#but god i felt so bad for everyone who graduated in the years thereafter

[queenlua]

i'm interviewing a new grad for the first time in literal years. is it possible nature (the job market) is healing...

[aq2003]

today is international fanworks day, heres a list of some of my favorite fics

-star wars

The Silent Song by Eirian Erisdar When Qui-Gon Jinn is told to take a new padawan, the Force pushes him towards a certain initiate - but when Qui-Gon is told that Obi-Wan cannot speak, he hesitates. And all the while, Palpatine moves in the shadows... 

A Trophy, Nothing More by solojones After killing Obi-Wan Kenobi in 'A New Hope', Darth Vader takes a moment to reflect on what he's done.

Adagio by ruth baulding A slow movement, in a minor key, set on Tatooine post-Mustafar.

The Weeds in the Wilderness by ealcynn A man wakes on a cold and desolate moor. He knows he is hurt. He knows he is alone. What he doesn't know is what he is, or where he came from. He doesn't know even his own name. But there is something else that this man knows, and that is that if he doesn't get help soon, he is going to die. And on this strange new world, there are so many dangers.

Teachers by Selena "Remember, Anakin, the master learns as much from the padawan as the padawan learns from the master." Eight lessons Anakin Skywalker learns through Ahsoka Tano, and one Darth Vader does.

one door closes, another opens by isabilightwood Ahsoka runs through a portal in the Lothal Jedi Temple, and finds herself seventeen years in the past. Only to find everything is slightly different - her seventeen-year-old past self was just executed, Obi-wan is missing, and Anakin fell eight months early, prompting Order 66 just after her arrival. With only her questionably useful knowledge of the Empire as a guide, Ahsoka finds herself helping to build a rebellion from scratch. Again. But this time, with a few more Jedi left in the galaxy. Some of whom could cause more problems than they solve.

Reprise by Elfpen Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Part 1 of Reprise

Hard Deviations by flute25 “The snares of the world were its ways of sin. He would fall. He had not fallen but he would fall and surely, in an instant. Not to fall was too hard and he felt the silent lapse of his soul, as it would be at some instant to come, falling, falling, but not yet fallen, still not fallen but about to fall.” James Joyce - Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Obi-wan Kenobi goes undercover, fighting a battle against Dooku, the Sith, and himself. Takes place during the Rako Hardeen arc. Part 2 of Divergences

Drifting Starlight by Pandora151 Just before the fateful Battle of Naboo, Qui-Gon Jinn is brought to the future, to the Clone Wars. He doesn't know why or how, but he knows one thing for sure: He never, in a million years, expected the galaxy to end up like this. Part 2 of The Journey of the Lights

-mcu

for good by Madelinedear "Sorry, May, we can't all be best friends with a celebrity.” May opens her mouth to retort reflexively, the words 'we aren’t even friends' on the tip of her tongue before she closes her mouth. Because they are friends, now. They’re way past that point. Oh my god, she thinks somewhat hysterically. Tony Stark is my best friend. (or; Tony Stark, May Parker, and the road to something like friendship) Part 1 of call you home

Exclusive by copperbadge Heroes In Manhattan: From Captain America's Hidden Talents To The Truth About The Hulk, We Debunk The Myths And Expose The Daily Lives Of The Avengers. Part 1 of Magazineverse

Watch Our Souls Fade Away by GloriousBlackout Nebula and Tony struggle to come to terms with everything they've lost as they make the journey back to Earth. Takes place immediately after the events of Avengers: Infinity War.

the rattle of their hearts by iron_spider Tony deals with the aftermath of Infinity War. He needs to get things back to normal. And Peter is an essential part of normal. Part 1 of rattle universe

home training by theformerone T'Chaka takes Erik back to Wakanda. Erik is a problem child. Part 1 of erik stevens, prince of wakanda

We've Made It This Far, Kid by EmAndFandems Tony's just trying to protect the kid from SHIELD. Why does everything have to be so hard? Meanwhile, Peter's biggest problem is buying movie tickets, until he gets a harsh awakening.

the spider-man conspiracy by tempestaurora  WHO IS SPIDER-MAN? The screen showed Peter Parker, sixteen years old and determined to prove the identity of Spider-Man over the course of the three-part documentary he was making, unknowing that it would become viral within days of the first part being released. Behind the camera, way off screen, was Harley Keener, Tony Stark’s other prodigy child, grinning like crazy as Peter started the documentary. Only a few people knew what was to come, and those few people were about to have a great few weeks. “My name is Peter Parker, and with the help of my friends, Ned Leeds, Harley Keener, and my Aunt, May Parker, who provided me with a lot of red yarn for this project, we’re going to uncover the identity of Spider-Man.” OR "what if peter just decided to fuck with everyone who didn’t know he was spider man and make a documentary about him trying to uncover the Truth." Part 1 of the conspiracy kids

Below Freezing by aftersoon (notboldly) When Rhodey crash lands in the Himalayan wilderness, it tests more than just his survival skills.

-marvel 616

Resurrection, Reconstruction & Redemption by Elspethdixon, Seanchai Doom brings Steve back from the dead. Hijinks ensue, some of which might vaugely be considered plot. Part 1 of Resurrection-verse

Winter Is All Over You by Kiyaar Tony can't remember why he's running.

Sea Stars by Muccamukk Summary: Steve comes back to life somewhere entirely unexpected; Tony doesn’t remember being a hero; something is rotten in the province of British Columbia, and the 2010 Olympics are doomed.

(Not So) Lonely At The Top by foldingcranes Summary: Riri has a bad day, and Tony tries to be An Emotionally Available Adult for her. It doesn’t go so bad.

Emanata (The Comics Will Break Your Heart Remix) by teaberryblue Summary: Steve Rogers has the opportunity to fulfill his childhood dreams of becoming a comic artist when eccentric billionaire, superhero patron, and obsessive comic enthusiast Tony Stark offers him a job drawing Iron Man. But Tony Stark has no idea that Steve Rogers is really Captain America, the newest member of the Avengers. And Iron Man has no idea that Captain America is really Steve Rogers, up-and-coming comic book artist. And Steve doesn’t know what to do about the fact that he’s falling head over heels for them both.

Changeling by Sineala Instead of deleting his entire brain and reloading from a backup, Tony attempts to erase just the SHRA database from his mind. As Steve later finds out, this is unfortunately not what he actually did. Part 1 of Changeling

Zero Sum by Crait Did you do your best, Anthony? And did your best only make things worse?Series Part 1 of Stark Disassembled

-jojo’s bizarre adventure

nothing like the sun by succubused

“All Jotaro’s other targets are dead. Except for you.” Malika cocked her head, considering Kakyoin. “After he came back the last time and he was…alone in there, I…grew him flowers, a few times. I wasn’t supposed to. But he was in the dark for so long. I thought he wouldn’t mind losing a little bit of blood as long as it reminded him there was still something left.” “What do you mean,” Kakyoin said slowly, “‘in the dark’?” Malika didn’t answer. White flowers unfurled from her forearm, gentle trickles of blood rising up the thin stems. She watched them thoughtfully. White poppy; consolation. She plucked a poppy out of her arm and held it carefully between two fingers. “You have to get him out,” she said. “You have to.”

AU where Jotaro is the evil brainwashed assassin sent to kill Kakyoin, who makes life very complicated for Dio by being better at counterpossession than he is. Part 1 of nothing like the sun

somebody's baby boy ain't coming home tonight by simkjrs He rolls back the sleeve on his left arm and looks at the scabbed-over words that have been cut into his skin.

