#its a laptop that is barely holding it together and is running on windows 7 BDBSBSJSBSJ

[lottieurl]

when i have a good laptop in like a month or two then you'll all see

[chan-yolo]

Benevolence Part 10

You were on the run. They were chasing you down and you needed to live. You would do anything to stay alive. But does anything include falling in love? Getting captured by EXO gave you a new survival plan, but will that all go out the window when you meet someone who’s life means more to you than your own?

SURPRISE UPDATE

A/N Heyyyy... it’s been a minute, firstly i want to apologise for the long hiatus, sometimes you have to take a minute to sort yourself out, and i had lost my passion for writing. thank you to the people who have still been liking my fics and scenarios, and to the people that are actually still reading, you guy are all absolute gems. 

hopefully this part isn’t awful and I hope you like it!

also this isn’t edited, sorry 

p.s let me know if you’d like another Baekhyun POV xoxo

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun / Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, ANGST

Warning: sex trafficking mentions

Word Count: 2816

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | 

The second morning waking up next to Baekhyun was even better than the first. It wasn’t just better, it was entirely different. There was a shift in the dynamic between the two of you and it was instant. Baekhyun had seemed to, subconsciously in his slumber, decided to cross the barrier and was now holding you firmly to his chest, his head resting atop your own as his snored could be heard above you. His warm breaths fanning out across the top of your head. He was way warmer than you imagined he would be. Not like you imagined this at all… no certainly not.

Just like the morning previous, you couldn’t help but stare at him. he was peaceful. Shamelessly your eyes grazed his boyish features, not even feeling embarrassed when his eyes flickered over to meet your own. His gaze was tired, but happy. At least you thought so.

“Morning.” His voice was deep and laced with fatigue, but his smile was bright and ready for the day.

“Morning.” Your whisper was small, shy, but content. Baekhyun pulled you closer, if that was even possible. His nose rubbing against your head in affection as he inhaled deeply. One of his slender hands came to entangle in your hair, resting carefully within the strands as he cradled the back of your head. Tilting your head up to look at him, he gave you a smile, his eyes looking over your features, followed slowly by his soft lips. His kisses trailed delicately from your hairline to your forehead, leaving a loving peck on the tip of your nose, before caressing your cupids bow. Your eyes were shut in contentment. Never had you once experienced a morning quite like this one, and you were basking in every moment.

Finally his lips pressed to your own. Gently at first. Leaving a light kiss, his lips hovering over yours, not making any effort to move, but content where they were. After what felt like a decade, his lips encased your own. Moulding together in a slow kiss, both innocent and full of pining and feeling. Enough to knock the breath straight out of you. Baekhyun broke away, his slender fingers pushing the loose strands of hair away from your face, his eyes scanning over your own.

“Are you still okay with everything?” His voice was low and a whisper.

“Yeah, I mean it’s going to be weird. But I’m sure about it.” His hand moved to the back of your head, gently moving you closer to him so he could leave a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Good.” Another kiss was left, making you smile at the sentimentality of the situation.

“Wow, who knew you were this soft.” You giggled out.

“Yah!” Baekhyun pushed away from you. Untangling himself from you, Baekhyun rubbed his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “Come on princess, time for breakfast.”

Breakfast was full of lingering kisses, small stories and playful touches. It was new and it was unreal, especially for the type of people you were. But it was nice. Yet, reality came sooner than wanted, but wasn’t rejected as you had jobs to do. After a call from Chanyeol, the both of you set out to head back to the house. As you went to leave, Baekhyun grabbed you by the waist, pulling you back into him.

“Do we have to go back?” He whispered into your ear.

“What do you mean?” You tried to look over your shoulder at him, but he had hidden his face in your shoulder blade.

“Well we slept in, we had each other. As much as I love the guys, it was nice to not wake up to them.” He laughed into your skin. And even though you were cooing at his cuteness, you couldn’t help but bring him back to reality.

“But that’s not our life Baek, that’s not how it goes for us. Also you love them boys, so don’t act all cold.” You turned around, squeezing his shoulders.

“Sadly you’re right.” Leading you out the house, you made your way to the car, ready for the journey back to the house, yet not quite ready to go back to real life.

***

Back at EXO’s house, things were calm. It was quiet, yet not unsettling. You and Baekhyun walked in hand in hand. Everything felt strange to you, as if it shouldn’t be this way. But maybe it was time for you to have some good luck for once. Baekhyun was your something good, and you didn’t want to let go of him just yet.

The two of you were close as  you walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Sharing soft touches and shy smiles. It was all blissful until you noticed Kyungsoo leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. His doe eyes glanced down at your entwined hands, before glancing back up to you, eyebrow raised.

“Suho wants to see the both of you.” Nodding you let go of Baekhyun’s hand, sighing and turning around to head towards Suho’s office. Walking into the room you’d come accustomed to seeing, you were met with all of EXO seated around the room. Though you didn’t fail to notice Sehun sitting in the chair nearest to the desk. Rolling your eyes at the boy, you stood side by side with Baekhyun, addressing the leader of the group. you gave a surprised head tilt, noticing his new letter box red hair.

“So, Baekhyun. Would you like to report back on what happened/” Leaning back, Junmyeon crossed his arms over his chest, only looking at the man next to you. Yet you were distracted by his hair.

“Well, hyung, we were on our way back here from running some errands, when y/n noticed some men following us around. We don’t know how long they were following us, but y/n identified them as Hyunsuk’s men.”

“Is this right?” Both men turned to you for your confirmation, but you just gave a slight nod, still puzzled by the change to the leader’s hair. The men discussed what this meant between them, but you just looked around you at the rest of the members to see if there were any other drastic changes to them, noticing Kai’s green hair and Chanyeol’s pink hair. Looking back at Junmyeon you noticed his stare was on you.

“Can I help you?” His eyebrow raised at you.

“Did you all have a girl’s night in and didn’t invite us?” You smirked at him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your hair, its red.” You laughed. Suho rolled his eyes at you, looking down to his laptop.

“If that is all, kindly get out.” Nodding you followed Baekhyun out the room, the smirk still on your face.

Outside the office, you were ready to head in whatever direction Baekhyun was going in, planning on spending the day actually figuring out what he did within EXO. Though, before you could, Yixing came to a stop next to you, his hand lightly being placed on the crook of your elbow.

“Hey, y/n, mind coming with me? I haven’t checked your wounds in a while, after yesterday we should probably give them a look over.” His voice was kind, no sense of seeking anything else within his tone. With a shrug you agreed, smiling at Baekhyun as he gave your hand a squeeze, telling you he’d see you later, before toddling off to probably find Chanyeol.

Walking side by side with Yixing as he led you to his little infirmary, you noticed him shake his head.

“You know you shouldn’t poke Suho like that.” You turned to see the smile you could hear in his voice.

“Yeah, but it’s fun though isn’t it?” You smiled back at him, thanking the man as he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to sit on the bed.

“How you haven’t gotten in more trouble is beyond me.”

“What can I say? I’m a delight.” You smiled at Yixing’s giggle, letting him go about his examination, used to it by now.

“So… You and Baekhyun?” Yixing implies as he finishes re-wrapping your wound.

“we’re friends now, that’s all.” You look down, trying to pre occupy yourself with anything but Yixing’s stare on you.

“You can deny it all you want, but I see you…” He squints at you, making you laugh as you fix your clothes, waving him off.

“Goodbye Yixing” You call over your shoulder, heading towards the call of food.

In the kitchen you were greeted by Kyungsoo concentrating on the food he was cooking, mixing different ingredients in the pan, almost making you salivate at how good it smelt.

“I see you chose.” Kyungsoo’s monotone voice barely audible to your wandering thoughts of food.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Smiling at him you spooned a mouthful of his food into your mouth, giving a smug smile in response to his glare at your actions.

“If you want to keep it a secret, that’s up to you. But remember what you’ve chosen. If you trust him, he will trust you and if Baekhyun can trust you, we all will. Even Sehun. Just don’t run. Not anymore.” Swallowing your food, you nodded at him. Not so used to someone being so serious with you like this, you shrugged avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t worry, I plan on sticking around.” With that you left the kitchen, making your way to where you knew Baekhyun would be. The thought of seeing him put a smile on your face.

 ***

Making your way back down the corridor, you headed to the place you knew Baekhyun would be, his computer room. Knocking on the door you poked your head into the room, settling your eyes on his for. The room, as always, dark. The only light being the illumination from the screens in front of him.

“Hey” you smiled at him, walking to stand next to his chair. Swivelling around, he moved so you were positioned between his legs. His arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Hey stranger.” His smile held that cheekiness he always seemed to hold, but he looked happy, which made you smile just as wide.

“So Chanyeol asked about us.” You raised your eyebrow at him. “He told me I seemed different, that since coming back I’m glowing.” He laughed at the remark. “I told him what happened, he’s my best friend. I hope that’s okay?” he laid his head on your stomach, threading your fingers through his hair you massaged his scalp slowly.

“I didn’t expect anything else, I don’t mind at all, if I had a best friend I’d probably be doing the same.” Baekhyun kissed your stomach in reply, his fingertips tickling the skin underneath your shirt.

“Yixing asked me the same questions, as did Kyungsoo. I didn’t say anything definite; I didn’t know if I should yet.” Baekhyun wheeled himself back and looked at you, taking your hands in his, he nodded.

“In time we can tell them all. I want to trust you, but right now it’s so hard to…”

“I know, and that’s my fault. But I promise I won’t break it. I’m willing to give you my trust, if you give me yours too” Bending down, you planted a soft kiss on his lips, sealing the promise.

 ***

 *three hours later*

 After sitting in your room, staring at the wall for three hours, you decided it was time. You had to be truthful, if only if it was for Baekhyun.

Letting out a sigh, you knocked on the door to Suho’s office, nerves surging throughout your body.

“Come in.” Pushing open the door, you made your way to the front of his desk, staring at all the files laying across it.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Junmyeon sat back, his arms folding across his chest.

“I’m ready to tell you.” You looked him dead in the eyes, trying to convey confidence, sitting up in his chair, Junmyeon looked at you in disbelief.  “But… Baekhyun has to be there, and Yixing… and maybe Kyungsoo also. He kind of calms me down… it’s weird.”

“How about you tell us all?” Your confidence wavered, not sure that was something you could do, especially with one person in the room.

“Sehun…”

“Won’t say a word, I can promise you.” You nod at him. You didn’t think much of this man, but if Baekhyun can trust him, you can try to also. “Alright miss y/l/n, take a seat, I’ll call them in.

 ***

 You didn’t sit. You stood in front of them all. Actually more like paced as they all just stared at you, waiting for you to explain why they were called there.

“Oh come on.” Sehun rolled his eyes.

“Sehun.” Suho gave him a pointed look, making the man shrink in his chair.

“You don’t have to tell us right now flower.” Yixing’s voice was understanding, you looked at him thankfully, knowing that he was someone you could fully trust, and with him and Baekhyun in the room made the situation a lot easier.

“No, I have to. I want to. You all need to know; you need the truth.” You looked at Baekhyun, his reassuring smile making the nerves dissipate instantly.

“Okay, so we all know Hyunsuk was selling things, all kinds of things. That also included people, which again you already know. Hyunsuk sold girls, sometimes boys, depending on the demand. Some were sold for fun, others for trade. Some didn’t even make it out of that house alive.” Closing your eyes, you suppressed the memories that threatened to bubble up.

“And how do you know this?” Suho questioned, his voice laced with curiousness and intrigue. Looking over at Baekhyun, you blocked out the other men in the room, directing your story at him.

When I left my parents, it wasn’t because I went off the rails. My brother, he was going to be taken. They sold him. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let that happen. So I went instead. I was old to Hyunsuk. But, instead of selling me on to someone else, he kept me. He kept me for…” your throat dried up, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

 “Y/n… Baekhyun’s voice was soft, he only wanted to protect you, you could feel that.

“No Baek, I have to tell you. The girls that stayed were used for whatever he wanted, and that was anything, sometimes we were shared.” You were looking at the floor now, feeling sick to your stomach.”

“The documents you have.” You looked over to the crisp pieces of paper laying across the desk. “The ones about the people owned, it’s the information on anyone they’ve ever sold. People and families they made deals with. It has what they were bought for.” You reached to the back of your jeans, reaching for the document you had taken unknowingly from them.

“This was in there to… if you want to know anything about me and my purpose there, here it is.” Throwing the document down on the desk, done with hiding.  Looking each one of the men I  the face, you found the confidence to carry on.

“As you have probably gathered, this is human trafficking, which is illegal. But above that this is murder. All you would need to do is find him, turn him in and his gang, though I understand it’s not that simple.”

“Thank you y/n, this has really helped us.” Suho exclaimed as his leafed through your file. Nodding, your body slumped, releasing the tension you’ve been holding in.

“Y/n?” Suho looked up at you, his eyes solely on your own. “It says here you have no family.”

“well, I never got to save my family, my brother, he didn’t make it.” You choked, the memories of the only person you ever loved being snatched away from you filling your mind.  Hyunsuk doesn’t keep his promise.” Your voice had turned dark, cold.

“I’m so sorry.” Yixing spoke up in the quiet room. Wiping the stray tear from your eye, you tried to compose yourself.

“What’s dome is done. Now can I leave? I’d like to sleep.” Suho gave you a nod, not even looking at the rest  you were gone, the sob being stuck in your throat.

Reaching your room, you swung open your door, sliding down the wall next to it, your cries finally coming through. What you didn’t know was that as soon as you had left, Baekhyun had followed. Rushing through the door, he took you into his arms, keeping you close to him, as your cries could be heard throughout the house.

“it’s going to be okay y/n, I’m so proud of you, your so brave.” Baekhyun comforted you, staying beside you as you let out everything you had been keeping inside.

[btsslowburnfic]

Sonata-First Movement

The dear @omgalyssag17​ asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow. And I did. So much so that the story will be told in three parts over the next three weeks XD I LOVED THIS PROMPT SO MUCH Series Summary: Yoongi travels to a lake house to get some work done in peace. While he is there he has several strange encounters that make him question his own sanity.  AN: Y/N as a ghost is slightly neurotic at times because she hasn’t really had conversations with people in about ten years. She’s trying so hard to be a good hostess XD Series contains angst, humor (well I think so), and fluff.  WK:5kish Day 1

Yoongi parked his car at the end of the gravel driveway. The drive up to the Lakehouse had been pleasantly uneventful. It was starting to get foggy though, so he was glad he had left Seoul when he did. He reached into his front pocket for the set of rental keys. They were neatly labeled: cabin, boathouse, boat. 

The wooden front door opened easily although it creaked loudly. He decided to take a look around before bringing in his luggage and equipment. He was on a rare break from work. While the other members had gone traveling or home to spend time with their families, Yoongi had decided to get some work done. But he would do it away from the city. He told the Agency to find him somewhere nice and quiet. And with a piano. That last part proved to be more of a challenge, but they had discovered this remote cabin which had belonged to a pianist. The property had been listed as “for sale” for several years and the family decided instead to rent it out to at least recoup some money.

The air smelled slightly stale so he left the front door open and began to explore the property. It was a small 2 bedroom cottage-style lake house with large windows running along the back of the living room. The sliding glass door led out to a small deck, overlooking the lake. It was beautiful. Or at least it could be. Yoongi looked through the glass and could barely make out the lake that he knew should be there. The layer of fog was rolling in against an already grey sky, causing the horizon between the water and air to blend together into a monochrome greyscape. 

There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the main room, and on the opposite side, a piano with a desk sat next to it. Perfect. A fireplace adorned another one of the walls, providing both a heat source and a beautiful focal point.

He continued to walk through the house, discovering the bathroom and two bedrooms. The larger of the two also had large windows and a sliding glass door. Yoongi shook his bangs out his face and stepped out onto the wooden deck. The deck was small and surrounded on most sides by built-in benches. There were also several empty wooden planters. Whoever had lived here must have enjoyed flowers or herbs, he mused to himself. He gazed out towards the lake where he was able to barely make out the boathouse. In addition to the stored motorboat, there was a kayak stacked against the boathouse and a rowboat tethered to the dock. Good, he thought. He doubted he would use the motorboat at all on this trip, so it was nice to have options. The steps down to the dock were made up of several twisty flights of stairs. He decided he would check out the dock tomorrow. 

Yoongi went back through the house to get his equipment set up. When he came back, he discovered the front door had shut. Dammit, he thought and sat down with his armful of equipment, squeaking the front door open again. He placed his laptop and speakers down on the desk. Now to get his luggage and food bags. He knew there would be no delivery service out here. Hell, he’d be lucky to get cell service out this far. Which is one of the reasons he had decided to work out in the country. He knew he wouldn’t be distracted by his phone or by the members messaging him. It would truly be a break from everyone and everything. He grabbed his suitcase and used it to prop the door open and then took several trips out to the car to unload the bags of food he had bought on the way up.

Yoongi began to hum to himself while unpacking the food. Cold in the refrigerator, room temperature in the cabinets. He was a very neat person and was very satisfied when all of the groceries had been put in their place. He went back to get his suitcase from its place by the door. Yoongi scratched his head. His suitcase had been by the door, hadn’t it? Maybe he had wheeled it into the kitchen without thinking. He walked back over and looked around quickly, still not seeing it. Ok. Maybe he hadn’t brought it in from the car and just thought he had. He knew in the back of his mind that he had to have brought it in, because he was using it to hold the door open. Maybe it was on the front porch? He turned the corner and saw the suitcase sitting by the front door. He jumped a little bit and shook his head. Maybe he was more sleep deprived than usual and it was making him dumb. “What the hell?” he said out loud. He walked over and firmly grabbed the suitcase as though he was afraid it was going to wander off.

He turned on the light in the master bedroom and put away all of the clothes, storing the suitcase under the bed. Now, he could finally get some work done. After coffee. Coffee was an important step. 

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

You sat over at the desk, observing the newest cottage guest. The delightful scent of coffee wafted through the air. There were several things you missed about being alive, and one of them was a nice, hot cup of coffee. Especially out on the back deck, first thing in the morning. You often wondered if you were actually stuck in hell; able to smell coffee and not drink it. You were able to see every person who trespassed in your house, but none of them could see you. 

At least it looked like this guy would be a considerate guest. Too often it would be loud families with their ill-behaved children banging on your beloved piano. Sometimes it would be drunk fishermen. At least they could be entertaining. And they were also your favorite to mess with; they were never sure if there was a ghost or if they were drunk. Hilarious. Death had very few benefits but that was one of them.

You watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. Now that you noticed, it was very late to be starting a pot of coffee. He must be a night owl. You got up so he wouldn't sit on you. It always felt so weird when the living touched you; their solid body parts passing through your non-corporeal form. It didn't hurt but it made your body feel like it was being stretched in ways that it shouldn't be able to. 

He sat the cup down and started to unpack what looked like headphones, a microphone, and some other things that you knew had to do with recording music. Oooo interesting, you thought. He was a very meticulous person. You had noticed the care he had taken into putting everything in its place even though you could tell he was eager to begin the task at hand. He plugged in the electronics and began to press some buttons. He put on his headphones and began vibin to some beats.

You frowned. You wanted to hear the music too. You reached over and gently flipped the bluetooth switch on his headphones off.

Yoongi stopped and took off his headphones. He looked at them with a concerned expression. That was so strange. He had charged them all last night. It didn’t even occur to him to check the manual power switch; there was no reason to. He frowned and placed the headphones on the desk. He dug the charger out of his bag and crawled down on the floor to plug it in. 

You smiled as you watched him try to turn himself tiny. It was pretty cute. He slowly backed out of the space under the desk, and while still on his knees, pressed play. The lakehouse was filled with music. You felt the space in the middle of your body, where you once had a beating heart, relax. You hadn’t heard music in forever. You would occasionally play the piano, but most of the time it just made you too sad. 

Yoongi took out his notebook and began flipping through it, trying to find the page he had been working on. You spied over his shoulder, trying to see what his project was. Notes? Lyrics? Ouch. You felt his hand go through your face as he raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair. Ok, ouch wasn’t the right expression, but it had surprised you nonetheless. He continued to fluff his hair several times. It was very fluffy, now that you noticed it. You wanted to touch it. You really tried to not be a creepy ghost. But you hadn’t had visitors in so long. And it looked so soft. You let yourself pet his dark, black hair.

Yoongi froze and looked behind him. His nose scrunched up as he turned his neck and looked above him, searching for the draft that had just blown his hair. Seeing nothing, he continued on with his work.

His hair was soft. You knew it would be. Alright, you decided, enough of being creepy. He seemed nice enough. You traveled over to the living room and laid down on the couch. Being dead was so boring.

Yoongi continued working and drinking coffee for several hours before deciding around 4 am to go to bed. This was a poor decision because there were no curtains in the lake house, and the sun came in at 7 am. He groaned and pulled a sheet over his face.

You laughed as you saw him wrestle with the too small sheet. He would pull it up, his feet would become uncovered. He would pull it down, and a sunbeam would fall directly onto his face. Poor guy. The next time he pulled the blanket up, you gently tucked the comforter over his feet. He didn’t even notice, he just let out a satisfied groaning sound as he rustled around trying to get comfortable. Finally, he was able to fall back to sleep.

Day 2

Yoongi woke up around noon. He scolded himself for not thinking of bringing an eye mask along. He was used to sleeping at strange hours, in a state of permanent jet lag, so he usually remembered to pack it. Oh well. He groggily shufflled to the kitchen and grabbed an iced coffee. The lake was beautiful this morning. The sun was shining and reflecting against the water. He decided to wash up and head down to the dock.

You watched him down the iced coffee like it was a lifeline. Did this guy know that drinking-water also existed? You wondered as you followed him around. You watched him look out over the lake while drinking the coffee. The corners of his mouth upturned as he looked out over the water. With a determined look on his face he went over towards the bathroom leaving you to hang out in the living room. You walked over to the desk area where he had left his stuff out. You decided to look through his notebook and found several pages of lyrics. He was really good, you thought as you flipped through. You took your time reading some of the pages and notes. You also saw some compositions written down as well. 

