#until dawn rises tomorrow my guys i am not up for it simply said

[narutomaki]

did you know if youre over 5 mins late to a meeting with me i will just go to bed ive just decided this

[philliamwrites]

sunkissed

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Albedo / Aether

Tags: #kissing, #morning softness, #fluff

Words: 1.6k

Summary: “Don’t,” Aether laughed, rising his shoulders to hide his skin from Albedo’s hungry mouth. “I’m stinky after yesterday’s battle.”

“No.” The tip of Albedo’s nose grazed his sensitive skin. “You smell like the sun. Always warm. As if the sun loves you. As if it wants to cling to you as long as possible.”

Notes: A birthday present for my lovely friend. This pairing just butters my biscuits, fam.

Also I'm still taking commissions for anyone interested! Just write me a dm!

Masterlist

sunkissed

»’cause you’re so lovely, you’re so lovely, i can’t help but fall for you, love when you love me, it’s so lovely loving you

    When Aether awoke, he was all alone.

    He opened his eyes in a sleepy daze, and as his hand reached out to his left, he found the crumbled sleeping roll empty and cold. Immediately, he startled fully awake as if struck by lightning, his mind clearing from sleep and dreams that tasted like ashes on his tongue.

    “Lumine?” he said out loud—the first name he remembered ever speaking, and the last he wanted to be his dying breath. But when usually his sister would come to his aid, trained to respond to the sound of his voice from childhood, to rise from bed when Aether cried, to run to help him when he fell down, now he was all alone inside the tiny tent.

    No. Not quite alone.

    It’s his first day in Teyvat all over again after he’d regained consciousness and called out for her, and had found Paimon in her stead, drifting in the ocean stretching before Starsnatch Cliff. Now, her little snores filled the suffocating quiet and coated his throbbing heart in a soothing balm labelled companionship.

    Aether thought that with time, missing Lumine would become easier to bear. That he’d simply grow dull and time numbed his feelings. Clearly, he was wrong, and Father Time was not that kind.

    He crawled outside the tent, quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Paimon, and emerged into the early sunlight winking through the tree crowns. Their little campfire from yesterday night had lost its battle and died hours ago, and Aether shuddered when a light breeze stirred its ashes into the air.

    That was when he spotted Albedo sitting at the top of a slope. He hadn’t noticed Aether waking up, his eyes fixed on the horizon where clouds had gathered in the east, and the rising sun lit them in brilliant shades of reds and corals and violets. His hand, holding a fine brush, danced across a canvas, trying to capture that ephemeral beauty with lithe fingers Aether knew were capable of much more than painting. His chest tightened when he thought of yesterday night. Their quiet voices and hushed whispers as they tried not to wake up Paimon even though all Aether had wanted to do was scream Albedo’s name when he finally came as Albedo’s rough thumb had grazed the tip of his member. Thankfully, Albedo was kind enough to swallow all of Aether’s moans and gasps, leaving his mind completely fogged and drunk on his kisses.

    Aether tried not to think too much of it as he went up the slope where Albedo sat, overlooking the vast valley stretching out under them.

    “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Aether asked. He stretched in the morning’s light, delighted by the early warmth and slight breeze on his skin. “I wanted to see the sunrise with you.”

    Albedo’s eyes drew lazily from his canvas to Aether’s waist, watching how his shirt rode up and revealed more of his skin without allowing his hand to stop once as the brush mixed reds and blues. “I tried. But you just drooled.”

    “That’s a lie.”

    A smile crept up Albedo’s face. “True. But you looked too lovely to wake up. Like you had a good dream,” he said so seriously, Aether felt heat rise to his cheeks. His arms dropped back to his side. He couldn’t handle Albedo’s honesty first thing in the morning.

    Albedo rose an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

    Aether did have a dream. A dream about Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival where all his friends had gathered around a table in Angel’s Share, and in the centre, like the sun holding its own universe, sat Lumine, beaming at him.

    “Happy birthday, brother,” she’d said, intertwining their fingers just like on the day they were born.

    “Happy birthday, sister,” he’d said, touching his forehead to hers just like during their days spent inside their mother’s womb.

    How much he longed to be with her again.

    Aether exhaled. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until that moment. Albedo must have heard him, for he raised his head and his gaze met Aether’s, and he wondered how much of the endless black hole that his grief cut into his heart Albedo could see.

    The corner of his mouth pulled up into a rueful smile. “No, you’re right,” Aether said. “I had a dream. A good dream, indeed.”

    Albedo stopped painting. His eyes were the colour of the ocean after a storm, clear and bright and deep enough for Aether to drown in them. He wanted it. Aether wanted to be swallowed whole. Become tiny, pocket-sized, perfectly fitting in Albedos’ palm and be devoured. Be completely consumed until nothing was left, and all of him belonged to Albedo only. What a wonderful mess that would be.

    Quickly turning his eyes away before he dropped to his knees and begged Albedo to take him right here and now in the open, Aether tried to douse his desire by gazing out at the sublime scenery. A flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree, their song echoing through the valley. Clouds drifted over their heads on their lazy journey over fields and rivers, taking unrecognisable shapes as they told stories about every place they’d seen. Aether envied them.

    “You know, in the world where I’m from, it’s always night,” he said. “Sure, it’s beautiful, we have so many more stars than you guys. And moons. But it’s the same. Wherever I looked, it was always the same. But this—” He waved his hand at the sky above them. “Your sky changes every day. It’s always different, the colours, the clouds. Dawn, dusk. I didn’t know words like that existed when I first came here. It’s beautiful.”

    Albedo followed Aether’s gaze, considering the landscape in front of them. But his eyes—suddenly ablaze, a roaring fire—drew back on Aether as he said, “It truly is beautiful.”

    Aether didn’t feel beautiful. He’s pretty sure his bed-hair was still sticking to all sides and his clothes were rumpled. But Albedo never failed in making him feel wanted, desired. Be that in the early morning hours without having his face washed or teeth brushed, or on the battle field with blood and grime spattered all over him.

    Just like now, Albedo was able to make Aether come undone with a single gaze of those piercing, ocean eyes.

    “Let’s go back before Paimon wakes up and throws a fit because she thinks we’ve left her,” he said and turned around before this would turn into an unholy, filthy ceremony out in the open not even the Archons should witness.

    Aether didn’t come very far. Halfway down, Albedo caught up to him and in a flash, seized Aether’s wrist. He pulled him to a nearby tree, and a second later, Aether felt rough bark against his back. Albedo closed the distance between them in one step. His hands cupped the back of Aether’s head, his mouth slanting down over his, hot and sweet as tea with honey. Aether ran his teeth lightly across Albedo’s bottom lip, and he made a guttural sound that raised the hairs along Aether’s arms. He pressed his body hard against Aether’s, lowering his head to kiss his throat, to lick and suck at the pulse point where he could feel the beating of his heart.

    “Don’t,” Aether laughed, rising his shoulders to hide his skin from Albedo’s hungry mouth. “I’m stinky after yesterday’s battle.”

    “No.” The tip of Albedo’s nose grazed his sensitive skin. “You smell like the sun. Always warm. As if the sun loves you. As if it wants to cling to you as long as possible.”

    Aether’s knees buckled. How could simple words like that make him forget his own name. In Albedo’s hands, he turned to clay, left at Albedo’s mercy for he was the potter and Aether would become anything to please him. Albedo’s fingers traced his curves, the dips and hollows of his body as if he were describing a painting in gilt and ivory with each rush of his hands. Aether raked his hands over Albedo’s body, trying to find purchase before he completely turned into a puddle and dissolved between Albedo’s fingers. His hands caught on the belt strung across Albedo’s chest, and they both halted for a second as they waited for a heartbeat that didn’t come.

    Albedo exhaled softly as he lowered his forehead to Aether’s. “If I had a heart, it would hurt for your burden.”

    “It’s fine,” Aether said. He took Albedo’s hand and put it over his own heart. “Mine is enough for both of us.”

    Albedo smiled. He pressed Aether’s knuckles to his lips, and murmured against his skin, “And what a magnificent heart it is.”

    Aether held onto Albedo so much, just a little more and they’d become one. It felt like they were the only two people on this earth, just the two of them off to see the world and all its wonders. Aether wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind if tomorrow came and all of Teyvat’s people fell into an endless slumber, and eventually completely disappear. Until recently, Aether hadn’t know it was possible to love someone this much. That if the world were to end tomorrow—if Aether were to have just one wish before it would all end in darkness, it’d be to wake up to Albedo’s sunkissed face in a quiet place they called home, built with their own hands. If that wasn’t love in its truest form, then every fairy tale Lumine used to tell him was a lie, and it was up to Aether to write his own story in which he’d make sure to burn so bright by Albedo’s side that even stars envied them whenever they come together to create a whole new universe.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 36

Breakfast, nice and simple with an anxious glance from Norma over you all at the table in her borrowed dress. Admittedly divorced a few months retired and now her nerves were all over her face to how the two women she had befriended would take to her spending the night with Victor who was doing all he could to calm her down. Though the nail in the coffin to her worries came in a casual mid slice of some pancakes, “I think we might need a spare comforter for the puppies if they’re to sleep with us again. Blanket hogs the both of them.” James smirked knowing you had more than enough blankets to have woken under and his glance to his glass granted him a side eye view of Norma looking between you eased that even with the impression of having simply shared a building you already were practically married.

That did it and her nerves dipped away relenting to a hopefully understood silent agreement not to share bedroom habits. While you were off to class Eddie was off to work and Dawn to head out with the Brocks to shop granting Victor and Norma some time alone. Eddie took the subway so Victor could take her back in style and to a parting kiss a plan to have dinner again soon before her trot through the doors of the hotel with dress and coat from the night before in a borrowed bag. Victor was floating on air when he got back to meet his brother at the house for a joint walk of the dogs.

Both sharing their thoughts on the young woman, while happy to have spent an evening with the elder brother was still frightened of losing another wife. Teddy had come out of nowhere and had bolstered his hope that a child could survive around the brothers so used to dwelling with their everlasting pain. Another child was well on its way soon with more to follow for Dawn to build the Squishy brood. Neither could wait to see how many children James and you could be blessed with while Victor didn’t dare to dream Norma might pick him to settle down with against movie stars she would encounter. After all she had shared blips prior to meeting you for the films ‘Scudda Hoo! Scudda Hay!’ And ‘Ladies of the Chorus’ to be released the next year had led to a script being sent her way for another role in the film ‘Love Happy’ to be filmed late the next year and released the next in ’49. She certainly had several chances to find someone more interesting than him.

.

“Miss Pear,” the voice of your Art History Professor came up on your right and you flashed her a quick grin lowering your camera from eyeing a possible target for one of your yearbook duty assigned targets in the building competition you were tasked to document alongside Portia on her first column on the paper.

“Hello Professor,” you said stepping out of the way of another young woman hurrying to fetch a tool from along the wall.

Inching closer she said, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind my talking to you about your paper, if now isn’t a good time-,”

“Now is good, anything to keep me from rushing to save that fire hazard. Didn’t even oil the joints.” You said lowly gesturing to a project that you approached taking a picture of the young woman who smiled noticing your approach.

“Well, I suppose I should offer my apologies, I wasn’t aware that you came from such-,” her voice wandered off for a socially acceptable term.

Turning around you gracefully crouched, carefully keeping your news together that nearly tapped the floor, to take a picture of another young woman catching her teetering sculpture she managed to save stirring up a wave of murmurs from the packed bleachers of friends, relatives and onlookers. “Humble beginnings is how the papers always put it,” in rising again she looked you over as you said, “Much easier to sell papers than saying I’m the child of Irish Immigrants who couldn’t afford to eat before the war, humble beginnings give a more picket fence image.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor as you took another picture from the side view of all the stands. In looking up again she said, “Normally the girls taken on here are, well,”

“Rich,” she nodded at your glance her way, “Didn’t hurt my dad was taking classes here before he died. Managed to scrape up some funds for my schooling and the government was all to happy to say they’d helped me into an Ivy League education after I was written off as Prisoner of War for so long.”

That had her eyes on her and she asked, “They what?”

