#also the commute this morning nearly brought me to tears

[authorwithissues]

I've been emotionally cheating on my new job but I wasn't being too serious about it. I did an interview last week that went really well and they seemed to want me. They asked multiple times whether, if they offered, would I accept? And I said we'll I'd have to think about it. Which was true!

The export ladies here are great and friendly and competent and good coworkers all around. I did some team building with them last week which is why I was so on the fence.

But now I'm remembering how frustrating /my/ department is because I'm not on exports! I'm on imports! And imports has weird politics between the supervisor and manager and I feel like the divorce child caught in between! And my supervisor is just kinda hard to work with. He tells me to send an email on something brokerage related and thus not something i know much about, but he meanders around the point without ever getting to it which leaves me to flounder on wtf to say. And then two minutes later he'll tell me in-detail how to do a process that I wasnt asking about and that I already mastered a month and a half ago. My dude, you're admirably patient when I'm asking questions but you're also driving me insane.

The interviewer said he'd be in touch on whether he'd be making an offer by Friday. No word. I messaged the recruiter who had also said I'd hear back by Friday. He said he'd follow up. No word.

Now I'm looking wistfully in their direction like please. I've thought about it. And I've decided. I want you.

[nighttimescribbles2]

Safe Haven

A relationship with Gojo Satoru brought only heartache. So why couldn't you bear to leave? gojo satoru x reader; slight angst; slight smut; feels; gojo being an absentee boyfriend wc: 3098 a/n: i'll write a short one, i told myself. a quick one maybe a little more than a thousand words, tops. HA. i am also trying to get to properly thirst for this man. so thirsts, thoughts, hc's, tips and tricks for writing him are most welcome. unedited.

It was a lonely thing, this being with Gojo Satoru.

His arrival into your life did not much upend it. If anything, his rare appearances in it often relegated him to an afterthought, albeit one who swept in with an entourage of butterflies that took up residence in the pit of your stomach.

Where do you disappear to? you once thought to ask.

Business, he said, and nothing more. When you pushed and insisted on knowing what sort of business turned him into such an absentee in your life, he kissed each one of your eyelids in turn, drew you close, and said, 

“Terribly boring stuff.”

On bad days, you re-lived this and crucified him as an abject liar. Terribly boring stuff wouldn’t keep your Satoru’s playful, flighty interests occupied for nearly half as long as he was gone. Still, over time, these clandestine businesses condensed into mere facts of life, and the daily drudgery of your day-to-day existence churned on without him. 

Your mornings began with the same lonely coffee in an apartment just beginning to catch the sunlight of a fresh day. There was the same friendly street cat who waited for you on top of the fence around the last house on the block just before the bus stop where you got on for the same rumbling hour-long commute to the kindergarten where you worked. There, you amalgamated into the same classroomful of bright, happy children, mixed with the same colleagues, participated in the same after-work routine, made the same trip back - interrupted only on Wednesdays by a side trip to the supermarket - returned to the same empty home, the same loneliness, the same everything.

The monotony of routine drove you mad sometimes. The alternative, friends inviting you to blind dates, was no improvement.

I have a boyfriend, you were always on the brink of saying. Only the knowledge of the inevitable onslaught of questions and disbelief made you hold your tongue. Who was he? Why do you never talk about him? Why don’t you ever bring him? Why doesn’t he ever visit you? Where is he?

You couldn’t say, he’s never around, you don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

The shame of your hapless answers stopped up your throat. 

Thank you, I’m not interested, you always wound up saying while simultaneously swatting away inquiries of when you’d be interested. You had no answer to that, either, but it wrought a vice-grip inside your chest, and in your mind you railed and cursed Satoru and swore that one of these days, you’d show him you weren’t a doormat languishing in wait for his return. You’d cheat on him and stick that to his face. He’ll see.

You never cheated. Because after mentally cussing him out, you’d go home, sit on your bed, and in the stillness of a dark apartment translate into tears all the grievances you held against him.

Being with Gojo Satoru was a terribly lonely existence.

And yet on good days, you remembered to yourself that there were moments when it was not. On occasion, you’d treat yourself to a drink at the intimidating artisan cafe near the supermarket you frequented and found your expensive latte already paid for. Sometimes, it was a swanky Uber home from work on a particularly inclement day. And on still yet other times, like tonight, it was the surprise of a warm body crowded with you in your bed while slick fingers between your legs roused you from sleep.

You moaned. Satoru’s name dripped thick with sleep from kiss-swollen lips.

“It’s me,” whispered the voice you could never at once believe you were hearing. But then his mouth captured yours and he pushed his way in to reacquaint himself with the flavour of you. It was all you could do to wilt into him.

He was naught but a spectre of silver hair and the shadow of broad shoulders against the night. When you arched towards him, sighing need onto his tongue, he lifted your leg to drape it around his hip, running soiled fingers along the underside of your thigh before guiding himself home inside you.

You moaned, relishing the stretch and the heavy fullness in that neglected part of your body. Beside you, your Satoru let out a pinched sound of contentment and began pumping into you.

“I missed you,” he confessed, the words husky.

Pleasure bloomed through you. Winding an arm tightly around him, you buried your face into his chest and squeezed around his cock. He swore under his breath. The grip on your hip tightened and he ground out a hoarse little laugh.

“Definitely missed you.”

“Then come more often.” 

“I will, baby.” But the promise held a strange twinge of regret in them. “As often as I can.”

“Where do you even disappear to?”

It was a question both of you knew he would never answer.

You bristled. “Do you know what it’s like to be left here alone for days on end? I don’t know where you are. I can’t reach you when I call. I don’t know anyone who can tell me where to find you -”

You began to cry. Gods above, the first time in weeks your boyfriend shows up intending to fuck you to oblivion and the first you do is rag him half to death and snivel while you were at it.

He shushed you gently, big hands sweeping broadly across your back. Even his pace slowed as he sank to the hilt and rocked as if to soothe you.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” you demanded. The obscene squelching of your cunt robbed you of any credible authority but you attempted to maintain what little dignity you could anyway.

“Nothing,” he said with a smile in his tone. The assuaging hand wandered down to your bottom where it spread you for his own benefit. “I am a bad boyfriend and an embarrassment to my kind.”

To make up for it, he began quickening his pace. Gojo Satoru was a quick learner and a prodigious retainer of the things he had learnt. Very early on in your liaison, he had learnt his way around your body and never forgot. Each filling stroke brushed your clit on its way in and on its retreat unfailingly found that spot that made you start and tighten around him. Soon, whatever lecture you’d planned to unleash evaporated in a series of broken gasps, tiny and endearingly surprised with each burst of pleasure he dragged out of you.

“I thought of you while I was away,” he groaned, delighting in your quiet whine - the only answer you could manage under his unrelenting assault. Huddling closer, he tucked you under his chin and pressed his mouth to your hair. “I thought of you every day. Every moment of everyday.”

He thought about this, wondered when he would be able to touch you again, to run his palms over your soft skin, to bless you with kisses and to hear your voice and its myriad sounds - lovely sounds - when he was balls-deep inside you. But beyond that, more than anything, he longed to know about you. When the sun broke over a mission that dragged on for far too long, he wondered if you were up, wanted to know if and how many times you snoozed your alarm. He wondered if you scored a seat on the bus and whether your favourite kindergartener, sweet little Kenji who came to you unable to utter a single word, had already learnt to string sentences together yet under your expert tutelage.

Day in and day out for as long as you were apart, Gojo Satoru thought of you, not just as a faded twinkle in the back of his mind, but as a veritable force that elbowed its way in and indelibly sat smack dab in the centre of his consciousness.

Your panting noises brought him back to the present, small kittenish sounds of distressed rapture accompanied by blunt nails raking troughs under his shoulder blade.

He palmed the fat of your bottom, rolled it in his hand.

“Close, honey?” Reaching between you, he fumbled for your clit, managing a couple of strokes that made your breath hitch before you pushed him away.

“Together,” you gasped, cheeks hot and face still hidden in his chest. “Want to come with you, Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

Yes. In more ways than one, yes. 

Eyes screwed shut, you sucked in a deep, wavering breath filled with him. If you inhaled long and deeply enough, you hoped you might make out where he’s been so that on the worst days, when you were fit to shatter with loneliness, you might go there and have your fill of him. 

You breathed and breathed and held your breath but all you discerned was a wisp of soap and the slightest hint of a man’s musk. The rest of it was the disappointing jumble of your shampoo and the detergent of your sheets, with a bit of the lavender diffusing on your dresser.

You held on to him ever more tightly.

“I want to come with you.”

“All right.”

In its hidden grotto, your heart missed a step. For one dream-like moment you thought this was it at last. From here on out there would be no more hiding your relationship. From now on you could be a normal couple who did normal couple things. You’d walk home together after work on weekdays and go on dates during the weekend; celebrate birthdays and milestones together and shack up and fuck all day on Valentines’ and Christmas. You’d go on romantic getaways and begin dreaming modest dreams about a future together. When you passed a happy pair on the street, you could reach over and find a hand that was already most eager to hold yours.

“Hang on, baby -”

You did. You clung to him with the force of all your wishes and he held you back, gripping you by the waist and by the back of your neck. Hair spilled from between his fingers, cascading across your pillow and pooling on your sheets.

“Love you,” you thought you heard from among the grunts of his exertion as he fucked wildly into you. Copious wetness pooled in your cunt. It trickled out onto the apex of your thighs and all over your joined bodies as he claimed you again and again. The grasp he had on you was almost painful, but all discomfort dissipated in the solid sensation of him underneath your very own hands, against the length of your very own body, and wedged deep inside you.

Love you, love you, you chanted back, unsure if the words in your head managed to swim down to the messy kisses you pecked haphazardly onto his bare chest. He groaned, groped between your legs again and fondled his coveted prize. 

Your legs jerked to close. 

It was a futile endeavour. The limb locked around his hip obeyed the urgency swelling, spreading from your womb. You let escape a strangled cry; reflexively dragged him impossibly closer. He rubbed faster.

“It’s okay, honey. Come.”

The knot of tension unwound, unleashing a cocktail of pleasure and relief that threatened to sink you. The long overdue sensation came on so strongly your legs went numb and you nearly missed Satoru’s throbbing inside you until his seed trickled from around the seal of his cock and laced the mess already shining between your bodies.

You flopped over. Gathering you to himself, he rolled onto his back so you were sprawled on him, straddling him and warming his softening cock.

“Let’s stay like this for a while,” he murmured.

You were more than happy to. Usually he dropped by for a quick tryst and kiss, stayed long enough to clean up, and was gone within two hours at most. Then you wouldn’t hear from him again for weeks.

So tonight you embraced as much of him as you could and recorded the rhythmic thumps of his heartbeats into your best memories. For here was Satoru. Your Satoru, at last in your arms.

“Stay until the morning.” 

The plea in your tone was appalling, but you’d held on to your pride before and what did it get you? An empty bed with the imprints of him cold before dawn. This time you grovelled, and he nodded.

To hell with pride.

You rubbed your face onto his chest. Dug your nails into his shoulders. “Will you see me again?”

“You know I will.”

“Soon?”

“As soon as I can.”

You stifled a sniffle. “Why do you always leave?”

That was another question he never answered. Business, he always used to say, and nothing more. Satoru stroked up your nape into your scalp, lightly scratching and combing out your hair until the perfume of your shampoo filled the space your bodies occupied, stained his fingers, and sank into the grains of their prints. 

You were his most selfish mistake. When Nanami found out, he’d been quick to remind Satoru that their kind was not supposed to involve themselves with civilians. One of Gojo’s caliber, especially, who was tailed by an endless parade of enemies, really ought to know better. 

“I can’t help myself,” he’d told his friend in one moment of rare sobriety. “Maybe it’ll be all right if I cover my tracks and try not to stick around her too much…”

Nanami took one look at his pathetic grin, self-flagellating with guilt and sick with a weakness that had never been there before, and said nothing more.

That unfinished conversation flitted through Satoru. Reaching up, he pushed away his blindfold and blinked at the blue shadows across your ceiling. There you were above him, soft as human beings should be. Underneath him was the nest-like refuge that was your bed.

Eyes wide open in the dark, he breathed in all the scents of you and your world. He opened his ears to your barely-there breaths and twitched his limbs to imprint in them the sensation of coming home to you. He urged his senses to fill their storehouses full of you, for he never knew when he could next return.

This was why he hoarded you, why he scrubbed away the grime of his ugly world and washed off the dust of curses with the contents of the dainty bottles in your bathroom. This was why he burrowed into your sheets and infected himself as much as he could with every last lingering essence you could spare. This was why - because the thought of having to be without you, to begin to forget the weight of you in his arms and the sensation of humanity whenever he was with you, sent him into a spiral of panic.

You must have sensed his distress, because you began kissing him again, pressing deliberate marks of love on his chest, on the tense arms encircling you. In the most casual, conversational tone, as if you weren’t stuffed full and dripping with his seed, you mumbled,

“I met a salaryman whose building’s near the kindergarten I work at. We’re always running into each other at the bus stop.”

His heart spasmed. There it was, he thought, the imminence of losing you. And yet he didn’t feel like he had any right to keep you. What could he offer apart from these sporadic meetings?A cocky part of him wanted to say that he was a pretty damn good lay - but other than that?

You deserved more than just to feel like a convenient toy he visited when he needed to blow off some steam.

Fighting the stickiness in his throat, he forced himself to say, “Is he a nice man?”

You nodded. “He doesn’t say much, though. I see him nearly every day and in that time, he says less than you do on your rare visits here.”

Satoru barked a laugh. “Sounds like a bore.”

You swatted him gently. “Don’t be mean. He’s very thoughtful. Once I was on the closing shift and he offered to wait with me because it was already dark.”

Gojo was sure this “very nice man” had ulterior motives for his generosity. “What’s his name?” he asked. Maybe he could have someone look into this guy.

“Nanami Kento.”

“Oh.” 

Oh. Of all people, Nanamin would know about the inherent dangers of association with one Gojo Satoru, and would be the only one who would care enough about a civilian to do something about it. 

Shame and gratitude roiled in Satoru’s gut. It was a very strange thing, and a first for him.

“Is he a friend of yours?” you piped up, propping your chin on the back of your folded hands to look at him. He smiled brilliantly back at you.

“He was a classmate. High school.”

Your face crinkled into a huge, matching smile. It was the biggest one he’s seen out of you since he began these clandestine meetings.

“What?” he teased. “You’re not thinking of running away with Nanamin and leaving me all by my lonesome, are you?”

He deserved a kick on the shin for that, but right then you were too happy to remember to do so.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever met any of your friends.”

His smile faltered. You poor thing. What had he done to you? You deserved to reserve such a big, beautiful smile for the grand gestures he owed, but never paid, you. Brushing his knuckles over your jaw, he turned his gaze back up at the ceiling and in a self-deprecating tone lamented,

“Honey, I am an awful man.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “Why do you tolerate me? Why do you stay?”

Because no one was more captivating than your Satoru; no creature on God’s good earth was more interesting than he. When he was around, the rest of the world faded into dull greys.

You pressed your cheek back down onto his rising and falling chest. “I don’t know. I guess I can’t help myself.”

He laughed bitterly. Look at you both. Look at you, poor innocent that you were. You deserved far more than these desultory meetings. You deserved a good man, a good future. You deserved more than just till sunrise. You deserved all the things Gojo Satoru couldn’t begin to figure out how to give.

And yet as lightness crept over the east, he tightened his possession of you and pretended that morning was never going to come. He could not, for the life of him, give you up.

[gamergirl929]

The Woman Who Can’t Be Moved (Christen Press x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Angst with a happy ending with Christen Press thanks

Meeting Christen Press on your morning commute was something you NEVER expected, something that continued to happen each and every morning until Christen eventually left for the NWSL season. 

You never forgot her though, and you were about to let her know that with a gesture that was sure to get her attention, a gesture that gathered her attention as well as the entire world’s. 

Okay, I’m not sure if I liked how this one turned out, but I’d really appreciate getting your thoughts on it! 

PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE ANGSTTT!

The sidewalk wasn’t sparse, which was to be expected considering when were the streets sparse in Portland, Oregon?  

People eyed you curiously, watching as you lean against the building behind you before riffling through the bag you’d brought with you.  

You take the worn, bent photograph out of your bag, smiling softly as your thumb runs across its creased surface, across her face, the picture of the two of you smiling together captured forever in a single photograph.  

You knew what you were about to do was crazy, but it was crazy enough that you hoped it would gather her attention, and maybe bring her back to you.  

                                                            ***

You would never forget the first time you saw Christen Press, the woman jogging towards you, ear buds in her ears.  

You were so star struck by the woman that you hadn’t realized the crosswalk sign had changed and you nearly walk out into the street, the only thing stopping you being the forward’s hand, grabbing the back of your shirt.  

“Whoa, careful there.” She grins and you clear your throat, your cheeks flushed. 

“Sorry, was just...” You lick your dry lips and shuffle nervously from foot to foot.  

“Distracted?” She giggles and you laugh, a grin stretching across your face.  

“Yeah, distracted.”  

You take a step towards her.  

“I’m Y/N.”  

The brunette beams, her hand gently resting on your forearm.  

“I’m Christen.”  

                                                            ***

You sigh, getting the same response from each and every passerby.  

“Yeah, of course I know her, that’s Christen Press.”  

“Christen Press? Yeah everyone knows who she is.”  

“What do you mean tell her where you are? It’s not like I’ll ever see her.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you slip the picture into your pocket and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.  

The people of Portland were sadly of no real help, but maybe you’d get lucky and Christen would see that you were still there, waiting for her.  

And you’d wait for as long as it took.

                                                            ***

“Well, look who’s here.”  

You pick your head up with a smile as Christen jogs towards you, the USWNT soccer player grinning.  

“Are you following me Ms. Press?” You grin and the woman rolls her eyes.  

“Nooo, are you following me?” She teases and you snort.  

“If I recall I was here first.” You wink, the woman rolling her green orbs.  

The light changes, cars stopping to allow the two of you cross the road, the woman continuing her run when she hits the sidewalk, but not before she gives you a wave and a beaming smile.  

“See you later Y/N!”  

                                                            ***

You stand there a few hours a day, every single day for over two months, the woman’s picture in hand, in the hopes that SOMEONE would spot her, SOMEONE would get the message to her, but you were still unsuccessful.  

“Still waiting for your friend?”  

You smirk as the same uniformed officer from a week ago makes his way towards you and you nod.  

“Yep.”  

He shakes his head.  

“The owner’s still complaining.”  

You scoff.  

“Well, let him. I’m not moving, and it’s not like I’m here all day.” You roll your eyes and he shrugs.  

“Between you and me, I think it’s sweet to wait for someone you care about, I hope you find her.”

You nod, fiddling with the creased picture.  

“I hope she finds me.”  

                                                            ***

“I’m starting to think you’re waiting for me now.” You smile as you rush towards the corner, panting, Christen grinning from where she’s leaning against the wall beside you.  

“I might be, I wouldn’t have to wait if someone wasn’t running so late.” She teases and you snort.  

“SO, you admit you waited for me.” You beam and Christen snorts, shrugging.

“It’s a possibility...”  

“Oh my god you totally did!”

Christen nudges you.  

“Well I’m not doing it again.” She scoffs and you smile, cheeks flushing.  

“I like when you wait for me so we can talk.” You shrug and Christen grins, her own cheeks pink.  

“I like waiting for you.”  

                                                            ***

Every time you were late after that Christen was there, the woman wearing a dazzling smile as the two of you simply crossed the street together, stopping at the other side to talk for a while before parting, reluctantly of course.  

The two of you started staying together longer and longer, so much so that Christen started to forgo her run, in favor of talking with you instead, the two of you becoming fast friends.  

Spending time with Christen Press was the highlight of your day, even on your days off you found yourself waiting at the corner for the woman.

Your meet ups were slowly drifting away from the corner, starting there before moving down the street to a diner where the two of you would grab breakfast together.  

But still, you’d meet at the corner every single morning, every single morning until Christen had to leave for the NWSL, had to leave for the USWNT, leaving you behind.  

                                                            ***

“DUDE!” Emily jumps to her feet, phone in hand as she basically throws herself over the dinner table at Tobin and Lindsey.  

“DID YOU SEE THE NEWS ABOUT WHAT’S GOING ON IN PORTLAND!?” She yells, everyone turning to her and Tobin snorts.  

“No, what’s going on?” She asks, taking her phone.  

