#(if a tornado wants my house it’s taking it without contest)

[cultivating-wildflowers]

…

[oyeragency]

How to Secure Your Home with the Best Home Insurance in Ohio.

Original Source: https://oyeragency.blogspot.com/2024/01/how-to-secure-your-home-with-best-home.html

Protecting your home and its contents is of utmost importance, especially in Ohio where unpredictable weather patterns and other unforeseen events can pose risks to homeowners. Home insurance offers a vital layer of financial protection, ensuring peace of mind and safeguarding your property against potential damage or loss. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the world of home insurance in Ohio and provide valuable insights on securing your home with the best coverage options available. From evaluating your insurance needs to selecting the right provider, understanding key coverage factors, complying with Ohio-specific regulations, maximizing security measures, and navigating the claims process, this article will equip you with the knowledge and tools to make informed decisions regarding your home insurance policy. Let's delve into the world of home insurance and discover how to protect your Ohio home with confidence.

Understanding Home Insurance: Importance and Benefits

An Introduction to Home Insurance

So, you've finally got a roof over your head that you can call your own. Congratulations! Now, it's time to protect that precious abode with the wonders of home insurance.

Home insurance is like a superhero cape for your house. It swoops in and saves the day when unexpected disasters strike, such as fire, theft, or pesky hail storms. It provides financial protection for your home and its contents, so you can sleep peacefully knowing that your castle is safe and sound.

The Importance of Home Insurance

Now, you may be thinking, "Why do I need home insurance? Nothing bad has ever happened to me!" Well, my friend, life can be unpredictable, and accidents happen when we least expect them. A burst pipe can turn your living room into a swimming pool, or a wayward tree branch can decide to crash through your roof like an uninvited guest.

Without home insurance, you could be left footing the bill for these unexpected expenses, which can be a pretty hefty blow to your bank account. Home insurance gives you peace of mind and financial protection, so you don't have to drain your savings or start selling your favorite possessions like a contestant on a sad reality show.

The Benefits of Home Insurance

Home insurance doesn't just protect your home; it has some nifty benefits too. If your home becomes uninhabitable due to a covered peril, your insurance policy may cover additional living expenses. This means you won't have to couch surf or live in a hotel while your home is under construction.

Home insurance also provides liability coverage. So, if someone decides to sue you because they tripped on your welcome mat and broke their toe, your insurance has your back. It can help cover legal expenses and any damages awarded against you, so you don't end up living in a cardboard box down the street.

Evaluating Your Home Insurance Needs in Ohio

Assessing Your Property and Assets

Before you start shopping for home insurance in Ohio, it's essential to take a good look at your property and assets. How big is your home? What kind of fancy features and amenities does it have? How about that impressive collection of vintage vinyl records or your expansive collection of garden gnomes?

Understanding the value of your property and assets will help you determine the amount of coverage you need. After all, you wouldn't want to be underinsured and find out that your insurance will only cover a fraction of your hipster gnome empire.

Determining Coverage Requirements

Ohio has its own unique risks, just like every state in this great nation. From harsh winters to the occasional tornado, you'll want to make sure your home insurance policy covers these specific perils. Assess the potential risks in your area and ensure your insurance policy has your back when Mother Nature decides to throw a tantrum.

Considering Unique Risks in Ohio

Speaking of unique risks in Ohio, did you know that the state is known for its winter weather? Snow, ice, and freezing temperatures can wreak havoc on your home. So, when choosing your home insurance, be sure to consider coverage for winter-related perils such as burst pipes or ice dams. It's like getting a cozy blanket for your home to keep it warm and protected during the chilly months.

Choosing the Best Home Insurance Provider in Ohio

Researching Home Insurance Companies

Now that you know what you need, it's time to find the best home insurance provider in Ohio. Do your research and see which companies are oozing with reputation and trustworthiness. Look for insurers with a strong track record, excellent customer service, and maybe even a few gold stars from happy policyholders.

Comparing Coverage and Premiums

While it's tempting to go for the cheapest option, remember that you get what you pay for. Compare coverage options and premiums to ensure you're getting the best value for your hard-earned dollars. It's like bargain hunting for your home's security, minus the crowded malls and long lines.

Reading Customer Reviews and Ratings

Don't forget to read customer reviews and ratings of your potential home insurance providers. This insight from real people can give you a glimpse into how the company handles claims and treats its customers. Just remember to take it with a pinch of salt, as every insurance company will have a few grumpy customers who forgot to have their morning coffee.

Key Factors to Consider in Home Insurance Coverage

Dwelling Coverage

Dwelling coverage is like a shield for your home's structure. It helps repair or rebuild your house if it's damaged or destroyed by covered perils like fire, windstorms, or even a Godzilla attack. Make sure your dwelling coverage is enough to cover the cost of rebuilding your house from scratch, so you don't end up living in a cardboard box down the street, again.

Personal Property Coverage

Your personal belongings deserve some love too. Personal property coverage swoops in to save your precious possessions if they get damaged or stolen. Whether it's your designer wardrobe or your collection of Pokémon cards, make sure your personal property coverage is sufficient to replace those items at their current value. You wouldn't want to be left like a sad fashionista with nothing but a few mismatched socks to wear.

Liability Coverage

Liability coverage is like your personal bodyguard against lawsuits. Accidents happen, and sometimes they result in injured guests suing you for medical expenses or pain and suffering. With liability coverage, your insurance company can handle those legal bills and protect your hard-earned savings. It's like having a superhero lawyer without the fancy cape.

Additional Living Expenses Coverage

If your home becomes temporarily unlivable after a covered disaster, additional living expenses coverage swoops in to save the day. It helps cover expenses for lodging, meals, and other costs you incur while your home is being repaired or rebuilt. So, enjoy living in a hotel or maybe even a cozy Airbnb without the guilt of draining your bank account.

Now that you're armed with the knowledge of securing your home with the best home insurance in Ohio, go forth and protect your abode like a true superhero. Remember, accidents happen, but with the right coverage, you can sleep soundly knowing that your castle is protected from the unexpected.

Exploring Ohio-Specific Home Insurance Regulations and Requirements

Understanding Ohio Home Insurance Laws

Ohio, the heart of the Midwest, has its own set of home insurance laws that every homeowner should be aware of. These laws govern various aspects of home insurance, including coverage requirements, claims processes, and consumer rights. Familiarize yourself with these laws to ensure you have a solid understanding of your rights and obligations as a homeowner in the Buckeye State.

Required Coverage in Ohio

When it comes to home insurance in Ohio, there are certain coverages that the state requires you to have. These include dwelling coverage, which protects the structure of your home, and liability coverage, which helps cover legal expenses if someone gets injured on your property. Additionally, if you have a mortgage or loan on your home, your lender may require you to have additional coverage, such as hazard insurance or flood insurance.

Optional Coverage in Ohio

Beyond the required coverages, Ohio homeowners can also opt for additional protection. Some popular optional coverages include personal property coverage, which covers your belongings, and loss of use coverage, which helps with additional living expenses if you're temporarily displaced from your home due to a covered loss. It's essential to review your options and choose the coverage that best suits your needs and budget.

Maximizing Home Security Measures to Lower Insurance Premiums

Installing Security Systems

When it comes to securing your home and potentially lowering your insurance premiums, a good place to start is by installing a security system. Whether it's a basic burglar alarm or a more advanced smart security system, having these in place can deter potential intruders and give you peace of mind. Plus, many insurance companies offer discounts for homes with security systems installed, so it's a win-win situation.

Enhancing Door and Window Security

Another simple and effective way to improve your home security is by enhancing the security of your doors and windows. Reinforced door frames, deadbolt locks, and window security film are just a few examples of measures you can take to make it harder for burglars to break in. Not only does this make your home safer, but it may also make your insurance company happier, leading to potential premium reductions.

Implementing Fire Prevention Measures

Fires can cause significant damage to your home, but there are steps you can take to minimize the risk. Ensure your home has working smoke detectors on every level, have a fire extinguisher readily accessible, and regularly inspect your electrical systems. Additionally, if you have a fireplace, make sure it's properly maintained and that you have a screen to prevent sparks from igniting nearby objects. Taking these precautions not only protects your loved ones but can also make you more favorable in the eyes of your insurance company.

Tips for Reviewing and Updating Your Home Insurance Policy Regularly

Importance of Regular Policy Reviews

Life is constantly changing, and so are your home insurance needs. That's why it's crucial to review your policy regularly. Major life events, such as renovations, purchasing expensive items, or changes in the value of your home, can impact your coverage requirements. By reviewing your policy annually or when significant changes occur, you can ensure that your coverage adequately reflects your current situation.

Updating Coverage as Needed

During your policy review, be sure to assess whether your coverage limits are still sufficient. If the value of your home has increased or you've acquired valuable possessions, you may need to adjust your coverage accordingly. Remember, the purpose of insurance is to protect you from financial loss, so it's essential to have adequate coverage to rebuild or replace your home and belongings if disaster strikes.

Re-Evaluating Deductibles and Limits

While you review your policy, don't forget to re-evaluate your deductibles and coverage limits. Adjusting your deductibles, which is the amount you're responsible for paying before your insurance kicks in, can help lower your premiums. However, be sure to choose a deductible that you can comfortably afford in the event of a claim. Similarly, double-check that your coverage limits align with your current needs, taking into account any renovations, additions, or new purchases.

Navigating the Claims Process: Filing and Settling Home Insurance Claims in Ohio

Understanding the Claims Process

When faced with a covered loss, it's crucial to understand the claims process. Typically, you'll need to document the damage or loss, gather relevant information and evidence, and notify your insurance company promptly. The claims adjuster will then assess the damage and work with you to determine the appropriate settlement. Understanding the process beforehand can help streamline the claims experience and ensure a smoother settlement.

Steps to Filing a Home Insurance Claim in Ohio

To file a home insurance claim in Ohio, start by contacting your insurance company or agent as soon as possible after the loss occurs. Be prepared to provide detailed information about the incident, including the date, time, and cause. Take photos or videos of the damage to support your claim. Keep all relevant receipts, repair estimates, and invoices. The more organized and prepared you are, the easier it will be to navigate the claims process.

Negotiating and Settling Claims

If there are any disputes or disagreements regarding your claim, don't hesitate to engage in open and honest communication with your insurance company. Keep detailed records of all conversations and document any agreements made. Remember, the goal is to reach a fair settlement that adequately covers the damage or loss sustained. If necessary, you can seek the assistance of a public adjuster or legal counsel to help ensure you're being treated fairly. Securing your home with the best home insurance in Ohio is a crucial step towards protecting your investment and ensuring peace of mind. By evaluating your needs, choosing a reputable provider, understanding coverage factors, complying with regulations, and maximizing security measures, you can create a robust insurance policy tailored to your specific requirements. Remember to regularly review and update your policy to keep pace with changes in your home and circumstances. With the knowledge and insights gained from this guide, you are equipped to navigate the world of home insurance in Ohio and make informed decisions to safeguard your home and belongings. Stay proactive, stay protected, and enjoy the comfort of knowing that your home is well insured with the best coverage available.

[miraculouscontent]

"Please, get out of my room."

Marinette's hand shook, trying desperately to keep the doll house behind her together enough to protect the Miracle Box. Her gaze fixed on her friends standing there, Rose crouched down to the sad remains of the doll house's roof while the others were looking on in concerned confusion.

Alya stepped forward first, the request apparently denied. "It's nothing, Marinette. We'll help you fix it, don't worry."

Except it wasn't nothing, it was everything, and of course none of the girls could've known that it was everything but it was. She'd barely had the Miracle Box for any time at all and now she was about to be exposed, the doll house feeling like some sort of metaphor for her life.

Raising her voice, Marinette replied strictly, "It's not nothing! Now leave!"

Most of the girls just stared at her, standing awkwardly in place. She asked - no, told - them to leave, and they weren't leaving. Why weren't they leaving?

Her palms were sweaty, making the task of holding up the doll house's wall all the more anxiety-inducing.

Alya huffed, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "Okay, there's obviously something up—" She crossed her arms. "—and we're not going anywhere until you tell us what it is."

Mylene offered a smile that she clearly thought was reassuring, then held up a bracelet made of yellow threads with five colored beads along them. "We've already given our secrets to this bracelet, so now it's your turn."

Marinette wracked her brain for any memory of said bracelet, wondering if there were a promise she'd forgotten about - wondering if it was an excuse for them showing up out of nowhere - but there was nothing. She didn't even recognize it. Even over the voicemail they'd sent, there was no mention of such a thing.

The wall under her palm wavered, and she had to adjust quickly to keep it in place. She couldn't tell if it was too light or too heavy at this point, but it was ultimately just another thing to worry about that she didn't need. Her gaze flickered to it briefly to make sure it was properly held up, then swiftly focused back on the girls so as to not seem suspicious.

They really weren't going to leave. They were going to force her secrets out of her; force Ladybug out of her, the Miracle Box, everything.

Her stress levels were rising. She was panicking. It was all too much, and she—she...

She snapped.

"I'll—I'll tell you what's wrong!" she began. "You all walking into my room without my permission!"

The girls' mouths all shut in unison, their shoulders tense as they seemed suddenly lost for an argument.

"I didn't want to talk to you, and I definitely don't now!" A particular memory of the voicemail resurfaced, and she was reminded of what they'd said. "I thought you told me that I could talk where and when I wanted to? I thought all of you told me that, and then you showed up anyway?! Why would you lie to me like that?"

The words were bitter, only serving to make her angrier; at them, at herself, and at the whole situation. She hated lying - hated liars - and there was a part of her that couldn't help feeling hypocritical when she had to lie constantly to keep her identity secret.

But another part of her was quick to point out: she lied because she had to. They were lying despite having the choice.

Alya's brows furrowed, and it was hard to tell if she felt genuinely guilty or if she was just trying to think of how save the situation. She glanced back and forth from Marinette to Mylene, then hurriedly took the bracelet and held it out, arguing, "But if we're friends, you have to tell us everything anyway!"

Rose nodded in agreement, fists drawn up to her chest. "And real friends never let each other down!"

Marinette sputtered at first in response, multiple rambling responses trying to come out at once, from reminding them of either their intrusion or their lying to say that they had very much let her down.

Finally, her mouth settled on, "Then I guess we're not friends after all, since I'm letting you down so much! You're always pushing me, and setting things up even when I told you not to, and when everything goes wrong, it's always me who takes the blame, and me who gets teased for it!"

Alix recoiled at the outburst, then averted her gaze, looking somewhere between put off and ashamed as she grumbled, "We were just trying to help."

"I don't want your help! I don't even want you here!"

Marinette breathed shakily, her chest heavily at the emotions building in her chest. She could barely process what was coming out of her mouth and could only wonder how long she'd felt that way. How long had she been holding this in? How much had she been holding in? How long had she thought she deserved to be treated a certain way and took everything like she was the one at fault even if she'd done nothing?

Mental clarity kicked in, Marinette glaring and resolve blazing in her eyes as she asked, "Do you know why I didn't tell you anything?"

They looked on in curious trepidation, obviously not knowing the answer. At first, maybe she hadn't either.

"Because I didn't want you to meddle! Everything just goes wrong and I wanted to just live without worrying about it! I didn't want to  be teased, or talk about Adrien, or be ignored!"

"We don't ignore you!" Alya immediately interjected, taking on an offended tone. "That's why we're here!"

"Then why didn't you know?" Marinette challenged. "You noticed my crush on Adrien, but you didn't notice that I was dating Luka? When he was riding me home from school? When you took all those pictures of us together? I wanted to be left alone to be happy with him without anyone shouting at me about what to do and putting more pressure on me than I already have!"

Rose and Alya shifted in place, not making eye contact.

"You invaded my privacy, you broke my things, and you lied to me! If you're going to make me tell you everything, then—then—" She shook, the tornado of emotions hard to handle. "—then I don't want you as friends! Now get out!"

The girls collectively gaped at her, a few letting out audible gasps and Rose in particular covering her mouth with her hands. Everything went quiet, and Marinette's eyes must've been giving off fire with how any argument lingering on the girls' lips died before they could even come out.

Then, one by one, the girls began to turn and silently walk out of the room, some staying a second or two longer as if Marinette would change her mind if they held to the staring contest a bit longer. Alya was the last one out, her gaze darting up to Marinette one last time in vain.

Marinette just looked away, only reassured that the girls had left when she heard the click of the trap door. She exhaled, her arms stiff and her legs feeling like jelly as everything hit her at once. The gravity of the situation dragged her to the floor, the walls of the doll house falling apart to reveal the Miracle Box to no one but her and the kwami. She'd already cried too many times that day, but the tears were building up again. Anger, sadness, frustration...

Seeing Tikki hover close out of the corner of her eyes, Marinette lamented, "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have a choice. I was just—and then—and they..."

"I know, Marinette," Tikki said quietly, though it was clear that she had very little comfort to add.

Marinette tried to steady her breathing, but she could see her tears falling onto the floor and knew that she'd lost control of her emotions. In a way, it almost felt relieving, like a weight off her chest that she didn't know had been there, but it didn't stop the terrible feelings from everything that happened that day, and the day before, and the day before that...

"We—" Marinette choked, realizing something and looking up with urgency. "Shadow Moth. He might come after me."

"Ah, but..." Tikki weakly tried to protest, watching as Marinette tried to force herself up.

"Gotta transform. Gotta be ready," Marinette murmured in a daze, her legs wobbling but managing to hold her up. Not letting Tikki get another word in, she hurried to command, "Tikki, spots on."

— — — — —

Marinette hugged her knees to her chest, back against the wall stretching upwards that helped make the bridge where she broke up with Luka. Part of her felt like coming here was some form of self-punishment - a reminder of what she'd lost and why she had to keep it that way - but another part just wanted to be here. It wasn't a good idea to be in her room where everything went down, or where her pictures were, or where the kwami would just remind her of all the things she didn't want to think about. It wasn't like her parents were going to check on her anyway, so she felt it best to be away from it all.

She tried to listen for the melody of the water that Luka had told her about, but every time she thought things were quiet enough to hear it, she would breathe in a little too hard, or Tikki would shuffle around in her purse at a loss for what to say. Marinette sighed in defeat, curling in on herself further and staring at the ground with her eyes half-lidded.

She wished she could go back; back to the day this whole mess started. Maybe she could've avoided Fu, Chloe, and maybe even Alya. She could've stayed in the background, unoffensive and just known as "the clumsy girl," one who didn't lie and leave class unexpectedly with the worse excuses possible. Avoiding Chloe would've meant avoiding her wrath, which meant that there would've been no misunderstanding with Adrien and no "spark" to ignite her crush underneath that umbrella.

Everything would've been so much easier. Maybe she would've met Luka sooner, bumping into him by accident one day and they'd drop all their things, her sketches mingling with his song sheets. They'd apologize and hurry to separate their stuff, then lock eyes and all would be well with the world. She'd stammer out her name when she introduced herself and he'd tease her affectionately, and it'd be okay because she wouldn't be busy being depressed over another guy.

They'd laugh, they'd get along, and there wouldn't be any drama in the way of them getting together. Without her having any responsibilities that would cause her to run off, they'd date, and they'd just... be happy.

Marinette closed her eyes, trying to let herself indulge in the fantasy even if only for a moment. The hold she had on her legs loosened, her hands sliding down until one of her hands brushed the opposite's wrist. She remembered Viperion - Luka - as the hero who thought first just like her and now could never be because of his identity being compromised, yet another by-product of her crush on Adrien in a way.

She exhaled, her thumb futilely brushing over her wrist; over a bangle that wasn't there.

Second Chance...

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, trying to live in fake memories, but when her eyes opened, she still found herself underneath the bridge in a life she didn't want. She stared blankly at the ground, the melody she'd desired still inaudible to her.

It took her a few seconds to realize that the view in front of her wasn't quite what it was before she closed her eyes, and it took a few more to notice the black distressed pants and the shoes splattered with varying random symbols at the corner of her vision. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing properly and wondering if she might be hallucinating after her fantasy, but a quick glance upward caused her eyes to meet Luka's, the brows above them furrowed with concern.

"A-ah," she let out involuntarily, straightening a little. Finally registering that he was there and very real, she inhaled sharply and stood, waving frantically at him as she stammered, "I-I'm so sorry! This is your spot, and I'm taking your spot, and I swear I didn't mean to—" She bent down and brushed her hands along the ground where she'd been sitting, as if she were cleaning it. "—I'll be gone soon, let me just—"

"It's okay," Luka assured while approaching her, his voice even softer than usual but with a tinge of sadness to it.

She stopped, hesitating, then looked back up at him in confusion. They hadn't talked since their break-up and she genuinely thought that he'd be upset with her.

"I'm glad," he said genuinely, "that you can find as much comfort in this place as I do. You don't have to go anywhere."

"...Oh," she uttered, her shoulders easing in mild relief. At least he didn't hate her, she supposed, though the awkwardness in the air was noticeable and she couldn't help noticing that he was keeping a minimum distance of three meters from her.

It hurt.

She fiddled with the strap of her purse, wondering why he was there and how she could've gotten so unlucky as to—well, that part was obvious actually, she'd been unlucky her whole life, but that didn't stop her from wondering what he was doing there. Was it something about his dad, or...?

Against her better judgment, she took a good look at his face, biting her bottom lip guiltily at the tired look in his eyes. He seemed as if he hadn't slept well in a few days, and she couldn't say that she was any different, which made the reason for his expression all the more obvious. It was a terrible feeling, already feeling bad that she made him feel bad and then feeling worse because there was a part of her that was a little glad to have meant so much to him that the break-up actually affected him.  He'd made her feel noticed and seen, something that was rare even amongst her frie—

Ah. Right.

She fidgeted, her feet shifting nervously against the ground. Juleka had been amongst the friends that she'd called out and forced to leave. She wasn't sure how close Luka was with his sister, as most of the interactions she'd seen were when they were in a group, but she was still his family. Did he know?

As if able to sense what she was thinking, Luka spoke up. "Jule told me."

Marinette winced and looked down, ashamed and fully expecting to be reprimanded. She clasped her hands at her waist, trying to mentally prepare herself.

Then, he immediately followed with, "Well, she mumbled it, but I got what she said."

It wasn't quite a joke, but it wasn't anything critical either. Marinette peeked back up at him, her brows scrunched together in confusion. He was smiling sadly, either understanding her or trying to be the sympathetic empath she'd always admired him for.

She averted her gaze, not feeling worthy of making eye contact with him. Sinking back against the wall, she sunk down to her earlier position and muttered, "I-it was for the best. I'm just... better off alone." She flinched at the sting in her chest that the words caused, but continued, "I won't hurt anyone that way. They can't be disappointed in me if we're not friends."

