#and he lived on the Asian side instead of on campus like almost all other foreign teachers

[patrice-bergerons]

I'm at that age now where my high school teachers have started dying and I don't like it at all 😔

[peanutpinet]

Lucas x Reader (mafia)

A/N: I dunno if this is a bad thing or not but I immediately got an idea from this writing prompt I found on Pinterest where character A found out character B got into a "fight" and got hurt then character A swipe their thumb across character B's bloodied lip and asked "Who did this to you", kay I'm weak

Alright, I'm a bit emotional because I had just submitted my final assignment and sorta used Lucas' name in my assignment but immediately jumping straight here XD

Theme: abuse (just a bit but I still put it out here), scary Lucas and some fluff!!

Kay, for this scenario, I, once again, imagine that Lucas is the head of the WayV unit of the NCT mafia. Also, to clarify, the NCT mafia that I imagine doesn't really do anything bad. Instead, they are more so a group that the government decided to build to serve the world but doesn't necessarily follow the rules; something like a secret agency but wilder.

Anyways, everyone in the business world practically knows who NCT is, who the members are and that NCT are always watching. No matter what business they are, wherever they are, NCT has eyes everywhere. Which is why no one dared to question them and would never try to challenge them in any shape or form.

With that being said it didn't mean that NCT was never harmed or was never targeted by other mafias that were trying to run illegal businesses all over the world. It's just that they were always unsuccessful when it came to challenging NCT because NCT would always be one step ahead of them.

Which was why when someone harmed you, Lucas' girlfriend, it nearly shook the entire NCT. Okay, let's rewind how it all happened and actually put some context to how you guys met and how your relationship became what it is.

So, just as the previous Lucas fic I did, you were just a college student while Lucas, is the head of the WayV unit, a sub-unit of NCT that mainly takes care of business in China/Hongkong/Taiwan/Southeast Asian countries. You were in your 2nd year of college when you met Lucas. It was an accident, really.

You were walking back to your dorm after hanging out with your friends who weren't living at the dorm. You told them that the dorm was nearby and you would be fine on your own; adding that you have been taking some self-defence class. But unfortunately, tonight was just not your night, or was it?

You were almost by your dorm's gate when a gang of motorcycles rushed past you, one of them grabbing your bag while you tried to hold onto it. Unfortunately, you were overpowered and ended up falling on your butt while the gang of motorcycles were cheering until another gang of motorcycles and cars blocked their path.

And of course, one of them was Lucas. Lucas came out of the car and confronted the low gang motorcycles, telling them off unless they wanted to take it further which by the look of the gang, they were not expecting the NCT to come and deal with them since normally, it would be the police.

"I'm only going to tell you off just once. Stand down and stay where you are unless you want this problem to escalate further" Lucas growled at the motorcycle gang who just stood their stance

"Round them up. Now, which one of you, ahh, there you are" Lucas mentioned, grabbing your bag which the gang stole

Honestly, you were just stunned. You weren't expecting two different gangs to be doing this late at night and on a school night at that. You just sat on the ground watching the whole scene unveil until Lucas went up to you, extending his hand out which you nervously grabbed.

"You alright? This must be yours" Lucas stated, handing you your bag while your hand was still in his

"Huh? Oh, yea, thank you. Ar-are you like with the police or like is this a gang fight because if it is then I better go back to my dorm..." you stuttered, earning a chuckle from Lucas

"No. We're not really with the police but we're also not really fighting that gang. You can definitely say we're a gang but our gang doesn't really do those bad things. We're more so, cleaning up the trash" Lucas chuckled

"Oh, okay then. Um, thanks again for this" you uttered, shyly looking away

"Anytime. Take care. May our paths cross again someday" Lucas commented, letting go of your hand and heading back to his group

And cross paths you both did. Truth was that Lucas secretly spied on you because you left that much of an impression on him. It didn't take long for Lucas to finally came and told you how he felt because that night he saw you walking back to your dorm, alone, again. Worried that something similar would happen again, he didn't hesitate to come up to you and walked you back.

From walking you back to your dorm, to exchanging contacts and 'i love you' to now, almost a full year of dating. Throughout the whole year, Lucas slowly introduced you to all of NCT. Starting from WayV to the Dreamies who were closer to your age along with some new members (Sungchan and Shotaro) before NCT 127. At this point, everyone in NCT knows that you and Lucas were a thing and was even happy for y'alls relationship, supporting you every step of the way(V); especially the WayV members.

From the beginning of your relationship, Lucas would already tell you what he does and that he promise you that he would never let anyone harm you; and even if they did, they would pay for it. Lucas also told you that he would never exclude you from your life just because you were dating him and you would have every right to do whatever you wanted to do (just with some additional protections).

Lucas and the other NCT members also allowed for you to come to visit them at their headquarters or even at their own apartments whenever you wanted to (remember the visit to Lucas' apartment, yea). And today was one of those days.

After the incident on campus, Lucas made sure that he would be the one to pick you up and drop you off to campus since you practically moved in with him after the incident. If he couldn't make it, he would have someone from NCT do so. They would even accompany you wherever you wanted to go because to them, it was an excuse to get out from the boring meetings that occurred too regularly.

Today, Xiaojun and Hendery were the ones to pick you up because they were passing by your campus. You texted the two boys that you were just going to have a consultation with your lecturer for your final paper and told them to wait for 15 minutes.

But while Lucas did his best to make sure you were unharmed by anyone involved in NCT, there were just some things out of his control. Because as it turns out, your "consultation" turned to be a trap. There was a rumour going around your college about the literature lecturer abusing female students but there was never any proof so no one really believed the rumour, yourself included.

WARNING!! IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE READING ABOUT ABUSIVE BEHAVIOUR, PLEASE SKIP THIS PART!!

When you went into the lecturer's room, you were quick to notice something was off. How your lecturer purposely brushed his hand over yours, leaning his head a bit too forward to your liking and finding excuses to get closer to you. Just when you were saved by a phone call from Xiaojun, your lecturer was also quick to notice your behaviour. He grabbed your phone and throwing it off your hand before pinning you to the door, locking it.

You tried your best to fight off with the self-defence lessons you took and learnt from some members of NCT but once again, when you're faced with the actual situation, sometimes, it doesn't turn out how you expected. While you managed to kick your lecturer and got free of his grip, you failed your escape as your lecturer yanked your hair back, making you hit your head on his desk before being welcomed with a hard slap that cut your lip.

Over at Xiaojun and Hendery's side, the second you didn't answer their 5th call, they knew something was wrong. Pulling out the GPS for the tracker they put in your phone, they followed it and arrived in front of the literature's office. Hearing grunts and screams, both Xiaojun and Hendery didn't waste any time on breaking the door.

Entering the room, Xiaojun was quick to pull the lecturer off and gave him a hard punch whilst Hendery went to see your weak figure by the desk, ripped shirt, cut lip and bruises covering most of your body. Hendery immediately took his jacket off and putting it around you, calling out to Xiaojun to get out of there.

Kay, you can continue reading from here!!

"Oi!! Xiaojun!! We should go now!!" Hendery called out

"Shouldn't we grab the douche as well? Lucas would want to have a word with him" Xiaojun complained, grabbing the passed out lecturer by the collar

"We can always track him again. The problem is getting (Y/N) to safety. C'mon!!" Hendery protested, holding your figure firmly

"Fine. He's dead sooner than later" Xiaojun sighed, throwing the lecturer on the ground, helping Hendery bring you back to headquarters

Upon arriving, the three of you were greeted by some of the dreamies and WayV members, mainly Renjun, Jeno, Ten and Winwin. The four of them were informed by Hendery that you were going to need some treatment as soon as possible before Lucas finds out about the situation. Renjun and Jeno were quick to take you from Hendery and Xiaojun, helping you to the treatment room where Ten and Winwin were.

"No one informed the others or Taeyong or even Lucas about this, right?" Xiaojun asked

"Lucas and Taeyong are out with the 'Make A Wish' unit to finish with the business contract. Depending on how that go, Lucas can either be very pissed when he finds out or..." Renjun mentioned

"Or he could be ready to kill you both" Ten blurted, helping to treat the bruises on your arm and legs while Winwin have a look on your face

"Guys!! They're back!!" Jeno stated, making everyone in the room tense while you were somewhat asleep

"Quick!! We have to move her to a different room, they're for sure going to come here first" Hendery mentioned

"Who do you have to move and why?" everyone heard Jaehyun mentioned

"Jae...hyun-hyung...and Lucas-hyung, hey!!!" Renjun stuttered as the others were trying to cover you from their sight

"Why are there 6 of you here? Xiaojun and Hendery too? Is (Y/N) resting somewhere? In the kitchen?" Lucas questioned as everyone nervously sweats

"Ummm, yea, she's resting. She said she was extremely tired. Her classes finished a bit late. We had to wait for a good hour when we arrived" Hendery nervously answered

"Weird. I would normally get a text from her. Maybe she's napping" Lucas sighed, looking at his phone

"Lu...cas..." you mumbled as the boys tried to cover it up

"Huahhh, Lucas-hyung. Jaehyun-hyung. You must be tired. How did the meeting go?" Jeno tried to divert the conversation

"Wait, that, sounded like (Y/N). Is she napping here?" Lucas asked, trying to look around as the others blocked his view

"What? No!!! She's in your resting room" Renjun argued

"Lucas? Jaehyun? Taeyong wants us to have a quick meeting right now" everyone heard Doyoung mentioned

"Doyoung-hyung!! How did the mission go?" Xiaojun asked as Doyoung went into the room

"Not that good. Which is why Taeyong wants a meeting on our plans for the next step. C'mon, we have to go" Doyoung ranted, pulling both Lucas and Jaehyun out of the room

"Tell (Y/N) to see me in my office later!!" Lucas stated before being dragged out of the room with Jaehyun

"You got it!!" everyone muttered

"Ten-hyung, Winwin-hyung, please be quick!! Hang in there (Y/N)" Jeno mumbled as the two older men treated you

Time skip for an hour or so

"We did everything we could. She has to see him either way" Ten argued

"He's going to kill us" Hendery reasoned

"Well, you might as well tell him now before he finds out on his own. And maybe have the douche's location ready so he wouldn't lash out at you. Plus, if the both of you were there with her, he wouldn't kill you. He would never do it in front of her" Winwin stated

"They're right Hendery. We gotta tell him. At least we won't die that quickly if we tell him when (Y/N)'s with him" Xiaojun mentioned

"Alright, (Y/N), wakey wakey, let's see your boyfriend" Hendery groaned as he was about to wake you up but saw an empty bed

"UHHH!! Xiaojun?! Ten-hyung?! Winwin-hyung?! WHERE IS (Y/N)?!" Hendery panicked

"Where's Jeno and Renjun?!" Xiaojun questioned, looking back at the two older ones who shook their head

"Crap!! Hendery we gotta go, now!! Thank you for treating her!!" Xiaojun exclaimed, dragging Hendery out of the room to Lucas' office

At Lucas' office

"Hyung? Can we come in? (Y/N) is here" Renjun stated as Lucas perked from his chair

"Come on in!!!" Lucas exclaimed, ready to welcome you with a big hug especially since he already freshened up

However, Lucas was not expecting to see you still wearing the same clothing you did in the morning when he dropped you off to campus with Hendery's jacket around you. Not only that, the more he walked closer to you, the more evident the bruises on your body were. At this point, Lucas was more than ready to kill both Hendery and Xiaojun but he had to calm his nerves and take care of you first.

"(Y/N)...sweetheart, what happened? Who did this to you?" Lucas questioned, running his right thumb across your dry bloodied lip while his left hand was placed softly behind your head

"Please...please don't kill them" you managed to state, looking down from Lucas' gaze at the same time he heard loud footsteps coming to his office

"We can explain!!!" Hendery exclaimed as he and Xiaojun were panting when arriving by Lucas' doorframe

"In, both of you. Jeno, Renjun, you both can leave" Lucas stated as he brought your figure behind his desk, straddling you on his lap as Renjun and Jeno left

"Before you get mad at us. We have a good explanation" Hendery muttered

"It better be" Lucas growled but calmed down when you nuzzled your head on his neck, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders

After some explanation, Lucas was more than furious at what happened. Was the warning towards the bastard couple not enough to inform the campus that you were off-limits? What's more was that your so-called lecturer was a regular at one of NCT's bar and even part of the businessmen that didn't fully agree to the agreement they were dealing with.

"Wow. Talk about killing two birds with one stone" Lucas chuckled, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist, making sure you wouldn't fall since you were asleep

"You're not going to kill us, right?" Hendery asked

"If you both manage to get that bastard in the bar within half an hour, I'll reconsider it. And the both of you better come as well. Now get on it and explain everything to Taeyong-hyung as well. Go." Lucas instructed and the two immediately left the office

"Love. Do you want to sleep here or back home?" Lucas softly asked, bringing your face to meet his

"Hmm? Anywhere, as long as you're there" you yawned

"Do you mind staying at the base just for tonight? I have to deal with something" Lucas mumbled, brushing your hair off your face, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead

"Don't hurt Xiaojun and Hendery, okay? They helped me. It wasn't their fault for what happened. It was also not your fault, so don't blame yourself too" you muttered, nuzzling back into Lucas' neck, inhaling his signature scent

"If that's what you want. I won't hurt them. But I can't promise for your lecturer" Lucas sighed, patting your head

"He, he hurt others as well. He deserved to be hurt too" you sighed

"Is that so? Anything for you sweetheart. Now, I'll leave you with the dreamies and under 127's supervision, is that alright?" Lucas questioned tho it was more so a statement

"Hmm. Be careful, alright? Everyone has to come back safely" you mentioned, feeling a smirk forming on Lucas' face

"Will do sweetheart. Get some rest" Lucas mumbled, kissing the side temple of your face before carrying you to the dreamies' dorm, entrusting you with Jeno and Renjun

At the bar

"She alright?" Taeyong questioned, walking into the bar with Lucas and the 'Make a Wish' unit

"Yea. Left her with the rest of the dreamies. Sorry that we had to work this late" Lucas sighed

"It's alright hyung. We won't let anyone harm our sister and gets away with it" Jaemin mentioned

"You guys actually called her sister?" Lucas chuckled

"Of course!! She's the same age as most of us, dreamies. Plus, she's so much fun to be around with" Shotaro added

"They'll pay for what they did. Just look at them" Jaehyun chuckled, opening the door to their office in the bar, revealing Xiaojun and Hendery holding the lecturer and the other businessman down

"Wow, it really is killing two birds with one stone" Lucas smirked

"You, you can't kill us. The government wouldn't allow it!!" the leader spoke

"Oh? Who said anything about killing when you're already dead" Taeyong scoffed, sitting on the chair behind the desk

"Wh, what do you mean, dead?" the lecturer stuttered

"Heh, he's all yours Lucas" Taeyong stated

"You see. The second you lay on that student today, you're already in our death note. No one. And I mean no one. Touches my queen without my permission. Especially a bastard that harms other people's queens. Oh, the things I'm going to do to you. It'll make you wish that you were actually dead" Lucas snickered, stepping on the lecturer's throat, just enough to make him suffocate to Lucas' liking

A/N: Well, that ended a bit dark

[utterlyinevitable]

give me a headcanon where Bryce (who works at chipotle) gives Becca a “special napkin” with his number on it LOL. A guy just did that to me I sent u a pic 💀✨ me when I’m a minor but also me when I am gonna troll him. ly 💖 ayla

the way i read this first and then ran upstairs to check my phone 🙈😅

Ok but, instead of Chipotle it’s the Mexican counter in the dining hall because we’ve got ourselves uni students bryce and becca 😎

Bryce x Becca Meet at Burrito Bar

Becca has only been to Mills Dining Hall a handful of times. It’s on the other side of campus and has a smaller selection than the main dining hall. She really only goes there when she’s craving Asian fusion or Mexican.

This semester she and Sienna had class nearby. So the two girls made a habit of grabbing lunch at Mills every Tuesday and Thursday.

Bryce worked at the Mexican stall to pay his way through college until his 21st birthday. As soon as he turns 21 he’d apply for a gig as a bartender at every bar nearby. 

He heard her laugh before he ever saw her. 

Four people down his queue was the brunette speaking with her doe eyed friend.

Once it was her turn, Sienna went to go find them a table. 

“I’ve never been here before - what do you suggest?” she asked as she pointed to the assembly line of ingredients.   “Do you like heat?” Bryce asked good naturedly.   “In some instances.”  Bryce chuckled, “We’ll start off with something mild.” 

She ended up with a beef and chicken burrito with almost all the fixings.  

“Woah. How’d you do that so fast?” her jaw nearly dropped at how quickly he wrapped and folded the tortilla.  “Great hands,” he winked and wiggled his fingers. 

Becca laughed, thanked him and went on with her day. 

Bryce watched her walk away, the glitter of amazement in her eye will forever occupy his mind. 

The next week she lined up at the Mexican stall;  “You again!”  “Me again,” she smiled back. 

He followed her order and as he rolled her burrito he said;  “I’m Bryce, by the way.”  “Becca.”  “Do you live nearby?”  “Over in Golding. I have Anthro in Ford, so I treat myself twice a week.”  “Looking forward to seeing you,” he smiled.  

He passed her the plate and napkin. 

Becca sat down with Sienna and noticed the legible scrawl in black ink on the napkin.  Bryce L. 808-555-4722

She chuckled to herself and folded the flimsy brown paper into her backpack. 

She never called. 

Honestly, she completely forgot about it. 

The next week Becca walked from the Chinese stall and to her seat in the far side overlooking the Quad. 

Bryce noticed her neon backpack immediately. 

He also noted that she was eating alone. She was never alone. 

Sienna had a paper due and went to the library to finish it off. 

Bryce decided on a bold move - he took his break early. 

Becca was so lost in what she was reading on her phone that she didn’t hear him come over until the plastic of his dish clanked against the wood table. 

“Oh!” she jumped in her seat. Her face softening once she noticed her companion, “Hey.”  “Hey. Mind if I join you?”  “Not at all.” 

They shared pleasantries and chats to get to know one another. 

Bryce and Becca took a liking to one another. It was like they’ve known each other for decades. 

It wasn’t awkward at all and soon enough they were laughing - loud, wide mouth and doubled over kind of laughing. 

Forty minutes later Bryce had to go back to work. 

“I gotta run. See you next week.” He gathered his things and was about to walk away. 

She bit her lip. Thinking hard about taking a chance. What’d she have to lose anyway?

“How about this weekend?” 

He turned around and gave her one of his signature megawatt smiles.  

[achlysmiseria]

Chapter 1: =My First Day at a New School=

Being in a relationship with a serial killer kinda sucks. But before that, maybe I should start by introducing myself or something. I don’t know. There’s nothing special about me. My name is Perseus Alexander Moore. I’m an eighteen-year-old guy in his twelfth year and I’m distinctive in most groups but I’m not famous or rich or smart. I’m just those guys you normally see in school except I don’t exactly go as ‘normal’ since my hair is styled in an afro which makes it easy to distinguish in a group of people. This is the start of how I made the greatest mistake of my life.

Today I will be going to a new school. It had to be arranged since I moved into my older brother's place. If you’re wondering why, a big incident took place, which I have to live with my whole life but we’ll talk about that later. After changing into clothes for the day, I crept out of my room and went downstairs and the first thing I came upon was the sweet smell of pancakes and bacon filling my nose. My nose scrunched up which made me stop but not because of the smell, but because of the person right in front of me.

Eric Ulysses Moore, my big brother. He’s a successful hematologist oncologist here in this small city of Asheville, North Carolina. He’s got the same curly brown locks as mine except it’s not long or styled informally. We both look somewhat alike but since he’s blessed with our dad’s genes, who is a tall man, he has much darker skin than me and I was told he was taller than me when he was my age.

While my brother cooked breakfast and I’m standing at the kitchen door, I felt like I should just tiptoe out of there but he turned and saw me. “Good morning, Perseus,” he greeted with a smile. “Had a good night’s sleep?”

“Yeah,” I blandly replied. “I also have to go. I might be running late.”

“School doesn’t start at seven-thirty. Eat something first.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said but of course, he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He served a plate and pointed his eyes to the vacant chair, gesturing I should sit down.

“Look,” my voice was leveled. “I don’t want to deal with you right now. I have to get going.”

“Perseus,” he called back. I ignored him and ran out the door. I brought out my earphones and plugged them in my ears, momentarily escaping from this hell called reality. I grabbed my skateboard and I skated through the busy streets.

Normally, my mom would kill me if I did this. My mind being preoccupied with the music playing, words popping up in my head for lyrics, guitar chords I could possibly use for a song I’m writing while I pass busy streets, small comments in my head about the places I pass will definitely make her want my head.

The trip would have been really quick if I hadn't had to go through so many huge groups of people hurrying to their destinations and most of them are too oblivious to notice what’s around them.

Once I reached the gates of the school, I was somehow —what’s the appropriate word— disappointed.

Right in front of me could have been a grand building but the gate alone is covered in graffiti and the paint is tearing off. The building itself looks like it’s about to collapse, given a few years or even less. You might even think it’s haunted. Students filed into the entrance and it gave me second thoughts. What if I just skipped school today? I thought it would be nice. I could just go home and go back to sleep but then, I have to deal with Eric. And to think of the possible scenarios when I enter these gates: probably new friends, or more jerks who are looking for trouble. I swallowed the anxiousness and the excitement growing in me and I walked in.

Entering the building, I felt like I was a kitten that trespassed a lions’ den. In the hallway, everybody turned their head towards me and I tried my best to stay passive.

Luckily, when I got enrolled here, they gave me my schedule and the room numbers so I didn’t have to ask around. I reached the room for my first class, which is Conservatory of Music. Then I noticed there was this note taped on the glass window of the door. It said: Class will be in the Music Room. I raised an eyebrow. Music Room, I thought. I looked down at the paper I had in my hand and scanned it. It didn’t have any directions for the room. I buried the annoyance that’s building up in me and looked around just in case no one could see how stupid I look and with my luck, I found three guys walking in my direction. The guy on the right had copper-red hair, freckles across his cheeks and nose, and a mischievous grin on his face and is probably one of the people I will never trust my life with when handling matches or sharp objects. The one on the middle had emo/scene slick black hair and it was long on one side so it hid his face. He looked reserved at first glance since he had his head lowered and even if his friend on the right had his arm locked on his neck, he didn’t complain. The one on the left took me aback. I was looking at a much younger clone of Brandon Routh when he played Clark Kent or Superman. He’s this tall guy with glasses, shiny black hair swept to the side, and a jacket. His facial features are almost perfect and I don’t think his face is familiar to acne or a single pimple. The guy on the right saw me. His hazel-green eyes shone and his grin widened. “Hey,” he waved. “You must be new.”

“I am,” I had to keep a straight face. The redhead kept smiling but when he faced the note on the door, he frowned. “Damn,” he snapped his fingers. He faced his friend and yelled to them, “Upstairs, guys. Prof switched rooms.”

“I told you he would,” said the guy with the glasses. The ginger raised his hands in defeat but still cracked a smirk. “At least we found this guy,” he gestured his hands to me. “If we didn’t think to check this room, he would be late than we already were.”

“Yeah, yeah shut up, Michael.” The other two faced me and studied me from head to toe. Superman said, “You were lucky. This campus is huge.”

“That’s what she said,” the guy named Michael snorted, which earned him a smack on the back of the head, “You’re so mean, Xavier.”

“And you’re being an idiot,” replied Xavier, who had a more Asian look than everybody else I've seen.

I felt inept. I’m standing in the middle of a playful conversation of strangers I just met and they didn’t really mind me there. Or how late we were.

“Hey,” I spoke up. “Aren’t we supposed to get to class?” The three of them stared at each other then realized it with a start. Some of them cursed and then we ran to the Music Room.