Yoongi walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel and sopping wet hair. Since he was the only one there he hadn’t bothered to take his clothes into the bathroom with him. He walked out into the living room and saw his notebook jump off the desk. That’s weird. He thought as he walked over to pick it up and put it back on the desk. He ran a hand along the back of it to see if it felt extra slippery. No. He did the same to the desk. Weird.

You were trying to NOT be a creepy ghost and yet here was a hot guy wearing a towel in your living room. You looked around, where to go, where to go? You couldn’t go to the master bedroom, that’s where he would go next. You saw him bend over to pick up the notebook. If you had blood left in your body, you are certain it would all be rushing to your face right now. Must leave. You hastily made your way to the guest bedroom, carefully opening the door and stepping inside. You took a few deep breaths out of habit.

Yoongi sat the notebook down on the desk and heard a creaking sound coming from the other side of the cabin. The drafts in here were unbelievable, he thought and he headed to the bedroom to get dressed.

You kept yourself in forced isolation until you heard the sliding door of the living room open up. You peeked out the window and saw him making his way down to the dock. Finally, you thought, as you went back into the living room. Ever since you had heard the music last night you had been wanting to give it a go on the piano. You looked down at the dock to make sure he had made it before you took a seat at the bench and began to play, 

Yoongi felt the sun shine down on his dark hair. He usually blow dried it, but between the hot sun and being on vacation, he figured he would let nature take care of it today. He sat down cross legged on the dock, looking out across the Lake. He could see a few other houses lining the perimeter and several patches of trees. The water lightly rippled, splashing gently against the rowboat. He looked over the side of the dock. It was shallow and he could see minnows swimming in the water that had been warmed by the sun. He smiled and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. He took out his pen and began to write.

You couldn’t remember the last time you enjoyed playing the piano. It had been probably about 6 months before you died. If you had to guess. Time is a funny thing. It speeds up as you get older. And once you’re dead, it’s like the blink of an eye. It wasn’t enough time. You sighed sadly. But, playing this music made you happy. It made you so happy that you had lost track of time until you heard the unmistakable sound of the glass door sliding open. You were pretty sure you were able to stop in time. You made a cringe face and turned to the door to see if your guest had noticed.

Yoongi stood extremely still. He had definitely heard the piano playing. Only for a second or two. But the sound was unmistakable. Maybe a mouse was in the dampers. He cleared his throat and walked over to the upright Yamaha. You stayed absolutely still as he reached over you, his face inches away. You didn’t have to hold your breath, you didn’t even breathe anymore, but you found yourself nervously worried about it. He smelled good. Stop being creepy! Yoongi opened the lid quickly, hoping to catch the mouse in action. No mouse. Strange, he thought, and closed the lid. He stepped back and eyed the piano suspiciously.  Wait a minute. He looked at the sides and then he opened the lid once more. “Hmm? What’s this?” he reached in and took out a yellow, legal-sized envelope

You had forgotten about that. 

He held the large envelope in his hands, inspecting it. He turned it around. There was nothing written on the outside but he could feel the contents inside of it. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do with this. He sat it down on the desk and headed to the kitchen to eat lunch.

You tentatively pressed your fingers against the envelope. You were surprised no one had found it yet. You were certain your family would have quickly sold the house, so you had placed the document somewhere safe. But no one had come to buy the house. Maybe because you had scared them away. The first few years of your haunting you hadn’t been quite as kind of a ghost. Time had mellowed you and allowed you to come to terms with your death. You looked over at the man who was starting to shake ramyeon packets and boil water. You gently tore the corner open and waited a minute to see if his curiosity would get the better of him.

Yoongi walked back over to the desk while he waited for the water to boil. Now that he looked harder he saw that the envelope had been opened ever so slightly. He felt a little odd, but decided to go ahead and open it. He carefully slid the contents out onto the desk. He saw a picture, sheet music, and a letter. He picked up the photo first. It was a picture of a young woman who looked to be about his age, sitting out on the back porch, petting a large yellow dog. She was looking off at the lake smiling and it appeared she hadn’t known someone was taking her picture. Yoongi looked out, holding the photo up in between himself and the window. He matched up the benches and planters perfectly. It was definitely taken here. The next thing he picked up was the sheet music. It was untitled and about 20 bars of music filled the sheet. He placed the music on the piano’s stand. He picked up the letter and began to read.

“I don’t think I’m going to have enough time to finish this composition. I really like it and I would love to hear it completed. I sit down every day and try to but the headaches are getting worse and it’s hard to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. I wish I had more time. But I suppose that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I thought there would be more time. I can only hope someone takes Barley and gives him a good home. Dogs don’t know about death right? Animals fear pain, not death. I fear both even though each gets worse and closer every day. As for the piano, I just hope it goes somewhere where it will actually get played by someone who loves it. I’m hoping my family finds this, but if you find yourself reading some random dying girl’s letter, please let my family know I tried to hold on for as long as possible. And I really tried hard to finish this. I just can’t anymore. Thanks for reading this. Whoever you are. Have a great day and remember: life is short. [y/n].”

Yoongi felt tears running down his face as he finished the letter. Jesus. Had this belonged to the girl who lived here before? He looked at the picture of the girl and the dog and flipped it over. “Me and Barley May 2010 BEST DOG EVER.” Yoongi gently placed the letter and photo on the corner of the desk and ran a hand along his chin and then his cheeks, wiping the tears quickly with the back of his hand.

You watched as he cried and felt bad. You had written that letter probably a week before you died. Maybe a month? It was hard to tell. Time passed differently when you were dead. And the last few days, weeks(?) of your life had not been easy on your body or mind. All you remembered was the instant feeling of calm and peace. At first. Until you realized for some reason you were trapped in the lake house. You watched him sit down quietly and look at your composition and put his fingers onto the keys.

He began to play. At first it was so soft you could barely hear it, but as he continued to play it got louder. You remembered the song so well. You were slightly biased, but you thought it was, “Beautiful.” you heard him say as he came to the end of the song. He sat like that for another few seconds and then played it again from the start.  He picked up the music sheet and sat it down on the desk. He got up and moved over to the desk chair, taking out his. He started to copy the notes onto his notebook and then started to add notes to it.

Was he going to finish your song? You sat in awe as you watched him play with the chords and rhythm to try and figure out what would work best with what you had already composed. You sat down on the piano bench and watched his face as he concentrated on how to approach the music. The timer went off in the kitchen and Yoongi got up to assemble the noodles. He brought the hot bowl and chopsticks back with him, careful to not sit it on the desk. He read the letter again.

“Well, I’ll try to finish it for you,” he said. “But I don’t know if it will be what you would have picked.

You gave him a sad smile. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to you. “That’s ok.”

Yoongi looked over towards the piano. He kept feeling something. Something randomly around him. And this time he had sworn he heard something as well. “I need to stop talking to myself, I’m starting to imagine answers.” He said, taking several more bites of noodles. You just laughed. A small tinkling sound. Yoongi got up and went over to the back porch to look for windchimes or something. Having found none, he shook his head and sighed. He quickly finished up his lunch and sat down next to you on the piano bench. He reached over for the sheet music, and then very delicately placed your picture next to it.

“Alright [y/n] let’s finish writing this composition.” he said as he gently placed his fingers on the keys. He played the song again, this time adding a few of the notes he had added. He was satisfied with a few of them but others he scratched out with his pen. He began again and again, trying to work through the bridge. You understood his frustration. This was the part you had gotten stuck on as well. You liked the few notes that he had successfully added. Suddenly, without thinking, you thought of what would sound good next and played a series of notes. 

Yoongi sat there not moving. The keys to his left had definitely just played by themselves. And not random keys like a mouse on the dampers. They were notes that matched the song perfectly. What the hell.

You froze. Shit shit shit. You were going to scare this guy off. The only person who had actually spoken to you in a decade. You felt like you wanted to cry. Dammit [y/n] you scolded yourself. Yoongi was afraid to turn to his left. He knew it was silly. There wouldn’t be anything there, other than that feeling he kept getting in the house. He was going to make himself do it though. He very slowly turned his head and looked at you. At least, it seemed like he was looking at you. But from his perspective, he just saw the windows of the lake house. He let out a deep breath. “Here I am, afraid of ghosts.” He said out loud. “Well, if there is a ghost here, thanks. Those notes work well,” he said as he wrote down the keys you had pressed and then played them himself. The two of you stayed like that for about another hour before Yoongi decided he was going to work on another project. You decided to go out on the back porch and give him some privacy. 

The rest of the evening Yoongi didn’t feel anymore of that warm buzzing sensation he had felt since his arrival. You had stayed on the back porch until it became dark to give him a break. You were so afraid earlier that you were going to scare him off. Usually you couldn’t wait for the guests to leave because they were annoying, but you wanted him to stay. He was nice and quiet, and cute, and working on your song, and cute. And oh my goodness, you thought listening to yourself. You had a crush on this guy. Ugh. You didn’t even know ghosts could get crushes. You sighed, once again bemoaning the fact that being dead was standing in your way. You didn’t get the chance to date much when you were alive. You went straight from University to writing music up at the lake. You thought your love life could wait until you had established your career more. Just another thing you had been wrong about. You sighed as you re-entered the cottage and saw Yoongi still sitting at his computer jamming away with his headphones on. Did he ever stop working?

Yoongi had worked on several projects that afternoon and was feeling very satisfied with the progress he had made. The earlier piano incident left him feeling a little skittish, especially now that it was dark outside. He wasn’t easily frightened, but as he thought back to the past two days, several incidents were very strange. He didn’t believe in ghosts. He told himself. Over and over again. Probably a little too much for someone to not actually believe in ghosts. He reached over to the piano stand and took the picture off the stand, sitting it down on the desk and running a finger down it.

If Barley was alive, he would be a very old dog by now, Yoongi thought. He wondered if the woman’s parents were the people renting out the lakehouse. He would have to have the Agency contact them and ask about her in a delicate manner so he could give them the documents.  Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He would usually make some coffee and continue working, but he found himself unusually tired and not particularly wanting to sit in the living room full of wide open windows and wide open spaces. He took his phone and a drink into the bedroom. There. If you’re under the covers, ghosts can’t get you, He found himself thinking. I’m so stupid. There’s no such thing as ghosts. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” He said out loud, like that made it more real. You just laughed. Yoongi froze. That tinkling sound again. Ok. It was time to pull the sheet over his head and go to bed. Which he did. 

You felt bad and resolved that tomorrow you would be quiet, and not touch him, and not have impure thoughts about him. You would try so very hard. But, for a few minutes, you were going to watch him sleep. Just a little. Ghosts are allowed to be a little creepy.

Day 3

Yoongi woke up around 9 in the morning. It was raining outside. He felt his shoulder ache; the joint affected by weather ever since his accident. He groaned. He was hoping to take the rowboat out today but it would have to wait. He stayed in bed for a while, checking his phone even though he knew the reception made it almost useless. 

He walked out to the kitchen and started to make the coffee without thinking. Wait a minute. He hadn’t set the coffee and filter out. He knew he hadn’t. And yet when he came out, the carafe, water, filter, and coffee were all laid out in a nice row.

See? You didn’t want to be creepy or scary. You wanted to be helpful. Yoongi let out a deep sigh, trying to fill himself up with bravery. “Whoever is here needs to stop messing with me. My head is fucked up enough without thinking I’m actually going crazy as well.”

Oh. You thought the coffee would make him happy but instead it had made him upset. You pouted. What could you do to make him not afraid? It was difficult being a ghost. You walked over to the piano and decided to play a nice happy song for him. Something not scary at all. You began to play the tune of “You are my Sunshine.” No one could be scared of that song. No one. Except apparently Yoongi was.

“Ahhh….” he let out a tiny scared sound. He looked over at the piano playing by itself and covered his ears and headed for the front door. He opened it and stepped outside into the rain. Shit. Shit. The piano is playing by itself. He thought. Shit. It’s raining. No. It’s pouring. The awning over the front door was very small. He ran over to the car to try and get inside but he had locked it. He scolded himself. This was the country, why the hell did he lock his car? Who was going to take it. Shit. He couldn’t walk anywhere else. He would have to go inside and get the car keys. He walked back to the front door and pulled on the knob. It was locked. SHIT he had also locked the bottom lock out of habit last night and hadn't unlocked it in his haste to get out of the house. Wet, scared Yoongi paused for a moment and laughed. This was ridiculous. The whole situation. He wiped his wet face with his hands and ran his fingers through his soaking wet hair.

You sat there feeling very sad. You had just tried to help. You felt like the two of you really shared a connection through the music, and he had talked to you, and you sat out coffee for him, and played a very cute song. Why was he being such a scaredy cat? And why was he still outside? It was pouring and his car keys were sitting on the fireplace mantle. A minute later you got your answer as you saw a very wet Yoongi at the back door. He was absolutely soaked. 

Yoongi arrived at the back porch. Surely he hadn’t locked all of the sliding glass doors. He looked in through the windows and was shocked to see the profile of a girl sitting at the piano. Oh God. There was someone actually in the house. What if the girl wasn’t the only one? What the hell was going on? Yoongi felt his heart beat racing in his ears.

You got up, slightly annoyed by the fact he would rather be in the pouring rain than hang out with you and walked over to the door, opening it ever so slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t notice and think it was the wind. Or maybe he believed in ghosts now, you sighed.

Yoongi watched the woman through the fogged up windows walk over towards him and open the door just a crack. He heard her let out a deep sigh like he was being annoying. He opened the door the rest of the way and slowly walked inside.

“Wow you look even better when you are soaking wet,” you mused from your spot by the fireplace mantle.

Yoongi shook his hair out of his face and looked over at you, “Thanks, but who are you and why are you here….” His eyes widened as he was finally able to see clearly.

Your eyes also grew wider and you looked behind you to make sure he wasn’t speaking to anyone else. You looked back at him, “You can see me?”

Yoongi slowly nodded his head. The woman definitely looked like she could be twins with [y/n] from the photograph. “Of course I can, you’re ogling me from the fireplace.”

[uwua3]

still with you (dandelion wishes).

🌸📝🌻🎨 minagi tsuzuru x miyoshi kazunari

summary: kazunari wishes on a dandelion for a wish that would never come true

warnings: break–ups, fake relationships, heartbreak, loneliness, unrequited love

author’s note: here’s some tsuzukazu angst! listened to this song and was reminded of [redacted] & had to take it out some way or another :) not a happy ending, forewarning (btw removed a verse)

your self worth is not based on if someone romantically loves you!!! it’s okay to be single, you don’t have to be in love 24/7 to be worth it to someone ♡ i hope you love yourself as much as you love others!

word count: 3,657

music: still with you – jungkook (bts) (please listen to this ♡ i’ve had this on repeat for almost 9 hours now TT)

YOUR THIN VOICE THAT GRAZES JUST PAST ME,

WOULD YOU CALL MY NAME JUST ONCE MORE?

THOUGH I’M STILL STANDING HERE, BENEATH THE FROZEN SUNSET

STEP BY STEP, I WANT TO WALK TOWARDS YOU

STILL WITH YOU

“Say my name.”

Kazunari begged, forcing Tsuzuru to look at him. Whatever they had, had been going on for too long, he knew that, but Kazunari wasn’t ready for it to end. Not now, not when this relationship they faked had become so real.

Tsuzuru shook his head, about to shake him off with force but Kazunari held onto his face, hands cupped around his cheeks like a lover would do. Tsuzuru stared in horror as Kazunari’s teary, red eyes peered back at him, his hands shaking against his skin, the uneven breathing pattern between Kazunari’s hidden sobs, it was too much to bear. How could he have let this happen? Why didn’t he say no?

“I–If you mean it, say it. Say my name.” Kazunari pleaded, smiling sadly when he gently wiped away a tear that had escaped Tsuzuru’s rapidly blinking eyes. Even though there was supposed to be no feelings between them, it broke their hearts to even be seeing each other like this. How could this have gone too far? Could he even speak right now?

Tsuzuru reached his hand up, placing it against Kazunari’s as if about to hold it for old time’s sake. But, before Tsuzuru could let himself embrace Kazunari selfishly, he pushed Kazunari’s hand down to his side with a firm ‘no’. Kazunari retracted his touch, stumbling back as if he had been physically pushed. He knew he was about to hear it, to witness the end of everything they had been through—

“Kazunari,” Tsuzuru started but stopped. Kazunari admired the way he glowed in the golden hour one last time, letting the tears stream freely down his face as he attempted a smile, but it was flawed and broken, just like their relationship. Tsuzuru wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to console him, take him home like none of this ever happened, but they could never go back to how things were before. It was impossible, it was too late to take it all back.

“I love you, Tsuzu—”

“I don’t love you, Kazunari.”

Silence.

“Did you ever?”

Then, Kazunari took a step forward, his arm reaching out, wishing for Tsuzuru to stay. But, nothing could have changed what just happened.

Tsuzuru ran off, leaving Kazunari to stand by himself with a mess he couldn’t fix at the pier that summer sunset afternoon.

IN THIS DARK ROOM, WITHOUT A SINGLE LIGHT

I SHOULDN’T GET USED TO THIS, BUT IT BECOMES FAMILIAR ONCE MORE

Kazunari could never handle being alone for too long, perhaps this was punishment for starting this in the first place. The light flickered above his head before shutting off completely, subjecting Kazunari to the tidal waves of the night as nothing but moonlight illuminated his surfaces. By the time he had arrived, Tsuzuru was no where to be seen. Gone, never the same ever again.

By now, they were supposed to be getting ready for bed, about to turn in early because Kazunari knew he was the only person who could make Tsuzuru close his eyes. They’d be tangled in their sheets, wanting nothing more than to be in each other’s embrace, whispering about anything with muffled laughter echoing between their four walls. They’d wake up together, and end the day together as always. Now, the truth was out. There was nothing to lie about anymore, nothing to pretend everything was alright for.

Kazunari laid alone that night, listening for a sound that Tsuzuru was still alive. Something just to prove to him he was real, wasn’t a figment of his crazy imagination, someone he truly did ruin everything with. Restless, Kazunari listened to the beat of the rain against his window pane as he left Tsuzuru’s side of the bed open, just in case he decided to come back.

Kazunari’s eyes fluttered closed, despite his best efforts to stay awake as the clock ticked onward, on and on without stop. It was true—Tsuzuru hadn’t come back for him.

I CAN HEAR THE SOFT HUMMING, THE SOUND OF THE AIR CONDITIONER

IF I DON’T EVEN HAVE THIS RHYTHM, I TRULY FEEL LIKE I MAY FALL APART

Kazunari woke up to the sound of endless typing, the rapid smashing of keys that only his ex–boyfriend could produce at an alarming rate. It was louder than the rain at this hour, and this was the scene where Kazunari would persuade him to come back to bed, the blankets warm and distance between them non–existent. But, Tsuzuru was a floor below, typing as if his life depended on it. He would stay up again, again and again every night without sleep until he finished whatever he was working on.

Kazunari pushed himself out of bed, blinking the tiredness away as he stumbled out of his room, not bothering to hide his exhaustion as Kazunari carried his pillow to Room 102. He leaned his ear against the door quietly, sinking to the floor once he heard Tsuzuru’s small remarks to himself when fixing grammatical errors. It was so... like him, that Kazunari just hugged his pillow closer and shut his eyes.

Kazunari wondered if Tsuzuru was writing about him, and what he could’ve been saying if that was the case. Kazunari knew what he’d already write, he already said it.

‘I’m in love with my best friend who could never love me back,’ Kazunari thought, feeling the cold dusk air brush past him as his back faced the courtyard, placing his pale hand against the door. The typing didn’t stop, even hours later as Kazunari finally stood up, shuffling back to his room. He looked over his shoulder, as if praying Tsuzuru would step outside so they could talk it over.

But, what was there to talk about except Kazunari caught feelings for someone who didn’t? That was rejection, plain and simple. Wrong feelings, wrong time, that’s all. Was that all there was, though?

About to walk away, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Kazunari squatted down, picking at a weed growing at the corner of the pavement as it rustled in the wind. Plucking it from its roots, Kazunari tried to maintain a smile as he recognized the puffiness of the flower, a flower that just had to be growing outside of Tsuzuru’s door: a dandelion.

Making a wish, Kazunari blew on the dandelion and watched his wish fly into the sky as the night carried it far, far away.

Kazunari left the stem in front of Tsuzuru’s door.

LAUGHING TOGETHER, AND IN TEARS TOGETHER

IT MIGHT BE THAT THESE SIMPLE EMOTIONS, WERE EVERYTHING TO ME

Kazunari remembered the beginning of the end, how an innocent request had ended their years of friendship together. It was so late, where Kazunari was finishing up an university project as Tsuzuru was revising the final script for the upcoming Mankai production. He remembered looking up from his screen behind him, about to say something to disturb the peace but Kazunari couldn’t bring himself to.

Tsuzuru was already looking down at him, his fingers hovering above the keyboard mid–air. He seemed honest this time, his face bared with such fondness that his teal eyes were unintentionally staring. How long had Tsuzuru been looking at him like that? It must have been the tiredness, the lack of sleep for countless days as Tsuzuru’s half–open eyes were drooping lazily, a blissful, dreamy smile across his usual uptight expression.

“Date me.” Kazunari blurted out, shocking Tsuzuru awake as he stumbled to sit up straight, about to protest with the utmost confusion and denial. Before Tsuzuru could begin ranting about the situation at hand, Kazunari laughed as he stretched, yawning slightly with a humurous glance at Tsuzuru’s flustered expression.

“Don’t be so surprised, Tsuzuroon~ You know how I’ve been talking about wanting a boyfriend forever now.” Kazunari teased, pushing back to nudge Tsuzuru’s leg like friends would. He had been sitting besides Tsuzuru’s chair, leaning his head against the man’s thighs as he propped his laptop up on his own knees. Kazunari missed the way Tsuzuru spluttered, about to defend himself before Kazunari stood up, moving to stand behind his chair with his hands on Tsuzuru’s tense shoulders. Upon contact, Tsuzuru relaxed slightly as Kazunari leaned his lips besides Tsuzuru’s ear, smiling tiredly.

