#will cross stitching all day be more or less hazardous

[six-demon-bag]

got distracted watching the rain while pouring water and nearly overfilled my teapot 😰

[spitdrunken]

Kwkfjfkejeje

Help I can’t get Rollo being all like ☺️😊🥹

With a reader who does embroidery like he loves hand crafted stuff and such and I can’t get the idea of him like going to the bell and finding reader there doing some embroidery and him being like 💞💖💓

And just like staying there looking at them doing their thing like “spectacular, amazing, unique”

“What are you doing up here?” As soon as you look up, and Rollo recognises who is sitting underneath the Bell of Salvation, the furrow in between his eyes softens. He isn’t one to prefer company during his daily cleaning, but if it’s you... Well, he supposes it could do no harm. 

“Ah. It’s you. My apologies, not many decide to take the trek up here, I thought perhaps... Nevermind.” He lightly shakes his head. You bear no ill will; You couldn’t damage this bell, no matter how much you may have wished to. 

Nevertheless, it’s cold up here, windy, regardless of the weather outside. Rollo can only wonder why you would choose to wander here, though he could hazard a guess. 

“I just like the view, and-” You open your mouth, but close it again. For a moment, you’re quiet. “I can focus here. It’s nice and quiet. Well, usually... I don’t mean you! Let’s just say I didn’t know the exact times the bell rang when I first got here.”

Rollo lets out a slight huff of air through his nose. He moves to a corner of the room to grab his stepladder, and the rest of his usual supplies. “I’m familiar with the feeling. That’s a mistake anyone will only make once.” His ears had been ringing for two hours afterwards. You hum in reply, absentmindedly. 

When he places the ladder down near the bell, near where you’re seated cross-legged on the floor, he finally gets a good view off what’s keeping you busy. You’re moving a needle and thread through the sleeves of your school uniform. Your version of the uniform is much less intricate than the others. Both because you have no magic and no money to pay for the full set, you merely received a plain red garb to wear over your usual clothing. It always makes you the odd one out in every crowd. (And, frankly, it disgusts him. You had never asked to be here, manifested underneath the Bell of Salvation one day for him to find, and yet they treat you like second-rate. Of course they would.)

You seem to be stitching tiny bells into the fabric. The hint of a smile spreads on his face. Would this be in accordance with school regulations? You have not paid for your uniform, technically, it’s school property that you’re altering. Well, it’s not like anyone else will ever be wearing a uniform similar to yours, he believes. He’ll keep quiet. Not to mention, you making the clothing your own, in a way, pleases him. 

“That looks very nice,” You jump a little, like you just remembered he was there. “Please feel free to continue, though I will be cleaning here. Do you mind?” 

You shake your head, but glance at the bucket and rags that he’s carrying. “Won’t you be using magic to clean it? Isn’t that easier?” His grip on the bucket handle tightens. Certainly, it would be easier. Certainly, it would cost less time. He tries to swallow the bitterness rising up into his mouth. You know no better, that’s all.

“It would be,” He admits. “But why do you take the time to embroid yourself, when you could ask a friend to magically alter it within seconds?” 

“Um... Because it’s more satisfying if you do it yourself? And I just like to do this, it’s like a hobby.”

Rollo nods. “It’s the same for me.” Not many at Noble Bell College take the time out of their day to upkeep skills such as yours, swayed to sloth by the ease of convenience magic brings. He’s glad to see this. 

You smile, seeming satisfied at his answer, before bowing down again. He allows the room to lapse into silence, you both working on your respective tasks. Cleaning the bell is work Rollo normally loses himself in, even the strong smell of the specially-made oil having become soothing. Today, however, he finds himself taking his time, and his eyes wander to watch you work. From his current position, he can only see the back of your head. As he moves clockwise along the bell however, he eventually ends up in a spot where he can see your face. 

The steady movement of your hands, the focused expression on your face, the little furrow between your brow-- Whenever a particular emotion overwhelms Rollo, his worst habit is to mutter them out loud. 

“Cute...”

You tear yourself away from your work, blinking up at him. “Did you say something?”

“No.” He responds within a heartbeat. “You must’ve misheard.” Without thinking, he brings the cloth in his hand to his mouth for comfort , like he otherwise would. Immediately, oil is smeared all over the lower half of his face, and an absolutely repugnant scent fills his nostrils. Rollo gags loudly, nearly heaving over. It feels disgusting. 

You stare up at him in absolute disbelief. “What are you doing?!” A split second later, you burst out laughing, loud and clear as bells. He would’ve been happy to hear it at any other moment. Rollo only finds himself staring at the cleaning rag in his hand, hoping it will somehow transform into his usual handkerchief, and rid him of this utter humiliation. His face burns like fire.

[edenmemes]

skyward sword sentence starters

more to be added !

❝ you promised to meet me before it starts, remember? ❞ ❝ you seem pretty...relaxed about the whole thing. ❞ ❝ is something wrong? what’s the hurry? ❞ ❝ sometimes i just don’t know what’s going on in your head. ❞ ❝ i'm not like you. i fail at everything i try. ❞ ❝ a shrimpy boy like you hardly looks the part of a hero. ❞ ❝ swatting a few monsters will be no trouble for you. ❞ ❝ run and play this time. get in my way again, though, and you’re dead. ❞ ❝ don’t even pretend that was an accident! ❞ ❝ do you doubt these eyes? i look upon your shirt and i see a single thread loose on your sleeve stitching. ❞ ❝ this is no place for one such as you. and yet here you stand. ❞ ❝ i need to vent all this unhealthy anger,     and your agony is such a great stress reliever. ❞ ❝ remember what we discussed. restrain yourself. focus on the task at hand. ❞ ❝ do my words anger you? do my words sting? let them. ❞ ❝ you don’t come by here just to see me, do you? ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? you just made a face like you wanted to say something. ❞ ❝ oh, i get it. you’re trying to weasel out of having to practice. ❞ ❝ i guess it’s not all bad. at least i’m getting paid. ❞ ❝ there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about.... ❞ ❝ would you wake up, straighten up, and grow a backbone already? ❞ ❝ nice try, but you’re not fooling me. ❞ ❝ i...i have to go. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ folks were always cheering me on like it was a parade. but as you know, time passes. ❞ ❝ you keep some very strange company, friend. ❞ ❝ i don’t know if it’s safe yet...i’m going to stay here awhile longer. ❞ ❝ oh no. you’ve done it now! there’s no escaping this one! ❞ ❝ so, what now? are you going to cry? ❞ ❝ i can’t begin to tell you how sorry i am for pulling you into all of this. ❞ ❝ what is wrong with you? just look at what you’ve done! ❞ ❝ what we’ve seen here today defies explanation. ❞ ❝ you put up more of a fight than i would have thought possible out of such a soft person. ❞ ❝ did you really just draw your sword? foolish. ❞ ❝ should you heed the call of destiny,     i don’t know what dangers you may have to face. ❞ ❝ i can’t help being such a coward...i’m really sorry. ❞ ❝ i fear i spent far too long teasing and toying with you. ❞ ❝ you do your people proud. ❞ ❝ how long do we have to live in constant fear? ❞ ❝ i'll just beat you within an inch of your life! ❞ ❝ dawn is drawing near. it has been a long night for the both of us, hasn’t it? ❞ ❝ you were limp and unconscious. i feared the worst. ❞ ❝ what do you think you’re doing sneaking out with that? ❞ ❝ such a beautiful day, but we’re too busy to enjoy it. some things never change. ❞ ❝ i guess you’ll never learn unless you run into trouble one day. ❞ ❝ look at my face. if that’s your idea of a joke, i’m not laughing. ❞ ❝ you appeared to be relishing that snooze, so i declined to wake you. ❞ ❝ huh? oh, uh, nothing. really, i was, uh...talking to myself. ❞ ❝ you’re looking a little pale... ❞ ❝ i imagine you and i will cross paths again. until then, do not lower your guard. ❞ ❝ you certainly are persistent... ❞ ❝ all that may be well intentioned and true, but it doesn’t mean it’s right. ❞ ❝ i’m prepared to pay the price for what i’ve done. ❞ ❝ i had no idea we were fated to carry such a heavy destiny. ❞ ❝ i need your strength to tip the scales in our favor. ❞ ❝ all this training, and no results! ❞ ❝ all i’ve hears so far is a bunch of babbling about destiny,     but that’s a load of garbage. ❞ ❝ when night draws her tenebrous curtain across the sky, i come here. ❞ ❝ what in the world just happened? did you use some kind of magic? ❞ ❝ please, see it through and prove the legends true. ❞ ❝ i was happy just spending my days hanging around with you. i wanted that feeling to last forever. ❞ ❝ you are vital to a mission of great importance. ❞ ❝ the chances of that happening are just about less than zero. ❞ ❝ i hate to break it to you, but today’s the day i bust up this adorable little fantasyland you’re living in. ❞ ❝ this is a war, and the fate of the land hangs in the balance. ❞ ❝ i know you, and you’re no hero. ❞ ❝ you’re messing with me. say it again, i dare you. ❞ ❝ you float through life with your head in the clouds. ❞ ❝ i don’t do charity for wimps. ❞ ❝ what’s this...? what is it that my eyes behold? ❞ ❝ don’t even think about it! are we clear? ❞ ❝ the point is your work here is done. i got it covered from here. ❞ ❝ my eyes foresee a hazardous, thorny road ahead for you... ❞ ❝ you...this is your fault, you know. ❞ ❝ my heart is bursting with thoughts of you. ❞ ❝ i have a serious dilemma on my mind right now, and you’re distracting me. ❞ ❝ i’ll make you proud. you’ll see! ❞ ❝ feels dangerous. something could jump out at us at any moment. ❞ ❝ we’re talking about a tale that’s been passed down over a lot of years, so i wouldn’t put much stock in it. ❞ ❝ i have the right to experience an unfettered and passionate love, don’t i? ❞ ❝ i’ll tell you, it gives even a big guy like me the creeps. ❞ ❝ oh...how can i get you to notice me? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling nothing i can say will talk you out of it. ❞ ❝ my love for you is wider than the horizon and deeper than the clouds. ❞ ❝ trust my piercing eyes...listen to my pure and innocent voice. ❞ ❝ i feel so excited, so cheerful, so full of life. ❞ ❝ i sense a silent power dwelling somewhere in your frame. ❞ ❝ this turn of events has left me with a strong appetite for bloodshed. ❞ ❝ there’s no doubting it. the gears of fate have begun to turn. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i was lost in thought there for a moment. ❞ ❝ don’t men open doors for a lady anymore? how long am i supposed to stand here waiting for a little chivalry? ❞ ❝ i hate even saying this, but i guess you got it all figured out. ❞ ❝ you must not push yourself. you’re still recovering. ❞ ❝ you think you’re pretty suave, don’t you? ❞ ❝ i know you’re in a hurry, so i really appreciate you taking the time to help. ❞ ❝ i saw it, but i was able to escape by the seat of my pants. ❞ ❝ do you have any idea how that made me feel inside? furious! outraged! sick with anger! ❞ ❝ you’re really something else. i could never imagine myself doing what you’re about to do. ❞ ❝ i must aid you in fulfilling the great destiny that is your burden to carry. ❞ ❝ i should have believed you...i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ lately, when i think about you, my head gets all fuzzy, my heart races, i get short of breath, and i feel all dizzy... ❞ ❝ you should know better than that to fret about me. ❞ ❝ thanks for jumping in there to rescue me. ❞ ❝ hey, hold on there! what are you trying to pull all of a sudden? ❞ ❝ your face cries out in earnest wonder, and that cry is: ‘what’s this?!’ ❞ ❝ i promise up front not to murder you. ❞ ❝ you...didn’t hear any of that, did you? there’s no way you heard, right? ❞ ❝ i tell you, all sorts of weird things are going on lately. ❞ ❝ calamitous visions appear before me... ❞ ❝ you...make me so happy...i think i’m going to keel over... ❞ ❝ i wanted you to be the first to see me like this. ❞ ❝ i can’t imagine a more fitting color for you. it’s as though you were born to wear it. ❞ ❝ i bet you can’t even decide what to have for lunch on your own, huh? ❞ ❝ amazing, right? wrong! it is beyond amazing! ❞ ❝ it can’t be easy for you, can it? ❞ ❝ you’ll see in time that you have your own role to play in all this. ❞ ❝ trust in fate to guide your feet. ❞ ❝ i bet you’re here just to check me out, right? ❞ ❝ i just hope nothing has happened. i’m worried sick thinking about it. ❞ ❝ whoa...you’re kind of imploding my mind right now. ❞ ❝ if you wanna live again one day, you should head for home. ❞ ❝ you have a great journey before you, and those clothes...they don’t look up to the task. ❞ ❝ did you manage to get even a wink of sleep last night? ❞ ❝ ever heard of banging your knuckles against the door? it’s called knocking. ❞ ❝ so, uh...yeah. just how long have you been standing there? ❞ ❝ honestly, it’s almost as though you become a completely different person when you worry about me. ❞ ❝ you showing up here must mean we’re connected somehow. like fate. ❞ ❝ sorry to put you through that. i guess i owe you one now. ❞ ❝ to tell you the truth, i’m feeling a little frustrated, and right now i just need someone to vent to. ❞ ❝ what’s with you? leave me alone if you don’t want anything. ❞ ❝ hearing that is such a...huge weight off my mind. ❞ ❝ though your journey will put you in harms way, you must endure. ❞ ❝ i'm just deadweight. what kinda use is that to anyone... ❞ ❝ seriously, what is that thing over there?! ❞ ❝ before i say another word, i feel like i owe you an apology. ❞ ❝ during your long journey, you’ve grown so much. ❞ ❝ from the moment i laid my eyes on you, i could tell you had a gentle and generous heart. ❞ ❝ oh dear...i don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden... ❞ ❝ you don’t appear to have any serious injuries. for that much we can be grateful. ❞ ❝ i can see into those dopey eyes of yours. ❞ ❝ i can finally smile and laugh again! thank you ever so much. ❞ ❝ i think i might of broke something. ❞ ❝ is that it? i thought it was going to put up more of a fight. ❞ ❝ i thought we were goners this time. sort of glad i was wrong about that. ❞ ❝ what? i don’t seem like my usual self? ❞ ❝ this place needs a name. a name fitting for this rugged, adventurous wilderness. ❞ ❝ what were you thinking? you scared a year off my life! ❞ ❝ care to explain just what you meant by ‘our special moment alone’? ❞ ❝ my advice? work hard and wish with all your heart. ❞ ❝ say, you look all flustered. ❞ ❝ i fear we can’t dwell on our success. ❞ ❝ the world is bursting with undiscovered surprises, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you're not exactly mr/mrs.perfect either, are you? ❞ ❝ this is easily as scary as i thought it would be. ❞ ❝ i swear this neighborhood’s getting crummier every day. ❞ ❝ you ain’t as dumb as you look. ❞ ❝ i was going to ask if you wanted me to take care of you forever... ❞ ❝ i need to learn how to keep these delirious dreams in check. ❞ ❝ maybe you should forget about everything that happened here tonight. ❞ ❝ can you imagine a more gruesome fate? ❞ ❝ there are more monsters about than before, so be careful. ❞ ❝ human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing. ❞ ❝ i sense an evil presence on the other side of this door. ❞ ❝ you understand, don’t you? i’m not wrong about this, am i? ❞ ❝ i never wanted to lay eyes on you again. ❞ ❝ i would have gotten discouraged if you hadn’t come by to cheer me on. you gave me motivation. ❞ ❝ who do you think you are, getting involved in my business like that? ❞ ❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you... ❞ ❝ i don’t even understand how you could make such a wild accusation! ❞ ❝ it was at that moment i finally realized. i realized that...i love you. ❞ ❝ make sure you come home every now and then. nothing like a good sleep in your own bed. ❞ ❝ you’d better not keep me waiting. ❞ ❝ make sure you put your heart into it! i won’t stand for anything but your best. ❞ ❝ how could you be swayed by the temptation of material gain?     do you have no honor? ❞ ❝ you really want to hear about all my troubles? that’s kind of you. ❞ ❝ you...weren’t supposed to see that whole spectacle. how embarrassing... ❞ ❝ you have only succeeded in buying us a little more time. ❞ ❝ watch it! that’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your life! ❞ ❝ you look like you need to get something off your chest. ❞ ❝ know that all the questions you have now will be answered in time. ❞ ❝ there is nothing natural about these tremors. ❞ ❝ you might just be the person i need! you seem pretty good with the ladies. ❞ ❝ it’s great to hear you’re so confident in me. ❞ ❝ ideal love is unfettered and passionate. anything less than that can’t really be called love at all. ❞ ❝ you're incessant buzzing around my head like some irksome gadfly when i’m this busy is...making me very disagreeable. ❞ ❝ you may not have noticed, but i’m trying to hide here.     could you please scoot along? ❞ ❝ you'd better keep your eyes to yourself, if you know what i mean. ❞ ❝ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ❞ ❝ you...you came to see me! i’m so happy. ❞ ❝ your job is simple! you make sure none of these monsters lays a claw on me. not...one...claw. ❞ ❝ now is not the time to be picky about who will help you. ❞ ❝ watch carefully while i demonstrate what a real hero looks like. ❞ ❝ you are something else! there is nothing you cannot do. ❞ ❝ if you think about how often we meet, you have to admit that our relationship has gone beyond friendship, you know? ❞ ❝ i’ll make the affair so excruciating, you’ll deafen yourself with the shrill sound of your own screams. ❞ ❝ i was right, then. there is something special about you. ❞ ❝ i should have reprimanded you the last time we met, but instead i was...soft. ❞ ❝ ha-ha! you didn’t see that coming, did you? ❞ ❝ you really are a snake in the grass. ❞ ❝ you are indeed worthy of being called a hero. ❞ ❝ i’m not used to getting stared at like this. it’s making me blush. ❞ ❝ i can’t hide anything from you, can i? ❞ ❝ the longer i train, the more i realize i’ll never measure up to you. ❞ ❝ whoa...you took out every last one of them. ❞ ❝ i know how bad this must look to you right now, but i assure you i mean no harm. ❞ ❝ it’s all very strange, but i doubt there’s much of a connection between these things. ❞ ❝ you're a weird one, climbing all the way up here. ❞ ❝ don’t cry --- it’s perfectly, mostly safe! ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by that thread of fate. destined to fight. ❞ ❝ meet me in battle, and the thread of fate that binds us will be soaked crimson with your blood. ❞ ❝ i do not wish to dwell on what may have happened if you hadn’t been here. ❞ ❝ you have awakened a wrath that will burn for eons! ❞ ❝ you really like those fantasy stories, eh? ❞ ❝ there is one teensy, tiny thing i lack...namely, mercy. ❞ ❝ i must warn you, i won’t go easy on you this time. ❞ ❝ i might be willing to forgive and forget if you’ll strike a deal. ❞ ❝ since i know i can be honest with you, i’ll admit i got a little sulky. it was frowns all around. ❞ ❝ i see you’re still among the living. ❞ ❝ i saw them dragging you off unconscious, so i tailed them. ❞ ❝ i want you to visit me at my house tonight. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to say a word. i can see how you feel by the spark in your eye. ❞ ❝ you’ll see. i’ll be as tough as you in no time. ❞ ❝ it’s not like ‘oh, hey, that person’s back! i’m so happy!’ or anything like that... ❞ ❝ whoa...that’s some really terrible handwriting. ❞ ❝ i would very much like it if you would go out with me. ❞ ❝ truly? you choose me? ❞ ❝ i swear to you, whatever it takes, i will drag you into an eternity of torment. ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by a thread of fate. ❞ ❝ i’ll watch over you, protecting you from afar. ❞ ❝ until then, we’ll keep our love secret. ❞ ❝ this news has just filled my heart with rainbows! ❞ ❝ this place seems strangely familiar... ❞ ❝ don’t you gotta take care of your own business first? ❞ ❝ they’re not going to do anything nice if they catch you. ❞ ❝ it’s not humane to tease someone this bored. ❞ ❝ i’m not some sideshow for you to gawk at. ❞ ❝ it’s weird to say out loud, but that’s just how i feel right now. ❞ ❝ you can’t break me with interrogation. you’ll never make me talk. ❞ ❝ word is there’s a huge treasure hidden in these here ruins... ❞ ❝ what? that’s not weird to say! ❞ ❝ ...i understand your true feelings. better than you know. ❞ ❝ all the fairytales that we heard growing up...they appear all too real. ❞ ❝ do i look sad? no, i’m doing what i want to do! ❞ ❝ i don’t know what came over me! i had no clue i had the talent to make something like this. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t be out here in the open with no way to defend yourself. ❞ ❝ you do have the tendency to cause trouble for those you ‘help’. ❞ ❝ as far as i’m concerned, i got nothing but time. ❞ ❝ don’t you play coy with me. i know that you know, so why not let me in on the fun? ❞ ❝ so you really think a sob story like that is going to work on me? what a joke. ❞ ❝ i’d take pleasure in punishing you, but i have no time for recreation. ❞ ❝ sorry to leave you on your own, but you look like you can handle it. ❞ ❝ remember --- it’s a secret to everybody. ❞ ❝ it isn’t as action packed as what you’re doing, but maybe this is my destiny. ❞ ❝ don’t you just love the way it smells down here? ❞ ❝ defending the land...it’s my purpose, i think. it’s why i’m here. ❞ ❝ what do i know...you might just surprise me. ❞ ❝ fibber! you’re a fibbity fibber! ❞ ❝ you needn’t even say it. i can tell from the look of sheer astonishment on your face. ❞ ❝ you have had this destiny thrust upon you without warning...    or choice, for that matter. ❞ ❝ don’t do anything heroic and get yourself caught. ❞ ❝ ...you want to tell me but you can’t? ❞ ❝ you know, i really worry about you. it’s a weakness of mine. ❞ ❝ try not to get in the way of my shots, ok? ❞ ❝ i haven’t slept a wink in...ahhh...i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had my suspicions, but until now i wasn’t sure. ❞ ❝ you seem a good deal stronger than the last time we met. ❞ ❝ i would be remiss if i didn’t let you know of the weight on my heart. ❞ ❝ i have a reputation to protect, you know. ❞ ❝ listen closely. do you hear that? ❞

