#anyway when i get the energy to take out the trash that has been accumulating over the past week and eat a real meal we're so back

[gideonisms]

when you know why you're acting in a manner and behaving in a fashion that should simply fix the problem. That's how that should work we should all just get our Adam from the dream thieves moment of magically realigning our brain to the ley lines and the dream forest and suddenly all the solutions are clear and we're no longer acting crazy and getting mad at social events and walking on the side of the highway at odd times <- guy who fully believed this would happen until she was mid 20s

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

So, it seems that some of y’all have taken an interest in Niko!!! I’m so glad. Anyway, here’s part two

Nikoshi is torn between charging up to hug his literal fucking idol and keeping up a cool kid facade. Fortunately, the cool kid facade wins out. If Niko had touched Kevin, he would not have been able to stop himself from flinging the kid across the lawn. There’s something that’s just so… so… Riko about the kid that Kevin is on the verge of breakdown. 

Ichirou kind of ushers him into the house and Kevin sits down very mechanically on the couch. From the kitchen, Aaron walks out and is faced with Niko for the first time. Niko’s heard about Kevin Day’s husband before but he’s never seen him. 

“You’re really short,” is the first thing out of his mouth. This kid, this absolute asshole, walks into his fucking house and the first fucking thing he says is ‘You’re really short’???? Aaron is so stunned by this kid and his bullshit that he doesn’t even say anything.

Amalia wanders out from the kitchen at the commotion in the living room and the second she sees Niko her first reaction is friend????? New fren??????? She’s very excited. Before she can go out and say anything, Aaron snags her and makes his way into the living room to sit beside Kevin and sets her in his lap. She keeps squirming bc she wants to meet new fren. 

Anyway, Ichirou has already called the two of them and has informed him of who the kid is. They’re going to have to take him to the doctor and get some ‘blood work’ done to confirm Ichirou’s suspicions but they already know. He looks too much like Riko to not be his kid

Ichirou asks a few questions, all of which Aaron has to answer seeing as Kevin is too busy silently flipping his shit. Both Niko and Kev spend the whole half an hour just staring at each other in awestruck silence. 

Ichirou leaves and Aaron says it’s time for dinner. They all eat at the dinner p quietly, except for Amalia who has run out of patience. She insists on sitting next to Niko and blabbering on and on about something or the other. She’s 5 at this point so she’s mostly talking about her crayons and showing Niko that she can count to fifty. For the most part, Niko is content to listen to her bc it means he doesn’t really have to talk. 

After dinner, Aaron takes Niko upstairs to show him his room and hands him some clothes. As soon as Aaron heard the news, he’d gone down to target and just picked some random basic shit out. He tells Niko that they’ll go to the mall soon so that they can pick up a few things that’ll actually fit him. Niko’s never had new clothes in his life. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

He puts all of his emotions aside for the time being. He’ll have to evaluate them later. Niko starts to pull his shirt off and he hears Aaron gasp. Only then does he realize that the bruises from his last foster haven’t faded yet. He goes red and backs away, trips over something and falls onto his butt. 

“Niko-” Aaron started, moving forward. Immediately, Niko flinched violently and Aaron stilled. Schooling his face into neutrality, Aaron dropped his hands to his side. “Get changed and come down. I want to see the bruises.” 

“No,” Niko spat.

“I’m not asking,” Aaron countered flatly. “As soon as you’ve changed, you will come downstairs and we will treat the bruises. Are we clear?” Niko nodded. Aaron backed out of the room, shutting the door to give Niko some privacy. 

“What bruises?” Kevin asked, starling a curse out of him. 

“Kev, he’s covered in them,” Aaron replied. Anger burned in his chest. In that moment, there was nothing Aaron wanted more than to hunt down whomever had hurt Niko so badly and beat them black and blue. All that kept him grounded was the pain of his nails biting into his palms. He felt Kevin’s arms wrap around him and he left himself be held. “He looks worse than I ever did,” Aaron whispered. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. 

“He’s going to be okay, baby. He’s here now. We’ll take care of him,” Kevin assured as he stroked his hair. 

A few minutes later, Niko steps out and lets them take him downstairs. Amalia is long gone, put to bed so that she doesn’t witness this absolute horror that her dads are about to see. Aaron has a makeshift clinic set up in the house and he makes Niko sit down on the little bed and take his shirt off. 

Kevin curses and gets smacked for cursing in front of Niko. After figuring out how old they are, Aaron sets to work massaging creams into them to heal them faster. His hands are firm, unyielding, but gentle enough that they don’t hurt. It’s a foreign feeling to Niko. He’s never not been touched by anyone without them intending for him to hurt. 

Aaron asks Niko if there are anymore. Niko is tempted to lie to him but something in Aaron’s dark brown eyes coaxes him into telling the truth. He wriggles out of his pants to show him the bruises on his legs. 

Lashes from rulers stripe his legs. A few scars have accumulated from the metal part cutting into his skin. Kevin sucks a breath in through his teeth when he sees them. He’s been hit with the metal edge of a ruler before. He’s got the same scars on his legs. 

Aaron rubs scar cream into them and takes care of the remaining bruises. He’s so pissed off and it shows on his face. Niko, the poor, sweet bean thinks that Aaron is mad at him. So many adults have gotten angry with him for being such a problem. 

He slides off the table when Aaron tells him to and changes back into his clothes. They dismiss him so he slips back upstairs. Kevin and Aaron stay downstairs to talk for a little while. Neither of them say it outloud but they both come to the consensus that, Riko’s son or not, they will protect Niko with their lives. 

It’s not quite as easy as you’d think. Riko was such a bitch and he caused them and their families so much pain. Over the course of the next few months, every time Niko raises his voice, Kevin flinches violently. There are times when Aaron has to discreetly escort him away to help him avoid the impending panic attack. 

They’d told Bee that they were taking in Riko’s son and she’d mentioned that it would be hard on Kev but Aaron hadn’t thought it would be this bad. It’s been almost twelve years since Riko’s death but Kevin is still such a broken man. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t trying. Kev drives Niko to school himself every day and picks him up from the bus stop every morning. They work on his history projects together and stress out over math together. Aaron is an amazing science tutor but he’s also very insistent that Niko actually learns things for himself.

Over the summer, Kev takes Niko to the court Every. Single. Day. Aaron, who’s the head physician for Kevin’s team is almost always sitting on the sideline with Amalia to keep an eye on them. He doesn’t need Kev killing their kids. 

Most of Kevin’s frustration comes from the fact that Niko shows absolutely NO POTENTIAL. I mean, baby boi is just tripping over his own two feet and can barely keep track of his steps while holding the ball only to have Kevin just FUCKING BARREL INTO HIM BC HE KNOWS NO RESTRAINT ON THE COURT BC HE’S A DUMBASS!

Anyway, Aaron eventually intervenes and kicks Kev off the court. He just kinda sits a really huffy Niko down on the bench and asks him if something’s wrong. After a great deal of gently coaxing, Niko admits that Kevin is kind of scary. 

Aaron digs his shit out of the closet and steps on the court and he helps teach Niko the basics. In a week, Niko is playing incredibly well for his age and Kevin is pissed bc how tf did Aaron manage this????

Anyway, Niko is playing really well by then so he tries out for the team and makes it! He’s playing varsity despite being in 7th grade and is a starting offense dealer. 

He tried out for dealer in middle school but he only ever plays as a striker at home. It’s his secret and he’s not keen to show his hand just yet. He’s also a halfway decent goalkeep. That being said, both Aaron and Kev are comparing him to the best goalkeep in the Southern circuit so calling him half-way decent is an understatement but I digress.

Anyway, he’s an incredible player bc he has a lot of individual skill but he’s not much of a team player. More than once, he’s mouthed off to the wrong kid and gotten himself into trouble. That being said, he’s really fast so he’ll just nyoom off before anyone can beat his ass and no one has the time or energy to pursue him for it. 

It’s not until 8th grade that he gets into serious trouble. 

Kev and Aaron are called down to the school bc Niko’s gotten himself into a fight. When they get there, they just about die. Their baby boy has a massive black eye and there’s bruises on his arm from someone holding him down. They are so so so pissed off. 

When they ask what happens Niko doesn’t say anything. One of the kids says that he was bullying them. Neither Kev nor Aaron buy that. 

What happened was a bunch of kids were picking on someone and Niko was having none of that shit. He absolutely unleashed and shreds the kids, picking out insecurities they didn’t even know they had and trashing them. So caught up in roasting these ho’s Niko didn’t realize it was time to dip until it was too late. The kids beat the crap out of him and he can barely stand. 

When the kid Niko was defending ghosts into the room Kev and Aaron immediately know what’s going on.

Niko,,,,,,, has caught feelings. Babie is looking at this kid like they hung the goddamn moon and, honestly, they couldn’t past them. Winter Aziz (they/them) is,,,,, stunning and it wouldn’t surprise either of Kev or Aaron if they’d crafted the moon. The two of them are now betting on how long it’s going to take Niko to figure out he likes the kid. 

But back to the actual story. 

Anyway, once Winter gives their side of the story, the dean admits that the boys were in the wrong. Two of the boys end up getting suspended. Apparently, Winter’s parents are busy so they offer them a ride home. In the rearview mirror, Kev can see Niko squirming bc Winter is just sitting so close!!!! They stop by this lil diner that Niko loves and buy him a milkshake. They offer to buy Winter one too but they decline. Niko ends up offering to share and its ADORABLE!!!! Aaron snaps a pic and sends it to Kev so that they can both be reminded of this cuteness. 

Anyway, needless to say, Winter and Niko are now best friends. They do everything together and have a lot of,,,,,,, sleepovers in which Kev and Aaron feel really bad bc Niko’s gone gone for his best friend and Winter doesn’t seem to notice. 

That’s bullshit. Winter knows Niko likes them. They’re just not ready to admit that they like him too. 

Over the summer before 9th grade, Winter becomes a part of their summer practice. They’ve taken an interest in sports medicine bc they can be close to Niko.

Midway through July, Kevin gives up trying to get Niko to be a team player. He’s just not the kind of person who can teach him how to be that kind of person. 

But he knows someone who can. 

It’s a late night on the court and Niko’s run himself ragged. 

“It’s no use to play against an empty goal,” a voice Niko knows too well said. It took every ounce of his energy to sit up enough to see Neil Josten standing above him. “Why don’t you give him a real challenge?” he asked as he stepped aside, revealing a man who looked exactly like Niko’s dad. The man said nothing. Instead, he moved quietly to stand in the goal. “Better hurry up, Niko. Andrew doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” With that, Neil left Niko on the court to face off against the best goalkeep in the Southern circuits all on his own.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: chapter 18

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(on ao3)

With my blood—                              —my soul as compensation,                                 Kill them all for me. Kill them all! Wei Wuxian, take revenge for me. Blood fills his nose, that familiar perfume. Cold presses into the edges of his bones, stone grating against his elbows and skull. Dragging his eyes open, he gets a hazy glimpse of a dirty floor and scorched blood. Oh, he thinks muzzily, so it worked. Only — destroying the Seal was supposed to kill him. He’d known that from the start, from the very moment he handed over a fistful of his own soul to bring it to life. If he’s alive, then— “Stop playing dead!” 

A heavy foot slams into his chest, rolling him hard onto his back. He scrunches his eyes at the nausea that swells up in his throat as that grating, shrieking voice continues on. What a lot of courage, he thinks, kicking the Yiling laozu. Getting a hand underneath him, he pushes himself up to his knees before a hand is in his collar, yanking him up. The kid has to be in his late teens, though his juvenile sneer suggests someone younger.