Fortunately, we reached class before the professor arrived. The place was huge and I think we were more than fifty students here. We were going to be seated on the floor and our bags were piled onto each other at the back. But what’s enticing are the instruments in front of us. I was tempted to grab a guitar and run but the professor finally entered the room. Before I could look around for a place to sit, someone already grabbed my hand and pulled me down.

“Sorry,” said Clark Kent. “I didn’t get to introduce myself. I’m Nicholas Taylor but call me Nick.”

“I’m Perseus Moore,” we held out each other’s hand and shook it. Behind Nick, Michael’s head popped out and he beamed. “I’m Michael Johnathan Carter. Most people call me Michael or Mike. You pick. I don’t care.” We shook hands and I faced their other friend.

“I’m Xavier Hernandez,” he said politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Perseus.”

“Yeah,” I tried to smile. They seem nice, I thought to myself. We started talking in our small circle and then Nick asked, “Do you play any instruments?”

“I play guitar,” I replied. Michael’s grin got even wider if that was possible and then he scooted near me. “What songs can you play?”

“Erm,” I moved a bit farther from him but I was saved when the professor got our attention. He’s a guy that looked like he was supposed to go to a Rock concert but got lost and ended up in a classroom full of teenagers. Instead of the usual teachers’ uniform, he wore this black band shirt of Korn, had a few piercings on his lips and eyebrow, plus tattoos all over his arms. “Good morning class,” he greeted. I thought we would respond with the habitual bland greeting but the place roared with excitement. Everyone was just yelling at the top of their lungs so the teacher had to silence us. “After a summer break, you all are still very loud.”

“We love you, Sir Ramirez!” Michael yelled and it just ignited another round of cheers. Again, we were silenced but I’m surprised one finger from the teacher made everyone quiet.

“I am also glad to see you all again. Most of you have moved up which is great,” Sir Ramirez congratulated us. “I was also informed that we have a new student joining us. Where is he?”

I just sat there, not planning to do anything for anyone to catch my attention but Michael grabbed my arm and raised it for me. Quickly, I yanked it away and glared at him. “Thank you, Michael. Now, please come up front.” The first thing I thought was, What is this? Grade school? But I obeyed and walked over to his side. “Introduce yourself.”

“Hi,” I started, I could feel my palms starting to sweat. “I’m Perseus Moore.”

“Do you play any instruments, Perseus, or are you just here to learn a thing or two?”

“I can play.”

“Awesome,” Sir Ramirez clapped his hands. Everyone started muttering to themselves and I didn’t like it at first until the prof asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar, sir.”

He smiled and walked over to the corner where the pile of goodies are and picked up a maroon Gibson SG then handed it over. My eyes widened at the guitar and I looked up at him for confirmation. “Give us a show, Perseus.” He signaled me to start and with barely any practice for the past month, I played Thunderstruck by AC/DC. The students went wild and I think everyone on this floor, and possibly the one under and the one above us, could hear them singing the song.

Sir Ramirez raised his hand to stop me in the middle of the song and I did. Everyone had this look on their faces which I can’t comprehend and my heart was pounding against my ribs. “So,” the professor starts. There wasn’t that much emotion shown on his face and I wasn’t comfortable with that. “I can’t tell you how much I’m impressed.”

“You are?” I blinked. “I mean, thank you, sir.”

“Of course I am. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone with this much grit and how much the whole class enjoyed it.” Then everyone started screaming like their favorite basketball team won. Makes me wonder how their voices haven’t cracked yet. I would never last that long. When they settled, Sir Ramirez clapped his hands and everyone joined him. With an awkward smile and my pulse beating in my throat, I bowed. Nick and the others cheered and they were joined by everyone else. When I got back to my seat, class started and at that point, I happily thought that this was going so well so far. Boy, was I wrong.

After three classes, it was finally our Lunch Break. I hated the other classes since the teachers after Conservatory were snobby, nosy, and irritating as hell. They lose their cool easily. I’m only grateful that Nick, Michael, and Xavier will be in the same classes as me since they’re the only people I know.

While we were walking to the cafeteria, Nick said, “You were great back there.”

“Thanks,” I tried to sound more confident than I am.

“Wanna join our band?” Michael smiled. “We’re missing a lead guitarist. And you don’t seem to be part of anything yet.”

“You’re recruiting me?”

“Of course,” he placed his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve been talking about it. You in? Please say you are.”

“Stop that, Michael,” Xavier spoke up. “You know we have to talk to Morpheus first about this.”

“Who?” I turned to him.

“He’s our band leader and frontman,” Nick replied. “The guy’s awesome and super chill. He would love to meet you. But we need to know if you want to join us as well or otherwise, he’d think that we forced you to.” Then I heard Michael comment, “What is this? A cult?” Xavier flicked his fingers in the middle of his friend’s forehead and it made a sound, probably shaking his skull. Watching them alone, being whoever they are, saying whatever they want and their closeness to each other makes me think about their offer. I faced Nick who had an expectant look on his face. “I’m in.”

We reached the school’s outdoor covered court. It’s after passing the cafeteria. I’m telling you now that this is the only place that’s pleasant in the whole school. Instead of seeing trash littered everywhere, the court was clean and there were trees aligned on the side of it. Under one of the trees, there was this Blond holding an acoustic guitar. Michael ran to him and gave him a tackle-hug.

“What the hell, Michael?” He exclaimed as the others just laughed out loud. They sat up again and the redhead tugged on the guy’s sleeve. “We found a lead guitarist, Morph.”

“Hi?” I waved. The Morpheus guy studied me with his sky blue eyes and frowned a bit. He stood up and I realized he’s way taller than Nick which only made me anxious about my height. Gee, thanks. He circled me, like a lion studying its helpless prey. Morpheus turned to his bandmates and asked why I should be in the band. They explained it to him with enthusiasm while I just stood there not even getting why he’s asking them instead of me.

“So,” the tall blond turned to me. “I see that you got yourself some fans now.” Looking over his shoulder, Nick and Michael had huge grins on their faces, excitedly waving their hands while Xavier is also smiling but not like the other two. My eyes went back to Morpheus and I shrugged. “I never meant to. They just asked me to play.”

“Can you perform in front of something bigger than a bunch of students in one room?”

I could’ve answered him with an eager ‘Yes’ but in the pit of my stomach, my anxiety starts poking me. Morpheus patiently waited for my answer while I thought, A bigger crowd? That would be awesome but if I’m not good enough… Then what? I mentally slapped myself in the face. I looked up to him and said, “Even if it doesn’t take me anywhere, I can.”

Morpheus gave that a thought which lasted longer than I wanted to. My friends had their fingers crossed and I quietly hoped I would get accepted. Morpheus’ lips slowly curled into a smile and happily said, “You’re in.” Then they started clapping their hands. Michael locked his arm around my neck and yelled, “Finally! Someone decent enough to play for our band.” That comment got him a smack on the head and he just laughed it off. Xavier ruffled my curly hair and spread his arms out. “Welcome aboard Erebos.”

“Erebos?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” Nick said. “A friend named the band. She said that it’s the name of the primordial darkness in Greek mythology or something like that.”

Just then, their faces lightened up. I followed wherever they were looking at and found something I wasn’t expecting. Walking towards us was a girl with straight hair as dark as midnight, autumn tanned skin and she had a gray jacket wrapped around her waist since the school uniform for girls had short skirts. Michael ran over to her and held his hand out for a high-five. “Hey, Babycakes!”

Babycakes?

She scowled and pointed a finger at him. “How many times do I have to tell you to never call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Michael tries to imitate her British accent. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“You always do.” She crossed her arms and her eyes found me. I flinched, probably because I’ve been staring at her for too long, looking stupid, and got caught. Nick saved me though. He placed a hand on my shoulder and told the girl, “I’d like to introduce you to our new lead guitarist, Perseus Moore!”

“Perseus?” She raised an eyebrow. She studied me from head to toe and as I watched her, I noticed her eyes were gray. They remind me of fierce storm clouds or bones when reduced to ash. My heart started thundering against my chest when her eyes met my golden brown ones. She then looked up at my hair and asked, “Is that natural or are you just looking for attention?”

“What?”

“Your hair. And your eyes? You’re not wearing contacts, are you?”

“I could say the same to you,” I commented. A shadow of irritation passed over her face and then I realized my mistake. Morpheus cleared his throat and got her attention. “You’re not going to tear his face off, are you, Kass?” Xavier spoke up. She faced him and cracked a smirk, leaving me wanting to melt into a puddle for some reason. “I don’t have a reason to,” she faced me and held out her hand. “I’m Kassandra Cyrillus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I shook her hand. “I could say the same thing.”

“Not when you really know what you’re talking to,” I heard her mutter. That took me aback. What is she talking about? I faced Nick who looked somewhat nervous when she said that and when I looked back at Kassandra, she still had the same expression except I recognized the look on her face. Like, she had the face of someone who got away with murder which is stupid because that’s impossible. Or was it?

“Now, now, Kassandra,” Michael interrupted my train of thought. “Stop scaring away the new guy.” She gave him a look which made him raise his hands in defeat and then she faced me. “You all have the same subjects later on, right?”

“Yeah,” we replied in unison. She didn’t give any reaction but handed Morph a bag. “I’ll see you all later then,” she looks over her shoulder a bit and walks away. When she was finally out of our sight, I turned to my bandmates who were looking at the bag. When they opened it, it was filled with snacks and a big pack of potato chips. They all had an evil grin on their faces and they closed the bag again. “It’s cool how she could smuggle some junk food here in school.”

“She must’ve paid the school guard to let her in,” Nick joked. My eyebrows arched. The image of Kassandra burned in the back of my mind and I can’t help notice how she looked so innocently malevolent. Two words I never thought would fit together. Morpheus saw how confused I was and placed his hand on my shoulder. “You look lost.”

“I don’t understand how things go around here,” I said with genuine honesty. “Is it just me or is Kassandra plotting something evil?” They looked at each other which is concerning for me like it’s a tough subject they don’t want to tackle. “Did I say something wrong?”

Nick snaked his arm around my shoulder. “Nah, dude. It’s just that, Kassandra had this reputation here at school, so it tends to make her judge and mistrust people she meets at first glance. Be a little patient with her. She’s actually a great person to be with,” he smiled. With that, the school bell rings for our upcoming classes. We walked to our classroom and went on with our day.

Finally, school was about to end. I just had to end this last class: Literature. My bandmates were left behind since they said they needed to talk to our Math teacher. When I reached the door of the classroom, I expected a bunch of students sticking their noses in books but instead, I found most of my classmates were off their seats, just being chaotic as usual.

“You’ll get used to it,” said a familiar voice behind me. When I turned around, I found Kassandra. She had a black backpack slung on one shoulder and the strap had a metal pin of a badly drawn smiley face with X’s for eyes and it had its tongue stuck out, the logo of the Grunge band Nirvana. “Nice pin,” I complimented. “Somehow matches your personality.”

“Don’t flatter me, Perseus,” her voice laced with bitter sarcasm. “And if you want small talk, I suggest we go inside and sit down. Unless you want to block the door, I’m not joining you.”

I stepped aside and let her in first and muttered, “Sorry.” Following her to the back of the classroom, I sat on the vacant chair beside her. There were more vacant seats other than this but I just felt like I needed to sit next to somebody I at least know if I get called. Now and then, I would steal glances of her just to see her doodling on her notebook. Well, I just think she’s doodling. The first thing that caught my attention was that she’s writing in Greek? Second thing I noticed were the symbols Aδης. What do they mean? Like I know. I wanted to ask her but everyone started to make a commotion when Michael entered the room.

Kassandra let out a soft laugh when she saw her friend being flirty with the girls who were head over heels for him. “Always a tosser,” she muttered and closed her notebook. “Then these girls would fall for every banter. Can you believe that?”

I realized she was talking to me so I answered, “Er, yeah. They’re being a little too extra.”

“Michael’s always extra,” she shrugs. I then noticed her lips were curled up into a small smile and I kind of felt good about that. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I looked in the other direction. When they were seated, the professor entered the room. He’s a pudgy man with a scowl on his face and has more hair on his chin than on his head. I could hear a lot of the students around us snickering and then they all burst out laughing when the teacher sat on his seat. Confused, he tries standing up and then realizes the problem. “You insufferable brats!” He yelled at us. When he tried to walk out of his desk, everyone was laughing except for me and Kassandra since the chair was stuck to the man’s rear-end. I mean, it’s literally glued to his butt. Honestly, it’s an old trick in the book but I think getting someone to do it right in front of you makes it funny. He started yelling things I don’t think would get him a promotion, or probably let him keep his job. Nonetheless, we continued class while the professor was seated, and ever so often, you will hear giggles when he tries standing up.

“Now,” he pats a stack of papers on his desk. “This will be your homework for two weeks. Read it carefully and I don’t want anyone submitting anything stupid, understood?”

Everyone jeered and groaned. Kassandra and I stayed silent then I glanced at her just to find her reading a book under her desk. As the papers were being distributed, the professor said, “You all will be partnered” —everyone cheered— “by the person beside you.” The excitement died and it just made him smile smugly. The school bell rang for dismissal and everyone quickly raced to the door.

“Wait,” I looked at my seatmate. “Who am I partnered with?” We stared at each other. It seemed like time suddenly stopped for some reason. Our eyes locked and I don’t know how, but I could see this shadow behind her gray orbs. What could it be? A weird gut feeling tells me that this person in front of me was someone… someone who you shouldn’t get on their bad side or you’re screwed. Kassandra smiled and answered, “I suppose you’re stuck with me, Phrixus.”

[shmowlwrites]

Yellow Carnations Chapter 2

ao3 chapter 1 Chapter 3

Alma Campus was intimidating. 

High brick walls with pointed spires on the top made an excellent aesthetic, but also a point. The acres of land the school board had managed to gain to and keep were all surrounded, and once you crossed through the gates, you saw why it was walled. The grass was greener, trees were strategically placed across the campus, and there were three main buildings, with scattered smaller buildings that could be seen. The sidewalk in front of them split off into many directions, and if it weren’t for the guide, Marinette her and parents were sure they would’ve never found the principal’s office.

The ravenette clutched her portfolio close to her chest and watched her feet as she walked. She’d already seen the uniforms. She knew that there was going to be some rich bratty kid just like Chloe who was going to be mean-

Marinette almost tripped, but luckily had slammed into someone sturdy to catch her. Apologies were already crawling up her throat, but when she saw who she had crashed into, they died and only a squeak came out.

“I’m sure you need to watch your surroundings, not just your feet,” Felix cocked an eyebrow.

Marinette lightly giggled. The two had found each other again, and upon learning that Marinette would be trying for a scholarship at Alma, Felix had taken it upon himself to get her number and to coach her in what she needed to do to truly impress the principal into giving her her scholarship.

"Aw, but then what use would you be?" Marinette kidded.

Felix rolled his eyes. "Good luck. I'm sure you'll impress Burns." He nodded to her before finding his way towards a group of kids. She recognized them from pictures Felix would send. She didn't have time to pair names to faces, as her parents and guide were waiting on her.

Marinette stood in front of her mirror, fiddling with her skirt and pin. She'd gotten a red plaid skirt from the uniform shop, hoping to grow out of the soft pink. Over a white button-up, she had a grey sweater vest, on which a red pin with five black dots sat on her right side. Finally satisfied, Marinette stared at her black hair. It had certainly grown over the summer, and now it rested just below her bust when not pulled up into anything. She contemplated pigtails for a moment before shaking her head. Going to Alma was about change. Also, pigtails were immature now. She could do twin Dutch braids since she did like having something 'twin' in her hair. Grinning with her solution, she dragged her rolling chair towards the mirror. Tikki floated over.

"Are you excited, Marinette?" Tiki asked, flying over to Marinette's head to hold the untied hair together.

"Of course, Tikki!" Marinette giggled, a sound the little god was happy to hear again. "A fresh start, a friend, a new phone! What could go wrong?" Marinette mused. Speaking of which, she looked over at the new phone. Only one thing not directly tied to her family had been saved from her ancient one: Felix's contact. She felt sorry for whatever poor soul currently had her old number, surely they are either confused or have called the police by now.

Peering at the time, she nodded to herself. She was actually ahead of schedule. She'd already eaten, her bags were packed, quadruple checked by her and Tikki and her parents. The metro didn't arrive until 7:45 and didn't leave until 7:50, and then it was a ten-minute ride to the station, and then it was a couple of minutes walk to school, which didn't start until 8:30. Currently, it was 7:20, and hanging out with multi-talented Felix had taught her how to do things with her hair and how to do them quickly. It only took a total of five minutes for the Dutch braids to be finished. Standing before her mirror, Marinette frowned. Something was still missing.

Tikki flew up with a happy grin on her face. "How about tying ribbons around the bands, like you used to with the pigtails?"

Marinette gasped. Of course! "Thanks, Tikki!" She shot the kwami a beaming smile as she hunted down her stock of hair ribbons. Finding them, she pulled a pair of 5-inch ribbons out and carefully wrapped them around each band, the end product creating the illusion she had tied each braid off originally with the ribbons.

"Marinette, it's 7:38, time to go!" Tikki's voice interrupted Marinette's self-assessment. Nodding, Marinette slung her carry-on bags over a shoulder and the purse on the other. She stuffed her phone in the purse and made her way to the trapdoor. Slipping the standard black uniform shoes on, she descended the stairs. Her maman was awaiting her with a pre-packed suitcase and a duffel bag. The two descending into the bakery where they greeted Tom. Marinette slipped some cookies, which earned a teasing scolding from both parents. They let her take them. Waving goodbye, Marinette was off in the opposite direction of Francis Dupont.

The dormitories were something new for Marinette. She’d never had to room with anyone, and she was used to being in her own room, removed from anyone. But now… She was sharing with two other girls. Sabine followed her daughter through the Lycee’s dorms before they found the taped on colorful name tags that stated Marinette would be rooming with Allegra Harper and Bridgette Yang. Beside the door were their names in brass, making Marinette assume the colorful name tags were only there for the beginning of the school year so students could easily orient themselves.

Marinette and Sabine pushed the door open, and they found that they were the last ones here, as a blonde girl who looked too close to Chloe for Marinette’s liking and an Asian girl with hip-length raven hair were chatting on the couch that faced the door. Their eyes immediately snapped to Marinette, but instead of a malicious expression, they were happy.

“Oh! You must be Marinette!” The Asian girl expressed, standing and quickly walking over. “I’m Bridgette! We were wondering who you might be, but you must be the scholarship student Felix has been talking to.”

The blonde girl, by process of elimination, Marinette assumed was Allegra. Allegra chuckled. “I’m Allegra. We were waiting on you before deciding beds. Since we’re the odd room, there’s gonna be one of us alone."

Oh! Marinette grinned. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna quickly look through them!"

The two girls nodded, and Sabine quickly struck up a conversation with them. Marinette began checking out the rooms. Both rooms had you opening the door straight to a wall, and you could look directly at each bed, as the wall was bent to become the bunk bed without taking up any space. On the far wall were windows on each side. There was a desk and counter space, and on the walls of the short hallway were hidden closet doors. Marinette looked inside and gaped. She could fit her entire loft inside of this! There were plenty of rows of closet rods, and the back wall of the closet was like an armoire, with shelves and drawers.

Marinette looked out of the windows, and she decided which room she’d take. Her dorm room was situated on the corner of the lycee, so while the room faced the courtyard of each school, the other window faced out into the open fields.

Marinette came back to the living room of the apartment dorm, grinning as she found her maman at ease with the other girls. Bridgette was the first to notice her.

“Ah! Marinette! Did you find everything good?” She asked.

“Yep!” Marinette nodded, finding herself a seat.

“Alright!” Allegra giggled. “Which one tickled your fancy?”

Marinette joined in on the giggling, finding the expression funny. “I’d rather have the one down the hall.”

The two girls gave her confused glances. “But that one only shows the fields?” Bridgette asked.

“Exactly! The less likely I will be seen from below as I stare into nothing, the better,” Marinette winked.

Allegra and Bridgette took the bait and laughed. “Alright, do you want one of us with you, or would it be alright if we roomed together?” Allegra asked.

Marinette shook her head. “I think I’ll be fine by myself. Besides, you don’t want me somehow taking over your side of the room too.”

“You? Take over the other side of the room? Maybe you and Bridgette should room, watch a betting pool grow on who wins the turf wars,” Allegra stared at a corner, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Hey!” Bridgette wailed. “I’m not that bad!”

“Last year, my stuff was packed under my bed. By Bridgette. Because Bridgette needed more room. At least the lycee rooms make it impossible to stuff things under the bed…” Allegra gave Bridgette a side eye. The Asian only rolled her eyes with a playful huff.

Sabine turned to her daughter. “I think you’re in good hands now.” She kissed the top of Marinette’s head. “Have a good year, Marinette.”

Marinette nodded before giving a last hug to Sabine. The two parted, not to be seen by each other until winter break.

[dorigvbcorvis]

THE FRENCH HORN

A Second Season Glee Story

SUMMERY Dalton takes a special interest in their new mid-session transfer student: Kurt Hummel, after he out performs nearly everyone who has ever taken their entrance exam.  Dalton wants to fast-track their student using an holistic approach and by making Kurt see a counselor, making him take more exams, and asking him to add more CVs.  While Kurt agrees on Dalton’s French Club, where he really wants to shine is in theater and the only Performing Arts Club  around is the one located at Crawford Country Day School for Girls.

NOTES: Story picks up right after Schue comes to see Kurt for gift advice for Sue in S2E10 A Very Glee Christmas Prompt: Kurt’s French Horn tee-shirt.  Kurt wore this shirt twice and I wondered if he ever played the horn.  Then wondered why he stopped,  This story answers both

CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Visit 

Kurt sat back down in the common room - he propped his head up by planting his elbow firmly on the solid oak desk - Chuffed with himself he then let out long bashful sigh.  Kurt couldn’t believe what just he did…but just like that he did what he did.  In the most candid-as-a-matter-of-fact way possible Kurt admitted to his former teacher that he was in love.  But for as bold and progressive a move this was for Kurt, Mr. Schue didn’t stay long enough to hear the boy’s name or how impressively the boy could sing.  -NO-  Mr. Schuester only came to Dalton for gift advice …and as soon as Kurt said winter tracksuit and where to find one …Schue was turning for the exit.  Kurt convince himself not to dwell on how things had always been kept short between Kurt and his former teacher… He knew he wasn’t Schue’s favorite.  Hell, just showing up at Dalton was more than Kurt could bring himself to expect from the man.   The difference was rather than dwell on how things were - Kurt now had a growing list of things he could better occupy his mind with- Like his duet with Blaine for one.  

Kurt found he could also amuse himself on how in the most extraordinary change of fortunes he had left a school that didn’t much challenge him; not in the least! - and exchanged this for a school that did challenged him almost in every sense of the word.  The beauty of Dalton was the rewards kept coming.  Gone were the days of dumpster tosses, slushy facials, and Korosfski’s threats - Replaced now with guys who didn’t hate him for “destroying the curve” when he did well on tests.  Kurt also felt he had landed in a school where he could ‘be out’ at being both gay and an atheist and he wouldn’t hear the stray derogatory comment come at him from behind his back, but the crème de la crème above all these new found things was that he liked a boy and there were good odds the boy felt the same way back “…Oh crap!!!” Kurt suddenly blurted out.  An all together different thought occurred to him.  The skeptic in him made him wondered if he was simply imagining the flirting during the duet? There was flirting wasn’t there? Kurt sighed even deeper - He wasn’t sure anymore and yet for the first time in the 17 years of his young life he wanted this to be real and reciprocated.  

Maybe it was just that with his growing doubt what also came was the sobering reason why he was still in the common room, alone, and at this late hour - AND this wasn’t to dream about a boy -OR- take a running inventory of changes to his life. - NO - It was instead to play catch up with his classes and this meant he really did not have the time for the beautiful tenor with the hazel eyes.