You glanced at her again, “My Brother Eddie grabbed me and helped me into a uniform when the hospital got under fire. They wrote me off as Prisoner when they didn’t find my body with the other nurses. Over a year later I get shot in the shoulder and promoted to E4 Medic and the Canadian Army goes into full whirl in the press bragging on the first female Medic now that I wasn’t dead. Patch is a tolerable gift instead of a flag and a coffin for an orphan with no one to bury it.”

“You were shot?” She managed to whisper at the crack of her voice.

“Three times, why I got my promotions and medals. Though I can’t work out if it was the skirt or the fact I was fifteen when I was sent there by them that I got the Medal of Honor.”

“I’d think someone who had been shot would have more, scars.”

“Good genes, mom’s first husband was brutal and a drunk. Cleaned up just fine to catch my daddy’s heart.”

That had her lips part and while you moved to take another picture you noticed your Latin Professor who had been trying to creep closer to catching a fling with your Art History Professor with a smirk on his face catching her averting glance from him at his try to keep the game up in this event. “Miss Pear, you have peeked my curiosity I just have to know what you and the lovely Professor here are speaking about.”

“My military career.”

That had his brows arch up a moment and he wet his lips moving with you allowing you a better angle in his place. “While on that topic, I am curious. I traveled through Italy in the war and I was curious as to why your platoon took the Southern paths past Palermo when the Eastern ones would have cut the time in half.”

“There are more brothels to the South.” His eyes shifted to her and hers to him sharing a glance above your head in shock for the candid answer. “Have to protect your Medic. And when they found out I wasn’t his little brother the Captain decided to choose the path with less of a chance of my brother killing the other guys.”

“What was it like?” She asked softly, “The brothels.”

“Like a hotel in most cases, some were in barns or bars. Women were nice once they were paid and treated nicely. All usually more curious about me and the guy picked to watch me than anything else. Just women making a tough time work. Most of them were around my age or even younger depending on where we were.”

He asked, “And did the guys pick the girls your age?”

“When I hit 19 sometimes. They tried to keep over 18 and if the girls were all too young they just paid for back rubs or for them to just have some funds for food and let us crash inside a night. Plus it wasn’t a safety issue for me after they found out someone my size could stop tanks and take out planes in air. No risking my trust then from them.”

She said, “Well I hope to see what you do here until you set up at house when you are married.”

That had you smirk at her and say, “You’ll be stuck with me a while it seems. My fiancé and our family is determined to see me a Doctor or with a PhD.”

She looked you over and asked, “Has your fiancé taken you to the museum yet for your report.”

“We’re going with Portia tomorrow.”

He asked, “How did you latch on as friends so quickly? I am curious, she seemed to be slow to making friends.”

“Met her brother overseas. Plus us misfits have to stick together. She was the only one first day not to flinch to a face when I said we live in Brooklyn.” In looking up at him you circled a finger around your face, “That’s the one.” After taking the final picture you said, “I gotta change my film before they call the contest. Excuse me,”

When you left their sides he moved closer, “I didn’t make a face.”

“You kinda did,” she said.

“She’s from Brooklyn?”

To the bathroom you went and in a peek under the stall doors at the feet you saw you said, “Hey if you don’t mind I have to change my film, I gotta switch off the lights a couple minutes.”

While you settled your bag on the counter you heard a disheartened voice reply, “Fine by me, gonna be here a while.”

To that you glanced at the door after settling everything out in proper order then walked to lock the door and shut the lights off. Softly she gasped with heartbeat calming to the sound of your heels crossing the floor again back to the counter and each sound of the process completed with ease until you walked back saying, “Bright lights.” Switching the lights back on and unlocking the door. Back to the counter you went asking at the next deflating exhale from her, “Do you need anything? Like a pad? Or I have a spare blouse and a sewing kit if you’ve torn or spilled something on yours.”

“The pad would be nice, thanks.”

“Sure,” You said opening your bag to find the pad you carried with you in situations like this for ladies without your skills to just make a plug to lay you between bathroom trips. Right into the stall beside hers you went crouching again to pass the box under the stall divider she accepted from you and opened in your step to the sink to finish putting the used roll of film away you would develop later over your weekend and by the time you were done out she came sheepishly walking to the sink to wash her hands seeing who had helped her.

“Thank you,”

“Not a problem.”

“Didn’t expect you though. I thought you hated me.”

That had your head turning curiously to catch her eye, “Why would I hate you?”

“Well you never really talk to anyone. At least not about anything but school work.”

“I don’t hate anyone here at school.”

“We only ever really see you talking to that pink Portia.”

Smirking at her you said, “Any time anyone came to talk to me with a smile or being friendly in my old schools it was to put me in some scheme or to get something from me. I wasn’t popular and if you want to know why I’ve seemed to avoid certain people ask some of the girls who represented for the clubs in enrollment day that tried to refuse flyers to Portia. I know what it’s like to be the butt of the joke, she’s a sweet girl who happens to not be from here, didn’t deserve to be fodder for anyone’s pettiness. If you would like to be friends just be prepared for a whole new world of awkward and opinions to put some of ‘the way things are’ on their ear.” You looked her over and said, “You might want to get some iron tablets, you might be anemic on your cycles. Can’t have the head of the volleyball team passing out mid game tomorrow. Pickle or something salty might help a bit.” You said passing her the bottle you had pulled from your bag she accepted in your smile, “Only five left in there. Should last you the week. I can stop at the drug store on the way home.” You said turning around leaving her alone in the bathroom to look over the bottle, from which she took out a tablet she took with a sip of water gathered from her cupped hand out of the faucet she turned on.

“Ah, thought we’d lost you there for a bit,” Professor Randolph said making you grin walking with him back to the gymnasium.

“Just changing my film.”

“You seem to be getting along with your Art History Professor, she is one tough cookie.”

“Well I wrote a paper that made her cry.”

“That’ll do it,” he said with a nod.

“Though I have a feeling if those two hook up we’ll all feel the brunt of it.” You whispered lowly making him chuckle.

“Oh that is nothing compared to some debacle that ended last year with the last Mythology Professor and the Nurse when the former died. Downright scandalous and they were determined to have a man this year.”

“Ah,” You said catching his meaning and glanced his way, “If you don’t mind my asking, is there a Mrs Randolph?”

That had him grinning your way, “There was, she is resting waiting to be rebodied and our sons are traveling here from Asgard. You’ll like them, they’re all my former height before I chose this form to not be too imposing upon the populace, and my youngest is one of our finest bakers. So proud, eldest six chose from the arts and spinners of tales.”

“Seven, good for you,”

“Oh that’s not even the largest brood, we are quite humble compared to the warriors who breed twice our numbers. But it will take a few years minimum to get here, minimum, plenty of time to ready for them.”

“And, um, where do they intend on going when they land here?”

Smirking at you he said, “Do you realize how frequently scientists discover new islands popping up from underwater volcanic eruptions? More often than you think.”

“No doubt even rarer if they pop up near New York.” You giggled out making him chuckle.

“They will choose a lovely plot of ocean and assemble the portals to travel with ease for those wishing to integrate.”

“Do they know how to live here?”

“Oh they will be taught. And should you ever find yourself in need of filling positions in a company of your own you will have the most loyal of staff to accompany you to greatness.” He said with a smile splitting from your side to take his place back in the bleachers while you smiled seeing Portia smiling wider at your return after her glance around for you.

Once at her side she said, “Filled your camera already? I feel a bit behind I’ve only filled four pages on notes so far,”

“Oh don’t be like that. All I have to do is press a button and aim the camera. Words are harder.” Leaning in you whispered into her ear with a grin spreading to her lips, “Plus I had to make sure that I had ample space for the fire that tinder box is brewing after those joints throw their fit.”

Her mouth opened in a hushed agreeing gasp, “I knew I wasn’t the only one seeing her miss that step, how can you forget the grease? Right up there with the foundation being even.”

Together you giggled shifting for a wider view of the contestants finishing up, “Though I am impressed on the thought of Becca adding that warm water bottle to the center of her moving tower.”

Portia’s head tilted with yours as you lifted your camera to snap the shift of one of the arms on the crab like base slicing through the bottle complete with gasp from the young woman and shriek from the other woman who got splashed that turned to glare at then console the near to tears eliminated contestant. “Wonder if that’s one of those French brand bottles, neighbor used to day hers was never lined right so mom brought her a thicker dime-store one that saw her through that winter and five after.”

“I thought they lasted longer than five years.”

“Oh no, she died.”

“Oh,” she said looking you over and asked, “A lot of your neighbors die?”

You glanced her way, “Not really, she caught pneumonia, in and out of sickness her final years after a bad bout of polio as a kid just tore her immune system apart.”

“Rest of them were from drink or the factories. Do you have a lot of neighbors? Back home?”

“Couple, but they don’t live for miles, we have acres between us. Had a hard winter before we came here lost a few from it. Lot of people still use wood stoves. Some of them suffocate from the back draft sometimes when they clog or give out.”

“The guys are just glad they gutted our place, couldn’t walk five feet without finding another code violation or fire hazard. You know they put the fuse box by the boiler.”

“They did not!” She said gawking at you, “How could they be so reckless?”

“Well only immigrants to go up in flames I guess was their consolation. Much safer and airtight now.”

“Well I can’t wait to see it tomorrow when we go to the museum and have tea after.”

“Yes, and our time out could give Vic and Norma a breakfast to themselves and Dawn too while we watch Teddy for her.” That had her smile out of eagerness to see your little world you had built here for yourself to get you through the hard days at school in this rough city.”

Claps and cheers came with the awards ceremony to your capturing each of those being given ribbons, trophies and a group photo afterwards. The smirk on your face captured by Portia in borrowing your camera a moment having seen James come in and up behind you, the picture to be added to the mix was him draped behind you watching over your shoulder as you wrote out some tips for the young woman whose hot water bottle contraption she’d requested from you to perfect on her own.

“I’d have guessed you’d have won with that design.” Making her grin creep out in accepting her notepad back.

“Could have, if the bottle didn’t split. Maybe I can get it right for the exhibit in the end of October for the Gold Bond contest.” She looked you over asking, “Are you competing in any contests?”

“No, heard of a mural sort of prize raffle for Kodak. Get a whole crate of film if you win. Might submit a sketch for that.”

“The prize is just film?”

James said, “They also use the mural for their public ad for Christmas.”

That made her smirk, “Have to think up something unique for the holiday theme.”

“Oh I’m sure you could think something up.” She said slipping away to your loving fiancé easing back to take your hand to guide you back to Portia’s side to collect your camera again so he could snap a picture of the pair of you smiling to grant you another blip in the yearbook instead of being blocked out by being behind the camera. With giggle filled comments you walked her out to her waiting car waving her off for the train ride home again.

“What are you thinking?” he hummed near your ear settling onto the bench beside you with arm easing behind your back.

“Think I might try a bear, and a moose for the sketch.”

“Sounds perfect. I’d buy a hundred cameras from that ad.”

“I just think animals might be a nice twist.”

You aren’t going to change my mind.”

Up around his neck however your arms eased for a kiss leading you upstairs for a much needed bout of cuddling to enjoy your afternoon off. Though in the arrival of a guest at the door he slipped out of the room leaving you to give the sketch a try. On the bottom left a bear rocking with front paws linked to his toes wearing a Santa hat, right behind its back is a pair of squirrels, one in a sweater, the other with a scarf around a squirrel snowman above nuts writing the words ‘Merry Christmas’, all underneath the moose head with from the antlers various shaped ornaments. Top left above the bear you wrote, ‘For those who ever wondered just who Santa sees.’ The final touches being the night sky underneath a full moon lighting the snowy landscape with just the faintest silhouette of a sled soaring behind a cloud.

(I’m not photoshop level edit savy. I use paint, just pretend it’s got trees in the background with santa’s sleigh in the sky in front of the moon and the rest of the moose is in the pretend card mural.)

Truly you’d put it off to the last minute and inside an envelope alongside the entry form once you’d signed the bottom corner of the image as required with a stamp added the envelope was addressed and to the post office you went to ensure it got out on time. Months in advance might seem a bit absurd to some, however for a brand like Kodak you guessed that there would be thousands of entries that would be sorted through. And you didn’t need a free years worth of film, you could no doubt afford it on your own, however you figured it might be nice. You’d only entered a couple spelling contests in school that never took you anywhere but a blurb in the same paper that Eddie now worked at, a copy of which was dug out of the records to hang ridiculously as one of the articles on famous people now beside the several stories copied for your own files all through the war and since then. 20 cents was your prize then and helped to buy the coin purse you were saving your run away fund inside that held the dime left over.

