#who happen to wind up in the same damn hospital as him. suffer the consequences.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 22: Cleansing Grimfire

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Coven Elders deal with the consequences of their actions. Taylor and Elric participate in a father-son activity. The Council takes some responsibility.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The bloodwraith’s neck cranes back at an unnatural angle and it howls to the wind, bloodstained talons reaching out and forward; compelled to attack.

His breath catches in his throat and Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. He braces himself—

For the pain that never comes. The icy grasp of a fate worse than death that he still can only imagine; still must only imagine.

Peeks a tentative eye open to the sight of Cassiopeia’s severed hand stretched out in Vera’s quivering grasp.

A firsthand witness to how the small and humble sparks in Vera’s breast ignite into a blaze that consumes her soul.

“You will not.”

The entire Garden watches in bated awe as the wraith obeys. Hovers back far enough where Taylor can breathe without the scent of rancid flesh in his mouth.

Oh he’s still scared shitless — and rightly so. But just like he can feel the bad things hovering in an aura around them so too can he feel the good.

And the sudden rush of adrenaline, defiance, bravery in Vera is incredible.

The Elders are still together, still united, but their understanding is unmistakable. They know whose hand Vera wields. They realize what has changed with its discovery.

The only thing that hasn’t settled in to their collective hive mind is that it’s over.

“You killed Cassiopeia because she was the necromancer — she was the one in control of whatever creature she summoned and you needed that control to be yours and yours alone. You didn’t realize that you screwed yourselves.”

“‘Cause they were busy screwin’ everyone else,” huffs Nik behind him.

Millet has gone pale, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced against her almost skeletal pallor. “Her body became a totem.” Is that a hint of resignation in her tone? Or maybe just wishful thinking.

“Specifically her hand,” Cadence confirms with a nod, “like the trophies Reimonenq kept in his mortal life. If you had conjured up any random malevolent soul instead of going for sick, twisted irony maybe it would have been different but…”

“But she who holds the Hand holds the power.”

There was a lot about the plan that had been left up in the air. When, or if, the Coven Elders would even arrive. If they would summon the wraith immediately or attack in some other form. If there was even the smallest chance they could be convinced to stop the needless violence; their grab for power stayed in favor of the cooperation that should have happened in the first place.

But the one thing they had all been forced to agree upon was the one thing no one wanted to think about.

They had the totem, now what?

An eye for an eye was the most logical, solved the most problems. But then how were they any better than the Elders?

They may have been forced to agree but that didn’t mean it was without argument.

Cadence had been the last one to exit the underground tomb, his gruesome work finally done. Cassiopeia’s hand had been wrapped in Cal’s flannel and held out between them all as an unholy relic.

It made sense for Nik to take it — for a Nighthunter to be the one to make the final blow whatever that blow may entail.

Instead he held it out to Vera; insisted she take it. “You’re the one who’s suffered the most here. He’s your kin.” And polite Vera, kind Vera; Vera who had been tangled up in this out of fear and a desire to save Kristin and had resigned herself to suffering a curse she could never lift, took the bloodied bundle and made her peace with accepting the burden.

Never said what she planned on doing — it was just assumed she’d send the creature after the Elders; wield the totem the way a hero wields a sword to deal the dragon a final blow.

Maybe it was something Vera didn’t know herself. Couldn’t know until she was in the moment and had to make the choice before hesitation was their undoing.

Well they’re in that moment now. Taylor watches her square her shoulders, her bare hands grasping real flesh for only the second time in her entire life, and knows she’s chosen.

The wind rustles her curls silently as Vera holds out the severed hand in offering to the bloodwraith.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” The words come out of Daniels’ mouth but they don’t sound like her at all — there’s no restraint in her fear now.

Vera doesn’t deign the woman worth an answer. Just watches, waits for the creature to move. But even it doesn’t seem to understand what her intentions are.

Vion sneers — but even that wavers. “Foolish mortal child. If you wish to live you will keep that thing away from its totem.”

“I won’t do it —” —she whips around to Taylor behind her, tears stinging where they well at her eyes— “— I can’t do it, Tay. I can’t kill them.”

She can’t. If she does, she’s no better than they are. She’s the monster her mother is, the monster her ancestor is. Whether it’s true or not it’s how she feels so he feels it too.

“Baby girl if there was ever a time to grow a spine… now’s it.”

Vera stares over his shoulder to her mother’s wavering figure straining down the garden path.

They knew taking her out of the hospital was a necessary evil. She was the wraith’s last true victim. Her presence made some of the uncertainties of the plan less so because they knew it would come to finish what it started. But the fight, rushing her out of the fray; it’s proving to be too much. Ashen-faced and every muscle in her body screaming let me rest but she doesn’t.

Lady Smoke does not run from her enemies.

“Momma…”

Yet even with everything they’ve been through, despite her daughter refusing to leave her hospital bedside, there’s the furrow of command in her hardened face. She looks at Vera in the same way she had back at her club. Not a mother; a mob boss.

“Tonya, don’t —” Katherine tries to stay her advance but she’s shrugged off; hand batted away like a bothersome fly.

“Your whole life you’ve been runnin’ from who you are, Vera Claire. I shouldn’t have indulged it, that’s my sin to bear; lettin’ you make yourself weak. But now there’s lives at stake, includin’ your own. Maybe you still ain’t got the sense to use your gift for me but would you forgive yourself if your weakness killed everyone else?”

Vera can’t believe it. Frankly neither can anyone else. “What — Momma, stop. Why’re you doin’ this now of all times?”

“Because you’ve always been too stubborn to see what needs to be done!”

“No one else needs to die!”

“Then they’ll kill you first!”

“I won’t do it, goddammit —” if Smoke thought scolding her daughter would shame her into acting she has another thing coming, every word pulls Vera back from the murderous edge, “— I won’t be you! I refuse! I refused then and I refuse now!”

Vera’s voice cracks and the dam breaks; tears down her cheeks with the hovering shadow of pure evil behind her and a lifetime of rage and loathing coming out at the wrong moment but it wasn’t she who chose to rip open these old wounds now — so why should she have any mercy, any sympathy for the frail woman who did this to herself.

“We were both here that night. But it went after you — and if you weren’t so obsessed with gettin’ back your damn Touch you’d realize why that is. I won’t do it. I won’t take a life, even like this. I won’t be you — I won’t be a monster.”

And it’s final this time; when she turns away from her mother to face her decision right in the bloodstained face. “Derek Reimonenq was a monster too. I won’t use him and I won’t become him to get what I want. I know there’s another way.”

“You know nothing of the craft,” all of Daniels’ malice shoved into one last push; one last attempt. Her hands twitch at her side but the witch knows better than to act. Acting runs the risk of losing the totem holding the bloodwraith bound — or the wraith itself.

All her power and all the misery she’s orchestrated up to now and she’s reduced to nothing but words. Words that cause Vera to look up at her with pity. The ultimate insult.

Taylor sucks in a breath as she takes a step closer to the creature; can’t help himself even though he trusts her. Trusts she knows what she’s doing and believes in the path she’s taking.

So he has to believe in her, too. Their lives depend on it.

“I know the misery it’s brought. And I know I won’t have a hand in it anymore.” On silent command the bloodwraith opens its ghoulish talons held aloft. And with all of her fear and grief and anger put aside Vera lays the dead witch’s token upon them.

The skin fades sickly pale and bloodless veins spread black and ruinous. A horrific sight not unfamiliar — and Taylor knows in a part of him that’s still tied to the grief of Cassiopeia’s misplaced trust that the unknown magics preserving her body in the tomb lift and allow her to finally rest.

Even accepting the reality that there was a tortured soul powering the bloodwraith like Satan’s battery — he still couldn’t think of it as something with thoughts; something beyond a mindless killing entity. Which probably explains the weird feeling that comes with watching the creature as it looks down at the totem with a curiosity that could almost be called human.

Behind it the Elders close even tighter ranks. He’s not entirely certain they shouldn’t be doing the same.

Then, like all living things the wraith crosses, the hand begins to wither. Flesh pulled taut against skeletal fingers before eating away at itself the way maggots do; reveals the muscles underneath and the tissue between bones until those desiccate too. Until all that’s left are pale off-white bones that fall in little thunk-thunks to the dirt at its… levitating burial wrappings.

Uncertainty hangs over their heads crisp and icy, prickles like needles at Taylor’s skin and tries to choke him from the inside with every breath.

Now what?

The witches strike first. Try to get the jump on the bloodwraith while its back is still turned with three right hands extended and three burning spheres of fire brought together in Daniels’ power and sent hurtling forward.

Like that’ll make a difference.

The blaze collides against the creature’s spine and even manages to set a few tattered edges of it’s billowing wraps alight. But fire is like all things; needs oxygen to breathe and live. And nothing lives that close to the wraith’s existence. Cassiopeia’s hand proved that.

What would have happened if they’d done nothing; if they had fled, or held their breaths and stayed very still? Would they have been spared? Would Reimonenq’s soul take its newfound freedom and flee beyond the Veil?

It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Because they act — they lash out first. So technically there’s nothing against the retaliation coming.

Maybe if they’d kept Cassiopeia alive she could have banished it before the slaughter.

And it is.

The ghastly, gleeful grin Taylor swears he can see twisted back upon its lips will haunt him for some time; whether it’s really there or not.

The bloodwraith makes quick work of the ones who bound it to bone. It may have enjoyed the hunt every other time before but this — this it has been waiting for from the moment it was birthed in blackness and greed. Taking no time to savor their screams.

Not that the Elders go quietly — each new barrage of magic changes the air pressure and makes Taylor’s eyes swim dizzy and confused. They send spell after spell and chant after chant at the bloodwraith’s face, it’s torso, the space between it and the ground. They try to swallow it up with a tear in reality, send blood from their open veins to slake its thirst; things magic might not even be capable of but are made real in those desperate last moments.

As if the universe, the forces Beyond, the things that bind The Fate in rules against intervention give the witches all the power their mortal bodies can hold. In the same way a death row inmate is given a feast for his last meal.

The wraith’s tainted touch is too good for them. Keeps them whole, maybe even alive long enough to continue toying with. It can’t have that.

So it plunges through Millet’s abdomen bodily. Cleaves her in two uneven pieces and the rest of her splattered on the stone wall at her back. The viscera is dark, almost black against the bleach-white bones that emerge like a butterfly that could only come from the mind of H.G. Wells.