Kurt’s mid session transfer to an academic prep school meant all but one of his classes were now AP; and these AP classes were not only harder but he also had to start from three modules behind and play catch-up…and then until he caught up he was to remain under 'Academic Suspension’.  Kurt didn’t like this last stipulation because it meant he was off limits to certain of Dalton’s perks - Like off campus privileges and The Library that he had only seen once while on his tour of Dalton.  The library was to remain off limits until his academic suspension was lifted.  At McKinley libraries were the safe zone where the Korosfski’s of the world never dared enter …and it was here Kurt became an avid reader devouring whole reading lists at any given chance …so if Kurt wanted into the library at Dalton - the only answer he had was to work hard at changing this status.

Currently it was Unit 3 of AP World History. History had always been one of Kurt’s better subjects and he would be all caught if not for how Charlemagne was proving dull and tedious.

Kurt cracked his book open to find where he had last left off when he heard his name spoken aloud. Kurt immediately looked up half hoping it would be Blaine asking again for another duet for which Kurt would gladly crater to - It however was Wes Seong.  

Wes was a tall good looking Asian senior.  The young man’s strong level-headedness meant he was entrusted with the task of being a liaison between the students and the faculty. Kurt addressed Wes only as “Head Warbler” - Kurt would have been just as correct to call Wes in some Harry Potteresque nod  'The Class Prefect’.

Kurt watched as Wes stood there in front of his make-shift work desk looking back-and-forth between the main doorway and then back at him - That was until Wes finally spoke up:  "Was that the Director of The New Directions who just left?“ Wes asked with the kind already known assurance that negated an answer.  And for Kurt the way Wes asked also left him feeling as if he had broken one of Dalton’s Cardinal rules regarding after hours guests and worse he did so with a rival of The Warblers - And now he was going to hear for it…about both probably.  

"Mr. Schuester? Kurt uttered, with a voice that was both wavering and elevated; there was no escape Kurt knew he had been caught.  "He just stopped by to say hello and ask about gift advice - I-I did not ask him to come.” - The way Kurt stammered and the way his eyes flashed showed his fear. He didn’t want to screw up so soon - And especially not while academic suspension was being held over his head.

“Relax Kurt. It’s okay.  Besides it’s Christmas time…The powers that be here are a lot more relaxed with guest rules.”

“So it’s okay?” Kurt now asked timidly.

Wes smiled - “Yes,”  He affirmed.  "I only asked because I thought he was the same man who shook my hands at Sectionals.  I am actually here on another matter,“ Wes said, shifting his focus to look at Kurt more directly.

The worry in Kurt’s stomach remained like a weighted balloon.

"Yeah,” Wes said, admitting there was this other thing. “I just had a conference with many of your instructors….they wanted to know how you were doing - They wanted to ask me if I thought being a Warbler was too much for you to handle.”

“What did you tell them?” Kurt asked alarmed that the next words spoken would be asking for him to quit.

“Only that you are as good student as you are a welcome addition to The Warblers.”

“I don’t think I understand,  Why ask?” Kurt stated with a frown.  "Did any of my teachers think I should quit?“ Kurt asked now visibly hurt.

Wes shook his head no.  "Most of your teachers said they enjoy having you as a student - And they also said how impressed they were at how you were nearly caught up in all your classes.

"What then? What would make them ask that question?”

“I think they only worry that you might burn yourself out”

“I am okay-  I can pace myself”

“I believe that.  But they did asked for me to check up on you - I would have said no but I also sort of see their point.” Wes suddenly paused, and his shoulders dropped with a sigh.   “Blaine as you might know came here under similar circumstances he had to repeat his first year here…he would be a junior same as you…but things happen.”

“Yes, Blaine told me about what happened; and what some guys at his last school did to him.”

Wes winced; he didn’t want to think about what it was like for either boy to be bashed and threatened.  Wes instead pulled out a business card and handed it to Kurt

Kurt read the name on the card: “Richard Thompson PsyD” he saw M-F hours listed on the back of the card.

“Kurt, Dr. Thompson is one of the onsight counselors here - He wanted me to let you know he’s available if you need to talk. He said No hurry just swing by when you get a chance but do stop by.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing that I know about - I think Thompson just wants to let you know Dalton is here for you.”

“You would tell me if there was something else”

“It might be about what happened at your other school,  it might also be..,”  Wes stopped abruptly and didn’t finish.

“Might be what exactly?” Kurt now demanded.

“As you know Dalton Academy is designed to prepare you for college.  Right?”  

Kurt half nodded this well known fact

“The way your instructors were talking about you, they said you could just about name your college - Dalton has been known to fast-track students into Ivy League or other colleges with prestige.  I think Dalton lives for boasting rights or something.  But if this is what they want - Dr. Thompson would be the man to see about that.

"Ivy League?  Me?”  Kurt said shaking his head no.  Kurt’s heart was set on Julliard, he wasn’t sure what help Dalton could do there.  Kurt flipped the business card to look at both sides.  

Wes shrugged his shoulders.  "It could only be that he wants to see you as a guidance counselor - he was mine last year.“

"I thought Mr. Allen was my guidance counselor?”

“Allen is good - If it’s about setting up what classes to take and what programs to follow - But Thompson might be a better fit, considering why you are here and everything.”

Kurt now let out groan recalling how…  "The last time I was asked to see the guidance counselor it was because Miss Pillsbury saw me with one of her pamphlets on suicide prevention.“  

Kurt’s confession caused Wes’s eyes to widened - He had no idea how bad it must have been if killing one self was ever a consideration- Watching Kurt then laugh it off was just as disturbing.

[with a giggle] "I spent the next several weeks in her office trying to convince her I would never have gone through with it, and how I especially would never have done anything like that to my dad.”

“I think you should make an appointment.  Trauma is nothing to mess with.  When we moved here from San Francisco it was because my mom was car-jacked - it took moving halfway across the country and three years of therapy for her to get enough nerve to leave the house.  I think you should at least see Dr. Thompson - See what he wants.”

Kurt silently fumed feeling like whatever the reason he wasn’t really being given an option in any case.  He flipped the business card over again to look at the hours listed - concluding that he would go - but only so he could later say he went.

“Are you about finished in here? Wes asked, changing the subject completely. "It’s my turn to lock up.”

Kurt nodded and gathered up his books - For as much work he still had left to do in World History…he no longer was in the mood for studying.

Some how Wes understood the turmoil that was going off in Kurt’s head.  "I wouldn’t sweat it Kurt,“ Wes said with a sympathetic smile. "With what I heard from your teachers - And then I think Miss Perron your French teacher…is itching for you to join the French Club as soon as you can.”

“They’ll have to lift my academic suspension first.”

“Maybe that’s why Thompson wants to see you.”

Kurt left the common room and he headed for the dorms hopeful this was indeed the reason this guy Thompson wanted to see him.

***

END NOTES: I could not find a credible source for “Montgomery” as last name for Wes.  In my story Wes’ last name is Seong.  He is a Senior his DOB year is 1993.  His family is originally from San Francisco - Wes has attended Dalton since his Freshman year. Blaine Anderson DOB year in my story is 1994 (not 1995 as stated in The Glee Wiki) He transferred to Dalton in his Sophomore year but the events leading to his transfer to Dalton and its aftermath with his dad proved to be too much him for him to handle and he had to repeat his Sophomore year.  I have his DOB as April 8, 1994 Kurt Hummel whose DOB is May 27, 1993 means he started school late or at some point he stayed back a year. In all of my Glee FanFictions Kurt repeated the third grade with the reason that the death of his mother caused him to miss school and fall behind.  He stayed back a year also in part to his dad thinking Kurt was too small for his age.

[bittysvalentines]

Geese and The Soft Morning Sun

From: @beercheesecasserole

To: @disneyinnocent-blog

relationship: Lardo x Camilla Nonbinary character Fluff tw for moderate amounts of drinking, like a slight bit of racism, and fools getting rekt and pong.

~~~ Larissa sat in her new dorm room, fiddling around on her computer.

A blonde head popped in from the door. "Larissa," said her new roommate, Candy, seriously. "Have you seen my dunko doll?"

Larissa looked at the tall girl dumbly.

"What in the goddamn hell are you talking about."

Candy moved fully into the room, standing by Larissa's bed.

"My dunko doll! You know? Dunko dolls? Have you not heard of dunko dolls?"

"No?"

Candy's eyes lit up.

"They're like little figurines of your favorite characters! They're soooo cute, mine’s a princess Biona from Shrecc. It's my favorite movie."

Larissa knew if she listened to more of this she would have a pounding headache in under an hour. Not that her roommate was annoying. She was just very high-pitched.

With a sigh she pushed her computer off of her lap and slid off her bed.

"I haven't seen it. I'm going down to the cafeteria, I'll be back in a few."

"Okay!" Candy said enthusiastically. "By the way, they're serving Chinese there, I'm sure it's not what you're used to at home but I think it's so nice that they're serving something so cultural! You should give it a try!"

Lardo sighed again. She wasn't sure if Candy was just dumb or didn't remember when she had asked 'so... what are you' a month ago. Larissa had never been anything less than Vietnamese-American her entire life. Well, served her right for submitting her roommate papers a day before deadline.

Larissa screamed internally and muttered a quick thanks before escaping down the hall. She would get out of this room if it killed her.

~~~

Larissa looked at the Samwell Sports pamphlet in her hands. Aven from her Ceramics II class had given it to her. Aven had said they managed for Men's Rugby and talked about how they managed to get a room in the team house this year.

"There's not like, a ton of rooms?" they said, chair leaned back and clay covered hands emphasizing wildly. "But it's the BONDS you make. I feel like a part of the team. And I don't even have to play or anything. The guys are great, love em to bits, it's just like SUPER messy all the time. Best house on campus though."

Larissa thought about that. She didn't mind mess. She wouldn't work in 3D media if she did.

~~~

"Ey Lardooooo!" A huge blonde man yelled over the haus crowd in an obnoxious Boston accent. "Be pong partners with me"

Lardo looked over from where she was chatting with Billy about neorealism and its role in the movement of art nouveau and squinted.

"Holster, my dude, respect, but you couldn't hit the flat side of a barn," she said cheerfully. "Hard pass brah."

The blonde giant put on his best puppy-dog eyes while also pushing through the drunk, loud waves of people between them. Lardo likened him to a cute bulldozer. Kinda a good concept, she thought, filing it away for later. Being around jocks all the time surprisingly gave her some great ideas. Lardo wondered for a moment if this had bedazzling potential.

Adam reached her just as soon as the thumping bass of the last song died and just before the new one began.

"Come onnnn," he said with a light in his eyes. "We don't even have to be partners. Ransy wants to play too so you could take his partner and I'll be his! Win win!" He emphasized his argument with a hand motion that seemed to say 'ey? ey?'.

Lardo rolled her eyes.

"Alright. Depends on who it is though."

~~~ Camilla came to the SMH end-of-midterms kegster with Jack but he let her know pretty early that he wasn't going to be around for most of it. Which like, she got. The noise and people could get to be too much for her sometimes too. But as she looked over the crowd tonight she felt tipsy in just the right way to want to get a little rowdy. Then Justin started talking about pong and her plans were set. She wanted to toast some fools.

"Rans!" She called to him as she moved closer "I'm in. Who're we up against?"

Justin pointed wildly over to the living room where a bunch of younger students were moving around to a pulsing beat.

"Holtzy just went to go grab Lardo" he said, grinning "oh man Camilla you gotta witness her back shot, its holy"

Camilla squinted over across the hall into the dim room and saw Holster dragging a small person with a sleek head of black hair behind him.

"Hells yes." she said, turning back to Ransom. "I'll play with whoever, I don't care."

Holster came up behind them and started talking loudly over Camilla's shoulder to the two.

"She's in but only on the condition she doesnt play with me. I'm too rank." he said, dramatically wrinkling his nose. "Cam, you game?"

"Sure" Camilla said enthusiastically, turning to see her new partner.

Holy shit, Camilla thought, face erupting in flame.

~~~

Lardo looked at – no, beheld – the tall honey blonde jock giantess before her. If height wasn't enough to fuck her up, her arms, good god, they looked like she could crack walnuts with them.  

Realising she was probably giving this crop-topped stranger a pretty thorough undressing, Lardo took a step back and extended a hand.

"Larissa. Call me Lardo. Sup."

The literal Amazon of woman took her hand and shook it firmly.

"I’m Camilla," she said, smiling, cheeks delicately blushed in a way that set off her sweetly quirked lips. "Are you ready for some pong?"

Whats pong, Larissa thought, staring at her lips.

"Oh... Yeah this is going to be s'wasome," Lardo said, quickly regaining her senses.

There was no way she could lose this for them, Larissa thought resolutely. She needed to impress this literal goddess.

~~~

Ransom almost seemed to be crying.

"It was so beautiful... But I feel so devastated? So many emotions man," He slurred as he leaned on the broad shoulder of his blonde wingman. They both looked worse for wear after having drunk nearly every drink so far in what was shaping up to be a increasingly unbelievable pong game.

Camilla lined up her next-to-last shot at the remaining cup and grinned wickedly at the two boys. "Better get ready. This one’s going in. I call it."

There was no way she could miss this one. The tiny Asian girl beside her had sunk nearly every shot that night. If Camilla hadn't been buzzed, she would have knelt at her feet and declared her the pong god. Or maybe she still would. The night was still young.

"You got this," Lardo said encouragingly beside her, placing a hand on the small of her back. "One last cup."

And Camilla did have it.

Or she had, until Lardo's warm hand had rested on her so gently.

Her ball bounced weakly off Adam's chest and onto the table.

"Ohhhh," Holster said, a light in his eyes. "We aren't done yet, Ransy. You gotta rally for me. Get your second wind bro! Brothers for brothers! This is our shot!"

Lardo snorted. "You still have FIVE cups left. We have one. No way."

Holster lined up his shot and said in a fake hurt voice, "We'll see about that" and the shot landed squarely in their middle cup.

Ransom and Holster both shouted, whooping it up and drunkenly performing a sloppy, involved, handshake.

"Psh. Alright," Lardo said cockily to the two boys. "Ball's in my court."

The two boys quieted down as Lardo squinted at the table before them

Lardo shot Camilla a confident grin before grabbing their sunk cup. "Watch this."

It was a moment that Adam would wax poetic about for the next three years. It was the moment Camilla fell into something with this short, loud, wild girl.

Everyone watched as Lardo grabbed the tiny white ball from the cup and raised the beer to her lips. Camilla could see the sweat running in lines down her olive tanned arm in the heated room. She followed its trail to the crook of her elbow where it glistened before dripping down. Lardo tipped the cup back and chugged the entire thing in one go. Tossing the cup behind her, she stepped away from the table, raised the pong ball, cocked her elbow, and spun around.

Over her shoulder, the ball sailed through the air.

It was like watching liquid honey for Camilla, but she turned to stare openly at Lardo instead.

She couldn't believe it.

She didn't even see when the ball landed squarely in the last cup and everyone watching erupted into screams.

Ransom and Holster at the other end were losing their minds. Absolutely just yelling at the top of their lungs and staring at each other with ecstatic looks.

Then Lardo walked over, grabbed the cup, drank it too and released the loudest, longest, rankest burp into both of their faces.

Both of the boys looked stunned.

Then Ransom solemnly grabbed her hand and did a complicated shake.

"Respect" the man choked out, full of emotion, pulling her into the bro-y-est of hugs.

Holster looked like he was crying now.

Camilla could make out "... j'st so happy..." Before he bawled and joined the group hug.

