#a voice in my head is like remember that 'michelle remembers' shrink? that's why the protocol is avoid-the-quicksand

[expfcultragreen]

So in terms of using telepathy to make someone do what you want, there are a couple options. If you find that sometimes when you think something but dont say it outloud, other people hear it and assume/react like you DID say something out loud, maybe you could be heard by a specific person by directing your thoughts to them. Like think about them hearing the specific thing you want them to, essentially remote-view them hearing it. A starting place is seeing if you can pass yourself off as their own inner voice eg "i dont want to be scrooge without the morally-valid pivot, ive got to make a morally-valid pivot". Lets say that doesnt work, but, they hear it...it just doesnt sound like them to them and/or it feels weird like its coming from someone/somewhere else. You could opt for staying in character as something they'd love to believe like, an angel, an alien that wants them in particular to do well, whatever. Probably wait a while so the phenomenon of their inner monologue being hijacked by someone pretending to be them isnt obviously connected.

If they wont react as directed to any of that, you could opt for just disabling them ie yelling "sic semper scrooge" in their head so incessantly its maddening, etc.

Now, most people are so full of drugs and other chemical/material interference that its not very easy to manipulate them in this way, probably by design. And the people who are on drugs that do the opposite, thats also not the most useful....lbr, because of the stigma around these drugs, usually people who do them have nothing to lose, not financial empires to micromanage...john mcafee notwithstnding lol. Unless musk upgrades from bumps of k to big fatty hits off the bubble pipe, it doesnt really matter if you can convince people on meth to do stuff....we're trying to undo centuries of economic junk-philosophy used in place of religion by the 1%, not rob a mcdonalds or finally dig out that one whitehead (do not do meth and try to dig out that one whitehead, this is how people get flesh eating bacteria-filled sores).

Of course, most people in positions of power are like jabba the hut, jedi mind tricks dont work because of their extreme congenital narcissism but, you can just use the basic toolkit for manipulating narcissists in-lieu-of*.

I suspect most "psychotic" people never let on that theyre aware of or attentive to anything like "i kept silently yelling the answer and it appears to have been recieved because it was kind of an obscure/unique phrase or whatever and now the person i was thinking it at is saying it seemingly apropos of nothing"/"someone told me to guess or deduce an answer and were surprised i got it right because it was really obscure/unique" happening in their day-to-day......because the thing is, as ive maybe illustrated above, its obviously so easy to abuse that ability or be abused with it. (Something to keep in mind about people who are clearly dealing with The Voices; it seems like the MAIN reason anyone is open about it as something theyre dealing with is theyre experiencing abuse by it directly or are otherwise disoriented....but whether the distress is obvious or not, it can be hard to help even if someone wants help.... its of course unclear where the other voices in your head are ever coming from even if youre very astute about affect/motive/vibe/etc clues.....so it could be anyone around, or not around.... it could be anyone they see, it could be that when you express concern to them thats just a cruel paradoxical joke at their expense and they need to fight you for it, or it could be that by trying to avoid eye contact and avoid them youre doing exactly what a voice told them The Devil would do...that youre hiding from them so they cant archangel you and save the world....whats scary about this shouldnt be "crazy people are sooo unpredictable" because most genuinely crazy people started out normal and so dont want to fight and dont particularly know how anyway all of which is pretty predictable, but rather whats scary is "any day could be my own gregor samsa day" and we're still pretty much in the soup on the matter of intervention....the best case scenario is getting on and off an effective brain-shrinking neurotoxin fast enough to decrease symptoms without permanently damaging your whole brain, while having the necessary supports to go through that whole process...but the people who can put you on these pharmaceutical interventions are often so opposed to you going off in a timely manner that they get someone to legally compel you to stay on them, possibly under observation and in confinement...nominally because people are so freaked by the unpredictability factor in every psychotic person having their own kaleidoscope of inner-world that might cause them to lash out unexpectedly, violently, etc...but actually predictability is more or less as easy as getting to know the person and their framework, even if its very fluid ...but laypeople are resistant to doing that [imo due to the pernicious belief/attitude that its pointless to "indulge" the "unreal" or engage with anyone who does "indulge" the "unreal" with a stance of anything like credulity or good faith] or else arent given the opportunity...and people working in clinical settings--who fwiw certainly DO have the opportunity every time they encounter a patient with psychosis--should have pieced together that point about overarching predictability from longitudinal observation hundreds of years ago, BUT based on my experience, they have no interest in doing anything that would actually be useful and are, i think consciously and acutely, concerned mainly with how permanently they can disable the psychics who have been identified and subsequently driven their way, as opposed to worrying about how humanely they can "treat" "psychosis"...presumably some professionals arent in on the whole thing of "actually these people are telepaths being targetted to discredit/distract/disable them from doing anything with their telepathy and our role in that is, we dispense the brain-shrinking poison that keeps them out of commission...a lot of them ASK for it, literally...the onslaught is too much otherwise...now medically its best for them to get off these drugs as soon as theyve stabilized but we dont tell them that, we tell them they have to stay on the drugs, forever" )

*anyone less prone to brainwashing than grimes wanna try? No one seems to be willing to take the hit of being seen with these dudes, highkey seems to be how we ended up here, with them in their bubbles & on their pedestals & bombarded with assurances that its not possible to be happier and that they should never change course in pursuing their own happiness regardless. Experience tells me these dudes were prone to pathological/antisocial degrees of selfishness prior to being rejected by all good company, so from that pov its moot whether more and better friends/lovers would have helped or would now help. So, i guess since there's really no fixing these guys (i mean, feel free to try; put on some binurals and astral project as hard as you can over to whichever oligarch is your preferred secret moe-blob, why not) .....we could just let the weirdo fash girlies keep running at them for golden child support tickets, proving exactly how paint-by-numbers the behavioral control playbook is ...what does daisy say, "be a beautiful little fool"? Theyll never think anyone could outsmart them and arent looking to feel outsmarted, right now theyre in a race against revolution but theyll all get tired eventually..its probably tiring already. Someone could probably lift ashley at clair's script verbatim and have it work on any oligarch, even musk, again

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

Chapter 1

Characters - Ransom, assorted OCs, Reader

Word Count - 3100

Warnings - Drinking, language

A/n - Welcome to my Ransom series! I am so excited to play with this character. Long term, there will be angst, and fluff, and smut, which you won’t need to wait long for, I promise. Here’s the intro. I hope you like it. There’s mostly set-up this chapter and of course, an unforgettable introduction to our sweater-loving heartbreaker. 

I appreciate feedback. If there are errors, please let me know. Line dividers used were made by @firefly-graphics​

Series Masterlist 

Job hopping isn’t at the top of your to-do list, but if life had shown you anything lately, it is that you need some changes. 

Whitney leans hard into the bar in front of her, elbows resting just right to push her tits together as she tries for the bartender’s attention. She doesn’t look at you as she talks, but so far she seems to still be paying attention, “So how late were you to the interview?”

The lump in your stomach had still not settled after the disaster from the afternoon. 

“I was almost an hour late. I got off on the wrong exit and still have no clue how to circle back through the construction the way you do.”

“Yikes,” she says as she waves and gets a nod from the bartender in return. 

At last there’s hope and liquor finally on the horizon.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have even bothered. I think he still gave me the interview as a joke.”

“Well. Fuck it.” She shrugs and handles the drinks.

She pays the bartender, throwing in a wink for good measure, then hands you your glass. She does a slow spin as she takes in the scene, nodding to herself. 

“You know what? I like this place!” Whitney shouts into your ear, hopping from foot to foot in a drunken attempt to dance to the pop ballad blasting through the speakers. 

You look around the unfamiliar bar, not really focusing on anything, but trying to find some point of interest. The evening so far has been a dull combination of mixed drinks and bar hopping as you and your friend look for a place with a “good vibe” as Whitney described it. She zeroed in on this place that looks like a misplaced supper club and dragged you in.

“Yeah!” you agree, honestly not caring enough to have much of an opinion.

“Stop it,” Whit hisses.

“Stop what?”

“You’re pouting. We’re supposed to be having fun and you’re pouting!” Whitney whines before jabbing herself with the straw in her glass. 

You’re supposed to be her fun, party friend and you’re doing a terrible job of filling the role as of late.

“I know. I just hate that on top of everything, I have to avoid our bar because of The Ex.” You didn’t dare speak his name.

“You wanna go back? Fight for it? We can go there, I don’t care,” Whitney looks at you with barely concealed excitement, always anxious to stir up shit.

“Nope.” You stare into your drink, watching the level go down until you start to slurp on nothing but air. “More drinks.”

“More drinks!” Whit shouts, arms flailing and barely missing a passing cocktail waitress. “Whoa! Sorry!”

The blonde turns around, her face quickly changing from annoyance to surprise, “Whitney?!”

“Michelle!” your friend squeals before pulling her into a clumsy hug. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

You block them out as they catch up, not having any idea what they are going on about. It’s weird to be somewhere different, a new crowd, different atmosphere, brighter lights and lighter drinks. Just like starting over, like moving. Again.

At least you hadn’t lost Whit in the break-up. Shit, it wasn’t even really a break-up. It was you finding out how things were and being unwilling to put yourself in the middle of that shitshow. It wouldn’t lead to anything but emotional eating and long fights. 

So, as Whit suggested, on to new hunting grounds.

“Yeah! We’ll be there,” you hear her say as you tune back in to their conversation.

The waitress, Michelle, looks you over, “Oh? Yeah, you come too.”

You give her a quick smile back then look to your friend to find out what she just agreed to after she walks back to the bar.

“Alright, so I knew her in school. We’re gonna go with her to another friend’s place. She’s texting me the address now.”

“Okay,” you answer, though she misses your lack of enthusiasm as she checks her phone for the info. You make your way to the bar for a refill and start to hope the rest of the night goes quickly.

It’s a small party in a spacious condo, more of a gathering really because that’s what adults do, you remind yourself.  Michelle arrived at the same time as you and Whitney so she guided you inside.

Entering into the bright kitchen, a small group surrounds a kitchen island holding drinks and bottles. A few of them turn as the three of you enter, surprise showing on their faces and assorted exclamations of “No shit” and “Where the hell you been?” being shouted to Whitney and Michelle. You stand back to let them share hugs and flick your hand in an awkward wave as you get introduced to the group, names being called out without any real way for you to identify who’s who.

“Drinks?” someone asks.

“Yes,” you hiss. “Please,” you tack on at the end to hide the desperation for something to help get you through the night.

The guy looks taken aback, but nods and goes to the fridge to grab a bottle for each of you, popping off the tops before passing them out.

“Anyway…” their conversation picks back up. Whitney and Michelle jump in easily from time to time and the group forms a loose circle along the counters and the island. You lean back, not quite completing the circle, but not outside of it either. Your eyes move from person to person as they talk and add to the stories. It sounds like they are reminiscing about what they got up to while attending the university, but no one bothers to explain and you don’t ask. 

Every now and again you find yourself nodding or tossing out a response, but otherwise not adding much to the conversation and realizing how long it’s been since you reached out to your old friends. Trying and failing to remember your last contact. Keeping in touch was never one of your strong suits.

Listening as they talk, their lives sound so far beyond where yours has stalled out, adventures past what you could imagine. That helpful inner voice reminds you that you don’t belong here. It’s more than just being a tag-along friend. There’s a twisting in your gut urging you to leave, suddenly feeling as though they are watching you, judging you, picking you apart and hating the imposter among them. 

Looking over at Whitney, she’s clearly having a great time and won’t be ready to go any time soon. It makes you worry how long she’ll want to stick around or if you can talk her into getting another ride home so you can cut out of there before you can get embarrassed.

You take a step back, leaning against the counter, zoning out of the conversation and figuring out your exit, and regretting the drinks that are now delaying said exit strategy. 

One of the guys from the group breaks away and makes his way toward you, making you press yourself further into the cabinets behind you to allow him to squeeze past, but instead he stops next to you, head tilted toward you and letting his brown hair fall over his forehead.

“Why are you so quiet?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you look at him, then quickly look away because jesus christ he’s handsome - like, model handsome, but it’s even more embarrassing to get flustered right to his face. In the extra seconds you take to answer he huffs out a laugh and settles in next to you.

“I, uh, I don’t know anyone,” you finally eek out.

“Well, talking to people usually helps.”

You hum an agreement, eyes flickering over to the group just a few feet away and catching a few people giving the two of you side-eyed glances, but not much else. “I don’t want to interrupt and I don’t really mind just observing.”

“So what? You just like watching other people talk?” he gestures with his glass to the group. You look up in time to catch two of them making lewd gestures at each other and laugh awkwardly.

“Sometimes? I just don’t feel the need to say anything if I don’t have something to actually contribute to the conversation.”

“Huh,” he responds, then takes a sip of his drink. 

You brave a better look at him, admiring his profile and talking yourself down from cartoon heart-eyes. Begging yourself to not linger too long on his shoulders, the way you can just scent his cologne and it’s delightfully masculine, his model-perfect face...and absolutely failing. No doubt if someone was looking at you they could see the awe and lust on your face from being in such close proximity to someone this good looking. Then - then he smirks. It’s a tiny lift of the corner of his mouth and it makes your breath hitch. His eyes are gleaming with excitement, then he opens his mouth, his tone and volume demanding immediate attention.

“Hey, remember when Eric fucked Whit last fall? When was that, Thanksgiving weekend?”

You whip your head over to see Whitney’s jaw drop. The guy you assume is Eric freezes with his arm around another girl’s shoulders while her face steadily grows beet red and eyes go wet with tears. Everyone else stares between you and the man next to you, looking at you as though you conspired and causing you to shrink in on yourself.

“What?” the girl under Eric’s arm whimpers. Looking between the two of them while everyone else remains frozen. “Eric, I thought you went to your family cabin?”

“Oh yeah,” the guy next to you answers, “I forgot she didn’t know.”

His tone implies he’s anything but sorry and within seconds there is more shouting and Eric charges over to shout in his face.

You slide over, attempting to avoid the fray and trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Your heart pounds and heat still burns at the tips of your ears and across your chest.

After a few moments the high-pitch screaming of the girl fades as she makes her way to the door, Eric shouting after her and following, the others shouting each other down as they try to de-escalate and yet the instigator just stands there with a smile on his face. After the front door slams he turns to look at you, catching you staring at him and he winks.

“How’s that for something to contribute?” he mutters, obviously only meant for you.

“That was a dick move, Hugh,” Whitney spits at him.

He squints with obvious annoyance. “Feeling guilty for fucking your friend’s boyfriend?” he challenges.

She stares him down, but doesn’t last long, turning back to her drink and the rest of the group, “She’s not really my friend, anyway.”

A few others agree with her, the others shrug, and you’re left gaping at the whole scene, unable to understand what just happened. The guy next to you, Hugh, moves so suddenly that you flinch, making him chuckle.

“Lighten up, sweetheart. Life’s more fun when you let loose.” He tips his head back to finish his drink and walks back to the group, leaning over the countertop and continuing like nothing odd had happened. 

Whitney goes and makes herself comfortable in a recently vacated spot. Looking on for a while,  you try to sort out the dynamics of everyone there, but it’s not easy to determine who’s who in the group just yet. 

Their half-shouted stories start to wear on you, so you find yourself zoning out and deciding to take the opportunity to give yourself a little tour.

“So. Still not talking?”

“Jesus!” you hiss when the sudden intrusion makes you jump. The guy from earlier, Hugh, had snuck up next to you, a mischievous grin on his face and pink flush on his cheeks.

“Working up to it, I guess,” you breathe out, willing your racing heart to calm down. You look around, trying to find something else to look at so that you don’t have to look him in the eyes and bee-line for the bookshelf to look over the titles. They’re disappointing.

“So whose place is this? Whitney never bothered to introduce me.” You point back through the doorway, gesturing to the group at the table.

“She’s like that,” he notes.

“Yeah, she is,” you agree and step into his space, suddenly feeling too loose-limbed and loose-lipped from the earlier drinks. But he doesn’t seem bothered.

“Does it matter?” You feel his eyes scan you as he asks.

“Well, it’s not your place, is it?” you check. After he shakes his head no, you pull out a book and make a face, one hundred percent openly judging the owner on their taste. “He’s probably a pretentious snob, so I guess not.”

His eyes scrunch up and crinkle while he throws his head back in a laugh. 

“How’d you figure that?” he asks, tilting his head and watching you over the rim of his glass as he takes a drink.

“Look around. Plus, you’ve met Whitney, right?” you tease.

As though she hears you talking about her, Whitney turns around and looks at the two of you. She calls your name, demanding that you join her. Then her eyes land on the man next to you, “Ransom, you too!”

“I thought your name was Hugh,” you sigh.

“Only the help calls me that,” he says with an eye roll, “And people who wanna piss me off.”

Internally you gawk, but try to keep a calm exterior as you panic to figure out how to backtrack on your ‘pretentious snob’ comment, no doubt offending someone who says ‘the help’ in such a tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry...you know I probably shouldn’t have said-” is all you’re able to get out, though. He places a hand at the small of your back, shushing you with a finger raised to his own lips.

“C’mon,” he says as he guides you back to the group. His hand stays fixed on your lower back for the rest of the night. His warm palm pressing against your skin and fingertips flexing and gripping almost possessively. It leaves you on edge as you try to focus on anything else, basically begging your brain to focus on anything at all and completely failing. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning everyone starts to disperse, Whitney hangs off of you as you make your way back to the car. Ransom makes his way to his vehicle. You put your hand up in an awkward wave, he nods and winks in response then closes his door after climbing inside, bringing an end to the evening.

Whitney manages to drag you out for a much less memorable night the next evening. When Monday arrives, you swear to yourself to not waste a weekend on a hangover like that again. You squint as you try to face away from the bright sun, fingers playing with a dead leaf beside you on the bench. 

The weekdays are usually reserved for being dull. For going to work, listening to your co-worker, Carrie, talk about bathroom remodeling and in-law drama. For doing adult things like sleeping normal hours, laundry, getting tires replaced on the car. Some free time is spent searching for jobs, but so far that’s still been fruitless. Anyone who didn’t know you better would assume you pass for an acceptable adult your age, not someone just barely hanging on. 

“You gotten laid lately?” Carrie, asks before sipping on her coffee. You snort at the abrupt question. There aren’t many secrets between you.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because! I have to live through you since I am an old, married broad. I don’t go out and have fun and fuck bartenders anymore.”

“Anymore? You never did,” you snort. She married her high school sweetheart, the only man she ever kissed, touched, and fucked. What a concept.

“Exactly!” she practically yells. “Sooo?”

It had been a while, well, aside from that one night you went home late with a bartender named Jeff, but he got hit with whiskey dick as soon as you hit the sheets and the night was a bust. She had laughed her ass off when you told her about that disaster.

“No. Nothing lately. Trying to be careful. You know that.” You respond less kindly than you usually would, hoping that she will drop the subject. Gratefully, she’s smarter than some and does just that, but you don’t miss the look. “I mean, I did meet a guy, but it wasn’t really anything. Didn’t even exchange numbers.”

“Good. I just worry about you, you know?” She meant well as she had listened to all your stories, from the one-nighters to the heartbreak. She’d warned you to be cautious with The Ex, but you didn’t really listen.

“Yeah. Thanks. I just...Well, nevermind. I’m not going there because it’s nothing I haven’t said before. I’m not getting into all of it right now.” You take a deep breath before you start to really ramble. You have no idea how much time has passed, but decide it’s enough, “Break time’s up. Gotta get back.”

She nods and walks with you back inside, feeling a tinge of guilt for not telling her about your next job interview later in the week, hoping you can still hang onto her friendship when she’s not your co-worker.

The remainder of the week passes uneventfully. Only Friday afternoon is broken up by a text from Whitney reminding you about going out that night. As though you’ve done anything different for the last few months. You scroll through your contacts, ignoring the nagging reminders to call your family, and that you need to send your regrets for yet another baby shower. Seeing The Ex still in the contact list stops you, a little warning voice reminding you that you are supposed to delete his number. You hover over it for a moment, debating making that leap, but decide last minute to keep it...just in case. 

Whitney tells you that you’re going to the same bar as last Friday. For a second, you wonder if the evening will end the same way, and kind of hope a little bit that it does. Your imagination ran wild over the last week thinking of the small conversations and contact you had with Ransom the weekend before, analyzing details and tones and thinking about biting onto that lip and... 

A new notification pulls you from your little daydream and you add another item to your mental to-do list: delete The Ex’s number and ask Whitney about Ransom.

[star-doll-universe]

Michelle Goes to Yakigashi Island

FINALLY FINISHED THIS! Oh my gosh, this took so long to complete, and I’m so glad it’s finally done. I hope you enjoy the final part of this little mini series I started for @one-piece-dumpster-fire​

Have a lovely holiday everyone! Merry Christmas <3

Part 1   Part 2  Part 3

“Cracker, why are you putting explosives in the picnic basket?” Michelle cocked her head to the side, a worried expression knitting her brow.

“They’re not explosives!” her fiancé exclaimed, holding up the offending rocket-shaped objects. “They’re fireworks! You can’t have a Founding Day celebration without them.”

“Oh.” Michelle bit her lip. “Is that really safe to bring to a party that kids are going to be at?”

“Are you kidding?! Oven’s sons will be furious if I don’t bring them.”

“Ok fine,” Michelle finally relented with a somewhat heavy sigh, “Just make sure they don’t crush the cookies. Giuseppe and I spent hours on those.”

Honestly, the young woman would like to admit that she was more than a little exhausted from this week. The planning process for her and Cracker’s wedding had been temporarily put aside somewhat when they received an impromptu invitation to Cracker’s older brother Oven’s home for a “Founding Day Party”.

Not long after moving to Tottoland, Michelle had learned that the citizens of each island in Big Mom’s territory celebrated the day they were assimilated into the empire as an annual holiday.

Apparently, today was the anniversary of that event for Yakigashi Island where Oven was Minister of Browned Food.

So, Michelle had to put her wedding planning on hold so that she could quickly prepare for the celebration. Initially, she had somewhat hesitated accepting her future brother-in-law and his wife’s invitation, but she knew that it would be rude to not do so, and Cracker seemed really excited about the party.

Plus, she remembered meeting Oven’s wife Samore at Winter’s tea party on Candy Island, and the woman had extended an invitation for a future visit. She supposed now was as good as time as any to take her up on that offer, even in the midst of her currently hectic life.

You are going to be the wife of a Minister of Tottoland, Michelle, the young woman had reminded herself. Not to mention he’s one of the sons of Big Mom, a Sweet Commander at that. Your life is probably only going to get crazier after you’re married.

Michelle mulled these thoughts over again as she finished the last of the packing for the trip, careful to navigate around Cracker’s fireworks. She’d prepared several batches of different flavored cookies with Giuseppe, and the couple was also bringing a bottle of spiced cider as a gift for their hosts.

Although, she supposed Spice might drink most of it. Michelle smiled to herself, remembering her feelings towards this party improving drastically when she learned Spice would be attending as a fellow Sweet Commander.

Sakura and Katakuri were also going to be there as well, along with Perospero and his family and even Smoothie was joining them.

Even if times were crazy, this party was still going to be fun.

“Ready to go, my dear?” Cracker asked, jerking Michelle from her thoughts. She looked up to see him holding his hand out to her, his trademark grin bright on his face.

“Yep. Let’s go,” Michelle picked up their basket and took his hand with her free one. The folds of her blue dress swished around her legs as she let Cracker lead her out of their lavish home and down to the docks of Cookie Town where his ship was waiting for them.

It would take a few hours to arrive at Yakigashi Island. Cracker predicted they should reach it by sundown, just in time for the party to begin.

                                                          ~~~

 “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Cracker snarled through gritted teeth.

Michelle, meanwhile, was too absorbed in the startling sight before them to really offer up much of a response. Her eyes were wide in her face as she gawked up at the monstrous wall of fluffy white pastry that stretched out before them.

It rose out of the sea like the back of some bulbous sea creature, snaking across the line of sight of Cracker’s ship, dwarfed in comparison. It obscured the entire island from view as it drifted almost lazily in the scalding sea, which foamed and bubbled all around them like a living thing breathing.

“What is this?!” Michelle exclaimed.

“It’s some of the Popover rocks that line the coast of Yakigashi Island,” Cracker explained after shouting some orders to the Biscuit Soldiers they had manning their ship. “Sometimes they break off the mainland and drift out into the Boiling Sea. The heat causes them to expand and form something like a wall around the island’s borders.”

Michelle glanced back at the massive mound of fluffy pastry. “It looks like things got a little out of control.”

“You think?”

“What are we going to do?”

“It’ll take too long to sail around it,” Cracker proclaimed as he produced a Transponder Snail from his pocket. “I’ll call Oven.”

However, before Cracker could put the call through, Michelle saw a massive, gloved hand reach over the top of the Popover wall. She couldn’t help but scream as a huge face followed suit, falling onto her butt on the deck.

Cracker glanced at her. “What?” He then followed his fiancée’s terrified gaze to see the huge pair of red eyes peering down at them. However, he did not react in nearly the same way, he didn’t even reach for Pretzel resting at his hip.

