#found myself cradling my foot like a mother hen

[wordsarefakeokay]

What makes people turn to god

What divine intervention can he impart that no one else can

What drives someone to ask for it when they've never done so before

If it's out of our hands isn't the saying just "let the chips fall where they may"

The prophetic bones and their cracks, isn't that a matter of chance

Why do they give this life to the hands of the messiah singing "take the wheel"

Who is Jesus, god, Mary Joseph those kings

Adam madam madman Eve

Theresa mandala Mandela Steve

Why were they right but the apple wrong

Why do people seek Jesus

Why is the church something you find

Why do I sit here with my hands clasped in almost prayer

Can anyone out there read my mind

These thoughts are scattered and here they flow

But god will understand me even if I don't rhyme right?

God must love all people that's what those good Christians say

But why are the good people the only ones who write our history and the bad people written off

I feel forgotten

If we fall does he still see us

What about Norse or Greek or Judaism

Or Muslim, Egyptian, African

Latin American, Pacific islander, indigenous peoples stories

Chinese Japanese Korean or Russian

Don't we all have good food?

A good take on carbs and protein, veggies and fruit

Desserts to chase them all and you got me sold

Can't we all learn recipes from one another?

Or that other R word

Why can't religion unite us

Why divide

Aren't these stories, these beliefs, they hymns the passages

The strength in our character developed by repetition

The way these beliefs shape how we live

Can't we see?

Can't you

But today I ask for me

When someone is staring at all possible solutions

And has explored everything imagineable

Tangible real finite

Science and math and human

Literature and philosophy and art and tech

At what point do they turn to the divine

At what point are they all that's left

And why does rock bottom always feel like this, where we find ourselves looking nowhere but up

#found myself cradling my foot like a mother hen #speaking to my broken bones and enflamed foot like a mother sedating a child #telling my foot to calm down its crying because well #this is only the beginning #and i found myself almost praying #in a hunched over position with my hands clasped together and pointed over my foot #almost praying that the pain would lessen #is this why people turn to religion #because if theres nothing left here on earth horatio to explain away the gay #or explain away the pain #are the almighty all thats left #where else is thereto turn to #if weve pushed all other loved ones away #or lie awake at night and hope for a better tomorrow #are we not just giving our hopes to some unexplainable force #does religion not explain those moments #is religion not just human science for the unexplained #what else could faith mean #or hope #or crossing your fingers and skipping cracks ignoring black cats and throwing salt over your shoulder #knocking on wood and singing in the shower matching your breathing to the music and slowing your heart rate so you are more clearheaded #don't we find solace in answer? who knows more than god? does that imply only the blindest faith for such an entity #what else is left beyond such a thing #stories are stories and words are words #kids still sing nursery rhymes when they grow old and then sing those for the next set of kids #circle of life history repeats humanity has been built with these preexisting spaces so what will this mean for earths future #this species future #the future of our galaxy #or are we just apinning around in one of gods marbles on a larger scale board game #my writing

[chrysalispen]

upon pale dawns, prologue I: to be the water’s care,

my adaptation of a realm reborn- this will probably go up to praetorium and then have a separate longfic for the patches, but we’ll see how long the drafts get. 

at any rate! two prologues. you can find the AO3 link HERE

chapter under the cut.

====

“Land!”

It was a blessed word after weeks at sea. The shout arose from the sailor standing watch at the ship’s prow, leather-bound spyglass in one meaty paw.

At that single utterance, every passenger aboard the Explorer found themselves immediately drawn topside, and the snow-tressed Elezen girl standing on tiptoes to tilt over the tarred and salt-crusted wooden railing was no exception. The ocean crossing from Sharlayan was long and rarely uneventful and the ship’s passengers had spent most of it below decks, weathering the heavy rains and stomach-turning waves from perilous storms grown only more tempestuous in the handful of years since the Calamity.  

A burly Roegadyn crewman standing nearby, his hands busied with rope, squinted sharply at his unexpected visitor. She ignored his presence with a single-minded determination- there were more important matters afoot. Her focus lay upon the half-obscured outline of grey-blue and faded silver that broke the endless monotony of the open sea. Setting one patten-clad foot in the deck railing, she hoisted her weight up and forward to get a better view.

“Alisaie,” a young voice cut in, sharp and authoritative, “get down from there. If you lose your balance you’ll fall overboard.”

“I won’t lose my balance.”

“I sincerely doubt the good crew of our passenger ship would fancy diving into the water to pluck you from the waves, sister.” Alisaie spared a glance over her shoulder, bristling at the speaker. He could have been her mirror image right down to their attire, save the blue ribbon fluttering from its secured place at the base of a thin length of braided platinum hair, identical to her own. “You can see perfectly well with both your feet upon the deck.”

Alisaie responded with an indignant huff, but lowered herself so that her feet were once more flush with the oaken planks. “Seven hells, if there is one thing I will not miss about this journey, it is your incessant clucking.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Alphinaud. Like a mother hen, if she had fewer feathers than words.”

“I am only trying to look out for you. For both of us.” His brow knitted as he spoke- with either worry or disapproval, Alisaie couldn’t say. “Father would never let me hear the end of it if I let you fall into the ocean of all things.”

“I know! I know.”

“And if you keep fidgeting with your hair-ribbon like that you’re going to lose it.”

As if to punctuate his words, an errant gust whipped the end of her braid from its loose pin between her fingers. Her eye caught a flash of bright red from the tapered ends of the ribbon as it fluttered in the salty breeze like a loosened sail.

“Yes, mother,” her fingers fell away to fidget at her sides instead, “Do I have your permission to remain above deck, at the very least?”

Alphinaud gave her a startled series of blinks. He hadn’t slept well on the trip, being far more prone to seasickness, and the deep bruised circles beneath his eyes gave them an owlish cast. “Of course you can stay here, if you like,” he said. “It’ll be several bells before we reach the harbor, after all.”

Gods! Why are you always like this? The furious thought flitted through the shallows of her mind, surfacing briefly with the flare of her temper. It’s hardly a wonder that father wouldn’t trust you to-

Hells. Wasn’t worth it. Like as not he’d barely noticed her fatigue let alone her frustration.

Alisaie suppressed an exasperated sigh and watched her twin’s retreating back for a moment as he made his way down the stair into the bowels of the ship, before turning her attention once more to the encroaching sliver of shoreline that sat just beyond the white-capped waves.

Landfall couldn’t come soon enough.

~*~

"It's seen better days, hasn't it," he opined, "Tupsimati."

They had only just managed to scrape together the funds to afford proper furniture, rather than borrowing pieces or using what few battered desks and chairs remained upon the premises. Surplus cots and side tables for the shared sleeping quarters were still in the process of arriving at the Waking Sands, piece by piece, at great expense and after a good deal of haggling over the cost to bring them by chocobo carriage from Ul’dah.

Given the recent rise in imperial activity throughout the region, none of them had felt it particularly prudent to advertise their presence to the realm at large and so in the years since the merging of the two organizations, much smaller in the wake of the Carteneau disaster, the center of operations had remained austere by dint of necessity. There was little of value or note even in the solar save the large mahogany desk with its teak inlay - a gift (others might call it a bribe, he thought with sour good humor) from their erstwhile landlord - and the reliquary which had been mounted upon the wall since that fateful day of their ‘founding’.

His companion stood behind the desk with her back to the door, and her posture had not once wavered from the moment he had entered to the moment he had spoken.

