#and how much it’s even suggested how henry was to some degree pushed into this. the reluctance to sign the warrants …

[fideidefenswhore]

they’ve adapted the mea culpa retelling really strangely, textually it was connected to the boleyns and norris (implied, both, but still), and instead they’ve integrated it for the later scenes discussing henry’s dreams of arthur… and given the boleyn execution nightmare to cromwell?

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

���As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,” Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!! 

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure. 

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 10 - Shooting Star (Part 1)

We finally made it...we’re in the endgame now...

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. My Grandfather’s Clock is a popular song written by Henry Clay Work in 1876. The 2002 version by Ken Hirai was especially popular in Japan

Previous | Next

January 3rd, 5 a.m.

Yuki was in a dimly lit room in the Ashihara Ryokan. He changed into his Kansei University uniform and jersey and picked up his bench coat.

Two hours had already passed since Yuki woke up. After breakfast and a bath courtesy of the ryokan that took place at a time that could be better called late night, Yuki returned to the room where he had spent the night once the food in his stomach digested properly.

It was a night where he wasn’t sure if he had slept or not. However, his mind was clear and lucid. Excitement and tension became sharp blades that pared his body, and he felt somewhat light.

My energy is high, Yuki thought. He had felt the same way when he passed the bar exam. He read the questions for the essay exam and wrote his answer. It was almost funny how the meaning of the questions soaked into his brain, and before he could even think about how to answer them, the answer sheet was filled with words; it was just like automatic writing. He had never been able to output so smoothly what had been inputted into him until that moment, as though his consciousness had become clear and his sixth sense was working.

He knew that the same moment of elation and focus was about to visit his body and mind.

The return leg of the Hakone Ekiden started at 8 a.m. Yuki would slowly warm up over the next three hours, in order to build up his energy levels. It was Yuki’s method to relax and relieve his nervousness for two hours, and then concentrate on warming up for the remaining hour. Ever since the time when he was confronting his bar exam, Yuki preferred to increase the intensity of his concentration at this pace.

The six-mat guest room was completely occupied by the three futons laid out on the floor. Shindou, wearing his mask, was breathing faintly in his sleep. Yuki gently put his hand on his forehead and found it was still a little hot. The landlord was grinding his teeth as he slept soundly.

Yuki lightly folded his futon and put it in a corner so as to not wake them. Standing by the window, he quietly pulled back the curtains: the cozy garden of the ryokan was covered with a light dusting of snow, and ashy snowflakes continued to fall from the dark sky.

Yuki had never been skiing before. He didn’t understand going to the trouble of sticking boards to your feet in a cold place in a cold season. He thought it would be better to spend that time on one’s studies, and more than that, living with a single mother, they had no money to spend on fun.

Can I run down a steep, snow-covered slope? I can’t say I don’t want to run in the sixth leg at this point. Should I have at least experienced skiing if it’s like this?

The window was immediately fogged up by Yuki’s breath. The room was slightly warm from Yuki, Shindou and the landlord's combined body heat.

It’s not just me, Yuki reminded himself. In the past few years, there has never been snow on the roads of Hakone at New Year’s. Most of the runners—no, maybe all of them—have never gone down the mountain roads of Hakone covered in snow. Everyone lacks experience. I can run. I can run.

Chanting that in his mind as though to convince himself, Yuki picked up Kansei’s sash from the alcove. It seemed to still be damp from absorbing the sweat of the five people who had run in the outbound leg.

After carefully folding the sash and putting it in his jersey pocket, Yuki quietly left the guest room.

He walked through the corridor to the front door and saw the ryokan’s proprietress holding a newspaper.

“Oh, you’ve already changed?”

“Yes. I’ll be warming up from now on.”

“Outside?” Looking at the still-dark front of the building, the proprietress furrowed her brow in concern. “It’s minus five degrees right now.”

Yuki had planned to go outside, but he quickly changed his mind. He would have to wait until the temperature rose a little, or his muscles would stiffen up from the cold.

“May I borrow this space?”

He pointed at the empty lobby, and the proprietress graciously said, “By all means.

“Do you want to read the paper? I asked them to deliver it earlier today.”

While reading the newspaper, Yuki sat down on the floor of the lobby and began to stretch. He exhaled and began to relax his muscles and joints.

The paper had a big spread on the outbound leg of the Hakone Ekiden. Bousou University won the outbound leg by a narrow margin. It was a close race where it was impossible to tell if Rikudou University would make a comeback in the return leg, or which school would take the overall victory.

There was also a mention of Kansei under the headline “A Challenge with Only Ten People”. There was a photo of Shindou, unsteady and desperately trying to run on the mountain roads. Yuki opened his legs and brought his upper body down while reading the article.

“With only ten members, Kansei University unexpectedly put on the brakes in the fifth leg. They dropped down drastically in the rankings and ended the outbound leg in eighteenth place. However, with ace runners such as Kurahara, a freshman, and Kiyose, a fourth-year, in the return leg, there are still plenty of opportunities for a comeback. All eyes will be on the development of this small team’s great challenge.”

At the end of the article, there was a signature (布). It’s Nunoda-san, Yuki thought. The reporter Nunoda, who had come to Lake Shirakaba during summer vacation, had continued to keep an eye on Kansei.

There are still more than enough opportunities. We believe that, but it’s reassuring to have a third party say so as well. Yuki put the newspaper on the rack in the lobby and silently worked on stretching.

It was 6 when Shindou appeared in the lobby. He was wearing Musa’s bench coat and a mask. “Good morning,” he said in a hoarse voice, and pushed on Yuki’s back to help him stretch.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I asked Musa to give me a wake-up call because I knew you would be thoughtful like that.” Shindou sat down next to Yuki. “It’s snowing.”

“Yeah.”

The two watched the fluttering snow through the lobby window.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. What about you?”

“I’m feeling much better.”

Yuki began doing sit-ups. Shindou lightly held his ankles still.

“To tell you the truth,” Yuki murmured, “I’m getting uncomfortably nervous. I want to run away, if I could.”

“I was the same way,” Shindou laughed under his mask. “Why don’t you try listening to some music? I took it from your luggage without asking.”

Yuki took the iPod Shindou gave him and put the earphones in his ears. He listened to his favorite songs for a while, but today, the world of sound was no comfort to Yuki.

“It’s no use.” Yuki tore out his earphones. “When I’m running, it feels like music I don’t like is playing through my head incoherently and endlessly. And it’s music that you can’t even get into! Like My Grandfather’s Clock (1) and stuff like that!”

“You hate it?”

“I don’t like irritating things.”

“I think it’s a good song, though,” Shindou said, and Yuki stood up with a “hmph.” Looking up at Yuki, who was rotating his ankles, Shindou made a suggestion.

“No matter what song plays in your head, you can always arrange it so it’s up-tempo.”

“Shindou, you’re amazing.” Yuki was deeply impressed. “I’m filled with worries. All I can think about are bad things like, what if I fall down the slope, or what if my shoelaces get torn off.”

“Yuki-senpai, you can even aim for the sectional prize.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’ve always accomplished what you said you would do. Whether it’s the bar exam or the Hakone Ekiden, you said you’ll do it, and you did.” Only Shindou’s eyes were smiling. “So say it this time too. That you’re aiming for the sectional prize.”

As though pushed by Shindou’s quiet force, Yuki said, “I am.”

“Yes, then it’s fine now. You will definitely run a good time.”

Yuki looked down at Shindou, who was nodding in satisfaction, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know how useless I was yesterday,” Yuki said. “I knew you were experiencing this pressure before the race, but I couldn’t support you like this.”

“No matter how much support I get, in the end, I’m the only one who can bounce back from the pressure.” Shindou also stood and prompted Yuki. “Let’s jog.” The two put on their shoes at the door and went outside. There was no sign of the sunrise anywhere, but birds were singing in the mountains. The fine snow felt dry against their cheeks.

“But yesterday, you stayed by my side until the very last moment before I started running, Yuki-senpai. That gave me a lot of strength.” Shindou pulled down his mask and breathed in the cold air. “That’s why, I’ll stay with you today. I’ll stay with you until you start.”

Yuki didn’t have any words to respond. He was simply happy, and watched Shindou put his mask back on.

“We’ll freeze if we stay in one spot. Let’s run.”

“By the way, how’s the landlord?”

“He said he’s going to take a morning bath.”

“He’s in a sightseeing mood, that person.”

“His nighttime teeth grinding was very loud, wasn’t it?”

They chatted about trifling things as they jogged, and Yuki and Shindou's white breaths flowed shakily along the dark, snowy lakeside path.

---

Kakeru was feeling restless.

Kiyose was acting strange. When Kakeru invited him to go jogging after breakfast, he refused, saying, “Go ahead. I’ve got a lot of calls to make.”

It’s definitely strange that Haiji-san didn’t do his morning jog. He didn’t seem to sleep well last night either. I wonder if his leg hurts.

After running around Yokohama Station for about thirty minutes, Kakeru decided to go back to the hotel. He could still warm up at the relay station. He had never cut a jog short before, no matter how sick he was, but right now he was worried about Kiyose. He wondered if he was planning on pushing himself too hard. As if spurred on by a bad premonition, Kakeru ran back to the hotel.

In the lobby of the small business hotel, Jouji was opening a sports newspaper while watching the weather forecast on TV. Noticing Kakeru running across the lobby and pushing the button for the elevator, he came up to him and said, “You’re early.

“Your jogging time was unusually short today.”

“Where’s Haiji-san?”

“I think he’s in his room. Prince-san and Hana-chan are organizing their luggage together. I was chased away. I can sense that he’s trying to keep me away from Hana-chan.” Jouji pouted in dissatisfaction, but Kakeru wasn’t listening anymore. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor. “What’s going on?” Jouji asked as he followed him.

Kansei had three rooms: Kakeru and Kiyose’s room was at the far end of the corridor, Jouji and Prince’s was next to theirs, and Hanako’s room was near the elevator.

After exiting the elevator, Kakeru passed a man in the hallway. He was in his late thirties and carrying a large black bag in his hand. Thinking that it looked like a house call bag, Kakeru turned around with a start. The doors to the elevator the man got into were just about to close.

That wasn’t a guest just now. That was a doctor. Kakeru had a hunch. He must be the doctor who came to examine Haiji-san’s leg.

“Haiji-san!”

Kiyose was sitting by the window near the two beds. He looked up in surprise at Kakeru’s menacing attitude, and Kakeru sprang at him.

“Let me see your leg, let me see it!”

Kiyose fell down onto the bed, pushed by the momentum. Kakeru didn’t care and tried to pull up the cuff of Kiyose’s track pants.

“Just calm down, Kakeru! I’ll explain!”

Jouji was standing in the doorway of their room, watching in amazement as Kakeru and Kiyose grappled with each other. Noticing the commotion, Prince and Hanako came out of the room next door.

When Hanako asked, “What’s this all about?” Jouji tilted his head to the side.

“Uh, I have no idea.”

Kiyose finally pulled Kakeru off of him and beckoned everyone in the doorway to come in. The group that had stayed in Yokohama gathered in the room and sat down on the beds and chairs of their choice.

“Haiji-san, there was a doctor in this room a while ago, wasn’t there?” Kakeru sat on the bed and questioned Kiyose.

“There was,” Kiyose admitted as though he could see that there was no way out of this. “It was the doctor who always examines me. I asked him to make a house call and he gave me some painkillers.”

“The leg you said you injured—did it not heal?” Prince asked in shock. Jouji and Hanako had never even heard that Kiyose was injured, and they looked at each other in disbelief.

“What are you going to do?” It was all Kakeru could do not to let his voice tremble.

“Of course I’m running.”

“Are you okay with being so reckless?”

“If I’m not going to be reckless now, then when?”

“If…” Kakeru hesitated to put it into words. He was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would become reality.

“What if you can’t run for the rest of your life because of your recklessness today?”

He saw Jouji gasp and Prince hanging his head. Hanako didn’t move, only watching the course of Kiyose and Kakeru’s exchange.

Kakeru stared fixedly at Kiyose and waited for a response.

“It would be very painful,” Kiyose’s voice was quiet, and Kakeru knew that he had been thinking about that for a long time already. “But I won’t regret it.”

There’s no stopping him, Kakeru thought. If he were in Kiyose’s position, he would still choose to run.

Kakeru made up his mind. If that’s the case, then there’s only one thing I can do: to put as little burden on Haiji-san as possible, I should gain as much time as I can in the ninth leg.

The silence that enveloped the room was broken by Kiyose's phone ringing. He hung up after a short conversation.

“That was Shindou. The final entries were announced at Lake Ashi. Just as expected, Rikudou put Fujioka in the ninth leg.”

Jouji looked at Kakeru with both anticipation and worry in his eyes. “Okay,” Kakeru murmured. Blood was rushing through his body, and his heart was beating with joy and a fighting spirit; the day had come when they could finally compete in the same place. At the TSU meet in spring, he had only chased Fujioka’s back, but it was finally time to test how fast and strong he had become since then.

“Kakeru, don’t lose the race,” Kiyose said. Kakeru nodded determinedly.

It was past 7 in the morning.

They had to leave the hotel now. From now on, they were to split up: Kakeru and Jouji were going to the Totsuka relay station; Kiyose and Prince were going to the Tsurumi relay station; Hanako was going to Otemachi, the finish line.

“Are you okay with Jouji attending you? I can go with you, if you’d like,” Prince asked Kakeru, but he didn’t understand the intention of his question at all.

“Why? It’s fine as we planned.”

Even though his generous consideration was turned down, Prince didn’t seem offended at all, instead laughing and shaking his head lightly as though to say, “Good grief.”

When they reached the Yokohama Station premises, Kiyose said to Kakeru, “About what you said earlier.

“The situation isn’t as serious as you think. The painkillers are working, and I’m not beyond recovery.”

“Is that really true?”

“Have I ever lied?”

“Quite a lot.”

Kiyose frowned at the sky for a few moments, seemingly recalling his past acts.

“Don’t worry. I’m telling the truth this time,” he smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing you run at Tsurumi.”

He felt like he wanted to say something to Kiyose—his gratitude, worry, and determination. But they were feelings that would never take shape no matter how many words he spent on them, so Kakeru only said, “I’ll hand you the sash not a second late.”

The group raised their hands a little to say goodbye, and then headed up the stairs to the platform to go to their respective places.

---

8 a.m.

As the starting gun sounded from Lake Ashi, the Bousou runner started running first. One minute and thirty-nine seconds later, the Rikudou runner followed.

One after another, the runners from each school left Lake Ashi with their sashes, with a time difference reflecting the times they had finished at Lake Ashi in the outbound leg. This time, the return leg of the Hakone Ekiden was beginning, heading for Otemachi, Tokyo.

Schools with more than ten minutes of difference from the outbound leg leader, Bousou, would start together ten minutes after Bousou began the return leg. In this year’s race, five schools had to start at the same time: the federation selected team, Eurasia University, Kansei University, Tokyo Gakuin University, and Shinsei University.

Kansei had a time difference of eleven minutes and fifty-three seconds with Bousou. Even though they would start the race simultaneously after ten minutes, the extra one minute and fifty-three seconds would not be discarded and would be automatically added to their overall time. Because of the simultaneous start, the visible order in which the runners were running and their orders by their times might differ from each other for the return leg.

In the return leg, especially for lower ranked teams, the competitors must not only look at the race’s development before their eyes, but also keep in mind the complicated time calculation, and try to fight calmly to raise their actual rankings as much as possible.

I’m made for this, Yuki thought. Rather than competing against others, he preferred to think about how to achieve his goals by developing countermeasures and how to show off his abilities while doing that. The sixth leg of the Hakone Ekiden, the mountain descent, suited his personality; he didn’t have to be misled by the apparent rankings, he just had to use his skills to run down the winding slope against the invisible enemy called time.

Just as he had declared, Shindou stayed by Yuki’s side the entire time before his departure. He helped him stretch, massaged his calves to prevent them from stiffening up in the cold, and conversed with him casually. Thanks to him, Yuki was able to calm his mind and focus on the race.

When the time came to set off, Yuki took off his bench coat and left it with Shindou. The temperature at Lake Ashi was minus three degrees Celsius. There was still powder snow in the air. The road surface was covered in snow and the ruts were frozen. Even with a long-sleeved T-shirt under his uniform, there was no way to prevent the cold from pressing down on him. The lack of wind was the only saving grace.

Jounan Bunka University was the last team that was able to start according to its time difference with Bousou. After being called by the staff member, the teams hurriedly lined up at the start line to start simultaneously.

Yuki looked at the crowd of people next to him. Shindou was almost swallowed up by the waves of spectators, but he was watching Yuki firmly.

“We’ll meet at Otemachi,” Yuki said. It might not have reached him, having gotten lost in the cheers, but Shindou was nodding.

Ten seconds after Jounan Bunka, the runners from the five teams started running at the same time on cue. Yuki’s glasses immediately fogged up from his body heat, but he soon regained his clear vision thanks to the cold wind blowing.

The road surface was covered with a thin layer of snow, making it nerve-wracking to even walk on flat surfaces, but running on it, there was no time to check your footing. Every step he took, the sherbet-like snowflakes bounced off his legs. Even the lightest shoes with the latest features couldn’t prevent the soles from slipping slightly as they kicked the surface.

The first four kilometers from the lakeside road to the highest point of Route 1 were mostly uphill. Of the five teams that had started at the same time, Eurasia was in front and Yuki didn’t hesitate to follow him. When he checked his watch at the first kilometer, his pace was less than three minutes and twenty seconds.

On the way up, he was a little too fast considering the poor road conditions. But if he didn’t go all out here, then there was no way Kansei would be able to improve their ranking in the return leg. Besides, Yuki thought, among the runners assigned to the sixth leg, the Rikudou runner was the only one who has a record of twenty-eight minutes for the ten-thousand meter. In other words, the runners in the sixth leg don’t put much emphasis on speed.

From the highest point to the town of Hakone-Yumoto, almost the entire sixth leg was downhill. Even if your time on flat surfaces wasn’t good, you could still go fast on the downhill if you gathered momentum. What was important was the dexterity to change your running style depending on the ups and downs, a sense of physical balance, and the boldness to run downhill without fear.

Even if he entered the first uphill slope at a somewhat fast pace, he would be able to conserve enough stamina. With this judgement, Yuki didn’t recoil.

They left the lakeside and headed up the path towards the mountains. There was one small up-and-down right before the highest point. As they approached the first descent, Yuki looked at his watch again. Kiyose had instructed him to run at a pace of three minutes and twenty seconds per kilometer on the way up, but he was now going at a pace of three minutes and fifteen seconds per kilometer.

I can do it. He was convinced. His body felt light and he was able to asjust his footwork according to the ups and downs without even thinking about it.

Tokyo Gakuin University and Shinsei University were already about to be shaken off from the lower-ranked group, which was now composed of six schools as it had absorbed Jounan Bunka, who had departed ahead of them.

All Yuki could think about was overtaking as many schools as possible in front of him. The cold didn’t bother him anymore. He climbed to the highest point in one go.

The downhill slope, which stretched for nearly fifteen kilometers, awaited him, meandering on and on beyond the falling snow.

---

“Isn’t he going too fast?”

Watching the portable TV, Kakeru arrived at the Totsuka relay station with Jouji. The screen showed Yuki and the others passing in front of the main gate of the Flower Center, the five-kilometer marker.

“But I heard that the normal pace for the sixth leg is five kilometers in around thirteen minutes?” Jouji said in his usual carefree way, but it didn’t ease Kakeru’s concerns. It was the pace after you got into the descent in earnest—it was hard even for a runner himself to hold back his speed once he was completely going downhill. Once your body got into the rhythm of the descent, it wasn’t impossible to run down a hundred meters in fifteen seconds. In the sixth leg, despite the long distance of 20.7 kilometers, the speed in some places was comparable to that of a short distance run.

However, even though the first five kilometers were uphill and the road conditions weren’t good, he was running in sixteen minutes. Even with Yuki’s running ability, it seemed to Kakeru that this was clearly an excessive pace.

“I’ll call Haiji-san.”

Kakeru took out his phone from his jacket pocket.

“You worry too much,” Jouji said, shrugging a little.

“Yes, this is Kiyose.” The phone immediately relayed Kiyose’s voice along with the bustle from outside. It seemed that he had already arrived at the Tsurumi relay station.

“Are you listening to the radio?”

“Prince’s phone has a TV function. He also found out about it just now. We’re watching it. It’s amazing what you can do with a cell phone these days.”

“Yes. No, not about that…” Prince’s slow pace and Kiyose’s hopelessness with technology made Kakeru feel dizzy. “Isn’t Yuki-senpai running a little too fast?”

“Yeah. I would call the landlord, but there’s no point—the coach cars don’t stay close to the runners on the mountain roads of Hakone.”

“What should we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do. The rest is the descent. It would be foolish to slow down now, so we can only pray that Yuki doesn’t slip and fall,” Kiyose let out a light laugh, as though he had gotten over all his worries. “Anyways Kakeru, make sure to jog and warm up properly. I have to get in touch with Nico-chan-senpai and King now, so we’ll talk later.”

The call ended, and Kakeru let out a sigh.

“I told you it’s fine,” Jouji took the phone from Kakeru. “You need to trust us a little more.”

“Trust, huh,” Kakeru began to rotate his ankles and prepare for a jog. “Come to think of it, Katsuta-san said that too.”

“H-Hana-chan?” Jouji immediately turned red. “Why are you bringing up Hana-chan?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Are you doing that on purpose or are you really that airheaded?” Growing impatient with Kakeru’s pointless reply, Jouji turned to him again. “Hey, you know, I like Hana-chan.”

“I know.”

“You know!? How?”

“Nico-chan-senpai said it on the phone yesterday.”

Even when we’re apart from each other, we can still be overheard just as well as when we’re in Chikusei-sou, Jouji grumbled.

“What about you, Kakeru?” He asked the question he wanted to ask the most: “Is it okay if I confess to Hana-chan?”

Why do you need to check with me for that? It seems that the residents of Chikusei-sou are convinced that I like Katsuta-san. Kakeru, pondering up to that point, felt a jolt to his heart like the feeling of falling during the first stage of sleep.

I like Katsuta-san.

It was partly because he was so dense that he couldn’t even laugh at the twins, but it was a feeling that had been in his heart so quietly and naturally that he hadn’t been aware of it until now.

Kakeru had always kept Hanako’s figure carefully in his memory. The color of her scarf on the night they walked together. The profile of her face when she watched them train under the sky where summer clouds were rising. The first time he saw her, her thin back as she pedalled her bike through the shopping district.

Kakeru was looking at Hanako. And all that time, her eyes and thoughts were solely on the twins.

“Now I get it.”

Kakeru was shocked at his feelings that had finally become clear.

“…What are you talking about?” Jouji nervously asked, seemingly thinking that it was creepy how he had suddenly zoned and then nodded to himself.

“No,” Kakeru shook his head. “I think you should just confess to her.”

It wasn’t an act of bravado, but a feeling of clarity. He was sure that Hanako would be happy to know Jouji’s feelings. Perhaps she would be equally pleased with a confession from Jouta, and there might be a quarrel there. But that wasn’t Kakeru’s business.

This wasn’t a competition. Hanako’s heart belonged to her. Jouji’s heart belonged to him as well. It was the same as how Kakeru’s heart only belonged to him. It was a domain that was free from all standards and measures, something no one could steal or bend.

It was satisfying to know that there was a gentle but strong feeling within him that had nothing to do with speed or victory or defeat. Hanako, who taught him those feelings, seemed more and more important to him. Kakeru would be happy if her love was realized.

Also, I’m used to long-distance running. I’m good at patiently waiting for an opportunity. Even if Hanako has feelings for the twins right now, you can’t state definitively that it’ll be forever.

“I see, I guess it’s better to tell her. Uwah, what should I do, I’m so nervous.”

Jouji was determined to confess his feelings to Hanako without any hesitation, not realizing that Kakeru, who was patient when it came to the important things, was chewing on his first realization of love like a ruminating cow.

---

Yuki was smoothly descending the mountain.

In the beginning, he tried to run on the ruts because he was afraid of slipping on the frozen snow, but then he couldn’t steer a good course through the turns. Too much concern about slipping would cause him to put pressure on his muscles, which would make it all come to nothing. In the end, Yuki decided to run and take the course as usual.

Running downhill is fun, Yuki thought. To be able to feel such acceleration with my own body. His speed was so fast that even the soft snowflakes hitting his face from the front hurt like pebbles. While balancing with his whole body, he followed the slope as it led him forward. His fear of falling down didn’t cross his mind at all in the face of the pleasure of speed.

The front of Kowakien was the ten-kilometer point of the sixth leg. It was also a TV relay point. Even though the weather was bad and it was early in the morning, there were spectators along the roadside cheering for them. Following the Eurasia runner, Yuki turned to the right, and he could hear the watery footsteps of the Shinsei runner right behind him.

Yuki, of course, had no way of knowing, but the announcer and the commentator Yanaka were watching the live feed and commentating on the running of the athletes from each school.

“The footage of the lower-ranked teams at the ten-kilometer mark is coming in. What do you think, Yanaka-san?”

“They’re going at quite a fast pace. I thought that the section prize for the sixth leg would go to Manaka, who is steadily improving their rank from twelfth place, but there is a possibility that it will go to one of the lower-ranked teams.”

“According to the data at hand, except for Tamura-kun of Rikudou, all the runners in the sixth leg have an official record in the twenty-nine-minute range for the ten-thousand meters.”

“When it comes to the mountain descent, the time on flat surfaces is not that important. If you can run ten-thousand meters in the twenty-nine-minute range, then the rest is all down to guts.”

“Guts, you say?”

“Yes. The speed and incline the runners experience is much more than what you see on the screen. It’s like pedalling a bike down a steep slope with both hands free. And today, the footing isn’t good. It’s crucial to calmly keep your balance and have the guts to keep your momentum going.”

“Which of the lower-ranked teams do you think is closest to the section prize?”

“I still don’t know yet, but I like Iwakura-kun of Kansei. He has a very stable lower body. His upper body doesn’t sway unnecessarily, and he doesn’t flinch from running down bad roads at all. He is an excellent example of how to run downhill.”

“I see. The rest would depend on their persistence when the road becomes flat after Hakone-Yumoto. They've passed the ten-kilometer TV relay point.”

As they descended in altitude, the snow turned into sleet mixed with rain and the road became covered with a sherbet-like muck. Yuki realized that he had crossed the width of the crosswalk in two steps.

The current crosswalk was probably four meters wide. If he had crossed it in two steps, then that meant he had gone two meters in one step. Yuki was once again shocked at himself—his acceleration was incredible. He had gained momentum and was literally running as if he were flying, and his stride was widening as a result. He glanced at his watch: for the past five kilometers, he had been running downhill at a pace of two minutes and forty seconds.