“Oh. Hey there, Samore!” He called up to the massive person, who slowly straightened up to their full height, dwarfing the pastry iceberg floating in the sea. Michelle could now make out the familiar figure of a woman with warm brown skin and crimped dark brown hair that reached her waist. Her eyes were a deep red, and she was wearing marshmallows as earrings. The fluffy pastry mound now only reached her waist as the giant woman peered down at Michelle and Cracker’s tiny ship.

“Cracker, how lovely to see you again!”

Meanwhile, Michelle was still huddled on the deck of the ship, staring up at the massive woman before them with her mouth hanging open. “S-Samore?!”

“Hello, Michelle!” Samore’s voice echoed across the Boiling Sea as she smiled down at them, her teeth large and white, each the size of a house. “How have you been?!”

The other woman blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was looking at. “I’m not crazy right?! She was not this big when I first met her,” she said to Cracker.

Cracker chuckled at that.  “I guess no one told you about Samore’s Devil Fruit power. She has the Human-Human Fruit, Model: Giant. That’s the whole reason why Mama wanted her to marry Oven, so that she could finally have a Giant in Tottoland.”

“Oh?!” Michelle’s eyes were still huge. “I see.”

“Do you want me to give you two a hand?” Samore called down to the couple, easily stepping over the wall of puff pastry and trudging through the Boiling Sea seemingly unfazed by the searing heat. Michelle soon noticed that she was wearing a pair of thigh high boots that looked a bit like the lower half of a hazmat suit, which was most likely protecting her skin.

Cracker grinned up at his sister-in-law. “If you don’t mind.”

“No problem at all.” Samore then knelt down and grasped either side of their boat as gently as she was able.

It still jostled them quite a bit and Michelle would have toppled over again along with several of the Biscuit Soldiers if Cracker hadn’t caught her.

“Easy does it, Sugar Cube,” he grinned down at her as he held Michelle against his chest.

The young woman felt her face grow hot in spite of herself.

Meanwhile, Samore had successfully lifted Cracker’s ship out of the Boiling Sea and now held the entire thing in both hands as gingerly as an egg.

The giant woman then turned and slowly clambered over the wall of puff pastry, trudging through the bubbling water in her protective boots.

Michelle clung to Cracker the entire time, trying to keep her knees from knocking as the Biscuit Soldiers scrambled about all around them, struggling to remain upright.

Cracker laughed as he took out Pretzel and stabbed it into the deck, giving him more of a solid footing as Samore trudge through the steaming water and towards Yakigashi.

The island in question soon came into view not long after they crossed the Popover barrier, slowly coming into focus amongst heavy clouds of steam, like it was gently floating closer to them out of the boiling water.

Gingerly, Michelle broke away from Cracker and slowly made her way to the edge of the ship, gripping the railing so she could remain steady while she peered down through the steam at the island before them while Samore slowly waded closer to it.

Yakigashi was another one of Tottoland’s larger islands. It seemed like everything on the island was made of some kind of bread or type of pastry. The city that spread out from the island’s center and stretched down its coast of fluffy rocks was comprised almost entirely of warm brown buildings with a heavenly baked aroma wafting from them.

Michelle inhaled deeply, a small smile forming on her face as Samore approached the dock at the edge of Yakigashi and then gently set their ship down beside it. As Michelle looked on, she noticed the pier was made of breadsticks.

“Let’s go, Michelle!” Cracker called to her, holding out his hand. His fiancée quickly accepted it, still a little wobbly on her feet as the Sweet Commander lead her off the ship, shouting commands to his Biscuit Soldiers to watch over things while they were gone.

As Michelle and Cracker exited the ship, they heard the thunderous footsteps of Samore stepping out of the Boiling Sea and up onto the shore.

The young woman glanced up, open-mouthed as Samore stepped over their heads and, as she watched, started to shrink down. The other woman had barely blinked before she was standing in front of her, far closer to her size.

“Michelle!” Samore’s grin was still large as she leaned closer and grasped her hands. “It’s so good to see you again!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Michelle replied, still a little flustered.

“I love your dress!”

“Oh? Thank you…” the young woman’s face went a little pink at the compliment.

Her outfit for the Founding Day party was brand new, another gift from Cracker, and consisted of a purple tea-length dress with a vest made of biscuits and laced in the back with white icing stays as well as large white bow tied around the waist. Over this, she had draped a magenta cape in case it got cold. Her outfit actually somewhat coincided with Cracker’s: he was wearing a shirt for once and more armor which matched the shoulder guard and leg pieces that he normally wore along with his billowing cape and sparking hair.

“Let’s go. Our ride is waiting for us,” Samore continued, grabbing Michelle’s hand and pulling her along with Cracker following after the two women, smirking at his fiancée’s slightly flustered state.

Michelle quickly found walking on the island a bit difficult. The ground beneath their feet was very soft and fluffy, like walking on a marshmallow. She stumbled a little, but Samore gripped her arm tighter to steady her.

“Sorry, the terrain does take some getting used to, but my daughter enjoys making the ground soft and fluffy like this with her Devil Fruit. She says it’s more fun this way.”

“It feels like a cloud or something,” Michelle mused, bouncing experimentally on the fluffy ground.

Samore lead them over to two large porcupine Homies with saddles on their backs and smoking marshmallows stuck to the ends of their quills. “They’re quite harmless,” she said as Michelle looked at them wearily.

One of the porcupine’s snorted, blowing smoke out of its nostrils. Cracker walked over and pet the closest one’s nose before helping Michelle climb into the saddle as it was a bit of a long way up. Samore then clambered on in front of her and grabbed the reigns while Cracker mounted the other marshmallow porcupine.

“Let’s go!” Samore called out, cracking the reigns and the two spiked creatures took off into the city ahead of them.

The capitol of Yakigashi Island was called Fukkura Town, and it soon became apparent that the Founding Day celebrations were already well underway.

Color and light had exploded across the streets of the city in the forms of streamers and balloons, torches and sparklers. Crowds of people and Homies weaved throughout the buildings while thunderous music reverberated between them like a storm.

Michelle didn’t know where to look. There was dancing and singing, performers doing backflips and juggling flaming torches, people selling and eating delicious foods and bands blasting loud and rambunctious music.

“Oven really outdid himself this year,” Cracker mused from on top his porcupine mount, waving halfheartedly to some of the passerby that had recognized one of the Sweet Commanders.

“He can be pretty competitive,” Samore replied with a fond smile, leaning down to accept a flower from a young female Fukkura Town resident, who was smiling sweetly up at her and Michelle.

“Is it a competition between Charlotte siblings for who has the best Founding Day celebration?” Michelle inquired.

“It certainly is between some of the older ones,” Samore agreed with a nod, pausing to smell the flower she’d been gifted.

Soon after, the group arrived at the gates of Oven’s massive estate, which was built out of pure white bread that looked almost like polished marble. There were torches made of giant marshmallows mounted at the entrance, spouting crimson fire into the growing night.

A pair of Biscuit Soldiers were patrolling at the gate, both of which quickly bowed to Cracker and Michelle as the former disembarked from his mount and then turned to help his fiancée off her own porcupine.

“At ease,” Cracker said to the soldiers, who jumped aside as Samore breezed past them, the gate swinging open with a bombastic shout.

“The lady of the house is home!”

“The party is happening in the back yard. We’ve got a pavilion set up,” Samore called back to the other two as she lead them around the side of the massive white house and through a garden gate.

In the backyard, more of the roasted marshmallow torches were set up around a dancefloor made of polished saltine crackers. Multicolored streamers looped through the autumnal trees above their heads, making a canopy around the floor and the white covered tables that create a semi-circle around them.

The rest of the guests were already there, and Michelle spotted Spice immediately. Her hair was as bright as the flames and her smile just as brighter as she leapt over to the other young woman in two levitated bounds.

“Michelle! It’s so good to see you!” Spice exclaimed, grasping the other woman’s hands and squeezing them tightly. “How have you been?!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Michelle replied, beaming. “I love your dress.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Spice giggled as she smoothed down the folds of her orange and yellow dress with red accents that looked like it was made of fall leaves. Her choker and bracelet looked like dripping maple syrup.

Michelle was about to compliment her outfit again when a pair of gloved hands suddenly covered her eyes, making her gasp. “Guess who, Aunt Michelle!

“Peppermint?” the young woman whirled around as the hands were removed from her vision to see Peppermint and Candy Cane, the twin oldest children of Winter and Perospero. They were wearing matching red and white striped suits with top hats. CC in particular really resembled his father in the outfit, especially since he was wearing his blue hair loose from its ponytail.

“How have you been, Auntie?” He asked Michelle.

“Very good, thank you.” She replied with a warm smile.

“Hey, you two! It’s been a while” Cracker exclaimed, clapping each of the twins on the back. “I hope you two have been practicing the sword techniques I taught you.”

“Of course, Uncle Cracker,” Peppermint insisted.

“We can show ya if you want,” her twin added, a mischievous glint in his red eyes.

Spice’s face lit up. “That sounds fun!”

“Not now, it’ll be dinner soon,” Samore replied insistently.

“You’re no fun, Samore,” Spice grumbled.

“Oh, there you are, Cracker. I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.” Michelle turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice as Oven strolled over to them. He was wearing long white robes that were trimmed in brilliant embroidered flames.

“I wouldn’t miss one of your parties, Oven,” Cracker replied with a grin. As he spoke, his arm wrapped around Michelle’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “You remember my fiancée, Michell, right?”

Oven smirked down at the young woman, giving his brother a knowing look. “Of course, how could I forget? She’s very memorable.”

Michelle felt her face go rather warm, and she doubted it was from the marshmallow torchlight.

“Don’t tease her, darling,” Samore lightly chastised him, crossing her arms disapprovingly.

“It’s just a bit of fun, dear,” Oven exclaimed with a booming laugh before he scooped his wife up and placed her on his shoulder, despite Samore’s protests.

“Oven! I need to get changed.”

“Come on, you’re fine as you are!”

“Oven, please put me down!”

A loud bang from across the yard interrupted the couples’ friendly argument.

Samore froze for a moment, fingers tangling in her husband’s reddish orange hair to steady herself. “Burn! How many times have I told you not to turn your brother into a bomb!”

The boy she was referring to whirled around immediately, a guilty expression on his wide brown face. He looked to be in his early teens and was dressed like a traditional magician with a black waistcoat and top hat. He had bright white gloves which offset his warm brown skin and red eyes like Samore. From under his tall hat, reddish curls peeked out to frame his face.

“Aw come on, Mom! I can just make another one!” called a slightly younger boy with orange dreadlocks that danced around his lithe form. He was wearing a cheetah print button down and black ballet slippers and was expertly twirling around the boy in the top hat, jumping around with acrobatic expertise.

As Michelle looked on in confusion, the boy with the orange dreadlocks and cheetah print top suddenly split into two identical beings like some kind of single celled organism. As she looked on, mouth falling open, the boy divided again and then again and suddenly there were six identical copies.

Almost as soon as he did so, the older boy with the top hat and red curls pressed his gloved hand to one of the moving bodies and it suddenly light up bright red. With another loud bang it exploded like a lead balloon, sending the other copies scrambling to get out the way.

“Again! Again!” Laughter and clapping could be heard from Perospero and Winter’s other set of twins, nearly identical boys named Truffle and Fudge, whom Michelle remembered from the tea party on Candy Island.

“Burn! What did I just tell you?” Samore loudly chastised the red-haired boy, “Stop using your Devil Fruit before someone gets hurt!”

“But Mom! Bake is fine!” Burn insisted.

“Yeah, he’s only blowing up the fake mes!” the orange haired boy insisted.

Samore sighed in exasperation, pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to get changed. You talk to them,” she added to Oven before jumping from his shoulder and landing on the ground with surprising ease. She then made her way to the house, flanked by some of the dough boy Homies that were wandering around the pavilion serving drinks.

“We brought spiced cider, by the way,” Michelle exclaimed, remembering the drink and producing it from the basket, giving it to Oven.

“Oh thanks for that,” he took the bottle from her. “Now excuse me, I’ve gotta go deal with my kids.”

“I’ll take that!” Spice exclaimed, snatching it from her older brother and flying off.

“Hey boys!” Cracker reached into the basket he and Michelle had brought as well, pulling out the brightly colored rocket-shaped explosives. “I brought fireworks!”

Burn and Bake both clapped and cheered at this as did Truffle and Fudge.

“Wait until after dinner,” Oven called over their reverie, giving Cracker a murderous glare.

Meanwhile, Michelle felt someone tap her on the shoulder and turned to see Perospero standing over her, holding his youngest child Chestnut close to his chest.

The baby babbled and waved his chubby fingers.

“Good evening, Michelle,” the eldest Charlotte sibling said to her, smiling through his long tongue.

“Hello, Perospero. Hello, Chestnut,” Michelle couldn’t help but brighten up immediately at the sight of the baby.

She reached up towards him only to immediately draw her hands back when the baby suddenly took a snap at her fingers.

“Chestnut!” Perospero quickly adjusted him in his arms. “Terribly sorry, he’s teething.” His father quickly explained, waving his hand to produce a piece of candy using his Devil Fruit. “Here you are, my boy. Suck on this instead.”

Chestnut eagerly slurped at the candy piece as Michelle looked on fondly.

She then spied Winter sitting a short distance away at one of the covered tables beside her sister North, both of whom were wearing heavy fur coats. It soon became obvious why as a heavy cloud of snow was hovering over the two women and frantic flurries danced over their heads thanks to Winter’s own powers.

Michelle’s eyes soon met with the older woman’s steady gaze, and she waved halfheartedly, still a little intimidated. Winter smiled at her in response. Her demeanor was cold, but her eyes were warm.

She then slowly rose to her feet and walked over to Michelle and Perospero, holding out her hands to the latter so she could take their son from him.

At that moment, a large arm suddenly wrapped around Michelle’s shoulders, pulling them against a firm body. The young woman glanced up to see the sharp yellow eyes and flowing green hair of Sakura. “Hi, Michelle! How are you?!” the taller woman exclaimed in her thick Wanonese accent.

“S-Sakura!” Michelle struggled slightly against the other woman’s strength. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Sakura was wearing a magnificent pink yukata with her hair all swept into an elegant updo. She had cherry blossoms and other ornate clips twisted into her hair as well as many necklaces and rings on her fingers. She was even wearing a pair of gold earrings shaped like tiny samurai swords.

“Same to you.” Sakura held a pastry out to the smaller woman. “Want a maple bacon donut.”

“Thank you,” Michelle accepted the treat before glancing around. “Where’s Katakuri.”

“Over there,” Sakura pointed to where her husband was lounging at another table, arms and legs crossed and face mostly buried in his white fur scarf. “He doesn’t want to be here,” she added in a hushed voice with a knowing smile.

Perospero clicked his tongue, “He works too hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Sakura rolled her eyes.

Suddenly, Spice swooped down between them. “Drinks girls?!” she handed them each a champagne glass of the spiced cider Michelle and Cracker had brought. “Smoothie’s bartending, so this party is going to be awesome!”

The other young woman could indeed spy Spice’s fellow Sweet Commander behind the bar further back from the pavilion floor. She was wearing a magenta suit that accented her long silvery hair perfectly. She was speaking in hushed voices with Crystal, Winter and North’s middle sister.

Even from this distance, Michelle could see the yearning in their eyes, and her heart felt sad.

“Oh wow!” Spice’s exclamation drew the other young woman’s attention towards Samore, who was making her way back from the house.

She had changed into a beautiful evening gown that was made of melted chocolate that dripped down her entire body like a waterfall, perfectly molded to her form. Her jewelry was tiny marshmallows that glittered like crystals and the decorative clutch she clasped in her gloved hand was made of graham crackers.

“You look beautiful, Samore,” Sakura said to her. “Does it stretch to accommodate your other sizes?”

Samore smirked at her. “Nope!” She seemed almost happy about this, and Michelle felt her brow crinkle in confusion.

“Mama always makes her stay in her Giant form for Tea Parties and such,” Spice whispered to her, “So she can show her off to all of her socialite friends. I think it’s frustrating for her, so it’s probably nice to stay in her normal form.”

Michelle didn’t really know how to respond to that, especially since as Samore walked back over to where she, Spice and Sakura were standing, she noticed the rather prominent scars against her neck indicating there had once been a very heavy collar fastened against her throat.

“So, is this a party or what?!” Sakura suddenly exclaimed, throwing up her hands, “Let’s dance or something! It’s a celebration.”

“Figures you wouldn’t be impressed,” Spice replied, rolling her eyes as she floated after Sakura towards the dance floor, “Your dad throws wild parties every night of the week!”

Michelle almost jumped when someone tapped her on the shoulder, but the tight knot in her chest instantly softened when she turned to meet Cracker’s familiar grin. “How about a dance, my dear?’

His fiancée quickly accepted his hand, “I’d love to.”

As Cracker lead her onto the dancefloor, Oven and Samore followed suit, and Michelle caught a glimpse of the branded mark burned onto the small of the other woman’s back.

The Hoof of the Celestial Dragon: scarred over but still there.

                                                         ~~~

The rest of the party was a blur of eating, drinking, talking and dancing. There was so much food available, Michelle thought she might burst; although she supposed it should be expected for an event involving the Charlotte family.

She danced with Cracker and drank cider with Spice and Sakura (as well as a bit of sake courtesy of the former). She talked with Winter and her sisters and even took Truffle and Fudge up on their offer to dance with her.

As the night carried on, and the stars moved across the sky to the rhythm of the city’s fervor around them, Cracker eventually got out the fireworks for Oven and Samore’s sons Burn and Bake to enjoy.

They set up the rockets in the field, down the grassy slope from the pavilion. Everyone else pulled their chairs to the edge and lined them up, so they could watch the show.

Michelle was sitting beside an empty seat for Cracker on her right while Charlotte Souffle, Oven and Samore’s third child and only daughter, sat on her left.

“Isn’t this exciting, Auntie Michelle?!” she was saying. “I always love the fireworks.”

Michelle turned to give her a warm smile. She was a small girl with medium skin and red eyes like her mother. Her hair was yellow and very curly, mostly hidden behind a blue bonnet which matched her dress that had a balloon like skirt that seemed to puff out like a great white and blue balloon. Her face was painted white like a clown’s with additional eye makeup and a small blue dot on her nose. Her mouth was wide and full of an innocent grin.

Michelle had to put hers on somewhat. She was personally a little anxious about fireworks.

She nearly jumped when the sudden popping bang could be heard. Facing forward once more, she watched another of the fireworks shoot up into the sky and explode amongst the stars with a loud bang and eruption of color. All of the party guests clapped and exclaimed their appreciation.

Souffle’s eyes were filled with nearly as many stars as the sky above them as she took in the fireworks, raining down around them like shimmering jewels.

Michelle then noticed Chestnut was sitting up in his mother’s lap, his hands reaching up towards the remnants of the fireworks as they fell back down to earth, almost as if he wanted to catch them in his chubby hands.

She felt a familiar warmth in her chest that reminded her of how much she wanted to have children of her own one day. She couldn’t wait for her and Cracker to get married.

Meanwhile, Katakuri was sitting off to the side with Sakura on his lap; his arms were wrapped around her waist, keeping her in place as she leaned back against his chest, a content smile on her face.

The fireworks show seemed to take forever and seemingly no time at all; it held a spell over the crowd, transfixing everyone and practically lifting them out of time and space and temporarily transporting them to a pocket dimension where only this moment existed, only this land of noise and light reminded, independent of everything else.

Michelle sat, surrounded by her family, and she was happy.

Once the last rocket had been set off, Burn and Bake ran back up the hill, out of the darkness of the field towards them, with Cracker trudging not far behind.

Michelle leapt up from her seat and ran to meet him, leaping into his arms as he caught her by the waist.

“Here’s my girl!” he exclaimed, “Something on your mind, sweetheart?” he added.

Michelle blushed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling her cheek. “I’m just having a very good time,” she replied simply.

The party started to wind down after that. Winter, North, Crystal gathered around the bar to talk with Smoothie while she cleaned the used glasses.

Perospero and Oven were having a heated discussion about some Tottoland politics while Samore and Souffle played with baby Chestnut.

Spice was entertaining Truffle and Fudge along with Burn and Bake, who were soon having another round of fireworks with Spice’s soul clones.

Peppermint and Candy Cane soon challenged Cracker to a duel, which carried out into the field. It was a friendly spar, but still intense as all things tended to be with the Charlotte family.

Michelle watched from a distance, starting to feel a little chill coming from the night air.

After parrying Peppermint and her sword Uzumaki and then blocking CC and his sword Kasane, Cracker looked her way. “Michelle! You look like you’re getting tired, sweetheart.”

“Oh! No, I’m fine,” she barely got the words out before the young woman had to stifle a yawn.

“Perhaps you should get going,” Perospero mused from nearby, “We’ll probably leave soon as well. The younger children shouldn’t be up too late.”

“You do have a bit of a journey back as well,” Samore agreed. “I’ll have one of the dough Homies fetch yours and Cracker’s coats.” Their hostess paused, glancing around, but there were no Homies in sight.

Oven chuckled. “I think our kids may have destroyed them all.”

“Those little pyromaniacs!” Samore huffed.

“It’s alright, I can get them myself,” Michelle insisted.

“Are you sure, my dear. I can always-” Samore started to offer, but Michelle shook her head.

“I don’t want to keep you from seeing off your guests.”

“Well, alright. The coatroom is the fourth door on your right when you go in the back entrance.”

“Thanks!” With that, Michelle ran across the garden towards the large white manor.

It didn’t take her long to locate the back entrance, but the hall beyond was dimly light and difficult to navigate. Remembering Samore’s instructions, she fumbled through the shadowed corridor until she found the door to the coatroom.

As she was gathering hers and Cracker’s cloaks up, she heard muffled noises and what sounded like voices coming from another room nearby.

Somewhat disoriented, Michelle stumbled out of the coatroom only to notice that the room across the hall’s door was slightly ajar. She could still hear the hushed sounds coming from inside.

Curiosity burning inside her, the young woman tiptoed across the hall and peered through the gap between the door and the wall.

It took a moment to come into focus, but she could soon make out Katakuri’s large form braced against the wall with one hand, holding Sakura’s leg against his hip with the other. His scarf was loose, but his face wasn’t visible as it was buried in the crook of Sakura’s neck. His wife’s arms were gripping his shoulders tightly, her long nails digging into the fabric of his suit jacket. She threw her head, gasping her husband’s name.

“K-Katakuri! Ah!” she yelped as he seemingly sank his teeth into her neck, her hands scrambling up into his hair, pulling the short strands tightly.

Michelle scrambled back from the door, struggling to force down a surprised squeak. She probably made far too much noise in her frantic dash towards the exit thanks to her bad leg, but she didn’t linger long enough to see if she had been discovered.

She dashed back outside, her face burning in the cool night air only to run straight into Cracker’s broad chest. “There you are, Sugar Cookie. I was wondering where you went.”

Despite the short distance she had run, Michelle was panting, “I-I got the coats.”

Cracker smirked down at his fiancée, reaching out to clasp her face between his large hands. “Is everything alright, my dear. You look a little flushed.”

“I’m alright,” Michelle insisted, forcing back the urge to pout.

“Very well, I suppose we should be going then.” Without another word, Cracker scooped his fiancée up along with the coats and carried her towards the gate despite her feeble protests.

The other party guests were making their way out as well, sharing final farewells with their hosts.

Michelle managed to regain her composure enough to thank Oven and Samore for inviting them and to say goodbye to Spice and the others.

As Cracker carried her back to their ship, she felt her eyes beginning to grow heavy. It was indeed very late; the edges of the horizon were starting to fade indicating they were not long for a sunrise.

The party that had been carrying on in full swing had died down, with only some drunken revelers lingering sporadically in the messy streets.

Cracker’s long strides covered the distance almost as quickly as the porcupines they road into Fukkura Town on, and the rhythm of his movements practically rocked Michelle to sleep.

As they approached the coast, she could barely make out their waiting ship through her sleepy haze. Cracker leaned down and whispered, “We’ll be home soon, my love. Sleep well.”

Michelle smiled to herself, resting her head against her husband’s broad chest as her hand lazily reached up to stroke the side of his face before going limp as she drifted off to sleep.

                                                           The End.

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 43)

Description: There is no rest for the good.

Um...yeah. Hope nobody hates me at the end of this chapter. At least it came out faster than the last one, right? :-P

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @feartheendlesssummer @tigerbryn11

Chapter 43: First Blood

Tahira

The day my life changed, I was late for work. I missed my train and did my makeup on the bench while I waited for the next one. This Thursday morning, I'm late again. And I'm pretty sure that under the circumstances, Grayson will let it slide. In fact, I know he will since he explicitly told me to take the day off. But frankly, I think I'd rather be at work than alone in his apartment, especially when he has to be at work.

