#also started balling at the olive garden once as a young child and when asked why said the music was sad

[majorshatterandhare]

Something about The Littlest Libertine (the song) makes me feel about to cry and I don’t know why. Something nostalgic maybe? All kinds of music made me cry as a kid.

#jessica law #the littlest libertine #i mean part of it is probably the whole ‘selling your most valuable shoes and strategically planning your meals to not spend more on food’ #but also. if only it actually made me cry. im in need of a new song to use to cry when i need to but cant #walk like thunder by kimya dawson isnt guarenteed to do it anymore #legit though lots of kids music made me cry as a kid #obviously the one about the dog dying #but also from the time i was a baby i have *hated* you are my sunshine because its about a kid being taken away from their parents! #people forget about that verse #my mom used to joke that i hated her singing and would sing it to show people that id start balling! i dont remember that though. #just always hated it #also started balling at the olive garden once as a young child and when asked why said the music was sad #the music was completely in italian (i dont know italian) #autistic hyperempathy/hypersensitivity 🙃 #but also like music itself does portray emotions. thats not crazy. just not expected from a young kid i guess?

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

FIRST CHAPTER OF PART 2 OF THE RELUCTANT FIANCE

So excited to get started!!

M/M Romance, Arranged Marriage  - Also available on AO3

Chapter 1: A New Life

Excerpt: “Speak, you useless boy! Our future was secured! We were the most envied family in the city to have gotten Shawdun! What have you done?!”

I was awoken in the morning by the sound of two carriage drivers yelling at each other. Horses whinnied. It was far more noisy than I was used to but I would adjust soon enough. Our new house was closer to the street with no winding carriage drive or luxurious gardens to block the sounds of the city at our doorstep. We weren’t quite deep enough into town to hear the market stall owners hawk their wares--the “pitious boulevards of the hoi polloi” as Father called it--but certainly closer. I yawned, stretched, and smiled as Mary, one of our two new maids--Mother’s “Ladies of all tasks,” since they had to take care of everything now--poured tepid water into the washing stand and departed. 

Slowly, I slid my feet into worn slippers and observed myself in the small mirror. My hair was still messy from a night spent wandering the market in nothing but shirtsleeves and britches. I hoped to take Billy back there today on a walk, if Margaret would allow. 

I pulled a linen shirt from the worn clothes press and put it on, sliding back into yesterday’s britches. There was no one to notice or care about how I looked. Henry was now engaged to Oliver, soon to be Marquess of Metley, and myself and my parents had disengaged from polite society (that is, polite society threw my parents out on their self-important arses and me with them) and moved house to a place we could afford with what was left of the money the Shawduns paid for breaking off the engagement. It was smaller and darker, and closer to the dreaded common folk. We had only two maids now, no butlers or other staff. Outside, a small bit of cobblestone received carriages when necessary and behind the house a pitiful patch of back garden tangled with weeds when I didn’t attend to it myself, and I couldn’t often be bothered.

Dressed, I headed downstairs to breakfast. Father sat, resplendent in a fraying greatcoat and greying silk shirt. Mother sat beside him, her crushed velvet gown growing shiny at the elbows. They were already eating. I sat down as well and the maid brought me cold toast and eggs, served with some lukewarm tea.

“...what I wouldn’t do with a bit of cards right now, Felicity. I tell you, once we are restored to our former home, I shall never cease playing them.”

Mother sniffed. “And I shall wear five different silks all in one day, all with matching hats, and we shall once again be the very toast of town!”

Typical breakfast talk, as it had been for the three months since we’d moved here. I found myself quite tired of it this morning. “And exactly how do you plan to restore yourselves to society, Mother and Father? Surely no one will have me anymore now that I’m Henry’s leftovers,” I could not conceal my small grin of victory, “and you need extensive wealth or breeding to even be considered.”

Father cleared his throat. “Of course Felicity, I would buy you as many silks as you wish.”

Mother smiled at him. “And I shall never again complain when I see you seated at cards, Aloysious, dear.”

Ah, yes. This was another new feature that came with our new home. A precious few of our previous belongings, supplemented by second hand castoffs of other impoverished nobility. Carpets worn to the threads. No social calls for this house. 

And not a word to me. Not since Father had received Henry’s formal letter and sworn me off as useless had either of them spoken a word to me.

“...but of course, the trick is to only gamble with what you have in front of you…”

I scoffed, pushing my cold breakfast away from me. Eat something, you look hungry. “Goodbye then, Mother; Father.”

I collected my coat and departed. 

“‘To my dear friend Aloysius Mallory, I pray you are well. I also ask after the health of your wife and of course, your son, Philip. I find it difficult to write this letter to you, but find that I must.’ Whatever is Henry talking about in this letter, Philip? ...Ahem, ‘ I regret to inform you that…’ What the devil?!”

As I walked along the river towards the garment district I contemplated the last time Father spoke to me. 

“This useless son of ours… Henry Shawdun has officially broken off the engagement! It says here that he has fallen in love with another! WHAT DID YOU DO, PHILIP?!”

Our new accommodations meant that I lived closer to Margaret and Billy than I had previously. No more than a fifteen minute’s walk.

“Speak, you useless boy! Our future was secured! We were the most envied family in the city to have gotten Shawdun! What have you done?!”

Soon enough, I arrived at Mrs. Blethely’s Fine Gowns and Costumery. A felt a small smile ghost over my face as I spoke aloud the words that I had said to Father then, the words I had sworn not to say, but hadn’t been able to hold back in the heat of the moment. All my resentment, all my hope that maybe they cared for me a little, the illusion vanished as I said those five words and erased myself from my parent’s purview forever. 

“I found him another suitor.”

“So you did.” I startled and looked up at Mrs. Blethely’s age-worn face. Her mouth had permanent frown lines around it, making her a truly foreboding looking woman, but I knew that behind all the salt and pickles was a… well, a truly foreboding woman who smiled at you but only when you earned it. Our first impression had been quite shabby, with neither of us getting a terribly good impression of the other. Now, she regarded me evenly, but her eyes smiled just the tiniest bit. “Come in quickly, young man; you are late and Billy is all a-wonders at his shiny new Uncle Oliver and gasping to talk about it with someone who knows the man.”

So Henry had introduced them at last.

I hesitated on the step, then entered.  

No sooner was I in the back room then young Billy flew into my arms. “Uncle Philip, Uncle Philip!” He spoke loudly though he was mere inches from my face. “We met a new man last night! And he’s so nice, and so very smart and he knows all about plants and he knows you!” I carried him to Margaret’s quarters as he carried on. “And Henry said he’s going to marry him, but I told him no! He can’t, because Mr. Lord Philip is marrying him, and then Mama shushed me, so I’m still so confused, are you marrying Uncle Henry?” his big blue eyes, perfect copies of his Uncle Henry, stared into mine, filled with joy, curiosity and confusion.

I cleared my throat. “I… ah, no, Billy. We were going to but then… er.” How to explain to a five year old?

“They decided that they prefer to be just friends, Billy. And your Uncle Henry and Uncle Oliver get along so well and they want to get married, so now they’re going to get married instead.” Margaret came down the spiral staircase and interrupted my bumbling. She was Henry’s older sister, and even more years my senior. She had all but raised Henry while his own parents neglected him, and took a similar approach to me, though God knew I was fully grown and had done little to deserve her kindness. Now she swooped young Billy out of my arms, depositing the lad on the floor where he continued to vibrate with unasked questions. “Apologies, Philip, I should have explained it to him properly last night, but I got distracted…” She gestured around her workshop where half-completed dresses spilled over the surfaces, sprinkled liberally with thread spools and spare buttons. 

“No worries.” I gave her a tired smile. “Surely you have more important things to do than discuss three-month old news.” I gestured around the shop, which bustled with new orders. “The Harvest Ball keeping you and Blethely on your feet, I see.”

She smiled, hands on her hips as she observed her domain. “My kingdom for an assistant.”

I chuckled. “Well, there’s always me, useless though I am!”

She grinned at that. “I’ll bear it in mind, Philip--you never know when I might need a spare dress form.” She winked and sat down to work.

“Wait, but--Uncle Philip?” I turned back to Billy who looked up at me. “Does that mean that you won’t be my Uncle Philip anymore?” His large blue eyes began to fill with tears. “Does that mean that--that you won’t visit anymore??”

Ah yes, I reminded myself. The title. “I… I don’t know, Billy.” I turned helplessly back to Margaret who looked up from her sewing. “I--I don’t want to overstep, Margaret. I would happily visit as a friend, but “Uncle” belongs to Oliver now, and I don’t know if it would be proper…”

She smiled and gestured to Billy, who scampered to her side for a hug. “It’ll all be okay, Billy. Philip will continue to come visit you all the time just like before.” She put a finger under his chin and lifted it so Billy was looking into her eyes. “He still loves you, no matter what. Family comes in all shapes and sizes, even if we aren’t married to someone. Would you like to keep calling him your Uncle Philip?”

Billy nodded, chin wobbling.

Margaret glanced at me, and I nodded my ascent. If Henry wanted to say no to this child, that was very much his problem. I was not that strong. 

Margaret smiled and turned back to Billy. “Then he is still your Uncle Philip.”

“Really?” Billy turned to me, all dusty cheeks and frayed cuffs and hopeful face and my heart caved in. 

“Of course, Billy. I’ll be your Uncle Philip for as long as you would like me to be.” And God spare my heart when he eventually grew tired of me and realized I didn’t belong. When they both did.

Billy smiled and the sun came out. “Okay.” He wiped his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeves, before Margaret clicked her tongue and handed him a scrap of cloth from the table. “I’m… I’m really happy you aren’t leaving us, Uncle Philip. I like Uncle Oliver a lot, but…”

“We don’t compare people, Billy, it’s rude.” Margaret chided, eyes back to her sewing. “Now, wash up before Uncle Oliver and Uncle Henry arrive for lunch.” 

I startled. “Ahh… that would be my cue to leave, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to.”

