#moon long hat enjoyers rise up

[xau-u]

draw his hat so long it becomes a tail

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #moondrop #fnaf sb #daycare attendent #myart #doodles #moon long hat enjoyers rise up

[forgwater]

This is the Rook crackfic where we're keeping up with tradition and making the title way too long for no reason whatsoever. In this Rook crackfic I will...

part 5 part 4 part 3 part 2 part 1 Valentine's Day (but it's August)

gender neutral reader

warnings: this is not that serious, crack

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

romantic

"Rook, must you really go...?" you ask your boyfriend. You have spent together a very enjoyable afternoon at Ramshackle. Now, however, with the fall of the night sky and rising of the moon; your lover needs to depart... unfortunately.

"Je suis desole mon amour, but I have to go." he places a hand dramatically over his chest "But fear not, for tomorrow we shall meet again." and with a smile and a wink the hunter bows to place a delicate kiss upon your hand.

When he resumes his upright posture you share an embrace. And then it's time to leave.

You sigh as you see him depart from the warmth of the, now, less dilapidated building you call home and you wave him a last goodbye for tonight. You might call him later.

"...Y/N..." Grim joins you in the doorway "Do I really have to take the medicine...?" he asks, giving you his best, uh, puppy? eyes, but no! You are steadfast in your decisions!

"It's the fastest way to get rid of your stomach pains." you reason.

"But I don't wanna!" what a stubborn cat monster your adopted son is!

"You will take that syrup if it's the last thing you do!" you warn and Grim yelps as he makes a run for it.

Oh, well... you'll just have to catch him. It's not that hard considering you've learned a thing or two from your amazing boyfriend.

And as you go up the stairs you can't help but let you mind wander... 'When will my hunter return from tonight's adventure? I hope he has fun playing with Yuu..."

platonic (Is Yuu the hunter or the hunted?)

This is it. This is the end.

The final confrontation is upon Yuu. The prefect might need to fight the "beast" in his own territory. And even if they fail... at least they will be forever immortalized by the video camera in Ace's hands...

That is if the video doesn't become some sort of lost media... maybe that'll start a conspiracy theory. Yuu wouldn't be opposed to it.

The prefect looks at their two companions and solemnly speaks:

"If I die, Deuce, I leave all my mortal possessions to you... aside from my throwing knives, bury me with those." Yuu says, before correcting themselves. "Wait! No, burn my corpse on a pyre! That's a cooler way to go!" they give a nod and a smile to their bewildered friends.

"Umm, Yuu... I don't think the Headmage would approve of that..." Deuce says uncertainly.

"What I wanna know," the redhead of the group interrupts "Is why I'm not getting anything?!" he asks in indignation. "I'm the one filming you anyway!" Ace complains again.

"What do you mean you're not getting anything?!" Yuu snaps at the redhead "You're get the money from the video!" they say in exasperation.

"Oh..." is the only thing the two companions can say as they look at one another.

"Wai-" Ace begins again only to be shushed by the prefect.

They gesture wildly, bringing a finger to their lips and crouching slightly.

Silence

Rustling leaves.

A crow croaks in the distance.

Yuu could swear it sounded a lot like Crowley... maybe he found the copies...?

Anyway! There's no time to be distracted! The prefect has a hunter to hunt!

SWOOSH

An arrow barely misses Yuu. They look in the direction of their assailant.

Swoosh! and another arrow goes between Ace and Deuce, embedding itself in a tree trunk. The duo lets out a scream. Damn it he's come for you!

"Take cover!" the prefect barks at their companions "I'm not having you on my conscience!"

"What the hell, Yuu!" Ace starts again "You didn't say he'll shoot at us too!"

"Prefect, on this one I'll have to agree with Ace." Deuce joins in.

"I never said you'll see the morning unscathed!" Yuu retorts "Now run!" and the three make a break for the forest.

.....

"How long do you think it will take him to find us here?" The blue-haired boy asks.

"Not much." is the prefects answers. "I need to get his hat to win this..." they mutter.

"Why are you so obsessed with getting his hat?!" Ace almost screams.

"Because I can't behead him and display his head on a spike, so I'll settle for the hat."

Blanc stares.

"All right. I'm out!" the redhead declares.

"I'll go too... sorry, Yuu." Deuce adds.

'Cowards' the prefect thinks, but they don't stop the two. At least they have one of those cameras you can strap to your forehead. It'll do for a nice first person pov.

Swo-

Yuu catches the arrow before it can pass them.

"Oho!" comes a surprised chuckle from the foliage. "I didn't know you could do that! Beauté!" the hunter shows himself.

He gives a small round of applause, but to Yuu it sounds mocking.

"Are you approaching me?!" the prefect straightens their posture and slightly parts their arms in a "welcoming" motion. "Then I shall make it a worthy challenge!" and with that they produce a few throwing knives from their jacket, readying them at the blond.

"Marvelous!" His voice is as gleeful as ever. "Then I shan't disappoint either!" and he narrows his eyes.

And they lounge at one another! What a spectacle to be witness to! Arrows and knives keep flying, both skillful evaders of danger. Neither seems to gain the upper hand...

Until!

ending

An axe separates the two. It embeds in the grassy field where the battle has been happening for the past few minutes.

"Rook!" Y/N shouts, jogging lightly towards their boyfriend. "And Yuu!" they shoot a glare at the prefect once they reach the two. "I don't feel like patching up either one of you, so your little play date will have to stop for now."

"Ah... very well, mon ange." the hunter gives.

"But!" the prefect tries to argue.

"No buts! Do you want me to hunt you down like I've had to do with Grim?" Y/N scolds.

"...no..." Yuu answers dejectedly.

"Then, it's time to go." they give a push towards Ramshackle to the prefect. "And I'll see you tomorrow for out date, Rook!" they give a wink in the direction of the hunter who just as happily returns the gesture by blowing a kiss. The prefect makes a gagging sound only to be met with Y/Ns cold stare and they gulp.

......

As the two reach Ramshackle, Y/N speaks again:

"You know... if you just wanted a hat we could've just bought you one." they lightly tease and Yuu tenses up, cheeks growing warm.

"I don't-" they try to protest only to be cut off.

"Sure you don't!" Y/N teases again, entering the building with a light chuckle, followed only by a grumbling prefect.

.....

The next day, after Rook and Y/N leave for their date, the prefect finds a present with a new hat inside and a small note from a certain hunter.

Yuu supposes that weird stalker isn't that bad after all.

....Most of the student body begs to differ.

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an: Thank you everyone for sticking around to see this story finished! I hope you all enjoyed it and had fun!

Masterlist

if you want to be tagged, you need only ask, also please specify what characters you are interested in reading about or if you want to be tagged in all works

taglist: @sras-is-doing-something @daydreamingtv @tendous-socks @pleasantthingsheep @bucketofforks @cherry-popsicle

@oreochococheesecake @lycorizzz

#gender neutral reader #rook x reader #twst rook #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ramshackle prefect #twst mc #twst yuu #twst meme #twisted wonderland meme #twst shitpost #disney twst #twisted wonderland shitpost

[aestheticvoyage2021]

Day 318: Sunday November 14, 2021 - “William’s First Hike and First National Park”

Audrie grew up with a pretty marvelous and exotic backyard, made of trails, different shaped prickly creatures and amazing sunsetting views over mountains.  Was all pretty foreign to me, until I first came here seven+ years ago.  But to think, she’d miss it and long for this tough landscape if she were ever to leave it the way I long for the feel of grass and the wind in real trees. But as I’ve hung my own hat down here on the Saguaros, my boy will grow up loving this landscape too, as home.  And so tonight, for the first time, we took him out in it.  Walking along the trail of the Douglas Spring in Saguaro National Park East.  We went out in late afternoon so that his little eyes could see and process the changing colors of a beautiful sunset, and the way the “big mountain” turns purple.  Mama pointed out the cholla, and the barrel, and the ocotillo, and the moon rising above us, while Dad here got his first taste of hiking when you can’t see your feet in front of you!  A lot to take in for this little man, whose idea of the world being big is leaving the nursery animals for the backyard.  He was pretty quiet mostly, bopping along, fat legs flopping, the rhythhm of a hike.  At one point we had to stop alongside the trail for a booby-break, which I think we got more enjoyment out of than he did.   We timed it up just right, getting back to the car right about dark before going on for a post hike, good weekend cap, beer.  Our big dudeeroo, becoming more and more an active part of our little unit, watched us with awe from his car seat and I could imagine the little connections in his brain trying to make sense of how awesome everything he just saw was.  Not only did he get his first hike, and visit his first national park, he also touched a saguaro for the first time, with me directing his hand making sure to not get poked.  Those little fingers reaching out to the green towering giant to connect.  He’ll grow to love this place; these outdoors that his mama grew up in.  This will be his sense of home, his anchor as he grows into a man.   Someday, he’ll know this trail like his own driveway and beg us to take him out for a sunset hike and we’ll be able to show him today’s pictures of his very first time and he can enjoy the look on his face here as he tried to process what a beautiful place the world can be.

Song: Silverstein - Smile In Your Place

Quote: “In all things of nature, there is something of the marvelous.”– Aristotle

[kyosohmastan]

If you are doing the fic thing may I request #15 for kyoru? 👀

There’s so many ways to incorprate that prompt ranging from ratings G-R xD. I went in the mild direction for this lol. I didn’t quite know where I was going with this but it’s alright I guess.

This was also requested by @knmartinshouldbewriting !

“Shhh, they’ll hear us.”

Kyo would have went to bed earlier but Momiji, the hyperactive nuisance of a bunny, was staying with them for the night, and he wouldn’t shut down. How is it that he has this much energy half past midnight? If only the party would end...

“Let’s play hide and seek...in the dark!” Momiji said while they were having cheesecake that Tohru had baked earlier that day around the kotatsu.

“That doesn’t seem safe. Do people actually play it in the dark?” Yuki asked.

“Yes. My friends from school play it in the classroom after school all the time!” Momiji replied.

“But that’s during the day,” Kyo said. This was a ridiculous idea, and a childish game at that. He would never participate in such a thing. “It’ll be pitch black here if we turn off the lights. What if someone fell down the stairs because they couldn’t see?”

“Stop being so lame, Kyo. Hide and seek is a very popular and enjoyable game. You’ll see!” The rabbit said, scarfing down the remainder of his cheesecake.

“For five-year-olds...” Kyo grumbled.

Shigure all at once jumped up. “I’m in!”

Kyo resisted his tendency to jump at Shigure’s sudden burst. But he did wince, and his hypothetical tail’s hair stood up on end. “You’re a freaking adult! Why would you play-”

“Actually that sounds fun. I’ll play,” Tohru said, gathering everyone’s plates and heading into the kitchen. “Just let me wash these first. And I’d love it if you joined us, Kyo-kun!”

That was it. It was enough to change his mind over an activity he’d never consider participating in otherwise. He blushed at his compliance. But he didn’t want to disappoint her. 

“Fine,” he mumbled and got up. “At least I can get away from that whiny kid for a little while if I hide.”

“Kyo! You’re picking on me again!” Momiji cried.

My point exactly, Kyo thought. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Who’s going to count?” Yuki piped up.

“Me!!” Momiji responded while hopping around and turning off all the lights in the house. 

“Um...” Tohru’s voice quivered from the kitchen. Kyo looked back to where her voice was coming from, but all he met was a sea of darkness. He blinked, trying to spot any sliver of her form. He took a step back, feeling for her. She was scared. He could hear it in her voice, in the way it carried on a shaking cry almost as severe as how she spoke to him when he was in his true form.

He shook the thought away and grasped the empty air until he felt her chill skin. He held her wrist, and she made a swift gasp.

“Okay, I’m starting at one-hundred!” Momiji announced and began counting, dragging out each number unnecessarily.

“Stay with me,” Kyo whispered to Tohru, dragging her in the direction that he hoped was toward he hallway. “I don’t trust you to get through the dark alone without breaking a bone.”

“Oh! O-okay,” she said way too loudly for what was appropriate for the game. 

“And try not to get us caught by that pitchy voice of yours,” he muttered. He shook his head. He loved the voice. Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t mind listening to it.

“Yes, of course,” she whispered. Well, that voice was just as nice.

He heard the bathroom door open and close, which meant either Shigure or Yuki had gone to hide in there. That was where he was headed since the bathtub was big enough to fit him and Tohru, but he’d have to go somewhere else. 

Momiji was on thirty. It appeared hat the farther he got down in his count, the faster he phrased each number. They didn’t have time. He pulled her into the hallway closet with him, taking good measure to leave her at arms length as he closed the door, though the probability of him transforming during the period of this game was high up there since he couldn’t see a thing. 

“You good?” he asked her, at last.

Her breath came out harsh and it gave him goosebumps...for some reason. “I’m fine. Honestly...I’m glad I get to hide with you, Kyo-kun. You take care of me.”

Stoooop, he repeated in his mind. Maybe hide and seek in the dark was a good thing if it meant she couldn’t see his blush. “Just don’t take another step closer or you’ll bump into me.”

“Right!” she whispered loudly. “Um..you feel really close though.”

She was right, he could feel the cotton of her shirt hovering over his skin. Their chests had to be a breath away from touching. Yet, he still couldn’t see her. He looked directly ahead, knowing she was right there...so close. Had he ever been this close to her for so long? It was unlikely because he’d never felt this emotionally erratic around her before. 

She took in a harsh inhale and he stood straight. “What is it?”

“Your eyes. I’ve never seen them do that.”

“Do what?”

“They’re glowing,” she whispered. 

That gave him some surprise. That hadn’t happened in a while. He spotted the tiny crack in the door which let in a bit of light from the moon. That explained it. 

He blinked rapidly as the light reflected off his retinas. “They get like that sometimes.”

“They’re gorgeous,” she whispered in a voice he could only compare to an angel’s, as cliche as it sounded. The edge of a finger touched his cheek and his breath just stopped...dropped off the face of the Earth.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, cringing at how pitiful his trembling voice was.

“Trying to get a better look.” Her entire palm rested on his cheek and his knees shook. Her fingertip touched the bridge of his nose. When had she ever been this...bold? Had she thought about touching him? Was she acting on her desires?

He had those when it came to her. He loved those brief moments when he’d get the courage to touch her. She always allowed him to in ways he couldn’t understand. She invited him in so easily. Always. As if she were asking for it without words. 

He swallowed hard, searching out her eyes with his own that were still glowing a blazing red. The little light from outside the window directly across from the closet outlined a sliver of her face. There she was. He felt like he hadn’t seen her in ages. And yes, indeed, she was dangerously close. He only had to breathe and their chests would touch.

The sound of a constant drum permeated the air around him. It grew in tempo as she tilted her head up, the tip of her nose brushing his chin.

In an attempt to break the intensity of her presence, he said, “Stop tapping your foot. They’ll hear us.”

Her nose knocked against his jaw as she tilted her head up. “That’s not my foot. I’m perfectly still.” She giggled. “But I hear it too. I think it’s...” He felt her hand on his stomach, and it inched up until it found its destination on his chest. The pounding in his ears was deafening now. 

“It’s coming from here,” she said softly. “That’s your heart, Kyo-kun.” Something knocked against his chest. Oh, my, God, her head, his thoughts screamed. 

Her warm breath hit the front of his shirt. He was going to melt. “Such a beautiful sound,” she cooed.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her to back up. He didn’t want her to. As he already knew, he liked feeling her close to him. Touch as tender as this one made him feel secure, wanted, and loved. All the things he’s always dreamed of. And if he could hug her now, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t allow it. 

All he could do was hold the back of her head. One day, if she didn’t already know, he would tell her he loved her. But actions did have a tendency to speak louder than words.

The closet doors bursted open and he jumped out of his skin, knocking into Tohru and transforming. To be honest, he didn't know if he transformed because they embraced or if it was due to his rising emotions. 

Momiji and Shigure stared at them, Shigure’s brow inching into his hairline.

Tohru caught Kyo and started laughing. “Oh, Kyo-kun, I’m sorry”

Shigure joined in on her laughter. “My, my, Kyo-kun. This is supposed to be hide and seek not seven minutes in heaven.”

The cat bared his fangs at the canine. “Shut it! We weren’t doing anything!” But were they? Something happened in there that definitely meant something. He hadn’t felt such a piercing touch from her since the day she saw his monster form and he willingly hugged her for the first time. All he could hope for is that there were more to come. 

Even as she clutched his feline form to her chest, even in such a pathetic form, one he’s always had to deal with, he’d stay a cat forever if it meant he could always feel her touch.

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket 2019 #fruits basket fanfic #fruits basket fanfiction #kyo sohma #tohru honda #yuki sohma #shigure sohma #momiji sohma #kyoru

[itsuki-minamy]

FOUR SEASONS OF K: “THE FIRST DREAM OF THE NEW YEAR”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

He had a dream like this.

The power of the Slate that was taken from Mihashira's tower was finally released, and the world he had wished for was realized. This is a new stage where everyone has power.

What kind of world Nagare had dreamed of, Sukuna came out with his beloved sickle on his shoulder.

The place where he came out through the escape from the dark secret base was quite noisy.

Everyone is suddenly confused by the power they have obtained. The power of a child is out of control and he is crying.

Sukuna thought that they couldn't do it because they were still babies in this powerful world created by Nagare. Just as newborn babies do not know how to move their bodies, those who have just gained power cannot understand how to handle that power. But that is also a moment. Finally, the baby gets up, speaks words, thinks, and moves. They will eventually learn how to handle their power and survive in this world. Those who cannot survive simply die. That is the new game that Nagare has built in this world.

As he walked, he found a narrow park. There was no play equipment, just a small space with a bench and a drinking fountain.

There was a boy standing there.

Looking at him, Sukuna opened his eyes slightly. He was once Sukuna's best friend.

"Sukuna."

He laughed with a mocking smile.

He was the first friend Sukuna accepted before meeting Nagare. But he and Sukuna parted ways. Back then, both he and Sukuna were dominated by something beyond them. He was dominated, killed his will, abandoned his potential, and lived.

Sukuna escaped from there and he couldn't escape. The path between them was cut off.

"Sukuna, did you do this?"

A green light overflowed from his body, flailing freely, without restraint.

"Incredible, Sukuna."

He was radiating a green light and laughing with a full face. Seeing the smile, Sukuna knew that she was no longer under the control of the others.

It is not surprising. The world created by Nagare is a world where all humans become "kings". They are all the same there.

It is a world where you can expand your potential with your own power, without being ruled by anyone.

Sukuna laughed with a wrinkled face and said.

"You are the only King you have, Hikotaro."

With an itch rising from the bottom of his belly, Sukuna kicked the ground with an impulse.

With one kick, he leaps to the ceiling and runs from ceiling to ceiling, almost flying in the sky.

The breeze on his cheeks makes him feel good. His heart was released, and Sukuna laughed and flew like a free beast.

In a pleasant sweat, Sukuna spread his arms as he climbed onto the roof of the tallest building he could see.

There was a sign of someone standing next to him. It was a style in which black clothes fluttered in the wind.

To Sukuna, who has seen him hiding in the dimly lit basement and was only strapped in a restraint suit in a wheelchair, Nagare's appearance of standing firmly under the blue sky was reflected recently.

"Nagare. I'm glad we made your dream come true together.''

Sukuna narrowed his eyes as he blew his hair and coat in the wind. His body was still full of strength and he was dying to release it.

"The other is the 'King'."

"Affirmative."

"He is a 'King' just like Nagare.''

"Yes."

Nagare was laughing. Sukuna also laughed. He thought it would be fun if he could compete with the current situation, so Sukuna flipped his sickle over and turned around.

Nagare. Do it with me.''

"Good. It's a match."

From Nagare's body, the green stream is emitted coldly. Sukuna also entered the game, by strengthening the output of the sickle that glows in green, he got into an exciting game.

++++++++++

He had a dream like this.

After seeing his wishes fulfilled, Mishakuji set out on a solo journey.

The days when he shared his style dreams were fun. The stream of dreams that no one else can see is beautiful, and the time spent with their "King" and running around as a member of "Jungle" was really enjoyable.

However, now that his ambition has been realized, he doesn’t want to stay with them because of his passion.

The new world created by Nagare is a world where each person is proud of their own brilliance. It was Yukari's way to survive beautifully in this world of Nagare where all the radiance collides.

It was a beautiful moonlit night.

Yukari was walking along the mountain path, while the golden full moon, which was fading into a faint soft glow, shone in the light.

When he thought it was a memorable road, he found the silhouette of a memorable person at the end of the road.

A person in a haori and hakama and a soft hat. Stand in good posture with his sword on the ground like a cane. Yukari was defeated and squinted at the image of an unforgettable person in the moonlight.

"Ichigen-sama."

Yukari called him to talk about what was important.

The person in front of Yukari, Ichigen Miwa, was illuminated by the moonlight and looked white and bright.

"God has come a long way."

His voice was deep and resonated wonderfully in the night air.

"Yes, I have reached this point when I have been looking for something beautiful. You can be angry when you work for a harmonious world. Ichigen-sama, can you stand in front of me?"

He laughs a little like a breath.

"Did you want me to stand up?"

Ichigen goes to the core so that it can be inserted smoothly. Yukari narrowed his eyes gently.

"Yes. The view I'm looking for can go back to this starting point."

"No, I am just a symbol. I think I am here now as a symbol of the shining moment of your soul that you seek for the future."

He can hear the sound of insects. It is a suitable sound to add color to this beautiful night.

"The beauty of the naked body of life that I can only see when I prepare myself and wield power. Ichigen-sama, I saw the extreme of that moment when I exchanged swords when I left you. I still vividly remember the blood that I felt on the tip of my sword. and the feel of the tip of your sword against my throat.''

Ichigen Miwa looks at Yukari with a kind expression. Yukari smiled back at him as well and drew the sword from his back. A famous sword passed down by Miwa.

"At that time, Ichigen-sama's body was already sick. It might have been brilliant because the life time limit had been set. I also thought that I wanted to get involved. Me too, I'm better than I was back then."

A person who is the seventh king, who is also called the weakest "King", but who possesses an incomparable sword arm and who has a gentle and kind personality who does not like to fight, but who is also terribly scary.

In a word, the sword was drawn while maintaining the soft atmosphere.

It's like being a careless child, holding a sword that looks like a baby, before a careless Miwa.

"It is a sword that crosses the dream of the beginning."

++++++++++

He had a dream like this.