“We’re two college students who don’t have anything going on, right? I’m in need of romance, and you won’t have to worry about catching feelings for me, it can even be fake if you want.” Kazunari whispered, whether it was to avoid waking up the whole dorm or send a shiver running down Tsuzuru’s spine, who knows. Tsuzuru just gulped, trying his best to focus on the blinking cursor on his digital screen as his thoughts ran a mile a minute. The offer to be close with one another without the official commitment was so strange, it completely short–circuited his thinking process.

After a momentary lack of response, Kazunari just let out a small laugh without any sign of embarrassment. Just how often had he thought about this? “Think about it, okay?” Kazunari hummed, pulling back to go sit back down before a hand grabbed his wrist, yanking him towards Tsuzuru’s bewildered face, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

The distance between them was next to nothing, and Kazunari waited as Tsuzuru found the right words, holding onto Kazunari as if he had to say it. Kazunari leaned over him, his wrist between them as Tsuzuru’s grip loosened like he had become aware of how, friendly this contact was.

“O–Okay.” Tsuzuru finally said, nodding as if to convince himself this wasn’t a weird scenario at all. Kazunari lifted his eyebrows in surprise, about to question Tsuzuru’s indecisiveness before Tsuzuru let go, letting Kazunari stand up to his full height. Tsuzuru cleared his throat awkwardly, as if their dynmamic had changed in an instant.

“Okay?” Kazunari asked, tilting his head slightly to gaze upon Tsuzuru’s flushed cheeks and stubborn pout upon his lips. It was so innocent of him, Kazunari could have imagined themselves not as their current university selves, but back then in elementary when they first met. Tsuzuru just nodded again, about to go back to typing before he held his fist out, his pinky lifted in the air.

“No feelings, right?” Tsuzuru confirmed, and Kazunari made the biggest mistake of his life that night, immediately looping his pinky finger with Tsuzuru’s as a promise.

“No feelings. Just two friends having the benefits of a super not official, non–commital relationship!” Kazunari joked, making Tsuzuru slightly huff out a laugh as they let go, perhaps holding onto each other’s pinkies for a bit too long. Kazunari sat on the floor again and resumed his work, Tsuzuru doing the same as the two shared each other’s company for the first time as “boyfriends”.

That pinky promise was the first to be broken in their newfound, fake relationship. Kazunari had fallen in love with his best friend who he knew would never feel anything back, and the rest was history.

I WONDER WHEN IT MAY BE, WERE I TO MEET YOU ONCE MORE

I’D WANT TO LOOK INTO YOUR EYES AND TELL YOU, I MISSED YOU

How could you move on from someone you weren’t even dating, to begin with?

Kazunari hadn’t even interacted with Tsuzuru in weeks. No looks were exchanged, no intimate touches only they’d do to each other, no more late nights together. How had this fake relationship idea Kazunari started backfire on him in the most catastrophic way possible? That was the number one rule they discussed, to tell the other person immediately if they felt anything.

Kazunari remembered the first time he told Tsuzuru he liked him much more than this convenient set–up allowed him to. It was at night again, after becoming familiar with the boundaries (or lack of) they had set up during a round of drinks, as Kazunari mindlessly played with Tsuzuru’s fingers. He had resorted to typing with one hand, letting Kazunari get his skin–on–skin fix as he just played with his hand like some cat. Tsuzuru was about to say something, turning his head but stopping to stare into Kazunari’s half–lidded eyes and lazy grin.

“Hi, Tsuzuroon.” Kazunari slurred together, placing a gentle kiss upon Tsuzuru’s knuckles casually, missing the way Tsuzuru flinched from the intimate contact. He guessed he did agree to this, just to appease Kazunari’s intense need to be clingy 24/7. But, Tsuzuru wasn’t aware it would feel so real, the kisses, the hugs, the hand–holding, it was all different now.

“Hello?” Tsuzuru said in a questioning tone before Kazunari moved in closer, barely a millimeter away as he seemed drunk under this light. Flushed face with unfocusing eyes, but with the same smile he reserved only for Tsuzuru.

“Tsuzu, why haven’t we kissed yet?” Kazunari rasped, his breath smelling like the fruity sojus he liked so much. Tsuzuru tensed, unable to answer. A moment passed, and Kazunari just kept smiling with no care in the world, moving to sit on his lap and blocking Tsuzuru’s view of the computer. It was like Kazunari purposely planned to take away all his attention tonight, not caring about the consequences.

“I want to kiss you, but,” Kazunari mumbled, wrapping his arms around Tsuzuru’s neck without restraint. Tsuzuru felt Kazunari brush his hair down, his nimble artist fingers threading through his messy bedhead carefully, like he could stop any time with just a single word. Kazunari’s breath on his neck made Tsuzuru want to pull him closer, but stopped himself, instead gripping the base of his chair with a frown.

“But?” Tsuzuru continued, watching Kazunari blink, gazing through his eyelashes with no shame, no filter whatsoever.

“But, I might fall in love with you.”

Tsuzuru let Kazunari lean in, Kazunari’s fear apparent through the way he ran his hands through Tsuzuru’s hair, keeping a safe distance between them regardless of the precarious situation. Right before he pressed his lips against Tsuzuru’s, Kazunari let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“Stop me.”

Tsuzuru didn’t, and they both made a mistake that night. They never talked about it even though it violated their first rule. They would keep making every mistake until it caught up to them.

Kazunari picked his head up at the sound of someone at the kitchen entrance, escaping his memory as he turned his head towards Tsuzuru, who was sleepily staring at him. As if he couldn’t believe Kazunari was real, like he was just a dream hidden away at 3 A.M. The two boys looked back at one another, Kazunari sitting on a stool by the island as Tsuzuru gripped the door frame. Nothing but the moon was there to witness it all.

Kazunari was the first to leave, passing by to push a cup of fresh coffee in Tsuzuru’s hands, just the way he liked it. They didn’t say a word, there was nothing to say.

Except, Kazunari thought, I miss you.

WITHIN THE MEMORIES THAT ONCE SHINED

THOUGH I DANCE ALONE, THE RAIN STILL FALLS

WHEN THIS FOG CLEARS, I’LL RUN TOWARDS YOU WITH MY FEET WET

PLEASE HUG ME THEN

It was raining. Kazunari was soaking wet, his clothes he didn’t change out of clinging to his skin as it weighed him down, his hand hovering above the door. It was much too late to be outside, the rain slapping against the courtyard ground repetitively, his senses going into overdrive at the sounds surrounding the usually quiet night.

Kazunari was staring at Room 102’s door, unable to pick up the sound of Tsuzuru typing over the weather. Was he finally sleeping? Did he drink coffee earlier that night like he always did? Kazunari doubted he was taking care of himself, Tsuzuru never could sleep well at any time of the day, and he just wanted to come inside already. But, Kazunari knew he couldn’t, not after everything.

Kazunari selfishly wanted to re–enter Tsuzuru’s life again, be happy with his role as the best boyfriend ever with no strings attached. But, Kazunari’s heart beat faster when Tsuzuru simply looked at him, his attention was only focused on Tsuzuru even if he couldn’t have him, and his feet automatically led him to Tsuzuru’s dorm room late at night until he couldn’t handle it anymore. Kazunari was so in love with his best friend, someone who could never love him back, and his heart refused to accept it.

So, here he was, shivering from the cold and trying to muster all the courage in the world to just knock. To smooth over the situation, to fix the mess they had created from Kazunari’s unrequited feelings, just to be friends again. But, could they really go back to normal? After all those sleepless hours together, just wishing it could never end even though the whole thing was a set–up. Would it be better off to not hurt their delicate predicament even more, and just leave it be?

Kazunari was about to leave, turn around, and go back to his room like he did every night. Except, a yellow sliver of light escaped from the door cracked open, with Tsuzuru’s sleepy eyes readjusting to the brightness that was Kazunari. They both froze, unexpectedly finding themselves staring at each other with no motivation to move.

As the rain fell, Kazunari watched as Tsuzuru hesitated, his hand holding the door knob with uncertainity as if to let him in or not.

When Tsuzuru decided to shake his head and close the door, Kazunari’s tears felt like the rain.

IF I JUST KNEW,

THAT THIS WOULD COME TO HAPPEN

I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT TO KEEP IN MY HEART

MORE FROM THOSE DAYS, MORE FROM THOSE MOMENTS

Kazunari believed, foolishly believed for a second, maybe Tsuzuru loved him back. It was all the times they were caught exchanging moments like Cupid had struck them with the same arrow. Where Tsuzuru didn’t question if Kazunari faked being sick for the attention (he wasn’t), just gave him a piggy back ride even if he admitted Kazunari wasn’t exactly light. Tsuzuru let him hold on, like he was Kazunari’s actual boyfriend who really did care. Kazunari’s face was flushed for a different reason by the time they arrived back at camp.

Tsuzuru liked planning impromptu dates, blindfolding Kazunari and leading him to a perfectly arranged picnic at the park they frequented so much. Tsuzuru let Kazunari take care of his four little brothers, the younger ones convinced they were going to get married, even going trick & treating together. Tsuzuru began posing for pictures before Kazunari even had time to whip out his smartphone, already warming up to the idea of his boyfriend being social media obsessed and posted all the couple pictures in the world. Tsuzuru even liked reciting lines with him, practicing until the early hours of dawn with the newest script tight in his hand, emoting the character he wrote flawlessly. Kazunari would just watch, wondering how he got so lucky, and how long his luck would last.

Tsuzuru always claimed it was for the ‘script experience’, to further understand romance and write even better plays. But sometimes, Kazunari thought the character monologue about being in love sounded so familiar, so real, that it hurt him. Hearing it from another actor, but knowing his boyfriend was the one who wrote them, but not for him, was painful. Perhaps, Kazunari should have realized it, that Tsuzuru was just following the rules: being romantic so he’d improve as a playwright. But instead, Kazunari was blinded by his own emotions. He was too in love with someone who never could.

Kazunari wondered if he had fallen in love with a person who he imagined, not the true essence of who Tsuzuru was. But, he remembered all their time together, the memories, the experiences both old and new, and every little thing that made up Kazunari’s love. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t keep lying to himself anymore, Kazunari was in love.

In love, in love, in love; how unlucky.

But, was it all acting, then? Kazunari was walking somewhere, with urgency in his steps as he kept on going. He remembered every time where he looked up from his work, seeing Tsuzuru admire his rare solemn expression and later penning a description of beauty within silence. Closed his eyes and could see every moment where Tsuzuru leaned in too close and held his hand for far too long in any situation, initiating contact that was almost too personal, borderline breaking the rules. Was all of that, throughout their entire contract, as fake as their relationship?

Kazunari stopped at the pier, the pier where he soberly confessed he was in love with his best friend. Kazunari took in the sunset once again, seeing how it truly never went away. About to move on, Kazunari caught sight of someone standing in the same spot he got rejected from. As Kazunari took a step closer, Tsuzuru didn’t run away this time.

“I loved you.” Tsuzuru admitted without wasting his breath. Kazunari halted, finding himself in the same position all those months ago.

BEHIND THE FAINT SMILE YOU GAVE ME,

WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME, I WANT TO PAINT A BEAUTIFUL PURPLE LIGHT

THOUGH THE PACE OF OUR FOOTSTEPS MAY NOT ALWAYS BE THE SAME

I WANT TO WALK ALONG THIS PATH, TOGETHER WITH YOU

STILL WITH YOU

“You love me?”

“I... I, once did. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather be your friend forever, than your boyfriend just for a moment.”

“Tsuzuru?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Say it back.”

“I can’t, not anymore.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kazunari wish his dandelion wish came true.

[kallura-icedcoffee]

golden hour: haunted

A/N: Thanks for taking the journey with me during Kallura Month! Happy Halloween babes!

Shared Space

The realtor conveniently left out a lot of things…

The keys jingle in Keith’s hand as he slides it into the lock and turns. There’s a click and he pushes the door open.

“Welcome home Mrs. Kogane” Keith says sweetly before quickly sweeping his wife up in his arms to carry her across the threshold.

Allura squeals then erupts into giggles before begging him to put her down.

“Stop! Keep fooling around and you’re going to make this baby pop out early!” She slaps his arm before bringing her hands to her round belly and rubbing it.

Their large husky Kosmo runs back and forth in the front yard.

He takes one of her hands, kisses it, before they both look around at their new home, the start of their new life.

DAY 3

“I think the heater’s broken” Allura says nonchalantly as she stands at the stove making scrambled eggs.

“Hmm?” Keith looks up from his laptop at the dining room table.

“The heater is broken. It was absolutely freezing last night. I went to the bathroom and I could practically see my breath.”

“Oh, sorry baby, I’ll look into it and if I can’t figure it out I’ll call someone.”

“Thank you honey.”

DAY 7

Keith paints the walls in the soon-to-be nursery, taking a moment to wipe his brow. He turns to change the song on the stereo when he sees Allura pass by the door out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey honey can you get me some water? Honey?”

He pokes his head out the door to see her standing at the window at the end of the hallway, her back to him. She’s in a long pink dress he’s never seen before, but then again her closet is filled with clothes he hasn’t seen yet. She loves a good sale.

“Honey?”

He walks toward her. She’s unmoving, won’t acknowledge him.

“Hey space cadet I’m talking to you.”

He reaches out to touch her shoulder.

“Darling I made some lemonade with lavender. Do you want some?” Allura says as she comes up the stairs.

Keith whips around at the sound of her voice behind him. When he looks forward nothing is there. He looks back at Allura, face pale. She’s holding two glasses of lemonade. She’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt with her hair in a messy high bun.

“Are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I uh…heh, I’m fine.” He smiles and walks toward her.

DAY 16

Allura stands in the kitchen unpacking additional dishes. She realizes in that moment that they have far too many mugs. She smiles at Keith’s “Fuck Mondays” cup and goes to put it on the shelf. A pair of hands slide around her stomach, a nose nestles in her neck.

“Hi” she says playfully.

“Hi.” He kisses her skin. His voice is deep, rough.

She hums contently as he continues to drag his lips along her shoulder, pressing his body against hers. She can feel his want of her digging into her backside.

Allura licks her lips, bites them.

“Really? Right now? This what got us into this mess in the first place” she jokes and places her free hand over his on her tummy.

“What got us into this mess in the first place?” Keith asks as he stands in the doorway. He seems to be getting more paint on himself than the walls.

Allura gasps and drops the mug and it shatters at her feet. Keith rushes to her side, pushing her gently away so she won’t step on the ceramic fragments.

“Baby are you ok?”

Allura wrings her now trembling hands as she looks frantically about the room.

“I…but you were just…It was you, I heard your voice, I felt you.”

“What?” He looks up at her with concern.

Allura shakes her head and refuses to speak on it further.

DAY 21

“It’s not a bad feeling necessarily, it’s just…an unusual feeling that’s all. There’s something in this house. I can feel it” Allura says while they sit in bed, resting a cross stitch she was making for baby’s room on her stomach.

“Look I’ll admit some weird shit has happened, but I don’t think I’m ready to call a priest just yet, that’s all I’m saying.” Keith adjusts his glasses and puts down his book.

Keith does his best to reassure her before bed and she sleeps snuggling in his arms with Kosmo curled up at their feet. They wake up to their bedroom door open. They could’ve sworn they closed it the night before.

DAY 30

The minor renovations are done and, with Shiro’s help the day before, they’ve put together the crib, assembled the furniture and the nursery is ready for decorating. The boxes of the baby’s items are in the basement which Allura curses at herself for putting there given the events of the past month. She could just ask Keith but she doesn’t want to look like a baby herself so she goes down alone. Luckily most of the boxes are right by the bottom of the stairs so she won’t have to go far.

Allura hasn’t really been in the basement at any length, she hasn’t looked around. There was some left over furniture and boxes from the previous tenants that they never took with them and she grumbles that they left so much that she will now have to arrange to be removed.

As she sits on the bottom step rifling through boxes, figuring out which one to bring up first, a crash comes from the back of the room behind some shelves as if something has fallen over. She jumps at the sudden sound. Her heart is pounding when suddenly Kosmo shows himself, hanging his head when he’s knows he’s gotten into trouble.

“Oh thank god!” Allura sighs with relief and places a hand over her heart.

She gets up and goes to the pup, petting his head.

“Ok what did you break?” She asks and, as if he understands her question, he leads her to the scene of the crime.

There’s an old jewelry box turned over on the ground, its contents spilled everywhere.

“Way to go.” She reprimands her fur son and kneels down to clean up the mess.

As she goes to put the box back she looks up.

Keith is washing his hands in the kitchen sink when he hears her screaming his name in a way that sends fear ripping through him. He bounds down the basement staircase, skipping steps as he goes and finds her in the back, tucked behind a wall of shelves with Kosmo by her side.

“Lu what’s wron-” He tries to comfort her but his words die in his throat as he notices what she’s staring at.

A painting sits propped up on an old dresser. It looks old, covered in dust and cobwebs. A lone soft yellow bulb shines down on it as if it was a gallery art piece.

It’s a portrait of couple. His hair is black as night, her hair white as snow. She sits, while he stands with his hand on her shoulder. Their clothes are dated, something out of the 1920s. Her dress is pink. A dress Keith has seen before. She’s very, very pregnant.

“What is this?” Allura can barely speak above a whisper, a single tear falls down her cheek. She can’t stop shaking.

Keith doesn’t have an answer. What could he possibly tell her as they look upon this painting that’s more like looking in a mirror? His blood feels like ice.

They stand there, frozen, not realizing they’re currently being watched. They have been watched for some time now.

Just turn around…

This house has been waiting for them.  

They have been waiting for them.

To come home.

We’re together and where ever we go after this we’ll be together there too…

AO3 LINK

[imaginesfordayss]

Merry Christmas Kylo

Imaginesfordayss 25 Days of Christmas Challenge Day 19 Coffee Shop AU

Word count: 1.9k Warning(s): none

You walked in, bag slung over your shoulder, boots dripping with melted snow. You took your usual seat next to the window, pulling your laptop out and walking to the counter while you waited for your word document to load on the screen.

You expected poe or finn behind the counter but instead found yourself staring at the back of a very tall, dark haired man. He was reaching for a new bag of coffee beans from the highest shelf, you remembered how Poe always had to step on a chair to get to them.

You cleared your throat, making your presence known to him. He turned quickly staring you down with a frown plastered on his mouth. It took you a second of gawking at him to realize who he was. You’d seen him a few times when you’d spent the night at Rey’s stumbling through the halls late at night or running out the door in the morning. Ben, no Kylo, whatever he was calling himself these days. Rey had told you that her parents sent Kylo to some sort of military camp to ‘straighten’ him out. She had failed to mention that he was back..and that he was no longer the lanky kid from middle school, he had grown nearly two feet, and even under the worn out sweater he wore you could tell he’d started working out.

Unwillingly, you smiled at him batting your eyes like you normally would when you flirted. Kylo’s expression didn’t change, though a hint of recognition flashed across his features. He continued to stare as if expecting something, it was then that you realized he didn’t have your order memorized like your friends did.

“I, uh, yeah can I get a Dagobah Green tea and a chocolate croissant.”

“You look different.” He stated bluntly.

“So do you.” He smirked at that, turning to prepare your drink. The routine continued on in similar fashion for the rest of the week. He never said more than a few words to you, usually making a sarcastic comment on your behalf. And you weren’t even sure why but you found yourself interested in him. Well, attracted to him. Rey thought it was both hilarious and disgusting; she claimed that she always thought he liked you.

By the seventh day of coming to the Resistance cafe, Kylo already had your order waiting for you when you walked in the door. It was something you were used to when Finn and Poe worked a few shifts before the semester started and yet when Kylo did it, you felt just a tad giddy. It meant that he thought of you, at least somewhat.

On the ninth day, you had been running late. Professor Kenobi had assigned yet another essay on understanding and analyzing sacred texts and you’d spent two extra hours in the computer lab trying to get it done before midnight, so here you were racing over to the cafe as if your life depended on it. Once you’d made it there, you realized they were close to closing time, you went in anyway. Kylo was behind the counter as usual scrubbing down the displays. The bell above the door alerted him to your presence.

“Your drink is cold.”

“Oh that’s okay, I can take it to go.” You approached hesitantly, you tried and failed to keep yourself from ogling him. He’d worn a black t-shirt, one that seemed to be trying to break free from his body, it had to be at least a size too small. Your eyes looked at him from head to toe, noticing his slightly disheveled hair and wondering what it’d be like to run your hands through it. You hadn’t even noticed he had replied until a few moments later. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, making eye contact with him. “I, uh, what was that?”

“I said, I can heat it up for you..if you want.” You nodded a bit too vigorously at his suggestion, silently chastising yourself for acting like such a lovesick teenager. Kylo walked forward stopping a foot away from you, your breath caught in your throat. You remembered you were holding your cup. You held your hand out to him.

“That would be great thanks.” His fingers brushed against yours as he lifted the cup from your hand, the fleeting contact sent a shockwave through your system. And then he did something you swore you only imagined, he smiled at you. Not the normal retail worker smile but a genuine smile, a look you’d never seen on him before. It was gentle and sweet and you were certain you’d pay any amount of money to see him smile at you like that for the rest of your life.

You sat down momentarily, twiddling with your thumbs while you waited for your drink. The silence wasn’t awkward like you’d thought it’d be; though it was just the two of you in the darkly lit shop, you felt no need to fill the silence with small talk. He walked over a few minutes later, drink in one hand and his jacket in the other, you remembered he’d been closing up when you came in. You walked out together and to your surprise, it had begun snowing in the short time you had been inside. You smiled lifting your hand to catch a snowflake, it was the first snow of the season.

Kylo stood behind you watching you enjoy yourself, personally he hated the holiday season but for the last few days he’d been welcoming it; he wouldn’t admit that it was because of you. You seemed to bring out the best in him, or more accurately a better side in him.

“Do you want a ride home?” He spoke gently, trying not to startle you. You turned, smiling at him brightly and nodded. The drive was quiet, you found yourself shuffling through his various CD’s wanting to know what types of things he was into. You were surprised to find that he had a similar music taste to yours, you stored that information away for later. You stepped out of the car turning back towards him.