KASAI 181 BRING PEN

It’s not like Jotaro makes it a habit to listen to what other people say to him, but this is too strange of a case. He doesn’t remember doing this to himself, but if he didn’t do it, then who? And if he did do it, then why can’t he remember? ---- Four months after Egypt, and there is something strange happening back at home.

I am the desert by catboysam Jotaro hated to admit it to himself, but despite the fact that he hadn't teared up when they left Japan, he missed his grandfather’s presence. After having him beside him for so long and through so much, being separated from him felt… almost wrong. Like another thing was missing. And the more he lingered on that thought, the more the lack of Polnareff's presence felt wrong too. Jotaro invites Polnareff to his high school graduation.

the sidewalk soldiers sing the midnight blues by queenieofaces In hindsight, he doesn’t know why it didn’t occur to him that losing a hand might affect his hamon. His lungs are fine, but the flow of energy through his body is different now, no matter how imperceptibly.

The Best-Laid Plans by deuil Jotaro'd mentioned to Josuke on a few occasions that every plane that Joseph Joestar's ever been on has crashed and burned. Josuke wonders now if he's somehow managed to metaphorically inherit that trait.

Can't Go Back Now by etymologyplayground "No, no, he was not the devil. It is just that he was called Diavolo. … Well, maybe he was, I don't know," Giorno says. "Bene, he was the… director? Of Passione." "Boss," Fugo supplies him. "He was the boss." Giorno snaps his fingers at Fugo gratefully. "He was the boss. I should not care about him personally except that he made Passione sell drugs, and weapons. That's no good, you know." Jolyne slides her eyes over to Hermès, who is very resolutely looking at the road. She bites her lip. Jolyne thinks about the dime bag of weed currently sitting in the glove compartment. "Oh, yeah, for sure." -- Giorno and Fugo visit the Florida crew. Jolyne figures some stuff out about herself, her dad, and Hermès.

Untitled (1980-2014) by platinumfinale Jotaro Kujo, and his family, grows up. Contains spoilers for parts 3-6.

and the PTA meetings are worse by shonens Love thy neighbor. Or hate them. Hate them so passionately you trim your hedges in the shape of 'get fucked' in hopes of ruining their day. A collection of AU short stories about mudad, oradad, and suburbia.

[primatechnosynthpop]

A Rose Shall Bloom (And Then Shall Fade)- part 3

Claire blinked, stunned, at the worker. At her side, Gretchen shot her an almost apologetic-looking glance, her lips pressed into a thin line. Those lips, which had grown weathered and coarse over the years just like her once soft skin, still felt just as wonderful when Claire kissed them. They were still in love, and nothing would change that, no matter how far apart they appeared to be in age. Being mistaken for her wife's child... that was something Claire had dreaded for so long, and now it had finally happened.

"She's not--" Claire finally managed to get out. "She's not my mother."

"Oh, sorry, ma'am," the worker said. "Is she your aunt, then? Or a friend of your parents?"

"She's my wife". The words hung on the tip of Claire's tongue, but she couldn't say them out loud. What would this worker think? He'd think Gretchen was some kind of pervert. Claire would rather be mistaken for her daughter than have anyone think that about her wife. Instead, she forced her face into a shaky smile and nodded.

"Y-yeah, she works at the same office as my dad," she lied. "Sometimes I mess up and call her 'mom' by mistake, though, isn't that right?"

She turned to Gretchen with a pained smile which was returned with a squeeze of her hand. "Yeah, that's right."

The worker gave them a somewhat puzzled glance. "Okay," they muttered. "Um, and you two were thinking of buying a dog or cat?"

They ended up deciding not to get a pet. Animals had such short lifespans anyway; growing attached to another being she would surely outlive was the last thing Claire wanted at the moment. Once she and Gretchen were back home, Claire ran upstairs to their bedroom, flung herself down on their bed, and broke down in tears. Why did she have to be cursed with immortality? Why couldn't she grow older like everyone else?

God, she wished that her parents still looked the way Gretchen did now. Instead, they were in their mid seventies now, and they weren't aging very well. Just days before, she had gone to visit Noah, and he had glanced up at her with a smile and asked her how her cheerleading practice had gone. The slow look of bewilderment which had spread over his face as she explained that she hadn't been on any cheerleading teams for decades had absolutely shattered her heart. Eventually he had blinked and rubbed his eyes and then his mind had seemed to clear up a bit, but his vision remained cloudy even with his glasses on. Sandra, meanwhile, was steadily losing her hearing, and most days she needed a walker to help her get around. They weren't even all that old; it was just so unfair that they were becoming so decrepit so quickly.

There was a quiet, hesitant knock on the bedroom door. Claire didn't respond. She didn't want any sympathy right now. She just wanted... well, honestly, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted. She couldn't just magically make everyone stop aging, and even if she could have done so, she wasn't sure if that was really what she wished for. All she really wanted was to look as old as she was. It would make people take her more seriously, maybe, and make sleazy customers stop harassing her at work. It would prevent well-meaning people from mistaking her parents for her grandparents and her wife for her mother. Most of all, it would mean that she wouldn't stay alive for centuries after everyone she cared about was gone.

Despite Claire not responding to the knock, Gretchen came in anyway. She didn't say anything, which Claire was grateful for. Instead, she simply laid down on the bed next to Claire and wrapped her arms around her. They lay there in silence for a good, long while. Claire took a few deep breaths, letting the rhythm of her breathing sync up to Gretchen's. She took comfort in the presence of her wife next to her. Once Claire's tears had dried up and she had calmed down, Gretchen placed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck and drew her hand along her cheek.

"I love you, Claire," she whispered. "I don't care what you look like. You're my wife, and I love you."

"I love you too, Gretch," Claire sniffled. "But that's not the problem."

"Then what is the problem?"

"It's my stupid power," she said. "It's going to keep me looking like this for the rest of my life. And that life... Gretch, unless somebody comes along and cuts my head off, that life is going to last forever! And I don't want it to, babe. I don't want to outlive you."

"Oh, Claire, honey..." Gretchen sighed, cupping Claire's head in her hands. "I promise you, I'll spend as much of my life with you as I possibly can."

Blinking back tears, Claire reached up and brushed a strand of Gretchen's hair behind her ear. The gray streaks in it had yet to overpower the luscious brown. Taking a few deep breaths as she gazed into her wife's eyes, Claire reminded herself that she and Gretchen still had years--decades--left to spend together. And Claire would be sure to cherish every moment of that time.

-

There were, of course, still good days. There were days when her parents' minds were particularly sharp and lucid, and she could carry on real conversations with them. There were holidays, even, when Noah, Sandra, Claire, and Lyle were all seated around the same table and it felt almost like old times, apart from Gretchen being there next to Claire and Sandra having a different dog. Sometimes Peter and Emma came over too, often bringing Natalie with them. She grew up so fast that it was hard to believe.

"So, have you heard from Simon and Monty at all lately?" Claire asked Peter once as they sat around the dining table.

"No, they don't talk to me much," Peter said with a sigh. "I've tried talking to them, but neither of them want much to do with me."

"Well, that's a shame," Claire muttered. She took a bite of casserole and chewed it thoughtfully. Suddenly something occurred to her and she suppressed a shudder. "You know, if Nathan was still alive, he'd be seventy-five now."

"Hold on, that means..." Biting his lip, Peter counted on his fingers, his eyebrows knitting together and deepening the already deep creases on his forehead. "Christ, it's been twenty-five years since he died. I didn't think it had been that long."

"You'll have to stop by the cemetery sometime and put some flowers on his grave," Emma said. She then signed something to Peter, who nodded and signed something in return. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead; Natalie made a face.