“How HAVEN’T you heard, it’s like, the best modern love story since-” Kelley stops mid-sentence when everyone turns to her with arched brows.  

“What? It’s cute? Going to the corner you’d always meet the woman you love on and waiting for her, hoping she sees and knows you still care?”  

“Pretty sad...” Lindsey frowns.  

“But also, cute.” Mallory adds.  

“Wait, who is she waiting for?” Emily asks, scanning the article, her eyes widening moments later. 

“Wait-

Meanwhile Christen’s green orbs are nearly bulging from her skull, her heart racing in her chest.  

Tobin looks down at the photo of the woman standing on the street corner and turns to Christen, wordlessly passing her the phone.  

Christen slaps a hand over her mouth to keep her sob in, staring at a picture of you leaned up against the store’s corner, your arms crossed across your chest.  

“She never forgot about you.” Tobin whispers and everyone jumps to their feet.  

“WAIT, YOU’RE THE ONE SHE’S WAITING FOR!?” Emily screeches as she reaches the end of the article, everyone looking at her with wide eyes. 

Christen meanwhile remains silent, the phone trembling in her hand as she stares at the woman she thought for sure had forgotten her, the photograph the two of you had taken together during a coffee date in your hand, 

She stares at the woman she’d been too scared to tell she wanted to be more than friends. 

A woman she’d left behind. 

Christen shakes her head.  

“I won’t miss my shot. Not this time.”  

                                                            ***

Of course, Christen couldn’t go straight to the place the two of you used to meet, the season wasn’t yet over. 

The second her feet hit Portland ground over a month later, she was sprinting off, leaving Tobin and the others behind.  

She looked down at her watch, thankful that it looked like she’d get there just in time to catch you, considering the article detailed the times you’d been there, hoping that maybe Y/N’s person would see. 

Considering her person was Christen Press, it wasn’t long before the story caught fire and soon Christen’s social media accounts were flooded with mentions, tagging her in the article over and over again. 

Many thought you were just a obsessed fan, but that was in no way the case. 

Everyone eyes Christen intently, the woman sprinting faster than she had before as she races downtown, rounding the corner, her heart racing at the prospect of seeing you again.  

She comes to a halt, her eyes widening when doesn’t see you at the corner, though she does see something.  

She makes her way to the makeshift cross, adorned with flowers and notes of sympathy, her eyes filling with tears as she drops to her knees and leans her forehead against it.  

“No. No. No. No.” She chants, shaking her head as she palms her head, her nails digging into her scalp.  

It’s then she realizes a number of people have stopped, watching the scene sadly, knowing exactly who the she was looking for.  

Christen feels a hand on her back and jumps to her feet, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, the cross wasn’t yours.  

But it isn’t you, because the cross IS yours, at least a memory of you.  

“You’re the one she was waiting for...?” The store’s owner asks with a small smile and Christen nods, gently stroking the top of the cross.  

“What happened?” She asks and the store owner takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck.  

                                                            ***

You take a deep breath, frowning when you realize the streets have darkened considerably, still the streets were bustling with people.  

Still, none of them were the person YOU were looking for.  

You duck down, grabbing your drink from the place it was resting and take a sip, your attention pulled from the street.  

You hear the blaring of a horn, but that’s not uncommon for Portland, the people here weren’t exactly the best drivers.  

It’s the shouts that cause you to pick you head up, but it’s too late, your eyes barely have time to widen as the car flies towards you, its head lights the last thing you see before your world goes black.  

                                                            ***

“Was a drunk driver... Y/N didn’t stand a chance, she died on impact.” He says sadly, fiddling with one of the flowers hanging from the cross.  

“We tried to bring her back, but there was no way...” He sniffles, a tear running down his cheeks as he remembers his palms slamming into your chest, attempting to restart your heart, even though he knew you were gone.  

Christen shakes her head, falling to her knees as she hugs your cross tightly to her chest.  

“It can’t be true.” She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling as she lets out an inhuman sob.  

“It just can’t be.”

                                                            ***

“CHRIS! WAKE UP! IT’S A DREAM!”  

Christen abruptly sits up, tears streaming down her cheeks as her head turns back and forth, surveying the darkened room.  

“To-Tobin?” She asks, tears still running down her cheeks and she nods.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s alright.” She cups her best friend’s cheeks, wiping her tears away with her thumbs.  

“She was... She was gone and I was too late, and I couldn’t save her. She died thinking I forgot her.” Christen sobs, burying her face in Tobin’s chest, tears streaming down her face as her body shakes.  

“It’s not too late Chris. I promise.” Tobin whispers, holding her friend close, hoping that it WASN’T too late for the forward.  

                                                            ***

Christen’s steps faltered, stopping when she reaches the corner, afraid to round it in fear of seeing that cross again, resting on the corner where the two of you would always meet.  

She steels herself, taking a deep breath before nodding to herself.

“Please Y/N... Please be there...” She whispers, her eyes slamming shut as she rounds the corner.

Her breath hitches in her throat when she sees the corner is entirely empty, no cross, but no Y/N either.  

Christen slowly inches closer, stopping when her feet hit the sidewalk she’d frequented so often before she’d left.  

Passersby stop when they see the tears rolling down her cheeks, the woman staring at the side walk, hoping to bring you into existence with her bloodshot green orbs, but that doesn’t happen.  

“Chris?”  

Christen stills her green orbs widening as she slowly turns around. Her bottom lip trembles when your Y/E/C orbs lock with hers.  

You rush towards her, stopping less than a foot away, your eyes darting around her face.  

“Is it really you?” You whisper, a trembling hand reaching for Christen’s cheek, but the forward beats you to it, cupping your cheeks with both hands.  

“It’s really you?” She sniffles, resting her forehead against yours and you nod.  

“It’s me.”  

Christen grins, her green orbs darting from your Y/E/C eyes to your lips and back.  

“You waited for me?” She asks and you smile, leaning in.   

“I like waiting for you.” You shrug, mimicking her words from all those months ago.  

You don’t even realize you’d amassed a fairly large crowd, neither of you caring, as Christen closes the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting in a tender, emotional kiss, Christen’s fingers tangle in your hair as she pulls you closer, your hands moving to grip her waist.  

The two of you eventually part, your noses brushing as your tear-filled eyes flutter open, locking with Christen’s shinning green orbs. 

Coming to the corner you’d met Christen Press on every single day for nearly 5 months was the best decision you ever made, because in the end, 5 months was nothing compared to the years you’d spend with her.  

[belovasangel]

Come Back to Me

Summary: Shawn missing big events leaves to beautiful memories and Christmas miracles

Pairing: Shawn x fem!Nurse!Reader

Warnings: swearing, light angst, fluff, flashback heavy, holiday feelings 

A/N: Yup. Surprise. Also flashbacks are in italics, per usual. Also I am not Canadian so I don’t know if y’all celebrate Remembrance Day. For the sake of this story, pretend that it’s the equivalent to Thanksgiving.

Shawn took your hand as you barreled down the sidewalk, laughs flying past you in the wind. Tonight had been a perfect date, something great to wrap the summer up, full of time alone with your favorite guy (and your favorite wine). He had been planning this for weeks now, and you can even remember him talking about this back in June when his tour had been announced. The pandemic put a damper on your two’s plans since March, but once the numbers started decreasing did he get calls from managers, and then... there was another world tour. You weren’t mad, music was his passion. Even though you two would be wrapped in each other’s arms after a lovely night, you could tell behind his eyes he longed to play the guitar for different cities. 

That’s why tonight was so important, because he started packing and planning, then he would leave on Wednesday for Prague. And of course, your job needed you in Toronto. While Canada hasn’t experienced any significantly alarming numbers, there were still cases rolling in. You insisted that Shawn goes on tour, so much that you had to pay for his first ticket yourself (he payed you back, though. He insisted). 

Shawn skidded to a stop, turning around and putting his hands on your shoulders. “Now promise me you’re gonna close your eyes, just for a few seconds.”

You huffed and shrugged your shoulders, “Shawn I’m out of breathe, you made me run in heels for about half a mile... Give me 5 minutes instead.” With a quick chuckle, he pecked your lips and turned you around. You heard his shuffling from those black boots he wears to rubble, then decided to look around. He somehow managed to find a quaint park, with a nice bubbling fountain and family’s scattered around. Dogs were running a lit in the distance, and the bustle of the city wasn’t nearly as booming as it usually is. This was nice.

“Okay, turn around.”

With a giggle, you turned around to see Shawn on one knee. Behind him was a tree strung with lights that were glowing, and underneath the tree was champagne and a radio playing your two’s song, Turning the Page (Yeah, we know it’s from Twilight, but that doesn’t stop it from being any less romantic). He was kneeled on a red and white picnic blanket, the typical one you’d see in catalogues for fall. On the blanket were rose petals scattered. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have changed my life for the better. The moment you saw me in the E.R., and had to take care of my broken hand, I knew you were just as kind and gentle as you looked. Once you let me in, and take you on that shitty first date, I got to see the real you. The you that cries during every Disney movie, the you that would bring me breakfast in bed when I had a rough day, the you that would rescue a damn pigeon off the street because it looked sad. You are the most sincere, selfless, and intelligent woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I don’t want ever want to stop or slow down. You have become my life and my rock, I’m completely lost without you. I am utterly in love with you, (Y/N). I want us to have a family, I want to make an album for you, and everything in between. Will you please marry me?”

You shuddered awake, looking quickly at your blaring alarm from the end table. Picking it up and turning it off, the time read 4:25 A.M., signaling it was time to get ready for work. You got up, and went to open the blinds to your bedroom, watching the snow fall steadily. Slipping on your socks and bathrobe, you shuffled to the kitchen to get a cup of tea brewing before you hit the shower. 

Mornings like this weren’t incredibly tough anymore, once Shawn was gone on tour. He face-timed you once a week because of tour, sent you letters and packages from your favorite cities, and even had roses delivered on your birthday. And of course, he always said, “Lemme see it. I wanna see you wear that pretty ring. There it is, there she is, soon-to-be Mrs. Mendes.”

Slipping in the hot shower, you played some of his songs, some of your regular playlists, and when you were throwing on your outfit, your two’s song. You missed Shawn. He had missed your two’s favorite holiday, Halloween, where you two always did the cheesy couple costumes. He missed your birthday, but he sent his family in place. He missed Remembrance Day, because in Europe that wasn’t a thing. And tomorrow is Christmas, where he has no sign of coming home whatsoever. That’s fine, though, because you took the long shift at the hospital.

When the song came to an end, you threw on your coat and snow boots, grabbing all the food and equipment you would need for a 12-hour and began to head out. Shawn sent you his daily vlog and you watched that on the shuttle. Once that was over, you got to the hospital where you would forget about your slightly more aching heart. After work, the routine would basically go in reverse. Commute home, get back into your pajama’s, drink some tea, get dinner, and go to bed, where you would have a restless night in an empty bed.

“When do you think we should have the wedding?”

Shawn looked over, a piece of popcorn hanging onto his lip like a lifeline. His cheeks were flushed and he still looked a little sweaty from the show he just played at TD Garden. He knew you were doing the planning to keep yourself from descending into madness (well, not entirely, but you only brought it up when you really missed him). “I think we should do a summer/fall sort of wedding, like when the leaves are red but it isn’t freezing by 5, ya know?”

You hummed in agreement, a smile picking at the corners of your mouth. “I completely agree. Do you want it to be outdoors then, because of the leaves?”

Shawn took another few things of popcorn from the bag and popped them into his swollen lips, he always licked them when he was frustrated by how a show went, or just when his mind was reeling. “I think we should get married outdoors, and then have the reception indoors. Kind of like-”

“Twilight...”

You both looked at the screen and snorted, sending both of you into fits of hysteria. “Shawn, we really base our relationship off of those books, didn’t we?” He looked over, licking his lips once again. “Explain, babe. I get a little bit, but our whole relationship?”

You shuffled in the bed a little bit, “Hear me out, Shawn-y boy. We met when you were hurt and I had to save you, or more-so your career. Edward saved Bella from the car, right? Right. So, there’s that. Then that girl who you worked on the album with tried to get you on the few dates, but that was long after we were official. Boom, Jacob plot line. Then you leave me for your first tour, which I get 100%, so don’t be upset over that. But the girl you worked with saw you kind of sad and made it her mission to befriend you and then attempt to change your mind over me... And our song is the one from their wedding, and we want an outdoors-y wedding.....”

Shawn looked at the screen, then back to the popcorn leaking butter in his hands. “Damn. So you’re saying that I’m Bella?” You began to shake your head, cheeks turning red. “Maybe I meant that wrong, but-”

“No, no you’re saying I’m Bella. Does that mean I get to wear the dress? I cannot wait to get married with no emotions and then have the ugliest CGI baby in the history of cinematics. Aren’t you so excited for that, my love?”

“Absolutely thrilled.”

The alarm on your phone blared once again, pulling you from Shawn. You picked up the phone, getting a few “Merry Christmas” texts from family and friends. You assumed Shawn was out partying with his crew mates, plus it must’ve been a busy day altogether. Turning off the alarm and standing, you pulled on the slippers and followed your routine again. 

Once it got to 6:07, and still no text from Shawn, you decided to call him. Immediately, you were sent to voicemail. With a sigh, you waited for voicemail.

“Hey bubs, Merry Christmas! I miss you more than ever, it’s snowing here pretty rough. I know you’d probably go outside right about now and insist to make a snowman or some angels, so that might be a mission for me after work. Um, I wanted to let you know that I love you so much, and I hope you’re having fun on tour... The apartment isn’t the same without you here, especially around this time. You’re probably having fun with your friends and I don’t wanna intrude on that, so I’ll hang up. I love you Shawn, be careful. Stay safe, come back to me soon. Bye.”

Wiping the tear that fell down your cheek, you stepped outside your apartment, hopped into the elevator and began the commute to your shift. You got to work on record time, beginning your patient rounds and vitals, then celebrating with the coworkers. Working 6:30 AM-9:30 PM would be a tough one, but whatever to keep you under that roof. Plus, double-time because of the holiday.

Once it hit 9:30, you booked it out of the hospital and onto the shuttle. Your eyes were barely open as you saw the texts from Shawn.

(Shawn) 7:59 AM: Hey babe, I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your call! I can’t wait to see your face tonight, you still up for FaceTime?

(Shawn) 9:26 AM: I bet you’re busy, but I’m gonna be in a few conferences and doing press so I won’t be able to talk for a while. Love you!

(Shawn) 3:14 PM: (Y/N) I don’t think we can FaceTime tonight, I have to do something for a fan and it’s really important. I am so sorry.

(Shawn) 8:44 PM: Are you mad at me or are you still working?

(Shawn) 9:32 PM: Something is waiting for you at home, it’s your gift. I hope this can make up for the call!

You hopped out of the shuttle, heart feeling extra heavy as you walked into the apartment. The string lights and streamers along the walls were taunting you as the elevator brought you to your floor, and you tried to compose yourself until you would get inside. Stepping up to your door, you looked for the present, to no avail.

(Y/N) 9:45 PM: Shawn I don’t see a package

(Shawn) 9:45 PM: Mom must’ve brought it inside, I’m sure it’s there.

With a huff, you shoved the key into the door, and walked inside. Chucking your purse and coat onto the hooks, while flinging off your shoes, you composed yourself enough to look for the package. If he got it express-shipped it had to be good. Checking the kitchen was no luck, and the living room looked normal. 

(Shawn) 9:48 PM: Bedroom, babe

With a gasp, you quickly buzzed to the bedroom, and laid your hand on the door. You stopped, hesitant to what was behind the door. What if it isn’t him? Taking a deep breath, you dismissed the negative thought and opened.

The room was filled with lit tea lights, rose petals on the bed and the floor, and Shawn. He was standing there in that chunky-white knit sweater you loved, with flushed cheeks and watery eyes, holding a bouquet of flowers, and your favorite song playing softly in the background.

You gasped, running into his arms with a squeal and sob, him mimicking the sound. He held onto the small of your back, and one hand on the back of your neck, and you felt his tears falling onto your skin. “I missed you so much, (Y/N). You don’t even know.” He pulled back slightly pressing his lips to yours in a soft embrace.

After a minute of kissing, you pulled back. “Merry Christmas, Shawn.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

[pleasespellchimerical]

You know, as boring and dreadful as this winter has been so far, it really cannot top Christmas 2015.

In 2015, I was working at a regional theatre as an electrician and lighting op. We had five shows over the course of a season, but the Christmas show was the big one. The monster. The month-long endeavor that paid the bills for the rest of the year. 

(Small theatres are always hurting for money. Oftentimes, artistic integrity needs to be sacrificed to keep the lights on.)

Anyway, the big moneymaker for that year? A Christmas Story: The Musical. The worst part was? I kinda liked it. I’m not a fan of the film, but the musical had a real energy to its cheesy nostalgia. The songs are catchy as fuck. It seemed tasteless to me to do a show about a boy and his gun during a year that the US was averaging one mass shooting per day. But what do I know? The show paid our bills, and that was what counted.

I was shunted onto wardrobe crew for that show. The show was massive, we had a shortage of crew, and they figured it was easier to train a new lights op than it was to train a new wardrobe person. So instead of sitting back, pressing buttons, and doing the usual troubleshooting (the theatre’s lighting system and equipment was older than I was), I was thrust right into the thick of things. Getting hands on, running around, and working all the extra hours.

I wasn’t prepared for all the shit that would go down that month. None of us were.

This show was huge. We had nearly thirty cast members, including twelve kids. Each cast member had around three to five different costumes. Santa suits. Trick pants. Long thick wool coats that these poor actors would be sweating into for two hours. 

We started previews right after Thanksgiving, and my day would go something like this:

45 minute commute. Get to the theatre at 3 pm. Take two hours to check over everything and steam the garments. This was the most relaxing part of the day. No actors yet, just me, my fellow wardrobe tech, and the steamer gurgling away and occasionally spraying boiling water at me. 

After steaming, we’d lay out clean undergarments, make any repairs, and do our presets. At this point, the actors would start arriving, and after slapping wigs onto kids, my fellow crew and I would take a breather in the greenroom before go time.

The show was crazy. Multiple costume changes that we only had a minute to do. Ripping garments off of actors and stuffing them into new ones. I had to swap between wardrobe duties and moving the set, because the set was huge, and again, we had a shortage of crew. During intermission, I had to fight through all the actors to collect pieces for the second act, and set those up. After the show, I would start fixing the trick pants, deodorizing all the garments, retrieve the wigs before the kids started getting squirmy and tearing them off, and cleaning up.

I’d leave the theatre around midnight, and get home at 1 in the morning.

This was exhausting enough. But we were also pulling double duty some days - we had matinees twice a week, which brought us up to nine shows a week (for reference, Broadway only does eight). I took to napping on the greenroom couch during my breaks. And this went on for a solid month. Thanksgiving until New Years.

I would’ve been dead beat by this show if everything had gone perfectly.

Everything did not go perfectly.

There were the little things. The fact that the theatre building was falling apart, and the literal holes in the walls made sure that backstage was freezing. Everyone huddling around gas heaters. Kid actors being homophobic (half your colleagues right now are queer and you need to Stop). Kid actors (rich kid actors, mind you, who had fucking maids at home) not cleaning up their dressing stations. Grown actors being snooty. Grown actors deciding to deodorize their own costumes to the point where we had to hide the spray bottles (dry rot is a thing if you overdo it). The lights and dimmers deciding to catch fire, and me having to bolt from my tasks to help fix it. 

You know. The usual. 

Then there were the big things.

The drummer who couldn’t stop sexually harassing the women on the crew. The tap soloist tearing a thing in her foot, necessitating new costumes to fit her understudy. The Cold From Hell that got my fellow wardrobe person and I. The stage manager told us that she could hear us coughing from the audience.

We sounded like we should’ve been in a TB ward. I was living on coughdrops at that point.

Everyone was pretty much running on fumes after Christmas. The stage manager put in to skip the next show. I was still sick as a dog. We were also busy trying to get the drummer blacklisted.

And then, on closing day, a pump in the basement broke and flooded the entire basement with sewage water.

...the basement, which was our costume storage.

We had to herd the patrons to the restaurants next door and across the street, who had graciously opened their bathrooms for us to use. We roped off the basement and called an emergency plumber in. The only saving grace was that we wound up not being able to strike the costumes properly, instead sorting them into piles in the green room, which meant that we spent a lot less time on strike than we would’ve otherwise.

Exhibit A: Three thousand dollars worth of dry cleaning. 