On each corner you smiled and waved to your neighbors who were curious to see you traveling alone anywhere but the church watched you slip your way past a mailman who held the door open for you with a kind thanks heading for the counter with two women curious to see you there. Both smiled and to the one on the left for simple postage you passed the large envelope she eyed reading the destination, “Writing to Kodak? As in the camera company?”

“They’re having a contest geared towards Christmas ads. You get some free film if you win. Haven’t been in a contest since that spelling bee against your Tina.”

That made her smile in adding the proper stamps using her stamper and ink pad and reaching for the receipt booklet to complete your purchase. “Oh I remember that. True work of art on the dance floor, but red as a radish having to speak in public.”

The other woman chuckled asking, “You aren’t entering any more contests?”

“Only other ones I’ve heard of was a cooking contest on who could come up with the best recipes for anything pumpkin last month, but can’t say I’ve ever had pumpkin let alone know what to do with one if we sold them here.” Making the pair chuckle. “Still working my way through the books James and Victor had up in Canada.”

The first woman accepted your coins and said, “Well I’m certain you’ll win.”

All you could do was thank the pair and smile on your way out again leaving them to their gossip exiting onto the street where you found Eddie across it smiling in noticing you were there to trot across it behind a passing car to get to your side. “Hey sis, what’re you doing in the post office?”

“Sending off that Kodak contest entrance form.”

“Oh that’s great, what’d you pick?”

“A bear, moose and some squirrels.” He chuckled at your own embarrassed giggle and glance away making him loop his arm behind your shoulders. “It’ll be unique at least. I have a duplicate sketch at home, if you wanted-,”

“Agh, no need. We’ll all see it when it’s posted in the papers that you won.”

Shaking your head you replied, “I hope that won’t be for my name if I do.”

“It won’t be, after all, you said it’s unique.”

“Plus I guess if they do pick mine it won’t be so back they’re choosing twelve, so they can just say it’s favoritism for one of them.”

“Oh trust me, Kodak wouldn’t pick anything but the best of the bunch for their big end of the year sales. You did think of a slogan?”

“’For those who ever wondered just who Santa sees,’ and I remembered to add the sleigh at least up top and the Merry Christmas too.”

“Good, love the slogan. Bet they never thought of that.”

“No clue how it ties to buying cameras.”

“Think of it as a where’s a camera when you need one moment that someone on the naughty list would come across.” Making you giggle again.

“Oh yes, now we’re pitching Kodaks to the naughty children and adults.”

“Only the naughty ones get to what the animals are up to. Any contenders for the slogan you chose against?”

“No thumbs required to believe.” That had him chuckle again, “But I thought it might be a bit tasteless against some of the veterans.”

In another chuckle he said, “I think more than some would get a kick out of it. A Kodak for the wounded warriors. They could market that no doubt. Already have a Medal of Honor donning soldier to be the face of the campaign.”

“Oh yes, truly rub it in for those who doubt I earned my medals.”

“You did and more so, and they can choke on some coal if they don’t like it and shit out a diamond for all I care.”

“Now that would be something to see. From Golden Goose to Diamond Shitting Non-Patriot.” Making him laugh again to your amused giggle.

“Exactly. Either way might get you in the papers again. Speaking of which, got a call this morning from American Home, the spreads we took are coming out next week.”

“Oh that should be interesting. No doubt people will be asking when we took them seeing Dawn’s figure is unquestionable she’s got a passenger on board,” widening is smile, “I do hope the reviews aren’t too terrible.”

“Oh they’ll love it, no doubt we’ll hear our wallpaper choices and china are flying off the shelves.”

“Already got a call about the china, they asked for the right to post a picture of us in their yearly magazine and share that they were our choice for china for the new home and our wedding set.”

“Oh that’s nice,”

That had you giggle again, “No telling what lengths what the wedding gown company will go to when they find out I ordered the dress not Dot.”

He chuckled lowly, “Well we did need some stealth to all this or they’d have had mocked up pictures for all the papers already.”

“I am glad she talked me into that. Still can’t believe even just ordering anything at all has our names in the papers. Even that flower pot from Alberta, come on, had a whole special on what I bought.”

“Well you have to admit they are glad that you chose some of their least popular items that flew off the shelves.”

“Well I can’t help it they were so brightly colored. Mom never got the bright pots, too expensive, plus the bees love the bright ones.” Deepening his grin even more remembering those weeks you spent just arranging the flower pots in the back courtyard and patio.

“We’ll just have to see if we can lure some bees out here for you.” Softly you chortled, “Even if we have to hang some fake crystal ones.”

“I think I’ll leave the yard to the girls for now out here and fight Vic for the garden in Canada.”

.

James with Teddy against his chest shouldered the diaper bag and walked with you out of the subway to the front of the MoMA where Portia was just pulling up. His eyes stealing glimpses of the same blue eyed Prince who had clearly snuck in to the Beserker lands again with another orange in his hand to see what you were up to. His eyes looked you over then to the boy who waved to him he returned the gesture to. “Truly I have not been gone long enough for you to have conceived and bourn a child.”

Smirking at him you said, “My nephew Teddy, Prince Loki.”

Turning his head he narrowed his eyes staring at the museum behind him asking, “Is Eli meeting you here?”

“No, have to write a paper on an exhibit here.”

“Hmm,” he said lifting a slice of the orange he popped between his lips to chew on. “Ah, the pink woman again.” he said in your smiling turn to greet Portia in her being set free.

“Be nice blue eyes,” you softly said earning a soft sigh from him in return at his guess for what he was to endure today at this odd place.

She smiled exiting the car to excitedly stroll with you to the entrance with notepad in hand matching yours to make notes on the exhibit you were choosing to choose from for this paper. From James’ pocket you brought out his wallet to pay for you and him after Portia insisted on paying for herself with her own coin purse. Teddy of course got in free and watched you put James’ wallet back sliding the change back along with it after your former issues with this same guy who didn’t like taking funds from women when there was a man present. “Paper currency, how primal.” Loki sighed luring out your grin guessing what he might say while he’s shadowing you today.

Into your arm her arm looped and through the front doors the guards opened and closed behind you. The action confusing the Asgardian wondering on her rank as to be so comfortable on touching a Queen so casually. Already Teddy was looking around along with Portia who listened to you share about blocked plaques that others were keeping her from inspecting along with details on the lobby that James added in on about the arches and architecture until you reached the stairs to the way to the proper exhibit as she said, “I think we start in the right place to get the notes done then we can browse around.”

“Sounds good. Plus it’s usually easier to bound around to avoid the crowds. Plus the tours always linger and are so loud.” Turning in a circle Loki took in the space and eyeing the direction you were going and the other options the flash of green over his body preceded his doubles strolling off in each open walkway with himself still holding the orange to follow your group.

Portia, “Well we can’t scare Teddy with loud crowds, no we can’t.” Flashing him a smile on his glance her way hearing his name he mirrored in a happy giggle at your own smile his way. Behind James and you Loki continuously stole glances at Teddy in his tries to inch up to stare at the Prince who randomly made faces at the boy luring out his giggles and faces that made the few strangers who caught them in passing laugh themselves and wave back.

Portrait by portrait you both strolled and to her amusement you were able to recite the tour information back word for word after sneaking into the tours as a child confirmed by the tour guide entering on your way out to the first exhibit they had just left. The words all soaked up by the Prince wondering if you had commissioned this collection of artwork to have known each detail about every one of them. None of them he preferred to his own taste but all of them showing hints to artwork his own people had once used elements from them. His excitement grew as the assignment was through and he could hear more on the areas around this section. Returning your notepads and pens to your purses to explore as much as possible. Until you all at Teddy’s agreeing grumble for food had you climb into her car for the drive home. Back at the car his doubles each soaked back into his body and he slipped into the car settling on the floor to be out of the way wondering what your home would be like.

Anxiously she watched your city stretch on and listened to everything along the way to the front walk where you asked the driver, “Did you want something to eat?”

“That would be mighty kind, thank you, Miss Pear.”

He glanced down the street eyeing the kids peering at the car, “Car’ll be fine. They just like to daydream.” That calmed him and he followed you all up the stoop through the open front door.

In Loki’s path to your side he asked, “Why would the chauffer not be comfortable leaving the vehicle on its own?”

To a flash of silver in your eyes his glimmered green a moment feeling your mental tap he accepted to hear your answer, “He’s afraid it will get damaged or stolen.”

“He is that afraid for the safety of his vehicle? The street is adequately empty with little traffic.”

To that you wet your lower lip in a glance away, “It isn’t his vehicle, it belongs to Portia’s father.”

“Surely then he should not be so concerned. It is not his. Were it to be stolen-,”

“He would be fired and arrested at best,” parting Loki’s lips. “This is not Asgard, dark skinned people have been released from slavery quite recently and have very few rights. I am glad to know that Asgard could be safer for them, however we are still working on equality.”

“Could you and miss pink not do something about this injustice?”

“Women are property on this planet.” The statement halting him in the middle of his step to enter the room you were guiding Portia into. “I belong to my brother until I wed James, then in public I am allowed to do what he shares I am free to.”

“Surely that is first on your list to right at once!” He said hurrying to catch your side again seeing the same flinch of pain from his last visit in your eyes explaining a lot more from his first visit to your school an how others behaved around you.

“Trust me I fully intend to crush any man in my way to my goals. And my friend Portia, is among the few women I’ve met willing to shake the status quo. I’ll do anything I can to help her and other women to get forward in life and out of the mark of being owned.”

“Surely my father knows nothing of this.”

In a glance his way, “I highly doubt your father cares. Or my mother and other women wouldn’t have faced such brutality in their lifetimes.” Determined for answers Loki bottled up his bubbling rage enduring the tour until he was certain it was just small talk around the table. Then he ate the rest of his orange to race off to find his mother Frigga for an answer to these infuriating discoveries that she now took as your mission that was keeping you from attacking Asgard, but not protecting their planet as they were rightly responsible for the issues allowed to fester there. Surely putting them second on the list for targets once you have righted Midgard and were after those responsible for those issues festering in the first place.

James led him inside to the kitchen where he found Victor ready with a juice filled bottle and some food to go with the lunch as you showed Portia around to sate her curiosity about everything. Once there he was a bit confused to find no separate kitchen for him to eat inside of that had Victor saying, “No one’s gonna drag you out of here, feel free to get comfortable. If you like you can eat in here to the radio while we set the table in the dining room.”

That had him ask, “You don’t have any help?”

James chuckled easing Teddy into his high chair to start feeding the boy, “Nope. Don’t need any.”

Victor said, “Plus this is the Irish block, no one around here has help outside of the family. Too big for their britches and pocket books.” He said taking the first of the food out to the set table.

James added on in the Driver lowering into the chair James motioned to behind the plate Victor had made for him with utensils he returned to pour him a glass of juice, “And Jaqi likes to practice her cooking lessons.”

The Driver thanked the pair for the food while Victor got to the tea for you who asked him, “Would you happen to know if Portia likes sugar in her tea?” That had the Driver smirk watching him pop a sugar cube between his lips, “There is something about this damn sugar cube package. Tastes off,” He said setting the cubes aside to grab the loose sugar bag he filled the sugar container with for the tea tray with a measuring spoon to not spill.

The Driver said, “Could be you got that rancid sugar they tried to dump off down south in the war.”

James, “Something about it. But we got some honey from Canada to help sweeten the tea for Jaqi till we got the new bag, now we got nothing to use the cubes for unless we want to glue it into a house or something for Halloween decorations.”

The Driver said, “Either that or you can use it for soaps or stains, add some water to it ground up and leave it on the stain for an hour you can get out some nasty grease off your hands and grass off your clothes.”

Victor smirked saying, “Soap sounds helpful, fixing the back grill has been hell to scrub that grease off.” He looked the Driver over, “How’s your brother Benjamin doing? Jaqi shared about him.”

That had his brows inching up and he released his fork leaving it on his plate to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket offering Victor the envelope he drew out the copies of pictures inside. A smirk ghosted across Victor’s face walking around the table to sit by James showing him the images of the time in Italy your troops that crossed paths with his brother’s colored battalion. “Oh look at these. These are some good angles.”