Claire had never learned sign language, but she was beginning to think it would be useful to do so. She had all the time in the world to learn it, after all.

"Time goes by fast," Noah pointed out. "Just take a look at me," he added dryly. "Won't be long before you try to put me in a nursing home, eh, Claire-bear?"

"Dad, don't say that," Claire snapped, perhaps a bit more angrily than she had meant. She hated it when people drew attention to the fact that they were getting older. She already got reminded well enough of that every single time she saw them.

But, indeed, there were still good days. There were days when she and Gretchen put on some music from when they were kids--music which was now far out of style--and danced around the house for no real reason. Sure, Gretchen was nowhere near as nimble as she had been once, but she could still dip Claire so far down that Claire's hair brushed against the floor. There were days when they spent some time with their friends and family. There was the day of Natalie's high school graduation, when Claire clapped nearly as hard for her cousin as her own family had cheered at her graduation. There were family vacations and camping trips; there were girls' nights with Tracy; there were days when she and Hiro and Micah all hung out and traded gaming secrets and gushed about their favourite vintage Nintendo games.

(On one such day, partway through their conversation, Hiro's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said. "Ando and Kimiko have a kid now!"

"What? No way," Claire said with a grin. "Since when?"

"His name is Satoshi," Hiro informed them, as proudly as though it were his own child. "He's two months old."

"Aww," said Micah. "Tell them congrats from me!"

Hiro nodded. "I'll be sure to do that.")

There was the time when she asked Mohinder how to teach her to cook some Indian dishes when the restaurant she worked at expressed an interest in branching out and offering some more diverse cuisine. Claire found out pretty quickly that Mohinder had always seen cooking as more of an art than a science--that is to say, he wasn't particularly good at it. There were times when she and Matt watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine together and he pointed out whenever something inaccurate happened to do with the police force. There were a lot of good days in Claire's life, and there would always continue to be.

But there was also the day when Claire went to visit Sandra only to have her mother flat-out not recognize her. There was the day when Sandra finally did have to be placed in a nursing home, and then Noah as well a couple years later. There was the day when Matt announced that he was retiring and Claire wanted to say that, no, he wasn't old enough to retire yet... until she realized that he was more than old enough. Then Mohinder retired as well, and Tracy shortly thereafter. Claire went to all of their retirement parties and told them how happy she was that they would finally get to rest and relax. She tried not to panic about nothing. It was a good thing, she told herself, that her friends were retiring. It was better than continuing to work for the rest of their lives.

The rest of their lives. Claire hated that phrase with a burning passion. It reminded her that none of those lives would last forever. There was only one other person she knew of who would never die, and that person was someone she had no interest whatsoever in associating with.

There were good days, and there were bad days, and there were days that fell somewhere in the middle. All of them, each and every day that passed, took its effect on everyone in the world except for Claire... and Sylar. She had no idea of Sylar's whereabouts--nobody else did either, as far as she knew--but since he had her power, she supposed that he must not have been aging either. He had mentioned to her once before that they might be the only two people left alive one day. She hadn't listened to him at the time. Now, she thought he might have been right. If outliving the people she cared about weighed heavy on her mind, then outliving the entire population was worse than anything she could imagine. She vowed to herself that, if it ever did come to that, she would go to Sylar and ask him to kill her permanently. That kind of absolute loneliness was far beyond anything she could bear.

-

Claire was busy washing dishes when she got the call from the nursing home. More specifically, she was washing a set of wine glasses which she and Gretchen had gotten as a wedding gift, over twenty years ago now. The shape of the glasses prevented them from getting cleaned properly in the dishwasher, so she had to wash them by hand. The wine glasses didn't get a whole lot of use, but she treasured them nonetheless.

When the phone rang, she didn't answer it at first. It was a Sunday morning, and Gretchen was still in bed, sleeping it off after having gotten a bit drunk the night before. Lyle was in town with his band, and he had dropped by to do a bit of catching up. By now, he was probably in another city. Claire wasn't expecting any calls, so she decided it was probably a telemarketer and ignored the ringing for a bit.

However, while she was putting the wine glasses away in the cabinet, she got tired of waiting for it to go to voicemail and decided she may as well just pick up the phone. As soon as she answered it, she knew for certain it wasn't any kind of telemarketer.

"Hello, Ms. Bennet?" a professional but sympathetic voice said. "We're calling about your father."

Claire's throat tightened. She had visited Noah at the nursing home just a week or so ago, and he had seemed to be in good shape. She tried telling herself that it couldn't have been bad news--not the news she feared it was, certainly--but...

"Y-yes?" she asked, gripping the phone with white knuckles.

"We're very sorry to inform you that he passed away last night."

Claire sucked in a sharp breath. Part of her wanted to break down into tears, but none came to her eyes. All she could do was clench her phone so hard that the screen cracked with a dull crunch. No. Noah couldn't be gone. She hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye! Claire's knees gave out and she sank to the floor, letting out a long, low whine. Her dad--the most important person in her life--was dead. It couldn't be true. The person on the phone had to be lying! The sensible part of her knew they had no reason to lie, especially not about something like that, but... they had to be! He couldn't be dead; it wasn't fair! But, as she had learned over and over again, life was rarely fair.

"...Ma'am?" she heard the person on the phone say, sounding concerned. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"No!" Claire wanted to yell. "No, I'm not alright! You just told me that my father is dead, and then you ask if I'm alright? What are you, crazy?!"

But she didn't say any of that. Don't shoot the messenger, and all that. Instead, she swallowed down her anguish and said, with as little emotion in her voice as she could manage, that she was totally fine.

Once she ended the call, Claire slumped down with a heavy sigh and buried her face in her hands. Realistically, she had known for a long time that Noah hadn't had much time left, but she hadn't expected to get the news via an out-of-the-blue phone call. Still, her eyes remained completely dry, and for that she hated herself. What was wrong with her? Had she completely lost her capacity to function like a normal human? It didn't even occur to her that she might have been subconsciously holding herself back from crying out of fear of seeming childish.

She didn't know just how long it was she sat there, until Gretchen came into the kitchen and found her. As soon as Claire took one look up at her wife's worried face, her emotions overcame her and she finally burst into tears. Gretchen looked so old now, even though she was technically only middle-aged. "Middle-aged"--such a stupid term. It was made to make people sound less old, while simultaneously providing a constant reminder that their lives were halfway over already. Claire was middle-aged too, technically, but she... well, she just looked the same as always. And her life wasn't anywhere close to halfway done.

"Claire, sweetie, what is it?" Gretchen asked. She winced as she knelt down to sit beside Claire; her joints had been giving her a bit of trouble lately. "What happened?"

"My dad," was all Claire could get out.

She couldn't stop picturing the time she had watched Noah die in front of her. It had without a doubt been one of, if not the worst moment in her life. She couldn't decide whether it would have made it harder or easier if she'd been there to watch him die again, this time for good. She wanted to say it was better she hadn't been there, but she regretted having deliberately delayed getting to the hospital when Anglea had died. She had sworn to herself that in the future, she would be there for her loved ones on their deathbeds. But the future was now, and she hadn't been there.

-

Claire spent the next few days in a haze of grief and misery. She got calls from Lyle and Peter, during which she lied and told them she was doing okay. Gretchen glared at her from across the room when she told them this, but Claire ignored her wife's judgement. She didn't want anyone to waste their time worrying about her. They all had so many better things to do with their time, and not enough time to do them.

Once she felt up to it, she drove up to the nursing home where Sandra resided. Gretchen offered to come with her, but Claire felt that this was something she had to do alone.

