#i caught myself at the last second but by god does it hurt

[staryarn]

Freak sprite accident

[worldlxvlys]

FOR THE DWB W MATT PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DO A FIC WHERE HE COMES OVER N THE GUY IS STILL THERE I WANNA SEE WHAT WOULD HAPPEN🙏🏻🙏🏻 YOU DONT HAVE TO THO ID JUST LOVE TO SEE IT👁️👁️

lose your shit

dwb! matt x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, violence, mentions of blood, cursing

based on these texts, it won’t really make sense if you don’t read them.

a/n: the guy’s name is alex, i hope you like this <333

shit shit shit shit.

this is not good. i look over to the man laying in my bed, he was in a dead sleep.

matt doesn’t live that far away, maybe 10 minutes tops. however, he could have left before he even sent that text.

fuck.

i began to shake alex awake. “you gotta wake up, dude”

after a few seconds, he stirred and opened his eyes. “what’s wrong?” he asked, letting out a yawn.

“nothing. you just really need to fucking go”

“alright damn, but what’s the rush?”

“please just hurry up, i don’t have time for this” i said, pulling him off the bed.

“damn, was the sex that bad?” i didn’t even answer, just looked him up and down.

“alright, jeez” i collected his clothes from the floor and handed them to him.

he took the hint, beginning to get dressed.

when he was done he just stood there.

“was there something else you needed?” i asked trying to figure out why he wouldn’t leave.

“can i at least brush my teeth?”

“does this look like a fucking hotel to you? take your shit, and get out. now.” i answered, starting to get annoyed.

he just stared at me, mouth open.

“you do have a tooth brush and running water at your house, correct?”

“well, yeah. but-“

“ok that is amazing, lovely, the quicker you get out of my house, the quicker you can take care of your dental hygiene” i said nudging him out of my room.

i pushed him all the way to my door. maybe there is hope for this man after all.

when i opened the door, there stood matt.

fucking hell.

that has to be the worst timing i’ve ever had in my entire life.

his eyes immediately snapped toward alex. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i could ask you the same thing, matty-boy”

they know each other.

the two men stared at each other, never breaking the intense glare.

“oh great! you two know each other! well, alex was just about to head home so, y’all can catch up later” i said, trying to get him to walk away.

“actually, i think i’m gonna stay” he said, looking matt up and down.

well, shit.

this was like something out of a god damn movie. and while it didn’t surprise me that matt was acting this way, i wasn’t expecting this from alex.

alex did not seem like the type of guy to start a fight, he seemed more like the type to run away from one. he simply wasn’t built for it, at least, that’s what i thought.

matt clenched his jaw before grabbing alex by his shirt, pulling him outside and pushing him against my house.

“jesus christ, matt” i said in shock.

“what ya gonna do matty? gonna hit me?” matt did just that, swinging at alex’s face.

“you need to stay the fuck away from her. got it?”

“no can do, matty pooh. i can’t lie, she’s a good fuck”

matt didn’t like his comment, as he pulled his fist back to punch alex again.

alex, however, was quicker this time. he caught matt’s fist with one hand and swung at him with the other.

yeah, i was definitely wrong about alex.

“hey fuckers! i don’t know if you’ve noticed but my house is white. it’d be lovely if you didn’t get blood on it !” i yelled, making matt turn his head towards me.

alex took advantage of matt’s distraction to land another blow to matt’s face.

that shit looked like it hurt.

i then pulled matt away, placing myself between the two.

“you two need to get a fucking grip” i turned to alex. “walk away before i call the cops on your ass”

i turned to matt, “you’ve made your point, let him go”

matt gave him one last glare before gesturing alex to go. with that, alex walked off “your face isn’t the only place i left marks ” he mumbled.

matt started to walk after him, but i placed my hand on his chest to stop him.

i tilted my head at him, looking into his eyes. “it’s fine. just let him go” he looked at me, eyes softening, and nodded.

once i heard alex’s car door shut and him drive away, i pulled matt inside “come on”.

i brought him to my bathroom, pulling out my first aid kit.

“did he actually mark you up?” he asked, as i grabbed a wash cloth for his face.

“no, matt. he was just trying to get under your skin” i said as i ran water over the cloth and brought it to his face.

i began to clean his cuts, making him grimace. “i know, i know. sorry”

my tongue poked out a little past my lips, as i continued to clean his cuts.

he stared down at my lips the whole time, not saying a word.

“all done.” i said as i finished up. i started to reach over him to grab a bandage. “lemme just grab a-“ he suddenly grabbed my arm halting my movements as he studied my face.

my face felt hot under his gaze, as i tried not to show how nervous he made me. without another word, he grabbed my face, pulling me in for a kiss.

he kissed me with passion, like he was pouring all of his emotions into it. it wasn’t hungry or lust-driven. it said all the things that we could never say to each other’s faces.

he pulled away, pressing his forehead to mine. “what was that for?” i asked, eyes still closed.

“i need you to know that i care about you” my eye opened at this, staring into mine.

“i’m not using you for sex. i could never do that, baby. and i’m so sorry i ever made you feel that way. you are the most important thing to me. i can’t lose you, and i couldn’t live with myself if i let anything happen to you.”

he pecked my nose.

“i know that you’re capable of making your own decisions, and i’m not trying to take that away from you. but i know that guy and he’s not the type of person you want to be around. i can’t just watch him ruin you.” he moves a piece of hair out of my face.

“so i’m sorry that i just showed up here. i’m sorry i lost my shit. i’m sorry about the blood on your house” we both chuckled.

“but i can’t help it when it comes to you, you drive me crazy”

“hmm i don’t know i kinda like it when you lose your shit, it’s hot” i said as our noses touched.

he pushed my hips against my sink.

“good” he said as he went in for another kiss.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

hope you liked :)

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chrissturnioloswifey @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @sosmatt @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Nine

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.5k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, mentions of nudity, mentions of sexually explicit content, OC has anxiety, communication, polyamory, M/M/F

A conversation and a confession

Simon doesn't say anything for a while. I sit next to him silently, waiting for the words I know are coming. Knowing that they're going to hurt.

I've accepted it. They're probably going to want to move out after this. God - how am I going to explain this to John...

"We thought you needed space today," Simon starts softly, his gentle tone soothing a part of me that I didn't know needed soothing. "We... I've messed up today. I should have shown you more affection. I shouldn't have let you doubt this."

I blink up at him, dazed and bewildered. He's going to have to spell this one out for me.

Like he's reading my mind, he explains, "We really like you, Tali. We didn't want to scare you away after how intense last night was." There's another beat of silence as he glances at Johnny, still fast asleep, and adds, "I think this a conversation that all of us need to be present for."

They like me.

The realisation sets in like a freight train. They really like me.

A giddy feeling somewhere between excitement and confusion creeps in, all but erasing the sadness I felt just moments ago. Simon looks at me, head cocked to one side like he can sense the heavy mix of emotions swirling around inside of me. There's a glimmer in his hazel eyes as he carefully watches my expression.

"Can we... can we wake him up now, please?" I know that it's selfish, but I need to know that this is resolved. I need to know that they both feel the same so that we can move on. So that I can think and plan and mentally prepare myself for what people are going to say.

Oh God.

What are John and Gaz going to think? The people I work with? I'd like to think that I don't really care about the opinions of others, but I do. Deep down, I do. Strangers can be judgemental and mean - especially where poly relationships are concerned. Shit, what about PDA? That's going to draw unwanted attention and...

"Hey, love." Simon gently squeezes my hand with his, scarred fingers surprisingly gentle against my much smaller ones. "Where did ya go?"

I swallow, suddenly aware of how dry my throat is, and how my knees are shaking. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About this. Us." When he squeezes my hand again, I carry on, shifting closer to him on the sofa until I'm tucked seamlessly against his side. "People are going to judge us."

There's a pause before Simon does something that surprises me. He barks out a laugh. A loud, gruff laugh that startles me for a second, almost making me jump.

I look up at him like he's gone mad, and he looks back at me, eyes twinkling with humour as he smirks. "You really think that's going to be what they focus on, princess? I walk around in public, 6'7, dressed in all black with a bloody mask on. Johnny's hardly a wallflower either. You really think people will be rushing to judge the sweet, beautiful woman walking around beside us?"

Well, when he put it that way, I suppose they wouldn't.

"I mean, there's always going to be a chance that some people will, but fuck 'em. I've caught enough stares to last me more than a lifetime. 's like water off a duck's back." Some of the amusement leaves his tone, eyes solemn again for a moment as he adds, "But seriously, love, if they don't know us, then why should we bother what they think? It's something Johnny said to me when we first started going out. I used to get so fucking stressed out about people looking at us and whispering shit. Just wanted to rip their heads clean off their shoulders. But it's not our problem - it's theirs."

I nod slowly. It seems to simple when he says it like that. I know it won't be, but it gives me hope. Hope that - one day - I'll be as nonchalant about it as Simon is.

There's a grumbling sound from the other end of the sofa. One that draws both of our attention. "Wha's all this about problems and heads?"

Si and I look across at the same time, meeting a pair of heavy-lidded, confused bright blue eyes.

"...and so Tali thought we weren't interested, and that we were ignoring her," Si says, rounding off his summary-version of our conversation to a now wide-awake Johnny.

"Right," the Scotsman says, cradling a mug of black coffee like it's his firstborn. "Well, respectfully, tha's a bunch of shite." He turns to me with wide eyes, and I try not to look sheepish. "Ye know that now, right?"

I offer him a small smile. "Right," I repeat.

The three of us are still in the living room - myself tucked back into my armchair, and the two of them sitting on the sofa facing me. There are some important matters that need to be discussed, questions that need to be asked, and ground rules that need to be laid. Things that won't get done if I'm sitting next to either of them. It'd be all too easy to get lost in their eyes, snuggle up to their ridiculously toasty body heat and drag them back into their room for round three.

I need to stay focused for this.

"So, what does this make us?" I ask, hoping that I don't sound as nervous as I feel. I'm surprised that I'm not physically shaking.

Johnny shrugs, glancing from Si back to me again before saying, "Our girlfriend. Partner. Take yer pick," just as Simon says, "Whatever you want us to be."

"I think I'd like to be your girlfriend, if that's okay." When they voice their more than enthusiastic approval, I turn to my next question, a nervous smile forming on my lips. "What will you tell John and Kyle?"

Simon frowns at my obvious hesitance, the movement tugging at the scars around his mouth. "Captain Price we can leave to you, if you're more comfortable that way. And Gaz... we can tell him we're together whenever you want. He's pretty open-minded."

I swallow thickly. "They're both coming over at the weekend."

There's a beat of silence before Johnny starts laughing. "Making plans with our friends without us already, lassie? We've only been together for half-an-hour."

My cheeks heat up and I fight the urge to get embarrassed. "John made then plans, not me."

Simon grins. "I think it's cute. It's good that you get along with Gaz; he's a nice lad."

We're getting side-tracked!

I clear my throat, all business once again. "There's something else that I need to tell you."

They both look at me, expressions holding varying degrees of concern and blind acceptance. They're looking at me like I hung the moon.

I know that it probably won't change the way that things are between the three of us, but I'm still nervous. Because - technically - I've been lying to them since we met.

They still don't know that I'm Alex's sister.

"Did Price ever tell you how he and I met?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I watch as it dawns on them: he never did. Regardless the pair stay silent, giving me the space to take a deep breath and continue on.

"We met over a year ago, when he came to inform me that my brother had died."

Simon's face turns a sickly greyish-white hue. "You- you never told me that he was military."

On the other side of the sofa, Johnny's expression darkens. "I didn't even know that ye had a brother." He pauses, eyes locking onto mine as he says, "But... if the Captain came to tell ye, tha' means... he was somethin' to do with our lot."

Si's head starts shaking before I can even get the next part of my confession out, like he knows exactly where this is all about to go. "My name - my full name - is Talia Keller. And my... my brother's name was Alex. Operations Officer Alex Keller."

Johnny lets out something between a groan and a choking noise. My heart is beating in my throat, palms clammy and chest too tight. Simon isn't even looking at me anymore; he's looking at the floor, the walls, the ceiling... anywhere but me.

"I... how? Alex never told us he had a sister." Simon sounds borderline frantic. I try not to let that statement hurt me; try to remind myself that it has no bearing on the love that my brother felt for me. Catching the look on my face, Simon adds a broken, "I didn't mean it like that."

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted me to walk over to him and tell him that it's all a lie. One big, sick joke. That I actually met John through a friend of a friend, or some other totally normal circumstance. Not via a death notification.

"Calm down, Si," Johnny says suddenly, his soft, placating tone cutting through the room. "Calm down and let our lass talk." Blue eyes lock onto mine, offering me endless reassurance. "Carry on, love."

I clear my throat, hands clenching and unclenching into fists at my sides as I will myself not to cry. "Our parents died when we were young, and Alex joined the army when I was still just a kid. He was all I had left after our grandmother passed. And - when he died - John came to the flat to tell me he was gone." I remember the crushing weight of the loneliness I felt in those days that followed, and it brings a weak, bitter smile to my lips. "But he didn't just tell me and go. He left his number and he made an effort to be there when I needed him. He pulled me into his life; kept reaching out even when I was too stubborn to see that I really needed him around."

Johnny frowns, and I can see the unshed tears shining in his eyes. "But... why didn't ye tell us, love?"

I shake my head, my own tears falling freely. "I don't know," I say, honestly meaning it. "I just... I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be easier? So that you wouldn't pity me for it?"

Before Johnny can reply, Simon is standing up - crossing the living room with long, precise strides. He scoops me up from the armchair, cradling me in his big, muscular arms. I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck to hide myself away from the world, letting the tears pour out.

"We don't pity you, princess," Simon says, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. I can hear the sofa creaking softly as Johnny stands up. Can feel his fingers brushing through my hair. "Just wish you'd told us sooner, that's all."

I peel myself away from Simon long enough to manage two words before I'm burying my face back into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, lovie," Johnny coos. "There's nothin' to be sorry about."

Once we've all calmed down, Simon announces that it's time we all head off to bed. It's gone 11 and not only do I have work tomorrow but they have to nip across to the base for a meeting, so he has a point.

As Johnny and Simon rattle around the apartment, double-checking that they locked the front door when they came in earlier, and making sure all the windows are shut, I start to head off to my room. The room I sleep in alone.

"Um, where do ya think ye're going, lassie?" a voice calls out from the top of the hallway. I turn around to see Johnny standing there, his broad frame practically filling the space as he folds his arms across his massive chest.

I let out a quiet squeak. "Bed?"

Simon appears behind him, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's - our boyfriend's - head. "Nice try. Get your arse into bed. I'm not in the mood to chase you tonight." With an adorable flash of vulnerability softening his battle-hardened features, he adds, "I want to cuddle."

Melting inside, I backtrack down the hallway and push their door open, hopping into what used to be my bed.

After a few minutes, I doze off, and when I open my eyes again, I'm bracketed on both sides by the warm, muscular bodies of my boyfriends. I try not to giggle like a teenage girl internally, but it does a lot to shake off the remaining sadness lingering from our conversation about Alex.

I roll over, accidentally slamming face-first into Simon's bare chest. Instead of whining about it, he grumbles, "Are you going to sleep like that?"

I blink, pulling away to glance down at myself. After I flopped down onto the mattress, I hadn't thought to take off my clothes. Or find myself anything suitable to sleep in.

"No?"

Simon chuckles indulgently, joined swiftly by Johnny - his rock-hard chest vibrating against my back.

"Jesus, lassie, just sleep naked like us. 's easier," the Scotsman says, drawing my attention to the fact that they are both indeed naked. "Saves us havin' to move wardrobes around."