Kotosaka became a human being.

Sukuna is tall enough to look down easily, and is more compact and cooler than Yukari.

He correctly uses a spoon to eat curry made by Iwafune, and he use chopsticks to eat fried chicken.

"Kotosaka has become a human. He is a modified clan bird. I am truly impressed."

Nagare said, and patted Kotosaka on his head to praise him.

Kotosaka was proud to work as a stylish "guide". He can freely fly anywhere and show everything through his own eyes in an immovable way.

However, Nagare who fulfilled his dream was free because he was no longer tied to anything. Instead of looking through Kotosaka's eyes, he can go see whatever he want to see with Kotosaka.

Kotosaka invited Nagare to see the outside world.

"Kotosaka, will you take me?"

Kotosaka was very nervous.

Kotosaka became a person, but was originally a good bird. There is no such thing as flying.

A ceiling door opened and light shone through a dimly lit secret base. The blue sky was visible, and Kotosaka took the current hand and flew into the blue sky.

Kotosaka and Nagare were flying in the air, holding their two hands together. Reaching out and gliding on the updraft.

Feeling the warm sunlight on their back and the cool breeze on their face and belly, they fly in a wide sky. Downstairs, there was a little energetic human activity.

"Kotosaka was always looking at this kind of scenery."

Nagare told Kotosaka.

Nagare was always looking at the scene reflected in Kotosaka's eyes. However, Kotosaka wanted to teach him that the scenery seen while feeling the wind and the temperature and the cut of the air is the best.

As he looked at the ground from the sky, he spoke about everything that Kotosaka had seen and known.

Nagare listened to everything Kotosaka spoke with great interest.

"Kotosaka knows a lot."

Kotosaka is proud of his compliments as if he knows everything about the world.

“After all, a bird that can fly anywhere is good. I will also try to become a bird sometime.''

Nagare said. It seemed like a very good idea.

When he thought that Nagare's body glowed green, Nagare turned into a large bird in the next moment. Powerfully flap its wings and fly in front of Kotosaka. Kotosaka was happy.

He thought it would be nice to be a human, but he thought it would be very good to fly with Nagare, so when Kotosaka returned to his parrot form, he flaunted his wings alongside Nagare.

++++++++++

He had a dream like this.

Nagare was at sea at night.

It is a place where Nagare once lost everything and became brand new.

At the bottom of the sea in southern Kanto, many lives that were lost a dozen years ago sleep.

Nagare's dream came true. Everyone has power, and even in the event of a tragedy, each can resist with their own power.

Still, what was lost never returns.

Nagare is not sorry. No matter what the miserable past is, the past is what makes it the present.

He does not cry, but he is not without emotion. Nagare was looking out to sea, thinking about the lives of his family, friends and many who died here.

If he turns around, he can see the light shining through the darkness of the night. The humans who have gained power are the lights that are exercising their power.

It can be said that those lights were created because a life was lost in this wolf-dark sea.

Nagare continues to gaze out to sea.

The landscape, which was dark and black, and the boundary between sky and sea was unknown, gradually began to turn white before Nagare looked at it. Light is emitted and the horizon shines, indicating the limit between the sky and the sea. The sky slowly turns blue.

Finally, the sun poked its head out, burning the horizon red. The sea that sank black reflected the sunlight, creating a path of light on the surface of the sea.

He thought it was a scene that symbolized the beginning of the new stage and wondered if this was the first sunrise of the year.

After thinking, Nagare realized that this was a dream.

++++++++++

He had a dream like this.

Iwafune was standing in the kitchen at the secret “Jungle” base as usual, and was making ozoni.

Boiled minced radish, flower-shaped carrots, small shiitake mushrooms, bite-sized whole chicken thighs in bonito soup, and a dash of light soy sauce and sake. He put the baked rice cake in a bowl, poured in the boiled ingredients and the soup broth, and garnished with the spinach and red and white kamaboko that had been boiled separately. Finally, he put a citron and a leaf.

"Well, it's done."

He served the entire ozoni bowl to a customer who sat in front of the Chabudai.

The guest was a mysterious-eyed boy with pale golden hair down his back. Younger than Sukuna, a boy with an innocent face, but praises the atmosphere that seems to be much older than Iwafune.

A strange boy. However, it was a boy who felt like he knew him for some reason.

He silently looked at the bowl placed in front of him, raised his eyes, and looked at Iwafune's face.

"Only you don't understand."

The boy said in a transparent voice that does not reflect his emotions.

Iwafune tilts his neck as he opens the beer handle.

"I do not understand?"

"Isn't there a scene where you pray that you want to be like this?"

Iwafune mused with a glass of beer.

A scene to pray. There used to be such a thing. Iwafune was trying to create an ideal home in his world, a place where everyone could be saved.

"Cathedral". A clan that was headed with a "King" when Iwafune Tenkei was Otori Seigo. The way to pray when he was still dreaming.

He may wonder if he should pray for a scene that was not missed. Once upon a time, all the people who followed Seigo in "Cathedral" died. There were countless nights of regret and hope for a world free from that tragedy.

However, Otori Seigo who was praying is no longer there.

Here is Iwafune Tenkei. Iwafune doesn't pray. Look. The path that a "King" has protected and raised.

Iwafune smiled and took another sip of beer.

"In return, it's okay if I can see them."

The boy's mysterious eyes stare straight at Iwafune. It was a bit awkward looking into his eyes, which made him see through it all, Iwabune's hips ached.

"Well, yes."

Iwafune pointed to the butt of the beer can on the ozoni bowl in front of the boy.

"They ate the ozoni I made and laughed deliciously, that's enough."

The child's eyes rest on the bowl. He wondered if he was interested or not, just the big, round, wide eyes that stare over low heat and gently lift the bowl.

The boy's small lips are glued to the edge of the bowl.

The slightly tilted bowl was placed on a table and the boy said...

"Your prayers will come true."

He didn't really understand, but he wishes he could see what the boy said.

++++++++++

"I had a strange dream."

Yukari said, as he sat around the kotatsu.

"I had a good first dream. The Slate plan was launched in full power, and the dream plan went the way I wanted it!"

Sukuna is happy. Oh, and Yukari raised his eyebrows.

"It's strange. I dreamed that same part. It was a dream after Nagare-chan's wish was fulfilled."

"Eh? So what were you doing Yukari?"

"Secret."

"Wow!"

When he heard the conversation between Mishakuji and Sukuna, Nagare opened his eyes.

"I had a similar dream."

"Really?"

"Yes. However, I woke up early because I realized it was a dream in my dream."

"Isn't it like we all have a similar first dream, or is it good for the start of the New Year?"

Kotosaka squawked to match the playful Sukuna. Screaming loudly, flying through the secret room at the base. The wings fluttered with a high tension wingbeat.

"Hey, Kotosaka-chan. Did you have a dream too?"

"Dream! Dream!"

"Well, whatever dream Kotosaka had, it seems good."

"Kuwatsu!"

While trying to fight Kotosaka, who rests on his head and raises his claws, Sukuna looks at Iwafune.

"Iwa-san? Did you see anything in your first dream?"

Iwafune was standing in the kitchen preparing ozoni.

"Hmm? It was a dream about making ozoni."

"What is that?"

"So, I woke up and actually became a varied person, so I wonder if it's a true dream."

"That is not the case if you are dreaming a dream. If you dream it, it is our dream!"

"What? Isn't it tasty, Sukuna?"

"It is!"

Iwafune laughed lightly at Sukuna, who had sharp lips.

Immediately next to the room in the secret base is the Slate stolen from the Mihashira Tower on Christmas Eve. The Slate is unsealed, and although it is not yet fully operational, it was strengthening its power day by day.

Yukari looks at the Slate and squints his eyes.

“Well, freeing the Slate is a matter of time. If that dream goes well, will it turn into a real dream?''

"So is!"

"Yes."

"Kuwa!"

"In the first place, I could have had such a dream because I slept very close to the Slate."

While listening to the animated voice behind him, Iwafune watches the heat of the pot and the baking of the rice cake.

Boiled minced radish, flower-shaped carrots, small shiitake mushrooms, bite-sized whole chicken thighs in bonito soup, and a dash of light soy sauce and sake. He put the baked rice cake in a bowl, poured in the boiled ingredients and the soup broth, and garnished with the spinach and red and white kamaboko that had been boiled separately. Finally, he put a citron and a leaf.

"It's done."

He gave the entire ozoni bowl to his friends in the kotatsu.

With a happy voice they say together, "Itadakimasu."

"After all, I like Iwa-san's miso soup."

Yes, it is delicious. "

"Delicious!"

While listening to the voices of everyone who was happy with the ozoni, Iwafune somehow chided the Yukari words in his head.

(Maybe I had a dream like that because I slept very close to the Slate.)

The inside of his chest was soft, Iwafune looked at the Slate with his chopsticks raised.

The Slate casts a dim light into the dark underground space. Looking at the light, Iwafune somehow remembered the pale blond boy who appeared in his dream.

"…No way."

Shake his head slightly to get rid of strange dreams, Iwafune puts his mouth on ozoni.

While chewing the mochi he said, "It's delicious." and laughs.

#k #k project #K stories #k fan clan #iwafune tenkei #mishakuji yukari #gojou sukuna #hisui nagare #kotosaka #jungle #Dresden Slate

[nitewrighter]

Gency Week Day 7: “Forest”

GOOOODDD Remember how I said this fic was passing like a kidney stone? I just needed to get this fic out of my system but I couldn’t write anything other than shitposts and chatfics for DAYS. So sorry for any sloppiness. The Russian Taiga, Lone Wolf Hanzo, Pregnancy-detecting wolves, and abusive childhoods making unreliable narrators of us all.

----

The four of them had been driving for several hours. The sky was gray and the trees whipped by the van’s windows in a seemingly endless whirl of dark-blue green and gray. It was a cool summer in the Taiga, the air dense with oxygen and the moisture of the pines, drenching the interior of the lungs with a clean cold freshness with every breath.

“So these guys aren’t part of the Hanzo spy network?” said McCree, rolling his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Must you call it a spy network?” said Hanzo.

“It is sort of a spy network,” Mercy piped up from the backseat.

“Not everyone I came into contact with in my travels is some... master of espionage,” said Hanzo, “I just... promised I would return here someday and well, so long as we’re still in this area of Russia--”

“For the other spies in the spy network,” McCree cut in.

“...as long as we’re still in Russia, I should make good on that promise,” said Hanzo.

“And?” said Genji, expectantly. Mercy and McCree exchanged glances. Genji at this point had made it a frequent habit to pull Hanzo off to the side and converse-slash-bicker with him in Japanese, but it seemed to be getting Hanzo to open up more to them.

“And... I thought... it might be enjoyable,” said Hanzo.

“And it’s going to be great--” Genji half-overlapped with Hanzo as he spoke.

 Hanzo lifted his chin sightly at the sight of one sign in Russian, “The next turn,” he said, and McCree nodded. The next turn was onto an unpaved road, and the whole van rumbled with what was clearly an overly weathered mag-lev cable underneath the dirt. The road twisted deep into the pines, and Genji’s visor brightened.

“You know what this reminds me of?” said Genji as the van rumbled.

“Mm?” Hanzo looked over his shoulder at him.

“The back roads Father took into Shirakami Sanchi back when he was training us--do you remember?” said Genji.

Hanzo snorted a little, “Don’t worry, this won’t be that bad,” said Hanzo.

“...‘That bad?’” Genji tilted his head but Hanzo perked up as they pulled up to a large sign arching over the road.

“We’re here,” the slight smile in Hanzo’s voice was unmistakeable as McCree parked the van. The four of them stepped out and stretched, Mercy pulling on a jacket in the chilly forest air. She gave a glance up to the sign.

“Tsarapatsosna Gray Wolf Reserve,” Mercy read the arching sign, she looked back at Hanzo, “Wolf reserve?” but Hanzo was already walking under the sign towards a log-cabin styled office with several fenced areas branching off of it. Mercy looked to McCree and McCree just shrugged.

 A bell rang on the door of the office as Hanzo stepped into it. There was a late 20-something woman with short-cropped periwinkle dyed hair and oversized noise-cancelling headphones scrolling through a tablet at the desk. McCree examined the office--it was about what you would expect from a remote conservation outpost--outdated technology, disheveled filing, a musky smell of taxidermy emanating from a stuffed mink looking down at them from atop a filing cabinet. The girl with the massive headphones didn’t even look up until Hanzo rang the bell on the desk. She pushed her headphones up off of one ear but then her eyes brightened at the sight of a familiar face.

“Hanzo?” one corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin, “Is that you?”

Hanzo gave a smiling nod and a high pitched, “Ha!” escaped her as she pushed up from her desk and brought her headphones down around her neck like a torc. “It’s been too long! Ilya’s going to go crazy!”

“I like the new color, Kira,” said Hanzo, motioning to his hair.

“And I love this!” said Kira, stepping around the desk and pointing at Hanzo’s undercut, “So ‘cool guy,’ yeah?” Her Russian accent was just thick enough for her to hit her consonants in an appealingly hard way.

Hanzo chuckled. “I learned from the best,” said Hanzo.

Kira scoff-laughed and gave him a playful punch in the arm. Her glance trailed over to McCree, Genji, and Mercy. “Your friends?” 

“This is my brother, Genji, and my friends, Angela, and Jesse,” said Hanzo, gesturing at them.

“Howdy,” McCree gave an awkward wave. 

“Brother?” Kira repeated and looked over at Genji, “You had a brother this whole time!?”

“He is hard to keep in contact with!” quipped Genji.

Kira snorted. “Da, at least my idiot brother sticks around, but Ilya’s been mooning over Hanzo ever since he left, I think he’s the one starting half the howls around here.”

“Leaving a trail of broken hearts everywhere you go, huh Hanzo?” said McCree

“We never---” Hanzo started but the door opened and a man looking a bit older than Kira with a nose bridge piercing and his hair piled in a chestnut bun briskly stepped in.

“Kira, чей фургон снаружи? У нас не было--” the man caught himself off as he made eye contact with Hanzo. “HANZO!” he lunged forward and caught Hanzo in a big bear hug which Hanzo was, shockingly, receptive to.

“It’s good to see you too, Ilya,” said Hanzo, patting him on the back.

“You barely write anymore! You spend 2 months here and then disappear! We worry so much and all I have is postcards!” said Ilya, bracing his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders.

“Postcards?” McCree mumbled under his breath.

Ilya gasped, “Your hair!”

“That’s what I said!” said Kira.

“Is a good look!” said Ilya.

“I hope my friends and I aren’t causing too much of a disturbance dropping in unannounced like this--” Hanzo started.

“Eh, no, it’s slow today,” said Ilya. He looked over at McCree, Genji and Mercy, “Your friends?”

“Jesse, Genji, and Angela,” said Kira, gesturing at each of them to fill him in, “Genji’s his brother.”

“You have a brother!” Ilya clapped his hands together but his sights trailed over to Genji’s scarred face. Hanzo’s stomach tightened for a minute, but Ilya quickly switched gears back to his jovial self rather than ask about the origins of the scars. He cleared his throat. “Ilya Novikov. You’ve already met my charming sister, Kira.” 

Kira gave a wave from where she was leaning against the desk.

 “You and your friends want to see the boys? They missed you.” said Ilya.

“We would love to,” said Hanzo.

“Waivers,” said Kira, holding up several papers completely in Russian.

“Ah, yes, waivers,” said Ilya catching himself.

After about three minutes of winging some Russian-to-English translations and Ilya feverishly promising that the wolves would not, in fact, “eat their faces,” the four of them had their waivers signed.

Ilya clapped his hands together, “Good! Good! Come! They will be so excited!”

He rushed out the door and Hanzo gave a glance back to McCree, Genji, and Mercy. “Sorry, I should have let you answer as well.”

“No, this is great!” said Genji, “I’d love to meet the wolves you worked with!”

“I’d like to,” said Mercy, “But I’m still... processing all this.”

“Yeah--Okay, okay, okay--back up,” said McCree, taking his hat off as they walked out the door after Hanzo, “You... you spent 2 months in a Russian wolf reserve!?”

“Much of their permanent residents are actually wolfdogs,” said Hanzo, walking briskly to keep up with Ilya.

“A Russian wolf reserve,” McCree repeated, walking after him.

“...remote location, heated cabins, just enough plumbing to get by, work to keep me occupied,” Hanzo looked over at McCree and Mercy, who were looking at him completely dumbfounded, “You didn’t think I was spending the whole time sleeping under bridges and quietly disposing of the bodies of my would-be assassins?!”

“Well, this is a side of you I’m glad to see,” said Mercy, folding her arms with a smile.

“Who doesn’t like a dog person?” said McCree with a grin as they caught up with Ilya, who was standing outside a chain-link fence that spanned a large area dotted with pines, but where the duff of pine needles had clearly been packed down more with both human and wolf footsteps.

“Lots of wolfdogs with the Crisis,” Ilya explained as they walked along the fence of the enclosure, “Omnics displace people, pets run away, nature reclaims abandoned towns, dogs fuck with the wolves, make wolfdogs. This enclosure is all the older ones. More used to people. Good for kids. Good for bringing funding.”

“Ah, we’re getting the fluffy tourist treatment,” said McCree.

“Is still big animals!” said Ilya. He suddenly perked up and pivoted back at them, walking backwards. He seemed to give a quick glance over at everyone’s outfit. “Good clothing. Yes. No danglies--not too tight--Jesse, your name was?”

“Yes?” said McCree.

“No hats,” said Ilya, and McCree took off his hat and set it on a supply locker near the enclosure, “The wolves. They like to steal things. And then tear them apart. Then bury them,” Ilya suddenly perked up. “Ah! Miss Angela! Important question: You are pregnant?” said Ilya, looking at Mercy.

“Excuse me?!” said Mercy reddening.

“My apologies, my English is ehhh....” Ilya made a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand, “What I’m saying is--The wolves, they know when you are pregnant. They act weird. They bring you food. They always know.”

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin, crooked line with her bemusement, “No, I’m not pregnant,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“No hats and pregnancy detection. Got it,” said McCree, putting his hands on his hips.

A large brown wolfdog with three legs hop-walked in from the trees. It spotted Hanzo and suddenly bound towards the chain-link fence, rising up on its back legs and rattling the fence as it put one paw on it.

“Shoko!” said Hanzo, putting his hand to the chain-link and letting the wolf-dog sniff it, “She’s still here?”

“Of course!” said Ilya, “This is her home!”

The wolfdog whined and rattled the chain-link, drawing the attention of her pack, who all slowly padded in from the various tree and shrub covered areas they were sniffing about. 

“Hanzo, you should go in first, get them warmed up to people, yeah?” said Ilya.

“Of course,” said Hanzo, stepping in. The gate was constructed in sally-port fashion, with another gate inside a fenced off area so that Hanzo could have the gate shut behind him before entering the enclosure. As soon as he stepped through that second gate he was beset on all sides by massive barking, sniffing bodies, roiling around him and yipping and some even prancing and rearing on their hind legs playfully at him. Mercy and Genji and McCree watched as Hanzo’s expression melted into pure warmth and even sputtered bouts of laughter as the wolves and wolfdogs sniffed and whined and butted into him. Hanzo, apparently well practiced in maneuvering with the pack’s attention on him, managed to shift the mass of furry bodies away from the sally port and he chatted to them, slipping between English and Japanese and even some Russian he had presumably picked up in working in this place. McCree honestly could have just watched him all day but Ilya elbowed him and gestured into the enclosure with a thumb. Mercy looked over at Genji, a slight smile on his scar-notched lips. 

“We never got to have dogs, growing up,” said Genji, very quietly.

“Come on! Come on!” said Ilya, gesturing them in one at a time. 

McCree entered and instantly a section of the pack swarming Hanzo broke off to sniff him. McCree nearly lost his balance as a wolf with splotchy-patterned fur knocked into him from the side.

“Oh they like you!” Ilya shouted from outside the fence.

Because he smells like Hanzo, thought Genji, stepping in to the enclosure after McCree. The wolves ears pricked up with the screech of the metal gate swinging, and a dozen brown, black, and yellow eyes regarded Genji with some curiosity. Genji moved to hold out his prosthetic hand, caught himself, then extended his organic hand. One silver wolf gave his hand a wary sniff before pushing his muzzle against Genji’s palm. Once the four of them were thoroughly sniffed, the pack broke apart slightly, several wandering off to resume sniffing or scratching at pines indifferent to their human visitors, but a good portion of them hung around, eager for pets and roughhousing.

“They are a lot bigger than they seem in the documentaries, aren’t they?” said Mercy as a cream-colored wolf stuck its full muzzle into the monopocket of her hoodie while a black wolfdog sniffed at her heels. The wolves seemed to be warming up to Genji as well, in spite of his prosthetics, sniffing at his jawline where his skin ended and cybernetic neck began. They were like dogs and yet not like dogs, sometimes remembering an aloof pride midway-through being pet and briskly walking away, but then coming back when they realized that that very distance they created was being respected. I can see why Hanzo would like you, thought Genji, scratching a wolf that wanted to be scratched, but didn’t want Genji to make eye contact while he was doing it. He glanced up at Hanzo, half-wrestling with Shoko, and the words Hanzo had said earlier hung in Genji’s mind like a loose thread off a sweater.

This won’t be that bad.

This won’t be that bad.

This won’t be that bad.

Genji glanced over to Mercy and McCree, still well-occupied with the wolfdogs swarming them, and walked over to Hanzo.

“Hanzo?” said Genji, dropping to a squat next to Hanzo as he rubbed Shoko’s belly.

“Yes?” said Hanzo, scratching the three-legged wolfdog under her chin.

“Sorry, I’m just... trying to clear something up--What you said back in the van... you didn’t like Shirakami-Sanchi?” said Genji.

“You’re not supposed to like it. Survival isn’t a game,” said Hanzo, glancing up at Genji. Shoko rolled herself back onto her stomach and pushed up under Hanzo’s arm to try and get his attention.

“I thought we did pretty well,” said Genji.

“Well you got to go play at being the agile hunter charging after squirrels and I had to actually find fresh water and build a fire for us,” said Hanzo, digging his hands into the ruff of fur at Shoko’s neck.

“...I thought you were okay with that,” said Genji.