“Whose land do you think you’re living on? Whose rice are you eating?” the kid spits. “Everything you own should be mine anyway!” Leaning as far back as he can manage, Wei Wuxian tries not to grimace at the spittle hitting his face. Given how utterly exhausted this body is, it’s not difficult to simply go slack. His head’s still spinning, cottony pressure throbbing at the backs of his eyes. “How dare you tell Father and Mother? Did you really think anybody would listen to a lunatic like you?” What the hell, Mo Xuanyu? Wei Wuxian thinks as the rest of the meager possessions in the shed are trashed and he’s thrown back to the ground. The brat and his minions storm out of the shed and leave him alone in a circle of dried blood. Scowling at the closed door a moment longer, he exhales in a rush and rubs at the ridge of his brow with the heel of his palm. He pushes the hair back out of his face and eyes the array painted on the floor. It’s with a sinking feeling that he recognizes the pattern. He remembers this, in the way he remembers anything from that year when he tries to focus on it — hazy, half-there, a muddle of ideas with great black blanks in between. Picking up a tattered pile of papers, he winces at the too-familiar scrawl and groans. “Since when am I a ‘sinister ghost,’” he complains to the empty shed. “I just have a bad reputation.” A jolt of pain cuts through his arm and he flinches before reaching over to pull back his sleeve. Four ragged cuts bleed sluggishly, deeper than a physical wound. He scowls down at them, before groaning and flopping onto his back on the floor. “Mo Xuanyu, you brat,” he says into the dusty quiet, “you got the wrong person.” He’s not a vengeful spirit. He’s not even sure how much of a spirit he is — he remembers resentment, remembers the Seal burning through his chest, clawed hands ripping through his chest. Sitting up, he shuts down that line of thought. So he probably did die, after all. That’s. Well. He gets up to find water and something to hold back his hair. If he remembers right, the xianshe should have summoned him into Mo Xuanyu’s own body, but it’s his hands that reach for the bucket he finds in one corner alongside a workbench that makes his Demon Subdue Cave look as orderly as the Gusu Lan library. It’s his face that looks back, gaunt and pale as a ghost. Grimacing, he plunges his hands in and breaks up the reflection. He finds a set of dark robes, shorter than he’s used to wearing but not coated in old blood and dirt at least. Stripping down briskly, he pauses to eye the ruin of his chest and stomach in mild dismay. Deep lacerations cross back and forth over his skin, blood smeared across their edges both from being used as the ink pot for the array and from the rub of the robes against them. His old scars are there, under the blood. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not to see the marks of his history peeking pink beneath all that red. His hand falls to touch a thin white line low on his belly, and he frowns at it as he pokes at his memory. He doesn’t remember this one. When he’s dressed and his hair tugged back in a high tail, he turns to examine the room he’s in. Even ignoring the cursed array in the center of the floor, it’s not exactly impressive. Filth has accumulated in all the corners, and the shabby bed he finds more closely resembles a rat’s nest. His day doesn’t exactly improve after that. It’s one thing to get dragged back to life, he thinks, and it’s another thing to get dragged back to life and then immediately blamed for murder. Again. He scrambles back from Madam Mo’s outstretched hand and swears at Mo Xuanyu for pulling him into this. The little Lans are competent, at least, and aside from the one threatening to punch him when he snagged a lure flag, they’re better company than the Mo family. He doesn’t really want them to get murdered by the cursed arm lunging for their necks. With a glance to check that everyone’s attention is on the sword formation the juniors are using to try to keep the arm at bay, he steps up next to Tong and Old Man Mo. “Still sleeping?” he murmurs into their ears before clicking his fingers, drawing up a burst of resentment. “Time to work.” Well, he thinks as he watches them go tearing after Madam Mo, at least I’m still good at this. He’d wondered, briefly. Resentment has been a steady pillar of his body for so long now, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be pieced together with it. Waking to find that his body hummed with quiet spiritual energy and only traces of that seething black had been nearly as disorienting as waking in a circle drawn in blood. After that, he’s too focused on the fight to pay much attention to anything else. Fresh as they are and angry as they are, the Mo family makes for strong fierce corpses — and they’re still torn and shredded by this arm. Even the Lans’ warded robes only temporarily hold it back. He’s reaching for the resentment around them, trying to coax something out of the shadows and the earth, when a familiar chord cuts through the night air. Even exhausted, the Lan juniors cheer. “Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!” Wei Wuxian brightens, turning instinctively toward the sound of the guqin. Sure enough, Lan Zhan alights on the roof across the courtyard with his guqin out before him. Another chord rings out across the manor, flattening the fierce corpses and leaving the cursed arm groping across the dirt as if it can’t quite get purchase. Tucked against a pillar, he watches as Lan Zhan suppresses every tendril of resentment in the courtyard. He still looks just the way Wei Wuxian remembers him, though maybe a little older, a little sterner. “Still wearing mourning clothes,” he laughs to himself. Something eases in his chest at the sight of him, as if at least one plank of this unsteady world is solid beneath his feet. Lan Zhan’s alive and whole. As much as it hurt in the moment, at least that means his plans worked here. He slips away into the night and doesn’t let himself look back. He makes it to the feet of Dafan Mountain without any more reunions with his past and with some level of success in not thinking at all about his first life. He doesn’t really sleep during the few days, partially out of an irrational conviction that he’ll close his eyes and not open them again and partially out of a slightly more rational dread of his own nightmares. As much as he’s been avoiding trying to think about his last memories before he woke up in that shed, he’s not an idiot. The Seal was never going to let him go gently. Still, he’s relatively pleased with himself as he crosses the mountain, and he makes the mistake of thinking that this is easier than he’d expected. Of course, it’s at that moment that he stumbles across a gaggle of cultivators caught up in a spirit net. “Help! Help— oh. It’s you.” The dismay’s a little unwarranted, he thinks as he sets his hands on his hips and leans back to eye the nets. He doesn’t have any way of helping them down, but that doesn’t mean they have to look so disappointed before he’s even admitted as much. Before he can say anything, there’s the sound of running steps and he yanks Lil Apple’s reins till they’re tucked back in some bushes out of sight. Even with Mo Xuanyu’s hideous mask covering his face, he doesn’t want to risk being identified. The cultivators in the nets groan; one woman tilts her head back as if to beseech the heavens. “Rude,” Wei Wuxian murmurs to Lil Apple. The donkey, as usual, shows no sympathy. “You!” Peering through the leaves, Wei Wuxian spots two teens in cream and gold. The taller one reaches up to jab at the captured cultivators with his bow while the girl scowls at the whole scene. “Why is it always you idiots!” she yells. “You’ve broken ten of our spirit nets. Don’t you have any shame?” Ten? Wei Wuxian grimaces reflexively. The Jin really don’t ever change. “Young master, please let us down,” the cultivators chorus. The boy scoffs, bringing his bow down to cross his arms. There’s something familiar about him, though Wei Wuxian can’t quite place it. The girl shares features with him, similar enough to be a sister or at least a close cousin. His nose wrinkles at the thought of little Jin cousins terrorizing the countryside. “You can stay up there till we find the spirit-eating monster!” the girl huffs. “That way you won’t be in our way anymore.” Her brother flicks his ponytail over his shoulder and sets off away from them. “We’ll let you down once we catch it,” he says. “If we still remember.” What a brat. Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows raise a little, but he has no chance to think further before Lil Apple, that shrieking traitor, brays and tears off directly at the Jin cousins. “Ahh stop! Stop it, come back!” Wei Wuxian wails, to absolutely no avail. The two Jins have stopped short, twisting back to stare at him. He stumbles to a halt as Lil Apple finally jerks free of his hands and gallops into the woods. He’s going to kill that donkey. He doesn’t know how donkey tastes, but he’s eaten worse. “Oh, it’s you,” the boy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” He’s slung his bow over his back and eyes Wei Wuxian with disdain, but beside him, the girl has bristled like a cat thrown in water, her hand going white-knuckled around her own bow. “Eh?” Wei Wuxian manages. “What, did you lose all your memories after you were kicked out? And what’s with that mask?” the boy scoffs. “Huh, so you did lose your mind after all.” Well that’s an interesting detail Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting to find out. He eyes his robes curiously, probing at the thought. Jin Guangshan must have led the siege at the Burial Mounds, and if his bastard son brought Wei Wuxian back, well. He stifles a laugh. “What are you laughing at? Show some respect!” the girl snaps. “Disgusting lunatic.” “Hey,” he calls, “I’m your senior! Where are your manners? Who raised you?” The girl takes a step forward, lips pulled back in a snarl, but her companion pulls her back with a hand on her shoulder. Wei Wuxian has about one breath to feel accomplished with his scolding before there’s a gleaming sword pointed at him. Oh no, he thinks a little tiredly. Not again. “You!” the boy yells. “How dare you speak to my sister like that!” The boy’s quick, he’ll grant. He lunges, swinging out with a slash that would cut Wei Wuxian’s throat if he didn’t sway to the side. He lets him have his fun for a few moments, dodging and slipping out of the boy’s increasingly irritated reach. It’s a good lesson. The kid clearly could use a reminder not to draw his sword on strangers. “Not bad!” he chirps, bending back to dodge the blade and plucking a leaf as he goes. He could keep this going for a while, but he doesn’t actually want to stay here all night and he’s not sure how long it’ll be till the sister jumps in as well. With a little spark of resentment, the leaf splits into a paperman, and he tacks it to the boy’s back with a quick call for a nearby ghost. In seconds, the boy is facedown in the dirt and groaning beneath the invisible weight of gluttony. Humming, Wei Wuxian steps neatly back to him and leans down to pluck up the discarded sword. He weighs it in his hand a moment, trying to figure out why the gilt and jade look so familiar. “Don’t touch that!” the boy yells, a frantic note entering his voice. “Mo Xuanyu, how dare you! Let me up!” The girl races over, tugging on her brother’s shoulder as if that will do any good. She glares up at him, all venom. “What did you do? Undo your curse! Let him go!” she demands. Rolling his eyes, Wei Wuxian adjusts his grip and flings the sword out to cut through the spirit nets. It’s not as neat an arc as Bichen, he notes with mild dissatisfaction, but then it’s been years since he wielded a sword. “Mo Xuanyu! Just wait till my uncle hears about this!” the boy yells. Wei Wuxian snorts, turning back to them with his hands on his hips. “Your uncle? Why your uncle and not your dad?” he asks. “Who’s this uncle?” “I am.” Oh. His feet are rooted to the forest floor, lips parted in soft shock. Anger rolls off Jiang Cheng, a violet stormcloud with Zidian already sparking on his wrist. Wei Wuxian can’t help but stare. If this is Jiang Cheng’s nephew and niece, then — then— shijie. He takes half a step forward before freezing. Fuck you, Wei Wuxian! Go to hell! He takes a step back, crooking his finger behind his back to peel off the paperman. It’s nearly to the safety of his hand when it’s tugged away by spiritual energy and crumpled in Jiang Cheng’s hand. His sneer’s the same, which is less comforting when it’s directed at Wei Wuxian. “I’m going to break your legs!” the kid — shijie’s son — Jin Rulan — yells as he scrambles to his feet. “Break his legs?” Jiang Cheng asks, shooting Jin Rulan a scathing look. “Is that what I’ve taught you all these years?” Of course, it makes sense Jiang Cheng would help raise their nephew after Jin Zixuan died. It explains why the swords looks familiar, too. Wei Wuxian never got too close to Suihua, but he saw it often enough during the war. Gnawing guilt chews at the base of his stomach. “You should’ve brought Fairy, Jin Ling,” the girl — his niece? — says now. “She could bite him and drag him back to Jinlintai for xiao-shushu.” That’s incentive enough for Wei Wuxian to turn tail and bolt from this unexpected reunion. It’s one thing if Jiang Cheng hates him, but he’s not sticking around to find out if the dog does, too. “Stop! You can’t run!” He most definitely can and is going to. His body doesn’t feel quite right even after a few days, like it’s just a little off from what he remembers. He’s more than willing to blame that when Jin Ling lunges for him and he trips, wobbling for a split second as the blue glare off a blade flashes just over his face. He falls hard, twisting almost enough to catch himself on his hands and exactly enough to crack his chin into the ground. Wincing, he lifts his head enough to find white boots directly before him and the edge of familiar white robes. Fuck. He lays his head back down. “Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng greets, voice all cold venom, “you truly live up to your reputation of appearing amidst chaos. You had time to come to such a remote mountain today?” Having given himself two breaths to press his forehead into the dirt and wish Mo Xuanyu had never thought to summon him, Wei Wuxian pushes himself up on his hands and knees and scoots backward in as ungainly and hasty a retreat as he can manage. Jiang Cheng doesn’t spare him a glance as he stalks up to Lan Zhan, stepping too close for propriety or Lan Zhan’s comfort. Wei Wuxian frowns but barely manages to keep from protesting. It’s not like Lan Zhan needs him to protect him after all. “Are you here to steal all the credit from us or to look for someone?” Jiang Cheng asks, strangely snide. “You’ve been all over the place these thirteen years. Aren’t you done yet?” “Jiang-zongzhu, what do you mean by that?” one of the little Lans from Mo Manor — Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian thinks — calls out. The kid earns a small mark in his favor in Wei Wuxian’s estimation, more than making up for almost decking him over the lure flag the other day. He can’t think of a single Lan disciple who would have spoken out of turn like that before. Good for him. “What do I mean?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Hanguang-jun, you know what I mean.” If Lan Zhan does, he doesn’t show any sign of it. He isn’t really showing any sign of hearing Jiang Cheng at all; from where he’s still stuck on the ground, Wei Wuxian can’t catch any emotion on Lan Zhan’s face. “Young Master Jin,” the nice Lan — Sizhui — says, “the night hunt is supposed to be a fair competition between cultivators. However, you have set up so many nets that others can hardly proceed for fear of being trapped. Doesn’t this violate the rules of the hunt?” “They got caught because of their own stupidity. It’s not my fault,” Jin Ling retorts. “Anyway, why bother talking about it? We can talk after I catch the—mmph!” The slant of Lan Zhan’s gaze and the sudden, distressed muteness are familiar enough Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether to laugh or wince in sympathy. He’s a little surprised, now that he thinks about it, that Lan Zhan never tried using the silencing spell to stop Wei Wuxian from playing Chenqing. It would have made it easier to tote him off to Gusu, for sure. The thought makes his stomach sink, and he regrets it even as a Jiang disciple comes racing up to them. She’s a gangly young woman and sketches a haphazard bow in her haste. “Zongzhu, a blue sword just destroyed all the spirit nets Jin-gongzi set up!” she reports. “Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng snaps, teeth bared. Lan Zhan doesn’t bother meeting Jiang Cheng’s gaze, holding himself as still and implacable as marble. Wei Wuxian bites his lips to hold in his laughter. It’s not really funny to see them fighting, but — well, he’s dealt with Jiang Cheng’s temper for nearly twelve years. There’s nothing that gets under his skin faster than refusing to react. It’s easier to think about that than to think about what Jiang Cheng said, about thirteen years. He focuses on the familiar irritation that flashes over Jiang Cheng’s face as he gestures for the two kids and the Jiang disciple to go before him, leaving Wei Wuxian alone with Lan Zhan and his little juniors. “That Jiang-zongzhu!” Lan Jingyi bursts out. “Who does he think he is?” Lan Zhan glances at him, disapproving, and the kid recoils with a look of mortification. Right, what was that? Rule two-hundred-thirty-something: one must not talk behind others’ backs. “Young Master Mo, we meet again,” Lan Sizhui says, leaning down to offer his hand. “Are you alright?” “Ah yes, still here thanks to you it seems,” he jabbers, his voice rising in something he refuses to call panic. He was trying to get away from any reunions, not fall face first into them. Lan Zhan looks at him for a long moment but makes no move to step closer. He turns to the juniors. “Return to your positions,” he says evenly. “Try your best but do not take unnecessary risks.” “Yes, Hanguang-jun,” they all chorus, saluting properly. There’s a moment, after they turn to leave, where Lan Zhan stands still and Wei Wuxian almost thinks he’ll say something. Has he recognized him so quickly? Surely not. If it’s really been thirteen years, Wei Wuxian’s probably just a faded memory by now. Maybe that’s it — that the combination of demonic cultivation and Jiang Cheng and all of it reminded Lan Zhan of his old friend for a moment. When the Lan party has been swallowed by the trees, Wei Wuxian flees in the opposite direction. Forget whatever beast it is; it’s not worth it anymore. He’s going as far away from anywhere he knows and then he’ll figure out what Mo Xuanyu wanted him to do or he won’t and his soul will be destroyed and never able to reincarnate again. He might be panicking, a little. Then, he encounters the ghost in the cemetery and hears the rumors, and Wei Wuxian might be an idiot, but he hasn’t forgotten the last time he came to Dafan Mountain. It had been hard enough for Lan Zhan and him to seal the statue back then, and now there are actual children going up against it with no idea what they’re facing. Of course, it turns out that his niece and nephew didn’t get any of their mother’s good sense, and Lan Zhan’s baby juniors missed out on his preparedness. “You didn’t restock signals?” he demands. “How could you not restock such an important item?” He combs his hands back into his scalp and tries not to scream. If they were his shidis, they’d be running laps for a week. He’s about ready to scold Lan Zhan himself; as their shixiong, he ought to have taught them better. They’d seemed so competent at Mo Manor! Letting out an aggrieved groan, he snatches Lan Sizhui’s sword before the boy has time to do much more than yelp in surprise. He sends a brief apology to the memory of Chenqing as he hacks out an improvised dizi from the bamboo and tosses Sizhui back his sword before he starts to play. As he raises the flute to his lips, an arrow flashes through the evening sky, a white flare through the statue’s forehead. “Jin-guniang! Jin-gongzi! Be careful!” Lan Sizhui calls. Shijie, Wei Wuxian thinks as he closes his eyes, what in the world have your kids been learning? The noises the dizi makes can barely count as notes, and Lan Jingyi gripes about the sound, but Wei Wuxian ignores him. The music itself is only a vector, only conveying his intention. He pulls on every thread of willpower he has, flings out his call to anything powerful and resentful enough to take the statue down. The goddess is a seething blot of anger and hunger in his senses, and he presses around her, pushes his lure out further, farther. Come to me, the garbled song says. Wake up and rise. He can feel her bearing down on Jin Ling, can feel the bright pulse of energy as the kid unsheathes his father’s blade and aims up. Come to me. Every scrap of energy is pressed into the call, every thin thread he can dredge up. All at once, there’s an answer. “The Ghost General! It’s him! It’s the Ghost General!” Wei Wuxian’s eyes shoot open, dizi dipping down in shock. Wen Ning shoots up from the ground, catching the goddess in her brittle chin. Something’s not right, though. Heavy chains swing from his wrists and ankles; his eyes, when Wei Wuxian catches a glimpse, are black as ink. Horror twists through Wei Wuxian. He’d sent Wen Ning away to protect him, to prevent him from getting caught by the sects. Who did this to him? Who could? He doesn’t have time to wonder further. With the statue destroyed, the cultivators turn on Wen Ning himself. He’s flooded with resentment, the energy rippling off him in gales. Without his own control, he’ll turn on anyone who tries to attack. Steadying himself, Wei Wuxian draws in a breath and reaches for the first calming song he thinks of. As discordant as the melody is on this dizi, it still thrums with gentle suggestion. It’s me, he says through it. Wen Ning, it’s me. Calm down. Blurry memories flit through him with the notes: Lan Zhan’s voice low and gentle in the dark of a cave, a gentle hand on the side of his face, red lanterns glowing soft in the night. Taking careful steps backwards, he lures Wen Ning away from the cultivators already yelling for Jiang Cheng. If he can just get a little further— A hand wraps around his wrist. Startled, Wei Wuxian nearly drops the dizi as he starts to pull out of the grip, but he freezes. Lan Zhan’s hand is warm and broad, his amber eyes wide as he stares at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian’s lips part, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. “Zongzhu, the Ghost General went that way!” Shit. Taking up the dizi, Wei Wuxian starts again even as Lan Zhan doesn’t release his grip. He presses more urgency into the melody, urges Wen Ning to flee and hide. At last, he flings himself away, and Wei Wuxian allows himself to draw in a much-needed breath. The hand around his wrist tightens, clenches almost painfully. “Ah!” Wei Wuxian yelps before twisting his hand to flip their grip. “Don’t chase him!” He holds Lan Zhan’s wrist too tightly, but Lan Zhan makes no move to break his grip. There’s something open and trembling in his expression, something almost like awe. Wei Wuxian can’t look away, suspended there with his hand on Lan Zhan and time a distant idea far removed from them. “Zongzhu, he’s the one who summoned the Ghost General,” the gangly Jiang disciple from earlier announces. Breaking his gaze from Lan Zhan, he turns to see Jiang Cheng only a few paces off. There’s something about his expression that’s a little off, a strain that Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize. “So you’re back,” Jiang Cheng says, spits. “And you went running to him? Wei Wuxian!” Zidian flares to life, unspooling in his hand, and Wei Wuxian can’t help but flinch back. The fern-like scars furled across his back tingle with the memory of pain. Before he can move, Lan Zhan has stepped before him, his guqin summoned to hover under his hand. A single chord knocks Zidian aside mid-stroke, the clash of spiritual energy sharp enough to resonate through Wei Wuxian’s ribcage. Watching from the sidelines, he can’t help gaping a little. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan really have progressed while he’s been gone. Zidian and Wangji were both powerful enough in his memory, but the way they flare and respond to their masters is like something out of a story. Something, nameless and heavy as a stone, sinks in Wei Wuxian’s chest and he forces it away. Good for them. He backs away carefully before he pivots and starts to flee in earnest. “You’re going to run away now?” He gets no further warning before Zidian is burning a caustic lash across his back and he’s flung into the dirt again. He cringes, gritting his teeth through the pain. It doesn’t hurt as much as he remembers from Madam Yu’s enthusiastic punishments, but it still burns worse than a hundred wasp stings. He scrambles to his feet, rubbing at his back. Mo Xuanyu was recognized by Jin Ling and his sister; maybe he can pretend long enough to deter Jiang Cheng. Anyway, his shidi really ought to have better manners. He’s a sect leader, for heavens’ sakes, and he’s not in his own territory. “Who do you think you are! Just because you’re a rich sect leader, does that mean you can go about whipping people as you like?” he scolds. “Take off your mask!” Jiang Cheng yells. Wei Wuxian is briefly tempted to stick out his tongue, and then, because he’s supposed to be crazy anyway, does it. “No! You’ll be shocked to death if I do,” he calls back. “Jiang-zongzhu, please stop,” Lan Jingyi protests, stepping forward. “Wei Wuxian’s body and soul were destroyed when he died. You killed him yourself, didn’t you?” Jiang Cheng breathes in sharply, eyes briefly widening with hurt, and Wei Wuxian frowns. He died when he destroyed the Seal. Jiang Cheng didn’t— Jiang Cheng, fear and anger snarling across his face— burning — Wei Wuxian, you promised. He stumbles, exhaustion finally catching up to him, and the memories flood in. He wakes slowly, to the solemn chords of the guqin. He can’t count the number of times Lan Zhan insisted on playing Clarity for him during the war; he recognizes it now even in its last notes. As it fades into quiet, a new song begins, one that tugs deep in Wei Wuxian’s chest. It sounds so much better when Lan Zhan plays it. Opening his eyes to the dark wood ceiling, he swallows and breathes through the tear slipping down into his hairline. “It’s really been thirteen years,” he says softly, letting himself take the weight of that understanding. “It feels like a dream.” Even with the river-rush of his memories running through him, there are still patches missing. He remembers dying, but the moments before it are scattered and disordered. He remembers parts of Qiongqi Pass, but so much of it is drenched in red it’s hard to discern the details. When he thinks of that year in the Burial Mounds, it’s hard to tell where reality ends and the nightmares begin. “You’re awake,” Lan Zhan says gently and resumes playing. Drawing himself up to sit with his back against the frame of the bed, he listens to Lan Zhan and tries not to think too much at all. The song curls into a gentle close, and Lan Zhan rests his hands over the strings to still them. He doesn’t look up, his gaze carefully fixed on some point a few strides before his guqin. “These thirteen years…” he starts. “If I say I don’t know where I was these thirteen years,” Wei Wuxian says, “will you believe me?” Lan Zhan swallows before dipping his head in a slight nod. “I believe you,” he says. He speaks quietly, but such surety runs through his voice that Wei Wuxian feels both as if the breath has been knocked from him and as if he might start crying. Ridiculous, he thinks and of course it’s in Lan Zhan’s voice. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. “I don’t remember a lot, I think,” he admits quietly, resting his chin on his knees. “But I remember what I said to you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lan Zhan still, hands tensing over his guqin. A twinge of pain and guilt aches in Wei Wuxian’s chest. So much for giving Lan Zhan an out, an opportunity to go make his life away from Wei Wuxian. Now he’s back, crashing into the peace Lan Zhan has surely cultivated in the intervening years. Thirteen years is far longer than they ever knew each other; what delicate balance has he created in that time that Wei Wuxian is now wrecking? “That day we ran into you in Yiling, the last time I saw you,” he says. “I’m — I’m sorry, for what I said.” Lan Zhan is still painfully still in his periphery, as if carved from jade. When he speaks, it is as if he is picking his words carefully, delicately. “That day in Yiling,” he echoes. “The last time you saw me.” There’s almost a question in his voice, and Wei Wuxian turns to him a little, frowning. Lan Zhan still doesn’t look to him. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows, forces himself to go on. “I — I thought I was protecting you by pushing you away but I was…it was wrong of me. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” Lan Zhan’s chin lowers a little, but there’s a tension in the corners of his mouth like frustration or maybe dismay. Wei Wuxian’s brow wrinkles. Was it too much? Maybe he’s being too forward, assuming that he mattered enough to Lan Zhan to hurt him. Even as he thinks it, he knows that probably isn’t true. It’s just…well, it has been thirteen years. Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t care for an apology so late. “Mm,” Lan Zhan says to his guqin. “It is forgiven.” He rises, robes cascading down like the white froth of a waterfall, and steps around the table to come to the bed where Wei Wuxian’s still curled. Perching on the edge of it, he studies Wei Wuxian’s face for a long moment, as if he’s searching for something. “What, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian teases around the knot in his throat. “Did you miss my face that much?” “Yes,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “I missed all of you.” Blinking, Wei Wuxian can only manage a strangled, ‘oh.’ He can feel the back of his neck warming, startled by the sincerity, and he looks away as he clears his throat. He’s not actually sure where they are, except that the simple style of the house and the familiar cloud patterns suggest somewhere in Cloud Recesses. “Eh, Lan Zhan, where are we? I don’t recognize this place,” he says. “The jingshi in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan answers, unperturbed by the change of topic. “My home.” The heat rising up the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck suddenly has less to do with Lan Zhan’s sincerity and more to do with the realization that he’s in Lan Zhan’s private home, in his own bed, and apparently Lan Zhan is utterly fine with this.    “Cloud Recesses? But what if Zewu-jun finds out?” he protests. “It doesn’t sound like people are lining up to welcoming me in.” “Brother already knows,” Lan Zhan says. “He greeted us when we arrived. He…understands.” Wei Wuxian glances sidelong at him but decides he isn’t ready to unpack the emotional depth contained in that one word. He skirts away from it, already feeling raw and bruised. “And Lan-laoxiansheng?” he prods. “Has he finally forgiven me for disrupting class?” It’s the least of his sins against the Lans, but at least that means he can poke at it a little without fresh blood. “Uncle is not sect leader,” Lan Zhan says. The corners of his lips twitch in the faintest hint of amusement. “I believe Lan Jingyi reported that a Young Master Mo aided in their mission and was brought here for healing and protection.” “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian gasps, scandalized and delighted, “you’ve learned how to be sneaky! I really have been a bad influence.” Breathing out a soft huff, Lan Zhan looks down at where his graceful hands rest in his lap. His gaze flicks up to Wei Wuxian, still soft in a way Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen it in — well, in years. Not since that last visit. “Wei Ying is good,” he says firmly. “You should rest. You were exhausted.” Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose at that, but he can’t deny the soul-deep weariness weighing him down. Still, as Lan Zhan starts to rise, he reaches out on impulse and catches the edge of one white sleeve. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says with a little smile, hopeful, “sing for me?” For a moment, he thinks he has really overstepped. Lan Zhan stands still and straight by the bed, expressionless. Then, the line of his lips relaxes just-so, his gaze softening as he gives a single nod. “Mm,” he says, brushing a hand featherlight against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “If you’d like.” He goes back to the guqin instead of staying beside Wei Wuxian on the bed, which wasn’t quite the plan, but Wei Wuxian can’t find it in himself to complain as he nestles back into the bed and Lan Zhan begins. With Lan Zhan’s voice lilting in his ear and the soft thrum of the qin strings humming through his bones, he finds he’s not afraid to close his eyes.

[oneshotnewbie]

Can you do a oneshot where Kara is tidying b!d's room because it's a mess and the younger one promised she would tidy it herself when she comes home from university but Kara wants to take it in her hands since she has superspeed and b!d would be too tired. She finds a letter to Jeremiah even tho he is gone for years now and she opens and read it? She starts crying and then Akex comes home and comforts her?

Words: 1.796

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The once neatly tidy and always decent big room of yours, with its own little bathroom and a small balcony overlooking the National City Park was now a mess since you started to go to the medical school and you didn’t have the time and energy to clean it up.

Every time you promised Kara and Alex, yours sisters with whom you were living with, to clean your room when you got home but you never made your promise real. The constant tests you needed to learn for or the homework you had to do for the next day got in your way.

You were not lazy, on the contrary. You kept trying to put the things back from where you took them out, trying to create order, if only piece by piece and even if you were only at the desk and in bed, mountains full of things stacked in spite.

At some point it was enough for Kara. Not because she got angry, no. She was crazy about tidiness and nothing could be cleaner that it already was and she saw how done you were after you came home from school. You didn’t allow her to take it into her hands. After all, it was your four walls.

Nevertheless she did it anyway. She felt it was right. Not because she was your sister and wanted to relieve you of a burden but because she had super speed and it would be much easier for her than you had to fight through it.  

She started with you freshly laundered clothes that were stacked on your couch. Carefully the blonde ordered everything in your closet, ironed the shirts and blouses you mostly needed for meetings before she also hung them in the closet. Your dirty laundry that you had accumulated in your hamper, she flew up to the bathroom and threw it directly into the washing machine.

Once again arrived downstairs, she put your make-up that you used every day in your vanity cabinet and cleaned the wide full-body mirror, wisely to not tear down the photos of you and your sisters and friend that hung on it.

The pillows on your couch were again carefully lined up next to each other and had the kind in the middle of them formed in a kind of heart, it was always Kara’s symbol.

Kara continued with the desk, where she cleaned only the vacancies because she was afraid to throw you off the train of learning. Papers lay on piled over books and all sorts of highlighters lay scattered on the table. Where you the only one who had a look through this chaos.. As you always said to your sisters, ‘it was an organized mess’. Even Kara had no idea how you managed it.

The energy cans and empty coffee cups found their way into the trash and into the sink. Once flown back up to the bedroom, she picked up your new favourite bedding and sheets and covered your bed with it, hoping you wouldn’t be mad at her doing that for you.

Just as she was about to lift the mattress to put the bed sheets over the corners, a letter you had recently hidden between the slatted frame and the mat you wanted that no one ever saw, flew right towards her and stopped by her feet.

Of course, Kara had immediately stopped her work and sat down on the unfinished bed. She wrestled with herself, refusing to open this letter and snooping around in your privacy but got more tensed as she turned the letter over and the name of your father appeared on the white rectangular envelope with thick black letters.

You were just like Alex, couldn’t handle it when he disappeared until today. Your sisters were older than you and understood earlier what happened, but you still didn’t. Nightmares still plagued you and many times you were still seen floating in the thought that he would come back. You always covered the table for one more person when it came to family events; the sock with the “J” was still waiting at the fireplace every time before Christmas. You were still buying presents for him and every time your hoped that he would be standing at the door on your birthday or sending you a card.

But that was never the case.

Everyone knew how much you fought day after day; everyone looked at your agony and the eyes that were red the morning after a night of mourning to ask God to bring him back to you. And you knew that Kara had heard everything every time. But nobody said anything anymore.

Your sisters had tried several times to talk to you about it, but you locked yourself away from them when the topic came to the surface again.

With shaky hands she opened the envelope after all. Some notes with your writing were pulled out and she took another breath, wondered if she really did the right thing before she readjusted her glasses and decided to read the letter.

“Dear Dad,I miss you so much.There are so many things I would say to you now, especially as I would like to hug you again and get your warmth and everyday kisses on the cheek. I have managed to live my dream, daddy. I am officially a medicine student; do you remember when I first told you about it? I was sitting on your lap with my broken doll, watching you fix her with all the stuff you could get in your garage. I hope you’re proud of me for making it all, even though I was hoping you would be there and walk me through all of it.. Alex and Kara are fine, they take good care of me and are the best sisters I could wish for. They support me wherever they can. Apropos, did you know that Alex is now the director of the DEO? Unbelievable but I am so proud of her! And Kara? She has won the politzer and has become a wonderful reporter with her own flesh and blood interspersed with everything she does. I’m so proud of her too!Dad, there are so many things I want to tell you. But my head is so full of thoughts and my heart is so heavy with feelings and I don’t think I could ever talk about it with both of them. Not that I don’t trust them, they just have so much to do and I don’t want to lose Alex in this down spiral when she needs to face your disappearance again. It was so hard to help her get out of the first one and it almost costed us our relationship.I cry a lot and every time I hope that you will dry my tears but you can’t see them. Going on without you is a nightmare. Your strength has been my strength so far and your advice has been my help. But now you’re gone. I miss you but I know that you are well where you are now and that you take good care for yourself. After all you have done for your family and you had to go through, you have earned your peace. Recently I painted a picture of you with the technique you once taught me. I hope you like it.I want to give you my promise that I will take care of the people you love and make sure that this family stays together in your interest. I want to thank you for your unique love, which I will never again experience in this form. She was one of the best gifts in my life. Thank you, for everything. I love you. Your little Y/N.”