I ignore him, kicking off my jeans before pulling my shirt off over my head. I lay still for a moment before something occurs to me - another question I forgot to ask earlier. A glaringly obvious one.

"What happens after Johnny's stitches have healed?"

Silence fills the room. It makes me wonder if it's something they've been wondering too.

Johnny speaks first. "Tha' depends, lassie. We'd have to ask Captain Price. An' it depends on ye, and want ye wanna do. But we'll both have to return to active duty."

Before I can ask what that looks like for them, Simon clarifies, "That means we'll be out on assignments more often." I don't think I'm imagining the heavy note of sadness that weighs heavy in his voice as he adds, "Sometimes we'll both be gone for weeks at a time, with no way of getting in touch with you."

As much as I hate it, I've already made my peace with that part. The bit that I don't get is the living situation. When they are here, I'd like to stay with them. I can live in the flat while they're away, but what about when they aren't? It's not fair on Winnie to have all four of us staying here, encroaching on her space. This apartment is just as much her home as it is mine.

"Do you two have a place together?" I ask, more out of curiosity than anything. I highly doubt it, since they ended up here with me in the first place.

Simon shakes his head. "We never saw a need for one. When we're in the country, we stay in the barracks with the other soldiers." A frown forms on his lips and I pull back a little further so I can comfortably cup his jaw. I smooth my thumb along the length of his cheekbone. "But I don't think that's a place that I'm happy with you being in."

I open my mouth to protest but Johnny's hand appears from behind me, swatting the air between us. "Can we talk about this in the mornin'? Some of us would like to sleep."

With a soft giggle, I roll over again and press a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then his forehead, and the cheek not pressed against the pillow. I settle my head into the gap underneath his chin, feeling the comfortable weight of Simon's arm come to drape over my waist and onto Johnny's. I can hear the sound of them kissing goodnight over my head, and it warms my heart even more than I thought I would.

Sandwiched between the two of them, I doze off again.

a/n: hi guys! I felt bad leaving you on a cliffhanger with that last one, so here's part 9 :) thank you so much to everyone for the kind words and support, both on posts and through messages, it does mean a lot 🧡 - lapetitelapin x

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Part two

Leland Coyle x F! Reader

Summary: reader has been trying to escape the trials since she arrived. One night she stumbles along a house that is out of the way . It is occupied by Leland Coyle and he makes a deal with her: keep his house clean with dinner every night and you can stay here.

W! Not really. Hes just grabby

Coyle was still holding you in his grip with his palm cupping your cheek, his cheeky grin and cigarette inches from your shaking face. The man was so happy, “a new wife. Its about time, this my what 3rd? 4th? Ah it does not matter." The man stood up straight, finally letting you go, “its upstairs, but I'm sure you know that since ya was poking around in here” Coyle gestured to the stairs while removing his hat, belt, and setting his electric prod down on a nearby table. Without a moment to think you ran up the stairs back to the bedroom right into the restroom to spin the shower knob turning it on, your old dirty clothes were shedded within seconds and that alone was a relief for you. You were not putting them back on ever, quickly you stepped into the old tub letting the water hit you as you closed the raggy curtain . “god……..” you sighed with great relief, the pressure of the water was a little finicky but you did not care. Slowly you closed your eyes leaning on the tile wall just letting the warmth take over. After countless nights of sweat, blood and dirt covering you this was the greatest thing in the world right now. While you were washing you were looking around the restroom with your head poked out from the curtain, you spotted Coyle standing there, leaning on the door arms folded and cigarette burning lightly.

“..yes?” you asked a little confused.

“Lookin for something?” he asked while scanning around the room as if to mock you.

“Uhm.. a cloth to wash myself. “ you told him, holding the curtain to your body to cover it. Coyle leaned down, opening the cabinet under the sink to toss you a bright yellow cloth that hit you in the face. ‘Oww..” the cloth fell on your palm and it looked.. Brand new. “Have you used this?” you asked shooting him a look. “Nope” was all he said. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Couldn't tell ya sweetie” the man grinned at you as you rolled your eyes. “Okay come on.” you told him while moving to the side and going back behind the curtain. Coyle removed his shades, setting them on the sink and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror , a little dirty .. okay maybe very dirty.. Its not like being clean was on the mans to do list, all he had to do was scare and kill . nothing else mattered. He ended up staring for a long time… when was the last time he saw himself? The hurt the on the side of his face.. His eyes.. Anything. He never really cared to see any of it. “Hey, Coyle.” you poked your head out again. “Ill do it for you, you don't have to do anything if that makes you feel better. “ Coyle shook his head going to you to whip the curtain open with a grunt. “Comin” was all he said as he undressed to get in behind you. Gently you closed the curtain again and turned around with the cloth in your hand to see him looking very grumpy while you stared at his face with big curious eyes. You knew Coyle had gone through some things here in the trials but you never got an up close look at what had been done to him. He was human just like you, maybe that's what made you less scared right now. “Okay, ill start you first then me okay?” you told him as you reached to the side pulling a never opened bottle of soap off the side of the tub that said Murkoff Suds on it. As you were washing him up Coyle would reach over to squeeze your chest or rear only to get no reaction really from you. Instead he got a giggle and sometimes a “ easy there, im not done yet and i need to wash that hand” from you. He continued to grab you everywhere and it all just tickled. “Listen, I have a question?” you said as you scrubbed his chest for him freeing it of all the dirt and what not. Coyle clicked his teeth to smack your rear and grab it with force. “Yea sweetie?” he said as he moved his palm all around. “Uhm.. you said Murkoff delivers food to you? Have you ever requested something special? “ you asked him while fidgeting around since his hand was still roaming around. “Nope, dont care too” he told you. “But if ya wanna leave a note for them to pick up tomorrow morning go for it, if they do you wont get the stuff till the following day” the cloth in your hand was brought to your chest with hesitation, “uhm..” Coyle just rolled his eyes, moving his hand away to tilt your chin up . “i told ya they dont care, and i'm very sure they replaced ya by now, just leave it” you nodded once with a long sigh. “Okay,” if they did want to remove you from the home then.. At least the shower was nice.

After washing up you both got out of the shower, you pulled your panties back on leaving the rest on the floor. These clothes held too many nightmares, too many stories… instead you just went to the bed ready to fall on it when you stopped yourself to really look at it. “Its fine .. damn weirdo. “ he told you as he tossed a light blue shirt to you. Coyle was in some red checkered boxers and a tank top, he threw himself on the bed groaning loudly. “Mm.. okay.” you crawled into the bed on the free side feeling your muscles and head relax.”not so bad…” you said quietly. “I know, now shut up.” Coyle rolled to his side with his back to you. “In the morning i leave, back by i dont know maybe 10. I expect a clean house and dinner” he told you while staring out the window . Usually he would be all over his new wife , making her do whatever he wanted. But he could not get that image of himself out of his head… you managed to drift off not long after leaving Coyle alone with his thoughts.

Coyle left early morning like he said, he was putting on his hat getting ready to walk out the door when he stopped to roll his eyes. “Oh fuck me” he stomped up the stairs to check on you one last time to see you asleep. He stomped back downstairs leaving for real this time for the trials. You woke up a little later, it was a decent sleep, your nerves got the better of you a few times, waking you up to make sure you were still alive but besides that…it was an alright sleep. You got up, took a fast shower, got dressed and found a washing machine and dryer downstairs in a small room only there was no soap. “Mm… oh the supplies.” quickly you made your way to the back door peeking out the window to see a basket . slowly you opened the door, hoping nothing would stab you in the chest. You snatched the basket up, closing the door to see a can of beans, bread, butter and nothing else. “Okay.. pen.. Pencil…” after going through some draws you finally found a pencil and began writing down what you wanted on an old piece of tan cardboard you found. “Food, cleaning supplies….clothes. “ with a sigh you place the basket back on the doorstep with the cardboard in it . “Hopefully I'm still alive tomorrow” you told yourself as you started to clean up the house.

At the trials Coyle was a little lost in his head, having a new wife should be exciting… Why was he not excited.. He was at first but you seem different to him, a weirdo yea but different. The constant screaming , door slamming, pleading for lives filled his head drowning out any thoughts he had of you making him shake his head while biting into his smoke. Its not like he can tell anyone about what's happening either. He kicked a mannequin out of his way while he made his way down the hall to the main office room. “Gooseberry would just want to meet her and .. that damn guy with the shotgun would just kill her.’ he told himself over and over. He needed to get it together or the scientists would notice a change in his behavior, what the hell were you up to he wondered.

Meanwhile you were outside in the front yard gathering up some trash, the body parts freaked you out along with the puddles of blood but you would usually close your eyes as you tossed the items into the trash bag. “Ew ew ew …” was all you said. Back in the Murkoff building the basket was set on a table with the note not in it. One of the scientists was holding the piece of cardboard looking at it over and over as if he was seeing things. “Is Easterman here today?” he called out to anyone within hearing distance hoping to get an answer. After a few minutes the man walked into the room with one of his men with him. “In here? Thank you” he said politely dismissing the man with him. “Called for me?” he asked approaching the scientist who handed him the cardboard. “You need to read this, Coyle never leaves things in the basket we bring him every day” he told him quickly.

Easterman flipped the cardboard over then back to the front reading it over. “Can you please include more food, cleaning supplies, soap. And… womens clothes….?” the mans smirk traveled up his cheek as he let out a loud laugh. “What's that man doing? Do we have cameras in that area?” he asked as the scientist nodded, going to his desk to fiddle with the keyboard, changing the screens on the tv to the house. “Yes. just one.” said the man. Easterman and the scientist looked closely at the black and white screen to see you outside cleaning up. “Oh how interesting… which Regent is that?” “uhm… oh 47. She never returned yesterday. I think it was, figured she was dead.” Easterman turned to the note again trying to hold in his chuckle. “Hes playing house. Ill send someone to grab what she needs, maybe a notebook and pen too” “sir? Should we do nothing ? shes living in the trials.” the man waved his hand going to the exit. “Give her what she wants, Coyle will kill her soon enough. “ he told him as he left the room leaving the scientist confused.

It was nearly time to leave and Coyle was walking back to the house with his head up to stare at the pitch black walls around him that seemed to go on forever. It had been a very long time since he saw the sun, or a cloud. The first thing he noticed was the yard looked better and appeared to be swept revealing an old walkway that led to the door. The house did look better for the most part, Coyle never cared how it looked so he left it as is for a while and it eventually got dirty and messy. But now it was clean ish, the couch was in the corner of the room towards the left, the coffee table he always threw his dirty boots on was clean but still had some stains on it that would need soap , the rug needed a deep clean but the walls were freshly washed. He spotted a little box of his dirty clothes in the corner by the laundry room, he assumed it was supposed to be a dirty laundry basket. Ditching his dirty coat, pants and hat into the box the man dropped his electric prod on the coffee table along with his sunglasses and pack of smokes. He could smell food… coming from the kitchen. It smelled like the beans he was always sent and …something else. Going in he saw the beans cooked on an old plate with the bread baked and butter melting off of it, along with you asleep at the table with your arms on it to rest your head on . “still here.. Not dead huh?” Coyle said under his breath taking a chair next to you waking you up. He got a sleepy smile from you. “Welcome home.. I just made it, and it should still be hot. “ was all you said after letting out a yawn. He said nothing, just started eating and it tasted .. amazing. He had this nearly every day. How was it different now? Beans don't just change taste and the bread.. He never baked it, just ate it as it was . And he never thought to melt the butter on it, instead he would toss it in the trash. He was speechless as he ate this food. “I know.. Its not much but I asked for more so ..” your gaze went from him to the table to your hands that were fidgeting. “Did you eat?” he finally said and it made you look right up with wide eyes. “No uhm.. This was all they sent.” Coyle rolled his eyes . “When was the last time you did hm?” “i.. I dont remember but im okay i pro-” Coyle pulled your chair over picking you up and setting you on his lap “ eat something or i'm pushing you down the stairs” . “ah! Uhm… okay i uh. Thank you” you picked up his fork and Coyle wrapped an arm around your hips to feel around you and be all grabby. “Whatever.” was all he said while he watched you eat.

[maniacalgenius]

08.26.24

hey y’all! so it was quite a week. i’m gonna try my best to summarize everything that went on!

academic:

🧬 did notes for chapter 1 and part of chapter 2 of micro textbook

🧬 completed homework for chapter 1 and chapter 2 of genetics and did my first attempt for chapter 3. letting myself get caught up in everything else before i go back and do my second attempt!

🧬 went back and wrote out notes for all of genetics last week*

🧬 started writing out notes for biochem last week*

okay i know it seems odd that i was doing notes as homework and not during class but taking notes during class just does not work for me because until i’ve seen all of the material in the section, i can’t tell what’s important or not and i’m just scrambling to write down every single word which never works.

health:

🌺 ate breakfast every morning this week! and lunch and dinner (pretty much)

🌺 got i don’t even know how many steps trekking around campus. biochem building to the music building is going to be the death of me

🌺 maintained a pretty good bedtime every night last week! was asleep every night by probably 11, earlier than that some nights. goal moving forward is start bedtime routine by 9 and get in bed by 10. (except for mondays because Bible study is 8-9!)

personal:

🧚 maintained a top tier morning routine every day last week — got up at 7, made my bed, read my Bible, made breakfast, ate breakfast, got to class early or on time!

🧚 hung out with Bible study group and my best friend and roommate/pseudo big sister and a couple of other friends!

🧚 started a second paid role in a church choir! this one is with the director of the choirs at my university (one of which i’m in) so i’m super excited for that!

🧚 finished season 1 of gravity falls! been watching an episode every night before bed and then here and there as a lil treat

🧚 overall did not rot!! 🤩

1. genetics notes!!

2. new bookshelf 🤩 i have wanted this specific bookshelf for a year because i saw it when i was moving into my old apartment but i didn’t get it and now i finally have one!!

3. desk setup 🫶🏻 i love her she’s so pretty

4. DR SANDWICH BOUGHT ME LEGOS!!!!!! God bless her 🥺

5. my friend picked me up to go buy new sports cards cause we both lost ours and i asked her if she had any little snack she could bring me and she made me a peanut butter sandwich and i was so hungy and was looking forward to this so much! this was a highly anticipated sandwich y’all

6. other lil bookshelf that i brought from my closet at home! with pretty orchids!! this whole wall is so precious and makes me so happy 🥰

🎶 song on loop: most recently “she calls me back” — noah kahan

📖 current book: made some progress this week on i have some questions for you by rebecca makkai

🕰️ time focused: i had 25 hours and 16 minutes of study time for last week which falls pretty much just short of my daily goal of 4 hours! hoping to get that higher but pretty happy with it for the first week!

very low energy. head hurt. signing off now!! 🫶🏻

xx

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is a dark medical fetish fiction about a birth that gives the mom a massive, fatal heart attack. Baby is fine but mom's not gonna make it even though the medical team does a lot to try to save her. TW for: fatphobia, graphic birth, and unsuccessful resus. There are some mentions of bodily fluids too.

"She really didn't know she was pregnant? I've worked in medicine 20 years and still don't understand how that happens."

Judy's fellow nurse, Karen, laughed her agreement. "Well yeah, but you'll understand when you see her. She's huge. And get this: she's been having contractions for 4 days. She thought she needed to go to the bathroom."

Kayley was 24 and teetering just over 450lbs the last time she bothered to check. She also didn't bother to take her insulin or, apparently, her birth control.

She was sweaty and short of breath when the paramedics rolled her in, screaming about the pain and pressure in her belly.