I rose and straightened my coat. “No, no, I think it would be best. Allow Oliver and Billy time to bond,” Billy would soon become Oliver’s adopted son, allowing Billy to secure a title and a future outside of Mrs. Blethely’s workroom, and it would hardly do for an irrelevant interloper to get in the way of that. “I will be back to visit, though, rest assured.” I shook Margaret’s hand, and gave Billy a quick hug before hastening to the door.

“Philip.”

I turned back. Margaret had risen and followed me to the door, a soft scarf in her hand and a kind smile on her face. “As you will not be marrying Henry I know we will not become brother and sister, but I should like to think that we could still be friends.” I felt a lump in my throat thicken as she quoted my own words back to me. 

I looked down at my feet and swallowed. Abandoned at home I might be, and I would no doubt have to get used to a life without them soon enough, but I would bask in the glow of her and Billy’s friendship for as long as they could want me. “I… thank you, Margaret. Yes, I would be honored.”

“Then I will see you on Thursday morning at ten sharp for breakfast with Billy, myself and Mrs. Blethely. Now here’s a little something I made with scraps from Lady Aramintha Vogun’s Harvest Ball gown. It’ll keep you warm as the chill sets in.” With a warm smile, she pressed the scarf into my hands and then ushered me to the door.

As I hastened outside into the early autumn breeze, I felt eyes on me. I looked up and caught the stare of a man I had never met before. He regarded me intensely from across the street, not saying a word, hat pulled low and coat collar turned up. Coincidence it could be, but I didn’t like the feeling I got from him. Straightening my shoulders, I turned away from him and hurried down the street, praying he would not follow. When I chanced a glance over my shoulder a few blocks away, he was gone.

#mm romance #arranged marriage au #the reluctant fiance #original story #original work #not well researched #historical inaccuracies #EVERYWHERE #Philip Marjory #Henry Shawdun #a respectable man

[celtics534]

Fall Into the Night with You

And thus we must move our tale on! Here is the final chapter of Doom Days! A huge thank you goes out to both @gryffindormischief​ and @thedistantdusk​. You guys are the best! I hope y’all enjoy it and thanks for reading!

Also Read On: FF.net and AO3

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Ginny couldn’t sleep. Her mind was reeling like an endless fishing line. Her father -- the man she hadn’t seen in nearly ten years, who she’d thought to be dead -- was here. He was here, leading a group of survivors. Here… and not with her. Over the years, she’d thought about her father, imagining him staying with her mother until her final breath. Then, because he stayed with her, Ginny assumed he’d fallen to the same illness. It had always been nagging in the back of her mind that he’d more than likely died alone.

  But he hadn’t. Arthur Weasley was alive and helping others, which was just like him. And yet, Ginny couldn’t help but feel...abandoned. 

  Why hadn’t he come to Bill’s and stayed with his family? It had been nearly ten years without a word. He could have at least sent word that he was okay, but no. Instead, she’d thought both her parents were gone. 

  Ginny rolled onto her left side. No matter how many positions she’d tried, sleep evaded her. Harry’s slow breathing warmed her cheek as she moved in closer to his warmth, hoping that his presence would soothe her unease. It had been like a ball in the pit of her stomach the moment she’d seen her father, but it had been snowballing steadily until she reached the point where she literally felt ill. 

  “ Fuck .” Ginny whispered the word into the silent room. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, not if her mind just wouldn’t stop spinning. Rolling over again, Ginny flipped the blankets off her body before setting her feet onto the cold wooden floor. Ignoring the chill that ran up from her toes to her spine, Ginny started to waddle away from the overly large cot she and Harry had been given. 

  As it was early afternoon, most people were out of the make-shift dormitory, tending to the gardens or on patrol. Arthur had sent Harry and Ginny to the bathhouse before sending them to get some well-deserved rest. He’d then taken the wide awake Victoire to walk around the village grounds. At first Ginny had hesitated to let Vic out of her sight… but it was her father, and even though she hadn’t seen him in years, she knew Arthur would protect his granddaughter with his life. She just had to think about the pure affection and joy in Arthur’s face when he’d been introduced to Vic for the first time. Ginny swore she’d seen a tear run down her father’s cheek as Vic hugged him.   

Waddling as effectively as she could, Ginny reached the back window that provided a perfect view down the little hill that showed off the village. Arthur and a few others had made the church, small shops, and few houses into a community. It wasn’t much, nothing like what Seamus had been part of, but even though she’d been there for under twenty-four hours, Ginny could feel the village’s homely charm. 

  In the trip from the church to the bathhouse (which had once been the local school before they’d added bathtubs to the toilets), Ginny had been introduced to a handful of people, all of whom had greeted her with warm exclamations over meeting the famous daughter of Arthur. And the number of congratulations she’d received over her pregnancy felt like they numbered in the thousands. Instead of feeling off-put and suspicious like she’d been when Phil had talked to her, Ginny had felt comfortable and welcome. 

  “Ginny?” She turned to see her smiling father. He strode from the side door he’d come from, his eyes flickering over to Harry’s sleeping form. It didn’t take long for him to be beside her. “What are you doing up?”  

  “I -” She looked up into the warm blue eyes that were the same as they were when she was a child, only with a more wrinkles formed at the corners. “I couldn’t sleep.” Ginny glanced behind him. “Where is Vic?” 

  Arthur’s smile widened. “She made friends with a little boy named Teddy. Both his parents are dead, but his grandmother is alive and caring for him.” His hand came to rest between her shoulder blades like he used to do when she was a child. “How are you, Ginny?”

  She sighed, the tension in her shoulders ebbed away as her father started rubbing soothing circles into her back. “I - I don’t really know.”

  Arthur nodded. “That’s understandable. This is a lot to take in.”

  “You can say that again.” Ginny let her eyes slowly shut. 

  “This is a lot to take in.” 

  Ginny opened her eyes to see her smirking father. She shook her head, unable to stop her lips from curling up. “Dad,” Ginny met his gaze. “I’ve missed you.” 

  “I’ve missed you too, darling.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. I -” Arthur choked up. “I - I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. You and B -Bill.”

  Ginny turned away from the window, pressing her body as close to her father as her stomach would allow. “Oh, Dad.” Everything she’d been feeling, sadness over losing Bill, the astonishment of seeing her father, not to mention the dreaded pregnancy hormones she’d been facing, all welled to the surface, spilling over in the form of tears. There was no way for her to stop the waterworks. 

  “Ginny.” The gentleness of Arthur’s tone just made her cry harder. He rocked the two of them slowly, back and forth 

  She stayed in his arms, her face soaking his dark button-up shirt for what felt like hours. Eventually, Ginny pulled away from her father’s chest. She wiped under her eyes. “I’m -” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

  Arthur smiled at her fondly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His grin faltered. “I, on the other hand,” he took a deep breath, “I need you to know, I was on my way to find you. To Bill’s house. But around Witney, I met this man and his son… They needed help. His wife had just died and his son was so young. I figured that once I helped them settle somewhere, I would make my way back towards you and Bill, but… I found another lost soul and another until I was heading a little group of ten people.”

  Ginny knew her father was a helpful man, he was always the kind stranger who would stop to help you change a flat tire, but to build a colony… 

  “Eventually, I decided I needed to get the people further from London, so we packed up and headed north. We traveled for weeks until...” He glanced back out at the village. “We found our home.” 

  Arthur turned back to her, his eyes beseeching. “I thought about you all the time, but I couldn’t leave all these people. And I knew Harry would take care of you.” A smile reappeared on his lips. “I’d say you two took care of each other. And if I may,” he placed a hand on her stomach. “You two are happy?”

  The fluttering movement of her child moving made Ginny place her hand next to her father’s. “So happy, Dad.” 

  “That’s all I can ask for.” Arthur kissed her forehead. 

  “Dad,” Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know you have nothing to be sorry for, right?”

  Arthur’s blue eyes met hers, shame still overwhelming in their depths. “I should have come and told you I was all right. I imagine you’ve thought me dead all these years.”

  Ginny shook her head. “No, you did the right thing. You helped people who needed you. But I do have to ask something.”

  “Anything.”

  “How -” Ginny licked her lips, trying to think of the best way to ask her question. She didn’t have a clue how her father was gonna react. “What happened to Mum?”

  It was like all the energy drained from Arthur instantly. His shoulders sagged as his eyes welled with tears. “Your mother,” he cleared his throat blinking rapidly. “Your mother didn’t want me to die with her. She knew I would never leave her so - she took mat - matters into her own hands.”

  Ginny let his words wash over her. “She took --” Her jaw dropped. “Are you saying she killed herself?”

  The pain in Arthur’s eyes said everything is mouth was unable to. Even though, logically, Ginny had known her mother was gone years ago. Grief sucker-punched her. 

  “She locked the door a few hours after you left and --” Arthur shut his mouth, shaking his head. “She didn’t want me to die too.”

  Ginny gripped the back of her father’s shirt, holding him close again. “Mum always was willing to do anything to keep us all safe.” 

  Arthur nodded. “Yes, she was such an amazing woman and mother.” They stayed in silence for a while, taking comfort in the other’s arms until Arthur broke the quiet. “I miss her.”

  “Me too,” Ginny admitted. “I always thought she would be with me when I gave birth.”

  “She would have been.” Arthur smiled fondly. “Molly would have been by your side the whole time.” 

  Ginny knew he was right. “But at least I get to have you there.” 

  Arthur’s eyes widened before crinkling. “It will be an honor to be there with you.” 

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  Harry took a swig from the canteen. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the sweat. Arthur had asked for his help fortifying the walls surrounding the little village. It reminded Harry of London, with metal scraps converted into barriers and wooden structures crafted at strategic points for guards. 

  But there was something completely different than London: the atmosphere. The overcrowded streets of London always felt as if hands were closing around your throat, no sympathy or care. If you died, you died. Just one less mouth to feed. But this little community… Arthur had formed a home for everyone. 

