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infinites-chaser · 4 years ago

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show a little faith, there's magic in the night | tears of themis | lu jinghe

warning for spoilers for themes from ch. 1 of lu jinghe's story, use of bruce springsteen, and a very long conversation about Life that is purely conjecture about lu jinghe's past

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

("an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay.")

"lu jinghe?" you ask.

he's facing away from you, leaning heavy on the riverside railing, his features turned silhouette by the light of the setting sun.

"why did you tell me to meet you here?"

he turns at the sound of your voice, and something like relief flickers brief across his face before he relaxes into a careless grin, beckoning you closer with one lazy hand's wave.

"an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay."

you scoff, and let your elbow knock hard against his as response. for once, he takes it without complaint.

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks instead.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

the two of you stand in silence as the shadows of the city length, stretch fingers long across the water in pursuit of the fading rays of light.

then,

"if I tell you a story," he says, "will you promise to just listen?"

"what does that even mean," you start to say, playful, but you stop short when you catch sight of his expression: lost, uncertain.

you swallow the teasing back. lean closer, then nod.

he glances your direction, then away. takes a breath, then speaks.

"I almost ran away from home once, when I was eight," he says. you stiffen. you're about to open your mouth when you remember his initial words. you subside.

he continues,

"it was after my father's assistant had taken me to a circus."

he smiles, self-deprecating, lost in memory.

"I was throwing a fit because my father wouldn't take me with him and my brother on his business trip. but then I was promised a day at the visiting circus that had set up tent along the water, blooming like a rare flower at the center of the CBD."

"I'd never been obedient in my life," he adds with a grin. "but that day, I shut up. did my homework and studying, and was on my best behavior until we left the mansion."

"at that circus, there were all types of performers— put on by people of all talents, no matter how strange."

"there were elephant riders," he says, eyes bright, fixed on a scene out of his distant past, a scene for him and his eight-year old self alone, "lion tamers. knife throwers. trapeze artists who soared so high I thought they'd grown wings, and without the tent's roof, away they'd fly."

he scoffs a little.

"I thought they were magic."

"aren't they?" you ask. "in a way."

he lifts a shoulder. lets it fall. smiles. brittle, mocking.

"then magic's not all it's cracked up to be."

you don't respond. after a moment's silence, he clears his throat, glances your way, then back out across the horizon.

"anyway," he says, "point isn't if they were magic or not. eight-year-old me wanted to paint them anyway. try and capture even a little of their energy with my brush."

then, almost too quietly for you to hear,

"I still do."

"but?" you prompt.

"but," he repeats. the word's flat. sounds hollow on the still evening air, falls too cold, too heavy, too real under the setting sun's warm, hazy glow.

"it was just the one summer's day. painting and art— that was already my one indulgence. as my father's second son I wasn't allowed much more."

he swallows. you take a long look at him, but his gaze never wavers from the sun, slipping low and golden below the city skyline's flickering lights.

"it was like a dream," he says, soft, wistful. "I could've stayed forever, memorizing every inch of it. the flying trapeze. the dancers. the music. the cheering crowds. the smell of caramel and spice."

"it was evening before I knew it, and my father's assistant was doing his best to convince me to leave the snake charmer alone."

"I was just about to bribe him with what was left of my pocket money—"

"of course you were, young master," you interject with a scoff. though his body's still tense, he throws you a smirk, then continues.

"but then, the tent lights dimmed. a hush fell over the crowd, even the animals, as if we were all holding a collective breath, waiting, waiting for something. we didn't know what, but I could feel it, y'know? that if I didn't stay, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. missing that moment."

"so I gave him the money. promised him double when we got home. and we stayed."

"the tent was near pitch black, and everyone still and silent in this almost unnatural way, nearly scared, the feeling near sacred, when flames blossomed in the darkness, and the world of our tent came alive again, with the breath of fire, with the fire's light."

"fire breathing?" you ask. he nods.

"fire dancing," he says, makes the words reverential.

"I'd never seen anything like it before. And even while watching, barely blinking so I wouldn't miss even a single flame's briefest flicker, I knew I could spend my whole life trying to capture that scene on canvas, that energy, and still not manage a passable echo of it."

"that was real magic, jie jie," he says, and for once, his voice is earnest. full of childlike wonder. "I'll never see anything like it again."

"those performances that day, they were art. art everyone should see. art everyone should appreciate."

"I was planning on buying the circus company once I was old enough," he says. you'd scoff at a similar statement any other day, but his voice is dreamlike, worlds away,

"I wanted to preserve it. to capture that magic in the only way I knew how."

his eyelids stutter shut. he inhales, exhales, grip flexing hard against the railing.

what's wrong, you almost ask, but the words lodge hard and painful in your throat at his smile: warm, genuine. almost heartbreaking.

"today, I found out the company shut down ten years ago. the day I went was one of the troupe's last."

"and now?" you ask, voice soft. "is there no way of finding where all the performers are?"

he shrugs. glances sidelong at you. his eyes are lost. lonely as the final rays of sun sink into nothing.

"now I'm here," he says, a forced sort of flippant. it falls flat, and he abandons it, lets his voice falter. "I'm here in the same spot that tent was when I was young, and everything's gone. everything's changed. me, too."

you don't know how to respond. how best to comfort him. if there are any words of comfort that exist for moments like these at all.

at your silence, he sighs, shakes himself hard, then tries a smile.

"sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have said all that. it was selfish of me. just forget this, and tomorrow I'll be the lu jinghe you know again."

he turns to leave. on an impulse— don't let him leave, your nerves sing, your heart shouts, not like this— you grab his wrist, call his name, tell him to wait.

he does. he's still in your grasp, hardly breathing, though beneath your fingers, you feel his pulse racing.

"jie jie?" he asks, and it's hard to tell in the dusk half-light, but you think there's color creeping high across his cheeks. you flush in turn, but don't let go.

"wait," you repeat, and he does, and you sigh a little, relieved, take a breath, organize your thoughts, then speak.

"I—" you start, grasping for your usual lawyer's eloquence, "I used to visit this field every summer. it was behind my grandparent's house in the countryside. during the daytime, it wasn't much. just a patch of overgrown grass gone golden dry, any flowers that might've chosen to grow there in the spring baked under the summer sun."

"me and my childhood friend, we'd run through it until our cheeks were red with the burn of the sunlight, 'til we were exhausted, exhilarated, our hearts racing still long after we'd stopped."

"it was like tasting freedom," you say, your voice softening. "the golden field stretching wide in every direction. the never-ending blue sky up above."

if you close your eyes, you can still see it: xia yan's hair gleaming, just a few shades darker than the grass underfoot, his broad smile, your breathless laughter as you tried your best to keep up. your heart twists at the memory. since he's returned to the city, you don't think you've seen him as carefree as he was then, nor as bright.

some of it must show on your face— lu jinghe makes a vaguely comforting noise and bumps his shoulder against yours.

"during the daytime, though," he says. "then, I'm guessing it must've been something else at night."

you swallow and nod. blink a thanks in his direction, then respond.

"you're right," you say. "it was."

"at night," you say, "the grass was dark. the air was cool. if you looked up, you'd see more than a million stars. only, most nights we never bothered looking up, because it was like we were surrounded by all the stars of the sky, our own galaxy, blinking in, blinking out. little constellations all our own, those little fireflies and their lights."

"I could buy you a star," he says, tone forced light.

"lu jinghe," you scold.

"I could," he insists. "a galaxy, too."

"lu jinghe!"

"only if you wanted," he says. though his demeanor's sulky, you can tell, the words are heartfelt. you smile. just a little.

"what i wanted to say," you continue, "is that the field's probably still there. the fireflies, too. or, not exactly the same fireflies as in my memory, not exactly the same grass, but even if I were to return, even if I were to be there with the same person, it wouldn't be the same as my memory. we wouldn't be the same people either."

he chuckles. you frown.

"paris was never to be the same again although it was always paris and you changed as it changed," he quotes, smirk still tugging the corners of his lips up. "you and that old man have the same taste in literature."

"if art can be a moveable feast," you counter, "then why not the circus, too? maybe you'll never see those same performers again. maybe you will. either way, it won't be the same. not because you've lost the magic or the circus has, but because you've already had that moment. it was something that'd happen only once, that was no less meaningful for its brevity, that you'll keep forever in your memory."

he shrugs. smirks devil-may-care again.

"memory is hunger," he quotes, then sobers, turns serious once more.

"maybe you're right," he says. "either way, it doesn't change the truth: it's gone. we move on. the world moves on. we have to."

you frown.

"that's not what I meant," you say. "not really. because maybe it's gone, maybe the world asks us to move on, tells us that it was all in the past, there's no such thing as magic anymore. but you tell me, is that a life worth living— you're an artist, aren't you?"

"pax," he mutters. doesn't meet your eyes. then, louder:

"I have a responsibility to my father's company, miss attorney. ceos don't get to be artists, too."

"you see the beauty in the world," you counter. "the magic. you want to preserve it. not everyone can. not everyone has the power to. the money. the privilege. as ceo, why don't you?"

he's silent.

"isn't that what you told the director," you press. "that you'd defend other's dreams? doesn't it start here? by fighting first for your own? where you can. when you can."

then, quieter:

"while you still can."

"maybe there will be a day in the not-so-distant future where you'll have to choose," you continue. "and maybe you already know the choice you'll make. the choice you will have to make. but until that day, why sacrifice it— the vision only you have?"

wind rolls nighttime heavy across the water, blows chill between you, spins your hair loose and ruffles his bangs into his eyes. he reaches to brush them aside, and you think, for a moment, you see his hand shake. his eyes shutter closed. in the quiet, the shadows play dark over the panes of his face, turning his expression to nothing but another piece of night.

"I don't know," he says. "maybe no one's ever told me I had that choice before."

he turns to face you completely, and there's a child's hope hovering fragile in his dark eyes.

"not until you, jie jie," he says. then, so softly, you're not quite sure you hear him right:

"there's no one like you."

"that's not true," you say, tipping your head to gaze back up at him. just above his head, the first stars wink into existence. he swallows. leans closer. and your heart's racing, it has been, since you're not sure when, it's been racing, been waiting for a moment, for this moment, this moment, that, like magic, won't ever come again,

"there's you," you say, then the words are lost to the rest of the world as he closes the space between your lips and his.

the stars are as bright as the city lights by the time you pull apart, breathless wonders, the two of you a constellation all your own.

"jie jie," he says with a sweet smile the antithesis of his customary smirk, then pulls you close.

"thank you for coming today when I called."

"aren't you paying me by the hour?"

he scoffs. you laugh, nestled warm against his chest.

"then," he says, and you can hear his smirk return, "i'll be asking for the rest of the night, too."

it's your turn to scoff, if only to cover your blush.

"is there anywhere you want to go?" he asks a beat later. "you must be cold."

you shrug. slip out of his arms to claim his hand in yours.

"anywhere," you say.

"then," he replies, boyish bright, "let's go find some more magic together."

you don't have to go far— before you can search, magic finds you.

as you start down the path away from the riverside, back to the roadside, back past the deserted playground, through an empty lot, light splits the night: a ball of flames, soaring like a meteor through the night sky, burning bright.

at your side, lu jinghe stops dead in his tracks.

"fire dancing," he breathes, eyes alight. the flames fly further, and he follows.

a small crowd's gathered at the other end of the lot to watch, and you join them. there's a child crying, the group of teenagers in front of you are clearly drunk, and above their chatter, you can barely hear the music from the performer's battered speaker (talk about a dream, bruce springsteen growls, try to make it real), but lu jinghe has eyes for the fire and the fire alone, the fire and the old man who dances with it, his movements graceful, his wrinkled face creased into a broad smile.

the flames make another arc, sweep higher than the half-risen moon then come crashing back down, scorching the heavens and pavement alike, the man snaps his wrist, it returns to him, then with another tug, it soars back out into the darkness, blazing a trail of light into the night, carving temporary constellations, curling close around him, closer than a lover's caress, then flying proud, flying free— his passion, his life burning bright for the world to see.

and lu jinghe's fingers are closed tight around yours, and you hardly dare breathe, you don't think you breathe at all, you don't think you blink or move, and you want this moment to last forever, you want this magic to stay, because you don't think you'll ever see anything like it ever again: a person's soul become art, become a living, breathing thing, become light and flame,

(because maybe we spend our lives chasing the light, in love with it, the way it dances— always proud, fierce, always bright— but we hardly ever live it. breathe it. make it our own. hardly ever become it, the thing we love most.)

but the fire burns low, burns lower, burns out, and it's over with a smattering of applause, with a passing car's blasted pop song drowning out the fading crunch of 70s guitar, and you can breathe again, you blink and the world kicks back into motion around you, the crowd dispersing, though some are like you, like lu jinghe: they linger, still lost in the dream, lost to the light.

beside you, lu jinghe shakes himself, as if rousing himself. you turn to him, about to say something, anything, words that'll pale in comparison to what you've just shared, but he pulls away, strides to where the old man's taking a drink of water.

you blink again. shake yourself in turn. flex your fingers where they'd grown numb and sweaty intertwined with his. in his absence, one of the teenagers who'd stayed sidles up next to you.

"your boyfriend looks happy," she says with a grin and a shoulder nudge. you follow her pointed finger with your gaze to where lu jinghe's talking animatedly with the old man, his arms sweeping dramatically through the air, his shadow as excited as he is.

you're about to correct her, but then they both laugh, the old man gestures, and lu jinghe's head lifts, his gaze seeks out yours, meets it mid-laugh,

and you're suddenly struck painful breathless, your heart in your mouth, because this is yours, and only yours, and it's lightning magic, a match lit in the dark, blossoming bright in the dead of the night, it is enough, more than enough, everything you'd never dreamed of, never hoped for, never knew you wanted, never knew you needed: this firecracker charmer of a boy, carefree careless with an artist's heart that cares nevertheless. this boy who shines only for you, shines bright as the flames he's mesmerized by,

and the girl speaks again, but his eyes are still on yours, and she fades back into the night with her friends, leaving only a wink and a laugh— he's grinning broader, happier than you've ever seen him, and he's making his way back over to you, lit torch in hand.

"why are you looking at me like that, jie jie?" he asks, and you know he's barely your junior, but he sounds impossibly young in this moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes, turning the edges of his hair bright, burnished gold, and words could never quite describe what you're feeling— if it were bottled, you're sure it'd be sparkling strange, a living thing, a breathing thing, like fire, like this night, like you and him— but you smile, you reach for his hand before he can react, wind your fingers warm around his where they're gripping the torch's handle.

"you look happy," you say.

"happy?" he asks, but doesn't shrug off your hand. "happy, and not handsome?"

a heartbeat passes. the flames flicker. then his grin widens.

"I'll take it. a compliment from jie jie? I'll treasure it."

"yeah?" you say, eyes still on his.

"yeah," he replies, staring steady back at you. "I will, always."