Vion’s cloudy eyes are plucked from his skull with veins and nerves snapping like taut strings. His mortal mouth isn’t wide enough to fit the wraith’s claw until it is — but only after flashing the onlookers with the bottom half of the smile he never learned how to give. Like scooping stew out of the pot with knives his organs come out mangled, misshapen.

The smell is awful and Taylor wants to look away but he doesn’t. Forces himself to watch each new torture and indignity those husks are subjected to. Because they are husks now. There’s no way anyone could be alive after that.

Even when he feels Nik’s tension closer than before and a hand inches its way up to the corner of his eye he brushes it aside. “You shouldn’ have to see this,” the Nighthunter whispers. And he’s right. He shouldn’t have to.

But the Coven Elders only have themselves to blame for that. They were the ones who pulled him into the dark and horrible. “I will anyway;” his equally voiceless reply.

And then there’s Elder Daniels. Made to watch the evisceration and mutilation of her kin. The last witches to fall to The Bloody Hand. That’s her fault, too.

It backs her into the Millet-strewn wall but she does not cower. It rakes talons through her throat her gut her four limbs but she does not scream. It hovers in the air over the pile of her it created but she does not look away — eyes brighter in death than they ever were in life.

The hardest part comes after. Waves of nausea and anguish and the taste of blood at the back of his throat that leave him shaking, crying even though he knows there was no other way — that someone had to die. It takes time but the feelings and all their overwhelming wrath do fade.

Belatedly he realizes — the last of the Coven Elders, those tiny wisps of purpose and ill, have left this world.

The fallout of them remains.

The bloodwraith hovers there among its finest work. Takes them in maw dripping blood and tissue stained red and reeking of death and righteous revenge — but still, silent as the grave.

Without tether or ruling hand there is nothing left inside its hollow ribs. Its great work is done.

Elric is the first to speak, voice cracked from exhaustion, and Taylor isn’t the only one who jumps slightly at the broken silence.

“We must destroy the creature before its nature overpowers the echoes of its former self.” Not that he has to tell anyone twice.

“Think it’ll sit still long enough fer us to put it through a woodchipper?” Kristof isn’t joking.

But Elric shakes his head; doesn’t humor even outlandish ideas. “I… do not know.”

Katherine favors her left side as she hobbles close enough for Ryder to prop her up. “We could pursue another necromancer — but the odds of one being close enough to get here in time…”

“An’ I definitely don’ have enough arrows to banish it to the Veil.”

“So we’re fucked?”

“Every passing moment deteriorates its complacency. It will go rabid.”

“If we had the totem —”

“— the Elders would still be alive, so stop lookin’ at me like that mother.”

Through the din of arguments and ideas tossed forward and debunked Taylor sees their guest again. Watches as The Fate holds his gaze then looks out, slow and with purpose. Over the grass and gravel stained black that now shines like glass under the revealing moonlight.

The stars shine much the same but the trails left by Elric and Garrus’ valiant effort in cornering the witches are a different beauty. Something ethereal and as bright as it is dark. Scorched trails of obsidian creating beauty in destruction.

With all the weird and cryptic help they keep giving, he’s gonna need to get The Fate a fruit basket delivered or something.

“Do you have enough strength to do it one more time?”

Elric looks at him with a furrowed confusion — takes a moment to understand before he withers further. “I worry not even Garrus’ aid will be enough to burn the beast. Not alone.”

Taylor’s heart sinks, but Nik catches it before it gets too low.

“So help ‘em out, Rook.”

“Me?”

“You did it before.”

“Yeah but not on purpose.”

“So get Elric to channel it to you again.”

Then his father is at his side with pale palm turned up in offering. “You are not the same person you were then. You may not need my help.”

Everyone’s stopped arguing now; listening intently. Talk about stage fright.

“Yeah I — I don’t think so. The other fae, the ones inside…”

“Not all of us have the touch to do such wonders.”

And isn’t that just great. “Obviously. Why would it ever be easy?”

He throws a look to Garrus, still half-caught in Krom’s arms though looking far less on the verge of unconsciousness. Not that Krom worries over him any less. They catch him looking and their smiles are matched; happy, relieved, sheepish. Makes Taylor have the just-barely resistible urge to shake his head and say “those crazy kids.”

What’s the use arguing at this point?

“Okay. I mean — however I can help.”

Of course the stone troll is reluctant to let Garrus go, takes more than a fair bit of coaxing from Ivy but he does. “I haven’t stretched these muscles in a century,” comes the anticipated complaint, “and now you have me conjuring twice in one evening?” But Garrus doesn’t hesitate as he takes his position back up.

Elric directs Taylor nearest Isadora; doesn’t argue when Nik follows like an extension of him.

“I’ll be okay.” Not that he doesn’t appreciate the support.

“I know —” then, after a beat, “— still. Don’t have to leave you, so I won’t.”

A hush falls with the fae men in their positions. The outcast, the Lord, and the halfling in a triangle around the dormant wraith.

He knows he shouldn’t but that’s never stopped Taylor before. Cautiously reaches out with that feeling inside and tries, more out of curiosity than anything, to search for anything that remains of Reimonenq within its cursed bones.

But he’s just met with a void. Blacker than black — no revenge, no vendetta to carry out; nothing at all.

So he pulls it back… and feels the faint whisper of death like velvet on his cheek.

It’s as ready as they are for all this to be done with.

Not that he was expecting a lesson on a chalkboard or anything — Conjuring Grimfire 101 — but there’s a distinct lack of any kind of instruction that leaves Taylor more than a little lacking. Has him looking back and forth to mirror the men in everything he can see.

One minute the uncertainty is there; building inside of him a threatening mass of the unknown — and then it isn’t.

It’s just gone.

Whatever takes its place—not confidence, not quite—is enough, somehow. He knows it’s enough.

Looking down Taylor isn’t surprised to see wisps of black flame licking at his palms. Both enveloped and not, but not a burn in sight and so so beautiful.

It doesn’t take much. Barely even a gesture but moreso the power to let the grimflames take to the world beyond him.

Taylor, Garrus, Elric — they aren’t three people and three flames anymore. They’re one in the same; send their combined will forward. Rushing, racing on still winds lapping and hissing at one another until they seek home in the only thing they can.

A column of midnight fire erupts towards the sky as the bloodwraith is consumed. The last of its flesh, the tendrils of cloth, the thrice-burned bones engulfed in a fire that bathes the entire garden in light.

Taylor prepares himself — muscle memory — for a stinging wave of heat that never comes. And the sight is as captivating as it is terrible, as magical as it is destructive. Colors without names taking the wraith’s shape within the black — aberrant and awe-some.

Higher and higher the grimfire clamors for the abyss; seeks home in a darkness just as endless. The colors within grow to a blinding brightness as, within, the creature is devoured.

The Council of New Orleans watches as one. Blooded and bruised and alive. Shadows of light in lashes across every face like a ritual of cleansing.

Cadence shoulders the combined weights of Kathy and Cal; holds them up with tears in his eyes.

As Kristof watches, jaw slack, Octavia lumbers up to him with blood-matted fur and noses at his palm, turns a golden gaze up to the place where the fire and the heavens meet. Even Isadora finds herself held captive by the sight.

Vera’s hands cup her elbows, the glowing shadows catching on her curls and every teardrop that collects at her chin. Behind her Tonya stands shrouded in the dark of her daughter’s figure. The only one focused on something else.

But it makes sense. Don’t ask him how but it does. It isn’t just the bloodwraith that is forced to make peace in the fae fire’s glow. It shines on all of them and chases away every shadow left in the chambers of their hearts. Leaves within Taylor a feeling of profound peace; of understanding.

From tip to temple the remnants of the bloodwraith scatter upwards, rainbow embers scattering to every corner of the city — further even.

Upturned palms slowly close with curled-in fingers; Garrus, then Elric. Elric who looks at his son with pride to which nothing can compare. Taylor almost doesn’t want to let it go. Wants to let it build and stay in this beautiful monument to everything… everything.

Instead he closes his hands and snuffs out the light.

The curtains close.

Cade pulls away gasping; covers his mouth with the back of his hand with something akin to shame burned into his red eyes. Katherine gives him time; lets the vampire come back to himself with her bare arm still offered; just in case.

It isn’t lost on Taylor — or anyone, really — that the huntress was content to push half a wine glass of her blood towards Isadora de la Rosa. That the vein was a luxury only Cadence was allowed.

Cadence who holds her arm gingerly as he smears blood from his nicked thumb along the skin and lets it heal.

All around them the Mardi Gras decorations still shimmer with delight. Enticing them to forget their worries and relax; to enjoy themselves in a way they might finally be allowed, now. But the night isn’t done yet. Neither are they, no matter how much they might wish otherwise.

Two ashtrays pass between hands. Inside; a thin layer of blood shared among them like a church sacrament. The unspoken rule — take just enough to heal your wounds, because the likelihood that either vampire was willing to part with more than they could afford was slim.

And he cares about the rest of his friends — he does. He’s glad to see the bruises fading from Kathy’s ribs where her shirt is hitched up; to see Cal testing the motion of his arm where Octavia had helped relocate his shoulder. He’s glad — yet it doesn’t stop him from devoting the majority of his attention to Nik.

“No physical signs of a concussion,” mumbles Cade through his careful examination of the man’s pupils; flashes the mini-light from Taylor’s keys between them just in case, “and as any possible wounds would be internal there isn’t much my blood can do that it wouldn’t have done already.”

But Ryder will only humor them for so long. The frustration is already starting to tick in his brow. “Cool, then will you lay off?”

“Nik —”

“I’m fine Rook, see?” He gestures with arms spread wide and what is that supposed to prove? Can anyone blame him for worrying? Would anyone dare to try?

No, not like this. Not when the events of the night still hang over those gathered like an anvil on a very thin rope. Only when it drops it won’t be for comedic effect.

All they need is someone to cut the cord.

Good thing Nik Ryder has never been one to sugarcoat anything. Or hold his tongue for that matter.

“They weren’t wrong, you know, the Coven Elders.”

Which is so the wrong thing to say and gets a couple hundred pounds of angry sweaty werewolf in his face, growling; “The fuck’d you just say, Ryder?”

Even Isadora’s disapproval isn’t so easily contained. “Poor taste, Nighthunter.”

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. Looks Kristof square in the eyes with a matching frown and a set jaw.

“You could ignore it before, but you sure can’t now. Things around here have gotten way outta hand. Each one’a you only cared about what was right under your noses. I ain’t sayin’ they went about it the right way but to walk outta here with nothing changed would be almost just as bad.”