There was a pause, at which point Luka took a few steps closer, still maintaining a distance between them but also closing the gap significantly. "Why do you think you'll hurt people?"

She almost scoffed at that. "You would know why more than anyone, Luka." Though she still avoided looking at his face, she could see his fingers twitch from the corner of her vision. "I lie. I'm a liar! I'm just—" She spread her arms wide. "—I'm going to lie for the rest of my life, and ditch everyone and make them sad and they'll never know why!"

She'd tried to say it in an exaggerated tone to keep things light, but the tears started up. She held them back as best as she could, determined not to cry again when she'd already cried so much.

She heard Luka take a few steps closer, and he observed quietly, "But you don't want to."

"Of course not! But it doesn't matter! I should've known from the start that making friends was a mistake but I did it anyway!" She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "I can't keep friends! I can't keep a boyfriend! I can barely keep this secret a secret!"

She didn't have to see his face to know that he was processing that. "...You can't tell me."

It was a realization for him, a mix of emotions in his voice and none of which she could place. She imagined he'd thought that it was a secret she'd chosen not to share with him, but that wasn't true.

She lowered her hands from her face. "I can't. I mean, not like—physically can't—it's not like the world would end if I did—" She halted briefly, stiffening at an unwelcome memory of Paris destroyed and underwater. "—o-or, maybe it would! But, it was never about trust, Luka! I trust you, I trust you so much, and I want to tell you so bad but I can't! It hurts but I can't! No one's supposed to know!"

She clutched her head, realizing that the conversation was spiraling downwards fast. She was torn between thinking that she'd said too much and then regretting how little she'd said when she'd broken up with him.

Luka took the final steps to close the distance between then, kneeling down to be closer to her level. "Marinette, I—I can't imagine what your secret could be, but it hurts watching you tear yourself apart like this."

"Well maybe that's how it's supposed to be!" she declared as she met his gaze, his eyes going wide in a mixture of pain and shock. She blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tears. "Maybe I'm just supposed to stay sad and alone forever! I have to do it all myself because that's the rule and it's my burden to carry!"

His heart was clearly breaking for her and it just made everything worse. He reached out to her, hovering his hand over her shoulder as a test and then settling it down with a feather-light touch when she didn't pull away. "I won't force you to tell me, and it's hard to say anything when I don't know what you're going through, but..." He hesitated, clearly feeling like it wasn't his place to say but being unable to help himself. "Couffaines break rules when we want to - when we know we have to - and I don't want to see you break instead."

She raised a hand, tempted to pull his hand from her shoulder, but stopped herself. "I-I don't have a choice. It's too dangerous. I can't let people close to me; I didn't even want to break up with you. You're amazing and sweet and I feel like I can tell you anything, but..." She looked down, defeated. "...you deserve better than this..."

He squeezed her shoulder, though whether it was a mix of offense at the comment, an attempt to comfort her, or both, she wasn't sure. "I can only tell you that I'd never tell anyone if I knew." He paused, as if to consider something, then added, "Even if it wasn't me - if it was someone else you trusted - I just don't want you to carry this alone."

She glanced up at him without moving her head, her mouth moving to reply but she ended up choking, then coughing in response to the air she'd just lost. Luka's free hand found her other shoulder as he leaned towards her, all the concern and love she could ever ask for being offered in his eyes.

He seemed to want to continue their conversation, but found something else to prioritize instead. "Do you want anything? Have you drank any water lately?"

The question caught her off guard until she remembered her coughing and mentally acknowledged that she might've been neglecting herself far more than she should've. Luka's hearing was on point, and she figured he must've heard the dryness of her throat.

She let out a small noise instead of a reply, no words given but Luka understood anyway. He stood up, his hands lingering on her for as long as possible before he turned and began to head back to the Liberty.

She watched him go, an ache in her chest even if she knew he'd come back. It reminded her of the day in the TV station where he confessed and she hadn't given him an answer, or when he'd comforted her after the break-up and she'd just taken it without a word back. It was all left incomplete, with him merely giving her  that respectful smile that told her that she only had to say what she was ready for.

But ready for what, exactly? Ready to talk? Ready for him?

Ready for herself?

"...I—" Her mouth moved on its own, her body leaning just slightly towards him as she said the words she'd always wanted to. "—I'm Ladybug."

It was practically a whisper - equivalent to a pin dropping - but Luka froze nonetheless, his foot mid-raise to take a step that never came. He'd heard her, and he finally moved as he turned to look at her, expression unreadable.

That's when the moment caught up with her, and the panic followed suit. "O-oh—oh no. Oh, I said it—you know—you—" She clutched at her capris, desperate to ground herself, but the hyperventilating was beginning to start, almost harmonizing with the sound of Luka's footsteps as he hurried over to her, closing the gap between them much faster than he had previously.

In an instant, he was on his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her and lifting her slightly as he pulled her into a hug. She gasped in surprise, still blinking back tears as her senses registered that he was there: his body heat warming her, the fabric of his jacket against her face, the calming color combination of blues and blacks, and the faded scent of his body wash.

"L-luka," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry. Y-you're in danger—"

"It's okay," he assured softly, then again as if to be certain that she heard it, "It's okay."

She hesitated, her breathing still uneven, but she willed herself to release her capris - her fingers feeling stiff from how tightly she'd gripped them - so she could grab at his jacket instead. He responded in kind by hugging her tighter; too tight for a normal hug but just tight enough to bring her back down to reality.

"You're not alone anymore, Marinette," he whispered, "and I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

That did it, and the tears overflowed. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to however much fabric her hands could grasp as she buried her face into his shoulder. No matter how strongly she hugged him, he didn't complain, simply letting her take whatever she needed from him.

In the silence of the embrace, she could finally hear the river's melody.

— — — — —

Marinette clasped her hands together on the couch, her breathing starting to steady as she watched Luka pour her fourth cup of water since she'd gotten there, the first three of which she'd downed in mere seconds. It was just the two of them there, which was comforting, as Juleka had apparently gone to Rose's house for the rest of the day and Anarka was... well, Anarka, and wouldn't be back until who knew when.

Luka returned to Marinette with a smile, offering the full cup of water to her. She reached for it, then stopped as she noticed how badly her hand was shaking. Taking a few more controlled breaths, she offered him a smile and gently pushed the cup towards him.

At his confused look, she observed, "You haven't been taking care of yourself either."

He opened his mouth, possibly to argue, then looked away from her, his eyes darting around at nothing. She could see the internal conversation in his head, playing out a scenario where he would try to insist, she would insist back that three cups was more than enough for her and he'd also taken none himself, and they would go back and forth until he relented.

His gaze softened, the conclusion to the mental argument clearly reached as he took a few sips from the cup. Rather than sitting on the couch, he sat down on the wooden table in front of it - a typical Couffaine move - so he could face her. Then, offering her a grateful smile, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She smiled back at him, but it faltered as she stared at her lap, taking the time to legitimately think about the question. She ran her hands along her legs in a slow motion, hoping that it would stop any shakiness somehow.

"...Scared," she answered. "Nervous. Worried. Anxious." She pursed her lips as she realized that she was just listing off synonyms at that point.

Luka leaned towards her, resting his hand over one of the ones on her lap. "But, better than before?" he guessed.

Eyes half-lidded and fond, she nodded. "Yeah, and..." She turned the hand underneath his upwards so she could hold it. "I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too," he whispered, as if to make sure that this moment was only for the two of them.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other's presence. Marinette was a mess of emotions, but refused to let go of the hand he'd offered her, her thumb stroking along the back of it.

"...Luka," she said after a few seconds of contemplation.

He didn't respond verbally, but he'd also already given her his full attention, and she knew he was listening.

She continued, "You're the last person I'd ever want to lose. If Shadow Moth finds out that you know—"

"If," he gently interjected, though his eyes encouraged her to go on.

"He'll use you. He'll take advantage of you. I don't want anything to happen to you, but I don't want you to leave either, because I really like you and you make me happy and better and—" She huffed, frustrated by the conundrum. "It feels like it's my fault. If I was stronger, or I wasn't so emotional, I..."

"Marinette."

She looked up at the tenderness in his voice. He set his cup down on the table, then slowly pushed himself off, crouching down in front of her as if to make himself appear as small as possible. His other hand found her free one and he held it, making their hand holding perfectly mutual.

"Do you remember the day we met? When my mom got akumatized?"

She nodded. "Yeah, of course."

He nodded in return, going on to explain, "You needed me to hide you, and I needed you to go get—" He caught himself, half-chuckling as the identity revelation adjusted his memories of that day. "—be Ladybug."

Marinette managed a smile. "You were covering for me, even back then."

He smiled back, looking almost too proud of that fact. "And we needed each other. No one can do everything alone, Marinette, so don't say you're sorry for the feelings that made up the song that's been stuck in my head ever since that day."

She swallowed involuntarily at the reminder of his confession. Judging from his smile widening, he noticed it.

"It's hard learning an instrument all by yourself," he continued, "and sad not having anyone to play to."

"And you want to be the whole crowd?" she asked quietly, her gaze drawn to their joined hands.

"Yeah," he answered, not missing a beat.

She took a breath, knowing it was too late to change things but still wanting to acknowledge the decision anyway. "O...okay. Thank you, Luka."

They exchanged loving smiles, and Marinette could've sworn that the eye contact alone was keeping her heart rate down. The future was still nerve-wracking, but she'd been afraid of it even before she'd told Luka her secret, so at least now she had someone who understood her and who she could talk to about it.

The conversation mutually ended there, but then Luka - wholly unprompted - let out an exaggerated sigh and tilted his head back. Curious, Marinette asked, "What is it?"

He grinned at her, a glint in his eyes that made it clear that he was in a teasing mood now that the atmosphere had lightened. "Does this mean I have to watch Chat Noir flirt with my girlfriend?"

She snorted, opening her mouth to reply before stopping as the words behind the joke caught up to her. She leaned forward and squeezed his hand, eyes wide with hope. "Girlfriend?"

He nodded without hesitation. "You said you didn't want to break up with me, Marinette, and I didn't want to break up with you either."

"Y-yeah, but—" She frowned, conflicted. "I'll still have to leave? Nothing's changed except you knowing why."

"I didn't date you so that we could go on dates," he replied. When she tilted her head in confusion at him, he briefly averted his gaze, a hint of shyness appearing on his face before he steeled himself up and looked back at her, clarifying, "I just wanted to be your boyfriend, dates or no dates."

"Oh. O-oh." And that was all she had to say about that, any coherent words burned away from the blush forming on her face.

Luka smiled hopefully, and Marinette quickly decided that bashfulness looked good on him. "So, if you want to make this work with me, then—"

"Yes!" she replied immediately, untangling her hands from his so she could push herself off the couch.

His eyes lit up, his arms spreading wide as she dropped into his lap, and he didn't recoil when she arched up to kiss him, her movements quick to ensure that there would've been no chance for them to be interrupted. She wrapped her arms around him, neither caring about the awkward position on the floor due to being lost in each other's touch.

There was a soft click when the kiss broke, Marinette promptly pulling herself against him and nestling her face near his collarbone, now able to properly enjoy the scent she'd missed for all those dreadful days they'd been apart.

Following up on what he'd told her underneath the bridge, she tightened her hold and whispered, "I love you too, Luka."

Snuggled so close to him, she swore that his heartbeat picked up, though she didn't have to feel it to know that he was happy, what with the way his hands shook against her and how he placed an immediate kiss on the top of her head. She let herself get absorbed in the moment, allowing herself to smile and think only of Luka, the one who respected her choices and feelings from the day they met.

There was no one else she'd rather share her identity with.

[nothingbutimagines]

Elizabeths (Chapter II)

Pairing: Bad boy!Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Cursing, death, mentions of suicide

Summary: Y/n is part of her high school’s most powerful and most popular clique, but she disapproves of the other girls’ behavior. When Y/n meets the new boy in school, Peter Parker, and begins dating him, what she has known to be her clique begins to unravel. Starting with the death of the clique leader, Liz Allan, one by one, people Y/n doesn’t like begin to die by her and Peter’s hands. Soon, she realizes that Peter is killing students he hates and begins to try to foil his plans, all while clashing with the new clique leader, Elizabeth “Betty” Brant.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is a Peter Parker AU I thought of doing. It’s a Heathers AU!!! This is going to follow a similar plot to Heathers, but of course, I won’t keep everything the exact same. Here, we meet our protaganist, Y/n, and our love interest, JD Peter.

Masterlist Request Any Of These Peter Parker/Tom Holland Masterlist

__________________

Dear Diary,

I know I said I only fuck with the college boys and to hell with the high school ones, but goddamn, I can’t take my mind of off Peter Parker. Especially with him pulling that shit he did with the gun in the commons. 

“God, they won’t expel him. They’ll probably just suspend him for a week or something.” Lizzie insisted, clacking her croquet mallet against your own as you both chuckled. 

“He used a real gun.” Liz scoffed. “They should throw his ass in jail. Doesn’t he know today’s climate? Hasn’t he heard of Columbine?”

“No way.” You argued, leaning forward on your unused mallet as you watched Liz retie her ponytail with that red scrunchie you always hated. “He used blanks. All Peter did was ruined two pairs of pants... maybe not even that...” You and Lizzie began giggling. “I mean, can you bleach out urine stains?”

The sound of Liz knocking her mallet into the red ball and the red ball hitting Betty’s green one was a response enough. The sound was almost deafening as silence fell between you and Lizzie. 

“Ah, yes, Peter.” Liz finally spoke up, “You seem pretty amused. I thought you were over high school guys.” 

“Never say never.”

“What are you going to do, Liz? Take the two shots or knock me out?” Betty asked, her doe like eyes meeting Liz’s, making it clear she had not been paying attention to the conversation at hand. 

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?” Liz snapped. “First you ask if you can be red, knowing I am always red...”

You watched as Liz took a step forward, her foot firm on her red ball as she hit the mallet against it, the red ball sending Betty’s green into the flower bed, causing you to wince as Liz grunted triumphantly. 

Liz hit her ball again, this time falling short of the wicket as she groaned, rolling her eyes. Always too cocky too early, Liz.

“Damn.” She cursed. “Anyway, I can say never to high school boys. Especially when I have Steve.” 

“Ah, yes. King Steve.” Lizzie chuckled, taking her shot and getting the yellow ball through the wicket as she squealed. 

“Maybe when you get older and actually reach maturity, you’ll understand the difference between Columbia University man like Steve and a Midtown High boy like Brad “nut-and-bolt” Davis.” 

Lizzie shrugged. “I think Brad’s sweet. Your turn, Betty!” 

Betty pouted, a whine escaping her throat as she navigated getting into the flower bed, trying to avoid the peonies your mother had planted earlier in the week. 

“No pain, no gain!” Lizzie teased.

“Give it up, girl!” You added, both of you howling at Betty. 

You watched as Betty furrowed her brow, leaning down a bit as she hit the ball. You chuckled as it bounced off a tree and then hit the fountain in the yard before rolling perfectly through the wicket. 

“Holy shit!” You gasped, howling in laughter.

“That was incredible!” Lizzie squealed.

“What. A. Shot.” Liz added, shaking her head, a mixture of pride and jealousy in her smirk. 

You began setting up your shot as Lizzie spoke up, your attention half on her and the other half on getting the shot. 

“So, tonight’s the night. Are you two excited?” Lizzie asked, glancing between both you and Liz. 

“I’m giving Y/n her shot. Her first Columbia party. You blow it tonight, girl, and it’s keggers with kids all senior year.” 

You groaned, having missed your shot. As you dropped your mallet, bending down to pick it up, you rolled your eyes as Liz’s attitude. 

“Damn.” You cursed. “So, who’s this Bucky guy I’ve been set up with? Witty and urban pre-law or an idiot and savant art major?”

“Don’t worry.” Liz rolled her eyes. “Steve says he’s very. So he’s very.”

“I doubt it.” You muttered, knowing full well the only boy you wanted to be set up with is the bad boy wannabe from the commons. 

“Lizzie! Your mom is here!” Your mother called before Liz could open her mouth to say anything further. 

“Come on, whoever wants a ride!” Lizzie announced. “Bye, Y/n. Good luck.” 

“Yeah, good luck.” Betty agreed as she rushed past, following Lizzie and Liz up the stairs. 

You dropped your mallet and followed behind the girls, waving them off as they cut through the side of the house and off the property. You took a seat at the table on the patio as your father took a seat beside you, James Patterson book in hand as you mother joined you both, salsa and chips on the platter clutched in her fists. 

“So, what was the first week of Spring Break withdrawal like?” Your father asked, leaning past your slouching figure to grab a chip. 

“Hey, kid, isn’t the prom coming up?” Your mother asked before you could answer your father.

You shrugged with a smile. “I guess it is.”

“Any contestants worth mentioning?” 

“Maybe. I guess you could say there is a bit of a dark horse in the running.���

“Goddamn. Why do I even read these damn Patterson books. Bastard probably doesn’t even write them.” Your father chimed in, looking up at you.

“Because you’re an idiot.” You beamed, laughing alongside him for a moment. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s it.”

“You two...” Your mother smiled, shaking her head.

“Thanks for the salsa.” You rose from your seat. “But I gotta motor if I want to be ready for that party tonight.” 

Dear Diary,

When you fuck with the eagles, you gotta learn to fly. Columbia is Liz kicking my ass out of the nest, whether I like it or not. And to be honest, I don’t wanna fucking fly. 

You opened the car door, the cold night breeze chilling you to the bone as you slammed the door shut, wincing as you knew Liz would scold you for your improper behavior later. Tugging at the length of your sleeves, you walked towards the 7-11.

“Corn nuts!” Liz yelled, half her body out the car window as she yelled at you. 

Without looking back, you waved her off, tempted to just give her the middle finger and call it a night. 

You swung the door open, the warm draft greeting you as you made a beeline to the Corn Nuts, hoping to get in and get out and get this goddamn Columbia party over with. 

“You going to get a Big Gulp with that?” A voice erupted from behind you as you turned around, the bag of Corn Nuts you needed in hand. 

“No, but if you’re nice, I’ll let you buy me a Slurpee.” You teased, meeting Peter’s eyes, or rather, eye, as the other was covered by his falling bang. “You sure do know your 7-11 slang.” 

“I’ve moved around all my life; Baton Rouge, Vegas, Dallas, Suburbia. There’s always been a 7-11. The only stability. Any town, any time, I can pop a chicken sandwich in the microwave and feast on a tornado. Keeps me sane.” He explained, his hand shaking next to his head at the end of his speech. 

“Really?” You asked, “I don’t know, I mean, that thing you pulled today was pretty severe.”

“The extreme always makes an impression, but you’re right, it was pretty severe. Did you say a Coke or Cherry Slurpee?” 

“I didn’t.” You pulled a red vine from the open box at the counter. “Cherry.” 

You smiled, taking a bit out of the vine as you twirled it between your fingers, Peter matching your expression. You took the Slurpee from his hand and followed him to the counter, the silence between you comfortable as he paid for the snacks you collected and you followed him outside. 

You shivered in the cold air, the thought that getting a Slurpee was a good idea now turning in your mind. 

“Great bike.” You nodded to the motorcycle as Peter took a seat on it. 

Liz honked her horn, causing you to tear your gaze from Peter as she gave you an agitated look, only for you to return the gesture with a glare and turn back to Peter.

“Just a humble perk from my uncle’s construction company or should I say deconstruction company?” 

“I don’t know, should you?”

“My uncle seems to enjoy tearing things down more than building things up. Seen the commercial? ‘Bringing every State to a Higher State.’“

“Oh, shit.” You gasped, connecting the dots as you playfully hit Peter’s shoulder. “Peter Parker... Your uncle’s Big Ben Parker Construction. Must be rough, moving place to place.”

Peter shrugged. “Everybody’s got some static in their life. Is your life perfect?”

You scoffed. “Sure, I’m going to a Columbia University party.”

Liz honked the horn again, letting her hand rest on the horn for a little longer as you frowned.

“It’s not perfect.” Your tone was serious. “I don’t really like my friends.”

“I don’t really like your friends either.” Peter shook his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips. 

“It’s like they’re just people I work with and our job is being popular and shit.” 

“Maybe it’s time for a vacation.” 

Liz’s horn blared again as you waved at Peter, starting to walk away. “You’re telling me!”

Dear Diary,

The day I take a vacation, that’ll be the day Liz Allan is dead. Until then, I’m stuck doing my job being her popular lap dog and sucking her dick by telling her how hot and popular she is. 

You could barely suppress a look of disgust as you followed Liz and Steve through the crowded dormitory hallway and into Steve’s dorm. You hated Steve. Sleazy, sweaty, somewhat mediocre looking Steve. You could feel the clot of bile creep up your throat as Steve held the door open for you, the sick smell of cheap beer and sweat so pungent your eyes teared up. 

“You can just throw your coats down on the bed, girls.” Steve instructed as both you and Liz slipped off your coats and did as you were told. 

You watched as Steve walked away for a moment, you assumed to get Bucky as you looked at Liz, who was watching them as well, the doe like look in her eyes telling you that she was in love with him. That for some reason, the clever bitch fell for the disgusting college guy. 

“Y/n, this is Buck.” Steve introduced the other boy, his hand clasped on his shoulder as he guided him to you. 

“Excellent.” Bucky nodded, his eyes tracing over your form as you held back a frown. “Did you girls bring your partying boots?”

“Yeah, let’s party.” Liz smiled, jerking you to get you to do the same. 

Steve chuckled, throwing his arm around Liz as he looked at her. “What can I say? She loves to party.” 

Dear Diary, 

I want to kill and you have to believe... damn pen! 

“So, are you a cheerleader?” Bucky asked, his back against the tacky blue and grey striped wallpaper.

“Not at all.” You gagged, the smell of beer and cigarettes on his breath making you nauseous as you took a sip of the drink in your hand. 

“You’re pretty enough to be one.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

“It’s so great to be able to talk to a girl without having to ask ‘what’s your major?’ I hate that.” Bucky took a sip of his beer before continuing, “So, when you go to college, what do you think you’ll study?”

You have to believe it’s for more than selfish reasons. More than a spoke in my menstrual cycle. You have to believe me. 

Bucky had given up on conversation, you could tell by the way he shifted on his heels uncomfortably. It’s not like you minded, nor cared, since you debated finding Liz’s coat and stealing her car, leaving her in your dust. 

Goddamn Liz. Goddamn Columbia guys. Goddamn you for agreeing to be here.

“So, what do you say we go up to my dorm and have a real party? I’ve got the best rap mix in the whole dorm.” Bucky’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as another boy approached.