“Well in a sense, yes, it kept you out of my hair, but I was also worried you’d do something stupid and hurt yourself and Father wouldn’t be there to rush to your rescue, so it would just be me, and---” Hanzo caught himself and his hand paused, still half-sunken into wolf fur. He looked up at Genji. “I’m sorry,” said Hanzo.

“No, I--I get it,” said Genji, glancing off.

 He sighed and pulled his hand away, prompting Shoko to make a protesting growl-whine, “It’s wasn’t your fault. You were too young for it anyway. Father was mostly testing me.”

“...I thought it was the first time Father thought I could do something,” said Genji. I thought, I thought, I thought, the more Genji said the words the stupider he felt.

“He probably thought it would build character,” Hanzo conceded, “Of course it was just a fun adventure in the woods for his favorite.”

“But you didn’t like it,” said Genji.

Hanzo looked at Genji for a few seconds. “You, Genji. You were his favorite.”

A sputter of laughs escaped Genji but quickly faded as he read Hanzo’s face. “Oh you... you actually think that,” said Genji.

“Think that?! It was obvious!” said Hanzo, “Father always liked you better because you took after Mother more--that’s why he went easier on you.”

“Went easy on-- He just thought he couldn’t trust me with anything! He thought I was a failure! You were the perfect first-born!” said Genji.

“I wasn’t his son, I was his heir! He was only ever... molding me to be like him! He actually smiled with you! He called you ‘Sparrow!’”

“Sparrow was an insult,” said Genji, plainly.

Hanzo’s brow crinkled and his eyes pinched with confusion. “What? No it wasn’t.”

“‘Genji, you never apply yourself to anything. You’re always flitting between meaningless distractions. This way and that. Like a sparrow,’” Genji imitated Sojiro’s tone almost perfectly.

Hanzo glanced down, “No, no, that can’t be right,” he muttered, “Sparrows are lucky!”

“Sparrows are pests,” said Genji. 

“You were always laughing!”

“Well, yes,” said Genji, he rubbed the back of his neck, “I... got very good at laughing things off. I’m--I’m still good at it.”

Hanzo felt a shudder linger between his shoulder blades when he thought about how easily Genji had laughed at him saying he was the favorite. Both now realized that the rest of the wolves were giving them a wide berth. Three still crowding Mercy and one getting a vigorous belly rub from McCree. 

“I’m sorry,” said Hanzo, “I...had not known.”

“I didn’t know either,” said Genji, “I always assumed you and father got along because you did everything right. You even won every sparring match.”

“Because I was bigger,” said Hanzo, “Those weren’t fair to you, either.”

Shoko pushed her muzzle against the back of Hanzo’s shoulder for attention.

“Perhaps we should...” Hanzo trailed off.

“Talk about this when we’re not surrounded by wolves?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Hanzo, glancing off.

Genji pushed himself up from his squat and walked off, giving Hanzo his space. Upon seeing whatever tension between them was dissipating, several wolves immediately swarmed Genji for attention. Just running his hands through their fur was a relief. He watched as McCree chatted with Hanzo quietly. McCree apparently comforting Hanzo over the newest revelation.

I thought you knew, thought Genji, I thought I was a joke to you, too...

I thought. 

I thought.

I thought.

“Genji?” Mercy stepped next to him as Genji was absentmindedly scratching the side of an older, sleepy wolfdog’s face, “Were you and Hanzo just arguing?”

“It’s fine,” said Genji, “We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?” said Mercy. One corner of Genji’s mouth tugged up in a not-smile. She really was so protective of him when it came to Hanzo.

“It was... just about this trip we took when we were younger,” said Genji.

“The Shirakami trip you mentioned back in the van?” said Mercy.

“It wasn’t really  a trip, it was part of our training,” said Genji, “Wilderness survival. Standard stuff. 5 days of just me and Hanzo roughing it in the woods, making our own lean-tos, that sort of thing...” Genji trailed off.

“How old were you?” said Mercy.

“Hanzo was twelve,” said Genji.

“...so you were nine,” said Mercy, her brow was crinkling.

“Are you okay?” said Genji.

“Just you and Hanzo?” Mercy, “Not your father?”

“Of course,” said Genji with a shrug, and he noticed the color drain from Mercy’s face, “What?”

“Genji, you were a 12 year old and a 9 year old left alone in the woods for five days, that’s horrific,” said Mercy.

“Every generation of the Shimada did it in some capacity,” said Genji, “And I already had plenty of training before---” he caught himself as he looked up into Mercy’s eyes, “...Oh. That’s... that’s not something families do with their kids, is it?”

“No,” said Mercy, “No it isn’t.”

“Right...” Genji looked down.

“So the argument was about the trip?” said Mercy.

“It... it turned into being more about father,” said Genji, “I guess...we both assumed he was amazing to the other when the truth was, he was terrible to both of us in different ways.”

Mercy touched his shoulder, “You were both children...”

Genji huffed a little. “I think we both wanted to believe he was good, deep down. He was strong, certainly. He made the world feel like it had a certain... order to it. That the clan’s way was the truth of the world.”

“It takes time,” said Mercy, “Even when you get enough space and perspective, it still takes a while to figure out who you are outside of a situation like that.”

Genji brought his hand over hers. “It still scares me, sometimes, like, what do I accept as normal that’s nightmarish for other people?” He glanced off, “And... and I want to remember good things about our childhood--I want to believe there are some... some strings of family love that were always there. Maybe father did love us... but he only knew how to show it in the way it was shown to him...he may not have even known--I may not even know--Am I--?” he cut himself off as he looked into her eyes.

Mercy stooped over him put her free hand against the side of his face, and gently kissed his forehead. “Genji,” she said, “You are one of the kindest, strongest, and most patient people I’ve ever met. And you know yourself. And you’re constantly working to be a better version of yourself. That’s one of the reasons why you tried so hard to bring Hanzo back into your life--would it be easier if Hanzo wasn’t in your life? Yes, but... I think for you, it’s not about wanting what’s easy.”

“Maybe I’m just dwelling on this because I’m scared, no matter how hard I worked to get here, to get better, I’m so scared of repeating that cycle,” said Genji.

“You won’t,” said Mercy, sitting down next to him,“This is happening because you want to break a cycle, and... learning things like this is a part of it. This is new ground for everyone. Of course it’s scary.”

Genji looked over at Hanzo, kneading his knuckles into the the thick fur of a wolf-dog’s neck with his face scrunched at the wolf licking his face. McCree walked up and helped haul him to his feet before both of them nearly tripped over another wolf butting into them from behind.

“He has gotten a lot better,” said Genji.

“And it’s going to keep getting better, sure there will be hiccups, but you both want this,” said Mercy, “That’s what’s important.”

Genji just quietly smiled at that. “We’re going to talk about it more when we get back,” said Genji.

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Mercy, “And if it’s any consolation, the wolves confirmed I’m not pregnant.”

Genji looked at her oddly, with one thick eyebrow arched with amusement.

“So we don’t have to worry about that yet, at least,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Yet?” said Genji.

Mercy just gave him a smile and a shrug, and Genji snorted and leaned his head on his shoulder. He kept his fingers dug into the wolf’s fur, breathing in the pine-cooled air.

#gency #some background mchanzo #gencyweek

[smuttymess]

bts astro soulmate reading | for cassandra

sign: taurus sun | libra moon | virgo rising

lover: kim namjoon | soulmate: min yoongi

This reading is for Cassandra, a fellow NY area moot and SOPE double bias - taste! I hope you enjoy this one, love. <3

With your sun Taurus, you are the “producer” of the zodiac, known for your reason, practicality, dedication, and strength. Whether at work or your personal life, know how to set intentions and explore them with patience, diligence and determination that only an earth sign can possess. While you are prone to frequent anxiety and worry in your internal world, on the outside your persona manifests as cool, calm and reasoned as you generally try to take time to think and observe before reacting. Your down to earth persona and innate goodness is very reassuring to others, offering a refuge from the harsh realities of daily life, which in turn attracts many people into your orbit - you have a quiet, naturally confident charm about you that makes people feel secure in your presence. This is only further enhanced by your Libra moon, the cornerstone of your notably friendly personality that people admire you for and you take pride in. Optimistic about the goodness of others, you are extremely loyal - your Virgo rising helps you wisely choose your relationships carefully so as to protect your ego and your sensitive soul. You certainly don’t trust everyone, but there is nothing you will not do to achieve harmony and balance amongst these various important figures in your life. You value relationships that can go the distance, and want longevity and depth in your personal and romantic world.

When it comes to your surroundings, you appreciate life’s many luxuries, but you prefer to stay far away from the superficial or fleeting material world. Your Taurus Sun/Virgo rising means that you want nice things, but are in all ways a quality over quantity type of person, which is reflected in the things you enjoy. Your classy, refined Moon in Libra also supports your deep appreciation for the finer but simpler things in life in moderate quantities: good wine, the arts, and serenity of the natural world. If you could pick your ideal evening, you’d rather enjoy a beautifully chef crafted meal with the best ingredients or a yoga session in the park with your closest friends than a raucous night of debauchery at a club. A true Libra Moon, you are a pro at bringing people together, and your home is your sanctuary which you are pleased to share with others as regularly as possible. It is at one of the many intimate dinner parties that you organize at your home that you meet Kim Namjoon, a guest of a mutual friend. He is striking in his presence, but not intentionally so. You are attracted to equally high-quality individuals, and so its no surprise you are drawn to Namjoon whose Mercury in Libra exhibits a quiet strength and intellectual nature akin to your own, though he is more reserved in nature. From across the table, you can’t help but find yourself staring and wondering what he is thinking, how easily your hands could slide beneath his grey sweater, or how his lips would feel against your nipples. Though he is not seated directly next to you, as the night goes on you find yourselves closer and closer to each other, your quiet, understated charm workings its magic until you are practically attached at the hip on a couch in the corner of the room, immersed in conversation. He is highly attracted to your optimism, energy, intellect and beauty but also the practicality of your Virgo rising (which his Sun directly resonates with.) In those initial hours it seems you talk about everything and nothing, time standing still as the party continues to buzz around you. 

From that night on, it becomes clear that his stoic Virgo never stood a chance against your star combination: a lethal combination of intention (Taurus Sun), flirtation (Libra Moon) and execution (Virgo rising). In the months that you spend together, you are thrown into an intellectual and physical affair that could only be achieved by two, grounded earth signs - though it takes some time getting off the ground. Though equally hesitant to dive into a deeply romantic relationship, you are the one to take the lead to act on those basic, primal thoughts you had that first night you met him, and decide not to waste time in fucking his brains out. It is not unusual for you to invite Namjoon over for drinks and conversation, with barely a full hour passing before you’re straddling him on your couch. It’s amazing how you how quickly you can go from casually talking current events and social justice issues to having him sucking and biting on your nipples as you ride him mercilessly into the cushions. Namjoon is an absolute perfectionist, and you enjoy the precision in which he uses his fingers to expertly rub tour clit, his eyes ablaze as he takes in the full view of you nakedly bouncing up and down on his cock. You two are not ones to mess with a good thing, valuing frequent satisfying, sure-fire approaches to getting each other off before indulging in pillow talk about your shared hopes and dreams of the future. While Namjoon often presents as unemotional or subdued, with you he feels uninhibited, strong, and irresistible. He is able to lose himself with you as your eyes lock in pure, unadulterated lust while he thrusts into you, his name spilling repeatedly from his lips. Oh my god, yes, you take me so fucking well, baby...you’re so beautiful. I could fuck you just like this forever, just like this.

Your inner and outer Libra seeks to please, negotiate and bring peace to those in conflict in order to be seen as kind, reasonable and fair in the eyes of others - it is then that you feel you have succeeded in your goal. You are generally easy going, and diplomatic while he is argumentative, frank and serious. Namjoon’s Virgo sun is often more interested in more definitive outcomes and engaging in lengthy debate to come to a more or less "correct” answer, which contradicts your internal desire for balance and to avoid conflict. With his Sun in Virgo and Cancer in Mars, he especially sees conflict as a necessary and even enjoyable part of life that leads to growth. Eventually, not even hot-and-heavy makeup sex can ease the resentment you feel from his often argumentative and critical nature. This, combined with his inability to give you the full time and attention you require in a partnership, forces you to walk away and find someone more tailored to cater to your sensitive, emotional heart. 

After your breakup with Namjoon, you take a good deal of time to reconnect with friends and family in the comfort of your own home. It is only after friends finally drag you out back into the real world that you are reminded of your naturally social nature, quickly shedding your fear around getting back out there - after all, you strive for balance and too much solitude can leave you feeling depleted and craving social energy. On one of these nights you attend a whiskey tasting, wherein you are immediately drawn to the boy at the end of the bar in his black bucket hat that hides most of his face. Clearly knowledgeable of his spirits and friendly with the bartender, you decide to get to know him further by discussing his recommendations directly. Upon bringing his eyes to meet yours and introduce himself as Min Yoongi, you are taken aback by his beauty and gentle but firm energy - there is a kindness in his slightly glossy eyes that you can feel, and it’s extremely attractive to your generally reserved heart. While his Virgo Moon is reserved, Yoongi is incredibly charming, fully understanding your subtle flirtation and using his knowledge of whiskey and very carefully spoken, deliberate speech (and sexy low voice) to get to you. It is not too long before you find yourself tipsily pressed against his side, your eyes moving between his lips and his delicate fingers that draw circles around his glass. His eyes move from your lust-filled stare to your curves as they are accentuated in your casual ensemble, and you swear you see his tongue move across his lower lip as he takes you in. But before you’re able to verify, he closes out your tabs. You’re not ready to hang with the big drinkers, love. How about I call you cab home? 

Your relationship blossoms in the light of day, outside of the haze of the whiskey bar and in cafes around city or in your respective homes as you’re both homebodies and romantics at heart. When water and earth signs come together, there is often a very symbiotic relationship at play. Though initially stoic in his persona, the Pisces Yoongi is emotional, compassionate, sentimental which pairs well with your romantic Libra tendencies. Yoongi, the endlessly hard worker and creative force, makes every effort to see, hear and get to know you all the while giving you a great deal of attention which you appreciate. You adore his ability to give you ample quality time, which you require in a partner, while also affording the independence you need to progress on your own. Luckily, his Venus in Aries makes him more direct and enterprising in areas like his career so it balances out his more lethargic side that simply wants to lay in bed and talk about big picture ideas and fantasize about a better world. Like you, he seeks equilibrium between work and play, and is successful in helping you establish said coveted balance in your own life as a trusted partner and friend. He teaches you to let go and trust the process, while you show him the beauty in said process. 

You and Yoongi understand each other on a deep level beyond traditional communication, and when the conversation ends you are easily able to use nonverbal communication to express how you truly feel. It is here where the two of you are able to be authentically yourselves without the pressures of the right words or expectations - you intuitively know what the other wants and needs. Yoongi’s exceptional creativity and desire to please extends to the bedroom, where his skills merge with his imaginative nature with you, taking you for a literal ride. Your Virgo rising equips you with a strong mind-body connection, making you an attentive and very deliberate in bed, while Yoongi is more interested in transcending the physical. Sex with him is entirely sensual, an all-consuming means of pleasing each other - he does not stop until your toes are curling and your entire body shakes in tension and arousal. You can feel your eyes roll back when his lips purr against you as his tongue circles your clit, two fingers slipping in and out of your aching center. You have no idea how amazing you taste. How lucky am I, hmm? It is not unusual for you to pin him to the bed after he’s been away too long in the studio, nibbling at his neck and making him growl in your ear. He knows what you want, his gorgeous hands grabbing your hips and pressing you down onto him before sliding your shorts to the side and slipping two fingers into you, curling them to hit your g-spot. Has my baby been waiting long for me? So impatient, are we? Come on, show how much you missed me. 

Ultimately, you and Min Yoongi are able to come together as two sensitive, diplomatic, and create souls to create a life of harmony and deep intimacy - he is your muse and you are his anchor.  While you are driven and high-achieving in select areas of your lives, you both are no strangers to rest and relaxation after a long, hard day’s work. Together, you create a true sanctuary just outside of the city where you can spend a great deal of time crafting art - he in his studio and you in your own workspace - or making meals together in your enviable kitchen. Know that through life’s inevitable ups and downs you have each other to rely on, and your shared fierce loyalty towards one another can whether any stress-related emotional outburst or time apart due to his fast-paced lifestyle. At the end of the day, you are happy to find that after years of searching you do not anything outside of your the four walls - or each others arms - to find peace. 

#bts #bts astrology #astrology readings #horoscope #fiction #taurus #virgo #pisces #bangtan #bangtan astrology

[rosemaidenvixen]

Both Sides of the Sky

I. An Inauspicious Introduction

AN: Just so no one’s blind sighted, Strickler is a villain in this story and he will not be getting any amount of redemption whatsoever. That might be a dealbreaker for some people so I want to make it clear from the get go that Strickler is not a good guy in this AU.

Ao3

Claire tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet and tried not to look as grouchy as she felt. 

She, her parents, Lawrence and Lenora were waiting by the beginning of the path running by the river that ran past town. At any moment Lord Walter Strickler was supposed to arrive with his son, James Strickler, so that Claire and James could accompany each other on a supervised stroll so that sparks would inevitably fly between them and in a few short months she could be introduced as Lady Strickler.

Claire tamped down the urge to fling her bonnet in the river. 

She didn’t want to be here. She did not want to be here.

Part and parcel of being the heir of her parents’ estate was getting married and producing more heirs. Claire knew that, she’d known that for a long time. But no one was giving her space to breathe. To figure out what she wanted the rest of her life to be like. If she wanted to spend it with anyone at all; much less some boy she’d never met. The formal announcement of her inheritance, meeting with a potential suitor, this was all happening so fast Claire’s head was spinning.

Anytime she stepped back and thought about all the responsibilities and duties that would be heaped upon her it felt like choking on sand.

The sound of a carriage approaching pulled Claire from her thoughts. As the carriage came to a stop two figures stepped out and made their way towards them.

“Oh, good,” her father was visibly relieved “I was starting to think that they wouldn’t come,”

“How fortunate,” Claire grumbled.

There were several more snide remarks she had in mind, but one stern look from her mother and she knew any further sauciness wouldn’t be tolerated. 

Claire recognized Lord Strickler striding briskly towards them, having met him before at one of Karl Ulh’s parties. The dark haired boy beside him was unfamiliar, but he couldn’t be anyone other than Strickler’s son. After greeting both of her parents, the tall, grey haired lord tipped his hat in Claire’s direction “The young Miss Nuñez, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” 

She pasted on her most appropriate smile “The pleasure is all mine,”

Her parents had been absolutely over the moon to have their daughter courted by an actual aristocrat, but up close Lord Strickler didn’t appear too terribly different from various gentry and landowners Claire had met, albeit in much finer clothes.

Strickler placed his hand on the shoulder of the boy beside him “Please allow me to introduce my son, James,”

James smiled in Claire’s direction “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Nuñez,”

Knowing what was expected and keenly aware of both her parents and Lord Strickler’s eyes on them, Claire extended her hand and allowed James to kiss it “Likewise,”

While James had her hand Claire was able to get a better look at him. Skinny, black hair and blue eyes, dressed just as richly as Strickler. But whereas Strickler seemed right at home standing by the side of the forest dressed to the nines, something about the way James held himself seemed stiff, artificial even.

Dance of courtesy completed, James released her hand. Claire let it fall back to her side, resisting the urge to wipe it on her skirt.

“We will stay here and discuss business,” Javier smiled down at them “Why don’t you two get started on your walk,”

Claire’s gaze flicked from the adults back towards James. He had moved toward the start of the path, forearm held out expectantly.

Best to get this over with, the sooner Claire started the sooner she could be done.

Willing herself not to grimace, Claire laid her hand across his arm and they started down the worn dirt path. Lenora and Lawrence, their chaperones, followed at a distance where they could assure that nothing indecent happened between Claire and James, but far enough away that the two could speak without being overheard, provided they didn’t start shouting.

They trudged along in complete quiet, Claire gazed past the river and through the trees that stretched off into the distance, eyes unfocused, as they wound their way down the path at a snail’s pace.

“Lovely weather we’re having,”

It took Claire a little while to realize that James expected a reply “Yes, it is a lovely day,”

Silence stretched out between the two of them. 

“Have you…have you been to the seaside?”

“Yes, last summer, it was quite a pleasant trip,”

The conversation fell flat yet again, from the corner of her eye Claire could see James working his mouth, no doubt struggling to come up with another utterly unimaginative question to ask her.

Claire rolled her eyes, confident that James wouldn’t notice. The rigid way he held himself, his horribly bland attempts at conversation, did this boy have any personality of his own or had Strickler dressed up a wooden plank in fine clothes and started introducing it as his son? 

Still, she had to admit James was far more pleasant company than Seamus, who’s only redeeming quality had been that he was far less of a pompous, self satisfied oaf than his father.

But that didn’t mean Claire enjoyed being forced to spend time with him.

“Are there any instruments you enjoy playing?” James’s voice disrupted her musings.

Claire decided to glean whatever enjoyment she could from this forced outing “Actually yes, I have a harp made from human bones, whenever I play it flocks of ravens come down from the sky and peck anyone nearby to death,”

James jerked his head towards her, stunned into silence, his expression so horrified and utterly flabbergasted that she nearly laughed.

After a few seconds James looked away, seemingly giving up on his attempts to make conversation. He kept his eyes focused on the trees around them and away from Claire as they worked their way back to the carriages in silence.

Once their parents were in sight Claire detached herself from James and moved away from him as briskly as she could. Not even waiting for Lenora and Lawrence to catch up. Ophelia was upon her immediately “How was your walk?”

How was James was what she meant.

“The walk was…decent”

Javier came to stand at his wife’s side, briefly meeting her eyes before he speaking up in a gentle, cautious tone “How would you feel about doing this again next week?”

Claire took a deep breath, they had promised her that she just had to go on one walk with James and if she didn’t want to see him anymore they would be done, but it wouldn’t be the first time her parents promised her something while secretly hoping to never follow through “I would prefer not to,”

Twin looks of concern flashed on both their faces. Her mother frowned “Did James do anything to…upset you?”

Claire twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands “He didn’t upset me, but he didn’t do anything to impress me either,”

A shadow of disappointment fell across Ophelia’s face “Oh…well then, that’s that,” she glanced towards the other side of the clearing where the two aristocrats were standing “If that’s the case we’ll let Lord Strickler know,”

Of all the responses Claire had been expecting this had not been one of them “Really?