The other saving grace was that I was no longer wardrobe crew after that day. I didn’t have to worry about the cleanup, or rescuing costumes for the next show. I got to go back to my lighting, dealing with my usual safety hazards of crumbling cables, bad wiring, and fiberglass dust.

The next show was a very small production, with a cast of seven adults. They were all lovely. It was quiet and uneventful, which was exactly what I needed.

Anyway. The real moral to this story is that it could always be worse, and it usually is for people in live entertainment during the holidays. 

I do miss working in the theatre, but I don’t miss shitshows like that. 

[imagine-loki]

Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6: Is This the Real Life?

AUTHOR: traveling-classicist

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: This chapter is M for triggering content

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: 

MENTIONS OF PAST RAPE, MENTIONS OF PAST DRUG ABUSE, MENTIONS OF PAST PSYCHOTIC EPISODES, PTSD AND PTSD RELATED FLASHBACKS

We are getting into Theo’s backstory a little in this chapter and she has been through it, ya’ll. From a literary standpoint, I’m playing with flashbacks (I’ve never written proper flashbacks before) and I would love some CC if you’re open to giving some.

Also, sorry for the wait between chaps for this and my other fic (Loki’s Daughter). I’m having some medical problems (not COVID-19 related, thank goodness) that I’ve been trying to sort out so, even though I’m not working, I haven’t had a ton of time to dedicate to writing.

Anywho, enough of me. Enjoy.

————————————————————————————————-

Theo staggered through the streets of Asgard, half-naked and covered in blood. She had no idea where she was. She could not see any street signs. She couldn’t find a taxi anywhere nor a subway station, not even a bus. All she could see in front of her were horses and carts. She must be near Central Park, she thought. That’s where all the tourists took those weird horse and carriage rides.

She really hated New York sometimes. There were cars and taxis everywhere until you needed one. The people parted around her as she limped through the street. Her foot hurt but she didn’t know why. She looked down. A little bit of blood squished up from between her toes with each step. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t have shoes on, she was quite sure she put some on this morning.

She looked up at the giant skyscrapers around her but did not recognize any of them. To her surprise, these buildings shown with a golden hue, unlike anything she had ever seen. They brought a new definition to a skyscraper, as they seemed to stretch upwards for miles. She squinted, covering her eyes to block the glare of brilliant light all around her. As she looked harder, she thought, for a split second, she could see flying vehicles darting about above some of the shorter buildings. She shook her head and looked again but they were still there zipping by one another. Thousands of them formed ribbons of traffic that wove in and out of the golden buildings around her.

Her eyes widened as she realized what they were. New York was under attack again. It was the Chitauri. It was Loki. He was back to take over Earth again.

It hadn’t been a dream. She had woken in a frenzy, covered in a cold sweat. Another nightmare, this time about Loki opening a portal to his army in her living room, but when she woke, she was not in her bed in her apartment. Nurses were surrounding her, holding cloths to her nose and mouth, restraining her to the bed. A man with a spear guarded the door. The sight of him sent Theo into a rage, she attacked the evil nurses with their drugs and ran away, not caring about the mess she made.

Now, she watched in terror as Asgardian skiffs flew about high above her head on their daily commutes across the city. She turned and ran, looking for a place to hide, running into an open marketplace. Vendors shouted prices and bids, selling goods and livestock from around the Realms. A man stepped in front of her, eager to sell her a decorative ceramic vase. She stepped one way but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path, speaking to her in a language she did not know.

            “What are you doing, you idiot? We’re under attack! Look!” she pointed at the sky, briefly revealing her breasts beneath the tattered, silken robes that draped over her shoulders. The man stared at her bare chest. She gasped, following his gaze, and smacked him, sending him careening through his shop stall. Broken ceramics and pots scattered across the pavement.

Theo looked down at her hand in shock. It was red and reverberated with the sting of the slap. The slap was only meant to remind him where her eyes were. Not to kill him. She trembled as she turned to see the man climbing out of his ruined stall. He pointed and yelled at her. She took off, relieved he was alive, but terrified of what might come next. She made for some crowded streets nearby. She pushed people out of the way as she went. They flew against the walls with her shoves.

“Excuse me! I’m sorry! Make way! I don’t know what’s happening to me! I’m not normally this strong!” she cried as she ran down the street, sending people flying through the air, overturning tables, chairs, and children.

She came out on another square. She doubled over, panting, putting her hands on her knees. She hated running. She thought it was the worst way someone could voluntarily abuse their body. She straightened up and blinked away tears. She tried to cover herself with what was left of the clothes she was wearing. She vaguely remembered trying to tear them off to see what the evil nurses had done to her.

When she felt she was sufficiently covered, she looked around, trying to get her bearings. She stood in a large, open square. People bustled about, laughing and talking. Some stopped to stare at her, pointing at her absurd choice of clothing. She turned around and gasped, nearly wetting herself at the sit in front of her: a gigantic, golden statue of Loki, the Asgardian terrorist that attacked New York, towered over the square. It stood as tall as the Empire State Building. His curved horns cast terrifying shadows on the ground around her. She shrieked.

People turned to look at her, staring at the half-naked girl, screaming in the newly dedicated garden square. Theo fled. A million thoughts and scenarios began rushing through her mind, none of them probable or even plausible. As she turned several corners down different streets and alleys, the best probable solution she could come to was that she had been in a coma for six years after Loki had conquered earth, enslaving humanity, and she had just woken up with superpowers.

Tripping over her own feet, she stumbled and fell. Before she could hit the ground, someone caught her. A massive, green hand gently lifted her back onto her feet. Her vision blurred. Her heart raced, skipping every other beat. She jumped and staggered back, looking up to see the Incredible Hulk standing in front of her. He cocked his head to one side and looked down at her.

            “No, no,” she said, stepping back. “No. This can’t be real. It’s a dream. I have to wake up.” She shook her head wildly, trying to force herself to wake up but it only made her dizzy. The pain began to creep into her chest. Her throat felt like it was closing; she couldn’t get air.

            “No dream,” the Hulk said, stepping towards her. She screamed and ran from him. “Wait, Naked Girl!” he shouted, chasing after her.

            Theo ran back through the alleys and onto the streets, pushing through the crowd, throwing people out of the way. They flew to the sides, hitting the walls of the buildings and the pavement. Pounding footsteps chased after her. The vibrations shook the ground beneath her feet as she ran. She darted down an alleyway and came out on another street.

            Suddenly, two crows divebombed her, pecking her head and pulling her hair and tattered clothes. They cawed at her and scratched her bare skin with their claws. Theo put her hands over her head and swatted at them, but they wouldn’t leave her alone.

            “No, you rats! Go away! I don’t have anything!” she cried.

            The people in the streets watched the poor, half-naked girl struggle as the birds attacked her. She swatted at one bird and caught it with the back of her hand. It flew backwards and hit the wall of a building, flopping pathetically to the ground. She tried to hit the other one, but the green giant rounded the corner and bounded towards her, arms outstretched.

            “Naked Girl, come here. Hulk help!” he shouted but it only frightened her more.

            He grabbed at her and the crows but missed, tearing away a piece of the silken bandage that covered Theo’s midriff. Stunned, Theo whipped around and backhanded the Hulk across the face. He staggered and fell to his hands and knees, still holding the torn cloth in his hand. He felt the spot on his face where she hit him and looked up at her. Anger boiled up from deep inside him as he slowly rose to his feet.

            Theo cowered beneath him, unable to fathom how she had knocked the Incredible Hulk halfway to the ground. Flashes of memory darted before her eyes.

An explosion, rubble flying into the air. A Chitauri vehicle flew overhead, closely chased by Iron Man. Bullets zipping past her head. The Hulk lifting a car and throwing it towards her.

She blinked the memories away. Staggering backwards, reeling from her first flashback in months, she put up her hand in defense, covering herself with her other arm. The Hulk still carried the cloth in his clenched fist. He stomped towards her, ready to smash her into the pavement. A lump caught in Theo’s throat. She was frozen to the spot. A circle of onlookers was beginning to form around them.

            “Someone call the guards!” a person shouted.

            “Get out of there, girl!” another cried.

            “What is that thing?”

            “It’s a monster!”

            “Stay back!”

            Hulk was jolted away from Theo by the cries of the people around them. He snorted at them and let out a roar that shook the buildings nearest them. The people screamed and ran away in terror like scurrying mice from a barn cat. Satisfied that he had taken care of the mean people that called him a monster, he turned back to the mean, naked girl who had hit him but she had vanished.

 Theo ran as fast as she could, tearing up through the streets. She had never run faster in her life. Tripping occasionally on her own bare feet or an uneven stone slate, she tried desperately to find a place to hide from her pursuer. Her feet began to hurt. The pain was beginning to seep back through her body, radiating from that spot on her chest.

Despite the pain, she found she was running for much longer than she ever had before; a new strength in her legs and lungs. Her strides were long and quick. Her head was on a constant swivel, looking for a place to hide. She ran across another open square and back into crowded narrow streets. Descending steps and turning corners, she thought the more turns and twists she could take, the faster she could lose the Hulk behind her.

She stopped. The world came to a screeching halt that sent her tumbling face-first into the cobbles. She was breathing hard from all the running. She made a mental note to never do it again. She propped herself up on one hand, covering herself with the other. A quick look around confirmed she was alone in the alleyway between two tall buildings.

            There was no sign of the Hulk. She looked up at the small patch of sky above, between the towers. The little flying vehicles she had seen before were nowhere to be seen now. She listened carefully. There were no screams or sounds of explosions. No bullets or blaster sounds. No flying whales or spangled superheroes. All she could see and hear were the sounds of a bustling city. In the distance, she could hear the familiar din of voices speaking languages she did not know, the sound of foot traffic, vendors selling goods, the sounds of machines – though they sounded a bit strange to her.

            “You’ve lost your mind,” she told herself. “Loki didn’t take over Manhattan or Earth, you moron. It wasn’t real. None of it was real! This is just a dream. You’re asleep!”

She pinched herself as hard as she could. The pain burned on her arm. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was real. Maybe she was hallucinating again; psychotic again. She made a sharp movement with her neck, turning her head as if she had been slapped by an invisible hand. She wrapped her arms around herself, as she came to the realization she had had another lapse in public.

“You didn’t see the Chitauri. You… You just saw… birds… or drones…? or one of Stark’s stupid demonstrations. Yeah, that’s probably it.” She nodded as she spoke to herself.

            “I don’t know what the Hell that statue was. Some art demo maybe? Some sick artist,” she reasoned. She rubbed her arms hard, trying to force the goosebumps that had risen on her skin away.

“And that wasn’t the real Hulk. It was just one of those buskers from Times Square… the ones that dress up like the Avengers and take pictures with the tourists… You… You just freaked out and… and… oh, no… you hit someone…” she said, putting her face in her hands. “No, no, no! You idiot! You hit tons of people!” she suddenly remembered the shopkeeper and all the people in the streets.

“No, no. We gotta go home. You gotta take your meds and call your doctor. No one is gonna believe you. We can’t go back to jail. No, no, not again.” Her voice quivered with fear at the thought of the police and a jail cell.

Her whole body began to tremble. She stood. Her knees knocked together. Afraid to walk towards the sounds of the city, she turned to walk down the steps of the alleyway. She had no idea where she was. Nothing looked familiar. She was not even sure if this was Manhattan anymore. Holding onto the wall for stability, she slowly made her way down the large steps, hoping it would lead out to a quieter area that had not seen her outburst.

            The steps ended, flattening out into a street. There were a few doorways on either side of the street, leading to dark shop entrances or bars or restaurants. She could smell food wafting down the street as she walked. She looked up. The buildings soared above her, taller than they ever were before. It made her dizzy. Looking back down at her bloody feet, she limped on, slowly. She could hear voices coming from somewhere further down the street. They were laughing and talking. Theo felt a sense of a calm wash over her. Perhaps she could ask someone for help.

She readjusted, making sure she was well covered and decent. She did not like the fact that her little, pudgy tummy was showing nor that her thighs were visible, save for her pineapple panties and the scraps of whatever silken robes she wore, nonetheless that both breasts were free if she did not keep them covered with her arm. As she fought with herself over what part of her body was most important to cover, her eyes fell heavy on the tattered remains of the garments she wore. Memories began to flash in front of her eyes again.

A dark alley. She lay on the ground in a sobbing heap. Her dealer stood over her, zipping up his pants. Her clothes were ripped and torn. He tossed a dirty needle and a packet on the ground in front of her and laughed.

The laughter rang in her ears. She stumbled backwards, slamming into a wall as if she had been hit. Tears had filled her eyes. She wanted to go home. She needed her medicine. She needed to text her therapist. She needed to meditate. She needed to hug a puppy.

            “Hello there, lass, are you alright?”

            A large man walked towards her. She jumped and covered her breasts with her hands. She turned and faced him, gasping a little as tears still ran down her cheeks. He was bald with a great black beard and fat face with rosy cheeks. He wore very strange clothing. Brown robes with silver patterning. His accent was unknown to Theo but Manhattan was full of accents.

            “Um, I—I don’t know where I am, sir. Can you help me? I’m looking for 81st Street. 81st and—”

            “81st Street? Ha! What have you been drinking tonight, lovely?”

            Theo took a step to the side, pressing up against the wall. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Oh, w—well, if you don’t know, that’s fine. I’ll just ask someone else. Thanks anyways.” She started to walk around him.

            “Hold on, hold on,” he said, taking a step in front of her. “Why don’t you come inside and have a drink with me and my friends? You can ask them where this, uh, 81st Street is. See if they know.”

            “Oh no, that’s alright. I, um, I really need to get home.” Her heart was racing. The man was looming over her now.

            “Your accent’s a bit funny. I don’t know what tiny Realm you’re from, pretty lassie, but it’s rude to refuse an invitation to drink with an Asgardian, especially when you’re naked,” he laughed.

He put his hand on her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall, pushing her up against it with his body. She wanted to scream but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, her hand left flew up from her side and punched the man, full force, under his chin. He flew backwards, hitting the other wall so hard it left a massive hole where his head hit. Theo was gasping for breath, memories of her self defense classes flashing through her mind.

“What’s going on out here?” a man shouted, running out of a doorway beside Theo.

            “He—He—He assaulted me!” she stammered. “I—I hit him to get him off of me but I didn’t mean to do that. I—” she trailed off, fearing she was admitting too much guilt over a man that clearly wanted to do her harm.

            The second man ran to the first, checking to see if he was alive. More men started to walk out of the door, carrying giant mugs of yellow drink in their hands. A sickening feeling washed over Theo. These were the man’s friends he had mentioned. If they were anything like him, things did not bode well for Theo.

            The fat man sat up with help from his friend. Blood ran from his lips into his beard. He spat out several bits of broken teeth onto the pavement and looked up at Theo. She turned to run but his ‘friends’ blocked her way. Five men encircled them. These men were practically giants, there was no way she would be able to fight them off. Her hand was still throbbing with the pain of hitting just one of them.

            “You all can have what’s left of her,” the big man huffed as he stood. He rushed at her. Theo screamed, throwing a fist blindly. She stumbled backwards, slipping on a loose cobblestone. The man caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. Her face was suddenly pressed up against the cold stone of the wall. She shoved back with all her might, sending them both careening backwards. Dizzied by the amount of strength she was displaying, she turned to see the other men closing in on her.

            There was a sudden flash of green. Three men disappeared in the flash, leaving behind only guttural, blood-curdling screams and a single boot that had fallen off an unsuspecting foot. Silence fell over the fight. Theo took her chance to run but the big man caught her with the back of his hand, splaying her onto the ground. Stars flew before her eyes. The right side of her face went numb. She tasted blood but she was not sure where from. She had never been hit so hard before. She swayed deliriously on the ground for a moment before she heard another shriek from a man, followed by a gust of wind.

            “What is this?” the fat man shouted. Now, only two of them remained.

            Theo tried to get up but her head still spun from the blow. She lowered herself back down. As her elbow hit the pavement, the ground shook underneath her. She cried out, thinking for a moment something must have exploded or even that she had caused the ground to quake. She covered her head with her hands. Peeking out from beneath them, the Hulk towered over her.

            Hulk glared at the two men hurting the naked girl. The took a few cautionary steps backwardss. He looked down at the naked girl, she was crying and bleeding. He gently stepped over her. She shrunk to the ground beneath him, cowering, trying to make herself as small as possible surrounded by the massive men. One man turned and tried to scamper away. Hulk took a single step forward and caught him in his fist. The man wriggled and writhed, squealing with fear. Hulk gave him a squeeze, turning his gaze to the big man. The man in his fist popped, writhing no more. The naked girl let out a yelp and hid her face. Tossing his body aside, Hulk turned his full attention to the big man.

            Theo never knew what happened to that man. She didn’t want to. All she heard was a yelp, a rip of fabric, and what she feared was skin and bone, before she slammed her hands against her ears. Pulling herself to her feet, her eyes clamped shut, she ran in the opposite direction of whatever horrors the Hulk was performing to the big man’s corpse. After running some distance, she found the courage to open her eyes.

            She came out of the dark alleys onto a sunny, bright street. The light blinded her for a moment, glaring off the golden buildings. She put her hand over her eyes. She heard caws overhead and looked up into the sun. For a brief moment, she saw the silhouettes of the two dive-bombing crows before she doubled over, baring her back to them so they did not peck at her face. They screeched and cawed at her, scratching her just as before. She looked up from the chaos to see three men with spears running towards her, shouting at her. In her panic, she swatted hard at the birds, making contact again with at least one of the feathery demons before fleeing back down the alleyway she had come.

            She saw another alley to turn down and took a sharp left, then another, then a right. The network of alleys closes, and stairs were her only escape. She turned down a dark crevice between two buildings that dead-ended. Slumping down against the wall, she panted and cried. She sat there, rocking herself, trying to calm down. She pulled on her hair and dug her nails into her skin, chewing her lips and the insides of her cheeks. Her breath came in shuddering gasps. A sudden pain racked her body. She grabbed at its epicenter: a spot on her chest. She looked down. She could see a gaping wound down the middle of her chest in the dim light of the alley. Another flashback hit her like a brick wall.

A figure in golden armor and curved horns stood at the helm of a fast-approaching Chitauri vehicle. Explosions billowed up on either side of the street. She had nowhere to go. Frozen to the spot in the middle of the street, she saw a flash of blue light and felt a searing pain in her chest.

            “No, Naked Girl, no cry.”

            Theo screamed. A giant hand covered her face, muffling her, smothering her. She flailed and clawed at the hand but it was no use.

            “Shhhh, guards hear you,” Hulk said in his lowest possible voice. He peered around the corner. Heavy metal boots echoed on the pavement above them as the guards searched helplessly for the Midgardian girl in the endless maze of alleyways.

            “I…Can’t…Breathe…” Theo squeaked, muffled beneath the Hulk’s giant paw.

            “Oh, sorry, Naked Girl,” he said, letting go of her. “No scream.”

            She gasped, coughing as fresh air filled her lungs. She took in a deep breath to scream again but Hulk made a move to cover her face. She froze, the scream caught in her windpipe. She quickly covered her mouth with her own hands. Hulk stared at her, sitting still with his hand raised, ready to smother her if she made more noise. Theo swallowed her scream and slowly tried to back away from Hulk.

            “Naked Girl hurt,” Hulk said, pointing at Theo. She wasn’t quite sure what part of her he was referring to. She hurt all over: her face, her chest, her feet. “Hulk help.”

            Theo glanced around. She shook her head. “Y-You’ve done enough. Th-Thank you,” she stammered, nodding at him.

            He shook his head. “No, Hulk know safe place. Hulk take Naked Girl.”

            “No! Hulk will not take Naked Gi-, what am I saying? I’m not going with you.”

            “Yes.”

            “No!”

            “Yes.”

            “NO! And that’s final,” she said, standing, trying to cover herself again. “I’m done with men telling me what to do.”

            Hulk stood, making Theo scrunch up against the wall. “But Hulk want to help.”

            “Please, just go away,” Theo cried, hugging the wall.

            Hulk looked at the ground. He did not like seeing the Naked Girl cry. She slipped back down to her knees, collapsing onto the ground as she cried. Then, he remembered something. Digging in the pocket of his trousers, he pulled out the ripped piece of fabric he had torn from her bandages earlier. He felt its smoothness in his hands and then offered it to her.

            Theo looked up at him and then at the cloth in his hand. She sniffled and gingerly took it from him. A smile spread across his face. She sat there a moment with the cloth in her hand.