[calboniferous]

Duality

Chapter 8 – Bant

Bant watched from a passenger seat as Master Koon brought the ship out of hyperspace and Garen, having talked his way into the co-pilot’s seat, hailed Naboo air traffic control.

Naboo from space was a truly beautiful world of verdant greens and sweeping blue. At this distance it was nigh impossible to tell that the planet had been party to a violent invasion and occupation. The only indication to these events was the glittering metallic cloud which was all that remained of the Trade Federation control ship.

However, descending over Theed favoured the Jedi with a clear view of the destruction. Bant’s heart ached in sympathy for what she saw.

The graceful pillars and red-tiled rooves of the city’s buildings were marked with carbon scoring characteristic of blasterfire and many of the buildings were reduced to rubble. Tents were tucked between broken columns and piles of debris littered the streets. And, pale grey in the wan morning sunlight, smoke still rose in parts of the city and climbed high into the sky in the absence of wind.

They landed in the main hangar of the Theed Royal Palace. While a number of the starfighter bays were glaringly empty, one of the ships had been decorated with roughly cut strips of red fabric and had ‘The Skywalker’ painted boldly across the fuselage. Bant hazarded a guess that it was the victory ship. The brief sent by the Naboo had summarised the battle and the Masters’ force presences went sharp and icy at the line “young Anakin Skywalker flew a Royal Starfighter to great efficacy and secured victory with his destruction of the control ship”.

No, Plo “Finder to a third of the creche” Koon and Vokara “mother nexu” Che were not happy that a nine-year-old was on a battlefield. After that episode, Bant decided she never wanted to witness ‘scary quiet’ Master Koon again thank you very much. And, in the interest of doing so, she made a mental note to strong-arm the young pilot into a mind healers’ office at the next opportunity.

Serene masks firmly in place, the Jedi descended the ramp before the whine of the engines shutting down faded and they were a small party of Nabooians approched. Bant immediately singled out the clean lines of the Healer’s uniform.

An elderly human man draped in plum velvet stepped forwards and opened his arms wide in greeting. “Ah, welcome, Masters Jedi, welcome! News of your arrival was a surprise, but we are glad of your presence nonetheless; indeed, we owe your kin a great debt although— “

Master Che gave no acknowledgement to the man and interrupted his filibuster, passing him to meet the mirialan healer. “Healer Renada,”

“Master Che,” they said, waving a hand for the Jedi to follow “he’s this way.”

The human man—a politician, Bant deduced from his impractical garb—sputtered as the Jedi swept past without so much as a hitch in their gate, his mouth gaping like those deep-sea fish from Mon Cala. If circumstances hadn’t been so grim, Bant might’ve found it funny. As it was, she was preoccupied with following their guide who, thankfully, kept up a brisque pace.

Bant didn’t have to guess which room Obi-Wan was in, feeling his muted presence through their creche bond. Unconscious, then. Still, the echoes of pain and flashes of light she could sense meant that he wasn’t shielding his end of the bond.

They pushed through the door.

Skin waxy in the blue glow of the monitors at his bedside, Obi-Wan was terribly still. There was a bacta patch on his cheek and white gauze peeked out from underneath the hospital gown. Worse, the mournful lament of a kyber crystal came from the crate on the floor where the silver-and-black hilt of Master Jinn’s lightsabre rested among folds of freshly laundered tunics.

Master Che laid a hand on his forehead and Bant rested her own on his shoulder, feeling the feverish warmth under her palm.

This close, it was impossible to miss the emotions radiating unchecked from Obi-Wan and Bant realised that his shields weren’t lowered, they were broken.

“Master Che,” she said,

“I feel it. Plo, shield us.” her mentor ordered and a moment later, Bant felt the force quiet as the kel dor master wrapped heavy shields around the two healers and Obi-Wan. Preferably, they would have had a team of healers to protect the patient’s vulnerable mind but they made do with what they had. And, Master Koon was no slouch when it came to his control of the force.

“Bant, with me,” Master Che said and, closing her eyes, Bant sunk into the force.

Delving into the force like this was difficult to describe to anyone who wasn’t force sensitive but, if asked, Bant would say that it was like diving into the sea.

The cool weight rushed over her skin and closed over her head, the sudden weightlessness and the pressure of the world around her were old friends. Bubbles trailed from her as she dived, the last vestiges of the physical world

The roar of the force in her ears muted the noise of surface reality but the moving parts of the galaxy are louder than ever. Sound travels faster through water

The sea was calm. A great seawall held back the powerful surge of the open ocean. Quieter, but no less present.

Down here the water was brighter and more tangible around her. Bant could feel the water in the spaces between all things, flowing, pushing, pressing through those crevasses and chasms. Cause and effect. A current rolled up from the sea floor, lifting glittering grains of sand up into the water column, and far above Bant’s head a wave crested.

Breathtaking.

From her earliest memories, Bant thought entering the force felt like coming home. She is not here to drift aimlessly on the current, though, and there is red in the water.

Obi-Wan’s presence ached under her hands. Floating like a strange, pale bloom in the endless blue. His lifeforce flickered weakly as water flowed through his lungs and blood flowed out though Bant could feel that what little strength he had was used to try and hold his wounds closed.  

Reaching out to his mind, Bant surveyed the damage. The tear in his mind was undoubtably from a Split and she could see the remains of his bond with Qui-Gon. Bant hadn’t been on the team of healers that dealt with Master Sifo-Dyas’ Split but she had spoken to some of them. She’d listened to their accounts; she’d studied relentlessly and she knew what needed to be done.

Master Che was steady beside her, guiding and holding Obi-Wan’s mind still as Bant cut the mangled mess of the bond free. Unconscious though he was, Obi-Wan’s subconscious mind still tried to twist and pull away from the pain.

I’m sorry Obi-Wan, I’m so, so sorry Bant thought as she brought the clean edges of the wound together and began to close it, stitch by metaphysical stitch. He flinched with every suture.

Healing like this was invasive. A last resort. For Obi-Wan, Bant knew there was no other course of action. The damaged remains of the bond were vulnerable and would never heal properly. Even if it eventually scarred over, it would continue to cause Obi-Wan pain and be a weakness in his shields for the rest of his life. It needed to be removed.

Knowing all this didn’t make it any easier for Bant to do. Stitching skin, suturing the mind. Both involved inflicting a little more injury to bind the wound shut.

Hours have passed by the time Bant and Master Che have closed Obi-Wan’s psychic wounds and painstakingly constructed temporary shields in his mind. Emerging from her trance-like state, Bant blinked her eyes to clear the spots from her vision and stretched her stiff limbs.  

“Well?” Garen said, seated at the foot of the bed on one of the hard, white chairs.

Bant gave him a thin smile. “Alive. We won’t know if there will be any lasting effects at this stage but he’s not at risk of dying right now.”

Relief coloured Garen’s force signature and he closed his eyes for a long moment.

“Padawan Eerin is right,” Master Che said, lekku curling as she too stood and stretched, “Obi-Wan will heal. Now, you two— ah, thank you, Plo,” she broke off to accept a cup of water from the other Master, “Much better. You two need to stay close to him. That much force exposure all at once is comparable to trying to hold up the whole Tranquillity Spire all day. So, Padawan Eerin what is the effect of this and what would you prescribe?”

Never a respite from medical pop quiz around Master Che.

Bant gathered her thoughts before answering, “Severe force exhaustion which in turn means he won’t be able to use the force until his connection heals further. When he wakes he’ll be under orders not to try until he’s been cleared.”

“Good,”

“And,” Bant continued, “since he can’t use that sense and doesn’t have Master Jinn’s bond, that means he’ll feel isolated in the force. Garen and I need to keep him company.”

Master Che gave her a look of approval

“Full marks, Padawan,” then, to the rest of the room, “Excuse me while I confer with Healer Renada.”

She exited to the room in search of the mirialan. No longer needing to hold up shields around Obi-Wan, Master Plo retreated to a corner and settled cross-legged on the floor to meditate.

Garen’s eyes flicked from the kel dor to Bant and back, questioning.

“Don’t mind me, young ones, chatter all you want,” Master Plo said, a moment later taking the deep, even breaths characteristic of meditation.

Garen moved his chair to sit next to Bant at Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He leaned his head on her shoulder and Bant rested her head on top of his.

“Thanks, Bant,”

She nudged his boot, “It’s Obi-Wan,”

That was all the explanation in the world to the both of them. Cradling one of Obi-Wan’s hands between two of her own, his stable pulse under her finger kept time as afternoon turned to night.

“We should message the others,” Bant said, who-knows-how-long later and Garen resurfaced from his light doze against her.

“Quin’s going to be mad,”

Bant hummed in agreement. “Reeft should be back in-temple today or tomorrow Coruscant time—whenever that is in Naboo time. They’ll have each other in hand,” Bant squinted and re-evaluated her words, “Reeft will have Quin in hand.”

“Better give him good warning, then,” Garen unstuck himself from where he’d been plastered to Bant and pulled out his com, beginning to type a message to their group chat. For all that they joked about him, Quinlan did have a good grasp on his emotions—he needed to in order to be an effective shadow—but when he was safe and off duty, he could express himself more freely.

Message sent, Garen settled back against Bant, sighing softly. By virtue of healer training, it was nearly inevitable that Bant would be a Padawan for longer than her crechémates. And, as Jedi rank was often equated to maturity by outsiders, her Knighted peers were often assumed to be older that her. Wiser. But among themselves, it was Bant who took that elder role.

With two of her four pseudo-siblings sleeping safely near her, Bant settled in to watch over them and guard their dreams.

[martelldoran]

2020 Fic Year in Review

I was tagged by the beautiful @kalee60 in this lovely review of my year in fic! so let's just jump right into it!

Total number of completed stories:

15 on Ao3 plus a few rogue ficlets lurking on tumblr i haven't put up yet.

Total number of words:

131,942 published words! not counting everything in my wips which would probably put it up closer to 200,000

Fandoms written in:

MCU (stucky)

HP Marauders (jily and narlily)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

oh hell yeah I did. i don't think i even wrote that much pre - pandemic but then it hit and i was furloughed. I cycled through stress knitting and animal crossing as hyperfixations but then i got the urge to start working on a certain fix-it i had let lie for months and it all went from there. I must have written solidly almost every day for about 4 or 5 months I think.

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

the fix-it. genuinely this will surprise exactly zero people. i worked so hard on i don't want to set the world on fire and have spoken about it so much my phone now knows to predict it when typing. 😂 i put my heart and soul into that fic trying to do the characters justice because i am smol and full of spite and have unending reserves of salt.

Did you take any writing risks this year?

oooh good question. okay so this is going to sound really cheesy but tbh the biggest risk i feel like i took was actually posting something I'd written. i mean I'd done it before but never with any kind of regularity. yes, yes, I'm a cheeseball. moving on.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

I have a historical epistolary identity porn fic to write for the lovely @allegedlyann since she won my Marvel Trumps Hate auction!

I'd like to get bingo on my stucky bingo card. maybe two if I'm really productive but I don't want to set myself up for too much disappointment lmao

more prompt challenges with incredible @kalee60 and @darter-blue

I just want to write meaningful and enjoyable stories about the characters I love even if they're only catering to a target audience of me and like 3 other people 😂

Most popular story of the year?

that would be i don't want to set the world on fire. but that ran weekly and just ticked along quite the thing for what? 4 months. most popular one shot was the ink slinger which really caught me off guard i won't lie. I didn't think it would do as well as it did at all.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

god I have no idea. i try not to dwell on why one thing does better than another. the fics will do what they do. i don't have much control over them once they're out in the world and what resonates with one person might not resonate with the next. idk am i actually answering this question? don't think i am? 🤔

Most fun story to write?

this is a toss up between The Coffee Cryptid which came from me and @kalee60 talking shite about Bucky and his coffee order, and a stitch in time which was pure self indulgence because you should put out into the world the content you want to see, i guess. and i wanted to see my faves in beautiful knitwear and being dumbasses.

Most unintentionally telling story:

I think it might actually be tis the damn season. I definitely leave bits of myself scattered through my fics, hazard of the job as a writer I think, but there's a lot of myself in there. I don't think it was necessarily intentional but reading it back was a bit 😳 lmao

Biggest disappointment.

I have no idea! I've been lucky enough to have a really positive experience in fandom thus far and have had such lovely responses to my writing so I can't think of anything rn.

Biggest surprise.

how lovely people have been. i think i was really worried that there wouldn't be a place for me. but I was proven wrong time and time again and if i hadn't mustered up the courage to post earlier in the year then i wouldn't have made so many wonderful friends and met so many lovely people as I have. my year would have been drastically different without some of the folks I've had the pleasure of meeting and getting to know.

***

right, i'm sure i'm about to double tag folks but if you fancy doing this then I'll tag @godfreysroman @captainjanegay @ixalit @howdoyousleep3 @darter-blue @darkalinas and @becassine

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teach (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: None Characters: Law, Chopper

The light clopping of hooves on the decking was the first clue Law had towards his fellow doctor's approach. He stayed still, glancing at the tanuki out of the corner of his eye to see him taking three steps forwards then two steps back, constantly looking back at someone. That someone, Law could just about tell from his peripheral vision, wore an obnoxiously bright red shirt undone, and the infamous Strawhat on his head. The hat bobbed up and down, and Law had seen enough of the other captain to suspect there was one of those impossibly wide grins on his face.

Trying to focus on his periphery, as well as attempting to decipher Mugiwara-ya's latest brand of insanity, was giving him a headache so he returned his attention to the quivering tanuki, noticing the large volume clutched awkwardly in too-dexterous hooves. The title wasn't visible from that angle, but there were very few reasons Law could think of for Tanuki-ya to approach him with a book, and he debated how he felt about it.

He disliked doctors. Blinded by their cushy positions as one of the most important professions in society, they turned away from anyone that didn't fit the nice, simple role of 'patient'. Medical research had long since faded away into obscurity in his experience. He'd seen none of it since Flevance, and while he had heard of a winter island in Paradise that boasted similar prowess, until he saw it with his own eyes he wouldn't permit himself to believe that a hub of research still existed.

Of course, there were the doctors on the other side of the law, working underground, or even pirate doctors like himself and Tanuki-ya, but he disliked their practices almost as much as the blind law-abiding ones. He'd never met an illegal doctor with a respectable work area, or ethic. Many of them were money-grabbing frauds, and while Law knew he could hardly talk about ethics he could at least say that on the rare occasion he chose to treat someone he didn't rob them blind in the process.

He wasn't sure where on his scale of legal scum to illegal scum the Strawhat doctor fell yet. On Punk Hazard he had seemed naïve, stupidly so (Law knew first hand how it was impossible to save everyone and that sometimes it was better to let nature run its course), yet the work he'd put into counteracting Caesar's drugs… Law hadn't seen anything like it outside of his own submarine for sixteen long years. The fact that there was no obvious niche to put the inhuman doctor in made him uneasy, if he was honest with himself.

"L-law." The tanuki had reached arms' length (if an arm was to be measured in Robo-ya's standards) and stopped, clearly setting himself an invisible barrier which was not to be crossed. Law had no objections, unwilling to get closer to any of the other crew than he had to. He'd been close enough, embarrassingly so, to the other doctor already and was unwilling to repeat the experience. He turned his head to face him silently, regarding the way he fidgeted as if he was on the verge of fleeing. Dimly he recalled the reindeer form he'd seen the other take and wondered if it was his natural flight instinct kicking in.

"Tanuki-ya," he acknowledged after the silence stretched on too long. With Caesar nearby and Doflamingo ahead, any patience he might normally have exhibited had long since evaporated, and he was in no mood to deal with Tanuki-ya's skittishness.

"I-I-" the small doctor stuttered, pulling the book closer to his chest for a moment. "I'm not a tanuki, you bastard!" he exploded, honestly catching Law by surprise. The skittish creature had just shouted at him and insulted him? Was bipolarity a common disorder in the Strawhat crew? Certainly many of them, captain very obviously included, exhibited the symptoms. The creature took a deep breath, calming himself, before continuing. Clearly he'd realised that arguing over whether or not he was a tanuki was a waste of breath. Law appreciated it.

"Are you really a surgeon?" was the question that finally escaped his mouth, to Law's surprise. There were many things people often asked him if given the chance ("what's with the hat" and "what's with the tattoos" prominent), but that was a new one. He remained silent and the tanuki rushed on. "I mean, I know the Marines say you are, and I know you're a doctor, but the Marines don't necessarily know what the difference is so I was wondering if you were actually a surgeon," he garbled, to Law's raised eyebrow.