Javier smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder “Of course, we’re not going to make you court a boy you don’t like. Now why don’t you go wait by the carriage while we tell them,”

Claire beamed at her parents “Thank you,”

And with that, they headed off in opposite directions, her parents towards Strickler and James and Claire toward the carriages. When she got there she saw that the drivers had dismounted and were standing a ways further up the road, exchanging idle gossip no doubt. Seeing no better options available, Claire planted herself on an errant boulder to wait for her parents.

Her outing was over and done, she never had to entertain James’s company ever again, now Claire just wanted to put this whole morning behind her as fast as she could.

She sat on the boulder twiddling her thumbs for what felt like ages, but realistically could have only be five or ten minutes.

At long last she heard footsteps approach. Claire prepared to rise and then paused. Rapid, unfamiliar footsteps that were most certainly not her parents. Impulsively, Claire ducked underneath her parent’s carriage, cringing as stones and gravel dug into her palms, and held her breath, hoping whoever it was hadn’t seen her yet.

Two sets of shoes came into her view, a smaller pair following a larger pair. As they reached the opposite carriage, the larger pair abruptly turned and faced the smaller. A frosty voice broke through the air “I can’t express how thoroughly disappointed I am in you,” 

Claire had to stifle a gasp, she knew that voice, it was Lord Strickler. That meant the person he was talking to must be–

“Apparently you were so uncharming the young Miss Nuñez couldn’t wait to get away from you,” his voice was as cold and hard as steel, even Claire found herself flinching a little.

Taut silence filled the air.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

When James spoke up his voice was so soft that even from less than three feet away Claire almost couldn’t hear him. Almost.

 “I’m sorry…”

Claire winced, however he’d acted on their walk, there was absolutely nothing artificial about the meekness in James’s tone.

They fell quiet after that, the only sounds the two of them stepping into the carriage and the driver mounting up and getting ready to depart. 

Just when Claire thought they would leave without saying another word, Strickler spoke up again “Despite your…lackluster performance, I’ve managed to convince Master and Mistress Nuñez to allow you one more outing with their daughter in a week’s time,” even without seeing him, Claire could practically hear the stern look on Strickler’s face “The fact that we even have a second chance at all is a blessing. Do. Not. Fail me.”

“I won’t,” James murmured “I’ll do better next time, I promise,”

“I should hope so, I don’t want to be having this conversation again,”

After that any further words were lost in the whinnies of the horses and the creaking of the wheels as they pulled away. Leaving Claire to creep out from her hiding spot. Looking down the road she caught a glimpse of the back of Lord Strickler’s carriage just before it rounded the bend and vanished from sight. 

As she watched the carriage disappear into the distance, a hot flush of shame burned across her skin. In her indignation about being forced on this outing with James, it had never even crossed Claire’s mind that she wasn’t the only unwilling participant. 

Looking back she was ashamed at herself for missing it. James’s apparent lack of personality wasn’t some character flaw, it was part of the mask he forced himself to wear when doing things he clearly had no interest in just to satisfy his father.

She should know, Claire had a mask just like that.

Her stomach churned with guilt. In hindsight, James’s stilted attempts at conversation earlier had been awkward for sure. Which made much more sense considering James probably had no more desire to be there than she did. But it would have been far less awkward if she had done something to help him break the ice. 

She recalled the snippy remark she’d given when James asked her if she played. Claire did play, a regular harp, not one made from bones. She was no master at it, but Enrique already loved the lullabies she played for him.

Claire stifled a groan into her hands. A perfectly good conversation, right there, and she’d wasted it on a cruel comment.

Now James’s father was angry with him, all because she had acted like a brat.

The handle of the carriage door dug into her shoulder blades as Claire slumped against it. Lord Strickler had said that he had convinced her parents to have Claire and James go on another walk in a week’s time, and knowing her parents that was probably true. The idea of courting or marriage still made her stomach turn, but she didn’t want to cause James any more problems than she already had.

As a member of the gentry and sole heir of Arcadia abbey and the surrounding estates Claire had much weighing on her shoulders; duties, responsibilities, her parent’s very high expectations. As the sole son of an aging lord James was probably one of the few people who understood exactly what that was like.

Just one more walk by the river, it wasn’t as though she was being sized for a wedding dress. Claire could make nice with James for one morning, if only to ensure his father wouldn’t be angry with him again. Eventually Claire could find some way to break things off without casting any of the blame on James. Easy and simple.

She heard her parents approach with Lenora and Lawrence following shortly behind, and walked around to the other side of the carriage to greet them.

One outing. One pleasant walk with a boy her age. Just to keep their parents happy, that was all.

Claire could do it.

A fresh wave of guilt washed over her was she recalled the resigned misery in James’s voice when he was being scolded by his father.

Claire wasn’t the only one with overbearing parents to please. And if singing James’s praises after their next walk kept him from his father’s ire she would do it.

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #claire nuñez #jim lake jr #jlaire #both sides of the sky #fanfic #rmvwrites

[queenofeden]

kinktober is here,  i got my hat on backwards, and i’m ready to fucking party write a shit ton of nasty about nadia, julian, and laurel. also, how fortuitous to share the first few days with @nadia-appreciation-week-2019​?! i can’t wait to see all the fantastic content over the next week, i hope my humble contributions are enjoyable for all.

Day 1: Wax Play

Pairing: Nadia Satrinava/Female Apprentice

Word Count: 1,026

Summary: 

"Tell me where," she says, voice soft but firm, velvet wrapped steel.

Laurel whines. "Anywhere, please Nadia, please."

Nadia bends to drop a feather-light kiss between Laurel's brows. "A dangerous request, my sweet." 

✨ My Ko-Fi // Read on AO3 ✨

"Now, hold still."

The candle hovers just inches from her skin, the only light in the dark room. The high points of Nadia's face illuminate golden behind it-- her soft smile, her eyes like precious, glittering jewels; the gilded face of some benevolent goddess, upon whose lap she lays.

Laurel's breath hitches as the candle draws closer, fighting against the instinct to flee. When she does not flinch away, Nadia's grin curves further upwards, a crescent moon hanging in the night sky.

"Very good. You are my good girl, aren't you?"

"Nadia--"

"Aren't you?"

The light of the candle pulls away, leaving disappointment tugging at Laurel's heart and groin in tandem, sure as if a tether inexplicably connected the three of them.

"Yes, Nadia."

Drip

The heat strikes first, stinging against the center of her abdomen. The pain is brief-- just a flash-- gone within seconds. Her breath shudders on the exhale. Her body shakes, then settles. There are no bounds to keep her still tonight. Her bondage is simply her desire to please, holding herself down with the strength of her will alone. Quick as it came the pain has faded, and in its wake leaves a warmth suffusing from her skin, down deep inside her bones. Her body writhes, begging for more.

Drip. Drip drip. Drip.

Each spot flares in time, body twisting, not to escape, but to meet the sensations as they come, trailing down towards her navel. The puddles of clear wax harden, tightening on her skin. They pull as she moves, reminding her of their presence even as more fall to join them.

Drip. Her left breast. Her spine arches upwards, cat-like and eager.

Drip. Direct heat on her sensitive nipple. She bites the inside of her cheek.

Drip. Repeat on the right.

The breath in her lungs escapes in a satisfied hiss. Warm. She feels so warm, soothed by the patter-- the cycle of drip, pain, pleasure. The whole of her abdomen is a galaxy, pinprick stars dotting the vast expanse, flickering white-hot. Her eyes slip closed, the light of the flame emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids-- riotous spots and bursts.

Nadia's hand finds her forehead, fingers brushing delicately across her brow. Laurel's eyes drift open, gazing up at her haloed lover, hazy and dream-like in the dark.

"Are you still with me?" Nadia asks.

"Yes," Laurel replies, lips stretching into a dazed grin.

"Would you like more?"

A foolish, but necessary question. Laurel nods. "Yes."

Nadia's soft chuckle reverberates in her mind and chest, a twin echo.

"Tell me where," she says, voice soft but firm, velvet wrapped steel.

Laurel whines. "Anywhere, please Nadia, please."

Nadia bends to drop a feather-light kiss between Laurel's brows. "A dangerous request, my sweet." 

Her head is lifted, placed on a pillow made of down instead of Nadia's thighs. The sound of muffled footsteps echoes, a hand touches the sensitive skin at her knee, nails tickling over the curve. Laurel sucks in a nervous breath. Nadia watches her, gaze canny and knowing. "Would you care to be more specific?"

"Nnn--"

"Are you sure?"

At her sides, Laurel's hands clench and unclench, trembling with anticipation.

"Anywhere," she breathes. "Please."

Humming, Nadia strokes a palm up the inside of Laurel's leg. Over the curve of her calf, smoothing the skin of her inner thigh taut, fingertips trailing teasing and light over her bare sex. In spite of the heat of her hand, Laurel shivers. The candle, bright white, hangs in Nadia's hand directly above her pubic mound. "As my lady wishes."

Drip

The wax sings against her flesh, more tender somehow than even her breasts. Bright and searing, each prick of pain as it strikes and settles, like a white-hot hammer against the anvil of her body, rattles her bones, forges her soul into something new. She pants, quiet, breathy little ah, ah, ah's as each individual drip makes contact with her thighs, her labia, her -- oh gods-- her clit. The whole of her feels flushed, feverish, burning so intensely from the inside out, it's a wonder that the hardened puddles left on her skin don't simply melt and drip away.

Then it stops, the last of the pain recedes and suddenly Nadia is there, both hands this time, stroking over her sides, kneading her breasts, laying gently over her throat. Wax flakes off at the pressure, tugging skin and fine hairs, but none of it matters more than the weight of her, pressed together chest to chest, lips on the underside of Laurel's jaw.

Her eyes flutter open-- when had she closed them?-- in time to watch as Nadia leans in close to kiss the corner of her mouth. Her lips move, the sound far away still, filtering through the cotton wool sensation between her ears in snippets:

"... beautiful"

"Perfect..."

"Yes… good for me..."

Laurel’s hand rises, jelly-like after being forced into stillness for so long, and strokes Nadia's arm with just the barest brush of knuckles.

"Hi," she whispers, tongue dry, throat catching on the single word.

Nadia pauses, blinks, and then she laughs, a sound both undignified and joyous, her chest shaking against Laurel's.

"Hello." She smiles. "I take that expression to mean you enjoyed yourself?"

Laurel giggles -- giggles! -- unable to help herself. "Absolutely not, I hated every moment."

"Oh, I see." Nadia's teeth flash white as the candle in the dark. Slowly she starts to pull away. "I suppose then, that means you don't care to finish? I'll begin cleaning up the--"

"No! No no no, Nadia! Nadia no, don't go!" Laurel reaches for Nadia, dragging her back down. She comes easily back into Laurel's embrace, still grinning.

For a brief moment, her expression softens. "I love you," she says, so earnest.

Dopey, Laurel feels her cheeks heat. Really, she never will get used to that. She hopes she won't, at least. "I love you, too."

Warm lips press to her pulse, her next words spoken against her the beat of her heart. "Would you like to come now?"

Laurel shudders, head and shoulders sagging back against the cushion. "Please."

Nadia kisses her neck one final time, and descends.

#kinktober2019 #the arcana #nadia satrinava #the arcana game #nadia #nadia x apprentice #arcanagame #my fic

[katastroficwriter]

Cutscene #5

*Once again, I apologize for the late update. This update would feel very rushed--but that’s because of my inexperience with writing action/fighting scenes. And because I needed to push the story to where it needs to be as soon as possible. I hope this fact won’t reduce your enjoyment of my au. ^^;

May 18, 20xx, 4:43 pm

“Hey, Kiiboy?”

“Not now.”

“Yes now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Ye~s!”

Kiibo leaned against his seat, sighing in exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want this time? Can’t you see that I still have a lot of schoolwork I need to catch up on?”

“What I see is that you are in desperate need of a good walk in the park, my friend,” Ouma shamelessly plucked his roommate’s reading glasses and wore it on his head. “Getting stressed about doing work while doing work is hardly productive, you know.”

They spent a couple of minutes in an impromptu staring contest, to which Kiibo eventually forfeited.

“Fine. I suppose I do need a breather,” Kiibo snatched his reading glasses back from his roommate’s head. “As long as we don’t stay out too long, I guess it’s okay.”

“Great! There’s this good hotdog stand by the park. My treat!” Ouma grinned. ‘Step one--cleared.’

Kiibo shook his head. “No. I’ll treat you. You took care of me while I was sick.”

Ouma blinked in surprise before moving to cover his pleased smile. “Be careful there Kiiboy. Keep doing this and I might just fall in love~”

The albino simply rolled his eyes as he pocketed his wallet. “Ha, ha. Anyway, are we going or not?”

“Heck yeah we are!” Ouma skipped towards the doorway after shrugging his backpack on.

“What’s the backpack for?” Kiibo asked as he locked their room.

“It’s just in case something happens! Like sauce spilling on my shirt. Also first aid kit in case you...I don’t know, slip and fall or something. You’re just so clumsy that I can’t afford to be confident that you’re getting out of this trip unscathed.”

“Is this how you see me?” Kiibo huffed.

“I’m just stating facts, my good sir,” Ouma tipped his invisible hat. “Anyway we better hurry! If we wait around any longer they might run out of the good stuff!” He grabbed his roommate by the wrist and made a dash for the school gate.

After paying for their hotdogs, Ouma led Kiibo farther and farther from the crowd of people and into the forest. Which normally would raise alarm bells in any sane person who was being tugged into a forest. But this was Ouma. If Ouma wanted to murder him, he would have done so as soon as he went to sleep.

“Why are you taking me into the forest?”

“I usually go for walks while eating, and I happened to find this great spot to watch the sunset. There’s also a bench there! The best part is, no one really wants to walk all the way here just for a seat. So it’s practically all ours,” Ouma grinned.

“I see...”

“Oh it’s here! Man the light reflects really well in the lake--”

“A lake?”

“Yeah, a lake!” Ouma grabbed Kiibo by the wrist for the umpteenth time that day and led him to the bench with unbridled excitement.

Kiibo had his doubts, but the sunset view had rendered him speechless. Ouma wasn’t lying--the view was gorgeous. The way the sun’s rays bathed the forest with a soft yellow glow was something worth painting. Oh, if only he were a painter...

“You sitting or not?” Ouma punctuated his question by shoving the hotdog in his mouth as he patted the free space beside him.

“Ah,” Kiibo shook his head a little to snap out of his daze. “I’m sitting.”

Ouma simply smiled at him with his eyes since he was still busy chewing. At least he still had the manners to not speak while eating.

They spent time eating their snack in comfortable silence as they watched the golden orb that is the sun slowly sink under the horizon.

“Soooo...whatcha think?” Ouma tilted his head as he grinned--cheek stained with ketchup and mustard. Not at all ashamed of breaking the silence.

“...I think you need to clean your face up,” Kiibo heaved out a sigh as he made a move to wipe the other man’s face with a tissue. “And...you’re right. It’s pretty good. The price is affordable too.”

“Riiiight?! I always try to drop by their stand everyday--except when my schedule doesn’t allow me at all,” Ouma grabbed the tissue from the albino and started wiping his face on his own.

“By the way, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“Mm?”

“I still find it weird that there’s a bench all the way out into the forest.” Kiibo looked around their vicinity. It was his first time visiting the forest area located in the park, and he wasn’t too sure if it’s normal to find a well furnished bench hidden by trees and foliage.

“No, actually,” Ouma paused to finish his last bite. “It wasn’t here before, but maybe I’m not the only person who found this spot after all. Probably asked some of the people in charge to move a bench here.” That’s a lie, of course. This was simply Step 2 of his plan.

“I see...I suppose that makes sense.”

“Well, at least we benefited off of it,” Ouma smiled, stretching his arms over his head before standing up and walking towards the lake. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if it weren’t for the bench.”

“So the bench was the most important thing here and not the view?” Kiibo quirked a brow.

“Of course! My comfort--and in this case, our comfort is way more important than watching the sun,” Ouma wagged a finger as though he was sharing valuable wisdom. “We can enjoy the view better if we’re comfortable.”

“You’re right,” Kiibo then crumpled the hotdog wrapper and shoved it in his pocket. “...Anyway, it’s getting dark. We should head back now.”

“No! Not yet!” Ouma puffed his cheeks. “We’re not here just to watch the sun set. We’re also here to watch the moon rise!”

“The moon...you do realize it would be really dark in the forest if we actually wait for the moon--”

“I know! That’s why I packed a flashlight in my backpack,” Ouma waved a hand in the general direction of his backpack which was resting on the bench.

“You’re awfully prepared for this. Did you plan to lure me out here from the start?” Kiibo shook his head in mild disbelief.

“What if I was? It worked, didn’t it?” Ouma winked. Now this was definitely not a lie. “Relax. Just stay in your seat and watch the moon, alright? We’ll go home as soon as it’s over.”

Aquamarine eyes stared into amethyst. He’s really doing a bad job at winning in conversations today. “Alright. Dinner’s going to be on you tonight.”

“I accept your terms,” Ouma could see it--how relaxed the albino was. His pupils were slowly dilating--the moon wasn’t out yet but the dark sky was starting to affect him. His body knows what’s about to come. Fortunately for both of them, Ouma knows too.

Truth be told, the thought of watching the moon rise filled him with dread.

Kiibo found it odd how he couldn’t remember anything that’s transpired during nighttime for the past few week. He can’t trust himself to study at night because of this. Which is why he rescheduled his studying time to the afternoon. It scared him a little--feeling this way. But surely there wasn’t anything wrong with him? Maybe he was falling asleep without him realizing which is why he doesn’t remember much about the night before…

“Kiiboy, it’s here.”

Prompted by his roommate’s voice, he looked up at the rising moon.

That was when he felt completely odd. His body froze at the sight of the glowing white orb on the darkened sky. His body felt hot. Extremely hot. His bones were aching. His entire body was shaking. His mind was growing blank the longer he stared at the glowing celestial body.

The worst part were his thoughts.

Kill.

Destroy.

Tear it to shreds!!!

Such violent words invaded his mind. Words that have never crossed his mind were filling his headspace. Commanding him to obey. He moved to stand up, trying to steady himself with the bench.

The pain that followed was sharp. Excruciating. It felt like he was being ripped apart and then later reassembled into a form that’s only vaguely his. Much like a badly sewn ragdoll that was given the Frankenstein treatment.

“Gghhk!!” The pain was unbearable. He couldn’t hear himself. But he could feel it. He could feel his throat growing raw from all his screaming. He felt like he was being slowly ripped apart from the seams.

Deaf to his own screams of agony, Kiibo didn’t realize that the sound that left his mouth were no longer screams of a pained human being--but rather the angered howls of a wild beast.

The soft rustling of the trees and the sight of leaves falling like gentle rain did little to calm the situation.

“Heh...not a bad form at all, Kiiboy. You’re honestly a lot bigger than what I expected you to be.“

“But size has never stopped me from putting a pup in its place.“

Their battle was without ceremony. What else do you expect when one of the parties is a rampaging werewolf?

Kiibo was completely acting out on his new instincts. The instinct to kill any and every vampire in sight. Despite his rather large form, his agility was not to be underestimated if Ouma wanted to live. Which he does.

Ouma swiftly transformed into his bat form and flew above his rampaging roommate before reverting to his previous form and landed a strong kick across the werewolf’s torso--sending it flying into a lake. He took this chance to catch his breath and to assess the damages he’s sustained.

“Tch...I won’t be able to hold out for too long at this rate...” he panted. “The one thing I desperately needed but failed to get a hold off--blood. Fucking awesome.” He glared at the torn sight of his navy blue hoodie. “He owes me a new hoodie too.”

The werewolf let out a furious howl as soon as it got out of the lake’s watery depths. It seems kicking him in ice-cold water only made him angrier.

Ouma cursed his exhaustion when he lost his footing mid-dodge. He grunted as his head collided against a tree before getting pinned beneath the growling creature.

“Shit--!!!” Ouma screamed when he felt Kiibo’s canines dig in his right shoulder. “Get off me you dumbass!” he aimed his punches at the albino’s eye in the hopes of making it lose its grip on his shoulder. Fortunately, it worked.

The vampire then struggled to move his legs upwards until his knees are pushing against his chest. “I said get off!!!” He kicked Kiibo on the chest with both of his feet as hard as he could.

Ouma then grabbed a fallen tree by its roots and smacked Kiibo away from him, not giving the werewolf time to recover at all. With a palm resting against his bleeding shoulder, he teleported on the werewolf’s back and dug his nails into its shoulder, eliciting a pained howl followed by another angrier one.

“Oh shut up! I’ve had enough of your BULLSHIT!” It had been centuries since he’s had his fangs out in its full length. It almost felt alien to him. Almost. He made sure to put in all of his strength into this one bite.

The deliciously rich flavor of werewolf blood mixing with Kiibo’s human ones filled his throat much to his content. His strength was returning and he could already feel his wound closing. Even Kiibo was having a hard time getting him off his back due to his growing strength.

Ouma only let go once he felt the muscles and bones beneath him shifting and crunching. He licked his lips as he watched his roommate slowly revert back to his original form. His naked and shivering form.

The vampire then moved to grab his backpack from the mess of fallen trees and pulled out a fresh change of clothes he got for Kiibo. He didn’t miss the confusion in the albino’s eyes when the latter saw his bloodied form approaching him in calm strides.

“What...happened?“ Kiibo’s voice was hoarse. Raw from all his screaming and howling before, during, and after his transformation.

“Oh, nothing much. Just had some intense make out session that got of hand. Ended up destroying a few trees here and there because of how amazing a kisser I was,” Ouma deadpanned. “--Of course that’s a fucking lie! You turned into a werewolf Kiiboy! I could have died!” He tossed the clothing at the albino with a frown.

“A...a werewolf...?” Kiibo blanched at the thought.

“Wear your clothes first. I’ll answer your questions later,“ Ouma idly rubbed his right shoulder, hiding his satisfaction of finding that the wound was no longer there.

Due to the roughhousing earlier, the bench got wrecked into mere splinters, and so they had no other options but to sit on the grass. As Kiibo listened to the voice recording Ouma took with his new phone, he felt dizzier and dizzier. The screaming was definitely his. And although it was a little vague--even during the growling parts, he could still hear traces of his voice coming from it.