  A hand slapped him hard on the back, nearly making Harry spit out his drink. He sputtered as he turned to glare at Oliver Wood. 

  Wood was a few older than Harry, with the build of a professional football keeper -- and seeing as he'd been one for years before Morsmordre swept the nation, it made sense. 

  "Sorry, mate." Wood pulled his hand back with a guilty smile. "You all right?"

  "Ye -." Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm fine." 

  "Good. Good." Wood's smile shifted back from concern to excitement. "Did you hear what we're working on once we complete the walls?" 

  Harry hadn't. He'd only been in the community for a few weeks and was still just settling in. He hadn't preoccupied himself with gossip or renovation, focusing his energy on his family instead. 

  Vic had finally broken down over her father, crying in his arms as he helped her dress after a bath. It had started off as a sniffle or two, then a few tears, before erupting into body shaking sobs. Harry had pulled the weeping girl into his arms, running his hands over her damp head. Later that night before bed, Vic had asked why her daddy had died. Ginny had thankfully been with Harry during that breakdown, and between the two of them, they soothed the little girl. 

  Ginny… Harry had to admire her. Though she was grieving her brother too, she had taken on Victorie's pain and comforted the child. Tears had fallen from all their eyes that night. 

  Within the week of being in the village, they had gone to the healer of the community, a nice but stern woman named Poppy. She had checked over Ginny and the baby, using her fingers to feel around Ginny's stomach. She wasn't entirely sure how far along Ginny was, but she warned them that the baby could come any day.

  Panic had started to course throughout Harry's body at the words. Any day . He wasn't nearly prepared. They had started a little nest at Bill's. A cot, some decent clothing, nappies -- as many cloth nappies as they could find, and some minor things. But they hadn't been able to take most of it with them. Ginny had managed to gather a few things from their collection, but most of it had to stay behind. Ginny, however, stayed cool and calm. That night, she snuggled up to him, whispering sweet words of comfort and love into his ear, which was exactly what he needed.

  “Harry?” Oliver placed his hand back onto Harry’s shoulder, bring him out of his recollection. 

  “Sorry.” Harry’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “No, I have no idea what we’re working on next.”

  Oliver’s eyes became alight with excitement. “A football field!” Oliver was so enthusiastic Harry was afraid he might wet himself. 

  Harry smiled. "Vic will love that." 

  "I'm planning on starting a team." Wood had a glint in his eye that made Harry afraid for the other team. Oliver was a competitive man, to say the least. "You in?"

  "Er -" Before Harry could give a solid answer, Lisa (Poppy's trainee) came running from behind the converted bathhouse.

  "Harry!" The woman sucked in a large gulp of air as she skidded to a stop in front of him. "It's Ginny." Another gulp. "She's in labor and she asked me to come get you." 

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  Ginny couldn't take her eyes off Harry. Harry and the baby. Their baby girl. It had been a long twenty hours, but the end result… Ginny was in awe of it all. Poppy had made sure everything had gone smoothly as possible. And now, two hours later, Ginny was tired but unable to sleep. 

  The baby let out a whimper, her lip trembling. Harry started making cooing noises, bringing the baby up to his chest and bouncing slowly. She sighed and settled into his shirt. 

  All those visions of Harry caring for their baby didn't even come close to the reality. If anyone asked, Ginny would blame the tears welling in her eyes on the hormones, but she knew it was more than that. Keeping her voice low, hoping to encourage the peace, she whispered, "Well done."

  Harry slowly lifted his gaze up from the bundle tucked in his arms. His eyes were overly bright as he met hers. The contented smile on his lips spoke more than words. He made his way over to the bed Ginny rested in, being careful not to jostle the baby too much. 

  As he sat down on the edge of the mattress a quiet knock came from the bedroom door. It opened slowly, Arthur's red and grey head peering around the frame. "You two up for a couple visitors?" 

  Ginny looked at Harry who nodded. "Sure, Dad. Come on in." 

  The door swung wide revealing Vic peeking around her grandfather's legs. Arthur had a hand in the girls shoulder. Ginny smiled at them. "Hey Vic, wanna come meet your new cousin?" 

  Harry gave Vic an encouraging nod, boosting the newborn up higher up his shoulder. Vic stepped hesitantly into the room, moving as if there could be a bomb under each floor tile. Finally, she reached the bed. 

  "Come on up." Ginny patted the spot beside her, ignoring the pain in her body as she scooted towards the other edge. Vic climbed up the mattress and shared Ginny’s pillow.

  Arthur came over to the mattress, holding a spare pillow. He placed it on Vic's lap. "Now, whenever Harry can tear himself away from my new, beautiful granddaughter, you can hold her." Vic's eyes grew the size of saucers. 

  Harry smiled at Arthur. "Not an easy feat!"

  Arthur nodded understandingly. "Never is." 

  Ginny looked at Vic. "Do you want to hold the baby?" 

  Vic bit her bottom lip, clearly debating with herself. Finally, she nodded.

  Harry gently turned the baby so she was laying in his arms rather than against his chest. "Hold out your arms like this." Vic followed his example, her arms held out stiffly. 

  Ginny smiled as she helped the girl correct her hold. "There you go, luv."

  Harry slowly placed the infant into her cousin’s arms. Vic's focus never strayed from the bundle. "She has a lot of hair.”

  Ginny laughed, running her hands over the baby’s bright red hair. “And it’s messy, just like her father’s.”

  Harry smiled down at them, his eyes meeting Ginny’s in a loving look. “Poor kid.”

  She shook her head. “I love your hair!” 

  As Harry opened his mouth, most likely to make another cheeky comment, the baby let out a loud whimper. Her eyes had opened, showing off the classic baby blue that Ginny was certain would turn emerald green like Harry’s. The baby’s bottom lip trembled before she started to cry loudly. 

  Victoire looked around at the adults, her concern obvious. Ginny smiled at her. “It’s nothing you did, Vic. She just hungry from the sounds of it.” She gently took the baby from the girl’s arms. It took a moment for Ginny to adjust herself to attach the baby to her breast, but it became marginally easier when Harry came over and helped. Once the infant was happily sucking away, Ginny turned her attention back to the room. 

  Vic watched the baby with a curious expression. That contented smile had spread back across Harry’s lips as he looked at her. But it was Arthur’s look of pride that made tears spring to Ginny’s eyes. 

  “So what’s her name?” Arthur asked, his voice rougher than normal. 

  Ginny turned towards Harry. They hadn’t really discussed a name yet, still being in a state of nirvana just getting to hold their daughter. “Her -” Harry blinked rapidly. “Oh, right.” His hand jumped to the back of his neck. “Well, I was thinking,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “What about Molly?”

  “I -” The tears that she’d been able to hold back before now fell onto her cheeks. “I love it.” Ginny looked down at the little girl in her arms. “Little Molly Potter. She looks like a Molly.” 

  A choking noise made Ginny look up. Arthur was crying now, tears sliding off his cheeks. “Your mother would be so honored.” He moved over to Harry and hugged him before leaning down and kissing the top of Ginny’s head. “I have to go and see to the wall. I’ll be back later. Do you want to come with me Vic and give these two a bit of alone time?” The young girl started to shake her head, but then Arthur said the magic words. “We can go see Teddy.” 

  Victoire beamed at her grandfather. “Okay.” She kissed Ginny’s cheek before hopping off the mattress. She went around the frame to hug Harry before leaving the bedroom with Arthur, who closed the door gently behind them.

  Harry sighed, moving around the bed to take the spot Vic had vacated. “Your father knew just what we needed.” 

  “Well, he has been through this a few times,” Ginny chuckled lightly. She looked down at Molly, whose eyelids had started to flutter shut. After a few seconds of quiet, Molly’s mouth fell open as she fell asleep.

  “Gin.” Harry sounded as if he’d swallowed a jar of sand. She looked up at him to see more emotion in his eyes than ever before. “Thank you.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I love you and this is everything I could want.” 

  He leaned over and kissed her lightly, lovingly. When he pulled back, his nose nuzzled hers. “I love you too.”

  Ginny knew she must have the sappiest smile on her lips, but in that moment, she didn’t care. After all the shit they’d gone through, all the heartache and trauma, they were getting a little slice of happiness and peace they craved. Ginny could only hope that this would last forever, the feeling that the doomed days were over. When she looked down at Molly, hope was easy. When Harry wrapped his arms around her shoulder, hope seemed effortless. Ginny had everything she needed to truly live, and what more could she ask for?

#hinny #hinny fanfic #hinny fic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry X ginny #harry potter fan fiction #Hinny Doom Days

[adaruthless-blog]

What is this fuss about our hair?

Once  about 30 years ago I went in Singapore to a hairdresser. The fringe irritated my eyes and the bob in total had grown too long, must have been the very humid air to make my hair grow faster. So I needed a trim. I decided on a salon not quite next to the Raffles and not the Shangri-la, a bit more into a side road. I didn’t want to blow my budget. I also thought that my hairstyle must be familiar to Asian ladies with their straight hair themselves. I stepped into the salon and immediately the young ladies were all over me and my hair. Each one keen to cut it. The first shushed the others away. She and no one else wanted the job, the others retreated. With each streak she giggled. I found it amusing and well aware that my hair must feel very different. The giggles were not admiration more sort of a pity and feeling sorry for me: oh baby hair, so soft, but nice colour she kept saying. I have this very ordinary  northern European ash blond, thin hair, straight as spaghettis, not even cooked that would form nicely around my face, no, completely straight like uncooked. But at least with a nice shine and with the help of the sun a natural bleach occurs.

The Asian hairdresser did a fine job after all. The other ladies took a glimpse and I could see they were dying to touch my hair. The offcuts fell onto the floor onto much thicker black hair like a handful of dawns blown away. The ladies wished me well and chattered behind their hands.