With a sob, she flipped over to the next letter and looked at the picture you had previously mentioned. She was sure that you had used the charcoal pencils that Jeremiah gave you years ago when you started to draw more and more pictures in your free time.

The individual lines of your father’s potion, which you made from his profile, and the shades and floods of grey/black shades that blended into each other made a beautiful picture and she was amazed at the progress you made in drawing.

She put the papers on her lap and let the tears run wild. She knew that you didn’t feel well about your dad and there were often days when you wanted to be alone and not talk to anyone, but she didn’t know that it was so stressful for you.

“Kara? Kara, where are you?” the blonde heard a dark and rough voice before she wiped away her tears and looked up. She saw the redhead who was walking through the door and more tears started to fall.

“Y/N will kill you if she sees you clean- What’s going on? What happened?” she asked in shock, immediately dropping her bag to her feet before kneeling in front of Kara and putting her arm on her legs.

But the once so though and young woman didn’t answer, just held the papers in front of the older sisters face and buried hers in her hands as Alex took the letters away from her.

She scanned this briefly; her eyes reflected the tears she tried to suppress. Your words reminded her so much of her own words she tried to find for all of her pain and it hurt even more knowing that you had to go through it too. She readjusted herself, recently sitting on her knees she was now in a cross-legged position.

Instantly Alex threw the letters on the floor when loud and terrible sobs came from her opposite. Her arms supported her and she stood in less than a few seconds in front of Kara, putting both hands over Kara’s head and pulling her to her stomach. The blonde clasped her tightly and buried her face in the red-heads shirt. Again and again Alex stroked the back of the young alien and tried to calm her down.

But nothing seemed to help until the older one broke away from her and took her up, carrying her to the couch and laying her down on it while she also lay down next to her and pulled Kara over to her.

Kara listened to the older woman’s heartbeat and calmed herself down slowly as she followed her thoughts and enjoyed the closeness of her sister.

She was grateful to Alex that she understood without words and didn’t force her to speak. Was the disappearance of Jeremiah also an open gaping wound for her? She knew that she would wait until she opened herself, ready to talk everything.

[queerinette]

tang (zest)

happy birthday to @lahiffed. one of the people i look up to, because no matter how bad things get for you, you never back down. you were kind to me when i was an awkward young kid in the ml fandom who wanted so badly to be liked, and you encourage me now when i stomp on the haters and unapologetically tell people to fuck off. you’re the only one i can randomly call and leave awkward voicemails to, the person i think about with every jane the virgin episode i watch, a person i am so sad i can’t meet at this very moment. you’ve taught me to hold my values close, and for that i am grateful, because we live in a world where that becomes impossible. thank you for always being there to salt with me, and for reading my overeager message even when i’m at my most annoying. ily SO MUCH you absolute hoe and the fact that i can’t give you 25 punches is absolutely hurtful because i’d give anything to punch your arm to numbness. i don’t even know if i’m fucking coherent right now because i can’t stop tearing up at the thought of how much you mean to me. you make stupid jokes with me all the time and you send me the weirdest shit and every time i laugh harder than i would if it was someone else. 

enjoy this piece of trash that i didn’t give up on because i wanted to make sure you got this before i fell asleep. i think you’ll recognize some parts that i mentioned to you ;)

warnings for everyone else: this is tagged as mature on ao3, and it is definitely more mature than anything i’ve written before. please be mindful of that as you read. there’s nothing explicit but there are references and that’s enough for me to tell you to be careful

read on ao3

Date night sends thrills down Marinette’s back. She stares deep into her eyes in the mirror and wonders if Nino will be doing it in a few hours instead, straps her feet into 3-inch high heels because she knows Nino worries about her clumsiness, and wings her eyeliner just right to make sure he’s mesmerized by the sight of her all night. It’s not their first date by any means, but they both feel like something charged is in the air between them.

Marinette is positive that this is the night. 

With a quick glance around her apartment, she remarks at how clean it looks, a feat that had taken her all week to accomplish from how much mess had accumulated. She’s not ashamed, per say, of how she lives, and she knows her boyfriend is the last person to judge her manner of living, but she’d wanted to do a little something to impress.

Especially if the night proceeded in the fashion she deemed it to.

With a flourish she grabs her purse, walks out, locks the door, and makes her way to the destination that was a mere five-minute distance from her apartment. She thinks, knows it was intentional. She knows they both feel that things will change tonight. 

As she walks, she fiddles with the loose skin on her thumb, annoyed by the twinge of pain it causes her but knowing that if she pulls on it, it would bleed. And the last thing Marinette wants to do tonight is to get blood  on her dress. From a hangnail no less.

She wouldn’t mind it if Nino got blood on her dress…

She shook the thought out of her mind and focused on the street in front of her, knowing that if she went down that route, she’d end up breathless and flushed before she even got to the restaurant. And she sure as hell wasn’t gonna walk into a date this important looking aroused to high hell and back. 

Walking out of it though…

She found Nino standing outside the restaurant, rubbing his left hand behind his neck and found herself stopping to stare. He looked so good. And this wasn’t just the thirst talking either. It was something she’d acknowledged even when they were kids, awkward and sweaty and prepubescent in their interactions. 

It wasn’t about his looks. Or rather just about them. It was more about the way you could tell that his heart dictated his movements. There was a kindness and humanity that shone through him and made him the most beautiful man Marinette had ever seen.

Sometimes, she questions how she got lucky enough to be loved by him.

His head turns to look at her as if he could sense her gaze, and Marinette feels her heart stuttering at the way she could see him lose his breath at the sight of her. Feeling confidence rolling in her shoulders, she walked closer to him, lifting her head and trying not to look nervous.

“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough to see every detail in his eyes. His gulp at the sight of her is audible, and she tries not to show how affected she is by seeing him in a pink button-down shirt as she leans down to kiss him. He doesn’t move until she’s pulled away completely, and she tries not to smirk at the thought of how immobile she’d rendered him.

She fails, and as a result he snaps out of his stupor and narrows his eyes at her. 

“Hey,” he says, voice forced-casual as he slides towards the doors of the restaurant. He turns back to her as he opens it, and she can see that he’s picked up the challenge she’s laid down and is more than willing to take her up on it. 

She doesn’t want to give away just how much this affects her, but she thinks he picks up on that too. 

“What a gentleman,” she comments, walking through the door he’s holding open. When he follows right behind she rolls her eyes and understands where the burst of chivalry came from. 

She also blushes, but it’s mild and subsides before he can see it.

“Always,” his response is when the maître d'hôtel greets them, Marinette has to stay quiet while Nino gives the details of their reservations, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to keep the sarcasm choked into her throat.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because when they’re walked to their table, Nino immediately sits down and she’s unable to hold back a snort. He grins when he hears it, and keeps his eyes locked with hers until she’s sitting down.

The nerves come back at this point, because she realizes dimly that the act of being in a restaurant makes everything between them different. She can’t cuddle up to him, or poke him, or throw bits of her food at him when he says something that shouldn’t be funny but somehow is. 

She should’ve thought of that before she agreed to a fancy date. 

The waiter drops off wine for them and she downs it immediately, hoping that it’ll settle her nervous energy. When it doesn’t, she downs another one, which is chased by yet another one. The food arrives at this point and Marinette realizes she’s not hungry at all, because the crackers she’d eaten while getting ready had evidently filled her up.

So she watches Nino eat while playing around with her pasta, and he raises an eyebrow at her in question. She looks away as a response.

“Marinette,” he calls, and she refuses to look at him as she fiddles with her thumb, Nino takes her hand in his, gently pulling her index finger away from the hangnail and trapping it under his own. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

She looks at him then, meeting his gentle eyes and feels herself melt. He’s so kind to her, even when she’s a fumbling idiot and the opposite of the picture of grace. What even was there to be nervous about? The fact that she couldn’t have her hands all over him? She would later, anyway.

She hoped she would.

“I’m fine,” she says, and she smiles at him reassuringly as she picks up her fork. “It’s just weird because all our previous dates have been at either your apartment or mine.”

He studies her face, as if searching for the depth of truth in her words, before he smiles back at her. “I know, I just… felt like this date was different.”

There’s a blush rising in her cheeks, she can feel as it does, and she does her best not to look away. “I felt it too.”

And somehow, in the midst of dozens of other fancy diners, Marinette found herself feeling safe in the presence of her boyfriend.

[thescreamingdemon]

Day to be Damned Part 1

Cooper: *I hid the locket back in my bag and then double checked the windows and doors to make sure there was nothing suspicious or out of place. I didn’t notice any increased guard activity or anything else and let out a slow breath of relief. Now I just needed to wait for Landyn to find out how everything went with dear old dad. That proved more difficult that I thought it would though. My visit with my mother hadn’t taken all that long. I was too worried about being discovered off the grounds. I was happy knowing that she was going to try to come to the island, if I could make that happen. If they didn’t come up with other plans. Where the fuck was Landyn? I scrubbed my hand through my hair and did another loop around my room when I heard the door slam across the hall. Fucking finally. I started to open the door when I stopped and waited, listening for the sounds of anyone else nearby. The last thing we needed was for nosy fucking busybodies to start catching on at how often we were going back and forth. I took several deep inhales and slowly exhaled as I called on my abilities. I couldn’t rip time like Landyn or travel through dimensions or anything like that. Mechanical manipulation and cloaking were my specialties. I might not have used the cloaking while dealing with humans much, but I had a feeling I was going to be using them quite a bit while I was stuck here. I peered through the peep hole to make sure no one was in the direct path, then watched as the air shifted around the doorway enough that I could open it without detection. I glanced left and right and saw the guards further down, but none turned my way, thankfully. Quietly I closed the door behind me and crossed the hallway to Landyn’s, knocking on his door as I held the energy shift around me to conceal me and now his doorway from any onlookers*

Landyn: [I tugged my shirt over my head then pulled off the duvet to the bed, dumping it in a heap beside the bed and my shirt in the hamper by the door to the bathroom. I figured I’d put it back once I was sure that everything was set up. I quickly started trying to wrap some of the ropes around the beds mattress from side to side, hooking the cuffs to it before starting to knot the ends and tugging to ensure that they were only coming loose by being cut. I ensured there was a cuff for each wrist and my feet, three of the four were ones you buckled into place, the last was good old fashioned metal. I should be able to put my wrist in it and then press against the bed to close it, which would mean I couldn’t open it, but I was capable of closing it myself. I shrugged out of my pants so that I could get comfortable and then checked the monitors that still showed Cooper tossing and turning. I signed, he should have been back by now, which should have meant that he’d click the loop off with a short delay to allow him time to get back into bed. Then as he woke it’d seem like he’d just had a really restless nights sleep. That should easily explain his grumpy disposition with anyone and everyone. Though I still worried, what the hell was taking him so long, and what would happen if he wasn’t back by the time the sun started to rise and Sebastian went on the warpath? I debated checking on him, but then stopped, I had to trust that he’d be back when he said he would be. He trusted me to go into that meeting and ensure he got what he needed, and I had to give him the same. When the knock came I was still focused on my mental checklist in my head, “I’m busy, leave a note and I’ll get back to you in the morning.” I didn’t give the door another thought as I slammed a glass of water on the side table with a straw and then turned to head into the bathroom to pee. If I was going to be tied down in the bed for the next few hours, I was going to ensure I didn’t embarrass myself any further than I needed to. I’d have to remember to send a message to Cooper before I locked down so that he could check in on me before the following evening. I was sure I’d see him before that, for updates if nothing else. I found my heart skipping at the idea and I rubbed at my sternum before washing my hands and walking back into the main room. I hoped the next few hours went quickly so I could do what was needed without getting any of us killed.]

Cooper: *I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited. I knew he was in there, I could hear the movement through the doorway. What the fuck was taking him so …Really. Leave a note. My ass I was leaving a note. I wasn’t waiting until morning to find out how his meeting went. I needed to make sure he was okay or I was never going to be able to sleep. I checked the hallway again, then placed my hand against the lock, waiting one beat and then another before the lock clicked and shifted. I twisted the knob and pushed open the door, stepping inside like I had every damn right to be there. I closed and locked the door behind me and then dropped the cloaking of the hallway. My eyes locked on the male as he entered the room and I took quick steps to close the gap between us* Leave a note? I don’t leave notes, Kulote, and I sure as fuck wasn’t waiting until morning to see you. 

*I reached up to cup the side of his face, my thumb brushing his cheek as I did a quick look over him, cataloging the new injuries he seemed to have accumulated. My nostrils flared at the fresh blood and a low growl built.} Let me take care of your back and you can tell me what happened. 

Landyn: [I span on the balls of my feet when I realised the door had opened, watching until Cooper revealed himself. I had no line of defense other than I was preoccupied. I should have reached for weapons the minute the locks were disengaged. But somewhere in my brain I knew that no one else would try that other than the stubborn ass from across the hall. I stood stock still as he told me exactly what I’d expected him to say. It made me smile to know that I could read him that well. Most of the time anyway. I leaned into the touch, my breath coming easier in ways that I really didn’t want to investigate. I pressed a hand to his chest, the growl rumbling through the both of us, “None of that, I’m fine. The blood is from your soon to be mother in law when she wanted me to back her plans. Then when I went against her, I got the split lip. It’ll heal fast enough. Um……….” I swallowed hard and then stepped back, looking from the male in front of me to the bed and then back, “Your father gave me something, without my knowledge. In my drink. Or he’s fucking with me, I’ve no real idea if it was in there or not. But I am not taking the chance. So…….” I trailed off again and then cleared my throat, straightening as I fell back into what I was comfortable with, “You get to strap me to the bed. I know that falls within the boundaries of what gets you off, so tonight is your lucky night. Soon, apparently, I’ll either want to kill you, fuck you or have you kill me. So that’s going to be a fun few hours.” I threw a wink at Cooper before turning and letting the facade fall from my face. Fucking hell, I really wanted to ask him to go, so whatever happened he didn’t need to see it. Whether the cocktail of shit he put in my water would make me crazy in the violent way, the whore type way or the please kill me now kind of way, I wasn’t sure he’d want to see it. Frankly it could equally make me sick enough to throw up over and over again, which is why I needed a bucket, that would work. I looked around until I found a trash can that I could put on the bed beside me. I needed enough leeway to get water and the can if I needed, but without being able to reach either wrist or my ankles. I turned to face Cooper again, a small, uncertain smile back in place, “You can stay if you want, I’ll update you on the meeting, and you can tell me how it went with your mother. We don’t have long to prepare, a date has been set for you to be married. But I think I managed to find a way to get what we needed for the honeymoon, even if it wasn’t what Jade’s mother wanted.” I shrugged and then stepped closer again, “I probably have time for you to check my back isn’t infected before you get me strapped down, thank you.” I wasn’t sure why I was thanking him, but I wanted him to know that I wasn’t here just out of necessity, and that I was here by choice. I smiled again and then sat on the end of the bed and waited.]

Cooper: *I narrowed my eyes at the touch to my chest and the explanation as my thumb swept over his lower lip* That bitch will die a painful death when the time comes, make no mistake about that. 

*The growl that followed shook me to my core and I had to release my hold on the male before my anger took hold when he stepped back from me. I was going to kill Sebastian if it was the last thing I did. And it might be but it would be worth it to watch the life drain from his eyes for the shit he was putting every one through all for the sake of power he would never have. I saw red as Landyn continued to speak and I heard him, I did. Even if it was slightly muffled through the sound of blood roaring in my ears. He went from rambling about my father drugging him to the wedding…a wedding I didn’t give two fucking shits about right now. I stood frozen while he managed a bucket and fucked around with some more water even as I had to try to focus my energy to keep from zapping every bit of mechanical energy in the room. My father could manipulate me all he wanted, he was a fucking master at it. He could twist and try to make me produce some hellspawn that was never going to happen in this farce of a mating, but if he drugged Landyn, without even knowing what he meant to me, that meant he was coming here himself…or worse, sending his little minions down here to ‘show he wasn’t to be fucked with’ he had gone to far. And because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to leave him at my father’s mercy like this, that meant shit was going to hit the fan a lot sooner than we planned on it happening. The moment he stepped close again, my rage simmered slightly and I could almost see clearly. I let out a slow breath until he stepped away and narrowed my eyes at him* I dont give a flying fuck about the wedding or when it is. My mother will help but that will obviously have to wait. If you’re drugged…we don’t have time for anything else now. Strip down the rest of the way and lay on your stomach, I will take care of you and…anything else that happens tonight

Landyn: [My head snapped back up at the command. I could feel the anger radiating off Cooper, but there was little I could do about it. As long as he didn’t go hounding after his father and ruin the whole thing before we even started this thing. I had to get through the next few hours, or however long it took for it to get out of my system. I could already feel my stomach starting to curl and I was hesitant to tie myself up. But I needed to know that everyone else was safe, and I wasn’t going to be coerced into doing something stupid. I exhaled and then nodded. Probably better all around, that was it was easy to clean up. I stood again and pushed off my boxers, stepping out of them and then putting them in the basket so that they weren’t in the way. I gave the room another look around and then sighed. I knew from Cooper’s phrasing that he was expecting, and I cursed myself for not seeing it. I thought it was punishment for having my back healed so fast. But of course Sebastian didn’t think like that. I had outsmarted him with that, and I’d paid the price. And now they’d expect Cooper to be in his room, oblivious. They’d never kill me, but I was sure they’d make me a miserable night. Though nothing would be left to show in the morning, when I was up and ready for the wedding plans, I’d be covered in my formal wear, and no one would be any the wiser. Sebastian had no idea that Cooper would see me before the morning, or that he’d be equally as likely to see me naked. I cleared my throat and then went to lie down. I settled on my stomach and winced at the tenderness that was starting to track over my body. “Lets get on with this. Only thing I ask is that you lock me down on my back so I can do my best. And if anything happens, you cut me loose so I can have your back. You’re good, but I’m better. Though possibly not in the state I’m likely going to be in by then.” I tried for a smile as I shifted to catch Cooper’s eye. I wasn’t going to pretend that I wasn’t enjoying the view, and the fact I was lying here naked while he was about to put his hands on me did exactly what it normally did. I shifted uncomfortably and rolled my shoulders, “You need to hurry though.” Cooper: *I went and grabbed a wet cloth to wash off his back while he was getting situated, though I did hesitate while checking out that ass. The only marks I wanted on him were mine and every one that my father put on him he’d pay for ten times over. I’d make sure of that. I came back after Landyn was laid out and secured his wrists with the provided cuffs, my lips curving up regardless of the reason for it. He was right, this was a position I would like him in, willingly, one day. Once he was secure, I trailed my fingers down his spine before I stood and undid my jeans, kicking off my boots and then shoving my jeans off so I can get comfortable* One day, we’ll do this without the drugs, Kulote. And you’ll love every minute of it. I’ll try to make this as painless as I can though…or at least as pleasantly painful as I can

*I nipped his jaw as I leaned down and then threw a leg over his hips, straddling his ass. First I took the wet rag and wiped it over every wound, cleaning each one thoroughly as I thought about what he said. I waited until his back was clean, then grabbed the ointment, I rolled my hips against his ass and dropped a kiss on a neck before I started covering up each of the gouges in his skin* If they come, and I’m sure they will. I’ll undo your restraints. I’ll cloak myself in the corner at first so they don’t even know I’m here until it’s too late. I’m guessing they won’t want to draw a fuss from outside because they won’t want me to to hear anything. We’ll use that to our advantage. For now, just let me take care of you.

Landyn: [I didn’t say anything as my hands were cuffed. I’d highlight it again later, instead I lay still and calmed my breathing. I hated being taken care of, though if I was honest, it hadn’t happened before. Or not that I could remember. I came from a decent sized family, and demons weren’t always the best at looking after their young. Thankfully I had siblings who were older and ensured I stayed alive. Until I was old enough to deal with my own powers and then I was able to move through time to get what I wanted. Food, drink, sex, parties etc etc. The list was endless when you could jump around anywhere you wanted. And yet here I was, refusing to do the thing I was born to do in order to ensure I could protect Cooper. I jumped forward, and I’d not be around to help. Which worked normally when no one was around to find me or needed me. But when they were expecting me somewhere, that’s when there was complications. And it sucked. I felt rather than saw Cooper return to the bed and I shifted slightly, groaning at the scrape of teeth before hissing out a breath when I felt him settle his weight on me, “Minus the shit in my system is good.” I ground down, my molars shifting over each other with each scrape of the cloth. Despite the feeling of Cooper against my ass, his hips rolling to distract me, that didn’t stop the pain shooting through me each time he hit a particularly deep part. I exhaled at the last slide of his fingers against my back and then tipped my chin upwards, looking at him over my shoulder, “There’s gauze over in the cupboard, cover my back so I can lie on my back and then get me settled on my back. Wrist and ankles should keep me down. But I have extra rope if you need it. The only reason I haven’t done one around my neck was in case I was sick. I would instinctively lean forward and I didn’t want to choke myself. Without my hands, I can’t use my abilities to go back and stop myself tying myself up.” I snorted at myself and then sighed, “I hate needing help, but if you swear you’ll cloak and cut the rope to my hands so I can get free if I need to, we’ll play it out. You never know, we might learn something about your father. And if I am projectile vomiting, I’m sure I can aim at at least one of them.” I grinned widely and winked at him. Hoping he stayed with me and made being tied up worth my while, even if I was a begging mess through the whole thing. Control was something I didn’t give up easily, and it was the one weak spot Sebastian had exploited to ensure I was humiliated and alone. All I could do was ride it out and hope I didn’t horrify Cooper enough to lose his confidence in me at being able to do my job. “You ready for whatever happens today?”