Well. Camilla thought. Who knew. Hockey players are big AND emotional.

~~~

A little while later when the party dies down a bit Camilla and Larissa find themselves outside on the porch.

It feels so easy to talk together. Maybe it's the tub juice, or the high from the most immaculate pong game in history, but Lardo knows there is nothing that could ruin the night now. She already has had the time of her life. Everything else is just frosting on the metaphysical cake.

Camilla shifts on the warm wooden stairs and moves her arms back to prop herself up on them. Her soft yellow curls tumble back over her shoulders with the movement and she stretches her legs out in front of her.

"So what exactly is a girl like you doing in a house of jocks?" she asks, mouth quirking again. "Not that you don't seem the type, you're just so... well-read."

Lardo laughs, and also stretches her legs out in front of her, positively bathing in the soft, warm, late night air.

"It all started with my roommate actually," she says, chuckling at the memory. "I really needed to get out of the house, you know? And Samwell men's hockey needed a trainee manager and I had those nights free. It felt like fate, kinda."

Lardo lets herself swim in Camilla's soft brown eyes for a second. "Like it was meant to be," she finished.

Camilla just looks back at her. And keeps looking back at her.

Finally she speaks into the moment, all shining eyes, all bright smile.

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

And all of inevitable, they kiss.

Lardo pushes herself closer to the taller woman and slides her gently back to against the railing before deepening the kiss.

As the two break away to breathe for a second, Camilla moves her hand up to cup Lardo's face. "Huh..." she murmurs faintly before Larissa moves in again.

It’s deeper this time, and Larissa lifts her hand up to curl in Camilla's golden, perfect locks. There's something in her that just wants to mess them up a bit. Let people know she's been there. Leave a little mark.

Camilla groans and arches her head back as Larissa tugs on the mass of curls she has threaded through her fingers.

Lardo takes this as a sign to immediately start attacking the blonde's neck and pulse point, leaving quarter sized bruises like a string of pearls down the column of pale skin.

Camilla groans again.

"People will –" she sighs into a particularly hard nip of Lardo's teeth. "People are going to see"

"Let them," Larissa gravels out, kissing back up the bruises to recapture her mouth.

And they stay like that for god knows how long.

A loud pop from the back yard and a series of whoops and yips finally breaks apart the pair and a second later a firework blooms across the sky above the house.

Lardo and Camilla watch it fade out, both panting slightly, before Camilla turns back and rests her forehead gently against Lardo's.

"I just," she murmurs, looking at Lardo's bruised lips. "Have never met anyone like you"

Lardo smiles and traces the curve of her jaw with her thumb. "I'm pretty unique."

"This might be taking it too fast," Camilla says, switching her heated gaze from Lardo's mouth to her eyes. "But I live not too far away from here. A couple of blocks. We could walk if you... ?" She quirks up the side of her mouth again, eyes dancing, leaving the sentence in an open question.

Lardo stares at her in something like adoration for a second before kissing her hard and deep one last time.

"Fuck yeah," she whispers onto the thoroughly abused lips, nipping softly with her teeth. "I’m definitely down."

And no one sees them leave the party. If anyone sees them on the sidewalk they don't care enough to comment. No one sees them pushed up against Camilla’s front door before making it inside.

Only the Samwell geese and a few other bleary Wellies see Lardo walking home the next morning, grin the size of a lighthouse and a certain string of digits in her phone.

And if Larissa Duan, on top of the world, decides to fist pump like in breakfast club? Well, she's sure no one sees that either.

Just the geese and the soft morning sun.

Written by @beercheesecasserole for @disneyinnocent-blog for the 2019 Bitty's Valentine's.

[paperdolldesire]

A Skinny Education Ep.2: The First College Party

It’s getting later. Your roommate Sarah and you are finally done with classes and are enjoying dinner in the University Cafeteria. You stick to your safe foods, a crisp healthy salad with all your favorite fixings and a warm cup of tea to warm your cold hands. You two chat happily discussing the days classes as the world bustles around you. Your drape one long thin leg over the other, a gap still spanning between them.  You feel eyes on your back but don’t feel self conscious any more. All the anxiety that you experienced in high school is gone. You are comfortable in your new body. No more worrying that your shirt is riding up, exposing your love handles, or that your bra is visibly digging in to your back, causing rolls for everyone to see. No, now you know you look flawless in your chunky knit sweater, its oversized but instead of making you look bulky you look even more tiny. Sitting across from your gorgeous roommate doesn’t make you jealous, you are simply happy for you both, knowing you both worked so hard to be here today. 

The two of you decide to attend the fraternity party you’ve been invited to. It’ll be a first for both of you and the boys that invited you seemed nice enough. You make your way back to your dorm room to get ready. Deciding what to wear is different than before. When you were fat it was hard because nothing fit you, tight clothes made you uncomfortable and you had lived in baggy sweatpants and sweatshirts. Then again you had never been invited to any parties in high school so there wasn’t much need to dress up. Now it was difficult to choose something because everything looks good on you. Dad had been so proud of you for all the work you put in this summer and had decided to buy you a whole new wardrobe to fit your new look. You and Sarah help each other pick something. You two are the same size so it’s almost like you have two closets. Sarah picks out a short slinky red dress for you to wear. It hugs every inch of you showing off your tiny waist with a flirty neckline. The dark red looks great with your long dark hair that flows down your back in pretty curls. Sarah wears a tiny sparkly dress with her short blonde hair curled tightly to her head. She looked gorgeous and straight out of a 1920′s movie. You two giggle together as you do the final touches on your make up. You look amazing, the whole world is yours. 

You both make your way across campus. Heels are not a challenge anymore, your feet don’t look like stuffed sausages, they look tiny and perfect and you walk with grace, gliding across the grounds like a queen. As you approach the house you see groups of people, mainly girls, hesitating in groups outside. You see no point in this and stride confidently up to the door with Sarah by your side. The music is muffled but audible from outside. You reach up to knock on the door the bones visible gliding under the skin as you go. Before you are able the door opens suddenly and a cute asian boy with shaggy black hair looks out at you. He lets out an audible ‘Woah’ before he can stop himself and immediately blushes. You and Sarah giggle. The boy opens the door wide and quickly invites you both in with an arm extended. The pumping music is loud now and almost shakes you as it vibrates. You walk confidently into the main room and all eyes turn to you. Someone in the back lets out a slow whistle and you see him get a smack from the girl he is standing with. The room is loud and full of people. Cute asian boy hurries along beside you and Sarah quickly listing of names of people that you instantly forget and telling you the directions of the kitchen, the bedrooms and the bathrooms but offering to escort you if you need anything. Really he’s adorable, his perfect cream skin is slightly flushed whether from alcohol or nerves you aren’t sure but you suspect it’s a bit of both. A figure breaks off from the crowd as you walk through and your eyes light up as you recognize the handsome honey blonde haired boy that invited you to the party in the first place. He looks thrilled to see you and even hugs you. His huge muscled arms envelope you like a doll. He is so tall his chin rests on your head as he embraces you. You inhale deeply without meaning to and take in his spicy cologne mixed with beer. He releases you and smiles down at you offering to get you a drink. You nod sweetly and see him hurry over to the keg to poor you a beer. One drink can’t hurt, it is a party after all. You look over to see Sarah flirting with cute asian guy. She’s working her magic alright, chatting sweetly about something that the boy clearly thought was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard. He was practically drooling while watching her. 

Honey blonde boy returns to you, grinning, a red solo cup in each hand full to the brim with golden liquid. He hands you one and you thank him. He asks you if you want to play a game and you agree. You both make your way to a beer pong table at the side of the room. You make sure to keep an eye on your friend back at the entrance, chatting happily. She looks like a goddess with the flashing lights reflecting off her blonde curls. She gives you a wink and returns to her conversation. Your partner looks down at you smiling and places a hand gently on the small of your back. Even his hand feels huge compared to your tiny waist.  He tells you the rules and lets your go first. You let the ball fly across the table and it sinks cleanly into the cup you were aiming for. Honey blonde boy claps and whoops, clearly impressed. You smile and shrug your defined shoulders like its no big deal. You two dominate the table, winning several games until you tire of it. The beer is slightly bitter but you like it. You feel it warming your body from the inside. You hold your cup with your delicate fingers as your cute friend and you make your way back to Sarah, who is perched on a couch surrounded by admirers. You two agree it’s time to depart as you’re both tired and feeling the effects of the beer on your tiny bodies. Honey blonde boy and cute asian guy offer to walk you both back to your dorm. You accept graciously, you can’t be too safe walking around at night. The blonde boy offers you his coat and you smile sweetly at him and nod. He wraps it around you, it’s enormous, like him but is warm and smells of his spicy cologne. Your envelope yourself in it and breathe deeply. He places a warm arm around your shoulder. The boys drop you off at your dorm room door and say goodnight. The honey blonde boy asks for your number and you give it. You move to give his jacket back and he offers to let you keep it. No, you say you couldn’t dream of keeping it, it’s a very nice coat and far to big to you after all. He takes your dainty hand as you give it back and kisses it sweetly. You smile and head inside with your roommate to get ready for bed. 

[the-colony-roleplay]

Josephine Parker | Twenty Six;  Survivor

House: Calyset Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Teacher Teachers: History and Literature, ages 10-13 Alignment: New Age Rebels

History

Some people weren’t ever quite suited to the fast paced, high-tech modern life. Jo Parker was one of them. Her parents were both scholars; her mother was a librarian, her father a history professor at the University of Washington. They lived in an old campus neighbourhood up in the woods, away from the city. The beliefs of Jo’s parents matched their surroundings: traditional, old school. Jo grew up surrounded by books, taking walks in the forest, indulging her father’s taste in ‘classic’ rock. She used modern technology as much as she had to, but her parents taught her an invaluable lesson, that nothing could replace the lessons to be learned from her surroundings, particularly in books.

For all her traditional settings, Jo had a fairly unusual education. Her father had always rejected the tradition of desks in a row, teacher at the front, for eight hours a day. He encouraged exploration, creativity. No question was too small. Jo took advantage of that to its fullest extent, sometimes waking her parents up in the middle of the night to ask why the moon changed shape. Both to temper her questions and encourage them, Jo’s mother homeschooled her. Or rather, she brought Jo to the library every day, worked with Jo on her breaks, and set her to reading while she worked. Jo absorbed every book like a sponge. As she got older, and the books in the public library no longer satisfied her, her father began bringing her along to the university. Sometimes she would sit in on a class, other times she’d curl up in a chair in the ancient library with its high-vaulted ceilings and equally ancient books.

To her parents’ relief, the university turned into more than just a place to study. Jo had always been on the quiet side, but even quiet people had friends. She found hers in the classic literature club, exchanging ideas on humanity and the stories that made them human. When she was sixteen, a new girl joined the lit club. Rosalind was clever, funny, outgoing; everything Jo wasn’t. A few weeks after she joined, Jo began dating her first girlfriend.

Attending the University of Washington officially didn’t change much from being an un-official homeschooled kid. She still spent too much time in the library, according to Rosalind. The only thing that really changed was the scenery. Jo never quite adjusted to living in a dorm full of girls and booze and parties. Halfway through the year, she moved in with her now girlfriend of two years. Rosalind worked at a bookstore, and part of her pay was an apartment above the shop. It only had one bedroom and the kitchen barely deserved the name, but the way the golden sun lit on Rosalind’s face as she curled on the couch in the morning, frowning at a sketch, made it totally worth it.

Life was never perfect, but for those nearly three years, it came awfully close. With permission from the University, Jo began working on a master’s thesis. The bookstore never crowded with shoppers, but it made enough to support Rosalind’s art classes. Some days she would bribe Jo into posing, other days they would head out into the market. Jo listened to people's’ stories, and Rosalind sketched them. Each thought the other’s work turned out much better than their own. Jo and Rosalind began to think about the future. Graduating, adopting a dog, maybe, and teasingly, where they might honeymoon. The day before D-Day, Rosalind had tried to be subtle in asking what kind of ring Jo liked. The next day, their knuckles turned white as they held onto each other, watching the news while a storm tore the world apart outside.

Their once quiet haven quickly turned to chaos. As high above the harbor as they were, the ocean came steadily lapping at their door. Jo managed to get a hold of her parents once, to learn they were travelling inland. That was the last time she heard from them. Rosalind wanted to inland as well, but getting there would be next to impossible with the amount of traffic and crowds streaming that way. Instead, they travelled the opposite direction—out to sea. Jo and Rosalind managed to catch one of the last boats out of Seattle, with suitcases half-crammed with books and Rosalind’s sketches.

No one really knew where they were going. Every port they radioed for contact either reported severe flooding or just didn’t reply at all. And then other news came in, about what was happening to the inland countries, about the meteors that had apparently decimated the population. The more they heard, the more it seemed like mankind stood facing the end. Everyone dealt with it in different ways; some sailors drank, Rosalind sketched her parents over and over, and Jo reread the books they’d brought, trying to memorize every last trace of rapidly disappearing humanity.

They had to land eventually. With almost no ports still open—or even still there—they’d drifted aimlessly. After nearly a month, they made land in northern Mexico. The few survivors they found were wary, but allowed the ship to stay long enough to resupply. Jo had never actively spoken Spanish, but she’d learned enough to read Don Quixote and that was enough to get by with the survivors. She started chatting with them, in the broken, mixed Spanish she could muster up. And then she started writing. It was just little things at first; who ran the crumbling bakery, whose son had died in the flood. The small things gradually grew into stories. By the time the ship had resupplied, Jo had filled the margins of an entire book with the history of the town. More importantly, she and Rosalind had made a decision. The two of them gathered as much food, water, and survival gear as they could manage. The locals promised to take good care of the majority of Jo’s books, which she replaced with empty journals. Rosalind scrounged for any blank paper she could get her hands on. Hand in hand, they waved goodbye to the survivors and set out into the broken world.

The next four years were a blur. Jo and Rosalind trekked north, staying with survivors when they could, and sleeping alone under the stars the rest of the time. Jo collected stories from every community they found, and many more lone travellers in between. Rosalind filled one sketchbook, then another with eyes, hands, broken cities, and faces. Somewhere along the way, Rosalind found, then traded an old polaroid for passage on a ship across the Atlantic. They were married, as officially as possible, on the voyage. In Africa it fell to Rosalind to translate, combining French and English. The couple travelled across Africa all the way up to Arabia. The intense destruction from the Asian meteor stopped them dead in their tracks. Even if the continent hadn’t been completely destroyed, there was no point. There was no way anyone would’ve survived. Jo and Rosalind turned back west, where they might find more hope. Europe was still a mess, but at least they wouldn’t be walking across a graveyard.

News was hard to come by in the new world. Most things travelled by mouth; Echo chips were useful only for passing information from one person to the next. Still, the uprising was hard to miss. Jo and Rosalind had their first encounter in the French countryside. A young girl and her father, terrified and starving. They’d been running for days, from what Rosalind could translate. Some people had taken over their camp. It hadn’t been so bad, until they caught one of the boys lifting rocks with his mind. They’d beaten him badly, and they warned the rest of the camp that any other unnatural acts would be punished similarly. They’d called themselves the New Wave. Rosalind had started getting headaches about a month before, and they’d been getting worse. Both of them had heard the stories, even seen some of the effects of Infected. They knew what came next. And now they knew to be afraid.

After that, they travelled more cautiously. Jo scouted ahead, making first contact with any clans to make sure they were safe before Rosalind joined her. As they travelled down the Iberian peninsula, they started hearing other stories about hunting groups. Clans disappearing. Bigger colonies being taken over by the Reformists. More than once Jo tried convincing Rosalind to turn back, to find a clan with other Infected. But there ships on the coast, probably their only way back to the United States. Those were some of their only fights, and the only ones that ever stuck in Jo’s mind, but eventually Rosalind always convinced her to keep going.

The crusaders caught them by surprise, just after breakfast. They’d been camping with a small clan; a dozen people, maybe two or three Infected. One minute they were laughing over weak coffee and taking down the tents, the next minute everyone was screaming, running. Jo’s hand reached for her wife. Their fingers found each other for the briefest moment, and then Rosalind was screaming. Jo tried to hold tighter. Someone was pulling Rosalind away. Rosalind was screaming to run. Her ring slipped off in Jo’s hand. Jo ran.

Jo Today

Jo ran north, as hard and as fast as she could. She didn’t see a single soul for weeks, not until she reached the English channel. Every time she stopped, she heard Rosalind’s voice ringing in her ears. Run. Someone gave her passage across the channel in exchange for her necklace. Rosalind had given it to her on their first anniversary in college. To replace it, Jo strung her ring and Rosalind’s on a chain around her neck. In the quiet moments, resting in the old English forests, Jo slipped her finger through Rosalind’s ring and wrote down every detail she could remember about her.

There were still small clans hiding in England, but Jo only contacted them when she had to. When she ran low on food or water or memories of what another person sounded like. She managed to evade hunters from the colonies twice, but the third time she was stupid. She’d stayed too long in one spot, and they caught her as easy as that. They told her she was being rescued by the New Wave and it was best not to resist. They gave her good food, a warm bed, even a nice job teaching due to her background with history and literature. But all that time, all she could hear was Rosalind screaming, feel her cold ring on her chest.

Five weeks after her capture, Jo tried to organize an escape. Some of her children were Infected; she knew what would happen to them once they got older. She couldn’t let that happen on her watch. She’d planned well; supplies, list of guard movements and rotations, a map of the grounds. But she’d never attempted anything close to this before, and one small slip up was all it took to raise the alarm. Even then, she tried to get the children over the wall. The first one was halfway over when a soldier grabbed her. She remembered hitting him back, grabbing for his gun, and then nothing.

After her recapture, Jo was confined to the correctional ward for a month and given a spare. Her little stunt had earned her much worse, but the Head of her House vouched for her, and teachers were already in short supply. Her punishment she could deal with, but the threat that cut her to the core was the possibility of her job being revoked. As much as she couldn’t stand the colony, teaching was a bright spot in her life. The idea of being stuck there without that welcome challenge, being unable to show the next generation a better way, was almost unbearable. Maybe if she were Rosalind, she would have defied the order. Maybe she would’ve rebelled again, tried to run as soon as she was released. But Rosalind was gone, so Jo kept her head down and performed as expected, all the while compiling her stories.

Jo is constantly battling between her shy, non-confrontational attitude and her desire to do what’s right. She’s not a fighter by any means, but when the people she cares about are threatened she can summon up enough courage to defend them. Most of the time, however, she’s just tired. Tired of trying to survive, trying to fight the NWRF, trying to rebuild the world. She wants to do what’s right but it’s hard, and sometimes she doesn’t know if she has the strength to do it.

RELATED BIOS: ROSALIND STEIN

CLOSED FC

[1nn32dem0n5]

A good spot

The ambition and determination he once felt had faded away, slowly at first, then suddenly. Drinking, partying and fucking were the only things that he still found some modicum of pleasure in, but even these were slowly starting to lose their appeal, and this frightened him. At no point in Marc’s life did the pursuit of new vagina hold such a low priority. The town had finally gotten to him, and it made it clearly apparent that his flame, his passion for studying physics, didn’t really burn from within because it would’t have so easily been extinguished. In five years time he went from aspirations of Nobel prizes and solving the problem of high temperature superconductivity to complete self-loathing and apathy about life and all the promises of happiness it held, especially those in the field of physics. Days crawled by painfully dragging behind them precious hours that could be spent working on his thesis but instead were spent doing anything but. The only remnant of his highly ritualized work schedule was lunch at fiesta, which somehow survived through the mental trauma of the last few years.

Charlie Zou was late as always. He came from a well off Chinese family and was used to having people wait around for him. He avoided discussing the topic of his family since he hated most of them and tolerated the ones he didn’t despise. Against their wishes he left to study physics at a prestigious American university, but instead he found himself in the festering hellhole of North Lydsville. He was Marc’s office mate, and shared his uneasiness with their current predicament. He recently found the writings and teachings of Buddha, and was more content with the current level of despair in the universe than Marc.

“Let’s go fat fuck, I’m starving.” “Hello!” his eyes opened widely as if this was a look he practiced in the mirror many times and determined that the full meaning of the “hello” was lost without this eye maneuver.

Mark took one last drag from his cig and shot it towards the nearby garbage bin, missing, and they were inside together. The entire staff knew them as they ate there religiously, with the exception of sundays of course, because Sunday is God’s day and fiesta is closed. It’s a sin to drink and make burritos on Sundays in Lydsville.

“The usual?” Bill asks. Bill was recently hired , and although his burritos during the first week were meek and lacked ambition, his skill was improving. It helped that we had become acquaintances too. He threw in a few extra pieces of meat once in a while.

“Yup” “How are you guys today?” His cheerful mood annoyed me on most days, today included. “Same shit. But the weather is getting better” “Oh man, hell yea. This town is unpredictable as fuck. One day its nice and sunny and out of nowhere it can just right up thunderstorm on you. It looks like its gonna rain today I tell you” “Really?” “Oh yea. Definitely, I’ve lived here my entire life and I know these things. It definitely looks like rain. I was telling my buddy the other day it was gonna rain and he didn’t believe me cuz the skies were clear as fuck, and what do you think? Thirty minutes later: rain!!” “Good to know.” “For you sir? Steak or chicken today?” Charlie often changed the regular order of steak enchilada burrito to grilled chicken, since he would often complain that the steak was too well done and he liked his medium well. He had only one serving of taste in everything, meat included, but at least five of arrogance. “Steak please.” Amidst the never ending cornfields, further in from the ghetto of South Lydsville where you wouldn’t wanna go except to visit the single “mall” in an 80 mile radius there was the Ivy League of the midwest, Peru University, and right on the edge of campus the true gem of the town - an out of place mexican food restaurant. Surprisingly good too Marcus would say and Marcus knew about such things, since he was a New Yorker. He liked to think he knew about most things, and about most things he did know a good deal, especially women. They paid and sat near the window, because those are the best seats since they allowed for watching the hot young coeds tramp by in their leggings and Uggs. Fucking leggings and Uggs, oh and the Starbucks of course. The trifecta of white sororowhores all across America, or maybe it was just Lydsville.  

“So tell me about your encounter with Yuri? What the fuck was that about?” “What?”

To say Charlie was absent minded would be an understatement. His body was here but his mind, to this day, I have no idea where it was. Often he would forget entire conversations, introduce himself to the same people dozens of times, and lose his personal belongings almost on a schedule. He only carried the minimum amount of possessions on himself at all times.

“Oh yeaah! I remember now… So I was walking in the hallway umm walking to the bathroom and Yuri was walking towards me. Maybe he was umm like 20 feet away. And he saw me umm and he looked down, but as we were getting closer together. Or wait is it gotten closer together? Tell me what’s the correct thing?” “Closer together works.” “Are you sure? Isn’t the correct syntax ‘as we HAD gotten closer together’?” He asked triumphantly pointing his finger up in the air and tilting his head slightly to the side, as if he made an enlightening discovery. “Umm. Yea that works too, both are fine. Whatever go on!” Mark said impatiently. Charlie often had the habit of not only speaking in fragments, but often interrupting stories at the most inopportune times. “Okay. Anyway. Then we were like 2 meters away from each other ummm and he stared up at me for umm one moment and then he looked back down and passed me. I tried to say hello but it was so awkward.” “That’s it? That was the most awkward thing that ever happened to you involving Yuri?” “Yeaaah!” he remarked much more excitedly than before. “He just completely ignored my existence.” He said as he burst out in his usual wheezing sounding laughter. “Really? This is surprising to you? How many physicists do you know that are socially competent?” “Meh.”

They devoured the burritos like starving hyenas scouring a fresh kill, eating as if they had only seconds until the lions returned with the pack to claim what was rightfully theirs. Mark always cut his width wise first, and then lengthwise, leaving pieces that were just slightly larger than bite sized as to experience the feeling of having his mouth overly full of delicious freshly baked flour tortilla, succulent steak, cheese, hot enchilada sauce and crisp cold sour cream all at the same time. He quickly followed each bite with a scoop of pico, topped with cillantro and lettuce cut into thin squares. Charlie cut his almost into thirds, and bend over his plate as he stuffed as much as much as could possibly fit into his mouth, and letting the rest fall back down. The hot sauce could coat his massive Asian lips, which he didn’t wipe until the end of the meal. This was a very typical manner of eating in China, but most Americans observing would think of him uncultured and manner-less. He could hardly give a fuck. He hardly gave a fuck what anyone thought of him. His response when people would point out that the outline of his cock shows through his thin Chinese sweatshorts would always be a courtesy “Ohh I see”, then start laughing his second laugh, a loud raucous laugh, and then just go on wearing them day after day. One pair he had since he came to America.  

They barely spoke as they ate. Marc propped his phone on his wallet and was reading something on it. Charlie just stared into the nothingness of his rapidly vanishing burrito, occasionally throwing out a single snicker which would catch the attention of his companion, thinking it was another pair of see through yoga pants walking past. Most of the time it was nothing.