            “Oh,” Hulk said. “Hulk sorry.” He turned around to face the other way, putting his back to her.

Theo glanced towards the open alleyway; her only escape route now that his back was turned. Pushing herself up onto one knee, she tried to stand again but wobbled uncontrollably, still reeling from the blow she had received. She plopped back down onto her butt and sighed. There was no way she would be able to run anymore. Her legs felt like jelly and her feet were bleeding. She could taste blood in her mouth and her chest throbbed with an intense percussive pain. She gave in and took the cloth, tying it around her chest for some proper coverage at last.

“You—you can turn around now,” she said.

Hulk turned and saw she was decent. He grunted. “Good. Now, we go.”

“Go where? Where’s this safe place?”

“Outside city! Hulk knows way. Come on.” He stood and walked out into the adjacent alley.

Theo leapt up, sending her head spinning like a top. “Wait! Wait! We can’t go out there!” she said, trying to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t smother her again. She wobbled on her spaghetti legs, leaning on Hulk’s massive arm for balance. “Those cops are after me.”

“You? Ha! No cops. Guards,” he said slowly to her so she would understand. “Follow Hulk.”

Theo shook her head in despair. He turned down the alleyway and beckoned her to follow. She looked back towards the sound of the pounding metal boots. This dream kept sucking her back in; she did not know what reality to trust.

            “Naked Girl coming?” Hulk asked as he walked.

            Theo sighed, looking down at the ground. She didn’t have much of a choice. If she was stuck in this dream and Hulk was going to take her somewhere safe, maybe she would wake up there, she figured. She followed after him, down the alley steps.

            “My name is Theo, by the way,” she said, sheepishly.

            He grunted at her. She looked around awkwardly, the silence biting into her. As they descended the steps, they descended further into darkness. Despite it being broad daylight above, their position at the base and in between the massive buildings that towered all around them, shadowed the sun and left them in a state of semi-permanent twilight. Theo stayed close to Hulk, keeping her eyes on every dark door they passed, in case some other greasy, greedy men would step out to harass them.

            Suddenly, Hulk stopped. Theo bumped into him. She quickly jumped back.

            “I—I’m sorry,” she said.

            He grunted again and knelt down, inspecting the ground. Theo glanced about, warier of the dark street they were on than whatever he was looking at. She looked up at the blue sky far, far above them. It seemed unfathomably far away. Looking straight up the buildings made her dizzy. She started to sway but Hulk steadied her. She flinched at his touch, taking a step to the side.

            “Wh—What are you doing?” she asked, quietly.

            He looked down at the ground again and brushed off a dirty manhole cover. It was massive; nearly ten feet in diameter. As Hulk rubbed away some of the grime, Theo could make out intricate knotwork in the metalwork of the cover. She had never seen anything like it. Not that she paid a whole lot of attention to the manhole covers of Manhattan but this one was simply huge. She thought she had seen knotwork like it before. Perhaps it was Celtic? No, she thought, it was more familiar.

A book on her coffee table. Odin sipped his coffee. She sat down beside him and picked it up. Another Norse mythology book. Turning the page, it showed an image of an old manuscript with intricate knotwork. A triquetra, an ornate knotwork border around the page, and an intricately designed world tree made of knots.

Odin! She had forgotten all about Odin. Everything was fuzzy. She tried to remember back further but it was like trying to catch fish with her hands in murky water. She put her hands on her head and closed her eyes but nothing came to her. She groaned. Why couldn’t she have flashbacks to the things she wanted to remember?

            Hulk stood, putting his fingers into a few holes on one edge of the cover and lifting it with terrifying ease. He pushed it aside and gestured for Theo to go down the hole beneath. She peered down into the blackness below. She thought it was dark in the alleyway but no light reached the bottom of the sewer drain. She looked up, glaring at the wall, trying to think of what correlations her subconscious was trying to point out about her life by having her literally end up in the gutter in her dreams.

            “We’re going down a stinky, dirty sewer? That’s your safe place?” she asked Hulk, folding her arms.

            “Not stinky! Little dirty,” he admitted. “But safe! No guards.”

            “Ugh, well, I guess it doesn’t matter if this is just a dream,” she said, as she reluctantly climbed down. “I think.”

[mongrel-eyes]

Everything I Read in 2019

In total, I read 45 books of my own accord in 2019, and there were probably about one-fourth as many that I started but never ended up finishing. A loose goal for myself (which I formed in the later half of the year as I realized that I had read quite a lot) was to reach 52 books so that I would effectively have one book per week of the year. That obviously didn’t happen, but it’s not something I feel was of great importance. Last year, I read 10 books (I think I may have read a few more than that, but I don’t remember). That was more than all the books I’d read in the past 7 years added together. The past decade has been a rollercoaster, but this final year has brought something of a conclusion, closure, and some healing. It’s the end of one novel of my life - time for the next.

2019 Booklist

The Slow Regard of Silent Things // Patrick Rothfuss

I have read all of the books published for The Kingkiller Chronicle thusfar; however, The Slow Regard of Silent Things honestly trumps both The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear for me (and I do not say this lightly because I think both novels are fantastic, and I was practically drunk and grinning from ear to ear after reading “A Silence of Three Parts” for the first time). Auri’s quirks and the way she sees and moves through the world is nearly identical to what I have experienced for much of my life. The first time I read this book, I wept because I saw myself so vividly written in its pages. Though it is short, and I think many would deem it as not particularly exciting or significant, I understand it very deeply. As Rothfuss writes in his end letter: it is not a normal story for normal readers; it is a story for the storytellers and the dreamers.

The Magician’s Nephew // C.S. Lewis The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe // C.S. Lewis The Horse and His Boy // C.S. Lewis Prince Caspian // C.S. Lewis The Voyage of the Dawn Treader // C.S. Lewis The Silver Chair // C.S. Lewis The Last Battle // C.S. Lewis

I grew up reading C.S. Lewis’s stories of Narnia. One of my earliest memories is of listening to an audiotape recording of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I remember exactly where I was in this memory, and the exact sentences of the book being read to me through the car speakers. Narnia has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, and it was good to visit again after such a long time away. Thanks to a variety of health problems which had all but wiped out my long-term personal memories, I remembered only an echo of the enchantment of these books, and when I picked them up again early in the year, I was not disappointed.

Educated // Tara Westover

Educated was a hard book for me to read. It was raw and powerful, and I know a fraction of the pain and circumstance Westover describes. In one portion of the book, she writes that believing you are not hurt is sometimes the way in which abuse hurts you the most. I understood that, and by the end I felt so proud of this strong young woman who challenged her entire world. It wasn’t always pretty or heroic (oftentimes it was ugly and lonely), but it was true.

Bridge to Terabithia // Katherine Paterson

I grew up 10 miles away from the small town which served as the inspiration for Lark Creek. It has been a powerful and significant story in my life from the time I first read it early in 2009. Again, due to failing memory, I only recalled an echo of what it really was. One spring morning, I walked outside, hung in my hammock and didn’t budge until I had read this book from cover to cover. It was like reuniting with a very old friend.

Mortal Engines // Philip Reeve

I became interested in Mortal Engines because of the trailers for the upcoming film that kept showing up for me in Spotify. I was thoroughly warned by the internet to steer clear of the film (I still would like to see it at some point, but I don’t have high hopes), but my friend highly recommended that I read the book. I actually listened to the audiobook recording from Hoopla. Barnaby Edwards is a brilliant narrator, and I loved every minute of it. It was not the kind of story that struck me to my absolute core (personally), but it was powerful and captivating all the same.

Where the Forest Meets the Stars // Glendy Vanderah

I picked up this book because I liked the title, nothing more. It turned out to be a beautiful story of the making of a beautiful family (it also made for a beautiful hardcover). It was unfortunately triggering at one point, but despite that I enjoyed the story and the characters and the cleverness crafted into Ursa’s character.

Perelandra // C.S. Lewis

In the Fall/Winter of 2018, I listened to Out of the Silent Planet on my commutes to and from school. Many years ago (I can’t even remember how long), I had read Out of the Silent Planet but had quite forgotten anything about it other than that the main character’s name was Ransom. After returning to it at the end of last year, I listened to Perelandra in late May. Out of all of books in the Space Trilogy, I found this one to be the slowest and least interesting. However, that is not to say that I did not enjoy the book. Lewis’s descriptions of the world on Venus were riveting and vivid, and listening to and analyzing the debate/war between Ransom and Weston was of particular interest and importance to me.

That Hideous Strength // C.S. Lewis

Following Perelandra, I immediately listened to That Hideous Strength. It surprised me later to learn that this third installment of the Space Trilogy was received with the least positive appraisal of the three. I found it to be my favourite of them all. I see many echoes between this fiction and the reality which we face, and that was somewhat intriguing, frightening, and comforting all jumbled together. I have a theory (or more accurately, a hypothesis) which I refer to as “the mortal gods.” I won’t go into any details of it here, but I felt in That Hideous Strength that C.S. Lewis understood my mortal gods. He just called them by different names.

Night Flights // Philip Reeve

I listened to this book on Hoopla, and though it was short I thoroughly enjoyed learning more about the character of Anna Fang. This story provides details on how she rose to become the notorious Wind Flower plaguing the cities from Mortal Engines.

I Rode a Horse of Milk-White Jade // Diane Wilson

I first read this book when I was younger than 9 years old. Even back then, I loved this book, and when I returned to it this year, I loved it again. I had not even touched it for over 10 years. When I was very young, I had a great respect for the Mongolian nomads; and, of course, since this book brought those people to life, it became and is very special to me.

The Bible (English Standard Version)

Though I was raised in a religious household, I had never actually read the Bible from cover to cover (although I had read the majority of it in bits and parts throughout my life and been lectured on it for countless hours). It took me 3 months to slog through it, but in the end, it wasn’t just slogging. I found that if I put aside everything I thought I knew about this book and read it as if it was historic mythology instead of whatever rigid, legalistic stories and verses I had been led to believe it was when I was younger, it came alive in the way the story of Icarus comes alive every time you read a new rendition or see a new painting. C.S. Lewis described it as “true myth,” and I am inclined to believe that approaching it as “myth” is perhaps the most accurate of all the different ways in which I see people trying to describe or understand it and failing in their attempts to squash a god (seriously, the thought of a god in and of itself is mind-bending if you really stop to think about it) to fit into the tiny boxes of their mortal lives.

The Wanderer’s Journal: A Journey Through the Heart of Hallownest // Kari Fry & Ryan Novak

Saying I loved the game Hollow Knight is an understatement. Of course, when Fangamer announced they would be publishing a wanderer’s journal in collaboration with Team Cherry, I had to read it. I’ve always loved field guide-esque books (specifically, Dragonology), so of course I was especially delighted while reading the journal.

The Hobbit // J.R.R. Tolkien

Previously, I had only listened to The Hobbit as an audiobook. Once. That was over 10 years ago (probably closer to 13 or 15 years). This summer, I finally read the words written on the pages myself. Middle Earth is home to me, and it was good to be home.

The Book of Three // Lloyd Alexander The Black Cauldron // Lloyd Alexander The Castle of Llyr // Lloyd Alexander Taran Wanderer // Lloyd Alexander The High King // Lloyd Alexander The Foundling // Lloyd Alexander

I remember I was in the car with my mom and sister on the way to Nowhere one day. I was reading a book of my own in the back (I have a vague recollection that it might have been from the Redwall series by Brian Jacques) when my mom announced that she had a new series from the library that she wanted us all to listen to together in the car. Initially, I was annoyed because my mom did not always pick out the most interesting of books (there had been occasions where I was bored to tears when she picked something), but I grudgingly gave in. Of course, it was The Prydain Chronicles. I returned to these books this summer and barreled through them within two days (during which I had been excused from work with a doctor’s note due to a curious situation). Middle Earth is home, but Prydain (alongside Narnia) has to be a close second.

Native American Myths // Diana Ferguson

I have held great respect and admiration for the Native Americans and their cultures for as long as I can remember. Over the years, I’ve read books on Norse, Welsh, English, German, Greek, Egyptian, and Sumerian mythology; however, finding good books on Native American mythology seemed almost impossible (at one point I did find a book of Native American myths centered around Raven in a used bookstore but it was 60USD, and while I did want it very much, I was a poor student who couldn’t afford expensive second-hand books). Ferguson’s compilation of myths was fascinating to read. Some of the stories I had heard echoes of before in various places, but Ferguson also provided anecdotes and insights of how these myths were woven into the Native American tribes and cultures. Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed learning even a little bit more about these people whom I have admired since I was a small child.

The Fellowship of the Ring // J.R.R. Tolkien

[ See The Return of the King ]

The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen // Lloyd Alexander

I started out reading this story expecting it to be one thing, but it turned out to be something else entirely. I had read it before a long time ago and gotten it mixed up with a different story I have been able to vaguely recall but unable to find for 10 years and counting. Jen’s story is captivating and lovely in its own right – simple and enchanting, like a dandelion wish.

The Two Towers // J.R.R. Tolkien

[ See The Return of the King ]

Tolkien and Lewis: The Gift of Friendship // Colin Duriez

Despite having read the vast majority of Tolkien’s literature and a good amount of Lewis’s, I had never read a biography of either of them. I found this biography addressing both authors and their unique friendship. I enjoyed learning more about both of them and how their relationship formed and affected each other’s work.

The Return of the King // J.R.R. Tolkien

[Unlike Narnia and Prydain, I felt I couldn’t lump the titles of The Lord of the Rings together and still maintain the chronological list; therefore, the first two titles received no paragraph, but here is a summary for all three.]

In lieu of how easy it is to just watch Peter Jackson’s film adaptations, it’s easy to forget how deep and rich Tolkien’s writing really is. I can say this with honesty and without judgement, because I forgot too. Relearning the depths of Tolkien and rediscovering why I came to love and live and breathe Middle Earth in my childhood in the first place was powerful and healing for me. If you’ve only watched the movies, you’re honestly really missing out. Yes, Tolkien loves to talk about plants and trees and forests to no end, and maybe that’s not your thing and that’s okay; however, these stories are pure magic – tried and true.

The Raven Boys // Maggie Stiefvater The Dream Thieves // Maggie Stiefvater Blue Lily, Lily Blue // Maggie Stiefvater The Raven King (+Opal) // Maggie Stiefvater

I had tried to listen to The Raven Boys on Hoopla earlier in the year and become bored to tears – the narrator was just that bad and I felt the whole thing was just doomed to become a terrible love polygon. Several months later, a friend encouraged me to give it another try. I did (this time reading it straight from the page), and I was delightedly surprised. I had heard of The Raven Cycle for years but been too scared to pick it up (honestly, love polygons can be terrible things), but I’m glad that this year I finally did.

Carry On // Rainbow Rowell

I heard of Carry On while in the midst of reading The Raven Cycle. I found it to be highly amusing: reminiscent of Percy Jackson, but perhaps with better writing (in my personal opinion; I still have a fondness for Percy).

Comet in Moominland // Tove Jansson

I have seen screenshots of the 90’s Moomin show for years but never bothered to truly figure out where they came from until recently. I learned that Moomin originally came from a book. I thought it would be a picture book, and I was pleasantly surprised when I learned that Moomin actually came from a book book. I found Comet in Moominland to be heartwarming and cute with beautiful illustrations and words that can speak to the oldest soul, despite being a children’s book.

Call Down the Hawk // Maggie Stiefvater

Ronan was my favourite character from The Raven Cycle because I felt I understood him the most, which is a rather amusing sentiment to me on the surface level since I am probably one of the least edgy people you will ever meet. Learning more about Stiefvater’s world of Dreamers was particularly interesting and important to me (dreams have always been important to me, and dreams have shaped a good part of my life, actually). Chapter 3 (starts on page 19 of the hardcover copy) was very much like reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things for me: I understood, and I felt understood.

Tales from Moominvalley // Tove Jansson

A collection of cute short stories from Jansson’s Moomins. These were amusing, but at this point Moomins are important to me, so the book was very special all the same.

Six of Crows // Leigh Bardugo Crooked Kingdom // Leigh Bardugo

Six of Crows is a significant book to me. I remember when it was first published in 2015. I heard of it and immediately wanted to read it; however, there were many circumstances and unfortunate happenings which led to me not being able to read it until this year. The duology is now ranked among the stories which made me. To me, it’s a victory song.

The Moomins and the Great Flood // Tove Jansson

I had heard talk of the Great Flood in Comet in Moominland and been slightly confused from it being out of context. This book provided the context for this flood and is somewhat of a prequel to the rest of the Moomin books. As always, it’s a cute story with wonderful illustrations.

Shadow and Bone // Leigh Bardugo Siege and Storm // Leigh Bardugo Ruin and Rising // Leigh Bardugo

After finishing the Six of Crows duology, I learned that it was actually a sequel series to Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone trilogy. I finished Ruin and Rising last night and while I didn’t enjoy the trilogy as much as Six of Crows, it provided context for some of the characters featured in the duology, and I enjoyed the characters of Alina and Mal as well as learning more about Bardugo’s Grishaverse.

Other Reading

For school, continuing education, etc… Basically stuff I was compelled to read in one way or another.

Gilgamesh (English version by N.K. Sanders)

“The sleeping and the dead, how alike they are, they are like a painted death.”

The Song of Roland (translated and with an introduction by Robert Harrison)

I’d read this long ago, and re-reading it would have been a better experience if I wasn’t being pressed into writing a paper about it for a professor who was Machiavellian in behaviour but only intelligent in his own pride (these are gentle words).

The Prince // Niccolò Machiavelli

I seriously hate this guy.

The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious People // Oscar Wilde

I read this for a compare-contrast essay between the original play and the 2002 film adaptation. I thought it would be annoying and tedious to re-read, but I actually enjoyed it because the professor was simply a delight to work with.

A General Introduction to the Bible // Norman L. Geisler and William E. Nix (8th printing, 1975)

I’ve always been interested in how the Bible came to be compiled because almost no one talks about it (asking questions on this topic basically got me excommunicated when I was 12 hah). I read this book to find the answers to the questions I suffered for asking. I found some answers and a whole lot of data (seriously, these people aren’t messing around).

In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens // Alice Walker

A beautiful short story – perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read.

[poesia-vivir]

Almost every morning on my commute to work, I would blast Will Reagan and UP’s “Looking for a Saviour” on repeat, and there’s always that stand out lyric in the chorus that I never quite understood, “May a broken God be known.” Wait, but how could perfection be broken?

God is not broken in the way that He needs to be fixed. Rather, He is like a beautiful oxymoron. He is both the Lion and the Lamb. He came as fully human, but still fully God. A divine King who takes on the brokenness of man. That’s how Nathan Fray (co-founder of United Pursuit) explained it.

I take that the song is generally about the addiction to certainty, and truth. I listen to this song and I am always brought back to August 2017, when a couple of friends and I flew off to Greece. We visited Athens, but stayed on the island of Lesvos for 3 weeks, serving at a refugee camp that held the very brokenness of man.

There were days at this camp where my faith really wavered. The stories were heartwrenching, the camp was overpopulated, the tension between people groups was nerve-racking for such a reason that a fight could break out at any moment. You could feel the hopelessness linger on your skin, even when your shift was over. I was warned about what I was walking into, and I have read and seen so many photos or footage online, I thought I was prepared. They say cameras add 10 pounds, but the heaviness you felt walking through those gates was completely raw and overwhelming. I don’t think any type of warning could prepare you for the moment you enter Moria. You walk in the camp, a former prison. Gates after gates. Volunteers as guards. Barbwires. Cargo containers. Tents on the road. The scent of feces, garbage, and dust. First week in, my questions were growing more than my faith was. “Where are you God?” I expected Him to hold my hand because I needed Him to be more tangible than ever.

Then He came to me, but in the form of a 2 year old Syrian girl who actually held my hand, and begged for me to carry her. She sat with me most days when I needed to guard her gate. She played with me, and sat on my lap with her leaky poopy diaper. She’d cry to me when her older brother would be unfair. Her cunning little smirk that always meant she was about to run away to make me chase her. Her and her family moved to another camp, a safer one, thankfully. I never got to say goodbye, but she left a lasting mark. I still pray that the family is having a much a better life than the one they had to leave behind.