It is not uncommon to touch one another’s hair. Especially among girlfriends at school. There was Martina with her olive skin, dark eyes and shiny black hair, wavy but thin like mine, the longer it grew the more curls she had. She sat next to me for a while and I remember the feel of her hair. There was Conny Herrman. Gosh, she had fantastic hair, the same colour as me but thick and long, she seldom had to wash it, she always looked like a filmstar with a huge mane. When we were lying on the lawn during break her hair was like a cushion of hair. I can’t remember the other girls name, she was a ballet dancer. She performed in France at our school exchange program. Her hair was also long and thick, similar colour but a bit more brownish and with long heavy corkscrew curls! That was the biggest attraction on her. But not with a nice feel, it felt rough like a shoe brush.

Hair is definitely something that shapes our appearance. It grows out of the follicles more or less rapidly.  We trim it, we cut it, we change the style. We are happy or unhappy with our hair. There are woman constantly unhappy with their hair. I have come to live with my hair.

There comes a moment in life where one just knows what is best for oneself.

My first encounter with African hair was in 1984 at a Pick’n Pay when I tried to buy shampoo. I was strolling along the shelves until I came across a brand name ‘black like me’. I was fascinated. It was my first time in Africa. I thought: “oh, this is nice that Africans can at least find such a big variety of hair products. Their hair must be very different with different needs.’ Beside the domestic worker at my friends house, who did her work quietly with her head under a cloth matching her apron, I did not have any contacts to black people. All the other African ladies I saw had the hair covered in a similar way. The men had their hair short or a shiny bold head. I had seen Rastafarians and I knew Jimmy Hendrix from a vinyl cover but otherwise I had never spent a single moment thinking about black hair. During my travels in and around South Africa I did stroke a black child’s head occasionally and noticed the difference. As adults we just don’t wander around touching other people’s hair. Some years later, when my daughter was about three years old we had the grandchild of our domestic worker staying with us. It was a hot summer day, the two played together, I filled water with a hosepipe into an old bathtub we had as a feature in our garden and put the girls into it. My daughter started scrubbing the girl because the soles of her feet were white. Nandi, the African girl, laughed her heart out. In return she started to put mud on my daughters bleach blond hair. They had a ball. Mavis came running into the yard and wanted to shout at her grandchild. I stopped her and said: “no, no, this is ok, they play and this is fun to watch how they experience themselves.” Mavis was still cautious but glad that I saw it as child’s play. The two girls played that whole summer and had embraced their differences, which were never an issue for remarks, slurs or any other sort of nastiness. This incident had made a deep impression on me. I thought if children are put together with just curiosity they will find a way to understand one another.

A few years later I had opened a children’s theater for puppetshows, shadow theatre, clownery and comedy. I was constantly short of good scripts. So I wrote some myself. I wanted a play for school starters and work on the worries small children might have in an inter racial school. The ‘hair thing’ was looming around in South Africa, African girls had been punished for their Afros, African ladies mobbed for their wigs.

For previous plays I had created a main character, a little bunny by the name of Nogwaja, the clever hare. Nogwaja was worried that the children might laugh about his huge ears, a girl was worried about her curly hair, a boy concerned he was too small, another girl had freckles and glasses. During class they learned that they all were more or less shy, during break they experienced that they were all fun to play with. They touched their different hairs and ears, were surprised about the different feel and recognized that short legs can be fast and freckles look just normal and even cute.

After having this show on successfully for many times one day a mother stopped me and was very upset. In her opinion this play was racist! She does not want her child being exposed to a play where differences are pointed out, we are all the same. She was inconsolable and I stayed puzzled. I took it off the playlist for the simple reason I did not want to have any discussions about racism.

Hairy stories continued in the news and on social media, black lives matter also had posts about hair issues. Apparently blacks forbid not to have their hair touched by whites. I came across an art exhibition in Johannesburg by an Angolan Artist,  Grada Kilomba, she had a piece about the ‘hair thing’. She was present. Looking at her I was surprised that she had an issue with this hair thing. She certainly has no extraordinary hair besides it is black and wavy. I thought I had approached her nicely. She was reluctant to talk to me when I tried to explain my little theatre play and if she would see it as racist. Maybe she was not in the mood to discuss my experience of my daughter and the puppet play and she did not want to confirm me that I am not racist about the ‘hair thing’… and hopefully not at all.

And then this weekend came along. I had the opportunity to perform for sixty seconds as a puppeteer in a huge potpourri of a ballet performance at the Soweto theatre. I did it out of friendship to the choreographer, he needed some African handpuppets which I happened to have. Rehearsal plus 3 shows. Each time I had to wait long at back stage for my little performance. I absorbed the beautiful atmosphere. The eagerness of all the dancers. All of different ages. A group of preschool children, a group of primary children, a group of high school pupils and students. The little ones were intrigued by my puppets and as I found out by my hair!

They gathered around me and used the puppets only as a vehicle to be able to be close to me. They wanted my hair! At first a bit shy. Then when they noticed I wouldn’t mind them touching my hair they were all over me. I was sitting in a lotus seat on the floor, they were standing left, right, in front of me touching, stroking,  petting my hair, my neck, my arms. I did the same to show interest and to tell them how pretty they are and what beautiful hairdos they have. One girl said: I think your hair is nicer. No, your hair is nicer, I said, and you can do a lot more things with your hair than I can do. Why, they asked. My hair is too thin, it would break, it tangles, I would be bold. They thought that was interesting. I thought their reactions were interesting. I could see that classical ballet has probably established an ideal of beauty. But for my taste and because of this performance where I could watch more than 50 ballet dancers my ideal of beauty has become these beautiful African girls with their beautiful perfectly shaped heads and bodies. It had made me happy to see a curiosity and an appreciation on diversity …on both sides.

So for me the hair thing has now been sorted out – don’t touch unless you get touched firstJ

Ada-Ruth Kellow

[cassiedroll]

Time for me to put my post-epilogue headcanons about Vox Machina out there:

Perc'ahlia ⦁ They move to their permanent home in Whitestone, allowing Percy to begin constructing his clock tower and work with Cassandra to run the city. ⦁ Vex spends a lot of her time fixing up Vax's shrine to the Raven Queen there. She also works with the treasury and diplomacy there. She sets up an established trade route connecting Whitestone to Syngorn, Ank'harel, Emon, and Deastok. ⦁ They have a formal wedding, to which everyone they have ever known and loved are invited. Vex wears a beautiful white dress and a raven's feather between her two blue ones. Percival watches his wife walk down the aisle like they were first falling in love. ⦁ They spend each anniversary of the defeat of Vecna and Vax's death in the woods, sitting on the bench Pike made, watching the moon and discussing stories about Vax and the early years of Vox Machina. ⦁ Soon after their official wedding, Vex discovers that she is pregnant. Everyone else seems to know before she does: "Vex, you seem to have been under the weather for a few days, are you alright?" with a knowing look from Cassandra. "Vex, you must be hungry!" with a happy  laugh from Pike hosting the de Rolos for dinner. Even the servants start skirting around her, discretely clearing one of the smaller rooms near Percy and Vex's in the castle. ⦁ Their first child is born on a brisk winter morning after a long night. Casters from across Whitestone are brought in to send messages to all of their closest friends to announce the birth of Vesper Elaina von Musel Klossowski de Rolo I, heir to Whitestone. ⦁ Following Vesper, Vex and Percy have five more children: Vax'ildan Julius, Percival IV, Whitney Johanna, Oliver Ludwig, and Cassandra Velora.

Pikelan ⦁ They move into Wilhand's old home once he dies and adds on rooms and a basement  to accommodate J.B., Grog, and, when she's home from school, Kaylee. ⦁ Despite what anyone expects, Grog is the perfect roommate: always out, never needing too much privacy, never brings back dates (mostly because he doesn't have them), accommodating to everyone, a great host, and eventually a wonderful babysitter. ⦁ It's Kaylee that's the disaster roommate. She's a teenager living with her dad, his girlfriend, her brother and cousin. It's the worst. They love her but she trashes her room, has friends and lovers over, never cooks or cleans, and has such a fiery temper that whenever she is asked to do these things, she either ignores that who asked or is aggressive about it. ⦁ After living together for a couple of years, Pike proposes. Grog carries Scanlan down the aisle. We know this all from the episode. Grog cries at the wedding more than anyone else. Also, instead of Pike taking Scanlan's surname or vice versa, they change their surname to a mash-up name - Trickhalt. ⦁ Three years later, on Scanlan's 75th birthday, Pike brings their daughter, Juniper into the world. She's pink with curly black hair and bright blue eyes. Kaylee smiles at her half-sister and jokes that she doesn't look a bit like either of them. She does, of course, but Kaylee is just a little stink. Grog goes out to wet her head and ends up writing letters to Whitestone and Zephyra. His childish writing is only worsened by his excitement, but the letters are sent and within a few days the de Rolos and Keyleth are in Westruun to welcome little Juniper Trickhalt. ⦁ When Juniper is six, a little boy is born into the Trickhalt clan: Wilhand Phillip. Grog has never been more touched, not even when Juni first asks him to read to her because he "does the voices better than Mommy or Daddy". Wilhand Phillip has dark skin, dark brown hair, and big blue eyes like his sister. ⦁ When Wilhand and Juni are in their teens, Pike discovers a tiny boy with black skin, little white tufts of hair, and minuscule horns on the steps to Sarenrae's temple. She takes him home and eventually she and Scanlan officially adopt him, naming him Kingsley.