Cooper: *I resisted the urge to swat his ass when he started getting mouthy, but only because he was injured and that wasn’t exactly that my thing. Instead I leaned down and bit just below his ear with a low hiss* You’re not given the orders around here, Kulote. Your back needs air for right now. It needs to dry out some with the ointment.  Draw the poison and shit out of it. I swear to you, I will cut you free the moment there’s trouble. Not a second later. Besides, if you’re on your back, I can’t do this…

*I slid down his legs and let my hands run down his back to squeeze and knead those plump ass cheeks of his, spreading and pushing them together as I tried to distract him a little* No need to choke yourself. I trust you not to hurt me. Anyone else, you have free reign to kill should they enter your room without permission. My father should know that better than anyone.

*I gave a nod as I continued the teasing massage, my thumb dipping between his cheeks as I let out a sigh. How this male could make me want to fuck him through the mattress while at the same time force me to have a civil conversation wasn’t something I was used to. Definitely not something I understood. Fucking and conversation were not something that went hand in hand. You fuck, you move on. He made me want the whole damn package. I wasn’t quite sure how that made me feel. So for now, I was going to continue to focus on how he felt, which when he was wrapped around me, was pretty fucking good. * I’m ready for anything. My mother is ready to help…can you convince them to allow the honeymoon to occur on the island of Paras? My father thinks it’s his…it isn’t. There are dukes in place who will help us, help you protect us. My mother wants Leighton left for her to handle. She’s just making sure Remmy, my brother, is secure first. 

Landyn: [I shivered hard and then groaned when Cooper’s teeth scraped along the sensitive skin just under my ear. My body itching to get closer to him, to get my hands on him as he teased. That tease only increased when he settled and started working his hands over me. I was already hard, but I swear I could have drilled through the bed by the time he started speaking. I managed a sarcastic “Yes Sir” with a mini hand salute when I was told who was giving the orders. But I didn’t manage anything other than a low groan of acceptance and a nod when he explained about my back. As uncomfortable as I was, I managed to arch my back slightly, pressing closer to those prying hands. I understood the logic of allowing my back to heal, but I was also tempted to explain that whatever was in my system wasn’t about to just disappear. I licked my lips and swallowed hard as I tried to understand what was real in my bodies reaction and what was just part of Sebastian’s fucked up plan. Part of me wanted him to keep touching me, each trail of his fingers over my skin was sending messages to my brain that were igniting that fire in my gut. It pushed me to want to beg him to ignore my back and touch me everywhere. On the other hand I wanted to punch him in the face for daring to come anywhere near me. I couldn’t seem to find a happy medium. I felt my breathing increase, and again I had no idea if it was anger or lust that was causing it, or the pure panic that came with knowing I wasn’t going to be in charge of my body. Fuck that was going to be awful. I swallowed again and tugged at my restraints, trying not to make it obvious to Cooper that I was panicking, I didn’t want to worry him any more than he probably was.

My brain filtered that he was talking, and I exhaled hard, breathing back in almost as soon as my chest expelled the air, “Done it. It’s done. It makes sense, I told him. That’s what the slap was for. Sebastian agreed with me. Or so he says.” I barely got the last part out before I had to swallow around my panic again, “You’ve got to go Cooper. I’m not sure I can’t handle you being here for this. I’m not myself, I’ve got no control over what’s happening. I want to beg you to fuck me and I want to punch you all at the same time right now. Not to mention the fact I want to throw up just to see if I can get it out of my system faster. It’s only going to get worse. Please help me.” I knew I wasn’t making sense. Asking him to leave, asking him to stay. Sebastian was going to fucking pay for this, even if I had to work magic I’d not used in a lifetime to do it. Time was a fun thing, and if I had to abuse it to ensure Sebastian got what he deserved, I’d do it. No matter the consequences.]

Cooper: *I kept my fingers teasing over Landyn’s ass, stroking and kneading along his skin. Knowing my father, the shit he used was strong and would fuck Landyn up more than he’d admit. Unfortunately for him, I was a stubborn asshole who wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what he tried to say otherwise. My thumb worked down over that tight ring then lower to trace that taut skin that ran between his sac and his ass, slow and languidly, despite the fire his body was putting out. I kept my voice even to try to counter the panic he was trying so desperately not to show me.* Good, that’s very good. We’ll be far enough away he can’t hurt you for a while too, that’ll buy us some time. 

*I curled my fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing slightly and pulsing them with each breath that I took. My other hand still moving in slow circles over his ass* I’m not going anywhere, Landyn. You can get that thought out of your head right now. I have to be here for when they come. But I also WANT to be here to take care of you. You think you can frighten me off because you want to hit me…like you’re the first. The only problem with that plan is it would require me to untie you and that’s not happening right now so your only other option is asking me to fuck you…and you know that wouldn’t be a problem, don’t you? I have no problems fucking this tight ass, and though I prefer it when it’s you wanting and not my father’s drugs speaking, I will do whatever you need me to do, Kulote.

*I pressed my thumb against that tight ring once more, applying just enough pressure while my other hand was still pulsating around the base of his cock* My father thinks he’s clever with his little concoctions. He’ll pay dearly for this one, make no mistakes about that. 

Landyn: [I couldn’t think properly. The feeling of Coopers fingers and palm sweeping over my skin was enough to drive everything else out my head. I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax, but it was nearly impossible. I didn’t want him to have to see me like this, I could feel the need to jump through time itching over my skin. Each pass of his hand only added to that. But then he’d be left unattended, and should something happen, it was much harder to go back and undo it. I could take him with me, but then who knows what we’d miss. I hated being a part of this, not being on my own any more, able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And now it seemed likely I’d never go back to that. Didn’t want to if truth be old, really. As easy as it might be, I couldn’t voice that, but I knew it was in my head. I couldn’t explain why I was so attached, and without warning as well. When I’d wandered into that fucking auto shop to drop off the weekly inventory I hadn’t for one second thought I’d end up here. I cursed Bob back and forth for dying at his post, and yet here I was wanting more of this demon’s touch. I knew my breathing was elevated, and yet I had no idea if it was because of my panic or the teasing touches from Cooper. The asshole was teasing me in ways that were guaranteed to short circuit my brain. I heard his words, though it felt like he was speaking them through some kind of water tank. They were mostly muffled, and I recognised it as panic, rage and arousal all combined in one. “I want you not to see me like this. When I start puking everywhere I am sure that’ll really turn you on.” I snorted and then groaned as Coopers talented fingers continued to push my body and mind higher and higher. I didn’t try to stop myself from moving into his touch, hips rolling in time with each pulse. I curled my hands into fists and dropped my forehead to the bed, glad for about 3 minutes that my feet weren’t tied so I could use my knees to push up, encouraging more of the soothing touches. Though when that total pissed off rage hit, it took far more of my control than I liked to keep myself from aiming at the male at my back to kick him clean across the room. I growled low, teeth grinding to hold myself in some kind of control, “He’ll pay, but not until it’s time to show our cards. We do anything before that and we’re both dead. I can’t bring you back if I’m dead. He wants me for that, he needs me for that. To bring you back when you push his buttons. It’s the only fucking reason I’m here. He’s just playing, this is him just playing. To fuck with you, well, with me. You’re meant to be sleeping. Then wedding bells tomorrow night, or I guess tonight since it’s already passed midnight. Shit. Just knock me the fuck out or something before I say something I shouldn’t.” I bit down on my bottom lip, body still alive with the touches. Unable to stop myself from arching into the pressure, or pressing closer and wanting more.]

Cooper: *I tightened my legs over Landyn’s when I felt the fight in them but otherwise kept up the slow tease of my fingers down the seam of his ass while my other hand teased his cock* Why not, you watched me throw up all over whoever the fuck that was again when we first arrived here. Not a big deal. Keep trying to fight me, Landyn. I’m not going anywhere and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.

*My voice stayed even as I leaned down and gave a hard nip of teeth to his shoulder blade, my hand coming free of his cock as I reached for the lube. I sat back up and dribbled a generous amount along his ass and dropped it to the floor as my thumb continued to work the tight ring, teasing the tip of finger inside with each of my words* If I’m meant to be sleeping, this is something else. This is to prove something to you, not me. I’m not supposed to know about this because he knows if I found out you’re being fucked with…fuck…

*It hit me then like a ton of bricks. Something Jade had said at our first meeting. A look my father had given me. I went to say something more when I heard it. Footsteps. Several of them. Coming closer. Fuck. I leaned down and ripped Landyn’s restraints apart and tossed him his pants as I was tugging my own jeans back on before I moved to the corner as I promised. I was certain my vision bled to red as I heard the scratching at the door moments before I concealed myself, blending into the corner along with the meager belongings in his room. It didn’t matter how many my father sent or what message he thought he was sending. The message that was going to be returned was that he had severely underestimated his opponents. And that would be the first of his many mistakes*

Landyn: [I flat our groaned again when Cooper’s legs tightened. Each touch was like a thousand on a normal day and I wanted so much more, while also wanting to buck him off. My stomach was still feeling fragile, but it was a fleeting thought that worked over my consciousness before disappearing with the overwhelming emotions that came with everything else. How long had this stuff been in my system already? How much longer did I have before I was back in control. The only thing that was stopping me from panicking entirely was the constant touch of Coopers fingers as they moved over me, working my cock and ass in tandem. I was moving between both, hips still rocking, though I was frustrated that I couldn’t touch back. My fists were balled, and with each roll I seemed to tug on the restraints. I’d have bruises in the morning, but I didn’t care. I nodded in understanding that Cooper wasn’t going to leave, that he was going to do exactly what I’d do if the situation was reversed. I heard Cooper grab the lube, but it didn’t really register until the cold hit my hot skin, and I hissed out a breath, twitching slightly before my body relaxed again. I had to relax, I wanted to, especially when I felt the pressure from Coopers finger, and I almost started mumbling out a “fuck yes” before he started speaking. Though I wasn’t really listening, I did hear the sudden stop. I frowned and tipped my head, opening my mouth to speak and then I heard what Cooper was hearing. Footsteps, hushed whispers and they were coming towards my door. I felt my heart rate pick up for entirely different reasons than the one it had been beating for a minute earlier. I growled low and then felt Cooper pull the restrains off the bed. I pulled on my jeans, buttoning them enough to stay up, and then rolled off the other side of the bed to the way Cooper had gone. I tugged open a drawer and yanked out my knives. I had a favourite set of weapons, though I could use pretty much anything you threw at me. They balanced perfectly, were so sharp I could slice through most things without effort, and they shone brightly where I’d looked after them. I curled my fingers around them and rolled my shoulders. I then heard the handle to the door get tried, and I rolled my eyes. What a bunch of idiots. Break it down, unlock it with a key, pick it. But don’t try it to announce you’re here. I snorted and then threw the duvet back on the bed, covering the restraints so I could settle on it and stuff the knives under the pillow. I figured if Sebastian was behind this, they were coming in with fists and bats. Nothing that would kill me or leave me with open wounds that Sebastian hadn’t put there. They were his mark to show I was his employee, and no one was to touch me. It made me growl to think on, but I kept my eyes trained at the door. After another minute the door was thrown open and eight males pushed through the small entrance. They stumbled to a stop when they saw me watching them from the bed. I was still having to try and get my head in the game, the concoction rushing through me made it hard to stop my body wanting to fuck them and fight them. I was still hard, and that probably didn’t help their confusion. “You guys been sent to look after me? Your master shouldn’t have, I’d have been fine with my hand and a punching bag. To send eight of you really is so lovely of him. Please send my regards when you get back to him.” I winked at the one closest to me and waggled my brows. I noted most started growling in obviously offense, but a couple gave me a once over, their lips curling into a nasty smirk. I focused on them, “You’ve been sent to rough me up, right? Surely you want to have some fun first. Can’t be fun beating on someone without making it a challenge? Why not put those bats to good use. You know I’ll scream for you.” I ran my tongue along my bottom lip while making eye contact with the two who hadn’t growled at my earlier statement. They stepped forward and I curled my hands into fists. Waiting on them making a move before making mine, I wasn’t stupid enough to step up first, then Sebastian would have a reason to pardon these idiots. They needed to put their hands on me, or take a swing, then I would happily school them on who they were dealing with. Cooper was just a fun little bonus present they got for coming into the wrong room and ruining my buzz.]

Cooper: *It took more restraint than I knew I possessed to stand there silently when the door flung open and the goons began to pile into Landyn’s room. I recognized most of them. How could I not. Several of them had been responsible for the beating that night that nearly killed Remmy. There was no fucking way I was letting them get their hands on Landyn. But I had to wait. Had to bide my time. My father thought he was sending a message but he was wrong. So very wrong. This was going to be a message to him instead. I took a slow breath and watch Landyn taunting the eight assholes as they entered the room. Waited until the closed the door. I moved silently around the room to block their exit now. My muscles twitching as the first launched himself at Landyn. I think half were ready to fuck, the other half ready to fight. Maybe both. Sadly for them, the moment they laid a hand on him, they signed their own fates. I grabbed the legs of one out from under him and sent him face first to the floor. He looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what he had tripped over. Even more so when his leg started to twist in a direction opposite from the way it was meant to, all on its own. This drew the attention of two others. Not enough to give Landyn a clearing but it was a start. The three were fighting a ghost, they swung haphazardly in my direction as I snapped the demon’s leg cleanly in half just below the knee. I just needed to buy enough time to see what Landyn was playing at, then we could either end them all or send them hobbling back in tears to my father. Either way, I was going to have fun with them for fucking with what was mine*  #DayToBeDamnedPt1

[ericvick]

Pursuing the path of your trash immediately after it has been taken from the bin

I am a shameless rubbish picker. It’s not unusual to uncover me strolling my canine on Wednesday nights in Dorchester, leash in just one hand, shabby plant stand or bench in want of TLC in the other, or, in some situations, slung in excess of my shoulders.

It’s really hard not to decide trash at times when you seem at the abundance of items on the suppress just about every 7 days, leaving you to marvel: What takes place to all that waste, anyway?

In Boston, all residential squander is burned. Eighty percent of it is picked up by Money Squander and sent to Covanta vitality-transfer stations. Dorchester’s squander is element of the 110,000 annual tons from Boston that are sent to Lynn, the place the rubbish is inspected before it is transferred from tiny to substantial vans and hauled to an incinerator in Haverhill.

I not too long ago took a Covid-pushed virtual tour of the Haverhill site, courtesy of Covanta place asset supervisor for the Commonwealth, Mark Van Waldeen. As the significant waste vans come in, they dump their masses on a tip ground, which funnels the squander to a keeping pit. A crane then scoops the waste into a chute that feeds it into the boiler, which burns the flamable material at 2,000 levels Fahrenheit developing steam that powers a enormous turbine that generates electrical power, enough to electricity 31,000 residences for a calendar year.

Any steam that exits the facility passes through numerous methods of cleaning, which includes a carbon-injection procedure that neutralizes major metals and a collection of vacuum cleaner filter-like luggage that lure any extra particles or hazardous substances.

A treasure upper body In the meantime, the non-flamable ash is discharged and handed above by impressive magnets that extract any metals, including thousands and thousands of dollars worth of spare alter that is cleaned and inevitably recirculated (it is unlawful to wipe out income). Any added steel extracted is recycled. 

The leftover ash goes to a monofill, a style of landfill intended for 1 sort of squander. Covanta has invested thousands and thousands in rolling out an ash processing method that washes the ash and extracts even extra of the mixture like glass and sand, but it has not yet rolled that out in the Haverhill facility,which procedures 594,000 tons of waste per year.

Brian Coughlin, superintendent of squander reduction for the Boston Division of General public Functions, suggests the city produces about 250,000 tons of residential squander and recycling for every yr. The Covanta waste-to-electricity plant is a good disposal option, provided the solutions: landfills demand a ton of house, and added hauling, which charges income for each mile and provides to the carbon footprint. And there is generally Nimbyism to contend with – what community welcomes waste disposal services in its yard?

And that produces a little bit of an challenge: The selection of providers who do squander removing and disposal, including the hauling completed by Capitol Squander, is pretty little. And the disposal alternatives are number of. 

“There are only a person or two players in the market place, so the bidding is not incredibly competitive,” stated Coughlin. “If they were to a person working day say, ‘I cannot take your things,’ we’re in a lot of problems.”

Which is why the metropolis is hunting at building its possess disposal facility inside its boundaries, a eyesight that will require concerted awareness from policymakers and inhabitants to turn into real. This sort of a facility would make environmentally friendly work, carry earnings to the city, and create power to fuel properties and charging stations, Coughlin reported. 

“We could have a upcoming exactly where transportation, busing, colleges, and law enforcement autos could all be net zero carbon emissions,” he pointed out. “We commit $50 million a year on waste disposal, and if any of these services near, we’d have to pay out to haul the trash farther away.

He included: “Imagine if as an alternative we had the capability to dispose of the waste appropriate right here and develop strength? We could gas all metropolis buildings, and there could be whole neighborhoods that do not have to pay back for electrical power. There could be a ton of benefit to the local community.” 

Squander disposal prices aren’t possible to occur down any time before long. Recycling is not a viable alternative, possibly. In accordance to Coughlin, recycling charges far more per ton than trash disposal. “The recycling marketplace is awful,” he explained. “You have to fork out to accumulate it, and you have to pay out the facility to dispose of it.”

The Covanta incinerator facility in Haverhill. Covanta picture A problem of security Then there is the question of how environmentally safe and sound squander-to-energy crops are. According to Casper Ohm, an environmental scientist based mostly in the U.K. and the founder of Water-Pollution.org, they are our finest selection.

“Generating electrical energy from incineration releases significantly less CO2, SO2, NOx, and mercury than coal and oil do,” mentioned Ohm. “Landfill squander is also substantially lessened, and hence the resulting leachate and methane from decomposing landfills are also minimized. Waste is also a quite reliable supply of electricity its production is commonly predictable and low-price tag whilst fossil gasoline selling prices can fluctuate drastically.”

Squander-to-strength plants are incredibly common globally, even though there are only 86 operating in the US, presumably because there has generally been house to dump trash listed here or export it to 3rd earth nations.

“The charge of construction for a new plant usually exceeds $100 million, and more substantial plants call for double or triple that figure to build,” reported Ohm. “In addition, the financial advantages of the financial commitment are not immediately visible. Considering that the US has a surplus of accessible land, it can decide on to go after much more fiscally practical possibilities such as landfills. The costs affiliated with a landfill are far less sizeable than those people involved with a waste-to-energy facility.”

Ever more, however, other nations have stopped getting our trash — a observe that has been fraught with its personal environmental calamities — and space here is becoming more scarce. If a state like Texas, which has available land, will settle for trash from New England, we’d even now have to haul it there. 

“There’s no perfect remedy when it arrives to working with stable waste,” said Philip Pedros, senior system engineer at Stantec in Burlington, Mass. “Waste to power does have a whole lot of merit, mainly because vitality is critical, primarily in New England in wintertime, [where] we can not get alongside with no it.”

As you choose your bins to the curb this week, attempt to be extra mindful about what you are doing. Could you be reusing any of the things you are tossing awauy, or placing them up for free of charge on a Buy Absolutely nothing Fb website page or Craigslist? Just since waste disposal isn’t an itemized line on your tax bill does not signify there aren’t expenses associated with it.

Understanding particularly the place our trash goes, and the fiscal and environmental implications of its disposal, will aid get Boston closer to its aim of remaining at 80 percent zero waste by 2035. 

“We have a lot to do. We want to get likely,” said Coughlin. 

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[joanofsnarrrk]

Charted: Domesticity Stateside - Part 2

It’s been nearly a year since I posted the first part of this series, Charted: Domesticity Stateside, which documented my need for a happy, domestic ending for the Adventure Family even before I played Uncharted 4. Since then, I’ve played U4, let it change me as a person fundamentally, and almost immediately started on a sequel, which after close to a year, I’ve finally completed. So please enjoy Charted: Louisiana, Libertalia, and Lemurs! (Or, the running tally for life after Libertalia goes as follows: one marriage salvaged, two family members gained, and three attempts at trying to convince your wife that a lemur is a suitable house pet.) 

It can also be found here: AO3 - Fanfiction

The move to Louisiana is an exciting and somewhat stressful affair.

The offer for their current house comes in on a Tuesday at the close of the business day in early June. It comes in at a decent amount over their asking price, so even though they haven’t finalized anything on the new home—let alone put in an actual offer yet—Elena assures the realtor on the other end of the phone (through the smile that’s threatening to split her face in two) that she and Nate accept. When Nate hears the news, he spins Elena around, his smile mirroring hers.

“We’ve never had a plan before,” he says in response to her concerns about the timetable for the move. “Why should we start now?”

So Elena hands in her two-weeks to WFTV ABC 9 that Wednesday, much to the disappointment of Gary, who works in editing (“Viewership is gonna go down without you providing a weekly dose of explosions overseas.”), while Nate focuses all of his energy on packing up the inordinate amount of books and artifacts they’ve come to accumulate within the last three years (“How do we have seven copies of The Science of Adventure?”). They try to goad Sully into helping by offering a box of Cubans and a bottle of really good scotch. Eventually, he caves, but only in helping them load the packed boxes into the moving truck (“There’s not enough treasure in the world that could convince me to get in there; Nate’s a damn hoarder.”). They try the same thing for Charlie and Chloe, but they’re both in Berlin, no further details given (“Keep us updated though, will you?”)

Before they know it, Elena takes one last video of the old place—including reactions from Nate and Sully (which she promptly uploads to Instagram, Chloe and Charlie her first two likes)—and they’re traveling down I-12, everything packed and ready for Louisiana.

About an hour into the drive, Elena receives a call with a ‘225’ area code. Over speakerphone, the realtor tells she and Nate that their offer has been accepted, and they’ve barely hung up before Nate comments, “Guess this means we can cancel the hotel arrangements, huh?”

It’s nearly dusk by the time they finally arrive at the new place, legs and arms stiff from the close to ten-hour drive. Once they’ve done the walkthrough of the new place, they make a pact to start tackling the unpacking tomorrow. In the meantime, they both collapse on the front porch, grinning lazily into the setting sun. Nate procures a small bottle of champagne, that’s regrettably lukewarm since the ice in the cooler melted about two hours ago. He pours it into their empty Popeye’s soda cups, and they toast to their luck and their new home.

“You know what would make this place even better?” Nate eventually asks. Elena’s at his side, her head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of it.

“Hmm?” she asks as she snuggles up against him, her eyes closed against the deep orange glow from the horizon.

“If we got a pet lemur.”

ii.