But I saw God in that camp. I saw Him in those men, women, and children begging for more food, more water, or more milk formula for their new borns. I saw Him in the Yemeni woman who helped translate for a stranger having a panic attack. I saw Him in the little boys wanting you to play soccer, shouting from afar, “my friend, my friend!” I saw Him in the older Afghan woman who carried her autistic child on her back up a steep hill. I saw Him in the young girl who’d greet me with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. I saw Him in the man who would dance and sing to make me laugh. The man who built shade over my head when the day got hot. I saw God in the man teaching me Farsi, the man teaching me Kurdish, and the little boy teaching me Arabic. I saw Him in the face of the man who had scars on his wrists, with a little hope in his eyes. In the restless. The numb. The grieving. The joyful. The hopeful. I saw God but in that broken way, where even though He is Lord, He is also “the least of the these.”

Humanity is broken, but I acknowledge that I am merely cracked. As in, I live a very comfortable life and I complain that it is too mundane. I live in one of the most livable cities on Earth, and yet some days I’m still itching to leave. I was born into a life of privilege. I’ve never had to worry about my family or my own life being taken out by a bomb. I’ve never had to flee my country because it was safer anywhere else. It is actually easier for me to fix my “first world problems” than those whose lives have completely shattered. There’s just no reason why I would deserve any basic need more than anyone else. “I worked hard for this life” belittles the hardworking teacher I met whose classroom fell apart over his head due to a bomb attack. Or the man who was an activist and advocate for women’s rights and had to flee his country because that would have gotten him killed. The doctor, the pharmacist, or the entrepreneur of a soap company. It is not fair to the little Syrian girl who is now here, getting her ears checked almost every month because she lost her hearing at 4 years old due to a bomb that nearly took her life. I cannot look her in the eyes and tell she doesn’t deserve these treatments. It’s not fair to the Syrian family that lost their little girl to suicide due to bullying. I cannot even look her mother in the eyes, because they did not leave a place of despair only to find it again here.

We don’t need to go to a war-torn country, or volunteer in a refugee camp to realize that the time is now. We are in a time of adversity and tension. So the time is now. We start to bridge that gap, we mend that brokenness, and we end that division. That we stop holding an entire religion or people group to the poor representation on our televisions. There is still something common amongst us all and that is kindness, compassion, goodness, warmth, pain, grief, and empathy.

As countries are crying out for mercy. Christian’s, my heart is that we would bring what comes after this down, in the here and now; the beautiful picture of every tribe, every tongue, every nation. No wall, all barriers broken. Truly believing that there is beauty in the making, and firmly believing that every tear will be wiped away. We refuse to let evil get the last word and refuse to accept weariness and division be our world’s narrative. In 2020, I want to believe in the beautiful transformation of the Jericho Road to a restored Garden of Eden. Will you believe, act, and pray with me?

[moody-blues-requiem]

I didn’t know I needed it before, but please continue the Diavolo infinite death story, you left it at such a tantalizing place, and I want him (and Doppio if possible) to have a happier fate.

anon I’m sorry this took so long but it’s by far the longest thing I’ve written for this blog (5 pages in google docs, 11pt font)

continuation of this, cut for length

You swore it was an accident.

Ever since you had found the arrow shard, you’d been using it as your last tangible reminder of Diavolo. He left as little physical evidence of himself as he could all throughout his life, but the arrowhead proved he had been with you. It was comforting to trace your thumb over the intricate carvings and remember the time you had spent with the Boss of Passione.

Of course, it was only so long before you slipped-- literally. Your thumb slid off a carving of a vine and over the edge, slicing your skin and drawing blood. You cursed under your breath, dropping the arrow and grabbing for a tissue to keep the blood from dripping on your clothes.

You bandaged the cut and forgot about it until the evening, when a fever started to bloom beneath your skin. Sweat pooled at your brow, your vision came and went, you couldn’t keep anything down that wasn’t water. You decided your best option was to sleep, but sleep was hard to come by. Pain wracked your body, your very bones felt as if they were burning. It was a fever unlike anything you’d felt before.

And in an instant, the fever broke, and you fell into sleep.

You awoke, groggy, but with no trace of the mysterious fever that you’d been hit with the night before. You reached for your phone, cracking your eyes open, but then you froze. Sitting on your chest was a bird.

It was a beautiful lavender color, with a long tail that curled like ribbon on a present. It had a small feather on its’ head, making it resemble a quail, and bright red eyes. Were you still sick with hallucinations? What was this?

“Hello,” you said to the bird. It tilted its’ head at you. You tried to recall everything Diavolo had told you about that arrow. Something about stands? You knew he had a stand called King Crimson, but you’d never been able to see it. “Are you my stand?”

The bird simply blinked.

“Okay,” you said, “I’m gonna go back to sleep. We’ll figure out what you are in the morning.”

Over the next few days you determined that this bird was a stand, your stand. You had taken to calling it Melodrama, and it seemed to enjoy sitting on your shoulder. Through trial, error, practice, and intuition, you learned its’ ability: it could track souls. So long as you had had physical contact with a person at some point, all you had to do think of wanting to locate them and Melodrama would flap its’ wings, creating a map in front of you out of what looked like glowing particles of dust. It would locate who you wanted to track, and show you their movements like a real-time GPS.

Of course, you tried it on Diavolo.

He was… difficult to locate. The first time you tried it the map didn’t change, leaving you disappointed, but not surprised. But that didn’t stop you, and neither did the second, third, and fourth times you came up empty-handed.

The fifth try, you nearly fell back in shock when the map began to move. It zoomed in on a golden light, Diavolo’s soul, not too far from the Colosseum. All you could do was watch, stunned that Diavolo was alive. You spent a few minutes tracking his movements around narrow streets and alleys, until the dot stopped moving and then flickered out. The map faded in front of your eyes. Melodrama chirped. The world seemed still.

After a few minutes spent processing what you had just learned, you knew what you needed to do.

Diavolo’s soul jumped between different universes, multiple ones if you had to guess. Only sometimes was he in yours. At least, that was your theory, but the fine details weren’t as important as the bulk of your plan. You watched Diavolo’s soul, It would appear somewhere near the Colosseum about once every day-- not at the same time every day, but about once a day. You worked quickly, eager to set your plan in motion: buying the soonest train ticket to Rome, a night in a cheap hotel, and packing a light overnight bag.

You found him by chance.

It was far too early for anyone to be awake, but you were, mind clouded with anxiety as you stared out the window, watching vendors set up shop for the day. The cheap provided coffee maker gurgled, filling the room with the smell of coffee grounds as the little pot started to fill. Your eyes lazily followed the dim sidewalk, and your heart froze as they caught a flash of hot pink.

The coffee was left forgotten as you ran to the street.

Diavolo knew death was waiting for him, he simply wanted a few moments of peace before it came. The morning air was cool and the city was silent, only a few stray souls passing by, none seeming to notice him. Regardless, Diavolo was paranoid, checking his back once, twice, and again for anyone waiting in the shadows to stab him. A fast movement caught his eye across the street and he flinched, ready to turn and run for it. But a single word stopped him.

“Diavolo!”

You saw the fear in his body language, and so you called out to him. You knew he would hate hearing his name called in a public space, but seeing you would outweigh his fears. The emotion in his eyes changed from fear to confusion to disbelief, and joy. He was at a loss for words, choosing to run towards you instead, meeting you in the middle of the street and pulling you into a tight embrace.

“You’re here,” he whispered tearfully, “you…. You got my gift, didn’t you? You found me…”

Tears were beginning to spill over your eyes as well. “I did! Oh, Dia, I missed--”

A loud screech, a bright light, and a car horn. Of course, fate wasn’t going to be kind to Diavolo.

As fast as he had come to hug you he pushed you away. You reached for him, managing to scratch his forearm before you were thrown to the side. The car slammed full-force into his body, sending him flying, and finally, crumpling on the dirty cobblestone street.

Ignoring the commotion around you, you ran to his side. He was bleeding, barely breathing but not conscious, and one of his arms was broken at an awkward angle. You tried not to look at his condition though, and instead checked if your plan had worked. Or at least, that you hadn’t failed.

Embedded in his arm was the arrowhead shard, his final gift to you.

In the blink of an eye the scene changed. You were in the alley where you had seen Diavolo, wrapped tightly in his arms. Nothing on him was broken; in fact, he looked stronger than ever, surrounded by a glowing magenta light. An angry-looking red figure hovered at his side, but somehow, you weren’t scared. It felt familiar.

“You…. you broke the loop,” he said, still holding you, running his hands through your hair and over your body. Reassuring himself that you were real. “You brought my King Crimson back.” He pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes, his brimming with tears. “Thank you.”

“I’m just so happy it worked,” you replied shakily. You didn’t mean to sound so unstable, but you were still in shock that your plan succeeded. “I…” your thoughts drifted, overwhelmed with your morning. “Come on,” you said, “I got a hotel room, we can have some privacy there.”

Your reunion was filled with passionate kisses and joyful tears. The two of you didn’t speak until the sun came up, your mouths were too busy locked together. Once you finally separated, you reheated the coffee, and sat together in the soft light provided by the window, and started to talk. You told him about how you had found him, from the accidental arrow prick to developing a stand and its abilities, to your idea of using the arrow on him. Diavolo used King Crimson to lovingly scratch under Melodrama’s chin, making it coo happily. “I knew, once we were reunited, that I would see you again,” he said. “And… I intended the arrowhead as a gift to you for safekeeping, whether you used it or not was not my concern. But not only for you to use it, but then to locate and save me….” he looked at the street below, where his death had been so close, and then back to you. “Truly, you are more than I deserve.” Your cheeks flushed red, and you sipped at your coffee. “I’d do anything for you Dia,” you sheepishly replied, knowing you could get away with using the nickname you had given him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you fell silent again, simply enjoying each others’ presence. The sun grew higher in the sky and the streets crowded with workers, commuters, and tourists. Diavolo had a far away look in his eye.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, sipping at your now-cold coffee. His line of sight didn’t change, but he spoke. “Selfish thoughts. I should be grateful for everything, my life and your presence by my side, but…”

He looked down, unable to finish. You finished for him. “Doppio?”

“Doppio.”

“Would you like me to… you know….” Melodrama appeared on your shoulder as if blown in on a quick breeze. He stared at you, but then returned his gaze to the ground. “I don’t know which I fear more, finding out he’s gone or letting it remain unknown.”

Something within you steeled itself. You were also worried about the fate of Diavolo’s cheerier companion, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you never checked. Diavolo simply looked away. Melodrama summoned the map before you, and it began to move. Your heart raced as it zoomed, moving across the globe until the glowing yellow dot landed on a spot just a couple feet to your side. Exactly where Diavolo was.

“Diavolo,” you said, a tone of urgency in your voice. He looked up, intrigued. But before he could investigate your stand, you dismissed the map. “I’m going to leave the room. I’ll be back.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Call Doppio. He…. just call him. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Your heart was racing as you left the room. This was something Diavolo had to do on his own, at least for now. As much as the two of you loved each other, he and Doppio would always be closer, like twins. Two sides of the same coin.

You waited in the hallway for a while, pacing up and down, letting Diavolo reunite with his most loyal companion. You knew it had worked, if Doppio didn’t pick up then Diavolo would be out in the hall with you. It had to have worked, your stand wouldn’t be wrong. Would it?

Finally after waiting what seemed like an appropriate yet agonizingly long amount of time, you knocked. The reply was a quiet “come in”.

Sitting on the bed, looking ecstatic to see you, was Vinegar Doppio. He looked like a puppy who had just been reunited with its’ owner. “Y/n!” he exclaimed, running to hug you. “You…. I…. I don’t know what happened! I was… everything was dark for a while, I was so lost, but then the Boss called and now you’re here and-- I just can’t believe it! I thought I’d never see you again! I--”

His excited stammering was cut off with a sudden “durururu!” You couldn’t help but smile as memories of time spent with Doppio came flooding back to you. He didn’t have the romantic relationship with you that the Boss did, but he was one of your closest friends. He reached for Diavolo’s (now empty) coffee cup, and held it to his ear. “Pronto? Boss! Hello again!” he paused, listening. “Oh? Sure thing, here you go!”

Doppio handed the ceramic mug to you. “It’s the Boss, I guess he knew you were here with me!” You gladly accepted the mug, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you actually heard Diavolo’s voice in your ear; slightly distant, just as if it were coming through a phone.

“Thank you, y/n. For Doppio and I both, thank you so much.”

[el-ly-bts-ff]

Like A Boy- Chapter One: Me and My Boys

Hey, friends! El and Ly here!

So, let’s begin with a little story about a girl named Ly, who had an idea when she saw the music video(and heard) Serendipity for the first time. Her plan was just to write a one shot, and because she has no self control, couldn’t stop writing, and I (El) thought she was trying to end my life. If you saw the comments left in Google Docs...

Eventually, El, because she also has no self control, wrote a little drabble based off some characters, and well, here we are. We have logged thousands and thousands, and thousands(like a whole lot!) of words for this story. We are super proud of it, and what better way to share our love for Like a Boy and the saga that follows than with all of you!

Enjoy ^_^

Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin. There’s others, but you gotta read to find out.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Romance, YOONMIN TRASH

Warnings:

Explicit NC-17 content...in literally every chapter. What can we say? We love smutty goodness.

Language

Drug and alcohol use

Ships galore...be prepared

Word count: an amount of 3,956

Chapter One: Me and My Boys

Volunteer by Kamo Kush

Suga wasn't gay. If he were that would mean he was in hell, right? He didn't fantasize about his friends, especially not his friend Jimin: at least that was what he told himself. Though he couldn't deny that each and every one of his friends were unreasonably hot, none of them made Suga’s heart rate fluctuate and bend at their will... none save one.

Taehyung drove him crazy with his constant lip licking, and Jungkook’s body was unreal. Namjoon was his boy, and Suga didn't have to work to notice the monster Namjoon hid in his pants, it was impossible not to know that his buddy was packing. His friend Hobi was hysterical but his dominant energy butted heads with Suga’s too frequently for comfort and while Jin was handsome, Suga knew better than to mess with Joon’s affections that he struggled to keep hidden under the pretence of his and Jin’s friendship. But Suga knew Joon: he saw the way he looked at him when Jin would tell a dad joke and Namjoon would hold back a wide smile and stare at his feet. He heard the way the two effortlessly flirted with one another, and the late nights spent helping Jin study for his graduate finals. He saw Namjoon’s silence because it mirrored his own: his pain was Suga’s pain, Suga who knew what it meant to love someone from afar. Which brought him to Jimin.

Suga hated the way that Jimin’s raven locks would lay dangerously against his forehead when he would come up from behind and try to wrap his strong arms around his waist. The sensation of Jimin’s hands touching his body made his skin break out in goosebumps and a lump form in his throat while he would push him away and pretend that the feeling of his skin repulsed him, because in truth Suga repulsed himself. Jimin’s smile was bright enough to set the sun on fire, and one glance from him made Suga want to do dark and terrible things to his friend, but Suga wasn’t gay right? He wasn’t in hell, right?

He stood outside of the guys’ apartment as he held his duffle bag behind his back and stared up at their balcony on the third floor. Suga and his friends had decided weeks ago that they all needed a break from life--work, family, obligations that kept them up late and made them tear their hair out: the group knew that their annual cabin trip for the weekend would be their one chance of breaking away for the next six months, and none of them were willing to pass up the opportunity. Suga had moved to the city a couple of years prior, and it was rare that all of them were able to be under the same roof at the same time. Although the others shared the same apartment, save Jungkook and Hobi, their conflicting school and work commitments often kept them from ever actually seeing each other. The only one Suga saw on a daily basis was Namjoon, who commuted to the city every day with Suga in the music studio they both worked for. He talked to Jin nearly twice a day, and had grown impossibly close to the both of them as he watched their quiet romance harken to the surface: the stretched breath before one breaks the surface of the water and is brought to life once more. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke, and Suga prayed he wasn’t there when they did.

He was driving down to the campsite with Namjoon, Hobi, and yes… Jimin. The four of them were heading out a day early to get settled while the others were expected to meet them there the following morning. Every year, the group made a point to get away for three days at a cabin in the mountains: they would go, drink, party, hit up the beach and let themselves go wild in the wilderness. Only as he ascended the stairs outside of the apartment did Suga realize he was definitely screwed in more ways than one: not only would he have to ride with Jimin beside him for the next four hours, but he would have to share a room with Hobi, and neither one of them were thrilled with the idea. Suga loved Hobi like a brother but recently Hoseok had become uncharacteristically aggressive towards him and he had grown fond of picking fights with Suga for what seemed like no reason: it was really starting to piss him off.

Ringing the buzzer to their loft, Suga went upstairs and let himself in: setting his bag down beside the door, he was greeted by a beaming Jimin who knelt next to the kitchen counter as he laced up one of his boots.

“Suga!” He jumped up and tackled Suga in a bone crushing hug as he picked him up from the floor and spun him in circles: the second Jimin’s skin made contact with his, Suga felt his body tense and his heart stop while he focused on controlling his breaths, pretending to push Jimin away as he kicked his feet until Jimin put him back down on the ground. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he smiled at Suga as he wagged his finger at him.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t happy to see me.” He winked at him as he shrugged off Suga’s indifferent stare while he turned to call for Namjoon and Hobi in the other room. He must have forgotten what happened… thank God.

The two returned from the dining room as they roared with laughter at Hobi’s face as he danced around Namjoon and flapped his arms like a lunatic. It made Suga smile to see his friend being he usual, playful self as he went to embrace his friends. Hobi’s copper hair sparkled in the light that poured in from the large windows of their living room as his eyes met Suga’s and he smiled cutely.

“Min Yoongi! Suga Suga! Give me your cheeks you adorable little monster.” He took Suga’s cheek between his fingers and squeezed as Suga pushed his hand away and laughed at his reaction. As the two hugged it out, Jimin came up from behind Hobi and tickled the sides of his waist while he looked up at Suga and bit his lip: his eyes burning into his as Suga felt his chest swell with rage at Jimin’s hand that slipped around Hoseok’s hip and lingered there. The corner of Jimin’s lips twitched as he held back a smile and refused to look away from him. He felt Hobi stiffen against him as Hobi pushed Suga away and frowned: turning to look at Jimin, Hobi smiled weakly as he excused himself to finish gathering his things. What the fuck just happened? Suga wondered as he locked eyes with Jimin, whose narrowed as he stared at him and suddenly licked his lip. Feeling his cheeks redden, Suga turned away from him and went to hug Namjoon who was oblivious to whatever the fuck was going on, and Suga wasn’t far behind.

“What’s up man? You ready to get the hell out of here?” Namjoon clapped his friend on the back as he pulled him to his chest while Suga laughed and e returned the gesture, nodding in anticipation,

“Definitely, it’s been way too long bro.”

“Yeah, bro.” Hoseok returned from the bedroom and rolled his eyes at Suga as he pinched his own cheeks while he mocked him,

“You ready to go Chimi?” Hobi turned to Jimin and motioned towards the door as Jimin bent his head over and nodded quietly as he followed him.

As the two gathered their bags, they left Namjoon and Suga to themselves as the two looked up at each other, equally bewildered and irritated.

“Dude what the hell is his problem? Did I fucking hurt the little girls feelings or something?” Suga crossed his arms as he looked at his friend and waited. Namjoon raised his hand behind his head and scratched at his hair as he furrowed his brow: Suga could feel his hesitation as Namjoon battled over whether or not to answer.

“He’s… dealing with some things right now man… just let him unwind for a while and he’ll be back to himself in no time. Until then, I’m driving and you’re sitting bitch with Chimi so you and Hobes don’t kill each other before we even leave the city.” He smiled as he grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, and Suga just grit his teeth silently and grabbing his bag, followed Namjoon out to the car.

Jimin sat in the seat behind Hobi as the Namjoon and Suga shoved their bags into the trunk and got in beside them. As Suga sat down in the seat beside him, Jimin held out his hand to him and Suga reluctantly slapped it away as he put on his seat belt and rested his head against the window.

Wincing at his touch, Jimin held his hand as he looked out the window and away from Suga. He hated treating him like this, but ever since the last time he saw Jimin, Suga couldn’t go there, he couldn’t break the barrier into the floodgates that weighed so heavily on his chest. He couldn’t think of his hands on him, or his eyes, or his breath… no. Suga couldn’t go there.

It had been three months since all seven of them had been able to get together for a night out, and Suga remembered how excited he had been to see his best friends, especially Jimin. He saw Namjoon everyday at work, but it wasn’t often that all of them were able to get away long enough to get together and go out like they did when they were kids. He longed for the days when he and his friends could stay out late and reek havoc on their neighbors and schoolmates: but those days were long over, and reality set in quickly that they were no longer boys having fun but men with responsibilities. Suga knew it was bullshit but he also knew that life had a way of grinding you down into acceptance, until you wake up and find yourself living a lie that mirrors the mask instead of what’s beneath.

