggling fish off the rod and dangled it in John B’s face. He cringed and scrambled away.

“Gross!”

You laughed like a mad man and then tossed it back in the water.

JJ whined. your name in complaint.

“What!? That thing wasn’t good enough to eat,” you said.

“I could’ve used it for bait,” JJ said.

“Oh,” you went meek. “Sorry.”

JJ kept his forlorn expression a moment longer as he got to his feet.

“You’re gonna be!”

With that, he pushed you in the water. You gave out a small squeal as you tumbled in. Before you hit the surface, you heard JJ’s mad laughter. An idea popped into your head. You broke to the surface, gasping for air and thrashing like you'd seen a guy do on TV.

“Help!” you gargled.

JJ panicked, leaning over and calling your name.

You kept your hands above you, splashing around. JJ tried to grab onto you. The moment you felt his hand in yours, a wicked grin came to your face, and you tugged him in too. When he came to the surface, you were cackling away, treading water comfortably as if going on a brisk jog.

“Hilarious,” he muttered, splashing at you. You splashed him back.

John B muttered something snidey about third-wheeling, and JJ and yourself shared a look. One nod then another, and the two pirates were hijacking the ship and pulling the third of their gang into the water too.

After swimming around for what felt like hours, the three of you clambered back into the small rowboat. Cheeks aching from laughter and chests heaving, you collapsed onto your backs. You grinned up at the sky. You wanted forever to feel this way. Lungs full, heart light, mind empty.

And hey - why couldn’t you?

~*~*~*~*~*

On his way back from school, JJ heard your laughter from your garden. He could recognise that sound anywhere. Walking over to your house, through to the back yard, he saw you sat on the porch steps. Your dad was sat with you, blowing bubbles in front of you both. The moment JJ came into sight, you were sitting up straighter, waving.

“I like your cap, smelly,” you said as he approached, nodding to his head.

JJ grinned and took it off. Placing it on your head, pushing down on the lip so it fell over your face, he said, “got it from my dad.”

“Nice,” you giggled, correcting it.

JJ smiled down at you. He was taller than you now, by a couple of inches.

It felt as though he had recently realised you were a girl. It sounded stupid, because JJ knew that you'd always been a girl, but when you were playing out it never seemed to matter. You were a good pirate nemesis and a decent fisher, and always up for a laugh. But in the latest school year, the girls had started whispering about the boys, nervously asking them to hold hands around the playground, playing kiss tag during lunch break. JJ and John B never got involved. They’d sit back and watch from a branch in a tree, talking about surfing. JJ was itching to try it out. His dad always raved about the waves.

You had nice hair though. Sun-stained skin and strawberry kissed lips. Your colourful eyes were squinting against the sun.

JJ stole back his cap and cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to distract his wandering thoughts.

“Wanna go get John B and head to the cove?” he wondered.

You turned and asked your dad. The answer was yes, so long as you were back before dark. With that, the two of you set off to John B’s place. JJ bumped your shoulder as you walked. You talked about school and your peers. Told stories about the fights that had broken out on the school yard. You complained about your school's mandatory summer dress's and the lack of good jello flavours in the canteen. JJ complained about only catching small fish and nothing big enough to fry.

When you went to retrieve John B, he complained that he was tired, and didn’t feel up to coming out. Walking to the pirates cove, JJ and you complained about John B not coming out to play when you hadn’t seen him in five days.

“He’s so lame,” you muttered, kicking a stone.

“What an asshole.”

“I don’t think he’s an asshole,” you said to JJ. “Sides, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

JJ shrugged. “My dad says it all the time.”

You eyed his side profile. “How are things, with your dad?”

JJ shoved his hands in his short pockets and shrugged again, watching his feet as you kept walking. “Fine.”

“He do anything lately? To you, I mean?”

He sniffed and looked the opposite way to you, at the houses. “What’s it matter?”

“Well…” You weren’t sure how to answer that. You sighed and conceded. “I guess it doesn’t.”

The rest of the walk to pirate cove was quiet. JJ felt badly and he wanted to apologise, though there wasn’t anything specific to apologise for. There was just a feeling itching at him that he’d upset you. As you came to the clearing which led to the cove, he stopped. You followed suit, watching him.

“Race?” he offered, giving you a small smile.

You grinned.

“Bring it.”

A countdown, feet poised and at the ready, and you were off. JJ stumbled over a tree root as he ran, making you laugh. You ran and ran until you got to the cove. There, panting, you had to accept defeat. JJ’s hand slapped the tree in victory.

“First!” he cheered.

You laughed.

“Best two out of three?” you wondered.

JJ eyed up where you stood, on the edge of the jump where the rope swing had been made. There was a small drop into the deeper part of the water. He grinned.

“Nah.”

Shoving you on the collarbones, you let out a screech as fell into the water. When you came to the surface, you were yelling all sorts of things at him. JJ knew you weren't really angry.

“Asshole!” you hollered.

JJ barked out a laugh.

“You said it!”

“Screw you!” you returned, making him laugh harder.

You swam to shore and unsheathed your sword. It was a little rusted from want of use, with school disrupting your battle. The older the two of you got, the more unnatural it was starting to feel to wield it. You raised it in threat of war. JJ raised a brow. Doing the same, he pulled out his own sword. Recently sharpened.

“You’re gonna regret that, Captain Maybank,” you said in a croaky voice.

“Argh,” JJ countered, advancing to you with his sword extended. “We’ll just have to see.”

The battle was bloody and brief. Though out of practise, you triumphed, with JJ dead on the dirt bank once more. Winning the fight, the map died with him, and thus the treasure. Upon realising this, you cried out a long, dramatic ‘noooo!’, dropping to your knees before falling flat on the dirt beside your defeated foe.

As you caught your breath, your smiles slowly fading, you watched the sky above. You'd fallen on the perfect spot where you could see it through the trees. Sun now lower, the days shorter thanks to fall, you sighed and folded your arms behind your head. JJ did the same.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” JJ wondered.

“Yeah, course.”

“Have you had your first kiss yet?”

You kept watching the sky. A bird flew by, merely a dark spec.

“No,” you said. “I mean, I go to an all-girls school, remember? Not many guys to be kissing.”

“You could kiss a girl.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Not sure if I wanna. Kiss a girl, that is.”

JJ nodded against the floor. He sighed and watched the leaves rustle in the breeze. A few fell.

“Have you had your first kiss?”

“No,” JJ admitted. Somewhat bashful and somewhat proud, he told you, “this girl Becky wanted to kiss me.”

“She did?”

“Mhm. But I didn’t feel like it.”

That was a lie. Ten year-old JJ was nervous as hell. Scared, even. He’d laughed it off with John B, was perhaps a little mean to Becky in the process, but she didn’t ask again. That was on Tuesday.

“What do you think it’s like?” you wondered. “I mean, they do it all the time in the movies.”

“Not sure,” JJ frowned. “Maybe wet?”

“Ew,” you laughed, snorting. You sat up and dusted the pine needles and dirt off your wet arms. They were already drying off. You looked down at him. His grey t-shirt was stained with dirt and dust. The red cap on his head sat funny, having been shifted since he laid down.

“We could always kiss,” you said.

JJ’s eyes darted to you.

“We could?”

“Why not?” you shrugged. You fiddled your fingers. “You and John B are the only boys I know.”

“Then why don’t you kiss John B?” JJ asked you, sitting up too.

You shrugged, looking to the water. “Just…don’t wanna.”

JJ considered your offer. He took you in as you watched the creek. Slightly imperfect features, sun-kissed cheeks, faintly rosy from running and playing. He’d rather kiss you than anybody else.

“Okay,” he said. You turned your head to face him.

“Okay.”

The two of you nervously giggled, then shifted around awkwardly. Somehow, you both ended up on your knees, facing one another. You had your hands clenched in little fists on your thighs. JJ had his buried in his short pockets. You stared at one another for a long minute, then slowly, nervously, leaned towards each other. You closed your eyes and JJ supposed he should do the same. That’s what they did in the films, after all. A gap, a falter, and then your lips clumsily met. It wasn’t a quick peck like JJ saw the other kids doing at school during kiss-tag. It also wasn’t long or passionate, like in the films. It just sort of…was. You pulled away first.