I didn't get much sleep Tuesday night after the fire. Unable to safely be treated for any potential smoke or chemical inhalation at the hospital while we were still in disguise, especially with Michelle still on her honeymoon, Dax insisted on dragging us into the lab at Prescott Industries and running tests. Marci had cleared me of any damage long before I even arrived, but Dax wanted to be safe rather than sorry, and Grayson agreed with him, so I relented. Eva took care of checking on the kids, and claimed dog-sitting privileges for herself.

Then came yesterday. That was the real headache, and the real reason I barely slept last night, which is the reason I'm running so late this morning, and nearly took Grayson's advice to spend the day in bed. But here I am, on a bench at the train station, gazing into a compact mirror in my left hand while carefully brushing my eyelids with dark purple eyeshadow.

I hear the soft sound of unhurried footsteps on the platform and feel my heart start to beat faster. It's after ten in the morning, on an open-air train platform, on a weekday, and the next train is due in fifteen minutes. All of these facts should put my mind at ease about who might be coming toward me, but I guess I'm still on edge. I try to ignore it, but then the footsteps stop a little too close to me. I let my gaze slide away from the compact to find Caleb standing over me, arms folded, glowering. I scowl back.

“Can I help you with something?”

“If what happened to those kids is what your help is worth, I don't want anything to do with it.”

I feel myself slumping. I sigh, unable to look him in the eye. “...How did you find out about that?”

“Never you fucking mind how I found out about it. Doesn't even matter that I know about it. The point is that those kids are in foster care. Separated. And you let it happen.”

“I didn't let anything happen, Caleb!” I snap. “I wasn't even there! All I know is that the story somehow came out at the hospital, and one of the staff called social services. ...Once the priest recovers, he'll be able to appeal to get them back. Meanwhile, Dylan and RJ are still together, as are Ysabel and her brothers.”

“That's exactly what they didn't want, and you know it! And how long will it take before they're all back together where they belong?! Most likely scenario, they won't all be back together until Dylan turns eighteen!”

“What do you expect me to do?!” I snarl, getting sharply to my feet.

“Be fucking hero, maybe?” he growls back.

“By what, kidnapping five kids? Because that's sure to keep me in a place where I can do my job effectively!” I lower my voice as I step close to him, drawing myself to my full height. I'm already at least half a head taller than he is, and he knows what I'm physically capable of. I see him shrink slightly, but he doesn't quite back down. “For your information, my people are in pretty hot water with the DA for not turning you over to rot in a Prescott-designed cell for the rest of your life. You want me to risk the situation deteriorating further?”

“You don't need the DA.”

“Actually, I do. Not all of us are content to be anarchists and vigilantes. And if people like us and the police are too busy fighting each other, civilians are going to suffer.” I blow out a frustrated breath through gritted teeth, taking a step back. “...Why do you care so much about these kids anyway?”

His scowl deepens. “Why don't you care more?”

“I care more than I am letting on to you. And I'm probably letting on more than you're willing to see. Caring is what I do. Nobody's surprised when I care. But you've got a reputation that doesn't run toward caring. What about these kids has you so invested?”

He scowls, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know fuck-all about my life, Tahira. ...We all start out as kids, don't we? Naked, bloody, screaming babies shitting ourselves because we don't know better. We all start off so damn innocent, just looking for someone to protect us and love us. But we don't all get lucky like that, do we.”

I don't really have a reply to that. He's right. What he's saying is correct. And while it doesn't exactly give me a complete answer, it feels like a lead in the right direction. Like Caleb taking a single brick out of his wall and giving me a narrow but significant look at what's underneath. Overhead, the announcement comes over the PA that the next train will be arriving shortly. Caleb turns his side toward me as I glance down the track at the approaching lights.

“...You're lucky, Tahira. You got a mom who loves you. Raised you. Stuck around. Didn't run off. Didn't get taken from you.”

“You're right. I am lucky.” The train glides into the station, sending back a rush of air that lifts my hair off my shoulders. The noise as it screeches to a halt would have swallowed anything else I said, so I wait until it has settled before I send another glance at Caleb. “...My birth parents died when I was a baby. I'm actually adopted.”

As the train doors hiss open, Caleb remains silent. I gather my things and climb on board, not waiting for a reply.

* * *

As expected, Grayson chides me for coming into work today. About halfway through the day, I realize I probably should have listened to him. Can't focus on anything, and it isn't hard to get his permission to leave work early so that I can visit Father Le in the hospital. I stop to buy flowers on the way, a bouquet of calla lilies and pink carnations in a pale blue vase. I get to the hospital and step into a room that looks like it's being converted to a florist shop. Father Le is propped up in bed, his rosary beads in hand, his lips moving languidly as he prays under his breath.

“Father Le?”

He pauses, turning his head to smile at me. “Tahira. Come in. Are those flowers for me?”

“Yeah.” I manage to find a space for them on the windowsill and set them down carefully. “Seems like I'm not the only one who had that idea, though.”

“My parishoners have been very generous. Come sit down.”

I do as he says, taking a chair beside his bed. “I hope I'm not interrupting your prayers.”

“There will be plenty of time to pray when visiting hours are over. ...I understand I have you to thank for saving my life.”

I smile a little. “Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around in here unless I come in costume.”

“Of course. You know your secret is safe with me.”

“...Do you remember anything about the attack?”

“What little I can remember, I have relayed to the police.”

“Right. I shouldn't press you. ...How are you feeling?”

He sighs, closing his eyes. “The doctors tell me I should make a full recovery.”

“You don't sound very happy about that.”

“I'm happy that I'll have my health back. ...But I have been informed that the children were placed in foster care.”

I can't help wincing. “...Yeah. But surely once your recovered you can get them back? Like, I know it wouldn't be easy, but you could apply to be their legal guardian, couldn't you? Now that they're in foster care, I'd think that would be your next move, wouldn't it?” When he hesitates, I can't resist reaching out to grasp his hand. “I mean, you'll try, won't you? For their sake?”

The priest sighs. His free hand comes over to pat mine. “Of course I will try, Tahira. ...But I fear I am unlikely to succeed. ...It has occurred to me that I may have been acting outside the law when I took those kids in. I don't know for sure what charges they could bring against me, but I didn't actually have legal custody over them. And since they already ran away from their first foster homes...”

I swallow against a rising lump in my throat. “...What if I put in a good word for you with the DA? ...Not that I'm exactly in her good books at the moment...”

Concern flashes across his face. Somehow, I know it's concern for me and not himself, and that somehow makes it worse. “Why is that?”

I close my eyes to clear the film of tears that's gathered over them, but only end up letting a couple salty drops leak out. “...I decided to put my trust in someone she thinks needs to be locked up.”

“...Do you agree with her that this person needs to be locked up?”

“I...I don't know. I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt, and so far he's come through, but...what if she's right? What if he's playing me, and he goes back to how he was before?”

“Life is never without hope, Tahira.”

I can't help snorting just a little. “I don't know how helpful that is, Father.”

“My apologies. Try this then: you cannot know the future. You cannot know if a person will change, but every person has the ability to change. Your forgiveness of any past wrongs he did is a gift you give, not because he deserves it, but because you want to give it out of the goodness of your heart. Your trust, on the other hand, is not a gift. It is a privilege that you have every right to make him earn. If his past crimes have earned him a prison sentence, he deserves to serve that sentence. But something has stopped you from handing him over to the police.”

“Yeah. Something has.”

“...Can you name what that something is?”

“Honestly...I have a feeling I can.”

“...Do you feel that you can tell me?”

I am quiet for a long moment. “...No, Father. I don't think I can. Because it's not anything that I think I could make you understand without revealing way more than I should about people whose secrets I have no right to reveal.”

“I don't need to understand entirely. But perhaps telling me what you can will bring you some clarity.”

“...I think he has a part to play in a bigger picture. He's...a part of what I'm a part of. I have to think beyond just laws and authorities. What happened to me that night...the thing that made me what I am...it's got a reach beyond anything I could have fathomed that night. I've learned so much about it since then, and...I need this person, Father. I need him on my side, within my reach. Because he's a part of this.”

“It sounds to me like you've made up your mind.”

“...Maybe I have.” I sigh, standing up. “I should leave you to rest. I have...things I need to take care of.”

“Of course. Thank you for visiting me. I hope I will see you again.”

“Hey, you can count on it. Promise.”

I offer the priest my brightest smile, but I leave the hospital feeling melancholy and exhausted. I feel heavy and too full and hollowed out and empty all at the same time. I just want to go back to Grayson's apartment and have him there with me. I want us to curl up in bed together and shut out the rest of the world. Maybe I should call him and ask him to come home. I'm sure he would. We could spend the evening together, just the two of us, order something to eat, watch a romantic movie, slip naked into the hot tub...

My phone buzzes in the hip pocket of my jeans. I tug it free and see Grayson's name on the screen. I answer, feeling myself smile as I put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, handsome. I was just thinking about you.”

“...Tahira...” Immediately, my heart sinks. Something's wrong. I can hear it in the way he says my name.

“...What is it? What's the matter?”

“Well...Dax has apparently been monitoring police radio frequencies or something...” He sighs. “I didn't know he was doing that. Did you?”

“Well...no. Not specifically. I'm not sure he should be.”

“Neither am I. But, that isn't the point. The point is that he picked up some chatter, and...it seems Dylan and his family have gone missing.”

My heart drops into my belly with a sickening splash. “Missing? Wh-what kind of missing? When were they last seen?”

“Dylan apparently went to pick up the others and walk them home from school, but they never made it back to their foster homes. Later, the police got a tip from a concerned citizen that he had seen five kids get into a black van. He wasn't sure there was anything to actually worry about since the kids got in without hesitating, but...he described the driver as a white male with shaggy brown hair smoking a cigarette.”

It's all I can do not to sink to my knees on the pavement right there. “...Caleb,” I whisper. “Oh god, Caleb, what have you done...?”

Jake

A few weeks ago, Alodia and I hired a photographer to do a little photoshoot for us at the beach house. Something sappy and romantic to commemorate the impending birth of our first child. It was a pretty fun day, even though obviously Alodia proved far more photogenic than me. I mean, I could hardly object to spending most of the time watching my wife posing and being her gorgeous self.

Honestly, in the chaos and emotional rollercoaster that followed in the weeks after, with the wedding and then the disappointment and worry that followed her last OB appointment, I had kinda forgotten about the photos altogether. Until Friday morning, the day I'm supposed to leave to pick up Sean and Michelle from the island.

The other half of the bed is cool when I wake up, but I can smell something mouth-watering downstairs. I inhale deeply through my nose. Yup. Definitely bacon. And coffee. Clearly, Mike or Diego must be up too, since Alodia hasn't touched a cup of coffee since she got pregnant, and I don't think Varyyn has ever liked the stuff. There's something else in the air, too. Something sweet.

I get up and throw on a shirt and a pair of pants, running a hand through my hair before making my way downstairs. In the kitchen, I find the coffee pot three-quarters full and still warm. There's also  pitcher of orange juice and a couple of chafing dishes on the counter beside a stack of three plates. I lift the lids on the chafing dishes to find plenty of bacon and pancakes. I sniff at the pancakes, and get a noseful of apple and cinnamon. And that's when I notice the rusty-brown cinnamon and sugar blend in a small bowl beside the dish.

I hear voices from the den. I can't quite make out works, but it's definitely Alodia and Diego. I pour myself a cup of coffee and wander into the den. Diego is lounging on the chaise portion of the sectional with the TV remote in hand. Alodia lies with her head in his lap, a plate of pancakes and bacon balanced on her swollen belly. She's using an upside down laundry basket on the floor beside her hip as a makeshift table for a glass of orange juice and a jar of peanut butter with a knife sticking out of it.

On the screen is an image of her on the balcony overlooking the beach. Her shoulders are bare, her modesty preserved by a white sheet wrapped around her body. One hand holds the sheet closed at her chest while the other cradles her baby bump and she gazes at the sky with a peaceful, contented expression.

“I like that one,” Diego remarks. Alodia wrinkles her nose a little.

“Hmmm...it's not bad, but that one little strand of hair is kinda driving me crazy. It looks like it's going into my mouth and I keep wanting to just brush it off.” She reaches lazily towards the screen, flicking her index finger as if she can will the offending hair off her photographed face.

“I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” I declare. I make my way to the sofa and set my coffee down on her laundry basket table before sitting down and drawing her feet onto my lap. She smiles at me.

“In the picture, or right now?”

“Yes.”

“Good answer. You are rewarded with bacon.” She takes a piece off her plate and holds it toward me. I lean over to take a bite, and look back at the screen as I chew.

“Are these the finished product?”

“Not quite. They're the initial edits of the ones Nora thought were the best. Found them in my email this morning. She wants us to go through and pick our favorites.”

“Of course, if your wife has her way, there won't be any,” Diego complains. “She's found something to object to in every single picture she's in.”

“Not every one!”

“Oh, right, I forgot. You like the one where you're in silhouette and we can't see your pretty face.”

“Just go to the next one.”

I sip my coffee as we go through about a dozen more pictures, and it's made clear that Alodia's going to be pickier about these pictures than I am. There are some she does like. Most of the ones of us together meet her approval, as do a series of very sexy shots with her nude and posed so that nothing actually shows. Though, unfortunately, my favorite in that series doesn't seem to impress her.

“I've got a simper,” she declares flatly.

“A what?”

Diego rolls his eyes. “She means because her lips are parted. Just because your lips are parted doesn't mean it's a simper, Allie. That's not a simper.”

“It is the simperiest simper that ever was a simper!” she insists, grabbing the jar of peanut butter and dunking a chunk of bacon into the brown goo. “It looks like I'm trying to make you believe that I'm moaning all sexily. Look, I'm even trying to give bedroom eyes.”

“Yeah, I'm not seeing the problem here,” I quip.

“You see, Allie? It's a sexy expression that does just what you want it to.”

“I don't like it.”

“Yeah, well, you're drunk on peanut butter. Maybe look at it again when you're sober.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and looks down at me. “Did you get some breakfast?”

“Just the coffee so far. But since you mention it, I am getting hungry.”

“You should eat. We made plenty so you and Mike could get a good meal in you before you fly today.”

I feel a frown crease my forehead. “...You're still okay with me going? I know it's still a few weeks 'til showtime, but...”

“But nothing. You'll be easy to contact, and you're flying to the Caribbean, not Asia.”

“I'll be back tomorrow,” I promise.

“Yes, you will. And we'll be at the airport to pick you up. Now come here and kiss me.”

* * *

After breakfast, Mike, Alodia, Diego, and I pile into the car and Diego drives us to the airport. I'm glad Alodia comes along, even though the trip takes longer than it would otherwise thanks to our unborn child elbowing her in the bladder every twenty minutes. That combined with California traffic means that it takes about an hour and a half to actually reach the airport. But it isn't as if we're flying commercial after all.

The plane is fueled and waiting for us. It's just up to me and Mike to carry out the final checks and get her in the air. Mike gets our things on board—just a small bag each for a couple days away—and I give my wife a lingering goodbye kiss outside the plane.

“I expect this looks very romantic,” she chuckles. “A handsome pilot kissing his pregnant wife outside the plane before he takes off, against a California background.”

“Minus the plane, I'm pretty sure there were some similar pictures from our photoshoot,” I reply. I try to grin, but it isn't coming out quite right. “...I don't like leaving you. Not just because you're pregnant, either. I just...don't like leaving you.”

“I know.” She doesn't need to say anything more than that. She knows why. “I love you, Jake. To the stars and back.”

“No land, no sea, no one can keep us apart. I love you, Alodia.” I drop slowly to one knee in front of her, cradling her belly in my hands, and plant a slow kiss in the center of the swell, just above her navel. “I love you, River. Don't get too eager to come out, okay? Your daddy wants to be here to meet you.”

I gently rest my cheek against her belly and feel a few soft pats from tiny limbs. Alodia winces.

“I think she's a daddy's girl already. Feels like she's trying to get out so you can hold her.”

“No, River, I said not yet!” I scold mildly. “Not until Sunday at least. Give me time to get home and some sleep.”

“I hope she'll wait a little longer than that.”

“Hey, Grandpa!” I get to my feet, turning to see Mike waving at me from the plane. “The sooner we fly, the sooner we can get back, and it's a long way to Santo Domingo!”

I sigh. “Unfortunately, he's right.” I give my wife one last long kiss. “I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, Top Gun. Go on. I think I need to hit the bathroom again anyway.”

We finally manage to untangle from each other's arms and go our separate ways. I join Mike in the cockpit and set about doing my final checks. It's a few minutes before I happen to glance over and notice something grim and distracted in his expression that sends a brief shiver of unease down the back of my neck.

“Hey...you okay?”

“I...got a text from Rebecca.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You getting texts from my sister now? How long has this been going on? Do I have to lecture her about cradle-robbing?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “She's had my number since we sent Lundgren to prison so we could keep tabs on your dysfunctional ass. And how many years are there between you and Alodia again?”

“Ouch. Okay, what's she got to say?”

“Check your phone. She sent it to you, too.”

I'm about to ask what, but realize it would be faster just to pull out my phone and check myself. Sure enough, there's a text from Rebecca to both me and Mike.

Rebecca: Got word this morning, thought you guys should know. Rex Lundgren was stabbed in a prison fight this morning. He's dead.

For a long moment, I can't think of what to say. My first instinct is relief. Even elation. But I can't hold onto that. It's not that I feel any remorse that he's gone. But I haven't forgotten how the same information played out with Rourke.

“...You think it's real?” I ask softly. I know he knows I don't mean whether it's official or if Rebecca believes it. He shrugs.

“I want it to be real.”

“...Lundgren was only in with Rourke on the island out of necessity. He was planning to turn on him in the end...do you really think they'd be working together now?”

“I don't know. I don't know if Rourke could pull the same trick he pulled with Lundgren that he pulled with himself to fake his death. Or...the trick we think he pulled. I can't imagine Lundgren going along with that.”

“Maybe not. Besides, it's not like a prison fight isn't a likely way for him to go, right? He was such a goddamn bully, I'm sure soon as he got in, he started clawing his way to the top of the inmate heap.”

Mike looks over at me. “...You don't have to come. There's enough time to get another pilot to cover for you.”

“...I ain't keen on sending a stranger to the island.”

“I would still be there. I'd keep whoever it was away from the village.”

I do consider the offer, silently weighing the pros and cons. A big part of me thinks I really should stay here. Stay here with Alodia. But I know it would be so much safer not to let strangers on the island. Besides, Alodia has Varyyn and Diego with her, and Rebecca not too far off. I trust them to have her back. I don't really like the idea of Mike making the journey with no one but a stranger watching his. I sigh and reluctantly shake my head.

“I think we're making ourselves jittery. Come on. Let's not leave Sean and Michelle stranded. They got a flight to Tokyo to catch.”

Tahira

My team spends Friday searching for the children, trying to turn up any leads we can, but we're not having much luck. I've tried to reach Caleb using the number he's been calling me from, but it goes straight to a generic voicemail, and the police haven't been able to track its signal either.

“People who don't want to be found have ways of staying hidden,” Eva muses when I express frustration at our lack of progress. “Caleb's been evading the law since way before I even started stealing. And we all know this isn't the first time those kids have run away from foster care.”

She's right, of course, but it doesn't help. They're treating the situation as a kidnapping on account of Caleb's involvement, which doesn't bode well for him. The kids would be considered runaways otherwise, especially given their history. The most comfort I can give myself is to tell myself that they wouldn't have gone far with Eva still looking after their dog. But that even that doesn't help a whole lot, because I don't actually know if it's true.

I can't make sense of how cut up I am about the whole wretched situation. I want to shut myself in my apartment and keep the world at bay, and I haven't wanted to do that since Mom told me I came through the Prism Gate as a baby. Those kids are orphans because of a battle I was part of, but I can live with that. I didn't start that battle, and I did what I could to stop it. But this...what's happening right now...it feels like failure. And failure cuts like a knife.

Jake

It's a little after 7pm local time when we land in Santo Domingo, seven hours later. We'll spend the night in a hotel and then set off for the island tomorrow morning. I call Alodia as soon as we land to check in and reassure myself that everything's all right. I also tell her the news about Lundgren. She takes it...carefully, is probably the most accurate way to describe it. Mostly wants to know how I'm feeling about it. I confess my concerns, and she admits to sharing them. We end up spending about an hour just going on about nothing in particular, just listening to each other speak, reassuring ourselves that we're all right. During that time, Mike and I are able to get to the hotel, check in, order food, and have it arrive. At that point, Alodia admits that she should be getting ready to go to a dance class. Recitals are coming up in May and the costumes are starting to come in. We exchange 'I love you's and reluctant good-byes, and then we hang up. I eat my dinner, watch a little TV, then decide to hit the hotel's gym in an attempt to burn off some nervous energy. I exhaust myself on the treadmill, spend too long in the shower, and finally crawl into bed.

Sleep doesn't come easy. When I do sleep, I have a distressing dream that my sister is dying of some rare disease and she's only got a day left to live, and it happens to be the same day that I'm meeting the half-sister I never knew I had who's the result of an affair my dad had that he never told anyone about, and it all sucks because I'm devastated that Rebecca's never gonna meet her niece, and I'm not sure I like this new half-sister because she's kinda snobby. I wake up sweating, and it takes me a few minutes to convince myself that Rebecca isn't actually dying. And that I shouldn't actually call her right now because it's about 8am here and three hours earlier in California, and if she's not on duty, she's probably asleep. That's when I realize that Mike's bed is empty and I can hear retching from the bathroom, where there's a sliver of light under the door.

“...Mike?” Concerned, I push back the covers and flip on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. I make my way to the bathroom and tap on the door with my knuckle. “You okay in there, buddy?”

“You want an honest answer?” he croaks back. I open the door and find Mike slumped over the toilet, sweat shining on his ashen skin and soaking through his undershirt. Another spasm goes through him and he chokes something up into the bowl.

“Jesus!” I grab a washcloth from the rack and run it under the tap, wring it out, and press it to the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “That's...nice.”

“Just months ago, I was up with Alodia doing this every morning.” I frown. “But what's going on with you? Did you go get drunk after I fell asleep? Pretty sure you're not pregnant.”

“You're lucky I'm not up for punching you right now,” he scoffs, wincing. “I'm not sure what this is. Something I ate, or some kind of stomach virus. Didn't drink anything last night. Just woke up and I had to hurl.”

I gently ease him upright and put a hand to his forehead. It's clammy with sweat, but it doesn't feel warm. “Don't think you have a fever. Maybe that fish last night was off.”

“Maybe.” He wipes at his forehead. “...Think I'm empty now. ...What time is it?”

“Getting on a quarter after 8.”

He groans. “So no time to sleep it off before we hit the water. Never mind.” He starts to struggle to his feet and I move to brace him.

“You sure you should be getting on a boat if your stomach's off?”

“I'll be fine. If I puke again, I puke again. But I'm sure I'll feel better after I've had a shower.”

“Well...we'll see. I'm gonna go get us packed. You holler if you need me.”

He snorts. “Yeah, like I'm gonna call you to help me shower.”

“I'm serious, Mike. You know I saw worse than your skinny naked ass in the Navy. And if you pass out in the shower and crack your head on the tap, I ain't gonna worry about your dignity. I'll call an ambulance and leave everything on display for the paramedics.”

Mike gestures ruefully at the skeletal bionic legs and feet that descend from his flesh-and-blood thighs. Cutting edge prosthetics that attach permanently and use some kind of advanced robotics to communicate with the nerves that still exist in his thighs. Alodia has speculated that the Endless' right hand was of a similar design.

“Great as these are in general, they don't lend themselves well to showering without a seat most of the time. I won't be in any great danger of slipping.”

“You better not.” I leave him to it, returning to the room to gather our belongings. I don't hear any alarming thumps, but ten minutes later, I realize I can hear him retching again. I knock on the door again.

“Cover up, kid! I'm coming in!” I don't wait for an answer before I push the door open. The shower is still running, but Mike has a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, preserving his modesty.

“Wanted some water to rinse my mouth with. ...It didn't sit well.”

I shake my head. “Well, that settles it. You're gonna stay here and sleep this off while I pick up Sean and Michelle.”

“You can't go out there alone.”

“It's fine. It's just about a three-hour sail there, and then I'll have Sean and Michelle on the way back. I'll have plenty of food, water, gas, and life vests, and if anything goes really wrong, I can call the coast guard. You won't be any use puking your guts up under the Caribbean sun when you can't even keep water down. You know that.”

He sighs. “I guess dehydration in the middle of the ocean wouldn't be very helpful.”

“Damn straight. Stay in here with the air conditioning on and get some rest.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“I trust you're gonna know when to panic?”

He rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet, but he does offer a weak smile. “Yes, Grandpa. Now if you're gonna go without me, go. I'm gonna go back to sleep.”

Alodia

Diego drives me to the dance studio on Saturday morning. I'm capable of driving myself, but try telling that to a houseful of loving, overprotective men who saw me dissolve into stardust five years ago not to coddle me when in my last month of pregnancy. I don't begrudge them a little fussing, and letting them chauffer me around inconveniences them more than me most of the time. At least this morning, Diego isn't just dragging himself out of the house to be my driver.