Zahrash ⦁ They visit Whitestone all through Zahra's pregnancy and even after. Due to poor timing and a hasty entry into this world, their son is born in Whitestone while they're visiting the de Rolos. ⦁ He is born red, with a long slender tail, fuzzy white hair and amber eyes. At his birth, Kashaw feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see a shadowy figure. Vesh looks down at him and the boy and contemplates them quietly before vanishing. Kashaw never has nightmares about her again. ⦁ They spend their life between Whitestone and Vasselheim, between the de Rolo home and the Slayer's Take and their son wants for nothing. He's raised on books from the Whitestone castle's library and stories of the sphinx, but despite all of that he really prefers to fight physically, not mentally and becomes a rogue. ⦁ Daniel Hydris loves his parents dearly, but like Kaylee Shorthalt, feels as though he is too cool to be seen around his overprotective dad and "cool" mom. He spends a lot of his time with his Aunt Vex learning about being sneaky and what the man he's named after used to do as a rogue. ⦁ They continue to work as mercenaries for the Slayer's Take, but only when they're not having to deal with Dan's teachers and his mistakes. He gets into a lot of trouble, and while Zahra doesn't mind his actions too much, she hates having to take the time to go confront his tutors. Kash, on the other hand, scolds Dan within an inch of his life about being mischievous. He prefers to deal with those accusing his son than go out of quests. ⦁ Now that Vesh no longer hovers over him, Kash continues his clerical duties, but feels more as if he is thanking her for releasing him from their bonds of marriage than refuting her every move.

Keyleth ⦁ She serves as the Voice of the Tempest, guiding young druids from the other sects of the Ashari along their Aramentes. She takes them into the plane of air and has them battle air elementals. Despite her charismatic failures, she serves as a wonderful guide as her Aramente has been so recent. ⦁ Keyleth waits many years before falling in love again, but one day, at Cassandra Velora's debutante ball for her coming of age, Keyleth meets a young elvish man with kind eyes and short blonde hair. At first she feels guilty about being happy with him, but when Vex sees them together and smiles to Keyleth, she takes it as a sign that it has been long enough since Vax left her life and that she has the right to be happy again. A raven later lands on her as she sits on his bench and then flits off into the moonlight, telling her that she is free to do as she wishes. ⦁ After many years of courting this man, she decides to wed. Korrin is so excited to see his daughter joyful again and to get to walk his only child down the aisle after so long. A conspiracy of ravens alight on a tree above the ceremony, but so caught up in her vows, Keyleth hardly notices. Its what Vax would have wanted. As she says "I do", the ravens fly off. ⦁ She never can forget Vax, but she is happy with her husband and they have three precious quarter human kids: Vilya, Kerrek, and Luna, all of whom become powerful druids who each complete an Aramente and become headmasters in their own right, giving Keyleth the time to settle down properly without having to lead a people. ⦁ Keyleth also plays a very important role in Cassandra Velora's life, teaching her to be strong druid. Keyleth teaches her to grow plants and polymorph. Cassandra Velora spends a lot of time as a bear playing with her brother, Trinket.

Grog ⦁ Along with spending time learning to read and living with the Trickhalts, Grog spends years under the tutelage of Earthbreaker Groon, eventually taking a few ranks in monk, learning patience. ⦁ This helps immensely when his beloved nieces and nephews get older and insufferable. The de Rolos, just like their parents, are mostly snarky know-it-alls. The Trickhalts, though sweet like their mother, are also silly pranksters like their father. Vax may have been the first to shave off Grog's beard, but he certainly wasn't the last. Keyleth's kids are kind and loving, but they tend to have a hard time understanding him. Dan Hydris is the worst of them all. He has nothing against Grog and quite likes to spar with him, but is too "cool" to spend time with his aunts and uncles. ⦁ When the kids are little, Grog reads to them, and as I said before, he does the voices the best. He often teaches most of the kids to write, at first at least. Uncle Grog is most loved because he can never deny them anything. When the Trickhalt home begins to fill up with little gnomes (and a tiefling) and J.B. and Kaylee comes home from school to stay, Grog moves out to Greyskull Keep. ⦁ So when the kids of VM get frustrated with their parents, they run off to Greyskull to pout with Uncle Grog, and he loves them so much. They go out to get dinner and dessert and they spar. Keyleth's kids spend time in the gardens, making Greyskull beautiful. The Trickhalts spend time in the Sarenrae temple praying and playing music. A couple of the de Rolos spend time in Percy's old workshop while the others spend time in various places in the Keep. Grog quietly keeps the kids out of their parents' old room because how could that go well. ⦁ While the kids spend time with Uncle Grog, the rest of VM goes on adventures -- Grog has had enough of adventuring and, having no (known and/or legitimate) kids of his own, he loves spending as much time with them as possible, especially as he has plenty of time to adventure on his own.

#not ib #critical role #the epilogue #perc'ahlia #zahrash #Pikelan #grog strongjaw #keyleth #the quarter elves #Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III #vex'ahlia #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #zahra hydris #kashaw vesh #its so much im sorry #cr1

[thetravsnco]

Chapter One

Hey! So, after that long, boring talk about all my writing prospects and why I like Traversal so much, and which I suppose you have seen so many times already, plus that awfully ambiguous(to most!) textpost featuring two characters of considerable prominence, Stalford Lupus and Edward Black, and which has either left you interested or displeased, in which I truthfully yearn that you experience the former, now it is time to start the chapters rolling! 

Here goes...

This was just another ordinary Saturday in the rich autumns of Nottingham, if you asked anyone. They were perhaps famous, even missed, by long-time residents who had known them, or had spent many a part of their childhood basking in the joy and pleasure of marveling at how the leaves would turn red, golden-brown or even a novel shade of yellow specially at this time of the year, as though to match the radiant glow of the sun's rays as they somehow managed to find their way around the place, behind every corner, pipe, gutter and edge, worming its way into the people's houses, where some would be spending their afternoons watching television, for kids playing perhaps a particularly intense video game, or enjoying the comfort of a good book and a cup of hot, strong, freshly brewed coffee and a snack. Never failing to bring joy to even the most sober, sullen and more sober of the history of miserable long-faces, it very gladly warmed up and caught everyone's smiles within a seemingly everlasting radius. And it would truthfully be an understatement to say that the people of Nottingham were none the more grateful for it.

Now, as the sun which I have so plentifully presented in my earlier paragraph shone its contagious smile on a certain street known so as Kingsley Way, there were two children, the only two in Nottingham perhaps, who did not seem nearly as much cheered up as the rest of the sun's 'patients', by the ages of thirteen, leaning against the kind of fence that looked as though it had not been carefully, much meticulously tended for ages and counting, its once pristine white paint now practically unrecognizable as it covered itself with tender peelings and stains or haphazard smudge marks that littered it, over the passing of time that surrounded number four, Kingsley Way, like a venomous anaconda slowly curling itself around its prey before devouring it in one spectacular gulp, though decidedly not with so much a suspense as the latter.

The kids' names were Oliver and Ana Williams, and were twins, as you probably had guessed. At this very moment even the smartest of passers-by could be forgiven for not noticing their whereabouts, for they were very cleverly and henceforth inconspicuously hidden behind a hedge of begonias that lined the entire interior of the fence and beyond, much. Now, this Oliver and Ana Williams were at this moment not remotely enjoying themselves, as their parents...well, you know how most parents work from nine to five, five days a week? Well, Oliver's and Ana's work from five to nine, seven days a week. Mr. Williams was a lawyer, and Mrs. Williams a medical specialist, which meant that she was fairly high in the medical industry. Mr. Williams was often overseas half the year, as he had become quite prominent in the past years and often had to go all around the world to meet fellow lawyers on business trips, or if someone called on him to investigate big overseas cases, and was hardly ever at home. Meanwhile Mrs. Williams often had to stay up overnight to tend to patients, or to do research on 'important things', as she called it, so Oliver and Ana cultivated discipline from a young age and could pretty much get the house running on their own.

Today was just another of the days that they were left to their own devices, needless to say.

"Hey Olive, want to go for a walk down the street? I'm wholly bored to death on such an uneventful day." Ana, younger by three minutes, had still not gotten used to life with the Williams much.

Oliver was the way more mature of the two, but even he understood how dreadful it could be to have absolutely nothing to do, or no business to get round to on a day like this, and he was practically falling asleep. "Sure." He got up, showing just how much he longed for an opportunity to stretch his legs, despite how much he would refuse to admit it if anyone asked. Disappearing into the house, he slipped upstairs and came down a mere minute later with a blue sweatshirt behind a black jacket which his father had gotten him a few years ago after a trip to the States, sleeves pulled up, and denim jeans for his bottom. Ana was already waiting when he came, and together the pair of them stepped out the door and at once again the fresh air greeted them like a rush of cool breeze from the air-conditioner in their respective rooms. Locking the door behind them, they exited the house through the rattled old fence, and set off side by side towards the horizon on the end of the left of Kingsley Way, as far as the eye could see.

They had no destination in mind, but they just kept walking, thinking that it would be no harm to them even if they were just going for a stroll around their neighborhood.

They passed by the other various quaint houses located along Kingsley Way that belonged to their equally strange neighbors, one of which was the famous engineer Riley Marks, in the area at least. Whenever anyone encountered problems with their home appliances, they need not be afraid to call on him. He was very kind to the Williams, and whenever they ran into his lanky stature packed with sinew and over an oversized jumper, he would give them biscuits and go to the nearby Jackson's to treat them to ice-creams.

Next to Riley's was old Ms. Crowley's. She was a catty old lady whom no one dared come close to, as everyone on the street found creepy. No one knew what exactly she did, but word did spread around that she was senile and a witch, and entering her house was like entering a haunted one. The rumor had been passed down for generations, and of course the twins had heard of it, although they had been too young to say anything adverse to it even if they wanted to. What really confirmed their suspicions, though, was that once, many years ago, Oliver was playing with the Marks boy Andrew in the garden, and their ball had flew over to Ms. Crowley's by accident. Andrew went to get it back, but no sooner had he put one leg into the untidy, weedy grass, the front door creaked open, and a pointy, shriveled finger poked itself out of it and waggled itself at Andrew, as though trying to warn him. Andrew started crying, and Riley himself had to come over to get him (and the ball) back. It was still a joke at meetings, but ten years down the road Andrew had still never forgotten his vowing that day never to step foot in that 'crazy old bat's' garden again.