"I'm not pregnant, I just need to take a shit," she complained, even as she clutched the underside of her bulbous stomach. It was a massive 70 inches of pale, roiling flab jiggling as the bariatric stretcher wheeled her into the room. She clutched at the girth near her utuerus when another contraction hit. "Oh fuck, it HURTS! I need a toilet, I'm gonna shit myself!"

"Kayley, you need to listen to me," Dr Andrews said as he swept in to take over the case. "You are pregnant and delivering. But with your weight and health history it's not safe to deliver vaginally. Your heart has been under a lot of stress because you've been in labor for a long time. I have never seen a blood pressure so high on someone who is concious. Hang tight, we're going to check you here and then get you into surgery."

Kayley cried as they cut her size 6X panties off. It took two people on each side to lift her massive tree trunk legs into the stirrups. 3 nurses set about starting the IV ports she would need during and after surgery.

Suddenly, before the doctor could even locate her opening, she let out a roar of pain. "I feel the head! I'm pushing!" She put her chins to her chest and bore down before any of the medical staff could stop her.

Things moved quickly after that. A crash cart was brought in and Dr. Andrews got the forceps off the tray. However, despite her size, Kayley was a good pusher and the head was quickly sitting just inside her entrance.

"It stings! There's so much pressure. Am I crowning? OH GOD I think I'm crowning, it's ripping me!"

Judy was up at her head, wiping her brow and whispering encouragement. Kayley laid her head back, struggling for breath. Her face had turned gray in the last few seconds. Suddenly a look of absolute agony crossed her face. Her eyes went wide with horrified recognition. She knew that pain -- she'd already had 2 heart attacks. But this was, by far, the worst pain she had ever felt.

"I'm having a heart attack. It's a bad one," she managed to gasp out. Tears ran down her face as she pawed uselessly at the pain in her chest. Her eyes were wide with shock and terror as if she'd realized these were her last moments and she was spending them in unimaginable agony. She sucked in one last gasping, moaning breath before her head fell back. Her eyes stayed open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

A quick thinking nurse went to aid the baby dangling between Kayley's legs as she was laid back and the work began to save her life. The first couple of hard chest compressions snapped two of Kayley's ribs but also helped pop the baby out of her in a rush of amniotic fluid, which splashed on to the floors and the fat rolls on her legs. That was soon joined by other waste as Kayley's bladder and bowels voided.

The team made a valiant effort to save the new mom's life, running full code for over forty minutes. Her huge body jiggled on the gurney as she was shocked, medicated, and pummeled in the chest. Her massive, saggy breasts were splayed to each side, their long nipples caught between her ribcage and her fat rolls. Milk squirted on to her mottled skin with every desperate punch to her sternum.

When they finally called it, Kayley was a mess. Her chest was bruised and burned and she still had a trach tube protruding from her open mouth. Judy noticed that Kayley's already ginormous stomach had swollen even larger.

"What's up with her belly?"

Karen put down the drapes she was putting away and walked over to Kayley's bloated body. She reared her right fist back and punched dead center of the blubber above the dead woman's pubis with all of her body weight. The placenta shot out from between Kayley's legs with a nasty squelching sound and settled between her massive thighs, coating her rolls with thick blood. Either the force of the punch or the brutal expulsion of the placenta caused Kayley's body to push air through her throat, which wiggled the tube and forced a groaning sound from her mouth.

Judy and Karen left the room, chatting about the marvels of the human body. No one had bothered to close Kayley's eyes. Her puffy face was forever frozen in a rictus of horror from the half a second her dying brain realized she was going to die in agony with a baby she didn't even know she was having hanging out of her twat.

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I feel much better now! Women prevail -Danny Words: 1,905 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'House Song' -by Searows

LIV: Wasting Away to Be Useful All the Time Ain't Paying Off, Methinks

The dream changes, now Nico and Ara are on the fire escape of her parent's apartment.

"I'll go back to a witch trial," the girl leans her head on both arms and groans. "Iris messages aren't working! How am I supposed to tell them to hold on until August first?!"

"I already told Clovis I'm on my way."

"Like that's gonna fix it..." Ara stands upright, staring at the urban scenery with a troubled expression. "I never noticed how pretty this place was at sunrise..."

Nico doesn't seem as enchanted. "How is your crew holding up?"

"Jason got hurt but he's coming around," Ara lies, not wanting to worry Nico. "We caught Nike and she's helping us figure out a way to, you know, safely euthanize Leo. How's yours?"

"Steady and in great condition," Nico replies, and he's probably lying too, for the exact same reason. "How are you?"

The girl stares at her fingers, squeezing the railing and drinking in these seconds at home. "I'm trying not to think much, obviously, because... how do I even process all of it?"

"That you're soulmate's fated to die?" Nico snorts with a tone of sarcasm. "But it's so easy..."

"Not a soulmate," she mutters grumpily.

"I think it's sort of impossible," Nico pauses and glares at her. "Don't take that as a challenge."

She smiles a bit. "I don't know what to do. Do I hype myself up to get over Leo, or tell him we'll be together forever? What did Helen do that I shouldn't?" Ara squints and rubs her brow. "It's so unclear if she loved Paris or not..."

Nico shrugs, fidgeting with his ring. "Even if you figure it out, it won't make things easier. The two armies under your command are about to kill each other and you have a bunch of mentally ill gods giving out crazy orders, then there's the curse. How do you choose which one to tackle first? You just deal with them as they come."

"It's not working," Ara scowls. "Had it coming, though. All of this feels right."

Nico raises a brow. "What do you mean?"

Ara thinks of her next words carefully. "I just accepted that this is the weight I'll carry forever. At least I've gotten stronger."

Nico frowns. "You've also aged, though."

"I was going to, anyway. The only thing that I've been unable to outgrow is feelings. Leo chose his path and I must be okay with it... I love him, so I either go along or get in his way and make it worse—and since I can't offer a better alternative..." Ara sighs heavily, giving in. "I suppose I'll follow Eros's advice."

Nico's expression sombers. "So Leo will die?"

"The difference is that maybe this time it might not be permanent, and he might save another soul if he succeeds," Ara faces her friend. "Nike told us about the Physician's Cure—"

"Oh, my dad hates that," Nico pipes in.

"You know what that is?"

"The cure for death? Yeah," the boy scratches his nose casually. "One of Apollo's sons created it, but my dad forbade him from doing it again... so good luck getting it."

"Thanks," Ara says sarcastically. "You always make me feel so much better about the bad stuff in my life."

"We're talking about the last resource of last resources," he raises a brow. "You might as well go to my father and ask for Leo back."

"If I only wanted him to come back, I would drag him out of the Underworld Orpheus-style minus the looking," she rolls her eyes. "But big dumb-dumb made an oath to go back to Ogygia and get Calypso—so not only does he need to die, he has to be blasted out so he can go back to her island or he'll die regardless of the antidote he gets from the gods."

Nico frowns. "Your boyfriend is the stupidest man alive."

"He's a genius that likes to overcomplicate things, but yeah, love made him stupid," Ara mumbles, looking more sad than angry. "And I'm just like him."

"Minus the genius part."

"Whatever, man."

Nico gives her a look when she doesn't react to his teasing, and he makes an attempt to cheer her up. "Listen, sometimes the fates do things that feel unjust, but in the long run, they're for the better. Leo's choice was hard to make no doubt, he would rather cut his leg than leave you, and still, he's willing to risk his life not just for you but also for Calypso and the rest of the world... that's brave."

"I don't want him to come back to me if it means it's always going to hurt him," Ara confesses worryingly. "I'd be happier looking at him from afar."

"No, you wouldn't," Nico replies in a strange voice. "You really wouldn't."

"I mean it." Her voice trembles. "I haven't been the best version of myself since I decided to become a child of Olympus... Leo is good in a way I can no longer be, and that's why he's dying. Because he's kind and selfless, and I won't give him up because I'm stubborn and selfish, so they're taking him away by force."

She looks away for a moment. Nico squeezes her shoulder tighter than he's ever touched her in the last three years. "Ara, listen... all the bad stuff I've said to you, they aren't true. You can't be perfect, that's it."

"Exactly. I should've stayed away," she presses. "Life kept telling me that romance was off-limits, that I wouldn't be able to handle it, and yet I took Leo as soon as I had the chance, and he says he doesn't mind dying but—"

"You've experienced this too many times, just in this lifetime," Nico finishes knowingly. "His reassurance feels empty, I get it."

"He could've been loved and cared for on Calypso's island, and he didn't stay because of me," she says bitterly. "I should've been the one to jump into Tartarus. But now I've got people under my care, so I can't let myself die now..."

"I don't think this is about wrong choices or bad timing," her friend retorts. "I doubt you were more deserving of the curse in your past lives than you are now—hell, I even doubt Helen was deserving of the shit show everyone made around her."

Ara rubs her forehead and groans. "I know, I know... maybe this isn't my mess to clean... but I'm right in the middle of it, so not doing anything stresses me out all the same."

"Yeah well, you've never been good at staying out of things, we know that."

"None of us is."

"That's why we get curses all the time," he shrugs. "See? Things tend to happen when it comes to demigods."

Ara shakes her head. "Sometimes I think my stupid father should've suffocated me with a pillow when he had the chance."

Nico laughs. "Same."

"I feel like I should've gone with them."

"It's FOMO," Annabeth replies, lying on Ara's bed with a cherry facemask on.

"They're searching for that poison to help Leo—"

Nike's hollering cuts through her speech. "AN A- IS A FAILING GRADE—"

"These are literally Frank's relatives," Percy reasons, his back against the wall and a peel-off mask covering his face. "You would've made them nervous. Most people think that children of Olympus attract bad luck."

"And they're right," Ara's hanging upside down with her legs propped up next to Percy, a green tea facemask on her face.

It's spa day. Once Ara realized she could buy all kinds of beauty products in New York—as long as she had the budget—she became obsessed. The first time Percy agreed to join her many years ago, he claimed to be humoring his little sister, but he loves to lie around and eat snacks while Ara puts fresh-scented stuff on his face.

Ara agreed to have a spa day today solely because her brother and Annabeth had recently come out of Tartarus, so if there was someone who deserved to use her stash of fancy facemasks, it was them. She also knows they're doing this to help her clear her mind after her dream last night, and she'd missed being pampered by her older siblings anyway.

"There is a sea serpent watching us," Percy says out of nowhere, vaguely pointing ahead. "Been there for the past ten minutes."

Ara lifts herself on her elbows. "And why aren't we doing anything about it?"

Percy shrugs. "It's trying to figure out if we're food, Festus confuses it."

"Nice," Ara lies back down. "Good headmast."

"So Leo is trying to rebuild your dragon inside the ship? How does that even work?" Annabeth asks, rummaging in a bag of chips.

A flash goes out and then Leo's voice responds. "It doesn't—yet. You guys having a fun time?"

The three teenagers look back at the door completely unbothered. "Did you get my good side?" Percy asks.

"You know, water boy, blackfacing isn't cool anymore—it never was."

"Call me water boy again and I'm freeing Nike inside your cabin," the older boy threatens. "And this is a peel-off mask, it saves me so much money on acne products I don't even care if it looks stupid."

"You want one?" Ara lifts a thin package.

"No, I came to tell y'all Piper and Frank are back," Leo's too amused by the sight that he can't move past it. "I'm sorry, what exactly is happening in here?"

"Spa day," Annabeth explains. "Never had one of those?"

Leo snorts. "Hephaestus isn't the cleanest guy around..."

"She means with Ara," Percy shows him a shit-eating grin, though it looks creepy with the peel-off still on his face. "Haven't been invited to one yet?"

Leo's smile disappears. "I didn't know it was a thing."

"I didn't think it'd be up your alley," Ara pulls her legs down and sits upright. "The only Cabin Nine campers that ever humored me were Beckendorf and Nyssa, but I had to bribe them first."

"I wanna have a spa day," Leo pouts, looking at the Polaroid he just took. "I feel discriminated."

Ara gets up and moves to her vanity, pulling off her mask. "You're invited to the next one."

"Piper and Frank are back then—that means they got the poison?" Annabeth fans her face while Percy takes off his mask.

"Yup, so we should hold a meeting," Leo approaches Ara and kisses her hair, leaving the Polaroid on her nightstand. "You don't need skincare, there's a reason why I call you Doll."

Ara chuckles. "My skincare is the reason you think I don't need it."

"Holy 'Dite, I can't do this!" Percy moans, falling back on the bed with the mask still on. "Birdy, help me..."

The girl laughs and glances at Leo before going to her brother. "We'll meet you on deck in five, alright?"

Leo looks at the trio with an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, but he manages to show a smile when he nods, although he stays consciously away from Ara so she can't feel his emotions. "Good luck putting your face back on, Nemo!"

"You're not allowed to call me that!"

Leo exits the cabin grinning, but as he walks out, his expression turns into a frown. He can't put a finger on what is bothering him, but it feels as if he were watching Ara's life slowly slip back into its old place, erasing him from the plot.

He has this dark thought that maybe those six months with him at camp were only an intermission, and now Leo is waiting for the fates to pluck him out and toss him away as they did with Michael Yew. "Well, that was a fun season! Send the next cute boy in!" 

Each day he inches closer to his certain death, and Ara's future does nothing but shine brighter.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

[takeariskao3]

“Ginny nodded and had just started to spin away when Harry caught her around the wrist. His eyes were hard, pinning her in place as his fingers tightened around the exposed skin below her sleeve.

‘Don’t miss,’ he said quietly, an underlying pleading evident in his tone. “

I LOVE the way you convey Harry’s care for Ginny. At the ball, when harry discusses his protection charm and Flitwick is fawning over the intensity of its power adjacent to the bond between that of the castor and the intended protector. When it’s obvious how draining it is to cast it but Harry does so with no qualms because clearly, protecting Ginny is what matters most.

Seriously, love it. I am so curious, what are headcanons you have about Harry caring for Ginny? What are moments in canon that you appreciated? I just enjoy your perspective and just want to read your introspections on this beloved relationship.

aahhhh thank you!!!! you quoted me back to me!! i’m so 🥹🥹🥹 right now.

i think harry’s protectiveness/care/love for ginny is pretty constant, especially through the last two books and it manifests in a very simple way. he fundamentally and consistently puts ginny's safety and wellbeing above his own. you can argue that this is a character trait of harry's in that he would take the brunt of anything for anyone if given the chance, however instead of a passive "i put others before myself", with ginny it is a very active and instinctual need, there aren't any other options. there is no choice to make. he just does.

there are lots of little instances of this in the text (and in my opinion, two very big ones). when he left with dumbledore at the end of hbp he made sure ron knew to give ginny a sip of the felix felicis. when he checks her dot on the mauraders map he's trying to communicate telepathically that he hopes she's okay. when HRH need into the room of requirement he hilariously yells after her as she runs into battle "and then you go back in! you have to go back in!"

the big ones in my opinion are these: after dumbledore died and he realized he was now enemy no.1, harry wasn't taking any chances. instead of leaving any doubt or question, he ends it for real. this is not a pretend break up. he doesn't give ginny a chance to say i'll wait for you or leave anything open ended. its over. for real. because he can't stand the thought of her being hurt/used/killed because of him.

the other big one is the final battle, harry is moments (literal seconds) away from ending voldemort for good but a killing curse comes within inches of ginny and he changes direction. i honest to god am not sure people understand me when i say HE CHANGES DIRECTION. from a narrative perspective this is insane. this is seven books of antagonism, this is the darkest wizard of all time, this is the neither can live while the other survives, this is the conflict of harry's entire life about to be resolved and he. changes. direction. like can you believe that?? can you??????

that kind of feeling to me is so all consuming and so life altering and so deeply intrinsic to who he is and how loves. it gives me the heebie jeebies just thinking about it.

so when i realized i wanted to write a harry/ginny fic a little over a year ago, obviously it had to be a ginny is in trouble, let's burn the entire world down to keep her safe kind of a thing. there really aren't any other options for me when trying to weave them back together again. because ginny doesn't know this about him, not yet at least, and i'm a masochist so why not have her find out in the saddest, angstiest, most conflict-ridden way possible.