"I am," he said simply, and he swore the tanuki's eyes briefly turned into stars, disturbingly similar to the way his captain viewed meat (Law may not have been with the Strawhats for very long, but long-term exposure was hardly a requirement to learn of Mugiwara-ya's obsession with meat).

Their invisible boundary disappeared alongside all the wariness the tanuki had been exhibiting as he bounded the last couple of feet to settle in front of Law, placing the heavy tome down in front of him excitedly. As Law had surmised, it was medical in nature. More specifically, it appeared to be about the surgery of organs.

He was slightly taken aback at how easily the tanuki appeared to have him figured, until he remembered that he had been present to see him clutching more than one heart during their time on Punk Hazard. That was probably a large clue.

"I've never been very good at surgery," the tanuki confessed, to Law's complete unsurprise. Uncannily dextrous or not, he had yet to see the tanuki take a form with hooves appropriate for conventional surgery. "But I saw Luffy's scar, a-and I don't want to be useless. Not like I was with Mocha and the others." Law hardly thought that developing a temporary antidote on the fly was useless, but it wasn't his job to give self-depreciating tanukis pep talks. "So… I-I was wondering if you could explain some things?"

Law had no reason to explain anything to a rival crew member. He certainly had no obligation to, nor was there any incentive that he could see (he would only later find out about the Torino Island herbs and regret not demanding those as exchange, forgetting that with the tanuki as he was he'd probably gift them if Law showed any interest at all).

Perhaps it was the fur, or the simple anthropomorphology that he exhibited, but for just a moment Law thought he was looking at Bepo when the Mink really really wanted something (begging for the submarine to resurface because it's too hot, Captain top of the list), and before he'd even realised what he was doing, he'd reached for the book in question and flipped it open to a marked page.

It was on stomachs, and Law immediately recognised the interest as stemming from Mugiwara-ya's own Marineford injury, although he was more unpleasantly reminded of a more recent surgery he'd performed. Dutifully, he began to decipher some of the terms, delighted when the tanuki absorbed his words like a sponge.

Outside of his crew, no-one ever listened to him. Even casual conversation was an exchange of words barely tailored to the situation at hand, and absolutely no-one wanted to discuss medical techniques with the Surgeon of Death. In all fairness, whoever he'd ever brought the subject up with had probably thought he'd intended on using them as the example (and in some cases they would have been right, but Law didn't always use it as a threat, just most of the time).

His crew, for all he loved them, struggled with the nuances of surgery. Few of them had minds geared in such a way that they could view the body as a puzzle, and usually their medical training stopped at basic scrapes and superficial wounds. Others had persevered further, and Law remembered Penguin and Shachi studiously pulling stitches through each other's arms (with Bepo around, mammals were a no-go and neither amphibians nor reptiles had skin close enough to a humans' for Law's satisfaction) as he supervised closely. Neither of them had much aptitude for healing at all, capable of patching up scrapes but nothing else, but the way that they had forced themselves to learn, because they thought that Law needed someone else that could treat wounds, had touched him. It could also have been because they thought Law was happiest when he was teaching, sharing his knowledge. Law liked to deny that idea, because if it was true that meant that even as a young teen, knowing them for less than a year at the time, he'd already been an open book to them.

Tanuki-ya was the most attentive student he'd had since those days, cowering under the sea for weeks at a time and teaching two ruffians who knew how to hurt but not to heal while they waited for Doflamingo to leave.

When he started asking questions back, debating techniques and showing a quick yet accurate comprehension of everything Law was saying, and the inquisitiveness required for research, Law wanted to cry. Finally, someone else who cared about technique enhancement, further research and studies to broaden the profession.

The fact that the one person with such pure desires wasn't even human spoke volumes.

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Moonstone

Time Frame: Post Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.

Notes: Platonic Alvaar/Alphinaud. Featuring the best moonstone summon there ever was. All hail the carbuncle fluff. Glory to the glowiest and fuzziest neck warmer.

Cross posted to Ao3.

-

Twitching an ear as the doorknob to his room jiggled, Alvaar ignored it as he continued stitching together his latest commission. A second and then third attempt sounded before he sighed, left himself at a spot he could easily return, and rose to his feet.

Opening the door, he raised a brow as a brilliant white carbuncle slipped into the room, rubbing up against his leg and twining around his feet affectionately. It was only out of sheer familiarity that it didn’t knock the Bard over given the carbuncle was easily the size of a dog. Finally sitting practically on top of one of his feet it stared up at him expectantly with a soft chirp.

“Hey Carbi,” Alvaar greeted flatly, stooping over with a groan as he picked the rather large critter up. “Oof... I’m getting too old for this...”

Giving a low squeak, the summon almost seemed to give him a disapproving look before distracting itself by nuzzling into his neck.

“Yes, yes I know. ‘You’re not that old yet’ that’s what your master would say yes? Little chit,” he crooned sweetly, not surprised when it got a second grumpier chirp anyway. No matter what Alphinaud insisted about the nature of summoning and carbuncles, Alvaar would always remain unconvinced that they didn’t pick up some form of sentience. It was much of why he’d given the critter a nickname (though Alphinaud didn’t approve of it in the slightest.) The moonstone carbuncle in his arms clearly had enough intelligence to understand his words and pass judgment, often in alignment with the man who created him, so he thought it rude not to name it.

But for its intelligence, it seemed just a bit of cuddling and affection often resolved any upset in the creature (also rather like its master when it came to compliments but Alvaar would never say it.) Soothing a hand over silky impossibly plush fur, the Bard chuckled as the carbuncle purred and nuzzled closer still.

“Good to see you Carbi. I take it Alphi is working late again?” He asked, not expecting an answer as he settled into his worn out armchair and continued petting the foxlike creature he held cradled to his chest.

It wasn’t something that happened overly often, but occasionally the Scholar would decide to test his abilities and they’d have a temporary pushy housecoeurl on... well Alvaar’s hands usually. The summon was always well behaved around his master but once Alphinaud got too distracted with his work it would sometimes wander and settle into the Bards lap if he were nearby. A bit strange but Alvaar didn’t pretend to understand what made a summon work and Alphinaud had never had much in the way of explanation for him.

And for distracting as it could be, the carbuncle was still very sweet with its affections so Alvaar didn’t overly mind. It was an oversized fox that didn’t shed on his clothes and cuddled like human contact was what kept it running instead of aether. He could live with that. He adored Crowe after all, and the chocobo was much the same (though he would hazard a tad more deadly.)

Eventually he could end up with a massive glowy white neck warmer stretched across his shoulders and then he could probably go back to work if it weren’t too strenuous. Today however, he opted for a brush, plucking the soft horsehair brush from one of the drawers and setting to task. It was completely pointless given the arcane geometries involved (or whatever it was, he didn’t have a mind for it) which apparently meant not only did a carbuncle never shed, but it’s fur was pretty much always flawless. Regardless, the summon on his lap chirped happily and purred away merrily as he smothered the creature with affection.

It usually got him an even more obnoxious cuddle monster for his efforts with a lot of nuzzling into his hands and neck and often several licks for kisses. That was usually when he knew there wouldn’t be getting much else done unless he wanted to stuff what was essentially a medium sized dog into his shirt, so he’d generally resolve to a nap or reading until either Alphinaud came looking for his summon or, much more likely, it eventually poofed away into the aether and he’d have to check the time. The Scholar always ended up asking him roughly what time the carbuncle dissipated back into the aether anyway for his research.

Today, with a carbuncle stretched across his shoulders and one hand still scritching under a fluffy jaw, he looked up from his book and noticed the few flakes of snow dancing outside the window. Snapping his book shut with a sigh he rose to his feet and set it aside. A few licks to his fingers made him pause long enough to nuzzle and kiss a squishy cheek, getting another cheery chirp before the carbuncle settled down with a purr.

“It’s cold out today. Let’s check on your master hm? I bet he’s face down in documents again. One day Carbi, he’ll drown in ink and it will be the stupidest possible death I couldn’t keep him from. And it will make me sad because I’m a shitty mage and I’ll lose my best neck warmer.” Scooping up one of his spare throw blankets he folded it over an arm and made his way out of the sleeping quarters, taking the back way so he could loop around the Solar’s blueprint and make for the study on the other side of it.

De facto leader or not, Alphinaud had never seemed overly keen to using the Solar, preferring the easy access to books and research materials. It made finding him easy. If he wasn’t there, or sleeping, then he was with Alisaie or already at Alvaar’s side anyways.

Sweeping into the room he shut the back door quietly, glancing at his borrowed summon as it lifted its head and fixed its dark eyes towards some small corner of the massive study. He followed the cue without pause, steps quiet with his house slippers on and found his wayward charge quickly.

Predictably passed out on more research. Or paperwork. Or legal documents. Maybe even all three given they all looked the same to him at a glance when they were spread over the large table.

“Well, that explains the wandering,” he whispered even as a bright white head squished up against his cheek, squeaking quietly. “Mmhmm, yes Carbi I know he’s hopeless.”

Moving the quill and ink pot somewhere less disastrous, he let the throw blanket fall into its full length. A practiced flick of his hands sent it fluttering out over the Scholars shoulders. Alvaar made a few last fussy adjustments anyway before pausing to regard the youth-no... that wasn’t right. He was 21 now and if he didn’t start impressing that change to heart, he’d have Alphinaud giving him pissy stares the rest of his life he just knew it.

21 and growing up just as handsome as he’d warned him in spite of the weight of a worlds troubles on slim shoulders... but, he pondered to himself, perhaps the crushing weight of responsibility just brought out the stupidly handsome looks in Elezen if Aymeric and Estinien were any indication...

Or himself for that matter. Alvaar wasn’t modest, he knew he was hot.

He shook his head and before he thought it through was petting a hand over snowy strands, soothing Alphinaud’s hair from his face and studying his expression a moment.

Noting the faint furrow on his brow he sighed softly. Another very late-night working on something too important to leave.

“Better start on dinner and keep plenty of coffee ready hm?” he whispered, getting another sweet nuzzle at his jaw from the carbuncle.

Blinking as he caught himself still petting soft hair, the Bard snorted. “You’re both a pair,” he murmured quietly, smiling slightly as the summon licked his cheek.

“Yes Carbi, you can keep me company. You know your master works much too hard if he naps this soundly,” Alvaar mused, unsurprised that the Scholar was still dead asleep. He’d found Alphinaud and even Alisaie passed out in various parts of the Rising Stones before. Nothing short of cries of ‘politics’ or ‘adventure’ would rouse them without effort.

Maybe that was why he stood there a bit too long, petting white strands that were somehow even silkier if not as plush as the fur of the moonstone carbuncle purring away at his neck.

Alphinaud would probably die of embarrassment if he woke up and caught him.

It would just have to be the second potential stupid death of the day Alvaar couldn’t save him from.

[nate-santos]

Clamie Bit My Finger || Nate & Alain

Location: The Hospital Time: Shortly after Alain lost a dear finger Parties Involved: @deadicated-nate, @carbrakes-and-stakes, One very rude coughing patient zero for the coronavirus

Throbbing pain, constant and sickening. Alain felt as if he was going to either throw up or faint. He didn’t remember anything from the ride to the E.R. other than Cassie and Erin speaking and him clenching his jaw the whole time.His jaw was probably sore, but he did not think too much of it. It was only as a nurse spoke to him that he spoke, slower than usual, taking deep breaths between questions. The news that he would be given painkillers came as a relief, although he was concerned to hear that they wouldn’t stitch his would immediately, and rather put a bandage to stop the bleeding. He understood that they had a lot of injuries to take care of, but he would have thought his injury would be more urgent than that. He supposed that he probably should be relieved about this, but he was just annoyed. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he groaned, shuffling across the hall to get to the waiting room, now dressed in clean, dry scrubs. Sitting next to a guy who was not coughing or close to any children, Alain sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.

One of Nate’s go-to places was the ER. Not that he actually hurt himself often, but he ended up asking for medical advice much more often than his general practitioner would allow. So here he was, sitting patiently in the waiting room, settling himself in as far from any of the sick or contagious people as he possible could be. He opened up the book he brought, knowing it may take a while to get to him. One of the downsides to having to come through the ER- long wait times. Especially when the week White Crest was having had resulted in many more...strange injuries than normal. Nate looked down at the small scrape on his elbow, hoping that he’d managed to get enough neosporin on it to prevent any major infections, but his inspection was quickly interrupted by a man sitting down much too close for his comfort. He was holding his bandaged hand and Nate felt his stomach churn when he saw the blood. “Hey uh...what...what happened?” He nodded anxiously to the man’s hand, hoping he hadn’t just been chased by some giant lobster that he happened to lead right into the waiting room.

Alain looked at the guy sitting next to him after a couple of seconds which was the amount of time it took him to register that he was actually speaking with him. Great. Now he had to endure small talk, after what he had just been through. “I can sit somewhere else if you can’t stand the sight of blood,” if it took him a while to realize that they spoke to him, he could still read a face, especially one he’d seen often in a mirror. Anxiety. He took a deep breath. Truth was, he was feeling stressed too, about his finger, of course, but mainly because he wouldn’t be able to hunt for a while. He needed this hand to fight. “I lost my finger,” he finally replied, swallowing his saliva and realizing that he was too suffering from his own anxiety. That ball of stress stuck in his throat was growing. Rubbing at his face with his left had, he sighed. This was going to be a long wait. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Nate’s eyes flitted back and forth between the man’s hand and the door, wondering if it was too late or too rude for him to bolt. But then he wouldn’t be able to get his elbow looked at. His face was pained as he weighed his options. It was his own fault that he was now in a conversation with a man who had lost a finger and while he had a burning need to know how, Nate also wasn’t entirely sure he did want to know. “N-no, I’m ok with blood.” Nate stared at the man apprehensively, only a little bit relieved that he didn’t seem to be afflicted with anything contagious. “I’m more worried about uh…” he nodded over to a woman who hadn’t stopped hacking her lungs out since she arrived two hours ago. She refused to cover her mouth and it was honestly an achievement that she hadn’t actually expelled a lung. “Oh, I uh…” Nate sheepishly rubbed his elbow. His injury was much less dire than losing a finger, but the threat of infection was real. “I’ve been exposed to potential infections and I wanted to get some antibiotics.”

Alain still decided to move his injury to his left, resting his wrist against his shoulder. It was not very comfortable, and he would probably end up back with his hand close to that guy, but at least he’d tried, unlike that rude woman, he also had noticed, coughing her lungs out without caring one bit for the rest of the patients. “Hey,” he called her out but she didn’t seem to even listen, “hey,” he repeated, already annoyed. Must have been that he had been through a lot of shit today, right? Right. “You think you can cover your mouth when you cough? Is it something you can do?” His eyebrows raised as he watched her roll her eyes in response. “Quelle connasse,” he muttered to himself, sighing. He glanced back at his chair neighbor and listened to him instead. Was he talking about HIV ? Well that sounded more serious than losing a piece of your finger. Alain could live with that, at least. “Wow, you’re okay?”

Nate cringed when the man raised his voice, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to yell or stand up for himself in any way, so he’d been silent for hours when the woman was not only being rude but hazardous to literally everyone else in the room. He nodded at the woman, who was far from the only perpetrator in the ER. “I’m not sure she has the capability to understand basic manners. She’s been doin’ that for over two hours.” Every cough or sneeze had Nate jumping and clutching his chest, but for the most part this was just an average trip to the hospital for him. “Oh, yeah...hopefully.” He shrugged, trying not to show how nervous he was and sounding all the more forlorn. “Are you uh, french?” He tried to change the subject, falling into awkward small talk. “That’s lame...and weird, sorry. Just, the accent. And the french words.”

“Probably not. Maybe the cough got to her brain,” he commented, and, attempting to cross his arms in discontempt, winced and held his hand back up. “I hope they won’t keep me waiting two hours, I feel like coughing is not an emergency,” Alain rolled his eyes. People using the ER as some kind of doctor appointment pissed him off. What part of “emergency” did they not get? Apparently his grumpiness was contagious : a soccer mom with her son started to complain to the woman as well. “Yeah, well hang in there. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he would have patted him in the back, but pretty sure that no one would want a wounded hand near them, decided against it. “As a matter of fact, yes,” his eyebrows raised. Were they going to talk about that for the following… eternity waiting? Alain rarely went to the doctor, and had forgotten that waiting rooms were small talk hubs. “It’s fine. Call me German and you’ll have a nose to fix too, however,” he smiled and shook his head, laughing through his nose. Heh, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

Nate laughed nervously, knowing the guy was probably joking, but also knowing that whatever illness that woman had may have actually affected her brain. He leaned even further away from her. “You’ll probably be seen soon,” he nodded at the blonde nurse behind the counter. “Elise is working, she usually gets people in and out pretty quickly when they have more urgent injuries.” An awkward smile appeared on Nate’s face. He felt a little guilty, as his potential infection might not be seen as an emergency to most, but that’s why he was waiting patiently despite being surrounded by a cornucopia of contagians. He raised his hands in defense. “Promise, I won’t call you German. But uh...what should I call you? I’m Nate.” He wrapped his arms around himself as if to make it abundantly clear that he would not be shaking anyone’s bloody, fingerless hand.

“Elise? She’s a friend of yours?” Alain glanced at the man sitting next to him, his attention diverted once again by the coughing woman. He pinched at the bridge of his nose. What would be the point of getting into an argument now ? “You can call me Alain, he replied absent-mindly, leaning forward to have a look at the magazines scattered on the coffee table in front of them. They looked like they had been here for a while, and he decided against grabbing one when he saw unidentified stains on one of them. Now this was disgusting. When he glanced back at Nate, he noticed that he’d tucked away his hands. Maybe he’d get along with him. He was not fond of touching people either and only very few people respected that. “What do you do for a living, Nate?”

“Yeah, I’ve known her for a few ye-” Nate flinched as the offending woman continued to cough. “Years.” He frowned, curling in on himself even more. Eyeing the new group of children who were being ushered into the room by one seriously overwhelmed parental figure, Nate reached into his pocket for one of his many on-the-go hand sanitizers. He glanced over at Alain and saw the other man debate picking up one of the borderline crusty magazines and decide against it. He smiled a bit and held out the hand sanitizer. “I’m an uh- architect? It’s...more exciting than it sounds.” Nodding to the man’s bloody hand. “Does that happen...often in your line of work?”

“Oh come on,” Alain called her out once again, raising his voice further. “Cover your mouth and stop spreading your microbes or get out of here, you are annoying a whole room of people who are already worried or in pain,” he raised his hand up to show her his bandage, and leaned back in his chair, hoping that this would be his last time lecturing a fucking grown up. Blowing air through his nose, he had a look at his phone for a moment. He probably should message his employees and tell them that he wouldn’t be around for at least a couple of days, he told himself. Typing the message proved to be difficult, and he did not bother correcting a few typos that had slipped in there. “I’m a mechanic, that’s… how I lost my finger,” he shrugged at the next question and instead took an interest in the architect. “That’s pretty exciting, what are you talking about. What are you working on right now?”

Nate jumped as Alain raised his voice once again, smirking to himself. If only he could be so bold. He used to be. It was comforting to see another person as anti-germ as he was, even if he was a bit more bristly than Nate. He almost asked if the guy needed help texting, but figured he probably wouldn’t want someone who might have a deadly infection touching his device. “Oh- I’m sorry...Do you think they can sew it back on?” He squirmed in his seat. “Oh uh...nothing special. I just did a walk through of an old house out in the Outskirts, something about proving it was in disrepair due to age rather than...supernatural means?” He shrugged. “Other than that, I’ve just been drawing up a lot of new roofs thanks to the whole fish situation.”