"Besides," she said as she stood in the doorway, car keys in hand, "having more people there will just confuse her."

Sandra had ended up in a different nursing home than Noah, since she had different needs. The one Sandra was at was decidedly nicer, and better known for the good care its staff took of of its residents. Animals weren't allowed at the home apart from service animals, which Sandra often complained about, but she was overall fairly happy there. Her room was decorated with old pictures and silly knickknacks, and Claire had been told that she interacted often with other residents. Nobody working there believed that Claire was her daughter, adoptive or otherwise, and it had been the same with Noah. She was often mistaken for Lyle's daughter, and as much as it stung that her younger brother now looked like he could have been her father, she never bothered to correct those assumptions. The same went for people mistaking Gretchen for her mom. It never stopped hurting, but what was the point of telling them the truth? They'd never believe her anyway.

When Claire came into Sandra's room, her mother was sitting up in her bed watching a soap opera on TV with the volume off and the captions on. It took her a moment to register Claire's presence, but when she did, she turned the TV off and turned to look at Claire with a smile.

"Welcome home, honey," she said. "How was school?"

Even though it must have been the hundredth time this had happened, Claire still flinched. She suspected that her not aging contributed to her mother's frequent confusion in this regard, and the fact that René had once wiped her mind so often was probably a factor in her dementia as well (she hadn't heard from René in a long time. She invited him to social gatherings sometimes, but he never showed up.) However, the only thing that Sandra's condition could really be blamed on was the passage of time.

"I'm not in school anymore, Mom," Claire explained, as slowly and gently as always. "I'm fifty-two, remember?"

"Oh, nonsense," Sandra chided her. Her skin hung loose and sallow around her eyes, and it clung tightly to her hands, making them look almost like claws, especially with her fingernails being so yellowed. Her scraggly hair, which was entirely white at this point, hung in clumps around her wrinkled face. "Now, tell me, are your friends being good to you?"

"My friends are great, Mom," Claire said. It wasn't a lie; they were all very noble and heroic people who she admired greatly. Those just weren't the friends Sandra was thinking of. "How are you?"

"Oh, same old, same old," Sandra said with a laugh and a wave of her hand. Claire couldn't tell whether her mother was currently aware of her surroundings or not. "I've just been hanging around here, as you do..."

"So you're doing well?"

"I'm doing fine. Now, Claire," Sandra said, her eyes narrowing, "Why do you look so serious? Is something the matter?"

"M-Mom, I..." Claire gulped, afraid of how her mother would react to the news. "I came to tell you something about Dad."

Sandra blinked expectantly at her, a vaguely concerned smile on her face. There was still a faint haze of confusion in her eyes, but she seemed a bit more aware of her surroundings now.

"What about him, sweetie?"

"He died," Claire blurted. She couldn't keep dancing around it anymore; Sandra deserved not to be kept in the dark. "That's what I came to tell you. He passed away last week."

As she said this, she felt fresh tears prick at her eyes. Sandra's face crumpled into a look of sympathy. She beckoned Claire over to her bed for a hug, which Claire leaned into readily. She took comfort in the warmth of her mother's embrace, still steady and loving even after so long.

"Oh, Claire," Sandra murmured, gently stroking the top of Claire's head. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

"I love you, Mom," Claire mumbled into Sandra's shoulder. "I love you."

Then she said it again, and again for good measure, because she hadn't gotten to say it one last time to Noah and she knew that Sandra probably didn't have very much time left either. For all she knew, this could have been the last time she saw her mother.

(It wasn't, but at the time it may well have been.)

-

The funeral was held in Odessa, at the church which Sandra had always dragged the family out to on Sundays despite nobody else being particularly religious. Ironically, Sandra herself wasn't able to make the trip. It was an altogether unremarkable event. Claire had an easier time than expected keeping her composure throughout. She went up and gave a speech about Noah and all the things he had done in his life, good and bad, and although she had tears in her eyes by the time she was done, she was far from the only one there to be misty-eyed. Lyle also said a few words, although he didn't talk much to Claire at all aside from a stiff greeting and a sort of forced half-hug. He had never been as close to Noah as Claire had, and she knew that must have made this awkward for him.

A few days after the funeral, Claire called Peter in the middle of the night and had a long talk with him. His voice was a bit scratchier now, and the last time she'd seen him, his beard had been beginning to take on a salt-and-pepper look. He was aging remarkably well, but he was still aging. But maybe... maybe he didn't have to.

"If you borrow my power and never switch it out for another one, you should stop aging," she told him. "That way you would be like me."

"You might be right about that," Peter said. "But even if you are, I don't know that I want to stop aging. In fact, I kind of like that I'm getting older."

"But it means that you're going to die one day," Claire said. "If you stop aging, I'll have someone to keep me company after..."

She trailed off, casting a glance over her shoulder at Gretchen, who was lying in bed, fast asleep. It wouldn't be long until Sandra was gone too, and after that, Claire had no idea how long she would have with her friends and wife before they all withered away and died as well. If there was a chance that her uncle could live on forever with her, she wanted him to take it. She didn't want to wind up alone.

"I'm not going to keep working as a paramedic forever, you know," Peter told her. "Pretty soon I'm going to retire, and then I just want to live out the rest of my life peacefully. If I stopped getting older, I don't know if I'd ever let myself stop working."

"You could still retire," Claire said. "You and Emma could still have a happy life together. I just--I want you to still be around after that."

"Claire, you're asking me to ensure that I outlive my wife by... basically by forever," Peter said. There was an edge of anger in his voice that Claire hated to hear. "Hell, you're asking me to outlive my daughter! I'm not going to do that, Claire. Not even for you."

Sighing, Claire massaged her temples. What could she say to convince Peter to go along with her idea? She opened her mouth to retort. However, Peter wasn't done.

"My mom outlived Nathan by a long time," he went on. His voice grew louder as he talked, but he didn't sound angry, exactly--at least not at Claire. He just sounded kind of frustrated. "She had to spend decades knowing that her son was dead and she was still alive. Now you're asking me to take those years and multiply them by an eternity. That isn't a fair thing to ask of me! I won't do it! I know things are hard for you right now," he added in a softer tone, "but making me live forever won't solve your problems."

Guilt wormed in Claire's belly. She knew deep down that her uncle was right. It wasn't fair to demand that he put himself in that position. But... no. Suddenly, rage stirred within her chest. She tightened her free hand into a fist while she held her phone in the other.

"You really have no idea what you sound like right now, do you?" she hissed. "You don't want to outlive your wife? Well, guess what, Peter? That's what I'm going to do! I love Gretchen so much, and I would do anything to spend the whole rest of my life with her, but I can't do that because my life is going to last forever and hers isn't!"

"Now, Claire," Peter said, his voice gentle. If it had been a face-to-face conversation, she imagined that he would've reached out a hand to brush along her cheek. Right then, she probably would have slapped the hand away. "You don't know that for certain."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she said. "There are a few ways to permanently kill me, right? Just bash my head in and--"

"Don't say that!" Peter cut her off sharply. "Nobody is going to kill you. I won't let that happen."

"Well, maybe you should," she shot back. "Otherwise I'm going to spend eternity without any of the people I care about!"

Before Peter could say anything in response, she ended the call and slammed her phone down hard on her bedside table. She then crawled back under the covers and snuggled up next to Gretchen, appreciating the presence of her wife while she still could.

Claire knew that the next few decades were going to be hard on her. She wasn't sure which she was more scared of: losing everyone, or the eternity which would come afterwards.