Ouma’s bloody face and clothes were an indicator that this wasn’t an elaborate plot just to mess with him.

“I...how? This never happened before!” Kiibo regarded his companion with panicked eyes. “How could I...how could I suddenly turn into a monster?!”

“The ‘dog’ you took care of was a werewolf, you ding-dong,“ Ouma huffed. “How could you even mistake a wolf for a dog!?”

“It was barking, Ouma-kun. Wolves don’t bark! They howl, they growl--they don’t bark as often as dogs do!” Kiibo hissed, faltering a little when the pain from the previous skirmish was finally registering.

“Tch. Terrific acting from an old bastard, I see,” Ouma bit on thumbnail. “...In any case, everything’s going to be okay.”

“Okay? No I’m not! How am I supposed to deal with this?!” Kiibo grunted when he felt a slightly dislocated shoulder pop back into place. One of the perks of his new predicament is his enhanced healing. Not that it made him any happier. “There’s going to be another full moon tomorrow and--I still have a lot of schoolwork to do! I can’t--I can’t possibly juggle being a student and a monster at the same time!”

“Of course you can! All you need is some proper training and you’ll be able to keep your self-awareness even during a full moon,” Ouma patted him on the back. “Dogs can be trained. And you’re practically a big dog. Chin up!”

“Training. I don’t even know where to start.... For one thing I won’t be conscious tomorrow to even think of training, am I?” Kiibo groused, burying his face in his knees.

“It’s fiiine. Because I’m a vampire. I can keep you in check,” Ouma smiled.

Kiibo lifted his head to glare at him. “Look, it’s nice and all that you’re trying to cheer me up. But cracking jokes like that just makes me want to smack you. Because now is definitely not the time for jokes like that.”

“Huh? But it’s not a joke though! See for yourself!” Ouma tapped his neck on the left side, prompting the albino to do the same.

Kiibo froze when he felt two deep puncture wounds on his neck which was still in the process of healing up. He looked up at Ouma, eyes widening in shock when the latter unabashedly showed him his fangs.

He knew that he really should be more shocked--but the revelation that he’s going to be stuck as a werewolf monster for the rest of his life took the brunt of his shock. Not to mention how it felt like he had solved a mysterious riddle surrounding his odd roommate.

“Is that why you’ve been going around licking my wounds all this time?”

“Yup!”

Kiibo hid his face in his hands. His days of peace are now over.

“Nishishi! Don’t worry, I know a thing or two about werewolves~” Ouma snickered. “I’ll train you in exchange for your blood!”

“M...my blood?” Kiibo gulped.

“Mmmhm~” Ouma placed a finger against his own lips. “Now that you’re a werewolf, I could feed to my heart’s content without worrying about turning you~”

“I...I see...” Kiibo’s mind was reeling from the new knowledge. He knew he didn’t have much choice. Ouma was a vampire--another monster. He was pretty much the only person who can restrain him in his werewolf form as proven by this night alone. This was his only bet of maintaining his normal life without causing trouble for everyone. “...Alright. I accept.”

Ouma’s pupils narrowed into slits as he smirked. “That settles that then.”

#ndrv3 #ouma kokichi #kiibo #katastrofic writing #katastrofic doodle #in the dark au #tw: blood #tw: violence

[scullyy]

Holding Out For A Hero

Title: Holding Out For A Hero

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 1031

Summary: When on watch one night, Louis and Clementine enjoy a little dance to a classic song.

A/N: Thank you to @savage-scraps for the cursed idea. I had a lot of fun writing this! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you all enjoy it :D

-

When being put on night watch with Louis, you never know what's gonna happen. A simple card game? A fabulous story? It's what made being in his company so enjoyable, at least for Clementine.

She thought very carefully about her next question, Louis had stolen all the good ones early on in their game. "What do you miss about the old world?"

The twinkle in his eyes matched the moon above, night watches were always more fun with him. "I'd have to say...music. I know there's the record player but we don’t have a wide variety of records, gets a bit boring after a while."

"We also have you," Even if the other kids grew bored of his tunes, Clementine always believed in him and the power he held when sat at the piano. "Any songs you miss in particular?"

He hummed over his answer, there were so many. "I'm gonna go with...’Holding Out For A Hero’ by Bonnie Tyler."

Clementine giggled. "I remember that song, my dad loved it," He would always play it whenever they went for a drive, it seemed to make the trip go by faster. "Good answer."

He wanted to get her laughing again, their relationship was always different at night, the shadows hid away, no longer posing a visible threat. Clementine was more relaxed and Louis talked freely about anything and everything. Besides, who could deny the romantic prowess of the moon?

"It's pretty upbeat, hard not to love it," Louis gave in to his deep-rooted temptation and leaned closer to her ear. "Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?"

Clementine slowly backed away from him, unsure of his intentions. "What are you-"

In an instant he had jumped to his feet, the wooden boards creaking beneath him. "Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?" Louis jumped down the ladder and almost buckled beneath the sudden landing.

"What the fuck are you doing Lou?" She hissed as she quickly climbed down the ladder. "You gotta keep your voice down."

He held his hand out for her. "Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?" His eyebrows wiggled dramatically, bringing out a free laugh from Clementine.

"Late at night," She began to whisper. "I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need." Her confidence in her voice was non-existing until Louis gasped. It was the voice of an angel; a totally badass, scary and charming angel.

He leapt up onto one of the rickety tables in one bound. "I need a hero!" Lous still kept his voice under wraps, despite having a strong desire to belt out the lyrics. "I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night!"

Clementine joined him on the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. "He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh for the fight," Her hushed voice was oddly alluring to him, it only caused his heart to beat faster. "I need a hero-”

"-I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light," The oncoming moonlight created a magical spotlight for them (or maybe Louis was just over-analyzing). He pulled Clementine back up and spun her around in small circles. "He's gotta be sure-"

"-And it's gotta be soon-" Her voice suddenly grew louder, without a care in the world she allowed herself a moment of freedom.

"And he's gotta be larger than life!" He matched her tone and pulled her in closer. A small squeal escaped her when he suddenly performed a successful dip, her hat almost tumbled off her head.

Clementine couldn't hide her nervous gulp. "Larger...than...life," She mumbled, noticing how close Louis was holding her - not that it was a bad thing. "Hi there."

"I..uh, sorry for that-"

There was nothing to be sorry for and she showed him that by locking him into a rare kiss that made the stars above blush. She buried her fingers within his tangled dreads, letting the kiss speak the words she couldn't bring herself to say during the day.

"Thank you."

"I can’t imagine not being here beside you."

"Hell I think I’m falling in love with you."

Louis didn't mean to pull away first, he would gladly kiss her all night if she let him. "Gee, I didn't think I was that good at dancing." He pulled her back to her feet yet kept a gentle grip on her waist.

"Oi, you loud fucks!"

Both lovebirds slowly turned to the school where an angered Violet brooded over the cracked steps. "People are trying to sleep and Bonnie Tyler isn't helping!"

Clementine clasped a hand over her mouth to tie down her laughter. Maybe she did let herself go a little too far.

"Sorry Vi!" Louis called out. "You know how once I start I can't stop rolling with the beat." He was a music man at heart and his feet always had a mind of their own.

Violet wasn't impressed, choosing to flip him off before trudging back into the school. Was it too much to ask? For one damn night of peace...

Clementine swallowed down the last of her chuckles, tears of glee prickled the corner of her eyes. "This was fun." She pulled her hat back down onto her head firmly, choosing not to look away from Louis and his ever-so-charming smile.

"The pleasure is all mine darling, it's good to see you like this," He walked alongside her back to the watchtower, letting her climb back up first. "My turn now for our original game; has the end of the world brought you any good?" It was always healthy to focus on the positives, even if they were rare. Clementine seemed to be filled with tales of tragedy, there had to be a good memory within her head.

Her answer needn't any consideration. "It brought me to you."

Louis tried to play it off as if he didn’t almost choke on air, she had the power to win him over way too easily with her words. He tugged at his coat collar playfully. "I could say the same, Clementine."

The sun would soon rise and the shadows would grow, reminding them of what horrors were waiting. But here they were, in their own corner of the world that no one could take away from them.

#twdg #the walking dead game #twdgs #clementine twdg #the walking dead game season four #twdg louis #clouis #louisentine #fanfiction #xscullyx

[captainkurosolaire]

Getting to know : Captain Kuro Solaire

► Name ➔ “Captain Kuro Solaire of the Goldbrand, But ye can refer to me as the navigating guide of pleasure.”

► Are you single ➔ “I’m openly married and surrounded with the personifications of life unshackled.”

► Are you happy ➔ “Have ye seen how many treasures are out there in Eorzea to grab for the plucking? Leviathan! The whole Hydaelyn be awaiting and I’m not even speaking about just silver, gold and gil.” ► Are you angry? ➔ “An emotion I tend to leave caged, It’s freedom would be devastation. Might think that be odd n all since, I claim to be a spirit of the unhindered. ” ► Are your parents still married ➔ “Nah mate learned recently the ole’man and woman have been split from their voyaged ways. Though he doesn’t paddle without their wedding band, gotta give him some reputable credit to that. Shows how much she could have been cherished if she didn’t die giving up her life for me.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “The Glamorous Shite-hole side of Ul’dah” ► Hair Color ➔  "Pitch Black like some wandering Samurai that hangs around gloming up the Quicksands.” ► Eye Color ➔  “Gold, like a fountain of gils crashing into a bedded sea.” ► Birthday ➔ “ 6th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon during some Eclipsed Sun or something like that, supposedly.” ► Mood ➔  "Horned Hunger when y’ grow a savory delight for inner enriches that typically reside from the fresh petals of passion. ” ► Gender ➔ “Male.” ► Summer or winter ➔  “Summer” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Dawn to Dusk”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Always, eternally.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Believe? What about see or witness, or provide it? I am certain I can bring that belief to all those landers. ” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “Depends what we defining as a relationship here, I typically give my greeted partings should they be better for the partied company. Though pirate life brings backstabbing and crossing romantically typically I give the steering wheel to the other one after we establish our cruise if they still waiting on shore for me, they haven’t ended anything.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Probably have a few catalogs somewhere in one of my cabinets in the cabin. Though in order for a heart to truly become greater, vigorous, ye gotta take hits. They’ve but all ascended if I’ve caused and inflicted pain to those who gave me their hearts to held. Though should trust be granted, I never leave a stray one to flutter without attention. I’d be a lousy, man.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Ye’d cross yer eyes to rise on me. Though not really afraid, I’d call it. But more careful. My path isn’t met for long periods of company beyond what my skillful touch can provide, I rush into the orbited heat of the sun, where glory rests!” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Ye can call it ‘hugging’ .....but typically, it’s more like clinging during a very enticing dancing between two bodies learning their limits as they soar together to devour the stars.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “If I pulled out my spyglass, I’m certain we could get a few to note.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ "Infinitely, I can shape and forge and reinforce hearts of others but when comes to my own admitted, I am useless.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Lust is the stem of where love flourishes, I couldn’t imagine it without somewhat how can you take admiration into something without a desire? Ye be talking to a pirate. None, know treasure better than us.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Disgusting though I can turn both the Ice cubes and the Lemon into something productive but not my type of thing to consume, mate.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Not too far off the same thing but I got a mouth that is detestable to hear from since I am a glorified walking cat of sorts.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “The best of mates” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ "Wild night out, I like to bring exploration in all the conceivable measurements, staying in otherwise for short periods goes rather limited.” ► Day or night ➔ "Day into Night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Yes, purposefully mind ye.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Few dozens of drunken times surely though always fall into an embrace of bosoms to have my face cradled in.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Sort of but I am more of reaching to grab and should something be that potent to me, I must forget it. For I would be cursed and would bring another to damnation should I steal that thing, I truly... wish. Though should they not break the strings that tie, I will but collect.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “Disappear!? That’s rather far-stretched to what I, AM. ~ I never seek to be unseen. I wish to be seen in view even if It’s by rear or heard through tongues made of stone. Ye see! To stand taller is what I said to myself as a lad. And that, I will but give myself as a gift that keeps giving to all those who wish to sail aside the mountains to hold the clouds in their ever waking finger tips. 

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ "Both, I could not pass up a pair of lips that give me the communication that a pearl of links could never provide or the silly tomestones could attempt to replace before Truesight... As for the eyes! Ye but heard haven’t you? They are but the windows of the souls ones that I don’t leave tinted from me.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ “I get advantages from either when it comes to others, I either get seen action shots or I get a face-full of breasts to greet me. It really doesn’t matter for knees were meant to be bent and I like battling taller opponents to give them some rare opportunities to see the same horizon as me.”   ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “I could not choose over one so I’ll continue to cheat myself through this barrage of questions.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “It’s typically better for hook-up I am a man that provides when others fall behind and then I instruct those to stand back up and treat the womanly gems of Eorzea rightfully how they should be presented. In-turn creating more radiant jewels that never stop. Currently the world is worth a half-gil whore in pearl-lane but overtime with a few seeds tossed and delicately...thoroughly... risen we will have but a meadow to all but breathe in with enjoyment meant for the endless ages.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ "Pops isn’t that bad. Get a few nice therapeutic ‘training’ sessions with him when it comes to the whole bastardization which all cycle back to me letting loose thirty cycles of frustration.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ "It’s hard to sort for most but I like the unpredictable tides and what It brings! Imagine not surviving off enduring or working towards something if everything was thrown on a shitted-plate even if it was sparkling gil and diamonds! It would be nothing but the same shit ye see nobles fitted with. The workers! The chasers! The blazers those are the people who make their own dishes of riches and TO that, It’s everything. Which means more then having someone else prepare your meal for you to do everything hand and foot for ye. I steal from those plates because truly, they would not even give it a glancing care to fill quell the famish in setting.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ "Seven Hells, ye! Screw that orphanage! Least we got it somewhat on the right path, geez. I wonder who out of anyone could have pulled off the care to work on actually cleaning up the city-state. Man they must be really, really, handsome. Well anyway soon the future will be springing up and I can’t wait to greet them at the big-blue!” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Getting my ass-kicked and giving it is kind of an exchange you better suspect to start paying in currency, ye be doing it more than trading in gil if ye aren’t from a fancy House..”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Hating is like getting drunk on salt-water not worth the effort to have those cramps, only worth holding for survival if necessary.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Every last word exhaled from coiled tongues! From even those who gave me a few nasty scratches, bruises, scrapes or scars I give my hat nudge too. I’ve met a lot within my tale.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ ”Anyone who boards my sail along side or on it’s decks are my cared.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “The Seas and the Moon who have been there with me since I first laid feet on ship and adorned the mantle of the Captain.” Tagged by : @issa-arwa  ~Thanks, lovely. Tagging : @aylamoenwyb @mai-takeda @east-to-the-sea @shur-kha-ffxiv @vayduh @yuki-yukichan @shadragonheart @shard-kilamarii @figgenbaums-best-friend @knifewaifu @kha-merc-ffxiv @jax332 @lulu-ffxiv @lulubell-vixen @wildgirlcinna @mischiefandmystics @aetheradventures @ghostlyfoxangel @under-the-blood-moonlight @jancisstuff @moonstruck-ffxiv @maheeia @healerofthefoxes @nebula1984 @morha-ffxiv @mteshi-ffxiv @enchantressoftruth @fracturedfantasia @fey-illumination @xzombiepop @savothesewercat @awatercat @thorcatte @viridian-dragoon @virghilani @liliesinmoonlight @ivyffxiv @aelathetrashcan @seinakurokiba @saintofselfinjury @sabine-ffxiv @brandt-highwind @cheche-dotharl @thelastnoukai @kyrie-silverwings @shur-kha-ffxiv @cahli-tia @skysinger-musings @zhauric @tessariel-aerlinn @sibutum @brytedarklyt @smolcatte @kyren-ffxiv @nurakitten @melodies-in-moonlight @bhaldstyr-ahtahrmsyn @fated-fallacy @marjiandco @mythrilreflections @merosmillionmains @bananawaffles12 @gal-the-violet  @kikyo-mihata @littlestcreampuff @mishivymendi @subetei-noykin @the-silent-elementalist @rina-astraea @mireille-lharan @aluray @librasmopatate @toe-ab @akh-afah @kaliheart @shroudblessings @thelionofdalmasca @z-a-n-a ~~ And ANYONE/EVERYONE that wants to take this!

#the thingy #content stuff #we still alive

[edgy-fluffball]

ExR Samhain

Based on @nevermore-plutonianshore‘s prompt: Enjolras and Grantaire meeting at a masquerade ball.

As soon as the faint rattling of the carriage wafted up the promenade out of the fog rising from the river, the bell on the main tower began to toll. The nightmarish sound echoed back from the moors, leaving the will-o’-the-wisps shivering over their marshes. It reached the edges of the dark forests where it got caught in the threatening arch of spindling branches and trunks of the black barked beeches, birches and oak trees in the rustle of a gust of wind. The last leaves clinging to barren twigs sailed to the muddy ground on its back, long dead before they touched the bare earth around roots that desperately hang on for what little footing the gaunt earth promised them. Lastly, the eerie peal drifted down to the shimmering lake, swirling above the surface for a moment before dipping under water, muffled by the crystal waves. The sound of the bells resounded over the abandoned manor house, clinking the window panes in their setting. It chased a couple of ravens off their perch on the bell tower, followed them through the abandoned gardens and settled on the wall surrounding the graveyard beyond the hill.

The ornate wrought-iron gates creaked open, moved by an invisible hand to allow the carriage to enter the courtyard. Its wheels scattered the light gravel in all directions as it took a turn in front of the main entrance, a pale lantern dangling from the coachman’s seat. The figure perched on it was swathed in a cloak that obscured both head and body, leaving nothing to see but the gleaming eyes under the hood. Gloved hands held onto the reigns of four black horses that seemed eager to run on, steam billowing from their muzzles and ears dancing in excitement. The coachman restrained them with obvious struggle. For a moment, the fight seemed undecided, then the horses settled, huffing more steam into the crisp evening air. A door was opened, the carriage house tilted to one side and gravel scrunched under boot soles.

It was as if the house had waited for this sound and the obvious liveliness conveyed by it to show its own life. The torches and lanterns around the courtyard flared up in their holdfasts, the windows shone with candlelight behind them and the front door opened with a bang. A shadow spilled over the stairs, drowning out the light that had escaped from the inside.

The men who had stumbled from the carriage looked up towards the main entrance and the figure leaning against one of the massive stone collums of the erechtheum.

‘There you are then. I have waited for ages,’ he stepped out of the shadows of the collums.

‘You waited long enough to send the ravens,’ one of the newcomers shouted up to him, ‘and Baz couldn’t find his mask –‘

‘- so yes,’ another one chipped in, ‘we are running a little late.��

The four young people came up the stairs. They wore ornate frock-coats with the seams decorated with gold and silber thread, the base cloth of frock, waistcoat and breeches shining in all colours of the rainbow. One of them wore the waistcoat open over a simple shirt, the next one displayed a lavish cravat adorned with a gem stoned broach, another’s waistcoat displayed an extravagant floral pattern reflected in the ornate decoration on the handle of his walking stick, an accessory without doubt. The fourth was the first to reach the top of the stairs, polished boots clicking together at the heels in a salute.

‘The bell tolls, we hurry to your door and await your orders. The year is ended, the curse not lifted, we serve your every will,’ he bowed in front of him with a solemn face, ‘Have you been well, Enjolras?’

Their host welcomed each of them with a hug, careful not to squish their opulent costumes, ‘Thank you, Combeferre. It has been an uneventful time without you, Courfeyrac, have you not grown bored of your mother’s court quite yet?’

‘What, with ‘Ferre and Bahorel there to entertain me? With Feuilly arrived for the Samhain celebrations? Never, dear friend, never,’ he kissed Enjolras’ cheek and looked back to his companions, ‘we had a jolly journey here, the marshes truly are exceptionally uncanny tonight.’

‘They are just right,’ the last of them buttoned up his waistcoat before bowing before Enjolras, ‘there came an owl swooping in over the hollow tree.’

‘The moon is up.’

‘The ravens sent.’

‘The time is now.’

‘The place is here.’

Enjolras motioned for them to enter the house, ‘The four of you have been missed. Is it a year already?’

‘I wonder who is going to be the unlucky victim this year,’ Courfeyrac danced through the entrance hall, swirling around his own axis, ‘which tribe’s turn is it this year?’

‘The lake people,’ Combeferre caught him by the wrist, ‘you can dance all night, darling, don’t tire yourself out now.’

‘Whom are they going to present?’ Feuilly took Enjolras’ hand, ‘you have grown thinner and paler.’

‘Should I be rejoicing at the aspect of another young fay giving their life because an age-old curse will not allow my family to be happy?’ Enjolras lead them up the wide staircase, past gold-plated mirrors and painting frames, over thick, blood-red carpets and polished tiles, ‘Should I be happy about the opportunity to see another young fay go to their death because the elders appointed them into a position they did never plan to hold?’

Feuilly stroked his hair, ‘You are right about that. But until midnight, you can have a good time. Maybe, they do not step forward, maybe they will chose not to tempt fate.’

‘They all have,’ Enjolras motioned to one of the near invisible servants to carry on with their preparations of the evening, ‘why wouldn’t they, prospect of being consort to the seelie court?’

‘Your parents –‘

‘- my parents died trying to lift the curse and it has not changed a thing. We still have to host this damn ball, hoping for a miracle and an epiphany when the masks fall. In here, my friends.’

Enjolras opened the grand valve and waved them in. The servants, had decorated the ball room for the evening enjoyments, banquet and dancefloor parted from each other. The flower garments, bouquets and food platters made for colourful highlights around the otherwise shining, polished surfaces. Chandeliers cast their light onto every reflective surface in the room, the mirrors that would later shine like diamonds, the crystal cuttings on the lamps, the prisms embedded into the floor that would later shine and reflect back from the jewellery and decorations of gowns and coats and from the frail wings some tribes displayed openly.

‘We are all set for tonight,’ Combeferre squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, ‘there is a reason we wear masks. No one will know who you are tonight, no one will know who the lake tribe’s anointed is and maybe, maybe – you will be dancing with them by midnight.’

‘Did you bring my mask?’

‘Of course,’ Feuilly held out a light, soft bag, ‘only the best for the prince of the fay.’

‘And the best the greatest mask-maker beyond the marshes can create,’ Bahorel leaned against him and kissed his cheek, ‘no one will know, Enjolras. Trust us!’