"As have we all, Thancred."

He did not miss the gentle rebuke within her words. The smile that played upon his lips became faintly rueful - as conversation starters went, he supposed it had been rather lacking - and without another word approached until he could round the desk to stand at her side. Five years barely seemed enough for all the growing she had done, assailed by mysterious visions and driven by internal conflict over her strange gift all the while.

Nevertheless, in that short amount of time the girl he had known had become a charismatic young woman.

As Thancred watched the paths of her fingers in their idle drifting, crossing the surface of the newly varnished wood over grain and groove, he followed her gaze to its focus upon the wall. The mounted case which she now contemplated was new, although its contents were not. It sat a few fulms behind and above the bulky mahogany desk at the solar’s heart, and tucked behind the transparent bulwark of crystal glass lay all that remained of Louisoix Leveilleur’s final and heroic deed: the crest of a splintered cane with a stone bearing the symbol of Thaliak.

Metaphor, he mused, for the disaster wrought upon the realm five summers past. Or perhaps one better suited for the old man’s ghost- one which seemed to linger still within these halls.

“You don’t seem as well pleased as one would expect.” His words rang through the sandstone-walled solar, their echoes hollow and bland. He noted with some small concern the distant cast to her expression, as though she were listening to something he could not hear. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Hm? Oh, no. ‘Tis not the arrangements which bother me. In fact, I think this shall serve our needs quite well for the time being.” Her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the desk’s surface and her attention returned to the broken artifact above. “...Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself wishing Master Louisoix were still here with us. I suspect in my heart- I like to think- that he has gone to a well deserved rest. But I still…”

She didn’t finish the statement, but further words were unnecessary. Sorrow muted the bright spring sky blue of her eyes.

“I shouldn’t carry on like this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“It is unbecoming of me to bemoan my lot. Everyone has lost so much to the Calamity, and we have borne far lighter burdens than most.” Her shoulders slumped for just the briefest moment before righting her posture again, but not so quickly that it escaped Thancred’s notice. “Even so, I can’t help but wonder what he would have done differently. Whether or not he would have negotiated better terms for-”

“Minfilia, please.” Her hands, seemingly placid at her sides, gripped the leathers of her tassets with a nigh-bruising force. Thancred unfolded one fist with care, as he might have done with an infant’s fingers, cradling them in one rough palm. “I don’t think anyone here is expecting you to be Louisoix Leveilleur, or even to fill his shoes. Besides which, the circumstances are entirely different.”

“I suppose.”

“Everyone else has had to start anew on some level or other. We’re hardly an exception,” Thancred shrugged. “And you have the words from your vision to guide us.”

“Yes,” she said, with a note of quiet conviction. He answered with a brief squeeze of her fingers before releasing her hand. “Yes, of course.”

“If you think this ‘crystal bearer’ She mentioned will make themselves known soon, then ‘twould be a benefit to us all to keep our eyes open for their coming. Would it not?” Thancred paused. “Is that what you wished to discuss?”

“Once the others arrive, yes.” Whatever hidden place to which Minfilia’s mind had wandered in that moment, she had clearly returned from it. Her gaze was clear and steady and her voice firm. “Truly, ‘tis wonderful - and serendipitous - that we have managed to keep this roof over our heads. And of course, I am grateful for the sultana’s continued assistance-”

“If not her ministers’ patronage,” Thancred said dryly.

“Quite.” Minfilia drummed close-trimmed nails thoughtfully against the desk. “But I do worry that it isn’t enough. These advantages will avail us little if we do not take steps to sustain our presence. It has been nearly five summers since we chose to join forces and disband the Path, and we are still struggling merely to make enough coin to pay for this space. We need more people, Thancred.”

His smile faded and the furrow of his brow deepened.

“I can’t help but feel as though I’m missing something. Should we be concerned about our funds?”

“Tataru came to me a few days past. We’ve received notification from the East Aldenard Trading Company stating that the lease on the land will be up for renewal by the end of the year, and that the rate will be increasing accordingly.” Minfilia winced. “...By which I mean to say: yes, I think it prudent to find other means to fund our activities. She agreed.”

“Then seek other means we must,” he shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think Tataru is within her rights to be concerned. The whole realm is still barely keeping its head above water as it is. We can ill afford to remain dormant, especially if it means insolvency.”

“Nor can we tarry overlong in debating the best approach to our other concerns,” she said. “The beast tribes have made it clear they will not wait for us to replenish our numbers ere they attempt to summon their gods yet again.”

“And there is also the Empire to consider,” Thancred pointed out dryly. “Two new castra in the space of as many years. Either the Garleans turned to engineering projects to amuse themselves, or the Black Wolf has been quite busy.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Hm. Not as such, but... I have received requests from the sultana as to whether or not we believe there is aught to fear from the Garleans. More than once.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Minfilia pointed out. “Castrum Meridianum is but a stone’s throw away from one of the biggest Syndicate concerns in the realm.”

“Yes, and what concerns me the most is that at present I cannot say definitively, one way or another, if we face further incursions. We need more information on their movements.”

“On that we most certainly agree. I realize we’re stretched thin, but we need more people.”

“Agreed. But all things considered, I doubt any of us have the time or inclination for a recruitment drive. Necessary or not.”

Minfilia said, very carefully:

“Perhaps not. But… if, while you are afield, you should happen to come across more… talents, then ‘tis all the better if you send them our way. Not everyone you meet will be suitable, of course, but some few will and I think we can only be stronger for it if we increase our numbers as we go.”

Thancred flashed her a roguish grin. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you wish for me to return to Ul’dah, Lady Antecedent.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You could have asked! As well you know,” he countered. “I have enjoyed my little vacation, but there is much to be done still.”

“If you prefer,” Minfilia said, her eyes twinkling with suppressed amusement, “I could send Urianger to the sultana’s court in your stead.”

“Urianger! Gods forbid. He’d hate every second.” He could just picture it. Bookish, eccentric Urianger looming over the diminutive lord of the Syndicate’s trading routes, intoning a passage from one of his scrolls. “I see no need to fix a method that is not broken. Leave us each to our own devices. I’ll go to Ul’dah and do what I do best.”

One of her slim brows tilted. “Charming the local maidens?”

“Young lady,” he said, dark eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth, twitching upwards, betrayed his hidden mirth. Minfilia only laughed and patted his smooth cheek.

“Jests aside, there are other reasons I would have an ear kept to the ground just now, and I would hardly trust anyone else with such a sensitive task. Will you do this for me?”

His teasing smile faded as he looked down at the person whose steady presence he prized above all else upon the star. She was his family, this slim graceful girl with her wide eyes and gentle, knowing smile and quiet strength - it would be easy to mistake her softness for weakness, not to see the steel within.

So thinking, his keen eye caught the slight tilt of Minfilia’s chin.

She was not asking, he realized. She was informing him. All she needed was the affirmation they both knew would be forthcoming, and she awaited it with her customary patience. And why should she not expect it? There was, after all, precious little she could ask of him that Thancred Waters would not be willing to attempt. He knew it as well as she did.

His smile returned in force.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he said, “and I’ll see it done.”

#upon pale dawns #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #a realm reborn #ARR retelling #chrysalispen writes

[legendaryjohnmarston]

Coming Home

Summary: Being a hero was awesome. Henry would know. Every kid's dream, right?