That he doesn’t end up with a broken jaw is surprising on its own. When Kristof actually steps back as if to listen? Well Hell went straight from frozen over to a winter wonderland.

“Continue,” prompts Elric then, since no one else is willing to offer the floor to him. Why would they? Who wants to be told everything they’ve done wrong? Especially when it leads to… well.

“I didn’ think about the state of things until I saw what was goin’ on inside Persephone. Told myself it wasn’t any of my business —”

“— which it is not,” Tonya interrupts, and meets the glare Vera snaps at her with a hard set to her jaw. “Nighthunters have always been a complicated party. No allegiances, no code of conduct but their own. And now this one wishes to dictate to us all of the things we are at fault for as though he stands on some sort of higher ground?”

Vera just shakes her head, dislike rotting into distaste on her tongue.

“Unbelievable. You still don’t think you have any blame to take in any of this.”

“Do you have any idea what I’ve done to keep this city safe?”

“Oh I’m well aware, mother,” the words lash out on the tip of her tongue; make Tonya recoil however slight. “In fact — that, that right there — that’s half the problem here! That’s exactly what Ryder’s talking about. You stand there actin’ like a martyr when all you’ve done—all you’ve really done—is bully, bribe, and threaten your way into power. How long do you think it’ll keep now?”

She’s no longer the woman who went running at the smallest sign of danger. It’s a thing to behold, really.

And Vera isn’t the only one. Even with all of his huffing and puffing Cal steps up and looks Kristof square in the eyes. There’s a set to his jaw and his eye is still a little purple but hell if he’s backing down now.

“Now don’t you go makin’ trouble for yerself, pup,” his kin warns, but what else could he possibly lose that he hasn’t already?

“Anyone who disagrees with you makes trouble.”

“Yeah, and?”

The younger wolf’s joints pop and crack as he cranes his neck from side to side. Both of them rearing to go even after everything.

“That’s no way to lead a pack.”

Kristof snorts through a cherry-red face. “An’ I take it you’ve got a lotta thoughts you been holdin’ in.”

“You could say that.”

“Until you’re an Alpha I don’t think you’ve got much of a say.”

“He may not, but I’ve a few thoughts, cher.”

There’s a very Et tu, Brute? vibe in how Octavia places herself in the familiar space between the argument. Back then and here in the now Octavia remains a voice of reason to compensate for the one her Alpha just doesn’t seem to have been born with.

His nostrils flare. “Tavvy…”

“I ain’t sayin’ the pup’s right, but you an’ I both know he’s got a point. Things have been good for us, Kristof. Good for the pack.”

“Yeah, why the hell d’you think that is?!”

“I’m not sayin’ you ain’t sacrificed to keep us goin’. An’ I’ve backed you up on every single thing to date. But Kristof Jensen so help me if you raise your voice at me again I will whoop your furry behind to kingdom come and that’s a promise.”

The Alpha and his Beta square off, eye to eye. She commands the space around her despite behind several heads shorter than him. Being part of a pack means something deeper than most can understand and it radiates out from them in viscous tension.

He’s an Alpha; he can’t back down. But she’s his partner — so she won’t.

And Cal, who can’t tell if he has the other wolf on his side or just not on Kristof’s, refuses to let himself be pushed out of the conversation.

“Uncle,” one word that snaps all attention back to him, “you picked up the pack when we needed it most. You know they’re grateful — you know I’m grateful —” and there’s something hidden unspoken in Cal’s words, something from before all this but can’t be held back any longer, “— you were the Alpha they needed when I couldn’t be.

“But the pack can’t be more important than the community it’s part of. You can’t pull away from the rest of New Orleans and call it keeping everyone safe. Not when it leads to shit like this.”

There’s so many emotions and reactions twisting on the Alpha’s scarred face; Taylor doesn’t even attempt to reach out to feel them for fear of empathy whiplash.

So he’s just as surprised as everyone — Cal and Octavia included — when the wolf deflates; sags his shoulders and reaches out for the Beta to find a home crooked under the weight of his arm.

“Now ain’t the time to get into the nitty-gritty.”

Before Cal can object, Octavia squares him away with a single glance. Maybe not now, but soon. And that’s more than before, so he’ll take it.

To everyone’s surprise Isadora steps forward with a steely eye.

“My father was no saint. Since inheriting his seat and estate I have come upon a number of… gruesome things; things he was content to keep from me, and no doubt from the rest of the Council.”

If anyone notices the way her eyes flick to Cadence, they don’t mention it. “But I think that is the point Ryder makes; we, this Council, are supposed to be the ones making decisions for the betterment of this proud city. Instead we have burrowed our heads in the sand, contented ourselves with turning a blind eye to one another’s wrongdoings lest our own come to light.

“We cannot continue like this. The Council will not survive it. New Orleans will not survive it.”

Murmurs of agreement echo throughout the foyer; Elric stands.

“We are tired; we are battle-worn. Yet we have ignored our obligations to the city for long enough I think. If we are to be the ones to bring about a positive change then the time to act is now.”

“Now?” asks Tonya in protest, “don’t you think we should postpone this — at least until Mardi Gras has settled?”

Nik drags two stools forward. Taylor takes the hint and he isn’t the only one — Krom and Ivy join him in grabbing chairs and other seats until everyone has a place to get comfortable.

“No time like the present.”

#choices nb #playchoices fanfiction #nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

[hoodedhavok]

Hopeless II

a/n: okay so this is gonna be a shortish one, also i could’ve went two ways with this, continue on after their confrontation or write the parts before when they were in a relationship. I chose the former. there’ll be another part after this, and yeah, im not a fan of this tbh but feedback is definitely appreciated!! 

part one

warnings: angst!!

You knew of him before you met him, you would occasionally see him in the coffee shop by your house, ordering a large black coffee with two shots of espresso and one sugar. You caught on that his order varied, depending on the time of day or his mood. His most frequent drink was a large black coffee, but on days where you noticed that his dark circles were more prominent, you heard him ask for two shots of espresso. He always seemed content but on those days you felt bad for him as he grumbled out his order like a stereotypical customer in need of their caffeine fix. However, while you had nearly memorized all three of his orders, you were yet to learn his name.

It was a Tuesday, nearing 8pm and you were in line for a mocha, with extra whip. You had been studying for exams, your notes scattered across the table you secured earlier. If not for the signature hair you wouldn’t have realized it was him in front of you. You paid attention to his order - large black coffee with three shots of espresso. Poor guy was probably having a shittier day than usual and your heart ached for him.

“Add mine to the order, will ya?” You shot a smile at the barista as you stepped to the side of him and tapped your card on the machine, effectively paying for his drink without giving him the time to protest. The idea that the baristas remembered your order made you happy but you also felt ashamed that you went so frequently they were able to remember it.

“And who do I owe the pleasure of buying my drink to?” You smiled at him, your brain blanking at your own name because of his damn good looks.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N.” You didn’t know what to focus on, the hair, the height, the eyes. The barista passed over his drink first but he remained.

“My name is Billy. Billy Russo.” Your drink was passed to you, “You really love whipped cream.” At the sight of your frown, he lightly shoved you. “I’ve seen you in here before, I’ve also seen you with whipped cream on your nose because you get excited over it.”

“You’ve noticed me before?” He nodded, the smile he had plastered on his face made the dark circles under his eyes near unnoticeable. The blush that creeped across your face earned a chuckle from him, however you refrained from revealing that you had also noticed him.

“Can you really blame me?” You both stepped away from the counter, him following you to your seat. “As lovely as this conversation was, I have to run, I’ll see you again Y/N?” You nodded, telling him to have a goodnight before sitting at your seat and debating whether or not studying was as important as squealing over the interaction to your best friend. You determined it was, but not before messaging them telling them that the large black coffee guy’s name was Billy.

~~~

You forced yourself away from the memories as you ordered your usual, the large mocha with extra whip that you took to-go now. No longer did you sit in the booth closest to the counter just so you could relish in hearing his voice. The baristas had changed, your visits became less frequent as the place was plagued with the memories of Billy. Of him sitting across from you as you highlighted notes, of him taking the free seat in front of you and handing you your drink. The memories suffocated you more now, and you didn’t think that was possible. But somehow it did, because on the television screen in the corner of the cafe played the news, BREAKING NEWS, William Russo, CEO of Anvil Security dead. You were grateful you didn’t have your drink yet, because you would have dropped it. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, no, no, no. This was not possible.

“Miss, your drink.” You blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, gratefully taking the drink and making your way to your car that was parked outside.

Your ears were ringing, it had been four days since the incident at your apartment. Four damn days. Your head hit the back of your seat as your hands shook, ignoring your phone’s constant ringing. Your breathing became quicker, tears began streaming down your face as you struggled to grasp the reality that Billy Russo was dead. Somehow, you found yourself answering your phone, you just wanted it to stop ringing.

“Miss. Y/L/N. You were listed as next of kin for William Russo, I regret to inform you he has recently passed away due to his injuries.” You squeezed your eyes shut, you didn’t want to live in a world without him - even if he was a murderer. “I’m sorry for your loss.” You hung the phone up, and wiped the tears that stained your cheek. You took a shaky breath and looked up realizing that whatever injuries he had were more serious than they had told you over the phone. Your phone rang again, Frank-enstein. The caller-id had displayed. You sent it to voicemail before shutting your phone off and driving back to your apartment.

~~

You barely made it to your couch, you grabbed the throw pillow and held it close to your chest as you sobbed. You never wanted him dead, you could never want him dead. Billy was your everything a few years ago and it was easy to deal with it because you knew if you needed him he was a call away. But now, he was gone. Completely. And he thought you hated him. You remembered the look on his face when he left your apartment that night, the hurt in his eyes as he walked off. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He died thinking you hated him, you didn’t see him in the hospital, you left him alone. Your sobs intensified at the thought, your body shuddered as the grief suffocated you.

You stayed like that for hours, eventually your sobs stopped and you had fallen asleep, curled into the throw pillow. You had awoken to the sound of knocking, someone was at your door and from what you could assume from the knocks, they seemed pissed.

“Y/N if you don’t open this door now, I will knock it down!” You recognized Frank’s voice as you forcibly uncurled yourself, your legs aching as you walked across the living room to the door.

“What do you want.” You couldn’t imagine your appearance, your hair was probably a mess and it was likely your eyes were red and swollen.

“You look like crap.” He held up a drink, reminding you that you had forgotten your drink in your car. “I brought you coffee.” Frank was many things, but he could never make your cup of coffee the way you liked it. Nonetheless, you thanked him and let him inside.

“Ya know, I know he was a murderer and all that, but fuck it hurts.” You confessed, Frank nodded, part of him felt empty at the loss of his former best friend.

“It’s okay to miss him.” You only nodded, running a hand through your knotted hair. You could see his eye movements, scanning your face for any emotion other than grief.

“Do you know what happened?” Frank nodded and motioned for you to sit down as he went through what occured within the past few weeks. Detailing how he discovered Billy was working for Rawlins, detailing what Billy did and finally telling you something you already knew, Billy was aware of the planned murders of Frank’s family.

“He didn’t say anything because of me.” Your voice was soft as you confessed, “Rawlins had threatened me before, and he told Billy that if he interfered, I was gonna pay the damn consequence.” Frank scanned your face, trying to look for a sign of dishonesty but found none.

“I’m sorry.” Frank continued to tell you about the incident at Curtis’ and told you to the part of him scraping Billy’s head against the mirror. You were silent, your mind racing at the information given to you. “I didn’t kill him though, he needed to live with that shit. He needed to be reminded of this every damn day, just like I am.”

“Do you know his cause of death?” Frank shook his head, watching as you closed your eyes and took deep breaths. “He died of his fucking injuries.” Your voice leveled out, anger dripping from them as you stood. “He died of the fucking injuries you inflicted on him!” Your voice had raised, a near shout when you addressed Frank. “The only person who caused suffering to was me Frank. Because god, I could live with being away from him but knowing he was still safe. But he’s dead now!” Frank stood up and took a step forward, his hands reaching up to your shoulders to steady you. You collapsed into his arms, your grief consuming you as he softly hummed to calm you down.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t want to blame him for this, Billy made these choices, choices that led him down the wrong path.