The Driver smirked returning to his meal, “Benjamin likes taking pictures on the side. Even got a job taking portraits in the colored part of town and for some stables for Sir.”

James, “Well that’s good to hear. Did it cost a good deal to have these printed down south?”

The Driver shook his head, “No sir, Benjamin prints his own copies. Sir bought him a good supply of all he needed to keep up on his horses and their progress while he’s away.”

Victor chuckled lowly, “One way to make sure no one makes off with a show pony while he’s gone. Jaqi will love these. Hasn’t been able to find a picture of these beaches in books on Italy.”

Between bites of his food Teddy patted his hands on the pictures James started to show him as well. By the time he was through and finishing off his bottle James was on his feet rinsing the plate off and Victor smirked to the Driver saying, “I’ll turn the game on for you, there’s seconds on the stove if you want more. Help yourself.”

He nodded his head with a grin, “Thank you sir.” Watching the brothers who walked out to join you both at the table to help you entertain Portia for a couple hours to when she was expected to leave freeing you to head up with Victor to print out a copy of the film reels from the contest to hand over to the yearbook team at school on Monday. Dinner came soon enough after you’d drafted the essay due for your Art History class from the trip to the exhibit today.

Pt 37

All ���

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​ ​,@thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455, @xxbyimm (Hobbit x oc)

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess​, @changlingkhat

[yourhorrorhusband]

Join Your Family

(I heard the slasher fandom likes self-insert fiction. Well, this is my first attempt at writing some! I hope you like it! :) )

CW for slurs and typical Sawyer family-related shenanigans.

--

You, like so many before you, had stopped at a dinky little gas station about an hour outside Dallas. You, like so many before you, had run out of gas and you, like so many before you, had groaned and despaired when the aging attendant told you there was no gas-- no shipment till tomorrow. So you, like so many before you, had taken his invitation to come home to dinner; the barbecue you had sampled while idly contemplating your next move had been delicious, and if the man could make gas station food taste good, he was surely a wizard in a kitchen.

So you said sayonara to your little blue four-door as you hopped into the passenger side of his truck. The man, though you’d initially been put off by his rough and weasel-like appearance, seemed nice enough. As you drove the short distance back to the house, he told you about his family, about his brothers and the grandfather they lived with. He ribbed on his brothers, offhandedly mentioned how they needed him for everything. You nodded and laughed. Yes, you commented, wasn’t that how little siblings always were?

By the time you made it to the house both of you were laughing. You stepped onto the front porch, but just as you were about to head in, he stopped you.

“Wait here,” he said. “I wanna make sure those idiots aren’t burning the house down or running around naked before I bring a guest in.”

And as he went inside you had to slap your hands over your mouth to keep from bursting out into another fit of giggles.

You waited patiently, watched the door, whistled softly. You were so focused on the door, in fact, that you failed to notice a rather unstealthy person creep up behind you. You noticed, even less so, the sound of a hammer cutting through the air as it made contact with your skull.

--

You woke up at the end of a shitty-looking dining table, three sets of eyes piercing into you. Still emerging from your brain fog, you groaned at them. Recognizing the blurry shape of the attendant, you asked him, “What happened?”

He wrung his hands, and even through the haze of your vision you could see his body pouring with sweat. “Now don’t you worry your little head. This’ll all be over before ya know it.”

“What will?” You asked. You got no reply from him, just a hoot of laughter from the second blurry shape at the table, and a burst of giggles from the third.

Something was wrong, of that you were sure. You wanted to leave, but as you tugged your weary body up to go, you noted that you couldn’t. You looked down at yourself and saw that both your arms and legs were roped to your chair. That cut through the fog very, very quickly.

You struggled against your bindings, but it was nothing more than a formality; you knew you were going nowhere. You swallowed hard, tried not to let the panic get to you.

“What do you want?” You asked. “I don’t have any money and neither does my family.”

“Money!” The man who’d laughed at you earlier, who you now saw in all his long-haired and crooked teethed glory, shouted. He seemed tickled to bits about this whole scene and that was almost the worst part. “I don’t want no Goddamn money! I just want my supper!”

“You won’t get a lick of supper if you don’t shut’cher ass up!” The attendant squawked, slapping the greasy man upside his head. “Honestly, you’d think I never taught ya any manners!”

Supper. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the mention of the word had brought to your attention a sour, sickening smell. Spread across the table were several plates of, well, meat. Indiscernible, unidentifiable meat. None of it looked especially good, and you could swear by the stench that none of it was good either. The sea of brown, grey and red-- pocked by buzzing flies and uninterrupted by a single splash of color-- made bile rise to your mouth and tears rise in your eyes. You screwed your eyes shut and swallowed as fast as you could, hoping they didn’t notice, but you weren’t quick enough.

“What? Don’t like supper? Does it smell bad?” The greasy man pouted his bottom lip at you, brows knitted. “Well, why don’t we just put you out of your misery, you poor, ungrateful little thing?”

There’s another hootenanny, and a fucking cacophony of obnoxious fucking voices rang in your ears. It didn’t seem as though there were four of you in this room-- rather, two hundred souls were crowded around the table, all of them pointing, laughing, reveling in the misery you’d yet to find the joke in.

From his (Her? Their? Its? You can’t tell really tell.) place at the table, the person with the oddly discolored skin rose. No, no, no, wait-- wait. As he approached you noted, it wasn’t a condition that affected the skin of his face, he simply had a different face on. You tried to get a better look as he walked behind you, but he was quick and your brain was still having some trouble focusing. You prayed, prayed to God in heaven that is was just a cheap, poorly made latex mask that he wore; prayed that this whole set-up was an elaborate Halloween prank that they took just a little too seriously.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and buried his(?) face into your scalp. He stayed there for a moment, and you felt the vibration of words against your head, though you couldn’t understand a thing. Then he kissed your head, sighed in relief and violently tugged your head backwards. He mumbled something to the other two at the table, but he might has well have been speaking Mandarin for all that you could discern.

“What!” The greasy man shot up suddenly, pulled a knife from his furry pouch and pointed it at the man with the mask. “I don’t take orders from you, you hide-wearing sonuvabitch! I ain’t gonna waste blood or pity slittin’ no trespasser’s neck!”

The man in the mask whimpered and muttered something else.

“He’s right,” the attendant said with a sigh. “Technically, our friend here isn’t a trespasser. Just a guest.”

“Don’t encourage him!” The greasy man said, pointing his knife between the two other men. If you had to, you would assume these were the brothers the attendant mentioned, though they looked young enough to be his kids. You decided not to waste the brain power on contemplating that, electing instead to beg Jesus to forgive every transgression you could think of.

There was some back-and-forth between them, quickly growing loud and heated. You’re able to ignore it for a while, focus on the black space behind your eyelids and the sound of your own voice in your head-- until the blade of a knife is pushed to your throat.

“Fine!” The greasy man snarled. “We’ll do it your way, you pussy-willows! I’ll just cut out this little punk’s throat and then we can all shut the hell up and eat!”

The knife flew from your throat to point at the man in the mask, who at some point during the argument had moved away from you. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and get Grandpa, since you were too stupid to do it before dinner!”

The man in the mask, who you swear looked close to tears, ran off. While he was gone, the other two occupied themselves with another shouting match.

“Ya think yer a tough guy now, do ya, Mr. van Gogh? Ya think you get to call the shots around here?” The attendant spat at his brother, who spat right back.

“I reckon I am tough! Tougher’n you are! Sittin’ behind a counter and workin’ in a kitchen all day’s made you soft! Someone’s gotta be a man around here, and we both know it won’t be Bubba!”

“Big words comin’ from a man who can’t do nothin’ useful! Maybe if you stopped workin’ on your queer little art projects all day, I could find time to get my hands dirty again!”

“If I wasn’t in my right mind I’d scalp you, you old fucker!”

“You don’t got the balls!”

Your head began to hurt. Well, hurt even worse than what the blunt force trauma had made it. Luckily for you, the masked man returned back downstairs, pushing what you assumed was supposed to be a person, but looked more like a mummy. The idiots at the table fired off their last few words as the mummy was wheeled over to you, then the tension seemed to just fizzle out.

As his brother had before, the greasy man stood behind you and grabbed your hair, exposing your neck to the others in the room.

“Oh shit!” the attendant muttered; he briefly disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a large empty bowl. “If we’re doin’ it this way, we better make sure we save as much as we can. You make sure the cut’s clean and we can feed Grandpa for a whole month!”

“Feed him?” Your voice betrayed you; you sounded so small. “Is he gonna drink my blood?”

“Yeah, Einstein! You figure that out all on your own?” The greasy man said.

Something dawned on you just then. The drinking of blood, the weird mask-- the piles of meat. Your eyes flickered to the table. The piles of meat.

“It’s-- that’s people.” You muttered, your eyes still fixed on the table. “That’s human.”

You were surprisingly calm when you spoke, and not the fake kind of calm that can’t hide panic. If you were paying any attention to them, you might have seen that the men around you seemed just a touch shocked.

“Well, you’re not wrong.” The attendant admitted. “That bit of jerky you had earlier was too.” He said something about the meat being the finest cuts, but you didn’t really care. That wasn’t what was important. What mattered was that it was human.

You looked slowly back to the attendant, then to the masked man, meeting their eyes.

“If you’re gonna kill me, fine. But… I have one last request.”

The greasy man snorted. “You’re cute. What is it?”

“I want dinner.”

All the noise seemed to stop at once. The laughing souls dissipated, the noisy crickets quieted, the owls and night creatures ceased their sounds. But most importantly, the men were silenced. They looked to each other, dumbfounded, the truly unusual circumstances robbing them both of words and of actions.

After a long, quiet minute the man in the mask grabbed the plate from his setting, piling a little from each separate mound of meat onto it. Then he set the plate down in front of you and smiled nervously, lopsided. He looked away and began to pick at his fingers when the attendant sighed.

“All right, cut ‘em loose.”

“What!” the greasy man bellowed, much too close to your ear.

“Just the hands, you nincompoop! No one’s running away.”

With a great deal of reluctance and no shortage of curses, the greasy man unbound your hands and took his spot at the table. He pouted but you refused to give him the time. Before you dug in, you simply smiled at the man in the mask, who hid his face in his hands and giggled. Cute.

Unsure where to start, you simply plucked up what was on top: a section of rib, smoked and unglazed. The smell still wasn’t great, but knowing what it was, you found you could ignore the smell. You brought it to your lips and sunk your teeth in, a splash of juice bursting forth and running down your chin.

The meat, despite its funky smell, was delicious. It was everything you’d ever dreamed it’d be and more! It was fatty, juicy and tender. It was sandwiched, tastewise, somewhere between pork and mutton, but there wasn’t any gameiness to it. You suspect this had at least a little bit to do with the way it was smoked-- applewood, you’d guessed, low and slow. You think maybe it had been cured beforehand. You didn’t care, just like you didn’t care about the tears that burned the corners of your eyes.

When you finished the rib, you tossed the bone to the floor. Hungrily, your appetite whet now, you snatched up a fat link of sausage and devoured it. It had a nice snap to it, as all good sausages do, and you were sure they used authentic casing-- no gelatin here. There was a nice blend of spice inside, peppery but not too hot, with garlic and… something sweet you can’t quite place. Brown sugar? Maple syrup? Something subtle that offset the garlic. Again, this was smoked, and while it wasn’t as good as the ribs, you wouldn’t have said no to seconds.

“Is there anything that isn’t smoked?” you asked, curious. You didn’t hate smoked meats, but you wanted variety.

The attendant, who was thoroughly amused and laughing by this point, said, “Well, sure! The chops are pan-fried, and we also got a pot of chili in the kitchen if yer interested!”

Chili! Your eyes lit up and you nodded vigorously. “I’d love chili!” you said around the sausage in your mouth. The attendant elbowed the masked man in the ribs and he sprang up to get you a bowl. When he returned with it-- as well as a thick-cut chop-- you smiled at him, meat juice running down your chin. Curiously, he used his tie to wipe it away. You thanked him and he scuttled away.