[melancholyandphilosophy-blog]

A little bit about Me

It’s 1:21am on a Monday morning and I can’t sleep. That’s nothing new. Sleep is one of many things I’ve fought with over my lifetime, along with depression, anxiety, eating disorders, sexual assault, losing and finding myself over and over again. Don’t get me wrong, we all have our battles. I don’t think I have it any worse or any better than anybody else, but I do think I may have analyzed and understood its depths a little better. All my life I’ve asked “why?”, and just when I think I’ve solved one problem, another one arises. I never stop questioning. It’s a blessing and a curse.

To be honest, I think it’s mostly a curse. Trying to understand in a world that is under no obligation to be understood. Trying to make sense of chaos. I am grateful, though, that I see things the way that I do. You’ll begin to understand why.

I think I’m fairly special. I think we should all think that of ourselves; if we don’t, who will? I’m learning the true meaning of speaking things into existence and along with that, the value of patience. We underestimate the power of our minds. We’re raised to ignore a lot of the signs and signals our bodies and the universe give us. We’re smarter than we think we are. I hope times change and we relearn the importance of communicating with our inner self, and working from the inside outward. Filling our cup before we try to pour water for someone else, and replenishing our own supply when we’ve run dry.

A little bit about Me.

I want to tell you the good things as well as the bad but I have to be honest, I don’t have very many happy memories from about age 12 to 19. I had a wonderful childhood with my two older sisters, my younger brother, and my best friend who lived next door. All of the laughs and love we shared have lumped into one heartwarming, longing memory of mine.

Most of my memories are sad. I read something once a long time ago that explained how humans retain the strongest memories when they felt the most emotion (hence, why I still vividly remember walking out of the school bathroom on the first day of grade nine with toilet paper stuck to my shoe because I was SO embarrassed, I haven’t let myself live it down). I have felt a lot of intense sadness, confusion, apathy, and anger in my lifetime. I’m not so depressed anymore because I’ve come to know myself very well through all of the ups and downs, but we’ll get there.

The first time I cut myself was in grade five. I took my mom’s sewing scissors to my wrist. I knew they were sharp enough because one of my sisters had accidentally cut herself with them years before. I don’t recall feeling particularly sad until after I drew blood; I think initially I was just curious.

My curiosity (and borderline fascination) with pain and death stuck with me from a very young age. When I would hear of deaths in the news I would wait until my parents had gone to bed to get online and read about it. I watched horrors and thrillers and crime shows. I wondered what would come after life and I concluded that it must be eternal blackness. I didn’t believe in God or an afterlife because life was too painful and cruel to think that there was some greater good purpose behind it all.

The night before my grade eight graduation I got my first period. Everything went downhill quickly after that. I’m specifically mentioning the beginning of puberty because I think it’s connected to my fall into depression, and it’s something I’ll probably blog about later. Scientists neglected to research women’s health until recent years with our progression towards equality. I think puberty effects young women’s emotional health much more than we give credit for. Even still, at 21 years of age, I tussle with suicidal thoughts for one week out of every month. Without proper sex education and open discussion about mental illness, our daughters are in danger. The dawn of puberty was a very dark time for me.

I remember the very first time my laugh felt hollow. I was in class with my best friend, we were joking around the way we always did and we laughed until tears but something didn’t feel right inside of me. I didn’t feel happy, I didn’t experience any joy. I felt empty. I started relating to dark music and depression blogs on Tumblr where I’d find posts that seemed to describe the way I felt better than I could. Posts such as someone taking off a smiling mask to reveal their “true self”, a face of agonizing despair. I began to draw as an outlet for my overwhelming emotions. That and basketball were the only things keeping me sane.

When I was in grade nine, articles surfaced about someone my age from another province who took her own life. It stuck with me ever since. I read every article there was to read, and following that I researched the most effective ways to kill oneself. Shortly thereafter, I tried to drown myself.

When suicide didn’t work, I tried to take control over something easier to grasp. I stopped eating. I consciously ate a granola bar every third day. I collapsed on the basketball court due to malnutrition and was taken to a dietician. I saw her a few times and convinced everyone that I was cured. Now, I was eating to feed my families concerns, just to run away and spit/puke up much of my food.

I hated myself. I hated what I saw in the mirror. I sat up until 4 and 5 in the morning every night staring at the wall, inaudibly sobbing, cutting my inner thighs just to feel something. Eventually, I stopped crying at all. I stopped feeling altogether. I was perpetually numb, I was angry and confused and waiting for it all to end. One thought ran through my brain all day, every. single. day. “I'd rather be dead.”

I got caught up in a dead-end relationship throughout high school. My friends and family would ask me what I was doing and I would dismiss their concern because I really thought I was in love. Looking back now, I don’t recognize the girl I was in that relationship and at that time in my life. I endured a series of unfortunate events that all convinced me that I was worthless, nothing more than a piece of meat for a man’s pleasure. I was used, abused, manipulated.

I’ve always been afraid to write or talk about these things in fear of hurting the people who hurt me. That’s really fucked up, actually, that after all the pain they’ve caused me I will still worry about their wellbeing more than my own. With that said, my suffering doesn’t dissipate the love I had for these people. I have a soft and forgiving heart, but it is beaten and bruised and it’s ready to be free. Sexual abuse has haunted me for 8 years now. It has affected me in many ways that, when I find the bravery, I will discuss later in order to shed light on just how harmful it is to its victims. It’s not always a drunken encounter; in fact, quite often sexual assault occurs within relationships. Looking the first person you ever loved in the eyes and choking out the words “you’re raping me” for them to carry on until you black out will inevitably change a person.

I didn’t allow myself time to think about what had happened to me. I didn’t process my pain, I refused to accept what had happened. Instead, I fell in love again, this time intensely. This was a love I’d never known; one of respect, admiration, passion, lust, and everything else wonderful. When this was abruptly stripped from me, I mourned the loss of both of my relationships at once. I felt so small and so alone. I stopped eating, attending school, sleeping, socializing. I hooked up with strangers to feel like for a moment, someone wanted me. I was lost, and that was nobody’s fault but my own because I constantly relied on other people to provide me happiness that I couldn’t find within. I tried to kill myself twice more.

I am lucky to be alive. Lucky and so thankful. I don’t want to detail my suicide attempts because the people who are likely to resonate the most with this post are the people who, similarly to my past self, will make a mental note of those details for future reference. I am absolutely not here to tell you how to hurt yourself; I’m here for the exact opposite. I’m here to tell you why I thank God everyday that it never worked for me. I’m here to tell you that you are not alone, and to help you interpret feelings you might not understand yet. I’m here to tell you how everything hurts until one day it doesn’t anymore, and suddenly you realize you’ve been living a more fulfilling life than you’ve ever known without even recognizing your own strength. I proudly remind myself of how strong I am. I’ve survived years of fighting with myself mentally and physically. I’ve made it to 21 years old when I didn’t think I’d even see 16, and moreover, i’ve learned to count my blessings and appreciate the sick, twisted, strikingly beautiful life I’ve been given.

So that’s a little bit about me. That’s the short story of why I’ve become who I’ve become -- a hopeful young lady with endless potential, a deep understanding of pain and a burning desire to help others feel less alone. Throughout everything I’ve been through I looked for answers to wherein lies some fleeting desire to keep living, and I’ve finally found it. Maybe i’m just venting out all the things I’ve been afraid to say aloud. Maybe this is just free therapy for me. Hopefully at least one person will relate and find comfort in knowing they are not alone in their struggles.

My posts won’t be this dark in the future. Besides, looking back gets you nowhere. We’re looking forward with optimism. This is my story of love and loss, disconsolation and vitality, confusion and clarity. This is my story of recovery.