“Thank you Kylo, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he smiled again, “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The next week continued the same way, you generally stayed at the cafe till closing anyway except now whenever you packed up and got ready to go, Kylo was there with a refill on your green tea and his car keys. You weren’t exactly sure what this little arrangement meant but you enjoyed it, you enjoyed spending time with him a lot more than you expected you would.

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?” The question caught him a bit off guard, he paused before answering.

“Probably not...I’m not close with my parents, i’m sure you know that. I’m closing at the cafe that day anyway..” He trailed off. You frowned staring at the window, everyone deserved to have a good christmas.

You hadn’t been able to make it to the cafe the day of Christmas eve, you were way too busy getting last minute shopping done combined with trying not to stress yourself out in regards to what you were planning for tomorrow.

Christmas morning came and went like it always did with your family. Being woken by your siblings, dragging yourself out of bed for presents, your mother already cooking Christmas dinner though it was barely past morning. You were finally able to slip out of the house a few hours later, covering yourself in more layers than you needed to make it through the snow to Rey’s house. The Solo’s were noticeably different in their own traditions but as always they greeted you with a smile. Their rustic home was filled to the brim with guests, mostly old friends from the military. Rey had told you stories about her parents meeting during the war, over the years you’d met almost everyone mentioned in those stories.

You made your way upstairs eventually, finding Poe, Finn, Rose, and Rey huddled on Rey’s bed watching movies. You handed them each of their presents, watching eagerly as they all opened them. That was your favorite part about Christmas, the giving; more than anything you made it your goal to get presents that would bring a smile to someone’s face. This year had been particularly difficult. The last box in your bag seemed to weigh a thousand times more now that you were thinking about it.

You stayed for a while longer, drinking Leia’s famous hot cocoa and catching up with the others about how their semester had gone. You and Rey had stayed in state for college while Rose, Finn, and Poe had chosen to attend a school nearly halfway across the country. Eventually, the sun was beginning to set and you knew it was time.

You declined your father’s offer of borrowing his car in favor of walking to the cafe, you were only mildly regretting it now that it had begun snowing. By the time you got to the door, your hands were shaking frantically, both from the cold and the nerves.

Yet again the cafe was empty which wasn’t really a surprise, you were probably the only person that spent their time here almost 24/7. Kylo was reading when you walked in, his head snapped up, eyes locking with yours. His shoulders relaxed, an easy smile finding its way onto his face.

“Thought you wouldn’t make it.” He said.

“Well I knew you wouldn’t be home and I had to give you your present.” His eyes widened slightly.

“What?”

“Your, uhm, present, because it’s Christmas.”

“You got me a present?”

“Well not exactly...just, here.” You reached in your bag pulling out a small red box, green ribbon tied neatly around it. It had taken you almost an hour to perfect the tie. You walked forward, placing it in his hands. For a moment he just stared at the box in disbelief. You looked down at your hands picking at the skin around your nails anxiously. He set down the box carefully untying it, and lifting the lid.

Inside sat a CD, a list of songs you’d compiled over the few weeks you’d spent at the cafe with him. Each of them reminded you of him, some were simply songs you thought he would enjoy, and others you’d chosen to describe how you felt about him. On the CD itself you written a note, one that you hadn’t been sure was a good idea but you went for it anyway.

‘Will you go on a date with me?’

Kylo stared at it for a long while, which made your anxiety skyrocket. You couldn’t even look at him, you kept your eyes focused on the cursive writing on the CD. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore, you looked up at him to find he was already staring at you. His expression was unreadable and then all at once it wasn’t.

He smiled and then he moved from behind the counter and towards you, he leaned down, his lips catching yours in a soft kiss. You yelped as he picked you up spinning you around, once your feet were back on solid ground you stared up at him. “Is that a yes?”

“I thought that was obvious.” He replied with a chuckle.

“Merry Christmas, Kylo.”

[chogisad]

A Prayer For the Storm, a Shot of Vodka For the Fire | PT. 1

SUMMARY: The night the tank room collapses, everything changes. Some are searching for forgiveness, and some are searching for each other.

GENRE: Angst. POWERS AU. (WARNING: Brief mention of character deaths.)

Length: 3K.

TRAILER HERE

------ PART ONE  ------

Monday

Maracaibo is quiet for a Monday afternoon. The lights around the town begin to spring to life and Jongdae tells himself to enjoy the tranquility while it lasts. When summer starts, the streets will line with tourists and researchers, all hoping to experience Lake Maracaibo's "eternal storm."

On some days, Jongdae can see the lightning from his apartment's balcony. Its been months but every time, he becomes transfixed by the luminescent rays. They envelop the sky, over and over again, and on the bad days, when his own powers flare inside of him like thunder in the dead of night, they also help hide the way he loses control. On the bad days, when the electricity bursts out of him, Jongdae wishes he could be like Maracaibo; a sight to behold rather than terror and tragedy.

He walks the aging streets of his make-shift home. He's grateful for the Venezuelan color that helps him repress memories of ashen training rooms and botched simulations, of fires and flying, of telling Minseok to go on without him. It's all different here. It's quieter, so much that on the good days, Jongdae pretends he's safe. On the good days, Jongdae enjoys the persistent heat of Venezuela and forgets about how much he loved the frost of winter, and how beautiful Minseok looked with snow in his hair.

He finds a seat at one of the local bars and keeps his eyes down as he orders his drink.

"Quien estas tratando de olvidar?"

Jongdae stiffens at the sudden question, his heart clenching in cold fear. The glass is frozen midair as he gets caught under the gaze of the timeworn bartender, and Jongdae's vision blurs with panic.

"Estas tomando a las 7 de la tarde. Qual chica te daño?"

Jongdae almost cries with relief. The old man is simply making conversation, asking about the possible flame that broke his heart, rather than the stormy past he ran fast and far from. He smiles, hoping the other man did not register his overt alarm.

"La chica es la vida. Ya sabe como es," Jongdae replies, hoping he didn't trip over his gender pronouns too badly. The bartender nods solemnly but gives him an encouraging smile before placing another glass of whiskey in front of him.

"A la vida, mi chavo. Que un día nos sepa amar."

Jongdae drinks to that-- "to life, who may one day learn to love us."

Tuesday

Sehun checks his rearview mirror once, twice, three times in the course of five minutes. He takes a detour home, a different one every night, and parks down the street instead of in front of his building.

He takes the stairs instead of the lift. He checks to make sure the thin, unnoticeable ribbon is still in the door before he opens it. This is how he survives.

He only turns one light on at a time. The wooden floors of his flat creak under his weight; he likes it this way. Every step reminds him that he's still standing.

Sehun makes tea--three sugars-- and two slices of toast. He wanders alone in the darkness of his apartment until he reaches the right room. There's only a chair and a desk and the walls are papered with newspaper clippings and red marks, each pin pointing someone Sehun is trying to find.

He opens his laptop and stays illuminated in the fluorescent light of the screen.

"EUROPE - frost." He types into the search bar.

"NORTH AMERICA - floods."

"NORTH AMERICA - fires."

"ASIA - lightning."

Sehun takes notes in a worn journal. It's the eclectic collection of sketched dates and throwaway coordinates. Most of them are useless; only a few of them give him hope that one day he'll find his family.

Sehun showers and sits in the empty ringing of his living room. There's no furniture, only a blanket and a sheetless pillow. He tucks his knees under his chin and stares out the only window he left without a curtain. The blue haze from the city around him filters through the open blinds, and Sehun remembers nights they'd sit together in the dark, after a successful training session, and contain their powers to the palms of their hands.

Sehun loved the way lightning would dance across Jongdae's fingers. He remembers when they were younger, Jongdae would touch one of them and they'd all laugh as Minseok's or Yixing's or Jongin's long hair would stand on end.

Baekhyun knew how much they all hated the dark. He'd illuminate their dorm with orbs of light that'd twinkle brighter every time he laughed. Sehun remembers how Chanyeol would keep the room warm, and Baekhyun would keep it vibrant.

As they grew older and their powers strengthened, became more volatile, they became more weary of their abilities. After the fire, Jongdae stopped touching people. Minseok stopped making snowflakes. And Chanyeol was sent to sleep in his own room. After that, Baekhyun could never hold the light for very long outside of training rooms. The orbs would illuminate the space for a few minutes, but then they'd flicker and die out. They all grew accustomed to the darkness like that.

Before going to sleep, he fills a glass with water, and leaves it next to his makeshift bed, just like Junmyeon used to do. Sehun lays down on the hard floor. He tucks a tired arm under a tired head and tries to hold on to the memory of Junmyeon singing him to sleep. Sehun is afraid of all the people hunting him down. He's afraid of the things he's done, of everything he could still do. But despite the tragedy in his wake, Sehun is terrified he'll never find the people who learned to love a tempest storm.

Wednesday

Minseok often only remembers running. He remembers the tank room collapsing. He remembers the way pine needles raked at his skin and how he could count the sharp rocks embedding themselves further into his bare feet. The earth trembled underneath them; somewhere, Kyungsoo was determined to die before they took any of them again. He remembers tugging on Baekhyun so forcefully, remembers how the wind howled in his ears louder and louder as Sehun panicked someplace else in the forest.

Minseok comes home with groceries that night. Baekhyun is asleep on the couch and Minseok can't help but tuck the worn blanket tighter around the younger boy's shoulders. Baekhyun can't seem to ever get warm enough. He shivers on sunny days, and Minseok always feels like he isn't doing enough. He knows before, Baekhyun always had someone as warm as fire to go back to.

He tries to measure his steps as he makes dinner but Baekhyun wakes up eventually. He's ruffled hair and blanket around the shoulders and Minseok's heart softens. He makes Baekhyun tea and tells him about his day, about the new drink he tried at the coffee shop, about the little old lady he helped across the street. He keeps talking, forcing himself to fill the empty spaces Minseok created when he ran through the woods and away from the sounds of rushing water, away from the echoes of thunder.

He steps away from the stove, stops to take a breath, and meets Baekhyun's nervous smile. Before he can say anything else, Baekhyun's voice cuts across the kitchen counter; shaky but determined.

"There was another dust storm in Edinburgh." Baekhyun says, and Minseok's jaw clenches.

"Another earthquake in Colorado. And people are--"

"People are what, Baekhyun?" Minseok interjects, feeling the clench of his heart, knowing he always has to play the villain in these conversations. "Seeing a disappearing man in London? Another fire in Arizona? I don't know what you want me to--"

"I want you to help me fi--"

"Baekhyun, please--"

"These aren't coincidences! Minseok--"

"Look-- we just cant--"

"They could be waiting for--"

"There's other natural disasters out there besides us, Baekhyun!" Minseok snaps, too loud, too harsh, regretting it as soon as Baekhyun flinches and goes quiet.

"I need you to let me mourn them," Minseok mutters. He turns off the stove and retreats into the silence of his bedroom. He lays in the dark, his stomach twisting with guilt, and he falls asleep as the tears begin to dry on his pillow.

Hours later, he jolts awake to the first crack of thunder.

It sends him spiraling. He fists the bed sheets as his mind flickers through memories and he becomes entrapped to his own recollections.

Brown eyes and easy smile.

"Hi-- I'm Jongdae."

Static.

"I'm sorry."

Static.

"I can't always control it."

Static.

"Min, are we gonna die here?"

Static.

Junmyeon couldn't control the water and Luhan was drowning; they were all drowning. A gentle hand in his, shocking life back into his fading heart. The walls of the tank trembling.

''JONGDAE! JONGDAE!"

"GO! TAKE BAEKHYUN AND GO!"

"It's okay. It's okay. It'll pass." Baekhyun's gentle voice soothes him back to the present. Minseok clutches Baekhyun's hand under the covers, and squeezes his eyes shut as the entire room blazes with the first bolt of lightning. These storms always trigger memories Minseok tries to let go of; they trigger his remorse, calling for penitence. Its unspoken, the way Baekhyun finds his way into Minseok's room to ease him out of his nightmares. This is not the first storm they've weathered together, and Minseok knows it is not the last.

Thursday

Yixing knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He can feel the small child hurting. He can feel the pain, sharp and hot, radiating off of his skin as his energy wanes out. Its like watching a camp fire die down; this small boy is nothing but smoke and embers, and Yixing knows he's not going to make it.

Yixing knows his parents are in the lobby, praying, unaware that their child is on the brink of nothingness, fate sealed long before they brought him into the emergency room. He knows he shouldn't draw more attention to himself but the boy, with his short hair and lanky figure, reminds him of another boy, who couldn't always time his landing and had the record for most broken bones amongst them.

Yixing remembers the night the proctors forced Yifan to fly higher, forced all of them to watch. Sehun was barely four, and shaking with fear, his own powers agitating the sky until Yifan fell. None of them reacted in time and in his nightmares, Yixing can sometimes hear the shattering bones he was not strong enough to heal.

He places gentle fingers over the boy's cold hand and focuses. He was not able to save Yifan, but maybe he can save someone else instead. The room hums suddenly with warm energy, and Yixing can feel the young boy absorb his power, can feel his heart strengthening, can see the color returning to his skin. The boy takes in a gulping breath of air, and the monitors around him being to keep loudly. Yixing leaves the room quietly. Like on so many occasions, he makes his way to the camera room and erases the tapes from that room, on that day. The people of this hospital will accredit another miracle to God, and Yixing will sleep with a sounder conscience.

Friday

Junmyeon finds it ironic that the darkness feels like drowning. It sits heavy on his heart, reminding him of everything he's lost.

Once upon a time, he was rather good at isolation.  He was born in the institute. He had no family to be ripped away from. He jumped when they said jump, he ate when they decided he'd earned it, and he spent his first few years of life thinking the world was made up of their commands and his submission.

Sehun and the others changed that. The institute wanted them to be weapons; they tried to teach them to kill and maim, but in their hearts, they taught themselves otherwise. The deaths they encountered were always accidents, always the consequence to losing control. They never blamed each other. But whether it was the smoke, or the fall, or the tank, someone always felt at fault. Someone would always carry a single name on their conscience.

Junmyeon thinks of this, of his family, as he suspends two tons of water in the air. He remembers the tank room, the way the walls stood like gravestones, and the way he could not get them out. With a flick of his wrist, the water propels as a jet into the wall of the empty pool, cracking the concrete. He does it again, stepping back as giant shards of rubble twist through the air. If only he could've been strong enough to save Luhan.

He fills the pool and walks on water. This too is ironic. The Professor once told him he and the others would be like gods amongst men. Junmyeon knows these gods are vengeful, and one day, the people who hurt him will pay for their sins.

Saturday

"Energy cannot be created or destroyed; that is the basic law of the universe." The physics professor instructs from the front of the lecture hall. Jongin writes down information from the powerpoint. He takes careful notes despite knowing that the universe sometimes has loopholes; he's proof of that.

The lecture ends and the stooped hall begins to empty.  Jongin gathers his belongings and makes his way to the courtyard. He pulls his peacoat tighter around himself as the frosty England air stirs the leaves, and his eyes wander over the Oxford cobblestones; all mismatched, all placed around each other to create something coherent.

"Hey," Kyungsoo brings him out of his reverie. He holds a paper cup out to him, and Jongin scrunches his nose.

"I don't drink--"

"I know," Kyungsoo sighs. "Its peppermint tea."

Jongin smiles, adding a little bow of gratitude. He makes space for Kyungsoo on the wooden bench, and they sip their drinks in the silence. They watch other students pass them by; Jongin feels out of place amongst people who are so paradoxically ordinary.

"How was your lesson?" He asks Kyungsoo, who takes a comtimplary drink before answering.

"The professor read medieval lit again. It was interesting." Kyungsoo shrugs. "Yours?"

"She talked about the laws of the universe; said matter can't be created. I thought about Jun and Minseok. They created a type of matter, right?"

Kyungsoo looks at the sky. He avoids Jongin's questioning gaze.

"Logic doesn't really apply to us. I think we'd be considered anomalies."

Jongin only nods.

"Lets go home," Kyungsoo says and they make their way to the main street in a pensative quiet. They take a cab home; Kyungsoo never teleports with Kai. They both know it reminds him too much of the last time it happened.

The night the tank room collapsed, Jongin made one choice to change everything. The others laid around him, sputtering, trying to swallow down as much air as humanly possible when the alarms started blaring.

"The-- the fence! Jongdae! Short circuit the fence!" Minseok yelled, helping a shaking Junmyeon to his feet.

They'd all looked, panicked, at the fence that was on the verge of collapse but still humming with electricity. They'd talked about escaping. They'd all fantasized about living different lives where their gifts were not weapons. Each of them had dreamt a version of life where they could be normal, and this was their one chance.

The forest around them was illuminated by Jongdae's lightning but Jongin's gaze was focused on Luhan. His eyes were closed, his wet hair matted on his forehead, as he lay amongst the rubble; dead.

"They're coming! RUN!" Junmyeon ordered, and Chanyeol was the first to turn his power against the men clad in white security gear. The trees came toppling down, giant flares of fire consuming their old trunks, and the entire forest became a war zone.

The wind howled, loud, angry and frightened, and slabs of steel flew through the air with it. Jongin could see his breath as razor sharp icicles cut through their surroundings, embedding themselves in the guards firing their weapons.

Jongin was immobile, his ears ringing with white noise as the entire world shook.

Yifan. Luhan. Tao.

He couldn't fathom watching someone else he loved die. Not like this. Not again.

"JONGDAE! JONGDAE!"

"GO! TAKE BAEKHYUN AND GO!"

The earth trembled beneath him. Someone screamed in pain. The air was cloying with dirt and dust and the smell of sulfur.

"SEHUN! WE'LL FIND YOU. GO." Junmyeon ordered and Jongin was choking on his desperation, useless as the legions of men clad in white came closer and closer.

Not again.

Jongin made his choice. He prayed they would forgive him. He prayed one day he'd get the chance to apologize.

Jongin reached out and placed his hand firm on Kyungsoo's shoulder. The universe went black and dry and Jongin felt a familiar compression on his lungs before their feet were touching solid concrete.

"YIXI-" Kyungsoo's shout died in his throat. He whipped around, eyes wide and furious.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" He snarled, rounding on Jongin.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, feeling the ground beneath him vibrate dangerously.

"TAKE US BACK. TAKE US BACK, NOW." Kyungsoo demanded, grabbing Jongin by the white collar of his uniform.

"I'm sorry." Jongin repeated, letting Kyungsoo shake him.

"HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU?" Kyungsoo screamed, and Jongin braced himself. He would take the brunt of Kyungsoo's fury, would take every angry hit, if it meant Kyungsoo was alive.

Instead, Kyungsoo fell to his knees. The sobs that raked through his entire body echoed down the empty street and Jongin only stood motionless. He prayed they would forgive him. He prayed one day Kyungsoo would forgive him.

Sunday

The room is black with smoke. Somewhere, someone is screaming for help but Chanyeol can't see anything, can't hear through the panic pulsing hot and red in his ears. The flames don't stop coming. They lick at his palms, set more of the world ablaze and he tries to close his fists but that only makes them stronger.

The curtains, the bed sheets-- everything around him is fire. He stumbles toward Baekhyun's bed, toward Jongin's bed; empty.

The dream shifts violently and Yixing is crouching next to Tao's body. Chanyeol wills himself to wake up; he's lived this too many times. Yixing concentrates and the room buzzes with a warm energy but as soon as it starts, it goes cold, like a graveyard, like a coffin, like wilted flowers in the middle of a winter freeze. The colors are draining fast from the world, turning sleep into nightmare. Yixing's voice echoes with familiarity, sometimes angry, sometimes disbelieving, sometimes full of so much grief Chanyeol wishes the fire were corporeal enough to scorch the memory away; "He's dead. It--it was the smoke..."

The real walls of his real life come into focus. Chanyeol tries to lie very still, but it feels like the shadows are crawling, unearthing a culpability he tried so hard to forget. He reaches over and turns on his bedside lamp; it's been two years and he isn't accustomed to darkness. He always had someone made out of pure light sleeping next to him. Chanyeol stares at the ceiling and wipes the sweat from his forehead. He ignores the taste of salt on his lips, the dry tear streaks on his cheeks.

"It wasn't your fault. We know you can't control it."

His movements are robotic, a monotonous whir of motion that barely get him through the day. Chanyeol never feels the cold of the tile floor, never even notices that the hot water stopped working in his shower weeks ago. He dresses in dry colors that never attract attention and makes his way to his small kitchen.

"Took you a while to wake up."

Chanyeol almost screams, his fists instantly sparking with orbs of flames as years of training kick into overdrive.

"Woah-- woah!" Sehun shoots up from the couch, his hands up in surrender. "Its just me!"

The air in Chanyeol's apartment stales and he drops to his knees, shaking his head in disbelief. The flames are extinguished. He's imagining this. He must be imagining this.

"Hyung?" Sehun whispers, frightened, the excitement in his heart deflating more and more with each second.

"This isn't real. This isn't real." Chanyeol whimpers, digging his nails into his palms. He spent weeks imagining Tao after the fire, all sad smile and empty eyes. Tao would never say anything, never throw blame, he'd just observe Chanyeol's life from the shadows, not letting Chanyeol forget.

"Hyung-- Its just me." Sehun tries again. He steps forward, kneels in front of his friend, and places a trembling hand on Chanyeol's shoulder.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to find you." His voice is an unsteady murmur, heavy with the sudden realization that they were together, after two years, Sehun wasn't alone anymore.

"Sehun?" Chanyeol's voice is quieter than a gust of wind, afraid, already broken.

"Yeah, its m--oomph!" Chanyeol doesn't let him finish. He launches himself at the younger boy and squeezes him in his arms. Sehun holds Chanyeol tightly, buries his face in the crook of Chanyeol's neck and half giggles and half sobs; relieved, ecstatic, and terrified all at once.

They both cry into the embrace, hearts swelling with unimaginable hope as the seconds tick by. Chanyeol's mind is buzzing, and he holds fistfuls of Sehun's shirt in his hands, pulling him even closer. Chanyeol wonders if this is what it feels like to be saved from drowning.