‘He made our masks as well,’ Combeferre showed a similar bag hanging from his belt.

‘Well then,’ Enjolras looked at the mask he held in his hands, ‘I cannot deny it suits my intentions.’

The simple, golden mask relied on its intricate pattern to hide the face of whoever wore it. The right side curled up into something resembling a wave and it emphasised his temples when he held it to his face, turned towards the mirror behind him. Even though it covered little but his cheeks and eye area, it was like looking at a stranger. Bahorel offered to tie the black velvet band behind his head.

‘Combined with those fine hair ornaments it will look even more breath taking than it does already,’ Courfeyrac assured him, placing his own mask and hat combination over his face.

Bahorel nodded once he was done with Enjolras’ mask and put his silver wolf mask on, howling against the high ceiling.

‘To a night of celebration and wonder!’

                                                          ***

Fay from every tribe had gathered in the palatial ball room. The dark night settled over the manor, more lanterns and candles lit every corner of the room and let the sumptuous colours they were wearing shine. A meadow tribe had brought their orchestra and they played one dance after the other to which the young couples spun across the dance floor. The elders of the tribes found pleasure in the food provided, their chattering almost as loud as the waltz music.

Enjolras kept an eye on his friends whilst he danced. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, clearly recognisable by the butterfly and hat mask they wore, danced slowly at one end of the floor whilst Bahorel and Feuilly swayed on the spot in front of the banquet table from where Bahorel would grab a chicken leg or a brochette to nibble on for a while. They had a good time, there was nothing else he could ask for his friends. He accepted another fay’s hand for a dance, his eyes darting towards the great clock on the wall behind the orchestra. Its hands moved towards the twelve, looming over the whole celebration as a certain reminder that one of the merry group would not see the sun rise again.

A soft melody began and he led his partner further onto the floor. Their robe was too lavish for one of the lake folk, the red cloth used betrayed the attempt to seem tribe-less. Enjolras was not meant to be seen as the fay prince and the elders had decided it was the best to keep the chosen suitor’s identity a secret, too. The age-old curse did not discriminate between fay wearing masks and those who didn’t. The masks were a means to think oneself safe. Any masked dancer could be the suitor, any other the prince. If no one knew who they were dancing with, it proved easier to ignore the imminent death of an attendant. Enjolras had stopped thinking about the twenty fay that had died at midnight at twenty Samhain balls before because they were not the anointed suitor and he had danced with them when the bells proclaimed the end of the day. He would find his suitor eventually, the forest elders had said after his parents had sacrificed themselves in a desperate attempt to break the curse that bound their child. Enjolras had known that it had failed. The elders had tried to comfort him.

‘You look sour, my prince,’ a familiar voice brought him back, ‘even behind that mask.’

‘Jehan?’ his eyes darted back to the clock to make sure that he did not endanger his friend, ‘why are you dancing with me? How did you know it was me? Don’t you know – ‘

‘Twenty minutes, my prince, four more dances. As for recognising you, your posture and the line at your mouth gave you away. Additionally, you check the clock before every dance you begin,’ Jehan smiled under their flower-adorned mask.

‘You found me out,’ Enjolras initiated a turn, keeping hold of his friend’s hand, ‘are you going to let me kill another innocent?’

The dance ended and Jehan bowed before him, their smile replaced by a sad expression, ‘You are going to find them. I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, you keep clear of me,’ Enjolras sighed and kissed their hand, ‘dance with Montparnasse tonight and worry not about my wellbeing.’

He turned and found himself welcomed by the next dancer who bowed and slipped their hand in his. The next dance, a slow, solemn waltz began and Enjolras felt himself being drawn back towards the swirling couples. His partner wore a simple, almost unremarkable mask in different green tones. They swayed slightly in his hold, relying on him to lead.

Enjolras looked into their eyes, kind, dark eyes that seemed to encourage him to dare another turn or rotation and felt his feet turn. He led them by their hand and it was easy to do so, moving to the soft melody the orchestra provided them with in the background. No thought entered his mind as he carefully placed his feet on the floor. He could see their reflection in the mirrors as they danced past and, for a moment, it reminded him of his parents dancing when he was watching.

The eerie sound of violins accompanied them on their waltz.

‘You seem a little tense,’ a whisper, nothing more, and yet, Enjolras felt his hair stand on end, ‘are you afraid of dancing with the prince by accident?’

‘Yes,’ he said, trying to recognise the accent his partner spoke with, ‘and you?’

‘No,’ the answer came prompt, ‘we all die at some point and I couldn’t picture anything better than dying after a whole night of dancing, fun and food. One measly curse won’t keep me from having a good time.’

Enjolras nodded slowly. These talks were not uncommon but most of his partners had expressed fear and uneasiness upon the possibility of their untimely death in a ball room. Most of them hurried off afterwards, determined to find a cheerier partner.

This one seemed determined to be in a good mood, ‘Do you want to know my name?’

‘Are names allowed on Samhain?’

‘You tell me. Don’t worry, I won’t press for yours, you seem pale enough under that mask. I’m curious, however – why does someone as seemingly straight-laced as you wear such lavish head ornaments? They do suit you but you seem wary of them.’

Enjolras cleared his throat, ‘Family heirloom. I’d rather wear them than to risk offending some spirit like the royal family did.’

‘No one offended anybody,’ the too-familiar voice said, ‘if you believe that, you probably also believe that iron harms fay!’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Enjolras lifted an eyebrow.

‘See this?’ a finger followed the edge of their mask, ‘Pure iron. It is surprisingly comfortable.’

Enjolras followed their lead and touched the shiny mask, ‘It doesn’t feel painful.’

‘Because iron hurting us is a story we tell our younglings to scare them away from the ironworks in the mountains,’ their partner initiated another turn, ‘by the way, your hair is shiny.’

‘What are you, a dwarf?’ Enjolras grinned and fell into step with them.

‘You would be surprised,’ the dark eyes behind the mask sparkled mischievously, ‘but don’t worry, that was more a spur of the moment remark. It looks soft.’

They turned and Enjolras saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre dance in passing. He was thankful for the mask covering his cheeks since he felt them heat up with blood rushing to his head, his friends would not have let him live it down otherwise.

‘Your hair is soft,’ he brushed it with the back of his hand, as if by accident.

A throaty chuckle rang in his ears as his partner dipped them into a challenging figure. He felt light, freed, his feet found sound footing in every step he took, despite the crowded dance floor and the banquet blocking the doors and windows.

The bell on the main tower began to toll. The nightmarish sound echoed back from the moors, leaving the will-o’-the-wisps shivering over their marshes. It reached the edges of the dark forests where it got caught in the threatening arch of spindling branches and trunks of the black barked beeches, birches and oak trees in the rustle of a gust of wind. The last leaves clinging to barren twigs sailed to the muddy ground on its back, long dead before they touched the bare earth around roots that desperately hang on for what little footing the gaunt earth promised them. Lastly, the eerie peal drifted down to the shimmering lake, swirling above the surface for a moment before dipping under water, muffled by the crystal waves.

Enjolras looked around. The music had stopped. No one moved or made a sound. Midnight had arrived and the consequences of his prolonged dance rushed towards him. He had danced four dances with his iron-masked partner, four dances, of which three would have meant finding his suitor and saving a soul that night. Hot tears welled up in his eyes as he met one shocked pair of eyes after the other. The candles and lanterns had gone out and the darkness beyond the marshes seemed to suffocate the house, seeping in through small gaps and cracks. Quiet whispers burned in his ears, bringing him back to where his dance partner had been a moment before.

‘Another soul lost,’ he whispered, loosening the velvet ribbon that held his mask, the sign for everybody to take off their masks, ‘another young fay claimed for the darkness.’

‘I knew you had little faith in me, but this? This hurts me!’ the all-too-familiar voice breathed into his ear, ‘Turn around, my prince!’

Enjolras did as he was told.

His dance partner stood behind him, dark eyes burning with a fire he could not fathom, one hand on his mask, taking it off as Enjolras watched. A collective gasp went through the rustling rows of fay, a breath held by hundreds let out into the night.

‘My prince,’ his dance partner bowed in front of him, ‘forgive me that I recognised you and decided to keep you close to me, your anointed suitor of the lake tribe. I did not intend to cause you distress.’

‘Grantaire,’ Enjolras breathed, eyes spilling over, ‘is it really you?’

The masks clattered to the ground as he embraced a man he knew, an old friend, a familiar voice without the power of one constantly around him.

‘I hoped I remembered your voice correctly,’ Grantaire’s voice sounded close to his ear, ‘I only had this shot to get you talking. I used Jehan. A little.’

He looked up at Enjolras to meet his gaze, ‘I could not let you suffer through another victim of the curse. It would have broken your heart and my will to live.’

‘The curse is broken?’ someone asked behind them.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his, ‘I believe I have found my suitor. Light the candles, play music! From now on, Samhain can be what it was intended to be, a celebration of our traditions and customs! No fay will ever again fear to be dancing with the wrong partner, no one will have to endure the pain and sorrow of Samhain!’

Grantaire cleared his throat softly, pointing out Combeferre and Courfeyrac close by, both in tears and fighting to get to them. Enjolras turned, embracing them, then Feuilly and Bahorel, Jehan and Montparnasse, his friends who had been at his side all these years. He embraced Grantaire again, feeling like the drowning man after his first free breath, the man dying of thirst after the first gulp of water.

Their hands fir into each other’s as they walked amongst the fay who slowly began to understand what had happened when no lightning bolt struck one amongst them down. A few shy claps were audible, soon joined by others until Enjolras and Grantaire stood amongst a shower of applause. The orchestra continued their piece, not cut short by the gruesome wind and storm that carried one soul away.

For the first time in years, there was dancing on Samhain, dancing as lightsome and carefree that only fay were able to do it. For the first time in years, there were dances after midnight. For the first time in years, Enjolras did not flee the room with a mask pressed to his face. For the first time, he had Grantaire at his side.

#les miserables #les mis #enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #halloween #samhain #fanfiction #fanfic #cursed

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#5yrsago The Borribles [Book Excerpt]

Yesterday, we published

reminiscences from Aimée and Rose de Larabeitti

, the daughters of author Michael de Larabeitti. The stories their father told them stories would go on to publish as the anarchic, anti-authoritarian, and completely wonderful Borribles Trilogy of young adult books. Republished this month by Tor UK (here's

Cory's review!

) we're delighted to present the first chapter of

The Borribles

for your enjoyment. — Eds.

The swirling rain-clouds rushed on revealing the bright moon, and the two Borribles dodged behind the bushes and kept as quiet as they could. There was danger in the air and they could feel it. It would pay to be cautious.

‘Strewth,’ said Knocker, the chief lookout of the Battersea tribe, ‘what a bloody cheek, coming down here without so much as a by-your-leave.’

New ebook edition from Amazon (UK) • Current US edition

Lightfinger, Knocker’s companion, agreed. ‘Diabolical liberty I call it . . . nasty bit of work, covered in fur like nylon hearthrugs . . . snouts like traffic cones . . . like rats, aren’t they?’

‘There’s a big one, just getting into the motor, he’s shouting at the others, he’s the boss all right. Tough-looking, do you see?’

‘Yeah,’ answered Lightfinger, ‘they do what they’re told, don’t they? Look at them move.’

Presently the two Borribles saw the large car drive away in the moonlight, passing along the shining tarmac which led between the trees to the limits of Battersea Park. The car stopped for an instant at the gates and then turned left into Albert Bridge Road and disappeared on its way southwards into the quiet streets of the outer London suburbs.

The two Borribles stood up and looked around. They weren’t too happy in parks, being much more at ease in crowded streets and broken-down houses. It was only occasionally that the Borrible lookouts checked on the green spaces, just to see they were still there and that everything was as it should be.

When Knocker was sure they were alone he said, ‘We’d better see what they were up to over there. Something’s going on and I don’t like it.’

All at once the patch of ground at his feet began to tremble and clumps of grass began to pop up and away from their roots. There was a noise too, a scraping and a scrabbling, and a muffled voice swore and mumbled to itself. The carpet of grass rose and fell violently until a squat protruberance established itself between turf and top soil. The bump hesitated, as if it didn’t know whether to continue upwards or retreat downwards. It grunted, swore again and, as if undecided, took off on a horizontal course, forcing the turf up as it wriggled along.

At the first sign of trouble Knocker and Lightfinger had taken refuge behind a bush but as the bump moved away they came from cover and followed it.

‘It’s got to be . . .’ said Knocker. ‘It can’t be anything else, and down here in Battersea, it’s bad, double bad.’

The mound stopped and shook and struggled and became bigger, and as it grew more clods of grass fell from it. ‘Watch yourself,’ whispered Knocker. ‘It’s coming out. Get ready to jump it.’

Lightfinger and Knocker crouched, their minds racing. The turf rose higher and higher till it was as tall as the Borribles themselves, then it burst and the grass fell away like a discarded overcoat and revealed a dark and sinister shape of about their own size.

It looked like a giant rat, a huge mole or a deformed rabbit, but it was none of these for it stood on its hind legs and had a long snout and beady red eyes, like the things that had gone away in the car.

Knocker gave a shrill whistle and at the signal both he and Lightfinger leapt forward. Knocker got an armlock round the thing’s head and pulled it to the ground while Lightfinger fell onto the hairy legs and bent one over the other in a special hold that could dislocate a knee. The thing shouted so loudly that it would have woken the neighbourhood if there’d been one in Battersea Park. Knocker squeezed it round the neck and whispered, ‘Shuddup, you great fool, else I’ll smother yer.’ The creature shuddupped.

Knocker levered the prisoner into a sitting position and got behind it so he could tie its arms back with a length of rope he took from his waist. Lightfinger moved so that he was sitting on the thing’s legs, looking into the eyes, which were like marbles rolling around at the wide end of the snout.

‘All right,’ said Knocker when he was ready, ‘give it a duffing.’

Lightfinger grabbed the beast by the scruff of its fur and pulled its snout forward. ‘Name?’ he asked gruffly.

The snout moved a little and they heard a voice say in a distinguished tone, ‘Timbucktoo.’

‘Tim who?’ asked Lightfinger again, shaking the snout good and hard.

‘Timbucktoo.’

‘And where are you from, you moth-eaten overcoat?’ asked Knocker, in spite of the fact that he knew the answer.

Timbucktoo shook himself free of the two Borribles and, though his hands were bound, he got to his feet and glared haughtily down his snout, his red eyes blazing.

‘Why, I’m fwom Wumbledom of course, you dirty little tykes. You’d better welease me before you get into sewious twouble.’

‘I knew it,’ said Knocker turning to Lightfinger with excitement. ‘A Rumble from Rumbledom. Ain’t it strange as how they can’t pronounce their rs?’

‘So that’s a Rumble,’ said Lightfinger with interest. ‘I’ve often wondered what they looked like – bloody ugly.’

‘It’s the first time I’ve been this close to one,’ said Knocker, ‘but you can’t mistake them – nasty.’

‘You wevolting little stweet-awabs,’ the Rumble had lost his temper, ‘how dare you tweat me in this fashion?’

‘ ’Cos you’re on our manor, that’s how, you twat,’ said Knocker angrily. ‘I suppose you didn’t even know.’

‘I only know what you are,’ said Timbucktoo, ‘and what I am and that I’ll go where I like and do what I like without having to ask the permission of gwubby little ignawamuses like you. Untie me, Bowwible, and I’ll forget about this incident.’

‘He’s a real pain,’ said Lightfinger. ‘Let’s throw him in the river.’

The moon was clear of clouds again and glinted on the nearby Thames. In spite of himself the Rumble shivered. ‘That will do you no good. I can swim, you know, like an otter.’

‘So you should,’ said Knocker, ‘you look like one.’ And he cuffed the Rumble once more and told him to hold his tongue.

Knocker thought deeply, then he said, ‘I s’pose the river’s the best idea for getting him off our manor, but maybe we ought to take him back and find out more about him, what his mob are up to. I don’t like the look of it; suspicious this is, Rumbles down here in Battersea, it’s wrong. We ought to give Spiff a chance to give this thing the once over.’

‘You’re right,’ said Lightfinger, and they hauled the Rumble to its feet and pushed it towards the park gates.

When they reached the sleeping streets they kept to the dark shadows between the lamp posts and marched rapidly in the direction of Battersea High Street.

*

Borribles are generally skinny and have pointed ears which give them a slightly satanic appearance. They are pretty tough-looking and always scruffy, with their arses hanging out of their trousers. Apart from that they look just like normal children, although legions of them have been Borribles for more than a lifetime – as long as a Borrible remains at liberty he or she will never age.

Most of them have sharp faces with eyes that are burning-bright, noticing everything and missing nothing. They are proud of their quickness of wit. In fact it is impossible to be dull and a Borrible because a Borrible is bright by definition. Not that they know lots of useless facts; it’s just that their minds work well and they tend to dislike anyone who is a bit slow.

The only people likely to get close to Borribles are ordinary children, because Borribles mix with them to escape detection by ‘the authorities’ who are always trying to catch them. Any child may have sat next to a Borrible or even talked to one and never noticed the ears for the simple reason that Borribles wear hats, woollen ones, pulled down over their heads, and they sometimes grow their hair long, hanging to their shoulders.

Normal kids are turned into Borribles very slowly, almost without being aware of it; but one day they wake up and there it is. It doesn’t matter where they come from as long as they’ve had what is called a bad start. A child disappears and the word goes round that he was ‘unmanageable’; the chances are he’s off managing by himself. Sometimes it’s given out that a kid down the street has been put into care: the truth is that he’s been Borribled and is caring for himself someplace. One day a shout might be heard in a supermarket and a kid with the goods on him is hoisted out by a store detective. If that kid gets away he’ll become a Borrible and make sure he isn’t caught again. Being caught is the end of the free life for a Borrible: once in custody his ears are clipped by the police surgeon and he begins to grow into a malevolent and adventureless adulthood, like any ordinary child.

So Borribles are outcasts, but unlike most outcasts they enjoy themselves and wouldn’t be anything else. They delight in feeling independent and it is this feeling that is most important to them. Consequently they have no real leaders, though someone may rise into prominence from time to time, but on the whole they manage without authority and they get on well enough together, though like everybody, they quarrel.

They don’t get on with adults at all, or anyone who isn’t Borrible, and they see no reason why they should. Nobody has ever tried to get on with them, quite the contrary. They are ignored and that suits them down to the ground because that way they can do what they want to do in their own quiet and crafty way.

Knocker and Lightfinger had been on night patrol in Battersea Park when they’d stumbled across the Rumbles and the discovery had made them uneasy. Borribles like to make sure that no other Borrible tribe is encroaching on their territory, that’s bad enough. They live in fear of being driven away from their markets and houses, of seeing their independence destroyed; that is why scouting round the frontiers of their borough is a regular duty.

Unearthing a Rumble was a calamity. They are the real enemies of the Borribles and the Borribles hate them for their riches, their power, their haughtiness and their possessions. If the Rumbles were coming all the way down from Rumbledom to colonize the Park, what price Battersea High Street?

*

Knocker and Lightfinger harried Timbucktoo along in front of them. They went through Battersea Church Road, by St Mary’s down by the river, and then into the High Street. They saw no one and no one saw them, it being well into the early hours of the morning. They were making for an empty house standing opposite the end of Trott Street. It was tall and wide and the bottom windows were boarded up and a sheet of corrugated iron covered the main doorway. The facade of the building was painted over in grey, and in black letters was written, ‘Bunham’s Patent Locks Ltd. Locksmiths to the trade.’

It was a typical Borrible hideaway, derelict and decaying, and Knocker and Lightfinger lived there. Borribles live where they can in the streets of the big cities, but they like these abandoned houses best of all.

The two Borribles halted on the pavement and glanced up and down the street. Nobody. They opened a gate in the railings and Knocker pushed Timbucktoo down some stone steps that led to a basement. The two lookouts followed, opened a door and dragged the Rumble into the house by the neck. Once the door was closed Knocker switched on the light.

The Borribles had entered a large room furnished with orange boxes for use as chairs and tables. Two doors opened from it; one into an underground larder, which served as a storeroom, the other to some stairs which led to the rest of the house. The bay window was covered with scraps of old blanket to prevent light shining into the street and alerting the police that someone was squatting in a dwelling that was supposed to be empty.

‘What we gonna do with him, now we’ve got him here?’ wondered Lightfinger, and he pushed Timbucktoo down into a seat.

‘Yes,’ said the Rumble, looking up, his eyes glinting crimson, ‘you won’t get away with this you know, it’s iwwesponsible. You Bowwibles must be insane. I’ll see you get your ears clipped.’

‘Clip me ears, will yer?’ said Knocker tight-lipped, and he went into the store cupboard. A second later he was out again, carrying a roll of sticky tape. He went over to the Rumble, grasped its head and wound the tape round and round the animal’s snout so that it could no longer speak.

He stood back to admire his work. Lightfinger sat and cupped his face in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees.

‘There,’ said Knocker, ‘that’s the way to deal with a talking mattress.’

‘I’m glad all animals can’t speak,’ said Lightfinger. ‘We’d have meningitis within the week, or run out of sticky tape.’

‘I’ll go and get Spiff,’ said Knocker. He ran up to the ground floor of the house and tapped on the door of a large room that overlooked the back garden, a back garden that Knocker knew was a wilderness of weeds; a dangerous dump of rusting oil drums and broken bicycles.

The door opened a crack and another Borrible appeared. He was perhaps an inch taller than Knocker and his ears were very pointed. He was dressed in a bright orange dressing gown made from new warm towelling. His carpet slippers were comfortable.

‘Who are you? Ah, Knocker, what do you want then?’

‘Sorry to wake you, Spiff,’ said Knocker, ‘but me and Lightfinger found something in the park and think you ought to have a look at it. It’s down in the basement.’

‘Oh Lor’,’ groaned Spiff, ‘can’t it wait till morning? You haven’t got the law on your trail, have you?’

‘No,’ said Knocker, ‘it’s nothing like that. What we’ve got is worse. It’s a Rumble! There was a whole lot of them in a posh car and we caught this one tunnelling. Cheek, ain’t it, coming down here without a by-yer-leave and digging?’

Spiff had become more and more intent on what Knocker had been saying until finally he seemed quite beside himself.

‘A bloody Rumble, in the park? You get back downstairs, me lad, and I’ll come right away. I’ll put me hat on.’