At some point it had been Henry's. And between the flashy costumes, the feeling of doing something good, and just the hero life in general was enough to make him gloss over the never-ending bruises and occasional nightmares he still got after all these years.

Being a hero was awesome...until it really wasn't. Until nights like these.

Word Count: 2,880

Fandom: Zenyverse

Warnings: Minor character death, mild mentions of blood. If there are any other warnings someone would like me to put please feel free to tell me!

A/N: I wrote this mostly just for myself and @zackmartin (I'm just a dumbass who forgot about it lmfao) but I'm just gonna put this here. I'd like to point out that I've never watched on ep of Suite Life so I have no idea if Zack is ooc or not ehfhfhd. I'm also gonna reread this and edit it later. Henry does not have a good time basically, but the ending is happy.

Being a hero was awesome. Henry would know. Every kid's dream, right?

At some point it had been Henry's. And between the flashy costumes, the feeling of doing something good, and just the hero life in general was enough to make him gloss over the never-ending bruises and occasional nightmares he still got after all these years.

Being a hero was awesome...until it really wasn't. Until nights like these.

Living nightmares. The worst ones, because he couldn't wake up with the knowledge that it wasn't real.

It was only a small fire. It shouldn't have been a problem. He helped the fire fighters get the small family out of the building, was about to call it a night when he heard the worst thing a hero - a parent - could ever hear.

"My baby's still in there!"

Henry didn't hesitate or wait for any more words before he was bolting to the only window he could manage to enter into and threw himself in, landing in a heap, surrounded by a ring of fire and smoke.

He hated burning buildings, but he didn't waste any time searching the rooms, keeping his body as low as he could. The smoke tried to claw his way down his throat and his eyes stung viciously but he hurried on, knowing that the more time he was in here, the less time there was to get out.

He was three rooms in when he heard the most hair-raising screech he'd ever heard pierce his ears. Upstairs, from the sound of it. Henry took off running to the stairs, bounding up them as carefully as he could in his haste, the wood groaning around his weight as he weaved his way through the endless debris as the flames burned his skin raw.

A piece of metal, from what looked like it was once a part of the railing, caught his leg halfway up. Henry cursed, feeling his hands to the new wound. His hands came away covered in fresh red, but he bit his lip as he attempted to climb the rest of the way up. His head was getting too wozy, and he had to swallow multiple coughs as he made it to the second floor. There wasn't any time to focus on his leg; not that it was his biggest concern at the moment anyways.

The door to the room he assumed the scream was from was on fire. Henry swore that the soles of his boots started to melt when he kicked it in, embers clouding his vision as it collapsed. At this point the pain in his leg and the smoke was enough to bring tears in his eyes, only from them to be burned away from the heat as he whipped his head around desperately for a sign, any sign.

On the bed was a small lump, and Henry rushed over as soon as he spotted it, praying that it was the child. With shaking hands he shook it, relief washing over him when a head of soft, curly hair moved to his position. The child looked up with him with their eyes half closed, and they gave a loud, wheezing cough. Henry swallowed harshly, grabbing a nearby blanket - one not covered by ash or currently on fire and tucked them into it - cradling them to his chest.

"You'll be ok," he tried to assure, hoping they couldn't hear his voice crack. The child coughed weakly in his arms.

Henry smiled softly at them before placing the blanket over the child's face, loosely enough so they could still breathe but still a cover to attempt to protect them from the flames. With a deep breath and roll of his shoulders he took off towards the stairs, gasping in as much stale air as he could while his chest heaved with the need to cough, heading towards the window he entered from.

The child was still coughing slightly when Henry jumped out the window, glass shattering from where his foot hit some of the remains, landing harshly on his shoulder as he tried to roll. The cool air was an instant relief, and after sitting in the grass, his body still aching and burning while he gulped down clean air like he was drowning, he finally looked down to the bundle in his arms.

"Hey, you're ok now-" he rasped as he moved the blanket from the child's face.

It was alright. They had made it-

His breath caught in his throat, grip tightening around the child as he looked in horror.

No...I was- they were fine- too late?

Henry wondered distantly if the child in his arms had dreamed of being a hero one day.

They would never get that chance.

He felt....numb. Looking down he could barely feel anything. It was like his body wasn't his own and he was watching from a distorted camera.

Then he heard the screams.

It was the wails of someone who had lost the brightest thing in their lives.

"My baby!" A woman cried, the man beside her covering his mouth with wide, horrified eyes.

They were the screams of parents, and it was exactly what shook Henry out of his shock.

He stood up on shaky legs, stumbling as he tried to meet them halfway. He tried to blink away the burning in his eyes as he handed them their child.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he gasped, but it only made them cry harder.

"No, no," the father kept repeating, hugging the child to his chest as the mother clung desperately to his shirt. "No, no, please."

It wasn't the fire itself, the emergency responders told him afterwards. Smoke inhalation. He had done the best that he could do.

His best wasn't good enough.

Henry wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cover his ears, but he managed to limp away, his leg throbbing as he let his feet carry him on auto pilot. Back home, where his husband and kids were waiting for him.

The trek back was hazy, barely a memory in his mind as he popped a gum into his mouth and changed back into his clean clothes as he quietly slipped through the door. He heard footsteps from the kitchen - Zack's, coming closer - and the exhaustion slammed into him like a truck at the same time his breathing picked up. He just wanted to wrap his arms around his family, take a shower, and maybe sleep for a week.

But every time he closed his eyes he could see the blood covering his gloves, felt the heat lick at his face, could still hear the poor child's scream-

Henry couldn't hold back the sob that finally escaped his throat, tangling his trembling fingers into his hair as he cried.

"Henry?"

Even after all these years, he couldn't save everyone. After all these years, it still never got any easier.

"Hen?"

What if that child had been Izzy? Or Felix? What if one day Henry couldn't protect them? What if Henry woke up one day and found Zack-

He scrubbed his face with his shaky hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he desperately wished for this nightmare to end. 

"Hey- Henry, hey, look at me." Zack was in front of him, reaching out towards him cautiously.

Henry shook his head, tears trickling down his cheeks, "I can't- Zack, I can't."

Zack pursued his lips together, an uneasy look flashing across his face. A wave of guilt washed over him, and he stuttered out broken apologies between his gasps for air.

"It's ok, Hen, you're ok," Zack tried to sooth, but his skin felt like it was burned when he tried to touch his arm. Henry jerked back, shaking his head and trying to explain why but no words came out and Zack looked so scared and hurt because of him, and the child was still screaming screaming screaming-

"Dad?" Izzy's voice called behind him. Henry inhaled sharply, wiping his face and turning to see both Izzy and Felix in their pajamas at the bottom of the stairs. He swallowed roughly as he made his way over to her, watching as her reaction shifted from confusion to alarm. Felix stood behind her, eyes flickering between him and Zack.

He kneeled in front of them, wincing as his knees protested painfully. Felix made a small noise, and Henry gently pulled them into a hug. Two pairs of arms immediately returned it, and Henry squeezed them tightly to his chest, wanting nothing more than to be able to keep them there forever.

They pulled back slightly after a moment, but Henry kept his arms around them for a little while longer, opening his mouth to say something only to close it again. There were too many words he wanted to say but each one died on his lips before they could even be born.

"Dad?" Izzy tried again, voice shaky. It finally snapped something in him, and he gave her the best smile he could muster, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'd do anything for you two. I'll always try my best to protect you two, you know that, right?"