Alain shook his head. He had never been good with lies, mainly because he hated lying. Seeing all the things he’d seen, you grew to have quite the imagination skills. “I don’t think so. I was unable to retrieve the thing,” not a lie. It was indeed impossible for him to open the clam after it died. “It’s okay. This kind of shit happens,” he shrugged. Well, he was actually more worried than he let it transpire but since shit happens had become his motto over the years, he was getting used to it too. “What do you mean supernatural means? You think … those things exist?” His eyebrows raised in surprise. One of the hardest part of his job was not to kill vampires and zombies, but rather convincing people that they did not see what they saw. “You must be pretty busy. I had my roof replaced a couple years ago, so it’s holding up pretty well so far. Fingers crossed.”

Nate winced, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He couldn’t imagine losing his finger with no hope of reattaching it and being as calm as Alain was being. Then again, if he worked in the more physical aspect of building houses instead of just working with paper and math and hypotheticals, maybe he would be more used to that sort of thing. As it was, however, Nate continued to shiver. “Oh...I’m really sorry. You’re taking it a heck of a lot better than I would be.” Nate glanced up, wondering if it was a trap. He knew lots of people in town didn’t believe in the supernatural, but he knew enough of it existed to not doubt the existence of so much more. “Oh, well you know. I think ghosts exist, and I wouldn’t put it past this town for more weird stuff to be real too. But the whole point of that inspection was to really prove that ghosts did not live in the house and were definitely not responsible for people getting hurt.” Nate smiled lightly, his head lifting. “That’s good! It should definitely hold up for a while longer. And if something does happen, you can reroof first, which would save a lot of money and a big headache of replacing the whole thing.”

“So you believe in ghosts then,” he raised an eyebrow, faking concern as he’d done it so many times before. No matter how hard hunters worked, people always seemed to suspect something about the town. “Why would someone ever want to buy a house where someone had to come to prove it’s not haunted is above my understanding, but hey, to each their own.” How this was the job of an architect, Alain was not sure about that one either. Architecture school probably did not give classes on haunted house. “So your job as an architect is to play Ghostbuster ?” Clearly, this was confusing. Or maybe he had lost too much blood and the medicine they had given him minutes ago was starting to work really well. Alain cleared his throat and looked away from Nate for a moment, his eyes glancing at his bandage, at his hand. He had mostly avoided to look at it since they had entered the room, and he was not feeling very well, looking at it now. A shiver ran down his spine and he felt his anxiety rush back up his throat, building its nest there, and forcing him to take heavier breathes. He had really lost a finger out there. Absentmindedly, he managed to reply to Nate that reroofing seemed like a good idea.

Nate shrugged. “I’m not spiritual per say, but yeah, I think ghosts are real. I’ve never seen one or anything, though.” Shaking his head, Nate ran his hand absently over his scraped elbow, flinching at the slight pain. “I couldn’t tell you. People in this town are weird. I don’t uh...I definitely am not a Ghostbuster. I just sometimes go check out old buildings and prove that any odd happenings are due to structural instability and overall lack of upkeep rather than because some ghosts took up residence.” His eyes flickered down to the man’s bandaged hand, an influx of blood spreading out through the gauze. “Uh...do you- I’ll be right back.” Nate stood carefully, eyeing his waiting room companion. “Hey Eloise, could you uh...would you mind bumping up this guy on the list? Alain- he said his name was?” Nate looked back at the man, his brow furrowed with worry as if it were him who had just lost a finger. “Hold on there, man. They’re gonna get you in ASAP.”

[averyadams76-blog]

The way to find out Cross Stitch Patterns?

Embroidery, all around the globe is considered as a slice of tradition. This legacy has been with us for many centuries. As an art form is therefore aged that none folks can pin point the accuracy of its ancientness. Since the time of our mothers, grand mothers and their ancestors have adopted this art, inspite of the globe being poles apart.Where we reside will not produce a difference all of us have been introduced into embroidery as cross legged embroidery. That's because it really is so simple to learn. It requires the most common of supplies that are accessible. So just how far ever I go ga ga over celtic cross stitch it'll be little because I love its patterns.Cross stitch is not without its impressions of varied civilizations and tribes and areas. Patterns of cross stitch really are a mixture of a few primitive, ethnic, contemporary day along with modern day variants. Other too have their beliefs, while some regional patterns are evident. Like Victorian cross stitch is admired because of its timeless layouts, African American stitch is famous to their ethnicity and Celtic due to their intricacy.Celtic embroidery is an ancient form of lace. Its archetypal patterns are very well understood the diversity of its own designs are something that we can enjoy. Since Celts have been nomads hence that the impressions of their art realized no more borders. These routines could possibly be seen on probably just about each possession of theirs.On their belongings the design and motifs work had minute details that some work could well be a masterpiece within our contemporary life. Cross stitch patterns used by Celts had beliefs of their life styles. Styles like geometrical shapes, mythological monsters, flowers, alphabets and more. They did not merely stop with creating layouts with embroideries, they were so found of the routines that even their paintings, utensils walls and walls could engraved with this kind of patterns.All of you'd now be asking about the techniques to get them magnificent and exclusive patterns. I wouldn't have been in a position to reply this. But I'm fortunate enough to own enough knowledge concerning this art in order be able to talk about it. Your choices of thread to machine design could be overwhelming, especially for the newcomer quilter. We often embrace the belief that a hundred percent cotton or lace sewing thread may be the only thread. Thread over time, may cut to cotton material, especially at which blocks are combined. For this reason polyester is often threads by quilters' choice. Howeverthere are many other alternatives of ribbon for machine quilting.So most our coasters are sewn to your adventure of learning a new blueprint, looking out our personal layouts or solely for the fun of this. It our goal that these quilts will likely be properly used because of our relaxation or the relaxation of our animals, kids, grandchildren or our buddies. Our goal is usually for the duvet to bring happiness to the human being that is blessed is the fact that receives it all. I don't know about you personally, but I typically stipulate to this recipient to"utilize their new quilt and enjoy it". Doesn't it make you happy to walk right in to a home where a person your pajamas reside and watch it on the couch, or on floor in front of the TV rather than being hidden off in a expectation chest?It wont disturb one to experiment and also require a few hazard with threads used for vine in the event that you can have the mindset that it is irrelevant whether most of your quilts are not going to eventually become heirlooms that needs to continue throughout lifetime. If you are feeling somewhat timid about wanting different threads for your own quilts, '' I expect the subsequent advice will allow you to muster the guts to experiment and have fun using diverse alternatives of threads for system quilting.Threads are numbered according to size. The lightest weight thread has the highest number. The number on a spool that's 50/3 is telling you it really is three-ply 50 weight thread. Even a 50/3 sewing ribbon is finer compared to a 40/3 decorative thread. Generally in the majority of cases, I favor a milder thread as it will show more but that is just an individual preference. You've plumped for when sewing with threads, then you'll need to try out a variety of needles to decide on which one works better for the ribbon and also your fabric. I'll provide you some Needle Size Chart that may lead you using all the size of needle to use for distinct fabrics. Your selections of thread to machine quilting also comprises your bobbin thread. I've used acrylics, rayons, Jean sew and cottons with success. It moves without being said, your choice will be dependent on the appearance you need on the back. As it is considerably thicker, for example, in the event you apply the Jean Stitch, then it will be more decorative as opposed to cotton. A gorgeous way touse the Jean Stitch is always to choose an"all over style and design" to your decorative pattern, like twisting, then twist your quilt"upper side " to quilt and let the bobbin ribbon series onto top.The monofilament, mylar and metallic thread are a little trickier to operate together with at the bobbin. Usually you can see that tiny twist to be adjusted by guidelines . BEWARE. All these are preset in the mill and you face the probability of having trouble once you attempt to put them back to the original setting. There will be A better idea to purchase a bobbin instance and just play with the settings one . I dabbed at a spot of crimson nail polish onto exactly the one I play with so that I would not confuse the two. When using the monofilament thread, I had trouble using this falling off the spool although used to do all the usual"fixes". The answer for me is to put the spool in a small babyfood jar rather than putting it in my spool holder. Monofilaments are cotton or nylon , available in smoke or clear coloring and appear to sew with a 90/14 needle. Sulky and YLI are manufacturers. Monofilaments will definitely give you an antique or appearance. In the event you sew on a dark material, the smoke-color is best to utilize as the clear one is going to look shiny and also be visible.A fantastic 100% cotton ribbon to-use is Mettler 50/3 wt and also YLI 40/3 wt. These makes seem to own much significantly less breakage than others which since you realize, is crucial to machine quilting. Even the Mettler thread is slightly stiffer than the YLI however, also the YLI offers a more decorative appearance. A 80/12 sharp or 90/14 sewing needle functions well in case you should be using a cotton or rayon thread into your bobbin.Rayon threads tend to be favorites touse by quilters because of the brilliant colors available. The result is cosmetic and slick because the rayon grabs the light and really show itself off. A 90/14 needle having a cotton bobbin thread works well. Sulky and Maderia are terrific brands for rayon threads.The metallic threads split very easily. Additionally they purge. The YLI now is easier to use, but that I think you may even like the Sulky and Madeira metallics. Your best needle size to use for the metallics will be described as a 90/14 sewing or 80/12 Metallica. Even the mylar threads are not as likely to crack as the metallics and you'll probably like the appearance that is glistening and moist which the mylars give. Even the threads appear to accomplish better in the bobbin in the event you use the metallics or mylar. To help avoid the breakage, then place the spool in a baby food jar beside your sewing device instead of on your machine if you experience a problem. If you match with all the metallics, be careful not to drop the cuttings only because they make chaos for vacuum cleaner cleaners. To get further details on this please check my review here. YLI may be the sole new I know of that has got the"denims Stitch" 30/3 wt thread. As you may guess by its title, it offers a look that is very significant. I would think hard before buying a mattress quilt as it's much heavier than the cloth and will probably cause the fabric. But , it produces a stunning decorative stitch for wall-hangings. The jeans/denim needle is your one to make utilize of to your denims Stitch because it has a larger eye than the embroidery needle.Our present stitching, embroidery, and serger machines sew at quite high speeds putting an enormous strain on threads. New threads are always being manufactured also it seems that each and every single machine manufacturer, embroidery designer, along with digitizer gets her or his own brand of thread. The majority of those threads work well on the majority of their devices, but since a lot of our devices become automatic as well as the mechanisms that work these are far hidden, it could be frustrating and confusing to troubleshoot if our threads crack , especially when we are trying to squeeze in that last minute present or are sewing the final topstitching details onto a woven wool jacket.Whenever a needle ribbon breaks, first thing to check is that the thread trail. Don't forget to clip up the ribbon from the spool before it passes through the tension discsand pull on the cracked thread throughout the system from your needle end. Do not pull on the thread backward by way of the discs toward the spool, since this can eventually wear out vital components, necessitating a costly repair. Then take the thread from your spool and re-thread the needle according to the follow instructions to your machine.Even in the event the needle into your system is brand new, needles might possibly have small burrs or imperfections which cause threads to crack. Make certain the needle is also the right size and kind to your own ribbon. In the event the needle's eye is small, it might abrade the ribbon more quickly, causing frequent fractures . A smaller needle can make smaller holes from the material, resulting in more friction in between fabric and the thread. Embroidery and metallic crowns are specially created for specialty threads, and will protect them out of the excess pressure. For ordinary breaks, try a new needle, a top-stitching needle having a bigger eye, even a more specialization needle, or perhaps a bigger size needle.Sometimes the ribbon will likely break over the needle, and a long item of thread is going to be pulled into the underside of the crochet. This thread will probably snag and tangle using the stitches, inducing thread breaks. If possible, it is also more advisable to slow the machine down when stitching a spot at which the thread broke over. Check for screw thread bits underneath the stitching on a embroidery or stitching machine. Lowering the tension and slowing the sewing speed may assist, especially with long satin stitches, metallic or monofilament threads, and high density layouts. Sometimes the needle tension may possibly need to get lowered significantly more than once.Changing that the bobbin is not listed in the most popular literature, nonetheless nevertheless, it can prevent perennial needle ribbon fractures. When bobbins get non, especially whenever they are pre-wound bobbinsthey exert a greater tension on the needle ribbon. Even a bobbin might possibly well not be close to the ending, nonetheless it is worth changing out, instead of coping with constant thread breakage. This happens in a few machines than in others. Another problem with bobbins is when they get down to the past couple of foot of bobbin thread, the thread could be wrapped inducing the needle ribbon to crack. If stitching proceeds, this knot may even be sufficient to divide the needle itself.This is especially advantageous for serger difficulties. Make sure the ribbon follows a clean path from your spool, to the tension disks or dials, as well as the needle. The ribbon might have jumped from its own proper course. To blame here is the arm. Re-threading will figure out this problem. There are also. Some threads may fall off the spool and acquire caught around the spool . Whether there are additional threads they can tangle with the thread. Threads may get caught on dials, buttons, clips, needle threaders, or even perhaps the edges of this sewing machine or serger. On sergers, the subsidiary looper can be a standard offender, so inducing upper looper thread rests as well as preserving the top looper stitches from forming correctly.Some threads are better feeding out of the surface of the spool, a number from your side of the spool, and a work better added to a cone shaped holder that a slight distance from the machine. Another tip with threads which spin, especially metallic threads, so is always to conduct them through a Styrofoam peanut between your spool as well as the rest of the thread trail. This helps to straighten the kinks and twists that can get captured, inducing breaks.Adding just a tiny Sewer's Assist about the ribbon will permit it to move across the machine simpler effortlessly. On occasion a small dip could be inserted to the needle. Make certain to preserve this bottle different from some other sheeting or fray prevent solutions, as those could cause serious problems should they have mixed up.Some devices tend to be somewhat more particular about their thread than some the others. Even if working with high quality threads, then some threads may work in 1 machine and also not just another. Get to understand which ribbons operate nicely on the machine and also inventory on them.Although some may recommend throwing the spool away, you will find other options. One suggestion is to put it and set it. The thread could also be employed for less stressful purposes, for example as for example other methods for thread embellishment, hand sewing, tassels, and also strings that were twisted. Another way to save as much thread is to pull the top layer or 2 from your spool and try back again. On occasion the layer or layers may have been dry outside, but there is still very good ribbon underneath so when you get to it, then your stitching will go efficiently.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

After this last episode with the making the 'batsuit' scene you should totally do a story about the first time Claire made some sort of costume for Bree

For the first time in my life, I cursed my juvenile disinterest in sewing. As a child, I’d mended clothes out of sheer necessity, the rigor of constant travel taking its toll on my shirts and trousers. I had cared little for skill back then, regarding the whole affair as a tedious chore that kept me from more important duties—namely, dusting off bones for Lamb.

As an adult, I was a surgeon, but even that seemed to do me no favors. Despite my professional expertise—how many wounds had I stitched with far sharper tools on far more delicate materials? —it seemed I still couldn’t manage a bloody Halloween costume. In previous years, I’d simply bought one or asked Millie, our neighbor, for a helping hand at the cost of a bottle of wine.

My break from tradition was inspired by a recent conversation, whereupon it was revealed—to the horror of several Betty Crocker types—I had no plans to slave over a Singer for the sake of my daughter’s trick-or-treating.

“Oh, but you must,” one woman had said.

“Your child would so appreciate it,” another had chimed in.

“She’ll be the only one whose mother didn’t make her costume.”

I’d rather thought Bree wouldn’t notice either way, she being the sort who’d drape a sheet over her head, stare through two circular cut-outs, and cry “Boo!” as if she were the most convincing ghost in the world. But the women’s scornful expressions had stayed with me, stirring up feelings I hadn’t felt since I’d arrived in America: a nagging self-consciousness; a desperate need to prove myself.

Bree was ecstatic when I informed her that I, not Millie, would be making her costume this Halloween, and what was it she’d like to be? Frank’s incessant prattling about the monarchy had clearly made an impression. Of all things, Bree had chosen Queen Elizabeth II, who’d been crowned the year before.

If I’d known how complicated it would be, I might have scrapped the project altogether and thrust expensive merlot in Millie’s face. Being without such hindsight, I now had a half-constructed dress that looked more like a war casualty than a royal ballgown.

“You sodding bastard,” I barked at the sewing machine.

My daughter, sitting not five feet away, looked up from her book with a delighted smirk. I groaned, already envisioning the moment Frank would walk through the door, greeted by an oral report of the day’s linguistic infractions (most of them mine). Though Bree shared her biological father’s penchant for mischief, she’d adopted the English reserve of the man who raised her. With frequent lapses, of course—she, after all, was my child too.

“Mama,” she tsked now, “you know what that means…” Smiling, she pointed towards the table beneath the window, which sat littered with the odds and ends of our daily life. The dried stems of pressed flowers sprouted from a medical textbook. A dog toy, practically chewed into oblivion, sat beside Frank’s corn cob pipe—a habit he’d taken up as a way of ingratiating himself to Harvard’s social circles. At the center of it all, however, stood the glass jar whose cheery label, “SWEAR BANK,” had become the bane of my existence.

Two weeks ago, Frank and I had been called to Bree’s school on the grounds of discussing a recent misbehavior. Our daughter, it seemed, had a fondness for words that were unsuitable to a woman of 35, much less a girl of 6. The principal’s meaningful looks had plainly indicated he knew where—or from whom—Brianna had received her vocabulary lessons.

“Children, you know,” he’d said, leaning forwards. “They don’t just learn these things by themselves. I think some disciplinary action could be taken at home…”

And so it was by Principal Gellar’s suggestion that we—the Randalls of ill repute—came to use a swear jar. For every curse, the delinquent had to add two quarters, with each subsequent offense requiring double that amount. A mild punishment, I’d thought, until it was obvious that losing pocket change wasn’t sufficient inducement to watch my own mouth.

Because of this, it was agreed that I prepare a proper dinner—from scratch, not frozen—if I exceeded my daily max of five swear words. Frank promised to exchange his loose leaf tea for Lipton’s, should he do the same, though this was more a demonstration of his superiority than his solidarity. Unless provoked, he rarely said more than the occasional “damn” in Bree’s presence.

Rummaging through the purse at my feet, I extracted money from my wallet.

“There,” I said, giving it to Bree. “Happy?”

Bills in one hand, Bree counted her fingers on the other, “That’s six today, Mama,” she said, still smirking. “So what’s for dinner?”

I snorted and motioned her towards me. “Well, if you want this costume finished, I’ll have to take a rain check.” I looked at the chaos strewn about my work table. “A two-week rain check.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Bree said, skipping over to my side. “Daddy and I will have meatloaf tonight, and you can have soap.”

I laughed. It always baffled me how my child—once a gurgling thing with an untamable cowlick—had transformed into a human capable of swear words and jokes.

As they always did when Bree came close, one of her hands automatically rested on my head, tiny fingers submerging themselves in a tousle of curls. They found the tender patch behind my ears, beginning an idle massage that expelled all tension from my body.

She’d done this as a baby—then, with a naïve curiosity; now, by the simple force of habit. It reminded me of someone else, though I knew it was merely coincidence and not some genetic trait passed down through the centuries. Still, the small fingers always grew larger in my mind—pads turned to callous and nails made blunt—as they moved in slow, gentle circles towards my temples. I could hear Gaelic, spoken softly, and see a calmness wash over a startled horse, as it now washed over me.