The chop was amazing. This weren’t no deep-fried chop, no sir! This was fried in a cast iron skillet, in melted lard, just like your grandma made them! Rubbed with salt and pepper then dusted with flour, it was simple (and probably could have benefitted from some hot sauce), but it was still so, so good. Admittedly you wolfed it down, eager to eat, but also eager to finish, for the bowl of chili was within arm’s reach, and it was doing its best to seduce you with its warm, thick aroma.

You damn near pounced on it like an animal, for you were not unlike an animal in that moment. Any outsider with a lick of sense would certainly call you a beast. But you would disregard their sharp comments because you knew that, like you, they wanted to try this, wanted to rip into the flesh of men with their teeth the way they ripped in with their words or their knives. They could give you all manner of designation but anyone would be a fool not to jump at the chance you had.

So you cup the bowl of chili in your hands, let the warmth of it burn your fingertips to a comfortable numbing. You return it to the table and you indulge. It was good, you were thankful. The attendant mentioned that it was award-winning and you could see why.

You polished off the bowl and you cleaned your plate. Everything hit some previously untouched spot that you didn’t know you had in you, satisfying something positively carnal. With a pat of your stomach, you tipped your head back, marked yourself as spent.

The others took their time, finished in relative quiet. You focused on the warm feeling that grew and spread inside of you. You felt good. You felt fulfilled. It was so brief, but this was something you’d always wanted, and it had been glorious.

“Good?” You heard the greasy man ask.

You aren’t sure if he was asking if the food was good, or if you were. Either way, you answered, in a voice soft and plush, “Yes.”

“Good.”

You barely had time to register the sound of him standing before your chair was pulled out and his knife was plunged into your stuffed and aching gut. You gasped, unable to contain the choking sounds he ripped out from you.

“Goddamnit!” The attendant cried as he leapt to his feet. “Ya said you were just gonna bleed-”

“I was gonna till you pissed me off, ya old coot! Now you get to clean guts off the floor.”

Guts? You looked down at yourself just in time to watch him rip the knife upward in jerky, tearing motions. Oh. There were your guts. They spilled out of you, fell in meaty curtains from the bursting balloon of your belly. You can’t remember if you felt any pain, but you do remember feeling absolutely distraught that your stomach had ruptured. The only tally you’d crossed off your bucket list, wasted-- strewn, chewed and partially-digested, on the floor. More than any actual pain, that was what brought the tears to your eyes.

You reached down for what had fallen onto the floor, delusional in your dying state. Try as you might, though, you simply could not retrieve what had been yours just moments ago. Someone, watching you struggle, laughed.

When you finally realized it was impossible to put the food back inside of your ruptured stomach, you decide to try the next best thing: putting your guts back inside yourself. You knew you had to work fast, for time was of the essence, but everything had become so slow. You were trapped on the in-between frames of a stop motion cartoon, jerking your body in ways that even you could not consciously comprehend.

You gathered up your intestines as best you could and pushed them back inside of yourself. You held them, held held held, as though God might see your efforts and seal your tummy back up. He didn’t, surprisingly, and in that moment you knew your fate was truly, end-all be-all sealed.

You released your guts then, let them fall out haphazardly once more. Unlike the meat on the table, you noticed that they were all in lovely hues of red, purple, salmon, with pretty blue veins coursing through them, breaking up the single-color monotonies. Like a layer of varnish, they were all covered in this milky white veneer, which shown glossy and caught the light just right. You were beautiful inside, and it pained you to know that soon your insides would join in the sea of brown-red-grey.

As things got harder to process, the men at the table stalked in on you, grew closer and closer with each breath. They laid their hands on you, prodded and stroked and pulled and touched-- you think you felt the knife again, on your arms or in your mouth, but you couldn’t be sure. There was a small comfort to their touches; you didn’t think they were trying to make you feel better, trying to ease you into the blackness behind your eyelids, but they were and that was enough.

Maybe, you realized, it wouldn’t be so bad when they ate you. You would lose your color, yes, but you would gain so much in taste. Your meats would no longer be bland and wet and tasteless, unpalatable to anyone but the lowest of dogs. You would become peppery and sweet and you would nourish a family. What they didn’t eat of you would go to the hogs, and what didn’t go to the hogs would go to the dirt and the flowers, and what didn’t go to the hogs or the plants would go to the family.

In a way you would become a part of them, even if it was only for a little while. That was better to think about than dying. So when the voices and the crickets and the snuffling hogs, the men and the owls and the night creatures were all quiet on that summer night, you resigned yourself to happiness. You were ready to join your family

[sankta-arya]

Undercover Lovers

Sansa was young and stupid when she followed Joffrey across the Narrow Sea. She fancied herself in love and about to enter a fairtytale. Instead she walked into a nightmare.

Trapped in a foreign country, now she has to trust another man -and even worse, herself- to get home again.

Sansa turns around to pace the length of the room for what must be the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Will you please sit down, sweetheart?" Satin sighs, uncrossing and crossing his legs again as he leans back in the recliner next to the small coffee table. "I promised you he'd come. He'll be here in a couple of minutes."

She takes his advice, the pacing isn't helping one bit anyway. How did I end up here?  The answer's simple enough. She used to be a stupid girl with a head full of dreams, and she thought leaving everything behind to follow her boyfriend to a foreign country was incredibly romantic.

It didn't take long for her dream to be shattered, and when she tried to return home, she couldn't even do that, because she didn't have the right documents. She's been trapped in Volantis for six months now, living off her savings, but they're about to run out.

The Westerosi embassy had been closed years ago, but she'd heard of a high end hotel, where shady deals were struck by businessman from her homeland. She'd been told they were the only ones who could provide her with the right documents to cross the Narrow Sea.

She'd found a nice dress and a pair of heels and decided she'd do whatever needed to be done. She'd only been at the bar for ten minutes when a short, slender man with smiling eyes and a pointy beard approached her.

His hair was peppered with grey, but Sansa thought he couldn't be much older than thirty. He ordered her a drink and introduced himself as Petyr. She gave him a false name, just to be safe.

"I haven't seen you before," he said, his eyes travelling over her body, creeping her out. "You're not from around here, are you?"

She reckoned there was no point trying to hide it? "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," he indulged her. "But I've always been able to pick out the truly desperate ones."

A distant voice warned her to run at that exact moment, but she ignored it, even if she couldn't really remember why.

Satin walked over to her after a couple more minutes. She couldn't see where he was coming from, but he greeted her with an arm draped over her shoulders and a kiss to the cheek.

"There you are!" he exclaimed cheerfully, turning to Petyr then. "The girl's with me, Baelish," he told him.

He led her away from the bar, and into a dark booth. "Did you drink anything he offered you?"

She shook her head, too dazed to object to his actions.

"Good," he said with a smile. "You really don't want to get involved with Littlefinger."

Realization dawned on her. "You mean he put something in my drink?"

"Positive."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"I've seen him do it before," he shrugged. "If you'd finished that drink, tomorrow morning, you'd wake up in one of his mansions. And the only way you'd ever leave is as a corpse. Do I have to explain to you what he uses those girls for?"

She shook her head, trying to push down the feeling of nausea that was rising in her stomach. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Now, do you want to get back home?"

She stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's what I do," he answered with a smile. "I can get you in touch with a guy who can get you back to Westeros."

That was a week ago. Sansa's grateful that he's trying to help her,  but her impatience is making her nervous and suspicious.

There's a knock at the door and Satin rises to his feet to go and unlock it.

He doesn' t look anything like she imagined a member of the Night's Watch to look, but she supposes she should have expected that. He looks inconspicuous, which is probably kind of the point. He's of average height, average build, but on the slender, athletic side.

He's handsome though, she notes, in that dark, brooding way some girls like. He could definitely benefit from smiling once in a while.

"Jon Snow," he introduces himself simply, holding out his hand. Sansa wonders whether that's his real name. She takes his hand, marvelling at the odd smoothness of his palm, that's only disrupted by a couple of harsh ridges near the edge of it.

"Nice to meet you," she answers him. “I am-

"Sara Snow," he finishes for her. "That's the name that matters right now. You should remember that."

"Sara Snow," she repeats, trying out the feel of it on her tongue. "So I am to be...?"

"My wife, aye," he confirms. "A woman travelling alone would be too suspicious. It's better this way, trust me."

She desperately wants to, she really does, even if his gruff ways unsettle her a bit. "Alright."

He takes the last empty seat at the coffee table, bracing his elbows on his splayed thighs. Sansa see the strain of his jeans and shirt over his muscles.

"I know a guy who'll take care of all the paper work," he tells her, giving her an intense look. "But we should work on a story."

She nods, wringing her hands together. "Sure, where should we start?"

"At the beginning probably?" he suggests. "How did we meet?"

She bites her lip as she mulls over his question, narrowing her eyes at him, and smiles, causing his head to tilt curiously as she leans forward.

She's always liked stories, so much even she'd taken up acting a couple of years before she met Joffrey. She'd even starred in a couple of movies, only small parts of course, but he asked her to stop, because he didn't like it, and being the stupid girl she was, she agreed.

"How about this?" she starts.

***

"We'll have to dye your hair," Jon mutters suddenly, staring at her from across the room.

Her mouth falls open. "What?"

"The colour is too conspicuous," he clarifies as he gets up to walk over to where she's sitting on the bed. "Someone might recognize you."

She shakes her head, looking up at him. "No, that's extremely unlikely."

"But not impossible," he points out.

Her bottom lip starts trembling and her hands fly up to clutch a strand of hair.

He flinches. "Are you going to cry?" he sighs, and that's what breaks her. She lets herself fall back onto the bed, flipping onto her stomach, and sobs into the comforter.

After a while, the mattress dips and she feels a hand on the small of her back. She veers up, startled.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's alright," she tells him, turning onto her side until she's facing him. She props herself up on her elbow, mirroring him.

"You're my husband, remember?" she jokes. "I should get used to you touching me."

He chuckles and offers her a smile, and she thinks she might understand why he doesn't smile that often. It's quite a dazzling sight, horribly distracting, just like the way he's gazing at her right now.

"Don't worry, princess," he says, and his eyes have never been this soft before. "You'll still be beautiful, even without the pretty red hair," he adds, fingering a lock of her hair.

Perhaps she should be insulted by the fact that he's calling her princess. It's what her sister used to call her when she was mocking her, but she can't help it when she blurts out: "You think I'm beautiful?"

His throat bobs up and down, and suddenly she's aware of their intimate position.

"Objectively speaking," he whispers, as if he can't trust his own voice, and he rolls away from her. "You should try to get some sleep."

She turns onto her back and sighs, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, Jon," she murmurs.

"Goodnight, Sara," he answers.

Sansa, she thinks. My name is Sansa.  

***

Sansa almost has a nervous breakdown on their way to the airport. She grabs Jon's hand and wheezes: "I can't do this."

"You're an actress," he reminds her. "You used to do this for a living."

"That's different," she hisses back.

"No, it's not," he objects, stopping her with a hand on her arm until she turns to face him. His hands come up to cup her cheeks and his grey gaze is intense as he slowly whispers: "This is just another performance. The most fucking important performance of your life, you can do this."

His voice is firm and his eyes are hard, but the way he frames her face in his large hands can only be called gentle, tender almost. It's almost enough to make another kind of tingle chase away the nerves causing such a turmoil in her belly. Suddenly it's difficult to breathe for an entirely different reason. She resists the urge to turn her face and nuzzle into his burnt palm.

"You can do this," he repeats, his eyes softer now, and if she didn't feel like throwing up right now, Sansa is sure she'd melt into his embrace.

She blinks and nods. "I can do this."

***

"Where will you go?" he asks when he drops her off at her hotelroom in King's Landing.

She wrings her hands together. "Home," she sighs. "If they'll still have me."

"I'm sure they will," he says with a perfunctory smile, offering her a nod.

"Jon," she whispers. "Thank you. For everything."

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, staying put, as if he's reluctant to leave.

She bites her lip. "I still can't believe it," she tells him, because it's the truth, and because it gives her an excuse to keep him there just a little longer. "I can't believe you got me out of there."

Quite inexplicably, she starts laughing then, relief washing over her and making her giddy, as if she didn't fully realize before, and to her surprise he laughs with her.

She throws her arms around his neck to embrace him, because there's no way she could ever thank him enough, but she wants to let him know how grateful she is.