They both nodded. Felix's eyes were wide with unshed tears, and Izzy was worrying her lip between her front teeth. Henry hated that he caused this, but the child was still there, in his mind, and their parents' cries still ringing through his ears, and he was choking back tears as he pressed a kiss to each of the foreheads. He convinced himself to stand up, letting go of his kids as he turned and headed towards the door.

"Hen?"

Zack's voice rang out, and Henry paused, the invisible hand around his throat getting tighter.

"Come back to me," Zack whispered to him, barely audible from across the room, and Henry turned to give him a small smile.

"Always."

Then he was gone, with nothing but the sweater he was wearing earlier and an echo of the child's screams following his footsteps like a lost puppy.

~~~

It was three in the morning when he finally caved from roaming the streets to booking a hotel room for the night.

His phone hadn't stopped buzzing in his pocket all night until it finally died and remained silent. He would've charged it, but he didn't think of bringing a charger, and he didn't want to trek back out to buy one.

Luckily, there was an old wired phone on the dresser next to the bed. Henry took off his shoes and buried himself under the bed covers, flailing around for the phone without looking.

He didn't know what Charlotte and Jasper were up to, so he called the next person that came to his mind. It rang once, twice, then finally there was a clicking noise halfway through the third.

"Hello?" Came Ray's groggy voice, and Henry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Ray." He whispered, voice raw. "Ray, I'm sorry, I just…"

Ray sighed as a shuffling noise echoed in the background. "Rough night?"

"Yeah."

Ray hummed, "I'll leave you on the phone. Get some sleep, I'll be here if you need me."

"Thanks," he mumbled, listening to the hum on the other side. It was somewhat comforting to listen to the various noises from Ray's side of the phone as he closed his eyes, allowing it to drown out everything else. It wasn't the first time a sudden 3am call to Ray had been made on a rough night, but it had been a while.

It was soothing in a way he couldn't explain, having someone who understood on a deeper level what he was going through. The lack of warmth next to him was unusual, but Henry was still able to slowly drift into a light slumber.

And it was the dial tone that he woke up to, the early rays of light peeking through the blinds. Henry groaned, the empty spot next to him snapping him back to reality far too quickly for his liking. It left his stomach tied in vicious knots.

Hanging the phone back up, fairly sure that Ray had probably sent him a text he would be unable to see at the moment, Henry sat up in the bed, allowing the rough covers to slide off his body as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He didn’t have much of a plan. It was Friday, so it was likely Izzy and Felix would already be at school, unless Zack didn’t send them today. And he really wanted to go home, but it still felt too overwhelming for now.

Breakfast was off the table, too. He didn't think he'd be able to hold anything down at the moment.

So he kind of just...stopped. Only got out of bed when he needed to use the bathroom and had the TV running as background noise as he tried to process what happened. Around noon he made a quick stop to the convenience store next to the hotel to pick up a charger and sandwich.

He was right. Ray had texted him this morning, saying he had to go. Charlotte and Jasper had texted their group chat earlier last night, Zack had also texted him, saying to come home when he was ready, and he had at least two dozen messages from Piper. The thought made him chuckle slightly. It really was hard to tell who was the oldest between them sometimes, even now. He sent quick texts to let them know he was ok before turning his phone off, rubbing his hands down his face as he sighed, the sandwich on the bedside dresser untouched.

He knew what he was doing wasn't healthy. Not in the slightest. He was running, trying to avoid what had happened even when the memory of last night still was burned into his head. He knew what had happened, but he knew that in order to fully process and come to terms with it he needed to talk about it.

Knowing this, Henry waited until the thought of going home didn't make his stomach twist, later into the evening, then quickly checked out of his room and started heading back. The memories of the night before still put too much weight on his shoulders, but it lessened enough for him to be calm enough to talk about it.

The child still followed him home, but it was quite over the loudest thought in his head at the moment - his family.

~~~

When Henry finally made it to their house, the kitchen light was the only one on. He shuffled around a bit in the driveway, resolving that the sooner he got this over with, the better. He needed to apologize for running out and scaring the three of them like that, and there was no way he could do that if he didn't get inside. Clearing his throat he slipped through the door as quietly as possible, kicking his shoes off as he listened for any changes or movement. Hearing none he continued in, stopping before he entered the kitchen. Zack was looking out the window from across the room, his back towards him.

Henry cracked a slight smile. Even when he couldn't see his face he knew he was the prettiest person he'd ever seen.

"Hey." He greeted quietly, wincing at how rough his voice still sounded.

Zack jumped, spinning around with a relieved smile on his face, "Hey yourself."

Henry ducked his head slightly, awkwardly standing in the doorway. Zack was watching him carefully, but when he opened his arms Henry wasted no time in bounding over, the warmth from the embrace a warm relief from the cold haunting of the last day.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. Just...A really bad night. I'm sorry."

Zack hummed, moving from his back to comb his hands through Henry's messy hair. "Don't be. I saw some of what happened. On the news."

"...Oh."

"Yeah. I'm sorry you…" Zack cut himself off, shaking his head with a sigh. Henry's heart tightened.

"It's ok."

"It's not. What you have to deal with, what you see…"

"I manage."

"Do you?"

Henry could only shrug, burying his face in Zack's shoulder. He breathed in deeply, forcing his shoulders to relax as Zack's grip on him tightened.

"Izzy and Felix are at Piper's." Zack whispered. "She offered to watch them for the night."

"Does she know?"

"Yeah. She wanted to know where you were at, so I had to tell her."

"Guess that explains why my phone was blowing up last night," he chuckled quietly, bringing his hands up to Zack's shoulders.

"It's only because she worries."

"I know."

They both lulled into a comfortable silence. He didn't know who started it, but Henry realized that at some point they had both started swaying to the soft music that came from the old, beaten radio on the counter.

"I'm glad you're ok," Zack breathed, pressing a small kiss to his nose. Henry sighed as he knocked their foreheads together. "I'm glad you came back."

He wasn't fully ok yet. But he would be.

"I promised I'd come back to you. Always."

#this is admittedly not the greatest thing i wrote but i could not stop thinking about it dhdhdhd #hope you like it nikki <3 #usernicolette #zenryverse #zenry #zack martin #henry hart #izzy martin #felix martin #DoD #my fics #my writing

[runicrigel]

The Dead Hen

Author’s Note:  In November of 2019 I went to live off grid and work on an organic farm outside of Austin, Texas for a month.  I stayed in a camper from 1973 I renovated and wrote small memoir blurbs.  This is one of the most poignant.

MEMOIR  POST 2 - THE DEAD HEN

“They’re dead,” I announced sagely.  "Everything and everyone dies.“  It was a finite statement made desperately upon a patch of sandy earth in southeast Texas.  I loosed a guttural, "Huuuugh!”  Into the sky, literally hanging my head back for additional dramatic effect.  For a moment, I was vaguely self-conscious about this display but no one was around other than the chickens at my feet, clucking and strutting.  One chicken crowed and stomped a single foot.  It flapped it’s wings as though acknowledging the death of the grey hen crumpled at our feet.  I stared at the odd ritual, then back to the corpse.

I understood both then and now that this level of gravitas is likely not befitting the life of a nameless hen. She is just, “chicken.”  But I have no direct experience with dead things, or escorting them to their final resting places.  When I was young I had a small dwarf hamster named Tutter that had died.  My dad had gently carried him into the computer room, cradled in a large, callous palm, and offered kindly, “Do you want to see him?”