"you better."

("lu jinghe?"

he's trying to learn to twirl the flames when you call his name soft, a question only your heart and his has the answer for, and when he turns to look back at you, his eyes reflecting golden glorious in the torchlight's glow, you want to call this magic, too.

"jie jie?"

"watch the sunrise with me?" you ask.

"another hour of your time?"

"for free, this time."

"then," he says, grinning bright, grinning broad, "we'll have to make it magic, too.")

#tears of themis #tears of themis marius #val writes #this is! entirely inspired by the fire dancers my friend and I were lucky enough to see by chance in the park by the water last Friday #anyway. ScrEAMs in lu jinghe hell hours.#tears of themis lu jinghe #do u ever think. about how his life passion is art. and he became CEO knowing he'd have to give it all up #bc.#yeAH.

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ronsenburg · 4 years ago

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Since you mentioned you were looking for drabble requests, if you haven't moved on from AA already, could I request something where Apollo or Klavier is struggling against pride/feeling that his problem isn't a big deal/some kind of internal roadblock to seek comfort from the other? Maybe they lost a case they don't think they should have lost, or it's the anniversary of something sad, or they just feel crappy physically or emotionally. Any reason is fine. Thanks for considering my request ^^

vorher:

It’s nearly six pm by the time Franziska finds him, tucked into a chair in the corner of some pretentious and probably ephemeral bar downtown.

It isn’t one of his usual haunts, but the staff seem to know who he is well enough, anyway. Though he is just barely twenty-three and his tab has been approaching the four figure mark for the past hour and a half, no one has bothered to card him or attempt cutting him off yet. Of course, that may have had more to do with the sizable tips slid to whatever staff member is closest in proximity rather than his rather notorious celebrity status, but Klavier’s ego has been rapidly ceasing to care about such things in recent months. What matters to him at this very moment is less the thrill of universal adoration and more the ability to nurse his wounded pride in pseudo-solitude with a vastly overpriced drink.

That solitude is shattered, however, by the arrival of Prosecutor Franziska Von Karma. The sound of her heels clicking firmly against the highly lacquered floors crescendos over whatever smooth jazz cover they’re piping through the hidden speakers as she makes her way directly over to him.

“Are you finished with your tantrum yet?” she asks, removing her dark sunglasses and placing them onto the surface of the bar beside him without any sort of invitation.

It takes a moment for the words to process; Klavier has spent so long playing the role of the ostentatious expat that his alcohol muddled brain can barely grasp the crisp and nearly foreign sounding syllables of her German.

By then, she has already removed her long leather gloves and cape, handing them off to an employee that floats near her elbow like a well trained dog on a leash. When she slides into the chair beside him and signals for the bartender, the scotch she orders for herself is nearly as expensive as Klavier’s own. If he weren’t so chagrined by her sudden interruption, he would likely be impressed.

“Since when is enjoying a drink after work considered a tantrum?” Klavier returns, finally, and also in German. He attempts to fire off one of his charming smiles as he speaks, but the words feel so clumsy and out of practice on his lips that the gesture falls short and sounds far more like the kind of sulk that directly proves the point she has made.

Franziska raises a perfectly arched eyebrow in reaction, though whether it is a response meant specifically for his faltering pronunciations or juvenile tone, Klavier can’t be at all sure. “Since someone recently made a complete fool of himself in a court of law.”

The words strike out like the lash of a whip; Klavier winces despite himself. Franziska is only two years older than him, but when she glances away with an air of disinterested disdain to take a sip from the tumbler placed in front of her, the gap seems far wider.

“You heard?”

“I saw,” she replies, glancing over to him again just long enough to offer a small, disparaging smirk. “It was quite the performance. Do people actually pay you money to see such foolishness on stage?”

The shame he’d been attempting to shove away for the past five hours flares up just below the surface of his thoughts then, hot and bright enough that he suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

“You are just as charming as they say, Fraulein,” Klavier smiles; the sarcasm tastes false and bitter on his tongue.

In truth, he had made a fool of himself.

Klavier has always prided himself on being meticulous in his pursuit of the truth, in perfectly balancing the demands of both his prosecutorial career and his life as a musician. And, most of the time, he’d succeeded so brilliantly that it had blinded him to the subtly advancing and yet still discreet signs that he might have been slipping.

There had been issues with the band’s latest album.

With the ink long since dried on the studio’s contract and their chosen title already heavily marketed, the pressure to produce something of value had been mounting. Every song he’d written since then had seemed increasingly vapid, words that fit a theme but lacked any sort of meaning, chords that sounded deliberately catchy but were devoid of anything new and surprising. They were going through the motions, but those motions were long since stale. There was nothing of the artistic fire that had skyrocketed them to success in their early years and that alone drained any last bit of excitement he might have derived from the process.

It was driving a neat wedge through the center of the band; Daryan called him a diva, so used to having things his own way that he fell to pieces at the idea of ever being told what to do. Take the money, release an album that was shallow but on brand. They could always switch it up next time when time was on their side. You’re the lawyer, he'd mocked, you should know exactly how much of our asses are on the line here.

Their arguments on the subject had become more and more frequent as the days passed, spilling from band practice to crime scenes and, finally, to the kitchen of Klavier’s apartment. This time, it was Daryan who had packed what few belongings he’d scattered throughout Klavier’s various shelves and drawers into an old duffle bag and left, slamming the door shut behind him with finality as he’d gone.

As Klavier’s luck would dictate, Daryan had been the lead detective on this last case. While they were both professional enough not to ignore each other completely during the proceedings, the type of communication necessary for a successful indictment had been… difficult, to say the least.

And so he’d been distracted in his investigation, enough that he’d overlooked a piece of evidence so decisive in the opposition’s favor that when it had been presented, he’d been left gaping in uncharacteristic surprise from his place at the bench.

Yes, he’d been slipping, unable to see the progression of his descent until he had been standing firmly at the bottom of a tall slope.

He was only lucky, he supposed, that this was not a murder trial.

Back at the bar, Klavier rolls his eyes softly, more an aversion of his gaze than a gesture for dramatic display. Franziska doesn’t seem to be paying him enough attention to notice such things, anyway.

“Well, you can consider me scolded. Your work is done.”

“And yet, that’s not why I’m here,” Franziska returns. Ignoring the eyebrow he raises toward her in obvious question, she instead tilts the tumbler back, swallowing the last centimeter of the amber drink. “I would not waste my time and energy searching the city to scold a fool who seems to be doing an admirable job of berating himself. No, despite your recent failures, there are people in this city who seem to care about your well being. It would be a shame if you were to drown in a pool of your own vomit.”

He cannot help his rather obvious flinch at her words, no matter how quickly he endeavors to mask it. “How very touching, ja? I was expecting more anger.”

Franziska pauses in the midst of extracting a matte black card from the small handbag she carries. When her steel grey eyes meet his, Klavier suddenly understands the fear the von Karma name had once inspired in courtrooms across the world.

“Oh, I am angry,” she smiles, wagging her finger in such a way that it is clear she is mocking him. “You allowed a criminal to walk free today. But he is guilty, I am certain of that. And now he will be cocky.”

Klavier is so stunned by her words that he barely registers that she has slid her card across the surface of the wooden bar, let alone has the presence of mind to argue.

“There will be more evidence to find and new charges to file,” she continues, unperturbed by his gaping. “I will assume that next time you will have your priorities in the correct order.”

With that, she stands and turns to the attendant who is still waiting nearby, ready to help her back into the dark, cashmere folds of her cloak. When the complex ritual of donning her long gloves and sunglasses is complete, she turns once again to face him.

“I will be driving you home. You may choose, now, whether you would like to accompany me willingly or if you will require Detective Gumshoe’s escort. You have until I reach the door to decide.”

It feels as though a whirlwind has swept through the room, appearing out of nowhere to disrupt his wallowing completely before disappearing as suddenly as she had come. Klavier is not stupid enough to doubt Franziska’s words, despite the fact that he is twenty-three and more than a bit inebriated. He wavers only slightly as he finds his own feet and follows her out onto the sun soaked sidewalk beyond the bar.

If she is smiling when she looks back towards him, it is the small, private smirk of victory. Klavier finds that he is too preoccupied with the act of placing one foot in front of the other along the uneven slabs of concrete to care. He stumbles gracelessly into the backseat of the car Franziska indicates, through a door held open by a man that Klavier can only assume is the Detective she had mentioned inside.

“Huh,” he comments before closing the door. “Somehow I thought you’d be taller, pal.”

A sharp stab of pain somewhere behind his left temple resonates brightly in response.

This is something he will certainly regret tomorrow.

nachher:

“Okay, spill,” Apollo demands, crossing his arms in a visible display of stubborn obstination that, at any other time, Klavier might find endlessly adorable.

Tonight, however, he has reached a new level of exhaustion, one that leaves him blinking back at Apollo in baffled surprise as he attempts to pivot his thoughts from their previous trajectory in order to make sense of the other’s sudden words. “Spill was?”

As his words indicate, the intended course adjustment doesn’t go very well at all.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” Apollo replies, huffing out a sigh of what sounds nearly like frustration. “You’ve been working late, you don’t eat, you haven’t been sleeping. Something’s up; I think you should tell me what it is.”

Though Apollo’s words and posture are combative, it is all for show. There is an uncertainty in his eyes and concern exposed in the way he bites at the inside of his lip in silence, waiting for Klavier to speak. The fact that Klavier has learned to recognize this expression through repeatedly causing it is a painful enough thing to shoulder; to admit to the reason behind his behavior when it will only bring them both all the more strife, however, would be far worse. Not because he doubts the limits of Apollo’s strength; it is his own resilience that is threatened by the thought of divulging the extent of his insecurities.

Klavier runs a hand through the strands of hair that have escaped the hasty braid he had tied earlier that evening and attempts an apologetic smile. “Ach, Liebling, there is nothing to tell. It is just work.”

“You’re lying.”

It is stated as a fact, nothing more. But while there is nothing accusatory in Apollo’s tone and his face is perfectly even as he says it, Klavier still feels the words as though they are the sting of an attack.

“Ja?” he responds. “And you promised there would be no bracelet inside the house, did you not?”

What he intends is for the words to sound facetious, a nod to the same kind of fond banter they had indulged in long before the intimacy of a romantic relationship. But Klavier is lying; it is not an offense often committed between them and certainly not one he has reveled in or perpetuated out of malice, now. Still, to be seen through so shifted his smile without meaning to. Klavier can feel it teetering on the edge of a sneer that feels both unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

What follows, then, is a long pause.

A lifted arm, a proffered bare wrist, is Apollo’s only response.

That gesture feels more devastating than the aftermath of an actual, physical fight. Klavier can feel the air exit his lungs in a sharp hiss of remorse, his posture on the plush sofa of their study crumbling as he leans forward to place his head into his waiting hands.

“That was uncalled for,” Klavier begins, though his voice is muffled by the skin of his palms pressed firmly against his speaking mouth. “I am sorry, Schatz, I—“

But his words are interrupted by the sudden creak of sofa springs, the cushions on either side of Klavier dipping under the newly applied weight of Apollo’s knees. There is the feeling of Apollo’s warm fingers wrapping around the skin of his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

“I know you, Klavier,” Apollo says softly; his voice is so uncharacteristically gentle that the words sound less like a statement and more the sweetest declaration of love. Maybe they are. After all, Klavier has been loved before. But being actually, truly known? He glances up into Apollo’s brown eyes, warm with determination and affection. “I don’t need the bracelet to see when you’re upset. If you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand, but you don’t have to go around pretending everything is okay when it isn’t.”

“Bold words for someone who insists upon always being fine, ja?” Klavier murmurs, another half hearted attempt at humor that falls flat in what little space exists between them.

Apollo still lifts the edge of his lips in a small, humored smile of concession. “In court, maybe. But not with you. We all need to be vulnerable, sometimes.”

The breath that Klavier exhales wavers under the strain of unspoken emotions, his eyes fluttering closed just as Apollo leans forward to place a featherlight kiss against the center of his forehead, against his cheekbone, against the corner of his downturned mouth.

“You can trust me, Klavier,” he concludes. “I’ll always be here, whenever you’re ready, okay?”

Klavier finds he does not have the words to respond, then, even as the sound of fabric rustling against fabric fills the air and the hands holding Klavier’s wrists retreat. Their absence is felt immediately in the lack of warmth as Apollo slides back off the couch and onto his feet.

“Apollo?”

Apollo’s footsteps stall halfway through the door.

Klavier still finds he needs to clear his throat before he can continue to speak, swallowing back the sentiments that have collected there that he is otherwise unable to express. “Could you stay? Bitte. Just for a moment.”

This is a weakness Klavier should not afford himself. It is selfish to ask Apollo to comfort him when Klavier cannot even bring himself to explain precisely why he requires it. But Apollo’s eyes are soft when they find Klavier’s gaze once again, inexplicably fully of acceptance and, beyond that, what Klavier knows is love.

“Yeah,” he nods, “of course.”

Apollo stays far longer than a moment, his fingers combing through the strands of Klavier’s loose hair under the fading light that filters in though the slightly open window. They don’t speak, but the steady rhythm of Apollo’s breath in the otherwise silent room, the gentle pressure of his fingers, is enough to distract him from the tumultuous cascade of his own thoughts.

#this continues the trend of people asking me for one thing and me willfully misunderstanding the nature of the prompt!#and writing something entirely different!#just trying to subvert everyone's expectations jadshfskjdfhks #okay but literally that first anon is from like two years ago #SORRY DUDE #valentines day kiss prompts #ronsenburg tries to write #klapollo

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heychangbin · 5 years ago

Text

The Camping Trip ║ Part Three

Summary: You hike through the gorge trail and catch lunch, have some heart-to-heart with billy before packing everything up and returning to the city.

Wordcount: 6239

Warnings: smut towards the end.

A/N: Last part of this trip!! thanks for coming along for the ride.

You woke in increments, a low indistinct murmuring filtering through the haze of sleep, you hum at the feel of lips brushing feather light against the shell of your ear, the drag of a beard against the apple of your cheek, fingertips being ghosting up and down your arm, and a pleasant weight on your back.

"Billy…" the word laced with want and need, shifting your hips backwards to grind against him turning his murmuring to a groan as strong hands grip and still your movement.

“As much as I wanna tire you out first thing in the morning, I dont think it’s such a good idea.”

“Whaddaya mean?” your brows furrow in confusion as you continue to try and grid against him.

Billy rarely ever turned down morning sex, even when he was overseas on a contract, if he had time to squeeze in a quick jerk while you two were on the phone, he’d take it.

“It’s a ten minute walk to the showers,”

That made you stop and turn to look over your shoulder, the foggy image of him tying up a condom coming to your mind's eye.

