dead

How will you carry me? To shore, or to sea? Will you set me adrift to melt in the waves? Or hold me tightly until I’ve passed my grave and you’re all that’s left between me and the sweet safe embrace of the waters what whirl and the winds that race and tides

that

pull

me

Probably a little like peaches. The fresh kind. The kind you pick up at a shady little stand on the side of the road, where you think, “maybe I shouldn’t eat these.” But you do anyway, and they’re the best peaches in the world. You’ll never find a peach like that again.

Maybe a bit like cinnamon. Sweet and a bit spicy. Like warm gingerbread around the holidays, or fresh cinnamon rolls with sweet white icing on top. Just sticky enough to get stuck in your teeth.

And a bit like rain. Like stepping outside into a soft drizzle, opening your mouth and letting the gentle tears soak into your tongue, or the freshness of waking up and feeling the previous day washed away by last night’s storm. The flavor of lightning outside, a soft candle inside, sitting huddled in blanket-wrapped comfort in the middle of the floor while everyone else everywhere is asleep. The flavor of terrifying safety.

What about burnt toast? The blackened char seeping into your tastebuds, bringing tears to your eyes, convincing you this was all your fault. The crunch between your teeth as everything finally breaks... and then the seeping sweetness of raspberry jam, a murmured apology for ever doubting your righteousness. The venom mixing with quiet sorrow until the feelings fade.

METAL ⭐️ RODEO

Gundham and Kazuichi are dragged via collar to a seated position on the backs of two mechancal bullls! As the machines start up, a box slowly closes around them. The inside of this box is lined with long, sharp spikes. The underside of each bull lights up, reflecting off of the metal floor.

The bulls begin slowly, then pick up speed. Before long, they’re rocking at Terminal Velocity!! ⚡️⚡️

Kazuichi’s face begins to go green, motion sickness threatening to puke up his stomach as he clings to the machine for dear life.

Gundham has a solid grip, wrapping his legs around it and pressing flat against its back with his stomach.

He glances over at Kazuichi, who is obviously struggling to keep hold. As his hands slip again, Kazuichi is tossed into the air!! He lands hard on the back end of his bull, screaming as he desperately claws for any sort of hold before being thrown again!

Every second, the box inches closer.

Gundham reaches over as far as he can, shouting for Kazuichi to grab ahold of him. Their hands touch for a moment as Kazuichi swings frantically. He is launched into the air for a third time!!!

Finally, their hands meet and Gundham drags Souda onto his bull, where he scrambles to wrap both arms and legs around Gundham. Gundham is losing his grip now, too, and he strains for a better grip.

The spikes are only inches away at the peak of the ride.

Gundham’s hands and fingertips are raw and bleeding from clutching at the unforgiving metal skin of the bull. He crushes Kazuichi’s body against the bull in one final attempt to survive.

Shunk!

As the ride slows, Kazuichi gasps for breath. His stomach is churning and his lungs are tight, but... he’s alive. He laughs out loud. He’s alive!

“Gundham! Gundham it’s over, we’re alive!” Kazuichi sits up, struggling against the weight of his partner. Placing both hands on his shoulders, Kazuichi cries tears of relief as he looks into Gundham’s eyes. “Gundham! We’re—“

Gundham gasps for breath, eyes dim and fading fast. Kazuichi looks down to see the wound in his partner’s chest where the spike punctured his body. The blood gushes out of him in a river of life, and he chokes silently.

“Gundham...?”

At last, the man collapses.

The world is silent.

As the mechanical bull beneath them breaks down, Kazuichi can hear no crash. No snapping wires, no scraping metal. Only horrifying, heartbreaking, deafening silence. As he falls to his death, clutching Gundham’s body in his arms, he cannot feel.

“I thought you learned before. I will always overpower you.” He grimaced as painful memories sparked through him. Whirling around, he buried his hand deep in his cloak, clutching at his long-still heart. 

“I was young then.”

“And you are weak now.” Apollon smiled, tongue flicking out from the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t fed for years, Boy. Your soul grows stagnant.”

They bounded through the stars, hearing the soft murmurs of their thoughts as they passed by. The wishes of the stars... what a pleasant whisper.

“Yes, Souda?”

“Next time we go stargazing, can we bring a blanket?”

“May I ask why?”

“Cause the grass was kinda wet this time.”

“...”

“And cause maybe next time I wanna lay next to you.”

Gundham coming outside to catch bugs while his mom watches through the living room window. He holds fistfuls of crickets and ants and pill bugs to show her. Sometimes if he’s lucky, he’ll find a frog. She has crippling agoraphobia. He doesn’t know that. He is too little.

Kazuichi’s dad sends him out to play after dark. There’s scary noises down the street. There are no streetlights. It is completely black. His dad won’t unlock the door. He sits outside n the front step and cries.

Gundham’s mom allows him to play after dark. She’s worried he’ll be kidnapped. He’s excited about how loud the crickets are. There are fireflies floating all around. With luck, he could bring some inside to show her.

Gundham hears what sounds like... crying? He isn’t afraid. He walks toward the sound, taking big steps. Cupped in his hands are no less than 6 fireflies.

Kazuichi hears steps approaching. He stops crying. Too much terror tenses him, stiffens him, silences him. He wishes his dad would open the door. Some secret part of him wonders if he’d even be missed.