[jaewrotethis]

22-Spider Trees

Her P.O.V.

The door shuts behind him, instantly all the anger that was begging to spew out finally does. It’s hot and it burns my skin when it blasts from my hands, burning the floor and scorching the wooden furniture. Oh, how I wish it was just seconds earlier and aimed at his fucking face. God damn, if only I could’ve released it in front of him, burn his flesh, hurt him like he hurt K. But the reason of why I couldn’t remains unknown. The fear of what he’ll do is too strong, or the uncertainty of my own strength is what stops me. I don’t know how to channel it when he demanded it and I certainly don’t know how to channel it when it comes busting out of my hands once the door shuts.

I half shriek out from the startle but the burning bolts have their own sound of blasts. Shocked, I jump away from my own hands, sending the hot, red, almost fire-like beams of magic over the wall. When it stops I stare at my charred hands.

How did I do that?

That was like the magic from the first night...just..anger.

My skin tingles, and I’m more confused than hurt. I touch my hands together to rub them but my skin aches like my palms were just singed. My flesh looks bright pink, my finger tips burnt black as I stare in confusion at them and at how easily it came out the moment he was gone. Though what he said before he left confuses me more than it all. Even frightens me. The idea of him being unable to die sends a chill to haunt over my bones.

He’s trying to strike fear into me. He wants me to believe that no matter how hard or what I try, I’ll never be able to get what I want and end him. He made me feel so powerless with a statement like that, and for some wicked reason, I think I might believe him. His words are like a cruel brand in my head of an even crueler fate that I have no escape from. And all after he was nearly decent last night when he pulled Slightly from on top of me and actually made me laugh. He’s psychotic. It’s infuriating. I want to kill him so badly, it nearly works me up all over again.

I look at the door they walked through, closing my fists, done staring at them. The more I gawk at the ruined flesh the more my brain registers the pain so I thrust my hands down and rush at the door. Determined to follow them, find out what they’re going to do to K. Guilt is beginning to wash over me now. It’s my fault he was caught. I asked him to stay with me last night. He shouldn’t be punished for it, he tried to leave, I stopped him. Like a heavy weight in my stomach the guilt only grows, I have to stop Pan from hurting him anymore. I have to, K doesn’t deserve it.

The door allows me to pass and in an instant I’m picturing the large room that they reside in. In my long strides of nearly running the magic hums through my head, spinning me dizzy but I won’t stop rushing. On my third or fourth stride I’m shifting through the tree and the balcony above the room I’m navigating to appears in front of me.

I nearly run off the stairs and fall down them. I barely catch myself from tumbling down the steps and I spot K. The others that were holding him walk beside him, Pan in front of them all leading them through the door, outside. Without wasting another breath I hurry down the stairs, ignoring the looks and whispers of the other boys about the room and the door shuts behind K. I scamper through the room and when I reach the door I yank it open but they’re gone. Pan and K, the others, vanished. The door closes behind me and I look left and right. They’re just gone. As if they shifted through space and now I stand in the busy camp site of a front yard not knowing what to do.

The morning breeze pushes my fallen hair strands behind my face as my eyes dart around the grounds for them. The few boys that were doing their morning chores begin to notice me, whispers and nudges to each other being exchanged. My hands come up to rub my arms over my long sleeve and I look down, feelings of helplessness and uselessness now watering down the heavy guilt. I’m not sure what to do, where to go, or who to talk to.

I slowly turn around, retreating back to my room is the only plan coming to mind but I stop. I can’t sit and do nothing. K is in danger because of me. The morning wind rustles up the forest line pulling in my attention. My feet are off walking towards it with no second thoughts. I have to find K, have to see that he’s ok and that Pan isn’t going to kill him. I have no idea whatsoever on how I’ll find him out there but I know I won’t find him sitting in my room, waiting. I’m nearly at the treeline when,

“Morning, Miss Jane,”

My boots stop in the dirt and look to who spoke on my left. I hadn’t seen him approaching. Or maybe he flashed into existence like I’ve seen Pan have the tendency to do. W has his morning smile on, those gray eyes completely unbothered. I manage to soften my face and greet him back, though no sense of safety or calm comes to me when I look at him. Not like it does with K.

I nod in my greeting, “Hello,” I want to smile, just as manners but I simply can’t.

“Headed off?” he asks,

I glance at the treeline then flicker back to him, “I suppose,” I mumble, then I figure he can enlighten me, “Do you know where Pan is?”

He shrugs a shake of his head, “Maybe. Not that way,” he jerks his head at the direction I was walking in. “There’s nothing out there if you don’t know where you’re going,”

I get it now. He’s not going to let me wander off. I cross my arms.

“You’re the new babysitter,”

He shrugs again and sways his hands out, “Smart girl,”

“What’s going to happen to K?”

“He’ll be alright,” W’s demeanor is calm and gathered, just as before, simply comfortable in his skin, laid back and never bothered.

It bothers me, “How do you know? Where did they go?”

“Look, I don’t know nothing between Pan and K. What goes on with them is between them.” he pauses with a joker smirk growing, “and you, apparently,”

“I-He’s your friend, isn’t he? Pan is going to hurt him, I have to find them,” I move to brush passed him but he steps in my way.

I don’t stop, I push passed but he only steps in my path again, halting. I step into him, the contact of his chest to mine makes me back up as a reflex. He made me take two steps back from my one forward. I suppose I grimaced or my reflex to get away was exaggerated because his reaction is mildly alarmed as he stands firm on his decision of not letting me pass. Stubbornly strong with no room for defiance, just as the rest of the damn boys. Except, for K.

“K’s gonna be just fine,” W says in my face, not backing down from my glare, though why would he?

“Where are they?”

“I know nothing,” his face is hinting a smile and with the way he emphasizes ‘I’ he’s coding his words.

He wants me to tell him why K is in trouble. I give in, “It’s not K’s fault. Pan is just trying to prove a point.” I’m uncomfortable trying to be open, but I know W can help me find K, “He’s a psychopath messing with me. I’m stopping him.” I attempt to walk passed again, but he steps exactly where I was going to.

W just seems so fascinated with my point of view that he doesn’t have a damn to give to my glare. It’s written all over his face, we’ll never see the same person when we look at Pan and W isn’t even upset about it. He’s intrigued, as if I’m spilling some juicy gossip.

“You’re worried about, K?” W turns it into a joke, as if K could never be touched.

“Pan nearly killed him in front of me,”

“Pan wouldn’t kill one of us,”

“The hell are you talking about? He killed one of you my first morning here!”

“Was just a Lost Boy,”

For some reason I’m offended by his words.

But, his words remind me of the conversation K and I had when he was having me throw daggers. He tried to explain the group of boys that were above the rest of them. He has said there was 7 of them. He didn’t mention that W was one of them.

“You ever swim?” He changes the subject.

“What?”

He’s messing with me.

“Swim. In the water-”

“I, I know what swimming is,”

“Think I might know a spot,” he looks off like he’s thinking, completely ignoring my urgency to find K.

“Are you going to help me or not? Don’t you care about K?” I’m trying so hard to hide the panic in my voice.

For a third time, I try to get around him, but he’s literally two steps ahead of me, keeping me put.

“Look, you’re day can go one of two ways,” he finally looks at my eyes, dropping his careless tone, “You’ll spent it back in the Roots or you’ll hang with me, you’re choice. Besides, I already told you, K’s gonna be just fine,” then he begins to bound away, as if his day just started.

Looking back and forth from him, to the route I was originally going to take, and even to the door back inside, I bite my lip as he walks further away. I have to make a decision. It’s infuriating, he’s been playing me since he walked up. It makes me seethe, the way these boys corner me in my own mind. It’s manipulative and they have so much ease about it. I have to do something about it, this manipulation can’t keep going on.

“Wait, W,” I call after him. He stops with a pleasant closed smile over his lips, “Yes?” he practically sings, completely careless again.

I know he thinks he’s won, but that just means that he’s playing a game. And these boys love to play their games here.

“I’ll play you for it,”

His expression changes, he didn’t expect that but he smiles through it anyway, “For what?”

“For your help finding K. I’ll follow your rules, I’ll tag along, whatever,”

He kind of smirks, “It’s either that or the Roots,”

My tongue plays on my tooth as I breath out irritation and think, “Pan is expecting you to babysit, isn’t he?”

His face expresses like it did earlier when he said, ‘smart girl’.

W half laughs, “Could be,”

“Well, wouldn’t be such a good job on your part if something bad happened on your shift,”

“Hardly think staying in the dark cells all day is bad,”

“Ah, you’re right nothing bad could happen in the dark,” I play the words off my tongue with hidden meaning that the expression on his face tells me he’s begun searching for, “I ever bring up the infirmary in my old living quarters?”

He takes a moment deciding how to play his next move but he knows I’m not done making my point.

“No, I don’t believe you did,” he finally answers with sarcasm dripping in his words.

“Very helpful place, you know, they really knew how to put in a good stitch, and the surgery work,” I lack a good gesture of a chiefs kiss, “phenomenal tissue repair,” my eyes narrow in on his, though I’m just pulling up the horrid memory.

His sly grin expands, he’s impressed and amused but still playing along, “Oh, really.”

“Did you know the ultimate tensile strength of human skin before it rips open is twenty mega-pascals?”

“Is it now,”

“And it only takes thirteen to get through the throat,” the look on my face tells him I’d end it all with my bear hands if it means he has to tell Pan he had a bad shift.

“How do you know that, I wonder,” his sarcasm remains in his tone.

“Boredom can make you do some crazy things,” this is where I widen my eyes and make them smile.

Now back then, this face I’m using would make people back up but not W, no, I don’t think he would ever. He only holds the stare, reading it, testing me, but I will not be breaking. Not until I see K alright again. This look I hold is different this time as oppose from when I would use it back then. My eyebrows remain flat as a dead serious tone, refusing to budge from my stance and making it very clear that I will be in control of happens next.

I shrug, “Never know,”

He breaks though it was so subtle I nearly missed it, “I can’t help you find K,”

I don’t break my stare, I inhale to make more threats but he cuts me off,

“But I can offer..” he thinks of what he wants to bargain for, “answers. I know how fond you are of getting those,” he sneers.

I raise an eyebrow.

“The best I can do,”

“Why.” I basically cut him off.

“I already told you, because I don’t know what Pan’s doing with K,” his stare seemed to pile up as we go back and forth, he’s loosing his patience just a tad and it’s making him test me.

“You can guess,” I press harder.

“I can,”

“Then, what’s he doing?”

He stays silent with that resilient face on, waiting for the deal or the game or whatever kind of agreement I proposed to be made. Smart boy. I exhale on my own lip biting and stick a hand out.

“Fine, I’ll follow along. Whatever Sir Babysitter says for the day, but you’re answering all questions,”

W eyes my hand with a look on his face that reads, ‘what the hell are you doing,’ then as if he suddenly remembered something he snaps into understanding and puts his hand to shake mine, rather hard, and asks me,

“What do you wanna know?”

- - - - - -

Following W through the messy woods was frustratingly motivational. I’m tripping through, as I did before, determined to match his speed and agility. My boots catch my ankles from rolling every time I misstep, making me stumble instead of falling over. It’s just more annoying watching W stride quietly through the jungle in front of me, it drives me to keep up. He doesn’t seem to have a specific route, it’s almost like he’s just walking anywhere. I’m suspicious growing nervous but I have no better options. This is the only lead to K that I have.

Under the thick canopy the monsters that roam fall silent like they did before. Through the dense woods and thick vines I can hear nothing but the bugs in their home and the wind failing to break through the thick tree tops that makes it feel like we’re indoors.

“Why do they quiet down for you?” I ask him.

“Who?” he answers like he’s not listening to me but lost in his own wonderland.

“The, um,” I pant through my nose, failing to remain as athletic as he does, “the monsters around,”

He turns around to walk backwards. Not missing a single step, knowing exactly where to rise and plant his booted feet. He breaks no sweat and his gray stormy eyes smile in themselves.

“Well, come on now, play the game. I’m following you around, aren’t I?” I push when he doesn’t answer.

He taps on the mask hooked to his belt, one of the wooden ones they all have. “Enchanted item. Keeps the Wildies at a distance in the Lurid,”

“Wildies?”

“The, um, the monsters around,” he mocks me with an easy smile. “Every Lost Boy has one.” he taps his mask again. “Thought you were a The Boy, not a Lost Boy,”

“Not how that works,”

I nearly trip again at the phrase, but I shake it off. “So you all have a type of shield to walk through the forest safely,”

He turns back around and continues the trek, “This forest,”

“And they’re all masks?”

He shrugs, “For most of them. Usually the older ones.”

“You don’t seem as old as some of them here,”

“Really?” he enjoys my words as a compliment and a refusal to expand on the topic without my pushes.

“There a reason for that?”

“Old means something different for us.”

And when he doesn’t elaborate again, I roll my eyes wondering if this how the whole day is going to be, me prying for answers and him being as vague as he can so long as I’m within his stupid Lost Boy eye line, “What’s it mean?”

“To be old is to have been here longer. Older in Neverland life. Not an age.”

He speaks as if this has been going on for centuries but he told me the other night he’s 18. This cult Pan is running just seems stronger and stronger in brainwashing the more I find out.

“How long have you been here?” I decide to ask.

“Longer than you,” he teases and slips behind a tall mess of bushes.

“How many...I don’t know, months or years?”

He’s got a teasing laugh in his voice, “There aren’t either of those here,”

“What,” I trip a little, catching myself on thick vines, “What do you mean?” I finish while I grimace because the vine I grab was slicked with a sticky substance that’s clinging to my hand.

I wipe in on my pants, but it only smears.

“That’s Slime Vine,” he chuckles. “Can’t get it off without really, really hot water,”

I look up at him, funny how he spews out information when it’s not asked for, yet shuts the hell up and makes me pry when it’s wanted information. I lick my teeth, “Not what I asked,”

He turns back around to keep hiking, “There isn’t any time in Neverland,”

He says ‘time’ like it’s some kind of sickening virus and it makes my eyebrows knot.

“No time?”

“None,”

“What does that mean?” “Think of it as being frozen in time,” he starts, “It doesn’t move. There isn’t any weeks, no months, and certainly no years.”

“But..how does that make sense? How do you keep track of the days?” “This day. That day. Next day,”

“We had a deal,” I feel frustrated with his lack of seriousness.

“I’m telling you,” he laughs at me, “This is how things are here. If you are going to insist on information, you gotta believe it when it’s given to you. Belief will get you very far here,” he laughs some more.

“So, I’ve heard,”

I want to roll my eyes again at the amount of times Pan or K has told me I need to believe, or some bullshit about how powerful belief is. All the more reasons to ‘believe’ this whole place is some kind of cult or at the very least the most unreal place imaginable.

“So, you don’t know how long you’ve been here, since..since you can’t tell time,” I question.

He shrugs as he hops over a fallen log, “Everything kind of just, blends in. Like one endless day or night,”

“You mean you can’t tell the difference in your memories? If one day was actually a different day?” “Do I need to?” he genuinely asks me.

I suppose I shrug but I’m astonished at how little he seems to care about his memories being in order. How could he not need to know when things have happened?