“You know what the problem is with asian girls?” “They squeal during sex?” “No. They don’t shave their pussies. In China only the prostitutes shave. I like America.” “I don’t mind a little bush, but a full bush is too much, especially when the hair goes down all the way to the thighs.” “It does that?” “Yeah.”

They sat in the cubicle a few more minutes of silence, their bellies full and minds empty. Then they went out, walked across the street into a pothole-ridden alleyway between the buildings and sat down outside against the wall of a parking garage, not too far off a way from the dumpsters, but far enough that the awful smell of from the “used cooking oil” container didn’t permeate through to them. They each smoked a cig and the silence was broken by Bill who came out on his smoke break too.

“Hey, wassap guys. You know this spot too?”

It was after all, a good spot.

[pratktcven]

this is unofficial and un-beta'd, but fuck i've been working on it forever and i want to die

the summer between may 20

Shiro graduates college on a pleasant spring day. The sun is warm on his robe-clad shoulders but not hot, and there is enough of a breeze that the long hours in his metal fold-up chair remain bearable. By the time his name is called, Shiro's butt is only partially numb.

"Congratulations," the dean tells him as they shake hands. "You've earned it."

It is a simple platitude. The dean doesn't know him or his personal struggles. Nevertheless, Shiro feels pride swell beneath his breastbone. His degrees—one in History and one in Asian American Studies—were hard earned. He chokes a little when he replies, "Thank you," and clutches his diploma.

After the ceremony ends—after Shiro has tossed his decorated mortarboard into the air and carefully retrieved it—he heads towards the green to find his family. He is stopped several times by various classmates, who all exchange relieved laughter, as though they cannot quite believe that they've finally reached the end. Shiro understands the incredulity. It feels surreal to be done with the five of the most stressful years of his life.

"Hey!" a familiar voice shouts over the din. "Hey, meathead! Over here!"

It's Matt, Shiro's roommate and closest friend since elementary school. He stands on the freshly cut grass with Shiro's parents and cousin, as well as his own mother, father, and sister. Shiro breaks into a wide grin and jogs over; when he is within reach, he is immediately folded into a multi-limbed embrace. He slings one arm around his mom's shoulder and wraps his prosthesis around his dad's back.

"We're so proud of you, honey," Naomi says, her voice is thick with unshed tears.

"Very proud," agrees Hiromu.

"I'm only a little impressed," Keith interjects from behind.

Shiro releases his parents so he can step forward and wrap Keith into a tight hug. Keith grunts a little at the playful exertion of force before he gives back as much as he gets. It quickly becomes competitive—they haven't seen each other since early January—and they are soon squeezing each other as hard as they can.

"Is that all you got?" Shiro taunts even though Keith's hold is beginning to hurt his ribs.

"I haven't even gotten started!" Keith shoots back, breathless. "Giving up already?"

"Boys," Hiromu says. His tone is fond, firm, and warranted, as Shiro and Keith tend to forget themselves when they roughhouse. "Knock it off."

Neither Shiro nor Keith can resist one last squeeze before they let go. Keith's face is as red as the flannel tied around his waist. Judging by the heat Shiro feels on his cheeks and forehead, he is no better off.

"You're both nerds," Pidge quips as she elbows Keith aside. Then, with a small grin thrown upwards at Shiro, she demands, "Give me a hug."

Shiro smiles and wraps his arms around her. She hasn't grown much since middle school. At full height, she is level with Shiro's solar plexus, and her pointy chin digs into the exposed softness of Shiro's stomach.

"Hey, kiddo," Shiro greets gently. "Glad you could make it."

"Almost didn't come when I found out that the commencement was going to be outside," Pidge says. "But I also realized that coming meant I could skip Iverson's dumb class, so…"

"I appreciate your support," Shiro drawls.

"Can you really blame her?" asks Matt. "You remember what it was like. Or—wait—no, you don't, because Iverson didn't hate your guts."

Shiro raises an eyebrow at Matt and reminds him, "That's because I never asked stupid hypothetical questions while he was in the middle of a lecture. Or tried to blow anything up during lab. Or attempted to make a flamethrower-slash-robot out of an old toaster."

"Rest in pieces, Deathtron 6000," Pidge intones as solemnly as she is able while still squished against Shiro's torso. Keith, who had taken Iverson's class in junior year with Pidge, places a solemn and respectful palm over his heart.

Once Pidge unlatches, Sam and Colleen are the next to congratulate Shiro. Sam pats him on the should like he did when Shiro graduated high school—Sam had been his biology teacher—and Colleen curls a soft hand around his cheek. They have been a part of his life for almost twenty years, and are as close to him as an aunt and uncle.

"So what do you guys want to do?" Matt asks once all the hugs and congratulations have been exchanged. "We could show you around since the admin opened up campus. Or we could go eat? If you're hungry?"

"Fooooood," Pidge votes.

"You're a gremlin, you always want food," Matt snarks. Then, to the adults, "Any opinions?"

"Whatever you want to do," Colleen says, a sentiment that is quickly shared by Sam and Naomi. Hiromu expresses an interest in a tour while Keith, the final decider, shrugs ambivalently. Matt turns to Shiro and tilts his head with a silent question.

"STC, then Barnum, then the MaCC?" Shiro suggests.

"Mini tour it is!" Matt declares as he claps his hands together. "Dibs on intrepid leader!"

The small journey takes roughly an hour and a half. Matt guides their group first to the science hall where he practically lived his final semester, then to the humanities building where Shiro had done the same. They take a quick detour through the library—an enormous, three story monstrosity made of curving steel, dark stone, and blue-tinted glass that impresses everyone—before going into the campus center. Pidge groans loudly and dramatically when they pass one of the small cafés.

"Please tell me it's time to eat," she whines. "I'm wasting away!"

"How?" Keith asks rhetorically. "You ate like ten bagels at the hotel's continental breakfast."

"I have a fast metabolism."

"There's a good Thai place down the road," Shiro offers. Then, after a quick glance at his phone, he admits, "Might be a little packed now."

"What about that burger place on Massachusetts?" Matt suggests as an alternative. "Since it's only four, they'll have a booth open."

"I vote burgers," Keith chimes.

"We'll have to drive, though," Shiro points out. "Will we all fit in the rental?"

Luckily, the car company had upgraded the Holts' compact to a three-row SUV for no extra charge. The eight of them will fit if Pidge, Keith, and Matt sit in the back, a fact that Matt complains about as they head towards the parking lot. Nobody takes his griping seriously. Matt has always been and will always be a talker, the kind of person who fills silence with the verbal equivalent of packing peanuts.

"I mean, you should be the one sitting the back with the other children," Matt says as he and Shiro peel off their gowns and store them in the trunk. "Since you're still technically five."

"True," Shiro says, too used to the leap year baby jokes to protest, "but I'm not the one in a ridiculous t-shirt." He looks pointedly at Matt's attire, which consists of straight leg jeans, dirty Adidas sneakers, and a lime green shirt featuring Sasquatch in a cowboy hat. "Does Allura know you wore this to commencement?"

"Allura's in France. I can dress however I want." Matt runs a prim hand down the line of his torso. "Besides, it's not like anyone could see it underneath my robes without x-ray vision."

"So you're saying I can tell her?"

Matt pretends not to hear Shiro's teasing. Instead, he walks around to side of the SUV and wedges himself in the back with Keith and Pidge. Shiro stifles a laugh. He knows that Matt doesn't actually care if Allura finds out. Matt's propensity for casual clothing in formal situations is actually a weird running joke between the two of them, which is why Shiro snaps a candid of Matt halfway through dinner and texts it to their missing roommate.

It's a good picture. Matt is gesticulating around a mouthful of his enormous burger, his cheeks bulging comically, while Pidge stares at him, deadpan. They look eerily similar despite their different expressions: their thin noses have the same small upturn, their heart-shaped mouths are identically full and chapped, and their round jawlines both curve softly upward. If it weren't for the incriminating focus on Matt's t-shirt, the snapshot would be almost sweet.

TS [photo image sent] look what matt wore for graduation

Instead of sending the picture to Allura privately—she won't get the message until morning, as Paris is six time zones ahead—Shiro sends the picture to the group chat he shares with her and Matt. Matt throws Shiro a dirty look when his phone chimes.

MH BETRAYAL u may actually be the worst takashi the worst ever (flame emoji) (skull emoji) (poop emoji) thats u

When dinner is done, Shiro, Matt, and their families move outside and continue their conversations on the sidewalk. Hiromu and Naomi are talking to Colleen about their newest home renovation; Pidge and Matt are geeking out over something Matt pulled up on his phone; and Sam is asking Keith about his college decisions. Shiro listens to the latter silently.

"I got into Berkley, UCLA, and San Jose," Keith says. "But I ended up choosing UCLA because I don't really know what I want to major in."

"Katie has said the same," Sam says with a nod. "Though in her case, I believe it was a struggle to narrow down her interests. They have some of the best science departments in the state! And engineering too. Has Hunk decided which one to focus on?"

"He's still trying to decide between mechanical and electrical," Keith replies, his cheeks flushing at the mention of his boyfriend. "He'll probably end up double majoring."

Sam laughs at Keith's reaction and claps him on the shoulder. Sam is like an uncle to both Shiro and Keith, as Matt and Pidge have been their respective best friends since childhood. "I think it's wonderful that you all are going to the same school," he elaborates. "The first year of college is quite the adjustment. Away from home, making all your own decisions—big things, mundane things—it can be overwhelming."

Keith's blush deepens and turns his cheeks a splotchy red. Shiro remembers how Keith struggled with his decision to go to UCLA instead of Berkley or San Jose, admitting to Shiro that while he wanted to go to school with Hunk, he didn't want it to be a deciding factor.

"I don't want to be one of those people," Keith had whispered during one of their weekly phone calls. "Y'know, the person who follows their boyfriend from high school to a college they don't care about? Who doesn't know what they want to do with their life? Who always gets dumped halfway through the first semester?"

"Hunk isn't going to dump you halfway through your first semester," Shiro assured gently. "That only happens in bad television. Besides. Your scholarships are about the same for each place, you don't have a decided major, and physical closeness is something you value in your relationship. It isn't wrong to choose the same school."

"Is that why you and Matt went to the same place? I mean—I know you never dated or anything so it's not exactly the same but—you're close."

"It was definitely something I thought about," Shiro replied. "But I'm glad I did it. My freshman year was difficult, and having Matt there helped me. Are you planning on rooming with Hunk?"

Keith made a strangled noise and gave a choked, "No!" Then he coughed, and said, "No. We all applied to the same dorm hall but opted for random assignment." Keith paused. Sighed. Muttered petulantly, "How much you wanna bet I'm going to end up being roommates with Lance?"

Smiling at the memory, Shiro brings his attention back to the present. He listens as Keith and Sam discuss UCLA's astronomy department until the other half of their group wanders back over. None of them are ready to disperse, so instead of lingering on the curb, they pile into the rental and drive to a local ice cream parlor. It is predictably packed. They have to wait awhile before a harried worker can that their orders, but they get lucky afterwards and snag a recently deserted table after they pay. Shiro holds his single scoop of blackberry walnut expertly in his prosthesis, content to lean back and let the plastic chair hold him and the heaviness of his day as his family chatters around him.

"Getting tired, old man?" Hiromu teases when all that remains of Shiro's dessert is a vague stick on his fingers. "That's supposed to be my job."

"It's been a long day," Shiro says. He can feel the weight of it tugging on his eyelids and weighing on his shoulders. He had woken up before dawn and ended up running for fifteen minutes longer than usual, pushing further and further into the suburbs as he attempted to exercise off his anxiety. It worked until he hit the shower and the sick feeling in his stomach returned as he scrubbed his hair with Allura's leftover shampoo.

"Well, it's done with." Hiromu places a supportive hand on Shiro's upper back. "And Stanford is months away. You've got a whole summer ahead of you to relax, to take it easy." Hiromu grins. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Shiro says. "Yeah, it does."

.

[memorylang]

New Me, Stateside for New Year’s | #20 | January 2020

When I landed back in Mongolia, many asked me either, “How was America?” or “How was China?” I saw both, anyway. So in this travel trio finale, I reflect on the changes I’d noticed in and around me during my three weeks on vacation from Mongolia.

During my reverse culture shock in the States, I logged my findings. Some were physical, like my increased tolerances (resilience?). Others were perceptions. Food, friends and family are my themes~

Landing in the States

“Welcome back, sir,” smiled the U.S. immigration officer at SFO, when said I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer. 

That felt different. 

Usually immigration gives me trouble, not credit. 

But I also felt more comfortable on the plane and in the airport, too, not needing to worry whether my shoes’ bottoms faced others. When travelers’ feet rubbed mine, they didn’t need to shake my hand. Those made life easier. Nonetheless, I felt odd seeing Americans nonchalantly have their shoes’ bottoms face people.

The House in Vegas

Returning to my family’s house that December 19 before Christmas, it felt more spacious than I remembered. Even our restrooms just felt larger than I recalled. Having our cooling fall from our ceiling, instead of heating from radiators below the windows surprised me, too. 

Writing of the house, I also sleep way better in the beds at home. Amusingly, I slept in my older brother’s old bed, since, for the past four plus years, he’s slept in my old bed. My younger brother had moved into his old bed while I was away for university. (It’s complicated.) Based on the States, I felt, I could think up ways to make my bed in Mongolia more comfortable…

As I explained to friends in the States, I’d also experienced dreams including friends from both in my Peace Corps service and in my Nevada lives before. I noted, in the past, I would keep in touch with American friends while going abroad. This time, I would keep in touch with Mongolian friends while visiting the States. Those blending communities felt profound, since I loved when life’s separate experiences crossed. I hope I continue such habits beyond my service.

Before my half-brother and his wife left after Christmas, they commended me, I seem more confident and calmer since graduating university. We discussed at length some cross-culture techniques, regarding how I seek and engage motivations when I teach and learn.

On the Advent of Christmas, I’d returned through my closet for childhood things I’ve finally grown willing to part with. I gifted these to them, for their baby. When I returned to Mongolia, they shared with me a photo of him adoring his new toy. Hehe, what a life.

So Much Food

To end my first full day back at the house, I stayed true to my word from Mongolia. I just went to the fridge and freezer, grabbed a bunch of berries and banana, plunked them in a blender with pineapple(?) ice cream and milk, (plus peas,) then downed that awesome shake while I worked on my writings. Ugh, shakes. 

I definitely satisfied my major cravings stateside. While I love Mongolian food, I’d forgotten the States’ food diversity! I enjoyed at least American (including Hawaiian), Chinese, Japanese, Filipino and Thai goodness. Vegas has lots of Asian cuisine. 

I hadn’t realized how much a half-Chinese American like me could miss pizza, burgers and bagels, but heck, I found that out, too. I ate pizza at plenty opportunities, amounting to at least a time or two per week. Freezer pizzas tasted rad. Even those staling discount blueberry bagels from Smith’s were great. 

And, oh dang, microwaves! Not having to heat my food on a pan felt the best, haha. I’m such a tourist in our own house.

Into Our Community

Leading up to my return, I announced to friends I’d be back. Get-togethers arranged. 

Sunday, we left home to see family friends. The constant Christmas music on the radio and Christmas lights on neighborhoods’ homes welcomed me. I even welcomed hearing car radios! I hadn’t heard as many radios in Mongolia, since I avoided taxis my first months. Buses just played downloaded music videos, if anything.

Outdoors in Vegas, I realized I could take the cool way better! I wore one or two layers when locals wear two or three.

At sushi, we enjoyed a welcome back lunch celebrating the returns of a family friend and me. I loved the fraternal bonds and companionship. Curiously, a family friend offered me a beer, which I finished myself. I felt surprised, considering I could hardly do that before leaving America. I guess Mongolian events like Teachers’ Day gave me practice. Later, at my high school Korean friend’s house, he offered me to try his favorite bourbons. Even those, I realized, tasted pretty good. Seems my drink palate’s changed. But I prefer not to invest that route.

Fireside Philosophies

That night with three from our high school alma mater, we lounged around a backyard fire pit with s’mores. Having had freshman classes with these guys, we’ve known each other almost a decade. 

I felt particularly moved in an albeit geeky way, moments earlier, when we first reunited inside. He’s finishing his last semester at West Point. With a hand on my shoulder, he compared me to Ash Ketchum, traveling the world and making so many friends. “Someday, you’re going to be Hokage,” he smiled. 

He’s fun. He reached out during my first autumn in Mongolia, after some four years apart. 

Our party of four discussed our passions, dreams and goals. We’d all traveled afar for our studies and careers. We talked big ideas like cross-cultural evangelization, shared Asian and Christian philosophies and the flooring ethical codes and punishments of West Point. Turns out isolation isn’t just something Peace Corps Volunteers experience!

Vegas Since Christmas

Days later, after Christmas, I reunited with more friends.

First, I saw a game developer, who also graduated my high school, who saw me before I left for Peace Corps. Then I met up with my photographer Korean friend who married before I left for Peace Corps and has done well. He prefers non-K-Pop Korean music. He let me know our high school friend from freshman year who left to study in the Philippines just returned to America. We hadn’t seen him since 2012. I felt so excited, we drove to see him. What an experience. I picked up a huge Thai tea with boba and Hawaiian burger, too. Now that’s Vegas. 

Then I met one of my best friends, a fellow world-traveled one, who’s also preparing his graduate application. We also met a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, who served in Bangladesh till civil unrest evacuated them. I’ll cover our coffee shop/bookstore conversations in an upcoming story. Another friend, too, a Catholic I met at university, wandered a mall with me before her own first study abroad. I felt so happy for her. 

In there, I noticed what my older brother and his girlfriend meant, about Americans not walking up escalators (lifts), even wide ones. When I got back to Beijing, I saw people did as I remembered, standing on the right side to wait or stepping up the left to go quicker. I felt glad I wasn’t crazy. Though, it made me wish Americans didn’t desire such large personal spaces in public places… We must share.

Last Rides in Reno

Back to Reno! My final day there, morning after the wedding, I donned my Mongolian traditional shirt and reunited with my journalism school and the Honors Program at the University of Nevada, Reno. I reunited, too, that weekend with my fraternity brothers and friends. We talked big ideas, and I imparted notions sculpted by my months in Mongolia. Yet I felt so comfortable seated in the cars, taking walks and lounging between professors’ offices in the city I called home four years. 

Many related my youngest sister’s been doing well in her sophomore year at my alma mater. Church-wise, she’s even going through the Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults and dating her sponsor, who was my Knights of Columbus successor. (There’s a great coincidence from RCIA 2016 I may touch on someday.) The morning choir loves Sister dearly, though, even as they’ve missed my days, months and years among them. They’re family. Curiously, I even heard my dad’s been attending morning Masses there when he takes jobs in Northern Nevada. I’m glad he hears our remarkable pastor. 

My sister and I actually had a falling-out the day I left our college town last May. So I’d written and sent her a formal apology while flying through Kyrgyzstan to Mongolia. Though we made amends over the seven months, I’m glad she’s had the good year I’d hoped for. Though my legacy hasn’t left its halls, I’ve wanted for her her own story. Even our youngest brother means to attend the Honors Program, its new director told me. Ultimately, my sister and I said goodbyes first this time, for she had to leave before my last day in the States.

That noon, still December 31, I also got lunch with my World Youth Day 2019 family. So fitting to end the year where we started it—together. I related the feeling of living the faith in the First Evangelism. They spoke words with such Spirit, I felt touched. They’ve really had my back this year. They kept in touch regularly since I came to Mongolia. I’ve needed that. 

I spent the rest of my day slipping around campus, musing down memory lane and delivering gifts of шагай \shagai\ ankle bones I’d also given many for Christmas. I loved sharing Mongolian culture through my gifts. Mongolians wishing me over Facebook, “Merry Christmas,” on New Year’s Day, reminded me, as a Catholic, Christmas and New Year’s really do overlap.

There are so many more in Reno-Sparks I wish I could have seen again.

Northern Nevada’s New Year’s Eve

As evening neared, Dad picked me up from the University to take me near Lake Tahoe, where we would share dinner with the Catholic Regent and her Mongolian daughter-in-law, who first readied me for Peace Corps mere weeks before I went. Dad’s so social. Maybe someday I could match his way with making himself comfortable in a room of unfamiliar peers. Discussions of mining in Nevada and the Gobi Desert set in stone for me how similar my undergrad and current communities feel sometimes. Seriously. 

Dad drove me back into town so I could ring in the new year with my newlywed friends. We experienced a multi-faith night hosted in the Reno Buddhist Center. Since I couldn’t find them, I sat in back. I spotted the University photographer who took my portraits at my senior year’s beginning and end, for having done well with my University scholarships and later becoming Senior Scholar of my school. She smiled at me with that familiar twinkle in her eyes. 

I enjoyed a joke our kindly cathedral rector made, that evening, about Catholics coming late and leaving early. I hadn’t heard humor like that in Mongolia. He smiled with such affection when he saw me. Later than evening, as the fireworks came up, I approached the front. A woman had me and a classical singing boy join her beating the Taiko drum! What a moment. 

The newlyweds joined me afterward, joyful to have spotted me down there. They introduced me to a Native American, an imam and other religious leaders who attended the wedding. They complimented my cantoring. I felt shocked they remembered. Then we took a big photo. We shared the most loving hugs.

Then, the couple and I went outside. Like our times passed, we exchanged goodbyes before my next big trip around the world. Then I got back in the car with Dad. After returning to Mongolia, I’d place throughout my apartment faith filled keepsakes from that beautiful wedding.

The New Year

New Year’s Day, I rode with Dad to Fallon, from where we left to Vegas after rest and a continental breakfast. Seeing his suitcases and the coolers in the hotel room before we loaded the car, I recollected years of road trips with my father and family. I still felt surprised how selflessly he’d driven me around New Year’s Eve, when I wanted to get places. I’d miss these road trips with my dad. 

As I stared out the window, seeing the faraway mountains and thinking of that Thanksgiving car ride in Mongolia, I felt grateful to still have Dad well and healthy, after Mom. He still listened to dad rock. I liked that. We’d be home soon.

Through car rides like these, I finished one more big thing in the States. Across my weeks, I blazed through “Pokémon Moon.” This achievement was colossal, since I played in Mandarin Chinese and only touched the game once or twice annually for the three years since my sophomore year at university.

But ultimately, I left it behind in the States. I’m in Mongolia, a world of adventure. That’s my 2020 theme: Exploration. A game would surely distract if I brought it.

Leaving America (Again)

The last friend I saw before leaving Vegas and the U.S. again was also my last friend I saw before leaving for Mongolia the first time. 

She seriously helped me pack in May, when I was a mess. This time, we ate out at a restaurant chain I’d seen only during my years in Reno-Sparks. We spoke for hours. Our reunions since college often wind up as these late nights. Though we relate about the voids left since our parents passed, we’ve known each other so long before. I’ve loved we can talk without retelling backstory. She’s one of those friends who’s so real, she knows me better than I do sometimes!

Anyway, seems I grew another way since Mongolia. This time in Vegas, I finished my packing myself.

Before the crack of dawn, I hugged my other siblings bye, before Dad zoomed me across the city for my flight away. That shiny Raiders stadium will probably be done the next time I’m back.

Return to My City

I experienced an amazing time with relatives and friends back in China on my return trip from the States to Mongolia. 

January 8, back in Mongolia, I took an overnight sleeper train for my first time alone. I felt darkness’ void in knowing no one. I felt the waves of the rocking train, its lurches and bumps as it shifted and wheels screeched. I felt pensive during the odd morning hours when my sore back woke me. I thought about my identity and new words said before I left. More on that soon.

Peace Corps Mongolia continues.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[visariga-blog]

Neighborhood #15: Bieriņi

Name: Bieriņi Meaning: Latvian version of “Behrens,” the name of the German family that owned the old manor Area: 4.27 km2 (31st) 2014 Population: 9443 (22nd) 2008 Population density: 2016 people/km2 (25th) Distance from Riga Central Station by public transit: 21 minutes Public transit lines: #7, #10, #25, #55, #56 busses Places of interest: Mārupītes dabas parks, statue park,  Where to eat: Picerija Ansamblis, 38 Robežu iela Date of visit: May 7th, 2017

Though maligned to the point of cliché in art and music over the past few decades, suburban sprawl is still an inescapable part of middle-class life outside of most American cities. Originally built in the 1950s on the territory of former farmland in order to give more “breathing space” to affluent young families looking to escape “blighted” cities, these endless seas of similar-looking single-family houses have become an cultural icon of the United States and are featured in countless films and TV shows.

While this kind sprawl doesn’t quite exist in Latvia in the same form, something a bit similar can be found in towns outside of Rīga and in periphery neighborhoods such as Bieriņi, the area we visited all the way back in early May. Though technically a neighborhood of Rīga, Bieriņi is almost indistinguishable to most residents from the nearby town of Mārupe.

From above it's easy to see that most of the neighborhood is a fairly large and standard grid, full mostly of detached and semi-detached houses. The main geographic feature of the neighborhood is the Mārupīte stream which roughly cuts the neighborhood in half. The northern boundaries of K.  Ulmaņa gatve and Rīga-Tukums railroad and eastern boundary of the Rīga-Jelgava railroad are perfectly logical, but the eastern and southern borders are a bit more interesting. While the map above shows an identical street grid system virtually indistinguishable between the Mārupe and Rīga sides of the border, you can clearly see from the satellite image below that the houses become less dense almost immediately on the Mārupe side.

It was a bit hard to decide where to start, so we decided to try to enter the neighborhood in the “horn” at the very top where the railroads fork off between their respective destinations of Jelgava and Tukums. Although it technically isn't part of Bieriņi, we decided to take the train to Torņakalns station just north of this point and walk a few short minutes along the tracks the get there. When we got off the train, we were met by Konstantin who would be joining us again as he had in Āgenskalns. Luckily, the weather was leaps and bounds an improvement over that day a month earlier.