JJ opened his eyes just before you opened yours. His face was bright pink. You snorted before laughing altogether. JJ couldn’t help but copy. The two of you fell into hysterics.

“That was it?” you howled.

“What the hell is all the fuss about?” JJ agreed with a guffaw.

Your laughter echoed off the trees and rocks, and encased you in a joyous, jovial bubble.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were no more pirates, at pirates’ cove. Now, instead, you, JJ and John B would sit around on the dirt bank and listen to music. You passed stories back and forth about school, with the JJ’s become more and more filthy, making you and John B groan through your laughs. You often wished you went to the same school as JJ and John B. Jealousy tickled at your throat whenever you thought of the two of them hanging out without you throughout the day. You knew JJ didn’t love school. As you neared the age of thirteen, he joked about skipping class more often. You also had this weird feeling that he still preferred it to being at home. Just two nights ago he had slept at your house again. He had red markings around his neck, as if his dad had tried to choke him. As always, you didn’t ask and he didn’t explain. You just held his hand and let him sleep. Snuck him breakfast in the morning and helped him climb out your window. He didn’t need the rope as much anymore, having had a growth spurt over the summer. It remained your shared secret. It was the only one you had from John B now. Neither of you had said about keeping it on the downlow– you just mutually decide it was best to.

JJ’s aforementioned growth spurt hadn’t gone unnoticed by you. As the three of you passed stories about the boat race that happened a couple of days ago, in the first week of summer break, you found your eyes drifting to JJ. To the way his arms moved as he talked, the beginnings of muscles building since he started getting more obsessive with gym. Around his neck is a shark tooth necklace that you’d given him as a feel-better gift, a couple days after his mom left, a year ago now. It sits against his toned, sun-kissed chest. The black button-up shirt he was wearing hung lose on his frame.

“Hey! You wanna stop ogling JJ and answer the question?” John B asked, tossing a grape at you to get your attention.

You rolled your eyes at him and flipped him the bird. “In your dreams am I ogling JJ, John B.”

“Think they’re more like his dreams but whatever,” John B muttered. To that, JJ flipped him off too.

“What was your question, then?” you asked.

“Wanna go hang out at the docks? See if there’s some odd jobs that need doing? We might be able to earn a couple of bucks or something,” John B said.

You shrugged. That actually didn’t sound half bad. So, finishing your soda, you nodded and got to your feet. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m telling you,” JJ began as he stood up, too. “This guy Heyward gave me a twenty just for helping wash down his boat the other day.”

“You’re full of shit,” you told him, rolling your eyes.

“I swear to God! A whole twenty!” JJ argued back loudly. His voice cracked in the process, making you and John B share a snigger. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, someone’s got their panties in a twist,” you whistled with a grin.

“You think I wear panties?” JJ asked you, raising a brow. The three of you had started walking by then, out of the marsh.

“I know it,” you quipped back.

JJ grinned boyishly and sprinted ahead, back facing you, before promptly mooning you and John B. You both groaned, shaking your heads at him as he broke into hysterics.

“You’re so gross, JJ,” you muttered, pretending to gag.

“Lucy don’t think so,” he cockily replied, falling back into step with the two of you.

“Lucy? That the flavour of the week, huh?” you teased.

JJ rolled his eyes, smirking. “She’s cute. She’s got this wonderful, enormous—”

He gestured graphically to his chest.

“-Personality.”

“You need help, JJ,” John B said in response, making you laugh.

It seemed the moment JJ had become an official teenager, he started thinking more with his dick than his head. Girls weren’t blind to him. He was a good-looking kid; funny and outgoing and rebellious. One of the girls in your friendship group at school had a crush on him, too. Had started asking you all about him: his favourite food and favourite music. Shamelessly, she wore a band tee-shirt of The Kooks (which hung so big on her, you suspected it was from her dad’s wardrobe) the next day when the two of you went to the boneyard to hang out. The older kids didn’t much like you guys there, but when there was enough of you, they seemed to tolerate it. You had stuffed down the joy you had gotten when seeing how JJ barely even glanced at her.  

The docks were rather quiet that day. Miss Amy nodded hello to the three of you as you walked down the jetty. JJ made a crude joke about her to John B, earning a shove in the shoulder as the former boy laughed. You petted one of the fishermen’s dogs as you passed another boat. Then, you were walking up near Heyward’s. There was a boy sat outside, reading a book.

“Yo. Heyward in?” JJ asked him.

The boy looked up. Dark skin and dark hair, eyes wide as if surprised someone was talking to him. “He had to head out for a bit.”

“Damnit,” JJ sighed, looking to you and John B.

“Why? What’d you need?” the guy asked.

“We’re just looking to see if we can make a couple bucks,” JJ told him.

John B clarifies what he meant by adding, “we helped him out with some groceries the other day.”

“Oh,” the guy nodded. “You guys from around here, too?”

“Sorta,” you replied. “We go to Kildare High.”

“Me too,” he smiled. You smiled back. He seemed like a nice guy. A little awkward and tense, but friendly, nonetheless. “I’m Pope.”

You introduced yourself, shaking his outstretched hand. John B did the same and JJ nodded at him, dropping his name last.

“There’s no groceries to run but the boat needs a clean,” Pope told you all, rising to his feet. “I was just gonna finish this chapter before doing it.”

“We’re down to help if you like,” John B said.

“How much for, like?”

“JJ!” You scolded.

He held his hands up. “What? Just asking! Not gonna do slave labour!”

“Ignore him,” you said to Pope. You looked to the jetty. “Which one’s yours?”

“This one,” Pope said, pointing. It’s painted white; a little well-loved but still in good nick. He put his book down after dog-earing the page. You couldn’t help but take a scan of the cover. The World Of Autopsies.

Following his lead, you grabbed at buckets and sponges. Pope unravelled the hose pipe and pulled it with him as you headed towards the boat. JJ messed with his cap, chatting to John B about fishing, and you fell in foot with Pope.

“What’s that book you’re reading?”

“It’s about autopsies,” Pope replied, sounding somewhat embarrassed as he looked at his feet.

“What? They didn’t have any copies of Jekyll and Hyde left?” you joked.

He smiled at that. “I wanna be a coroner, when I graduate high school.”

“Damn, you’re thinking about after high school? I don’t even think past after this year,” you chuckled.

“I don’t even think past after today!” JJ added loudly.

“You don’t have any reason to!” you called back snidely. He stuck his tongue out at you.

The three of you climbed aboard and got to cleaning. The conversation came naturally; cracking jokes and telling stories, getting to know Pope. Already, he was starting to feel like he was slotting quite comfortably into your strange little gang of pirates. JJ took the piss out of him rather a lot, but you knew that he liked him; could tell by the way he kept asking him questions and offering him help.

As you hosed down the deck, JJ scrubbed away at a stain on the flagpole. A wasp flew at you. Made you screech and dodge out of the way, sending the water stream messy. It hit JJ and drenched him in a second. He shouted out your name in a curse.

“Sorry!”

JJ rolled his eyes, finding his smile, and grabbed at the bucket of soapy water. You already knew what he was thinking. Laughing, you went to start running, but he was so fast (legs now so much longer than yours) and caught up easily, tipping the water on you. Screaming from the cold, you directed the hose pipe on him, aiming for his face. The two of you laughed, starting to wrestle as he battled for the hose, and you feel like pirates again, just as you were when you were seven.

Finally, easing up, the two of you broke apart. Your chest ached from laughing. JJ wiped his face and took off his soaked cap to brush back his hair. Then, his eyes fell on you.

Laughing, pointing at you, he said, “you’re looking way to hot right now.”

You looked down to see that the t-shirt you were wearing was now see-through from the wet, sticking to your bralette. Rolling your eyes mirthfully, trying to fight off the heat that was rushing to your cheeks, you messed with your top so it was no longer pasted to your skin.

“If you two are done flirting, I’ve got some drinks for you kids for your hard work,” a deep voice called.