One kilometer in two minutes and forty seconds. It was a time Yuki couldn’t achieve on flat ground. As far as he knew, the only person who could sustain such a pace for five kilometers on level ground was Kakeru.

The branches of the cedar trees on the roadside were piled with pure white snow. The trunks were black and wet, and the mountains had been transformed overnight into a beautiful, monochromatic world. As soon as they appeared in the corner of his eye, they streamed backwards, smoother and faster than in a movie.

So, this is the world Kakeru normally experiences. Yuki had a lump in his throat.

Kakeru, you’re in a very lonely place, aren’t you? The wind rumbles loudly in your ears, and all the scenery passes by you in an instant. It feels so good that I never want to stop running, but it’s a world you can only experience alone.

For the first time, he understood why Kakeru was so devoted to running, sometimes to the point of overdoing it. If Yuki were allowed to run at such a speed, he would certainly indulge in it like an addict. He wanted to see the world in quicker, even more beautiful instants. Perhaps that was a momentary experience, almost like an eternity. However, it was too dangerous—it was a world that was too beautiful, too harsh to challenge with a flesh and blood body.

Now I’m just looking at the gate that would lead me there from a distance, with the help of the mountain roads of Hakone, Yuki thought. He knew that he wouldn’t get any closer.

Dragged in by Kiyose’s enthusiasm, Yuki’s life had been centered around running for the past year. But that life was coming to an end today. I have my own way of life. I don’t want to aim for momentary beauty and exaltation, sharpening my mind and body day after day. I want to choose to live among people, even if I’m covered in filth. That’s why I passed the bar and am trying to become a lawyer.

Today’s the end. But I’m glad I experienced this speed for the first and last time. Yuki smiled slightly as he sped along the mountain road. Kakeru, don’t go too far. What you’re aiming for is a beautiful place, but it’s lonely and quiet. So much that it doesn’t suit a living person.

It would be nice if there’s something to tie Kakeru’s soul to the earth, Yuki thought. In people’s lives, in people’s joys and sorrows. It’s only by planting his feet on the ground that Kakeru would definitely become even stronger. Balance was essential. It was the same as running down a snowy mountain road.

As Yuki entered the Miyanoshita Hot Spring Village and passed in front of the Fujiya Hotel, he saw something unexpected and let out a short cry.

“Uwah!”

In front of the hotel, there were many guests waving Hakone Ekiden flags. Some of them were dressed lightly in yukata and padded kimonos, shouting their voices hoarse even as they shrank back from the cold. Among them, Yuki saw his mother, his younger sister who was only half related to him, and his mother’s second husband.

“Yukihiko!” his mother shouted loudly.

“Onii-chan, do your best!” His young sister leaned forward, and his stepfather, who was holding her, nodded firmly.

“This is so embarrassing…”

He passed by the hotel in a few moments, but Yuki ran for a while with his head down. Did my family elegantly spend the New Year’s at that hotel? Yuki snarked inwardly to cover up his embarrassment. They probably knew I wouldn’t be able to come by even if they invited me, so they planned to surprise me by not saying anything. Even so, it’s too bad for my heart. I hope the TV and radio didn’t pick up the voices and figures of Mom and the others. Nico-chan-senpai would definitely make fun of me if he knew. Well, he should only have a radio, so I think I’ll be fine.

Yuki suddenly felt happy. That look on Mom’s face just now. She looked desperate and tearful, like she was the one running.

Yuki didn’t remember his biological father. He had died in an accident right after he was born, so his only memories of his father were in his mother’s words and photos. Since his father’s death, Yuki had only lived with his mother, and he treasured her very much. His high school girlfriend had once said to him, “Yuki, you’re a mama’s boy, aren’t you?” Of course I am, Yuki thought. A son who doesn’t take care of his mother isn’t a good son.

Perhaps because he grew up watching his mother work late into the night, Yuki set his sights on his goals early on. He wanted to get a steady job so that he could make his mother’s life easier. Fortunately, he had confirmed during his school life that his brain wasn’t half-bad. If that was the case, then it would be easy to aim for the bar exam, which was called the strongest qualification. He thought that being a lawyer, where he could work between logic and emotion, would be suitable for him, and more importantly, it seemed to make a lot of money. As soon as Yuki entered high school, he began preparing for the exam on his own. He studied hard and worked on his stamina. He thought that he should be well-versed in the inner workings of relationships between men and women, so he went out with girls.

However, something happened that made Yuki’s efforts all come to nothing: his mother remarried. Her new husband was an office worker who earned a decent wage, so his mother didn’t have to work anymore. She loved her new husband and seemed to be very happy. His stepfather was easily able to do more for her than Yuki had ever wanted to do for his mother.

Yuki couldn’t help but feel devastated. He had his pride, and when he decided to do something, he had to finish it, so he didn’t give up on passing the bar exam. However, it was all in vain now. The following year after his mother remarried, she had his little sister. This was also a situation that made Yuki, who was in his late teens, feel awkward and uncomfortable. When he got into university, he left home and rarely came back, even at New Year’s.

Seeing his family cheer him on made the trivial pent-up feelings he had melt away. As though to match that, the snow had completely transformed into rain.

Both his stepfather and his sister had always cared for Yuki as a member of the family. And most importantly, his mother was happy. That’s all that matters. That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. It would be childish of me to keep sulking about the fact that my mother became happy in a slightly different way than I envisioned.

Yuki laughed, unnoticed by anyone else, in the midst of his white and billowing exhalation. Before he knew it, he caught a glimpse of the Teitou University runner's back at the end of the turn. He couldn’t sense anyone behind him; he seemed to have pulled away from the lower-ranked teams he had started the race with.

He looked at his watch and confirmed that he hadn’t slowed down his pace at all. His mind and body felt light. He could go the rest of the way downhill at this pace. What was important was whether or not he could keep up this running for the last three kilometers of flat ground after Hakone-Yumoto. Kiyose had given him advice yesterday.

“After a downhill slope, even flat ground feels like going uphill. That’s when the real battle begins.”

I think I’ll be okay, Yuki answered in his mind. I have no intention of losing today—to the battle between me and my body and mind.

---

The drums were still beating at the Odawara relay station. In front of Kazamatsuri Station, there were many people crowded into the kamaboko company's parking lot, waiting for the arrival of the sixth leg athletes.

“Did you see that, Jouta? Yuki’s face was there just now!”

Nico-chan had directly witnessed the scene in front of Fujiya Hotel with the TV function of his cell phone. It was only when Haiji called him earlier that he realized he could watch TV on Jouta’s phone as well. Even Nico-chan, who was knowledgeable about computers, only used his phone for calling, and Jouta only used his for texting. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t interested in the evolution of machines that he could be satisfied with the rundown apartment.

“Yuki-senpai’s mom is young and beautiful,” Jouta said, biting into a rolled omelette. “By the way, he’s going to win the section prize at this rate, isn’t he?”

“Yuki doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact, though. The Manaka guy is just as fast as him, so it's hard to tell.”

“Ugh, I’m so frustrated! I want to tell Yuki-senpai his time.”

“How?”

“I’ll use willpower or telekinesis or something,” Jouta put the omelet he was partway through eating away in his sports bag and began to look at his phone intently. “In less than twenty minutes, it will be Nico-chan-senpai’s turn.”

The screen showed Bousou in the lead, and Rikudou chasing behind with a difference of about one and a half minutes. They were about to finish their descent and head towards Hakone-Yumoto Station. The Manaka runner, aiming for the section prize, had improved his position and was now in eighth place. His pace hadn’t slowed at all.

“How’s Yuki?”

“He’s not on the screen. Until they go out to Hakone-Yumoto, the lower-ranked teams won’t be shown much.”

Nico-chan told Jouta to keep an eye on Manaka’s time and began his final adjustments. He ran lightly in the parking lot to loosen up.

Nine o’clock in the morning. The Bousou runner arrived at the station in the lead. His time was sixty minutes and forty-six seconds. Rikudou and Yamato were the next to receive their sashes. Nico-chan hurried back to Jouta, who was near the relay line.

“Amazing!” Jouta was excited. “Even on flat ground, his speed hasn’t slowed down. Keep going, Yuki-senpai!”

On the screen of his phone, he could see Yuki sidestepping the Teitou runner at the crossroad with New Hakone Road. Kansei, in fourteenth place, had a clear view of TSU in front of them.

“Yes, that’s it!”

Nico-chan took off his jersey. Now it was time to see if Yuki could get the section prize.

“Manaka?”

“We'll be able to see them with our own eyes soon.”

Jouta raised his head from his phone. “They’re here!” he shouted.

The red uniform of Manaka, running along the railroad tracks, was just about to turn off the road and enter the relay station. They knew he was a candidate for the section prize, so the cheers were even louder. Manaka’s sash was handed over.

“What’s his record!”

“Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds.”

Jouta read the information on the TV screen on his phone out loud. It was a good time for running on snowy roads. Even Rikudou’s Tamura, whose ten-kilometer time was in the twenty-eight minute range, had a time of sixty minutes and forty-eight seconds.

At the relay station, the schools relayed their sashes one after the other. The TV screen showed that Yuki was almost there.

Yuki, just a little more. The staff member called Nico-chan to stand at the relay line. All that was left was a race against time. Next to him, the TSU runner received his sash and started running. He could hear Jouta’s voice as he timed Yuki on his watch.

“Sixty minutes and seventeen seconds, eighteen, nineteen…”

Yuki entered the relay station. He was gritting his teeth and holding the unfastened sash in his right hand. He might have learned Manaka’s time from the spectators along the road and was trying to summon up all his strength in the final stretch.

“Yuki!” Nico-chan howled. “Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds,” Jouta screamed. There was a stir from the spectators. The sash still hadn’t been passed to Nico-chan’s hand. Yuki was a step short of the section prize.

But at that moment, Nico-chan forgot about the existence of times. Yuki’s eyes were looking straight at him. He wasn’t thinking about the section prize at all, he just wanted to give the sash to Nico-chan as soon as possible. That was the only thing he was thinking about as he made it through the last three flat kilometers. Nico-chan understood that. He could see that in Yuki’s fingertips, which were still hot and damp despite being exposed to the cold wind.

“Good job,” Nico-chan muttered.

“I’m tired. I’m leaving the rest to you.”

Yuki clapped Nico-chan on the back, managed to step firmly on his trembling legs, and prevented himself from falling over.

“Yuki-senpai!” Jouta snatched a towel from a staff member and ran up to Yuki to support him. “It's disappointing, but you were incredible!”

“Disappointing? What is?” Yuki drank water from a plastic water bottle and finally found his voice.

“The section prize. Yuki-senpai’s time was sixty minutes and twenty-six seconds. If you had been two seconds faster, you would have tied for the section prize.”

“Really.”

Two seconds. Yuki laughed. Only two seconds. Such a short amount of time that passed in a single breath. Did I miss out on being the best in this leg by such a small margin?

“Oh well,” Yuki said. “Those two seconds were like an hour to me.”

Jouta almost cried when he saw Yuki’s soles after he took off his shoes. The blisters at the base of his big toes had peeled off and there was blood welling up, even though the skin on his soles had grown so thick over the past year. He realized just how hard it was to run down the mountains of Hakone.

“Of course it was enough. You were so cool, Yuki-senpai.”

After patting the tearful Jouta on the head, Yuki looked at the road leading toward the town of Odawara.

I’m leaving the rest to you, Nico-chan-senpai.

Previous | Next

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Honey Haze

*Yeets one more rarepair onto the pile*

She fears what she craves and she craves what she fears. Or maybe she fears losing what she craves even though she doesn’t have it yet. Maybe she is afraid to have it because she is afraid to be afraid of losing it. 

Regina smiles at her reflection in the mirror. 

It is forced.

It doesn’t look right on her face. Not since it has been so long since she’d done it. She thinks that she doesn’t remember how to smile. She isn’t sure if she had ever actually smiled before. She is almost certain that there had always been a sadness there, just beneath the surface and waiting to break through whenever Cora roused it.

Sometimes when she looks in the mirror she can’t separate herself from the woman. Sometimes when she looks in the mirror they are one and the same. Sometimes when she looks at Henry she sees herself through his eyes. And in his eyes she had seen the same fear and mistrust that she had afforded to her own mother.

Even if that look has long since vanished. Vanished to be replaced by affection and love. 

Sometimes it doesn’t feel real; to be cherished. To be seen as a hero. As anything but a blight on this town. 

Sometimes she is certain that it is too good to be true; to have friends. A family. To have happiness. 

And sometimes this sense of paranoid sense of falsehood crushes her. It sweeps her up and drags her under, wearing away at her until she is curled up on the loveseat of her office or on the floor weeping silently to herself. 

She has learned to tell when it is coming on. There is a disconnect, a fuzziness that comes between her mind and her body. It is hazy at first. It is as simple as looking in the mirror and not being able to fully feel the smile on her face, even when she knows that she is happy. Truly, she is. People have been kind to her today, extraordinary so. 

“Happy birthday, Regina!” Emma slings an arm around her shoulder. 

Regina, to the best of her ability, pushes her way through the fog in her head. “Thank you, Emma. You and Henry didn’t eat all of my cake, did you?”

“Not yet, geez, give us some time!”

Regina rolls her eyes. “I swear, Swan, if Henry complains about a stomach ache on the ride home…”

“The Evil Queen is going to make her big comeback?” Emma quirks a brow. “Don’t worry, he’s been telling me to slow down.” She laughs. “Aren’t you going to have any of your own cake.”

She shrugs. “The cake is for everyone else, not myself. You know that I’m not one for sweets.” She follows Emma to the booth that Mary and David are already seated at. The disorientation hits her with a vengeance that her queen self would envy. There is a nervous queasiness building in her belly, a sense of discomfort that she can neither place nor shake. 

She bites the inside of her cheek.

“Right, mom!?” Henry declares. 

“Uh...yes...right Henry.” She hopes that she hadn’t just agreed with something particularly preposterous. Though the cackles of Emma suggest that she very much has. Much of the night passes in a daze. She finds herself falling in and out of alertness. She is absent and present to varying degrees. Mostly her mind is elsewhere as she opens her presents. 

There are boxes from Mary and David, Henry and Emma, from the dwarves and Ruby. There is one from Gold. And there are cards. Cards that make her heart swell as she reads them. She doesn’t think that it surprises anyone to see her pay the cards more attention than any of the gifts attached. 

The necklaces and new small appliances are nice. They are practical and useful. She enjoys the magical trinkets that Gold and Mother Superior have crafted for her. But they aren’t as personal. Not like the cards. 

The cards that contain inside jokes and brief recants of precious memories. Words of encouragement and subtle reminders that she is a good woman. A loved woman.

They are so kind. 

And she is terrified. 

Terrified because it can all shatter at any moment. Can shatter as though this is just another curse to be broken.

She squeezes Henry as tightly as she can as they walk to her car. 

“Happy birthday!” Ruby calls again, “thanks for inviting all of us.”

“Happy shoving Grumpy’s face into what was left of the cake is one for the scrapbooks.” Sneezy notes in passing. 

Regina can’t help but laugh. 

She also can’t help but let a single tear slip down her cheek. 

She wipes it away before Henry sees it. 

.oOo. 

Dr. Hopper tells her that it is called cherophobia. That, that is what evokes such a sense of dread as soon as a smile reaches her face, why her stomach sinks when a laugh escapes her throat.  

“You’re afraid, Regina.” 

She knows. She thinks that she always has. She certainly knows that she isn’t normal. That she is a broken woman. A sad woman, at her very core, even when she is happy on a superficial level. “I should be happy.” 

“You can’t be happy when you’re afraid to be happy.” 

And water is wet and fire is hot. Except for the days when things are distorted and fire feels, to her, quite chilly. Sometimes she needs to hear the obvious state bluntly and out loud. 

“But I should be. I have Henry, I have magic, I have my mansion. People...they…” she manages a very slight smile. “They call me Regina now. They invite me to dinners and weddings and…” And it still feels too good to be true even years down the road. “Why does it feel like it’s all going to come apart?” 

“Are you asking me as a friend or a therapist?”

“I...both?” She furrows her brows.

“As a therapist, I’d say that it's because you’ve had a traumatic childhood. You’ve had experiences where everything seemed to be going right only to have the rug pulled from beneath your feet, sometimes by people who you thought were holding you steady. And so you’ve learned not to get too happy. You’ve learned that being happy is dangerous and that it…”

“Is a wide open door for tragedy.” She finishes. 

He nods.

“And as a friend?” 

“I’d tell you that I’ve seen a woman who has been hurt over and over again and doesn’t know what to do when she isn’t hurting.” 

“As a friend you still sound like a therapist, Archie.” She stares at her palms.

He rubs the back of his head. “I suppose that I do, don’t I.”  He pauses. “But I did get my PHD from a curse, remember. So my advice is mostly friendly advice.” 

Regina nods. “It does help, Archie.” 

“I’m glad that it does.” He cups a hand over hers.

“Sometimes I just need someone to talk to. Someone who just listens.” She sighs. “Someone who won’t give me a hope speech or a well meaning spiel about how much better things have gotten for me.” She swallows. “That doesn’t mean much when things don’t feel like they’ve gotten better. Or..” she is choking up now. “Or when I’m just waiting for them to fall apart again. I’m scared, Archie.”

He nods.

“I...things have been going so well for so long and I don’t know when it’s going to collapse, I just know that it will. And I don’t want to lose everything and everyone again.” She touches her trembling fingers to her cheeks, wipes away a few tears. “I worked so hard… I don’t want to lose Henry or Emma. I don’t want to lose you.”

Archie pulls her in closer, lets her lean on his shoulder. “You’re not going to be happy all the time, Regina. That’s not how it works. You’re going to be sad.” He wipes a few more tears away. “You’re going to cry and sometimes you’re going to be downright miserable. But eventually that’s going to fall apart too and you’ll be happy again.” He helps her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” 

“Archie, I’m not even dressed.” She gestures to her night robe. 

“And you know what?”

She inhales deeply. “What?”

“There is a happiness in sorrow.”

“Do tell me where that is, Archie.” 

He wraps his arms more tightly around her. “You get comfort when you cry. So let yourself be sad sometimes.” 

“I am sad more than I’m not.”

“So when you are happy, cling to it, don’t be afraid of it. You being happy doesn’t cause sadness. Happiness isn’t a reserve that gets depleted or a bank account that gets drained. It’s a cup that gets low sometimes and then refills.” 

She wonders if she can let herself be happy, it seems so...impossible.  “I want it to stay full.” Even she knows that this is simply not possible. And so she would rather keep it only partially full so that the mess is isn’t as big when the glass tips. 

“Why don’t we try something simple?” Archie asks. “What is your favorite time of day?”

Regina furrows her brows. “What?”

“Your favorite time of day. Is it just before sunrise? Sunset? Midafternoon?”

“I like autumn mornings.” She replies. “Sunrises. When there’s mist on the ground but it isn’t gloomy.” 

“Well how about this? Tomorrow we’ll go for that walk and you an enjoy that sunrise. We can go to the forest so you can see all of the colors. Those are little things, you can enjoy them because the sun always rises.” 

Regina quirks her brow. “I have heard of cursed villages where…”

He gives a light laugh. “Well we’re not in a cursed village.” She opens her mouth to protest but before she can he says, “the curse on this town has been broken.” 

“Fine, we can go for a walk tomorrow.” 

.oOo.

The air is crisp. She can smell cinnamon and burning leaves, a touch of pumpkin spice. Eventually she will add a tinge of apple to the air. The aromas follow she and Archie well into the rustling forest. 

For the longest time they are quiet, Regina is more than content to hear the leaves flutter as the wind shakes them from their branches. To hear them crunch beneath her feet. To hear the squirrels and deer scamper about. 

Now and then she catches a glimpse of antlers before the buck dashes out of sight, likely in search of a mate. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She can taste autumn on her tongue. There is no mist today but the sun glows a vivid orange and gold as it spills its rays between the tree trunks. It is not yet high enough for its rays to filter through the canopy. 

As they walk, she comes to find that the forest is particularly lively this morning. The squirrels chase one another up and down the trunks of trees while others gather acorns. Geese take flight, well on their way south. There are plenty of rabbits scuffling through piles of leaves. And on one occasion, Regina spies the tail of a raccoon and points it out with more enthusiasm than Archie had expected of her. 

The man is grinning at her. She slows her pace to a halt, adjusts her scarf, and pushes at her hat. She holds her hand out and Archie hands her a steaming foam cup. The tea inside warms her palms. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Archie asks. 

Regina nods. “This is nice. Quiet.” She enjoys whitenoise. “I haven’t gone on a walk through the forest in a while.” 

“We can make it a habit.” Archie suggests. 

“Wake up and go for a quick walk before work. Or after you get home. Just a little something to make your day better.”

“Yes. I think that that would be a good idea.”

“You can invite Emma and Henry and the Charmings.” He suggests. “I think that it would be a nice way to bond with everyone.”

She nods again. 

She is almost certain that she knows what he is thinking; if she should eventually come to realize that the simplicity of walking through the woods won’t lead to profound stress and disappointment then they can take another step. She can find something a little less simple to enjoy. She knows this tactic. 

She knows it and she supposes that she welcomes it. Her coping methods haven’t exactly worked. 

“What about when winter comes? I don’t like snow.”

“Winter snow or Snow White?”

“I can tolerate winter snow.” She shrugs. He nudges her. “The other Snow is alright too I suppose. In moderation. All snow is fine in moderation.” 

He laughs. “Well then we can go for shorter walks or we can find some other small joy. Like reading by the fire. I think that Henry would enjoy coming over and reading by the fire.” 

“Yes, he would like that wouldn’t he.” She agrees. 

“You’re going to be happy, Regina, no matter what season. And before you even realize it, you won’t be afraid to be happy.”

Regina peers at the rising sun. Its rays, higher now, halo her cheeks. “Perhaps.” She mumbles. A breeze stirs the leaves and carries on it a woodsy scent, perhaps a tinge of wild flower. The entirety of the landscape is bathed in a honey haze. Everything smells so fresh, so sharp. At least for the moment, it seems very possible. 

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Headcanon - Injury Recovery MC

I did a little something for myself - warming up my writing skills

What if MC had an injury that she needs a treatment plan for. how would the guys react?

Sherlock Holmes

He’s no doctor but Sherlock seems to have extensive knowledge of the exercises and stretches you’ve been assigned.  While you may never see him doing it, after your injury Sherlock spent time going over additional research on your type of injury, enough that when the doctor would advise certain treatments Sherlock would interrupt to ask the doctor why they felt that one had more merit over other treatments Sherlock had read about.  Healing badly can have long term effects, and there is no way he will let that happen if he can help it.

John Watson

He respects what your doctor has suggested, It isn’t his field, and he is happy that you are following what they have recommended.  However, that doesn’t stop him from doing his own examinations when he has a moment alone with you, to see how you’re healing.  If any of the other guys try to talk you into other exercises or treatments he scolds them about possibly putting you in danger of exasperating your injury.  Even if he brings up the treatment idea later to explain in detail how something may help, and that you two should discuss it with your doctor.  

James Moriarty

James is happy to help you with every stretch.  Will insist on either watching the way you do it or getting hands on.  After you were injured you saw at least 3 doctors on how to proceed before James decided which doctor was best suited for the job of making sure his Robin was okay. 

Mycroft Holmes

He has reports sent back to him on your progress and has your sessions recorded for review.  If he can then he will sit in on your sessions, his eyes fixed on you, watching your every move, and correcting your form before your therapist has a chance to do so.  Or helping you at home with at home physical therapy.  

Jack Stillman

He is not a fan of other doctors helping out the person he cares about.  He will insist on being there with you when you talk to your doctor, he will look relaxed the entire time but neither you or your doctor see how tense he gets when the other doctor touches you.  Any examinations the doctor does is followed by a personal examination when you two are alone so he can confirm the doctor was not mistaken.

Sebastian Moran

Sebastian will take notes and make sure you do exactly what the doctor recommends you do.  It’s hard to say no to him, when he ushers you over to a chair to sit down to elevate and heat your injury, or when he picks you up carefully so he can bring you to an open space for physical therapy if you try to put it off.  There are only a few ways he can help, and ensuring you follow your doctor’s orders is one way he can show you how much he worries about you.

Jeremy Cassel

What the doctor advised is all well and good, but how about a massage?  Physical therapy or heating and chilling your injury are wonderful things that should be done if the doctor recommends it.  However, he’s sure that a massage would also help.  It also helps him gage your pain and the limitations of your movement.  He doesn’t want to hurt you accidentally later.

Hercule Poirot

Will have a list of what the doctor said to do, and a list of things that you shouldn’t do.  He will tease and chide you if you stray from your doctor’s orders.  While you may not notice yourself getting better, Hercule does, and will use that information to encourage you with how you’re doing better than yesterday.

Arthur Hastings

Constantly checking if you’re alright, asking how you’re feeling.  Either in person or sending you messages throughout the day.  The man seems to be tracking how you’re doing through the day so when you have a check up with the doctor he’ll have notes with questions prepared for you to bring.  Regarding the time it’s taking to heal or any pains you have felt.

George Lestrade

No matter the degree in which you’re hurting.  Sprain, fracture, whatever kind of injury.  He will believe that you’re severely hurt, and while he means well, he will be a detriment to your physical therapy or getting back to how life was before.  But as soon as it gets through to him that this is good for you he’ll back off and cheer you on throughout your recovery process. 

Mikah Hudson

He will come back to you with additional things to try that he found online.  He would listen to others for recommendations, and he would talk to you about everything the doctor recommends.  Showing how much he has paid attention and how much he cares about what’s happened to you.  

Henry Jekyll

This is not his field of expertise, but he is happy to listen to you talk about what your doctor has said. He will check in with you, asking how your healing is going, if you need to talk to your doctor if there are any additional pains or discomfort.  Otherwise, it’s just like every other day, but you will notice how he seems to go out of his way to make sure not to disturb your injury when you two are out, or just hanging together.  

Edward Hyde

Injuries SUCK.  He knows this very well.  He also knows what can happen if you do not follow the doctor’s orders and try to push it.  He’ll always continue to push his, but this is a case of do as he says not as he does.  He will ask questions and make some recommendations based off of things doctors have had him done in the past with similar injuries.  

‘Irene’

She was very sour when you first got hurt, she tries to make sure that you understand that she was not upset with you.  After every doctor’s visit she will be outside waiting for you and is happy to escort you home, or to run errands together.  Whenever it comes to your injury she does run a little cold, and asks matter of fact questions, but the rest of the time she is very sweet as she helps take care of you

[insane-control-room]

migraine

Am I the only one I know waging a war behind their face and above their throat?