~~~

A letter came a month after his funeral, a month after you resumed wearing the ring he once gave you. The handwriting was too familiar to you, the messy scrawl made your heart ache more.

Y/N,

I’m sorry. I came to you that night as a goodbye and to see if you still cared. I wish I could do that night over again, and not hold that knife against your throat because maybe you would have greeted me like you used to. I know you’ll analyze the date on the letter and I know you’ll realize I’m alive. I’m not the same man you fell in love with, I mean this figuratively and literally. Perhaps we’ll meet again a few years from now, hopefully you’ll let me buy you the drink this time.

With all my love,  

B.R.

tagging: @anamarierosee @ninjathrowingstork @ivegotillegalsinmybottom @nyotauhura @sunaeroglu @king4thesirens @jeffreydeanmorgans @untitledandrandom @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @astceaa @lalafral @brought-by-wind @nostalgic-uncertainty @deathbeforeboringfonts @anolympianhero @tiredofthisgeneration ​

@amateuratheart @whitepanthergirl @princesscassiebaratheon @l-l-c-m-w-b @haritini2000 @timeless-flogging @icecoldghost @rln108 @azure-winter-crow @wonderwoman292 @lizhart1701 @goldesteins @thinemineours @misschief1996 @salior-guardian96 @sippindacres @anne-kollay (yes i tagged everyone who liked the first part, sue me)

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #ben barnes #my writing

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 36

I sat in the center of the booth at Kona Grill surrounded by family and friends with an artificial smile that I struggled to maintain throughout the entire evening. I wasn’t nearly in the mood to be the center of attention and luckily, everyone seemed to have drifted off into separate conversations leaving me to mope in peace. Chris attempted to spark conversation, but he was the absolute last person I wanted to speak to and I’m sure my demeanor showed it. With the spectacle he’d gotten me caught up in earlier in my driveway, I was determined to brush him off for the duration of dinner. Eventually, he took the hint and quickly diverted his attention to Rashad and Dontay’s conversation. I inconspicuously rolled my eyes the moment he turned around and of course, caught the curious eye of Destani.

“What’s wrong?” She mouthed from the other side of the table. With a quick glance at Chris, I shook my head and pointed discreetly toward the restrooms, motioning for her to follow me there. “Where are you two going?” My aunt asked the moment we both stood from the table. “To the restroom… we’ll be right back.” I assured her.

I barely had time to cross the threshold into the restroom before her interrogation began “What’s wrong girl? You are not supposed to be looking this damn depressed on your birthday. Who did something because you know I won’t hesitate to kick they ass.” I snickered at the serious expression on her face and shook my head with a sigh “Dez… I’m stuck.” “What are you talking about? Stuck on what?” She asked, brows twisted with confusion. “Like I’m torn… between Trey and Chris.” “Oh Lord bae… what happened?” Before I knew it, I was spilling everything that’d happened earlier in the day to her. From the moment Chris pulled up to my house to the moment I read Trey’s card and everything that it said. It wasn’t until I stopped rambling to take a breath that I realized I could hardly inhale through my nose… I was crying for the second time today.

“Aw, love… it’s alright,” Destani spoke gently as she hugged me close and swept a hand over the curls atop my head, “I knew something like this was bound to happen. You got two different guys falling for you girl… you should be happy.” I drew my head back from her shoulder and hiccupped over my own hitched breath “Wh… why would I be… be happy Dez? I ca… I can’t be happy like this.” “Yes you can Sy… if you got both of these niggas noses wide open for you, do you know what that means?” I shook my head and stared at her as she pushed me back and gripped onto my shoulders to stare directly into my moist eyes, “This means you are an amazing girl! It’s not your fault that Trey approached you that night at the movie theater and fell for you. It’s certainly not your fault that you met Chris ten years ago and he’s been down for you ever since. You can’t change either one of those facts, but you can make the decision of what you want for you. This isn’t about Chris or Trey, it’s about you. So don’t let either of their actions or words break you… you just block that all out and decide who and what is right for Sy’Diyah.” I nodded as I took in every word she said and considered the choice that I knew I’d soon have to make...

--

After cleaning up my face and making myself look as presentable as possible, we exited the restroom and headed back to the table. The moment I slid back into place in the booth, several of the waiters and waitress’s flocked to the table with our waiter leading the way with a red velvet cupcake and bowl of ice cream in his hands. He presented me with the decadent treats and soon they all joined in on a loud rendition of the birthday song before finishing up with a round of applause and dispersing back to their sections of the restaurant.

“Aye Sy, I know you probably wondering how you gonna eat all that by yourself,” Rashad muttered as he gazed at the thick slice of cake, “Let me get like a little piece.” I laughed at his eagerness and nodded which seemed to be all the indication he needed to dive in. He, along with Dontay and Desean, who’d rushed from Tootie’s lap at the far end of the table, bombarded the sweet treat and I made sure to move out of the way so I wouldn’t get trampled. “Uncle C… you want some?” DeSean blurted.

Chris raised his gaze from his phone and peered at Desean then glanced from the ice cream to me “Nah lil man, I’m good.” I quickly shifted my gaze to my twiddling fingers and wondered exactly what was on his mind. I wondered if he felt even an ounce of remorse for what he’d done earlier. Did he even care at all about the awkward situation he helped to throw me head first into? Deciding not to dwell on the thought any longer, I turned my attention to the ensuing battle between the boys to see who could finish off my birthday treat quicker.

By the time we exited the restaurant, I could barely control my laugher as I watched Dontay and Rashad stumble out toward the parking lot. They’d finished off the ice cream so quick, they both managed to end up with brain freeze. Desean, who unfortunately suffered the same consequences, had managed to talk Chris into scooping him up and carrying him out to the parking lot while his mother stayed hot on their trail steadily scolding her son.

“Tootie leave that boy alone.” Ms. Joyce said as she walked along behind her daughter along with my aunt and Ms. Cynthia. “Ma, did you see all that ice cream he ate? He knows better than that.” Tootie glanced back at her mother before looking back at Desean, who’d wrapped his tiny arms around his uncle’s neck and shut his eyes as though he were asleep. “Yes I saw how much he ate and yes he should have known better, but he did it so let the result of his actions be his punishment. I used to tell your brother the same thing, you wanna do something that’s only gonna hurt you, then go right ahead… be my guest. It’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt me. Then I'll hurt you when you feel better!” She spoke wisely and honestly, causing us all to laugh. I could recall several occasions when we were younger when Chris would hurt himself and she’d simply check to be sure he wasn’t too badly injured, then walk away as though it’d never even occurred. Her motto was always ‘I told your little hard-headed ass not to do that.’

Chris mumbled incoherently and Ms. Joyce swiftly reached out and popped him on the butt as he walked ahead of her, prompting everyone to cackle louder and Chris to frown "Dang ma, what I do?" Once we finally reached parking lot, we all bid our adieus and climbed into our separate vehicles. I climbed into the passenger seat of my aunt’s car and Destani got into the back after letting her mom know that she would be spending the night at my house. We chatted and joked all the way to the house and once we finally arrived, I was completely winded from laughing so hard at my aunt and Destani.

My aunt placed the car in park after pulling into the driveway and I wiped away a few stray tears as a result of all my laughter. “So, did you have a good birthday Sy?” My aunt asked after we’d all settled down. I nodded and stood on the porch beside Destani, waiting patiently as she unlocked the front door “Yes ma’am, I did… and I really appreciate all the gifts and the dinner.” Destani gazed at me and contorted her face into a fake weep “Ohhhhh Sy… I’m so glad you loved everything. I was so worried that you wouldn’t!” “Yes, like Destani said,” My aunt laughed, “I’m glad you liked everything… you deserved all of it.” She smiled warmly before turning and entering the house.

Destani and I headed upstairs after saying goodnight to my aunt, who ventured into her room to prepare for a night shift at the hospital. “Damn, I'm so tired and my feet hurt like hell.” Destani exclaimed as she plopped down on my bed and kicked her heels off. “Well, nobody told you to wear heels Dez.” I said, walking over to my dresser to retrieve my pajamas. “Shut up, I was tryna look cute for the occasion thank you very much. Let me get something to sleep in.” I plucked a spare tank and shorts pajama set for her and a matching set for me. She exited my room and headed down to the guest restroom to change, while I made my way into my own restroom to freshen up and slip on my pajama set.