[worlduniversityrp-blog]

Posting my own form as an example for everyone joining! — Prof. Kota

OOC

Name: Dakota/Kota. Pronouns: she/her Contact URL: romanope

Character Wanted: South Italy / Romano Activity Level: 6-8 Timezone: PCT (Las Vegas) Password: accepted

Extra: My only big thing is I am uncomfortable rping the Italy Bros and will likely not be interacting with any N. Italy’s, I’m sorry!

IC

Full Name: Lorenzo Riccio

Age / Year: 20, 2nd year/sophomore. Gender / Pronouns: Male, he/him.

Appearance: Lorenzo is of short stature and small/medium framed body, his overall appearance being more gender-neutral than it is overly feminine or masculine. He has brown-olive skin littered with moles and sunspots, cappuccino brown curls that reach about ear-jaw length, and dark hazel green-brown, almond-shaped eyes that have a judging glare to them.

He stands at only 5’5 and weighs around average, with no defined muscles and slight pudge around his stomach area. His facial structure isn’t too sharp or defined, but not very soft or round either; he has an oval shaped face with a Roman nose, slightly plump lips, and high cheekbones. The most notable thing about his appearance is the unruly, curled strand of hair that sticks out.to the left, his right.

Personality: Lorenzo is, without a doubt, not the most approachable person out there; he tends to be anti-social, though when he wants to be can be rather charismatic and friendly. It’s not his strongest suit, however. He’s a bit abrasive and frequently rude and foul-mouthed with most people, especially those he does not like. Though it’s mostly a defense mechanism, and if you’re close enough to him, he’ll feel comfortable enough around you to be his passionate, loving, and even often silly side of himself. Though to no one does he show the side of him where he’s crying, or feels helpless.

He has a great deal of insecurities that have guarded his personality so intensely, that it causes him to lash out when angered, and push people away very often. He has an awful inferiority complex, and little to no sense of self-worth. He’s very pessimistic, and his depression makes it harder for him to show positive, happy emotions, as to how easy it makes it for him to spit out insults and being stubborn, rude, and overall grumpy and unimpressed with everything.

The person who makes him happiest is Antonio; he actually manages to give him a spot of optimism, make him smile and laugh and just be himself.

Skills: Painting & drawing, cooking, napping??? Complaining? Nothing else

Painting/drawing: A given, Lorenzo is very skilled with artistic media, namely painting and drawing being his best too. He is a specifically traditional artist, but has been considering learning digital media.

Cooking: Growing up in an Italian family, it’s hard to not know how to cook. He learned when he was younger since he’d always help his mother cook. It’s relaxing to him.

Napping: Worldwide champion napper. Any chance he can nap, he takes.

Complaining: Honestly.

Flaws: Pessimism, low self-worth, abrasiveness.

Pessimism: Naturally, given he has depression, Lorenzo tends to see things in the worst way, to expect the worst, and accept it. He doesn’t have a lot of hope for himself, and usually relies on others to give him some sort of sense of optimism. This also goes for his bad mood, he has trouble showing positive emotions as opposed to how easy it is for him to be negative.

Low self-worth: He thinks incredibly lowly of himself due to a multitude of things in his past, and even in his present. And yet he still manages to be a narcissist. He is the definition of “hates himself, but believes he’s better than everybody”.

Abrasiveness: A lot of bottled up emotions tend to manifest themselves in him in forms of aggression, making it easy for him to lash out, or they way he insults people and acts so rude to someone he doesn’t like so nonchalantly. Also, he’s ultimately petty, so.

Backstory: ( TW: Abuse / Depression / Self harm + Suicidal thoughts )

Lorenzo was born to his family as a first gen Italian-American, his parents having moved from Italy for better opportunities. He was always closer to his mother growing up, as his father wasn’t exactly an incredible one to begin with. As he got older, he got more and more abusive towards him, mostly verbal but even sometimes physical with him the older he was; and the older he got, the more his parents fought. He used to blame it on himself, since his dad seemed to make it look that way.

When he was 13, his mother and father divorced, and his father walked out on them. School was already awful for him as he wasn’t rather popular, only had a few ‘friends’ (they weren’t that close, since he usually shut everyone out), and had been bullied since he was young. It got worse with this, his grades fell back, and it was practically a miracle that he wasn’t held back.

Any friends he had in middle school, he lost once he was in high school. High school felt infinitely worse, he was much more stressed, ridiculed far more, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. His mother was often busy and never home, trying to provide for them both without their father there anymore. So he turned to harming himself; cutting, sometimes, just to let something out. When he was 16, he started to get ahold of cigarettes and starting smoking, to de-stress himself. He didn’t care if it harmed him, he had little to no sense of self-worth, and figured he wouldn’t live long at that point anyways.

The more he bottled up, the more he lashed out, the more he shut himself off thereafter; peers viewed more and more horribly, hated him more, made fun of him more. He’d contemplated much worse than self-harm at times. He got a job at a local fast food place to help his mother, and also to have more of an excuse to avoid people he knew, ever. Smoking became a bad habit. It didn’t help him one bit that, despite having a loving and supportive mother, a lot of himself went hidden thanks to family values and religion.

Graduating high school felt like a weight had been yanked right off his shoulders. Going off to college in NYC, away from the upstate town he was born in, was a fucking blessing. Every from high school was gone and he felt a little less outcast at World U. But he still bottles stuff up, and could really use a therapist, honestly.

Headcanons: 

Despite being 20, Lorenzo still hasn’t gotten his driver’s license, and if he can’t catch a ride from someone else, he takes public transport or walks most places. He’s not sure when he plans on getting it; he lives in NYC, after all.

While Lorenzo majors in Art, he’s often thought about opening his own restaurant in his future, and even works in the campus’s cafe (which isn’t that delightful, not that he thought it would be.)

While he has the ability to paint with a more modern style, he’s deeply inspired by barocco era paintings, and loves to paint to in such a style.

He still smokes sometimes, but he’s trying hard to quit. He’s been clean of any type of self-harming for a couple years now, but the urges still resurface.

Major(s): Visual / Studio Arts Major. Minors: Culinary Arts. Courses: Life Drawing II, Advanced Painting, Drawing II.

Ships:

OTP(s): Spamano ( I have others I like, but this is the one I’m gonna focus on ).

NOTP(s): Most of any other ships that spamano, but g/ermano + itace/st make me the most uncomfy.

Writing sample:

Every bone in his body ached, his limbs felt heavy, and his eyes were barely open; probably not the best conditions for him to be working on a stupid fucking charcoal piece on, but he had no choice. His movements were rushed, trying to piece together the painting as it came along. A man with his back to the viewer, messy, disheveled hair envisioned with dark and heavy strokes of charcoal on the canvas, an arm raised to the level of his head, and a hand cupping the back of his neck.

It wasn’t a mystery who it was meant to be a caricature of, but he’d do everything he could to deny it was anything other than just a random mystery man he’d come up with. No, he just wanted to finish it ― he needed to finish it, since it was due tomorrow, and he’d put off most chances to work on it over the past few days. A tired groan slipped from his lips, and he fumbled for his phone to turn on the screen. 1:16 am. Another groan; looks like this would be one of those days where he needed a smoke. Wishing he had weed right now, he smacked a cigarette out of the box and grabbed his lighter, too tired and frankly too lazy for something more than one of these right now, and dragged his ass outside. A brief break wouldn’t hurt.