Written with @randomwriteronline

warnings: migraine, depression, suicidal feelings

ao3 version here

Thunder in his head. Lightning in his eyes, flashing and pulsing, black seeping and rising and falling, like tidal waves crashing onto his thoughts, shoulders hunching like a beast unable to escape an unseen assailant. It felt as though someone had shot an electrified crossbow bolt straight into the base of his skull, tearing past skin and bone and shocking his very brain. It caused painful shivers across his limbs and tightened around his ribs, constricting his breathing and making his heartbeat viscerally loud in his mind, feeling each and every pulsation roar in his ears and neck like unresting waves shaken by an oceanic earthquake. A bubble seemed to form around the sides of his head, frothing outwards from his very cochlea and stiff jaw. His forehead felt like someone had placed a boa constrictor around the perimeter of his skull and allowed it to squeeze until he would scream.

Joey had a migraine.

The bright glow shining directly into his sore eyes from the light table beneath his work did not help. In fact, one might say it was making it all the worse!

His head hurt, his legs ached, and his arms were stiff and unwilling to follow his requests.

An indiscernible mumble growled around him and slipped into his ears before expanding across his entire brain, emanating outwards through his spinal column, a full body tension unleashing like a rubberband suddenly yanked by two fingers and thus pushed to its absolute limit.

Thank goodness it was Friday, because Joey was going to snap soon if that grew much further.

His hand had let go of his pen, and he was hardly aware of its nails driving in repeatedly between his radius and ulna. Another rumble like a plane taking off right beside him, rattling him to his very atomic being, each quark screaming in protest, making everything even worse, despite how insane that seemed to be. He could hardly breathe. However, with Friday came the dread of Sunday-- the day he would be completely alone. Henry would be away at the clinic. The children would go out to extracurricular activities. No one would be in the building except for himself, his bees buzzing outside his window, and his demons.

He was not ready for that. He had never been ready for that, and would usually hide away on his computer to ignore that short walk up to the roof, not eat for fear of entering the kitchen and finding an object which would be used not by himself, not drink to avoid the easy escape of pills and the winding thoughts that brought him far, far, far away from sanity and drowned him within the liquid. And then, when his family would come home, he would lie about it by not saying anything at all.

Sometimes, when it would be dark outside and the air soothing him with storms and snow, he would think about telling Henry, writing it down and silently handing it to him so that he could read the truth himself, devoid of any more omissions, but he always stuffed those letters away into the vault, sealing them forever.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

Joey once again wished he was not ever there to hear those words, wishing himself to be blotted out of existence another time, if only for a single neverending moment. He found himself gaping wordlessly at the air, a fish desperate for water, suspended before Abby without any excuse for himself, unsure what the matter was that she would be so testy.

“Can I h-help you?” he asked, demure.

“I asked you that,” Abby stated, hands on her hips. “I asked if you were okay, and you didn’t answer. Multiple times. Could you tell me what’s the matter, Mr. Drew? Or is there none? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just have been preoccupied with my depress…” Joey trailed on, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. His head hurt too much to filter, and his tongue had already slipped. “...ing thoughts.”

“We have a deadline for this episode, Mr. Drew,” she said, shrugging off his comment, “and we haven’t even gotten a storyline for it yet! Do you have writer’s block or something of the sort?”

His head shook almost bonelessly, carefully so as to not rattle his thoughts. Time seemed to be going so slowly, how long had he been sitting there working on that single frame? When was the last time that he had slept? Was he thinking or was he just moving along a sleepwalking path like a beast made of sludge and string? He blinked a few times and saw the drawings double as the rumble in his ears increased deafeningly.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I’m not as fine as I s-seem,” Joey said with a bright smile. He rose suddenly, the motion revolting to his body, and he nodded to her, still smiling, and he began walking out. “Pardon.”

He was outside, trying to use fresh air as a weapon against the pain. The roses were still just sticks, not yet able to blossom with greenery. His head was under his arms, and his ears twitched as they picked up the slightest change in notes that indicated an approach of someone, someone small.

Bendy crawled into his lap.

“See all those rose bushes, baby?” Joey whispered, holding him gently with his horned head pressed to his trapped chest. “That’s kinda how my head is right now.”

‘Ready to grow?’ Bendy asked, tilting his head. Joey smiled slightly, and corrected, “That’s a bit different then what I meant. I mean… don’t they l-look burnt?”

‘A little bit,’ Bendy answered, looking around. ‘But not really. No burns.’

“Mmm.”

The parent and child were quiet.

‘Do not forget this, Bendy,’ Joey silently remarked after a while, the sun moving by degrees across the sky so slightly it appeared to not go at all. ‘When I paint, I do not think, but I know what I do. I think behind my mind. Sometimes I draw things that are… disturbing, you know?’

‘Sometimes, but I think everyone does,’ Bendy replied. Joey wondered just where he could have gotten such a brilliant, compassionate and empathetic child from, what did he do to deserve him? ‘I think that drawings and writing are a peek into the door of a person's mind that shows things they usually would not share.’

‘Right you are.’ Joey sighed in amazement. He loved his little darling devil, even through the burning cloud of pain that stormed and shrieked like a thousand banshees in his head. ‘And some of those minds are like Pandora's box. Or worse. Even if you are curious, you should not open them. Ever.’

‘I do not think your mind is like that,’ Bendy remarked. Johan tried not to tremble.

“There’s flecks of… not good things.”

‘Still not bad.’

‘It’s a wreck, Benderoo.’

‘Not bad.’

“Oh, Bendy.”

Joey hugged him, closing his eyes.

“It’s v-violent in there, my dear.” he murmured. “I might be afraid of the o-ocean, but that surrounds the small spaces that I can stand upon. My thoughts are… are like tidal waves, Bendy. Ebb, flow.”

‘But that is how the world goes. We need the tides.’

“But sometimes the tide might try to swallow you. It might lunge for you, l-like a famished lion I must f-fight.” Johan shivered, not with the thought of a beast devouring him, but the mere idea of the sea. “Blood upon the maw and bones within it.”

Bendy played with his father's hand, the thin palm much larger than his own soft plasmic ink one, releasing it to respond.

‘You are good, Papi.’

“I truly hope so.”

‘You are, Papi.’ the little toon insisted. ‘I know you are. You are my Papi, which must be good, and you always do the right thing.’

Johan smiled wryly: “You are too kind with me, Bendibop. I don't deserve that.”

‘Of course you do, Papi.’

Johan caressed his child's little horns through those tufts of keratin so much like his own.

“You really think I can be deserving of that?” he asked softly. “Even as I am a weapon?”

‘You are doing what you can. Sometimes you need to fight.’ Bendy smiled, hugging him sideways. Thin dark arms wrapped around the little inky body and Johan tucked him a little closer to himself. His smile sweetened a bit. ‘You are not alone. You have us, and the studio. Your family.’

“I guess you’re right, d-darling,” he murmured, laying a kiss on his child's head. “I got used to bein’ alone a long time ago, I suppose it’s h-hard to remember that I’m not anymore.”

‘Maybe we should have a day off,’ Bendy suggested. ‘With everyone. And have a picnic. Take a picture of it to hold it forever.’

‘For what?’

‘To remind you that we have got hope and each other,’ Bendy answered innocuously.

Joey smiled.

“We’ve made it pretty far, kid.”

[pollylynn]

Title: Ditto WC: 1100

He thinks that if he had written Zhang as a character—if he had written the particulars of Henry Graham’s murder into one of the Nikki Heat books—he’d have ended up scrapping the whole damned thing for being too on the nose. 

He doesn’t really see it as anything more than an unfortunate coincidence at first. She is uncharacteristically forthcoming about the problem with the newly minted Captain Klemp, and he’s not a fan of the way he muffed that entire interaction by assuming that she wanted to dish on an enemy or a friend who’d failed his way upward. 

The smallness of her voice when she admitted she feels like she’s fallen behind is still rubbing his heart raw when they get to the crime scene, and he stumbles again. He means to tell her that he’s been there—that he has any number of postgraduate degrees in professional envy—but it comes off as dismissive when he calls it Patterson Syndrome. It make her laugh, and that makes him hope she’s bouncing back from the Klemp Catastrophe, but he wishes he could strike the right note here. 

He especially wishes he had as the Zhang situation develops. He’s delighted by the legend of Zhang while it consists mostly of Ryan and Esposito eating a little humble pie. He is less delighted once it includes her impressive personnel file and Gates’ rapturous tones when she hands it over to Beckett. But it still seems like little more than an unfortunate coincidence that’ll need just a touch of course correction on his part.

That’s before Beckett turns into him.

It happens at the Jade Temple and it’s like a slow-motion car crash. Zhang is beyond pushy, beyond abrasive, beyond out of her you-are-here-as-a-professional-courtesy lane, and it knocks Beckett back. It has her scurrying across the restaurant, stiff armed with her badge extended before her. It has her standing, gaping, deprived of her witness by this week’s Special Guest Villain, who seems to think she’s Gotham’s OG Caped Crusader. 

That’s when the hard, terrible truth comes out—she’s been web-stalking Zhang. She has some company in her gaping, then, as she zooms in on the husband, on the adorable children. Lord knows his jaw more or less hits the white tablecloth, because when did she even have time to web-stalk Zhang? More important, how is possible that she does not realize that her completely baseless feelings of inadequacy have taken her deep into Richard Castle territory? 

He doesn’t have time to ask his rhetorical questions. He barely has time to recalibrate his Sense of the Problem Sensors before it’s not just Zhang, but the damned case itself that’s pushing her buttons like a bespoke button-pushing thing. There’s a swaggering FBI agent in a who does everything but actually Little Lady her in his outside-his-head voice, and it’s almost a shame he holds back. He thinks, quite possibly, that finding the absolutely most creative way to murder a man with a bolo tie might go a long way toward renewing her confidence in her inimitable bad-assery.

But Glassman does, just barely, hold back and the federal meddling stings. It echoes off wounds in the distant and not-so-distant past and he knows she must be thinking how differently this would be going down if she’d played it smarter and held on to the DC job.  

He knows by the time the girls’ night comes up that Zhang and Henry Graham’s murder are entirely too on the nose for any unnecessary interaction with Zhang to be a good idea. But she goes. He gets waylaid by the boys and ends up doing an informative bit of self-owning. 

This is my third marriage. I think I know what I’m doing. 

But the thing is, he kind of doesn’t. And the boys are idiots—who, by the way, got simultaneously disarmed by Zhang, and he is in no way going to let them forget that—but the condescending assertion that people in a relationship need space is, coincidentally, on the nose. 

He can’t fix the problem of Zhang for her. He can’t undo the fact that Henry Graham has got to evoke Mike Royce, that flying in the face of federal directive to stand down in the midst of a murder investigation is exactly the reason she got turfed by the Bureau, and by extension, exactly the reason she feels like she’s treading water at the NYPD. 

He’d like to highlight–delete the whole damned thing for her, as lazy and trite a literary conceit it is, but he simply can’t. So he waits it out. He hangs back and bites his tongue when she gives him the whispered download about Zhang’s fraying marriage. He doesn’t suggest the couples web-stalking he would be very much into. He nods in sympathy as she explains how Zhang feels responsible for Henry’s death. He hangs back and gives the two supercops space to do their thing. 

It turns out to be a painful thing—a collar that brings precious little satisfaction to anyone, but they both know how that goes, and at least they’ll bring down Mimi Tan. At least Zhu Yin will be free, as Henry had wanted her to be. 

When he sees her with the laptop in bed, he wonders for a fleeting second if she’s given into the temptation again. He wonders for a fleeting second whether she’s him again and what on earth he’ll do about it. 

She is him, sort of. She’s not web-stalking Zhang and her estranged husband. She’s not wondering if the juiciest details will be in Cantonese or the good old English-language tabloids. She’s writing, though.

She’s highlight-deleted Zhang and Henry Graham and all the on-the-nose resonances of the last few days. She’s pulled the thread and unraveled the problem and she’s starting with a list. That’s more her than him, of course, but there’s something else that’s the two of them together. It’s him plus her plus the accumulated lessons of the mistakes they’ve made. 

She’s looking him in the eye and making the promise that he—that they—rank high, and any choices she makes about her career will happen in the full light of day this time. He feels unexpectedly a little teary. She’s pulled a thread within him, too—one that in his concern for her, he hadn’t realized needed to be pulled. He’s a little teary with relief. 

It’s him plus her.  A/N: The object is Beckett’s browser history on her phone? Hmm

.images via homeofthenutty

[hridley21ahsgov]

BLOG POST #2: MEDIA ASSESSMENT OF ISSUE

1. Liberal Leaning Source: (New York Times)

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/14/climate/arctic-changing-climate.html

Subject: The Arctic is Shifting climates because of Climate Change.

Author: Henry Fountain, a journalist/reporter for the New York Times who prioritizes in reporting about climate change.

Context: This was produced on September 14th, 2020 from the New York Times. Which is considered a liberal news source and or could be taken as liberal media. Meaning that people with a conservative outlook would be less likely to see or read this article as it might not align with their views.

Audience: The audience for this article was made for liberals or people maybe in the left middle like left leaning moderates. This might affect the reliability especially with the conservative audience as they would probably not want to hear stuff that doesn’t align with the policies and vise versa with democrats.

Perspective: This text is objective with the author using evidence from a german research team who went and found evidence for themself, during their expedition in the Arctic ocean. However someone who was maybe a denier of climate change might say that this is bias towards the left leaning media trying to push some for of agenda. This is not the case though as the author claims that the Arctic has been in a decline for some time now and that it could have detrimental effects on the climate if not changed soon. And i agree with these perspectives as the author provided people who had credentials from a high level of climate science.

Significance: The author uses evidence from Dr. Landrum, a climate scientist, and Marika M Holland another climate scientist associated with the National Center for Atmospheric Research in Boulder, Colorado. Suggesting this evolving problems in the Arctics climate with facts like “the Arctic has declined so much that even an extremely cold year would not result in as much ice as was typical decades ago”. And “The Arctic is among the parts of the world most influenced by climate change, with sharply rising temperatures, thawing permafrost and other effects in addition to shrinking sea ice.” Showing the inevitable change that is coming are way.

2. Conservative Bias Media: (Fox News)

https://www.foxnews.com/media/tucker-democrats-california-wildfires-climate-change-pelosi

Subject: Fox News Host combats Democrats for saying climate change is causing California wildfires “without evidence”.

Author: Sam Dorman, a Fox News reporter who is very low key when it comes to his presence in the media. He reports many stories but does not show his face nor is there any shots of him online that show who he is and what he has done before Fox News.

Context: This was produced on September 12th, 2020 from Fox News. Which is considered a conservative media source that is mainly indulged by Republicans and or right winged citizens. Meaning that people with a liberal outlook would most likely not find their daily news from Fox News as it skews very right and is sometimes labeled “delusional”.

Audience: The audience for this article was made for republicans and extremists in the republican party. Meaning that the reliability doesn’t go past anyone with any slight differentiating views. That may include moderates, liberals leaning moderates, and left wing democrats.

Perspective: This text is subjective as it is influenced mainly by conspiracy and very little knowledge. Attacking the other Political party for their own lack of research into the topic of climate change. Saying that the Democrats are doing this to lead you into voting for their party in this coming November. Not getting any other form of perspective but his own Tucker Carlson then attack Nancy Pelosi the speaker of the house and Joe Biden the Democratic presidential nominee’s campaign for echoing the party line. Tuckers claim is that the Democratic are trying to use the fires to politicize their campaign polices to get votes for this election.

Significance: The author uses self evidence that, and speculation that Tucker Carlson says and turns into a hollow fact that is used to attack opposite party politicians. Tucker Carlsons audience that tunes into Fox News is quite impressionable with their fan base being very loyal to any fact or statement being said and then used to attack any topic in question. And as for verifiable facts there are little to none used in this article as it was not a question of “how climate change caused the fires” it was “why are the democrats saying this, and the liberals must be bad to think that”.

3. Impartial Source: (ABC News)

https://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory/world-hit-15-degree-warming-threshold-years-71687896

Subject: The U.N. Weather Agency detects that the world could hit 1.5 degree warming threshold by 2024

Author: NADINE ACHOUI-LESAGE and FRANK JORDANS, Nadie and Frank are respected reporters from the associated press. Nadie being a Climate Video Journalist, working at the Seattle times as well as the associated press. And Frank specifically being a Climate change reporter for the associated press.

Context: This was produced on July 9th, 2020 on ABC News. Which is considered a middle impartial source by Republicans and Democrats. Meaning that both liberals and conservatives are likely to get there news here if it also aligns with there polices or shows information they were not aware of. As certain news might stretch the truth or over exaggerate what really happened.

Audience: The audience for this article is primary Democrats as a lot of republicans especially right wing extremist would most likely not want to hear the truth from a news source talking about climate change in a real and un bias light.

Perspective: This text is objective as the evidence used came from the credible organizations like “The world meteorological organization and the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research. The competing evidence comes from Maxx Dilley, director of climate services at the World Meteorological Organization. Trying to break that threshold which would have seen as further evidence of international efforts not working, saying “It shows how close we’re getting to what the Paris Agreement is trying to prevent.” But then later in the article in Anders Levermann, a scientist at the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research said Climate models have proven accurate in the past because they are based on well-understood physical equations about the effect of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. Meaning that what they are trying to do has a possibility of working with time and accuracy. 

Significance: The author uses evidence from high powered officials involved in Climate relations around the world. Like Maxx Dilley saying record temperatures such as those currently seen in the Arctic are the effect of emissions pumped into the atmosphere decades ago, so attempts to alter the future course of the climate need to happen soon. The WMO (World Meteorological Organization) also came out with information saying “there's a 70% chance that the 1.5-degree mark will be exceeded in a single month between 2020 and 2024. The five-year period is expected to see annual average temperatures that are 0.91 C to 1.59 C higher than pre-industrial averages” These facts were backed up with evidence and repeated scientific studies. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Questions: (presented in bold)

1. What are the similarities and differences between these three accounts of your issue?

- Some similarities came from the left leaning and Impartial news as they were the most accurate with there studies and able to use scientific evidence to prove there claims and theories. While when it came from Fox News it was very screwed and there was no evidence established just attacks of those who were speaking the truth to the American people. The Impartial and Left leaning sources also used high creditable sources to back what they said as near or close to fact. While Fox used no other source other than Tucker Carlson himself, who used speculation to ask question and attack politicians who did not agree with his views. 

2. Finally, which source do you identify with most and why?

- I most identified with the ABC article as it used officials in high power positions who had no point or need of exaggerating or pushing an agenda that was not necessary to push. And much like the New York Times article it did use credible sources however it was handpicked and whether that was done so to fit the story is unknown, but the ABC article most definitely showed the most reliability. 

[hms-chill]

Hey! I absolutely love your writing and saw you wanted a prompt or two. I found this one and it would be adorable with Alex and Henry so here: “You sat next to me on the airplane and fell asleep on my shoulder and I don’t want to move you cause you look so comfortable. Oh and you’re hot.” (if you want to write it of course but you totally don't have to I just thought it would be cute) 💕💕💕

Hello! Thank you so much! It’s been like a week but I just turned in my last midterm for the week and I finally have time to post what I wrote! 

(also, I wrote this twice because I had two ideas. The second version will be another post soon)

“Variations on a Plane: Meet Cute”

Alex hoists his carry on into the overhead bin, then does an awkward shuffle down the row and into his window seat, stuffing a backpack below the seat in front of him and shoving it back as far as it will go to make room for his feet. He’s already started to browse the in-flight movie options when someone sits down next to him. From the corner of his eye, Alex sees jeans rolled up at the bottom kicking a bag with a pronoun pin further under the seat. From what he can tell, his gaydar has been working decently in the UK, and those are both good signs.

“Anything good on?” the other boy asks, and Alex realizes he doesn’t have his headphones in. Not that it matters; he would have wanted to talk anyway. He notices suddenly that the other boy smells good. He’d been worried about his seat mate smelling bad, but he’d completely forgotten to consider the possibility of the opposite, which may be even more unsettling.

“Depends what you like. There’s a few superhero movies, some cartoons… it looks like a decent selection.”

The stranger nods, turning to his screen. Alex goes back to browsing until, a few minutes later, the in-flight safety demonstration pauses their screens. Alex sighs and rolls his eyes, but the stranger leans over to ask, “Have you seen this?”

“What, the safety demonstration? I flew over here, didn’t I?”

“No, this movie. I’m trying to decide if it looks good.”

Alex cranes his neck to look at the other man’s screen, ignoring the notice telling them to watch the flight attendant buckle and unbuckle a seatbelt. “Yeah, it was good. Not like… jaw dropping, best movie I’ve ever seen good, but I liked it.”

“Thanks.”

The safety demonstration ends, and their screens unpause as they begin to taxi. Alex browses until takeoff, when he turns to the window. He leans back a bit when the boy beside him looks over his shoulder, and together, they watch London fall away below them.

“This bit never gets old. I’m always a bit sad to see it go, but the city looks so beautiful.” Alex has to agree. They’ve got a horrendously early flight, but seeing London all lit up from above almost makes it worth it.

“Have you flown out of London a lot?”

“Whenever I fly it’s from here. My family lives nearby, and I went to Uni in London.”

“It’s a nice city.”

They watch together until London becomes merely a bright dot against the darkness of the English countryside. The other boy pulls away first, putting in earbuds and starting the movie Alex said was good. Alex starts his own moving not long after, trying to ignore the handsome boy next to him, resisting the urge to make sure he’s liking the movie. The stewardess comes out with snacks, and Alex gets coffee, hoping the second dose of caffeine will turn him into a being who is more human than simply an embodiment of exhaustion. The boy next to him gets tea, which is very British, and Alex tries not to find it at all endearing.

The in-flight map shows them just leaving Wales when Alex feels a weight on his shoulder. Something soft is tickling the side of his jaw. He turns slowly to see the other boy asleep, his head flopped onto Alex’s shoulder. His movie’s still playing, and Alex knows there’s an explosion coming. The loud noise could wake the other boy up, so Alex leans over to pause the movie, careful not to jostle his new passenger too much. If this stranger is tired enough to fall asleep on someone else on a plane, he deserves the nap, and letting him sleep is the least Alex can do.

He sleeps through most of Alex’s movie, and Alex finds himself humming softly when they hit some minor turbulence. The other boy starts to wake up a bit, but he settles down with Alex’s humming, letting out a soft snore. Alex just smiles, counting it as a success. He sleeps until the cabin staff start wheeling the breakfast carts down the aisle, when Alex shakes his shoulder gently and says, “Hey, they’re bringing food. You’ll need to let them know what you want.”

“Huh? Oh, oh no, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He’s turned a fantastic shade of red, but Alex shakes his head.

“No; it’s fine. Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I make a good pillow, though I have to admit, I’m a bit insulted my movie suggestion wasn’t good enough to keep you awake.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s… I’ve been up late recently, and it was an early flight, so I got like two hours of sleep… I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. We’ve all been there, and I didn’t mind. If… if you still need sleep after breakfast, and if you only got a couple hours last night you definitely will, you’re welcome to use my shoulder again. We can even use one of these mini pillows to make it more comfortable.”

“I’ll… I’ll try my best not to take you up on that, but it’s been a lot recently, so I can’t promise anything.” He might be trying to make a joke, but it’s not convincingly light-hearted enough.

“That’s okay. If… Would it help to talk about it? Whatever’s been a lot, I mean. If you want, I’m here, you can just unload it all on me and then we’ll get off this plane and never see each other again.”

“It… it really is a lot. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No; go for it. I’m in a gap between stressful things. I can handle it.”

So they get their meals, and the other boy tells him that he’s traveling to do research on queer history. He’s gotten an incredibly competitive grant, and the whole application process was stressful. His family’s been waiting for him to do something with himself since he graduated a few months ago, and that only made the application and waiting process more stressful. Then, in the midst of getting his travel plans and documents together, he came out to his family, and his grandma through a fit. His mom was nice about it but hasn’t been close to them since his dad died, and his older brother stormed out of the house and hasn’t been answering any of his texts or calls. He’s still got his big sister, but he’s terrified he’s lost half his family. He almost gave up the grant to stay home and work things out, but his sister made him keep it, so he left them all behind, and he’s terrified that he did the wrong thing because what if he could have fixed things by staying? Should he have come out at all? Was breaking apart the family he has left really worth it?

By the end of his story, there are tears in his eyes, so Alex offers a shoulder and he sniffles, forcing a bit of a laugh as he hides his face. Alex hands him the breakfast bar that came as part of the meal service and talks about his own coming out, about how scared he was that his Catholic dad especially would be upset, but how they’d taken it well and they love him. Then he hands the other boy his own breakfast bar and talks about how coming out was really the only way he could be close to his family, because you can’t really have a relationship with someone if you’re hiding such a massive thing from them. By the time he’s starting to get into how things are going to get better, the other boy has fallen asleep again, and Alex just smiles as he turns back to his movie, stealing a muffin from the other boy’s breakfast tray.

When the stewardess comes to collect their dishes, she tells Alex that they make a cute couple. There’s really no point in correcting her.

A movie and a half later, there’s an in-flight lunch. The other boy wakes up more easily this time, though he still turns bright red when he realizes he fell asleep again. Alex just grins and makes sure he actually eats most of their lunch, since his breakfast was small. He vows to stay awake and actually watch the movie Alex suggested, and as a joke, Alex leans over to watch with him. But then, well, his shoulder is nice. He’s wearing a soft sweater, and the ball of muscle below it makes a nice pillow. And, well, it was an early flight. Alex was up at 1:30 to make it to the airport by 2:00, and every coffee he’s had since has worn off by now.

The next thing Alex knows, someone’s shaking his shoulder, and his head is bouncing a bit. He opens his eyes to see the other boy chuckling.

“We’re landing soon; I thought you might want to watch. I at least hoped you’d open the window so I could. I hope I was as good of a pillow for you as you were for me.”

“You’re a great pillow,” Alex says, yawning and stretching a bit, then turning to push the window open. “Is DC your final stop?”

“No; I’m on to New York for research on the Stonewall riots. What about you?”

“I’m headed to New York for school. Uni, I guess, for you fancy brits. I’m starting my law degree. Hang on, I’ve got my flight number somewhere. It leaves at like… 9:15ish?”

“So does mine! What a coincidence.”

“Here; give me your number. We can find each other after customs and get coffee or something? Will your phone work in the US?”

“It should connect to the airport’s internet.”

“Perfect; we’ll meet up after customs and get coffee or overpriced food or something.”

They exchange numbers, and on the ground, Alex texts the other boy (‘Henry’, according to the name he put in Alex’s phone) to complain about how long customs is taking. Henry tells him to be patient, and Alex rolls his eyes.

They meet up at a Starbucks near their gate, then again at a coffee shop near Alex’s apartment their first week in New York City. Then again at a coffee shop near where Henry’s living. Then they meet up for dinner and a movie, and when Henry falls asleep in the Uber on the way back to Alex’s apartment, Alex pays the driver to make four trips around the block so he can wake his boyfriend up slowly, reveling in the way Henry’s face is squished against his shoulder and the softness of Henry’s hair on his jaw.

Really, when Henry falls asleep on him looking so good, it’s no wonder Alex fell in love.