Soon, unknowingly, as the twins neared the end of the street, they came to the dilapidated house at the end of it. Now, this put together with Ms. Crowley's was quite fitting, as they were rumored to be equally haunted. Now, of course there was a reason it was just a rumor. That is, Oliver and Ava knew otherwise, and it was destined to be a secret between them and the house's mysterious inhabitant - Kingston Podmore, with an indeed mysterious past.

Podmore was the only child of a rich family of scientists, and when his parents died, he was the sole heir to all their possessions. Influenced by his family, Podmore had become quite a budding scientist himself. There was also a prophecy written saying that only Podmore could invent something to rid the world of all troubles and evil once and for all, and create eternal peace and happiness. On Podmore's parents' deathbed, they had also made Podmore promise that he will continue to love Science, and use it only for good, not evil. Of course, Podmore agreed, and from then on dabbled in quite a many of various sciences with many clever inventions. He often worked at his inventions in his workshop through the night, sending flashes of blinding green light through the pitch dark skies. It was enough to scare the bravest kid, and further proved everyone's suspicions that the house was indeed haunted. But the Williams, of course, knew better.

"Last one in there's a rotten egg!" Ava squealed excitedly to Ramon, and together they dashed in without hesitation, slamming the door speedily behind them.

Racing down a long corridor, the kids relished in the strong sense of belonging that permeated their surroundings, as it had been so long ever since this place had started to become their favorite haunt. As though by magic, whatever interesting and new surprises that took place inside the four walls of this house never failed to amaze them, or break their boredom and even, occasionally, strike them into a whirlwind of confusion. These trips often ended with them stepping out of the house asking each other quizzically questions like, "How did he do that?" or "How did that even happen?", a bemused but interested look on their faces as they set off on the pavement leading to home.

They had just left a striking marble hall layered with pictures of all sorts of curious people, which consisted of various rather formidable-looking men with curly white hair which Ava thought must've been from a long, long time ago, young people with funky shocking neon hairstyles and nose piercing whom Oliver could relate to a rock star, shiny-headed baldies wearing an expression of fair disgust which Ava readily understood, and long-pillocks with curls and bangs that gave Oliver the impression of snakes growing out of their hair, which almost instinctively made him stick out his tongue in disgust and mouth, shaking his head, Gross!  before he was tugged on the jacket sleeve by Ava and together they boarded a widening, seemingly posh flight of stairs at the end of the room.

"Here!" Ava beckoned at Oliver and together they ran up a few flights of similarly grand stairways until they reached the third floor. Next they hustled down another corridor, this time filled with shining, newly polished knight's armour of all shapes and sizes, and also whom seemed to have been charmed, as they would say things like "Steady there, steady there!" or "Hold your horses!" which usually would definitely have made them crack up, but not today, not now, not when they had a thousand and one things to yet get around to do in this mysterious labyrinth of exploration and wonder, one of which was currently getting to the well-hidden laboratory of their flaky scientist friend.

When they finally got to a bookshelf at the corridor's end, Ana, panting, tapped the third book from the left on the sixth shelf from the top and the bookshelf flipped to its side to reveal a secret passage. Oliver and his sister stepped forward and off they went. It was as though being on an indoor roller coaster. The Williams slid down a seemingly never-ending slide. It was a relief to see the warm glow of Podmore's laboratory, where the twins had to put their hands in front of them to stop themselves falling face-first on the cold wooden floor. They got to their feet to a glance from Podmore, who immediately waved invitingly to them.

"No trouble getting here, then? Hancock's getting worse these days."

Hancock was a poltergeist living in the castle, and whose mischief could not delight him more.

"Not at all, Professor. We didn't run into him today."

"Good, good....well, what brings you here this fine day?"

"We wanted to look at your new project, sir."

"Ah, yes. About that new project....I'll show it to you. It's under here." Podmore motioned to a white cloth in the corner. "I've always been awaiting your arrival to check it out. Here you go."

He lifted the cloth up, slowly. The Williams could not help but stare in awe at the contraption underneath. A sleek vehicle of some sort emerged. It was painted mainly silver and blue, with a neon yellow halo surrounding its top. It reminded one of a rocket. With a transparent window on its side, a small table dotted with various buttons and a keyboard was barely visible.

"Presenting...Traverse 2.0. Made from cutting-edge technology that has been newly invented in the twenty-first century, this is a time machine that is well equipped to travel through the holes of time into the past, future...well, whenever you like for adventures or missions. This machine is lightweight, making it easier to hide in the shadows. This, you will find, comes in very useful during missions. Talking about hiding in shadows...Traverse 2.0 also has an Invisibility function. With the click of a button, Traverse 2.0 will be invisible to outsiders, particularly enemies. Lastly, Traverse 2.0 is built such that I can send messages through texts, or even send a hologram of myself to appear if the need arises, to help you through your journey." Here, after his long warble, Podmore shot a sneaky smile at the kids. Oliver was the first to answer.

"What do you mean, 'you'? Wait...you don't mean..." his confused expression turned into a wide grin when Podmore's quick nod told him his answer. "Wow, really?"

Ana was still gawping at the time machine and when she heard Oliver and Podmore's conversation, she wanted to say something but she found there was nothing to say, so she did the only sensible thing she could think of and closed her mouth. Her brother was already climbing into the time machine excitedly.

"Hang on!" Looking at Oliver's eager smile, Podmore chortled and said, "You need your time travelling suit first."

"But where?" The answer came almost immediately. Podmore pointed to a nearby cupboard. The bottom door sprang open and out came a...

"Portable cupboard!" the kids exclaimed in unison. It looked like a small cylinder at first, just like a can of Coke you could get at the neighborhood convenience store, but when in unraveled, it became a huge object, with poles and hangers hung on them, with many different clothing for various occasions. You could spin it as well. With a flick of his hand, Podmore made the cupboard spin to its left, to reveal two outfits that looked like time travelling suits all right, they looked like what a scuba diver would have worn, and scuba divers had always fascinated the older William.

"Awesome!" He grinned, and, pulling his twin sister, he raced to the cupboard. After donning on their time travelling suits, the twins boarded the time machine and used a button near the window to wind it down. They caught a last glimpse of Podmore shooting them an encouraging smile before they rose up and were blasted into darkness. Never in their wildest dreams would they imagine what adventures they would be wandering into...

All done, yes! Wait for Chapter Two, and, meanwhile, give me a shout in the comments, if there’s anything!

[indigo-rainn]

Keep Me Close

Chapter 3 – Stirrings

LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12764887/1/Keep-Me-Close 

SUMMARY: When something goes wrong during Sasuke’s two-year solo quest for redemption, Konoha launches a rescue mission to get him back. However, when things start to go south, the team struggles to make a decision: do they save their friend, or risk everything to prevent his skills from falling into the wrong hands? // Canon, SasuSaku, Team 7

A/N: Italic sections are memories! Please let me know if you have any questions. :3

After many years of neglect, the Uchiha sector in Konoha was finally approved for a reconstruction. The buildings, littered with shingles and chipped pain, had fallen into disrepair, and the crimson slashes that still stained the hard-to-reach cracks of the cobblestone mainstreet warned away any potential new visitors.

So, when an anonymous donor put in with a fully-funded application, citing the need to re-center the Uchiha clan around something other than tragedy, the village counsel was happy to oblige.

Said anonymous donor passed beneath the gate now, eyes darting about the remnants of construction with distaste. The dust of new cement lay like a film over every surface, a forgotten bulldozer waiting quietly beside the road. Sasuke made a mental note to berate the commissioned architect before pausing to survey the rest of what had once been his home. His expression remained mute, lips tugged in a firm line, his jawline slicing and set against gritted teeth.

Despite his initial disapproval, the construction team had done well. They'd built a large public park just past where Sasuke stood, and maintained and remodeled a cluster of homes just behind it. A children's playground, polished and lonely, was joined by benches and a lone statue. The air hung sweetly with the scent of freshly-cut grass, and a newly-planted flower garden along the edge of the park whistled with lavender and cerulean hydrangeas. He learned to throw shuriken in this same park, although it looked much different then.

Along the main drag, Sasuke commissioned a museum and a library, both closed for the evening, as well as a few shops yet to be filled. He hoped one would be a restaurant, the other something aimed toward shinobi, like a specialty scroll or tool shop.

Beyond the row of buildings lay an empty stretch, giving way to a series of murals that decorated the walls, detailing the story of the clan in sweeping colors and caricatures. As Sasuke passed it, several of his own images stared back at him. One as a child, hang tucked into a young Itachi's, another during the War, impaled upon his own kusanagi, in the hands of Madara.

Sasuke looked away sharply, twisting around to cast a glance at the statue in the park. His brother gazed back, a serene expression warming his face, cloaked in a traditional Uchiha kimono. Beneath his sandals, too far for Sasuke to read, stood a plaque, detailing the sacrifice Itachi had once made on behalf of the village and his younger brother.

Sasuke's dropped his gaze back to the cobblestone beneath his feet, and continued down the street. Each footstep echoed in the quiet.

Beyond the murals, a new building. Tall and inviting, with big windows and several stories – an orphanage, the focal point of the entire initiative. Sasuke had been adamant about this piece of the new sector, Naruto had been quick to support it on a higher level. The intention was to take in kids and offer not just a place to live, but also mentorship program that paired elite shinobi with the children to give them a much-needed parental figure. Although the program was just getting onto its feet, they already had a few children enrolled, and Kakashi and Naruto had both volunteered to be a part of it.

As Sasuke examined the building, a small girl waddled out from the open front door. No more than four-years-old, with olive skin and a swirl of white hair. One of the women who worked at the building followed her out and parading the child back inside, their voices a faint bubble.

"Sasuke-kun!"

The young Uchiha whipped around, and an emerald stare caught his gaze. Sakura stood just a few paces away, breathing heavily, a thin line of sweat running the length of her rosy cheek. The diamond on her forehead gleamed in the late afternoon light.

"Sakura?" he said, blinking. She rushed toward him, her fist raised, and connected with his arm.

"You–you IDIOT!" she yelled, swinging back and jabbing him again. Although she infused no chakra into her blows, she hit hard, and he staggered back to avoid a third hit.