“Buck, man,” The boy jerked Bucky around by the shoulder, “Nick’s been looking for you. He says he owes you for blow and he just got some shit himself.”

“You’re kidding. Asshole really scored some of his own?”

“He’s in Nat’s room. Go, man. Party on.”

“Excellent.” Bucky finally turned to you, as if he forgot you were even there, “Y/n, you ever do coke?”

“Ever since writing that DARE essay in fifth grade, I refuse everything.” 

“DARE? Are you sure that shit still works?”

You smacked your forehead lightly. “Oh, geez, right! I wrote that at eleven. Might as well do drugs now since I’m not so stupid!” 

You groaned, pushing through the crowded hallway back to where you and Liz had thrown your coats. 

“Hey, don’t run off, now!” Bucky called out, following behind you closely.

Seventeen is the last year Mom buys the Twinkies. When you make the jump from working at Pizza Hut on the weekends to working thirty years at I.B.M, when you lose something, not innocence - power.

You swung open the door to the room, throwing yourself on the stack of coats on the couch beside the door. Setting your glass of vodka in your lap, you pulled out the matchbook you’d gotten at the 7-11. You struck a match, holding your hand over the flame, bringing it closer and closer until the red light licks your hand, causing you to shriek in pain. You dropped the match into the glass, shocked when it catches fire. Giggling to yourself, you toss the glass out the open window; out of sight, out of mind.

“There you are.” Bucky’s voice has you rolling your eyes as you turn to him. “How’s my little cheerleader? Now I know everyone at your high school isn’t so uptight, come on.” 

His hand was coated in sticky sweat as it touched your tight covered thigh and his breath was hot and warm as his leaned in too close to your face. 

“Hey, I really don’t feel so great.” You argued, shoving him away from you as you shot up off the couch. 

“Let’s do it on the coats.” He grinned, oblivious to your side of the conversation. “It’ll be excellent.”

“You know, I have a little prepared speech I give when my suitor wants more than I’d like to give him. Gee, Blank, I had a nice-”

“Save the speeches for Malcolm X. I just wanna get laid.” Bucky chuckled, cutting off your sentence before you could even get the bulk of it out. 

You yanked your coat out from under him, sending him sliding off the couch and to the floor.

“You don’t deserve my fucking speech.” You huffed, stepping over him and storming out the door.

You slow as you realized you now gained Liz’s attention, along with Steve’s as Bucky emerges from the “coat” room. You can tell by the falling smiles on both Steve’s and Liz’s faces as Bucky spews some words you can’t hear that they are more than pissed at you. You watch, your eyes widening as Liz slides her beer glass on the table beside her, steel-faced as she approaches you. 

“What’s your damage? Bucky says you’re being a real cooze.” Liz snapped.

“Liz, I feel awful, like I’m going to throw up. Can we jam, please?”

“Hell no.”

You couldn’t help it, the sudden clot in your throat was replaced with actual vomit as you leaned against the wall, rendered unable by your sudden fatigue to make it to the bathroom. You leaned over, vomit spilling onto the carpet and splatter hitting Liz’s red heels. Groaning, you charge down the hallway and out the door, determined to make it back to the car as Liz follows close behind. 

Christ, I can’t explain it, but I’m allowed an understanding that my parents and these Columbia University assholes have chosen to ignore. I must stop Liz.

“You stupid cunt!” Liz roared, the trash can fire casting shadows on her face as you shivered in the cool night air. 

“You goddamn bitch!” 

“You were nothing before you met me! You were playing Barbies with Cindy Moon! You were a Brownie, you were a Bluebird, you were a Girl Scout Cookie! I got you into a Columbia University party! What’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet. I got paid in puke!” 

“Like it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.”

“Monday morning, you’re history. I’ll tell everyone about tonight. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Midtown is going to let you play their reindeer games.”

Cindy Moon was a real friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatchdogs and Diet Cokeheads. Killing Liz’d be like offing the Wicked Witch of the West. Or is it East? West! I sound like a fucking psycho. Tomorrow I’ll be kissing her aerobicized ass, but tonight, let me dream of a world without Liz. A world where I am free. 

You couldn’t help but fling your diary across the room, the satisfying thud from it hitting the wall beside your window soothing you as you wallowed in anger. You gasp as you hear a sound at the window, looking up, you tear off your glasses and make eye contact with one Peter Parker. 

“Dreadful etiquette, I apologize.” 

“It’s okay...” You replied breathlessly.

“I saw the croquet set out back, you up for a match?”

Your heart was still racing, however instead of the initial shock, it was now revving up with anxiety as you looked at the boy in your bedroom. Was he even really there? Or was he just an anger fueled hallucination?

“Sure. But I’m blue.”

Dear Diary,

When did my life become reminiscent of a YA novel? When did I come to believe it wasn’t weird that Peter Parker was coming through my window? Did Twilight finally condition me into believing odd behavior was true romance?

“Now I can see why you looked so mangled when I came up.” Peter shook his head, his voice soft. 

You shifted so that your head was on his bare chest, your eyes focused on the pile of his clothes that sat beside him. 

“I’ve always treated Liz’s drama queen plays as bullshit, but I’m honestly really scared. Who am I going to sit with at lunch on Monday?” You groaned, leaning back onto the grass, the blades pricking your bare shoulders. “God, I sound like I’m from Riverdale.” 

“Are girls really that bad?” 

“It’s a dog eat dog world.” You shrugged. “It feels like it’s either kill yourself or get told to kill yourself.”

“Geez.” Peter shook his head. “That was my first game of strip croquet, by the way. I thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a lot more interesting than flinging your clothes off and going at it on a neighbor’s swing set.”

“Well, I don’t know, there’s something to be said for- ouch!” 

You chuckled as the blue mallet that was stuck in the ground fell over and hit the boy. He handed you your panties that fell along with the mallet before sliding on his own underwear. 

“What a night.” You giggled, slipping on your panties as you kissed him softly and stood up. “What a life. I almost moved into high school right out of sixth grade because I was some sort of genius. But of course, my mother was too scared I wouldn’t make friends, so we chucked the idea and blah, blah, blah.”

You searched the yard for your clothes, cursing Peter silently for allowing you to toss them around instead of into a neat pile like he had done. You picked up your shirt and pants, gathering up your socks and slippers before putting them on as you spoke.

“But now blah-blah-blah is all I ever do. I use my grand I.Q. to decide what shade of lip gloss to buy and how to hit three keggers before curfew. Some genius.” 

“Liz Allan is one bitch that deserves to die.” Peter blurted out, making it clear he wasn’t listening to you. 

“Killing her won’t solve anything.”

“A well time lighting bolt on her walk into school on Monday morning, all the other Elizabeths, shit, the whole school, would be cut loose.”

“Well, then, I will pray for rain.” You chuckled. “A flowerpot falling from the window sill would work just as well, more likely to happen too.”

“You see those condoms in the grass? We killed it tonight, Y/n. We killed our baby.” 

“Hey, it was good for me too, imbecile.”

“I’m just saying. It’s not hard to end a life.”

“There’s a big difference between killing the prom queen and busting into a condom.”

You both laugh as Peter finally starts getting dressed. 

“I guess I don’t know what I’m talking about. After all, there’s only one genius here.”

“I know exactly what the hell you’re talking about and you’re right, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Why don’t we just graduate, grow old and be adults, and then die?” 

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“But before we do that, I want to see Liz Allan spew chunks so we can call it even.”

_____________________

Tagged: @thewinchesterchronicles @spookyanairwin @audreylovespidey706 @asonofpeter​ @halparkebitch​

message me to be added to the taglist!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #446

“so you can throw me to the wolves  /  tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack”

Favourite cheese? American. Superman or Batman? I know literally nothing of Superman, but I like Batman. Who are your best friends? The only person I consider a best friend is Sara. Name the 3 most important people in your life: My mom, Sara, and... I suppose myself since I cherish my mental health VERY deeply. Are you currently learning from anyone how to play any instruments? No. Do you know anyone who is overly flirty with people? Girl or a boy? In my personal opinion, yes. I do believe it's possible to be "overly" flirty, considering you can really lead people on. It's a she. Do you believe vampires are real? Not the stereotypical Twilight kind. No. Have you ever been to a porn website? Were you addicted to it afterword? No. I'm really not into that. What is the most disgusting thing you think the opposite sex can do? I think the most disgusting thing anyone can do is commit rape. Would you rather be able to teleport or freeze time? Which one seems best? I feel teleportation is obviously more convenient and useful in dangerous situations. Have you seen the movie Twister? Did the tornadoes look real to you? LKJFL;AKSDJFKLASJDLFKA;WE NOOOOOOOOOO. I am WAY too terrified of tornadoes to watch that. Have you actually been through a devastating natural disaster before? Hurricane Floyd was pretty devastating. I was too young to really remember it, though. Did your mom ever fix your eggs and bacon into a smiley face as a kid? She probably did. What fast food place, in your opinion, has the best french fries? BOJANGLE'S, AHHHHHHHHHHHH. Do you believe one day aliens might take over the planet Earth? I mean, it's possible, but I don't know. Do you remember when they used to actually throw candy out at parades? I didn't know they stopped. Does it bother you when people burp around you or do you do it too? I couldn't possibly care less, it's a natural bodily function. Just because of societal standards though, I don't burp in public, though, but only around family and close friends. What is one kind of music you’d do anything to not listen to in the car? Anything like rap that has a STUPIDLY loud bass that just annoys everyone within a ten mile radius. When was the last time you babysat, if ever? Did anything bad happen? A year or two ago, for my nephew. No one else was free to watch him, so I had no choice. Nothing bad happened, besides nearly having a panic attack. Do you ever talk to people you met online through webcam? Or is that weird? No. Even Sara and I don't do it, because I'm too self-conscious of how I look. Even though she's seen me plenty before irl. Would you ever consider becoming a scientist? Why would you or why not? Well, I majored in biology briefly... I wanted to be a wildlife biologist. I just adore animals and thought I could do it. I just couldn't handle school. When is the next time you’ll talk to the cousin you’re closest to? I'm not especially close to any of my cousins. Are you really into vintage things? Have you ever been into that stuff? Yessss! is writing something that you enjoy doing? Definitely. Would you rather read or write? Write. Would you rather draw or take photographs? If I wind up being very proud of the product, I prefer drawing, but I take pictures far more. When was the last time you cheated at something? I have no clue. Has anyone ever copied off of your homework assignments? I think so? Do you have any pictures of celebs saved to your computer? ... *stares at my folder labelled "Mark"* What would you consider your favorite holiday? Why is this? Christmas. I love the whole vibe of it. The weather, the smells, the treats, my niece's and nephew's excitement... I adore all the lights and decorations, the gratefulness for family and your loved ones in general... I just love Christmas. If you’re a girl, do you have big hips? Too big? I'd say my hips are normal. Girls, do you think you look good in dresses or not? God no. Not anymore. Have you ever taken a pottery class before? Nope. How many times have you seen Star Wars? Be honest. Once. I didn't like it. Has your best friend ever made you cry? Yes. But in her defense, we've both made the other cry. Have you ever entered a talent competition? God no, I ain't got shit to flaunt. Are you smiling in your Facebook profile picture? Yes. If you wear eye shadow, do you put on a dark colour or a light? And if you wear mascara, what colour is it? I only ever wear black for both of those. What is your favourite Christmas movie? Jim Carrey's How the Grinch Stole Christmas. What do you get complimented on the most? My Markiplier tattoo, actually. What do you think of your best friend’s ex? One I REALLY don't like, the other I'm neutral about. Are you biracial? No. Do you have Pop-Tarts in your house right now? No. We try to not buy them, given they're just TOTALLY empty calories. They don't fill me at all. Is anyone’s birthday coming up? No. Does/did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Do you like sour candy? I LOVE sour candy. Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? Alaska, to see the Northern Lights. Do you usually wear sunglasses when you’re driving? I haven't driven in well over a year. Hell, maybe two. But no, because I'd need prescription sunglasses. Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? God no. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah. What time do you usually have dinner? 5:30-6:30, usually. What’s your favourite meat? Chicken, I think. What is your favourite meal of the day and why? Breakfast. I just enjoy breakfast foods. What colour is your shampoo? White. Tell me a silly little old wive’s tale you believed when you were a child: My older sister got me to believe that if you said a word a ridiculous amount of times, it'd be the only word you knew how to say anymore, lmao. Shut up, I was little. What was the last magazine you bought? Do you subscribe to any? I don't buy magazines. Whose Facebook profile did you last look at? Was there anything that caught your attention? Uh, that's a good question. Do you regret your last relationship? Not at all. What’s better, mashed potatoes or sweet potatoes? Mashed potatoes, though I'm picky with them and the texture. Did you ever used to make cookies, cakes, or pie with your grandma? No. Do you like kids? Not especially. They ask too many questions and can be really rude, even though I know they usually don't mean to be. What are you listening to? I'm watching Gab Smolders play Dino Crisis 2. I finished her playthrough of Final Fantasy X, so now I feel a void in my soul that I am trying to fill with a new series lmao. Do you burn incense? Not really anymore. I'm not against it, I just... haven't. What is your favorite kind of cracker? Cheese-Itz. Can you name a single song by Billy Joel without looking it up? Yeah; I can name a few, actually. My dad loves Billy Joel, so I heard him a lot growing up. "Piano Man" is a classic. Do you like regular peppermint candy canes, or do you prefer different flavored ones [fruits, bubble gum, cinnamon, etc.]? I actually really like the Jolly Rancher ones. Have you ever been kissed while sitting atop the hood of a car? That's actually possible... but I'm not sure. I think I have a faint memory of lying on a car hood with Jason before. What do you think is the dumbest/tackiest piercing? I don't like calling a piercing either of those, like if they make someone feel more confident and attractive, good for them. I can say I'm personally not a fan of the smiley piercing, though. Have you ever requested a song on the radio? No. When I was a kid at a birthday party, though, one of the girls did. Does your mother still take care of you if you get ill? She helps a lot, yeah. What is one song that always brings back memories every time you hear it? Honestly, too many. I attach way too aggressively to songs. Do you currently have any pimples? Not currently, no. Did anything disturb your sleep at all last night? Ugh, yes. I couldn't sleep for shit. How does it make you feel looking at pics with your ex and someone else? I have only seen one picture of Jason with the girl he dated after me and it. Set. Me. On. Fucking. Fire. It's pathetic. If you’re not in college, why? All it did was give me emotional breakdowns. What do you think about MTV? I am way too out of the loop on what goes on on any TV channel to answer this. What was your very first day of your very first job like? What’d you do? How long did it take you to get the hang of it, and feel comfortable with working? This was waaaay too long ago... All I remember is actually being hopeful, though nervous. I never got to the point of feeling comfortable there. Or at any job. If you have a dog, are they friendly to strangers or other dogs? We don't have a dog, but we do have a cat that is EXTREMELY skittish around strangers. Someone he doesn't know comes through the door? He's bolting to hide. Do people ever comment on or joke about your driving? Well, I got flipped off once by a driver, so... I'd consider that a silent comment. I, to this day, don't know why they (it was a group of guys) did it, but it's stuck with me. What was the last thing to move you? Are you easily moved or inspired? The ending of FFX alsdkfjkaljlkwjer. And yes. If you`ve ever seen your very favorite band, did you cry when you saw them? Was it like a dream come true? If you`ve never seen them, do you think you would? I haven't, but I probably would a little bit. Of all the reality competitions you’ve watched, who are some of your all-time favorite contestants and what shows were they from? From America's Got Talent, I adore(d) Landau Eugene Murphy Jr., as well as Prince Poppycock. I keep up with them both on Facebook. Ever had a friend named Alex or John? One of my closest online friends was Alex. A couple years ago she just... got a boyfriend and fell off the face of the earth. Are you happy with your relationship status? I mean... no, I'm ridiculously lonely, but being single is for the best right now. What kind of stuff do you like on your hot dogs? Just ketchup and mustard. Have you ever been in a spelling bee? No. What is the most annoying thing that your parents do? Mom absolutely always assumes she's right. Dad repeats himself like CRAZY. Would you say you’re someone who has good manners? Yes. Did you parents know what gender you were before you were born? Actually, the doctors couldn't determine mine (or any of Mom's kids') because my legs were ALWAYS crossed when they did ultrasounds. Mom says she "knew" I was a girl, though. Have you ever been addicted to something unhealthy? I'm addicted to caffeine, yes. Who makes the best desserts in your entire family? Hm, I dunno. Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? I have very severe sleep apnea that results in very violent nightmares almost any time I sleep without my APAP mask. Even WITH the damn mask, I have them a lot. When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? *shrug* Do you have trouble reading small fonts? Yes. I used to find it aesthetically pleasing, but my vision is just too bad now, even with my (shitty) glasses. Do you know anybody that believes that magic/witchery truly exists? I think so. Do you find watching animals in their natural habitat to be exciting & fascinating? Absolutely!! The last time you had sex: did you want it, or did the other person want it? ... You know it's supposed to be a mutual desire, right?? What does your sibling(s) call you? "Britt." Has anyone you’ve known claimed to be psychic? Maybe? I'm unsure. Did/do you believe them? Hell no. I don't believe in psychics and believe people who claim to be so are manipulative pieces of shit. Is anything annoying you right now? I am bored to an inexplicable level askldjfla;wejlr. Have you ever worn a pair of scrubs? Yeah. Anything in your room that you’re hiding from your parents or someone else? No. Have you ever felt abandoned? Well yes. By definition, my dad abandoned our family. Where are you? I’m in my bed. What’s been the worst part of this day? I've just been so, so bored. I'm sick and fucking tired of dealing with anhedonia. Who last encouraged you to better yourself? My therapist.

[aforrestofstuff]

I’ve been looking at your posts for a while now and I love your Headcanons so much! I only made an acc today just to thank you for making these! Also I’ve also seen your A03 acc and read your fanfics there and I think you’re a great writer! I wrote a huge comment on one of your stories just rambling about how much I like your tumblr and works but I don’t think it sent cause I don’t have an A03 :( today I’m 15 and I was wondering if you’d make Headcanons for how you think S Class heroes would celebrate their birthdays (if that’s alright of course I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna) and also just a question, why don’t you do PPP headcanons at all? He’s an S Class Hero and I think he’s the only hero you skip out on. Other then that, keep making these headcanons cause they are great and inspire me for my own OPM crack storie book I created (Random One Punch Man Crack Fanfictions on Wattpad i only wrote one story there and only said it if you’re interested)

Thank you thank you thank you so much. I’ve already sent you a dm but I just wanted to say it again because I’m literally vibrating with happiness. Happy birthday <3.

Birthday Headcanons:

Terrible Tornado: Sticks a candle in a store-bought cupcake and calls it a day. She’ll go get her nails and hair done, buy herself a new dress, and just spend the entire time relaxing. Fubuki used to throw her parties when they were kids but she doesn’t really expect that from her anymore.

Silverfang: His disciples used to get together and throw him a surprise party every year. However, ever since the Garou Incident, Charanko will take it upon himself to fill the void somewhat and scrape together enough money to buy a cake (or the ingredients to make one) and a small gift. Silverfang can go both ways: he likes people but he can also be quiet and reflective. So, he has a great time regardless of whether or not he has a party and spends the day enjoying nature, meditating, and being thankful for living as long as he has.

Atomic Samurai: He’s not antisocial by any stretch of the word but he prefers to celebrate this day only with those closest to him. He and his disciples do something new every year and it’s always grounded and casual. Sometimes they’ll all go out to drink, sometimes Okama and Iaian will prepare a feast, sometimes they’ll have lighthearted competitions on who’s the best swordsmaster (with weird contests like who can balance their sheaths on their head the longest and who can catch the hilt of their blade after doing a backflip 3 consecutive times). Good times all around. However, if someone mentions Atomic Samurai’s age, he will sass them to oblivion.

Child Emperor: He doesn’t really plan to do anything out of the ordinary. It’s mostly just business as usual on his birthday. But after meeting Zombieman, however, he practically gets dragged out of the lab and into something special each year. Whether it’s a horror movie marathon, a late-night drive to catch a glittering view of the city, or just chilling and stuffing themselves on sweets, it makes Zombieman a little sad to see wasted youth knowing his life (and age) is as fucked up as it is so he tries to make the kid have at least a little fun the best he can. Child Emperor always has a great time and he now sees the importance of valuing youth and no longer shows shame in pausing his work and enjoying himself every once and a while.

Metal Knight: When he wakes up on his birthday, his alarm clock plays a little tune. That’s about it. He sees no real importance behind age or youth or seniority because as long as he’s at his height of intellect, nothing else matters. Gotta build them robots. It’s business as usual.

King: Holy shit. Shut the blinds. Lock the doors. Silence the phones. It’s game time, baby. Twenty-four hours of blue screen madness. He pigs out on chips, soda, buys himself a cake, and absolutely revels in solitude. He calls his mom each year and they talk for hours on end. She tells him how proud she is of him being a kickass hero and killing monsters and he dies a little inside each time but he loves her nonetheless and keeps up the facade for her sake. She sends him a card with a few coupons and a love-filled note about how much she adores him. He nearly cries each year upon receiving it.

Zombieman: He buys the best cigars he can find, cooks himself a massive T-bone, drinks an entire six-pack of beer, and reclines while watching crime movies. He wears sweatpants, polishes his weaponry, plays Mötley Crüe loud enough for his neighbors to yell at him for it, and just has a great time all by himself. He doesn’t really like parties or get-togethers and even sometimes has to take a break from Child Emperor. This is his day to recharge his social battery and sleep for seventeen hours. This is his day to get absolutely wasted on expensive alcohol and accidentally hotbox his own house. This is his day.

Drive Knight: Pretty much the same as Metal Knight. Whenever the clock strikes midnight on his birthday, a little tune plays in his processing unit and that’s about the end of it.

Pig God: Every restaurant in the damn country has a special on his birthday. He just goes around collecting free food, taking pictures with fans, and eats until he can’t eat anymore (which is a lot). The restaurants he visits have pictures of him eating their food on the walls; he’s become a bit of a indication that if he visits a somewhere to eat, the food’s gotta be bomb as hell. He doesn’t really do anything other than that. He doesn’t really strike up conversation or anything, he just eats in silent contentment and that’s enough for everyone to have a good time.

Superalloy Darkshine: He’s a fan favorite as well. Social media will be blowing up with birthday messages, he’ll be trending on whatever the OPM universe equivalent of Twitter is, and he’ll waste no time going out to meet his fans and spreading birthday happiness. He’ll eat cake, drink with strangers, share laughs and smile without stopping. People will give him little gifts and free food and he accepts it all graciously. Everyone’s invited. Good times all around.