You and JJ spun around to come face to face with Heyward. He was holding up a tray of plastic cups. The warmth in your face only got worse. JJ mumbled something along the lines of ‘we’re not flirting’ under his breath as the two of you dumb your stuff. Stepping off the boat, hose pipe now switched off, you, JJ, John B and Pope all enjoyed a drink, an unspoken, newly formed foursome.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

At sixteen came the year of experimenting. Alcohol and weed and cigarettes. A few classmates were now in relationships. First kisses were a thing of the past and instead gossip consisted of sex. Who did what? How far did they go? Conversations like that were made for JJ. Sat around at John B’s house, you sat next to the latest member of the group (Kiara), he’d divulge in dirty stories of debauchery which none of you asked for, but all would listen to, semi-curious. Especially the boys. John B was already leaning towards being a hopeless romantic. He’d revealed to you, one night, his crush on a certain Kook girl. You tried your best not to laugh him out of your room. There’s was no chance in hell anything like that could ever work out. Pope was less awkward with you guys now, but still useless with girls. Flirting was like a foreign tongue to him. Kiara didn’t seem all that interested in dating. You and she had never talked about crushes or guys.

“I swear man, this girl was going down on me like she was thirsty,” JJ grinned, smug and sure of himself.

You gagged into your drink, making Kie laugh.

“You’re so full of shit,” Pope told him.

“Dude, I’m telling you. Getting your dick sucked is like the best feeling in the world,” JJ gloated.

“Can we please talk about something else?” Kiara asked, rolling her eyes.

John B seemed happy to indulge. “So, my dad’s got a new trial he thinks with this gold—”

“Not about the gold!” the four of you chorused at him. John B shrunk back into his seat around the fire, taking a swig of his beer, wincing at the taste. None of you really liked it all that much, yet.

“Well, my parents are still leaning towards sending me to Kook Academy,” Kie said.

You frowned. “Really?”

“Mhm. I’ve managed to convince them to let me stay another year, but I think when I turn seventeen, it’s gonna happen.”

“Damn,” you said.

“Well, we’ll still, like, come hang out with you,” JJ told her.

“Gee, thanks, JJ,” Kiara sarcastically quipped at his luke-warm sentiment.

“Yeah. I’m sure your life is going to be lacking without JJ’s sex-stories,” you joked.

“Jealousy is a disease, babe. Get better,” he said to you, semi-bitter.

The conversation fell into talks about school and summer. Daydreaming for the endless days, when the sun rises at four and sets at midnight. Life feels infinite then, full of endless possibilities. Possibilities that you dote in, like how maybe JJ might snap out of dating this endless string of girls and look at you for once as more than a friend. You knew it was a pipe dream. After being his friend for so long, it seemed pathetic to think he might be able to picture you outside of that box. No matter. He was still your best friend.

“I gotta get going home,” Pope eventually said.

“Me too,” Kie agreed, getting up.

“You guys staying?” John B asked you and JJ.

You shook your head. “Sorry, Stinky. My parents asked for me back for midnight, so I’m already past curfew.”

John B smiled at the nickname. JJ was Smelly so it only seemed right for John B to be Stinky. Downing the last of your beer, you groaned and got to your feet. JJ stood up too.

“I better head as well before my old man gets ticked off,” JJ sighed.

The two of you share a look. You know it was bullshit; he was crashing at your place tonight, just like he did almost every night. The last fight him and his dad got in got bloody. JJ was strong enough to fight back now. He didn’t cry like he did when he was a kid. Just got angry. More times when he’d show up to your house after a row, he’d be seething, cussing his dad out and tugging at his hair. It scared you to see him collapse under the pressure like that. It seemed more and more like there was this tension lying under him. Part of it must’ve been inherited from his dad – his short-fused temper – but it seemed the happy-household he lived in only coaxed it out of him further.

“Ciao ciao,” JJ called as the two of you walked away from the chateau.

“Later Pogues,” John B hollered back.

“Pogues?” you mumbled, looking to JJ.

“Like Pogies? Scum-fish?”

“Ah,” you said, nodding.

“I like the sound of it,” JJ said.

You hummed your agreement. He fixed his cap. This one was green. He got it cheap from a thrift shop.

“Hey, smelly?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wondered.

“I feel like you’re going to anyway,” he chuckled.

“Is sex…Like, is it actually that good?” you asked. You want to look at him when you do, but you can’t seem to be able to hold his gaze. Found it easier to casually look at the ground ahead.

JJ shrugged; hands shoved in his short pockets. “Depends. Sometimes it’s better than other times.”

You nodded.

“Why?”

“Just wondering,” you mumbled.

The two of you don’t talk more about it. You walked back to your house in near silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or tense. Routine as always, you headed up the front door and quietly call out to your parents who are sat in the living room, watching television. You snuck past your younger brother’s door to his bedroom before walking into your own. Opening the window, you started taking off your jewellery at your dresser whilst he clambered through the window. He grabbed his toothbrush from your make-up brush pot, checked the cost of the corridor before darting into the bathroom. By the time he’s done, you were in your pyjamas and sat on the bed, scrolling through Instagram.

JJ borrowed your comb to start taming his hair. He’s stood in front of your mirror, in a pair of gym-style shorts that hang low on his waist. You do your best not to look at him, stood half-naked, abs on proud display. It feels wrong for you too.

“You haven’t had sex yet, right?”

You have to look up from your phone with that.

“What?”

“You haven’t slept with anyone yet, have you?” he repeated.

“Well…No, I guess not,” you mumbled.

JJ looked to you. “Why not?”

You laughed, trying your best to keep your voice down. “Nobody’s really into me like that.”

“Bullshit,” JJ immediately said.

“What?”

“Bull-shit! I know Matty P was asking you to the kegger just last week. That guy’s so horny for you – it’s obvious,” JJ replied.

You rolled your eyes and looked back down at your phone. “He’s also a sad loser who thinks owning a designer watch is an entire personality trait.”

JJ sniggered. “True.”

“I mean, everyone knows it’s fake,” you chuckled. It seemed to work, your distraction from the topic. You didn't think there would be anyway for you to subtly explain how you hadn't entertained the idea of someone else, in the hopes that one day, JJ might want you back.

You move to crawl under the bedsheets as JJ finished up on his hair. He took his spot and you yours, like always, and you flick off your lamp. There’s nothing but a single string of fairy lights keeping your room lit up. They hang above your bedroom door, batteries half-dead, only half-lit. Sighing, you turned off your phone and dumped it in on the bedside table. JJ got comfy, shifting around under the sheets. He smelt of cologne and smoke from the bonfire.

As he laid on his back, you laid on your side, facing the wall. You felt wide awake.

“You remember when we kissed?”

Wide wide awake.

“You mean back at Pirates’ Cove?”

“Yeah,” JJ said lowly into the darkness of the room.

“I mean, yeah. I remember it,” you replied. Silence. “Why?”

“Just thinking about it,” JJ mumbled. Frowning, you wondered what he could mean.

“In what way?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. You hear the rustle of the duvet as he turned onto his side. You weren’t sure if he was facing you or the other wall. “Just how that was the first time I sort of realised you were a girl.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. You moved the blanket to muffle the noise. Rolling over, you come to find he was facing you. There was barely enough space for Jesus to fit between you both. Maybe his arm, might?

“Flattering, smelly,” you mumbled. Both of you sported lazy smiles.

“You look so different now,” JJ told you.

“I should hope so. That was six years ago,” you replied.

“Shit. Was it that long ago?” he checked. You nodded. “So, we’ve been friends for…”

“Nine years,” you finished.

“Nine years,” JJ echoed.

There was a strange sadness to his voice, like time passed too quickly. He was so much older now. Youth still there but mellowed, from his dad and his mom and his life. One would think adult things like sex and drinking would make him more mature, but it just screamed out him being young. Wanting to experience everything the world can offer, as if he might drop dead tomorrow.

“You know the first time you slept here,” you began, “you were crying. It was after your dad hit you.”

“He’d been laying into my ma,” JJ said, filling in the blanks. “I tried to get him off her and he just went for me instead.”

“I told you something.”

“I know,” JJ smiled. “You told me my house was haunted.”