"What the hell, Sakura?" he hissed. She glowered at him, gloved hands still balled into fits. Her signature strawberry hair had lengthened since he'd last seen her, and it tumbled along the small of her back in thick waves. Instead of her usual shinobi garb, she wore a slim floral dress, with thin straps that exposed the ripple of strength in her shoulders.

"You cannot just sneak into the village like this," she said finally, hands on her hips. He'd been gone for just short of a year, and hadn't visited or communicated with the village apart from a few mission-related letters to the Hokage.

"If I were sneaking, you wouldn't be here," he intoned. He turned at a squeal from behind him, and he eyed the orphanage as the overseer from earlier reappeared on the porch, swinging the child overhead. The child squealed again in delight.

"You can't – why can't you just say hello?" Sakura's tone shifted into something more gentle as she, too, watched the child over his shoulder, a hint of a smile softening her expression.

"Hello," said Sasuke, turning back around to look at the kunoichi, his sharp obsidians snatching her gaze and holding it there. His chakra surrounded her, black as night and pulsing into the air like a living entity. She could feel it licking at her skin, almost with a mind of its own, hot and deadly without even meaning to be.

Sakura soured immediately, and jabbed the Uchiha in the chest with an extended finger. "That–is–not–what–I–meant!" she grumbled, punctuating each word with another jab. A faint tug of a smile edged at the corner of Sasuke's cheek, and he swatted her hand away. Sakura rolled her eyes and shot a glance off toward the park, and the homes beyond.

"Which one of these is yours?" she asked after a pause, her eyes sneaking a glance up to Sasuke's. His obsidian eyes gleamed, flickering down to hold her gaze mutely. She broke the contact and continued: "I've come into here a few times to check out the construction, but I never knew where to look."

"I'm going there now," he said quietly. "You can see it." He started walking in that direction, without looking back. Sakura wavered in place.

"If you want to be alone, I get it, I can go–" she started.

"Hurry up, Sakura." She hid her grin as she jogged after him along the path.

Sasuke awoke to his heart hammered against his ribcage. His body trembling with tension and exhaustion, whatever chakra stores he once had diminished. The dark pressed against his eyes, and when he tried to move he, expectedly, found himself bound. When he breathed, the thick, saturated stench of decay rushed at him. His lips, cracked and papery, bled down the side of his chin. The skin of his one remaining hand ached – although he could not see it, he recognized the pain as a burn, extending from fingertip to elbow.

His head pounded, and thirst clawed at his throat. Hunger snarled in his empty belly. Then, a sound brought him out of himself and into alertness: the scrambling of movement on the cold, rock surface.

"You awake?"

He didn't recognize the voice, but it carried less authority than the man in the room from before. This voice knew fear – this voice too, was a captive. Or, at least, pretending to be. Sasuke hadn't the energy to analyze, it was all he could do just to lay in stillness and listen.

The person scrambled closer, and Sasuke tried to move away, but succeeded only in turning his face to the side and further aggravating his trembling limbs.

"Hey, stop." A gentle hand on his shoulder. Sasuke could feel the person sitting over him, hear the heart beat and feel the warmth radiating from the persons skin. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but only a faint crackle made it out from his throat.

"Stop, stop. I have water. Tilt your head back, and I'll pour." He did as he was told, and he felt the edge of a bucket press to his mouth, and lukewarm water splashed past his lips. He nearly choked on it in surprise, but after a moment, he drank gratefully until the source ran dry. His companion withdrew the pail, and sat beside him silently.

"I…can't see," Sasuke croaked, after a moment had passed between them.

"There's a seal, tied around your head. And another one around your body. I tried to take them off, when you were asleep, but it burnt my hands," said the person quietly. "I'm sorry."

He sounded like a small boy, from what Sasuke could tell. His voice not quite dropped, the sounds he made not heavy enough to come from a grown adult. Fear and loneliness hung around his presence in a thick cloud.

"Where are we?" Sasuke asked, his voice hoarse.

"No one knows," answered the boy quietly. "It's some kind of lab. We're in the cells, right now. They brought you in a few hours ago."

"What…happens here?" Sasuke wished he could get a good look at the kid.

"They're working on some kind of mind-control technique. I don't know how it works," murmured the child. "But, do you notice when your body aches and hurts, and you're always so tired when you wake up?

Sasuke nodded stiffly.

"Someone probably used your body, while you were sleeping. The guy in charge, he calls us puppets…" the boy continued. "I'm not very exciting, I'm just a genin. I don't know why they took me." The boy's silence filled with tears.

Sasuke wanted to be able to tell the boy it would be alright, but couldn't. The words didn't rise to his throat because he didn't believe them. He couldn't imagine a scenario where they'd make it out from this pit in a timely, living manor.

It would take weeks for anyone to notice his absence – that was usually how these sequences transpired. A few days for Konoha to take note of his lack of correspondence, and another few days to decide that the breach in communication indicated that he'd been attacked or captured. Another handful of days to get to Kyreen, and to take stock of whatever had happened there. And, finally, actually finding this prison he was being kept it – there was no way of telling how long that would take. His chakra signature felt too weak to track, and it wouldn't be easy to find.

In the meantime, would his body actually be used as a weapon? He racked his brain, searching for anything that could indicate what took place during his long stints of unconscious, but came up with nothing. He couldn't fathom such a thing, couldn't believe it. Wouldn't he notice something like that? He felt like a child, his fate beyond the reach of his own fingertips.

His eyes fluttered shut beneath the mask, and exhaustion rose up to meet him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Konoha.

From a distance, the rescue team could see the smoke. It poured into the clouds, blackening the overcast sky and bleeding out beyond its source. The smell reached them next – thick and acidic, not just the charcoal of burning wood, but also the sharpness of melting metal and flesh.

When the smell and smoke became critical, Sakura pulled the team to a stop, reached into the medical kit on her hip and produced masks. She'd brought them to use in case of a medical emergency, but they would certainly work to filter the air in a pinch. She secured her own mask over her face, hooking it behind her ears, and then they took off again. Flocks of sea birds wheeled overhead, travelling swiftly in the opposite direction.

Instead, the rosette kunoichi doubled her pace, charging up the soles of her boots with chakra and leaping ahead. The rest of the team followed suit wordlessly – the urgency of their mission heating up as swiftly as the air around them.

They crested a knoll earth, the source of the smoke just on the opposite side. Sakura put out her hand, and the team tucked themselves neatly to the trees lining the cliff to stay out of sight and assess the valley that dipped below them.

Hinata gasped. Even Suigetsu's face flickered with a nervous apprehension.

Flames as black as night had consumed the small village. Where there were once buildings, there was now nothing but piles of smoldering ash. Nothing remained but the blackness of the earth and the blackness of the Amaterasu, licking toward the sky and clawing at the earth, spreading violently away from where the town had once been.

Even the ships anchored off shore burned, the flames jumping easily from dock to buoy to boat. Sakura shivered as the stench of flesh hit her face, sliding easily past her mask. She could see the remnants of corpses and skeletons near where the entrance to the town had been. Trying to flee the flames in vain, and frozen forever in stride. Tears sprung to the kunoichi's eyes, and she took a step toward the village.

"Sakura, don't," warned Hinata, putting a hand on her teammate's shoulders. She'd activated the Byakugan, and her eyes flickered around before them. "We can't risk approaching those flames. Not without someone to put them out."

Sakura looked at her feet, fingers curling around the hilt of a kunai strapped to her thigh. Her rosette locks hung in front of her face, blocking her eyes, which ached with grief. A deep tightness roiled in her chest.

Had Sasuke done this? Did Sasuke mean to kill all of these people?

The kunoichi ground the heel of her boot into the dirt, swallowing the memories that surfaced with the thought. Of all of the instances he'd tried to kill her, and slaughter Naruto. When he announced his plans to destroy Konoha, and the maniacal laugh that had gurgled from his throat when he'd tried to gut her with a chidori. All mere months before their reconciliation during the War.

Her jaw slackened, and she dug her nails into the skin of her forearm. She couldn't block the sound of his cackle from ringing in her ears. The furious glint in his eye. The sensation of dread, drowning in it, when Susanoo manifested before her for the first time. The scream of the Amaterasu flames before her now. Her trust in him began to slip.

Delicate fingers slipped into her hand and gave it a squeeze. Sakura looked up sharply to find Hinata at her side.

"We'll find him, Sakura-chan," she whispered, squeezing her hand again. "I don't believe this was his fault."

"What do you think happened?" Sakura asked, her tone dark. Other than herself and Naruto, the rest of the Rookie 9 were always quick to blame the ex-missing nin for any wrongdoings. Many still believed he deserved prison for his defection, or worse.

"Look at the blast pattern," said the Hyuuga shinobi, pointing to the far side of the village. Close to the water, in an area where the flames had already eaten all of the life and moved on, lay a circular pattern of burns. The center was clear, with barely a burn at all, but beyond that safe center everything had been incinerated to a particularly harsh degree.

"I've only seen Sasuke use Amaterasu a few times, but it's always controlled. This looks like an explosion – have you seen anything like that before?" asked Hinata. Sakura shook her head, and when the women turned to Team Taka, they appeared equally dumbfounded.

"I'd say, then, that this was a reaction to a moment of extreme stress or danger. His chakra trying to make a last-ditch effort to protect him," said Hinata, her tone careful but unwavering. She was sure of herself and in her assessment.

The team stood in place, each imagining what must have happened in their own terms. Sasuke's sheer speed, combined with his visual prowess and propensity for strategy, made it all hard to fathom.

"We should go to the next town, to the north," said Sakura, not wishing to dwell upon the what-ifs..

"Why?" drawled Suigetsu. "We're not going to find him cracking open a cold one at the local pub."

"If there are any survivors, that's where they'll be. And we need more information about what happened here."

Following Sakura's lead, the team took off again, maintaining a wide girth around the town to avoid any of the snarling flames, and continued north.