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 6- Bill Weasley

Hey, guys! Sorry about the late chapter. Being in self quarantine has actually caused a degree of 'apathy' so to speak and it's tough trying not to let that infest your creativity.

But in any case I am back with a new installment and I'd like to say a few words beforehand.

For the first three years of this series, Slytherin isn't going to look good. But there's a reason for that (not the least of which includes shipping my MC with Merula xD) and it will reveal itself in good time. To all my Slytherin readers, portraying your house as the 'bad guy' is not my endgame. Not even close.

Anyway on the with the story!

The party following the triumphant victory over Slytherin could only be described as pandemonium. In one fell swoop the Gryffindors had opened up a huge lead in the standings and were already being favored to win the entirety of the Quidditch season. Hufflepuff was no serious obstacle and only the Ravenclaws stood as the last major threat to their title chances. It was also the first time in three years the lions had beaten the snakes in a major match such as this and dancing on their misery tasted almost as sweet as the butterbeer.

David and company could hardly keep track of anything during the celebration, but they didn’t care. He had never seen such a spectacle and though listening to Quidditch was always a popular pastime, to actually witness it in person in addition to crushing your biggest rival went far beyond expectations. Though he didn’t say it openly, he privately imagined Merula and the rest of the Slytherins sulking in their cold, black dungeon.

Let them. It’s no less than they deserve

He made his way through the crowd in search of Charlie, seeing as he was the hero of the day (seekers usually were) and also a roommate in need of basic congratulations. Along the way he passed Adolphus Blishwick and Henry McLaggen who were engaged in a chugging contest of sorts though the substance did not look like butterbeer. In addition, he encountered the fearless chaser herself, Skye Parkin.

“Great game, Skye!” he yelled out to her.

Looking around, she spotted her admirer and gave a cool thumbs up before resuming conversation with a crowd of Gryffindor boys and girls who sought her attention.

She’s going to be the talk of the whole school for a week after this. Let her have the moment.

Resuming his search, it didn’t take long to spot Charlie. The second eldest Weasley brother was being hoisted up in the air by several older Gryffindors, broom still in hand, chanting his name repeatedly.

“CHARLIE! CHARLIE! CHARLIE!”

“Come on, mates! I’m going to get bloody sick!” he laughed, clutching his stomach.

David could only watch in amusement as the crowd finally let him down onto his feet, breathing heavily from the day’s excitement.

“Butterbeer for the rookie of the day?” he offered.

“Ha, no thanks, Dave. If I have another one of those things, I think I might actually vomit.”

“Mate, you didn’t just win today. You crushed Slytherin into the dirt. No one will let you buy another drink again.”

Charlie laughed good naturedly.

“Wasn’t just me, Dave. Team effort won the day. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a pretty good chaser over there,” he said, indicating Skye.

“She’s as confident as they come,” David observed. “Didn’t seem to know who I was, though or anyone else besides her Quidditch mates.”

“She has to be,” Charlie shrugged. “With the family she hails from nothing less than winning is acceptable. As for the second part, don’t take it personally, she keeps to her own crowd. Likes the attention but not really a people’s person if you catch my drift.”

A glance back and David saw Skye flick the blue colored braid back almost as if it were an act of God himself. Several of her ogling fans ate it up, whilst the Parkin girl gave a small smirk but no audible reply.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

The second born Weasley chuckled before turning serious for a split second.

“Listen,” he said in a low voice which was just audible above the noise of the ongoing party. “I heard about what happened on Halloween.”

David’s eyebrows became sharp.

“What did you hear?”

“Relax, Dave,” Charlie reassured him. “No one told me anything, just rumors. But from what I gathered you and Rowan are still searching for that cursed vault? The one with the cursed ice that’s been entrapping people.”

“And if I were to say ‘yes’?”

“Mate, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret. There was no sign of you or Rowan at the feast. Many people around here still remember when your brother was chasing the vaults, they expect the same from you.”

Memories and headlines flooded David’s brain, ones he did not want to think about at the moment.

‘Aw, but Jacob why won’t you tell me?’

The older boy shuffled a vast assortment of papers into his drawer, his appearance slightly disheveled.

‘Pip, what I’m working on is top secret and cannot be revealed to anyone. You have to trust me on that.’

‘But-’

‘You’ll understand someday when you’re older.’

“I’m not my brother,” David responded quietly. He did not want to discuss the matter further as he pushed the guilt ridden feelings into the darkest recesses of his mind.

“I know you’re not, that’s why I want to help. Or make a suggestion rather,” Charlie responded, no malice or ulterior motive in his hazel eyes. It was then that David realized he may have spoken too harshly.

“Fire away,” he said, the light, jovial tone returning. “Better be good or I’ll have those blokes lift you up and down in the air again.”

“If you want some assistance in your search, talk to my brother.”

That gave David some pause.

“Bill? Why would he want anything to do with this?”

“Are you kidding? He’s almost as obsessed with breaking curses as I am with dragons…well maybe not quite that obsessed but it’s a goal of his and make no mistake,” Charlie explained.

“You’re sure? I can’t exactly go around telling everyone what I’m doing, lest I get expelled,” David spoke candidly.

“He’d never rat on you, that’s one thing I am certain of. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s caught me doing loads of things I shouldn’t have, and he’s always had my back. Believe me, there’s no one better.”

“Well I’ll consider it. Thanks, Charlie.”

“Anytime.”

The new star Gryffindor seeker was led back over to the center of the party leaving David to ponder in the middle of the celebration. He did not want to risk trying to bust down that door again at least not without help. Two second years weren’t strong enough but adding Bill to the team might prove to be the deciding factor.

He would have to ask Rowan what he thought of the idea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Are you kidding? That’s a great idea!” Rowan exclaimed at lunch the following Monday. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“A good question considering you talk about him more than you do about your tree farm.”

Rowan lightly swiped at him with his book (and missed) before continuing.

“In all seriousness, think of the possibilities. He’s older, he knows more spells than we do, not to mention he has an interest in what we’re doing according to Charlie. What’s there to lose?”

In truth, not much. But that didn’t mean it was a sure thing.

“I plan on asking him today,” David shrugged. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Why not? He likes you, already. He taught you a few spells last year.”

The twelve year old Gryffindor took a massive bite of shepherd’s pie.

“Dat was ifferent,” he said before swallowing. “Merula was terrorizing the entire first year class. This is ten times as risky.”

“Since when has that ever stopped, you?”

“It never does, and it never will,” David proclaimed. “That also doesn’t mean I go looking for trouble. It just happens to find me most of the time.”

“Well we could save a lot of trouble if we could get him on board. I can read an entire book about potential curses in this school but if we don’t have the know how or power, then this ice could spread even further by year’s end.”

Rowan was never short on logic and he couldn’t fault him this particular time either. The worst Bill could do was say ‘no’ and that would be the end of it. As if to confirm his own intentions, Charlie suddenly came up behind him.

“Hey, David. Bill is waiting for you at the training grounds. Says he has an hour before his next class if you want to talk.”

“Wait, he’s already waiting for me?”

“I put in a good word for you,” Charlie said with a sly grin. “I think you’ll find he’ll be very interested in what you have to say.”

Rowan gave him a look as if to shout ‘what are you waiting for?’ before returning to his grilled cheese sandwich.

“Suppose now is as good a time as any,” he muttered getting up from the table. “Make sure Charlie doesn’t steal my pie, Rowan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the red head called back, digging his fork into the pie and shoving it into his mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The route to the training grounds was simple enough, one simply had to traverse two stories and past the dungeons to reach the outside door that led to the cold, autumn outdoors. David was hardly giving much attention to his surroundings as he adjusted his hat and scarf, very eager to see what Bill had to say.

Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the dungeon corridor, instincts going haywire. Though this part of Hogwarts was always dark and gloomy, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

“Hello?” he called out into the empty nothingness.

His natural reflexes kicked in as he just barely ducked a sickly-looking purple jet of light that created sparks on the stone walls.

“Goddamn it, what the hell?!”

Out of the shadows stepped a pale, black haired girl, one eye shrouded by the perpetual greasy mass of mop that never seemed to move. David immediately recognized her as Ismelda Murk, the same girl who had given him that creepy smile the previous week.

“So, you are going to see that blood traitor, Bill Weasley,” she said in a quiet, but deadly tone. “No doubt to discuss the cursed vaults.”

Her wand was trained on him, but David did not reach for his. At least, not yet. Any sudden movement would likely trigger another curse being sent his way.

“And how did you know that?” he stalled.

Ismelda rolled her visible eye.

“Please, your voice is loud enough. It’s not hard to overhear you.”

She took a step forward wand still pointed directly at his chest.

“But it makes no difference. You Gryffindors are all the same- cocky, arrogant, always hogging the spotlight for yourself.”

“Hey, Izzy, if this is about kicking your ass in Quidditch don’t take it out on me. I’m sure there’s a small, defenseless animal somewhere around here you can torture.”

Another jet of purple light barely missed his head.

“I didn’t have to miss,” Ismelda spoke with quiet fury. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the vaults and I won’t have to hurt you…much.”

At this point, David had had enough. It was already irritating to constantly deal with one crazy Slytherin girl, two went beyond his patience.

“Yeah, okay let me tell you what’s actually going to happen. I’m going to hex you and I’m going to walk out that door.”

Without another second’s hesitation he whipped out his wand and fired the same spell Merula had used on him last year.

‘ Petrificus Totalus! ’

He caught her square in the chest, sending her toppling over like a four by four to the ground. However, she managed to fire off one more curse before it did, and this time he wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.

“GAH!” he winced as he felt his shoulder catch part of the blast. Still, he didn’t waste any more time waiting for Ismelda to regain use of her limbs and ran as fast he could out into the nippy, November air.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So fast did he run that he barely noticed that after a minute or so, Bill Weasley was right in front of him. When he finally did, the older boy was already looking down on him with an eyebrow raised.

“Whoa, there David Grant. You look out of breath. What happened?”

Still panting from his recent escapade, it took a moment for the 12 year old Gryffindor to form sentences.

“Slytherin girl attacked me. Threatened me over the vaults. Managed to get away though.”

Bill leaned and took a glance at David’s shoulder.

“Not completely. Let me take a look at that wound.”

David saw for the first time the extent of the damage Ismelda had wrought. The top of his robes were cut open to reveal a nasty looking purple and black bruise which had the look of something that had festered for days.

“Ew,” he remarked dryly.

“Let me see if this helps,” Bill said as he pointed his wand at the injury. “ Episkey. ”

Much of the swelling went down and the size was reduced though there remained a remnant of the blackish/blue color in the center.

“Madam Pomfrey probably could have gotten rid of that in an instant. But I’m pretty rubbish when it comes to medicine, that’s the only healing spell I know.”

“It’s fine,” David shrugged. “No lasting damage. What was that curse anyway?”

“Only seen it a few times but it’s a nasty one, especially if a powerful dark wizard uses it. Bone bruise curse. Can cause severe internal bleeding in the hands of a real psycho. Sometimes kids at Hogwarts will use them in duels, but it’s generally taboo.”

“That explains a lot,” he muttered.

“It sounds like you were waylaid on your way down here,” Bill surmised. “Who was it?”

“Ismelda Murk. She’s my year. Makes Merula Snyde look like a flower girl by comparison.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Bill said darkly. “She apparently attacked Charlie on the train this year simply for bumping into her by accident. You were there for that if I recall correctly.”

“Indeed, I was.”

“Well in any case this might be the perfect opening into what you really came down here for. Charlie told me you needed some help with these cursed vaults.”

David nodded in the affirmative.

“I do. Rowan and I actually found the entrance, but there was some sort of enchantment on it. I don’t think we can break it, just the two of us. Charlie said you might be interested.”

“Interested? Hell, David I wish you had come to me sooner. I’m in.”

David didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that Bill accepted his request so readily was a tad surprising.

“Huh, well that didn’t take much persuasion.”

“You didn’t need to,” Bill said seriously. “This ice is becoming more and more dangerous by the week and doesn’t appear to be dissipating any time soon. If we can get through that door you spoke of earlier there’s a strong chance we can break this curse.”

His face broke into a reluctant smile.

“I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit excited too. This is my first curse breaking adventure and I’m honored to be a part of it.”

“The honor is all mine,” David grinned. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the eldest Weasley warned. “It’s going to take a lot of preparation and even a little pain to break into a cursed vault. We’ll need to do a lot of research and spellwork if this is going to be successful. It’ll also give us the opportunity to learn a few more jinxes for dueling, especially considering you were just attacked.”

“Rowan will eagerly take care of the research. He’ll also be pretty happy to know you’re in on this little quest of ours.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Bill laughed. “Come on, let’s get started.”

And so they did. For the next few weeks, the trio met once a week to either study in the library or go to the training grounds to learn new spells and practice them on the wooden target dummies. This became steadily more difficult as time went on as the weather became colder the first snowfall hit but it was still good practice and it also provided an opportunity for Rowan to progress in his own dueling prowess, which steadily improved over time. Now and then they were also joined by Penny and Ben, who were eager to help in any way they could. For Penny that meant assistance in brewing certain potions that they would need in a tight spot- fire breathing and pepperup potions came to mind. For Ben, it meant assistance in some of the research and moral support…and the occasional training session.

“Remind me why I have to learn the fire making spell again?” he asked one cold December morning between the crunch of white powder on the ground.

The snow was also a good outlet to begin practicing a spell that would be quite useful in keeping warm and potentially knocking down the giant snowflake that fired concentrated freezing spells at those who tried to enter its domain (Bill did a double take when he was told that story). Incendio would create large blasts of red and blue fire, though it was still somewhat difficult to control, especially for second years, and so Bill supervised their progress.

“A freezing day in December is almost as bad as the sensation you’ll feel inside the vault,” David told him as he shifted his scarf to reveal his pink, rosy nose, clearly whipped by the slight wind. “What better way to practice?”

“No offense, David, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to go inside the vault with you,” Ben said glumly.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” Bill interjected. “For now, being prepared to break the protective enchantments is the best way to go. We’ll need a full arsenal to do so.”

Penny beamed underneath her hat, coat, and mittens.

“I’m just glad we’re finally learning something that could be considered proper defense. This year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is complete rubbish.”

“Yeah, well I’d be lying if that also didn’t factor into it,” the red head muttered. “I also figured the fire making spell would be a top priority based off what Dave and Rowan told me about this vault.”

“Speaking of curse breaking, I actually brought you something,” David said, remembering suddenly his gift. “I bought this through mail order a week ago.”

He stuck his mittens into the bag and presented it to his friend.

“ Patricia Rakepick: A Guide to Cursebreaking,” Bill read aloud his eyes lighting up. “Wow, David this is amazing. You didn’t have to get me this. Madam Rakepick is one of the best in the world.”

“Good practice for when you become a cursebreaker yourself,” he replied with a wink. “Not to mention it’ll be good for all of us when we enter the vault. Rakepick has been around the globe and back again. Seen and done it all.”

“We’ll pour through it once we get back inside. In the meantime, let me see your fire one more time.”

David point his wand in the air.

“ Incendio! ”

A large stream of flames issued forth, crackling the air before ceasing altogether.

“You really have a talent for this stuff, don’t you?” Bill chuckled. “Took me a lot longer to learn that spell. Penny, you next.”

The blonde obliged, sending a lesser but still decent amount of flames into the frigid December day.

“Not bad. You need a little bit more power but otherwise you’re coming along fine,” Bill encouraged.

“I know,” Penny said a bit sheepishly. “I’m just afraid I’ll burn one of you guys.”

“You can burn me any time you want. Feels like my ass is about to freeze off,” David quipped.

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Bill responded dryly but with a cheeky grin. “One more from Ben and then we’ll grab some hot cocoa.”

Shaking heavily from the cold, Ben nevertheless loudly proclaimed the incantation.

“ I-Incendio !”

The amount of fire that issued from his wand was so vast that David actually had to grab Penny and duck to avoid minor injury. Even Bill took a step back, a look of shock plastered on his face.

“Well that’s one way to do it,” he offered in his gentlest tone. “Maybe say it a little less loudly next time.”

David began laughing as he picked himself up from the frost bitten ground, putting an arm around his friend.

“That could have melted the entire door down. And you say you’re not worthy of going into the vault,” he ribbed him.

Ben only offered a weak grin.

“Heh.”

The rest of the month continued like this, with spell learning sessions occurring inside rather than the increasingly frigid outdoors of Scotland. As they continued to meet together outside of class, at lunch, and in the library the group also took extra pains to ensure the Slytherins were not following or attempting to sabotage them. After the embarrassing loss to their rival, Merula and her ilk were becoming more vocal again and more than a few times, David caught her messing with his potions again. She constantly whispered about how she was closing in on key information on the vaults to distract him, which he did his best to ignore. Merula loved to exaggerate her own achievements so it wasn’t particularly concerning. Nevertheless, he made a point to keep an eye on her and her prime lacky, Ismelda Murk.

As December wore on and the holidays grew closer, David grew more anxious to revisit the vault, especially with all the planning and preparation they were doing. Bill, however, aired on the side of caution. He too was eager to visit the first cursed vault but opined it would be more prudent to wait until after they returned from Christmas break. It gave them all time to practice their spellwork and would throw off the scent of anyone on their trail, namely Filch, who was always scouring the 13th corridor at night with Mrs. Norris. In the end, the group largely concurred with such thinking.

It wasn’t until the last day before the holidays that the pressure to enter the vault ramped up a notch. The three boys were on their way back from their final class of the day, a potions extravaganza that featured pre-Christmas goodwill from the Gryffindors and Slytherins tossing acid pops into each other’s cauldrons, until they noticed a crowd stood outside the 9th corridor. Though no one was panicking as of yet the murmuring became louder as David, Rowan, and Ben approached.

“What’s going on?” David asked aloud. “It’s not supposed to be this busy. Not until the train leaves Hogsmeade station anyway.”

“No idea,” Rowan shrugged.

“Can we find out what this is later?” Ben said nervously. “Ismelda threw an acid pop in my cauldron and I think some of it burned through my robes.”

But curiosity overrode the other two Gryffindor boys as they slowly weaved their way through the crowd and towards the front.

“You guys! It happened again!” Tonks said to them. But there was no need to expound further. Reaching the front, they witnessed a fourth year Ravenclaw covered nearly head to toe in the cursed ice, face dangerously blue, eyes barely open. It was quite a revelation and also quite disturbing. No student, not even Ben had been entrapped so thoroughly. The only part of his body that remained free was his head and neck, everything else remained submerged.

It didn’t take long for the whispering to turn to proclamations.

“The ice won’t stop until it gets us all!” a random girl shouted.

Thankfully, any mass hysteria was quelled by the sudden arrival of Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape.

“Students, remain calm!” the deputy Headmistress shouted over the low hum of gossip. “Please be on your way to prepare for the train. Those who are staying at Hogwarts over Christmas break, return to your dormitories until further notice. Prefects, see that everyone is accounted for.”

“You heard her!” Snape barked. “Away with you!”

The intimidating leer of Severus Snape was more than enough to disperse the crowd, but not before David overheard the professors commenting on the situation.

“The ice has never spread this far before,” Flitwick said with a note of anxiety in his voice. “Should we not alert the Headmaster to return?”

“Dumbledore has enough on his plate,” Snape replied. “He will not come back to Hogwarts until after Christmas. We can handle things until then. If the ice is getting stronger, we should not allow that information to spread beyond these walls.”

“I will letter Albus. But for now, let us focus on unfreezing Mr. Isaacs. Madam Pomfrey will need to attend to him for quite a while,” Professor McGonagall spoke, taking out her wand.

David, Rowan, and Ben looked at each other as Tonks and the Hufflepuffs headed towards the kitchen. All of a sudden, containing the ice was looking more and more impossible. If all of Hogwarts was threatened to be consumed by it, they had less time than originally thought.

“Happy Christmas, everyone,” David said ironically as they approached the Fat Lady to pack.

Though most holidays were spent opening presents, eating pie, and retelling school stories, this was once incident he planned to keep away from the ears of his mother and father, knowing both of them would panic if they found out he was attempting to break into the vaults himself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, David couldn’t help but wish for a quick end to December.

There was much more work to be done, yet.

[dweemeister]

Deliverance (1972)

Different genres of film appeal or repulse people to differing degrees. I can stomach an average musical, but I find that I have little patience with an average modern-day action film. The reasons for that are numerous, to be described in another review. John Boorman’s Deliverance is an action-survival film that might seem out of place today – there are long stretches without dialogue or violence and it dares to examine its protagonists’ mindsets as they become victims of violence. Based on the best-selling novel of the same name by James Dickey, Deliverance is a solid entry into the action-adventure tradition. A harrowing film even after the violence has passed, it is nevertheless hampered by its controversial rape scene and reductive depiction of those in the Appalachian American South.

Ed Gentry (Jon Voight), Lewis Medlock (Burt Reynolds), Bobby Trippe (Ned Beatty in his film debut), and Drew Ballinger (Ronny Cox in his film debut) are four Atlanta businessman looking forward to a weekend canoeing down the Cahulawassee River (this river is fictional) before the river valley is flooded by a dam. In the opening minutes, Drew – a guitar player – spots an implicitly inbred boy (Billy Redden) at a gas station. The two share a duet of “Dueling Banjos”, in the film’s most famous scene.The men soon travel downriver, hoping to take in nature’s beauty and to escape from life’s responsibilities. Their desires, however, are shattered when Bobby and Ed are confronted by two men of the mountain (Bill McKinney and Herbert “Cowboy” Coward). For no understandable reason, Bobby – at gunpoint – is forced to strip his clothes. Ed is sexually assaulted as Bobby looks on. One of the rapists is killed by Lewis, unnoticed by the assailants, and the survivor runs deeper into the forest. The men resolve to head to their downriver destination, Aintry, as soon as possible.

The film’s infamous rape scene does not explicitly show the worst moments, but what is heard is horrifying enough. The cameras show Ned Beatty’s face, distraught and dirt-filled, for far too long. Burt Reynolds himself noticed the camera operators squirming away while director John Boorman continued. Disgusted, Reynolds stood in front of the cameras, asked Boorman why he let the scene run that long, and Boorman responded: “I wanted to take it as far as I could with the audience, and I figured you’d run in when it got too far.” The final cut of Deliverance lingers over the rape; for the audience’s sake, an implied or suggested assault would have been preferable and still respected Dickey’s adapted screenplay of his own novel. Boorman’s lack of restraint – even though some modern directors have even less restraint when presented with such a scenario – damages the film.

Since its release, Deliverance has helped solidify stereotypes about those who live in the American South and how Southern masculinity – bathed in humanity’s and nature’s violence – manifests itself. There is banter aplenty among the protagonists about their physical prowess; the weapons used in this film are phallic suggestions. Much of the pre-release promotion of Deliverance focused on Reynolds’ physicality and how Boorman’s direction pushed his four lead actors through physical pain and natural peril. The four leads, whose characters are from Atlanta, are distinguished from the mountainous locals they encounter at the gas station, during their trip, and in Aintry. Ed, Lewis, Bobby, and Drew represent a suburbanizing, “new” South – a departure from the increasingly urbanized and less white urban South.

In Deliverance, the suburban “new” South meets the Appalachian “old” South. The latter, accustomed to the wilderness surrounding it and wary of the former’s intrusions, is shown as humble and skeptical in Deliverance’s opening minutes to assertive and suspicious by the end of the film’s first act. Boorman depicts the Appalachian Southerners as backwards, their technology and understanding of the outside world decades removed from the present. Their paranoia, Boorman (a Brit who, in post-release interviews, showed little understanding of the poor white Southerners he encountered while making the film) will show, and aggressive territorial behavior can also be argued as self-defense. As Lewis explains to his friends about why they are going on this canoeing trip:

There ain’t gonna be no more river… You just push a little more power into Atlanta, a little more air conditioners [sic] for your smug little suburb, and you know what’s gonna happen? We’re gonna rape this whole goddamned landscape.

The rural Southerners in Deliverance can be interpreted as reacting against industrialized modernity and a white middle class, in defense of an individualistic naturalism that those in cities and suburbs cannot fathom. Their way of life, threatened by the damming project, is endangered – and most likely without their permission. Violence, when law enforcement is sparse, is an acceptable recourse to these people as is sexual assault, Boorman notes. And given how Boorman portrays the poor white men – snaggle-toothed, bone-thin, and underdressed – he is uninterested in providing any depth to these characters. Deliverance sides with the four middle-class whites, never affording the lower-class white characters anything more than their violent “nature.” These stereotypes that Boorman perpetuates are fixtures in how America media views lower-class white Southerners or, in common parlance, “poor white trash.” Look at the lengthy connections page on the films’ IMDb entry; notice how many films and television shows have featured footage or references to Deliverance without context. Numerous mentions and variations of the notorious “squeal like a pig” line appear when one character is threatening another with violence; a child with a banjo or a reference to “Dueling Banjos” brings up character’s fears or perhaps discussion of inbreeding and territorial violence.

Unfortunately, Boorman and Dickey’s approach to how the antagonists are portrayed works just as they want it to. The images that Boorman, cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond (1971’s McCabe & Mrs. Miller, 1977’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind), and editor Tom Preistley (1965’s Repulsion, 1984’s 1984) summon play into a fear of the “other” – placing the antagonist above the protagonist during a frame, keeping the antagonists faceless by positioning them into the background, and wary glances from the four businessman towards the riverbanks as if looking for hidden threats. Not knowing what to expect from this film, I – in my first viewing – found myself unconsciously retreating to damning assumptions even in the opening moments as the Atlantan friends drive up to the gas station (nothing sinister happens at the gas station). My preconceptions have been shaped by various media, assisted (and not started) by Deliverance. In its bourgeoisie discomfort towards underclass whites, Deliverance has helped continue its dreadful ideas about “white trash” – treating them as an existential threat to urban-suburban prosperity and order. This anxiety, an offshoot of the Southern Gothic literary tradition, persists. This reality is, as the locals of Rabun County, Georgia (where this film was shot and where many of the film’s extras resided) will tell you, unfair.

Where Deliverance succeeds is in its psychological treatment of violence. The final twenty minutes of the film – where the men must contend with the police investigation and the personal, extralegal consequences of their actions – would be ignored by many other filmmakers. Beyond the physical acting required for the canoeing scenes and combat against their assailants, this is where the actors shine. Jon Voight is the standout in the closing act, even if Burt Reynolds somehow retains his charm in an otherwise grave moment. The actors convey their characters’ swirls of emotions oftentimes without saying a word in an excellent ensemble performance.

The canoeing scenes in Deliverance were shot on the Chattooga River, which divides northeastern Georgia from northwestern South Carolina. The series of rapids that the production shot on contain some of the most dangerous waters for canoers, kayakers, and rafters in the United States. Such is the Chattooga’s reputation that the likes of Marlon Brando and Henry Fonda backed out of roles when they learned about its rapids. A famous stunt of Burt Reynolds volunteering to send himself over a ninety-foot waterfall in a canoe was inspired by the fact that Reynolds believed that using a dummy was unconvincing. Reynolds break his coccyx on the way down. After returning from the hospital, Reynolds asked Boorman about how the new footage appeared. Boorman’s response: “Like a dummy going a waterfall.”