Watchdog Man: This is one of the few days of the year in which he takes the day off from protecting City Q. He’ll just sleep a full twenty-four hours and resume his duty the next day like clockwork each year. Sometimes passerby will leave him little gifts on his podium like meats and dog treats but he doesn’t really take any of it since he’s really particular about what he eats.

Flashy Flash: On this day, he spends time reflecting on how much he’s improved since last year and adopts an extra-vigorous training regimen for the next twenty-four hours. One year, he climbed a mountain in sub-zero temperatures. Another, he ran across a saltwater lake without breaking the surface tension of the water. He spends it alone, occasionally has a drink, and that’s about it. Sometimes he’ll go out to have a nice dinner but that’s only on years he believes he’s deserved it.

Demon Cyborg: He doesn’t really care about his birthday. This makes Doctor Kuseno kind of sad because he believes that Genos is still a kid who deserves to enjoy his birthday like one. So, he does what he can to make the day somewhat special while also pertaining to what Genos could want. This is very hard because Genos never outright says he wishes for anything and that means Kuseno has to do a lot of guesswork. It varies year to year, but the best gift he’s ever given Genos was the sense of taste so the kid could eat birthday cake and enjoy it. Genos isn’t too fond of sweets, he much prefers fruits over cakes, but nevertheless, he was so happy to get one step closer to humanity that something malfunctioned in his head and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking for a whole week.

Metal Bat: Go hard or go home. This fuckin kid pulls an all-nighter with Zenko on the weekend of his birthday to stay inside, build a pillow fort, and play video games. They order pizza, do prank calls, play fighting games, and when the sun comes out they get a couple hours of sleep before riding out again at the height of a sugar high to go to the local carnival (he’s a summer baby) and spend a paycheck’s worth of cash. Once they come home, they collapse in Bad’s bed together, curl up, and fall asleep to some movies.

Tanktop Master: He and the Tanktop Gang have an all-out birthday bash. Everyone and their grandma is invited. There’s food, alcohol, and sports playing on the television in the host’s house (each of them take turns every year). The first few hours of partying, everyone’s having lighthearted fun and watching sports and drinking lightly (Tanktoppers drink responsibly). After that, everyone kind of calms down and they all gather around in the living room and sit on the floor together and just talk about what a great year it is to be alive. They catch up, share stories, eat snacks, and wish Tanktop Master the happiest of birthdays. He absolutely adores spending time with his friends and gives a toast to everyone and their hard work. After that, he goes home and calls his mom before going to bed.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: He and his boyfriend share a slice of birthday cake from the prison cafeteria with a single candle stuck into it. His boyfriend gives him crochet and knitting lessons, they and the other prisoners dance to some music, and the guards give him a pat on the back along with some birthday wishes. That’s about it. There’s only so much he can do in prison, but he makes it work with what he has and has the time of his life nevertheless. Angel Hugs all around.

And to answer your question about PPP, I straight up just forgot he existed akshshshs. I’ll be brainstorming some stuff about him soon. Love you lots 💞💞💞💕

[dregstrash]

jealousy, that thing with claws (pt.7)

A/N: Here it is folks the last chapter!! I’m sorry it took so long for this to get out into the world. I can’t begin to describe how thankful I am for all of you who have read this. I wasn’t expecting so many people to want this story, and was so pleasantly surprised when it became a reality. Thank you for showing Petya love, and for always supporting my writing! So, without further ado, hope everyone enjoys!!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 ||

Also now on Ao3!

Tagging: @kestrel-of-herran @ipizzippy @stormwitch-privateer @queenghafa @ysitsohardtofindaname @shadowylighting @alittlelark @privateerrezni @terrywho-cartoons

-

Nikolai was going to kill Zoya. This time she went too far, and now his ass hurts as his horse raced through the battle torn field.

He would have let her go-- if she had asked him. Not that she needed his permission to do anything, but if she had asked or at least let him know he would have sent troops with her. He would have assigned some Grisha out of their guard duties to accompany her. But no. She heard the news that the the Fjerdans had started a skirmish in Petya’s hometown and she had left in the dead of night.

No word. No message. Just an empty room when Nikolai came to her door to ask if she was alright with the news.

His stomach had dropped to his feet when he had first realized where she had gone. For one second, all the hope that Petya had given him that there might be the slimmest of chances that Zoya and him could be something more substantial disappeared. But that disheartening possibility was quickly replaced with bone chilling worry. 

As Nikolai rushed to get supplies together for his reckless solo journey, images of Zoya being struck down by a Fjerdan hand or fighting a mass of enemies by herself kept blocking his vision. And no assurances that she was going to be fine would calm his racing heart.

It was more than half a day’s ride to Petya’s home town, but by the fifth hour of his pace, Nikolai began to hear the sounds of a raging battle and he felt what little breath he had leave his lungs as his horse crested the hill and the battle worn land assaulted his eyes.

The city was being sieged and bodies were littered on both sides. Nikolai’s mind tunneled down to where most of the battle was taking place, and he didn’t think he could have been any happier to see a small tornado ripping through the Fjerdans line of defense.

He nudged his already tired horse down and drew his pistol from his side. 

-

All in all it took him about fifteen minutes to finally cut his way through where Zoya and Petya were. But it felt like years had passed. 

Nikolai’s horse was unfortunately struck down by a Fjerdan gun, and he very happily reciprocated the kindness to the shooter. Then there was the brief scuffle he faced with three other Fjerdan soldiers that left him with no more than a bruised side and maybe a fracture to one of his fingers. That didn’t matter, though, what mattered that his adrenaline was up, his heart was beating, and that Zoya had the most amusing look of surprise on her face.

“What in all the saints are you doing here?” She cried. 

Before Nikolai could answer a round of shots from the other side had sounded off, and on instinct Nikolai ducked towards Zoya, covering her in the circle of his arms. The shots stopped for a half a second, and without thinking, both of them had shot up from their cover and delivered an attack of their own. The soldiers who were still standing fired at will, and Zoya releasing a tidal wave to the offending line. 

Nikolai took the time to really look at the other side of the battlefield and cursed as he spotted the tank that Brekker had told him about last time they had a civil conversation. 

He scanned the faces of the men and women soldier around him.

“Xander, Kuwei,” Nikolai bellowed, the two Grisha startled at the sound of their names but didn’t hesitate to approach him. “You need to stop that tank before the Fjerdans decide they need to use it. Take three more foot soldiers with you for cover. GO!” 

There was no time to have second thoughts. The two went off, and Nikolai turned back to Zoya, only to find her struggling over an unconscious man, leaving her guard completely open.

“Zoya!” Nikolai yelled as he spied an enemy soldier sneaking up behind her. 

She didn’t turn around fast enough and before anything happened, Nikolai soundly put a bullet through his skull. 

“I don’t need your help!” She yelled at him, even as she struggled to pull the man up with her.

“Obviously you--” Nikolai’s retort died on his lips as soon as he recognized the figure in her arms. 

It was Petya. He was covered in dirt, and his shirt had been torn bloody. His left arm was mangled, and from what Nikolai could see, his chest was hardly moving.

“What happened?” Nikolai came up on Petya’s other side and helped Zoya get him into more cover. 

“Those feral ice beasts had thrown a grenade right at this house that hadn’t been cleared yet. Petya had gotten the little girl out, but not before it went off and this fucking house landed on top of him. We need to get him to the Medik on the other side of the village.” Zoya said frantically.

The regular stab of jealousy that Nikolai was oddly getting used to took another hit on his heart, but this was neither the time nor place. Petya was injured. Zoya cared enough about him to risk her own bloody life for him. And if saving this man was what it took for Zoya to be happy, then so be it. 

“Zo, you’re not going to be able to make it all the way to the Medik tent. And someone needs to stay here to organize this chaos.” Nikolai said grunting as Petya’s weight shifted more to his side. “I’ll take Petya. We need to end this fight here and now before other villages get the wrong end of a tank in their face.”

Zoya met Nikolai’s gaze over Petya’s unconscious head, and despite the war that was raging around them, he had to pause. He just needed one more moment to drink in the intensity of her blue-heated gaze, the righteous fury that always burned so brightly, the sharp lines her face made when she was about to do something dangerous. It was a look he loved-- would always love. 

And this might be the last time that this look would be directed towards him.

An explosion sounded off to the west side of the battlefield and reality came crashing back in. 

Nikolai forcibly took Petya away from Zoya, and grunted as he deadman-lifted his friend. 

“I’ll see you again, Nikolai.” Zoya said simply. A state of truth that wasn’t to be contested.

His tired muscles were beginning to fully take in Petya’s weight, but even so, he managed a weak smile and said, “I’ll hold you to that, Nazyalensky.”

-

The moon was full tonight. A good sign for the future, Nikolai hoped, because after today, he could use a good sign or maybe twenty more.

Thankfully, Xander and Kuwei were able to stop the tank before anything happened, but not before Xander suffered a nasty blow to the head. Nikolai didn’t think Kuwei had it in him, but he managed to drag Xander all the way back to the Medik and hasn’t left his side since.

The boy had potential, and maybe it was time Nikolai started paying attention to that.

Once the tank was safely dispatched, it was almost clockwork the way his soldiers were able to beat the Fjerdans back to a retreat. Nikolai wasn’t able to get to the front lines once he saw the utter chaos the village had been under. No one had really taken charge of keeping supplies safe or which injured gets the most attention. His soldiers were off on patrols, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to bring order to the frantic chaos. 

He had left Petya in the care of one of the better Corporalkis, and had thrown himself to work. He needed to do something. He couldn’t sit beside an unconscious man, letting thoughts of Zoya drive him insane.

So he organized supplies, assured the citizens of the village, helped with making more defense measures around the safe haven his soldiers had managed to carve out in the midst of the attack. He did everything he could until there was nothing left to do, and he looked up to see that night had fallen. 

Exhaustion was deep in his bones. He could feel it settled and coat his muscles, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. 

“You never answered my question.” Her voice came out of the shadow of trees, and he didn’t bother turning around to meet her. 

He just kept staring up at the moon, and focused on the hard bark biting into his back. 

But Zoya was never one to be ignored so she stood right in front of him, forcing him to look up and see her dark hair silhouetted by the moonlight, casting her face in an ethereal glow.

“You’re going to have to specify, my dear Nazyalensky.” Nikolai sighed, “If the question is how one can look so good sitting in the moonlight, I won’t have any answers for you. One can only--”

“I asked you what you were doing here.” She said irritably. “A small village battle is hardly any notice for a king.”

“And I’d argue that it’s no place for a general either, but I’m a much smarter man to really contest anything you say.” Nikolai smirked, hoping against all hopes that she’d leave him alone. 

It hurt having her glaring at him like that. It hurt that despite everything, there was still this niggling doubt that she’d still choose someone else, and that he’d have to be okay with that.

“You shouldn’t be here, Nikolai.” 

“Well, it seemed like everyone was was doing reckless things for people they care about and I refuse to not be on trend. I’m king after all. It should be setting those kinds of precedence.” 

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Zoya huffed in exasperation, and finally dropped to sit in front of him. 

“Petya needed my help.” 

“Clearly.”

“His village was going to be destroyed if it wasn’t for me.”

“I’m sure they’ll erect a statue in your honor.”

“You would have done the same for a friend.”

Whatever snarky reply was sitting on Nikolai’s tongue evaporated, as the word friend rang in between them.

It was such a simple word-- an overused one if he was honest, but with one word the dark cloud that was pressing against his chest began to lift.

“A friend?” He said slowly. He watched Zoya’s face carefully, desperately trying to read her face for any hint to the thoughts that were going on in her mind. 

“A friend.” She shrugged, “I’m assuming you know what those are.” 

“I do. Because that’s what we are, unless those hours of you calling me an idiot were telling me something else.” 

All of Nikolai’s unspoken sentiments were hanging in the air. His questions, his doubts, his feelings were an undercurrent to the calm waves of his tone, and he’d never admit himself to be cowardly. But in this moment, with Zoya looking at him curiously, he couldn’t make his mouth form what he really wanted to say. For once, he was speechless, and he was in the complete mercy of Zoya who was looking at him oddly.

“I--” Zoya started, but quickly groaned in frustration. Nikolai started to smirk, he almost started to say he’d wait all night for her response, instead the next thing he knew Zoya’s mouth was pressed against his and her hands were clutching to the front of his dirtied shirt pulling him closer.

He wrapped his arms around her, tilting his head a little more to get a better angle, and he’d gladly fight another ten Fjderan soldiers if that’s what it took for Zoya to make that small moan that she gave when he had started nibbling on her lower lip. 

“You’re still an idiot, Nikolai.” Zoya said as she rested her forehead against his, “But for some reason that’s supposed to be endearing to me.”

Nikolai laughed slightly and then brought their lips back together. He still didn’t know what this thing between them was, or what this kiss could mean, but he did know that this was a start--it was a beginning, and that was enough.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I have no idea what I'm doing and I must scream about my friend's OTP

*bangs pots together* I HEARD THIS FANDOM NEEDED MORE SICKFIC SO I CAME HERE TO PROVIDE With angst too! It's simple, even simplistic to a fault in fact, but I'm kind of happy with it? The beginning especially, man I love writing the literal equivalent of suffering. The ending may be a letdown, but I hope it's decent anyway.

also yeah can we all stan my good pal @chess-of-flowering-kingdom's writing in the chat because she's much better than me at this FE3H thing, she’s like an icon or something in this fandom

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Thanatophobia

Summary: [thanatophobia: noun. Literally, “fear of death”; a feeling of dread, anxiety or sollicitude when thinking of or faced by death or the process of dying. Derivated fromthe Ancient Greek "θάνατος", death, and "φόβος", fear or anxiety.] Ingrid almost loses someone again. 

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (post-timeskip) Ships: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)

Wordcount: 2.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Her vision was blurry from the water flooding in her eyes, her hearing by the sobs she was trying to keep inside, her thoughts from the swirling concerns and confusion hitting it at once. Her head ached, so did her heart, and her stomach was hardly able to keep up with the nauseating worry she was finding herself to be the victim of.

Yet, and it only hurt further to admit it, even the best training in the world couldn’t have prevented this, so all she could do was not let herself get eaten away by her sorrow, as looking like a mourning widow would do nothing to improve the absolutely abhorrent situation that was unfolding right before her helpless eyes.

 It wasn’t like it was her fault, she knew that. She couldn’t have prevented it even if she had tried her hardest: in a way, this was bound to happen, but that train of thought only made it worse. What, was she supposed to just stay here and do nothing because this was always going to end in some tragedy one way or the other? Was she supposed to believe there was fate above all of their heads menacingly staring at them and waiting for the first opportunity to cause them misery to happen?

As it stood, Ingrid hated being unable to do anything, always wanted to do something and be of some use whenever things turned sour; yet reality was forcing itself on her, itself and its terrible sides and toll. It was telling her that no matter what she did, no matter what she was trying to do, no matter where she went, no matter how or why, it was a superior face on her soul bound to its realm by her flesh and blood.

If reality wanted to pain her again and make someone die on her for a second time, it could, and it wanted very desperately to show her this without any possible contestation on her part.

 Perhaps it hurt her even more to know this would eventually happen, no matter what she said or did. Ingrid had always watched over Sylvain ever since they had known each other, had gotten to know every side of his personality to the point she could predict every single thing he was about to go through with. He was a free spirit, someone who took his life lightly, a true skirt-chaser, someone who listened to her and stared into her eyes without ever considering if her words could have an impact on his life.

Ingrid had always found him to take his existence too much on the light side of things, and Glenn’s demise had only enforced his feeling, but she could only confirm that to a whole new extent she had never wished to behold today.

 They were fighting alongside on the battlefield, the two of them, against the enemy forces. She was the prideful knight, he was the free-thinking monk, and they worked better than she’d have expected coming him and his seemingly lack of seriousness about anything that involved life-or-death stakes. Both on the battlefield, sharing a portion of land as decided by their strategist, weapons out and senses sharp, focus undefeatable as she defeated her foes one by one on her fierce mount.

At least, it was in her case, because Ingrid couldn’t stop spotting in the corner of her how sloppy her battle partner was. Usually, and that was one of the qualities she could give him, he was more than competent when fighting, He’d usually slipped in a couple teases and flirtatious lines of banter between two battles, yet all she heard are pants and wheezes coming from his side, her moves slow and unprecise, the absolute opposite of what a warrior was supposed to be standing for in her eyes.

 But the battle was raging on, so she ignored it at first and just made it out to be a minor thing. Must have been because he had been chasing skirts all night again, without thinking of tomorrow’s battle (even if that seemed too easy of an explanation). It was a day like any other, even if the taste of blood wasn’t as strong as it’d have usually been. Nothing wrong to report on, truly, or so she thought (or tried convincing herself of? It wasn’t clear, not even in the heat of the moment where lucidity of the mind was key). And, in her point of view, it all looked fine and usual until she noticed she was alone killing off the last of the enemy’s forces.

As it stood, meddling with the dried leaves of the early autumn metamorphosis, crimson poking out from the light browns and oranges, was the unconscious body of a childhood friend.

 The assault had stopped for them, in the far-end part of the battlefield; yet the feeling of dread wetting her back in cold sweats didn’t give in, nourishing itself from the misery plaguing her mind. Ingrid got off her mount, her stallion’s reins firmly enclosed between her fingers, approaching the suddenly shapeless form of who could have only been Sylvain if she squinted enough with heavy steps and a heavier breath.

She slowly crouched, feet trying to avoid stepping on the leftovers of the battle, until her available hand could touch him, the other gripping harder on the reins as soon she realized what was wrong. A clump formed in her throat, her stomach twirled, she felt like she was about to get sick from the sudden rush of worry nausea taking a hold of her system like a demon possessing her body. Without uttering a word, she put him on his back, finally able to see his dirtied face and harsh breathing, skin paler than the corpses around them, red splattered across his cheeks like blood on a soldier’s attire.

 Ingrid didn’t waste words trying to wake him up, but her hands burned when she let go of the rein to put him on her mount and escort him back to safety, back to their base while she walked, in silent, with a troubling vision and sobs threatening to exit her chest if she wasn’t careful to them even for a moment. Her feet crushing the dirt and leaves, three breathes of different intensities and faraway cries were the only things she accepted hearing for the time being, careful that none of these breathings stopped all of a sudden and forever.

She was sniffling worry in. This was happening, under her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was no healer, no priestess of any kind. She didn’t know how to beg a deity for someone’s wellbeing, all she knew was fighting and court codes, in the end. Despite the toll of the battle on the enemy’s forces and her army’s victory, her heart couldn’t scream any cry of war, couldn’t sing a hymn, because it was busy crying while her mind was busy not to let herself do the same.

 And, in this time of great mental distress, sorrowful Ingrid realized something: for the first time in her life, no matter what had happened before since they had been children, no matter what she could say or even think of uttering, she couldn’t do anything for Sylvain.

 The rest of things was a blur from then on. She brought her horse back to the base, couldn’t explain what had happened aside from the idea that he had collapsed while she was looking elsewhere to fend against the enemy, and watched events unfold while her hands went unoccupied and her legs restless. Her entire body turned into lead jelly, stiff like metal yet tender from her weaknesses striking at once. Healers tried their best, but only words of apology came out from them: they had spells for injuries, not illnesses, and they were as helpless as she was.

When she was invited to see him after a more formal exam, shortly before the battle ended with her army’s flawless and stainless victory, Ingrid turned down the offer. She wasn’t ready to face the situation, not at first at last, and went for a walk outside instead to calm down the nausea and stop her thoughts from becoming a tornado inside her skull.

 The air had gone cold since the battle had ended, the warmth of her companions and blood pouring on the floor having given stead to night’s silence and comfortable judgement. Nobody could see her now, all inside either celebrating or getting concerned, maybe both; but even her hunger had gone missing, buried under the thick layers of concern she kept putting on because of her own uselessness.

Her hands rubbed against her arms, her breath emitted clear smoke against the black backdrop of the night embracing her, her feverish skin finally calming down to a point where she felt like she could face her friend again, even if this entire fiasco made her doubt her own feelings’ nature. Perhaps staying for too long in the dark quietness of the deserted paths only accelerated her uncertainties, so she went back inside, the warmth of a group reaching back to her right as her skin was shivering.

 Her heart was wavering with the intensity of a typhoon, even as her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she made her way to the infirmary. She knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply, not expecting any considering it was already fairly late in the evening. The silence of the room reminded her of the outsides, which eased her heart into entering the room, even if immediately the sight of Sylvain in this bed, left to devilish devices, stung her deeper than she’d have thought.

Her hands were fiddling together by themselves as she sat on the chair that was already there, eyes unable to face it. She wanted to weep at last, let her sorrow run free; but that’d have been disgracing Sylvain, disgracing all the cautious words she had ever told him and all the messages she had tried to drill through his skull as much as possible so he wouldn’t ridicule himself again, so she wouldn’t suffer second-hand embarrassment from him.

 Her heart was pounding. In truth, she wasn’t confused about her feelings, more than she wanted to deny them: really, falling for her childhood friend wasn’t something she wanted. It was even worse if she considered how he was such a skirt-chaser, flirting with everything that moved or had a pulse, from her grandmother to their female colleagues: it was going to end badly for her if she truly stopped lying to herself about it, if something made her stop rejecting what she shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

The problem was that this something had already come around. No matter how much she told herself this, seeing Sylvain in this bed was like watching herself lose Glenn all over again: it started small, it always ended terribly, this much she had been taught and she had learnt over the years, throughout her experiences and connections with people. She was afraid of losing someone else, so she denied their value to her and tried keeping her tears inside, even if she knew it was all a lie, even if she was fully aware it had been nothing but a charade of refusal and unhealthy denial.

 Yet, even with all of her efforts, Ingrid was crying, tears rolling down her face and sorrow finally making its way out of her airways, pouring in thoughts and tears. How ungraceful, how weak coming from the woman who had wanted to become Dimitri’s most fellow knight, the one who grief and death shouldn’t have scared like a little girl whom the world had deemed to forever be lost in the eternal penumbra whose last beacon of light had been engulfed by the shadows.

At least, she was alone, unseen from the world, with the only witness being an unconscious man. It was the only consolation she had, the one thing fate had decided to keep her away from being shame and dishonour, but it was minor compared to the pain raging in her chest.

 Until she felt a trembling finger stroking her cheek, stealing a tear away.

 With her vision now restored, Ingrid saw the impossible: Sylvain, awake, the faintest smile he had given her on his face, whose finger was indeed against her cheek despite the weakness she could tell came from it. For a moment, a short moment, time stopped, until he broke down coughing and her heart started stinging again.