“Well, then when you left the..the other place-”

“The Mainland,”

I nod, though I wonder why he bothers correcting me, “What year was it?”

He slows to a stop. I’m able to catch up and I rear in front of him to see his face. He’s thinking. I’ve never seen such a concentrating look on W’s face before, I nearly think I should shut the hell up.

“What is it?” I ask anyway.

“I suppose I don’t remember,” he says lightly, still racking his mind.

I study his eyes. He truly seems confused until he shrugs and drops the serious face. “Must not’ve mattered,”

Satisfied with his answer he continues the hike, stepping right back into his stride of a trek. I watch him hike away, my eyes falling dumbfounded. How long could it have been since he left the real world? There’s no way it could have more than a couple years, he’s only 18. But the fact that he could not even care to remember is what spooks me the most. It drives the wonder of how strong Pan’s brainwashing is and how long I have before Pan tries washing my mind.

I must have stood in my dumbfounded state a moment too long for the rabid monsters begin to perk up again. I hurry after W, afraid to loose sight of him and be alone in this trap of a forest, especially now that I know he holds a key to keep the dangers away.

He slips behind bushes of leaves where I step quicker, trip harder, and limp away from the lonely spot I was standing in. When I burst through the wall of leaves he’s standing on a cliff. The cliff behind him dips down into the open ocean. The forest completely elevated on the cliff side, calm washing oceans lapping down below in the lagoon. More of the island sits across the water, also in cliffs, to let the water in.

A beautiful lagoon is hardly something I want to think about right now, after this horrible morning. Down below is just gentle rolls of waves. Nearly silent like a lake and tinted green that hues blue outwards towards the sea that touches the horizon. On the shore across from the open sea the sand is gray and covered in trees. Hardly a beach to walk on, the forest feeding nearly right up to the water. I say nothing and look back at the W, shrugging when he hands his gaze over.

“This is where a lot of Lost Boys like to cliff dive.” W explains.

I look back down at the hundreds of feet of cliff, “Nope,” I turn around, stepping back to the forest.

W steps into my rhythm and follows, “Relax, you’re not diving into it,”

I stop walking, bushes in front of us, “I’m not?”

He shakes his head and kneels down at the thick plants’ base, “Nope.” he mocks me. His hands grasp the base by the dirt, rough and he yanks the plant free. “We’re jumping on top of it.”

He goes ahead to peel the large leaf off of it’s even larger stem as well as the strip the stem of it’s outer skin. The insides of the stem leak a smell of veggie through the wind and W does the same thing to another stem. I watch his hands weave the emptied stems and pull them through each other just a couple times. He seems to forget I’m here for some time as he mends the plants into something of a very big ring. He hands the thing to me when he’s done.

“This is gonna keep us afloat,” he plucks more from the ground.

I handle the thick stem in my grasp, playing with it’s weight, “This?”

“Yep,”

11/30/2017

He then begins to strip off his vest and his shirt, where I react by backing away. But his careless motive and excitement to jump off the ground into the air is so evident that I stop backing away. It was as if a few moments ago when he ignored me to weave the float device, completely forgetting I’m here, continuing to get ready to jump off the cliff as if he were all alone. His attitude changes my discomfort. I don’t feel unsafe, he’s too distracted, I know I’m not even a thought in his head. It’s, in a certain way, endearing. He’s comes off so innocent of the scandalous act of removing his clothes, so delusional of the inappropriate gesture that is revealing skin.

I sort of stand there for a moment placing my eyes in different areas of the scene so I don’t look at him but I do steal glances. I’m curious, I’ve never seen a boys skin the way I am in this moment, but I’ve never had the desire to and after the few glances I still don’t find any.

He’s sitting on the dirt now, untying his boots when he seems to remember I’m there and he looks up at me.

“You’re gonna get your boots wet?”

Unsure what to say, I stare.

“It’ll take days to dry them,”

I realize he’s coaxing me to follow his lead. And with no excitement to jump off this cliff, I don’t follow.

“How are we actually doing this right now? K could be dead,”

“He’s not dead,” W laughs.

“How do you know that?”

“I thought we were playing a game,” W kicks off his last boot and looks up at me with a fake innocent expression.

He’s right, I agreed to listen. I exhale and sit down in front of him, the cliff to my left. He holds the eye contact as I spitefully pull at my laces and kick my heels until my boots on are on the dirt beside us. I’m angry to obey, but he was right, we did have a deal.

“How do you know he’s not dead,” I barter.

“Because Pan wouldn’t kill one of the Boys,” he says it playfully, like I’m a child.

“How do you know-”

“Belief,” he practically laugh-shouts.

I can’t tell if he’s telling me I need to believe him or if he’s answering my question but I think it’s both.

He then pulls at his chaps around his calves, untying the leather straps, “You shouldn’t get any of your leather wet, it’ll reek and build mold,”

I get the message this time, he wants me to follow his lead. And with the millions of more questions I intend to ask, I comply. I untie the cuffs that have been around my forearms for two days now and plop them on my boots. Very soon in a pile next to the torn leaf bits we left behind lays my wearable, my vest, even my pants with the leather patches and my long sleeve having leather elbows.

And perhaps I use the leather as an excuse to remove my clothes willingly in front of a boy for the very first time in my life, but it changes nothing. I made the deal, I follow his lead, he gives answers. I suppose I should learn from what happened with Slightly the other night that doing what it takes for information is not always a smart move but not once does W’s eyes come my way and I find that I appreciate that of him more than I should. Besides, I never could learn my lesson the first time.

And soon we stand at the edge of the tall cliff. My new under wears of the black tank top and shorts, covering what they can though W on my left wouldn’t ever notice. He’s too focused on the waters below. I really try to match his energy but staring at the closer water, it only looks dark, murky, and thick.

W holds up his float stem that’s supposed to keep us from going under.“Remember, land on this, or you’ll sink,” he reminds me.

I nod my head, holding up my own stem. My bones are shaking under my skin in this nervous excitement. I’ve really pushed my limits today from exploding my own room to taking my clothes off with a Lost Boy. The only reasons I’m following this psycho’s lead is to get what I need to save K. Although, the more I’ve talked to W about it, the more I begin to believe him when he says K doesn’t need saving. But I still can’t let go of what I witnessed in my room this morning. K was in pain and it was my fault.

I’m pulled from my inner battle when W jumps off the cliff.

He leaps over the edge, shouting, “Watch this!” as he falls through gravity.

At the last moment before impact he lands on his stem making a big splash and getting soaked. He hollers out nonsense of excited joy and waves up to me. That was the first time I felt the excitement touch my heart. I know I’m about to jump. I breathe heavily, nervous but excited over all. I take a few steps back. If I’m jumping off a damn cliff for some information then I want a powerful jump.

Don’t think. The voice in my head speaks.

She disrupts my nerves and causes me to flinch into my run. It sort of powers up my spring and I lunge forward, jumping from the cliff. I breathe in and out twice as I go down, watching the dark green water get closer and closer an excited scream wanting to surge out of my throat but instead I stuff the floating stem under myself. I land on the surface, the water spreading around me, splashing above me. I bounce a few times up and down, and the laugh comes out now. The water rains back down on me and I find that it is in fact really heavy. Thick water, weighing down on my hair and skin where it lands. W had been cheering me on as I fell but it’s silenced when the water wets my floating stem and I slip from it as I come back down from my second bounce, into the tough water.

Instantly, the heavy water engulfs me. Over my head and flushing my hearing, my breathing, my thinking, pulling me down. It’s too heavy to swim through, it grabs around every inch of my skin and it pulls me under. It’s dense and impossible to move through. My breath is held but the water makes it way into my throat anyway and immediately chokes me. It burns. It feels thick and somewhat like chemicals. It clogs my eyes and ears. I grab for my stem but pulling myself up is impossible. I feel heavy, like my weight has tripled, I’m only pulling the float stem down.

W hand gasps my wrist that is gripping to my stem. I feel both his hands come around my one wrist and he pulls. I break the surface and pull myself out of the water just enough to grasp my stem with my torso, choking and snorting out the burning water. But the air only feels worse. I breath through my coughs, and chokes only to feel the air is anything but pleasant. I hear W laughing. I cling and hang onto my stem only my bottom half in the dense water trying to sink me under again. I blink and choke some more, trying to get the disgusting water out of my head. My ears unclog when W is at my side, trying to pull me onto my stem. I shove him away, just focused on getting the terrible water out of my nose, throat, mouth, and eyes.

“Shut up,” I choke out when he won’t stop laughing.

I cough, snort, gag, choke, and gasp. I rub my eyes and scratch my throat. I feel allergic to this water. I pull a leg up onto my stem and regain my position on it, out of the water finally.

“What...the fuck-ck, kind of w-water...” I cough as I speak then just give up on talking.

“I told you to stay on your float, can you see?” W asks me.

I open my eyes at him, the blurriness going away just a bit. He is pointing to the trees over on the shore down here. I follow his finger, somewhat looking behind me, my hair feeling heavy on my scalp. The trees are thick, very big and healthy aside from the sickly gray color. I squint at a specific tree examining it closely from where we are. The tree seems to be covered in cotton..or something worse.

Webs. Spider’s webs. Suddenly it’s clearer to see now that I know what it is. Thick, gross, black, spiders all in the tree. I scan the forest further along the shore, every tree a sickened gray and covered in webs. I look at the water, it’s oily. The water full of spider corpses, eggs, poop, webs, all kinds of sickly bits spiders leave behind. I look to the boys who are admiring the forest.

“Why. The. Fuck. Would we swim here.”

He busts up laughing, “So mad-dog,”

It entirely insults me and I grind my teeth, wiping spider guts from my brow, “What.” I demand.

“Mad-dog, it’s like; quick to attack. Assertive. Rebellious. Angry,” he laughs hard at the last word.

“Is that something you guys say often?” I ask.

W shrugs, “Sure, it’s used as a reference mostly to Miss Mabel Grey,”

“Who?” I continue to wipe egg sacks from my cheeks in disgust, my eyes squinting shut.

“Miss Mabel Grey was the most mad-dog of them all. She was the rebel Fig who started the Astral War.”

I had almost looked at him like he called my name when he started with ‘Miss’ and that infuriates me. How can I be used to them call me ‘Miss’ already? But instead, I ask, “Fig?”

“A sub-elf of some kind, gnomes or something or other, up North in the cave dwellings. She became a legend in the tales.” W explains.

“Gnomes and elves...” I trail off, not really invested in the story, just grossed out.

“That’s right. Miss Mabel Grey was a true rebel,” he says with sharp smiles in his eyes.

Holy shit.

I realize then what he’s telling me. It’s not the game play of answering questions, he’s letting me in on the inside joke. The reason they put Miss in front of my name and then sneer back and forth. He’s dropping answers to see if I’ll pick up on them.

They’re not making fun of me. They’re comparing me to a martyr legend.

Calling us a powerful rebel!

Her voice makes me flinch and they both notice which makes me panic. I blurt out, “Why the hell would we swim here, anyway?”

“Where’s your adventure?” W says with a reluctance to ignore my tick.

I scoop water in my hand, looking at it. It’s absolutely disgusting.

“This is insane,” I drop the water, feeling incredibly gross.

“It’s not so bad, it’s fun watching things drown,” W snatches a spider that was clinging off my hair and drops it on the water.

Though I know how terrible it feels to go under I laugh anyway when the small thing gets sucked under until we can’t see it anymore.

“Pan makes us tread in here, for training,” W explains.

“It’s so dense. It’ll kill you,” I say.

“Initiation,” he says, leaning back in his floating stem.

“You mean,” I look in the water.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen quite a few almost Lost Boys fail, not just in here either,”

“And you still worship the one who killed them,”

“Hey, if they couldn’t cut it, they couldn’t cut it. Survival of the fittest.” he says wiping spider bits from his knees.

“Worship is a strong word,” he continues,“Sink or swim,”

I shake my head. More despise for Pan just added in my heart. “Just like Pan to pluck an innocent boy out of his life so he can compete for it,”

“Wrong again, no one chosen is innocent or happy in their previous lives,”

“Previous lives. You realize that is cult talk, don’t you?”

“Everyone gets new lives here, you can’t argue you didn’t. No one here was safe in their lives before they came here, that’s why they get picked by Shadow or by Pan. Only the stronger ones get chosen. We get a chance at a better life, if we can handle it.” W says extending a hand to the water.

09/18/2023

“How is that better?” I fight back.

I can tell he’s is getting fed up with me.

“New life. Let me ask you something, is this worse than what you’re life was?” he gestures to the land around us. “Can you really say being soaked in spider guts is worse than where ever you were when Pan chose you to send his shadow after?”

He’s got me.

Just feeling the wind or the sun is something I hold onto every day. Being outside is enough for me to deem this life better than the one I came from. The one with cement walls and fluorescent lights, evil drugs and an even worse system. But still, something doesn’t add up as he explains the process of new Lost Boys to me. One of the dots in his information doesn’t connect to..something.

My eyebrows scrunch as I try to pinpoint what isn’t making sense and I come up with the first few moments with Pan when I first woke up in the canvas tent. When he was so shook and out of control, and it was because he didn’t know how I got here. He still insists I lie about ending up here, he swears he didn’t send that shadow. I shudder and look at W who’s waiting for me to explain the look on my face.

Still shaking my head I say, “Pan told me I wasn’t chosen,”

He looks surprised.

I clear my throat, looking away as I think, “Not chosen, he used another word..”

“Selected,” W says.

I snap my eyes back to him, “Yeah...”

“Pan said that? The words; ‘you weren’t selected’?” W presses.

I nod, “He wouldn’t admit to bringing me here, why would he..is he lying?”

W holds a confused yet critically thinking look. As if trying to make sense of what I say. He doesn’t know how to make the dots connect either. I fear I don’t hide the suspicion of him fucking lying and acting to my face right now, but he seems used to it by now. In such a case, he looses the game..or ends it. I don’t believe I’ll be getting an answer to this specific mystery, today, because this is something W cannot give an answer to, or will not. Either way, the game ends.

[queenburd]

so in the hypothetical fic concept,,,, ok actually have a. small handful of questions maybe. (........alsoalso this is. always true but just gonna reiterate Preemptively,,,, "don't know" is alwaysalways a fair answer. this is more of a. blatantly fishing by tossing prompt-adjacent-things in your general direction sort of thing haha)

- is the amount of time the narrator has experienced getting other stanleys out the same amount of time his stanley has experienced in the outside??

- how do they each. react,, upon landing & realizing they've been split up??

- does the narrator ever have a hard time convincing a stanley to get to the escape pod with him??

- since both the narrator And stanley have to be present for it to work,, one can infer if a stanley was too suspicious or elsewise he would be. trapped. until that stanley could be convinced.

- has he ever been discovered by other narrators??

- ........what happens,, to the other narrators when their corresponding stanley is evacuated?? (are they left there indefinitely on their own, does their iteration of the parable simply collapse, a secret third thing,,)

points at you. you get me.

first) yes! it's approximately the same amount of time, though the narrator has no way to measure and doesnt know until, well. he gets out. that it's been that long. he just knows it's been a long time, and it's honestly something that frightens him. he is trying very VERY hard to make peace with the idea he's never going to see Stan again, because.... if they never see each other again, it doesn't have to hurt him if Stan's feelings for him change. If Stan decides he wants to be with somebody else.

(with this said, this fic HAS to take place in the future. I put myself in this hole. The TSPUD only came out last year but Stan's been out for four years and change??? dont. dont look too hard at that. okay? dont look at that. that ones on me.)

second) they uh. they both have some BAD reactions to learning the other is not with them. it might be "harder" on Stan if only because he's been thrust into a new world at the same time, on his own.