“I've got a few meetings with students on campus,” he explains as we get into the car. “Midterms are coming up, so naturally everyone's starting to get nervous.”

“Midterms for you, recitals for me...remember when we used to experience these things from the other side?”

“I definitely don't miss midterms from the other side.”

“...I kinda miss recitals,” I admit.

He smiles at me as he pulls on his seatbelt. “I have a break around noon. Wanna get lunch?”

“As long as it's somewhere nostalgic. What was that place we used to go when we cut class in high school?”

“Waterfall Cafe. I haven't been there since the last time we went together. I don't even know if it's still open.” A quick check on my phone assures us that it is. “Then that's where we'll eat. I'll pick you up around 12:30?”

“It's a bestie date.”

* * *

I remember costume-fitting days being something close to magical when I was a student. The first time we pulled the costumes on, they were a work-in-progress, straight out of their bags. We endured several minutes of teachers and assistants pinching and safety-pinning fabric, noting where it needed to be let out or taken in. The elastic shoulder straps came attached only at the front of the costume, and they too were pulled snug and secured at the back with safety pins. As soon as we were allowed, we scooted away to do our barre exercises in our glittering tutus. We may have been full of safety pins, without headpieces or stage makeup, but we were getting our first glimpses of how we would appear on stage just a month or two down the line. And in the final weeks before the recital, the costumes would come back complete. As a child, I had no concept of the amount of work that teachers and volunteer parents had put into altering the costumes to make them fit just right, and putting needle and thread to countless elastic shoulder straps. They might as well have been completed by Santa Claus and his elves picking up some extra work in the off-season. All I knew was that after the second fitting, the costume was mine forever.

Of course, now that I'm a teacher myself...

“Hold still a second, Ji-hu,” I say for what feels like the fiftieth time as I try to get a safety pin into the side of his black-and-yellow striped tunic. “Can you hold your arms out to the side for me? Atta boy.”

“Bzzzzzz! I'm a bee!” Ji-hu yells, although his announcement is pretty much lost in the din of a dozen other similar announcements from his classmates who are already decked out in black and yellow stripes. At last, I get him pinned and give him permission to go running out onto the dance floor with his friends. I wipe at my sweaty forehead and rise to my feet, wincing a little.

“Are you all right?” I turn to smile at Olivia, the woman in charge of costumes for the entire studio.

“I'm fine. Knees are just protesting a little. All this extra weight is getting to be hard on the joints.”

“If you need to rest, you can go ahead. You've kinda got the perfect excuse, you know.”

I shake my head. “I'll rest while Vikki's getting them warmed up.” But I can't resist putting my hands to my lower back and stretching backwards slightly. “So, who thought it was a good idea to move the five-year-olds to the early slot on Saturdays, and who thought it was a good idea to give them the Honeybees dance? Not the same person, I hope.”

“Hey, you had your chance to veto the Honeybee idea at the meeting five months ago. Just be grateful you don't have Ivan's class set. His five-year-olds are rainbows, and for some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to let them dance with flags.”

“Oh, god! You can barely trust the advanced classes with props!” I laugh ruefully and sigh, steeling myself for the next one. “Megan, sweetheart? Come here and let me pin your straps!”

Jake

There appears to have been some sort of confusion at the docks regarding the yacht I'm supposed to be sailing to La Huerta. It gets cleared up in the end, and I am finally supplied with the Rourke International vessel I was supposed to have in the first place, but I lose an hour and a half in the confusion. I radio Seraxa to let Sean and Michelle know I've been delayed, and set off from Santo Domingo in a foul mood. I don't arrive at the island until after two in the afternoon, but the journey itself is unremarkable, and the sail calms me down. Sean and Michelle are all ready and waiting for me when I hit the dock, their suitcases already packed and piled up on the platform.

“Ahoy, lovebirds!” I call. “We're running a little behind, so if you guys wanna drag your stuff aboard while I give 'er a little more gas, that would be really helpful.”

Michelle frowns a little. “Is Mike not with you?”

“Oh, geez, did I forget to mention? Mike stayed back at the hotel. He was puking his guts up this morning, didn't think a boat was gonna be the best place for him.”

“You were probably right,” Michelle assures me. “Do you know what the cause is? Did he eat something off?”

“Not exactly sure. He didn't have a fever, at least not as of this morning. But he couldn't even keep water down.”

She frowns. “Well, that'll be concerning if it's still going on tomorrow, but it sounds like it could be as simple as a stomach virus. I'll give him a once over when we get back to Santo Domingo if you guys have time. When's your flight back to California?”

“Nine tonight. Though, worst case scenario, we miss it and call Aleister or Estela for a chartered flight.”

“But let's try not to make that necessary,” Sean remarks, gathering up a couple bags. “I'll take these down below.”

Tahira

I give myself permission to wallow a little on Saturday. I keep my phone on so I can be reached if there's trouble, and I at least shower and get dressed. But I otherwise stay curled up on the sofa in my apartment with hot drinks and finger foods, trying to read or watch TV.

Unfortunately, I can't really concentrate on my book and there isn't much that appeals to me on TV. There appears to be a marathon of superhero movies on my favorite channel, and that's obviously out right now. I try to watch stand-up comedy, but that doesn't get much more than a half-hearted chuckle out of me. I actually spend the longest amount of time on a documentary about the American Civil War, but I have to turn it off when it finally registers that the endless quotes from soldiers' letters are just making me feel worse.

Maybe staying in isn't actually the best idea. Although it takes some effort, I manage to stuff my supersuit into a messenger bag, put on my coat and gloves, and drag myself out of the apartment. I don't know where I'm actually planning to go. Maybe Grayson's apartment? The Grand? Maybe I'll just go for an aimless walk.

I'm about a block from my apartment when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. It takes a surprising amount of willpower to make myself answer it. Particularly when I pull it out and see that it isn't a number I recognize. Before I became Dragonness, my policy was usually to let unfamiliar numbers go to voicemail, figuring that if it were important, they'd leave a message. But since we officially formed an alliance with the police, Dax has all our calls routed through some kind of service center that scrambles our numbers or something so they can't be traced back to our civilian phones, and in the process, that sometimes scrambles the caller's number too. I summon my energy, and thumb the green button.

“...Hello?”

“...Tahira?” The voice makes my heart wedge in my throat. I know this voice.

“...Caleb?!”

“Hey...”

“Don't 'hey' me! Where the hell are you?! Where have you been?! What have you done?! Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?!”

“Uh...are you alone right now? Because I can hear traffic.”

“It so happens that I am out taking a walk, not that it's any of your business. Answer my questions!”

“I will, I will. But not over the phone. ...I need you to meet me where we were both held captive. Come alone. And come as you, not Dragonness.”

I am quiet for a moment as I find a quiet corner to slip into. “Why should I come alone?” I whisper. “Why shouldn't I bring anyone with me?”

“Because I'm asking you not to,” he answers softly. Softly enough that I can hear a note of quiet desperation in him. “Please.”

“...Just tell me this, Caleb: are the children with you?”

“Yeah. They're here. They're safe. Tahira...I'm counting on you to be a hero right now.”

This feels like a bad idea. A very bad idea. But I already know what I'm going to do. “...Hang tight. I'm on my way.”

Diego

“I'll see you Monday, Danielle. Good luck with your other midterms.”

“Thank you, Mr. Soto. See you Monday!”

Danielle gathers up her things and heads out, leaving me alone in the lecture hall where I am holding my classes this semester. Sitting in a rolling desk chair at the computer, I lean back, stretching my arms over my head and giving a good yawn. That was my last meeting of the morning, and it went quicker than I expected. Now it's about time I get ready to meet Allie for lunch. As it stands, I'm probably going to be early to meet her, so I take my time getting myself packed up.

“Diego Soto?”

I look up to see an unfamiliar young man standing in the doorway. He looks about the right age to be a student—and he's dressed like one, too—but I can't say that I've seen him anywhere around campus.

“That's me. Can I help you?”

“I'm Gabe. Gabe Madigan. I'm just visiting this weekend, but I'm gonna be transferring here next semester. They told me you'll be teaching your course again next semester?”

“That's right. I'm here the rest of the school year. You interested in taking it?”

He grins. “Well, yeah. I wanna be a screenwriter, and I'd be pretty insane not to take the opportunity to learn from a best-selling author on storytelling in film.”

“I'm always happy to have another film enthusiast in the class, no matter who they are.”

“Actually, I...” He gestures a little sheepishly at the backpack secured on his shoulders, “I have my copy of your book with me. Could you possibly sign it for me?”

“I'm sure I can spare the time for that.”

I head over to the desk to take out a pen while he takes his bag off to search for the book.

“You know, I was still in high school when all that stuff in the Caribbean went down. You know, the whole thing with Rourke International...”

I pause for a moment before pulling out a chair sitting down. I hold my hand out for the book. “I certainly haven't forgotten.”

Gabe hands me the book. “Is that a sensitive subject? Sorry. I just remember how close my family followed the story. My older brother was a Hartfeld student at the time. He'd entered the Rourke contest. He was pretty pissed off he didn't win. But once the story broke that you guys had gone missing, he actually felt pretty lucky.”

I can't help shifting awkwardly in my seat as I flip the book open to the front cover. “I won't lie. It was a...harrowing experience.”

I put my pen to the inside cover page and scrawl a quick note: “To Gabe: I look forward to seeing you in class next semester. Keep writing! – Diego Ortiz Soto.”

I see Gabe gazing at the array of personal items I have decorated my desk with: the two action figures Vaanu gave me on the island, a group picture of the Catalysts and friends this past New Years' Eve, one of me and Varyyn at our Vegas wedding, and the picture of me and Allie on the first day of third grade—one of the pictures that first heralded her return. Gabe points to that one, his finger hovering over Allie's eight-year-old face.

“Who's that?”

“Believe it or not, that's Alodia Chandler. The student who went missing on that trip and didn't come back for five years. And that kid she's with is me.”

“She's the one you dedicated your book to. So you knew her before the trip?”

“She's been my best friend since we were in diapers.”

“...That must have been hard, losing her like that.”

“It was. It was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. ...For five years, almost everything I did, I did in her name. For the longest time, the only way I could let myself be happy was by reminding myself that she would want me to be happy. So for a long time, any ounce of happiness I could feel was a dedication to her memory...” I trail off, suddenly embarassed at having gotten so personal with a stranger. I close the book and hand it back to him. “But she's home now. And actually, I'm supposed to meet her for lunch soon, so I should get going.” I pull open the desk drawer to retrieve my wallet and keys.

“Alodia Chandler and her Catalysts...”

Every hair on my body suddenly stands on end. My heart starts to thump with alarm and my stomach goes cold.

“...Gabe, where did you hear tha--”

Before I can finish, I am pulled back hard against his body. His forearm presses against my adam's apple, and a damp cloth obscures my mouth and nose. I struggle, but he caught me by surprise, and I'm being held at a distinct disadvantage.

` “You know the problem with you lot—the Catalysts, I mean—is that you're all so...insecure. There's no challenge in exploiting your weaknesses, because you all wear them on your sleeves.”

I reach for my desk drawer. My keys are sitting just there. If I can get them, maybe I can jab them into something soft and sensitive on his body. But he sees where I'm reaching and drags me off the chair with a sharp tug. I feel the ground tilting beneath me as the room starts to swim before my eyes.

“Don't get me wrong, you've all shown marked improvement since she came into your lives. But you were still entirely too responsive to flattery. It makes you vulnerable, being so desperate for praise.”

My vision is starting to narrow, filling with static at the edges. The voice in my ear is becoming distant, overpowered by the rush of my blood against my eardrums.

“Don't worry,” he sings as I start to fade. “You will see her again. As long as she behaves...”

Alodia

My twelve-year-old class is not as out of control about costume-fitting as the four-year-olds, but no one is immune to the excitement of that first look at performance-wear. And as Graceful Willows, their shimmery green costumes are decorated with soft frond fringes that awaken their playful sides. Wrangling them and getting costumes pinned still takes time, and I start to realize about 12:15 that I might not be ready when Diego gets here. About 12:30, as I'm helping the students out of their costumes and carefully putting them back in their bags, I check my phone. No messages from Diego yet, but he's probably on his way. I tap out a text: Hey, things are running just a little overtime here, but I should be out soon.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm still clearing things up and I check my phone again. No new messages, but I don't think anything of it, I just send another text. Just come inside if I'm not waiting for you when you get here. Just getting costumes sorted.

Ten minutes later, we finally finish up. Diego hasn't come in, so I put on my jacket and head outside to the parking lot to look for him. At this hour, between classes, the parking lot is nearly empty. It doesn't take me long to see that Diego isn't here. But Divya Gupta is, sitting cross-legged on a bench, hunched over a book that sits open on her lap.

“Hey, Divya, can I wait with you?”

Divya looks up and smiles. “Sure. My mom's coming to get me, but she's running late. Says traffic is really bad.”

A sense of relief floods through me. If traffic is bad, that's most likely the reason Diego's late. He's also scrupulous about not texting and driving.

“I'm guessing my friend is stuck in the same traffic,” I remark ruefully.

“Is your friend picking you up?”

“Yeah. We're going to go to lunch together.”

“What about your husband?”

“He's away until this evening.”

Divya turns her face toward me, propping her cheek up in her hand. “How long until you have the baby?”

“Oh, not more than a few more weeks.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“It will probably hurt some,” I answer honestly. “But there are a lot of ways to ease the pain. One of the advantages to living nowadays.”

“...It's a girl, right? Your baby?”

“That's right. We're going to name her River Skye.”

“That's a pretty name. My grandma says she can't understand why anyone wants to know if the baby is a boy or a girl before it's born. She says it spoils the surprise.”

I chuckle. “My husband's father says it's like opening your Christmas presents before Christmas.”

Divya laughs, then turns her eyes back to the parking lot. “Oh, I think your friend might be here.”

I look up to see a figure crossing the parking lot—and immediately I feel my veins turn to ice. The figure coming toward me is not Diego. She is not a friend. But I know her. I haven't seen her in years. She looks different now, her long dark braid replaced with a stylishly layered cut, and a combination of skintight jeans and a leather jacket taking the place of her high-tech military uniform. But I know her. Familiarity is a deep, bubbling dread in my gut. She smiles.

“Hey, Alodia,” Fiddler purrs.

“...Jeanine.” I'm surprised that my voice doesn't quiver. I speak to her with measured calm. “I wasn't expecting you. I thought Diego was picking me up.”

“He's going to meet us,” she says simply. “We should get going. Don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Not until Divya's mom gets here. I can't leave her waiting by herself.”

“It's okay, Miss Alodia. I'll be all right.”

“No, Divya,” I reply firmly. “I'm your teacher, and until your mom gets here, I'm responsible for you.”

“Oh, it's no skin off my nose,” Fiddler assures her cheerfully, though I'm pretty sure that's bullshit.

We lapse into a tense silence as I draw in a slow, calming breath. I don't know what Fiddler wants. But she's here and Diego isn't, and that's enough to let me know that something is very wrong in this situation. I search for Varyyn's presence in my mind. If I can find a memory close to the surface of his mind, I can slip into it and speak to him directly, the way I did so many years ago at the Vaanti tribunal.

I can feel right away that he is distressed. Even panicked. The most prominent memories are extremely recent and disjointed, but what I can pick up on puts together an increasingly alarming picture:

A phone call. Diego is...sick? Injured? A frantic rush to the hospital. But Diego isn't there. No one can tell him where his love is.

I find a place to plant my psychic projection, in the lobby of the hospital that Varyyn left in tears only moments ago. But in this moment, he is arguing with the receptionist, his fear and distress rising with every word.

“Varyyn!”

He turns to face me. The receptionist, as well as the rest of the hospital lobby's faceless population, continue with what they were doing, going through their motions like recycled animation.

“Alodia! I cannot find Diego! They told me he collapsed at the school, that he was taken to a hospital...”

“I'm pretty sure whoever told you that was lying. Fiddler is alive, and she's here with me.” I hold out my hand to him. “Keep your mind linked with mine, and don't forget anything that is said, do you understand?”

Varyyn, reading between the lines, nods and grasps my hand, his panic quickly replaced with grim determination. With our minds linked, I return to my own consciousness.

“Bye, Miss Alodia!” Divya calls as she trots over to her mother's car.

“Good-bye, Divya,” I manage to call back. “I'll see you next class.” The car pulls away from the curb, and I am left alone with Fiddler.

“So. Are you going to come quietly?”

“Where is Diego?” I hiss.

“Safe. For now. Whether he stays that way depends entirely on you.” She grasps my upper arm, and gives me a subtle but firm tug. “Come with me.”

I go where she's leading me. I'm walking straight into danger, but I don't have any choice. She has Diego. I can't leave him, and in my current condition, I can't fight her. I have to place my trust in Varyyn.

“If you harm a single hair on his head, you're a dead woman, Jeanine. That's a promise.”

“Listen, sweetie. I would love to cut your throat right here. Take out Wolf's skinny blonde hussy and his grubby little brat in one go. But someone's got a lot of stake your crotchfruit, and I've got a good take coming to me if I bring you and it in whole and healthy. But if I can't kill you right now, you'd better believe I'll take a lot of pleasure in breaking you by hurting your little gay puppy in front of you. Now, I don't have to do that if you don't give me trouble. But ask yourself this: how loosely do you think I'll define 'trouble' if it gives me an excuse to watch you suffer?”

I don't have to fake the way my breath quickens at her implications, even if the submission in the way I lower my eyes is a complete lie.

“...I won't make trouble.”

“Good girl.”

She's led me around the back of the building, to a driveway that is rarely used, except by savvy local drivers who know it can be used to illegally avoid a long traffic light about a block away. There is an ambulance parked dead center of the driveway, blocking potential traffic from both ends.

“Now, from here on out, I can't allow you to have any contact with your blue freak friend. Don't worry. This won't hurt your precious cargo. But it is gonna hurt like hell.”

Before I can respond, the palm of her free hand slaps against the back of my neck. Searing pain floods my senses, and then I drop into darkness.

Caleb

Okay, so I may have gotten in a little over my head when I helped the kids run away from their foster homes. I'm not exactly equipped to take care of them, and I don't really know where to send them. The clocktower isn't safe anymore. I doubt this place is going to be safe for long, either. Plus, I'm not exactly thrilled about hiding out in the same place Silas Prescott held me captive. But at least for now, the kids are out of the cold. The first night, I went digging through a few charity basements and came up with enough blankets to keep them comfortable, and I got enough money to feed them for a little while, but it won't last indefinitely. I just gotta hope Tahira will have some kind of plan. I just gotta trust her.

The silence is awkward as the six of us sit on the floor, stuffing our faces with McDermott's. Ysabel and the younger boys got kiddie meals, with the prize inside being action figures from some popular cartoon. I kinda gotta wonder how long it'll be before they start making action figures of Dragonness and her team.

“I miss Zelda!” RJ announces.

“She's safe. Minuet's taking care of her.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still miss her.”

“I don't like it here,” Alex whimpers. “It's cold and scary.”

“Hey, look. It's not gonna be for long. Our friend Tahira is coming. Remember her? She'll know how to help.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, she's really smart and she's Grayson Prescott's girlfriend. Grayson Prescott basically owns this city.”

“It's his dad who owns the city, not Grayson,” Dylan mutters.

“His dad's in jail,” Ysa points out.

“Well, he's not actually in jail,” I correct her. “He's under house arrest.”

“What's that mean?”

“It's like being in jail, except he just has to stay in his house.”

She wrinkles her nose with obvious distaste. “That doesn't really sound like a punishment.”

“Maybe not, but it still means that Grayson's in charge now, so he can help us.”

RJ frowns. “If Grayson's the one who's gonna help us, why did you call his girlfriend?”

“...Eat your fucking chicken nuggets.”

“Don't swear at my brother!” Dylan snaps. I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. Where the flying fuck is Tahira? Finally, my burner phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, I see Tahira's number flashing across the screen. I answer.

“Tahira? Where are you?”

“Caleb...hall...the...hall we escaped from...Hurry...”

Okay...that doesn't sound good at all. Alarm bells are going off in my head like there's a fucking air raid. I quit the call.

“You kids wait here. I'll be right back.”

I take off for the corridor at a run. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find there, but I was right about it not being good. The hall is pretty dimly lit, but I can still make out the figure that is unmistakeably Tahira slumped on the floor against the wall, and the smell of blood is sickeningly strong.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I rush to drop to my knees at her side. “Tahira, where are you hurt? Lemme see...”

Her eyes flutter and she nods weakly downward. Her hands are pressed to the lower right side of her abdomen, where I can see blood pooling between her fingers.

“Think...I'm gonna need you...to be the hero...this time...”

Jake

I mostly leave Sean and Michelle alone. They're still on their honeymoon, and I didn't come here to be the third wheel. I grab myself a beer from the minifridge belowdecks and head back to the bridge to keep an eye on our progress. It's about an hour into our sail that my phone starts to ring. The sound makes my pulse spike, and when I see that it's Varyyn calling, that only makes me more anxious. My first thought is naturally of my pregnant wife, and the possibilty that she's gone into labor while I'm miles away in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. I snatch up my phone.

“Varyyn? What is it? Is it Alodia? Is she in labor?”

“...No...” Varyyn's voice is quivering. “I'm afraid it's worse than that, Jake. ...She and Diego have been abducted. By Fiddler.”

All the blood rushes out of my head. I actually feel myself fall to my knees as my vision tunnels.

“...No...no, God, please. Please, no...”

“Alodia linked her mind with mine just before she was taken, but then...Fiddler did something, and now I cannot reach her.”

I taste bile at the back of my throat. I can't breathe. This can't be happening. “Wh-what does that mean?!” I choke out. “Is she dead?! Did Fiddler kill her?!”

“No. I don't think so. I can almost feel her presence still, but...it's as if there has been a wall put up between our minds. I cannot speak to her, I cannot see where she is.”

“Fuck...Okay.” I shake my head hard, trying to clear it. I can't help Alodia by panicking. “Okay, Varyyn, listen. I need you to call my sister. She'll know where to start. I'm gonna make sure Mike and I got a plane on the tarmac soon as I get back to Santo Domingo 'cause no way am I waiting around for a commercial flight.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I will call Rebecca.”

I don't wait for him to say goodbye before I hang up the phone and climb unsteadily to my feet. Jesus, where the hell did my sealegs go? I still feel dizzy and breathless, and my stomach is threatening to rebel, but I force all that to the back of my mind. How I feel doesn't matter right now. Alodia is all that matters.

“Sean!” I call as I stumble toward the staircase that leads to the lower deck. “Michelle! We got a problem--”

I feel myself stumble and I stagger against the side just as my phone starts to ring again. Mike this time. I answer.

“Mike, we have a problem...” My tongue is starting to feel heavy. It shouldn't be feeling heavy. I've only had one beer.

“Jake!” Mike's voice comes through the speaker as a harsh whisper. “G.Q.! Bingo! Find another port!”

“Mike, Jeanine's alive. She has my wife.”

“Just promise me! Don't come back to Santo Domingo, Jake! Promise—ungh!”

“Mike?!” Only the distant sounds of something shuffling answer me. “Mike, buddy, say something!”

There's another moment of silence. Then another voice comes through the speaker. “Hello, Wolf.”

My blood goes cold in my veins. “...Lundgren...?”

“Surprised? You should know I'm not gonna die while you and Mouse are alive. How ya feeling, anyway? Dizzy? Hazy?”

I grasp the side of the boat, struggling to pull myself up, but my legs seems to be made of rubber. My vision is blurring, the horizon doubling before my eyes.

“Wha...what's...?” I feel the phone slip from my grasp as I slump back to the deck, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Michelle...Sean...where are they...? Alodia's in trouble...Diego...Mike...I have to...

There's a figure approaching. An unfamiliar figure in an Arachnid uniform. The last thing I am aware of is a man's tenor voice: “We're just about done here, Commander. The wolf's going under. Sit tight. You'll have your prize soon.”

[akaspiderman]

oblivious ☆ part one

pairing: peter parker x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing

plot: (Y/N) could not make it anymore obvious, she was dropping Peter hints like crazy. Despite being insanely intelligent, Peter can be so blind to his surroundings. 

A/N: A classic plot, part two here

“You’re such a nerd,” (y/n) laughs, hitting Peters arm.

“I-is that a bad thing?” Peter asks.

“No, it’s actually attractive.”

Peters face burns up at that comment, but (y/n) just sits there smiling innocently.

She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t attractive to him, ever since that faithful day on the seventh grade, she was trash for him. At first, she was just physically attracted to him, she didn’t know him. During ninth grade though, her prayers were answered and she was assigned to be his partner in science. Their friendship blossomed, she got to know Ned and Michelle, becoming a part of their crew. But (y/n) always hoped for more with Peter. She didn’t make any moves at first, that idea was petrifying. Her? Flirt with Peter? She would die on the spot.