Whether or not one has seen Deliverance, this is undoubtedly an influential American film – especially how it portrays its Southern characters, the violence they sustain against each other, and the environment surrounding them. A technically effective movie, the stereotypes within have proven resilient before and long after its initial release. It is the film’s undoing and, because of how dominant these views are, its ballast.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

[duchessanon]

For the Love of Henri: Tome 5 - Kiss From A Rose

Here's what you missed: https://royalfandombible.blogspot.com/2019/01/for-love-of-henri-my-fanfiction.html

What you missed in summary: Prince Henri married a beautiful pauper girl named Philanthropina (Phily). Together they had baby Libby and adopted Prince George. His evil brother and sister in law were banished from the kingdom for their evil deeds. All was well until Henri decided to bid on Meghan Markle at a charity function. She then bid on the outcast Cambridges. Kate and Meg decided to come together to overthrow Phily.

---

At the footstep of the not £4 million cottage, Henri, Meghan Markle, Willy, Kate and Charlotte stood in anticipation.

Henri put his best stern face on. 'Now I must set some ground rules before we go in. My darling Phily will not be expecting any houseguests. You MUST behave, wear undergarments at all times and not use curse words. All that agree say "aye"'.

Everyone said aye apart from Charlotte who said 'aye aye me bastard'.

Henri gasped in dismay. But Kate, who was keen to impress Henri did the unexpected and disciplined her child.

'Charlotte, wash your mouth out! No Game of Thrones for you tonight'.

'BUSYBODY!!!' Charlotte screamed.

Just then the door of the humble cottage opened and a light so bright emerged. It was so heavenly that it took a moment to notice it was coming from Phily and her cherub of her baby daughter, Libby.

'Speak of the devil and she will come' Willy snickered, and Kate elbowed him in the nethers.

'Henri my love, is everything ok?' she asked sweetly. 'I heard a commotion'.

Phily was dressed the same haggard, brown ensemble she was wearing the day they met. She was not ashamed of her roots as a pauper girl.

'Yes my dear' Henri stuttered, kissing her soiled, hardworking feet. 'We have some visitors'.

Phily was no doubt surprised to see the Cambridges and a random beautiful woman on her door step. But she would never turn anyone away from her door.

'Come in brother, sister and unknown woman', she said selflessly.

During this interaction, Meg had been quietly observing. She needed to be smart if she was going to win over Henri's heart. But every one knew a way to a man's heart is through his nethers, so she touched him on the place she knew to be every man's weak spot - his back.

Henri was startled at the feel someone's hand on his back. No-one did that apart from Phily. But not in a domineering way, in a gentle, supportive way that never implied he was a cuckhold. He knew it could be no one but Meghan Markle. But instead of disgust, Henri felt that uncontrolable nether shudder.

As Phily welcomed the Cambridges, Charlotte greeted her brother George and Libby by rapping Nicki Minaj's 'Monster' while standing on Phily's self made, recycled, environmentally friendly dinner table.

"OK first things first I'll eat your brains Then I'm a start rocking gold teeth and fangs 'cause that's what a motherfucking monster do Hair dresser from Milan that's the monster do

Monster Giuseppe heel, that's the monster shoe

Big Lizzie is the roster and a monster crew

But really, really I don't give a F-U-C-K Forget Georgie, fuck Libby 'cause she's fake She's on a diet but her pockets eating cheese cake And I'll say bride of Chucky is Child's play Just killed another career it's a mild day

Now look at what you just saw This is what you live for Aaaahhh, I'm a motherfucking monster!"

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTkEpkGKgoY

The next morning Henri explained that their visitors were only there for 5 days as per the rules of the auction. Phily cooked up a sustainable breakfast and to her shock Kate offered to wash everything up.

'They really have changed' Phily said to Henri, who was weaving baskets for the poor with Libby. 'Even William is taking an interest in his son', she smiled in a motherly way.

Willy and George were weaving baskets next to the window, out of earshot.

'I hate this place!' George said sulkily 'they make me go to a pauper school that they dont have to pay for'.

'You dont say', Willy said smirking, his limited cogs turning in his brain. 'They took a school place from a pauper child, did they?'

'Don't even try it Pops. They offset it by building a new wing of the school with their bare hands and that stupid Phily volunteers as a music teacher too.'

'Ass lickers' Willy scowled. He really hoped he could get in touch with all the tabloids and plant negative stories.

Despite this setback, Willy was happy to see that nature had won over nurture and George had demanded to change his name back from Philip, and had not given in to doing any philanthropy.

Over at the kitchen sink, Kate had enlisted help from Meg with the dishes.

'Right bitch, how we gonna get rid that busybody Phily?' Kate said licking a plate clean and handing it to Meg to dry with Phily's wedding dress, which she had mistaken for a dishcloth.

'Well H will be a breeze, when I passed him after I'd taken a dump this morning, I saw him slap his nethers', Meg said sneakily.

Kate cackled, 'today's the day you make your move, I'll distract Phily, you get him to kiss you, George will take a photo and tweet it to Piers Morgan and we're done!'

'How you gonna distract her?' Meg asked.

Kate winked at Meg. At least she tried, but she couldnt wink so she just blinked instead. 'Watch and learn from the master'.

Kate stumbled into the basket weaving area, clutching her stomach, 'oooh ouch owwww ooooh'.

Phily ran over immediately. With her medical degree, she could solve any problem, 'sister, whatever is the matter?'

Just then, Kate pulled up her skirt, revealing a small head. 'I-i-i-i'm giving birth!'

'WHAT THE FUCK!' Charlotte screamed.

Willy stayed where he was and said nonchlantly, 'you're preggers again?'

'What does it look like dipshit! Sorry Phily I dont mean to curse, it's just painful you know?'

Phily tried to understand, but in reality pain during childbirth is the one thing on earth she couldnt relate to, for hers was pain free.

Ushering Kate onto the handmade couch, Phily went into full midwife mode, sending Henri to get warm towels.

Kate blinked as a signal to Meg and she followed him up the ricketty staircase.

At the towel cupboard upstairs, Meg began to sob.

'Oh dear, Meghan, what be the matter?!' Henri asked with a genuine concern that his brother could never muster.

Meg sniffed, pulling out her best acting skills, 'oh it's just so emotional seeing new life coming into the world'

'There there' said Henri, patting her on the arm.

'Oh H!' she wailed, falling into his arms. She puckered up her lips and launched at his mouth. But before she could land the kiss, Henri turned his cheek.

Around the corner, George snapped the photo using a camera he'd stolen from 'that cry baby' photographer Garther Tedwards.

Although Henri's nethers were now beating like the Beychella marching band, his love for Phily overwhelmed him.

'Stop Meghan Markle! I beg of you', he hollered .

Meg was taken aback by his rejection, 'I'm so sorry H! Please forgive me'. She fled down the ricketty staircase.

Kate was on the couch legs akimbo screaming expletives at Willy, who was now reluctantly sitting next to his wife to assist with the birth.

"FUCK YOU!!!! DID I ASK YOU TO SIT NEXT TO ME YOU BASTARD/BITCH???? FUCK YOU CUNTHOLE!!! FUCK YOU!!!"

Willy chuckled to himslef as he remembered Henri's ex girlfriend, the beautiful Jimmu, who had now somehow possessed Kate.

"IF THIS FUNNY TO YOU NOW??? BLOODY CUNTING BITCH!!! FUCK YOU CUNT!!! FUCK OFF & SHOWVE YOUR HEAD UP YOUR ASS YOU CUNT!!! FUCKING WHORE!!! NOW YOUR OFF MY NICE LIST YOU CUNT!!!"

Meghan held up an X sign to show Kate the plan had failed, which didn't help the situation.

Shortly after, Henri emerged with George and Garthur's camera, trying to explain why stealing was wrong. Curiously, the Cambridge children were the only children in the entire world Henri could not make like him.

After a few long minutes, the baby was ready to come out. Kate pushed one more time and felt something drop onto the couch.

'Is it out?!!!' she yelled.

Phily checked, 'no sister, you've just passed your bowels. Not to worry, keep trying'.

Kate was enraged that Phily would suggest this. 'All I'm good for is making babies, you think I dont know the difference bitch! YOUR BORN A PAUPER & YET YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE YOU EWITH YOUR SHIT COMMENT??? FUCK OFF MOTHER FUCKER I DIDN’T ASK YOU"'

Phily, remaining calm, picked up the brown item with her bare hands, noting in her head that Kate should eat more fruit, and showed it to her.

Kate grabbed the excrement at once and threw it in Willy's face. This delighted Charlotte who danced around him in a circle chanting 'shit face, shit face'.

Finally, sick of being inside such a woman, the baby pushed itself out and landed in Phily's arms. 'William, Catherine - it's a boy', she beamed.

The Camridges faked happiness, but Henri and Phily were genuinely delighted.

'What will you call him?' Phily said, cradling the baby as Kate wanted to watch Real Housewives rather than hold him.

'Shit baby!' Charlotte suggested, but no one agreed.

'Well actually he could have a name related to his arrival' Willy said. 'How about Loo?'

'Loo is the British slang term for toilet' Henri explained to Meg.

'I have an idea!' Meg said. 'Louis - but like Loo - wee'. Kate shrugged in agreeement. 

'You want to name this cherub after a toilet and urine?' Phily asked, feeling sorry for the baby despite the fact he was biting her finger with his gummy mouth.

'You have a problem with my parenting decisions Phily?' Kate asked, almost threateningly.

'Never!' Phily gasped in horror. She would never dream of being so stupid as to judge a woman on what she named, or how she held her baby.

'Charlotte darling, why dont you sing a little song to celebrate Loowee's arrival' Willy said.

Charlotte immediately began a rendition of Lily Allen's 'Fuck you'.

"Fuck you Fuck you very, very much 'Cause your words don't translate And it's getting quite late So please don't stay in touch Do you get Do you get a little kick out of being slow-minded? You want to be like your father It's approval you're after Well that's not how you find it"

 ***Musical interlude***  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK4fJhbRL1g

---

Two days later, while Phily, Henri and Libby were on an engagement, Meghan finally got a chance to speak to Kate again. She had been busy watching the Real Housewives marathon and telling Loowee to pipe down.

'What we gonna do about H?' Meg asked. 'He's been avoiding me since Loowee's birth'

'It's obvious he's not gonna ditch that halfwit willingly. We gotta get rid of her - for good! It's time for drastic action'. Kate pressed her engagement ring, she had a button installed in it so it would send a shock up Willy's ass when she needed him.

Willy came running, 'yes babykins?'

'Gimme your phone'.

Willy handed it over relutantly. Kate opened his messages and found his conversation with someone only identified by a Rose emoji. She texted quickly - 'get 2 Nott Cott now'.

Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. When Meg opened it, a woman who could have been a Kate impersonator stood before her. 

'Meg, Rose, Rose, Meg' Kate said, not bothering with formal introductions. Willy looked sheepish in the corner (allegedly).

Meg didnt know who Rose allegedly was but she didn't care. She just wanted to know how she could help her ensnare H.

Kate explained the plan. 'As soon as Phily gets home, we're gonna feed her an apple dosed with botox. Phily is allergic to anything superficial so she'll become drowsy. That's where Rose comes in. She's a witch and with one kiss, Phily will be gone.'

Meg considered the implications of killing the future queen, but came to the conclusion it was worth it.

And so the plan was set. Meg wrote 'you are so loved Phily' on an apple and Kate injected it with the botox she always kept in her bra.

When Phily got home, she was full of the joys of spring. 'We met the most wonderful disadvantaged people today', she beamed. 'I just love saving people'.

Henri smiled lovingly at his wife, 'and they love you, belle'.

'Speaking of love!' Meg said. 'You must take this gift'. She handed her the apple and Phily was touched.

'How wonderful! I will eat it later' she said.

'No you must eat it now sister' Kate said, wearing a full hooded cloak.

'But it's time for dinner' said Phily.

'So what, eat it!' George said impatiently.

'Yeh Phily, why you gotta be so busybody?' Charlotte added.

'Oh no I really shouldnt' Phily said innocently.

'Just eat the fucking apple!' said a voice from the window. They all turned around and Philpot was riding past on his horse and cart.

'Well if grandfather says so' Phily said. She bit into the apple and immediately felt a little faint as the botox hit her pure blood.

Elegantly, she fell into Henri's big, strong arms.

'Mon amour!' Henri yelled, carrying her up the ricketty stairs swiftly.

'Oh no, what has happened?' Meg said. Her acting ability really was wasted on Suits.

'There must've been something artificial in the apple' Henri said, laying her on their handmade bed.

'How could there be?' said Kate. 'It's from your very own Orchard For the Hungry'.

Phily was still breathing but was confused.

Henri was devestated at the thought that his orchard might be to blame.

'It's ok Henners, I know a great doctor that is THE expert on allergies'. Meg said.

Just then there was a knock at the bedroom door and Rose allegedly entered wearing a white doctor's coat.

'Here she is now, this is Dr Rose, allegedly', Meg said.

Henri didnt have time to question how she got there so fast, so just said in a panicked voice, 'Dr Allegedly, please help my wife!'

'Everyone who is male and under 2 years of age must leave the room' said Rose.

'No I can not leave her!' Henri wailed, falling at Phily's bedside.

George at once knew it was his time to shine because his father was too dimwitted to defuse this situation.

'Uncle Henri, please could you tell me again why one should never dress as a member of a fascist, murdering political party? I just dont understand why it's so bad' George said sweetly.

Henri knew at once that his greater calling was to teach George right from wrong. It is what Phily would want.

He left the room with one last glance at Phily who was humming 'Once upon a dream'.

That left Kate, Meg, Rose, Charlotte and Phily.

'Get it done Rose!' whispered Kate.

'In order for the enchantment to work, you must all join hands and sing the death kiss soundtrack, the underrated classic 'Kiss from a rose' by Seal'.

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMD2TwRvuoU

Rose kissed Phily on the lips, as the others encircled them singing hypnotically.

A pink mist left Phily's mouth and was inhaled by Rose. 'It is done'.

There was a moment of silence before Kate fell at Rose's feet and looked deeply in her eyes as she sang.

"You remain

My power, my pleasure, my pain.

To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah

Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby.

But did you know, That when it snows,

My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen."

Meg gasped. She had been foolish. It was Kate who was allegedly having an affair with Rose, not allegedly Willy!

She didnt have time for that revelation now. She needed to check Phily was really gone.

Checking her pulse, she waited for a few moments until suddenly she felt it beat.

'Damn it Rose, she's alive!' Meg said, losing her temper.

'ARE YOU DUMB, BITCH??!' screamed Charlotte.

Rose rushed over from her alleged embrace with Kate, who had shed her cloak and was now in a real snake skin body suit.

She checked her pulse, and discovered Meg was correct. Her pulse was beating every 19.84 seconds - the year of Henri's birth.

'Oh fuck' Rose allegedly said. 'I've only heard about this happening in fairytales. When the love between husband and wife is pure, the kiss will not work to its full effect'.

Meg screamed into her hands. 'How can it be pure when H's nethers react to me?'

'That is simply a test from Jesu. The point is, Henri has resisted your advances, thus proving the purity of his love'. Rose explained to the room.

At this point, Charlotte lost it. She wanted to be back in her £4 million apartment, not this shitty dive.

'I don’t need a damn explanation about what she asked. Seriously do not act too smart about teaching me things. Asshole answer the question do not even try to be a bloody smart ass. Seriously pisses me off!!!' she yelled.

Rose looked at Kate quizically.

'A bout of Jimmutitus' Kate shrugged.

'What do we do?!' Meg said desperately.

'As long as Henri doesnt suck Phily's toe, the curse will remain in place and the princess will remain in a slumber forever' said Rose.

Kate stroked her chin, 'so technically, we could just SAY Phily's dead? As long as we keep any qualified medical staff away from her?'.

'I guess' Rose said. 'Can I go now?'.

'Yeah, bye', Kate said.

'How are we gonna keep everyone away from Phily?' Meg asked. 

By this point Kate was running out of patience with her co-conspirator and her incessant questions.

'HEY FUCKER, DID I ASK YOU ANYTHING???? DID I??? MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!!!' Kate screamed.

'Uh oh you've done it now' Charlotte sniggered.

Meghan was stunned, 'but I-i-i-i was just asking, we're running out of time'

'WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU BITCH FOR YOUR SHIT OPINION??? BLOODY FUCKING BITCH!!! GET A LIFE!!!'

'Ok ok I'm sorry Kate!'

'MAYBE IF YOU HAD SHUT THE FUCK UP I WOULDN'T BE SCOLDING YOU NOW!!! FUCKER!!! Just shut up and let me think'.

Kate closed her eyes and thought for approximately 10 seconds. In the meantime, Charlotte took off her sock and stuffed it in Meg's mouth to stop any more questions.

When Kate was done thinking, she strode over to the window and flung it open. Beneath her was the sprawling gardens of Kensington Palace.

She took a deep breath and yodelled out of the window 'EUUUUUUGBEEEEEEEEEEEEEA!!!!!!'

Meghan wanted to ask who Eugbea was but she didnt dare.

Within 5 seconds, a figure came running up the lawn. Charlotte leant on the window frame watching the woman run 'urgh her dress is SO tragic'.

'Meg get over here, lean your head back like this', Kate said.

Both woman stuck their heads out of the window and their hair tumbled to the ground.

When Eugbea reached the bottom of the window, she said 'I think I should go up the stairs'

'SHOVE WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!!! Get up here!' Kate hollered.

Eugbea knew better than to argue and began climbing up the wall using the hair as ropes. Finally she made it to the top and clambered into the bedroom.

As soon as she saw Phily lying unconscious on the bed, she let out an inhumane wail. Phily was like the sister Eugbea never had.

'There there, let it out' Kate said, patting her back, suddenly kind. Charlotte stood underneath her catching her tears in her hands.

As usual, Meghan was perplexed so Charlotte filled her in whispering 'this is Eugbea, a blood princess. Blood princesses cry diamond tears so I'm collecting them to make a cage for Phily.'

Meg didnt understand how Charlotte had worked all of this out in the minute that had gone past, but she wanted it to work so bad that she too patted Eugbea's back.

Eugbea turned around nervously at the touch, 'w-w-who are you?'

'No time for that' Kate said, poking her in the eye.

Eugbea cried even more until there were enough diamonds to build the cage.

At once, Charlotte threw the diamonds in the air and they cascaded down in the shape of a dome around Phily, creating a solid diamond barrier.

Once they had ensured nobody could get through it by repeatedly shoving Eugbea against it, Kate pushed her back out of the window and slammed it shut.

'We ready girls? Put on your best sad faces'. They all turned their smiles upside down and Kate pressed her engagement ring.

Willy came flying up the stairs with the boys and Libby. Henri stormed towards his love.

'What is this!' he asked in dismay, looking at Phily through the dome.

Meg began to cry dramatically, 'Dr Rose did everything she could but it wasnt enough, she's gone!!!'

Henri fell flat on his back like a plank, 'NoOoOoOoOoOoOoooooooOOOO!'

Libby ran over and began to sing 'Memory' from Cats in a beautiful operatic voice (the musical version, not the movie one because Libby had refined tastes).

"Touch meeeeee,

It is so easy to leave meeeeee

All alone with the memoryyyyyyyy

Of my days in the suuun

If you touch me,

You'll understand what happiness is

Look, a new day has beguuuuuuuuun"

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pm5w7gHEtJI

----

No public outcry was big enough for Phily. So the royal family decided to send her diamond tomb around the commonwealth via boat (not environmentally unfriendly jet) so her people could say goodbye personally. She was pulled over dying land on a horse and cart, and people threw seeds at her tomb instead of flowers. This meant that the land would become nourished once more.

Even when dead, Phily was working.

After 6 months of travelling, she returned to the UK and was placed in the Windsor Castle tomb with all the greatest kings and queens of England. Luckily for Meg, no one had noticed that Phily was indeed alive.

Henri was devestated but continued to work, alongside Libby.

The public love for Phily had meant that the Cambridges were provisionally forgiven and they moved back into KP on the condition that they undertook at least one engagement a year.

Meghan Markle had remained in Nottingham Cottage to support Henri while flying (not boating) back and forth to Canada to film her show Suits.

Meg had not tried to seduce Henri's nethers as she knew she must gain the public's trust first and act as a good friend.

But she couldnt wait any longer. Since Kate had moved home, she wanted nothing more to do with Meg, so she had concocted a new plan all by herself.

One evening, Henri was carving scultptures for the PPPCT - Princess Philanthropina Pauper Conservation Trust. Meg was in the kitchen roasting a chicken and wafting the smell towards Henri to replicate the cozy vibes Phily always managed to make.

'H, I was thinking for the 6 months anniversary of Phily's passing, we should have an event, the public need to be cheered up' she said, sounding philanthropic.

'A wonderful idea to think of the people of Britain and the commomwealth Meghan, what shall we do?'

'Mmmmmm, well what cheers the British more than anything?' she asked innocently.

'There are only 2 things that cheer Brits. Winning a sport and a royal wedding for a SENIOR member of the family', Henri said.

Meg smirked to herself, he'd bought it hook, line and sinker. 'We cant cheat in sport so maybe a royal wedding is our only option!'

'But we have no single members left that are loved enough' H said dumbly.

Meg rolled her eyes behind his back. 'Well you are single H, and no one is more loved than you!'

H gasped. 'I couldn't!'

Meg, wearing a British flag dress batted her eyelashes. 'Phily is gone and she'd want you to be happy. But she'd want you to make the British people happier'.

H thought for 1.5 seconds and decided she was right. He scolded himself for being selfish, Phily WOULD want him to serve the people above anything else.

'You're right Meghan, but who would I marry?'

'It's funny you asked because I found this in between Phily's reuable sanitary pads' she pulled out a ring box and opened it. Inside was a diamond engagement ring. 'Phily must have had it made, just in case this happened'.

H wept, 'oh my love was so kind!'.

Meg accidently on purpose dropped it on the floor and when Henri gallantly bent on one knee to pick it up, she yelled 'YES!'

'Um what?'

'YES I'LL MARRY YOU!' she grabbed Henri by the collar and pulled him into a hug, planting a big kiss on his perfect lips.

Henri was speechless. It seemed he had just proposed.

And just like that, Meghan Markle and Henri, the Prince of the People, were engaged to be married!

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 47: Darkness and Light

Masterlist 

Lucy was packing her bag to go home after spending the weekend with her family for Easter, when her mother knocked lightly and entered the room.

“Hey, mom.” Lucy said, not looking up from arranging her suitcase.

“Luce, we need to talk.” She said, sitting on the bed, and patting the spot next to her, indicating Lucy should sit too. “We’re worried about you. We don’t like seeing you like this. You’ve been short with everyone this weekend, and we tried to be understanding, but the kids don’t understand why auntie isn’t playing with them.”

“I’m fine mom.” Lucy defended. Her mother gave her a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “I am. I just...I just feel so stupid. At first I was hurt by Henry’s words, but now I just feel stupid. I actually thought a guy like that would love someone like me. I was living in a fantasy land.”

“Honey, I have no doubt that Henry loved you. The way he looked at you when you weren’t looking, the way he looked after you. You’d make an off-hand comment about something, and he’d make it a reality. But sometimes love isn’t enough. What’s that line from that movie you watched over and over in high school; the Cinderella one?”

“A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?” Lucy recited, and gave a small smile.

“Exactly. So please don’t think that Henry didn’t love you. But relationships don’t always work out, no matter how much we’d like them to.”

“Thanks mom. I’m sorry I’ve worried you guys.”

“Honey, that’s what family is for.” Marie smiled, embracing her daughter tightly.

Over the next weeks, Lucy employed a “fake it til you make it” attitude. She projected a happier demeanor, and in turn started to feel better, by infinitesimal degrees, but better nonetheless. She wasn’t sleeping well, when she slept she dreamt of Henry, but she slowly began to re-enter her life as an active participant.

Luckily for Lucy, April was a hectic month. Prom planning was in full swing, and the kids were driving her nuts with details. They kept her so busy that she could fall into an exhausted sleep so deep that she didn’t dream. By the time prom week actually rolled around, Lucy was thinking she might actually survive the school year intact.

While Lucy was finding her way to the light, Henry was sinking deeper into the dark. After finding Lucy’s letter, he started to withdraw from everyone. Before finding the letter he had himself convinced he was doing what was best for Lucy. She could forget about him, and eventually find someone else to fall in love with and marry. But now he wanted nothing more than to lock himself away where he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

Unfortunately, his life would not allow him to become the hermit he so desired to be. He was a successful actor with a movie to be released soon. Dany had, after discovering his schedule suddenly wide open, scheduled him to several entertainment magazine interviews, radio interviews, and entertainment blog interviews. Normally Henry actually enjoyed doing press for his films, it gave him a chance to show his personality, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to be charming.

After the third in what was to be a string of interviews, Dany came to the hotel suite he was living in.

“Henry, what’s wrong?” She asked, brushing past him into the room.

“Hello to you too Dany.” Henry said to the air.

“Henry, I’ve gotten complaints from the editors of both the interviews you’ve given that you’re not answering questions, you’re uninterested, and I caught that radio interview this morning. I’ve never known you to mumble, but I could barely make out a word you said. So I ask you, what is wrong with you? Is this some sort of delayed reaction from your break-up with the teacher? You were fine a month ago.”

“I’m just not feeling the interview circuit right now.” Henry replied, looking out the window.

“Well, you better start feeling it. Someone from the studio caught your radio interview today, and they’re not pleased. You need to put more effort into being your regular charming self, or the studio is going to take action.” She threatened.

Henry did eventually start to “play nice” at the interviews, but refused to “play the game” as Dany called it. He didn’t go out and “be seen,” he had no desire to go to the clubs and parties and make small talk with people he barely knew.

He kept Lucy’s letter in his wallet. He read it every night before laying down to stare at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Images of Lucy crying kept him awake. He turned to whiskey and beer to dull the pain of knowing what he’d thrown away.

Dany Garcia stared at the glass doors in front of her. If she wasn’t positive that this would help, she wouldn’t have flown and driven herself across the country to this middle of nowhere town. Now here she was, staring at a small school with students streaming out the front door. The littlest ones wearing backpacks bigger than themselves. The oldest carrying maybe a book and a jacket. It was late April and 55 degrees, she was freezing, and these kids weren’t even wearing coats. “Minnesota is such an odd place,” she thought to herself.

She was happy to see she’d timed it right to arrive at the end of the school day. It would give her time to talk to Lucy without many interruptions. She entered the building, checked in at the office, and was directed to Ms. Claussen’s room.