“That why you—”

“Didn’t think it’d be a fun way to wake up”

You turn to face him, the sheet pulling down and tight against your body with the movement and see that he’s dressed in fresh clothes, face washed and hair slicked back away from his face. Knowing him, he’s probably already been on his morning run

“You brought more than one, right?.”

He shifts and props himself on his elbows, body hovering over yours, lowering his head and pressing his lips to yours, his tongue coaxing your mouth open, your arms coming up to circle his neck as you kick your leg out of the sheet, hooking over his hip. Before the kiss could get too heated he pulls away, resting his forehead to yours,

“No more group trips after this.” he murmurs, his breath fanning across your face, "At least not the kind where we don't have solid ten inch walls between us and the rest of the world" he continues, making you chuckle as he lowers himself beside you, arms reaching out and bringing you close, hugging you to his chest for a moment, the gentle notes of sandalwood and spices from his cologne fill your nose while his fingers trace idle patterns on your arm. You feel your eyelids get heavier, your breathing evening out with every inhale

"Breakfast is getting cold."

His words pull you from the cusps of sleep and make you groan, bury your face further into the crook of his neck making him chuckle and squeeze your shoulder before pulling away and saying,

“C’mon, I’ll save you a cup.” before climbing out the bed and stepping out of the tent, leaving you alone.

You roll onto your back and starfish across the blown up mattress for a moment, wiping and blinking your eyes exaggeratedly to dispel the last remaining dredges of sleep from them and climb out, stretching until your back gives a satisfying pop and reach for your clothes, changing into them quickly and slip into the flip flops that Billy insisted you bring. You reach for your phone bringing the screen to life and wince at the time, cursing under your breath as you put it to sleep and slip it into the pocket of your jeans.

Stepping out of the tent you rear your head back, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes, the morning is brighter than what you expected, making you squint and blink your eyes rapidly to help them adjust while you make your way to where Billy is standing, blue white speckled cup in his hand, talking with Frank, who looked like a lumberjack with his red plaid shirt, distressed washed out jeans, and dark worn boots, sans the mustache and beard.

Ten minute walk to the showers and everyone’s awake. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, knowing these guys, you’re pretty sure Billy, Frank, and Curt had gone on a morning jog together, maybe even a race.

“Where’s everyone?” you ask, when you come to a stop next to Billy, reaching for the cup in his hand and cradling it in your own, bringing it to your lips and blowing on it a few times, the palms of your hands soaking in the warmth that seeps from the aluminum cup before taking a generous gulp of the sweetened coffee.

“Karen’s in our tent gettin’ her stuff to head to the showers.” Frank said, handing you a plate with toast and a couple of sunny side up eggs.

“Curt? Matt ‘nd Foggy?” you ask, setting down your cup and taking the plate form Frank, quickly breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the runny yellow center of an egg, half expecting to at least find Curt with Billy and Frank.

You noticed the change in their faces instantly, their eyes hardening and the corners of their mouths turning down in a slight frown. You had seen that look on Billy's face before and it had a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, making you forget about the food in your hands.

After a beat Billy cleared his throat, his words somber as he spoke,

“Guy we served with reached out, ((seems to have run into some trouble)),” your eyes scanned the area, expecting to see Curt pacing along the treeline as he spoke into his phone. You’ve heard about some of the men Billy and Frank had served with, even met a few of them, knew that they weren't the type to come knocking on their door for a backyard BBQ, but the space was empty...emptier than it had been before you stepped into your tent last night.

“Curt headed out a couple hours ago, couldn’t get in touch with Reyes or Romano, Nelson offered to make a few calls to get Jameson out but was told that,” Billy paused, his face scrunching up in distaste before he continued, “that due to the severity of the crime and Jameson’s….particular skill set, the judge was….he’s withholding bail.”

Your eyes widened, the piece of toast falling from your limp fingers onto your plate, you had met Jameson a couple of times before back when Anvil was in the stages of its infancy, he had been one of the few trainers Billy had hired alongside Frank, a mountain of a man, with an intense presence and few words, most of them used to give an insight of the devotion he had towards his little girl.

“What did he—”

“He didn’t do it,” Frank interrupted, voice hard leaving no room for argument, “Whatever it is that they’re accusing him of, he didn’t do it. Jameson, he wouldn’t do that to his family, he’d—” he cut himself off, letting out a long huff, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, fingertips digging into the cartilage that never set right.

People change Frankie, thought you’d understand that better than most, after Maria and the kids….your eyes jumped from Billy to Frank and back to Billy, who shook his head.

“Curt and Frank know the guy and they say he ain’t the type,” Billy says, hand reaching for the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out his phone, giving the screen a few quick taps and flicks. Dark eyes scanning the screen as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips followed by a few more taps, “and they’ve never steered me wrong” he continued, pressing the power button, making the screen go dark and returning it to the back pocket of his jeans.

“Just put the boys on retainer, don’t worry Frankie, Jameson is gonna be in the best of hands.”

Boys? You looked over at Billy, brow arched in question as you set your plate down. You knew of the lawyers that Curt had on hand for anything and everything to do with his veterans group, had spent a few afternoons helping him do some paperwork with them, and none of them were boys

“Nelson and Murdock. ”

“Still no Mick and Linda?” asked Karen as she made her way to where you were standing, hair pulled into a messy ponytail at the crown of her head, a soft looking green towel over her shoulder, and a blue mesh shower caddy in her hand.

“Curt hasn’t been able to get a hold of them yet, and it’s been a few hours since Jameson called” he said shrugging, picking a piece of toast from your plate and popping it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it quickly, “from the looks of it, it ain’t a vet thing, but if they need to be brought on later we’ll give them a call.”

That mean… “We should get going if we wanna get through a couple of these trails and catch lunch.”

You groaned internally as you throw back the last of your coffee, setting down the tin cup on the table and turning to head back to your tent.

“Want me to wait for you?” you heard Karen call, but you waved her off, throwing a quick, “i’ll catch up with you” over your shoulder.

*****

The trek through the gorge alone was worth the four hour drive to the state park. You’d never expected such a place to be so near the city.

Stepping out of the entrance tunnel and onto the bridge was something else, the shades of green and yellow in the trees, the sun light streaming in overhead and the glistening walls of rock, you had been able to hear the roaring of the waterfall, had been fully expecting it, but seeing it, framed between two walls of rock, with scattered leafs and vines was breathtaking.

You leaned your hands on the top of the bridge wall, the stone cool and damp under your palms, the sound of the rushing water drowning out the noise of the passersby around you as you watched the water break at the bottom, joining the stream that continued gently down its course.

Billy's hand a warm weight on your back as he said,

“Frank and Karen went on head, but we can’t fall too far behind if we wanna catch lunch.

You turned to look at him, brown raised in question, “You made reservations? What kind of place takes reservations but is okay with you walking in in jeans, t-shirt and sneakers? Is it a local hotspot that's always full?”

The corner of his lips pulled up into a smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes that would’ve gone unnoticed to someone that didn’t know him like you did.

“C’mon, we better get going if you’re gonna stop at every fall like this.”

Every fall? “How many are there?” you ask turning to him fully

“Nineteen.” The smile on his lips grew, crinkling the corner of his eyes as yours widened in disbelief.

Better get movin’ then. You took his hand and tugged, continuing on at a leisurely pace, always mindful of the slick stone at your feet and the water that fell like soft raindrops, stopping for a moment to admire the cavern on the side of the rock wall, taking in the dozens upon dozens of erosion lines that littered its surface and the cascade in front of it before continuing on to the next set of stair that took you further into the gorge. At the top, nestled between two walls of eroded rock was fall number three, the water a brilliant white as it fell off the edge towards the bottom, beyond it a cluster of trees in shades of greens and light yellows, the sunlight streaming in making everything seem like it had an otherworldly glow. You reach for your phone, pressing and flicking the screen to bring up your camera, taking a couple of pictures, focusing on the white frothy water.

“Can’t get any better than this.” you murmur as you take one last shot of the fall before pocketing your phone, you catch the ends of a smile on Billy’s lips before he turns and continues to guide you through the trail.

You’re reaching the next set of steps when you feel your eyes widen and understand why Billy had chuckled, you had thought that the trail led you past the waterfall, not behind it, as you got closer the water got louder and the spray of the water grew, littering your skin in tiny drops that helped cool it, and when you walked directly behind it, you couldn't help but reach out and touch it, pulling it back almost immediately due to it being so cold.

You continued on to the next set of steps that lead you through a short tunnel, through it a wall littered with vines and tree branches that ranged from greens, to yellows and browns, and when you turned to continue down the trail it was made even more majestic by the stone walkway and the brilliant sun that shined down on the scene, reaching for your phone again to take a few more pictures.

After a few steps you caught sight of the next fall up ahead and quickened your pace, taking out your phone and took a short video of the multiple small falls that cascade into the peaceful stream. When your finished you pocket your phone and come to stand beside Billy, ((whose)) fingers are tapping about the screen of his phone.

“Got your shot Warhol?” Billy asks as he pockets his device, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Yeah, I did.”

You continue down the narrow walkway looking between the calm stream, the looming trees overhead and the mossy rock walls before turning onto the next set of steps that lead you higher above the gorge.

The next stop was Glen Cathedral, and it was even more beautiful than the last stop you had made. The trees were high above the rock walls, the sunlight shining on a smattering of greens, yellows, browns, reds, and oranges.

You made it to the central cascade and the rainbow falls both of them breathtaking in their beauty, but your favorite had to be the view from mile point bridge, where you reunited with Frank and Karen, looping back together.

*****

When Frank and Billy had said “catch lunch” you had expected to go off the trail into town, to a small secluded bistro with patio tables that served iced drinks in little mason jars and plating was worth a picture to add to your personal social media, you hadn’t thought that they had meant it literally. Which if you were being honest, was on you.

You’ve known Frank for a while now, knew that that wasn’t his style.

That’s how you found yourself in a charter boat, a spinning rod in your hands, line casted a few feet from the rear end of the boat, the round red and white marker attached to it bobbing with the minute waves.

If you were being honest, you didn't mind it, it felt nice to hold a fishing rod in your hands again, even if it wasn’t the one you had back home and it didn’t have your lucky lure, had you had it you were sure that you would’ve caught a fish by now.

It was getting close to the 20 minute mark and all you felt on your line were tentative nibbles, while Frank and Billy had already caught several fish between them and Karen had had the bad luck of reeling too soon before the fish was properly hooked on her line.

You know it’s a game of patience and tamp down the urge to reel your line back in and cast it again, especially when you see the tug on Karen's fishing line, Frank coaching her on how to feel if the fish is properly hooked to be reeled in.

Dave, the guy that took you out into the lake, checks his watch and mentions that your time with the boat is almost up. You hear Frank and Billy say that you’ve caught enough to make lunch for the four of you, to start heading back to shore.

You start reeling in your line when you feel a tug that makes you stop, when there is no pull you begin to crank the lever again, giving it a few full turns when there is a tug on the line again.

A nibbler, Instead of continuing to reel the line back in, you tug the rod back a few times, hoping that it entices the fish to actually bite the lure. After a few quick tugs, you feel the sudden pull, you plant your feet, pull the rod straight up and start to reel in earnest, ignoring the commotion behind you.

It isn't long before the fish breaks the surface of the water, and when it does you feel your eyes widen in a mixture of shock and awe. It’s big, with silvery scares, muddy yellow fins and light spots along it’s back and sides, you ((offhandedly)) register Frank leaning over the edge of the rear, holding out the fishing net to catch the large fish when it’s close enough, Karen’s hand fisted in the back of his shirt, holding him so he wouldn't fall, Billy coming up behind you and helping you hold the rod as you cranked the lever.

Everyone gave a satisfied cheer when Frank slid the net under it and pulled it onboard, opening its mouth and pulling the hook out from the corner of its mouth.

“This is a whole lotta fish” he says holding it up and he’s right, the fish easily clears the foot long mark and is wider than Franks arms. You idly wonder how the sheer size and weight if it didn’t snap your fishing line as Frank sets it in the cooler with the other fish that had been caught while Billy gives the go ahead to Dave to head back to shore.

************

You reach the campsite, after making a quick stop at a store on the way back, Billy made quick work of cutting and cleaning the large fish you had caught, putting away the smaller ones in a ziplock bag, saying a quick,

“Lunch tomorrow” as he tossed the bag into the cooler

“I thought we were packing up after breakfast?”

“You really wanna drive 4 hours back to the city with fish in a cooler?” Billy arched a brow, managing to make it look questioning and judging at the same time.

“He’s got a point there.” Piped up Frank from where he was crouched over, cleaning the burned out remnants of the fire form the morning and got to work starting a new one, Billy dunking the fish in a large bowl of water, running the edge of a knife along its’ body, scraping off the scales, while you and Karen were put on vegetable duty, cleaning and chopping carrots and potatoes, packing them in foil.

It wasn't long before Frank had a fire going under the grill rack, moving and spacing out the flaming chunks of wood and turning it into a low flame.

You, Karen, and Frank were sitting in your chairs, enjoying a beer as the veggie packs cooked on the rack, the skillet heating up beside them, when Billy made his way over with the prepped fish, placing two fillets at a time on the skillet, the pink meat sizzling as it was laid down. It only took a few moments for the aroma of herbs, spices, and a hint of lemon to waft into the air, making your mouth water.

After a few minutes Billy flipped the fish, the top a nicely toasted brown, after a few more minutes and Karen was handing Billy the plates, Billy loading each one with a pack of veggies and a golden fish fillet.

Hints of spices engulfed your tongue after the first bite, forcing you to suppress a moan as you chewed,

“This is amazing!” you say after swallowing your first bite, fork working on breaking off another piece.

“You sound surprised, what? Didya think we were gonna have you eating beans out off a can?”

Your enthusiastic chewing stopped as you threw a sidelong look at Karen, who was also avoiding looking at Frank and Billy, her fork picking aimlessly at the food on her plate.

“You really thought I’d feed you canned beans? I’ve made you dinner before!”

“You’ve plated takeout Billy, that doesn’t count." You deadpan, before shoving another bite into your mouth, Billy’s eyebrows quirk in question while your words send Karen into a fit of laughter.

You ate the remainder of your meal and shared various stories until the sky began to turn and the air got chilly, making quick work of the clean up while the fire, that was fed every so often, was put out. After checking that everything was put away and the trash bag was out of reach from any potential midnight thieves (Frank, Billy and Curt had woken up to Matt chasing away a couple of raccoons), you say your goodnights and head to your tent with Billy at your side.

You go through your nightly routine, stripping your clothes, tossing them in the hamper and pulling your Anvil shirt on, then move to one of the small tables and pick up the things to brush your teeth before climbing into bed, Billy settling behind you a few minutes later, his arm going around your waist and pulling you back against him, his hand snaking its way under your shirt and resting on the skin of your stomach, thumb swiping across the skin under your sternum.