"Hyung," Sehun pulls away. Chanyeol runs his eyes over every aspect of Sehun's features, trying to memorize him, never wanting to forget any detail of this single moment.

"How did you find me?" Chanyeol whispers and Sehun gives him a tear stained smile.

"Google." He answers, before he's helping Chanyeol back on his feet.

"Hyung, the others. I know where they are."

Chanyeol takes a deep breath, deeper than any he's been able to manage in the past few years.

"Together-- we'll find them together."

© Chogisad

MASTERLIST

[tech-battery]

ThinkPad X1 Fold review: Lenovo's foldable PC is nowhere near ready

Lenovo is no stranger to making weird things. In 2016, the company gave us the first dual-screen hybrid with the Yoga Book that was part color tablet, part e-ink touchscreen keyboard / drawing pad. It followed that up with a second-generation in 2018, but also gave us things like tablets with fold-out kickstands and laptops with speakers built into the hinge or an e-ink screen on the lid. Not to mention that Lenovo pioneered the 360-degree hinge system and was the first to announce a 5G laptop with Qualcomm in 2019.

So it shouldn’t be surprising that the company is the first to deliver a foldable tablet PC that you can actually buy. We saw a prototype of the ThinkPad X1 Fold last year and got all the specs at CES 2020, and now it’s finally hitting shelves for $2,600 to start. For that price, you’re not just getting a large foldable phone. In addition to the fact that it runs Windows, the 13.3-inch X1 Fold also acts as a mini laptop when it’s folded halfway and you add Lenovo’s companion keyboard. If it was well-executed, Lenovo’s first foldable PC could have been better than a regular laptop, and not simply jumping on a hot trend. The problem with the X1 Fold, though, is that the execution needs work.

Summary

The ThinkPad X1 Fold is an impressive piece of technology that sorely needs better execution. It’s laudable that Lenovo was able to make a 13.3-inch OLED tablet that can bend, but on its own the $2,600 Fold is a seriously expensive Windows tablet. Throw in the $230 keyboard that fits neatly between the screen’s two halves for a faux laptop mode and you get a neat mini machine that’s only good for quick emails and tweets. But few, if any, people should spend nearly $3,000 to buy the X1 Fold when any Surface tablet would serve you far better.

Like the Surface Duo I reviewed earlier this year, the X1 Fold is a unique device. Yes, it's a big foldable and we've seen and tested a few foldable phones by now so the technology doesn't feel quite as novel. But Lenovo's device is the first that's this large and runs Windows, making it basically a foldable Surface tablet. Because of its flexible screen and sturdy hinge, the X1 Fold can be used in a number of orientations similar to the Surface Duo and the Galaxy Z Fold 2, like book or laptop. But because the hinge only opens to 180 degrees, you won't be able to rotate it all the way over into a tent mode.

As a tablet or book

For the $2,600 starting price, you'll only get the X1 Fold itself without a keyboard or stylus, meaning you’ll largely be using it as a tablet or "book". It's a serviceable device and is surprisingly well made. I like the leather cover that not only makes this feel like a real (if hefty) notebook, but also adds a touch of class. On the top bezel sits a 5-megapixel webcam, while power and volume buttons line the right edge. There's also a pair of USB-C ports, one on the left side and the other on the bottom.

With a 13.3-inch screen the Fold is quite large for a tablet, and it certainly feels chunkier than the iPad Pro or Samsung's Galaxy Tab S7+. It weighs 2.2 pounds and has a 11.5mm profile, and when folded it's about 24mm thick. All that heft makes this difficult to maneuver with one hand, and I struggled to open the Fold while holding a camera with my other hand.

When you close the X1 Fold, it magnetically snaps shut and there's a tiny gap near the hinge. That comes in handy when you need some leverage to pry the device open, because the magnets holding it together are quite strong. Once you get the screen moving though, the hinge springs open. It starts getting more resistant when you push it beyond a 25 degree angle and you can bend the screen so it's half closed and stays that way.

In this orientation, you can hold the X1 Fold as if it were a book and run two apps side by side to drag and drop between them or just to keep an eye on Twitter while watching YouTube. Or you could also set the Fold up on the kickstand built into its leather case and have a second screen or just to watch Netflix on. The 2K OLED screen here is bright and colorful, and although there is a small crease in the middle, it’s not very obvious… when the screen is flat at least. When the display is bent though, the dent in the middle is significantly brighter than the rest of the panel, and makes viewing anything full screen a bit jarring.

My main frustration with using the Fold as a tablet is that Windows is still an atrocious touch-based operating system. We’ve known this for a long time -- Microsoft’s many public embarrassments with mobile versions of Windows have proven this point time and time again.

Honestly, it was downright infuriating to use Tablet Mode on the X1 Fold, especially when I just wanted to go back to the desktop to find a file I saved. Trying to drag and drop windows didn’t behave the way I expected it to, not to mention Microsoft’s app store is pitifully bare compared to Apple and Google’s options. There still isn’t an official Kindle app, for example.

Obviously book mode is best for reading (or it would be if there was a real Kindle app). But it’s also pretty good for writing and taking notes. Lenovo’s $100 pen is responsive and smooth, though I prefer Microsoft or Samsung’s options.

To its credit, Lenovo tried to make it easier to use the Fold in Book mode by adding its own mode-switching software. By tapping an icon in the system indicator tray, you can quickly expand an app to take up the whole screen or snap two apps side by side. This did make it easier to launch, say, YouTube and Twitter next to each other, but aside from a few very niche scenarios I struggled to find a reason to actually use book mode.

As a mini laptop

Throw in Lenovo’s $230 companion keyboard, though, and the X1 Fold presents a far more compelling case (if you forget about the price). Of course, you can use your own keyboard, but the company’s version not only fits perfectly in the gap between the two halves of the screen and magnetically stays in place, but also charges wirelessly when it’s stowed in the closed tablet.

With this setup, you get a cute little mini laptop with a 7-inch-ish screen that’s perfect for getting work done when you’re in a tight space. The buttons on this understandably small keyboard offer an impressive amount of travel and space, all things considered.

But tradeoffs had to be made to squeeze all those keys onto something this small, so some buttons like the dash and equal signs at the end of the row of number keys had to be sacrificed. It also had to move the apostrophe from where it normally is next to the Enter key to slightly higher and farther to the right, between the Backspace and Enter instead. These changes took a bit of adjusting to and made typing a little awkward. It’s fine for a quick email or tweet, but I wouldn’t want to type on this for hours.

I do appreciate that Lenovo included a trackpad on the keyboard, even if it is pretty small at 3 inches wide and 1.5 inches tall. While it isn’t the most responsive touchpad around, I was thankful for a way to use the cursor on Windows, as well as multi-finger gestures like swiping to switch between apps. Surprisingly, I never felt like it was too cramped.

Otherwise using the X1 Fold as a mini laptop was… fine. Because you’re reduced to using a 7-inch screen in this mode, you can only get about three app icons on the taskbar at once unless you reduce the OS’s font and icon size. Doing that on a screen this small makes any text quite hard to read. And don’t even think about running two windows side by side -- they’ll barely fit or be so small that you’ll need to scroll forever to see everything.

Performance and battery life

The X1 Fold uses an Intel Lakefield Core i5 processor with Intel’s “Hybrid technology,” which the chip maker says is “engineered for mobile performance.” It uses architecture similar to ARM’s big.Little design, relegating less demanding tasks to lower-power Atom cores and tapping bigger cores for tougher processes. In general, the Fold kept up with my needs, and the few hiccups I came across seemed more to do with glitchy software than a slow processor. For example, sometimes Lenovo’s mode switching tool wouldn’t work, and instead of letting me choose the window I wanted open on either half of the display, it would just show two random apps I had open. Switching between landscape and portrait modes would bring up all the windows I had open, for example, and I often had to wait for webpages to expand and fill the whole screen when I maximized them.

These were mostly issues that had to do with switching between modes -- when I stayed in either tablet or laptop orientations, the device generally kept pace. Granted, I didn’t do anything too demanding like editing video, but for most of my day to day workflow the machine held up.

On our video rundown test, the X1 Fold clocked an impressive 13 hours and 30 minutes, which beats the Galaxy Tab S7+, the Surface Pro 7 and the iPad Pro 12.9. In real-world use, it generally lasts all day in tablet mode, though I found that using the keyboard seemed to drain the battery a bit more quickly. There’s also the option of getting a 5G-capable model of the X1 Fold, by the way, which I expect will sap energy even more.

Wrap-up

I’m having a hard time recommending anyone buy the X1 Fold. I don’t want to diminish Lenovo’s achievement here -- it’s impressive that the company managed to make a foldable PC that it’s ready to roll out to the public. But as is the case with many first-gen products, the X1 Fold is an expensive experiment. If you buy this, know that you’re basically paying to be a beta tester. There are plenty of quirks to work out. While I’m excited to see companies innovate, the ThinkPad X1 Fold’s exorbitant price and lack of real benefits keep me from endorsing it. If you need a laptop-tablet hybrid that runs Windows and can fit in tight spaces, the Surface Pro 7 or the Surface Go 2 are much more reasonably priced and offer better productivity.

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 13

Sorry this has taken a while to post, but we're heading into the truly twisty part and my brain's needed time (and clarity) to plot it out. I've only now realized this is Chapter 13 and 13 is perhaps an unlucky number, especially for some characters involved. Typos, yes! I will fix later. Edited 3/09

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Read first if you are new! gutted/sorted and wax/wane…if/then is a continuation of those two.

///////////////

In an inverse act of physics, the rain beats harder as Myka's car stops, the fog covering its windows so dense she can barely see through. She wipes a circle clean with her hand and sees two figures approaching at a rapid clip, both carrying oversized umbrellas but still struggling to stay dry. One joins the driver as he hops out and circles around back, and the other opens Myka's door and accompanies her towards the Schloss.

Her destination was an hour outside Berlin, but she barely noticed the trip as her nose was firmly planted in her files the entire time. So much had changed since she was dropped, it was unbelievable, and she needed to read up on her competition throughly. Even more troubling was the person officiating hadn’t yet been disclosed, but Mrs. Frederic said they'd deal with that once she arrived.

During their brief conversation, Mrs. Frederic said that no one, including Helena, must know she's replacing her at the sale. Arriving unannounced would give them a tactical edge she felt they needed. But she had to tell Claudia because of her obligations to Christina. They concocted an airtight excuse, in the meantime, for when Helena calls to check in.

Her bags are taken elsewhere as she’s whisked down a hall and deposited in a room off of a larger chamber. She’s offered tea, which she politely declines, too nervous to drink. The porter hands her a towel and apologizes for the damp weather, then says to take a seat, someone would be with her shortly.

She blots her wet skin as she circles the room, touching surfaces as she goes: a marble table top, a porcelain vase, a walnut credenza. As she passes a garden-facing window, an enormous, sagging tent catches her eye. She stops and studies it, noting it strains in the rain to stay upright. The antiquity must inside, and the humidity wreaking havoc. Something that large must be difficult to climate control.

“Are you accompanying Mrs. Frederic?” a woman asks, her accent somewhat British, but more continental.

“No, I’m replacing her,” Myka answers and turns around. She gasps at who she sees and stumbles back until her hip hitting the window sill stops her.

“I see,” the woman says, a stern look of disapproval boring through Myka's soul. “If you’ll kindly wait here, I must speak my colleague.”

Myka manages a small nod and grips the windowsill to stay standing. Bonnie never once turned up in her research, so why is she here?

Bonnie turns to leave and pushes open a door. As she does, there’s a thwack and an “Ow!” Another person shoulders past, head bent down, hand covering their nose.

“You’ve certainly made a grand entrance, Irene,” they say, their words slightly muffled. "As if everyone wasn’t riled up enough you’d be attending in person.”

The woman lifts her eyes, and as her gaze meets Myka's, her hand falls to her side, and a drop of blood drips onto her shirt. Myka's heart freezes, then pounds out of her chest, and she shuffles back, until her her calves press into the cool surface of the wall.

The woman’s dark hair is pinned up in a bun, and she’s wearing black-rimmed glasses, but rest of her presentation is intimately familiar to Myka.

“Did you know about this?” Helena barks at Bonnie.

“Obviously not.” Bonnie scowls coldly.

Helena glowers and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Myka looks between Helena and Bonnie, heart racing, hands beginning to shake. Her legs tremble as she shuffles awkwardly towards a chair. Helena rushes toward her to help, but Myka shoots her a frosty glare. Helena stops a pace away as Myka sits.

“I can explain after I make some calls,” Helena says.

Myka doesn't respond, just glares, in shock.

“You must be exhausted from your trip,” Helena says, in a tone meant to be comforting. She looks at Bonnie. "Take her through to the luncheon before the showing.”

Bonnie stiffens, clearly affronted by Helena's request and Helena narrows her eyes.

“As you wish,” Bonnie says, and hands Helena a towel.

“Make sure she’s taken care of,” Helena snips, and presses the towel to her nose. She looks back at Myka, and her eyes soften. “It seems we've all been thrown to the lions ill-prepared. I’ll be giving Irene an earful."

Myka's eyes flick down to Helena's shirt, she can't look her in the eye. She fixates on the drop of blood soaking into the silk. “Y-You have some…” Her finger shakes as she points.

Helena lifts the towel and looks down. “Brilliant. Highlight of an already cocked up day." She scowls at Bonnie. "Help her settle in while I change.”

Bonnie cocks a brow and Helena takes her leave. Myka watches the door swing closed, still dumbfounded by the situation.

“Would you care to freshen up before lunch?” Bonnie asks. She's polite, but there's an edge there, one that says Myka's not welcome.

“I, um...” If she goes to her room now, she might never come out again. “No.”

“Then follow me,” Bonnie says, and turns to leave.

“Wait. Who are you?” Myka asks, standing up as if pulled by Bonnie’s inertia.

Bonnie looks over her shoulder and sweeps eyes her over Myka's form. She turns around and extends a hand, smiling an unnervingly businesslike smile. “Bonnie Belski, liaison to the seller.”

Myka looks at the hand but doesn’t shake it. “I thought you owned a bar in London?”

“Part owner.”

“And 'Viondra Moore'?”

Bonnie's lips lift at the ends, and the corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. “Hobby.”

Myka huffs a short laugh and shakes her head. "How long have you been involved in this?"

The mirth drains from Bonnie’s expression. “We must keep moving to stay on schedule. Are you in or out?”

“In,” Myka says, more determined than ever to show this woman she can play ball.

“Then follow me."

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

Myka’s ushered to a table at the back of a stately hall and seated in front of a plate full of food.

“Bon appetit,” Bonnie says, with little enthusiasm, then makes her way across the room. People swarm towards her as she walks, abandoning their laptops and papers, asking a slew of questions all at once.

Myka calls Mrs. Frederic, but the line goes straight to voicemail, so she leaves a message explaining Helena’s brokering the sale. She does her best to sound level-headed, but suggests it's logistically a problem, then assures her she can work through it, no matter the circumstances.

Did Mrs. Frederic insist she tell no one because she knew Helena would be here? It's hard to believe Helena could pull this over on her since they've been talking. Plus Mrs. Frederic always knows everything, so maybe she found out last-minute and freaked. But sending her in blind is a weird a strategic move. Hopefully, Mrs. Frederic will tell her what's really going on, now that she's here. She has so many questions to ask when they talk.

And then there's Bonnie, "babezilla," the marble statue running the show. Why has she never turned up in her research even once? Mrs. Frederic must know her since they’ve been present at events together and she's been to Mrs. Frederic's gallery several times. Or maybe not, as they weren't talking, just in proximity to each other. Maybe the notoriously private seller is the connection, but she’d not sure how. There must be an angle, and she needs to puzzle it out, and fast.

Bonnie as she announces something to the group, then suddenly, and all eyes are upon her. She makes a quick survey of faces, then tucks into her food, hoping to avoid further scrutiny.

Someone walks by, and she feels their eyes upon her. She looks up, it's Helena, but she doesn't meet her gaze. Helena continues walking and takes Bonnie to the side. Bonnie's face turns even stonier as they talk.

Helena's heels are higher than usual, but Bonnie still towers over her, looking the embodiment of class in a white Chanel suit. Helena’s changed into an identical shirt and has donned a fitted jacket, one that matches her dark trousers. Myka recognizes the cut but can't recall the label; it's definitely beyond what Helena can afford. Did she buy it for the sale or did Bonnie buy it for her? The thought makes her stomach turn, and she sets down her fork.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Helena says, turning to face the room. “We sincerely apologize for the delay. Due to an unexpected change of personage, a conflict of interest has arisen. Therefore, I'll be presenting all offers to Ms. Belski anonymously."

A collective gasp fills the room and calls are made immediately. Helena and Bonnie make a beeline to Myka’s table.

“Quite a wrench you’ve thrown into the works,” Helena says, taking a seat across from her. “They were hoping their employer's reputations would hold some clout. But now..." Helena drags a finger over her throat as if slitting it. "Was this your plan all along?”

“My plan?”

“Yours and Mrs. Frederic’s.”

“You know as much as me. Probably more.” Myka narrows her eyes, then looks down at Helena's hand, tucked under her collar, rubbing the spot where her locket usually hangs. Her locket isn't present, but she is wearing a ring, one she hasn’t seen her wear since they very first met.

"Why are you here?” Myka asks.

Helena stills her hand. “Apparently, my reputation precedes me.” She looks up at Bonnie.

“The seller was owed a favor, and they’re collecting,” Bonnie states.

“How long have you known? Since that phone call, at the hotel?” Myka asks Helena.

“The particulars are of no consequence—” Bonnie answers.

“Yesterday. As you claim you were," Helena interrupts.

“Claim?”

“Perhaps you were never taken off the sale.”

“Why would I lie? I would never lie."

“Oh, how quaint. A lover’s spat. So looking forward to more,” Bonnie grumbles. “We’ve no time for this, Emily. Do your job."

"Emily?" Myka says, eyes wide with confusion.

Helena takes a deep breath to compose herself then stands and smooths down her jacket. She squares her stance and looks Myka in the eye.

“Emily Lake, broker of this grand extravaganza. If you’ll kindly follow me, Ms. Bering, I’ll escort you and the group to the tent.”

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

Myka's funneled through a protected gangway with the other attendees, silently fuming as she stares at the back of Helena’s head. She's kicked out of her brooding when a buyer introduces themselves, sizing her up as she should be of them. But it’s difficult to concentrate when the love of your life is three heads away and working for the wrong side of the deal.

Helena pauses at a zippered doorway, and the group gathers around.

“Before we enter, some words of caution. Details of the item housed here should not be shared with anyone, save your employers. Photos are strictly prohibited, as are any public postings. Severe consequences will be imposed upon anyone who disregards these rules. I'd do everything in your power to abide by them,” Helena says, raising her voice to be heard over the din of rain.

“Ripped from its home in St. Petersburg and reconstructed in East Prussia, Allied bombs were said to have destroyed it entirely during the war. Rumors of its removal for safekeeping inspired generations searches with little return. Hidden bunkers and buried train cars came up empty. It was recently found hidden where no one imaged to look, in crates built into walls of a structure being restored. The item's condition is remarkable considering the circumstances. Please take your time and evaluate it thoroughly."

She unzips a white vinyl door and pulls it aside, holding out a hand to usher the group in. "Without further ado, may I present to you, the eighth wonder of the world, the Yantarnaya Komnata, also known as The Amber Room.”

Bonnie enters first, and her staff after, each pairing with a buyer as they step through the door. As Myka passes Helena, she scowls, and Helena looks away. But her negative feelings subside the minute she's inside the tent.

A massive scaffolding supports multiple panels tiled together in both length and height, recreating the grand volume of the room. Its gold is dulled, and it’s amber muted, but its opulent Russian Baroque grandeur is intact. Cherubs peering down at her are too numerous to count and the variations in amber filigree exhaustive beyond measure. Were the sconces lit, the room's orange and brown hues would dry the humid air, their radiant warmth already evident, affecting her on a physical level.

“This is, of course, is the original artwork from the early 18th century, designed by Andreas Schlüter and crafted by amber masters from Danzig,” Helena explains.

“Does it contain all the panels, including the ones left out of its installation in Koenigsberg?” a woman asks.

“Yes."

“And the damage?” a man asks, inspecting a section with a magnifying glass.

“We’ve done nothing but a light cleaning. Damage and subsequent repairs are prior to the crates being opened.”

“Where’s the floor?” Myka asks.

“To your right,” Helena says. Everyone turns toward a platform hovering off the ground, displaying wooden panels with intricate parquet patterns. “Ladders have been provided for your convenience, so please, inspect the goods closely. Bonnie and I have matters to discuss, but in the interim, ask anyone in a green jacket for assistance.”

Buyers immediately pull out laptops and dial their bosses to consult, but Myka watches Helena and Bonnie converse. Helena talks more than Bonnie, gesticulating while explaining something of importance, then throws her hands into the air as the discussion comes to a halt. The display seems almost intimate, and she wonders how well they know each other, really. Then her ruminations are cut short by the buzzing of her phone.

“Mrs. Frederic,” Myka answers and promptly digs through her bag. She pulls out her computer and sees she’s five minutes behind schedule. Mrs. Frederic launches into work mode, asking a million specific questions, sending Myka scrambling across the room. She scrutinizes every detailed surface as others do the same, the vibe much like a mad dash in a scavenger hunt.

She's still typing when Mrs. Frederic ends their session, without the topic of Helena being discussed. It seems odd as she must have gotten her message, but maybe it's a non-issue. Mrs. Frederic will stop at nothing to win this deal.

“Times up,” an assistant announces, far too soon for anyone’s liking. “Please pack up and follow me. Except for Bertram Kelly. Emily will meet with you shortly.”

The group is swept back into the dining hall and told they’re welcome to work there or retire to their rooms. They'll be notified of their meeting times as soon as they are determined.

“Is there a schedule?” a woman asks.

“Not at the moment,” the assistant says. “But be ready when we get in touch.”

More games, Myka thinks. So many games. Time to regroup and figure out how to play to win.