I finished up a short while later and exited the bathroom after hearing the sound of a light knock on my bedroom door. Assuming it was Destani, I walked over to my closet to toss my clothes in the hamper without even bothering to let her in. “Come in.” I yelled. Turning to exit the closet, I parted my lips to speak and was immediately rendered speechless the moment I laid eyes on Chris. “Hey.” He muttered quietly as he stood there almost bashfully with his hands tucked into his pants pockets. “Hey.” I responded just as hushed as he.

Awkward was an understatement for how I felt standing before him. We both stared down at the floor like two timid children and I wanted nothing more than to turn around and jet back into the closet. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, the bedroom door flew open and in barged Destani “Sy, Aunt Maddie told me…” Her sentence quickly trailed off once she spotted Chris and they both locked eyes before she diverted her gaze to me and cleared her throat “Um… Aunt Maddie told me to tell you to lock up and she’ll see you in the morning.”

With a quick nod, I instantly returned my gaze to the floor… the tension in room was incredibly excruciating and nearly thick enough to suffocate in. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed now,” She spoke in a hushed tone as she cut her eyes over at Chris and smirked, “I guess I’ll see ya’ll in the morning.” His face remained blank as we both watched her exit the room, shutting the door quietly behind herself. Chris cleared his throat and with a sigh, he turned his gaze to me “So uh… how was your birthday?”

Finally gaining enough courage to even look in his direction, I glared at him as I moved toward my bed and pulled the blankets back in preparation to climb in “It was good… very good actually.” “Good.” He nodded and scratched at the back of his neck, evidently sensing every bit of the awkward tension that’d cascaded over the room. “Is that what you came here for?” I asked as I sat down at the edge of my bed. “No, um… nah that’s not what I came here for,” He cleared his throat once more and moistened his lips as he peered around my room, “Earlier… I wanted to talk about what happened earlier.” “What about what happened earlier?” I asked, peeping over at him curiously.

“Well, I mean I wanted to apologize.” “Okay…” The room grew silent, once again, and I discreetly rolled my eyes at the thought of just how annoying this entire scenario was. “That’s it?” He said, sounding faintly astonished. “Yes Chris, that’s it. What else do you expect me to say?” He blinked slowly and parted his lips as if he wanted to speak, only to close them a few seconds later and raise his brows with shock “Well I mean… I just thought you’d be upset.”

“How could I be upset? You kissed me, I kissed you back, and I didn’t make an effort to stop you.” I explained, though I knew I was completely full of anger and rage the moment the incident occurred earlier, “It happened and it’s over now. If I could go back and stop the kiss from happening I would, but I can’t so why sit here and dwell on it?” The look on his face was utterly priceless at that exact moment... his mouth hung open and his expression was that of complete surprise “You regret kissing me?” “Yes, I do,” I said without hesitation, “How would you feel if I forced you to kiss me in front of Daynah?” “What?” The astonishment on his face was instantly replaced by a deep scowl as he took a step toward me, “What the hell does she have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes up toward the ceiling and shook my head, “Look, all I’m saying is, me kissing you in front of Trey wasn’t right and now I’m feeling like crap about it.” “Wait… are you serious right now?” He asked, glaring at me through squinted eyes. I stared right back at him and scoffed as I finally rose from my bed and walked around to stand directly in front of him with crossed arms “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am very serious.” His jaw was clinched tight and without warrant, he turned and plopped down on the edge of my bed “You bullshitting me right now, I know you are. How can you sit here, in my face, and blatantly tell me that you regret kissing me? What the fuck is up with you Hope?”

I sighed and tossed my hands up in the air “Nothing Chris, gosh. Is it so bad for me to regret a simple kiss?” “Yes it’s fucking bad… especially with all the other times I've kissed you and you’ve never once complained. I kiss you one time in front of that bitch ass nigga and now you freaking the fuck out?” “Shut up Chris!” I exclaimed, quickly becoming overwhelmed by his extremely accurate confrontation. I knew every harsh word flooding from his mouth was completely true, but hearing it out loud especially from him was more than I could bear. He was backing me into a corner by calling me out on my recent rapture with both him and Trey and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. “I don’t even claim you and you don’t claim me… we’re not exclusive,” I barked, “So maybe I do like him. Maybe I never did intend for him to watch me make out with another guy right in his face. Why should it matter to you?”

“Because Hope,” He started, pausing abruptly with a sigh then rolling his head back and staring up at the ceiling, “You know what, fuck it. I don’t even know why I came over here… I shoulda known this wasn’t gonna make shit better.” He stood up suddenly and stepped around me then began to walk toward my door. Swiftly, I whipped around and glowered at him “Where are you going?” He froze in his stride and slowly turned to face me “I’m leaving Sy’Diyah. I said what I had to say to you so now… I’m leaving.”

Rather than resuming his determined trek to the door as I assumed he would, he altered his path back to me and leaned in close so his lips were mere centimeters from my left ear “I’m leaving right now because I wanna kiss you so bad, but I can’t do that because I don’t claim you… right?” With that he pressed his lips just barely against my ear, turned swiftly, and departed from my room… leaving me there, dumbfounded and speechless.

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chrisbrownfanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic

[filmphreak]

Adam & Eve Vs. the Cannibals

So I’m watching ADAM & EVE MEET THE CANNIBALS.

Yep. I’m watching a movie called that. By whichever name you’re calling it (this is a retitling - the original name had no cannibals in it). I like the CANNIBALS title best – obviously. I’m an Italian cannibal movie aficionado, so that makes my preference even stronger. But since I’m only partway through the movie, I cannot attest to the titular accuracy of what is clearly a re-monikering by a distributor for whatever market he was trying to reach. I’m guessing an American distributor redubbed it to make it more sellable to exploitation crowds.

Turns out, though, even though nothing remotely cannibal-y has occurred, it’s a pretty fascinating movie. And a pretty movie.

There is a depiction of Creation during the opening titles. Lots of lava and geological upheaval, plus some nice but probably not overly expensive color FX. It’s a groovy sequence. Following that,  in the fresh, new world, something bursts from the dirt. A membranous cocoon out of which Adam tears himself.

Lonely, he goes on to sculpt the figure of a woman out of beach sand. But the rain comes to wash it away as soon as he’s done. In his despair, he fails to notice that the sand is being rained away from actual flesh. Adam is no longer alone.

And they explore each other and their new life and environment. They watch other animals reproduce (obviously built-in stock nature footage, but it works).

Then there is the serpent. I never realized before this movie how awesome Satan (as per the post-Judaic, Christian re-ordering of the primitive Eden mythos, but that is another chapter in another book entirely) sounds speaking in Italian. With a snake as avatar. Sweet!

Adam keeps trying to keep her from snacking on the forbidden fruit but eventually temptation overtakes and she succumbs. He joins her. Then they REALLY begin to explore each other.

But nature turns on them. A horrible wind blows through. Interestingly, so far God is represented here through manifestation as Nature. I can dig it. Happy God equals serene paradise, a hospitable enviro. Pissed-off God equals storms, volcanos (destructive rather than creative now), even boulders. (This leads to a great Indiana Jones-like scene. The FX are simple but a blast to watch.

Still no gutmunchers, but I’m hooked regardless. I suppose now that they’re booted from Eden and worrying about clothes and such, maybe now their luck will sour and cannibals will pick a fight. Who knows? But I’m on board for the ride.

Now they’re wandering in the desert, an environmental cue for the absence of God. And now the couple is bickering. The honeymoon is over.

NOTE: The loincloth in no way detracts from a strangely blond Eve’s sexiness.

Now, left-turn blinker. The couple discovers that nature is an antagonist to them now (i.e. they are suffering the consequences of God’s displeasure). God’s displeasure here takes the form of a stop-motion animated pterodactyl-ish thing.

At this point, I don’t care if cannibals ever come into the story. Because this movie just gets better and better.

NOTE: The togetherness in facing conflict re-bonds Eve. The archetypal imagery of the Judaic Eden myth is present here, and I even find some progressions of thought from the source. Interesting.

Oh, man. Cavemen. 2001: A Space Odyssey this is not. But exciting it is. Let’s see where this goes. One must wonder if these are the titular cannibals.

Sooooo …  yeah. When you see the tribe of trogs back at their home in the side of a mountain or something, the whole cannibal movie parallels click. This isn’t exactly that, but there this movie (also Italian, fyi) and those cannibal flicks do share a lot of the same touchstones. Even if they are sometimes recontextualized.

And the way they start pawing at the blond Eve strikes a huge cannibal movie chord with me. Think Mountain of the Cannibal God, with Ursula Undress. I mean Andress.

This is just a really groovy primordial lost-in-the-jungle flick. Less violence and more archetypology. Go ask Joseph Campbell.

Anyway. Eventually the war of the sexes re-emerges as a stronger theme. Adam and Eve separate.

Did I mention this is an extremely beautiful movie? Adam may be alone now and left to jacking off and talking to himself, but he gives the film a chance to wander with him through some spectacular scenery. The whole movie has been a thing of beauty so far, and it doesn’t slack off now. Eve goes wandering through some foresty enviros of her own.

This leads her to more primitives. (Like she and Adam have been around for SO long yet.) Not trog, this time, actually more like the spaghetti cannibal movie cannibals, though I don’t know yet if they eat people. I’m starting to suspect not, as I think this title is completely gratuitous, yet oddly not 100% off base. The cavemen weren’t gutmunchers. I’ll have to see if these tribesfolk are or not.

Well, turns out there is a quite a bit of munching – but it all appears to be fruit and vegetables. Unless I missed something vital. Is this a commentary on the Old Testament’s pre-Noahite veggies-only diet as prescribed by Yahweh?

As soon as I say that, I think the captive Eve is being offered an animal to eat …. Oh, yeah, that’s an animal. Still, though, cannibalism this isn’t

And I still have to wonder if this isn’t a deluge-less analogy to the transition of vegetarianism to omnivorism in Genesis.

Uh-oh. Eve is learning to use her female allure, being all sexy and flirty for her tribesman guard. Damn freshy sexually awakened females (in our world, that’s teenage girls), wielding the weapon of their sexuality when they don’t even grok the immense power of those nuclear capabilities.

Still, she’s not without her just motives here. I mean, if somehow I was abducted by a primitive tribe fascinated by my fat (and sexy) ass, I’d flap my balls around if I thought that gave me a chance to manipulate my captors.

Oh, shit, and the cavemen meet the non-trog tribesman. I think some cannibalism just happened, like the cavemen ambushed a non-trog and had a quick pre-battle snack.

What a crazy, wonderful movie.