She glances up and their eyes lock, before his gaze drops to her lips.

"Would you like to come in?" she hears herself asking.

Gently he pushes her back through the door, closing it behind her. "I thought you'd never ask."

***

"Sansa," she whispers against his lips. "My name is Sansa." It suddenly seems important to tell him that.

"That's a pretty name," he compliments her, before capturing her lips again. "Jace," he pants moments later. "But I've been Jon for a very long time."

"Jace, huh?" she manages to ask between kisses that grow hungrier and sloppier.

His lips move from her mouth to her jaw and then up and down her throat. He tongues the soft spot behind her ear and confesses: "My full name is Jacaerys, but only my dad calls me that."

"Please, Jon Jace Jacaerys," she breathes, her hands tangling into his curls as his tongue finds its way down to the valley between her breasts. She doesn't really care about his name right now, only about his hands burning into her skin like a brand, and his mouth closing over her nipple through the fabric of her top.

"Take me to bed," she begs him.

[wckdmazes]

I Survived - A Newt One-Shot

                                            I Survived.

Hey guys, just a quick Author’s Note to let you know that there are some trigger warnings in this fic. These triggers include: Accidental self-harm, depression, and a suicide attempt.

                 Like the other boys, I don’t remember anything of my life before The Glade. I’ve tried many times, mostly at night when the dark thoughts set in and kept me from sleep. I imagine a life without walls, without a lift that births a new boy every month. The Glade is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but despite its beauty, I still felt trapped. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

               My name is Newt. That’s not my birth name though, at least, I don’t think it is. I’m in a beautiful Glade surrounded by miles and miles of stone walls that twist into a new labyrinth every night. We, that is the other boys and I, have begun to call it The Maze and it’s my job as a Runner to run through the twists and turns every day and try to find a way out. I’ve been running The Maze, every day, all day for a few months now. At first, I went in with hope. Maybe we could find a way out and find our families, figure out how we got here, or just…anything. Anything but the monotony of life here.

               It’s nearly time for the doors to close like they do every night and I’ve just finished documenting today’s run. I set my notes aside for the other Runners and George, our leader, to look over later and headed towards the small eating area we’d built. I could smell the food the Frypan, our cook, was just finishing up.

               “That smells wonderful, Fry.” I noted, offering the other boy a warm smile as I took my portion. I sat down with my bowl and began to dig into the meaty stew. It tasted wonderful and stilled the ache of hunger in my belly, which I was mostly grateful for. I glanced up when my friend Alby sat down across from me with his own portion of stew.

               “How was The Maze?” Alby asked before shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

               “I found a new path, but it was a dead end. Looks like you had a rough day in the Gardens.” I said with a small chuckle as I pointed out the dirt smudged across Alby’s dark face. “You have dirt by your ears, mate.” Alby snorted softly and grinned at me.

               “Yeah, the trellis the Greenie built fell today. I was only just able to save the tomatoes. Most of the grapes were lost, but I have a few plants that I think I can save.” He replied. Alby was typically a Slicer, but right now the Garden’s needed the most help, so he split his days between the two jobs. “George told the Greenie he has to make the trellis work or he’ll be a Slopper.”

               I cast a glance down the table at the newest boy to The Glade. We call all the new boys Greenie until they either proved themselves or a new boy comes up. This particular Greenie had been here for about two weeks and wasn’t really great at any jobs except being a Builder. His name is Gally and he’s both the tallest and the most cross of all of us. I could see him fuming from where I sat, likely because of the fallen trellis. He was pouring over a sheet of paper and frowning, likely trying to figure out how to make the trellis not fall.

               “I’m sure he’ll get it sorted.” I said turning back to Alby and finishing my stew. The night progressed as it usually did, with the other boys joking and unwinding around the fire. I joined in for a little while, until I felt the sinking feeling I always got when the night began to settle down. I bid the other boys good night and headed into The Homestead, where we all slept. I crawled into my hammock and tried to will myself to have pleasant dreams.

               It was silent and dark when I woke up with silent tears streaking my cheeks and sweat soaking my clothes. For just a moment, I remembered something about my past. I remembered my sister.

               “Lizzy.” I breathed out into the still Homestead as new tears sprung to my eyes. The rest of my dream faded away, leaving me with a racing heart and an overwhelming sense of despair. I slipped from my bunk and the Homestead and out into the cool morning. The sun hadn’t even begun to think about rising, but the birds in the trees chirped happily about the coming dawn. I wiped my face and took a deep breath, trying to clear the despair from my soul to no avail.

               “You’re up early.” A voice chirped behind me. I turned to see Minho heading towards me with his usual chipper demeanor.

               “Couldn’t sleep.” I lied.

               “Again?” He asked sympathetically.

               “S’alright.” I replied with a shrug as we walked towards the Map Room to get our running gear.

               “You sure you can run today, Newt?” Minho asked, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking at me with concern.

It was common for me to go days without sleeping lately. I would try, of course, but it was like my mind just wouldn’t shut off. I kept having intrusive thoughts about how we wouldn’t ever leave this place and how I would die here and never find my real family, never find out who I really am. Those nights, I would spend my time in the Gardens with the plants until I had to go run The Maze. One or two days didn’t have a marked effect on my energy levels anymore, but more than that and I lost both speed and clarity. It had almost gotten me trapped in The Maze more than once and after the second time, George had pulled me aside and made me explain. I had tried my best to convey just how bad my thoughts were effecting my sleep and George had seemed to understand, if only a little. He’d made me promise to tell him if I was too tired to run and so far, I’d been a man of my word and only been made to stay back a few times to rest.

“It’s just one night. I’m fine. I swear.” I told Minho while giving him a look that I hoped read as confident.

“You better be, Shuckhead.” He sighed as he released my shoulder and pushed open the door to the Map Room.

We grabbed our gear and confirmed the routes each of us would be running today before jogging across The Glade and towards the doors that would soon open into The Maze. As we stood waiting on the doors, I took a moment to look back at The Glade as the sun just began to crest over the top of the massive walls that separated us from the labyrinth and the dangers that lurked beyond. This was my favorite time of day; the sunrise. The Glade would go from the midnight blue-black of darkness, to a faint grey-blue, and then, as the sun peeked over the walls, The Glade would be washed in pinks and yellows and reds. It would become alive with the birds and the other boys, who would be just waking up. This moment, each morning, was my one happy thing in an otherwise increasingly sad and grey world.

I turned my attention to Minho as the doors opened with a groan of metal and stone and we nodded to each other as we began to jog into The Maze.

“See ya later, Shank.” Minho said to me before we parted ways and began to run the stone paths of our prison.

 The combination of the harsh sun and the heat that the stone held made the day long and taxing. I ran the twists and turns, making notes on anything that had changed, though not much had. The lack of changes left plenty of time for my mind to wander as I ran. The intrusive thoughts were quick to make themselves known and with each step I took, I thought about how pointless this was.

I’m absolutely mad to think we were ever going to get out of here.

I’m never going to be free.

I’ll never see my family again.

I’ll never see Little Lizzy.

No one even cares that I’m here.

They haven’t even come looking for me.

They’ve forgotten me.

They didn’t care about me.

I must not have been good enough.

Running this maze is pointless.

I’m going to die in this maze.

No one would even care if I…

I shook my head roughly and stopped running. I had to stop thinking like this. I closed my eyes and took a few steadying breaths before checking my watch and realizing that I needed to head back. I decided to count my steps to keep my mind distracted as I turned and began the trek back to The Glade. I lost count four times before giving up as I ran into The Glade just behind Minho.

“Hey, you made it.” He greeted me as I jogged up beside him and we headed towards the Map Room to compare notes and work out routes for tomorrow. I nodded and gave him a small smile, but said nothing.

“You’re a man of many words, Newt.” Minho chided with a grin.

“Sorry, mate. It’s just been a long boring day and I’m a bit tired.” I replied.

We finished up in the Map Room just as Frypan called out that dinner was done. Minho began to jog over and looked over his shoulder at me as I began to head towards the Gardens.

“You coming, Newt?” He asked.

“I’ll catch up. I told Alby I’d look at the damaged plants and see if anything can be done.” I lied for a second time today.

“Well hurry up or you’ll get the gruel.” He shouted as he jogged away.

I wasn’t planning on getting gruel or food of any kind at the moment. Even after running all day, I just simply wasn’t hungry. I hadn’t even eaten my lunch rations, honestly. As I neared the fallen trellis in the Gardens, I observed the new Greenie picking through the smashed plants for all the damaged grapes.

“Fry’s done cooking, Greenie. You can go get some food.” I spoke, which seemed to startle him.

“Oh. Thanks.” He said, looking up at me from the dirt. “I was only taking the smashed ones. I want to try making something to drink other than water. I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

“Better ask George or Nick first, really. Anyway, you should probably figure out how to make this trellis stronger and not be worried about a drink.” I replied. He frowned and his already intense eyebrows furrowed before he stood and left without a word.

I sighed and knelt down in the dirt to try and salvage any plants Alby had possibly missed. There were two that I thought could be saved and I replanted them with the other salvaged plants, hoping they would survive.

Shuck knows something in this place has to survive.

I sure won’t.

I felt the familiar anchor in my heart as my thoughts turned darker with the night. I knew this would be the beginning of another cycle of sleepless nights. Another fight with the darkness inside me that threatened to consume my soul. A darkness that ate every happy thought and feeling and klunked out despair and emptiness in its wake.

I’ll never go beyond these walls.

There’s no point in any of this.

There is no happiness here for me.

I have nothing.

I AM nothing.

I should just…

My mind was brought back to the present as a searing pain emanated from the back of my hand. I looked down and saw a clean slash for a brief moment before it filled with dark blood. My blood. I had slipped and cut my hand open with the trowel I had been using to replant the grapes. I sat back on my heels and stared in morbid fascination as the blood began to well up and spill over the edge of the laceration and run scarlet down my hand until it dripped off my pinky and disappeared into the dirt. It was another longer moment of me staring at my hand before I realized I needed to bandage it. I quickly moved to the water trough and scooped some up in a cup before pouring it over the wound and finally bandaging it with a scrap of cloth I usually kept tied around my wrist. The pain from my hand blurred the thoughts in my head and I realized that it was the first time in a while I’d felt something other than just perpetual numbness. I stared at my now bandaged hand as tears pricked my eyes and the anchor in my heart sunk lower into the abyss.

I can’t feel anything but pain.

No. ALL I feel is pain.

I’m so tired of fighting.

What am I even fighting for? Some bloody grapes?

There’s no shucking point to any of this.

I should just…

I should just…

With great difficulty, I tore my eyes away from my injury and spent the rest of the night digging fervently in the garden to keep myself from finishing that nagging thought. By the time I had to get ready to run The Maze, I was in worse shape than ever before. Everything around me seemed darker and blander despite the night fading and the morning beginning to come to The Glade. I stood wordlessly and numb beside Minho at The Doors and waited for them to open. I turned towards the sunrise, as I did every day, but today it was different. The light spilled over the top of the wall and bled across The Glade, but it seemed duller than usual. Suddenly not even the happiest moment in my life could reach my heart to warm it. I stared as the doors opened behind me and realized that I felt nothing. I registered Minho calling me and turned back towards The Maze with a faux smile on my face, assuring him I was fine before we parted ways. But I wasn’t fine. I was numb. I was empty. I was drowning and everyone around me just stood and watched, ignoring my pleas for help.

No one cares about me.

Why should they?

I’m not worth caring about.

I’m not worth anything.

I’m just taking up space and resources.

I’m not even a good Runner.

I don’t do anything well.

I should just….

“No!” I shouted out loud at my thoughts. “I will not finish that thought. It’s just another bad cycle. I can make it through this.” I spent the day alternating between fighting with my thoughts and marking some new routes I found. But slowly, I was losing the will to fight. Eventually, well before it was time to turn back, I just stopped running and slumped to the ground. A strangled sob tore from my throat and all the pain and emptiness I fought against rushed in and filled me like a cup in an ocean. It was overwhelming and I stayed there on the ground, sobs shaking my whole body, until the sun was high overhead. Habit told me it was time to turn back, but I didn’t care.

There’s no point in going back.