“Nooooo!”  I howled, and ran out of the room.  Death is natural, but there was something terribly unnatural about it to me.  I wish I could say that uncanny feeling vacated with age and maturity but it didn’t exactly.  All I know is that  I couldn’t bare to see my little Tutter lifeless, even if he was but the size of a pair of cotton balls.

Those strong but tender hands that had once cupped my little dead hamster were cold when I wrapped my own hands around one of his palms.  "His hands are so cold.“  I’d remarked through a shutter and then tears broke free as I stood by the casket that made him seem so small.  I didn’t sob.  I just cried, hard, like a helpless person does.  When my father died we knew he had wanted a close casket funeral but somewhere along the line that idea had received an override by those left to grieve.  He hadn’t wanted people to remember him that way, and after the funeral, I had an inkling as to why.

As I stood both staring and trying to not look at this chicken memories flooded me of pets I’d known to pass.  I was there for my boyfriend when his cat was put to sleep, and when the other began to labor and then died right in his arms.  More than once I had considered how grateful I was to Spooky and Baldric that they had let me be there for them at the momentous occasion that is the end of a life.  Yet, when each feline was buried I had let Jason go alone, unable to look on their corpses.  Afraid of what I might see as they disappeared underneath a bed of loam.

I had always been this way.  When I was a girl and our dog delivered a stillborn litter I sobbed outside on the suburban sidewalk of our street in my nightgown while my younger sister (who wanted to be a nurse) helped my mother deliver the unmoving pups.  When my step-father’s brother killed himself I cried terribly at his funeral and was a ghost of myself for weeks.  It didn’t matter that he and I hadn’t been close.  I barely new him.  At a young age, every one of Death’s intrusive visits were otherworldly and bitter.

And now there was this nameless chicken, it’s death incomparable to my father’s own.  This defiant chicken, who had decided to die during my journey of healing and renewal.  Rude.

She had been refusing to sleep in the coop for days — opting to hide under it at night instead.  While the others piled into the coop to be stowed away from the jaws of coyote or other predators, she scrambled under it to take her chances.  Only when the sun warmed the sky and the coops were opened to let the others flutter out to feed, did she enter to perch alone.

Looking back on it, this behavior was likely indicative that she was nearing the end of her life.  That night she had died under the coop and now she was laying there so still — like a pile of slate feathers.  Morning dew glistened on her neck.  When I’d come upon her I’d gasped in surprise.  It was apparent immediately that she was dead, lying in a completely unnatural slump unachievable in life.

I knew right away that it was unsanitary for her to stay lying there.  It was also my first day completely alone on the farm.  There was no one I could defer the task of moving her to.  No one to set upon this task that I myself had always avoided.  So now here I was howling into the sky, trying to convince myself that this chicken was dead and that no matter how much I didn’t want to touch it I had to touch it and move it out of the pen.

I stood in the sand trying to force my brain to reckon with the fact that the chicken was not going to move.  "It isn’t sick or debilitated.  It’s dead.  It’s not going to move now or ever again.  Really?  Are we sure.”  I had to process, “No it’s really never moving again and nothing I do can change that.  It’s final.”  I felt cold some where deep inside.

I’m on a farm. And chickens die on a farm sometimes.  "Where there’s livestock, there’s deadstock,“ John (the farmer and my host) had warned me with a chuckle.  

"Goddammit.”  The sentimental, mostly vegetarian in me, wanted to say something to mark this occasion which I’m sure my hosts, now callous to chicken death, would’ve have groaned or laughed at.  This chicken didn’t even have a name.  It’s just a chicken.  And now it died.  It’s no one’s fault, it just died and that’s how things were.  "You were a good chicken,“ I finally decided on with a gulp.  Was she?  I have no idea.

I reached down with my work gloves, the body felt heavy and everything in my body crawled.  I stepped back.  Another five minutes explaining to myself things die, and this was my task.  I was going to hold my own on this farm, so help me.

Another round of my mind flashing back to the pets I’d watched surrender to darkness and what I had learned from those moments.  I thought of what it might be like when my dogs pass.  Would I be so remiss then to cradle their small bodies one last time?   My heart broke a little at that thought but I knelt down, took a deep breath and very gently lifted the hen from the ground.

It’s bony feet were curled.  It’s tiny head and bushy neck lulled back almost delicately.  I rested the little body in a tote and found myself adjusting it so that it wouldn’t lay on its head or neck, as though it might find that uncomfortable.  I had to remind myself that she no longer felt anything.  I carried the tote away from my body illogically anticipating the chicken might spring out at me, and then as my boots crunched up the hill I huddled the tote more comfortably to my body.  I trekked along in resigned silence.

I got to the house in time to see that John was just pulling out.  I hadn’t missed him after all.  He lifted the creature by its feet and rest it in the back of his truck. "It took everything in me to pick up that chicken.”  I confessed.  He gave me a smile that was both sympathetic but rueful.

“Sometimes chickens just die, it probably won’t be the last time.” I nodded and wished him safe travels.  He bid me a good day.  I crunched back up the hill and stowed the once again empty tote in my Jeep.

I embarked on this journey largely in part because my father’s death had left me feeling changed, hollow and wounded. Stowed in the confines of a suburban household I was listless, heavy.  The walls became a reflective chamber with no tunnels or corridors towards escape.  There was only rumination of thought like chewing on already regurgitated cud.  I could not obtain peace through anything side of me, it was time to reach outward.

During my walks among the rustling leaves and cool nights however, I had felt free.  Something called me beyond the shores of a linear lifetime spent roaming a cage of drywall.  I yearned to  — if not attain my father’s joy for life and those he loved — then to at least strive towards it.  I wanted to work with my hands, feel fatigue in my body at night and go to bed satisfied with my day’s work.

I thought of my Zazen Buddhist practice and studies.  I recalled, as I often do, the stories of the Buddha, sitting in meditation, legs crossed with his fingertips pressed to the earth. It’s called the Earth Witness mudra.  The story goes that as Siddartha obtained enlightenment under the bodhi tree he reached down to touch the earth, quite literally grounding himself, and the Earth cried, “I am his witness.”  Fibers of carpet and scored linoleum did not offer the same effect I yearned for.  I wanted to go to bed with dirt under my nails.  I wanted to touch the earth.

So I embarked in a camper that’s older than I am and took a chance on this gorgeous farm in southeast Texas ran by one of the most generous married couples I have ever encountered.

The stages of grief and the stages of enlightenment share a certain quality.  The pursuit of acceptance.  Part of life is sitting with death, and I am grateful to this nameless chicken who taught me another lesson.  As I took that small body into my hands, and lifted it from the sand I believe I cradled acceptance there too.  Maybe there isn’t as much gravitas in the death of a single bird as I wanted to assign to it, but maybe there was just enough.

#woofer #grief #buddhism #memoir #writing #life #inspirational #motivation #poet

[jae-bummer]

Solid Ground

Request: 💙 I was wondering if it could a be something where the reader is great at tree climbing and whenever the reader and taeyong go to parks or something, she always sneaks away to climb a tree and waits for him to find her maybe? If it’s not too weird?            

Member: NCT’s Taeyong x Y/N

Type: Fluff

You took a deep breath in as you closed your eyes, letting your back ease against the brittle security of the tree bark behind you. Quietly heaving only moments before, you had to give yourself time to catch your breath now that you had defeated yet another worthy conquest. Your chest burned as you gasped for air, hissing out in an attempt to cool the feeling constricting your lungs. Your arms tingled from the effort you exerted in such a quick amount of time, but you felt full. There was nothing like the view from the top. 