Yep, the cavemen combine warring with lunching. I mean, eating bits of your enemy is also deadly. Or a freshly killed foe won’t argue if you take a bite. So, yeah.

This actually excels expectations for viewers going in expecting another B-grade gutmuncher. Don’t get me wrong, my love for Italian cannibal flicks is broad and extends beyond the greats .But ADAM & EVE VS THE CANNIBALS solders part of the classic sketti gutmuncher into a wildly different yet markedly analogous piece of cinema. This movie benefits both from its freshness and its familiarity.

The movie is an artistic accomplishment, for sure. And I’m sure it pulled in lots of “exploitation” audiences. All around success? I’d happily grant this simultaneous arthouse/grindhouse status. (It isn’t as if the two didn’t overlap plenty.)

This one’s more of an onion than most Italian gutmunchers. And you never know what’s down in the next layer. I mean, now we’ve got a scenario where the cavemen have captured the non-trogs who captured Blondie Eve.

And, inevitably, Adam shows up pissed and stabbing semi-folks, brandishing his oh so phallic weapon (spear) around. And then we’re on the move, on the river, afloat in a bid for escape and freedom.

Now, I assume you recall that nature is not working synergistically with Adam and Eve, right? Well, let me just say this: Bear. OK, guy in a bear costume, but the scene manages to work anyway. And also to provide one of the scenes neater, if not overly bloody, scenes of violence. In your face, bear. Literally.

Segue. Now the film introduces the concept of pugnacious male rivalry for feminine affections. You could really study this one in a film class. Or psychology class. Awesomeness. They even work in a note of the female civilizing and taming effect on the male.

And then ADAM AND EVE VS THE CANNIBALS features what must be Creation’s first break-up! Or, maybe, just one of its first turn-downs. Still, it’s like high school before high school, right? Sniff!

(You could argue this is a really weird love story.)

Of course, it’s a lot of things. And the remarkable combination works wonders almost as great as Creation itself. (OK, maybe that was a tad hyperbolic. But I think my superpower is hyperbole.)

Awww, love scene. And that anachronistically vocal soft pop is back! Odd upon odd. Nothing if not a singular film.

NOTE: It occurs to me there is remarkably little nudity or violence compared to what you’d expect from such a film. Not that this movie has that big a category, Such A Film. I speak broadly.

NOTE: Adam and Eve stumble onto stock footage of bit cats eating a gazelle or whatever. They gasp. The music sounds oddly like Cannibal Holocaust’s score here. Only a watcher of these movies would notice that, but a watcher of these movies would notice that. A little tingle.

Now there’s snow and she’s in a more robe-y thing but she’s still sexy. Nice high leg slit (note).

I THINK ADAM JUST TOLD EVE “FUCK YOU”!

(*Rewind*)

Nope. Crap, he didn’t. He said “I told you.” As in, “I told you so.” The movie has resurfaced is war of the sexes theme, in a context of Eve feeling like Adam is treating her like a secondary citizen, lacking independence. There is a subtext of his questioning of her creative ability, which points to the patriarchal suppression of the divine feminine. The feminine creative power (womb) was an factor in primitive worship of the goddess. In this scene, Adam is using his creative skill to forge a weapon. She is making a little sculpture of an animal. Adam sees himself as useful and her as needing protection. (Of course, this also alludes to the male war tendency versus the female peace tendency.)

This argument of pragmatism – useful spear versus “useless” cub carving – points to the age-old conflict of what we can call War Vs Art. War can mean here – not necessarily just violent conflict between nations -  any endeavor based on severe pragmatism. The stereotype of the father who sees no practical value in a child’s desire to act rather than, say, join the family business or become a lawyer.  Those who who see creativity for creativity’s sake as without worth since it cannot turn a screw or fire a bullet or only rarely make money (Stephen King versus the world’s unpublished dishwashers who write in their sleep hours and hope – same dynamic as the struggling actor).

I won’t belabor it further. But, like I said, lots of onion layers here. A much better movie than maybe we had a right to expect?

The movie builds toward a tragic mood. Adam and Eve, lost and alone (but for each other, which shouldn’t be forgotten), nigh unto dying on a mountaintop blanketed in snow. Adam is ready to give up. But Eve encourages him. The ultimate transcendence of interdependence is reached. The film and its ideas achieve fruition. Adam and Eve are yin-yang. Only through their tribulations do they gain strength, insight and the ability to prevail.

Wow, an amazing scene of rumbling, cracking ice (more well-placed stock footage – I LOVE creative, mix-and-match filmmaking, sort of blending in found object art with traditional filmmaking). God is farthest from them. His wrath isn’t rage … but absence. The bleak world is breaking apart around them. But, of course, the desert of the soul provides the aridity for new spiritual growth.

Finaly, though, “wrath” recedes and a hospitable world is again alive around them. Life is peaceful. Their relationship with the divine is restored, as well as their relationship with each other. (There is so much subtext here – this film narrative is pregnant with meta like a babies-toting dog mom with a swingin’ ass tummy has puppies inside. I could say so much but it belongs in another essay, which perhaps I’ll get to one day.)

Also noteworthy is the reference to Earth’s cyclical nature, Persephone’s dying and rebirth, the seasons swirl, oroborous. Into this creative cycle is brought the focus point of Eve’s pregnancy. This is the final nearing climax of the film. The movie culminates at the altar of the creative sacred feminine. (NOTE: Again the music has a touch of Cannibal Holocaust melody, but more hopeful in tone.)

ADAM AND EVE VS THE CANNIBALS, neato title aside, is a gorgeous film, substantial. It offers not only grindhouse entertainment but also a heady delve into living mythology and archetypal truth. This movie is a gem and deserves more appreciation, but the nature of its uniqueness would fend off many a mainstream viewer.

I can at least ask you, dear reader (because what kind of egomaniac am I to assume more than one reader?), to go check this movie out. Please. Sincerely.

[chogisad]

Petals Under Our Skin | Sehun AU

Hanahaki Disease: an illness where the patient coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals. 

“Sehun’s throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it; growing and grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love.” 