I shook the memory away, and returned to the disaster cascading into my lap.

Really, there was no hope for it. Uneven hems. Too-large and crooked stitches. The circumference of one shirtsleeve would fit someone’s thigh, not Bree’s skinny arm.

“Smudge,” I sighed, “perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I mean—” I gestured at the clumsy mess before me, and Bree removed her hand.

She leaned closer, head tilted to examine the work I’d done until her expression turned into one of obvious resolve. “I could always be a hobo,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or a garbage man.”

In that moment, I swear I had never loved her more.

Clearly unconcerned, Bree flopped down on the couch, and asked, “What’d you dress up as when you were a kid, Mama?”

“Come to think of it, I can only remember one Halloween,” I said, sitting back. “I was a little older than you, and my outfit was a hodge-podge of things. Somewhere between Indiana Jones and a girl who raided a closet, blindfolded.”

As a vagabond who drifted from continent and continent, Halloween never seemed to cross Lamb’s mind. A brief lecture, perhaps, about its pagan origins—but there was none of the pomp and circumstance one would see today. Being only vaguely aware of the holiday’s existence myself, I had never found us lacking for it. Our days were already filled with adventures, strange characters, and the spirits of years past.

It was one of Lamb’s colleagues—a charismatic American named Tom—who put forth the notion we hold a celebration of our own. Even I, who by this time was more adult than child, couldn’t resist the idea of being someone else, swapping ghost stories under a full moon, and gorging myself on sweets.

Lamb, bless his soul, was more than happy to oblige me. It was a belated birthday present of sorts, as October 20th, 1926 had passed in whirlwind of sand and dirt. The more immediate concerns of suffocation and hazardous winds had taken precedence over cake and candles that day.

Lamb and Tom took me to the market one morning, each of us bouncing from stall to stall to inspect the wares. After hours of browsing, we’d managed to scrape together a rudimentary costume, though it had none of the frills, silks, or skirts Tom had assumed I’d want.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a princess?” he’d said, regarding me sideways. At the insistent (and fiftieth) shake of my head, Lamb had clapped Tom on the back with a jovial smile, reminding him that I was a girl who preferred slouch hats to tiaras. I recall grinning up at him, then, and taking his hand as we walked back to camp. In truth, I think I’d just wanted to be Lamb for a night.

And so there I was days later: a poor man’s cowgirl astride an invisible horse, galloping through the nearby village in search of treats. Naturally, few people were prepared for the presence of my wild-eyed, boyish self at their door. But most smiled at my requests—all spoken with a pitiful Southern twang—and indulged me with whatever they could spare. Lamb, meanwhile, stood at my side—an elderly pirate-guard who assured them we were not, in fact, bandits.

We returned to camp at sundown with a sack full of furry, odorous, and glittering miscellany slung across my shoulder. Against all sense, someone had given me a pack of cigars, and I placed one between my lips. Knees braced and arranging my hands into a finger gun, I did my best Butch Cassidy impression as Lamb inspected the bag for other inappropriate goods.

“That stuff ain’t yours, old man,” I’d said, words mumbled by the cigar. “Stick ‘em up.”

Lamb had hooted, crying, “Excellent, my dear! Just marvelous!” and took a seat across the fire. His head bent before a lit match, the flame lighting the end of one of the contraband cigars.

What I remember most, though, was his face when he looked up at me. My cheeks were flushed beneath a layer of grime. My too-long pants were pooled around my feet, while my dark hair was pulled into a bushy ponytail. I imagine I’d been the image of freedom and recklessness—a person who appreciated the simplest of joys, like dress-up and too much sugar.

“You’ve always favored your mother, Claire. But I daresay that right now…” And here, Lamb’s eyes had shimmered, his expression grown suddenly soft. “Right now I see so much of your father in you.”

“Mama?” A voice broke through the haze of my memory. “Mama, were you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I said distractedly, slowly returning to the present. Shaking her head, Bree said, “Maybe next year I could be a cowgirl too?” before launching onto an entirely different topic.

Seeing my daughter chatting confidently away, her hands fluttering with the excitement of conversation, of being with someone…Seeing her hair catch the sinking sun and the mischief inside her curving mouth—a mouth that would never cease to amaze me with its jokes and its compliments and its observations. Seeing these things, and how her slanted blue eyes took in her shabby costume—unbothered by its inelegance but appreciative of the work I’d put into it—I thought I saw so much of her father in her too.

[himbowelsh]

Could I.... request...,,,.. baberoe making out (or even MORE???) in your hs au maybe in the infirmery???? And/or the meet cute in the library that you wrote in your post pretty please?

AN: well, I was so in love with this request that I had to write both.

The bookshelf is steady.At least, that's the impression Babe has gotten. That's what he's observed all year; that's what he was told his first day on the job, when he raised an eyebrow at the rows of shelves lined with books and blurted out, "These look like they could fall over!"Not possible, was the reply he'd received. Hanks High School's library was proudly fatality-free.

Until today. Possibly. Whether Babe is dead or not has yet to be determined, but he's pretty sure he hasn't survived a hundred books raining onto his body, followed by a bookshelf more than twice his weight.

Alright, so the bookshelf didn't actually land on him. It's more like he's trapped under it, pinned by a mountain of books. Through the slats of the empty shelves Babe can see a blinding bright glow. It's either the fluorescent ceiling light or heaven."Jesus fuckin' Christ, what the hell did you do, you bastard?"Well, that mouth certainly wouldn't find its place in heaven.The realization that he's definitely alive only comes when the face of Bill Guarnere, head librarian and Babe's best friend since diapers, appears through the gap between the shelves. A flicker of relief crosses over his face when he spots Babe in one piece, but this is quickly replaced by annoyance."You're a walking hazard," he grumbles. Babe offers a pained grimace in return."Yeah, yeah, Bill. You wanna get this thing off me?"Bill huffs and scrambles away, calling for reinforcements over his shoulder. Babe stares at the empty space he was just occupying for a long moment, feeling less stunned and more irritated by the fact that there's a giant bookcase very close to crushing him.

'Practically anchored to the ground' my ass, he thinks, recalling Bill's words from his first day on the job. Bill's confidence in his library couldn't be rivaled, but for all his obsessive maintenance of the place he really should have seen something like this coming. Did these shelves really pass safety inspections?Babe wonders if he'll get a plaque dedicated to him in the library if he dies here. He's an alumni, after all, and (technically) a staff member. People have gotten monuments here for less. Hell, they put up a statue of Mr. Sobel in the courtyard, and he didn't even die, he just left. (Granted, Bill, Buck Compton, and Harry Welsh put up that statue, just for students and teachers to throw things at and desecrate. Babe still thinks it was a worth investment. Principal Winters hasn't made them take it down yet.)He's lost in the thought of his own tragic demise when he hears Bill reappear, the sound of another loud voice echoing behind him. Babe can't see who it is, but he does see shadows suddenly appear on both sides of the bookshelf, and hears Bill count down from three before announcing "Lift!"With one great heave, the bookshelf is off of him. Babe tries to scramble out from under it, but his ribs are on fire and his entire body twinges in pain with any movement. He decides the path of least agony is to just lie still, watching Bill and Malarkey, one of the kitchen men, set the bookshelf back on its feet."There you go," Bill mutters, tapping the bookshelf before crouching down at Babe's side. "Hey, kid, you alright?"Babe manages a groan. He's proud of himself."Yeah, okay," Malarkey says, as if Babe has just told them all he needs to hear. "Want me to go get Doc?""Wait," Bill says, and lays an exploratory hand on Babe's chest. Babe grunts out a curse. "Yeah, okay. Be damn quick about it."Malarkey rushes off, and Babe squeezes his eyes shut as he listens to Bill talk. He goes on and on, telling him to be still, soothing him to try and keep him from panicking. While not helping the pain at all, his voice does help to ground him; and the fact that he's digging Babe out from the pile of books doesn't hurt either.Babe doesn't realize there's another person in the room until someone else cuts through the pained gaze of his thoughts. "You shouldn't have moved the shelf," an unfamiliar voice, rich and accented in its cadence, says. “Not until you figured out where it hit him.”

“It was just kinda all over the place, Doc,” Bill says. He sounds sheepish; that, more than anything else, let's Babe know they've been joined by the mysterious Doc Roe.

Gene Roe is kind of a fable in the school, among students and teachers alike. He was just hired this year, but already he's proven himself to go above and beyond the duties of a school nurse. He doesn't just hand out ice packs and band-aids. According to the stories, Roe once administered CPR to a student for twenty minutes until an ambulance arrived. He set a boy’s shoulder when it popped out of its socket. When a girl cut her arm on her locker, he stitched it up himself.

Doc Roe may or may not have an actual medical degree, and might be doing things a school nurse really doesn't have the jurisdiction to be doing, but he's already a legend.

Babe’s never met the guy, however; so when he opens his eyes, he's not sure what to expect.

It's certainly not to be greeted by a pair of dark eyes set in a pale face, delicate features and the barest hint of a frown on pursed lips. Roe leans over him, brow furrowed in focus. When he sees Babe’s eyes are open, he offers what could almost pass for a smile.

“Hey there, Heffron. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

There’s a pulsing pain in his left wrist, and his ribs are aching. Babe manages to say as much. Roe nods, frowning, before gently lifting Babe’s wrist in his own.

He doesn't scream at the pain, but he makes an unattractive grunting noise. Sure, he's had worse -- he still remembers the broken arm that took him out of commission for months in sixth grade, and hurt like the devil set him on fire -- but that doesn't make the pulses of fire shooting through his arm any better. He exhales a strained huff of breath, and nods when Roe raises his eyebrows in question.

“Okay. It's either broken or sprained. Can you move your fingers for me?”

Babe tries, and manages it with no problem. Roe’s lips twitch into what really is a smile now, and Babe feels something in his lungs catch. He can feel other hands around him working to dig him out of the pile of books; the ache in his chest is still prominent; but he finds it difficult to focus on anything besides Roe. His hands caress Babe’s wrist with utmost care; his eyes rove over his limbs, picking out every detail.

Wow, Babe thinks, feeling a bit dazed. For the first time, he realizes why everyone says Doc Roe is so great.

“I think it's just sprained,” the nurse says. “That said, I want you to keep ice on it. Try not to use it too much, so for god’s sakes, take it easy. If it still hurts in a few days, go to the doctor for an x-ray.”

Babe nods. Roe switched his attention then, down to his chest, and he feels his lungs seize.

“Okay, it’d help if I could feel under your shirt. Do you mind?”

“Yeah, no problem, I mean, I - I could take it off, if you want,” Babe rushes out, almost choking on the words. Roe offers him an amused glance.

“Why don't you just lie still?” he offers. His hands are electric as they slide under Babe’s shirt, caressing his bare skin. Every place he touches burns, and it's not just the result of potentially broken ribs.

Babe feels lightheaded as Roe examines him, and he's not sure whether he's just hit his head in the fall, or he's actually crazy. From the way he's feeling, it could be either of the two. He's just met Roe, and already he can't help but think that he'd like to hear that smooth voice drip words across his bare skin like honey; he'd like to feel Roe’s hands on him all the time.

After a bit of poking and prodding, Roe determined that Babe has not broken his ribs. There's going to be some bruising, and he'll be sore for a few days, but those should be the worst battle scars he takes away from the experience.

By this time Babe can sit up, speak, and even walk on his own. Now that he's no longer convinced he's dying, there's not much reason for him to be on the floor, so he starts to push himself to his feet. A hand on the back of his neck freezes him in his tracks.

“Sorry,” Roe mutters. “Just wanna make sure you didn't hit your head. It could happen and you wouldn't even know.”

He's so close as he examines him that Babe can almost feel the heat of his breath. Roe’s long fingers explore the back of his scalp, and he feels delirious, giddy, exhilarated. “I'm okay, Doc,” he says. “I'm gonna be fine.”

“I know. Just making sure.” There's a hint of wry amusement in Roe’s tone. When he pulls back to face Babe again, a small smirk plays on his lips.

His hands are no longer touching him, and Babe feels as if something precious has been torn away from him. The gleam in Roe’s eyes, however, almost makes up for it.

“Be more careful next time, Heffron,” he says. Then, with a nod and a smile, he's gone.

Babe stares after his retreating back in shock for a long moment. He trails Roe until he's vanished out the library doors, leaving him feeling like he's been left alone. He must be crazy; that's the only way he could be feeling such an influx of emotions after knowing someone for all of five minutes.

He might not know Roe well, but god, he wants to find out everything about him.

He's jarred out of his awed thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He turns to see Bill glowering down at the mess of books all over the floor.

“Who the hell is gonna clean this up?”

Babe catches his breath before bursting into a fit of helpless laughter.

Potentially fatal accidents aside, he thinks he's going to enjoy working here a lot more after today.

After a while, finding Babe in the infirmary becomes a foregone conclusion.

It's as obvious as locating Luz in the office, or Speirs lurking in the dark corners of his classroom. If Babe isn't in the library (where, according to his job description, he's supposed to be) he's in the infirmary helping out Doc Roe.

“Helping” involves a variety of tasks that Babe is more than happy to perform for the good doctor, from the menial -- sorting through bandages, putting together ice packs -- to the more... proactive.

They're not breaking any rules, he tells himself, because school has been out for an hour now. Anyone at the door now can go bleed out somewhere else. Doc is busy, and Babe is making sure he stays that way.

“Hmm… Babe…”

Gene sounds so gorgeous when he's getting overwhelmed. It doesn't happen often, but anytime he can make him moan like that Babe feels a flash of pride almost as euphoric as the feeling of Gene’s lips caressing the crest of his neck. He eases Gene back a little further, bracing his weight against the infirmary cot, and allows his tongue to explore the inside of Gene’s mouth.

There’s no chance for Gene to do any more moaning now, but that’s okay. For now, the only thing that exists is the warmth of Gene’s body pressed up against his, the rhythm of their erratic heartbeats pounding in sync, and Gene’s ragged breath. Fingers dig into the backs of Babe’s shoulders, urging him on, and knees grip his hips like he’s the only thing capable of anchoring Gene to earth.

Babe sucks on Gene’s lower lip, before pulling away to smirk at him. Gene looks utterly wrecked, face flushed and eyes cloudy with lust. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and Babe’s made him this way.

“I dunno, maybe we should take a break…” He drags every word out like taffy, allowing them to wind over Gene’s exposed neck. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, ya know…”

Babe’s teasing. Gene knows it. There's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing right now more than kissing the hell out of Gene in the middle of his own office.

Gene’s hand catches in the back of Babe’s hair and tightens, enough to make Babe’s breath catch in his throat. “Babe, come on,” he breathes out. “Please.”

Babe grins and leans back in.

He’s just got his mouth fitted back against Gene’s swollen lips when the door opens with a piercing clatter. There’s no chance to think, no chance to catch his breath. Babe springs up, taking Gene with him, and looks up at the door with eyes filled with horror. He has flashes of losing his job, losing his college credit, losing his paycheck --

Bill is standing in the doorway, looking torn between smugness and horror.

“Really, Heffron?” he demands. “You can’t figure out how a damn door lock works?”

“Bill,” Babe grunts, “get out!”

Bill holds up his hands, a grin splitting his face. Now that he’s realized they’re both still fully clothed, he really looks like the cat who caught the canary. Babe could have gone his entire life without experiencing this moment, and now that he’s had he’s not happy about it. He starts glancing around for throwable objects within arm’s reach.

“In school, Babe? Really? And you, Doc, I thought you had more shame than that.”

“School policy is that extracurricular activities are healthy,” Babe says, and flings a box of band-aids at Bill’s head. “Get the hell out!”

Babe has almost as much blackmail on Bill as he does on him. Bill either realizes this or has decided to be a kind person for once in his life, because he holds up his hands and starts backtracking out the door. He’s still grinning, however, and it kind of makes Babe wish he were close enough to hit him.

“Be safe!” chimes Bill. The tone of his voice lets Babe know that he won’t be living this down for a long time.

“I'm a health professional,” Gene calls over Babe’s shoulder. “I promise, we will be.”

The door slams shut. Gene pulls away from Babe just enough to grin at him.

A beat passes before Babe leans his head into Gene’s shoulder, trembling with breathless, silent laughter. Gene’s hands clutch his back, steadying him and keeping him propped upright. He’s laughing too, soft, almost shy things, and it just makes Babe want to hold him closer.

“That was exciting,” Babe manages after a few moments. Once he’s managed to sober, he finds Gene staring at him, an unmistakable hunger in his dark eyes. He feels his lips curl up. “Now, where were we?”

[almostafantasia]

sail with me to someplace new

clexa pirate au | chapter 1/13

Summary: When Clarke learns that her father’s trading ship has been attacked by pirates, she sets out on a daring rescue mission. The only problems – Jake could be being held prisoner anywhere in the Caribbean and Clarke has never sailed a ship before. To help save her father’s life, Clarke attempts to enlist the help of the notorious Captain Lexa Woods, a fearsome pirate who is just as broody and mysterious as she is unwilling to offer her assistance.

Read on AO3.

Secrets.

The town of Nassau feeds off them. With sailors of every kind passing through the port every day and the pirate population rumoured to outnumber everybody else, the town drips with corruption and delinquency, and with that comes the secrets.

Clarke Griffin trades in them. Her mother runs a very respectable medical practice from their cottage using medicines and equipment acquired through not so respectable methods. Being the daughter of the best doctor in town means that Clarke is a familiar face to many, which has its share of advantages. The people in Nassau love to gossip as much as they love to drink – who is sleeping with who, who is working on which ship, who has stolen what from somebody else – and Clarke hears it all. She trades gossip for more gossip, then trades those secrets for tangible goods; medicines, herbs, ointments, even gold. It always amazes Clarke what some people are willing to exchange for the right piece of information.

Abby Griffin turns a blind eye to what her daughter gets up to around town. As long as Clarke helps her with the patients a few mornings each week and returns home safely each night, Abby pays very little attention to how Clarke acquires the supplies she needs to keep the medical practice in business, particularly with Clarke’s father away for often months at a time working on a trading ship bring imported goods into the Caribbean.

Besides, Clarke trading secrets for medicinal supplies is hardly the most scandalous or illegal thing happening in a town inhabited by so many pirates.

Having lived in Nassau since the age of three, Clarke knows the streets of the little town as well as anybody could, the web of wide dirt paths and hidden alleyways ingrained in her memory as clearly as if she were holding a map of the streets in her hand. The walk from the apothecary by the docks to her own house a little further inland is not far – she made the outward journey earlier in the day in just a few minutes, thanks to the shortcut behind the old tavern – but it feels much longer on the way back home with the new cargo in her arms. The wooden box is awkward to carry, splintered edges digging harsh grooves into the soft skin of Clarke’s hands where she holds it up and the muscles in her upper arms screaming out in pain under its heavy weight, a reminder that she is not as strong as the young lad who packed the box up for her to take home with her.

She makes the final turn onto the familiar road upon which the small cottage she lives in with her mother is situated, scuffing up a cloud of dust in her hurry to get home before her arms give out completely under the weight of the box.

“Mother!”

With her lack of available hands to knock, Clarke settles for shouting through the oak door and giving it two hard kicks with the tip of her leather boots.

“Mother, it’s me! Can you let me in? I’m about to drop all the medicine!”