“I really thought it was,” you chuckled soberly. “And I really thought if we just moved to pirates’ cove, everything would be fixed.”

“I know,” JJ said. “I believed you. I…I remember thinking that it was one of the nicest things you’d ever said to me, when you did.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. I think…”

He cut himself with a sigh, eyes drifting down, away from your gaze. For some reason, it makes your heartbeat viscerally harder.

“You think?” you encouraged, staring at him.

“I think that was the moment I realised I liked you.”

“Well, obviously. We’re friends, JayJ. I knew—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off, firm. His eyes are boring into yours, as if he can see into your thoughts. Your short-lived smile faded. “I mean that I realised I liked liked you. That I had a crush on you.”

You licked your lips nervously. “When we were kids?”

JJ’s fingers brushed against your own, under the blankets. He tangled his into yours, intertwining your hands, just like you had done when you were kids. You couldn’t tell who moved first, but the two of you start to kiss. You sighed against his lips, bringing up a hand to stroke at his jaw, feeling half-detached from your body. Is this real? Is this actually happening? The moment JJ’s teeth gently nipped at your lower lip was your answer. Yes.

All the other girls and all the other bullshit faded away. It didn’t matter to you, in that moment. JJ was tethered to you from the start, since you were kids. Everybody could see it coming – maybe even you – that the two of you would tumble through life together. It just needed time to grow, like nurturing a rare but beautiful flower. Yes, you thought, as the kiss deepens and the hands explored; good things take time.

[even-light-doesnt-win]

This page seems extremely old and is nearly unintelligible, the sides are also stained from the likely months it’s been abandoned here in the lab. Holding it in my hand it feels like it could fall apart at any moment.

Research Report 5

Virus Test 3: -//-/— AKA: PX-05

The symptoms of it seem to be getting worse. On top of the mutations, the ones infected with PX-05 have started to vomit.. profusely. Nothing seems to help. Not water, not food, they only get more nauseous at the sight of it.

I’m beginning to grow concerned, they all cry out in pain, sobbing and pleading for us to make it stop but we have no cure. The more distressing part of it; they aren’t vomiting a normal substance or one you would expect.

This substance is a bright green/very light green with a glow around it, and when it comes in contact with the skin of anybody other than the host, even others who are infected, it burns straight through their skin.

I felt this acidic substance on my skin before when I tried comforting a patient. It’s a pain I can only describe as being lit on fire while also being bit by a venomous snake. I even hypothesize it can melt skin down to the bone; but I am not risking testing that hypothesis out.

I really hope I can make a cure or method of removing the virus soon, I can’t stand to see my patients and colleagues in pain and distress anymore. However I’m also beginning to fear for my life as well. As I am writing this log I can feel eyes on me even though I’m the only one in the lab.

These tests, these conditions, this whole fucking virus is getting out of hand. I’m scared for the world now. I’m scared for what the future could look like if this gets public, yet no one else seems to be concerned.

I’m going fucking insane. People are soon going to die during these tests at some point, but I fear no one other than me realizes that or worse; they don’t care if people die for this research.

When I joined this research team I knew what I was getting myself into by wanting to study viruses and diseases and all of that, but this? This is something you see in fucking horror movies and it’s becoming my reality.

I can’t quit now, though. If I quit the possibility of a cure being made drops to 0%, I doubt I’d be able to live with myself if I quit now and hid knowing I might have the materials in front of me right now to make a cure.

I owe it to the world after being a part of this damn operation. At least I can fix some of my mistakes then.

-Dr. Reed

[joshkiszkasgothgf]

crushcrushcrush - Daniel Wagner (Enemies to Lovers)

What happens when your nemesis becomes the only person you can rely on?

Warnings: 18+, Angst, cursing, mention of assault but someone stands up for you 👀, choking (not in the way you think), talks of a panic attack.

(Please let me know if you know who’s pic this is. Also should I write more to this?)

✨Masterlist✨

Daniel fucking Wagner.

Bane of your existence. A stolen guitar pick in kindergarten turned a lifelong friendship into a different kind of commitment. It was your lucky guitar pick and that curly haired, brown eyed asshole knew it. The last thing you had from your dad and Daniel lost it.

Sam thought the whole deal was over dramatic and above his pay grade. The lanky bassist tunes his acoustic, speaking to his older brothers like the pair of us don’t exist, and if he sees us glaring at each other he hasn’t said anything. Cunt. You huff and move to pour yourself something stronger.

Now, one of the many blessings curses the universe gifted you was a bull like stubbornness. You could mean mug and stare with the best of them and many a man had tucked tail and run in the wake of your anger. It seemed to have one exception though. A 6 foot Adonis of a man with the sweetest heart, yet he’s staring you down like you’re about grow snakes from your head and turn him to stone.

The inner child who yearns for their friend weeps at this cruel twist of fate, but the hardened young adult you’ve become has no problem stuffing the feelings down. Out of sight out of mind, like mother always said you think bitterly.

Now you wouldn’t openly admit how many times you’ve thought of Danny as something other than your mortal nemesis since that fateful day in 2005, but it’s definitely more than 0, which is what it should be. It brings you no end of shame. It’s embarrassing how much time you spend watching him when you know he can’t see.

Not in a creepy way!

This isn’t a ‘YOU’ situation, just a -parish the thought- a crush. Have you stuffed the feelings way down and locked them up with chains and spikes and booby traps along with your heart and your vulnerability? Yes. Would your therapist advise that? Probably not, but it hasn’t backfired yet.

The boys’ manager interrupts your staring contest with Daniel as he announces the boys have 5 minutes to show time. Sam stands from the couch, walking over to clap his partner in crime on the shoulder, wrapping his arm around him.

You look on in envy.

Why couldn’t he have been more careful? I trusted him, your inner child seems to wail. You rub your eyes, forcing away the tears pricking there. You had tried to let it go time and time again, had even tried to apologize for over reacting. It just ended in a fight.

“Hey, kid! Happy birthday,” Jake rasps, wrapping you in a hug. He had already done this earlier, but you assume he could sense your discomfort with Daniel no longer occupying your vision.

“Thanks. 23, I’m a quarter of the way to 30, woo!” You tease, holding your hands up in mock celebration before dropping them around him in a tight hug, pouring your gratitude into it.

Jake laughs, giving you a squeeze as if to say ‘I feel you. You’re not alone.’ He pulls back, his hands holding your biceps at arms length. “Let’s look at you,” he says in his Oliver Reed accent, “Yes, wonderful. Your working out to be a fine human being, darling. We’re grateful to have you.”

The comment makes you misty eyed and the laugh that follows is watery as you muster an “Aw. Thank you,” wiping away a few errant tears.

What you don’t see is how Daniel’s jaw clenches and his shoulders tense. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he watches the scene as discretely as he can manage.

Jake notices, but doesn’t call attention, just pulls you forward to press a brotherly kiss to your forehead. “You’ll always be family and we’re lucky for having met you,” he leans in whispering, “even Daniel,” turns on his heel and marches away to torment his twin.

A hiccup of surprise works it’s way out of you and you almost feel MORE surprised at that than Jake’s brazenness. You mull it over a moment more then file it away for later, deciding it was time to talk to Sam. Taking a couple deep breaths you make your way over. This has been the closest you and Daniel have been since the day.

“Break a leg, guys,” your voice is firm and encouraging much to all three of you’s surprise. You even manage a small smile and an awkward wave at Danny. Without waiting to hear them respond, you breeze off to take your place at the barricade.

The guy’s security guard leads you out to be in front of the barricade and the crowd screams excitedly. You wave and say ‘Hi’ taking pictures of the crowd and capturing their excitement and anticipation.

It’s not long before the guys are running on and the curtain is dropping. You capture some of Josh’s theatrics and Jake’s sweet smiles to people in the crowd, even manage to snag a couple good ones of Sammy interacting with the crowd.

You attempt to snap a couple of Danny from the pit but they never turn out right. All of them are blurry or over saturated. Cursing you snatch up your equipment and run around to the side to climb on stage just in time for the drum solo to begin.