Once he was outside, he let the cigarette hang from his lips and cupped his hand around it, shielding the flame in the lighter as he brought it to the tip. It felt comforting to take a long drag, breathing in the awful but somehow relaxing smoke, before letting it tumble from his lips and fill the air in front of him. He swatted his hand, clearing it away, but the stench would still linger. He frowned, looking around at the dark campus in the middle of the night, huffing.

After some time passed and he felt calmer, he made his way back inside and to his dorm, setting back on working on his piece, putting a little too much effort into the curve of his back, his backside, and the soft shading that emphasized his muscles. God, he was really gay. Eventually he figured – fuck it, that was good enough, he needed sleep, and dragged himself to his bed to do just that.

[duaneodavila]

A T14 Law School Graduate’s Dark Thoughts About Failing The Bar Exam

Welcome to the latest installment of The Struggle, a series where we examine the mental-health and social issues that students and recent graduates encounter during the oftentimes grueling law school experience. We are posting these stories because sometimes what law students and recent graduates need is to know that they’re not alone in their pain. Sometimes what law students and recent graduates need is to know that they’ve got a friend who is willing to share not just in their triumphs, but also in their struggles. These are real messages from real readers.

If these issues resonate with you, please reach out to us. Your stories need to be heard. You can email us, text us at (646) 820-8477, or tweet us @atlblog. We will share your stories anonymously. You may be able to help a law student or recent law school graduate who needs to know that someone else has been there before and survived.

As I sit here trying to focus on studying for the bar exam so I don’t fail AGAIN, all I can think about is how worthless I feel.

After several years of the blood, sweat, tears, and stress-induced illness that came along with juggling a demanding full-time job and law school, I feel like I have nothing to show for it but six figures of debt.

I pushed myself to graduate a semester early because I was physically making myself ill (things took a dark turn pretty quickly for me after the 2016 election). I preferred the idea of more intense short-term pain if that meant it could be over sooner. I wasn’t too worried about the bar exam because the idea of only having to study and not work felt like a reward. I also wasn’t stressed about it because my T14 school never made me feel like it would be an issue — it’s assumed you’ll pass. “The bar only tests minimum competency. It’s nothing to stress over. Just study and you’ll be fine.” That’s all I ever heard in law school. It’s pretty hard not to feel like a complete fraud and failure when you flunk the exam shortly thereafter.

So, here I am, so close to my second round. Everyone around me thinks I’ll definitely pass this time. Everyone except me. I’m not scoring well based on my bar prep company’s metrics, so it’s not looking promising. It’s been really difficult to focus, and I’ve developed a bad habit of letting myself get distracted by any task that will make me feel like I’ve accomplishing something. While in theory, studying should satisfy that feeling of accomplishment, it only serves as a reminder of my incompetency.

Every time someone asks me about the bar exam (which is every god damn day), I just do my best Joe Pesci-Vinny Gambini impression and tell them, “Six time’s a charm.” They all laugh me off and say, “Of COURSE you’re going to pass THIS time. Don’t be ridiculous.” All of these people think they’re being supportive and have no clue how close to the edge they keep pushing me. I’m not there yet, but I have suicidal ideations on a pretty regular basis. I’m not ashamed to admit it because, sadly, I know how common it is for law students and lawyers. A friend at another highly ranked school told me about a girl who took her life before finals a few years back, and the connection that made me feel with her still haunts me.

Most law schools have counseling and psychological services resources that students and graduates can turn to if they are in crisis or would like counseling, even after hours. If these services are not available at your school, and if you or someone you know is depressed and in need help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-8255) or a lawyer assistance program in your state (don’t be fooled by the name; these programs also provide services to law students). Remember that you are loved, so please reach out if you need assistance, before it’s too late.

Staci Zaretsky is a senior editor at Above the Law, where she’s worked since 2011. She’d love to hear from you, so please feel free to email her with any tips, questions, comments, or critiques. You can follow her on Twitter or connect with her on LinkedIn.

[ecotone99]

(FN) Weeping Willow Tree *trigger warning*

Weeping Willow Tree

The leaves wore an orange tinge. It was late fall and a thin layer of snow had already coated the barren trees, grass and empty driveways. I walked on the sidewalk toward the forest where the event was to take place. The breeze was cold and harsh --and turned my skin a pinkish red. A loud chime emitted from my pocket and the phone screen’s light shined through my jeans. I checked my phone and found myself grinning with anticipation.

Reminder: November 1st 2019 Today’s the day. After today, it’ll all be worth it.

I got to the forest and was promptly greeted by my friend Leah. She had bright auburn hair that matched the fall leaves and piercing green eyes like the spring that came thereafter. She hadn’t changed a bit. “You ready?” she said. “Have been since we made the pact,” I replied. “Seems like it was just a few days ago, doesn’t it?” “Not for me, these past three years have only served as preparation.” We paved our way through the dense foliage. The forest floor was covered in moss and tree roots wove their way through the ground. At the end of the forest was some sort of clearing with a willow tree standing tall and proud in its center. Its branches were thin and had leaves that swayed with the stinging cold breeze.

That was where we were headed. I could see that my other friends were already there, all around the willow tree --everyone who was in on the pact made years ago: Carrie, Nathan, Aaron, Leah and I. We shared stories of the past three years after the pact was made --after we graduated from highschool. Most of us had nothing going on due to the fact that we all took a gap year that eventually turned into three. All except Aaron. He was sweet and was only in on this because he thought we wouldn’t go through with it --we all did. Yet after all these years, with almost each of our lives increasingly going downhill, the idea of the pact didn’t seem so bad after all. We each dug up our things from where we buried them three years ago. My fingers grew cold as I dug up my things through the thin coat of snow and the cold ground. I found my rope and scraped off the remaining mud on it and the ones that got stuck beneath my nails. “Are we really doing this?” Nathan asked, tying his rope on a thick branch of the willow. “I’m going through with it whether you guys are or not,” Carrie said as she stood on a root and waited for her turn. “I don’t know about this you guys,” Aaron added while tapping his foot and twiddling his thumbs. “This is the only way we’ll know for sure,” Leah said, already standing on her root. “Everyone remember the prayer?” I asked. A deafening silence filled the forest, aside from the whistling breeze that passed by now and then. Leah was the first to break the silence with the start of the prayer. “We lay our hands across our throat” One by one, we followed behind her till we’d reached a perfect unison. “We lay our hands across our throat, and went to say our final note. We’ve bid farewell to this wretched world, and hoped to be ascended. While our lives twisted and twirled, this wasn’t how we’d hoped it ended. We’ve gathered here and done all we could, for a precious time to be one with the wood. For this willow tree does all but weep, where bodies will hang in everlasting sleep. So hear our prayer oh God below, and accept our lives to you we bestow.”