They had decided to meet up at a local bar and then later found themselves thoroughly intoxicated as they raged through the doors of the club down the street: the music thundered on the dance floor as they demanded shots and drinks from the bartenders. Halfway through their night of drunken debauchery, Suga stumbled into the club bathroom and found himself standing in front of a totally and completely wasted Jimin, who sat on the floor and looked up at his friend: a stupidly large smile on his red cheeks, he clapped his hands and held out his arms to embrace Suga from the ground. Bending over beside him, Suga hooked his arms under Jimin’s shoulders and lifted him roughly against the bathroom wall. The impact sent Jimin’s head back into the tile as he looked up at him and bit his lip as he smiled,

“Did Suga come here to find his Chimi?” Sweat dripped down his forehead and neck while he steadied himself against Suga’s chest as he struggled to hold himself up. Suga felt his stomach churn and his heart beat out of his chest as he realized how close they were. When did Jimin become the most beautiful man he had ever seen? It had been months since he had seen his friend, but never before had he looked at him the way he did now: so close after all those years of shy looks and words unspoken as a torrent of lust singed his soul and made him breath fire, his length stirring inside of his jeans. Placing his hand on the back of Suga’s neck, Jimin pulled his face close to his and paused as he focused on his eyes and Jimin held his breath: a deep flush erupting on his cheeks. Leaning back, he undid the top buttons of his gray shirt and opened his collar to reveal his drenched and heaving chest. Suga remembered the choking sensation that gripped his throat when he bent his neck and stared down into his eyes: he could feel Jimin shrinking into the tile under the weight of his gaze as he reached out his hand and touched a hand to his pulsing neck. Suga’s feet practically carried themselves as he stepped toward Jimin and backed him to the wall with his hips, pinning him there. The rush of heat into his member set Suga on edge when he leaned forward and hovered his lips over his skin.

At that moment, some drunken oaf stumbled into the door and went head first into Suga’s back as he tripped over his undone laces. Reacting instantly, Suga braced his hands on either side of Jimin’s head and hovered himself over him like a shield, and took the force of the impact as he was crushed against the ground beside him with a rocking force.

Before Suga could look up from the corner of the room, he heard the sound of crunching as he sat up and watched Jimin’s fist connect with the man’s jaw and sent him flying into the stall behind them. His back to Suga, Jimin stood with his fists balled and his teeth bared as his back arched against his hammering chest. His passion made Suga panic while got to his feet and threw Jimin into the wall beside the stall: pressing his hands against the metal, Suga buried his teeth into the side of his neck as he crushed his pelvis into Jimin’s. Throwing his head back, Jimin’s fingers tore at Suga’s brown locks as he lapped his tongue over his throbbing flesh and Suga kissed his way up the side of Jimin’s neck as he felt himself falling, and for once he didn’t care. His lips traced the edges of his jaw as he made his way to Jimin’s lips and froze when he realized what he was about to do: it was like a light went off in Suga’s mind as he went cold against Jimin and pushed himself away from him. The raven haired boy looked devastated as he stood there silently and held back tears while Suga just looked at him in disgust and turned to leave as Jimin sprang forward and grabbed him around his arm. The contact sent Suga through the roof as he whipped around and slapped Jimin’s hand away, taking his wrist in his hand and crushing it in his palm.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Was all Suga could say as he growled at Jimin and left the bathroom. Immediately after their encounter, Suga found Namjoon and told his friend that he was leaving: he hadn’t seen him since. And Suga told no one. Not even Namjoon, how could he find the words to tell him what just happened? Yeah bro, you’re never gonna believe this but me and Chimi almost just fucked back there. Oh and by the way I may or may not have been in love with Jimin since freshman year. Good talk, man. The thought alone made him cringe as he felt himself attempting to keep his eyes on anything other than the body beside him. In the corner of his eye, Suga watched Jimin fidget with his hands as he stared out the window and listened to his headphones. The look on his face made Suga’s chest throb as he realized that he had hurt his feelings, again. Why am I such a fucking prick all the time?

Attempting to apologize, Suga dropped his hand beside his slowly and with caution, stretched his fingers across the seat onto Jimin’s knee: his heart pounding, Suga tapped his jeans awkwardly as he glanced over at Jimin and gave him the saddest and sorriest look he could muster. His face was pathetic and Suga knew it, and he really fucking hoped no one could see him in the rearview mirrors or he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

Jimin looked over at him surprised and smiled tenderly as his eyes softened while he took Suga’s hand in his: turning his attention out the window as he went back to listening to his music. About an hour into the trip, Suga had apparently fallen asleep because he woke up three hours later to his head cradled in Jimin’s lap as the boy gently brushed the top of his head. Pretending to still be asleep, Suga breathed quietly as he enjoyed the sensation of Jimin’s finger tips scratching against his scalp while the other pet the side of his face as he fought the urge to arch his back into his abdomen.

Despite his best efforts, Suga couldn't stop himself from releasing a quiet moan that made Jimin’s fingers pause as his hand held the side of his face: he could hear the sound of Jimin's heart thumping in his chest and knowing he was the reason why made Suga blush. Deciding to test something, Suga nuzzled his hair into Jimin's lap and rested the back of his head into his hard abdomen. Jimin's froze solid beneath him as his fingertips graze the edge of his ear and down his lobe as he lightly pinched Suga’s soft skin. Suga felt his lip curl into his mouth as he remained still and held back the groan building in his throat.

He felt Jimin lean forward as he bent his neck over Suga’s hair and inhaled deeply. Was he smelling me? Suga asked himself as he suddenly felt his stomach clench at the shudder that rippled through Jimin’s torso: feeling a twitch against his other ear, Suga turned beet red as he felt Jimin’s length pressed into the fabric of his jeans.

“Fuck.” He heard Jimin whisper under his breath as he attempted to readjust himself under Suga’s head and tried to conceal his growing erection. Suga took the opportunity as a cue for him to “wake up” and lazily stretched his limbs in front of him while he turned his head and looked up at Jimin, a sleepy smile overtaking his features as he rubbed his eyes and remained perched on his friend’s lap. As Jimin looked down at him and grinned, Suga couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes as he tucked a strand of raven hair behind Jimin’s ear and sat up on the seat beside him. His friend’s eyes smoldered as he tightened his jaw and forced the smile that remained plastered on his cheeks. Thinking nothing of it, Suga ruffled his hair and sat forward in his seat as he went to talk to Namjoon behind the wheel.

“How much longer? I gotta piss.” Suga yawned as he turned his attention towards Hobi who sat with his head leaned against the passenger’s seat, fast asleep. How could I pass this up? Suga wondered to himself as he reached his hand over the seat and tickled Hobi beneath his chin: Hobi loved to piss Suga off while he was sleeping and it often took a hovering Jimin to get him to stop, so Suga felt no shame in returning the favor. Pinching the skin beneath his neck, he clucked as he felt Jimin’s eyes lock on his hand.

A feeling of strange guilt swept over him as Suga ignored it and continued to torture his friend, who stirred at the sensation of hands on his face as Suga’s fingers tickled his cheek and ear.

“We should be there any minute, and you can piss all you want. I’m dying up here while the three of you are sleeping like a litter of kittens.” Namjoon laughed as he saw Suga roll his eyes in the mirror as Hobi stirred from his sleep and yipped at the pinch on his neck.

Smacking his hand away, Hobi smiled widely as he realized that Suga was the one torturing him and scrunched his face up as he giggled and tried to hit Suga from the front seat.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Namjoon’s voice rose as he held up his hand in warning.

“Don’t make me come back there Suga, I’ll spank your ass.” Namjoon grinned from the from seat as Suga shook his head at his threat and fell against the backseat, bored now that Hobi wasn’t there for him to play with.

As he turned his head to look at Jimin, he grew curious at his friend’s reaction: his cheeks were bright red and it looked like he was breaking out in a sweat. As Hobi and Namjoon talked in the front, Suga faced them as he felt Jimin’s hand touch the side of his thigh. Lingering there for a moment, Jimin suddenly turned his palm upright and waited for Suga to place his hand in his. Suga debated whether or not it was a good idea as his fingers acted without his permission and rested on Jimin’s forearm. The heat radiating from them drove Suga’s fingers into Jimin’s palm as he traced the folds of his hand against the tips of his fingers. Jimin inhaled sharply as the two silently touched one another and Suga folded his hand into his and looked out the window beside him. The void between them sent an ache through his chest as Suga desperately wanted to look over at him, but he knew what it would mean if he did, so his eyes remained glued to the trees that were sprinkled over the rough terrain of the surrounding forest as the cabin came into view in the distance.

The two sat in a painful silence as Jimin suddenly squeezed his hand and motioned his head towards the cabin: a wide smile on his lips as his excitement grew with childlike wonder that warmed the blood in Suga’s veins. As Namjoon pulled into the driveway Suga went to break his hand away and felt Jimin grip onto his skin for just a second before releasing him and stepping out of the car.

His lungs in his throat, Suga breathed in slowly as he opened the door and went to grab their bags. Stepping up to the large wrap around porch that led to a wide and sprawling cabin with six bedrooms...and seven guys. The group bet on  the best two out of three and Suga and Hobi came in last so that meant the two would be sharing bunks and it made Suga’s head hurt.

Normally he would be thrilled at the idea of rooming with Hoseok because the two always had good times: Hobi had a way of bringing the fun out of any situation. Lately… Suga would have to wait and see. I'm not leaving this cabin without an answer to this fucking riddle so we can get on with their lives. Suga thought to himself as he opened the door to their room and stood in the doorway as he dropped his duffle bag on the floor. His hair was pissing him off today as it fell into his eyes: he should've gotten it cut before the weekend and now Suga was damning his laziness for coming back to bite him in the ass.

Walking to the bed closest to the window, he flipped down on the mattress and covered his face with his forearm as he felt a second wave of sleep roll over him and he closed his eyes, his vision beginning to fade.

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments, likes, and feedback is much appreciated!

We Purple You.

El & Ly

[vesperlionheart]

Pompeii 45

She had an invitation for an interview at the end of the week, and the clinic was only a two hour drive away. Shizune was lending her a car and Sakura had spoken to the boys about it. Neither liked the sound of it, but they had to admit that a two hour commute was better than moving out of Pompeii where they were most comfortable moving around and being themselves.

Neither Sai nor Yamato had an overwhelming love for Pompeii, but as much as they denied it, Sakura knew that Pompeii was where they felt the most on top of things. If they left the place where Tengu and Kitsune could walk openly through the streets and not fear human persecution it would mean learning to live in hiding. She didn’t want them to have to go through that, so she had been purposeful in searching for places that would take her close to the limits of Pompeii’s boundaries.

She needed a source of income. She couldn’t get by much further without one and it was killing her inside to have to forgo the gift giving season for financial reasons. It was so stupid to admit, but with everything piled on top of each other, the spare cash for presents wasn’t there and she was reduced to old fashioned, silly coupon books and cookies.

God she was nearly out of flour too. Soon she’d be stuck with ramen again. What sort of doctor lived off ramen out of med school?

Sakura hated how ashamed she felt.

She loved Sai and Yamato and wanted to bless them, wanted to treat them right and show them as much kindness as they had shown her.

With a frustrated grunt Sakura pulled out a box of old, mostly forgotten, art supplies that were mostly dried up and old. She couldn’t make art like Sai could, but she did have one or two hidden talents she could put to use if she remembered how to utilize them.

Sakura prepped a piece of parchment and tested out the calligraphy pen on some scratch journal paper. She practiced the words a few times, unsatisfied with the results until the fifth page. She remembered the feel of the flowing script and wrote out her words again and again until she was positive she had it down.

Your arms like branches encircle me And I am made well in the shade of your love

The first poem was finished without issue, and Sakura was worried her good luck wouldn’t hold for the second poem, but karma must not have been a bitch just then because the second poem came out just as she had hoped it would.

Sakura blew on the ink until the gloss was gone and dried. She then hid the poems in the pages of a book and set that book aside under her table. The noon day sun was up and she felt like she had finally done something productive in the morning. She never got patients anymore, but at least she had accomplished something.  

She would never think anyone silly for complaining about lack of work again. Her mind was ready to go numb from the disuse. If she didn’t have the castaways to help out she didn’t know how she’d manage to hold onto her sanity.

Kin and the others were still a little weary of her, especially after hearing about the town hall concerns, but the more the Senju vilified Sakura, the more Kin and the others seemed to welcome her. They might suspect her to be more dangerous than appearances suggest, but they didn’t hate her or think her the great evil the rest of Pompeii thought her to be.

“The Senju are all liars anyway. You have to look at where they are in the hierarchy and ask yourself how they’ve managed to maintain that much power for so long. No one at the top is there without a little blood on their hands or sin in their shadow,” Dosu had scoffed one day when Sakura came to bring them books and magazines.

“The world needs villains in order to make heroes and the Senju have always been heroes, even when there was no evil,” added Kin.

Sakura remembered being nervous, licking her lips, and then voicing her thoughts to the group. “What do you think I am?”

Kin had stared up over the edge of the magazine that was seven months old and a little battered around the edges. Her stare was half lidded and lacking the energy to be piercing. “You’re neither. You’re just a person. Don’t be so full of yourself.”

Sakura couldn’t help but like Kin for her attitude.

She had more magazines and some books she could take down to them. It was better than hanging out in her house for another day, waiting for the hours to pass before Sai came home from work and Yamato came home from the errands Sakura could no longer safely go out and complete. (The grocery store run was a suicide mission in her mind.)

Sakura dressed for the cold, noting that last year she needed almost twice as many layers. Maybe it was global warming or something else, but Pompeii was unusually warm in ways even she noticed.

She left out the back and had her hands stuffed deep in her pockets when she heard the shouting two blocks over. Like other times, the streets were mostly empty, but there wasn’t supposed to be a town hall meeting...at least...not one that she knew of. Tsunade had been kind enough to keep her up to date on such political maneuverings so far.

Sakura ducked into the shadows and pressed herself close to the side of a building. The voices sounded stationary, circling around a central point. They were loud and angry and the sort of voices Sakura wanted to avoid. Sai wasn’t anywhere nearby and Yamato...she wasn’t sure. If she left now there was a chance she’d be seen. Had she already been seen? They were close enough to hear, maybe they had heard her already.

She smelled something strong and nearly gagged as the accelerent burned with a roaring woosh. There were a few cheers and then some more angry screaming. Sakura hated the part of her that couldn’t help but be curious.

Curiosity killed the cat-

Sakura edged around the corner of the building to see the back of the crowd lighting a stray man, a literal man made out of straw, on fire. Inside the burning man there were branches, flowering branches with the blossoms dripping with flame. The straw wasn’t stray, but bleached wood. Around the head of the effigy was a grown of blossoms trailing in pink layers.  

At the front of the circle Shikamaru and Choji stood there, glaring at the flames. Sakura recognized Kankuro and Temari, remembering how Gaara had fallen sick not too long ago. Shino was there too, hanging close to the back with the collar of his hood popped. There were others she didn’t recognize except by their faces from moments in passing, but the ones she did remember hurt so much worse.  

“Look at it, it’s not even burning right. The wood ain’t natural,” someone screamed before throwing another bottle at the burning body. “Bitch, burn!”

-But satisfaction brought it back.  

Behind the effigy on the wall in graffiti streaks were the words she had been seeing all around the clinic on the outside walls in different strokes. ‘Burn the disease’ ‘Purge the outsider’ ‘drive out the sickness’ ‘Plague bitch.’

“What are they doing still talking about it? Pretty soon there won’t be anyone left. My old man’s out of it now.”

“My parents too. The neighbors said their kid was sick with fever this week too. It’s everywhere.”

“It’s too many places for them to be doing nothing about it,” Kankuro bit, voice deep and angry. It was then she remembered that Tenten had also fallen ill. Hadn’t Kankuro fancied her?

Shikamaru lifted something to his lips and the lit the end up, smoking a thin white roll of tobacco. “Naruto isn’t even waking up anymore. Pretty soon that will be everyone who got touched by it.”

“And Ino…”

Choji’s words were harder to hear, but they made her heart fall like a lead weight in her chest. She nearly lost her footing as the shock and horror washed over her. Ino? She hadn’t heard about Ino. She hadn’t known....

“I’m not going to listen to them any longer. They know it just like we know it, so I’m going to do something about it!” One of the citizens Sakura couldn’t name spoke up. He pointed to the burning body and snarled. “She’ll burn better than these cursed trees.”

Too many more voices roared in agreement. Kankuro looked ready to march along with them when only a year ago he had looked so happy just to see her visiting Gaara. Even Temari looked ready to draw blood for the sake of her youngest brother.

Someone threw something at the burning body and Sakura saw it was a cinder block. It sailed through the air and landed on the twigs, tearing it down from the post into a pile on the ground at a young woman’s feet. She screeched and stomped at it and the sound of cracking branches sounded louder as her efforts were aided by another pair of stomping shoes.

The twigs were in pieces but still smoldering as the group started to turn, rallying behind a cry that sounded familiar in a way she didn’t want to know.

Sakura braced against the wall, safe in the shadows, watching the group move like the mob she knew them to be. A mob hungry for her blood.

They didn’t get far before a gust shrieked through the air and shoved the first few bodies up and over the heads of those behind them. There was tumbling and flailing limbs before the front row was upright and looking at the body of the man responsible.

“You!” Temari hissed, reaching for her brother. She grabbed for Kankuro and helped him up. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be gone from Pompeii.”

Pein angled his chin up so that he was staring down at the clustered bodies in front of him like they were nothing more than dirt at the tip of his shoe. His eyes rippled with purple light and the air hummed with his energy. He looked regal in a double breasted pea coat the color of coal, cut to flatter his masculine figure.

“You are unsightly. Disperse.” His words were curt and dismissive just like his tone.

“What the hell. He’s in on it with the bitch, that’s why he’s never here, staying out of her way while she cleans us out,” someone hissed. The woman then turned to Pein, shouting out the rest of what she had to say. “You’ve always been a villain, looking down on us. You’re no better than any of us and we all know it. Get out of our way.”

Pein made a dismissive sound with his teeth and his lips before closing his eyes and then looking away, completely disinterested with the woman’s accusations.

“Bothersome.”

The woman’s eyes flashes and she reached out with her hand, growing scaly with the beginnings of her transformation before a jagged bolt of white lightning ran through her palm and then struck the ground in front of Kankuro and his sister. They both jumped back as the woman dropped to the ground in a cry of pain, holding her smoking hand that was burned too bad to bleed. Another vein of lightning shot out and scarred the ground in front of the group.

“You can’t do that, the Senju-”

“Are running around with their heads up their asses, I know dear,” Pein drawled lazily. “And the Uchiha and their shiny gold badges are nowhere to be seen. Ask me if I give a damn, darling.”

He looked up from his fingernails as if waiting for an answer but smirked when there was only tense silence from the subdued mob.

“You’re a villain,” Choji challenged.

The roll of his shoulders was less of a shrug and more an act of nature. He stared at the sky when he spoke. “There are worse things to be.”

“Are you in on it with her, then?” Shikamaru asked, stepping in front of his more agitated friend. He pushed Choji back and held him with the palm of his hand, a gesture that was more meaningful than purposeful. “You’ve never claimed to be a good person, Pein, but people tend to forget that about you after years of your quiet. I may not be my father but I know almost as much as him.”

“And yet you continue to play the fool. For a Nara you’re awfully stupid. I never thought I would see one in a mob. I’d rather be a villain than an idiot.”

“And I’d rather not let my emotions cloud my judgments when making decisions, because that’s where I think too many people have gone wrong. It’s gotten to you at least. Or is it something else? You want Pompeii for yourself and she’s the easiest way to get it?”

Pein closed his eyes and sighed, heaving out a breath that escaped his lips in a puff of steam. When he opened his eyes again there was lightning crackling behind his lashes. He was a barely contained storm in human form.

“You bore me boy. You’re not your father. Go home and put this foolishness behind you before I am agitated further.” Pein eyed the still smoking hand of the Naga woman to make his point clear.

“I don’t like agreeing with him, but I don’t think I can help it this time,” a new voice interjected.

Sakura almost came out of her shadows to see the new form join the fray, but didn’t need to. She knew that voice far too well to ever doubt it. A second later Yamato stepped up to stand beside Pein who was looking sideways at the new arrival with a slight curl to his lip.