Sehun hates seasonal allergies. Before he's brushed his teeth, his body reminds him that it despises nature. He sneezes toothpaste onto the mirror, starts building pyramids from dirty tissues, and the dorm echoes with his sniffling. On the day Sehun coughs up his first petal, he wants to blame his allergies. It floats, gentle and white, atop his coffee, and Sehun can only blink. He clears his throat, runs his tongue over his teeth, and stares, trying to stop the world from spinning. "You okay?" Jongin asks and Sehun nods, still looking around the room, hoping to find a stray rose to take responsibility. The kitchen counters are bare, the table only playing host to the round terrarium Kyungsoo made a few weeks ago. "I-I think I'm coming down with something?" He voices a fading question. Jongin's brow furrows with familiar concern, searching for the telltale signs of illness before he motions toward the cupboards. Their eyes meet, and Sehun's heart stutters--fearful. "We have Vitamin C supplements. Take a couple." Sehun is in a daze but he nods. His hands tremble slightly as he pours a full mug of coffee down the drain, as he watches the petal get stuck in the strainer. "Too much sugar?" Jongin asks behind him and Sehun can't find his voice. He wonders if he should pinch himself, maybe attempt to control the details of what must be a lucid dream. "Jongin-" Sehun clears his throat. "D-do the petals often kill people?" He doesn't need to explain any further. Jongin knows what he's referring to; the curse of unrequited love. "No." Jongin replies. "People usually get the operation. It sucks, but not everyone is willing to die for love, you know?" And Sehun thinks he must be going crazy. But he picks up the coffee stained petal, feels it's smooth skin between the pads of his fingers and thinks of the boy who smells like spring and forests. He thinks of late night conversations and sharing meals, thinks of the warmth of his body, and how none of this was supposed to happen. "Of course." Sehun replies, still unbelieving. He braces himself against the kitchen sink. His thoughts race-- petals, operation, emptiness, not everyone is willing to die for love, roses-- and Jongin waits, curious to the turn in conversation. "Why do you ask?" Sehun holds his breath. He could say it;  I'm in love with him, Jongin! So stupidly in love that my own body is gonna choke it out of me! He could shout a name into the wind, share this burden with someone else, but Sehun is afraid. He swallows the truth cloying the inside of his mouth because he isn't ready to face this, not yet. He changes the subject. Jongin fills the silence with idle talk of dance practice and Sehun nods along. He pretends he cares, too lost to register anything but his own misfortune. So Sehun tells himself he imagined the whole ordeal. He throws the petal away amongst food wrappers and old yogurt containers and moves forward-- it was a trick of the mind, based in exhaustion, due to a lack of sleep. And then Sehun wakes to a rose petal on his pillow, a rose petal on the white tile of the shower, a petal next to his trousers. In a matter of days, he finds himself  cowering in the darkness of his room. He crafts excuses of stomach aches and a pounding in his temple. The others worry; they try to pump him full of medicine that is essentially useless. He retreats and shoves petal after petal in pockets and in the back of drawers. He's buying for time now. So Sehun stays away from him. Somewhere in his heart, Sehun still believes he can beat this, still believes he can teach himself to stop loving him in that way. Like the petals, he tucks away memories of walks along Han River, of the car rides and plane rides where they'd spend hours whispering secrets as they crossed borders. The nights that follow, as he lays in bed, cold and alone and coughing into his pillow, Sehun prohibits himself from giving in to the boy on the other side of the locked door asking if he wants tea. He pretends he's asleep, pretends he can't hear the concern, the need to make him better. Sehun will suffer through the withdrawals if it means he can survive for just a little bit longer. Sehun knows no one can help him. Google showcases 20 million search results. The internet and the world can explain the faults of his body better than he can. He doesn't want to read about the operation. He doesn't want to think of the emptiness that follows. He finds the origin of Hanahaki Disease in a book of Japanese myths. The volume is old and tearing, yearning to outlast the consequences of time, and Sehun turns the fringed pages with care. 'Love blooms just as quickly as it wilts.' Sehun reads the story of a prince who became sick with unrequited love. His longing became corporeal, growing and spreading within his body. Thorns and roses; they suffocated him from the inside and the prince died atop a pile of petals his body couldn't contain anymore. Sehun knows he shouldn't, but he rips the entire page out of the book and folds it into his pocket. His throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it; growing, grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love. Sehun wants to rip his chest open there and then. But just as much as it hurts, he knows how god damn beautiful it feels. If it wasn't for the petals, his waking hours would be euphoric, a lucid pleasure with stuttering heart and rose-tinted cheeks. It's stupid how much warmer the sun is on his skin, how his laugh reminds Sehun of ocean waves, of brighter days. His lungs contract, over and over again, and Sehun always shuts his eyes, always pictures the same soft smile. On some mornings, this love feels like it's worth dying for. And then Chanyeol finds his petals. Sehun tries to deny it, but Chanyeol is a furious storm, tearing open drawers, lifting bed sheets, and Sehun can only watch in shameful silence as the carpet litters with white. "How long?" Chanyeol's voice strains. His eyes dance with anger, and Sehun can see the way his hands shake, can feel a familiar fear radiating off of him. "A couple of weeks," Sehun whispers. He stares at his shoes. He crushes a petal under one of his soles. "Is it-" "Don't." Sehun warns. "It doesn't matter who it is." Chanyeol stares at him; disbelieving, afraid, pitying, and Sehun wants to run. He wants to scream, to shake Chanyeol and tell him he didn't want this either. "You can't tell anyone," Sehun whispers, his eyes pleading. Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth, wants to object and drive Sehun to the hospital right there and then. "When are you getting the operation?" Chanyeol asks, crumpling three petals between his fist. The silence stretches between them. Chanyeol waits, his mind whirring away combinations of schedules and excuses, of people for a need-to-know basis. With cold dread, Chanyeol almost drowns in the silence. He realizes Sehun doesn't have an answer. "Sehun?" Chanyeol's voice is quiet, trembling, and Sehun is suddenly standing at an edge, at the cusp friendship, yearning for someone to push him into the precipice. In that moment, Sehun shoulders Chanyeol's pain as well, shoulders guilt and shame and the thought that no one will forgive him if he chooses to die. "In a month," Sehun lies. It's easier this way. Three words are faster than trying to explain why the operation wasn't an option, why he was going to wait until a flower choked the love out of him. "In a month..." he repeats to himself and Chanyeol nods before they're both picking up petals, shoving Sehun's white ocean into black plastic bags. Chanyeol agrees to be his cover. They concoct a story of a weeks-long trip to Paris. They buy plane tickets they'll never use, pack suitcases they'll leave in Chanyeols car while they're at the hospital. This secret stays between them; it'll be buried with whatever other feelings they rip from Sehun's body. A week before it's all supposed to be over, Sehun runs out of excuses. He can't talk his way out of a birthday dinner, and they all pile into one of Seoul's most expensive restaurants. Sehun takes deep breaths, orders too many glasses of water, and Chanyeol's gaze never leaves him. 'Please take me home.' He texts Chanyeol, and the latter tries his hardest to get them out. The coughing starts as Sehun stands up to leave. It's a light clearing of the throat and Chanyeol rushes to his side. In a matter of seconds however, his lungs are contracting and Sehun's entire body spasms. He falls, grabbing for something to stable his frame, and the room becomes shattered glass and chaos as he pulls the tablecloth to the floor with him. The others are frozen in horror as Chanyeol cradles Sehun's head, who's body convulses with the effort of holding on to the petals. He can't do it, and they watch as the floor becomes a white, flowery ocean. Junmyeon steps forward, questions and anger on his lips but it all fades as the coughing quiets. Chanyeol can feel that they waited too long, and nobody speaks. "C-call an ambulance," Chanyeol's voice breaks. Sehun's entire being is exhausted. A single tear makes its way down his cheek, and he wishes he had the strength to apologize, to explain. Sehun looks up at Junmyeon with resigned eyes and a sad smile. His voice is a feeble whisper, but everyone in the room hears him. "White roses." He coughs. "Th-they're your favorite." Junmyeon is the only one to ride in the ambulance with Sehun. "Stop- stop," He orders, batting Sehun's hands away as he tries to remove the mask that will force air into his lungs. Junmyeon intertwines their fingers and watches as the mask's plastic fogs with each labored breath. "I-I'm sorry," Sehun tries. It's too little, too late, but Junmyeon shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize. Focus on breathing." At the hospital, they think he's sleeping. Someone lays something soft at his side, and he wishes he was actually unconscious. "I brought him a bear," Chanyeol says, hesitant. "I thought flowers were too ironic." The silence is tense.  Friendship strains under feelings of betrayal and Sehun knows it's his fault. This love will slash more than his insides apart. It pits them against each other in a blaming game, and the air is cold with their resentment. "I had a right to know," Junmyeon grits out. Sehun can hear the anger in his voice, the hurt. "He didn't want you to know."  Chanyeol sighs, his words tired. Sehun knows he owes him so much and he’s relieved he isn’t fighting this thing alone anymore. 

  "That's not fair and you should've-" "Would it make a difference?" Chanyeol snaps. Another silence envelops them. The machine monitoring Sehun's heart spikes, but neither of them notice. Sehun can imagine Chanyeol's spiteful stare, can imagine Junmyeon's helplessness tearing him apart. "He's my best friend." Junmyeon whispers, and Sehun wishes he had more morphine to numb this pain. "Would you have loved him like he needed you to?" Sehun doesn't want to hear the answer. "Of course." And just like that, Sehun wants all of this to be over. Before the operation, Sehun is drifting into unconsciousness. The others visit for hours, promising presents and trips as soon as he's on his feet again. None of them can hold his gaze for too long, aware that Sehun will be a different person when it's time to wake. A shadow steps in front of his bed. Already, Sehun's thoughts are blurring together, a mess of memories and guilt. His stubborn love fights the morphine, clings to the moments that put him on this hospital bed in the first place. His eyes flutter, two tired butterflies, and he wonders how long he has before the flower grips his battered heart. Junmyeon is crying. Sehun tries to move his hand, but Junmyeon beats him to it. His skin is warm, and his thumb rubs comforting strides against Sehun's knuckles. "I just needed more time," he murmurs, wiping away the apologetic tears on his cheeks. Sehun tries to shake his head, but his body fails him. His heart is longing for survival, and his faulty mind-- with all its affection and afflictions-- can't hold out against the drugs courting him to sleep. Sehun wants to stay awake though. He wants to tell Junmyeon this isn't his fault, that he wants him to fall in love with someone he chooses. Sehun does not want to be loved out of responsibility, out of pity. He'd rather tear the most beautiful thing he's ever felt out of his own body, than force Junmyeon to love him in order to save him. He'd rather give up this love, than hold Junmyeon's heart as a hostage, as a sacrifice, as something he had no right to. His line of vision darkens, and as he drifts into unconsciousness, Sehun thinks of only one night. They climbed to the roof of their building and lied side by side, searching the skies for nonexistent stars. Sehun had fallen asleep to Junmyeon's quiet breathing. In the darkness, Sehun had thought I love you for the first time; it was innocent and scared, unknowingly a fatal confession. He keeps those words in the back of his mind, holds onto them for as long as possible, until the operation rips them out of his body. Love is an act of  selflessness. Sehun wakes to a room full of balloons and stuffed animals. Junmyeon is asleep in the chair next to him, his body slumped at an awkward angle. Sehun is too bleary to make much sense of anything, to register the empty echo of his own heart. It reaches for a feeling that doesn’t exist anymore; it only grasps at empty air. The room shifts out of focus, the sedatives kick in, but he thinks he sees Junmyeon's fist curled around the petals of a violet. Sehun gives in to unconsciousness with the sleepy thought that violets are his favorite flower.

© Chogisad

MASTERLIST

#EXO #EXO FANFICTION #SEHUN #OSH #OH SEHUN #EXO SEHUN #EXO MAKNAE #SEHUN FANFICTION #SEHUN ONE SHOT #OH SEHUN FANFICTION #EXO SEHUN FANFICTION #EXO L #EXO-L #EXO COMEBACK #CHANYEOL #KYUNGSOO #JONGIN #JUNMYEON #SUHO #ENDGAME SEHO #SEHO #SEHO FANFICTION #EXO SCENARIOS #EXO FANART #EXO MOODBOARD #EXO AU #AU #WRITING #FF #FANFICTION

[alrightcomputer]

“That one time I lost $17,000, my dog fought a skunk, I levitated, got stung by a scorpion and then was homeless for a week.”