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

Myka mentions both Helena and Bonnie in her notes and is disappointed when neither woman seems to be a problem for Mrs. Frederic. She's familiar with Bonnie, but has no particular opinion of her, except she's glad she's been kicked out of the negotiations. As for Helena, she said to be cautious, stating Helena's a skilled manipulator. Myka’s learning this in leaps and bounds, though she wishes it wasn’t in real time.

She sifts through Mrs. Frederic’s additions until her eyes begin to droop, then lies in bed, willing herself to relax. But the moment the sale fades, Helena’s presence rises, and she’s left puzzling out her involvement in the proceedings. Helena must have been strong-armed into this by Bonnie, but the question is why? What does Helena owe and to whom? And how soon will she have repaid them, or rather, how involved does she have to be?

If Bonnie is a cop, then what part is she playing and where do her loyalties lie? Maybe she's a dirty cop, working for Macpherson. Or no longer a cop at all, as Claudia’s documents weren't very recent. But no matter the option, she’s holding something over Helena’s head, something serious.

Who can she trust? She’s not sure anymore, but the truth is she’s not sure if she cares. Her gut says win the sale, take the commission then get back to her life, whatever that is after all of this is settled.

Her phone dings; dinner in ten minutes. She closes her eyes and sinks into her pillow. Last, one in the door, last to make a deal. She wishes she could get it over with sooner.

----------

It’s nine-thirty when her number comes up, and by then Mrs. Frederic’s amended her notes three times. But she is ready, with a list of questions and tiers of offers guide her bid. She hopes staying businesslike will help her remain calm and keep the emotional damage at bay.

The rain has stopped, but the air is humid, and there’s light fog inside the tent. The moisture wreaked havoc with their generators, so the assistant accompanying her explained, but the humidity is finally waning. She spies Helena at the far end of the room, stationed alone at a table and Helena waves, beckoning her closer. As Myka approaches, she downs a tumbler of amber liquid.

“Welcome,” she says, rising from her chair. “I apologize for the late hour.”

Myka holds Helena's gaze, her eyes asking, "What's really going on? Why are you here?" Helena's look softens, registering Myka’s concerns, but she offers no answers. Helena's physical proximity calls to her, though she is both angry and confused. She takes a step closer and reaches out to tidy Helena's disheveled bun.

“Questions?” Helena says, stepping back, just out of Myka's reach.

Myka's jaw clenches as she drops her hand. “I have many,” she says as she slips her laptop out of her bag and pulls up her notes.

They talk business for quite some time, walking around the room, asking and answering questions, then settle into chairs where Helena was stationed previously. They formalize Mrs. Frederic’s offer, and as the proceedings wrap up, Helena grabs a bottle from the table and unscrews its cap.

“Drink?”

Myka stares at the bottle, it’s quite expensive booze, and it has been a really long day. But the answers she yearned for seem no longer urgent, and this room is the wrong place to voice them. Now that she’s sitting down, she’s tired, plus there’s another day of this to go.

But the look Helena gives her convinces her to stay; it's the same one Christina uses to delay bedtime. “Ok,” she says, even if it's against her better judgment. Maybe a nightcap will numb her mind so she can sleep.

Helena pours a generous portion then hands it to Myka. She does so for herself and holds her glass out for a toast. “To the sale,” she says and clinks Myka's glass. She downs half its contents and rests it on the table.

“Name your price to fix this,” Helena says.

“Fix what?”

“Our personal issues."

“You want me to bid?”

Helena makes a noise between a snort and a laugh.

"Ok. Winning the sale," Myka answers then takes a small sip of her drink.

“I’ve no control over that. Or anything else, it seems, at the moment.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“You can. You always—“

“Emily, Bonnie would like a word,” A green-coated man announces from the door.

“Just a moment,” Helena says.

“She said now.”

Helena glares. “I’ve spent the last however many hours peddling her wares. I deserve a reprieve.”

“S-She said the boss wants a report.”

“The boss.”

“Yes.”

"At this hour?"

The assistant nods. His soldier-like posture adds gravity to his request, as does the fear of failure in his eyes.

Helena twirls her glass back and forth and studies the swirling liquid, then downs the contents all in one go. “Forgive me, fair lady, for it seems my time is not my own. Perhaps we can continue this discussion at a later date.” She wobbles as she rises and grabs the back of her chair. “If I may ask a favor? Might you refrain from enlightening Claudia of our predicament, as I’m currently not equipped to withstand her wrath.”

Myka nods, as she's of a similar mind.

"Thank you," Helena says and adds a small bow. She staggers slightly as she follows the assistant out of the room.

Myka looks at the bottle and sees it's nearly empty. What exactly has Helena gotten herself into that she’d drink that much bourbon?

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

Myka finishes editing her notes around midnight, then showers and readies herself for bed. She then lies, wide awake, questions swirling in her head. She’s angry at being deceived, but there’s no fighting how much she’s missed Helena. Being near her without touching her drives her crazy, and she aches for logical answers.

She’d sneak out to find her but the building is sprawling, and there’s no guarantee she’s even staying in this wing. She debates texting, then does anyway, and assumes Helena's passed out when she gets no response. She breathes deep, calming breaths but her brain keeps on churning on anyway. Maybe a walk to clear her mind. She rises and gets dressed.

As she roams, she descends a staircase, then walks through a foyer and into the dining hall. It's empty except for Helena and Bonnie, sitting far too close to each other, at the opposite end of the room. They converse over laptops and papers then Helena rises and reaches for a document. She looks up in the process and notices Myka staring from the doorway. She says something to Bonnie, then zig-zags through the tables to meet her.

“You should be resting,” Helena says.

“How can I?” Myka answers, crossing her arms over her chest.

“May we talk.”

“Do you have Czar Belski’s permission?”

Helena huffs a short laugh. “Sit with me.” She pulls out a chair and sits. Myka does the same.

“I apologize for earlier, of accusing you of foul play. I was playing my part, but it was uncalled for.”

"What part?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

“No," Myka says, narrowing her eyes.

Helena breathes a heavy sigh and looks down at the table.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Once I fulfill what is owed, I’ll be free.”

“Free from what?”

Helena glances over her shoulder at Bonnie, and Bonnie taps her wrist as if she were wearing a watch.

“Obligations,” she says and looks back at Myka.

“So you weren’t meeting Mrs. Frederic about the appeal.”

“I was. And still am.”

“Then why are you here? I don’t understand. I don’t know anything about you, do I?”

“You do. You know me better than anyone else.” Helena reaches across the table to touch Myka hands, but Myka pulls them away. Bonnie approaches, coming up behind Helena.

“I’m sorry Ms. Bering, but we really must push on.”

Myka looks at Bonnie and her eyes flick down to where her hands rest on Helena’s shoulders. Still handsy, ice queen. Way too handsy.

“Give us a moment, Czar Belski,” Helena says, grinning smugly as she glances up at Bonnie.

“Hurry,” Bonnie says, digging her fingers into Helena’s shoulders before walking away.

Myka watches Bonnie until she's out of earshot. “Claudia calls her ‘babezillia.' I guess she's right.”

Helena snickers. “She does tower and growl, and perhaps, even breathe fire. Though I dearly hope I manage to escape that phase of her evolution.” She looks over at Bonnie and Bonnie shoots her a firm eye.

“I know I’ve made a mess of things, but when I can speak freely, I'll explain everything,” Helena says, rising. “A word of advice in the meantime, concentrate on the sale. Treat me as you would any other broker. You'll need all your strength for tomorrow’s negotiations.”

Helena's impersonal tone stings more than Myka would like it to, but in the end, she knows Helena's right.

“Please consider my words and please, get some rest,” Helena says, then walks towards Bonnie.

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

The next morning, during breakfast, Helena announces the bids have topped out at five hundred million.

“But it’s been appraised at five!” someone blurts.

“Blame your colleagues in the room,” Helena states.

Everyone looks circumspectly at everyone else, then back at their hosts.

“At this point, seller asks that you all sweeten the pot. Anything under the radar is acceptable.”

“What does that mean?” Myka asks.

“Think about it. It’s not rocket science,” Bonnie taunts.

The room bursts into a low chuckle, and Myka glances at Helena. She grimaces at how embarrassed Helena looks for her.

Myka returns to her room and phones Mrs. Frederic. Mrs. Frederic ups her bid to six million, but no more, and adds an “under the radar” item that shocks her.

Clients are let loose to inspect the room again until lunch is served. This time their meetings are scheduled and timed, as everyone has to fit in before dinner. When Myka’s appointment arrives, Helena’s obviously stressed. There’s little room for idle conversation.

Myka offers what Mrs. Frederic's willing to give, but Helena seems unhappy with the deal.

“Nothing else?”

“That Faberge egg is priceless. I didn’t know it still existed.”

“Maybe so, but…” Helena looks to the side and drags a hand through her hair. “We’ll do one last offer after dinner.”

“What are you saying?”

“Talk with Mrs. Frederic. Make the offer count. For the win.”

“I thought I was.”

“I can’t confirm or deny that. Only Bonnie holds that power.”

“But you think it’s not good enough?”

“I’ve already said too much.”

An assistant appears and whisks Myka away before she can press for details.

At dinner there’s another announcement, six-hundred million plus “considerable bounty,” and the buyers are warned they have one last chance to negotiate.

“This is absurd,” one buyer says.

“Robbery,” Bertram Kelly blurts.

“The seller is mad,” a man adds.

“Not my call,” Helena states, “but I suggest you confer with your employers.”

Everyone scatters.

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

As per usual, Myka’s the last to be interviewed, but this time, she’s finding it hard to focus. At dinner, she overheard a conversation between two buyers that left her angrier with Helena than ever before.

“What do you want me to say?’ Myka says, getting right to the point as she enters Helena's office.

“Anything beyond your last offer,” Helena says, shrinking back in her seat.

“Mrs. Frederic was firm. She says the egg should be enough.” Myka pulls out a chair and sits.

“Are you certain? My overlords have indicated there’s something else.”

“I don’t know what that is. Do you?” Myka does, but Mrs. Frederic told her to play dumb.

“You know as well as I; I’m merely the middlewoman.”

“You’ve said that before. About things. Things you did know. Why should trust you now?”

“Because you’ll lose, and I’d rather you not.”

“You’d rather me not?” Myka says, chair screeching back as she stands. “You’d rather me not?” This time, louder.

“I do have your best interests at heart.”

“My best interests? Since when.”

“Since we very first met.”

Myka scoffs. “Don’t even.” How dare she bring their relationship into this?

“My apologies,” Helena says, angling her eyes down. When she looks up, she seems repentant, but Myka’s only half-convinced her look is genuine.

“I’ll still need an additional offer.”

There goes the half. “Fine. I may have a replacement. An either/or scenario,” Myka says.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a code, that’s all.” Myka points to a stack of post-its and Helena peels one off and hands her a pen.

Myka scribbles a combination of letters and numbers and hands it back.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Frederic said you would.”

“Me, personally?”

“The seller, I guess. Probably Bonnie.”

“Are you not uncomfortable handing over unknown wares?”

“I’m uncomfortable about this whole thing, but no one seems to care.”

“I care—“

“Save it.” Myka raises a hand.

Helena looks at the note again. “I’ll review this with Bonnie.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“Anything else I should pass on?”

“Fifty-thousand over the top bid plus that. Or the egg. Whatever works.”

“Noted.”

“Can I go?”

“May we talk?”

“The quicker this is over, the better.”

“Of course, but we—”

“How long,” Myka says, slapping her palms on the desk.

Helena flinches. “Pardon?”

“How long have you known about the room?”

“I was summoned the very day you were sent here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Helena holds Myka’s glare but offers no answer.

“I heard you were at the pre-sale. Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell the truth.”

“I didn't say anything. Do you really think I had agency to speak? Bonnie’s lorded over me since the minute I arrived in London.”

“How would I know?”

“You’re not meant to know. This was meant to occur without your involvement. But Mrs. Frederic cocked that up early on. I do not understand why she sent you, of all people, as a replacement.”

"Becuase I'm not good enough?"

"That's not what I meant—"

“I'm such an idiot, playing along with this the whole time. You knew everything already, didn't you.”

“It’s been eating me alive.”

“Yeah, right.” Myka crosses her arms over her chest and looks away. “You lied me, lied to my face, over and over and over. I thought you loved me.”

“I do. More than anything.” Helena rises.

“Then why? Why wouldn't you tell me?”

“This is not your fight. You were meant to be kept out of it entirely."

“Yet here I am.”

"As I've previously said, I've no control over the situation."

"That's always your excuse," Myka says, glaring at Helena. "Does this have something to do with MacPherson, or is it some new crazy thing?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Helena’s phone buzzes but she doesn’t look at it.

“Answer it.”

Helena shakes her head. “It means our time is up.”

"Yeah, it is," Myka huffs and walks towards the door.

"Myka, wait." Helena scrambles to intercept, grabbing hold of Myka's upper arm. “What we have is more than this. I beg of you, please don’t throw us away.”

“How can you say that, after all of this?"

“Because once this is through I can fix this. Fix all of this, and we can have the life together we sorely deserve.”

“Isn’t it over today?”

“For you, yes.”

“Why are you always so cryptic?”

“I’m as forthcoming as possible.”

“Not forthcoming enough.” Myka yanks her arm free.

Helena's phone buzzes again, and there’s a knock on the back door.

“Czar Belski better know what that number means. I deserve to win.” Myka stomps out of the room.

-TBC-

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

NOTE: The original Amber Room has never been found, but a reconstruction was created that took 24 years to complete.

[keithos]

Building the PiWriter868

In November of 2012, I wrote a book.

I'd participated in a global writing challenge called NANOWRIMO - National Novel Writers Month - and managed to achieve the aim of producing 50,000 words in the 30 days of November.

Since that time, it's been my ambition to not just write, but to publish.  I've set that goal for myself every year when I do my year-end review.  I have handwritten outlines for books and stories in various places.  In attempt to kick start, I've also signed up for NANOWRIMO in subsequent years with limited writing success.

The 2012 novel also sits waiting to be edited and expanded; there's a significant time jump in it to get to the ending which I feel needs another 50 to 100,000 words to close.

It's my feeling though that a writer, just as any other craftsman, needs tools appropriate to their task.

In my more prolific teen years, that tool was Uni-ball’s Onyx fine tip pen.  It was a relatively costly but happy indulgence, and helped me to fill many a copybook with teen angst.  In later days that I carried a Palm PDA, Landware's GoType keyboard and eventually Palm's own portable folding keyboard were easy options for text input.

I wrote the 2012 book on the laptop that I owned at the time.  And future attempts at both writing and completing another November challenge were done on an Asus Chromebook C100.

I'd stumbled at one point across a company called Astrohaus who touted their distraction-free writing machines, THE tool for keyboard-dependent writers on the go.  Boasting e-ink screens like Amazon's Kindle e-reader line, long battery life, and keyboards meant for typing for long stretches, their Freewrite devices were a compelling solution to my writing goals, but for one thing.  There really was no way I could justify their price as an amateur writer who had never sold a piece of work.

At around US$600, a single-purpose device like that would have to be paying for itself, and I'm not anywhere  near where I could be in order to be making money from my work.  But Astrohaus planted a seed and a need, and I was sure that I could do what was necessary to build a tool that would serve me that one main purpose - writing.

A good friend did ask while I talking to them about the build mission, why not just use the Chromebook?  At the time, I had not long before performed minor surgery to replace a battery that had started to swell, and the replacement battery itself had stopped taking charge just weeks out of its stated warranty.  I didn't feel up to sourcing another aftermarket battery to possibly have that go that route again.  Yes, I could have coughed up the cash and bought something new.  The C101, the newer version of the C100, would run me around US$330.  But I liked the idea and the challenge of putting something together myself.

Research suggested that I could build something around the Raspberry Pi Zero W as its core.

The Pi Zero is a $10 single board computer that is so small it can fit into an Altoids tin with room to spare.   Powered by Raspbian, a Debian Linux based operating system tuned for the Raspberry Pi platform, it's a full computer capable of running a wealth of Linux applications, including productivity software like LibreOffice, a Microsoft Office clone.

There is a purity though to a command-line interface that had me leaning away from the windowed environment.  The key experience in the final solution would be the writing of words after all.  Point and click functionality would be secondary.

The best writing solution, to me and also to the people at Astrohaus apparently, was one that got out of your way and allowed you to just write.

Enter WordGrinder, a cross platform terminal-based application that runs on both UNIX and Windows, and gives me just what I need in order to write without thinking about anything but the content.  The app does permit some basic formatting that isn't displayed obtrusively on the screen - except for bold and centering - none of which you need to see when drumming out content.  It reminds me, honestly, of WordPerfect 5.1 for DOS, a word processor which I recall fondly.

Two other apps complete the software build.

Ranger, a file manager, makes browsing the file system and moving documents around a little easier than using the bare command line.

Alpine, a text-based email client gives the solution its connection to the world outside of it.  It's own dedicated Gmail address means I can both store documents in my inbox and flip docs to and from my main machine for more comprehensive editing after creative activity is done.

One of the biggest complaints about thin, light and cheap laptops is usually the keyboard.  But the RaspBerry Pi Zero W has both USB connectivity and Bluetooth, so the world of input devices is available to me.  And after shopping around a bit, I landed on the Logitech K380.

This is one of these best portable Bluetooth keyboards around.  Subjectively, the typing experience on the K380 can only be beat at its size by something more expensive with mechanical keys.  It’s quiet, has good key travel, is a literal joy to type on, and runs forever on a pair of AAA batteries.

The easiest way to attach a display to the Raspberry Pi is via its HDMI port.  Other technical options are available, but HDMI is the easiest.  In early fiddling, I was able to connect it to a 21-inch monitor and use it just like any other desktop.  Sticking to a command line interface though means that a big screen isn't a necessity.

Taking lead from the Freewrite, I tried an inexpensive five-inch LCD for size.  It's workable, but you don't see very much of what you're working on.  Five inches could be considered a truly focused writing solution, creating a narrow window around just the current thought.  But that felt way too small for me personally.

Seven inches at 1024x600 resolution proved to me to be a more optimal screen size for writing.  The screen I chose by electronics manufacturer GeeekPi is pretty well constructed, and was plug and play.

The Raspberry Pi can be powered via one of its micro USB ports, which means that a standard phone charger can power it up.  That also means that it can be run off of any commodity power bank.

Most power bank have a few lights on them to give you an idea of how much power they have left.  Here though it was also important for the power bank to give a more accurate read out of its remaining charge.  So I paid a little more for a battery with a percentage read out.    The selected 10,000 mAh battery powering the Pi Zero and seven-inch screen thus promised calculated run time of just under six hours before the battery dropped to zero percent.

The final basic technical solution comprised the following:

Raspberry Pi Zero WH - US$14.95 from PiShop.us

Pi Zero Case Kit - US$9.99 from Amazon

GeeekPi 7-inch screen - US$28.99 from Amazon.com.  The list price is actually US$59.99, but I had a $25 gift card to use when I bought it.

10,000 mAh battery bank with percentage level display - US$26.99

Miscellaneous ribbon cables for HDMI and USB connectivity - US$30.00

Logitech K380 Bluetooth Keyboard - US$21.95 from Amazon, as a certified refurb item

MicroSD card, to hold operating system, applications and data - Free, because I have a few of these knocking about

Software - Raspbian, WordGrinder, Ranger, Alpine - all open source - Free

Total outlay, before shipping and taxes - US$132.87

That's represented significant savings on the Freewrite's US$599 list price and even on it's fellow Freewrite Traveller's US$349 discounted price.  The Traveller lists at US$599 as well.

A brass standoff kit for mounting the components cost an additional US$7.99, and a power switch board, the RemotePi from MSL Digital - admittedly gratuitous but with much utility - cost around US$25.

The housing - Gary Aboud might be happy to hear - is made up of two covers of a vinyl-covered MDF storage chest available at Mode Alive at TT$89.00 a pop.

Honestly, the first box was acquired for its latch and the design of its hinges.  They support the cover and hold it upright when the box is open.  The cover was also the perfect height, width and depth to hold the seven-inch screen.

A second box was purchased when I realised that the cover was also just the right depth to accommodate all of the other components.  So two boxes were taken apart to make a slimmer box out of the two covers.  The bases weren’t wasted though.  They themselves were put together to make a larger storage box. 

(For ease of reference going forward, I'll refer to the final solution as the PiWriter868.)

Why go through all this?

The cost saving is the biggest and most obvious reason.  Granted some money was spent on components that didn’t make it into the final solution.  But ultimately, the final solution does cost less than something purchased out of box to meet the stated need.

Yes, a cheap laptop can be had for less than US$200, especially if you consider refurbs and open-box options.  But there are few differences between the PiWriter868 and a cheap laptop. 

Every component of the PiWriter868 is replaceable, and I can choose components that fully satisfy me personally or any specific requirement.

Further, the combination of a seven-inch screen, a full-size comfortable keyboard, and six hours of battery life would be virtually impossible to find in a laptop under US$200.

If any one component of a cheap laptop were to fail, the entire thing would be headed for a landfill because cheap portables aren’t constructed for repair-ability and upgrades.

Case in point here is what I described earlier about replacing the battery in my Chromebook.

By comparison, changing the battery in the PiWriter868 is as simple as unplugging the micro USB cable and plugging it into a new battery bank.  In fact, the next planned update is to replace the 10,000 mAh battery bank with a 25,600 mAh battery.  That would take current estimated run time from just under six hours to somewhere in the vicinity of 14 or 15 hours.  An upgrade like that wouldn’t be possible with most laptops on the market today.

Should the screen begin to go, the micro SD card begin to give problems, the switch start to behave flaky, even if the Raspberry Pi itself prove faulty over time, all components can be swapped out at cost.  Again,a cheap laptop would have to be replaced in its entirely or far more expensively repaired.

Software can also be readily updated or replaced as necessary.  If I found a software solution better than WordGrinder, it could be installed, configured and used.  With the Freewrite, I'd be stuck with whatever they'd be providing on their platform, and in this case, also stuck with their cloud solution if I'd decided to use that as well.

At the end of the day, the PiWriter868 gives me exactly the functionality I want  in a package that I can continue to tailor as I go along.