A few bodies in the back started to break away, backing up and away. Pein was a powerhouse on his own that could likely wipe them out without the help, but there were too many stories and years of bad blood for most other residents to stand Yamato’s presence. There were too many stories of what he did in the dark.

Sakura watched as more and more figures began to break away, grumbling to themselves and each other about the unfair circumstances. Someone bemoaned the fact that the Uchiha were all on holed up in the mountains and the Senju drawn back into their compounds. No one was managing the streets.

“You were entirely unnecessary,” Pein huffed. “I was doing just fine on my own.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Yamato. “But it was less a desire to help you and more a need to stick up for my family when I see them threatened. I’m not about to stand back and let people talk about Sakura like that.”  

Pein sneered, a new sort of emotional anger coming into the details of his expression. He had been cool with the mob, mocking them nonchalantly with half a heart, but when he looked at Yamato he looked a little more expressive than before.

“You sound very high and mighty for the cast off bitch. I want to burn that look off your face.”

Yamato glared back with a smile sharp enough to cut yourself on. “You’re no angel either. Where do you think you get off talking down to them when you doubted her yourself.”

“Ah, I see she tells you these things. You two must be...close.”

“Huh, something like that.” Yamato had a bag on each wrist, but he still managed to stuff his hands into his pockets.

There was a lick of light darting across the ground, uncontrolled and raw. Yamato didn’t flinch as it burned the earth between them.

“I didn’t care if it was her. I didn’t care one way or the other if she was a saint or a devil. It didn’t matter to me and yet you’re the one she takes in. Revolting filth. You don’t deserve it.”

Yamato’s smile slipped as a sound passed his lips. A soft chuckle sounded like how salt felt on an open wound and another lick of lightning danced behind Pein. There was the sound of thunder somewhere.

“It’s not about deserving, shit face. It never is with her.”

Yamato started to turn, taking a step away, and then another when Pein called out again.

“Then why is it you?”

Yamato took another step and then stopped, but didn’t turn around. He glanced off to the side and saw the still smoldering remains of the burning effigy. He glared at the flowers on fire.

“She did tell me about it, told me about you, about how you doubted her. I remember thinking something similar, about how if it was her I wouldn’t mind. If she wanted to raze Pompeii to the ground I would be her right hand in doing it, but that’s not her. I know in her heart that this is nothing but grief to her. She’s watching her friends suffer or hate her everyday and I wish there was something more I could do. This isn’t her.”

“You wouldn’t have been the only one who would have stood with her if this was her doing. You’re not that special.”

Yamato looked back over his shoulder. “But I believed in her first and I’m the one that gets to make dinner for her tonight. You can keep your dreams if you think it’ll help, but I don’t need to.”

The air around Pein clapped with a roll of angry thunder as another bolt of blue lightning burned the ground in front of Yamato, but the man was already gone. Pein snarled at the empty road, still smoldering from where his lightning had struck. His hands were fists at his side, curled so tightly the knuckles stood out white.

He turned and started to step away when he faltered. Pein looked to where the last of the burning figure still smoldered. He approached it and then kicked some dirt over the flames before sighing. The sight of what was left over wasn’t anything worth a double take.

Pein stretched out his hand and water fell from his fingertips like a miniature mist shower. The water fell over the flames and doused them right away. Pein reached into the pile and pulled out a twig with a pink bud on the end. He worked it between his fingers and the bud peeled open for him.

Sakura blinked and he was gone.

To: Sai Love: Sakura

You have taken the dull colors of my existence and made them vibrant Where once the ash and gray was my horizon, You bleed sunsets in my heart and stop up my veins with the blues of a thousand skies I will forever be better for having known you And forever changed for having loved you

[zrtranscripts]

Season 7, Mission 7: Good Morning Judge Light a fire below

[courtroom chatters]

JUDGE: Order! [bangs gavel] Order in the court! Ladies and gentlemen, we have heard both sides of the case. Horace Bailey stands accused of committing war crimes against the town of Little Rook under the regime of Sigrid Hakkinen. 

As a member of the Exmoor Militia, I'd like to thank the citizens of Little Rook for inviting me to serve on this trial's judicial panel. We are always happy to provide counsel to our allies. The judges will now retire to consider our verdict. Thank you. 

[courtroom chatters]

TOM DE LUCA: Watch your elbows, Kefilwe! This courtroom is more crowded than a London commute! Still, it's a nice change from fighting Riders and V-types, eh? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: This trial is just as important. The country must heal the wounds of Sigrid's rule, Tom. We must not descend to mob mentality and rough justice. If anything, this is more vital than any single victory. That is why Janine gave us leave to testify. Even with all we've done, even after you rescued all those patients from the recuperation center, Five, Abel must still prove we are not the enemy. 

TOM DE LUCA: Yes. The fact this trial hasn't descended into chaos is a victory. Bailey really doesn't look like much, does he? Disguising his face behind those wire frame glasses. And that unconvincing comb-over. 

[glass shatters] 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Five, look out! That woman threw a jar of - it looks like acid - at Bailey. She barely missed. 

HORACE BAILEY: Clerks of the court, do something! That woman nearly killed me!

KEFILWE LOBATSE: This crowd isn't going to wait peacefully for a verdict. A group of men over there are carrying rope. If we don't get Bailey out of here, there will be a lynching. 

TOM DE LUCA: Five, grab Bailey. I'm under orders from Jane. He must be tried, not murdered. 

HORACE BAILEY: What? Get off me! Clerks, these people are assailing me! 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Mr. Bailey, we were appointed by the court to keep you safe. The lynchers are coming right for us. Five, bolt for the fire exit, and keep hold of Bailey. Run!

HORACE BAILEY: Unhand me! This is madness. I keep telling everyone I'm an innocent man! 

TOM DE LUCA: Good job leading us into these redwoods, Five. They're excellent cover. Lucky for us, they built Little Rook in the middle of a nature park. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That mob is spilling out of the courthouse. We must find somewhere to hide until things die down. 

HORACE BAILEY: Hide? You have to get me out of here! Even if the locals don't kill me, that court is going to give me the death penalty! Hold on, I recognize you. You're that doctor from Abel. You gave a statement for the prosecution about how awful the Ministry was. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes. I saw enough men like you behind Sigrid's wall, but Abel will always defend the rule of law. If you are to be put to death, it will be by a court, not a mob. 

HORACE BAILEY: I was just a clerk in Sigrid's office. I don't deserve to be treated like this. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You signed orders to Ministry troops to tear down the protective fence around Little Rook just because Sigrid caught the town trading with the Exmoor Militia. Over a hundred people died here when the zombies came in. 

HORACE BAILEY: Countersigned. I countersigned those orders. They were from Sigrid! It was just my job to clear the paperwork! I'm a pacifist, for heaven's sake. I was trying not to make a fuss. 

MOB: There! 

TOM DE LUCA: Uh-oh, that mob just spotted us. Five, look up. See those wooden canopy walkways between the treetops? It's a good tactical position, if we can get up there. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: There are wooden stairs between those two oaks. Come on. 

TOM DE LUCA: Not ideal, these wooden bridges. Class 4 rickety, as we used to say in the service. At least nobody's following us.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes. We're safe here now. It was a good plan, Tom. 

HORACE BAILEY: Tom? I recognize you, too, Mr. De Luca. I don't know why you're with her after you defended me - [zombie growls] Good God! What's that? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That is a zombie. No doubt some climbed up here after you had the town's fencing destroyed. No wonder we were not followed. 

TOM DE LUCA: You've never seen a zombie?

HORACE BAILEY: No. I mean, not up close. I worked in an office. The soldiers kept them away. I never realized... the skin on its hands... ugh, it's horrible! 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: It is also not alone, but I didn't bring any cure with me into this tree. If we're bitten, that mob won't allow us to find treatment. We must lose those zombies now. Rope bridge to our left, now! 

TOM DE LUCA: I think we've lost those zombies. Better slow down. Bailey's lagging behind. Man's wheezing like hell! I almost feel sorry for him.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Yes, we all heard your statement in his defense.

TOM DE LUCA: Look, like it or not, both sides in that court knew words from Abel would carry weight with an Exmoor judge. The defense asked for my honest opinion as a government operative, and I gave it.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: That man is no better than Ian.

TOM DE LUCA: His advocate made a fair point, though. When you're in a chain of command, you follow orders, and Sigrid was the highest legal authority in the country. And if he disobeyed, she would have just shot and replaced him.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Still, there are certain things one should not do even on pain of death. Do you know I have been caring for the babies Sigrid used to make her filthy serum?

TOM DE LUCA: I... thought they'd mostly been rehoused. Didn't Amelia at Fort Canton take seven? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Nine, and yes, mostly they have been rehoused. Except for a few, who have had an adverse reaction to the treatments. Immunity did not mean the same thing in all those children. A few have experienced permanent brain damage. 

TOM DE LUCA: That's terrible. I had no idea. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: What is the point of broadcasting this grief? There were only a very few affected. I held a little boy in my arms three weeks ago. Stroked his head with the palm of my hand until he passed in peace. 

But of course, the people who injected them with zombie bite were just following orders. Tell me, Tom, how many deaths were you responsible for when you worked for the government? 

TOM DE LUCA: I-I mean, it's hard to say. Covert ops is a muddy business. One has to complete mission objectives. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No, one doesn't. I have seen you haunted by your own pain, Tom, but never that which you inflicted on others. And you were in perfect mental health in those days. Never pretend such action can be excused as following orders. 

[explosion]

TOM DE LUCA: What! What was that? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: The mob! Someone has brought a catapult. They're launching burning tar at us. 

[footsteps]

HORACE BAILEY: What's going on?

TOM DE LUCA: Serious trouble. Operational decay. 

KEFILWE LOBASTE: We must get down from here before this bridge burns. There's a wooden platform over there. I see a ladder leading to it from the ground. Five, help Bailey, please. Now run! 

[fire crackles]

TOM DE LUCA: Slow down, Five. No chance of getting to the ladder, not with that wall of flame in the way. 

HORACE BAILEY: What do we do? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: The trees. 

TOM DE LUCA: Good thinking. If we jump into a tree, the branches will break our fall. We can shimmy down to the ground. 

HORACE BAILEY: What? No! We'll never make it! That wall of flame isn't so high. I'm going for the ladder.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You will not go anywhere without us. You're still on trial. 

HORACE BAILEY: Why? Why am I the one on trial? The world ended a long time ago, and we've all done awful things to survive. You people think it was like a movie, as if I could just stand up and do the right thing. 

Sigrid tortured people who disobeyed her. I saw her pluck a man's eye out because he brought her the wrong kind of coffee! She made doctors do torture for her! 

TOM DE LUCA: Doctors? 

HORACE BAILEY: I was afraid and alone, and I just wanted to keep my head down. How is killing me for that justice? How does it make anything better? 

TOM DE LUCA: We have to move.

HORACE BAILEY: I don't want to die.

KEFILWE LOBATSE: Then you'll need a run-up to make the jump. Five first, and then you. Go. 

[branches snap, HORACE BAILEY screams]

TOM DE LUCA: Phew, that was a rough landing. Everyone all right? 

HORACE BAILEY: Look, the bridges above us. They're going to collapse. 

TOM DE LUCA: Over there! We can use those boulders for cover. Run!

[bridge collapses] 

TOM DE LUCA: That was a close shave. Half those wooden bridges came down. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No sign of the lynch mob. The flames were a stupid idea. The townspeople are all busy fighting the fire, now. 

HORACE BAILEY: You saved my life. What happens next? 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We need to take you back. These people are not wrong to hold you accountable for your actions. You will pay the price, as do we all. I... tortured a man I cared for because there was no other way. 

HORACE BAILEY: For what it's worth, I'm sorry. For everything that happened because people like me didn't speak out against her. I wish I could do it again. I would do better. I'd be braver. I think.

TOM DE LUCA: It looks like they’ve put out the fires around the courthouse. We'd better get back there before anyone else decides to stage a lynching. Come on!

[courtroom chatters]

JUDGE: [bangs gavel] Now that the defendant has been returned, we can begin. A verdict has been reached. Please sit down. 

No matter how strong the temptation for vengeance, a society on the edge of apocalypse cannot simply throw lives away. If we do so, we are no better than the death cults who threaten all of us. It is, therefore, the verdict of this court that the defendant, though guilty, be spared the death penalty. 

Order! Order! Instead, Horace Bailey will be kept in protective custody at Little Rook, where he will spend the rest of his days maintaining the new fence around the town. In this way, he will redress some of the damage caused by his actions. [bangs gavel] This court is adjourned. 

TOM DE LUCA: Bailey looks shell-shocked. I think he would have had an easier time with the death penalty. People here hate him. It's going to be a long, hard road for him to prove he's worth a damn. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: We all have to prove that again and again. I was too harsh, Tom. I know you have suffered for your past. 

TOM DE LUCA: No, you were right. I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of. For Janine, or Queen, or country. I've always been good at following orders. Maybe I should think more about the kind of person that makes me. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: You helped save a life today. That is a good sign. 

TOM DE LUCA: Not exactly an innocent life. 

KEFILWE LOBATSE: No, but those ones are easy to care for. Come on, Five. Let's head back to Abel.

[chaseguild]

The calming reflections I get to enjoy on my river cycling commute each morning and evening help me to set aside the less beautiful things of my daily work.

This week, I had a few big successes and a few big set backs. Here’s what the two look like in my work:

The Successes: 

- #1 - Since May, I’ve been working on a Resettlement Abroad application for a man, Chris, who was imprisoned in England but whose wife and 4 children remain in Ireland. The application required a great deal of researching the ins-and-outs of his case as well as liaising with Children Services, Police and Probation in Ireland. I wrote a report detailing why his case was exceptional, as normally an offender On License in the community would not be permitted to travel, let alone move outside of the UK during their probationary period. I explained the case to my supervisor, who added her approval and signature before passing it on to her manager, who did the same before passing it on to the Head of Service in the National Probation Service. Once I had his signature, it was just another week of phone calls and emails before I had the “Prison Governor’s” signature on the official transfer form. 5 month’s of weekly phone calls, meetings and emails later, I was able to call this man and give him the good news. He booked a ferry the next day and will be returning to his family on Monday to serve the rest of his probation period in Ireland.

- #2  - I got a guy, Fareed, a 2-hour extension on his curfew so that he could get to work on time every morning. The process is quite a bit simpler than #1 - getting employment evidence from his boss, commuting time evidence from the National Rail website, writing a request to the prison, calling them each day to ensure they take it seriously - but it still takes some time and gets a very grateful response from the guy when I give him the call saying he won’t be late for work anymore.

- #3 - I had my first meeting with a guy, Lee, who just came out of 28 days in-house rehab following several months in prison. He has been in and out of prison his whole life for offenses ultimately linked to his severe alcohol addiction. He went into prison incredibly frail, aggressive, and with a bad case of jaundice. He came to me looking healthy and talking about everything he has learned from the 12-step program and from his counseling discussions. His friends and family pulled together the money for rehab and for the apartment he moved into for the first time after a year of homelessness. On Tuesday, he has a final outstanding shoplifting court hearing, for which I will write a recommendation to the court for a community sentence or fine. If he is sent back into custody following his detox, he risks losing his new home as well as the motivation and drive he has gained over the last month of rehab. If there’s some rain this weekend, I’ll likely spend some time drafting my letter to submit on Monday.

- #4 - Asif just got a room in a shared flat after 6 months of sofa surfing and street homelessness. He didn’t show up for his appointment this week, but I’m letting this one go.

The Challenges:

#1 - My 34-year old male Service User, Peter, has just proposed to his 18-year old girlfriend after 4 back to back months of 4 Common Assault charges against her, including one in which he can be seen on CCTV throttling her throat after pushing her down stairs in a train station. This case is my highest risk case due to his unstable mental health and housing situation. It has required monthly multi-agency professionals meetings with agencies and police who have been involved with either partner. And it’s also been my only case that has brought me to tears during my monthly 1:1 supervision meeting...believe me, I never expected the tears to flow, and I hated that they did, but this case has gotten under my skin. I think I’m on the other side now, but it’s been one of those cases that I worry about when I go home. As much as I know that his action’s aren’t my responsibility or my fault, I still worry how I will feel if he kills himself after I recommend a prison sentence.. after he tells me he’ll kill himself if he is sentenced to prison again. Things like that. They get to me, and I’m still trying to figure out how to care about the people I work with without taking home their burdens and suffering.

#2 - My 58-year old man, Gerard, relapsed into alcohol use after 12 weeks of sobriety. We’d been meeting every week for 30-40 minute sessions. I’d been chatting with his father on the phone nearly every week, even though I could hardly understand his strong Irish accent. I’d even seen Gerard at a bus stop one time just days before his relapse and congratulated him on all the great progress he has made. In his sober state, he was one of my favorite people to work with. Gentle, humble, a shy humor, engaged... And then he slipped. Something switched and he didn’t come back to his dad’s house that night. And he was picked up for shoplifting the next day. And then picked up and imprisoned 2 days later for sexual assault and 3x spitting at police. 

Fortunately, the successes (however big or small) usually come more often than the challenges. If it were the other way around, I don’t know that I would be strong enough to keep at it every day. But I am still thankful for my job and for the people I work with. And for the privilege, as someone recently put it, to be working everyday with Jesus’ favorite people. 

[flexi-lexi]

(/ω＼)ﾟ.+(〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ.+°50 More Interesting Questions

Rules: fill this out and tag at least one person you’d like to know more about! Or just fill it out! Or don’t! Answer only some of them! Make up your own questions! “What kind of requirement is that”, you ask? A reasonable one! Who am I to tell you what to do? Anything goes!

tagged by: NO ONE BUT @matsujunkie WANTS TO KNOW MORE ABOUT RANDOS SO HERE WE GO

1. What kind of food can’t you stand?: Bland food--unseasoned, monochromatic, flavorless food. Like, I legit feel a specific kind of depression when I eat flavorless food.

2. If you could choose one minor inconvenience to never have to deal with again, what would you pick?: Commuting to work because it’s such a waste of time. The dream is to walk across the street and just be at work, that’d be amazing tbh

3. Have you got any useless talents?:  I can type at like 94wpm lmao

4. If you could be really really good at one thing, what would it be?:  Public speaking--the sheer power behind good public speaking skills and general charisma is not to be underestimated.

5. Name a few people you think are extremely good-looking:  My bf let’s be real Also Emma Watson, Jay Park, T.O.P, Chris Pratt, Ryan Gosling, and Eiza González

6. What was your favorite way to pass the time as a kid?:  I played, played, PLAYED all fuckin day. When I lived in my house in the Philippines, I felt like I always had a million things to do--I’m playing kickball in my garage, I’m playing dolls with my sister, I’m playing pretend chef with my mom, so many things. And when I think I’ve run out of things to do, I’ll just watch cartoons lol

7. What is something you’re proud of?:  I’m extremely proud of my family, especially my parents who worked extremely hard and overcame so much struggle so that my siblings and I could have a brighter future. 

8. What’s one character flaw in people that you just can’t tolerate?:  Lack of basic compassion and consideration for others

9. Do you consider yourself to be more of a leader or a follower?:  I don’t often consider myself a leader, but people have always said I exude the qualities of one. I’ll only be a leader if a group needs a leader. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ve ever been a follower, I’m more of a collaborator.

10. What kind of student are/were you?:  I consider myself painfully average only because I hold myself to a painfully high standard. I think I did relatively well in high school and college, but I was always very hard on myself in high school for not getting straight A’s or not going straight to a reputable university. I’ve learned to ease up on myself in college. Instead, I learned how to be the laziest overachiever possible in college. My motto was, “What is the least amount of work I can do to still get an A- in this class???” lmao

11. Butterfly effect question! Has there ever been a seemingly minor decision you’ve made (at the time) that ended up having a profound influence on your life?: When I decided to sit next to some goody-two-shoes looking girl in 5th grade (lowkey because I was also a goody-two-shoes and I knew she wouldn’t judge me). We’ve been best friends for 15 years.

12. Name your most irrational fear/aversion:  Cockroaches and the dark

13. Are there any fictional characters you find especially relatable?:  As much as she annoys me, Sakura from Naruto is probably the most relatable character because she’s someone who has so much potential but struggled so much to become a better version of herself. She annoyed me in her early days because she was so useless but I think that quality in her annoyed me so much because I’m also kinda useless and I hate that about myself haha

14. If you drink, what kind of drunk are you? Alternatively, what sort of person are you at parties?:  I’m the social butterfly drunk; I suddenly become an extrovert and I’m just annoying af because I just scream my words at everyone. Alternatively, sober me is typically a recluse at parties--I will hang out with my phone, anyone I actually know, or the resident pet. Which is why I tend to drink at parties--I take the term “social lubricant” quite literally.