He closed the door and Knocker darted back down the uncarpeted stairs. He understood Spiff’s caution; no Borrible ever left his room without putting on a woollen hat to cover the tops of his ears. It wasn’t that they were ashamed of them, quite the contrary, but they liked to be prepared for an emergency. Any unforeseen circumstance could force them into the streets and it wouldn’t do to be spotted as a Borrible.

‘He’s coming,’ said Knocker as soon as he re-entered the room. ‘He’s a good bloke, you know . . . short-tempered sometimes, but they don’t come any craftier than Spiff.’

‘You can’t get anything past him and that’s a fact,’ said Lightfinger. ‘They say he’s pulled more strokes than the Oxford and Cambridge boat race put together. And they say that he won dozens of names in fights with the Rumbles, and we’re only s’posed to have one. Nobody knows how many names, nobody . . . He’s a mystery, but one thing’s for sure, he hates Rumbles.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Knocker. ‘There’s millions of stories about his names and some of them not very Borrible either, but I’d rather have him for me than against me.’ He sat down and looked at Timbucktoo and thought about names and the gaining of them, something that occupied his every waking hour.

A Borrible name has to be earned because that is the only way a Borrible can get one. He has to have an adventure of some sort, and the name comes out of that adventure – stealing, burglary, a journey or a trick played on someone. That was the rule and Knocker was against it; it made it difficult, if not impossible, for a Borrible to join an adventure once he was in possession of a name. The first chance was always given to those who were nameless and this infuriated Knocker for he had a secret ambition to collect more names and have more adventures than any other Borrible alive.

A noise on the stairs disturbed Knocker’s reflections. He stood up and at the same moment Spiff flung open the door and strode theatrically into the room. His head was adorned with a magnificent hat of scarlet wool and he clutched the orange dressing gown tightly to his chest. Spiff had the clear face of a twelve-year-old child but his eyes were dark with wisdom: the wisdom, so it was rumoured, of a hundred years of existence. His nose was prominent; the kind of nose that smelt out trickery with ease.

He stopped short as soon as he saw the Rumble and he pushed his breath out over his teeth and made a whisper of a whistle.

‘At last,’ he said, like he was praying, ‘at last. It’s been a long while since I had my hands on one of these stinking rodents.’ He turned and beamed at Knocker and Lightfinger. ‘You lads have done marvellous, you’ve captured one alive and well, though he won’t be for long, the little basket. Found him in the park, eh? With hundreds of others, digging holes! That’s how it starts. Down here on our manor, taking it all for granted, think they’re the lords of creation, don’t they? Go anywhere, do what they like, we don’t count.’ He prodded and screwed the Rumble with a rigid index finger as he spoke. He turned to Knocker. ‘You know what this is?’

‘A Rumble.’

‘Yeah, a Rumble.’ Spiff was bitter. ‘No better than you or me for all their la-di-da manners. Years of them I’ve seen, sneerin’ at us down their hoity-toity snouts . . . lords of creation, moving in on our space whenever they think they will.’

Knocker and Lightfinger looked at each other. They had never seen Spiff so angry.

‘Oh, come on, Spiff,’ said Lightfinger, ‘it can’t be that bad; the Rumbles have never done me any harm.’

Spiff jumped a foot from the floor. ‘You don’t know you’re born. You know nothing about the struggles and fights we had to win free. It weren’t easy to stay alive even.’

‘Oh, I know about it all right but that was your time, not mine.’ And Lightfinger leaned against the wall, crossed his ankles and shoved his hands into his pockets.

‘Don’t care was made to care,’ said Spiff sententiously, ‘and history repeats itself; in fact it don’t repeat itself, it just goes on being the same.’

‘Well anyway, what are we going to do with this rabbit?’ asked Knocker.

‘Shove it in the cupboard,’ said Spiff, rubbing his chin. ‘I’ll call a meeting tomorrow. You two can run down the street with the message right now, before you go to bed. I know Borribles don’t like meetings but this is an emergency, and we will have to act and think together for once!’

Spiff took one last look at the Rumble, then he pulled his Borrible hat further on to his head, spun on his heels and left the room. Knocker got the prisoner to his feet and locked him in the store cupboard, then he and Lightfinger left by the basement door and spent the next few hours informing all High Street Borribles what was afoot. Finally the two exhausted lookouts got to their own room at the top of Spiff’s house and climbed into a bundle of old blankets and sacks that formed their bed.

‘Argaah,’ yawned Knocker, ‘what a day.’

‘Goo’ night,’ said Lightfinger, and was immediately asleep.

*

A Borrible’s main business is to stay alive. This is an occupation that takes up most of his time; getting food from wherever he can discover it, finding things before they are lost, stealing his provisions from barrows and out of superstore warehouses: stealing because the fundamental Borrible rule, the rule that is primordial to the way they live, the mainspring and motivation of their very being – rule number one – is that they must never have dealings in money. They have been brought up without it, and they must never touch it. If they do, bad luck and loss of freedom will follow as sure as night the day. That is why Borribles steal, and why they prefer to live near shopping centres and street markets like Brixton and Petticoat Lane, where food is easy to come by.

So important is that aspect of their life that they have many sayings that deal with it and they are all gathered together in the Borrible Book of Proverbs. Some of these maxims are very ancient, like, ‘that which falls off a lorry belongs to him who follows the lorry,’ and ‘That which is found has never been lost.’ One of their favourites is, ‘It is impossible to lose that which does not belong to you,’ and Borribles use that one a lot to people who complain about their thieving.

By eight o’clock on the morning following the capture of Timbucktoo Rumble, Battersea High Street market was in full swing. There were barrows and stalls along each side of the road and so little space was left for traffic that not a car dared venture down there. The barrows had been shoved very close together and it was easy for a Borrible to crawl underneath them from one end of the street to the other, picking up fruit on the way. It was a good way to get breakfast.

The costermongers shouted at each other and at prospective customers, urging them to buy. There were barrows selling fruit, ironmongery, fish and large crabs; the shops had their doors wide open and people were drinking tea in Notarianni’s cafe, talking loudly, making wild gestures with their hands. Brown’s, the pie and eel shop, was doing a brisk business and the inhabitants of the buildings – Archer House, Eaton House and White House – were loafing on street corners and thinking about passing bets in Ernie Swash’s, the bookmaker’s. The noise was so great that it rose right up the side of the house where Knocker and Lightfinger were sleeping and woke them from a deep slumber.

Knocker rolled over and woke his companion. ‘Come on, breakfast.’

He stretched his arms above his head; he hadn’t slept enough. The two Borribles had been out so late the night before that the coster-mongers had been loading their barrows as they came home; finding breakfast had been no problem and it was there beside them: one grapefruit, an orange and two large doughnuts dripping with jam.

Lightfinger rubbed his eyes and the old sacks and blankets dropped from him. He reached for the orange, bit it open and sucked hard, making a lot of noise. The orange was wonderful, fresh-tasting, chilled to ice crystals by the lorry journeys to and from Covent Garden.

‘Ooaagh,’ he groaned with pleasure, ‘that’s lovely.’

‘We’d better hurry up,’ said Knocker, ‘or we’ll miss the meeting.’

Halfway down the High Street was a disused brick-built hall. It had last been occupied by a firm of photographers called Scots of London, but they had departed long since and now the shop fell within the province of the Borribles. It was here that Spiff had asked the members of the Battersea tribe to gather; decisions had to be made and everyone was allowed a say.

Inside the hall, on a kind of podium, stood Spiff in conversation with a score of his cronies. Other Borribles, ragged, dirty and inquisitive, slipped in through broken doorways, and, talking furiously, waited in groups to see what might happen.

The moment he thought enough people were present Spiff stepped to the front of the stage and held up both arms like a politician. He shouted several times and gradually the hubbub of voices became less and less until eventually a kind of excited silence hung on the air, then Spiff began to speak, relishing the occasion, for he took a delight in speechifying.

‘Brother and sister Borribles, I am pleased to see so many of you here, for today is a day of decision. Our way of life is in jeopardy and we must either act together or perish.’

The hall became quieter and the tension rose.

‘Not to beat about the bush, I’ll give you the facts, then anyone who wants a say can have a say. Right, the facts. Last night, our chief lookout and his assistant . . .’

All heads turned to Knocker and Lightfinger.

‘. . . while on a routine inspection of the Battersea area, discovered that we had been invaded by the Rumbles.’

The crowd drew in a deep breath and then let it out again in a long explosion and Spiff looked round for effect and more silence.

‘It seems that a large force came down here, all the way from Rumbledom, and occupied the park for several hours. They were digging! Now, in my opinion, this can only be a preparation for a takeover of Battersea, an attack on our freedom, a new and subtle kind of slavery and a clipping of ears. Things have been bearable as long as the Rumbles have stayed in Rumbledom, where they belong, but this is something else.’

Murmurs of assent came from the assembly but Spiff held up his hand and went on.

‘In my opinion there is only one answer, my friends, pre-emptive defence. We must attack before we are attacked. We must destroy the Rumbles at the heart of their organization. However—’

Spiff broke off for a second and admonished the ceiling with a grubby finger.

‘—to carry out this plan we shall need to search carefully among the ranks of the nameless. From those who have not yet had their first adventure we must select the bravest, the slyest, the craftiest and the most resourceful. It is not only the enemy we have to fear, but the enormous distance between us and him, dangerous terrain. The Rumble is confident in his stronghold, blinded by his own conceit, safe, so he thinks, in the security of his own riches and comfort, but that is where we shall strike, with a handful of chosen Borribles. We shall need dedicated volunteers, but remember, those who go may never return. Blood will be spilt.’

At this there was a terrific hush in the hall and the Borribles looked at each other with trepidation. An adventure was one thing, death another.

‘We feel,’ went on Spiff, ‘that Battersea should not bear this brunt alone. All London Borribles are threatened. To this end messages will be sent out over the city and certain tribes will be asked to send their likeliest un-named champions to us for training and instruction. Likewise, from among the ranks of the Battersea nameless, we shall choose one who shows the greatest promise. We intend to approach the following groups: the Totters of Tooting, the Wendles of Wandsworth, the Stumpers of Stepney, the Whitechapel Wallopers, the Peckham Punch-uppers, the Neasden Nudgers and the Hoxton Humpers. Details of the raid will be worked out when all the candidates have arrived.’

Spiff stopped for breath and the hall became alive and words buzzed like bees. Who, people wondered, would be chosen as the Battersea representative on the expedition? An honour, yes, but a danger too.

Knocker swore to himself. ‘Why do I have my name already? What an adventure it’s going to be.’

Spiff called for quiet again. Now he prepared for his moment of high drama. He made a sign to the side of the stage and the prisoner was brought on for all to see. There was silence. The Rumble was still taped round the snout but its beady eyes glowed a fearful red and it stood upright and unmoved.

‘This,’ shouted Spiff, ‘is the enemy, no braver than us, no more dangerous; but they are difficult of access, living underground as they do, well-protected in their burrows. They are rich and they are powerful, and think themselves superior to all Borribles by divine right. This is the enemy who wants to take Battersea into its grasp. Even now they may be digging under the streets to emerge in your very backyard, even now they may be undermining your way of life, silently; dirty and evil, moles of the underground.’

Spiff took a deep breath and shook his arms in front of his body as if he was emptying a sack of cement; the crowd stirred with emotion. Spiff raised his voice a further notch.

‘This is the enemy, and we all know that they must be stopped at all costs. Yes, but more than that, they must be eliminated, and who are the Borribles to do it? Why we are!’

An enormous cheer rose from the audience. ‘Throw it in the river,’ came a voice from the back of the hall, ‘with a bicycle round its neck.’

This suggestion was so popular that it was taken up on all sides.

‘Yeah,’ came the shout, ‘in the river, steal a bike someone.’

Spiff smiled indulgently. ‘I understand your feelings,’ he looked at the Rumble, ‘but I have a better plan. Let me explain. The one thing that these objects fear above all others,’ he touched the Rumble lightly with a disdainful finger, ‘is disclosure! They would hate to be unmasked and shown for what they really are. In their mythology the greatest possible disaster is what they call the Great Rumble Hunt – an attack on their citadel of power – and we, the Borribles of Battersea, will start that Rumble hunt. But,’ Spiff had to shout across the cheering, ‘this is also to be a war of nerves; we want them to know that something really nasty is on the way – us! And that is where this little rodent comes in. We propose to stick a notice on to the fur of this carpet bag, and send it back to Rumbledom, living proof that we mean business. The message will say, “The Great Rumble Hunt is on. Beware the Borribles!” All those in favour say “Aye”.’

Another enormous cheer rose from the assembly; Spiff’s oratory had done its work, that was what he wanted. Borribles clasped each other, jumped up and down and shouted, ‘We’ll show ’em, we’ll teach them rabbits to come down here.’

As the cheering died away Spiff and his cronies left the building with the prisoner, and the hall gradually emptied as the Borribles went back to their squats, eager to discuss the morning meeting and to wonder who would be chosen as the Battersea ‘no-name’ for the Great Rumble Hunt. Those who were not known for their bravery kept very quiet and decided not to call attention to themselves, for a few Borribles manage to pass through life without ever earning themselves a name. But most are of a different stamp, and they ran to the market without delay, stole paper and wrote directly to Spiff, begging for the position.

But Knocker was disconsolate. He returned home alone, thwarted. He knew there was no chance of him being considered for the expedition to Rumbledom. He went into the basement of the deserted house and made his way upstairs. As he passed Spiff’s door it was thrown open and the cunning face of the most cunning of Borribles appeared, beaming.

‘Right, lad,’ he said, ‘in here. Just the bloke I want, look lively . . . Want a word with you.’

Knocker stepped inside the room, and removed his woollen cap; he had good pointed ears, a sign of high intelligence and alertness. Spiff smiled and settled into an armchair that must have fallen from a very expensive furniture lorry.

‘Sit down, lad,’ he said. ‘I wanted to thank you for your good work last night, champion that was, champion . . . but now I want to ask your advice. As you know, there are eight Rumbles in the Rumble High Command. I’m sure that if we can eliminate them, the rest of the Rumble set-up will fall to pieces, they’ll be too busy even to think of us any more. So that’s why I thought of sending eight Borribles only, one for each High Rumble. There will be one from Tooting, Hoxton, Wandsworth . . . You heard all that already. But, Knocker, who are we going to send from Battersea? The point is, you are out and about a lot, you see a lot of Borribles in action, who do you think would be a good choice?’

Knocker thought for a while. ‘It’s tricky,’ he said at length. ‘There’s quite a few who are good. There’s a bunch of bright lads down by the river, some others under the railway arches at Battersea Park station, but I think the brightest of the lot, out of the whole borough, is one who lives up on Lavender Hill, bright as a button and smart as paint.’

‘Whereabouts does he hang out?’ asked Spiff.

‘Underneath the nick,’ said Knocker.

‘Underneath the nick!’ cried Spiff. ‘He must be mad.’

Knocker laughed. ‘Oh, no. Bright. There’s a stack of rooms up there that are left empty every night. It’s centrally heated, blankets galore, constant electricity. You name it, he’s got it. In fact he’s very friendly with some of the coppers – the Woollies.’

‘Hmm,’ said Spiff, ‘and he’s a no-name?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right,’ Spiff went on, ‘that’s settled then. Send a runner up to Lavender Hill and get that wazzisname down here. As soon as the other seven come in from across London we shall have to begin a training session. As well as that, I want you to get some volunteers to do some spare-time thieving. We’re going to need lots of things for this expedition: grub, weatherproof clothing, high-quality catapults, watches, compasses, anything that might be useful . . . so get that organized. I know you’ve got your own thieving to do, and so have the others, but do what you can . . . We can’t afford to fail.’

Knocker nodded. His heart was bursting with pride, he was being involved in the Great Rumble Hunt, which was more than he had dared to hope.

‘Is there a chance of anything else, Spiff?’

‘What do you mean? You can’t go on the expedition, you know, that’s a rule.’

‘I know that. It’s, well, you said they would have to be trained. I’m a good Borrible lookout, well, I could train them . . . couldn’t I?’

Spiff gave Knocker a long look, a look that went right through him and saw everything. ‘Hmm,’ he said, smiling a secret smile, ‘you are keen, aren’t you? How many names have you got?’

‘Just the one,’ answered Knocker feeling uncomfortable.

Spiff chuckled. ‘You know what Knocker, you reminds me of me. You didn’t have to ask, I’d already thought of you . . . yes, you can train the team.’

Knocker got up to go, feeling proud of himself.

‘Here, take this envelope,’ said Spiff, ‘it’s instructions about the Rumble; he’s downstairs in the cupboard. Send him packing. Try not to let anyone see him, they might still chuck him in the river.’

Knocker ran downstairs and opened the cupboard. Sure enough the Rumble was there, his paws tied behind him and a notice glued on to his fur. Two other lookouts came into the room and leant against the wall to watch as Knocker read his instructions. When he had finished he removed the tape from the animal’s snout and sat it on a grape barrel.

‘You are being sent home, Rumble, alive. Take that message to your leaders and tell them what you have seen and heard.’

Knocker turned to the lookouts. ‘You two can escort him on the first stage of the journey. This envelope has instructions from Spiff. Take him to Clapham Junction and hand him over to the next Borrible tribe. Then he can be taken to the Honeywell Borribles, and they can take him up to the Wendles beyond Wandsworth Common; from there the Wendles will take him to Merton Road. This letter goes with him and explains what should be done at each stage. Finally, he should be released as near Rumbledom High Street as possible and allowed to find his way home. Any questions?’

The two lookouts shook their heads.

‘Right,’ said Knocker, ‘as soon as you’ve got rid of him report back to me. It is very important that he gets home in one piece, though it doesn’t matter what he looks like; the rougher the better. We’ve got to frighten the fur off every Rumble in existence.’

Timbucktoo jumped to his feet at this. ‘You don’t fwighten me, Bowwible, nor your fwiends. You don’t know what you’re taking on. We’ll be keeping a watch out for you; you’ll be skewered on our Wumble-sticks before you get a sight of Wumbledom Hill. You may be safe down here in your gwimy stweets and stinking back-alleys, but Wumbledom is a wilderness with twackless paths that only we can follow. This means war.’

Knocker swiped the Rumble round the ear, almost affectionately. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘you old doormat, before I knock that snout of yours through the back of your bonce.’

At a sign from Knocker his two assistants hauled the Rumble from the room on the first stage of his long and perilous journey, a journey on which he would be passed from hand to hand like a registered packet in the London post.

The Borribles is being re-released by Tor UK with an introduction by China Mieville

New ebook from Amazon (UK) • Current US edition

https://boingboing.net/2014/01/18/the-borribles-book-excerpt.html

[fortunatowrites]

The Accident of Life

Writing Prompt: You are can tell when someone’s going to die soon. You never try to change things but one day you see someone you love is going to die soon.

“My place in this world is an accident,” he said after a shot of scotch.

“All of us are an accident,” she replied musingly.

“Hmm?”

He looked up from his drink to the girl across the bar.

“Stardust and gases fused through explosions, time, and gravity. I think that’s right, at least,” she smirked.

He chuckled. “You’re right. I’m an accident made by accidents.”

She tilted her head at him, her short auburn hair falling over her face. It was a thing she did when confused and something that he smiled at with a sigh. She was wonderful, but he could never be a part of her life or invite her into the awfulness that was his.

The gruff man rapped upon the bar for another glass. As he watched the bartender filled the glass again, his mind drifted back.

One week ago, in this bar, he sat back in the corner leaning a chair against the wall. His brimmed hat tilted over to shadow his face and give the false implication of sleep. Most people ignored him, thinking he was some weird cowboy wanna-be.

At the bar, two men talked loudly and rudely. Their topic was the women they’ve been with and who they’d want to be with, who was off limits, and what was next to do. Their eyes occasionally watching a nearby woman drinking at the bar.

It wasn’t until many drinks later that she would finally leave the bar. She would leave unfortunately unaware of the two ruffians following her. The stranger tilted his hat up to get a good look at the men finishing their drinks. One of them was glowing red. He smiled and let a thought go across his mind before blinking. Now they were both glowing red. That was all he needed to get up and discreetly follow them.

-

Now, back at the bar.

The Stranger swirled his scotch around, letting the ice cubes clink around.

“You’re acting strange today,” spoke the woman.

“Isabel,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I’ve done bad things.”

“We’ve been drinking together for a long time, buddy! I know you too well to believe that,” she said, beaming a smile.

“Heh.”

The idea was very amusing to him that she would believe him to be that type of person. The idea itself that he could even pass as a person was amusing.

-

One month ago, in the alley behind the bar. There was the steady sound of liquid splashing against the wall of a nearby building. The Stranger leaned back, hidden in the shadows behind a dumpster. The overwhelming stench of trash wasn’t bothering him as he watched the drunk man pee against the wall. Soon, another man approached him and brandished a blade. He was glowing red in the Stranger’s eyes.

“Give me all you got!” he barked.

“Huh?” the drunk slurred, turning and peeing on the mugger.

“Bastard!” the mugger shouted with a shove, knocking the drunk back into the alley.

As the mugger approached his prey, the drunk produced a gun and fired. The mugger dropped his knife and gasped as he collapsed to his knees. The drunk muttered something hateful as he got up and fumbled his pants. He tried to spit on the bleeding man, but missed. Then he simply stumbled away.

The Stranger smiled as he stepped out of the shadows and approached the bleeding man. The mugger looked up with an absolute fear in his heart.

-

Now.

“You’ve always brought out my best. Drinking with you has made me feel good,” spoke the Stranger.

“Stop talking like I’m going away somewhere! It’s weird,” she said laughing.

He took a swig of the scotch and gritted his teeth. It was strong, but liquor always tasted particularly strong to him.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, flashing her a grin.

“Only if we’re walking to get hot dogs.”

“My treat.”

-

Three months ago.

A bridge, a long walk away from the alley, sits over a shallow river. A man glowing blue is stumbling through the woods, frightened beyond belief. The branches snap and dried leaves crumble and crack underneath his feet. A dog was charging behind him, barking wildly with anger. As he reached the edge of the woods, he looked back to see if he could still see the wild beast. He did not see it. Nor did he see the large rocks before him.

With a loud yelp, he tripped and stumbled, striking his head against a rock and leaving him in a state between conscious and unconscious. Possibly survivable, if not for the fact he landed face first into the river. The dog reached the edge and sniffed the air. It caught whiff of the Stranger, whimpered and ran.