We tried entering via a path that you can just barely see in the above picture that led from the road to the “horn,” but as soon as we got there, it became clear that it was strictly private property and that the path was only meant for people who lived or worked there. Instead, we walked a bit along the road you can see to the left until we got to Altonavas iela and were able to cross the tracks there. 

At the Altonavas iela crossing we were surprised to find some modern paintings hung on the wooden fencing. There was no information about who or where they came from, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were related to one of the art schools in the area. The tracks we crossed over continue on to Jelgava in the south of the country, and some dandelions were just popping up through the gravel.

We took a left onto Ārlavas iela, which seemed to be the main road through this very northern tip of the neighborhood. There was a wide assortment of brick and wooden houses no taller than two or three stories. While many houses in Latvia have signs warning about a “nikns suns” (ferocious dog), there was one here that warned that theirs was “nenormāls,” which can translate to either “abnormal” or “insane.” This area seemed quite calm without a massive amount of traffic, although cars did pass us by regularly.

At the corner of Robežu iela we found a small grocery store across the street from a cool multi-functional building that looked a bit like a small palace. We grabbed a few novelty ice creams from the store and found a small dog hanging out with the shopkeepers. We then continued on a bit further and came to a bridge that carried K. Ulmaņa gatve, the northwest boundary of the neighborhood. From now on, we would be in the main part of Bieriņi south of the major roadway.

From here we followed Tēriņu iela southeast, passing still mostly residential houses and a few small businesses. We took a small detour right onto Ģimnastikas iela and then left onto Ojāra Vācieša and then back onto Tēriņu iela again, following somewhat of an right triangle. This brought us by a forest that was part of the Mārupīte nature park that we would visit a bit later, where leaves were blooming everywhere. Building houses that looked like castles seems to have been all the rage here at one point in the not-so-distant past.

After a few minutes we came to the intersection with Ceres iela, which to the left of where we were is a fairly major road that goes on to cross the railroad tracks to cross through Atgāzene next to the campus of Biznesa augstskola "Turība." To the right, however, the road is much narrower and full of the small houses which led me to characterize the neighborhood as Rīga's version of suburban sprawl earlier in the article. We followed Ceres iela for a kilometer or so, passing by houses in mostly very good condition.

Although we had already seen a few of these “Man Te Patīk (I like it here) Bieriņi” stickers in some other places during out walk so far, this mailbox was the best example since there were so many of them in different colors. The sticker that says “Kaimiņš kaimiņu sargā” means that “neighbors protect neighbors,” and “droša apkaime” means “safe neighborhood.” There were also two stickers that seem to have been given to participants in the neighborhood's yearly clean-up event that happens throughout the county in spring. This is the kind of suburban patriotism that can be found all throughout America but is more rare in Latvia, especially a neighborhood of Rīga. According to a colleague who has lived in the neighborhood her entire life, this sense of camaraderie really does exist here, and neighbors come together for different events throughout the year such as flea markets, a race down the Mārupīte river, and the clean-up day. She told me that people will sometimes say “es braucu uz Rīgu” (I'm going to Riga) when they need to do shopping in the center, as if it was a faraway place and not the city they were currently in. She also said that, as the stickers suggested, that neighbors really do keep an eye on each other. Although she knew some people who have moved in more recently, many of her neighbors had too lived in the neighborhood their entire lives and knew each other quite well.

We continued down Ceres iela, passing by what we later found out was a massive buddhism and yoga training complex called the “Dipika Yoga School.” The grounds of the facility were absolute gorgeous, with a few small canals and buildings in a vague east asian style. You can find out more about the school here. When we got to Dauguļu iela we took a right and headed north until we came to the Mārupīte river. We didn't go any further north, but we could clearly see one of the towers of Panorama Plaza in Pleskodale off in the distance.

So far, since crossing the train tracks, our path had gone like this:

Along the Mārupīte is a nature trail that extends all the way from the town of Mārupe to the neighborhood of Torņakalns. According to Mārupe's town website, the entire path (meant mostly for cyclists) is 14.2 km long, although a significant portion of this distance is backtracking as can be seen on the map below:

The portion that we walked was very well-maintained and we were unsurprisingly passed by quite a few bikers on this beautiful spring day. The path was mostly either paved with asphalt or well-kept dirt.

According to one sign, the track would be closed on Thursdays from 5:30 PM to 8:00 PM due to a series of bike races. It said that more information could be found at ritenvasara.lv, although most of the information seems to be gone at this point.

When we got to the junction with Codes iela we decided to leave the path for a while and explore the neighborhood's famous “Akmensdārzs” (stone garden). On Ceres iela just across from the garden was a house that had quite a collection of vintage trucks and farming equipment. My colleague who has lived here her entire life told me that this kind of countryside scene is not uncommon here, with some of here neighbors keeping chickens in their backyard even to this day and other neighbors having goats in the backyard in the past.

In the 1970s, sculptor Indulis Ranka got permission from the Soviet government to set up both a stone sculpture exhibition park as well as a workshop to help familiarize people with stone processing. This project ended in the 90s when people began to reclaim the land that had been taken away by the soviet government, but the statues still remain and Indulis Ranka continued working here until his death just a few months ago in April. There is currently a community effort to try to reach out to the different artists who made the statues here to be able to create informational plaques that inform visitors who made each statue and what they meant, but many of them are still a mystery as of now.

We continued along the beautiful Mārupīte trail, coming across a wooden fence with some interesting graffiti and then crossed the Mārupīte via a fairly new-looking metal bridge that was inscribed with lyrics from various mid-2000s alternative rock songs. Here was a portion of the trail that no longer went along the river, so we had to cross through a section of more residential houses to get to the next section of the trail.

Our route along the trail, through the statue park, and to the final section of the nature path looked a bit like this:

The final section of the nature path brought us past a very modern housing unit, under the bridge of Ulmaņa gatve, and the grounds of Rīgas angļu ģimnāzija, a high school that was founded in 1919 and since the early 90s has offered an intensive English language program. It wasn't long before we came to the end of Bieriņi's territory at the train tracks to Tukums and the border of Āgenskalns. On the other side of the tracks was one of the only areas of Āgenskalns that we hadn't explored during our visit there. As we got there, a freight train was just passing by and heading towards the city center.

After backtracking a brief distance to Ulmaņa gatve, we had a decision to make: continue on to explore the northwest third of the neighborhood that bordered Pleskodale, or get some food and call it a day. In the end we doubted that we were going to find much different from what we had already seen, so we elected to walk along Ulmaņa gatve back towards Tēriņu iela and check out a pizzeria called “Ansamblis” that we had passed by earlier. This ended up being a fantastic decision, since at Ansamblis we found by far the tastiest pizza I have yet found in Rīga. Everything was perfect: the dough was just thick enough and not undercooked or crunchy, and the sauce they used wasn't ketchup in disguise as is the overly sweet “tomato sauce” that's used in many other pizza places throughout the city. The pizzeria also seems to be a supporter of local music, with concerts happening inside from time to time and various CDs and merchandise for sale. There's not much I can really say other than if you live in Rīga, like pizza, and aren't too lazy to leave the center of town, you absolutely need to come check this place out. None of us tried the burgers, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were as delicious as well.

And... that was it for us for the day. There was of course more that we hadn't seen, but it was getting a bit late and all of us were tired. We decided to exit the neighborhood across the tracks and walk to Āgenskalns where there were far more public transit options than there were here.

It's easy to understand why residents of Bieriņi seem to be so patriotic about their part of the city away from the city. It's worth taking the train or bus ride out here to check out the pizza at Ansamblis alone, but it'd be well worth your time to walk or bike along the path to Mārupe as well and to stop off at the stone garden too.

A few random observations:

Although we didn't know this all the way back in May, 2017 would turn out to be the coldest Latvian summer of the 21st century so far. We finally had a few days of weather that reached 30° or so by the end of the summer, but by now summer weather is already a distant memory.

I found out later that the Dominican Sisters of Bethany, a Catholic Order that originates in France, operates a convent in the part of Bieriņi that we didn't visit. The order was founded in the 1860s, and they've been working in Latvia since 1995.

According to my acquaintance who has been living in the neighborhood for her entire life, a number of well-known Latvian authors, artists, and playwrights have lived in the neighborhood throughout its history.

We didn't know it at the time (and unfortunately therefore didn't take any photographs), but we passed by the original manor building as we walked along the river. It is a brown wooden house, and has been restored by the original owners in last decade or so. I found a picture here, taken from ambermarks.com:

And that's it for now. Since May, we have also visited Bišumuiža and Katlakalns, which I will try to write about as soon as possible. Until next time, try to enjoy the last few days of relatively warm weather before the dark times set in.

Nākamā Pietura: Bišumuiža!

[multsicorn]

fic: how do you make it for real (zimbits, 1/5)

for @queersherlockian, the first chapter of my much-belated @fandomtrumpshateaction fic  this chapter is ~5k words, rated g, but there’s much more, and porn, to come.  also here on ao3.

Jack Zimmermann's an adjunct history professor at Samwell University. Bitty works at Annie's, at the start of what's now his second year after graduation.

And they both want more than what they have. Not love, but a step up that ladder to professional success that sometimes seems hard to even find....

They'll take love, though, if it comes.

Jack Zimmermann's life is built from routines. People think that he's boring, but he likes it, the way that each block of his day slots neatly into the next. He appreciates predictability, he hates to be left at loose ends, and even though he hasn't played a game of hockey in years, he'll probably live by the locker-room code of habit and superstition for the rest of his life.

Samwell University seems nice. Professor Atley, the newly-appointed head of the History Department, is brisk but genuinely welcoming in what's now their second time meeting. As an adjunct at Samwell, she tells him, he'll be teaching three lower-level classes. She hopes that he'll also find some time to get started on his first book, the time that he couldn't (he'd confessed to the committee) seem to find or make last year in Virginia, which he knows for both threat and encouragement. He's grateful, always, for the welcome, and still worried that he'll come up short.

The grounds are pleasant, relaxing, all red brick and green lawns and wide paths. They look like nothing more than a brochure come to life, and Jack would move into the center of a glossy paper tri-fold if only he could work towards a tenure-track position there.

His schedule, gridded out, shows a clear block between 3:00 and 4:30. If he can find somewhere to sit and work and maybe eat, he should be able to use that block of time to make progress on writing a book a little bit every day. Crossing the street that separates campus from a straggling gap-toothed line of restaurants and stores, he fetches up in front of a cozy coffee shop. The sign in the window says it's called Annie's, and the door promises that it's open till 8 p.m. every night.

_X_

Within the first few weeks of the semester, Annie's has definitively become Jack's favorite place to work, ever. His office is amazing because it's all his, the best place to squirrel away books and papers, but there's always a danger of distraction when he tries to get work done there. Camilla, the smartest adjunct in the department, stops by several times a day for quick breaks to chat about nothing. Chris Chow appears at at all times of day and night just in case, he says, Jack's there, and Jack's never learned how to turn away a student who actually wants to learn. But he has other work he needs to get done. And Annie's has decent coffee, and a daily rotating selection of the best pies he's ever tasted, anywhere, in his life, and, most importantly, no one who ever wants to talk to him. He buries himself there in the writings of the war in peace.

Or, when he's stuck, he can look around. Just every once in a while, he'll catalog the pairs of girls in glossy high ponytails talking to each another, the gray-haired men and women who've claimed the few armchairs in the shop with their paperbacks, the laptop users, the phone-players-with, the interview that's always in progress. The population, though its characteristics remain stable, changes in individual composition from day to day. Only two people (besides himself) are consistently present: a petite Asian girl with an awesome sidecut, who's always either drawing or painting, and Cute Blond Boy.

He'd worried at first that the girl was drawing the coffee shop's patrons. It seems like the obvious reason to draw there, to take advantage of all the subjects to sketch, so Jack couldn't have blamed her in fairness. But he skulks around behind the back of her table enough times, anyway, to see that her artwork is abstract. So then he's relieved, and just a bit guilty at feeling that now he's the one who's overstepped.

Cute Blond Boy is more of a problem. He could almost just be another of the phone-players-with, except that more often than not he's sitting at the coffee shop's long wooden bar, and chatting in between customers with whoever's working behind the counter that day. Jack couldn't figure out what he talks about over the general level of ambient noise, even if he were eavesdropping, which he'd never do. Sometimes Cute Blond Boy even sits at same table as the girl who does the paintings, and Jack doesn't know if they know each other from anywhere besides this coffee shop. Which is to say: Jack doesn't know whether to hope or to fear that any day now Cute Blond Boy will sit his cute ass down next to him, and just start talking as if they're friends.

_X_

It's in the middle of October when the trees are putting on Samwell red and the first round of midterms is busy kicking just about everyone's ass that Jack arrives at Annie's and orders his customary large light roast coffee 'and a slice of today's special pie' before he notices that Cute Blond Boy is manning the register.

"That'll be $8.31," Eric says. His name is Eric, his nametag says.

"So you work here now?" Jack says, brilliantly. Eric keeps holding out his hand, which - right. Credit card. Jack can't believe he forgot something so basic.

Eric takes it with a lift of his perfectly groomed eyebrows. "I've been working here for years," he says. "Usually I'm in the back. I'm just filling in for my friend Dex today, 'cause he says that his project won't compile - don't even ask me what that means, I don't know - but he's usually here on Wednesdays. And, hold on a sec, can you sign this."

Jack does so without comment.

"So, you like pie?" Eric maneuvers a slice out of the pan and slides onto a clean white plate, all the while keeping the layers of apple stacked neatly on top of each other.

"Yes," Jack says. "Well, not always. But the pie here, it's just, so good. Like." He leans over the counter in his enthusiasm, its edge biting into the pudge of his stomach. "If you could propose to a baked good, I'd be getting down on one knee right now."

"Oh, my goodness," Eric says, fanning his face with his hand theatrically. Jack's made him blush. "Wow. Really?"

"Not literally," Jack says. He shrugs, awkwardly. Eric can't see it, anyway, his back is turned now as he's getting Jack's coffee. "But, yeah, they really are that good."

"I don't even know what to say to that." Eric puts Jack's plate and his mug down together on the counter; his hands are steady, not affected at all. But the smile on his face looks… shy? It's not a look Jack's seen on him before - not that he's been secretly watching Eric eat lunch for the last few weeks or anything. "But thanks."

"Er, yeah," Jack says. "I mean. It's just a job anyway, right?"

"Just a job!?" Eric glares. "No more pie for you, mister. My pies are my flesh and blood, my beloved children, the lights of my life - "

"Your pies?" Jack interrupts the tumbling avalanche of words. "I thought… they were, um, 'Annie's' pies."

"Yes, my pies," Eric says. He puffs himself up with indignation like a peacock. "I told you, I work in the back. I make 'em. I make all the pastries, actually, but the pies are my own recipes."

"Oh," Jack says. "That's cool." He blinks. Cute Blond Boy is also an amazing pie-baker. "Um. That's really cool. Could you tell me about it?"

"Of course," Eric says, and now he's leaning over the counter. "Just try and get me to stop once I've started. Gosh. But, wait, a customer," he continues, stepping back from the counter and straightening up. Jack's pleased that he's not a customer, apparently. "Just a minute," Eric says, as Jack takes his food and shifts it over to the side of the counter to make space for the girl who steps up in front of the register.

"Yeah. I should get some work done, too," Jack says, to Eric, who's not listening any more. Now, where did the sugar go? He should know, since he's been coming here for weeks now. And he shouldn't have introduced himself by saying he loves pie, either. Now Eric probably thinks he's fat because he likes eating too much; he was hockey's new hope as a kid, just as fat, there's no way Eric knows that.

Not that he should care what Eric thinks, anyway.

"Ask me anytime, okay?" Eric says. "Another day, when I'm not on shift."

"Sure," Jack says. He's fumbling with the milk thermos: it doesn't want to open today, either.

To his right, he hears Eric say, "Sorry about that, honey. Now. How can I help you?" Of course Eric would be that guy who calls everyone honey; it doesn't mean anything, one way or the other.

And Jack won't get to talk to him again. He wants to, of course he does. But he knows himself, and he knows that it's just not going to happen.

_X_

What happens instead is that when he walks into Annie's the next day, planning to sit by himself, like usual, Eric waves at him with a smile. Jack can take that much of a hint. He returns the greeting, and after he's bought his coffee and a splice of today's special pie - it's apple nut brittle, which sounds promising, from the guy behind the counter with the intriguing cloud and small puff-cloud of hair, name of Derek, he goes to sit down at the table that Eric's already sitting at.

"Hi, Eric," he says. He occupies himself in settling his food on the table, and the bag with his papers in it under his feet, which is all he can think of to do.

"Hi," Eric says, with a smile. "Call me Bitty. All my friends do. And you're - ?"

"Oh," Jack says. He'd felt like they knew each other, after yesterday; he'd forgotten that he hadn't even told Eric - Bitty - his name. "I'm Jack." His instinct is to follow every introduction with a handshake, but Bitty's hands stay comfortably wrapped around his coffee cup, and so Jack shoves his back into his pockets instead.

"Jack," Bitty nods. "Hi, again."

"So…" Jack casts around, tries to remember why he'd thought that he could do this, yesterday. "You make pies?"

"Pies, pastries, sometimes bread. Or quick breads - it all depends. But the pies are my recipes, not Annies', so that's why they're my favorites."

Jack digs into his pie then, the shiny nut-studded surface crackling under the pressure of the fork's tines. He gets some of it onto the fork along with apples and a layer of crust. "By the way, this is delicious," he says, a bit of intensely appreciative chewing later. It's crunchy and chewy and sweet and even a little bit savory, too. "This is - " a pause to chew some more. "So much better than delicious. But I don't know what word means that."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," Bitty says, but he's blushing.

It makes Jack desperate, and dumb. "So, how did you start doing this?"

"Well, what happened is this. I started working here my sophomore year of college. I had a scholarship, freshman year, but I lost it, and so I needed to make money for books and stuff somehow. And at holiday time I brought in cookies to share with my co-workers, because that's just something I, alright? But Annie, she was so impressed with these simple little sugar cookies that she insisted that I switch to working in the back, making the baked goods. Well! You should know that it doesn't take insisting to get me to bake things! I love baking, and I was so excited to have a job doing it... but I still had to finish school, which was more of a struggle. And by the time I figured out that I wanted to do this, but in my own way, well, it turns out that having a degree in American Studies, even one with a concentration in Food Culture, doesn't help for having a bakery."

Jack scrapes the tines of his fork through the syrup that's slowly spreading across his plate. "I know what you mean," he says.

"You do?" Bitty puts down his sandwich, and pushes the plate far enough away that he can rest his hands flat on the table. "People always tell me that having a degree is better than having none, but sometimes I wonder if culinary school would've been a better choice."

"Ha, yeah. Maybe." Jack chews on his inner lip. "I teach history, and I enjoy it," the stresses of how and whether he can find a way to advance in the field aside, "but I spent, uh… many years. Training to be something completely different, and it is frustrating, to feel like all those years of work and getting better weren't good for anything in the end."

Bitty nods. "I wouldn't say not good for anything, because my friends from college are still with me, but… I get what you're saying, too. Definitely."

Jack eats a couple more bites of his pie before he continues, "It's challenging to switch tracks, I'm not saying it's not. But it's doable, and - " he gestures at what's left of his pie with his fork, though honestly he'd believe in Bitty even without its evidence " - I'm sure you can do it."

Bitty eats a little bit more of his sandwich, too, looking thoughtful. "I hope so," he says. "I think it just feels so difficult, because… I don't even know what I don't know. My normal M.O. is to bake people pie, but - how do you get your own bakery? And do I even want to start my own as an owner, like Annie did with this place, or is there, like, a job I can get? Because I don't think I need all that financial stress, if I could run the bakery of a place that someone else owned, but the way I bake is too Southern and nowhere near French enough to be a proper pastry chef, so..." Bitty trails off, and shoves the last remaining bit of his sandwich into his mouth with both hands.

Jack clamps down, hard, on this unhelpful and probably unwanted urge to volunteer - my parents are rich. I bet I could find enough money for whatever you need. Instead he says, "I don't know about any of this. But I wish I could help."

Bitty wipes the crumbs from his face. "You are helping. It's so nice just to talk about this. And to someone who understands how I feel! Saying don't get discouraged is all well and good, but sometimes I do get discouraged, you know?"

Jack leans forward. "I do know." And he manages, barely, to keep the coffee cup his arm had knocked into from falling over. "I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough."

"Exactly! I try and try - "

"And apply to every open position I find, but what do I do when they tell me, sorry, you're a very strong candidate, but you're just not a good fit for us."

"Ugh," Bitty says, "that's the worst. And I could say, well, at least you have positions to apply to, but, I don't know. Is that really better? I feel like I'd find it equally frustrating, just differently."

"It's hard to compare," Jack agrees. "And the thing is that I've always tried to be better, at everything I do. So there's nothing more frustrating than when I can't, and - " Jack suddenly remembers something. "What time is it, again?"

Bitty's phone responds before Jack's even succeeded in finding his own. "Five to four."

Jack swears in his head, uncreatively. "How did that happen." He's packing the papers that he hasn't looked at even once this afternoon, back into his bag quickly as he says, "I need to go now, the staff meeting's at four, but we'll talk later, right," and he's gone before Bitty has a chance to answer.

_X_

Jack's barely found himself a table at Annie's the next day when Bitty bounces over from the direction of the bar and plops down in the seat opposite.

"Jack! What are you doing here?" His coffee sloshes dangerously, cup too full to withstand the force of his enthusiasm.

"Work," Jack says. "Obviously."

"So? What kind of work do you do?"

Jack sighs. "You don't want to know. It's not interesting to people outside the field." Which he's reminded of every time he does answer such a question, and is rewarded for his efforts with glazed-over eyes or people hastily backing away.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know," Bitty says. "And, besides, now you've got me curious."

"Uh," Jack says. He's had years of practice giving elevator pitches in conference halls; this shouldn't be too hard. "I'm studying the process of negotiation and reconciliation of contradictory identities among American and Canadian soldiers in World War II, specifically in the context of the intensely homosocial environment of a military unit within the ever-present homophobia of midcentury North American culture, how these contexts work together to construct a unique set of expectations for masculinity, and exploring the ways in which homosexual desires and behaviors were understood and expressed by men in these conditions."

Bitty's nodding like a bobblehead. It's too much nodding, probably.

"Is that good?"

"Hm," Bitty says. "Something about World War II and - homosexuality?"

"Basically, yeah." Jack wipes his palms surreptitiously on his knees.

"Interesting," Bitty says. The i's of the word stretch out like taffy. "Do you mind if I ask you why?"

"Well," Jack says, "I've been fascinated by World War II since I was a kid. When I was little I wanted to go and fight in it - ha. I didn't have a real clear idea of how history worked, back then. And then, later, the more I learned about it, the more I learned about why that might not have been the best idea." Jack shrugs. "But I found all the things I was learning so interesting that I kept wanting to find out more and more, so here I am." Jack pauses for breath, and also to eat a bite of the pie that he'd been neglecting shamefully. The meringue on the top of it is pillowy, a shocking contrast to the firmness of the lightly-cooked apple chunks right underneath; and underlying it all, the rich crumbly shortbread crust completes a wide-ranging palette of textures. "And," Jack says, swallowing and taking another bite and doing it all over again, "I'm bi."

"I did wonder, when you said 'homosexual.'" Bitty doesn't have food today, but he sips his coffee slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "It's not that I think there's anything wrong with straight people studying our history, but I'm still not sure how I feel about it."

"Our," Jack says. He thinks that he was supposed to catch that. "Are you bi too, or…?"

Bitty laughs. "I think you're literally the first person who's ever asked me that. No, I'm gay. But I'm sure you're not surprised."

"Not exactly surprised." Jack eats a bit more of his pie. It's so good, he's in a constant state of surprise at just how good it can be. "But I didn't want to assume, either."

"I appreciate the sentiment! I used to wish that people wouldn't… but I don't mind, now. It can be useful, and besides, it's not like I don't want people to know."

Jack nods. "That makes sense, I guess. I've just always hated it when people assume they know things about me, whether they're true or not."

"Speaking of which," Bitty says. "You said that you teach history... is it here? I mean, at Samwell? Are you a professor, or what?"

Jack drinks his coffee, this time. It's lukewarm already: unpleasant, but he swallows it anyway. "Only an adjunct." Then he cuts his remaining pie precisely. "But, technically, yeah."

"That's cool, though," Bitty says. "And what are you working on right now? Specifically?"

"Do you mean, what am I supposed to be working on right now?" Jack asks.

He means it to be teasing, but Bitty seems to take the riposte seriously. "No, that wasn't what I meant," he says. "But if you really should be, then sorry for distracting you. I'll stop now."

"I really should," Jack agrees. There's regret there, but - he'll never make progress if he spend all his dedicated research hours chatting instead, no matter how tempting it is.

"We'll talk more tomorrow?" Bitty asks.

"We will," Jack says, and already, he believes it when he says it. That they will. That it's likely, and not impossible. It's a nice feeling to have.

_X_