15. Do you fall in love easily? Or does it usually take a long time for you to trust someone?: Yes, it’s the absolute fucking worst. I hate it. I have a tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt, but I’m trying to lower my expectations of people bit by bit until it’s at a safe level where I can look out for myself.

16. Would you rather have one close friend or 100 casual friends?: 1 close friend, 200%

17. Do you consider yourself to be more of a slob or a neat-freak?:  I am a neat-freak at heart and my dream is to stay that way, but I’m also a really lazy person who can’t be bothered to pick up after myself until something’s been on the floor for 5 months and I start to notice it again.

18. Describe a place (imaginary or real) that you would find incredibly cozy:  A porch on a gloomy October day facing an autumn forest. Alternatively, the same porch but on an early July morning when the sun is just creeping up.

19. Do you have kids? If not, do you want them someday?:  No kids. I’m very wishy washy about kids. I tell myself I don’t want kids, but I still think about it every once in a while. Most recently I think I’ve been having baby fever because I keep imagining what my child would look like if I had one with my bf and what kind of personality he or she would have and how they would call me as their mom (mommy? ma? nay? mi? who knows) and how cool my kid would be if I could get it to speak English, Tagalog, and Korean. I don’t know if this is just a phase or if it will only get worse and more insistent as I get older...

20. What was your favorite book as a child?:  The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke

21. Name one thing you just don’t get what all the hype is about:  Juicing??? Why are people so into juice and like expensive af juice??

22. Name one thing that you think is tragically underrated:  lol free education

23. If you had to be glued to a person for a month, real or fictional (who you have never met), who would you choose?:  Probably my papa’s grandpa, Alex Sr. Three generations named after him and I don’t know a thing about him, who he was or what he looked like.

24. What’s something you’d like the chance to do someday?:  Save a life

25. Do you typically speak your mind when you have a controversial opinion? Or do generally prefer to not rock the boat?:  I generally prefer not to rock the boat. I wish I was more straightforward, but the reason why I’m not is because I tend to get very emotional over things on which I have a strong opinion, and that doesn’t help me state my case at all. I think I’m learning to be more outspoken, though, especially because certain things just touch a nerve with me.

26. What’s the dumbest fad you’ve been caught up in?:  My entire middle school life and parts of my high school life was a dumb fad tbh lol

27. What’s something you thought was cool as a kid/adolescent, but now cringe at yourself for?:  Being punk/emo lmao

28. What’s a trait you consider to be very admirable?:  Conviction; the ability to stand up for what you believe in

29. Is there a particular kind of item people always tend to give you as gifts? (For instance, people always get you things with ducks on them because you like ducks, etc.):  I guess it depends on the person or my situation? Like, my bf always gives me necklaces and he needs to stop my parents always give me furniture and household items because I’m always too poor to buy my own. But overall I don’t think I get any one particular gift on the regular...

30. Do you speak multiple languages? Which ones?:  If by “speak” you mean “learned and know subconsciously but too afraid to practice,” then yes I speak multiple languages aside from English: Tagalog, Japanese, and Italian. I really want to learn Korean next, but where to find time and money......

31. Would you rather live in the big city or the countryside?:  Probably the big city because I’ve always been a city girl and I easily get bored without stimulation. But I also tend to get irritated by excessive noise and hubub, so if I could get a suburb that’s closer to the city side (where there’s more to do than just eat burgers, watch movies, and go bowling), then yeah that’d be awesome.

32. Has there ever been something you were certain you’d hate, but ended up loving?:  The book All Quiet on the Western Front. I saw clips of the film adaptation in high school and thought it was the most boring thing in the world. But then I had to read the book in college and it nearly brought me to tears.

33. Do you mind being the center of attention, or do you prefer the spotlight to be on someone else?:  In my imagination, I crave attention and want to be the center of it. But irl I push that shit away because when the attention is on me I become awkward.

34. Favorite holiday?:  Christmas

35. Are you a more go-with-the-flow type of person, or do you need to have things planned meticulously?:  I think in my heart I’m a Type B, spontaneous, go-with-the-flow type of person, but when I try to be that way I just get anxiety because my mind is too Type A to allow it to happen.

36. Is there something you loved so much you wish you could forget it and experience it all over again? (A tv show, book, series–anything.):  Italy, hands down.

37. What hobbies do you have?:  lol i hate this question because i’m reminded of how boring i am as a person watching TV, listening to music, reading, cooking, practicing makeup (a.k.a. watching makeup tutorials all day), occasional exercise, karaoke, eating, spending time with family

38. If you could have a superpower, but it was only mildly useful, what ability would you want to have?:  I really want to fucking fly but if it’s only “mildly useful” does that I mean my power will fail from time to time??? Because I am absolutely not down to fall at any point. So I guess invisibility? Because the power itself is mildly useful--what the fuck am I gonna do with it? Eavesdrop? Become a voyeur??

39. Something people are always surprised to learn about you:  It varies. 1) That I’m into cars (because people assume that girls aren’t interested in cars???) 2) That I’m a nerd (because I’ve learned to keep it on the DL lol) 3) That I wasn’t born here lmao (because apparently my English is “so good” lol bye)

40. Something that took you way too long to figure out:  That things pretty much never happen that way you plan or hope, but that things still somehow always fall into place.

41. Worst injury you’ve had?: All of my major injuries occurred when I was just a baby so I have no recollection of any of it. I think the worst was when a cookie jar fell and smashed on my tender two-year-old cranium lol

42. Any morbid fascinations?: Sure, maybe old-timey b&w crime scene photos, especially the super gruesome ones because when it’s b&w it’s somehow less nauseating to look at.  I also love “true” ghost stories and reading creepypastas and shit, even though I know it could potentially keep me up at night. Strangely enough, despite these fascinations, I still hate horror films. Go figure.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

43. Describe your sense of humor:  Lots of slapstick, good deal of self-deprecation, a little bit of sarcasm. Bonus: I have a great appreciation for dry humor, but I can’t do dry humor.

44. If you had to be born in another era/place, which would you choose?  As a historian, as much as I admire certain eras, I know better than to ask to be born in a time when I’m way more likely to contract polio or the bubonic plague or be enslaved by Spaniards. I also thoroughly enjoy modern conveniences such as running water and grocery stores LOL I think I want to be born in the ‘80s in the U.S. so I can experience the joy, excitement, and prosperity of the ‘90s in the U.S. It seems like a very minute difference given that I was born in ‘92, but I feel like I’ve missed out on a lot of the ‘90s because I was way too young to appreciate it.

45. Something you are irredeemably bad at:  ~ S P O R T S ~

46. Something that sucked but you’re glad you went through:  Being kicked out of the house lmao Forreal tho, it was an extremely tough and humbling experience, but I’m really happy to be independent. Strangely enough, I feel like I have a much greater sense of love and appreciation for my parents now that they’re not always breathing down my neck LOL

47. Would you rather have a really godawful ugly tattoo in a place that is only slightly inconvenient to conceal with clothing (upper arm, thigh, etc.), or the coolest, most beautiful tattoo ever in the middle of your face? (Neither tattoo can be removed or concealed with makeup, and the ugly tattoo will deeply offend anyone who sees it.):  Ugly tattoo in an inconvenient place. Because imho a tattoo in the middle of my face, regardless of the level of artistry, is an ugly tattoo anyway, and it’s one that I'll have a harder time concealing.

48. Are you more of an optimist or a pessimist?:  I’d like to think of myself as an optimist but I think I come off as a pessimist. Does that makes me a realist? I don’t know but I just told my bf to stop buying lottery tickets because he never wins. You tell me what that makes me lol

49. What would be the most flattering compliment someone could give you?:  If someone ever told me I was “cool.” Because I’ve lived my whole life never thinking I was ever “cool.” Not “cool” as in “I want everyone to like me,” but “cool” like the way I look at someone who has accomplished something that changed the world or someone who stood their ground and gave no fucks about what others thought or someone with a fabulous and unique sense of style. If someone ever told me I was “cool,” to me it means they see something in me that’s admirable or even enviable, and I can’t even begin to fathom how they see those things in me but wow ok yeah cool I’ll take it thank you

50. Something you feel people often misunderstand about you:  Over the years I’ve put up a front of being super happy-go-lucky, even though I’m actually not like that 100% of the time. So on days when I just don’t feel like engaging with people, people just assume I’m angry or sad about something like no I just don’t wanna talk to people rn bye

Tagging: anyone who wants to open up to me, @me because i find these things fascinating as hell

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

THEN

Monday, September 10, 2007

Missing: 3 days

A memory:  Josh was little.  Maybe four.  Mom (his real Mom, Ana) was there, but she wasn’t.  Her friends, too.  He and Mari try to get food, but they get yelled at.  Hit.  Sent outside.  Even at night.  Even in the rain.

He blinked.  Looked around.  It was so dark, Josh wasn’t sure if it was day or night.  There were no windows to tell him.  No clocks.  It smelled wet and gross, but mixed with laundry soap.  Sometimes, he could see the deer head on the wall, if the light was on at the top of the stairs.  The deer was creepy and dead.  There was a mini fridge but it just had beer in it.  Sometimes, Josh wanted a beer so bad because he was thirsty.  He knew it was wrong but swallowing his spit wasn’t working.  There were a bunch of boxes like a wall and Josh wondered what was in them.  What was behind them.  (The washer and dryer and what else?)  There was a bucket for a toilet.  There was the mattress in the corner.  There was the music on loud enough to hurt his ears.

And there was him.  And the pole.  And the chains.  And the tape.  He tried screaming,  Tried fighting.  But nothing happened.  And He was gone.  And Josh hated being alone.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Missing: 1 week

Lena rolled over and had three seconds where everything was normal.  Where she was sure it was a regular Friday where she would drive the kids to school.  Where she and Stef would go to work.  Where they would have family movie night.  It was Jesus’s turn to pick the movie.

Jesus.

Missing.

God.

Tears welled in Lena’s eyes as she opened them.  She saw the empty space Stef had occupied was currently filled by Mariana.  Over the last week, their daughter had fallen apart.  She could not sleep alone in her room.  Had nightmares.  Regressed in other ways.

Therapy, which had gone down to once a week for both Mariana and Jesus, post adoption, was now three times a week, and Mariana mostly sat the whole time.  She refused to open up.  (Though she was plenty open at home, and threw impressive ranting fits over not wanting to go to school, eat dinner, or go to sleep.)

Lena thought she understood, but she also knew Mariana needed routine and predictability.  She needed an education.

(She needed her brother.)

At least they were able to live in their house again.  Lena appreciated Sharon’s hospitality, but constantly felt underfoot until law enforcement said what Lena already knew:  There was no evidence of a crime here.  No evidence Jesus had ever made it home that day.

Checking the time, Lena shook Mariana’s shoulder.  “Up and at ‘em, love,” she said gently, shaking Mariana’s shoulder.

Mariana opened her eyes, and burst into tears.

Lena tried for patience.  She’d had the same reaction moments ago.  She pulled Mariana into her arms, even when she fought.

“It’s not fair!” she wailed.  “I didn’t want to wake up!”

“I know,” Lena soothed, stroking Mariana’s hair.

“What?” Brandon said, breathless.  He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, looking startled, and on alert for any signs of distress.  He had his backpack on already.  Ready to go.

“Get out!” Mariana screamed.

“Hey.  Easy,” Lena reprimanded.  “B, it’s fine.  If you wait, I can give you a ride to school.”

“Oh.  I called Dad.  He’s picking me up.”

“Okay,” Lena answered.  “Love you.”

“Bye.”

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Missing: 15 days

Stef barely slept.  

The hours she was supposed to, she laid awake, wondering where Jesus was.  All the places he could be.  They got more and more devastating as the hours passed: he was in trouble and scared to come home, he was at Ana’s (even though she had been cleared), he was being kept against his will.  He was somewhere, dead, even though Mom had insisted that would never happen to them.

She got out of bed while it was still dark, nearly tripping over Mariana, in her sleeping bag on the floor.  Stef scooped her up and tucked her into bed beside Lena.  She dressed in the dark and stopped by B’s room to kiss him goodbye.

He jerked awake: “Are you going?  I should call Dad.”

“Lena is here.  Your dad is going to be out with me, but we will text you with any news, okay?” Stef whispered.

“Can’t I help?  I know stuff you guys don’t.  Like where he hangs out.  I know I can find him if you just let me try.”

“Love, we’ve checked the beaches and the playgrounds, okay?  We checked Cucina, in case he hitched a ride there for pizza.  We called his friends.”

Brandon’s face fell.  Then, just as quickly, he looked hopeful:  “What about his bio mom?  Or dad?  Do you guys know anything about them?”

“Their birth mom has an alibi that checked out.  Their birth dad’s in jail.”

“For kidnapping?”  Brandon’s eyes are wide.

“No, love, for other things.  Listen, I love you very much and I love that you want to help, but the best thing for me is to know that you are safely where you should be today.  So text me when you get to school.”  Stef bent down to kiss his forehead.

“I made you a lunch.  It’s in the fridge next to mine and Mariana’s.”

“You don’t have to do that, love, but thank you.” Stef smiled.

“No big deal.  I’m used to it.”

It hit Stef as she was driving to today’s search site, exactly what B meant:  he was used to making three lunches.  One for him.  One for Mariana.  And one for Jesus.  With Jesus gone, Brandon couldn’t bring himself to just make two.

She wiped her eyes, parked the car and greeted all the volunteers who turned up to search.  Even this early on a Monday morning, they still had a good turnout.  So, even though Stef’s stomach had yet to truly settle since hearing the news, she put on a brave face.  Smiled.

“Thanks for coming out, Chris,” she said, recognizing the man whose mom brought TV dinners that night.  He came to visit her about once a week, despite the long commute from LA.

“Of course,” he said, sending her a sad smile.  He pinned on a button on his shirt, showing Jesus’s fourth grade picture.  HAVE YOU SEEN ME was typed below his face.  “I’m real sorry, Stef,” he said.  “But we’ll find him.”

“Thank you,” Stef nodded, and took a deep breath.  She needed to look for her son.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Missing: 2 weeks and 2 days

When the music shut off, Josh froze.  He was back.  Josh had no idea how long it had been, but it felt like forever.  Josh had eaten all the pizza He couldn’t finish the last time He was here.  (One piece.)  Finished the bottle of water.

Josh felt dirty.  Wanted a shower almost more than he wanted sleep.  Or food.  Or light.

The bare lightbulb clicked on and blinded Josh.  It stabbed his eyeballs.  He closed his eyes against the pain.

Even though Josh hated it when they went to the mattress, he was also freezing and hurting.  The mattress was kind of soft.  And He was warm at least.  Josh was disappeared a million miles away when his hair is yanked.

“I said, ‘Hey Dumbass.  Ask me what I did this weekend?’”

“What did you do this weekend?” Josh asked in a voice as dead as the creepy deer head on the wall.

He smiled.  “I searched for some little brat from San Diego.  Talked to his mom.  Ate donuts and soup.  Oh, they fed us real good.”

Undoing something from His shirt, He dropped it on Josh’s chest.

Josh didn’t breathe.  Stared at the ceiling.  Spelled with his leg-marker.

“PICK IT UP!” He screamed.

Josh felt his body jolt.  Started shaking.  But he obeyed.  Picked up the thing in trembling hands and squinted at it.  

In the bad light, Josh can just make out the face.  The pieces click together as He goes back to doing Something Else, like He is making up for all the lost time.  

He had searched for Jesus?  For him?  He had talked to Stef?  Josh’s heart beat faster.  It was like he was frozen afraid.

The picture squeezed in his hand.  (Had she held it, too?)  

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Josh’s fingers opened.  It clattered to the floor.

[stillkickingalex]

On The Road

Poor Bessie got a workout as I drag raced across campus, pulling around to the alley behind the bar I told Nick to meet us at. Raylan was silent in the seat next to me, her eyes wide and glossed over. I parked the car and leaned over, taking her hand in mine and kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna protect you. Okay?” She nodded, her eyes blinking a few times before meeting mine. She smiled a little and whispered, “I know.” I left her in the car with the engine running--you never could be too careful with an epidemic breaking out on campus--and walked around the corner looking for Nick. Sure enough, he was heading my way, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, man,” I clasped his hand with mine. “Where’s Hector?” “He and his roommates took a car and are heading south.” “South?” I nearly yelled. Clearing my throat I reigned my shock in. “Do they know it’s worse down there?” “Yeah, man, but he wanted to look for his family,” Nick shrugged helplessly. I could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Going anywhere near the border to Mexico was a dangerous move. But, even I could admit to myself: If my mom was down there, I’d do the same thing. “You coming with us, then?” I nodded towards the bag Nick carried. He nodded, and I didn’t waste another moment, leading him to my old Chevy and opening up the back door so he could climb in behind Raylan. They exchanged quiet hellos as I slid into the front seat and put ‘er in gear. “Alright, let’s see how far we can drive before we have to get creative.” Nick made us recount exactly what we had seen a few hours ago, and after I explained it to him, he went uncharacteristically silent in the back seat. I hit up a gas station two towns over, overfilling my tank, filling the spare canteen and setting it carefully into the trunk, and buying every map the guy had inside the store. I also grabbed snacks and supplies. The attendant looked at my University sweatshirt and cocked his head. “You from that school where they shot up that fugitive?” I met his eyes and replied that I was. “Damn crackheads. Running around like they’re possessed. You kids need to find Jesus.” I swallowed down every smartass retort, every snarky reply I usually sent back to religious folks, and simply nodded my head. “You might be right about that one.” I took my armful of goods and headed back out to the car. Once inside I put Bessie in gear and got on the highway, heading north. Sure, they had said not to travel and that the borders from state to state were closed, but how serious could they be? Could they really monitor every road that crossed state lines? It was impossible. And if I had to drive across a field to get to Maine, I would. We could stay north of the Appalachians and swing up through Pennsylvania and New York. Raylan’s phone started dinging, and when she looked at her messages, a little squeak came from her throat. “What? What is it?” I asked. Nick leaned forward to read the screen with her. “Holy shit!” he whispered. “What? Someone tell me what is going on?” I was tempted to take my eyes off the road, but there was too much morning traffic. People were commuting to work, carrying on with their lives, had no clue what was lingering just south of their doorsteps. “Julie sent me a video,” Raylan was sniffling. “I thought she was leaving, I told her to leave.” “Yeah well, she didn’t yet. I mean, I think she is now. God, I hope she can now.” “What was on the video?” I nearly growled out the words. Someone better tell me what the fuck was going on. Nick finally piped up. “It’s just like what you guys saw in the street. There’s more, all coming from that same tower of apartments. They’re leaking out like roaches into the streets, all deranged and attacking anyone that gets close. Cops have locked down that whole area of campus, they aren’t letting anyone leave or get in.” “What about…” I peeked over at Raylan, who was chewing on her lip so hard it was about to split open. “She’s there. Her cousin couldn’t get there in time.” I stared at the road ahead of us, headlights of oncoming traffic passing by. Jesus. They were all fucked. “Tell Julie to get out of there, no matter what it takes. She may have to wait until nightfall, until it’s dark, but she can sneak away. Raylan. Tell her she has to leave, get by those cops at any cost. Kick in the nuts, money, offer them a ride, whatever it is. Raylan!” “I know!” She yelled through her tears. “You think I don’t know, Alex? Fuck! My best friend is stuck there while I got a free ride out of town. I left her and now she’s all alone. She’s scared and has no one to help her, no boyfriend with a getaway car, no best friend to help her escape.” I swallowed a few times. Fuck, she was right. We should have brought her with us. “I’m sorry, I thought… I thought her family would come get her and she’d be okay on their farm. I’m sorry, Raylan.” Nick stayed quiet behind us as the car hummed at a steady 65 mph. “Even I can admit I didn’t believe you at first,” Raylan finally whispered. “I thought you were just overreacting. You saw that video from Mexico, which I thought was a hoax. I figured with your mom being a doctor you were just a little paranoid. But now…” she just sniffled again and went quiet. I reached over and took her hand, linking our fingers. “She’s gonna make it. Tell her to lock all the doors, cover the windows, wait until nightfall, and then sneak away to her cousin’s. Tell her, Raylan. Tell her she /will/ make it.” Raylan nodded, sending a quick message with her free hand. “I have to believe she will. Or I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her.” Neither will I. #OnTheRoad