Clarke hears a flurry of activity on the other side of the door and it swings open within seconds to reveal Clarke’s mother, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and wisps of graying hair escaping from the hastily made bun on top of her head. It’s clear that she’s in the middle of something, or at least that might register with Clarke if the muscles in her arms weren’t crying out for her to relieve them of their heavy load.

Clarke pushes past her mother, ignoring the cry of protest as she rushes straight into the room on her immediate right, which her mother uses as a treatment room for patients.

Where she is met with the surprising (and, if Clarke is being completely frank, not entirely pleasant) sight of a bare man’s chest, scattered with dark wiry hair and where a horrible gash just beneath his collar bone is oozing a nasty mixture of blood and some other sticky fluid.

“Oh,” Clarke gapes, suddenly forgetting her desperation to drop the box in her arms as the sheer amount of unexpectedly naked male skin on show startles her into stillness. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

The man, who is perched on the edge of the large wooden table in the centre of the room that Abby Griffin uses to treat her patients, wearing nothing but a loose pair of dark brown britches, seems unaffected by Clarke’s sudden clattering entrance to the room.

“Clarke, what have I told you about not entering this room without my say so?” Abby scolds her as she enters the room behind Clarke. “I could have been operating on somebody for all you knew!”

“Sorry,” Clarke mumbles, still determinedly avoiding staring at the shirtless man sitting on the table in the centre of the room as she places the crate down on the counter against the far wall of the room, the bottles within clinking as she does so, “but this box is heavy. I had to put it down or I would have dropped it.”

“I’m so sorry, Marcus,” Abby says to the man, and Clarke turns their way enough to watch as her mother dips her fingers into a pot of salve and starts rubbing it on the wound on the man’s chest. “Clarke, do you remember Marcus Kane?”

Clarke lets her eyes flicker up to the man’s face, meeting his dark eyes with her own and making a feeble attempt to return his warm smile as if she hasn’t just walked in on him in a state of semi-undress.

“Hello,” she says to him.

“Captain Kane works for the same trading company as your father,” Abby explains, dabbing the lower end of the cut with a warm washcloth that has the captain hissing in pain, and then smoothing over the area with the salve on her fingers. “He’s an old friend of Jake’s. He visited us many times when you were a child.”

Captain Kane’s face is familiar to Clarke, though she can say with a fair degree of certainty that it has been quite a few years since she has seen it before, and there are more lines around his eyes, more gray in his hair, than she recalls from the last time she saw him.

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you,” Marcus confirms Clarke’s thoughts. “You were just a girl, I think, causing your parents all kinds of trouble with the boy from across the road. What’s his name again? Thelonius’ son.”

“Wells,” Clarke answers for him.

“That’s it,” Marcus nods in recollection. “Quite the pair, you two. Are you still friends?”

Replying with a nod, Clarke then adds, “But we don’t see each other as much anymore. He’s busy working for his father and I help mother with the patients in here.”

Clarke’s eyes drop to the scar on Marcus’ upper chest again, this time allowing herself to examine it more closely. It’s a pretty long gash that stretches from near his shoulder to the centre of his breastbone, lying almost parallel to his clavicle. It doesn’t look particularly deep, but the blood that is caked into the hair on his upper chest makes it look no less vicious, most likely a brutal swipe of a sharp blade cutting through the skin.

“A swordfight?” Clarks hazards a guess.

“Pirates,” Marcus nods, the muscles in his forehead tensing into a bitter frown.

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise at the word. It’s impossible to live in a town like Nassau and not be aware of the pirates, but they can be so difficult to distinguish from the normal honest sailors that Clarke tends to just lump them into one big group, along with the non-seafaring drunkards who live in the town. She knows a lot about the pirates who pass through Nassau and the dangerous and crooked lives that they lead, which is exactly why she tries her best to stay out of whatever trouble they might be causing next, unwilling to allow herself to be a victim in their next heinous plot.

“They attacked your ship?” Clarke gasps.

“No, nothing like that,” Marcus replies. “I tried to intervene in a fight in a tavern and one of them pulled out a knife.”

“That’s why I tell you to stay away from places like that,” Abby interjects, giving Clarke a stern look.

“I do,” insists Clarke.

It’s only a little bit of a lie. There’s only one inn that Clarke goes to, a fairly quiet one that is much further inland than the taverns that tend to be frequented by the rowdier sailors, and she doesn’t go to it very often either.

“That’s not what Raven has been telling me,” Abby comments, quirking a single eyebrow at her daughter.

Clarke blushes furiously and, not for the first time, mentally curses the fact that her best friend is one of her mother’s patients.

“And you seriously believe Raven over me?”

Abby crosses the room and opens a door on a wooden cabinet, pulling out a small box, from inside which she takes a sharp needle and some thread. As she makes her way back over to Marcus, she sends a smile Clarke’s way, warm and gentle and with the tiniest hint of an amused smirk threatening to pull at the very corners of her lips.

“I’m not angry, Clarke. I was young once.” For the briefest of moments, Clarke wrinkles her nose up in disgust at the thought of a teenage Abby running around the town getting up to the kind of things that Clarke does, but then Abby continues with much more solemnity, “I just worry about you more when your father is away.”

“He’ll be back soon though,” Clarke reminds her, her voice full of hopeful optimism that Jake will in fact return from his travels sooner rather than later.

There is a moment of silence as Abby frowns in concentration, splashing some alcohol over a fresh cloth and dabbing it across the cut on Marcus’ chest, then makes the first stitch to seal the wound. Marcus grimaces visibly, but makes no sound.

“I know,” Abby agrees with her daughter, continuing with a neat row of dark stitches that contrast against the pale skin of Marcus’ chest, “and then I can go back to worrying that both of you will wake up drunk in an alleyway with no recollection of the previous night.”

Rolling her eyes once more, Clarke says, “That happened to Raven and not to me.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m just teasing.”

Finishing up Marcus’ stitches, Abby cuts the thread with a pair of sharp silver scissors, placing the needle away to the side to be sterilised and smiling at Marcus.

“There, all done,” she tells him. Her mothering tone returning, she adds sternly, “And the same goes for you – stay out of trouble! No more trying to play the hero. You won’t be so lucky next time.”

Marcus bows his head slightly in shame as he reaches for his still-bloodstained shirt, slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up from the bottom. He leaves the top couple of buttons, the shirt hanging open enough to display part of his chest, and he casually rolls the sleeves up to his elbows before placing his tricorne hat on his head.

Returning her attention to Clarke, Abby says, “Thank you for your help this morning. You’re free to do whatever you want this afternoon.”

Trying not to seem too eager to get out of her mother’s company and out into the town, Clarke says, “I told Raven I’d see her later. I’ll be with her if you need me.”

“Stay safe,” Abby warns her, as Clarke makes her way towards the door.

Clarke’s default reaction is to roll her eyes she forgets to wait until she is out of Abby’s sight before doing so, earning herself a scolding glare from her mother.

“I mean it, Clarke. There are some dangerous people out there. You need to be careful.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, then plasters a fake smile of obedience onto her face, before responding dutifully, “Yes, mother.”

Pressing a quick kiss to Abby’s cheek, Clarke hurries out of the room and through the front door to go and find her best friend.

Raven is as predictable as the cycle of the sun and the moon and Clarke finds her, just as expected, tinkering with a boat down in the shipyard. She seems to sense Clarke’s approach more than she hears it, looking up from the long plank of wood she’s midway through sawing in half and shooting Clarke her signature smirk.

“Griffin.”

“You told my mother that we went to the tavern?”

It’s not the question that Clarke ever intended to open with, but with the conversation with her mother still fresh in her mind, it’s what ends up coming out of her mouth.

“Sorry, but your mother has a certain charm that I find it very difficult to lie to,” Ravens answers with a shrug, as she starts moving the saw back and forward in even strokes through the coarse wood once more. Raven lifts her head slightly, her brown eyes lit up with mischief, and then adds, “That, and I can’t be held accountable for anything that I do or say after taking morphine.”

Clarke perches herself on the edge of a bench near to Raven’s work station, where the shadow of the boat provides a welcome respite from the unrelenting heat of the afternoon Caribbean sun.

“Well, we may have only been to that inn a few times, but my mother probably thinks I’m an alcoholic.”

“There was that one time that you…” Raven starts unhelpfully.

“Yes, thank you, Raven,” Clarke is quick to interrupt, having been friends with Raven for long enough to know exactly where her best friend is heading with that sentence.

“I mean,” Raven screws up her face in disgust, “he wasn’t even that attractive…”

“Thank you, Raven,” Clarke repeats through clenched teeth, flushing in shame at the memory of the night in question. Definitely not one of her finest moments.

As the saw in Raven’s hand finally makes its way through the entirety of the wood, one end of the neatly sawed plank drops to the deck with a clatter.

“Please don’t deny me of this one thing,” Raven grins wickedly. “It’s the only shit I have to hold against you.”

Raven tucks the shorter of the two halves of the plank beneath her arm and hauls herself up onto the stepladder beside the boat as best as she can with only one working leg. Clarke worries for a moment that Raven won’t be able to balance up there and gets ready to dart forwards and catch her, but Raven manages to support most of her weight on her good leg, using the wooden peg at the foot of the other as a prop to keep her stable.

“Can you pass me that hammer, please?”

Clarke’s eyes dance across Raven’s untidy workstation, where tools of all shapes and sizes lie haphazardly scattered in a mess that makes Clarke wonder how Raven ever manages to get any work done at all, let alone earn herself the reputation as one of the finest shipwrights in a town inhabited by sailors.

“Which one?”

Clarke can almost hear the way that Raven rolls her eyes in her tone as she answers, “One that looks like a hammer.”

Selecting a heavy tool from the crate at the foot of Raven’s stepladder, Clarke extends her arm to pass it up to her best friend. She watches as Raven pulls a couple of iron nails out of a pouch on the leather utility belt slung low on her hips, then starts to hammer the plank of wood in place over a hole in the side of the boat.

“Whose boat is this?” Clarke asks Raven, raising her voice so as to be heard over the rhythmic sound of the hammer hitting the head of the nail.

“That guy,” Raven replies, taking a couple of seconds out from hammering the nail to point over her shoulder with her thumb.

Clarke follows the direction of Raven’s thumb and her eyes fall on a burly guy with tattoos covering parts of his exposed skin and hair cut close to his scalp. He’s an intimidating figure, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the two girls near his boat and his muscled arms folded across his chest, and it’s a wonder that Clarke didn’t notice his presence before. Clarke gives him a meek wave, which he doesn’t return, and then turns her attention back to Raven.

“Wow,” says Clarke. “I hope you know what you’re doing because he looks like he’ll skin you alive if you put even one nail out of place.”

Raven stops what she’s doing and turns to give Clarke a look; one eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, the rest of her face impassive except for a glare in her eyes that looks like it could bore a hole right through Clarke’s skull.

“Have I ever made a mistake before?”

“I’d say that Kyle Wick was a pretty big mistake…”

Raven gives her mother of all scowls and Clarke worries for just a moment that the heavy tool in Raven’s hand is going to find a new home for itself embedded in Clarke’s head, until Raven’s gaze turns into a squint focused on something far behind Clarke.

“What’s tha- … oh my god, I think it’s a body!”

Clarke’s head snaps around in the blink of an eye and she has no trouble spotting the dark person-shaped mass lying motionless on the pale sand in the distance.

Before she has time to even consider what she is doing, Clarke is running towards the body, the small heels of her leather boots getting awkwardly stuck in the sand with each stride that she takes and her long skirt swishing around her ankles. She hears a clatter behind her but doesn’t think to check that Raven is okay. (Raven has survived much worse than stumbling off a two-foot high stepladder, Clarke reasons, while this girl lying in the sand is quite clearly unconscious and could be in desperate need of urgent medical care, if she isn’t already dead.)

She’s about halfway there when she hears somebody coming up behind her, and she is briefly confused about who this person might be – the rhythmic thud of one heavy footstep after another, gradually getting louder as the mysterious person catches up with her, means that it can’t be Raven, who would need nothing short of a miracle to be able to chase after her on only one good leg. Clarke’s question is quickly answered, however, when the sailor who owns the boat that Raven is fixing overtakes Clarke on her left, his stride much larger than her own and his thick arms pumping fast as he shoots past Clarke.

He reaches the girl long before Clarke does, and by the time that Clarke finally reaches them, out of breath and a little sweaty, the sailor has already rolled the girl onto her back and has his ear against her chest, checking for her heartbeat.

“Is she breathing?” Clarke wheezes, bringing one hand up to her hip to clutch at the ache in her side as she drops to her knees on the sand next to the unconscious girl.

“Only just,” the man replies gruffly. “She needs warming up. I can make her up a bed on my ship.”

Clarke dismisses his suggestion at once with a shake of her head.

“She needs immediate medical attention,” Clarke insists. “My mother is a doctor. We live five minutes away. If you can carry her, I can show you the way.”

The man hesitates for just a moment, his dark eyes fixed on Clarke as he assesses her words, but when he glances back down to the barely breathing girl on the sand between them, he makes his decision and gives Clarke a curt nod. He sweeps the girl up into his arms almost effortlessly, draping one of her arms around his neck as he cradles her against his chest like a small child, then looks at Clarke expectantly.

“Let’s go,” Clarke says decisively. She looks up at the sailor as they begin their journey off the beach and onto the boardwalk that lines the docks. “I’m Clarke, by the way. Clarke Griffin.”

The man grunts out a single word in response.

“Lincoln.”

[im-still-writing-out-of-time]

‘I’m Not Gay’

Jamilton 

male x male

If you’re homophobic, get over it. 

Enjoy the gay

Masterlist

“You’re so stupid. I hope you know that, mon ami.”

Thomas was bent over Alexander dressing his wounds. “How did that even happen? How do you accidentally stab yourself with a broken glass?”

 “I got excited. And I didn’t ask you for help. I could probably do it better myself, blood loss and everything.” He hissed in pain as Thomas poured rubbing alcohol on his wound. “You did that on purpose, asshole.”

 “What, cleaning your wound? Yes, yes I did. Unless you’d rather die from an infection, you blithering idiot.” He set the alcohol down and covered the open wound, putting pressure on to slow the bleeding.

 “Knock it off, you dumb hick. Let go of me, I’ll do it myself.” He knocked away Thomas’s hand and grabbed the gauze that had hit the floor.

 “Well now it isn’t clean anymore. You’re gonna kill yourself yet.” He stood up and moved to the living room. “I’m grabbing a phone and you’re going to the hospital.”

 “Don’t call 9-1-1! You can drive me!”

 Thomas rolled his eyes and disappeared with his phone in his hand. He came back minutes later. “Alright, let’s go stupid.” He pressed a clean piece of gauze and pressed it to Alexander’s wound before wrapping his side with an Ace bandage. “I still can’t figure out how you stab yourself in the side this bad, with a broken glass. You’re unbelievable.” He helped Alexander to his feet. “You realize now that you’re gonna need stitches, or surgery.”

 “I don’t need surgery. It’s not that bad.”

 “If the doctor decides it’s bad enough, you’ll be getting the surgery.” He unlocked his car and pushed Hamilton toward the passenger side. “That’s the last time I invite you for dinner at my house. You weren’t even excited about the mac and cheese.” Thomas’s curls bounced around his head as he slid in the passenger side of his SUV. “That’s my own personal recipe I hope you know. I worked hard to perfect it.”

 “Why did you invite me over in the first place?” Alexander asked, wincing in pain. “You hate me.” He clutched his side in pain as Thomas started his car. “I can’t put the seat belt on.”

 “You pull it, and clip it, stupid. Here, hand it to me.” Thomas reached over and grasped for the seat belt, locking it in place.

 “Holy fuck, don’t! That hurts!”

 Thomas glanced at Alexander and saw the seat belt rubbing against his freshly dressed injury. “Whoops, sorry. Just unclip it or something. I’m a good driver anyway. You won’t need it.” Thomas shifted his car in gear and pressed his foot to the gas pedal, slamming Alexander forward into the glove compartment.

 “You’re purposely trying to hurt me, aren’t you? Now I probably have a broken shoulder. God, slow down, I’m not going to die in the next twenty minutes. Jesus. The bleeding has slowed almost to a stop. The hospital is twelve minutes away. We’ll make it without you trying to kill us both.”

 Alexander held the bandages tight to his side despite the ace bandage keeping the gauze in place. He draped the other hand around the ‘oh shit’ handle above his head, as Thomas refused to slow down. Thomas glanced away from the road and at Alexander, whose eyes were starting to cross as they stared at the center line, his blinks getting slower.

 “Alexander? Alexander! Hamilton, god damn it all. Look at me.” Thomas’s eyes kept flickering to the road and back. He swung into a parking spot as close to the emergency entrance as possible and ran around the side. He opened the passenger side door and watched Alexander’s eyes droop closed and his body fall back against the seat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He grabbed Alexander and rushed him inside the emergency entrance, running him to the nearest doctor. “Fix this idiot,” he muttered, setting him on the stretcher that was wheeled over. “He managed to stab himself with a broken glass. I already cleaned it with rubbing alcohol but the moron wouldn’t stop squirming. So go fix him. I’ll be in the waiting room.”

 The doctor disappeared with three nurses that pushed the stretcher beside him. As they disappeared through the doors, Thomas heard someone say that he would need surgery to stop the bleeding.

“Fucking idiot,” he mumbled, walking through the double doors to the waiting room. He threw his head in his hands and stayed like that, thousands of thoughts running through his head, until a young doctor came through the double doors, blood staining the rubber gloves he was throwing in a garbage for bio-hazardous materials.

 “Are you here for Mr. Hamilton?”

 “Yeah, that’d be me.”

 The young doctor came forward and shook his hand. “I’m Doctor James McCormick. I performed the surgery on Mr. Hamilton. Unfortunately, it was worse than it looked. We had to repair a part of his intestines, and a piece of glass made its way into his right kidney, so we had to fix that as well. There’s a slight chance that his kidney will regain function, but it’s very slight. He needs a blood transfusion from the amount he lost, so he’s hooked up to a blood bag.” Thomas shook his head at the fact that Alexander could be so stupid. “He’s upstairs in a recovery room. He’ll have to stay here at the hospital for a few days, depending on how he reacts to the surgery and everything. We want to keep an eye on him to make sure there’s no infection or leakage from his internal organs. We managed to get all of the glass out, so there should be no problem. After Mr. Hamilton goes home, he’ll have to be constantly monitored to make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt himself again, or rip his stitches.”

 “The moron can’t even handle a glass without cutting himself. I’d have to practically sleep with him to keep him safe.”

 The doctor chuckled. “It’s up to you how you monitor him, we just need him monitored. He’s heading up to room 301 right now. You’ll be allowed there twenty-four hours a day as long as you’ll be the one monitoring him at home.”

 Thomas sighed at pushed his hair back with both hands and sighed. “Yeah, it’ll be me.” He followed the doctor until he reached the elevator and the doors opened right in front of him. He pushed the button for the third floor and strode through the doors to the first room as soon as they opened again. Alexander laid there in a hospital gown, his cheeks rosy against the pale hospital room. He had an IV in each arm, one in the crook of the elbow on his right arm transfusing blood, one in the back of his left hand, with a saline drip attached.