A few days later, when Jack's relaxing into the rhythm of his and Bitty's conversations - which is irregular, and mostly consists of him listening to Bitty go on and on, which, as he says when Bitty asks him, he does like, very much - Bitty says, "Oh, and you have to meet Lardo."

"Who's Lardo?"

"See the girl painting in the corner behind you?"

Jack twists around in his chair, and he sees - oh. It's the Coffee Shop Artist Girl. He turns back towards Bitty, and nods. It's so strange, though, to think that just over a week ago, she and Bitty were equally strangers to him.

"I've barely talked to her all week," Bitty continues, "Because I've been so busy talking to you. So, come on over, I'll introduce you."

"Now?" Jack asks, but Bitty's already getting up, picking up his coffee and his sandwich, too, which preemptively puts to rest any questions as to whether he might be coming back. Jack frowns, but there's nothing for him to do but follow Bitty to Lardo's table.

"Mind if we sit here?" Bitty asks.

Lardo looks up from the canvas she's painting with an expression of concentration that dissolves instantly into a smile when she registers who's asking. "Bits! Of course. But who's this guy?"

Bitty steps to the side, which isn't necessary. Jack's too tall to be able to hide effectively behind him, anyway. "This is Jack. He teaches history here at Samwell."

"Nice to meet you," Jack says, though he's not sure if it's technically a lie or not. He puts out his hand to shake, anyway.

Lardo's answering grip is firm, but fleeting. As she takes her hand back she looks Jack over quickly, appraisingly, and he wishes he could guess at what she sees. "Cool," she says. "Name's Lardo. Artist."

The table's scattered all over with papers, brushes, tubes of paint, so on, and so forth, but Lardo quickly moves them into piles so that Jack and Bitty can set their food down.

"Are you a professional artist?" Jack asks, sliding into the seat just vacated by a bulky bag of mysterious contents that's been relocated to the floor. "Or is it just a hobby?"

"I sell paintings," Lardo says. She's staring, currently, at the swoops and intersecting triangles of red and purple and black on the canvas in front of her, as if they hold the answers to the mysteries of the universe. "Not enough to live on."

"What Lardo means," Bitty says, "is that she is an artist. A real artist. Because art's about whether you love what you do, not about how much money you're paid."

"Thanks, Bits." Lardo's stirring her brush in the water, washing off the purple. The curlicues it makes as it finishes the process of disappearing fascinate Jack.

"And Lardo loves art," Bitty continues, passionately, seeming oblivious to the fact that Jack's making no move to disagree with him.

"The way you love baking pies," Lardo murmurs. The flawless back-and-forth catch of conversational passes makes Jack wonder if this is a defense they've run together before.

"Yeah," Bitty says.

"Are you sure, though?" Jack asks. Lardo lifts her head, and they both stare daggers at him.

"We could still ask you to leave this table." Bitty, apparently, has a way of making the nicest-seeming sentence threatening.

"I mean," Jack stumbles, hastening to clarify. "Not about being a real artist. But about loving it. How do you know? How are you sure?" The daggers disappear - thank goodness - only to be replaced by matching looks of disbelief.

"You just do," Lardo says. And that argument done, she selects a hair-thin brush and loads it up with blue paint, ready to illustrate her words with action. Or pictures, for all Jack knows.

"I don't think either of us could stop if we tried to," Bitty says. He looks significantly at the piece of pie that, come to think of it, Jack can't believe he's left untouched for so long in front of him. He takes a bite. It's pecan today, with a hint of some spice that makes the flavor of the nuts pop like Jack's never tasted. It's so good he actually has to bite back on a moan.

When it comes to what Bitty said, though. "Huh." Jack's not sure what to make of it. "What would you do, though, if you didn't have anything like that?"

Lardo and Bitty look at each other. "Something easier," they answer in unison.

"Or at least something that pays better," Bitty continues as Lardo carries on with her work. "You teach at a university. I bet you get a salary, and benefits."

"Ha. You'd think," Jack says. "My parents still have to help me out. And... I try? But they gave me three intro courses this year, and ninety percent of my lectures are composed of freshmen who don't seem to want to learn anything. It's a good feeling, though, when I do get someone interested in the material."

"I tutor for so many things," Lardo says. Her paintbrush continues on its movements, not missing a beat. My parents keep offering to support me so I can make art full time. But - I don't wanna."

When Bitty speaks up, his voice is bitter in exactly the way his pie isn't, and Jack realizes that he hasn't said anything for more than a minute. "My parents say they don't understand why I'm still working the same job I had while they were paying for my college degree. As if I didn't want something better!"

"That's rough," Jack says. "I feel incredibly lucky that my parents have been so supportive. Even when I realized midway through one career path that I wanted to change course, they never pressured me one way or the other."

"That's nice," Bitty says, though his smile seems brittle around the edges, like the pie's dark chocolate-drizzled crust. "But - excuse me. What exactly do you mean by 'change course'?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." If that's possible.

"Oh," Bitty says. "Of course. Sorry." He darts a look sideways to Lardo, as if for help, but she's studying her canvas, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. As Jack watches Bitty watch her, she narrows her eyes at it suspiciously and tries another swipe of color. "So…" Bitty says. "Did you catch the Pats game the other night?"

Jack makes a face. "I don't follow football."

"And Bitty doesn't root for the Patriots." Lardo's eyes don't leave the blue and purple paint that she's now mixing with a small, blunt knife.

"Well," Bitty says. "I'm not gonna try to start a conversation about the Falcons in Boston."

"It'd be like asking about the Habs down here," Jack agrees. Bitty looks at him curiously, then, but thankfully doesn't follow up the look with any questions.

_X_

At the end of October, Jack walks into Annie's and headfirst into a swag of brilliant green tinsel. He looks around and sees more tinsel swinging in uneven loops from one side of the ceiling to the other and back, giant fuzzy glittering purple spiders climbing up the wall and over the bakery case, and behind him, in the window, a pair of clockwork man-like contraptions with pumpkins for heads.

"Wow," he says, sinking down automatically into his now-usual seat next to Bitty and Lardo.

"I know, right?" Bitty says. "'swawesome decorations."

"I'm so impressed," Jack agrees. He steals a bite of pie from the plate that's sitting unguarded in front of Bitty.

"I think they're okay," Lardo puts in, and Jack almost chokes on his pie. It would be a real pity if he had, a desecration of the pumpkin pie that has an almost cream-like texture and a more mellow flavor than he's used to.

"You don't like them?" he asks, when he recovers.

"She made them for us," Bitty explains. "Annie wanted a change of scenery. And I, for one, am very thankful, no matter how creepy they are," and now Jack can make sense of the smirk that's been lurking at the edge of Lardo's expression. She gives up on suppressing it, then, and she and Bitty bump fists.

"Ah. Okay."

"So," Bitty says. "Do either of you two have plans for Halloween?"

"As if," Lardo says. "My costume is 'swawesome, but I don't know any place worthy of it."

"I was thinking of staying home to give out candy," Jack says. "But my apartment building's mostly grad students. I don't think there'll be many kids."

"What are you, ninety?" Lardo asks. "Give up on the kids, anyway."

But - "That's perfect," Bitty says, leaning forward with the telltale gleam of enthusiasm bright in his eye. "Not your lack of plans, no offense, guys. But because y'all are definitely both coming to my friend Adam's Halloween party."

"I'm in," Lardo says.

"And especially you, Jack. I know you'd probably be working like always, but that's exactly why I think you need to try just loosening up for once. A party would do you good."

"Okay," Jack says. He can't think of a reason, at that moment, to refuse.

_X_

Only later do several problems with this plan occur to him:

First, he doesn't have an appropriate costume. Last time he dressed as Leo Major, no one even recognized the name after he told them who he was supposed to be. He needs something better, but he doesn't know what.

Second… it's a college party. There will be drinks. He's been avoiding parties for the last decade or so of his life, and he's not sure what temporary loss of grip on reality made him think he should go to this one.

(Oh, yes, he is.)

Which brings him to the third and last problem. Which isn't one, actually. Since Bitty didn't intend this to be a date, which he didn't, that's obvious from the way that he invited Jack and Lardo together and equally. It's not a date, it's nothing like one, so that's a problem avoided, there, because Jack's even worse at dating than he is at parties. And he wouldn't want to be on a date with Bitty even if he could.

[dustinaarondewenn-blog]

Story One - The Yellow House

“It’s been too-oo hard living! But I’m afra-aid to di-i-ie, cause I don’t know what’s up the-re-re-re, beyo-ond the sky-y.” Jerrica’s coarse but soulful singing carried the lyrics to Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come” over the harsh winds of early March. The white flowers on the dogwood that stood in her front yard shivered in the thirty-six-degree weather, but not Jerrica. She didn’t mind the cold when she felt like she did. All she needed was her bag of sunflower seeds and a cell phone, literally. She was butt ass naked. Her clothes, an oversized gray t-shirt with bleach stains and a green pair of jeans, made a pile in the dirt with her black thong as the cherry.  While holding the phone’s speaker to her ear with one hand, and dumping sunflower seeds in her mouth between melodies with the other, she howled to the heavens with her knees in the dirt.

The sun always illuminated her one-story, two-bedroom home right before sunset. Its pale-yellow shingles glowed bright, allowing it to blossom among the brick houses that neighbored each side. The door, battered and abused, splintered through its dark-brown coat of paint. Security bars covered each of the five windows. There was a purple 1992 Ford Taurus L sitting in the driveway, where the concrete was cracked. The property was a perfect square, outlined by a chain-linked fence. Honeysuckles overtook the left side, spreading their sweet smell across the yard.

Suddenly, the front door flung open and Darnell stood in its place. “Jerrica!” he hollered over the roar of the wind.

“Then I go-o-o to my-y-y brother, and I say brother, help me plea-ea-ease.” She was focused on the music; she didn’t notice Darnell stampeding toward her.

“The hell you doing!?” He clutched Jerrica’s tiny arm so tight that it felt like her bone was ready to snap. He snatched the phone out of her hand and yanked her up, until her eyes were level with his chest.

“Dammit, Darnell! You’re hurting me!” She cried.

“Why the fuck you out here naked!?”

She let out a delusional laugh as she squirmed her way out of his grasp. “This breeze is everything!” She pranced around happily while her matted black hair shifted stiffly in the wind.

Darnell shuttered as the wind cut through his basketball shorts and white Hanes tank-top. In that second, he thought about how fucked up it was that he was doomed to playing care taker to a thirty-two-year-old drug fiend. He was only twenty-one, so he really didn’t even know shit about taking care of himself. But, in that very next second, he remembered how fucked up his life actually was, and it suddenly didn’t seem all that unbelievable. “Bring your junkie ass in the house, J-Jerrica,” he commanded with his teeth chattering.

She didn’t. Instead she stopped, dropped her bag of sunflower seeds, and inhaled deeply through her nose. “You smell that?”

“Jerrica!”

She looked over at Darnell and a grin flashed across her face, exposing her crooked smile. “Honeysuckles!” She galloped over to the bush and picked a few of the small yellow flowers. “We gotta get the honey out of ‘em, like when I was little!” Bringing them to her nose, she inhaled deeply again, then stuffed them all in her mouth. She coughed as she spat them out.

Darnell noticed that a few of the neighbors were outside, all of them holding their phones, recording.

“Woorrldstarr!” A sixteen-year-old boy, wielding an iPhone, antagonized them from across the street.

Darnell sucked his teeth. “I can’t stand this muhfucka,” he muttered to himself. “Aye, lil nigga! Tell yo’ freak ass momma Darnell said come through so I can get that sloppy ass top again!” he yelled back with a flick of his middle finger.

“Yeah, aight. Tell yo’ crackhead ass sister to stop fucking niggas in high school for they lunch money and I got you, big homie!” the sixteen-year-old responded with satirical sincerity.

Darnell clenched his fists, his face grew hot.

“Had that bitch like, ‘Oohh, DeMonte, you fuck me like a grown ass man!’” DeMonte, the sixteen-year-old, mimicked Jerrica’s voice almost perfectly. “She was about to throw the neck but her trifling ass had sunflower seed shells all in her teeth!”

In her own little world, Jerrica tried to stuff honeysuckles into Darnell’s mouth.

Darnell grabbed Jerrica and threw her to the ground. He stared down at her with his jaw clenched, breathing heavily through his nose, nostrils flared.

“Stop it, Darnell!” she pleaded.

DeMonte’s obnoxious laugh could be heard from across the street. “Go easy on her, Little Brother!”

Without a word, Darnell grabbed her by the arm, even tighter than before, and dragged her into the house.

The living room was junky. Envelopes with red stamps covered the coffee table, unopened. A surgical needle, a spoon, and a piece of plastic, ripped from a Ziploc bag, laid among them. An off-white residue was smeared into the wood. The air was thick with the smell of burnt grease. Smoke fumed from the pan on the stove.

Darnell shoved Jerrica to the side and bolted into the tiny kitchen.

Jerrica stumbled and fell to the floor.

“Look at this bull-shit!” Darnell grabbed the pan. With the grease still popping, he stood over Jerrica and waved the charred pork chop in her face. “Look what you made me do! The fuck we gonna eat tonight!?”

She was sitting on the creaky hardwood floor with her back leaning against the door, still naked. She was completely out of it, covered in dirt, staring off into an imaginary reality.

Darnell stepped back, looked at her, and his expression softened. He dumped the charred chop in the trash, put the pan in the sink, and helped his sister to her feet.

***

The next morning, Jerrica woke up to the smell of a Black & Mild, wine flavored, with the wood tip. The hum of voices vibrated through the thin walls. When she opened her eyes, a figurine of White Jesus was hanging on the wall beside the bed, smiling down on her.

“Thank you for waking me up this morning, Lord,” she prayed as she climbed from under the covers. Darnell had dressed her in gray sweatpants and a black “Virginia DARE” t-shirt before he helped her into bed the night before. She squinted as she pulled open her thick curtains, sunlight flooded in through the window. The breeze was calm and the birds were chirping. Three red cardinals fluttered back and forth on the branches of the dogwood that stood in her front yard.

Her room was disgusting. Sunflower seed shells were spat all over the floor. There were dirty plates piled on the dresser, a fork and a steak knife laid on top of them. Her dirty clothes were everywhere, besides inside the laundry basket that was full of random shit, tucked in the corner. There was a weird odor lingering in the air.

The only thing that was in order was her bookshelf. It was a children’s bookshelf that was as old as she was. It had been painted pink, her favorite color, but the brown wood showed where the paint had chipped away. All the books were lined up in perfect alphabetical order, besides the Bible that sat alone on the top shelf. She had books about addiction, several on self-help, a couple that examined religion, and about a dozen that explored love. She’d read every single one of them, more than once.

She grabbed her Bible and opened it to expose its hollowed-out pages. Inside was a small bag of heroin and a pink lighter. She rolled her eyes when she realized that her spoon and needle were on the coffee table. Pulling out a wedgie, from the front, she stumbled into the living room.

With an exhale of rolling white clouds of tobacco, Darnell passed the Black back to the guy who was sitting on the couch across from him. Next to him was an Asian guy, Japanese, who scrolled through Twitter while he sank down into the sofa.

“Who the hell is this you got in my house at eight in the damn morning?” Jerrica interrogated, looking crazy in the face.

“Don’t come out here bugging n’shit, Jerrica.” Darnell waved his hand, shooing her.

“Nigga, and what if I do?! This my house now, Dar-nell,” she snapped back.

Darnell sucked his teeth and pointed to the Asian kid, who still didn’t look up from his phone. “This is Ethan, I work with him at that pizza place over on CVU’s campus.” Coastal Virginia University was just a few blocks away. The yellow house was located right where the neighborhood full of college kids collided with the hood. Darnell looked over at the other guy and hesitated slightly before he spoke, “and this is Julius.” Both Ethan and Julius were around Darnell’s age.

With a condescending smile, Julius nodded his head before he exhaled his last hit. “Hey, how you doing?” he asked, nonchalantly.

Ethan kept scrolling.

“Hello, Julius.” Jerrica’s tone matched Julius’s smile. “Why y’all two lil niggas in my house, at eight in the damn morning?”

“Ma’am, we’re-” Julius started.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, lil boy. I’m Jerrica.”

“Oh okay, sorry Jerrica.” Julius corrected himself, with a hint of sarcasm.

Ethan snickered, but still didn’t look away from his phone.

Then there was a silence.

“Don’t get quiet now! Y’all was being all talkative n’shit when I was in there tryna sleep.” Jerrica reminded, standing there with her arms folded.

“Aye, we was talking business. Some shit about to change around here.” Darnell stated, annoyed.

Julius immediately shot him a look that said, shut the fuck up.

“Yeah, what ‘business’ y’all talking? You deliver pizza, Darnell. You deliver pizza in that raggedy ass purple car,” Jerrica mocked. As she spoke, she noticed that there was a bookbag at Julius’s feet. She thought she put two and two together. “Y’all sell drugs?” She pointed to the bookbag then turned her full attention to Darnell, “Oh, so you gonna go off and be a drug dealer?” she accused. Her concern for her brother over powered the urge to find out what kind of drugs were in the bookbag, but it was definitely an uphill battle.

Darnell hesitated to speak and glanced over at Julius.

“Me and Ethan both go to CVU,” Julius stated confidently. “We’re tryna promote change by bridging a gap between the local and college communities after the recent shootings.” He reached in the bookbag, pulled out a binder, and handed it to Jerrica.

She opened it and saw things like “Community Outreach” and “Volunteer Work” which made her lose interest, immediately, so she passed the binder back to Julius.

“I’d have you come out to an event but junkies usually scare the kids.” Julius remarked unapologetically as he tucked the binder back into the bookbag.

Jerrica’s heart skipped a beat. She became flustered as she thought about how far away kids would always stay from her, it’s the one thing that bothered her the most during her addiction. “Oh nah, your lil friends gotta go,” she choked out.

“Aye bruh, you can’t be disrespecting my sister.” Darnell spoke up, timidly.

Holding the Black between his fingers, Julius lifted his open palms and bowed his head as he exhaled smoke. “It’s all love, fam. Ain’t no disrespect,” he apologized. He took another hit, stared Jerrica in the eyes, and blew a billowing cloud of nicotine in her direction.

Jerrica had been eyeballing the Black the whole time.

“Wanna tap this?” Julius asked, offering it to her with an insincere innocence.

She almost tried not to, but she grabbed it anyway. The room was quiet, besides the popping of burning tobacco in the tiny flame that fueled the end of the Black. With her eyes closed, she sucked in the smoke like it was the first fresh breath she’d taken in a long time.

Julius watched her with a menacing grin.

Darnell watched her with an awkward shame.

“Woorrldstarr!” DeMonte’s voice could be heard coming from Ethan’s phone, breaking the silence. He squinted as he brought the phone closer to his face. “Oh no-o-o,” he sat upright and laughed as his eyes lit up with amusement. “Julius, look at this shit bro.” He handed Julius the phone.

“Yeah, aight. Tell your crackhead ass sister to stop fucking niggas in high scho-”

“Aight, c’mon fam. Turn that shit off.” Darnell spoke up again. He was starting to get angry but tried his best not to show it.

Julius passed the phone back to Ethan, holding back what he wanted to say with a muffled chuckle. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his face into the couch, his shoulders bounced while he laughed, silently.

“Five-thousand retweets since last night?” Ethan finally looked up, stupefied. His eyes were low and red, he’d been high as fuck the whole time. “Wow, you’re famous! Congratulations!” Ethan exclaimed to Jerrica.

Jerrica tried her best to appear unbothered, but tears had begun to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away as she went into her room, slamming the door behind her, with the Black still in hand. The thin walls trembled from the impact.

“Y’all should probably bounce,” Darnell suggested, staring at the door to Jerrica’s room uneasily.

Julius reached back into the bookbag, pulled out a brown paper bag that was stuffed with a pound of tree, and tossed it over to Darnell. “Flip that,” Julius commanded, “I’ll be back in like a week or two. Have the money ready and we can talk about putting you on for real.” He fumbled around in the bookbag as he spoke.

“A week or two?” Darnell asked.

Julius shrugged, “Yeah, whenever I get a chance.” He leaned forward and looked up at Darnell, a fake sense of concern in his eyes. “But look, my nigga. Whenever I come you gotta have my money ready. I really don’t like wasting my fucking time. You feel me?”

Darnell was slightly shook, “Yeah, I feel you. I got you, bro.”

Julius relaxed again, sitting back on the couch. “And it’s not a good idea to let your junkie-ass relatives know you push. That’s how all my shit is gonna end up disappearing,” he explained as he zipped up the bookbag.

“Yeah, or they end up ‘Ice’ing’ your ass,” Ethan added. “You don’t have a little brother, do you?”

Julius laughed, “Face ass! You watched Paid in Full one time and-”

Then there was a loud boom, Jerrica had burst out of her room. Tears covered her cheeks and snot was smeared on her top lip. She was holding a steak knife, pointing it at Julius and Ethan. She was taking slow, controlled, deep breaths. “Y’all are not gonna sit in my house and disrespect me,” she said with a calmed anger.

Both Julius and Ethan stood to their feet, slowly.

Julius slid the bookbag onto his back, “Aight, we’re lea-”

“GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!” Jerrica finally snapped, rushing towards them.

Darnell hopped up and grabbed her.

Julius and Ethan scurried their way out the front door.

“Jerrica, they’re gone! It’s okay.” Darnell spoke reassuringly to his sister.

Sobbing, she let go of the knife, almost dropping it on Darnell’s bare foot before he yanked it out the way. Her sadness crippled her and she collapsed into Darnell’s arms.

“It’s okay.” Darnell rubbed her back as he held her.

Jerrica wept.

***

Later that day, right before sunset, Jerrica sat in a rusty metal chair that she dragged from the kitchen table out into the shade of the dogwood. It was a cool seventy-one degrees, and somebody down the street was washing a car in their driveway. “Killing Me Softly,” by The Fugees, blared from the radio. Jerrica was smoking the Black that she’d finessed from Julius. Behind her she heard the front door creak open.

“Bye Darnell, baby.” A woman with a sweet and seductive voice spoke behind Jerrica.

Jerrica, in deep thought, didn’t even bother to turn and see who it was.

“Aight now, Porsha. You know where to find me,” Darnell said as he tapped her on the ass, which poked prominently through her jeans before she walked through the gate and back across the street.

“Don’t forget to give DeMonte that money!” Darnell yelled to remind her as he sat on the ground next to his sister.

“I won’t!” Porsha hollered back, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Why you giving out money like we not about to get evicted?” Jerrica asked without looking at him.

“I wanted to show that lil nigga that you don’t need his lunch money,” Darnell said before a smug smile crept across his face, “and he’s gonna be mad as fuck when he realize where his momma been for the past two hours.”

Jerrica took another hit and exhaled. “You needa leave that alone, Darnell.”

“Leave what alone?” He asked.

“That whole situation. You argue back and forth with that boy like y’all the same damn age. And she a grown ass woman humping a twenty-one-year-old. Something ain’t right with that shit.” She explained.

Darnell looked at her like, you got some fucking nerve. “I know the hell you not talking, Jerrica.” Darnell dismissed her as he reached out his hand.

Without a word, she passed him the Black and they sat in silence as he took the last couple of hits before tossing the wood tip out into the street.

“That Julius ain’t no good.” Jerrica said as she continued to stare off.

“Don’t worry about me.” Darnell argued.

She finally looked over at him. “Trust me, those little college kids don’t know what the fuck they doing. They gonna get you hemmed up out here,” she elaborated.

Darnell noticed the glow of the house, it was sunset. “Aye, whassup with you? I ain’t seen you sober at sunset since I’ve been back.”

“I quit.”

“You quit?” Darnell got excited, then remembered that he knew better. “Shut your lying ass up.”

Jerrica looked down at the ground and shifted through the dirt with her foot, “I wanted to be a teacher. You ain’t know that, did you?”

“Hell nah.” Darnell was caught off guard. “For real?”

“Yupp, wanted to teach elementary school kids, just like mommy.” She let out a sigh of self-pity, “After yesterday that shit’s never gonna happen.”

“I’m sure that ship sailed way before yesterday.” Darnell added insensitively.

Rage started to swell in Jerrica’s throat but she held it back with a scoff. “You’ll never understand why I ended up like this. You don’t know the kind of person I used to be…” she trailed off.        

Darnell sucked his teeth. “See, you always say that shit, but you forget we grew up in the same damn house. Shit, Pops used to do me worse than he did you for real, for real. He used to whoop my ass. He’d just yell at you and you’d start crying cause your ‘feelings were hurt.’ Soft ass.” He’d had enough of his sister constantly playing the victim. “That man was an abusive alcoholic and there ain’t shit either of us could have done to change it.”

Jerrica was quiet for a moment before she spoke, holding back what she really wanted to say. “Mommy was so beautiful,” she reminisced instead.

Instantly, a sadness swept over Darnell’s face. He didn’t speak.

“She had a beautiful garden too,” said Jerrica, “right on the left side of the house where the honeysuckles are. I always loved going out there with her and helping pull the weeds.” Jerrica looked down at her hands. They were scrawny, ashy, and calloused, but she saw them as small and untouched as they were when she was only eleven. “The way the dirt would run between my fingers was therapeutic.”    

“I really wish I could have met her.” Darnell mustered up his words through the cries that had been lodged in his chest long before that moment.

Jerrica cut him a look, but still she held her tongue from speaking what was on her mind. “One day we was out there and I was helping mommy pick the sunflower seeds, the same way we did every year. She always glazed them perfectly in honey before she put them in the oven.”

Darnell glanced over at the half-empty bag of sunflower seeds that still lay in the yard from yesterday.

“Then daddy came home from work,” she continued, “he walked over to the garden and gave mommy that same passionate kiss that I’d seen him give her over and over for eleven years, every single day. I never had to question what true love looked like. What happiness felt like.”

Darnell had never heard about this side of his father, the cries in his chest grew louder.

“Then we went inside,” Jerrica smirked, “and I remember begging for a piece of candy, so daddy reached on top of the refrigerator and grabbed the candy jar. He let me have a whole big handful,” the smirk slid from her lips and was replaced by a solemn scowl. “They had to keep it up there because, ‘once you get started with that candy your lil butt don’t know how to stop.’”

Darnell assumed she was mimicking their parents.

“So, while I’m sitting there, stuffing my face with Fun Dip and Pop Rocks, they stood over me, but I ain’t pay them no mind. All the sudden I heard mommy say, ‘It’s a boy.’”

The cries in Darnell’s chest screamed so loud that they pushed their way up to his throat. “Stop it,” he hissed.

Jerrica looked over at him, with a look as cold as ice. “You took both of my parents away from me, Darnell. Everything is your fault.” Jerrica felt a giant weight lift off her shoulders.

Darnell stood to his feet and raised his hand as if he were about to smack the dog shit out of her, but he stopped himself. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

“Go ahead and hit me. HIT ME!” Jerrica stood up, leaning in with her cheek, tempting him. “You a pussy, Darnell! Always so quick to beat on your drugged-out sister but let these niggas in the street run all over you! And you wanna sell drugs?” She laughed in his face.

Darnell clenched his fists and ran into the house, Jerrica was right behind him.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Jerrica!” he yelled.

“Oh nah, hell nah! I’ve been waiting twenty-one years to let this shit out!” She yelled back, flailing her arms. She walked up on Darnell and stared up into his eyes. “You said you dropped out of school to help me after daddy died. That was two years ago, now look at this fucking place. Look at me!” She stepped back with her arms outstretched. “The pain never stops around this gahdamn yellow house!”