When Sasuke dreamed, he dreamed he was a child. Standing in the middle of the main road in the Uchiha Clan sector, not yet tall enough to see above the buildings. Evening lit the road in shades of orange, and music and laughter rang out into the street, animated shadows dancing within the windows he passed.

"Sasuke-kun!"

He turned, his brother jogging toward him. Itachi was no older than ten – a scrape on his knee, the lines under his eyes not yet formed. His dark eyes big and glittering as his pony tail swung past his shoulders.

"Sasuke-kun, there you are." Itachi stopped in front of him, grinning broadly. "We're late for supper."

He stooped and gave Sasuke a squeeze, ruffling his hair affectionately. When he straightened up, Itachi looked suddenly concerned. His brow knit together. He bent his knees to get on eye-level, gaze widening as he held Sasuke’s ebony stare.

"Wake up, Sasuke," he said abruptly.

"Nii-san?" Sasuke whispered, staggering back, clutching at his chest.

"Wake up! Right now, Sasuke!" Itach was yelling now, sharply and in his younger brother's ear.

Wake up, Sasuke! Wake up! Wake up, NOW!

A sharp intake of breath, and Sasuke opened his eyes. Light seeped in, blinding in its brightness. His hand moved up and wiped sweat from his forehead–

Except it wasn't his hand. It was his hand – it surely belonged to him – but he wasn't the one moving it. His body took a step forward, and his arm reached to his belt and closed around his katana.

Sasuke recoiled. He tried to lift his arm, and couldn't. Instead, it continued to reach for the katana, sliding it easily from its holster. Sasuke focused all of his effort in trying to keep the arm still, but it moved fluidly and easily beyond his control, waving the weapon in front of him with ease.

It dawned on him, finally, that all he could do was observe. He was a passenger, a detached soul, watching the world and his body move, all beyond his grasp. He tried to scream, and no sound came out. His body's mouth held tightly shut.

His body twirled the blade, and dropped into a defensive crouch. He stood in a town that appeared much like Kyreen – all around him, he took in the flutter of fabric as villagers scrambled away from him in all directions.

"Why are you doing this?" a young shinobi appeared before them, wearing a chuunin vest. He couldn't be more than seventeen, and his expression betrayed the terror that shook his thin frame. Sasuke's mouth opened, and words that were not his own came out in a lurching voice:

"I am practicing," his body said. And then, quickly, "Katon: Gokakyu no Jutsu!"

Fire erupted from his core, shooting out toward the unsuspecting shinobi. The boy cried out, dodged, and scrambled to get away. Sasuke's body took off after him, flash-stepping just ahead and blocking his path.

Chidori screeched down the length of the blade as his body raised it, suspending the screeching lightning rod overhead as blue light danced before his eyes. His grip tightened. Preparing to slice the child into death–

Then, new chakra signatures flared in his peripheral. His body tensed and turned to face them, assuming a defensive crouch. A growl that wasn't his own rattled his throat.

In the distance, rushing into view, he could just make out four shinobi sprinting toward the village. A flash of rosette locks, and something stirred in Sasuke's stomach.

Sakura?

A/N

Weee sorry everyone, I keep forgetting to put chapters up here. I was so focused on putting up chapter six and seven on FFN (if you haven’t read them yet, I could not be more happy with how they turned out!) that I let this blog fall to the wayside... forgive me! 

Feel free to drop a note, I love hearing from you lovelies!

xoxo

Indigo

#sasusaku #sasuke uchiha #sasuke #sakura #sakura haruno #sasusaku fanfiction #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruhina

[einstein-robin-hood-blog]

The Dharma Subs, by Jack Kerouac (excerpt)

Just outside of Barstow, the needle on the speedometer hit 120. Dean let out a whoop and put his chin back on the steering wheel. He had a tuna sub in each hand (toasted parmesan cheese roll, lettuce, tomato, black olive, extra pickle, benzadrine) and was steering with his chin.

“Sal, grab the wheel for a sec.”

I leaned over and Dean reached into the cooler on the back seat and grabbed another sub (iron foundry bread, wilted Apache lettuce, Hampton tomatoes, jingo weed sauce, crystal meth). Now he was working on three and yelling:

“This is it, man! No one has ever driven 120 while eating three subs!”

We were headed to Denver to hear Carlo Marx read his new poem -

HOW(L) Do You Want Your Sub? - at a Paint and Sip in East Colfax. There was a waitress there that Dean had knocked up on his last trip through town and since he had just gotten divorced, he was all set to marry Gladys (that being her name).

But it had to be a surgical strike, because there was a warrant out for Dean. Last summer, Dean beat up a kid who was working the counter during Sub Night at the Montbello Paint and Sip. Dean didn’t like the way the kid made his sub (Hawaiian longboard bread, Emily Dickinson lettuce, whorehouse tomatoes, Popeye spinach, olive oil, very few pickles (really, it was insulting), peyote). Dean jumped over the counter, knocked the kid out, and then emptied the whole jar of pickles on his sub (Hawaiian longboard bread, Emily Dickinson lettuce, whorehouse tomatoes, Popeye spinach, olive oil, way too many pickles now, peyote). This probably would have been fine, except he then poured a gallon jug of chipotle mayonnaise on the kid’s head. Dean’s bad luck would have it that the kid aspirated some of the mayo and was in the hospital for six weeks. Yeah, that stuff burns. Also turns out that the kid was a nephew of Denver’s mayor, Aloysious “Triphammer” Fortescue. So the whole Denver police force, batons in hand, were on the lookout for Dean.

The sun was going down when we decided to take a detour to Provo. Good sub town. They had a special sub, called The Esteemed Savory Elder Brigham Young, May His Memory Be A Blessing, Sub (Yemeni pita, sundried lettuce, Incan tomato,  pickled forget-me-nots, mescaline), that drew them in from miles around. Folks in Provo got their energy from the mountains and the tumbleweeds that blow through town night and day. True believers who spend their days roping cows, throwing seed on dirt that’s been in their families for generations, or pulling a double shift at the Paint and Sip. At night, they trim their nose hair in the bathroom mirror and wait for the banjo repairman. Say what you will about Mormons, they know how to make a good sub (toasted pioneer bread, double cheese, oil & vinegar, righteous Jesus pickle, amphetamine).

It was around midnight when we spotted her by the side of the road. We had just passed through a ghost town called The Parson’s Handbag and were starting to flag. We were down to our last sub (quinoa loaf, swamp lettuce, moonbeam tomatoes, blind midget peppers, dead coal miner sauce, pineal gland extract).

Her name was Sunbeam and she was dressed as a giant six foot sub (foam rubber bun, styrofoam tomato, green felt lettuce, plasticine chipotle mayonnaise, LSD). And a five gallon tub of pickles under her arm. She jumped into the front seat and sat herself down right between me and Dean.

“Good tidings, hepcats. You fine examples of American manhood wouldn’t happen to be going to Provo, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, sister, we are,” I replied. “Settle in and dig the happenings.” Dean just stared.

“So, milady of the toasted bun, what flame doth draw thy sweet and tender mothiness to the enchanted burg of Provo.” My flirting game was a little rusty, so I may have been laying it on a bit thick.

“Big sub convention! The Mormons are rolling out a new secret sub (?????,?????,?????,?????). They claim just one bite gives you eternal life and your own planet. Makes The Esteemed Savory Elder Brigham Young, May His Memory Be A Blessing, Sub taste like dirt. They call it The Rapture Sub.”

“Far out. I wants in, missy.”

“You gots in, mister.”

Through all this world-class flirting, Dean was quiet as a speakeasy mouse on a three-day cheese and port wine jag. His eyes were glued to the road. Every once in a while he’d reach over and grab Sunbeam by the bun. She’d giggle and slap his hand away playfully.

We eventually ran out of subs and decided to pull over and crash for the night. Being a gentleman, or thinking myself to be one, I offered to sleep in the trunk, leaving Sunbeam the spacious backseat and Dean the front. He liked to sleep with his chin hanging off the bottom of the steering wheel, “Good practice,” he’d say.

I awoke pretty groggy. Climbed out of the trunk, took a quick leak onto sun-bleached desert hardpan, and peered into the car. Sunbeam was nowhere to be found. Half of her sub costume, torn to shreds, was spread all over the back seat. I looked at Dean and saw that his stomach was incredibly distended. Like 12 months pregnant distended.

I shook him awake.

“What did you do? Where’s Sunbeam?”

Dean rubbed his eyes, spit out the window, and asked “Who’s Sunbeam? Man, am I stuffed.”

“Sunbeam is the chick we picked up past night. I think you ate her!” I was starting to panic. This was worse than the kid and the mayonnaise.

“What are you talking about? I don’t remember any chick. All I remember is tripping balls and eating a giant sub that just wouldn’t stop.”

“That was Sunbeam! You ate Sunbeam! You ate an entire chick!” (long brown hair, sports bra, Grateful Dead T-shirt, hold the undies, blue jeans, huarache sandals, giant foam rubber sub costume, peyote).

Just then, Sunbeam sauntered over from behind an ocotillo bush, hitching up her pants and calling out: “Greetings my brothers! I have completed my morning ritual and returned my essence to Mother Earth, as it has been for all generations since Eve trod in the Garden.” She paused and looked at us: “I’m not even going to ask about the sub costume. If you can front a girl breakfast and lunch, we can call it even.”

Dean looked at me and asked who was she and what the hell was she talking about. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and I told him: “Her name is Sunbeam and I think she just took a piss.” Dean nodded, turned on the radio - “Sweet and Dandy” by Toots and the Maytals. I climbed into the back seat, got cozy with Sunbeam, and we were off.

And there we were, two heteronormative men and a lost flower child of yet undisclosed sexuality, burning a sweet black line of rubber to match the white centerline of the road. We had no idea where our next sub would come from, but we knew it was out there somewhere, waiting.

I’m not even going to tell you what the foam rubber sub did to Dean’s digestion.

.