 Thomas pulled up a chair and sat next to Alexander, staring at his small hands against the white sheet. His skin was pale against the bed. “Alexander, you idiot. Wake up,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Wake up.” He set his head on the edge of the bed and began to play with the buttons next to his face. The bed began to recline more, then less, as he pressed the buttons back and forth before even that didn’t amuse him. He sighed and closed his eyes, grabbing ahold of his hand to sleep with. He shifted his position a few times before he finally fell asleep. He woke up multiple times over the next two days but there was never a change in Alexander. He remained at the bedside, having the janitor buy him things from the cafeteria downstairs on his shift, the nurses leaving him a book or magazine on the bedside table. On the third day, Thomas dragged himself in the bathroom attached to the hospital room and took a shower, washing away the filth before pulling on his dirty clothes once more. As had become the norm for the last couple days, he fell back asleep, Alexander’s hand encompassed by his own.

 A few hours later, he woke up to the feeling of someone playing with his curls. “Don’t touch my hair,” he grumbled sleepily. The hand he fell asleep holding was no longer there and someone was touching his curls. “Alexander, if that’s you, I swear.”

 “It is.”

 Thomas’s head shot up and he saw Alexander staring at him. “Alexander!” he cried, standing up. He pressed his lips to Alexander’s in an emotion filled moment of passion. Thomas heard a small, masculine groan beneath him and he shoved himself away and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back. “I- uh. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll be back later,” he stammered before running out of the room, leaving a shocked Alexander on the bed. Alexander brought his fingers to his lips and wondered if this was all a dream. He laid back in his bed and hoped it was, though he knew it wasn’t. The heart monitor’s beeping slowed in his ears as he fell into a light sleep.

 He woke up the following morning to the same curly pouf of hair sleeping beside him and he smiled. Thomas was back in his seat, his elbow on the armrest, his hand propping up his head. His lips were pursed slightly as he slept and his eyebrows furrowed. Alexander shifted his body to the side of the bed and stretched over to pull one of the curls when pain shot through his side. He winced and shifted back, grabbing for the nurse alarm button. A nurse came in almost immediately and smiled when she saw him awake.

 “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton. How are you feeling?” The nurse began taking note of his vitals and took his temperature, making notations on his chart.

 “It’s Alexander, and I was wondering if you had something I could take for the pain.” He blushed as the nurse lifted his gown from the bottom to check out his stitches, seeing everything he had to bear, but she didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

 “Of course, I’ll go get something for you and I’ll be right back, okay?”

 He nodded his head and watched as she walked out. He reached over again, wincing in pain once more, to pull on Thomas’s curls and watch them spring back into place. His hand was brushing a curl when a hand grabbed his wrist.

 “Do not. Touch. The hair.”

 “It just looks so soft and springy,” he whispered. “I thought you were sleeping. I just wanted to touch you again.” He bunched his fingers in the thin blanket that covered his body and laid his head back, closing his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment before his body relaxed against the sheets.

 “Alexander, are you okay?”

 He nodded slowly. “The nurse is already going to get medicine, so don’t worry about it. It’s just pain, which is understandable considering I almost died.”

 “Well,” Thomas paused. “I don’t think you almost died. I think the blood transfusion is just a precaution. You just ripped some stuff inside with the glass but you’re completely fine.”

 Alexander raised his eyebrows mockingly. “I know I’m fine,” he joked. “It’s about time you figured that out for yourself.” He chuckled before abruptly stopping and holding his side. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

 “Alexander, don’t lie to me, okay? If I’m going to watch you and take care of you, you’ll have to be honest to me.”

 “You’ll be taking care of me?” Alexander questioned. “You don’t even like me.” He knew he was lying to himself. He liked Thomas and Thomas liked him. Right? That had to be why he kissed him, right? “I really liked that kiss,” he whispered. “Kiss me again.”

 “Alexander, I-”

 Alexander grabbed Thomas’s jacket and pulled him closer, making Thomas growl against his lips. Thomas could hear Alexander’s heart monitor speed up and tried pulling back, but Alexander held him in place. Alexander bit Thomas’s lip and Thomas growled once more, pushing Alexander against the mattress. Alexander smirked as his shoulders were pinned down, but grimaced as the blanket on his body raked the hospital gown across his stitches.

 “I hate to kill the mood, but why haven’t they dressed my stitches? Also, did you enjoy that kiss as much as I did? And-” He paused. “And why do you act like you hate me when I can tell that it’s completely different than that? I mean, I can admit that I feel something for you. Not all of it is complete hatred. I don’t know what it is but it’s something. I know you feel it too.”

 Thomas looked down at his hands against the blue hospital gown. His hands were bunching up the fabric. “Alex, I-”

 “Please Thomas. Just be honest with me.” His eyes were big and Thomas couldn’t break his gaze away from them. He was entranced.

 “I care for you,” he grumbled. He finally ripped his gaze away from Alexander’s eyes. “Alright? I care. That’s why I invited you over; to become friends. I just- I don’t know anymore.”

 “Then why did you run?”

 “I’m not gay,” Thomas mumbled.

 “That kiss felt pretty gay to me,” Alexander smirked. “Please Thomas, I know you feel it too. Don’t fight it, please.” Thomas leaned his head back on the bed and Alexander grasped Thomas’s hand in his before it was jerked away. “Thomas, please.”

 “Alexander, just-” he sighed. “Just let me think. I’ve never felt like this before. I need to think about this.” He stood up, knocking the chair against the wall before he stormed out of the room. He went to the waiting room at the end of the hall by the elevators. Putting his back to the wall, he slid down, sitting in the corner looking out the window. He couldn’t face Alexander. Especially not with the boner he was sporting in his pants.

 He heard people shuffling through the halls as he stared out the window. Someone coughed in the background and the television droned on some reality station. He felt a body move beside him, yet his gaze focused out the window until one of his curls bounced against his cheek.

 “Don’t touch-”

 “I’m going to touch your curls until you decide to talk to me like a human being.”

 Thomas’s head whipped around. “Alexander, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

 “I’m fine. Can you just talk to me?” His hair was messy and tangled, his gown was hanging loose in the back.

 “Alexander, I do care for you. I just- I never thought about remotely having feelings for a man, especially you.” Thomas looked down and his curls bounced around his face. “I’ve always been attracted to women. Always. But you’ve done something to me and I can’t explain it. The arguing doesn’t anger me anymore, it turns me on. You used to just piss me off to no end…but now I find it kind of cute. And sexy.” He chuckled slightly to himself and shook his head. “I actually ran out of your room so I could hide the boner you gave me. Didn’t think that was what we needed to focus on at the time. And the truth is, Alexander, that I couldn’t fathom the idea of falling in love with a man, but here I am, completely and hopelessly in love with you.”

 Alexander moved his body around to stand in front of Thomas and held his hands out to him. “Come on. Let’s go back to my room. I’m starting to catch a breeze,” he smirked, twirling in a circle to show his backside. Thomas’s eyes darkened for a moment before he used Alexander’s hands to pull himself up. Thomas grabbed the back of Alexander’s gown and pulled it together, scowling. Thomas’s hands made their way down Alexander’s body until they reached his ass. He grabbed a handful in each hand and squeezed, making Alexander jump as they walked in the room together.

 Thomas followed Alexander, watching him climb into his bed, wondering if Alexander knew how much his hospital gown showed as he did that. Thomas groaned quietly as he adjusted himself through his black jeans. “You probably shouldn’t climb up like that again,” he said as Alexander climbed under the covers. “That is, unless you want me to take you right here, right now.”

 Alexander’s eyes grew wide as his mind worked through what Thomas had just told him. “Don’t you think that’s a little quick, since, you know, you just figured out that you’re bisexual?”

 “I’ve never been with a man before. I could make you my first, Alexander. You and that pretty little ass of yours.” He grabbed Alexander’s chin. “But that would be after I take those even prettier lips of yours. See them wrapped around my cock.” He took his thumb and dragged it over Alexander’s bottom lip, dragging it down. “Yeah. I could see that. You on your knees, your eyes wide, legs spread. Mm,” he groaned, bringing his free hand to rest on the bulge in his pants. “You looking so innocent.” He brought his lips to Alexander’s ear. “I bet you’d try to fight me, because you are so fired up all the time. Because you don’t have it in you to be submissive. And guess what Alexander.” He rolled Alexander’s ear between his teeth. “I want the fight. I want you try and fight me, because I know you’ll give in.”

 Alexander was shaking on the bed, his breathing heavy, his bottom lip quivering. Thomas moved his hand from Alexander’s lip and slowly moved it down the front of the gown to where it was tenting right above Alexander’s hips. His hands tossed the blanket back and grasped the hard cock beneath the thin gown and Alexander’s whole body tensed. His eyes closed and his mouth fell open as Thomas began stroking him.

 “Thomas, please. Oh god Thomas, stop.”

 Thomas’s hand stopped stroking, but didn’t let go of Alexander’s hardened length. There was a knock at the door and Thomas finally let go of Alexander and adjusted himself, turning his body in the chair. Alexander’s face turned pale as Thomas smiled and the doctor walked in.

 “Good morning, doctor. How are you?” Alexander asked.

 “I’m fine Alexander. How are you feeling?”

 “Better. A lot better. The nurse gave me something for the pain a little while ago and dressed my stitches. When can I go home?”

 “Well, you slept off and on for almost four days after your surgery, so we’ve been able to monitor you for any signs of infection, which there are none. The other doctors and I have decided that you don’t have to be hooked up to the machines anymore, and barring any other issues that come up, you can leave tomorrow morning. I’m going to assume that you’ll be going home with your, uh-”

 “Friend, Thomas Jefferson.”

 The doctor frowned at that but continued. “You can go home with Thomas, who said he’ll be taking care of you until your stitches are removed. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning, but I don’t think there will be any more tests or anything for a while, so get some rest. Goodnight, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Jefferson.”

 “Goodnight, doctor.” Alexander watched as the doctor closed the door behind him before looking over to Thomas. “Can you-” He shook his head and knotted his fingers in the blanket. “Never mind.”

 “What is it?” Thomas moved his hand to grab Alexander’s. “Do you need more pain medication?”

 “I need you. Come lay with me.”

 “Alexander, I don’t think I should.” He bit the inside of his bottom lip.

 “Thomas, please. I just want you to hold me close. We don’t have to do anything. I just- I hate sleeping in strange places alone. Please,” he whispered, his bottom lip quivering. “I get scared.”

 Thomas sighed but nodded his head. “Scoot over. I’ll sleep beside you.” He stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the chair before doing the same with his belt. Thomas watched Alexander’s eyes grow wide and his chest heave, his eyes not leaving Thomas’s hands. “I promise I won’t do anything. I just don’t want to hurt you with the belt clip.” Alexander nodded and laid back on the bed.

 “Is this moving too fast? I mean, yesterday, we hated each other and today I’m getting you to strip and hop in bed with me. Is it too fast?” His fingers fisted themselves in the blanket again and Thomas grabbed his hands pushing them off to the side.

 “Stop overthinking this. We’re just two friends who are going to sleep in the same bed and make out like teenagers.” He let go of Alexander’s hands and let his own drop to the side. “Is this about the thing before the doctor came in? I meant every word, but it’ll happen when we’re both ready. I guess I was rushing things because of all the confusion and everything. You’re right. Maybe we are going too fast. Do you want to sleep alone? I can sleep in the chair again, or I could leave, or something. I’ve finally found a comfortable position where I can sleep and hold your hand at the same time. Unless you don’t want me to hold your hand. I could-”

 Alexander grabbed Thomas’s hand. “You’re rambling. Just come lay with me and we can hold each other and make out like teenagers.” He moved over on the bed and grabbed Thomas’s other hand, pulling him on the bed. Thomas groaned as Alexander pulled him too far and, instead of landing on the bed, he landed over Alexander’s body. Alexander winced as Thomas’s hand pushed against his newly dressed stitches.

 “Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need me to get you something?” Thomas sat up straight, throwing his legs on either side of Alexander. “Alexander, please, look at me. Tell me, did I hurt you?”

 Alexander tried to slow his breathing. “I’m fine. Just get off me.”

 Thomas looked down at how he was sitting, his legs straddling Alexander. His eyes darkened and his cheeks tinted red as he tossed his leg back over Alexander’s body. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

 Thomas kicked his shoes to the floor, moved his body to lay on the bed beside Alexander and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. Alexander smiled and curled his body into Thomas’s, his hips bumping against Thomas’s stomach, his eyes closing. He wrapped his arms around Thomas and ran his hands along the body of muscle against him, up his spine and cradled the base of Thomas’s neck.

 “Alexander, are you really falling asleep right now? You’ve been sleeping for four days.”

 “I woke up a couple times through those four days. I just didn’t stay awake long.” He never opened his eyes, but his fingers danced their way to Thomas’s curls where they tugged a bit.

 ‘Alexander, don’t-”

 Alexander opened his eyes, grabbing a fistful of hair, and pulled Thomas’s head back before trailing his tongue from the little hollow at the base of Thomas’s neck up to the razor straight line of hair that covered his chin, turning and teasing its way up to Thomas’s ear. His teeth nibbled at Thomas’s earlobe and he drew it in his mouth before releasing it with a small whimper. “I’m glad you’re here.” He released Thomas’s hair and laid back down, nuzzling his face into Thomas’s neck.

 Thomas’s chest was heaving up and down. His eyes were wide at the fact that he was just dominated by someone who had to stand on the bottom shelf at the grocery store to reach things on the top shelf. That same someone was now curled up beside him, knowing very well what he had just done, and now pretending to be sleeping. “Alexander, you can’t just do something like that and not continue.”

 “I can. Look at me now, curled up, trying to sleep. It would be easier if you would slow your breathing down, so I could get comfortable. You’re hard.” He jerked his head away from Thomas’s neck and his entire face turned red. “Your body is hard. I mean, your abs, and chest. I uh… I’m gonna stop talking.” He hid his face in Thomas’s chest, the t-shirt wrapping around his face.

 Thomas grabbed Alexander’s shoulders and pushed him back. “I think you promised me something,” he stated.

 “And what’s that?”

 “I believe you said if I got up here, we’d make out like horny teenagers.”

 Alexander’s whole body began to turn red. “I mean, if you want to. I just wanted you here with me, but we can make out if you want.” Thomas threw his head back and laughed as Alexander’s body curled into him. “I also don’t think I said ‘like horny teenagers.’ I think I just said like teenagers. I also don’t think I promised. But I’m ready and willing if you are.”

 Thomas pushed a piece of hair out of Alexander’s eyes. “I won’t do anything you’re not ready for. Starting now. Sit up, I want to play with your hair.” Alexander sat up on the bed and Thomas moved to sit behind him, one leg curled under himself, the other stretched beside Alexander. “You know, actually, we should give you a shower. Or a bath. I’ll go ask the doctor.” He scooted off the bed and shuffled out the door in his socks, Alexander watching him as he walked, his curls bobbing as he moved.

  Alexander waited on his bed, wondering what was going on between him and Thomas. He had feelings for Thomas, he knew that, but did Thomas like him, or did Thomas lust him? He had hundreds of these thoughts running through his head when the door opened.

 “The nurses said you can take a shower but you have to try not to get your dressing wet. They’ll come in after to change the dressing, but…”

 “But what?”

 “She said I’ll have to stay in the room with you. Is that okay?” He held out a bottle of liquid soap and Alexander grabbed it from his hand and traced the design on the bottle.

 “Uh yeah. That’s okay.”

 “Here, let’s go then. I’ll just sit on the toilet lid or something. If you need me, I’ll be there.” He held out his hand and pulled Alexander off the bed. “Come on. Let’s go get you clean.”

 Alexander’s legs shook as he stepped to the floor. Thomas noticed and swept Alexander off his feet. “Thomas, I’m fine. It happened last time too. Just let me get used to standing up.” Alexander winced as Thomas set him down and his legs wobbled as he grabbed ahold of the bed railing. After a moment, his legs finally stopped wobbling and he slowly began to walk to the bathroom.

 “I don’t know if you should be standing in a shower if you can hardly handle yourself on dry flooring.”

 Alexander pushed back he shower curtain and fiddled with the shower knob, trying to figure out how to use it. “I’ll be fine. You’ll be right here if I need help.” He tried pulling on the temperature knob. “I can’t get this thing to-”

“It just turns. Just turn it until you find the temperature you want.” Thomas put the toilet seat down and plopped himself into his new seat.

 “That’s dumb,” mumbled Alexander. He grabbed the tie to his gown. “Can you close your eyes? Or turn around or something?”

 Thomas laughed and closed his eyes. “I can touch it, I just can’t see it, right?” He opened one eye to see Alexander staring at him, red in the face. “Shit, I have to go get a towel for you. I’ll be right back.” He strode out of the room and Alexander was fixated on the sound of Thomas rummaging through the cupboards outside. He untied his gown and it slowly slid off his shoulders as he focused on the movement in the other room. Thomas shoved through the door just as Alexander’s gown dropped to the floor and he smirked. “Was that your version of a strip tease?” he joked. “Because I found it very arousing.” He moved closer to Alexander and licked his earlobe before sitting back on the toilet seat.

Alexander shook himself out of his stupor and jumped in the shower, pulling the curtain closed around him. “You were supposed to keep your eyes closed,” he pouted.

 Thomas laughed. “I had to look and see where I was going somehow. It’s not my fault I got to see your sexy show while I was at it.”

 Alexander’s head whipped around the curtain. “Can you see through this shower curtain?”

 Thomas looked up and smirked. “When you press your body against it like that, I can.”

 Alexander looked down at himself and blushed as he noticed that everything was on display. His cheeks brightened and he shoved the curtain away and threw himself back under the water, leaving Thomas laughing. Thomas could see Alexander through the curtain still but he was enjoying the show and decided not to say anything. As Alexander raised his hands to his hair, he jerked them down again before hissing in pain. “Uh, Thomas?”

 “I’m right here.”

 “I can’t wash my hair. It hurts to lift my arms.”

 “Do you want me to go get a nurse?” He could see Alexander holding his side through the thin curtain.

 “Can you just come help me? I don’t want the nurses to… I mean they probably already have, but, just… Can you help me?”

 Thomas walked to the shower, pulling off his t-shirt, tossing it on the edge of the sink. He pushed the curtain aside and saw Alexander standing beneath the water, holding his side, staring at the floor. His face looked ashamed, his posture slouching, eyes cast down. “Alexander, there’s no shame in asking for help, you know.”

 “I hate asking for help. I just feel weak,” he said, his eyes flickering up to see Thomas’s naked chest and quickly flitting back down.

 Thomas wet his hands and grabbed some soap, massaging it between his hands before reaching for Alexander. “I thought nurses were supposed to keep you clean while you’re here. At least while you can’t do it yourself.” He began to rub the soap into Alexander’s hair. “I don’t think they’ve washed your hair at all since you’ve been here. Here, lean back.” Alexander leaned back and Thomas began to rinse the soap out. “This will probably make your hair a little dry, but I have to wash it again. It’s way too dirty to be comfortable.”

 Alexander hummed in agreement, still embarrassed at the fact that he was completely naked in front of Thomas. His cheeks flared red all the way up to his ears. His body shivered as Thomas’s fingers brushed the fine hairs at the base of his neck. “Uh, can you turn the temperature down a little bit?” Thomas had one hand trail down Alexander’s side as the other one reached for the temperature knob. It was completely innocent, just Thomas stretching to reach, but Alexander needed the water colder and now, before Thomas saw him get hard. Goosebumps appeared on his skin as the water turned cold and he shivered, sighing at the crisis he had just averted.