The story begins with money. In my 20’s I was a ship with no anchor, which is ironic since the Saint of my namesake is the patron of mariners and children. I felt like both, but without a map or a compass, so I took a paycheck in the meantime. The first job I took in a kitchen was at the Great Wolf Lodge through a favor from my cousin who knew the Exec and Sous. Started with no experience beyond grilled cheeses and bowls of cereal, a strong work ethic, a hunger for my own money and the good will of others. It was the best job I’ve had in the industry and I wish I hadn’t left but life dangled the carrot of love in front of me and I jumped ship and swam. It was nice to be wanted, so I let my pride take the wheel and quickly got lost in the sauce. Ended up at another corporate place in MHK, but rose quickly, fell in love quickly, and fell out just as quick. I was drifting in the wind in Manhattan, which is what you do there. Still felt adrift, the arrogance of youth filling my sails. I was discovering myself on my own for the first time, having looked through a telescope for so long I was finally starting to appreciate the vastness of the horizon. That I could go any direction I wanted, as fast and as far. I broke a heart, cut bait and went looking. I let my mother live vicariously through me by enrolling in culinary school, despite 2 years already having risen quickly in every kitchen I had worked in. She loved cooking, but to me it was just a skill. I thought with this same formula applied to school I’d jump into any space I wanted. I was as ambitious as I was broke, and still dreaming. Surprise! My parents had been keeping $35,000 in a mutual fund, in my name, since who knows when?! I was dreading borrowing $42,000 to pay for one year of school but damn they made it sound pretty, so I accepted the “help” from mom & dad, without a promise of repayment, even at my insistence. I didn’t want to lose my motivation. I say “help” because the way it played out I think they had ulterior motives. I got enrolled and find out the basic college credits I already had saved me $7000. I had school paid for and would just need a part time job to pay my rent and have fun. Fast forward 6 months, halfway through school, taking control of my life finally so I decide it would be easier to move my school money out of the joint account in Downs to a bank in Austin where I was going to be staying after graduation. I called the bank and asked them to transfer and they put me on hold. Weird. The teller gets back on the phone and they say they can’t make the transfer and that I would need to talk to my parents. My name was on the account. The checks were written from TD Ameritrade to me. This shouldn’t have happened. They pulled the rug out from under me, absolutely zero respect. No discussion. I was still a child to them, and I realized then that I always would be. This is where the story really begins. At this point I was so torn between honoring my parents and gaining autonomy over my life. I took out $17,000 in loans to finish school despite my instinct telling me to just quit and work full time, it had worked best for me anyway. Finish school with my head down, feelings up in smoke, heart in my hand. Long phone calls that always ended up in anger. They were in charge, they had the upper hand. How I felt about it was of no consequence to them, especially 700 miles away. I moved back to Manhattan after a wild year in ATX following graduation because I still had friends in Kansas, even if I didn’t feel like I had family. It’s okay, everything’s okay. I’ll tell you the 512 story later. Staying in a friends basement rent free until I get a job and a couple paychecks in my pocket, playing a lot of Call of Duty and smoking as much weed as humanly possible to keep my mind off of my deteriorating relationship with my parents. It's okay, everything's okay. Never really get off my feet in those three months so I concede to everything I’ve been fighting against with my parents and move back in with them, working at their furniture store and helping with funerals when needed. It’s okay, everything’s okay. It wasn't. My dad told me if I wanted the money that I should sue him. Hope will allow you to suffer much longer than is necessary. Few months go by, living rent free in a place I don’t want to be in has really motivated me to save some money at get the fuck out. Having my dog around is a small comfort. I’m still trying to resolve my feelings about the situation internally but I can’t, so I approach my parents. It doesn’t go well. It never goes well. When someone has seen you bare assed, bent over, taking an ass whoopin’ with a fraternity paddle, you can still love them, but you will never respect them. Not unless you meet them where they’re at. But I had been bent for too long to be able to carry that weight. After several attempts at resolution, each with escalating climaxes, leading up to the night they kicked me out. I still had most of my things packed in my car because I hadn’t planned on staying long. My mom tells me to leave after multiple attempts to try and explain my feelings, not even demanding any type of action on their part other than hearing me out. They were very defensive. My mom told me she wanted me to leave, so I packed up my toiletries and suitcase I had clothes in, grabbed my dogs leash and called him as I walked down the stairs to leave. My mom grabs my collar at the landing, where the stairs make a 180 degree turn, there’s a small area to stand there before the stairs continue down. I just kept walking, she didn’t let go. She fell to her knees but let go finally, and right at that moment, my dad is coming up from the basement, to the first floor. My mom takes a flop, sliding down the stairs behind me, with her hands out in front of her. I kept walking towards the back door and my dad stands in my way and won’t let me pass. Step left, gets in my way, hands on my chest. I tell him she wants me to leave, so I am. Step right. Hands on my chest. Call my dog Jonas, he’s waiting patiently. My dad is still trying to stop me from leaving, he doesn’t know my mom was talking to me, assumes I threw her down the stairs or something. I quickly explain what happened and he doesn’t believe me so I say I’m just going to leave and he tries to stop me again so I grab his shirt and throw him to the side, he stumbles but doesn't fall down. I can’t take this shit anymore. I walk to the back door calling my dog to go outside. As I get out to my car and am loading my things in, tell my dog to get in and he complies as always. My mom is hysterical, begging me to stay. I tell her this obviously isn’t a good place for me to be and get in my car and leave. I go to a place I frequently go and let Jonas out and light a cigarette as I sit on the ground. I hear Jonas running through the tall grass until he stops suddenly and I hear a low growl so I call him back. Immediately after I hear a very shrill yelp and him sprinting towards me, I figured it was a raccoon at first until he got about 10 yards away I could smell exactly what it was. He smelled like sour ass and a plastic fire. I finished my cigarette as I figured out what I was going to do. His face is staring at me searching for answers and I comfort him telling him its ok and I’m going to get him cleaned up. He stunk so bad. I go back to my parents house and walk in the back door where the pantry is and grab two cans of my dad’s tomato juice. He’s on the couch so I tell him Jonas got sprayed by a skunk and go back outside. I call Jonas over to where the hose is and begin to wash his face. It helps, kind of. Go through both cans and I can’t tell if I’m just used to the smell, if my olfactory senses are fried or if its actually helping. His spirits were lifted so that’s all mattered at the moment. My dad says I should stay and that he would make sure my mom didn’t talk to me. I leave Jonas outside and go upstairs to fall asleep. We don’t talk for several days. I sleep in my car and read Bukowski by the river in the town I worked in until I meet up with a friend who was in California for a long time, back in town for her sister’s wedding. Her sister is actually marrying my cousin. My friend Carrie’s house was where we used to hang out and party in high school. My mom looked down on the whole family. The oldest sister (who was marrying my cousin) was best friends with the only openly gay kid in the town. The oldest son was a musician and goth. The youngest daughter Carrie was a completely free spirit. The youngest son was a skater. Their mom was a single mom who raised 4 kids working graveyard shifts at the nursing home. They were kind and open minded. She did a complete 180 on her position once my cousin and the oldest daughter were engaged. She couldn’t maintain it and be perceived like she needed to be by them. She’s a textbook narcissist. I spend the night at my friends house the next couple nights leading up to the wedding, we watch movies and get drunk. She gives me half a Xanax so I can sleep. I needed it so badly, she knew I was a wreck. We went to the lake with old friends and rode jet skis and took turns throwing each other off doing 180 turns at the fastest speeds we could handle. She won. I took one of my favorite pictures of her talking to her brother on the phone while he was in a psych hospital after an attempted suicide. She had the biggest heart, and I think living in all that space felt lonely for her. The day of the wedding gets here and I go out to my favorite place to be alone a few miles outside of Downs. It's the tallest hill around in a farmer’s pasture, surrounded by grazing land and prairie for his cattle. The top of the hill is limestone and there are several smaller hills littered with volcanic rock surrounding it. Wildflowers and thistles scattered around haphazardly. It looks like the Windows background with the rolling green hills in spring. I have my camera and I take a few pictures along the way, I was very much in tune with the frequency of the place and this made me feel at peace and connected with myself. To be fair, the hill is not very impressive, but once you’re on top of it and see just how flat everything around it is and just how far you can see it’s a significant difference. For what it’s worth. I get to the top and I’m watching a man tend his field with a tractor about a mile away and thinking of my grandpa Jim, as I often do when I’m feeling stressed. I snap a few photos. As I’m sitting on a rock near the top, reading some initials of lovers, some school rivalry, some curses and a banal greeting I decide to close my eyes. I become very aware of the breeze and the swishing sound of the grass is very hypnotic. I sit in the Lotus position, palms up, index and thumb pressed gently together. I focus on my breathing and after a few minutes it happened. I felt the strongest sensation of floating, like vertigo but not spinning or swaying. I felt it so intensely that I violently shook myself out of it and snapped my eyes open. I don’t know how long I sat like this before it happened. I sat for a little while longer, looking out towards the horizon before I decide I should probably head back. I look down and about a foot under where I’m sitting I see a small scorpion. A cloudy, white, almost translucent exoskeleton. It’s pincers are raised, but it’s not moving around. I can see it’s stinger and for whatever reason decide to pick it up. So I did. I did it successfully. It just hung there between my thumb and index finger. It starts to sway back and forth so I decide its probably time to put it down. I had conquered my fear. As I move my hand towards the ground the angle I was holding it changed slightly and it spun and grabbed my finger near my finger nail. Without thinking I let go of the stinger and it struck immediately and then dropped the rest of the way to the ground, scurried under a rock and that was the last I saw of my friend. The initial pain was sharp but the sharpness of the sting dissipated quickly. The deep, throbbing pain of the venom was slow to take effect but plateaued much higher than the initial prick. It was intense to say the least, a very unique experience. Very grounding. I waited for the pain to peak, realized I could handle it, considered whether or not I was dying, but realized I had never heard of deadly scorpions in Kansas so I started to walk back to my car. When I get there I see my keys laying on my drivers seat and try the door. It’s locked. From this amazing moment of Zen to a slow deterioration of my physical reality in like 3 minutes. I didn’t have much time and it was the middle of the day in July so I started to walk back to town. Thankfully I had a long sleeved shirt on. I get almost a mile down the road and I hear a vehicle approaching behind me. The guy stops and asks if I need a ride. I accept. He asks what I’m doing out here and I tell him it’s where I go to clear my head and that I was taking a few photos while I was in town for a wedding. He says he’s going to get beer because his town is dry and he won’t tolerate a Sunday of football without a 12 pack. I said I appreciated his foresight, and was thankful that it had worked out in my favor too. I had a spare key with me at my friends house thankfully, and he dropped me off there. I didn’t feel like asking for any help at this point. I felt like I was on a personal journey. I figured I’d have just enough time to walk out and drive back to shower before the ceremony. It's hot as hell, but not like this summer. It was probably in the upper 90’s with little cloud cover, but there was a breeze so my sweat was working nicely to cool me. I knew the average walking pace was 5 miles an hour, so as long as I kept a steady pace I’d be there in about 45 minutes. It took about an hour cuz I got lazy and a little lost in thought considering how my day had been. Got into my car and drove back to my friends’ place, change and make it back about 5 minutes late to the church. My friend waves from the altar and I smile and mouth “sorry”. My story was a huge hit at the reception. My cousin thought it was especially hilarious that I got stung by a scorpion. The next day I woke up hungover but calm. Something I hadn’t felt first thing in the morning for a long time. I had work that night so I got cleaned up and drove the 20 minutes over and got a sandwich and read Ham On Rye for a while before my shift. My life was wild, but I had it good compared to Bukowski. Flipped some burgers for a few hours, had a few beers down the road and drove back to the park by the river to sleep in my car. I did this for several days before I asked my friend if I could crash in his basement again. I needed a shower, but nobody at work noticed because all the other cooks never showered despite having perfectly good homes to bathe in. He said it was cool, so I just ghosted my job and went back to Manhattan. I had a job there in 2 days, at a popular local burger spot with the menu of the last job I had in Austin hanging on the fridge when I got there. A place I could contribute to. A job I would ultimately be told to do less at. A few months went by just working there in the AM, reading in the afternoon while eating a burger and getting drunk at night or playing FPS games with my friend while we got stoned. He didn’t like to be out in public or be very social, but we’d have house parties every now and then. My dog was my best friend, letting me know who was to be trusted and who wasn’t. I was way too far in my own head to notice or care. He hated our fucking mail man, and I thought for no good reason until I caught him peeking in our front window, the one much too far out of his way to the mailbox to shrug it off. He tried to yell at me when my dog wouldn’t let him in the yard, and I said he doesn’t have to, plus I trust his judgement. We had a new guy on the route the next week. This was the beginning of a new level of strangeness.