The PiWriter868 is also an argument for the use of more cost-effective technology in our schools and the country as a whole.  While I use it myself as a terminal-based writing machine, it is capable of running a full GUI and GUI-based apps.

If a fully functional computer can be built around a US$15 board that can use just about any modern TV as a monitor with any inexpensive keyboard and mouse combo on the market, why are we giving children in schools thousands of dollars worth of PC equipment?

What’s keeping us from doling out inexpensive single-board computers to our school kids and allowing them to construct solutions around them while learning about deskside and other sensing technology?

What’s stopping the country from licensing a single-board computer design, manufacturing and servicing a board with a Trinbagonian stamp, and rolling them out as part of a more cost effective solution to the deskside technology needs of the public and private sector?  In most cases, one needs only a word processor, spreadsheet application, presentation software, and a web browser, all of which are available.

But that discussion is for another post.

POSTSCRIPT: This text of this post was written on the PiWriter868.

[waitinginthedarke]

Existing

A BTS/ Kim Seokjin Fanfiction

Summary: He looked like an angel, and spoke like a singer. Next to you, a university student surviving on 5 hours sleep a night, and holes in your shoes, he seemed to have it all. But at the end of the day, you were both just Existing. You just cant help but think, it might be more fun to Exist together...

A/N: I am so happy to release the first chapter of this story to you, after sitting on it for quite a while. But im glad that you can finally have Jin’s story! :) (for regular readers, it will follow the kind of formatting used for Voices and Exposure- although this first chapter is slightly longer.)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Part 1

‘I seriously don’t know how they expect me to get all of this done in two weeks.’

Exhaustion taints your words as you lean back in your chair, resting your head back on your shoulders as you look longingly out of the café window, the same view having greeted you for the past 4 hours that you’d been sat trying to work on your latest assignment for university, and each time having taunted you with the prospect of escape, before you’d ultimately turned back to your laptop to continue tapping nonsensically away.

‘Come on, Y/N, only 3 more weeks and then you’ll be free of this.’ You mutter to yourself, dragging in a deep breath once more before sitting back up and cracking your back as you refocus on what you were writing.

Although, its after around 5 minutes of staring dumb-foundedly at the paragraph of gibberish on the screen in front of you, that a loud hulking laugh penetrates through your concentration and you peer up at the counter of the café to see two tallish boys chuckling away together, their faces immediately catching your attention as you take in how stunningly beautiful they were.

‘Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes.’ You mumble, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of them, but getting cut off when you suddenly see the most angelic boy turning to look in your direction, hurriedly looking back down at your computer and feeling your face heat up like a furnace. Of course, you couldn’t stop yourself from taking one last peak up at them when you hear them begin to mutter between one another once again, watching them receive their order of two hot drinks and a selection of cookies and biting your lip when you see the tempting sight of chocolate.

‘God, I could really do with a cookie right now.’ You murmur to yourself, sighing, and shaking yourself out of your thoughts as you try to reject the exhaustion pulling at your bones, instead leaning back to stretch in your chair and momentarily closing your eyes as you take a moment to escape the stoic pose you’d been sat in for the past few hours.

You draw in a deep breath as you sit up once more, feeling like weights were pulling at your eyes and having an odd sense of disorientation as the café blurs in your vision slightly, before you peer at the clock on the wall to see that rather than the 5 minutes you were expecting, 2 whole hours had passed.

‘Oh My God!’ you gasp, realizing you must have fallen asleep and awkwardly scrabbling into a more upright position, rubbing your eyes weakly and groaning as you think about how much time you’d lost that you could have spent working on your assignment.

‘Im so dead.’ You groan, instantly standing and walking over to the counter to order a coffee to go, and quickly packing up as you wait for your coffee to be ready.

‘Americano?’

You sigh as your order is called, hurrying to shove the rest of your stuff into your bag so that you could swing it onto your shoulder, before going to turn back to the counter, only to almost walk straight into a set of wide shoulders.

‘Oh, sorry.’ You mutter, about to move around them, before you realize the man was holding a cup out for you to take, your order of an Americano in his hand making you frown as you try to remember if you’d paid for it…

But that was before you looked up.

And you took in the same angel’s face with those warm chocolate brown eyes that you’d seen stood at the counter earlier.

Only this time, those eyes were staring down at you.

‘Here.’

‘Uh…’

You couldn’t help but stare at him, your sleep-slackened mind not helping your confused state of mind as you take in the smooth, yet strong plains of his face, the darkness of his brows and his lashes, the luscious, model-like curve of his lips, and the startling beauty of his brown eyes.

‘I…uh…I’ve already paid for it…so don’t worry about the bill.’

His manly timbre ran the length of your spine, and its not until you’d managed to shakily raise your hand to take the cup from him, that you realize what he’d said.

‘Oh. I…Thank you! I….weren’t you here earlier?’ you ask, widening your eyes when you realize what you’d said, but before you can get too embarrassed he’d begun to chuckle and nod his head, the light lilt of his laugh making you bite your lip in your awkwardness.

‘Uh…yeah…I-I saw you working. I-um, actually, I’ve been here all afternoon. After my friend left I realized you’d fallen asleep, but I was- God. This is going to sound really creepy….but I just wanted to watch over you. – I mean, I wanted to make sure no-one tried to steal your stuff..I-‘

‘Oh. Wow. Now i’m embarrassed.’ You mutter, trying not to think of the amount of drool that probably left your mouth as you slept, and how you probably looked ridiculously gross while you slept, the fact that he’d seen it all factoring into your mind quicker than the fact that he’d wanted to watch over you.

‘No! No. Don’t be embarrassed! You’re really pretty when you sleep, I just didn’t want anyone- I mean…I…guess, there is no way to explain this without me sounding creepy.’ He chuckles, his awkward slightly higher-pitched laugh involuntarily making the corners of your lips tilt up as you catch his eyes and for some reason you find yourself un-tensing as you look at him.

‘I…I’m Seokjin, by the way. …although, people usually call me Jin.’ He murmurs, smiling gently down at you, and you’re almost sure he’d stolen the expression from an angel, the rays of heavens light shining from his face leaving a warmth in your chest.

‘I’m Y/N.’ you respond, watching the way his eyes twinkle slightly, and you cant help but feel your heart flutter as you flicker your gaze to the clock on the wall behind him and see that it was almost time for your dorm’s curfew.

‘I, uh…I kind of need to get going. I don’t want to miss curfew.’ You stutter, hating the fact that you’d slept for the past two hours when you clearly could have been talking to the beautiful guy in front of you. But before you have chance to ask for his number or suggest that you meet up again, he’s moved his gaze to the window.

‘Would you like me to walk you back home?’

You’re surprised by his sudden question, looking outside to see that night darkened the streets, and you feel yourself get excited at the possibility that this guy wanted to make sure you got home safe, although a little voice in the back of your mind questions your judgement of him as you remember he’d just been watching you for two hours.

‘Uh…do you promise you’re not a stalker, or a serial killer or anything?’ you ask, too happy to seriously take into account that he might be harmful, and smothering a chuckle when he quickly turns back to look at you with his eyebrows raised.

‘Yah! With this face? How could you ask that?’ he questions you, his expression appearing serious as he frames his face with his hands, before he begins to laugh as he sees the look of surprise on your face, suddenly grabbing your free hand and pulling you towards the exit.

‘Thank you!’ he calls over his shoulder to the ahjumma at the counter, who appears to smile fondly at him as she waves, before the two of you are outside and your heart finally catches up with the realization that Jin still had your hand held gently in his as he stops to ask you which way was ‘home’, regretfully letting your hand go as he does so.

‘Uh…this way.’ You nod, glancing up at him with a shy smile, before taking a sip of your drink as he begins to walk easily with you down the street, putting on a face-mask when the two of you begin to walk, and you cant help but note the way that his eyes only shine brighter when you’re able to move your attention away from his lips to his eyes.

‘So…why did you fall asleep in the café?’ he asks, his question loosening the quiet that had come to encompass the two of you, and you feel your face heat up as you see him watching the way you were sipping at your drink, quickly clearing your throat before answering him.

‘I have a big assignment due in for college in about 2 weeks, and its taking up all of my time…I barely sleep anymore because of it. I guess the exhaustion crept up on me.’ You laugh awkwardly, biting your lip out of nervousness as you look up at him.

‘Oh, you’re in university?’ he asks, a slight frown marring his features.

‘Uh, yeah. Final year. Why?’ you respond, wondering why he seemed so concerned by your educational status, but being surprised when his expression suddenly turns to a smile, before he looks over at you.

‘Me too. I graduate in around a month.’ He says, the revelation causing a subconscious smile to paint your face, and you’re almost surprised by the light chuckle that leaves you at his thoughtful smile, before you quickly smother it by sipping at your drink again.

‘So, since we’re heading this way, I assume you live in the dorms? Woah!-’ he shouts, quickly throwing his arm out to stop you from getting run over by a car that suddenly speeds down the road, and you find yourself gripping tightly to his bicep, feeling your heart race a little in your surprise, before you look up to see him staring at you intently, the expression clearly asking if you were okay.

‘Thank you.’ Is all you’re able to mutter back, still stunned, but when you feel his hand gently cover yours on his arm, before clasping and interlinking your fingers together, you instantly feel a lot calmer, despite the way your heart races in your chest at the endearing move.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks softly, watching you the whole time, and smiling gently when you nod timidly.

‘Good.’ He murmurs, smiling happily at you with his angels smile as he raises his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear that had become misplaced when he’d saved you from the car, before beginning to pull you along the road once more with a content, pleased expression.

‘Come on. I don’t want you being late for curfew…’

(T.B.C)

[willardoftuffelton]

10 reasons achilleanaspie is better than me.

Ok, now i know i often say that i am the greatest man of all time because of course i would, i’m Willard of Tuffelton, the sexual Catherine Wheel. Anything i write, say or do is pure perfection but it would be a lie if i where to say that i was the undisputed champion in all areas. Achilleanaspie is very much my subordinate but even he holds a few footholds in life’s cliff face that i shall never grasp. so through gritted teeth and a force that at any moment could break the keys on my laptop, here are 10 reasons achilleanaspie is better than THE GREAT WILLARD OF TUFFELTON.

1. he knows way more fun and interesting facts than i do which is very much my own fault, the time i should have spent watching QI or on the internet locked in my room until i became dehydrated from weeping at the god damn lonesomeness of it all, i spent drinking alcohol, reading books, conversing with friends or actually kissing actual real people on the mouth. still achilleanaspie knows a frankly insulting amount of facts which more than makes up for the fact that if he goes outside in high winds then he will be lost forever.

2. achilleanaspie is far smaller than i am. though this may sound like i am gloating, i sometimes very much envy his small stature. it allows him to curl up like Samus Aran and hide in the most frustrating places. the man has never lost a game of hide and seek whereas i am usually the first caught, just another example of my muscular and bulky stature being both a blessing and a curse.

3. he will most definitely live longer than i will. achilleanaspie is astonishingly young, the man has a smooth hairless chin and an enlarged head of a boy in reception. despite it being scientifically impossible, i am certain that he is ageing backwards like some sought of sad Benjamin Button. the quality of his essay writing in psychology certainly points to this as they have only recently been written in crayon. not to mention that the man will be getting ID’d at pubs until his lat 50′s, maybe his early 60′s. still, he’ll most likely outlive me, a God, so it’s something to be proud of.

4. the man has got a very nice collection of colourful wristbands and socks; it’s really impressive guy’s, he’s got blue ones, green ones and even orange ones which are achilleanaspie’s favourite because orange is his favourite colour because he really likes oranges. yeah he even sleeps in them, so i’m told, after his evening ritual of dinner, potato faces and peas, his fit mum will then wash him in the bath then puts the wristbands and socks over him until he looks like the Michelin Man at a pride march. then he’ll sleep for ten hours dreaming about caterpillars and lemonade.

5. His fit mum. Mrs. achilleanaspie is a lovely woman and i will not hear a bad word said against her. shes got the mind of a great play-write or philosopher, the mouth of a really eager Hetty the Hover on cocaine and the body of an Olympic gold medallist with three consecutive wins in sexual tobogganing and something to do with running. we laughed together, after achilleanaspie had gone to bed at 7:30, i poured her a glass of crisp white wine, i put on some Marvin Gay and we made love on a pill of his awful socks.

6. achilleanaspie is a sweet little chirrup, often his optimism and amazing gift for hope has put me in a position of sheer jealousy. i once told him that i hated him and the only if he was on fire then i would help him because i wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to piss on him. after this he just handed me a little note that said i was his best friend and then went off to play hopscotch. heart warming stuff.

7. his hair is a baffling discovery that goes beyond weird and into scientific paradox. the greatest minds of our time are truly befuddled on how a man could spend so much time and effort on to his hair and it still looks like he’s put no time or effort into his hair. even the pope has spoken about this, “ achilleanaspie’s hair”, said in his native Spanish, “so much bleach and product it contains, yet it is as if he has only recently woken from slumber. Truly this is the devil’s hair.”

8. he makes everyone at college feel older and more wise. achilleanaspie is younger than most insects and often says things like, “who was JFK”, “i’ve never heard of Star Wars, is that the new All Time Low album.” and “me need a poopy.” now whilst this sounds infuriating, every time he blurts out such nonsense it makes us all feel the wiser.

9. the man has a tumblr army and i’m scared, like i am pretty sure this list is going to kill me. as we all know this land is a wretched Mordor of a place, full of hordes of locus that could strip a whale to its bare bone in a matter of seconds and achilleanaspie is their baby lord. tumblr is how achilleanaspie will one day take over the world.

10. he is our walking organ farm. at college me and achilleanaspie have a small group of, lets say friends, and we are all dangerously broken individuals. after all, my #creativitythroughacoholabuse shit won’t last long before my liver gives out, not to mention Dan will need a new kidney after his original set are destroyed due to a backed up amount of bile, or the blood transfusion Peter will need after he tells the wrong person to jump out of a window and they kick the shit out of him. thankfully achilleanaspie’s organs a completely without blemishes.

small disclaimer, this all out of fun and i genuinely love the prepubescent sycophant. 

[overton2015]

2:06 AM

I have begun to realize just how stressed and down right exhausted i have become. Im sad. I don’t take care of myself like i should. I would even say i do the bare minimum just to keep me going. I know i need help, but how can you ask for help when you don’t even know whats going on.

In 2015 i learned how to truly start loving myself. “Everything was beautiful and nothing could hurt.” During this fragile time i met a boy. We began dating about 7-8 months after we met. He was spiritually and emotionally beautiful. We found life in each other. I never thought i would have to worry about my future after that, cause it was him. I thought this to be my only other true love besides my first. We were naively happy. We supported each other and loved each other for who were, and what we were becoming. We met each others friends and families, and feel even more in love with the idea that these were the people we would surround ourselves with. After about 4-5 months of me practically living with him we started talking about moving in together.( My plans before him were to move to Chattanooga,TN and attend Chatt State Comm. College.) We talked it over for a couple weeks, and we both decided Chattanooga was the place for us. To save money he gave up his room in an apartment he shared with 2 of his friends, and we moved in with my mom to save money. This is where things began to get a little less easy for us. As you would imagine once we became distracted with more and more worldly things, we began to loose that spirituality i loved so much. I didn't pay much attention to this, because we weren't having any problems we couldn't fix, and i mean c’mon i loved him. But what i didn't notice, and what should have been my upmost importance was not loosing myself in our problems and our relationship.

He began making remarks like, “oh, who are you wearing that makeup for?,” “why are you getting all dressed up?,” or even “Who do you keep changing your hair for?” ( I have had many different fashion shades in my hair) I did it all to keep his interest and for his validation. One of my biggest insecurities is my body, as it is for most people. When i didn't get the validation i thought i needed i began criticizing myself so much, i almost began to hate myself. Soon things started getting sen worse. He alienated me from my friends, and would give me excuses like they are good people, and they are going to get me into trouble with dumb things. So to appease the arguing i began seeing my friends less and less, and started looking to him for my identity. I was no longer my own person. I didn't have a taste in music, and i would look to his advice for what to wear, yet somehow, this was still not enough.

Even better, i was upfront about a few things before we started dating:

1. I am still friends with all of my exes, because i don't believe that somebody who meant so much to your life should be excluded just because you don't see a forever together.

2. DO NOT CURSE TOWARDS ME IN ANY KIND OF NEGATIVE MANNER. you might as well have layed hands on me

Now, as you can expect he called me a bitch for the first time in a fight. I laid down the law and said if he did it again i would leave him . He did it again. I didn't leave him, but he apologized and cried, so he meant it right? Wrong. He kept doing it and even though i would fight with him about not doing that i didn't stop him. So at this point I'm to busy stressing about money, work, school, amongst other things to notice just how hallow of a shell of a person i had become.

I was taking abuse up and down, left and right, but i loved him? He could always be the way he was and we could always still be just as happy as we were before. I just need to get my act together, i would tell myself.

My mom bought us an i pad, after, she realized wes was always using my laptop for games and i was falling behind on my online courses. Well, as you can probably foresee he took advantage of this thoughtful gift to use it against me.

I was texting a good friend of mine from hs, mind you we had our own set of problems but she was none the less my friend. As everybody at the time did, she told me i should leave him. She didn't go into detail about what he was doing wrong or anything he had done to hurt me. She said she just wants to see me happy and she didn't think i was. I didn't agree with her, but i didn't disagree with her either. We didn't spend much time on this topic, but wes saw it by going through my messages coming in on the i pad. While i couldn't get to my phone this particular saturday, because we work by ourselves, he took it upon himself to message her as if being me. However, he always made the fatal flaw of never sounding like me in his messages. I think he was more obsessed with saying what he had to, rather than actually putting it in my own words. So she caught on pretty quickly that it wasn't me, and it wasn't long before i noticed there messages sent to her that weren't mine. I immediately called wes to tell him how wrong he was for doing that, and he turned it right around on me. He was saying things like, “How could you let your friends talk about me this way,” and i started explaining that no matter what anybody says it all comes down to how i feel about the other person. I even tried to comfort him by saying that it happens with most of my ex’s, but nothing calmed him. It got much, much worse. It went from him texting jamie as me, to him just texting her, to @ing each other on twitter. I was consistantly going back and forth between trying to focus on the store and trying to tame my personal life. They were taking turns showing each other their cows without real scratching. Empty threats and just hurtful words back and forth about each other and anybody they can involve. Since this made its way to social media, a few of my other friends found themselves getting involved for a brief moment as well. Neither side was really looking for a resolution. They were all just looking for entertainment. Nobody did what they did for me, or to help me. When everything stopped, I asked everybody to take down what they had posted because I didn't agree with anybody's actions. Everybody agreed, and did so except wesley and Jamie. They were the only ones to give me grief about deleting their post. At this point i had given up. I only fought with wesley to take down his posts and i just couldn't handle the extra stress from jamie. It was all too much.

I was always the one apologizing, even when it wasn't my fault. He has a mystical way of manipulating the situations we put ourselves in. Im just a nagging bitch, who can't keep my legs closed i guess. Even if consciously i didn't believe what he was saying about me i still absorbed that hate, but i held it internally against myself.

It wasn't just emotional, psychological, and mental abuse. It got physical a few times. Ive been thrown against a wall, dragged in a house over concrete steps, scratching up the entire backs of my calves ( i told my friends and co-workers i was drunk and slipped on the very same stairs). I have had my arm crushed in a cast iron door, and to be honest this is the first time I'm telling anybody, and there is nobody to listen.

We were sitting his animals at his parents one weekend while they were out of town. I don't even remember the fight, but i remember running away from him. I remember anytime he got close to me i couldn't breathe and i just needed to not be in his house or near him. He continued to follow me around the very house he also would let me out of. He took my keys so it didn't do me any good to try and leave his house anyway. At this point I'm physically suffocating, crying so hard i can't see where I'm running. I find a way to lock myself in the bathroom. Alone with me in this bathroom was a pocket knife he would keep with him. I contemplated cutting. Holding the knife on my thigh and gently rubbing it on the skin i was ready to tear to pieces. I paused to look out the window at the sky and saw him. taking pictures of me. yelling, “You’re fucking crazy, you psycho bitch.” He even went as far to send the picture to my phone and save them in my album, just so i could look at them.

Don’t get me wrong i tried to leave a few times but it always ended the same way. He was going to hurt himself or our dog, he had possession of after being kicked out of my moms house. Of course he made many threats, towards me and others, that never held any truth, but there is always that one time he could. So out of fear that he would hurt himself or our dog, i stayed.

this went on for a year.

Finally, i worked up the courage to leave him. It did not go well. We were in the car and i was driving. I was talking to him about on the way to his house where i planned to drop him off and go home. That didn't happen like that. He started playing with the wheel and trying to throw us off the road. I ended up parking in a church parking lot where he proceeded to get out of the car. Now i know with the way he was i should have just left, but he made sure to grab my phone before exiting. He then began going through it, because there could be no there logical reason for me to leave him unless for another person. Atleast, thats how he saw it. He even went as far, after i got out to retrieve my phone, to take the keys out of the ignition. I was tired of running after him so i sat in the car and locked the doors. Well he walked a ways away, but came back. He told me he had thrown my keys in the grass of the front lawn of this church. This wasn't even true. When he refused to look for the keys i got out to do it myself. He then jumped in and started the car acting as if he would leave me there. I got in the car and he drove us to his parents. All along the way he just kept saying I'm not leaving him and we aren't over. Once at his parents i told him i was leaving, which caused yet another scene. This actually promoted his parents to come outside. HIs mom was trying to beth him to let me leave and when he wouldn't listen to her she went and got his father. During this time he got in his car and parked at the end of the driveway so i couldn't leave. His father came to my window and said he would call the cops and i just needed to drive through the yard. I didn't want him to be in such a position with his parents. I even started giving in a little saying i would take him somewhere else, seeing as he didn't want to stay at his parents. I ended up being able to leave that night and go home around 2 AM. This all started at about 6 in the evening.