It was during junior year she changed. She was just so fed up with Peter getting hurt by Liz and him complaining how he was going to die alone. She was about to burst into flames, she was right there wasn’t she? Thus, she began taking bolder moves. It was baby steps at first, like sitting next to him at lunch or saying she liked his shirt. However, a month into her new plan, she was full-blown flirting with him.

Ned and Michelle began to notice with the subtle hints. Then their suspicions were completely confirmed during gym, where she said, “Wow, Peter, your arms are ripped. It’s like you can carry me.”

In retrospect that was a terrible attempt at flirting, but at least she was blunt.

When Ned and Michelle asked about it, (y/n) didn’t even stutter. She said, “Yeah, he better notice that dumbass.”

Peter being Peter was oblivious to it. When Ned told him that he should make a move on (y/n), he almost choked. He responded with, “She would never like a guy like me. What even gave you the idea of that?”

When Ned proceeded to ask Peter if he liked her, he just said, “K-kinda? She was really cute in tenth grade, but I don’t think she sees me in that way. I feel like I should move on.”

While they were sitting on his couch, (y/n) just wanted to ask him out, The words would never formed, just like the other times she told herself she would just be straightforward. She could easily flirt, but when the time came she just couldn’t. Flirting was different, she could always pass it off as her teasing him if he wasn’t interested. But the second she would confess her feelings, she’s left in a completely vulnerable spot. She was scared that he would reject her, that he’ll laugh in her face. So she just prays that one day Peter will finally notice.

He takes a sip from the hot chocolate they have. Peter calms down enough from (y/n)’s comment to say, “Do you really think it’s attractive?”

This was it, this was the break. (y/n) tries to conceal her smile, with “Yeah, of course it is Peter.”

“I hope Cecilia thinks so too.”

(y/n) nearly spits out her hot chcolate, “Execuse me?”

“I asked her out.”

“Wh-, what- I mean when did she come in the picture?” (y/n)’s confidence that she carried has disappeared, her voice was shaky.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it for a few months. I have her in my english class and she’s super nice and chill. I just thought, why not?”

“Few month? H-how long was a few months?”

“Maybe October-ish?”

(y/n) was losing it. She’s been flirting with him since September and it’s December right now. She was shooting her shot for months, but he was focused on someone else half of the time, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was that important,” Peter shrugs.

“But we’re friends,” the distress was becoming clearer in her voice, “You were supposed to tell me!”

“I don’t know, it seemed minor with all the stress from junior year. But I’m taking her ice skating,” Peter says. He was taken aback from her reaction. He was expecting support from her and them celebrating by clinking their mugs, but she was asking so many questions.

“You don’t even know how to ice skate.”

“Well she said she wanted to and that she could teach me.”

“I don’t understand,” her heart was breaking bit by bit. She sets down the mug on the table.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Just like, you have never mentioned her once. Then all of sudden you’re dating her,” (y/n) voice was becoming weaker, she close to losing it. Her heart was dropping to the bottom of her chest, her spirits were crushed.

“I wouldn’t say dating,” Peter says, “Aren’t you happy for me?”

(y/n) looks at him, he did look hurt. He was that type of confused hurt, where he didn’t know what’s wrong. She could tell him right now. She could say, hey Peter I’ve been in crushing on you since the seventh grade! Then maybe, it would be alright. But then she thinks to when Peter told her about his date, he was beaming. Her disapproval in Cecilia definitely extinguished his happiness. She sucks it up and smiles, “Yes, yes. Of course I’m happy for you.”

Peter smiles again, placing his mug down. He takes her into an embrace, “I’m so happy.”

She manages a weak laugh,holding him back. She inhales his scent, letting her smile slide off her face just for a second. She held him a bit too long, but she wanted to be close to him, she wasn’t sure if he would ever hug her again. Cecilia could be a completely controlling for all she knows. (y/n) finally pulls away, forcing a smile back on her face.

“When’s the date?” (y/n) manages to muster.

“Tomorrow, after school. Not to be rude but I have to leave for my internship soon it’s 5,” Peter says.

She shoots up from her spot, “Right of course, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She’s out the door before Peter can ever respond, her heart was shattering into a million pieces. She should have known if she didn’t ask him out, someone else would. He was adorable with his dorky smile and his fluffy hair. She should have asked him out, god, been more clear. She could’ve done anything.

Her heartbreak carries into the next day when she arrives at school. She really played herself, flirting but never asking him out. All night she felt jealousy and anger at Cecilia, even though she knows it’s not her fault. She walks to their usual spot, spying Ned and MJ already there chatting.

“Did you guys know?” (y/n) asks, slumping against the wall.

“You’re going to be more specific,” Michelle responds.

“About Peters crush on Cecilia.”

“You didn’t know?” Ned asks.

Her eyes shoot up to meet Ned’s. She assumed they wouldn’t know about it, maybe not until today. Peter didn’t tell her, so it only made sense he would tell anyone right?

“When did you find out?” (y/n) says.

“Two months ago,” Michelle answers.

“None of you guys told me?” (y/n) asks, clearly hurt.

“I thought he would’ve told you,” Ned states, “You guys are close too.”

(y/n) slides down, sitting against the wall, bringing her head into her knees, “I’m gonna beat both of your asses. You really let me flirt with while he was crushing on someone else!”

“We though you would’ve made a move or asked him out already, since we thought you knew he liked Cecilia,” Ned explains.

“I was making moves! I was flirting my ass off all the time!”

“Hey, at least you can stop being so flirty all the time and talk normal,” MJ suggests.

(y/n) shoots a dirty glare at her, “Look I’m gonna go to the library, have to print an essay.”

“Whatever, have fun,” MJ says and Ned waves as (y/n) walks away.

What was really happening was that she was trying to avoid Peter. At first is was because she was hurt. He broke her heart without even knowing. This later develops into embarrassment after Michelle’s comment. She was flirting for him for so long and he wasn’t even a slightest bit interested. His mind was on some other girl, that was mortifying. She put herself out on the line for no reason. Her pride was shrinking, there was no way she could face Peter without dying on the spot.

Her ‘avoid Peter plan’ runs pretty smoothly, she has two classes with Peter. The first class was gym, she would just partner up with someone else, case solved. Then it was science, which was a rough one for her to avoid. They were lab partners, there was no away to avoid him there. She just hopes she dosen’t say anything stupid or bursts into tears. For lunch, she plans on texting the group chat saying she needs to retake a test. Now, avoiding Peter in the halls might be tricky. She just has to hustle though and not meet Peter at their usual spot, she can bullshit an excuse about being held back late.

The plan was successful. She didn’t even talk to him at all, except for gym where she greeted him and then turned around to talk to some mutual. It was going great, except for the fact that her heart was aching.

When science comes around, Peter was already sat at the lab table when she walks in. She sits down and tosses her stuff off to the side. She can do this, she can get through an hour without bursting into a ball of self pity.

“Hey, I felt like I barely saw you today,” Peter mentions as the bell rings.

“Had a lot of work due today,” (y/n) mumbles.

“Oh sick, listen, do you thin-“ Peter begins.

He was cut off by the teacher, “Mr. Parker do you think you can hold off on this conversation?”

Peter turns red and mumbles an apology, saving the day for (y/n). She was only around him for less than five minutes and she was so close to telling him that she thinks going out with Cecilia was stupid.

The rest of the class the conversation between her and Peter maintained strictly class work. There was no one-ended flirting or talking about dates. Peter felt there was something off with no quirky remarks from her. He just assumes it’s from the stress of all the tests she had today.

“Hey, do you think I can wear this ice skating?” Peter says at the end of the class, while waiting for the bell to ring.

(y/n) looks him up and down, he was wearing a graphic t-shirt with jeans, his usual outfit. “What do you mean?”

“Like, do I, uh, look good? I was talking about this over lunch and MJ thinks that this isn’t the best outfit, but Ned thinks that I sh-“

(y/n) sighs, “Look, Peter, you look amazing in everything okay?” She mentally slaps herself for saying that. It didn’t really come off as flirting though, she sounded exhausted.

“You think so?” Peter says.

“I know so.”

The bell rings as she says this and the pair gets up to leave walking side by side, “I hope this goes wells,” Peter tells (y/n).

“She’ll love you, she’s really lucky to even go on a date with you,” (y/n) reassures him.

Peter smiles at her, it melts her heart, “Thanks. I’m picking her up from her locker, see you this weekend maybe?”

“Of course,” and then they separate.

It really sucked to put it bluntly. (y/n) couldn’t bare to see Peter hurt, so she’ll go along with it. She’ll probably let it go soon anyways, she usually dosen’t dwell on boys that long. But there’s this little voice in her head insisting that she should be the one ice skating right now. She tunes it out, Peters happiness should go first. (y/n) refuses to make a big deal about it, there was no point if Peter wasn’t interested.

As the weekend passes by, Peter blows up the group chat with how amazing Cecilia was. It was a punch in the face, but at least it was texting. There it would be easy to fake excitment for him. It was exhausting though, pretending that she was happy whenever Peter would boast about the success of the date. She distracts herself by doing work for school, but there was till a pit of sadness in her heart.

During Sunday, (y/n) decided today she was going to cope with this unrequited crush by watching some sitcoms. It was always a great idea to ignore your feelings and hope for the best.

She picks up her phone, maybe she could tell him, just maybe.

☆ part two here ☆

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 17: heartbreak

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds Relationships: Peter Parker/Ned Leeds Rating: T Warnings: none Words: 1.9k

read on ao3

first | previous | next

[Loser #1, 4:22 PM] can you come over

[MJ, 4:31 PM] why

[MJ, 4:32 PM] i mean sure but why

[Loser #1, 4:40 PM] i think ned and i just broke up

[MJ, 4:44 PM] i’m outside your apartment

[Loser #1, 4:44 PM] its open

True to form, the door swings open when MJ tries it, and she slips into the apartment to find Peter sitting on his living room couch, staring at nothing. He’s not crying, a fact MJ is eternally grateful for, because she’s already out of her element and definitely cannot deal with tears on top of it all.

MJ’s not really sure why Peter texted her, of all people. It’s not like she’s good at comforting - on the contrary, she’s skilled in the art of making herself scarce when someone is upset - and while Peter might not have many other people to call, there has to be at least one other person who could handle this better than she can.

A quick once-over tells her that Peter probably hasn’t left the house today, if the old sweatpants and ratty t-shirt are anything to go by, so whatever happened must’ve happened here. Likely within the hour, since Peter doesn’t seem to have gotten past the shock phase of the breakup.

Breakup. Damn.

MJ’s not exactly the romantic type, but even she was pretty sure Ned and Peter were going to last forever. Or at least until graduation. They’re that couple who makes other couples wish they had what Ned and Peter had, that couple that everyone loved to hate because they were always so blatantly and obviously in love.

Were that couple, apparently. Is this going to make things weird in their group?

Jesus. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have cared if Thing 1 and Thing 2 broke it off - she would’ve noticed, because she notices everything, but she wouldn’t have cared - and now she’s worried that this breakup is going to ruin the balance of their group’s friendship.

Whatever happened, there’s no way she’s picking a side. Unless someone was clearly, unequivocally in the wrong.

She has principles, after all.

Peter doesn’t look up at her as she walks over to join him on the couch. The only indication that he’s moved since Ned left is the texts on MJ’s phone.

It’s odd. Of everyone MJ knows, Peter’s the one with the most energy, the one who’s always moving or fidgeting, the one who’s always talking a mile a minute about anything and everything.

Seeing him this still and quiet is a little unnerving. She’ll never admit it, but it is.

“Parker,” she says, perched carefully on the armrest of the couch. When he doesn’t respond, she snaps her fingers in front of his face until the glazed-over look in his eyes dissipates and he turns to stare blearily at her. “Parker, you with me?

He nods, index finger and thumb of his left hand pinching the fabric of his sweatpants.

Fantastic. Progress.

One hand rubbing at her other wrist - one of her very few nervous ticks - MJ asks, “What happened, then? Did you and Ned have a fight about which LEGO set to build today?”

Shit, that’s mean. Normally, she prefers to toe the line between witty and rude, but the line always moves when people are already upset and she’s not the best at toning it down before she accidentally makes things worse.

She’d backtrack, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice. MJ’s willing to bet he checked out as soon as she said Ned’s name.

“I, uh - we had an argument?” Peter says, almost like he expects MJ to confirm this. “I think we broke up.”

All things she had gathered, circumstances considered.

“Details, dude,” MJ prompts, since apparently Peter’s not going to do anything without provocation.

Peter’s forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together. It’s evident that he’s not processing at full speed, or even at half speed, which means that this is going to be grueling.

There’s a ridiculously long pause before Peter says, “I’m a shitty boyfriend.” This is not only not a real explanation, but also objectively untrue. Seeing as Peter and Ned are her only friends, MJ would know. Peter treats Ned like he hung the moon and the stars, looks at him like he’s the only person Peter ever wants to see.

If MJ believed in soulmates, she wouldn’t hesitate to say that Ned and Peter are each other’s soulmates, one way or another. No one who’s ever even laid eyes on the two of them would hesitate.

As is, soulmates aren’t real, but she still thinks Peter and Ned are meant for each other.

“You’re not a shitty boyfriend, Parker,” MJ tells him, and means it. “Did Ned say you’re a shitty boyfriend?”

No. She knows the answers before she even finishes the question, because Ned would never say that to Peter, even if he thought it. Which he definitely doesn’t, what with the constant gushing about Peter he does. MJ’s had to sit through way too many mostly one-sided conversations about how Peter said this or Peter did that or my boyfriend is the best person on the planet and no one will convince me otherwise.

(The last one actually happened, word-for-word. MJ doesn’t even remember what Ned was on about that time, but it was probably something stupid and mundane. It usually is.)

“No.” Peter scratches at the inside of his elbow. “No, he didn’t, but it’s true.”

“And you say this, why?”

“I don’t make time for him. I don’t give him as much attention as he deserves. I don’t tell him things that I should. I don’t -”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

“That doesn’t make you a shitty boyfriend, loser. That makes you a high school student who moonlights as a superhero,” she says, because even if they haven’t talked about it, they both know she knows.

Peter shakes his head, frustration palpable. “That’s not - that’s not an excuse -”

“For not having all the time in the world to hang out with your boyfriend? Yeah, I’d say it is.”

Peter actually rolls his eyes. She’d laugh at him if she wasn’t so damn uncomfortable right now.

“Okay, scoot over.” MJ slides off the armrest and into the space between it and Peter, who shifts to his right to accommodate. She considers throwing her legs over his lap, like she tends to do when they’re studying together, but that feels insensitive here. Instead, she leans an arm against the back of the couch and rests her chin on her hands. Peter shifts again to face her better. “You’re busy. Of course you’re busy, you’re a high school junior with a secret identity who spends one evening a week in a lab with Tony Stark. Are you telling me Ned broke up with you because you’re busy?”

That doesn’t feel right either. MJ likes to think she��s good at sussing out people’s problems, even though she couldn’t care less about most of them, and she’s pretty sure she’s not on the money yet.

In a small voice, Peter says, “No. I...I did.”

“What?” “I…broke up with him because I can’t be the boyfriend he deserves.”

For the love of God. Seriously? Does Peter even know what he’s like around Ned? Does he even realize how fucking disgustingly in love with him Ned is?

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, not to Ned. Not if the amount of time the boy spends talking about Peter is anything to go by.

“Peter. You have to be joking.”

He shrinks in on himself, just a little. “It’s for the best! Ned deserves better and -”

MJ smacks him with a throw pillow. Peter jumps, then shoots her a look that’s two parts affronted and one part abashed. Good. At least he still has some sense. “Who are you to decide what Ned deserves? Or what he wants?” “I -” Peter’s hands wave around as he tries to figure out what to say. “Look, he was mad because I didn’t tell him that I got hurt on patrol, again, and he hates when I’m not upfront about this stuff, and I just - I got defensive and then we were fighting and I kept thinking...”

Here it is, whatever’s really going on.

“I kept thinking that all I do is - is fuck up, in this relationship and in general, and I’m - I’m stupid, and I’m not funny or cool, and I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend, and no one should be stuck with me -”

Oh.

That’s what this is.

Peter’s not a dumbass, he’s just insecure.

(Well, no, he’s still a dumbass. But that’s unrelated.)

MJ’s not good at comforting people, but she is good at telling it like it is. And she’d never say this to Ned, because all it would do is enable him, but Peter’s objectively the best person she’s ever met.

“You know I’m not one to sugarcoat, Parker, so believe me when I say that every single word that just came out of your mouth is false.” When Peter opens his mouth, she raises her eyebrows as if to say do you really want to fight me on this? His jaw clamps shut. “Well, except for the bit about being cool - you’re not, but you make up for it.”

Peter lets out a short laugh.

“Do you know how much Ned talks about you?” she continues, lightly kicking Peter’s ankle. He kicks her back and MJ barely refrains from shoving his shoulder just hard enough to make him fall back on the couch. “He literally never shuts up about you, it’s kind of annoying. Actually, it’s really annoying, because he’s not even saying anything big or important. It’s just Peter’s so wonderful, he brought me a Hershey’s Kiss today or Peter caught a spelling error in my English homework, I love him so much.”

Her imitation of Ned is spot-on, if she does say so herself. Peter’s seemingly too caught up in blinking away tears to notice, though.

“He adores you, Peter. Like, it’s gross how much he adores you. I’d say I don’t understand why, but I kind of do.” It’s almost definitely the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. “So don’t be an idiot and lose him because you somehow think you’re a bad person or something, even though every single person you’ve ever met thinks you’re a saint. Even Flash does, he just won’t admit it.” This gets a real laugh. It’s sort of teary and harsh, but it’s a real laugh.

Hm. Maybe she’s not so bad at this after all.

Peter leans forward, gently dropping his cheek onto the top of MJ’s head. He doesn’t try to hug her, fully aware that MJ doesn’t do hugs, but he presses a kiss into her hair and murmurs, “Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, loser. Now go call your boyfriend.”

Peter stays for just a few seconds, then moves, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and wiping tears from his eyes as he heads to his bedroom.

MJ hears him say, “Hey, Ned, can we talk?” before he shuts the door, and thinks, My work here is done.

[timeisacephalopod]

TMI

Random little crack AU in which Tony is Peter’s dad and coparents with May. There’s minor Peter P/Ned, which results in poor Peter getting a sex ed lesson he doesn’t want. Also he’s trans because I’m fond of that headcanon.

Tony sits across from Peter, horrified that this day has come but more horrified by how this day has come. “Do I really need-” Peter starts but Tony cuts him off.

“Yes Peter, you do. Now sit your skinny little ass down because I did not spend fifteen hours researching trans men and sex only to spend most of that time avoiding creepy porn videos for nothing.” It had been a struggle- a necessary one- but a struggle nonetheless to find information that Peter specifically would find useful. And he did all this with that image of him and Ned permanently burnt into his brain forever.

“Well, I think that’s my cue to-” Tony cuts Ned off.

“Nope, you’re staying too because I’m not making the mistake of only educating half of you. Now sit down, I have a powerpoint,” he says, fiddling with his laptop.

“You made an entire powerpoint?” May asks, walking in late because she’s been avoiding this too. 

Sucks to be her because Tony is out. “Great, you can do the presentation!” he tells her, standing as May sputters.

“What? Tony no, I don’t know-” he beelines it for the door as May lets out a frustrated noise.

It takes her exactly five minutes to call him back into the room, citing that Peter is his kid, so he should be the one to teach him. And also she has no idea what any of his research means and belatedly Tony remembers he wrote it all in shorthand that, to anyone who doesn’t understand it, is straight up another language. And only Rhodey understands his shorthand.

Fuck.

*

May and Tony sit in silence for a while. “I think the mistake we made was assuming he was heterosexual,” she says.

Yeah, they sort of assumed he was gay before he came out given his obvious preference for girls but the guy thing kind of changed that. “Yeah. Kind of stupid of us now that I think about it,” he says.

“Yeah, just a little. How’d it go?” she asks.

He sighs, “I made Ned cry of embarrassment twice with what Peter said was way too much detail before telling me his soul turned to dust and now his soul dust is on my hands,” he says. He doesn’t understand what any of that meant but whatever, the kids have their memes and whatnot. Alright, the memes are actually hilarious, but the over exaggerated speech patterns that have the strangest of descriptions? He’s a lot less fluent in that than meme.

“Over attention to detail?” May asks and Tony shrugs.

“I don’t know what they’ve learned with each other so far, I wasn’t going to ask, and I definitely wasn’t going to take chances. So I sort of went a little overboard.” Better to give them too much information than not enough, in his opinion.

May sighs, shrinking into her seat a little. “Oh Tony, how long was that power point?” she asks. It’d been designed to be about a half an hour...

“You know what, four hours is not that bad and they got snack breaks every hour. Scientifically you learn best if you have  a break ever hour,” he says and May lets out another breath.

“You probably went a little overboard,” she tells him. He stands by it though.

*

“Pro tip, do no do anal after eating spicy food,” he tells Peter, who nearly drops his burrito. Michelle seems to find this hilarious and Tony is happy that he can entertain her a little. Kid can be uptight sometimes, she needs a laugh.

“Why do I feel like this was a mistake you actively engaged in?” she asks and Peter flails.

“Do not answer that, I want this burrito once we’re done here!” he squeaks out. Tony isn’t sure if that’s his voice still cracking or if he’s just really embarrassed.

“Rhodey was surprisingly gracious,” he murmurs. More gracious than he would have been anyways. Michelle throws her head back and laughs as Peter deposits his burrito on the counter, giving it a despondent look.

*

“The clitoris is a woman’s ‘on’ button,” May says gently, drawing a rainbow with her hands and Tony lets out a loud snort at that.

Peter frowns, “May I know that. I have one,” he reminds her.

She sighs, “well, I’m just making sure because I once worked with a woman who didn’t know what a clitoris was and-”

“May, dad went into excruciating detail on anatomy, I know everything a person could possibly know about the clitoris and probably some stuff gynecologists don’t even know yet,” he tells her. “Please stop this.”

*

“Another tip,” Tony says and Peter groans, “do not pull anal beads out like a rip cord. Your partner is not a lawnmower, they will not appreciate that.”

“Was Rhodey gracious about that too?” he asks and Tony shakes his head.

“That wasn’t Rhodey it was me, and I was not gracious at all,” he says and Peter starts gagging.

“Why are you telling me these things?” he asks. “Not yanking anal beads out at top speeds is common sense!”

Tony snorts, “well no one told Tiberius Stone that and it was my ass that suffered,” he mumbles. “Literally.”

*

“If you’re trying to be sexy do not describe the vagina as a ‘love cave’ or a ‘panty hamster’,” May says with a shocking amount of seriousness. Tony can’t keep a straight face and almost doubles over laughing at that. May doesn’t look impressed and Peter looks horrified.

“Oh my god May I know that. Its common sense! Who was sexting you about panty hamsters? Actually no, don’t answer that,” he says, shaking his head in horror.

“I’m just making sure. Also there’s no shame in using toys-” she starts but Peter lets out a strangled noise that’s kind of a scream and kind of what Tony thinks a soul dying sounds like.

Hmm, maybe the kids are on to something with those weird but vivid descriptions of things.

“May I already got a lesson on this oh my god!” he yells, talking fast. “This is the worst time ever I should have become a monk and sworn to celibacy!”

“I knew an ex nun who used a Jesus statue as-” Tony starts but Peter lets out another noise of despair.

“Please stop this!” he tells them both. 

*

“Peter,” Tony says and the kid freezes, looking like a deer in the headlights. “Foreplay is important, you don’t just shove penises into vaginas. Its like going down a water slide with no water. Not fun for anyone, but especially the one with the vagina,” he says, careful not to gender said person with the vagina. Not something he would have considered before, but the stuff he read made some good points in how to talk to trans youth about sex ed.

“For the love of god,” Peter whispers, “stop this. I know how vaginas work. You made sure I knew every single detail about how vaginas work. And penises, and genitalia that doesn’t look as ‘expected’ whatever that means. I am good on knowledge, I probably have too much of it now. Like I need therapy I have so much,” Peter tells him.

“Well its better that you know too much than too little. Nothing throws a person like surprise knife play in the middle of sex- do not drop a kink like that on a person in the middle of sex. Talk about it like a normal person,” he says, shaking his head. Fucking Loki. He should have dated Thor instead, at least he knew what words were.

Peter looks as horrified as he should at that knowledge. “Where did you even find half your sex partners? Don’t answer that. Also talk about knife play like a normal person? What normal person is into knife play?” he asks. Valid question but he’s sure Loki would have an answer to that.

*

Tony and May sit at the kitchen table with a bunch of papers in front of them and Peter almost runs back out of the penthouse. “I swear to god if this is another sex ed lesson Ned has already banned himself from this house and I will follow if I need to!” he tells them.

They both frown and exchange a look before remembering the papers on the desk. “Oh, this is just a bunch of legal shit. But if you want another sex tip-” Tony starts but Peter cuts him off.

“No I do not! We are done with that, thank you,” he tells them both, exhausted and traumatized but their sweet if way-too-detailed sex ed lessons. He loves them but oh my god were they ever embarrassing about this whole sex thing. It was one time!