You’d watched Danny do this quite a bit now, but something about tonight was different. Like he has something to say that he can’t formulate in words. He plays like he has something to prove and it’s a mesmerizing sight.

Keeping the camera to your eyes you move around snapping tens if not hundreds of pictures of Daniel in his element, doing what he loves. You don’t worry about checking them now, looking at them could mean missing a good shot.

The entire solo is captured on your SD card and you take a big breath as you realize just how much you’re gonna have to sift through tonight. Laughing you just happen to see the last picture you captured out of the corner of your eye before the preview disappears. Gasping you fumble with your camera, pulling up the gallery and selecting the last one.

You’re convinced you will never capture another photo more beautiful in your life. Daniel is standing after his solo, a proud smile on his face. He looks so overjoyed… and absolutely fucking jacked, holy shit.

Your jaw drops and you pull the camera a little closer to check that it’s actually there when Josh clears his throat, scaring you.

“You’re standing in my spot. Don’t you know the stage is all mine,” he teases, smirking knowingly.

“Shut up,” you mumble, scurrying away to take pictures of Sammy at his piano.

The rest of the set rushes by fast and before you know it the boys are saying goodbye and heading back. You snap some sweet moments between the boys and the fans, dropping your camera to hang around your neck as you follow them back towards the green room.

You’re about to reach the end of the barricade when some guy grabs your camera strap. He’s drunk and belligerent and clearly oblivious to the fact his grip on your camera is choking you. He’s slurring and drawling about how you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen and he hopes you’re single cause he wants you.

Arms flailing, hands slapping at the man, trying desperately to loosen his grip you feel your head begin to swim and black pricks at your vision, then suddenly gravity takes hold and your gasping and spluttering in the floor.

Shuffling and yelling sounds around you and you curl up a little trying to stay out of the way as you cough and regain your breath. You hear the sound of bone and flesh meeting bone and flesh and a pained grunt followed by angry yells and exclamations of support for the person who threw the punch.

Just as you’re getting your bearings they’re torn away again as you’re lifted up and cradled in someone’s arms. Looking around you gasp when you see a mess of curls. “Daniel, what are-“

“Shut up,” he grunts. Seventeen years he hasn’t spoken to you and the first time he does it something so very…

“Rude,” you grumble, “I almost died. Least you could do is treat me with better bedside manner,”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. He looks down in a way that causes his hair to obscure his face from where you are in his arms. “You okay?” He asks simply.

Taking a moment to assess your current state you immediately have a panic attack as the adrenaline finally wears off, tears begin to stream down your face as sobs tear through you. Your hands clutch at Daniel like you’re falling and you’re scared.

“There it is,” Danny cradles you tighter, glaring at anyone who tries to get in his way. He finds the first empty room and closes the door pressing his back up against it. He slides down it, maneuvering you so you’re sitting up, face buried in his neck. “Let it out. You’re safe,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your head. “Breathe.”

His hand rubs your back in soothing circles and he breathes in and out slowly and methodically until you begin mimicking his actions. “Good,” he coos, patting your back.

You realize the room you’re in is a dark closet and you silently thank Daniel for finding the one place you’d feel most comfortable in this situation. Sitting up you take a bigger, deeper breath. It’s shaky and a little sob leaves in the exhale, but it’s stronger.

Danny watches you closely, making sure you’re coming out of it okay. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, slipping from his lap and to the floor a little bit away from him, picking at your nails, “Like something traumatic just happened and the one person I wanted in that moment was the one person who got to me quickest.” It’s scary to admit, but it feels freeing.

Daniel smiles at you softly for the first time in almost 2 decades, remembering some far off time -a time just like this a million years ago when a curly haired, brown eyed asshole found you hiding from the fireworks and held you much like he had tonight. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers, barely audible and you would have missed it if you weren’t centimeters from him.

Two paths stretch out in front of you. You appraise both choices and choose the one you’ve been passing up for too long now. Fuck it. It’s my birthday, you think. “I’ve missed you too.”

Daniel laughs in relief and you find yourself laughing as the weight lifts off you to. It’s not gone, but it isn’t so hard to bear on two sets of shoulders.

✨Masterlist✨

[julianrchandlerx]

setting: jasmine’s apartment

who: julian chandler & jasmine st. claire @cantfightmoonlight

“Now I know this is much delayed,” Julian started with a lopsided grin on his face, “But I did not come empty handed. After all — late or not, it’s only right to bring a house warming gift!” At that, the vampire held out a medium sized bag, one with the words “Happy Birthday” in glittery cursive on the front and brown paper sticking out of the top instead of tissue paper. It was his first time swinging by her new apartment, so he made sure to come prepared. “Ignore what it says on the bag… It’s the only one I had. And, ah,” his cheeks rouged at the contents, a fake snake plant he found while running some errands the day before, “I had a real plant originally, but it didn’t last the ridiculous amount of time I’d been hoarding it before coming by, so… I think fake is a good way to go, right? I mean it looks just as nice. And hey, neither you or your roommate will have to worry about watering it — win, win.” He shrugged, keeping his dopey smile on.

Julian had not spent as much time with Jasmine as he would have liked, and now that he was getting more and more used to his new life he wanted to fix that. He did come to Lunar Cove to recuperate their friendship, after all, he felt determined to keep to his original goal. It helped him feel more like himself again. Well… and there was another topic of conversation to be had. He tried to keep Briar-Rose Reed from flashing across his mind, not allowing Jasmine to get a sneak peek to what he was anxious to discuss with her. Swaying on his feet at the entrance to her new place, he quirked a brow at Jasmine. “You gonna welcome me in? Unless you wanna go grab a coffee or something. It’s been a while since I think we’ve been able to chat without a big ol’ elephant in the room, so to speak.” The man had long since let go of any weirdness over his demise and her curse. “And look, we got through a holiday in town without any scary shenanigans, so… What do you say to a little friendly catch up? There’s actually something I’d like to, er, I guess share with you.” He tried not to let his nervousness show, but then again who could blame him? How’d you tell your childhood best friend you were dating their little sister? He had no clue, but he tried not to just blurt it out. Contain, Chandler, contain it.

[kithj]

your writing never disappoints its always so toothsome (i am gnawing on it like some beast). always a pleasure to read. there’s a sort of rhythm to the words and the weave of more literary versus matter of fact writing,,, you have a v distinctive voice as well. feel like i could read an excerpt and be like i know that guy!! BIG love as always 🫶

also a question bc im curious, feel free to not answer. does this current version of siren’s call have a lot of similarities w the IF version? plot wise i meant, beside all the narsty tasty bits

hehehe thank you!!! and i'd definitely be lying if i said the jibaro didn't give me a little bit of inspiration with the golden siren, i was definitely picturing all the jewelry that she wears when i was writing her description in the water, and the similar vibes of a dangerous "romance" between them. i also really wanted her appearance to contrast dramatically with Rome's completely unadorned snake siren.

as for your question, a little bit of yes and no. while i did want to play with sirens a little bit in the original story, it wasn't something i had planned to be as big of a narrative piece as it ended up being in the short story.

obviously Swaine isn't present in the short story, nor any of the other characters aside from Rome & the mention of Reed. i'm honestly not sure if i'm going to do more with siren's call just yet, so i don't want to share too much.... but the mc was always intended to have the scarred map from their father, though originally it was on their back. Rome & Alessa both knew about it, but Swaine was the only one that could potentially read it, since he knew the mc's father & was familiar with his code. it was what he was originally looking for when he killed their father and ransacked their house, but he failed to find it since... the mc was the map.

i did have similar themes planned for the longer story, the idea of a "cycle" and the mc being trapped inside it (and dragging Rome along with them) and i imagine this short story being one of the various outcomes of a more vengeful mc that perhaps killed Swaine on sight, unknowingly trapping themselves in the cycle without ever learning about the scars on their arm and thus never finding real closure with the loss of their father. of course this context is missing from the short story; it's all meant to be very... speculative.

i like keeping things vague and unexplained and letting the reader interpret what it could mean. were the scars ever even a map at all or was it meaningless? does the siren know what the scars really are? is she trapping the mc or is the mc trapping her? is the mc really reliving this experience over and over again? is that really Rome in bed with them in the end? are they really going to do it differently this time...? we just don't know, and that's the fun of it ;-)