Admittedly, leaving the life and moving to Louisiana ends up affecting Elena more than she thought it would. She still writes, of course, and everyone in the neighborhood is pleasant enough, but it doesn’t take long for a desire for the familiar to set in, which is how she ends up buying a pre-owned PlayStation 4 after she runs out of excuses to give to Chloe and Charlie for not getting one in the first place.

Apparently, Chloe and Charlie play shooters online

“I’m telling you,” Chloe says over Bluetooth. Elena’s still trying to work out how to turn the system on, not quite able to wrap her head around how the machine has changed in a few generations. “You’re going to love it.”

After randomly pressing buttons, Elena hears the faint beep and sees the blue light turn on when she presses the right one. She smiles at the PlayStation logo that appears on the screen and the low hum of the console. “But I don’t play competitively.”

“Yet,” Chloe assures, her voice tinny over the earpiece. “You don’t play competitively yet.”

“I don’t know, Chloe,” Elena counters. The screen is asking for her login information and a bunch of different setting preferences, and since when did a game need to be connected to the wireless? Apparently, video games became a lot more involved than the last time she played. “I think I might just be a bandicoot and fruit collecting kind of girl.”

Chloe sighs. “You’re only saying that because you’ve yet to experience the utter satisfaction of completely destroying insecure men at virtual combat and then trash talking them afterward.”

It had felt pretty great schooling Nate with Crash Bandicoot. Maybe Chloe has a point.

“Fine.” Elena’s shoulders sag as she lets out a sigh, her eyes on the screen. It’s asking for some kind of username? She wracks her brain for a moment before settling on Sunshine. The screen informs her that the name has already been taken when she hits enter, so she amends it to Sunshine07, adding the year she met Nate and Sully. That works. “But you can’t make fun of me when it turns out that I am terrible at this.”

Chloe laughs on her end. “I can make no such promise!” she protests, as if the mere thought goes against who she is fundamentally as a person. “But if it makes you feel better, Charlie is absolute rubbish at it, and I keep him around anyway.”

Another line emits static as it comes to life. “Oi, watch it!” Charlie’s voice comes in over the mic. “I hold my own well enough, thank you very much.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” Chloe asks, her smirk audible.

Charlie shrugs, or at least, that’s what Elena imagines he does. “Absolutely we are,” he assures her. “And it’s no worse than bullying children online, which I believe is your claim to fame.”

“That is absolutely not fair; it was one time!” Chloe protests, immediately on the defensive, despite Charlie’s laughter in the background. “How was I supposed to know? The foul nature of his username suggested someone nearly twice his age. All the more reason, I say, to keep young children from playing games made for adults.”

“Oh, sure,” Charlie says, still laughing, “blame the parents.”

Elena lets their back and forth play out, before focus naturally swings back to the game they’re trying to play. Turns out, she has to friend both of them before they can start playing. Within moments, she receives friend confirmations from brighteyezz and Charles_of_Arabia, and after a minimal amount of coaching, she manages to get the game inserted and loaded.

“Okay,” she says, Bluetooth mic in place, her legs pulled up and under her on the couch, and the game’s home screen illuminating the TV, “let’s take these knuckleheads down.”

There’s only a minimal amount of snickering that comes through her mic in response.

iii.

“Tango on my six. Someone take this douchebag down.”

“Say no more,” Chloe responds. Like clockwork, the guy behind Elena takes a head shot. She watches the screen as his skull explodes in a truly gratuitous display of violence and guts.

“Oh, beautiful,” Charlie chimes in. “That guy’s been a right arsehole since we started, camping at all our spawn points and mowing us down, no mercy whatsoever. Humiliate him, Bright Eyes.”

“With pleasure,” she coos, changing her mic from their private party chat to the general lobby. When she finishes, they’re down one player in the lobby, and Elena beams.

As it turns out, Elena’s really good at shooters. To the point where Chloe and Charlie actually begged her to join their clan after a few months and play with them regularly. And even though it’s only ever been about having fun and relieving stress for her, Elena can’t help feeling a sense of pride that the three of them have developed a bit of a reputation in the online community for being pretty unstoppable. Her personal stats alone are enough to keep most trolls off her back, so she generally doesn’t have to verbally retaliate. But even if she has to, she can hold her own, thanks to Chloe’s tutelage. Charlie, on the other hand, is embarrassingly bad at trash talk, much to Chloe and Elena’s amusement.

Her attention is momentarily torn from the game when she hears the front door open. Nate’s not normally home this early, and Elena’s never been fully upfront about her new gaming hobby, so it takes him a moment to adjust to the sight before him, after he toes his shoes off and dumps his bag on the floor next to them. Elena’s sitting on the edge of the couch, her body leaning forward, her headset (a minor upgrade) on as she issues commands to Charlie and Chloe. She smiles widely when he sinks into the couch next to her.

“You miss me that much that you’re talking to yourself?” he asks as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of her head. It’s distracting enough that she misses her next shot, giving her opponent the chance to shoot her, which he does. Chloe has a stream of expletives in response, which Elena pointedly ignores.

“Hey, you. You’re home early,” she says, covertly muting the mic and snuggling into Nate’s side. He tightens his grasp in response,

“Yeah, pretty light day for salvaging,” he explains, idly tracing random lines on her shoulder. It’s super distracting, which is how she misses another shot. On cue, Chloe and Charlie have some choice words for her. Nate’s gaze is trained on the screen, which is how his next statement comes to pass. “Did that fox with pants join the army in the sequel?”

Elena snorts. “It’s a bandicoot,” she says reflexively. “And, no. This is a completely different game.”

“It looks violent,” he concludes, which she can’t help noticing the irony after everything they’ve been through. After a beat, he adds, “Can I try it?”

She hands the controller over to him willingly (recognizing this match as a rare failure at this stage, anyway) and watches in awe as Nate somehow outdoes himself by playing abysmally. Amazingly, his hand-eye coordination is pretty terrible for someone who used to require precise dexterity to swing across buildings and caverns. Hiding her laughter becomes an impossibility when, after five deaths in a row (two of which happened as a result of pushing the left joystick too far, so his character just kept running in circles), Chloe and Charlie go ballistic.

“Elena. Sweetheart,” Chloe says slowly, trying in vain to restrain her fury and failing. “Have you hit your head and become concussed? Because that’s the only explanation I can conjure for the shit show that is your current performance.”

“Absolute bollocks! Get your head out of your arse and play like you know what a video game is,” Charlie demands, decidedly more forthcoming with his frustration.

“Guys,” she finally chimes in, switching the mic from mute. She’s giggling too hard for anything to be very coherent, but she presses on. “It’s not me, it’s Nate.”

The sound of their collective outrage (“Bloody hell,” barks Charlie) is so loud that Nate can hear it, even over Elena’s laughter. When he asks who she’s talking to, she wordlessly switches her mic to external audio, the sound of Chloe and Charlie making fun of him now projected into the living room. Nate’s ears go slightly pink, and Elena only feels a little guilty for being unable to stop laughing.

“Ha, ha, laugh it up, guys,” he shoots off sarcastically, tossing the controller back in Elena’s lap. “I may not be able to play video games, but I did discover Shambhala, you know.”

Charlie groans, and Elena pokes Nate in the side, booing at him. Chloe actually blows a raspberry in response.

“Oh, come off it, Nate. That excuse lost its appeal the first thousand times you used it.”

“Yeah,” Charlie adds, “don’t make us dislike you anymore than we already do for you being a shit player.”

iv.

When Jamison’s wife, Carla, invites Elena to join her for her yoga class late one Thursday afternoon, Elena can’t say anything but yes. Jamison and Carla were the first ones to make Elena and Nate feel welcome when they moved to Louisiana, and they consistently invite the two of them over for dinner every month. Elena can’t ignore the small amount of guilt that may or may not be playing a factor in her decision.

She can, however, ask a friend to come with her. A friend who arrived from Berlin two days ago and is currently sleeping on their couch. A friend like Chloe.

“I simply don’t understand suburbia,” Chloe says, saying the last word as though it’s the most repulsive concept she’s ever heard.

“First of all,” Elena counters through laughter, “where we live hardly classifies as ‘suburbia,’ and second”—she gestures to her stomach—“you go surprisingly soft when you’re not running for your life from some mythical, collapsing city.”

“Yes, but why must I suffer because of your choice to leave the life?” Chloe demands as she holds the studio door open.

Elena thinks for a moment. “Because you’re working on being a really good friend?”

Chloe’s head falls back as she barks with laughter. “And you are apparently working on being a really bad liar?”

“Oh, come on,” Elena coaxes. She goes so far as to link her arm with Chloe’s before they enter the studio. “It’s gonna be great!”

v.

It’s not great, for the record.

Carla neglects to mention that the yoga class she attends is hot yoga, which Elena can only compare to doing yoga smack dab in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali. Just when her body adjusted to the temperature inside the studio, the ventilation system would pump even more hot air into the confined space. She doesn’t even bother with the showers afterward, just pushes her way out through the front entrance, where she braces her hands on her thighs and gulps in the clean and comparatively cool air.

“It’s…gonna be…great, huh?” Chloe gasps, following suit as she slides down the side of the building, her legs sprawled out on the ground. Much like Elena, she’s drenched in sweat, droplets of it dripping from her hair into the red, water wicking material of her tank top. “Please be sure to engrave ‘it’s gonna be great’ on my… tombstone once they scrape my body off this sidewalk and…bury me in a shallow grave.”

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, unable to laugh like she normally would due to exhaustion. Unlike Chloe, Elena has on an old, baggy t-shirt, which is now plastered to her body, almost obscenely. “Remind me to—” She has to stop momentarily, her lungs stubbornly not cooperating with her desire to breathe. She collapses next to Chloe. “—Remind me to…forget it. I’m so exhausted, I forgot what I was going to say.”

“I won’t…hold it against you,” Chloe promises, trying in vain to keep her breathing even, “if you promise to never do this again.”

That makes Elena laugh. Then, it makes her cough violently. “Deal,” she wheezes.

Carla, freshly showered and rejuvenated, exits the studio, glimpses the two of them and chuckles, not unkindly, before going to get the car started.

vi.

Not even a week after arriving back stateside from Libertalia, and Nate refuses to drop the subject. Madagascar did nothing to change his mind.

“Elena—” he begins, still engrossed in whatever National Geographic article he has pulled up on the computer in her office. His furrowed brow and overall determination make her shake her head.

“No way,” Elena interrupts. One glance at the computer screen, and she knows. She just knows what her well-meaning, but beating-a-dead-horse husband is about to say. “We are absolutely not—”

“But they eat mostly plants, they’re mostly solitary, and,” Nate continues, as if Elena wasn’t speaking, “it says here…that many of them exhibit female dominance, so…y’know,” he explains by way of not explaining when Elena stares at him blankly, “they’re obviously feminists.”

Elena snorts so loudly, it covers her laughter. Mostly. “Sure, obviously feminists.”

“Yeah,” Nate says in response, grinning infectiously, “girl power and all that.”

“Nate, you are actually exceeding the levels of crazy I expect from you,” she admits. When it looks like he’s about to protest, she places her hand over his mouth. “I love you, but we are absolutely not getting a pet lemur.”

vii.

“Not it!”

Nate looks at his wife, exasperated, once they both realize they said it at the same time. Elena, mouth contorted into an ‘o’ of surprise and finger pointed accusatorily, tries to stop the grin that breaks out onto her face, but she fails.

Miserably.

“I totally said it first,” Elena claims, though it doesn’t help that she is laughing.

Nate scoffs. “You totally did not.”

“Oh, come on,” she tries again, nudging him with her shoulder. “I meant it when I said we would have to share doing paperwork.” She sighs. “If only you would carry your half of the weight.”

This time, Nate starts laughing. “Elena, you are so full of crap. I just finished a week’s worth of phone calls and permit applications for our dig in Malaysia yesterday, so don’t you start.” He scrubs a hand over his face before he catches sight of something behind her, and his eyes light up. “Okay, how about I play you for it?”

Elena’s eyebrows rise. “You sure that’s the smartest move there, cowboy?”

“Nuh-nuh-no, I learned my lesson last time,” Nate replies, leaning back in the desk chair. He gestures to the bookcase behind Elena. “No, I’m talking about those.”

She follows his line of sight to the off-brand Nerf pistols that had somehow migrated from the attic to their living room. Her smile grows larger.

“I guess if we’re completely overlooking the fact that I’m the better shot, then sure,” Elena concedes. She walks over to grab the guns and once she has, she tosses one over to Nate. He catches it singlehandedly. “Let’s get your humiliation over with quickly.”

Nate gets up from his chair and vaults over the couch, proceeding to load ammo into his gun. “You’re going to live to choke on those words, you know,” he informs her.

Elena just rolls her eyes. “Three hits,” she says. “The first one to shoot the other three times wins, and doesn’t have to do paperwork.”

viii.

Nate gives her a head start, but when he goes to search for her, he finds her almost immediately in their shared bathroom. Using some impressive gymnastics, Elena rolls past him, but he’s hot on her trail as they take their shenanigans throughout the entire house. Eventually, Elena ends up behind the couch, her gun trained squarely on Nate, who’s standing behind the island counter, his gun aimed at her.

“Well!” Nate booms, a cocky grin stretched wide across his face. “Look what we have here! Ruggedly charming adventurer, Nathan Drake, appears to be up by two, while his lovely, but losing wife, Elena, is preparing to fill out paperwork for the rest of the week.”

Without another word, Elena fires a round at him. Nate ducks, but the shot goes wide. When he comes back up, the annoyingly smug grin on his face is enough to give Elena an idea.

“Any last words?” Nate prods, spinning the toy pistol around like he’s some kind of outlaw. He has the nerve to come out from behind the counter. “Besides groveling for mercy?”

It’s Elena’s turn to grin smugly, as she watches her husband still in his tracks, the expression on his face fearful for a split second. Only when she undoes the second button on her blouse does he say something.

“What are you doing?” he asks evenly.

She responds with a full on smile, undoing another button in the process. “Let’s just say that in a war of sticks and carrots, I’m going with the latter.”

Nate’s Adam’s apple bobs once, his growing discomfort obvious. Elena takes advantage of his frozen state to approach him. “Hey!” he blanches when she undoes another button. His mouth suddenly feels dry. “We never agreed to partial nudity!”

“We never not agreed to partial nudity,” Elena corrects him, undoing the final button. She’s close enough to him that she can touch him, which she does, placing a hand on his chest. His heart pounds erratically. “I’m just playing up my strengths,” she explains with a wink.

He punctuates rolling his eyes by grasping her wrist, but he can’t seem to bring himself to actually remove her hand. “Yeah, your strength of cheating, you mean” he admonishes half-heartedly, his voice faltering as his gaze inadvertently lowers.

Sighing dramatically, Elena pulls away, and slowly starts to button her blouse. “Well, alright. I guess I can do the paperwork this week since you won. It’s only fair.”

Ignoring his pride, Nate tugs Elena back toward him and hoists her up onto the counter. “You’ll be the death of me, you know that?” he admonishes before situating himself between her legs with his hands resting dangerously high up on her thighs.

“I’m just willing to sleep with the co-owner of D&F Fortunes if it means I get out of doing paperwork for the week,” Elena admits, her smile wide.

Nate breaks into a matching grin despite all the extra forms he’ll have to fill out. It’s hard for him to think of paperwork as a loss, though, when his wife is kissing him as thoroughly as she is, their toy pistols in the foreground, completely forgotten.

ix.

“Hey—whoa, sorry!…Nathan, have you always had that birthmark on your ass?”

“SAM!”

“Elena, good to see you again. Although, admittedly, last time it was with more clothing—”

“GET OUT!”

When the door slams in his face, Sam takes his pitiful dish of green bean casserole down to the kitchen. He finds Sully’s down there among various pies and side dishes, filling a tumbler with liquor he’d helped himself to from the cabinet in the dining room.

“Can you believe all that, Victor?”

At his questioning glance, Sam tells him about his run in with his brother and Elena.

Sully slams his glass down in disgust. “The hell? What, do they have a yearly standing appointment?”

And that’s the story of how Sam accidentally walks in on Nate and Elena in a physically compromising situation the day before Thanksgiving.

x.

“So in conclusion—” Sam begins, hands held behind his back as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He and Sully had just finished up a job and gotten back from Argentina last night, but his niece had been texting him back and forth about this presentation since before then. Sure, he was exhausted, but who was he to turn her down? Especially when her preparation work had been so impressive?

“What Sam’s trying to say,” Cassie interjects, looking over at her uncle for some guidance. He imperceptibly nods, and she finds the courage to press on, “is that a lemur would actually make a really great pet, given their herbivorous diets and our house’s close proximity to exotic flora, among other things.”

From her spot on the couch, Elena narrows her gaze, first at her brother-in-law, then at her daughter. It's hard to respond with much of anything when Cassie even included a visual aid in the form of a bar graph, which is propped up in front of the TV in the living room where they all are presently. Out of her line of sight, Nate gives two thumbs up, and Cassie uses all her self-control to stop herself from beaming proudly.

“Did your father put you up to this?” Elena finally asks, fixing her gaze at Cassie, then Sam. “Or your uncle?”

“Of course not,” Cassie blurts a little too quickly. Sensing her discomfort, Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing.

“Look, Elena,” he says, giving her his most endearing smile. Nate clearly rolls his eyes in his periphery, but he still doesn’t have a pet lemur, does he? “I think if there’s one person who has really been advocating for this all along, it’s Victor.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sully pops his head out from the freezer, ice cube trays in hand. He pops a couple into his tumbler on the counter, and puts the trays back where they belong. It’s not until he’s pouring liquor into the tumbler that he adds, “There’s a reason I have no horse in this race, and it’s because, I’m staying far the hell away from this. For what it’s worth though, Cassie, your mother is smart enough to see through your father’s harebrained schemes.”

Immediately, Sam deflates, and Elena turns on Nate, poking an accusatory finger into his chest. “You are the worst liar,” she accuses him at the same time Sam says to Sully, “Way to not get involved, Victor. Truly inspiring.”

Sully goes on about how Sam started all of this, but it’s Nate that addresses his wife’s accusation by saying, “I couldn’t stand by and let Cassie’s dream of having a pet lemur be broken.”

Elena doesn’t budge. “You mean your dream?”

“Technically,” he amends, lacing his hands behind his head, stretching his legs out on the ottoman in front of him, and grinning, “she’s our daughter, so really it’s our dream.”

She snorts. “You are impossible. And you,” she directs at Cassie, “despite your solid argument and blatant treachery, my answer still stands. No lemurs.”

Sam whistles, long and low. “Tough break, kid.”

Cassie crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. “Well, can we at least get some kind of pet?”

xi.

Later, when Elena finally relents and says—after speaking with Sully, who used to have one—they can get a dog, Cassie fist bumps her dad and her uncle, her smile threatening to split her face. She tells Sully they’re going to name it after him for his central involvement. He offers her a cigar to celebrate, which Nate promptly and emphatically puts a stop to.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him, and Nate asks Cassie how she knew she could get her mom on board with a pet.

“Well, Dad, you always say that the best way to run a con is to get the other person to believe it was their idea in the first place,” she admits.

Nate pulls her into a hug, practically beaming.

[ernmark]

Can we maybe get more of the au where Peter's the detective and Juno's the thief?

Excellent timing! I’ve been on-and-off working on this one for a while now, so here’s a chance to show you what I’ve got.

Warnings for blood & gore, violence, and some medical squickiness.

You can find Part 1 here | Part 2

It doesn’t matter how fast he runs. The gangsters coming afterhim could follow at a walk; all they have to do is follow the increasinglywobbly trail of blood that he’s leaving behind. Hell, at this rate, they mightnot even catch up with him before he bleeds out. They won’t even have to finishthe fight, then. They can just throw his body in the trunk of a car and collectthe Kanagawas’ bounty on his sorry corpse. And all the while, Cassie is busyrunning in the opposite direction, making her way into the safety of the sewers.

It’s not a bad way to go, all things considered. A little bitsymmetrical, even: he spent most of his childhood trying to get away from hismom; it’s only fitting that his last act is helping another dame escape fromher stepmom and her army of cameras. He can live with that.

And even if he couldn’t, it’s not like he’d have to live with itfor much longer, anyway. It’s getting hard to see straight. His foot snags on acrack in the concrete, and he sprawls across dirty pavement. He tries to pushhimself upright, but he can’t catch his breath.

A car slides to a halt ahead of him, blocking the mouth of thealley. The realization makes Juno feel a little stupid. Of course they wouldn’tjust be chasing him on foot. Of course somebody would have gone ahead to cutoff his escape.

Someone gets out of the car and kneels beside him. “Oh, Juno.What have you gotten yourself into now?”

It’s not an unpleasant voice. Not unfamiliar, either.

“Juno, I need you to get up. Please.”

Juno can barely breathe, but a name still slips out among hisfrantic coughing: “Rose?”

It’s not Rose, though. It’s Rex Glass, or Christopher Morales,or any of a dozen other aliases that he’s scattered across the city.

Another voice, higher and more grating: “Oh my gawsh—he’s notdead, is he?”

“Stay in the car,” Rose calls. “And get out of sight. Someone’scoming.”

The car slides out of the mouth of the alley, and Rose rises tohis feet. “Hold on, Juno. It’ll be over soon.”

Juno drags himself onto his hands and knees. If Rose is going tokill him, then he can look Juno in the eyes when he does it.

But Rose is gone. Juno is alone in the alley, still bleedingfrom the wound in his chest. There’s only two more shots left on hislaser—three, if he reduces their power to stun. And there are seven gangstersrushing down the alley toward him. They slow down, out of breath from thechase. There’s no point in running anymore when they’ve got him cornered.

Juno is going to die here. He already knows that. But at leasthe won’t go down without a fight.

“I told you I got ‘im,” one of the gangsters says to the others.

“Don’t be an idiot. I was the one who hit him,” snaps another,and a third adds his two cents. While they argue, none of them notice a shadowdetaching itself from the wall behind them. It moves against the dark alley sosmoothly that Juno might have thought he imagined it. At least, until a plasmablade slices through three necks in a single swipe. The bodies don’t even hitthe floor before Rose slashes through a fourth. But by now the others havewised up to the attack. They round on him, lasers drawn—

And conveniently forget that Juno has his laser, too.

Three shots, and they’re down. Maybe not dead, but they won’t begetting up any time soon.

“Thank you for that, Juno.” Rose steps over their bodies.

Juno falls back. The alley is swimming. The only thing he cansee clearly is Rose’s face as it gets closer. “Here for the bounty?”

“Of course not.” He’s coming closer. Almost angelic, that face.“I’m here to help you. You need medical attention.”