“You think I killed her on purpose, Jerrica!? It’s not my fault I got stuck! It’s not my fault she couldn’t push anymore!” Darnell defended himself through his tears.

Jerrica rolled her eyes, “All I know is, if you was never born, mommy would still be here and daddy woulda never drank himself to death.”

“Shut the FUCK up!” he screamed.

“Come make me, pussy boy!” Jerrica instigated.

That was it. Something inside of Darnell snapped. His inner demons were playing an aggressive game of ping pong with his mind. There was yelling, and crashing, some glass broke, then there was a gruesome thud and everything stopped.

When Darnell snapped out of his fit, he was standing over Jerrica. Her head had cracked against the sharp corner of the wooden coffee table. Blood seeped from the wound.

“Fuck. No… no, no, no.” Darnell dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his lap. Blood smeared into his clothes and across his skin. All he saw was red.

Jerrica looked up at him, unable to speak. Her eyes were wide, wild with fear. Her heart was racing. Then it slowed. Then it stopped.

Darnell wept.

***

Late that night, Darnell climbed into the passenger seat of a black 2017 Dodge Charger. He’d changed his clothes and carried a small duffle bag with him. “I really appreciate this, I ain’t know who else to turn to,” he admitted to the driver.

Julius turned to him with a slight grin before he grabbed Darnell’s shoulder, reassuringly, “It’s all good. I got you, bro.”

[lifeofateenageauthor]

The Walls We Build - chapter 1

“I can fake a smile, I can force a laugh, I can dance and play the part”

- Christina Perri

It wasn’t the atmosphere that was unwelcoming as such. Actually, it was quite the opposite, loud laughs echoed off the walls of whose ever apartment this was and music boomed from the speakers in the corner. Even though an unmistakable, thick stench of alcohol hung in the air like fog, he had gotten used to that after a year or two, people danced on in the cramped living room like the sun wasn’t going to rise tomorrow. No, it wasn’t the atmosphere, it was the sheer amount of people, and they were everywhere. The thing was that Darren just really didn’t want to be here, there were too many people who might judge him. Usually, he would have preferred staying back in his dorm room and just enjoy the feeling of not having another person in the room for once, since his roommate Niall was most likely going to be at the party.

In college, it was hard to find a space you didn’t have to share with another person, whether that be a study table in the library or something as simple as a shower. God, he wished he had been one of the lucky bastards who had gotten a single room, never mind the smaller space, it would be heavenly to be able to close his door and have some privacy from the buzzing campus.

Luckily college also had its perks and this being NYU he could easily find someone to take home if he felt so inclined, and he had grabbed the chance on many occasions over the span of time he had been at NYU. He stood leaned against the white walls just outside the dancing masses. Hot bodies writhed against each other, grinding, touching, the music pounding through the floor filling up the room like oxygen as though it was the only thing they needed to survive the night.

His amber eyes scanned the room taking in all the different people, half of them he had never seen before, however, he did recognize a few people he shared a class with. And more people than not were not able to hold their liquor by a long shot, resulting in a rather messy ordeal of spilt drinks on the couch and on other people. Most of these people were probably going to pass out before one o’clock if the state of the flat was any indication to go by. Every space was occupied if not crammed with happy drunks, even the dark corner where Darren was resting against the wall hosted a couple making out passionately. It was practically impossible to escape people, and in New York of all places, sometimes he regretted his decision to apply to NYU’s music program, but it had been the best, except for Julliard of course, but he wasn’t a prodigy or something. Not because the academics they taught weren’t amazing, because they really were extraordinary, he had learned so much and it was only his junior year, but once again it was due to the masses. One would think he had gotten used to the noise level, having gone to an all-boys school, but Berkshire Boarding School in Louisiana had been different. Berkshire had had this sense of strictness to it, in every form of the word. Here, it was chaos in the halls, in the cafeteria, and people were nowhere near quiet in the library.

And even though he had somewhat adapted to the noise level and amount of students and people surrounding him at all waking hours, it didn’t mean that he liked it a whole lot. There was a world of difference in between the busy, never sleeping, dirty streets of the Big Apple and the quiet neighbourhoods with trimmed lawns and rose bushes in Louisiana, and yet, he wasn’t too keen about spending time there either. It was always too quiet in his parents' big house, they had a tendency to be very spontaneous and would sometimes leave to fly off to the Bahamas or some other destination in the middle of Darren visiting. Therefore, he didn’t really go home during the summer anymore. Or Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. The last time he had gone to spend a holiday with his family it had ended in a shouting match between his father and himself for talking about what he wanted in life, a career in music, a boyfriend, and maybe make him his husband some day. That night Darren had left the house in fury.

He hadn’t been back since then, almost two years ago. His father had never really been very accepting of Darren’s sexuality and Darren had known that his coming out had caused an unmendable rift in their bond, but his father had always tried to act civil around his son, especially around other people.

Other people, oh god, there was a lot to say about other people in his life. He had long since accepted that rejection would be a constant part of his life, from people rejecting him because of his sexuality to people rejecting him in spite of it. The first time that had happened, the first time he had gotten his heart broken, he had been so utterly sombre, that he had refused to ever let it happen again. That promise found Darren sleeping around with a bunch of college dudes, but never more than once. It was always easier to just leave the next morning, to throw them a smile, say it had been fun. It was easier to be in control. Control was this thing you could depend on to allow you to organize your life the way you wanted, down to every last detail, down to every last kiss. But it was also a commitment he had made when he had taken the lead, had not allowed himself to listen to his heart, because all listening to his heart had ever gotten him was heartache and a vile taste of regret in his mouth. Sometimes though, he missed the feeling of giving yourself fully and without restraint to another person, and not just for a night, for a lifetime.

A blur of black hair appeared before him, pulling him out of his mind and an Asian hand tugged him towards the other end of the apartment towards the kitchen which doubled as a bar for the evening. Niall shoved him forward towards the bar and called out to the makeshift bartender over the music that his friend needed a beer. Moments later a beer was placed in Darren’s hand and Niall tugged him over to a couple of chairs lined against the wall and sat him down.

“You really need to loosen up, you know, enjoy yourself a little,” Niall said determinately, gesturing for Darren to take a sip of the untouched beer. He did and felt the alcohol spur through his system, though it didn’t help him loosen up. He followed Niall’s gaze wandering between the dancing bodies, without a doubt trying to find a guy for Darren.

“What if I don’t want to enjoy myself tonight?” Darren placed his hand on Niall’s arm, forcing the Asian boy to look at him. His eyes were tainted with anything but a passion for the night.

“What has gotten you down?” his friend asked giving him a sideways look not used to this more sensitive side of his musically talented friend. “You’re usually the one to kick me out of the dorm room because you need some ‘alone time’.” Niall made air quotes with his finger in the air. Darren shrugged, not ready to have this discussion with Niall quite yet. “I’m gonna go join the beer pong game over there, you seem like you need some time to think.” Niall quietly stated before moving towards the balcony where some unfamiliar students had set up a makeshift beer pong table, Darren watched his friend go, considered joining him for a brief moment, but decided against it.

Niall was right he really needed this time to think right now, and not get wasted. Instead of joining the game outside he let his eyes dart across the crowd once again, observing the drunken forms dancing to a loud, pounding beat while waving their red solo cups around. There was the occasional couple making out, leaned against the wall, and to be honest, some of it looked more like they were trying to eat each other due to the massive amount of alcohol in their systems. But who was he to talk? He had been that guy plenty of times, drunk, miserable, and trying to cover it up by making out with a man he barely knew. The last few times it had happened, it had gotten so bad that he could barely remember the other guys' name when he woke up with a head full of hair next to him.

The realization had been slow, but he was certain that one of those mornings had been the turning point for him, one of those mornings when he had no idea what the hell had gone down the night before. He hadn't wanted that anymore. No more casual hookups, and definitely no more drunken, casual hookups. This didn’t mean losing control, he had convinced himself of that, this was him being smart, and making a grown-up, sensible choice for once. Because, as he had come to realize over these past few months, he was only hiding by not committing himself, he was taking the easy way out. Sex had become like a stress reliever for him, from his father's disappointment and his uncertainty as to whether he would ever find that one person he clicked with. Sleeping around had been easy. Simple as that, an easy way to not commit to anything, and to avoid rejection, because by walking out first thing in the morning he never let anybody in.  But that longing of belonging to somebody, to be able to wake up next to the same person every morning, and go to bed with that same person every night, had spurred inside of him for a little while now. He was going to break the mould everybody had assumed he fit so perfectly into. Maybe he wouldn’t find that somebody right this instant, maybe it would be a while, but he was sure as hell that he would be worth waiting for. Whoever he was.

***

Clouds of cigarette smoke hung close to Landon’s head, the puffs of white were clearly visible in the dark night air that surrounded the group of students huddled together on the small balcony. The loud pounding beat shuddered through the house, loud enough to be heard through the thick glass door. The street lights were bright and illuminated the night along with countless head and tail lights from the cars driving down the street. It wasn’t chilly out as it was only early September, just a few weeks into Landon’s junior year as a fashion student. Red solo cups were aligned in a pyramid formation at one end if the table, making a promise of the fun, competitive night that was just getting started. After an intense week of swimming in sketches and designs, Landon couldn’t think of a better way to destress than a game of beer pong.

“Yes!” Niall exclaimed as his little, white ball bounced elegantly and without a hitch into the opposite team's cup.

“Way to go Ong!” somebody praised from the back, clearly happy that Niall's team was winning. The ball was handed to Landon by some blonde girl he didn’t recognize, to be honest, he didn’t recognize a lot of the people here, he rarely attended these sorts of parties. He hadn’t gotten out of his bubble, school, homework, sleep and the occasional shift at The Gap, lately to socialize. Truth be told, he had barely attended any parties or social gatherings of any kind during his sophomore year, and the few he had dragged himself to had been far in-between. All in all, he didn’t go out much, only had a small handful of friends, the majority of which he shared at least one class.

He weighed the small ball in his hand. It was featherlight, barely a ghosting touch on his palm, only by pressing the tips of his fingers to the hard plastic surface was he sure he still held the ball. He bent his knees slightly to be able to aim properly, he measured the distance carefully with his eye, deciding which cup he was most likely to be successful at hitting. Somebody had lit up another cigarette while the wind had picked up a little, blowing all the smoke in Landon’s face. The smoke clouded his vision, making the scene before him blurry. The tobacco smell infiltrated his system like the venom of a poisonous snake, causing him to launch into a coughing fit. The redheaded boy with freckles, holding the responsible cigarette between his middle and index finger shot him a look as though Landon had just choked on air.

A head full of curly dark hair popped out from the living room, and Landon’s attention was shifted from aiming the ball at the red cup furthest at the end of the table to the new presence on the balcony. The new presence had eyes that resembled liquid honey, warm and sweet and his lips were full, yet not in a cushion kind of way. Landon’s eyes raked across the other boys body, from the tight, black jeans that hugged his narrow hips perfectly to the pale, mint green henley, that was draped over the muscled chest. The sleeves were rolled up halfway to the elbow exposing smooth, slightly tanned skin the colour of warm ivory. The boy was gorgeous.

“Niall,” the voice that cut through the haze Landon had been in was fruity and appealing and he was drawn to it like a moth to a lightbulb. Golden, captivating eyes flicked from where they had been looking at Niall to quickly glance at the rest of the group. The boy’s attention didn’t linger on Landom anymore so than it did on the other individuals. That observation dawned on Landon heavily, the boy hadn’t noticed him. Try as Landon might, the tall, slender creature in the doorway was indifferent, to him Landon was just another face in yet another campus crowd, not worth remembering the next morning. Therefore, with that thought in mind, he let his eyes wander once more, across the sturdy chest, the way his long slender neck transformed into a strong, well-defined jaw, holding a, what could only be a hypnotizing smile, but this was only an assumption as the boy had yet to smile. But Landon was certain that if the boy did smile the solar system would shift so abruptly, freezing every thought in the process of becoming an action, every action that never was a thought, every thought that would never become an action, only to let the sun and all the stars move to revolve around what would surely be the kindest, most giving smile known to humanity.

“Dude?” Niall poked his shoulder, yanking him from his thoughts that threatened to wash him away. “Where did you go?” the asian boy followed Landon's eyes to where they were still resting on the spot where the mystery boy had stood just moments ago. Something must have clicked inside Niall’s head. “He was just letting me know he was heading home, and wanted to make sure I had my key.” Landon nodded absentmindedly, more focussed on forcing the muscles in his neck to move his head towards the speaker, or anywhere else for that matter. But how could he, just a minute ago the most gorgeous boy had been standing within reach of Landon’s alabaster fingers, and now he was gone, not even allowing Landon the chance to at least etch his picture into memory. Stalkerish as that sounds.

Only when somebody very roughly shoved his shoulder did he realize that he was still holding the table tennis ball in his hand. He sighed deeply realizing that he was now standing with his back straight, he had lost his winner aim. Adjusting the ball between his fingers, finding that spot where it would easily glide out of his hold, but where he was still able to control it, he bend his knees like he had done before and shifted his hips to take the proper aim. Then, flawlessly he let the ball fly up in a curve. The ball flew through the air, towards the other side of the table and the furthest cup. Closer, so close. Suddenly, as though the ball had singlehandedly decided to change its path, it flew just a tad too far, landing on the edge of the cup and tumbling off the table end, bouncing on the floor with an airy sound. Damn. “What happened man?” Todd, one of the few students Landon actually did know, questioned from his position diagonally behind Niall. Landon shrugged ignoring the disappointed look he received from Todd. He kept his head down while he headed to the other end of the table to pick up the ball. When he stood back up again, ball in hand, he caught a glimpse of a curly haired figure illuminated by the lamppost on the street below them, the figure was walking briskly away from the apartment and Landon, to his own dismay, found himself staring a great deal longer than appropriate.

No, he thought to himself. He needed to get a grip and concentrate on winning this game.

***

Heading back to the dorm room he shared with Niall, Darren willed himself not to think about the insanely attractive guy who had been playing beer pong with Niall, he couldn’t let himself dwell on that face, because he knew that if he did he would have taken the boy home, the exact thing he was trying to avoid. Blinking his eyes rapidly he tried to rid his mind of the picture of the attractive stranger and the way his dirty blonde hair had been coiffed into a perfect, wave-like sweep allowing every passing stranger to admire his radiant features. Stranger. A stranger with a beautiful face, so detailed, so inviting, so appealing, that Darren's finger ached to run across the defined cheekbone. He shouldn’t, he simply couldn’t. Couldn’t let himself linger on those thoughts. The boy was a stranger, another face in the packed crowd in the foreign flat. He would most likely never see him again, with the number of students milling around the halls, Darren felt like he met new people every day, so meeting this boy again was minuscule. All the more reason to enjoy him while you can, his lizard brain screamed.

“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled to himself as he headed down the well-lit road. Cars rushed by in their hurry to get somewhere, see somebody or do something.

Getting somewhere, anywhere, not here, not now, not surrounded by these thoughts. With that, he picked up his pace brushing shoulders with a few people as they passed.

Trudging up the main staircase of his dorm block, he had almost fully managed to push thoughts of the cute beer-pong-boy to the back of his mind, instead choosing to focus on his first big assignment of the year, writing a paper on how the Beatles with their eighteenth album, Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, had turned their backs on the qualities that had initially made them famous and how it impacted them. The assignment, or at least the idea of it, as he had not begun yet, ranked high amongst the analysis papers he had completed throughout college.

He slipped into his shared dorm room, dumped the contents of his wool coat onto his desk before quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants and crawling onto the itchy worn out mattress that had probably served its purpose through several decades judging by the stains beneath the fitted, white sheet.

***

A couple of nights later Landon stood running his fingers through his coiffed hair as he checked his appearance in the full body mirror in the corner of his dorm room again. His red skinny jeans accentuated his legs making them look lean and impossibly longer, while hugging his thighs just right. Paired with a navy blue cardigan with white stripes from the chest down, Landon felt ready. Tonight was going to be special, his first date since his parents died.

“What do you think, Del?” he spun around to face his long time best friend sitting crossed legged on his bed, her back against the wall. Her chocolate brown, wavy locks framed her facial features composed of big, hazel eyes, a long, defined nose, and delicate rosy lips. She smiled in appreciation at her her nervously bubbly friend, as he danced around on the tip of his toes.

“You look amazing, Landon, stop doubting yourself,” she said with an undertone of domination in her voice. “So, tell me,” she shifted onto her stomach on the soft bed and swung her legs in the air like a giddy fourth grader. “about this guy you’re meeting with.”

“Well,” he plumped down next to her. “His name is Parker,” his eyes wandered from Adelaide’s, that was her full name, to a dreamy space beyond what was invisible to the naked eye. “He takes my still life arts class, he studies history of art.” the brunette nodded in equal measures of interest and encouragement for Landon to keep sharing the details of his newfound love interest. “He’s sweet, kind and he compliments me,” he blushed profusely as the nice feeling spread through his body. It was lukewarm, and felt appealing, though only slightly like something he really craved for. It didn’t make his heart flutter, nor did it make his toes curl and his nose scrunch up in attempt to dwell in the feeling. It simply was.  

The boy with chestnut brown hair was by no means completely inexperienced, he knew that this feeling, with it’s slight flutters, couldn’t compare to the way his heart had raced with his first love back before his parents had died. So far, nothing could compare to what had existed between him and his then boyfriend. It had been fulfilling in an alien way for the teen, some had said it was puppy love, but he had quickly brushed then off in favor of planning out their future together. He had been Landon’s whole world until one night in the middle of September.

At the funeral, some had said it had been the rain, some had said it had been a pile-up, while other simply had acknowledged that it had been a terrible, irreparable accident that had left a seventeen year old an orphan.

Everything had smoldered to dust between Landon and his boyfriend after that, the fairy tale life Landon had planned out in detail burst into flames and left a pathetic wish to rewind the clock in its wake, as the only clue that it had ever existed. His boyfriend had drawn away, more out of desperation than anything else, he couldn’t recognize the boy he had been in love with anymore.

The split had been mutual, or at least that’s what they had told everyone who asked, that Landon needed space to figure things out on his own. In reality it had culminated on a windy afternoon a couple of weeks after the funeral. His boyfriend had confronted Landon, yelled at him in frustration of not being able to understand why he couldn’t reach the blue eyed boy. Landon had cried at the lack of empathy, then yelled back in rage and told him to leave.

“All dreams come to an end. I just feel so stupid I didn’t see this coming sooner. He just doesn’t understand! He doesn’t know what it feels like to lose the people who were supposed to see you grow up. I wanted my dad to walk me down the aisle at my wedding and now that’s all gone.” he had sobbed when he and Adelaide had been alone that night in her room. Her parents had taken him in seeing as both his parents were only children and his grandparents were lone gone.

At first it had been strange, he had no longer felt like a son (a son was someone who had his parents), despite the fact that Adelaide’s dad had taken to calling him son. It was during that time, that he and Del became connected on a deeper level, achieving an understanding beyond the comprehension of her parents and sometimes beyond themselves. She understood him, not because of shared experiences, they had almost nothing in common, but because she listened. She listened, reflected, and understood despite not having suffered the loss.

To this date, she still did and over time they had become inseparable, finishing off highschool together, applying to NYU together, celebrating their acceptance letters into their respective programmes, Landon into Fashion Design and Adelaide into Music, complaining about professors or other students, Adelaide sharing the occasional heartbreak with Landon accompanied by a tub of ice cream. It was like a rhythm, a balance.

“Where are you meeting?”

“At that funky bar a couple of blocks from here,” he responded getting up to pace the limited space while smoothing out a wrinkle in his pants.

“From what I’ve heard that bar has created quite the buzz with the music students, something about open mic night apparently,” she gestured with her hand in a haphazardly manner.  Open mic night was certainly not the accompanying theme Landon wished for tonight, something about young people who can’t really sing but jump into it after a few beers anyway had a tendency to kill the mood. He sighed, this night was supposed to go perfectly smooth, preferably not interrupted by a bunch of youngsters bellowing out lyrics off tune. Adelaide quickly sensed the change of the demeanor in her friends posture and hurriedly threw in a suggestion.

“You could always just take him to the campus coffee shop, it’s still open I think.”

“Del,” he turned to face her. “I would saw off my own hand before taking an attractive and sweet guy to the campus coffee shop for our first date.”

“Well then get out that door and go meet your prince charming for a wonderful date.” she insisted jumping to her feet swiftly and nudging LAndon in the direction of the door.

“I will,” he countered slipping his phone, wallet and keys into the pocket of his gray pea coat and opening the door to let himself out.

“Remember, I want every last detail when you get back!” she shouted after him as he headed down the hallway to the stairs.

The club Landon had chosen was indeed buzzing. A thick bass filled the air causing the young man’s heartbeat to feel as though it was synchronized with the all consuming, thrumming beat. A sleek, black counter was placed against one side with several shelves of alcohol behind it. The other side hosted small tables scattered along the wall with chairs framing the tables to either side in a cafe like manner. Gazing at his phone, noticing that he was early he decided to wait for Parker by one of the tables and do some people watching to pass the time.

***

Darren arrived at work ten minutes early, excellent by his own standards, and quickly discarded of his black leather messenger bag and wool coat of the same colour in the break room in the back of the establishment. Kylie, the other bartender on duty, sat on one of the two small stools engraved in her phone, only looking up when Darren very pointedly cleared his throat.

“Oh, hey Dare,” she smiled flirtatiously, her brown eyes giving his body a once over.

“Hey,” he responded too slow to notice that the girl had already gone back to her phone.

He stretched his arms above his head, twisting his wrists to loosen up a little before his shift began. It certainly would be a busy one, the all night ones always were. He busied himself with sorting the different bottles of half used alcohol behind the counter into categories, for easier access when he would have his hands full with orders later in the evening.

The sky was darkening outside, a tell tale sign that soon enough the place would bubble to life and he would be forced to listen to another batch of people belting out karaoke lyrics completely and utterly out of tune. Oh, the perks. Finishing up with the uncountable amount of tall glass cylinders, he wiped the bar counter down with a damp cloth and put the finishing touches on the cut out fruits stacked in boxes under the table.

Soon people were streaming in from the street, eager to relinquish control a little after a long day, most were young, presumably college students, and dressed in articles that would never be seen on campus, whether the clothes sported tonight was too fancy or too daring, it was always interesting to see what his fellow students hid away in the back of their closet. His eyes didn’t catch on anybody particular as the masses entered. Admittedly, despite the disconnection and anonymity the bartender always seemed to receive, if matched up with what he disliked the most - crowds, this job might not have been a smart choice. But the thing was that when you live in a city like New York, Darren had long since reckoned, not everybody cared. Not everybody cared whether you’re straight or gay, white or black, and though judgemental people come in heaps Darren never felt uncomfortable in large crowds outside the campus, where gossip wasn’t a currency.

Everybody always assumed it was some sort of claustrophobia or antisocialness, but the real reason as to why Darren always found himself sitting in the back of the classroom with his face buried in his textbook or studying in his dorm instead of in the library with a group of the other music majors, was actually the rumours. Or rather the fear of them, because no rumours about the curly haired boy had circled the social cliques of NYU during his two, going on three, year stay. Yet, the thought of rumours about his sexuality or his short-lived, but numerous, affairs getting out and spreading to everyone willing to listen was absolutely terrifying. Of course, a lot of students decided to explore the sexual side of themselves while in college, but to be known as the gay guy who sleeps around, was just a bit more exposed than Darren was willing to be.

And so, he had taken the gig as a bartender a couple of times a month to just be the faceless man pouring a drink and getting a tipsy smile in return that wasn’t laced with judgement or old, social rules and etiquettes that he surely already had broken thousand times over. The anonymity it allowed him to have was nice, refreshing from the constant head down, don’t draw attention to yourself lifestyle he had adapted ever since his father had called him a disgrace for coming out.

People came and went to and from his sanctuary behind the black, shiny surface, and as the night went on the orders became more slurred, the crowd larger, the music louder and as he had done countless times before he let himself float in the simple requests for a tall order of alcohol.

Note: Not thoroughly edited for grammatic mistakes, all mistakes are mine.