She followed the directions and found the room easily. The door was open. Dany looked in and saw Lucy sitting at her desk. She was surprised at the changes she noticed. This was not the same happy, smiley woman she’d met in January. This woman had dark circles under her eyes, and a frown on her face. Even her hair seemed duller than before. Dany knocked on the door, as she walked in.

“Un minuto.” Lucy said without looking up, continuing to type at speed on her keyboard. When she finished, she looked up expectantly “What’cha need…” she trailed off seeing Dany standing in the room. “What are you doing here?” She asked coldly.

“I’m here on behalf of my client.” Dany said, slowly walking toward Lucy’s desk.

“What? Does he want the earrings back that he gave me, or the necklace? He can have them, it’s costing me a fortune to insure the damn things. It’ll take me a day or so, I don’t have my safe deposit box key with me.” Lucy said, her anger starting to build.

“No. I’m not here to get back any presents.” Dany said confused. “I came to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. Tell your client,” she practically spat the word, “that if he wants to know how I’m doing, my phone number hasn’t changed.” Dany was confused by Lucy’s tone. She seemed angry simply hearing about Henry. Something wasn’t adding up.

“He doesn't know that I’m here. I came because he’s hurting. He’s been in a very bad place since you two split. He’s been fulfilling all of his contractual obligations, but people are noticing that he’s phoning in his appearances. I think you’re the solution to his current ennui. I came to see if you would be willing to take our boy back. He hasn’t been the same since the split. He’s in Los Angeles right now, Can I book you a ticket for this weekend?”

“Are you shitting me?” Lucy asked incredulously, standing to look the woman in the eye. “Now, Ms. Garcia. I understand that your loyalty is to your client, but honestly, what kind of woman not only suggests that another woman get back together with a man who broke her heart, but suggests that I chase after him to beg him to take me back. I may not be some millionaire Hollywood starlet, but I do at least have my pride.”

Dany’s head spun. It was all starting to come together now. “He broke your heart? Are you telling me that he broke off the relationship?”

“Yes. He told me one day out of the blue that our ‘lives were too different, that this couldn’t work’ then he picked-up his bags and left. I haven't heard from him since.”

“That’s very enlightening. So the break-up was not your idea.”

“Isn’t that what I’ve said?” Lucy asked caustically, losing what little patience she had remaining.

“But you still love him. Would you consider taking him back?”

Dany watched as the woman in front of her deflated, losing all of the fire that, just a second ago, had been directed at her. Lucy leaned forward, bracing her hands on her desk, her head dropping.

“Dany, yes I loved him. But as I said, he broke my heart. I’m not sure I’m willing to put myself through that pain again. The whispers are just starting to die down, I’m sure they’ll pick back up when the next round of interviews and TV appearances start. My life hasn’t changed, and it isn’t going to. I’m a highschool teacher. I live in Minnesota, and I’m very close to my family. What I had with Henry was great, but I don’t know if my heart could survive if he decided that we weren’t compatible again. Now, I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but I don’t think I have anything else to say to you.”

“Well, thank you for even speaking to me. Good luck with everything Lucy.” Dany turned to leave. She had just reached the door when Lucy asked quietly.

“How is he?”

“He’s miserable.” Dany said plainly.

“Well, that makes me feel a little better.” Lucy smiled tremulously.

Dany’s head swam with the new information she’d acquired. It would seem Henry had not been honest with her. On her way out of the building, a flyer caught her eye. She took one, forming an idea she hoped would work.

Dany stayed in Minnesota that night, before flying back to Los Angeles the following morning. When she arrived, her first stop was Henry’s hotel room. She knocked, and received no reply. She knocked again, and still got no response. She decided she’d try one more time, before getting management to let her in. Just as she was about to turn from the door, it swung open. Henry stood glaring at her through bloodshot eyes from under a three day growth of stubble. “What?” Was all he said.

“Good morning to you too.” She said cheerfully, pushing past him into the room. It was dark, and stank of stale beer and staler man. He followed her into the room and shrank back as she opened the curtains to the bright California sun. He sat on one of the couches holding his head.

“Why don’t you tell me why the hell you’re here, so I can go back to bed.”

“Henry, it’s 2:00 in the afternoon. You don’t need to go back to sleep.” She crossed the room to him and raising her hand, smacked him in the back of the head.

“What the bloody hell was that for?”

“You’ve been lying to me. I don’t like being lied to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’ve been moping around this hotel room for 2 weeks, only coming out to grumble your way through an interview. The studio is breathing down my neck to get you to shape-up. I needed to do something. I’ve spent the last 24 hours flying and driving, hoping maybe your teacher could cure this funk you’ve fallen into.”

“You saw Lucy? How is she?” Henry interrupted her.

“Yes, I saw her She told me to tell you she’s fine. Though she’s obviously not. I don’t think she’s sleeping much. But I was less interested in her appearance, than what she told me. She told me that you broke up with her. Now how can this be? If you were the one to break off this relationship, why the hell are you so miserable?”

“I love her. Loved her.” He corrected himself. “I’m not allowed to mourn the loss of a love.”

“Of course you are, but you told me that she was the one who instigated the break. If you still love her, why the hell did you break-up?”

Henry wasn’t in the right mindset to argue, so he told her the truth. “Dany, you should have seen her in the classroom. She’s a natural. She was in her element. The kids love her, and she genuinely cares about them. And with her family. They’re so close, and she loves them so much. She told me her niece and nephew are her world. How could I take her away from all of that, because if we got married, I’d expect that she’d move to London with me, it’s where I’m based. So I gave her some line about our lives not being compatible, which is really the truth, and I left her.” Dany watched his face fall even more as he recounted the whole situation. She smacked his head again.

“Henry, Henry, Henry. You stupid man. Did you ask her what she wanted? No of course you didn’t. You just unilaterally decided that this was the way it had to be, and that was that. Tell me, have they done away with all of the schools in England? Do phones no longer do video chat? Do phone lines not reach across the ocean? Have you fallen into some sort of financial distress that I’m unaware of that would make flying from London to Minnesota impossible?” Dany berated him, making his entire decision seem insane.

“I just want her to be happy.”

“Well, she’s not. And neither are you. You need to talk to her. Tell her what you just told me. If you both decide then that you’re not meant to be, then so be it, but give the girl a chance. She’s a strong modern woman. You could do a lot worse.”

Henry leaned back on the couch, his hands running over his face. “Dany, don’t you think I know that? She’s amazing and I let her go.” He picked up Lucy’s letter from the bedside table  and handed in to Dany. “I found this in my suitcase when I was home for Easter” Henry stood to look out over downtown Los Angeles, his eyes staring unseeing into the distance while his agent read the words Lucy had written.

“What conversation is she talking about?” Dany asked.

“I asked her to marry me.” He said quietly.

“Say again. You what?!” Dany asked, sure she’d heard him wrong.

He turned from the window to address her. “Christmas Eve, I asked her to marry me. She said no. Her reasoning was sound, she thought we didn’t know each other well enough, but it still hurt me. The longer I stayed with her in Minnesota, the deeper I felt myself falling. I started to actually think about what being married would mean. And what if I asked her again, and she turned me down again. I don’t know if my heart could handle that.” he explained, his voice strained with emotion as he sank onto the sofa.

“Henry, that’s what love is. You’re giving someone else the power to hurt you, and then trusting them enough not to. Do you still love her?”

“Of course I do.”

“More importantly, do you want to be with her?” Dany asked, sitting down next to Henry.

Henry met Dany’s eyes, “more than anything.”

“Then you’re going to have to do something. She still loves you.”

“What time is it? I’ll call her.” He said, hope entering his eyes. Dany smacked his head again.

“Would you stop hitting me?!” He exclaimed, rubbing his head.

“When you’re done being stupid, I will. But you’re being stupid again. This isn’t a conversation you have over the phone. You have to have this one face to face. And honestly, with the way you’ve acted, you’re probably going to need to do some groveling in order to get her to even talk to you.”

“My schedule is booked for the next week at least.”

“I have an idea about that.” She said producing the flyer she took from the school. Henry’s face split into a grin which Dany hadn’t seen in far too long.

Four days after her unexpected visit from Henry’s agent, Lucy was up to her ears in hairspray, tulle, and glitter. The culmination of her students’ entire year of planning had arrived,  prom.

“Emma, thank you so much for being my date for the night. We need all the chaperones we can get.” Lucy said, straightening a young man’s bowtie.

“Of course, you know I love the kids, and it’s fun to see them outside of school. How are you holding up?”

“I’m exhausted. We decorated all day here yesterday, then last night at the hotel. But after tonight it’s all over.”

“No, I meant how are you doing?”

“I know you did, I’m fine.”

“It’s been almost 8 weeks, honey. I’m worried about you.”

“I was actually doing fine, if you remember, then that woman had to show up. But worry about me tomorrow. Tonight, we need to keep this herd of animals off the booze and off each other.”

The students all gathered at the school to participate in Grand March; a chance for the community to see the students in all of their finery. Just before the event was set to begin, Lucy changed into her Starry Night dress, slipped the opal earrings Henry had given her into her ears, and fastened the necklace around her neck. She couldn’t help but recall the last time she’d worn these jewels, and how happy she’d been. She had debated whether or not to wear Henry’s gifts, but Emma had insisted she wear them. How many opportunities would she have to wear something so extravagant, and while the jewelry was a bit over the top for prom, it made her look sparkly on the outside, even if she didn’t quite feel sparkly on the inside.

Lucy took her place behind the podium on the stage in the gym, the spotlight all but blinding her. She cued the student sound tech backstage to start the music that had been chosen to announce the couples. The students walked to the center of the stage, meeting in the middle, then descending the stairs to the gym floor together. They paraded in front of the crowd stopping frequently for photos.

After the Grand March concluded and pictures had been taken, the students boarded busses for the 20 minute ride to the local hotel whose ballroom was serving as venue for the dinner and dancing portion of the evening. Lucy ensured that all the students had exited the busses before mounting the stairs to the second floor ballroom. She found all of the attendees standing on the stairs.

“Why are we just standing here? Let’s get this party started.” Lucy cheered with false excitement in her voice.

“Ummm…Ms. C? There’s someone here that wants to talk to you.” One of the students called from the front.

What now, was all Lucy could think. Was the hotel mad they’d taped decorations to the walls? What could possibly need her attention right now?

She worked her way through the throng of kids to the top of the stairs, and froze. There stood Henry, in a suit, holding a bouquet of tulips. Lucy was speechless for a moment before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Ryan gave it a quick squeeze. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and collected herself. She turned to the students standing expectantly behind her.

“Ok, so you all, go into the Ballroom. Mr. Williams, would you please take care of...whatever needs to be taken care of. I’ll be in when I can.”

“You do what you need to do, we’ve got this.” He gave her shoulder another reassuring squeeze before leading the kids into the ballroom. Henry waved at a few of the kids that acknowledged him, while her drama students gave him an exaggerated cold shoulder. Lucy noticed more than one phone pointed in Henry’s direction, this was going to be all over Instagram in under 3 minutes. Emma came to stand beside her.

“What do you think he wants?” Lucy asked, panic starting to build in her voice.

“I don’t know. But he’s got your favorite flowers, that’s always a good sign. Hear him out though. Men are stupid, and sometimes it takes them a while to realize they've been stupid.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on your side, and you’ve been miserable for 2 months. You owe it to yourself to hear what he has to say. Then if you’re not satisfied, you can kick him to the curb, and at least get some closure on this relationship.”

Once the lobby area had cleared, Emma entered the ballroom shooting icicles at Henry the entire way, and Lucy finally approached him. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep her hands from shaking.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked expressionless.

“I came to see you. You look amazing. You’re wearing my earrings.” He said, reaching out to touch her. She evaded his hand, he pulled it back as though he had been burned.

“What do you want, Henry? I’m working.”

“Is there someplace we can talk?” He looked around.

“I don’t particularly want to talk to you right now, or ever really.” She said turning to walk to the ballroom.

“Please, hear me out. Will you just listen to me?” He asked grabbing her arm.

She looked down at his hand, then back to his face with a look that could freeze boiling tea. He let go. “If I let you talk, will you leave? Leave me to work.”

“Yes, if that’s what you want, I will go, but please will you listen to me?”

“Fine.” She stalked in the direction of the hospitality room the school had reserved to store decorations and prizes. She opened the door and entered, not waiting to see if he was following.

She stood in the middle of the room, and looked at him expectantly. “Well.” She said in the teacher voice she’d used the first day they met. Despite his nerves, Henry couldn’t stop the small smile from crossing his face. The ice that entered her eyes froze his smile before it could grow.

“I love you.”

“You love me?” Lucy asked incredulously. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Would you let me talk? Lucy. I love you. I know what I said, that our lives weren’t compatible. And really they’re not, but I was only thinking of myself. I started thinking about a real future with you, then I saw how you were with your students, and your family, and...I just couldn’t live with taking you away from all of that. I love you too much, and want you to be happy.”

“So you broke-up with me? How exactly was that supposed to make me happy?” Her words were angry, but she could feel her heart starting to melt infinitesimally.

“In the short term, it wouldn’t. But I thought you would find someone whose life is more like yours. Who you could be with and stay with your family, and your students.”

“Henry, yes, I love my family, and I love teaching, but none of that would change if I didn’t live here. There’s video chats, and phone calls, and airplanes.” Whose side was she on? Lucy asked herself. She was supposed to be angry, not explaining how they could be together.

“Dany, said all of that and more. She called me stupid, and she hit me.” He gave a short laugh at the memory.

“Well, you deserve it.” Lucy replied, a small smile cracking the icy mask of her face. That small crack gave Henry’s spirit the lift he needed.

“Lucy. I love you. Please can you give me another chance? I can promise to love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything else.”

“Are you going to talk to me? Or are you going to make decisions that affect both of us?”

“We’ll talk. I’ll never leave you out of any decision making process that would affect both of us,” he promised. “But you’d take me back?” He asked, hope shining across his face.

In response she opened her arms, leaned into him, and sighed. He wrapped his arms around her in a lovingly crushing embrace that Lucy felt gluing the pieces of her broken heart back together. She pulled away slightly to look up at his face. He brought his hands up to cup her face and brought his lips down to hers. God he had missed her. Her lips were warm and welcoming, it was like coming home. He felt he could stand there forever, just drinking her in. When he pulled away, to rest his forehead against hers, they were both breathing heavily. He lowered his head to kiss her again, when she put her finger to his lips.

“Don’t think this means all is forgiven. You’re on probation.”

“Of course.” He agreed, trying to kiss her again and she evaded.

“You need to answer a question for me.” She demanded very seriously.

“Anything.” He replied getting worried.

“Did you sleep with that actress you were dating?”

Henry’s relief was so complete he released the breath he’d been holding on a laugh.

“That wasn’t real. That was set-up by our respective publicists. We spent maybe three days together, nothing more than holding hands for the paparazzi. She needed some good press, and we thought it would do me some good to be in the papers as well.”

“I was so hurt when I saw those pictures. I was trying to avoid any sort of entertainment news, but it’s everywhere. I felt like I didn’t really mean anything to you, that you could jump into a new relationship so quickly.”

“I’m sorry it hurt you. If it makes you feel better, I was hurting on the inside just as much. I’ve missed you terribly.” This time when he leaned down for a kiss, she met him halfway, running her hands up his chest to loop around his neck and bring him closer. He lowered his hands to her hips, tugging her closer to fit against him. Henry broke free from the kiss, only to begin raining kisses along Lucy’s jaw and neck. Her head lolled back on a moan.

There was a brief knock on the door, before it swung open. Emma entered. Lucy and Henry jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Lucy blushed adorably. “I take it this means you’re taking him back?” Emma asked sardonically looking from one to the other then back again. “I should be upset that my date is making out with somebody else, but I think I’ll get over it. Are you going to come chaperone this event, miss class adviser?”

“Oh god! What are the kids going to think?” Lucy asked covering her face with her hands.

“Well, I’ll tell you, you’re definitely the talk of dinner. It’s almost time for our table to be served, if you want to eat.”   

“We really should get out there.” Lucy said starting for the door, when Emma stopped her.

“You’re going to want to put yourself back together. You’ve been in here for almost 20 minutes. You can’t go out there looking rumpled. Take a minute. I’ll be outside.” And she exited.

Lucy turned to Henry and laughed. She walked over to him, swiping her thumb across his lips, and coming up with a sample of her lipstick. “You straighten yourself, and think cold thoughts. I’ll put myself to rights in the bathroom.” Lucy gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, and her hair had come half down from it’s pins. She righted it, and her face before exiting.

“Come on, honey, let’s get going.” She said extending her hand to him.

“You want me to stay?” Henry asked.

“Oh honey, of course you’re staying. First of all because I want you here, but second this is part of dating a teacher; attending events like this. Consider this part of your probation. And by the way, you’re going to dance with me. And if any of my girls ask, you’ll dance with them too. You’ll take as many selfies as the kids want. This is their night. Prepare to be a chaperone.” She laughed, taking his hand and leading him to the ballroom.

Chapter 46             Chapter 48

[swimmingwolf59]

I am He as You are He as You are Me

(A/N) Hey guys, sorry this took so long! My mental health took a turn for the worst yesterday so I didn’t get as much done as I wanted to, but I feel much better today and was able to crank this out for you all! I had a lot of fun writing it – body swapping is one of my absolute favorite tropes EVER!! I wanted to write more honestly, but it felt like it was already getting out of hand, and I wanted to focus on pynch since, you know, pynchweek xD Who knows though, maybe I’ll come back to this universe someday :P

Anyway, hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!! I know technically pynchweek is over soon, but I still have another two entries that’ll be coming your way hopefully soon!

P.S. Cabeswater is a prankster change my fucking mind

I.

It all started when Gansey suggested they go camping.

Instead of wanting to camp in a national park of some kind like a normal person, Gansey wanted to camp in Cabeswater. His logic was that they always wanted to explore it and start trying to make a map, so why not spend a full two days there, submerged in the forest, learning its ways? At the time, everyone had been enthusiastic about the idea.

They might not have been if they’d known what was going to happen.

It started out fine. They spent the day wandering and mapping and getting lost in nature. At one point, Ronan found himself physically lost in nature with Adam; though they were the Greywaren and the Magician respectively, neither of them asked for Cabeswater to help guide them. There was a part of Ronan that enjoyed being lost in the woods with Adam, and it seemed like Adam might feel the same way.

They’d been skirting this…thing between them for some time now. Neither of them liked to mention it directly. They both knew it was happening, and they both played the game, but neither of them had tried to win it. Ronan no longer looked away when Adam caught him staring at him, but he didn’t do anything more either; he was afraid to, afraid that the teasing and smiles that Adam gave him would go away if he did.

But here, right now, in Cabeswater’s warm protection, it felt like anything could happen.

“Aha!” Adam exclaimed suddenly and hurried forward. Once he reached the tree, he slammed his palm on its trunk and turned to Ronan triumphantly. “See? I told you we’d eventually pass this tree more than five times.”

It was a strange tree, but that was what made it so wonderful: it was an oak tree, but somewhere along the way in its growth it had become twisted and convoluted until it grew every which way. One of the trunks had grown completely horizontal for a while before suddenly jarring upwards at a 45-degree angle and then straightening out again. The horizontal bit looked like it made a good bench to sit on, if one was willing to try and climb up to it.

Ronan had bet Adam they wouldn’t pass it more than five times on their lost adventures. The loser had to try and climb the tree.

“You just want to see me fall on my ass, don’t you Parrish?” Ronan scoffed but shirked off his shirt and began climbing the tree.

It was actually quite easy, considering how weird the angles were: there were ridges and cavities bored into the trunks by animals or insects, making perfect handholds for climbing. The only times Ronan got stuck was when the trunk turned in a really acute angle, which forced him to shimmy around to the other side of the trunk so he could climb more safely.

But he made it, and when he did he stood on the flat surface triumphantly. “Ha! Bet you can’t make it up here, Parrish!”

Adam was already at the base of the tree, his hands on the trunk and his eyes gleaming with challenge as he stared up at Ronan. “What do I get if I make it there?”

“…I’ll tell you my deepest, darkest secret,” Ronan said, because Adam looked gorgeous staring up at him like that in his natural forest element and it felt like anything could happen.

Adam hesitated for only a second before taking off his shirt and beginning to eagerly hoist himself up the tree. It wasn’t often that Ronan offered his secrets for such a cheap price, after all, and Adam was a sucker for bargains.

Ronan carelessly draped himself across the tree ledge as he watched Adam climb. This was a prize in itself, really – watching Adam’s muscles move with no clothes to block his imagination. He watched the sweat gleam off of his tan skin and imagined licking it off of him, imagined what it would taste like, imagined what kind of noise Adam would make as he did it, imagined how his breath would stutter under his tongue.

It was dangerous, letting himself think these thoughts when Adam was so close. There was no telling what he might do.

But then again, he knew Adam was an excellent climber. And he knew exactly what he was going to tell him when he made his way up here.

Adam didn’t make Ronan wait long. He dragged himself onto the ledge quicker than Ronan had, pushing Ronan’s legs aside to make room for himself to sit down. He was panting lightly and his skin gleamed even brighter under the light filtering in from the canopy now that he was closer to Ronan. And he smelled wonderful, too, like the crushed needles of a grand fir.

This was dangerous.

“Alright, Lynch,” Adam said when he caught his breath. “What’s the secret?”

He was looking at Ronan in a way that made it impossible to doubt how he felt. They’d been playing this game together all along, and yet neither of them had quite believed they were both playing the same game. Ronan believed it now; looking at Adam like this, so close to him, and smelling that citrusy scent, he could believe anything.

So he sat up, cupped Adam’s cheek in his hand, and kissed him.

When he pulled back, Adam had a small smile on his face. “Oh. That? That’s not a secret – I already knew about that.”

“Asshole,” Ronan growled through a laugh, but didn’t pull away when Adam leaned in to kiss him again.

Suddenly, the light disappeared. It was so abrupt that it made both of them jump and nearly fall backwards out of the tree. The stars started to break through the total darkness, much faster than they would normally, and eventually one burned so bright that it cast a dim light over Ronan and Adam.

Ronan straightened into a defensive posture. “Horror movie setting.”

“Romantic candlelight,” Adam corrected.

They stared at each other. And then they burst out laughing.

“Cabeswater, you little shit,” Ronan gasped. The trees shook around them and it felt like they were laughing, too.

“I feel like Cabeswater’s become more playful lately,” Adam said, leaning forward to kiss his way up Ronan’s jaw. He whispered into Ronan’s ear, “It really does take after you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan growled, a shiver slicing up his spine. He gingerly placed his hands on Adam’s chest, let his fingers splay out across his ribs. “But yeah, next thing we know it’s going to be playing practical jokes on us.”

“Oh God, I can’t even imagine what it’ll come up with,” Adam laughed, but they didn’t waste time on speculating.

Instead, they sat in that tree and kissed and kissed until they had utterly lost all track of time, not that time worked normally in Cabeswater anyway. They kissed until their lips were bruised and they had traced over almost every inch of their bodies with their fingers, touching and probing. In a way, they were doing their own kind of mapping; exploring and worshipping and finding out what touch and where made the other gasp.

And in the background, Cabeswater changed the ambience to fit their moods. It increased and decreased the light when it thought it was necessary, changed the colors around them, blew wind across their fevered skin when it felt like the heat was too much to bear. At one point it sounded like a song whistled through the trees, but Ronan couldn’t catch what song it was before Adam distracted him by biting down on his skin.

It was magical. It was perfect.

But eventually, they parted, knowing their friends would worry if they didn’t find their way back soon. Ronan could hardly breathe; he felt like he’d been underwater for hours.

“We should’ve done that months ago,” Adam said as they caught their breaths and carefully picked their way down from the tree.

Years, Ronan almost said, but he didn’t really want Adam to know just how long he’d been playing their game.

They put on their shirts and walked back to the campsite hand-in-hand, Cabeswater showing them the way now that they both wanted to head back. Ronan’s palm was entirely too sweaty—despite how long they’d spent making out, he was nervous about handholding of all things, Blue would never let him live it down if she found out—and he prayed that Adam couldn’t tell.

That night, they all roasted marshmallows and made s’mores, Ronan teaching Adam how to get it just right since he had never done anything like that before. Gansey told stories about Glendower and Henry told Korean horror stories and Blue talked about the endangered rainforests. Ronan made up stupidly hilarious stories about Declan and Adam made up hilariously stupid stories about Declan until they were all rolling around laughing.

But eventually everyone started to get tired, and they all retired to their tents. Gansey, Blue, and Henry were sharing a tent that was barely big enough to fit the three of them while Ronan and Adam had each brought their own. After the events of today, though, Ronan wondered if he really had to sleep alone.

Poking his head out, and watching Adam struggle to fix a shitty pole on his tent, he barked, “Your tent is actual garbage Parrish, just get the fuck in here.”

“It’s good enough,” Adam protested, like the stubborn asshole he was.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I’ll make Cabeswater knock it down at night if you don’t get in here.”

Adam glared at him, but after a moment of a locked stare-down he must’ve realized what Ronan’s true reasons for wanting him in his tent were because he threw the poles onto the ground, stalked over to Ronan’s tent, and forced himself inside.

Ronan’s tent was humongous, so there was no reason to lay close to each other, but they pretended that wasn’t true and curled close together anyway. It was too hot to be in their sleeping bags so they slept on top of them, staring at each other in the faint light.

Adam moved first, tossing his leg up over Ronan’s.

It was more or less easy after that; they knocked limbs and shoved each other around until they settled into a comfortable, tangled position. Adam’s legs were hooked around Ronan’s knees and Ronan had his arm thrown around Adam’s waist and his face shoved into his neck. It was still too hot for this behavior, but they pretended that wasn’t true, either.

Instead, Ronan pressed closer to Adam.

This was how it should be.

 II.

The next morning, Ronan woke up next to Gansey, not Adam.

Rearing back, he flailed, trying to wrench himself out of his sleeping bag. His body felt weird and disproportionate and he couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten into Gansey’s tent. And actually, why the hell was he in his sleeping bag?! It had been hot as hell when he’d gone to sleep!

But holy shit, had kissing Adam been a dream? Had he kissed Gansey in some fever-induced haze?!

In his panic, Ronan accidentally knocked Gansey in the knee with his foot, causing Gansey to sleepily blink his eyes open. “…Blue?”

…Blue?! He knew Gansey was blind without his glasses or contacts, but holy shit! Wait…Blue? Gansey almost never called Blue Blue.

“I’m not—!” Ronan shouted but stopped because that was not his voice. It had come out higher-pitched and…womanly.

Glancing down warily, things started to click into place: he was wearing some kind of weird nightgown that looked like it had started off its life as a sparkly blue bath curtain. His skin was dark and long hair drooped down into his face from where part of it was clipped up. The nails of the foot he’d kicked Gansey with were covered in neon yellow nail polish.

He was also about five feet tall.

…Oh fuck no.