They’re better off without me.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I was standing up and fumbling for a foothold in the walls. I found one and began to climb higher and higher until I found a small landing, just big enough for me to stand on. I stared down the wall from my perch and the ground disappeared in a blur as more tears flooded my eyes.

No one cares.

I’m nothing.

I’ll never be free.

I should just…

I should just…

I should just…

“Jump.” I whispered to myself before I stepped off the ledge and plummeted down to the stone below. The strangest thing happened as soon as I stepped off the ledge. Suddenly, I thought of Alby and how devastated he would be at my death. I thought of Lizzy and my parents, whoever they were, and how they might be at least a little torn up that I died. I thought about Minho and how I’d never hear another stupid joke or make him feel better when he got sad at night, I thought of The Glade and how the sun would crest over the walls every morning and how it was simply marvelous to behold. It sounds foolish, but I thought of those bloody grapes and how I would never get to see if the plants were strong enough to survive.

I wasn’t strong enough to survive.

All at once there was a loud thud, accompanied by snapping and blinding pain as I collided with the solid stone floor of the Maze. Then there was nothing.

 I could hear a distant shout and footsteps approach.

This is it.

The footsteps got closer and were accompanied by someone frantically speaking.

I’m dead.

Whoever was speaking knelt beside my head, but I still couldn’t make out their words.

Am I dead?

The person moved towards my legs and jerked up my pant leg.

Oh God, I’m not dead!

My eyes shot open and a scream tore from my chest as my leg exploded in pain anew. Suddenly every sense I had was hyper aware and I could make sense of what was being said.

“Newt, you shuckin’ shank!” Minho shouted at me when I came to.

“Don’t touch it!” I shouted back, pain lacing my words. “Just…don’t touch it.”

“What the hell happened?!” Minho demanded as he moved back towards my face and eased me up to sitting. His eyes scanned my tear stained face, likely noting my red puffy eyes, before looking up the wall until he finally spotted the ledge. His face fell as he pieced it all together and turned his gaze back to me.

“I’m sorry.” I croaked out, feeling guilty for what I’d done.

“Not a shucking chance, Newt.” Minho said before he heaved me up and threw my arm over his shoulder, supporting most of my weight.

“Minho, just leave me.” I groaned. “You’re not fast enough to make it back.”

“No, you’re not fast enough to make it back. I have plenty of time to get both of us back.” He argued before beginning to sprint back towards the exit.

“Minho, I’m sorry.” I wheezed, trying to stay awake through the pain and keep up with my less injured leg. “I’m so sorry, Min. I don’t want to die.”

“I know, man. I know. Just stay awake, we’re almost there.” He said. I could hear the emotion and the worry in his voice. “Just stay awake, Newt.”

I could hear the clamor of the other boys as they saw us making our way towards them. We crossed the threshold just as my leg finally gave out and I sagged heavy against Minho, causing him to stumble. As we fell to the dirt, I was again blinded by the intense pain shooting through my leg, but I managed to hang onto Minho’s shirt long enough to groan one final thing in his ear.

“Please,” I begged through the pain. “Please don’t tell them.”

               “I won’t tell. I promise.” Minho assured me quietly before turning towards Alby, who was demanding answers. I didn’t hear anything else as I finally slipped into a dreamless sleep.

                 It was months later when I could finally leave the Med-Jack hut with the help of a sturdy walking stick that Alby found and Gally carved to smoothness, and a brace that Clint fashioned out of materials that got sent up in the lift. I blinked against the bright light until my eyes adjusted and took a deep breath of fresh air. Everything looked brighter and smelled fresher than I could ever recall it being. I hobbled slowly towards the Gardens to see if I could help at all, but the others had just knocked off for lunch when I arrived. Alby made his way over from the Slicer’s and smiled gently as he closed the distance between us.

               “Newt.” He said as he wrapped me in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re out and about. I was worried about you.” He stepped back and looked at me, his eyes searching my face for confirmation of the questions he had. He seemed to confirm his suspicions with a small nod before breaking into his warm and friendly smile again.

               “Come on, I have something to show you.” Alby said before leading me back towards the now stable trellis. Over the months of my recovery, Gally had managed to build a trellis and Alby directed my gaze to two of the plants growing strong and healthy on the wood. I looked from the plants to Alby and back in disbelief for a moment.

               “Are these-?”

               “The grape plants you saved before your accident? Yes. They survived.”

                 They survived.

               I survived.

               A genuine laugh bubbled up from my chest and out of my mouth as I reached my hand out and gently ran my fingers over the grape leaves.

               “Bloody hell.” I breathed in amazement. “Bloody shucking hell.”

[westallenfun]

My Best Friend’s Almost Boyfriend – 2/3

Westallen Secret Santa gift from @backtothestart02 for @onthecyberseas

Synopsis: AU - Barry Allen is an up-and-coming singer, and Iris West is the reluctant reporter who has to interview him.

…

When the setting sun started to dip into the floor-to-ceiling windows enough to blind her, Iris decided it was time to go home. What a wasted trip, she thought, her mounting annoyance causing her to stomp out of the room and repeatedly press the elevator button until the doors opened.

Everything inside her wanted to throw in the towel. She didn’t have the time or the patience for this, and she had a grudge. The last thing she wanted to do was give Barry Allen the time of day when he clearly had no interest in giving her his. But that little voice in the back of her head was screaming that if she let her emotions rule how she went about this particular story, she could kiss her dreams of a promising career goodbye. Sure, there might be other possibilities in the future, but none so bright as this one.

And if her boss found out she dropped the story instead of simply rescheduling – what if he got locked out of his house? Or his car? Or an emergency came up? Or his phone died so he couldn’t call her? She could hear all the options pouring out of her boss’s mouth in her head. And if he knew she’d dropped it because she’d simply been annoyed? Well, he would probably relegate her to the engagement announcements and obituaries page at the back of the newspaper.

No, she had to handle this with finesse. Unfortunately.

All the frustration inside her nearly burst forth when her stomach growled as she stepped out of the elevator on the first floor. The granola bar she’d stuck in her purse had been inhaled hours ago. That had been at two pm, too much for her to resist back when he was three hours late. Now it was six, and she was badly in need of substantial food.

She’d call Linda as soon as she got in her car. They could get take out Chinese or go grab some Big Belly Burger and inhale all the calories greedily. They’d buy wine from the next-door liquor store and pour into those large engraved wine glasses they’d gotten each other last Christmas. They’d make it a girl’s night. Tomorrow was Saturday. They could stay up and trash talk Barry Allen until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore.

It would be great.

But just as she rounded the corner and headed for the entrance, she stopped suddenly in her high heel shoes. Because there, standing right outside the door, was none other than Barry Allen with a paper pressed against the glass and the words ‘I’m sorry’ written in what looked to be a chunky black crayon.

Her brows narrowed as she resumed walking. She stopped a foot before the door and glared at him.

“You’re late,” she said, loud enough for him to hear without opening the door.

“My phone died,” he said, moving his sign down a little lower, in case she hadn’t seen it.

She held her tongue until the urge to call him every insulting name in the book receded to a manageable proportion.

“You do remember that our appointment was at eleven, right?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“In the morning?”

He winced, then lifted his palm up to her where the smudged pen ink read: Iris interview @ 11am. Don’t miss. Studio.

She shook her head and scoffed; disgusted, unimpressed, and far from forgiving.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” he said before she could interrogate him further.

Her jaw dropped, and her mind went blank. It took her a while before she could find her voice.

“I…beg your pardon?”

He sighed. “I messed up. Let me buy you dinner. You can interview me, and I promise the place will be nice. You won’t be eating a burger and fries.”

‘I happen to like burgers and fries’ was on the tip of her tongue, but she decided not to give him the advantage of knowing she was a cheap date.

“You think treating me to your version of a nice dinner is going to make up for the seven hours I wasted waiting for you today?” she fumed, but she knew she was weakening.

“No...” he hedged, “but I bet you’re hungry, and you would rather not reschedule our interview for another day, right?”

She stifled her sigh and glared up at him.

“You’re right. I am hungry.”

He relaxed some.

“Which is why there is no way in hell I’m going to a sit-down restaurant where I have to wait twenty minutes to get my food,” she spat.

His lips parted, and to her satisfaction he looked at a loss for words, but he quickly recovered.

“Appetizers come in five?” he offered.

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a question?”

“I haven’t been there in years,” he confessed. She almost snorted. “But I can’t imagine the place has changed all that much. The original owner is still there, and the place is always crowded.”

“I thought you haven’t been there in years.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “And if it’s so busy, what makes you think you can get us in? Wouldn’t you have to have made a reservation like…a week ago?”

He avoided her gaze briefly, but inevitably his eyes flickered back to hers where she was looking at him in shock and reluctantly, awe.

“You made a reservation?”

“Yeah...actually.” He nervously pulled at the collar of his jacket.

“For me?” She shook her head and blinked several times, telling herself she should not be so starstruck just because this up-and-coming pop star who she hated had planned to take her out for a fancy dinner after their interview. She cleared her throat and gathered her receding anger. “You have some nerve.”

His eyes widened in a panic.

“You think you can just whisk me off my feet? Because your singing career is taking off? I don’t know if this works on all the other girls you proposition, but I am not an idiot, Barry Allen. And I have not forgotten what you did three years ago.”

That’s right, Barry Allen! She thought to herself, the feeling of righteous anger rising up in her as she said the words aloud. Take that!

“Are you…talking about Linda?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell if he was hesitant, confused, or curious.

“You remember her name. Amazing.”

“Of course, I remember.” His eyes went wide, eager to reassure her. “Iris, what did she tell you about what happened?”

She scoffed. “She didn’t tell me anything! Ever! How can that mean anything except that you never bothered to talk to her after ditching her two seconds after arriving for your date! She was heartbroken!”

She decided not to mention the little run-in with his friends she’d had three days after the incident.

Barry frowned. “But Caitlin and Cisco said-”

“Who the hell are Caitlin and Cisco?”

“My friends,” he said. “They said they ran into Linda’s best friend a few days after our date-”

“Failed date,” she spat. He ignored that.

“I assumed it was you,” he continued.

She could only maintain her huffing for so long. This was already getting so ridiculous with them carrying on this heated conversation on opposite sides of a closed door.

She sighed.

“So what if it was?” She rolled her eyes. “They never told me their names or what you said to Linda.”

He pressed his forehead to the glass, and when she finally looked up at him, the look of adoration nearly stole her breath.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he requested softly. “I promise I’ll explain everything.” He lifted his head. “And I’ll answer any question you want honestly, on or off the record.”

She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”

A heart-stopping smile started to spread across his face.

“I’m an open book for you, Iris West.”

…

Pacing back and forth in a dimly lit corridor where Barry couldn’t see her, Iris listened to what her friend had to say. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not believe this was a dream.

“You should go out with him, Iris.”

She stopped walking. The silence was deafening, and it lingered for a full minute.

“Iris?” Linda asked, concerned.

“I’m sorry, I thought I just heard my best friend tell me to go out with the guy that broke her heart.”

On the other end, Linda rolled her eyes.

“He didn’t break my heart.”

Iris said nothing.

“Okay, so it took me a little while to get over it, I admit it.”

“Thank you.”

“He was cute and an amazing singer, and I thought he was into me. So sue me for being a little excited.”

“No one’s blaming you, Lin.” Iris softened. “That’s entirely my point. Why would you want me to go out with a guy who got you all worked up and then had commitment issues before the date even started?”

Linda laughed. “He didn’t have commitment issues. In his own way, he was doing me a favor. I just couldn’t appreciate it in the moment, because…well, you know.”

“What are you talking about? How could he not have had commitment issues if he ditched you before you even left CCPN? What did he say to you later that he and his two friends keep reminding me of that you never did?” She was getting louder, but she didn’t care. Being out of the loop, especially from your best friend, totally sucked.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“About what?” she demanded.

Linda took a breath. “He met someone else.”

“When did he have the time to meet someone else? It was less than twenty-four hours between when you gave him your number and when he showed up for your date. I saw him when he came through the door, Lin. He was so excited for that date. Or at least he looked like it, the jackass,” she muttered under her breath.

“It was after I left to get my jacket,” Linda said calmly.

Iris was fuming. She wished she’d just spit it out already.