As you lay in bed, the faint sounds of crickets and the gentle sound of Billy’s breathing filling the empty space, you thought over the past couple days, the satisfaction you felt helping pitch up your tent, victory when you found your way back to your campsite, wonderment as you walked through the gorge, exhilaration when you reeled in the large trout, most of all amazed at the fact that despite the amount of years you had known Billy, there are still things to learn about him.

Your mind wandered to things you wished you had had time to do, like swim in a lake, chop down a tree, take a shot at building a fire yourself, sleep under the stars….

“Bill?” you whispered into the dark, taking his wrists and squeezing, repeating his name a little louder.

“what is it?” he mumbles into your hair half asleep.

“Didya mean it? What you said this morning,” you shift and turn in the circle of his arms until you're on your side facing him. “About next time, it just being us.”

A slow smile spread across his face, his hand coming up to cup your face,

‘Yeah, I meant it, just us," he pauses for a beat, as if deep in thought before continuing, "or investing in multiple packs or earplugs."

You snort, smacking him in the middle of his chest with the back of your hand,

“Didn’t mean that,”

“What did you mean then?”

“Being out here, unplugged, it was fun, relaxing, and I wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”

The corners of his lips pull up in a gentle smile, pushing the apple of his cheeks up and crinkling the corners of his eyes,

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again either.” he murmurs, leaning forward and brushing his lips against yours, humming when his tongue pushes past your lips and delves into your mouth, your hand snakes between your bodies, cupping him through the thin material of his boxer briefs, feeling him grow stiff as you squeezed and stroke his length, groaning into your mouth before sinking his teeth into your bottom lip and tugging as his hips move in counterpoint with your hand.

“Please tell me you brought more than the one condom.”

“Y-yeah, they’re—” a groan rumbles in his chest as you drag your hand along his length, your grip twisting as you neared the tip, “fuck, they’re in my….in my….if you keep”

You slowed and slackened your hold on him, while seeing how long you could make Billy hold off releasing in your hand was your favorite game; it wasn’t what you had in mind for tonight. You pull your hand away and Billy throws the sheets off his body, climbing off the bed in the same motion, long legs carrying him to the hanging organizers in a handful of strides; hands reach in and riffle through one of the compartments, returning to the bed just as quickly and tossing the foil packet onto his pillow.

He made his way between your legs, holding himself over your body, your arms going around his neck, hand threading themselves in the longer strands of his hair as he lowered himself and kissed you. His lips moved against yours with purpose as you dragged your nails against the back of his head, his hand slid over to your breast, long fingers cupping and squeezing the pliable mound, his thumb sweeping across the peaking bud, before he pinched and rolled it between his thumb and index finger, making you moan into his mouth.

His hand gripped and squeezed as it made its way down your chest, gripping the edge of your shirt and pulling on it insistently, pulling away from you and pushing it up and over your head, returning his lips to your overheating skin, kissing a trail along the column of your neck. You hissed in pain, back arching off the bed slightly, when you felt his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your collarbone, before moving on to the top of your breast, sucking it into his mouth.

He presses opened mouth kisses to every inch of skin as he continues downward, licking and nipping the inside of your legs as he settles himself between your thighs, making you hum when you feel his lips press against the apex of your mound and down along the folds.

He teases you relentlessly, a long dexterous finger joining his ministrations, running up and down your lips, spreading the wetness that he’s working out of you while his tongue lightly flicks and circles your clit. His tongue working you over harder when he adds a second finger, pushing them past your folds and pumping them into you, the pads of his fingers brushing against your soft walls, eliciting moans and groans from you, your skin turning feverish as you grip and guide his head over to where you need him, your hips undulating of their own accord.

You're a writhing mess when he works a third finger into you, pumping, curling, and massaging your walls, that coupled with the way his mouth is insistently working your clit has you hurtling towards your orgasm. Your hands fly to cover your mouth, muffling the long dragged out moan, your legs clamping around Billy’s head as you curl in on yourself.

You flop back down in a heap, feeling boneless and high, body jolting as Billy’s gives you a few final licks, and begins to lazily kiss his way back up.

“Been wantin’ to do that since this mornin’” he murmurs, lips ghosting against the base of your neck before he nips the skin over your pulse point.

You wrap your arms around his shoulder, dragging your fingernails across his shoulder blades, fueling the quiet rumble in his chest,

“Been wantin’ to do something since this mornin’ too.” you say against his temple, you drag your hand back and over his shoulder, laying your palm on his chest and give a hard shove, flipping him over and onto his back, and quickly climb over on top of him, a little too quickly. You let out a surprised yelp when your knee slips over the edge of the bed, the rest of your body following the momentum. You would have landed on your face had it not been for the strong arms that circle your waist and roll you back to the middle of the bed.

“That usually works and is infinitely more sexy when we do it at home.” you say between heaving breaths.

Billy lets out a rumbling laugh, kissing the top of your head and saying,

“Might be because our bed at home takes up half our bedroom.” he rubs the length of your arms a few times before pulling back to look at your face, “You alright?”

“Yeah, didn’t hurt anything, just my pride”

He lets out another small chuckle, fingers brushing back a few strands of damp hair you can feel sticking to the side of your face “if you wanna try again, I’m all for it.”

“Can’t imagine being sexy after that.”

“Hey,” he pulls back, pushing your chin up to raise your head so you meet his eyes, “there’s nothing sexier than making someone laugh in the middle of sex.”

His eyes are intense and you know he means what he just said, it makes your chest bloom in warmth, you stretch and press your lips against his, flicking your tongue against the seam of his lips as your hand reaches for the edge of his boxers. You can tell his erection has flagged a bit, most likely due to the scare of you falling, so you forgo the elastic and palm him through the fabric, pumping and squeezing the shaft while deepening the kiss.

It isn't long before his hips are grinding into your hand, dick hard and dampening the front of his boxers. You pull away from him and with hurried hands push the underwear down, scooting down the bed to pull them off his legs and tossing them somewhere over the edge as you hear the crinkling and tearing of the condom packet, when you look back up, Billy is rolling the condom onto himself. You make your way back up and settle over his waist, lowering yourself onto him, running your wet sex over his harden length, his hands reach out and grip your waist, fingertips digging hard into the soft skin as his legs come up behind you.

There's a flush that spreads over his chest as you continue to roll your hips, his hands helping to guide the speed in which you move, when he starts tossing his head back and his hips begging to give aborted buck you lift yourself onto your knees, reach for his length and guide it to your entrance and slowly sink down. His eyes roll back and a low groan rumbles in his throat, while you bite your lower lip to stifle the moan that’s threatening to push past your lips.

Once he’s fully inside you, you pause for a moment, breathing deep and slow to fully adjust, you give a tentative roll of your hips making him hiss and grip your thighs, then another, and another and soon his hands are urging you faster, his own hips pushing off the bed and thrusting into you, his hands reaching up to squeeze and push at the swell of your breasts, leaving pink prints behind as it continues up to your neck.

You lean forward, palms splayed and fingernails digging into his chest as you continue to ride him, you're close to your second release, and you tell him as much between labored breaths. The hand that's gripping your neck brings you down, angling your head to the side and slotting his lips over yours, tongue pushing past your lips and turning it deep and filthy as he shifts your position, rolling you both onto your side, grabbing the back of your knee and hooking it over his hip and pistons into you with reckless abandon, making you reach your climax with a silent scream. Billy follows soon after, his thrusts becoming disjointed before stilling against yours a few moments later with a bitten off moan.

He props himself up on his elbows, his breathing was ragged as he held himself over you for a beat before dipping his head dragging his lips against yours slowly in a final kiss and pulling out of you, letting himself fall beside you on the bed.

You struggle to keep your eyes open long enough for Billy to get rid of the condom and hug yourself to him but you tried anyway, forcing your eyes open until you felt the bed dip again when he climbs back on, settling behind you, pulling you against his chest and murmuring something that sounded like a goodnight against the back of your ear, only then did you let your eyes to slip close and allow yourself to drift into unconsciousness.

-May 24 2015-

Morning comes too soon for your liking, making you groan when you feel Billy pull away from you, he chuckles and presses a quick kiss to your temple and saying,

"C'mon lazy bones, we got a busy mornin' ahead of us."

"Or" you said, rolling over onto your back the bedsheet pooling around your waist, exposing your bare breasts, "we could lay here and just forget the world."

"As tempting as that notion is, and believe me, it is very tempting, we both have morning meetings tomorrow that can't be rescheduled."

You roll your eyes and groan, "thanks for the reminder."

You love your job, you really do, Mr. Fitzgerald is one of the few decent men you had come to work for in New York, but that didn't mean the people he worked with were the same. You thanked your lucky stars that you only had to deal with the board members once every few months.

"And before you start with your Anvil pitch, I'll think about it when Mr. Fitzgerald retires.”

Billy climbs on the bed again, arms braced on either side of your head holding himself over you.

"I’m just sayin’, I run a pretty tight ship at Anvil, you wouldn’t have to deal with ((half)) the bullshit you deal with working for Mr. whatever-his-name-is.”

You chuckle, running your hand over his chest, “Mr. Fitzgerald and you know why I’m not jumping to work at Anvil”

Billy’s head rolls along with his eyes and lets himself flop next to you, lifting his hand and gesticulating as he spoke,

“It wouldn't be the same thing and you wouldn’t have to be my secretary, there’s always positions for trainers, HR, Jenson is still looking for a capable accounting assistant.

“And before you go on your “i dont wanna ride anyones coattails” or whatever speech, I’m not involved with the hiring process, that’s all HR. and we have a strict unbiased policy.

“So if you manage to get a position at Anvil, it’ll be all on your own merit. Nothing else, not cuz you’re sleeping with the CEO, not because you have nice legs, a great rack, or have a peach of an ass, it’ll be because you are more than capable for the position.”

“I’ll think about it.” you say, meaning it more than you ever have.

You shift to roll out of bed but stop when Billy doesn't move, you look up at him and arch your brows in question.

“While I have you here,” he pauses and you knew exactly where this was going,

“Billy, it’s too early to have that conversation again,”

He reaches for your hand, twining your fingers together and bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss to the back of your hand, “I just wanna take care of you.”

“You already do Billy, so much”

“Right now, sure, but...this would be for the future, whatever it is, if somethin’...somethin’ happens and I’m—” you press two fingers to his lips, silencing him. you wouldn’t let his thoughts go there.

“I’ll think about it.” you say, reaching up and pressing your lips to the bridge of his nose, climbing over him and out of bed, reaching for your clothes and getting dressed.

*******

Billy had been right to say you had a busy morning ahead of you. After a light breakfast of coffee and granola power bars and a quick trip to the showers, everyone got to work, picking up trash and putting away the nonessentials, packing them away in the back of the SUV.

It was about midday when Billy started to work on getting lunch ready, laying down fish fillets on the skillet and letting them cook for a few minutes before turning them over, taking them off the pan and letting them rest while he repeated the process with the next batch. A few minutes later, he was handing out plates with fish tacos on them. And wondered, not for the first time, where Billy had gotten his culinary skills and why he had hid them for this long.

You and Karen were coming back from tossing out the trash and washing the inside of the cooler, plates and the pan Billy had used a few sites over to find Billy and Frank had taken down and were meticulously folding the tents.

A few minutes later, you were all piling into the SUV, Billy pulling out of the site and heading back up the dirt road you had taken back to the city.

---------

Gen: @juguitos @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12 @suchatinyinfinity @bts-smolarmy @elanor-of-imladris

Billy Russo: @nananananananananananabatman @shinebrightlikeafanbase @emyyjemyy

Wanna know what other adventures you and Co. are in for? inbox, dm me or add yourself here!

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo fic #the punisher fic #the punisher reader insert #the punisher au #the punisher billy russo

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8emmy · 6 years ago

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(Not So) Sweet Home Velaris

Sweet Home Alabama AU AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891252

The Illyrian Valley was vast and heavily wooded. The mountains that surrounded the valley were known for being the largest in the country. Millions of nature enthusiasts and outdoor lovers visit the national parks and mountain resorts yet no one knew that there was a small town nestled in the center. Nesta’s rental car passes the welcome sign of her hometown, Velaris population 1,035. Nesta felt her nerves running high. She hasn’t been here since she was twenty-three leaving for law school. Nesta’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

She knew that if she pulled over and called Mr. Suriel and explained the seriousness of getting the paperwork finalized that he, being a professional, would get it done. But she also couldn’t risk another setback. It was already two years of back and forth frustration, and she now had a deadline that was coming too close to the end.

If that good for nothing two brain celled bastard actually signed the papers like he should have done two years ago… Even the thought of going through this mess for two years gave her a stress headache. It should have been easy, Mr. Suriel was the one giving the papers. He was basically a family friend. He knew Cassian and Nesta since they were toddlers. It was supposed to be simple. She wasn’t trying to get money out of him as if he had any or property. His house from her suppressed memory was a glorified trailer in the woods near Starfall lake with outdated appliances and doors that were falling off their rusted hinges. It was a bachelor shack.

She only wanted a clean slate. Tomas needed a clean slate.

She glanced quickly at her diamond engagement ring. It was a decently sized diamond large enough to stand out but not so large that she looked like she had an unnecessary boulder taped to her finger. Tomas still didn’t know. He doesn’t even know that Nesta was from a tiny town in the north of Prythian. All he thought he knew about her was that she was a Corporate lawyer (true) that was born and raised in Orilon (lie). Absently she rubbed at her ring as she drove her eyes still trained on the road in front of her. She’ll need to slip it off before confronting Cassian. Cauldron forbid that the sight of it will cause Cassian to double down on being spiteful over the thought of Nesta being happy.

She rolls down Main Street. It was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. There were a few people out and about slipping into the post office or walking out with their groceries from Vin’s General Store. She parks her rental car in front of a blue building in the window a sign reads:

“Suriel LLP For All Your Legal Needs”

She rubs at her ring, debating if she should take it off before heading in. The town lived off of gossip. Even the sight of her being seen could reach Cassian’s ear by the local grapevine before she gets to his door. She leans into her back seat, searching for her overly broad sun hat. In her glove compartment, she finds a pair of large sunglasses. She slips on her poor disguise before leaving her car.

Suriel LLP looked like it did when she was 23 when she was just Mr. Suriel’s Legal Assistant/Receptionist waiting for her letter from Orilon University Law to arrive. Reception was unsurprisingly empty. The waiting room sofa was the same brown tweed with the same coffee stains on the cushions, and she swears that the same magazines sat on the coffee table untouched. Old landscape sketches hung on the wall showing the Illyrian Steeps, the mountain range that surrounded the valley she was currently in. She walks up to the reception and dings the bell. She calls out, “Excuse me. I am here to see Mr. Suriel; I am his 1:30 appointment.”