[thecreativeangel]

Labels (Peter Parker x Reader)

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: You’ve always read people like open books, until meeting the mystery that is Peter Parker. But since making it your mission to figure him out, things have gotten clearer and more complicated at the same time.

Warnings: Cussing, duh. Mention of being beaten up? Oh, and that’s not my GIF. Also: Sub!Peter, kind of. Ugh, I just love Sub!Peter so much.

Words: 1,565

Peter Parker baffled you. There, you said it. He was the one thing that your brilliant mind couldn’t figure out. He hung out with the Populars, he was arrogant and cocky, he bragged and swore like a truck driver with anger issues, flirted shamelessly and much more. But when he talked to you for the first time...

“I guess we’re partners now.”

You looked up from your notes to see Peter standing over you, his hands in the pocket of his varsity jacket. He doesn’t even play sports… Your eyes scanned his figure, lanky and awkward, different than when he was with friends. When working on the project he would look at you, catch your gaze, and quickly look away, hastily grabbing a pencil and resuming work on the poster. 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Peter Parker didn’t just confuse you, he made you show pity and mercy because you saw how he acted around certain people, how he tried too hard to look impassive, how his friends would idolize him one day and shun him the next. You saw the way he would pick at his food at lunch while the people at his table socialized, sometimes nudging him and laughing. Peter would give an exhausted smile and nothing more.

Peter wasn’t an ass kisser, at least, and you were eternally grateful. Partly because that was one less bad quality to him, and partly because you didn’t have to endure any ass kissing when the teachers paired you and Peter together for everything. No matter the class, (which, by the way, was also a weird coincidence; most of your classes were with Peter.) you always paired with him, sat next to him, worked with him.

It came to your attention that he was also brilliant. Even if he acted slightly dumber than your usual donkey, Peter did his part in projects, aced his classes and once even asked you if you wanted to study after school during homework lab. More surprising even, was that he actually showed up, exactly on time, too.

Peter Parker wore glasses. Something you noticed by mistake during a debate club meeting, an activity he came to every week. The lenses weren’t thick and they were your everyday hipster glasses; plain, thick black frame, bigger than average round glasses. The first thought that came to your mind was slight worry, because what would his friends think if they knew he came to debate club. The second thought was that he probably wore hipster glasses because they were the only ones that were “cool”. The third was that there was a small possibility that he looked kinda cute. Kinda. 

Peter tapped you politely on the shoulder, despite the fact that he was sitting right next to you.

“Hey, are you done with the main argument?”

You turn away from the computer screen and smile faintly. “Um, almost, just need to finish the-”

“The closing sentence? It’s hard, right? Remember to encapsulate the major points from previous paragraphs. I-I highlighted them on my sheet if you need help.” He rambled, pausing for breath and turning the faintest shade of delicate pink. “Not that you need it, you probably have it covered. N-nevermind.”

You stared at him, enjoying the newfound stutter that he developed. Peter on the other hand, took your silence the wrong way. He mumbled a “sorry” and turned back to his own document. You could have corrected your staring but you enjoyed the red tint to his ears and the fumbling of his hands all too much.

Peter Parker was secretly insecure, but you never knew the extent of it. There were so many rumors about him and his friends, you thought he’d learned to ignore them, but you were wrong. All it took was for someone to whisper behind his back and he would become paranoid, tapping his foot and holding the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. Peter would become irritable, sometimes having miniature explosions and nearly yelling at the person to stop whispering. That was bad for his image though. Bad for the “calm and collected” aura he had built.

You discovered it was easy to pacify the situation. All it took was to ask them to stop in a gentle voice, and they always did, or they’d have to face you mad, and no one ever wanted that. You’d placed a hand on Peter’s left shoulder blade, rubbing circles with your thumb. Since then it was his weakness, a guaranteed way to calm him down. His grip would relax, along with the muscles in his back and arms. He was okay.

Peter Parker cared more than he let on. There were times when you questioned whether he was really impassive, or if it was an act, but that was all settled on the 18th of April. By chance, you had walked down the guidance counselors hallway. You didn’t mean to listen in, but you’re glad you did.

“I know I messed up, but he was-talking and I-you should’ve heard what he was saying-”

“Peter I understand, but that’s no reason to hit him.”

You tuned out and stood near the water fountain like a statue, listening to the guidance counselor ramble on about student guidelines. Peter got in a fight again. He said he wouldn’t.

“Please, please don’t tell Aunt May. She-she can’t know this, it’s been a rough year, and-please don’t.”

“Peter I won’t tell your aunt, as long as you promise it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t. And…will (Name) know about this? ‘Cuz I promised and she really trusted me, a-and she’d be really disappointed if-”

“I won’t tell her, Peter.”

That night you came to the May Parker’s apartment for movie night as usual, this time carrying a container full of brownies. And when Peter accidentally fell asleep on your lap during the first half of The Hunger Games, you may or may not have kissed the top of his head, just because.

Peter Parker was torn at the edges, cracked just the slightest bit. You knew that the second he came to class with a bruised jaw and scratch marks. You had the decency to ask after class.

“Lucas thought his girlfriend was cheating on him with me.” He mumbles, refusing to look at you. “I’m n-not allowed to sit with them, and-I think it’s better not to be near them anymore.”

“Peter…” You trail off, thinking hard. “You can sit with us.”

“I don’t think-”

“It’s not a discussion, Parker. You’re sitting with us.”

Ned and Michelle weren’t happy at all. Well, Michelle showed it in her own special way, and Ned was a polite sweetheart as always.

“Why is he here?” Michelle deadpans, not so quietly. Peter shrinks back in his seat and begins to pick at his food like he did at his old table. You don’t like that.

“Shut up, Mickey.” You say through clenched teeth, hesitant to show Peter affection in front of your friends. Michelle would never stop teasing you for that.

“Seriously (Name),” Ned whispers to you. “How do you know he’s trustworthy?”

You rolled your eyes and twisted around to Peter, who had paled noticeably. “Can you-” You say it too loudly and Peter flinched, making your heart clench. You soften your voice to just above a whisper. “Can you give us a second, please?”

He gave you a tiny nod and you grin back before scooting down the empty lunch table, dragging Ned and Michelle with you.

Ned rubbed his arms when you let go. “Listen, I know you don’t trust Peter, but I do.” You confidently. “Mickey, you sat with me because everyone thought I was weird, and everyone thought you were going to kill them.”

“That’s true.” Michelle admits.

“Ned, I asked you to sit with us when I saw Flash shit talking your weight, right?”

“Yes?”

“And do you remember what I did to Flash after that?”

A bright smile appears on his face. “You hid mashed potatoes in his hoodie.”

“Fuck yes I did. Point is, we’re a bunch of total losers, no denying that, but’s it’s okay. We know each other from the lowest points in our lives, and we help one another, just like we’re going help Peter. No man, woman or loser left behind, ‘member?”

“That’s deep.” Ned says, kind of ruining the moment but you smiled at his comment anyway.

Michelle huffs loudly. “Fine… But I know you like him.”

You spend the rest of the lunch period trying and failing to find a good comeback.

Peter Parker is a mystery, to everyone but you, because now you see through him. He can’t take pressure well and you don’t blame him because he’s taken enough pressure already. He loves you for that, even if he hasn’t said it aloud yet. You know how to scratch the spot right above the nape of his neck that makes him purr, and that he prefers tea to coffee, that he loves to lay his head on your stomach while you run your fingers through his hair. He knows that you love freshly washed laundry and geeky movie marathons under dim lights and a blanket, hoarding books and randomly organizing files of aesthetics on your computer.

Peter could never find the word to express how grateful he is that you were assigned as his partner for the history project nearly a year ago, that you had let him in, given him a chance. You love him for the true Peter Parker, and he loves you right back. The two of you are polar opposites, supposedly nothing in common. A boy and a girl, a Popular and a nerd, and those will forever be just labels.

[spideychelle-romanogers]

How Hard I’m Trying To (Repost)

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself - Part 1

Peter finally realizes his girlfriend has an amazing ass.

A/N: Okay, let me explain. Basically, I was thinking about how people obsess over Tom Holland’s ass but tbh when I see Zendaya’s ass, I’m of the opinion that it’s like “Tom who? idk her”. So to say that Peter Parker is not an ass man is inherently bad for society. And thus this series was born. (Reposting because it wouldn’t show up on the tag.)

Tags: Spideychelle, smut || Masterlist || T/W: explicit content, nsfw

Peter did not have wandering eyes. It was a habit he never learned to begin with. His mother was very involved as a parent, as was Aunt May, and he was pretty sure if anyone killed that habit before it could ever start, it was them.

On the other hand, he was a feminist and also, you know, not a pig.

So he never really got the concept of checking anyone out. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the appeal, he just couldn’t imagine doing that to a real person.

It translated to all things, really, between knowing the abuses of the porn industry and watching too many sad stripper movies  on Lifetime after May fell asleep, Peter basically just learned to avert his eyes in all situations.

Also in his defense, he only ever had one real girlfriend in his life and he’d be cutting her short if he focused too long on how beautiful she was, especially when she had so many other qualities to focus on.

So Peter was basically sheltered to the point where after the year it took him to admit his feelings to Michelle, and the year it took for them to start sleeping together, he still felt uncomfortable staring at her for too long, even during sex.

It was a habit Michelle still hadn’t picked up on.

Peter always knew he was a little clueless but it never really came up. Michelle was new to the whole concept, except she was always very blatant about her own female gaze.

Actually it was a little embarrassing. Michelle was almost a little too easy about discussing Peter’s body. Every time a joke at his expense ended on a positive note about his ass, he turned tomato red until the conversation ended.

And Peter is very stubborn to clarify, it’s not that he doesn’t love sex. Or Michelle’s body. He couldn’t find words for either mainly because he’d rather choke than discuss it, but he enjoyed both more than he could say.

It was all just very embarrassing for him to think about in the first place.

Ned and Flash made fun of him enough times for him to pick up that his level of sexual cluelessness was odd for someone who wasn’t a virgin. So long as Michelle didn’t notice, though, Peter was comfortable ignoring them. That is, until they were mid-session in his room and Michelle introduced an idea.

After crying out for the third time since they started, Peter could tell something was wrong. He’d heard something about her falling during gym class. When he asked, she just wanted to pretend it was fine. She finally pulled away when she tried to arch her back and stopped midway.

“Do we need to stop?” Peter asked. Michelle shook her head.

“My back is just killing me. It’s fine.”

“We have to stop if it’s hurting you.”

“No, no. I’ll just turn around.” Peter didn’t ask, but she could read the confusion on his face. “What?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like….I’ll just turn around.” She didn’t know what was so surprising to him but he still looked entirely unsettled. Michelle figured maybe he was joking but the longer the staring match lasted, the more she lost hope.

“….Seriously?” she asked, genuinely lost. “Peter.”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve never done that before,” he said, his voice shrinking.

“It’s not brain surgery, Peter.”

“I don’t want to mess up,” he answered cautiously.

Michelle was surprised, but Peter could only be relieved she wasn’t laughing at him. “Just trust me?” she asked. He nodded.

When she turned over, Peter wasn’t quite sure why he felt so nervous but his anxiety amped up when he saw her lie on her stomach and arch up again.

“Shit.”

“What?” Michelle asked.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice a little high.

Peter’s whole body was screaming for him to stop staring say something but he didn’t really feel in control for the moment. “Peter?” Michelle chimed. He was just lucky she wasn’t looking back. Trying to find his voice and stop lamenting the modest clothes Michelle wore that kept him from this realization, he croaked out, “um, what now?”

"That part’s pretty obvious, Peter.”

“Right.” He winced, knowing he must have sounded like an idiot. Ghosting his hand over her, he didn’t really know where to grab her. He had half an impulse to ask but he’d risked too much of whatever reputation he had left with her.

Lightly putting a hand on the lowest part of her spine, he very gently avoided touching her….there.

And he refused to register the issue because he wanted to maintain denial of his current predicament. If Michelle even so much as turned, she’d catch him, and he was doing his very best to stop himself from saying anything.

“Peter, if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have t-”

“No!” he piped up too loudly.

Deciding anything was better than moving from this very spot, Peter tried to get his focus together just long enough. Swallowing his nerves, he lined himself up and held his breath as though he was about to do something dire. Holding her at her back for balance, Peter lightly pushed in, never admitting to himself he had his eyes down to watch himself enter.

Judging by Michelle’s sigh, she didn’t notice but Peter felt embarrassed of himself. He was probably also blushing but he was grateful he couldn’t feel it with everything else going on. Trying not to watch her ass crash against him was perhaps the greatest exercise in self-control he’d ever challenged himself with. It was just in the way her entire body moved for every thrust.

Peter was holding his eyes shut as he felt Michelle move beneath him, matching his pace easily as she rocked against him. With every move her breathing would get more labored. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Michelle interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you okay?” she asked, slowing down. Peter grabbed her sides and kept their pace desperately. She gasped and lowered herself onto her elbows, changing the sensation for both of them. Peter’s breaths were short as he grabbed her thighs hard to pull her against him. He was careful at first, waiting until Michelle started moaning to continue. His grip was tight on her as he looked down again to watch her ass slap against him as he willed himself to go deeper each time.

It occurred to him that it was getting rough. Before he could worry long, Michelle cried out. “Are you okay?” he checked calmly, knowing it didn’t sound like she was hurt.

Michelle turned to look at him over her shoulder and before she could say much, her jaw loosened, her mouth hanging open just a little as she held back another moan. Peter didn’t wait to hear what she was going to say, not with a view like that. As he continued, she finally found her words. 

“Harder,” it was barely a whisper but Peter could not have heard her more clearly. He’d been asked for plenty in their time together, but never that. Maybe ‘faster’, maybe 'more’, but never 'harder’. Biting his lip as he watched her face, he practically growled when she arched back into him while rolling her hips. Remembering himself, he leaned forward and met her eyes as he gently kissed whatever parts of her back he could reach.

With a faint smile, she turned forward as Peter changed his grip on her thighs. He saw Michelle reach a hand underneath herself and he moaned. Just thinking about her touching herself made him more determined to grant her request.

Moving his hands to her waist instead, he took on a new pace as he gripped her tight, waiting for a reaction. She didn’t protest. His grip turned a little rough at her sides as he relentlessly pulled her to him, but he kept an eye out for any sign of problems. Instead, she met him with no resistance and unintelligible moans that he reciprocated when he wasn’t burying his head into her shoulder. His hands made their way down until they were on her hips.

As he propped himself up again, he shamelessly watched her hips pumping his length. He found himself daring to slide his fingers back a bit to grab her by the ass.

“Peter!” Though his initial reaction was worry, he realized it was a warning as she frantically sought out more friction before she collapsed further on the bed, her knees going weak. One of his hands moved to help prop her up but his thrusts only became more intense as he tried to catch up with her as she violently fell over the edge.

Licking his lips, Peter didn’t really know what sparked this behavior but as he got more bold, the hand on her hip just squeezed her ass as he gently lowered his hips to follow hers down as he used the momentum to go deeper. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he realized he had no time left. He barely managed to put out a hand so he could hover over her as he rode out his orgasm, the other hand still trained on her ass with a hard grip.

As his breathing readjusted, he could barely hear Michelle speak between deep breaths. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he asked when he found the air.

“You know, a few minutes ago, you had no idea what I was talking about?”

“And?”

“That’s just not a normal first time performance.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m almost annoyed.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” Peter laughed boyishly as he pulled himself up off of her and tried his best to clean up. She turned to watch him, her eyes narrowed.

“What happened?”

Climbing back into the bed, Peter smiled to himself as he joined her. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“Probably.”

“I….well, I may…..not have, I guess, seen how you look from certain angles.”

Michelle just blinked. He could see her trying to do the math in her head without a full conclusion. “…Thank you?”

Pulling her in closer to him by her hips, Peter met her eyes and smiled for a moment before kissing her, one of his hands slowly, cheekily, moving further down as he praised his new discovery.

Get on the Tag List | My Masterlist 

[spidey-michelle]

