#always a good one
wanna hear a wild story? my brother’s history professor is closing in on 80 and basically lives at the university. one night my brother visited him for a meeting, and it came up that my brother was gonna be performing as a court jester at the castle the following day. and his professor busts out: “ah, that reminds me of my youth!”
he then proceeded to tell the tale of when he and his friends went backpacking to greece back in their early 20s. then one day they found themselves completely penniless. so they decided that the only reasonable thing to do was to set up acrobatic shows in skimpy outfits on the beach at day, and then drink up the money at night.
after a week or so they gained some traction, and a gang of young greek men walked up to them like “hey y’all are cool as hell, can we join y’all for drinks tonight?” and my brother’s professor was like “of course! y’all have to wear these revealing outfits and do somersaults with us tho” and the greek gang said “sounds dope. y’all are invited to live with us for however long y’all want.”
anyhow, they proceeded to live like this for the better part of 3 months, doing shows, drinking, and sleeping at the greek gang’s apartment. but after a while they decided enough was enough, and said thank you for everything, but we’re going back to sweden now. and the greeks said “sure! love y’all have a safe trip xx”
half a year later my brother’s professor gets contacted by the greek police. they ask him about the months they spent in greece, and then informs him that their greek friends have been convicted of serial homicide and robbery. that the group of young greek men had joined up with several tourist groups for several years “for drinks”, and then killed and robbed them all, terrorising the beach city for several years. with one exception, of course, because “this one group of swedish acrobats in slutty strongman suits were just ‘so damn nice’”.
and that’s the story of how one swedish history university professor survived sharing a flat with a group of serial killers for several months by performing acrobatics in slutty outfits on the beach. moral of the story? be kind of heart, thicc of ass.
No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO
bruises | touchstarved | hunger
Harrison’s attempt at visiting the Daniels had - obviously - gone very wrong. He’d never intended to get in a fight, and certainly not with their newest foster kid. Though he wasn’t quite sure he was just a foster. The way he acted with Finn and Fred was more like family, like an actual son. Not that he knew what that felt like.
Sheila was Sheila. She always looked out for her kids, fosters or otherwise. She’d treat them as a member of the family no matter what. Although, making him sleep in the bathroom didn’t feel very much like family. And, of course, that had nothing to do with him vomiting all over the car. Not in the slightest.
He stretched out with a groan, squinting his eyes open. Fred was still on guard, sitting at the door to keep an eye on him. He wasn’t sure if he was checking he was okay or making sure he wasn’t going to cause more trouble, but the company was kind of nice. It was more than he was used to, anyway.
He slowly sat up, his muscles protesting and stomach twisting. He had nothing left to be sick, and hadn’t eaten in a few days, so put it down to hunger rather than anything else. He hoped it was.
Fred was asleep, arms folded across his chest as he was propped up against the wall. Harrison didn’t want to wake him, he knew he’d kept him up all night as it was. Sheila was off with Fao, he’d heard her go in to see him late the night before and hadn’t heard her come back out. It only added to the suspicion that Fao had been adopted.
He struggled to his feet, shutting the toilet door; he wasn’t going to piss with Fred watching. Although, judging by the fact he wasn’t in his clothes, he assumed he already had.
“Hars? You alright in there?” Fred rapped on the door.
He jumped. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Just pissing.”
“Alright. Let me know if you need help.”
“I’m not a child.” He snapped.
“It’s the most coherent you’ve been in a few days, excuse me for caring.” Fred retorted.
“Sorry.” He finished washing his hands before opening the door. “I’m okay.”
Fred offered him a smile. “Glad to hear it. Breakfast?”
He shook his head. “Not hungry.”
“Hot chocolate, then. Come on.”
Harrison groaned, but knew better than to disagree. He followed Fred downstairs, making his way into the living room. He grabbed a blanket from the pile Sheila always kept by the sofa and curled up.
Fred wasn’t long, bringing the younger boy a mug brimming with marshmallows and a little cream. He sat by Harrison, waiting for the boy to initiate any contact. They sat in silence for a while, Harrison drinking his chocolate slowly. Fred ended up turning on the TV to fill some of the silence, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness.
Harrison took his time with his mug, eventually placing it on the table beside him. He still flinched at the ceramic hitting the slate coasters, taking a moment to relax. He sat back and tried to watch the TV for a bit, but he just couldn’t settle. After a while fighting it, he slowly lay down, his back almost against Fred’s leg.
Fred took his time, but slowly and carefully moved to rest his hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “There you go, kid. Just chill. You’re safe now.”