Juno’s smile turns grim. “Think I haven’t heard? I’m worthdouble alive.” Maybe more than that, since he helped Cassie escape.

God, he hopes she makes it out.

Rose says something, but Juno can’t understand. Everything soundgarbled and far away.

The last thing he sees areRose’s impossibly bright eyes.

Cassandra Kanagawa has been kidnapped.

That’s how her family is spinning it, anyway—never mind thatshe’s gone on strike four times in the past year, and her streams have beenforcibly interrupted by ‘technical difficulties’ countless times during herrants about her need to escape from her stepmother’s clutches. A mistreated starletfinally escaping the grasp of her manipulative family? That’s the kind of storythat would make people turn off the Kanagawa streams and feeds purely out ofsolidarity.

A kidnapping, though—that’s got people glued to their screens,frantically refreshing in case there’s another update. Especially because thekidnapper has already been identified: the Hellhound of Hyperion City.

Oh, yes, they couldcall it what it really is: one of their employees who got off his leash andstarted going after the kinds of people that the HCPD wouldn’t dare to touch.The enemy of mobsters and kingpins everywhere. But that risks making him looklike a scrappy underdog, and then people might even start rooting for him— imitating him, even— and they can’t havethat. So they paint him as the big bad boogeyman, instead.

That doesn’t keep him from accumulating fans, though. There aredozens of streams tracking his movements and identifying his most recentvictims. There’s even an amateur stream—Houndwatch—dedicatedto uncovering every tiny nugget of information about him. Fortunately for Juno,the bits of truth are indistinguishable from the mountain of misinformation.Rita has supplied quite a bit of the latter herself, borrowed mostly from a fewdozen of her favorite shows. Meanwhile she and Peter sit on files full oflegitimate information.

Juno’s blood type, for example, which Peter found in the policerecords from when Juno was a cop. Those come in handy when he sends Rita out tobuy enough for a transfusion from a local blood bank, along with fresh clothesand several rounds of the most potent antibiotics she can get her hands on.

Meanwhile Peter has to deal with the more hands-on tasks.

“Really, Juno. The sewer? What were you thinking?” Peter sighsas he strips off Juno’s clothes. He goes through the pockets, just in casethere’s anything important, and then stuffs them in a trash bag to be burntlater. There’s no saving any of them.

It’s Peter who has to deal with those tasks, of course. Ritagets squeamish enough about his visits to Valles Vicky’s; there’s no way shewould be able to handle undressing and bathing Juno, even for the most practicalof reasons. Which isn’t to say Peter isn’t bothered by any of this: he may haveseen Juno in a few dozen compromising positions, but he wishes he didn’t haveto see him this way. The laser burn on Juno’s chest is ugly and raw. He’scovered in dozens of smaller cuts and scrapes all over his body. Several ofthem show signs of infection.

It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long.

Peter washes the wounds first, disinfecting them as best he can.The sealant bandages aren’t hospital grade, but they’ll have to do. By the timeRita arrives, Juno is clean and smells like soap and ointment, rather than rawsewage. He’s laid across Peter’s bed, covered with blanket.

Even with Rita’s training,it takes a few tries to properly stick the vein and administer the IV drip.Juno starts to stir a few times during the procedure, but thankfully he doesn’twake. Rita heads home afterward; she has a shift at the HCPD in the morning,and rumors of the Hellhound’s death to spread.

When Juno wakes, he’s pretty sure he’s still dreaming.

He knows this bed. These walls. Those blackout curtains over thewindows. He knows the smell on the pillow—good shampoo and moisturizer mixed inwith exotic fragrances from distant planets.

It’s not a bad dream. Might be better if he wasn’t so tired,though.

And if he wasn’t alone.

He tries to sit up, but feels an uncomfortable tugging in hisarm. There’s a needle sticking out of him. And a tube. And an IV drip.

Maybe it’s not such a nice dream after all.

“What the hell?” he rips off the tape holding the tube againsthis skin. Before he can pull the rest of it out, the bedroom door swings open.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t take thatout.” And there he is: Rex Glass or Duke Rose or whatever the hell he’s callinghimself today, striding through the door to the bedside.

This isn’t a dream at all, is it?

“What the hell is going on here?” Juno demands. He wants tothrow the blankets off and leap to his feet, but he can’t muster the energy.God, he’s so tired.

“You’re recovering, hopefully,” the detective says. “You lostquite a bit of blood yesterday. How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a goddamn laser to the chest. What do you think?”

“Fair enough.” The detective takes a medical kit out from underthe bed and cuts off a strip of tape. “May I?”

“Oh, now you’re askingmy permission?”

“I would have asked before, Juno, but I’m afraid you wereunconscious.”

Juno wants to deny him, just out of spite. But even his slightmovements are making the needle wiggle uncomfortably under his skin. Thesensation itself isn’t nearly as terrible as the knowledge that it’s in there. “Fine,hurry up and do what you’re gonna do already. Just get it over with.”

The detective bends over his arm and tapes the tube back inplace, stilling the erratic little movements, seemingly unbothered by any ofthis, and it’s absolutely infuriating.

“You knew exactly where Iwas going to be,” Juno says. “How long have you been stalking me?”

The detective tutsgood-naturedly. “Please, Juno. Tailing.I’m a professional.” 

“So this is part ofanother job?”

“…Alright, perhapsstalking is the more appropriateword.” At least he has the decency to sound embarrassed. “You’vemade quite a name for yourself, you know. TheHellhound of Hyperion City. It’s got quite a ring to it.”

“I bet it looks great on the wanted posters,” Juno saysbitterly. “So who hired you this time? The Kanagawas? The police? Don’t tell meRita can afford to pay your rates twice. Last time I checked, she doesn’t makethat kind of money.”

The detective sits on the bedside, leaning in. The expression onhis face is earnest and sincere. “Nobody’s hired me, Juno.”

He looked pretty damn sincere last time Juno was in this bed,too. That didn’t exactly turn out well for him.

“Would you knock it off already?” Juno snaps. His knees rise,forming one more barrier between the detective and himself. The short movementmakes his chest wound throb. “I’m too damn tired for this garbage, so how aboutwe skip the song and dance already. Just tell me what you’re being paid to doto me this time so I can get on with my life.”

Goddammit, does the detective really need to look at him likethat? All hurt and sorry? Juno knows he’s a good actor, but damn. “I’m not being paid to doanything, Juno. I promise you, this isn’t a job. I—“

“I said quit it!” He scoots back until his back hits theheadboard and the IV tube tugs at his arm. If he wants to get any further, he’llhave to rip out the needle. He’ll also have to go in the nude, apparently—he’snot wearing any clothes under this blanket.

“I owe you, Juno,” the detective says. “If you don’t believeanything else, believe that.” He rises from the bed and takes a few steps back,giving Juno a little bit of room to breathe. “You could have turned me over to theKanagawas at any point. It might even have saved your position among theirranks—I imagine after a hit like that, they likely couldn’t afford to losesomeone with your skills. But you didn’t, and that’s very likely why I’m stillalive. By my measure, that puts me rather deep in your debt.”

“Bullshit,” Juno mutters, but the retort has lost its teeth. Settlinga debt is something Juno understands. It’s business. It’s fair. It doesn’t hurtas much as the thought of the detective actually caring about him.

Besides, he’s exhausted.

“Shall I leave you to your rest, Juno?” the detective asksgently.

“What, you’re not gonna cuff me to the bed or something?” Junochallenges.

“Only if you ask nicely.” It’s meant to be a light bit of humor,but the joke leaves a bittersweet taste in Juno’s mouth. The detective’s too,by the look of it. “No. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I do advisethat you wait until you finish this round of antibiotics. You’ve been fightingoff quite an infection. It may get worse if you stop treating it prematurely.”

The detective’s note should make Juno suspicious, but thethought of paying attention to one more thing saps the last of his energy. Rightnow, all he can think about is how the room is so cold, the blankets are sowarm, and the pillow smells so very nice. He just wants to sleep, dammit.

“Fine,” he mutters, curling up against the headboard, his backto the detective. It’s the gesture of a cranky child trying to dodge a nap. “I’llstay. For now.”

“That’s all I ask.” The detective retreats through the opendoor. “Sleep well, Juno.”

[jesseneufeld]

HIIT vs. HIRT: Reducing Workout Stress To Increase Fitness

The fitness world is booming these days. You can see it in the popularity of CrossFit boxes, obstacle course and endurance events, and record-breaking gym construction. It’s encouraging. Inspiring even. But there’s also a downside to the rising gym memberships and event registrations. There are still too many people dealing with recurring patterns of breakdown, burnout, illness and injury. More people are trying to do the right thing, but the flawed approaches they often gravitate to end up derailing them.

Nonetheless, there are changes afoot. It’s an evolution of thinking that’s slowly spreading its way through fitness circles. More forward-thinking coaches, trainers, and researchers are helping right the wrongs of the fitness boom with a general rejection of the “more is better” approach for one that respects the importance of balancing stress and rest, one that moves toward an intuitive approach to workout planning.

More people are implementing strategies to maximize workout return on investment and minimize the risk of injury and burnout that too often result from an indiscriminate approach. The endurance world, for example, is finally rejecting the narrowly focused, overly stressful chronic cardio approach of old in favor of emphasizing aerobic development at lower heart rates, avoiding chronic patterns, and becoming fat adapted instead of sugar addicted. Endurance athletes are embracing the importance of strength training and explosive sprinting just as strength/power athletes are doing more aerobic conditioning. The CrossFit movement itself is an ode to the health and longevity benefits and increased enjoyment that comes from achieving broader fitness competency.

What’s Wrong With HIIT?

I’ve talked recently about microworkouts and recovery-based workouts. Today, I want to delve in further and share a radical transformation in the way high intensity workouts are conducted that will generate fitness breakthroughs while simultaneously minimizing the risk of exhaustion. Specifically, I’m taking aim at the extremely popular workout pattern known as HIIT—High Intensity Interval Training. Sprinting is a part of the Primal Blueprint Fitness Pyramid, but I’ve been wary of the details around traditional HIIT practices because these workouts are quite often too stressful and exhausting to deliver the intended fitness boost they promise.

Yes, you have to challenge your body regularly with hard efforts to build fitness, but most of us do it the wrong way. When you complete a killer HIIT session at morning boot camp or spin class, at home on your Peloton bike, or with the Tuesday night track group, you get a tremendous sense of accomplishment and a flood of feel-good endorphin chemicals into your bloodstream. Unfortunately, the typical HIIT workout can also be depleting, exhausting, and stimulate an assortment of unnecessary cellular damage and inflammation.

It doesn’t have to be that way. Be redesigning your high intensity workouts, you can get leaner and fitter with higher quality, more explosive, less physically stressful workouts that are easier to recover from and thus can be performed more frequently. In short, a better approach involves transitioning from HIIT to HIRT, High Intensity Repeat Training. HIRT is an acronym coined by Dr. Craig Marker, psychologist, certified strength and conditioning coach, and CrossFit instructor from Florida.

Here’s a compare and contrast that can revolutionize your approach to intense workouts….

Comparing HIIT and HIRT

The problem with a typical HIIT workout is that it’s too strenuous—too many repetitions of hard effort that (each) last too long, and with insufficient rest between hard efforts. This results in cumulative fatigue during the workout, a diminishing quality of performance over the course of the workout, increased cellular damage due to this cumulative fatigue, and extended recovery time afterward. These kinds of sufferfests are a great source of satisfaction and personal growth when you high five your fellow bootcamp classmates after an hour of power, or cross the finish line of a big event in which you’ve trained for months to prepare. But including them as a major and recurring element of your training program is a really bad idea. Unfortunately, the sufferfest mindset is incredibly common these days, perhaps suggesting that the ego has more influence that strategic planning or intuitive decision making.

A HIRT workout stops short of the exhaustive nature of HIIT. The essence of HIRT is to conduct maximum efforts, typically of shorter duration, with much longer recovery, and fewer total efforts than a HIIT session. The word “Repeat” in the acronym suggests that you maintain a consistent quality of effort on every repetition of hard work. This means not only the same performance standard, but also the same level of perceived exertion.

For example, say your workout entails running 100-meter sprints across a football field, and you hit 18 seconds for your first sprint. This is a nice controlled, explosive effort with excellent technique, and you assign a perceived exertion level of around 90 out of 100. Hence, you’ll want to do successive sprints in 18-19 seconds each, preserving explosiveness and excellent technique—delivering what you still discern to be 90 out of 100 on the effort scale. If you have to “dig deep” (the implicit objective, and badge of honor, with a HIIT session) just to arrive at 19 seconds on your fourth effort, that’s it, you’re done. If you notice a slight attrition in explosiveness or breaking form during the effort, you’re done. Typically, this might be a little twinge in the hamstrings or lower back, a tensing of the face or chest, or any other indicator that you have played your best cards of the day.

In Dr. Marker’s landmark article titled “HIIT versus HIRT” at www.BreakingMuscle.com, he explains that after HIIT sessions we bask in self-satisfaction of a job well-done, but disregard the health-destructive consequences of these sufferfests: “[Y]our subjective feeling of the effectiveness of a workout is not as important as what science tells us is important to building an impressive base of endurance and changing your body composition.” (That sound you hear is a slap to the face of highly motivated, goal oriented, Type-A fitness enthusiasts across the land. Don’t worry, I’ve been there, too….)

This admonition applies to everyone from elites to novices. Elite athletes are notorious for constantly pushing the envelope and frequently succumbing to injuries or periods of declining performances. Novices generally don’t concern themselves with training strategies, often leaving their fates in the hands of the bootcamp instructor. Without sufficient experience or reference points, they exercise themselves into exhaustion, believing that pain and suffering are part and parcel of the fitness experience.

The (too often) result? Ambitious, well-meaning enthusiasts burn themselves out and then are down for the count. The most dedicated keep going to their detriment, all the while accumulating fatigue, injuries and even pounds. Others simply stay away from the gym by invisible magnetic force. Alas, the subconscious is very good at avoiding sources of pain and suffering. Can we dump this suffering-and-attrition dynamic already?

Side note for those who love to read about sports: For inspiration, check out this article about the greatest marathon runner in the history of the planet, the amazing Kenyan Eulid Kipchoge. The article describes his training regimen as extremely devoted and incredibly impressive, yet he maintains a relaxed mindset, remains in control of his energy output, and never extends beyond his limits into exhaustion. Even the march to the unthinkable two-hour marathon (Kipchoge’s current world record stands at a mind-bending 2:01.39) comes from a sensible approach instead of an extreme one.

Marker explains that there’s an optimal duration for sprinting where you can obtain maximum benefits with minimal cellular destruction, and this is typically around 15-20 seconds. Try to maintain maximum effort for any longer than that and you’re not really sprinting anymore anyway, since it’s impossible to maintain maximum energy output.

Here’s why this works:

Look at what’s happening physiologically over the duration of a near-maximum intensity sprint of any kind (running, cycling, rowing, or kettlebell swings). During the first five seconds of your sprint, lactate starts to accumulate in the bloodstream. Lactate levels double between five to ten seconds, then double again from 10 seconds to 20 seconds—up to what Marker calls the highest acceptable level. As you increasingly feel the burn, lactate doubles again from 20 seconds to 30 seconds. It doubles again from 30 seconds to 60 seconds, causing cellular destruction, ammonia toxicity, and extended recovery time.

As Marker explains, “The amount of lactic acid produced up to 20 seconds [of sprinting] is still manageable, but the next doubling is over the top. Even a single 30-second sprint spikes ammonia levels almost five times! Why trash the body for no good reason? Rebuilding broken down cells is a costly and time-consuming process. And while it’s taking place, you feel tired and run down, with your ATP short of a full stack.”

You may be familiar with the Tabata concept of interval training, which entails a repeating pattern of work efforts lasting twice as long as rest intervals until you complete a Tabata set of a certain total duration. The original Tabata protocol, developed by Japanese physician and researcher Dr. Izumi Tabata and colleagues at the Japanese Institute of Fitness and Sport in Tokyo, calls for four minutes of a 20-second sprint, 10-second rest, 20-second sprint, 10-second rest pattern. In the original studies, Japanese Olympic speed skaters achieved massive boosts in VO2 Max in a short time with Tabata training. Unfortunately, the original Tabata concept has been widely misappropriated into workouts that honor the 2:1 work-to-rest ratio, but carry on for too long and generate cellular damage and exhaustion: multiple sets of kettlebell swings, pushups, box jumps, running sprints, cycling sprints, and so forth. Bottom line with sprint workouts: a little goes a long way, and too much can really mess you up.

How To Transition From HIIT To HIRT

To transition into a more effective, less stressful high intensity workout pattern, pick the sweet spot of 10-20 seconds for your explosive efforts. Take what Marker calls “luxurious” rest intervals to ensure that your cells have a chance to partially or fully regenerate ATP (takes around three minutes) and minimize the disassembling and deamination that occur when you ask your body to perform again and again with rapidly depleting cellular energy.

Finally, conduct between 4 and 10 sprints. You should be able to manage four shorts sprints even if you’re a novice. If you claim you can complete more than 10 and feel great, you’re better off going faster and doing fewer more explosively.

Keep in mind that a properly conducted HIRT workout is going to feel different than a HIIT sufferfest. It may require an adjustment in your mindset to feel confident and satisfied that you’re training with maximum efficiency and minimal suffering like a “real athlete.” If you’re a focused, driven, goal-oriented type, be vigilant about resisting the addictive allure of the endorphin rush that happens after a sufferfest. Remember, the blissful feeling of powerful pain-killing chemicals flooding your bloodstream is a fight or flight reaction to the extreme stress of the workout. Realize that the genetic purpose of the endorphin response is to help you continue to run for your life instead of lay down in exhaustion! If you abuse this delicate mechanism with a chronic pattern of extreme workouts, you’re going to pay a heavy price. Dr. Tommy Wood calls this overactivation of the fight or flight response, “liquidating your assets,” and I couldn’t agree more.

Several friends who have recently updated their approach to a HIRT protocol report feeling much better in the days following their most challenging sessions—more energy, less soreness and stiffness. That’s how it should be.

Combine the HIRT strategy with recovery-based workouts and walking. See how it goes for you, and let me know. Thanks for stopping in. Share your questions and thoughts below, too.

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[lauramalchowblog]

HIIT vs. HIRT: Reducing Workout Stress To Increase Fitness

The fitness world is booming these days. You can see it in the popularity of CrossFit boxes, obstacle course and endurance events, and record-breaking gym construction. It’s encouraging. Inspiring even. But there’s also a downside to the rising gym memberships and event registrations. There are still too many people dealing with recurring patterns of breakdown, burnout, illness and injury. More people are trying to do the right thing, but the flawed approaches they often gravitate to end up derailing them.

Nonetheless, there are changes afoot. It’s an evolution of thinking that’s slowly spreading its way through fitness circles. More forward-thinking coaches, trainers, and researchers are helping right the wrongs of the fitness boom with a general rejection of the “more is better” approach for one that respects the importance of balancing stress and rest, one that moves toward an intuitive approach to workout planning.

More people are implementing strategies to maximize workout return on investment and minimize the risk of injury and burnout that too often result from an indiscriminate approach. The endurance world, for example, is finally rejecting the narrowly focused, overly stressful chronic cardio approach of old in favor of emphasizing aerobic development at lower heart rates, avoiding chronic patterns, and becoming fat adapted instead of sugar addicted. Endurance athletes are embracing the importance of strength training and explosive sprinting just as strength/power athletes are doing more aerobic conditioning. The CrossFit movement itself is an ode to the health and longevity benefits and increased enjoyment that comes from achieving broader fitness competency.

What’s Wrong With HIIT?

I’ve talked recently about microworkouts and recovery-based workouts. Today, I want to delve in further and share a radical transformation in the way high intensity workouts are conducted that will generate fitness breakthroughs while simultaneously minimizing the risk of exhaustion. Specifically, I’m taking aim at the extremely popular workout pattern known as HIIT—High Intensity Interval Training. Sprinting is a part of the Primal Blueprint Fitness Pyramid, but I’ve been wary of the details around traditional HIIT practices because these workouts are quite often too stressful and exhausting to deliver the intended fitness boost they promise.

Yes, you have to challenge your body regularly with hard efforts to build fitness, but most of us do it the wrong way. When you complete a killer HIIT session at morning boot camp or spin class, at home on your Peloton bike, or with the Tuesday night track group, you get a tremendous sense of accomplishment and a flood of feel-good endorphin chemicals into your bloodstream. Unfortunately, the typical HIIT workout can also be depleting, exhausting, and stimulate an assortment of unnecessary cellular damage and inflammation.

It doesn’t have to be that way. Be redesigning your high intensity workouts, you can get leaner and fitter with higher quality, more explosive, less physically stressful workouts that are easier to recover from and thus can be performed more frequently. In short, a better approach involves transitioning from HIIT to HIRT, High Intensity Repeat Training. HIRT is an acronym coined by Dr. Craig Marker, psychologist, certified strength and conditioning coach, and CrossFit instructor from Florida.

Here’s a compare and contrast that can revolutionize your approach to intense workouts….

Comparing HIIT and HIRT

The problem with a typical HIIT workout is that it’s too strenuous—too many repetitions of hard effort that (each) last too long, and with insufficient rest between hard efforts. This results in cumulative fatigue during the workout, a diminishing quality of performance over the course of the workout, increased cellular damage due to this cumulative fatigue, and extended recovery time afterward. These kinds of sufferfests are a great source of satisfaction and personal growth when you high five your fellow bootcamp classmates after an hour of power, or cross the finish line of a big event in which you’ve trained for months to prepare. But including them as a major and recurring element of your training program is a really bad idea. Unfortunately, the sufferfest mindset is incredibly common these days, perhaps suggesting that the ego has more influence that strategic planning or intuitive decision making.

A HIRT workout stops short of the exhaustive nature of HIIT. The essence of HIRT is to conduct maximum efforts, typically of shorter duration, with much longer recovery, and fewer total efforts than a HIIT session. The word “Repeat” in the acronym suggests that you maintain a consistent quality of effort on every repetition of hard work. This means not only the same performance standard, but also the same level of perceived exertion.

For example, say your workout entails running 100-meter sprints across a football field, and you hit 18 seconds for your first sprint. This is a nice controlled, explosive effort with excellent technique, and you assign a perceived exertion level of around 90 out of 100. Hence, you’ll want to do successive sprints in 18-19 seconds each, preserving explosiveness and excellent technique—delivering what you still discern to be 90 out of 100 on the effort scale. If you have to “dig deep” (the implicit objective, and badge of honor, with a HIIT session) just to arrive at 19 seconds on your fourth effort, that’s it, you’re done. If you notice a slight attrition in explosiveness or breaking form during the effort, you’re done. Typically, this might be a little twinge in the hamstrings or lower back, a tensing of the face or chest, or any other indicator that you have played your best cards of the day.