The Stranger stepped out from beneath the bridge and walked over to the man, watching the bubbles around his head gurgle and pop. He smiled a toothy grin and stooped low over the man.

A woman stepped into view, walking upon the water’s surface. The Stranger looked up at her, her glowing beauty shrouded in dark colors. She was an absolute contrast of the gruff looking scoundrel standing opposite her besides the drowning man. Two creatures of the night, well dressed and ready to perform unearthly actions.

“His time to pass is almost upon us. I don’t see signs of partnership, stranger,” her lovely voice spoke.

It was like the caring gentleness of a whisper but loud enough to be heard clearly across a rumbling stream.

“I’m hungry,” he replied.

She scoffed, “Blue ones are meant for higher things. But the red ones… they’re left to a different cause.”

“I want this one. I’ve been waiting.”

“Are you sure?” she said as a fountain of water began to rise besides her. She reached into it and pulled out a black handled scythe with a large crescent moon blade, shining with moonlight.

“Fine,” he said, retreating under the bridge. “But can you take care of these other bodies?”

The lady of the water looked with a slight disapproval at the corpses that were under the bridge in the Stranger’s lair.

-

Now.

The woman ate her hot dog and watched the Stranger light a cigarette. He sat across the table from her and let the smoke drift upwards, aiming away from her.

“You know I don’t care if you smoke around me,” she said with a mouthful of food.

“It can’t be enjoyable though,” he said holding the glowing stick aloft.

“Or can it?”

He let out a huff of air that could best be described as a polite laugh.

“So what did you mean by accident? My parents didn’t plan for me either.”

“Parents...”

It hung in the air for a moment as he pondered the subject.

“I have one parent,” he began.

“Ah, a donor? Sounds like the opposite of accident. Super planned.”

He smiled as he continued, “He summoned me in the hopes that I’d make him stronger.”

She tilted her head and smirked as she tried not to laugh. They locked eyes and he took another drag of his cigarette before deciding to jump straight to the point.

“I can tell when people are going to die...”

“Oh yeah?” she said with a disbelieving smile, bright white against her blue glow.

-

Six months ago, in an abandoned shack deep in the woods outside of town.

The robed man returned with a bucket of water from the river nearby. Walking over to a large wooden receptor, he poured it into a strange trough-like contraption that made the water flow in a circle around the center of his shack. The Stranger sat in the middle, arms crossed and in a huff. He was directly in the middle of a red pentagram-like symbol on the floor. Candles were lit around the room, surrounding the trough.

“I’ll bring you the last sacrifice tonight,” spoke the robed man’s raspy voice.

The Stranger simply glared at him, watching his every move traced in a dark red aura that glowed magnificently. Many self inflicted scars covered the face of this wicked man.

“Still not saying anything more to me?” spoke the man.

The Stranger sat silently until sundown.

“About time for you to go,” he grumbled.

“You must be hungry if you’re giving me reminders.”

The man gave an evil grin the the Stranger, but the Stranger simply sat and stared. The man grumbled and went off to his corner of the shack. He adorned his costume and then the robed man set off into the night. A few hours passed by before a sudden knocking on the door.

The Stranger perked up. Sounds of movement outside the door went to the window, where someone was trying in vain to see inside. The windows were barred and draped, but the old dirtiness and cobwebs would have been just as good.

“Please...help me...” the Stranger pleaded, imitating a person in danger.

“Oh my god!” came the muffled voice.

“I’m alone and hurt...”

“I’ll save you!”

Sure enough, the wayward traveler found their way inside. They were glowing blue and the Stranger couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, how I’ve waited for someone like you.”

-

Now.

They went back to her apartment and the Stranger sat in a chair next to her bed. She was tossing and turning, thinking it was just from a night of drinking and partying. The Stranger didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was dying. His guess was that she was bit by something terribly poisonous while wandering the woods the morning before.

“It’s been a while,” spoke the whispered voice.

The Stranger sat silently.

“Did I not tell you to stick to Reds? I even ignored when you would bring down associates of reds early.”

Still he said nothing. She summoned the scythe.

“I won’t let you take her,” he stated, still refusing to physically acknowledge her.

“Then you’ll go with her,” returned her whispered threat.

“Gladly,” he said, still not turning towards her.

About ten minutes passed before he had the courage to look over. The room was empty.

“Just this once, demon.”

The Stranger turned back to the woman struggling on the bed. Her brilliant blue glow was dimming slowly. He couldn’t help but gasp with relief. The burning of a tear ran down his face as he watched her glow completely fade.

“Thank you,” he spoke in a hushed whisper.

#short stories #short story #creative writing #writing prompt #writing practice #free writing #demon

[rachelisnotatwork]

Week 2: in which it is very windy and we nearly drown (spoiler alert) but we do find a giant prawn

On Monday we left our rather gorgeous B&B in Kalbarri and headed further up North. The drive was a bit...monotonous. There was literally nothing to stop at or see for three hours, nor even any corners. Just a straight road, one lane in either direction, and some dead kangaroos by the side of the road.

After three hours, we reached the start of the peninsula we were going to stay on. Our first stop off was stromatolites. In case you don’t know what this is (I didn’t) it is a microbial mat that gradually builds up and turns into a rock. This is just as scenic as you imagine it to be. I was...underwhelmed. Apparently they were very important in oxygenating the earth and early life, so I guess thanks? The best bit was it was near the only shop for several hundred kilometres and they sold magnums, so ice cream and toilet stop win (no wilderness wees for me here since everything is toxic and I’m bad at spotting wildlife).

Our next stop was a place called shell bay, which is a super saline bay (evapouration, lack of currents etc) that only has one type of cockle living and dying there in epic proportions. It was quite pretty so I guess that wins over microbial mats. We also got asked by some tourists where the nearest petrol station was because their reserve light was on and had been for ages. The news there were none for at least 50km was not received well.

Our final stop off was Eagle Bluff, which is an overlook with a boardwalk. We saw a turtle from above, and I learnt about nervous sharks, which are frankly the only sharks I feel I might be on board with since I like timidity in my biting predators. 

I also learnt about the existence of stone fish, which it suggests you take precautions to avoid. I was already concerned about going in the sea due to sharks, jellyfish, saltwater crocodiles and sea snakes (which I wasn’t even aware were actual creatures, not mythological beasts until this trip). I googled stone fish and added them to the “For Fuck’s Sake” list. Apparently they hang out looking like a stone (or bury themselves in the sand) but unlike a stone their backs are covered in spikes that can penetrate a boot sole and these are covered in agonising toxins that can both kill you and if doesn’t kill you, forever wither your limb due to the nerve damage. Fabulous.

We finally drove into Denham in the late afternoon. It is a town of 600 people in the middle of nowhere but it has a surprisingly decent supermarket. After a late afternoon snack of vintage cheddar and pumpernickel, we set out for a walk.

We tried somewhere called the Little Lagoon first. On the way we saw an echidna crossing the road and were very glad, since some tourists had stopped on the opposite side of the road to photograph it, that we hadn’t swung around the corner 20 seconds earlier and flattened it in front of the crowd. The lagoon itself was very dull, but we did follow the creek of it to the beach to enjoy sunset.

Directly after sunset the wind really picked up, which was a bit alarming as we are staying in a mobile home (accommodation is both sparse and expensive) and it started to creak somewhat ominously with the wind. We did however survive until morning which is always a plus.

Tuesday morning we drove across to Monkey Mia (deeply confusing name as there are definitely no monkeys in Australia but it is something to do with aboriginal names for dolphins and a pearling ship) to go on a nature spotting boat trip.

Monkey Mia is some sort of national park reserve but in a deeply un-national park fashion, they feed the dolphins in the morning (whilst putting up lots of signs telling you how feeding wildlife is awful and you mustn’t do it). This is mainly at 7.45am, which might as well be never on my schedule, so we thought we wouldn’t bother as they only sometimes feed them later. But luckily for us, we embarked on our boat tour just as they started feeding some so we got some great views of greedy dolphins indulging in unnatural behaviour (which is obviously exactly what you want on a nature cruise).

At first I was a little dispirited as our boat featured a crowd of elderly pensioners from a coach tour, so thought the whole trip would be full of elderly fallers and people bawling to hear each other over their hearing aids. But actually the first pensioner who struck up a conversation with us had emigrated to Australia 60 years ago because her husband was a doctor and he was horrified about the NHS coming into being. So they headed off down under and he became a rural doctor in the middle of nowhere, providing all the medical services a hospital probably does now and she used to assist him when he did operations on the kitchen table. Now she seemed to be off having a great time not being old- after explaining how the last time she hung out in the net they drag off the back of the boat so you get repeatedly dunked (it’s for kids and she said she thought “Am I too old for this? And then thought NO”), she headed off to climb onto the roof of the boat. She later did a Titanic impression and gave us pilfered cheese and crackers. My new life goal is to be her when I’m old. The next one told us about how he grew up in Perth but his sweetheart was in Tasmania, so he used to load up his car with days worth of petrol, water and food and head out across the untarmacked enormous Nullarbor desert hoping for the best. Made us feel a bit wussy with our aircon and cooler bag full of snacks in the car.

In addition to fun pensioner spotting, we also saw a lot of dolphins and turtles. One of the dolphins even decided to hang out at the front of our boat, surfing the bow wave and doing twirls in it. We then spent a long time cruising to look for dugongs, and getting irritated because we kept spotting turtles instead. Eventually we did see a mother and calf, although given how they swim you couldn’t really see the faces which are the most distinguishing part.

We cruised back and laughed at some pelicans on the beach.

Then we ate lunch at a restaurant overlooking the shore. From the terrace you could see the water. In which two children frolicked. We watched as a dolphin slowly swam closer and closer until he surfaced right behind one of the kids, who was a boy of about ten. Said child turned, saw the dolphin, shot about ten foot up into the air and ran out of the ocean in flailing all of his limbs. Pretty sure the dolphin was laughing.

After lunch we decided since there were so many dolphins just merrily splashing about in the water, we’d go kayaking. We rented a kayak. We headed out into the water. All of the wildlife immediately disappeared and the wind picked up so we spent about an hour trying not to get blown out to sea.

After we got back to shore some children were encircling a goanna. With the touching faith children have in adults, they asked me if it was dangerous. I said yes, because I think you have to assume everything here could probably liquefy your organs with a scratch. So apologies to those parents, as I assume their kids are probably having nightmares about lizards now.

When we had booked our original boat tour, we also got a free sunset cruise with the same company. So at 16.45 we headed back to the jetty to see that all the dolphins who had spent the last hour hiding were currently participating in a right by the shore war with the pelicans, who were giving as good as they got. Apparently pelicans piss dolphins off by following them around. When the dolphin has diligently found a fish and herded it to the surface, before it can move in for the kill the pelican that has been tailing it swoops in and nabs the fish. Knew pelicans had the look of right bastards about them.

That was about the best animal spotting we had on the sunset cruise. The dolphins aren’t supposed to be fed after midday but I concluded from the fact they kept hanging around all day by the feeding part of the shore, that they are like cats. Eternal optimists and poor time-keepers, always hoping someone might give them some fish.

The cruise was beautiful but the wind really picked up. To 31 knots, to be precise, which is 35mph, which is a lot more wind then you want when it is getting cold, you are in summery clothes and you are very, very exposed on the roof of a catamaran. They had to lower the sail because they were concerned the wind was going to damage it.

When we got back to shore there was another dolphin being scenic and hanging out right by the beach, which made our rather windy trip and cold trip seem rather pointless. But on the way home, driving carefully to avoid a kangaroo massacre, we did see a gorgeous blood red moon rising.

Wednesday we set off to drive to our next spot, the town of Carnarvon. We got there sufficiently early to waste most of the afternoon buying a hat for Marcel (indecisive is too weak a term. There needs to be new vocabulary for the experience of shopping with Marcel), but there was a brief amount of time left to visit a local attraction, the blowholes. They are a bit out of town past some huge salt plains and at a turn off marked with a huge sign saying “King Waves Kill”. This is not hugely reassuring when you are off to stand on a cliff edge drenched by them. It was incredibly windy up there. So windy that the lifebelt on a pole had been flattened to the ground. As a consequence it was not the most relaxing or enjoyable stop. We tried to walk on the beach near it, but again felt like the wind was going to scour the flesh off our bones. Western Australia is...breezy.

Instead we decided to have a wander in town and walked across the old tram lines to Whitlock Island. We didn’t get as far across as the other side of it though, where they have a (sadly shut at the moment) one mile jetty out to sea. Apparently boats used to offload there and then their cargo was carried on trams that used SAILS to help them travel back down the jetty and across the island and into town.

This isn’t the only slightly strange thing about Carnarvon. The reason we had stopped there was to visit the space museum, as during the space race years there was an active station there for communicating with space craft. I had always assumed they just chatted with Houston, but at various different points across the globe they had stations manned by scientists and astronauts to communicate with the space crafts at different points in their orbits. The museum was rather sweet and featured a huge cat called Buzz who liked to sit on the counter and ignore visitors. 

Carnarvon was also, strangely, the site of the first live broadcast to and from the UK, because of some satellite they put into the wrong level of orbit, which afforded them 12 minutes to time to broadcast live TV. The BBC decided to use this to provide an early version of video chat and they had an old TV playing the broadcast from the 1960s of very awkward people in Carnarvon talking to similarly awkward parents and siblings sitting in a studio in the UK. Oddly fascinating.

Carnarvon is a huge fruit growing town, so on the way out of town I made Marcel stop so we could buy two of the hugest papayas I’ve seen in my life that I lovingly wrapped in his jumper on the back seat. We then drove on up to Exmouth.

Exmouth is a surprisingly charming town located up on a peninsula by the Ningaloo reef. It is surprisingly lively for it’s size and we stayed in a lovely place (the Ningaloo B&B should you ever find yourself in that part of the word) where our hostess took the local tourist magazine and showed us all the best places to snorkel, shop and eat. We had a great dinner that night at a craft beer and pizza place called the Whalebone Brewing Company. Marcel was in seventh heaven.

The next day we headed into the national park. We had decided to go for a couple of the walks and then snorkel to cool down. The walks were fine, although we failed to see any of the parks famed rock wallabies. 

We then decided to head to the beach to snorkel. Our first stop was Oyster Stacks, which they advised could only be snorkelled at mid-high tide. It was alas low tide. So we got out and headed to the next bay.

The next beach along was called Turquoise Bay. The tourist magazine produced by the town recommended the “drift loop” where you walk up the beach, get in and swim out and then drift along the shore over the coral “before getting out near the sandbar”. We drove to the car park where there was a warning that because of currents only moderate to strong swimmers should go in the water. I felt we both hit the category of moderate, so we headed out.

The next ten minutes were an interesting lesson of how good times can go bad exceptionally quickly. The water was pretty cold but the current was managable- it was down the beach but I checked at the entry point that I could swim out and back without drifting at all. So we set out over the reef. The water was cold but we saw some beautiful fish and a 5ft reef shark swam right by us, which was pretty cool (they are generally known to be massive wusses so we weren’t concerned). We were reaching the sandbar so we decided to get out. Only to find that the current here was pretty much a riptide out and around the sandbar. We couldn’t really swim through it to the shore. We got to a point where we should have just about been able to stand and Marcel could, but I was just skidded along the seabed and further towards the sandbar. I kept fighting, getting a face and mouth full of seawater to get in a bit shallower and the tide pulled my flippers off my feet, which I think is the definition of a tide that NO swimmer, regardless of strength, should be in. Eventually I was shallow enough to bury my feet in, and then shallow enough to bury my hands and feet in because the current was so strong I still couldn’t stand in it. So eventually I crawled out the water, farily traumatised with cuts on my toes from where the flippers were ripped off and a fairly large bruise on my hand from it hitting something. A later read of tripadvisor had lots of helpful information from locals about the fact that you shouldn’t swim there at low tide nor go anywhere near the sandbar as the combination of low tide and a hole in the reef near the sandbar creates a riptide out through the reef into the bay. Which would be undesirable in many, many ways as no one would have noticed we were gone, the waves outside the reef are fairly huge and smash down on the reef and it was already late afternoon, so doubt anyone would have spotted our distress. So thanks a bunch National Parks Service and the local tourist information literature for forgetting to mention those fairly important facts for people who don’t want to drown.

At this point I was fairly keen to go home and never see the ocean again. We headed back and celebrated our survival by eating a kilo (and I’m not joking there) of papaya; these papayas were the size of a calf’s head. Bloated, we headed out to an astronomy evening I had booked, which was delightful. The sky around there is very clear and very dark and in winter and spring, you can see Venus, Jupiter, Saturn and Mars in the night sky, all of which we saw with the telescopes. The views were so good you could see the ice cap on Mars.

The next morning we woke up to find an emu with his 4 chicks hanging out in the front garden. Emu fathers raise the chicks for 18 months and are pretty defensive of them, so we stayed safely inside the porch.

We had had more snorkelling planned for the next day but I flat out refused to go into the sea despite Marcel’s claim I shouldn’t let one bad experience put me off (I feel like near-drowning is a very good reason not to ever go in the sea anywhere in Australia ever again, or possibly any sea anywhere ever again) so I left him to it and told him I’d be on the look out for if he got swept out beyond the reef. We had a picnic afterwards on sandy bay, which is beautiful, albeit it windy. 

Saw a few huge sea turtles pootling about on our walk there but this wasn’t enough to tempt me back into the sea. On our way back we stopped at the lighthouse. In WW2 it was an important defence site and it is mostly interesting as no one ever removed the sandbags and over the last 70 years they’ve pretty much turned into rocks. They also had some information about the early Qantas flights to Europe, which used seaplanes and were very, very slow. They were up in the air without landing for over 24 hours at a time, so long you’d see the sunrise twice and this was celebrated on landing with a card certifying your membership of the “rare and secret order of the double sunrise”. Times really were more exciting then.

We had to head back earlier than the previous day though because on the advice of our host we’d booked into a whale-watching tour. I have never really bothered signing up for a whale watching tour before as I felt it was unlikely we’d see much of them and Marcel gets really sea sick, so the thought of paying a small fortune to watch Marcel hyperventilate and vomit (whilst not seeing any sea creatures) was not appealing. But this was inside the other side of the penisula (the bit without the coral, badly signed beaches and riptides) which is super calm and this area is where the whales stop on their migration down from the Kimberley area (where they give birth) back to Antarctica, to teach the babies social skills somewhere safe.

I was hoping our boat would be empty as their was some super important Aussie Rules football match on (I didn’t think it was possible to care less about football, but then I discovered they have this weird subtype of it down here that I care even less about) but alas there were other tourists. We headed out and within about 5 minutes were treated to a baby humpback whale repeatedly breaching and playing by the side of the boat. It was super cute. I was ecstatic. And then to continue the theme of bad luck with cameras and sea life, my camera which had claimed it was fine for battery power that morning packed up and died of low battery.

Thankfully I had my iPhone as over the next few hours we were repeatedly treated to the sights and sounds of whales breaching, fin slapping, tail slapping and blowing. Since most of them were mothers and calves, each action by the mother would be copied a few seconds later by the calf. It was pretty amazing. There were so many whales in the bay that looking across the ocean, the plumes of water from whales blowing looked like molehills scattered over a lawn. We also saw a couple of “heat runs”, which is a collection of randy males swimming after a female, hoping to impress her. Even the boat staff said they didn’t normally see this much activity. I felt a bit sorry for them because they were trying to serve canapes but everyone was ignoring them for the whales. It was incredible. I almost forgave Exmouth for the near-drowning. But I didn’t because, epic grudge.

The next morning we set off for Tom Price. On the way out of town I found this giant prawn, and was very happy. Australia is famous for big things by the road (presumably to break up the monoty) and this was the first one we’d spotted.

Tom Price is a mining town, best described as “in the middle of nowhere”, whose only redeeming feature is its proximity to a national park. The option was staying there or glamping. There is no glamour possible in camping, and I do not camp, so the mining town it was.

The drive was about 7 hours. We passed ONE petrol station in 6 hours and two feral cows. That was it for signs of human habitation and animal life. Just a straight road, one lane in either direction, occasional cars passing in the other direction. 

We listened to a lot of Bill Bryson’s “Down Under”, which has done nothing to soothe my fears of death by animal life. There are two roads into Tom Price, a more direct one that is used by the mining traffic but is unpaved, and a much longer paved road to the only other town in the area. We took that one, so did get to see some civilisation, and at about that point some hills, which I tell you after pretty much entirely flat desert from Perth is pretty exciting.

The accommodation options in Tom Price are...limited. We were staying in a cabin in a caravan park. Except by cabin, it was more really a converted shipping container into a tiny very basic studio. The interior décor was… a single fridge magnet for the local rural suicide hotline.

I decided to do some laundry before dinner. The laundry room was rather 1970s, and probably to prevent you getting decent value for money, all the knobs to select the cycle on the washing machines had been removed so I put my laundry in under the suspicion what I was actually getting was a cold wash.

I headed back out to get my wash with Marcel. On the way we noticed dozens of tiny frogs. How cute I thought. I removed my washing from the machine to find...one in the bottom of the drum. I was horrified to think I’d killed a frog, but then I realised it was staggering around, head tipped askance and clearly very dizzy (later a friend directed me towards an article about how Nasa used frogs to investigate how the human vestibular system would function in space as apparently frogs have very similar ones to ours and get motion sick from the same activities, so I felt very guilty). Having no idea whether the frog was toxic (as everything else here bloody well is), we spent ages with an elderly magazine we’d found trying to scoop it out of the machine. 

It eventually climbed aboard and staggered off into the night to live another day. I then spent a frantic amount of time googling frogs to see if I had washed some toxic frog venom off said frog and onto my clothes. Looks like it was a harmless desert tree frog though. Probably one of only two creatures that can’t kill you here. And so ended week 2, with a slightly higher drama laundry load than I’d anticipated.

Ways I’ve thought I might die in Australia this week:

Death by stone fish, collapsing mobile home and/or ending up in Oz after we disappeared in a tornado, swept out to sea by a king wave whilst admiring a blowhole, capsized on a windy sunset cruise, death by riptide (actually not paranoid about that one but entirely reasonable), eviscerated by an overly defensive emu dad, squashed by a large whale breaching onto our boat, killed by frog toxin from envenomed underpants.