No answer. Nesta crosses her arms over her stomach, tapping her heeled foot impatiently. Who takes lunch at this hour? Did she forget small town hours? How her lunches used to run an hour over sitting in Rita’s with Mr. Suriel pouring over legal books to study for her LSAT? When Cassian would surprise visit her at work to take her home for lunch? Her scowl deepens. Back home, Orilon is home now; she would go out to lunch maybe three times a month. Tomas was busy running his family’s small real estate empire and would try to schedule lunch dates into his overly stuffed schedule. They would go to a fabulous sushi restaurant that must have been the best restaurant in all of Prythian. Sometimes if Tomas were romantic, he would take her out to the boardwalk to eat by the sea and talk, mostly about the appending wedding and what was still needing to be discussed with the wedding planner.

She really wished she was back home.

The bell from the door rings. “Sorry ma’am I was at a business lunch, and it ran overtime.” Mr. Suriel’s voice came up behind Nesta. She turns to face him. “Nesta, your early.”

She faces the skinny old man that was being swallowed in his tweed suit that matched the sofa. Mr. Suriel’s cheeks were hollow and his lips thin. His thinning grey hair was combed over, giving him a deep part. Mr. Suriel was in his early seventies but looked like he was pushing into his nineties. “Yes, the traffic wasn’t too bad, leaving the city.”

“I didn’t expect you to be here till 1:30. Claire doesn’t come back from her lunch for five minutes.” Mr. Suriel looks up at Nesta, eyeing her large hat skeptically. “Fashion choice or trying to hide incognito till you see Cassian?”

Nesta twists her engagement ring. Mr. Suriel’s eyes are drawn to the sparkling ring a tight smile forms. “Congratulations are in order as well. Have you taken back Cassian?” Nesta’s eyes narrow. “No. It looks like you met someone new. How… Charming. All the same, congratulations on your up and coming nuptials. I am guessing your visit is more business than casual.” Mr. Suriel moves over to the hallway to the left of the reception desk. “Please follow me to my office. I have to print out the papers still. Would you like anything to drink? The breakroom is… well, you know where the breakroom is. We have a new coffee machine, the one that takes the pods. Claire claims that it saves us from throwing out so many pots of wasted coffee. I swear that it doesn’t. Her husband is selling them at Vin’s. I think he conspires with her to push sales, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Nesta follows Mr. Suriel to his office. His office was neatly organized; all his paperwork was left in neatly labeled file folders left on his long row of filing cabinets. “It looks like you haven’t switched your files to electronic,” Nesta comments taking a seat in an old worn-out leather chair. Mr. Suriel places his briefcase upon his desk beside a similarly old bulky computer monitor circa 2002. “Do you still use WordPerfect?”

Mr. Suriel opens his briefcase taking out a pair of thick-lensed glasses. “Claire switched me over to Microsoft Word 2013… I’m still getting used to the… layout.” He logins into his computer his glasses reflecting the strobing lights of the desktop and his eyes looked double in size. “We’re still not up to the times like your firm must be. I must say well done on your career so far, Nesta. I knew you would make a great lawyer; at this rate, you’ll be a partner soon.” Mr. Suriel’s eyes flicker over to her before going back to his screen. Nesta could see the shortcuts reflecting off his glasses as he searched out her divorce papers.

“I don’t think so. I’m only a junior associate; it’s going to take a couple more years even to be recognized.” Nesta takes her hat off to run her hand over the brim absentmindedly.

“My office is always looking for new talent. If you ever find yourself coming back –”

Nesta cuts in, “I don’t think that will ever happen.”

Mr. Suriel looks at her with the same tight-lipped smile and all-knowing magnified eyes. “May that be the case or not my door is always open, and I’ll be thrilled to have you back as an associate. Ah, here it is.”

Nesta sucks on her cheek. Her living here, again? Working in a tiny firm, again, dealing with small claim cases and drunk and disorderly? Ha, he must be going senile too at his age. She watches him as he clicks open the document and slowly presses print. The sound of the printer in the breakroom begins.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Mr. Suriel asks; his hands are clasped on the desk his attention solely on her; his large magnified eyes were watching Nesta like prey. How easy has she forgotten the uneasy nature Mr. Suriel has. How he lived for small-town drama and what a drama would it be to see Nesta and Cassian see each other again. An eruption of bruised prides and anger would surely rock Velaris to the core like an earthquake.

“No,” she shifts in her seat, straightening her posture. “I can handle this on my own. I am sure he’ll sign if I’m present.”

Mr. Suriel’s eyes narrow. “I don’t know. He was quite… set in his way when I last was over. He actually tore up the divorce papers.”

“You said in your email that he said that he would only sign if I was there.”

“He also said, mind you, that over his dead body would he sign anything without his lawyer present.”

“Good thing I’m a lawyer.”

Mr. Suriel’s eyes sparkle. “I think you misunderstood. His lawyer is Varian; he is out of town presently but…”

“I know that there have not been any changes since they were first sent to Varian’s office for his review. I don’t think his presence is needed to sign two-year-old papers.”

Claire comes in with a large stack of papers. “Mr. Suriel, I believe that these are yours. Nesta! How lovely to see you,” Claire Beddor was heavily pregnant. That was the first thing that Nesta saw, Claire’s large stomach and then the graphic tee showing an ultrasound of a baby holding an eviction letter with what she presumed to be Claire’s due date bolded. Nesta smiles a similarly tight-lipped one that mirrored her old boss’s. “Wow, you look so… fancy,” Claire eyes Nesta up and down.

Nesta thought what she wore was, to her, casual. She wore her signature navy blue office dress with ruffled three-quarter sleeves with a pair of understated Jimmy Choo’s. She defiantly looked more dressed up than Claire Beddor’s jeans and pregnancy tee-shirt. It was surprising to see the most popular girl in her high school look so ordinary. “Are those Jimmy Choo’s?” Claire asks taking the seat next to Nesta, forgetting about the stack of papers she held.

“Yes,” Nesta replies, watching as Claire rubs her stomach with her empty hand. “Congratulations on the baby.”

“Hmm,” Claire replies absently still looking at Nesta’s shoes and over to her Hermès Birkin, all gifts from Tomas to mark their second-year anniversary. “My third. I really wished that Isaac could afford a purse like that.” She sighs.

“Claire, can you please pass over the papers to me?” Mr. Suriel’s hand reaches over the desk. His limbs were long and bony. Claire looks over to him her material daze broken by her boss’s voice. She smiles brightly and passes the papers over to him before turning back to Nesta.

“How is Orilon, I heard it’s the city that doesn’t sleep. How fabulous.” Claire sighs.

“It’s like any city really. It’s busy, loud, and overly crowded.” Nesta says, placing her hat over her purse.

“It must be like living in a fairy tale. I could never picture myself living there myself. I have my world here. Mom and dad are growing old, and the girls have started school. It must have been so scary to move from our quaint town to the city all by yourself all alone.” Claire made it sound like it was far worse than it was. Sure, it was scary, but so is every choice an adult makes. Including starting a family which to Nesta was far more terrifying than moving cross country. “But now you’re some big shot lawyer.”

Nesta tight-lipped smile hurt her cheeks as she watched Claire rub her stomach. Would that have been her if she didn’t leave for law school? Pregnant and regretting her life choices?

Mr. Suriel interrupts. “Nesta, here you go. Everything has been flagged that requires Cassian’s signature. Please bring back the lawyer copy to me once everything is signed.”

Claire moans, “Ohhhh,” Nesta back goes rigged. Please not this, please cauldron anything but this. “Your still not divorce?”

“That’s why I’m here. You know Cassian, stubborn as a mule.” Nesta says, taking the papers into her hands. She reaches down to her purse, and a shocked sound was made from Claire. Nesta’s hand was yanked towards Claire’s face. The young woman lifts Nesta’s hand, eyeing the sparkling diamond on her finger.

“That’s a rock!” She exclaims. “No wonder you’re here. I would want to show off that sparkler to my ex too.” Her smile is wicked as she catches Nesta’s gaze. “Looks like you caught a rich one.”

Nesta pulled her hand back from Claire’s grasp. She grabs her purse and stuffs the divorce papers into it. “I would rather not discuss my personal life.”

Claire puffs her cheeks, “I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want to talk about marriage. It wasn’t like your first one was any good. The groom didn’t even show up to the reception.” Nesta presses her eyes closed tightly and breathes in and out. Count to five. Remain cold and distant. She’s just upset that you left and had a life while she stayed and made hers miserable with the additional three she made.

“I rather keep my engagement under wraps. I still need to get my divorce finalized.” She finally says, standing up. Mr. Suriel gets up as well. He moves around the desk and moves over to the door opening it for Nesta to walk out. He stops her and says, “Remember what I said. My door is always open.”

She thanks him and walks out back onto Main Street with her hat and sunglasses on.

It wasn’t like Claire was wrong. Her first marriage wasn’t great; there was a reason that she fled so far away to attend law school. Cassian was her first boyfriend. The first boy she let herself bring her walls down. He was handsome and cocky, and he knew how to spar with her. They were shockingly, friends before lovers. In her teenage heart and in her diaries, she thought that he was it. He was the one. They would be like Claire and Isaac married with three kids living in a small shack by the lake with Cassian working at the mechanics’ shop and her working at Suriel LLP as a Legal Assistant/Receptionist. But no that was not how her marriage with Cassian was.

She was a fool that got pregnant after a football game when Cassian scored the winning touchdown. They made love under the stars in the back of his pickup listening to the radio. Their marriage was the right thing to do. A respectable young lady needed to be married before she started popping out babies. It was rushed and horrible, and Nesta wished she never agreed to the whole thing. The church service was awful with Cassian running late from his long night bachelor party drinking with his brothers and turning up still drunk. She didn’t understand why he needed to be drunk to marry her. Was this not what he wanted? He always said he wanted to marry her.

Nesta shakes her head. Back to the present Archeron, there is no time to fall back to bad memories. She gripped her steering wheel tight driving towards Cassian’s home.

It was like how she remembered it but also not. The one-story home was painted pale yellow sidings with ivy growing up the sides of it. The front yard was patchy and unkempt. Even the small garden Elain started was more weeds than vegetables. The porch ran in front of the house with the best view of the lake. Two rocking chairs sat under the kitchen window the screen door was still closed, but the front door was open. She could smell biscuits baking. She closed her car door with a clang slipping her engagement ring in her purse as she walked up to the steps from the porch past the rocking chairs to the screen door. She not so polity knocked on the door.

“I’m coming; I’m coming. Hold your fucking horses, Rhys.” Cassian voice rose from the depth of the house. Nesta back straightens. He sounded like he just woke up. Great, Cassian half-awake is the worse Cassian. “Tell Feyre to calm down. I made the fucking biscuits as I told her I would.” She caught sight of him; he wore a tight-fitting tee-shirt and dark joggers. His hands were in his long hair pulling it up into a ponytail. He had yet noticed that Nesta was not Rhys. He groggily moved to where Nesta thought could be the kitchen table picking up a plate of biscuits. “I don’t understand why she still thinks I’ll flake and not make –” He noticed her his shock expression was not lost to her nor how he dragged his eyes up and down her form as if trying to make sure she was, in fact, real and not imaginary.

He walks up to the screen door. His arm rests above his head as he leaned on the door frame. He has his signature smirk on his face, and his eyes looked like they were sparkling. Nesta scowled. “As I live and breathe, my wife has returned. What can I do for you?” He looked so full of himself. So proud of himself. He smelled like Irish Spring and coconut. Nesta tries her best not to close her eyes as she breathes him in. After six almost seven years of not seeing him, he’s acting as if she was gone on vacation and was back home from finding herself. His smile was lovely and warm and so not worth the pain that she was about to give him again. But then again, she didn’t love him. He didn’t love her.

“For starters, I need you to stop being a stubborn mule and sign the divorce papers.” She wills her eyes back to ice. She takes out the divorce papers from her bag and places them in Cassian’s viewpoint against the screen door. Cassian lifts his hand to rub at his jaw his smirk no longer there, and his eyes looked heavy.

“I already told your lawyer that I ain’t signing shit till Varian looks over the paperwork.” He says, looking over the paper to Nesta.

“Varian has seen the paperwork the first time. Nothing has changed.” Nesta pushes the paper harder against the screen door.

“And how do I know that if Varian hasn’t reviewed it. I don’t want to find out that you took all my money and my home from right underneath my nose in the fine print.” Cassian gaze never flickered back to paper. He was only looking at her.

“Cassian -” Nesta begins before Cassian straightens his back. Nesta drops her hand, holding the divorce papers.

“Do your sisters know that you’re in town?” Nesta looks past his shoulder. “Of course not. Why would you want your only family to know that you came to town to harass me about divorce?”

“I have a plane to catch. Can you sign the damn papers?”

“Is Varian here?” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest as if waiting for an answer. “No? Well, I guess there’s your answer. Go see Feyre and Elain. They would like to see their runaway sister.”

“That is none of your concern. What my relationship is with my sisters is for me to decide, not yours. We have been separated for seven years, Cassian. We’re not husband and wife. Just sign the papers.”

“You know what I changed my mind. I won’t speak to you until you talk to your sisters. Varian also must be present, but I want you to talk to your sisters.” Cassian moves closing the front door and locks it.

“For fucksake!” Nesta screams at the door. She pounds and pounds at the door. “Open the fucking door Cassian! Stop being a child!”

She continues to pound as Cassian blasts music. She stops and remembers that Cassian probably still didn’t know where the spare key to the house was. Cassian was not the type to change the locks to his glorified shack residency, and he probably forgot that there was a spare hiding somewhere on the grounds of his home. Nesta ran her hand up the kitchen window. The curtains were drawn, and it looked like Cassian wasn’t in the kitchen. She ran her hand up to the top of the window frame feeling for the – “Ah-Ha!” Nesta proclaims getting her fingers around the key and pulling it down.

She unlocks the door and steps in. The house was neat. Not surprising from Cassian’s strict childhood. The kitchen was clean with old tiled countertops and 50s appliances. His fridge was covered in magnets holding pieces of paper and photographs. She places her purse on the small four-seat table set in the middle of the kitchen and walks over to the fridge seeing a photo of herself and Cassian smiling taken in tenth grade. And there was another of her and Cassian, and another and another with their friends and family and on the side of the fridge next to the oven hidden, but not well enough was the photo. The photo of the ultrasound.

Nesta turns and goes back to her purse for the divorce papers. She hears him humming, happily thinking that she gave up. She moves so she can see the tiny living room. He’s sitting on the couch flicking through channels on his tv. His plate of biscuits sat cellophaned on the coffee table next to his feet. She moves with purpose in one hand the divorce papers in the other the spare key. She moves to the stereo and slowly turns down the music. Cassian turns.

“I am calling the cops your breaking and entering on private property.” Cassian hands go for his cell phone that too was on the coffee table charging.

“It’s not breaking and entering when I know where you keep the spare key,” She waves the key in front of his face, “and also, as I am still married to you this is our property. I dare you to call the cops I’m doing nothing wrong.”