Glancing between branches and leaves, you resettled yourself in the crook of the tree, snuggly fitting between two branches as if you were ready to build a nest. You smiled to yourself as the cool, spring breeze blew at the edges of your hair and kissed your cheeks. It was nice to get out of the bursting sidewalks of the city every now and again. 

And even better when you could share the moment with someone you cared about. 

You couldn’t help but grin as Taeyong paced back and forth beneath you, his thoughts heavy and his feet quick. He had admitted that he had a million things to do today, but would gladly push them all aside if it meant a simple walk with you in the park near his studio.

“Where are you?” he grumbled, tilting his head in various directions. Gnawing on his lip, he paused for a moment as his eyes locked on the tree you were now sitting in. They searched the bark and the roots with fervor, but never once glanced toward the top. 

He should have known better. He should have known you were busy climbing a tree or getting into some sort of mischief you had no business in being a part of. In these type of situations, you were never quite sure why he put up with someone like you. On almost every occasion you decided to go out, you were busy giving him heart palpitations. 

It wasn’t completely your fault though. Taeyong was a worrier. And on top of that, he could be a germaphobe on occasion. For someone so tremendously confident, no one would ever suspect him to be the mom friend. After all of the time you had been together, his concerns had become pretty endearing over time. 

Even when he was busy washing you down in hand sanitizer at every chance he got. 

“Hey handsome,” you called, incapable of keeping the smile from your face. “Why don’t you try looking up?” 

“Y/N,” he groaned, closing his eyes before he even bothered to look your way. He lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting out a rugged sigh. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Checking out the view,” you giggled. “You look great from up here.” 

“And I’m sure I’ll look just the same from down here, now come on,” he pleaded. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“You know,” you hummed, tapping your lip. “If you think about it, I could hurt myself more in an attempt to climb down...rather than just staying put.” 

“So what you’re saying is...” he grumbled, his face becoming steely. 

“What I’m saying is...you should probably come up here to retrieve me,” you grinned. 

“But like...” he hummed, glancing around. “I could not do that too?” 

“Then I guess I’m not going anywhere,” you chuckled. You crossed your arms as a symbol of your defiance and tilted your focus up and away from him. As far as he was concerned, you were content with lounging in your spot for the better part of the afternoon. 

“Heeeeey,” he cooed, his voice becoming soft. “I thought you wanted to spend time with me today.” 

“I am spending time with you,” you moaned, already mentally prepared for his attempt at guilting you. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one choosing not to be up here.” 

“Wait!” he gasped, stamping his foot. “You can’t guilt trip me in the middle of my guilt trip! We were already on my trip! We were not turning the car around to go on your trip!” 

“Too late,” you teased. “Let the guilt consume you.” 

“Ugh,” he groaned, shaking his head. His fans viewed him as self-assured and manly, but if they could only see him now. You knew he had about a million and one thoughts flying through his mind as he began to teeter along the tree roots, looking up at you uncertainly. 

You lived to get him to push the envelope. 

Pride swelled in your chest as you watched him swallow and then proceed to shake out his hands. Pressing gingerly against the bark, he began to grimace as he found a foot hold, and tugged himself upward. Changing position, you leaned forward, extending your hand as he continued to climb, grunting and groaning with every move. Eventually, he looked up, noticed your hand, and took it with a grateful smile. 

You tugged him upwards, holding him close as he shimmied his way between the branches and plopped into the crook you were originally sitting in. He exhaled with a cry, no doubt feeling the same burning in his lungs you had felt only moments before. 

“Wasn’t that fun?” you chuckled, backing yourself in to sit between his legs. Leaning back, instead of finding the tree bark you had grown comfortable with, you found Taeyong’s firm chest instead. 

“That’s a word for it,” he laughed, wiping the back of his hand along his forehead. Setting his palms on his knees, you could hear him swallow as he came to terms with your close proximity. It was true, you had known each other for some time, but you were only freshly dating. Whatever...this was, was completely new to the both of you. 

“Thanks for coming to rescue me,” you cooed, leaning your head back easily on his shoulder. You could feel the heat of a blush slowly cascade down his neck as you wiggled yourself closer. 

“Thanks for um...well, I’m not going to thank you for making me climb the tree,” he pouted, only to finish his sentence with a timid laugh. “But I guess there are worse things.” 

“Yeah, like having to babysit a gang of boys,” you grinned. “At least I’m only one person driving you crazy.”

“Well,” he hummed, his voice low. “You don’t exactly drive me crazy in the same way anyhow.” 

His remark caught you off guard for a moment. You sat in silence as you attempted to collect your thoughts. “Oh?” 

“Oh,” he continued shyly. You knew if you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, he would be looking anywhere but at you. Even if butterflies were running rampant through his stomach, he would try to convey what he was thinking. “I mean, of course you drive me crazy...but most of the time...it’s in the best way.” 

“Please expound,” you chuckled, tilting yourself in his grasp. He watched with nervous eyes as you swiveled, keeping your body between his legs, but leaning your side to now lay against his chest. Your legs draped over his thigh and crossed at the ankles as you reclined your feet against the bark. Instinctively, his arms flew up, catching your back and cradling you close. Setting his other arm over your knees, he let out a sigh. 

“If you keep wiggling around, you’re going to fall out of the tree,” he muttered, inspecting you from head to toe to make sure you were completely safe. “Are you okay?” 

“Perfectly okay,” you nodded happily, now receiving a better view of his face. “Better than okay, actually. Now, I believe you were just about to talk about how much you care about me some more.” 

“Was I?” he grinned, shaking his head. “Because I distinctly remember having to bite my tongue from saying something about you being the death of me.” 

“Because I make you heart stop...from how attractive I am?” you whispered, only to have him grimace. 

“Sure, something like that,” he chuckled. 

“Don’t humor me like I’m one of the dreamies,” you laughed. 

“I don’t humor them!” he smiled. “They’re just...soft.” 

“Mother hen with her baby birds,” you giggled. “I’m well aware.” 

“Oh come on!” he gasped. “I am no one’s moth-”

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, lifting a brow. “Because I hear you, and you don’t even sound like you’re convincing yourself.” 

“So, like I was saying,” he grumbled. “You being the death of me.”

“This isn’t about me,” you chuckled. 

“Let’s make it about you,” he grinned. 

“You always want to make it about me,” you laughed. “Especially when I’m picking on you.”

“Well gee,” he gasped. “I wonder why that would be.” 

“You know, if I were you,” you trailed. “I would probably kiss me, you know, to effectively shut me up.”

Taeyong’s eyes grew wide with your daring statement before they immediately focused on your lips. “You would?” 

“Obviously,” you hummed, moving your face slowly toward his. “I mean, I am pretty annoying when I’m teasing.” 

“Oh definitely,” he chuckled, his eyes never leaving your mouth. “But, cutting you off would be pretty ungentlemanly.” 

“You don’t have to be a gentleman all the time, Tae,” you hissed, your lips nearly upon his. His breath was hot against your face as he continued to stare, unmoving. 

“Good,” he croaked, his lips finally meeting yours. 