Wasn’t a surprise that Carrie went first. Impatience was her virtue. It was always like that ever since we met in highschool. She couldn’t even wait in line for food or coffee. She’d always been the eager one. With that, she put her noose around her neck, tightened it and jumped from her root. I heard her neck snap. A sharp crack echoed throughout the clearing and gave her her ticket to the entrance of his domain. She was with the God below now. Leah went next, jumping from her root. Then Nathan, then Aaron but not before he got cold feet. I don’t blame him; he was the only one that actually had something that he was leaving behind; college, a job, a girlfriend. “I don’t think I’m gonna go through with it,” Aaron said to me as the others hung lifelessly. “It’s okay, Aaron. Remember why we’re here doing this,” I said. “It’s the only way we get to see him in his empire, his domain.” “I ...I can’t.” “He wouldn’t be very happy to see you feeling this way” “Well I don’t care what he thinks! He’s just some God that you all decided to turn to once your lives turned to shit. You’re nothing but cowards!” My face flushed red with anger. “You can’t talk to him like that! The rest of us are already there with him. Waiting for us to follow.” I said, walking toward his root. I tried to help him by holding his shoulders to calm him down and adjusted the tightness of the rope around his neck. He pushed me to the ground and took his rope off. I grabbed his ankle, pulled him down with me and wrapped my hands around his neck. If his noose couldn’t do the job, then my arms should work just as well. He squirmed and kicked desperately. I saw his hand pat around beside him and I felt a sharp pain on my temple. The right side of my face trickled with warmth --the snow around me stained with red as well as the rock that he held in his right hand. I could see him still struggle to pry my hands from his neck as he screamed through staggered breathing. This was the only way for him to understand. After all, this was his sacrifice --his offering. I dragged his now lifeless body to his root, put the noose around his cold neck and hung it up on one of the thicker branches. That said, I was next. I walked to my root, put the rope around my neck and took a last glimpse of the lifeless bodies of those who had ascended --swaying back and forth with the stinging cold breeze, like leaves of the weeping willow tree.

submitted by /u/faggawt69 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/35fNJ0m

[books-n-wine]

~**~ Too Hard To Forget (Romancing the Clarksons #3) by Tessa Bailey w/ Excerpt, Review & Giveaway ~**~

This time, she's calling the shots.

Peggy Clarkson is returning to her alma mater with one goal in mind: confront Elliott Brooks, the man who ruined her for all others, and remind him of what he's been missing. Even after three years, seeing him again is like a punch in the gut, but Peggy's determined to stick to her plan. Maybe then, once she has the upper hand, she'll finally be able to move on.

In the years since Peggy left Cincinnati, Elliott has kept his focus on football. No distractions and no complications. But when Peggy walks back onto his practice field and into his life, he knows she could unravel everything in his carefully controlled world. Because the girl who was hard to forget is now a woman impossible to resist.

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“I don’t know, Peggy.” He whirled on her, closing in until she was forced back onto the desk. “I had an All-American on my squad this morning and now I don’t. That’s all I know.” He pointed a finger toward the window. “I solve problems down on the field. Saving people isn’t my job.”

Saving people. God, there was such a wealth of regret and pain in those two words. But he couldn’t hear it and she couldn’t address it. Letting him know she saw right through his façade to the hurt beneath might force Elliott to close himself off. “You didn’t always limit yourself. Why are you doing it now?”

“Accepting things that can’t be changed isn’t a limitation. It’s realistic.”

“But how will you know if something can’t be changed unless you try?”

“When it comes to certain things, Peggy, trying leads to losing.” He was in her face now, the mint from his toothpaste familiar and inviting where it slid over her lips. “And I don’t lose.”

No one ever stood up this man but her, and she wouldn’t be cowed now. “No? You’re out a receiver.” She hitched herself up on his desk. “I’d call that a loss.”

The tips of his shoes met Peggy’s, his hands gripping the furniture on either side of her hips. “Who do you think you are, little girl? Coming into my office and telling me what I’ve done wrong?” His eyes were brilliant in their vexation, the attraction he was trying so hard to fight. “Where do you get the goddamn bravery?”

“The bravery is what you liked best about me,” she breathed, heat sizzling in a downward V toward her thighs. “Isn’t it?”

“No. That bravery is what almost led to my downfall.” His hands found her bottom, jerking her to the edge of the desk. “I resented it. Still do.”

“Liar,” Peggy whispered, easing her thighs wider. “You’re dying for an excuse to head for another downfall.” When her legs were as open as she could spread them, she leaned up to Elliott’s ear and let her breath shake loose. “One thrust.”

Elliott’s right hand came up out of nowhere, molding over Peggy’s mouth as his hips crowded into the notch of her legs. With a quick maneuver to recline her halfway back, Elliott’s erection found the apex of her thighs, delivering an aggressive pump against her underwear that sent a scream climbing up Peggy’s throat, only to be trapped by his hand. Knees jerking up out of reflex over the rush of sensation, an orgasm almost—almost— broke past the surface, sending her waters rippling out on all sides. Her legs wanted to hug Elliott’s waist, her voice wanted to beg for one more, one more, one more, but he shook his head, denying her, even though his gaze was hot, a low groan issuing from his harshly masculine mouth.

He leaned in and nipped the lobe of her ear. “Next time, ask for two.”

***4 ‘Your Inner Masochist’ Stars***

The dysfunctional functionality of the Clarkson family is what makes these books difficult to put down and boy do Peggy and Elliott (who thought a non family member could rival the Clarkson siblings?) put me through the ringer. Talk about bringing out all the FEELS, the good, the bad and the ugly in this emotional rollercoaster, but it was all worth it as things get heated, both in the heart, head and bed, only to end in the way it was always meant to.

Peggy and Elliott truly took me on a hell of a ride. Peggy is an enigma. She can be whomever someone needs her to be, as long as it isn’t herself because if she allowed that to happen all of her vulnerabilities would be exposed. But pieces of her trueself find their way out of the kevlar armour she’s constructed around herself and those pieces show a genuinely vibrant and compassionate soul. I had my ups and downs with Peggy. I loved her fearlessness, but the games she played had me wanting to Gibbs smack her even though I understood why she felt the need to play them.

Elliott has only ever had one love, football. He lives and breathes the game to the detriment of everything and everyone else around him and uses it as a way to keep people away so he can drown in his own guilt. I honestly did not like Elliott for much of the book. I understood why he believed what he did and in part empathized with him because of it, but it took a while for me to start to like the man. Thankfully he had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment that finally had him opening up and showing that while a part of him was broken, he was a strong man with a good heart.

As I’m sure you can probably guess, Peggy and Elliott’s second chance journey drove just a tinsy bit batshit crazy, okay...a lot. At one point I was so done with both of them and all the mind games and push/pull going on that I almost, almost, gave up on them, but at the same time I was fascinated by how their minds worked that I had to see it through and I’m very happy I did. They both got a handle on their issues, confronted them and found ways to show the other what they meant to each other and make it work because the chemistry and connection, both sexual, emotional and intellectual were all there, they just had to believe that it could be more.

It’s easy to get sucked into the crazy that is Clarkson family because despite the chaos that comes with them, there is something absolutely intriguing about them all as they sort through the muck that is their emotional baggage. While you can read this one as a standalone, to truly get a handle on the dysfunctionally functional Clarkson family I highly suggest you start at the beginning, especially because you’ll end up loving the little doses of Miriam that are sprinkled into the mix. Now to patiently (or not) wait for Belmont and Sage’s story!

~ Copy provided by the publisher via NetGalley ~

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THE ROMANCING THE CLARKSONS SERIES

TOO HOT TO HANDLE, #1

TOO WILD TO TAME, #2

TOO HARD TO FORGET, #3

TOO BEAUTIFUL TO BREAK, #4

Series Page on Goodreads

Tessa Bailey is originally from Carlsbad, California. The day after high school graduation, she packed her yearbook, ripped jeans, and laptop, and drove cross-country to New York City in under four days. Her most valuable life experiences were learned thereafter while waitressing at K-Dees, a Manhattan pub owned by her uncle. Inside those four walls, she met her husband, best friend, and discovered the magic of classic rock, managing to put herself through Kingsborough Community College and the English program at Pace University at the same time. Several stunted attempts to enter the work force as a journalist followed, but romance writing continued to demand her attention.

She now lives in Long Island, New York with her husband and daughter. Although she is severely sleep-deprived, she is incredibly happy to be living her dream of writing about people falling in love.  

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