“Nesta, I swear to the Cauldron that if you don’t leave my house this instant, I will drag you out.”

“Is that a threat?” Nesta moves further into the living room. Cassian had his phone unlocked in his hand.

“Maybe, would you want to test it?” Cassian opens up his contact list going through it till he reaches Rhys’s name.

There was a knock at the door. Cassian and Nesta looked at each other. “Cas! Hey, sleepyhead! Feyre is worried that you forgot her biscuits! Cas! Wake up, dude! If you don’t get over here in like five seconds, I am coming in!” Rhys’ voice yelled from the door.

“Fuck…” Cassian rolls his head back. He snaps back, staring down and Nesta, “You stay there.” He gets up, picking up his plate of biscuits and walks out to the front door.

“There you are sleeping beauty. Come on we got to get those to Feyre.” The screen door squeaks open.

“Hey dude, I’ve got to do some stuff before I head over.”

Nesta not taking Cassian’s command began to creep over to the archway separating the living room to the kitchen. She peeps her head around the corner spotting Rhysand wearing a sheriff uniform. His dark hair that was once almost as long and shaggy as Cassian was cropped short showing off his slightly irregular pointed ears. He had the same dashing smirk and childish spark in his eyes.

“Work on a Friday? I thought you said that you would never work weekends?” Rhys said his hands on his waist.

“Yeah… I got some paperwork that needs to be done today. Why don’t you take this,” Cassian passes his plate of biscuits to Rhys.

“That’s not enough; the whole gang is over. This will not last a second.” Rhys takes the plate.

“I don’t really have the time currently to bake three hundred and fifty biscuits for your fiancé to stuff down her throat.”

Nesta’s eyes widen. Rhys was engaged? Not with Feyre, surely not. Feyre would have told her so.

“Hey, it would be Mor too, they share.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be over in like an hour tops.”

Nesta, not wanting to miss her chance, walked into the kitchen. “Rhys,” Nesta greets walking fully into the kitchen.

“Work my ass, Cas. Think of the devil, and she appears. Nesta, what hole have you crawled out of this time.” Rhysand replies. Cassian glares at Nesta moving to the right to let Rhysand into the house.

“Not the one you were hoping of. I am here actually to –”

Cassian cuts in, “to help me review contracts. You know as she is a corporate lawyer, she has a better understanding of… contracts.” Rhysand gives him a skeptical look.

“I am not here to look over contracts if I was; he could hardly afford it.” She looks at him pointily. “I am here to get him to sign this.” She extends the divorce papers toward Rhysand who whistles.

“I thought you dealt with this already,” Rhysand looks at Cassian who was leaning against the tiled kitchen cabinet.

“I thought I did,” Cassian replies.

“Tearing it apart is not dealing with it.” She deadpans. “Can you please force him to sign the damn thing! It costs me a small fortune.”

“As much as I would love to use my badge over my brother that’s an abuse of power that might force me out of office.”

“Can you at least talk some sense into this idiot?” She asks.

“That I could try… But not today.”

“I need this signed today. I don’t have time to play this game anymore.” Nesta huffs.

“I am sure another week won’t hurt you,” Cassian replies. “Varian will be back and will look over the papers then I will sign.”

Nesta goes to her bag on the kitchen table and begins a search for her ring. She puts it on and flings it in front of Cassian. “I don’t have a month for this Cassian. I am getting married in four weeks, and I still have things to plan.” Cassian’s eyes go wide. Rhysand gasps.

“I am guessing your sisters don’t know,” Cassian replies, still looking at the diamond with a stet jaw. She really didn’t want to show the ring, but it was the only card she had left.

“Please sign the papers.” Nesta drops her hand, pushing the papers towards Cassian on the table. He sits down the vinyl chair squeaks at his weight and finally looks at the paper. Rhysand stands back at the door his eyes still looking at the sparkling diamond on her hand. No one knew. She wanted to leave her old life behind. She wanted to start her life new with Thomas with nothing holding her back. She always thought of herself a loner with no family. She pulls out a pen with her firm’s name on it and places it next to the paper for Cassian to reach.

He looks at it then looks over to Rhysand.

#nessian #acotar fanfiction #sweet home alabama

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oria-eska-misfits · 6 years ago

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Misfits Chapter 2 Rough Draft

Art of Oria and Eska, the two heroines from my story Misfits, done by @cherryvunilla Vunilla on deviantart. See the original post here.

Once again I want to point out that this is an extremely rough draft. Much has changed and some scenes don’t even exist anymore. This is the last chapter I wrote the first time I tried to write this story and it’s unfinished too. I’ve since rewritten it from scratch. However, I wanted to share it anyway in case it sparks anybody’s interest and gets them interested in this tale that I’m trying to tell. Enjoy!

Synopsis | Chapter One

Oria awoke to a maid opening her blinds. The light from the street lights flowed in and lit the room a warm yellow.

Oria sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with one hand.

"Good morning miss. I've laid out a clean outfit for you," she said gesturing to the end of the bed.

A very fancy dress, much like the one Isbeil had worn the day before laid before her. It was white however and did not have a high stiff collar. Oria felt the fabric in her hands. It was so soft.

The maid helped Oria slip into the dress with ease and she put on a pair of white silk dress shoes.

"We're washing the clothes you came in now."

Oria looked in the mirror and tied her hair to one side with a bow. She was amazed at how pretty she felt.

The maid led her to the dining room. As the approached she could hear Isbeil and Abhi speaking in in a tongue that she did not understand but recognized as Hindi.

As she entered the room she saw them sitting at a long dinning table. Abhi sat at the head of the table and Isbeil on his right hand side.

"Ah, good morning Oria," Abhi greeted.

"Good Morning," Oria greated.

Oria moved to the seat across from Isbeil and lifted her dress, careful not to sit on her bustle, as she sat.

"This is a nice spread," Oria said eyeing the spread out in front, "I don't recognize any of these fruits though."

"Try these, they taste like strawberries," Abhi said passing a tray of small orangy green fruits to her.

"He's always going on about strawberries," Isbeil said as Oria accepted a few, "I think the reason he's most excited about us having contact with earth again, is that he'll be able to have all the foods that he grew up with.

"Hush, you have no idea what you're missing dear. Tell her Oria."

"Yeah, they're pretty delicious," Oria smiled endearingly.

Eska entered the room wearing a dress shirt, dress pants and a pair of brown boots.

"Good morning sleeping beauty," Isbeil said.

"Only because I get to see your face," Eska winked and plunked herself in the seat beside Isbeil.

"Flatterer."

"So Oria," Abhi began, "Now that we've all had some rest, tell me, what has happened on earth since we severed contact?"

"Um well... it was 100 years ago during the second world war, right?"

"Right."

"When exactly did you loose contact?"

"Right after they dropped them bomb on Hiroshima."

"Okay, well, they dropped another one before the war was over. The allied forces won. There's no longer a royal line in Japan. They're a democracy now. Germany had it's army taken away for a while.

"A couple years later there was the cold war between the U.S and Russia. Everyone was afraid they'd nuke each other that the sky would be fill up with ash and dust. That never happened though.

"Um, when I was 7 terrorists crashed two planes into the world trade center towers. A bunch of people died and they had to evacuate New York for a while. Then they sent a bunch of troops to the middle east and they're still fighting those wars unfortunately.

"Other than that, cars have gotten faster, we put a man on the moon, a rover on mars and I think we even have a satelite outside of the solar system too.

"Um... what else...? I think I'm blanking now sorry. Oh, and global warming! The atmosphere is warming up because of all the carbon emissions from cars and power plants and stuff. It's effecting the enviroment and all these different species are just dying off. There have been heat waves that kill tons of people, I think there was a sea that dried up too and it's putting a hole in the ozone layer."

"That's insane. How is that possible? How do people allow that to continure?" Isbeil exclaimed.

"I- I guess people are just too comfortable to care, or at least do anything about it," Oria replied.

"I see that things still haven't calmed down," Abhi cut in, "Humanity has always been a passionate and fearsome race. Thank you dear for enlightening us. It was all very fascinating. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I've been away for that long at all, " he reminisced, "But so much has happened on both sides. Having you here is like having a little piece of home."

Oria's heart warmed a little.

"Thank you. I'm glad."

"Now my dear, would you tell us more of the reason why you're here."

Oria took a deep breath.

"It's my mother," she began, "She has terminal lung cancer. The doctor has given her little more than a year to live."

"That's quite serious," Abhi said solemnly.

Oria nodded and leaned forward.

"But Eska's Uncle tells me that it's possible to cure her. It's just-"

"The problem of getting her here," Abhi finished for her.

"Yes, and I thought, since you were originally from earth, maybe you would have some experience with these kinds of things. That maybe you could help me."

Oria was speaking so fast but stopped when Abhi put his hand up and took hers.

"Oria, I will help you in anyway I can," he said sincerely.

Oria smiled.

"Thank you," she said with gratitude.

He let go of her hand.

"We'll need to go to immigrations in the home world. Yours is a speccial case so I think things will go well. However, I don't want you to get your homes up too high. Home world is very by the book. We'll need very good lawyers to get you through the loop holes."

"Lawyers?" Oria asked.

"Oh yes, we're going to have to go through many court cases and get on the good side of many of politicians. Lucky for you I've already got that covered," he winked.

They finished breakfast and then prepared to depart. Isbeil helped Oria pick out a decorative sun hat, that had sashed that came down the side and tied under her chin, and a pair of white satin gloves that went up past her elbows. She also gave her a small coin purse which Oria put her phone, I.D, and some of her makeup in.

As Isbeil helped her accessorize they smiled and laughed and joked. Isbeil kept telling her how pretty she was and how much the clothes suited her. Oria felt really relaxed around her. Like they had been friends for years. But she guessed she was just on of those kinds of people.

When they got outside a carriage was waiting there. Eska was wearing a long trench coat that she left open. To her right Abhi looked very dapper in knee high boots and a long dark coat. He held the door open while the girls entered and followed them in. He signalled to the driver and they were on their way.

They drove slowly down the hill. At the bottom, rather than turning left or right, they did a 180 and turned into a small tunnel that Oria had not noticed the day before. Lanterns hung at the sides. THey lit the place up with yellow flickering light.

They were in the tunnel for no more than a minute when it let out into another part of the portal world. The houses there were still nice. Women of lower status walked the streets selling flowers, bread, milk and other goods.

They made their way down the street at a decent pace. Eventually they turned and began makinf their way to the closest wall of the cavern. Finally they made it to a slightly larger cave.

This one was lined with nicer, more advance lights. Oria didn't recognize the make but they almost looked fluorescent.

The tunnel was also lined with video frames that showed many sorts of ads for products that were unrecognizable and alien to her. As they moved down the tunnel suddenly the road was glassy looking and lit a pale green. It was transparent and showed lit blue wires like a microchip. It reminded her of Tron.

Soon the tunnel began to brighten as the pale glow of sunlight began to mix with the florescent lighting. Soon they exited the tunnel and Oria practically cried out when they were left hanging in mid air. However they did not fall and continued to hover as the carriage moved forward. Oria looked out the window at the wheels and saw that the air glowed green below them. She soon realized that the road was not gone but had just become transparent. She could tell it was still their by the slight sheen of light bouncing off of it.

She looked down and saw a grand city looming far below them. It was silver and white and far more advanced than any she had seen on earth. Vehicles flew through the air and more vehicles lined transparent roads below her.

"Amazing," she breathed, too awestruck to say more.

Eska smiled over at her and Isbeil smirked.

They descended downwards slightly and soon came upon a moving platform. It took them down past the top of the highest buildings and soon Oria could measure their height in the amount of floors they went down. She counted 80 under her breath and still they were so high up in the sky. The buildings were enormous and impossibly wide to boot.

When they got off the moving platform they exited the carriage and got on to one of the flying vehicles that was waiting for them there. They took off into the sky and Oria white knuckled the seat.

She had flown once before in the helicopter that had taken her to the Toronto hospital after one bad self injury session she had when she was younger. She still remembered how her cheek stung and the pain in her mothers eyes after they had stitched her up and stabilized her. She had never done it again.

Soon the landed on a platform in front of the tallest building in the city. It was attached 10 stories down from the top of the building.

"This is where the council is," Isbeil began, "Immigrations is located here too a few floors down."

They stepped out of the vehicle onto the shiny white floor. It pulsed bright like where her feet applied pressure. She almost felt like she was in heaven.

They walked towards the building though the beautiful park and garden that surrounded them. There was a sitting area and a fountain and even a playground that had been taken over by small children from races she had yet to know.

The walked through large grand glass like doors that needn't part but one could simply phase through. The technological advancements stunned Oria. She hadn't the words to describe the complete awe she was feeling.

The room that they were in had a high ceiling like a stadium and many booths lined that walls that could be reached by more floating platforms. A long line trailed from a large reception desk at the front of the room.

They walked past all this and reached a grand staircase in the center of the room. The descended and walked down a long hallway along the side of the building that was lined with a large window that spanned the length of it. At the end they reached an elevator that spanned the length of a full room. They went down 20 floors and exited into a smaller but no less grand room than the one before.

They were greeted by a woman in full business attire there.

"Welcome Sir Rana. What can I help you with today?"

"Immigrations business," he replied, "I'd like to speak with Vito if at all possible."

"Certainly Sir, right this way," she lead them down a hallway and spoke on an ear piece as she did.

"He's just finishing a meeting right now, he'll be with you shortly," she said as they approached their destination, a small waiting room.

"If you would please take a seat," she said gesturing to the couches and coffee table.

"Thank you," Abhi said.

She bowed slightly. She left for a minute and returned with a tray of tea. She place tea cups and saucers down in front of them all. She served them all tea and bowed again before leaving.

They waited no more than five minutes before Vito entered the room with his personal assistant. They were both the same kind of humanoid creature as Jules and the woman in the painting back at the mansion.

Abhi and Isbeil rose so Oria did too. Slowly Eska did as well. It was apparent that she didn't care for the mannerisms of the high class.

"Good to see you again friend," Vito said as he shook Abhi's hand.

"And it's good to see you."

Isbeil stepped forward.

"Hello Vito," she said grasping his hand, "These are my friends Eska and Oria," she gestured to the pair.

"Nice to meet you both," he nodded first shaking Eska's hand and then Oria's.

"So Abhi, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Vito asked. "It's a matter of great import," he replied.

And that’s all I wrote of Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed. Here are some bits that I had on the end of the file that I wrote down that happen later in the story.

About him paying a lot to fast track her case- "My dear, I have so much money, I don't know what to do with it all." (When she thanks him)

"This is my idiot brother" "Is that any way to treat your older brother?" "By five minutes." "And I'll never let you forget it!" "Isn't that my line?

"These are my best friends," Oria said showing her a picture on her phone, "Jamal, Peter and Nina. I go to school with Jamal and Nina, and I met Peter at ballet lessons when we were little.