The fingers of his free hand left your knees and began to ghost along your face, not stopping longer than a moment as they ran down your neck and dug deeply into your skin. You lifted your hands as well, sliding your fingers into his dyed hair and tangling them there. Every nerve in your body stood on high alert as he deepened the kiss, rendering you breathless as you crashed your lips into his again and again. 

Fervent and hungry, he kissed you as if his life depended on it. You couldn’t help but smile as he pulled away from you after only a moment, breathless as he began to speak. 

“If you keep kissing me like this,” he whispered, his voice deep and rugged between heavy breaths. “I’m going to fall out of the tree.” 

You tried to hide your smile against his skin, your intentions not even remotely hidden as you leaned forward and kissed his jaw lightly. “Then let’s get you back on solid ground.”

#taeyong #lee taeyong #nct #nct taeyong #nct u #nct 127 #taeyong fluff #taeyong fanfic #taeyong scenario #taeyong oneshot #taeyong drabble #taeyong fic #boyfriend taeyong #dating taeyong #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct scenario #nct oneshot #nct drabble #nct fic #boyfriend nct #dating nct

[indomitablemegnolia]

Sunshine came sweetly, softly through my window today. My eyes fluttered open, consciousness gently introducing itself to my mind. I swaddled myself in the covers, taking in that delicate predawn light coloring the sky a soft lavender. Watching a brilliant ray of sunshine, Life, himself, slide into view.  Just the sight of him drenched my senses, the little remembered delights seeping to the surface. His walk, as always, liquid smooth, perfectly delicious in an unkempt, natural style. His appearance so lusciously sleep-rumpled and dewy-eyed,  though negated by his straight shoulders and glamorous posture.  Oh, but he shined so brightly. He was that odd sort of perfection, wabi-sabi down to his sweet soul, a delicious delight of haphazardry and elegance. I was struck by a thought, that made sense, well if anything in this maddening, sadistic loop in which we were both embroiled had the audacity to make sense. Once there had to be a night when he was simply a star, perhaps he was the first one into the sky; maybe someone, maybe multitudes of someones, hung every hope, every wish, every dream they ever had on his beautiful limbs. Perhaps as that bright, brilliant star he knew his beauty. He knew that constellations lined the cathedral walls of his chest, the tranquil moon for a heart. The universe saw him become conceited in his glory, deciding to teach him a lesson, transforming him like the frog prince. Suppose that is why the universe loved playing these wicked games on he and I? Oh, gods, I wonder if he remembers that distant worship. If that is the reason he was so bright and vast and beautiful. Oh, but sunlight still flowed from his skin. He was, despite the universes meddling, still a magnificent symphony of stardust and love song, he was born to shine.  For some few fantastic moments, he was mine. My eyes follow his sweet and soft motion. His gliding step measured, steaming cup of coffee he held lovingly in both of his hands. I drank it all in, his beauty, his oddities, the way he scuffed the toe on his left boot every other step. Sighing I sit up slowly, tossing the covers back I kneel in front of the window sill. My elbows resting on its cold edge, cradling my chin in my palm, drumming my fingers like a besotted teenager. I miss him, I long to touch his face. I press my hand to the cool pane as he takes a long drink from his cup. The motion, showing me his partially open shirt, buttoned unevenly, his well-worn jeans slung low on his hips. I chuckle and sigh watching the chambray billow in his wake, the mother of pearl snaps shimmering in the low morning light. A breeze kicked up tousling his hair, giving me a glimpse of the little boy who still haunted his psyche. He stops to caress his horses face feeding it a piece of sweet apple. The other beasts becoming jealous nuzzle in for their portion. I revel in the simplicity of the morning, the route, the routine; measured, specific, but done with such loving care. I feel the cool breeze on my own cheeks, smell the soft sweet alfalfa, that warm lush coffee and organic scents of the barnyard. After sating the horses, willful wants he finishes his coffee in one long sighing drought and pouring the dregs onto the soft dirt next to his gloriously soft worn booted foot. He scoops sweet feed and corn with his now empty cup into a makeshift pocket he pulls into his shirt tails. He opens the door and enters his chicken coop. Tossing the feed for his flock, lovingly. He coos and talks to his little troupe, telling them how pretty they are. Telling them of all his little plans. He intends to bring in and raise his own bee hive, making sweet honey. He distributes all of that feed then scoops up his favourite hen Lucy up into his arms. She coos and cuddles into his arms, enjoying his attention. In this world at this moment there is a person kissing their baby on the head for the first time; some lucky duck is walking into a bakery, breathing in deeply that sweet and salty scent; dying their hair the color of flame; confessing… love… or… something; someone is winning… losing… something… everything. Me, well I am the luckiest of all, watching that being I love most in this stupid messed-up world be their quirky adorable self. He holds that sweet-faced chicken in his arms cooing and talking to it, reassuring it. The thing of it is the chicken nuzzles into him cooing and clucking gently back and suddenly, against my better judgment, I am jealous of poultry. The thrill of seeing him suddenly like this, beautiful but not new. Oh, I made my mind up a while ago, he was going to be mine, but for right now I would settle for a clucking hug. Time had passed, I have learned from how those long hours, minutes, years have unfolded us, our legacy, that the time to hesitate is through. I understand that unexpected things always have and always will happen in this universe. I realize that the only control I have is how I handle those whips and scorns. I decided then, a few years ago, that I will use the courage I have, the humor I need and as much grace as my odd self can muster to weather this voyage. I feel the pull, and I know that every opportunity has to be grasped. Never look for the easy way, no, looking for a door or ladder wastes valuable time when a window with a survivable tumble lay before me. I grab my hoodie and boots, levered the window open and climbed out onto the ledge, then gracelessly tumble to the ground. I walk to the coop, threading my fingers through the chicken wire. “It’s been a while.” His shoulders straighten and slowly he looks over to me, smiling broadly. “There you are. I have been wondering about you.  I thought you might have found someone else to haunt.” His voice a glorious deep, delightful rumble. A perfect storm of joy and naughtiness, I couldn’t help but get swept up in, the wind blew me his fresh scent and laughter. Oh, gods, the way it made me feel. I would follow him to the ends of the earth; to the end of time itself. “If only we were able to pick and choose when these little visits would happen, I mean there I was sleeping happily and boom there it was… you… my sleeping eyes drank you in all dashing and dorky and utterly charming in your delighted awkward grace.”  “So, I am dashing and dorky? Interesting combination.” He sighed his eyes raking over me, taking in every little change, new detail.  Honestly I had already done the same, the new scar above his right eye and the one along his collar bone drew my eye. “Wow, I mean it.  You are always like this welcomed breath as if I had been starved for oxygen while you were gone.  You look..”  He turned to me and Lucy gave me a look of indignation as I had interrupted her attention. “It has been so long, you never seem to change.  God, you are like a supernova, when I see you I can’t look away. Even here, your hair a mess, your eyes sleepy, attesting to your tale of being surreptitiously awoken by fate. I adore your every detail.”   He set Lucy on the ground and after shooting me a look she happily clucked away. He walked to the fence making me have to crane my neck to watch his face.  “Standing there as if it was the most natural thing in the world, in your hoodie and white nighty, unlaced boots, you burn far too bright for this wretched world.” He rubbed his fingers along my knuckles on the other side of the wire. The soft, tiny hairs on my skin lift, shivering from the sensation of air from his words caress my cheeks. I long for his open mouth against the pulse on my neck. He breathes out with a lazy smile, watching me, watching my pupils dilate knowing he’s triggered other places to ache for his attention. “God, you know I spend hours writing about you, trying to either convince myself you are real or that you live simply in my imagination.” He chuckles, the air breezes my face smelling of sweet coffee. “Sometimes you are all I can think of to write about. I write about you because I miss you. I write about you because I need you to exist in my world, you are all my keyboard can capture is a stark relief,”  He moves closer I stretch my fingers out to run along that scar at his collar bone, his skin was warm and soft.  “I sometimes write till I bleed and my heart leaks out through my eyes, drying on my cheeks.”  His longer fingers lace through the wire to run along my cheek “I don��t even have that as a comfort, I have the memories. I keep all of the little things you leave behind in a little box that I open at least two times a day. I inventory the items remembering that visit.” He laughs, opening the coop door; I ride the soft swinging motion setting my feet on the bottom rung, our frames only separated by the door, touching lightly through the chicken wire. “The barrette, that little note,” he kisses my finger. “The ribbon, the tiny candy wrapper paper crane” he steps out still face to face with me. “The broken lapel pin, the sea glass and shells,” he opens the door all the way, my back coming to rest against the side of the barn. “The ribbon choker and kitten bell,” I step off, and he swings the door shut stepping into me. “The earring, your tube of lipstick,” His face soft and gentle, his expression earnest and thrilling. “Every little keepsake in its place in that little wooden box. I know you are real, I know by how I miss you.” His soft lips separated, his glorious green eyes heavy-lidded and seeking. “But I would trade anything to keep you for longer than a precious few minutes.” He kissed me, soft and sweet. We loved the best way possible in those glorious seconds that the universe threw Life, himself, and me together, always with a touch of madness, he loved me reckless. ..