“Blue, how did you get in my tent? Where’s Ronan?” Gansey asked, and Ronan suddenly realized with growing horror that Gansey wasn’t Gansey either. He had to be…

“…Parrish?” Ugh, he couldn’t get used to talking in Blue’s voice.

Gansey—no, Adam—scrunched his eyebrows together. “Why are you calling me—?”

And then it seemed to occur to him that something was off. He glanced down at himself, blanched, and glanced up at Ronan. “…What the fuck? Blue, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know, I am too. I’m not Sargent by the way,” Ronan growled.

Adam squinted at him. “Lynch?”

“Unfortunately.”

Adam squinted at him some more before he rolled onto his back and started hooting with laughter. It was unsettling watching Gansey’s body laugh so uproariously at someone else’s suffering.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ronan hissed and attempted to kick him. It felt like there was no power behind his tiny limbs. “You’re literally fucking Gansey right now.”

“Yeah, but—” Adam could barely speak through his laughter. “You’re Blue.”

Ronan growled and decided he’d had enough of this, so he threw himself out of the tent. As he stomped outside, he saw Adam climb out of Ronan’s tent. Except, it couldn’t really be Adam, because Adam was currently inside Gansey.

“Bluebird?” was the horrific thing that came out of Adam’s mouth.

Oh God it was Henry.

“…What in the world is going on…?” a familiar voice said as someone else climbed out behind Henry.

…Oh God that was his body climbing out of his tent over there.

Ronan didn’t know how to process any of this. It was unreal; it was somehow stranger than anything else they’d ever faced before. For a while he just stood there, stupefied, as he watched his body slowly approach him. “…Jane?”

“No, that’s Ronan,” Adam said as he finally joined everyone outside the tent. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I think we should figure out who’s in who’s body to avoid any more confusion. I’m Adam.”

“And I’m Henry,” Adam’s body said.

“I’m Gansey, but…” Ronan’s body said as he thumbed at his lip. Ronan decided that he hated watching Gansey’s habits manifesting on his body. “I’m sorry, but am I Ronan right now?”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Ronan snapped at him.

Gansey shook out his legs. “I’m not used to being this tall.”

Ugh, Ronan was getting a headache watching his own body do stuff.

“Cabeswater, what the fuck?!” Ronan shouted at the sky, already done with this nonsense. “Change us back!”

Nothing happened.

“Cabeswater!” Gansey—no, Adam, fuck this was confusing—shouted. “Change us back!”

Again, nothing happened.

“What the shit?!” Ronan hissed.

“Maybe it’s not listening because we’re not in the bodies of the Greywaren or the Magician,” Adam speculated.

“But it did this to us – shouldn’t it be the only one not confused?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t purposeful,” Gansey said. Ronan did not like looking at his own body talking like an old person. It was just wrong. “Here, I’ll try – Cabeswater, uhh…”

Ronan had to acidly supply him with the Latin. When Gansey stumbled over the pronunciations, but more or less said it, however, Cabeswater still did nothing.

“…We should ask Fox Way about this,” Adam said eventually.

“Great,” Ronan grumbled.

Gansey looked over at him, amused. “You may have to live there for a while, Ronan, considering you’re Jane right now.”

Ronan reared back. “Oh fuck no—”

Just then, Henry, presumably Blue, crawled out of the tent and glanced around at all of them. She stared for a good minute before saying eloquently, “Well this is fucked.”

 III.

Of course, the women at 300 Fox Way had known immediately what was happening.

Maura opened the door in a fit of hysterics. “I must say you kids certainly get yourselves into a lot of strange situations!”

“How can you laugh about this?” Blue demanded. She pointed at Ronan. “Ronan’s in my body!!”

Adam snorted. “You have to admit that’s really funny.”

“I don’t think it’s very funny,” Calla hissed, appearing out of nowhere and latching onto Ronan’s shoulder, her hand like a claw. “How dare you inhabit Blue’s precious body, snake.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to fucking be here either,” Ronan growled, attempting to shove her off. A horrible thought occurred to him suddenly and he turned to Blue. “Oh God, you’re not on your period are you?”

Calla smacked him in the back of the head as she withdrew her hand. Blue glared at him, though most of the heat of it was lost in translation to Henry’s face. “No, God, why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t want to fucking deal with that! I already have to deal with having…woman parts.” Ronan shuddered at the thought.

“Oh, poor you,” Blue snapped as she crossed her arms. “I hope my period does start when you’re in my body, just to spite you; then you’d know how awful it is.”

Ronan bared his teeth at her but, before he could say anything, Gansey stepped forward. It went against all laws of nature that Ronan’s body was attempting to mediate conflict. “Ms. Sargent, do you have any ideas on why this has happened or how we can fix it?”

“How many times have I told you to call me Maura – none of that ‘Ms. Sargent’ crap,” Maura snapped. Ronan shuddered as Gansey made his face look remorseful. Fuck Gansey was going to ruin his reputation.

Maura sipped her dubious tea concoction as she settled down on their ratty couch. She seemed entirely unphased considering the situation. “Honestly, I think Cabeswater is just having a little fun. It sees you guys clowning around all the time and wants to seem more like its human companions, so it’s playing around.”

“So Cabeswater’s pulling a prank on us,” Henry said.

Ronan pointed at Adam. “I fucking told you it would!”

“Is there a way we can ask it to stop?” Gansey asked.

“We already tried that, remember?” Adam said. “It didn’t respond to me or Ronan.”

“Just let it have its fun, I’m sure it’ll return you all to normal soon enough,” Maura said, smirking around her tea cup.

Ronan glared at her. “You’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I’m mainly looking forward to forcing you to do things as my daughter,” Maura cackled, a gleam of something sinister in her eyes.

Ronan got out of there as fucking fast as he could.

 IV.

It turned out that the worst thing Maura made him do was go to school. She insisted he go to school because Blue would and it turned out that Mountainview Shitty High was way worse than Aglionby. Mainly because Gansey and Adam weren’t there, but also because Blue was so short that he couldn’t intimidate people as easily as usual so people kept trying to…talk to him. He even had to go to a guidance counseling meeting that made him want to kill himself. (Honestly, by storming out of there and getting nothing accomplished he was doing Blue a favor.)

The whole experience was horrific.

But at least after it was over, Adam came to walk home with him because Gansey would’ve done that for Blue.

“Parrish, thank God,” Ronan said as he saw him lurking on the sidewalk outside of Mountainshit. “This place is giving me hives.”

“You’ve been here for six hours,” Adam said, a smirk on his face. He was truly doing a poor job of imitating Gansey.

Ronan shot him a horrified look. “God, don’t remind me.”

Adam laughed before glancing around suddenly. It was only then that Ronan realized people were staring at them, leaning their heads together to gossip quietly. He stared at Adam. “Fuck, how do Dick and Sargent usually act in public?”

Adam did a weird little half-shrug. “I don’t know, should we kiss or something? They’re always all over each other now that Blue’s no longer cursed.”

Ronan scoffed and glanced down at the ground. “Man, I can’t kiss you when you look like Gansey… I know short girls with weird outfits are your type, but—”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Adam sighed. “Here, we can just hold hands or whatever – that should be fine, right?”

Ronan swallowed. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Adam grabbed his hand and essentially started dragging him off down the sidewalk. And even though they’d just done this last night, it was weird because it was Gansey. Even though he knew Adam was currently occupying his body, it was disconcerting to glance over and see Gansey’s face instead of Adam’s.

Despite all that, though Ronan’s hand was still so fucking sweaty. How goddamn embarrassing.

“This is so fucking weird,” Ronan grumbled, kicking at stray pebbles along the side of the road. The one good thing about dressing like Blue was that she had some killer Doc Martins. “Did you know girls have to sit when they piss? Talk about inconvenient.”

Adam snorted. “Of course I knew that, Lynch, how did you not know that? Do you think everyone has a penis?”

“I wish everyone had a penis.”

Adam shoved him. “It is kind of weird becoming comfortable with someone else’s genitals, though…”

“Please don’t tell me you were admiring Dick’s dick in the bathroom.”

“I wasn’t!” Adam snarled, a blush on his face. “…Though that wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve done to Gansey today…”

Ronan grinned, delighted and intrigued. “What the fuck did you do?”

 V.

-five hours earlier-

Adam thought that everyone must know something was off.

He couldn’t be a convincing Gansey. He had spent many nights agonizing and wishing he could be, but he couldn’t pull off the flawless politician’s smile or seeming genuinely interested when schmoozing with people. He was having trouble even pretending that he could do it. Just this morning, he’d lost his dignity because he’d had to dress himself in a hideously bright-colored polo underneath his uniform and put on those…boat shoes. When he’d walked out and Ronan had practically been rolling on the floor from his laughter, he’d sworn and flipped him off before stalking out, a decidedly non-Gansey action.

And his behavior hadn’t much improved once he got to school. Adam had had no idea really how many people Gansey knew and engaged in pleasant conversation with. It was exhausting. Every step he took someone was whooping at him or slapping a hand on his shoulder or asking him about something mundane. It was hard not to act like Adam Parrish—ignore them, flinch when they touched him—and it was even harder to act like Gansey—act interested, have something interesting to say back, know who the fuck these people even were and how Gansey knew them.

It was a disaster.

He at least took comfort from the fact that Gansey was doing no better of a job imitating Ronan. In fact, he was arguably doing worse – he was bad at permanently scowling, and more than once Adam had had to nudge him in the ribs because he’d been walking around with a goofy, utterly non-Ronan smile on his face. Every time he had to swear at someone, he stumbled on his words so much that it almost came out sounding polite. It was endlessly entertaining, and Adam almost hoped they stayed in each other’s bodies long enough just so he could show Ronan how bad of a job Gansey was doing.

He’d be mortified.

“This is incredibly difficult,” Gansey said to Adam as they walked to fourth period. (History, a class Ronan would never be caught dead in, but if Gansey was going to do anything with this opportunity he was going to make Ronan go to school.) He was thumbing his lip, which made Adam realize that maybe he should be doing that, too.

“I know what you mean. I don’t know how you talk to so many people,” Adam grumbled. “Who even are they all?”

Gansey smiled and shrugged. “Mainly people I know from old clubs.”

“You do too many things,” Adam said, and Gansey laughed.

“I feel that way sometimes too.”

“Hey, Lynch!” a disgusting voice sneered. Adam and Gansey looked up to see Kavinsky grinning at them down the hall. “Still following Richard III around like a dumb dog, huh?”

This time, Gansey had no trouble. He glared at Kavinsky, tilted his chin up threateningly, and spat with venom, “Fuck off, dumb shit.”

And it was actually so much like Ronan that Adam acted completely on instinct. He laughed, and then, when Kavinsky had flipped them off and moved on, leaned over to press a chaste kiss to Ronan’s lips.

Except it wasn’t Ronan.

It was Gansey.

Adam reared back, horror flooding his body. Not only had he just kissed Gansey but he had done it in the crowded halls of Aglionby, which meant that at least thirty people had watched him do it. Holy fuck, was he so desperate that he couldn’t help himself, even though he knew that Ronan wasn’t Ronan right now?!

Oh shit oh fuck.

“…I’m very confused,” Gansey said. He looked it, too. “Do you usually do this with Ronan? And did I just get kissed by myself?”

Adam gaped, flustered and at a complete loss for words. He tried to explain himself, but it just came out as a big jumble: “I—I mean, yeah, recently Ronan and I have been…But Gans, I didn’t mean—You just looked—Ronan—”

“…I think I’m going to go find Jane,” Gansey said, slowly inching away. He had on his politician’s smile, which looked like a nightmare on Ronan’s face. “I am happy for you and Ronan though, I truly am! I just don’t see you in that way, Adam, I’m sorry!”

Adam groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 VI.

Declan stalled when he saw Ronan at the end of the hall. Declan often stalled in the hall because of his younger brother—either because he was beating someone’s face in or passed out drunk against a locker—but this time he stalled merely because he absolutely could not believe what he was seeing.

Ronan was laughing. Ronan was smiling. He wasn’t slouching or wearing his tie improperly and he honest to God looked like he was flirting. Or trying to. The other boy seemed both charmed and offended by whatever was coming out of Declan’s brother’s mouth, which honestly wasn’t that surprising. But this…this was surprising.

Declan didn’t mean the whole gay thing. He knew Ronan was gay—it had been obvious to him since the time he found a cut out picture of a shirtless Leonardo DiCaprio underneath Ronan’s bed—and it didn’t bother him. A lot of things bothered Declan about his younger brother, but being gay was not one of them. In fact, it was probably the least offensive thing about him.

But for the love of God, did the person of his younger brother’s obvious affections really have to be Henry goddamn Cheng?

 VII.

-the present-

“I can’t believe you kissed Gansey because he actually managed to act like me,” Ronan gasped, struggling to breathe through his laughter. “And cursing out K of all people!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Adam hissed, a blush on his cheeks.

They had made it back to Monmouth before anyone else and were thus lounging around in the main room. Ronan was lying in Main Street of Gansey’s model of Henrietta—Blue’s body was small enough to do it without crushing anything, and Ronan had always wanted to—and Adam was spread out across the couch.

“No, I can’t, you’re so fucking desperate,” Ronan cackled, kicking his legs in the air. “Holy shit.”

Adam threw a notebook at him and nearly took out the library. “I’m never kissing you again.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ronan snorted. “I think today proved that you need to kiss me every time I say ‘fuck’.”

“I hate you.”

Ronan sarcastically blew him a kiss.

Just then, Blue burst her way into Monmouth. “We need to go back to Cabeswater and make it fix us. Right. Now.”

“Not having a good time as Cheng, Sargent?” Ronan asked, amused.

“No, Henry’s fine! I love him dearly, and it’s kind of fun hanging out with the Vancouver crowd at school and actually getting something accomplished when I protest!” Henry shot her a thumbs-up as he slipped by behind her. “No, the problem is Gansey – he couldn’t control himself at school today and made me kiss. Ronan.”

To his credit, Ronan held it in for about one second. Then he burst out laughing, resuming his limb flailing with how little he could keep his shit together. “Holy fuck, Parrish just told me a similar story! What the fuck is wrong with you guys? Am I the only one who didn’t try to kiss someone today?”

“I haven’t kissed anyone either, though I think Tad Carruthers wanted to,” Henry said. Adam and Ronan both made a noise of disgust. “I also totally bombed that history test, sorry Parrish.”

Adam looked like the world had just ended. “You what?!”

“See what I mean?” Blue shouted, gesturing wildly. “We’re all a disaster! We need to get our own bodies back!”

“I agree,” Gansey said, placing a hand on Blue’s shoulder. “Being Ronan is too exhausting.”

Ronan’s grin was sharp. “Isn’t it hell?”

“Being you, Gans, is too exhausting,” Adam said, standing up from the couch. “Alright, let’s go back to Cabeswater.”

“Maybe if we camp again, Cabeswater will kindly switch us back while we’re sleeping,” Henry suggested.

Everyone mumbled their agreement and grabbed their camping gear that had been tossed haphazardly around Monmouth after the last excursion. When they headed down to the Pig to pack it all up, however, everyone realized there was a problem: Ronan—who was really Gansey—had automatically grabbed for the driver’s side door of the Pig.

“It’d be weird if someone saw anyone but Three driving the Pig,” Henry pointed out.

“Especially if the person driving was Ronan,” Adam added.

Gansey set his jaw but reluctantly handed the keys to Adam. “I dislike this plan.”

“Hey, at least I’m not the one in your body,” Ronan sniped back, but there was a part of him that really, really wished he was. “I call shotgun.”

Gansey’s mouth dropped open. “No.”

“Blue usually does occupy the passenger’s seat now,” Adam pointed out. Ronan pointed at him.

“Just because you’re dating now doesn’t mean you can gang up on me about my car,” Gansey chided, but folded himself into the backseat, smacking his head on the way in. “God, Ronan, how do you stand being so tall?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Henry shouted. “Lynch and Parrish are an item?!”

“Since when?” Blue screeched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It literally just happened yesterday,” Adam snapped as he plopped down into the driver’s seat. He was determinedly not looking at anyone.

“Then why does Gansey know?!” Blue demanded.

“Because Parrish fucking kissed him earlier!” Ronan shouted, falling into laughter again.

“God, shut the fuck up,” Adam hissed and jammed the keys in the ignition so hard that the Pig started up without protest.

They were all silent for a moment, and then Henry said, “Oh, because he looks like Lynch right now?”

“It was a confusing time for me,” Gansey said. “I wasn’t sure who Adam was trying to appeal to honestly.”

“Shut up!!” Adam shouted and revved the car forward.

Everyone laughed, but dropped the teasing for now.

As the backseat dissolved into some ridiculous debate, Ronan cranked the window down and leaned his arm out. Just because he could—and because he had the station saved on Gansey’s radio—he switched on his pounding EDM. For once, Adam didn’t turn it off.

Perhaps he was starting to realize how great it was to drive to. Especially in the fucking Pig.  

Because he was sitting next to him, Ronan heard the little gasp that escaped Adam as he pushed the Pig onto the freeway. He must’ve been able to feel what gave Ronan chills whenever he thought about driving the Pig: the engine growling under his thighs, the squeal of the tires as he pushed the Camaro as fast as it could go. There was no high like it in the world; not even Kavinsky’s dreamed up drugs could do it.  

“Parrish,” Ronan said.

It was all it took for Adam to slam his foot down on the gas. Ronan let out a whoop as Adam shot into the HOV lane and blasted down the freeway, easily pushing the car to 70, 75, 80.

“Adam!” Gansey shouted, but whatever else he was going to say was lost to the wind and the music.  

Ronan glanced over at Adam, admired the satisfied grin across his face and the energy thrumming in his eyes. As he was watching, Adam turned and flashed him a grin, one full of wildness and adrenaline and gasoline.

God, how Ronan wished he didn’t look like Gansey right now, because he wanted to kiss him.

“Hey Gansey Boy!” someone shouted from the next lane over. Ronan glared out the window to see Kavinsky’s band of merry fucks all packed into the car next to them. Kavinsky was strangely absent, however—they were in some other shit car, rather than the Mitsubishi—and it was Prokopenko sneering the taunts. “You teaching Lynch how to drive?”

Ronan almost snarled back before he remembered that he had to let Gansey answer.

“Fuck you, you know?” Gansey shouted back.

“Fuck me,” Ronan groaned and put his head in his hands. Adam snickered. “Is that how he’s been all day?”

“Pretty much,” Adam replied. Ronan groaned again. To his surprise, however, Adam leaned over him to say to Kavinsky’s pack, “Lynch would be lucky to learn how to drive like this.”

And to Ronan’s utter delight, pushed the car up to 90 and zoomed past the other car.

“Parrish, I think I might love you,” Ronan said, grinning.

“Gross!” Blue shouted.

Ronan cheerfully sent her the middle finger.

“You heathens are going to wreck my car,” Gansey bemoaned.

Adam just grinned at Ronan and Ronan felt the weight of it in his chest.

Fuck, he was so far gone.

Despite Gansey’s worry, they all made it to Cabeswater in one piece, and in record time if Ronan did say so himself – he was so fucking proud of Adam. As before, they trekked into Cabeswater and set their tents up in the main clearing. No one was as eager to explore this time around—as it felt dangerous to do something vaguely unsafe when none of them could get used to the bodies they were in—so they set up the campfire right away. They roasted marshmallows and made fun of each other for all of the dumb things they’d done in each other’s bodies today and all around them Cabeswater hummed with amusement. Ronan could feel it in his skin, and seeing Cabeswater so happy almost made him willing to forgive it for this.

The outcomes of this adventure had been fucking hilarious, after all.

But they were all ready to go back to their own bodies.

So as the fire went out, they crawled into their respective bodies’ tents, Adam, Ronan, and Blue diving into Gansey’s tent and Gansey and Henry settling into Ronan’s tent. Around them, the forest quieted as Cabeswater created a safe and peaceful setting for their sleep.

“Gansey Boy, it’s a good thing we love each other or this would be very awkward,” Henry could be heard saying from Ronan’s and Adam’s tent.

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” Ronan hissed.

Adam shook his head. “Hopefully we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Or hopefully not,” Blue joked.

But they were hopeful as they all fell asleep. Ronan was especially hopeful, as right before Adam drifted off, he reached across the small space between them and grabbed Ronan’s hand.

This time, Ronan’s hand was not sweaty.

 VIII.

Ronan woke up to Adam’s face and hope shivered down his spine. “…Adam?”

Adam’s eyes slid open slowly. He didn’t seem to be processing anything, as he was always groggy when he first woke up. (Ronan knew this from his time spent at St. Agnes; one time he had witnessed Adam get up, shower, and then come back into the room and tell Ronan he had to take a shower. Ronan had had to tell him—making fun of him all the while, of course—that he had already taken it.) But then his eyes focused. “…Ronan?”

Ronan breathed out a sigh of relief. “Fuck, yes.”

“Oh thank God,” Adam said and pulled him into a searing kiss.

“I told you you wouldn’t be able to never kiss me again,” Ronan snarked when Adam let him pull back for a second to breathe.

“Shut the fuck. Up,” Adam growled.

Turned out that Ronan had a hard time disobeying Adam when he worked his mouth like that.

 IX.

Declan approached Ronan on his way to first period the next day (he couldn’t believe he’d been forced to go to school twice in a row). Ronan was immediately defensive – a purposeful visit from Declan was almost never a good thing, and it usually ended in throwing punches. They’d been trying to be better lately, but Ronan was still too easily riled and Declan was still too easily an asshole.

However, this time, Declan completely threw him for a loop. “Ronan, I really must talk to you about your taste in boyfriends—”

Ronan reared back, startled but refusing to show it. “What the fuck do you have against Parrish? And how did you know about that, anyway? Are you spying on me?”

“You’re…dating Parrish?” Declan stammered before breaking into a huge grin, which Ronan honestly found disturbing. “Oh thank God, as long as it’s not Henry Cheng I really don’t care who the fuck you’re dating.”

Ronan reared back again, this time out of offense. “Why the fuck would you think I was dating Henry fucking Cheng?”

“I saw you flirting with him yesterday.” Declan said ‘flirting’ like he would say ‘debauching’.

At that, and to Declan’s obvious confusion, Ronan burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he bent over himself, clutching at his stomach. Holy fuck he couldn’t breathe…!

“Ronan, are you okay?” Declan asked. “You never laugh this much – are you dying?”

“Fucking yeah I am,” Ronan wheezed before sending his older brother a grin. “Don’t worry, Dec – that was just a mistake. Thought he was someone else.”

“What.” Declan seemed even more confused. “How could you mistake Henry Cheng for anyone but—”

“Oh God, would you look at the time? Bye, Dicklan!” Ronan shouted over his brother and ran off to find Adam, ignoring Declan cursing at his back.

 X.

Tad Carruthers was walking down the hall when he saw Adam Parrish.

Tad was always on the lookout for Adam Parrish, as he lived off of the occasional glances he could get and thrived off the conversations Adam allowed him to have with him. He had become a pro at scanning the crowd for him, so it was easy to spot his dirty-blonde, wind-blown hair and his freckled face. Looking for Adam had even become something to look forward to every day that Tad went to school.

Usually, Tad approached Adam immediately. But this time, he stopped right in the middle of the hallway and gawked.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Sebastian had said he’d seen Ronan Lynch kissing Richard Gansey III yesterday. Atticus had said he’d seen Lynch kissing Henry Cheng yesterday, and apparently these events had taken place mere minutes after each other.

And now Lynch was kissing Adam Parrish?!

…Just how many boys had Ronan Lynch kissed at this school?!

(A/N) Let there be no doubt in your minds that immediately following this Tad went to confront Ronan and made a fool of himself. And probably got his ass kicked ;)

[csjolly]

Hello! For your prompts I’m a real sucker for CS adopting a child. :)

ok I know this is pretty out there and LOOSELY follows the prompt so please forgive me! I’ve been wanting to write this for ages. Hope you enjoy :) 

“Bite your tongue, pet. I’m walking you home, whether you like it or not.” Emma huffed at Killian’s stubborn tone, rolling her eyes as he shouldered his leather bag and extended his arm. A chill ruffled her hair, the cold October weather finally getting to her.“Fine,” She eventually conceded, without batting an eye at his possessive endearment, “I’m not some damsel in distress, though.” 

The top of his ears turned red as he blushed, glancing briefly at his crooked arm, which he had offered to avoid her tripping on the iced-over stairs.

“I don’t need help down the stairs, Jones, no matter how high we are up Fall’s ass.” She continued, pushing past his hand and stepping down to the sidewalk that wrapped around the campus library where she worked.Killian scratched behind his ear and grinned obnoxiously. He shook his head, chiding her playfully, “Oi! That’s professor Jones to you.” 

Emma held back a smile of her own, batting at his shoulder as he descended to her level. “I’m not your student. I’m not even a student,” She reminded him. 

He shrugged. “As long as we work for the same university, I think you’ll find my title stays.” “And what if I want to call you by your first name, instead?” She turned to him coyly, finding his hand and intertwining their fingers. In response, he craned his neck down to pull her into a languid kiss, his wrist pressed against the small of her back. He gently gripped the fabric of her red leather jacket, his right arm finding the curve of her jaw and pressing her closer.

The red-brown scruff of his cheek brushed against her fingers and she hummed into his mouth. That got him to pull back reluctantly, tapping her on the nose. 

“You’ll have to ask nicely, I suppose.” He murmured against her, and Emma laughed, pushing off of him. 

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova.” She giggled, shaking her head as he trailed behind her.

The two walked in a comfortable silence down the empty streets, only pausing once to tie Emma’s shoe (“Honestly, Swan, why do you bother with those boots? I’d much prefer you in heels”/“You couldn’t handle me in heels, Jones”). The darkened road to Emma’s place ran beneath the metro underpass, a heavy stone bridge that towered over the slums of Boston. Her house was a block or so past it, a tiny little bungalow hidden by big metal fencing and walls of foliage. Emma was an expert in budgeting, not having a degree to back her up for a higher-paying job, and not having the money to go back to school to get one. The discount fencing was to keep out the drunks that stumbled through the back alley that her garage laid along, and the foliage had been a nice touch of her own. She had always wanted to live somewhere green, with flowers and bright colors, and she had been piecing her way towards that year by year with each potted plant she added to her yard serving as a souvenir.

 Beyond her cool and guarded demeanor, she was a soft and gentle person, emotional in nature and kind in heart. The dismal mentality she grew up with was slowly tumbling away, whether it was at her own hand, or at the hand of a scruffy and rugged brit who smelled of coffee and vanilla, grumbling about the way she drove and embracing her tightly and protectively, as though each touch was his last. 

The little homestead with chipped blue paint lacquered over dulled wooden paneling and a dirt stained porch was all she could really hope for. It was dusty and odd, but it was unique and so very alive. She could feel the calm energy that buzzed through the windowsills and chilled the dew droplets on the grass each morning. Emma knew the warmth and love that she had put into the property, and the same affection it gave back.