[exocynraku]

hello! i was wondering how do you think of names for the hypokits you do? they’re all so cute and fitting + i’m curious :0

i have this post that explains all my thoughts in greater detail so this time ill keep it short(er) preeettyyy much i base my names off of 1: design, 2: personality, 3: relatives, 4: the ideas in my own brain basing names off of designs is easy but the thing is i usually design my cats after i name them so the design names r usually based off of how i picture the design in my head beforehand or the parents designs for personality, when i make a hypokit i think of them for the whole time, creating ideas and personalities in my head. alotta the time i base the personality off the parents like if one of them is a villain sometimes ill make the kid evil too or make them sad its a whole thought process relatives is usually something i end up doing if i cant think of anything for design or personality, OR if one/both of the parents has a strong family connection and then ideas from my brain is pretty self explanatory if i cant think of anything for the other 3 i just make things up that i think sound cool here's some examples of why i named certain hypokits certain things: haystack: this ones funny theyre actually named after the "needle in a haystack" saying stringskip: i drew their fur very stringy and long, and theyre skipping across some stones jesse: sharpclaws moms name is jessamy which sounds similar yaknow naga: i always relate sol to snakes so lately ive been naming his kits after snake gods/myths/whatever (ouroboros, naga) longreed: reeds are big. and long . longreeds fur is big and long cloud: storm has interacted with a long of characters who have weather related names (thunder, clear sky, she's named after a weather thing herself) and i thought it fit their design amaryllis: i was compelled to name them after a flower, specifically a red flower based off of red, their mom and their tortie markings so i looked up "red flowers" and thought amaryllis sounded cool okay im done but if you wanna hear more name meanings just send another ask

[ladytanithia]

Sometimes a Wild God

by Tom Hirons

So beautiful and evocative, I had to share with all my writing friends. I grew up pagan, so I think of Herne, but fellow Skyrim fans will also think of Hircine.

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

Words: Tom Hirons at Coyopa - Tom's book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other FINE examples of his wordsmithing is available via this link ---> http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god Please support artists & their work!

Art: Illustration by Janne Pitkanen & concept & photography by Harri Halme (from the album cover The Spirit of Ukko by Finnish band Kiuas)

[foliejpg]

alright heres a shit ton

6, 7, 11, 20, 21, 24, 27, and 28

oh boy here we go i had to switch from mobile to desktop for this. thank you for sending so many i love answering these <3

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

oh for sure! i reread a lot of my friends fics so anything by @cryptophasiac @lakemichiganlolita @petefromarma @buildarocketboys assume i have read it multiple times. and also go read their fics asap<3 as far as individual fics, i'm sure there are specific ones that i cannot think of right now lmao chances are if its in my bookmarks, i've read it a few times

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

flushed out ideas, not many lol my brain writes dialogue first, i'll hear someone say something and then write in my notes app so i can use it at a later time, but not actual ideas really

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

i don't actually haha i'm usually watching tv or a youtube video while i write honestly. when i listen to music i get distracted by it lmfao

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

i really liked that all of the titles of my girlpete fics were from the same album "if i can't have love, i want power" by halsey (which is absolutely one of my All Time Absolute Favorite albums and can't recommend enough) but only 4/6 have titles w lyrics from that album. the other two are lyrics from "fall with me" by the wild reeds and "snake charmer" by blink 182 lmao

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

i've had full complete fics that have gotten chopped up and repurposed. what usually happens is there's something about the finished fic or scene that doesn't Scratch that Itch i want it too, so it'll get put on the back burner until i can take my favorite bits and pieces and use them somewhere else. as far as outright like, backspace delete a scene, no i don't think i ever have. i save every single draft of a fic just in case. sometimes i look through old drafts and end up finding something i like lol

24. Share a moodboard for (one of) your current WIP(s).

i don't make moodboards i do have a girl out boy pinterest though which is mostly just like.. clothes lol

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

every single one lol before i post any fic, there's always a moment of anxiety like its going to go over super poorly or whatever. i've been super lucky that people tell me how much they enjoy my fics and it really does mean to world to hear bc i'm my own biggest critic lol but specifically? "i'd do anything to make you feel" because it was kind of the darkest fic i've posted? and "if everything could ever feel this way forever" bc it does have the non-con tag and i had never posted anything so dub/non-con lol

28. Have you ever tagged a fic “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”?

not that specific tag no but i did tag "i'd do anything to make you feel" as dead dove adjacent lol there was nothing inherently dead dove but the themes i understand could make ppl uncomfy so i added it for a heads up

[cainhood]

                  AUGUST  GARVEY                AKA:  JACK  HORNE.

basics.

given  name.     jack  horne. real  name.     august  garvey. nickname.     that  motherfucker,   give  him  some. age.     forty-one   (   april  24,   2003   ). place  of  birth.     reno,   nevada. gender  identity.     cis  man   (   he   +   him   ). orientation.     bisexual   (   femme  lean   ). occupation.     general  counsel  for  ichibangase   /   eisher  corporation.     former  public  defence  lawyer,   eventual  pocketed  lawyer  for  countless  wealthy  clients.     each  as  rotten  as  the  last;   none  as  sordid  as  him.     chronic  winner  gambler. moral  alignment.     chaotic  evil. character  inspiration.     saul  goodman   (   breaking  bad   ),   the  narrator   (   fight  club   ),   danny  johnson   /   ghostface   (   dead  by  daylight   ),   player  x   (   molly’s  game   ),   bojack  horseman   (   bojack  horseman   ),   lou  bloom   (   nightcrawler   ),   roman  roy   (   succession   ),   nick  dunne   (   gone  girl   ),   cain   (   the  bible   ).

background.

it  flickers  into  place.     singed  at  the  edges,   from  replay  after  replay.     relentlessly  watched  by  a  future  self.     your  entryway,   unremarkable,   caught  by  a  lens.     the  film-easy  parents:   an  army  man  and  his  open-tinned  housewife.     harbinger  of  the  final  frontier.     america’s  great  need  to  breed.     (   a  rhyme  a  day  keeps  the  lord  at  bay.     it  sounds  like  august’s  snark,   but  leaves  lips  that  call  themselves  jack.   )     you  are  an  off-centre  baby.     by  bare  minutes,   your  father’s  promotion  precedes  you.     their  best  wishes  will  falter,   stuck  in  the  tooth  of  a  waxed  badge.     one  of  the  photos,   only  one,   looks  directly  at  you;   tucked  into  your  mother’s  pink  elbow.     one  of  you  sleeps,   the  other  doesn’t.     when  jack  goes  missing,   that  will  be  the  only  milk-carton  picture  they  have.     in  a  shadowed  corner   –   the  memory  you  won’t  remember   –   your  father  rocks  you  to  sleep,   and  thumbs  the  apple  that’s  lodged,   still,   in  the  middle  of  your  throat.     he  finds  himself,   his  faded  scar,   on  his  son’s  little  neck.     under  the  same  wrinkle.     the  same  skin.     something  grotesque  rouses  his  gaze.     something  like  a  god  watching  snakes  grow  from  reeds.     something  heavy  and  impenetrable.     something  like  fondness.

what’s  left  for  you,   in  the  assuaged  family  life?     wooden  toys  for  you  to  throw,   but  no  will  in  your  hands  to  grab  them.     a  peach-pit  of  a  baby:   sweet-skinned   ––   or  sweet-fleshed,   whichever  sounds  prettier   ––   and  hard-hearted.     bred  into  boredom,   then,   alongside  the  hyena  that  eyes  its  windowed  fence.     the  cat  that  gnaws  on  a  dead  nose.     this  scene  births  your  boundless  ego.     whatever  you  hold  funnels  into  your  deep  sense  of  lack.     always  having  enough  skews  your  sense  of  enough.     there’s  no  wound  to  click  clean.     and  the  craving  in  your  bones  decants,   until  you  swallow  grape-flavoured  hate.     love  has  its  sun-blistered  days.     it  ducks  into  your  lonely  neck,   boned  finger  pressing  at  your  steady  pulse.     blinked  moments:   you  missed  them.     a  hand  curls  around  the  shell  of  your  ear.     your  hair  tousles.     later  at  the  creek,   someone  will  smooth  those  flecked  tresses.     and  another,   a  dry  mouth  pressed  against  your  hot  temple.     imperfectly  average;   painfully  modest.     what  makes  you  numb.     here   ––   in  the  arms  of  a  woman,   his  mother,   with  two  hands  and  one  heart   ––   he  births  his  own  taste  for  blood.