[thenigeriangentleman]

The love triangle 1

I should have queried her motives that fateful evening Onome had eventually honoured my invitation and curiously allowed me to have my way. But I didn’t. I wasn’t even willing to. Why should I, anyway? Why let an opportunity I’ve waited for all these while be wasted? An opportunity that may never come a second time! I remembered Onome was barely thirteen or fourteen when she was brought from her hometown somewhere in the hinterland of one of the South-South states to live with her aunt, an elderly niggling bespectacled widow who owned a bungalow on the next street from mine and who some of the neighbourhood’s busy bodies claimed worked so long in one of the state ministries in the municipality that her office resorted to writing petitions before she finally got compelled to tender her resignation. I had practically watched Onome matured into a ravishing beauty within the three years since she came to live in our neighbourhood, and that was how long I waited before I plucked the courage to make my first move at her because I dreaded being easily labelled a cradle snatcher. Onome had now grown tall in a graceful way like a bamboo stem and with golden-brown skin the colour of freshly made palm kernel oil. She had become supple with curves almost too pronounced for a girl her age. I bet very few men would’ve glimpsed the young Onome sashayed passed and not be tempted to imagine sensual imageries. And she’d always set my heart pounding recklessly every time I beheld her walked down the street to run one errand or the other for her guardian. At first Onome was unreceptive to all the tactics I employed to woo her. In fact, she remained as evasive as a hummingbird. “I’m still too young for a relationship. Moreover, I want to concentrate on my studies”, she’d explained diffidently each time I caught up with her in street corners. “I don’t have any problem with that, Onome. I will wait till you feel you’re ready to be my close friend”, I’d reassured her again and again; my plan was to first gain her confidence and then warm my way into her heart. I gave her plenty breathing space afterwards, though I kept watchful eyes; forever on the lookout to wade off the ploys of other men who may also be nursing similar ideas towards her. I guarded Onome jealously the way a mother hen was wont to protect an only chick from the ceaselessly threatening shadows of soaring hawks. And it seemed my invested time started to pay off at last because on an evening I least anticipated, Onome suddenly showed up at my doorstep, uninvited. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this August tryst. But as the sharp guy that I foolishly thought I was then, I quickly got my acts together and ushered her into my modest two-room self-contain apartment (not exactly bad for a primary school teacher). I supposed I was more excited than surprised at her unannounced presence. Anyway, I also did well to have veiled my excitement behind hastily thought-out flowery remarks about her modishness even as my mind tasked itself on how best to utilize this sudden opportunity. “Do you know you’re more beautiful than the last time I saw you? It’s like your beauty is intensifying with each new day”, I said with a wide grin smeared on my face. Onome smiled but said nothing. She wore a tee shirt that clung provocatively and gave me the liberty of feeding my eyes with those outlined titillating mounds visibly heaving up and down in gentle rhythms on her chest; virgin mounds in a yet-to-be explored Garden of Eden, I thought in excitement. Her pubescent eyes followed my exploratory stares and she shifted her weight from one foot onto the other in a seemingly uncomfortable manner. “Please feel free to make yourself comfortable here. What soft drink do I offer you?” I asked as I literally forced my eyes from those wonderful pair of breasts that pushed firmly against the fabrics of her tee shirt. Adrenaline was hurriedly pumped and distributed so that I was left with a heartbeat that raced faster than usual. Oh boy na your chance be dis o! An unheard inner voice whispered inside my head. “I don’t want to sit down”, Onome replied to my question. She took time to give the interior of my room a sweeping glance from under her attractive lashes. “Okay, at least let me get you something to drink na?” I said. But she declined that one too. “My aunty is not aware that I’m not in the house right now. I have to get back before she starts looking for me”, Onome said. I told myself I got the message; she most likely came to have quick fun. And fun I was ready to give her in full dose. One huge stride and I reduced the gap between us. Now I stood so close that I could almost hear her heartbeats. She fidgeted with an imaginary object in her hands, her eyes trained on the spot where my trouser was beginning to form a slight bulge. I took her elbows gently and she put up a half-hearted resistance. “I won’t hurt you, I promise”, I said in a voice I almost swore wasn’t mine – husky with the urgency of immorality. “I’m scared. I’ve never been with a man this close before”, she whispered. She’s still a virgin! I screamed inside my head. That meant I was on the verge of becoming the first man to navigate her Garden of Eden. “I want you to be assured that you’re with a complete gentle man. You won’t regret anything that happened here, I promise”, I said as I pulled her into my arms. Surprisingly, she clung to me and raised her face towards mine. I instinctively keyed into her body language and wasted no time as my lips took hers in a hungry kiss. I supposed it was the best kiss I ever had from a woman, young or old. My hand found the hems of her short skirt and disappeared under. I squeezed her buttocks and Onome squirmed, pressing her hip against my bulge. My other hand encircled her breast and the nipple came alive against her shirt. I scooped her off the floor effortlessly and went into the bedroom. Everything happened in a fast-forward mode from that point. In fact I nearly forgot to pull a condom over my throbbing penis in the ensued frenzy. Onome was wet down there and prepared as I first rubbed my rigid phallus against her crack. I met no resistance on my way in, but I was too overwhelmed to care whether there was resistance or not as time suddenly stopped for the next nine or ten minutes and the heavens joined with the earth and they sang sweet melodies that left every vein in my body with a wild tingle. I made love to Onome. When the heat of passion was finally spent I was left sweating and breathing like a strayed dog that’s been chased around town by unruly juveniles. I was still trying to catch my breath when Onome quickly stepped into her clothes and dashed out of my house. I had lain back in bed for another thirty minutes to re-enact and savour the experience after she left; I felt very proud, like the first African to have conquered Mount Kilimanjaro unassisted.