“Lin,” she said slowly, trying her best to be patient. “It couldn’t have been then either. No one came up to meet him or even walked into the room. The few people that were there were busy at their desks. I didn’t see a single one of them look up. I was the only one who he-”

She stopped, realization dawning.

“No.”

“Mhmm.”

“But…I didn’t-… I never… God, Linda, I didn’t flirt with him. I swear I didn’t. I never led him on. I was just being nice. I-”

“Hey, hey, I know. That’s why I never told you. I didn’t want you to feel bad. None of it was your fault.”

Iris ran a hand through her hair and started to pace again.

“It was definitely his fault, though.”

“What was he gonna do, Iris? Pretend to be into me, so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings, when what he really wanted was to be on a date with my best friend?”

“He could’ve given you a chance, Linda. He might not have been into me after a few minutes, anyway.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I think I’d rather be on a date with someone who was completely infatuated with me, not the idea of someone else.”

“You’re a better catch.”

Linda laughed.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Iris scolded.

“I’m not.” She paused. “Look, it’s been three years. I was hurt, but I got over it within a week. I never expected you to hold a grudge this long, though. I’m honored, truly.”

Iris sighed and dragged a hand down over her face.

“You’re my best friend, and he hurt you. How could I possibly let that go? Plus, he was super late today, Lin. It took him six hours to show up. Six hours.”

Laughter rippled through the phone from the other end.

“That’s a long time to wait for an interview.”

“Hell yeah, it is!”

“But you did it.”

“My shining career was on the line.”

“No ulterior motive then?”

“I was looking forward to thoroughly insulting him on your behalf, so what?”

“Iris…”

“What?”

“It’s been three years. And truth be told, about a month after the incident, I tracked him down and tried to persuade him to ask you out.”

“What?” she shrieked.

“You guys are perfect for each other, honestly. He’s a catch, but so are you. I think you should give him a chance. I 100% guarantee that I won’t begrudge you for that. Especially since I just started dating your brother.”

Iris came to a halt again. She tried to wrap her head around that little factoid, but it was proving even more difficult than the first revelation.

“You want to run that by me again?”

“You heard me.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“A month.”

“A month?!”

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but he said you’d freak.”

“I am freaking. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner. I can’t believe he didn’t. I can’t believe-”

“I said your dad would be harder, and he agreed with that. He doesn’t know I told you, so maybe don’t attack him when you see him because he wanted to tell you first.”

Iris focused on breathing.

“He’s twenty-four,” she finally said.

“And you and I are twenty-eight. It’s not like he’s a minor, Iris, and he’s very mature for his age. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

Iris sighed. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that…”

“Look, we can talk about how he and I met and how you’re not going to tell your dad until we have a real game plan later. I know I’ve got your approval, just like you know you’ve got mine about Barry.”

“Uh huh,” she said numbly, still struggling to comprehend.

“Great,” Linda said cheerfully. “You know what you’re going to do now, right?”

“What?” she asked, at a loss.

“You’re going to hang up the phone, go back to wherever you left Barry Allen hanging, and go on that date with him.”

“It’s an interview.”

Linda smiled tenderly, imagining her quietly spazzed best friend on the other end.

“Make it more than that,” she said, and hung up the phone.

Slowly Iris lowered the phone from her ear, saw it had ended, and dropped into her purse. She took a deep breath and returned to the locked glass doors where Barry was still standing. He immediately straightened when he saw her coming, a look of hope and anticipation in his gaze.

“Well? Did you talk to her?” he asked, far too eagerly.

“I did,” she allowed.

“And?”

“it was really shitty of you to ditch her on your first date. You could’ve at least given her a chance.”

His face fell, heartbreak written all over it.

Good.

But then her face softened.

“That said…”

He looked up at her hesitantly.

“I just found out she’s dating my kid brother, and she’s of the opinion you and I would be great together, so if you want to buy me a free meal at some ritzy fine dining restaurant and are willing to answer any question I have for the interview, well then…”

He watched her with baited breath. Her hand slowly moved to the door handle and she yanked the door open. She took one step outside, very aware of their height difference even in her heels when she came to a stop.

“You better pick me up on time, because this opportunity won’t present itself again.”

He blinked, and she smiled slyly. She pushed her purse up higher and moved past him to walk down the street to her car.

“One hour, Allen,” she said from a distance. “I’ll text you my address.”

Barry stood dumbfounded even after she’d driven away. Then, miraculously, he snapped out of it and ran the five blocks to the parking garage.

It took him twenty minutes to get home, another twenty to get ready, but luck was on his side because he arrived at Iris West’s apartment five minutes early, fidgeting about as he stood waiting.

When the door opened and the whoosh of air blew past him, he was taken aback. But the sight of Iris West in a little black dress with simple earrings and her hair tied back with a small jewel-encrusted barrette stole his breath.

“Wow,” he let out, the sound of his pounding heart beat loud and resounding in his ears.

“You clean up nice too, Mr. Allen,” she said, but he couldn’t tell if she was being polite or not. “Shall we?” She offered her arm, and immediately he took it as she locked up behind her and closed the door.

The warmth of her body beside his was a drug he’d longed to indulge in for years.

“So, where are we going?” she asked after he’d held the door open for her and she’d settled into her seat.

He turned the key in the ignition and turned to her before driving onto the road.

“It’s a surprise.”

[urban-sere]

Arctic Night Half Marathon - Tromso, Norway

The days of total darkness 300km inside the Arctic Circle where the sun doesn't show itself for a whole month.

Introduction

I was lucky enough to meet Alison when I joined my local running club ‘Stamford Striders’, she was the first person to welcome me.  So some four years later it was with great sadness that I heard of the passing of Alison Regan via the club website mail shot.  That name ‘Alison Regan’ probably means very little most people but to anyone who met her she was special, friendly and mad about running.  Married with children she was as ordinary as each of us but in a special way.  What affected me most about the loss of Alison, bearing in mind I’d not seen her or her husband Jim for some time, was that she was about my age and was struck down with a rapid illness over only a few months.  As I sat and pondered what had happened I suddenly became very aware that I was so lucky to be alive and that I should stop putting off those things that I had for so long.  We never know when the end is coming.  The result was a short list of accomplishments I wanted to achieve and signing up to the Arctic Night - Half Marathon in Tromso.  And so, this is where this story really began.

As Tromso is such a long way north I had decided to make a trip of it and planned to do some Telemark Skiing while there to.  Having had the idea I then needed to ensure I wouldn't back out and I’ve personally found that telling everyone what ‘the plan is’ doesn't give me any room to wriggle out of it or to quietly forget.  That was all a few months back and as I sat in Oslo airport awaiting my transfer to Tromso and watching the sun set for the last time for a week, it all became a reality.  At this time of year Tromos is bathed in darkness 24/7 and not until the week after I return home will the sun show itself; even then its only up for 11 minutes!  

Arrival in the Arctic

As my flight descended in to the island of Tromso and its windswept airport, I knew from the turbulence alone that the whole experience would be exactly what I was expecting and so much looking forward to; that feeling of taking risks but also of being alive.  After collecting the baggage and my companion, Simon, we got a taxi to our hotel in the centre of town - no mean feat with 210cm skis in tow...  

After a very quick unpack and deciding that we had earned the fact, we headed to the nearest bar and found O’leary’s, a sports bar showing ski jumping competitions and ably staffed by “Ollie” a Brit from, would you believe it - Kettering.  After several beers at a ridiculous price and all our money later we headed for home. feeling alike we were ready to face that Arctic and all it could throw at us...  The temperature being a chilly minus 8.

Fast-foward 6 hours to a rather barmy 0900 hours as we awoke, the temperature was a  crazy PLUS 1 and forecast to rise to an almost bearable PLUS 2.  BUT we had to contend with rain and as the windchill was taking the temperature way below zero as soon as it fell, it was turning to ice.  “What are you planning on running in” I asked over breakfast and and together Simon and I discussed and decided that we should at least consider getting spikes for our shoes.  A quick walk (icy waddle) along the high street and we found ourselves at an outdoor chop where we almost walked straight into a display selling over show running spikes, ‘Jackpot’.  Eyeing the price we quickly mused the prospect of leaving them till later but as we considered that prospect there was another couple of Brits asking the same questions we had considered, “Hi, we are from the UK and running tomorrow, do you happen to have spikes that could... Blah Blah Blah!” and then another couple and then another... We had to buy them or risk losing them, so as we departed being wished lots of luck and many Kroner lighter in the pocket, we were at least equipped for the icy and worsening conditions under foot.  

Content, we set off for the sight-seeing and touristy bit and the inevitable cost, again ending the day at O’Leary’s bar...  Race preparation at it’s best, to which any Stamford Strider can attest.  We saw in the new day with a Gin and Tonic and for me a realisation that Alison Regan’s death had affected me in many ways but mostly that I was now going to live life to the fullest.  We really do have no idea when it will end and should always bear that in mind!

Arctic Night Half Marathon

As the big day dawned and we headed for breakfast we were becoming aware of the weather and all that it entailed.  Almost everyone we saw we now suspiciously eyes as potential runners and as we devoured our hearty breakfast we got our plan of action together.  We headed straight out to the registration at the town hall and collected our race pack with numbers but we drew the line at spending £50 on a glow in the dark Northern Lights race T-shirt...  The race wasn't due to start till 1500 hours but it was already getting gloomy and dark as we headed back to our hotel for more hydration, preparation and in Simons case a little nap.

As the start time of 1500 hours neared we pinned on numbers and checked we had enough of everything with us, clothing, spikes and the obligatory gels...  We walked up the street to the gathering crowd of similarly dressed runners and prepared to meet the challenge. There was just one large starting pen and as the gun went off there were slow runners in front of fast  and even walkers in the throng.  As I found space and fought for position I crossed the line and started my Garmin watch.  The race had begun and as we ran through the streets, the gathered crowd cheering us on, it was snowing and all seemed good.

We’re Off

The streets darkened as we neared the edge of town and up through housing where families were standing in the front of their houses cheering and ringing bells and the atmosphere was so friendly.  Large , what I can only describe as tea lights, lit the path and before I really took stock I was at the first water stop. It was sleeting and the hailing by this time and id taken my hat off as I was quite warm but the hard cold rain soon had my hood coming up.  

As I said hi and briefly chatted to everyone who I past and to everyone who past me, it was going to be the friendliest Half Marathon I’d ever run but certainly not the fastest.  Around the 5 mile point the front runner came back towards me and was running at a great pace; he must have been about 2 miles ahead of me.  The next thing to come into view was the airport where I knew there was a few switch backs and another water stop but more importantly a chance to see where Simon my colleague was in the group.  After the first switch back I caught sight of him and he was running very well considering it was his first half marathon.

Now on the homeward leg I braced myself as the wind bit hard and the snow and sleet bounced off my face.  Through half closed eyes  and gritted teach I pushed on trying desperately to keep up with a pair of local runners who were doing very well and about my pace.  I stayed with them for around 5 miles but as we cam back into town I could feel I had a blister on a toe and my thigh, soaked and numb with cold, were also telling me they’d had enough.  My pace slowed a little for the last mile but I didn’t care, the crowds were chearing and the final few hundred meters was again lit up with candles like a small runway with it slights on, ready to welcome home the runners.  I crossed the line, stopped my watch, shook the hand of the guy putting a medal around my neck and then the Red Cross were wrapping me up like an oven ready chicken!   I joined all the others who had finished for a drink and banana around a roaring brazier and finally looked at the time, two hours and just under three minutes.  Without doubt the slowest Half Marathon I’d ever run but in the conditions I had experienced and for the whole atmosphere - the most memorable.

A Moment of Thought

Not forgetting that it was the loss of a friend that had galvanised me into action and made this a reality, I retired to the bar for a well earned drink and to show off my medal - whilst thinking of the next excursion I intend to undertake.  We never know when our time will come and I urge everyone to make the most of every day.  That rainy day we put things off ‘til may never arrive!  We are all here for a finite period of time and I really don’t want to be that person who looks back with regret that I didn’t try hard enough or simply didnt get round to doing ‘this or that’. I am grateful to Alison for being the inspiration and I’m sorry for Jim, her husband, and everyone who knew or simply met her now that she is gone.  

As I spend the next few days Nordic skiing around the area and the snow is falling I wonder what else I will now be challenged to face and how much more of life I will live.