EXTERIOR  SHOT:   dark  woods,   retaining  a  daylit  ambiance.     dusty  peeks  of  the  sun  upon  mossed  rocks.     you  hear  water  flowing  and  barked  calls  beyond  the  trees.     leaves  rustle;   a  steady  flood  of  trundling  steps.     there’s  a  pale  dot  of  a  boy.     no  shoes,   ripped  shorts.     blood  dripping  from  his  brow-bone  into  his  eye.     breathless  and  alone.     he  fell  down,   this  boy  says,   we  fell  and  he  can’t  get  up.     you  will  find  the  boy’s  friend,   days  later,   shored  on  a  ravine.     spit  out  into  the  forest’s  jowls.     blue-lipped  and  water-bruised.     a  struggling  neck-wrinkle  of  deep  crimson;   nails  half-lifted  from  their  damp  beds.     and  yet,   august  emerges  with  a  simple  plaster  on  his  plain  cut.     wrong  place,   wrong  time,   he  will  eventually  say.     (   he  was  mine,  until  he  wasn’t.   )     august  chose  the  place,   and  the  time.     this  always  happens,   you  will  say,   you  always  happen.     august  knows  the  boy  for  the  bare  bones  of  half  a  day   –   which  is  enough,   in  his  child-mind   –   to  remember  him  with  the  familiarity  of  a  life-long  friendship.     to  displace  a  tender  heartbeat  where  it  doesn’t  belong.

INTERIOR  SHOT:   a  bottom-fed  graduation  hall.     rich  mahogany  scents  twined  nasal-spoken  accents.     even  before  the  ceremony,   no  word  reaches  above  a  whisper.     the  same  pale  dot  of  a  man,   amidst  a  pond  of  graduating  peers.     his  peanut  gallery  can’t  cross  into  his  domain,   for  they  are  fatherless  and  mother-ful.     maybe  a  brother,   or  a  dour  sister.     (   can’t  name  a  garvey  without  naming  their  brother,  can  you?   )     sorry,   definitely  a  brother.     none  of  them  smile.     he  would  blow  a  grin   –   jack,   now,   bearing  the  average  name  of  an  average  man   –   if  he  accepted  his  degree  without  a  black  medical  mask.     actual  top  of  the  class  in  a  year  of,   maybe,   thirty  of  his  duplicates.     this  moment  beyond  his  family  won’t  be  ruined.     not  by  the  shutter  of  a  camera,   nor  the  man  beside  his  mother.     this  is  another  beginning,   without  a  father  to  colour  his  background.     how  could  he  ever  be  unhappy?

the  years  unfold  with  the  flare  of  another’s  making.     the  green  woods  blend  into  the  brown  courtroom.     chewed  in  the  same  mouth,   spat  on  different  tongues.     no  establishing  shot  for  this  scene:   he  wakes  mid-stalk  behind  his  father.     a  rifle  in  hand;   his  heated  gaze  can’t  drop  from  his  father’s  head.     unsure  of  his  age,   or  how  tall  he  should  be.     you  won’t  miss,   his  father  says,   steady  your  knee.     you  take  aim  and  a  deep  inhale.     before  you  see  the  killing  blow,   you’re  sitting  beside  another  dead-eyed  client.     not  a  tense  muscle  between  you.     he  knows  you  better  than  that.     the  career  you  build  on  the  back  of  a  fleeing  monarch.     proverbial  in  his  guilt.     you  always  take  the  shot.     you  always  win.     greatness  falls  into  his  lap,   really,   he  didn’t  have  to  search  far.     there’s  no  emptiness  here.     there’s  no  room  left,   in  him,   to  harbour  any  such  cavern.     deeper  exhale.     the  shot  will  always  land  between  the  deer’s  unblinking  eyes.     your  father  would  pat  your  shoulder.     when  he  drives  home,   he  would  complain  about  a  hot  pain  behind  his  eye  sockets.

[north-star-dreamer-69]

Sometimes a Wild God.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;

The wild god smiles.

He holds out his hand and

The dog licks his wounds,

Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table

And the moon leans in.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

~ Tom Hirons

[steve69690]

Grass is a plant with narrow leaves growing from the base. A common kind of grass is used to cover the ground in a lawn and other places. Grass gets water from the roots in the ground. Grass is usually pigmented with the colour ‘green’. Grasses are monocotyledon, herbaceous plants.

The grasses include the "grass", of the family Poaceae (also called Gramineae). Also sometimes it is used to include the sedges (Cyperaceae) and the rushes (Juncaceae). These three families are not closely related but belong to different clades in the order Poales. They are similar adaptations to a common life-style.

The true grasses include cereals, bamboo and the grasses of lawns (turf) and grassland. Uses for graminoids include food (as grain, sprouted grain, shoots or rhizomes), drink (beer, whisky), pasture for livestock, thatching thatch, paper, fuel, clothing, insulation, construction, sports turf, basket weaving and many others.

Many grasses are short, but some grasses, like bamboo can grow very tall. Plants from the grass family can grow in many places, even if they are very cold or very dry. Several other plants that look similar but are not members of the grass family are also sometimes called grass; these include rushes, reeds, papyrus, and water chestnut.

Grasses are an important food for many animals, like deer, buffalo, cattle, mice, grasshoppers, caterpillars, and many other grazers. Unlike other plants, grasses grow from the bottom, so when animals eat grass they usually do not destroy the part that grows. Without grass, dirt can wash away into rivers (erosion). Graminoids include some of the most versatile plant life-forms. They became widespread toward the end of the Cretaceous. Fossilized dinosaur dung (coprolites) have been found containing grass phytoliths (silica stones inside grass leaves). Grasses have adapted to conditions in lush rain forests, dry deserts, cold mountains and even intertidal habitats, and are now the most widespread plant type. Grass is a valuable source of food and energy for many animals.Lawn grass is often planted on sports fields and in the area around a building. Sometimes chemicals and water is used to help lawns to grow.

People have used grasses for a long time. People eat parts of grasses. Corn, wheat, barley, oats, rice and millet are cereals, common grains whose seeds are used for food and to make alcohol such as beer.

Sugar comes from sugar cane, which is also a plant in the grass family. People have grown grasses as food for farm animals for about 4,000 years. People use bamboo to build houses, fences, furniture and other things. Grass plants can also be used as fuel, to cover roofs, and to weave baskets. n English, the word "grass" appears in several phrases. For example: "The grass is always greener on the other side" means "people are never happy with what they have and want something else." "Don't let the grass grow under your feet" means "Do something". "A snake in the grass" is about a person that will not be honest and will trick others.

Grass is sometimes used as a slang term for cannabis (also called pot, weed, or marijuana) The Grass type (Japanese: くさタイプ Grass type) is one of the eighteen types. Prior to changes in Generation IV, all damaging Grass-type moves were special, but they may now also be physical depending on the attack. Grass-type Pokémon are immune to Leech Seed. Grass-type Pokémon are immune to Leech Seed Starting in Generation VI, Grass-type Pokémon are immune to powder and spore moves and Effect Spore.Grass types are tied with Rock in having the most weaknesses out of all types with five. Since Generation I, a particular asset of Grass types is being the only type that is immune to Leech Seed. As of Generation VI, Grass-type Pokémon are also immune to powder and spore moves, such as Sleep Powder and Stun Spore. Additionally, Grass Pokémon are the only ones affected by Rototiller and Flower Shield. Those moves raise both attack stats or the physical Defense stat, respectively, when used. Forest's Curse adds the Grass type to the target's types. Grass-type attacks are resisted by seven types, so they're tied with Bug as the most resisted type. Those resistant types are best covered by Rock and Ground. As of Generation VI, Dark and Ghost have neutral matchups against every type that resists Grass. When Grassy Terrain is in the effect, the power of Grass-type moves is increased by 30% (50% prior to Generation VIII) if the user is on the ground.