“’nice to see you, Ing,” he slurred as he looked at her, breathing still as heavy as it used to, glass-eyed and disgraceful all around. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability on his part…

“…nice to see you too, Sylvain,” she tried to ignore that fact and hide her relief to see him conscious enough.

 It meant that, in another sense, she could finally do the one thing she should have done all along.

“Never, ever do that again. I don’t want to escort you out of the battlefield after harvesting your body like rotting wealth.”

“That’s not a… nice thing to say…”

“Do you think worrying me was a nice thing to do?”

If she couldn’t have hidden the tears forever, she surely couldn’t have pretended like she wasn’t blushing from embarrassment after dropping such a line. In fact, like a foolush beginner, she had stolen her own speech away from herself. Talk about a bad move on her part.

 “I… I made you worry…?” His voice was unnaturally groggy and low, as if gravel had infected his airways. It was like speaking to someone else altogether if she didn’t focus on his face.

“…of course you did. We’re friends.”

“Ah…” His expression was genuine, this much she could tell, but his sudden solemnity weirded out in some measure. “Sorry… I thought it’d do the opposite, but…” He coughed, yet smiled, and it confused her even further. “’was wrong.”

“You sure were…”

 They fell into some kind of constantly broken silence, wordless moments interrupted by coughing fits she had never wanted to hear and desired to see gone for the rest of their existences. Her heart continued aching against her bones, fatigue never truly coming to her senses, until Sylvain put her hand away from her face and she missed his undesired hotness.

“Y’know, I’ve always l’ved you, Ing…” He slurred, his face’s flushing making her unable to tell if it was genuine, just a delirium kind of side effect, or a plain joke. Considering the context, she scratched the last theory out on her quick mental list.

Not like she’d have possibly had the wittiness to reply to that in her usual fashion, not when she had feared for his life merely an hour ago all evening.

  “I…”

He’d forget that by the time morning rolled around, right? Someone like him wouldn’t have normally laid down his feelings like that. She could, maybe just this once, maybe because he was alive and she was more than happy about this fact, allow herself a confession of her own.

“It may have been reciprocal for a longer time that I thought.”

 Her response must have rendered him speechless, because all she saw him do was blush even further and almost faint on her.

“Hey, are you alright?!” She yelled without really realizing about it. “You should rest, that’s the only way you’ll win against this thing.”

She still didn’t know what the nature of the illness was exactly, but for now, she’d do without that piece of information. It wasn’t like she had dared asking or even thinking about it, it could have sent her into another wave of choked sobs if she had.

“I… s’pose you’re right… See ya later, Ing…”

“See you. Take care.”

 She waited for him to completely fall asleep before leaving the room, her heart still heavy from the concern, exhaustion of the day and sudden revelations that had showered on her out of the blue. It really hadn’t been the right moment to have those, this much was for sure.

Yet, tomorrow seemed a bit more promising now. She still felt helpless, useless on the surface, and her chest ached from seeing such a dear friend (this, she couldn’t deny anymore) in such a pitiful condition. Nonetheless, she left his room before she could give him the one thing he didn’t quite want in her opinion, her pity, and thought sleep would clear everyone’s minds out of whatever had bothered them during the day and made them endlessly stir.

Yeah, she just needed a good night of sleep and for him to be alright. It was a lot to ask for, but she’d be caught red-handed trying to get that to happen nonetheless.

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By the time day rolled around, even if the fever was still clogging his brain, Sylvain hadn’t forgotten about their conversation.

Ingrid didn’t quite know what to make out of that realization.

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jokes on everyone (that includes me, a clown) I know very little about the game, it was just to make my good friend Azure smile and write even more angst

As such, I want to formally apologize if anyone is OOC beyond recognition.

[purplesurveys]

542

Would you rather have your own, personal chef or maid? A chef would be perfect, but for practicality’s sake I’d go with a maid. I’m a little ditzy when it comes to chores, so it would be nice if there was someone to help me out; plus maids (at least in the Philippines) are also expected to know how to cook so it would also already be like having a chef of my own. Which do you prefer: M&M's, Skittles, or Reese's Pieces? Reese’s Pieces. I don’t really like the other two – Skittles I could probably eat two of before finding them too sour, and I got tired of M&Ms after eating too much of them as a kid. If you could be the sidekick of a superhero which superhero would you pick? Wonder Woman? Idk I don’t really like superheroes. If you could control the seasons-which season would you want it to be now? I wish it was winter forever and ever just because I think I’d enjoy it. Where on your body would you never get a tattoo? Where I give birth from, lmao.

Who is your favorite movie villain? There’s a lot of fantastic villains, but Annie Wilkes from Misery takes the cake. Who is the biggest drama queen or drama king in your life? Without a doubt, it’s my mom. Around three weeks ago, she just stopped talking to us for like four days for absolutely NO reason - it was right around when N passed, so her shenanigans didn’t exactly help my situation either. Do you think that you could ever win a food eating contest? I’d like to think that I can, hahahah. I love food :((( What is your favorite thing about the country you live in? This country has sucked me into the malling-as-a-pastime culture, so I like that we have a lot of malls to choose from. The nightlife culture is also nice, but only if you know where to go. Have you ever snuck somebody into your house? Nope, would have been too dangerous because my mom finds out everything anyway. Have you ever snuck into somebody else’s house? I’ve snuck into Gab’s a couple times when I was too drunk to go home, then I’d leave extra early so that no one other than her would know I was there. If you could merge 2 candy bars together, which 2 would you pick? OMG, Twix and Reese’s would be bomb. Or the Hershey’s Cookies and Cream bar and Reese’s. Honestly, have you ever thrown garbage out of the window of a car? I’m not a garbage person myself, so no. Once while stuck in standstill traffic going to school, the driver in front of me tossed his cigarette just outside of his car. I still regret not going out of my own and throwing it back to him. What music artist do you wish would have a come-back? ONE DIRECTION What is the first song that comes to mind when I say: Michael Jackson? Thriller. If you could have any animal in the world as a pet, which would you want? I’d always want a dog. What is your favorite flavor potato chip? Original works wonders, but I also like cheese and barbecue. Honestly, have you ever stuck gum under a table or desk? Nope. Do you know how to French braid? I’ve tried braiding all my life and I just can’t do it. If you add an "izzle" to the end of your first name, what would it be? Robynizzle. Nachizzle would be proud. Which would you find more menacing: dinosaurs or dragons? Dragons. Can you name 3 different kinds of dinosaurs? Stegosaurus, Brachiosaurus, Diplodocus. Can you say "Sally sells sea shells" fast without messing up? Sure. I had a phase as a kid where I practiced a lot on tongue twisters, so this particular one is one of those I got to be relatively good at. If your parents could read your thoughts, would you be in trouble? I’m just thinking about skipping on schoolwork for today to do a bunch of surveys, so no I don’t think it would be an issue for them. If you could re-paint your bedroom any color which color would you pick? Pastel pink. Honestly, have you ever egged somebody's house or car? I have not. Kool-Aid - yummy or nasty? Never tasted it. Which of your friends is closest to you in age? Luisa is a few days older than me. I remember calling her Ate when I first met her, then when we got closer and I found out she was also a 1998 baby I completely dropped the honorific for her haha. When was the last time you bought a new pair of shoes? A few months into 2019. Can you say "hello" in another language? Sure. Do you ever wish that you were a couple inches taller? Yeah, I keep thinking how nice it would be. If somebody asked you to parallel park a car right now could you do it? I mean I wouldn’t say no to trying, but I can’t guarantee that I can do the job HAHAHAHA Do you ever shove stuff under your bed when you "clean" your room? Yes. Which are you better at: jump-roping or hula-hooping? I LOVED doing both as a kid and was good at both. I don’t know what I would be *better* at...I spent my childhood practicing both all the damn time. I’d pick the jump rope over the hula hoop though; swinging my hips can get tiring. Do you like Licorice? I liked it very briefly when I saw the high school kids eating it in the first Twilight Saga movie lolololol but it soon turned meh for me. Did anybody ever read bedtime stories to you when you were younger? I dunno if my parents did it but if they did, I don’t remember it. If eating chocolate was against the law, would you break it? Not really. I can probably live without chocolate bars. We’d have a problem if chocolate altogether was banned, including chocolate-flavored anything. Are you musically inclined? Hah, no. I was snubbed that talent. Which natural disaster do you find the most terrifying? Tornadoes. We don’t get it here ever so I wouldn’t know what to do or expect if one were to happen. Do you have any bruises on your body right now? From what? I don’t, as far as I know. Do you have a favorite Johnny Depp movie? What is it? Not really. I liked A Nightmare on Elm Street though. Do you hurt the people who you love the most? I have in the past. Do you think you act younger or older than your age? I don’t really know; you’d have to ask the people I hang out with. What was the last red thing you ate? Gochujang samgyupsal. If I gave you a Yo-Yo right now, could you do any tricks? Mmmm no, it wasn’t my toy of choice as a kid.

[forwhycas]

Part 1 (still working on actual title)

Hello,I’ve been working on this little fanfic for a few months now and have about 70 pages of work, this first part will hopefully draw you in to read more, reader+roger taylor, if you have any suggestions for a title please message me!

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Typical schedule. Wake up, kick out some random girl from the night before, sometimes a guy. Get ready for work, which consisted of old guys telling you to keep the photos ‘appropriate’, to be fair you did take a picture of some dancer topless once, but it was supposed to be an article about youth in the 70’s, so what better way to show that then breasts? You worked for The Private Eye, a magazine company that covered controversial topics and people. Ever since then they checked every article and picture you processed.

 Art shows once a month really made paying the bills easier, due to an old professor from college that loved your ‘vibe’, depending on what kind of paintings or drawings or photos you displayed, depended on what you could splurge on and buy new paint or something from the thrift shop. Come home say hi to your neighbor from across the hall who always seemed to be either coming or going when you were getting home from work. Sometimes you would hear him play the drums while making dinner, he’s actually good, so it made making dinner fun to just dance around to the beat. Sometimes you would just draw for hours and listen to him play the drums, you would go out with your polaroid and take pictures at the club and come back and he would still be playing.

 Coming home from a typical shitty day of work, you noticed that the apartment door was already open. Looking in made your blood boil. It was completely trashed. You immediately knew it was Krista, she tried surprising you at work once and while walking by your car in the parking garage, she saw you and this dude fucking in the back of your car. You never thought she would be this mad, seeing as it was her idea to have an open relationship. You only had a small collection of personal photos from when you were young and drawings that your mother had made for you. Work that was priceless and meaningful, you could never replace this. The living room was destroyed, everything that was on the walls, now on the floor with holes kicked through some of your favorite posters.

 You turned around to look to see if the door was broken as well and it was, fucking great the landlord won’t fix it and you don’t have the money till the end of the month for this kind of expense. You needed help. You heard the familiar sound of your neighbor playing the drums, if you didn’t have plans with your friends in an hour you wouldn’t have needed help, but you did, and they had flown all the way from home to see you, you were not going to cancel. You made your way to his door and knocked, then knocked again, and again.

 “YEA HOLD ON” 

The door opened and he was sweaty and had his drum sticks in his left hand. He looked irritated.

“Hey, sorry to disrupt but I could really use someone’s help right now, my ex destroyed my place, and its just completely fucking trashed…”

 While you rambled on about all of this, he was just scanning you up and down without shame, dude seemed like he always got what he wanted.

 “Yea love, sure, just give me a second and I’ll be over, I’d say leave the door un locked but it looks broken.”

 You rolled your eyes while smiling and thanked him, shamelessly checking him out from behind when he went into his apartment, nice ass you thought. You turned around on you heal and walked back into what looked like a fucking tornado, but nope it was just the wrath of Krista! You heard his door close and his foot-steps close in behind you, you heard a chuckle.

 “What did you do to piss him off so much? This is……this is just ridiculous.”

 “She caught me fucking some dude in my car on her way to surprise me at work”

 You shrugged as you took a drag from you cigarette.

 “HA, classic, well was it worth it at least, was he any good?”

 He had the smuggest look on his face thinking you were going to shy away from answering, but nah.

 “He was great but looking at the mess that is my apartment it definitely was not worth it”

 You laughed as you said this looking back it was actually hilarious!

 “I’m Roger by the way.”

 “I’m Lacey……wanna a drink? A cig? A joint……..all three?”

 “I’m definitely gonna need a drink for this.”

 You poured him a glass of straight up whiskey, and then lit another cigarette up that he seconds later took from your mouth and winked at you while putting it between his own lips.

 “Are these all of yours? Did you take all of these?”

 He motioned to the pile of crumbled up and torn photos he had just went through.

 “Yup”

 He nodded and continued to pick up stuff and continued to look at them in the process. 5 drinks later and you both had gotten the living room picked up.

 “What’s this supposed to be?”

 He was motioning to the huge canvas that had the beginnings of a painting of your childhood house on it, you started to tear up and you walked over to the liquor cabinet pouring yourself a drink.

 “It was the beginning of something important”

 You turned around and got your wallet out of your bag and grabbed the only photo you had of your childhood home and handed it to him. He looked at the picture then the painting. Then he handed it back to you.

 “And I thought I was an asshole.”

 You instantly laughed.

 “Random and off topic but I hear you play the drums a lot, your wicked good.  You should join a band and make a couple of albums……”

 You looked back at him and chuckled, at this point you started to walk down the hall and you could hear his foot-steps behind you, following you to the next Krista mis hap. The place where you and her had many splendid nights, wow the things she was good at.

 “So you listen to Queen? What do you think?”

 “You guys are different, I like it.”

 You smiled, but it soon disappeared as you saw your clothes scattered around your bedroom, completely destroyed. You hadn’t even noticed that at first when you were in here, but yea she did, it was a fucking mess. Angry tears are welling up again, don’t cry in front of drummer boy, don’t cry. Fuck your crying, just silently let that out and get back to cleaning. Have another drink. You knew he knew you were crying. He came up to you and took the clothes from your hand and put them back on the floor, he had the most piercing blue eyes.

 “Are we having a staring contest now or……”

 He just looked right into your glassy green eyes and smiled. He lifted your chin with his hand and smiled.

 “Chin up love, I know the best place to replace this wardrobe.”

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So part 1! A little boring but I have so much more to share!!

[sawyersscribbles]

Poetic Character Blurbs

Naomi is the frozen lake at the beginning of November, ice so thin that it could shatter with the tap of a finger. She’s a coffee drunk at midnight. A fragment of a broken mirror ceasing to be clean but never ceasing to be sharp. Windows of a high-up building. A single cloud in an empty sky. Crying over photographs of memories you want to tear apart.

Ryker is a distant storm, far enough away that it causes no worry, but makes the neighbors stand on their porches outside and watch it move. Clapping along to almost-forgotten songs. The piece of sidewalk kicked all the way from a schoolhouse to a home. Broken radios and broken televisions. The paint of an ancient house, once bright and vibrant but graying and cracking after each passing day in the sun.

Buck is a smashed display case in a crowded shopping mall, on display but avoided by the other customers. A child’s eyes weaving around the shadows on the street. Torn open letters before the recipient could read them. Liquid of a cracked-open glow stick dripping through shaking fingers. The earth regrowing around the ugliness of man and taking back what was rightfully hers.

Arcadia is the first apple of the autumn; no other fruit matching its sweetness or crispness. Multiple exclamation points at the end of a happy text. Long sleeves that dangle over fingertips. Sloppily applied makeup but perfectly brushed hair. Pink lemonade that’s a tad sour, but sold only for a few coins. A toy beach ball washed onto the shores of a foreign nation. Declaring that you can help in any way needed, without knowing how.

January is a wind blowing across a tundra. The silhouette of the moon being disrupted by a single, tiny bird. The quietness of underwater. An abandoned swing set, still standing after decades. Fogged up car windows. The vibrations of deep music through your entire body. A ransacked convenience store, with the tip jar left unharmed. Feeding the starved animals at the zoo. Screaming loudly but hearing nothing, wondering if you had even said anything at all.

Rabbit is the sun on the horizon, unsure if it is sunrise or sunset. A toy robot with the back panel removed, its circuits and probes scattered lost on the carpeting. A half-melted milkshake left in the light. An abandoned car, picked clean from trinket scavengers. The uniquely colored lightning which makes the local news. The last song of a summer dance. Waving at a passing train, whose passengers cannot see you.

Toby is a fire tornado, possible only in the most specific of environments and the source of don’t-try-this-at-home science projects.  A delayed reaction from a scary movie. Pulling grass from a field and showing the ground with it. Shattered wine glasses and the spilled wine resembling blood stains. Fluorescent lights and unbloody bandages. A laugh at the most inappropriate times. Talking to yourself while in the house alone, just to hear another voice.

Diesel is snowfall in October; unexpected and a pleasant surprise. Tipped over toy soldiers and airplanes. A half-finished puzzle, with many of the pieces missing after being constructed and reconstructed over and over. The battle cry of hundreds of children at an unexpected half day of school. Carefully wrapped butter caramel pieces arranged in a pattern on a table. Arm wrestling contests and rigged thumb wars. Being the last smile among those who had forgotten how to perform the act.

Tag list: @idreamonpaper @nicky-writes @emorawrites @dreamsofbooksandmonsters @thewitchthetimeladythehuntress @oliviagordonwrites @theguildedtypewriter @gentledsoul @lady-redshield-writes @all-my-novels @pagingdrsleep @leomckane @firewritten @agateskittles @virago-caelorum @erisunderthemoon @nashbranson @yoitssabrinee @we-honeygirls @pen-and-sword-writing @writingonjupiter @thewrittenpost @leofailsatwriting @possibledreamswriting @toboldlywrite @reeseweston @writevevo @cirianne @candlelitwriting @inknindecision @sleepy-and-anxious @nerocael @omgbrekkerkaz @typewriterhelps @muffindragon227 @a-deanskidgellwrites @sunnydwrites @lefttowritee @jellybeanwriter @indecentpause@endlesshourglass @shipthedame

[annalavder]

task 001: CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

( admin laurie, 21, est )  — annabelle lauder just moved in the SUMMER HOUSE, and she looks a lot like elizabeth gillies ! rumor has it, this 25 years-old cisfemale is (organized & thoughtful), but also (skeptical & anxious), but that doesn’t stop her from being in the summertime spirit! outside of the house, she who works as a commercial interior designer. oh, and she reminds me a lot of (busy new york subways & a white blouse tucked in shorts). i wonder what she will bring to the house!

hi everybody! admin laurie here, just trying to control my own enthusiasm about opening my first ever rp! underneath the read more, you will discover an AWFULLY long description of anna. as requested by the task, i’ll stick to her biography and answer more about her relationships in following task drops (spoiler alert!). i hope this example will inspire you or make the task clear to you! if not, please, message the main and i’ll do my best.

enjoy reading! 

childhood:

growing up with two real estate agents as parents was SOMETHING. they always acted like their own house were the ones on the market, keeping it crazy neat. no toys should be left on the ground, no drawings hung on the walls and no food was allowed on the white suede couches. little anna did not complain that much and instead started to develop similar habits as her parents.

during elementary school (she was babysit by a nanny so therefore she was lacking in the social area i apologize in advance for that), she was that clean freak who hated doing a mess at the playground or during art classes (not for long!). she came off as pretty weird to other kids because she acted like anything BUT a kid. she didn’t wear crazy ugly clothes, only white, her hair was straight, never in pigtails, and her lunch never looked like a tornado built it at the last second. 

teachers LOVED annabelle. she was very independant and resourceful. she showcased incredible organization skills when it came to handing her projects. she was the quiet type of student, sitting in the back of the class and not making a fool of herself. they did not pay much attention to the fact she was alone most of the time, too busy being blinded by how mature she was.

when she was not at school, she was at home, playing alone while her babysitter tried her hardest to take her out and make her discover the world. anna wasn’t the social type, clinging on her mother’s leg or pulling on her father’s sleeve to be carried whenever something made her nervous. she never saw it as a problem, mostly because her babysitter always came up with fun ideas. anna’s favorite activities was arts and crafts. she was, as one could say, gifted. she knew how to bring her ideas into life, whether they were crazy imaginary friends or cute furnitures for her dolls. she just loved going crazy once in a while and allowing herself to be a kid.

teenage years & high school

unlike the majority of teenagers, annabelle never went through a rebellious phase per say. she remained that picture-perfect archetype of students in high school and gained admiration from all of her professors. the only problem they had with her was that she seemed impossible to pair with in team projects. anna was never able to overcome the anxiety of meeting new people, let alone accepting their ideas. at least she had a friend or two to keep her away from straight loneliness and shame, but still, anna was not comfortable in social situations.

this issue was slowly evaporating as she found in art classes the best form of expression there was. she loved going crazily creative and started to help other students, without even knowing them. she had a gift and she wanted to share it with those who showed more difficulties. she won several art contests around schools and other facilities to the point both her parents and teachers thought she would continue into art school, maybe even art history. she surprised all of them by choosing something more pragmatic.

early 20s:

she attended the new york school of interior design and accumulated the appropriate requirements to be a true certified interior designer. she started small, by working for her parents in renovating and decorating the houses they were paid to sell. as soon as she touched something, it lit up a room. if she could not find certain pieces in stores, she would design them and build them. 

she drowned herself in work and it comforted her constant fear of becoming shallow people like her parents. don’t get her wrong, she was grateful for them and for the future they served her on a silver platter, but she just wished they were more colorful. as for relationships and friendships, she had a few fling here and there, some good friends for the 5 à 7, but no one could be put before work.

she moved out of her parents’ place as soon as she graduated and swore to herself to never live in an hospital-looking home. she started buying all kinds of stuff from mall stores to thrift stores to the point her apartment almost looks like a museum. she loves it that way. it was eclectif and full of life. it was, in fact, what she aspired to be as a person. one day.

now:

it is quite impressive for a 25 yo to be THAT successful in a field where trends died faster than snowmen in summer. she appeared in home & design magazines, she styled several boutiques and penthouses around the big apple and she has quite the reputation of being versatile. her style leans towards the antithesis of modern vintage, but she can do anything from industrial to western chic to a touch of rococo. she will never have her own television show and decoration line at target, but still, the name anna lauder is on everybody’s lips when it comes to unique renovations.

anna specializes in revamping vintage objects and giving them a modern and current style touch. she does that casually on the small balcony of her apartment, right above the noisy and busy streets of new york city. she’s almost never seen without paint stains or art supplies in her shopping cart.  in fact, this passion of hers is what made her famous in the hamptons. big houses were nice and all, but they needed something else to spice up their style. the demand was high in the hamptons, which brought her to travel there by train frequently.

bonus infos!

she WILL open a store to sell her creations. this store will be a pop-up for summer and fall time, maybe a bit of winter stuff as well. if any characters around here are good with businesses, hmu!

she decorated the summer house, indoors and outdoors! the house was supposed to be a villa for a rich client to be rented as an airbnb.

i will be requesting 2 connections, a friendship one and a relaitonship one. i suggest you to think of connections too! keep them as open as possible for a chance to have them filled by our lovely members.

she is full on bisexual, but never actually “came out” to her parents or anybody. too anxious to be judged, ya know. 

i speak of anxiety often, but i will rarely portray anxiety attacks and such. she will have her moments of high stress and social anxiety, but i don’t want to turn the summer house into a festival of anxiety for anna. she comes here this summer to try and search for her inner eclectic self and she wants to do that through meeting new people and befriending them. she might come off as awkward at first, but she’s much more at ease now than she was as a child. 

the general idea of anna is a) a kid at heart who had to grow up quite fast and learn to be her own friend b) SOMEONE WHO NEEDS FRIENDS FOR REAL b) someone who turns into mom friend real quick because she is very thoughtful when it comes to her loved ones d) she’s crafty & creative, so speak of craft channels on youtube and she’ll turn into a chatterbox.