My Spidey-Senses Always Work

Spidey-Senses Work Everytime 
Synopsis: Michelle finds out that Peter is Spider-Man . Peter is out on patrol one night and hears someone crying , he finds out it’s Michelle . ---//----- Michelle slid down the front door of her home , mouth still gaped of shock . She had noticed something suspicious had been happening with Peter and his constant disappearing, but she thought it was problems with his Aunt May or helping Ned . But as Peter was walking with her to get some history books from his locker , curiosity got the best of her and she noticed the familiar multi-colored suit . The sleeve was visible in between his AP World history book and English textbook . At first , she thought it could of been a costume , but dismissed the thought because Peter rarely talked about Spider-Man since he always walks away before the person asks him about his latest act of heroism . She remembered the look of confusion on her friends face , and put on a smile as her gaze immediately switched from the sleeve to Peter’s face . That event happened hours ago , but the suspicion never left her mind . Peter Parker , her dorky , Star-War loving , tech obsessed , close friend was the heroic Spider-Man . The same Spider-Man that risks his life every night to save the citizens of New York City . She knows how caring Peter can be , and that’s what scared her . He would do absolutely anything to save anyone , especially those he cared about . Michelle got up from the floor , and walked to her bedroom , only to find herself turning on the television . You would figure that once a girl finds out about her friend being a super hero , an almost avenger , that it would be the coolest thing ever . But , Michelle almost felt the need to be quiet , not saying a word . She didn’t want to see Peter get hurt , even though she shows it rarely , she does care for the boy . A lot , if she may add . She wanted to protect him , and even if she doesn’t have any special powers of her own , that doesn’t stop her from worrying about him. She settles herself at the edge of her neatly sheet-covered bed , and began to think of the dangerous acts , Peter has done , over the course of the few months . When he saved her friends from the collapsing elevator , the amazing strength he showed when he held a Staten Island ferry together . Her hands covered her mouth , as she gasped . She began to remember why Peter stayed home the next day…he must of been so hurt . The information must of been too hard to wrap her head around , because tears began streaming down her face . She let her messy hair down from its horrible pony-tail and let the tears fall freely as she hid under the covers . She felt horrible for knowing Peter’s secret , but she felt even worse for allowing him to risk his life . She knew that Peter was doing what was right , but now knowing that it was him in all those news reports , knowing the constant “life or death ” situations was happening to the boy she cared most about . She loved him . You never want to see the person you love most , get hurt and that’s what made her heart break , because that’s what Peter tries to avoid but always ends up coming to school the next day , with scratches and bruises . It all made sense now. She didn’t want him risking his life . Peter was doing his usual patrol around the city , being careful to stay alert of any robberies or the usual car crashes . The usual noise of New York , wasn’t so different from its usual days . The honking taxi’s , the constant voices of thousands of people living their lives . After patrolling for about an hour or so , it was getting later in the evening , around 11pm . Aunt May was on a work trip in Boston . She recently got a job at a cafe , which happens to have multiple cafes around the state . So almost like a Cafe-chain . And the one in Boston , was the busiest so May took the temporary position over there for a week . So that meant , more time being Spider-Man . Which he adored so much . So he sat down on a near-by building ledge to catch his breath and give his web-shooters a chance to re-make some webs . When lazy days rolled around for the hero , he shot webs around the city just to cruise and smile down at local patrons . He was debating to take off his mask but the risk was truly too risky . Even thought he was thousands of feet in the air , an airplane or helicopter could easily spot him . He’s a red and blue latex-suited hero with a black spider imprinted on his chest to identify himself. He was super paranoid about it . Ever since , Tony Stark wanted to add Peter to the avengers team , and watched as the boy denied him , Peter was working tremendous hours to make himself better . He would go to the gym and just try to make himself stronger . But , of course , when you get bit by a experimental spider with abilities to change you into a half spider , then you can’t get any stronger . Peter was kicking his feet to try and hope for a crime to just appear out of thin air . Since his aunt distanced herself for a week , he wanted to use the time to his advantage . Make sure , he gets the risky and dangerous adventures out the way so May won’t be able to see it . She’s hesitant with her nephew being a superhero , but has always been cool about it ever since she saw Peter wear the suit in his room and talk with Stark about it’s new improvements . And surely, Peter won’t forget the cursing of his Aunt May as she looked at him with pure shock and astonishment . He smiles to himself , but the thought ended soon enough , when he hears a cry of some sort . His spider senses kicks in , as he’s looking around trying to get a better sound out of the potential victim . His eyes shrink , adding the ability of the spider sense . He mumbles to himself , wondering where the sound could be coming from . But being that downtown Queens , isn’t such a quiet place , it was difficult to pick up on the soft cries . It was amazing how far , Peter could hear from . That ability has always been his favorite , he could even hear something from over 500 feet away if he really concentrated enough . The soft cries soon turned into a sob and he realized it wasn’t coming from the busy streets . He looked down and noticed multiple apartment buildings . Peter didn’t even realize he was on the Michelle’s street , he must of been so comfortable with swinging around . He could still hear the cries , and it got to the point where he wanted to go a bit insane . He didn’t notice his feet picking up pace , but then he focused in on his thoughts to try and find out why . But his confusion , soon turned into concern . What if it was his friend Michelle? Which he wanted to stop calling a friend , he couldn’t deny the chemistry between them anymore . The constant teasing of their hands rubbing together , or the sneaky smiles they would send eachother . But his favorite , the multiple drawings of Peter “in crisis” . It was always so hilarious to him , of how many times he’s seemed to have a problem . With his chemistry homework or probably just being a super hero . But he now knew the whole reason behind his constant dilemma . It was the girl that lived on these streets , the girl that believes she’s invisible but stands out to the whole crowd in his eyes , the crazy curly mess of hair , that she thinks she can’t do anything about , but all Peter wants to do is run his hands through it for hours on end . He stopped thinking about the girl , long enough to concentrate at the physical matter at hand . Saving this person from danger , or possibly a break-up . The sob didn’t sound deep or sorrowful , it sounded muffled and tired . Even though Spider-Man is a crime fighting teenager , that doesn’t mean he can’t save another teenager from whatever problem they might be facing . That’s the Peter Parker side of the hero . He knew he was getting closer , he heard the cries get a bit louder , and they were coming from Michelle’s building . The concern in his mind , now traveled to his heart , knowing there’s a possibility of it being his girl . His hearing was now compatible with his spider senses , so his suit made its eyes shrink and focus on one room in particular. He noticed the too-familiar book quotes on the window , and his heart sank . He wondered why Michelle would be crying at this hour , and he prayed to god it wasn’t another sad ending to a book . He mumbled into the suit , about turning his spidery-senses off for now . He didn’t want to focus on anything else but the girl he was about to greet . He knocked on the window softly , and still with his senses turned off , he could hear the blankets being brutally taken off by Michelle. She didn’t sound happy , and that made Peter disappointed. He’d always try to make her feel better , and tonight wouldn’t be different . Michelle heard the window being knocked on , and sat up before walking slowly to her bedside window . She had thought it was a bird pecking on her window , however , it usually happened around 4 in the morning . Even with the strange activity , she opened the curtain to see Spider-Man . He was staring dead at her face , his head tilted slightly to the right , probably to examine the amount of tears and dry mascara on her face . Michelle didn’t even know why she used mascara in the first place , she wanted to try something new . Mostly because , after Liz left town , Peter was in those “ sad breakup” type of feelings . And she initially thought that wearing some makeup would make Tom happier and more at ease with the fact of her moving . But no , all she got was advice to take it off and leave her face bare because she was told she looked beautiful without it . These words came out of Tom’s mouth , but she had to put on the act that she doesn’t care for people because she doesn’t wanna get so attached to anyone . But that plan all failed when Tom and surprisingly Ned , came into her life . She uses the act to push herself away from the sometimes , invasive friends of hers . Her mascara was streaked and badly ruined , smeared on her cheeks . Her eyes practically almost red and swollen from crying for the past 30 minutes to an hour , she lost count after seeing Spider-Man on her TV swinging from building to building on the local news . She opened the window weakly , as she locked eyes with the hero . She decided to come clean right away , the guilt seeping through her skin . She didn’t know why she was feeling guilt or anger towards Peter . It confused her so much . Michelle cleared her throat and muttered a “ What are you doing here , Spidey?” Desperately trying to sound strong and mighty . Like the old Michelle . Spider-Man adjusted himself on the ledge , now grabbing on the window sill , as he spoke “ I came to see what you were crying about . Just because I’m a fighter , doesn’t mean I don’t wanna help you when you know…aren’t getting robbed or things like that” Peter smiles through his mask , trying to lighten the mood . He took notice of her face , which he stares at a lot . But it was different for right now , she was sad and he was determined to find out why . Earlier at school , she was smiling and teasing about his disheveled hair , and now she was trying to keep a straight face after crying for god knows how long. “ I don’t need your help right now ” Michelle says , trying to shut her window . The words of saying his name was too intense for her to handle , she was fighting herself about admitting the truth again . Spider-Man kept the door open and pleaded “ Let me help you ” . Peter tried his best not to talk in his real voice , but that would give his identity away to the girl he cared for the most , and that means danger. Michelle looked at him once again , and tried to look past the mask and the second she saw his deep brown eyes . The words slipped past her mouth , almost in a gasp . “ Jesus, Peter you never know when to leave me alone!” And the window finally closed shut . Peter was stunned , his mind wanting to replay that moment . His hands let go of the window sill , his heart dropped to the floor . He almost wished it was true and not just a metaphor , because the sadness on face showed him what he didn’t want . He wanted to not be alive at that moment , he wanted to be normal again and not have Michelle angry with him . She was angry at him . She knew his secret , she knew that he could die one night . He quickly regained himself and out of his thoughts , and banged on the window for her attention . He wanted to take the stupid suit off and hold her until she stopped crying . Michelle was stunned with herself for Peter now knowing her guilt , she opened the window again to finally let Peter in her room , knowing he would be in shock as well . She sulked to her knees and stayed there as another round of tears passed her eyes . In a matter of seconds , she felt arms wrap around her thin frame and hold her tightly . After Peter saw Michelle open the window yet again , he ran into the room and immediately took off his mask and held her in his arms . He let one hand travel to her hair and comb his hands through it , to feel the softness of her curls , the frizziness of the ends . He sighed , now allowing himself to feel his emotions . She could be in harms way now that she knows about his classified secret . He was in no way , going to put Michelle at risk and she knew that too . He really wish , he told her sooner . Michelle suddenly pushed Peter away forcefully and got up . Peter bit his lip in anticipation to end the silence between them , he knew he was Peter on the inside and outside . It was weird staring at the girl with his normal appearance , and having the rest of his body covered by a suit recognized by everyone . “How did you find out?” Peter asked noticing how every syllable slipping off his tongue with utter slowness and desperation. Michelle turned her back to the boy , and turned her head slightly to wipe her tears before speaking . She wasn’t angry at him , she felt scared . She didn’t want him to risk himself , and possibly die . Which scared the living daylights out of her and made her heart leap into a dark hole . She mumbled the first few words but shook her head and started reciting the scene in her head of that morning . She’d never thought this conversation would be happening . Peter looked up as his eyes met the back of her head , he knew he should of hid his suit better . But he was in a rush that morning and didn’t have the time to put it in his bag . Peter was so caught up with just enjoying Michelle’s presence that he never noticed . “ is that why you’re crying ?” Peter asked as he noticed no movement coming from her end . She was hesitant to answer the question , she didn’t want Peter to know that she was scared of him dying . She didn’t want to stop him from doing what he loved , but it was so hard when she knew she loved him . Peter slightly raises his voice as he repeats the question to her . His eyes never leaving her head , he wanted her to turn around and face him . Peter wanted to know everything . Her head tilted to the side , wanting to get a reaction out of the boy . Michelle’s skin jumped , as she heard Peter’s footsteps hit the hard wood floor and her ears focus on nothing else but the sound of his feet coming toward her. She closed her eyes and wiped her tears , the second she heard him breathe out “ MJ” in the softest way . Peter was desperate to know answers from his friend , he wasn’t gonna keep asking her with no response . If she was crying over him being Spider-Man , then he was ready to explain the whole story to her . “Turn around..talk to me , I’m always here to help you ” Peter tried to sound as friendly as possible , and it was true . He was always there for her , either when she failed an English assignment, or passed her history test with flying colors . She mattered to him , and that smile of hers always made him feel better about anything . “ Peter , I’m scared . I’m scared for you , I don’t want you to get hurt ” Michelle watched as a small smile appeared on his face , as he tried to match her voice intensity with a whisper , “I’m always careful , Michelle” She shook her head , disagreeing with the sincere talker Peter . She walked past him and paced the room back and forth , like a nervous child . She don’t know how it started , but her words just couldn’t stop coming . Peter’s eyes never left her face , he kept up with her walking pace as she started to talk about how the streets weren’t safe . She was rambling about Peter putting himself in danger , risking his life for strangers , lying to her about random events and Michelle didn’t even notice when the words of “ I may say that I don’t care , but fuck , I don’t want you to die , Peter . I care about you a whole lot , and now I can’t stop thinking about you possibly getting hurt again .“ Peter was taken back by the words she was saying , but felt his heart swell in the best way possible . She cared for him , and that’s all he needed to hear before watching her turn for the millionth time and walk back in his direction , and grabbed her shoulders to steady her stance . ” I’m not gonna die , I haven’t died yet and I’ve been a super hero for 7 months now . I’m being as careful as I could be , but the bad guys can sometimes be a pain and want to hurt me , alright . Don’t worry about me so much MJ , I could crawl up the Empire State Building if I wanted to , and can! “ Peter raised his voice for some reason , wanting to show his point . Michelle’s eyebrows scrunched as she stepped away , now confused with herself . But that doesn’t stop her , as she raises her voice as well ” Don’t worry about you!? Are you insane right now? Peter , do you realize that there’s people that maybe don’t want you to die from some stupid narcissistic villain wanting something from you! “ Michelle rests her hands at her sides and realizes the hand gestures she had made to show her concern . Peter made his way to the bed where he threw his mask , and picked it up and grabbed MJ’s hands and set it in her hands . He grabbed her hands that now held the mask , and said ” that’s the whole point of being a hero! I have to risk myself for others , I know you care MJ , of course I know that . I’m protecting myself along with the whole city “ Michelle tries to fight his gaze , but Peter uses his index finger and thumb to turn her attention on his eyes . His fingers were still settled on her chin , but she looked down . She felt disappointed in herself , it may not seem to big of a problem to another person but it felt like the world was weighing on her shoulders . She knew he loved doing this , but she simply doesn’t want to watch the guy she loved getting cut and bleed through his suit . He may be a half spider , but damnit he was human. Who could die just as easy , as the spider bite happened . ” Peter , leave my room . Go “ Michelle croaks out , the lump returning to her throat . She was gonna cry with Peter holding her , and she wasn’t gonna be that vulnerable with someone else . Peter was confused , why was she pushing him away? He could feel the tension rising between the two , even if his hand was touching her face , her body felt like a wall separating length between his . ” Peter…“ she warns , Michelle wasn’t telling Peter how she felt , and neither was he . It burned her insides , her heart lurched for the words to pass her lips . She would throw up , but she hadn’t had dinner since she got home so late from the decathlon meetings . Also, she was pretty sure , all the bodily fluids that contain water and tears were out of her system because of the amount of tears she shed for the boy she cared for . ” I’m not leaving you until you tell me whatever is hurting you about this . I never wanted to see you cry over my secrets . You know that I always want to make you happy “ Peter wants her to feel comfortable in his arms , he feels like it’s only them in the whole universe in this one room , and he wants her to feel the same . He realized in that moment , that he wouldn’t do this for anyone else . The love and appreciate he felt for his friend , was so different and new to him . So he decided to come clean instead , Peter was finally telling the words his heart desired to tell . ” you have no idea how much you mean to me , Michelle. I was scared of telling you because-“ he lifted her chin and the butterflies returned with a flying vengeance, as her teary eyes met his . He needed her to believe every word he said , Peter was telling the words he’s been wanting to say since he locked eyes with Michelle after she pretending not to care about him in the library that one afternoon . “b-because if you know that I’m Spider-Man then you could tell everyone , and I would never put you in any danger . If any of my villains know that you and I are friends , and that you know who I am . That’ll put you and your whole family in serious danger MJ..” Peter stroked a piece of hair behind her ear , finally feeling relieved of the pressure of keeping secrets from her . He doesn’t stop himself as his lips touch her forehead . He kisses her forehead softly , listening for any noises or words of discouragement, but he feels her body relax . “ I’m not a little girl Peter , I could handle myself . I just didn’t want you to get hurt , and really don’t want to see you limping on my television anymore . I’ve spent all night thinking about seeing the fantastic Spider-Man fight all these epic battles and get hurt at the end . Especially with the vulture . You didn’t come to school for a week ” Michelle says , concern showing in her voice . She feels Peter’s lips lift away from her forehead softly and since Michelle is barefoot , Peter was an inch taller than her . “ yeah , he hurt me pretty bad . But I did the right thing MJ , I saved him . I’m trying to make the city safer for people , for our school , for Ned , Aunt May…You ” Michelle’s heart practically stopped beating for a second with those words . She wanted to smile , yet the thought of him wanting to save her from bad things , stopped her . Peter quickly noticed Michelle get lost in her own thoughts again and rested his head on her shoulder . His head rested nestled in her neck , “ MJ , if I promise you to be extra careful and not end up in the hospital as much…will you not worry so much . ” he whispered . Michelle was taken out of her thoughts with an sudden shock , she looked down to see Peter’s head nuzzled in her neck , and her mind processed his words with careful analysis. She was a super smart girl and loved to analyze anything and everything . “ I promise , Peter . I’m just shocked and scared about you . I don’t know what to think or say to you , that’ll change that . Thank you for being so concerned about me ” “Always. I’m here always , and I understand completely . I just didn’t expect you to feel so deeply about this , about me . ” Peter admits to her , his heart was beating out of his chest . He smelled the familiar vanilla scent radiating off her neck , even if it was faint . “ I cried for an hour , possibly more . I lost count , everything just made sense to me now . Now , I’m not sure how I feel about you ” Michelle felt him lift his head off her shoulder as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear . “What’s that exactly ? We’re still friends right..?” Michelle sighs and tries to ignore how he made her feel but nods “ of course, once again…I’m just a concerned friend for you ” “ I’m not sure , I wanna be a friend to you anymore..Michelle ” Peter says , his mind racing with what he’s about to say to her . Panic and nervousness spread throughout Michelle’s body , did he want to be my friend? God…Michelle , you can’t keep anything good can you?! “ MJ , why were you really concerned about me…about why I can’t get hurt ?” Peter chose his words carefully , planning how to admit his true feelings . A part of him , wants to just flat out say it , but then he wants to get any more answers from her about how she feels towards him . Even if it means scaring or pressuring her a little bit , He was here to console her if it gets bad . Peter had it all planned out . Michelle let herself go from his embrace , regretting it as the cold air from her window hit her . “ I can’t be a concerned friend? Peter , I know I might of overreacted but I care for you a lot . Is that a problem?” Her sassiness made a comeback . “It doesn’t bother me , I just wanted to ask because I’m a concerned friend” Peter mocks her and the next thing they both knew , his arms were around Michelle pulling her closer to him. Michelle pulls away again , and suddenly bursts out “ just because I love you , Peter-” she stops herself immediately and covers her mouth . Peter’s heartbeat intensifies and the second he scans her face for recognition , he sets the mask aside , which was surprisingly still in his hand . “You what?” He repeats slowly . “ I didn’t say anything , Peter . ” Michelle quickly glances at the clock and realizes it’s almost midnight . She wanted to get rid of him now that she basically made a fool of herself admitting her feelings for Peter Parker , a dork that happens to be a really cute guy that makes her world so much brighter . However , she wanted to hear him say it back to her . But that didn’t happen that fast . “ Go , Peter…just go . It’s late . Shouldn’t you be with Aunt May , or sleeping? ” she suggests backing herself up , but her eyes never leave Peter’s . She doesn’t watch where she’s going with the gorgeous guy in front of her , and trips over her bag . She barely falls an inch before Peter picks her back up . He used his Spidey-senses to practically teleport to Michelle . That’s how fast he can run , which shocks her . Peter grabs her and watch as her eyes widen in his touch . Her hands froze in mid air , she was slightly excited to see what the boy would do . He leans in and kisses her cheek , he lets himself lean away before he gets any ideas but he says softly “ you probably weren’t this shocked , when you found out I was Spider-Man huh?” . Peter let his hand rest on her hip , it was weird for the both of them honestly . They’ve never touched beside the usual accidental hand touch , or hugging . But they both knew what they wanted in that moment . “not even close , Peter…what the hell are you doing ?” Michelle’s voice just above a whisper . She was anticipating a kiss , so badly . But he would just tease her like usual . “What the hell am I doing..?” He asks with a slight grin , Peter grabs her hands that were still in the air , because of the shock , and set them on his shoulders . “ I’m about to kiss you , duh ” Peter grins before placing his lips on Michelle’s . Both of them were scared to make the next move , but Michelle wasn’t in control of herself anymore . She realized that everything now made sense to her , she didn’t care that Peter was spider-man , she just wanted him to be safe with the huge responsibility that came with possibly saving the world and especially our city . She let herself get lost in him , Michelle’s hands held onto his shoulders as she made the next move and kissed him fully now . Their heartbeats seemed one in the same , Peter didn’t need to say he loved his friend Michelle . He was showing her right there in that moment , their lips glide against eachother , feeling just right . That moment soon came to a close , when Michelle pulls away to a breathless Peter . “ just be careful out there , dork ” Michelle gives him her signature smirk , and kisses his cheek softly . Peter smiles at her , he finally felt the world lift off his shoulders , and appear right in front of him . He grabbed his mask and leaned against her window . 
” I’ll be extra careful for you babe , My Spidey-Senses Always Work ”

[bumi-illustrates]

Chapter 3

“Go, on. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send you straight to the underworld.”

Chrome’s voice was unnaturally raspy with an underlying quiver to it. I started to open my mouth and almost choked when a voice that wasn’t my own spoke up, “Because if you shoot me where I am, you’ll blow a hole right through your precious leader’s pretty little head.”

I couldn’t stop the shiver that made me visibly shake, “Chrome. Answers. Now.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line as he quickly dropped the gun and reached up for something behind me. The fast movement caused me to shrink away slightly and shut my eye reflexively. I watched my friend closely with my other eye as he slowly pulled away, something clutched in his hand, replacing the discarded weapon.

“Hey! Ease up, man! I’m the size of a mouse, no need for manhandling!”

Chrome straightened up and I felt myself slump slightly, finally able to suck in a breath I didn’t know I needed. My eyes moved to the small creature in Chrome’s hand. He held it by a long, scaly, snake-like tail as it swung slightly in its efforts to break free. It was right, it was extremely small, no bigger than a field mouse, but it was covered in shimmering scales. The only fur on it was two plumes of white that ran from the top of its head and down to the tip of the tail where it flared out like someone glued a toupee to it.

“You held me at gun point for that!? Dude! It’s tiny! Creepy, but you could have blown me up for having a mouse on my shoulder!”

Chrome frowned as he held the creature up to me, “This is Vene, he’s a Noctis.”

A choked grunt caught in my throat as I stared at the man before me as if he had sprouted a second head. My brain simply seemed to shut down. No raging emotions, no scattered and overwhelming thoughts. Nothing. My mind had gone completely quiet.

I should say something. Right?

“Uh, I think your friend is broken Chrome Dome.” This so-called Noctis’ voice piped up, restarting my thoughts.

“Chrome, care to explain?” The word choice left room to be caring or restraining anger. My tone was the latter.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking and no. He is not a friend and I am not working with or for him.”

I waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, I cleared my throat impatiently, “And?”

A loud gasp was heard from Vene, “You didn’t tell him about us!? Oh! You wound me Chrome-a-lot!”

Chrome visibly grit his teeth, “Why would I tell anyone about you? So, I could get myself killed for being indebted to a filthy Noctis?”

“Filthy? I prefer the term, intrinsic.”

Chrome’s eye twitched, “There’s nothing natural about you!”

A smirked wormed it’s way onto Vene’s cobra-like face. With a quick flick of his tail, he was freed from Chrome’s grip and dropped to the floor on all fours. Sitting down quietly, he wrapped his tail three times around his legs before laying the end of it up his back, the white hair on the end resting between his shoulder blades.

“That’s your problem, Zombie-boy! You treat me like I’m some supernatural being, but what about you? You’re more unnatural than I am!” His eyes closed and he spoke with a mischievous grin.

Chrome clenched his jaw and raised a fist, “Why you little!”

Intervening, I placed my hand over Chrome’s and helped him slowly lower it to his side.

“So, tell me, Vene. Why is he indebted to you?”

His grin curled as he showed more of his sharp canines. Opening one eye, he glanced up at me, “if it’s a tale you want, it’s a tale you shall receive! Now listen good, Michelle! I will only tell this story once!”

“My name’s-“

“It was the Day of Dreams. Somna’s Noctis, Goanna, had gathered her best fighters to stand guard at the sacrificial ceremony. The Goddess and her beloved pet wanted to make sure no one would interrupt. There were five of us; Goanna, our leader. Gila, our brawn. Spindle, our brains. Venus, our secret weapon. And me; Venenata, our snitch. My job was easy. Slink around in the crowd and listen in on any conversations pertaining to the ceremony. I was to report any useful knowledge to Goanna. I overheard a few of the citizens talking of the plan, but what fun would the Day of Dreams be without a little scandal?” His tail flicked slightly in amusement, “Isn’t a little surprise always more fun?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He definitely had a few screws loose.

“Anyway, I started thinking to myself, what if I changed things up even more? What if I pulled a stunt of my own? I said to myself, I never liked being the tattle tale. Tattle tales always ruin everything! So, guess what I did? I didn’t tell Goanna about the plan I heard about! I reported back to her, saying that everything was fine! That you stupid humans were accepting of the sacrifice! I went so far as to say you were all looking forward the peace it would bring! You should have seen Goanna’s smile! She believed every lie that left my mouth, no questions asked! And you know what I thought to myself then? I thought, the Goddess and her pet are the stupid ones!”

Vene uncurled his tail as he looked up into my eyes, “Any questions so far? You look a little lost there, cappuccino.”

Cappuccino?

I ignored his nickname and folded my arms, “No, continue.”

His teeth shone in the light as he opened his mouth to carry on, “As the time neared to sacrifice the girl, Goanna and Somna began to whisper to each other. Excluding the rest of us! It made us angry. We were a team; we should be included in any plan changes. Remember what my role was? I decided to finish carrying out my job. Listen to conversations. So I snuck around and listened to theirs. When I told the others what I heard, we made a new plan. To-“

“Hold on. What did you hear?” I interrupted.

His Cheshire grin was to be expected at this point, “That, stupid human, is for Spindle to reveal.”

I frowned and glared down at him, “I feel I’ve been very lenient with you. None of what you’ve said so far is useful for us in anyway.” I reached down and plucked the gun off the ground, “Now, I suggest you follow Chrome’s advice and give us a reason to keep you around or I’ll let him finish what he started.”

The psychotic smile that stretched his mouth wide sent slight unease into my veins, but I kept the stoic expression as Vene began cackling madly. I heard Chrome sigh in agitation as he took the gun from my hand, “He saved me from the Noctis”

“What? I-I thought-“

“I never specifically said that whoever saved me was human. I just said someone helped me. I never gave any details, so technically, I’m not wrong. He’s a someone. Even if he is absolutely off his rocker.”

“There you go Metal Brain! Now, how hard was that? Simple and straight to the point!”

“Look who’s talking! That story was zero help! Did you even plan to give us any useful information?”

“Nope! I don’t like handing out information to stupid humans. You’re blabber mouths can’t be trusted!”

Chrome growled and I found myself thoroughly fed up with the annoyingly little thing as well.

“Why are you here? And how did you get in?” I asked tightly.

“Oh, sneaking in was easy. Spindle breaks down your main door, I sneak in, hitch a ride in your pack and boom! Instant infiltration!” He replied giddily, lying down and rolling onto his back with a stretch.

It was my turn to grit my teeth, “Okay, but why?”

“Because Spindle wanted me to.”

My whole body went rigid in anger, “Okay, but why!?”

He rolled back onto his stomach and into a downward dog pose, his tail sticking straight up with the end hook slightly towards his head, “Says he wants to talk to you. Something about a mutual friend.”

“Mutual friend?” I asked, “What kind of mutual friend could I possibly have with a beast?”

He sat down once more before looking at me skeptically, “You know, you’re awfully critical of us considering you’re just letting one be free. Didn’t even try to contain me. Kind of a crappy leader move, Slim. If I were any other Noctis your butts would be meeting your maker right about now.”

I froze, and opened my mouth to argue, but stopped. He was right. Not a smart leadership move. Not a smart move in general. I watched him smile proudly, “Did I make you feel stupid?”

“Vene! Just, tell us what you want!” Chrome exclaimed, clearly fed up with the Noctis’ games.

Vene paused before pouting, “You guys are no fun! Fine! I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

I held back a relieved sigh, “Who is this mutual friend? And how do I know we can trust you?”

“You’ll have to decide if you trust me. I can’t do that for you. I can play nice and say sweet things all you want, but I doubt it will help.” His lips curved into a smirk once more, “As for the mutual friend, agree to meet with Spindle and you’ll get your answer.”

[ber39james]

How to Create Sharp Angles in Your Writing

This assignment should be no problem. In fact, it’ll be a blast. What could go wrong? Suppose for a moment that all you have to do is write a children’s song about otters.

The trouble is, there are so many scintillating facts about otters that it’s hard to know where to begin. Do you start with general info—that they’re highly adorable four-legged carnivorous swimmers? Or do you zero in on something more specific?

You could focus on a single nifty detail, like how sea otters’ dense, nearly waterproof fur traps air for insulation, keeping them snug even in cold Pacific waters. Or you could sing about how groups of river otters ward off predators like crocodiles by relentlessly yelling at them.

Choose well, because you’ll only have so much time to hook your audience before their minds drift. For rapper Aesop Rock, the way a swimming otter can use its belly as a table, munching a tasty meal while backstroking, proved irresistible. The result is the one-of-a-kind “My Belly.”

Whether you’re working on a presentation, a blog post, a rap, or a cover letter, cracking into a new piece of writing is tough. When your subject is broad and multifaceted, where to start rarely feels obvious. You need a way in, a distinct perspective, an angle. This is what differentiates your piece from a generic overview. There might be others like it, but this one is yours.

So what’s your angle?

There are a few questions to consider when deciding your angle:

What precisely will you illuminate for your audience?

What will be unique about your approach to this subject?

How much do you assume your readers already know about it?

Properly calibrating that last item is essential. You want people to feel surprised and curious within the first sentence or two, not lost or confused. You certainly don’t want to bore folks with an intro inanely reminding them that otters are mammals, just as you’d prefer not to torpedo your next job application by opening your cover letter with “I hope you hire me.”

A test that editors sometimes use is the question, “What part of this would be most important or exciting to tell your grandmother?” The answer can reveal a lot about your angle. (If the result feels awkward, substitute the grandmother for “friends on a Friday night,” or “hiring committee” as needed.)

Lede the way

The angle needn’t always be spelled out in your final draft, but for journalists, it points to the first and most important sentence from which all else flows: the lede. (That spelling apparently arose to distinguish the term from the the lead type used in old-timey newspaper presses, although some argue its usage stems more from lore than actual history.)

You’ve likely heard of this as the who-what-when-where-why approach to news writing, but it’s a helpful thought process in many other fields as well. Michelle Nijhuis, who writes for National Geographic and edited the indispensable Science Writers’ Handbook, cautions it’s best not to overthink this part early on.

As you outline, don’t let the specific language of the lede hold you up. If you start fiddling, try SciLancer Stephen Ornes’s technique: ‘I write a dummy lede—basically, the most banal and uninteresting introduction to the piece—just to get it over with temporarily. Then, after I’ve written about half the first draft, I can go back and improve the lede.’

Most news stories make a promise of what the story will contain with their lede and then deliver on that promise with more details, context, and quotes further down. Any information that’s not pertinent to the lede tends to get cut or saved for another day.

Topics vs. stories

To sharpen your angle, tighten your focus. A helpful planning exercise is to ask whether you’re writing about a topic or telling a story. Here’s an illustration of how such a conversation might go:

WRITER: I wanna write about childhood.

EDITOR: Yawn. That’s a topic. What’s the story?

WRITER: It’s funny how we see our parents differently once we’re grown up.

EDITOR: You’re gonna have to be more specific.

WRITER: It’s much easier to understand my dad’s actions now that I know what a hangover is.

EDITOR: You could say the same about me. Keep talking.

WRITER: Like this time he was watching a golf video, working on his swing in the living room, and took out an overhead light, and rained glass all over the carpet.

EDITOR: Now we’re getting somewhere.

It’s difficult to directly tackle a topic in a way that doesn’t feel bland or unwieldy. By contrast, stories offer endless avenues for invention and allow room for some writerly personality. They’re often more memorable.

For instance, suppose your task is to write a few thousand words about sinkholes in Florida. Taking this as a head-on topic might mean starting with some forgettable statistics, alongside sterile facts about geologic processes. Meh. Instead, New Yorker writer David Owen opts to begin with a story:

In the fall of 1999, much of Lake Jackson—a four-thousand-acre natural body of water just north of Tallahassee and a popular site for fishing, waterskiing, and recreational boating—disappeared down a hole, like a bathtub emptying into a drain. Trophy bass became stranded in rapidly shrinking eddies, enabling children to catch them with their hands and toss them into picnic coolers, and many of the lake’s other fish, turtles, snakes, and alligators vanished into the earth.

It’s worth noting that where reporters covering hard news traffic in ledes, longform feature writers sometimes employ a nut graf or billboard—a concise explanation of what makes the subject worth caring about.