Stan starts living a life, afraid that his friend is gone, or maybe out in the world somewhere alone, or dead. he had no idea how to process it because he didnt KNOW what happened. but he just… had to try to move on. live as a person. he didnt have a choice.

for the narrator, he has to try to make sense of why he's in a Parable that... isn't HIS. when he finds the Stanley there that isnt his it hurts like a motherfucker, but he has other issues to deal with (like the fact this one is very clearly a victim of physical abuse) so he boxes that shit up, as he usually does, to focus on the problem at hand.

but after he gets into a system, it's not as easy to distract himself. sometimes he wakes up in the escape pod by himself after just ushering a new Stanley out, and he just stays there for a little bit to have a good cry.

3) ABSOLUTELY HE HAS A HARD TIME WITH SOME STANLEYS. These fuckers are STUBBORN. He's really used to it, and it can be frustrating, but he always manages somehow--mostly, he surprises them all.

even the angrier Stanleys that are less likely to trust him cant help being caught off guard by his concern, and his laughing at their sharp biting wit, or just how open he is with his expressions. that, plus the fact their narrators are still clearly around in opposition, means its not a "trick".

hes still himself, you know? but all that bitchiness and irritability is aimed at these alternate versions of himself instead of Stanley. he is so SICK of his own bullshit. GET OVER YOURSELF, MY GOD, no WONDER he hated my guts. you petulant CHILD.

and yeah that's really weird for the Stanleys. They kind of love it. it's hilarious.

3.5) since it's tangential with the above. yeah. he's had some serious bonding periods with some stanleys. that's why in the end he always manages to convince them. because they have nothing BUT time.

4) probably yes. there have been a few where he was genuinely stealthy enough to not get caught (though those narrators DEFINITELY noticed SOMETHING was awry, they tended to focus on where Stanley was in the Parable over things happening elsewhere in the map) and he always makes an effort in the beginning, mostly to get a feel for the situation. he's done this enough times to have an idea of where to start. BUT, he has a temper, and for the narrators that are actively more hostile, he has no qualms about showing his face and, quite frankly, kicking their arses.

because this may not be his SPECIFIC parable, but it's still the Parable, and he's still a Narrator. he can control this rat maze just as well as they can. possibly even better, since he's let Stan roam through every single door and played with every single hall. Hes not afraid of breaking script. most of them dont know how to react to it.

5) he doesn't know what happens to them. he assumes they get left on their own. he doesn't care. as far as he's concerned, they dont deserve to have a protagonist at all, and they can rot by themselves for eternity.

I dont know what happens to them either. Ive thought about it but cant come to any conclusions. though Ive wondered if theres a way for these fellows to find each other. Im sure theyve got a bit of a grudge...

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: A Cruel Twist of Fate Has Brought Us Together Again

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, blood, aftermath of flogging, mention of attempted sexual assault, mention of death/execution, lady whump

Fun fact! This chapter has its origins in Whumptober Day 11 ( sloppy bandages, self-done first aid) and Day 13 ("Are you here to break me out?"), but literally none of the prompts survived the revival process.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 2366 || Approx reading time: 9 mins

A Cruel Twist of Fate Has Brought Us Together Again

Teaser: Noise cracks the silence—a door screeching open, voices and clanking chains, scuffling footsteps and curses. I blink. A ragged breath catches in my chest. They’re dragging someone in. A girl—that girl.

Will

Wakefulness is not my friend.

How… How did I get here? My memory is hazy. Why does everything hurt like hell?

I’m lying on my stomach—not how I would normally sleep. Who in their right mind would press their bare face into the grime that passes for a floor in here? Trying to move, though, reminds me exactly why I’m lying face-down in muck.

Fifteen lashes with the cat. Hatchett’s voice, as stony and cruel in my memory as it is in life, sends a chill down my spine. How could I have forgotten the moment he sentenced me to yet more pain, every ounce of his barely contained wrath trained precisely on me?

My feet ache from being hit, but not in the same way that my back screams in agony. Hatchett was probably right when he predicted I would walk away from the whipping post after the first round—in pain, sure, but not incapacitated.

He’d have been right, that is, if I hadn’t set myself for the second part.

God, what was I thinking? Tears burn my eyes as I make another feeble attempt to move. Tracking the memories backwards is a struggle when the only thought I can conjure is, This hurts this hurts this hurts this hurts so fucking much. But I have to concentrate, try to remember. I…I was angry. Really pissed off. Why? Aside, of course, from having every eye on me while they flung me around like a sack of potatoes and let Michaelson hit me as hard as he wanted—

A scream, shrill and tearful, cuts through the fog in my mind. “Stop it!”

Fuck. The girl. That’s what it was.

When her gasp first caught my attention, and she was staring at me with more than just pity and horror, as if she recognized me somehow, I had no idea who she was. I remember thinking at the time, though, that it was a relief to see someone looking at me with something other than disdain.

But I do remember who she is. It’s come back to me now. She’s the same runner I met in that alley two years ago, the night I tried to walk home with a gash in my side and would probably have bled or frozen to death if Jamie and Colette hadn’t found me.

The memories are flowing freely now, too fast, out of control. Then—Colette’s worried face, Jamie’s terror manifesting as anger, that sick fucker trying to take something that did not belong to him, that girl’s fingers on my skin, her staring up half-dazed and teary-eyed as she tried to wipe the blood from my face. As she tried to offer some semblance of comfort to me, after what she’d just been through, while her own hands still trembled.

Today—Hatchett glaring down at me, so many eyes watching me being beaten, her tears, her cry to stop the whipping, the crack in her voice as our esteemed constable made her count to the last stroke.

Fuck.

Fury boils through me again, but my body won’t move, can’t move, and with no way out, it simmers down again to quietly churning anger. The bastards can do what they want to me. I know what fate awaits me, what I have chosen by refusing to talk.

But some girl from the line of prisoners, obviously distraught and trying to be kind…

Grunting, I try again to pull myself to a sitting position, to no avail. Deep breaths—one, two. Goddamn, I think my entire body might be on fire.

I vaguely remember now, coming back here. I don’t think I was fully out, but I don’t think I was fully in, either. Distant voices, pain blooming all over me, the medic grumbling… Yes, Gysborne, that slimy bastard. Said it was time for his midday meal and he’d come back around later to check my back if he remembered to. He’s still pissed off about the escape attempt and the enormous bruise I left on his ugly face. Seems I’ll be paying for it for a while yet.

Wonderful. The cuts on my back where the whip split the skin… Going to be raging with infection in no time.

The torch in the wall taunts me with its weak imitation of the sun, and a dark laugh rises weakly inside my chest. Wasn’t I wishing to be back outside and see the sky? Isn’t that part of what prompted me to run? Guess I got my wish. Turns out it wasn’t worth it. At all.

I need to move. Lying like this keeps pressure off my back, which is fine, but my still-healing shoulder is taking too much of my weight, and now it hurts, too.

When I’m finally sitting up, muscles shaking and sweat stinging my eyes, I glance down at my shoulder. Wet darkness has seeped into the bandage. Bleeding again. When the hell did that happen?

So much for healing well…the whole reason Hatchett was allowed to go through with my punishment in the first place.

The spectre of infection haunts me again. Maybe Gysborne just won’t come back at all—I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s almost a happy thought. If fever gets into my blood, rages through me like a storm, then I won’t even have to face the gallows. Wouldn’t that piss Hatchett off? If after all his efforts to keep me here until I spill every last IA secret, I died because his dumb fucking medic couldn’t do his job properly?

Sitting up is uncomfortable, but I don’t have much of a choice between my weeping shoulder and my shrieking back. I can feel every sizzling cut and how they, disturbed by the shift from lying down to sitting, ooze sluggish trickles down my skin.

Noise cracks the silence—a door screeching open, voices and clanking chains, scuffling footsteps and curses. I blink.

A ragged breath catches in my chest. They’re dragging someone in. A girl—that girl. She’s struggling against their grips, the pale cotton of her dress blinding against the dark blue of their uniforms. Nothing she does will dislodge their hold, of course, but the colourful words she’s spitting at Hatchett make her displeasure very clear. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so awful.

She’s still in chains when they stop, although Hatchett is kind enough to unlock the ones on her wrists before he shoves her into the cell next to mine.

“Until we speak again, Miss Cooper.” The smarmy voice makes bile rise in my throat.

The firelight casts a positively feral look across her features, but Hatchett is unfazed—already slamming the door and locking it.

His gaze flicks over to me, just for an instant, and when he sees that I’m awake and upright, his lip curls. Until we speak again, thief.

As he and the guards retreat and the far door closes, darkness reigns once more, leaving me and the girl alone in silence and frail, flickering light.

Miss Cooper. Just like Ezra, Hatchett knows her name. Unlike Ezra, he’s locked her up instead of killing her.

She presses a hand against her mouth, stifling a quiet sob. It strikes me she probably doesn’t know that I’m even here.

I’m about to speak, to say something innocuous like “Hello,” but when I attempt to inch a little closer to her cell, the chain on my ankles makes a scraping rattle across the floor, and the movement sends a wave of pain through my back so intense that instead of forming words, I just groan.

She jumps, startled, and then gasps.

“You’re…”

It’s difficult to know what is supposed to finish that sentence. You’re…alive? Awake? That moron who got humiliated in front of everyone today? One of the inner circle? The man from that night? A complete and total idiot?

Confusion slashes across her face, furrowing her brows and parting her pale lips. She must be cold. “I—Why did you…” Her words cut off again. “Are you all right?”

She’s asked me that before, and I’ve asked her. My side, still bearing a faint scar where that man sliced into the skin and Geoff neatly stitched me back up, twinges at the memory. “Uh… I’ve been better.”

She moves closer to the bars that separate us, her shackles dragging on the floor. “You didn’t have to— I’m sorry— It’s my—” She pauses and sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Her unbruised, unblemished skin is stark against the darkness that surrounds us. Hatchett didn’t hang her like that other runner, and it doesn’t look like he beat her, either. Which is good, of course, but it begs the question… Why?

I don’t know what to say to something like I’m sorry they hurt you. They’ve been hurting me. They’re going to continue hurting me. It’s easier to change the subject. “Did he question you?”

She nods, glancing away as if I won’t notice the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I had nothing to give him. And I told him that.” She wraps her arms around her knees. “He’s going to hang me, isn’t he?”

I swallow. I don’t know how to answer that, either. Silence sits between us until she, too, changes topics.

“Does it…hurt a lot?” The girl doesn’t sob at the prospect of her impending death. Not right now, not in front of me, anyway. She just angles her head and uses her shoulder to wipe the tears that sneak out. Real subtle. “Your…your back? Your feet?”

I let out a shallow laugh. “Oh, my feet are fine.” An exaggeration, maybe, but it’s mostly true. “Not that different from getting whacked on the hand at school.”

She winces. Perhaps she has never felt the sting of a strap or a ruler on her skin. “Did that happen a lot?”

The question with its all-too-obvious answer—yes, almost every day—makes me laugh again, which makes me move, which makes me hurt.

“Your back, though.” Her voice is solemn. She must hear the way my laugh collapses into a grunt of pain. “Can I see?”

I really, really don’t want to turn around. “I can’t move that much.”

“Please,” she says. “Let me look at it.”

For reasons I can’t articulate or understand, I do.

Dragging myself across the cell is nothing short of agony. The bandaged arm doesn’t take much weight. The chained ankles don’t give me much freedom. The bleeding back howls with such pain that my vision swims a little.

I rest my head on my knees when I’m finally close enough that she can examine my battered back. There’s no way I should be so tired from inching across this tiny cell, but I’m  dizzy. “Is it bad?”

She hums an affirmation, gentle with an undertone of worry and more than a little horror. “He…he did that.” Almost dazed.

“Yeah. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Are you surprised?”

Her answer drifts through the bars, a whisper. “No.”

Now that I’m sitting this way, I’m stuck here, too tired to move and face her again. I wonder if I should speak, but the cell is still rocking. I keep my head pressed against my knees.

“I know you won’t remember, but…” I certainly don’t need to worry about keeping the conversation flowing. She’s got it covered. “We’ve met before. I— We— It was you. You—”

“No, I remember. I know.” It’s a relief that I don’t have to be the one to bring up that horrible night.

“You do?”

“Yes.” Wind whipping through the narrow backstreets, a cry tearing through the air. “It was snowing. You were in the alley, wearing trousers.” Oh my god, what made me say that part? I think maybe I’ve been punched a few too many times now. “That man…”

“You saved my life.” Her voice cracks. “And I never thanked you properly.”

Really? I want to ask. That’s your big worry right now? Immediately, guilt worms into me. If she’s going to die, if we both are, perhaps clearing unfinished business isn’t the most unreasonable thing to prioritize. “I’m sure you did. But you don’t need to—”

“I didn’t—well, I guess I perhaps did, but I was distraught and probably not making sense and frightened and crying and…”

Lifting my head and looking at her would probably be the right thing to do. I can’t. “Are you… Are you telling me you’ve been worrying about that for nearly two years? That you were upset because something…upsetting…happened?”

“Well—”

“Listen.” I know I shouldn’t be so short with her. But it’s so hard, too hard, to collect my thoughts into the right words and my words into the right tone. All I really want is to stop hurting, and that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Or ever. “I just did what any good person would do.”

She waits, leaves a long pause before she answers. “Good people,” she says softly. “I… I haven’t met many of those.”

Something inside me shudders, breaking through the haze of pain. What the hell has this girl’s life been like?

Jamie and Colette and Geoff, Dad and Ma. Our landlord, from back when Jamie and I were kids, who hated my guts because I was loud and obnoxious but was still kind when he needed to be. Every person who ever caught on that we had money when we should’ve had none and kept their mouths shut and didn’t turn us in. The runners who risk their lives and freedom to steal for IA, all to make life a little better for folks they’ll never meet.

All good people.

There are plenty out there, I want to say. Just not…in here.

I hold my tongue. What point is there in asking questions, prying into her business, or insisting that she’s wrong? After all, I don’t know what kind of life brought her here. Maybe, I think, she doesn’t have anyone like Jamie or Colette or Geoff to give her hope. Maybe, ridiculous as it sounds, this girl has not been as lucky as me.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

[trinity-mia]

a story as endless as the ocean

the lightning thief

0.5 first impressions

warnings : none ( if there are any i need to add please lmk ! )

word count : 2.9k

0.5 I Wake Up Feeling Like Setting Fire to Rain and Watching it Pour as I Touch Your Face

I had many dreams, most of which were nightmares that I couldn't wake up from. A lot of laughing coming from a pit and then the feeling of a force trying to push me in, but during those dreams, I'd fight back and then wake up super disoriented. 

I knew I woke up many times, but it was never for long. The longest I'd stayed up was a few seconds, during which I'd only managed to check my head. Luckily, it didn't have any blood gushing out of it anymore, but it also didn't have stitches, so it confused me. A chuckle distracted me and as soon as I realized that it was the dude who'd caught me, I passed out again.

Most of the other times I woke up I'd hear things, but none of what I heard made sense. Mr. Brunner was there a few times and the blond guy was almost always there, too. 

Another time I woke up, the blond guy was feeding me something that tasted like chocolate-covered strawberries; specifically, ones that came from a bakery close to my apartment. I always got them whenever I passed by and had the time. The owner was an older Mexican lady who enjoyed my acting and tried to give me treats for free. I never let her.

"Hey there, Angel," he smirked beside me. "I love getting to see those pretty eyes of yours, but I'm not too sure you're ready to get up yet."