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot Ch39

Yeah, I’m late. So you’re getting a chapter today and tomorrow! Hopefully!

Summary: The gang sees Connor ton tv and the sees the Detroit evacuation first hand.

Chapter warnings: casual swearing

Word Count: 1,784

11.58PM Thursday 11th November 2038

A few minutes later, painkillers had been successfully taken and Megan was back on the couch.

“Are you sure you’re okay over there?” she asked Oscar, who had returned to sitting against the wall. “I can budge up if you want.”

“Sick and the injured get priority,” Oscar waved off. “Besides I wouldn’t fit on the couch.”

Megan grumbled a little but lay on the couch. The tv was still on, although the sound had been turned down. It was still showing the feed from the protest as androids were released from the Recycling Centre. They looked a little creepy with just the bare white exterior Megan had to admit.

“Holy shit,” Megan suddenly noticed something odd. The androids were on the move, and the camera panned over to show a massive group of identical androids, with one distinct android at the head of the column.

“What the...?” Paul stared while Oscar got up to get a better look.

Markus and the android at the head of the column met in the middle, and Paul squinted.

“What the fuck?” he could not believe what he was seeing.

“What?” Megan and Oscar asked. The resolution wasn’t great, so clearly Paul had spotted something that they had not.

“That’s the RK800-Connor!”

Megan blinked at the screen, squinting. It was difficult for her to tell, so she took Paul’s word for it.

“So, this could go really well, or destroy the entire revolution,” she summarised.

“Nah, Connor’s good.”

Everyone except Paul jumped and turned to see Lieutenant Anderson dressed in a loose shirt and boxers. Not a sight many would really want to see. The police detective had his arms folded as he nodded at the screen.

“He woke a bunch of ‘em up in CyberLife Tower. He’s not huntin’ deviants anymore.”

Everyone noticed Paul slump in relief, but no one mentioned it.

“So, is he a deviant now as well?” Paul asked uncertainly.

“Yup,” Anderson responded, popping the ‘p’.

This was when Paul’s radio flared into life.

“This is Rainbow3. Anyone watching the news? Over.”

Anderson raised an eyebrow as Paul answered.

“Beep Boop here. We just saw it. Over.”

“Did you see who was at the front though?” Lucas asked.

“No, what the hell’s going on?!” Ivy asked.

“The RK800-Connor, yes. We have confirmation that he’s a deviant now. Over,” Paul bristled as Anderson snorted with laughter at that.

“From who?” responded Lucas. “And I’m guessing you two haven’t made it there yet? Over.”

“...No,” Ivy admitted. “Seems like there’s no point. Heading back. Who’s your informant? Over.”

Anderson outright laughed. “Whatever, you can tell yer little Scooby Doo gang.”

Paul did just that. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Over.”

“Wait, what?!” Julia had clearly taken the radio off of Maggie. “How? Over.”

“We, may have, broken into his house,” Paul admitted, and Megan interjected while the talk button was still down.

“We didn’t break anything! The window was broken when we got here!”

There was a pause from the radio.

“Great way to avoid suspicion there Nervousness Incarnate,” you could almost hear Lucas rolling his eyes. “Fuck we’ll deal with this in the morning. If he’s still there ask him about him AAA Battery, provided there isn’t a gun to your head.”

“You think Nervousness Incarnate would put up with that after earlier?” Paul responded wryly.

“Five feet of fury,” Ivy snickered.

“She can bite his kneecaps,” Maggie joined in, and Megan leaned to snatch the radio from Paul.

“I hate you guys.”

“Guys enough,” Julia came back on. “It’s midnight, let’s call it a day already. We all got somewhere to sleep? Over.”

“Yep. Over.” Megan responded, and was greeted by another affirmative from Lucas’s group.

“Let’s see if we can meet soon. Over and out,” Julia ended the conversation and Megan handed the radio back to Paul.

“So, what are you guys, exactly?” Anderson asked. “Some kind of android rights group?”

“That is exactly what we are,” Oscar rumbled.

“Huh. Well good for you,” Anderson huffed. “And who the fuck is AAA Battery?”

“Alex, our, I suppose leader,” Paul thought. “They and Allison could be joint leaders I suppose, along with Julia.”

“Right, and I assume this Alex got arrested?”

“Yes,” Paul confirmed. “Short green hair, bright clothing, general androgynous appearance.”

“I haven’t seen ‘em,” Anderson shrugged. “Now fer the love of God, go to sleep!”

The detective stormed off and Oscar switched off the tv. Megan got settled on the couch, making sure to stay on her back or right side. Oscar slumped against the wall and drew his knees up to rest his head on them. Paul stood in place for a second before switching off the lights.

He stood in the dark, watching them fall asleep. He could go into stasis he supposed, although he wanted to stay alert. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

Paul stood vigil all night, watching the snow fall outside the window.

07.30AM Friday 12th November 2038

As dawn began to break he shook Megan and Oscar awake. Oscar was awake almost instantly, although Megan groaned and mumbled something about ‘five more minutes’.

Without wasting another second he picked her up, and she was clearly tired as she only half heartedly objected.

Oscar opened the door and they stepped out in the fresh morning. Oscar swore and rubbed his hands together before stuffing them into his pockets. Megan burrowed deeper into the blanket, taking full advantage of her position to avoid the cold at all costs. Paul noticed the cold, but overall it didn’t bother him.

“So, where to?” Oscar asked.

Paul paused, sifting through the options. They didn’t know where Lucas and Nathan were. Allison was either still wandering towards the android camp or had given up and headed back. Alex of course was at the police station. That left Julia’s group, who were at her house.

“Do you know where Julia lives?” he asked Oscar, who shook his head. “Megan?”

“No idea,” she mumbled. “I don’t think it’s that far from Alex’s.”

“That doesn’t help,” Paul sighed.

“We couldn’t have discussed this in the warm?” Oscar asked, stamping his feet to make sure that they didn’t get too cold.

“I’d rather not test the Lieutenant’s patience.”

“So, we have no idea where to go?” Oscar asked, Paul reluctantly nodded. “What about going to the androids?”

“We don’t know receptive they are to humans right now,” Paul shot down.

“How about we go to a mall or something?” Oscar suggested. “We’re freezing out here!”

“It will give us a temporary goal if nothing else.” Paul nodded, recalling where the nearest mall would be. It was a bit of a hike, given that this was a residential district, but it was doable.

As the sun rose higher Paul made sure Megan started walking.

“It’s cold!” she protested.

“You have a blanket!” Oscar snapped in a rare show of temper. “What have you got to complain about?”

“Lack of functionality in my left arm!”

“Both of you, enough!” Paul barked, restoring order. “Nothing about this is great. Let’s just get somewhere warm and plan from there.”

Megan and Oscar glared at each other for second before following the android. Given that dawn was pretty much half seven, they expected businesses to be opening. Instead, the streets of Detroit were full of people getting into cars with large suitcases and driving off.

“What the hell is going on?” Megan asked, and Paul flagged down a nearby couple trying to shove a suitcase into the back of their car.

“Hello, sorry to bother you,” he started, and the one shoving the suitcase in grunted to acknowledge that he was there. Their partner on the other hand, was a bit more amicable.

“What’s up?” they asked.

“Er, we’ve been out of the loop. Where is everyone going?”

“Detroit is being officially evacuated,” the gentlemen helpfully informed. “Given the androids taking the city the military have retreated and are basically letting them have Detroit.”

“I see. Thank you very much,” Paul dipped his head in thanks.

“No problem, if you and your guys need a ride out of Detroit then I’m sure there’s room for you.”

Paul looked at their small Sedan and Oscar’s bulk. No contest.

“Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Paul went back to the other two and relayed the news.

“The whole city?” Megan asked, incredulous.

“Sounds like it. I’ll call the others,” Paul reached for the radio and walked as he talked. Most people were worrying more about themselves than some guy with a radio.

“This is Beep Boop. Anybody else know about the evacuation order? Over.”

“Reading you Beep Boop,” Julia was online. “It was on the news this morning and all over the paper. My parents are packing up, but I’m going to stay here. Over.”

“I thought these orders were mandatory. Over.”

“We all know that the androids pose no threat. Besides, half of Detroit ignored a tornado evacuation once, this is nothing in comparison. Over.”

“Is everyone staying? Over,” Paul posed the question.

“Ringo’s in student accommodation, and they’re doing checks to make sure students are gone,” informed Lucas. “We’re going to move to my apartment.”

“Poison Oak and Rainbow3 will stay with me,” Julia informed.

“Any sign of Biker Chick?” Paul asked, and a bleary voice answered.

“Yes, I made it back an hour ago,” Allison responded, voice thick with exhaustion. “I didn’t make it to the protest in the end. It would have been all over anyway.”

“Alright. Get some sleep and my group will work some things out. Over and out,” Paul clipped the radio back to his belt. Oscar and Megan had both overheard.

“I’m in student accommodation,” Oscar admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well then,” Megan took a deep breath. “Looks like we’ll go to mine then.”

“Megan, your apartment is tiny,” Paul reminded.

“It’s better than nothing,” Megan declared, and Paul could just detect a nervous habit under the blanket. Even with a sling, she was finding a way to pick at her sleeve.

“It’ll be a long walk,” Paul added. “It took us several hours on the way to Alex’s.”

“Well, we won’t be dodging the military this time,” Megan responded with some optimism, and Paul had to agree.

They made it to Megan’s apartment building without any issue. All military personnel had been withdrawn and most people were leaving the city like it was a sinking ship.

People were still exiting the building when they made it there, but few people were taking the stairs. So they didn’t have to push through a crowd of people to get to Megan’s floor.

So, we're done with Hank Anderson for the time being, his appearance short but sweet, although we haven't seen the last of him yet. Honestly he probably would have let them stay a bit longer but Paul didn't want to risk anything. Since none of them have any idea of the stuff that happened in Connor's story they have little reason to actually trust Hank.

Also, imagine being in Hank's position, having a pair of college students and an android hiding your house and using cumbersome code names and being all serious about it, that would be pretty funny in his position.

Other Options Flowchart

(Paul) Ask Hank how he knows Connor is okay.

(Megan) Don't interject.

(Paul) Suggest going to Megans. Suggest Alex's. Suggest hiding.

(Paul) Agree with Oscar about going to the androids.

(Paul) Chastise Megan. Tell on Oscar.

(Paul) Ask the people dragging a suitcase from their house. Pick up abandoned news tablet to read.

Tags! @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation

[notarelationship]

Along For the Rides, Ch 9

Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

Rating: Still T, this chapter. M eventually Words: This chapter ~ 4500 Warnings this chapter: Discussion of past assault (canon)

Read it on AO3, 

Read it on Tumblr

thanks to @honeysucklepink pink for the beta of course, as usual all mistakes are my own.

Notes: I know Kurt’s bedroom is canonically in the basement pre-Burt/Carol marriage, but it just made things too complicated.

Also, I really thought there would be hanky panky this chapter, but they just wanted to be awkward. At least they’re getting it together, right?

--

It turns out that the biggest bruise Blaine has is on his ass where one of his assailants must have kicked him, so he’s a little slow walking out of the hospital. Kurt wraps a strong arm around his back and holds him up as he limps beside him to the hospital exit. They don’t talk much, other than to make sure Blaine is comfortable enough and can keep up with Kurt’s pace.

It’s still pouring rain when they get outside, but there’s a wide canopy over the pickup area, so they stop there to get settled.

“Are you okay to wait here?” Kurt asks. “I can get the car and then you don’t have to limp through the rain.”

Blaine nods and leans up against a huge planter, grateful that it’s not overflowing with water, and watches Kurt disappear into the midnight rain. While he waits he checks his phone out of habit, sure it must be dead by now. He’s more than a little surprised that it wasn’t lost in the melee, but he’s got 10% battery power and a few texts from Sam.

S: I probably should have checked with you first, but Kurt wanted to help. I hope its cool. If not I know he’ll drive you back here and we can take care of you.

S: I feel like I should tell you that there’s water leaking in the camper over the kitchen sink and it smells like Nick and Jeff have been having a fart contest, so full disclosure.

S: Actually can I stay at Kurt’s? I promise not to be a third wheel

Blaine laughs, and he can feel it in every muscle in his body. Ow.

B: I can ask, he’d probably be ok with it

B: And no thanks for the olfactory reminder. I have been traveling with them for weeks.

He’s surprised when Sam texts back immediately.

S: olf what? Whatever I’m fine here. But I’ll check in on you tomorrow

S: Oh and tell kurt we are definitely not going to open tomorrow, they already decided, i think there’s a squall line coming through or something. someone said there might be tornadoes

S: so you two work your shit out or have fun or whatever

B: thanks Sam

Just before he thumbs his phone closed he sees the text from Kurt.

K: I want to talk. Tomorrow ok?

Blaine blinks. Kurt had texted him back. He checks the time and sees it’s marked 8:23 pm, so Blaine figures he must have been getting his ass beat when it came in. It makes him feel just a little better though. Kurt had wanted to talk to him.

Kurt pulls up moments later, so Blaine doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it. He wanted to see Kurt, Kurt is here, and Kurt is taking him to his home. Beyond that he’s sore and groggy, and sure he’s going to have a delayed reaction once the painkillers they gave him really wear off. He’s just not sure whether the reaction will be mental or physical.

“Hey,” Kurt says, offering a close lipped smile that looks a little on the stiff side. “Hang on while I try to make this more comfortable.”

Blaine watches Kurt adjust the seat, pushing it all the way back and reclining it as far as it can go. He retrieves a blanket from the trunk, laying it out on the seat before coming over so Blaine can lean on him as he hobbles to the car.

“I’m really going to feel all of this in the morning,” Blaine says, hoping it might break the ice a little.

“I’ve got some extra strength Tylenol at home, hopefully that’ll help a little?”

Blaine shrugs, but he’s in the car and getting settled, so he just says thanks.

Kurt drives slowly as he pulls out of the parking lot, careful of the rain and the little other traffic that’s out at this hour in this weather, but he obviously knows where he’s going so Blaine closes his eyes. He’s sure he could fall asleep in thirty seconds. After about ten he blinks his eyes open.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His exhaustion is apparently making him bold.

Blaine is reclined too far back to see the side of Kurt’s face from this angle, but he thinks Kurt is chewing on his lip. Finally he just lifts one shoulder.

“I thought you liked me,” he says, eyes ticking to Blaine and then back to the road. “It hurt to find out it wasn’t true. Then I just felt stupid.”

Blaine wriggles around until he can get an arm under his side and prop himself up enough to look at Kurt.

“Kurt, I like you. I don’t know what I did to make you think it isn’t true - but since I have no idea what I’m doing, please tell me and I won’t do it again.”

Kurt looks like he’s about to answer, but the car slides a little on the road, so he clamps his mouth shut and refocuses on driving, which is fine with Blaine. He hopes Kurt believes him.

"Jeff said, that you, um, hook up a lot." Blaine can feel his heart pounding against his chest. “And I guess I wasn’t sure what to feel about that.”

"Jeff? Jeff said?” Blaine twists in his seat, getting stuck in the seatbelt when Kurt has to brake to miss a large puddle in the road. “When were you talking to Jeff? About us?”

“I wasn’t,” Kurt glances at him then puts his eyes back on the road, but Blaine can see him swallow hard before he goes on, words spilling out. “He said something to me, about your hickey. He said he’d never seen you have to work so hard to get some, and then tried to high five me for playing hard to get. Or anyway, something to that effect.” Kurt pauses and Blaine doesn’t know if he should be pissed off or if he just feels pathetic.

Blaine inhales a long slow breath, feeling the ache in his ribs as his lungs fill with air. He watches Kurt drive for a few minutes, and knowing that Kurt can’t really look at him makes it easy to stare. Kurt is gorgeous, and Blaine will admit to himself in this moment that it would have been nice to save his firsts for someone like Kurt, rather than giving them away to strangers. But he knew what he was doing when he made those choices.

“Did you?” Kurt asks, and Blaine realizes they’re going to do this now.

“Hook up with other guys? Yes, a few. I don’t think it’s the parade of strangers you seem to be imagining Kurt.” Blaine isn’t entirely sure how much of an explanation he owes Kurt, so he wants to be careful. “I didn’t know you.” He didn’t feel like he owed Kurt any kind of apology.

Kurt shakes his head. “I know, I know that. I don’t think that you owe me any explanation for any - for that.” Blaine relaxes a bit at that confession. “It’s just - god this is so embarrassing. You seemed so,” Kurt stops and stares out the windshield. “It would have been okay, you know, if you were just messing around. You’re nice enough, I know it’s pathetic that I’d never kissed a boy before -”

“Kurt it’s not. It’s not at all it’s -”

“Wait let me get it all out.” Kurt glances at him and Blaine quiets, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Kurt. “But then you took me on that date, and the picnic. God, I fooled myself into thinking it meant more to you. That I meant more.” Kurt stops. “It sounds stupid I know. You don’t even know me.” Kurt shakes his head, but it’s clearly in disappointment at himself and not Blaine.

Before Blaine can answer Kurt turns into the driveway of a compact, single level ranch, activating the automatic garage door opener as he does, and pulling into a spot in a tidy garage. The unrelenting drum of the rain quiets a bit, then even more when the door rolls shut. Blaine’s senses feel like they’re going into shock in the sudden quiet.

“Wait here.” Kurt puts a hand on Blaine’s arm, then pops out of the car. Blaine watches him unlock the door that must lead into the house, disappear for a brief moment and then come back, opening the passenger side door to the Beetle to help Blaine out.

They don’t talk, other than Kurt asking how Blaine is doing as they maneuver up the three stairs that lead into the kitchen. Blaine looks around as they shuffle through the tidy kitchen and to a dining table tucked into a little alcove between the kitchen and what must be the living room. It’s cool and quiet compared to the noise of the rain and the heat from outside. Blaine is trying to take in as much as he can - it’s Kurt’s home and he wants to know everything.

Kurt helps him maneuver into one of the dining chairs. It’s hard and wooden without a cushion, but Blaine thinks he can sit, so he lets himself slip out of Kurt’s hold onto the chair. He can’t stop the wince as he shifts to take the weight off of his bruised ass. “This is nice,” he says to Kurt. “Thanks again.”

Kurt makes a non-committal noise. “It’s home. And don’t thank me, it’s the least I can do. You wouldn’t be in this boat if you hadn’t put yourself between me and those jerks before.”

There are a lot of things Blaine wants to talk about with Kurt - but he doesn’t want Kurt to think Blaine blames him.

“Kurt. This is not your fault.”

“That’s debatable,” he answers. “Hang on I’ve got some groceries in the car.” Kurt runs back out to the garage and comes in with both arms full of bags. “I don’t know if you can eat, or even if you’re hungry, but most of this should still be okay.” Blaine watches carefully as Kurt starts unpacking the bags. “I was actually out grocery shopping before I stopped by the carnival to see you -”

“You came to see me?”

“I decided I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk. ,” Kurt says. “When I got there the police were there and I got pretty scared. At first I thought maybe there was an accident on one of the rides, but then I saw Rachel, and, well.” Kurt stops talking and finishes unpacking the bags, all the time not really looking at Blaine. “Are you hungry?” He asks again.

“I could eat. But Kurt,” he pauses. “I meant it. All of it.” Kurt is standing, worrying his fingers as Blaine talks. “You’re different.”

Kurt scoffs. “People have been telling me that for years.”

“No, I mean it. I wanted to spend time with you. I mean, the kissing is great, but you - you’re more.” Blaine feels gross and smells like hospital and his damp clothes are drying like cement against his skin. “I think we have more to talk about, maybe, but I feel gross and I’d really like to get cleaned up, if that’s okay?”

Kurt’s eyes go wide. “Oh god, oh of course Blaine. I should have thought.” Kurt takes the few steps from the kitchen, and offers Blaine his arm. “You’re not too tired? It’s nearly -” Kurt stops to look at a clock on the wall. “It’s nearly one am. You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” Blaine answers with a yawn. “But I’m also disgusting.”

Kurt doesn’t disagree - he feels b=pretty horrible too and he hasn’t been through half of what Blaine has. He helps Blaine down the hallway to the bathroom, tepping in ahead of him and picking up a few things off the floor so Blaine can join him in the small space. If Blaine wasn’t so exhausted he’d think Kurt was being adorably nervous. “My dad has his own bathroom, so I’m usually the only one who uses this one, well, unless we have guests. Which we don’t have too often.”

Blaine looks around. The tub is white, the walls are painted a pale grey, and grey sink cabinets sit under the white sink. There are shelves over the toilet that hold a wide selection of bottles and pots and tubes. He leans one hand on the sink to keep himself upright.

“Kurt I don’t think I can take a shower, I don’t think I can stand up and, um, wash myself?” Blaine hears his voice slip up an octave, and feels himself blush at the thought of Kurt helping, because he can’t not think about it. He notices that Kurt blushes too. “Would it be okay if I took a bath instead? I don’t know if I’m too gross for your tub, or what, but god -”

“No problem - bath it is,” Kurt stops him. Kurt starts to fill the tub, then searches through the shelf. “Bubbles? I’ve got cedar and some peppermint and tea tree oil.” Kurt holds up two smallish bottles.

“Sounds fancy,” Blaine says, unable to hold back a smile. “I’d love some of the peppermint one.”