Nut grafs traditionally appear near the end of an opening section, but they don’t always make it into the final product. Sometimes they’re just a helpful tool for condensing your thoughts and feeling out your angle as you mash out an early draft. Don’t be afraid to write one, Nijhuis says, and take it out once you’re nearly finished.

She also cautions against burning up all your best material too early; remember to save some excitement to help you draw readers through the middle to a rewarding conclusion:

While we obsess about beginnings, we often don’t spend enough time sculpting our endings, or kickers, and that’s too bad. Endings are our last word to the reader, and often what readers will remember most. I like to end with a small scene that serves as a coda to the rest of the story, but there are infinite possibilities: consider powerful quotes, pithy observations, or just a strong statement in your own voice.

Just as a well-considered angle lights the way into a piece of writing, it helps inform how you finish it. Know where you’re coming from and what you’ll deliver to readers, and the path forward will shine that much brighter.

The post How to Create Sharp Angles in Your Writing appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/write-sharp-angles/

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Fan Novel (Book 2, Epilogue)

Notes: So, I have decided to start posting Book 3 next week. If I do one chapter a week, just like Pixelberry, I should avoid getting too far ahead. ;) Let me know what you would like to see me novelize next, if anything. Options I’m considering are Hero, It Lives in the Woods, The Royal Romance, and The Crown and the Flame. 

The next thing I am aware of is a bitter, biting cold, as if my very blood is frozen. Then violent tremors start to race up my spine. I hear my teeth chattering.

“Come back to me.” The voice above me is somehow familiar. “There you are.”

I feel myself rocking. Suddenly, my fingers and toes are overcome with fiery heat. I squirm as the liquid flames surge up my limbs. I hear myself moan.

“Wh...where...”

“That's it. You're all right.”

My eyelids flutter. I am immediately hit by a blinding light. I throw my hands over my face, pressing into the warm body that cradles my naked form against its soft bare skin. ...Wait, what? The spots start to clear from my vision, and I look up at the face above me. Yvonne the Incorrigible smiles down at me.

“...Yvonne?”

She winks. “Oui. C'est moi. You may call me guardian angel if you wish.”

“You...saved my life.” I blush as I look down and confirm that both of us are naked, wrapped in a blanket. “And you, uh...warmed me up, I guess...”

She laughs. “Don't be so prudish. If I ever have my wicked way with you, I promise you will know.”

I sit up carefully, looking myself over, stretching experimentally. I'm on a small trimaran, floating in calm, crystal blue waters. Dark red bruises stand out starkly on my pale skin, left by Mouse and the bullet that dented my armor. Said armor, and the clothes I had been wearing underneath, are piled at the prow of the boat, my backpack full of amber idols on top of it. I go for the bag first, carefully counting the idols to make sure they're all still present. Finding them all accounted for and unharmed, I slowly move to get dressed. Yvonne takes up the oars, rowing towards the shore. I look around me. To the north, a column of smoke rises from what has to be the MASADA complex.

“You were out for several hours. Do you remember anything?”

“...I fell...”

“Indeed. Very far, very fast, and very ungracefully.”

“Wait...you were there?” She grins at my shocked expression. “But how'd you know to be there? It couldn't have been luck.”

“I was dispatched to your aid by your red-clad friend.”

“...Who?”

“I could not say. But you have someone looking out for you.”

As I start to fasten the various pieces of amber armor on my body, it suddenly occurs to me how warm it is.

“Hold on...are we back in the tropical part of the island?” I look at Yvonne in alarm. “Where are you heading? We need to find the others! They could be hurt!”

“Mais oui. They could be. But La Mer will guide them where they need to go.”

“I need to find them, Yvonne!” I cry.

She pins me with a steely gaze, her eyes narrow. “As you said, you owe me your life. I gave you help, and now I am in need of yours.”

I want to argue further, but I am not in much of a practical position to do so.

“Where are you taking me, then?”

As the belly of the boat starts to scrape the shore, Yvonne hops out onto warm, white sand, and drags her vessel ashore. Drawing her cutlass, she points up at the smoking peak of Mount Atropo.

“There.”

* * *

Yvonne leads me through the dense jungle, slashing at the foliage in our path with her cutlass. After several hours, we emerge at the foot of the volcano.

“This is it,” she says. “C'est impressionnant, non?”

Yvonne gestures ahead. I look up and feel my heart drop, splashing into my stomach. A colossal stone temple is carved into the volcanic base. ...A temple in the shape of a dragon's head...a face jutting out of the mountain...eleven graves within the dragon's mouth.

“Oh, no...nonononono...” I shrink back from it.

“Ma petite blonde, you shiver like the timbers.” Yvonne clicks her tongue. “I thought you a braver soul than this.”

“I...I've been here before. I mean...I've seen it...” I swallow. “...What is it?”

“Welcome to the Threshold,” Yvonne replies.

“...The threshold of what?”

“We shall find out together, non?” She clasps shut an antique compass, the one I saw her take from the chest in the Jeweled Cave.

“...That compass...is that how you found this place?”

“A keen eye, you have. Indeed it is. In a manner of speaking, I died to steal it. Malatesta made me walk the plank for my thievery, though I maintain that it is he who stole it from me.” She looks at me. “When I came here, though, I encountered that red-clad demon. It told me that I needed your help.”

“My help?”

“You and your compagnons. But as you may be the last surviving one, I must settle for you.”

The helpless fear that filled me at the sight of the dragon's mouth mixes with rage at her callousness. I open my mouth to tell her where she can shove her compass, but whatever venomous words I might have spat at her are cut off when she grabs my arm and leads me forcibly into the darkness within the dragon's mouth.

“It's pitch-black in here,” I say instead, my voice sounding sullen to my own ears.

“Never fear. There is a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Make sure to stay near me, mon amour. It is easy to get lost in these tunnels. You could wind up wandering down here forever.”

Gradually, though, the world starts to take shape as bright red light trickles down from deep within the volcano. I brace myself to find graves or bones, but instead, I find myself in a large ceremonial chamber lined with lava spouts. A hunched figure in the center startles at our arrival.

“An intruder?” Yvonne snarls, pointing her cutlass. “Surrender, fiend!”

“I...I mean you no h—Alodia?”

My eyes widen as I place the voice. “Uqzhaal?”

The Vaanti shaman hobbles forward, taking shape through the gleaming red light. “Blessings of Vaanu, it is you!” He embraces me warmly, and I return the gesture.

“It's good to see you.”

Yvonne raises an eyebrow. “You are friends? Was it not his people who imprisoned you for life?”

“We ended up having common interests,” I say simply. “Uqzhaal, this is Yvonne. She's how we escaped Sharktooth Isle.”

“Ahh, the boat thief.” The shaman nods sagely. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Yvonne balks. “Pardonnez-moi, but I steal much more than just boats!”

“Of course.” Uqzhaal turns his attention back to me. “Alodia, I had heard such terrible news, of foreign warriors coming to slay you! Some of our scouts returned from the battle at the chasm and feared you dead!”

“I nearly was...and I'm not sure about the others...”

I fill him in on everything that has transpired since we left Elyys'tel. From the Arachnid's attack to our infiltration of the MASADA complex, to the molten wasteland we found on the other side of the Lernaean Gate, to Aleister's betrayal and our near execution, to our escape attempt and the destruction of the MASADA complex.

“...I'm sorry, Uqzhaal. Rourke...he has the Island's Heart.”

The old shaman's brow creases. He turns away, staring into the lava's glow.

“This is truly terrible,” he murmurs. “The Hydra with such incredible power...We must ask the Endless what to do.”

“I do not know half the things of which you speak, and I care for even less,” Yvonne declares flatly. “But if we are here to see the same person, then we can work together, non?”

“...How do we talk to the Endless, Uqzhaal?”

“The Catalyst idols were the keys the Endless bestowed unto us. When we could unite all twelve, that meant that we as a people were ready to learn its secrets.” He gestures to the twelve pedestals surrounding the stone bridge on which we stand. “But our people were not worthy. We lost the Idols in the Three Tribes' War. This is why I sought them. This is why I sought the Catalysts. Each of you has a special connection to your idol. I needed your help to commune with the Endless and learn the truth behind stopping Raan'losti. ...But if what you say is true, and Raan'losti has already come...I know not what we can do.”

“...Okay, so we put all twelve Catalyst idols on these pedestals, and then we get to learn the truth behind the Endless? And it's beyond this lava moat here?”

“So claim the legends. Did you manage to find the idols on your journey?”

I pull off my backpack and show him the twelve amber statues nestled inside. “All twelve. Every last one.”

“Incredible!” he breathes.

“You are truly incomparable, mon amour,” Yvonne agrees. She grabs my face and jubilantly kisses both my cheeks.

“...Right. So...where do I place them? In what order?”

Uqzhaal shrugs. “That, I cannot say.”

“...Guess I just have to go with my gut then...”

One by one, I pull out the idols and place them on the pedestals. My instinct tells me to keep them in the same order we were laid out before, month by month by month.

Andromeda, Lupus, Canis, Cygnus, Aquila, Draco on one side. Delphinus, Serpens, Corvus, Centarus, Ursa, Pavo on the other. The instant I place Michelle's idol, the floor starts to rumble under my feet. Rings carved into the bases of the pedestals begin to rotate to new positions.

“The gears are turning!” Uqzhaal exclaims excitedly.

“I can't believe that worked! I thought it'd be some crazy, complicated...” I trail off as one stone wall slides aside, revealing a series on symbols painted underneath the panel. I sigh. “Okay, this is kinda what I was expecting.”

I look at the wall. Underneath a crude painting of a bloody knife are six symbols. Beneath that is a painting of a skull over a pair of shackles, and underneath that, five more symbols. Underneath that is one more drawing, of a series of...waves? Mountains? Each is topped with a small white...hell, they might be nipples on breasts for all I can tell. And underneath them is another series of nine symbols.

“Look!” Yvonne exclaims. “Above us!” Throw my eyes to the ceiling, where a circle in the ceiling is opening up to reveal a second series of symbols. Three groups of four symbols, and then one group of ten.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” Yvonne wonders.

“It's some kind of puzzle,” I reply.

“The trial of the Endless will prove our worth!” Uqzhaal declares. “We shall solve it in no time at all!”

He sounds confident, but I can't tell if it's bravado. I look from the wall to the ceiling.

“Some of the runes on the wall are the same as those on the ceiling,” Yvonne muses. “Perhaps they are letters.”

“Of what alphabet, though?” I wonder.

“Perhaps early Vaanti,” Uqzhaal suggests. “Or perhaps something pre-dating us all. But it is clear the runes are spelling out words. ...Or...names.”

“...Names?”

He nods. “If this trial was created by the Endless to test us, perhaps the names are the ones taught to us by the Endless itself.”

“You mean...” I frown, looking at the wall again. “...Those sigils on the wall...those must be a clue...”

“Do you recognize them from anywhere?” Yvonne asks. “They all seem to suggest death.”

“Death?” I repeat. “I mean, the first two certainly do, but the last one...I can't even tell what it's supposed to be. Water? Mountains?”

“I count eleven of them,” Uqzhaal remarks.

And suddenly it hits me like a baseball bat to the head. My heart starts to pound. I know exactly what I'm looking at. “...Oh, god...they're graves. Those things on top are headstones.”

“Does this mean something to you, mon amour?”

“...It means that this trial was meant for me,” I say flatly. I close my eyes. The bloody dagger. ...Thrown by Rourke, burying its blade in Zahra's heart. The shackles around Jake's wrists pulled tight against Mouse's throat. ...Eleven graves. And only one left alive to dig them. “...Corvus. Lupus. Andromeda.”

“Quoi?”

“Those are the names on the wall. Zahra. Jake. Me. ...The answer is going to be in English.”

“You are certain?”

“Positive. Like I said. This trial was meant for me. It's either English or Spanish, because those are the two languages I know. Now if everyone could kindly quiet down for a moment, I need to concentrate.”

I let my eyes flick from wall to ceiling and back again. Mentally, I spell out names, linking up runes with letters and transferring them from wall to ceiling.

S-A-V-E... - - E-M... - R-O-M...

I don't even need to spell out the last word entirely. I curl my hands into fists at my sides and speak the message of the Endless into the chamber, my voice loud and clear.

“Save them from themselves.”

The whole room shudders in response. The idols begin to glow.

“What...what is happening?” Uqzhaal gasps.

“I don't know!” I cry in response. The idols glow brighter and brighter, each with a white-hot light in its center. Then, all at once, they dissolve into amber, leaking away down the sides of their pedestals. Left behind, resting in the basin of each pedestal where the idol had been is a small, crimson pool. “Is that...blood?”

Yvonne crosses herself. “What fresh hell is this?”

Water begins to pour from a series of spouts, hitting the lava with a steamy blast. White fog, painfully hot, engulfs my vision. I throw my arms up in front of my face.

“It's finally happening!” Uqzhaal breathes. “After so many generations of waiting...”

Impossibly quickly, the lava cools and hardens, and the steam begins to dissipate. I delicately test the lava with one foot. Then the other.

“It's safe. We can cross.”

“The path is opened,” Uqzhaal says reverently. The three of us venture into the darkness beyond the Threshold.

“After all that,” Yvonne mutters. “More tunnels.”

“Hush! There is someone up ahead.”

“What? I don't see any--” My voice dies in my throat as I see it. Black against black. A figure of shadow. “Who's...who's there?”

“Show yourself, coward!” Yvonne snarls.

A ball of flame appears in the dark, casting tongues of red-gold light over the walls. The flickering glow is reflected in the black visor of a red helmet.

“I've waited a very long time for this meeting,” the figure in the red spacesuit says. Their voice crackles through a speaker, modulated and electronic and impossible to place. The ball of flames flickers above a crude robotic right hand. Uqzhaal drops to the ground in supplication.

“Endless One...please, your faithful servants seek your help! Let us commune with you at last--”

“They always say 'at last,'” the Endless sighs. “As if they are the first. They are never the first. All that matters is if they are last.”

Every fiber of my being is electric with primal terror. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I swallow my fear and approach the red-clad being.

“Who are you? What do you want with us? What do you want with the Vaanti?”

“Having made it this far, you must already realize what is at stake,” the Endless replies.

“Yeah,” I say sharply. “The world is gone. Destroyed. We thought we could stop it, but it's already happened. ...Can you help us? You seem to have control of time.”

“Time is inevitability,” the Endless replies. “I know no inevitability. I will be here until this spinning rock and the sun that lights it are cold as the void. But it's no longer a matter of what I can do.”

Once again, I feel exhaustion, fear, and desperation blending in my gut into white-hot rage that bubbles up like magma and blocks out everything else.

“I've had it with the games!” I snarl like a wild dog. “Tell me now! What is the meaning of this?! What are these idols?! How do I stop these futures from happening to my friends?!”

“Futures?” the Endless repeats mildly. “The idols do not show the future.”

“Wha...what do you mean? I saw those visions. I watched my friends die! How is that not the--” I trail off as the truth comes crashing down on me. All the strength leaves me, and I sink to my knees in despair. “...Because they already died.”

“Yes,” the Endless confirms. “Again and again and again. And every time...every time I was there.”

A vision flashes through my mind. Rourke's office, where Zahra's body lies crumpled on the floor, the dagger hilt jutting from her heart. Only now, I see the Endless there too, cloaked in shadow, watching silently.

“...I saw them die,” the Endless continues, their voice sounding almost mournful even through the modulation. “So many times, I saw them die. But it wasn't enough for me to see. You needed to see too. That's why I made the idols.”

Another vision. This time I see Jake, his body cold on the floor of the stasis room at MASADA. The Endless hunkers over him, drawing dark blood into a long syringe in their hand.

“You mean...all this time...in the idols we were carrying...”

“A piece of your own mortality. It was necessary to forge the psychic link. To let you see the path.”

I feel my gorge rising as tremors race up and down my spine. I clutch my belly, trying to calm my raging stomach. “Oh god...oh my god...”

“This...cannot be true!” Yvonne murmurs.

“I do not understand,” Uqzhaal says.”This has happened before? All of this?”

“Two-thousand one-hundred thirty-nine times, to be precise,” the Endless replies. “The first time I went back to them, they died before my eyes. So terribly. Some of them didn't even make it a full day. I knew I had to help them. To guide them.”

I lift my eyes to look into the Endless' visor. “...What...?”

“I tried to intervene directly, but I quickly learned that the laws of time can be...unforgiving.” The Endless flexes their bionic arm, and I see the ragged stump just below the elbow. “I had to be more subtle. To change as little as possible. To influence indirectly. I left clues. Sigils. Symbols to aid their journey. To keep them alive.”

I remember being back at The Celestial, in the kitchen, and Raj turning to me with a frying pan in his hands. He said that something about the symbol stood out to him...

“All those symbols we found...that was you?”

“Yes. But it wasn't enough. The symbols kept them alive until they met the Vaanti. But that meeting always ended in death.”

Another vision flashes through my mind, of the cliffside outside Elyys'tel. A group of Vaanti warriors stand holding bloodied swords and axes. The broken bodies of my friends lie at their feet.

“The Vaanti were too hostile,” the Endless continues. “Too guarded. Every encounter saw the group massacred, no matter what they did. Changing the group wasn't enough. I had to change the Vaanti. So I went back. Further than I'd ever gone. And I shaped them.”

… Another flash. I see a beach at night. Ancient Vaanti, the ancestors of the tribe, huddle in reverent awe. The Endless stands before them, bathed in light, the very vision of a god.

“They will return to you!” they declare. “The Catalysts! They will stop Raan'losti!”

The Vaanti raise their hands in prayer and acceptance.

I recoil a little. “So you...made up the idea of the Catalysts...just so that centuries later, the Vaanti would help us? Their entire religion...was just a means to an end?”

“No...” Uqzhaal whispers. “No...it cannot be!”

“I did what I had to do. To protect them.”

“Mon dieu...”

I let my eyes fall to the ground again. “All this...just to keep us alive...? Why didn't you just go back and stop us from ever coming here?”

“My travel is limited to the time bubble surrounding La Huerta. I can never leave this island.”

I clutch my head. It's throbbing as I try to process what I'm hearing, to understand. I shake my head, whimpering.

“This is...this is too much...”

“Don't despair. The next stage of our journey begins here. After 2,139 loops, the cycle is broken.”

“What do you mean?”

“The temple is a test. A test that could only be passed under certain conditions. All twelve idols united. All twelve functional.”

“...Functional?” But even as I say it, I understand. I see visions that feel like memories now...visions of previous timelines, previous times I've made it to this temple...

“I don't understand,” I murmur. “Why aren't Raj and Michelle's idols lighting up?”

“Perhaps it is because they perished when the sea monster attacked,” Yvonne answers heavily. “The idols may only work if they're alive.”

“So...this is the first time...? The first time I've made it this far...with everyone still alive?” It's overwhelmingly frightening, but that thought makes hope flare to life in me. ...They are alive. All eleven of them. They're alive.

“Yes,” the Endless confirms. “All our friends yet live.”

My blood runs cold again. “...'Our' friends...?”

The Endless reaches up and presses a latch at their neck. There is a hiss of decompression. They reach up with their hands, one flesh, one iron, and lifts the helmet from their head. All sensation leaves me. Uqzhaal and Yvonne and the whole chamber seem to fade into static.

“Oh my god...” I whisper. “...Oh, my god...”

“I had to be sure you were ready, Alodia,” the Endless says gently. “Now our work can begin.”  

I can't answer. I am staring at the face of the Endless. A woman of flesh and blood stares back at me. The pale skin of her face has gone slack with age, her hair gone thin and gray. But in her blue eyes, I see the truth. I know the face before me.

...She is me.

...I am the Endless.

[arthur36domingo]

How to Create Sharp Angles in Your Writing

This assignment should be no problem. In fact, it’ll be a blast. What could go wrong? Suppose for a moment that all you have to do is write a children’s song about otters.

The trouble is, there are so many scintillating facts about otters that it’s hard to know where to begin. Do you start with general info—that they’re highly adorable four-legged carnivorous swimmers? Or do you zero in on something more specific?

You could focus on a single nifty detail, like how sea otters’ dense, nearly waterproof fur traps air for insulation, keeping them snug even in cold Pacific waters. Or you could sing about how groups of river otters ward off predators like crocodiles by relentlessly yelling at them.

Choose well, because you’ll only have so much time to hook your audience before their minds drift. For rapper Aesop Rock, the way a swimming otter can use its belly as a table, munching a tasty meal while backstroking, proved irresistible. The result is the one-of-a-kind “My Belly.”

Whether you’re working on a presentation, a blog post, a rap, or a cover letter, cracking into a new piece of writing is tough. When your subject is broad and multifaceted, where to start rarely feels obvious. You need a way in, a distinct perspective, an angle. This is what differentiates your piece from a generic overview. There might be others like it, but this one is yours.

So what’s your angle?

There are a few questions to consider when deciding your angle:

What precisely will you illuminate for your audience?

What will be unique about your approach to this subject?

How much do you assume your readers already know about it?

Properly calibrating that last item is essential. You want people to feel surprised and curious within the first sentence or two, not lost or confused. You certainly don’t want to bore folks with an intro inanely reminding them that otters are mammals, just as you’d prefer not to torpedo your next job application by opening your cover letter with “I hope you hire me.”

A test that editors sometimes use is the question, “What part of this would be most important or exciting to tell your grandmother?” The answer can reveal a lot about your angle. (If the result feels awkward, substitute the grandmother for “friends on a Friday night,” or “hiring committee” as needed.)

Lede the way

The angle needn’t always be spelled out in your final draft, but for journalists, it points to the first and most important sentence from which all else flows: the lede. (That spelling apparently arose to distinguish the term from the the lead type used in old-timey newspaper presses, although some argue its usage stems more from lore than actual history.)

You’ve likely heard of this as the who-what-when-where-why approach to news writing, but it’s a helpful thought process in many other fields as well. Michelle Nijhuis, who writes for National Geographic and edited the indispensable Science Writers’ Handbook, cautions it’s best not to overthink this part early on.

As you outline, don’t let the specific language of the lede hold you up. If you start fiddling, try SciLancer Stephen Ornes’s technique: ‘I write a dummy lede—basically, the most banal and uninteresting introduction to the piece—just to get it over with temporarily. Then, after I’ve written about half the first draft, I can go back and improve the lede.’

Most news stories make a promise of what the story will contain with their lede and then deliver on that promise with more details, context, and quotes further down. Any information that’s not pertinent to the lede tends to get cut or saved for another day.

Topics vs. stories

To sharpen your angle, tighten your focus. A helpful planning exercise is to ask whether you’re writing about a topic or telling a story. Here’s an illustration of how such a conversation might go:

WRITER: I wanna write about childhood.

EDITOR: Yawn. That’s a topic. What’s the story?

WRITER: It’s funny how we see our parents differently once we’re grown up.

EDITOR: You’re gonna have to be more specific.

WRITER: It’s much easier to understand my dad’s actions now that I know what a hangover is.

EDITOR: You could say the same about me. Keep talking.

WRITER: Like this time he was watching a golf video, working on his swing in the living room, and took out an overhead light, and rained glass all over the carpet.

EDITOR: Now we’re getting somewhere.

It’s difficult to directly tackle a topic in a way that doesn’t feel bland or unwieldy. By contrast, stories offer endless avenues for invention and allow room for some writerly personality. They’re often more memorable.

For instance, suppose your task is to write a few thousand words about sinkholes in Florida. Taking this as a head-on topic might mean starting with some forgettable statistics, alongside sterile facts about geologic processes. Meh. Instead, New Yorker writer David Owen opts to begin with a story:

In the fall of 1999, much of Lake Jackson—a four-thousand-acre natural body of water just north of Tallahassee and a popular site for fishing, waterskiing, and recreational boating—disappeared down a hole, like a bathtub emptying into a drain. Trophy bass became stranded in rapidly shrinking eddies, enabling children to catch them with their hands and toss them into picnic coolers, and many of the lake’s other fish, turtles, snakes, and alligators vanished into the earth.

It’s worth noting that where reporters covering hard news traffic in ledes, longform feature writers sometimes employ a nut graf or billboard—a concise explanation of what makes the subject worth caring about.

Nut grafs traditionally appear near the end of an opening section, but they don’t always make it into the final product. Sometimes they’re just a helpful tool for condensing your thoughts and feeling out your angle as you mash out an early draft. Don’t be afraid to write one, Nijhuis says, and take it out once you’re nearly finished.

She also cautions against burning up all your best material too early; remember to save some excitement to help you draw readers through the middle to a rewarding conclusion:

While we obsess about beginnings, we often don’t spend enough time sculpting our endings, or kickers, and that’s too bad. Endings are our last word to the reader, and often what readers will remember most. I like to end with a small scene that serves as a coda to the rest of the story, but there are infinite possibilities: consider powerful quotes, pithy observations, or just a strong statement in your own voice.

Just as a well-considered angle lights the way into a piece of writing, it helps inform how you finish it. Know where you’re coming from and what you’ll deliver to readers, and the path forward will shine that much brighter.

The post How to Create Sharp Angles in Your Writing appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/write-sharp-angles/