From this moment out this began to get overwhelming. He showed up at my house and even walked through the door that leads straight to my room. I didm answer when he knocked originally. He was basically squatting on my front porch till i talked to him. He was telling me once again all the things he was going to do to change and make up for all the bad stuff. So to appease his need for communication i gave in and said we could keep contact through texting, but only as i wished. Of course i didn't text back a whole lot and kept my distance as much as possible. Being the manipulator he was, he knew what to say to get me to respond, and i did. When he began being hostile again about my lack of communication i blocked him on all platforms of communication. He didn't give up.

He found a way to contact me. *67. He would call me repeatedly one after the other until i picked up or one of our phones died. I checked my phone one morning and found he had accumulated 380 missed calls in what i thought was 36 hours. He later corrected me to tell me it was 24 not 36.

Of course he knew where i worked and he used that to his advantage. Knowing only one person works on weekend days, he would call from *67 to my work line, knowing i had to pick up each call, and i would repeatedly hang up. it  was easily over 100 phone calls to the work phone alone. Customers were beginning to notice.

After all of this i finally took the advice my friends had been giving me for months. I filed for an order of protection.

wrote this a few days ago

[wayward-demons]

Game For Anything PT. 14

Word Count: 2,238 Warnings/Notes: Uh, this chapters a little slow. But give it a moment, k guys? Tags: @crawegirl @nea90sweetie @littlegirlsdontplaynice @queen-of-moons-peace-out-bitches @gaysmutstiel @xolyssaaa @uruburock13 @lisa-horn @jencharlan @fangirl1802 @spn-4-eva @hey-um-misha ((if you want to be added to the list just let me know))

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /  Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13

Dean gripped the steering wheel of his car with a loose hand. He practically let the car drive itself at times and had no qualms about it. Specially this time of the day. The roads were empty and that was just the way he liked it. Empty so he could do as he pleased on the road. So what if he swerved a little bit? His brother sat at his side, old but good classic rock music made its way through his speakers, and for a moment, things seemed normal.

He’d almost forgot about seeing you in Sam’s arms. Sam’s bare and naked arms holding you close to him. But something like that couldn’t be forgotten just like that, and Dean knew that. So, what did he do? Bury himself in this case. Not that it was a case, but it was easier to say that then to admit they were just running to find you because of the way you left.

Dean almost had himself convinced to not go after you thanks to Sam. Why should he? It wasn’t his fault you left in such a rush. It wasn’t his fault Sam was feeling guilty or that Sam felt the need to get you both in a room together so you could see just how much you needed one another.

Meanwhile Sam was practically sweating bullets as he sat there, all but chewing on his nails at this point. The air seemed thick to him, seemed as if all the tension in Dean’s shoulders were floating in the air towards him. As if to remind him that he fucked up. And he fucked up bad.

After a few phone calls, and by few there were about 30, they had found a hunter that knew of you. A lot had heard of you and met you, but not all of them could place you to a single place. Apparently, you got around, but in a good way.

Sam and Dean were shocked to find that you had an apartment in a little no name city in Ohio. “Well it makes sense I guess. It’s pretty remote and out there.” Dean commented when he found it on the map.

“More remote than here.” Sam agreed. Sam paused, eyes staring at the map with extreme focus. He wasn’t sure what to do right now.

“So, what do we do?” Dean asked, kicking back in his seat. He wasn’t sure what to do here. Now that they knew where you were going, and knew it was a ‘safe’ place for you Dean seemed less worried. You were just clearing your head, after all that happened he could respect that.

But he couldn’t deny that he didn’t want to rush to your aid. Not because you needed help, but because he wanted answers, wanted to know what the fuck was going on. Did you feel things for Sam? Did you feel things for him? Though, Dean didn’t want to know the answer. He couldn’t imagine what it would be and wanted to avoid it.

Sam sighed, his mind racing with the possibilities of what to do right now. “I mean she’s going home. She’ll be safe. Why don’t we go finish that case?” Sam was trying to defer his brother, trying to keep him from running to your aid. Because that’s all Sam wanted to do.

Dean took a long drink, “Yeah. I uh- cased the joint but never actually caught the thing. It’s just a demon. Should be nice and easy.” Dean was all for going back to work. It seemed like a nice distraction from the reality around him. Work meant he could focus on killing, trapping, and not on you.

And yet there he sat, with you racing around his mind. You with your smile, and that laugh. Something he could get used to seeing in this dark world around him. Except every time he thought too hard about you, he would remember seeing you with Sam. He remembered walking in on the two of you all comfortable with one another.

He was dying to know what had happened. Had anything? Was it just cuddling or had Sam laid on the moves? All questions he could never ask. Sam wasn’t usually one to kiss and tell, but this one instance Dean wanted to hear the details. Well, maybe not the fine details.

Sam shrugged, getting to his feet and stretching after his long time spent bending over his laptop. “Nice and easy sounds perfect right now.” Sam commented. “Give me a few minutes to pack.”

Dean sat alone, his fingers drumming against his laptop. He wasn’t ready to call it quits. Something in him told him to find you. Digging into a case wasn’t going to be enough to forget you. He knew that. Sam did too.

Sam, packing his bag as slowly as he could. Guilt setting in that he was willing to leave you behind and work on a case instead. He had mentally planned to sneak off and go find you himself. Leave Dean behind so that he could talk to you alone. But Dean was smart, and Dean would find him before he got too far. After all, he’d caught him before.

So here they were, on the road to a little shit town so they could fix things between you. Every fiber of Dean was telling him to stop. He’d never in his life chased down a girl before.

Sam sighed, reaching over to turn the music in the car louder. As if it would thin the air out a little bit. “Everything okay Sammy? You never turn up my music.” Dean glanced over to his brother.

Sam gulped, “Yeah I just, I like this song.” Sam lied, leaning back in his seat and cracked open his laptop. He wanted to talk about this. Wanted to fix the situation. But the last time he had brought it up Dean had all but kicked him out of the car. And now they were moving at 80mph.

“What are we going to do when we get there?” Sam asked, breaking the tension. His fingers rested above the keys, he had already typed in your city and state, setting out to search for clues about why on earth you would pick there of all places.

Dean leaned forward, turning down the music. “I don’t know Sam, you’re the romantic. What do you think we should do?” Dean asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Don’t.” Sam resisted holding up a hand. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going to happen when we show up at her door step. Provided she’s even there.” Sam wasn’t sure what to expect. He had barely gotten to know you at this point. But he knew you weren’t going to be happy to see them.

“Well, I’m assuming we’re both going to get a swift kick to the face. And then we’ll sit down and have a few drinks and talk about our feelings.” Dean’s voice was once again thick with sarcasm. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean knew this without even looking at him.

Sam didn’t know what to say. There was no getting through to Dean at this point. “You didn’t have to come ya know?” Sam said under his breath. He began to read more, scanning article after article that he could find that would be remotely interesting.

“And leave you to chase after her alone? Yeah right.” Dean fought the urge to pull over right then and there.

The thick tension was back, filling the air and making it harder to breathe for both brothers.  “Wanna talk about things now?” Sam asked in the smallest voice he could.

Dean grunted, “Fine. Let’s get the touchy feelings out of the way.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean.”

“No Sammy your right. Let’s get it all out in the open. Ask your questions.” Dean shifted in his seat, pretending to get more comfortable. “Come on, let’s do the whole therapy session thing. Oh wait, should I lay down and get all comfy in the back seat?” Dean pointed to the back seat, and even attempted to look back at it.

“Never mind Dean.” Sam looked out the window, drinking in the surroundings the best he could. Not like he hadn’t seen them already, but it was better than paying attention to Dean’s sarcastic ass. He returned his attention to the laptop in front of him, and when he clicked on his next link he wanted nothing more than to be engrossed in the article.

“Okay. Sorry, I’ll get real.”  Dean cleared his throat. He waited, waited for Sam to ask his questions like he always did. But when Sam didn’t answer Dean cleared his throat and began for him instead. He faked Sam’s voice. “Dean do you like Y/N?” He asked himself.

“She’s different. And I’ll be damned if I didn’t want to… well you know.” Dean wagged his eyebrows at his brother.

“But Dean. There’s more to her than sex.” Dean said once more trying to imitate his brother’s voice.

Dean sighed, “Oh Sammy. The things you don’t know.” He shook his head in disapproval. Like any older brother who felt they had failed at their job of teaching their younger brother the ins and outs of sex and its importance.

“Dean come on be serious.” Sam finally spoke up, he tilted his head towards his brother, in that oh so condescending way of his.

“I am. Look at it this way. I have never met anyone like her before and it intrigues me. What about you? Huh big boy? You like her or what?” Dean pushed his elbow against his brother.

Sam didn’t know how to answer this. He wanted to be truthful with his brother and tell him that he did. But he knew better. Especially when it was more than evident that Dean had caught feelings for her as well. Plus, Sam knew Dean had been there first.

“That’s what I thought. So again, what are we going to do when we get there? Stick her in the middle of the room and call to her? See which one she goes to first?” Dean asked, his serious voice back.

Sam shook his head. He was growing more and more annoyed with Dean as this conversation went on.  “I don’t know Dean. I just don’t think letting her leave in that state was okay.” Sam didn’t lie. It was bothering him that you packed up your things and left like that. The way you speed away, it all was bothering him.

“I don’t blame her. She was upset. I would be too if I woke up in your arms.” Dean tried to crack a joke, but even he was starting to hate himself.

“Dean.”

“Look. All I’m saying is that we don’t need to go to no shitsville Ohio and talk to her about this. She left, she worked her case with us and left. End of story. She even stayed a bit longer.” Dean slowed his car, the brakes forcing their bodies forward as he did. He wasn’t sure why he was slowing, but he felt he had to.

Sam looked over at his brother’s hardened face. A face he never could see through and understand. “And you’re okay leaving it like that?”

Dean didn’t answer. Mainly because he wasn’t okay with leaving anything the way it was. He was dying to know who you would pick, him or Sammy. But also, because he didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to chase you down and ask you. Because why? Why trouble you if you wanted to leave so bad? If you still wanted to talk to Sam or Dean you could find him. They weren’t impossible to get ahold of. They knew practically everyone.

“Dean?” Sam asked after a long moment of silence. “I think I know why her home is here…”

Dean’s ears perked up at this. He waited for Sam to continue. “Well about 23 years ago, there was a fire. Killed everyone in the house but a small girl and her brother. The fire’s cause seems to be unknown by authorities, but sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Except Azazel wasn’t trying to find more students 20 years ago.”

“That we know of. We don’t really know how long he was going around making his… creations…” Sam couldn’t mutter the word. It had been so long since someone had brought it up, but he had never really forgotten those days. Of demon blood and trials.

Dean didn’t know how to respond. Confused with all this information. It had been so long since he had heard about any of this, Azazel and demon blood. He tried to avoid it for Sam’s sake. Because every time it was brought Dean could see his brother squirm uncomfortably. “So, she’s a Demon baby like you?”

“Well she wasn’t a new born at that point. Says here she was about 5.” Sam continued reading.

“And her brother?” Dean asked, breaking his brothers silence.

“Older.” Sam said while he kept reading.

Dean leaned back, shoulders relaxing as he started to think about all of this. “So it doesn’t fit in to Azazel’s MO.”

“And then about 17 years ago there was a massive murder at a local business. A bloodbath. 20 casualties. And 1 missing person.” Sam inhaled sharply. “Randy.”

((Part 15)) 

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

DisplayFusion is the Home windows Device Your Multi-Monitor Setup Craves – Evaluate Geek

http://tinyurl.com/y2mv3d6c Ranking: 9/10 ? 1 – Absolute Scorching Rubbish 2 – Sorta Lukewarm Rubbish 3 – Strongly Flawed Design 4 – Some Execs, Heaps Of Cons 5 – Acceptably Imperfect 6 – Good Sufficient to Purchase On Sale 7 – Nice, However Not Greatest-In-Class 8 – Improbable, with Some Footnotes 9 – Shut Up And Take My Cash 10 – Absolute Design Nirvana Value: $29 DisplayFusion is an ideal Home windows software for a number of screens. Viktoriia Hnatiuk/Shutterstock I’ve been a fan of multi-monitor setups for over a decade, and I’ve been thrilled to see Home windows broaden its assist for them because the releases progress. However for those who’re critical about getting productive together with your monitor array, DisplayFusion is a must have addition to your setup. Here is What We Like Superb number of monitor and window instruments “Cut up” characteristic permits you to outline digital window zones Simple to use profiles through taskbar or hotkey And What We Do not Setup consumer interface is a bit intimidating This isn’t something new, however think about this a heartfelt endorsement for the ability consumer software program. DisplayFusion packs extra options and instruments in its low-overhead program than I can cowl in a single sitting. However suffice it to say, if there’s one thing you want you possibly can do to handle home windows, wallpaper, and normal interface tweaks for 2 or extra screens, DisplayFusion in all probability does it. Briefly: DisplayFusion is a set of instruments that run within the background of Home windows, making a number of screens extra user-friendly. The software can correctly format wallpaper, add additional toolbar buttons for transferring home windows to completely different screens, save and retrieve the place of home windows or desktop icons, and even fade out secondary screens to allow you to focus in your activity. A few of these instruments Home windows has added in Eight and 10, and a few it hasn’t, however the one I need to speak about is exclusive and extremely helpful. Imagine it or not, there’s a desktop laptop in between all these toys. Michael Crider The software I take advantage of most frequently is the “break up” digital windowing system and the monitor profiles software that lets me handle it. This creates user-defined window zones, kind of just like the default half- and quarter-screen windowing seen in most trendy working programs (WIN key plus arrow keys by default in Home windows). However whereas Home windows alone has pretty restrictive interpretations of this concept, DisplayFusion permits the consumer to set as many of those outlined window zones as you want, throughout a number of shows, with horizontal and vertical splits all the way down to the pixel degree. Let me offer you an instance in my default work setup. Throughout my three screens, I hold the middle one open, whereas the best monitor is what I consider as my “communication zone.” Home windows maximized on this display go to DisplayFusion splits on the left or proper, with the previous typically reserved for the How-To Geek Slack and the best one for TweetDeck. TweetDeck will get specific use from that pixel-perfect break up, as I give it simply sufficient room for my foremost Twitter feed and one information record. DisplayFusion breaks up my enormous desktop into six easy-to-manage zones. Michael Crider Over on the left monitor, I hold a large break up on the left for normal searching or e mail, then an analogous vertical break up on the best. This break up is break up once more into small high and backside sections: the highest for Pandora, YouTube, or Spotify (whichever I’m listening to on the time) and the underside for Google Maintain, the place I’ve my to-do record. The first monitor is normally both a fullscreen Chrome window or two break up evenly as I’m writing and researching. DisplayFusion’s interface for designing zones and splits. Michael Crider This implies there are six distinct window zones throughout my three screens, every rigorously outlined. At any time when I want a window to transcend these digital zones and get absolutely maximized on the monitor, I simply maintain Shift and click on Maximize. If the desktop formatting is damaged—like when certainly one of my screens is powered off—I can get this setup again in a few clicks from the taskbar menu. Pre-set profiles could be utilized through the taskbar or hotkeys. Michael Crider Having this software for my setup has given my each day work a way of order and construction that I completely love. There are tons and tons of different instruments in DisplayFusion, with loads of methods to handle and customise them. However I gladly paid $29 only for this one. It’s value noting that the event staff is regularly updating and bettering DisplayFusion. When a minor replace added an undesirable area to the highest of the window zones, I barely had time to place a grievance on the assist discussion board earlier than a patch was utilized to deal with it. In the event you’re searching for a method to make your home windows Home windows behave, DisplayFusion is completely value a strive. A 30-day trial is on the market at no cost. Right here’s What We Like Superb number of monitor and window instruments “Cut up” characteristic permits you to outline digital window zones Simple to use profiles through taskbar or hotkey And What We Do not Setup consumer interface is a bit intimidating !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s){if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function(){n.callMethod?n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)};if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0;t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,'script','https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js');fbq('init','1137093656460433');fbq('track','PageView'); Source link

[asia2themacs-blog]

Most weekdays...

Most mornings we get up later than planned and are in a rush. (Some things never change). If there is time, one of us will usually shower. Our shower consists of a nice, smooth, flat, marbled stone floor with sliding glass doors and a modern showerhead. The other side of the shower, however, is a full length window looking out at an identical apartment building about 200 feet away. Yes, it is a clear window from floor to ceiling. To protect the bather’s privacy, there is a shower rod and curtain hanging over the window.

Suzie calls the elevator while I lock the apartment door. Leaving our building, we walk across the large courtyard at the center of the seven identical towering apartment buildings. It is a meticulously landscaped area with covered spaces, a playground, simple exercise machines, and instructions how to clean up after your dog. In the mornings there are always several older, retired Chinese walking around the stone pathways while stretching their arms or using the exercise machines. Often a man is practicing tai chi in traditional dress, making the slow, graceful movements alone in a small, separate courtyard.

We walk briskly among hordes of young Chinese professionals in business-casual dress that spill out of the apartment buildings and head down to the street with us. At the bottom of a small hill, a half-dozen large coach buses are waiting for the Chinese workers. They line up and file into each bus until it is full. Each full bus departs and is soon replaced by another identical bus. I have heard that some companies provide housing for their employees in the apartment buildings and shuttle them to and from work every day. There are hundreds of them that leave on the identical buses every morning. The gender ratio of the workers seems to be 50/50, but the age range looks to be extremely narrow – perhaps between 24-28.

On a smaller scale, the school where I teach and Suzie studies also provides housing for its foreign employees and a bus takes us to and from school as well. A single bus takes employees and their children from two apartment complexes to the school which is a short 15-minute drive.

Our school is in an elegant 7-story office building. We are let in the gate by security guards and every teacher and student swipes their badges as they enter. Practically all students eat their breakfast and lunch in the school cafeteria which provides hot, cooked meals. The teachers can eat at the cafeteria for free so Suzie and I always have breakfast together before her first class. Most Chinese students, as young as 1st graders, typically eat a steaming bowl of noodles with balls of meat to which they have added spoonsful of hot chili sauce. They also drink milk from small, metal bowls. Being vegetarian, Suzie and I are usually limited to some steamed buns, bread, a hard-boiled egg, and a small sweet cake. The exception is when they have vegetarian dumplings! On these days, the food servers behind the glass windows wave me and Suzie down, point to the dumplings, and give us a thumbs-up. They drop the dumplings into boiling water for about one minute and then serve them to us in metal bowls. Suzie puts soy sauce on hers and I put soy sauce and chili sauce on mine. They are delicious! We don’t even notice anymore that there are no forks in the entire school – just a container in the middle of every table filled with metal chopsticks and spoons for soup.

The students are let into the cafeteria about ten minutes after we arrive and they line up for breakfast. Many students greet their teachers enthusiastically, especially the younger ones.

After breakfast, Suzie heads to her first class, AP Comparative Government, and I either make a quick run to the Starbucks down the street or head up to the 7th floor where I can work at a desk outside the administrative offices. I review my lesson plans for the day or do some grading before my first class. This year I am teaching Social Studies to 4th graders and Classics to 5th graders. It is my first time teaching students this young.

I am currently teaching the 4th graders about the origins and structure of the U.S. government. The school uses a U.S.-based curriculum as it is meant to prepare students for universities in the United States. Last week, after teaching the students about the separation of powers, elections, and the system of checks and balances, my Chinese co-teacher told me that the students are having a hard time understanding the content because it is so far removed from their life experience. There are no civics classes in China and the idea of power being divided or of individual citizens having any political power is hard for them to comprehend.

When I was teaching about the Declaration of Independence, I projected on the board the famous line:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

As I was about to read it to the class, my Chinese co-teacher interrupted me and asked if she could read it to the class. “Of course,” I replied.

As she started to read it, she teared up and could barely finish it. The students stared, startled by seeing their teacher choked up. “Are you crying, Ms. Chen?” they asked.

“It is a very emotional sentence!” she responded defensively. The students then turned to me. I was just as surprised as the students by the teacher’s reaction. “Are you crying, Mr. Mac?”

“Ummm….no. I guess I have heard it so many times I am just used to it.” I didn’t want to belittle my colleague’s reaction and it did remind me of the profundity of the statement – especially for its time in history.

In my Classics classes, I teach the 5th grade about the four major “classical” civilizations – Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, and Rome. On the first day of class, the students asked “What about China?” I responded that the four we would learn about were classical only to western civilization and that Chinese civilization was SO important that they would study it for an entire year in 7th grade, which is true. This satisfied their national pride.

Friends and family in the U.S. often ask me if students in China are different from students in the U.S. They assume they are more disciplined, respectful, and hard-working. In fact, some teachers who had taught in China told me that was the case. My experience, however, has been that there is no difference at all. They are just as rambunctious, fidgety, frustrating, inspiring, hilarious, and idiosyncratic as my students in Arizona. Some are unruly, some have a 5-second attention span, some amaze me with their questions, some are extremely organized, and some cannot remember to bring a pencil to class.

Every day I eat lunch with other teachers and there are usually a few vegetarian options. There is always rice and a tofu, eggplant, sweet potato, and/or bok choy dish. They are usually pretty heavy on the oil, but there is also fruit and salad. After lunch I have recess duty where I keep a close eye on the interactions between the Chinese students and the few American students as they have been tense lately.

Most days after school I have either a staff meeting, a parent meeting, or Student Hours. Suzie has Arabic Club and World Scholars Club as well. Afterwards, we take the bus home. We often order dinner to be delivered because it is cheap and we are too exhausted to cook before studying or grading. A deliveryman comes to the door with pesto pasta, a small pizza, Indian food, or some paninis and I pay him with WeChat. Suzie and I talk about our day and share gossip.

Around 8pm every night I use WeChat to video-chat with my girlfriend back home. We are 15 hours ahead of Tucson so she wakes up at 5am to chat for an hour or so. I share the events of my day and she shares those of her previous day. She wishes me a goodnight and I tell her to have a good day. We are counting the days until we can see each other again.

After we hang up, I use the VPN to watch Seth Meyers’ latest video on YouTube or the latest soccer highlights. Sometimes I read a chapter or two in the book I am reading or listen to some music. Suzie studies, goes out to see friends, or watches shows on the laptop. Then we go to sleep.