Kurt nods. “Excellent choice.” After adding the bubbles he steps out in the hall, returning a few minutes later with a towel and some clothes for Blaine to wear after. “It’s just my old gym shorts and a t-shirt.” Kurt bends over the tub and shuts the water.

“Great. Thanks.” Blaine clears his throat. “I mean it. Thanks for this.”

“It’s the least I can do, really,” Kurt answers, but he’s hugging himself and looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you need anything else, before I go?”

Blaine is pretty sure he’s about to make the moment even more awkward. “Well, I sorta need some help getting my clothes off,” he mumbles, and Kurt stares at him for a full five seconds, unblinking. “I think I can get my shirt, but I can’t reach my shoes, and I need some help stepping into the tub.”

Kurt looks like he’s considering not doing it, but he says, “Okay. Um, where do you want me to start?” He’s kind of looking Blaine up and down, and Blaine can see him blush just a little. Blaine tugs at the hem of his shirt, and Kurt reaches his arms to help, stiffly pulling the shirt over Blaine’s head. Kurt is definitely staring at Blaine’s chest, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s got a bruise a couple of inches long on his right side. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt too bad. It’s the one on my butt that’s making it hard to move.”

“Okay. Do you want to try to sit while i take off your shoes?”

“I think I should stand. I want to save my sitting for getting into the bath.” Kurt nods and drops to the floor, and Blaine thinks this might have been a stupid decision because Kurt’s head is practically in his crotch as he unties Blaine’s sneakers and carefully lifts Blaine’s feet out before pulling off each sock. Blaine thanks any diety that might be watching that between the fight and the drugs and the almost complete exhaustion, popping a boner right now is pretty much physically impossible.

“How do you want to -” Kurt waves at Blaine’s shorts.

“I think I can just undo them and let them drop.” He unbuttons them and pushes them over his hips so they drop on the floor, and he’s left in his underwear. Kurt makes a noise that sounds like something between a choke and a whimper, but he swallows it fast and looks at Blaine.

“How about you turn around and I’ll hang onto you, and you can push those off and I’ll brace you while you get into the tub?”

Blaine does as Kurt suggested, but he laughs to himself when Kurt comes up behind him and puts an arm around his waist. He steps over the edge of the tub and reaches out for Kurt’s hand, but it’s about a foot in the wrong direction. “Kurt?” Blaine turns his head slightly and can see Kurt’s eyes are shut tight. “Are your eyes closed?”

Kurt grimaces, but they stay closed. “Yes?”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Blaine says softly. He doesn’t want Kurt to be uncomfortable.

He feels Kurt take a deep breath, then let it all out in a sigh. “It’s not that - well it’s sort of that, but it’s just,” Kurt stops as Blaine slides into the tub and under the bubbles and Blaine moans. It feels great and he hurts all over. Kurt takes a step back and continues. “It’s just that in all the times I imagined seeing you naked, this particular scenario never really came up.”

“You imagined seeing me naked?” Blaine squeeks. Kurt nods and covers his face with his hand, but Blaine can see how red he is. “Oh.” He should probably say something else, but Kurt is already moving toward the door.

“Do you think you’ll be okay for a little bit? I’m going to go clean up and change and be back to get you out.” Blaine lets him know he’ll be fine, and Kurt gathers Blaine’s dirty clothes up off the floor and exits the bathroom, leaving Blaine to soak. And think.

--

When Kurt shuts the door he thumps hard against the wall and gasps for air so loudly he’s sure Blaine must hear him. “What am I doing?”

He doesn’t really have a lot of time to think about it, though, so he drops Blaine’s clothes on the hall floor and strips down to his underwear, leaving everything in a pile. He’ll wash them later. He takes a quick shower in his dad’s bathroom, but he’s too overwhelmed to even consider getting a hand on himself, even with the fleeting images of Blaine’s body still fresh in his mind. It’s too much.

Kurt showers quickly, then dresses and makes a snack, setting it out on the coffee table in the living room. He’s gone past exhausted to wired, and figures it can’t hurt to eat something. When he’s finished he stands outside the bathroom door long enough to center himself, then knocks.

He hears ‘come in’ from Blaine, and when he opens the door he’s surprised to see Blaine sitting on the edge of the tub already wearing the shorts Kurt left him, his hair dripping wet. Kurt graps an extra towel and helps Blaine dry his hair..

“Impressive,” Kurt says. He’s a little relieved he isn’t going to have to wrestle Blaine into his clothes. He’s not sure he could have done it with his eyes closed.

Blaine smiles weakly. “I felt a little better after soaking, so I thought I’d give it a try.” Blaine has the t-shirt balled up on his lap. “It was harder than I expected.”

Kurt takes the shirt from Blaine and helps him get it over his head. While Blaine is pulling the shirt down over his torso Kurt notices the bruise on his ribs. It looks a little painful, but not as bad as it could be. Kurt’s had bruises that size from being shoved into lockers. It’s the scar just below the bruise that really gets Kurt’s attention.

He knows Blaine gets into fights. Sam has hinted as much, and Kurt’s seen it first hand twice now. But seeing the scars of what must be the broken ribs that Sam referred to is still upsetting. He just doesn’t know if he has any right to ask about them.

Blaine refuses Kurt’s help getting to the living room, but seems grateful for the softer seat of the couch, and lets Kurt set up pillows around him so he doesn’t have to put all of his weight on the bigger bruise.

“I just made a few sandwiches,” Kurt says, sitting down next to Blaine. “I’m ready to collapse but I don’t want to wake up with a starvation headache. I hope pb&j is okay.”

“I am a red-blooded American boy Kurt,” Blaine teases. “Peanut butter is perfect.”

They don’t talk much, it’s all either of them can do to keep their eyes open at this point, and Kurt thinks he can just about stay awake long enough to eat a sandwich. Blaine easily puts away the other two Kurt had made.

After Kurt cleans up the plates he finds an extra toothbrush, then leads Blaine toward his bedroom. Blaine hesitates before crossing the threshold.

“This is your room?”

Kurt nods. “I was thinking you could sleep here, and I can sleep in my dad’s room if you want.” Blaine is looking at him, not nervous exactly but definitely curious, waiting for Kurt to go on. “And I don’t - I don’t want you to think this is weird, and you can say no. I can sleep in here with you, if you’d rather. That way of you wake up and need anything I’m right here, or if you need to get up you don’t have to stumble around.” Kurt can feel his face heating up and Blaine must be able to see. It’s not like there’s anything to distract him from looking at Kurt. “But I can sleep in my dad’s room if that’s too weird.”

“Actually Kurt, that sounds great. I mean if you would stay. I’m going to be asleep in about ten seconds anyway. It would be nice to not be entirely alone”

Kurt nods and sets about getting the bed ready, pulling off the coverlet and putting some pillows in place for Blaine to sleep on so he doesn’t roll over onto his back in the night. Once Blaine is settled Kurt lifts the sheet and climbs in nervously next to him. Inside the house they rain isn’t so loud, and they can barely hear the thunder in the distance. Kurt tries not to freak out. He’s somewhat concerned that he will not be able to sleep at all with Blaine in bed next to him, but when he turns to check on Blaine before he turns out the light, Blaine’s eyes are closed, and the features of his face have all softened in sleep.

Kurt sighs and lies back onto his pillow. It’s awkward but not awful having Blaine here. He feels like they still have some things to talk about, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as he had convinced himself it was. Tomorrow will be interesting.

--

A huge clap of thunder jolts Kurt awake. As he’s blinking the clock on his side table into focus a second boom, closer and louder, rips through the night. Next to him Blaine sits up with a frightened cry.

“Blaine?” Kurt reaches out in the dark but Blaine pulls away, so he turns the light on and tries again. “Blaine, it’s me. It’s Kurt. It’s okay, it’s just thunder. The next part of the storm must be rolling through.”

Blaine is panting, but this time when Kurt reaches for him he buries his face in Kurt’s chest and wraps his arms around Kurt’s body. Reflexively Kurt wraps his own arms around Blaine, pulling him closer and breathing into his ear.

When Blaine pulls away he isn’t crying exactly, but his face is flushed and he’s still breathing hard, though Kurt can hear it slowly returning to normal.

“Are you gonna be okay?” He asks.

Blaine sniffles and nods, pressing his forehead to Kurt’s shoulder. “Nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kurt reaches over and turns the light on, and Blaine sighs and sits up, wincing as he leans against the headboard. “Or a Tylenol? Do you need some water?”

“Both, please. That sounds good.”

When Kurt goes out he sees the time - 4:30am. They’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours. When he returns Blaine takes the pills with water, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes. When Kurt climbs in he’s close enough to touch, and Blaine shifts until he’s leaning into Kurt’s side. He starts talking, light from the hallway spilling into the bedroom.

He tells Kurt about how when he was in middle school he took another boy to a dance and got the shit kicked out of him. He tells him about his broken ribs and time in the hospital, and how he took up boxing after that so he’d have something to rely on if it ever happened again.

“It’s why I couldn’t just stand there and let those guys say those things to you, Kurt.” Blaine shifts again, and his nose is rubbing into Kurt’s throat. Kurt swallows, and he can feel Blaine hum. “I guess I’m having some flashbacks, after everything that happened.”

Thunder booms overhead, and Blaine tenses under Kurt’s arm. “And I don’t really like thunder. So thank you for letting me stay. I’d be freaking out in the camper right now.”

“You need to stop thanking me Blaine,” Kurt says quietly. Blaine turns so he can look at Kurt’s face, eyes wide and so sincere. This is bad.

“Why is it bad?” Blaine asks.

“I said that out loud?” Kurt slaps a hand over his mouth, but Blaine reaches for it and pulls it away.

“It doesn’t have to be bad, Kurt.” Blaine is much, much too close, and he’s staring at Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt wants to kiss him. Or he wants Blaine to kiss him. “Are we okay?”

Kurt shakes away his desire and shifts, and he feels Blaine deflate next to him. He’s not sure he knows what being okay with Blaine actually means. It was easy to think Blaine didn’t care for him when he only had his imagination to fuel all of his fears about other boys and how they felt - or didn’t feel about him.

But it’s harder, with Blaine right there. This whole night has been so weird and tense, and Kurt right in this minute would really like to hold Blaine. For both of their sakes.

A flash of lightning cracks loud outside, followed so closely by a roll of booming thunder that Kurt thinks it must have taken out a tree at the end of the block, and Blaine jolts on the bed next to him.

“I still want to talk about some things,” Kurt says when the thunder passes. Blaine looks at him, a little nervous but listening even in the half dark. “But right now I really want to kiss you.”

“You do?”

Kurt shifts back under the bed sheet, rolling to face Blaine. “I do. But I have no idea what that means.”

“We can talk, about anything you want.” Blaine winces as he rolls toward Kurt so they are lying face to face. “Ask me any question,” he offers quietly. “Do you want to talk now?”

Kurt leans forward and kisses him. Blaine’s mouth is warm and soft. “Kiss now,” he says between presses of his lips against Blaine’s. “We can talk in the morning.”

[humanoid-whowouldveknown]

Basanavičiaus gatvė

Six rooms

Six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. And no rooms with windows to the west. It just happens to be that way.

I didn't relocate too much in my forty plus years; of course, there were hotels, tens of identical clean rooms, but I don't count those. Thus, six rooms.

I asked myself many times, where did this idea come from? Did I read about it? Heard something? Dreamt? Saw in the movies? Finally, I remembered: I created it myself, a very long time ago, while giving my first interview. Well, frankly speaking, the second interview; but, since I had like a dozen of those that day, one after another, unable to even let go of a mug with cold coffee to which I gripped as to a lifebuoy, we can say it was just a single perpetual "first" interview. The journalists were interested in the opinion of a young author of the best architectural project of the year on almost every question possible, from the upcoming parliament elections to another apocalypse that was promised to all individuals interested in participating as early as the end of August. And the "newly baked"celebrity thought about only one thing: how to not publicly blurt out the fact that the idea of participation in the contest and the project itself were simply a joke gone too far. Such statements should be avoided at all costs. Especially if they are true.

At first, it was fun to answer all the trivial questions, but it got boring after about a quarter of an hour before a cute girl in a blue knitted hat suddenly asked: "How would you build your ideal house?" Her brown curls stuck out of the hat; the girl was stunning, one of those women you want to show off to, even when not planning to continue this relationship. This question was a great possibility to present me in the best light. I began expertly discussing: said the topic is utterly irrelevant to the architecture or interior design since the ideal house of any human is from his childhood. Actually, why just childhood? A perfect home is a compilation of all the rooms where you lived in happiness. Quickly calculated - then I only had three poor rooms, but that, of course, was merely a matter of time.

The time added three more rooms, all with a much better design. Meaning not just "whatever I buy goes into the room", but according to the style, taste, and need. It added up to a total of six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony.

However, then it was a chatter, nothing more, prepared specially for a pretty brunette in a blue hat. I would never even think about bringing it to life. Maybe as a project, but who would've ordered something like this madness.

Once, a long time ago, probably before the prize for the best project and before some enthralling changes, which logically followed the victory, my mates and I held a conversation - who would do what if they suddenly turned rich? Won a lottery, found a treasure, got an inheritance, found an ownerless bag full of money, had a cordial conversation with gnomes - whatever the reason. What would we do if we didn't need money? Great Question! I said that I would pursue the same path, just work much more, since the most exciting projects are usually impossibly expensive, but in case there is a lot of money...

"Turns out you're a remarkably happy person!" one of my mates got surprised. I shrugged, "Yeah, I guess." I never thought about it. "Happy" is just a word, who knows what the person means by it. Frankly speaking, all the other words contain the same problem. The walls, roof, windows, doors, stairs, floor, facade, electricity, base are another matter. A house.

I liked the houses. Always. Since birth.

I even married a house. Anna had beautiful long legs, green eyes, and a derisive mind, but, most importantly, she had a giant, old house she inherited from her grandfather. It desperately needed reconstruction, and a perspective of becoming its owner looked so tempting that Anna had to accept my proposal; later she amazedly recalled that she wasn't in love, and didn't want to marry at all, just couldn't withstand my knockout pressure.

When, days before the wedding, Anna found out that she is much richer than could be expected, I got excited: that meant we would have enough money to rebuild the house, even if there shall appear any surprises. I had absolutely no other self-serving impulses. I always believed that poverty is when you don't have enough money for the ongoing project; the wealth appeared as an outstanding opportunity to increase the outlay if needed.

By the time the five-year project was finished, Anna finally decided to live separately for some time. And formulated this offering so delicately that I had no inner protests, just a practical question: "some time" is how long exactly? Like twenty-thirty-forty years? Yep, that's what I thought.

Alright, separately means separately. We have no kids, the cat is indifferent, and the house is already perfection.

One could've said "They parted as friends," but neither of us knew friendship. So we parted as mates. We were far too lazy to divorce, and set these negative thoughts aside, to resolve them later. Whatever "later" meant.

And a couple of years later Anna died, and it seemed not exactly sad, rather absurd. Wild, unbelievable. Anna - and suddenly died. Don't lie to me; it's impossible. Whoever, but not Anna. You don't know her well enough.

Yep, that's precisely what I replied to the call about a date and time of the funeral. And continued replying even after hanging up, arguing with an invisible, inconceivable, indefinite partner, who only condescendingly smiled in return. He already put down his single, yet incredibly destructive trump.

I thought it was a mistake for quite some time after that conversation. Maybe a stupid prank. Anna never joked so dumbly, but everyone has moments of weakness. We can do many things in those moments.

I did go to the funeral though. But it changed nothing.

After learning that I became not just a widower, but a wealthy heir, I got enraged. She wrote a damn last will. She left almost everything for her husband, except for a house that was passed onto her aunt; who would've guessed how jealous Anna was. Here is your gigantic pile of money, dear, but you will not get the house you loved instead of loving me. No letter, no note. Now I must live like an idiot, not having a final conversation, not understanding something important - about Anna, about me, about, perhaps, life.

I thought: what a surprising thing! I was enough with two or three dates every year, and never missed her, but now, when Anna is dead, the world lost color. Maybe not all of it, but a significant portion. And who cares about these damn money?

The money, however, did not disappear from these thoughts. They just lay in my bank account, awaiting their moment. There was no wish to spend them. There was no wish to do anything. I even worked without initiative, just on the inertia, and that was entirely unusual. I didn't know myself, why did this happen. "Middle age crisis," said my coworkers, and gave me numbers of great, competent psychotherapists. I even went a couple of times, more out of curiosity than a hope to get help. All psychotherapists appeared nice, like people you would love to be friends with, meet once a week with a glass of good wine, watch movies with, gossip with, take advice from, discuss the recent books with, got to a vacation together once in a while, rent a house by the sea together, drive a car one-by-one, greet every morning in the shared kitchen, forgive the unexpected bad habits, not get angry at, not make angry.

However, these people couldn't return the either once lost or never existant meaning. They could only teach how to live without it. This was not an option.

I thought: my life was like a summer that you spend in the city when there is a ton of workload, and parties almost every night, and, maybe, a festival you can't skip, and long-legged girls outside of cafes who are willing to communicate; and you spin in an entertaining tornado, presumptuously thinking you are this tornado; and then you realize that August is almost over, and the nights grew longer and colder, and the windowsill is covered in fallen dry, scratchy stars. And it wouldn't matter, but you suddenly remember that you never went to the market for ripe cherries. You didn't even steal them from neighboring trees, though passing them every day. And you sort of understand that it is not a big problem, that cherry is just cherry, a sour berry that grows in late summer, a simple food; but it's still bringing you close to tears, because there was no cherry, so you had no real summer, everyone had one, and you didn't; it's the last day of August, so you can't change anything, because time is ruthless, done, finito, basta.

I thought: the time is ruthless. From the very first day, it begins to crash us in its millstones and never stops. At first, it works carefully, trying not to disturb us, but at some moment, it frees oneself and runs as fast as possible - what's the point of all these ceremonies anyway? Get used to it; you can't escape, this is what your life will forever look like. And when the sound of breaking bones in the millstones gets so loud you can't hear your own voice, they call it "middle age crisis" and give you phone numbers of specialists. They are usually people, just like everyone else, already halfway broken, so they can't help you. The best thing you can do at this point is to find some exciting work to distract yourself from the incomprehensible that you can't stop.

I thought: wait, I have this work. I always have had. Before, while working, I forgot not only about time - about myself! Did it suddenly grow boring? No, I won't let that happen.

So I began looking over unrealized old ideas. The ones that didn't find their customer. The best ones. But they didn't inspire me much either. And,  all of a sudden, I remembered: an ideal house as a compilation of rooms one had a happy life in. A funny idea. Way too simple concept and a way too complex creation, plus no one would care enough. I can't even imagine this customer. Who is that psycho and what is going on in his head?

Suddenly, I grinned - this psycho is me. Nice to meet you, congratulations on your new excellent contract. A sane, easygoing, wealthy customer that knows exactly what he wants. Where will you find one like that again? So, how many rooms exactly do we have?

I made a list. A room in my parents' home, where I lived from early childhood until graduation. A room in a big cold flat that I rented together with my three mates. A tiny studio in mansard, where I lived after getting my first job ever. Another studio, larger and much more expensive, a typical "stylish flat of a successful unmarried man" from a glossy magazine, to which I moved when things got better. A cabinet in Anna's house, perfected a couple days before I had to leave it forever. Finally, the present space, thought-through and well-equipped, a perfect working place, sadly not adding to inspiration, though clearing my head in whatever condition I enter it, which is already a lot.

I realized: wow, it appears I was quite happy in every place I lived in. Okay, maybe "happy", "unhappy" are not useful terms, I doubt anyone understands what they mean. But I most definitely had a pretty damn good life, though not recognizing it. Well, at least now, later in my life, I began to understand some things. It's regretful, of course, the fact that I can't re-live my life once again, now definite in its happiness. Unfair. Even the driving tests give you multiple tries, and life is much harder than driving a car. And they, in the sky, have to understand it.

Whatever. No means no.

I drew a line: total - six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Damn, and how do I find such an apartment? An impossible task.

A then I finally felt the real excitement.

Theoretically, there was a straightforward path: buy land and build a necessary house. But it seemed incorrect. My entire life, I lived in big cities, in multiple-apartment dwellings, and the only exception was Anna's house, but it was stuck between two prominent buildings on the main street and was so huge one could divide it into several separate apartments.

After thinking for some time, I decided to search for a necessary flat. The chances are small, but that's even better. Let it be somewhat a lottery: If I find a matching space - great; if not - I will not do this project, and think of something else.

Nothing would ever happen without Laimė, of course.

Laimė was my old mate, so old that he had to be called a friend already - just for the length of service. Laimė was a realtor, but not a simple one -a golden one, just like the famous chicken's egg, and his service cost accordingly.

I called him and said, "I need a flat". Requirements are six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. After thinking for some more, I added: let it be on the last floor, I'm used to being the closest to the sky, it would be stupid to change that fact... What city? You know what, I almost don't care at all. No, I'm not ready to live on another continent. Let's find something in Europe, the northern or central one - I don't like too hot summer. Start from the capitals and merely large cities with airports, so it's easy to travel since I always have job hell knows where.

Almost a half a year later, when I already began to think that almighty Laimė though this order was a momentous caprice, not worthy of time and skill, he started regularly calling and giving options. Some of them were utterly unsuitable: some had only five rooms, some had a whole eight, some had a room with a window to the west, some with all windows to the north, some had three balconies. Unworthy of even looking at. And all of a sudden, like thunder on a sunny day: looks like Vilnius has precisely what you need. It is not a single flat, but three. All on the same floor, no other neighbors, a shared corridor. A good, brick house, ten minutes away from the Old Town. But, take into account that the biggest flat is in an utterly disgusting condition because for the past couple of decades there lived a few generations of alcoholics. They didn't even build sewage and just kept on doing their stuff into a bucket. My agent almost fainted after entering the space, poor boy. On the positive side, they will sell it for tiny amounts, just as fast as possible before they are thrown out for not paying debts. The owners of the one-room flat, on the contrary, raised the price awfully - a flat in London would cost less. Their neighbors were searching for costumers these two years, but this family never planned to move. However, after realizing how much we need it, they took their chance to enrich the funds. Well, it's their right... Are you going to look at it? You understand, right? It's Lithuania. Not an edge of the world, but pretty damn close. Do you, at least approximately, know where it is?

"Yes," I said, "I know very clearly. Can I look?" And bought a ticket.

The city was tiny - the road from the airport to the center took about ten minutes, and that is if you stand in traffic - and unexpectedly charming. Mariuš, Laimė's local agent, was disconcertingly young and sweet, the pearly light shone through the holes in clouds, front gardens and balconies drowned in flowers, the streets were filled with girls with glassy mermaid eyes and imposing, well fed, colorful cats.