“Who’s that?” Eska asked as she scrolled past a picture of her ex.

“Oh- that’s Hwan.”

Eska seemed to notice the briskness of her answer and side-glanced at her as she continued to go through pictures.

“And these are my three little cousins Cara, Steebeth and Vea.”

“Aw they’re adorable little runts.”

Oria chuckled.

"Tell me something that I don't know about you" "I sang in a choir when I was a child." "Really? I can't see you doing that" "I'm full of surprises" "Sing me something," Oria requested. Eska tucked a strand of hair behind Oria's ear. "Are you going to Scarborough FairParsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one who lives thereShe once was a true love of mine....."

Scarborough Fair is just a placeholder song until I can think of some lyrics of my own.

My Main Tumblr | Buy me a coffee

#Misfits #Chapter 2 #LGBT Literature #Queer Litterature #Queer Writer

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chiseler · 7 years ago

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STORMY WEATHER UNDERGROUND

West Eleventh Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues is one of the "nicest" blocks in Greenwich Village, a leafy street lined with handsome Greek Revival townhouses and stately apartment buildings. One house stands out, literally: 18 West Eleventh, which became an unlikely nexus of privileged status and radical politics during the Vietnam War era.

Born in 1945, Cathy Wilkerson grew up in haute bourgeois comfort in Connecticut. When her parents divorced she stayed with her mother; her father, an executive at the ad agency Young & Rubicam, remarried and in 1963 bought 18 West Eleventh. That year Cathy, a sophomore at Swarthmore, was arrested while picketing outside a dangerously decrepit and overcrowded black school in Chester, Connecticut. A few years later she was at SDS headquarters in Chicago editing New Left Notes, SDS's newsletter. When the Students for a Democratic Society began in 1962 it was mainly involved in civil rights issues, but from the mid-1960s on it grew increasingly active in the antiwar movement. In 1969, SDS claimed a hundred thousand members on college campuses nationwide. Wilkerson attended the national convention in Chicago that June, when SDS burst apart at the seams. Fed up with the organization's policy of nonviolent protest, which seemed to be having little effect, a faction calling themselves Weatherman from the line in Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" essentially hijacked and later dismantled SDS. Among its leaders were Mark Rudd, who as chairman of the SDS chapter at Columbia had led a 1968 student uprising there, and Bernadine Dohrn. Wilkerson went along with them. Weatherman styled themselves as a cadre of the world armed revolt against U.S. imperialism and as a corollary to the Black Panther Party. They adopted Fred Hampton and Mark Clark, two Panthers killed in a police raid, as role models and patron saints. Never more than a thousand committed members nationwide, Weatherman set themselves the goals of radicalizing the nation's working class, disrupting government and corporate operations, and bringing about the revolution in America by any means necessary. Attempts to organize the working class and to align with the Panthers would fail miserably: Workers beat them up and the Panthers rejected them as "scatterbrains." Meanwhile their violence alienated the rest of the antiwar movement.

Weatherman's first public action was a demonstration in Chicago that fall that came to be known as Days of Rage. They'd expected tens of thousands of protesters, but only a few hundred showed up. From its starting point in a park the march flowed out into the streets and soon got out of hand, with protesters breaking car and shop windows. Cops chased them through the streets, shooting a few, bludgeoning and arresting others, including Wilkerson. She was out on bail two weeks later. Having proven to themselves the futility of public demonstrations, Weatherman now turned to direct action. "We will loot and burn and destroy. We are the incubation of your mother's nightmare," one of them orated. Looking back on this moment forty years later in her memoir Flying Close to the Sun, Wilkerson writes, "Now it seems fantastic that I responded to the clear signs of political idiocy" by going along. Breaking up into small cells in secret locations around the country, they went into an intense period of self-indoctrination, hoping to transform themselves from middle-class college kids into "more effective tools for humanity's benefit," Wilkerson writes. Through grueling, humiliating group interrogations they attempted to purge themselves of personality and individualism to create a faultlessly doctrinaire and obedient collective that was as much cult as Communist, the Borg of the revolution. Because traditional relationships might weaken members' bonds with the collective, they were supposed to have sex only with randomly assigned partners or in cheerless-sounding group orgies.

In the winter of 1970 Wilkerson was attached to the cell in New York City. Because the cell needed a safe place to hide and work, she went to visit her father at 18 West Eleventh Street. She hadn't seen much of her Nixon-voting father in recent years, but was able to convince him to let her stay in the townhouse while he and her stepmother were on a Caribbean vacation -- she told him she had the flu and had nowhere else in the city to stay. She and a handful of other revolutionaries moved in as soon as her father left. It was plush digs for a gang of Marxist terrorists, one of four spacious townhouses Henry Brevoort Jr. built in the 1840s for his children. Later, Charles Merrill, founding partner of Merrill Lynch, lived there; his son James, the poet, was born into wealth there in 1926. The Merrills moved when he was five. Cathy's father had handsomely furnished the house, and the pantry was well stocked.

One member of the New York cell, Kathy Boudin, was a Village native with family roots in the Village's left-intellectual history. Her father Leonard Boudin was a well-known civil liberties lawyer. He represented Daniel Ellsberg when he was tried under the Espionage Act for leaking the Pentagon Papers. Leonard's uncle Louis Boudin, a Russian Jewish émigré, was a labor lawyer and Marxist writer. An aunt of Kathy's was married to the liberal investigative journalist I. F. Stone. Kathy went to Bryn Mawr with another member of the cell, Diana Oughton, daughter of a wealthy Illinois Republican.

Weatherman collectives around the country had set off a number of firebombs by this time, targeting military recruitment centers, campus ROTC centers, courthouses and the offices of corporations doing business with the military. The devices they used were basically Molotov cocktails and had not done much damage, when they went off at all. Wilkerson's group decided, despite a nearly perfect lack of demolitions knowledge, to step up to pipe bombs filled with dynamite and nails, detonated with blasting caps on electronic timer fuses. They set to work constructing them in the townhouse's unfinished sub-basement. They chose Fort Dix in New Jersey for their target. They didn't want to harm regular soldiers, who might well be draftees from lower-income communities, so they decided to detonate the bombs during a dance in the officers club.

Just before noon on March 6, 1970, Wilkerson was ironing sheets in the kitchen when a series of explosions burst up from the sub-basement and shattered the kitchen floor. Smoke, splinters of wooden beams and shards of brick roared up from the crater where the floor had been, followed by a rush of flames. The explosions blew out a two-story section of the front wall of the house, shooting glass, bricks and tongues of flame across the street. The shock wave rocked the entire block and broke windows up to the sixth floor in the apartment house across the way. Down in the sub-basement, Terry Robbins, Ted Gold and Oughton had made some fatal error in hooking up the blasting caps and timers to their pipe bombs, and were literally blown to pieces when the exploding bombs set off three cases of extra dynamite. Wilkerson and Boudin, who'd been taking a shower upstairs, stumbled outside, blinded by smoke, through the gaping hole in the front wall. Boudin was miraculously unharmed, Wilkerson was bleeding from numerous small cuts, her clothes in shreds. Behind them, the entire interior of the house collapsed into the crater, where a huge fire roared and belched black smoke through the blown-out windows.

Neighbors gathered instantly, thinking it had been a gas main explosion. Television news footage shows Dustin Hoffman, who lived next door at 16 with his wife and kids, in the crowd. He was a movie star by then -- The Graduate had come out in 1967, Midnight Cowboy in 1969 -- but New Yorkers were famously blasé about celebrities living among them. Theater critic Mel Gussow also lived at 16; he and his wife were in the crowd as well. None of them ever slept another night in the structurally compromised 16. A neighbor let Wilkerson and Boudin use her shower and gave them some of her clothes to wear. As cops and fire trucks arrived, Wilkerson and Boudin slipped out of the neighbor's house, walked away from the crowd, and went down into the nearest subway station. They and other Weatherman members went into hiding, becoming the Weather Underground. The FBI placed them on its most wanted list.

On April 30, President Nixon went on national tv to announce that he had sent troops into Cambodia, Vietnam's neighbor. The purpose was to cut off North Vietnamese supply routes through the country. Nixon had been saying since his election in 1968 that he would wind down U.S. participation in the war; the Paris peace talks had begun in 1969, followed by the very gradual withdrawal of some U.S. troops. On April 20 Nixon had announced that one hundred and fifty thousand American troops would be pulled out in the coming year. Now, just ten days later, he suddenly seemed to be expanding the war again. In the following days, protests erupted at hundreds of colleges around the country, while Nixon groused about "bums blowing up campuses." Protest rallies were practically everyday occurrences by the spring of 1970 -- the giant march on Washington in 1969 had drawn an estimated quarter of a million protesters -- but this time things turned deadly. On May 4, national guardsmen opened fire at Kent State in Ohio, killing four students and wounding nine others. Reacting to this "massacre," students went on strike around the country, and there was another huge march on Washington. A few thousand college and high school students gathered outside Federal Hall on Wall Street for a rally on May 8. Cops and a few hundred construction workers, organized by local union bosses, attacked the kids, chasing them through the streets of the financial district in what came to be known as the Hard Hat Riot. For the Old Left it was a terrible vision, the workers rising up to attack kids. Audre Lorde wrote a poem about it, with the lines:

Look here Karl Marx the apocalyptic vision of amerika! Workers rise and win and have not lost their chains but swing them side by side with the billyclubs in blue securing Wall Street against the striking students.

The turmoil continued. One hundred thousand protesters marched on Washington on May 9. A student in San Diego ritually burned himself to death, as Buddhist monks had done in Vietnam. At a protest at the all-black Jackson State College in Mississippi, police shot and killed two more students. From in hiding, Bernadine Dohrn issued a tape-recorded "declaration of war." Three weeks later, a bomb went off at NYPD headquarters. The organization followed it with a number of actions over the next few years, bombing military buildings, corporate headquarters, courthouses, even the US Capitol building and the Pentagon. They also helped Timothy Leary break out of a California prison where he was serving time on a pot bust, and smuggled him and his wife out of the country to Algeria, where they met up with self-exiled Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver.

Wilkerson remained in hiding through it all, changing her locations and using assumed identities, lying low, working as a waitress, a secretary, a nurse's aide. When Nixon resigned in disgrace in 1974 and the last American troops left Vietnam in 1975, the revolutionary moment passed. The Weather Underground dissolved amid doctrinal squabbles in 1976, and members began turning themselves in to the authorities. After serving his time in jail, one of them, Brian Flanagan, went on to become a Jeopardy champion and open a bar on the Upper West Side, Night Cafe, now closed. Dohrn and Wilkerson stayed in hiding until 1980. After giving herself up, Wilkerson served a year for illegal possession of explosives. On her release she moved to Brooklyn and became a public school math teacher.

Boudin was arrested in 1981. After the break-up of the Weather Underground she'd become involved with a radical black organization, The Family, who included Doc Shakur, Tupac's stepfather. She participated with them in a botched hold-up of a Brinks truck in Rockland County, New York, in which they shot and killed a Brinks guard and two policemen before being apprehended. The Family's motive wasn't political; they wanted the money to score drugs. Boudin became a poet in prison and won a PEN prize. She was paroled in 2003.

The 1970 explosions and fire had completely gutted the Wilkersons' home. It stood an abandoned and boarded-up husk for eight years. Someone scrawled the graffito Weatherman Park on the plywood. Some neighbors thought the house should be reconstructed to match the original design, but when it was finally rebuilt in 1978 an architect gave it a new facade, which stands at a sharp, punched-out angle to the flat fronts of its stately neighbors, a silent but striking visual reference to the explosion.

James Merrill wrote a poem about it all, "18 West 11th Street," which includes the lines, "...The point/ Was anger, brother? Love? Dear premises/ Vainly exploded, vainly dwelt upon."

by John Strausbaugh

#John Strausbaugh #The Chiseler #Weathermen #Weather Underground #Bernadine Dohrn

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sector2020 · 5 years ago

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12 Beautiful Reasons Everyone Wants To Go To Canada

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There is likewise the Glass Floor (you can walk or crawl throughout it while looking down 1,122 ft), and the SkyPod observation deck which, at 1,465 feet, is one of the world's highest seeing platforms. 2. Niagara Falls Visitors get drenched at Niagara Falls. If you wish to leave the crowds, go on a two-mile walk through Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, or dive into the Falls View Water Park, which has 16 water slides, some of which are six floors highThe white waters and thick mists of Niagara Falls are Canadian basics.

Alternatively, the Journey Behind The Falls trip takes you down a lift shaft and through a tunnel to a series of observation decks for even more extreme photography. If you want to get away the crowds, go on a two-mile walk through Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, or dive into the Falls View Water Park with its 16 water slides, a few of which are six storeys high.

Northern Lights: A fantastic location to see among nature's biggest programs is in the frontier town of Whitehorse in the Yukon territory. It's a sporty paradise you can fly to with Air North, among the friendliest airline companies worldwide. Further south in Saskatchewan, La Ronge has a few of the darkest skies on the continent and is likewise a good base for ice-fishing trips.

Vancouver Island: Take a two-hour ferry trip from Vancouver to Vancouver Island, where you'll find sandy coves and rocky coasts. And who knows, you may even see Harry and Meghan. Trying to find a place to stay? The island has whatever from campsites to five-star health club hotels. The island's cool surf Neinstein Reviews town of Tofino is worth a visit, as is the bigger Nanaimo, where you can try the Nanaimo Bar, an abundant, chocolate biscuit. : since July 1 of the year indicated.: Overall total population (both sexes and all ages) in the country as of July 1 of the year showed, as approximated by the United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Department. World Population Prospects: The 2019 Modification. For anticipated years, the U.N.

Find Out More Meanings ...: For 2019: percentage modification in total population over the last year (from July 1, 2018 to June 30 2019). For all other years: newest year yearly percentage modification comparable assuming uniform modification in the preceding 5 year duration, calculated through reverse compounding.: For 2019: absolute change in total population (boost or reduce in variety of individuals) over personal injury toronto the in 2015 (from July 1, 2018 to June 30 2019).

: The average yearly variety of immigrants minus the number of emigrants over the preceding five year period (ranging from July 1 to June 30 of the initial and last years), or subsequent 5 year period (for 2016 information). A negative number suggests that there are more emigrants than immigrants.

This criterion supplies a sign of age distribution.: (Overall Fertility Rate, or TFR), it is revealed as children per woman. It is computed as the typical variety of children a typical woman will have throughout her reproductive period (15 to 49 years old) based on the current fertility rates of every age in the country, and presuming she is not subject to death.

: Urban population as a percentage of overall population.: Population residing in areas categorized as urban according to the requirements used by each country.: Overall population in the nation as a portion of overall World Population since July 1 of the year indicated.: Overall World Population since July 1 of the year suggested.