"I— what?" I managed to mumble. "Where's... ugh."

"Sh, pretty girl... you don't have to get up yet," he assured me, and then put the spoon in my mouth. I didn't try very hard to keep myself from falling asleep again. 

Another time I woke up the first thing I heard was arguing. 

"But Chiron! I know something's going on! I want to know. The gods are mad about something and I want to know why!" a girl cried. 

"Annabeth." I recognized that name. Mr. Brunner had said it last night. "I know you want to know what's going on. You mentioned it enough times, I just can't. You will find out when everyone in camp does. And that won't be until the time is right."

"Just drop it, Beth. He's not going to give in," the blond guy said. 

The girl, Annabeth, huffed and walked out the door, slamming it behind her. I didn't hear if Mr. Brunner and the blond guy said anything else because I fell asleep again. 

After what seemed like too many times of waking up and passing out right back after, I woke up for good. I wasn't in the soft bed like before. Now I was sitting in a chair outside on the deck that I'd collapsed on. A girl walked out of the door and I turned my attention to her. 

"Hey, uh—" I croaked and her gasp interrupted me. 

"Allie's awake," she called into the house. As a thumping sound came from inside, I took a few moments to familiarize myself with my surroundings. 

There was nothing weird about it, but it felt unnatural. I was used to big cities and skyscrapers. This was the exact opposite. There wasn't a single building in my line of sight that was bigger than three floors and most of the surrounding area was either forests or hilly meadows. I saw a strawberry field close by, which is probably why the breeze smelled of freshly grown strawberries.

A blanket covered my legs and in the summer heat I felt like I was suffocating, so I shook it off of me. My mouth felt super dry and just saying 'hey' had been a lot of work. 

Gover came shooting out of the house and only stopped once he saw me. 

"Allie!" he bleated. He was still the goat boy from the night before. I let my head fall into my head to rub away a quickly forming headache. "You're awake!"

"Unfortunately," I replied dryly. "Ugh, my head hurts."

"Here," the girl said and brought a glass of what looked like apple juice to me. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

I took it from her and would've chugged the drink in one go, but the taste threw me off. It didn't taste bad, but it didn't taste like the apple juice I was expecting. It tasted exactly like my mom's blue chocolate chip cookies, right when they came out of the oven. It made me feel better almost instantly. I finally looked at Grover and noticed he had my suitcase in one hand and a shoebox in the other. 

"What in the box," I asked as I nodded towards it. His shoulders sagged.

"Do you remember anything from a few nights ago?" He asked.

"Woah, back up, back up," I said, shocked. "What do you mean a few nights ago? How long was I out?"

"Three days, give or take. Do you remember anything?" 

My hand involuntarily shot to the back of my skull. "Yeah, I remember everything. My mom's really... gone, isn't she?" 

If it was possible, his shoulders sagged even more. I felt like doing the same.

"I'm so sorry, Allie. I... you dropped this when you passed out. After you saved my life, I felt like I should be the one to give it to you." He handed me the box and curled in on himself as if he was ashamed. 

Inside the box was the minotaur's horn. I ran my finger along the jagged edge of it, almost wishing it were sharp enough to break skin, just so I knew I could still feel pain. I forced myself to divert my attention away from it. 

"It's not your fault. " I took in a deep breath, held it for a second, and then let it out. "Please, don't blame yourself."

My blood ran cold, even as I said it. I looked back at the meadow and decided nothing should look beautiful anymore; my mother was gone. The only light in my God-forsaken life. I wasn't going to go back to Gabe, I knew that. I had enough money to buy myself my own house, so I didn't have to worry about that. Then my blood ran cold for a different reason. 

"My phone. It has my ID and cards and some extra money in the case, plus practically my entire life. Where is it?" I demanded, shooting to my feet. It was a bad idea, considering I was still pretty weak, but I felt like I had bigger problems at that moment. 

"Allie, calm down! It's with Danny. He's making sure everything in it is fine. After Pasiphae's son attacked you, he's worried something's wrong with it."

I blinked at him. "Danny? Danny as in my manager Danny, or some rando dude named Danny?"

He gave me a confused look. "Your manager Danny, obviously. Why would I give—"

I cut him off, "He's here? I wanna talk to him. Where is he?"

"Woah, there," the girl finally butted in. "Chiron wants to talk to you first. You can talk to Danny after that." I rolled my eyes but caved anyway. "I'm Silena Beauregard, by the way."

"Allie Jackson." 

She smiled and nodded as if to tell me she already knew that, then led us away.

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. I'd unlocked my suitcase and shoved the shoebox into the last remaining space it had. I almost didn't want to let it go, but I had places to be and the quicker I could talk to Danny, the quicker I'd get all the answers I wanted. Danny knew better than to lie to me, we'd both learned that the hard way. 

From the directions, we had to be somewhere along the very edge of Long Island Sound. I knew we'd been heading away from Manhattan, but I wasn't completely sure where we ended up. It was somewhere along the coast— the ocean on the other side of the camp was enough to tell me that. 

The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture— an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena— except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-aged kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover and Silena's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired guy I'd been seeing a lot of was leaning against the railings on the other side of the two men.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of cherubs. One who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I knew he would've been able to win every round that he played against Gabe and his buddies. 

The two looked up at the sound of our footsteps and the wheels of my suitcase. 

"That's Mr. D, by the way," Grover said, nodding towards the gambler looking dude. "He's the camp director. Be polite, no matter how hard you have to bite your tongue, which, knowing you, will be a lot."

I gave him a little bit of side-eye, but didn't otherwise argue. 

"That's Luke," Silena interrupted, nodding towards the blond dude. "He's like a month or two older than you. He's just a camper, but he's been here longer than most of the demigods here. And, of course, you already know Chiron."

At the mention of his name, the man himself turned around and I had to force myself not to say 'Mr. Brunner.' 

"Allie! Wonderful. I was wondering when you'd be healthy enough to finally join us. Come sit, we have a few things to discuss. Silena, my dear, you may take your leave. You have archery right about now, do you not?"

He pulled out the chair closest to him and I sat without saying a word, while Silena ran off deeper into the camp. Grover sat down in a chair across from me and he started shaking like he did when he got scared.

I studied the two of them before 'Mr. D' spoke up. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now don't expect me to be glad to see you." 

I tilted my head and turned my gaze towards him. My lips tilted to a half-smile. I remembered figuring a few things out the night before— or rather, a few nights before— but it wasn't until this very second that everything clicked. Greek Mythology wasn't exactly mythology. My mind was running at the speed of light, putting every piece of the puzzle where it needed to be. 

As shocked as I should've been, I wasn't surprised. Finally, every crazy thing that'd occurred in my life made sense. And if Greek Mythology was real... the man in front of me was...

"Thank you, Lord Dionysus," I said, raising my chin. 

He gave me a shocked look and I didn't have to look at any of the others to know they had the same look on their faces. 

"Not bad, brat. If you're anything like the mortal world makes you out to be, I might be able to tolerate you. At least you have respect. Keep it that way and I might not turn you into a dolphin."

Chiron cleared his throat. "Anything you wish to tell me, Allie?" 

I smiled, glad my thoughts had taken me in the correct direction. "I'm seventeen, not stupid. There are a few things I can figure out with a couple of context clues. And, I've had quite a few given to me. For starters, the minotaur is a real thing. I guess that'd be clue number one. Then Grover's a satyr, clue number two. Your name is Chiron, which means you are more than likely hiding a horse body in that wheelchair... somehow? That's kinda weird, I don't wanna think about that. Anyways, as I was going in and out of consciousness, I heard the word 'gods' thrown around quite a lot." I paused. "Let's see, what else... Ah, when we were getting here, Grover mentioned Hades, which means Greek mythology would have to be real. As for Mr. D... I guess he just... gives off the kind of vibe you'd get from the Lord of wine. He looks like he could out gamble anyone. Plus, Grover looks terrified of him and aren't satyrs servants of Dionysus in the myths? He isn't drinking wine, though, which is kind of weird. But... yeah. I'm assuming you weren't expecting me to know all that?"

"I wasn't, but that makes many things much easier. I guess I did my job well if you retained all of that information."

I shrugged. "I guess."

"And you know that you've defeated the Minotaur? Which, by the way, is no easy feat."

"Uh-huh."

"So you should also know, you are a child of one of the gods. Remember when I taught you the gods would run around having affairs with mortals while Ancient Greece was in power? They never stopped having affairs, no matter where the west moved. Sometimes it was in Rome, sometimes in Britain, and it has settled in America for now. The children around you are children of the gods and you yourself are one, too. I'm not sure exactly who your father is, but that would be why you only had your mother while you were growing up."

"I'm running late," Mr. D suddenly sighed heavily, as if the last thing he wanted to do was leave. "You'll do well to keep names to yourself, Angie Jameson. They have power. Wouldn't want to summon someone just by speaking their name, would you? I'm off." 

In a split second, he was there and then he wasn't, leaving behind a strong smell of grapes where he'd once been. 

"You know, I'm shocked," the blond dude, Luke, said, walking towards the table. "Mr. D actually congratulated you on surviving. And complimented you. I don't think he's ever done that before. You are one impressive gal, Angel."

"Oh, yeah? Just—" I started, but was cut off. 

"The orientation video will be insufficient, seeing as you already know most of the basics," Chiron butted in, probably knowing my personality and not wanting it fully out there just yet. "Luke, would you mind showing Allie around the camp? Grover, you have a meeting with the council to attend, don't you? Allie, you'll be settling in Cabin 11, for now. Luke, you'll make sure she gets moved in?" 

There were two sets of nods and I found myself getting taken around the camp while Chiron and Grover set off in their desired directions. 

"You know, the name I go by is already technically a nickname. You don't need to give me another one," I told Luke as we walked. 

He turned to me, giving me a smirk. "I don't know, I think Angel is pretty fitting, do you not, Angel?" 

I shook my head. "I think you're reaching."

"Well, I disagree. So, it seems we're at an impasse," he replied. "Looks like I'll just have to keep calling you that, then." 

"Wonderful," I muttered. 

He let out a genuine laugh and started walking, waving for me to follow as he did. "C'mon. You can put your stuff down and then I can give you an actual tour. Cabin 11, by the way, is Hermes' cabin. I'm the head counselor for it."

"I thought Chiron didn't know who my father was? Why assign me to the Hermes cabin if I'm not claimed." 

Luke flinched and I knew I asked a touchy question. "Hermes is the god of travelers, right?" He waited for my nod before continuing. "He isn't picky about who stays in his cabin, so all undetermined start off there."

"Okay... that makes sense... not really, but I understand, kind of." I felt like asking a few more questions, but Luke already seemed worn out as it was, so I didn't press on the matter. "Hey, so is there any chance I'll be able to see Danny any time on this tour? I kind of need to talk to him." 

Luke nodded and seemed thankful for the subject change. "Sure thing, Angel," he replied. "But first, let's get your stuff put down so you aren't dragging it around everywhere. Then we'll start getting you familiarized, though I don't think it'll take the others very long to recognize you."

He gave me a pointed look and I understood what he was implying. 

"So you do know who I am," I said, almost dejected. "I couldn't quite tell."

He gave me a charming smile. "Don't you worry your pretty head, Angel. You'll fit right in, I'm sure." He slung an arm around my shoulders and led me. "Come on, let's get this tour started."

*    *    *

previous | next

SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST | TIPS

[average-giant-kissing-enjoyer]

G/t July #4: Stargazing

CW: discussion of abuse, suggestive themes

“I like to come out here and look up and be reminded how small I really am.”

Bullshit. I didn’t want to say anything out loud, but she was talking out her ass. We weren’t the same. We would never be the same. As long as she was twenty times my height, she would never be small like I was small.

“And those stars up there? Enormous balls of gas, they are,” she continued. “So big that even I am a tiny speck in comparison.” She spoke English very well and there was only a trace of her accent to remind us that she and I did not belong together. “Before the Maker, even the stars are like grains of sand.”

I had never been this close to her before. We were lying on the shore of the lake behind her house. Well, she was lying. I was standing next to her head, and I barely came up to her ear. If she rolled over too quick, I’d… best not to think of it. But I could sense her unease. It struck me then just how guilty she was feeling right now, how embarrassed she was to even exist. I should have picked up on her hints the last few weeks. All the ways she shied away from me, wouldn’t look me in the eye, wouldn’t talk about her family or my family. She wanted me to make her feel less guilty. Well, I wasn’t going to do that.

She sighed deeply and spoke again. “So really, when you look at it this way, we are not so different, you and me.”

Again I was silent. I didn’t want to say anything unkind. How dare she pretend we were the same?

But she wasn’t pretending. She knew very well we were different. She wanted me to pretend, and that I would not do. We did not belong together, or even in the same universe. Humanity was objectively worse off since her kind appeared. Maybe she felt powerless before this Maker, or whatever stupid giant god her culture believed in, but she and I were not being crushed under the same heel.

Suddenly she sat up. I instinctively ducked and covered my head. No matter how many times she did this I still never got used to having this enormous thing moving so quickly next to me. I knew she had no intention of hurting me, but at her size who cared about intention? It was up to me to protect myself, and me alone.

When I looked back up again I noticed she was removing her gown. My heart stopped for a second and I glanced around to make sure no one else was near. I had been around the giants to know how they would think if they saw a woman undressing, even a little, somewhere she could be seen. And if they knew that I was there as well?

But there was no one around. Just me and her, now down to her underwear. She turned towards me and sat, legs apart, with me between her knees so I could plainly see her exposed midriff.

“I told you I have a scar,” she said, pointing to the space just above her belly button. The soft flesh of her stomach gave way to a splotchy patch of discolored skin. Even in the low light of the night I could see the bumps and deformities of her scar. “This is why I am still living here at this house, and not with a husband. When I was young, I caught a wild bird and kept it in a cage, as a pet. I loved it, and it loved me. I had even taught it to speak, to say a few words. But you know my father - he is a hard man. One day I come home and the bird is dead. He does not tell me why, but I know. He was in the room with my sister when the bird began to scream. I learned that later. But at the time I was sad for my friend. I took a box and placed the bird inside, and held a funeral and burial for it in this very wood. My father was angry that I was so sad and he - well, he gave me many wounds, but this one is the one that remains.”

She extended a hand for me. I knew this meant she wanted to carry me, and she had done so enough times that I no longer cared about the indignity. Gently she brought me towards the scar, close enough that I could reach out and feel the mottled flesh for myself. Her skin was warm and soft, much more than I expected. “I can never have children,” she said. “Maybe I wanted children, maybe I didn’t. But that is no longer my choice to make. And in a world where having children is the purpose of a woman… maybe you can see for yourself. I have no family now, except the family I make.”

Then she set me down again and stood up. Wordlessly she started removing the rest of her clothes. I covered my eyes immediately. That was just what a gentleman should do, I thought. But then she started walking around and for my own safety I had to open them again to make sure she didn’t step on me. Her figure was simply a silhouette against the sky, the shadow of her figure. And to be honest, I was much too uncomfortable and frightened to take a good, long look. She made her way to the lake’s edge, and with a gentle splash, dove right in.

A moment later she emerged, her head breaking the surface and sending huge waves of shining lake water my way. She extended an arm to me and beckoned me to join her with her finger. Her skin glistened in the moonlight and when I looked at her face, her eyes shone with the stars.

[silverspleen]

So Artoria died again, possibly permanently.