In Dr. Marker’s landmark article titled “HIIT versus HIRT” at www.BreakingMuscle.com, he explains that after HIIT sessions we bask in self-satisfaction of a job well-done, but disregard the health-destructive consequences of these sufferfests: “[Y]our subjective feeling of the effectiveness of a workout is not as important as what science tells us is important to building an impressive base of endurance and changing your body composition.” (That sound you hear is a slap to the face of highly motivated, goal oriented, Type-A fitness enthusiasts across the land. Don’t worry, I’ve been there, too….)

This admonition applies to everyone from elites to novices. Elite athletes are notorious for constantly pushing the envelope and frequently succumbing to injuries or periods of declining performances. Novices generally don’t concern themselves with training strategies, often leaving their fates in the hands of the bootcamp instructor. Without sufficient experience or reference points, they exercise themselves into exhaustion, believing that pain and suffering are part and parcel of the fitness experience.

The (too often) result? Ambitious, well-meaning enthusiasts burn themselves out and then are down for the count. The most dedicated keep going to their detriment, all the while accumulating fatigue, injuries and even pounds. Others simply stay away from the gym by invisible magnetic force. Alas, the subconscious is very good at avoiding sources of pain and suffering. Can we dump this suffering-and-attrition dynamic already?

Side note for those who love to read about sports: For inspiration, check out this article about the greatest marathon runner in the history of the planet, the amazing Kenyan Eulid Kipchoge. The article describes his training regimen as extremely devoted and incredibly impressive, yet he maintains a relaxed mindset, remains in control of his energy output, and never extends beyond his limits into exhaustion. Even the march to the unthinkable two-hour marathon (Kipchoge’s current world record stands at a mind-bending 2:01.39) comes from a sensible approach instead of an extreme one.

Marker explains that there’s an optimal duration for sprinting where you can obtain maximum benefits with minimal cellular destruction, and this is typically around 15-20 seconds. Try to maintain maximum effort for any longer than that and you’re not really sprinting anymore anyway, since it’s impossible to maintain maximum energy output.

Here’s why this works:

Look at what’s happening physiologically over the duration of a near-maximum intensity sprint of any kind (running, cycling, rowing, or kettlebell swings). During the first five seconds of your sprint, lactate starts to accumulate in the bloodstream. Lactate levels double between five to ten seconds, then double again from 10 seconds to 20 seconds—up to what Marker calls the highest acceptable level. As you increasingly feel the burn, lactate doubles again from 20 seconds to 30 seconds. It doubles again from 30 seconds to 60 seconds, causing cellular destruction, ammonia toxicity, and extended recovery time.

As Marker explains, “The amount of lactic acid produced up to 20 seconds [of sprinting] is still manageable, but the next doubling is over the top. Even a single 30-second sprint spikes ammonia levels almost five times! Why trash the body for no good reason? Rebuilding broken down cells is a costly and time-consuming process. And while it’s taking place, you feel tired and run down, with your ATP short of a full stack.”

You may be familiar with the Tabata concept of interval training, which entails a repeating pattern of work efforts lasting twice as long as rest intervals until you complete a Tabata set of a certain total duration. The original Tabata protocol, developed by Japanese physician and researcher Dr. Izumi Tabata and colleagues at the Japanese Institute of Fitness and Sport in Tokyo, calls for four minutes of a 20-second sprint, 10-second rest, 20-second sprint, 10-second rest pattern. In the original studies, Japanese Olympic speed skaters achieved massive boosts in VO2 Max in a short time with Tabata training. Unfortunately, the original Tabata concept has been widely misappropriated into workouts that honor the 2:1 work-to-rest ratio, but carry on for too long and generate cellular damage and exhaustion: multiple sets of kettlebell swings, pushups, box jumps, running sprints, cycling sprints, and so forth. Bottom line with sprint workouts: a little goes a long way, and too much can really mess you up.

How To Transition From HIIT To HIRT

To transition into a more effective, less stressful high intensity workout pattern, pick the sweet spot of 10-20 seconds for your explosive efforts. Take what Marker calls “luxurious” rest intervals to ensure that your cells have a chance to partially or fully regenerate ATP (takes around three minutes) and minimize the disassembling and deamination that occur when you ask your body to perform again and again with rapidly depleting cellular energy.

Finally, conduct between 4 and 10 sprints. You should be able to manage four shorts sprints even if you’re a novice. If you claim you can complete more than 10 and feel great, you’re better off going faster and doing fewer more explosively.

Keep in mind that a properly conducted HIRT workout is going to feel different than a HIIT sufferfest. It may require an adjustment in your mindset to feel confident and satisfied that you’re training with maximum efficiency and minimal suffering like a “real athlete.” If you’re a focused, driven, goal-oriented type, be vigilant about resisting the addictive allure of the endorphin rush that happens after a sufferfest. Remember, the blissful feeling of powerful pain-killing chemicals flooding your bloodstream is a fight or flight reaction to the extreme stress of the workout. Realize that the genetic purpose of the endorphin response is to help you continue to run for your life instead of lay down in exhaustion! If you abuse this delicate mechanism with a chronic pattern of extreme workouts, you’re going to pay a heavy price. Dr. Tommy Wood calls this overactivation of the fight or flight response, “liquidating your assets,” and I couldn’t agree more.

Several friends who have recently updated their approach to a HIRT protocol report feeling much better in the days following their most challenging sessions—more energy, less soreness and stiffness. That’s how it should be.

Combine the HIRT strategy with recovery-based workouts and walking. See how it goes for you, and let me know. Thanks for stopping in. Share your questions and thoughts below, too.

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[stephhannes]

it’s november!

which means that october has passed, and now we’re rolling headfirst into the holiday season. thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday, but after my dad died, it felt weird. the first year after my dad died, back in 2015, i went back home to do Family Thanksgiving and i hated it (although for some reason even though nathan and i weren’t together at this point yet, i actually ended up seeing him on this thanksgiving- it was the first time i’d seen him in 8 months and also the first time since my dad had died so it was all around A Strange Time) the second year, i think i’ve blacked out from my memory because i can’t remember anything about it. but the third year, last year, i was living in new york and actually had a lot of fun, since nathan’s family had come into town and i got to go out in public and be with people and do activities, etc. this year will be my first thanksgiving without both my dad and my fiancé and i’m dreading it.

october was a rollercoaster of a month. i’m pretty sure i slept away the first half of the month. there were a large handful of days where i’d sleep for 22 hours, and the days that i didn’t, i at least was asleep for all daylight hours, only awake between 7pm and 8am. i feel incredibly lonely here in abilene, since i have no friends here anymore so a lot of the time i go days without talking to another human face-to-face. i guess to cope with the whole ‘i dont know anyone here and i dont have anything to do here’ thing, i just sleep a lot. i mean, that and the depression are probably why i slept so much, but whatever. there were a lot of days where i felt so overwhelmed by the concept of having to rebuild my life. even if i manage to move somewhere, get a job and go through the motions of moving on, i know that nothing will ever make me as happy as nathan did. there is literally nothing that could compare to the inexplicable joy i felt every morning i woke up with nathan next to me. when my dad died, i felt this intense sense of loss when i realized that he wouldn’t be around to see me graduate, or see me get married. and now i feel an even greater sense of loss realizing that i don’t even get to marry nathan anymore.

two months ago, i was just generally sad, just always a little weepy. but now, as some time has passed, i’ve starting finding very specific things that make me sad:

-i guess that october is a hot month for engagement/getting married because i’ve seen so many announcements on facebook lately and every time i see someone in a wedding dress i get so overwhelmed with sadness. also, for some reason i still get SO many ads on facebook for engagement rings, and wedding planning and whatever, and like, look mark zuckerberg, i’d love to pick out a venue but i can’t so can you leave me alone?? thanks.

-the other day i opened netflix for the first time since nathan died and i got sad because i saw all of the shows he had started but hadn’t finished watching yet

-i went to a movie and got sad because i realized nathan and i had somehow never gone to a movie together

-on the topic of holidays, the other day i realized that nathan and i will never get to spend a christmas together. he hated holidays to begin with so it’s not necessarily like we would have done anything, but still. the first year that we were together, we were living apart, so we didn’t see each other for christmas that year. the second year we were together, he went on vacation for like three weeks without me during christmas and that was a total disaster. i was so upset because it was my first year far away from home, from all of my friends and family. i couldn’t afford to go back to texas for christmas, so i was incredibly lonely. i felt so isolated and terrible, and i remember crying at night leading up to him leaving because the thought of having to sit at the apartment alone for both christmas and new years was a lot for me to handle. then, after work on christmas eve i got super drunk with a coworker and somehow ended up on a train with her to pennsylvania to spend christmas with her family. so i guess it worked out in the end, i was still alone on new years' though and that was really sad. anyways, the moral of that story is that when nathan was alive we never got to spend christmas together and now he’s dead so we will never get to ever and that makes me sad.

-every time a new album comes out, or movie or something hot in pop culture, or news story or whatever, my first reaction is always “oh! i wonder what nathan’s thoughts on this are” because he was always the first person i’d talk to about things when they happened, since we were always together, and now i feel this weird void when i realize that i don’t have anyone to immediately bounce ideas off of.

-i took out my old pillowcases from our apartment and i wasn’t expecting them to smell like him but they did. i still haven’t unpacked my suitcase of clothes from the apartment, but when i go in to take out an article of clothing, they all still smell like the apartment itself. that’s what i expected from the pillowcases, but instead they smelled exactly like nathan.

-i don’t care about basketball, but for some reason, not hearing about it 24/7 has been really weird. nathan would constantly tell me all the hot new basketball gossip and even though i don’t care about the sport, i somehow got into hearing about it all the time and now i’m back to being completely in the dark and it’s weird.

+++

the latter half of october has been better. i still get periodically sad most days, but i’m finally not weeping through the entire night any more. there was a small stretch of time where i was inconsolable, just constantly crying. now i can eat lunch without tears in my eyes, which is cool. i started reading again and read like 5 books in a week (which is a strange change of pace from who i’ve been since i graduated from college. literally the day that nathan died, i was reading a book and he straight up was like ‘wow, i could have sworn you were illiterate because i think this is the first time i’ve ever seen you read something’). the other day, i finally read ‘the year of magical thinking’ by joan didion which actually ruined my life. it felt like i was watching a tape of my own life the entire time i was reading it, because so many of her experiences were eerily similar to my own throughout this entire situation the last few months.

the biggest thing i did, however, was finally clean my bedroom. when i graduated from high school and went to college, my parents finally bought a house. since i was away at college, they just moved everything from my old bedroom into my room at the new house, so it started off just as a time capsule of everything i owned from high school. then as i’d move back home each summer between years at college, i’d bring home more garbage that would just accumulate in the room. my junior year of college, i moved to an apartment and i took my mattress from home. when i left that apartment to move to nyc, i threw the mattress away. so my bedroom at home was literally just a storage room for trash, old clothes, old furniture and knickknacks, and it had no bed. when i moved back to abilene, i spent the first two months sleeping on the couch in the living room because the thought of trying to put together a new room was exhausting and i had other things to expend my energy on, like sobbing for 5 hours straight. but finally, i did it. i spent a day throwing away all of my awards and papers and scripts and notes from high school. i threw away notes from freshman year of college, and put away boxes of novels i had accumulated as an english major. i bagged up all of my clothes that i hadn’t worn since i was 13. i ordered a mattress. i ordered the same mattress that nathan and i had at our apartment, which was a bold move on my part, but honestly it was comfortable and relatively cheap so whatever. it’s weird because now, sitting in a full sized bed i keep thinking “wow how did nathan and i share one of these, it seems so small” but then i remembered that we used to share a twin sized bed that didn’t even have a box spring so this is luxury in comparison. i love decorating and buying furniture and setting up rooms. and i was so excited for nathan and i to kind of settle so i could do that in philly. when we lived in new york, all the furniture we had was stuff we found on the streets basically, because we knew we’d only keep it for a year. but when we were in philly, we were able to actually buy stuff and set up a real living space. giving all of that away was really hard for me, not only throwing away everything we had built, but also throwing away some of my own independence of having my own space. so rebuilding a room in abilene was nice, and i feel a lot better about being back at home now.

the last couple of days of october have been hard for me for some reason. i spent two days going through all my old texts with nathan from the year that we lived apart and it’s left me in such a weird headspace. i think it’s hard to see how much we struggled to be apart back then, when it was something that was impermanent, and we were still able to actually talk to each other every day, and compare that to now, where i’ll never get to talk to him again. we were codependent as hell, but in like….a healthy way, yknow? i just constantly get so sad for all of the things we’ll never get a chance to do, and i get sad for all of the days that i won’t have him by my side, and i get sad for all of the nights that i won’t get to sleep next to him. and i’m sad that unlike the last time we were apart, this doesn’t end after one year. this is just what i have to deal with forever and i’m sad and i’m mad and i miss my fiancé a lot. one of the conversations i keep coming back to is when one time nathan was like “i don’t want to do another year like this without you” and i was like “you’ll never have to” and i’m emotional because it was true, but now i’m out here having to do every year without him. the other conversation i keep coming back to is one time when i was like “i really can’t imagine what it would be like to not have you in my life” and he was like “you’ll never have to deal with that.”

also, while re-reading, i came across a stretch of a few days where i was having a particularly hard time. i was stressed because of school and moving, and was just generally very depressed and nathan reminded me of the one thing that i need to keep reminding myself now- “please don’t try to deal with everything on your own.” when nathan and i were together, sometimes i would forget that, i would let myself get so overwhelmed with things before i would come to him and ask for help. and OF COURSE i’d feel a million times better every time i let him help me, but it always took me so long to let him help. that’s something i need to remember especially now- i need to let people help me. i need to ask people to help me.

my favorite part of reading through the old texts was from march 2017 where he sent me 5 texts in a row that said “don’t read our texts and get sad.” it’s almost like this is something that i do all of the time and have always done….weird…

i’ve come a long way from constantly googling “can you actually die from a broken heart,” but i’m still not doin so hot.

anyways, that’s the end of my october. on november 6th, i’m going back to new york for a little bit and i’m excited to see my friends and actually be present in the city. i went back pretty shortly after nathan died, and i was still in such a daze that i didn’t get to enjoy my time there, so it’ll be nice to be back with a clearer head and more ability to be social. it’s been nice traveling around and seeing friends and being in different places, it gets lonely being in abilene honestly. like, i get that i can text people but i’m constantly just dying for face-to-face interaction with people that know me well, and also getting to interact with people in a space that’s not just me locked in my bedroom. i do appreciate everyone that’s reached out to me lately though, it never hurts to get a text every once and awhile from people i dont necessarily talk to on a daily basis- sometimes it’s just nice to know i’m not out here totally by myself all the time. 

now that it’s november, in the spirit of thanksgiving, i spent some time reflecting on every time i was thankful to have nathan in my life. over the years that we were together, i sent him a ton of letters, and most of them had at least one paragraph where i’d list off some random list of things that i was thankful for. i always made it a habit to make it abundantly clear how much i appreciated him. here are some of those paragraphs:

the first is from august 2016, about 4 months after we had started dating. i sent this first letter to him the day i left to go back to college, right before he moved to new york to start grad school.

Thank you for being the best. Thank you for always being there for me, even when I’m in a dumb garbage mood and I’m not the easiest to deal with. Thank you for always being so patient with me. I know it’s frustrating sometimes when I won’t talk about things, but you are always so understanding. In the past, it’s been so hard for me to talk about my dumb human emotions, but you’ve always been so good at listening and not making me feel like I’m being ridiculous when I actually take the time to talk about them with you. Thank you for always asking how I’m doing. Thank you for always offering to get me ice cream when I complain about not having any at my house. Thank you for spending so much time with me this summer, even if it was at weird hours. Thank you for letting me yell all my stories at you. Thank you for always making me feel appreciated and valued. Thank you for always texting me good morning and goodnight. Thank you for buying me in n out every day for like a week when I had no money while you were in Austin. Thank you for always offering to do my laundry (I swear to god I’ll do it myself…eventually…maybe.) Thank you for living with me for those two weeks in Austin.Thank you for always letting me fall asleep on you. Thank you for being so easy to be with. Thank you for always supporting me and believing in me. Thank you for always making me laugh. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being mine.

the next comes from december 2016. i sent this on christmas eve, after we had been living long-distance for four months.

When you moved away, I was so afraid that we were going to grow apart, I am so incredibly thankful that that hasn’t been the case at all. Despite being so far apart for so long, somehow I’ve managed to fall even more in love with you. You really are so incredible. Every day that I wake up and I’m yours, I genuinely feel like the luckiest person in the world. I’m constantly thankful for your support. I’m thankful for the way that you always make me feel appreciated. I’m thankful for the way that you always compliment me when I send you snaps. I’m thankful for the way that you constantly text me every day. I’m thankful that you always tell me that I’m going to be a great wife. I’m thankful for the way that you’re always there for me when I’m having a rough day, or when I’m sick, or when I’m stressed out. I’m thankful for the way that you always tell me you love me. I’m thankful for how you put up with me even when I’m being difficult. I’m thankful for all the times you stayed up late and talked to me on the phone for like six hours straight until way too early in the morning even though we both had things to do. I’m thankful for the way that you always remind me about things that I know I’ll forget to do. I’m thankful for the way you call me to make sure I wake up from my nap and don’t completely ruin my sleep schedule. These last few months have been hard, but the way that you do all of these little things made it a million times easier. Thank you for your dedication to me. I really don’t have the words to express how thankful and happy I am about all of the things you do for me. You’re my best friend, and I can’t imagine having a more perfect person by my side.

this letter was from june 2017, right before i moved to nyc.

this year hasn’t been easy but it has been so worth it. thank you for doing everything you could to make it as painless as possible. thank you for making time to call me most nights, and thank you for answering my calls when it was 4am and i couldn’t stop crying because i missed you. thank you for growing with me this year, for continually being better at loving me and helping me be better at loving you. thank you for doing this with me even though it wasn’t either of our first choice of how to spend the first year of our relationship. thank you for flying me to new york back in april, and showing me around before i moved. thank you for getting our apartment set up. thank you for being mine, and for wanting to marry me and for being such a god damn dream to be with. i’ll see you in a few days, i love you and we never have to be apart again.

the next letter is from october 2017. we had been living together in nyc for about four months at this point, i sent it on our 1.5 year anniversary. this letter was always really special to me, because i spent so much time reflecting on the new life we had started together.

thanks for having my back when i was stressed and unemployed by constantly reminding me that things would be fine and that we’re a team. thanks for making me shower every time i get too drunk and start throwing up. thanks for helping me get my life together that one night that i lost my phone. thanks for surprising me with your extensive knowledge of the musical stylings of both r. kelly and shania twain. thank you for making time for me even when you’re busy with school. also thanks for continuing to make sure that i don’t ruin my life by excessively napping and also forcing me to go to the grocery store even when i reeeeeeally don’t want to. i’m sorry that i steal all the sheets and take up the whole bed- i’d promise to get better about that but i try not to make promises i won’t keep. you’re the best and i’m really thankful of how patient you are with me- even when i’m a nightmare on my bad days. thanks for dragging me to new york, coming here is something i never would have done on my own accord and i’m actually kinda liking it a little maybe.

this one is from may 2018. the day after we got engaged.

hey b, thank you for asking me to marry you. i feel so incredibly lucky that you picked me, that i get to spend the rest of my life with you. thank you for deciding to break your whole ‘no marriage rule’ thing for me, i appreciate it. being your wife is gonna be my favorite thing, thank you for letting me do that.

this is from a month later, when we’d just moved to philly.

thank you for everything you’ve done this last week with moving us here and helping me get the apartment together. you’re the best. also you’re lucky i like you bc there is no one else that i would have driven 16 hours in one day for. thanks for still loving me when i get grumpy and thank you for taking care of me in all of the ways you always do. you’re my favorite and i’m really really glad that you’re mine

and finally, this is from october 2018. two months after nathan died. i still text him periodically, like he’s still alive. to catch him up on what’s going on. at like 6am the other night, i just sent-

thank you for being mine for as long as you were.

(also just as a ps, i’m so excited because i used to have this huge collection of pictures of nathan asleep on me because every time he’d fall asleep on me i’d take a bunch of pictures because it was so precious and i lost most of them when i lost my phone on an A train last year, but i found a couple of them when i was going through our texts on my macbook, so i’ll leave this post with that because it’s my favorite thing and i miss having to listen to him snore directly in my face every night)

[cluttertoclarity]

Goliath and the Flea

I sit at a desk cluttered with lots of random shit. In a room that’s cluttered with lots of random shit. In a house that’s cluttered with lots of random shit. Surrounded by a yard that’s cluttered with some random shit. Parked next to the house is a car cluttered with random shit. There seems to be a pretty strong pattern in my life...

I was talking with my mom and compared it to taking on Goliath. It’s so overwhelming. It seems to be the human condition (perhaps only the American condition; I’m not sure) to overemphasize the mess in their house. I don’t know HOW many times I’ve been over to someone’s house and they all say “Sorry for the mess!” and I look around, searching for any evidence of this supposed “mess”, but none is to be found. 

This is not one of those cases. According to this site, I’m dealing with Third Degree Squalor. Out of four. Fuck. According to this visual scale, I’m dealing with between a six/seven out of nine.

I HATE the idea of people coming over. Hell, *I* hate coming here. I hate that Chris and the cats have to live here. There is SO much guilt and shame very tightly interwoven with my home, which is supposed to be my haven. 

I want to change this. It doesn’t serve me. The only thing it has EVER offered was familiarity. I find comfort in chaos because that is what I’ve known my entire life (in various capacities). I grew up in a hoarding house, and I always hated it. I was always too embarrassed to ever ask anyone to come over, not that I would be allowed to anyway. I think I had maybe 3 friends come over to my house growing up. 

When I was younger, I always dreamed of moving out, having my own place, and keeping it incredibly minimal. Lots of clean lines, white furnishings, silver and glass tables and such. And, most importantly, LITTLE STUFF. 