 “You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed about getting an erection. I know that’s why you had me do that,” Thomas mused from behind him. “I’m not looking at anything but your hair. For now. It’ll be different later.” Alexander could hear the smirk in his voice. “Okay, lean your head back again.” Alexander complied and Thomas rinsed the soap from his hair once more.

 “Thank you,” whispered Alexander.

“Can you get the rest by yourself?”

 Alexander turned his head to look at Thomas. “I can try, I think.”

 Thomas stepped back and closed the curtain, looking down at his soaked pants. “God damn it,” he murmured.

 “Is everything okay?” Alexander’s voice floated through the curtain.

 “Yeah, I just got my pants wet. It’s fine. They’ll dry eventually.” He stripped off the pants and tossed them over the side of the towel rack on the wall. He grabbed an extra towel and tried getting as much water out of them as possible. His boxers were damp, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

Thomas was busy trying to dry his pants and didn’t notice the water turning off behind him. Alexander swiped the curtain out of the way and quickly grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his waist. Thomas stood against the wall in only his boxers and Alexander let out an audible squeak in surprise at the toned man half naked in the bathroom with him.

 Thomas turned around when he heard the noise emanate from behind him and saw Alexander blushing with nothing but a towel around his waist. “My, uh… my pants got wet while I was washing your hair. Sorry. Just give me a minute and I’ll put them on.”

 “Where are my clothes?”

 “What?”

 “The clothes I came in with? I mean, the shirt isn’t any good anymore but I want to wear underwear. I felt completely exposed out there. Even though it was just you.” Thomas grabbed his shirt, leaving the pants hanging up to dry and walked out of the room in his socks and boxers. Alexander was steps ahead of him, looking for a bag marked ‘patient belongings,’ finding it on the floor beside his bed. He bent down and grabbed it, Thomas slapping his ass as he did.

 “Hey,” he laughed. “Open target.” Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks as Alexander pulled on his boxer briefs and sat on the bed.

“Well I feel slightly better. Is there another gown or something in here for me to wear?”

 Thomas tossed his t-shirt to the smaller man on the other side of the bed. “Here, wear this.” Alexander took off the dressing on his side, threw it in the garbage, pulled the shirt on and climbed into bed, laying down on the pillow.

 “Are you going to sleep with me?” Alexander asked, scooting over on the bed.

 “Let me go get my pants out of the bathroom and hang them on the back of the chair or something and I’ll climb in beside you.” His feet slapped against the cold tile as he walked to the bathroom and grabbed his pants before slapping back out. He crawled in beside Alexander who was facing the wall, his back turned to Thomas. “Why are you turned away from me, Alex dear?”

 “No reason,” he squeaked.

 “Oh really? Then turn around.” Thomas grabbed his shoulders and turned him around.

 Alexander gasped as his body was pulled flush against Thomas’s warm chest, his legs wrapping themselves around Alexander’s. Thomas smirked as he leaned down and kissed Alexander, his teeth latching onto Alexander’s bottom lip. Alexander stretched his arms around Thomas and played with the curls that surrounded his fingers. Thomas pulled away and smirked at Alexander. “I see you’re keeping your promise of making out like horny teenagers.”

 “I didn’t promise, and I didn’t say horny.” He blushed, hiding his face in Thomas’s chest, inhaling the scent that surrounded him. He smelled like hospital too. “You don’t smell like you,” he whispered. “I want to be able to smell something other than hospital.”

 “Tomorrow, we’ll go home and I’ll wash myself with my own soap, how’s that sound?”

 Alexander murmured in agreement and fell asleep, his breathing becoming slow and steady. Thomas grabbed the hair band from Alexander’s wrist and pulled the sleeping man’s hair back into a ponytail, kissing his forehead. “Goodnight, Alexander. Sleep well.” He watched the slow rise and fall of Alexander’s chest before he closed his own eyes and fell under the blanket of sleep.

 The pair was woken up the next morning to the attending surgeon snickering at the foot of the bed. “You were serious about sleeping with him to keep him safe, weren’t you?” he chuckled, looking at Thomas.

 Thomas’s cheeks rouged at the memory. He had been joking at the time, but now…

 “Alright, Mr. Hamilton. I’ve looked at your tests, and they all came back normal. Let me look at your stitches and if everything looks good, you can go home today.” Alexander lifted the side of his shirt- Thomas’s shirt- and the doctor examined the stitches. “You’re healing remarkably well, so you’ll definitely be going home today. Make sure you be careful and don’t do anything that’ll rip your stitches. Come back in a week and we’ll take out the stitches. Have a good day, gentlemen.”

 The pair watched the doctor walk out and Thomas looked at Alexander, kissing his lips gently. “Let’s go home, love.”

 “I want nothing more.”

[lakevalleygolfclub-blog]

Teaching Times - October 2017

With so many people traveling for golf in this beautiful time of year, we thought this would be the perfect time publish our travel issue of Teaching Times Digest. In this issue we will cover how to bring your game to other courses. Golf is all about making adjustments for the conditions and there is no greater adjustment than playing a course with which you are unfamiliar in a state or country with which you are unfamiliar. Let’s dive in so you can make sure that you are able to make adjustments quickly and succinctly.

Lesson Opportunities at Lake Valley

Tyler’s Fall Distance control Seminars

Time to dial in those distances! EVERY FRIDAY in NOVEMBER at 4:00 PM we will gather on the driving range to hone one of the most important aspects of the golf swing.  We will cover everything that changes how far the ball flies from environmental factors like altitude and temperature to swing factors like club head speed, loft and spin. Each week will focus on a different part of the game.

·       Week 1 (11/3)– Short game inside 40 yards

·       Week 2 (11/10)– Short game from 40 – 70 yards

·       Week 3 (11/17) – Full swing irons and how to control them

·       Week 4 (11/24) – Distance control for putting

Sign up by emailing Tyler@lakevalley.com.

Sessions are $25 each or $75 for all 4.

Participants: 6 max, 3 minimum

Coaches Corner

Phil Mickelson’s Distance Factors

Many of you have probably seen at least one episode of Golf Channel’s new hit talk show Feherty. If not, I would highly recommend checking it out. Click the video link below for an excerpt with Phil Mickelson describing all of the factors he includes when figuring out the distance of a shot. These factors include:

temperature ● altitude ●wind ● time of day ●water between the ball and face ● length of the grass ● type of grass ● whether the ball is sitting on grass that is down grain or into the grain ● whether he is choking down on the club ● if the ball is sitting up or down in the grass●

The list goes on from there. . . it is worth mentioning that Phil has a very specific ‘reference’ or  stock distance for each club which takes a lot of repetition and practice over a very long career. Not that anyone expects the average golfer to take all of this into account, but it should impress upon all of our readers that there are so many factors that go into figuring out each shot. When you play in conditions that you are not used to keep this stuff in mind!

Target Golf vs Desert Golf: What’s the difference?

Many people who travel over winter choose Arizona as their destination. There is an idea that desert golf is target golf and that’s why it is different from playing courses in Colorado. The reality is that Target Golf and Desert Golf are 2 different styles of golf course and the below article from Colorado Avid Golfer explains how. . .

Heeding the architectural nuances of “desert” and “target” golf can be the difference between a casual afternoon on the links or a harrowing, three-sleeve root canal. Here are the basics:

Desert designs generally offer players generous tee-ball landing areas, with approaches to the flag more demanding and less forgiving. Grass is often planted tee to green, but in increasingly narrowing proportions.

Target golf, made infamous in the wild Sonoran Desert surrounds of Arizona, is likened to aerial hopscotch — play is across expansive natural cross-hazards, canyons and arroyos, usually from one lushly grassed “island” to another.

 The dramatic design styles appear throughout the Southwest, and have been ingeniously tweaked to tame Hawaii’s balata-slicing lava fields. Here is a six-pack sampling of some of our favorites:

 TARGET

La Quinta Resort & Club, Mountain Course, La Quinta, CA. Regarded among the best and more playable works of Pete Dye, the routing plays in and around the massive rock outcroppings of the Santa Rosa Mountains. Course is superbly conditioned, with yawning pot bunkers, abundant water and lightning-fast, undulating greens.

Oasis Golf Club, Mesquite, NV. Box canyons, immense boulder formations, towering stone ridges, rain-smoothed arroyos and eye-popping elevation changes approaching 200 feet define this popular gem designed by Arnold Palmer and Ed Seay. Most holes offer eight tee boxes, scoring big on the flexibility/playability scale.

Troon North Golf Club, Monument Course, Scottsdale, AZ. Ranked among the top courses in America, this Tom Weiskopf/Jay Morrish collaboration is rife with penal, risk/reward shot values like blind doglegs, sloping, multi-layered greens, narrow bail-outs and long cross-hazards over meandering gulches and washes. One of the better maintained tracks on the planet.

  DESERT

Loews Ventana Canyon Resort, Mountain Course, Tucson, AZ. Crafted by Tom Fazio, this environmentally sensitive venue is underscored by tradition-bent shot values, generous fairways, and intimidating, well-guarded approaches that castigate misfires. Players revere the up-close, saguaro cactus-laded views of the Santa Catalina Mountains.

 Mauna Lani Resort, North Course, Big Island, HI. Stitched onto black volcanic bedrock, this Robin Nelson design epitomizes desert-style architecture. Tight shot lines and strategic bunkering leave no room for gonzo golf, and testy trade winds add to the course’s dynamics. Respect the pro shop’s warning: Don’t forage the sharp-as-glass lava fields for errant shots.

 TPC at The Canyons, Las Vegas, Nevada. Architect Bobby Weed embellished his rugged design with blind tee shots to bi-level fairways, daunting approaches across rattlesnake-infested canyons, and slick, heavily contoured greens. Key local rule: Bordering desert is so punishing, it’s played as a lateral hazard.

Technology Spotlight

Ok, so it’s hard to consider alignment sticks to be ‘technology’ seeing as you can buy them at Home Depot for a couple bucks. Hear me out. . . yes we had sticks before we even had the wheel, but these are among the most useful training aids out there. In fact, mygolfspy.com lists them among the top 5 training aids in 2017. These have nearly unlimited uses whether they are a barrier to keep you on plain or as visual aids to keep a part of your body or club in line with the target.

My Golf Spy says “Whether you choose Tour Sticks, some other made for golf alignment rods or repurposed driveway markers, sticks can be used to square your body to the target line, help keep your swing on plane, or serve as a target marker while you work to control the clubface and start the ball on the desired line.

Versatile enough to travel from the practice tee to the putting green, and inexpensive by any reasonable standard, it’s not the least bit surprising that alignment sticks are far and away your #1 Training Aid.”

USE THEM. If you need help learning the proper uses or simply want another eye for your golf swing, contact one of the Lake Valley coaches and we will give you the help you need.

The Private club Network

Lake Valley is part of a rather exclusive list known as The Private Club Network. Being a part of this means that your membership is more valuable and will allow you to play a myriad of different courses all over the country. If you are traveling this winter, contact the Private Club Network to reserve an affordable tee time at top tier private clubs!

[agentnefarious]

Freedom Rises

here’s a short story i wrote.

There was blood under my nails. I could feel it, caked around the edges. I cut them short usually but lately I haven’t- I haven’t been myself. I wash my hands though, all the time. I didn’t today. I started too, but when I reached for the soap- I couldn’t. I couldn’t touch it. So now, as I run my fingers over her soft skin, I noticed that there was still blood under my nails. I don’t think she noticed, but suddenly- I slid my hand across her mouth. I gave her a look, and she opened her lips- they were soft, plump. I wanted her to taste it, the blood. I knew she wouldn’t know what it was, but she still would do this thing for me. She just didn’t know it yet. I could only imagine the flecks of blood on her tongue as she sucked on my finger, and it sent shivers of ecstasy through my body. When had I become this twisted? I didn’t know. But I liked it.

And so did she. She didn’t know it yet, but that was the thing that was different about me, the thing she could sense because she had once and would always feel my heart. A poet would say that even though my heart beat differently, it still beat for her, it was still a sound only she could find beautiful. I of course have always hated poetry, but people change all the time. I had changed so much in just a few short days. She would change with me. Anaya Fantine, as she is called. She could be my wife, if there is still a future for us. My name is Jack Ross, and tonight there is blood under my nails. Tomorrow there might still be some left. I don’t know if I’ll wash my hands.

Tonight, I could see things differently. I could see her differently. I think I loved her differently. I don’t know if that meant I didn’t love her before or if it meant I loved her more, but I knew- when my finger was in her mouth- that I loved her differently. There was something so complex about her beauty. Her eyes, such a vibrant shade of brown… as pure as her skin. And there she lay, on my bed in my room in my overpriced apartment that I paid for anyway because she sold it to me. I didn’t keep candles because I thought they were a fire hazard- I thought I’d fall asleep with them on and somehow they would burn down the world. The world buried in flames, all because of one candle. It could happen, as implausible as it seems. But now I kind of wished I did, because I could see she would be even more complex in candle light. This woman who held so much power over me because I wanted her body and needed her heart. And then there was what lay between her eyes; she was the most intelligent person I’d ever met. She was cut throat- lethal. Selling real estate was something she did for fun, that and being with me. I could see it in her eyes now, what I never thought to look for before. It was clearer than the blood under my nails. She enjoyed being around me because she thought she knew what I was capable of. She thought I was predictable. And I used to be, and I reveled in it. She used to be the most unpredictable thing in my life, but now that had changed. Not because she was any less unpredictable, but because I had now become something she couldn’t foresee.

“Darling; I killed someone.” I knew that she heard me but she didn’t respond right away. She did slide my finger from between her lips. But then she took my hand, and placed it over her breast.

“I know. I could feel it when you walked in the room.” She was calm, and her hair fell around her face. All shadows and secrets.

“You know?” I had wanted to be the clever one, be eloquent with my words, but she was still Anaya. Her hand cradled my chin and she rose to her knees on the bed. She stared at me, eye to eye. I saw an endless sunrise.

“I know your heart, Jack. There was a time when I thought you couldn’t be the man that I could love with all my heart, but now I know I was wrong. Do you think I’ve never tasted blood before?” She smiled, beautiful enough to wake the angels.

“I guess I thought wrong,” to underestimate your opponent is perhaps the most common mistake of all, and I had again made it. There was a fresh wound on my side to prove it.

“I am a woman, Jack. There is a whole different world to be seen from my eyes,” the next thing I felt was her lips against mine, and I realized instantly how different she kissed me now. It was like she’d blossomed, and I could finally taste how beautiful she truly was. I could feel it, when I picked her up and she wrapped her legs around me. I heard it, when the crystal statue by my bed crashed to the ground. And then again, when I bit her neck and she moaned in my ear. There was a moment when I stopped to consider what it meant that she…was who she was. It passed, because it was followed by another thought: who did that make me?

 In the year that I’d known Anaya, this was the first time she spent the night. The sun hadn’t risen yet. I stood in the doorway, realizing that I’d never once seen her sleep. She used to sneak out around four- I was always awake when she left but I never said anything. I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable. But now I could stand here and watch her sleep, and I had for the past thirty minutes. She was a peaceful sleeper; she looked more comfortable in my bed then I did. I wanted to stay longer, and almost got back in bed with her, but the pain in my side that woke me up grounded my mind with a dose of reality. My fingers were wet and sticky- more blood, but this time mine. So I left her alone and ventured into the darkness of my apartment. Honestly I was embarrassed with the hackneyed stitch work I’d performed on myself. It was a mockery of the white coat that hung in my closet, flecks of piss on the eight years I’d spent in medical school and the four that I’d been a practicing neurosurgeon. I was proud of that, at least it was something to be proud of.

I stood in front of the full length mirror in the living room, the mirror set into the exposed brick wall. The stitches looked even worse now than they had a few hours ago. It looked like the work of a special effects guy in a horror movie, not that of a skilled surgeon. A shot of lidocaine from my medical kit and I was pulling them out, knowing it should hurt but not feeling anything. And then I regretted that, giving myself that shot; somewhere inside of this new person I was becoming, there was a place that liked the pain. But this wasn’t the time for that. I had work to do. And now that my blood wasn’t racing and my heart wasn’t filled with adrenaline, I could focus. My hands moved like a pianist fingers, every bit as elegant and flawless. I’d honestly considered being a plastic surgeon, but then I thought how much more noble it would be for me to use my skills to help save lives instead of giving sixteen-year old’s nose jobs that they’d go to their graves denying ever happened.

“You know I could have done that for you,” I saw her reflection in the mirror, and I knew she’d been standing there for a while- watching me, the way I’d watched her. “I’ve gotten really good at it.”

“I prefer to do it myself. I’m a lot better at it than you,” she laughed and walked over to me, draping her arms around my shoulders.

“You don’t know all there is to know about me, Jack, but you will,” her voice in my ear was so…determined. I’d never wondered if there was stuff I didn’t know about her, because who does?

“So what, you’ve been lying to me?” I asked, in the way that you joke about something that makes you uncomfortable.

“I let you get to know what you wanted to know. What you could handle. But now…now there’s no limit to the world that lies before us.”

“You sound like a villain from a superhero movie,” I remember when we first started dating, she used to make me nervous, the way she would look at me. I’d moved past that but now it seemed like old habits were creeping back.

“And what’s wrong with that? Villains have all the fun.”

“Anaya…”

“What did you do with the body?”

“I cleaned the clothes and dropped them off at a few of those things for clothes. The body…is dissolving,” I told her, focusing more on my stitches than the conversation.

“Still? Well this is your first time. You’ll get better at it. Look at us, Jack. Do you see what I see?” I stopped and I looked. What I saw was a woman who was clearly so much more then she let on, and a man who was only just figuring it out.

“I doubt it.” She smiled and wrapped her hand around my waist. She started toying with my belly button, getting closer to the fresh stitches I’d done.

“I see someone becoming exactly who I’d hoped he’d be, and the woman who will help him get there. I see a future where I don’t get bored with you and kill you. I see a man where I once saw a boy. A man ready to be loved by a woman in a way that no one else has been loved. There’s no turning back, Jack. You and I…we will taste blood, together.”

“I could turn myself in,” I said casually, half-heartedly, though it’d crossed my mind. I felt cold metal and I looked at her other hand in the mirror. She was holding a knife; she dragged it up my side and rested it at my throat. She dug the tip in a little, so that a drop of my blood slid down the knife.

“And I could kill you. But I won’t, just like you won’t turn yourself in. It’d be a waste of time,” she kissed my cheek, but she didn’t move the knife, and for a second I thought that she just might kill me right here.

“Then what comes next?” I asked, my heart beating faster despite how hard I tried to stop it. She stared at me through the mirror for a while, kissing on my ear and dragging the knife back and forth across my throat. I got bold and grabbed her hand and she stopped. She let the knife fall out of her hand and onto the floor. I turned around, facing her, and then pushed her against the mirror. There was this fire in her eyes, taunting me, daring me to go farther, so I did. I wiped my other hand across her cheek, leaving streaks of my blood on her face and kissed her. I bit her lip and ran my fingers through her hair and she dug her nails into my neck. If I hadn’t already been hard, I definitely would have been now. She pulled me in closer, toying with the draw string on my shorts, and I knew that if I wanted to I could fuck her right now, bloody hands and all, but I pulled away. “What comes next?”

             She bit her lip and smiled.

             “Freedom, Jack. Freedom comes next.”