Her financial situation was one she had always struggled with. Her affinity for books and charismatic personality had earned her a spot at Boston University’s library, which was certainly a blessing, but didn’t quite make for a luxurious status. She certainly had been offered help from her friends. There was always the librarian who picked up Emma’s shifts on her off days, Belle French. She had her friend Mary Margaret, an English Professor whose husband David worked as a deputy for the Boston Police Department. Even her best friend and boss, Regina Mills, had offered to lend Emma money. She refused, though, each time. She didn’t want pity cash, and she didn’t want patronizing looks. She wanted the be recognized as someone who could take care of herself. Killian had always respected that, offering to cover dinner and give her rides to the store but graciously nodding when she refused. 

The one thing he was a stickler for was walking her home. She didn’t live far from the University, only a few blocks- but he never failed to accompany her after her shifts, muttering something about ‘good form’ (“So you’ve decided to be a gentleman today?” / “I’m always a gentleman, love”). She had to admit, despite her perfected ability to hold her own in a fight, his protectiveness was endearing. Each time he put his arm around her shoulder under the bitterness of the night and the fluorescent street lamps, she felt a sense of safety and contentment that she hadn’t known in years. 

That’s not to say she didn’t manage on her own, though- upholding her dignity atop muscled shoulders and and maintaining her quality of life on a head of blonde hair. In fact, her stitched-together abode even served as refuge to some of the scrap-starved kids that frequented the underpasses and tunnels near the train station. 

Growing up in foster care, Emma knew the loneliness and fear that went along with the life. As unofficial as it was, she had managed to supply a home to some of the runaways around the Boston area, providing what food and shelter she could give, as well as all the love her heart might hold. 

She and Killian had been together for nearly 10 months, and he had well managed to gain her trust enough to let him around some of the kids in her charge. Most of the teenagers drifted in an out of the area, stopping by for days at a time every few months. The youngest of the bunch, though, a 13 year old named Henry, came by Emma’s the most. 

His last set of foster parents had been a nasty two- a neglectful and cruel couple who hadn’t even seemed to notice that Henry had run away. The boy himself had spent the last few weeks on Emma’s couch, but eventually decided to return to the home to make sure the other kids were okay. She’d given him his own key for his 13th birthday, and he’d been using it ever since (leaving notes of thanks on the fridge or leaving his comic books strewn across the living room floor). Over the months she’d known him, she’d even managed to teach him some manners, and he’d taken it upon himself to take out the trash and wash the dishes whenever he could. Every once in a while, he’d bring some younger kids from his foster home back for dinner, raiding Emma’s fridge and showing them all the old Disney movies Emma had packed under the coffee table. 

Since Killian had started coming over, though, they’d found their interests in listening to tales of his travels (being an ex-navy man turned history professor, he had his fair share). Emma might have particularly enjoyed brushing the black strands of hair out of his face as he recounted his adventures, pressing a light kiss to his temple and fetching blankets for the kids huddled on the worn-down couch. She’d usually indulge them in steaming mugs of hot chocolate (with cinnamon on top, Henry insisted), and when she had saved up enough for the given month, they’d pile into Killian’s car on voyages to the aquarium or the marina. The older ones, who were more concerned about necessities like caps and gloves for the harsh winter, particularly enjoyed when she’d take them to the store and let them pick out a few things each.

Killian had grown attached to an older boy who shared his brother’s name. Liam was 17 and as nomadic as they came, only stopping by a few times a year or when he was in the area. He had fallen into a bad crowd, and despite Emma’s urgings to get himself straightened out, Liam had been impossible to get through to. That was, until he’d met Killian. The two had similar backgrounds- lost their mothers at a young age, deadbeat fathers- and were immediately inseparable. Killian had even managed to convince Liam to stay with him for a a while. After about three months of living with Killian, he had worked up enough to combine with all his savings to get himself his own place. The last that Emma and Killian heard from him, Liam had enrolled in the police academy in New York and was attempting to right some of his past wrongs. 

And that was simply Killian’s character: headstrong, determined, nurturing, wise- everything Emma had wanted to model for the kids. Having her boyfriend around had certainly made her job a lot easier. Henry, though- he had always been more in tune with Emma, despite Killian’s unfaltering adoration.  

Emma unlocked the gate and turned around to Killian. His dark hair was disheveled from a wind and his cheeks were rosy and pink. He smiled brightly, and kissed her on the cheek.“Have a good night, love.” He told her softly, but she grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. “Why don’t you stay tonight?” She suggested through a yawn, tugging on the lapels of his heavy coat. He chuckled, and slid his arms around her waist. “You seem a little too tired for that, Swan.” He drawled mischievously lifting an eyebrow. 

“You got that right, pal,” she snorted, “But I don’t want you to take the metro home this late. I’d feel a lot better if you’d stay over. Neither of us have work tomorrow anyway, so we can sleep in late.” 

He nodded, bumping his nose against hers.“I’d love nothing more.” 

The two stumbled through the enclosed front yard, tripping over pots of plants and little garden-gnomes. “Bugger me,” Killian swore as he caught his foot on the jagged porch step. Emma laughed at him, and helped him stable himself. “I swear, Emma, you have to allow me to install garden lights as soon as tomorrow’s sun renders this death-trap of a lawn visible. You simply must.” 

She just rolled her eyes at his whining, and fumbled with her keys to unlock the door. “You could just move in,” She suggested, “Then you’d have full authority over what do do about our death trap lawn.” 

It wasn’t as though they hadn’t talked about it before, they knew they were a permanent thing and both wanted to take the step. The only issue was the location. Emma didn’t care if the house was falling apart. She’d make whatever repairs were necessary; it was her home. Killian, on the other hand, wanted to give her the absolute best that he could, and worried that the house was in a dangerous neighborhood for their potential kids to live. Emma argued that kids already did live with her, and she didn’t want to leave the only home she’d known.

“I think I could live with that.” He told her, and she looked back to him questioningly. “Really? But I thought-” He shook his head.“Emma, you know that I love you. I’d live with you in a bloody rubbish bin if you wanted to.” He stepped forwards, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. A grin broke out onto his face, “Besides, David says you’re the best I can do.” 

Emma laughed and smacked him on the chest. “Hey!” She defended, and he smiled broadly back. “I’m only joking, Swan.” He hummed, leaning down to kiss her. Before he could though, a loud thud sounded from inside the house. 

Emma startled and quickly unlocked the door, rushing inside as soon as she could. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but a tumbling Henry collapsing under the open living room window was certainly not it. 

Killian was at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet and brushing him off.“Are you alright, lad?” He inspected Henry for any injuries, finding only a blotchy purple bruise forming on his cheek. 

Emma cupped the boy’s chin and tilted his head to get a better look. “Who did this to you?” She demanded as Killian closed the open window. 

Henry averted his eyes and shook his head free. “Sorry for coming through the window. Didn’t wanna risk tripping on all the crap in the yard.” He mumbled, and Killian would have sent Emma a pointed look about porch lights if the boy didn’t look so sad. 

“It’s okay, kid,” She told him, pulling him towards the couch, “Sit down, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” 

Henry nodded, pushing a mess of tangled brown hair out of his eyes. “Due for a shave, aren’t you?” Killian asked as he took a seat next to the boy, hoping to lighten the mood. Henry’s mouth nearly twitched into a smile, but it was gone in an instant. Killian sighed lowly, helping Henry shrug off his jacket. The boy’s shoes were drenched in mud and dirt, soaked through to the socks. 

Henry hissed as he took them off, tossing them onto the mat in the corner of the room that Emma always insisted he wiped his feet on. “Bloody hell, lad, how many puddles did you jump into?” Killian asked Henry as he wrapped the nearest blanket around his shivering form. Henry shrugged, teeth chattering. “I dunno. I was running too fast to keep track.” Killian nodded solemnly and put his arm around Henry, pulling the boy into a hug. Henry leaned immediately into the embrace, burying his head into Killian’s shoulder and clinging tightly to the blanket. Emma met Killian’s worried glance over Henry’s head as she set down a mug of hot chocolate in front of him. 

She rubbed the boys shoulder as he sat up, quickly wrapping his fingers around  the drink and gulping down as much as he could. “Henry, slow down, you’ll choke.” She softly reminded him, and he set the mug back down on the table. 

“Can we watch a movie? Pirates of the Caribbean, maybe?” He asked, his eyes pleading with her. Emma nodded and combed his hair with her fingers. Before her resolve crumbled, she reminded him, “You know the rules, though. You have to tell me what happened, first.”

Emma had a few of these, set just to make sure everyone was safe. The kids had to tell her their real name (no aliases allowed), explain where they got any bumps and bruises, and promise not to steal anything. Emma’s intuitive lie detector (a nifty skill she picked up that the kids had affectionately deemed her ‘superpower’) prevented anyone from escaping the rules, and made for a  safe and open house. 

That didn’t mean the kids always liked it, though. Henry huffed and turned his gaze to the floor. “I went back to check on the others,” He began, and Killian’s arm tightened comfortingly around his shoulder. “Everyone was okay, but…” He choked up a little bit, trying to hold back tears. “Violet got transferred to another house.” Emma patted his hand sympathetically, knowing how upset he must be. Violet was his best friend at the house, and had been his main reason for returning. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” He sobbed out, finally letting his tears fall. 

Killian let go so Emma could hug Henry tightly as he shook, murmuring words of comfort as she patted his back. The boy unwrapped his arms from around her and sniffled, finding his voice again. “She forgot her necklace- the one her dad gave her. I was trying to get it for her, so if I saw her again I could give it back.” He shook his head angrily and  bunched the blanket up in his fists. “Then that dickhead Peter took it from me.” He spat, and Killian grimaced. 

Normally, he’d scold Henry for his language, but this was a special exception. Peter was a bit of a bully at the home, and Killian had encouraged Henry to stand up to him. That had earned Henry a punch to the ribs, and Killian had felt so guilty about it that he bought the boy three different kinds of ice cream. Henry had laughed it off and accepted the ice cream, but still tiptoed around Peter like a scared deer. 

“He flushed it.” Henry eventually choked, glaring daggers at the hot chocolate. “And landed a solid punch,” He finished, motioning to his cheek.  Emma examined it briefly and hummed. “Want me to kick his ass for you?” She joked, and Henry broke his sadness to giggle a little through tears. He sniffed again and nodded, picking his mug back up and drinking the rest of the hot chocolate in one big swallow. “I don’t want to go back there. Ever. The stupid parents didn’t even notice I was gone.” He bit out.

 Killian cleared his throat, standing to fish the Pirates of the Caribbean DVD out from under the table. Emma turned to the young boy, nearly taken aback by how much of herself she saw in him. 

“So don’t.” She told him unwaveringly, and Killian froze. Henry tilted his head in confusion, and blinked his tear-blurred eyes. 

“What do you mean?” He asked her, and though the system had beaten down much of the hope he should have had, Emma was proud to admit that she could see a flicker dancing around in his stare.

Killian looked to Emma for confirmation before finishing her thought. “I believe the lass is asking you to stay here, my boy,” Henry whipped his head to look at him with wide eyes as Killian clarified, “Permanently.”  

Emma saw the slight tremor in Henry’s hands and grabbed them firmly. “I know it’s a big jump, and you’ve only really known us for a year or so,” She quickly told him, “But I love you, kid, and I want to take care of you. For real.” 

Henry slowly leaned back, wary and a little nervous.“But what happens when social services finds out? They’ll make me go back.” He trembled, and she shook her head.“Not if I’m your legal guardian.” At his awed expression, she forged on, “I mean it, Henry. If you’ll let me, I’ll get the papers, do this all the right way.”

He nodded enthusiastically, flinging his arms around her neck. Henry was getting tall already, nearly 5′7, but he was tiny enough that Emma could still use her weight and leverage to drag him up into a standing hug. 

When Henry pulled back, he glanced curiously between Emma and Killian. “Will you two… I mean…” He started, not quite knowing what to ask. 

Killian grinned broadly, looking proudly at Emma. “I’ll be here, too.” 

“Actually,” She cleared her throat, making her decision, “None of us will be here. I think it’s time we go somewhere new.” She sent Killian a shy look, and whispered conspiratorially to Henry, “What do you think about a little house by the marina?”  

Pirates of the Caribbean ended up discarded on the coffee table, and the mug ended up unwashed. After all, Henry was much too busy to do the dishes, bouncing around the house excitedly with an icepack pressed against his cheek. Killian couldn’t do them, either, for he was on a very important phone call with his landlord about when the lease would be up, and if he knew how easy it was to obtain a marriage license. Emma was busiest of all, certainly, comparing her savings account to a sweet little cottage by the marina, painted in blue with lawn lights. 

[tlatollotl]

There's no other way to put it: Maria de los Angeles Tun Burgos is a supermom.

She's raising five children, does housework and chores — we're talking about fresh tortillas every day made from stone-ground corn — and she helps with the family's business in their small village about 2 1/2 hours west of Cancun on the Yucatan.

Sitting on a rainbow-colored hammock inside her home, Burgos, 41, is cool as a cucumber. It's morning, after breakfast. Her youngest daughter, 4-year-old Alexa, sits on her knee, clearly trying to get her attention by hitting a teddy bear on her mom's leg. The middle daughter, 9-year-old Gelmy, is running around with neighborhood kids — climbing trees, chasing chickens — and her oldest daughter, 12-year-old Angela, has just woken up and started doing the dishes, without being asked. The older kids aren't in school because it's spring break.

Burgos is constantly on parental duty. She often tosses off little warnings about safety: "Watch out for the fire" or "Don't play around the construction area." But her tone is calm. Her body is relaxed. There's no sense of urgency or anxiety.

In return, the children offer minimal resistance to their mother's advice. There's little whining, little crying and basically no yelling or bickering.

In general, Burgos makes the whole parenting thing look — dare, I say it — easy. So I ask her: "Do you think that being a mom is stressful?"

Burgos looks at me as if I'm from Mars. "Stressful? What do you mean by stressful?" she responds through a Mayan translator.

A five-minute conversation ensues between Burgos and the translator, trying to convey the idea of "stressful." There doesn't seem to be a straight-up Mayan term, at least not pertaining to motherhood.

But finally, after much debate, the translator seems to have found a way to explain what I mean, and Burgos answers.

"There are times that I worry about my children, like when my son was 12 and only wanted to be with his friends and not study," Burgos says. "I was worried about his future." But once she guided him back on track, the worry went away.

In general, she shows no sense of chronic worry or stress.

"I know that raising kids is slow," she says. "Little by little they will learn."

Breast, formula or goat?

Burgos learned how to be a mom by watching — and helping — her own mom, her aunts and her neighbors raise many children. Throughout her childhood, she was training to be a mom.

Here in the U.S., many parents don't have this firsthand experience before having children themselves. Instead, we often learn about burping, potty training and tantrum control through parenting books, Google searches and YouTube videos. But this information comes with two big caveats, which aren't always divulged.

For starters, parenting advice can give the impression that the recommendations are based on science. But a deep look at some studies reveals that the science is more like smoke and mirrors. Sometimes the studies don't even test what the parenting expert is purporting they do.

Take for instance a study often cited as evidence that the "cry-it-out" method of sleep training is effective. The method claims that if babies are left to cry themselves to sleep, eventually they will learn to fall asleep on their own without crying, and sleep through the night.

But what the study actually tests is a gentler regime, in which babies were left to cry for only a short amount of time before being comforted. And the parents were supported by a hefty amount of personalized counseling on their babies' sleep and eating habits. The babies who made progress also did not retain the ability to put themselves to sleep and stay asleep over the long term.

As psychologist Ben Bradley argues in his book Vision of Infancy, a Critical Introduction to Psychology: "Scientific observations about babies are more like mirrors which reflect back the preoccupations and visions of those who study them than like windows opening directly on the foundations of the mind."

And sometimes the data supporting the recommendation are so flimsy that another study in a few years will come along and not only overturn the first study but completely flip the advice 180 degrees.

This is exactly what happened last year with peanuts. Back in 2000, the American Academy of Pediatrics advised parents not to give babies peanut butter because one study suggested early exposure would increase the risk of developing an allergy. But last year, the medical community made a complete about-face on the advice and now says "Let them eat peanuts!" Early peanut exposure actually prevents allergies, follow up studies have found.

So if science isn't the secret sauce to parenting books, what is? To answer that, we have to go back in time.

In the early 1980s, the British writer Christina Hardyment began reviewing more than 650 parenting books and manuals, dating all the way back to the mid-1700s when advice publications started appearing in hospitals. The result is an illuminating book, called Dream Babies, which traces the history of parenting advice from 17th-century English physician and philosopher John Locke to the modern-day medical couple Bill and Martha Sears.

The conclusions from the book are as clear as your baby's tears: Advice in parenting books is typically based not on rigorous scientific studies as is at times claimed but on the opinions and experiences of the authors and on theories from past parenting manuals — sometimes as long as the 18th century.

Then there's the matter of consistency — or lack thereof. Since the late 1700s, "experts" have flip-flopped recommendations over and over, from advising strict routines and discipline to a more permissive, laissez-faire approach and back again.

"While babies and parents remain constants, advice on the former to the latter veers with the winds of social, philosophical and psychological change," Hardyment writes. "There is no such thing as a generally applicable blueprint for perfect parenting."

Take, for instance, the idea that babies need to feed on a particular schedule. According to Hardyment's research, that advice first appears in a London hospital pamphlet in 1748. Sleep schedules for babies start coming into fashion in the early 1900s. And sleep training? That idea was proposed by a British surgeon-turned-sports writer in 1873. If babies "are left to go to sleep in their cots, and allowed to find out that they do not get their way by crying, they at once become reconciled, and after a short time will go to bed even more readily in the cot than on the lap," John Henry Walsh wrote in his Manual of Domestic Economy.

Even the heated debate about breastfeeding has been simmering, and flaring up, for at least 250 years, Hardyment shows. In the 18th century, mothers didn't have high-tech formula but had many recommendations about what was best for the baby and the family. Should a mother send the baby off to a wet nurse's home, so her husband won't be offended by the sight of a baby suckling? And if the family couldn't afford a wet nurse, there was specially treated cow's milk available or even better, the baby could be nursed by a goat, 18th-century parenting books advised. (If you're wondering how moms accomplished such a feat, Hardyment includes an 18th-century drawing of a young mom pushing a swaddled newborn underneath a goat's udder.)

Goat udders aside, perhaps the bigger issue with parenting books and advice on the Web is what they aren't telling you. And boy, is there a large hole.

These sources ignore most of the world and come almost entirely from the experience of Western culture. But when it comes to understanding what a baby needs, how kids work and what to do when your toddler is lying on the sidewalk (just asking for a friend), Western society might not be the best place to focus.

"WEIRD," stressed-out parents equal anxious kids?

In 2010, three scientists at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, rocked the psychology world.

They published a 23-page paper titled "The weirdest people in the world?" And in it, uncovered a major limitation with many psychological studies, especially those claiming to address questions of "human nature."

First, the team noted that the vast majority of studies in psychology, cognitive science and economics — about 96 percent — have been performed on people with European backgrounds. And yet, when scientists perform some of these experiments in other cultures the results often don't match up. Westerners stick out as outliers on the spectrum of behavior, while people from indigenous cultures tend to clump together, more in the middle.

Even in experiments that appear to test basic brain function, like visual perception, Westerners can act strangely. Take one of the most famous optical illusions — the Muller-Lyer illusion, from 1889.

The Müller-Lyer illusion, devised in 1889.

Americans often believe the second line is about 20 percent longer than the first, even though the two lines are exactly the same length. But when scientists gave the test to 14 indigenous cultures, none of them were tricked to the same degree as Westerners. Some cultures, such as the San foragers in southern Africa's Kalahari desert, knew the two lines were equal length.

The conclusion from these analyses was startling: People from Western society, "including young children, are among the least representative populations one could find for generalizing about humans," Joseph Heinrich and his colleagues wrote. The researchers even came up with a catchy acronym to describe the phenomenon. They called our culture WEIRD, for Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich and Democratic societies.

With that paper, the ethnocentric view of psychology cracked. It wasn't so much that the emperor of psychology had no clothes. It was more that he was dancing around in Western garb pretending to represent all humanity.

A few years later, an anthropologist from Utah State University, David Lancy, performed a similar analysis on parenting. The conclusion was just as clear-cut: When you look around the world and throughout human history, the Western style of parenting is WEIRD. We are outliers.

In many instances, what we think is "necessary" or "critical" for childhood is actually not present in any other cultures around the world or throughout time.

"The list of differences is really, really long," says David Lancy, who summarizes them in the second edition of his landmark book The Anthropology of Childhood: Cherubs, Chattel, Changelings. "There may be 40 to 50 things that we do that you don't see in indigenous cultures."

Perhaps most striking is how Western society segregates children from adults. We have created two worlds: the kid world and the adult world. And we go through great pains to keep them apart. Kids have their own special foods, their own times to go to sleep, their own activities on the weekends. Kids go to school. Parents go to work. "Much of the adult culture ... is restricted [for kids]," Lancy writes. "Children are perceived as too young, uneducated, or burdensome to be readily admitted to the adult sphere."

But in many indigenous cultures, children are immersed in the adult world early on, and they acquire great skills from the experience. They learn to socialize, to do household chores, cook food and master a family's business, Lancy writes.

Western culture is also a relative newcomer to parenting. Hunter-gatherers and other indigenous cultures have had tens of thousands of years to hone their strategies, not to mention that the parent-child relationship actually evolved in these contexts.

Of course, just because a practice is ancient, "natural" or universal doesn't mean it's necessarily better, especially given that Western kids eventually have to live — and hopefully succeed — in a WEIRD society. But widening the parenting lens, even just a smidgen, has a practical purpose: It gives parents options.

"When you look at the whole world and see the diversity out there, parents can start to imagine other ways of doing things," says Suzanne Gaskins, a developmental psychologist at Northeastern Illinois University, who for 40 years has been studying how Maya moms in the Yucatan raise helpful kids.

"Some of the approaches families use in other cultures might fit an American child's needs better than the advice they are given in books or from the pediatricians," she adds.

Who's in charge?

So what kind of different philosophies are out there?

When I spent time with Maya families that Gaskins has studied, I saw a very different approach to control.

In Western culture, parenting is often about control.

"We think of obedience from a control angle. Somebody is in charge and the other one is doing what they are told because they have to," says Barbara Rogoff, a psychologist at the University of California, Santa Cruz, who has studied the Maya culture for 30 years.

Gelmy, one of the five kids in Maria de los Angeles Tun Burgosa's family, rakes the backyard of their home in Yucatan, Mexico.

And if you pay attention to the way parents interact with children in our society, the idea is blazingly obvious. We tend to boss them around. "Put your shoes on!" or "Eat your sandwich!"

"People think either the adult is in control or the child is in control," Rogoff says.

But what if there is another way to interact with kids that removes control from the equation, almost altogether?

That's exactly what the Mayas — and several other indigenous cultures — do. Instead of trying to control children, Rogoff says, parents aim to collaborate with them.

"It's kids and adults together accomplishing a common goal," Rogoff says. "It's not letting the kids do whatever they want. It's a matter of children — and parents — being willing to be guided."

In the Maya culture, even the littlest of children are treated with this respect. "It's collaborative from the get-go."

The idea is so strong that some Mayan languages don't even have a word for "control" when talking about children, Rogoff says.

After visiting the Maya village this spring, I've been trying this approach with my 2 1/2-year-old daughter. For instance, I often struggle to get Rosemary to put her clothes on the morning. In the past, I would nag and yell: "Put your shoes on! Get your jacket!"

But now I try a more collaborative approach. "Rosemary, mom, dad and Mango [our dog] are all going to the beach," I explain. "If you want to go to the beach, you have to put your shoes on. Do you want to go to the beach?" So far it's working.

And if Rosemary says she doesn't want to go to the beach? What would a Maya mom do? She would drop her off at an aunt's or neighbor's house and spend an afternoon without her. Because Maya families also have a different idea about who is supposed to care for the kids. One way to think of it: They don't keep mom in a box.

Get mom out of the box

In our culture there's a lingering belief that the ideal family structure for kids is a stay-at-home mom who devotes her full attention to the kids. That may sound like a relic from the past. But even just 10 years ago, 41 percent of people thought moms working outside was harmful to society, PEW research found. The result is a mom stuck in an apartment or a single-family home — which are both essentially boxes — raising children, alone.

But if you look around the world and throughout human history, this parenting approach is arguably one of the most nontraditional out there. The notion that the mom is responsible for raising the children, alone, is even strange within Western culture. Up until about 150 years ago, households were much larger and included extended family members and sometimes paid help, historian Stephanie Coontz documents in The Way We Never Were. And women were expected to earn some income for the family. "Women not only brought home half the bacon, they often raised and butchered the pig," Coontz says.

Anthropologist David Lancy compares the "mom in the box" approach to parenting to what happens with an Inuit family in the Arctic, when inclement weather isolates a mom and her child in an igloo and forces the mom to be the only playmate for the children. Most of the burden of parenting is placed on the mom. "There is every reason to believe that modern living conditions in which infants and toddlers are isolated from peers in single-parent or nuclear households produce a parallel effect," Lancy writes: a mom left to a perform a role typically performed by children — that is, siblings, cousins, neighborhood kids and whoever else is hanging around a home.

Human children didn't evolve in a nuclear family. Instead, for hundreds of thousands of years, kids have been brought up with a slew of people — grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, the neighbors, Lancy writes. It's not that you need a whole village, as the saying goes, but rather an extended family — which could include biological relatives but also neighbors, close friends or paid help.

Throughout human history, motherhood has been seen as a set of tasks that can be accomplished by many types of people, like relatives and neighbors, the historian John R. Gillis writes in The World Of Their Own Making. Anthropologists call them "alloparents" — "allo" simply means "other."

Across the globe, cultures consider alloparents key to raising children, Lancy writes.

The Maya moms value and embrace alloparents. Their homes are porous structures and all sorts of "allomoms" flow in and out. When a woman has a baby, other moms work together to make sure she can take a break each day to take a shower and eat meals, without having to hold the baby. (How civilized is that!)

In one household with four kids that I visited, the aunt dropped off food, the grandma stopped by to help with a neighbor's baby and, all the while, the oldest daughter looked after the toddler — while the mom fed the livestock and started to make lunch. But in Western culture, over the past few centuries, we have pushed alloparents to the periphery of the parenting landscape, Gillis writes. They aren't as valued and sometimes even denigrated as a means for working moms to outsource parenting duties.

In the past few generations, fathers have stepped up and started helping with a big chunk of parenting duties. Since 1965, American dads have more than doubled the number of hours they spend each week on child care, PEW research found. But moms still carry most of the load. They spend, on average, 14 hours each week on child care while fathers spend about 7.

The result is something unique in human history: A mom stuck in a box, often alone, doing the job typically performed by a handful of people. As Gillis writes, "Never have mothers been so burdened by motherhood."