Basically we had to get an NPC (Zathrian) to talk to another NPC (The Lady of the Wood/Witherfang) about curing the werewolf curse in the forest, we were uh, trying to be a little sketchy and sus on the DL about it and he caught on and as a show of power basically blasted our assess with a level 8 meteor shower, and well… Art did not have great health at this time. And the meteor shower just charred her to oblivion in one shot. Insta-kill. Varand went ballistic and charged him as a werewolf and mauled him so strongly that he was at death's door, but still weirdly unfazed. Sethlos and Bhalkam negotiated with him on better terms (I'm not sure how, I know Sethlos must have been hurting), including Sethlos grilling him at weaponpoint about if he could bring Art back.

We pressed on and Sethlos did some incredibly intense negotiating between the two NPCs and managed to get Zathrian to feel a little tiny bit of remorse due to the fact that more dalish were being harmed from the curse (from one dalish to another, from one person who has lost a loved one to another), and they got together and removed the curse.

Except Witherfang asked Varand if he wanted to stay a werewolf, and he sort of reflexively said yes (he was still a werewolf at the time, just in case). She was like "it is a curse, you can control it but remember, everyone will vilify you" and whatever and Varand was like "ah yeah no one likes me anyway" (untrue! but his life already megasucks, so also being a werewolf is no big deal).

She also asked Sethlos if he wanted to revive Art, and asked him if she would really want to come back, or if she was resting with their gods. And Sethlos basically said that he couldn't forgive himself if he didn't try. It was a luck roll. The gm publicly rolled and failed. Sethlos' player activated one of his insane abilities that lets him rewind time and reroll any roll (at a "third time's the charm" risk of summoning something if he does it three times between long rests, it's his sentient magic book's thing, don't ask) and the GM failed the roll again. He did not summon any demons or spirits though. But still. Art is still dead. :(

I was wondering why Varand would choose to stay a werewolf, but I realized that being a werewolf probably reminds him of Art, since it was the last thing they experienced together and now every time he turns he'll think of her and I made myself sad. He managed not to go crazy the entire time he was traveling with her and Morrigan (only afterwards when Sethlos and Bhalkam showed up), and he probably credits that to their friendship, and now that he's completely lucid it's like, his way of permanently remembering her even if she can't get revived a second time. He'll carry that curse forever and he'll use it to help people if he can, for her. (and also like it does feel a little good to go nuts, to just maul a guy)

We're going to try to revive Art, our GM will give us options, but it'll also be harder since this is a more grounded setting, being Dragon Age and all. Meanwhile Art's player is going to roll a new character and hop in after next session (which he will have to miss anyway).

The last thing she did with her brother was have a genuine, heartfelt moment where she laughed at a song that Sethlos sang (in character, Sethlos' player actually sang a song with a kazoo horn and had us sign a very silly, not legally binding document that gave us all fancy titles) and it's very narratively impactful that she would die again at this moment but oough I am still gonna be sad about this for days.

Sethlos has Art's charred corpse, which he wrapped in spare clothing and vines and will carry with him probably forever.

[psychewritesbs]

hello! I'm the Megumi-enthusiast anon. First, thanks for your kind reply. I took some time to talk to you again because my thoughts and feelings are all over the place when it comes to jjk.

I agree with everything you said. I miss Megumi and it pains me to see him absent at this important moment just because Gege decided to make Sukuna even more powerful? because honestly aside from giving Sukuna freedom and a powerful CT to add to his arsenal I don't know what else Megumi can do for Sukuna...he was already the strongest (alongside Gojo) even without 10 shadows. So if Gege decided to take Megumi away for a while for Sukuna's sake, I hope he makes Megumi fight to come back/to save himself, "I am praying Gege pulls Megumi's super powered most Jungian character ever card and to overwhelm Sukuna with his own sense of self. Somehow, at some point" yes, please!!! I want Megumi to do his thing too.

I find myself very disappointed with various points of the story, the plots, the relationships... (but I also admit that it's partly my guilt for having certain expectations). I could leave jjk but it's been more than two years since I've been extremely involved with this story and God! It's hard for me 😓 only now I also suffer because THE DEUTERAGONIST and my favorite is being dirty by the mangaka.

Have you read chapter 222? ***I must say I'm surprised that Gege decided to jump to December 24 already***

On a side note, I started watching Ergo Proxy because I saw you so excited and it caught my eye. I'm just on the second episode so I don't have much to say but it seems interesting and the main character looks like Amy Lee 😆

HOLA Megumi-enthusiast anon!

First, thanks for your kind reply.

Of course! Thank YOU for the Megumi love and for stopping by again to share your #thoughts.

But before we get to said #thoughts... sorry that I did not get to your ask with the last batch of asks. Let's just say there was a cat sleeping on my lap... and... as you may or may not be aware of, one does not simply move when a cat is sleeping comfortably.

More mental gymnastics under the cut...

Anyways... your ask tho!

it pains me to see [Megumi] absent at this important moment just because Gege decided to make Sukuna even more powerful?... So if Gege decided to take Megumi away for a while for Sukuna's sake, I hope he makes Megumi fight to come back/to save himself, "I am praying Gege pulls Megumi's super powered most Jungian character ever card and to overwhelm Sukuna with his own sense of self. Somehow, at some point" yes, please!!! I want Megumi to do his thing too.

I am going to invite you to see the situation from a slightly different perspective. And you may have already considered this, so ignore me if you have. But what if you thought of it this way...

What if instead of Gege taking Megumi away for Sukuna's sake (aka for Sukuna to grow in power), Megumi was taken away for his own sake?

Like... remember how I was idiotically wanting for Megumi to suffer until chapter 212 dropped and Sukuna possessed Megumi and it just broke my heart and stuff? Thing is... suffering is a catalyst for psycheological growth and transformation.

So even though the execution of how Megumi had to suffer is worse than I expected, he's still suffering intensely because of everything that has happened and how it has happened.

Basically, Sukuna gets to reap the benefits of Megumi's ct and has been using it against the people he cares about. What could possibly cause more suffering for someone who so adamantly wanted to protect "good" people than to hurt those people?

This is why chapter 214 has been one of my absolute favorites in jjk so far. Not only does it acknowledge suffering as an inescapable reality of human experience, it hints at the idea that from understanding and accepting one's suffering, one gets stronger.

And the fact that these words are coming straight out of "Megumi's" mouth, even if it is Sukuna's consciousness speaking, its all the more poignant.

This kind of goes back to the idea of fate and destiny that permeates jjk.

The idea of fate in relation to one's psychology and reality itself is a very complex one so I'm not going to get into how it works, but one of my favorite quotes by Jung is...

Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.

So, as the protagonist of his own life, Megumi getting possessed and everything that has transpired as a result of getting possessed is exactly what Megumi needed to grow.

When I wrote this ridiculous ramble a little over a year ago, I had the inkling that...

"Gege has a major event planned that will cause Megumi to have a major reorganization of what he believes to be true about the world--Ego death.

After all, we already know that it is his mentality and his limited perception of himself, which is in turn the result of trauma, that keeps Megumi from owning his destiny."

So again, it's not so much about Sukuna, but what all of this suffering is doing for Megumi.

That's where me saying "Megumi's super powered most Jungian character ever card" comes from. Megumi is so Jungian in that the way he levels up is a metaphor for individuation, which is a term Jung coined to convey the idea of Psychological growth and maturation.

All that to say, the plot isn't happening to Megumi, it is happening FOR Megumi.

But alas... I always like to be prepared for the worse... so let's say that Megumi never makes it out alive and the last of his consciousness we saw was the chapter when Megumi sinks deeper into his own darkness.

So if Megumi never comes back (which is entirely a possibility), Sukuna aside, what is the cautionary tale for those of us who identify with Megumi? What is the lesson that Megumi leaves us with?

That's a question that only you can answer for yourself. A question that I can tell you I'm still working through it in my own psychology.

Hopefully this helps you come to terms with how things are unfolding AND I totally get where you're coming from.

I find myself very disappointed with various points of the story, the plots, the relationships... (but I also admit that it's partly my guilt for having certain expectations).

Yeah totally. I think the first step is realizing you have expectations, right? There's nothing wrong with expectations, we all have them. But think of how your expectations are affecting your experience of the story.

Take a bird eye's view of jjk right now and consider how jjk is working with your own psychology.

Expectations that are not met = suffering and from suffering comes growth.

It's a process... idk how old you are but I went through this whole realization about how my expectations were influencing my perspective and life in my late 20s.

So, all I can say is: what if you approached jjk with the full understanding that it could suck just as much as it could be great? How would that change your expectations? Can you hold the tension of opposites?

If you decide you still don't like it, then it is what it is.

Also, maybe when you do a re-read, perhaps next year or a couple of years later, you might find that the Culling Game arc is a lot more enjoyable when you binge read it.

Have you read chapter 222? ***I must say I'm surprised that Gege decided to jump to December 24 already***

I have to admit that lately things have felt wonky for me in the way Gege is executing. jjk has always been fast paced but right now it feels super rushed.

My friend Danchou made a good point about this on twitter (sorry can't find the tweet): When Shibuya rolled around, events unfolded pretty quickly on the lead up to October 31st.

Regardless, it does feel like Gege is rushing through details he could have expanded upon, doesn't it?

It's like there's several plot points that normally he would have taken the time to elaborate upon and flesh out that he's now only showing in passing because he probably realizes he needs to mention them for plot purposes.

Now... thing is, he's been using non-linear story-telling for some time now. So there's the possibility we'll get flashbacks that show all of this in more detail.

We can only be patient until then.

On a side note, I started watching Ergo Proxy because I saw you so excited and it caught my eye. I'm just on the second episode so I don't have much to say but it seems interesting and the main character looks like Amy Lee 😆

Bahaha yes, apparently it's a major question by many EP enthusiasts--was Re-L inspired by Amy Lee 🤣.

Omg you'll have to tell me what you think! Even if what you think is "uh, I can't get through this" 😂. You wouldn't be the first to think that because some of those episodes in the middle are just so slow moving and a bit of a drag to get through because they are heavily intellectual.

But hopefully you do manage to experience the magic in Ergo Proxy!

You might find JJK's writing is similar to Ergo Proxy in that both authors rely on symbols to tell a meta-story and give clues about the deeper dynamics in the story. That is not to mention that Ergo Proxy's author, Shuuko Murase, has very clearly been influenced by Jungian Psychology.

But more importantly, one of the reasons I love Ergo Proxy is because, even if I don't fully grasp it on an intellectual level, it does something to me on an existential level that I cannot explain.

All I can say is that Ergo Proxy is an initiatory experience that is near and dear to my heart.

Ehem... ok that's it for the word vomit.

Thanks for stopping by again and sharing the thoughts! Looking forward to hearing from you again 🫶🏼.

[just---keep---simming]

Chapter 2: Dangerous Liaison

So yeah, I'm still in school. Boring, I know, but my principal was right - I am really close to graduating. I'll be finishing soon, and as much as I think a high school diploma isn't going to help me, it also can't hurt. I'm hardly the school's top student but I did manage to pull my grades up to a B despite skipping a lot of classes to play music and never doing any homework.

School does have the upside of being a place to meet people. I didn't stay in touch with anyone from my old school, but it turned out to be easy to make new friends. Luna Villareal and I have fashion and beauty in common, but she actually cares about her schoolwork.

Forget school, though. One morning, when I'd decided to skip school altogether, I took the bus to Del Sol Valley. San Myshuno, where I live, is a great place to start your career as a famous musician, but Del Sol Valley is where you go once you're a rich megastar. I like to wander around downtown and imagine my name and face on a billboard, my shows in the stadiums, my mansion in the hills overlooking the valley. That's how I stumbled across the most amazing recording studio I'd ever seen. Anyone can book time in it, for a fee, but the manager told me famous musicians come here too to record their albums.

That's how I found myself down there basically every second day towards the end of my last year at school, and first year on my own, jamming and learning how to use the recording equipment, dreaming of writing my own music and recording it here one day.

That was pretty much the end of school, for me. I stayed enrolled right up until I finished, and I did get my diploma, but I was hardly there in the last couple of months. I hung out at Thriftea a couple of times, spent a little time with my classmates, but the recording studio was where I always wanted to be.

Cassandra missed having me around school, I knew, so I invited her to cut class with me a couple of times and check out the studio as well. She enjoyed meeting me in the valley and seeing me play. "You're really good, Grace. I reckon you're gonna be a star." "Thanks, Cass!"

Speaking of stars, guess who I met at the studio one day, not long after school had finished? Thorne Bailey! He was there re-recording an old track and I plucked up the courage to introduce myself. He was actually pretty cool, not stuck up at all, and chatted to me about music over lunch.

Even better, he agreed to listen to me play after he was done with his own work! He had some really nice things to say, told me to keep working at it and he'd help me strike a deal when the time was right, but that I needed to write my own music if I really wanted to make it big. He's totally right off course. I need to start thinking about what kind of songs I want to create.

Soon after school was out for good, the weather started getting colder. Harvestfest rolled around and Cassandra, knowing I'd be alone at my apartment otherwise, swung by to invite me to have dinner with her family for the holidays.

So off I went to Willow Creek, which is a little too close to my own parent's place for comfort, but I didn't bump into them while I was there, thank God. Cassandra's parents, Bella and Mortimer, are crazy rich, super glamorous, but really nice. At least they were nice to me, and Cass seems to like them. Her little brother is annoying, but that's normal for little brothers, I'm told.

Cassandra and I caught a cheesy horror movie to round out the day. It was nice...I guess I kind of miss some of the wholesome family things I gave up when I ran away to follow my dreams.

Life in my apartment is really different to the kind of life Cassandra has, and that I used to have. I bet Cass has never had a screaming argument with her elderly neighbour because he's blaring horrible oldies rock music at two in the morning!

Pretty soon, my birthday rolled around. I was finally turning eighteen! Cassandra had turned eighteen a few weeks earlier and Luna would have her own birthday in a couple more months. I invited them both out to dinner - just a cheap diner, I'm still broke - to celebrate.

Then we hit a club for drinks and karaoke.

And finally cake! Which means I am officially, for real, an adult, and even if they find me my parents can't do anything to stop me chasing my dreams.

Which meant I was back in the studio any time I wasn't at my barista job, spending nearly everything I made that I didn't have to use for rent on studio fees. I bumped into Thorne a lot during that time, and he always had good advice for me.

Then one day, he took my hands and smiled at me. "Look, Grace, I think you're something special. I'm very...drawn to you, and I want to be part of your journey. As a friend, as a mentor, or as more than that, if you're interested?" I stared at him in shock. "Aren't you married?" "Not happily. Octavia and I are figuring out the logistics of a divorce, but we're not going public with it for a while, for my son's sake."

Of course, the first thing I did after that was invite Cassandra over for a debrief. I made us onigiri as I filled her in. "Oh my God, Grace. Thorne Bailey propositioned you? THORNE BAILEY?" "Right?! He says he's divorcing his wife." "Girl, that sounds like the plot to a bad movie. Don't count on anything from him until the ink is dried on his divorce papers."

I knew she was right. It wasn't smart to take a famous, notoriously flirtatious celebrity at his word, or imagine that he was really that interested in a scruffy newbie to the world of music who could barely scrape together the studio fees. I spent a while focusing on my skills, practicing every second I could, and starting, tentatively, to write some of my own stuff.

But Thorne still came by regularly, still wanted to watch me play, still had nothing but constructive and kind things to say.

On top of that, I liked his company. He was fun. We had a lot in common, obviously with music being one of those things, and I found him easy to talk to.

So when he offered to get me a coffee and go over the songs I'd been writing one day, I accepted. How could I not?

One thing led to another. Luckily he'd taken me to Windenburg, away from any of his usual haunts, and the paparazzi that normally followed him to the doors of the studio (they weren't allowed inside) hadn't figured out to track him here.