Gundham hears the crying stop. He hides behind a car, remembering stories about evil spirits who lure kindhearted children with sounds of distress. Shivers run down his back, and he hopes his fireflies protect him.

Kazuichi reaches for the door handle and wriggles it. It is still locked. He knows he can’t cry for help. No one would come. So he begins to cry again.

Gundham is sure the crying is coming from over here this time. He shakes off any houghts of evil spirits. There would be no sense in trying again if he had already outsmarted them. He thanks his fireflies. Taking another big step toward the sound, he sees another little boy.

Kazuichi sniffles and tries to stop crying again. There’s no reason to be afraid, right? The sound was just another kid. So why was he still scared?

“Why are you crying?” His voice is quiet. He isn’t used to speaking, but his hands are unavailable for signing. He is holding at least 6 fireflies.

“Wh-what?”

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m...” He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands. His nose is running and his face is damp, but there isn’t much he can do about it. “I’m s—“ He hiccups. His voice is shaky. He’s been crying for a while. “I don’t like the dark.”

“The d— dark? It’s not completely dark.”

“Yeah it—hic—is! There’s no lights, or—hic—or anything!” He’s crying again, tears running down his face in fat drops.

Gundham opens his hands. Somewhere around six fireflies float into the air, abdomens glowing softly in the pitch night.

Kazuichi sniffs and stops crying. The boy had released little glowing magic spots into the air. Looking around, there seem to actually be a lot more. They were beautiful.

Gundham smiles. The boy had stopped crying, and seems amazed at his six fireflies. He sits down on the step next to him. “See?”

Kazuichi sighed. Slamming the door and tossing his keys onto the table, he called out into the house. 

“Gundham?” 

“In here, Beloved.”

Stomping into the living room, he yanked off his shoes and threw them at the back of the couch. Where... Gundham was sitting. He yelped an apology. 

Gundham chuckled. “Do not worry, no harm has come to me. How was your day at work?”

A loud groan followed as Kazuichi tromped toward the couch. Dropping heavily next to Gundham, he leaned into his fiance. 

Soft-socked toes stretched close to a fire.

The gentle heat of bodies pressed close, hushed breath steamy under a thick, plush blanket.

Cold air waiting at every edge, for one missed breath, one out of sync twitch, one single slip to rush in and scare them apart.

The snowstorm rages outside, fierce and frigid. But in here, they are warm.

The outside chill stands no chance against them. They are perfectly tuned, resting upon each other with synchronizing harmonies- of heat, of breath, of thought. For here, they are locked adrift and dreamless, kept comforted by the presence of another.

It seems obvious, but it’s a constant and overwhelming scent. It drowns out nearly everything else. By when he’s on break and hasn’t been in the shop a few days, or he’s just taken a shower, or you just get close enough to tell, he smells warm. A little like pepper, a little like cinnamon. A little like ocean breeze bodywash, and strawberry lavender shampoo. Sometimes he smells crisp, like a cold Sprite. Sometimes, a little more like a warm, dryer-fresh pair of favorite socks that are always perfectly soft and cozy. But usually, he smells like motor oil.

I’m here to ask you to support the Fuck You Foundation! The Fuck You Foundation is an organization dedicated to shit; specifically, shit like you! Here at the FYF, instead of telling you to go fuck yourself, you pay us to fuck you! Here’s how it works: first, you pay us. Then we come to your house, steal and break your shit, and then fuck you! The more you pay us, the more stuff we’ll take! Hell, if you pay us enough, we’ll even steal your ENTIRE HOUSE! The Fuck You Foundation is determined to make it easy for people like you to regret all your life choices with one quick and easy transaction!

So, if you’re not interested by now, fuck you! If you are interested, fuck you too!

Have a horrible day,

She was the King of all the lands, and the mightiest King to be seen. And her name was Mirth.

This King ruled with mighty fist. She demanded sacrifice of those loyal to her. Disobedience was not tolerated, and she took many lives when they would not heed her.

Her promises were seldom kept, and her punishments swift and cruel. The commonfolk begged forgiveness time and again, but she never gave in.

Hundreds of years passed, and with each, she became more cruel.

. . .

One young child had lost all hope.

They were alone. Really, truly alone. They were no older than 10, and yet they had lost all of those close to them.

The King had wished them dead.

They had run for days after the death of those around them. It was a certainty in their mind, that if they ran far away she would lose sight.

After 6 days of nothing but evasion, they stumbled into a small white hut. Their clothes were tattered, their skin chafed, their feet bleeding from days of running, and fatigue, hunger, and dehydration overtook them. Collapsing against the cool floor of the hut, they gasped for breath.

Hello, my child.

Gasping, they rose. They dragged their frail body to their knees. In a trembling, frightened voice, they called out. “Hello?”

You are safe here.

“W-Who are you?” They called louder, icy fear seeping deep within their bones.

She walks again! Among all, then, is left a lifelong trace.

The king and wife of birth of life breathes justice through these bones,

The hollow weeping of time once creeping has halted against her tomes.

She tells us stories of love and glories and miracles of might,

Lays promises of wonderous steads bound fast against the light.

And when the son of golden sun lies, winter in his hair,

The icy roots of fear and blame shall melt into the air.

When sacred secret locked in weak let Golden rabbit reign,