Undoubtedly, some food waste is inevitable this is the food that can't normally be sold or consumed, such as bones, vegetable peelings, egg shells, tea bags, and coffee premises. Avoidable food waste is the edible food that winds up in the compost or in the bin. Unfortunately, we frequently waste good food because we buy too much, cook excessive, or don't save it correctly.

#toronto #ontario

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anissakmorris · 1 year ago

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Slip And Fall Lawyer Land O'lakes

Land owners and occupiers of land have a legal duty to maintain their property in a reasonably safe manner so that individuals are able to visit and conduct business without unreasonable risk. When a hazardous condition exists, and an injury occurs as a result, you may be entitled to monetary compensation for your injuries. Personal Injury Attorney Charles Spinner, Jr. is an experienced premise liability lawyer helping victims of slip and fall accidents recover money damages for their injuries. Over the years, Mr. Spinner and Spinner Law Firm have collected thousands of dollars for our slip and fall clients.

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anissakmorris · 1 year ago

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Slip And Fall Lawyer Wesley Chapel

#Slip And Fall Lawyer Pasco County #Slip And Fall Lawyer Sun City Center #Slip And Fall Lawyer Ruskin #Slip And Fall Lawyer Zephyrhills #Slip And Fall Lawyer Dade City

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anissakmorris · 5 months ago

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Slip And Fall Lawyer Wesley Chapel

#Slip And Fall Lawyer Lütz #Wesley Chapel Slip And Fall Lawyer #Sun City Center Slip And Fall Lawyer #Ruskin Slip And Fall Lawyer #Zephyrhills Slip And Fall Lawyer #Dade City Slip And Fall Lawyer #Land O'Lakes Slip And Fall Lawyer #San Antonio Slip And Fall Lawyer #Lutz Slip And Fall Lawyer #Lütz Slip And Fall Lawyer #TAMPA Slip And Fall Lawyer #Apollo Beach Slip And Fall Lawyer #Slip And Fall Lawyer Lutz

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anissakmorris · 7 months ago

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Slip And Fall Lawyer Pasco County

Keep copies of all of your medical bills, and records of your time missed from work. It is sometimes helpful to keep a diary to record your thoughts about your medical treatment or the pain and suffering caused by your injuries. Stained, soiled and torn clothing and shoes worn at the time of the fall are important evidence, too. They should be set aside and not washed or worn anymore. Try to obtain a copy of any incident report written by the business where you fell. Doing these things will help our office prepare your case.

#Slip And Fall Lawyer Ruskin #Sun City Center Slip And Fall Lawyer #Slip And Fall Lawyer Land O'lakes #Slip And Fall Attorney 33571 #Slip And Fall Lawyer 33575 #Temple Terrace Slip And Fall Lawyer #Slip And Fall Accident Ruskin #Slip And Fall Accident Sun City Center #Slip And Fall Accident Land O'Lakes #Slip And Fall Accident Zephyrhills #Sun City Center Dog Bites Lawyer #Land O'Lakes Dog Bites Lawyer

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anissakmorris · 7 months ago

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Brain Injury Lawyer Sun City Center

Injuries to the spinal cord or brain are some of the most catastrophic, life altering injuries imaginable. The devastating effects are both physical and emotional. There are many causes of spinal cord and brain injuries, including motor vehicle accidents, motorcycle accidents, highway construction accidents, slip and fall accidents, industrial accident or construction site accidents.

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anissakmorris · 10 months ago

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Brain Injury Lawyer Sun City Center

#BRAIN INJURY LAWYER SUN CITY CENTER #Dade City Traumatic Brain Injuries Attorney #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer 33548 #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer 33541 #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer Temple Terrace #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer Hillsborough County #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer Dade City #Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer Ruskin #Thonotosassa Traumatic Brain Injuries Lawyer

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sector2020 · 5 years ago

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7 Reasons To Visit Canada - Well Travelled

The Organization for Economic Co-operation and Advancement's Better Life Index ranks Canada among the very best locations to live in the world. Here's why. A research study published the other day by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) discovered that "Canada performs extremely well in measures of well-being," according to an online report.

The research study scored 36 countries, consisting of 34 OECD members, Russia and Brazil. No overall ranking is reported. The findings will amaze some, given our 7.2% nationwide unemployment rate, 14.5% youth unemployment rate and financial development forecasts that remain soft in the short-term. Here are seven highlights from the OECD report: The typical family makes US$ 28,194 https://lawyers.findlaw.ca each year after taxes.

There is disparity at both ends of the earnings spectrum though, not remarkably. The top 20% takes home US$ 55,718, while the bottom 20% earns US$ 10,526. We ranked seventh on home wealth and ninth on earnings. Canadians spend two minutes a day volunteering; that's about half the OECD average. On the other hand, 64% said they 'd helped a stranger in the last month.

We ranked seventh on support network. 9 in 10 Canadians are pleased with their real estate. The average house in this nation offers 2.6 spaces per occupant, more than any other country. And 99.8% of Canadians live in a house with a personal washroom that has an indoor, flushing toilet. (The OECD average is 97.8%.) We ranked 24th on the ratio of housing expenses to earnings, eighth on basic centers and first on number of spaces per person.

We ranked 14th on contamination and 12th on water quality. Our life span at birth is 81, a full year above the OECD average. And 88% of Canadians state they remain in health. Health spending in this country makes up 11.4% of gross domestic product. (The OECD average is 9.5% of gdp.) We ranked 3rd in health and 17th in life span.

That's well below the OECD average of 4%. Our homicide rate is less remarkable. It's 1.6%, just marginally listed below the typical rate of 2.2%. We ranked initially on assault rate and 23rd on homicide rate.: Canadians work an average 1,702 hours annually. That's 74 hours listed below the OECD average.

(The OECD average is 9%.) We ranked ninth on working long hours. The complete index is comprised of 11 categories. Canada ranked 27th on task security, 4th on student skills, 4th on government transparency and eighth on life complete satisfaction.

Canada has a goal to attract one million people to live and work in the country by 2020. Judging by feedback from expats, it should not have excessive trouble with that objective. Noted as one of the very best nations in the world for expats, it is consistently praised for its accepting and tolerant society and fantastic quality of life.

If you're thinking about the huge relocation and still require some convincing that Canada is the right destination for you, keep reading. Here we list the 15 factors why you need to call the Great White North your brand-new house. It seems Canadians measure up to their inviting track record, with more than four in 5 expats surveyed for the most recent Internations Expat Expert study describing Canadians as "friendly" double the global average.

Canada ranked 12th out of 189 nations on the most current Human Development Index, scoring highly for an entire host of categories, from life expectancy and gross nationwide earnings, to security and socio-economic advancement. With a lower expense of living, a focus on sports and enjoying the outdoors, many expats select to head to Canada to enhance their quality of life in fact Canada ranked number 3 worldwide in the most recent Quality of Life rankings according to a study by US News & World Report.

Neinstein Injury Lawyers has actually managed serious accident claims across Ontario for more than Fifty years. Its locations of know-how consist of medical, legal, and insurance concerns related to health-related neglect, car collisions, disability claims, slip and falls, product liability, insurance coverage conflicts, and more.

We're our customers' advocates. Neinstein, together with our group of medical, forensic, and investigative professionals, have actually represented customers from all parts of society 5 decades. Neinstein is dedicated to doing whatever we can to help our customers get the settlement they should have.

Canadians https://en.search.wordpress.com/?src=organic&q=toronto in general love sport, but that passion isn't just confined to ice hockey, lacrosse and basketball, it also extends way beyond that. Canada is large and the majority of the populations lives in cities, which leaves excellent areas of wilderness just waiting to be checked out. Whether you're kayaking or swimming, snowboarding or merely walking through lovely scenery, the Great Outdoors is just begging to be found.

However it is not simply this Francophone city that bewitches expats. Coastal Vancouver is the country's culinary capital, surrounded by beaches, mountains and gorgeous forests, while Toronto is stated to be the most multicultural city worldwide. Include the cowboy charms Calgary and Ottawa's fame as the Silicon Valley of the North and you have a country breaking with range.

Canada is cold. The second coldest country in the world, actually. But while those long, cold winter seasons might be mentioned as a factor not to transfer to the nation, the residents know you can still have enjoyable when the snow is thick on the ground. From Whistler to Lake Louise, the names of this nation's renowned resorts make you desire to get your skis or board and leap a chairlift.

After the long winter, the sun comes out throughout Canada and mountainside are blanketed in colourful wildflowers, alpine lakes shine in the sunshine, the rugged coastline begins to bring in holidaymakers and the sun-kissed vineyards of the Okanagan Valley welcome visitors. Yes, Canada comes alive in summer, with average temperature levels of 25C, and the locals understand how to enjoy it to the max.

You will not require much excuse to get out and delight in the sunshine. When the winter season truly bites and the wind chill sends you wishing to scamper inside your home, you don't have to shut yourself up in the house. In the coldest cities across Canada, you can head out shopping and delight in suppers and mixed drinks, all underground.

In Toronto, COURSE is a downtown pedestrian walkway offering dining establishments, shopping and home entertainment, while Montreal has its own Underground City, stretching for 20 miles and integrating city stations, plazas, stores and eateries. Among the lots of happiness of exploring the Outdoors while residing in Canada is http://edition.cnn.com/search/?text=toronto the remarkable wildlife you can witness.

The moose is an icon of the nation, while the Canadian caribou migration is not to be missed and beavers, wolves, meadow dogs, coyotes and deer all contribute to its rich wildlife offering. Canada is rightly happy of its state-funded healthcare offering Medicare, which ensures necessary medical treatment is complimentary at the point of shipment.

As a long-term resident, you can enjoy both in-patient and out-patient services as part of Medicare, which is really viewed as a health insurance service, funded by the taxes people and locals pay in through earnings tax, sales tax and things like the purchase of lotto tickets. If Toronto is among the most multiculturally diverse cities on the planet, then Vancouver isn't far behind it.

According to the current Internations study of expats, 94% ranked peacefulness as an essential part of the country's quality of life and Canada likewise performed extremely well when it came to security and security, with low criminal activity rates and particularly low violent criminal activity when compared with its southern neighbour. If you wish to raise children in Canada, you will be pleased with the conclusions from expats currently residing in the country.

Frequently weekends are spent leaving to the mountains, lakeside lodges and the coast, anything to connect with nature and shake of the stresses of the huge cities. Canada is one of the world's greatest economies and there are growing markets such as mining and oil and gas in general. As a country, it welcomes foreign workers and favorably encourages those who can fill under-represented markets and positions.

As part of its open policy to foreign workers, Canada lists details about all the visas readily available on its website cic.gc.ca. Companies searching for foreign employees can do so through the Temporary Foreign Employee Program, while you can likewise use through the Federal Skilled Worker Program, which runs on a points-based system based upon your academic experiences, language skills and so on.

In reality, according to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) Canadian trainees carry out well despite socioeconomic status or whether they are Very first Countries or current immigrants, as the country has a policy of no trainee being left. More than 90 per cent of trainees attend public school and there is a real emphasis on sports and extracurricular activities in addition to scholastic accomplishment.

If you're thinking about making Canada your new house, we provide an unsurpassable worldwide removals service direct from the UK. Get your complimentary quote today.

The Duchess of Sussex is already there and Prince Harry is expected to join her within days. So what is it about Canada!.?.!? Here is our guide to the country's really best attractions and experiences and why you ought to think about Canada for your next vacation. For those who desire vacations where you leave the crowds, Canada provides.

The nation likewise has the longest coastline in the world. Fans of Canada state its natural appeal is carefully stabilized with fun and stylish experiences, plus a host of metropolitan destinations. THE MUST-SEE SIGHTS1. CN Tower Highlights: Toronto's skyline including the CN Tower, which has a glass floor you can stroll or crawl across at 1,122 ftYou'll need nerves of steel throughout a trip to the top of Toronto's main destination.

There is also the Glass Floor (you can stroll or crawl across it while looking down 1,122 ft), and the SkyPod observation deck which, at 1,465 feet, is among the world's greatest viewing platforms. 2. Niagara Falls Visitors get soaked at Niagara Falls. If you wish to escape the crowds, go on a two-mile walk through Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, or dive into the Falls View Water Park, which has 16 water slides, a few of which are six floors highThe white waters and thick mists of Niagara Falls are Canadian essentials.

Additionally, the Journey Behind The Falls tour takes you down a lift shaft and through a tunnel to a series of observation decks for much more extreme photography. If you wish to escape the crowds, go on a two-mile walk through Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, or dive into the Falls View Water Park with its 16 water slides, some of which are 6 floors high.

Northern Lights: A terrific location to see one of nature's greatest programs remains in the frontier town of Whitehorse in the Yukon territory. It's a stylish paradise you can fly to with Air North, one of the friendliest airlines worldwide. Even more south in Saskatchewan, La Ronge has a few of the darkest skies on the continent and is likewise an excellent base for ice-fishing trips.

Vancouver Island: Take a two-hour ferry flight from Vancouver to Vancouver Island, where you'll discover sandy coves and rocky shores. And who knows, you might even see Harry and Meghan. Looking for a place to remain? The island has everything from campsites to first-class medical spa hotels. The island's cool surf town of Tofino deserves a go to, as is the bigger Nanaimo, where you can try the Nanaimo Bar, an abundant, chocolate biscuit. : since July 1 of the year indicated.: General overall population (both sexes and all ages) in the nation since July 1 Neinstein Personal Injury Lawyers of the year suggested, as estimated by the United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division. World Population Potential Customers: The 2019 Modification. For forecasted years, the U.N.

Learn More Meanings ...: For 2019: percentage modification in overall population over the in 2015 (from July 1, 2018 to June 30 2019). For all other years: newest year yearly portion modification comparable presuming homogeneous modification in the preceding five year duration, calculated through reverse compounding.: For 2019: outright modification in total population (boost or reduce in variety of people) over the in 2015 (from July 1, 2018 to June 30 2019).

: The average yearly number of immigrants minus the number of emigrants over the preceding five year period (ranging from July 1 to June 30 of the preliminary and last years), or subsequent 5 year period (for 2016 data). A negative number implies that there are more emigrants than immigrants.

This parameter supplies an indication of age distribution.: (Total Fertility Rate, or TFR), it is revealed as kids per lady. It is computed as the typical number of kids a typical lady will have throughout her reproductive period (15 to 49 years of ages) based upon the present fertility rates of every age group in the nation, and presuming she is exempt to mortality.

: Urban population as a portion of overall population.: Population living in areas categorized as metropolitan according to the criteria utilized by each country.: Total population in the country as a percentage of total World Population since July 1 of the year indicated.: Overall World Population as of July 1 of the year showed.

Inevitably, some food waste is inevitable this is the food that can't typically be offered or consumed, such as bones, vegetable peelings, egg shells, tea bags, and coffee grounds. Avoidable food waste is the edible food that winds up in the garden compost or in the bin. Regrettably, we typically lose good food since we purchase too much, cook excessive, or do not save it correctly.

#toronto #ontario

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