We turned to Basanavičiaus street and parked in front of an old brick house. Walking to the third floor, I was almost deafened by my heartbeat - nervousness took over. I suddenly desired this whole idea to complete - not somewhere-sometime, but here, now, that's it.

I carefully looked through all three of the flats: a three-room, a two-room, and a large light studio, a bit similar to my apartment from meeting-Anna-epoch. In total: six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Exactly what's needed.

While finishing up the formalities of the purchase I hanged around town all day and night, thinking that after we sign all the documents, I will have no time to wander Vilnius. There will be too much work. Delightful, ravishing, hard work. Thank you, God, for this happiness.

I settled in a small hotel next to my future home; when the studio was free, I moved there. I began to sleep twelve hours a day. The dreams were so beautiful in that flat that wasting them by staying up before the work starts seemed a squander. But I had to be awake for at least half of the day. Though, I wouldn't want to whine about it - an awake man, while being tied up with the chains of cause-effect relationships, still can descend into the Old Town and walk to the intersection of two rivers, the large Neris and small Vilnia, where, according to the legend, knyaz Gediminas spent a night and, after seeing a metal wolf in his dream, got so affected that began building this city. I sat down on the grass, looked at the flowing water, and thought: actually, I would make this city myself if knyaz didn't pass me, lead by a wolf. Great job, they created an awesome city, I have no other comments.

I spent hours walking through the Old Town, observing the houses, climbing into closed yards and porches, drawing, looking, remembering. Insinuated myself with the students of the Arts Academy, and found a guy there who knew all the paths to the city roofs. I was a thankful tourist, positive and quiet: I petted the sun-warm tiles, watched the city from bird-eye view, hugged chimneys, and emotionally whispered to cats, "We are one." The cats looked at me knowingly and nodded in agreement. I thought - who, if not I, will understand the secret behind the charm of this city, calculate a formula of its modest, unobvious, intoxicating and eternal beauty? But I quickly realized: no one can do so. Neither can I. Let it be.

I spent a lot of time in cafes, bought spices and tea in small shops, walked for honey and raspberry to a little, only open on Thursdays market by the river. Quickly developed new habits and preferences, got new things and new mates, took roots. Laughed at myself - wow, finally, - but deep inside of my soul I was satisfied.

A small granny on the market whispered to me about a product - "shoes for dreams" made of soft felt. She explained: their soles have special signs embroidered on bottoms, which leave trails in every, even the vaguest dreams. It's beneficial for the ones who want to be guaranteed that they will wake up in their beds, whatever dreams they have. I got amazed by this creative fantasy but bought the shoes anyway. Told myself that I only did it to help the granny's strange business. However, from then on, I never fell asleep without those shoes. They were very warm. Good purchase.

When I first left Vilnius for a business trip, I felt so lost that I had to return as soon as possible, meaning almost three days before I thought I would. I paid a ton for the ticket change, flew with two confusing stops - in Vienna and Riga - but it didn't matter. Only home did.

Home. Who would've known?

Finally, the last tenants left. I could begin the work.

It's about time. All of a sudden, I got so much energy that I walked almost not touching the earth, outraced my own reflection in the windows, and put the coffee mug on the table seconds before taking the first sip. The workers I hired to destroy the old walls and build the new ones, bringing room sizes closer to their distant prototypes, claimed their boss had a terrible trait - he could be in two rooms at once and, at the same time, clearly observe what happened in the third.

I sympathetically laughed, listening to their complaints, but kept all of the workers in their place. Especially myself.

Just as I guessed from the beginning, the hardest of all was the childhood room. The wallpaper alone was incomprehensible.

This wallpaper was brought to me as a gift by my uncle from Germany. There were large amanitas painted on top, all transformed into residential houses - with doors, windows, chimneys sticking out of the pileus. The inhabitants of these mushroom dwellings - fat male hedgehogs in satin vests, female hedgehogs in starchy aprons, solid male hares in frock coats, female hares in frivolous mob caps with ribbons, dandy ladybugs in derbies, and gangling grasshoppers in spectacles - peeped out from the lace curtains, smoked pipes on the porches, had picnics in the yards, and danced on the wry trails between giant daisies. It's tricky to find such a beauty forty years later.

I hoped for a miracle, called many people from different countries, but never found anything similar to the wallpapers with mushroom houses. So I had to draw them from memory. In about a month it became resemblant, but still clearly wrong - either the colors, or the proportions, or the expressions on hares' faces were off. Most likely all at once.

I kept on thinking just about the wallpaper. Every evening, before falling asleep, no matter how tired I was, I worked a bit on the sketches. Laughed at myself, playfully cursed my dead uncle - thank you so much for your present! I hope you shall dance with these hares until the Doomsday. And even after, according to the sentence. The maximum-security paradise awaits you, dear.

Hoping for a hint, I bought from the internet-flea market: old German postcards, magazines, children books with illustrations, and other nostalgic staff.

The hint unexpectedly awaited me in a dream. I heard many stories about people solving impossible problems in their dreams, but never believed it - what a nonsense. And, all of a sudden, I get this dream: a white door of my childhood room, a brown linoleum, thick red sienna curtains, an uneven edge of thin tulle, a low wooden bed with a once blue, but now faded murky-cyan cover. In the corner, there is a big cardboard box painted in red - for the toys, and one more, blue, for the books. By the window stands an old, double pedestal table made of dark wood, too big for a child. It was only comfortable to work on about two years before graduation. On one side of the table stands an oval drawing of a serious girl with a blue ribbon in her dark brown hair. With surprise, I remembered: wait, we were good friends with her, and I never kept a single secret away from this girl. She was terrific at comforting and never said any unnecessary words. For quite a long time, I believed she was a fairy from the wonderland, that traveled to live on my table and keep me company. One of the walls was covered in half-a-dozen handmade paper puppets, the ones we drew and glued together with my dad. Wow, how could I forget? It's such an important detail, just like the girl with a blue ribbon! I thought that the only problem is the wallpaper.

After waking up, I rushed to draw it down, before forgetting. My visual memory was always retentive, some of my coworkers even said, "phenomenal," but here we have a dream, and I never tried to remember dreams in general, let alone the details.

I tore myself away from the paper only after realizing how much I need to go to the bathroom; after returning, I looked at the clock and sighed: four in the evening. You know, I got up at sunrise. I didn't even drink coffee.

The sketch, however, looked pretty decent, and the puppets were almost perfect - one could say they are done. Said out loud, "Finally, something started happening". I whispered it, although I wanted to scream from excitement, halfway out of the window.

That's precisely what I did a half a year later when I got samples of the printed wallpaper. They weren't just "like real," they were actually real. And it felt like a miracle; technically, it was a miracle, which is why I happily opened the window and shook the winter air with my three-time "Yes!"

The passers, though, acted very delicately. Not a single person even raised their head to rubberneck at a screaming psycho. And not a single cloud that swirls by one's mouth on a cold day turned into a question mark. Big deal, delighted screams. Some people do crazier things.

It only got easier. Even the old drawing, the girl with a blue ribbon, appeared at an old collector's shop, held by a bored ancient man in the far corner of the flea market. In the same shop, there was a blue cover, exactly like the one in my parents' house; it was merely a matter of technique to fade and age it. The table was built from my sketch, and a sad brown linoleum happened to be in the building materials store on the outskirts of the town - the fortune has to be complete.

The handmade puppets were ready long before we could glue the wallpaper, but I didn't stick them on the walls. Instead, I put them into the locker. I just suddenly decided - it would be amazing if the work on all of the rooms finishes at once. It's simple, there will be some minor, yet an essential detail that one may hide and then, on the last day, put it on the required spot. I had no idea why this seemed so critical, but I was happy for finally listening to my intuition, the one I thought of so highly in my youth, but then insensibly either lost or just forgot about in the multi-voice inner noise.

In total, the work with the childhood room took more than a year to complete - with some breaks for other matters that slowly began to disappear. I finished up all the old responsibilities and tried not to take up the new ones. The idea of working on the flat on Basanavičiaus street like I used to work on Anna's house - in the time free from the main work - seemed stupid. Because the moment I began, I realized which work is the "main" one now. And it felt great.

The other rooms were even easier than the childhood one, - meaning they gladly came to me in dreams, showing themselves from a necessary angle - watch and memorize. This fortune made me wish I could take my pencil and sketchbook into the dreams, but it didn't work. I tried putting it next to my head or in my pajamas - it just didn't appear in the dream.

Well, still amazing. Without these dreams, I would probably not recall all the posters and placards that I stuck to the walls of the room I rented as a student. And the stupid orange blanket with giraffes that used to help me a lot in those years; the rug, by the way, had to be ordered too since it was a unique object.

And the paintings of my friends on specially primed walls in the tiny mansard I remembered too vaguely before. And the big bright splashes of paint, supposedly made by mistake, with which I decorated the floor and furniture, would also be forgotten. And I completely forgot that, for example, in the "stylish flat of a successful unmarried man" there were paper planes everywhere because I almost manufactured them out of anything I saw while thinking. And on the windowsill of the cabinet in Anna's house sat a rag bear, made of colorful patches. Anna constantly created these bears; she said it calmed her down. Slowly, thoughtfully, she picked the colors and patterns, stuffed the bears with herbs that she collected in the park and everywhere else she could, so her bedroom always smelled like the end of summer, the sunny dust of a hot August midday and the freshness of first cold nights. And it's so sad that I can't talk to her about it all anymore - now, that the whole world, including Anna and her rag bears, became an utterly incomprehensible, yet incredibly important thing, the spy cipher with instructions that are locked by a long-lost key. Now, idiot, you have to sit and think about the meaning of it all.

My mates were worried. Or rather curious. They asked - some delicately, some unceremoniously: where did you go? What happened? Why are you stuck in Vilnius? What the hell can you possibly do in that dump anyway? What do you want there?

Telling the truth is tedious and ungrateful. Especially when you don't know it yourself. There was no one, in the entire world, that could understand the concept of six separate rooms, one of them in the corner with two windows - to the north and the east; two rooms - just to the north; three rooms - to the south, one of the southern ones has a balcony. Maybe just that journalist girl in a blue hat, but where will I find her now? Which is why I said that I got a girlfriend here, it's all love, happens, you know.

On a large scale, the love part was completely truthful. The details are no one's business.

I was completely sure that no one would come to check. In this sense, a flat in Vilnius is much better than, say, a house in Province, which brings you to a terrible realization of how many close friends you have and how much they miss you.

I was right - no one came.

The work took up almost five years. And only thinking back after it was done, I finally realized that I began something impossible to do. And, somehow, I completed this impossible task - these were not just fantasies about my past dwellings, but exact copies of those rooms. I couldn't believe it myself.

It's worthless to ask yourself: "So? What's the point? Why did you do it all?" When you are doing the impossible, the answer is obvious: so it exists. Because humankind is itself the impossible, whatever it says.

So I tried not to think at all, just do, work nonstop, be happy about completing the parts, get tired, fall on the bed, see dreams, wake up happy and work again, breath in, breath out, exist.

On the first day of summer, I told myself: "done." I put the puppets on the wall, stuck a poster of "Led Zeppelin" on my student's room, drew a bright yellow blot on the floor of the small studio. I folded a small plane from a dark-blue napkin, set a rag bear on the windowsill. In the last room, I put a mirror ball, the one I bought when I started missing Anna's cat, - for the bright light reflections. The sunny bunnies. They could make good pets, funny and effortless.

I winked at my deformed reflection - that's it. The reflection didn't wink back. It kept seriously examining me as if it tried to understand who it belongs to and does it really want to belong to this person.

All of a sudden, I got scared. I didn't exactly know of what, but it was so strong, I ran off to the street without even changing, happily with the coat I automatically grabbed from the corridor. The wallet in my pocket allowed me to change from the working cloth into a new one in the nearby shop. I couldn't make myself go back into the flat for money and documents.

I spent two nights in the hotel, not sleeping at all on the first one, and making myself take sleeping medicine on the second one. First time in five years. After resting, the fear completely disappeared, so in the morning I couldn't understand why did I run away from my perfect house instead of celebrating the end of the project there. I probably just got too tired - that's the only logical description.

After breakfast, I returned to Basanavičiaus street. Got inside of the house, climbed to the third floor. Walked around all of the rooms, feeling neither fear nor happiness, just a patient satisfaction of a man that completed good work. Finished it, and that's great. Now he can live.

I spent the evening thinking which room should I sleep in. Still couldn't choose, so I threw a dice. It's very comfortable: six sides, six rooms in a chronological pattern, so it's easy to use.

Number one - meaning, the childhood room. I thought that it seems logical.

I spent a long time searching for my "shoes for sleeping," but couldn't find them anywhere. Did I throw them away with trash? Well, what else can you expect from a man who ran away from his own reflection a few days ago?

I fell asleep shoeless.

When I woke up, the room was filled with light. I lay under the blanket for some time, happy with an opportunity to wake up whenever I want, not when the alarm rings, - this is summer! Observed the pictures on the walls. If you look at them long enough, the animals begin to move, walk through the trails, nod to their neighbors, smoke pipes. It's better than any cartoon.

I lay on my back, face up, looking at the wall where fat hedgehogs almost began dancing on the meadow, when the boys in the yard scream: "When are you coming outside?" I stand up, walk to the open window and scream in reply: "In a half an hour."

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: Another guest contribution from R. Ann Parris to The Prepper Journal. As always, if you have information for Preppers that you would like to share and possibly receive a $25 cash award as well as be entered into the Prepper Writing Contest with a chance to win one of three Amazon Gift Cards  with the top prize being a $300 card to purchase your own prepping supplies, enter today.

Get In Shape

No, really. With absolutely nothing to your name, you can be better off than a quarter if not half the preppers with gear, land, and partners. Want a little ‘for example’? How about the huffing and puffing we hear when folks run from the cold or rain? Or are forced to hustle to catch mass transit of some kind?

There’s the muscle injuries and heart attacks that get warned about ahead of winter storms. There’s a lesser publicized set of aches that even active homesteaders work through at the beginning of spring or late summer and autumn as we get back in to full swing – doing more than shoveling snow, poking in checking on things, hauling feed to the (usually) closer barn than to and around pastures. Every year, there are hikers who end up overextended and in distress.

We shake our heads at news stories when people put themselves in sucky situations. Let’s make sure we’re not one of them sometime in the future.

Get in Shape for WORKING

General physical ability can be helpful, and it’s a leg up, for sure. However, there’s gym fit and there’s street-woods fit. Gear your “workouts” to things you’ll be doing. You can also find exercises that directly relate to activities you expect.

Mix up your walking/packing/jogging/sprint surfaces. If you live rural and plan to cut cross-country if you’re away from home, sure, focus on the “natural” surfaces around you. Don’t ignore hardtops, but they’re less important for one-time, single-digit day-count packing. If you live or work in a lot of urban environments, though, make your training more fifty-fifty.

Walk on the sides of ditches and in loose leaves to build your ankles up. Sandy beaches offer a variety of challenging textures that can also help seriously strengthen legs and ankles depending on where in the tide line or above it you exercise and run. It’ll be helpful in snow and ice as well, and in tilled gardens or hand-harvesting hay and grains and big bean plots.

Those strong ankles will also be an aid in keeping your balance anytime you lose it – like if you anticipate ever getting shoved or tripped.

If you live somewhere floods are a risk or where you get a fair bit of snow, start plowing through some water if any’s available. You may be able to find times of day or parts of parks where you won’t attract attention slogging through a little stream or knee-deep in lake, bay, or marsh water. You may also be able to find an affordable YMCA or similar pool, although you’ll be “stuck” with waist-high instead of the more-unique pulls of calf- and knee-high slogging. (Please watch for snakes that will be annoyed with you and wear good sneakers.)

Go slow – this isn’t a sprint, it’s preparing you for winter work and bug-outs, not a footrace. Steady, certain steps are the biggie, and developing the muscles. Don’t be too ambitious at first. Rushing is a broken ankle or wrist and be careful waiting to happen. Be smart in cool weather – hypothermia doesn’t require freezes.

You can find gym equipment or band workouts that can help you build muscles for raking and shoveling, swinging an ax, or hauling and pushing carts and wagons. Bands require an investment, and there are contrasting opinions about them, but they’re affordable and compact – exercise anywhere.

Boxing and kick boxing exercises abound on the internet. Both build an enormous amount of core strength.

A gallon of water weighs about eight pounds. (Start with a half-gallon or liter, please.) If we get milk, we can get weights at home without spending an extra penny or having to build in time to go somewhere. When you’re ready for more, look around your environment for pipes, golf clubs, sturdy pruned limbs, etc., that can be used to create a bar. (Duct tape them – sliding weight, even “just” 8-16 pounds, is a recipe for an injury.)

Do Exercises Correctly

Do weight, stretching, and isometric exercises slowly. Use a mirror to check your form. When your form is muscle memory, close your eyes and concentrate on the feel.

Bucking, rocking, kipping or whatever you want to call them are not only cheating yourself. They’re also an injury waiting to happen. You also work more of your muscles, longer and harder, by working them slowly.

Build the Right Strengths

Start with low weights and high reps. Keep those high reps and slow motions even when you advance in weight. Practice holding at each point, and stopping midway for holds, too.

There are the instant-action parts of homesteading and camping/packing/paddling, absolutely: that moment when you heave the pressed hay up and over, to stack or to carry, or slinging a bag of feed up and over your shoulder, shoving off rocks or getting flipped backwards. There are “power pops” when you stress your tool maintenance guy and your body taking bypass pruners to tough wood and at funny angles.

However, many of our tasks are endless repetitions – raking, forking, shoveling, paddling, hauling a rope of a beaver slide or pulley lift to get hay or straw to a loft or hoist an animal for butchering.

In low-power or no-power situations, and low- or no-noise situations, there’s also hand sawing – which is a fast action, but a lot of it. There’s things like rocking a garden weasel back and forth, and push-pull lawn cutting with a rotary mower. There’s the bent or crouched schnick-schnick-schnick-turn-toss-schnick-schnick-schnick of harvesting grains or hay or straw, or gathering small branches or vines, or trimming down tree feeds for livestock.

Do, absolutely, work some of the hand-and-footwork speed drills, too. There are times when higher weights and quick motions do come into play.

I have to have the “snatch” strength to catch that ladder before it tips, or to snag a tree when rotting stuff gives way underfoot, to help somebody on steep trails or slipping on ice, or the harness line when my goofy dog accidentally bounces another dog over the edge of something (most recently it was her brother off a boat dock).

My medical supplies do me no good if I can’t heave my heavy dog over my shoulder and get it somewhere, or drag my family and partners out of something or into something. Maybe it’s a house fire, maybe they slipped off a bridge, maybe a bookshelf tilted. Maybe it’s a large animal, and being able to slam and brace and hold a gate to keep something out and away from them.

Even so, most of those have an endurance aspect. Catching for a moment is only half the battle.

I have to sustain that hold, and I have to be able to pull without losing my grip. I have to scramble with that hold sometimes, or not lose my footing.

Maybe today there’s an earthquake or tornado that starts a fire, some nut-job shooting, or a 500-year flood strikes. If I can’t carry or drag my loved ones all the way out of harm’s way, I lose them.

Maybe today’s task is sitting on the ground or edge of something, digging in heels, straining against a rope and “climbing” to haul something to a loft or my kid/partner/lover/parent out of a well or somebody’s deer pit. If I can’t hold onto that timber we’re hauling, if I slip as belay anchor or lose my grip on that rope, I hurt somebody.

Initial adrenaline will only take us so far. It’s worth getting in shape for.

Prepare Your Body, or Prepare to Fail

All the gear in the world isn’t going to help somebody who can’t get out of a building or down the road, who can’t escape a fire or flood, who can’t evade a mob and then put enough distance between them to beat the police barricade lines.

The best bug-out location on earth won’t help somebody who can’t get to it and keep it going – who can’t lift their kid and that fancy bag up over a fence, who can’t build a shelter against cold, wet weather to keep their family from hypothermia, who can’t lift enough water in big buckets to keep livestock and gardens watered, let alone bathe.

The expensive spotting scope and fancy rifle that found and took a deer doesn’t help the guy who then can’t get it up a hill or across the flats – at all, without injury or heart attack, or “fast enough” in some parts of the world where bears, hogs, and human scavengers like to check out gunshots.

Side Benefits to Exercise

Exercise is also incredibly good for the brain, both in combating stress and depression, and in sharpening our minds and senses. Tired bodies help us sleep better, with sleep hugely important to stress, recovery, mood, and decision making.

When you feel stronger and fitter, you’ll also find your confidence increasing, which in some cases actually decreases aggression and combative attitudes. (Lack of confidence tends to lead to those small-dog yappy-snappy, argumentative people who take everything as a personal insult and a direct challenge to authority.)

That’s going to make a disaster of any scale a whole lot easier to deal with, no matter how active or sedentary it is.

Prep for Retaining & Regaining Strength

If you’re lucky enough to have a bunker, a storm cellar, or a tight compound, don’t forget to stash ways to stay in shape while you’re locked down. You only need a little space and some things that – besides bands – are probably already there. Make sure you also have a variety of exercises, stretches, and drills printed out and stashed.

Not only is endurance and raw strength important, and something that can be easily handled at little to no cost, work on flexibility. Exercises for seniors can be an excellent source there.

Physical therapy exercises are beneficial as well. Don’t forget to print up what they apply to. It can range from post-stroke and nerve damage recovery, to knee replacements and torn ACLs, out to oddballs like whiplash and dislocated fingers and wrists. Not only are many actually pretty fantastic stretching, mobility, dexterity, and strength-building regimens, if there is an accident or injury, you’re prepared for full recovery.

The One Irreplaceable Prep

Every disaster and evacuation, we hear of refugees surviving incredible hardships and long journeys, and people managing incredible physical feats to save their loved ones. But for every feel-good victory, there are losses. Not everyone makes it fast enough, far enough.

Increasing physical ability can be done in two, three, or four 10-20 minute sessions a day, a few times a week. It can cost nothing.

Some of it can be done pumping our fuel or during regular shopping trips, adding less time than we’ll stand in a checkout line or lust over goodies behind glass. Some of it can be done one hand at a time, reading or scrolling the internet with the other. We can keep up with weekly shows/sports doing cals and Pilates and physical therapy on the carpet and kitchen chair, or using a bar hung from a sturdy doorway.

Your body is the one thing there is no backup for. There are no excuses. Not time, not money, not current physical limitations. We can get stronger, and by doing so, improve our chances of survival.

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