I moved into the dorms my freshman year of college and could only take a car-full of things with me. It was nice to only have to deal with that much. Even then it felt a bit cluttered, but being able to tuck it all into my drawers and closet and have a relatively clean space I shared with another girl who didn’t bring much was lovely. But I had simply left the rest of it at home. I didn’t get rid of it.  And then it was moved into the next place mom and I went. And we accumulated more. I managed to keep my own possessions in my own room looking pretty neat and tidy somehow. But then I moved in with Chris. He was never a hoarder, but he was a messy packrat. And that combination plus my penchant for hoarding, plus a decade and a half of both of us struggling with depression and anxiety has led to what I’m surrounded by now. 

I was talking with my mom today because Chris is out of town and I decided to tackle the living room. I had these grand ideas of taking it slow but steady and chugging along and him coming home to a nice room. 

Progress has been much slower than anticipated, though, and while I’m trying really hard to remind myself that it took time to get this bad, and cleaning it up won’t be instantaneous, to just do a little at a time, to do what I can... it all kicks my ass. 

I worked for, like, 12 hours off and on (mostly off, admittedly) yesterday and got rid of two contractor (50 gallon) trash bags, did 2 loads of laundry, and still feel like I haven’t even touched it. I still can’t sit on the couch. I still have to dodge and weave walking through the path. What the hell did I even DO?!

If I’m facing Goliath, I’m not even David. I’m the flea clinging to David’s sandal. And it’s up to me to take that beast down.

Why just me? Because it’s personal. Yes, it’s wonderful and amazing when Chris helps with the housework, but it’s so sporadic that I can’t count on it. I’ve learned in my life not to count on others, no matter how much you love them, no matter how much they love you, no matter what the reasoning is, they will let you down. It’s on me. 

And it’s about more than just clutter. It’s about my brain. As much as I would fucking LOVE to come home and see that someone has done this major project while I was away and cleaned the house, and that would be a wonderful base to start, I would still need to overcome the shit in my brain that let it get this bad to begin with.

I have this fantasy of being a housewife, allowing me the time and mental energy not being spent on an emotionally (and thus physically) draining job being used to make home. Clean, organize, cook for my man, etc. I love that idea. Fuck the feminist movement. If that’s what I want, then it’s well within my rights as a woman to want it. And I want it. 

I want to just focus on it! Tackle it! DO IT. 

So this weekend has been dipping a toe in it. I know it’s just a weekend. If I were a housewife, I would have much more time and feel less pressed. But maybe the pressure is a good thing? Positive stress and all? But when does positive stress become just plain stress?

When it’s my life. It’s always been my life. I can hardly remember a time when stress wasn’t a huge part of my life, from when I was a small child. 

And I’m fucking sick of it.

So the first two trash bags are a step. The flea taking on Goliath. Starting on the little toe and just doing its best.

[burningkryptoniteperson-blog]

How Often Should I Clean My Refrigerator?

The fridge is one of the hardest working equipment we have in our home, on all full day, every day, keeping our food freezing. Weekly: Wipe down the outside of the fridge - doors, top, sides and handles with mild how to clean refrigerator with vinegar soap and a damp cloth. In case you have an enameled steel refrigerator, you may want to use a multipurpose cleaner. 8. The shelves and bins won't fit in the dishwasher and it's probably not advisable to clean them this way anyway. For a stainless steel fridge, spray with vinegar and wipe with a soft cloth in the direction of the grain. I've shared before how to clean an ice maker If you have a fridge that has a water and ice dispenser chances are you've noticed a cylindrical canister toward the rear of the fridge compartment how to clean refrigerator - which is your water filter You should be changing this filter on the schedule provided by the manufacturer, or if you start to notice a funny taste in your water or ice. Then it will be safer and cleaner for your food. Crowded shelves are also bad for energy efficiency so there's another reason to clean your fridge, if you needed one. You may need to just do a quick spray of your vinegar mixture and wipe with a clean towel. Place clean refrigerator a small box of baking soda in the door or in the back of the fridge to keep odors at bay. Short of a service contract, one can contact Facilities to discuss cleaning laboratory equipment coils to remove lint build-up or take a do-it-yourself” approach. Bacteria and mold can accumulate in a fridge over time, so it's important to disinfect surfaces with a sanitizer Be sure to use a food-safe sanitizer, as you'll eventually be placing items back into the refrigeration units. Wipe with how to clean stainless steel refrigerator a soft, clean cloth - make sure there are no foreign hard particles. That's when my mom did behind appliance cleaning. Spray the cleaner on a microfiber cloth and apply evenly in a circular motion to remove the fingerprints. (She uses Cleaning Vinegar , although I use plain old white vinegar like my grandma taught me, and that works just fine.) Tough-to-remove stains will benefit from straight, undiluted vinegar. • FRIDGES Clean how to clean fridge the inside of the fridge with a solution of 1 tbsp bicarb to 2 pints of water. The easiest time to clean your refrigerator is right before a trip to the grocery store, when food levels are at their lowest. Remember to #CleanYourFridge on National Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day on November 15, and put a thorough fridge cleaning on your kitchen schedule at least once a month going into the future. As we read daily clean fridge about clean air, bad foods and the dangers of mold, people still forget how important a part the refrigerator plays in our home health. Why not wash the fridge at the same time emptying all the contents. When you replace the items that go in your refrigerator, clean the outside of bottles, jars and any other item that can be cleaned when you put them back into your refrigerator. Once the shelves are clean, spray them down with a solution of one part household bleach to one part water. Clean the exterior using a multipurpose cleaner and you're left with a how to clean fridge with baking soda freezer. As with all stainless, you don't want to use an abrasive cleaner or steel wool. It is important to keep the interior of the refrigerator and freezer clean to help prevent food from becoming contaminated how to remove smell from refrigerator during storage. Only that If check that wipe perpendicular to the grain, more cleaning residue (mixed with any grime already on the steel) may get deeper into the tiny little crevices of the grain. If you are beginning to notice caked-on food in your fridge or a faint odor emitting through your kitchen, it might be time for your refrigerator to get cleaned again. Along with the counters, sink, and clean refrigerator trash bag, also have your cleaning supplies gathered and next to your refrigerator. Cleaning a refrigerator can seem like a big project, especially if your fridge has collected any gunk and grime. Clean the whole interior of the fridge with vinegar. Hidden mold and mildew can cause refrigerators to smell bad, even when they appear clean,” she warns. If your fridge is stainless steel it probably came with some clean fridge kind of special cleaner. If you're unsure how to properly maintain your appliance, then read on as our experts share smart tips and recommended cleaning schedules for making your fridge sparkle both inside and out. No one is saying you have to use the products from Jsk eco cleaning solutions as if you listen and watch the video's the method and the products used are mentioned and anyone can go to their local Jan San supplier purchase clean refrigerator these same products use the method we have developed and have been happy to share with everyone under no obligation. These steps will work for you whether you are cleaning a mini fridge or a French-door refrigerator. Note: for appliances with a BlackSteel finish, the cleaning instructions for the door, apply to the side panels as well. Welcome back to It's Not a Stupid Question Cleaning out the refrigerator how to clean refrigerator is one of those tasks that's easy to ignore, since it's a mess that's literally kept behind closed doors. Cleaning the coils underneath your fridge will help it to run more efficiently.

[michiganwildliferemoval]

Pooper Scooper Service Castle Hayne NC

Best Rated Pooper Scooper Service & Pooper Scooper Service in Castle Hayne NC

Tired Of Picking Up Those Presents That Are Left Behind By Your Best Friend? One Times Weekly Every Other Week Once A Month Tired of stepping out and stepping in animal feces? You love your dog, but you sure dont love removingdogpoopin your yard. Its a nasty job, but somebody has to doo pet waste managementin Castle Hayne North Carolinafor your pets. That somebody doesnt have to be you! Let us do the dirty work and you can wash your hands of the whole mess.Leave the dirty work to us! Allow us to come take care of your Castle Hayne NCpet pooper scooping services. We will thoroughly pick up all pet waste and remove it from your Castle Hayne property to be disposed of.

Armed with all the tools to safely and effectively remove the dog poop, the scooper will scoop the poop and place in a double, anti-smelly plastic bag that is then deposited into your garbage. Call forCastle HaynePooper Scooper Service today! Doody Calls Company Number

Locally owned and operated. In addition to poop scooping related services Detroit poop scooping offers hosing off your patio or deck, deodorizing and we will even leave a little doggy treat for your favorite dog if you would like us to. Bill's very professional and dog loving staff will take the pain out of your grass and give you back the clean green backyard you always hoped to have. Our goal at Detroit poop scooping is to make your life easier. We understand that people have busy lives between balancing work, friend and family time. We're here to help give you some of that time back. So what are you waiting for? Call us today and get the least favorite part about owning a dog off of your to do list. Call Detroit poop scooping pooper scoopers today! Stinking and filthy dog waste will also cause proliferation of parasites and bacteria that is harmful, not only to pets but also to humans and can give rise to different diseases. Deodorizing and sanitizing the area with disinfectant will eliminate the harmful micro organisms that thrives after clean up. Dog waste removal service can also provide services to the community by regularly making a routine inspection of walkways. Clean surroundings will benefit not only the homeowners but the whole community. A pet waste clean up service takes care of your dog's waste and let your surroundings be a pleasant place to live in. PET PICKUP has been servicing Southeastern Lower Michigan since 1993. We are the first dog waste removal / pooper scooper service company to become established in Michigan (if not the first to become established in the United States of America). This makes Pet Pickup "MICHIGAN'S PREMIER DOG WASTE REMOVAL SERVICES PROVIDER". Our mission statement is: "WE PICKUP WHERE YOUR PETS LEAVE OFF". In the pursuit of that mission PET PICKUP has been providing a service to almost all of the 5 counties in southeastern Michigan that covers Oakland, Wayne, Macomb, Livingston and Washtenaw counties. Pet Pickups dog and geese waste removal service has grown in popularity for almost two decades now. As many families have pets along with very busy schedules, we are fulfilling the need for this undesirable, tedious and time consuming canine chore.

Regular Pooper Scooper Service: is provided on a weekly, twice-weekly, every other-weekly or monthly basis. One Time Pooper Scooper Cleaning includes: Spring Clean ups, One Time Cleanings, Special Occasions, or for any reason you need us. Bag Pick up Pet Waste Service: With Bag Pick-Up Pet Waste Service, you will clean/remove the accumulated dog waste from your yard and double bag the pet waste. Scoopy Doo will pick up the collected bagged pet waste from a designated area you specify on your scheduled pick-up day(s). We provide Bag Pick-Up Service due to many cities prohibiting the disposal of dog waste with regular scheduled service or for personal sanitation reasons; you would prefer to dispose of the dogs waste separate from your regular trash. If you have a dog it's likely that you're frustrated with having to clean up its poop day after day. There might not seem to be any options. You just have to pick it up or else your backyard will start to resemble a toilet. Thankfully, there are great ways to make the process of cleaning up dog poop a little easier. One of the most well known ways to clean up poop in your backyard is to use a pooper-scooper. These are specially shaped so that you can stoop down, and scoop the poop up with the device. This is essential because it makes it a hands-off operation. When you're dealing with dog poop, that is a necessary thing! If your yard is large there may be a difference in price from what is listed. Large amounts of yard debris, leaves or long grass may make it hard to scoop. We can only scoop what we can see. We do not scoop in lightning storms. Fresh snow may make it hard to scoop. If we are unable to scoop because of snowy conditions we will try to reschedule; however if snow or ice is on the ground for multiple days, we will visit as conditions allow. We do try to scoop all through the winter, your dog is still going, the quicker it is picked up the better for the condition of your yard in the spring. Pet Waste Cleanup for Apartments, HOAs, and Parks. Not only does DoodyCalls of the Oakland and Wayne Counties, Michigan provide pet waste removal service to residential clients, but we also sell, install and maintain the highest quality pet waste stations for condominium, homeowner associations (HOAs), parks, and playgrounds. We work closely with property, park and condo managers to create pet waste management plans that fit each propertys needs. We also offer a unique managed service plan that allows communities to economically install top quality pet waste stations and have them serviced each week without incurring an up-front cost. We also provide common area cleanings and pet waste removal service. Dog Poop Service Cost

If you are the manager of a large area like a dog park that has a lot of dog traffic, our company will be able to make any environment a more pleasant and cleanly atmosphere. Just as with our residential services, our staff can be out to you on an as-needed basis. Regardless of how big of a project you may have, we have the ability to handle the job. We have plenty of technicians are always focusing on growing our business while maintaining our current relationships, so there is no problem hiring more people. We take your crap Seriously! In all seriousness, our company is very proud of their customer service and has an amazing client retention rate. Once you realize how convenient our pet waste removal really is, we know youll be a customer for life! Give us a call and try us out, we love talking to people that are interested in the service but have never used something similar before. Another question must be answered first and that is, "what is eco friendly?" These are activities or products that do good for the environment. Sometimes referred to as "green". OK, here is where I answer the question you have all been waiting to hear. How do we stop the pet poop from piling up, if we don't use any of the methods mentioned above? In a perfect world, you would have a organic spray, that when sprayed on your doggie's dung it would dissolve it naturally within minutes before your eyes without harming any lawn or pet. I mean there are no particular binders that hold doo together and poo dissolves on its own when flushed into waste water treatment facilities. And eventually all the components of doggie stuff will undergo decomposition via enzymes such as cellulases and pectinases anyway. So why can't there be a spray out there that speeds up this process? Let me tell you dog owners, the perfect world has arrived! If you are unhappy with the dog poop cleaning service you receive on any visit simply notify our poop clean up office and you will not be billed for that day or your next poop scoop visit is FREE! Pet Poop Scooping Schedules in Detroit and Flint to Meet Your Needs We offer weekly, every-other week, once-a-month and one-time dog waste cleanups. We also clean, disinfect, and deodorize decks, patios and dog runs. Dog Loving and Friendly Professional Detroit Pooper Scooper Staff Detroit fecal matter technicians are friendly and dog lovers by nature. Our staff wear very visible uniforms when they are providing dog waste cleanup service to customer properties so customers are aware that our staff members are there. We also leave a door hanger when we leave your property to let you know that your dog poop has been scooped. We also are happy to service your property with your pet out as long as they are people friendly.

The service of Pet Waste Removal has grown due to the demand and awareness of pet owners in need of cleaning up of dog waste. Pet waste removal service is now being considered part of your lawn maintenance and not a luxury but a necessity. There are many reasons people can not pick up there dog waste in a timely manner. There is the repugnant factor. Many dog owners have a extremely weak stomachs and truly cant pick up their pets waste. Other pet owners have health issues or physical limitations. In todays busy lifestyle, we find between work, home, school, kids, errands, and if anytime left over a social life, there is very little time or energy left in a day for this canine waste cleaning chore. For the cost of a fast food meal, a couple gourmet coffees, or a few movie rentals you could free yourself from one of your weekly chores. Having a Professional Pooper Scooper Waste Removal Service takes away the only unpleasant task of being a dog owner, the clean up of dog waste. Allow your self the freedom to enjoy your home, family and yard at a surprisingly low cost! You spend a lot of time cleaning up after your dog making it very time consuming, and an unpleasant chore at that. Hang up the pooper scooper once and for all, and let us take care of business. Our pooper scoopers give dog owners the freedom they have been looking for along with more time to themselves. We offer a cost-effective method for getting the job done quickly and efficiently. There are NO contracts. Alter your service at anytime. Dog Poop Yard Cleaning Service

We will provide professional waste removal for residential, commercial and more. We will rid your property of unsightly & unsanitary waste. We are family owned & operated with a team of dog-friendly turd specialists on staff. The founders of the Company aimed to set up the most professional and environmentally conscious pet waste removal service there is - the kind of service they would want. Every element of the service is focused on these core brand values. We know you love your pets, but probably not having to clean up dog waste. Why not have someone do the dirty work for you. We are your premier dog waste removal company that gives you this easy out, by having a pooper scooper come to your home and cleaning up your yard on a weekly, biweekly, or monthly basis. As pet owners grow in number the needs for pet poop clean up services are likewise in great demand. Thus, businessmen tried to start venturing in this simple yet worthwhile form of business. These pet poop cleanup services mushroomed in the internet and just one dial will be enough for us to solve our problem with those waste from our pets. Among the usual services that these pet poop clean up service providers render to their pet owner clients involve mostly the cleanup of the area where their domestic pets live. They will visit to your place or homes and do the agreed conditions which may also include the cleaning of the owners pets themselves. The many services that they offer are much needed by their busy clients who have no more time to do those nasty jobs.

If we cannot manage to clean up because of our busy schedule, then by all means, we certainly must hire pet poop clean up services at least once a week, in order to take care of the cleaning of our respective pet areas. In short, pet poop clean up services are indeed giving us a lot of help with regards to out petty domestic problems such as the up keep of our homes particularly where our pets leave their wastes. If you own a pet then you are aware how important pet poop removal can be. If left untreated and cleaned it can cause nasty smells, bugs, and even diseases. Avoid having to clean up after your pets and contact a pet waste cleanup and disposal company. Businesses have been created to help address this growing problem. These pooper scooper for dog's services will pick up and properly dispose of the dog waste left behind by your pooch on a daily, weekly, bi-weekly or monthly basis for a small fee. With a large majority of families requiring both partners to work, and their children's time dominated by sports and other extra curricular activities, pooper scooper for dog's services can be a blessing in disguise. Pooper scooper for dog's services are not limited to home owners. Many businesses are utilizing these services to keep their properties free of the dog waste left behind by careless customers who walk their pets and fail to clean up the mess. North Carolina Pooper Scooper Service http://ncpetwasteremoval.com/north-carolina/pooper-scooper-service-castle-hayne/

[denzelajackson]

Alright guys, So I got dropped from that magazine I had been writing for since last year, which has really bummed me out, but I still have loads of articles that I haven't published yet. I create because I believe in my ideas and I know that they can do positive in the world. I don't need a enabler to push me forward, I do it anyway, so here is one for you ;)

Jumping To

There is something wonderful that happens in life, something special that is part of being a human on this planet full of so many diverse creatures. While each animal shines in their own way, one thing that we people excel at is consciously taking leaps. When we are young and full of so much energy, we are always leaping into swimming pools, hopping over fences, and diving into our interests and letting them consume us. Taking actions like this can be very scary, but in a way that makes us feel so full of life and gets our hearts pumping. Now, regarding this wonderful feeling, I think it goes far beyond the physical world, but to the worlds that are inside of our minds.

A little boy might pee in his trunks when standing at the edge of the garage rooftop, trying to convince himself to jump down into the pool, and with all of his friends goading him to jump, the pressure is so intense. Would he be able to take the leap? Years later, when that boy becomes a young man, those same exact feelings will continue to live inside him. There are going to be intense urges that he will have to face, pushing him to pursue something that he truly believes in. Perhaps it will come in the form of a dream job, but in order to get the hire, he'll have to move to a new part of the world. But what if something were to go wrong and he got stranded in a place where he didn't know anyone? The pressure is great, and he'll have to make the decision.

There seems to always be some element of danger when going for what we really want, and maybe that is what makes these things so valuable. We just need to be sensible and not too risky with what is most important. Be smart, obviously protect your head and veer clear of daftness like muddying your mind with heavy substances or anything along those lines. You will get much better rushes with inspiration and fiery passion. The diver who is willing to continuously swim deeper and deeper will have the exhilaration of personally witnessing the most extreme and beautiful marine life.

If thinking about all this makes you nervous, that is perfectly fine, it is normal, and we all feel it too. Spend some time thinking about the people who have taken leaps towards what they truly believed in, then daydream about how magical those times must have been for them. They caused an impact in our world by inspiring others to be great, simply by being great themselves. Therefore, when you take your grand leap, you will be in excellent company.

Here are a few people who did something great and have inspired me:

- The man Elon Musk: he was an integral part in the creation of Paypal back when the internet was in its infancy. We can now clearly see how huge it is, and the convenience of being able to transfer currencies across the entire planet. In the mid-2000s, something extremely wild got into his head: space exploration. Coming from a 28-year-old man who made hundreds of millions of dollars via the internet, imagine how scary that must have been for him and the ridicule he faced when he told people, "I'm going to create rockets so we humans can become multiplanetary." He must have been called mental more times than he could even remember. Regardless, he took the leap. For a few years, it looked like everything was about to fall through for him and his team but they persevered. And now, as I am writing this, SpaceX is the only manufacturer that has created spacefaring rockets that do not get trashed after a single launch, but return back to the surface of Earth and can be used again. That is great.

- From his home, the Republic of Senegal in West Africa, a person named Aliaume Thiam did something so beautiful. As of 2017, over half of a billion people in Africa do not have access to electricity. That is 500,000,000+ of our fellow people who do not have access to this extremely powerful tool that was modernized over 100 years ago. Aliaume went to America, ventured into the business of music, and amassed copious amounts of money and influence. The great leap that he took was leaving the entertainment industry, where he could have easily lived a luxurious life, and started an organization called Akon Lighting Africa. This project has provided electricity to a multitude of households, villages, community houses, schools, and health centers in rural areas where it has never been before. Aliaume risked the possibility of never again reaching the level of fame and monetary wealth that he already had when he was a music star, which you may remember by the name of, Akon. That is beautiful.

- For this last example, I've caught tails of information, but I am researching further to find out everything that happened. About two centuries ago, there was a young fellow by the name of Darvaak. He lived in a very remote place somewhere near the equator, the documented history is a bit unclear, but there is evidence that shows he committed himself to a somewhat-controversial cause, concerning foreign affairs. It was something that he truly believed in, and this led him to risk everything that he knew as safety and security. The tale has many ups and downs, but eventually he went on to positively influence every single person in his hometown and many of the neighboring cities. I'm still researching and compiling all the information on this piece of history, and will make sure the story is brought to life. That is to come.

Taking a step back, things like this don't have to happen quickly with giant changes occurring in a single day, while that certainly is possible, big changes tend to happen over long amounts of time from the accumulation of many smaller parts. Precisely like a big powerful brick wall, it does not happen in one moment, but comes together from many perfectly-placed single bricks. That sounds very time-consuming, but what I think makes it an advantage is that if your brick wall happens to fall down, most likely every brick won't be misplaced. There is still so much of it that could be salvaged, so dust yourself off and keep trying.

You are not alone. Imagine how relieving it feels when you have to go through something difficult but someone else knows those feelings too. We can all look out for each other. I encourage you to go out there, pursue what you want, and keep in mind that so many other people are doing the same exact thing. It's healthy for us to constantly venture out of our comfort zone, and it can be beneficial for our society as well, because we can all be inspired by those we are around. We only have our one life, so do not fall asleep in the waiting room.