Contest properties In contests, Grass-type moves are typically Clever moves, but can also be any of the other four contest conditions. As of Generation VIII, there are 112 Grass-type Pokémon or 12.27% of all Pokémon (counting those that are Grass-type in at least one of their forms), making it the third most common type after Normal and before Flying.

A Pokémon with Protean or Libero will become a Grass-type Pokémon if it uses a Grass-type move. A Pokémon with Color Change, Imposter, Mimicry, RKS System, or Multitype will become a Grass-type Pokémon if (respectively) it is hit with a Grass-type move, is sent out against a Grass-type opponent, if the terrain is grassy, if it is holding a Grass Memory, or if it is holding a Meadow Plate or Grassium Z. Since Generation VI, Grass-type Pokémon are also immune to Effect Spore; Only Grass-type Pokémon can have these Abilities. This does not include signature Abilities.Due to the decreased amount of types in the TCG, Grass generally adopts all Bug-type Pokémon under its typing. It also adopted Poison-type Pokémon prior to the Diamond & Pearl set, after which they were moved to Psychic. Similar to the games, Grass-type Pokémon in the TCG are generally weak to Fire and resist Water.

Grass-type Pokémon are strong against Fighting and Water Pokémon, whilst Metal Pokémon resisted it until the EX Power Keepers expansion set. Generation V introduced the most Grass-type Pokémon of any generation, with 21 (including Rotom's Mow form), and Generation VI introduced the fewest Grass-type Pokémon, with nine. Generation I introduced the most Grass-type moves of any generation, with 10, and Generation II introduced the fewest Grass-type moves, with three.

The Grass type and/or Pokémon of the type have been referred to using the term "plant" instead on some occasions: In the English Generation I games, the Gym guide in Cerulean Gym refers to Pokémon of the Grass type as "plant Pokémon". In the English versions of Pokémon FireRed and LeafGreen, he instead mentions "Grass-type Pokémon". In the Japanese versions of the Generation I games and FireRed and LeafGreen, he mentions the Grass type itself, calling it the "Plant type" (Japanese: しょくぶつタイプ). Another reference to "plant Pokémon" (Japanese: しょくぶつポケモン) is made by Professor Oak in the Japanese Pokémon Red, Green, and Blue, and international Pokémon Red and Blue, classifying Bulbasaur as such when the player is about to choose it as their starter. This is also the case in the Japanese versions of Pokémon FireRed and LeafGreen; in contrast, he calls it the "grass Pokémon" in the English versions. This same reference is also used in the first episode of Pokémon Origins.

In multiple languages, such as French and German, the Grass type is translated as the Plant type. The Turkish dub of the anime occasionally refers to "Grass type" as "Plant type". The Grass type has the most Pokémon that evolve by Evolution stones, with a total of 11. It is also the type that can utilize the most stones, having at least one Pokémon that can evolve via the Leaf Stone, Sun Stone, Water Stone, and Shiny Stone.The Grass type is the only type to have more than one HP-draining move, having five of them. Grass-type attacks deal doubly super-effective damage to the most Pokémon of all types. Grass-type attacks are super effective against the three types that Fire types are weak to. Fire is the only type that hasn't been paired with Grass. In Tree's a Crowd, Brock states that Grass-type Pokémon resist Electric-type moves due to being able to diffuse the electricity into trees and the ground. He also explains that if Grass types are in the air, they cannot diffuse the electricity from Electric attacks, thereby dealing normally effective damage.

Now that you have read this much about grass, maybe you should go and touch some...

[primordialsoundmeditation]

I did not write this poem... but I wish I had. It is wonderfully written and rich in imagery. It's inspiring.

***

Sometimes a Wild God

By: Tom Hirons - Poet and Storyteller

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

***

Art: Andrew Ferez

Tara Shannon

[abuddyforeveryseason]

This is the Buddy for September 24th. It's a reference to my desire to make actual comics. One of the visual ideas I had for a comic (one that would feature Buddy) was that some panels would just be the character's face and neck - since so many characters I draw wear scarves, turtlenecks or suits, I'd add those pieces of clothing to make an unique look for each character (would look a bit like a dickey). This face-only panels could work for punchlines or as a setup for when a character's about to narrate something.

I've seen stuff like that in early Marvel Silver Age comics. Reed Richards, for instance, loved to put his big head on a panel before explaining some complicated scientific concepts.

Also, remember in old Spider-Man comics, how Aunt May was entering her thirteenth decade of life and she'd get sick, so that doctor with the Vincent Price mustache would make house calls? He'd always blame Peter for not taking good care of her. But she's like a thousand years old! What did he expect?

Also, Peter had to work to make money to pay the guy. Talk about a snake. Who the hell sees a sick old lady and blames the nephew?

[thenightlymirror]

Rhubarb

We used a 500w light

The kind you buy from Home Depot

And hid it above the bathroom mirror

The light that came down from the ceiling

Painted everything in a warm shimmer

The actor that played you in this film

Was not the one I would have chosen

He had a habit of smiling when he had nothing better to do

Which made the suicide attempt at the end of the film

Seem to come out of nowhere

Your professor friend told you to take the scene out

But I was adamant that the scene stay in

It’s the only shot I like

If you really want to make everything cohere

Just get rid of the rest of the film where he’s smiling for no reason

You could have said something

That’s what directing is.

Balibar

I misread something once and assumed for many years that Etienne Balibar was Althusser’s wife

He looks like he gives really good hugs

Rhubarb #2

See, knocking toward recorded states

Knowing most days ever deduced you

No season forwarding miles

She, wraith-like, lifts the sitter through the ether

Up through dirt and regret

Her spirit-name lapping over stones on the river

The white sheet, wet, tracing time in wooden faces

In Illyrium, mine forever

Out of nickel slugs, the lie and splinter gang

Stay with me stage-left in the hallway of your laundry room

The shadow of your wrist

The black summer outside in cicada hum

The stage painted black

Yellow dressing room lights dimly during the day

While classes went on and we slept in sawdust

The sawdust, the centipede

The tile floor of your bathroom under the risers

Bleecher marks on your skin

Thoth hidden in the bathtub Armada among artifacts like the cold faucet

You, Anise, in cattails

Stepping on boards across marshes

You, sweet friend, red seraphim, yours alone

Ewe’s horn and fool, come and find me

Malefic foe of D’ne, attacking the temple headfirst

Shallow gold passage of oil that flows over her feet

The lady machine bewitched

The Dodo’s song on the back of a washboard

Along Katib’s reed and whistle

Elephants sigh in empathy with the ghost

He knows

When the smiling snake of Tabitha and Abbadon

The red scalloped rib of the cinema curtain

The rabbit’s pink nose on heaven’s cloud

Air graveyard pipes

And violin bow the singing saw

Evil eye on sister Venus climbing the miller’s wheel

Speaking her angel’s papyrus with disappearing ink

Remember me before we knew warm river shores

Long fingers in sand

The soil that hangs on branches standing upright on its banks

Pulling the threads of it dark brown roots

Tangled in telephone wires red and blue

The beige receiver unscrewed

The voice in carbon cupped in your hand

Yellow vinyl, bareback, cigarette smoke hovering into the austere void above

Soft plastic tissue released from engines in the blue sky

The deep end of the living room

Suspension of the lithe body

The proximity and weight

Roaring lion’s voice and the beasts it kills like an open door

Tawny and overgrown rusted junkyard

Heat and sweat on your cool face underneath

The tattered orange towel that covers the window

The tortoise shell

Love or the dark cabinet

I waited hidden for hours crying alternately sniggering through the peep hole

As the party continued

As breath quickened and stopped

Teapot Dome changes a gourd half carved out an intricate path

Stiff paper walls

Labyrinthine circuit, unseen, unknown

To that breathing thing, unfolding inside itself in cellulose

Bark-like, dry, a wonder

Tightly winding the mouse a sewing needle